Neknoh
2012-06-01, 07:53 PM
Der, hör ich, nachts aus dem Haus geht
und, seh ich, hoch in den Himmel schaut,
den, weiß ich, eine sehr gerne mal träfe,
doch, sagt sie, so wie es aussieht,
der, klagt sie, schaut doch immer nur hoch
und, denkt sie, niemals in mein Gesicht.
So, mein Freund, findest du nie deinen Stern.
- Uwe Kolbe
He knew it by heart by now, they both did, there was no need for the old audio phile to stay in her memory, no need for unauthorized information to lie buzzing and humming deep inside her mind. But he liked it, he would miss it, and, in a way, she would as well.
The poets in her neural threads helped him deafen the pain and drown the sound of humming coils of raw energy and that constant rattle of shelf upon shelf of self-loathing, self-loading death. She pulled him in with steely arms, with nylon straps and a chrome-shelled seat, deep inside her, in her womb of careful night. And as she turned her diode eyes toward the hangar doors, his gaze was there as well, clad in green and red and blue, with infrared and ultraviolet and radiation-resistant filtering. Reticules spunn and flickered across his mind as poets dreamed inside his soul.
"Hemera to all units, Hemera to all units, this is fleet command."
He tested his wings, he checked the impact engines, touched the sensitive articulation of the joints.
"Units three through eight prepare for launch. Squadrons fifty through sixtyfour prepare for launch. The Thalassa is en route and should arrive in time to help."
Weapon systems flared and twitched, a feeling he never quite got used to, not like Faust or Phoenix, but then again, he wasn't ever sure they told the truth.
"Units three through eight. Release.
Heavy metal clamps let go of her body, her wings, his wings, were free. The massive platform moved toward the hangar doors, lumbering and groaning like some great beast carrying a godess upon its back. The others were there as well, all glorious, standing tall. "Are we ready John?" a small voice whispered to him. With a smiling mind he answered, "Yeah, let's go."
Huge gates closed all around them, and enormous fans sucked the air from a room bigger than a Complex, and heavy doors opened with sounds he could not hear, even with the ears of Starseeker.
Total blackness faced them, the darkness between galaxies, an endless night without a star in sight. But there was something else, looking for them.
"Units three through eight. Launch."
und, seh ich, hoch in den Himmel schaut,
den, weiß ich, eine sehr gerne mal träfe,
doch, sagt sie, so wie es aussieht,
der, klagt sie, schaut doch immer nur hoch
und, denkt sie, niemals in mein Gesicht.
So, mein Freund, findest du nie deinen Stern.
- Uwe Kolbe
He knew it by heart by now, they both did, there was no need for the old audio phile to stay in her memory, no need for unauthorized information to lie buzzing and humming deep inside her mind. But he liked it, he would miss it, and, in a way, she would as well.
The poets in her neural threads helped him deafen the pain and drown the sound of humming coils of raw energy and that constant rattle of shelf upon shelf of self-loathing, self-loading death. She pulled him in with steely arms, with nylon straps and a chrome-shelled seat, deep inside her, in her womb of careful night. And as she turned her diode eyes toward the hangar doors, his gaze was there as well, clad in green and red and blue, with infrared and ultraviolet and radiation-resistant filtering. Reticules spunn and flickered across his mind as poets dreamed inside his soul.
"Hemera to all units, Hemera to all units, this is fleet command."
He tested his wings, he checked the impact engines, touched the sensitive articulation of the joints.
"Units three through eight prepare for launch. Squadrons fifty through sixtyfour prepare for launch. The Thalassa is en route and should arrive in time to help."
Weapon systems flared and twitched, a feeling he never quite got used to, not like Faust or Phoenix, but then again, he wasn't ever sure they told the truth.
"Units three through eight. Release.
Heavy metal clamps let go of her body, her wings, his wings, were free. The massive platform moved toward the hangar doors, lumbering and groaning like some great beast carrying a godess upon its back. The others were there as well, all glorious, standing tall. "Are we ready John?" a small voice whispered to him. With a smiling mind he answered, "Yeah, let's go."
Huge gates closed all around them, and enormous fans sucked the air from a room bigger than a Complex, and heavy doors opened with sounds he could not hear, even with the ears of Starseeker.
Total blackness faced them, the darkness between galaxies, an endless night without a star in sight. But there was something else, looking for them.
"Units three through eight. Launch."