Moje články

Something jumped in the window, fired four arrows into a wooden statue of Fen'Harel, and yelled "gonna hunt that blighting egg down and crack it," before disappearing down the stairs and into the burning streets of Minrathous.

"Ah," Dorian told the reeling Rook, brightly, "you've met Sera."

"You know that elf-shaped bur?"

"Be glad she didn't hear you calling her that, but yes."

"Did she say something about an... egg?"

"Yes," he grinned, "that's her charming name for..." he made a smoothing motion over his head, then nodded at the statue.

"Solas?" Rook gasped.

"Oh yes. Happy hunting, I say."

V hated taking Johnny to the market.

She hated taking him anywhere but the market was next level. Still, she had errands to do that could not be put off forever. Maybe it would be better this time.

It was not.

Fuck, V! That's a vintage NeoPop Chrome Synth!

"What," she said, under her breath, "is it valueable or something?"

Nah, it's trash. Sure brings back memories, but no one's gonna buy that.

A young woman, chromed to the tits and clearly high, picked up the instrument and immediately bought it. She gave a little squeal of joy.

V grinned.

They had been walking in silence for several minutes when Lije finally spoke. "Your shoes," he said, aware of the bluntness with which the line was delivered.

Daneel paused. "To what are you referring, Partner Elijah?"

"You took them off. When we entered the apartment."

"Is that not the custom?"

"It is." He shrugged. "I thought maybe... they were part of you?" It sounded ridiculous, spoken out loud. "You don't need them, after all."

"I also wear clothes, though I do not need them."

"Fair point. I-"

"I can take them off too, if-"

"No." Lije kept walking, face flushed.

Slowly, Garak ran a hand along the elongated skull of the Brachiosaurus. "What a surprisingly elegant creature. The neck is particularly impressive."

Julian tried to hide his amusement. "You think so?"

"Oh," Garak chided, gently, "don't give me that look. I'm well aware that humans consider my kind to be - what is the term?" Before Julian could interject, he continued "lizards."

"That isn't what-" Julian stuttered, helplessly looking around for something to distract them both, "I mean, I didn't bring you here to-"

"Such an interesting museum, though." Garak let him stew. "What an interesting idea for a first date."

Kochanski's nose wriggled as she frowned, though in such a dimensionally alternate way from his Kris that Lister found himself unmoved by it. "Really," she said, "they sold you for spare parts?"

"Not exactly," Lister hesitated, "I wasn't gonna go through with it."

"They sold you as a groom to the Kinitawowi as part of a scam. That's perfectly fine, then."

"We were desperate! Didn't your crew ever run into any savage GELF tribes?"

"No," she scoffed, "that's an offensive term. We traded with them; My best friend is Kinitawowi."

Lister sighed. His alternate was even better at fake weddings.

It was the first question anyone ever asked him, and Odo tried not to take it personally. Still, he could not repress a twitch of indignation.

"You came back?" It was Julian this time, blinking stupidly in the soft light of the sick bay.

"Should I not have?"

Julian frowned, then smiled, then frowed again. "I'm happy to see you, of course!"

Odo rumbled in amusement. "But?"

"Well... The Great Link is supposed to be... Paradise. Unlimited, endless joy and community. Why give that up?"

Hearing footsteps approaching, Odo closed his eyes. He'd know her anywhere. "It has its limits."

After the million year mark, Holly allowed himself to be cautiously optimistic. They were making great time, and the cats were doing their best to repopulate. All right, so it'd be a bit of a different population that originally intended, but Holly didn't like to be pedantic.

The second million mark was the worst. Holly had gone through every possible gender option xe could find, but none of them made xem feel better. Things were not going great with the cats; they'd probably leave eventually, and then what?

Silent running?

He put on a brave face, literally, when Lister woke.

Sera's door slammed shut, shaking the tavern. Varric set his ale down, and shook his head.

Across the table, Dorian sighed. "What set her off this time, I wonder?"

"Solas. Again. He keeps nagging her about her elven heritage."

"Well," Dorian hesitated, "she is an elf."

"She's also just a kid. And an orphan at that." He added, in Solas's voice; "you must learn the language of your ancestors! Your grandmother; your grandmother in law-"

Dorian chuckled. "Fair. Kid, though?"

"If she's older than 19, I'm Andraste's left tit." He eyed Dorian, daring him to comment.

Instead, the mage smiled.

The earplugs had definitely not been an overreaction.

When you said their language was musical, Kira signed to Jadzia, I thought you meant metaphorically.

One of the many-colored aliens, whose name was a long and complex melody in three-parts harmony, sang a greeting. Nope, Jadzia signed. This is why we put them in a sound proofed room..

And why they asked specifically for officers who speak universal sign to attend..

Jadzia grinned, grabbing a drink from a passing tray.

I like it, Kira said, after a moment. With the earplugs, it was soft, almost flowing. A river, washing over her.

There it was. The last onion in the universe.

Lister prodded it with the tip of his finger. He felt like he should be feeling the weight of the moment; perhaps even a bit of ennui or loss - but all he felt was hungry.

"Right, then..."

It didn't take long to slice it all up, and the airfryer was a very fast and efficient model. His first - and the universe's last - portion of onion bajis were done.

They were delicious. Maybe they shouldn't have been. Maybe he shouldn't have licked his fingers either, but he did. That was the end.

Does she even have a heart anymore?

It's not something V really thinks about - who thinks about their internal organs on a daily basis? But, well. It's a fair question.

So much of her has been replaced or converted into new, emerging architecture. Something pumps her blood; there is circulation. There is a pulse for the ripperdocs to monitor and mutter, glibly; why isn't she dead yet?

Her brain is intact, more or less; she's paranoid about that for reasons she can't quite pinpoint.

But the only way time she knows she has a heart is when Johnny breaks it.

"How do I look, sir?"

There was no discernable difference in Kryten's appearance, but Lister considered his answer carefully. "Better than ever, Krytes. Ye're gonna nail that recertification test."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence, sir."

"How many have you done, now?"

"Oh," Kryen waved a hand, "I stopped counting after seventy thousand."

"Why bother? We killed your replacement and all; no one's gonna recall ye."

"It's the principle of the thing," Kryten huffed. "Here we go!"

Closing his eyes, Kryten vibrated for a second, then beamed. "I passed! Oh sir, I'm so relieved!"

Slowly, Lister grinned. "Never doubted ya."

The shadow curse was not doing it for Astarion. First the Underdark, then just as he'd expected precious daylight again... this.

Ahead of him, the others huddled around their single torch. If only they hadn't sold off the half dozen or so they'd collected, but at least they'd gotten new armor out of it... he paused.

It was not unusual for magical armor to be rigged to allow their wearers access to spells. Astarion prodded its aura with his mind - oh! Just the thing.

Shadowheart barely managed a frantic "no" before the sunbeam hit the entire party in the face.

Julian ran into the café and threw himself across Jadzia's table, eyes wild. "Do you speak Ferrengi?"

"Good morning to you, too!"

"Sorry," he wheezed, "it's important. I overheard Quark talking to Garak about his silent partner."

Jadzia frowned. "Like... business partner?"

"Yes! That's what Quark said, I think. I can't be sure; the universal translator gave me a target language conflict error." He lowered his voice. "Apparently, they're right here on this station."

"Uh, sure, I know a little..." Julian handed her the translator log, and Jadzia burst out laughing.

"Well?"

"Julian... that's Ferrengi slang for intimate male companion."

The screen flickered, giving Shepard half a second of false hope before the next picture appeared. She swallowed a groan, glancing over at Garrus. That semi angular bone helping his face betray nothing was called a vaehex. She hated that she knew that now.

"Next: Capular horn," Mordin continued, eagerly. "Very important! Helps Turians protect liver, also lungs."

Space, someone save her.

Another slide. "Heartbone. Name difficult for humans to pronounce. Rough translation-"

"Horn," Shepard sighed. "Something, something horn, right?"

Mordin frowned. "Funny. But remember: do not break." He eyed Garrus meaningfully. Could an exoskeleton blush? Mordin coughed, meaningfully. "Again."

The room smelled like a damp basement, and not in a good way. Quark shifted in his chair; the back was too straight for comfort, undoubtedly by design.

"I shouldn't be here!" He glared at the tray the demurely naked attendant was holding.

"It's all natural" the attendant wiggled the tray, her bangles jangling, "Kelda bark."

"It's just tradition." The doctor had entered behind him. Quark resisted the urge to turn and look. "Not to worry; we're a science based treatment facility."

"This is some sort of mistake!"

"Just relax. We'll have this... generosity of yours cured in no time."

"What in the Maker's name were you thinking?"

The two shadowed figures seemed to shuffle further into the darkness. "Lady Pentaghast - you asked us to find the dwarf. We-"

"You," Cassandra interrupted, "decided to kidnap a powerful member of the Merchant's Guild, thus eliminating any last trace of the Chantry's favor with them!"

"My Lady, it is an open secret that the two are lovers. We would use her to lure-"

"Andraste's grace," Cassandra snapped, "did you consider that attempting to kidnap the inventor of the repeating crossbow might get you shot?"

Fools. She would have to do this herself.

He'd always known it was up there, in theory. There were the solarium levels, for one, but the deeper implications hereof; that the sunlight came from somewhere, much less the nature of that somewhere did not bear contemplating.

Knowing, however, changed all of that.

Lije had seen the sun, not through the safe, dull refraction of upper-level quartz, but naked, without protection. And beyond that still, across endless and terrifying nothingness... was Daneel.

Across the breakfast table (such unimaginable luxury), Jessie looked at him askew. "Something on your mind?"

Lips twitching, Lije shrugged. "Sorry. Got my head in the clouds."

Rimmer curled his toes. They were not really his toes, he reminded himself; not flesh and blood, which was what counted. You're still not real. "Explain it to me again."

"I changed your mode of projection, but I could not change your core processing unit without effectively killing you. You will need to train your brain to recognize new output."

Rimmer glanced at the book on his bedside table. 1001 Massage Techniques For Holographic Lovers, it proclaimed, in glaring letters.

"Sorry about that, it was the only thing available in the library."

Rimmer flexed his fingers. Not real either. "Fine."

Kim Kitsuragi does not dance.

This is not for lack of trying, a fact he suspects would surprise Detective Du Bois. But after all, he muses, the anodic dance music filling the air around him like early morning fog, they are of an age. One does not have to have been of Disco to remember it.

"Kim!"

Detective Du Bois is glowing in the half light of the church, moving like the music does not, around and with Kim simultaneously.

"Come on!"

His expression is... different. Kim smiles in return, and slowly, bobs his head in time to the beat.

"Why does it have a name?" Taash narrowed their eyes, staring at the broken crossbow. "I don't even really get why people have names. And weapons aren't people."

Lace sighed. "He named it after someone." She was saying too much. Taash had a way of making her do that. "It's not important, okay?" The sound when her string broke; like a wounded violin. The swan song of a legend. How could she remember? She couldn't possibly have heard.

"Hey," Taash frowned, taking her hand. "I want to understand."

She knew they did. It was part of why she loved them.

The residents of vault 100 smiled gently to one another as they entered the common room. Everything was ready; desks stocked with fresh paper, the robots with laden trays of snacks and drinks; pencils sharpened. And there, on the wall, the calendar.

It was time.

One by one, they seated themselves. Not all at once; some had arrived hours ago, others at the last minute.

When the countdown began, only some of the youngest panicked; picking up the pace, their legs twitching. But the old timers smiled. They knew their history.

April would come again.

The drabbles would be written.

Grey dust covered every inch of Starbug's dining table. Lister leaned down to inspect his work, then continued pouring from the container, using his hands to spread it out evenly.

"Sir?" Kryten froze in the doorway.

"Look what I found in the captain's quarters of that derelict! Some advanced tech stuff. Dunno what it is, they spelled it weirdly," he held the container up, "but I'm gonna find out."

Kryten coughed. "Two things, sir."

"Oh, eh?"

"Firstly, that is not a mis-spelling. It's Czech. Biootec, not biotech."

"Yeah? What's the other thing?"

"That's the remains of the Captain's biological father."

Lister leaned against the wall, giving a prefunctory nod here and there as Kryten droned on.

"...and of course, he's still in there. Technically speaking."

Lister glanced up. "Who?"

"Mr. Rimmer, sir. There's a back-up of his personality construct on this auxiliary soft-light bee. Which, as I said, makes it somewhat unethical to recycle-"

"Hang on! Rimmer is in there?"

"Only technically, sir. It's a safeguard in case of power failure; highly compressed. Starbug doesn't have the computing power to unpack it."

"But he's there. Like," Lister frowned, "sleeping?"

"Oh no, sir," Kryten said as Lister's eyes widened, "fully conscious."

"Is this going to be one of those 'time is a river' arguments?" Captain Sisko leaned forward in his chair.

"No," the temporal agent said. "We hear a lot of those."

The other agent nodded. "None of them are valid."

Sisko shrugged. "You're the experts. Explain it to me, then: Why is Deep Space Nine a..." he enunciated carefully, "Time Convergence Area?"

"A TCA is cross-temporal point in the chrono-matrix which is both stable, and the terminus of several-" the agents exchanged glances.

"...streams?" Sisko suggested.

"It's not a river."

"In short: Weird things happen here."

The agents nodded, slowly.

Já nerozumíte český
Ale mojí slovo jé mnoho a hezký:
Medvěd, strom, hrad a moře
Ulice, sůl, pepř a vaše
Kočka, prase a pomeranč
Jablka, ona, co a vlk
Nevidi, pavouk a hrušky
Holky, velcí, zvláštní, muži
Ano, není, dobře maso
Vejce, dítě, staré, prase

Knihy, nové, auto, věc
Ah! Česká já nenávidět!

Ne, miluji to, ale yak?
Český, Česká? Kde? Kdo? Ack!

Rozumíte český? Ne.
Mnoho slovo. Černá, tvé
Tři, oříšky, popelku
Ne, ne, velký strom, děkuji

Mnoho slově,
Já nevidím
Český kde existovat?

Tady trika nenosime
Máš hezké oblečení

Vidí - jsem básník
(Ale ne červení trpaslík)

100 slovo!

I'll show him, Lister thought. Saying you can't just make wine on a random fertile planetoid. Wine was grapes, wasn't it? Or apples, whatever; Petersen bough a bottle of something made of rice once, on shore leave on Miranda.

Using chillies might be pushing it though.

Grunting, his face a mask of determination, Lister secured the last vine to the wooden supports he'd set down, and took a step back.

"Take that, Rimmer!" He folded his arms, grinning. "You need a varrrriety of grraapes; you need brains and skill," he whined in Rimmer's voice.

The chilli ranks did not respond.

"So what you're telling me," Garak leaned across the table, eager eyes unreadable, "is that they're not married."

"Jake and Nog?" Julian frowned. "No, they're friends."

"Friends." Garak appeared to taste the word. "Yes. The universal translator struggles with this word, I think. No term in Cardassian really fits, depending on context."

"You don't have a word for..." Julian struggled to elaborate, "companion? Social bonds that aren't familial?"

"On the contrary; we have more than 700. In fact, a young Cardassian who does not cultivate a varied social circle is..."

Julian nodded for him to continue, but Garak just shrugged.

It was a lush, green planet, more than Lister would have expected. Though at least that made sense; with water, there could be life.

What puzzled him were the birds.

There might have been other animals there, but the birds were impossible to miss. They held their distance, circling above them. Cat would stop now and then to sniff the air, and glance up. "I don't get it," he said, "There's something off.

Later, of course, Rimmer explained everything. How there was only his DNA to work with. How he'd tried and failed.

What had been hiding in the woods?

She hadn't even thought about the shoes.

Kochanski sat in the middle of her room, such as it was, and looked at her feet. She wasn't a particularly small woman, but she wasn't that tall, either. Her feet, however, were broad in the places they should be thin, and the other way around, and poked out at the wrong angles.

Maybe, with the spare light bees unused, she could project... no, that would make her think of Dave.

She'd never find a new pair, not in this dimension, and when her work boots wore out... what other boots would work?

There were no casinos on Solaria. Such a thing would be considered both perverse - crowds of people - and absurd. What point was there to gambling in a world where all needs were met?

Still, Spacers apparently played cards. Lije had discovered an ornate deck in his enormous bedroom, and was finishing a game against a near-featureless house robot when Daneel entered.

"I win again," Lije chuckled.

"It will win, if you ask it to," Daneel said.

"That's not-"

"If it pleases you," Daneel suggested, "we could play."

Would that make a difference? Lije glanced at his hand. "Pair of hearts."

"Our children", Worf whispered in her ear, "will be glorious."

"Okay," Jadzia yawned, fighting the remnants of sleep, "settle down. This is only our third real date. The holodeck doesn't count."

"I will teach them the traditions of their ancestors, so that they may stand with pride among the generation born in the stars."

"Too early," she muttered into her pillow.

"You are not taking this seriously."

"Okay, fine. I'm sure whatever children you-"

"You and I."

"-I know you'll raise them to be proud Klingons."

"Borscht."

"...what?"

"My mother's recipe. It must be honored."

Jazia went back to sleep.

"We need to have a conversation."

Kryten didn't look up when Lister entered Starbug's kitchen, though he seemed to be drying the dishes more frantically. "Conversation, sir?"

"That thing you said earlier, about the Nova 5 not being the only assignment you were on where everyone died."

"Oh." His glove-like hands were a blur, now. "Did I mention that?"

"I looked it up in that news-wiki we downloaded on the last derelict. There are 200 all-crew fatalities reported where your name is mentioned."

"It's a common name!"

"2X4B-523P?"

Kryten sighed. "It's a... known issue with the X4B-series. We're accident prone."

Ariadne Oliver did not like her own books. It was like children, she reflected; you could feel pride for them or even affection, but you didn't like them. The fact that other people did, rather unsettled her.

"I adore your Sven Hjerson stories," a young woman chirped at her across the signing table, and Mrs. Oliver muttered vaguely in response.

"I'm not enjoying this," she whispered to her publisher between signatures.

"They're your fans," he admonished, "deal with it."

What she would do, she thought, was put this entire experience her next book. There was enough for a whole chapter.

That had been the agreement between them, from day one: One man, one vote.

Lister had been the first to point out the flaw in using this system as a population of two, but Rimmer didn't care. He could hear him, sniggering as Lister attempted to squeeze the last bit of toothpaste out of their communal and aging tube.

"You were the one insisting on vanilla." That nasal whine. "Much shorter shelf-life than mint."

"Mint makes my mouth itch." There was no one there. Not really. Rimmer was long gone, off Acing. Just him now; one man, one voice.

Mostly.

The room might once have been a winter garden, but now the glass walls were all darkened with what was either tar or centuries of grime. The floor was overflowing with greenery in name only.

"Welcome to my sex garden!" Nadja grinned, gesturing eagerly to a thin, purple flower. "This is Old Woman's Ear."

"Salvia verticillata." Lazlo nodded. "Grandmother's ear, we called it."

"Yes, your village was very stupid," Nadja interjected. "Over here, we have Worm's Balls, Cock's Fresh-"

"And you make aphrodisiac potions here?"

Nadja frowned. "No. I have sex here."

"Speaking of..." Lazlo winked.

The camera panned away.

"I'll bet you're not used to these, huh?" The young man had two left eyes. She knew it was impolite to stare, but what else could she do? It was already watching her.

"I'm sorry," she said, finally, realizing he'd asked something. "What?"

"We call them windows," he said, speaking slowly. "They let us see outside our houses. The fancy kind has glass in 'em."

"We have windows in the vault."

The boy frowned. "Underground? How come?"

"So we can see outside our houses."

"Into what?"

The idea froze her, but not before the mini-nuke threw her out the window.

"Honestly, I'm disappointed."

Lister did a double take at the voice, followed by a triple take when he saw Holly's face. "Oi," he leaned against the navicomp, "didn't you say you were definitely, definitely male?"

"Did I?" Holly frowned, her hair bobbing gently. "I'm not male or female, am I? I'm a computer. Anyway, all those years I was gone, you never once thought to call tech support."

"We're in deep space!"

Holly shrugged. "You could've made an effort."

"Hey, at least I didn't joke about computers being binary." He grinned. "That took effort!"

"I've missed you, Dave." She beamed.

"The apple business, that was something, wasn't it?" Crowley took another sip of wine, and swirled the remainder around in his glass.

Aziraphale did that thing with his lower lip that meant he was considering whether or not to be nervous. "I was there too, you know."

"Yeah, but you're not the one She set up to do it."

Now his eyebrow was twitching, too. "She? You were the-"

"Come on, you're not that stupidly loyal. She meant for that to happen."

"She... I mean..." Aziraphale grew quiet.

"Just think about it." Crowley sipped again, slowly.

He'd get it, eventually.

It's not what she was expecting, any of this. She's heard about the desert, of course; in essence, it's just sand. Sand is fine. Sand is normal. Beaches have sand - she knows this, even if she's never been to one. It looks different in movies, but of course, they're black and white.

It's the little things. Literally. A hair dryer basks in the sun. A hair tie hangs on a discarded bicycle, dropping like fruit from the handlebars.

Her feet sink into the ground for every step. But she keeps taking them. One by one.

She's not quite there yet.