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Dec. 22nd, 2007 06:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gone_byebyeConey Island, Brooklyn
Brooklyn Aquarium
Osborn Center For Inter-Species Communication
Thursday, December 20, 2007
"Well," said Dr. Stantz, for the fourth or fifth time that day, "here we are."
"That's right," said his publicist, a dark-haired, businesslike woman named Margo McGee. "All of us." She glanced over her shoulder; the Spook Squad had been tasked to handle most of the historic meeting's security, and as for the rest... well. Dr. Stantz had refused to even consider leaving his daughter behind. She had to admit that it would take somebody very, very stupid to try anything when a twenty-three foot tall robot kitted out with every kind of sensor and scanner technology available to the public was on the premises. And the part where the robot was shaking hands with the assembled crowd and talking to as many people as possible- yes, that was a distraction from the historic meeting about to take place, but honestly? In a world full of weirdos, wackos, and sniper rifles, anything that drew attention away from the waterfront at a time when a single misstep could cause inter-species warfare on a potentially global scale was a good thing. Let them pay attention to the robot. Better that than the alternative.
"What time is it again, exactly?"
"One fifty-eight, Dr. Stantz. And yes, I am sure. You've asked this already."
"Sorry, Margo. I just-" He waved his hands vaguely. "You have no idea of the magnitude of the stage fright I'm experiencing right now."
"You'd be surprised how well I understand. Do yourself a favor and close your eyes, take a deep breath, and do whatever it is that Jedi do to calm themselves down. Being this keyed up isn't going to help anybody at all."
"Right. Right. Yes. Sorry." He closed his eyes and started murmuring to himself.
Margo sighed a little, but only that. She'd seen worse reactions to being at the center of attention before. You didn't last long around the UN if you couldn't walk the new delegates through their paces without causing major incidents. And, speaking of which-
"Open your eyes now, Dr. Stantz. I don't think that's a natural wave."
'Wave' was the wrong word for it, anyway. More like a great glassy swelling in the water, rising up out of one of the waves, suddenly breaking to either side and falling away to reveal a pearlescent grey, intricately detailed pod of some kind. Colors fountained off it in all directions as the assembled reporters and other spectators started excitedly snapping flash photographs. It rolled up onto the sand with the last of the waves' strength, continued to glide along over the sand for several meters, and came gently to a halt.
Dr. Stantz swallowed, suddenly a ghastly pale. "This is it, huh?"
"That's right, Dr. Stantz. This is it." Margo patted him on the back. "This is what they're paying you for. Go on and say hello."
Dr. Stantz looked up at Ecto, who was watching the scene with rapt, literally shining eyes. He squared his shoulders, turned back towards the water, and stepped away from Margo's side to approach the pearlcraft. When he was about two strides away, a hatch coalesced in its side, sliding open even as he stopped in his tracks.
The first beings to exit the pearlcraft were about Dr. Stantz's height, though grey-green in skin tone and somewhat more roundly built. Margo found herself comparing them to the descriptions she'd read in The Shadow Over Innsmouth, and had to admit that they came out ahead. True, they carried spears and moved oddly, but there was none of the capering or demented half-leaps that 'blasphemous fishfrogs' had implied. And for man-shaped creatures with webbed hands and fins in places where anything on land would've had hair, they looked... Well, they looked more natural than she'd expected. More like something you'd find in very deep waters of its own accord than something you'd find in Creature From The Black Lagoon. They wore- Good Lord. Margo had seen quite a lot of clothing in her time and prided herself on being able to recognize nearly any clothing line straightaway. Unless she missed her guess completely, the spear-bearing Deep Ones were wearing Utilikilts. Well, she could think of worse choices...
Then a figure about a head taller stepped out onto the sand, straightening up and raising a hand in greeting. This one was draped in green and purple robes, open to the waist and embroidered in glittering, interlocking patterns like nothing Margo could quite identify. Margo remembered his face, alien as it was; he'd been the one on the cover of all the papers months ago, shaking hands with the President. Looked like they really were taking all of this seriously.
Dr. Stantz moved forward, and Margo kept her fingers crossed. They'd rehearsed this moment. They'd rehearsed it so many times. She'd thrown things at Peter Venkman for wandering in wearing rubber monster masks while they were rehearsing. This was the critical moment of greeting, and they only got one chance. If Dr. Stantz lost it now, they were screwed. But he could do this, she was sure. He had to-
It took her a moment to realize he was speaking at all, given how little the gurgly noises from down the beach sounded like human words. Margo stared; so did the guards, and the ambassador himself. And then she stared more, because the Deep One ambassador cleared his throat and said in perfect, if somewhat Mainer-sounding English, "Okay. No way you talked to my boy long enough to learn that kind of fluency. Not that I don't appreciate it, but how are you-"
"Amulet, sir," said Dr. Stantz, fishing something silver out from under his shirt and showing it a moment. "It comes in handy."
"Yeah, I imagine. There goes my tactical advantage."
"Sorry. I could pretend I don't understand a word you're saying, if you'd rather?"
"Nah, we're cool. Let's get this party started, all right?"
"All right," said Dr. Stantz. "The facility's right this way."
"Sweet. Come on, boys."
Not what Margo had expected... but she'd take it.
Brooklyn Aquarium
Osborn Center For Inter-Species Communication
Thursday, December 20, 2007
"Well," said Dr. Stantz, for the fourth or fifth time that day, "here we are."
"That's right," said his publicist, a dark-haired, businesslike woman named Margo McGee. "All of us." She glanced over her shoulder; the Spook Squad had been tasked to handle most of the historic meeting's security, and as for the rest... well. Dr. Stantz had refused to even consider leaving his daughter behind. She had to admit that it would take somebody very, very stupid to try anything when a twenty-three foot tall robot kitted out with every kind of sensor and scanner technology available to the public was on the premises. And the part where the robot was shaking hands with the assembled crowd and talking to as many people as possible- yes, that was a distraction from the historic meeting about to take place, but honestly? In a world full of weirdos, wackos, and sniper rifles, anything that drew attention away from the waterfront at a time when a single misstep could cause inter-species warfare on a potentially global scale was a good thing. Let them pay attention to the robot. Better that than the alternative.
"What time is it again, exactly?"
"One fifty-eight, Dr. Stantz. And yes, I am sure. You've asked this already."
"Sorry, Margo. I just-" He waved his hands vaguely. "You have no idea of the magnitude of the stage fright I'm experiencing right now."
"You'd be surprised how well I understand. Do yourself a favor and close your eyes, take a deep breath, and do whatever it is that Jedi do to calm themselves down. Being this keyed up isn't going to help anybody at all."
"Right. Right. Yes. Sorry." He closed his eyes and started murmuring to himself.
Margo sighed a little, but only that. She'd seen worse reactions to being at the center of attention before. You didn't last long around the UN if you couldn't walk the new delegates through their paces without causing major incidents. And, speaking of which-
"Open your eyes now, Dr. Stantz. I don't think that's a natural wave."
'Wave' was the wrong word for it, anyway. More like a great glassy swelling in the water, rising up out of one of the waves, suddenly breaking to either side and falling away to reveal a pearlescent grey, intricately detailed pod of some kind. Colors fountained off it in all directions as the assembled reporters and other spectators started excitedly snapping flash photographs. It rolled up onto the sand with the last of the waves' strength, continued to glide along over the sand for several meters, and came gently to a halt.
Dr. Stantz swallowed, suddenly a ghastly pale. "This is it, huh?"
"That's right, Dr. Stantz. This is it." Margo patted him on the back. "This is what they're paying you for. Go on and say hello."
Dr. Stantz looked up at Ecto, who was watching the scene with rapt, literally shining eyes. He squared his shoulders, turned back towards the water, and stepped away from Margo's side to approach the pearlcraft. When he was about two strides away, a hatch coalesced in its side, sliding open even as he stopped in his tracks.
The first beings to exit the pearlcraft were about Dr. Stantz's height, though grey-green in skin tone and somewhat more roundly built. Margo found herself comparing them to the descriptions she'd read in The Shadow Over Innsmouth, and had to admit that they came out ahead. True, they carried spears and moved oddly, but there was none of the capering or demented half-leaps that 'blasphemous fishfrogs' had implied. And for man-shaped creatures with webbed hands and fins in places where anything on land would've had hair, they looked... Well, they looked more natural than she'd expected. More like something you'd find in very deep waters of its own accord than something you'd find in Creature From The Black Lagoon. They wore- Good Lord. Margo had seen quite a lot of clothing in her time and prided herself on being able to recognize nearly any clothing line straightaway. Unless she missed her guess completely, the spear-bearing Deep Ones were wearing Utilikilts. Well, she could think of worse choices...
Then a figure about a head taller stepped out onto the sand, straightening up and raising a hand in greeting. This one was draped in green and purple robes, open to the waist and embroidered in glittering, interlocking patterns like nothing Margo could quite identify. Margo remembered his face, alien as it was; he'd been the one on the cover of all the papers months ago, shaking hands with the President. Looked like they really were taking all of this seriously.
Dr. Stantz moved forward, and Margo kept her fingers crossed. They'd rehearsed this moment. They'd rehearsed it so many times. She'd thrown things at Peter Venkman for wandering in wearing rubber monster masks while they were rehearsing. This was the critical moment of greeting, and they only got one chance. If Dr. Stantz lost it now, they were screwed. But he could do this, she was sure. He had to-
It took her a moment to realize he was speaking at all, given how little the gurgly noises from down the beach sounded like human words. Margo stared; so did the guards, and the ambassador himself. And then she stared more, because the Deep One ambassador cleared his throat and said in perfect, if somewhat Mainer-sounding English, "Okay. No way you talked to my boy long enough to learn that kind of fluency. Not that I don't appreciate it, but how are you-"
"Amulet, sir," said Dr. Stantz, fishing something silver out from under his shirt and showing it a moment. "It comes in handy."
"Yeah, I imagine. There goes my tactical advantage."
"Sorry. I could pretend I don't understand a word you're saying, if you'd rather?"
"Nah, we're cool. Let's get this party started, all right?"
"All right," said Dr. Stantz. "The facility's right this way."
"Sweet. Come on, boys."
Not what Margo had expected... but she'd take it.
