ref: b9fbb17c04e4ccfb2021dac818e514351ca8f646
dir: /troff/0704.ms/
.LP \& .sp |4.25i .ce .ps 12 .CW 2D COLLISION DETECTION .R .PP .ps 12 Human minds as the medium for conflicts waged by lower life forms. .PP .ps 12 Flatlands (plural) intersecting, obstructing the path of the mordant ant\-crusher. Possibly intersecting with yet other, geometrically opposed flatlands, somewhere along the way. Stipulated: a complex, multifaceted surface, gleaming on borrowed time. .PP .ps 12 The blocks were projected in "3D." Actually, flat paintings in light of imagined real life constructions. Call them panes. .PP .ps 12 Panels. .PP .ps 12 K.A.R.R. suddenly realized that his visor was just displaying comics. .PP .ps 12 He took the fucking thing off, looked at it, turned it around in his hands. .PP .ps 12 Put it back on. .PP .ps 12 Garthe slammed on the brakes but by now Goliath was ignoring manual input. If anything the rig seemed to be accelerating. Garthe wrinkled his nose and pushed air through his nostrils as Goliath barreled toward the inert figure laying motionless in the sand. Welp. He'd have to pretend this was somehow intentional. He wrinkled his eyebrows and gripped the steering wheel even more tightly than before. .PP .ps 12 Without warning, haptics kicked back in. Luckily Garthe had never stopped tugging on the steering wheel. Goliath swerved madly, nearly toppling over, and narrowly avoided flattening K.A.R.R. into a 2D desert doormat. The rig, however, had become perilously unstable along the way. .PP .ps 12 That was when Goliath collided with what appeared to be a huge rock. .PP .ps 12 Trailer capsized. Comics everywhere. This strange little fellow rolling around, rubbing the wings of his cloak against the comic book pages, like some kind of frolicking honey bee, oblivious to the danger. How had this been allowed to happen? .PP .ps 12 Garthe was beside himself. He'd spoiled the whole load. How was he going to explain this to his dad? .PP .ps 12 How indeed, Garthe? .PP .ps 12w Oh, and it hadn't been a rock that he'd hit, either. Garthe had run over another (smaller) vehicle. Not much left of it now, to be sure. A fine mess he'd gotten himself into. .PP .ps 12 He stroked his mustache pensively, trying to think of what he could do to salvage the load. .PP .ps 12 Nothing came to mind. .PP .ps 12 Comic books were falling from the sky, or rather, many, many pages thereof were twirling out everywhere, pinwheeling carelessly into the sand. K.A.R.R. grasped at them, fascinated. Most of these he recognized as key issues. It was too bad about the condition, but some of them could probably be ironed flat, sewn back together, or otherwise "minted." At least it was dry out here. But by now it was too pink out to read. K.A.R.R. gathered up the loose leaves as best he could before they floated away, tripping haphazardly into the unmarked desert. He had nothing to carry them in, so he ended up folding them into his cloak and heaving them over his shoulder, a big back\-issue bindle, Martian Santa with his glistening black trash bag full of comic book crap. .PP .ps 12 Meanwhile, back at the scene of Garthe's final humiliation...