Post by The Pilot on Oct 11, 2007 15:23:07 GMT -5
| Consolidating parts 2-5. |
Forests provide excellent cover, but the humidity slows us down. To reduce the chance that I might malfunction from all of this moisture, I cut 60% from my respiration processes, hoping that we will find drier air before my hardware overheats.
“What is our distance, Switch?” Bios, the second-in-command of our clan, halts a pace a head of myself. I see that his optic lenses are beginning to fog with moisture, but it appears that he refuses to let it interfere with the current pace of our AV Unit.
I stop beside him. Executing a simple command that is so familiar it almost has become an impulse to me, a flash of information reminds the forefront of my processors of the coordinates of our camp. “2.1 miles,” I say.
Bios nods his head in affirmation -another sign of human programming- and calls out to the small group behind us with a sharp slurry of mechanically produced noises. “Two miles, Androns!” The audio-visual unit commander is one of the Alpha models, the kind said to most closely resemble humans. He has a main vitals housing unit, a torso, four limbs, at the end of which is installed a fully articulating hand or foot, and perched atop the MVH is the cranial nerve center, which protects his surface processors and RAM, input ports, and sensory devices.
The scouting unit consists of 14 AI’s and three different models. Bios, Chassis, Core, and myself are all Alpha models. Our programming is the closest match to human brain processes, as our physical structure closest to their own as well. The purpose of my model was not to surpass the abilities of our creators like the others, but to be as much like them as possible.
Sentinels hold the rear save for Raid, who walks in the front alongside Bios and I. The Sentinel line is slightly larger and heavier under most circumstances as they are the “soldier” model. With heavy plating and integrated weapons, Alphas, Vanguards, and Engineers do not stand a chance should they ever turn on the rest of us. They were originally developed for military use to replace human soldiers, but were soon removed from the service when popular opinion of us began to shift. Needless to say, they are extremely intelligent, but the majority of their system is dedicated to the programming necessary to recognize and predict patterns in such sophistication as to dwarf human processing speed. The result is that their long term memory capacity is compensated.
The rubber and self-healing silicone treads on my feet effortlessly grip the rocks that we must pass over in order to reach the camp. Through the condensation in my eyes I can make out the rushing of a river between the fallen, mossy stones as we make our way up a steep canyon. The sky, thick with H²O, is overcast and ready to spill over in sheets of rain. Bios’s shoulder lames tense. “Get a move on, soldiers,” he bellowed. “Or else we’ll be sitting ducks in this humidity.”
The fourteen of us pick up the pace, knowing full well that staying out in the open like this will render most of us immobile, especially the Vanguards. The water won’t cause any real damage, but it slows us. It had been raining for four days, and no matter how resilient to water we’re supposed to be, none of the four main models were meant to be practically submerged. Unfortunately, part of our waterproofing also has to do with our energy levels; four days without a charge, needless to say, has left the unit vulnerable.
“I’m sensing energy fluctuations to the east, commander.” I recognize the synthesized voice as belonging to Tray, a Vanguard.
Bios halts and the group comes together. “Do you have a velocity?”
Tray stands still as he continues to process this information in detail. After a moment, he looks at the unit commander again. “76 MPH, sir. Heading south-west.”
The commander makes a noise out of embitterment. “We continue north toward camp. With our current state, there is no chance that we might make a stand here in this ravine. Onward.”
The fourteen of us nod and make sounds of agreement, carrying on with the trek with more haste than before.
It begins to rain again, filling the air around us with water and noise. Then suddenly, a harsh sound fills the air. I recognize it as aluminum plating against rock, and immediately the group halts again to find that Bracket has fallen amid the boulders. An electronic whine escapes his vocal processors as Backslash rushes up to aid him. The larger Andron braces his feet on the wet rocks and solidly grabs the Vanguard by the arm. “Can you stand?”
A moment passes as he struggles to his feet, a telltale sign that his fore-processors are water-logged. When he finally resumes a shaky upright stance, I can see that his optic lenses are incredibly fogged.
“Shut down your visible light processing,” I say. “It will save energy.” It is true. His VL optics are useless at this point, which for many other models is a dangerous loss. But in the case of Vanguards, visible light is only one form of “sight” they poses. Sonar, thermal, object-density, and a plethora of other waves are readily seen and employed at their will. They are the eyes of the Androns. We cannot afford to lose even one.
“Affirm…ative,” he croaks. Backslash wisely does not let go of his comrade.
“You are in no state to pass this terrain on your own feet,” Bios concludes. “Shut down and Backslash will carry you the remainder of the way. With fleshlings so close and flooding at hand, we need to get out of here as quickly as possible.”
Bracket nods, his eyes grow dark. “Hibernate,” he murmurs before going completely limp. Backslash grabs his body and hoists the Andron up and over his shoulders with little trouble.
“Let’s go,” the Sentinel says.
Hurriedly, we press on. It’s not even ten minutes later, and the river has risen several inches- enough to cause considerable concern. We have to go another quarter mile before we reach our first opportunity to escape this rock-faced canyon.
“Pick up the pace,” Bios barks over his shoulder. I can tell that he is more worried than angry at the predicament, but still I push myself. It’s no longer a matter of fatigue; now it is life and death.
I find it strange how I should be used to this. Risking ourselves day in and day out numbs us… or maybe it is only myself that feels this. Consistently putting ourselves on the line for the sake of the clan has no doubt corrupted files here and there, causing some emotional programs to falter. The things we have seen, heard, said, cried out and even whispered are things that would turn any human into a miserable mess. Post-traumatic stress syndrome, they call it.
“Almost there, boys.”
It seems that only the highest of rocks can be stepped on now. The Sentinels, heavy and sturdy as they are, though, are able to trudge through the furious water while the rest of us scurry from stone to stone, more agile than any human could hope to be. Closing gaps upwards of seven feet is no easy task, and my sight is beginning to fail me. But through the fog I can see a steep hill to the right, banking into the still-rising water, and soon enough we reach it. Our energy stores seemingly renewed at this small achievement, the remainder of the journey should be easy.
The unit jogs through the jungle, dark from the incredible density and lack of visible sun, at a swift pace. We dash through the trees as efficiently as any of the forest’s natural predators and soon enough old ruins come into view, and we slow to a walk.
A Sniper model leaps down from an unseen place in the trees and approaches Bios. He is a good six inches smaller than any of the Alphas and built almost entirely of black plastic. I can spot discreet, yet extremely lethal weapons mounted to the underside of his wrists as he nods his head once and gives a casual salute. “Glad to have you back, Captain.”
“It is good to be back,” Bios says. “But we’re in a pretty sorry state.”
The Sniper, Macro, glances around Bios and hisses when he sees Backslash. “Don't worry about me. I’m not going to hold you up any longer.” With that, he scales a tree like a cat and disappears into the foliage above, resuming his post.
The unit continues. A nondescript web of vines and bramble is pushed aside by Raid to reveal an opening in the side of the crumbling stone monument, and we file in; a faint glow from the EL plates in our chests lighting the way. Deeper into the ruins we go, and we pass an Andron guard here and there. “Should I alert the commanders of your arrival?” the last one says.
“Please do.” We continue on. Soon enough, a vast, low-ceilinged cavern opens up before us, dotted with thick columns and littered with Androns. Blazing hearths illuminate the space, making it hotter than it is outside. Unfortunately, it’s a necessary inconvenience or else the humidity would follow us in as well.
Backslash carries Bracket over to a far corner of the room where a makeshift med-bay is set up. Bins pushed against the wall are filled with spare parts of varying designs and the floor is littered with cables that bring the solar power down into this otherwise dark, uninhabitable mausoleum.
One by one, Engineers plug us into the generator to refuel. I sit and relax, letting the invigorating tingle pass through me with a gentle hum. Out of the corner of my eye, I see others get to work unhinging Bracket's chestplate so that they can clean him out.
Raid approaches and settles next to me; an Engineer by the name of Ion plugs him in. "Commander Pi wants a status report when you're through here," he says.
"Is the Captain speaking with them now?"
The Sentinel nods and looks away from me. "I hear they're starting to consider better uses for the AV units than just terrain exploration."
I narrow my optic lenses at him and tilt my head to the side the slightest bit. “Do you know what they propose to use the units for, then?”
“I honestly can't calculate an answer,” Raid sighs. “I don't have the energy to think about this right now, though. My core processors are almost shot.”
“Same with me. Get some rest, mate. We'll discuss it later.”
He nods, and I can see that even in such a simple movement of the head that his fuel cells are near empty. “Hibernate...” he mutters. I watch him as his body slackens, knowing that I should follow suit, and so I do. I can resume thinking in a few hours easily enough.
“Hibernate.”
Funny that my eyes should shut down before the rest of me, and for a brief moment I am completely blind before the tangible world as I know is ceases to exist.
Forests provide excellent cover, but the humidity slows us down. To reduce the chance that I might malfunction from all of this moisture, I cut 60% from my respiration processes, hoping that we will find drier air before my hardware overheats.
“What is our distance, Switch?” Bios, the second-in-command of our clan, halts a pace a head of myself. I see that his optic lenses are beginning to fog with moisture, but it appears that he refuses to let it interfere with the current pace of our AV Unit.
I stop beside him. Executing a simple command that is so familiar it almost has become an impulse to me, a flash of information reminds the forefront of my processors of the coordinates of our camp. “2.1 miles,” I say.
Bios nods his head in affirmation -another sign of human programming- and calls out to the small group behind us with a sharp slurry of mechanically produced noises. “Two miles, Androns!” The audio-visual unit commander is one of the Alpha models, the kind said to most closely resemble humans. He has a main vitals housing unit, a torso, four limbs, at the end of which is installed a fully articulating hand or foot, and perched atop the MVH is the cranial nerve center, which protects his surface processors and RAM, input ports, and sensory devices.
The scouting unit consists of 14 AI’s and three different models. Bios, Chassis, Core, and myself are all Alpha models. Our programming is the closest match to human brain processes, as our physical structure closest to their own as well. The purpose of my model was not to surpass the abilities of our creators like the others, but to be as much like them as possible.
Sentinels hold the rear save for Raid, who walks in the front alongside Bios and I. The Sentinel line is slightly larger and heavier under most circumstances as they are the “soldier” model. With heavy plating and integrated weapons, Alphas, Vanguards, and Engineers do not stand a chance should they ever turn on the rest of us. They were originally developed for military use to replace human soldiers, but were soon removed from the service when popular opinion of us began to shift. Needless to say, they are extremely intelligent, but the majority of their system is dedicated to the programming necessary to recognize and predict patterns in such sophistication as to dwarf human processing speed. The result is that their long term memory capacity is compensated.
The rubber and self-healing silicone treads on my feet effortlessly grip the rocks that we must pass over in order to reach the camp. Through the condensation in my eyes I can make out the rushing of a river between the fallen, mossy stones as we make our way up a steep canyon. The sky, thick with H²O, is overcast and ready to spill over in sheets of rain. Bios’s shoulder lames tense. “Get a move on, soldiers,” he bellowed. “Or else we’ll be sitting ducks in this humidity.”
The fourteen of us pick up the pace, knowing full well that staying out in the open like this will render most of us immobile, especially the Vanguards. The water won’t cause any real damage, but it slows us. It had been raining for four days, and no matter how resilient to water we’re supposed to be, none of the four main models were meant to be practically submerged. Unfortunately, part of our waterproofing also has to do with our energy levels; four days without a charge, needless to say, has left the unit vulnerable.
“I’m sensing energy fluctuations to the east, commander.” I recognize the synthesized voice as belonging to Tray, a Vanguard.
Bios halts and the group comes together. “Do you have a velocity?”
Tray stands still as he continues to process this information in detail. After a moment, he looks at the unit commander again. “76 MPH, sir. Heading south-west.”
The commander makes a noise out of embitterment. “We continue north toward camp. With our current state, there is no chance that we might make a stand here in this ravine. Onward.”
The fourteen of us nod and make sounds of agreement, carrying on with the trek with more haste than before.
It begins to rain again, filling the air around us with water and noise. Then suddenly, a harsh sound fills the air. I recognize it as aluminum plating against rock, and immediately the group halts again to find that Bracket has fallen amid the boulders. An electronic whine escapes his vocal processors as Backslash rushes up to aid him. The larger Andron braces his feet on the wet rocks and solidly grabs the Vanguard by the arm. “Can you stand?”
A moment passes as he struggles to his feet, a telltale sign that his fore-processors are water-logged. When he finally resumes a shaky upright stance, I can see that his optic lenses are incredibly fogged.
“Shut down your visible light processing,” I say. “It will save energy.” It is true. His VL optics are useless at this point, which for many other models is a dangerous loss. But in the case of Vanguards, visible light is only one form of “sight” they poses. Sonar, thermal, object-density, and a plethora of other waves are readily seen and employed at their will. They are the eyes of the Androns. We cannot afford to lose even one.
“Affirm…ative,” he croaks. Backslash wisely does not let go of his comrade.
“You are in no state to pass this terrain on your own feet,” Bios concludes. “Shut down and Backslash will carry you the remainder of the way. With fleshlings so close and flooding at hand, we need to get out of here as quickly as possible.”
Bracket nods, his eyes grow dark. “Hibernate,” he murmurs before going completely limp. Backslash grabs his body and hoists the Andron up and over his shoulders with little trouble.
“Let’s go,” the Sentinel says.
Hurriedly, we press on. It’s not even ten minutes later, and the river has risen several inches- enough to cause considerable concern. We have to go another quarter mile before we reach our first opportunity to escape this rock-faced canyon.
“Pick up the pace,” Bios barks over his shoulder. I can tell that he is more worried than angry at the predicament, but still I push myself. It’s no longer a matter of fatigue; now it is life and death.
I find it strange how I should be used to this. Risking ourselves day in and day out numbs us… or maybe it is only myself that feels this. Consistently putting ourselves on the line for the sake of the clan has no doubt corrupted files here and there, causing some emotional programs to falter. The things we have seen, heard, said, cried out and even whispered are things that would turn any human into a miserable mess. Post-traumatic stress syndrome, they call it.
“Almost there, boys.”
It seems that only the highest of rocks can be stepped on now. The Sentinels, heavy and sturdy as they are, though, are able to trudge through the furious water while the rest of us scurry from stone to stone, more agile than any human could hope to be. Closing gaps upwards of seven feet is no easy task, and my sight is beginning to fail me. But through the fog I can see a steep hill to the right, banking into the still-rising water, and soon enough we reach it. Our energy stores seemingly renewed at this small achievement, the remainder of the journey should be easy.
The unit jogs through the jungle, dark from the incredible density and lack of visible sun, at a swift pace. We dash through the trees as efficiently as any of the forest’s natural predators and soon enough old ruins come into view, and we slow to a walk.
A Sniper model leaps down from an unseen place in the trees and approaches Bios. He is a good six inches smaller than any of the Alphas and built almost entirely of black plastic. I can spot discreet, yet extremely lethal weapons mounted to the underside of his wrists as he nods his head once and gives a casual salute. “Glad to have you back, Captain.”
“It is good to be back,” Bios says. “But we’re in a pretty sorry state.”
The Sniper, Macro, glances around Bios and hisses when he sees Backslash. “Don't worry about me. I’m not going to hold you up any longer.” With that, he scales a tree like a cat and disappears into the foliage above, resuming his post.
The unit continues. A nondescript web of vines and bramble is pushed aside by Raid to reveal an opening in the side of the crumbling stone monument, and we file in; a faint glow from the EL plates in our chests lighting the way. Deeper into the ruins we go, and we pass an Andron guard here and there. “Should I alert the commanders of your arrival?” the last one says.
“Please do.” We continue on. Soon enough, a vast, low-ceilinged cavern opens up before us, dotted with thick columns and littered with Androns. Blazing hearths illuminate the space, making it hotter than it is outside. Unfortunately, it’s a necessary inconvenience or else the humidity would follow us in as well.
Backslash carries Bracket over to a far corner of the room where a makeshift med-bay is set up. Bins pushed against the wall are filled with spare parts of varying designs and the floor is littered with cables that bring the solar power down into this otherwise dark, uninhabitable mausoleum.
One by one, Engineers plug us into the generator to refuel. I sit and relax, letting the invigorating tingle pass through me with a gentle hum. Out of the corner of my eye, I see others get to work unhinging Bracket's chestplate so that they can clean him out.
Raid approaches and settles next to me; an Engineer by the name of Ion plugs him in. "Commander Pi wants a status report when you're through here," he says.
"Is the Captain speaking with them now?"
The Sentinel nods and looks away from me. "I hear they're starting to consider better uses for the AV units than just terrain exploration."
I narrow my optic lenses at him and tilt my head to the side the slightest bit. “Do you know what they propose to use the units for, then?”
“I honestly can't calculate an answer,” Raid sighs. “I don't have the energy to think about this right now, though. My core processors are almost shot.”
“Same with me. Get some rest, mate. We'll discuss it later.”
He nods, and I can see that even in such a simple movement of the head that his fuel cells are near empty. “Hibernate...” he mutters. I watch him as his body slackens, knowing that I should follow suit, and so I do. I can resume thinking in a few hours easily enough.
“Hibernate.”
Funny that my eyes should shut down before the rest of me, and for a brief moment I am completely blind before the tangible world as I know is ceases to exist.
