Time Traveller
Hammering the controls, you take a deep breath and set the destination date for 2200 - as far into the future as you dare. Who knows what is awaiting you there; it's too distant even for the machine's internal computer to decipher. At least you can't change the timeline there, you reflect.
The machine lurches between spaces with the nauseating shunt you are beginning to get used to, and you hold on tightly as it hurtles its way through the probabilities and output factors of space-time. The journey is much, much longer than any of your previous ones and by the time it begins to slow down, you are feeling ready to be sick and your head is pounding. Eventually, thankfully, it comes to a juddering halt.
After getting your breath back, you reach for the exit, but it is yanked open from the other side. You recoil with a yell as a bearded human head shoves its way in.
"Schnilack ohf norb?" The face says, squinting at you and then sighs heavily, "Oh yashnon, schnak ramrom."
"I...I don't understand!" you stammer, still cowering against the far side of the machine. The face sighs again and then a thick arm is stuck in. It is holding a tiny black pebble.
"Nashnak! Oph nok!" The man grins jovially, and gestures at his own hairy ear. Gingerly, you take the tiny stone and raise it to your ear. The man nods encouragingly. You push it in, feeling foolish, and suddenly there is a white-hot pain that lasts all of a split-second. You scream in pain.
"Ah, yes. Sorry about that, friend," the man says, smiling sheepishly, "Translators aren't designed for pastmen's ears, by rights."
"Pastmen's ears... you mean, I'm not the first?" You goggle at the man and his beard jiggles with laughter.
"First? Son, you're the eighteenth this month. Always getting tourists from the past, we are. It's like you're bored of your own time!"
The head pulls out of the machine and you cautiously follow. You step out onto hard-packed grey dust and a warm yellowish light. Peering upwards, you can see the curvature of a transparent dome lined with globes and beyond that... the blackness of space?
"Yes indeed," the man is continuing, eyeing your machine with interest; "Oh, the technology and the timezone changes, of course it does, but it's all the same; tourists braving the future frontier, you know."
"No, actually," you say, more than a little overwhelmed "I really don't. Where am I?"
"Betsy Orwell Recreational Moonbase, stranger, or Ol' Betsy to the likes of us us engineers. Whole base is a tourist metropolis. You just happened to land in Biofuel Control, where I work. Nothing interesting here."
"Why can't I understand you without this... this thing?"
"Because I'm speaking Lunarian, stranger. Oh, sure, people still use English and Spanish and whathaveyou out in the backwaters, but Lunarian's what most of us use. Say," he stares at you, "You want me to give you a quick looksee around here? You look a bit off-colour."
"Uh...yes, yes, that would be good" you say, "Pleased to meet you, Mr...?"
"Mister? Hah!" the old man gives you a lopsided grin, "I ain't no mister, sonny." He sticks out a gnarled hand. "I'm 347BFMD - engineer android at your disposal!"
The machine lurches between spaces with the nauseating shunt you are beginning to get used to, and you hold on tightly as it hurtles its way through the probabilities and output factors of space-time. The journey is much, much longer than any of your previous ones and by the time it begins to slow down, you are feeling ready to be sick and your head is pounding. Eventually, thankfully, it comes to a juddering halt.
After getting your breath back, you reach for the exit, but it is yanked open from the other side. You recoil with a yell as a bearded human head shoves its way in.
"Schnilack ohf norb?" The face says, squinting at you and then sighs heavily, "Oh yashnon, schnak ramrom."
"I...I don't understand!" you stammer, still cowering against the far side of the machine. The face sighs again and then a thick arm is stuck in. It is holding a tiny black pebble.
"Nashnak! Oph nok!" The man grins jovially, and gestures at his own hairy ear. Gingerly, you take the tiny stone and raise it to your ear. The man nods encouragingly. You push it in, feeling foolish, and suddenly there is a white-hot pain that lasts all of a split-second. You scream in pain.
"Ah, yes. Sorry about that, friend," the man says, smiling sheepishly, "Translators aren't designed for pastmen's ears, by rights."
"Pastmen's ears... you mean, I'm not the first?" You goggle at the man and his beard jiggles with laughter.
"First? Son, you're the eighteenth this month. Always getting tourists from the past, we are. It's like you're bored of your own time!"
The head pulls out of the machine and you cautiously follow. You step out onto hard-packed grey dust and a warm yellowish light. Peering upwards, you can see the curvature of a transparent dome lined with globes and beyond that... the blackness of space?
"Yes indeed," the man is continuing, eyeing your machine with interest; "Oh, the technology and the timezone changes, of course it does, but it's all the same; tourists braving the future frontier, you know."
"No, actually," you say, more than a little overwhelmed "I really don't. Where am I?"
"Betsy Orwell Recreational Moonbase, stranger, or Ol' Betsy to the likes of us us engineers. Whole base is a tourist metropolis. You just happened to land in Biofuel Control, where I work. Nothing interesting here."
"Why can't I understand you without this... this thing?"
"Because I'm speaking Lunarian, stranger. Oh, sure, people still use English and Spanish and whathaveyou out in the backwaters, but Lunarian's what most of us use. Say," he stares at you, "You want me to give you a quick looksee around here? You look a bit off-colour."
"Uh...yes, yes, that would be good" you say, "Pleased to meet you, Mr...?"
"Mister? Hah!" the old man gives you a lopsided grin, "I ain't no mister, sonny." He sticks out a gnarled hand. "I'm 347BFMD - engineer android at your disposal!"