Earned Heart
The lonely, little Mars Rover. Flopping golden ears back and forth, the little man watched the torturous march of the rolling cradle. Already he had flipped through the circuits and hatched small routes, disappointed in the agonizing screeches of the shell, he admired the thing's cooing radio-active static. He watched it stop, a lens contracting for some time. After, more minute arm-stretching, digging, combing, examining it's coiled innards.
Bone tracks stretched far over the crescent valley, dipping towards the cresting slope. Mort was due for Watch. He seemed to relish the thing's signal, sometimes flipping on wires and tapping around the sparkling mewt-work, nestling "motherboards" and charged "memory" grids. His youth lent him a glowing anticipation, the sort of secret you never bother to name. This scuttling, ponderous grind (was still faster than the rocks) bore no kind respect to the dry Martian breeze. The thing throbbed with deep power, outfitted with Ex Tee Cee focals...he waved it at it, sadly. In a century it's nurturers would arrive, they might consider the interest, in their whistling orbit above the vast Martian peaks to play with the Martians.
Mort would flip in point five counts to watch over the stretching trek. He would tell Dale about the Mission, nearly giggling with delightful anticipation for the Day.
Perhaps Mort should share the slow bug's story...
++++++
Gathered, each Martian was nestled in a plush, cushioned fold running along the towering rock spires circling the cavern. Mort stood center, pointing through the air, cooly motioning his digit-paw through the empty-space, free to move unobstructed in this time-sacred chamber. He motioned a clawed grasp, mimicking the Pilgrim's meticulous inquiry. Drawing his segmented joints around a pebble, Mort needled the audience, he plucked the irreverent stone's image from the Earth. Two million Martians buzzed, until their chattering frenzy nearly threatened to disturb the teeming carpet of dust upon which they sat. Mort had hooked the gathered populace, pocketing the rubble.
The same as Dale. It thrilled him to witness the performance, so cunning did he toy with them, hinting at Mix. All the same, he considered flipping out and playing with some of the others, running silken strand-paws over one another, caressing the Record. Mort continued,
"It is a stallion. Not the pallid luster of our own shrouded society, immersed in the illuminous Record of our own; a cloud-dipped chariot sped from the waxing-blue-green Shaper. Built of ginger hands and racing to bathe in the departed sea.
"Alight it's carriage it is looking for the other, that trundling, wanderer elsewhere.
Mort dipped a digit-paw upwards/down and held the story of the vanishing rubble, "Consider, partners, this small creature, uneducated to replicate but spontaneous in it's methodical travel. Tirelessly trekking our auburn Shaper.
"We've all taken our Watch, seen the words so bold on the side, "ROVER". In pursuit of the galloping companion, "CURIOSITY." Will one stumble on the other's trail, or will incalculable perfect attraction draw them to meet. In the course of being, these galvanized forms will eventually abandon each other in the command of the One. As they quiet, will one care for the other in it's decay...a pair of star-struck companions, each softly doting on the other. Perhaps these two may never cross paths. Perhaps one is torn from the other in the Mix.
"In a century's count we will enjoy arrival with their long-distant creators and we might ask them, then. Coasting their delicate forms direct, flying along cornered Nexus energy, their shifting flux bodies so perfectly formed a map of Existence. Working in congruence, Earth-shaped land cousins to our original pair, tall carriages to support their Ex Tee Cee body. We'll see them more and more, then."
Dale flipped, Mort swiveling his d-paw to look around the chamber. Inside the Record it was warm. He wrapped his himself through empty-space and recognition grabbed him, overwhelmed him. Dizzy, he nearly slipped and nudged the placid shoals of the preserved volumes. Drawing up memories from the rock he daydreamed of the past and giggled. They decided to Flip.
++++++
Moments later had been some fifty counts. Awake, again. The Mars ROVER now joined by a smattering of brood, chirping and digging, building. Two million Martians had gathered in the receiving chamber and chanted crackling, pulsing rhythm. The sounds blinded Dale, Dale who had decided to receive this timeline of all the choices made to this point, he who would send his own blazing signal to the Ex Tee Cee ppl. One million, nine hundred ninety nine thousand, nine hundred ninety nine Martians diverged to branch where they would approach complete silence for another two centuries' time, bending Partner Dale between himself his existence crisply.
++++++
In the beginning there had been nothing, until something moved. Particles shook out tendrils from the Source, strands threaded between one another, abiding their reflector, drawing on form. Comets rode tirelessly through expanses of open space, the flying buttress descent etched in the Record.
Tails became tangled as they raced around the others, Dale fired onwards in a metal cradle, touching the one time line he had ever known. Careening uncontrollably, the metal twisted in flames and his map grew unreadable. Long black lines screamed on the baked pavement, oily, slick treads. Dale settled himself around the wreckage, flexing the symbols painted on his hide, NAS-A--. She found herself peering once more above the sloping crest of the Martian landscape, galloping along dusty, azure sod, so content to be wild.
=======
via http://tinyurl.com/BenevolentMassageFromMars, http://tinyurl.com/whitelite
Bone tracks stretched far over the crescent valley, dipping towards the cresting slope. Mort was due for Watch. He seemed to relish the thing's signal, sometimes flipping on wires and tapping around the sparkling mewt-work, nestling "motherboards" and charged "memory" grids. His youth lent him a glowing anticipation, the sort of secret you never bother to name. This scuttling, ponderous grind (was still faster than the rocks) bore no kind respect to the dry Martian breeze. The thing throbbed with deep power, outfitted with Ex Tee Cee focals...he waved it at it, sadly. In a century it's nurturers would arrive, they might consider the interest, in their whistling orbit above the vast Martian peaks to play with the Martians.
Mort would flip in point five counts to watch over the stretching trek. He would tell Dale about the Mission, nearly giggling with delightful anticipation for the Day.
Perhaps Mort should share the slow bug's story...
++++++
Gathered, each Martian was nestled in a plush, cushioned fold running along the towering rock spires circling the cavern. Mort stood center, pointing through the air, cooly motioning his digit-paw through the empty-space, free to move unobstructed in this time-sacred chamber. He motioned a clawed grasp, mimicking the Pilgrim's meticulous inquiry. Drawing his segmented joints around a pebble, Mort needled the audience, he plucked the irreverent stone's image from the Earth. Two million Martians buzzed, until their chattering frenzy nearly threatened to disturb the teeming carpet of dust upon which they sat. Mort had hooked the gathered populace, pocketing the rubble.
The same as Dale. It thrilled him to witness the performance, so cunning did he toy with them, hinting at Mix. All the same, he considered flipping out and playing with some of the others, running silken strand-paws over one another, caressing the Record. Mort continued,
"It is a stallion. Not the pallid luster of our own shrouded society, immersed in the illuminous Record of our own; a cloud-dipped chariot sped from the waxing-blue-green Shaper. Built of ginger hands and racing to bathe in the departed sea.
"Alight it's carriage it is looking for the other, that trundling, wanderer elsewhere.
Mort dipped a digit-paw upwards/down and held the story of the vanishing rubble, "Consider, partners, this small creature, uneducated to replicate but spontaneous in it's methodical travel. Tirelessly trekking our auburn Shaper.
"We've all taken our Watch, seen the words so bold on the side, "ROVER". In pursuit of the galloping companion, "CURIOSITY." Will one stumble on the other's trail, or will incalculable perfect attraction draw them to meet. In the course of being, these galvanized forms will eventually abandon each other in the command of the One. As they quiet, will one care for the other in it's decay...a pair of star-struck companions, each softly doting on the other. Perhaps these two may never cross paths. Perhaps one is torn from the other in the Mix.
"In a century's count we will enjoy arrival with their long-distant creators and we might ask them, then. Coasting their delicate forms direct, flying along cornered Nexus energy, their shifting flux bodies so perfectly formed a map of Existence. Working in congruence, Earth-shaped land cousins to our original pair, tall carriages to support their Ex Tee Cee body. We'll see them more and more, then."
Dale flipped, Mort swiveling his d-paw to look around the chamber. Inside the Record it was warm. He wrapped his himself through empty-space and recognition grabbed him, overwhelmed him. Dizzy, he nearly slipped and nudged the placid shoals of the preserved volumes. Drawing up memories from the rock he daydreamed of the past and giggled. They decided to Flip.
++++++
Moments later had been some fifty counts. Awake, again. The Mars ROVER now joined by a smattering of brood, chirping and digging, building. Two million Martians had gathered in the receiving chamber and chanted crackling, pulsing rhythm. The sounds blinded Dale, Dale who had decided to receive this timeline of all the choices made to this point, he who would send his own blazing signal to the Ex Tee Cee ppl. One million, nine hundred ninety nine thousand, nine hundred ninety nine Martians diverged to branch where they would approach complete silence for another two centuries' time, bending Partner Dale between himself his existence crisply.
++++++
In the beginning there had been nothing, until something moved. Particles shook out tendrils from the Source, strands threaded between one another, abiding their reflector, drawing on form. Comets rode tirelessly through expanses of open space, the flying buttress descent etched in the Record.
Tails became tangled as they raced around the others, Dale fired onwards in a metal cradle, touching the one time line he had ever known. Careening uncontrollably, the metal twisted in flames and his map grew unreadable. Long black lines screamed on the baked pavement, oily, slick treads. Dale settled himself around the wreckage, flexing the symbols painted on his hide, NAS-A--. She found herself peering once more above the sloping crest of the Martian landscape, galloping along dusty, azure sod, so content to be wild.
=======
via http://tinyurl.com/BenevolentMassageFromMars, http://tinyurl.com/whitelite