Lt JG Imril - IF 10 GOTO MANIACAL LAUGHTER
Chris Taylor
(( Turbolift from Deck 3 to Deck 11 ))
Tho’Bi: What about psycho-corder?
Bancroft: ::snorting:: I’ll add that to the list of possible new names, right next to “Probably Won’t Spontaneously Combust 3000.”
Imril: Response
Tho’Bi: Psycorder?
Bancroft: The psycho-tricorder was mostly for mental health professionals. Brain-wave analysis, memory continuity checks, that sort of thing. ::voice dipping:: They fell out of favor a while ago. Too many operators wound up with what the incident reports charmingly called ‘sticky ends.’ ::shrugging uneasily:: Possessed murder entity, sudden corporeal manifestation… you know… occupational hazards.
It was from reports like that which Imril had first learned of psychotricorders. They were covered as a footnote in their Disasters Of Engineering class at the Academy.
Imril: They got swept up in a Federation-wide moral panic around psychoactive technology back in the 2360s. That started with reports of mental rehabilitation stations -- the kind they used to have in prisons and mental health centers -- being very easily turned into torture devices. James T. Kirk got whammied by it once or twice. Some say exposure to the altered energy waves permanently damaged the speech centers of his brain.
Imril’s posture took on a bit of swagger, and their voice deepened. Both in playful imitation of Starfleet’s greatest and most controversial hero. Their impression was embellished with theatrical hand gestures demonstrating great physical effort.
Imril: ::Shatneresque:: And that’s why… he… spoke… like he had to… Push! The! Words!... outofhismouth.
The computer and its deaf elephants had nothing to say in reply to the jest.
Imril: ::straightening up:: Ahem. The point is the rehabilitation tech got recalled and while psycho-tricorders still exist, they’re off-limits to civilians and hardly anyone in Starfleet wants to use them anymore. I don't think their memory recordings are considered legally admissible as evidence anymore, but you’d have to check that with a JAG.
The turbolift kindly waited for Imril to finish the exposition drop before opening its doors. Deck 11 awaited.
(( Deck 11, USS Artemis-A ))
The hallway outside the Hazardous Materials Lab was populated by the occasional Security Officer. None made any effort to stop the trio from moving forward. Their orders were more likely to keep them from taking anything out of the area.
Tho'Bi: How many evil super computers do you think they have in there?
Bancroft: ::confidently:: Three. One for banter, one that speaks only in riddles, and one for a backup. Always important to have a backup.
Imril: I’m pretty sure that all evil computers get packed up and sent to right the Daystrom institute. ::scoff:: They probably run the place. Using the warehouse there as an armored think tank. Sending evil memos to their hunchbacked meatbag minions. Build this, break that, bribe these officials. Their darkest deeds and worst mistakes swept under the rugs by nefarious janitors.
Even if the Daystrum Institute wasn’t run by evil AIs, the moral alignment of its flesh-and-blood directors was very much in question. If anyone had benefited from exploiting and perpetuating the anti-Synth bigotry of the late 24th Century for personal gain, it was them. And if a minor functionary from that place could go on to become a Borg Queen -- voluntarily, by all accounts -- that sure as self-sealing stembolts didn't make the company or its hiring practices look any less atrocious.
Roy snorted.
A Security officer turned towards the noise, and then looked away.
Tho’Bi: We should ask them ::nodding::
Bancroft: They’re going to be disappointed enough to hear the word “W.H.I.M.P.E.R.” – maybe we should leave inquiries relating to evil supercomputers for another time.
The Andorian Engineer shrugged.
Tho'Bi: Yeah ….okay. No evil supercomputers ::sigh::
Imril: May it ever be so.
(( Hazardous Materials Lab, Deck 11, USS Artemis-A ))
Shuuu-chunk! Large double-doors slid open to reveal the inner foyer of the Hazardous Materials Lab, a lone crewman hunched over a console near the entrance. As the doors slid open, she froze in a way that suggested she recognized Roy.
Crewman: Oh. Uh. Sirs. ::a pause:: Doctor Bancroft. ::haltingly:: Welcome to… um… Hazardous Materials.
He didn’t appear very happy to recognize her.
Bancroft: My associates and I are here for the ::clearing his throat, too casually:: W.H.I.M.P.E.R. prototype.
Crewman: ::too quickly:: Never heard of it.
Bancroft: ::eyes narrowing:: It’s the one that screams at random intervals.
Screams?
The Andorian leaned into the exchange with an entirely helpful/unhelpful addition piece of information.
Tho'Bi: Lots of flashy lights.
Imril just looked to him and shrugged.
Admittedly, seeing a DOT here didn’t make much sense. They were simple construction drones, just barely ‘smart’ enough to be self-operating. Over-engineered in one area of operation specifically: to never go ‘crazy’ enough to become dangerous or become ‘aware’ enough to accidentally stumble into sapience. Heuristic inhibitors. Regular memory wipes. Annual operating system reformats. What series of events and coding failures could have landed such a device in this place?
The crewman’s shoulders sank into resigned but reluctant compliance.
Crewman: Oh. That one. ::exhaling in surrender:: Alright, alright. This way, sirs.
She led them deeper into the lab complex with the posture of someone who didn't want to be going the way they were going.
The complex itself was surgically clean – but scars abounded. A scorched DOT sat behind a transparent panel. A nearby sign read:
DO NOT TAP ON GLASS.
IT FEEDS ON FEAR.
REPORT ALL SHOUTED ACRONYMS TO YOUR SHIFT LEAD.
Tho'Bi: ::cheerfully:: Hey, little guy.
DUUUNK! The Andorian sprang back as the DOT slammed into the transparent panel in front of his blue face.
Tho'Bi: Woah!
Imril took a step back in surprise. Their hand reached for a phaser that wasn’t there. They didn’t even have a tricorder handy with which to send a shutdown signal. Not that it was likely to have worked on a malfunctioning DOT.
A few more steps and they reached a sealed door with the following words “DO NOT ENTER” stenciled across it in red. At a very reluctant command from their erstwhile guide, the door slid open.
Inside, a shimmering high-grade containment field pulsed in gentle waves of blue. Suspended within it like some sort of mysterious relic was W.H.I.M.P.E.R.
The casing was dented on one side. Several pieces were half-melted. The blinking lights flashed in no understandable rhythm.
He held up a hand, palm out, and pressed it against the transparent aluminum separating them from the containment field. The lights blinked in a different rhythm now, presumably in response to having detected some chance in its environment. The presence of its creator?
Bancroft: Well, here she is, in all her glory.
Tho'Bi: Cool. ::to Bancroft:: Did you test it on the DOT? ::nods in direction of DOT containment cell. ::grins::
Imril: Did you test it on people? On yourself?
Mad scientists were always testing devices on themselves. That was what made them mad scientists, and not properly accredited and peer-reviewed scientists.
How many people at the Daystrom Institute were testing devices on themselves, or on each other, in this very moment? What time was it in Okinawa? Maybe everyone was taking an evil lunch break.
Bancroft: Response
The Andorian peered in at the oddity.
Tho'Bi: ::thinking outloud:: …so what caused all the damage?
Imril could only look to the man who had a history with the thing for an answer.
Bancroft: Responses
The Andorian scratched between his antennae.
Tho'Bi: ::still thinking outloud:: Either there's too much power or too much impedance.
Imril: Or too many software and hardware conflicts. Tech built to do certain things trying to do five to ten others. The CPU twisting itself up in the crossfire, throwing more and more power at resolving the conflicts. Excess power being shunted from one system to another, say the sensor resonance coils, to avoid overheating could explain the ‘screaming.’
Bancroft/ Tho’Bi: Responses
The crewman took their leave of them as they talked. Quickly, quietly, and with an apparent aim of not being noticed by anyone. Of to… do what exactly? Play custodian to a new generation of engineering disasters? On a ship that wasn’t exactly assigned to host them?
A slow suspicion crawled out from the back of Imril’s mind and came creeping through their mouth.
Imril: Roy, Is this all a prank? If it is, it’s a good one. Lots of atmosphere. Perfectly built up tension. That rejection letter in the mess hall was perfect bait.
Were they even on Deck 11 right now?
Bancroft/ Tho’Bi: Responses
Imril: No, really I won't be mad. I like pranks. I once had someone from Blue Squadron convinced that the Troyian Royal Guard was spying on her. Scouting her for a marriage proposal. ::laughs:: You should have seen the look on her face when the ambassador... Never mind. I didn't say anything. We never had this conversation.
Blue Squadron was where the elite Starfleet cadets who were arrogant enough to get into Red Squadron but not as competent went. Imril’s engineering club had engaged in a series of prank wars with them across four years. If karma was a real force in the universe, it was due to turn up sooner or later for that little stunt.
Bancroft/ Tho’Bi: Responses
Surprised by the firmness of the answer, Imril raised their hands in surrender.
Imril: Alright, alright, you convinced me. This is real. That device is real. And really, potentially, dangerous. And since it is both things, we should get some preliminary scans before it starts blinking differently again. I didn’t think to bring my kit to breakfast, though. Does this place have any regular, non-evil, tricorders available to borrow? I’ll settle for chaotic neutral.
Imril had been part of a school club full of engineers. Playing Dungeons & Dragons had been practically mandatory. But, for their credits, the system went off the rails after the latest Edition came out. “The Drow are all evil now? Since when? That makes NO sense!”
Bancroft/ Tho’Bi: Responses
Imril nodded and stepped away. Back to the crewman and her faraway eyes. Eyes that wanted to be looking at some other room, some other assignment, some other life. They returned with enough tricorders to go around and a blank padd for taking notes. They handed out tricorders and then set the padd to collect and collate everyone’s scans. And then downloaded a heuristic inhibitor to it from the ship's computer, just to be on the safe side.
Imril: Ready to go.
Bancroft/ Tho’Bi: Responses
TAG/TBC!
----------------------------------------------------
Lieutenant JG Imril
Engineering Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240110I12