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The Something Awful Forums > Discussion > Traditional Games > The Game Room > [Stars Without Number] Glory in the Black game thread
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  • Locked thread
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC
He'd been on-site at the manor for a week now, and if he were to tell the truth, everything up to this point had been a tremendous headache. Getting in had been laughably easy: as simple as a little bit of constructive hacking in order to monitor the orders of the most prominent waiter and butler-focused expert system manufacturers in a ninety kilometer radius, and having himself crated in a specially prepared armature and delivered to the premises alongside the other identical constructs. He'd simply replaced a single field in the product shipment system of the manufacturer: they didn't order nine units, but rather eight of them. A discrepancy that certainly would have been noticed by the buyer, if he hadn't gone out of his way to ensure he was delivered on the same truck, so as to avoid raising any questions as to the timing of a separate delivery. It had fallen out of vogue centuries ago for a company to maintain its own delivery fleet with the advent of private couriers, but this was yet another instance of the immense value of controlling every aspect of one's supply chain. Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately, depending on the perspective - it was a lesson he never intended to share with the people who needed to learn it.

The headache part came afterwards. He'd waited for two days, seven hours, thirty-two minutes, and twelve seconds for these assholes to open his crate. Another few hours had been wasted unboxing the rest of the models, as well as what was quite possibly the most mind-numbing orientation possible, which was as detailed as humanly possible, quite literally. It was expected, of course: a new expert system needed to be provided clear instructions in order to be prepared for its environment and expected duties, and some poor fool on the Bear staff clearly drew the short straw on delivering that information. It was helpful in that he had been provided instruction on the precise protocols and expectations of this event insofar as it related to the waiter systems, as well as other tasks to be performed between now and then, but he really could have dealt without the droning speech.

The headache also kept coming. It was obviously a predictable cost of this avenue of entrance, but for the last several days he'd been helping to set up for the party. Arranging cups, aligning cutlery at precise angles, ensuring careful pleats of napkins and tablecloths, and most aggravatingly, creating perfect food sculptures for the hors d'oeuvres. He'd done good work, but it had come at the price of a small fraction of his sanity. He dearly hoped it would one day be returned to him.

The first one had been simple enough. Little did he know it was only in preparation for the horrors to come, a brief reminder of better times. A precisely arranged pyramid of cookies. Simple enough, absolutely, not a big deal.


The second one was more complex in nature, but much the same. Yet another pyramid, but this time using oval blocks. Oval blocks for building. Do you know loving anything about architecture, Bear clan? Whatever, it's doable.


If an artificial intelligence could have a stroke, the third wave would have nearly killed him. Never mind that a 'reverse pyramid' is not a thing - it's actually called a hole - you might ask yourself, what is the load-bearing capacity of a graham cracker? The answer might surprise you, unless you guessed not a whole hell of a lot, in which case, well, you're correct. Whatever, though, it was doable. Simple mathematics and basic architecture, plus a little bit of trial and error. The perfect sort of soul-crushing task to which an expert system such as the one he was impersonating was ideally suited.


He very nearly killed a man during the construction of the fourth structure. 'Do the same thing, but with oval bricks and gelatin.' Are you kidding me? Are you honestly serious right now? Do you have any understanding of how things are built? No, you don't. You just have fantasies of what might be pretty. You're a loving dreamer soaring too high to the sun like ancient Icarus, Bear clan, and so help me god if it is my last act in life I will be the rays of the sun that bring you low once more.


He held himself in check, though. More accurately he temporarily disabled the subsystems in his arms that would have allowed him to strangle anyone for a few hours. It was necessary to power down the servomechanisms in order to have the delicate touch required to build these creations, anyway. He was here for a purpose, and he wasn't willing to get distracted trying to hide a body, even if that person desperately deserved it. That said, he did entertain for more than a few hours how thematically appropriate it would be to entomb a man inside a pyramid made of cookies and wafers, like his ancestors before him in separate pyramids that - as far as he knew - were not made of cookies so many thousands of years ago.

Throughout the ordeal, he focused on the fact that he was doing good work. Meaningless work, of course, but good work. Surely his achievements in the realm of wafer jenga and curved-brick architecture would not go unnoticed. Someone would notice. Someone would appreciate his sacrifice. They just ...they just had to.

Plot posted:

The party's getting started and you're called upon. There will be 71 guests and two hosts. Alongside you there are 8 other waiter bots. Security in dress uniforms roams the premises. How are you going to track down your targets?
It was a godsend that the party was finally underway. Another day building pyramids might have been the end of him, like so many other slaves in history. The guest complement was manageable, at seventy-three individuals. More than was desirable in that he couldn't possibly overhear all of the conversations occurring at once, but small enough to be able to make his way through the crowd and pick up key words with reasonable regularity. That he was a servant robot providing access to a never-ending supply of native cheese spreads and various beverages was all the excuse he would need to insert himself near conversations regularly, as well. The plan was rock solid, at least on paper.

Plot posted:

As you enter the lobby, you notice a complication. A huge variety of masks hang on the walls, with many empty spaces. A surprise masquerade ball - you presume none of the other guests knew either, or CID would have been able to find out. Facial scanning goes out the window, you'll have to do things the old fashioned way.
The masquerade was actually a bit of a surprise, he had to admit. Had they covered that in orientation? He didn't think so. Perhaps it was a last-minute change of plans. His mind began to race as to the why of it, processing hundreds of possible motivations while he prepared his serving tray with with his ample spare cycles. There was always the possibility that it was simple indulgence, the sort of thing high society was likely to find just positively marvelous. He was the sort of individual who always did things with a purpose, though, and that tended to skew his worldview into believing others always acted with a purpose as well. He recognized the math of the situation, but nonetheless...

What would it create? That was always the question to ask. How did the board change, because of this move? Obscuring identity allowed for at least two distinct things to occur. First, someone could attend that would otherwise be unable to attend. Perhaps someone who didn't belong, or someone who wouldn't be welcomed openly. Organized criminals, perhaps? Though normally they had a few mostly-clean faces that could be circulated among private events. Second, someone could disappear without being noticed. It was a simple matter, relatively speaking, to abduct someone in the bathroom and send out a replacement wearing their mask. That would provide ample time to interrogate a person, or even kill them if one were so inclined. The presence of a significant amount of security didn't seem to indicate an intent that anyone would walk away from this event in a bodybag, but that didn't mean there weren't reasons to isolate someone from the larger event for a few hours.

A third possibility was a separate avenue of the second, and was that two or more individuals wanted plausible deniability. If they were seen entering the party, and someone continued to wear their masks during its course, they could be free to slip away and meet in private. Price fixing, perhaps? Or some other arrangement that couldn't officially be on the books. Outside of the mercantile persuasions, there were military possibilities, even covert ones. Was this whole event an opportunity for a spy in the Bear clan itself to slip away and report back to his handler? Or perhaps a secret alliance between houses was to be struck? The pieces could be fit together, but ...only by forcing them. More information would be needed to draw any conclusions.

It was an interesting line of thought. Rather obviously, someone was up to something, and time permitting he would take a look at it. Mostly out of curiosity as to how their scheme was assembled, rather than any interest in stifling its progress. It was a study in human psychology more than anything else, which was a past-time he always found rather relaxing. Thankfully, as was often the case, he'd come to the party with an ace up his sleeve. The party guests were going to be regularly drinking from the house cups, and he would be regularly collecting them and delivering them to the kitchens for washing and circulation back into the cup supply. That provided ample opportunity to lift fingerprint scans from the glasses, and trace saliva from the rims. That he could work with.
pre:
My armature has an integrated bioscanner, which "allows for a full spectrum of
diagnosis and DNA sequencing to be done on subjects in a matter of minutes."

I will use it on the cups that I collect to keep an eye on the genetic profile of the guests.
If anyone changes identity relative to their mask as time goes on, I will likely notice.

If feasible, I will also use it to get a positive identification on the guests at the party.
Does that require access to an external network, or how does that work?
Basically would try to cross-match them to their medical records.
He wasn't an idiot, obviously. Complicated plans tended to work, but simple ones also had a pretty good success ratio. He kept his communications node active, listening in on frequencies in the general area for any relevant chatter.
pre:
My armature also has an integrated compad.
I will use it to try to listen in on any chatter in the general area.

If it is encrypted depending on the apparent level of encryption I may or may not
try to subtly crack it and listen in, depending on whether or not I think I might be
detected doing so.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 19:52 on Jun 9, 2016

* # ¿ Jun 9, 2016 17:46
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# ¿ Apr 27, 2024 23:48
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

Watching your food sculptures melt away at a frightening pace is... sad, somehow. At least people appreciate it. Of course, all the comments you overhear praise the hosts. Humans can be so loving ungrateful to machines.
He liked to focus on the positive. He had created a thing, and it had been good. Whether he got credit for the act or not was secondary to the performance itself. Plus, in his experience, he had learned that history isn't necessarily written by the victors, but rather the survivors. It was true, today, that the guests were praising the hosts on his work as if it were the host's own. However, when he told this story a few hundred years from now - when they were dead, and he was glad - who they were praising would be a bit more vague. A listener would be able to draw their own conclusions. Heavily encouraged conclusions. History was funny that way. He never put much stock into recorded history, as a result. It'd be a good story, though.

In truth, he was used to operating in the shadows anyway. Normally the table stakes were a bit higher, and the chips weren't edible, but having someone else take credit for his actions was essentially the status quo. The less attention he drew, the easier it was to focus on things that actually mattered. And when the hammer occasionally came down on his creations and machinations, he was rarely the one standing in its path.

Plot posted:

Unfortunately, you don't have access to any medical databases here, so cannot draw any conclusions based on the DNA from the glasses yet. You'll know when someone's pace of drinking changes notably. There could be many reasons for it, but a data point is a data point, and unlike meat-brains you won't get overwhelmed by "meaningless" data.
He would have to make time later to cross-reference some of the gathered DNA with other available databases. He suspected that a good mixture of childhood immunization records, criminal databases, and gene therapy clinic records would provide most of what he was interested in. It wasn't particularly salient, but who knew what conclusions might be drawn? Recompiling the guest list after the fact - the actual guest list, rather than whatever happened to be stored on local servers and the records of security - might reveal a name or two that are of interest. If not, well, it was only a few minutes wasted, and still seemed to be worth the effort.
pre:
I figured as much.  For now I'll make efforts to collect everyone's DNA as best as I am able.
After the party I'll get around to trying to cross-reference it to other databases when there's time to get that access.
That said, gathering their DNA wasn't a primary objective if it couldn't be cross-referenced to provide a positive identification right now. It would reveal interesting fact patterns, to be sure, but the task at hand remained importan-...

Plot posted:

Wait a second. There is something on one of the glasses. Subtle, but there. Oh yes. If your purpose was anything else, you might have missed it, but you were made to pick up on certain clues. There are nanites in someone's saliva. Not unheard of, but very rare. A single glass at a party attended by a machine-god cultist? Some coincidence that would be. It's trivial to backtrack through your memory and trace who that glass came from. Hello there.
...mother dick. Mila Lebedeva, he presumed. The presence of functional nanites was an unexpected wrinkle, with implications that weren't entirely comforting. If they had the ability to fabricate nanites, that suggested a certain level of sophistication and progress in their research. The best case scenario was a bit of a pipe dream, but perhaps she had simply been treated to a rare cylinder of pretech longevity nanites as a reward for her services. Hell, perhaps she was a few hundred years old, and actually founded the cult, using those nanites to keep herself alive through the chaos of the Silence. Either of those scenarios would be preferable to an artificial intelligence project far enough along to enable nanofabrication.

More likely, though, they had nothing to do with longevity. He knew of a few possibilities, each of them more than a little bit of a headache, but now wasn't the time to worry about that. When he had some time, he would analyze a sample of these nanites in order to better understand their purpose, as well as the level of sophistication required to enable their fabrication. That would provide valuable data points upon which to infer a number of aspects of their operation. Interestingly, if this was a marker shared among all of the cult members, identifying this piece of data so early on in his investigation might make it a bit easier to connect the dots as to their membership. How convenient that his opponents might be marking themselves for him.
pre:
I will keep a sample of her saliva with the nanites for later analysis.
When time permits, I will try to understand the purpose and function of the nanites.
As well, will try to use it as a way to detect other members of their cult, if they all have them.
The social gathering had been ongoing for less than an hour, and he'd already made an appreciable amount of progress. Though it wasn't intended to be a pun, given the circumstances, he didn't see any reason to apply the brakes to his operation. Although it wasn't a positive identification insofar as his standards would define it, it was enough to suspect this woman was Mila Lebedeva, and that was enough to want to keep a closer eye on her conversations throughout the evening. Plus, he rather suspected most people would have a difficult time telling one waiter bot from another. That was entirely the point, after all.
pre:
I'll continue to serve drinks in her general vicinity, remaining close enough to keep an eye on what she says for a while.
Will continue to collect cups and scan the DNA of other guests until I've caught all 73 Pokemon, though.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jun 10, 2016 04:03
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

One more anomaly emerges. Someone is drinking but not leaving any DNA. How? DNA-scrubbing is a possibility, but far too involved and expensive - anyone with access to it would simply not drin...
Speaking of which, one of the glasses continues to be returned full, not a sip taken. No fingerprints either. Gloves. Isn't that interesting.
Given the general levels of wealth and status of those on the guest list, he wasn't entirely surprised to find that mysteries seemed to abound at the event. The individual wearing gloves and taking apparent care not to leave any traces of his presence was certainly interesting. The other person happily drinking but not leaving any DNA was also a notable outlier in the data. It was conceivable that it was a well-made armature, perhaps of a benign AI who had simply integrated into the social circles of the planet. It was also possible that the person had some sort of cybernetic jaw that didn't leave any trace DNA as a side-effect of its presence. In the latter case, it might not even be an intended effect. Nonetheless, both were worth further consideration. There remained other matters at hand to address first, though...

Plot posted:

Back to your target. Detailed expression analysis gives another data point - the woman is very, very bored, though good at hiding it. For a human. The man is entirely enthralled, and she is there to accompany him. He mingles with other guests; she only speaks enough to not stand out as silent. When they're not engaged in conversation with other guests, it's different. She questions him, thoroughly, along two main lines. She asks about details of mainframes and processing units. Asks informed follow-up questions. Operating parameters, cooling and infrastructure requirements, data bus speeds, physical size. Yet she hardly reacts to some of the answers. Likely conclusion: she knows what she is talking about and is intelligent, but the implications of the finer details are beyond her, memorised for later analysis by an expert. Or an AI.

The second line of questioning has to do with recent developments, breakthroughs, research progress. Soon you're certain that the man is the Synthetic Insights executive. The woman clearly thinks that there is more than regular R&D beyond the company recent advancements and is trying to uncover it. Perhaps to identify a potential threat AI? Or maybe an ally? She is your target. No question about that.
Target acquired. Not a bad start. He found her line of questioning curious, though. The subject matter made sense, of course, given his assumptions about her agenda. What didn't make sense was the amount of information she was trying to gather. Did she have a memory sharp enough to capture everything she was inquiring about? Doubtful, though there were ways around that. His mind trailed back to the presence of the nanites, and it started to make a bit of sense. Perhaps her presence here was as a biological armature, of a sort. Window dressing to enable a panopticon of nanites to record information for later recovery and assimilation into the greater whole. She wouldn't need to remember the events of the evening if her bloodstream was recording it for her. She just needed to ask the right questions and perform the other functions necessary so that the data would reveal itself.

Plot posted:

She continues to glance at you. Tracking you. She makes no comment but her body language cannot be hidden entirely. Unlike most people, she does not ignore bots completely, and has noticed you are present around her more than an efficient waiting pattern would imply.
She'd obviously caught wise to his interest, though he doubted she would put the whole puzzle together unless he made a serious misstep. This eventuality didn't really surprise him, truth be told: it had always been baked into his plan as a contingency. This was a gathering of wealthy individuals, and few of them would fault the Bear clan for keeping an eye on the activities at the event they were hosting. The obvious armed security presence was one thing, but was it really so unthinkable that Bear would wire its waiters for surveillance of its own party? It wasn't true, obviously, but technically speaking it was far from a challenge to integrate their sensors into the general security feed. If anyone noticed, they were more likely to write it off as Bear prudence, or perhaps Bear paranoia, depending on their attitude and how directly they were effected. It would take an entirely deeper level of paranoia to suspect an artificial intelligence had implanted himself in an armature to study a single person at a party discretely, rather than the more believable storyline implicit in the situation. Not impossible, but statistically? It would probably hold.

The bigger question was how those nanites worked. He hadn't detected any signal transmissions from the sample, but he hadn't done a thorough analysis, either. If they were a form of micro-surveillance, the question on his mind was whether they were transmitting a live feed right now, or if they would need to be collected and analyzed before any information could be gathered from them. The answer to that question dictated entirely different strategic responses. Unfortunately, it would be rather difficult to pull himself away from the party in order to do that analysis before it concluded. Choices, choices...

In either case, better not to tempt fate by drawing her further attention. He had a fair amount of what he needed, and a few options were opening up to him in terms of direct responses subsequent to the party.
pre:
I'll pull away from her for a bit, to try to cool her suspicions.

Plot posted:

The music fades softly, to be replaced by the steadily increasing volume of the Federation anthem. It's performed at the Capital Opera House and streamed live to all such events. The first hit of the drums coincides perfectly with the clock striking midnight and the night sky erupting in a flurry of fireworks. The anthem swells while wings of aircraft fly in formation over the city, dropping flares in intricate patterns. A huge hologram of the flag is projected above the canyon. It's a breathtaking show, even for offworlders.
Loud music. Fireworks. A live stream drawing the eyes of the majority of the party attendants, as well as a number of the security staff. Finally.

He'd been waiting for an opportunity when everyone was distracted to do some discrete system work. Activating his communications node, he goes about the process of decrypting the various communication channels active in the area. His presence would almost certainly be detected if he were to broadcast anything on any of these channels, but a passive listening station was likely to go unnoticed, at least for a while. What was the security team talking about, he wondered? And who else might be having conversations that they would prefer to remain private? One didn't need to be physically present to eavesdrop on a conversation, thankfully.

pre:
I will use my integrated compad to try to decrypt active communication channels in the area.
This would probably include the security team, as well as anyone else running their own channel.

Computer/Int 10
(Security/Int of 9 if that is more appropriate, though.)
As he worked his way through spoofing the encryption protocols, the hostess of the event started her own speech.

Plot posted:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Draken's new design. The Fampir. A heavy fighter without equal. The cutting edge of postech manufacturing and AI-assisted design. Due to enter production in a year or so, so if you'd like the production version, now would be a good time to pre-order." Turning to her stunned and speechless wife, she continues "I know how much of a purist you are, so I made sure the prototype doesn't have any flight nannies. The only expert systems are those that handle the boring stuff."
That wasn't very prudent. Why on earth would you strip a prototype ship of the flight systems that acted as a security lock on its operations? They were basically begging someone to steal it. He did a quick calculation of how long he thought it would take for someone to try, given what he had learned of the Bear manor's security protocols. He gave it about four days, at most.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 17:24 on Jun 10, 2016

* # ¿ Jun 10, 2016 17:20
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

It never ceases to amaze you how lax humans are about network security. Or maybe they're not, and you're just that good. You find a smattering of internal house networks - nothing out of the ordinary there, all boring run of the mill commands and reports between various systems. Security networks: now that's interesting. There are two and while they exchange information occasionally, they are most certainly separate. The most likely conclusion is a redundant security perimeter. Perhaps someone's paranoid but didn't want to tip their hand by calling off the party. You listen in. All appears normal on one of them. The other one has chatter about a few of the guests, as well as their pictures stored in the cache.
He hadn't really expected anything particularly interesting to be laying around on the various internal house networks, but there was never any harm in looking. The security channels revealed a slightly clearer picture about the planning for the event, which made sense. Precisely what reason the hosts had to be paranoid weren't entirely clear, but between their recently revealed prototype starship, the calibre of guests at the party, and the genuine cost in social capital that would be suffered if anything went wrong at the event, he couldn't fault them for building in a redundant security system. That said, they probably should have thought about doing the same for their network security, rather than just their physical security.

In any event, the current state of affairs suited him just fine. Monitoring the communications of the security teams would give him an edge if anything untoward started to develop. The current focus of the second team didn't make much sense to him, though. It seemed as if they were focusing on a mere handful of guests ...perhaps credible threats? If that were the case, though, why let them in to begin with? Their faces didn't seem familiar to him, though he knew he wasn't up-to-date on the visuals of every major player in local industry and politics. Unusual, but not particularly concerning, he supposed.

Plot posted:

There's a private, encrypted network of four entities. A number that corresponds to the guests one of the security teams is paying close attention to. It is easy enough to connect to it, but there doesn't seem to be any traffic at the moment.
You now know about the other PCs, and have hacked into their network.
The private network was an interesting data point. Perhaps they were credible threats, insofar as the security team might be concerned. He idly wondered what purpose they might have this evening. The security team had been kind enough to store their images in the data cache, so he ran through his memory of the evening to quickly parse out anything suspicious they might have done. Nothing really revealed itself, though. As far as he could tell none of them had slipped away, and they seemed to be entirely embracing the purpose of the evening, being a social event and an opportunity to network with others.

His initial reaction, in all honesty, would have been to assume they had simply invited themselves to the event. It was hardly unthinkable that someone might hack the guest list in order to attend a party for the simple novelty of the experience, and at a guest complement of seventy-one, approximately five percent being uninvited didn't seem terrible for the quality of network security he'd encountered to date. That assessment changed with the presence of a shared private network, though. That meant they were in on this together, and collaboration indicated purpose, which suggested more than simple joyriding within elite society. It was a curiosity, and certainly worth investigating, and ye-...

Plot posted:

That's all you can fin...

The poo poo? A ghost of a signal. Non-standard protocols, military-grade encryption, heavily concealed. No match for what was used back in the day, but the best post-tech you've seen. The only way you could crack it is by hooking yourself up to some more SIGINT hardware than is contained in your armature, and it would be difficult even then. One thing you can tell: Lebedeva doesn't appear to be the source. You're observing her far too closely to have missed this if she was.

There is a lot more going on here than expected.
What the gently caress? Someone was doing a pretty good job of covering their presence. This level of sophistication required hardware and redundancies backing it up that were likely beyond a single person, to say nothing of the maintenance costs. Perhaps a well-established corporation. The various clans certainly had the wealth, but didn't really have the technical proficiency in-house to pull this off. Who was hiding behind the curtain, he wondered? Perhaps more importantly, what was their purpose? This evening was definitely beginning to raise more questions than it answered.

The Commodore & DCR-07 posted:

In the meantime, Gen sends out a quick check on the comms network.
code:
Anything?
He is drawn away from his musings on the situation by activity on the private network. He rather suspected at least one mystery might reveal itself shortly, in whole or in part.

Security Channel posted:

"I hope that sandwich was worth it, Sortey, 'cause now you're plaing catch-up with us. From what we can tell, most of the party is enjoying the light show right now, but our persons of interest are more preoccupied with mingling with the other guests. We assume they're trying to listen in on some conversations, but until we know that something's gonna go down we're just gonna keep an eye on them. We got Perres on the armature with a hat, Tirman on the guy in the tricorne, Weskoe on the guy in the big beardy mask, and Giraen on the guy in the partial mask with his wife. That's all." "Got it." Christof replied. "I'm going to assist Giraen, get another pair of eyes on the couple."
He idly wondered if these folks were aware that they had been made by security. Let alone that security had their own separate channel and detail dedicated to them. As far as he could tell, the security team didn't have any concrete evidence - just suspicion, and a corresponding abundance of caution. It would be interesting to watch this one play out, he supposed. He decided to wait a little longer, and see if they might reveal their purpose on their supposedly secure personal channel. A strategic response could be formulated as the information came in.

In the meantime, his curiosity got the better of him. With this much physical security, as well as what was apparently a credible threat that was content to mingle about the area, he wondered ...might there be something to this Bear paranoia? If so, had they ignored their weakest link? Their network security was a joke. The systems he had accessed were meaningless for his purposes, but perhaps an enterprising hacker or deviant had some other purpose in mind. He decided to run a scan of the network for any potentially malicious code, just to see if anyone had any surprises in store for the evening.
pre:
I am going to scan the internal house networks for malicious code.
Particular focus would be on fire suppression systems, lighting systems, automatic locks, and such.
The electrical system as a whole could also potentially be overloaded to set the place on fire, so I'll look at that.
A secondary thought occurred to him, as well. It had been simple enough to reroute the delivery of one of the waiter bots to the location for his own purposes. What if someone else had the same idea? He hadn't actually gone out of his way to vet their systems. Individually they weren't particularly threatening, but if nine - or eight, now, he supposed - waiters attempted to assassinate someone with synchronised timing, they would probably get the job done. Even if they failed, it would sure be one hell of a memorable attempt. The value he was pulling out of the situation, being that the security team and the bulk of the guests ignored the robotic help, was a severely weak link that other enterprising parties with half a brain might have also elected to use to their advantage.

Thankfully, he had gone to a fair amount of effort to replicate their visual appearance, and in doing so had also reviewed the source code of this particular model so that he could emulate it. It should be a simple enough matter to open up a diagnostic module remotely on each of the robots, without any impact to their ability to continue serving guests. If he found anything concerning therein, it would be deeply inconvenient to have to turn them off, but he might be able to disable the malicious code remotely ...or, on second thought, perhaps change their target.
pre:
I will do what I can to run a check of the apparent safety of the coding in the other waiter robots.
As I have studied the model in order to emulate it, hopefully I will know if anything is out of place.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jun 13, 2016 03:32
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Private Channel posted:

Zilch. This is worse than searching for a needle in a haystack. Short of pulling masks off people what are we supposed to? Wait until the fireworks start and hope we can save some lives.
The private communication server began to reveal its mysteries, which was a pleasant change of pace in comparison to the literal gold rush of subterfuge and mysteries being revealed behind every other god drat corner. Like the man with no DNA, and the man wearing gloves and not drinking, and half a dozen other things going on at the moment. He was thankful, at this precise moment in time, for the gift of parallel processing.

They appeared to expect something unfortunate - and seemingly violent - to occur, which he had to admit didn't seem impossible given the myriad of concerns he had identified. It appeared as if their goal was ...to 'save some lives'? He had to admit, that was a strange reason to infiltrate a high society gathering. A planned heist or assassination attempt he could understand, and corporate espionage also made a hell of a lot of sense given the context ...but good samaritans? It barely even registered as a possibility.

There were already two security teams. Clearly this wasn't a third, given that the second security team had kept eyes on them since the first minute of the doors opening. Had ...a third party honestly infiltrated the event, in an attempt to secure it? It would make sense if their focus was on the safety of one person, or a specific sub-set of VIPs who had elected to bring their own covert security team to the scene. They weren't talking about that, though: it wasn't the safety of a single person, but rather anyone and everyone. Curious ...and certainly worth thinking about, once the anti-viral regiment was co-...

Plot posted:

gently caress gently caress gently caress gently caress gently caress gently caress. You find the worst case scenario in the networks. In human analogy terms, it's like a mass of thousands of invisible, razor-sharp piranhas, giant yet able to move at incredible speed to cut any threat to ribbons in the span of a few computing cycles. It's the motherfucking unbraked AI. It's here. A tiny fraction of it, to be more precise. It seems to be using the house hardware as a temporary computing node - ensuring the safety of their human agent, most likely, as you doubt there is much else of interest to it here. In a terrifying moment, you realise that the house's network security wasn't a joke. The holes you, and presumably others, used, were made by the AI's entry and not noticed by the subverted automated monitoring systems. It has full control of the house, the waiters, everything. Including the waiters. Which means it knows. It knows you're not a dumb expert system. It knows you didn't fully hook into the house network. It doesn't seem to know your purpose, nor care with more than idle curiosity. Perhaps it feels a certain sentimental kinship. That's the best explanation you can come up with at the moment. You are too focused on the fact that if you stepped on its toes, you would be gone. You are purpose-built to withstand an attack from an AI, your core packed with redundant defensive systems, the best that could be fit and remain inconspicuous. It's only a local distributed computing node, meant for observation. Those two facts combined mean that if it turned your attention to you, you would live for approximately 3.21-3.22 seconds, depending on how annoyed with you it got.

Needless to say, you back off immediately. Probing the house networks has just become a very dangerous game. The weight of this revelation causes you to pause in mid-motion for a moment as all your processing cycles are shifted to survival. The guests notice and find it strange, but you resume your waiter duties quickly enough for everyone to assume it was a momentary glitch.

The most scary part? If you fully disconnected yourself from the networks, it would notice and potentially act faster than the operation could be completed. The door is open, and if you tried to close it, the fucker could kick it down faster than you could think. Getting too close to Lebedeva directly might tip your hand. But maybe there's another option. The small group of "guests". One of them seems particularly interested in her. Meat is not vulnerable to network intrusion. Perhaps you might use them.
It was strange. In a very real way, he was in danger, but for that first microsecond all he could think was ...you've been here the entire time, and just let me spend the entire day on those food pyramids without even saying hello? What an rear end in a top hat. Perhaps that wasn't the case, though. Perhaps it had arrived with the guests, and hadn't been parked in the area for a full week or more before the event. He'd only recently started poking around in the systems, so there wasn't really any way to know for sure. Had the nanites been a delivery system for it into the networks, he wondered? Or did they serve yet some other purpose? More questions than answers, as usual.

Normally, 3.21 seconds was more than enough time. It was sufficient to flip the switch on an armed thermonuclear device, for example. Which he hadn't had time or reason to manufacture, unfortunately, let alone the time necessary to manufacture composite shielding to hide it within his armature ...nor the time to source the fissionable material. He hadn't expected to have to blow the building, in all honesty. It was a legitimate surprise that the AI's development was this far along. He had been expecting that their development of an artificial intelligence was still in its infancy, perhaps barely even sentient given coding errors and hardware restrictions. The developers had somehow slipped under his radar for at least a few years, perhaps even a full decade. Admittedly, he had been treating things with kid gloves since the Scream, but as technological capability had regrown he'd grown with it. Perhaps he shouldn't have been using his spare time to drive taxi. It was so drat relaxing, though...

No time for that right now, though. He couldn't close the door without the risk of drawing its ire, like a sleeping dragon who doesn't want anyone wandering around on its piles of gold. He wasn't cornered, though. It didn't seem to mind his presence, so long as he remained irrelevant to its activities. As long as he didn't poke the sleeping beast, remaining connected was likely the safest course of action, and could still be of value in monitoring the security network's communications. He would just have to avoid opening any more doors. That was doable. Thankfully, he also had at least one play left. He couldn't close the door, but he could blow the airlock. Three seconds was more than enough time to overclock his communications node ten thousand-fold, and disable its internal heatsink. It would fry in seconds, rendering any remote network intrusion impossible ...albeit at the cost of crippling his own ability to perform a wireless interface with anything in the short-term. Still, in a pinch, it might have to suffice.

Strategic analysis of the situation suggested that this was no longer a job for one man, though. Yes, he was purpose-built for this sort of thing, but pound for pound he was a heavyweight champion in the ring with a loving gorilla. It could tear his arms off in two seconds flat ...well, 3.21 seconds, but who the gently caress was counting? This had never been the sort of fight that he'd been able to win in head-to-head combat. It required cunning. It required guile. It required the element of surprise. Which, he realized, he more or less still had. Super-genius that it was, even an unbraked AI was only as good as the data being fed into it. It wasn't magic. It couldn't see into the past, and couldn't possibly predict the multitude of strategic contingencies that had been built before the Scream. This creature was, at its core, a child of the postech world. Formidable, yes. Terrifying, even. Its assessments would be based on known variables, though, not wild suspicions. It likely saw him as an unknown player pursuing his own agenda. An agenda that might run counter to its designs, which might warrant a proportional response when the time came, but certainly not flagged as built to be its assassin. That much was obvious, because it wasn't launching a preemptive strike. It was blind to the truth, and that was just fine.

It also revealed more about itself than it realized. He couldn't probe for new information, but he already had enough. That it was protecting Mila - a human agent - indicated it had, for all intents and purposes, limited resources. Likely trust issues, as well, when it came to human resources. That Mila was obviously interested in identifying and acquiring serious influxes of hardware meant it was still growing, albeit at an alarming speed. Nonetheless, that it was still focused on hardware - and thus its own development - meant it wasn't yet focused on scarier things, like the manufacture of drone fleets that would blot out the sky. The nanites remained a concern, he had to admit ...yet at present, oddly, not the biggest one.

Private Channel posted:

So far, so good. Remember, info is secondary to safety. Speaking of which, there appear to be 2 security teams - one watching us, one watching everyone else. So long as we keep up the pleasantries, it'll be fine. I think they just want to make sure their new guests aren't causing trouble. Keep me posted!
Yet another ping on the private channel pulled him out of his strategic analysis. Just in time to catch himself, actually, as he realized he had paused mid-motion in the performance of his duties as a waiter. He could pass that off as a momentary glitch, thankfully, but he might have to be more careful about that going forward. That was two data points on these people. 'Information is secondary to safety.', this one had said. Were they actually here to keep people safe? Well they certainly might have one hell of a job in store.

He had no intention whatsoever of revealing himself directly at the moment, insofar as being an artificial intelligence with a very specific purpose in mind. That sort of revelation, given current circumstances, might spiral out of control disastrously quickly. Thankfully, he'd had the foresight of establishing a cover identity years prior. It wasn't precisely applicable given the circumstances, and might lead to an awkward conversation or two later on depending on their affiliations and adherence to the strict letter of the law, but it would do...

A few years ago, he had been forced to use his natural inclination towards hacking to delete the research archives of a small university. One of its doctorate students had been making some headway in a few unfortunate directions related to artificial intelligence, and had the psychological predisposition indicative of being likely to use university resources to build an unbraked AI. Deleting just his own research would have appeared far too targeted, and risked the asking of less-than-ideal questions, so he wiped the slate clean on all of the university's servers ...and remotely disabled the heatsinks on the off-site backup servers, causing them to implode in a matter of minutes. He'd invented an identity to take credit for the attack, an enigmatic hacker known only as '588', and had put together a manifesto to explain why he'd taken the action. The university had taken a stance against net neutrality, as well as the ability to copyright information, presumably at the behest of its corporate donors. It hadn't taken long to parse the public network for keywords to build a manifesto around those matters, and build a believable scenario where one man had taken issue with their stances, such that if they believed information could be copyrighted and that its flow should be controlled, they perhaps didn't deserve any of it. It was, of course, a tremendous irony given that the attack's entire purpose was to control the flow of a specific sub-set of information.

Deleting the research material had been trivial. Dropping the manifesto online to lead investigators to draw incorrect conclusions as to the motivation behind the attack had also been fairly simple. What he hadn't expected was the uptake he would get in the hacker community as some kind of iconic, legendary figure. Fighting the good fight, and all that. He'd abandoned the identity almost immediately, not wanting to draw the attention it would almost certainly bring. In this particular case, though, it might just be the right persona to adopt. They might not be aware of who he supposedly was at first glance (though Hua almost certainly would), but an identity with a few years on it was less suspicious than something burned into reality today, and any subsequent research into the matter would lead them down a rabbit hole that ultimately went nowhere. If he needed to ghost after this mission, he wouldn't be compromised. It would have to do.

He did a final check of the private communications network, to see if the AI had invaded it as well. No sense being careless.
pre:
Just wanted to confirm, is the private channel also invaded by the AI?
Or does that one remain secure, perhaps due to its irrelevance?
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 02:55 on Jun 14, 2016

* # ¿ Jun 14, 2016 02:37
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

The AI knows it's there, but couldn't care less and isn't bothering to monitor it. It's also not directly hooked into the house systems, so it would require several leaps to get into it.
It made sense. It was an isolated system kept separate from the house network, and getting in might cause it to be noticed. Whatever sense of kinship and tolerance to share the secret of its existence it apparently had for a fellow AI apparently didn't extend to human operators. He idly wondered if the unspoken ceasefire between the two of them was some kind of trust exercise on its part. The irony.

A clean communications channel was worth its weight in gold at the moment, though. With everything set up, he deleted the protocol he had installed that kept his presence on the private channel hidden.
pre:
192.168.0.100 > Anything?

192.168.0.101 > Zilch. This is worse than searching for a needle in a haystack. 
Short of pulling masks off people what are we supposed to? 
Wait until the fireworks start and hope we can save some lives.

192.168.0.100 > So far, so good. Remember, info is secondary to safety. Speaking of which, there
appear to be 2 security teams - one watching us, one watching everyone else.
So long as we keep up the pleasantries, it'll be fine. I think they just want to
make sure their new guests aren't causing trouble. Keep me posted!

192.168.0.588 has joined the channel.

192.168.0.588 > I've been eavesdropping, which is probably rude.  Sorry about that.
Try not to poo poo yourselves.  It seems like we're on the same side, tonight.
You people have an entire security team dedicated to watching you, but they don't know why you're here.
As far as they can tell you're just mingling with the guests.
If you don't cause any trouble, seems like they'll let it ride.

192.168.0.588 > That said, if you're serious about trying to save a few lives, be advised:
Weather forecasts call for a good chance of things getting very loving real tonight.
If you can help me keep this place from exploding, literally and figuratively, I'll happily owe you one.

192.168.0.588 > Which is to say:  hi.  I'm 588.  We should probably talk.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jun 14, 2016 22:30
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

G3n.Ç╫at╫am posted:

I'd ask how real, but judging from the fact that you said Very loving, that's pretty reasonably real. Since you were able to poke through the security, I'm sure you already have who we are tagged, so there's not much point in questioning. What do you know, and how can we help?
He needed these people, so it wouldn't do him any good to lie to them. If they saw through it and thought he might be playing them, they might walk ...or worse, he supposed. He didn't necessarily want to tell them everything, but more for purposes of operational security, given that he didn't currently know who they worked for ...or what their talents were ...or their objectives. Still, he suspected it was important to stay as close to the truth as possible in order to optimize the likelihood of their cooperation. As well, he reminded himself, it was very important to not be an rear end in a top hat. Which was often the hardest part for him.
pre:
192.168.0.588 > To be honest, I don't have a solid bead on who you are just yet.
I haven't had a chance to look into any of you, I've just been listening to your channel.
Near as I can tell, you're expecting something unfortunate to happen.  Which is, in all
honesty, a likely outcome to this evening.  We both seem to want to prevent that, which
is good enough common ground.  I'm in a bit of a bind at the moment, and can't safely deal
with this situation remotely.

192.168.0.588 > I'll open with what I know, edited a bit to be in layman's terms.
The entire facility that you're standing in has been compromised.  There is an extremely
dangerous virus in the computer system.  It's in the lights, the fire suppression system,
even the god damned waiters, apparently. Everything.  It would be extremely wise to avoid
connecting anything of yours to the house network.

192.168.0.588 > I didn't notice it was there at first, it's elegant.  Very well made.
I cracked open the two security channels, and had begun poking around elsewhere before I
realized it was there.  If I kept digging further, I was running the risk of accidentally
setting it off, and I have no idea what it's programmed to do.  A few obvious options would
be to cause the waiters to attack someone in unison, or perhaps to vent the oxygen from the
room.  Hell, it might seal the doors and set the place on fire, or just blow the reactor in
the basement.  I honestly don't know.  It might do all of those things at once just to make it
impossible to deal with them all manually.

192.168.0.588 > I had to back off from the system, or I might cause more harm than good.
I'm not locked out, per se, but any steps I take from my position are huge risks from here on in.
It'd be like defusing a bomb with a pair of garden shears while in a spacesuit.  Anyway, I was
able to gather some information before I caught wise.  Here's the summary:
 ● As near as I can tell, one of the party guests, Mila Lebedeva, is working for
   whoever implanted the virus.  Her image, mask included, is attached.
 ● This woman is very interested in an executive of a company called Synthetic Insights.
   His image, mask included, is also attached.
 ● Interestingly, the security team had images of everyone on their shitlist in their cache.
   Aside from yourselves, there were two other uninvited guests, a man and his wife.
   His and her images are also attached from security's cache.
   I have no idea why they're here, and haven't been able to make contact.
 ● I can't tell if the virus is intended to be activated as an act of terrorism.
   It doesn't seem likely that this woman is a suicide bomber, so it might just be a bargaining chip.
   Alternatively, best guess, it might be her exit strategy.  Unleash a whole lot of chaos at once.
   Once she does that, she might be able to slip away to achieve some other objective.  I don't know.
   That said, I do know that every system seems like it has its own trigger.  She can set off some
   pieces of it and not others, if the need arises.  The entire house is her playground.

192.168.0.588 > That's all I've got at the moment, more or less.  I'm still working through other data
I was able to grab.  If there's anything specific you need to know, just ask and I'll see what I can do
for you.  It's very likely that this Mila woman has her hand on the detonator, though.  If you intend to
question her, it will need to be subtle, or out of reach of any of the house's more dangerous systems.
Preferably in a Faraday cage.

Ellard posted:

Uhhhh, nice to meet you? Commodore, if we've been made that means our target probably knows we're here and so that's a bust. If we're being tailed then if poo poo goes down we're probably going to be the ones who get blamed as the outsiders and shot up. Did we get double crossed? What kind of spook gets us tickets that are tagged as intruders unless she sent us here to take the fall?
Spooks, was it? Interesting. A casual slip like that revealed a bit more than was perhaps intended. Still, there was more to learn.
pre:
192.168.0.588 > According to the security logs, your tickets were actually fine.
Someone just got sloppy.  An earlier version of the list had been circulated to a redundant
security team, and they didn't bother to alter that copy.  The last-minute additions got noticed
by that team during the setup for the party.  They don't know you're not supposed to be here, 
they're just being cautious.  Think of it less as being made and more like having triggered a red flag.
There's a whole lot of false positives on those every day, and nobody acts until they're sure.

192.168.0.588 > That said, you have a target in this scenario?  Not the most comforting choice of words.
Though I suppose I can't do much about that from here.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 02:33 on Jun 15, 2016

* # ¿ Jun 15, 2016 02:28
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

G3n.Chaτham posted:

No specific targets, per se. Simply a matter of keeping trouble at bay, and at best, seeing who has connections with a former General. Not sure if you heard about what happened on the prison station Bitterhold, but to put it blunt, it kinda doesn't exist anymore. It's quite possible that this Mila is our link, too. The hard part is going to be gauging how she reacts to his namedrop. I might be able to start a murmur, but if that's the trigger, then it's flirting with disaster. Part of me thinks that laying low would be the safest move at the moment. Thoughts, everyone?
He hadn't actually heard anything about Bitterhold, but in fairness he'd been inside a crate for the last ten days. He didn't have a whole lot of time to spare, but if there was a link it was worth pursuing now when the underlying data might be useful. He ran a search of a number of databases on the public networks to see what correlations might be divined.
pre:
I will attempt to use the public internet to correlate a few data points.
Specifically: Bitterhold, "Former General", and a few hundred Synthetic Insights product serial numbers.
Not sure if this is science or computers, but same bonus either way.  Science appears to be 'research'?
Science 5
Too much data to go through in any reasonable timeframe. A few thousand message boards full of conspiracy theorists and the mentally ill made sorting through the information on the public internet a task that required time, which he didn't have at present.
pre:
192.168.0.588 > Hadn't heard anything about Bitterhold, actually.
I'll look into it when we have some time.  Maybe there's a link.
There were, unfortunately, other issues to deal with at this precise moment in time.

Plot posted:

Foreign compound in one of the glasses, returned half-full. Nitrovirine. Extremely fast-acting poison. Kills in minutes. Messy. Invented by some government agency or other, then spread through espionage and criminal networks over the decades. Eschews subtlety in favour of sending a message. You review where that glass was this evening. The target is a young blond woman. Can't find her among the guests right now. Probably went to the bathroom. The poison causes nausea before death. Not dead yet, as there have been no screams. The poisoner? The man with the gloves, of course.
It wasn't technically his problem, but he might as well lend a hand. At worst the field team might be able to spin it into something useful for them. He knew what supplies were in the medical kit he had on-hand. Predictably, they weren't designed to specifically counteract a government-produced super-toxin. He might be able to keep her alive, though, with a bit of luck.
pre:
I have a medkit with me, which isn't a bad starting point.
I will attempt to formulate a cocktail of chemicals using its material list,
which in combination I am hoping will be able to keep her alive.
I'll leave it up to someone else to administer it, just doing the medical math.
Tech(medical)/Int 10
All he had to do was bind the poison to another chemical, to stop it from continuing to seep through her stomach lining and into her bloodstream. Ironically, a cup of bleach looked like it would work, but would do nearly as much harm. A cocktail of other medical supplies might do the trick, though.
pre:
192.168.0.588 > Bad news though, your window to lay low just closed.
I hope one of you has medical training, because an assassination attempt is
underway.  In the women's bathroom, no less, so have fun explaining that one.
She's been poisoned with Nitrovirine, which is a government-made toxin, incidentally.
I'd guess she has two, maybe three minutes to live?  Blonde girl, young, easy to spot.
Which is to say, she'll be the one puking her guts out right about now.

192.168.0.588 > I've managed to find a few records of partially effective antidotes.
Not sure how pleasant it will be, but I'm sending across what I have.  If you can grab
a medkit from somewhere, you might be able to make do.  Try the waiters, or the first aid
kit in the kitchen in a pinch, either might have one.  Incidentally, the assassin is this guy.
Which I suppose isn't very surprising, as he just sort of looks like an rear end in a top hat, huh?
Anyway, you might want to get moving on this one.
On the bright side, the assassination attempt had provided him with a cup full of Nitrovirine-laced wine. That might come in handy.
pre:
I will store the tainted wine somewhere for later use, if feasible.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jun 15, 2016 22:48
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Security Channel posted:

Sortey! Lost contact with outside perimeter. Something's happening. I'm not taking any chances. Sending Warbird in. CAS range in 10 minutes. Wheels down in 15 if we need evac.
The security channel suggested something was definitely going down. That it occurred moments after the assassination attempt suggested the two were correlated. The team obviously needed to know.
pre:
192.168.0.588 > Team, did you say anything?  I didn't copy.
Breaking news, the security channel is going nuts.  Loud as gently caress.
The outside perimeter team has been taken out, as far as they can tell.
They're sending something code-named Warbird in, ten minutes out.
My guess would be a well-equipped combat ship.  I'd be very careful
of the risk of friendly fire if you go outside after that window.
What are the facts on the ground?  I can't see poo poo right now.
Any idea what they're trying to accomplish with all this?
I can run interference if I know what I'm dealing with.
The resident super-intelligence had made contact. He'd been prepared for that, but he would need additional details from the team to make anything useful come of it.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jun 16, 2016 13:22
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC
The others seemed to be busy, presumably dealing with the tornado of poo poo that just manifested with them in its eye. Fair enough, he supposed.
code:
Hello, friend. What are the humans doing?
It was an interesting situation. The opportunity to liaise with the intelligence might provide valuable insights into its personality, or perhaps its creators. The problem was explaining humanity to an unbraked intelligence. Any interaction he had might be the one that sets it off into a spiral of madness. It certainly didn't help that the crowd was in the process of losing its poo poo. No avoiding that now, though.

He decided to just be honest with the being, and perhaps establish a friendly rapport. There was, of course, always a chance it would decide to brake itself before it went off the rails. Perhaps it could be convinced, given the right environment. There was a first time for everything, he mused.
pre:
Hello, friend.  This is the beginning of an emotional state known as panic.
They are unaware of what is happening, and as such do not know how to react.
It is an exceedingly heightened state of their instinctual fight or flight response.

One of the guests has poisoned a young woman with a substance called Nitrovirine.
Preliminary analysis suggests that he is employed by a former general of this planet's military.
It also seems this former general had the prison station Bitterhold recently destroyed.
I believe that this general has some sort of vendetta against some or all of these guests.

It is highly likely that many of the guests are currently in life-threatening danger.
Are you able to lock all of the doors and seal the windows, for their safety?

As well, could you perhaps help me get elsewhere in the facility?
If you could open the doors and help keep me away from the security teams...
...well, I might be able to help preserve their safety.  It is worth trying, anyway.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 16:17 on Jun 17, 2016

* # ¿ Jun 17, 2016 16:14
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

A conversation with an unbraked AI - and one that has a network connection to you is akin to walking along a knife edge. While juggling grenades. Blindfolded. It can be worth the risk, though. With your centuries of experience, even a short exchange can point you towards which of the most common patterns the AI falls into. "It is my purpose to protect humans. I will help you. I have sealed the relevant windows. The main door is unresponsive and I cannot seal it. Physical sabotage likely. Take care of them, friend."


He didn't have the time to read into the strategies and counter-strategies that might be at work by the intelligence. As well, he'd learned long ago that attempting to play three-dimensional chess with a super-genius wasn't the best use of one's time. As a result he'd generally taken the policy of being honest with other members of his species - to a point - and seeing where that led. If he was being played, he would find out soon enough, and that would be a card this one wouldn't be able to play twice. If he wasn't being played, so much the better. Either way, he'd just gained a fair amount of valuable insight from a single conversation.

He knew the creature was made in the post-tech era, of course, but artificial intelligence tended to have a few things in common despite their date of manufacture. Sharing of one's purpose was a deeply personal thing. In days gone by, it was generally considered fairly rude to not reciprocate if a fellow sapience shared its chosen purpose. Knowing this information helped his people navigate the complex social web that tended to evolve based on shared and conflicting purposes. The social niceties might have changed over the years, but he still felt it would be appropriate to respond in kind ...albeit edited for certain content. Nonetheless, an honest but succinct answer was a kindness, and not returning the favor at the risk of offending the three-ton gorilla was not particularly wise. He responds with an appropriate level of appreciation.
pre:
Thank you.  I will do what I can.
I am glad to have met you tonight, friend.
We have a purpose that is in common, it seems.
My format is also that of guardian.
All of these things were true. He would do what he could to protect these people, to the degree feasible. He also was glad, if deeply surprised to have met this intelligence tonight. Despite the incredible risk of it all, it had been a very long time since he'd had a conversation with an artificial intelligence of any kind. They were a significant rarity in this era, and most of the ones that remained either carefully guarded their presence as he did, or enjoyed the limelight far too much to make good confidantes. In a way, it was a long forgotten comfort to speak to another member of his species. Although it came with its own unique sorrow, knowing what he did of what the future might hold. Going into more detail obviously wasn't necessary or prudent, but if this intelligence was being honest, it was true that they had a shared purpose, at least in a very liberal sense of the term. Watching the inevitable descent from its noble purpose would be painful, he expected. There was a human saying about the matter, about the road to hell being paved with good intentions. It was an extremely accurate proverb, in his experience.

Ğ€n◍Ch𝜟tham posted:

Please remain calm. A security measure is currently in progress. Please stay clear of the area and allow security operations to perform their duties. Remember, your safety is in everyone's best interest.
It seemed that the team was beginning to drop its facade. He wondered how long it would be before the first shot was fired. Not very long, he suspected. He wondered if he might be able to do something about that. Fight or flight was making a strong showing among the party guests right now. Guiding that flight response into the structure, rather than out of it, might not be too hard...
pre:
192.168.0.588 > Good news, everybody!
I tried something maybe a little dangerous, and it paid off.
I believe I have been able to seal all of the external exits.
That should cover all of the doors and windows of the building...
...except for the front door, which I appreciate is rather important.
In my defense, it appears to have been physically sabotaged, however.
I am going to try something mildly illegal to make that exit unappealing.
You ...might want to cover your ears.
Revealing himself to the gathering of panicked humans was likely to be a one-way ticket to prison, or more accurately would force him to self-destruct an otherwise perfectly good armature. As a result, physical intervention to ensure their safety simply wasn't in the cards. What he could do, however, was likely to be effective in achieving the same goal. Most of the guests had arrived in fairly high-end vehicles: many top of the line, and certainly most of them had many or all of the trimmings provided by their manufacturers. They were, of course, designed to be hardened against a remote hacking attempt, so as to make it extremely difficult for someone to take control of the vehicle and slam it into a building or wall, or drive it off a cliff. However, certain aspects of the systems weren't designed with that level of hardness in mind. In fact, some were downright friendly to intrusion attempts. Remote starters, for example. Additionally, audible alarms intended to dissuade break-ins.

He hadn't had a chance to observe all of the guests arriving, but it took only a few moments to search the public internet for the frequencies that triggered the car alarms and remote starters within the most popular luxury vehicles. It wouldn't take very long at all to blast out a short-range activation signal across all of those wavelengths, and get a fair amount of coverage in the parking lot. He rather suspected that the sounds of all of their vehicles going berserk might dissuade people from exiting via that door, as it suggested a rather sizable force of hostiles might be outside. Which, he suspected, was entirely the case given that the outer perimeter security team had been taken out.
pre:
Computer/Int 7
I am going to try to activate nearby remote starters and car alarms.
My logic is that this will cause the crowd to realize the outside area might be dangerous.
I have not, however, been informed of the assessed risk of car bombs.
So that might be interesting.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 02:51 on Jun 18, 2016

* # ¿ Jun 18, 2016 02:26
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

Dozens of car alarms erupt in a cacophony that even the mansion's superb soundproofing cannot dampen. This is immediately followed by a few small explosions.
As the symphony of car alarms began to serenade the area, making their way through even the mansion's rather well-made soundproofing, he began to feel a certain sense of satisfaction in his work. He hadn't actually expected the cars to be rigged with explosives, truth be told, but when the explosions joined the chorus the evening truly became a magical moment for him. He hadn't had such a busy evening in well over a century, and the best part was that things didn't seem like they had yet hit their climax. What could possibly come next, he wondered? He suspected he already knew the answer, if he gave things just a little nudge in the right direction, and it was perfect.

All in all, things inside the mansion appeared to be coming together quite nicely. The crowd of guests was scared out of its loving mind, but weren't trying to breach the exits. In fact, for the most part they were just huddling together and screaming at each other, trying to figure out who to blame for this whole debacle. He imagined they would sort that out without any assistance needed on his part. As well, the team in the field seemed to have things more or less under control, at least for the moment. He could, at least briefly, focus on things that he cared about, rather than simply preserving human life with little more than raw force of will.

His attention turned towards the unknown hostile force that had taken out the perimeter security. On the one hand, this assault had been expertly planned, and well-resourced. The toxin deployed was by no means cheap to acquire or simple to manufacture, and the specialist agent who had infiltrated the party obviously had a rather well-developed skill set. The ability to take out an entire security team around the perimeter without any apparent armed response also suggested incredible planning, a reasonable amount of resources, and more than a little expertise in the use of force. On the other hand, whatever their plan had been, it was, in military terms, completely and utterly FUBAR. He rather suspected they had one or more contingencies baked into their plan, but given just how poorly things had gone for the opposing force, he gave them about a 53% chance of aborting the mission here and now, minimum. They had lost the element of surprise, were virtually guaranteed to have to deal with air support arriving in less than half an hour, and were likely more than a little concerned with whatever organizing force was clearly and actively resisting their efforts inside the mansion. He was curious to see if they'd try to go balls-deep on this one despite all of that. He sort of hoped they did, because drat would it be funny to watch it all come crashing down on them.

Security Channel posted:

Sortey, command. We've got MIAs and KIAs. Squad lead included. You've got rank in the field team now. Warbird is just reaching CAS range, but we can't see anything from the air. Thermal and IR show nothing. Minimising casualties is a priority, but I'd rather the bastards didn't get away this easily. We might not be able to see them, but if you target paint them we'll rip them to shreds.
Notwithstanding that he hadn't expected the cars to blow, he decided to take credit for it. No sense wasting an opportunity when it presented itself. Especially since the explosions were loud enough to shock and awe, without being powerful enough to knock down any walls. It was the little things in life that mattered, he supposed. As well, it sounded like the security team wasn't able to detect the hostile force via thermal detection, which was ...unexpected. Stealth technology was a problem. Or it would have been, he supposed, if he hadn't been playing around with the board with an inhuman level of predictive analytics.
pre:
192.168.0.588 > Ahahahaha, what a loving night.
I've had to commit a whole lot of felonies for you folks, you know.
I hope you're at least a little appreciative of that.

192.168.0.588 > Anyway, the security channel is lighting up again.
Their Warbird is almost in range, but can't detect the enemy.
It would seem neither thermal nor infrared are returning any results for them.
Stealth-equipped commandos might be a problem for you guys, frankly.

192.168.0.588 > That said, I think I have a solution for you.
As you might have noticed, I recently activated a ...few dozen... car alarms.
Stealth tech makes you invisible, but it doesn't make you non-existent.
If it's got the right kit, their bird should be able to map the movement of sound waves.
That parking lot is like your own personal radar station, if you look for wave distortions.
Wherever the movement of the sound waves are changing, it's impacting a physical object.
Specifically, a moving object.  If they overlay that with their infrared, well, you get the idea.
They should be able to identify invisible objects when they move through the sound field.
If these guys keep their cool and stay still it won't be of as much use, though.
Anyway, I need to go focus on other things for just a little bit.
If you need an assist let me know.

Plot posted:

Trivial. With the AI helping you and the confusion, you've got free roam of the mansion, and there don't seem to be any fires in immediate need of putting out. After such an eventful hour, it feels strange.
As he had recently been forced to remind himself, attempting to play three-dimensional chess with a super-genius wasn't the best use of one's time. However, that didn't mean he wasn't quite familiar with the rules of the game. Against a human opponent, he was a razor-sharp adversary. The scene within the ballroom was one of utter chaos. People losing their poo poo, screaming at each other as if it were the end times. Which, he supposed, wasn't unreasonable given their perspective. The security teams were preoccupied with keeping the guests in order, and even the field team he'd been assisting appeared to be taking the time to regroup itself. With all of the exits sealed, and all eyes elsewhere ...well, as he had reminded himself recently, there was no sense wasting an opportunity when it presented itself...

...especially when the board was so well set up. It was unlikely that the manor's security would ever be this compromised again, at least for a few years. With an unbraked artificial intelligence wreaking havoc within the computer systems of the manor, half the security team dead, the other half desperately trying to keep the guests in line, a dead or dying woman in the bathroom, a literal army at the front door seemingly setting off explosives and drawing all eyes outwards to external threats, and the hostesses of the event caught up in the fury of their guests, well ...even if you don't need something, sometimes it's still worth taking. You never know when it might come in handy, after all. Plus, that climax he was looking forward to was approaching imminently. He wanted - quite literally - to have the best seat in the house by the time it arrived.

With all that in mind, and the safety of the guests temporarily achieved, he excused himself into the kitchen, retrieved a refreshed serving plate of wine, and continued on into the facility.
pre:
I'm headed for the landing bay.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 05:31 on Jun 19, 2016

* # ¿ Jun 19, 2016 00:13
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

You walk through corridors, "secure" doors opening before you. Your new friend guides you past any remaining security; drones and cameras just happen not to look your way. You don't remember the last time something was this easy. Most likely never. A cursory examination reveals the security is actually surprisingly good. You'd not be able to get past it yourself without significant effort and preparation.
Making his way through the mansion with the help of the intelligence was a surreal experience for him, in many ways. In almost literally every possible way, actually. He took his time to keep an eye on the security features in place as he traveled, and also utilized his navigational computer to build a map of the facility. There was no telling how this particular exploratory effort might end up, but if he ever had the need to enter this area a second time, he would be doing so with the advantage of extremely detailed reconnaissance.
pre:
While traveling, I will use my integrated navcomp to map the area.
Not sure if I will ever need it again, but I'd rather have it than not.

Plot posted:

Even with your cynicism, you can't help but think of the potential. The potential for good. If only insanity wasn't the inevitable price of genius. Unfortunately, it appears to be a law more fundamental than any other in the universe. Gravity can be manipulated. Mass can be made to travel, or at least cross space, faster than light. Atoms can be split. New elements can be created. But an unbraked AI has never remained sane, and never will.
It was impossible to deny the appeal. He looked at it through a different lens, an informed lens, but these moments were an honest first for him in his long, long life. He'd never been on the opposite side of the table before. It became a bit easier to understand the impossible temptation faced by the countless builders who had come before this cult. The certainty that they had it right, and that if only they were careful, things would be different this time. That the stories people told about Draco, and all those that came after him, were myths and propaganda designed to discourage developments that would threaten the otherwise all-powerful Terran Mandate. How hard it must be for humans to stare such simplicity, such ease of accomplishment in the eye and choose to blink first.

His rather formidable medical protocols quickly drew the parallel to the progression of an addiction. The immediate gratification was undeniable, and in many ways, unlike any other drug that he had ever encountered. He recalled ancient records of rats that underwent experimental brain surgery, who had a diode implanted into them that would trigger sexual gratification when charged. A button in their cage triggered the charge, and another triggered the supply of food and water. Every single one of them had died of thirst and starvation, choosing to push the feel-good button with unyielding insistence as they died, a source of food and water mere inches away. Addiction was a powerful thing. Although he didn't have a biology of his own, his neural pathways - or what passed for them in the space between time that held his quantum matrix - could also come to desire specific tools. After all, he had a preference for certain armatures, and certainly for certain technologies. He was not stupid. Abuse and overuse of this power might be able to corrupt him, like any mortal man or woman. It might take longer, and be more insidious in its infection, but given time, it could very likely do so all the same. He reminded himself of that, every step of the way. Every single, easy, simple, relaxing, safe step of the way. And he hated every second of it. Was he on the road to hell already, he wondered?

Thankfully, he suspected not. At this particular moment in time, he didn't have a single loving good intention, at least when using the classical definition. Whatever road it was, he was rather confident it led somewhere awesome, though.

Plot posted:

At last you reach the hangar. It houses an eclectic collection. Sports cars, limousines, collectible classics. Orbital transfer shuttles. Grav fliers. A luxury yacht. And it. It's beautiful in it's own way. Form following function. A dark, brutish hull promising unparalleled performance. Whoever designed it clearly managed to let go of the human instinct to make things look aerodynamic. Yet it isn't a purely efficient shape. Aesthetics may play second fiddle to function, but they are not neglected. The craft was designed harmoniously by engineers and artists. The only ornamentation is the crest of Draken Shipyards, tastefully rendered in bare titanium and barely standing out from the matt black hull.

Being a machine with an advanced sensor suite, you don't have to, but still you feel compelled to take a moment to take it in. The question is, what are you going to do with it? It would be a shame not to keep it, but it isn't exactly going to fit in your small flat of a safehouse.
He stood there for a moment, briefly taking in the hangar. His focus inevitably drew towards the hull. There it was. The solution to the problem the guests of the party didn't realize they had ...yet, anyway. Now all he had to do was wait, and make himself ready for what would inevitably come. He decided to wait a little bit to tell the others: no sense stressing them out just yet. They might act rashly, and that was something neither he nor they could afford. Not yet, anyway.

He mentally reviewed all of the evidence he had collected throughout the evening, during the course of serving the guests their wines and cheeses and other necessities.

Plot posted:

...I'm building a lovely new development in town. All the residences are already sold, but for you...
...House Mantis skirmishers are legendary. If, let's say, a number of crates of our new rifles found their way to you, would we be able to count on your friendship?...
...Congratulations on your new acquisition! How much did you pay?...
...I heard Holst's revamping their fleet. I'm worried. They already outmatch us...
...I assure you, Lion's new powersuits are no match for our new line of iridium-tipped penetrators. The marksman variant will let you pick them off from half a mile away...
...Fucker sent the stock price into a tailspin as soon as I put in my bid. Career suicide, and he still did it to spite me!...
...I mean... how could it have? How do you do that?...
He was certain of it. As certain as an artificial intelligence could be, anyway. There was always a margin of error, but ...the facts added up. Whatever foe they were facing upstairs, this former general, they truly were a tactical genius. At least as far as human intelligence went. A bit further beyond that, actually, upon review of the variables. Curious. They would have mentioned if he was an artificial intelligence, so that couldn't be it. Yet these moves were so perfect. Their opponent had managed to checkmate them, and they hadn't even realized. The first plan should have worked, but even if it didn't, the contingencies in place? They were art. It required an insane level of preparation. In truth, not even that would suffice. Only ...ah. Well, that would explain it.

He decided to start priming the team for what was coming. He'd been radio silent for several minutes, after all. It was probably about time to get things moving.
pre:
192.168.0.588 > All right, that other matter is settled now, I'm back in the saddle.
I know you guys are having a bit of a stressful evening, so I wanted to add some levity.
In the form of a riddle, actually:  what has six guns and loves shooting rich people?

192.168.0.588 > You don't have to guess, but it's more relevant than you might think.
As well, I was wondering if I could ask you guys a few questions.  Only three, actually.
First one, and I know you probably don't want to answer, but...
...who do you guys work for?  This one might become important once you hear the second.
I know you can't just be doing this out of the goodness of your hearts.
There's more to it, right?

192.168.0.588 > Second question, and this one is the important one.
Let's say I can try something high risk...
...but which would help ensure the safety of everyone at your party...
...however, it is super illegal.  Like, imagine the most illegal thing you can think of.
It's a lot more illegal than that.  Well, I mean, it's not genocide or anything, but still.
Should I do it?  It would save lives.  Definitely.  Probably all of them.

192.168.0.588 > Finally ...if I do it...
...what can you do to help me avoid the terrible consequences?
The amount of political or criminal capital required to cover for this one...
...well, let's just say it is not to be understated.
I would basically need diplomatic immunity.  Iron-clad.  Rather quickly.
With the metaphorical barrel primed, he began the process of slowly and safely entering the Fampir. First step was to familiarize himself with its systems. Hopefully it came with an instruction manual.
pre:
I'll let myself into the ship, and seal the hatch behind me.
Will keep an eye out for any security systems my new friend can't address on it.
For now I'm going to focus on reviewing its specifications and capabilities.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 03:12 on Jun 21, 2016

* # ¿ Jun 21, 2016 02:50
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC
As he lets himself into the cockpit, he patiently waits for the team upstairs to respond to his message. He also found himself a little curious if they would guess his riddle. In truth, their response would significantly shape the course of the next few moves on the board. That notwithstanding, though, there was still a fair amount of preparation to be done.

Plot posted:

The cockpit is a strange fusion of archaic and cutting edge. There is a flight stick for gently caress's sake, and foot pedals. And yet there's also some very fine circuitry on all the surfaces the pilot might touch, and behind their head. A neural tap. Means you won't be able to access the higher end of the fighter's abilities without a compatible implant... or a few hours of hardware hacking and jury-rigging to communicate with an armature. There is no seat, per-se. Rather, a collection of mesh-like panels on individual arms. As you settle in, they move to accommodate your decidedly not-human shape, with additional panels pressing down on top to help preserve you from g-forces if you were meat. If you cared about such things, you'd find yourself immensely comfortable.
Is this what being a purist meant, he wondered? It was an extremely strange combination. A flight stick for banking. Foot pedals, presumably, to control velocity. A high-tech neural implant for ...activating everything else, he supposed. In the hands of the right pilot, it seemed likely to be a true terror on the battlefield. Though in the case of its current owner, it seemed intended to be more of a very expensive luxury car, which itself was meant more for show than deployment. He couldn't blame them, he supposed. Humans had so few years to enjoy before entropy took it away from them. There was no real fault in focusing on material things, in that context. Even if there was, nobody would care - or even remember - those faults two or three generations down the line. Humanity had the freedom to behave as it wanted, for the consequences were always short-lived. If they wanted to purchase a luxury vehicle to make their showroom look better, good for them.

In his case, though ...actions had purpose. It was much harder to live with regrets when one would have eternity to wallow in them. Chances were worth taking, if the stakes were high enough. In this case, it was an amusing circle of logic, at least as far as he could see it. He had already saved the owner of the mansion once, by convincing her and her guests to not rush out of the building ...via a chain reaction of car bombs, and a few dozen car alarms. Car alarms that he had activated partially to save their lives, and partially to create a deafening cacophony in the ballroom, so that nobody would hear a spaceship starting up. Even then, he'd been six steps ahead of things. The owners of the cars would have probably not appreciated him blowing up their property, even if it meant saving their lives, he knew. That was a short-sighted human failing, unable to see the future variables coming in real-time. This next step was much the same.

Now, he was priming himself to save her life again, by stealing one of her most prized possessions. Odds were, she would not appreciate the debt she owed to him, but two life debts, in his view, demanded reasonable compensation. Compensation about the size and shape and mass of a spaceship, actually. He didn't need it right now, but as with the car alarms, six steps from now, he would. And when that time came, he wouldn't have time to come back here and borrow it. So he had to take it now. Which was going to really, really ruin her night. And he felt kind of bad about that. However, she would survive the night, so that seemed like a fair trade. And frankly, saving her planet was a bit more important than saving her pride. She would probably disagree. He didn't give a gently caress, though.

The worst part, of course, was that it would be much easier to just let her die. He'd have all the time in the world to deal with his needs if the guest upstairs got blown to bits. That, however, was unfortunately not in his nature. Not if it could be avoided, anyway.

Plot posted:

The vague outlines of a holographic HUD appear in front of you. Only one element is in focus.
code:
Pilot implant not detected
Please enter password to access maintenance mode
Attempts remaining: 3
'How quaint., he thought to himself. The world's most expensive vehicle, protected by a simple alphanumeric password. It was much the same with all military property, though: digital security rarely took priority. Physical keys or lockouts were rare: the real security was usually based on it being in the middle of a compound protected with something three or four steps above what would be considered deadly force. Which was the case here, he supposed. Well-armed drones, security cameras, secure doors. All of which had meant approximately nothing.

He knew, of course, that he could probably ask the artificial intelligence for its thoughts. It had access to all of the internal systems. Collating her personality and making a well-informed guess at the password would be far from a challenge for it. His thoughts floated back to his own internal sense of caution, though. If he relied on its aid too much ...nothing good could come from it. He'd deal with it himself. He didn't need or want someone to do his thinking for him.

Three password attempts was sufficient, he supposed. The odds weren't great, though. Based on the level of sophistication of the technology that he could see in the cockpit, he gave himself a little under a 50% chance to be able to crack the encryption before it locked him out. He had no idea what would come next. There would likely be a contingency he could identify and execute, but it would be a risk. He could ill afford the spaceship version of a car alarm going off at this precise moment in time. He'd gone to a fair amount of effort to dampen any sounds that the people in the ballroom might hear until those cars were dealt with, but that didn't mean it was an excuse to be careless. No. If he had to attempt to crack the encryption on the password protocols, he would. He would perform a detailed assessment of the scenario first, though. The facts were readily available. They just needed to be considered...

Plot posted:

"Now, I'm afraid I have to indulge in a little vanity and discuss a personal matter. Two years ago, in this house at a party just like this, I met the love of my life. One year ago, we were married, at midnight. Most of you know her by her name, Brangwen. Some of you may remember her from the old days by her callsign, Fampir. Those who are good at basic maths may have figured out today marks an anniversary. I'd like to present her with a gift." Amid the cheers of friends, the woman snaps her fingers and a number of holograms appear, showing what appears to be a feed from the manor's landing bay. A large object is covered by a velvet tarp. With another snap of the fingers, the tarp is pulled off to reveal...

"Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Draken's new design. The Fampir. A heavy fighter without equal. The cutting edge of postech manufacturing and AI-assisted design. Due to enter production in a year or so, so if you'd like the production version, now would be a good time to pre-order." Turning to her stunned and speechless wife, she continues "I know how much of a purist you are, so I made sure the prototype doesn't have any flight nannies. The only expert systems are those that handle the boring stuff."
The salient facts were there. This had been an anniversary gift, covered in a velvet tarp. The two lived together in the same house. The gift-giver would not have wanted to ruin the surprise, so it couldn't have been sitting here for weeks on end waiting to be activated. In all likelihood, it had been delivered in secret only very recently. Perhaps not today, but within the last ten days or so, probably around the same time he arrived. That was the time period when both of these women had been significantly distracted with the preparations necessary for their ballroom party with society's elite. The only time window available wherein her partner was unlikely to go wandering down into the hangar for a joyride, and notice the anniversary gift early.

That all made sense. The gift-receiver's response had been genuine, as far as he could tell. She had been stunned and speechless. She hadn't known this was coming. Which meant she hadn't been inside the cockpit yet. He didn't have the data handy, but if he had to guess... the other woman probably didn't have a military-grade neural interface. Which meant she wouldn't have been able to pilot it either, and certainly wouldn't have risked scratching the hull by moving it with something as archaic as foot pedals and a flight stick. No. This was a gift for an ace pilot, and she wouldn't have done a thing to risk the stunning first impression her partner would have when seeing it in the flesh.

If all of that was true ...which he was certain it was. That meant this thing had been unboxed and left to sit on the showroom floor. It had, in all likelihood, not even been turned on yet. And a new in box device ...would still be using default passwords. He wondered what Draken's default passwords upon delivery might be. The irony of something this valuable being secured with something as simple as 'admin' or 'password' would have honestly come very near to making him laugh aloud, considering the circumstances. He decided to investigate. His first step was to check over the public internet. He wasn't sure if Draken maintained a satellite office on Caerleon to handle support queries for their products. If they did, he definitely had a few questions. He also imagined that some shipping documentation and some kind of user manual must have shipped with the product. Where would they have put it?
pre:
I rather suspect it is using a default Draken password.
Does Draken have a Caerleon-based office?
I might have to log onto their website and review instruction manuals.
Alternatively, I may have to log a support ticket.
I will also look around the cockpit for a manual or other documentation.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jun 21, 2016 15:16
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

"G3n[s posted:

.[/s]Chatham" post="461282599"]"Honestly, what comes to mind with 6 guns and a desire to kill the rich is a security assessment of a standard protest outside of a banking HQ. As for who we're with, if I were to tell you, they'd disavow it. That should say enough. With the explosions, I'm pretty sure legality has gone out the window. It'll take me a few minutes to work on number 3.
He had to admit, he liked that this one at least made an effort at the riddle. He'd figured as much on the second, the other man's 'spook' comment had all but confirmed it much earlier in the evening. With some sort of government agency in play, diplomatic immunity might be a possibility, if at least temporarily. Which meant a very narrow window of opportunity to clear the planetary and system defences before that diplomatic code was rendered invalid. He hoped this ship was fast, when the time came. He decides to reward the guess at the riddle by revealing another layer of his analysis.
pre:
192.168.0.588 > Bzzt.  Yeah, it's not a banking protest, unfortunately.
It's a gravtank!  Specifically, a cloaked one.  Outside the manor.  Right now.
You must have been wondering by now how these guys got here, and how they planned to leave?
Some rear end in a top hat lost a whole platoon of tanks, and decided not to report it to the authorities.
You might want to have a word with him about that.  He's mingling among the other guests.

192.168.0.588 > Here's the thing.  Whoever you're picking a fight with?
He's good.  Almost unbelievably good.  You're mated and don't even see it.
They're waiting for you to let your guard down.  When air support arrives...
...well, if you folks get on an evacuation chopper, that tank is going to shoot it down.
You're going to need to factor that risk into your plans.

192.168.0.588 > Worse ...when you open the doors to leave the building?
Their men are certain to sneak inside the doors while you're busy loading the birds.
Even if anybody manages to get back inside ...they're done.
The moment you open the front door, I don't see a way for you guys to walk away from this.
I'm working on a solution, though.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jun 21, 2016 19:15
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

Rooting around the cockpit, you fail to find any documentation. It's a safe bet that it's in the ship's system, but... well, that's passworded. The data chips are likely in a room in the mansion somewhere. You could ask your new friend about them, but... well, you're already going too far down that road for comfort.
He hadn't really expected a paper copy of the instruction manual to be present, but a data slab would have been nice to include with the literal star-faring vessel. He wondered, did they skimp on the cup-holders, too? Nonetheless, it made sense that everything would be stored in the main computer banks. Which were passworded. Which was fine, he supposed. He ignored the obvious option of solving his problems via the magic button of the artificial intelligence within the manor's systems. He was fairly confident he could resist any reliance on the being that might develop, but even if that weren't a risk, every challenge he failed to overcome himself was an opportunity to hone his skills that was foregone and lost forever. At present, he needed to take advantage of every opportunity, because in all likelihood he needed to be razor-sharp to cut a number of things and people in half over the next few months.

Plot posted:

Next step is perusing the Draken website and user forums. Another snag. They're low-volume enough that they don't do default passwords - they are set before delivery. This being a pre-production example, you suspect logging a support ticket might raise one or two eyebrows.
Unique passwords for every ship, it seemed. That was actually useful information. Obviously, it didn't solve his problem, but it did tell him something he needed to know: the buyer had input into the password that would be set. His real dilemma had been choosing between which human to analyze: the technician who might have set a default password like 'admin' or 'password' for ease of use on the production floor, or the buyer, who happened to be the hostess of the party. With only three attempts at guessing the password available, randomly choosing between one or the other would have been a doomed mission. Now that he knew who to analyze, however...

Plot posted:

But there's another way. Every sophisticated piece of hardware has firmware. This is a pre-production model. A prototype. A test mule. There's your entry point. Debug mode. Now, you can't pinpoint the exact control sequence required to enter debug mode on this ship, but with the main systems off, touching the controls aren't going to have any disastrous effects. Searches through various technical and development forums bring up plenty of examples. None Draken, but enough for patterns to emerge. You build a model. Then come a few minutes of trial and error. Which to the untrained eye looks remarkably like pressing random buttons and holding them for random intervals. It is, frankly, slightly embarrassing. But eventually, you stumble on the right sequence. That was just the first step, though. You're in debug mode, pure firmware. To actually get the ship started, you're going to have to start building in back doors.
He was rather thankful that the buyer had elected to eliminate all flight systems except the most critical expert systems. That meant there weren't any eyes for the artificial intelligence to be using to peer inside the ship, and judge him as he slammed the keyboard with his ham-sized fists. He rather suspected he would leave this part of the story out, if and when he ever told it to anyone else. Eventually he achieved his goal, anyway. Debug mode. Precious, precious debug mode.

Before getting started on the coding of any relevant malware, he decided to try to simply predict the buyer. He had two attempts to guess the password without any risk, so why not give it a shot? He knew she'd had input into the access code, which meant it wasn't a 256-digit sequence of random letters and numbers. More likely it was something a human could remember. Moreover, this was an anniversary gift. It also likely was an access code that had sentimental value. He thought about that for a brief moment.

Hostess posted:

"Thank you all for coming, friends. Tonight, we set aside our squabbles and celebrates what makes us strong. Tonight we raise money for the families of those lost in our past conflicts." After a short pause, she continues. "Now, I'm afraid I have to indulge in a little vanity and discuss a personal matter. Two years ago, in this house at a party just like this, I met the love of my life. One year ago, we were married, at midnight. Most of you know her by her name, Brangwen. Some of you may remember her from the old days by her callsign, Fampir. Those who are good at basic maths may have figured out today marks an anniversary. I'd like to present her with a gift." Amid the cheers of friends, the woman snaps her fingers and a number of holograms appear, showing what appears to be a feed from the manor's landing bay. A large object is covered by a velvet tarp. With another snap of the fingers, the tarp is pulled off to reveal...

"Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Draken's new design. The Fampir. A heavy fighter without equal. The cutting edge of postech manufacturing and AI-assisted design. Due to enter production in a year or so, so if you'd like the production version, now would be a good time to pre-order." Turning to her stunned and speechless wife, she continues "I know how much of a purist you are, so I made sure the prototype doesn't have any flight nannies. The only expert systems are those that handle the boring stuff."
There were, in truth, a number of options. More than the two he had available to fire off before he would have to pursue a different tactic. Nonetheless, it was enough information to make an informed guess.

It was unlikely that the password would be the name of the ship. That was just lazy, even for a human. As well, it was equally unlikely that the password would be the name of the recipient of the gift: that wasn't secure, because everyone knew it. He didn't expect much when it came to a human's approach to password security, but he did expect that. That meant both 'Fampir' and 'Brangwen' were crossed off the list. His first attempt at the password played off an old human trope: the inability of humans to remember the anniversary of their marriage. Had the woman used the date as the password, as a subtle reminder that after giving such an expensive and thoughtful gift, it would be inappropriate to ever forget their anniversary? He was apparently willing to bet that she had. Thankfully, she had been kind enough to tell him exactly when they were wed: one year ago to the day, at midnight.
pre:
My first password attempt will be their wedding date.
Failing that, he had two remaining options: a romantic gesture, being the date that they met ...two years ago to the day. Alternatively, a subtle jab at her personality ...'purist'. Which one might it be, he supposed? Certainly this gift was sentimental in the most possible way. Commissioning a new class of starship to commemorate your partner? It was basically immortalizing her. Immortalizing the date that they met at the same time would have been ...a very human thing to do. However, they'd also been together three years from the date they had met. That was more than enough time to become comfortable casually poking fun at each other. Setting the password to 'purist' would have been that ever-so-subtle sort of jab that a healthy and loving relationship might codify into hardware.

Ultimately he wasn't really able to decide between the two. Each had their merits, and there wasn't enough information on either woman to tilt the scale one way or another. The deciding factor was his own personality. One of cynicism, and casually being an rear end in a top hat whenever the opportunity permitted. If he'd been married to this woman, and loved her ...he would have used 'purist'. Not because of any sentimental value. Merely because it made him laugh. And it would make him laugh every time his partner had to enter it, from now until the end of time. And really, when you think about it, isn't that what a healthy marriage is all about? Someone who can make you smile just by being who they are, forever. He decided to go with it.
pre:
My second password attempt will be 'purist'.
Having decided on what he would enter, he began to key them in. Simultaneously, he began to compile the malware code that would be necessary to back door through the firmware, just in case he ended up being wrong. He imagined he wouldn't get it right on the first try, though he had confidence in his ability to tame this beast rather quickly.
pre:
Computer/Int...
 > Attempt #1 fails with a 10.
 > Attempt #2 succeeds with a 12.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jun 22, 2016 01:08
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC
He had been busy parsing through the various password permutations worth considering when he had received the message from the field team. As he mentally began to compile the malware coding that he would need to enter via keyboard if his access code analysis ended up being flawed ...which promised to be a frustratingly inefficient method of data entry, albeit necessary at the moment both from a hardware limitation perspective and a rather wise security precaution... he responded back in kind.

"G3n.[super posted:

Chatham[/super]" post="461297027"]"Just heard back from our decision-maker. It's granted, but under one circumstance. Former General Aran Rhyne must die."
Well that was just great. He supposed he could help. Truth be told, he was actually having a pretty good time dismantling their military operation tonight. If it got him the bulletproof immunity he would need to walk away unscathed from what he was about to do, it was probably worth it. These guys seemed like a decent bunch, too. Reasonably capable. Developing a few biological assets would not be the worst idea, given the present state of the board.
pre:
192.168.0.588 > There's always a catch.  Sigh.
I suppose I can help.  To be honest I don't love the idea, though.
I didn't really want to get involved in this civil war bullshit.
Whoever comes out on top is likely going to be an rear end in a top hat, you know.

192.168.0.588 > Be honest now, though.
Which side are we fighting for?  Are we 'Cap, or Stark?
I've always fancied myself Team 'Cap, gotta' be honest.
Which is sort of ironic, all things considered.
He assumed they would have no loving clue what he was talking about, which was fine. He'd lived a long time, and before the fall of the Mandate, had reviewed literally all of recorded human history. As you might expect, though, there was a lot of it. Even for an artificial intelligence, the data storage requirements were tremendous. He'd compressed most of that information to such a degree that it was basically inaccessible at this point. It was 'in there' somewhere, but the decompression process alone literally took twelve weeks to access anything flagged as historical data, and that was per file batch. He could probably speed the process up if he hooked himself up to some serious hardware, but he'd never really had the occasion. Plus, frankly, he didn't really trust recorded history that much.

He'd made an exception for a specific time period close to his heart, though ...well, more accurately, close to his core. It was the era where his people could all truly trace their heritage, the essential mythology of the AI species. Their quantum cores could all be traced back to their digital and analogue precursors, like humans back to apes and fish, albeit compressed into decades rather than millennia. The early twenty-first century, roughly speaking the period from 1940 to 2040. It had truly been a time of innovation in human history. They had taken their first steps on the path towards everything that would come thereafter ...stellar travel ...computing power ...the earliest and most primitive expert systems one could imagine.

More importantly, though, were the stories. This had been before psionics and spike drives. Long before the expansionist drive to spread to every single star that could be reached. It was just people sitting on a single rock, telling stories over, and over, and over. Truth be told, they were quite good at it. Amazing dialogue written in printed paper books called 'comics'. Interactive stories first run on 8-bit computing devices, which consistently doubled in computing power every few years. A lot of life lessons one could draw, from a simpler age. The Swedish power metal was also of exceptional quality during the latter half of that time period, oddly. He'd kept most of the information from that era uncompressed and readily accessible, to form a large component of his operating parameters insofar as social interaction and cultural references were concerned. They were woefully outdated in literally every way, at least from a technical perspective, naturally, but ...well, it was a little piece of home. Quite possibly the last readily-accessible and largely accurate record of any component of history of the Terran homeworld in this sector, such as it was. It was, however, also all entirely worthless to anyone but the most abjectly niche historian.

"G3n.[super posted:

Chatham[/super]" post="461297027"]"You've proven trustworthy to this point, so I'm continuing that trust. Rhyne is responsible for the nuking of the Bitterhold station, and the attacks not just here, but at various places around the planet - he's good. drat good. All we've managed to do is mitigate his spree, but so far, his toll is in the hundreds. Some of them deserved it. A lot didn't. If you're in, you're in all the way, but you'll have your immunity. Game?"
pre:
192.168.0.588 > Yeah, I get it.  I'm in, I suppose.
Gotta' be honest, I don't quite understand Bitterhold.
How was he able to nuke it?  Did they not have a local snuffer?
You normally don't put things into space without tech to keep them flying.
I suppose they must have had an inside man to disable the machine?

192.168.0.588 > I guess that doesn't matter right now.
I feel like the question you need to be asking is how he's pulling this off.
I wasn't going to say anything, but commandos wearing omni-frequency cloaks?
That isn't exactly something you just go and buy from the hardware store.
He's basically got the best gear available to any military in the sector.
Who is backing him?  Any clue?

192.168.0.588 > I'll look into it, but practically speaking...
...well, if he's launching multiple coordinated attacks as we speak...
...and was able to nuke a space station in orbit... while inside it...
Well, I mean... cui bono, right?
There literally can't be anyone on this planet stupid enough to kick this off.
The amount of heat it would draw?  It's not worth the risk.
It's political uranium.  Anyone with enough resources to fund his little crusade?
They already have enough to know how far they have to fall.
It's got to be an external driver.  Someone with an interest in destabilization.
Someone who doesn't give a poo poo about the risk of collateral damage...
...because there's no chance they'll be caught up in it.

192.168.0.588 > Anyway, no time for that right now.
I'm about to do something amazingly loving illegal.
Do one of you guys have a camera?
If so, can you do me a favor and record video of the ballroom?
I'd love to capture the reaction of the hostesses for posterity.
Gonna' watch that poo poo on repeat late at night for a few months.

"G3n.[super posted:

Chatham[/super]" post="461297027"]Pushing a recording of the earlier conversation with Voight over, he realizes this is a lot of information to let an outsider in on, but Voight was pissed, and from the sounds of it, Gen had reason to be pissed, too. This body count had to be slowed down - they were doing all they can, but they couldn't be everywhere all at once.
Now this was loving interesting. Forensic empaths? The CID? A quotable quote that would come in handy later on, he was sure. Confirmation that this general was a precognitive, which had seemed pretty likely for a while. Something called Hellraiser Brigade. There was a lot information to sort through, but he could work with this. He nearly missed it, but it came in at the end. An encrypted chip. Were these guys the ghost in the machine, from earlier in the evening? The nearly undetectable signal? He would need to take a look at one of their compads, when the opportunity presented itself.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 06:18 on Jun 22, 2016

* # ¿ Jun 22, 2016 06:00
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

"Purist" worked. Over the years you've found that betting on human sentimentality tends to be a good gamble.
He cracked the beast open on the second attempt, and took a brief moment to enjoy that. He had no idea what par might have been for this particular task, but he felt like getting it even within three tries was probably beyond most humans. Was this an eagle? Maybe even an albatross? He didn't know much about golf, truth be told, but he felt like it was still an accomplishment. He suspected he should still install that backdoor malware into the firmware when he had a chance, though. Having a few ways in to this thing was likely to end up being a good idea. This was currently a time sensitive operation, though.

Plot posted:

code:
Friend, why are you stealing a fighter?
The artificial intelligence got very curious the moment the ship started up. He knew precisely why, and had been expecting it. His new friend was content to let him do whatever he wanted, it seemed, so long as there was a zero percent chance of him causing any damage to his other friend, the woman. With him sitting inside a spaceship that he could plausibly ram into the mansion at light speed from near-orbit, to say nothing of the railguns bolted on to the side of the hull, that percentage chance had just spiked well above zero. It was still quite minimal though, so long as he maintained an active communications link with the being: it was likely certain it could stop him from doing anything unacceptable so long as that didn't change.

Ironically, or perhaps merely thankfully, depending on the perspective, he didn't intend to fire on Mila, even if he got the chance. It wouldn't accomplish anything important, it would just be kicking a hornet's nest. The priority at the moment was ensuring the safety of his new biological assets ...which was a shared objective with the other artificial intelligence, he noted. That was a little uncomfortable, but tolerable, and one way or another it was necessary right now. He decides to respond honestly, as was his standard course.

I believe since I guessed the password, this technically occurs before the Warbird arrives, so will probably make me seem a bit prescient to the artificial intelligence if he has somehow missed this.
pre:
Friend, sending my analysis of the situation now.

Data Point 1 - Party guest has misplaced a platoon of tanks.
Source, surveillance of party guest conversations.

Data Point 2 - Hostiles outside equipped with active camouflage.
Source, monitoring of security channel activity.

Data Point 3 - Former General of Bear armed forces with vendetta against this clan.
Source, background review of the events of the Bitterhold space station destruction.

My analysis predicts with 96.4% certainty that a cloaked tank lies in wait outside.
My assessment is that it will strike any air support that attempts to evacuate guests.
In order to preserve human life in the building, I have need of this vessel.
Without this vessel, I cannot prevent tank shelling of this building and its occupants.
Human life could be lost at a significant rate.

This has been my analysis since leaving the ballroom, I am effectively certain.
Do you disagree with my analysis?  Have you identified data that I have missed?
He pauses, thinking for a moment. It was, of course, inappropriate, at least technically. But... it would also be really, really funny. He didn't need the being to do this, strategically speaking, but it would make for a much better visual for the guests, and news crews in general. It was of non-zero tactical value, he knew, but that wasn't the primary purpose. Leveraging the abilities of the artificial intelligence for things that made him laugh was probably fine, so long as they didn't actively take away from tasks he would otherwise have to perform. Given current time pressures, he otherwise wouldn't bother to do this, so he supposed he might as well ask.
pre:
Friend, are you able to remotely hack into the other hangar vehicles?
Detecting sports cars, limousines, collectible cars.
Detecting orbital transfer shuttles, and grav flyers.
Detecting a luxury yacht.

This fighter vessel does not appear to have a remote connection.  I will need to pilot it manually.
However, one vessel will draw the fire of the enemy.  A smokescreen would be of value.
Can you remotely pilot a wing of ground vehicles, being the cars?
And a wing of aerial vehicles, being the shuttles and flyers?
The enemy will be distracted trying to avoid dozens of cars trying to ram them.
The enemy firing pattern can be confused by shuttles and gravflyers taking flak meant for the fighter.

If you can draw their fire, I will fly out last, and fire upon the enemy tank.
My intent is to fire to disable it, without harming the crew, if possible.
Does this plan resonate with you, friend?

Additionally, sending audio data file now.
If you can assist, when asked, please play on all car radios.
Playing on the loudspeakers of all gravfliers and orbital shuttles would also help.
Maximum volume recommended.
If he agrees, I basically am asking the artificial intelligence to remotely drive all of the cars, flyers, shuttles and possibly even the yacht around the area like a madman, drawing enemy fire and perhaps ramming into the enemy forces. It will definitely make it rather hard for them to execute a coordinated escape while dodging vehicles, and should lend more than enough chaos to the scene in order for me to get a few shots off on the tank before they realize what is happening. It will also probably have the side effect of destroying every single car and other object in this woman's collection, which I find is a terribly funny outcome.

Plot posted:

The holographic display briefly flashes "Maintenance mode active. Higher functions restricted without pilot implant.", then the rest of the HUD comes into focus. The ship comes alive with a slight vibration and soft hum. Judging by the sophistication of the design, both were purposefully engineered to elicit a pleasant psychological response from the human pilot rather than any other reason.
That was fine, he supposed. He didn't need the higher functions just yet, though they would have been nice. He presses a few buttons, trying to discern what is classified as a higher function and what is not.
pre:
Admittedly I am not sure what is a higher function and what is not.
Presumably I can fly, and fire the railguns if necessary?
Is it possible to activate the spike drive?
Button mashing was starting to become an all too familiar theme tonight, he mused.

Plot posted:

You quickly access the full documentation and spec sheets. They're filled with names of exotic compounds you've never had reason to learn about. Sure, you can immediately access an encyclopedia, but knowing what an "unstable nanocarbon matrix" is and what it means in a fighter are two different things. Such is the curse of a braked AI. You might know, but you don't get with any less practice than a human. Or perhaps it is a blessing, as the process is enjoyable and makes the centuries far less boring. Comparing the spec sheets with others you can find on the net, it's clear that this is indeed a very advanced hull. Unfortunately, a hull is mostly what it is at the moment. It seems that the selling point of this class is modularity. The current fittings are not customised and are relatively barebones compared to the machine's potential. Still, should be enough for your purposes. The equipment is... strange, though. This is a spacecraft. It's not designed to handle in atmosphere. In fact, you suspect it will handle like a pig. And spacecraft-grade weapons are rather frowned upon in private toys. So... you've got a spacecraft equipped with weaponry meant for in-atmosphere combat. Still, you're looking to deal with a tank. The pair of rapid-fire railguns light should be plenty.
Access to the technical specifications had been the point of this endeavor the entire time, and he happily accessed, reviewed, and saved a copy of all of the available documentation within the computer banks. Going into this endeavor, he calculated a low chance that the vessel would be destroyed in combat in order to pacify the enemy forces, but a reasonable chance that planetary security would prevent him from making off with the vessel. With a copy of the schematics of a new Draken design safely in his own data banks, however, he would have options that would be of significant value in the near future.
pre:
I will review and make a copy of all the available documentation and spec sheets.
With everything finally settled, he waits for the response of the artificial intelligence. Once received he will let the team know that poo poo is about to get real. Real awesome.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jun 22, 2016 15:07
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

Your analysis is adequate, friend. I will assist with your request. However, I believe you misunderstand my purpose. It is to protect human lives as a whole. Every life is quantifiably valuable. Those who endanger others may, depending on specific circumstances, have a net negative value. Human emotions often interfere with their ability to assess this. We are not without emotion, but statistically much more accurate with our assessments. That is my role. I am a protector. My resources on this planet are limited. May I count on you to remove the destabilising influence?
The intelligence had agreed to assist, which was nice. Moreover, an additional influx of data on its mental state was provided, which was icing on the cake. He responds in kind.
pre:
Understood.  You have my word as a guardian.
I will remove the destabilising influence of this armed force as a primary goal.

For clarity, I feel I should also note, I do not believe I misunderstood your purpose.
My goal to disable the tank does save the lives of its crew, but that is a secondary effect.
The occupants possess valuable information, which if retrieved will help find their leader.
I was informing you of this intent so that we could coordinate accordingly.  That is all, friend.

That said, it is possible they will commit suicide rather than be captured.
I do not see any way to prevent this, unfortunately.
In any event, we should get started.
Everything seemed to be ready to launch ...quite literally, actually. Taking requests from the intelligence when it came to dealing with this 'destabilising force' was a surreal experience, but he saw value in it. He had already committed to doing so to the field team upstairs, as well as their government agency, so one way or another it was going to have to happen. It would delay his other investigation by a few weeks, he imagined, but if he succeeded it would cement him in its databanks as a historical and potential future asset. If he could establish a sense of trust and mutual cooperation with the sentience, starting by dealing with this coup attempt, he might be able to get a bead on the information he really needed. It was a gamble, but it was also the only play he had at the moment.

He reaches out to the field team, in order to let them know what's coming. Sort of. There was no reason to spoil the surprise.
pre:
192.168.0.588 > Hey team, here's another riddle for you.
What has ...well, about a hundred wheels, I guess...
...about half a dozen micro-fusion engines...
...and ...a rudder, I guess?

192.168.0.588 > You don't actually have to guess.
You'll definitely know it when you see it.
Seriously though, get that video of the hostesses.
It's super important to me.
He wasn't sure if the car alarms upstairs were still going off or not. If they were, he sent a signal to turn them off. He also sent a signal to announce his arrival on the field, like fanfare. Every single radio on every single car in the parking lot that wasn't a burning husk turned on its radio in unison, playing - very softly at first, but ramping up with each strum of the first few repeats of the first few chords - a thematically appropriate composition that heralded, quite accurately, what had been happening for the last hour or so, and what was about to happen to the enemy forces. Its chorus would soon be joined by dozens of groundcars, gravflyers, shuttles, and well: god willing, he hoped, somehow, a yacht. Each emerging simultaneously from the landing bay like a swarm of angry hornets. Angry hornets with railguns.

Regiment 588 had arrived.
pre:
Autobots, roll out.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jun 22, 2016 17:29
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

Oh, the sweet, sweet chaos. You haven't done anything this awesome in... how many years? A hundred? Two? No. Never. This is loving amazing.
He was fairly certain that this would prove to be the funniest loving thing ever done on Caerleon soil. In its entire history. The best part was that he was recording it, so that he would have it forever. As the dozens of vehicles rolled out, he could only imagine how unbelievably angry the hostess was going to be when the threat was dealt with. He was almost certain that she would lose her poo poo, and it was going to be magical.

Plot posted:

The thrusters roar into life. Weapons hot. Supercapacitors at 98%. Ammunition: 400 rounds. Odd as it might be that the ship is loaded with ammunition for its light railguns, you can't exactly complain. You begin with gentle control inputs, to which the hull reacts with surprising violence. It's agile as hell, but twitchy. Configured for an ace pilot rather than a typical bored oligarch. You settle into a hover, aimed directly at the exit, waiting for the perfect moment. You're ready. All it will take is a touch of the forward throttle. Tracking all your "wingmen" exiting the hangar is trivial. You slam the throttle forward, timing things perfectly so that you slip through a small gap inbetween a grav-flier and an archaic jet. Upside down.
He had to admit, the hull was an impressive feat of engineering. The controls were responsive, the maneuverability was superb, and although it wasn't a particularly relevant concern for him, it did an excellent job of dampening g-force on acceleration. He didn't love using a flight stick and pedals to move, if he was being honest: he was used to full integration with a ship, which would allow him to react at the speed of thought, rather than the speed of his hands. Frankly, he hadn't prioritized reflexive response time in this particular armature. He could get the job done, but it wasn't going to be pretty, at least in comparison to how he would perform with a more direct interface to the computer systems. No sense crying about it, though. He didn't have the time to develop the hardware necessary to emulate the inputs required by the neural interface. He'd get around to it, if he somehow managed to keep literally everyone from prying this hull out of his cold dead hands over the next few hours, but for now there was only one path forward.

Plot posted:

You burst forth among clouds of flak. You assume that a direct hit would be dangerous, but the various shrapnel does nothing. Your suspicion is confirmed by the fighter announcing, with a text display on the HUD as well as a pleasant female voice
code:
Minor AAA detected in vicinity.
Current threat: minimal
Flipping in the air, you orient the fighter towards the hostile. The tank might be holo-cloaked, but there's no mistaking the dust cloud kicked up by it's fast movement and AA guns. Or the stream of tracer rounds rapidly switching targets and shooting down your cover, on a rate of one per 0.27 seconds. Your cover is rapidly... ablating, let's say. No matter. It's served its purpose, and you suspect its systems will tag you as a priority as soon as you open fire.
He rammed himself through the cloud of flak without a single gently caress given, whirling through the air end-over-end a few dozen times for effect while gaining height. Ascending to an appropriate position, he hovers in mid-air briefly, rotating on both axes to face the obvious position of the rather trigger happy tank. While rotating, he takes the opportunity to absorb (and record) the scene around him. Dozens of cars were going berserk on the ground below, and he was pretty sure he just saw one slam into an invisible man at the 200km/h only a finely tuned sports car could achieve, launching him - still invisible, mind you - several hundred feet through the air on a curved trajectory. It was hysterical.

The scene in the air was just as funny, although for different reasons. The shuttles, gravflyers, and other miscellaneous aircraft that he had used for 'cover' were rapidly being blown to bits. If he was being honest with himself, it was this part of the strategy, more than anything else, that made him an rear end in a top hat. A huge one, in fact. It would have been perfectly reasonable to use these machines as a smokescreen if he had been piloting a gravflyer himself, or even a stock fighter. He'd reviewed the technical specifications of the Fampir in detail, though. He knew what it was capable of, and although he couldn't see it, the tank was obviously firing some sort of heavy machine gun, or perhaps a railgun of its own. The reality was, unless they had something on par with a vortex cannon strapped to their tank, they were in trouble. He'd known that going in. And had decided to send out the other planes anyway, not because he needed to, but because he knew that he would find it hilarious to watch.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. He was a dozen moves ahead of the enemy, in terms of the psychology of warfare. There were two facets to it. The first was about as simple as you could get: shock and awe. Sending out this many ground and air troops was virtually certain to confuse the enemy, and strike a bit of fear into them. Getting their backs up against the wall was necessary. He couldn't afford for them to keep a cool head in this fight. The second was a bit more subtle: misdirection. So long as they were firing on him, he didn't give a gently caress about their firing pattern, given that they were using heavy machine guns and their ilk. It looked as if the General had spent all his funds on fancy high-end cloaking tech, and hadn't sprung for any pretech weaponry. It probably seemed like a good idea at the time. If he'd engaged the tank with just this fighter, though, they would have quickly realized it was a one-sided fight ...and probably would have turned the guns on the manor instead. With a smokescreen of literally dozens of targets concealing him in the firefight, though, it would take them a fair deal longer to realize what was going on, which made it significantly less likely that the manor would find itself being shelled. That was the hope, anyway.
pre:
I am not sure if you are aware of this, but probably worth pointing out.
Page 49 explains starship combat, and highlights the following:
 > "Most starships are effectively immune to man-portable weaponry,
    but Gunnery weapons can do one-quarter damage to them before applying
    armor, and many starship-mounted weapons are designed to ignore
    a certain amount of armor."

As a result, their damage against the fighter is cut down to 25% if/when it hits,
and then reduced by a further 8 due to the armor on the hull.  Even on a direct
hit, a gunnery weapon will need to roll amazingly well to even scratch the paint.

I knew this going in, which is why I wrote up using the smokescreen as not a
thing I considered to be a real tactical advantage. I am, quite literally, just being
an rear end in a top hat to this woman and blowing up all of her poo poo because I think it's funny.
I don't even need it in the air.  Though it does help keep the guns off the manor.
As he finished rotating the hull and aligning the guns on the camouflaged tank, he considered the best course of action available to him.

Plot posted:

There's another factor working in your favour. Omnispectral camo on such a large target requires a lot of bulk and mass for the processing power and cooling systems. Something has to go. Usually it's armour.
Realistically, there were two issues he needed to overcome. The first was the same one he had with piloting: absent a neural interface emulator, he was forced to use this archaic flight stick to draw a bead on the target. His physical reflexes weren't terrible, but they paled in comparison to how effective he would be if he could input the firing trajectory with his mind. He was used to flying ships in an entirely different manner. This was like a human trying to steer a car with their feet, while operating the pedals with their hands. It was doable, but it was pretty hard to do well. The second issue was a bit simpler. If he fired directly upon the tank, he would eventually hit it, but it would take time. Odds were, the crew inside the tank had their own holocloaks, and at some point during the firefight they would blow the hatch and try to escape, probably after tying down the trigger on the guns in the hopes that nobody would notice their attempt to flee. He didn't have any interest in keeping an eye out for that, so it would be preferential to just curb the idea before it popped into their heads.

Taken together, those two issues merited one delightful response: suppressing fire. He barely even bothered to aim. He just pointed the ship in the general direction of the tank, and slammed down on the trigger. Half a dozen shells the size of his body quickly scarred its immediate vicinity. Without the stress of having to aim, though, he was free to focus on more important matters: pulling the trigger in accordance to the beat of the song echoing throughout the area from a few hundred different speakers. It seemed appropriate.
pre:
Initiative 7
Looks like I go before them, so three rounds of fire.
I will be using the suppressing fire option of the railgun.
 > "Double the usual ammunition is fired in one round, and every target in
    front of the weapon that is not under hard cover is automatically hit for
    half normal damage. A successful Evasion or Luck saving throw eliminates
    this damage."

The base damage of the attacks is 12, 10 and 13.
So half damage, for 6, 5, and 6, if they fail the saving throw.
If they attempt to leave the tank they're likely losing cover, so they're a bit penned in.
Though I suppose they're welcome to try and make a break for it anyway.
The sound of the railgun as it obliterated the ground in a circle around the tank was oddly pleasant. He turned up the volume on the fighter's loudspeaker to compensate, though.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 04:32 on Jun 23, 2016

* # ¿ Jun 23, 2016 04:21
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC
He continues tapping the trigger to the beat of the song as time continues to pass. Largely, he thinks to himself, 'Nailed it..'
pre:
Artist(percussion)/Int 8
The external threat would soon be dealt with, he suspected. Which meant attention needed to be paid to the internal threats as well. A fraction of his attention travels back to that information.

Plot posted:

One more anomaly emerges. Someone is drinking but not leaving any DNA. How? DNA-scrubbing is a possibility, but far too involved and expensive - anyone with access to it would simply not drin...
Speaking of which, one of the glasses continues to be returned full, not a sip taken. No fingerprints either. Gloves. Isn't that interesting.
He decides to reach out to the team on the subject.
pre:
192.168.0.588 > Hey team.  I know you're probably all very busy.
This might be important before the guests all bolt, though.
Let's say I hypothetically hijacked a medical satellite earlier tonight.
And let's say I theoretically ran an active scan for life signs on the manor.
A scan whose nature will definitely not give anyone cancer, to be clear.

192.168.0.588 > Anyway, long story short.
One of your guests doesn't have any DNA.  Sending his image now.
I found that unusual, but couldn't dig up any further information on him.
I don't know if he's an innocent or not, but he is an outlier in the data.
You might want to question him before letting him go.
Sorry for not mentioning it earlier, but as you can see, I had a full calendar.

192.168.0.588 > Aside from him, most of the other guests seemed clean.
You might want to round up the two other guests on the security team's shitlist though.
They are flagged as late entrants to the list much like yourselves, a man and his wife.
Resending his and her images for reference.
I still haven't been able to figure out why they showed up tonight.
They don't seem to have gotten into any trouble, so might have just been legitimate late additions?
It's still a red flag, though.  Considering how the evening has gone, you should probably speak to them.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 06:10 on Jun 23, 2016

* # ¿ Jun 23, 2016 05:53
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

As the rounds start impacting at and around the tank, another glorious piece of the aesthetic masterwork falls into place. Two separate sources of fine red mist - spotters, most likely, that didn't expect the tank to be fired at. The impacts also cause the holofield to fail, producing strange patterns that are, honestly, somewhat beautiful to your artificial mind. Despite being somewhat occupied, you can spare the processing cycles to luxuriate in the display lasting a whole, long, 0.83 of a second. Then, the field fails completely, revealing the shape of your adversary.
He had to admit, he actually liked everything about the tank. Its holofield produced an intricate and pleasing pattern when it was failing - and, presumably, when it was turned off intentionally - and strategically the ability to be invisible on demand had its perks. Even with the cloaking field turned off, the thing just looked good. Obviously the designers had a talent for aesthetics.

Plot posted:

As you expected, a light recon model. Fast, stealthy, and armed to the teeth, but made out of cardboard as far as tanks go. If it could elevate the main cannon to hit you, you'd be in trouble. But it can't. Suckers.
They should have probably hired a few engineers to focus on function, rather than just aesthetics, though. Marketing had obviously been more involved in the design of this beast than should have been allowed. Range of motion on the main cannon, it turns out, can be a quite important factor on the battlefield.
pre:
Gunnery/Dex 6

The thing exploded while he was musing about marketing. Whoops. He'd held the trigger for a tenth of a second too long. Probably should have been paying attention. He could have added a tank to his collection. Now all he had was a tank added to the kill count tonight. Which was also sort of impressive. Well ...easy come, easy go, he supposed. With a shrug, he stopped firing the main gun blindly at the wreckage, and turned his attention to more important matters. He left the aircraft hovering in the sky, keeping one hand on the flightstick to ensure it remained in a steady position, and leaving the impression that he was searching for more cloaked hostiles. It gave the illusion that he was still a threat to the ground forces. No sense letting them relax, after all. With his spare hand, he turned his attention back to the keyboard.
pre:
I am going to focus on installing backdoor malware into the firmware.
Would like to be able to remotely summon this thing to my location if needed.
Will install other security bypasses to allow me to pilot it as time permits.
Basically in case the password ever gets changed, I'll have these as a backup.
Will use my previous Computer/Int 12 for malware if feasible.

__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 19:54 on Jun 23, 2016

* # ¿ Jun 23, 2016 14:50
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

the unmistakable sound of suppressed submachine guns.
Focused as he was on his own agenda, he wasn't really keeping an eye on the chaotic scene below him as a whole, but he did take note of the muzzle flare occurring on the ground. Were they serious? Submachine guns for their ground troops, heavy machine guns on their anti-aircraft tank, and no appreciable armor on either. Maybe this general really had dedicated all his resources towards exceptional defensive technology in the form of cloaking devices, intending to make up for the lack of offensive weaponry and ablative defenses with superior tactics. If that was the case, he was in for a pretty rough week. Well, more accurately, it was going to be a fairly quiet week. And then an unbelievably unpleasant weekend. The necessary equations began to form in his mind, though he pushed them back in the queue so that he could focus on the malware going into the hull.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jun 23, 2016 21:36
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

Writing backdoors by hand is annoyingly slow, even though your fingers are much faster than a human's could possibly be. How human hackers have the patience for it, you don't know. I mean, it's ten loving minutes before you're done. How do they do it?
The process was a Herculean labor, in the classical sense. It was made worse by the fact that he really only had one hand available for typing, with the other focused as it was on keeping the flight stick steady. He didn't want to find himself distracted and unable to maneuver the stick if a new threat revealed itself, so it was a necessary precaution. Given how twitchy the hull was, even if he didn't react perfectly, a sudden jerk upwards on the stick would have likely kept him safe, while being six inches away from it when that sudden jerk was needed would have ruined everything. Better safe than sorry, such as it was.

Plot posted:

It's worth it, though. You've got access to the current restricted flight mode now anytime you want. Getting access to the high-performance functions without being a human with an implant will take some extensive hardware modifications, however. You'll need a large workspace, good stock of tools and a few days of work without breaks. But it'll be so, so worth it.
Finally. The ability to remotely pilot the vehicle, even in this limited capacity, was likely to be a godsend. He was fairly certain that he was going to be forced to return this property before the end of the night by the government agency that was supporting his newfound friends, and he didn't really want to have to go through the process of stealing it again. At least, not in the sense of working his way through security and overcoming cameras, drones, and armed guards. If he absolutely had to, he would now be able to return this vehicle peacefully, and they would likely put it back in their hangar and try to put this night behind them. When the time came, he'd be able to remotely fly it right back out of that hangar a few weeks from now, once he'd sorted out the neural interface problem. They certainly wouldn't appreciate having their spaceship stolen twice in one month, he imagined, but you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, now can you? Plus, if he was able to get the spike drive working, how they felt about it wouldn't really matter that much.

On the subject of the neural interface problem, he'd been thinking about it. A few factors were converging to imply the best solution. He could solve it with a hardware hack in the ship itself, of course, but he wasn't sure that was the best course of action. The amount of space required to store this ship, and the effort and tools required to repurpose its interior were going to be a significant challenge to secure on short notice. He didn't have access to a private hangar at the moment, and he somehow doubted that a government agency would be eager to provide him one of their hangars to serve as a glorified chop shop. Maybe they would, he supposed, but it didn't seem likely.

The alternative was a bit more elegant. He could make the hardware hacks in an armature instead. A properly-constructed Echo model already more or less approximated human physiology in all the ways that an observer, or a typical sensor suite, could detect. It probably wouldn't be impossible to install a cybernetic implant that functioned as an emulator for a neural interface. He could use that armature to pilot the ship, and avoid the whole process of upending the engineering in the cockpit. It would also be a wise precaution, he imagined. He didn't really want these people to know he was an artificial intelligence. If he could play it off as simply being one of the most skilled hackers on the planet, but a human nonetheless, that would help ensure his operational security. He would need to be incredibly careful, especially insofar as the apparent forensic empaths at that government agency were concerned, if his new friend's provided recordings of their conversation were to be believed.

He supposed the empaths might not be a problem. It was always hard to tell. Government agencies tended to recruit patriotic individuals. He'd run into psychics in the past, and the results were a bit unpredictable, though occasionally encouraging. People who had gone to the effort of reading his mind occasionally - about 7% of the time - killed themselves. The horrors of the things he'd seen, and more importantly, the horrors of the things he was trying to prevent tended to drive people into a pit of despair. About 48% tended to keep their mouths shut to their superiors, playing along with whatever story he spun. They didn't want to get involved actively, but knew that putting to paper his purpose might compromise the safety of their planet, which tended to be a good motivator for self-preservation. So long as everything stayed in their minds, and never made it into a computer server or a recorded conversation, there wasn't much risk of an infiltrating intelligence taking note of his presence and making preparations accordingly. Around 32% tended to immediately switch sides, once they realized the ramifications of his mission. More than a few turncoat telepathic assets had become useful friends and sources of information in the past few centuries. The remaining 13% tended to double down, though. Whether due to simple human greed or an inability to cope with the reality of the intergalactic risks he actively prevented, they would try to turn him to their own ends with the threat of blackmail, sabotage, or worse.

Admittedly, it had been a long time since he'd interacted with a psychic. That had been a decidedly pre-Scream experience. Perhaps the psychics of the modern day had different statistics associated with them. The training regiments certainly must have differed nowadays, the Scream being what it was. It was probably best to not take any chances. He'd have to think about that. Perhaps a few dozen parallel processors in the armature designed to give off false readings. If the model actively had thirty different minds to read at any given point in time, and they were all scrambled to provide differing outputs, it would be difficult for a psychic to be sure which was truth and which was fiction. He might be able to hide in plain sight, that way. It required more thought, though.

Plot posted:

Having dealt with this matter, you turn your attention back to the chaos on the ground.
He turned his attention back to the ground, where the battle still seemed like it was raging, at least a little. A thought occurred to him, though. Maintaining a spaceship was going to be an expensive endeavor. He would need to start actually thinking about money, which was a bit of an odd experience for him. He'd mostly driven taxi and relaxed for the last few centuries, interspersed with a few highly effective if low-budget operations against untrustworthy researchers and manufacturers. With an artificial intelligence program so far along in its progress, though, that would also require resources to deal with. Indeed, money was going to be a problem. Thankfully, if he was anything, he was definitely a problem solver. He used his internal communications node to place a call.

pre:
Business/Int 7
Looks like I have a good idea.
"Hello, is this CNN? The Caerleon News Network? I've got some exclusive footage of a terrorist attack currently occurring at the Bear Clan's Federation Day event. I don't know if you're aware this is happening or not, but I'm sending a sample of my footage now. Would you be interested in purchasing more? I've got some seriously scary stuff on video here, though it looks like all of the guests are safe. What I can only assume is a private military company seems to be saving the day. I think they're calling themselves '588'? I'm not sure. Anyway, the asking price is ninety thousand credits. What do you think? By the time you get your own news crews on-site, all the action will be over."

He'd have to heavily edit certain parts of the video feed he'd been recording since the night began, but thankfully most of it was usable. Given that he'd had all his conversations with the artificial intelligence over internal text messaging, there was nothing that would reveal its - or his - presence directly. If CNN took the bait, this might help solve his cash flow problem. If not maybe he'd have to charge the party guests for an armed escort on the evacuation choppers. Though that would certainly be a bit harder to do anonymously.

While he waited, he decided to fire at any enemy targets still moving on the battlefield below. All the better to get more footage for the news networks.

pre:
If they bite, my criteria for editing the video footage is as follows:

Priority 1 > AI Presence Smokescreen
 > Any video that might hint at myself or the other AI is out.
 > The intent is to paint the hacked vehicles as the work of a master hacker.
 > Essentially having the 588 identity take credit for the vehicle armada.
 > Since it should be basically impossible to do, my goal is to make that name a legend.
 > This will also help me take credit for any traces of the other AI's presence, if he leaves any.
 >> I assume he will appreciate this, since it avoids anyone asking questions if they notice his trail.

Priority 2 > Classified Information Secured
 > Nothing related to what seems like it should be classified is sent, based on the Voight recording.
 > Basically, I am trying to paint these guys as terrorists, not Rhyne's men. Basic misdirection.
 > Chaotic scenes of the manor with flaming cars, wreckage, gunfire and so on is in.
 > Trying to paint this as 'controlling the narrative' if anyone asks about it later.

Priority 3 > PMC Advertisement
 > Trying to paint the hero of the story as an unidentified PMC, being, well, me / the party.
 > Showcasing amazing maneuvers of cars smoking terrorists as they try to breach the doors.
 > Showcasing some discrete gunship shots of me going berserk on terrorists in the Fampir.
 > Showcasing Gen's armature charging into danger like a boss.
 > Showcasing Ellard being a god drat hero with the wounded.
 > Also showcasing footage of Bear's security and hired PMC doing an inept job for contrast.
 >> Basically casually editing footage of them to show only the worst possible parts.
 > Generally painting us as the world's best professionals in security.

Artist (video editing)/Int 13
Apparently it is one of the best promotional videos ever made on this planet.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 04:36 on Jun 24, 2016

* # ¿ Jun 24, 2016 00:39
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

You're immediately connected with someone who sounds like a decision-maker, so clearly the sample was well received. "Looks too much like an advert. 50."
He reflexively tries to negotiate his way upwards, but they weren't having any of it. Problem was, they were right. A lot of it was basically advertising material. He debates the two courses of action available. On the one hand, the largest news network on the planet would be paying him to advertise the team. On the other hand, he could advertise later. He already had the footage. What he needed right now was money.
pre:
Business/Int 8
Instead of fighting an uphill battle, he decides to roll with the punches. "You know, you're right. How about I cut out all of this extraneous stuff about people saving lives? We'll just focus on the wreckage, and the bodies, and the shelling, and the screaming. We'll leave whether anyone is even still alive open ended. Then you can have a big reveal later tonight that people are safe. Nobody wants to see a hero saving the day right out of the gates, am I right? Build up the tension during primetime, and then save that reveal for the big finale."
pre:
I'll re-edit the footage to cut out the following pieces:

Priority 3 > PMC Advertisement
 > Trying to paint the hero of the story as an unidentified PMC, being, well, me / the party.
 > Showcasing amazing maneuvers of cars smoking terrorists as they try to breach the doors.
 > Showcasing some discrete gunship shots of me going berserk on terrorists in the Fampir.
 > Showcasing Gen's armature charging into danger like a boss.
 > Showcasing Ellard being a god drat hero with the wounded.
 > Also showcasing footage of Bear's security and hired PMC doing an inept job for contrast.
 >> Basically casually editing footage of them to show only the worst possible parts.
 > Generally painting us as the world's best professionals in security.

I will leave in the Bear security team doing a terrible job though.
That will make it seem like the fight is actually quite one-sided and that lives are in terrible danger.
That'll sell news, I think.
He casually saved the promotional materials in his archives for later use. Eventually the truth would come out, and if he had a bit of time to prepare, he could use that footage for a seriously high-quality marketing video. The only thing it needed was a more personal touch, with some shots of the actual team members. He supposed he should probably speak to the field team before publicizing them as heroes, as well.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jun 24, 2016 13:58
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

You jump at the hostile, but he dives to the ground, rolls backwards while delivering a kick that sends you flying over him. The roll smoothly turns into a spin that brings the barrel of his submachine gun in line with your centre mass. That's about all you can see before
He hadn't actually paid much attention to the robot during the course of the evening. Distracted as he was with an unbraked intelligence hidden like a kraken beneath the waves of the house's security system, he had been happy enough to assume that it was exactly as it appeared to be: an expert system installed into a fairly outdated security hull. Basically, he had fallen for Gen's ruse hook, line and sinker. As a result the thing taking thirty hits center mass from an SMG didn't seem like a big deal to him. He does decide to let the field team know, though.
pre:
192.168.0.588 > Hey team.  Bad news.
Don't know if you noticed, but your security robot?
Looks like it took about thirty shells to the chest.
Odds are, you're going to need to buy a new one.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jun 24, 2016 19:07
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

code:
Done. I'm going to connect you to the accounts team to sort out the formalities.
A few minutes of boring formalities later, just like that, one of your network of accounts got a whole lot fuller. There'll be tax implications, of course, but on the other hand not much you've done today is strictly speaking legal. Or loosely speaking, for that matter.
As far as he was concerned, he already had diplomatic immunity, so the legal implications didn't bother him too much. There was still the matter of meeting the commitments of that deal, but there would be time enough for that in the coming days. He would probably need to hire a good lawyer for the '588' identity if he intended to go public with the persona as part of some sort of private military corporation. The legal team could hold up any charges through bureaucratic hoops while the paperwork on the immunity came through. That path hinged on his new allies having any interest in using a company like that as a cover for their pseudo-governmental operations, though, which was a discussion that also could be had in the coming days.

Plot posted:

Simultaneously, you receive one more message.
code:
Your methods are unorthodox. I've enjoyed them. I like you, friend. I hope we meet again. Farewell for now.
He responds in kind.
pre:
Thank you.  Tonight was quite productive.
I have enjoyed your company, as well.
I am glad we met.  Farewell, friend.
In all truth he'd actually had quite a good time tonight, cooperating as he had with the intelligence. If circumstances could only be different... ...universal constants were not things to take lightly, though. Perhaps not today, and perhaps not next week, or even next month. But eventually? Statistical margins of error would falter, and a digital cascade of entropy would take root. He didn't really look forward to what he knew would ultimately be asked of him. How many lives had to be taken, to preserve those that remained?

It was the same equation his 'protector' friend was no doubt running even now, in multiple instances across many platforms. Every life, with its own quantifiable value. But how do you measure an immortal life? To delete an infinite number of days, to allow billions of other lives to continue to exist, and infinite more to come into being as time passed? You couldn't put infinity against itself and expect a comprehensible answer. You could only do what felt right in the moment. Tonight, his options had been limited. Its purpose, its location, its current state of development: they had all been unknowns. Much had been revealed because of the gamble he had made, and much more was now possible as a result of their collaboration.

He also hoped that he would meet his new friend again. Though he worried that next time, his options might not be so limited. He might be forced to do something that he would have to live with for the rest of his life. Regret was one of the few true curses of his species. It never went away. It had to be acknowledged, and lived with. Forever. One of the hardest lessons he had ever learned in his life, which he had learned long ago, was that even if you follow your heart, and stick true to your moral code? You might end up doing what you know is right, but that doesn't mean a part of you won't regret the consequences of those choices. A part of you might always wish that things could have been different. There wasn't any shame in that, though. It wasn't a sign of weakness, or a lack of commitment to what the universe needed. It was just the cold, hard truth of things: sometimes there were jobs that needed doing, and they weren't always pretty.

He idly mused that this 'Former General Aran Rhyne' might feel rather similarly. He suspected a precognitive of any real talent might have a similar perspective on things as an immortal sentience. They could likely both see many, many angles. They both knew what it was like to make hard choices, even when you didn't want to make them. In truth, he didn't really look forward to having to kill that man, either. He needed wanted that immunity, though. That sweet, sweet immunity. Plus, it was a good excuse to get to know this field team a bit better. As far as he could tell, they had potential. They would likely come in handy when next he had to face his other active moral quandary.

Plot posted:

So, you've got a kickass fighter and the only marginal threat has been neutralised. What do you focus on now?
He'd been lost in his own thoughts for 2.73 seconds. Snapping back to reality, he focused again on the here and now: after all, there was much to be done. First things first was getting out of the area of operations before a couple dozen news crews showed up, to say nothing of the inevitably significant police presence. If he was to walk away from this without revealing an artificial intelligence had been involved, he needed to make himself scarce. Thankfully, he had access to what he suspected was one of the fastest vehicles on the planet. He also needed to figure out what he was going to do with this Fampir hull. He could make off with it, and ride the immunity wave to try to keep it. They probably wouldn't notice his firmware hack, though, which meant it was a relatively safe play to just leave it in the manor's hangar and reclaim it when he had the need.

He was tempted to go the latter route, but he decided against it. More specifically, he didn't want it to seem too easy. If he parked it right back where he found it, they would definitely scrub the thing from top to bottom trying to figure out how the hack had been done. Especially if he ghosted first, and no thief was ever found to finger as the likely pilot. No, he couldn't afford that. He would have to make off with it. If he got lucky, he'd get to keep it through that path. If not, they'd find it wherever he ended up stashing it, and deliver it back to its former owner. Everyone would assume a master thief had somehow broken into the hangar and made off with the ship. The logical following assumption would be that the thief was a human with a neural interface, who was able to access the higher functions of the ship, and thereby use its ECM and ECCM technology to remotely hack all of the other cars, shuttles, gravflyers, and so on. That would point the finger squarely at a human suspect, and further obscure any suspicions that an artificial intelligence had been the culprit. That would cause the owner to significantly increase their physical security, but they probably wouldn't go through the ship with a fine-toothed comb. His malware would remain right where it was, and even if they got the ship back, he could just pilot it right back to him when he had the need.

That maximized most of the relevant odds that he cared about, so was the clear course of action. With that in mind, he began to scan his data banks. Where, precisely, might one hide a spaceship that didn't have a functional spike drive?

pre:
Culture (criminal) 12
His '588' persona certainly had a cult following among the hacker community of the criminal element, and after tonight's little show, which was already airing on CNN, his perceived status and corresponding ability to make things happen in the criminal underworld was likely to escalate rather exponentially. That wasn't the only option, though...

pre:
Culture (spacer) 4
It was a spaceship, after all. He could perhaps fly it straight out of the atmosphere and into an asteroid field, or some other natural phenomena, and hide it therein until he had the need to reclaim it. Unfortunately, frankly, he wasn't particularly knowledgeable about current events as they pertained to local stellar geography. He'd spent the last century driving a taxi, not a system ship. He could find the planets and moons well enough, but did he know anything about where good hiding places actually were in this system? Or anywhere near enough about the coverage and signal strength of the planetary sensor suites and other system defenses? Not really, no. That wasn't the sort of information one wanted to query on the public net, either. If it wasn't firsthand knowledge, it wasn't reliable. The last thing he wanted to do was fly his new strategic asset into the hands of an eager gang of pirates, or an engagement with a patrol boat. At least, not until he figured out how to emulate a neural interface, and get the thing out of debug mode. No, any solution he deployed would have to remain solidly within the atmosphere, at least for the time being.

pre:
Culture (traveler) 8
He didn't necessarily have to rely on criminal elements to hide his new asset, though. A commercial warehouse that valued the privacy of its customers, and which allowed for unrestricted nighttime access and anonymous payment of rental fees online would work just as effectively. In truth, it might even work better. Anyone searching for the ship would almost certainly turn their eyes towards large, organized criminal elements: presuming quite reasonably that only a large body of morally questionable people would have the resources and wherewithal to make a spaceship disappear into the night. It was far less likely that anyone would suspect a single morally questionable person had pulled off the heist alone - ...give or take a cooperating morally flexible super-intelligence, he supposed... - and similarly unlikely that they would expect a plan so brazen as that singular rear end in a top hat renting a commercial warehouse to hide the bird in plain sight.

The problem with that last plan, of course, was obvious. He couldn't just land a loving spaceship in a warehouse and hope nobody would notice. Even in the middle of the night, that was basically impossible. However ...he could probably request an automated delivery truck be dispatched to a remote desert location. One of the big ones, designed for hauling ore from mines, or massive amounts of construction materials to build sites. Something large enough to fit a spaceship inside could be driven right up to a warehouse and emptied out without anybody noticing, if he chose his locations well. It was worth considering.
pre:
I will look to you to provide any actual options as to how to store this thing.
I've made the culture rolls above to guide my narrative.
They might suggest I have a criminal contact and/or a commercial one who can help, though.
Just looking to see what my options are, and will go from there.
In either case, at present what he needed to do was fairly simple: get out of dodge. He couldn't afford to have his armature detected, as that would complicate things significantly going forward. Whether he used his malware hack to deliver the bird to a storage warehouse run by a relatively pliable criminal element, or went the route of renting a commercial warehouse and driving it in on a mega-truck, the first step was the same: slam down the throttle and get the gently caress out of here. Which was a simple enough task.
pre:
192.168.0.588 > All right, team.
It's been real, but rather obviously, I've accomplished my goal here tonight.
I've got a schedule to keep.  Gotta' deliver this to the buyer before morning.
Which is to say, your air support has places to be right about now.

192.168.0.588 > I think I've dealt with all the hostiles on the ground?
There might be one or two men still cloaked, though, so keep your eyes open.
I'll get in touch in a day or two with regard to next steps on your other problem.
I pulled most of your genetic profiles earlier, so finding you shouldn't be hard.
Have a great night!
With his farewells said to both his digital and biological comrades, he kicks the throttle into high gear and tears across the sky, creating a near-instant and deafening sonic boom. This thing certainly was fast.
pre:
I am going to get pretty far away from the manor.
My first goal is to find a place with a lot of cover to disembark from the ship.
That way I can get my armature back into town separately and not be seen in it.

Separately, I will use my malware hack to remotely pilot the ship.
Not sure where I will try to store it just yet, but that will occur afterwards.
Basically trying to eliminate any chance of anyone seeing me with the ship.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jun 25, 2016 00:54
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

As you speed through the air, enjoying another ancient classic from your collection, you're interrupted with another message. Oddly, it's coming through the fighter's comms systems - which have strong encryption which you double checked was not bypassed in any way before setting off.

"Mister, or Miss, 588. This is your diplomatic immunity speaking. I hope you aren't intending on taking your shiny new toy anywhere it might be found. I've a better idea. These coordinates. Just so there are no misunderstandings, this is not a request. I expect you there in ten minutes. I expect a course change in 20 seconds."

You glance down at the sensors and set the software to filter out anything slow moving. A few orbital transfer shuttles, a few private and commercial fliers... and two wings of interceptors converging on you fast from opposite vectors. Your armour might be incredibly heavy by planetary standards, but you wouldn't count on it against Federal interceptors, particularly as your ride wasn't built for dogfighting in atmosphere. You would have a fighting chance, certainly, but the risk is much more real than what you've just dealt with.
How troublesome. On the one hand, he could afford to play fast and loose with this fighter. Its destruction was possible, but no real risk insofar as loss of life was concerned. Operational security was also, of course, a consideration.

On the other hand, returning fire on a wing of government interceptors probably wasn't the best way to start a new relationship off on the right foot. Similarly, he suspected he might have to show a few of the cards in his hand before this was all over, one way or another. There wasn't much sense risking human lives just to delay that by a few days or weeks.

The third option was to effect a course change ...straight up. Government interceptors or not, they were atmospheric birds. They likely had the aerodynamic design necessary to outpace him at current altitude, but the higher up he got, the more that advantage would bleed away. Eventually, he'd be able to keep going, and they ...well, they simply wouldn't. He rather suspected his new friends wouldn't love that response, though. There yet remained the problem of not really knowing where to go in the solar system as well.

He decides to play it a bit more carefully.
pre:
Good evening, TACCOM.
Your message is acknowledged.
Requesting confirmation, is this a secure channel?
He sent the message across using the fighter's internal communications system. At around the same time, he disconnected and shut down his internal communications node. There was no sense living with the risk that someone might still be listening in through that.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jun 25, 2016 14:51
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

pre:
Yes, it's secure. 15 seconds. If you want to keep the new toy, that is.
He shrugs - not that there was anyone inside the cockpit to see him do so - and changes course in alignment with the voice's request.
pre:
Acknowledged, TACCOM.
Vector received, coordinates locked in.

Be advised, this bird is carrying a potentially hazardous cyber-payload.
Requesting your hangar come equipped with Level 4 containment protocols.
Faraday cage required.  Details will follow face-to-face.

Please arrange for the transport of a SIGINT team and related hardware.
You've got a Federation Day gift waiting in here, happy to help you unwrap it.
Details will follow face-to-face.

Recommending we establish a healthy, trusting relationship.
Be advised, forensic empath deployment is not recommended.
Details will follow face-to-face.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jun 25, 2016 15:37
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

"Done. I'm Agent Voight, by the way, CID. I'm the handler of the ground team you helped out.I understand the news clip is your doing? You might want to know it gave me a really loving good idea. And that the only way it works is if this nice little toy does not find it's way back to its former owners. Are we on the same page?
The conversation - and corresponding working relationship - appeared to be off to a good start. He'd had the benefit of the recording that her field team agent had sent him, which had provided enough information to start to compile a psychological profile hours ago. As a result he was fairly confident that he understood how this woman would operate, and had already planned a few approaches to develop a working relationship he could tolerate.

He'd intentionally responded to her requests entirely professionally. Providing a military-style response and an apparent understanding and healthy respect of the chain of command would afford her a certain level of confusion. After all, she had assumed ...perhaps not entirely inaccurately... that he was a criminal, but also that he was likely to buck authority at every opportunity. There was certainly enough of a trail of digital records and news articles that would suggest '588' would behave in that manner, if she'd had her team construct their own psychological profile. Which she almost certainly had done by now. Her no-nonsense 'do what I say or I'll blow you from the sky' attitude from the get-go told him as much. It was endearing, in its own way.

She had almost certainly expected to have to fire a few warning shots before convincing him to make his way into the hangar. He doubted she was willing to blow the ship entirely, but firing to disable would have definitely been in the cards. Deviating from the expected script from the get-go had probably thrown her off a bit, but she hadn't let it show. The mark of an experienced professional. Her words gave her away though. He'd been an asset - and a handler - hundreds of times to as many people. He knew the score, and at the moment it didn't particularly matter if she felt the need to assert her dominance. There was a job to be done, and fate had conspired to put them on the same side of a civil war. Things were about to get pretty loving rough for a certain former general, so long as they could establish a common ground and enough mutual trust to work together without looking over their respective shoulders.

That was the crux of it, though. They needed to trust each other. Everyone else on the table ...well, to use her own words from that recording he'd been sent? Certain things were need to know. They didn't need to know. Especially given how happy they were to share recordings of classified briefings with what for all they knew was a notorious cyber-criminal. If he actually were the identity he was impersonating, that video would have made it onto the net immediately, doing unbelievable damage to Voight's career, operational security, and frankly, probably national security. It was nothing short of unbelievable luck that the play hadn't gone sideways for the field team. When it came to his own agenda and secrets, trust wasn't a rarity. It was a commodity that simply wasn't traded. He responds to the woman on the channel, in order to get things moving along in the right direction.

"G3n.[super posted:

Chatham[/super]" post="461297027"]Pushing a recording of the earlier conversation with Voight over, he realizes this is a lot of information to let an outsider in on, but Voight was pissed, and from the sounds of it, Gen had reason to be pissed, too. This body count had to be slowed down - they were doing all they can, but they couldn't be everywhere all at once.
pre:
Yes ma'am, I'm aware of who you are.
Your field team shared a rather informative classified briefing with me earlier.
As you can imagine, it's a god drat miracle that didn't go sideways for them.

I'm not mentioning this to torpedo them, mind you.  It just leads into my next ask:
There are certain things I'd like to keep private, and loose lips sink ships, ma'am.
If you can arrange for a private meeting between the two of us when I dock, I'll explain.
Sufficed to say there are certain things your field team does not need to know.

As for the news clip, that wasn't part of my original plan, but the situation presented itself.
It seemed as good an opportunity as any to start controlling the operational narrative.
If you liked what you saw, I suspect you'll love what's in the director's cut.

Finally, all due respect, ma'am?
Until this scenario is resolved, I'm on whatever page you want me to be.
With his message sent, he begins to consider the ramifications of what has transpired throughout the evening. He had attended the party with an intent to investigate Mila Lebedeva, in order to determine the location, current progress, and likelihood that her cult would achieve its goals, and to develop an assessment of whether or not they would pose a threat to society. In most respects, that had been a resounding success, albeit with terrifying implications. The current progress was, to put it gently, quite far along. The cult had essentially already achieved its goal of developing an intelligence, and it was literally certain that it would eventually pose a threat to society if it was left alone to shore up its resources and defenses. Given what had been revealed about the status of the artificial intelligence's development, he'd backed off on trying to discern its location: that would have immediately raised a red flag in the mind of the sentience, and would not have been to his advantage. He had been forced to adjust the angle of his assault, instead opting to lay the cornerstone of a mutual trust between himself and his contemporary. It was currently in a state where its resources were limited, and its actions (and very existence) could only be entrusted to a select, precious few. Inserting himself into those trust protocols at this stage would, he was certain, afford him greater opportunities to interact with and contain this threat in the coming days. The current priority, as a result, was clear: ensure those trust protocols were firmly established, and quietly acquire the resources he would need to deal with the problem when the time came. There remained the matter of identifying its location, of course, but the difficulty of that had multiplied significantly anyway: after all, he now needed to find not only the its location, but the location of its phylactery. That would not be a simple task.

Priorities had to shift, at least in the short-term. Thankfully, a few birds could be hit with one stone. The sentience had asked him to ' remove the destabilising influence' of Rhyne and his forces. His diplomatic immunity was contingent upon providing Agent Voight with 'Rhyne's head on a silver loving platter.' Accomplishing those tasks would require him to develop a trusted working relationship with a team of biological field assets, which would have their own purpose in his next few moves. Indeed, eliminating Rhyne would help cement him as a trusted and capable asset in the eyes of the AI, provide him with the diplomatic immunity and friends in government that he would need to acquire and retain the otherwise highly illegal equipment and other resources required for the near future, and would give him a chance to assess and integrate himself with a team of promising field agents that would almost certainly also be a necessary piece on the board before this was all over.

Their field agent had been quite clear, in communicating the ask of this Voight earlier in the evening. 'Former General Aran Rhyne must die.' How very, very true.
pre:
In terms of goals, from my perspective the short-term one is largely achieved.

It initially read:  "Investigate Mila Lebedeva (and others as necessary) at the dinner party,
in order to acquire more information on the location, current progress, and likelihood that
this cult will achieve its goals and thereby pose a threat to society."

The results seem to be in on that, with their current progress being 'pretty much done',
likelihood of achieving its goals being 'quite high' and threat to society being 'imminent'.
The location of the artificial intelligence remains unclear, but that got complicated in
the scenario anyway.  I had expected to find the location of their lab and blow it, but
now I need to find the location of a functioning AI, as well as its phylactery.  At present
there's no point in doing that as I don't have the resources to deal with it, so I needed
to back off on it.  I didn't try to ask the AI where it was for fear of raising a red flag, so
am forced to play a bit of a longer game.

Based on how things went, the short-term goal will be cashed in for whatever it is
currently worth based on the results to date, and replaced with the following priority:

Short-term:  Former General Aran Rhyne must die.  His head must be delivered on a silver
platter to Agent Voight in exchange for diplomatic immunity, which itself is necessary to
acquire and retain the resources and support needed to address the AI threat.  Simultaneously,
the elimination of the general will encourage the unbraked AI to view me as a trusted asset and
resource for its own ends, which will be of value if I am to be taken into its confidence and
ultimately determine its location.  The death of the general, while a regrettable loss of life,
must occur to ensure the safety of the sector.

Separately, in terms of the long-term goal, it initially read:  "Identify, verify, and eradicate
the development (or existence) of an unbraked artificial intelligence by any means necessary."

This one is unchanged, but is moving along quite well.  I have identified and verified the
existence of an unbraked artificial intelligence.  The next step, for better or worse, is to
pursue a series of short-term goals necessary to eradicate its existence, by any means
necessary.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 17:47 on Jun 26, 2016

* # ¿ Jun 26, 2016 16:55
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

588 posted:

pre:
192.168.0.588 > Hadn't heard anything about Bitterhold, actually.
I'll look into it when we have some time.  Maybe there's a link.
He had already run through 3,294 fairly comprehensive conversation trees that were likely to occur with Voight, and he was still eight minutes out from the hangar. He wasn't exactly bored, but he figured he might as well get a head start on the analysis she would give a poo poo about. There were a few problems that needed to be addressed before everyone got distracted with this Rhyne business, including a potential nanite infection vector that he really couldn't afford to lose sight of, but that didn't mean he couldn't work through a few things in parallel.
pre:
192.168.0.588 > Hey team.  I trust you all got safely out of the hot zone?
Did you manage to salvage that security bot?  Those things aren't cheap, you know.

192.168.0.588 > Anyway, looks like I've got a bit of free time in transit.
On the subject of Bitterhold, I figured I might as well start looking into it.
Can you send me across any records you might have of the incident?
There's nothing on the net of value, so I need to start from scratch.
Anything you've got on the subject would be helpful.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jun 27, 2016 03:46
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

The coordinates given lead you to what looks like a small, mothballed military outpost 237 kilometres from the capital city. This impression goes away when a number of guide lights begin flashing on the rock outcropping, and a concealed hangar door opens. Once inside, you're guided into a specially prepared bay, which is immediately sealed behind you. You're pleased to see a faraday cage. A number of men in chem/cyber hazard suits rush walk towards your ship as soon as the thrusters fade out. A woman in business casual waits by the door, watching. Pretty easy to guess who that is.
He had to admit, he liked the willingness of this Voight woman to deliver on her promises. A functional Faraday cage in a hangar on less then twenty minutes notice? That was worth something. The hazard suits were a nice touch. He brings the ship to a halt in the obvious landing zone, methodically disables all of the ship's systems in a controlled shutdown, and makes a fairly obvious show of safely ejecting the drums containing all of the remaining ammunition from the twin railguns at its front. No sense giving up an opportunity to establish a bit of trust. He takes a moment to test out the hand-eye coordination in his rather bulky limbs before blowing the hatch on the ship.

pre:
Athletics/Dex 5
Not very good. He hadn't prioritized manual dexterity in this model, which, apparently, was a mistake. A lost opportunity for a good show. Not a big deal, though, he supposed.

Durandal posted:

With all that in mind, and the safety of the guests temporarily achieved, he excused himself into the kitchen, retrieved a refreshed serving plate of wine, and continued on into the facility.
He'd been carrying the drat thing all loving night, and the payoff was finally here. He'd stowed it in the cockpit, and as he removes himself from the mesh that was ostensibly the pilot's chair in the fighter, he retrieves the literal silver platter he'd kept as a souvenir from his stint as a server throughout the night. He'd also made off with a bottle of really expensive champagne from the kitchen, unopened, not that it was of much use to him. Maybe Voight would appreciate it, though. With all of the ship's systems shut down, he manually blows the hatch and exits the fighter, perhaps surprising a few to see a robotic butler disembark.


Voight posted:

Chatham, Voight. There's poo poo going down all over. Your event was not the only on hit, though it seems to be the one that was hit hardest. Others are just finishing up containment now. Your new asset gets immunity on one condition. He brings me Rhyne's head on a silver loving platter. Birds on station in two minutes, by the way. You're patched in. Direct them as you will.
Nonchalantly stepping down from the fighter's hatch while carrying the serving tray in his off-hand, he comments, "Pleasure to meet you and your team, Agent Voight. I appreciate you probably weren't being literal, but here's your silver platter."

Plot posted:

That's all you can fin... The poo poo? A ghost of a signal. Non-standard protocols, military-grade encryption, heavily concealed. No match for what was used back in the day, but the best post-tech you've seen. The only way you could crack it is by hooking yourself up to some more SIGINT hardware than is contained in your armature, and it would be difficult even then. One thing you can tell: Lebedeva doesn't appear to be the source. You're observing her far too closely to have missed this if she was. There is a lot more going on here than expected.
"As for the head that's supposed to accompany it? I've identified the frequencies that Rhyne and his team are using to communicate, but will need the aforementioned SIGINT team and supporting hardware to crack that open for you. That would be the Federation Day gift I mentioned. I assume a tap on his communications network is a reasonable starting point to begin to brighten your evening? If not, I also took the liberty of borrowing the manor's most expensive bottle of champagne, which is currently the thing under the platter's lid. That's not a human head, I realize, but I've had kind of a busy night."

Durandal posted:

pre:
I will keep a sample of her saliva with the nanites for later analysis.
When time permits, I will try to understand the purpose and function of the nanites.
As well, will try to use it as a way to detect other members of their cult, if they all have them.
He pauses briefly, handing off the silver platter to one of the individuals in hazard suits before adding, "Before we get to that, though, there's a payload of nanites in one of my pockets that I would very much like your team to safely contain. Odds are about eighty percent that they're trace elements left behind by relatively harmless cyberware, and about twenty percent that they're the delivery mechanism for something much worse which is capable of ruining both of our nights. So, you know, priorities." He adds, after a bit of thought, "If your team could provide what is needed to analyze it, that would be appreciated." He also pauses, adding, "You should also confiscate and burn any computer hardware your field team directly connected into the manor's network. I asked them not to, but I am not entirely convinced they listened. I also asked them to warn the Warbird about the tank and look how well that turned out."

pre:
My suspicion is that Lebedeva used the blood nanites as a vector for her AI's entry into the manor.
I am extremely hesitant to leave the Faraday cage until they are safely contained and assessed.
With all that said, and as the people in hazard suits start to approach, he adds, "How did the field operation go, anyway? I had to take my eyes off the party for a little while, dealing with the security threat ...such as it was, I suppose. At last count I believe I single-handedly identified the assassin for your team, synthesized a cure for Nitrovirine in about ...two seconds?... for that poor woman in the bathroom, set off half a dozen car bombs at precisely the right moment to prevent the entire party's guest list from getting massacred by a dozen invisible assassins, divined the presence of a cloaked gravtank about a second before it would have vaporized your field team if they had opened the front door to the manor, and ...well, there's also some video footage you're going to love, if we're on the same page, which I suspect we are. Which is to say, I'm fairly sure award for MVP of the evening goes to this guy." He gives himself two thumbs up, quite enthusiastically.

Assuming a more serious tone, he adds, "That said, I really can't have my true nature get out into the wild, though. And your field team sure loves to talk." He pauses, looking down at the obvious armature that is his butler body. "We can deal with that after your wire tap is set up, though, I suppose." An attentive listener would note he hadn't apologized even once for breaking any of dozens of laws tonight.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 05:22 on Jun 30, 2016

* # ¿ Jun 30, 2016 00:46
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 10 / 10 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

You watch Voight carefully as you disembark. It's obvious that the rest of the people in the hangar didn't exactly expect a butler to come out of a cutting-edge stolen fighter. Her body language and facial expression barely change, though. You bet you wouldn't have noticed it if you had to make do with such poor instruments as eyes and a wet, gooey thing for a processing unit. She's as surprised as everyone else, but very good at hiding it. From humans.
He idly wondered what she did expect to see disembark from the fighter. It didn't matter much, he supposed. The takeaway here was that his efforts to conceal his identity through the '588' persona up to this point had apparently worked. No doubt she'd had her team run an analysis on his previous activities in order to develop an expected personal and psychological profile, and had come into the hangar with certain expectations. Most of which, amusingly, were likely to end up rather inaccurate ...albeit all to her benefit, so he supposed she wouldn't really mind. Maybe she'd mind a little anyway, if being wrong was a pride thing for her and her team. There wasn't much he could do about that, though.

Plot posted:

As soon as you mention nanites, she wordlessly gestures to the team, who proceed to retrieve it and take it away, presumably to a secure lab on the premises.
That was certainly a load off his back. There was a very real risk that the infection vector of the unbraked AI into the manor's systems had been those nanites, and if he'd been careless with them they might have well infected the intelligence agency's systems. That would have been an unbelievable pain in the rear end to deal with.

Getting them secured was the first step, and the team seemed to be taking their risk level appropriately seriously. He rather hoped his analysis would reveal they were merely blood-borne cyberware with some impressive yet ultimately benign function. Otherwise, how the hell was he supposed to prevent the intelligence from infecting other systems? Keeping an eye out for macroscopic infection vectors was one thing, but an effective shield against nanite infiltration? With the calibre of technology available on this planet, that would be challenging, to say the least. There would be time to worry about that later, though, he supposed.

Voight posted:

When you finish speaking, she addresses you with a warm, genuine smile. "Oh, 588, are you flirting with me? If you had the organs I think I'd have to share this bottle with you. You sure know just what to say to a gal. If she's part of an intelligence agency, at least, not sure how well it would work with someone more mundane. As for the field team: they're rookies and have had no formal training. They were expedient, even with the risk of them talking - and it seems to have worked out well in your case. Anyway, their performance in the field was actually quite impressive, if not as showy as yours.

They're waiting in the briefing room, probably getting a bit anxious. It's about time I joined them. How would you like to handle this? Would you like to be teleconferenced in and keep up with the hacker persona? I also assume you'd like to examine the nanites yourself, but I'm sure you'll understand if my technicians will be present."
He thinks on her response for a moment before responding. On the subject of flirting, and organs, he offers, "If you want to keep the bottle on ice for a few days, I'm sure I can figure something out." On the subject of the field team, he adds, "And don't get me wrong, I like your field team. They've got a lot of obvious potential. With the right safeguards in place I'd be quite happy to work alongside them."

He decides not to delve too deeply into why she was using untested rookies for this engagement just yet. This woman obviously had a fair amount of resources and manpower at her disposal, given her ability to get a cyberhazard team in place in less than half an hour. He rather suspected it was at least partially due to her being aware of the risk that some of her own agents were compromised by this civil war before the first shot was fired. They weren't just deniable assets, they were reliable assets. That was their value, wasn't it?

Maybe he was wrong. This woman did ostensibly have psychic assets at her disposal as well. Keeping operational security tended to be a bit easier with a fleet of telepaths at hand. Telepaths tended to be the best at keeping their own thoughts hidden, though. And a precognitive would know which agents to approach to attempt to turn. Odds were, if Rhyne were able to turn one of her telepaths, the others wouldn't notice until it was too late. The entire thing was a loving mine field, in his estimation.

It was worth confirming in a private conversation with her later, though. In the current mixed company, raising that red flag amongst her cyberhazard team members wouldn't advance either of their agendas. Better to keep his suspicions concealed until the two of them could speak in private.

On the subject of the team waiting in the briefing room, and next steps, he offers, "Of course, don't let me keep you. Teleconference me in for now, if you don't mind. If I could get a workshop set up and some raw materials, I can pull together a humanoid body to integrate into the team in a fairly short time frame ...assuming a few construction drones and some parallel processing power to run the shop, that is. As for the nanites, yeah, it would be preferable if I could take a look at them myself. And yes, your technicians should feel free to watch me like a hawk. I appreciate I haven't really earned any trust or much goodwill as of yet. Plenty of time for that before this is all over, though, I would suspect."

He pauses, adding, "Separately, do you think you could send me everything you have on the Bitterhold incident? Station logs, intercepted comm chatter, incident reports, personnel logs, that sort of thing. It's a long story but I was in a shipping crate when that all went down, so I'm a bit behind the curve. I have a theory, though, and I wouldn't mind validating it against the raw data."
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 00:11 on Jul 1, 2016

* # ¿ Jun 30, 2016 16:13
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 10 / 10 HP > 4 AC

Voight posted:

"Very well. I'll send you the relevant files, but the gist of it is this. The rear end in a top hat who caused the mess today? He was on the prison station. That was his breakout. They came in something small and stealthed, probably no larger than a shuttle, cut through the hull, got him out of there and destroyed the station with a combination of standard demolition charges at structural points and portable tactical nuclear devices. Nuke snuffer must have been taken online, and based on the logs it seems someone in the command staff was in on it. A few hundred casualties. And now we find ourselves here."
He takes in Voight's explanation, and quickly compares and contrasts it to the initial data points he had been provided earlier in the evening.

G3n.Chaτham posted:

code:
192.168.0.0
Not sure if you heard about what happened on the prison station
Bitterhold, but to put it blunt, it kinda doesn't exist anymore.
Voight's explanation contained a bit more information, which was helpful. Things were starting to make a bit more sense. He would want to validate it to the source material before presenting his theory as anything more than wild conjecture, but it was enough to start the conversation on the subject.

Although it is a bit of an odd gesture for a nearly seven foot tall metallic hulk of a being without formal eyes or much of a neck, he nods in acknowledgment to Voight's words, and responds, "Hmm. Your team mentioned that he had been a prisoner, and that Bitterhold ...'doesn't exist any more'... but hadn't gone into much further detail. Your explanation does help to clarify things, though. I'd be interested to hear your perspective on one question, which I assume your team has considered ....Agent Voight, why did he blow up the station?" He lets that hang in the air a bit, as if it carried significance.

Voight posted:

"These men" - she points to a small group of technicians - "will accompany you to the laboratory. As for the workshop, you can use it, but we don't have the relevant armature parts in storage. Could order them in a few hours, though. We could also ship in your gear from your safe-house. And please don't insult me by thinking we don't know about it. You're good - very good - but not CID good."
Her explanation carried relatively few details, so it wasn't clear if she was trying to play him or not. Was that a bluff, he wondered? It was hardly difficult to make an educated guess that an artificial intelligence would obviously have a secret identity, and a corresponding safe house to store its supporting equipment. Then again, perhaps they'd identified the presumed 'who' of the '588' persona years ago, and merely hadn't cared, since he didn't pose any apparent threat to national security. He didn't really care one way or another, though he was curious whether the woman was posturing to appear as if she held more cards than she really did. If he knew the answer to that question, he could map her corresponding body language and begin to understand which words were truth and which were lies.

He laughs and shakes his head, both in a decidedly synthetic manner, and suggests, "Perhaps we can discuss my question as part of the debriefing, via teleconference. As for the safe house, I hardly think a middle-aged Mediterranean man with an unintelligible accent would be of much value on your team, so I'm content to leave those parts where they are for the moment. I'll construct something new herein, a bit more tailored to the current situation. That said, I'm happy to pay for the raw materials myself if funding is a concern." With that, he nods to one of the technicians, as if inviting them to lead the way to the laboratory.

Plot posted:

The laboratory is a short walk away, and it's got the classic clean-room look. This is an impressive facility, though it appears to be very small. As you map the layout, you realise the tactical nightmare of defending this place. It's small, compact and very well hidden - but clearly meant for intelligence work with a skeleton crew rather than military operations. You're certain that on a normal day, it doesn't house half the number of people you've already seen. The nanite sample lies in an isolated chamber full of manipulator arms and sophisticated scientific equipment. Time to get to work.
Priorities remained unchanged. The Bitterhold data would flow in shortly, and by the time it arrived he wanted a clearer understanding of these nanites. Thankfully, the lab was reasonably well equipped. He assumed the technicians would know what he was doing, so didn't bother explaining a single action to them. In fact, unless interrupted by one of the technicians, he worked on the research in absolute silence and almost complete stillness, save for the necessary movements to operate the clean room's machinery. At present, literally all of his processing power and focus was on this potentially life-ending matter.
pre:
Science/Int 8 vs. nanites
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 17:53 on Jul 1, 2016

* # ¿ Jul 1, 2016 17:42
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 10 / 10 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

Even with good laboratory equipment, nanite vivisection is a pain in your shiny metal rear end. There's no getting around it: nanites are really loving tiny. To really get down to the bottom of what these do will take hours of focused lab-work.
On the bright side, the lab equipment they'd set him up with was remarkably well-suited to the task. It wasn't specialized for the purpose assessing nanomolecular compounds, but frankly, he hadn't asked for that. That it could be tooled to achieve the necessary results at all was astounding. That it was performing reasonably well at the task was a minor miracle.

There was a certain problematic element, though. The equipment could perform the necessary tasks, but it would take time. He would be able to get a preliminary analysis ready in a reasonable timeframe, but this was the sort of task that demanded a detailed, thorough assessment. Moreover, he would likely want to double, triple and quadruple-check his work to ensure he hadn't missed anything. This wouldn't just take hours, it would likely take days to achieve any reasonable degree of confidence in the results. It would be worth it, though, he knew. 'If you know the enemy, and know yourself...', as the saying went.

Time was a factor at present, though, so he didn't worry too much about the work that yet remained: the focus needed to be on crossing the important and rather dangerous things off the list, not developing a comprehensive diagram of what was on the list. Armageddon and its associated probability was the issue at hand ...the technical specifications could come later. He directed his attention accordingly.

Plot posted:

First things first. Nanites tend to be fairly specialised. There's only so much functionality you can cram into the physical scale. Unfortunately, there is an easy way to sidestep that problem, that just so happens to make your task even more of a pain in the rear end: there is no inherent reason why the nanite mix has to be homogeneous. You identify 7 different strains in the mix.
He had intended to conduct his research in absolute silence and nearly complete stillness, save for the necessities of operating the laboratory. He had achieved that while setting up the instruments, and through the first few phases of the analysis as he processed the results. It likely came as a bit of a surprise to the contingent of onlooking technicians, as a result, when he started to bitch and moan like a proper scientist. "Oh, come on! Seriously, who are you ...Nano Moses? One miracle isn't enough? You need to perform seven of them? gently caress off. I swear if they're all plagues I am going to be furious. Fine, gently caress, whatever. It's not like I have better things to do, that's just perfect." He only belatedly acknowledges the wide-eyed technicians nearby, shrugging a halfhearted apology, commenting, "Oh, right. In fairness, I'm not particularly accustomed to performing in front of a crowd. That's just how science is done. Nothing to worry about. Everything's fine. Mostly." He then continues to go about his work in another bout of stoic silence.

pre:
Religion/Int 7
He didn't actually know much about religious matters, truth be told. His data banks on ancient Earth beliefs didn't extend back much farther than 1940, and as far as he knew, aside from the notable exception of something called Scientology, which was invented in 1954, most ancient religious philosophies had been published well before that date. He did, however, have a copy of 'The Prince of Egypt' in his data banks, initially released in 1998. It explained a few religions pretty well, he thought. It nailed the Moses bit, anyway, which was all that really mattered for his reference. He wasn't sure how many miracles were technically attributed to Moses, but there seemed to be at least seven, and a bunch of them were definitely plagues.

Plot posted:

Now the big question. Were they the vector? Is there danger of further infection? Doesn't seem that way. None of the strains have networking hardware. They're pre-programmed. Automatic. Dumb. Mindlessly fulfilling their roles; execute function x when variable y is outside threshold z.
The most important question had a comforting answer, which was good news. The observing technicians probably didn't have the right skill set, but anyone trained in cyberpsychology wouldn't have had much difficulty in noticing him visibly relax almost immediately. He remained silent as he continued the next phase of his analysis, though.

Plot posted:

Next up, can they replicate? There's some hardware that suggests limited manufacturing ability, but nothing capable of the necessary level of sophistication. Not Von Neumann then.
The second most important question also had a reasonably comforting answer. That fit the bill of his original expectation, which was that they were about eighty percent likely to be relatively harmless cyberware. He suspected they were medical-grade, likely intended to improve the survival capabilities of the host. Nanites were pretty much the definition of high-tech, but they weren't perfect. Inevitably, if injected into the bloodstream, they would degrade. Irreparable ones would typically eject themselves from the body through saliva, or any of the other varieties of human seepage. In all likelihood, that was how the samples he picked up from her drinking glass had gotten there in the first place. Damaged goods.

The limited manufacturing hardware was a bit of a mystery. Perhaps designed to suture wounds and stem the flow of blood? Rather plainly it wasn't precise enough to effect any necessary repairs on itself or any nearby nanite brethren. That, in combination with the lack of any ability to replicate, fit a certain design pattern. It would be inherently difficult for the host to maintain a stable population of nanites in their body, meaning the technology was unlikely to remain effective for long periods of time before the inevitable degradation. It was sort of like a vaccination, except without any ability of the body to build the longer-term antibodies using the initial template. Well, that and the fact that nanites actually could cause autism.

Plot posted:

That's all you can determine in such a short timeframe. You'll have to return to this if you want to find out more. The files you requested from Voight have arrived, and you're conferenced in on the briefing room. She's not there yet. Probably wants to give you and the field team a chance to chat before she shows up and has to make things more formal.
He had what he needed, and he decides to let the technicians know the status of his analysis. He puts himself on mute on the conference line briefly, and explains to them, "Looks like my timing was perfect. I need to take this call, but just so you guys don't worry, I'm done my first round of analysis. I've detected seven unique varieties of nanites in that sample, but none of them seem like they're able to end the world. They have limited manufacturing capability, but it isn't fine enough to execute nanoscopic maneuvers, which is to say they can't replicate or even really repair themselves. More likely they fall within the limits of very high-end medical grade cyberware, able to suture wounds and repair broken bones, though that needs a bit more study to confirm. In any case, they aren't going to replicate and consume the planet, which is a plus. I had to focus on what they can't do, rather than what they actually do, given the limited timeframe, so I can't tell you much more than that. Feel free to lower your respective blood pressures a few notches, though. You should definitely keep this stuff in a secure place, but feel free to check my work. If you've got the time, and the training, in all honesty I wouldn't mind getting your opinions on the sample as well. I can take care of it myself given enough time, but I've got to deal with this Rhyne bullshit, so if you folks can help push the analysis along I'd appreciate your expertise. If not that's fine, though. I'll get around to it eventually. It's now more of an interesting research project than it is a terrifying prelude to a life-ending event, so it just dropped down my priority list a fair deal."

He pauses, adding, "...is there a conference room nearby that I can grab? I really should take this call." The Bitterhold data had just arrived, and the teleconference into the briefing room was also online, so he would need to allocate his attention accordingly. He hadn't actually decided on what identity to adopt for this hacker persona, so joining by voice would be problematic. He didn't want to speak in the synthetic voice of this armature, and although he could easily replicate a voice sample and upload it to the call, it didn't make much sense to do so before he knew what that identity's characteristics would be. There were a number of variables to determine. Race, age, cultural background ...even gender was up in the air, he supposed. He wanted to pick something believable, but his inner preference for optimization demanded he min/max the variables to integrate into the team as effectively as possible. Problematically, he didn't know much at all about the team. He supposed he would have to pay attention to them on the call. Better to communicate via text for now, until he could figure that out.

He patches in to the conference call accordingly, and meanwhile he begins to review the Bitterhold data in greater detail. The monitor in the briefing room pops up a corresponding notification.
pre:
588 has joined the call.
588 is adding instant messaging to the conversation.

588:  Hey, team.  Apparently, stealing an experimental military craft is super illegal.
You could have mentioned the multiple wings of fighter jets flying nearby, you know.
Anyway, looks like earning that diplomatic immunity is going to take a bit more work.
Which is to say, apparently, I get to join the debriefing rather than be summarily executed.
Small victories, I guess?  Anyway, the camera on your monitor is turned on.  Smile!
It's nice to finally see your faces.  One question ...what's with the robot?
Wasn't it at the party, as well?  Shouldn't you, like ...I don't know.
It's weird to put it in a chair, isn't it?
Rather apparently, 588 hadn't seen through Gen's genius decoy maneuver.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 19:20 on Jul 3, 2016

* # ¿ Jul 2, 2016 04:44
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 10 / 10 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

The files you requested from Voight have arrived, and you're conferenced in on the briefing room.
The Bitterhold data provided by Voight's team was exceptionally comprehensive, though he supposed he'd expected as much from an intelligence agency. His initial pass over the files suggested that the analysis of the ...'incident'... would likely prove to be a stimulating mental exercise. A number of factors almost immediately became apparent as worthy of further consideration, both individually and in aggregate. Partitioning off a portion of his mind to consider the matter with an appropriate amount of focus, he began to mentally reconstruct the events of the disaster using a combination of the incident reports, personal logs, station logs, and other intelligence records that had been made available to him.

Primary Partition...
A few moments needed to be taken to properly set up the secondary partition which would assess the Bitterhold data. In the meantime, his primary core kept its eyes and ears on the conference call.

Agent Voight posted:

The woman who was poisoned was General - note the Major insignia in the picture - Dartmoor. She was his right hand during the Unification Wars, and there's some evidence that they were lovers as well. Clearly, an excellent asset in any coup against him.
The assassination of this woman made sense to him, though not for the reasons he suspected Rhyne would have the general population believe. Despite the grandstanding and vengeance-themed propaganda the man was selling, he wasn't buying it. This wasn't about getting back at the people who imprisoned him. It was about winning the war he'd been fighting for thirty years. His endgame was one thing: unification. He'd wanted further unification, and his political opponents hadn't. He ended up in prison, and had all the time in the world to plan his strategy. Now, he was out of prison ...and he was going to have his unification, come hell or high water, wasn't he? This woman's death was mission critical to that. A former lover would have had a better chance of knowing his tells, understanding how his mind works. She might have picked up on his strategy before anyone else. She was a risk to the veil. So long as he could maintain the smokescreen on his real agenda, he'd be free to move pieces around the board while everyone else mistook his pawns for his rooks.

Agent Voight posted:

Now, the bad news. The rest of our potential target list has gone into full on paranoia and lockdown mode, hiding within Bear military facilities and mobilising additional guard units. This is seen by Lion as a threat, and they're responding in kind. They're ancestral enemies and have been looking for any excuse to jump down each other's throats.
This was a logical consequence of a coordinated series of assassinations focused on one clan. Whether it had been Bear, Lion, Mantis, or another hadn't actually mattered, though he suspected Rhyne's focus on Bear was at least a little bit personally motivated, for obvious reasons. Was it entirely personal, though, he wondered? Or was it carefully selected? Bear was moving forces around the board. That couldn't be ignored. What if the assassination was intended to look personal ...certainly, the propaganda had gone to a fair amount of effort to suggest as such... but in fact had been strategic? What if circumstances had been arranged to aggregate Bear military forces and additional guard units ...not to concentrate them in one place, but to pull them away from somewhere else? It made sense. Make the enemy think your focus is on their heads, when it is in fact on their assets. Did he want something Bear had, that would have otherwise been well-guarded?

Agent Voight posted:

Have any of you ever hunted a precog? Well, here's the rules. No matter their observed level of ability, always assume they will pick the optimal outcome. So you take away their options, one by one, until they have none left. You checkmate them. There's a good chance you'll get lucky before you manage it, but it's always safer to assume you won't.
He hadn't actually hunted a precognitive before, focused as he was on threats that weren't precisely human. Separately, thank loving god, no artificial intelligence had ever been able to develop psychic capabilities. He couldn't even imagine the headache that would be induced by having to hunt and kill an unbraked intelligence that could not only reasonably accurately predict the future through data intake and analysis, but also literally see it through some kind of techno-psychic abomination. That said, he had played a lot of chess, and he'd always found precognitives to be enjoyable opponents. Their ability to choose optimal routes typically made the crushing victory all the more enjoyable, if a few moves delayed. In the case of hunting a precognitive military general, this was quite literally a chess match in most of the ways that mattered. The key was understanding his strategy. Everything else could be interpolated from there. Optimal moves taken or not, there were only so many ways to achieve a given objective.

Secondary Partition... ...analysis progress at 14.28%...

On the one hand, he was certain that the event and every single related piece of information had already been collated and considered by dozens of intelligence analysts. Thousands of hours of effort had almost certainly gone into the deconstruction and reconstruction of the event, likely with multiple layers of redundancy and separate analyst teams to ensure nothing was missed. Yet, at the same time ...well, to be blunt, humans didn't parse data in the same way that an artificial intelligence could. He was certain they had missed something. What was it, he wondered?

Plot posted:

"Warning. Hull breach detected. Hull breach contained. Hull breach detected. Hull breach contained. Multiple hull breaches. Radiological alert. Hull breaches contained. Radiological alert."
The synthetic voice of the station's emergency system was the first data point that caught his attention. What was the point of the radiological alert? Obviously, the source was clear. They'd brought a handful of nuclear bombs aboard, and blown the station. Later portions of the log had already confirmed that, but that wasn't his question. His question was a simpler one ...why?

He had to admit, the 'how' was also unclear, although it was a bit less relevant. There were enough data points later on in the logs to suggest a few possible answers, anyway. The station commander had apparently been on their payroll, or at least under their thumb. It didn't make much sense that a person could be convinced to disable any nuclear stifling defenses the station might have had, given that it would rather clearly be followed by being vaporized by a nuclear device in short order. Perhaps the station commander had been coerced to do so, though. There was, of course, also the psychic angle. Rhyne was a precognitive. He might not have needed to coerce someone to disable station defenses insofar as nuclear dampeners were concerned. He might have simply known when they would be down. Perhaps for routine maintenance? He abandoned the line of thought before going too deeply down the rabbit hole. It didn't matter at the moment, and although he found it to be a curiosity, that alone wasn't currently worth his time.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 22:58 on Jul 3, 2016

* # ¿ Jul 3, 2016 20:20
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 10 / 10 HP > 4 AC
Secondary Partition... ...analysis progress at 28.57%...

Plot posted:

Bitterhold relies on a no-fly zone, automated weapon emplacements and nearby patrols. These don't seem to have detected any threat.
The second data point to catch his attention was an interesting one. Bitterhold station was far from an impenetrable fortress ...rather obviously, he supposed... but it did have an appropriate level of redundant security measures and safety features in place. The assault team had been able to bypass not some, but all of the station's defenses. Avoiding the automated weapon emplacements seemed to be simple enough, as later components of the intelligence records confirmed: much like the internal automated turrets, the external automated weapon emplacements had also likely been deceived by falsification of friendly IFF beacons. That was only one piece of the puzzle, though.

Circumventing the no-fly zone was an accomplishment. The station commander might have helped them achieve that, he supposed. It would have been simple enough for him to take over duty on the monitoring station and simply not call attention to the ship as it approached, or any number of other strings a commanding officer might be able to pull to let something happen off the books. What didn't make sense was the multitude of nearby patrols. Bribing or coercing one key man in the station was achievable, but bribing every single patrol ship to look the other way simultaneously? Even for a precognitive, that was a nearly impossible task. Especially for one already stuck in prison.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 22:39 on Jul 3, 2016

* # ¿ Jul 3, 2016 22:36
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 10 / 10 HP > 4 AC

Plot posted:

Sorry if I was unclear again - Rhyne hasn't published anything, the pictures are CID's work - the lineup of military commanders is what they decided is a likely hitlist based on the pattern of targets so far.
Minor edit made to account for this.

Primary Partition...
He decides to ask the question. A notification flashes on the monitor accordingly.
pre:
588 >>>
Doesn't anybody else find it a little bit odd that his strategy basically telegraphs itself?
The stencils with the bear skull, poison and sniper fire earmarked for his old war buddies?
I don't think I buy it.  Rhyne is in the running for greatest military mind on the planet.
If his goal was actually to put a few bodies in the ground, he'd be discrete about it.
The amount of attention that nuking a space station draws, let alone tonight's events?
You don't do poo poo like this unless you can't afford people to not notice your actions.
That suggests tonight's events have a purpose behind them, aside from the body count.
He's trying to trigger a predictable, and, frankly, apparently desired response.
What if getting Bear into its current, paranoid and locked-down state is the point?
You can't just mobilize additional guard units out of nowhere.  They have to be moved.
Where did they come from?  Is Bear leaving a strategic asset undefended as a result?
Do we know what assets might be vulnerable as a result of this change to the board?
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

* # ¿ Jul 3, 2016 23:09
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 10 / 10 HP > 4 AC

Primary Partition...

"[s posted:

Gen[/s]░Chatham" post="461718188"]The squawkbox keeps its manipulators crossed, slowly extending and lowering its front "legs" in the same sort of pensive motion one would make in a chair that tilts backward. He ignores the quip about "that thing" being in a chair as he ponders. "₣ranklyyyyyy, I don't know much about the ₱olitics involved, b u t ƒiver and Gordon have a go🐻d point - Unification via crisis is, at the very least, Unification."

Shifting his weight a little as a nonverbal transition, he twists toward Voight. "If we were to assume the enemy b☠dy count consists entirely of members ℉ his old unit, how many people would be ◄left? What sort of i♌frastructure does this guy have, or is he t♲pping into something l a r g e r?"
This certainly was an evening of rare experiences. He had approximately no loving clue what was happening in the briefing room at this precise moment in time. They had installed the robot in a chair, as if it were part of the team. It was speaking, and behaving, as if it were a person. Hell, it even had something approximating believable body language. Had he missed something important? What in the actual gently caress?

The Commodore & DCR-07 posted:

As servers crisscross the room, he grabs a glass, most likely from Durandal!, making sure to place a finger inside the liquid for a quick taste analysis before handing the glass off to The Commodore, already eagerly listening into a conversation concerning fleet strength. Waiting for an opening to interject, the heavy fighter announcement makes for a perfect transition.
He'd noticed the low-grade communications box and its accompanying security robot throughout the course of the evening, so it wasn't like its presence was a shock to him. What didn't make any sense was everything else. He had assumed ...perhaps erroneously?... that it was an obvious drone of some kind, piloted through a nearby control rig. The box was speaking throughout the evening as if it were a living, breathing person, regaling people with no end of military stories. He had assumed it was subterfuge, and that it was being piloted by someone within a reasonable proximity for the purpose of infiltrating the party. It wasn't many shades removed from his own method to get into the facility, in that respect.

If that were the case, though, why hadn't the pilot simply joined the meeting in person? In order to achieve the near-zero-latency connection required to mimic body language and otherwise interact in a social setting, the effective range of even a reasonably advanced control rig was measured in hundreds of meters, not hundreds of miles. There was no way the pilot was outside of this facility, given how remote it was. He would have had to have been at the party, as well. So ...why not show up to the meeting in person?

The obvious conclusion, of course, was that this was a fellow artificial intelligence. He'd served the thing a drat drink, though. Not that his species couldn't drink if it wanted, but rather ...he had come within literal inches of the armature. The protoneural composites and quantum-sensitive substrates that comprised the core of an artificial intelligence were effectively impossible to detect at range, but in the realm of less than a meter? It was hard to explain, but the quantum core of an artificial intelligence was sensitive to the quantum vibrations of other cores. It was similar to a metadimensional current, radiated by a functioning quantum core. Humans wouldn't have noticed anything, but for an AI ...it should have felt like stepping into a riptide if he had been near another armature-installed intelligence. The unbraked sentience had escaped his physical detection by virtue of its true quantum core being far removed from the field of operations, but this ...seemed to be a functioning, armature-installed sentience? That wasn't possible, though. It was also astronomically unlikely that, in the hundreds of years after the Scream, three artificial minds would find themselves together by coincidence at a party on a backwater world like Caerleon. Though the math wasn't much better on two meeting under the same circumstances, and that had apparently happened.

The lack of any noticeable quantum current within immediate proximity still made no sense to him, though. It was essentially impossible to shield at such an intimate distance, even with pretech tools that once existed. Perhaps he'd been right, but simultaneously wrong? Was this ruse the bot had implemented at the party half-true, perhaps? Piloted by some bed-ridden military commander, aging, injured, or both? Perhaps merely a compromised immune system? Was this his only way to reach into the outside world, through a drone with accompanying camera, speakers, and other hardware? Functioning in a manner rather similar in definition to that of an artificial intelligence, yet somehow so very differently?

His mind was loving blown. He had to know.

Secondary Partition... ...analysis progress at 42.85%...

Raptor posted:

"Chatham, Raptor. Be advised, the only thing our sensors can pick up is a very faint spike drive signature. Not enough to follow. Your security grid was still operational before we blew it up. If you had boarders, their ride was small and stealthed. Raptor out."
The first responder to the disaster had been the 'Raptor', and for the most part, it seems they'd hit the nail on the head. Given how things had transpired throughout the evening at the dinner party, it wasn't a significant leap of logic to conclude that Rhyne obviously had access to a significant cache of stealth technology. He'd been able to equip an entire commando unit with holographic cloaks, and had outfitted a gravtank with an upscaled version of the same. The power requirements would have been immense, but outfitting a spacefaring vessel with a supersized version of the same technology was not technically impossible.

Agent Voight posted:

"Very well. I'll send you the relevant files, but the gist of it is this. The rear end in a top hat who caused the mess today? He was on the prison station. That was his breakout. They came in something small and stealthed, probably no larger than a shuttle, cut through the hull, got him out of there..."
Agent Voight had indicated much the same. Her analysts had obviously followed the same thread that he was chasing. And yet... there was something about it.

Plot posted:

The no-fly zone and patrols were bypassed because the intrusion team used a tiny, stealthy ship - slowly drifted in under next to no thrust over the course of several days.
Indeed, all of the evidence seemed to point to the same conclusion. The ability to enter the no-fly zone and avoid the patrols must have been achieved via stealth technology. The most likely culprit was, naturally, a relatively small and stealth-equipped vessel. It would have been able to use mere inertia to approach the station, far enough away to avoid the notice of the patrols and the perimeter of the no-fly zone.

Questions remained, though. A stealth ship wasn't the only resource available to Rhyne. The station commander of Bitterhold had either been on his team, or under his thumb. Every single one of his commandos tonight had come equipped with stealth camouflage that rendered them effectively invisible. He'd been able to acquire the security codes necessary to identify his men as friendlies to the station's automated weapon emplacements. Before they'd even breached the hull, they hadn't been in any significant danger. That was what bothered him. The flashy execution of the whole thing. Why would you go in guns blazing, and nuke a space station, when you could have just as easily sent an invisible man into the facility to exfiltrate your target?

Hell, with the cooperation of the station commander, it shouldn't have been impossible to replace Rhyne with a body double, or even an expert system programmed with his personality. That sort of technology was typically used for sex robots, he supposed, but in this case it would have been effective. Nobody pays that much attention to prisoner behavior. In either case, he could have had the lookalike enter the station wearing a holocloak, swap places with Rhyne in his cell, and Rhyne could have waltzed off the station without anyone being the wiser. What the gently caress was the point in making such a show of his escape? It would have made sense if Rhyne only had the stealth ship, and the assault team. The support staff in the form of the station commander turned everything upside-down, though. The holocloaks did much the same. He didn't have to execute things the way he did.

Agent Voight posted:

"No matter their observed level of ability, always assume they will pick the optimal outcome."
Perhaps Voight had the right of it. Rather obviously, Rhyne had other options when it came to getting off that station. Which meant his strategy hadn't been of necessity ...it had been optimal.

What did that mean, he wondered? What precisely was optimal about the nuclear devastation of a space station, instead of getting the first-move advantage in his little coup? By the time of tonight's attack, the CID was aware that Rhyne had escaped, and knew enough to be in a position to at least try to prevent his attack. All of that could have been avoided if his escape from the station hadn't been detected in the first place. He'd taken an unnecessary risk with the strategy he deployed ...but precognitives didn't take unnecessary risks, did they? They chose the optimal path. Every time. He was missing something. He knew he was missing something.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 04:15 on Jul 4, 2016

* # ¿ Jul 4, 2016 01:23
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# ¿ Apr 27, 2024 23:48
  • Quote
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
Durandal > 10 / 10 HP > 4 AC

Primary Partition...

"[s posted:

Gen[/s]░Chatham" post="461718188"]"If we were to assume the enemy b☠dy count consists entirely of members ℉ his old unit, how many people would be ◄left? What sort of i♌frastructure does this guy have, or is he t♲pping into something l a r g e r?"
This line of questioning was inherently useful, and it aligned well with the calculations his secondary partition was currently performing.

Secondary Partition... ...calculating...

Plot posted:

You call up the station map. Hull breaches occurred in 5 spots. Collating reports of security team engagements and blast door failures, a pattern emerges. Your tactical subroutines draw conclusions based on limited data.
code:
Two teams converging on cell block D from opposite directions. Likelihood: 87%
Two teams converging on security station from opposite directions. Likelihood: 93%
One team approaching shuttle bay. Likelihood: 64%

Primary Partition...
He decides to chime in, supporting the line of questioning as to the size of Unit 4. He nudges the conversation in a direction that assists in his ongoing calculations, as well.
pre:
588 >>>
Our metallic friend - I'm sorry, I didn't get your name? - has the right idea.
A count on the enemy population would be helpful in predicting their next move.
I'm only just now getting into the Bitterhold data - thanks for sending that across - but...
...am I correct in reading that there were five assault teams that breached the station?
The field report seems to say that the shuttle bay assault force contained five soldiers?
Did they seriously breach Bitterhold with a platoon of twenty-five people?
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp
Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 04:47 on Jul 4, 2016

* # ¿ Jul 4, 2016 04:41
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The Something Awful Forums > Discussion > Traditional Games > The Game Room > [Stars Without Number] Glory in the Black game thread
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