Post by Cryn on Jan 14, 2018 11:12:06 GMT -5
1.1.4192
The sun-bright corridor in Leonius sector is a riot of green. Troughs on the floor run the length of the hallway on either side of the aisle, each with a tangle of low-growing herbs: thyme, marjoram, and plants more alien. Above the troughs hang baskets of tomatoes and runner beans. In the distance a young man moves along watering each basket by hand, the excess water falling onto the herbs below. No automated sprinklers here: even Leonius residents don’t appreciate getting sprayed on their way to and from their staterooms.
A short, slight, middle-aged man with a pleasant, slightly vacuous smile makes his way down the corridor. He whistles a current pop hit recognizably out of tune. He’s obviously not a sector worker. While most residents wear utilitarian jumpsuits over t-shirts and dungarees, he is dressed in a suit with the high-necked shirt and cravat that is popular among the more sober administrative types. With a friendly wave to the young man down the hall, he turns into a break in the greenery and enters his stateroom.
Inside, the light is more muted. The only green here is a small stand of succulents in the far corner of the single room. The rest of the furnishings have a distinct spacer’s feel to them. The single bed is tightly made, the small cooking and dining alcove are clean, and the only thing on the desk is a commpad. A glimpse through the open screen on the other end of the room shows a small but tidy fresher. The stateroom is much smaller than his previous multi-room apartment in Capricius sector (or even the typical Leonius residence), but at least it’s not a coffin-sized hovel like one would find in Tauricius.
With a brief spoken command to the commpad, he brings up Big Blue Monkeys on the entertainment wall. His old friend Val had turned him on to the show. (Speaking of, maybe it was safe to comm Val again, just to let him know of his move.) He settles into his reclining desk chair and places the commpad on top of his protuberant stomach.
A few minutes later and his series of messages is done. He was in the Libricius sector earlier that day to enroll in a correspondence class on Homesteader History, the next item on his list of “things-he-should-have-learned-in-high-school-but-didn’t” (it looked like a snore but who knows, maybe it would catch his attention enough for him to complete it), when who should he see but Commander Xialani outside an office with a freshly fabbed “Homestead Relief” sign. A quick message showed his guess was correct; she did need some help playing the networks. A couple more messages and a lunch meeting was set at his friend KC’s bistro.
“Not bad break,” he reflects. While he doesn’t expect to get paid from this particular hookup, he thinks he can wrangle a short-term Productivity Certificate from it. “Look busy if you can’t be busy” is one of his personal mottos. And with any luck this get-together might stretch out into something longer-term.
Life is good for Cryn Glewhand.
The sun-bright corridor in Leonius sector is a riot of green. Troughs on the floor run the length of the hallway on either side of the aisle, each with a tangle of low-growing herbs: thyme, marjoram, and plants more alien. Above the troughs hang baskets of tomatoes and runner beans. In the distance a young man moves along watering each basket by hand, the excess water falling onto the herbs below. No automated sprinklers here: even Leonius residents don’t appreciate getting sprayed on their way to and from their staterooms.
A short, slight, middle-aged man with a pleasant, slightly vacuous smile makes his way down the corridor. He whistles a current pop hit recognizably out of tune. He’s obviously not a sector worker. While most residents wear utilitarian jumpsuits over t-shirts and dungarees, he is dressed in a suit with the high-necked shirt and cravat that is popular among the more sober administrative types. With a friendly wave to the young man down the hall, he turns into a break in the greenery and enters his stateroom.
Inside, the light is more muted. The only green here is a small stand of succulents in the far corner of the single room. The rest of the furnishings have a distinct spacer’s feel to them. The single bed is tightly made, the small cooking and dining alcove are clean, and the only thing on the desk is a commpad. A glimpse through the open screen on the other end of the room shows a small but tidy fresher. The stateroom is much smaller than his previous multi-room apartment in Capricius sector (or even the typical Leonius residence), but at least it’s not a coffin-sized hovel like one would find in Tauricius.
With a brief spoken command to the commpad, he brings up Big Blue Monkeys on the entertainment wall. His old friend Val had turned him on to the show. (Speaking of, maybe it was safe to comm Val again, just to let him know of his move.) He settles into his reclining desk chair and places the commpad on top of his protuberant stomach.
A few minutes later and his series of messages is done. He was in the Libricius sector earlier that day to enroll in a correspondence class on Homesteader History, the next item on his list of “things-he-should-have-learned-in-high-school-but-didn’t” (it looked like a snore but who knows, maybe it would catch his attention enough for him to complete it), when who should he see but Commander Xialani outside an office with a freshly fabbed “Homestead Relief” sign. A quick message showed his guess was correct; she did need some help playing the networks. A couple more messages and a lunch meeting was set at his friend KC’s bistro.
“Not bad break,” he reflects. While he doesn’t expect to get paid from this particular hookup, he thinks he can wrangle a short-term Productivity Certificate from it. “Look busy if you can’t be busy” is one of his personal mottos. And with any luck this get-together might stretch out into something longer-term.
Life is good for Cryn Glewhand.