|We Have the Technology...
||[Apr. 20th, 2014|03:24 am]
((First off, I'm very sorry about the wait on this. "A few days" turned into a few months. Between computer problems and a crazy fluctuating work schedule... excuses, apologies.
As far as the time-skip goes, how does about a day sound? It gives Telrim and Issek time to familiarize themselves with their pseudohumans, Natasha a chance to rest, and Samus time to tune up her suit and fix her personal PINpoint, gives the build team you'll be meeting in this post time to make some progress on their Kandrona emitter, but stays inside the 50-hour window that Telrim gave Samus last time. If that seems agreeable, text is below. If not, let me know, we can adjust.))
*Obichen is many things--a hub of commerce, a cultural melting-pot, the seat of non-military Federation authority in the region. An industrial power, it isn't, but that isn't to say it has no industrial capacity whatsoever. The station's industrial sector hums with activity--although significantly less pedestrian traffic. Where throngs of people fill the corridors of other areas the foot traffic here is sparse, mostly taking the form of teams guiding huge crates on beeping grav-trucks. Doors are few and far between, most paired with ports large enough to receive those crates.*
*One door, distinguished only by a string of numbers, is the destination of one concierge, two yeerk-hosts and their passengers, and one Chozo warrior. The interior smells of ozone, hot metal, and new car. A cluster of crates demarks an impromptu entryway, their open tops piled with wads of cling wrap and pieces of molded packing foam. Beyond the crates looms a tangled hulk of machinery; here and there its bulk is dotted with stickers warning of radiation, high voltage, coherent beam emissions, and the risks of voiding warranties.*
*Standing at a control podium beside the bulk of the machinery, a green-skinned person prods controls and studies readouts, the back of his head a tight cluster of furled leaves. His low, mellow voice rises and falls as he holds an animated conversation with a pair of splay-toed boots protruding from beneath the machine.*
[I think that's done it, cohesion is looking good, pressure is back up. Finish bolting it down and we should be ready for the next test.]
[Let's hope this one goes better. That deadline's closing in, and I wouldn't mind an early finish bonus. My old 'pad caught that worm that's been going around.]
[You know, you wouldn't have that problem with a Pinequat.]
[A Pinequat? Feh. Spare me your NUSPI box, cultist. I want a toy I can play with, not something that needs six licenses and a security clearance to change the battery.]
[It's a superior brand, it's more secure. That's worth referring to an expert once in a while, I think.]
[You have two doctorates; I've been working hardware since I could toddle. How much more "expert" does someone need to get? Besides, their security isn't secure against them. What I build has the backdoors I put in, and no more. Speaking of, did you hear the door?]