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Re: [OAFs] Re: The night of the bugs.

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  • Richard Harding
    The Night of the Bugs A play in four parts by Lotta Deet It was a not-so-dark and hazy night! Chad paused at the door peering expectantly at the sky. Don t
    Message 1 of 10 , Jul 1 11:08 AM
      The Night of the Bugs
      A play in four parts by Lotta Deet

      It was a not-so-dark and hazy night! Chad paused at the door peering expectantly at the sky. "Don't go Chad!!" pleaded his wife Lucretia. "No good can come of such a night"! "No Lucretia....I have to go....the boys are counting on me"! "Damn the boys!! Let them find Comet Linear without your goto!! Do they have not have charts!? Do they have not recent copies of Sky and Tel!?!?" she exclaimed as she clutched him to her ample upper body parts (PC101). "The skies are awhirl with the blood sucking children of the night"!

      TO BE COMPLETED BY OTHER OAFs

      Richard
    • r.prevost@home.com
      ... ( Part II ) The Summonning Paw, you gotta see this! hollered Jeb Galoot. There s some kinda car convoy heading up to Carty s abandoned house. His
      Message 2 of 10 , Jul 1 4:16 PM
        --- In OAFs@y..., Richard Harding <rharding@i...> wrote:
        > The Night of the Bugs
        > A play in four parts by Lotta Deet

        ( Part II ) The Summonning

        "Paw, you gotta see this!" hollered Jeb Galoot. "There's some kinda
        car convoy heading up to Carty's abandoned house."

        His father came to stand by Jeb, to stare silently out the dirty
        windowpanes through his squinty eyelids. After a few moments, he
        grunted his displeasure.

        "They never seems to learn none, do they Jeb?" he said, frustrated,
        which followed by a sigh. "Guess we'll have to send out the welcome
        committee agin."

        Maw, as usual, had been sitting quietly in her rocker, taking this all
        in. She knew better than to add her two cents worth when her husband
        was in a foul mood 'bout anything. But when she heard the words
        "welcome committee" she knew that was her cue, so she got up and
        walked over the woodstove.

        "Jeb, could'ja fetch the big iron pot?" she nearly whispered.

        "Right away, Maw!" replied Jeb, eager to get some fun at the expense
        of these unwelcome visitors on the hill. Paw stuffed his old bone
        pipe and lit it, taking a few puffs before saying, with some degree of
        satisfaction. "Only a matter of time a'fore they gits the message
        too."

        Maw had always had this pretty strange affinity with all the creepy
        crawly things of the earth. It was something passed on in her family.
        She's had no daughters, so the "gift" would end with her. The pot
        and the awful smelling stuff she's put in it were just a show she put
        on for the men. They felt better thinking that it was a potion and
        not a super natch'ral gift. Anyway, this might well be one of the
        last times he gift would be used.

        "You gonna call up the bugs agin, right Maw?" asked an eager Jeb
        acting like his favorite radio hour was about to begin.

        "Yeah... I'll summon up all the crawly critters. Them `visitors'
        don't stand a chance in hades."

        And with that she began to boil the water for her cover. In fact, she
        was reaching out with her senses, and affecting the awareness of
        500,000 mosquitos, from about one mile around. It would take some of
        them a few hours to make the journey, but they'd be ready just after
        sunset. She could feel their mindless insect bloodlust, and she could
        lead them by it to their unaware prey. She would also partake of the
        insects' lust and satisfaction. She smiled with strange perverse
        anticipation.

        END OF PART TWO
        Someone else wanna take a "stab" at it?
      • Attilla Danko
        Part III: Attack Mode. CN-251 grimly sensed her glycogen reserves getting lower. The wind blew hard. She reconfigured her landing gear to grip more tightly the
        Message 3 of 10 , Jul 1 11:05 PM
          Part III: Attack Mode.

          CN-251 grimly sensed her glycogen reserves getting lower.
          The wind blew hard. She reconfigured her landing gear
          to grip more tightly the body of the light eater. It swayed.
          She applied all of her sensory processing power into detecting
          the tinyiest whiff of carbon dioxide. Nothing. She concentrated.
          Patterns formed then vanished as she strained to
          make sense of random sensor noise.

          But it was only noise.

          No declicious CO2. No uplifting CO2. No CO2 to make her attack
          mode come to life. No CO2 to make her lift engines sing.

          She carried the genes to make a hundred thousand daughters.
          She could anticipate that glory, but she was starving.

          The universe is not fair.

          Well, at least the air was not too dry to run her flight
          systems. But there was nothing to fly to. She set her self
          for power conservation mode and waited.

          A buzz disturbed her reverie. Her sister CN-2401 was reconfiguring
          her sensors for hunt mode. Hunt mode? But there was no CO2. Whats the point
          of sensing for water vapor gradients if there is no CO2? Then
          CD-5499 did the same. Confusion. She recallibrated her CO2 sensor
          array. Still nothing. A low thrumming shook her as CN-2401 engaged
          her lift engines and began a vertical acent. A moment later CD5499
          engaged and lifted off too. Sisters all around here were powering
          up their flight systems. They began to lift off in waves. The air
          was with their engine sounds. Absurdity!

          She was still diagnosing her CO2 sensor array. When it hit her.

          Her brain was on fire. Her nervous system drenched with neurotransmitters.
          Her sensor array came to life of its own accord. But the infrared was
          blank and the water vapor gradients were zero. It didnt seem to matter.
          IR gain set it self to high and she felt herself configuring her landing
          gear for launch. It was power and it was joy. It was wonderful in a
          sickly wrong way. But she could almost feel her future daughers being
          hatched. It was insanity. But she didnt wait for the insanity to configure
          her flight mode. She did that herself. Her lift engines came to
          life with a thrum more powerful that she could have belived on her
          low glycogen supply.

          She climbled powerfully into the sky. The shafts of light eaters fell
          rapidy behind her. She wheeled around and set course as if she
          had target lock. But her infrared was dead. H2O gradients dead.
          She just didnt care about the CO2 any more.

          The wind was fierce. The tuburlence knocker her sideways. She
          narrowly missed CD-62051. Air velocities were well outside her
          design evelope. She consumed glycogen at a prodigious rate.
          By all rights she should be heading for cover.
          But she flew on. Into the horrible wind.

          Behind her, wave after wave of her sisters arose. By the hundreds.
          By the hundred thousands. All on the same bearing.
          All flying with dead sensors. All locked on a flight bearing
          towards nothing. All desparate to lock onto a real target.
          All too giddy, too hungry to care.

          She flew on an on. A thousand wing lengths. Then another thousand.
          The turbulence grew stronger. Another thousand.
          This was beyond sense. Beyond what evolution had tuned her
          flight systems for. But the elation stayed wither her. Far more
          delicious than CO2. Far more exciting. A hundred thousand of
          her sisters flew with her. Flight engines at maximum effort.
          Sensor arrays blank.

          Twenty three thousand insane wing lengths later she flew low
          over a hummock of light eaters. In the distance rose an infrared
          glow. It grew bigger as she apparched. It was huge. Far larger
          than any target she had tracked before. It glowed hot against
          the cool infrared sky.

          Then her attack array detected water vapor. No, not merely "detect".
          She was awash. The target was enourmous and venting unimaginable
          quantities of water vapor. The target was too big, she needed
          terminal guidance. She powered her octenol and fatty-acid
          sensor array. She was nearly overwhelemed with the signal.
          Her sensors were saturating. This target was enormous and
          juicy beyong imagining.

          She flew up. Below her, her sisters were landing and configuring themselves
          to drill. There where hundreds attacking. But the target could feed a hundred
          thousand. There would be food for all.

          But in her rear IR vision, she could see a white-hot mass approching
          at high speed. It was a hundred wingbeats wide. It zoomed toward her
          dilling sisters. They saw the demon approach. Closer. Closer.
          It crashed upon her sisters maiming and crushing a dozen. Precious
          food spurted from the ruptured cargo bays of her siblings.

          There was nothing she could do. Nothing, but attack.

          She flew up.

          In the distance she could her her sisters dying. Some could not
          land because chemical weapons had fouled their terminal
          guidance systems. Others were being crushed by fast moving things
          that were bright in the infrared.

          She had to ignore the threat. This was her only chance to attack
          and find food. Her only chance to carry the precious genes she
          carried to their destiny.

          She flew up. She skimmed the vertical surface of the vast target.
          Octenol readings were too high to be useful. She re-callibrated her
          water vapor gradient sensor to *reduce* sensitivity. Then she could
          sense the top of the target. The flew over the hemispherical surface,
          skimming the enourmous dome. There in the center, undefended by
          protien spears, she landed.

          It was a curious surface. It was covered with criss-crossed ropes
          of some tasteless polymer. She configured her landing gear for drilling.
          But, the ropes shifted and she launched into the air. She heard the coms-
          traffic of countless numbers of her sisters advising each other to land
          when the rope net was still and flat. She waited.

          The dome below her moved up behind a giant shadow. The shadow thing
          was dark in the infrared. The dome held it self very still, just
          touching a dark cylinder of some sort. It was an unnatural pause.

          Never mind. She saw her chance and dove for the surface. Her landing
          gear was already in grapple mode and her salivary glands were
          pumping as she hit the surface. She powered her drill engine. With
          a wonderfull feeling of power, her drill sank into the keratin
          surface of the dome-target. Her anticipation swelled.

          Then she broke though into the food layer! She pumped anticouagulent
          furiously. One hundred and twenty five nano liters. It was all she
          could muster. Then she began pumping out food.

          It was wonderful. It was so real, so tasty, so full of protein
          and glycogen, so full of the voices of her unborn daughers.

          She had pumped a microliter when she caught a glimpse of that bright
          infrared thing that had crushed her sisters. She kept pumping. If she
          stopped, she would never lay eggs and her descendants would never
          be. She needed three whole micoliters or she would be unworthy of
          150 million years of evolution. If she was still drilling when the
          infrared-bright thing came, the universe would be as if
          she had never been hatched.

          She *pumped*.

          ...

          One and a half microliters. The bright thing turned. Her sisters began
          to land around her.

          Two microliters. The bright thing was closing. Her hull plates began
          to creak and slide apart as her food overfilled her fuselage.

          Two and a half microliters. The bright thing crashed onto the
          dome fifty wing lengths away.

          She *pumped*.

          The bright thing swept towards her. It crushed CN-54041. CN-561211
          attempted emergency takeoff, but couldnt extract her drill. She was
          maimed horribly.

          The bright maimer swept closer.

          Three microliters! She hastily withdrew her drill. She snapped it
          back into its sheath with a twang just as her lift engines began
          to thrum. She attempted take off.

          She was heavy. She lifted slowly... so slowly. The
          bright maimer swept closer and closer and swept just below
          her. She detected octenol traces as the tubulence spun her over.
          It was some kind of counter-attacking target.

          No matter. She had her precious cargo. She powered down her
          sensor array. She would need all her glycogen to run her
          flight systems. The temptation to stop and savor her sweet
          cargo was great, but she flew on, sure in the knowlege
          that a hundred thousand Children of the Night
          would rise to follow her.

          The universe was hers.
        • Richard Harding
          I am in awe....I have been humbled by the master.....I am not worthy!!!! Wow Attilla!! Good stuff that switch to the other side . However, write 5 volumes,
          Message 4 of 10 , Jul 2 3:52 AM
            I am in awe....I have been humbled by the master.....I am not worthy!!!!
            Wow Attilla!! Good stuff that switch to the "other side". However, write 5 volumes, and I will still feel no pity.....Nuke'em all!!!
            Ahem.....Mike and Ziggy....Rob...??? I am dying to hear what happens to Chad, Lucretia, Ma, Pa,.....Snidely Whiplash.....

            Sir Richard

            ps. "I smell a Pulitzer"
          • r.prevost@home.com
            Very, very nice indeed, Attilla! Perfect, dead on, mood. Wow, nicely modulated!! :- ... the point ... neurotransmitters. ... was ... matter. ... landing ...
            Message 5 of 10 , Jul 2 6:11 AM
              Very, very nice indeed, Attilla! Perfect, dead on, mood. Wow,
              nicely modulated!! :->

              --- In OAFs@y..., "Attilla Danko" <attilla.danko@s...> wrote:
              > Part III: Attack Mode.
              >
              > CN-251 grimly sensed her glycogen reserves getting lower.
              > The wind blew hard. She reconfigured her landing gear
              > to grip more tightly the body of the light eater. It swayed.
              > She applied all of her sensory processing power into detecting
              > the tinyiest whiff of carbon dioxide. Nothing. She concentrated.
              > Patterns formed then vanished as she strained to
              > make sense of random sensor noise.
              >
              > But it was only noise.
              >
              > No declicious CO2. No uplifting CO2. No CO2 to make her attack
              > mode come to life. No CO2 to make her lift engines sing.
              >
              > She carried the genes to make a hundred thousand daughters.
              > She could anticipate that glory, but she was starving.
              >
              > The universe is not fair.
              >
              > Well, at least the air was not too dry to run her flight
              > systems. But there was nothing to fly to. She set her self
              > for power conservation mode and waited.
              >
              > A buzz disturbed her reverie. Her sister CN-2401 was reconfiguring
              > her sensors for hunt mode. Hunt mode? But there was no CO2. Whats
              the point
              > of sensing for water vapor gradients if there is no CO2? Then
              > CD-5499 did the same. Confusion. She recallibrated her CO2 sensor
              > array. Still nothing. A low thrumming shook her as CN-2401 engaged
              > her lift engines and began a vertical acent. A moment later CD5499
              > engaged and lifted off too. Sisters all around here were powering
              > up their flight systems. They began to lift off in waves. The air
              > was with their engine sounds. Absurdity!
              >
              > She was still diagnosing her CO2 sensor array. When it hit her.
              >
              > Her brain was on fire. Her nervous system drenched with
              neurotransmitters.
              > Her sensor array came to life of its own accord. But the infrared
              was
              > blank and the water vapor gradients were zero. It didnt seem to
              matter.
              > IR gain set it self to high and she felt herself configuring her
              landing
              > gear for launch. It was power and it was joy. It was wonderful in a
              > sickly wrong way. But she could almost feel her future daughers
              being
              > hatched. It was insanity. But she didnt wait for the insanity to
              configure
              > her flight mode. She did that herself. Her lift engines came to
              > life with a thrum more powerful that she could have belived on her
              > low glycogen supply.
              >
              > She climbled powerfully into the sky. The shafts of light eaters
              fell
              > rapidy behind her. She wheeled around and set course as if she
              > had target lock. But her infrared was dead. H2O gradients dead.
              > She just didnt care about the CO2 any more.
              >
              > The wind was fierce. The tuburlence knocker her sideways. She
              > narrowly missed CD-62051. Air velocities were well outside her
              > design evelope. She consumed glycogen at a prodigious rate.
              > By all rights she should be heading for cover.
              > But she flew on. Into the horrible wind.
              >
              > Behind her, wave after wave of her sisters arose. By the hundreds.
              > By the hundred thousands. All on the same bearing.
              > All flying with dead sensors. All locked on a flight bearing
              > towards nothing. All desparate to lock onto a real target.
              > All too giddy, too hungry to care.
              >
              > She flew on an on. A thousand wing lengths. Then another thousand.
              > The turbulence grew stronger. Another thousand.
              > This was beyond sense. Beyond what evolution had tuned her
              > flight systems for. But the elation stayed wither her. Far more
              > delicious than CO2. Far more exciting. A hundred thousand of
              > her sisters flew with her. Flight engines at maximum effort.
              > Sensor arrays blank.
              >
              > Twenty three thousand insane wing lengths later she flew low
              > over a hummock of light eaters. In the distance rose an infrared
              > glow. It grew bigger as she apparched. It was huge. Far larger
              > than any target she had tracked before. It glowed hot against
              > the cool infrared sky.
              >
              > Then her attack array detected water vapor. No, not merely "detect".
              > She was awash. The target was enourmous and venting unimaginable
              > quantities of water vapor. The target was too big, she needed
              > terminal guidance. She powered her octenol and fatty-acid
              > sensor array. She was nearly overwhelemed with the signal.
              > Her sensors were saturating. This target was enormous and
              > juicy beyong imagining.
              >
              > She flew up. Below her, her sisters were landing and configuring
              themselves
              > to drill. There where hundreds attacking. But the target could feed
              a hundred
              > thousand. There would be food for all.
              >
              > But in her rear IR vision, she could see a white-hot mass approching
              > at high speed. It was a hundred wingbeats wide. It zoomed toward her
              > dilling sisters. They saw the demon approach. Closer. Closer.
              > It crashed upon her sisters maiming and crushing a dozen. Precious
              > food spurted from the ruptured cargo bays of her siblings.
              >
              > There was nothing she could do. Nothing, but attack.
              >
              > She flew up.
              >
              > In the distance she could her her sisters dying. Some could not
              > land because chemical weapons had fouled their terminal
              > guidance systems. Others were being crushed by fast moving things
              > that were bright in the infrared.
              >
              > She had to ignore the threat. This was her only chance to attack
              > and find food. Her only chance to carry the precious genes she
              > carried to their destiny.
              >
              > She flew up. She skimmed the vertical surface of the vast target.
              > Octenol readings were too high to be useful. She re-callibrated her
              > water vapor gradient sensor to *reduce* sensitivity. Then she could
              > sense the top of the target. The flew over the hemispherical
              surface,
              > skimming the enourmous dome. There in the center, undefended by
              > protien spears, she landed.
              >
              > It was a curious surface. It was covered with criss-crossed ropes
              > of some tasteless polymer. She configured her landing gear for
              drilling.
              > But, the ropes shifted and she launched into the air. She heard the
              coms-
              > traffic of countless numbers of her sisters advising each other to
              land
              > when the rope net was still and flat. She waited.
              >
              > The dome below her moved up behind a giant shadow. The shadow thing
              > was dark in the infrared. The dome held it self very still, just
              > touching a dark cylinder of some sort. It was an unnatural pause.
              >
              > Never mind. She saw her chance and dove for the surface. Her landing
              > gear was already in grapple mode and her salivary glands were
              > pumping as she hit the surface. She powered her drill engine. With
              > a wonderfull feeling of power, her drill sank into the keratin
              > surface of the dome-target. Her anticipation swelled.
              >
              > Then she broke though into the food layer! She pumped anticouagulent
              > furiously. One hundred and twenty five nano liters. It was all she
              > could muster. Then she began pumping out food.
              >
              > It was wonderful. It was so real, so tasty, so full of protein
              > and glycogen, so full of the voices of her unborn daughers.
              >
              > She had pumped a microliter when she caught a glimpse of that bright
              > infrared thing that had crushed her sisters. She kept pumping. If
              she
              > stopped, she would never lay eggs and her descendants would never
              > be. She needed three whole micoliters or she would be unworthy of
              > 150 million years of evolution. If she was still drilling when the
              > infrared-bright thing came, the universe would be as if
              > she had never been hatched.
              >
              > She *pumped*.
              >
              > ...
              >
              > One and a half microliters. The bright thing turned. Her sisters
              began
              > to land around her.
              >
              > Two microliters. The bright thing was closing. Her hull plates began
              > to creak and slide apart as her food overfilled her fuselage.
              >
              > Two and a half microliters. The bright thing crashed onto the
              > dome fifty wing lengths away.
              >
              > She *pumped*.
              >
              > The bright thing swept towards her. It crushed CN-54041. CN-561211
              > attempted emergency takeoff, but couldnt extract her drill. She was
              > maimed horribly.
              >
              > The bright maimer swept closer.
              >
              > Three microliters! She hastily withdrew her drill. She snapped it
              > back into its sheath with a twang just as her lift engines began
              > to thrum. She attempted take off.
              >
              > She was heavy. She lifted slowly... so slowly. The
              > bright maimer swept closer and closer and swept just below
              > her. She detected octenol traces as the tubulence spun her over.
              > It was some kind of counter-attacking target.
              >
              > No matter. She had her precious cargo. She powered down her
              > sensor array. She would need all her glycogen to run her
              > flight systems. The temptation to stop and savor her sweet
              > cargo was great, but she flew on, sure in the knowlege
              > that a hundred thousand Children of the Night
              > would rise to follow her.
              >
              > The universe was hers.
            • attilla.danko@sympatico.ca
              ... Amusing and very well writen. I especially liked the SF angle. I hope other OAFS will forgive us sucumming to an off topic thread. -ad
              Message 6 of 10 , Jul 2 5:38 PM
                --- In OAFs@y..., r.prevost@h... wrote:
                > --- In OAFs@y..., Richard Harding <rharding@i...> wrote:
                > > The Night of the Bugs
                > > A play in four parts by Lotta Deet
                >
                > ( Part II ) The Summonning

                Amusing and very well writen. I especially liked the SF angle.

                I hope other OAFS will forgive us sucumming to an off topic
                thread.

                -ad
              • attilla.danko@sympatico.ca
                ... all!!! ... Sir Richard, I wouldnt want you to think I had any fondness for those little terrible breeding machines. Nuke em all! Ahem. Slighly more
                Message 7 of 10 , Jul 2 5:49 PM
                  --- In OAFs@y..., Richard Harding <rharding@i...> wrote:
                  >However, write 5 volumes, and I will still feel no pity.....Nuke'em
                  all!!!

                  :) thanks.

                  Sir Richard, I wouldnt want you to think I had any fondness for
                  those little terrible breeding machines. Nuke'em all!


                  Ahem. Slighly more on-topic:

                  I'd like to try spraying Permethrin on my bug suit. But Matt and
                  others have mentioned that Permethrin is a no-no in Canada. The
                  only info I can find on the web says that Permethrin is a controlled
                  substance when used as a agricultural pesticide.

                  Anyone know if its legal to import in one-bug-suit quantities?
                  Or how I would find out.

                  -ad
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