Yet the Triangulans had a philosophy about minimal power use. Most of their civilization's energy usage was involved in Large Projects. Hence the use of things like exolichens, which could be utilized to build planets to order.
When the DID decide to use power, they could manage things that seemed magic to less technologically adept civilizations.
Well, this is nice, but it would take so very long. Perhaps if I do it like this.
Ranma watched as the storms actually intensified. Dust slammed into the not-glass transparent material of the dome he was in and visibility shrunk to nothing. He could hear things though. Though the not-glass was completely frictionless as far as he could tell, it transmitted sound though it was all muted. He could hear the increase in volume from outside. Crashing thunder coming faster than ever. Roars as of earthquakes. Explosions. Howling wind. Then something else.
Rain came down in torrents that replaced the dust you couldn't see through with levels of rain you couldn't see through.
Occasionally the lightning flashes would illuminate things out there enough that he could see the landscape was changing.
This is as good a place as any to field test the new conversion algorithm. Oh yes. That works out nicely.
Ranma fell asleep in his little dome, wondering if someone would at least get him some clothes.
Hmmm. Interesting imagery from the human specimen. The architecture has a certain primitive attractiveness to it. Oh and clothes would be good. Honestly, the youths nowadays.
Ranma awoke and stretched slowly in the sunbeam. Then dropped that as he remembered where he was and what had gone on the previous night.
He was no longer in the dome atop the big machine, moving through Hell.
He was clothed again, in his usual red shirt with black pants. He was also apparently in a temple of some kind. An oddly familiar temple.
Thinking about that brought out the memory of an old woman he'd met as a child. Someone who had been able to bring him out of the Catfist. She'd been around a temple then too. This was kind of like THAT temple.
When he got outside, he realized that the old woman must have prayed for him. He wasn't in Hell anymore. Somehow he'd gotten to the good place.
It was cold here, but not unbearably so. The air seemed thin too. Not too thin. High altitude could explain both.
Thick pine forests, tall grass, a stream meandering its way through the grass where he could see it.
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(Posted Tue, 04 Nov 2008 16:49)
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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