One Day More 2
Title: One Day More, chapter 2 ( other chapters)
Fandom: Warhammer 40k
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 799
Summary: A tech-priest writes a letter to a friend, translated from Binary, while he inexplicably lives in a Charles Stross novel. (aka, I know you were supposed to have your emotion chip removed, but if you’re not as excited about science and the future as I am, what are you even doing here?)
Dear Cam-Cam,
We’re finally on Prospero and it’s great here! We’ve given all the Legion’s equipment an overhaul and are doing continuous quality monitoring, but basically we’re being left to our own devices since they’re just sitting around not breaking stuff. I have been getting so much research done, Omnissiah be thanked as our more superstitious cousins would say.
High Adept Zeth told me to scan every arcane text I could get my mechandrites on and I have been doing so. (This was before Nikaea, but she has not sent me new orders, and I am under the impression no one listened to a word there anyway, and by the Treaty of Mars and the Laws of Forge Independence, she’s the only person in the galaxy allowed to give me orders. For that matter, it’s not like I’m a psyker.)
Don’t worry: I’m being careful. It’s a good thing I’m not organic or it would be my brain I’d need to be swapping out, not individual microchips. The continuing flaw in our beta versions are that they require a conscious observer to collapse the quantum wave functions, and when you gaze into the void, it gazes into you. To be allegorical, microscopic Immaterial creatures are taking molecular bites out of any system the code’s run on--my hardware or the wetware of grey matter.
That’s only when things go right. Kayu ran a summoning grid with improper grounding and a code blue occurred. I don’t feel like copy-pasting the official report about Warp-pattern scramblers, so you get the lay version: there was raw Warp stuff glowing like writhing worms in his eyes and the things behind it ate the soul of everything his skin or electricity touched and we had to throw the circuit breakers and club him to death with a fire extinguisher.
We are being meticulously careful otherwise, I swear. So careful I swear to science that I’m considering tracking down the next small religious cult I hear anyone complaining about and getting them to declare me the patron saint of surge protectors.
The Thousand Sons are being very helpful. Their approach is very different, and it’s taking some work to explain what our mathemagical algorithms have to do with their sacrificing goats at midnight. Results are result, though. Eva and I have been running tens of thousands of simulation studies on transmutation circles they favour in order to optimise energy usage. I’m glad I upgraded my RAM before I left Mars or we would still be. Honestly, if I can convince them solid-state laser grids are better than chalk and protractors, I’ll count it as a win, let alone finding the exact optimal angle configuration for various operations.
Someone ran by me some more exotic diagrams for grounding some kind of huge working drawing power at one place and funnelling it into some sort of spooky action at a distance. I’m glad they’re getting comfortable enough with our work to troll, so I ran a lot of code and threw back some suggestions for raising efficiency so it would use fewer human sacrifices by five percent (give me a century and I’ll be able to do the whole thing with a hand-cogitator and some pigeons, I’m sure). I threw in a bunch of surge protectors and capacitors on the grid grounded here for if the distant working suddenly varies in the amount of energy it needs at any given moment, because I’m not a total moron.
Computational demonology aside, we’re putting together a joint tabletop campaign. Last game our characters found a mechanical dragon that once ate stars in its youth in the darkest corner of a labyrinthine dungeon. My rogue has profession: lumberjack and we’re getting way too much use out of that.
How are you getting on with the Iron Hands? Have you had as many awesome LAN parties as you predicted? Did you fix the network problems with your wireless or did you just install a bigger antenna in yourself? If you want a reassignment, you should definitely come to the Planet of the Nerds too.
My only complaint is the music scene. There’s definitely no audience for techno-metal here. On the other hand, I’ve been synthesising some local instruments and putting them together into a techno-jazz beat. I’m still testing it at amateur venues for tweaking before I get serious trying to land a gig. I’m at least getting remembered: not many people of the machine around with dreadlocks and bushy facial hair like mine on their organic components, though I’ve been using a bluer dye than what you’ll remember. The perfection of music continues to be mathematics’ best gift to mankind.
All the gang says ‘Hi, Camel’ too, or, alternatively, ‘Hi, Llama’. I hope to hear from you soon.
Yours,
Green
(a/n: Like Mahina, seems like Green would also end up with the same Legion he did in the AU, doing about the same thing. Then die on Prospero. Dramatic irony abounds.)
Fandom: Warhammer 40k
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 799
Summary: A tech-priest writes a letter to a friend, translated from Binary, while he inexplicably lives in a Charles Stross novel. (aka, I know you were supposed to have your emotion chip removed, but if you’re not as excited about science and the future as I am, what are you even doing here?)
Dear Cam-Cam,
We’re finally on Prospero and it’s great here! We’ve given all the Legion’s equipment an overhaul and are doing continuous quality monitoring, but basically we’re being left to our own devices since they’re just sitting around not breaking stuff. I have been getting so much research done, Omnissiah be thanked as our more superstitious cousins would say.
High Adept Zeth told me to scan every arcane text I could get my mechandrites on and I have been doing so. (This was before Nikaea, but she has not sent me new orders, and I am under the impression no one listened to a word there anyway, and by the Treaty of Mars and the Laws of Forge Independence, she’s the only person in the galaxy allowed to give me orders. For that matter, it’s not like I’m a psyker.)
Don’t worry: I’m being careful. It’s a good thing I’m not organic or it would be my brain I’d need to be swapping out, not individual microchips. The continuing flaw in our beta versions are that they require a conscious observer to collapse the quantum wave functions, and when you gaze into the void, it gazes into you. To be allegorical, microscopic Immaterial creatures are taking molecular bites out of any system the code’s run on--my hardware or the wetware of grey matter.
That’s only when things go right. Kayu ran a summoning grid with improper grounding and a code blue occurred. I don’t feel like copy-pasting the official report about Warp-pattern scramblers, so you get the lay version: there was raw Warp stuff glowing like writhing worms in his eyes and the things behind it ate the soul of everything his skin or electricity touched and we had to throw the circuit breakers and club him to death with a fire extinguisher.
We are being meticulously careful otherwise, I swear. So careful I swear to science that I’m considering tracking down the next small religious cult I hear anyone complaining about and getting them to declare me the patron saint of surge protectors.
The Thousand Sons are being very helpful. Their approach is very different, and it’s taking some work to explain what our mathemagical algorithms have to do with their sacrificing goats at midnight. Results are result, though. Eva and I have been running tens of thousands of simulation studies on transmutation circles they favour in order to optimise energy usage. I’m glad I upgraded my RAM before I left Mars or we would still be. Honestly, if I can convince them solid-state laser grids are better than chalk and protractors, I’ll count it as a win, let alone finding the exact optimal angle configuration for various operations.
Someone ran by me some more exotic diagrams for grounding some kind of huge working drawing power at one place and funnelling it into some sort of spooky action at a distance. I’m glad they’re getting comfortable enough with our work to troll, so I ran a lot of code and threw back some suggestions for raising efficiency so it would use fewer human sacrifices by five percent (give me a century and I’ll be able to do the whole thing with a hand-cogitator and some pigeons, I’m sure). I threw in a bunch of surge protectors and capacitors on the grid grounded here for if the distant working suddenly varies in the amount of energy it needs at any given moment, because I’m not a total moron.
Computational demonology aside, we’re putting together a joint tabletop campaign. Last game our characters found a mechanical dragon that once ate stars in its youth in the darkest corner of a labyrinthine dungeon. My rogue has profession: lumberjack and we’re getting way too much use out of that.
How are you getting on with the Iron Hands? Have you had as many awesome LAN parties as you predicted? Did you fix the network problems with your wireless or did you just install a bigger antenna in yourself? If you want a reassignment, you should definitely come to the Planet of the Nerds too.
My only complaint is the music scene. There’s definitely no audience for techno-metal here. On the other hand, I’ve been synthesising some local instruments and putting them together into a techno-jazz beat. I’m still testing it at amateur venues for tweaking before I get serious trying to land a gig. I’m at least getting remembered: not many people of the machine around with dreadlocks and bushy facial hair like mine on their organic components, though I’ve been using a bluer dye than what you’ll remember. The perfection of music continues to be mathematics’ best gift to mankind.
All the gang says ‘Hi, Camel’ too, or, alternatively, ‘Hi, Llama’. I hope to hear from you soon.
Yours,
Green
(a/n: Like Mahina, seems like Green would also end up with the same Legion he did in the AU, doing about the same thing. Then die on Prospero. Dramatic irony abounds.)