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threeplusfireShe hated the waiting most of all.
The silence of the outpost unnerved her a little, but what truly made her skin crawl was the wind. It made strange, unnatural sounds as it whipped through the rock and over the rattlign metal of the shelter. Exploration being lower on the list of priorities than say, arms production, the outpost was not made of top quality material. She just prayed it would last until her relief arrived.
****
Overnight a storm had kicked up and the wind battered the shelter with stinging, mica-flecked sand. It kept her from sleeping, and so she huddled beneath a sturdy lab bench behind a protective barrier of boxes. It wouldn't really do all that much good if the wind ripped her metal home open, but something was better than nothing. She was not the type to lay down and die, no matter how much she might want to at the time.
****
At some point, she drifted off. The wind stopped wailing in the morning.
****
Three days later, sand was still tumbling down from the roof. It seeped in cracks, and seemed to contaminate even the food in its vacuum sealed packs. The sand was driving her crazy. In the beginning she found it beautiful. Drifts and dunes moved between the rocks, sparkling in the light. The sand was more colorful than any she had ever seen, red and black and gold. Now she hated the sand, brushing it out with a fury and cursing the lack of proper shower facilities. A real shower was the first thing she wanted when that ship arrived.
****
Every day, the radio static was the same. It reminded her of the shifting sound of the sand on the roof. She would flip through the frequencies, and then back to the assigned channel. Every day, she fretted that the ship wouldn't make it. She neglected her research, halfheartedly scanned the monitors mounted round the area and their various recordings. The wind kept her awake at night.
****
"This the Rendevous speaking. Come in. Come in. Rendezvous speaking. We are currently in orbit for scheduled pickup and awaiting confirmation. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, where are you doctor? "
The reciever's buzz snapped her ought of her reverie, and she nearly fell in the rush to reach to console.
The silence of the outpost unnerved her a little, but what truly made her skin crawl was the wind. It made strange, unnatural sounds as it whipped through the rock and over the rattlign metal of the shelter. Exploration being lower on the list of priorities than say, arms production, the outpost was not made of top quality material. She just prayed it would last until her relief arrived.
****
Overnight a storm had kicked up and the wind battered the shelter with stinging, mica-flecked sand. It kept her from sleeping, and so she huddled beneath a sturdy lab bench behind a protective barrier of boxes. It wouldn't really do all that much good if the wind ripped her metal home open, but something was better than nothing. She was not the type to lay down and die, no matter how much she might want to at the time.
****
At some point, she drifted off. The wind stopped wailing in the morning.
****
Three days later, sand was still tumbling down from the roof. It seeped in cracks, and seemed to contaminate even the food in its vacuum sealed packs. The sand was driving her crazy. In the beginning she found it beautiful. Drifts and dunes moved between the rocks, sparkling in the light. The sand was more colorful than any she had ever seen, red and black and gold. Now she hated the sand, brushing it out with a fury and cursing the lack of proper shower facilities. A real shower was the first thing she wanted when that ship arrived.
****
Every day, the radio static was the same. It reminded her of the shifting sound of the sand on the roof. She would flip through the frequencies, and then back to the assigned channel. Every day, she fretted that the ship wouldn't make it. She neglected her research, halfheartedly scanned the monitors mounted round the area and their various recordings. The wind kept her awake at night.
****
"This the Rendevous speaking. Come in. Come in. Rendezvous speaking. We are currently in orbit for scheduled pickup and awaiting confirmation. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, where are you doctor? "
The reciever's buzz snapped her ought of her reverie, and she nearly fell in the rush to reach to console.
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Date: 2004-02-20 10:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-20 10:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-20 10:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-20 10:58 pm (UTC)