Yeah, those three people I mentioned? They're the only ones with 30+ strength. A loaded gas cannon with extra shells (so, a whopping total of twelve shots) weighs about 30 units.
I'm beginning to wonder exactly how gas cannons are so superior to the other starting weapons... Probably 'cause a harpoon gun with extra clip yields twenty total shots. And harpoons don't explode.
Moving down the line, we came over to a young man who looked to be of vaguely African origin. He was staring off into the distance, but our approach caused him to straighten up and give an enthusiastic salute. Enthusiastic, yes, but also the wrong hand.
"Zangi reporting for duty sir!" He announced cheerily.
The base administrator smiled and snapped a salute back at him, then hurried me further down the line. As we walked, he leaned in close and said "If you go down to the main living quarters and take a left towards the lab, there's a corridor where one of the halls has a honkin' big dent in it."
He paused to shake his head, then continued.
"That's what my head did when I found out about him. Somehow those pencil-pushers managed to send me a complete and total greenhorn. And I mean straight from the goddamn recruiting office, the kid hasn't even been through basic yet."
Over the course of my time spent at the base, I would walk through the corridor in question many times. There is indeed a rather sizable indentation in it, although not quite as impressive as the administrator might make it out to be.
What
is impressive is the bronze plaque underneath it, commemorating the event in the annals of this base's history.
"And this here's... Well, I'll let him introduce himself. This is just too good, and I'll probably screw it up somehow"
The recruit took a deep breath, pushed his shoulders back and composed himself.
"My name, given to me by my most auspicious parents, is William Jacques Cousteau Denton. But you can call me J.C."
He looked at me for a moment, then added "Please."
The administrator clapped me on the back and let out a short cackle.
"Quite something, ain't he? Man, that never gets old... If only his folks knew what he was doin' now"
As we walked over to the next man in line, the administrator's face fell by a few levels of glee.
"Here we got another one of them weirdos. This dude calls himself 'the Metal Militia' or somesuch"
To this, the soldier responded "Metal Militia It's just Metal Militia, sir. No 'the'."
The administrator waved his hand dismissively. Then he turned to me.
"We basically just use him as a mule. Carry stuff from one place to the next. We let him push buttons on things once in a while, too. He's kinda good at that"
"And this is Steve. He's... Well, he's Steve. Nobody really seems to know what his last name is."
"Hello, Steve" I said.
"Hi! I'm Steve!" he replied.
The administrator gave Steve a little wave before encouraging me to keep moving.
"Not the sharpest tool in the shed, as you can see... But Steve's a nice enough fella, and he doesn't cause trouble, so we let him stay. Follows orders like a little lamb too, and shoots like he means it."
"And that brings us to the last man on the list, Cleme-"
The soldier interrupted him before he could finish.
"Yo dawg I be
Z-Chris! I'm here to bust some caps of
serious muthafuckin' magnitude in those alien sumbitch asses. Howzit hangizzlin'?"
He then attempted to engage me in some sort overcomplicated handshake, which involved very little handshaking and seemed to be rather spontaneous as neither one of us managed to get it right.
"A'ight, a'ight..." he uttered, nodding his head and looking impressed. Obviously, I had passed his initiation test, and he approved of me. I hadn't a clue what I'd done in order for him to feel that way.
I looked back at the administrator, who was holding his face in his hands. A few minutes of silence passed before he summoned the willpower to return to the world of Brutus Maximus, Metal Militia, and the newly-anointed Z-Chris.
Once he had taken a few deep, steadying breaths of sea air, he turned to face me. Holding out his large, rough palm, he introduced himself.
"And, best for last, my name is James F. LeRoy. Everyone just calls me Jimmy though"
With that, he led me off of the helicopter pad and into the base itself.
The construction of the base amazed me. It was built up from scratch using giant floating platforms, upon which were constructed large facilities that could house any number of workspaces or living quarters. A remarkable feat, to say the least.
But the true engineering feat lay on the underside of the platforms. Drawing electricity from the saltwater surrounding it, a large power station/stabilizing mechanism dominated the space beneath us. Connected to a GPS tracking system, a hydrojet propulsion system kept the base in the same geographical location without the need for any sort of tether linking them to land or the seafloor.
I was just commenting to Jimmy on the condition of their laboratory equipment when one of the staff members came running up to us.
"Sir, scanners have picked up on something. It's big, it's fast, and it's sure as hell not us"
Jimmy perked up a bit and turned to me.
"Well professor, looks like you might even get to meet the aliens today!"
My first potential encounter with nonhuman intelligent life, and I hadn't even seen my bunk yet. This was promising to be a very eventful term...
Aaand guess what. Yup, that's right, that's all we got for today. I promise
real actual fighting next update though. Just don't really feel like it right now. Nyah.
P.S.
I don't think I've ever actually watched an episode of Sealab... It's just that I was looking for some sort of spin where I could trick people with a semi-written base name and then change it later into something they weren't expecting. As such, I hold no particular attachment to the name, and won't mind changing it if people insist.
That is, of course, if it's even possible to rename a base.
