|| -------- -- -----  A E R I E   O B L I V I A N A . singular book of text wandertainment by Frank Edward Nora ------------------- ----------- A ROAD MAP OF ARCTICA--CUP 17--"JOHN BYRNE" <-------  ||  Severe Repair  ||  A Road Map of Arctica  ||  -------> (Cup SRrm017, Created v2 (6/7/99), Copyright 1999) = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = I sat there watching TV, in Abigail's farmhouse, feeling miserable. I was watching some kind of really bad "Fantastic Four" cartoon. It's funny. I never heard of the "Fantastic Four" before I came here, but I have these alternate set of memories where I used to read their comic books and stuff. Vague memories of an artist I thought was so awesome, John Byrne. Ah, what the fuck does it matter? I'd be back in my world soon... back in that... that... that "Severe Repair"... the term Abigail used last night in superbed. Bonnie and Abigail came in after they got dressed and did god-knows-what with each other in the shower and bedroom upstairs. They said they were going into town, but they were afraid to leave me cuz they thought I was a suicide risk. I turned off the TV, laughed, and lied down on the couch. "You think?" I said, closing my eyes. "Well just hang out and watch me lie here... you'll see me disappear cuz I'm going home right now. But you won't know that you were watching me the moment I disappear... the whole thing will just not have happened." "Okay." Bonnie said, in a sickeningly condescending tone. "Lay down and disappear. We're here for you. We'll get you the help you need." "Just give me five minutes." I said. So I brought forth my Primal Right, and felt my power, and it came on strong... like sexual excitement after a long period of deprivation. My power came and I was in it and I saw exactly what I had to do to get home. And I did it. I was weightless and formless and I caught glimpses of grander things as I struggled to maintain control over my travel. Situationless, I drifted, sensing my former situation in the Warhome, seeking to embrace it, to be back in my Severe Repair. That state melded into dreams, and I lost consciousness, and then I woke up very tired and I was back in my Warhome. I took a deep breath and sat up. Naked and back in my Warhome bedroom. The clean, technological Warhome smell hitting my nostrils. And the sting of the loss of my normal life was harsh. I reached over and hit a communication button, hoping to get Agatha or someone in their Warhome. But the screen above me was unresponsive, showing only a thin blue and yellow line horizontally through its center. I tried a few more time, with no success. So I hit the button that usually brought up a video image of the outside. That image popped onto the screen eagerly. And that image was an image of Abigail's house. I did a double take and stared at it. ABIGAIL'S house? No. No. It couldn't be. I jumped up, ran to the closet, and hurriedly climbed into a standard Warhome police officer uniform. (Fitting me perfectly, of course. Warhomes adapt to their owners in subtle, weird ways. Kind of like a dog.) Dressed, I opened the door that led into the central shaft, climbed the ladder in the cool artificial light to the landing behind the cockpit, opened the cockpit door, and strode into the cockpit. Indeed. Yes indeed. The Warhome was in the field outside Abigail's house. And there were Bonnie and Abigail, on the porch, looking like they had just spotted the Warhome. Dammit! Damn, damn. So fucked up. A Warhome in this wonderfully plain world. Fuck! You know what one Warhome could do to a world? One Warhome could become millions in a matter of weeks--billions in a matter of months--every human being on the planet could have their own--no more need to work--the Warhome provides you everything. -------> ------------------- ----------- -------- -- -----