Wink of a Car
Dreamed 2009/5/20 by Wayan
THAT DAY
I'm building an alternate Earth called Siphonia, where 90% of our water's been siphoned away, turning continents into plateaus and baring the rugged scenery of our sea-basins. My geekiest art/science project yet!
Today I make regional maps of the South Pacific and northern Anzac regions. Mountains here make an interbasin canal impossible, so I plot the next best thing: the lowest passes over to navigable lake-chains. The same routes look best for flyways too, since the deep ocean basins have air much denser than Earth, and will evolve gliding or flying natives who won't do well in thin-aired heights.
This is geek joy.
Then my poet-friend Patagia calls me in desperation. All her data vanished. She's called six techs in a row, at it for hours. Can't get her data back. A lifetime of writing, gone (she's sloppy about paper backups.)
Or is it? I walk her through searching her hard drives manually. Slowly, patiently... for two hours. And I find what looks like her work. All those techs never recognized it because Patagia's a poet. And poets don't name folders logically. Still... six data recovery pros, all in a row? Sheesh.
Not that FINDING it helps. Her stupid Windows Vista security system won't let her access her own work! Eventually I coax it into COPYING the vital stuff then changing the copied folder's name and characteristics. Now she browses the contents. Intact? Yep, all her work survived. Set up Word so it knows where the copy is... and she's back in business.
I'm shaky, exhausted. Headache. Lie on our deck in the sun, read and rest till I feel a bit better.
In the evening, I return to Siphonia. Can't keep away! Make a map of the Scotia Basin, south of Cape Horn--now an ice-capped highland.
Add paragraphs on air-passes, spots low enough, with air dense enough, for intelligent fliers native to the deep basins to use: Orkney Pass in south Scotia (Atlantic to Pacific), and Amsterdam Pass (between the Davis Sea and the African Ocean, southwest of Australia in our Indian Basin). Fun.
Unlike two hours of nagging a panicky poet into being methodical.
THAT NIGHT
A hostage-taker points an Uzi at a family. To prove he means business, he fires all around them. Only... he blams away so much he runs out of bullets! Well, I'm not surprised. His aura feels damaged--stupid.
He fumbles to reload and I tell the hostages "run now!" and they do--leaving me alone with him.
Notice a red skin rash on his belly and thighs--allergy, infection, mites?
His gun's in my face. But he's still fumbling with the clip, and I'm not sure he even knows how to load it right. Certainly his attention's split. So I grab the barrel and twist it. Say "The barrel is bent now. If you shoot, it'll misfire. Or explode." But I'm bluffing--I'm too weak to bend it.
He says "I'll take the chance" and aims at me... but somehow the mouth is pointing at him! But, but, the barrel's straight, not bent in a U. But, but, but, its mouth is NOT aiming where his grip is... Impossible.
Did I twist space, not metal?
I say "Face it. It's over. Your hostages ran off, your gun's garbage. Chuck it and run. Lie low, act normal and boring and you'll be safe... if you clear out now." We both hear the nearing sirens and choppers. He tosses the gun in the ivy and runs to his car. A tiny electric car. A toy car.
As he hops in, well, on the car, it WINKS at me. It's sentient? Yes. Has a much nicer (and smarter) aura than he does. Off he wobbles atop his toy getaway car like a gunhappy Shriner.
As he goes, I notice he's just sitting, not steering; the car steers. Like an experienced horse taking its stinking-drunk rider home, it's wiser than he is.
I bike off too. Hear a hiss of friction and feel a drag--some strut's fouling the tire a bit. But it works. Fix it later! I really don't want to talk to the cops. Since I can't explain what just happened.
Even though I caused it.
NOTES IN THE MORNING
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