Re: Grand Battle S3G1! (Round Two: The Great Battlefield)
07-28-2011, 10:01 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
It was hard enough for a human to read a Meipi's expression at the best of times; TinTen's respirator and goggles compounded the problem, making him near-inscrutible (or at least easily misinterpreted) to most anyone who hadn't known him for years. Even so, it was pretty clear as he burbled and looked back and forth between his sensors and Scofflaw's device that he was strongly emoting confusion and frustration.
"Tech this level should be unable to produce exotics. Jamming field not even behaving consistent with Branfland Theorem."
Scofflaw gave a noncommittal shrug and a winning smile. "I wouldn't know about all that. You have the advantage of coming from the future; I'm just an incomparable genius."
"Enough bravado, Scofflaw. Desirous of scientific consultation, behave like scientist."
The self-styled Tartan Tyrant bit his tongue for once, letting the fussy little squid do what he wanted. He leaned on one of the large kegs that seemed to have materialized in The Trench's back room, watching TinTen busy himself with an array of tools and sensors that kept popping out of pockets in surprising quantities. Eventually, just as Scofflaw was about to make a halfheartedly-cutting comment on the amount of time this was taking, TinTen straightened up, making a last few notes on some sort of holographic datapad.
"Initial examinations complete, may have explained field's anomalous behavior. Proposed mechanism for effects, may have idea for improvement and alteration. First, question: why not utilize a Xlk'chek mechanism for field amplification and stabilization?"
Scofflaw shrugged again. "I was serious, you know. Wherever it is you came from is clearly a lot more technologically-advanced than where I did. It's not like I have decades or century of organized study of exotic physics to fall back on. All my devices are ad-libbed. One of a kind. I just find something that works and roll with it."
---
"A mile around? And weapons just plain don't work? Not even your plasma projector or whatever ultra-tech TinTen hides under that lab coat of his?"
Huebert nodded seriously, readjusting the straps of his newly-reaquired plasma canister. "Obviously I have no idea how it works, but it sure seems to. I can't even get any laser weaponry to prime under its effects. Honestly, it sounds a lot more like weird psionics than science, and I wouldn't trust Scofflaw's word too much."
"No, of course not." Tor drummed his fingers on his current chin and sighed. Still, as near as he could tell, everything Huebert had related from Scofflaw had been pretty accurate; everything Ester and Walters had told him had matched up with Huebert's reports and Scofflaw's secondhand explanation.
"Where is TinTen anyway? Well, obviously he's still in "The Trench"," Tor said, the quotes around The Trench clanging with disdain. "But what's he doing in there?"
---
TinTen was busily drawing diagrams on a handful of datapads he'd spread out in front of himself; Scofflaw had long since abandoned the boring back room to return to his bar and tentatively-peaceful patrons, which suited TinTen just fine: what little helpful information the villain had to offer had dried up quickly, and TinTen preferred to work alone and in peace. He tried not to fume at the infuriating attitude his new ally of convenience had towards the device. He clearly understood next to nothing about the mechanisms involved, and yet it worked perfectly. It was as though he'd glanced at an enormous, tortuous equation and said "Oh, seventeen" and then been completely unable to explain HOW he knew. It was like he just threw random concoctions of chemicals at a wall and waited until one of them exploded impressively, then stuck with that. It shouldn't work that way!
He was halfway though double-checking the soundness of a few ideas he'd had when the door banged open behind him. TinTen turned around to see who it was, briefly entertaining the notion that it could be anyone but the beaming visage in plaid he knew it would be.
"TinTen, buddy, I just wanted to see how things were coming, maybe get a smile on that floppy thing you call a face." He shook a bottle with something long and wiggly floating in it eagerly. "I'm going to call this tequila even though we both know it's mezcal. Care for a shot or three? Something to get the blood flowing?"
TinTen bristled, gathering up his datapads and standing. "Meipi physiology reacts negatively to alcohols. Produces thinned blood and tremors rather than pleasant intoxication. Will not indulge in your "mezcal"."
"Too bad. What does a cephalopod like yourself do on a lonely Saturday night for fun? Huff nitrogen? Write erotic fiction?"
"Unimportant. Have made progress, have ideas, need empirical testing. Require some research first."
---
"He's working with him?" Tor paced, fuming. If he'd been much angrier, he probably would have done so literally; this whole thing with Scofflaw was proving to be just another inconvenient detour from getting anything done, and now the scatterbrained squid was collaborating with the man he'd been so eager to kill just minutes ago? "If I didn't think you were too stupid to, I'd assume you were making some kind of joke."
Huebert grabbed Tor's clothing roughly by the collar area and lifted him off the ground with no apparent effort. "Alright, I've had just about enough of this. It's one thing to deliberately talk over me, and even to pretty much tell me 'Be quiet, the big boys are talking', but that's too far. I'm not TinTen's trained monkey, and I don't need you hanging around acting like I am."
Tor raised his hands peaceably and cursed inwardly. "You're right, that was completely unacceptable. I'm sorry, it's not like me to get this way. Call it nerves from being abducted and told to kill a bunch of people and watching every plan I make fall apart instants after I make it. I really am sorry. I mean it. I was just lashing out out of anger."
With a grunt and about half a sneer, Huebert dropped him, roughly enough that he stumbled and had to catch himself, but not so roughly as to send him sprawling. Tor watched as the mountain of a man wordlessly turned around and started heading back towards the bar, already undoing the straps that held the plasma canister in place.
"Uh, where are you going?"
Huebert didn't turn around. "Back in. 'M not going anywhere without TinTen, and there's not much point hanging around out here. Might as well scope the place out a bit more. Maybe help self to beer." The last line was delivered in a slightly more nasal tone than he usually used, and came with a complimentary grin.
Five minutes later, he'd been handed a drink by an effusively ebullient Scofflaw just as he disappeared into the rear of The Trench, had undone his jumpsuit down to midchest, and was being fawned over and sat on by an extremely enthusiastic young woman with apparently very little shame to cover. Maybe Scofflaw and this whole Grand Battle thing weren't all bad. He grinned bawdily as Jessica made her third comment on how BULGY his muscles were, and did his best not to take the obvious route with his response.
He probably shouldn't have bothered, he considered as he swigged the passable beer he'd been given. Here was one girl at least who wasn't going to be questioning his wit today.
---
"Yeah? What kind of research?"
"Neurological. Have limited understanding of human brain functions. Am not primarily biologist, have few resources to use for this information."
Scofflaw pretty clearly saw where this was going, but decided to humor the squid and play along. "Why would you need that kind of information? And anyway, don't you have Super Future medical knowledge?"
TinTen flared the fins on his mantle with exasperation. "Need neurological data if intend to counteract mental effects of allegiance. Obvious. Cannot design or alter field to negate mind control without understanding mind." He shuffled his datapads, and continued "As for medical knowledge, still not biologist. Chemist, physicist, weapons designer. Spent little time studying alien life forms and esoteric mental functions." He waved a datapad-laden tentacle vaguely. "Do not see Datastream port anywhere on backwater battlefield."
"What are you suggesting, then?"
"Personal study. Experimental techniques. Need operating room, neurological structures to study."
It was hard enough for a human to read a Meipi's expression at the best of times; TinTen's respirator and goggles compounded the problem, making him near-inscrutible (or at least easily misinterpreted) to most anyone who hadn't known him for years. Even so, it was pretty clear as he burbled and looked back and forth between his sensors and Scofflaw's device that he was strongly emoting confusion and frustration.
"Tech this level should be unable to produce exotics. Jamming field not even behaving consistent with Branfland Theorem."
Scofflaw gave a noncommittal shrug and a winning smile. "I wouldn't know about all that. You have the advantage of coming from the future; I'm just an incomparable genius."
"Enough bravado, Scofflaw. Desirous of scientific consultation, behave like scientist."
The self-styled Tartan Tyrant bit his tongue for once, letting the fussy little squid do what he wanted. He leaned on one of the large kegs that seemed to have materialized in The Trench's back room, watching TinTen busy himself with an array of tools and sensors that kept popping out of pockets in surprising quantities. Eventually, just as Scofflaw was about to make a halfheartedly-cutting comment on the amount of time this was taking, TinTen straightened up, making a last few notes on some sort of holographic datapad.
"Initial examinations complete, may have explained field's anomalous behavior. Proposed mechanism for effects, may have idea for improvement and alteration. First, question: why not utilize a Xlk'chek mechanism for field amplification and stabilization?"
Scofflaw shrugged again. "I was serious, you know. Wherever it is you came from is clearly a lot more technologically-advanced than where I did. It's not like I have decades or century of organized study of exotic physics to fall back on. All my devices are ad-libbed. One of a kind. I just find something that works and roll with it."
---
"A mile around? And weapons just plain don't work? Not even your plasma projector or whatever ultra-tech TinTen hides under that lab coat of his?"
Huebert nodded seriously, readjusting the straps of his newly-reaquired plasma canister. "Obviously I have no idea how it works, but it sure seems to. I can't even get any laser weaponry to prime under its effects. Honestly, it sounds a lot more like weird psionics than science, and I wouldn't trust Scofflaw's word too much."
"No, of course not." Tor drummed his fingers on his current chin and sighed. Still, as near as he could tell, everything Huebert had related from Scofflaw had been pretty accurate; everything Ester and Walters had told him had matched up with Huebert's reports and Scofflaw's secondhand explanation.
"Where is TinTen anyway? Well, obviously he's still in "The Trench"," Tor said, the quotes around The Trench clanging with disdain. "But what's he doing in there?"
---
TinTen was busily drawing diagrams on a handful of datapads he'd spread out in front of himself; Scofflaw had long since abandoned the boring back room to return to his bar and tentatively-peaceful patrons, which suited TinTen just fine: what little helpful information the villain had to offer had dried up quickly, and TinTen preferred to work alone and in peace. He tried not to fume at the infuriating attitude his new ally of convenience had towards the device. He clearly understood next to nothing about the mechanisms involved, and yet it worked perfectly. It was as though he'd glanced at an enormous, tortuous equation and said "Oh, seventeen" and then been completely unable to explain HOW he knew. It was like he just threw random concoctions of chemicals at a wall and waited until one of them exploded impressively, then stuck with that. It shouldn't work that way!
He was halfway though double-checking the soundness of a few ideas he'd had when the door banged open behind him. TinTen turned around to see who it was, briefly entertaining the notion that it could be anyone but the beaming visage in plaid he knew it would be.
"TinTen, buddy, I just wanted to see how things were coming, maybe get a smile on that floppy thing you call a face." He shook a bottle with something long and wiggly floating in it eagerly. "I'm going to call this tequila even though we both know it's mezcal. Care for a shot or three? Something to get the blood flowing?"
TinTen bristled, gathering up his datapads and standing. "Meipi physiology reacts negatively to alcohols. Produces thinned blood and tremors rather than pleasant intoxication. Will not indulge in your "mezcal"."
"Too bad. What does a cephalopod like yourself do on a lonely Saturday night for fun? Huff nitrogen? Write erotic fiction?"
"Unimportant. Have made progress, have ideas, need empirical testing. Require some research first."
---
"He's working with him?" Tor paced, fuming. If he'd been much angrier, he probably would have done so literally; this whole thing with Scofflaw was proving to be just another inconvenient detour from getting anything done, and now the scatterbrained squid was collaborating with the man he'd been so eager to kill just minutes ago? "If I didn't think you were too stupid to, I'd assume you were making some kind of joke."
Huebert grabbed Tor's clothing roughly by the collar area and lifted him off the ground with no apparent effort. "Alright, I've had just about enough of this. It's one thing to deliberately talk over me, and even to pretty much tell me 'Be quiet, the big boys are talking', but that's too far. I'm not TinTen's trained monkey, and I don't need you hanging around acting like I am."
Tor raised his hands peaceably and cursed inwardly. "You're right, that was completely unacceptable. I'm sorry, it's not like me to get this way. Call it nerves from being abducted and told to kill a bunch of people and watching every plan I make fall apart instants after I make it. I really am sorry. I mean it. I was just lashing out out of anger."
With a grunt and about half a sneer, Huebert dropped him, roughly enough that he stumbled and had to catch himself, but not so roughly as to send him sprawling. Tor watched as the mountain of a man wordlessly turned around and started heading back towards the bar, already undoing the straps that held the plasma canister in place.
"Uh, where are you going?"
Huebert didn't turn around. "Back in. 'M not going anywhere without TinTen, and there's not much point hanging around out here. Might as well scope the place out a bit more. Maybe help self to beer." The last line was delivered in a slightly more nasal tone than he usually used, and came with a complimentary grin.
Five minutes later, he'd been handed a drink by an effusively ebullient Scofflaw just as he disappeared into the rear of The Trench, had undone his jumpsuit down to midchest, and was being fawned over and sat on by an extremely enthusiastic young woman with apparently very little shame to cover. Maybe Scofflaw and this whole Grand Battle thing weren't all bad. He grinned bawdily as Jessica made her third comment on how BULGY his muscles were, and did his best not to take the obvious route with his response.
He probably shouldn't have bothered, he considered as he swigged the passable beer he'd been given. Here was one girl at least who wasn't going to be questioning his wit today.
---
"Yeah? What kind of research?"
"Neurological. Have limited understanding of human brain functions. Am not primarily biologist, have few resources to use for this information."
Scofflaw pretty clearly saw where this was going, but decided to humor the squid and play along. "Why would you need that kind of information? And anyway, don't you have Super Future medical knowledge?"
TinTen flared the fins on his mantle with exasperation. "Need neurological data if intend to counteract mental effects of allegiance. Obvious. Cannot design or alter field to negate mind control without understanding mind." He shuffled his datapads, and continued "As for medical knowledge, still not biologist. Chemist, physicist, weapons designer. Spent little time studying alien life forms and esoteric mental functions." He waved a datapad-laden tentacle vaguely. "Do not see Datastream port anywhere on backwater battlefield."
"What are you suggesting, then?"
"Personal study. Experimental techniques. Need operating room, neurological structures to study."