People Like Us [Open]

[standaloneshell]

One of the cold facts of life is that it was temporary. Medical science was an amazing thing. Where once the smallest scratch or sprain would fester and become fatally infected, now even failing organs could be replaced. Everything was artificial, fake, and what kept people alive was no longer a flow of goodwill and the trickle-down hand of god,

Comments

[bears_omnitrix]

Ben was, predictably lost in the bowels of the meatship once more when he noticed the Major leaning against the wall, her arm all in pieces and opened up. Frowning, he walked over. "Hey you need some help there?"

[standaloneshell]

"No."

Well, yes, but Motoko's unwavering attention made her seem more threateningly sincere than was strictly necessary. What she meant to say was, 'not from anyone without a doctorate in cyborg-systems engineering.' Not that she had one, but the Major lived in the damn thing.

[bears_omnitrix]

Fortunately Ben was used to threatening as he chuckled. "You sound like Kevin. Trust me, I've got this covered."

Tapping his Omnitrix, he commanded, "Omnitrix, unlock the first ten."

Acknowledged.

He struck the Omnitrix and then standing there in a second was a small bulbous headed alien who looked up at Motoko. "Now then, what seems to be the trouble? I'm a licensed super genius."

[standaloneshell]

For a few milliseconds she looked down at him mutely, expression unreadable. No. Absolutely not. It went against every protocol and against the bounds of common sense. On the other hand, so to speak, she literally could not afford another blowout.

"What administrative body is in charge of that?" she asked dryly, because she could be dry about something so patently ridiculous.

[quark_assassin]

How…intriguing.

Dustin had made a mental note to avoid the Major immediately after he met her. The woman was bad news, he could tell-and not just because she punched him in the face and took his backpack. He had that again, by the way. Useful thing.

Not like he was going to use it, not after what happened the first time. No, this time it seemed like the tables had turned; and lucky for the Major (and possibly Dustin as well), the scruffy genius was slightly less irritable than he used to be.

He approached in clear view, lacking his characteristic overcoat, but even a small fellow like himself was hard to miss when he wanted to make himself noticed. The baggy, red-rimmed t-shirt he wore also showed off his prosthetic left forearm, completely functional now, and possibly the most graceful machine in Dustin’s personal inventory. If anything, it might help in negotiations.

“You look busy.”

[standaloneshell]

Where Dustin had gotten his equipment from was beyond Motoko's sphere of caring. She had pegged Dustin as useless soon after meeting him, and he'd done nothing that had changed that opinion after they'd parted ways. Of course, the fact that he was a cyborg wasn't lost to her. One learned to identify prosthesis quickly, in her business.

"I am," she replied flatly, with an intense detachment that implied she would sooner crush his neck than be having this conversation. She was still on-edge from....what had happened in her Nightmare, even now. It would be easy to say the wrong thing.

[quark_assassin]

Dustin was familiar with that tone, as it was one he used quite a bit when he was working. Not that it mattered-if the Major was anything like himself, then she wouldn’t mind his presence if he actually talked about things that were useful to her current endeavor. And if it was one thing Dustin was good at, it was biologically-based mechanical fibers.

He came to a stop just out of her reach, though his neck was craned sharply forward to get a better look at the exposed wires, so perhaps Motoko could get a better grip on his windpipe if he proved too bothersome.

“Now I’m sure that this technology is completely beyond me,” Dustin said with a sarcastic raise of his brow, “But if I were to judge this spectacular-looking spectacle of bioengineering, I would say that this limb is well past its regular maintenance check and might as well be replaced, the wires are so badly frayed (water damage no doubt, better circulation through that outer plating might help clear up things elsewhere by the way); although, I suppose a few helpings of oil-

[standaloneshell]

Oh, glorious. He's read Wikipedia.

"There are no natural nerves remaining, the skin is stock Poseidon," she replied, humoring him. Those weren't wires, of course, they were artificial muscle, but the point still stood- this was all a result of prolonged use without access to regular, high-level maintenance.

[deep_sky_diving]

Tess had been occupying herself by traveling the ship again, updating the internal maps that had gotten confused by the ship getting warped by the Nightmare King. Neuropathy had been one stop on the way-but the Major, and that opened-up arm, drew her attention more than just wandering around the place.

She peeks as much as she can without trying to seem outright rude-the faceplate of her suit is fully retracted, though there's an odd mottled paleness across the left side of her membrane-coated face, as if parts of the skin are noticeably newer than the rest.

[standaloneshell]

For a few minutes, Motoko lets the gawking pass unnoticed as she works, pretending not to have seen Tess on her approach. the joint itself is smooth enough, and the coolant pressure registers within acceptable limits, but for some reason it's still over-hot. Not my bunch, but enough to be a small warning sign for the future.

Ah, there was the problem, one of the artificial muscles had rattled its way loose and the distress was disturbing the sensor. She lifted the soldering tool from her pocket and applied it carefully, then flexed the individual strand of muscle to apply the right pressure to keep it in place while heat did its job.

Then her eyes flicked up at Tess, blood-red and as sharp and dangerous as a tiger's, "Yes?"

[deep_sky_diving]

Tess smiles at Motoko with the pleasant, feigned innocence of a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. "I was just lookin'. That's a lot better work'n'any've the stuff we got back home, fer somethin' that looks that nice."

Her Southern Appalachian accent stands in sharp contrast to the fancy equipment she's wearing. The way the material of the fits to her so snugly, without simply compressing the bountiful figure underneath, suggests at a minimum some rather clever personal engineering-and the faceplate sections half-visible retracted at the sides of her hide seem like they'd easily hide some variety of sensors. If it's a spacesuit, as the subtle design of what might be reaction control thrusters suggests, it's a pretty spiffy one.

[nerve_pincher]

It was inevitable that Spock would find his way to this place sooner or later. He didn't plan on interfering in the work of anyone stationed here, but he definitely wanted to get a look at the way the inorganic computers hooked up to Stacy's organic neural pathways. He was particularly curious as to how computer code was able to "translate" (for lack of a better word) the synapses of the neural complex.

Of course, he wasn't counting on someone being there who looked in need of assistance.

"Pardon me," he said politely. "Do you require aid?"

[standaloneshell]

What was it that made her look so helpless? Motoko looked up at him out of a face as factory-blank as the day her shell had been commissioned and flexed her wrist to test the solder. Was it that the coolant was red? The unhealthy, inhuman narrowness of the mechanical musculature?

"No, I'm capable of maintaining my own prosthesis," the repair held within adequate stress, so she lowered her arm and twisted it to settle the panels comfortably as they sank under her silent neural command. The sound they made as they knit together was slight, but audible, and in a moment there was no visual sign that her arm was anything other than completely natural. It was a very good shell, after all- very convincing, "Is there something you need?"

Because only idiots came to Neuropathy and expected not to be challenged over that fact.

[nerve_pincher]

Spock was, of course, curious about what was clearly some advanced cybernetic technology - at least, far more advanced than had existed in his own world. But he was also wise enough to realize that asking such personal questions of a total stranger might not be the best idea if he wanted to maintain positive interactions.

So he answered her question instead.

"I require nothing. I am a scientist and computer programmer, interested in learning what I can about how this ship functions. An examination of the inorganic computer consoles may prove instructive."

He paused a moment, then nodded slightly. "I am Spock."

[standaloneshell]

"Major Kusanagi," she replied evenly and tilted her head in reply without changing her expression, "I'm the proxy command for Neuropathy."

What she meant was that if anyone tried to dig her out, she'd hurt them, Kirk included.

Because the exterior-module consoles had only diagnostic capability, Motoko motioned toward the panels invitingly. If he knew what he was doing he could bypass the safety protocol and access the inner systems that connected to Stacy's cyborg implants, and if he didn't she'd kick him out in about ten minutes when she got bored of watching him.

Besides, two could play the 'I won't ask if you don't' game. The Major hated to lose.

[crusaderinacape]

Batman walks in, takes one look at her, then sits at one of the computer consoles so that he might check on any damage report updates. Luckily the department had been vacant during the Nightmare King's assault on the crew, but hadn't escaped peripheral damage as a result.

Nothing they couldn't handle, of course.

[standaloneshell]

Good, he wasn't going to ask about it. the Major took a cotton-pad from between her teeth and dabbed the upwelling excess from the oil she'd packed into the crux joint. It took a lot of stress, even under ordinary use, so it needed to be perfect.

TING! TING! TING! Her nail rung out cheerfully against the metallic side of the joint as she flicked it to ensure the escape of any trapped air, then smoothed the seal over it. Her arm came down in a flexing motion, like a pitcher stretching their bicep after a particularly taxing throw and in response the panels of her arm settled back into place, interlocking smoothly over the bulletproofing and static-baffles. Done.

"What's your estimate?" she asked, delaying the inevitable.

[crusaderinacape]

No, he wasn't. The last time he'd offered help he'd been snapped at. In fact, he'd been snapped at every time he'd offered help. So no offering here. No sir.

"You mean on top of the months we've already allotted to spend here?" he peers narrowly at her over the top of his screen, "I'd say another week. Maybe two."

[standaloneshell]

Small mercies that it was so little- still, they'd stay on this job until it was finished, and he knew it. Regaining control over Stacy's sensors and systems wasn't like regaining hydroponics or cleaning up the city, it was a job of necessity, rather than convenience or knowledge.

The memory of his face wavering over hers through weak, watery biological eyes surfaced annoyingly in her subroutines, called up by some subconscious mental touch, like a tongue seeking out a loose tooth. Annoyed, she banished it, then viciously killed the emotional process that attempted to feed her serotonin in response to the brief flash of video-feed. She was not going to get fuzzy feelings right now, dammit!

The warning ticker was getting annoying as well, so she shut it off, but it only started up again the moment she shifted her head. Sigh.

"We may have a new recruit," she opined in response, and it was valid because Lex had never been particularly industrious here, despite his so-called genius.