Gizmo Posted July 1, 2011 Share Posted July 1, 2011 As she launched into the bridge of her band's latest dirge, it dimly occurred to Mori Trip that she'd forgotten the name of the terraformed moon her band had arrived on earlier that cycle. The band's manager, otherwise known as Trip's roommate and ex-boyfriend, has booked Huntyr on a tour of neo-post-goth clubs in the local system, shuttle hopping around from moon to moon to try to drum up interest in the new album they'd just released on the 'stream. Unfortunately, he'd never really understood that Huntyr's sound was all about the post-neo-goth scene, not the neo-post-goths, leaving the tattooed young woman singing to a room full of confused and disinterested 'snow peas', with their hair nanodyed white and neon green lipstick showing up against powdery foundation. Trip's dark leathers and ornamental chainmail fit in only in comparison with her seven foot tall, shirtless bass player - incidentally another ex-boyfriend - his chiseled blond looks lending some credence to his claims that there was some genuine Asgardian in his family world tree. The third in her band played a double-reeded instrument adapted from the Grue Individuality, which human tongues could lay but not pronounce the name of. To be fair, she admitted to herself, even real post-neo-goths weren't always sure what to make of that one. As the song wrapped up, she waved a hand at the bartender to let him know she was taking a smoke break. Given the lukewarm reception the band was receiving, the beleaguered drink mixer didn't put up any argument. Ducking out the backdoor into the alleyway behind the club, Trip fished a herbstick from her jacket and fumbled with her lighter for a moment. The terraforming had left whichever moon she was stuck on with gravity reasonably close to Earth norms; might have been a little higher than she was used to or she might just have been tired, it was tough to say. Taking a long first drag, the singer ran and hand through the long, black hair on the side of her head that wasn't shaved bald letting out an appreciative sigh. So distracted, it took her a while to notice the figures coming down the narrow space toward her. Having done so, it took much less time to spot the illegal weapons in their hands. "Have to be twipping me..." she groaned under her breath. "Well, well, well," began the vest wearing thug who was presumably the leader of the group if his proportionately more ostentatious body art was any indication, grinning with a mouthful of sharpened teeth as he ran the fingers of his free hand over the stubby, surgically implanted horns poking out of his forehead. "What do we have here? Looks like another generous donator to the cause!" There was an awkward pause where it gradually became clear that he expected his intended victim to ask which cause that was, and then that Trip really couldn't be bothered to play along. After another the shorter tough behind the leader began fidgeting. "Hey, Dozer, can we hurry this up, already?" he asked in a voice that shook too much to be intimidating as he looked about the shadowy alley as though expecting to find someone else there. "What, you got somewhere better to be?" the horned criminal scoffed without looking over his shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something else but was cut off by a loud, resounding sound that echoed in the night like a massive gong. ~OONG~ The smaller of the pair visibly blanched at the noise. "That's why, 'rade! It's almost midnight!" ~OONG~ It dawned on Trip that the unfamiliar noise was some sort of bizarre recreation of an old fashioned bell tower. Time keeping was a basic function of even the most rudimentary implants, and particularly important when moving from moon to moon, so she couldn't imagine it was particularly necessary, but most of the colonies in the system had one sort of novelty or another to attract visitors. She dimly recalled seeing a holographic projection of the floating on each of the four faces on one of the city's taller towers as the bands shuttle had pulled in for a landing, but it was obscured by the alley wall from where she stood. ~OONG~ "You get a bad wire job, skagger?" the first thug asked his partner, incredulous. Unfortunately, he kept his firearm trained on Trip, and she didn't have much room to maneuver or make a run for it. "You seriously coming to me with some nursery rhyme twip right here?" ~OONG~ The smaller man continued to look about, jumping a little at each sound of the reverberating tone. "Look, my old man always said, you don't ever pull a job at midnight, right? That's like the worst hex you can do to yourself!" ~OONG~ "You're old man was a zapcap head," his friend countered with dripping scorn. "He couldn't have counted to midnight in the first place." ~OONG~ His accomplice scowled mightily, a little of his fear turning to anger as he began to visibly shake. "Oh yeah? What about X9-Rob? He tried knocking over a credit terminal during New Year party and nobody ever saw him again!" ~OONG~ "Nobody ever saw him before that 'cause X9-Rob ain't even a real 'rade!" the larger mugger argued, clearly growing exasperated as much as anything else with his partner's superstitions. ~OONG~ "Look, if you two are in the middle of something, here, I could come back later," Trip drawled flatly, her makeup heavy eyelids half closed and her expression bored as she folded her arms and held her herbstick between her teeth. ~OONG~ "Hey, shut it!" her initial attacker snarled, turning his attention back and forth between the other two people in the alley. He worked his jaw awkwardly, his filed teeth apparently making extreme expressions a tricky proposition for him. ~OONG~ With that tone the panicky crook visibly jumped off of the ground, whipping his head back and forth. "How many was that?! Oh skag, I lost count! Forget this, man, some scene girl's purse ain't worth no hex!" Turning around he sprinted out the alley the way he'd come, very nearly dropping his sidearm on his way out. ~OONG~ "Get the--! Argh!" The remaining mugger looked like he was about to pop one of the fresh sets of stitches along his temples at the absurdity of the whole thing. "Freakin' twip, gonna kill this fem, take her creds and nothing's going to happen!" he shouted after his fleeing partner. ~OONG~ Turning back around to face his prey as the final tone sounded, he was treated to a face full of herbstick smoke blown right into his eyes. Coughing and rearing back with a start, he opened himself up to a brutal kick between the legs courtesy of one of Trip's massive, impervilite toed boots, followed by a well placed palm strike to his wrist, shattering cosmetically etched bone and sending his pistol clattering to the ground. Falling to his knees with a pained, high pitched grunt put his head at the perfect height for another kick, leaving him in an unconscious heap. Looking down at him with an annoyed look, Trip blew another ring of smoke, took a final drag on her herbstick then rubbed it out on the back of the incapacitated thug's neck. Shaking her head in disgust, she opened the door behind her and stepped back into the club to finish the band's set. "Loser." Link to comment
Fox Posted July 1, 2011 Share Posted July 1, 2011 A moon-based factory, human home galaxy, 2525 “Okay, so here’s what I don’t get.†“Shoot.†Two technicians sit on the edge of their roof, one of them frowning down at a salvage drone - a small thing, the size of a football (or, at least, a football before the redesign of 2438), with a single eye. The technician looks perplexed. “So this thing - you said there are hundreds of them out here. Thousands.†“Yeup. And not just here - got a friend out sunward who says they have ‘em, too. He’s got a buddy out near Sol III that says they’ve got some, and reports from a dozen or more other places. Most of ‘em human settlements, some of ‘em not. Model’s a little different every time, like...I dunno, breeds, but the construction’s the same, can tell just by lookin’ at ‘em.†“Right. Thousands of ‘em, of all sorts - big ones, small ones, fliers, crawlers. But they’re all...like, related.†“Yeah.†“And nobody knows where they come from.†“Nope.†“And they...what, they just hang around?†“Naw. Helpful little things, act’lly. Y’see a few, but they’re all over, and when somethin’s wrong they just...fix it. That busted cable down in the tunnels last year? Got down there just in time to see a couple of ‘em patching it together. Had a friend, works in a scrapyard on the other side of the moon, got trapped under a collapsed feeder engine pile three years back. Little things came outta nowhere - outta everywhere. Ain’t kiddin’. Got him free, medics showed up saying they’d gotten a call on their own emergency beacon frequency. Th’ private one, f’r important folks. Th’ one they don’t give out.†“You’re kidding. I thought the news made that one up.†“Nope. Straight from the source, kid. The little robots are just like that. Hell, left a blueprint out the other day, little guys actually built it. Better’n I could’ve, I tell you. If we could control ‘em, we could make a fortune.†“Well, why can’t we? Just grab one, open ‘em up, see what makes the gears go-†He trailed off, as down below the drone (which had been looking right back up at him, like a curious animal) took several steps back, hunching down. His companion laughed. “Naw. Too smart for you, and they defend each other. But some science types came by once, tried that. Couldn’t make heads or tails of ‘em, I guess. Couldn’t find anything that makes ‘em special. Poked at the AI for a while, but all it did was talk about the Creator, and prophecy, and somethin’. It’s like the weird little things have got a religion, all about this old Earth bug that made ‘the first and th’ last’, and gave ‘em th’ rules - dunno what th’ rules are, scientists might, didn’t ask - and now they’re all just waitin’.†“For what?†“Heck, I dunno.†The senior technician got to his feet, and stretched, his artificial limb whining a bit to remind him that it needed to be serviced. “C’mon, kid. Back to work, that power system ain’t gonna balance itself. Oh! Right, and, uh, don’t mess with ‘em when they’re makin’ their symbols. They won’t get you for it, but they don’t like it.†That stopped the new guy in place for a moment, blinking, before he realized he was about to get left behind. “Symbols...?†Somewhere in the back of the factory, in one of the unused and forgotten rooms, a drone finished painting a large, abstract image of a dragonfly in flight onto the floor, as big as it could make fit into the light shining down from the window overhead. Its work complete, the little quadrupedal machine put down the paint it had salvaged from somewhere and turned to look up into the sky. And waited. Link to comment
Dr Archeville Posted July 1, 2011 Author Share Posted July 1, 2011 Lo, Praise to Archeville! Even in the year 2525, the halls of Valhalla still ring with the songs and tales of the noble and fantastic deeds of the Heroic Age. Many were brought to them by Thrude, daughter of storm and harvest, who fought alongside many of those fabled heroes once she was released from her prison with Fenrisúlfr. Her recountings were taken up by the skalds of Asgard and spun into epic poems and songs, passed down through the centuries as they were told and re-told 'round the hearthfire and at the feasting table. This is one such epic. LO, praise to Archeville, Man of Germania! Master of the Magic called "Science" by mortals! Effulgent was he as hoar-faced Heimdall himself! Wolf-eyed and golden-haired, as the Gjallahorn's aunt!* With his rod and his belt he did stride into war. His rod did power hold like Odin and fair Sól. Belt a sword's headland** strong as dwarf-forged mail-band! And he could pass, unseen, to brush 'gainst Ymir's skull!*** BlÅzan, Fear-Smith, faced he, but his heart was Gleipnir! Fought he a Knight of White, Múspell's son, in gaol grim. A Corps of Power -- twice -- when dared they end his feast! These and more did he face -- Metal men, giant beests! Wise dwarf-friend was he, both to dark and to light. Portentous weddings he attended, and births, too. Played he with the new gods and fought their mirror-kin. A Stone of Ragnarok seen, faced -- mountain-splitters! His own Vallhall made he -- fabled Interceptors! Well their deeds are known, and, lo, loud their songs are sung. But to one did he sing -- praise Fulcrum Jörðsdottir! As Odin and Frigg, as Thor and Sif, so were they. In each the other found what they so long had lacked. Though Hel's hounds sought to bring sleep of the sword to them,**** they fought, and raged, and held fast to life, denying Vánagandr his meal. But Death lie in patience. LO, praise to Archeville, the Scientist Supreme -- a most masterful mage and the handsomest sage -- Long may his songs be sung! He did shed his heart's blood, so a few would outlast the Götterdämmerung. This is a far cry from an actual skaldic epic poem. 8 lines of 6 syllables each is the standard form, but that's just the beginning. * "Gjallahorn's aunt" = sister of the Gjallahorn's father/keeper, which is Heimdall = Sif (at least, in Marvel Heimdall & Sif are siblings). This is an example of a kenning, often found in skaldic poetry. ** "sword's headland" = headland of swords = a kenning for "shield" *** "Ymir's Skull" = the sky **** "sleep of the sword" = the be 'put to sleep,' by a sword = to be killed violently Link to comment
Electra Posted July 1, 2011 Share Posted July 1, 2011 Fleur de Joie "Beedtime Ztory" "ALL RIGHT, LITTLE ONEZZ, IT IZZ TIME FOR ZZLEEPING," called Zzezza the Monitor, buzzing officiously into the hatching chamber. "GO TO YOUR ZZELLZ FOR REZZT NOW." Her job for this cycle was to supervise the care of the larvae in this sub-hive, which also meant looking after the juveniles once they'd pupated into their subadult forms. The larvae were easy to handle. The juveniles... "Zzztory!" they clamored, spurred into a frenzy of excitement by Zzezza's arrival. The juveniles rose into the air of the cavern en masse, several of them bumping into the walls and tumbling back to the ground harmlessly. Even the smallest bees were tough. "Tell us a zztory, Zzezza! Pleazzzz?" The thirty or so juveniles, each half the size of their caretaker, seemed unlikely to settle down without some cosseting. Zzezza huffed out a breath, sending one of the newly-pupated juveniles tumbling end over end, giggling. "ONE ZZTORY," she allowed. "ZHEN REZZT, AND NO COMPLAINTZ." This was met with another wave of excitement, but the little ones quickly settled down and quieted their buzzing. Settling into a hollow in the enormous rock cavern, Zzezza folded her translucent wings and began. "TONIGHT IZZ THE ZZTORY OF THE MAKING OF THE WORLD," she told them importantly. "JUZZT AZZ IT WAZZ TOLD TO ME, AND TO MY MONITOR, AND HER MONITOR, BACK AND BACK." The little ones were impressed, rustling their wings and being quiet for the first time all day. "MANY YEARZ AGO, WHEN ZZANCTUARY WAZ NEW, ZHERE WERE NO HIVEZZ! ZHERE WERE NO FLOWER MEADOWZZ, AND NO BEEZZ! NO BIPEDZZ, EIZHER," she added as an afterthought. "THE WORLD WAZZ EMPTY AND DEAD. ZHEN ZHE GREAT QUEEN MOZZER CAME TO BUILD HER GARDEN. ZHE MADE THE GRAZZ GROW AND ZHE TREEZ ZPRANG UP FROM NOZZING! BUT ZHE WAS ALONE, AND THE QUEEN MOZZER FELT LONELY." The little bees sighed sympathetically at that. None of them had any real concept of loneliness, surrounded at all times by thousands of their fellows, but it sounded very bad. "What did zhe do?" one of them piped up with concern. "ZHE QUEEN MOZZER WAZZ WIZZE," Zzezza assured her charges. "ZHE KNEW ZHE NEEDED AMAZZZING BEETURES TO ZZHARE HER WORLD. ZHE HEARD OF THE FIRST GIANT BEEZZ, WHO LIVED IN A WORLD FAR FROM HERE. ZZHEY HAD NO HIVEZZ, ZZHEY WERE ZZLAVES WHO HAD NEVER TAZZTED FREEDOM OR GIANT FLOWER MEADOWZZ." The horror of this sent a ripple through the listening juveniles. "ZHE GREAT QUEEN MOZZER FELT PITY FOR ZHEZE ZZAD BEEZZ AND BEEZIDED TO MAKE A HOME FOR ZZEM IN HER GARDEN. ZHE BROUGHT ZHE BEEZ TO ZHE WORLD AND MADE THE FLOWER MEADOWZ FOR THEM, ZO THEY WOULD NEVER GO HUNGRY." A small cheer went up from the audience at that. Gratified at the response, Zzezza continued the tale. "ZZHE CALLED ON HER ALLIEZZ TO HELP HER MAKE ZHE FIRZZT HIVEZZ. ZHE CALLED ZHE ZPIRIT OF ZHE EARTH, WHO BUILT ZHEZE HIVEZZ WE LIVE IN WIZH HER OWN HANDZZ, ZO BEEZ WOULD ALWAYZZ HAVE ZHELTER. ZHE CAME TO LIVE ON ZHE WORLD AZ WELL, IN A CAZZLE IN ZHE ZKY. ZHEN ZHE QUEEN MOZZER CALLED ZHE ZPIRITZ OF ZHE AIR, WHO TAUGHT ZHE BEEZ TO FLY HIGHER AND FAZZTER ZHAN ANY OZZER CREATUREZ, AND ZHE ZPIRIT OF FIRE, WHO TAUGHT ZHEM TO ZING ZHE ZPECIAL ZONGZZ, AND TO BREAZZE FIRE AGAINZT ENEBEEZZ." Another cheer rose at that, with a few of the juveniles blowing puffs of smoke that would one day become fire breath. "AND ZHE QUEEN CALLED HER DRONE, WHO WAZZ ZHE POWERFUL ZPIRIT OF DARKNEZZ, TO PROTECT ZHE WORLD AND BRING ZHE NIGHT AND ZHE DAY IN ZHEIR TURNZ. TOGEZZER ZHEY RULED FOR MANY ZYCLEZZ OF WINTER AND ZUMMER. AZZ TIME PAZZED, ZHE QUEEN MOZZER RAIZZED HER OWN BROOD AND DEZIDED IT WAZ TIME TO REZT. ZHE WENT TO ZZLEEP IN ZHE GREAT FLOWER MEADOW AT BEEDOM ZITY, AND ZANK DEEP INTO ZHE GROUND." Zzezza flicked her antennae wisely at the look of awe from the youngsters. "ZHE IZ ZTILL ZHERE TODAY," she continued, "REZZTING UNTIL ZHE IZZ NEEDED. ZHE WATCHEZ ZTILL OVER ZHE GARDEN WORLD, AND ALL ZHE BEEZ. IN ZHE ZPRING, IF LITTLE ONEZ LIKE YOU GO OUT IN ZHE MEADOW ON A ZUNNY DAY AND DANZE BEAUTIFUL DANZEZ, MAYBE ZHE WILL ZEE YOU AND OPEN A FLOWER JUZZT FOR YOU." She fluttered her wings for emphasis, and to signal the end of the story. "AND NOW IT IZ TIME TO REZT," she told them all firmly. "ZHE QUEEN MOZZER REZTZ, AND ZO MUZT YOU." Obedient this time, the little ones flew up to their cells in the giant honeycomb walls, settling into the sleeping chambers for the night and checking on the larvae who waited there as well. As they groomed their feelers and feet for the night, they were full of murmured stories and questions about the Queen Mother and the beginning of the world. Satisfied, Zzezza left them to it. She had been a little one not long ago, and she did remember what it was like. Link to comment
Dariusprime Posted July 1, 2011 Share Posted July 1, 2011 “I will bring our revisions to the conference, Mr. Hu,†spoke an elderly man in a business suit. He sat looking relaxed in a large office with wrap-around windows. A large hologram projector dominated the center of the room. The image of a Chinese businessman nodded and tapped a tablet. Save for an assistant just off to the side, the room was empty and quiet. “Very well, Mr. Prime Minister. I look forward to your revision,†spoke the businessman’s hologram, “Although I hope they are more acceptable than your last demands. Have a good day, sir.†The hologram flickered away. The Prime Minister visibly sagged in his chair and sighed, “450 years of Chinese expansionism, and they never tire of it. What is next on the agenda?†“A meeting with the Finance MPs at 1330. Your schedule is clear until then, and your lunch date has arrived,†replied the assistant, a wooden fellow with tiny glasses, “Shall I show him in?†Moments later two young boys, perhaps ten, sped into the room. One leaped into the Prime Minister’s lap. He looked like a carbon copy of the older man. The other boy hung back nervously. “Grandpa! Grandpa! This is Joey. I meet him at school. He wants to hear about the Animal Man!†said the little boy excitedly. The man sighed indulgently and nodded. Ah, youth. He was one of the most powerful men in Australia, and his grandson and his friend wanted to hear about his favorite legend. Still he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed telling the story. "Hello, Joey. Nice to meet you," he replied, shaking the boy's hand. Sitting both boys on his desk, the man slipped seamlessly into storyteller mode. “Ah, yes, the Animal Man, Animus. Many legends surround the name. Some tell that Animus was a godling, created from water and clay from the rivers. Others tell that he was a shaman, gifted with the magic of the earth. Still others say he was an ordinary man cursed for angering the gods!†The two boys gasped. Smiling, he continued, “No one even knows what he looked like! My grandfather told me the Animus had the skin of the eucalyptus, jagged stone teeth and hair made of vines and brown snakes! But who really knows? The legends all say he could change his shape and look like anything he wanted!†“He sounds scary,†peeped the friend. “Yes, he sounds very scary, but only to bad people. He scared the bad people that tried to take our land, poison the soil and cut down the trees. He spoke to the land and the animals. Made Australia green again. For millennia our people lived on these lands, and so much of it was dry and dusty. When Animus came, the land bloomed as never before. The rains came every year, and beautiful animals not seen for many years roamed free.†“Where is he now?†asked the grandson. “Ah, well, that is the biggest mystery! Once our home turned green and good, more bad people came. They brought machines to take what they couldn’t win by deception. The Animus fought them, and a great war began. In time the machines were broken, and the invaders left us in peace. The Animus was nowhere to be found.†“The grandfather told me that he died. That he was no longer needed among the living and returned to the earth. I’ll tell you a secret though: he is never gone for good. When we need him the most, the spirit of the Animus will return to us once more. Until then he sleeps under the rocks and listens to the birds sing!†Link to comment
Cubist Posted July 1, 2011 Share Posted July 1, 2011 Place: Somewhere in the Greater Fractangelento Metroplex Time: Early spring, 2525 Knowledge is power. That was the motto engraved in smallish letters over the main entrance to a nondescript building; not particularly larger or smaller than any of its neighbors, nor were any of its decorative features particularly noteworthy. The paint changed its hue and texture throughout the day -- at the moment, it was a subdued cream-yellow -- adjusting itself to the changing vagaries of sunlight and the weather, just as similar paint did on untold hundreds of thousands of other buildings in the area. Really, the place couldn't have been less likely to attract attention if it had been deliberately designed that way... "Of course, Sri Landeniss," said the short, rotund man with an indistinct personality. The pseudosolid nameplate on his desk read 'Alfred Xavier'. "As I told you before, the Foundation has nothing to hide; we just aren't very exciting." And he shrugged, with his shoulders describing a peculiar forward-and-up motion. "As archivists, we strive to eliminate excitement. You'd be surprised how much data loss is associated with exciting events." "Is that why you use that disguise field?" asked the olive-skinned woman with a purple dot on her forehead. Some of her ancestors would have regarded her clothing as scandalous, if not downright blasphemous. "Making yourself appear uninteresting, to help avoid excitement?" "I wear the field because it's specified in my contract with the Foundation," Xavier replied calmly. "Mine, and every other full-time Foundation employee -- it confuses matters for any outside entity that might wish to suborn any keystone personnel. Apart from that, I expect you're right about it helping to avoid attracting attention. Of course, there may be more to it than that, but honestly, I've never felt the need for further inquiry as to the rationale." "But under that field, you could be practically anybody or anything." "I could, yes, but I'm just another human being. And it is a condition of my employment, so if you want to see my physical face for yourself, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until my duty-shift terminates." "I will. Because I'm dying to see if you bear a family resemblance to your Founder." It was a shot in the dark, but for a second, Landeniss thought she'd struck payice... until Xavier's look of surprise melted into an amused smile. "You have done your research," he said in an approving tone. "Yes, Jay Nelson Xavier is one of my ancestors, and yes, he was a feline/human hybrid." Xavier spoke with the placid confidence of one who knows, beyond any conceivable doubt. And why not? Fundamentally, the Xavier Foundation was an ultra-reliable database; that the information it guarded included data on its founder made perfect sense. "However, our relationship is not biological. You see, the Founder never sired any offspring. He adopted two children late in life, and I trace my ancestry back to one of them. So if you were expecting me to reveal myself as an exotic species-blend, I regret to say that you'll be disappointed." Just beyond the entrance, a waiting room. The walls of this room bore the much the same pseudosolid graphic projections, in much the same selection of artistic styles, as might be found in any other waiting room in the Metroplex. If the projections' depicted subjects tended towards historical wildlife portraits, feline in particular, that was hardly exceptional, either. As well, the room had smartcloth chairs (last year's model, in matching styles) and a 'receptionist' that was an AI-driven holographic kiosk. All very standard. All very uninteresting. "And what about your financial algorithms?" "Excuse me?" the man said, his tone of voice expressing honest confusion. "Well, the Foundation has never sought outside investment, as far as I've been able to discover. And from what I've been able to glean off of historical records, you've never needed to; the Foundation's internal money management has always yielded enough to cover its needs." Xavier nodded. "That's true." "And it's also... interesting. If the typical investor is rolling dice, the Foundation seems to be rolling loaded dice. Who- or whatever you have making those decisions, they seem to have a significant edge over most other investors." Xavier thought for a moment, and then said, "Sri Landeniss, I believe you're more interested in the Founder than the Foundation, are you not?" Not waiting for a reply, he went on: "Yes, the Founder created the original iteration of, ah, what you've called our 'financial algorithms'. We've improved on them since, of course, and thoroughly explored the limits of their applicability. So our current 'algorithms' are, at best, distant descendants of the Founder's pioneering work, not anything he created personally." "Why do you try to minimize Jay Xavier's achievements?" "Perhaps it's you who are trying to maximize them," the present-day Xavier said. "Ignoring his crimestopping activity for the moment, Jay Xavier never did anything that was particularly out of the ordinary for someone who had that much time on his hands." Most people never got past the waiting room, if even that far. Not because of any security protocols, but, rather, because they simply didn't see any reason to bother. Most, but not all. Most people didn't care enough to even learn the name of the place, which was 'The Xavier Foundation'. Most people had no idea that the Foundation was close to five centuries old... "But -- the man was a superhero, and a world-class tycoon, and the founder of the field of xenointelligence, and --" "The Founder was not inclined to seek notoriety, Sri Landeniss. I don't believe he would have wanted the sort of honors you seem to wish for him." "How can you be sure? Is your information on him that reliable?" The woman finally struck a nerve; Alfred Xavier's face became an unreadable mask of stone. "Yes. It is. One of our primary modes of storage involves microengraved sheets of impervium alloy: Need I say more?" "Ah... well..." "I thought not. I believe this interview has reached its end, Sri Landeniss." "And so do I," said a new voice -- which happened to be identical to the woman's. Shocked, she whipped around to see a biodroid duplicate of herself... and then Time itself stopped for Sri Landeniss. Even the Foundation's mission statement -- To preserve information -- could have been chosen to reinforce an outward impression of blandness. Which suited the Foundation perfectly, of course. Because preserving information was its mission, and it was easier to do that when no infovore or hackertine thought the preservation facility was the least bit interesting. It was easier still when you could identify those individuals who were likely to exhibit a hazardous degree of curiousity -- and the Foundation's jealously-guarded psychohistorical techniques, known only to certain of its savants, allowed it to do this to a four-sigma confidence level. The Xavier Foundation did not kill. In the Founder's words, Killing is stupid; you never know when you're going to need that person. But downshifting a troublesome person to a tempo of ten-to-the-minus-ninth, and replacing them with a carefully programmed biodroid so that their absence would never be noticed, any more than 'they' would ever trouble the Foundation again? That, the Foundation could do. Especially since the genetic and temporal secrets of the Founder's Timeshift had long since been deciphered and put to the Foundation's use. And over the course of the Foundation's existence, more than a few of its Directors had chosen to accept the relevant genesplicing. And in the hidden cavern which housed the Foundation's true primary datastore, a vast (and steadily growing!) collection of microengraved achronium-alloy sheets, a new specimen was added to the existing gallery of mirror-reflective statues... Link to comment
Electra Posted July 1, 2011 Share Posted July 1, 2011 Miss Americana 'ROBOT'S TOMB' AN INTRIGUING TIME CAPSULE OF FREEDOM CITY'S PAST DATELINE FREEDOM CITY: Even after a week of intense speculation and research, investigators are still baffled by the discovery of an ancient but extraordinarily sophisticated robot in a hidden vault below Freedom City. "It's a tremendous mystery," declared Dr. Mitchell Weiss, director of anthro-archaeology at Freedom City University. "The remnants of clothing and hair found with the robot, as well as other items in the vault, indicate an early 21st century origin, but the design of the robot utilizes principles of engineering that weren't seen until well into the 23rd century. Whoever created and interred the robot was either a time traveler or one of the greatest scientific minds the world has ever known." It is still not completely clear how the underground vault, a mere thirty feet below the surface of Freedom City, remained undetected for so long. Preliminary investigation suggests that at some point various city commissions incorporated information into their plans that indicated the vault's location was the responsibility of some other city office, and since nothing important appeared to be located there, it was undisturbed through decades and then centuries of city development. The discrepancy came to light for the first time last month, after Lava-Lier's attacks against Old Hanover undermined the foundation of several historic skyscrapers in the area. During repair efforts, a work crew stumbled upon the remains of a primitive stairway, covered in plaster and tile characteristic of the post-Centurion era. Unsure of what to do with their find, the workmen contacted the University, who immediately sent out an excavation team. It quickly became obvious that this was a completely undisturbed time capsule from a poorly-understood time in Freedom City history. Great care was taken to preserve the site and record its contents. The stairway led into an underground bunker full of pre-Tech Crisis artifacts such as antique computer equipments and data servers, as well as a great deal of other equipment whose use remains a mystery. The long-ago failure of pumping equipment in the vault led to water damage to many of the artifacts, which will we studied by the mechanical history department of the University. By far the most fascinating discovery, however, has been the humanoid robot found in the vault. "It was almost laying in state," reported Weiss, "on a metal table with its arms crossed over its chest, surrounded by tools and ornaments. It almost appears to have been interred with its valuables, like an ancient Egyptian." The passage of centuries affected the robot as well, eroding whatever shell of plaskin, hair and clothing may have decorated it, but scientists hope to recreate how it might have looked using samples discovered on the robotic form. "It was definitely intended to be female, the body shape is clear," Weiss says. "The quality of the workmanship, the durability of the components, this was definitely a work of art in its day. The lack of any information on it, as well as its disappearance for five hundred years, is completely baffling. We're going to have fun trying to unravel this mystery." University sources say they are unsure when and whether the Robot's Tomb, as it has been christened by the public, will be open for viewing. 'There's still so much we can learn from this robot and its surroundings, we can't move hastily," Weiss explained. "She's got so much to tell us, and we want to listen. Any robot this sophisticated must have had a brilliant artificial intelligence as well. If we can only get it functional again, she could be an invaluable resource in filling in details of 21st century life in Freedom City." Human remains were also discovered in the vault among the artifacts and equipment, but Weiss and his team believe that given their state of deterioration, it is unlikely that anything can be discovered from them. Holomovies and stills of the Robot's Tomb can be seen on the Tribune's holosite and in person at Freedom City University on any weekday from 9-5. Link to comment
Quinn Posted July 1, 2011 Share Posted July 1, 2011 Crow Campfire Tales The Lands Beyond Two brutish individuals sat on either side of a campfire; the flames dancing in the night, sending up sparks that did little loop-the-loops and backflips in midair. One flame shot up, a spark drawing words in midair: Baoth...Is...A...Big...Fat...a ham-sized red fist reached out and swept through the letters, the Fomorian in question shooting a look that would have caused his chuckling counterpart to fall over struck dead if he could have managed it. "Cut that crap out, Daigh, or I'll push your face in." The eldrich beast causing the flames to dance made a rude gesture, laughing harshly. "Hah, you ain't got the nerve!" For a moment, the two seemed to get ready to tackle one another, then another, older voice came from under a nearby tree; "Oi, that's enough. Keep y'voices down, we don't want them to notice we're here." Baoth snorted, picking up his shock-prod. For a moment, he watched the sparks fly between the tines, then looked over at the silhouette under the tree, speaking in a slighty more respectful tone. "Who'd notice? The Tuatha are too damn busy kicking in the main force's teeth back at the edge of the prison; they got no idea we're slippin' in the back door." Daigh nodded in agreement, the argument forgotten for a brief moment as they recalled the purpose of their mission; by arcane means, a tiny hole had been made in the Fomorians' prison, a plot hundreds, no, thousands of years in the making. They were the advance guard, a trio of scouts sent to sneak into Avalon and find an appropriate spot from which to begin tearing the hole open further. Then, before the Tuatha could react...oh yes, Bres had planned this one ever so carefully indeed. Of course, one word from their leader caused Daigh's face to fall, and his head to look in every direction, while Baoth simply looked confused; "Vulture." Baoth blinked for a moment as his small mind turned over what the leader was implying, and then he openly laughed, slapping his knee. "Oh, c'mon; that's a myth, old man! Ain't no such thing as Vulture, 'e's a legend, a superstitious story told t'scare the crap outta new cannon fodder." "It's the Creators-damned truth!" The officer practically hissed, turning underneath the tree. The others could see his eyes in the dark; staring into the flames intently. Baoth shut up the second he heard that tone, cowed by the fury he knew his captain could unleash when irate. But this was also couched in a sense of wonder; the captain actually sounded not just angry...but frightened. "The Vulture's real. Or it was, once upon a time; they've said it's been dead too many bloody times for me to believe it. I'm a couple hundred years old, and I still remember the first time that name appeared. Fomorians managing to escape our prison, summoned by some foolish mortal, they'd return a few minutes later; chalk-white and gibbering about some pitch-black bird of prey that descended upon them. Plans and messages, taken, magic constructs and new devices, sabotaged. And that's not all..." "There're hidden histories; stuff our glorious leader's suppressed so folks don't start trying to throw him down. History says he lost the Eye of Balor in glorious battle, the weapon shattered as he destroyed a foe so terrible it'd remain nameless. Well, what our 'history' don't tell us is that he lost the damned thing in battle against that Vulture; the thing stole it from him as if he was naught but a child, and cast him down as easy as that! Other tales say he walked into a fae Lady's realm when she'd taken something precious from him...he burned her castle down, tore apart her armies with naught a single effort. A Lady, someone who'd Bres'd even think twice about fightin'! They say death itself is his mother, and he collects the souls of his enemies to take to her! Oh, he existed all right...those histories even talk of secret raids into our prison itself, strikin' at our leaders, impossible to find or track; oh, our King hated him with a passion to have him cleansed in all but name from our archives..." Baoth blinked, having sat spellbound as his leader told him all these blasphemous things; knowledge that, should their leader know any of them had heard, would have them tortured for years just for hearing about them. He was appalled, and yet intrigued...they sat in silence after their captain fell quiet, watching the edges of the camp as if the Vulture would leap out at them teeth bared. After a few minutes, Baoth finally managed to croak out a question, shooting a quick look back at the captain. "How...how d'y'know all this..." "Heh...it's simple." Both Baoth and Daigh turned chalk-white as they realized the captain's voice had changed. Wait...not changed...and another silhouette appeared beside the reclining Fomorian; a solid black figure, staring at them as a hawk would stare at it's prey. "Care to guess?" And then the fire blew out. Looks like I got my legend after all...wish they'd gotten my name right. Link to comment
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