Exit communication after confirmation. Check that other tech problem. The routine maintenance one. What was it again, and what can be done from here?
The heat sinks have accumulated a coating of something (probably oxidation) that is limiting their functionality.
(6+1) The Former collective, of which you are the mouthpiece, sends a set of your fellow Formers to clean the heat sinks. After some time you notice that the temperature is dropping uncomfortably in various other compartments of your habitat, including he one you are currently in.
EAT LUNCH AGAIN.
Flip a coin to determine which angry ship gets dock space.
Handle Outgoing messages, then Process incoming messages.
Delegate reports to the first poor shmuck I see.
(3) you purchase a lunch at eh dock cafeteria. It is rather unappetizing, and you barely finish half of it before you can eat no more. (2) Your species requires six meals a day, due to their high metabolism.
(4) the coin comes up shopple. One ship is berthed, the other awaits a docking slot.
(6+1) you spend an hour happily organizing and ending messages. Wait -is that the time? Three hours? Perhaps you shouldn't have been reading the messages before sending them, but hey, what can you say, it's in your nature.
(5+1) fortunately, you are a skilled multitasker, and the incoming message queue is Processed in good order.
(3+1) You foist most of the paperwork off on your assistant, who seems rather resigned to this kind of thing. As the shift nears it's end, the assistant brings you the forms to review and sign.
Continue to do customer stuff.
(1) you feel disoriented and undernourished. You find it hard to focus on customers.
(5) Fortunately, FB 1 had gone off (on page 11!) to find more food, and returns with a rather large nutrient pack for you.
Wait for a customer.
(4) Customers filter in, some in the liquid area, some in the land area. They ordre lunch, and the kitchen hums to life. You bake, broil, carve, select live food, and chum the waters for the next couple hours.
Ah, fuck it. Just head back to the restaurant with the furry guy on my leg.
(1) Sorry. You pass out from the wounds.
(4) you awake some time later in a quiet, dimly lit room, unsure of how you got there. You feel terrible.
"I'd best go back to my quarters."
Contemplate the difficulty of making/finding a bomb while returning to my quarters.
(5) you take delight in designing explosives, whether for mining purposes, or for more antisocial ones.
(6) As you contemplate your latest masterpiece, you are jostled by a sudden decrease in speed as the engines reverse direction. Either you have arrived at your destination, there is a pirate attack, or that damned pilot forgot its undergarments and wants to go back for them.
END OF SHIFTThe time is now at the end of all of your duty shifts.
Author
Topic: Roll to Alien (Read 45403 times)