Re: Petty Squabble [ROUND 1] [Fort Ayers, New Atlantis]
04-27-2011, 06:19 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Godbot.
…
Someone opened his mouth.
He was interrupted by another someone coughing, and then not saying anything.
It echoed a bit.
The COFCA Headquarters conference room had been designed to convey wealth, a sense of command, and above all, equality. The room was dominated by an enormous round table, black and reflective like a slab of obsidian. There was no head of the table for anyone to sit at, because no one benefactor held any more or less power than anyone else, and thanks to the dim lighting, everyone was cast into shadow, making all of COFCA appear identical. The contractors said the added anonymity was all to add to the effect of everyone being equal, but really the darkness was just so that everyone could clearly see the enormous LCD screens lining the walls and a circular display on the ceiling. These screens provided the video feed of Envoy's current status and surroundings that everyone was currently starting at, utterly dumbfounded.
So even if they had anything even remotely resembling an adequate response to what had just happened, no one wanted to break their limited anonymity and be the first to talk – except for one brave soul:
“Wh-” began Adrian Marcus, philanthropist, arms dealer and war profiteer.
It echoed a bit.
“It's a hoax!” exclaimed Dr. Leon Folstrom, xenobiologist, as he nearly jumped from his seat. “Now that we've poured billions into the project, someone is faking a crisis to con us out of even more!”
“A hoax?!” demanded a prominent political analyst. “It's sabotage! By human isolation terrorists!”
“But this project is a secret,” muttered a woman with large dark glasses on.
“Tenma Robotics has never seen this particular fault in any program ever written by Tenma Robotics,” a scientist wearing a HUD was reciting through the explosive commotion.
“Then it's an inside job! It's the roboticist's fault!”
“So, the Uae probe was really an alien TV satellite! Fascinating!”
“...or any robot designed or developed by Tenma Robotics...”
“Don't you see? These are the aliens!”
“Then it's an alien declaration of war!?”
“...or any robot I have personally ever seen...”
The screens built into everyone's places at the table lit up as one and rang simultaneously, startling politicians and business owners alike into silence.
“...real,” concluded the roboticist as he cleared his throat, “or fictional.”
Someone nervously tapped the screen at their seat, accepting the call, followed by a few others. A counter lit up at the middle of the table and ticked upwards with each confirmation, until they had enough votes to accept the message.
“This is COFCA ground control. Envoy's starchart positioning says it's about 130,000 miles off course – as in, back on Earth.”
“...rrrright,” said Dr. Folstrom.
“So what's going on?! It wasn't anything any of us did, and that message was addressed to you! Don't you know what's going on?”
“Did you... run into a wormhole,” offered Adrian Marcus.
“That only works in science fiction,” the man on the other end of the line replied with growing impatience.
“Then don't worry,” assured Eva Nguyen, actual diplomat. “It's all according to plan.” This was followed by a huge burst of argument, which Eva ignored as she instructed ground control to focus on preserving Envoy. “It's their job to protect our project just as much as it's ours,” she calmly explained, reading off a napkin she'd been scribbling on in the dark. “But if they're busy worrying about what's happening, they're liable to make mistakes. It doesn't matter who caused this or why – what's important is that we all work together, to protect the future Envoy will bring.”
As painfully rehearsed as that sounded, no one doubted that she was right. As ridiculous as this situation was, even COFCA could agree that what was important right now was that they could get Envoy out of it.
---
Envoy lashed out with one leg and performed a neat midair backflip to stabilize itself, with the combined help of the rocket boosters in its legs and its artificial reflexes, which had been recorded with a combination of state-of-the-art motion capture and a few particularly confused Olympic gymnasts. Like any good space exploration robot, Envoy had been fitted with a few things it could do by itself, for the purpose of self-preservation without pilots to babysit it 24/7 – things like dodging space debris, righting itself if it lost control of itself in midair, and attempting to smuggle dark matter back home to Earth.
A quick, neat burst from its boosters and jetpack stopped Envoy's harsh trajectory through the air, and it hovered in place, deploying its extra arms for balance as it surveyed the battlefield from a safe distance above the fighting.
A wild spray of machine gun fire from the ground flew past Envoy, and a few rounds struck its Uae armor. Envoy shifted its weight and turned in place rather gracefully as it zeroed in on its attackers with an array of powerful cameras (called 'optics' for $2,000 extra). Three mechanical soldiers ducked behind a tank modeled after some sort of spider as it adjusted its cannon. At the touch of a button, Envoy drifted to one side as a rocket streaked past. A peripheral camera picked up a helicopter getting shot down.
They must have been aiming at the humans, Envoy's operators reasoned as several Alert! icons appeared on Envoy's HUD.
The buzzing at COFCA headquarters died down as another call came through from ground control. It was voted in unanimously as people watched the screens overhead.
"COFCA, Envoy's taking fire!"
"From what side?" demanded a fat man with an electronic cigarette.
“…It looks like both, sir. The humans are attacking any robots they see-”
“…and the robots can tell we aren’t one of them,” the man finished grimly.
“That’s right, sir. Should we engage?”
He steepled his fingers. COFCA fell silent.
“The robots appear to have the humans outgunned,” the woman in the dark glasses began, “and the humans look like they’re fighting a losing battle. We should help the winning side, and get their support.”
“But the ‘winning side’ is comprised of emotionless robots,” Dr. Kolman shot back. “And they’d win without our support anyway. We should help the humans.”
“The humans won’t trust a robot!” said a bearded man in a casual suit.
“But it’s a robot ambassador,” several people insisted.
Envoy twisted around and boosted to evade a series of air-to-air rockets from the resistance’s helicopters. Machine gun fire ricocheted off of it, accomplishing practically nothing – until a few rounds struck a missile as it was passing Envoy. The midair explosion sent the robot flying, momentarily stunned. It hit the ground hard.
“If we help the losing side win,” someone was saying, “we’ll have their total support. It won’t matter who we are!”
“But the robots might have the technology to get Envoy back from Charlatan!”
“Wait!” exclaimed Megasenator Whittenberg, standing up suddenly. “Repeat what you just said!”
“The… robots might be able to help us recover Envoy,” the man repeated hesitantly. “I don’t think ‘Charlatan’ is going to just let us leave. A-assuming he's real,” he was quick to add.
“Exactly! Now, we all agree that technically, Envoy isn’t alive, right?”
There was a nod of agreement.
“So technically speaking, it can’t be killed, right?”
Another handful of nods. On the screens overhead, Envoy staggered to its feet. A handful of soldiers and robots cautiously advanced, using hills and abandoned piles of sandbags as cover.
“Which means that Charlatan can’t possibly expect it to become involved in a fight to the death! It’s not even sentient – it’s just a robot, controlled by people who are! So if it’s not alive, and it can’t be killed, then by Charlatan’s own rules,” he declared, “Envoy isn’t in the game at all! So, Charlatan has no power over Envoy!”
There as an eruption of applause.
Envoy stood up straight, leveling its gaze with the small coalition of soldiers. It deployed its extra set of arms.
“…But, Megasenator…” asked a man with short dark hair and a slight facial tic, “doesn’t that mean we’re the ones entered in this competition?”
All of COFCA fell silent.
“Meaning that he expects us to die in Envoy’s place?”
Whittenberg sat down and steepled his fingers.
“I’m… sure he must have meant Envoy after all,” he muttered darkly.
The man next to him stood up. “Motion to declare Envoy as our representative in this competition.”
All hands in the room shot up. Only a few people remembered to vote ‘yes’ on their screens.
“Motion passed!”
In lieu of a gavel, Envoy grabbed a spidertank by its cannon, flipped it over and slammed it into the ground.
…
Someone opened his mouth.
He was interrupted by another someone coughing, and then not saying anything.
It echoed a bit.
The COFCA Headquarters conference room had been designed to convey wealth, a sense of command, and above all, equality. The room was dominated by an enormous round table, black and reflective like a slab of obsidian. There was no head of the table for anyone to sit at, because no one benefactor held any more or less power than anyone else, and thanks to the dim lighting, everyone was cast into shadow, making all of COFCA appear identical. The contractors said the added anonymity was all to add to the effect of everyone being equal, but really the darkness was just so that everyone could clearly see the enormous LCD screens lining the walls and a circular display on the ceiling. These screens provided the video feed of Envoy's current status and surroundings that everyone was currently starting at, utterly dumbfounded.
So even if they had anything even remotely resembling an adequate response to what had just happened, no one wanted to break their limited anonymity and be the first to talk – except for one brave soul:
“Wh-” began Adrian Marcus, philanthropist, arms dealer and war profiteer.
It echoed a bit.
“It's a hoax!” exclaimed Dr. Leon Folstrom, xenobiologist, as he nearly jumped from his seat. “Now that we've poured billions into the project, someone is faking a crisis to con us out of even more!”
“A hoax?!” demanded a prominent political analyst. “It's sabotage! By human isolation terrorists!”
“But this project is a secret,” muttered a woman with large dark glasses on.
“Tenma Robotics has never seen this particular fault in any program ever written by Tenma Robotics,” a scientist wearing a HUD was reciting through the explosive commotion.
“Then it's an inside job! It's the roboticist's fault!”
“So, the Uae probe was really an alien TV satellite! Fascinating!”
“...or any robot designed or developed by Tenma Robotics...”
“Don't you see? These are the aliens!”
“Then it's an alien declaration of war!?”
“...or any robot I have personally ever seen...”
The screens built into everyone's places at the table lit up as one and rang simultaneously, startling politicians and business owners alike into silence.
“...real,” concluded the roboticist as he cleared his throat, “or fictional.”
Someone nervously tapped the screen at their seat, accepting the call, followed by a few others. A counter lit up at the middle of the table and ticked upwards with each confirmation, until they had enough votes to accept the message.
“This is COFCA ground control. Envoy's starchart positioning says it's about 130,000 miles off course – as in, back on Earth.”
“...rrrright,” said Dr. Folstrom.
“So what's going on?! It wasn't anything any of us did, and that message was addressed to you! Don't you know what's going on?”
“Did you... run into a wormhole,” offered Adrian Marcus.
“That only works in science fiction,” the man on the other end of the line replied with growing impatience.
“Then don't worry,” assured Eva Nguyen, actual diplomat. “It's all according to plan.” This was followed by a huge burst of argument, which Eva ignored as she instructed ground control to focus on preserving Envoy. “It's their job to protect our project just as much as it's ours,” she calmly explained, reading off a napkin she'd been scribbling on in the dark. “But if they're busy worrying about what's happening, they're liable to make mistakes. It doesn't matter who caused this or why – what's important is that we all work together, to protect the future Envoy will bring.”
As painfully rehearsed as that sounded, no one doubted that she was right. As ridiculous as this situation was, even COFCA could agree that what was important right now was that they could get Envoy out of it.
---
Envoy lashed out with one leg and performed a neat midair backflip to stabilize itself, with the combined help of the rocket boosters in its legs and its artificial reflexes, which had been recorded with a combination of state-of-the-art motion capture and a few particularly confused Olympic gymnasts. Like any good space exploration robot, Envoy had been fitted with a few things it could do by itself, for the purpose of self-preservation without pilots to babysit it 24/7 – things like dodging space debris, righting itself if it lost control of itself in midair, and attempting to smuggle dark matter back home to Earth.
A quick, neat burst from its boosters and jetpack stopped Envoy's harsh trajectory through the air, and it hovered in place, deploying its extra arms for balance as it surveyed the battlefield from a safe distance above the fighting.
A wild spray of machine gun fire from the ground flew past Envoy, and a few rounds struck its Uae armor. Envoy shifted its weight and turned in place rather gracefully as it zeroed in on its attackers with an array of powerful cameras (called 'optics' for $2,000 extra). Three mechanical soldiers ducked behind a tank modeled after some sort of spider as it adjusted its cannon. At the touch of a button, Envoy drifted to one side as a rocket streaked past. A peripheral camera picked up a helicopter getting shot down.
They must have been aiming at the humans, Envoy's operators reasoned as several Alert! icons appeared on Envoy's HUD.
The buzzing at COFCA headquarters died down as another call came through from ground control. It was voted in unanimously as people watched the screens overhead.
"COFCA, Envoy's taking fire!"
"From what side?" demanded a fat man with an electronic cigarette.
“…It looks like both, sir. The humans are attacking any robots they see-”
“…and the robots can tell we aren’t one of them,” the man finished grimly.
“That’s right, sir. Should we engage?”
He steepled his fingers. COFCA fell silent.
“The robots appear to have the humans outgunned,” the woman in the dark glasses began, “and the humans look like they’re fighting a losing battle. We should help the winning side, and get their support.”
“But the ‘winning side’ is comprised of emotionless robots,” Dr. Kolman shot back. “And they’d win without our support anyway. We should help the humans.”
“The humans won’t trust a robot!” said a bearded man in a casual suit.
“But it’s a robot ambassador,” several people insisted.
Envoy twisted around and boosted to evade a series of air-to-air rockets from the resistance’s helicopters. Machine gun fire ricocheted off of it, accomplishing practically nothing – until a few rounds struck a missile as it was passing Envoy. The midair explosion sent the robot flying, momentarily stunned. It hit the ground hard.
“If we help the losing side win,” someone was saying, “we’ll have their total support. It won’t matter who we are!”
“But the robots might have the technology to get Envoy back from Charlatan!”
“Wait!” exclaimed Megasenator Whittenberg, standing up suddenly. “Repeat what you just said!”
“The… robots might be able to help us recover Envoy,” the man repeated hesitantly. “I don’t think ‘Charlatan’ is going to just let us leave. A-assuming he's real,” he was quick to add.
“Exactly! Now, we all agree that technically, Envoy isn’t alive, right?”
There was a nod of agreement.
“So technically speaking, it can’t be killed, right?”
Another handful of nods. On the screens overhead, Envoy staggered to its feet. A handful of soldiers and robots cautiously advanced, using hills and abandoned piles of sandbags as cover.
“Which means that Charlatan can’t possibly expect it to become involved in a fight to the death! It’s not even sentient – it’s just a robot, controlled by people who are! So if it’s not alive, and it can’t be killed, then by Charlatan’s own rules,” he declared, “Envoy isn’t in the game at all! So, Charlatan has no power over Envoy!”
There as an eruption of applause.
Envoy stood up straight, leveling its gaze with the small coalition of soldiers. It deployed its extra set of arms.
“…But, Megasenator…” asked a man with short dark hair and a slight facial tic, “doesn’t that mean we’re the ones entered in this competition?”
All of COFCA fell silent.
“Meaning that he expects us to die in Envoy’s place?”
Whittenberg sat down and steepled his fingers.
“I’m… sure he must have meant Envoy after all,” he muttered darkly.
The man next to him stood up. “Motion to declare Envoy as our representative in this competition.”
All hands in the room shot up. Only a few people remembered to vote ‘yes’ on their screens.
“Motion passed!”
In lieu of a gavel, Envoy grabbed a spidertank by its cannon, flipped it over and slammed it into the ground.