Sime~Gen Roleplaying: District Controller's Office Scenario
Episode #208: The Alchemist's Suitcase (5/8/00)
Pylor is putting his evening to good use, reading through a thick tome entitled "Tecton Operations Manual, Volume 6".
Pylor has discovered in the past year or so that there are an awful lot of Tecton regulations that weren't fully taught in training camp.
Pylor at least prefers to look at it that way, rather than that he simply wasn't paying adequate attention.
Pylor pauses and rereads a section.
Boda walks into the room without knocking.
Boda has taken up residence with Pylor and hasn't been shy about making herself right at home.
Boda opens the drawer she has commandeered and starts pulling clothes out of it, muttering to herself.
Pylor: Boda, did you know that Gens who agrees to Simephobia treatment are prohibited from bringing charges against the channel treating them, even if grievous injury results?
Pylor: Too bad Arat isn't a tentacle-shy Gen.
Boda pauses, giving Pylor a hard stare.
Boda: I don't understand your reasoning.
Boda: Do you wish he were the Gen and you the channel, so you could give him aversion therapy?
Pylor: I'd at least like to have him stop bringing charges against me for not being perfect.
Boda has not missed the fact that her assigned Donor is yearning after another channel, and she doesn't like it at all.
Pylor: ~~ sulk ~~
Pylor: Even the Farris-trained Zeor Donors avoid him.
Pylor is no happier about his semi-fixation on Arat than Boda.
Boda: Why are you worrying about him? You're my Donor this month! Worry about me!
Pylor: I can't help it, Boda. His miserable, thieving daughter has got me tied up in knots, all so she could have some fun.
Pylor: Talk about malpractice!
Boda, resilient as she is, finds her Donor's moodiness a source for anxiety and zlins him carefully.
Boda: What's done is done. No use crying over spilt milk.
Boda finds hackneyed sayings are often just as good as trying to come up with something original to say.
Boda begins to edge closer to Pylor.
Pylor was ruthlessly primed for months for a transfer with Arat, without his knowledge or consent, and then abruptly deprived of it at the last moment, and consequently is suffering from an unacknowledged, untreated, although very real, broken dependency.
Pylor: I don't think you have to worry, Boda. One thing's sure: they'll never let me near Arat again.
Boda hasn't had a Donor close to matching her in ages, and the Gen's big nager's quite alluring, but the attitude sucks.
Boda thinks he shouldn't even be thinking of getting near Arat again.
Pylor changes the subject, preparatory to making his attention shift to Boda.
Pylor: Did you know that there are fifteen pages of Tecton regulations regarding the purchase of locally made goods for out-Territory Sime Centers?
Boda: I don't know and what's more, I don't care.
Pylor shrugs.
Pylor: There's tea, if you want it.
Pylor: Although it's not the fancy stuff Reckage drinks.
Boda: I don't care about that either.
Pylor shrugs.
Pylor: Suit yourself.
Pylor disapproves of Nick's having a better taste in tea than he does, because it's safer than disapproving of Nick's greater Donoring skills.
Boda observes Pylor closely.
Boda: You're a good size, aren't you.
Boda: And I think you could use some exercise.
Boda: Get up and get dressed!
Pylor winces, remembering the way Snake dragged him all over Capitol double-time, for a whole week.
Boda herself is slipping off her Tecton uniform and swapping it for rather scrungy clothes from the half of the closet she has appropriated.
Pylor: ....Get dressed?
Pylor looks at Boda's civvies apprehensively.
Boda: Yeah. My stuff's come in.
Boda: I need help unpacking.
Pylor gets reluctantly to his feet, and puts on his bathrobe.
Boda: No, man, get dressed!
Boda: Work clothes.
Pylor goes over to his closet to see what he's got in the way of things that aren't uniforms.
Pylor selects a faded shirt and some patched denims, and starts to change.
Pylor feels, with some justification, that he has already put in his work hours for the day, and that Boda really should be attending to her own unpacking.
Boda: Now the stuff's down on the loading dock.
Boda: Can we get help carting it up?
Pylor is aware that Boda is a much better transfer prospect than Lexus was, however, so he makes sure that his objections don't reach his nager.
Pylor: Housekeeping is responsible for that sort of thing.
Pylor: In fact, I'm a bit surprised that they haven't already seen to the delivery.
Pylor: Have you had a disagreement with them?
Boda: I suppose they'd get to it eventually, but I don't want to wait.
Boda: Got some free time now, and there's a lot to do.
Pylor is aware that those who aren't suffering from not having had a compatible Donor in a long time might view Boda's personality in a less positive light than he does.
Pylor: Well, we might as well get started, then.
Boda: Okay, follow me.
Boda: Though if you know anyone in Housekeeping we could kind of grab to help out, clue me in.
Pylor mourns the loss of his quiet evening spent reading regulations in hopes of finding ways to evade more trouble.
Pylor: Tal might help, if he's not busy.
Boda leaves her uniform in a crumpled heap on the floor as she urges Pylor out of the comfortable living quarters.
Pylor's hopes of getting out of heavy manual labor are dashed when Tal proves otherwise occupied.
Boda leads Pylor to a stack of large and heavy crates.
Pylor views the crates with ~~ dismay ~~
Pylor: All of that?
Boda examines the crates with care.
Boda: Looks like it came through okay!
Boda twirls her tentacles around in spirals in her glee.
Pylor: What's in them? I've never seen a channel with so much baggage.
Boda: Is there some way up to the dorm wing without stairs? Some kind of a hoist?
Pylor: No. Most channels and Donors only have a bag or two.
Boda: Well, what about a push-cart?
Pylor: They sometimes have them in the storage area back there.
Pylor points.
Pylor: How heavy are these crates, anyway?
Boda: That will help us get them as far as the stairs, at least.
Pylor experimentally tries to lift the top one on the stack.
Boda: Watch out! Don't break anything!
Pylor sighs and abandons his effort.
Boda's crates are heavy indeed, and will require serious muscle.
Pylor goes to fetch a cart.
Boda flutters around the boxes like a mother hen fretting over her chicks.
Boda is perhaps more understanding of Pylor's obsessions because she has a few of her own.
Pylor can't help being curious about the contents of the totally excessive baggage; few of his colleagues pack more than the bare necessities.
Pylor returns with the cart.
Boda: Okay, now these have to be moved with great care.
Pylor: Here. Do you want to load it yourself?
Boda: I've got the strength in augmentation, but they're too bulky.
Boda: But you're a big guy and together I think we can manage.
Boda: Don't turn them on their sides, and, for heavens sake, don't drop them!
Pylor is ~~ dubious ~~ but reaches for the top crate again, with due caution.
Boda: Get a good grip on that end, and I'll take the other side.
Boda: On my signal, lift and we'll shift it to the cart.
Pylor nods and braces himself.
Boda: Ready, set... go!
Boda augments and helps Pylor shift the crate.
Pylor grunts with the effort, but manages to guide the crate safely to the cart.
Pylor: What's in there, anyway? It weighs a ton.
Boda: The stuff for my special projects.
Boda: That one's mostly framework.
Pylor: Framework?
Boda: Now here's the real big one. Bulky and heavy.
Pylor eyes the indicated crate with some apprehension.
Boda: Get the best grip you can find.
Pylor was raised in-Territory, and has thus considered himself as relatively weak and physically incapable all his life.
Boda's next crate is a foot square cube.
Pylor s marked tendency towards indolence hasn't helped, of course.
Pylor examines the situation.
Pylor: If we move the cart like so....
Pylor demonstrates.
Pylor: ...we can almost slide it on.
Boda: Good. This one has indentations to hold onto.
Pylor grips the indicated handholds.
Boda positions herself with all handling tentacles grasping.
Boda: Ready, set and... go!
Boda augments again; the contents shift uneasily as they move it.
Pylor strains to guide the box onto the cart.
Pylor lets go with a curse when the box is in place and shakes one of his hands.
Boda: Uhmmmm...!
Boda: Did you pinch yourself?
Pylor runs a finger across his palm, and winces.
Boda: Here, let me see.
Pylor: No, it's a splinter.
Boda's tentacles poke and prod her Donor who has been so valiantly wounded in the front lines.
Boda examines the wound and shudders as a drop of blood and an accompanying trickle of selyn escapes.
Boda: You poor dear.
Pylor does indeed have a much closer grip on a small piece of crate than intended. Or perhaps the reverse.
Boda: We'll have to get that out before I can heal it. We'll need tweezers or something.
Pylor thinks this is a very large improvement on Snake's response when he slipped on a patch of ice--"Watch out, you nitwit!"
Boda's obsession, however, gets the better of her.
Boda: No use bothering about it now; you might get another.
Boda: Let's get the rest of this stuff upstairs; then I'll take care of that for you, okay?
Pylor: There should be a first aid kit....
Boda: Is there one down here?
Boda is willing to attend to her Donor if she doesn't have to leave the crates unattended.
Pylor: There should be.
Boda goes searching through the Housekeeping staff storage cabinets.
Boda finds the first aid kit.
Pylor resists the natural temptation to wiggle the splinter, just to prove it's still there.
Boda: Okay, now hold still.
Boda advances on Pylor with tweezers in tentacle.
Pylor holds out his injured hand with heroic fortitude.
Boda grasps Pylor's hand firmly; the touch inspires emotions that are not precisely clinical.
Pylor watches as the tweezers move towards his wounded palm.
Pylor holds his nager steady, trying to minimize the effect of the surgery on Boda.
Pylor has, after all, just finished reading the first six volumes of the collected Tecton regulations, and is up on the latest.
Boda steels herself against any sensation of pain that might charge the Gen's overstuffed nager.
Boda grips the splinter with the tweezers and yanks on it.
Pylor: ~~ Ouch! ~~
Boda jumps as the Gen's sensation runs through her nerves like a jolt of electricity.
Pylor: Did you get it?
Pylor hopes so; he's never liked splinter-removal.
Boda: Yeah.
Boda examines the situation.
Boda: It's out. Let me heal you up now.
Pylor relaxes to allow Boda control over his nager.
Boda lets Need rise in her, which isn't difficult at all this time of the month.
Pylor has no objections to being-healed part of splinter removal, and besides, Boda's need feels good.
Boda accepts Pylor's response to her field with satisfaction.
Boda: There. That's better.
Boda caresses his hand an extra moment with her tentacles. She is suddenly reluctant to go back to business.
Pylor in fact finds himself smiling in anticipation of their upcoming transfer.
Pylor has not been smiling much in the past few months, and enjoys the sensation.
Boda: I guess... we better finish up here.
Boda: The next three... aren't so big.
Pylor: That's good.
Boda is reluctant to let the hand go.
Pylor is unable to muster up any great interest in crates, for some odd reason.
Boda lets her tentacles slide up his arms and giggles.
Boda: Gaaa! You're so hairy!
Pylor's nager brightens with amusement at the familiar taunt.
Pylor: Hey, if you want the selyn, I'm afraid that the hair comes with it.
Boda squeezes the merchandise.
Boda: Actually, it feels kind of... interesting.
Pylor certainly agrees that it feels interesting.
Pylor: Maybe I'll grow a beard, if you're so enamored of hair.
Boda is pleased to note that at last her Donor's focusing her attention on her and not elsewhere.
Boda: That would be different.
Pylor has, in fact, not had an interesting channel actually flirt with him in longer than he cares to think of.
Pylor doesn't count Lexus among the "interesting" channels, although he made sure Lexus never guessed that.
Pylor pretends to be miffed at Boda's rejection of the beard idea.
Pylor: Humpf.
Boda wonders what a fifth contact would feel like through a beard; every Donor she's ever had was clean-shaved.
Pylor gently twists his arm to extract it from Boda's clutches.
Pylor: We'd better get your crates upstairs.
Boda thinks it probably would not be an improvement, though it might be interesting to find out for sure.
Boda: Oh, okay. Yeah. Sure thing.
Boda refocuses her attention on the business at tentacle.
Pylor inspects the remaining crates dubiously.
Boda indicates to Pylor the next three smaller boxes to be shifted.
Pylor reflects somewhat later that his apprehensions were well justified.
Pylor is openly ~~ relieved ~~ as the last crate is deposited safely on the floor of Boda's room.
Boda carefully drags the crates into position on the floor.
Boda's room is of course, completely empty, as she has been staying in Pylor's quarters.
Pylor stands by, figuring that after incurring injury to get the shenned things upstairs, he deserves to see what was in them.
Boda had dismantled the bed earlier, and stacked the mattress and other furniture in one corner.
Pylor waits to see what will emerge from the splinters.
Boda grabs a crowbar and begins to attack the first long box.
Boda: Now I've got to put it all together.
Boda: This is gonna take a while.
Pylor is torn between satisfying his curiosity and the desire to return to bed.
Boda opens the first crate and begins to pull out a series of notched bamboo pieces.
Pylor: Bamboo?
Boda: Yeah, that's the framework.
Boda: Pretty light-weight, considering.
Boda begins to assemble the notched pieces into a series of stands and shelves.
Pylor tries to figure out what sort of thing would require a framework of this sort.
Pylor: What do you put on it?
Boda: The tanks. They're in the second crate.
Pylor: Tanks?
Boda jimmies open the second crate.
Pylor: Tanks of what?
Boda starts to take out a series of large glass and ceramic tanks and basins, carefully packed nested one inside another.
Pylor is frankly ~~ bewildered ~~
Boda starts to position the glass tanks on bamboo stands, adjusting the height precisely.
Boda: You could go and rest if you want to.
Boda: I have this part of the operation down pat.
Pylor estimates the pace of construction, and eyes the three remaining crates.
Boda: Or you could go get some water.
Boda: I'm gonna have to fill most of these up.
Pylor: Water? You're putting water in these tanks?
Boda: Well, some of them.
Pylor: What goes in the rest?
Boda: It varies, depending on the other chemicals.
Pylor: Chemicals?
Boda: Yeah, those are in the next two boxes. You could start unpacking those. Just stack them in the rest room.
Boda opens a third box and begins to extract yards and yards of wound rubber tubing.
Pylor picks up the pry bar and applies it to the indicated crate's lid.
Pylor peers inside.
Pylor blinks at the eclectic jumble of ingredients.
Boda's 4th box reveals an assortment that would do a chemical factory proud.
Pylor: What are all these for?
Boda: My research.
Pylor: ....research? Into what?
Boda pulls out several boxes of dried seaweed with markings in an unknown language and about small boxes of metallic salts marked with the sign of a well-known refinery.
Pylor: And why don't you just use one of the District labs?
Boda: I'm going to synthesize a material that will hold a selyn charge.
Pylor: An artificial selyn charge? You mean, like a battery?
Boda: Kind of. Though it would have to be alive, of course, to hold selyn.
Pylor finds the concept very ~~ interesting ~~
Boda peers at Pylor with surprise.
Boda: You're not laughing at me?
Boda: Everyone else thinks I'm crazy.
Pylor: Well, it sounds like a very long shot to me, but if it could be done....
Boda opens the last box and begins to remove piles of small candles with multiple wicks.
Pylor starts removing supplies from the open crate beside him.
Boda: It would turn the whole Tecton end over end!
Pylor: That's an understatement.
Boda: We could store up selyn the way we store grain in silos.
Boda: No more shortages.
Pylor imagines a silo-load of selyn.
Boda positions several candles under a large tank.
Pylor more precisely imagines trying to shield a channel from a silo-full of selyn.
Boda goes into the rest room and begins filling a bucket with water.
Pylor: I think maybe handling that much selyn in one spot would be difficult.
Pylor: Too bright to zlin.
Boda: Well, so far I don't have that problem.
Pylor: More the opposite?
Pylor grins wryly.
Boda: Nothing holds a charge for very long.
Boda: But they said you couldn't hold a charge at all!
Boda: And I've done it. Lasted about an hour.
Pylor: It's proving the concept that's important.
Boda: Firefly glows worked the best of anything I've tried.
Boda: The problem was catching enough fireflies.
Pylor: Firefly glows?
Boda: Yeah, you know. The ends of them that light up.
Boda: Spent my whole salary that year paying kids to catch them for me.
Boda pours the tank full of water.
Boda mops up the excess that spilled on the floor.
Boda begins to measure part of a container of sea salt into the tank.
Boda: Right now I'm working with Tahayan algae.
Boda: That I can grow myself.
Boda measures several droplets of a red chemical and half a bag of sugar into the tank.
Pylor: I suppose that's easier.
Pylor looks on curiously.
Boda lights the candles under the tank.
Boda: That will take a while to warm up before I can put the plants in.
Boda pulls out a second, smaller tank from the large box.
Boda: It only takes a week or so to get a good, thick soup of it.
Pylor: Sort of like a greenhouse?
Boda: I guess. They grow in the tropics, so room temperature's too cold for them.
Boda: Sime temperature is warm, too, so maybe that's a clue to what will work better.
Boda assembles the framework for the small tank.
Pylor starts to arrange the chemicals and other supplies on the shelving.
Boda: Kind of like making bread rise.
Boda: Wait till you smell it in a week or so!
Pylor's nose wrinkles at the thought.
Pylor: Is that why you moved into my room?
Boda: Yeah. You'll see, once this is set up, it will use all the space in here.
Boda: I don't mind sleeping on the floor, but I sure don't mind having furniture.
Boda: But you know, thinking of sleep....
Boda: This is going to take me hours.
Pylor yawns at the suggestion, on cue.
Boda: You don't have to stay; I've got it well in hand now.
Pylor: Well, all right. We start early enough tomorrow morning.
Boda: Fine. With any luck, I'll be done by then.
Boda thinks, and if she isn't, the Controller can shenning well whistle for her.
Pylor starts to leave, then turns for one last look at the peculiar apparatus.
Pylor: A permanent artificial selyn storage device. What a device that would be.
Pylor shakes his head, and closes the door after himself.