Mechagogue

Wasnt til later she found out her dad was really a cat, and so her claws are really real and the healing is what the experiment was for.

...poppd DOM an liek GRAV s0 dey cant rn and stab cat n1nJa wit wit th0rnXxoRz! all ninja siad...

...RI were Reclue w4a al lik U DA R0Xx0rZ n o let him stay, but the cat sent n1njas 4 alllh is tuff th3n....

Lord Recluse: You know, for someone who spends most of his time in the water, Mako stinks like dead fish.

Captain Mako: I'm right behind you.

Lord Recluse: Uhm... It was Scorpion!

Black Scorpion: Like hell it was!

.... but s0rds r ghei so AR 4 t3h win!! OMGBBQPWND!!! roflk0pt0r

...sirocko who gave im gr8 sword n sed ur teh 1 neo busta!!!1! GO PWN N00BS cuz they are teh suxxorz! BLU P1LL iz 4 N00Bs!

Kreigg, Kef, and Helper are always available for cameos! ^_^

/grant_permission

[ QUOTE ]
And not far away, in an area overlooked by vines and bright pink flowers, stood a single tombstone, wreathed in greenery. On it was inscribed in neat script:

Roksana West
Loving wife, caring mother.

My Guardian Angel.

[/ QUOTE ]
*hides under a kleenex*

>.>

<.<

What?

PART 3.
------


A distant sound.

Thunder, perhaps, on the horizon.

A baby cried out in the night.

The pounding noise did not relent.

"Jack," Wilma's voice.

A hard shove.

"JACK!"

"Nnnnnhhhhh. . . " he protested.

"Wake up! There's somebody trying to break the door down."

"I gotta. . . what?"

"The door, Jack! I'm trying to calm the baby, go find out who's at the door."

Jack Parker fumbled at the clock.

"S' ten after two."

"I know that. Family, protect. Door, go!"

He nodded, sliding open the case that contained the loaded .44 magnum that he kept under the bed for just such an emergency. When the kids were older he'd have to teach them all about guns and gun safety. Right now, that was the furthest thing from his mind.

Jack made his way to the front room, hefted the satisfying weight of the gun into his left hand, and pushed the intercom button.

"Who are you and what the hell do you want?"

"Jack, op'n th' door."

". . . Don?"

"Yeah. Lemme in. Some people are s'ppose t'freeze."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jack demanded as he opened the door. The scientist and the test pilot started talking over each other.

"Don't you get it? Isn' it clear. . ."

"Oh, man, you reek of booze. . . "

". . . there can be no future without freezing. . ."

". . . Did you drink that whole bottle. . ."

". . . we're going to unmake the future!"

". . . You're out of your tree! I nearly shot you. What's the big idea, scaring my family like that in the middle of the damn night? Wilma thought you were trying to break in."

"Didn't you hear me? We're destroying tommorow! Some people need to freeze!"

"You're drunk. And not just regular drunk, either. You're, like, stark raving [censored]-faced. Go home, sober up. We can talk in the morning."

"No, no, no. . . There won't be a morning, Jack! Not unless somebody freezes. It's all so clear now."

"Don't move," Jack said with a resigned sigh. He walked back into the bedroom where Wilma had managed to rock the baby back to sleep. She was just placing their newest child back in the crib when he entered. He scooped up a pair of pants and pulled them on.

"Is everything ok? Who was it?"

"Eh. It's Don Baker. One of the research guys," Jack replied quietly as he fastened his belt, "He's totally smashed. Not suprised. He's been takin' the test weirdness pretty hard. Like it's personal for him or something. I'll take him walking around for a bit, let him rant for a while. Sober up. Whatever. I'm tellin' you, babe, after that dang test, and now this nut-job, I'm seriously thinking I might just go back in the army. It's probably safer."

Wilma nodded as Jack left the room. What kind of company was he working for if being in the army seemed safer than test piloting under controlled conditions?

"What the . . .?!" Jack said from the other room.

"What is it, honey?" she asked. Wilma peeked her head into the hallway, then pulled on a robe over her nightgown and inched towards the living room. Jack was shutting the door when Wilma caught sight of him.

"He's gone. Just up and left."

"Come back to bed, then."

"Yes, ma'am!"

~~~

Matthew Redgrave had given up on sleep long ago. Since his cybernetic implants allowed him to manually control every aspect of his body functions, he could gain all the regenerative benefits of sleep without actually surrenduring consciousness. He was never really fond of the idea of wasting a few hours each day to do nothing anyway. Doubly so now that he needed to constantly monitor his own biometrics.

After business hours he did, however, retire to his personal chamber. It was not particularly large, nor was it appointed with any sort of luxury. It was just a dimly lit, windowless room with a large leather chair in the center. Matthew would sit upon the chair, and hook all manner of jacks and cables into various ports on his robotic arm and neck. Then he would be The CyberDyne Corporation.

He could read each and every bit of information stored anywhere in a CyberDyne computer, see and hear through any camera in the building. And, of course, he could squeeze himself out through one tiny port in the company firewall that only he knew about. Then he would be free to roam the internet, to find his way into anything that was stored there.

In this way Redgrave conducted his industrial espionage personally, and left no paper trail. His business was hailed as an example of modern business ethics. If only they knew!

Then something odd caught his attention. He slipped back through his little port and closed it fast. Someone had used their ID at a non-standard time. All the CyberDyne ID cards were 'smart' cards, they kept track of the comings and goings of their holders, and determined the patterns they were in. If a users ID scan deviated from it's pattern by a certain percentage it sent a red flag up the system.

Redgrave accessed the cameras in that sector; Prototype Storage. It was a strictly secure area, so all his interest was suddenly focused very sharply indeed.

~~~

Don still wasn't quite sober when he slid open the panel that contained the AISCONIX: Blue-suit. It was, as the name implied, a bright blue enviro-suit. The thing was quite bulky. After all, it did need to properly insulate the wearer from temperatures so cold that they would be instantly fatal to any living thing.

His ID, to his suprise, was of sufficient clearance level to access the suit. He thought for sure that they'd have re-coded the ID's by now to keep things like this from happening. Can't let the mighty jusrisdictional boundries be traipsed upon, after all! He opened up his laptop and shuffled through the case for the cable to download the master file database, and put an end to this mystery once and for all.

It wasn't there.

"Oh, come on! You've got to be kidding!" he barked. If this stunt didn't work he just knew he would get fired. Probably go to jail, too. If he didn't get the files he needed then all was lost.

Dr. Baker fumbled around in the case, then just poured it out on the ground and dug through all the attachments and wires.

"No, no! It's got to be here!"

He could hear the sound of the cameras turning to watch him.

"Oh no! What am I going to do?"

An alarm sounded.

"Crap!"

He had to hide, but where?!

"Cold room," he said, "They can't follow me in there!"

Don tried to lift the Blue-suit off the rack, but it was too heavy. Then he remembered the release. A tremblng hand jammed down on large button, and he stretched his body out to reach the distant lever and pul it down. The Blue-suit was lowered to the ground. Don mashed in the code for the airlock to cycle before he hurriedly pulled on the suit. It was too heavy to lift, so he slid himself into it on the floor.

The airlock door pulled open with a hiss. Armed guards sped into the chamber, weapons drawn, as Don pulled on the helmet. He felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck and the strange sensation of sudden pressurization struck him in the ears. It made the world spin.

"Stop right there!" a guard ordered.

A message flashed across the visor. Please look up.

It was the new pilot neural interface program. It was mapping his brain functions. It was designed to enable the pilot to operate the Blue-suit effortlessly. It seemed like an awful lot of effort at the moment! The guards advanced on the suit as Don went through a very long series of basic commands. Look Down. Look Left. Look Right. Flex Right Hand. Bend Left Knee.

"Right arm green! For goodness sake," Don sputtered as the security personelle began nudging the suit with their batons. The speakers weren't transmitting, so it was doubtful they could hear anything he said.

Interface Initiation Cycle Complete, the visor displayed, Do you wish to proceed?

"Yes, yes, proceed," Don called out.

The Blue-suit powered up. Don felt a rush of coolness wash over his body. It must have been the BTU converters kicking on. Suddenly he was half sitting up, his weight supported on his arms. He could see the information on the visor, but he could also see the guards in front of him. And the airlock behind him. There was no optic display on the suit, it could send information directly to the brain!

His brain told the suit to scuttle back into the airlock. He didn't waste time standing up.

"Come out of there," a guard said forcefully.

Don wasn't listening. One fist quickly smashed the inner airlock cycle closed, and the heavy doors slid closed. Inner doors ground open a moment later, and he scampered inside. It didn't occur to him until that very moment that he had just trapped himself in a sealed room!

[ QUOTE ]
"Won't do any good." Acid dissuaded Kefetasura's notions, "Moon's our only link right now, and I guess he shut up. . ."

[/ QUOTE ]
"You noticed that too, eh?" the demon sighed, doing his best to look mildly downtrodden as he leaned his elbow on the windowframe.

[ QUOTE ]
". . . All SENECA can pull is from Arcie's systems, and I know for a fact Rosie's too smart to be using captured codes any longer."

[/ QUOTE ]
"Rosie? As in Rosalind? Oh. . . Well, this will just be a joyous exercise," his tone clearly indicated he felt quite the opposite, "I'm not entirely certain if I've met her or not yet, nor in which version of reality it might have been. But I have a feeling it wasn't very pleasant. Probably involved the self-righteous soul-police telling me what I can and can't do. . . ."

Kefetasura continued grumbling for a while, mostly to himself.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

In Rosalinds eyes, everything seemed to stand still. The whole world faded away until nothing was left but a comfortable void. A wide open grassy field.

Something colorful moved in the distance.

It headed towards her at an ambling, unthreatening pace. The were-human was given plenty of time to identify and ponder the arrival.

Kefetasura sat cross-legged in the air before her.

"I come with a request," he said. The lack of conversational context and the strangely fuzzy environment made the whole thing eerily surreal, "Acid Zero wants to rendevouz with your group, needs a place to get out of the spotlight of a certain diva."

A casual glimpse around Rosie on the psychic plane and Kefetasura easily noticed a very familiar presence.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Cortianna?" the demon moaned in the seat next to Acid. "Now I know where I know her from! That blasted TV show alternate reality. . . !"

He glanced over at Acid, quite certain his last comment had somehow made up the other's mind that his fragile hold on sanity was lost for good.

"I'm not crazy," he grumbled as he slumped down into his seat.

"That was thirteen kinds of fun right there," Kefetassura giggled like a madman at Acid's little stunt. "Unfortunately my plan A seems to be... well, of no real importance, you could say. On to plan B... the heavy-handed and obvious way."

Kefetasura seemed a little upset. Despite his flamboyant exterior he was really more comfortable operating with surgical precision and calculated, some might say ruthless, efficiency. What he would have to do now, basically "pinging" the psychic plane, was just about the fastest and best way to get yourself noticed by every single entity on that plane. It was clumsy, and terribly indiscriminate. Worst of all, it made him look like an amateur.

"I don't suppose that computer of yours made notice of any particular communication codes or cyphers that your resistance types use?" the demon wondered out loud as he pushed the driver's limp body into the tiny berth at the back of the cab. With a wave of his hand Kefetasura soothed the man into a dreamless sleep. Altering his memory of the incident was reflexive for the demon, as it had been his trade for millenia, "Just something that'll keep snooping minds out and maybe give me an ounze of credibility when I contact these people. Resistance types are notoriously suspicious of outsiders. At least, they should be . . . ."

Yeah, everyone's posting less lately. I'm not really worried about it. You know, people have lives and families and stuff, and this is a traditionally hectic time of year. Nothing to get in a fuss over.

Plus, I'm kinda in the same boat as Hal lately. Not really feeling the same inspiration. Taking a sorta break to recharge the creative batteries. Maybe, and heaven forbid, enjoy the game for a few weeks without worrying about keeping character story-lines straight.

The bottom line is that all people fluctuate in their posting habits from time to time, and it doesn't mean they aren't enjoying themselves. Like Experiment pointed out, if indirectly, there's lots of life out there that sometimes interferes in our routines. So I, for one, think Hal has got the right idea. If it all seems too much, just step back and take a breath. No need to depart in a hateful storm of tell-offs and "F" it all's. The forums will be here when you get back, and we'll be glad for your return! ^_^

Wishing everyone well, and happy holdays!

~Mecha

"I could do that," Kefetasura sighed dramatically, "I could go ahead and start searching the minds every single man, woman and child across the face of the world until I find a single telepath who's thoughts reek of rebellion. Although it's possible, and, frankly, kinda fun, I can only imagine that the time involved would go against the current "evade pursuit" theme that we've got going on."

Kefetasura wriggled around in his seat to have a look behind them. Normally he'd just comandeer the rearview mirror but in Acid's 'car' it was just as likely to open up a wormhole to a dimension of scary hyper-logic as it was to actually reflect images! The purple demon wondered idley why Acid was so overly fond of complicating the simplest things. Oh well! It made him happy, and contributed to his feeling of worth! He grinned with that thought in mind and twisted back into his seat.

"But, maybe I'll just do it the lazy way and ask someone for directions. Someone I know will know exacly who we need and where to find him, no matter how stubbornly he refuses to admit it in public . . . ."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

An extremely tiny version of Kefetasura wriggled out from under a blue cloak. The miniature demon flopped himelf into the folds of the mans hood, resting in them like a hammock.

"Try not to act suprised, bird-man. You knew I'd be here, and I'm in too much of a hurry for you to feign suprise. In fact, don't bother reacting at all. You're the only one who can see me, cause you're the only one relevent to the process.

"Here's the deal; Resistance. Telepath. Who and where? This inquiry comes by request of a certain mutual acquaintence of ours."

The purple demon shrugged.

"Under normal circumstances, I'd say 'infallible.' But, after what we've just seen of the depth of Archliches influence, I'm forced to concede that I'm probably only 99.999% effective.

"Why? What're ya thinkin?"

((I have no idea what's going on. I'm still back here:

[ QUOTE ]
. . . Not only were they not composed of matter, which couldn't exist in the overloaded continuum, but their structurally variable energy hulls had quintadimensional components embedded into them - logical, as their power source was hyperspace itself. That one still made Acid grind his teeth.

The beam, however, dispersed into the overloaded dimension, as time was no longer the highest perceived variable there. And as the paratron's working principle was 5-D itself, it had to operate with superluminal speeds - otherwise it coudn't have operated at all.

[/ QUOTE ]
I had to read through that mess twice and I spent a full day independently researching 5-D, and so far, I've figured out two things for sure: 2-D representations of 3, 4 and 5 D constructs become an increasingly jumbled mess of lines on paper, and; fifteen years later, I still suck at geometry.

I don't suppose we can get like a crash course in what the holy hell you're talking about? ))

My guess for the Essexcookie: /.hack

But, on topic: Finally that time I spent working in a comic book store has come to some sort of use (Other than the lousy paychecks)! The way you describe Scordatura most aptly fits her into the Golden Age comic hero.

First, the Modern Age. Home of the brooding anti-hero. Uhm... This is just plain not it. Any character who's sense of right and wrong extends beyond themself (ie: does actual heroic deeds) is not going to be characterized by the "all about me" mentality that typifies characters from this age.

Traveling back in time we come to the Silver Age. Typified by the internalization of conflict and the defiance of socially accepted norms. A lot of people will cite the X-Men as the cornerstone of the Silver Age, but I prefer examples like Spiderman and the Hulk. These characters are people trying against all odds to live normal lives amidst the oft-times double edged burden of their extraordinary abilities. Admittedly paranoia, one-liners and angsting all fit well into the Silver Age archetype, but (and this may be becaue I'm not reading you right) I don't get the feel that Scordatura is inheirantly tormented by her abilities.

Our time travel continues backwards, and we reach the Golden Age. Golden Age Heroes generally tend towards having a very clearly defined sense of right and wrong, a strong moral compass, and are (by todays standards) a little corny. Superman and Captain America (of the 1940's) are the quintessential Golden Age heros. Granted, Scor will fit in this category very nicely from a purely external viewpoint (training by watching videos, tranforming by shouting a word of power (it's still all about SHAZAM!) and her obligation to see things through on her own) the one-liners and angsting would seem to diverge sharply from the Golden Age core. That's not to say there's no room for self-reproach in the Golden Age hero, just that the times in which they do feel "angsty" would not be frequent or pronounced enough to use it as a criteria for character quantification.

However that's the beauty of character development. It gives you plenty of wiggle-room. You don't have to be a cookie-cutter character, and a lot of people (myself included) prefer it if your not.

So, in conclusion, it is my opinion that, based on the information provided, Scordatura is a Golden Age style Hero.

[ QUOTE ]
For about thirty seconds the sky was filled with hundreds of new stars . . . glowing a bright, bright blue . . . a ball of blue energy . . . rivalled the sun until it suddenly vanished.

[/ QUOTE ]
"Pretty," Kefetassura said, the demon was all but enthralled by the spectacular display of lights in the sky. "I wonder what all that was about."

Kefetasura glanced over at Acid and said nothing for a split second.

"Well," he decided with a sinister grin, "It's a good thing we both have extra bodies laying around. Oh, and I suppose I should use this moment to inquire about your master plan for coming out unscathed. I'd hate to ruin it by helping like I did last time."

"That's a rather long way to go just to vent a little frustration," Kefetaura said in a strangely non-judgemental tone, "Don't you think?"

The slideshow on the walls of the throne room kept on going but the scenes it displayed changed sharply in demeanor. Isis craddled the baby Horus in her arms, soldiers in uniform wept over the memorials of their fallen brothers, Neil Armtrong on the moon, Louis Armstrong on the trumpet.

"Family, empathy, perseverence, creativity," Kefetasura narrated along with the changing images, "They don't solely wreak destruction. They live, and breed, and die. They makes choices," he said nodding to Acid, "And they make mistakes as well," conceding the point to Archlich, "But without the chance to evolve from one generation to the next no creature will ever truly be better.

"And they are, as a people, better than they were. Beyond doubt or question. Yes, they split the atom, and yes they leveled two cities. But ask yourself this; Given the same level of technology what would the Romans have done? The Egyptians? Babylonians? Sumerians? What about those tribes lost to history whose wars of extermination founded those nations to begin with?

"Like it or not, they are growing into something greater. But it takes time. It takes countless generations and unknowable incarnations to acheive enlightenment; such to the fact that after one hundred and thirty thousand plus years they're, what? Maybe a quarter of the way there.

"If you want them to be better you need to release them. And wait. The hardest thing for a parent is to watch the child make the same mistakes you did, and remain silent. It's also the best way for anyone to learn."

"How wonderful," a voice unfurled itself in one of the empty seats, "A way to commemorate the lies everyone tells themselves! Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday!"

Kefetasura helped himself to a large plate of mashed potatoes with butter and gravy.

"You're all probably too young to remember this, cause those awful puritans re-wrote the story, but Thanksgiving actually has nothing to do with football," the colorful demon explained between heaped mouthfuls of potatoes.

"Who gives a smeg!" Kreigg hollered from the other room, a plate of honey-roasted ham and sweet potatoes in one hand and a fork in the other, "This game is cool. It's like kill the man with the ball, only they get points for outrunning the hit squad. Valuable life lessons to be learned, all that good smeg!"

The lavabug paused for a moment with a confused expression while everyone stared at him expectantly.

"OH! Right . . . The thankful part. . . Well, believe it or not, I'm kinda thankful I found this backwards little planet. Y'all're good people far's I'm concerned."

"That was excellent, sir," Helper buzzed as he came from the kitchen carrying a tray with a lot more food on it. He dutifully walked around the table replacing the empty dishes with ones from his tray, then marched himself back into the kitchen.

The door swung open. Jon and Xander MacMaetor made their way into the room, carefully balancing quite a few pies.

"Hope you people like pumpkin pie," the elder MacMaetor said.

"I'm so glad we're out of the car, the smell of pie was driving me crazy!" Xander said. He disappeared, fading into existence in one of the chairs with enough space to lay down his stack of pies in front of him.

"Crime might not take a holiday, but one of the perks of seniority is that I can," Jon said as he handed off the pies to Helper who rushed them off into the kitchen. He sat with a very rare smile as he helped himself to turkey with stuffing and cranberry sauce.

Helper returned from the kitchen, freshening drinks and gathering used and finished plates.

"I am thankful to be able to help," he said at the first sign of protest.

[ QUOTE ]
The mirored windows of the car were truly excellent, and with the speaker system off, the soldier wouldn't be able to see or hear what went on inside...hopefully.

Whatever the man's motivations were, however, the auomated ID system of the gate accepted the identification marks on the license plates, spitting out an all clear.

Then again, maybe that wasn't enough.

"I think he'll need a bit more convincing." Acid chuckled to Kefetasura, "Mind helping me out for a sec...?"

[/ QUOTE ]
"I'd be glad to, old bean," Kefetasura said with a chipper flair.

The handsome purple demon stepped into the minds of those nearby. He searched around, tugging on the threads of their psionic vibrations. Kefetasura sought out the essence of who and what they believed should have unquestioned access beyond these gates. He peeked in and out of their thoughts for a name to bind it all together, the one that would spring to their lips when they beheld the car's ID scan.

Thoughts of that essence were stirred to the forefront of their consciousness, blurring perceptions. Perhaps not enough to change the way he and Acid would appear, but certainly well enough that only the most rigidly alert soul would pay any heed to the discrepancy between reality and expectation.

Katsumei watched Circe' and Kevin and her eyes narrowed for a moment, then she flashed a tiny grin that could only mean she had an idea. She walked right up to Circe' and stared hard at the taller girl.

"Ok, [censored], you need to know two things. Number one; We're not on your planet, we're on his." she said, pointing at Kevin. "And Two; He's not 'my male.' I'm 'his female', so feel free to get out of his room if you don't like it."

She sat obediently at Kevins feet and leaned her head against his knee.

"You're just lucky he's in a good mood," Katsumei said with a viciously mocking smile, "And you'd better hope that the male they give you to is in a good mood too."

Katsumei was about to respond to Kevin when Circe' invited herself into the conversation.

"What?" she asked in a confused tone, "What do you mean? Talk like what? I don't have to let him talk to me, he can do what he wants. Hey! Wait a minute. . . You're the one that thought lashing out at the guards was a good idea. So, are you, like, one of those 'special needs' people. Short bus much?"

PART 2.
------


Matthew Regrave adjusted the reticle over his left eye. Most people used these devices to display weapons related targeting information, but his was different. It displayed a constant stream of data related to his cybernetic implants. The implants allowed him to monitor and supervise all manner of things in his body from blood pressure to bile production.

It was very important for Redgrave to have up-to-the-minute information on his health at all times. He was dying. Without direct supervision his body functions would break down. Matthew was not the kind of man to leave such things in the custody of others, and his vast financial resources and his legal prowess made many things possible. Not the least of which was The CyberDyne Corporation, one of the worlds premier providers of powered armor to military and law-enforcement interests.

He didn't look like other sick people. True, his hair had all fallen away long ago, and he was of rather pale complexion, but he was a strong-looking man. Broad of shoulder, and his body was not gaunt. He simply did not let himself waste away. It was an act of pure will, but then, for him, so was everything else.

"Mr. Redgrave," a female voice buzzed through the intercom, "Doctor Baker is here to see you. He doesn't have an appointment."

Matthew looked out the window of his penthouse office, down at the city street far below with his hands clasped behind his back. His metal arm felt cool against the skin of his left hand. He sighed. Scientists were only ever good for two things when they showed up; Bad news, or looking for money. He stretched his neck and prompted his implants to generate 5% more endorphines for the next minute. That should help get him through this meeting.

"Send him in," he answered gruffly. It wasn't like Baker was interrupting anything.

A moment later the door opened, and Don Baker slid timidly into the office. A notebook computer case was held protectively to his chest.

"Have a seat, Dr. Baker," Matthew said without any other form of a greeting.

"Thank you, sir," the doctor offered his hand.

Redgrave reached out with his skeletal robotic arm and shook it. He did so love the looks that crossed peoples faces at that moment. A guilty pleasure, perhaps, but a pleasure nonetheless.

"You don't look well, doctor," Matthew observed, "You should take better care of your health. Take it from me; If you haven't got that, you haven't got anything."

"I suppose not, sir."

He wanted to shoot this scientist in the head already. Maybe throw him out the window. Sycophantic imbecile. Get to the point already!

Sensing the silence was bothering his host, Don opened up his laptop and started explaining.

"I'm sure you're aware of the strange results from the AISCONIX: Blue-suit test by now. The PTE was off the chart, at a level that up until that point I'd have said was scientifically impossible. But, well, I've been trying to figure out why what happened, happened, and I can't seem to get access to the information I need. The tech crew has it on lockdown, so I. . ."

"Was the problem based on the physical function of the suit, or on the design?" Redgrave cut him off.

Don stammered a bit, not nowing what to say, "I-I'm sorry, sir?"

"Was the irregularity you observed related to the physical operation of the prototype, or was it a fundamental design flaw or oversight?"

"Well, I suppose it was a physical abnormality, but clearly it could have been both."

"So the suit didn't work? I suppose the pilot was killed? I hadn't heard that. I'll have to send his widow my condolences."

"No sir, he's fine."

"Oh, so the principle of the prototype was sound. It was just a strange reading in the instrumentation?"

"well. . . Yes."

"So, clearly this problem is for the tech department, not the design department."

". . ."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you."

"Yeah."

"Well then, thank you for bringing this to my attention, Dr. Baker. I'm most pleased to know that my technical department is doing their job correctly. Have a good day,"

Don scooped up his laptop and walked out the door. It closed heavily behind him. He stood in front of the secretary's desk with a confused look on his face.

"What just happened?" he asked himself. Clearly the secretary was trying not to laugh.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was late.

Don and his bottle of Jameson's whiskey hadn't gotten very much further in thier attempt to diagnos the PTE mystery, but at least one of them was feeling a lot lighter.

"I dun' c're what an'one says," he slurred as his upper body swayed back and forth. "Futurama is better'n the Sim'sons." He emphasised his point by dramatically pointing at the brightly colored cartoon on TV, though quickly he fell back into a seated position.

Baker slumped down on the couch, staring at the flickering colors. He couldn't really keep track of what was going on, the world around the television was spinning too fast to let him concentrate.

"But Fry get's frozen! Frozen! 'f 'e 'ad one'a our Blue-suits e'd notta g't frozen. Course. . . then th' show would suck."

Baker examined his bottle. It wasn't quite empty; a condition that was quickly remedied.

". . .wait a minute. . ." he thought out loud, glancing back at the screen, "If th' show'd suck, tha' means. . . maybe some people're s'pose t'get frozen?

"Some people. . . s'pose t'get frozen. . ." Baker repeated as he stumbled out of his quarters.

((Right. I wrote some stuff. There's not a whole lot of action, it's mostly character development. So if you want to read something exciting this is probably not for you. Anyone not afraid of character driven narrative might enjoy this story. In fact, I hope they do. Please send comments/criticisms to me in PM form. If anyone is remotely interested I might just force the rest of you to endure more of this. ))

PART 1.
------


". . ."

">beep< Ok, The voice recorder is running now. Check your mic for me again."

"Test?"

"Gotcha. Sounds great. Looks good on the levels, too."

"Alright."

"Ok, the airlock is fully cycled and we're about to proceed with the Artificially Intelligent Servo-Computer Operated Neural Interface Experimental Cryo-Protection Suit (AISCONIX: Blue-Suit), manned test number one. Temperature in the test area is currently 73 degrees Kelvin, verified by the test pilot."

"Confirmed at 73 Kelvin."

"So now let's open up the airlock. For safety reasons this test will be conducted for three minutes, with the airlock being cycled out for two minutes to prevent temperature contamination from outside."

"Entering test area."

"Looking good so far. How's it feeling in there?"

"Toasty as a bug in a rug."

"That's good news. Go ahead to the simulated break point and begin repair procedure on the. . . Well this isn't right."

"I don't like the way that sounds."

"Don't worry. It's just an anomalous reading. Nothing to worry about yet."

"Alright. Did you double check the intrumentation?"

"Triple checked, yeah."

"Are you sure the reader isn't just faulty? Can you verify the reading through an alternate source? And how's the AI acting, my head feels funny."

"Working on it. . . No, the reading is definitely on target, and there's no AI activity outside safety parameters. We're just trying to figure this variable out here. . ."

"Which variable is it? Is it too high? Too low? What? I'm getting dizzy! What's going on?"

"That's just from your elevated respiration. Remember, you're in a sealed suit, it can only cycle oxygen so fast. Calm down and take deep slow breaths."

"I'm not exactly feeling secure in this blue-suit knowing it's minus two hundred celcius in here and the readers are going wacky."

"I told you it's nothing to worry about. You're gonna need to relax for me just a little bit. Your heart rate is looking a little too quick, buddy."

"How the hell am I supposed to relax? You just told me something's not right. Get me outta here! I got kids, man. Release the airlock! I'll go back in once everything's ironed out, but I just don't feel comfortable in here if you're not going to tell me what's what."

"Calm down! The test is being aborted as we speak. It's just going to take a minute to cycle the airlock, so you're going to have to sit tight in the mean time."

"Screw you! What's happening to me?!"

"Nothing! Alright? Here's the deal. The suit is running at 107% power transfer efficiency."

". . ."

"Did you copy?"

"That's what you had me all freaked out about?! The damn thing is working -better- than it's supposed to?! Oh, you're an [censored]. I'm sending you the cleaning bill for this suit, man."

"No, you don't understand. The power transfer efficiency is supposed to, by definition, cap out at 100%. That would mean that all your emmited body heat is being used to power the suit."

"So what's it mean if it's higher?"

"I'm not sure. Anyway, the airlock is released. Get yourself out of there. I'll see if I can figure out what went wrong with the PTE, and what it might mean."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The playback ended for what must have been the hundreth time.

Dr. Don Baker leaned over the sink and splashed cool water on his face. HIs palms dug into the sides of his head, trying to rub out the tension, frustration, and confusion. Everything had been going so well with the blue-suit test! Except for the blasted PTE readings! After two days of diagnostic testing so intense that the system was practically taken apart and re-assembled it was concluded that the reading had to be accurate.

"One-hundred-seven bloody percent. . . " Don grumbled into the mirror. He was pale looking, probably from having gone for the last several days with little or no sleep. His beard was starting to look very scruffy indeed, as shaving had fallen to the wayside along with eating. He had been racking his brain for an answer to the test riddle, and had only come up with three possibilities.

One; that the suit was not just sustaining itself off the test pilot's body heat but actually siphoning it off. Of course, that wasn't possible since they were monitoring his core temperature and it didn't drop in the slightest.

Two; The pilot was a mutant, and somehow his body was generating more heat in response to the energy of the suit. That was impossible too. Genetic screening on test pilots was vital to accurately control experiments, and it was extremely thorough.

Or Three; The transfer rate really -was- operating above maximum efficiency. Blue-suit's AI had somehow actually been able to magnify the energy of the pilot's normal BTU output. Both Ockham's Razor and Sherlock Holmes Rule of Deduction pointed at this as the solution, but how on earth was it possible?

Dr. Baker made his way back to the computer as he toweled off his hands and face. With a swift move of the mouse and a single click he restarted the audio file. Again. Maybe this time he would pick up some clue that he had missed in his dozens of previous attempts.

By now he had become numb to the way that the sound of his own voice was so drastically different on tape from how it sounded to him. He didn't even recognize it as him at all anymore, nor the test pilots voice as his. He listened to the recording in the same detached fashion that one listens to a song that has been on the radio far too often. Don could recite along with every word and phrase, every cadence and inflection, and each miscellaneous sound and subtle nuance in the background.

He sat heavily in his office chair and leaned far back. His feet pushed against the floor, and he spun himself in lazy circles as he reviewed the recording yet again.

"It's got to be the AI," he groaned, "I've got to get a look at Blue-suit's master file database. It'll have the records of everything that it did over the course of those minutes. But those frikken techs still won't let me anywhere near it! The lack of inter-departmental cooperation on this project sucks!"

Project: Second Skin. It was being financed by some big para-military group. The rigamarole they put everyone through was ridiculous. ID's and retinal scans and fingerprint scans were all fine and dandy, but the daily x-rays had to be bad for your health.

They had very rigidly compartmentalized people working on different aspects of the project. Supposedly, it was to safeguard their secrets. If something leaked they'd be able to instantly know down to a handful of people who had access to the information. Unfortunately, that meant diagnosing a problem with the test model, which fell into three seperate jurisdictions, was damn near impossible.

"Wait a minute," Baker thought, "I know how I can access those files!"

He snatched up his laptop case and hurried out of the room.