by Dr. Caelus » Sun Sep 30, 2007 8:10 pm
Autopsy
Delta 1138 glanced over his shoulder once again, but still only saw darkness, in the conduit behind him, even through the electronic light amplification of his glowing blue visor.
“Fixer,” he asked the commando ahead of him, “All these dead power cables… a radio transmission wouldn’t make it out of these conduits, right?”
“Well, interference would be better if the cables were live, but with all the metal and duracrete around us, it’d take a radio transmission strong enough to cook us to make it out of this conduit.”
“Thinking about calling for delivery Boss?” Scorch asked from point.
Thirty-Eight tapped a control on his forearm and broadcast to his pod-mates, “Shut off your helmet speakers – internal commo only.” They complied silently, still walking down the conduit.
Fixer’s voice came over the radio, “What’s the problem Delta Lead?”
“We’re being followed,” Thirty-Eight responded, “No visual, or auditory, but I know he’s there.”
“You a Jedi now Boss?” Scorch asked.
“We’ve got a service alcove coming up, right?”
“Yeah Boss, fifty meters ahead.”
“We’re going to take a ‘break’ up there, and you’re going to rig a flash-bang trap for us.”
“Monowire, adhesive, flashies, I got everything… sure you don’t want me to set up something with more punch Boss?”
“Not while we’re in an enclosed space with you,” Fixer said. There was a moment of silence, “without Sev here… one of us had to say it. Perhaps I should check your gear while Scorch works, Delta Lead.”
“Good idea Fixer,” Thirty-Eight responded. They stopped at the service alcove, a space in the conduit where the walls receded sharply about half a meter on either side. Scorch knelt to the floor in the alcove and began working while Fixer checked Thirty-Eight’s backpack – an action which conveniently blocked the entire conduit and concealed Scorch’s work. Fixer and Delta Lead chatted inanely with their external speakers on.
“Okay,” Scorch said over their helmet radios, “it’s ready. Switch to your tactical HUD before you move – it’ll highlight the monowire for you.”
“Copy,” Thirty-Eight replied, “let’s hope our acting is good enough for our invisible audience. Resume formation, but be prepared to assume rear-action firing positions.” He and Fixer stepped over the trip-wire, careful to look like they were still moving normally.
“Oh,” Scorch said, “I’d recommend not looking back. Just in case.”
“Duly noted Delta,” Fixer replied sarcastically.
They walked on in the darkness, the tension in the air amongst them almost palpable. As confident as Thirty-Eight was in his hunch, it still surprised them all when the loud pop and lightning-like flash erupted behind them. Thirty-Eight spun and dropped to one knee, Fixer and Scorch turned and aimed over either of his shoulders.
A four-legged creature screamed in alien pain as it reeled from the effects of the flash-bang. The three commandos filled the length of the conduit with glowing blue streams of plasma from their DC-17ms. The creature’s metallic skin peeled off as the hot bolts struck its body, and it dove into the alcove for cover.
“Scorch,” Thirty-Eight barked, “time for that ‘something with more punch.’”
“Copy!” Scorch shouted, “’Nade out!” A ticking green orb flew past Thirty-Eight’s head and stuck to the floor of the conduit next to the target. Frantic hissing and clawing sounds came from the alcove before the orb erupted into a burst of concussive energy that the commandos felt from forty meters away.
“A sonic grenade?” Fixer asked shaking his head.
“Looked like a droid, but I didn’t want to use an EC-Detonator while we were surrounded by highly conductive cables.”
“Fair point.”
The three commandos stalked toward the alcove cautiously. As they got closer they could see a steady stream of smoke and hear the hissing of burning electronics.
“Ah, all that for a lousy clanker,” Scorch grumbled.
“Think again Delta,” Fixer said, his voice betraying a degree of wonderment, “this isn’t an ordinary tinnie.” In spite of the damage to its superstructure, a feline shape was still evident – complete with claws and sharp teeth. Fixer pried a piece of unscathed skin from the droid’s frame with his gauntlet’s vibroblade.
“Definitely doesn’t match typical Sep aesthetics,” Thirty-Eight commented.
“Yeah, it’s not buggy enough,” Scorch agreed.
“Look at this,” Fixer held up the piece of skin and shined a small flashlight on it, revealing a gloss black surface on the outer side.
“Yeah, four-oh, it had a nice paint job, also unusual,” Scorch said.
“Pull out your light and turn it on,” Fixer ordered.
“Ooookaaaay…” Scorch pulled the small light from his belt and flipped it on.
Fixer handed Scorch the metal fragment and began disassembling his own flashlight. He removed the batteries, pulled out the leads, and touched them to the metal. The metal’s reflective gloss faded away and it became impossibly black. At the same time, Fixer’s flashlight came back to life and glowed dimly.
“Fierfek,” Thirty-Eight cursed, “some kind of photovoltaic surface?”
“More than that,” Fixer said, “it’s cold to the touch, and stays that way. You couldn’t see the bastard, because he wasn’t reflecting any light. His skin absorbs everything from the infrared to the visible light spectrum, maybe more, and at very high efficiency. Converts it to electricity, and stores it in a capacitor.”
“Environmentally friendly droids, damn, they’re gonna win the war with that one,” Scorch said sarcastically.
“It’s not for energy,” Fixer said, “it’s for stealth. Solar power isn’t reliable enough or potent enough to power a battle-droid, even at this level of efficiency. No, he was set up this way, because in the dark…”
“He’s nothing but a shadow,” Thirty-Eight finished, “The flash-bang probably overloaded his capacitor. That’s why we could see him afterward. Okay, everyone takes a piece. The Republic could use this stuff.”
“A suit of Katarn-Class armor coated with this stuff would be a bit plain,” Scorch said as Fixer handed him a fragment, “but useful.”
“Give me another minute,” Fixer said as he popped his vibroblade out again and began prying apart the droid’s head.
“Mutilating the enemy,” Scorch commented, “Sev’s spirit lives on.”
The metal cranium finally popped apart in Fixer’s gloved hands, and he retrieved a crystalline sphere, no larger than two inches in diameter. Scorch shined his flashlight through it, revealing delicately etched lines inside it and on its surface, “That’s unusual. What is it?”
“Remember in our history flash-classes, there was a bit about how they used to store information by etching patterns on reflective disks?” Fixer asked.
“If you say so,” Scorch replied.
“Yeah,” Thirty-Eight replied, “I think I remember. They’d engrave small patterns on the surface of a flat object, and then bounce a laser off of it to read the patterns. Primitive, but it worked pretty well.”
“Well, you know the supercomputers on Kamino that they used for the advanced gene-sequencing? The Kaminoans were using something similar. Instead of a flat surface though, they’d etch the data into the interior of a large crystal. Having a third dimension to work with allowed for more variation, and exponentially more storage. The etching wasn’t nearly as fine as this though…”
“So, what, this is an inerasable data storage device?” Scorch asked, “That’s kind of stupid.”
“No, that’s a lot like the human brain, Six-Two”
“The human brain can’t store millions of lines of genetic code… and a battle-droid doesn’t need to,” Thirty-Eight commented.
“Maybe our brains could,” Fixer argued, “if they didn’t have to worry about things like interpreting the thousands of variables per second our senses absorb, and then making complex decisions based on that information.”
“Droids seem to do that pretty well…”
“Ever seen a droid paint something it ‘made up’? Ever seen one write a novel? Compose a piece of music? Question the nature of existence?”
“What, you’re talking about sentient droids? That’s an urban myth,” Scorch laughed.
“Maybe not anymore,” Fixer said, “I’m not an expert, but I have a feeling, this thing could do anything we can do.”
“Let’s just hope it can’t do it better,” Thirty-Eight said, “bring it with us. Even if we never figure out how to read it, at least anyone who finds this poor dikut’s body won't be able to check his final records.”
Fixer shrouded the crystal in the left over wrappers from his lunch and placed it carefully in his backpack before standing up to follow Delta Lead down the conduit.
“Wait!” Scorch shouted.
“What is it Six-Two?” Thirty-Eight asked impatiently.
“Do these things on its hips look like missiles to anyone else?”
“Of some sort,” Fixer answered, “why?”
“Well if Fixer gets souvenirs, so do I!”
