Dartz: You really are a SBer. You know that, don't you?
Also, we really know nothing about the worlds of dimensional space, outside of the TSA organization. I figure the cost of education depends on economic factors, so the sort of economy you have will determine the sort of schooling you see, which determines the costs.
I'm sort of envisioning a world that's half megacorps and half artisans. Individual skill matters, and you can do quite well by learning tech skills yourself, looking up lessons over their Internet-equivalent, and then putting them to use in a small shop of your own. On the other hand, you can go to an accredited school, get a job at a large company, and do quite well for yourself there.
The problem is that I'm used to the second approach, so that biased my search criteria.
As for the military... how would that work? I'm literally incapable of operating a Device- and Device-tech has replaced the gun, the radio, and the computer in all military applications. I'm not qualified to serve as anything more than something like 3rd Assistant Potato-Peeler.
CD: ^^
I don't really do hot blood, myself. I'd rather freeze the enemy than burn them.
You were standing too close to the ice that's forming/Colder than the void past the edges of the sky/
...come to think of it, there is a distinct shortage of SI fic where the protagonist goes the way of the Trolling Old Grandmaster, ala Lu-Tze. Somebody needs to remedy that, and by 'somebody', I mean 'not me'. Maybe. :3Rob: Same issue with the whole 'hot-blooded' thing. That, and 'the best' is a Dangerous Thing To Be.
That's the way of the Mary Sue, that is.
If I get any sort of combat ability, there will ALWAYS be a Bigger Fish. Probably a school of them. After all, we all know Rule #1 of this 'verse (you know, the one about the efficacy of anything else vs. pink beams of Befriending).
**********
Entry 16 (Day 8)
My plans are IN MOTION! MOOHOOHAHA!
...as fun as that was, it's not all that appropriate. What I've done so far was actually extremely low-key... honestly, rather boring stuff. From what I know of real spycraft, I suppose I should consider that a good sign.
I departed the Preta this morning wearing a hoodie I'd gotten out of a convenient supplies replicator (yes, they have those out here), with the hood up and my shades on. I had very deliberately picked a dark navy blue color, so that the wire for my favorite earbuds would stand out against it- with any luck, headphones plus hoodie plus audible music coming from under the hood would still equal 'person who isn't paying you any attention', even in dimensional space.
Turns out this was a good thing. There was a guy hanging out at the disembark point, as close as civilians are (normally) permitted to get, badgering everybody as they went by. If I had to guess, he was either looking for somebody, or selling something. All it took was for me to cock my head, give him a quizzical look, and shrug, and he moved on in disgust.
I'd hate to be the guy he was looking for. That'd be rough.
Anyway, the first stage of The Plan(tm) was to sell my car. If everything worked out, I'd no longer need it... and if the plan didn't work out, I wouldn't be able to use it. Either way, I'd need the money.
I'd put the car up for sale (Bless you, administrated worlds, for doing most business online) twelve hours before reaching Karnarog. Two hours before landing, I received a message from a local collector, expressing a desire to see the vehicle. Ten minutes later, we'd agreed to meet at the spaceport, so I could take him wherever the TSAB chose to stow my car when they offloaded it.
Five minutes after the guy saw my car, I was the proud owner of a couple thousand credits. My research suggested that the credit was a much stronger currency than the dollars I was used to- that that couple thousand I'd been given was fairly close, in buying power, to $7500. Plenty for what I needed.
Stage II was to secure temporary housing. Anybody who's ever booked a hotel room online knows how easy that was. Got a room at the local equivalent of Holiday Inn- fifteen credits a night, with a thirty-cred deposit. The lodgings on the Preta were better- by far!- but it'd work.
The third stage of the plan took a bit longer. I'd done a bit of research into civilian magitech in the Nanohaverse, and there was good news and bad news. The good news was that they made devices (small-d devices) that'd do what I needed done. The bad news was that none of them were compatible with any of the Earth-tech I was carrying. I'd have to borrow or buy a local computer, as well.
The local shopping district was inconveniently far away from my temporary digs- too far to walk, anyway- so I decided to give the local taxi service a try. One credit and twenty minutes later, and I was walking through a seven-story shopping mall, rubbernecking like mad, trying to take it all in.
Robotaxis: the only way to fly.
My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Brother Atom Bomb of Courteous Debate. Get yours.
I've been writing a bit.
Also, we really know nothing about the worlds of dimensional space, outside of the TSA organization. I figure the cost of education depends on economic factors, so the sort of economy you have will determine the sort of schooling you see, which determines the costs.
I'm sort of envisioning a world that's half megacorps and half artisans. Individual skill matters, and you can do quite well by learning tech skills yourself, looking up lessons over their Internet-equivalent, and then putting them to use in a small shop of your own. On the other hand, you can go to an accredited school, get a job at a large company, and do quite well for yourself there.
The problem is that I'm used to the second approach, so that biased my search criteria.
As for the military... how would that work? I'm literally incapable of operating a Device- and Device-tech has replaced the gun, the radio, and the computer in all military applications. I'm not qualified to serve as anything more than something like 3rd Assistant Potato-Peeler.
CD: ^^
I don't really do hot blood, myself. I'd rather freeze the enemy than burn them.
You were standing too close to the ice that's forming/Colder than the void past the edges of the sky/
...come to think of it, there is a distinct shortage of SI fic where the protagonist goes the way of the Trolling Old Grandmaster, ala Lu-Tze. Somebody needs to remedy that, and by 'somebody', I mean 'not me'. Maybe. :3Rob: Same issue with the whole 'hot-blooded' thing. That, and 'the best' is a Dangerous Thing To Be.
That's the way of the Mary Sue, that is.
If I get any sort of combat ability, there will ALWAYS be a Bigger Fish. Probably a school of them. After all, we all know Rule #1 of this 'verse (you know, the one about the efficacy of anything else vs. pink beams of Befriending).
**********
Entry 16 (Day 8)
My plans are IN MOTION! MOOHOOHAHA!
...as fun as that was, it's not all that appropriate. What I've done so far was actually extremely low-key... honestly, rather boring stuff. From what I know of real spycraft, I suppose I should consider that a good sign.
I departed the Preta this morning wearing a hoodie I'd gotten out of a convenient supplies replicator (yes, they have those out here), with the hood up and my shades on. I had very deliberately picked a dark navy blue color, so that the wire for my favorite earbuds would stand out against it- with any luck, headphones plus hoodie plus audible music coming from under the hood would still equal 'person who isn't paying you any attention', even in dimensional space.
Turns out this was a good thing. There was a guy hanging out at the disembark point, as close as civilians are (normally) permitted to get, badgering everybody as they went by. If I had to guess, he was either looking for somebody, or selling something. All it took was for me to cock my head, give him a quizzical look, and shrug, and he moved on in disgust.
I'd hate to be the guy he was looking for. That'd be rough.
Anyway, the first stage of The Plan(tm) was to sell my car. If everything worked out, I'd no longer need it... and if the plan didn't work out, I wouldn't be able to use it. Either way, I'd need the money.
I'd put the car up for sale (Bless you, administrated worlds, for doing most business online) twelve hours before reaching Karnarog. Two hours before landing, I received a message from a local collector, expressing a desire to see the vehicle. Ten minutes later, we'd agreed to meet at the spaceport, so I could take him wherever the TSAB chose to stow my car when they offloaded it.
Five minutes after the guy saw my car, I was the proud owner of a couple thousand credits. My research suggested that the credit was a much stronger currency than the dollars I was used to- that that couple thousand I'd been given was fairly close, in buying power, to $7500. Plenty for what I needed.
Stage II was to secure temporary housing. Anybody who's ever booked a hotel room online knows how easy that was. Got a room at the local equivalent of Holiday Inn- fifteen credits a night, with a thirty-cred deposit. The lodgings on the Preta were better- by far!- but it'd work.
The third stage of the plan took a bit longer. I'd done a bit of research into civilian magitech in the Nanohaverse, and there was good news and bad news. The good news was that they made devices (small-d devices) that'd do what I needed done. The bad news was that none of them were compatible with any of the Earth-tech I was carrying. I'd have to borrow or buy a local computer, as well.
The local shopping district was inconveniently far away from my temporary digs- too far to walk, anyway- so I decided to give the local taxi service a try. One credit and twenty minutes later, and I was walking through a seven-story shopping mall, rubbernecking like mad, trying to take it all in.
Robotaxis: the only way to fly.
My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Brother Atom Bomb of Courteous Debate. Get yours.
I've been writing a bit.