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Oct. 13th, 2007 08:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gone_byebyeThe machine went to pieces so thoroughly that Ray couldn't possibly reassemble them without the aid of the kind of computer that wouldn't be built for very literally a hundred years or more. There wasn't a piece remaining larger than his pinky-nail. He'd have a better chance reassembling the machine by sweeping it up and shaking the pieces in a bucket in the hopes that they'd adhere to one another in the right order than by trying to ascertain which part went where. He ran both hands through his hair; two of the companies that he'd ordered the parts from were in Europe, and one of the American firms had gone out of business six months ago. Unless he planned on beating Shockley to the punch and inventing the transistor now, he was sort of screwed.
He flopped back on his bed- the beds in Franklin Place were really quite excellent- and closed his eyes, trying to think. In somewhere like Garion's world he wouldn't have hesitated for an instant to try and cobble together a few dozen primitive transistors, but around here there were very definite hazards to fooling around with time in this particular 'verse. Inventing something that far out of sequence could easily attract the attention of powers he didn't like to name. On the other hand, it was entirely possible that Shockley wasn't going to invent the thing here- he had no clue whether the state of electronics development was anything at all like that of his home timeline, come 2007. Heck, if anything, there was a good chance the Mi-Go had already invented the thing millennia ago and passed so far beyond it that-
It occurred to him that generally, breathing was a fairly easy process. In fact, generally, he didn't feel as if there were some unspeakably vast weight bearing down on his chest, pinning him to the mattress. Oh, God, flitted through his head. The stress, the world, and the machine breaking down got to me. I'm having a heart attack. He swallowed-
Oh.
Oh, that wasn't good.
That wasn't just the feeling of a weight. That was the actual weight. He'd felt the way his ribcage moved when he'd swallowed. Someone, or something, was sitting right on top of him, perched squarely on the center of his sternum-
Someone. Definitely someone. Anything that qualified as something probably couldn't exhale right in his face, the stream of chill, dank air stalely winding its way around his nose and down the side of his face. Or make the skin of his nose prickle and cringe that way, the eerie sense of someone is immediately present crawling through every last fiber of nerves and sinking down into his skull.
If I'm very, very lucky, he thought, it's just one of the Deep Ones. If I'm really, really, really lucky, I'm just going to get my throat slit for the greater glory of Dagon, and that'll be the end of it. It'll just be a nice simple revenge murder and I won't wind up in the clutches of the Lord of Spiders or anything like that. The Elder Sister's going to show up any second now and I'll just take her hand and leave and WHY ARE THEY NOT TRYING TO KILL ME ALREADY?
The answer came to him in the next second: whatever it was, whatever was going to happen, could not happen until and unless he opened his eyes. In that instant, it would happen. And hot on the heels of that revelation came the sure and dreadful knowledge that he absolutely, positively, had to open his eyes right now-
He flopped back on his bed- the beds in Franklin Place were really quite excellent- and closed his eyes, trying to think. In somewhere like Garion's world he wouldn't have hesitated for an instant to try and cobble together a few dozen primitive transistors, but around here there were very definite hazards to fooling around with time in this particular 'verse. Inventing something that far out of sequence could easily attract the attention of powers he didn't like to name. On the other hand, it was entirely possible that Shockley wasn't going to invent the thing here- he had no clue whether the state of electronics development was anything at all like that of his home timeline, come 2007. Heck, if anything, there was a good chance the Mi-Go had already invented the thing millennia ago and passed so far beyond it that-
It occurred to him that generally, breathing was a fairly easy process. In fact, generally, he didn't feel as if there were some unspeakably vast weight bearing down on his chest, pinning him to the mattress. Oh, God, flitted through his head. The stress, the world, and the machine breaking down got to me. I'm having a heart attack. He swallowed-
Oh.
Oh, that wasn't good.
That wasn't just the feeling of a weight. That was the actual weight. He'd felt the way his ribcage moved when he'd swallowed. Someone, or something, was sitting right on top of him, perched squarely on the center of his sternum-
Someone. Definitely someone. Anything that qualified as something probably couldn't exhale right in his face, the stream of chill, dank air stalely winding its way around his nose and down the side of his face. Or make the skin of his nose prickle and cringe that way, the eerie sense of someone is immediately present crawling through every last fiber of nerves and sinking down into his skull.
If I'm very, very lucky, he thought, it's just one of the Deep Ones. If I'm really, really, really lucky, I'm just going to get my throat slit for the greater glory of Dagon, and that'll be the end of it. It'll just be a nice simple revenge murder and I won't wind up in the clutches of the Lord of Spiders or anything like that. The Elder Sister's going to show up any second now and I'll just take her hand and leave and WHY ARE THEY NOT TRYING TO KILL ME ALREADY?
The answer came to him in the next second: whatever it was, whatever was going to happen, could not happen until and unless he opened his eyes. In that instant, it would happen. And hot on the heels of that revelation came the sure and dreadful knowledge that he absolutely, positively, had to open his eyes right now-
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Date: 2007-10-14 12:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-14 12:46 am (UTC)What he's doing, on the other hand, is attempting to convince his left hand to move, because while it currently feels as if it's made entirely of hyponeutronium, he really really really really REALLY wants to get it over his eyes before he does something suicidally stupid.
Hmm... nope. Nope, that's not working. Nope.
Maybe he can get his lips to move? Because that might help.
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Date: 2007-10-14 12:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-14 12:56 am (UTC)Even knowing this, his eyes still desperately want to come open.
All of his attention, all of his concentration, is getting focused getting his lips to move. It's enough- only barely. The sound that comes out is pathetically weak, barely even whispered for all his trying. "I."
Dammit. Try again.
"I w."
... crap, he's got to get another vowel out?
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Date: 2007-10-14 01:00 am (UTC)And then the weight is gone. The breath is gone. The heat is gone.
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Date: 2007-10-14 01:05 am (UTC)Okay.
Um.
He's just gonna lie there and shiver for a little while, okay? Because no way in hell is he going to get back to sleep after that. Not without his-
"Why, certainly, Mr. Stantz," said Mrs. Keenan the seamstress the following morning. "I can make just that sort of toy easy as pie. Are you sure that's what you want it to look like, though?"
"Positive, ma'am," said Ray, handing over the two sketches. "My nephew wouldn't want it any other way."
"Well, all right," said Mrs. Keenan. "Though why he'd make up stories about a sailor man all made out of marshmallows is beyond me."