Re: Inexorable Altercation [Round II - Armada]
01-05-2011, 09:51 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
“You’ve got, if I recall this tin can’s protocols correctly, about four minutes. You’d best get off this ship.”
“What?”
The black intrusion upon OTTO’s joints seemed to lose some of its gumminess as the Being had a more concerted look through the warbot’s programming. “Yes, Protocol 24789 – advanced-circuitry-seeking missile turret. He’s scheduled to power down for five minutes, then dig.”
Will looked incredulous. “Dig?”
“Indeed. You brought up a legacy protocol – the default at the time he went by that particular designation. Quite effective actually, before the towers in question were patched to scan below ground level. His lazy programming is hardly your concern though. Three minutes.”
“I- this is insane. If all of the ships are like this-” Will gestured to the doors behind the duo- “We need to get out of here.”
O’rylath appraised the human, before concurring he hadn’t been mistaken. “Who do you suggest?” Will was taken aback, but grimaced, thinking.
“Loran. Unstable, so more dangerous, less likely to co-operate or listen to reason. You need to find Apathy.”
There was a jerky movement from OTTO as the Being tried unsuccessfully to make him nod. “Understood. Two minutes.”
Will knocked out the window with the butt of his gun, before grabbing the captain’s coat and laying it over the exposed edge. “I’ll launch a shot up if I find her.”
OTTO’s eyes lit up, a faint stream of text burning across them as he powered up. Will thought he heard the spectre sigh as he leapt through the window. He kicked for the nearest bit of floating debris, struggling to pull himself from the ship’s undertow. Behind him, there was a splintering noise, followed by a slower groan as the galleon began to sink and flood from the fresh, gaping hold in its aft. Will grabbed a plank sheared off some ship by a well-aimed cannonball, glancing at the silver mass sinking swiftly beneath the floundering vessel.
Environmental parameters exceed optimal range for all pre-programmed protocols. Restoring AI systems…
“Gah! What the!?”
“Your little brain overloaded under heavy fire, and you dug through a ship and are presently sinking. Blame Will on that last part, but we’ll deal with him later-“
“The hell we will! Where is he!? If he’s nearby, I reckon I could fry him-”
“And likely short yourself out in the process. Get your jets working, so I can stop fervently praying your seals hold out in this salt water.”
OTTO grumbled, but brought propulsion online. There was a worrying noise between a groan and a gurgle, before the turbines churned the last of the air out of their innards and started pumping water. The warbot kept up his complaints as assorted HUDs refreshed.
“Ok, so why can’t we kill the Haven guy?”
“We need his assistance – namely, his brains – to eliminate the more dangerous foes.” O’rylath paused. “Like Loran.”
“Whatever,” scoffed OTTO. “I could take on that shady freak without anyone’s help.”
“Well, yes. You could prance about shooting plasma in his general direction until he’s stupid enough to come out of hiding, but the fact you didn’t consider that merely illustrates my point.”
“Shut up,” OTTO retorted, more out of habit. His displays reported five metres until he broke the surface, on a perfect trajectory to land on the deck of an English ship. Slightly more pressing to the duo was how much power these jets were guzzling.
“Prepare for boarding,” intoned the Being. “Your scans read eight humans up top, more belowdecks.”
“Got it.”
The surface beckoned overhead, torn apart seconds later by a charging draconic robot. O’rylath caught the name of this vessel, The Golden Hind, before it became swiftly aware to the pair that OTTO’s calculations hadn’t accounted for his jets failing as they left the water.
Instead of landing on the deck, OTTO strained for the railing, barely managing to get his forelegs over it. The entire galleon keeled over as he sunk his rear claws in, sailors too alarmed to retaliate. He hauled himself up in an ungainly scramble (involving at least one frantically snatched mouthful of rigging), and when finally on level(ish) ground, took in his surroundings.
One sailor had fallen overboard when the warbot had threatened to flip over the ship, but two more burst out from the captain’s quarters. The captain himself glared disbelievingly at OTTO, before looking round his crew and barking, “lower your weapons.”
Francis Drake took a cautious step forward, to which OTTO neglected to respond (albeit reluctantly, on O’rylath’s orders.)
“What manner of beast are you?”
“You’ve got, if I recall this tin can’s protocols correctly, about four minutes. You’d best get off this ship.”
“What?”
The black intrusion upon OTTO’s joints seemed to lose some of its gumminess as the Being had a more concerted look through the warbot’s programming. “Yes, Protocol 24789 – advanced-circuitry-seeking missile turret. He’s scheduled to power down for five minutes, then dig.”
Will looked incredulous. “Dig?”
“Indeed. You brought up a legacy protocol – the default at the time he went by that particular designation. Quite effective actually, before the towers in question were patched to scan below ground level. His lazy programming is hardly your concern though. Three minutes.”
“I- this is insane. If all of the ships are like this-” Will gestured to the doors behind the duo- “We need to get out of here.”
O’rylath appraised the human, before concurring he hadn’t been mistaken. “Who do you suggest?” Will was taken aback, but grimaced, thinking.
“Loran. Unstable, so more dangerous, less likely to co-operate or listen to reason. You need to find Apathy.”
There was a jerky movement from OTTO as the Being tried unsuccessfully to make him nod. “Understood. Two minutes.”
Will knocked out the window with the butt of his gun, before grabbing the captain’s coat and laying it over the exposed edge. “I’ll launch a shot up if I find her.”
OTTO’s eyes lit up, a faint stream of text burning across them as he powered up. Will thought he heard the spectre sigh as he leapt through the window. He kicked for the nearest bit of floating debris, struggling to pull himself from the ship’s undertow. Behind him, there was a splintering noise, followed by a slower groan as the galleon began to sink and flood from the fresh, gaping hold in its aft. Will grabbed a plank sheared off some ship by a well-aimed cannonball, glancing at the silver mass sinking swiftly beneath the floundering vessel.
Environmental parameters exceed optimal range for all pre-programmed protocols. Restoring AI systems…
“Gah! What the!?”
“Your little brain overloaded under heavy fire, and you dug through a ship and are presently sinking. Blame Will on that last part, but we’ll deal with him later-“
“The hell we will! Where is he!? If he’s nearby, I reckon I could fry him-”
“And likely short yourself out in the process. Get your jets working, so I can stop fervently praying your seals hold out in this salt water.”
OTTO grumbled, but brought propulsion online. There was a worrying noise between a groan and a gurgle, before the turbines churned the last of the air out of their innards and started pumping water. The warbot kept up his complaints as assorted HUDs refreshed.
“Ok, so why can’t we kill the Haven guy?”
“We need his assistance – namely, his brains – to eliminate the more dangerous foes.” O’rylath paused. “Like Loran.”
“Whatever,” scoffed OTTO. “I could take on that shady freak without anyone’s help.”
“Well, yes. You could prance about shooting plasma in his general direction until he’s stupid enough to come out of hiding, but the fact you didn’t consider that merely illustrates my point.”
“Shut up,” OTTO retorted, more out of habit. His displays reported five metres until he broke the surface, on a perfect trajectory to land on the deck of an English ship. Slightly more pressing to the duo was how much power these jets were guzzling.
“Prepare for boarding,” intoned the Being. “Your scans read eight humans up top, more belowdecks.”
“Got it.”
The surface beckoned overhead, torn apart seconds later by a charging draconic robot. O’rylath caught the name of this vessel, The Golden Hind, before it became swiftly aware to the pair that OTTO’s calculations hadn’t accounted for his jets failing as they left the water.
Instead of landing on the deck, OTTO strained for the railing, barely managing to get his forelegs over it. The entire galleon keeled over as he sunk his rear claws in, sailors too alarmed to retaliate. He hauled himself up in an ungainly scramble (involving at least one frantically snatched mouthful of rigging), and when finally on level(ish) ground, took in his surroundings.
One sailor had fallen overboard when the warbot had threatened to flip over the ship, but two more burst out from the captain’s quarters. The captain himself glared disbelievingly at OTTO, before looking round his crew and barking, “lower your weapons.”
Francis Drake took a cautious step forward, to which OTTO neglected to respond (albeit reluctantly, on O’rylath’s orders.)
“What manner of beast are you?”
peace to the unsung peace to the martyrs | i'm johnny rotten appleseed
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow