The planet, Minerva 2, was not a quaint little tourist attraction. It was not
even considered a very hospitable place to live. The year lasted roughly 1.4
Earth years, half of which was taken up by blistering heat, while the other
half was far below freezing.
The extremity of the weather was agrivated by the atmospheric processors, which
spewed gases into the air, to provide a breathable atmosphere for humans. It
had also created more humidity, which led to very unpredicatable weather. The
meteorologists assured everyone that this was normal when creating artificial
climate and that everything would stabilise in a couple of ceturies. No worry.
The settlers were not impressed, but this was the type of thing they'd come to
expect from government.
The colony itself was a large, ever-groing, cluster of buildings that looked
like it had sprouted from the ground. Off in the distance were a series of
mountain ranges which housed an assortment of minerals, and who knew what other
goodies. An extensive network of tubes connected the colony with the mines.
At the very edge of the colony, sat the landing pad, and next to it, the
processing center. This is where new arrivals had to wade through the red tape
of beurocracy and try to get a job.
Sitting behind a desk at his terminal, was a fat, little man named Oofer Gered.
He hated his job, the planet, the heat, the cold, the miners guild, the
cheerful architecture, everything. He would've liked nothing else than to
retire to a nice paradise planet, where he would do nothing but drink and oogle
at girls. Instead he found himself immersed in the tedium of processing miners
on to this hot wastehole of a planet.
The line he faced moved slowly. He set them up with different digs, depending
on who needed what, and then sent them off to look for shelter. He was sweating
perfusely and the new arrivals were all grumbling and irritable. Already two
fights had broken out and the authorities had to come down and throw the
offenders in a couple of cells until they cooled off. Oofer was in no mood for
this.
"Name?" he asked, without even bothering to look up.
"Lennier," a tired voice said softly. Oofer entered it without interest, and
then looked up. He regarded the young Minbari cooly. He didn't really hold with
that race, the load of serene bastards, they made him nervous. He was
especially nervous when they were wearing all black in horrible heat. For all
he knew this "Lennier" could have been one of those "rangers" he'd rumors about.
As he entered in the information, a notice appeared on his screen. He read it
and scowled. Damn archeologists, making his job more agrivating than it already
was.
Oofer sighed, and then said to Lennier, "It appears as though one of the
archeologists who is currently digging in some ruins needs the services of a
translator. You think you could do that?"
Lennier nodded, slowly. "Good, here you go," Oofer handed him his papers, "go on down
to the Research Center and see Dr. Carter, thank you. Next!"
Lennier stepped out of the Processing station and on to the streets. The place
was a strange mix of upbeat architecture and cynical residents. There was a
street bazaar, which was very much like the Zocolo on Babylon 5. He threaded
his way through the crowd towards the Research Center, which looked almost
exactly like Processing.
The inside was a network of labs and medical facilities that housed every kind
of science. He quickly found the archeology department, and the office of Dr.
P. Carter.
Lennier rang the bell but their was no answer, but the door had been left
unlocked. He opened it, crept inside, and instantly had a gun to his head.
"I'm sorry, but do you have an appointment?"
even considered a very hospitable place to live. The year lasted roughly 1.4
Earth years, half of which was taken up by blistering heat, while the other
half was far below freezing.
The extremity of the weather was agrivated by the atmospheric processors, which
spewed gases into the air, to provide a breathable atmosphere for humans. It
had also created more humidity, which led to very unpredicatable weather. The
meteorologists assured everyone that this was normal when creating artificial
climate and that everything would stabilise in a couple of ceturies. No worry.
The settlers were not impressed, but this was the type of thing they'd come to
expect from government.
The colony itself was a large, ever-groing, cluster of buildings that looked
like it had sprouted from the ground. Off in the distance were a series of
mountain ranges which housed an assortment of minerals, and who knew what other
goodies. An extensive network of tubes connected the colony with the mines.
At the very edge of the colony, sat the landing pad, and next to it, the
processing center. This is where new arrivals had to wade through the red tape
of beurocracy and try to get a job.
Sitting behind a desk at his terminal, was a fat, little man named Oofer Gered.
He hated his job, the planet, the heat, the cold, the miners guild, the
cheerful architecture, everything. He would've liked nothing else than to
retire to a nice paradise planet, where he would do nothing but drink and oogle
at girls. Instead he found himself immersed in the tedium of processing miners
on to this hot wastehole of a planet.
The line he faced moved slowly. He set them up with different digs, depending
on who needed what, and then sent them off to look for shelter. He was sweating
perfusely and the new arrivals were all grumbling and irritable. Already two
fights had broken out and the authorities had to come down and throw the
offenders in a couple of cells until they cooled off. Oofer was in no mood for
this.
"Name?" he asked, without even bothering to look up.
"Lennier," a tired voice said softly. Oofer entered it without interest, and
then looked up. He regarded the young Minbari cooly. He didn't really hold with
that race, the load of serene bastards, they made him nervous. He was
especially nervous when they were wearing all black in horrible heat. For all
he knew this "Lennier" could have been one of those "rangers" he'd rumors about.
As he entered in the information, a notice appeared on his screen. He read it
and scowled. Damn archeologists, making his job more agrivating than it already
was.
Oofer sighed, and then said to Lennier, "It appears as though one of the
archeologists who is currently digging in some ruins needs the services of a
translator. You think you could do that?"
Lennier nodded, slowly. "Good, here you go," Oofer handed him his papers, "go on down
to the Research Center and see Dr. Carter, thank you. Next!"
Lennier stepped out of the Processing station and on to the streets. The place
was a strange mix of upbeat architecture and cynical residents. There was a
street bazaar, which was very much like the Zocolo on Babylon 5. He threaded
his way through the crowd towards the Research Center, which looked almost
exactly like Processing.
The inside was a network of labs and medical facilities that housed every kind
of science. He quickly found the archeology department, and the office of Dr.
P. Carter.
Lennier rang the bell but their was no answer, but the door had been left
unlocked. He opened it, crept inside, and instantly had a gun to his head.
"I'm sorry, but do you have an appointment?"