Impossible to tell what's what here, aside from the usual hinderances of advanced technology, not to mention magic.
She'd like to think— as would most humans with intimate knowledge of the living world— that she could tell the difference between man and machine with ease. Of course she could, couldn't she? No amount of synthetic fibers or gesticulating facial mechanisms could imitate true humanism. There had been whispers among the company of 'experimental technology'; never did she consider this technology might extend as far as total imitation.
She'd like to think this.
And then she'd met one such imitation.
It seems that so has he.
"Gaeta." Ripley nods, ticking off a box in her mind.
To no one's surprise, her rocks ease up the tension. Easier on the eyes and pallet than human-synthetic horror. She leans forward on her elbows, appraising a cluster of green crystal like it were a prized show animal. She, too, brightens up a little.
"Isn't it? I've seen plenty of mining planets and all the ore you can think of, but half the stuff on this table are concentrates I've never heard before, let alone seen in any scientific journal or planetary reading. This one—" she picks up an opaque, yellow stone, "—turns black when it touches water. Then the water turns orange and the whole concoction starts to get hot. The granite-looking one over there splits in perfect lines. Not once or often— but every time you cut it."
no subject
Just me.
"Great. It had better stay that way."
Impossible to tell what's what here, aside from the usual hinderances of advanced technology, not to mention magic.
She'd like to think— as would most humans with intimate knowledge of the living world— that she could tell the difference between man and machine with ease. Of course she could, couldn't she? No amount of synthetic fibers or gesticulating facial mechanisms could imitate true humanism. There had been whispers among the company of 'experimental technology'; never did she consider this technology might extend as far as total imitation.
She'd like to think this.
And then she'd met one such imitation.
It seems that so has he.
"Gaeta." Ripley nods, ticking off a box in her mind.
To no one's surprise, her rocks ease up the tension. Easier on the eyes and pallet than human-synthetic horror. She leans forward on her elbows, appraising a cluster of green crystal like it were a prized show animal. She, too, brightens up a little.
"Isn't it? I've seen plenty of mining planets and all the ore you can think of, but half the stuff on this table are concentrates I've never heard before, let alone seen in any scientific journal or planetary reading. This one—" she picks up an opaque, yellow stone, "—turns black when it touches water. Then the water turns orange and the whole concoction starts to get hot. The granite-looking one over there splits in perfect lines. Not once or often— but every time you cut it."
Can you tell she likes rocks?