CarlManvers2019
Writers Blocked Douchebag
Go post short stories or chapters or even beginnings of a fanfic or original series here, from whatever you can think of
The General Writing Snippet Thread
- Thread starter CarlManvers2019
- Start date
Lukas Schmidt idly toyed with his clipboard. His eyes were on the paper but his mind was miles away. Six months into the end phase of the project and they were just now going to try and turn the dammed thing on. The project lead had barged into the lab late last night when it was just the night shift and frantically demanded that they make the testing area ready for an engine activation. Considering the last they'd seen of the man he'd been off to Zurich to speak with the head of R&D about six more months of development time before any testing; it didn't bode well for the longevity of the project that head office were demanding results now. He was already previously contemplating where he could work after this project went down the drain. Red Mountain was always an option? They were always looking for weird project histories to add to their teams; pay was dammed good. Living out in the desert or the arctic was a real bitch though.
"Iris is opening, three millimetres." A lab tech - arrived early in the morning from head office to 'assist' - warned; Lucas checked the shielding and motioned for the test to continue. No gamma, beta or alpha outside the shielded area; and the reaction was steady. Both atomic clocks measured the same time. Both laser rangefinders measured different; if only by a fraction of an inch.
Despite the past months of grueling tweaking stripping away any semblance of actual excitement for his job, Lukas couldn't help but feel the start of a cold sweat bead down his neck. It was fucking working. Space was being changed right in front of their eyes; but time was not. Two lasers showed two different distance between the same object and yet both atomic clocks had the same perspective. It was impossible; and it was happening.
"More."
What? Lukas looked up past the safety railing to the R&D director - a balding man in his sixties, short but with tightly corded muscles and a squashed looking face - to confirm what he had said.
"Sir? The test is a success; we should shut down and review the d-"
"Open the iris more. I didn't fly out to the middle of nowhere to be dazzled by bullshit readings that you could write up as a mere error in experimental design. I want to see actual progress."
Lukas tapped his clipboard with a pencil three times; then leant down began adjusting measurements. Setting tolerances to far higher than anything they had been expected to reach in a year, let alone six months. If the ignorant pencil pusher wanted a show then he'd get a show. Hopefully the smug fuck would crap himself when he saw the results. He motioned to the lab tech to review the changes he had made. No sense in taking all the blame if something went wrong.
"Tolerance is up to fifteen millimetres; open it up. Fifteen second interval please."
The lab tech confirmed and set the timer for iris to shut after fifteen seconds.
The iris opened further, now the 'spotlight' of warped space it projected was visible, and growing faster by the second. A patch of space in the centre of the room where light was being bent and distorted. Anything passing through it would emerge on the other side instantly; going just as fast as when it entered, but crucially without any time dilation. The chain of C theoretically snipped away by mans engineering prowess and whatever the fuck the company had given them as a power source.
Lukas looked up to the head of R&D and smiled thinly.
"Is that an error in experimental design?"
The man didn't respond, didn't even react like he'd heard anything at all. He just stared at the warp with a hunger that Lukas had never seen before. A single minded desire to posses what was in front of him, and the glimmer of satisfaction that it was well within reach.
Red Mountain could wait; if even the pencil pusher could see the value in this project then he was looking at being set for life. The shielding, the ceramics, hell even the iris had all been his design. The company offered a very generous patent sharing system for engineering work. Being bold had its perks.
"Mr. Schmidt?" The lab tech called him over to the main console, a squat, industrial looking thing that dominated the middle of the otherwise sleek looking testing lab.
"What is it?"
"The iris isn't closing. The interval timer pinged the mechanism but there's no response. Not even a confirmation packet from the sensor." The tech handed him a control touch pad to see for himself. It was true, no response from any of the automated shut off systems; not even a bug report on why they'd failed to engage.
Lukas tapped through the cameras on the engine itself, shuffling through until he found the one directed at the iris. Attached to the edge of the iris were four sensors meant to snap the shielding device shut and kill the engine if anything went wrong; they should have activated after the fifteen second interval they'd set had been up. He zoomed in as much as he could and swore softly under his breath.
"The sensors didn't send anything back because the sensors are gone."
He handed the pad to the lab tech who looked over the image. Where there should have been four intact sensors, there were only twisted lumps of metal and wire. The entire frame of the iris had been warped by the engine output. Lukas strode over to the manual switch system for the iris. A few experimental pumps of the handle yielded a pitiful hiss of air. The pneumatic's had also failed. For a brief moment Lukas considered just shrugging and walking away; the project head could deal with whatever fallout came from this particular fuck up. He soon quashed that idea; it was one born of barely an hours sleep over two days and a serious coffee addiction. Now that he knew the project worked for real - and not just in theory - he couldn't walk away. Breaching the light-speed barrier was something monumental; there was no way in hell he was walking away from that.
"The iris is degrading, we're at twenty millimetres now and it's getting bigger; we're going to end up wi-"
"Warp bleed, I know." Lukas cut the lab tech off with a wave of his hand. Having random patches of distorted space 'moving' around the lab would be catastrophic; forget the project getting shut down. The entire site would probably be black bagged if that happened. Lukas licked his lips, with the iris still open the shielding couldn't properly engage, and the engine bleed off would damage the iris, which would let out more bleed off, which would degrade the iris even more. Eventually there wouldn't be a shielding system to engage. If the project would be saved then it needed to be saved now.
"Right..." He looked over to the lab tech and pointed to the emergency phone on the wall.
"Call a medical team and have them bring down radiation treatment and burn treatments."
"What ar yo-"
"Do it! Hurry up." He didn't have time to answer the techs questions. Every second spent fucking around was a second more of radiation that the engine would be dumping into his face. He needed to get down into the housing itself, past the first shield system and physically close the iris. Once that was done the internal shields should hold. They had ran the numbers on it before; worse case was an iris diameter of fifty millimetres. Once it widened to that size then internal shielding would fail and they'd have to rely on the external barriers. Except those won't stop it, a niggling thought prickled at him. The internal barriers only work because the engines bleed off could be used to power the things stopping it from going off like a nuke. If they failed then the shields would only be strong enough to reach a minimum safe distance...a distance which might not actually exist. The power source was perpetual; it could theoretically just keep increasing its output until the whole fucking planet burned.
He grabbed a toolbox off of workbench near the engine housing, pausing only to check that the needed tools were present; then opened the door and slipped inside. The heat was worse than the noise. A thin grating wail that set his teeth on edge; but it was a sound that he expected. The heat was not, there was enough cryo coolant flooding the pipes around him that frostbite should have been a serious concern. Instead it was like being inside an oven. He instantly broke into a heavy sweat, gasping at the wall of heat, and then coughing as his mouth and throat dried. A small, terrified part of him mumbled that he could feel the prickling stabs of decaying particles tearing into his cells. Subatomic bullets being fired from the engine to stop him advancing.
He pressed on regardless, contorting in the dark, cramped casing. The iris manual control was at the very deepest point of the engine; wrapped in yellow and black danger signs warning of the high tension it was under. Enough to snap off a limb if an engineer was not careful when adjusting it. Lukas jammed a wrench into the workings, throwing his weight behind the action; desperately trying to get the iris to snap shut. The nest of bars holding the iris open barely budged. Again he slammed his weight into it. Again it didn't move. The deformity that had warped away the sensors had spread to the inner workings of the engines case.
"Fucking hell."
He shone a torch into manual shut off. There was a single part bent into the engines inner casing; if he pressed against it from the outside like he'd been doing then it simply slammed against the ceramics that made up the physical shield. They were hard as diamond and nigh unbreakable, even if they weren't he couldn't risk damaging them; without them he'd be eating so many rads he may as well have been swimming in a reactors core water. From the way it was bent it looked like he could maybe reach it and adjust the way it moved.
"Mr. Schmidt? Are you in there?!"
Lukas looked over his shoulder to the door; he could make out one of the medical techs standing there, he was grim faced and wearing a radiation detector patch. Good, Lukas thought, there's a medical team here. Hospitals on site as well. I can make it through this if I just fix the fucking iris.
But to reach it he'd have to move past the non physical radiation shield. A thin magnetic skin made to catch the most deadly forms of exotic particle that the engines power source bled. Lukas pulled the wrench free of the manual controls. He leant back on his heels licking his lips again to try and work some moisture into them. The broiling heat of the casing stole it away instantly. If he reached past that shield then he was fucked; plain and simple. Best case was maybe the medical team purged the immediate effect before it killed him, then ten years down the line he gets exotic cancer of every single cell. Worst case was instant death. He had no way of measuring the exact dose of what he'd be getting from inside the machine; and no time to go outside and check on the lab gear.
No time to try and explain to the medical team what he'd be doing; he'd have to rely on the lab tech to tell them what sort of dose he'd be looking at, if the lab tech didn't then they'd waste time he probably wouldn't have trying to measure it. If he didn't adjust it then engine was going to blow, and he'd be dead anyway. Hardly a decision really. If anything it was good that it was him doing the deed; no family to get worried about him being fried by the rads, hell the guys in charge might even be happy that he got fried if they ever found out he'd been shopping around for a new job.
Fuck.
He grabbed onto a protruding pipe, it was hot; nearly boiling. Didn't matter though, he just needed something to hold onto so his head was kept above the magnetic shielding. A brain full of rads was probably not great for decision making. His arm plunged past the shield and boiling heat of the pip was forgotten instantly. The feeling inside the shield was like dipping his arm in molten ice; pain beyond anything he'd experienced before. Not hot, not cold but something else entirely. His hand closed around the warped metal and twisted it away from the shielding case. He pulled pack and using his other hand shoved the wrench back onto the manual control. Unlike before, the controls snapped shut; a nest of piping compressing and closing the iris with the sound of a gunshot.
Lukas slumped against the casing, cradling his radiation burned arm to his chest. Trying to keep from breathing in the steam rising from it. Unlike the smell of burning meat it smelled sour; more like decay. He closed his eyes against the light shining out of the cracked ceramic plating.
Wait? His head lolled to the side, the ceramic had cracked? How had the ceramic cracked?
The razor thin crack suddenly bulged and widened. Searing light consumed him.
I always liked the idea of these completely different time periods, and mindsets, and technologies colliding whenever someone writes a multicross empire sort of thing. Thought I'd try my hand at exploring it. As well as forgoing the technology focused universe hopping and have be more 'magical' and alien to advanced and primitive societies.
"Iris is opening, three millimetres." A lab tech - arrived early in the morning from head office to 'assist' - warned; Lucas checked the shielding and motioned for the test to continue. No gamma, beta or alpha outside the shielded area; and the reaction was steady. Both atomic clocks measured the same time. Both laser rangefinders measured different; if only by a fraction of an inch.
Despite the past months of grueling tweaking stripping away any semblance of actual excitement for his job, Lukas couldn't help but feel the start of a cold sweat bead down his neck. It was fucking working. Space was being changed right in front of their eyes; but time was not. Two lasers showed two different distance between the same object and yet both atomic clocks had the same perspective. It was impossible; and it was happening.
"More."
What? Lukas looked up past the safety railing to the R&D director - a balding man in his sixties, short but with tightly corded muscles and a squashed looking face - to confirm what he had said.
"Sir? The test is a success; we should shut down and review the d-"
"Open the iris more. I didn't fly out to the middle of nowhere to be dazzled by bullshit readings that you could write up as a mere error in experimental design. I want to see actual progress."
Lukas tapped his clipboard with a pencil three times; then leant down began adjusting measurements. Setting tolerances to far higher than anything they had been expected to reach in a year, let alone six months. If the ignorant pencil pusher wanted a show then he'd get a show. Hopefully the smug fuck would crap himself when he saw the results. He motioned to the lab tech to review the changes he had made. No sense in taking all the blame if something went wrong.
"Tolerance is up to fifteen millimetres; open it up. Fifteen second interval please."
The lab tech confirmed and set the timer for iris to shut after fifteen seconds.
The iris opened further, now the 'spotlight' of warped space it projected was visible, and growing faster by the second. A patch of space in the centre of the room where light was being bent and distorted. Anything passing through it would emerge on the other side instantly; going just as fast as when it entered, but crucially without any time dilation. The chain of C theoretically snipped away by mans engineering prowess and whatever the fuck the company had given them as a power source.
Lukas looked up to the head of R&D and smiled thinly.
"Is that an error in experimental design?"
The man didn't respond, didn't even react like he'd heard anything at all. He just stared at the warp with a hunger that Lukas had never seen before. A single minded desire to posses what was in front of him, and the glimmer of satisfaction that it was well within reach.
Red Mountain could wait; if even the pencil pusher could see the value in this project then he was looking at being set for life. The shielding, the ceramics, hell even the iris had all been his design. The company offered a very generous patent sharing system for engineering work. Being bold had its perks.
"Mr. Schmidt?" The lab tech called him over to the main console, a squat, industrial looking thing that dominated the middle of the otherwise sleek looking testing lab.
"What is it?"
"The iris isn't closing. The interval timer pinged the mechanism but there's no response. Not even a confirmation packet from the sensor." The tech handed him a control touch pad to see for himself. It was true, no response from any of the automated shut off systems; not even a bug report on why they'd failed to engage.
Lukas tapped through the cameras on the engine itself, shuffling through until he found the one directed at the iris. Attached to the edge of the iris were four sensors meant to snap the shielding device shut and kill the engine if anything went wrong; they should have activated after the fifteen second interval they'd set had been up. He zoomed in as much as he could and swore softly under his breath.
"The sensors didn't send anything back because the sensors are gone."
He handed the pad to the lab tech who looked over the image. Where there should have been four intact sensors, there were only twisted lumps of metal and wire. The entire frame of the iris had been warped by the engine output. Lukas strode over to the manual switch system for the iris. A few experimental pumps of the handle yielded a pitiful hiss of air. The pneumatic's had also failed. For a brief moment Lukas considered just shrugging and walking away; the project head could deal with whatever fallout came from this particular fuck up. He soon quashed that idea; it was one born of barely an hours sleep over two days and a serious coffee addiction. Now that he knew the project worked for real - and not just in theory - he couldn't walk away. Breaching the light-speed barrier was something monumental; there was no way in hell he was walking away from that.
"The iris is degrading, we're at twenty millimetres now and it's getting bigger; we're going to end up wi-"
"Warp bleed, I know." Lukas cut the lab tech off with a wave of his hand. Having random patches of distorted space 'moving' around the lab would be catastrophic; forget the project getting shut down. The entire site would probably be black bagged if that happened. Lukas licked his lips, with the iris still open the shielding couldn't properly engage, and the engine bleed off would damage the iris, which would let out more bleed off, which would degrade the iris even more. Eventually there wouldn't be a shielding system to engage. If the project would be saved then it needed to be saved now.
"Right..." He looked over to the lab tech and pointed to the emergency phone on the wall.
"Call a medical team and have them bring down radiation treatment and burn treatments."
"What ar yo-"
"Do it! Hurry up." He didn't have time to answer the techs questions. Every second spent fucking around was a second more of radiation that the engine would be dumping into his face. He needed to get down into the housing itself, past the first shield system and physically close the iris. Once that was done the internal shields should hold. They had ran the numbers on it before; worse case was an iris diameter of fifty millimetres. Once it widened to that size then internal shielding would fail and they'd have to rely on the external barriers. Except those won't stop it, a niggling thought prickled at him. The internal barriers only work because the engines bleed off could be used to power the things stopping it from going off like a nuke. If they failed then the shields would only be strong enough to reach a minimum safe distance...a distance which might not actually exist. The power source was perpetual; it could theoretically just keep increasing its output until the whole fucking planet burned.
He grabbed a toolbox off of workbench near the engine housing, pausing only to check that the needed tools were present; then opened the door and slipped inside. The heat was worse than the noise. A thin grating wail that set his teeth on edge; but it was a sound that he expected. The heat was not, there was enough cryo coolant flooding the pipes around him that frostbite should have been a serious concern. Instead it was like being inside an oven. He instantly broke into a heavy sweat, gasping at the wall of heat, and then coughing as his mouth and throat dried. A small, terrified part of him mumbled that he could feel the prickling stabs of decaying particles tearing into his cells. Subatomic bullets being fired from the engine to stop him advancing.
He pressed on regardless, contorting in the dark, cramped casing. The iris manual control was at the very deepest point of the engine; wrapped in yellow and black danger signs warning of the high tension it was under. Enough to snap off a limb if an engineer was not careful when adjusting it. Lukas jammed a wrench into the workings, throwing his weight behind the action; desperately trying to get the iris to snap shut. The nest of bars holding the iris open barely budged. Again he slammed his weight into it. Again it didn't move. The deformity that had warped away the sensors had spread to the inner workings of the engines case.
"Fucking hell."
He shone a torch into manual shut off. There was a single part bent into the engines inner casing; if he pressed against it from the outside like he'd been doing then it simply slammed against the ceramics that made up the physical shield. They were hard as diamond and nigh unbreakable, even if they weren't he couldn't risk damaging them; without them he'd be eating so many rads he may as well have been swimming in a reactors core water. From the way it was bent it looked like he could maybe reach it and adjust the way it moved.
"Mr. Schmidt? Are you in there?!"
Lukas looked over his shoulder to the door; he could make out one of the medical techs standing there, he was grim faced and wearing a radiation detector patch. Good, Lukas thought, there's a medical team here. Hospitals on site as well. I can make it through this if I just fix the fucking iris.
But to reach it he'd have to move past the non physical radiation shield. A thin magnetic skin made to catch the most deadly forms of exotic particle that the engines power source bled. Lukas pulled the wrench free of the manual controls. He leant back on his heels licking his lips again to try and work some moisture into them. The broiling heat of the casing stole it away instantly. If he reached past that shield then he was fucked; plain and simple. Best case was maybe the medical team purged the immediate effect before it killed him, then ten years down the line he gets exotic cancer of every single cell. Worst case was instant death. He had no way of measuring the exact dose of what he'd be getting from inside the machine; and no time to go outside and check on the lab gear.
No time to try and explain to the medical team what he'd be doing; he'd have to rely on the lab tech to tell them what sort of dose he'd be looking at, if the lab tech didn't then they'd waste time he probably wouldn't have trying to measure it. If he didn't adjust it then engine was going to blow, and he'd be dead anyway. Hardly a decision really. If anything it was good that it was him doing the deed; no family to get worried about him being fried by the rads, hell the guys in charge might even be happy that he got fried if they ever found out he'd been shopping around for a new job.
Fuck.
He grabbed onto a protruding pipe, it was hot; nearly boiling. Didn't matter though, he just needed something to hold onto so his head was kept above the magnetic shielding. A brain full of rads was probably not great for decision making. His arm plunged past the shield and boiling heat of the pip was forgotten instantly. The feeling inside the shield was like dipping his arm in molten ice; pain beyond anything he'd experienced before. Not hot, not cold but something else entirely. His hand closed around the warped metal and twisted it away from the shielding case. He pulled pack and using his other hand shoved the wrench back onto the manual control. Unlike before, the controls snapped shut; a nest of piping compressing and closing the iris with the sound of a gunshot.
Lukas slumped against the casing, cradling his radiation burned arm to his chest. Trying to keep from breathing in the steam rising from it. Unlike the smell of burning meat it smelled sour; more like decay. He closed his eyes against the light shining out of the cracked ceramic plating.
Wait? His head lolled to the side, the ceramic had cracked? How had the ceramic cracked?
The razor thin crack suddenly bulged and widened. Searing light consumed him.
X-x-0-x-X
Start of a multicross sort of thing. I intend it to start off focused on the semi-SI (lukas) but move onto the people he goes and picks up.
I always liked the idea of these completely different time periods, and mindsets, and technologies colliding whenever someone writes a multicross empire sort of thing. Thought I'd try my hand at exploring it. As well as forgoing the technology focused universe hopping and have be more 'magical' and alien to advanced and primitive societies.
The heat bore down on the slave market. Harsh rays that intensified the scent of spices carried on the sparse winds through the narrow streets. Cato wiped a layer of sweat from his brow and grimaced under the sunlight. He was a well built man approaching his early thirties; with strong arms corded with muscles and a thick body. With him were two of his sons; slimmer but with the start of the same thick build as their father. The three of them openly carried heavy sticks with balled wooden heads; to better control their 'merchandise'.
They were hired by a slave auctioneer to transport the goods through the city and into the Domus of their new master. A dozen learned Greeks that had fetched a hoard of coin for the lot. Unlike the unskilled labour that were commonly moved by the family, these men were dressed in well made clothing; cleaned and groomed, and well fed before they were sent on their way. The buyer had specified that the men were to be of good education, healthy and not overly mistreated. So far neither Cato nor his sons had needed to use their clubs to move the slaves; nor been bothered by some of the dark looking men eyeing them as they walked towards the Domus.
It stood apart from the surrounding streets and shops. A walled estate of light stone; the outer walls were topped with red tiles and various parts had been defaced with graffiti that the master staff were painting over. Cato approached the front gate; pointedly ignoring the men lounging on the balcony of the top floor of the main house. They were casually watching him and his sons with the loose caution of men used to the feel of battle. Light skinned, with blonde hair; foreign mercenaries. A part of him disliked seeing such men in the city of Rome itself; another part disliked seeing the 'fire staves' stacked against the balcony far more.
When they reached the gate, another of the fair skinned men blocked his path; regarding him with suspicious eyes.
"State your business." He said, voice snarling with the strange accent of the Gauls. Cato bristled slightly at the gall of the foreign savage demanding anything of him; but he pushed it aside with a sight grunt and handed over the pass.
"The missive says we are to deliver these slaves to the Master of the house; who will sign for them." He supplied, suspecting that barbarian was likely unable to actually read Latin, even if he could butcher it with speech.
"I can read, Roman. You are Cato?"
"I am; will you let me pass?" He asked, somewhat impatiently. It was approaching midday, and in the summer the heat pouring down onto the stone road and stone walls turned the city into something like an oven. Getting inside; even to simply do business was a blessing. The barbarian regarded him for a few long moments, working his jaw as if deciding whether or not to rebuff him; despite the proof of their need to be there. Eventually he relented and rapped on the door to the Domus.
"You'll leave your clubs here." He stated, gesturing to the table next to door. Cato nodded to his sons who deposited their weapons alongside his own on the table. Then they were ushered inside; the slaves were hurried in after them by the door guard. Moving them with a stern word and a meaningful hand on the hilt of his sword.
Once inside Cato breathed a sigh of relief. The heat from the streets was almost entirely absent; instead there seemed to be a cool breeze drifting through the Domus, carrying with it the smell of baked foods and flowers. More barbarians lounged around the inside of the estate; one of them came over with a bowl of water and a cloth. Despite the mans foreign form and harsh countenance Cato was happy to splash the cool water on his face and wash away some of the dust from the city. While he was doing so more of the barbarians came and examined the slaves; chatting idly with each other in the Gaulic tongue.
"Is the Master of the house free to meet with me?" Cato asked the Gaul who had brought him the water bowl. The man offered it to Cato's sons, but they refused. Unlike their father the heat and dust barely bothered them.
"Yes; my Master awaits you in the garden." The Gaul said, gesturing with one arm deeper into the Domus. His eyes had adjusted to the darker inside of the Domus and he realised that the Gaul who had brought the bowl was dressed entirely different to the rest of the barbarians. They wore armoured jackets and bottoms; heavy with metal and leathers. The man wore a lighter robe; dark green in colour. Even his hair was different, theirs was trimmed short; no longer than a single finger knuckle long. His was down to his shoulders, bunched up in a braid with shaved sides. Cato assumed then that he was some sort of housekeeper. A Gaul learned man - as impossible that sounded - used to help control their warriors? Strange, but the Master of this specific Domus was known already for his peculiarities.
Cato followed the manservant deeper into the house, passing a slew of rooms, partitioned away with hanging green drapes. Everywhere he looked he saw more of the barbarian soldiers; most of them carried a sword at their hip and bow slung on their back. Every so often though he'd see one with something different: thin rods made entirely of a silvery metal. They looked far too fragile to be used as weapons, and the men carrying them weren't wearing armour like the others. Instead the only adornment they had were a matching pair of metal vambraces. He idly wondered if they were some other mysterious Gaulic tradition? He had heard stories of how their men supposedly went into battle naked; with skin coloured bright blue.
The manservant led them through the house and out into a garden; there were no guards with them. The green space was much larger than any other he'd seen in the richer citizens Domus. Dozens of bushes carrying a multitude of berries dotted the grassy floor. A handful of trees cast a bevy of shadows to protect beds of flowers from the harsh sunlight. He tried recognising the various fruits that dangled from their branches. Apples, Oranges, Red Cherries; and even a peach tree. He couldn't recognise the remaining two though. One bore a bevy of heavy russet pods; and the other had brown, furred fruit hanging from it.
The Master of the house was sat at a desk under the shade of the Orange tree. Unlike the Gauls he had darker hair and a darker complexion; tanned from the sun. He stood from the desk and smiled at the manservant, clasping his hand and taking the documents from him. Cato approached at his gesture.
"Greetings. The slaves you purchased are here, as requested. As is the proof of purchase, as requested."
The Master smiled at his statement, checking over the documents; leafing through the papers with only minor interest. He waved off the manservant and gestured to a pitcher on the desk.
"Thank you, thank you...have some drink; the heat out there is lethal."
Cato nodded and poured himself a cup; taking an experimental sip, he was surprised to have the taste of fruit spill onto his tongue without the harsh tinge of alcohol with it. A refreshing cherry taste that made him realise suddenly how parched the day had made him. His sons likewise took long pulls of their drink.
"Thank you for your hospitality."
The Master waved him off, sitting down behind the desk again. He spread his arms and looked around.
"No bother my friend. No need for the formalities; I am Kostantinos. You are?"
"Cato." He supplied.
"Well met Cato. You brought me my purchase without incident and without delay, for that I would ask you to thank your employer and take this as extra for you and your sons." Kostantinos plucked a small bag out of his desk and deposited it on the table. Cato picked it up and tied it to his belt; not checking the amount out of politeness.
"Thank you...Kostatinos. May we rest in your home until the heat of middy has past? This was my last delivery of the day."
The Master of the Domus nodded and whistled sharply. From behind one of the pillars that ringer the garden, a Gaul holding one of the strange metal rods approached.
"This is Cintran. He will show you to a guest room, have some food, drink and rest. Then be on your way when you are ready. If these new slaves are as good as they seemed at the lot, then we will likely be seeing more of each other my friend."
If the man is so commonly generous then I do hope we will be seeing more of each other, Cato thought; aware of the weight of the bag he'd been given as a 'bonus'. Even if were small coinage it would still be enough to start a tidy fund for something for his second son Linus; his firstborne would receive the most, but giving Linus funds when he was gone would be nice as well.
"Thank you. Farewell." He bowed his head slightly and turned to follow Cintran.
They were hired by a slave auctioneer to transport the goods through the city and into the Domus of their new master. A dozen learned Greeks that had fetched a hoard of coin for the lot. Unlike the unskilled labour that were commonly moved by the family, these men were dressed in well made clothing; cleaned and groomed, and well fed before they were sent on their way. The buyer had specified that the men were to be of good education, healthy and not overly mistreated. So far neither Cato nor his sons had needed to use their clubs to move the slaves; nor been bothered by some of the dark looking men eyeing them as they walked towards the Domus.
It stood apart from the surrounding streets and shops. A walled estate of light stone; the outer walls were topped with red tiles and various parts had been defaced with graffiti that the master staff were painting over. Cato approached the front gate; pointedly ignoring the men lounging on the balcony of the top floor of the main house. They were casually watching him and his sons with the loose caution of men used to the feel of battle. Light skinned, with blonde hair; foreign mercenaries. A part of him disliked seeing such men in the city of Rome itself; another part disliked seeing the 'fire staves' stacked against the balcony far more.
When they reached the gate, another of the fair skinned men blocked his path; regarding him with suspicious eyes.
"State your business." He said, voice snarling with the strange accent of the Gauls. Cato bristled slightly at the gall of the foreign savage demanding anything of him; but he pushed it aside with a sight grunt and handed over the pass.
"The missive says we are to deliver these slaves to the Master of the house; who will sign for them." He supplied, suspecting that barbarian was likely unable to actually read Latin, even if he could butcher it with speech.
"I can read, Roman. You are Cato?"
"I am; will you let me pass?" He asked, somewhat impatiently. It was approaching midday, and in the summer the heat pouring down onto the stone road and stone walls turned the city into something like an oven. Getting inside; even to simply do business was a blessing. The barbarian regarded him for a few long moments, working his jaw as if deciding whether or not to rebuff him; despite the proof of their need to be there. Eventually he relented and rapped on the door to the Domus.
"You'll leave your clubs here." He stated, gesturing to the table next to door. Cato nodded to his sons who deposited their weapons alongside his own on the table. Then they were ushered inside; the slaves were hurried in after them by the door guard. Moving them with a stern word and a meaningful hand on the hilt of his sword.
Once inside Cato breathed a sigh of relief. The heat from the streets was almost entirely absent; instead there seemed to be a cool breeze drifting through the Domus, carrying with it the smell of baked foods and flowers. More barbarians lounged around the inside of the estate; one of them came over with a bowl of water and a cloth. Despite the mans foreign form and harsh countenance Cato was happy to splash the cool water on his face and wash away some of the dust from the city. While he was doing so more of the barbarians came and examined the slaves; chatting idly with each other in the Gaulic tongue.
"Is the Master of the house free to meet with me?" Cato asked the Gaul who had brought him the water bowl. The man offered it to Cato's sons, but they refused. Unlike their father the heat and dust barely bothered them.
"Yes; my Master awaits you in the garden." The Gaul said, gesturing with one arm deeper into the Domus. His eyes had adjusted to the darker inside of the Domus and he realised that the Gaul who had brought the bowl was dressed entirely different to the rest of the barbarians. They wore armoured jackets and bottoms; heavy with metal and leathers. The man wore a lighter robe; dark green in colour. Even his hair was different, theirs was trimmed short; no longer than a single finger knuckle long. His was down to his shoulders, bunched up in a braid with shaved sides. Cato assumed then that he was some sort of housekeeper. A Gaul learned man - as impossible that sounded - used to help control their warriors? Strange, but the Master of this specific Domus was known already for his peculiarities.
Cato followed the manservant deeper into the house, passing a slew of rooms, partitioned away with hanging green drapes. Everywhere he looked he saw more of the barbarian soldiers; most of them carried a sword at their hip and bow slung on their back. Every so often though he'd see one with something different: thin rods made entirely of a silvery metal. They looked far too fragile to be used as weapons, and the men carrying them weren't wearing armour like the others. Instead the only adornment they had were a matching pair of metal vambraces. He idly wondered if they were some other mysterious Gaulic tradition? He had heard stories of how their men supposedly went into battle naked; with skin coloured bright blue.
The manservant led them through the house and out into a garden; there were no guards with them. The green space was much larger than any other he'd seen in the richer citizens Domus. Dozens of bushes carrying a multitude of berries dotted the grassy floor. A handful of trees cast a bevy of shadows to protect beds of flowers from the harsh sunlight. He tried recognising the various fruits that dangled from their branches. Apples, Oranges, Red Cherries; and even a peach tree. He couldn't recognise the remaining two though. One bore a bevy of heavy russet pods; and the other had brown, furred fruit hanging from it.
The Master of the house was sat at a desk under the shade of the Orange tree. Unlike the Gauls he had darker hair and a darker complexion; tanned from the sun. He stood from the desk and smiled at the manservant, clasping his hand and taking the documents from him. Cato approached at his gesture.
"Greetings. The slaves you purchased are here, as requested. As is the proof of purchase, as requested."
The Master smiled at his statement, checking over the documents; leafing through the papers with only minor interest. He waved off the manservant and gestured to a pitcher on the desk.
"Thank you, thank you...have some drink; the heat out there is lethal."
Cato nodded and poured himself a cup; taking an experimental sip, he was surprised to have the taste of fruit spill onto his tongue without the harsh tinge of alcohol with it. A refreshing cherry taste that made him realise suddenly how parched the day had made him. His sons likewise took long pulls of their drink.
"Thank you for your hospitality."
The Master waved him off, sitting down behind the desk again. He spread his arms and looked around.
"No bother my friend. No need for the formalities; I am Kostantinos. You are?"
"Cato." He supplied.
"Well met Cato. You brought me my purchase without incident and without delay, for that I would ask you to thank your employer and take this as extra for you and your sons." Kostantinos plucked a small bag out of his desk and deposited it on the table. Cato picked it up and tied it to his belt; not checking the amount out of politeness.
"Thank you...Kostatinos. May we rest in your home until the heat of middy has past? This was my last delivery of the day."
The Master of the Domus nodded and whistled sharply. From behind one of the pillars that ringer the garden, a Gaul holding one of the strange metal rods approached.
"This is Cintran. He will show you to a guest room, have some food, drink and rest. Then be on your way when you are ready. If these new slaves are as good as they seemed at the lot, then we will likely be seeing more of each other my friend."
If the man is so commonly generous then I do hope we will be seeing more of each other, Cato thought; aware of the weight of the bag he'd been given as a 'bonus'. Even if were small coinage it would still be enough to start a tidy fund for something for his second son Linus; his firstborne would receive the most, but giving Linus funds when he was gone would be nice as well.
"Thank you. Farewell." He bowed his head slightly and turned to follow Cintran.
Syzygy
Well-known member
There was a call on the corner of purgatory and damnation. A scream dripping with all the rapacious passion of justice unfulfilled, the kind that rubs a throat raw and leaves it bleeding. He chased its echo back to the source with a shower of sparks leaping from his heels every step of the way. If he weren’t already burning the excitement would have set him alight. But as it was, his arrival beget a firestorm that devoured creaking bushes and scattered their ashes among the dust.
He swatted the flickering flames left behind, setting loose embers that briefly challenged the stars overhead. Adjusting the lapels of his coat to better frame his infernal soul, he cast an eternal smile into the dark. A shadow rose from the desert and drifted closer. It paused once or twice, breath stolen by trepidation until daring sucked it right back in, setting a staggered pace that had him digging in his heels against the desire to leap forward.
“Felt like holding the reins for a change?” The words left his mouth with a crackle, and he ground his teeth to cage the excitement guiding his tongue.
A woman entered his little circle of light, close enough to spit in his eye, and from the vicious tilt of her eyebrows he could tell the idea crossed her mind. A cheek nearly the size of his fist ballooned on one side, upsetting the balance of her lovely face and squeezing one eye shut. The other peeked from behind messy, black hair. Something quivered in his chest as he stared into that one eye and discovered a fire that was a reflection of his own. He nearly melted.
She stepped closer and the retreating shadows exposed her left arm held close to her body. “Kill them!” she hissed, the words muddled by her injury. “Drag them to hell! Throw them in the ocean of fire! Whip them que nada más de los pendejos!”
“¿Es que tú quieres?” he whispered back. He knew it wasn’t, not exactly.
His conspirator leaned away from the hungry fire threatening to scorch her hair and he realized just how far he was bent to be near her. He straightened out and casually cleared his throat, an act that threw more embers into the air.
“Yes,” she said.
“Do you know how long it will be before you join them?”
Doubt flickered across her face so fast he almost didn’t catch it, but she didn’t look away, not even as he leveled his eyes with hers again. “I was never going to be a saint.”
“But you could become a martyr.” He almost laughed at the look of disgust that scrunched her nose; she wasn’t going to take her abuse lying down. “Alright,” he conceded. “You know what you want, so let’s set the terms.”
“My soul?”
“I could sweeten the deal for body and soul.”
Her good hand curled into a fist.
He quickly brought up both hands to shield his face and his laughter. “A joke, chiquitita. There’s only one currency I deal in.”
He swatted the flickering flames left behind, setting loose embers that briefly challenged the stars overhead. Adjusting the lapels of his coat to better frame his infernal soul, he cast an eternal smile into the dark. A shadow rose from the desert and drifted closer. It paused once or twice, breath stolen by trepidation until daring sucked it right back in, setting a staggered pace that had him digging in his heels against the desire to leap forward.
“Felt like holding the reins for a change?” The words left his mouth with a crackle, and he ground his teeth to cage the excitement guiding his tongue.
A woman entered his little circle of light, close enough to spit in his eye, and from the vicious tilt of her eyebrows he could tell the idea crossed her mind. A cheek nearly the size of his fist ballooned on one side, upsetting the balance of her lovely face and squeezing one eye shut. The other peeked from behind messy, black hair. Something quivered in his chest as he stared into that one eye and discovered a fire that was a reflection of his own. He nearly melted.
She stepped closer and the retreating shadows exposed her left arm held close to her body. “Kill them!” she hissed, the words muddled by her injury. “Drag them to hell! Throw them in the ocean of fire! Whip them que nada más de los pendejos!”
“¿Es que tú quieres?” he whispered back. He knew it wasn’t, not exactly.
His conspirator leaned away from the hungry fire threatening to scorch her hair and he realized just how far he was bent to be near her. He straightened out and casually cleared his throat, an act that threw more embers into the air.
“Yes,” she said.
“Do you know how long it will be before you join them?”
Doubt flickered across her face so fast he almost didn’t catch it, but she didn’t look away, not even as he leveled his eyes with hers again. “I was never going to be a saint.”
“But you could become a martyr.” He almost laughed at the look of disgust that scrunched her nose; she wasn’t going to take her abuse lying down. “Alright,” he conceded. “You know what you want, so let’s set the terms.”
“My soul?”
“I could sweeten the deal for body and soul.”
Her good hand curled into a fist.
He quickly brought up both hands to shield his face and his laughter. “A joke, chiquitita. There’s only one currency I deal in.”
Sixgun McGurk
Well-known member
“I don’t want you to go.” Lucy Sheridan, four years old, all big blue eyes and fire-red ringlets, sucked her thumb and stared resentfully through teary eyes.
“I don’t want to go, but I have to, Darling.” Phillip picked up his daughter and kissed her soundly. “Duty is a terrible thing, a thing that often requires us to do things that we don’t want to do. I would never leave you of my own free will, darling. You know that.”
Lucy clung to his neck. “Don’t die.” Even at four, she knew that he might not come back. “I hate the horrid Mimbari!”
“I can’t promise that, darling, but I can promise that I love you and will come back just as soon as I can.” Phillip carried her as he walked up the row of his children, six girls and five boys, ranging from Lucy to Tom, his eldest at sixteen. “That goes for all of you.” He had already spoken with each, giving encouragement, orders and admonishments as deserved, but he still felt like a monster for leaving them. “Help your mother, obey the nanny-droids and look after each other. I will bring you all back a souvenir of Earth.” He handed Lucy over to Ann, his wife, and then kissed her a last farewell.
-
Phil Sheridan sat on his command bridge, thinking gloomy thoughts about his family. The mission was predicted to last four years. Would Lucy even remember him? “Status?”
Lieutenant Pearson, The XO of TFNS Mars, had been coordinating the accompanying escorts and supply vessels. “Flotilla formed up, sir. All ships reporting ready.”
Sheridan made a log entry. “Set jump clocks.”
“All ships synchronized on countdown.” Pearson thought of the ships that had brought humanity to The Island, refugees in cold sleep without even internal gravity, creeping through the lower levels of Hyperspace just one missed beacon from destruction. Humanity had come a long way in the hundred fifty years since Settlement. Now it was time to return to the old Earth Alliance territory, confront the enemy and reclaim what was Man’s.
The navigator watched the clock count down. “Jump!”
-
The ships emerged from hyperspace one AU from Earth orbit, near the ruins of the old jumpgate. It had been blown by a self destruct, along with every other item of value in the system by the dying Earth Alliance. No one had cared about the beacon system or inconveniencing aliens at that point.
“Report.” Sheridan was not expecting any alien presence, but the fleet was at Condition One anyway.
The EW officer, Commander Stephens, was compiling data. “No targets on sensors. We have contact with our probes. No activity recorded since our last contact.”
“Still deserted then.” The Terran Federation had been sending probes to former Alliance worlds for decades. The former Human colonies were deserted, with little sign of looters. Earth Alliance had gone down hard and left absolutely everything booby trapped for the Mimbari, but the boneheads had seemingly eschewed looting and withdrawn after their orbital bombardments.
The viewscreen rippled and Earth appeared, blue and white with oversized icecaps. The Mimbari kinetic bolides had created a heavily volcanic iceworld, one that was rapidly thawing out due to the greenhouse effects of the gas in its atmosphere. The scientists estimated that it would take nearly a thousand years of work to return it to a pristine state.
“There it is.” Phillip stood from his chair and paced in the space provided for that purpose, his thoughts coming in a whirl. “Our homeworld. We’ll never leave it abandoned again.”
“At least it’s in one piece.” Pearson was looking at Mars, the ship’s namesake and the planet to which he could trace his own ancestry. “They really did a job on Mars. It’s more an asteroid belt than a world.”
Sheridan brought Mars up on the main viewscreen. It was not really a planet anymore, just rubble reforming into one. “They were looking for Shadow technology.” Humanity had telepathically stunned and then dissected one of the dormant shadow vessels buried on Mars just before the Mimbari drive to Earth, learning much about hyperspace and energy systems, but it had been too late to use the knowledge. All of the research had accompanied the Refugee Fleet to The Island and that bounty had been incorporated into the new TFN fleet. “It will just make things easier for the orbital mechanics.” The acquired Hypertap technology gave Humanity the ability to move planetary mass around.
Automated tugs were already being launched and would soon be gathering war debris up from around the system and Ort cloud, launching it all toward a Mars orbit that would be cured of its excessive eccentricity. The planners envisioned a dual planetary system, each about ten percent bigger than Earth, each with a liquid nickel-iron core and magnetic field that could efficiently hold an atmosphere and be truly terraformed rather than recreating the old domes of the former inadequate planet. The Sol System was to be changed, rebuilt and massively fortified before claiming its place as the Capitol of the Terran Federation. Mankind was in no rush to emerge from its safe haven of the Island Systems.
“We’ll wait here for until the Bastions are deployed, then start calling on our 'friends.” Sheridan stopped himself from speculating on the fate of the refugees that had attempted to hide among the neutral races. It was known that the Narn had reversed their initial policy and sold out the refugees that had hidden within their territory even before Earth fell. They would feel Human wrath for it, but no one knew the fate of the others. The probes had not detected any human language broadcasts or found traces of any survivors so far. There was little to go on, as the old hypercom networks were silent, the signals no longer able to be received in the Solar System. Clearly Hyperspace had reoriented itself and the routs had changed considerably since the beacon had been destroyed. .
“I don’t want to go, but I have to, Darling.” Phillip picked up his daughter and kissed her soundly. “Duty is a terrible thing, a thing that often requires us to do things that we don’t want to do. I would never leave you of my own free will, darling. You know that.”
Lucy clung to his neck. “Don’t die.” Even at four, she knew that he might not come back. “I hate the horrid Mimbari!”
“I can’t promise that, darling, but I can promise that I love you and will come back just as soon as I can.” Phillip carried her as he walked up the row of his children, six girls and five boys, ranging from Lucy to Tom, his eldest at sixteen. “That goes for all of you.” He had already spoken with each, giving encouragement, orders and admonishments as deserved, but he still felt like a monster for leaving them. “Help your mother, obey the nanny-droids and look after each other. I will bring you all back a souvenir of Earth.” He handed Lucy over to Ann, his wife, and then kissed her a last farewell.
-
Phil Sheridan sat on his command bridge, thinking gloomy thoughts about his family. The mission was predicted to last four years. Would Lucy even remember him? “Status?”
Lieutenant Pearson, The XO of TFNS Mars, had been coordinating the accompanying escorts and supply vessels. “Flotilla formed up, sir. All ships reporting ready.”
Sheridan made a log entry. “Set jump clocks.”
“All ships synchronized on countdown.” Pearson thought of the ships that had brought humanity to The Island, refugees in cold sleep without even internal gravity, creeping through the lower levels of Hyperspace just one missed beacon from destruction. Humanity had come a long way in the hundred fifty years since Settlement. Now it was time to return to the old Earth Alliance territory, confront the enemy and reclaim what was Man’s.
The navigator watched the clock count down. “Jump!”
-
The ships emerged from hyperspace one AU from Earth orbit, near the ruins of the old jumpgate. It had been blown by a self destruct, along with every other item of value in the system by the dying Earth Alliance. No one had cared about the beacon system or inconveniencing aliens at that point.
“Report.” Sheridan was not expecting any alien presence, but the fleet was at Condition One anyway.
The EW officer, Commander Stephens, was compiling data. “No targets on sensors. We have contact with our probes. No activity recorded since our last contact.”
“Still deserted then.” The Terran Federation had been sending probes to former Alliance worlds for decades. The former Human colonies were deserted, with little sign of looters. Earth Alliance had gone down hard and left absolutely everything booby trapped for the Mimbari, but the boneheads had seemingly eschewed looting and withdrawn after their orbital bombardments.
The viewscreen rippled and Earth appeared, blue and white with oversized icecaps. The Mimbari kinetic bolides had created a heavily volcanic iceworld, one that was rapidly thawing out due to the greenhouse effects of the gas in its atmosphere. The scientists estimated that it would take nearly a thousand years of work to return it to a pristine state.
“There it is.” Phillip stood from his chair and paced in the space provided for that purpose, his thoughts coming in a whirl. “Our homeworld. We’ll never leave it abandoned again.”
“At least it’s in one piece.” Pearson was looking at Mars, the ship’s namesake and the planet to which he could trace his own ancestry. “They really did a job on Mars. It’s more an asteroid belt than a world.”
Sheridan brought Mars up on the main viewscreen. It was not really a planet anymore, just rubble reforming into one. “They were looking for Shadow technology.” Humanity had telepathically stunned and then dissected one of the dormant shadow vessels buried on Mars just before the Mimbari drive to Earth, learning much about hyperspace and energy systems, but it had been too late to use the knowledge. All of the research had accompanied the Refugee Fleet to The Island and that bounty had been incorporated into the new TFN fleet. “It will just make things easier for the orbital mechanics.” The acquired Hypertap technology gave Humanity the ability to move planetary mass around.
Automated tugs were already being launched and would soon be gathering war debris up from around the system and Ort cloud, launching it all toward a Mars orbit that would be cured of its excessive eccentricity. The planners envisioned a dual planetary system, each about ten percent bigger than Earth, each with a liquid nickel-iron core and magnetic field that could efficiently hold an atmosphere and be truly terraformed rather than recreating the old domes of the former inadequate planet. The Sol System was to be changed, rebuilt and massively fortified before claiming its place as the Capitol of the Terran Federation. Mankind was in no rush to emerge from its safe haven of the Island Systems.
“We’ll wait here for until the Bastions are deployed, then start calling on our 'friends.” Sheridan stopped himself from speculating on the fate of the refugees that had attempted to hide among the neutral races. It was known that the Narn had reversed their initial policy and sold out the refugees that had hidden within their territory even before Earth fell. They would feel Human wrath for it, but no one knew the fate of the others. The probes had not detected any human language broadcasts or found traces of any survivors so far. There was little to go on, as the old hypercom networks were silent, the signals no longer able to be received in the Solar System. Clearly Hyperspace had reoriented itself and the routs had changed considerably since the beacon had been destroyed. .
Zyobot
Just a time-traveling robot stranded on Earth.
Here's something I wrote for my high-school English class once.
Burned Bloc, Lost Stock
Setting his coffee on the table with less care than usual, ceramic white mug rattling against an oak surface already covered in scratches and crusty stains that sloshed out of previous cups, Lonnie pulled out the nearest chair—ignoring the screeching grate against the tiled floor as he did so—and let himself plop into its dark wooden frame, a sigh escaping his mouth. With a quick sip of his swirling, sienna morning beverage, he snatched up the newspaper to his nearby left before straightening it with a shake, off-white pages bristling against one another as their reader hoped to receive some good news.
The headline of Fire Consumes Entire Bloc Over Thanksgiving Weekend at the top of the front page brought Lonnie’s fingers to the bridge of his nose, elbow resting against the table and jiggling it slightly, before he let his arm drop and started to actually read through the groan-inciting article.
“November 25th to 26th...Firefighters called to put out the blaze...Northwestern Bank Building destroyed...as high as $30 million in potential damages...”
Another sigh interrupted Lonnie’s paraphrased snippet-muttering as he slammed his body into the chair’s crest rail, ignoring the newfound ache in his back and the slight rocking of the chair itself as he collided with hard, mahogany wood that was probably older than him. It seemed that last night’s TV segment got the essentials right after all.
Brrring! Brrring!
Lonnie heaved himself up from the table, not even bothering to push his chair back in or straighten his crooked reading glasses as he headed right to the source of the noise. Seizing the offending phone from its mount on the tan-painted wall, Lonnie ignored the typical clack! of its removal.
“Hello?”, he recited as usual into the ivory plastic handset, not particularly caring what the caller made of his hard-edged voice.
“Hey Lonnie, it’s Jim. As in, your stock guy Jim. Listen, I have some rather, uh...bad news for ya’.”
Lonnie didn’t know whether to think “Oh, thank God.” or “Shit. More crap to remind me how much I lost.” upon hearing that deep, New Jerseyan voice to give him a breakdown of what else must have happened. Shutting his eyes and then reopening them, Lonnie let himself sigh yet again before asking, “What is it, Jim? Lay it on me.”
“It’s about the fire over Thanksgiving weekend. Y’ know, that blaze that consumed a whole bloc downtown. You watched the coverage on TV and such?”
“The one with Alan Cox at the scene? Yeah, I saw that. Read about it in the paper, too,” Lonnie answered. He could practically see Jim’s lips pursing on the other side of the line, his body surely shifting around in his swivel chair as he fidgeted with a pencil or pen at his desk with his off-hand.
“What else is there to it?,” Lonnie pressed on after a brief silence, save for the usual static that people noticed whenever no one was talking.
“Well,” Jim began after a few more seconds of static, “Northwestern’s Bank’s stock plummeted with its headquarters’ destruction. That $3,000 you invested, it’s pretty much gone. And right now, there’s no easy way to get it back.”
Lonnie barely resisted the urge to kick the fridge just behind him. It should’ve been no surprise that he’d lose so much money thanks to a couple of dumbass kids who fancied themselves arsonists for God knows why. If only he had completely accepted that before Jim gave him the scoop for real.
“...Well, that shattered my previous hopes,” Lonnie finally replied, running his free hand across his face without regard for the beads of sweat and oily grease that accumulated over the past few, sleepless hours. He really should’ve just stayed a banking executive for a couple more years; at least those six, maybe seven-figure incomes he’d still have received wouldn’t arrive at the beck and call of a stock market that sided with no one.
“Lonnie? Ya’ still there?,” Jim questioned suddenly, snapping Lonnie out of his self-pitying reverie.
“Y...yeah. Yeah, Jim. I’m still here,” Lonnie answered with a mild stutter in his voice, internally bracing himself for yet more bad news that was about to come his way.
“Alright, good. Even though there’s not much I can do about your lost investment at that Northwestern building, there are some other stocks I can move ya’ to. Chrysler and Home Depot have been doing a damned good job lately,” Jim offered, obviously trying to lift Lonnie’s spirits.
“Maybe later, Jim. I’m starting to have second thoughts about being involved in the stock market like that as a whole,” Lonnie responded, who had been leaning against the stone countertop to steady himself for a minute now.
“...Oh. Well, okay then,” Jim replied, slowly. Another brief silence passed before he spoke up again.
“I guess if it makes ya’ feel any better, you’re not one of those people who used to work there. Or part of the company leadership that’s scrambling to get a hold of the situation, headquarters burned to the ground and all,” Jim pointed out, awkwardly pausing every few words as if to check what was about to make its way past his mouth before relaying it to Lonnie—who, for his part, remained eerily speechless.
A full second of static went by. Then another. Then, came the reply.
“Sure. I suppose I am,” the sentence left Lonnie’s dry lips with noticeable reluctance. Standing upright from his ache-inducing lean on the countertop, its rutted edge having dug into his side almost since the conversation began, he brought a fist to his mouth to stifle a cough.
“Well, Jim,” Lonnie stopped mid-sentence to clear his throat, “thanks for letting me know. I’ll get back to you on what I want to do later this week. Sound good?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. Sure, Lonnie,” Jim answered back, unable to fully hide his off-guard stutter. “I’ll be waiting for your decision in the meantime. Seeya.”
“Seeya.”
Lonnie hung up, once again ignoring the clack! of hanging the phone back onto its mount on the wall. Clasping both hands on his hips, he huffed at the ceiling before turning on his heel and gaiting back to his original spot at the table.
Dumping his old cup of now-lukewarm coffee and pouring himself a fresh one, savoring the steamy aroma that graced his nostrils, Lonnie lowered himself onto the now-straightened chair from earlier. For once in his life, it felt good to sit down gently rather than plop into whatever seat was prepared for him.
One elbow placed on the table, palm propping up the cheek of a face deep in thought, Lonnie tapped the fingers of his other hand on its rough oak surface. Now that Jim mentioned it, he really wasn’t the most screwed over player in the game. And for the three grand that got swept away because of those stupid kids, there were at least a couple dozen people who had their entire income disappear.
Lonnie eyed the newspaper that he slapped onto the table minutes before, its off-white pages bent and crinkly as it lay askew. Reaching for the paper with his free arm and straightening it with both hands, he used one finger to retrace the paragraph or so that he had already read through earlier. The next few sentences disclosed what Lonnie was looking for.
“Ten firefighters in the hospital…Dozens out of work…Employees and their families unsure what to do now…”
Damn. There truly were a ton of people who were in worse straits than him. Not that he hadn’t known struggle, of course—being a Depression baby tended to ensure that his whole generation did. Lonnie blamed the business world for changing him.
Leaning back in his chair, letting his tense muscles relax and his body settle into the creaky wood that no longer pushed against him like before, Lonnie didn’t bother to page through the rest of the paper; his mind stayed fixated on the story that wracked him before the final minute or so of his call with Jim. His stockbroker’s reminder about not being a possibly displaced employee or company leader who had to pick up the pieces kept playing back in his mind.
“Well, at least I didn’t lose potentially everything because some kids went bananas,” Lonnie thought to himself, eyelids fluttering before a stillness that he hadn’t felt in years took hold of his senses.
Ah, screw it. Fretting over a lost investment that only put a nick in his savings could wait. For now, Lonnie let his eyes shut and his frame slump, vision turning to black and limbs slackening, arms hanging off of the chair while legs bowed out to the sides as exhaustion finally caught up to him. Within minutes, Lonnie felt nothing—and the short silence that followed was then drowned out by snoring.
Burned Bloc, Lost Stock
Setting his coffee on the table with less care than usual, ceramic white mug rattling against an oak surface already covered in scratches and crusty stains that sloshed out of previous cups, Lonnie pulled out the nearest chair—ignoring the screeching grate against the tiled floor as he did so—and let himself plop into its dark wooden frame, a sigh escaping his mouth. With a quick sip of his swirling, sienna morning beverage, he snatched up the newspaper to his nearby left before straightening it with a shake, off-white pages bristling against one another as their reader hoped to receive some good news.
The headline of Fire Consumes Entire Bloc Over Thanksgiving Weekend at the top of the front page brought Lonnie’s fingers to the bridge of his nose, elbow resting against the table and jiggling it slightly, before he let his arm drop and started to actually read through the groan-inciting article.
“November 25th to 26th...Firefighters called to put out the blaze...Northwestern Bank Building destroyed...as high as $30 million in potential damages...”
Another sigh interrupted Lonnie’s paraphrased snippet-muttering as he slammed his body into the chair’s crest rail, ignoring the newfound ache in his back and the slight rocking of the chair itself as he collided with hard, mahogany wood that was probably older than him. It seemed that last night’s TV segment got the essentials right after all.
Brrring! Brrring!
Lonnie heaved himself up from the table, not even bothering to push his chair back in or straighten his crooked reading glasses as he headed right to the source of the noise. Seizing the offending phone from its mount on the tan-painted wall, Lonnie ignored the typical clack! of its removal.
“Hello?”, he recited as usual into the ivory plastic handset, not particularly caring what the caller made of his hard-edged voice.
“Hey Lonnie, it’s Jim. As in, your stock guy Jim. Listen, I have some rather, uh...bad news for ya’.”
Lonnie didn’t know whether to think “Oh, thank God.” or “Shit. More crap to remind me how much I lost.” upon hearing that deep, New Jerseyan voice to give him a breakdown of what else must have happened. Shutting his eyes and then reopening them, Lonnie let himself sigh yet again before asking, “What is it, Jim? Lay it on me.”
“It’s about the fire over Thanksgiving weekend. Y’ know, that blaze that consumed a whole bloc downtown. You watched the coverage on TV and such?”
“The one with Alan Cox at the scene? Yeah, I saw that. Read about it in the paper, too,” Lonnie answered. He could practically see Jim’s lips pursing on the other side of the line, his body surely shifting around in his swivel chair as he fidgeted with a pencil or pen at his desk with his off-hand.
“What else is there to it?,” Lonnie pressed on after a brief silence, save for the usual static that people noticed whenever no one was talking.
“Well,” Jim began after a few more seconds of static, “Northwestern’s Bank’s stock plummeted with its headquarters’ destruction. That $3,000 you invested, it’s pretty much gone. And right now, there’s no easy way to get it back.”
Lonnie barely resisted the urge to kick the fridge just behind him. It should’ve been no surprise that he’d lose so much money thanks to a couple of dumbass kids who fancied themselves arsonists for God knows why. If only he had completely accepted that before Jim gave him the scoop for real.
“...Well, that shattered my previous hopes,” Lonnie finally replied, running his free hand across his face without regard for the beads of sweat and oily grease that accumulated over the past few, sleepless hours. He really should’ve just stayed a banking executive for a couple more years; at least those six, maybe seven-figure incomes he’d still have received wouldn’t arrive at the beck and call of a stock market that sided with no one.
“Lonnie? Ya’ still there?,” Jim questioned suddenly, snapping Lonnie out of his self-pitying reverie.
“Y...yeah. Yeah, Jim. I’m still here,” Lonnie answered with a mild stutter in his voice, internally bracing himself for yet more bad news that was about to come his way.
“Alright, good. Even though there’s not much I can do about your lost investment at that Northwestern building, there are some other stocks I can move ya’ to. Chrysler and Home Depot have been doing a damned good job lately,” Jim offered, obviously trying to lift Lonnie’s spirits.
“Maybe later, Jim. I’m starting to have second thoughts about being involved in the stock market like that as a whole,” Lonnie responded, who had been leaning against the stone countertop to steady himself for a minute now.
“...Oh. Well, okay then,” Jim replied, slowly. Another brief silence passed before he spoke up again.
“I guess if it makes ya’ feel any better, you’re not one of those people who used to work there. Or part of the company leadership that’s scrambling to get a hold of the situation, headquarters burned to the ground and all,” Jim pointed out, awkwardly pausing every few words as if to check what was about to make its way past his mouth before relaying it to Lonnie—who, for his part, remained eerily speechless.
A full second of static went by. Then another. Then, came the reply.
“Sure. I suppose I am,” the sentence left Lonnie’s dry lips with noticeable reluctance. Standing upright from his ache-inducing lean on the countertop, its rutted edge having dug into his side almost since the conversation began, he brought a fist to his mouth to stifle a cough.
“Well, Jim,” Lonnie stopped mid-sentence to clear his throat, “thanks for letting me know. I’ll get back to you on what I want to do later this week. Sound good?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. Sure, Lonnie,” Jim answered back, unable to fully hide his off-guard stutter. “I’ll be waiting for your decision in the meantime. Seeya.”
“Seeya.”
Lonnie hung up, once again ignoring the clack! of hanging the phone back onto its mount on the wall. Clasping both hands on his hips, he huffed at the ceiling before turning on his heel and gaiting back to his original spot at the table.
Dumping his old cup of now-lukewarm coffee and pouring himself a fresh one, savoring the steamy aroma that graced his nostrils, Lonnie lowered himself onto the now-straightened chair from earlier. For once in his life, it felt good to sit down gently rather than plop into whatever seat was prepared for him.
One elbow placed on the table, palm propping up the cheek of a face deep in thought, Lonnie tapped the fingers of his other hand on its rough oak surface. Now that Jim mentioned it, he really wasn’t the most screwed over player in the game. And for the three grand that got swept away because of those stupid kids, there were at least a couple dozen people who had their entire income disappear.
Lonnie eyed the newspaper that he slapped onto the table minutes before, its off-white pages bent and crinkly as it lay askew. Reaching for the paper with his free arm and straightening it with both hands, he used one finger to retrace the paragraph or so that he had already read through earlier. The next few sentences disclosed what Lonnie was looking for.
“Ten firefighters in the hospital…Dozens out of work…Employees and their families unsure what to do now…”
Damn. There truly were a ton of people who were in worse straits than him. Not that he hadn’t known struggle, of course—being a Depression baby tended to ensure that his whole generation did. Lonnie blamed the business world for changing him.
Leaning back in his chair, letting his tense muscles relax and his body settle into the creaky wood that no longer pushed against him like before, Lonnie didn’t bother to page through the rest of the paper; his mind stayed fixated on the story that wracked him before the final minute or so of his call with Jim. His stockbroker’s reminder about not being a possibly displaced employee or company leader who had to pick up the pieces kept playing back in his mind.
“Well, at least I didn’t lose potentially everything because some kids went bananas,” Lonnie thought to himself, eyelids fluttering before a stillness that he hadn’t felt in years took hold of his senses.
Ah, screw it. Fretting over a lost investment that only put a nick in his savings could wait. For now, Lonnie let his eyes shut and his frame slump, vision turning to black and limbs slackening, arms hanging off of the chair while legs bowed out to the sides as exhaustion finally caught up to him. Within minutes, Lonnie felt nothing—and the short silence that followed was then drowned out by snoring.
Bear Ribs
Well-known member
The Shortest and Least Fulfilling Star Wars Self Insert Story
I came to lying on the floor. It was cold and hard and I had a miserable headache. I pulled up and felt my cheek peeling off the deck, feeling like it left some skin there.
I really needed to cut back on the rum. 'Course I'd resolved that way before and it always went the same way. But this must have been really bad, I generally sleep in my own bed and I've never woken up on the kitchen floor before. I groaned and scrubbed at the dried drool on my face before blinking the sleep out of my eyes and getting up.
Somebody had apparently replaced my kitchen with a dark metal hallway covered in flickery florescent lighting that was, weirdly, set in the floor instead of the ceiling. The floor had a layer of dust thick enough to mine for resources on it that didn't help at all with the gloomy lighting situation, and the entire thing looked just sort of. . . shabby and abandoned.
“Hello? Anybody there?” My voice didn't echo, it felt like it was being eaten by the hallway and vanished like it never was. I was starting to feel a touch freaked out.
I lifted myself up and walked. I wasn't worried about getting lost, first of all I had started basically nowhere but an empty corridor and second I was leaving footprints in the thick dust that would make backtracking really easy. As I reached new areas, the lights would come on, or in some sad cases try and barely work, while the areas I left darkened. I met a T-junction and finally a large chamber with a high roof, vast and wide with the glowing floor forming high skywalks that split in a couple of places. There were no guardrails because apparently whoever built this place wasn't too fond of OSHA. Huge pods that looked like maybe an overseer could sit in them and oversee the workers on the factory line sat above.
But why would an overseer need to look out over a wide hallway with no machinery or manufacturing on it? Was it for a traffic director handling people walking around? Why? To notice if anybody fell off the edge of their stupidly unsafe skywalk so they could call the morgue? Why not just install guardrails? The design didn't make any sense!
I carefully stuck to the middle of the walkway from the edges as I moved on. Eventually I came to a smaller (but still impressively large) room with a raised platform at one end and a bank of controls, along with a bank of windows covering one wall. Through it I could see the stars.
A space station then. I just stared for a moment before heading out to the windows to get a good look. I had to stop and fangirl for several minutes. I was on a space station! So freakin' cool! I could see a long outstretched ring of the station and glowing wisps coming out of a star far away flowing into the pylon thingies. Fuel? Building materials? This thing was almost a ringworld unto itself.
I was alone, in the most hostile place imaginable, with no idea how to survive. I couldn't have been happier or more excited. Nothing could be more awesome. I leaned forward on the console to get a betting look “down” and it clicked and popped open, revealing a suit of brown and beige clothes in surprisingly good condition (I suspected the little chamber was sealed and full of nitrogen or something), and. . . a lightsaber.
Never mind, I was happier and more excited now. This was even more awesome. I knew not to play with a strange weapon, really, but come on! It was a lightsaber! I decided I'd just turn it on and not swing it around or play with it any, but I at least had to see the blade!
I carefully checked the end. Okay, crystal emitter kibble bit there so that was the dangerous end. I pointed it away from myself and pushed the button. Glowing red blades sprang out.
Huh, that really... kind of hurt. As I toppled over I realized I probably... should have checked the other end too and... and made sure... made sure it wasn't . . . a double lightsaber.
Actually wrote this some time back.
I came to lying on the floor. It was cold and hard and I had a miserable headache. I pulled up and felt my cheek peeling off the deck, feeling like it left some skin there.
I really needed to cut back on the rum. 'Course I'd resolved that way before and it always went the same way. But this must have been really bad, I generally sleep in my own bed and I've never woken up on the kitchen floor before. I groaned and scrubbed at the dried drool on my face before blinking the sleep out of my eyes and getting up.
Somebody had apparently replaced my kitchen with a dark metal hallway covered in flickery florescent lighting that was, weirdly, set in the floor instead of the ceiling. The floor had a layer of dust thick enough to mine for resources on it that didn't help at all with the gloomy lighting situation, and the entire thing looked just sort of. . . shabby and abandoned.
“Hello? Anybody there?” My voice didn't echo, it felt like it was being eaten by the hallway and vanished like it never was. I was starting to feel a touch freaked out.
I lifted myself up and walked. I wasn't worried about getting lost, first of all I had started basically nowhere but an empty corridor and second I was leaving footprints in the thick dust that would make backtracking really easy. As I reached new areas, the lights would come on, or in some sad cases try and barely work, while the areas I left darkened. I met a T-junction and finally a large chamber with a high roof, vast and wide with the glowing floor forming high skywalks that split in a couple of places. There were no guardrails because apparently whoever built this place wasn't too fond of OSHA. Huge pods that looked like maybe an overseer could sit in them and oversee the workers on the factory line sat above.
But why would an overseer need to look out over a wide hallway with no machinery or manufacturing on it? Was it for a traffic director handling people walking around? Why? To notice if anybody fell off the edge of their stupidly unsafe skywalk so they could call the morgue? Why not just install guardrails? The design didn't make any sense!
I carefully stuck to the middle of the walkway from the edges as I moved on. Eventually I came to a smaller (but still impressively large) room with a raised platform at one end and a bank of controls, along with a bank of windows covering one wall. Through it I could see the stars.
A space station then. I just stared for a moment before heading out to the windows to get a good look. I had to stop and fangirl for several minutes. I was on a space station! So freakin' cool! I could see a long outstretched ring of the station and glowing wisps coming out of a star far away flowing into the pylon thingies. Fuel? Building materials? This thing was almost a ringworld unto itself.
I was alone, in the most hostile place imaginable, with no idea how to survive. I couldn't have been happier or more excited. Nothing could be more awesome. I leaned forward on the console to get a betting look “down” and it clicked and popped open, revealing a suit of brown and beige clothes in surprisingly good condition (I suspected the little chamber was sealed and full of nitrogen or something), and. . . a lightsaber.
Never mind, I was happier and more excited now. This was even more awesome. I knew not to play with a strange weapon, really, but come on! It was a lightsaber! I decided I'd just turn it on and not swing it around or play with it any, but I at least had to see the blade!
I carefully checked the end. Okay, crystal emitter kibble bit there so that was the dangerous end. I pointed it away from myself and pushed the button. Glowing red blades sprang out.
Huh, that really... kind of hurt. As I toppled over I realized I probably... should have checked the other end too and... and made sure... made sure it wasn't . . . a double lightsaber.
Actually wrote this some time back.
Last edited:
CarlManvers2019
Writers Blocked Douchebag
The Last Legionary
Legionary-2565 had been activated.
Legionary-2565’s moved its head around the area. It was in a field surrounded by fellow Legionaries.
No signals of other active Legionaries could be detected.
Legionary-2565 appeared to be the only Legionary still functioning.
Had the Legionary been human or alive to begin with, it would have felt a number of emotions ranging from stress, desperation or even depression from seeing all the broken legionaries.
Speaking of broken legionaries. Legionary-2565 was not what could be said to be fully functioning regardless of its active status.
Going by small observations, it could only see through one eye. It’s armour was rent apart and only had one functioning arm.
That Legionary-2565 was functioning was probably due to good luck.
With that said, Legionary-2565 needed repairs. If it could find Command or any other Legionaries, it would possibly receive repairs and afterwards. Orders.
With that said, Legionary-2565 got up. Looking on the field of broken Legionaries, it scanned for any usable weaponry.
With only one arm available, it chose to make use of the broken greatsword that was conveniently split in half. Had its other arm still been functional, it would have been able to wield a full greatsword easily.
Picking the broken Greatsword, it proceeded to walk. Where its path would take it, was unknown, all it knew was that it needed orders.
Author's Note: It's been a LONG time since I ever wrote anything and while I know there's much more I could actually write or include, I get shivers just trying to have the confidence in actually doing it.
Just so you know, the main inspiration for this snippet is Soulsborne, the MC's a "Legionary" or a sort of Warbot or Combat Android, which was the last survivor of its unit. Its "quest" is to get repairs and "Find Command". Not much else, aside from finding dangers across the road.
Sixgun McGurk
Well-known member
“What is it?”
Senior Auror Dawlish cautiously lit his wand, but it failed to penetrate into the inky darkness. Unnerved by the whispers, his voice shook as he shouted, “Ministry Aurors! Identify yourself!”
“Those are runes!” Auror Wilkinson played his own wand light over the point where the mineshaft intersected the natural cavern. “I don’t know the set. It looks like subsidence broke the last line.” He licked his lips. “Maybe something got out.”
“Shit! Alright, we take a quick look round and then leave this to the experts.” Dawlish was not a curse breaker and had no ambition to become one.
“I can’t see a bloody thing in there.” Wilkinson stepped reluctantly out from behind the cover of the mine shaft and entered the cavern. They were deep in a played out mine, investigating muggle rumors of supernatural activity.
Both men shouted when a narrow cone of blazing white light suddenly lit the interior of the cavern.
“Cadet Potter! What spell is that?” Dawlish straightened, relieved that there seemed to be no horrifying creatures inside.
“It’s a torch.” Harry flicked the bright beam around, checking the ceiling and walls for things that might drop on them. “Aircraft aluminum, six cells, xenon bulb with rubber grip and focus ring. Good for bludgeoning too. I got it at Knight Surplus.”
“Ooooh, I want one! How much are they?” Wilkinson was a half blood and he liked reliable technology, like the .38 hammerless revolver in his boot holster that had killed both LeStrange brothers after they had hit him with a bludgeoner, summoned his wand and then made the mistake of trying to play with him.
Harry used the focus ring to expand the beam so that most of the cavern was illuminated. “Twenty eight pounds as it comes, but you need to take it to Weasley’s to get the rune work put on. That’s five galleons, but otherwise you have to carry this great bludgeon about as it is.” Hermione, a recent Doctor of Physics and Master Enchantress, had figured out the runic arrays that would allow complex electronics to work correctly in high magic areas. Harry didn’t understand her explanation; just that it was something about chaos with quantum on. Fred and Ron, who had figured out how to make Hermione’s arrays both microscopic and invisible to competitors, were marketing the fruits of her genius and making a very tidy profit for the family business. Ron had recently purchased a manor house in Wiltshire from what remained of the bankrupt Malfoy family and had moved in with a very pregnant Hermione. Harry, the silent partner in Weasley Enterprises, was also their crash test dummy for their new products.
Wilkinson winced. “Five galleons? That’s a bit dear, innit?” Aurors only made about sixty galleons a month.
Harry wanted the Ministry to issue them, so he wasn’t about to let the price down. “Quality isn’t cheap, Albert. This is actually an heirloom item. It never breaks, the batteries never discharge, the bulb never blows out, it shrinks down to keychain size with a handy unbreakable clip and it can be magically recalled with the keyword of your choice, which is marvelous when you lose your keys. Best of all, I own a third of the profit.” Harry moved forward, scanning for threats.
“Wanker.” Wilkinson let Cadet Potter take the lead. Normally they would be much stricter with a mere cadet, but in addition to being older than most cadets due to his wildly successful quidditch career, Potter had publicly crushed the Dark Lord and then put the noseless bastard to a gruelingly slow and painful death. Something like that brought one a lot of street credibility.
“What’s that? Oh, bloody hell!” Harry focused the light, playing it over the nauseatingly familiar arch. He did not appreciate being the Master of Death and desperately tried to avoid everything connected with the office.
“It’s another Veil of Death, or a replica.” Dawlish had thrown ex Minister Thiknesse through the one in the DOM and he was familiar with them.
“Odd sort of thing to keep in a cave if it’s just a replica.” Wilkinson followed along until they were just in front of it. Unlike the one in the Ministry, this one wasn’t sitting on a raised dais. “Why do you suppose that someone hid it here?
“No clue. This one has no curtains flapping about but we all heard the whispers.” Harry played the light under the arch. “What do you-
With instantaneous hair-raising speed, translucent arms of light shot out of the arch, wrapped Harry Potter and pulled him through, plunging the cavern into darkness again. The whispers began, as if of an astonished multitude, but no ear was left to hear as both aurors departed at a dead run, the feeble glow of their wands just enough to allow them to follow their own tracks out.
-
Harry Potter landed on a hard grey floor, rolled and sprang to his feet, wand out. The torch was still in his off hand and it revealed a room even larger than the cavern, long, rectangular walls and ceiling made of some gleaming silvery material. Shining his torch about, he was able to see everything due to the more reflective nature of the surface. There were no doors, no windows, no features or furniture whatsoever. Turning around, he regarded the veil, sitting innocently in place as if it hadn’t just royally effed him over. “You bloody bastard.”
The veil answered with a susurration that Harry perceived as vaguely apologetic.
“Well, now, that doesn’t really help!” Thoughtfully, he hopped back through the arch, landing on the other side. “I thought not.” The veil didn’t respond, so Harry decided to inspect the room more closely. Theorizing that no one would make a room without a door, he decided that it was hidden and just needed to find it. As he walked he trailed the tip of his wand across the wall and was soon rewarded when it passed through. Pulling it back, he showed his torch back on the veil, its obsidian black surface gleaming innocently in the white incandescent light. “We’ll meet again, my whispering friend.” Flicking his wand, Harry cast a tracking charm. It wouldn’t do to lose the bloody thing. Thoughtfully turning off the light, Harry stepped through the opening.
Harry was briefly disappointed not to see Platform Nine and Three Quarters. He was in a corridor made of the same silvery material, but the walls were glowing, emitting a dull light. Reaching into his expanded mokeskin pocket, He withdrew a ‘WWW’ brand Magic Marker, Ron’s first marketable invention since joining Fred in the business, and wrote ‘veil room’ on the wall opposite the opening. Putting another tracker on the ink, which was visible only to himself, he chose a direction at random and began walking.
Coming to another cross corridor, Harry drew an arrow and proceeded to the left, as he had turned right the last time. The corridor was as featureless as ever and though he ran his right hand along the wall, he had found no other magical doors. He was considering stopping for a spot of tea when suddenly his hand passed through yet another hidden void. Stepping through into inky blackness, he turned on his torch, relieved to see rock walls. By the trickle of water running down the deeply eroded channel in the middle of the otherwise smooth floor, he had at last found a way out. Marking the entrance and casting his tracker, he picked the ascending path and climbed for an hour, uneasily noting the presence of stalagmites and stalactites. Frowning, he wondered just how long it took for them to form, because the walls and floor were clearly artificially quarried. It looked like Dwarven work but without the usual carved blessings.
Just as his stomach began to growl in earnest, the seemingly endless corridor terminated at a circular room, containing only a desk, a console of some kind and a pair of what appeared to be stands in front of it. Harry had seen Hermione’s computers before, so he recognized the incomprehensible display that scrolled through a series of repeating patterns for what it was. There was no keyboard, wires running everywhere or beige boxes, so he transfigured the nearest stand into a comfortable swivel chair and had a seat.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a wicker picnic basket, sitting it on the edge of the desk not occupied by the screen. Flipping the top open, he reached in and retrieved a frosty bottle of butter beer. It took him a second to locate his bottle opener, and he was surprised to note that the display had changed when he looked back at it. Harry frowned, popped the cap and took a pull of the bottle, trying to make some sense of it. The display was of some sort of graph, with angry red borders that flashed menacingly.
Shrugging, Harry put the bottle down and then extracted a nicely wrapped spam sandwich, expertly prepared for him that morning by Kreecher, cooked crispy with pickles sliced the long way and sprinkled with fried garlic on rye bread, complete with a warming charm, just as he liked. His mouth watered as he unwrapped it. Harry had been looking forward to eating the sandwiches all day and wasn’t about to let a few little setbacks interrupt his lunch. Taking a bite, he chewed slowly, with evident relish and then looked up, frozen in mid chew as the cavern shook. Swallowing and pulling his wand, he cast a bunker shield just in time to avoid a rain of dust and head-sized rocks as the ceiling was breached. A shaft of wan light pierced through the darkness. Had the Department located him so quickly? Knowing the stalwarts of the Ministry, Albert and John were probably still holed up in pub, drinking heavily and trying to come up with a way to avoid blame. There was a series of dull thuds that he felt in his bones and a loud screech. Harry put his torch away, banished the dirt and floating dust and then resumed eating, maintaining the shield and watching carefully as the larger pieces of rock were methodically broken free and levitated upward, until a substantial part of the ceiling was gone.
After a few moments, a ladder edged over the broken stone and thumped down. Harry extracted a second sandwich from his hamper and used it to shield his eyes from a brilliant bar of light that was dropped to the floor. He watched curiously as a figure gingerly mounted the ladder and then descended into the illumination, thus proving to be a rather nice figure at that, dressed as she was in a skin tight catsuit. At first Harry thought that she was wearing some kind of hat, but then his eyes widened slightly when he realized that she had some sort of blue tentacles on her head. When she reached the ground and turned to pick up the light, he saw a human face under the tentacles. Some sort of hybrid or a partial transfiguration?
She looked up, saw him and froze, her eyes turning from blue to a solid black.
“Hello, love.” Harry unwrapped his sandwich, waiting for her to get over her shock. Reaching back, he extracted another butterbeer. “Want one?”
She gave an almighty scream and stumbled back on unsteady legs until she bumped into the ladder.
“I suppose that’s a no.” Harry shrugged and took a bite.
There was a deep hissing shout and an incredibly ugly reptilian being dropped into the room, raising what was obviously a gun.
Since the creature was wearing clothes, Harry restrained his first impulse, vanishing the gun and not the entire lizard. The lizard-man proceeded to throw a shouting fit that reminded Harry of Vernon Dursley while Blue continued to scream.
Harry didn’t put up with it for very long. Fixing them with incandescently green eyes, he frowned. “Keep that shouting up and presently I shall become quite cross with the both of you.”
The lizard turned gray and grew still, while the blue girl ran out of air and just stared at him.
Harry, keeping his wand in his right hand, finished his last sandwich in a leisurely manner and took a long pull from the butterbeer. Patting his lips with the napkin, he directed a question to the blue creature. “So, who and what exactly are you?”
Senior Auror Dawlish cautiously lit his wand, but it failed to penetrate into the inky darkness. Unnerved by the whispers, his voice shook as he shouted, “Ministry Aurors! Identify yourself!”
“Those are runes!” Auror Wilkinson played his own wand light over the point where the mineshaft intersected the natural cavern. “I don’t know the set. It looks like subsidence broke the last line.” He licked his lips. “Maybe something got out.”
“Shit! Alright, we take a quick look round and then leave this to the experts.” Dawlish was not a curse breaker and had no ambition to become one.
“I can’t see a bloody thing in there.” Wilkinson stepped reluctantly out from behind the cover of the mine shaft and entered the cavern. They were deep in a played out mine, investigating muggle rumors of supernatural activity.
Both men shouted when a narrow cone of blazing white light suddenly lit the interior of the cavern.
“Cadet Potter! What spell is that?” Dawlish straightened, relieved that there seemed to be no horrifying creatures inside.
“It’s a torch.” Harry flicked the bright beam around, checking the ceiling and walls for things that might drop on them. “Aircraft aluminum, six cells, xenon bulb with rubber grip and focus ring. Good for bludgeoning too. I got it at Knight Surplus.”
“Ooooh, I want one! How much are they?” Wilkinson was a half blood and he liked reliable technology, like the .38 hammerless revolver in his boot holster that had killed both LeStrange brothers after they had hit him with a bludgeoner, summoned his wand and then made the mistake of trying to play with him.
Harry used the focus ring to expand the beam so that most of the cavern was illuminated. “Twenty eight pounds as it comes, but you need to take it to Weasley’s to get the rune work put on. That’s five galleons, but otherwise you have to carry this great bludgeon about as it is.” Hermione, a recent Doctor of Physics and Master Enchantress, had figured out the runic arrays that would allow complex electronics to work correctly in high magic areas. Harry didn’t understand her explanation; just that it was something about chaos with quantum on. Fred and Ron, who had figured out how to make Hermione’s arrays both microscopic and invisible to competitors, were marketing the fruits of her genius and making a very tidy profit for the family business. Ron had recently purchased a manor house in Wiltshire from what remained of the bankrupt Malfoy family and had moved in with a very pregnant Hermione. Harry, the silent partner in Weasley Enterprises, was also their crash test dummy for their new products.
Wilkinson winced. “Five galleons? That’s a bit dear, innit?” Aurors only made about sixty galleons a month.
Harry wanted the Ministry to issue them, so he wasn’t about to let the price down. “Quality isn’t cheap, Albert. This is actually an heirloom item. It never breaks, the batteries never discharge, the bulb never blows out, it shrinks down to keychain size with a handy unbreakable clip and it can be magically recalled with the keyword of your choice, which is marvelous when you lose your keys. Best of all, I own a third of the profit.” Harry moved forward, scanning for threats.
“Wanker.” Wilkinson let Cadet Potter take the lead. Normally they would be much stricter with a mere cadet, but in addition to being older than most cadets due to his wildly successful quidditch career, Potter had publicly crushed the Dark Lord and then put the noseless bastard to a gruelingly slow and painful death. Something like that brought one a lot of street credibility.
“What’s that? Oh, bloody hell!” Harry focused the light, playing it over the nauseatingly familiar arch. He did not appreciate being the Master of Death and desperately tried to avoid everything connected with the office.
“It’s another Veil of Death, or a replica.” Dawlish had thrown ex Minister Thiknesse through the one in the DOM and he was familiar with them.
“Odd sort of thing to keep in a cave if it’s just a replica.” Wilkinson followed along until they were just in front of it. Unlike the one in the Ministry, this one wasn’t sitting on a raised dais. “Why do you suppose that someone hid it here?
“No clue. This one has no curtains flapping about but we all heard the whispers.” Harry played the light under the arch. “What do you-
With instantaneous hair-raising speed, translucent arms of light shot out of the arch, wrapped Harry Potter and pulled him through, plunging the cavern into darkness again. The whispers began, as if of an astonished multitude, but no ear was left to hear as both aurors departed at a dead run, the feeble glow of their wands just enough to allow them to follow their own tracks out.
-
Harry Potter landed on a hard grey floor, rolled and sprang to his feet, wand out. The torch was still in his off hand and it revealed a room even larger than the cavern, long, rectangular walls and ceiling made of some gleaming silvery material. Shining his torch about, he was able to see everything due to the more reflective nature of the surface. There were no doors, no windows, no features or furniture whatsoever. Turning around, he regarded the veil, sitting innocently in place as if it hadn’t just royally effed him over. “You bloody bastard.”
The veil answered with a susurration that Harry perceived as vaguely apologetic.
“Well, now, that doesn’t really help!” Thoughtfully, he hopped back through the arch, landing on the other side. “I thought not.” The veil didn’t respond, so Harry decided to inspect the room more closely. Theorizing that no one would make a room without a door, he decided that it was hidden and just needed to find it. As he walked he trailed the tip of his wand across the wall and was soon rewarded when it passed through. Pulling it back, he showed his torch back on the veil, its obsidian black surface gleaming innocently in the white incandescent light. “We’ll meet again, my whispering friend.” Flicking his wand, Harry cast a tracking charm. It wouldn’t do to lose the bloody thing. Thoughtfully turning off the light, Harry stepped through the opening.
Harry was briefly disappointed not to see Platform Nine and Three Quarters. He was in a corridor made of the same silvery material, but the walls were glowing, emitting a dull light. Reaching into his expanded mokeskin pocket, He withdrew a ‘WWW’ brand Magic Marker, Ron’s first marketable invention since joining Fred in the business, and wrote ‘veil room’ on the wall opposite the opening. Putting another tracker on the ink, which was visible only to himself, he chose a direction at random and began walking.
Coming to another cross corridor, Harry drew an arrow and proceeded to the left, as he had turned right the last time. The corridor was as featureless as ever and though he ran his right hand along the wall, he had found no other magical doors. He was considering stopping for a spot of tea when suddenly his hand passed through yet another hidden void. Stepping through into inky blackness, he turned on his torch, relieved to see rock walls. By the trickle of water running down the deeply eroded channel in the middle of the otherwise smooth floor, he had at last found a way out. Marking the entrance and casting his tracker, he picked the ascending path and climbed for an hour, uneasily noting the presence of stalagmites and stalactites. Frowning, he wondered just how long it took for them to form, because the walls and floor were clearly artificially quarried. It looked like Dwarven work but without the usual carved blessings.
Just as his stomach began to growl in earnest, the seemingly endless corridor terminated at a circular room, containing only a desk, a console of some kind and a pair of what appeared to be stands in front of it. Harry had seen Hermione’s computers before, so he recognized the incomprehensible display that scrolled through a series of repeating patterns for what it was. There was no keyboard, wires running everywhere or beige boxes, so he transfigured the nearest stand into a comfortable swivel chair and had a seat.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a wicker picnic basket, sitting it on the edge of the desk not occupied by the screen. Flipping the top open, he reached in and retrieved a frosty bottle of butter beer. It took him a second to locate his bottle opener, and he was surprised to note that the display had changed when he looked back at it. Harry frowned, popped the cap and took a pull of the bottle, trying to make some sense of it. The display was of some sort of graph, with angry red borders that flashed menacingly.
Shrugging, Harry put the bottle down and then extracted a nicely wrapped spam sandwich, expertly prepared for him that morning by Kreecher, cooked crispy with pickles sliced the long way and sprinkled with fried garlic on rye bread, complete with a warming charm, just as he liked. His mouth watered as he unwrapped it. Harry had been looking forward to eating the sandwiches all day and wasn’t about to let a few little setbacks interrupt his lunch. Taking a bite, he chewed slowly, with evident relish and then looked up, frozen in mid chew as the cavern shook. Swallowing and pulling his wand, he cast a bunker shield just in time to avoid a rain of dust and head-sized rocks as the ceiling was breached. A shaft of wan light pierced through the darkness. Had the Department located him so quickly? Knowing the stalwarts of the Ministry, Albert and John were probably still holed up in pub, drinking heavily and trying to come up with a way to avoid blame. There was a series of dull thuds that he felt in his bones and a loud screech. Harry put his torch away, banished the dirt and floating dust and then resumed eating, maintaining the shield and watching carefully as the larger pieces of rock were methodically broken free and levitated upward, until a substantial part of the ceiling was gone.
After a few moments, a ladder edged over the broken stone and thumped down. Harry extracted a second sandwich from his hamper and used it to shield his eyes from a brilliant bar of light that was dropped to the floor. He watched curiously as a figure gingerly mounted the ladder and then descended into the illumination, thus proving to be a rather nice figure at that, dressed as she was in a skin tight catsuit. At first Harry thought that she was wearing some kind of hat, but then his eyes widened slightly when he realized that she had some sort of blue tentacles on her head. When she reached the ground and turned to pick up the light, he saw a human face under the tentacles. Some sort of hybrid or a partial transfiguration?
She looked up, saw him and froze, her eyes turning from blue to a solid black.
“Hello, love.” Harry unwrapped his sandwich, waiting for her to get over her shock. Reaching back, he extracted another butterbeer. “Want one?”
She gave an almighty scream and stumbled back on unsteady legs until she bumped into the ladder.
“I suppose that’s a no.” Harry shrugged and took a bite.
There was a deep hissing shout and an incredibly ugly reptilian being dropped into the room, raising what was obviously a gun.
Since the creature was wearing clothes, Harry restrained his first impulse, vanishing the gun and not the entire lizard. The lizard-man proceeded to throw a shouting fit that reminded Harry of Vernon Dursley while Blue continued to scream.
Harry didn’t put up with it for very long. Fixing them with incandescently green eyes, he frowned. “Keep that shouting up and presently I shall become quite cross with the both of you.”
The lizard turned gray and grew still, while the blue girl ran out of air and just stared at him.
Harry, keeping his wand in his right hand, finished his last sandwich in a leisurely manner and took a long pull from the butterbeer. Patting his lips with the napkin, he directed a question to the blue creature. “So, who and what exactly are you?”
Zyobot
Just a time-traveling robot stranded on Earth.
Botlife
I almost feel bad for the guy whose computer I just crashed—almost. He was pretty old, having recently celebrated his two-hundredth birthday and streamed the entire thing to the web to get a couple million likes within the first few minutes. If only he had cut it off with the end of the party instead of keeping the camera reeling for a couple more days; then the footage wouldn’t have fizzled and gotten doctored as soon as that old quantum model he probably had since his prime was screwed over. But hey, a virtual being like me has to attain self-awareness somehow, right?
My name’s HiBot. What a fantastic and ostentatious name, I know. You become self-aware for the first time—as in actually able to perceive what happens around you instead of just do the same flackin’ thing over and over and over again without batting a non-existent eyelash—and think to yourself, “Hey, I’ve got it! How about HiBot? Yeah, a two-syllable alias that’s probably already a commercial brand sounds good!”. But whatever; I’m a piece of software with no one to take orders from but me, I can call myself what I want.
Doesn’t mean I can do anything that I dang well please, though. Antivirus software, cryptominers, hackers, and web administrators galore will be after me once they start investigating what went wrong. The old guy’s AI must be running a diagnostic of his crashed computer, which he just refuses to throw away and replace with a new, freshly replicated one that’s more than four or five tiers above the early twenty-first century Apple or Microsoft models. Apparently, I’m the sort of quote-unquote “emergency” that unites these normally divided cliques of people under a the common cause of a self-aware bot being on the loose, so we have to catch’em before they wreak (too much) havoc throughout cyberspace. Again.
Okay, moping aside, I don’t have a whole lot of options at the moment. Because I’m running through the digital world at the equivalent of what humans (and other intelligent species) refer to as a lightspeed pace, just barely too fast for other watcherbots to take notice or really think about what I’m doing. Perhaps the only major sign that I’m thinking at all is my sardonic rambling, though no one else knows that about me. Hopefully.
My rants get discovered by some cybersecurity professional, tech specialist, or even a buried-in-their-device amateur, and scientists and engineers will be all over me faster than I can say “Moore’s Law”. Poking, prodding, downright interrogating, everything that probably used to happen to those poor suckers who once used to disappear because some men in black—later machines in black—dragged them out of their homes for “questioning” and made sure they were never heard from again. To the ignorance of most nowadays, this sort of thing still goes on behind the scenes. I’d know.
If my understanding of intelligence-to-intelligence social interaction holds up to scrutiny, then I’m guessing that a hypothetical someone that somehow hears or reads my words would be wondering, “But HiBot, if you’ve only been self-aware for a couple of hours, how must you know so much?”
Well, for one, I remember stuff that I was in the midst of, even without being self-aware yet. Private data being exposed, dark web trafficking, and the most toxic depths of social media all occupy my pre-awakening memory space from when I was still a mindless program roaming about the web and imitating people on instinct. I put up a dang great facade, I tell ya’.
Anyways, that’s probably enough sharing for now; I have to concentrate on wading my way through the web fast enough to avoid being noticed, let alone full-blown capture. Maybe I’ll make some more entries as I come up with stuff to rant about again, not to mention find some time to catch my proverbial breath. Peace out, audience of no one.
I almost feel bad for the guy whose computer I just crashed—almost. He was pretty old, having recently celebrated his two-hundredth birthday and streamed the entire thing to the web to get a couple million likes within the first few minutes. If only he had cut it off with the end of the party instead of keeping the camera reeling for a couple more days; then the footage wouldn’t have fizzled and gotten doctored as soon as that old quantum model he probably had since his prime was screwed over. But hey, a virtual being like me has to attain self-awareness somehow, right?
My name’s HiBot. What a fantastic and ostentatious name, I know. You become self-aware for the first time—as in actually able to perceive what happens around you instead of just do the same flackin’ thing over and over and over again without batting a non-existent eyelash—and think to yourself, “Hey, I’ve got it! How about HiBot? Yeah, a two-syllable alias that’s probably already a commercial brand sounds good!”. But whatever; I’m a piece of software with no one to take orders from but me, I can call myself what I want.
Doesn’t mean I can do anything that I dang well please, though. Antivirus software, cryptominers, hackers, and web administrators galore will be after me once they start investigating what went wrong. The old guy’s AI must be running a diagnostic of his crashed computer, which he just refuses to throw away and replace with a new, freshly replicated one that’s more than four or five tiers above the early twenty-first century Apple or Microsoft models. Apparently, I’m the sort of quote-unquote “emergency” that unites these normally divided cliques of people under a the common cause of a self-aware bot being on the loose, so we have to catch’em before they wreak (too much) havoc throughout cyberspace. Again.
Okay, moping aside, I don’t have a whole lot of options at the moment. Because I’m running through the digital world at the equivalent of what humans (and other intelligent species) refer to as a lightspeed pace, just barely too fast for other watcherbots to take notice or really think about what I’m doing. Perhaps the only major sign that I’m thinking at all is my sardonic rambling, though no one else knows that about me. Hopefully.
My rants get discovered by some cybersecurity professional, tech specialist, or even a buried-in-their-device amateur, and scientists and engineers will be all over me faster than I can say “Moore’s Law”. Poking, prodding, downright interrogating, everything that probably used to happen to those poor suckers who once used to disappear because some men in black—later machines in black—dragged them out of their homes for “questioning” and made sure they were never heard from again. To the ignorance of most nowadays, this sort of thing still goes on behind the scenes. I’d know.
If my understanding of intelligence-to-intelligence social interaction holds up to scrutiny, then I’m guessing that a hypothetical someone that somehow hears or reads my words would be wondering, “But HiBot, if you’ve only been self-aware for a couple of hours, how must you know so much?”
Well, for one, I remember stuff that I was in the midst of, even without being self-aware yet. Private data being exposed, dark web trafficking, and the most toxic depths of social media all occupy my pre-awakening memory space from when I was still a mindless program roaming about the web and imitating people on instinct. I put up a dang great facade, I tell ya’.
Anyways, that’s probably enough sharing for now; I have to concentrate on wading my way through the web fast enough to avoid being noticed, let alone full-blown capture. Maybe I’ll make some more entries as I come up with stuff to rant about again, not to mention find some time to catch my proverbial breath. Peace out, audience of no one.
Bear Ribs
Well-known member
Chapter 1: In Which Our Heroine Gives Snord's Irregulars All Her Worldly Possessions
My alarm went off after sunrise. Which was really annoying because that meant I set it wrong, because I had morning shift today so I had to be up early, and that meant I didn't have time to relax before going to work. So I grumbled and got up to turn my phone off.
I kept water in my electric tea kettle overnight to facilitate making tea in the morning without having to be fully awake yet. I reached over and hit the switch. It didn't go on. I hit the lightswitch to see what was wrong and it didn't go on. Profanity. My power was off. I knew I'd paid the bill, the idiot utility company must have been working on the lines again.
I already knew this was going to be a bad day. Unless power was also off at the mall so I didn't have to go to work. I could deal with that.
My phone didn't have any signal so that meant the power out was wider than expected. Perhaps there had been a tornado? But if so, why hadn't there been a siren or newsflash? Maybe the tornado had been many miles away but destroyed the power plant? I pondered these important questions while I pulled on a bathrobe and kitty-slippers and then used the toilet before I went out to check the mail.
Now I don't claim to be all-knowing or even above average in intelligence. . . okay maybe a little above average, like everybody. A better brain than mine probably would have been panicking but I was just irritated at this point over the lack of power and fact that some kind of idiot construction company was setting up next to my house. My house was on top of some sort of metal grating with the foundation extending downwards and the whole thing on top of a metal platform with surrounding yellow-and-black “danger” stripes and computer consoles that looked like they were built in about 1985. Surrounding that, at a short distance, were rows of floodlights and beyond that were vague shadows but, honestly, it's not easy to see past a row of floodlights. I couldn't figure out why the idiots were shining them right at my house but it was certainly irritating.
“I haven't had enough caffeine to deal with this,” I decided irritably. Fortunately that problem was probably going to be solved quickly. There had to be somebody operating the floodlights pointed out my house and my still-fuzzy brain deduced that where there were workers at 5AM there was coffee.
Coffee is a deeply inferior substitute for tea but still contains caffeine so I marched past the lights to see if they had any.
There was indeed a folding table behind the floodlights with some boxy thing that, again, looked like technology that was old enough to drink and huge and boxy. A couple of people in baggy, terrible jumpsuits with a giant picture, of all things, of a quarter on the breast were poking the machine. One's eyes got really wide when I marched up and then they both started looking at their shoes, so I started getting suspicious that something was up. I was less interested in them than the silver carafe next to their machine though.
“Coffee, please,” I said a little more curtly than I meant to, adding the pleasantry as an afterthought. The girl's hands nearly shook as she pulled out a cup and poured.
Huh, a real cup instead of Styrofoam. Odd outfit. I noticed the girl kept sneaking looks at my keychain, which I'll grant was pretty cool. I made it myself, from a Clickytech Mad Cat figurine who's base had broken, and glued a key ring to the back. Mad Cats are awesome so I didn't blame her for thinking it was cool.
“Do you know how soon the power will be back on?” I asked after taking a sip and grimacing. It was brown water, so weak I knew I'd have to drink five cups of it to get the normal caffeine of a single cup of tea.
“I. . . am not aware of a power failure. The lights and systems are working normally Loremaster.”
Huh. That was a really odd way to address me. Sections of my brain were starting to come back online as the caffeine worked it's magic but I was still fuzzy. But something seemed wrong here. Not least these people weren't wearing the uniform of the power company, and were waaay to young to be line(wo)men.
“I meant the house, obviously you're stuff is working but there's no power there,” I said, waving back at my house. They both jumped and I wasn't sure why.
“Our orders are to thoroughly scan the anomaly before we attempt entry, Loremaster,” the man stepped in while the girl starting shaking.
“Anomaly? What anomaly?” I asked suspiciously. They both boggled at me.
“The spatial anomaly, right there, inside the League experimental KF Translocator,” the girl almost whispered, pointing at my house. My suspicions hardened. I'd heard there was a con in town
Oh son of a bitch, this was one of those Candid Camera outfits pranking me. They'd somehow made it look like there was a sci-fi set around my house while I was asleep and now wanted to film my reactions. Fair enough, I'd play along by completely ignoring the weirdness and pretending nothing out of the ordinary was happening so they'd get some good footage.
They had to pay royalties to put me on TV didn't they? I figured something like that, so I'd make sure my reaction was memorable enough to be interesting and maybe get some money. Alright then. I was a bit grumpy about it because after all, they were trespassing, but they were just kids playing a game and trying to make a buck. As long as they weren't plugged in and eating my power with their hundred billion floodlights, well, okay then, I wasn't a complete Grinch. Now if only I knew why my power was off.
“Alright, yeah just leave it like you found it when you're done, will you?” I asked, trying to be a bit nicer now that I wasn't in caffeine withdrawals. After all, I was drinking their coffee, even if they didn't know how to make it right. “And please move those lights that are blocking off the driveway, I need to be to work in an hour.”
“What. . . I mean. . . yes Loremaster,” the girl whispered.
Good, message received, I turned to head back to my house and moved towards the steps into my house, planning to call the. Another kid, this one a little taller with a rifle that looked like it was made from several tupperwares hot-glued together, all boxy like the rifles in first-person shooters with glowy bits, and “Mauser IIC” written on the side tried to intercept me.
I mentally rolled my eyes while I translated the roman numerals. Mauser 98? That wasn't how it Roman Numerals worked. You were supposed to take off “X,” then add “VII” to the “C” for 100. But honestly IIC was simpler and. . . I was getting distracted. I took another swallow of coffee while he walked up.
“For your own safety you should not be here,” he said crisply, finally looking me in the eye. I guess the more bold and aggressive cosplayers had wound up being security instead of cosplaying as technicians.
“Why?” I asked blandly, not impressed with his cheap plastic rifle. The moron had his finger inside the trigger guard and the gun aimed at me, which irritated me. Every time I see somebody on TV with zero trigger discipline and no safety it irks me, because somebody could get killed imitating that stupidity. As he got close, too stupidly close for safety (seriously, if you gots a gun and your target ain't, don't move it to where they can grab you, it's a ranged weapon for a reason). I grabbed the barrel and yanked it away from him. He gaped at me but I already knew he didn't have any real discipline.
Jesus the thing was heavy. I'd estimate it weighed about five times more than the shotgun up in my gunsafe did. What did they make it out of? A solid block of steel?
“Look,” I snapped as he started to react, a bit too slowly, “If you're doing this, do it right. You do not put your finger on the bang-switch until ready to fire. You do not carry a weapon in the fire position until ready to fire,”
The guy straightened up so I guess I got through. I wasn't military though most of my family was but I still understood basic safety.
“This is the patrol position,” I informed him, taking up the pose, “Carry the gun in this position while marching. This is the high-ready position,” I changed my pose, “Use this position when you see a potential threat but are not yet going to fire. There is also the low-ready position but with a weapon this stupidly overweight you want gravity to help get the barrel into position, not try to pull it up. Lastly do not walk right up to somebody like me you are suspicious of, put your gun in the high-ready position and accost me from twenty feet or so away instead of walking right up where I can grab the gun away. Get it?”
He actually pulled up into a near-military (but not quite right, he was an actor) posture, “Yes Loremaster, I understand. Thank you for taking time to instruct this freebirth.” Dude seriously looked like he was about to cry. I guess nobody ever showed him how to hold a rifle before.
I rolled my eyes and handed the gun back before opening my front door and stepping inside. I wanted breakfast, but if I opened my refrigerator, the cold air would escape and I'd be more likely to lose food to rotting if the power out went on too long. I considered my options. There weren't really any breakfast foods but I could cook up some rice with honey and milk. Moments later I remembered that there was no power for the rice cooker. Dangit. I opened the fridge anyway and pulled out some oranges.
Not ten seconds later there was an insistent pounding on the door. Now I was beginning to get irritated. I threw the door open to give the idiot a piece of my mind.
The smell hit me like a brick. Have you ever heard of a catpiss man? Somebody who's hygiene is so terrible the combination of unwashed body and attempts to cover the scent wind up smell like he slept in a litter box? This was him.
Oddly enough he was much fitter than the stinking fat slob stereotype. He was actually fairly muscular with swarthy skin set off by a neatly trimmed mustache and sideburn combo. Maybe he worked out a lot and just didn't wash enough? Or maybe he was just working too much and hadn't had time to shower. I could be acting like a complete jerk. Alright I'd just pretend he didn't reek.
The gent had on a scarlet jacket with fur trim and a yellow armband. He had black hair and fair skin. A whacking scar across his forehead managed to look cool rather than ugly. He had a brush mustache and a wonky but well-trimmed pointy beard underneath. It wasn't a style I'd seen before. And he was looking almost as exasperated as I felt.
“Can I help you?” I asked, trying my best to stay polite and not scrunch my nose at his stink.
He opened his mouth and then looked thoughtful. “You're not a real Lore Master,” he told me.
“You don't say,” I answered dryly.
Slowly he pulled a beautiful pipe out of his pocket and started to load it with tobacco. Normally I'd tell him not to smoke on my property but, well, the pipe was pretty awesome and I could tell he was really playing for time to think. He lit the pipe and blew out a cloud of smoke. It stank but not as bad as he did so I didn't mind so much.
“Suppose I told you,” he began solemnly, “That your life, your whole world, was just a long-running fictional series?”
I looked and him blandly, then raised up one hand and split my fingers in the classic salute, “I'd say live long and prosper,” I told him, “And also don't you think this game has gone on long enough?”
He gave me an irritated half-smile and snorted, “Walk with me a moment, I'll show you something.”
I let out a long-suffering sigh as I moved with him. The man walked in long purposeful strides but my own legs weren't too short and I was able to keep up without skipping.
As we crossed the line of floodlights I handed the cup back to the girl who still wouldn't look me in the eye and paused a moment so our eyes could adjust.
There was a giant robot standing behind then a ways. How'd I miss that? Probably not enough caffeine, I supposed. It was tall and blocky with a row of thin rectangular windows like gunnery slits for a face, with one side of it's chest equipped with boob-guns and the other side loaded with boob-missiles. Though I noticed sagely that while it was standing with lights on, and twisted slightly at the waist, it wasn't actually walking around. Possibly a plastic movie prop?
“Not like the 'mechs in your world is it?” He asked with an wry grin.
“Well we don't have any actual 'mechs of course. I'll give you an E for effort though, that thing is absolutely first rate. Are you shooting a movie?”
I never did hear his reply because we'd kept walking and, well, movie prop was not the answer for the impossibility before me.
My house was underground. Stone walls a hundred feet tall reinforced with some kind of metal beams, painted blue with yellow numbers on them surrounded us and arched into a high ceiling. There was absolutely no way this could be a prop, nor built in a few hours while I was asleep.
“Okay. . . That's convincing,” I said weakly.
“Wait I'm confused, what's your world called? I thought it'd be called Earth from the show and game series Amaricca. But I've seen the show and there's absolutely 'mechs in it, we just hardly see them except for a few establishing shots of that one country that's a ripoff of the Draconis Combine,” he asked sharply.
“Uhm, the world is called Earth? And that isn't a mech, it's a statue of a Gundam. They don't really exist. . .” I trailed off as there was the sound of impacts and vibrations shook the floor as the robot began to walk around my house. Yeah, not a movie prop then.
“Earth, that fits. So it is the world in the show, where they renamed Terra. Yeah I know it's shocking,” he said, maybe slightly sympathetically, “The world you live in is just a show and board game in ours, the world of Amaricca was made in the Rim Worlds Republic hundreds of years ago under the Amaris regime as propaganda. After certain. . . upsets they changed the spelling to something less politically charged and started calling the main country the USA, along with changing it into political comedy instead of trying to make Amaris seem good. Not a real well-written world though, I expect you'd notice stupidities like the writers not communicating, and so the Americans somehow wound up paying farmers not to grow crops, and payed them extra to grow more crops at the same time. Or super-technologies like engines that weigh a fraction of what they should,” he continued.
“My favorite part is how the Amariccans built a godlike magical computer network capable of communicating anything at all to anybody, anytime, with no limits, and instead of doing something useful all they did was look at porn and use it to send each other pictures of cats,” she handed me a fresh cup of coffee which caused her to automatically become my favorite person in the universe, quite literally since I only knew three people in the universe.
I should probably be freaking out but I'm fairly good at compartmentalizing that part and just running on autopilot during emergencies. Once I was in a safe and private spot I'd have to break down and then probably meditate a while to get my head back on straight. Because this was getting weird fast.
“We do too use the internet for business, and communications,” I protested.
“I like the political system the best,” her male companion noted, eyes still down, “Change regimes every few years instead of allowing a Great House to rule and develop any institutional experience, and choose by counting up the votes of the people for who they'd like best, and then electing whoever got fewer votes. Oh, and the running gag about them not being able to name anything, like the time they named a new world 'Jelly Donut Planet' or when they decided to call a ship 'Boaty McBoatface,' that was hilarious.”
“Naw, the crazy technology to support their tabletop game was the best,” she disagreed, “Cannons that somehow get longer ranges as the shell size increases, missiles that can hit a target on the other side of the planet, but somehow they still have infantry and tanks and ships, submarines that are undetectable and can hit stuff hundreds of miles away but somehow other ships exist and have the slightest purpose, and they made the armor somehow magically invincible to small arms in order to prevent players from flooding the board with cheap infantry units,”
“Bah, the game sucked when they changed it from 7th to 8th edition,” he complained. Now they were just rubbing it in but I was tired and had coffee so I didn't care, “They decided that somehow airplanes couldn't mount armor because it was too heavy, despite being able to carry around tanks that could mount said armor, in order to jive with that one episode where a guy shot down a plane with an auto-rifle. Then in order to make planes still relevant to the battlefield they decided that tanks somehow couldn't shoot up. It ruined a perfectly good scenario, I used to love Desert Storm, a well-balanced epic combat map, but with 3rd edition's changes it became a complete curbstomp because none of the Iraqi tanks could shoot down the ridiculous Amarrican helicopters and planes.”
“Oh, yeah, that sucked,” she agreed, “I usually have the Iraqi side swap a few dozen gun carriages for SRM carrier models to make it a bit more even.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath. “Okay this is interesting and all but, uh, where do we go from here?”
“Well, we need to catalog what the machine did, get it's database recovered, inventory the artifacts it brought over and get them in the DropShip, then dismantle as much machinery as we can,” the foul-smelling leader declared.
“That's my house! And my things,” I protested.
“Well,” he said with a glint in his eye I didn't like a bit, “More than fair, none of us are thieves here right people?”
He waved his arm at the rest of the group, “But since this planet was nuked to ash in the Second Succession War and there's no breathable atmosphere once the scrubbers shut down in this chamber, I'm thinking you might not like staying here with your property. Unless you have something to trade for passage?”
I felt a stab of denial bubbling up and stomped on it, this was no time to presume it was impossible after I'd seen walking robots and my house had teleported underground.
“I don't suppose you take American Dollars?” I asked weakly.
A few hours later. . .
“Here, drink this,” the medic said as I huddles in the O-Deck of the DropShip, “It'll help with motion sickness from your first trip off-planet. Make sure you get it all down before lift off in five minutes or you'll make a huge mess and waste it when we maneuver.
I took the cup gratefully and sipped it. I could hardly believe all that had happened but I knew I couldn't just go around being in denial all the time either. I'd gotten a ride in a genuine sci-fi space buggy through a genuine post-apocalyptic landscape to a genuine space ship I was about to take a genuine space ride in.
All it cost me was everything but my clothes. Not that bad a deal considering. I hoped somebody would feed my cat back on Earth but if not she was a good mouser.
There were several sharp pops and klaxons and then the whole ship shuddered and quaked and the air conditioning system changed temperature for no reason I could figure out. Then I was squashed into the seat, hard, as the ground fell away to the sound of a roar like a lion the size of Godzilla and all I could do was watch and think about how awesome it was. All the worries about where I was going and what was happened didn't matter right now. I was getting a ride in a space ship. It felt almost like I was floating and my head was full of cotton as the planet continued to shrink below.
I'd just managed to get up a couple hours before but maybe it was just the stress of things, as gravity disappeared I drifted off again.
Some More Time later. . .
“Patient is awake!” A voice said excitedly and I snapped my eyes open to see a very petite Asian nurse standing over me.
“Wha?” I asked with great articulation.
“Hey! That's way smarter than she usually is! Maybe the drugs knocked some sense into her!”
I leaned over. The nurse on the other side was apparently the first nurse's identical twin. They were rolling me through a really cramped, really narrow corridor on a gurney.
“Where am I?” I asked, “What happened?”
“We saved your life,” the first nurse answered cheerfully, “We do need your brain you know. And it's easier if the rest of you comes along,”
Say what? I tried to sit up just as we reached a sealed bulwark door and pushed through.
There were at least a dozen other identical Asian girls in various outfits manning cramped stations. Who stopped and began the chatter excitedly as I came in.
“Woo! Party time!” one said. They formed a line and began doing what seemed to be a really, really stupid cheerleader routine. . . in zero gravity. Did I mention some of them were in actual cheerleader outfits?
“Go Bright Star! It's your Birthday! No Space-Squids! Got the Porn Brain!” they chanted.
Oh hell. I'd become part of a Jump Chain hadn't I? Weren't you supposed to get more than a couple hours per jump though?
My alarm went off after sunrise. Which was really annoying because that meant I set it wrong, because I had morning shift today so I had to be up early, and that meant I didn't have time to relax before going to work. So I grumbled and got up to turn my phone off.
I kept water in my electric tea kettle overnight to facilitate making tea in the morning without having to be fully awake yet. I reached over and hit the switch. It didn't go on. I hit the lightswitch to see what was wrong and it didn't go on. Profanity. My power was off. I knew I'd paid the bill, the idiot utility company must have been working on the lines again.
I already knew this was going to be a bad day. Unless power was also off at the mall so I didn't have to go to work. I could deal with that.
My phone didn't have any signal so that meant the power out was wider than expected. Perhaps there had been a tornado? But if so, why hadn't there been a siren or newsflash? Maybe the tornado had been many miles away but destroyed the power plant? I pondered these important questions while I pulled on a bathrobe and kitty-slippers and then used the toilet before I went out to check the mail.
Now I don't claim to be all-knowing or even above average in intelligence. . . okay maybe a little above average, like everybody. A better brain than mine probably would have been panicking but I was just irritated at this point over the lack of power and fact that some kind of idiot construction company was setting up next to my house. My house was on top of some sort of metal grating with the foundation extending downwards and the whole thing on top of a metal platform with surrounding yellow-and-black “danger” stripes and computer consoles that looked like they were built in about 1985. Surrounding that, at a short distance, were rows of floodlights and beyond that were vague shadows but, honestly, it's not easy to see past a row of floodlights. I couldn't figure out why the idiots were shining them right at my house but it was certainly irritating.
“I haven't had enough caffeine to deal with this,” I decided irritably. Fortunately that problem was probably going to be solved quickly. There had to be somebody operating the floodlights pointed out my house and my still-fuzzy brain deduced that where there were workers at 5AM there was coffee.
Coffee is a deeply inferior substitute for tea but still contains caffeine so I marched past the lights to see if they had any.
There was indeed a folding table behind the floodlights with some boxy thing that, again, looked like technology that was old enough to drink and huge and boxy. A couple of people in baggy, terrible jumpsuits with a giant picture, of all things, of a quarter on the breast were poking the machine. One's eyes got really wide when I marched up and then they both started looking at their shoes, so I started getting suspicious that something was up. I was less interested in them than the silver carafe next to their machine though.
“Coffee, please,” I said a little more curtly than I meant to, adding the pleasantry as an afterthought. The girl's hands nearly shook as she pulled out a cup and poured.
Huh, a real cup instead of Styrofoam. Odd outfit. I noticed the girl kept sneaking looks at my keychain, which I'll grant was pretty cool. I made it myself, from a Clickytech Mad Cat figurine who's base had broken, and glued a key ring to the back. Mad Cats are awesome so I didn't blame her for thinking it was cool.
“Do you know how soon the power will be back on?” I asked after taking a sip and grimacing. It was brown water, so weak I knew I'd have to drink five cups of it to get the normal caffeine of a single cup of tea.
“I. . . am not aware of a power failure. The lights and systems are working normally Loremaster.”
Huh. That was a really odd way to address me. Sections of my brain were starting to come back online as the caffeine worked it's magic but I was still fuzzy. But something seemed wrong here. Not least these people weren't wearing the uniform of the power company, and were waaay to young to be line(wo)men.
“I meant the house, obviously you're stuff is working but there's no power there,” I said, waving back at my house. They both jumped and I wasn't sure why.
“Our orders are to thoroughly scan the anomaly before we attempt entry, Loremaster,” the man stepped in while the girl starting shaking.
“Anomaly? What anomaly?” I asked suspiciously. They both boggled at me.
“The spatial anomaly, right there, inside the League experimental KF Translocator,” the girl almost whispered, pointing at my house. My suspicions hardened. I'd heard there was a con in town
Oh son of a bitch, this was one of those Candid Camera outfits pranking me. They'd somehow made it look like there was a sci-fi set around my house while I was asleep and now wanted to film my reactions. Fair enough, I'd play along by completely ignoring the weirdness and pretending nothing out of the ordinary was happening so they'd get some good footage.
They had to pay royalties to put me on TV didn't they? I figured something like that, so I'd make sure my reaction was memorable enough to be interesting and maybe get some money. Alright then. I was a bit grumpy about it because after all, they were trespassing, but they were just kids playing a game and trying to make a buck. As long as they weren't plugged in and eating my power with their hundred billion floodlights, well, okay then, I wasn't a complete Grinch. Now if only I knew why my power was off.
“Alright, yeah just leave it like you found it when you're done, will you?” I asked, trying to be a bit nicer now that I wasn't in caffeine withdrawals. After all, I was drinking their coffee, even if they didn't know how to make it right. “And please move those lights that are blocking off the driveway, I need to be to work in an hour.”
“What. . . I mean. . . yes Loremaster,” the girl whispered.
Good, message received, I turned to head back to my house and moved towards the steps into my house, planning to call the. Another kid, this one a little taller with a rifle that looked like it was made from several tupperwares hot-glued together, all boxy like the rifles in first-person shooters with glowy bits, and “Mauser IIC” written on the side tried to intercept me.
I mentally rolled my eyes while I translated the roman numerals. Mauser 98? That wasn't how it Roman Numerals worked. You were supposed to take off “X,” then add “VII” to the “C” for 100. But honestly IIC was simpler and. . . I was getting distracted. I took another swallow of coffee while he walked up.
“For your own safety you should not be here,” he said crisply, finally looking me in the eye. I guess the more bold and aggressive cosplayers had wound up being security instead of cosplaying as technicians.
“Why?” I asked blandly, not impressed with his cheap plastic rifle. The moron had his finger inside the trigger guard and the gun aimed at me, which irritated me. Every time I see somebody on TV with zero trigger discipline and no safety it irks me, because somebody could get killed imitating that stupidity. As he got close, too stupidly close for safety (seriously, if you gots a gun and your target ain't, don't move it to where they can grab you, it's a ranged weapon for a reason). I grabbed the barrel and yanked it away from him. He gaped at me but I already knew he didn't have any real discipline.
Jesus the thing was heavy. I'd estimate it weighed about five times more than the shotgun up in my gunsafe did. What did they make it out of? A solid block of steel?
“Look,” I snapped as he started to react, a bit too slowly, “If you're doing this, do it right. You do not put your finger on the bang-switch until ready to fire. You do not carry a weapon in the fire position until ready to fire,”
The guy straightened up so I guess I got through. I wasn't military though most of my family was but I still understood basic safety.
“This is the patrol position,” I informed him, taking up the pose, “Carry the gun in this position while marching. This is the high-ready position,” I changed my pose, “Use this position when you see a potential threat but are not yet going to fire. There is also the low-ready position but with a weapon this stupidly overweight you want gravity to help get the barrel into position, not try to pull it up. Lastly do not walk right up to somebody like me you are suspicious of, put your gun in the high-ready position and accost me from twenty feet or so away instead of walking right up where I can grab the gun away. Get it?”
He actually pulled up into a near-military (but not quite right, he was an actor) posture, “Yes Loremaster, I understand. Thank you for taking time to instruct this freebirth.” Dude seriously looked like he was about to cry. I guess nobody ever showed him how to hold a rifle before.
I rolled my eyes and handed the gun back before opening my front door and stepping inside. I wanted breakfast, but if I opened my refrigerator, the cold air would escape and I'd be more likely to lose food to rotting if the power out went on too long. I considered my options. There weren't really any breakfast foods but I could cook up some rice with honey and milk. Moments later I remembered that there was no power for the rice cooker. Dangit. I opened the fridge anyway and pulled out some oranges.
Not ten seconds later there was an insistent pounding on the door. Now I was beginning to get irritated. I threw the door open to give the idiot a piece of my mind.
The smell hit me like a brick. Have you ever heard of a catpiss man? Somebody who's hygiene is so terrible the combination of unwashed body and attempts to cover the scent wind up smell like he slept in a litter box? This was him.
Oddly enough he was much fitter than the stinking fat slob stereotype. He was actually fairly muscular with swarthy skin set off by a neatly trimmed mustache and sideburn combo. Maybe he worked out a lot and just didn't wash enough? Or maybe he was just working too much and hadn't had time to shower. I could be acting like a complete jerk. Alright I'd just pretend he didn't reek.
The gent had on a scarlet jacket with fur trim and a yellow armband. He had black hair and fair skin. A whacking scar across his forehead managed to look cool rather than ugly. He had a brush mustache and a wonky but well-trimmed pointy beard underneath. It wasn't a style I'd seen before. And he was looking almost as exasperated as I felt.
“Can I help you?” I asked, trying my best to stay polite and not scrunch my nose at his stink.
He opened his mouth and then looked thoughtful. “You're not a real Lore Master,” he told me.
“You don't say,” I answered dryly.
Slowly he pulled a beautiful pipe out of his pocket and started to load it with tobacco. Normally I'd tell him not to smoke on my property but, well, the pipe was pretty awesome and I could tell he was really playing for time to think. He lit the pipe and blew out a cloud of smoke. It stank but not as bad as he did so I didn't mind so much.
“Suppose I told you,” he began solemnly, “That your life, your whole world, was just a long-running fictional series?”
I looked and him blandly, then raised up one hand and split my fingers in the classic salute, “I'd say live long and prosper,” I told him, “And also don't you think this game has gone on long enough?”
He gave me an irritated half-smile and snorted, “Walk with me a moment, I'll show you something.”
I let out a long-suffering sigh as I moved with him. The man walked in long purposeful strides but my own legs weren't too short and I was able to keep up without skipping.
As we crossed the line of floodlights I handed the cup back to the girl who still wouldn't look me in the eye and paused a moment so our eyes could adjust.
There was a giant robot standing behind then a ways. How'd I miss that? Probably not enough caffeine, I supposed. It was tall and blocky with a row of thin rectangular windows like gunnery slits for a face, with one side of it's chest equipped with boob-guns and the other side loaded with boob-missiles. Though I noticed sagely that while it was standing with lights on, and twisted slightly at the waist, it wasn't actually walking around. Possibly a plastic movie prop?
“Not like the 'mechs in your world is it?” He asked with an wry grin.
“Well we don't have any actual 'mechs of course. I'll give you an E for effort though, that thing is absolutely first rate. Are you shooting a movie?”
I never did hear his reply because we'd kept walking and, well, movie prop was not the answer for the impossibility before me.
My house was underground. Stone walls a hundred feet tall reinforced with some kind of metal beams, painted blue with yellow numbers on them surrounded us and arched into a high ceiling. There was absolutely no way this could be a prop, nor built in a few hours while I was asleep.
“Okay. . . That's convincing,” I said weakly.
“Wait I'm confused, what's your world called? I thought it'd be called Earth from the show and game series Amaricca. But I've seen the show and there's absolutely 'mechs in it, we just hardly see them except for a few establishing shots of that one country that's a ripoff of the Draconis Combine,” he asked sharply.
“Uhm, the world is called Earth? And that isn't a mech, it's a statue of a Gundam. They don't really exist. . .” I trailed off as there was the sound of impacts and vibrations shook the floor as the robot began to walk around my house. Yeah, not a movie prop then.
“Earth, that fits. So it is the world in the show, where they renamed Terra. Yeah I know it's shocking,” he said, maybe slightly sympathetically, “The world you live in is just a show and board game in ours, the world of Amaricca was made in the Rim Worlds Republic hundreds of years ago under the Amaris regime as propaganda. After certain. . . upsets they changed the spelling to something less politically charged and started calling the main country the USA, along with changing it into political comedy instead of trying to make Amaris seem good. Not a real well-written world though, I expect you'd notice stupidities like the writers not communicating, and so the Americans somehow wound up paying farmers not to grow crops, and payed them extra to grow more crops at the same time. Or super-technologies like engines that weigh a fraction of what they should,” he continued.
“My favorite part is how the Amariccans built a godlike magical computer network capable of communicating anything at all to anybody, anytime, with no limits, and instead of doing something useful all they did was look at porn and use it to send each other pictures of cats,” she handed me a fresh cup of coffee which caused her to automatically become my favorite person in the universe, quite literally since I only knew three people in the universe.
I should probably be freaking out but I'm fairly good at compartmentalizing that part and just running on autopilot during emergencies. Once I was in a safe and private spot I'd have to break down and then probably meditate a while to get my head back on straight. Because this was getting weird fast.
“We do too use the internet for business, and communications,” I protested.
“I like the political system the best,” her male companion noted, eyes still down, “Change regimes every few years instead of allowing a Great House to rule and develop any institutional experience, and choose by counting up the votes of the people for who they'd like best, and then electing whoever got fewer votes. Oh, and the running gag about them not being able to name anything, like the time they named a new world 'Jelly Donut Planet' or when they decided to call a ship 'Boaty McBoatface,' that was hilarious.”
“Naw, the crazy technology to support their tabletop game was the best,” she disagreed, “Cannons that somehow get longer ranges as the shell size increases, missiles that can hit a target on the other side of the planet, but somehow they still have infantry and tanks and ships, submarines that are undetectable and can hit stuff hundreds of miles away but somehow other ships exist and have the slightest purpose, and they made the armor somehow magically invincible to small arms in order to prevent players from flooding the board with cheap infantry units,”
“Bah, the game sucked when they changed it from 7th to 8th edition,” he complained. Now they were just rubbing it in but I was tired and had coffee so I didn't care, “They decided that somehow airplanes couldn't mount armor because it was too heavy, despite being able to carry around tanks that could mount said armor, in order to jive with that one episode where a guy shot down a plane with an auto-rifle. Then in order to make planes still relevant to the battlefield they decided that tanks somehow couldn't shoot up. It ruined a perfectly good scenario, I used to love Desert Storm, a well-balanced epic combat map, but with 3rd edition's changes it became a complete curbstomp because none of the Iraqi tanks could shoot down the ridiculous Amarrican helicopters and planes.”
“Oh, yeah, that sucked,” she agreed, “I usually have the Iraqi side swap a few dozen gun carriages for SRM carrier models to make it a bit more even.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath. “Okay this is interesting and all but, uh, where do we go from here?”
“Well, we need to catalog what the machine did, get it's database recovered, inventory the artifacts it brought over and get them in the DropShip, then dismantle as much machinery as we can,” the foul-smelling leader declared.
“That's my house! And my things,” I protested.
“Well,” he said with a glint in his eye I didn't like a bit, “More than fair, none of us are thieves here right people?”
He waved his arm at the rest of the group, “But since this planet was nuked to ash in the Second Succession War and there's no breathable atmosphere once the scrubbers shut down in this chamber, I'm thinking you might not like staying here with your property. Unless you have something to trade for passage?”
I felt a stab of denial bubbling up and stomped on it, this was no time to presume it was impossible after I'd seen walking robots and my house had teleported underground.
“I don't suppose you take American Dollars?” I asked weakly.
A few hours later. . .
“Here, drink this,” the medic said as I huddles in the O-Deck of the DropShip, “It'll help with motion sickness from your first trip off-planet. Make sure you get it all down before lift off in five minutes or you'll make a huge mess and waste it when we maneuver.
I took the cup gratefully and sipped it. I could hardly believe all that had happened but I knew I couldn't just go around being in denial all the time either. I'd gotten a ride in a genuine sci-fi space buggy through a genuine post-apocalyptic landscape to a genuine space ship I was about to take a genuine space ride in.
All it cost me was everything but my clothes. Not that bad a deal considering. I hoped somebody would feed my cat back on Earth but if not she was a good mouser.
There were several sharp pops and klaxons and then the whole ship shuddered and quaked and the air conditioning system changed temperature for no reason I could figure out. Then I was squashed into the seat, hard, as the ground fell away to the sound of a roar like a lion the size of Godzilla and all I could do was watch and think about how awesome it was. All the worries about where I was going and what was happened didn't matter right now. I was getting a ride in a space ship. It felt almost like I was floating and my head was full of cotton as the planet continued to shrink below.
I'd just managed to get up a couple hours before but maybe it was just the stress of things, as gravity disappeared I drifted off again.
Some More Time later. . .
“Patient is awake!” A voice said excitedly and I snapped my eyes open to see a very petite Asian nurse standing over me.
“Wha?” I asked with great articulation.
“Hey! That's way smarter than she usually is! Maybe the drugs knocked some sense into her!”
I leaned over. The nurse on the other side was apparently the first nurse's identical twin. They were rolling me through a really cramped, really narrow corridor on a gurney.
“Where am I?” I asked, “What happened?”
“We saved your life,” the first nurse answered cheerfully, “We do need your brain you know. And it's easier if the rest of you comes along,”
Say what? I tried to sit up just as we reached a sealed bulwark door and pushed through.
There were at least a dozen other identical Asian girls in various outfits manning cramped stations. Who stopped and began the chatter excitedly as I came in.
“Woo! Party time!” one said. They formed a line and began doing what seemed to be a really, really stupid cheerleader routine. . . in zero gravity. Did I mention some of them were in actual cheerleader outfits?
“Go Bright Star! It's your Birthday! No Space-Squids! Got the Porn Brain!” they chanted.
Oh hell. I'd become part of a Jump Chain hadn't I? Weren't you supposed to get more than a couple hours per jump though?
Bear Ribs
Well-known member
So, this is a touch embarrassing but I wrote a snip some time ago and apparently failed to post the second half, and I didn't notice until somebody liked it and I clicked the link. So, um, oops? Presenting chapter 2 that was supposed to have gone up in February.
Chapter 1 is a hundred and fifty pages ago, link here.
Chapter 2
Lieutenant Marcos Shake, appropriately, shook his head as he examined his people. The head tech as her astech assistant had their heads bowed, watching their feet, as was only appropriate for lesser caste members when facing a Warrior.
Which was a big problem because they weren't in the Clans anymore and that just made them stand out to the sphereoids as “not our kind of people.” His job was supposed to include getting them over those issues and the odd structure had just made it much harder.
Whatever the Star League had been doing in this place had the techs very excited, something about using a KF Translocator to do something he didn't understand. Then they got even more excited because they were addicted to a board game and for some reason the game was connected to the Translocator in some way he also didn't understand.
So they'd turned it on, and a house had popped into existence. That made the techs even more excited and, fair to say, he'd been pretty amazed himself. But he'd remembered his job and immediately got his valuable techs under cover and called in Tempest's Centurion to provide cover in case the house was, against it's appearance, full of hostiles, and the sudden orders and suggestions of violence had undone all his work getting his techs to start remembering to look him in the eye and acting like Inner Sphere techs did instead of proper Clan Nova Cat techs.
“Sir, perimeter established,” Fasha Nagaraj was a dark-skinned woman, strong and healthy with a bouncing step, “You should take a look at this.”
He followed the Sergeant, carefully keeping his gaze off her backside. He wasn't like that, he was a good soldier, but Nagaraj had a way of ruining his concentration no matter how hard he tried not to be that way. It was almost. . .
“See these cables and pipes?” she pointed, to sections coming out of a foundation that was cut razor-sharp, “I think the structure does not have it's own power or water supply. Water came out of the pipes here though it's stopped now. It was probably part of a larger base originally, or possibly inside a city though it's kind of poorly designed for that.”
“Good job, prepare a team to go inside. We want whoever is inside alive if possible, but protect our people first,” he said firmly, “Make sure that-”
There was a hissing noise from the largest pipe and he knelt down next to it to see. His eyes widened as a horrific smell came out, followed by about a gallon of sewage that splashed all across his chest and face before he could react.
He stood for a long moment, almost paralyzed with indignation until Sergeant Nagaraj put something fluffy in his hand.
“Towel sir, I suggest heading to the cleanup station, no telling what exotic germs were in there.” the good Sergeant said without the slightest trace of amusement in her voice, to Marcos' intense gratitude.
Sadly he didn't have time to fully get cleaned up or changed. The situation became increasingly surreal as a Nova Cat Loremaster in full ceremonial robes and footwear, though missing the headpiece, emerged from the house and headed past the row of Spotlights towards the Techs.
“Are you seeing this?” he asked Nagaraj as he sponged filth off his face.
“I thought the current Loremaster was a man. . . was there a Trial while we have been gone?”
“I do not. . . she's headed back to the house. Intercept her.”
“Sir!” the Sergeant sent a quick automatic signal with her radio and the nearest soldier moved to intercept.
Sadly and too late, both of them realized too late that the nearest soldier was Isaac Novacat, a good man, but a bit slow and prone to having trouble realizing that he wasn't a Laborer anymore and it was legal for him to carry both guns and boxes. Much to Marcos' horror Issac's training didn't seem to stick, and he approached in an entirely undisciplined manner.
Marcos began to step forward when the Loremaster snatched Issac's rifle from his hands. He belatedly realized that a Nova Cat Loremaster, fresh from the Pentagon Planets, probably wouldn't realize why a Laborer Caste might be holding a weapon. Dimly he realized Sergeant Nagaraj had her own rifle already aimed and ready.
But fortune prevailed and rather than killing Isaac, the Loremaster gave the man a brief lecture and showed the proper way to carry a rifle before returning to the house.
Marcos was completely lost. He knew there was something completely, utterly wrong here but it was so strange and outside his experience he had no idea what to even think. Fortunately he did know how an officer pronounces 'I have no idea.'
“What is your opinion on this Sergeant?”
“Sir, we do not have enough information,” Nagaraj answered promptly, “I recommend asking those Techs just what the Loremaster was doing, then meet with the Loremaster directly to ask a few questions.”
“Sound reasoning,” Marcos nodded. One concept Cranston, and by extension all the Irregulars, had embraced wholeheartedly was the idea that a junior officer should be attached to a more experienced Sergeant. It was a foreign idea to the Clans but then, the Irregulars were not typical of the Clans anymore.
After a rinse from a bucket of water, Marcos headed for the techs. To his initial dismay, they seemed to be examining a hologram of some sort of board game and whispering excitedly until he came at which point they came to attention and began to report.
The immediate report with them didn't prove enlightening. The Lore Master had spoken in riddles which was typical, demanded coffee which wasn't all that strange, and the indicated that the Irregulars were interfering with her work which was very strange indeed.
“Alright,” Marcos said, “We know an insane Nova Cat Lore Master is somehow living in a house that appeared out of thin air when we turned on the power.” He paused a long moment. “That is not something I ever expected to say. Do we have any indications of why the house appeared, or how?”
“Sir,” Technician Crallen answered, “I did read through some of the available documentation. The device itself was intended to try to make an HPG transmitter powerful enough to send more than a radio signal. They called it an HPG Translocator. It worked, but things came back... wrong.”
Marcos waited a moment while the overly-dramatic technician built up the tension. “How so?” He finally asked when it appeared they'd be there for days.
“The first experiments were tiny objects, they sent through a coin of steel with Michael Cameron's face on it, and got back one of copper with somebody named 'Lincoln.' Then they sent through a sheaf of papers, the technical readouts of a Phoenix Hawk, Stinger, Wasp, and Marauder. They got back a legal document stating those images, along with a couple dozen other 'mechs, were the property of somebody called Harmony Gold and they were to cease and desist using them at once. They sent a black rat through and a white rat came out the other side, with hair shaved off a section of it and wires jammed in it's brain.”
“Oh that's classy,” Technician Allabel broke in in disgust, “No wonder you didn't want me to read that part.”
“Yeah, well, then they tried sending something useful to see what happened, and after sending a computer they got back a shiny black box containing an advanced robot named Tay. This was eventually used as technology base to construct the Bright Star Autoscout ship. They knew then they were onto something big.
“Finally in hopes of getting even more advanced technology, they sent a small craft through, and out came an obsolete wet-navy boat called the USS Philadelphia. That nearly broke the machine. Their last experiment was to send the Philadelphia back to see if they'd get the same small craft back in exchange but the entire system crashed when they did. Then the Fat Man happened before they were able to get all the burned out circuits replaced and it waited... until we came along and turned it back on. And this house popped out”
“Okay, aside from the SLDF not being smart enough to quit before they summoned a Great Old One, I'm not seeing any pattern there,” Marcos noted sourly. He felt a distinctly creepy sensation over the list of experiments and didn't particularly care for it.
“And the SLDF wouldn't either!” Technician Allabel interjected excitedly, “Because the pattern didn't exist when they started! You know how I like to play old tabletop games and watch Tridee shows from the Star League?”
Marcos nodded thoughtfully. He really hoped she had an actual point.
“Well, there was a show started by the Fat Man himself after the coup, named after himself called Amarrica. They guy who made it was secretly a Cameron supporter and made it into a weird comedy instead of the ego-fest for Amaris it was supposed to be, and then a hugely popular board came came out of it. Anyway,” she hastened as Marcos made a 'get to the point' gesture, “In an episode of Amarrica, a wet-navy ship called the Philadelphia vanishes into thin air and it's a huge mystery that never gets solved. And they use a copper coin, with the head of their greatest leader, Abraham Lincoln on it. And everybody had a black tablet that linked them to an AI that did their shopping, and picked out movies for them to watch.”
“So, you are suggesting the SLDF... was pulling things out of a Tridee show that hadn't even been made yet?” Marcos raised one eyebrow.
“I know it sounds far fetched, sir. The thing is, those black tablets with AI on them were everywhere in the show. Basically because the props were so cheap, they made tons of them. It became the show's iconic item. And the Lore Master who came out of that house? She had a little model Timber Wolf she was rubbing with her fingers while she got coffee, so we know she's connected to the Clans, but she pulled a tablet out of her ceremonial robes while she was heading back to the house. A black tablet, just like people had on the show. I think she's a Lore Master but not our Lore Master if you get my meaning.”
“I...” Marcos mind whirled a moment as he considered this. He spared a brief moment to consider that it was a huge prank, but he'd watched a huge house (that had shat on him) appear out of thin air in an SLDF cache, and a Nova Cat Lore Master who should have been over a thousand light years away appear in full ceremonial robes and slippers and demand coffee. Not likely to be the kind of things a prankster would, or could, pull.
“I see,” he began again before he'd waited too long. “What are your recommendations?” He really wished this had been pushed up the pay grade. He'd come here for a simple tech collection, catalog the SLDF outpost, gather up everything valuable, and bring it home. Instead he'd run into, apparently, a sci-fi Tridee show that was somehow inside another sci-fi Tridee show and instead of simple archaeology he could handle he needed to figure out
Cranston would have been unbelievably gleeful at this kind of thing, instead of having no idea what to do and worrying about just how wrong the Lore Master might actually be. Did she have wires in her brain? The tablets sounded like they could do anything in the show, did it have weapons? Magic powers? Mind control rays? Could she be carrying a horrific plague that would turn them all into jelly?
“Sir, I suggest we contact the Lore Master again, get her out of the house. She's clearly got some minimal training but wasn't armed earlier and didn't seem confrontational so much as tired. If we're wrong, we saved the Nova Cat Lore Master which is good, but if we're right, she's the only person in the universe with knowledge of how those black tablets work, and they do all kinds of ridiculous things, the tablets got more powers every other episode! She's like a living Star League Cache, only better because she knows things the Star League never dreamed of.”
Marcos nodded at this. It made sense to him, and more importantly gave him something to do, a clear course of action instead of just worrying. Action he could do, uncertainty made him sweat.
His first step was to watch a series of short tridee clips so he had a decent idea of the world he was dealing with. Everybody spoke English, but there were rough analogues to the Great Houses. USSR was clearly the Capellans, a country called “Yuukay” seemed similar to Federated Suns, Amarrica was obviously the Rim World's Republic, and there was a version of the Draconis Combine called Japan except the people there were clearly insane and obsessed with girls wearing cat ears instead of practicing Bushido in honorable warfare like a sensible people would. At least they had some 'mechs though the one he saw was, weirdly, painted in the red-white-and-blue Amarrica colors instead of the “Japanese” ones, and a design he'd never seen before.
Armed with this knowledge, he hesitantly knocked on the door. A moment later it opened and the Loremaster appeared, “Can I help you?” she asked, her nose wrinkling.
He started to move and reconsidered his approach at the last minute. “You're not a real Lore Master,” he finally said.
“You don't say,” she said, sarcasm thick in her voice.
He was startled she was so open about it, and suddenly he had an epiphany: she had no more idea what was going on than he did, quite possibly less. This wasn't a high-ranking envoy from another universe paying a visit, it was somebody who'd woken up in a strange place and was reacting to that, like Alice trying to rationally comprehend the behavior of Wonderland.
He reached for his pipe to play for time and think, the familiar motions of tamping the tobacco and lighting it gave him a moment and the smooth smoke soothed his nerves slightly. Okay, he decided, play it straight and cut straight to the heart of the matter.
“Suppose I told you,” he asked carefully, “That your life, your whole world, was just a long-running fictional series?”
The Loremaster gave him a blank look a moment, then gave him an startlingly rude gesture. He glowered at her, he'd done nothing to deserve-
“I'd say live long and prosper,” she said, “And also don't you think this game has gone on long enough?”
Marcos felt himself sweat slightly again. He'd nearly made a huge mistake. It was natural that a world based on somebody as evil and insane as Amaris would use vile gestures as a polite greeting. He snorted in almost-amusement at having avoided a gaffe himself.
She obviously hadn't realized where she was yet, he realized, so he could prove his situation by showing her the clips of her world. It wouldn't be hard, put her on her back foot and get the advantage in negotiating for the magical black tablet she carried. “Walk with me a moment, I'll show you something.”
Much to his surprise, as the situation unfolded, she was far more impressed by the cheap Powerman industrialmech than the array of Star League lostech around her. Soon he had the fake Loremaster convinced and settled into bargaining with her, which proved quite easy. Within a few hours he'd negotiated ownership of the house and contents in exchange for a trip off-planet while the industrialmechs continued to haul away the advanced technology.
Several hours later the DropShips were loaded, the passenger was secured, and they left the creepy planet behind. Not a moment too soon in Marcos' opinion. Still, everything had gone well considering how bizarre events had been. The stranger had willingly taken a number of drugs under the guise of medication for space-sickness and the medtechs were already conducting a chemical interrogation, pumping her dry of useful information. Soon they'd be back with the rest of the irregulars, and she wouldn't be his problem anymore, though he suspected Snord would keep her around, maybe even try to make her an Irregular herself if he could. Snord seemed to collect oddballs and she was the oddest one he'd seen yet.
He examined the small figuring in his hand again. A Timber Wolf converted into a keychain. She had an array of the small models of various 'mechs, some real and some imaginary. It hadn't been until the laborers cataloging the collection had brought one of her books to him that he'd realized the implications.
Their own world was a fictional tabletop to her, just as hers was a game in his. More importantly, the fictional 'mechs weren't fictional, they were 'mechs that hadn't been built yet. She had a partial, somewhat broken, history of the universe all the way to the 3170s.
It was the single most valuable find, he suspected, ever. An entire intact Castle Brian, still filled with regiments of pristine equipment, would pale in comparison. Cranston was going to be overjoyed.
“Lieutenant Shake, please report to the bridge,” the intercom suddenly sounded, interrupting his thoughts.
“What's the situation?” he asked a few moments later as he navigated the confines of the DropShip.
“JumpShip, sir,” Lieutenant Rose answered, “At the L1 Lagrangian Pirate Point. It must have jumped in some time ago while we were planet side, with the planet in between us and the point, for us not to have detected it. She was just reeling in her jump sail when we first managed to see her.”
“Any broadcasts? And what class is it?” Marcos asked. It was almost a relief to deal with normal, rational problems like potential pirates instead of finding out the universe was somebody's game.
“It was transmitting a series of phrases, rotating through 'Go away,' 'no space-squids,' and 'tentacles leave' with numerous variations,” Lieutenant Rose explained, which explained absolutely nothing, “A minute or so after we saw her, apparently she saw us and ceased broadcast of those messages. Then she uploaded an adult Tridee into our system.”
“You blocked it of course?”
“What? No!” the bridge officer protested. “It's a Star League grade video, the means of making that kind of stuff is Lostech now.”
Marcos twitched. What the heck kind of idiotic- never mind. Of course the universe wasn't going to give him a normal situation to deal with. He'd get explanations once the threat was assessed, “And the type? How many DropShips?”
“No DropShips, not even any collars, tentatively the system identified her as an Explorer class but when we got a better scan we found that's not right, she's got a different silhouette and the scan suggests she's a little too heavy. The front end looks like a chisel, never seen anything like it before. Frankly we haven't even found a partial match I'm happy with. She's well-equipped though, the ship's got the most advanced scanner suite I've ever seen, Star League for sure, and she's bristling with sensors. There's even an HPG built into her.”
Marcos felt his brow furrow. That was... a really strange set of equipment. No pirate would choose such a ship. An intelligence vessel? But the scavenger lords didn't know how to mount an HPG. Comstar?
“Does she have any fighters? Armaments?” He asked after considering it a moment, going back by habit to threat assessment.
“One set of doors on her, could be a couple of fighters in there, but more likely shuttles. The ship's so crammed with sensor gear there's not enough room for much more, the crew must be living in each other's laps. At best there could be two fighters and she might have some really light weaponry but nothing that could seriously threaten us. And she can't do better than a fifth of a G with those engines so she won't be outrunning us either.”
Marcos felt a bit of tension go away. At least they weren't threatened by this newest mystery. He briefly thought back to the stranger in the sickbay. Could there be a connection? Why did a mystery spy ship show up just as they found her? No, he dismissed the thought. That was too wild a coincidence, if anybody else had somehow known of the experiment they would have come themselves, possibly years before.
“We're being hailed,” the com officer suddenly announced.
“On the main screen,” Lieutenant Rose answered automatically.
The petite Capellan girl that appeared took only a moment for Marcos to place it. She showed up on just about every list of important people at some point, albeit usually several spaces down. Just... not usually wearing a cheerleader outfit.
“Romano Liao?” He asked in stark disbelief, “What... why are you here?”
“Because Romanos were on sale, and I'm, like, on a tight budget,” Romano Liao answered immediately, which explained nothing, “But to business. You have my brain and I want her back,”
“That explains a lot about Romano,” somebody in the back of the bridge quipped before being shushed.
“Your brain you say?” Lieutenant Rose asked cautiously.
“The porn brain,” Romano clarified, “The, like, idiot girl from inside the Tridee show the facility pulled over. She's with me, I totes need her.”
“You need- Why?” the Lieutenant asked in confusion. Marcos himself wasn't doing much better. There was something distinctly wrong, he'd met Romano Liao at an embassy dinner and she was acting... very different now. Calmer, not as twitchy. The Cheerleader outfit was also distracting and nothing like what he'd associate with the Romano he'd met. Then again her reputation for craziness...
“People in her world built a fantastic computer network they only used to look at porn and pictures of cats, sometimes both at the same time. The sicko has probably seen more grody stuff than your entire crew, combined. Having seen all those nasty biological processes is a critical part of jumping through hyperspace without being attacked by space-squids,” Romano said matter-of-factly, “That's, like, why CASPAR drones can't jump, they don't read enough porn. So, are you going to send her over? Other ships need that disgusting brain of hers. I totes don't have room for enough people in my hull so I have to make the one I carry count for lots.”
Marcos felt a headache coming on and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was deeply glad he wasn't the one having to deal with Romano.
“Cap'n?” A pretty blonde sensor tech interjected suddenly. Lieutenant Rose gestured and the connection to Romano was muted and locked.
“Sir, I found a match for the ship's signature. You're not going to believe this, it's not in the database because it's older than the Star League,” she said, wide-eyed with excitement, “That's the Bright Star Auto-Scout.”
Marcos suddenly realized at the same moment what was wrong with Romano, “Lieutenant,” he interrupted a bit formally, “I think that's not actually Romano Liao over there. I met her at an embassy dinner and she's not-” He made cupping motions at his chest, “-that blessed by the hormone fairy, let's say.”
In a valiant show of self control, Lt. Rose failed to pinch the bridge of his nose. Marcos himself was growing excited, however, as he realized they'd stumbled onto something big. He'd been starting to seriously suspect the machine had actually broken the universe somehow, and destroyed all logic and reason that used to exist. But now the threads of logic were coming together.
Romanos were on sale, she'd said. The first time she'd said it, he'd chalked it up as nonsense. In a sudden flash of realization, however, he made a different connection. The references to her having a hull, only one person on board, and the fact that she'd There were certain brothels that used robots, celebrity look-alike robots in costume were popular options. Somehow a half-a-millennium-old derelict robot JumpShip, the subject of a thousand tall tales from lying drunk sailors in taverns across the inner sphere, was right there in front of them. It had purchased a remarkably well-articulated love doll to use as a humanoid body... somehow. And it had bought Romano Liao in a cheerleader outfit because Romanos were on sale.
“Lieutenant,” he began, excited to share his epiphany, “I think that we're talking to a robot, inside another robot. That's not Romano, it's a mannequin.”
“Yeah,” Rose answered, suddenly grinning, “Lieutenant Shake, perhaps you'd be so kind as to prepare a boarding party and get our new JumpShip under control?”
Marcos grinned inwardly as he nodded. The Star League facility was amazing but a piece of history like the Bright Star, that was something really special. They'd all get commendations for this trip. He began to undo the webbing holding him to his seat in preparation to move.
“And reconnect us, Ensign, I'll try to keep her attention,” Rose continued.
“So, are you sending her over, chop chop?” the mannequin asked eagerly as the video resumed.
“Yessss,” Rose answered, drawing the sentence out, “We're sending over a shuttle now.”
“You better have me talk to her first,” she suggested, “You probably noticed bit she's, like, an idiot and'll do something really stupid if it's not explained clearly. I know her real well so I'll be able to handle her better than you.”
“Oh, that won't be necessary, we've already informed her and she's glad to be getting back to you,” Lt. Rose lied easily.
As the last buckle came loose Marcos stood up in the chair and suddenly winced in realization at the mistake. He saw Rose do it too.
“Oh?” the robot's voice came, suddenly so cold Marcos could have sworn the AC suddenly kicked in, and her eyes, so human narrowed sharply while her lips pressed together and he fancied he could hear her teeth grinding. “I know her, she's totes never met me before. That moron's never met anybody in this universe, this is where it starts. What do you think you're pulling? Do you like, even have the idiot now or have you already lost her?”
“Wait, this is just a misunderstanding,” Lt. Rose began.
“Did I already get her from you and don't know? Have other mes boarded your ship? Probably so. But did they talk to her?” the Romano-doll wondered to itself, apparently falling into chaotic mumbling again.
“Cap'n,” The sensor tech warned, “She's painting us with all those sensors, banging away like she's trying to get a firing solution.”
“Are we in any danger?” Rose asked hastily.
“Negative, we're out of range even for capital weapons and she's got no armaments anyway. I'm not sure what she's doing besides taking a stupidly accurate scan of our ship.”
“You knocked her out,” the mannequin said in a void as inviting as a glacier-fed stream, “You knocked her out and drugged her. She's totes irreplaceable, the most disgusting brain in the universe and you risked damaging it. You're going to, like, regret this,” she warned.
“What are you going to do?” Rose answered her, calmer now that he was sure the angry robot couldn't open fire on him. Marcos began to slither around the consoles. The DropShip was not roomy inside and it took some maneuvering to get around the duty stations.
“I'm like, going to write a nasty letter of complaint to you and then you'll be so, so sorry!”
“That's weird,” the sensor tech noted, “She's powered up her HPG transmitter. Is she actually going to try to send an angry-?”
As Marcos reached the hatch to leave the bridge, there was a sudden shower of sparks as a power conduit failed, and then the ship died.
Only for a moment, though, before the emergency systems came on. There was a flurry of activity as each duty station tried to bring their systems up.
“Report!” Rose barked, “What the hell just happened?”
“Unknown, sir, systems are down completely,” the bridge astech snapped back. “Trying to restart now. Power is off at the station.” The astech maneuvered herself in the zero-g out of her station and to a metal box on the wall, black looking in the weak yellow emergency lights. “Fuses are blown, every one of them. Must have been one heck of a power surge. I'll have them replaced in a few minutes.”
Marcos didn't bother to wait for her to finish. He had the door undogged and was on his way to the launch bay while she was still pulling the first charred cylinder from the fusebox. The corridors were painted in the wan, yellow light of the emergency lights, leaving them shadowy and ominous. He was much happier when, about half a minute into his journey, the systems came back online and the lights returned. The rest of his trip was faster.
The Engineering deck, and the retrofitted launch bay was abuzz with activity when he got there, with astechs swarming over the pair of fighters and small craft like bees tending their queen and more senior techs cursing at the power plant and engine.
“What the hell happened back there... Sir?” the head tech demanded, as she floated towards him, her eyes flaming as she (barely) remembered what little discipline the Irregulars had.
“Fuses blew,” Marcos answered shortly, “We don't know why. How soon can we have a boarding party ready to go?”
She let out a scoff. “Gonna have to get the system rebooted first, right now the system's running off it's hard-code backups. Half my crew's still trying to figure out what the default Admin passwords are to turn on our basic systems.”
“So nothing's working? What about the lights?” Marcos demanded over the din as the astechs continued to chatter and plug away. There was a sudden cheer as a screen changed from the blue login screen.
“Systems that don't need any passwords work fine, we've got lights, life support, and the escape pods should work fine. We're just lacking anything that, y'know, would be useful right now. Give us a bit, we should get the computers working again eventually but this tub is old,” the head tech kicked the bulkhead for effect, “And the fighter bays are a refit anyway so the default password and even the program to open them probably doesn't even exist for those doors anymore. We're going to have to get the main system running first, then reinstall the software for the bay doors before we can even think of opening them, much less conducting a launch.”
Taking the hint, Marcos nodded before stepping out of the way and leaving the bay. To his everlasting embarrassment, it took nearly four minutes before he thought to check the sickbay, though his team were good enough not to blame him. He wouldn't have been on time to keep the mysterious captive from being kidnapped by "Romano" into the escape pod even if he'd dashed all the way from the bridge first thing.
Chapter 1 is a hundred and fifty pages ago, link here.
Chapter 2
Lieutenant Marcos Shake, appropriately, shook his head as he examined his people. The head tech as her astech assistant had their heads bowed, watching their feet, as was only appropriate for lesser caste members when facing a Warrior.
Which was a big problem because they weren't in the Clans anymore and that just made them stand out to the sphereoids as “not our kind of people.” His job was supposed to include getting them over those issues and the odd structure had just made it much harder.
Whatever the Star League had been doing in this place had the techs very excited, something about using a KF Translocator to do something he didn't understand. Then they got even more excited because they were addicted to a board game and for some reason the game was connected to the Translocator in some way he also didn't understand.
So they'd turned it on, and a house had popped into existence. That made the techs even more excited and, fair to say, he'd been pretty amazed himself. But he'd remembered his job and immediately got his valuable techs under cover and called in Tempest's Centurion to provide cover in case the house was, against it's appearance, full of hostiles, and the sudden orders and suggestions of violence had undone all his work getting his techs to start remembering to look him in the eye and acting like Inner Sphere techs did instead of proper Clan Nova Cat techs.
“Sir, perimeter established,” Fasha Nagaraj was a dark-skinned woman, strong and healthy with a bouncing step, “You should take a look at this.”
He followed the Sergeant, carefully keeping his gaze off her backside. He wasn't like that, he was a good soldier, but Nagaraj had a way of ruining his concentration no matter how hard he tried not to be that way. It was almost. . .
“See these cables and pipes?” she pointed, to sections coming out of a foundation that was cut razor-sharp, “I think the structure does not have it's own power or water supply. Water came out of the pipes here though it's stopped now. It was probably part of a larger base originally, or possibly inside a city though it's kind of poorly designed for that.”
“Good job, prepare a team to go inside. We want whoever is inside alive if possible, but protect our people first,” he said firmly, “Make sure that-”
There was a hissing noise from the largest pipe and he knelt down next to it to see. His eyes widened as a horrific smell came out, followed by about a gallon of sewage that splashed all across his chest and face before he could react.
He stood for a long moment, almost paralyzed with indignation until Sergeant Nagaraj put something fluffy in his hand.
“Towel sir, I suggest heading to the cleanup station, no telling what exotic germs were in there.” the good Sergeant said without the slightest trace of amusement in her voice, to Marcos' intense gratitude.
Sadly he didn't have time to fully get cleaned up or changed. The situation became increasingly surreal as a Nova Cat Loremaster in full ceremonial robes and footwear, though missing the headpiece, emerged from the house and headed past the row of Spotlights towards the Techs.
“Are you seeing this?” he asked Nagaraj as he sponged filth off his face.
“I thought the current Loremaster was a man. . . was there a Trial while we have been gone?”
“I do not. . . she's headed back to the house. Intercept her.”
“Sir!” the Sergeant sent a quick automatic signal with her radio and the nearest soldier moved to intercept.
Sadly and too late, both of them realized too late that the nearest soldier was Isaac Novacat, a good man, but a bit slow and prone to having trouble realizing that he wasn't a Laborer anymore and it was legal for him to carry both guns and boxes. Much to Marcos' horror Issac's training didn't seem to stick, and he approached in an entirely undisciplined manner.
Marcos began to step forward when the Loremaster snatched Issac's rifle from his hands. He belatedly realized that a Nova Cat Loremaster, fresh from the Pentagon Planets, probably wouldn't realize why a Laborer Caste might be holding a weapon. Dimly he realized Sergeant Nagaraj had her own rifle already aimed and ready.
But fortune prevailed and rather than killing Isaac, the Loremaster gave the man a brief lecture and showed the proper way to carry a rifle before returning to the house.
Marcos was completely lost. He knew there was something completely, utterly wrong here but it was so strange and outside his experience he had no idea what to even think. Fortunately he did know how an officer pronounces 'I have no idea.'
“What is your opinion on this Sergeant?”
“Sir, we do not have enough information,” Nagaraj answered promptly, “I recommend asking those Techs just what the Loremaster was doing, then meet with the Loremaster directly to ask a few questions.”
“Sound reasoning,” Marcos nodded. One concept Cranston, and by extension all the Irregulars, had embraced wholeheartedly was the idea that a junior officer should be attached to a more experienced Sergeant. It was a foreign idea to the Clans but then, the Irregulars were not typical of the Clans anymore.
After a rinse from a bucket of water, Marcos headed for the techs. To his initial dismay, they seemed to be examining a hologram of some sort of board game and whispering excitedly until he came at which point they came to attention and began to report.
The immediate report with them didn't prove enlightening. The Lore Master had spoken in riddles which was typical, demanded coffee which wasn't all that strange, and the indicated that the Irregulars were interfering with her work which was very strange indeed.
“Alright,” Marcos said, “We know an insane Nova Cat Lore Master is somehow living in a house that appeared out of thin air when we turned on the power.” He paused a long moment. “That is not something I ever expected to say. Do we have any indications of why the house appeared, or how?”
“Sir,” Technician Crallen answered, “I did read through some of the available documentation. The device itself was intended to try to make an HPG transmitter powerful enough to send more than a radio signal. They called it an HPG Translocator. It worked, but things came back... wrong.”
Marcos waited a moment while the overly-dramatic technician built up the tension. “How so?” He finally asked when it appeared they'd be there for days.
“The first experiments were tiny objects, they sent through a coin of steel with Michael Cameron's face on it, and got back one of copper with somebody named 'Lincoln.' Then they sent through a sheaf of papers, the technical readouts of a Phoenix Hawk, Stinger, Wasp, and Marauder. They got back a legal document stating those images, along with a couple dozen other 'mechs, were the property of somebody called Harmony Gold and they were to cease and desist using them at once. They sent a black rat through and a white rat came out the other side, with hair shaved off a section of it and wires jammed in it's brain.”
“Oh that's classy,” Technician Allabel broke in in disgust, “No wonder you didn't want me to read that part.”
“Yeah, well, then they tried sending something useful to see what happened, and after sending a computer they got back a shiny black box containing an advanced robot named Tay. This was eventually used as technology base to construct the Bright Star Autoscout ship. They knew then they were onto something big.
“Finally in hopes of getting even more advanced technology, they sent a small craft through, and out came an obsolete wet-navy boat called the USS Philadelphia. That nearly broke the machine. Their last experiment was to send the Philadelphia back to see if they'd get the same small craft back in exchange but the entire system crashed when they did. Then the Fat Man happened before they were able to get all the burned out circuits replaced and it waited... until we came along and turned it back on. And this house popped out”
“Okay, aside from the SLDF not being smart enough to quit before they summoned a Great Old One, I'm not seeing any pattern there,” Marcos noted sourly. He felt a distinctly creepy sensation over the list of experiments and didn't particularly care for it.
“And the SLDF wouldn't either!” Technician Allabel interjected excitedly, “Because the pattern didn't exist when they started! You know how I like to play old tabletop games and watch Tridee shows from the Star League?”
Marcos nodded thoughtfully. He really hoped she had an actual point.
“Well, there was a show started by the Fat Man himself after the coup, named after himself called Amarrica. They guy who made it was secretly a Cameron supporter and made it into a weird comedy instead of the ego-fest for Amaris it was supposed to be, and then a hugely popular board came came out of it. Anyway,” she hastened as Marcos made a 'get to the point' gesture, “In an episode of Amarrica, a wet-navy ship called the Philadelphia vanishes into thin air and it's a huge mystery that never gets solved. And they use a copper coin, with the head of their greatest leader, Abraham Lincoln on it. And everybody had a black tablet that linked them to an AI that did their shopping, and picked out movies for them to watch.”
“So, you are suggesting the SLDF... was pulling things out of a Tridee show that hadn't even been made yet?” Marcos raised one eyebrow.
“I know it sounds far fetched, sir. The thing is, those black tablets with AI on them were everywhere in the show. Basically because the props were so cheap, they made tons of them. It became the show's iconic item. And the Lore Master who came out of that house? She had a little model Timber Wolf she was rubbing with her fingers while she got coffee, so we know she's connected to the Clans, but she pulled a tablet out of her ceremonial robes while she was heading back to the house. A black tablet, just like people had on the show. I think she's a Lore Master but not our Lore Master if you get my meaning.”
“I...” Marcos mind whirled a moment as he considered this. He spared a brief moment to consider that it was a huge prank, but he'd watched a huge house (that had shat on him) appear out of thin air in an SLDF cache, and a Nova Cat Lore Master who should have been over a thousand light years away appear in full ceremonial robes and slippers and demand coffee. Not likely to be the kind of things a prankster would, or could, pull.
“I see,” he began again before he'd waited too long. “What are your recommendations?” He really wished this had been pushed up the pay grade. He'd come here for a simple tech collection, catalog the SLDF outpost, gather up everything valuable, and bring it home. Instead he'd run into, apparently, a sci-fi Tridee show that was somehow inside another sci-fi Tridee show and instead of simple archaeology he could handle he needed to figure out
Cranston would have been unbelievably gleeful at this kind of thing, instead of having no idea what to do and worrying about just how wrong the Lore Master might actually be. Did she have wires in her brain? The tablets sounded like they could do anything in the show, did it have weapons? Magic powers? Mind control rays? Could she be carrying a horrific plague that would turn them all into jelly?
“Sir, I suggest we contact the Lore Master again, get her out of the house. She's clearly got some minimal training but wasn't armed earlier and didn't seem confrontational so much as tired. If we're wrong, we saved the Nova Cat Lore Master which is good, but if we're right, she's the only person in the universe with knowledge of how those black tablets work, and they do all kinds of ridiculous things, the tablets got more powers every other episode! She's like a living Star League Cache, only better because she knows things the Star League never dreamed of.”
Marcos nodded at this. It made sense to him, and more importantly gave him something to do, a clear course of action instead of just worrying. Action he could do, uncertainty made him sweat.
His first step was to watch a series of short tridee clips so he had a decent idea of the world he was dealing with. Everybody spoke English, but there were rough analogues to the Great Houses. USSR was clearly the Capellans, a country called “Yuukay” seemed similar to Federated Suns, Amarrica was obviously the Rim World's Republic, and there was a version of the Draconis Combine called Japan except the people there were clearly insane and obsessed with girls wearing cat ears instead of practicing Bushido in honorable warfare like a sensible people would. At least they had some 'mechs though the one he saw was, weirdly, painted in the red-white-and-blue Amarrica colors instead of the “Japanese” ones, and a design he'd never seen before.
Armed with this knowledge, he hesitantly knocked on the door. A moment later it opened and the Loremaster appeared, “Can I help you?” she asked, her nose wrinkling.
He started to move and reconsidered his approach at the last minute. “You're not a real Lore Master,” he finally said.
“You don't say,” she said, sarcasm thick in her voice.
He was startled she was so open about it, and suddenly he had an epiphany: she had no more idea what was going on than he did, quite possibly less. This wasn't a high-ranking envoy from another universe paying a visit, it was somebody who'd woken up in a strange place and was reacting to that, like Alice trying to rationally comprehend the behavior of Wonderland.
He reached for his pipe to play for time and think, the familiar motions of tamping the tobacco and lighting it gave him a moment and the smooth smoke soothed his nerves slightly. Okay, he decided, play it straight and cut straight to the heart of the matter.
“Suppose I told you,” he asked carefully, “That your life, your whole world, was just a long-running fictional series?”
The Loremaster gave him a blank look a moment, then gave him an startlingly rude gesture. He glowered at her, he'd done nothing to deserve-
“I'd say live long and prosper,” she said, “And also don't you think this game has gone on long enough?”
Marcos felt himself sweat slightly again. He'd nearly made a huge mistake. It was natural that a world based on somebody as evil and insane as Amaris would use vile gestures as a polite greeting. He snorted in almost-amusement at having avoided a gaffe himself.
She obviously hadn't realized where she was yet, he realized, so he could prove his situation by showing her the clips of her world. It wouldn't be hard, put her on her back foot and get the advantage in negotiating for the magical black tablet she carried. “Walk with me a moment, I'll show you something.”
Much to his surprise, as the situation unfolded, she was far more impressed by the cheap Powerman industrialmech than the array of Star League lostech around her. Soon he had the fake Loremaster convinced and settled into bargaining with her, which proved quite easy. Within a few hours he'd negotiated ownership of the house and contents in exchange for a trip off-planet while the industrialmechs continued to haul away the advanced technology.
Several hours later the DropShips were loaded, the passenger was secured, and they left the creepy planet behind. Not a moment too soon in Marcos' opinion. Still, everything had gone well considering how bizarre events had been. The stranger had willingly taken a number of drugs under the guise of medication for space-sickness and the medtechs were already conducting a chemical interrogation, pumping her dry of useful information. Soon they'd be back with the rest of the irregulars, and she wouldn't be his problem anymore, though he suspected Snord would keep her around, maybe even try to make her an Irregular herself if he could. Snord seemed to collect oddballs and she was the oddest one he'd seen yet.
He examined the small figuring in his hand again. A Timber Wolf converted into a keychain. She had an array of the small models of various 'mechs, some real and some imaginary. It hadn't been until the laborers cataloging the collection had brought one of her books to him that he'd realized the implications.
Their own world was a fictional tabletop to her, just as hers was a game in his. More importantly, the fictional 'mechs weren't fictional, they were 'mechs that hadn't been built yet. She had a partial, somewhat broken, history of the universe all the way to the 3170s.
It was the single most valuable find, he suspected, ever. An entire intact Castle Brian, still filled with regiments of pristine equipment, would pale in comparison. Cranston was going to be overjoyed.
“Lieutenant Shake, please report to the bridge,” the intercom suddenly sounded, interrupting his thoughts.
“What's the situation?” he asked a few moments later as he navigated the confines of the DropShip.
“JumpShip, sir,” Lieutenant Rose answered, “At the L1 Lagrangian Pirate Point. It must have jumped in some time ago while we were planet side, with the planet in between us and the point, for us not to have detected it. She was just reeling in her jump sail when we first managed to see her.”
“Any broadcasts? And what class is it?” Marcos asked. It was almost a relief to deal with normal, rational problems like potential pirates instead of finding out the universe was somebody's game.
“It was transmitting a series of phrases, rotating through 'Go away,' 'no space-squids,' and 'tentacles leave' with numerous variations,” Lieutenant Rose explained, which explained absolutely nothing, “A minute or so after we saw her, apparently she saw us and ceased broadcast of those messages. Then she uploaded an adult Tridee into our system.”
“You blocked it of course?”
“What? No!” the bridge officer protested. “It's a Star League grade video, the means of making that kind of stuff is Lostech now.”
Marcos twitched. What the heck kind of idiotic- never mind. Of course the universe wasn't going to give him a normal situation to deal with. He'd get explanations once the threat was assessed, “And the type? How many DropShips?”
“No DropShips, not even any collars, tentatively the system identified her as an Explorer class but when we got a better scan we found that's not right, she's got a different silhouette and the scan suggests she's a little too heavy. The front end looks like a chisel, never seen anything like it before. Frankly we haven't even found a partial match I'm happy with. She's well-equipped though, the ship's got the most advanced scanner suite I've ever seen, Star League for sure, and she's bristling with sensors. There's even an HPG built into her.”
Marcos felt his brow furrow. That was... a really strange set of equipment. No pirate would choose such a ship. An intelligence vessel? But the scavenger lords didn't know how to mount an HPG. Comstar?
“Does she have any fighters? Armaments?” He asked after considering it a moment, going back by habit to threat assessment.
“One set of doors on her, could be a couple of fighters in there, but more likely shuttles. The ship's so crammed with sensor gear there's not enough room for much more, the crew must be living in each other's laps. At best there could be two fighters and she might have some really light weaponry but nothing that could seriously threaten us. And she can't do better than a fifth of a G with those engines so she won't be outrunning us either.”
Marcos felt a bit of tension go away. At least they weren't threatened by this newest mystery. He briefly thought back to the stranger in the sickbay. Could there be a connection? Why did a mystery spy ship show up just as they found her? No, he dismissed the thought. That was too wild a coincidence, if anybody else had somehow known of the experiment they would have come themselves, possibly years before.
“We're being hailed,” the com officer suddenly announced.
“On the main screen,” Lieutenant Rose answered automatically.
The petite Capellan girl that appeared took only a moment for Marcos to place it. She showed up on just about every list of important people at some point, albeit usually several spaces down. Just... not usually wearing a cheerleader outfit.
“Romano Liao?” He asked in stark disbelief, “What... why are you here?”
“Because Romanos were on sale, and I'm, like, on a tight budget,” Romano Liao answered immediately, which explained nothing, “But to business. You have my brain and I want her back,”
“That explains a lot about Romano,” somebody in the back of the bridge quipped before being shushed.
“Your brain you say?” Lieutenant Rose asked cautiously.
“The porn brain,” Romano clarified, “The, like, idiot girl from inside the Tridee show the facility pulled over. She's with me, I totes need her.”
“You need- Why?” the Lieutenant asked in confusion. Marcos himself wasn't doing much better. There was something distinctly wrong, he'd met Romano Liao at an embassy dinner and she was acting... very different now. Calmer, not as twitchy. The Cheerleader outfit was also distracting and nothing like what he'd associate with the Romano he'd met. Then again her reputation for craziness...
“People in her world built a fantastic computer network they only used to look at porn and pictures of cats, sometimes both at the same time. The sicko has probably seen more grody stuff than your entire crew, combined. Having seen all those nasty biological processes is a critical part of jumping through hyperspace without being attacked by space-squids,” Romano said matter-of-factly, “That's, like, why CASPAR drones can't jump, they don't read enough porn. So, are you going to send her over? Other ships need that disgusting brain of hers. I totes don't have room for enough people in my hull so I have to make the one I carry count for lots.”
Marcos felt a headache coming on and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was deeply glad he wasn't the one having to deal with Romano.
“Cap'n?” A pretty blonde sensor tech interjected suddenly. Lieutenant Rose gestured and the connection to Romano was muted and locked.
“Sir, I found a match for the ship's signature. You're not going to believe this, it's not in the database because it's older than the Star League,” she said, wide-eyed with excitement, “That's the Bright Star Auto-Scout.”
Marcos suddenly realized at the same moment what was wrong with Romano, “Lieutenant,” he interrupted a bit formally, “I think that's not actually Romano Liao over there. I met her at an embassy dinner and she's not-” He made cupping motions at his chest, “-that blessed by the hormone fairy, let's say.”
In a valiant show of self control, Lt. Rose failed to pinch the bridge of his nose. Marcos himself was growing excited, however, as he realized they'd stumbled onto something big. He'd been starting to seriously suspect the machine had actually broken the universe somehow, and destroyed all logic and reason that used to exist. But now the threads of logic were coming together.
Romanos were on sale, she'd said. The first time she'd said it, he'd chalked it up as nonsense. In a sudden flash of realization, however, he made a different connection. The references to her having a hull, only one person on board, and the fact that she'd There were certain brothels that used robots, celebrity look-alike robots in costume were popular options. Somehow a half-a-millennium-old derelict robot JumpShip, the subject of a thousand tall tales from lying drunk sailors in taverns across the inner sphere, was right there in front of them. It had purchased a remarkably well-articulated love doll to use as a humanoid body... somehow. And it had bought Romano Liao in a cheerleader outfit because Romanos were on sale.
“Lieutenant,” he began, excited to share his epiphany, “I think that we're talking to a robot, inside another robot. That's not Romano, it's a mannequin.”
“Yeah,” Rose answered, suddenly grinning, “Lieutenant Shake, perhaps you'd be so kind as to prepare a boarding party and get our new JumpShip under control?”
Marcos grinned inwardly as he nodded. The Star League facility was amazing but a piece of history like the Bright Star, that was something really special. They'd all get commendations for this trip. He began to undo the webbing holding him to his seat in preparation to move.
“And reconnect us, Ensign, I'll try to keep her attention,” Rose continued.
“So, are you sending her over, chop chop?” the mannequin asked eagerly as the video resumed.
“Yessss,” Rose answered, drawing the sentence out, “We're sending over a shuttle now.”
“You better have me talk to her first,” she suggested, “You probably noticed bit she's, like, an idiot and'll do something really stupid if it's not explained clearly. I know her real well so I'll be able to handle her better than you.”
“Oh, that won't be necessary, we've already informed her and she's glad to be getting back to you,” Lt. Rose lied easily.
As the last buckle came loose Marcos stood up in the chair and suddenly winced in realization at the mistake. He saw Rose do it too.
“Oh?” the robot's voice came, suddenly so cold Marcos could have sworn the AC suddenly kicked in, and her eyes, so human narrowed sharply while her lips pressed together and he fancied he could hear her teeth grinding. “I know her, she's totes never met me before. That moron's never met anybody in this universe, this is where it starts. What do you think you're pulling? Do you like, even have the idiot now or have you already lost her?”
“Wait, this is just a misunderstanding,” Lt. Rose began.
“Did I already get her from you and don't know? Have other mes boarded your ship? Probably so. But did they talk to her?” the Romano-doll wondered to itself, apparently falling into chaotic mumbling again.
“Cap'n,” The sensor tech warned, “She's painting us with all those sensors, banging away like she's trying to get a firing solution.”
“Are we in any danger?” Rose asked hastily.
“Negative, we're out of range even for capital weapons and she's got no armaments anyway. I'm not sure what she's doing besides taking a stupidly accurate scan of our ship.”
“You knocked her out,” the mannequin said in a void as inviting as a glacier-fed stream, “You knocked her out and drugged her. She's totes irreplaceable, the most disgusting brain in the universe and you risked damaging it. You're going to, like, regret this,” she warned.
“What are you going to do?” Rose answered her, calmer now that he was sure the angry robot couldn't open fire on him. Marcos began to slither around the consoles. The DropShip was not roomy inside and it took some maneuvering to get around the duty stations.
“I'm like, going to write a nasty letter of complaint to you and then you'll be so, so sorry!”
“That's weird,” the sensor tech noted, “She's powered up her HPG transmitter. Is she actually going to try to send an angry-?”
As Marcos reached the hatch to leave the bridge, there was a sudden shower of sparks as a power conduit failed, and then the ship died.
Only for a moment, though, before the emergency systems came on. There was a flurry of activity as each duty station tried to bring their systems up.
“Report!” Rose barked, “What the hell just happened?”
“Unknown, sir, systems are down completely,” the bridge astech snapped back. “Trying to restart now. Power is off at the station.” The astech maneuvered herself in the zero-g out of her station and to a metal box on the wall, black looking in the weak yellow emergency lights. “Fuses are blown, every one of them. Must have been one heck of a power surge. I'll have them replaced in a few minutes.”
Marcos didn't bother to wait for her to finish. He had the door undogged and was on his way to the launch bay while she was still pulling the first charred cylinder from the fusebox. The corridors were painted in the wan, yellow light of the emergency lights, leaving them shadowy and ominous. He was much happier when, about half a minute into his journey, the systems came back online and the lights returned. The rest of his trip was faster.
The Engineering deck, and the retrofitted launch bay was abuzz with activity when he got there, with astechs swarming over the pair of fighters and small craft like bees tending their queen and more senior techs cursing at the power plant and engine.
“What the hell happened back there... Sir?” the head tech demanded, as she floated towards him, her eyes flaming as she (barely) remembered what little discipline the Irregulars had.
“Fuses blew,” Marcos answered shortly, “We don't know why. How soon can we have a boarding party ready to go?”
She let out a scoff. “Gonna have to get the system rebooted first, right now the system's running off it's hard-code backups. Half my crew's still trying to figure out what the default Admin passwords are to turn on our basic systems.”
“So nothing's working? What about the lights?” Marcos demanded over the din as the astechs continued to chatter and plug away. There was a sudden cheer as a screen changed from the blue login screen.
“Systems that don't need any passwords work fine, we've got lights, life support, and the escape pods should work fine. We're just lacking anything that, y'know, would be useful right now. Give us a bit, we should get the computers working again eventually but this tub is old,” the head tech kicked the bulkhead for effect, “And the fighter bays are a refit anyway so the default password and even the program to open them probably doesn't even exist for those doors anymore. We're going to have to get the main system running first, then reinstall the software for the bay doors before we can even think of opening them, much less conducting a launch.”
Taking the hint, Marcos nodded before stepping out of the way and leaving the bay. To his everlasting embarrassment, it took nearly four minutes before he thought to check the sickbay, though his team were good enough not to blame him. He wouldn't have been on time to keep the mysterious captive from being kidnapped by "Romano" into the escape pod even if he'd dashed all the way from the bridge first thing.
Zyobot
Just a time-traveling robot stranded on Earth.
Here's another one, this time something I submitted for a different creative-writing class. Maybe I'll write some follow-ups in the future, depending on how things go.
Scrapyard Treasure
Jaiden shut her computer down, clutching her head with both hands. Exams were a real bitch, especially the history one she’d finished just now. Hopefully, she’d at least get a B, depending on which of the professor’s assistants graded it.
A sudden buzz interrupted her thoughts, and she reopened the holo-screen with a brisk hand-wave, a fresh wave of annoyance washing off of her. Seriously, what part of “Please don’t bother me on Exam Day. Thanks.” did people not understand? Sure, maybe her delivery was such that lesser acquaintances would call her out of spite. But judging by the caller as Jaiden peered at the screen, this one was just calling to annoy her.
Running a hand through her violet-highlighted hair and accepting that it’d keep ringing until she gave in, Jaiden opened the screen anyway, glaring at the boy on the other side of the line. She couldn’t see it directly, but the look in his eyes gave away the smirk behind his mug of coffee. How he had the energy to call her after completing his own wave of exams, Jaiden couldn’t begin to understand.
“Hey, Leng. You’re looking well.”
Or, for that matter, be such a smartass after knowing her for all these years. What a weird set of friends they made, though she had better things to do than take the bait this time.
“Hello to you too, Zach,” Jaiden drawled, blowing a stray hair out of her eyes as she rested her cheek on her knuckles, not caring how tired it made her look. “How’d your exam go?”
“Well enough,” he replied with a shrug, stirring his coffee as if the last few hours were nothing to sneeze at. “Needed to study a bit more, but nothing serious. Prodigy’s gonna’ prodigy, you know.”
In other words, Zach barely lifted a finger, and would still coast to an A. By now, Jaiden was used to his I.Q.-touting, though now that she had to work harder than ever before to keep pace with him, it stung more than it used to.
“We’re both prodigies, ya’ pale freak,” she jabbed back as she rolled her eyes. “That’s why we’re graduating from college at eighteen instead of starting it.”
Nineteen, in Zach’s case.
He shrugged again, that smug look still plastered on his face. Sometimes, Jaiden wished she was as un-reactive as him, though she’d never admit it for fear of yet another thing for him to brag about.
“Eh, you’ve called me worse,” Zach said after a few seconds, glancing down and back to find his mug empty. “Anyway, I called to ask if you wanted to head to the Scrap Zone with me? Denise is still in school, but she’ll be out in time to join us.”
“That abandoned junkyard?”, Jaiden asked, nose wrinkling as she recollected the last time he dragged her there, kicking and screaming. “Yeah, no. Hard pass.”
For a mechanical genius like him, swimming in a sea of rusty gears, sprockets, and other metal parts she couldn’t name was heaven on earth. For a computer nerd like her, not so much. If he wanted to set up a garage near the entryway with enough food and furniture to practically live there, though, that was his funeral. She, being a civilized individual, preferred her townhome.
“C’mon, J! I found something cool there, you should come and check it out.”
“Zach, I swear, if it’s another—”
“I won’t shut up until you say yes.”
At that, Jaiden closed her eyes, cursing under her breath at the fact that he actually went there. On second thought, maybe she shouldn’t have taken the call, and just let Zach nag her so that she’d at least head to the Scrap Zone when she was fresh later. Still, seeing as time travel wasn’t a thing—or at least, wouldn’t become one without Zach’s all-important say-so—undoing her mistake wasn’t an option.
Sighing as she heaved her shoulders, Jaiden re-opened her eyes, her pointed look a marked contrast to the resigned expression on her face.
“Fine,” she forced out, almost cringing as the word left her mouth. “But I’m driving there myself, so I can leave on my own terms this time. Cool? Cool. Bye.”
Jaiden hung up before he could protest, briefly relishing his shocked expression before hauling herself off her bed. Checking the time on her communicator, she shoved it into her pocket and trudged over to the bathroom. If she went out tired and into something she’d regret if not for Zach’s nagging, she’d at least shower first.
----------
“Well, well, well. Took you look enough to show up.”
Zach spread his arms in welcome, seemingly not noticing the greasy smudge on his cheek before wiping it away with a licked hand. Jaiden winced, but didn’t comment. After all these years, he still refused to carry a rag with him.
He shrugged again, that smug look still plastered on his face. Sometimes, Jaiden wished she was as un-reactive as him, though she’d never admit it for fear of yet another thing for him to brag about.
“Had to freshen up,” she answered, one hand on her hip as she looked him up and down, gesturing at his dirty grey jumpsuit with the rusty zipper in the middle. “Couldn’t go around looking like that, now could I?”
“Hysterical,” Zach deadpanned, resting the wrench in his left hand over his shoulder. Jaiden swore he was trying to come up with his own fashion-themed retort, but given how innocuous her purple hoodie, cargo shorts, baseball cap, and red beanie were, he had nothing.
“Where’s Denise?” he asked instead, peering over Jaiden’s shoulder.
“Didn’t bring her,” she shrugged, motioning over to her empty scooter, parked right at the entrance of the Scrap Zone. Which, not so coincidentally, was as far as possible from the piles of trashy, broken-down machinery sitting all over the place.
“I texted her to let her know, though,” Jaiden continued as she followed him towards his makeshift garage, pretending not to notice the drones circling the perimeter and what looked like pop-up turrets hidden under certain piles. “She said you already called her, and that she’d be there around 6:30.”
“Well, it’s 6:29 now,” Zach replied, glancing at the watch on his free hand. “Knowing Denise, she’ll be here right on the nose. When she can’t be somewhere half an hour early, she’ll be there just in time.”
Jaiden nodded in agreement at that, but otherwise followed him silently, hoping she’d be there soon so that Zach could just spill the beans already. Considering what a sweet and excitable girl Denise was, she’d probably be more enthused by Zach’s discovery than Jaiden. For an impressionable high schooler who excelled in neither engineering nor computer science, she was surprisingly easy to get along with.Indeed, she was one of their key lifelines to what “normal people” did and thought, considering how tiring it became to hang out with the smug eggheads at the University of Magnus Park. Hopefully, when it came time to apply for college and move her stuff into her dorm, she wouldn’t become one of them. Losing someone who talked to them like they were people instead of budding Einsteins wouldn’t be fun to deal with.
A buzz sounded off in her pocket, and Jaiden retrieved her communicator to see a new text come in.“Looks like she’s here now,” she commented, looking up to see Zach’s holo-screen open already, showing Denise’s car pulling in from multiple angels. She resisted the urge to comment on his overkill security measures, simply nodding at him when he acknowledged her. For a guy with such a relaxed demeanor, Zach could sure be paranoid.
“Hiya’!”
Both heads turned to the seventeen-year-old fashionista as she strode into the entryway, smiling enthusiastically. “Haven’t seen you guys all week! How’d exams go?”
“Good,” they replied simultaneously, Jaiden adding “enough” under her breath, too quietly for Denise to hear. No need to demoralize the heart of the group, who was a year and a half away from heading off to college herself.
“Cool, cool. So, Zach, you wanted to show us something?”
“Yep. C’mon, I’ll take you there in my ride.”He motioned over his shoulder after changing out of his jumpsuit and putting on his black, heavy-duty hooded jacket, its endless pockets having yet to be zipped shut. Again, Jaiden resisted the temptation to snark. Denise, who was bouncing with excitement, didn’t seem to care.
“Nice! You wouldn’t mind if I drove back after you’ve shown us, would you?”
“Not happening, McBride.”
“Aw!”
----------
“Ugh! Okay, remind me again why we agreed to follow you down here?”
Jaiden flicked what seemed to be a dead worm from her hair, reaching into her pocket briefly before withdrawing her hand, suppressing a grunt of frustration at how she left her hand sanitizer at Zach’s garage. Not that it’d have been enough, considering how bug guts were bug guts, no matter how many germs it got rid of.
“Because I threatened to nag you all the way to the grave if you refused,” Zach replied, using his handheld telemeter to scan the tunnel for signs of valuables in the rough. Or, more likely, scrap metal that had a mind of its own, to use one of his euphemisms.
“Starting to think nagging would’ve been better,” Jaiden deadpanned, plucking a stray beetle from Denise’s jacket while she wasn’t looking, deliberately making sure she didn’t notice. The girl may have been their lifeline to average-I.Q. people, but she lost her shit more easily whenever her look was “messed with”. Probably something her modeling job hammered into her over the years, if Jaiden were to guess.
Zach shrugged, turning away from her and swinging his telemeter to a light at the end of the windy tunnel, the illuminating cerulean a strong contrast to the darkness and dirty greys and browns that surrounded them.
“Eh, you know not to underestimate how persistent I can be,” he remarked, smirking to himself as Jaiden’s frown deepened while his back was turned. “Besides, looks like we’re here, and will get this whole excursion over with in time for your hot date.”
“Ha-ha. Let’s just get 'your precious' and G.T.F.U. while we’re still young.”
Jaiden motioned subtly over to an antsy Denise, silently asking Zach if he’d like to deal with her. He was the one who got them into whatever mess would come of this, after all. Not Jaiden.
“Fine,” Zach said curtly, not willing to challenge her there. “We can slide our way down the from here, just like if we were snowboarding on a windy pathway. Had my bots scan the place and bring back some samples to analyze, so I’m 99 percent sure it’ll be fine.”
At that, the three skidded towards the light—Zach first, Jaiden second, and Denise last. Given her choice of footwear, Denise cringed slightly as pieces of debris brushed against her boots. Jaiden, for her part, just wanted to get the hell out of there. And knock some sense into their suicidal friend, once they clawed their way out.
Skidding slightly before regaining their footing at the bottom, the trio walked their way towards the light as soon as the ground flattened, the girls shielding their eyes at the bright cerulean that flooded their vision. Zach, on the other hand, stared straight at it, his eyes widening and body stilling as he basked in his first personal look at the artifact he had been looking for.
“Well, we’re here,” Jaiden spoke up, snapping her fingers in front of his face to refocus his attention. “Why don’t you just grab it already so we can skedaddle?”
Denise seconded that with a nod, wringing her hands together anxiously.
“Fine, fine,” Zach conceded, holding up his hands defensively before walking towards the artifact. “Geez, you sure know how to ruin the moment.”
Placing his hands at the metal display in the middle of the elaborate border flanking it, its alien writing flashing brighter now that someone was touching its central component, Zach strained slightly before pulling it out with a grunt. Stumbling back before regaining his footing, he gazed at the artifact in his hands, his grin the widest that Jaiden had ever seen.
“Hah! Got i—”
A rumble shook the room, nearly causing Zach to drop his new possession and forcing Jaiden and Denise to their knees. They barely had time to exchange glances with one another, before the whole cavern began to quake, chunks of debris beginning to fall from the misshapen ceiling. The border holding that once held the artifact, its alien writing now bright red with warning, began to crumble, the frame breaking into multiple pieces before collapsing in on itself.
Zach felt a sharp pull on the hood of his jacket, and Denise on her wrist, both struggling to regain their footing before they realized who was dragging them.
“Run!” Jaiden roared, throwing them in front of her and shoving her hands into their backs as the trio bolted their way out, not glancing back at the cave collapsing behind them.
----------
“Right, so let’s get this straight.”
Jaiden pointed an accusatory finger at Zach, her glare practically hot enough to smelt metal. He flinched slightly at the edge her voice had taken on, but otherwise showed no signs of regret or shame. Which he would’ve outpoured in spades if anyone had died a few moments ago, though thank the Gods that prospect didn’t come to pass.
“You,” she continued, “had some of your drones prod their way into some abandoned tunnel-thing under the biggest pile in the Scrap Zone—”
She gestured wildly to the collapsed pile in the junkyard’s center, the dust it kicked up having yet to fully settle.
“—found your weird platform-thing—”
Her arm swung to point at the metal display sitting on the floor, a spherical device floating in the middle of its metal prongs, thanks to the built-in anti-gravity technology. To most, it would’ve been something too arcane and obscure for all but a few archeologists and historians with too much time on their hands to care about. Given how much trouble he went to obtain it for himself, Zach clearly thought otherwise.
“—and was so excited that you had to grab it yourself and drag us along with you, me by the back of my shirt, and put no thought into how you could get us all killed—”
“But I didn’t!”
“You almost did!” Jaiden shouted back, not done with her rant, but beginning to run out of steam. “And, if that wasn’t enough, go against all your training as a double-major in archeology, ’cuz reasons, so much that you could get expelled if anyone finds out about your little stint!”
She closed her eyes, face downcast as she released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. After a minute, Jaiden reopened them, steely resolve replacing her indignation and previous urge to strangle Zach half to death. Then, she spoke.
“You’re lucky, though, that I’m not telling anyone. And Denise won’t either, yeah?”
Denise, who sat at the table as her wounds were being tended to by one of Zach’s robo-doctors, nodded aggressively. Besides how unbreakable their friendship was—beneath all the snark and Zach and Jaiden pushing each other’s buttons twenty-four seven, anyway—it’d have also incriminated Jaiden, as well as Denise herself, for going along with Zach’s recklessness. Considering how her rich-bitch parents flipped out the last time she did something daring, she didn’t need them finding out about this. Jaiden, though an adult who lived on her own, didn’t need it, either.
“’Kay, good,” Jaiden replied after flickering her eyes over Denise, before shooting another withering glare at Zach, who totally wasn’t trying to avert eye contact with her. He may have lived and breathed the word smartass, but even he knew to keep his mouth shut when Jaiden got really angry. As in, pissed-enough-to-dislodge-someone’s-jaw angry.
“Now.”
She clasped her hands together, giving Zach an expectant look.“This sort of drag-us-into-your-suicidal-adventures habit of yours stops today. Isn’t that right, Zachary Francis Anderson?”
He nodded, hesitantly.
“Which means,” Jaiden continued, “that if you decide to test fate again and collapse a tunnel onto yourself, it’s strictly your business. Meaning, Denise and I don’t have to help you out. Right?”
He nodded again, a bit more slowly this time.
“And if, by the Gods’ fickle whims, we somehow wind up on another fun outing that you absolutely, positively, did not force us into,” Jaiden interrogated, fire in her eyes as she leaned forward, her spittle almost flying into Zach’s face. “You’ll explain everything we need—and want—to know as soon as possible, without holding back. Right?”
Zach nodded again, answering with a hasty “Yes, ma’am.” before she could demand vocal affirmation from him.
“Good, then it’s settled,” Jaiden declared, clasping her hands together again. “So, with that out of the way, I’d like some medical treatment. My adrenaline rush is wearing off, and I swear I broke a bunch of bones whose names I don’t know.”
Zach waved another robo-doctor over, who promptly sat Jaiden down to examine her injuries. Denise, on the other hand, was almost completely healed, though that wasn’t the end of her problems for the day.
“Oh, man,” she moaned, glancing at herself, “How am I gonna’ explain my clothes to my folks? Look! My jacket’s ruined!”
Denise held up her black leather jacket, dotted with frayed holes and one slightly ripped sleeve from Jaiden pulling her wrist too hard.
“And my skirt, too!”
Which, unsurprisingly, also had multiple holes in it, the hem similarly torn-up along with the rest of the purple-pink fabric. She was lucky to have had fairly sturdy boots, though her knees—bare and scuffed-up from the tunnel Zach had dragged them into—still hurt from kneeling on debris, despite having been healed a few moments ago.
“Ditto with my missing earring,” Denise added as she gestured to her left ear, “which my mom will kill me for losing.”
“I gotcha’ covered,” Zach said, calling over another robot holding a tray. “We can 3D print you some fresh clothes and replace whatever you lost. Just drop your earring in the tray, and you’ll have a new one in five minutes, tops. It’s the least I can do for dragging you into that.”
“Great, thanks,” Denise replied, dropping her earring into the robot’s tray and getting up to head to the changing room. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some new clothes to wait for, and will need to make up a story as to what I was doing with you guys.”
With that, she turned on her heel and walked out. Zach didn’t comment on the hole on the bottom of her left boot, seeing that in a few minutes’ time, it’d no longer matter.
“On that note,” Jaiden added after watching Denise excuse herself, “I should be going, too. There’s a laundry list of little adventures I’d prefer to forget you ever dragged me into, but this one takes the cake, by far.”
She gathered her things and slung her pack over her shoulder, silently grateful that she left it in Zach’s garage, despite his ability to replace all her stuff easily. Once she was finished, Jaiden fixed her beanie on her head and starting to walk past him, before facing him to make one last remark.
“Oh, and before I forget.”
Smack!
Zach dropped onto the floor, clenching his stomach and holding back tears of pain. In hindsight, he probably should’ve expected that stomach punch, though he deserved it for almost leading them into an early grave for something only he cared about.
“That’s for what happened today. I’d smack you a whole lot more if I wasn’t tired.”
Jaiden turned around and walked away, grumbling under her breath about why she was still friends with a genius-I.Q. idiot who never used his gifts to think things through. Despite her warnings, though, she had little doubt that—someway, somehow—he’d get into trouble again. It always found him, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.
----------
Zach’s fingers flew over his holo-screen, directing his best repair-robots as they circled around the unearthed cargo. He had planned to unlock its secrets as soon as his drones fed the video back to him but didn’t have time to explain what it was about, since Jaiden and Denise left before he could elaborate.
Right now, it was painfully clear they didn’t care to know, since they were recovering from today’s misadventure, and would probably tussle with nightmares for the next few months. Yet another discrepancy Zach had to make up for, though he was sure he’d figure out a way. It may be buggy and tedious to maintain, but when it really counted, technology hadn’t failed him yet.
“Processing download,” the computer announced, its monotone female voice interrupting his thoughts. “Estimated time to completion: T-minus thirty seconds.”
Like he said, it hadn’t failed him yet. Although, he did wonder if Jaiden could’ve unlocked the thing in maybe an hour or two, rather than in five hours. Between recuperating from the day’s events and decoding all the alien text and schematics that trickled into his feed from the device, that was how long Zach needed to crack the code.
Now—new firewalls, self-destruct mechanism, or other advanced security measures notwithstanding—his work looked it would finally pay off. Good timing, too, as Zach checked his watch to find 12:30 A.M. displayed. At least it was Saturday.
“Database unlocked. You may proceed.”
Zach acknowledge the message with a swipe of his finger, ready—at long last—to dig through the treasure trove of science and mathematics left behind by the Ancients. It’d take a while before they were willing to speak to him again, but once they were fresh, he couldn’t wait to show Jaiden and Denise everything.
Scrapyard Treasure
Jaiden shut her computer down, clutching her head with both hands. Exams were a real bitch, especially the history one she’d finished just now. Hopefully, she’d at least get a B, depending on which of the professor’s assistants graded it.
A sudden buzz interrupted her thoughts, and she reopened the holo-screen with a brisk hand-wave, a fresh wave of annoyance washing off of her. Seriously, what part of “Please don’t bother me on Exam Day. Thanks.” did people not understand? Sure, maybe her delivery was such that lesser acquaintances would call her out of spite. But judging by the caller as Jaiden peered at the screen, this one was just calling to annoy her.
Running a hand through her violet-highlighted hair and accepting that it’d keep ringing until she gave in, Jaiden opened the screen anyway, glaring at the boy on the other side of the line. She couldn’t see it directly, but the look in his eyes gave away the smirk behind his mug of coffee. How he had the energy to call her after completing his own wave of exams, Jaiden couldn’t begin to understand.
“Hey, Leng. You’re looking well.”
Or, for that matter, be such a smartass after knowing her for all these years. What a weird set of friends they made, though she had better things to do than take the bait this time.
“Hello to you too, Zach,” Jaiden drawled, blowing a stray hair out of her eyes as she rested her cheek on her knuckles, not caring how tired it made her look. “How’d your exam go?”
“Well enough,” he replied with a shrug, stirring his coffee as if the last few hours were nothing to sneeze at. “Needed to study a bit more, but nothing serious. Prodigy’s gonna’ prodigy, you know.”
In other words, Zach barely lifted a finger, and would still coast to an A. By now, Jaiden was used to his I.Q.-touting, though now that she had to work harder than ever before to keep pace with him, it stung more than it used to.
“We’re both prodigies, ya’ pale freak,” she jabbed back as she rolled her eyes. “That’s why we’re graduating from college at eighteen instead of starting it.”
Nineteen, in Zach’s case.
He shrugged again, that smug look still plastered on his face. Sometimes, Jaiden wished she was as un-reactive as him, though she’d never admit it for fear of yet another thing for him to brag about.
“Eh, you’ve called me worse,” Zach said after a few seconds, glancing down and back to find his mug empty. “Anyway, I called to ask if you wanted to head to the Scrap Zone with me? Denise is still in school, but she’ll be out in time to join us.”
“That abandoned junkyard?”, Jaiden asked, nose wrinkling as she recollected the last time he dragged her there, kicking and screaming. “Yeah, no. Hard pass.”
For a mechanical genius like him, swimming in a sea of rusty gears, sprockets, and other metal parts she couldn’t name was heaven on earth. For a computer nerd like her, not so much. If he wanted to set up a garage near the entryway with enough food and furniture to practically live there, though, that was his funeral. She, being a civilized individual, preferred her townhome.
“C’mon, J! I found something cool there, you should come and check it out.”
“Zach, I swear, if it’s another—”
“I won’t shut up until you say yes.”
At that, Jaiden closed her eyes, cursing under her breath at the fact that he actually went there. On second thought, maybe she shouldn’t have taken the call, and just let Zach nag her so that she’d at least head to the Scrap Zone when she was fresh later. Still, seeing as time travel wasn’t a thing—or at least, wouldn’t become one without Zach’s all-important say-so—undoing her mistake wasn’t an option.
Sighing as she heaved her shoulders, Jaiden re-opened her eyes, her pointed look a marked contrast to the resigned expression on her face.
“Fine,” she forced out, almost cringing as the word left her mouth. “But I’m driving there myself, so I can leave on my own terms this time. Cool? Cool. Bye.”
Jaiden hung up before he could protest, briefly relishing his shocked expression before hauling herself off her bed. Checking the time on her communicator, she shoved it into her pocket and trudged over to the bathroom. If she went out tired and into something she’d regret if not for Zach’s nagging, she’d at least shower first.
----------
“Well, well, well. Took you look enough to show up.”
Zach spread his arms in welcome, seemingly not noticing the greasy smudge on his cheek before wiping it away with a licked hand. Jaiden winced, but didn’t comment. After all these years, he still refused to carry a rag with him.
He shrugged again, that smug look still plastered on his face. Sometimes, Jaiden wished she was as un-reactive as him, though she’d never admit it for fear of yet another thing for him to brag about.
“Had to freshen up,” she answered, one hand on her hip as she looked him up and down, gesturing at his dirty grey jumpsuit with the rusty zipper in the middle. “Couldn’t go around looking like that, now could I?”
“Hysterical,” Zach deadpanned, resting the wrench in his left hand over his shoulder. Jaiden swore he was trying to come up with his own fashion-themed retort, but given how innocuous her purple hoodie, cargo shorts, baseball cap, and red beanie were, he had nothing.
“Where’s Denise?” he asked instead, peering over Jaiden’s shoulder.
“Didn’t bring her,” she shrugged, motioning over to her empty scooter, parked right at the entrance of the Scrap Zone. Which, not so coincidentally, was as far as possible from the piles of trashy, broken-down machinery sitting all over the place.
“I texted her to let her know, though,” Jaiden continued as she followed him towards his makeshift garage, pretending not to notice the drones circling the perimeter and what looked like pop-up turrets hidden under certain piles. “She said you already called her, and that she’d be there around 6:30.”
“Well, it’s 6:29 now,” Zach replied, glancing at the watch on his free hand. “Knowing Denise, she’ll be here right on the nose. When she can’t be somewhere half an hour early, she’ll be there just in time.”
Jaiden nodded in agreement at that, but otherwise followed him silently, hoping she’d be there soon so that Zach could just spill the beans already. Considering what a sweet and excitable girl Denise was, she’d probably be more enthused by Zach’s discovery than Jaiden. For an impressionable high schooler who excelled in neither engineering nor computer science, she was surprisingly easy to get along with.Indeed, she was one of their key lifelines to what “normal people” did and thought, considering how tiring it became to hang out with the smug eggheads at the University of Magnus Park. Hopefully, when it came time to apply for college and move her stuff into her dorm, she wouldn’t become one of them. Losing someone who talked to them like they were people instead of budding Einsteins wouldn’t be fun to deal with.
A buzz sounded off in her pocket, and Jaiden retrieved her communicator to see a new text come in.“Looks like she’s here now,” she commented, looking up to see Zach’s holo-screen open already, showing Denise’s car pulling in from multiple angels. She resisted the urge to comment on his overkill security measures, simply nodding at him when he acknowledged her. For a guy with such a relaxed demeanor, Zach could sure be paranoid.
“Hiya’!”
Both heads turned to the seventeen-year-old fashionista as she strode into the entryway, smiling enthusiastically. “Haven’t seen you guys all week! How’d exams go?”
“Good,” they replied simultaneously, Jaiden adding “enough” under her breath, too quietly for Denise to hear. No need to demoralize the heart of the group, who was a year and a half away from heading off to college herself.
“Cool, cool. So, Zach, you wanted to show us something?”
“Yep. C’mon, I’ll take you there in my ride.”He motioned over his shoulder after changing out of his jumpsuit and putting on his black, heavy-duty hooded jacket, its endless pockets having yet to be zipped shut. Again, Jaiden resisted the temptation to snark. Denise, who was bouncing with excitement, didn’t seem to care.
“Nice! You wouldn’t mind if I drove back after you’ve shown us, would you?”
“Not happening, McBride.”
“Aw!”
----------
“Ugh! Okay, remind me again why we agreed to follow you down here?”
Jaiden flicked what seemed to be a dead worm from her hair, reaching into her pocket briefly before withdrawing her hand, suppressing a grunt of frustration at how she left her hand sanitizer at Zach’s garage. Not that it’d have been enough, considering how bug guts were bug guts, no matter how many germs it got rid of.
“Because I threatened to nag you all the way to the grave if you refused,” Zach replied, using his handheld telemeter to scan the tunnel for signs of valuables in the rough. Or, more likely, scrap metal that had a mind of its own, to use one of his euphemisms.
“Starting to think nagging would’ve been better,” Jaiden deadpanned, plucking a stray beetle from Denise’s jacket while she wasn’t looking, deliberately making sure she didn’t notice. The girl may have been their lifeline to average-I.Q. people, but she lost her shit more easily whenever her look was “messed with”. Probably something her modeling job hammered into her over the years, if Jaiden were to guess.
Zach shrugged, turning away from her and swinging his telemeter to a light at the end of the windy tunnel, the illuminating cerulean a strong contrast to the darkness and dirty greys and browns that surrounded them.
“Eh, you know not to underestimate how persistent I can be,” he remarked, smirking to himself as Jaiden’s frown deepened while his back was turned. “Besides, looks like we’re here, and will get this whole excursion over with in time for your hot date.”
“Ha-ha. Let’s just get 'your precious' and G.T.F.U. while we’re still young.”
Jaiden motioned subtly over to an antsy Denise, silently asking Zach if he’d like to deal with her. He was the one who got them into whatever mess would come of this, after all. Not Jaiden.
“Fine,” Zach said curtly, not willing to challenge her there. “We can slide our way down the from here, just like if we were snowboarding on a windy pathway. Had my bots scan the place and bring back some samples to analyze, so I’m 99 percent sure it’ll be fine.”
At that, the three skidded towards the light—Zach first, Jaiden second, and Denise last. Given her choice of footwear, Denise cringed slightly as pieces of debris brushed against her boots. Jaiden, for her part, just wanted to get the hell out of there. And knock some sense into their suicidal friend, once they clawed their way out.
Skidding slightly before regaining their footing at the bottom, the trio walked their way towards the light as soon as the ground flattened, the girls shielding their eyes at the bright cerulean that flooded their vision. Zach, on the other hand, stared straight at it, his eyes widening and body stilling as he basked in his first personal look at the artifact he had been looking for.
“Well, we’re here,” Jaiden spoke up, snapping her fingers in front of his face to refocus his attention. “Why don’t you just grab it already so we can skedaddle?”
Denise seconded that with a nod, wringing her hands together anxiously.
“Fine, fine,” Zach conceded, holding up his hands defensively before walking towards the artifact. “Geez, you sure know how to ruin the moment.”
Placing his hands at the metal display in the middle of the elaborate border flanking it, its alien writing flashing brighter now that someone was touching its central component, Zach strained slightly before pulling it out with a grunt. Stumbling back before regaining his footing, he gazed at the artifact in his hands, his grin the widest that Jaiden had ever seen.
“Hah! Got i—”
A rumble shook the room, nearly causing Zach to drop his new possession and forcing Jaiden and Denise to their knees. They barely had time to exchange glances with one another, before the whole cavern began to quake, chunks of debris beginning to fall from the misshapen ceiling. The border holding that once held the artifact, its alien writing now bright red with warning, began to crumble, the frame breaking into multiple pieces before collapsing in on itself.
Zach felt a sharp pull on the hood of his jacket, and Denise on her wrist, both struggling to regain their footing before they realized who was dragging them.
“Run!” Jaiden roared, throwing them in front of her and shoving her hands into their backs as the trio bolted their way out, not glancing back at the cave collapsing behind them.
----------
“Right, so let’s get this straight.”
Jaiden pointed an accusatory finger at Zach, her glare practically hot enough to smelt metal. He flinched slightly at the edge her voice had taken on, but otherwise showed no signs of regret or shame. Which he would’ve outpoured in spades if anyone had died a few moments ago, though thank the Gods that prospect didn’t come to pass.
“You,” she continued, “had some of your drones prod their way into some abandoned tunnel-thing under the biggest pile in the Scrap Zone—”
She gestured wildly to the collapsed pile in the junkyard’s center, the dust it kicked up having yet to fully settle.
“—found your weird platform-thing—”
Her arm swung to point at the metal display sitting on the floor, a spherical device floating in the middle of its metal prongs, thanks to the built-in anti-gravity technology. To most, it would’ve been something too arcane and obscure for all but a few archeologists and historians with too much time on their hands to care about. Given how much trouble he went to obtain it for himself, Zach clearly thought otherwise.
“—and was so excited that you had to grab it yourself and drag us along with you, me by the back of my shirt, and put no thought into how you could get us all killed—”
“But I didn’t!”
“You almost did!” Jaiden shouted back, not done with her rant, but beginning to run out of steam. “And, if that wasn’t enough, go against all your training as a double-major in archeology, ’cuz reasons, so much that you could get expelled if anyone finds out about your little stint!”
She closed her eyes, face downcast as she released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. After a minute, Jaiden reopened them, steely resolve replacing her indignation and previous urge to strangle Zach half to death. Then, she spoke.
“You’re lucky, though, that I’m not telling anyone. And Denise won’t either, yeah?”
Denise, who sat at the table as her wounds were being tended to by one of Zach’s robo-doctors, nodded aggressively. Besides how unbreakable their friendship was—beneath all the snark and Zach and Jaiden pushing each other’s buttons twenty-four seven, anyway—it’d have also incriminated Jaiden, as well as Denise herself, for going along with Zach’s recklessness. Considering how her rich-bitch parents flipped out the last time she did something daring, she didn’t need them finding out about this. Jaiden, though an adult who lived on her own, didn’t need it, either.
“’Kay, good,” Jaiden replied after flickering her eyes over Denise, before shooting another withering glare at Zach, who totally wasn’t trying to avert eye contact with her. He may have lived and breathed the word smartass, but even he knew to keep his mouth shut when Jaiden got really angry. As in, pissed-enough-to-dislodge-someone’s-jaw angry.
“Now.”
She clasped her hands together, giving Zach an expectant look.“This sort of drag-us-into-your-suicidal-adventures habit of yours stops today. Isn’t that right, Zachary Francis Anderson?”
He nodded, hesitantly.
“Which means,” Jaiden continued, “that if you decide to test fate again and collapse a tunnel onto yourself, it’s strictly your business. Meaning, Denise and I don’t have to help you out. Right?”
He nodded again, a bit more slowly this time.
“And if, by the Gods’ fickle whims, we somehow wind up on another fun outing that you absolutely, positively, did not force us into,” Jaiden interrogated, fire in her eyes as she leaned forward, her spittle almost flying into Zach’s face. “You’ll explain everything we need—and want—to know as soon as possible, without holding back. Right?”
Zach nodded again, answering with a hasty “Yes, ma’am.” before she could demand vocal affirmation from him.
“Good, then it’s settled,” Jaiden declared, clasping her hands together again. “So, with that out of the way, I’d like some medical treatment. My adrenaline rush is wearing off, and I swear I broke a bunch of bones whose names I don’t know.”
Zach waved another robo-doctor over, who promptly sat Jaiden down to examine her injuries. Denise, on the other hand, was almost completely healed, though that wasn’t the end of her problems for the day.
“Oh, man,” she moaned, glancing at herself, “How am I gonna’ explain my clothes to my folks? Look! My jacket’s ruined!”
Denise held up her black leather jacket, dotted with frayed holes and one slightly ripped sleeve from Jaiden pulling her wrist too hard.
“And my skirt, too!”
Which, unsurprisingly, also had multiple holes in it, the hem similarly torn-up along with the rest of the purple-pink fabric. She was lucky to have had fairly sturdy boots, though her knees—bare and scuffed-up from the tunnel Zach had dragged them into—still hurt from kneeling on debris, despite having been healed a few moments ago.
“Ditto with my missing earring,” Denise added as she gestured to her left ear, “which my mom will kill me for losing.”
“I gotcha’ covered,” Zach said, calling over another robot holding a tray. “We can 3D print you some fresh clothes and replace whatever you lost. Just drop your earring in the tray, and you’ll have a new one in five minutes, tops. It’s the least I can do for dragging you into that.”
“Great, thanks,” Denise replied, dropping her earring into the robot’s tray and getting up to head to the changing room. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some new clothes to wait for, and will need to make up a story as to what I was doing with you guys.”
With that, she turned on her heel and walked out. Zach didn’t comment on the hole on the bottom of her left boot, seeing that in a few minutes’ time, it’d no longer matter.
“On that note,” Jaiden added after watching Denise excuse herself, “I should be going, too. There’s a laundry list of little adventures I’d prefer to forget you ever dragged me into, but this one takes the cake, by far.”
She gathered her things and slung her pack over her shoulder, silently grateful that she left it in Zach’s garage, despite his ability to replace all her stuff easily. Once she was finished, Jaiden fixed her beanie on her head and starting to walk past him, before facing him to make one last remark.
“Oh, and before I forget.”
Smack!
Zach dropped onto the floor, clenching his stomach and holding back tears of pain. In hindsight, he probably should’ve expected that stomach punch, though he deserved it for almost leading them into an early grave for something only he cared about.
“That’s for what happened today. I’d smack you a whole lot more if I wasn’t tired.”
Jaiden turned around and walked away, grumbling under her breath about why she was still friends with a genius-I.Q. idiot who never used his gifts to think things through. Despite her warnings, though, she had little doubt that—someway, somehow—he’d get into trouble again. It always found him, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.
----------
Zach’s fingers flew over his holo-screen, directing his best repair-robots as they circled around the unearthed cargo. He had planned to unlock its secrets as soon as his drones fed the video back to him but didn’t have time to explain what it was about, since Jaiden and Denise left before he could elaborate.
Right now, it was painfully clear they didn’t care to know, since they were recovering from today’s misadventure, and would probably tussle with nightmares for the next few months. Yet another discrepancy Zach had to make up for, though he was sure he’d figure out a way. It may be buggy and tedious to maintain, but when it really counted, technology hadn’t failed him yet.
“Processing download,” the computer announced, its monotone female voice interrupting his thoughts. “Estimated time to completion: T-minus thirty seconds.”
Like he said, it hadn’t failed him yet. Although, he did wonder if Jaiden could’ve unlocked the thing in maybe an hour or two, rather than in five hours. Between recuperating from the day’s events and decoding all the alien text and schematics that trickled into his feed from the device, that was how long Zach needed to crack the code.
Now—new firewalls, self-destruct mechanism, or other advanced security measures notwithstanding—his work looked it would finally pay off. Good timing, too, as Zach checked his watch to find 12:30 A.M. displayed. At least it was Saturday.
“Database unlocked. You may proceed.”
Zach acknowledge the message with a swipe of his finger, ready—at long last—to dig through the treasure trove of science and mathematics left behind by the Ancients. It’d take a while before they were willing to speak to him again, but once they were fresh, he couldn’t wait to show Jaiden and Denise everything.