Read Online Eejit: A Tale of the Final Fall of Man by Andrew Hindle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andrew Hindle
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implants.
He just didn’t know what to think about that.
“You know as well as I do,” she went on, “if we holed up to lick our wounds, we’d die on that planetoid. It’s the animal instinct, yes, but it’s not in possession of all the facts. It’s not taking into account that we’re in space, that we’re alone, that we have other faculties to fall back on, that we have to keep on flying in the hopes of meeting something that can help us to the next step. In the hopes of getting answers. If we stop swimming, we drown. Parking on a planet would basically mean lying down and dying. This ship is a severely injured animal, yes. But it is a sentient animal.”
“Is that what we’re hoping this is?” Doctor Cratch asked, waving at the foot and the hypothetical agency beyond the ship responsible for hurling it after them as they flew on. “Something that can help us to the next step?”
“We’ll never know if we run away to the nearest planetoid and bare our teeth at anything that comes close.”
“Alright,” he said, and the machinery began to spit out readings and analyses and endless streams of symbols. “So what does any of this mean?”
Janya turned her attention back to the consoles. “Most of it, I don’t know,” she admitted easily, “this is why Westchester and Whitehall are here.”
Westchester had recovered his equilibrium and was now looking into a spectrometer viewpiece with every sign of professional composure. “Indeed,” he said. Cratch had noticed that indeed was one of the words the science eejits used. In particular, Westchester used it as a recovery-word to settle his dominant personality configuration back into place after a docker backflip. Your average dock worker rarely concurred with a hypothesis or opinion by saying indeed . “And I believe this may be something you will find interesting, Doctor Cratch.”
“You can call him Glomulus,” Janya said, “he’s not an accredited doctor.”
“Trained but never certified,” Cratch admitted with a little confessional twiddle of his long fingers. “Technically I’m only a field medic but this is what we’ve got. Anyway, you can call me w–”
“ Glomulus ,” Janya interjected firmly, and lowered her voice. “If you tell him to call you what he likes, you might just push him back over the edge,” she said, “or at the very least towards it again. We’ve noticed that’s precisely the type of creative-process thinking that contributes to his limitation.”
“Well that’s worth keeping in mind,” Cratch said, then spread his hands when Adeneo looked at him narrowly, and added, “so we can keep his brain cool for the actual problem at hand, I mean. Wouldn’t want to say something accidentally that made him spazz out. Particularly if, for example, he was holding something dangerous like a scalpel.”
“Scalpel,” Nurse Wingus Jr. said, and plonked a scalpel – handle-first, thankfully, and deactivated – into Cratch’s outstretched hand. Even so, he suppressed a wince of discomfort.
“Thank you, Nurse Wingus,” he said, “but we’re not playing that game now. We’re playing the Boot Up Those Long Machines Over There game,” he pointed.
“What have you found, Westchester?” Janya said, turning towards the biochemist.
“There are DNA traces here,” Westchester said, keying in a few commands. “I’m securing a sample for closer analysis.”
“Now, there would be quite a lot of Eejit Airlock Maintenance 2-19’s DNA in there, right?” Cratch asked carefully. “I only mention it because it would be human DNA, at least on paper. Able Darko was technically human, so if that’s what you’ve found…”
“To be precise,” Westchester said, “with apologies, I was using a little shorthand. I found two distinct DNA profiles, and naturally assumed one of them would belong to the deceased – or, indeed, to any other able aboard ship. Therefore I have secured samples of both and will disregard
He just didn’t know what to think about that.
“You know as well as I do,” she went on, “if we holed up to lick our wounds, we’d die on that planetoid. It’s the animal instinct, yes, but it’s not in possession of all the facts. It’s not taking into account that we’re in space, that we’re alone, that we have other faculties to fall back on, that we have to keep on flying in the hopes of meeting something that can help us to the next step. In the hopes of getting answers. If we stop swimming, we drown. Parking on a planet would basically mean lying down and dying. This ship is a severely injured animal, yes. But it is a sentient animal.”
“Is that what we’re hoping this is?” Doctor Cratch asked, waving at the foot and the hypothetical agency beyond the ship responsible for hurling it after them as they flew on. “Something that can help us to the next step?”
“We’ll never know if we run away to the nearest planetoid and bare our teeth at anything that comes close.”
“Alright,” he said, and the machinery began to spit out readings and analyses and endless streams of symbols. “So what does any of this mean?”
Janya turned her attention back to the consoles. “Most of it, I don’t know,” she admitted easily, “this is why Westchester and Whitehall are here.”
Westchester had recovered his equilibrium and was now looking into a spectrometer viewpiece with every sign of professional composure. “Indeed,” he said. Cratch had noticed that indeed was one of the words the science eejits used. In particular, Westchester used it as a recovery-word to settle his dominant personality configuration back into place after a docker backflip. Your average dock worker rarely concurred with a hypothesis or opinion by saying indeed . “And I believe this may be something you will find interesting, Doctor Cratch.”
“You can call him Glomulus,” Janya said, “he’s not an accredited doctor.”
“Trained but never certified,” Cratch admitted with a little confessional twiddle of his long fingers. “Technically I’m only a field medic but this is what we’ve got. Anyway, you can call me w–”
“ Glomulus ,” Janya interjected firmly, and lowered her voice. “If you tell him to call you what he likes, you might just push him back over the edge,” she said, “or at the very least towards it again. We’ve noticed that’s precisely the type of creative-process thinking that contributes to his limitation.”
“Well that’s worth keeping in mind,” Cratch said, then spread his hands when Adeneo looked at him narrowly, and added, “so we can keep his brain cool for the actual problem at hand, I mean. Wouldn’t want to say something accidentally that made him spazz out. Particularly if, for example, he was holding something dangerous like a scalpel.”
“Scalpel,” Nurse Wingus Jr. said, and plonked a scalpel – handle-first, thankfully, and deactivated – into Cratch’s outstretched hand. Even so, he suppressed a wince of discomfort.
“Thank you, Nurse Wingus,” he said, “but we’re not playing that game now. We’re playing the Boot Up Those Long Machines Over There game,” he pointed.
“What have you found, Westchester?” Janya said, turning towards the biochemist.
“There are DNA traces here,” Westchester said, keying in a few commands. “I’m securing a sample for closer analysis.”
“Now, there would be quite a lot of Eejit Airlock Maintenance 2-19’s DNA in there, right?” Cratch asked carefully. “I only mention it because it would be human DNA, at least on paper. Able Darko was technically human, so if that’s what you’ve found…”
“To be precise,” Westchester said, “with apologies, I was using a little shorthand. I found two distinct DNA profiles, and naturally assumed one of them would belong to the deceased – or, indeed, to any other able aboard ship. Therefore I have secured samples of both and will disregard
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