Go to my lab and study the D.I.A arm to determine how it works and what it does.
You remember that most of the cybernetics equipment was stashed on the eighth of the ship's nine floors. Perhaps your workplace should be there, too. You ascend to the eighth floor by elevator.
It's dark. You snap your fingers, and the lights come on.
The circular interior of this floor is divided into four sections. Three are full of crates. The fourth is neatly cleaned. There is a table with a selection of tools on it for manual repairs, and a computerized maintenance rack for more delicate work. Several crates are stashed along the far wall. You check: spare parts, mostly, though there are a few assembled prosthetics there. All in all, it should do nicely.
There is a note stuck in the vice that is bolted to the table. It reads,
"Live long and prosper." You flex your right arm. You feel the switches there, right under the metal: three of them. You aren't about to start pressing them yet, though, so you take the limb off and put it into the maintenance unit's clamp. The display lights up. Tapping a few keys with your left hand, you disconnect the armor plating on th D.I.A arm.
You look at the display. Three auxiliary neural links are visible.
One is connected to what you immediately identify as a capacitor, which is connected to several conductive strips that run down to the fingertips. You suppose that it allows you to deliver electric shocks on touch. There is some sort of box near it, but you don't know what it could be.
Another link runs to a servomotor which connects to a long tube. You think it's a projectile weapon of some kind, maybe a pistol. With a size that small, it can hardly be anything else.
The third one is connected to an insulated black box. You don't have the slightest idea what's inside. Maybe a scanning array of some sort? Anyway, you may have to activate it to see.
((Note to Pat: I do not show research rolls.))
"Perfect."
Head on up to alcohol and happiness.
You walk up the stairway to the fifth floor. The huge circular space has been cleared except for large crates, which serve as tables, and an array of folding chairs and smaller containers which serve as chairs. Half the lights have been turned off. The effect is rather homely: the whole improvised aspect is nice and genuine.
The bar is the chest-high crate in which one of the hydroponics modules was shipped. You approach it and drum your fingers. The bartender, a tired-looking man in his mid-twenties, approaches and asks you what'll you be having.
"We have vodka, beer, tequila, mulled wine, and half a bottle of curacao. How buzzed do you wanna get?"
Chester reminds of himself in a most unexpected way:
- Sir, can I be allowed to use tools that would allow me to work with raw materials? Wood, iron, steel. I'll need those too. By tools, I mean, generally, the milling machine, chainsaw, abrasives, an anvil and a high-temperature oven? I also would be fond of that service exoskeleton, like the one you just gave to this gentleman, - pointing at the guy with the mining laser.
Matveenko lifts an eyebrow at you.
"So, d'you want to join the woodcutters or something? You could have the saw and the exo then. There's a milling unit in the factory, so you can make or modify the parts you need. Problem is, we don't have any raw materials yet. We'll have to get wood, oil, metals, uranium..."
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Topic: Trailblazers in a World of Winter - Chester crashes the party. (Read 59274 times)