| have you tried shutting him off and turning him on again?
|
xxxxxOrders are orders, but not every CAT scan's a CAT scan. Brick's learned his lesson now about asking what the tubes are called before letting the techies shove him in one. All of Brick has. Each one. Some bright light in Control figured it'd be a lot cheaper getting a man into high orbit if you didn't have to take all that meat along. Just pack a hundred kilograms of raw carbon into a satellite with a mindstate receiver and a nanofabricator, beam the guy's brain up in ones and zeroes and check it out, instant human out on the Horizon. Faster than the speed of light, now the quantum entanglement bandwidth is pushing terrabyte territory. And why stop at one? You've still got a copy of his brain on file. This guy was expensive to train. Send a copy to the boys over at the Cop, and one to that Alpha Centauri 3 satellite, you know, the one where they're having all that fungal trouble. And kick a few iterations over to Mars, you know how understaffed they always are. And the grunt? The grunt whose mind they photocopied and reinstalled who wakes up in pink fabber foam in a hundred different constructs at once, works fifty posts simultaneously in instance after instance out there in the big black? Well, maybe don't let the forks run into one another for morale's sake, but look at it this way: you'll never be paying out that life insurance policy.
xxxxx
xxxxx
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| this machine kills nephwracks
|
- Posthuman: Conservatives aware of Brick's status as a copy of a copy of a man still wandering around might not consider him human. If you dig abhuman forms of personhood, though, he's about as weird as you can get without going full-bore Deviant. Add him to your rolodex of strange and wonderful things.
- Identity: For reasons you might infer from the above, Brick's largely cut off from his past. This doesn't eat at him, but it does nag. People interested in identity might find his multiple self nature intriguing.
- MAGIC SPACE: Brick is good with the DimSci and has extensive training operating in alien environments. If you're going to MAGIC SPACE, take him with you!
- Lime in the Coconut: Traditionalists give Brick a headache, especially if they insist on doing their mojo in front of him, but he harbors a certain aggravated fondness for the crazies. No Pogrom here. Etherites and Virtual Adepts are practically even sane.
- Nephandi: Nope nope nope. Kill em all, let their alien gods sort em out, then kill them, too. Put me on your deathsquad, captain, I wanna spongebath the cosmos.
- More Like Technoc-crazy Amirite: If some mirrorshaded shitstain wants to burn down the orphanarium because the triplet sisters there are chatting up their dead dad with a ouija board, he'll at least be playing fireman and quite possibly whistleblower-executioner. If you need to do a little housecleaning on agents who go too far, how 'bout we infiltrate through the universe next door and slag his cortical stack?
- Shore Leave: Well, he never asked for this, but technically he's supposed to be here to decompress and relax after decades in the stars. He's vice-prone and will gladly share yours with you.
- Goddamn Hero: Well, he is one. Need one? Theoretical physics and suicidal bravery haven't gone together this sweetly since Gordon Freeman.
- Techno-hmmm?: Brick doesn't like the word 'Technocracy.' That suffix implies a desire to rule; science should persuade with evidence! SOUNDS LIKE TRADITIONALIST PROPAGANDA TO ME. If you want a lecture on the word "Technologist" versus "Technocrat," he's your boy.
- Crazed Eidolon: Err. He shut up about it very early in his training, but there are a couple notes on Brick's file suggesting he might be schizophrenic. They haven't resurfaced since his post-Enlightenment boot camp in the early nineties, but it's still on record, for assholes who go back that far, that Brick at-least-used-to-think that at-least-his science is inspired by The Night Sky.
- They See Me Weavin: Cross-over-delite! Brick calls the Triat the "Entropy Intelligence," "Stasis Intelligence" and "Creative Intelligence," but recent events have taught him that maybe those things have a cosmic significance, and maybe some of them are sick! Obviously Nephandi need to die, but maybe their boss has a point? If you want to argue Wyldhood, he'll enthuse, claiming that's the whole idea behind the Technocracy, and Wyrmness--well! Good luck without a substantial metaphor, and better luck talking up the Weaver. This machine kills stasis.
|
| bioconservatives
|
- Van: Seven sorrows the priests give their Virgin;/But thy sins, which are seventy times seven,/Seven ages would fail thee to purge in,/And then they would haunt thee in heaven:/Fierce midnights and famishing morrows,/And the loves that complete and control/All the joys of the flesh, all the sorrows/That wear out the soul.
- Alexis: Pretty lady. Can carry a conversation. Wants the boyfriend's D. What's not to like, apart from membership in a global counter-liberty conspiracy?
- Cameron: I refuse to admit that he's got a point. Doing him the courtesy of not bombing his office from otherspace is about as much politeness as I can muster.
- Cig: Stone. Stoner friend. Girl problems? Mom problems? Knows where the Earth drugs at. Not as gay as we'd thought.
- Harano: Concussed cousin by gay marriage. Or something. I don't know how this fag/dog stuff works.
- Carver: I could make you such a cool leg c'monnn lemme make you an awesome leg maybe you'll fucking smile for once listen I could cut off the other one and make you TWO awesome legs how'satsound
- Bryn: Great fencer. Not as male as we'd thought. Real into that dead lady. Wish I could say I was into that, but if you're gonna make me watch lezzes they should at least. Both. Be alive. Man of high standards.
- Gil: Strong impression you've mistaken SoCal for the trackless African savannah circa King Solomon's Mines. Sorry I set fire to all the things that one time.
- Luke: Talks faster than me. Wanna take a lawnmower to his hair. Won't admit to being magic. Frustrating. Enjoyed, would be frustrated again.
- Foster: So many preachers in this town. At least this one doesn't seem to be turning his crazy into magic. One headache fewer.
- Hrafn: how i mine for sense. Cute bird, though.
|
|
| decanted this way
|
|
|
|
| Faction:
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Technocracy
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| Convention:
|
Void Engineers
|
| Methodology:
|
Border Corps Division
|
| Full Name:
|
In another self's hands
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| Cover Identity:
|
Lieutenant Nathaniel Smith
|
| Date of Birth:
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July 20 1970
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| Subjective Age:
|
26
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| Demeanor:
|
Cavalier
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| Instantiation:
|
Copy 37 [17 farcasts 4 backup restores]
|
| Calling:
|
Plasma Rifle Diplomat
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| Status:
|
Mandatory Shore Leave
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|
| Height:
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6'2
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| Weight:
|
170
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| Hair Color:
|
Tawny
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| Eye Color:
|
Brown
|
|
| HSV Pressure Drop
|
|
|
|
| Position:
|
Companion
|
| Length:
|
240 pixels
|
| No Seriously Length:
|
I said 240 pixels
|
| Cmon:
|
fine 6.35 cm
|
| Metric sucks:
|
2.5 inches jeez
|
| Location:
|
Brick's keychain
|
| Emotion:
|
Unconditional Love
|
| Brightness:
|
High Dynamic Range
|
| User Interface:
|
Frustrating but Engaging
|
| Favorite Color:
|
Cosmic Background Radiation
|
| Warning:
|
Do Not Feed After Midnight
|
| Alloy:
|
Secret Tin
|
| Fandom:
|
Major Shipper
|
| Buds:
|
Everybody
|
|
|
| The Rifle
|
|
|
|
| Number Like It:
|
Many
|
| This One:
|
Mine
|
|
|
|
