Tyl Regor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
biochemastery) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
reverienet2018-09-29 05:00 pm
biochemastery) wrote in reverienet2018-09-29 05:00 pm
Entry tags:
Video; un:tyl.regor
[Hello, network. It's Tyl, looming too close to his communicator again. He's been very nearly quiet since his arrival on Reverie, and now he's built up a head of steam for a ramble. Hope you're sitting comfortably, it might be a while.]
So. I've been slowly extracting information from this station's little brain. Asking about Delta Optima, resurrection, all sorts of things.
It doesn't know much. Says it doesn't, anyway. But what it did say was tantalizing: The station wasn't supposed to be able to fix dead people. Or drag them in from other dimensions either, it learned how to do all that after it murdered its crew.
Or maybe something else has lodged in its rusting conduits, running the show now. Dear little CIRSTA wouldn't say. I think she's holding out on me, though. Anyone feel like trying to charm her? Or just tear her open. I don't know enough about human computers to do it myself.
Oh, and--[He's forgotten what else he was going to pester the network about. Hmm.]--Ah! Right. Back on the subject of getting murdered. I was told this place tries to kill everyone constantly. No time to do anything, too busy fighting for your life. Sounded dire.
I've been here for more than twenty intervals and nothing's tried to kill me. Honestly, I'm disappointed. The worst I've had to suffer is a hangover. I've lowered my standards to account for this bucket's limitations, but I'm not that easy.
And on that final note, there is one thing. One very annoying thing. This gravity business. All of you have these. [He holds up one of the station-issued magnetic boots.] These things. Station left me a pair too. Wouldn't look dire on me. But.
[The boot drops with a clunk, and there's an odd series of whirs and mechanical clicking.]
I wasn't planning on being stolen away to a human station, light years, universes away from my collection.
[Regor holds something up. At first it might be hard to identify. It's the same gunmetal that accents his tight-fitting suit. It tapers into a long, curving metal strut, which he draws attention to.] These feet weren't made for one-third-G. Not made for spin gravity. They were designed for real gravity and good taste. [Yes, Regor has removed half of one of his legs, just to complain about it.]
I've got designs for walking feet. Ones that fit human boots. But got no parts to make them. Someone needs to fix that, because I am sick of scraping my head on the ceiling every time I want to go anywhere.
If you have the parts and the brains for cybernetics work, talk to me. Soon.
So. I've been slowly extracting information from this station's little brain. Asking about Delta Optima, resurrection, all sorts of things.
It doesn't know much. Says it doesn't, anyway. But what it did say was tantalizing: The station wasn't supposed to be able to fix dead people. Or drag them in from other dimensions either, it learned how to do all that after it murdered its crew.
Or maybe something else has lodged in its rusting conduits, running the show now. Dear little CIRSTA wouldn't say. I think she's holding out on me, though. Anyone feel like trying to charm her? Or just tear her open. I don't know enough about human computers to do it myself.
Oh, and--[He's forgotten what else he was going to pester the network about. Hmm.]--Ah! Right. Back on the subject of getting murdered. I was told this place tries to kill everyone constantly. No time to do anything, too busy fighting for your life. Sounded dire.
I've been here for more than twenty intervals and nothing's tried to kill me. Honestly, I'm disappointed. The worst I've had to suffer is a hangover. I've lowered my standards to account for this bucket's limitations, but I'm not that easy.
And on that final note, there is one thing. One very annoying thing. This gravity business. All of you have these. [He holds up one of the station-issued magnetic boots.] These things. Station left me a pair too. Wouldn't look dire on me. But.
[The boot drops with a clunk, and there's an odd series of whirs and mechanical clicking.]
I wasn't planning on being stolen away to a human station, light years, universes away from my collection.
[Regor holds something up. At first it might be hard to identify. It's the same gunmetal that accents his tight-fitting suit. It tapers into a long, curving metal strut, which he draws attention to.] These feet weren't made for one-third-G. Not made for spin gravity. They were designed for real gravity and good taste. [Yes, Regor has removed half of one of his legs, just to complain about it.]
I've got designs for walking feet. Ones that fit human boots. But got no parts to make them. Someone needs to fix that, because I am sick of scraping my head on the ceiling every time I want to go anywhere.
If you have the parts and the brains for cybernetics work, talk to me. Soon.
no subject
[The planet, though. Susan. Sounds like it might, maybe be interesting.] They've been down there? Why don't they just stay, if they're complaining so much about a little peril up here? And the oceans--ooh, wish I had Draga parts here. More modifications, then. [He's just going to start sketching out ideas.]
Don't suppose you know where to find decent cybernetics, do you? [Maybe he could take apart one of those androids he kept hearing about? But their parts were probably incompatible with his anyway.]
no subject
[He had gone of course! And tried to smoke a couple of plants.]
'Fraid I'm not into cybernetics myself. Never been big on tech.
no subject
Shame. You might find you have good hands for that too. [Several pairs, even.]
no subject
I could probably do it, but you know. It's rough catching up with technology if you haven't lived through it's development yet. If you wanted to give me a crash course though, I wouldn't say no.
no subject
Hn, better than having all sorts of old widgets to poke at, and it all hates you. Orokin never let us have any fun at all.
I might consider it. Don't have materials, though. Wouldn't need much of anyone else if I had parts.