Re: Petty Squabble [ROUND 1] [Fort Ayers, New Atlantis]
06-03-2011, 04:03 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Godbot.
“...No, no, not Ashley – Ashley.”
“But you just said 'Ashley'.”
“No, I said Ashley.”
“Is there... someone at COFCA named Ashley?”
“No!”
“We've regained a stable connection,” interrupted a technician. The sounds of distant explosions on the battlefield were replaced by a high-pitched whine as the screens lit up and flickered back to Envoy's point of view. Carnea was floating a bit too close to the motionless robot, clearly unsure of whether to treat it like an object or another living being. She was talking at silently until the sound kicked back in a second later.
“-etter not be ignoring me,” Carnea threatened, jabbing a smoky finger in Envoy's featureless face. It dispersed and reformed. “I can just force your mind open... if you've even got one.”
Envoy's sensors switched back online and calibrated themselves, and ground control took control of Envoy's movements again. Even though it was basically invincible, they had been holding off on trying to move their precious robot until they could see what they were doing, so Envoy straightened noticeably, as if it had been startled awake. It turned slightly, focusing its Optics™ on Carnea's face. She noticed.
“Hm? That got your attention, did it?” she smirked, speaking to Envoy rather like it was a dog. “That's right, I can break right into your mind.” She jabbed another finger at Envoy's forehead. “In fact, I did just that to one of those soldiers with the masks a minute ago. He should be attacking the Broderburgs right about now.”
After a long moment of staring, her smirk faded. She leaned forward, looking into the lens that served as Envoy's eye. “Are you... alive in there?”
---
Megasenator Whittenberg lowered his red phone a fraction of an inch. He raised his free hand to massage his temples.
“I'm... I'm sorry. I must have misheard you.”
“No, sir, you didn't,” said a technician with a sad smile.
“I will give you a raise,” said Whittenberg, lowering his hand to point at the technician, “if you and your lab boys can develop a way to un-tell me what you just said.”
“Sorry, sir, but it's true: ”
“Envoy can't talk,” the megasenator said along with him, making no effort to hide his incredulous tone of voice. “That's great. That's great. Is this some kind of sick joke? Why did we build an ambassador and send it into space if it can't talk?”
“There were too many variables, sir. What if there was no atmosphere on the Uae homeworld? Soundwaves wouldn't be able to travel. And what if they used body language to communicate, or pheromones? They might not even be able to hear at all. And they certainly wouldn't be able to speak English,” the technician continued, “and even then, who are we to say what language the ambassador from Earth should speak? I mean, Mandarin Chinese is the most commonly spoken language on Earth. How would that look, if we didn't represent--”
By this point, the megasenator looked about ready to tie his phone in a knot and smash it over someone's head. Unable to hold in his laughter any longer, the technician who had been speaking had to turn away for a moment and cover his mouth. Another one tapped Whittenberg on the shoulder. “The speakers were top-of-the-line,” he quietly explained, “so they were sensitive and delicate. The radiation in space warped them beyond repair.” Whittenberg just glared, so he continued, talking over his coworker's laughter in the background. “It can still communicate with text, if you were to plug it into a computer,” he offered.
“Or you can try Morse code!”
---
Envoy balled its fists and looked up at the grim, dust-clouded sky as sophisticated programs back at ground control planned out a flight path that would avoid the routes that aircraft seemed to be taking. Carnea followed Envoy’s blank gaze, not really expecting to see the robot looking at anything in particular. She was just about to say something when brilliant flames exploded from Envoy’s rockets, launching it into the air with a shockwave that kicked up a wide radius of dust and smoke. The goddess actually had to shield her face from the searing heat and tearing winds, and the parts of her that she didn't cover were nearly blown away. The metal soldiers beneath her wispy feet melted into slag.
“You'll get Envoy killed!” exclaimed Monica Sorenson, actuary.
“Nonsense,” Lionel Ellsworth, Legitimate Businessman assured her. “Envoy's practically indestructible. We're just going to put Envoy at risk.”
Envoy bent as it reached the apex of its flight, aiming itself at what a set of green crosshairs on its HUD denoted as its landing site. As the rockets in its legs began to die down, fire surged from its jetpack, adjusting its trajectory towards what its radar told it was the location of the Broderburgs' RV.
“Mr. Ellsworth, that's what we're here to prevent,” Monica reminded him dryly.
“Eventually, yes. But right now, our goal is to get allies.”
A couple of missiles missed Envoy by a wide margin as it began its descent, cooling its jetpack and allowing gravity and aerodynamics to take over.
“Both armies might be potentially helpful,” he continued, “but only up until someone dies. Then we'll be sent off somewhere else, and it won't matter what we did here.”
Envoy ducked and curled up, performing a neat midair flip to aim its feet at the ground.
“...Unless we do something that will affect the later rounds – like make an ally with another contestant.”
Monica nearly stood up. “You're only saving the Broderburgs-”
“As a publicity stunt,” finished Mr. Ellsworth with a wicked grin.
On the screen behind them, Envoy's artificial gymnast reflexes kicked in, to take the force off of its impact with the ground. At the absolute last second, Envoy flipped over in midair, lightly planting its hands on the ground. It performed a neat handspring and flipped itself over again, holding its legs together for balance as in spun in two directions at once. By some strange miracle of science, Envoy landed gracefully on its feet with a loud thud that stirred up plenty of dust. It lifted its arms into the air, balancing and showing that it had completed its routine.
The Broderburgs clapped awkwardly from their RV, about 20 yards away.
The two COFCA executives stared at the screens for a few long moments.
“We can... fix that, right?”
“Our first impression, you mean?”
---
Jack lined up the barrel of her Pascal A6 with a fragile-looking joint on the back of the strange robot acrobat in front of her, preparing to quickly disable it before it could attack.
“What's that?” asked Clarice, clicking her pen and raising it to her notepad.
“I don't know,” Jack admitted impatiently. Her finger twitched on the trigger.
“You know, my daughter knows all about these kinds of things,” Clarice offered.
Jack pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can you just get back inside the vehicle?” she sighed. Envoy had stopped moving for the moment.
“Alison,” Clarice was already calling over the side of the RV. “Do you know what that... thing is?” As a career journalist, she refused on principle to use lazy words like 'thing,' but few other words could be used to describe the shiny metal... thing she knew only as Envoy.
“Looks like a robot, Mom,” Alison called back, in her can't-you-see-I'm-on-the-phone voice.
“It's a robot,” Clarice said plainly.
“Thank you,” said Jack through gritted teeth. She raised her walkie-talkie without taking her eyes off the strange metal soldier.
“Are you in position?” she asked the rest of her unit through the corner of her mouth. The walkie-talkie buzzed for a minute, an LED changed color, and Jack briefly heard a dial tone on the other end.
“About that,” replied a woman's voice in measured tones. “This is COFCA speaking. You'll want to get out of the way.”
“...No, no, not Ashley – Ashley.”
“But you just said 'Ashley'.”
“No, I said Ashley.”
“Is there... someone at COFCA named Ashley?”
“No!”
“We've regained a stable connection,” interrupted a technician. The sounds of distant explosions on the battlefield were replaced by a high-pitched whine as the screens lit up and flickered back to Envoy's point of view. Carnea was floating a bit too close to the motionless robot, clearly unsure of whether to treat it like an object or another living being. She was talking at silently until the sound kicked back in a second later.
“-etter not be ignoring me,” Carnea threatened, jabbing a smoky finger in Envoy's featureless face. It dispersed and reformed. “I can just force your mind open... if you've even got one.”
Envoy's sensors switched back online and calibrated themselves, and ground control took control of Envoy's movements again. Even though it was basically invincible, they had been holding off on trying to move their precious robot until they could see what they were doing, so Envoy straightened noticeably, as if it had been startled awake. It turned slightly, focusing its Optics™ on Carnea's face. She noticed.
“Hm? That got your attention, did it?” she smirked, speaking to Envoy rather like it was a dog. “That's right, I can break right into your mind.” She jabbed another finger at Envoy's forehead. “In fact, I did just that to one of those soldiers with the masks a minute ago. He should be attacking the Broderburgs right about now.”
After a long moment of staring, her smirk faded. She leaned forward, looking into the lens that served as Envoy's eye. “Are you... alive in there?”
---
Megasenator Whittenberg lowered his red phone a fraction of an inch. He raised his free hand to massage his temples.
“I'm... I'm sorry. I must have misheard you.”
“No, sir, you didn't,” said a technician with a sad smile.
“I will give you a raise,” said Whittenberg, lowering his hand to point at the technician, “if you and your lab boys can develop a way to un-tell me what you just said.”
“Sorry, sir, but it's true: ”
“Envoy can't talk,” the megasenator said along with him, making no effort to hide his incredulous tone of voice. “That's great. That's great. Is this some kind of sick joke? Why did we build an ambassador and send it into space if it can't talk?”
“There were too many variables, sir. What if there was no atmosphere on the Uae homeworld? Soundwaves wouldn't be able to travel. And what if they used body language to communicate, or pheromones? They might not even be able to hear at all. And they certainly wouldn't be able to speak English,” the technician continued, “and even then, who are we to say what language the ambassador from Earth should speak? I mean, Mandarin Chinese is the most commonly spoken language on Earth. How would that look, if we didn't represent--”
By this point, the megasenator looked about ready to tie his phone in a knot and smash it over someone's head. Unable to hold in his laughter any longer, the technician who had been speaking had to turn away for a moment and cover his mouth. Another one tapped Whittenberg on the shoulder. “The speakers were top-of-the-line,” he quietly explained, “so they were sensitive and delicate. The radiation in space warped them beyond repair.” Whittenberg just glared, so he continued, talking over his coworker's laughter in the background. “It can still communicate with text, if you were to plug it into a computer,” he offered.
“Or you can try Morse code!”
---
Envoy balled its fists and looked up at the grim, dust-clouded sky as sophisticated programs back at ground control planned out a flight path that would avoid the routes that aircraft seemed to be taking. Carnea followed Envoy’s blank gaze, not really expecting to see the robot looking at anything in particular. She was just about to say something when brilliant flames exploded from Envoy’s rockets, launching it into the air with a shockwave that kicked up a wide radius of dust and smoke. The goddess actually had to shield her face from the searing heat and tearing winds, and the parts of her that she didn't cover were nearly blown away. The metal soldiers beneath her wispy feet melted into slag.
“You'll get Envoy killed!” exclaimed Monica Sorenson, actuary.
“Nonsense,” Lionel Ellsworth, Legitimate Businessman assured her. “Envoy's practically indestructible. We're just going to put Envoy at risk.”
Envoy bent as it reached the apex of its flight, aiming itself at what a set of green crosshairs on its HUD denoted as its landing site. As the rockets in its legs began to die down, fire surged from its jetpack, adjusting its trajectory towards what its radar told it was the location of the Broderburgs' RV.
“Mr. Ellsworth, that's what we're here to prevent,” Monica reminded him dryly.
“Eventually, yes. But right now, our goal is to get allies.”
A couple of missiles missed Envoy by a wide margin as it began its descent, cooling its jetpack and allowing gravity and aerodynamics to take over.
“Both armies might be potentially helpful,” he continued, “but only up until someone dies. Then we'll be sent off somewhere else, and it won't matter what we did here.”
Envoy ducked and curled up, performing a neat midair flip to aim its feet at the ground.
“...Unless we do something that will affect the later rounds – like make an ally with another contestant.”
Monica nearly stood up. “You're only saving the Broderburgs-”
“As a publicity stunt,” finished Mr. Ellsworth with a wicked grin.
On the screen behind them, Envoy's artificial gymnast reflexes kicked in, to take the force off of its impact with the ground. At the absolute last second, Envoy flipped over in midair, lightly planting its hands on the ground. It performed a neat handspring and flipped itself over again, holding its legs together for balance as in spun in two directions at once. By some strange miracle of science, Envoy landed gracefully on its feet with a loud thud that stirred up plenty of dust. It lifted its arms into the air, balancing and showing that it had completed its routine.
The Broderburgs clapped awkwardly from their RV, about 20 yards away.
The two COFCA executives stared at the screens for a few long moments.
“We can... fix that, right?”
“Our first impression, you mean?”
---
Jack lined up the barrel of her Pascal A6 with a fragile-looking joint on the back of the strange robot acrobat in front of her, preparing to quickly disable it before it could attack.
“What's that?” asked Clarice, clicking her pen and raising it to her notepad.
“I don't know,” Jack admitted impatiently. Her finger twitched on the trigger.
“You know, my daughter knows all about these kinds of things,” Clarice offered.
Jack pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can you just get back inside the vehicle?” she sighed. Envoy had stopped moving for the moment.
“Alison,” Clarice was already calling over the side of the RV. “Do you know what that... thing is?” As a career journalist, she refused on principle to use lazy words like 'thing,' but few other words could be used to describe the shiny metal... thing she knew only as Envoy.
“Looks like a robot, Mom,” Alison called back, in her can't-you-see-I'm-on-the-phone voice.
“It's a robot,” Clarice said plainly.
“Thank you,” said Jack through gritted teeth. She raised her walkie-talkie without taking her eyes off the strange metal soldier.
“Are you in position?” she asked the rest of her unit through the corner of her mouth. The walkie-talkie buzzed for a minute, an LED changed color, and Jack briefly heard a dial tone on the other end.
“About that,” replied a woman's voice in measured tones. “This is COFCA speaking. You'll want to get out of the way.”