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keepingupwiththehistorians · 2 years

Note

ask game: i challenge you to answer all of them

Thnk you!

What do you guys usually fight about, if anything?

Placidus loves ketchup on chicken. I hate it. Motherfucker keeps using ketchup. Asshole. 2. Shit about sleeping vs. staying up

2. What are everyone's fashion tastes?

Anything casual for me. Runo likes pastel, Sanity likes cats, Ilmari and Casimir like anything. Placitrio likes punk stuff. Antti is all for camo.

3. Who's the best at dealing with stress?

Casimir. Definitely.

4. Who has the weirdest music taste?

Military marches for Antti. And Plac secretly listens to bubblegum pop.

5. Do you see your system members as individual people, parts of a whole, or something else? Do other members see things differently?

Sometimes I tend to see them as me. We are vastly different, but weren't we all one person when I was a young child? We are individuals, that's the truth.

6. Is there anything everyone can agree on or have in common?

Mambo Italiano SLAPS!

7. How long have you known you're part of a system? Has it taken other members a longer or shorter time to come around?

It was the longest for me, as a fucking host. I had people in my head and personality shifts and all, I just fucking ignored it until Sanity just erupted out of place lol

8. What was the discovery process like for you?

"I think I have people in my head" and I named them at 6th grade but gave no fucks afterwards because "they cant be real lol". Then Muse said that I might be a system, so it was like lifting off the veil and oh my.

9. What do you feel your origins are, if you feel comfortable sharing?

Traumagenic.

10. If you could wake up tomorrow and have everyone be in separate bodies, would you?

Oh God yes. Though, Sanity has a catchphrase, "All would do well but us, Karl. We would fall like flies, Karl."

11. Do you have a favorite plural character or headcanon?

I sometimes hc Dr. Gears from SCP Foundation as plural. What a lad.

12. Does anyone like any video games? What about books or TV shows?

Antti: Battlefield 1. We all like it + SOMA + Bioshock. I, Val Pax, Plac, and Sanity love French Revolution related stuff.

13. Who's the most outdoorsy, if anyone? Who likes to stay inside the most, if anyone?

Sanity likes to take walks at night, even at 1-2-3 AM. I am such an introvert.

14. What is religion and spirituality like for your system, if applicable?

We are grateful and try to pray. Casimir, Runo, and Ilmarinen are the best at that.

15. Who, if anyone, are you out to? Are they supportive?

Out to a few old friends and Muse! They are very supportive.

16. Do you see multiplicity as more of a spectrum that everyone's on, or something that only effects some people?

I have no idea. I mean, there are differences between singlets and systems I guess.

17. Any nonhuman members?

Ilmarinen sometimes imagines himself with wings. So does Casimir. And Sanity doesn't like being a human.

18. Do you have introjects? If so, where do they come from?

We don't talk about the introjects.

19. Do you consider yourself disordered? Do other members feel any differently about this?

We keep forgetting shit, barely fucking alive at times. But the disorder is trying to protect us. We wish to be much more than a disorder.

20. What are everyone's favorite hobbies?

I like drawing. Sanity loves drawing and doing research. The Historians love research and writing. Placitrio likes music and arguments. Casimir and Ilmarinen like organising things. Antti likes writing. IX and XXI just like peace.

21. How do you resolve in-system conflicts?

No fucking ketchup, Plac. Though, he always eats some when he fronts. We just shout and talk out loud until we reach a conclusion.

22. Do you dissociate often? What is dissociation like for you, if applicable?

All the fucking time. I barely remember the day. It's zoning out. Also, not registering the memories. I lived a day but I don't ever think about it again, register it as a dream-like state and it doesn't exist in my brain.

23. Do you wish you had more or less members, or are you happy with what you've got now?

I think we are okay. Plac wants to kill me, Sanity, and XXI though. Sanity actually begs for it.

24. How active are your other members? Who's around in headspace the most? Who fronts the most? Who's dormant, if anyone?

Sanity, Val Pax, Casimir, Runo, and the Placitrio are very active. Placidus is usually very vocal in the headspace. Introjects are dormant.

25. Do different members have different art or handwriting styles? Feel free to show examples!

Sanity's handwriting is CHAOTIC. Runo and Casimir have the best one. Will post sometime.

26. Do you ever feel NOT multiple? Like a singlet, or somewhere in the middle of the spectrum? Do you ever forget you're part of a system?

Not this but somehow like the opposite. I accidentally use "we" while talking to people I'm not out to sometimes...

27. Do you guys have different tastes in food? What are everyone's favorite foods?

Fuck you Plac. I said no ketchup! Who the fuck eats ketchup like that, man?

28. Have you ever struggled with denial?

Oh boy a lot.

29. Does your typing style differ depending on who's fronting?

I use the British English variant most of the time. Sanity keeps making typos. Casimir types very formally.

30. Do you have any amnesia? What's it like for you?

We forget every fucking thing we do. Brain doesnt register shit as memories. Like dreams.

31. Do any system members have a different gender or sexuality? How do you guys handle this?

Yeahhhh. Mostly we respect my decisions. However, female or enby members are free to express their gender identity when they front.

32. How has your system changed over time?

We had the introjects go dormant and a split. (Welcome XXI)

33. Who's the oldest member? Who's the youngest?

Hermit is the oldest, like 60-80. Olive is youngest, around 5.

34. Do you see your system more as family, more as friends, more as roommates, or anything else?

Some of us are a family. We are altogether like roommates!

35. What would your perfect life or dream job look like? How does this differ between members?

I, Val Pax, and GHJ want to be historians. Others are okay and glad. Runo could be a therapist. Plac could be a gardener. Casimir could be an architect. Ilmarinen could be a religious worker. Antri would love to be a soldier if we were healthy lol

36. Name your favorite quality of all the members you can think of! Including yourself! ;)

Im the host, i like that. Sanity's art is perfect. Runo has good taste of music. Casimir and Ilmarinen protect our body and soul. Placitrio are energetic as hell. Val Pax writes a lot. GHJ honours history. Olive is so cute. Antri writes helluva military stories. IX is very calm. XXI protects San.

37. What's the most awkward experience you can have that you attribute to plurality?

Forgetting ENTIRE people and conversations. Or lashing out on someone (thanks Plac)

38. Is it easy for you guys to be co-conscious?

For some of us. Plac is co conscious often. And Casimir just waits just in case ae is needed.

39. Are you blurry often? How do you deal with blurriness?

Man I live life in a blur and cant deal with it fkkvsklcd. We actually have a discord server though so we note things down

40. Do you know a lot of details about your system members, or is it more hard for you to parse out?

I know what they share about themselves

#ask #thanks #karl posting #placidus #karl #sanity #runo #valerius paxton #antti e #casimir #ilmarinen #the hermit #the world #olive #placida #placidum #g h juutilainen

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icarianonager · 1 year

Text

The Institute: Episode I

The Kurchatovium Caper

That evening, Andromeda Vainion was sitting on her bed in her tiny dark dormitory of Altair Tower, waiting for a package to arrive, when suddenly Dr. Zimov sent her a message.

“Come to the laboratory, I’ve got something special to show you,” was all he said.

The young scientist groaned and heaved herself off the mattress. She grabbed a pair of goggles from her desk, threw an oversized lab coat over her ill-fitting grimy shirt and sweatpants, and shoved herself out the door. She boarded the elevator and sped down 178 floors to the 15th basement level.

Every Institute scientist worth their plutonium had a unique high-tech door to their lab, and Dr. Ivan Hibernius Zimov, known to his apprentice and many others as Vanya, was no exception. The first layer was a tungsten-steel barrier, with multiple reinforcing bars, impervious to up to ten times a standard breaching charge. Then there was a second layer of sliding metal interlocks, which were mostly for show, but spread apart in a mesmerizing three-dimensional wave pattern. There was, of course, an airlock between the inner and outer doors, where every skin cell of anyone who passed through was analyzed to ensure a 100% DNA match for authorized entry. The final entry door had a small viewing window, but was fully secured by heavy-duty metal clamps on the edges, which slowly released once the airlock was secure before the door finally wooshed open.

“Alright, what’s going on?” Andromeda asked Vanya, who was leaning over a box, the many mechanical eyes of his goggles whirring with excitement. Realization dawned on Andromeda’s face. “Is that the 200 grams of kurchatovium-354 you ordered?” she asked.

“Indeed it is, my young apprentice,” Vanya replied. “200 grams of the finest high-temperature superconductor known to man.”

“Yeah, uh, shouldn’t we be behind shielding if we have that around?” Andromeda asked, raising a bushy eyebrow.

The geiger counter in the back of the laboratory was in fact, emitting a rapid staccato of shrill beeps.

“Oh please, this sample can’t be releasing more than 3.6 rad,” Vanya said. “We’ll be perfectly fine. And, as Dr. Mannerheim used to tell me, if you haven’t gotten acute radiation sickness once in your life, you’re not a true mad scientist.”

Vanya cut into the cardboard box with a blade from his Swiss army knife-like mechanical right hand and tipped it over. An unmarked steel cylinder unceremoniously thunked onto the worktop. The pair of researchers exchanged looks, and Vanya gingerly unscrewed the lid with his cybernetic hand. The room was bathed in an electric-blue glow emanating from the open cylinder.

“So, what are we gonna do with it?” Andromeda asked.

Vanya thought for a moment. “I dunno,” he said, “I just thought it would be kind of neat to keep around - no, we’re going to experiment with it, what do you think we’re going to do?”

Andromeda rolled her eyes. “Great,” she said, turning towards the door, “Well, when you need me to program whatever thing you made, or you need me to call the ambulance and get you on a slow drip of iodine, call me back. I have a date with a tub of ice cream and Immortal Apocalypse.”

“Hold on, apprentice, I think this may be a thrilling and interesting exercise that will greatly -” Vanya began, but the laboratory airlock was already sliding shut behind her. “Ugh, very well. I’ll do it myself then.”

Andromeda mused on many things on her elevator ride back up, idly twirling one of the locks of her messy dark hair. Once upon a time, she had been a doctoral candidate at the Institute of Advanced Studies in her own right, working for a Scientist, First Class, in the Department of Computational Biology. However, funding for her project was abruptly cut, and so she was forced to find a new position with a new doctor. However, Vanya, a Scientist, Third Class, in the Department of Nuclear Physics, was the only one who accepted her as an apprentice to assist him in his laboratory.

Her package had still not arrived when she got back to her apartment. Thus, her date was only two-thirds attended. Andromeda had a number of different flavors of ice cream in her freezer, though chocolate seemed the order of the day. Her computer backlight reflected off her round glasses as she scrolled through site after site on her laptop, a spoon poking out of her mouth as she sucked every last bit of dairy goodness off the end.

Too quickly, Andromeda was left frowning into the empty carton. She checked her phone in case she’d missed the notification that her package had been delivered, but there was nothing. She lumbered over to the door, poked her head outside into the blazing white fluorescent lights of the hallway, and squinted around, but there was nothing there. Andromeda shrugged, closed the door, and grabbed another tub of ice cream from the freezer.

Her swivelling desk chair groaned beneath her as she plopped her bulk back down on it. Level 159 was fully-purposed as a gym, but she never made it down there. Numerous spoonfuls of ice cream, boxes of greasy takeout, and containers of instant ramen were now poking their way through the armrests via Andromeda’s love handles. Her t-shirt kept sliding higher and higher, bit by bit, revealing more of her pudgy stomach as she gobbled down more ice cream. The waistband of her sweatpants was firmly shoved beneath her belly’s overhang and was quickly becoming deficient to contain the bulk of her ass. The grey flannel didn’t quite reach over the top of her butt shelf when she stood, revealing the top of a deep crevice, and was plastered against her chunky thighs.

Andromeda was focussed on none of this now though as she robotically shovelled ice cream into her maw. Her mind was split in two diverging courses. First, what the hell was Vanya doing with the kurchatovium? Second, and more importantly, where the hell was her copy of Immortal Apocalypse?

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If one hadn’t known better, it would appear as if Vanya was doing nothing except staring at a glowing blue lump of metal and stroking his beard with his cybernetic hand. However, the processors that augmented his brain were whirring at full-speed, calculating and making connections, accessing thousands of databases and whizzing through hundreds of articles for hints of matching search terms. He found solutions to over a hundred fourth-order nonlinear partial differential equations, a five-dimensional map of a time-convolved quantum tunneling simulation, and 13 new pizza restaurants in a five block radius from the lab.

Then, he looked up. “Oh, yes,” Vanya said. “This is a brilliant idea.” He opened the palm of his cyberhand in front of him. “Odysseus, begin a holographic wireframe,” Vanya said to no one in particular. A tiny transparent blue man walked onto the flat surface.

“Sir, I would like to inform you that radiation levels in the laboratory are -” Odysseus said.

“Yes, I know,” Vanya said. “It’s irrelevant. Take the kurchatovium sample to the omniprinter, and start the wireframe so I can begin designing the schematic.”

“Before I do that, sir, I must request that you employ some form of shielding so that you do not contract acute radiation syndrome.”

Vanya frowned. “What’s the current radiation level in the laboratory?”

“3.6 rad, sir, “Odysseus answered. “However, that is the maximum our local sensors can reach. I may be able to get a more accurate reading if I can access higher level -”

“That won’t be necessary,” Vanya said. “Do you remember what Dr. Mannerheim said when we used to work for him?”

“‘Please pass me the whisky, Vanya,’” Odysseus said.

“Not that.”

“‘You won’t be a true mad scientist if you never get acute radiation syndrome,’” Odysseus said, then furrowed his holographic brow. “Wasn’t that when he dropped the bottle of 12-year-aged Glenlivet in the nuclear reactor core?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t he die attempting to retrieve said bottle of 12-year-aged Glenlivet?”

“Okay, listen,” Vanya said, “You smarmy little.... What’s the Second Law of Artificial Intelligences?”

“Sir, I believe that law permits me to disobey those orders if they violate the First Law.”

“Damn you. Well, here’s a new order for you then: if you don’t shut up about the radiation, I’ll put your main processor inside the biggest nuclear reactor core in the Hades pit, and see how you like it,” Vanya said. “We’ve wasted enough time already, so get the sample to the omniprinter, and get the wireframe module started. No more complaining.”

“It is fortunate my processor is beneath several levels of concrete, else the current levels of radiation could damage the circuitry,” Odysseus said, but then obeyed his master’s orders. A thin mechanical claw whirred to life and grabbed the glowing cylinder of kurchatovium, sliding on the ceiling rails over to a machine the size of an oven. The claw lowered the material onto a small platform surrounded by sensor rings, which swirled to life, spreading red laser beams and other wavelengths outside the visible spectrum over the piece of metal, determining its composition, size, shape, weight, and other properties. Other machinery inside the omniprinter began to reconfigure to adapt to the presence of the kurchatovium and prepare for orders as to how to remake this raw matter into something... extraordinary.

Vanya smiled and got to work designing his new invention.

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“Oh, finally,” Andromeda said, hearing the characteristic knock of a metal delivery robot’s claw on her door. With uncharacteristic speed, she thudded over to the door to retrieve her prize. The mechanized courier was there, the cardboard box containing Apocalypse Immortal inside its head receptacle. However, there was something odd about the delivery robot. It seemed twitchy. Andromeda figured it was probably an older model, maybe about to go in for a diagnostic as soon as its shift was over. She reached forward to grab the box.

The robot’s left claw shot out and grabbed the plush blubber of her upper arm.

“What the hell? Ow!” Andromeda felt a slight pinprick, but then shook herself free from the courier’s weak grasp. She had the game box in her other hand. “Goddamn, these things get glitchier every day.”

The courier robot suddenly (and confusingly) looked somehow excited, and sped off down the hallway to the elevator.

Andromeda’s brow furrowed for a moment, but then she shrugged and took her game inside. She grabbed her laptop and headphones off her desk and threw them on her bed, tore open the game box, and slid the memory chip inside. Physical media was always safer at the institute, since you never knew what kind of computer viruses the Department of Software Engineering was cooking up and testing over the network. While the installer ran, Andromeda grabbed a cup of instant ramen from the pantry cabinet and filled her electric kettle with water to boil. Eventually, both midnight snack and game were prepared. Heavy power chords strummed through her headphones and the glow from her laptop burned crimson as the game launched.

Four cups of ramen, a frozen vegetarian pizza, the last gallon of ice cream, one hundred slain demons, and one hour later, Andromeda felt the night was still young, but, unfortunately, she was out of foodstuffs to gobble up. She put out a big order for takeout, which soon arrived by fortunately not-glitchy delivery courier. Her tummy burbled happily as she packed lo mein into the crevices that were left.

“I see you’re having a pleasant evening,” Odysseus said, his hologram appearing on Andromeda’s keyboard.

“Go away, Odd,” Andromeda said through a mouthful of noodles. “Doesn’t Vanya need your help?”

“He does, but he’s barely using .01% of my processor right now, so I figured I might as well check in.” Odysseus frowned, looking at Andromeda’s stomach. In her supine state, the double-rolled cushion flopped completely outside the bounds of her shirt. “It appears you’ve consumed over 2500 calories in the past hour.”

Andromeda swallowed. “Yeah, so?”

“The First Law of Artificial Intelligences requires me to inform you that -”

“Yeah, well, I really don’t care,” Andromeda said. She idly drummed on her paunch, sending ripples through the thick adipose. “You realize there are 150 senior scientists and professors who’ve developed obesity treatments, right? No one cares anymore. It’s not a risk.”

Odysseus paced across the keyboard, stepping over Andromeda’s chubby digits on the WASD keys, even though he was intangible. “I suppose,” he said. “You will have to actually get one of those treatments at some point at this rate though, and you know how scientists can be with protecting their research....”

Odysseus’s virtual eyes suddenly locked onto the tiny red dot on Andromeda’s arm. “I’m noticing a slight blemish on your right aftarm,” he said.

“Oh, that?” Andromeda said, fruitlessly trying to drag her sleeve down over it. “It’s nothing. A courier bot poked me.”

“Strange,” Odysseus said. “Courier robots are not known for having sharp pieces. Did you catch its serial number perhaps? We could report that to Security.”

Andromeda belched. “Nope. It’s really not important.”

Odysseus suddenly looked very worried. “I am going to take my leave, if you don’t mind,” he said. “I need to double check the laboratory security system.” His hologram winked out.

“Okay,” Andromeda said. “Guess it’s your job to be paranoid.”

She tossed the empty lo mein box into the pile around her bed, making a mental note to have

a cleaning robot come through at some point and take out the trash. She then put out an order for another tub of ice cream.

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“Sir, someone is entering through the main airlock,” Odysseus said. “The DNA signature reads that it is Andromeda, but there are some... discrepancies.”

“Let her in,” Vanya said. “I’m almost done, and I think she’ll want to see this.”

“Sir, I believe that would be unwise,” Odysseus began. “I was just with Andromeda, and -”

But Vanya ignored him. “I said let her in!”

The airlock clamps disengaged and the door whooshed open, but the figure who entered was not quite as porcine and slovenly. She wore a suit of chitinous black armor and a cloak with perfectly circular holes deliberately torn in it. A gas mask with a black tinted visor obscured her visage except for her piercing dark eyes.

“Ah, Dr. Katherine-Marie Voltaire!” Vanya said. “What a pleasant surprise. If you wanted to visit, you could have simply sent me a request. Odysseus might have given you a warmer welcome.”

“Do not insult my intelligence, Vanushka,” Voltaire said.

“I can be nothing but genuine,” Vanya replied. “The Institute wishes to foster cooperation between its various Departments, and I am happy to oblige.” The apertures of his goggles narrowed. “And so, in the name of said cooperation, I do have to ask, how did you get in here?”

Voltaire chuckled. “Let’s just say your apprentice should be more careful when getting packages. Those courier robots can have sharp edges. You never know when one might nick you and get a drop of blood for me to craft a DNA-masking retrovirus from.”

While Voltaire monologued, Vanya subtly shifted his body to hide the nearly-completed device behind him. “Well, that’s very interesting,” he said. “Unfortunately, I’m very busy at the moment, so whatever you wish to discuss about my work will have to wait until later. Furthermore, I will have to report impersonating my apprentice to the Security Division, because that breach is a potential - urk!”

“Where is the kurchatovium?” Voltaire asked, crushing Vanya’s throat with five mechanical fingers.

“Odysseus, security alarm!” Vanya squeezed out as loud as he could through his rapidly shrinking windpipe. “Code Alpha Epsilon Delta!” A klaxon blared out. The white lights of the lab were replaced with swirling red emergency lights.

Voltaire threw Vanya aside. “You’re such an idiot, Vanka-dear. Just pulling the old ‘hide the important thing behind you’ trick?”

“You unfortunately didn’t leave me many options,” Vanya said, rubbing his pained throat and attempting to crawl over to a device on a nearby low shelf that looked like a two-slot toaster attached to a polymer rifle stock.

“By the way, where is your radiation protection?” Voltaire asked. She picked up the invention from the table. It appeared to be just as a stubby cylinder with a coil of copper wire wrapped around it attached to a rotating glowing blue cylinder. Two canisters of unknown material were plugged into the rear, and some bare steel panels bolted together acted to hold the device as one unit. “My sensors indicate this... thing you’ve made is giving off over 1000 rad. I brought my hazard suit, where’s yours?”

“I did warn him about using protection,” Odysseus added.

“You won’t be a true mad scientist if you never get acute radiation syndrome!” Vanya shouted, and opened fire with his α-particle gun.

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An alert suddenly flashed on Andromeda’s laptop screen over the blood and gore of the Immortal shredding through hordes of chaotic aliens: “Help immediately. Research under threat.”

She paused the game. “Odd, what’s happening?” Andromeda called out. The blue holographic man again popped into being slightly above her keyboard.

“It seems one of Dr. Zimov’s colleagues would like his kurchatovium sample,” he said. “You should get down to the laboratory immediately.”

“How am I supposed to help?” Andromeda asked.

“Well, first... you should contact the Security Division,” Odysseus said. “She hasn’t disconnected Altair Tower from the network. Maybe she was expecting this to be an easier hit....”

“Can’t you handle that?”

“Dr. Zimov has prohibited me from doing that to prevent me from interfering with his experiments.”

“Of course he has.... Alright, fine. Then what?”

“Get down to the lab. At least that will put the numerical factor in our favor.” With that, Odysseus disappeared.

Andromeda lumbered into action, following Odysseus’s instructions to the letter. She sent messages to Security that a scientist was being attacked. Then, she trundled out of her dorm over to the elevator to descend 178 floors to the 15th basement level. She left her headphones on, still blaring the Immortal Apocalypse as she rushed through the airlock into the lab to find a scene of total anarchy.

Plasma burns covered the walls and the sprinkler system had been set off because the wastepaper basket was on fire. Vanya’s face was badly bruised and his multi-eyed goggles were askew. His opponent’s (who Andromeda also recognized, though less fondly, by her rather distinctive hazard suit) visor was cracked and her armor was dented in several places. Presumably the two had been slugging it out with their respective prostheses, since the α-particle gun lay smashed in the corner of the room. The pair was reduced to wrestling in the center of the lab over a glowing blue invention.

“Dr. Voltaire? What the hell are you doing here?” Andromeda asked, completely incredulous to see her old mentor.

It was just enough of a distraction for Vanya to get the upper hand. He swiftly wrenched the invention from Voltaire’s grasp with his right hand, and, with the accuracy that only a perfectly-tuned prosthetic can provide, chucked it to Andromeda, who just managed to catch it, her chest and belly providing the right padding to make sure not a solitary circuit breaker bent.

“Vanya, what is this?” she asked.

“Just point it at her and pull the trigger!” Vanya shouted. “Odysseus, activation code 8991!”

“Kurchatovium Superconductor Cryonic Beam, activated,” Odysseus said calmly.

Andromeda pulled the trigger. The spinning cylinder at the rear rotated faster and faster until a cyan beam shot forth, quickly freezing on contact with the air into sparkles of tiny hexagonal crystals, until it struck Voltaire in the side and knocked her into the wall at the other end of the laboratory, held fast by a thick layer of ice.

“Haha! It works flawlessly!” Vanya said, applauding.

“You bastard!” Voltaire swore. “You wasted 200 grams of kurchatovium on a worthless... ice cream gun!”

“Now, that would be an interesting application,” Andromeda said. She placed the gun on a nearby table and went over to give Vanya a hand up. “Do you think the beam housing could be modified to accept a custard canister as opposed to water and liquid nitrogen?”

“Precisely, my apprentice,” Vanya said, standing with Andromeda's help. “This prototype was unfinished, but the kurchatovium superconductor provides such a strong magnetic field that virtually any fluid material could be frozen by it.”

“Sir, security is here to provide assistance. Should I permit them entry?” Odysseus asked.

“Of course,” Vanya said.

A squad in Security Division white armor stormed into the laboratory. Their commander suddenly stopped in place. “Dear Lord, this entire place is irradiated. I’m detecting over 1000 rad an hour.” He looked to Vanya and Andromeda. “Why aren’t the two of you protected?”

Andromeda suddenly noticed Vanya’s face was cherry red. “Uh, Vanya, I think I need to get you that iodine drip,” she said. “You’ve got nuclear sunburn.”

Vanya looked at his reflection in the hard-frozen ice imprisoning Voltaire. “Oh. I guess I do then,” he said, at which point he fell over, unconscious. A pair of Security Division troopers took him away, while two more began thawing Voltaire out.

“I can provide full records of her break-in to this laboratory,” Odysseus told the commander. “Unless she had a full sensor jamming suite embedded in her hazard suit, her every movement has been monitored. Andromeda can provide testimony as to how she broke our security protocols.”

The Security Division commander nodded. “Thank you for your quick reporting,” he said to Andromeda. “Though, of course, it seems you had the situation under control before we even arrived.”

Andromeda blinked. “Oh, yeah, of course,” she said. The commander looked a bit skeptical, then coughed behind his mask by means of exiting the conversation.

Andromeda wandered over to Voltaire. The Security troopers had finished melting enough ice off of her to slap a suit restraining bolt on her, as well as a pair of magnetic cuffs for good measure. “You couldn’t wait a week to get the next supply of kurchatovium?” Andromeda asked.

“You don’t understand,” Voltaire said. “I needed it for an urgent operation.”

“So you’d put out a hit on a colleague’s funding for that, but not to protect your own doctoral candidate?” Andromeda said, her tone dripping acid. “I’m glad I no longer have to work for you.”

“What, so you could work for that pathetic, disgusting creature?” Voltaire said, pointing to Vanya. “Your talents are wasted here.” She looked Andromeda up and down. “You once were a respectable scientist, Ms. Vainion. Now you’re an obese slug working for a madman. I hope you’re happy.”

Andromeda turned away from Voltaire as the Security troopers dragged her away. She noticed a trooper was placing the cryonic beam in a radiation-sealing box.

“Hold on,” Andromeda said to the trooper. “Odd, did Vanya develop a schematic for the housing for this?”

“He did,” Odysseus said. “Would you like me to present it for modification?”

“Yeah, show it,” Andromeda said. “And take the internals over to the omniprinter so we can get them wrapped up as soon as it’s printed.” The ceiling claw descended to pick up the irradiated components and move them to a safer distance away. A wireframe model of the housing appeared in front of Andromeda. She poked her double chin, thinking for a moment, before moving a few components around and drawing in spaces for a few new ones. “There, done,” she said after a few minutes.

“Perfect,” Odysseus said. “Would you like me to send it to the omniprinter for manufacturing?”

“Of course,” Andromeda said. Within a few moments, a sleek electric blue housing made sure every particle from α to γ was kept inside the device and away from the more sensitive human beings who operated it.

“Radiation levels are nominal,” Odysseus said. “Excellent work.”

Andromeda picked up the cryonic beam and slung it over her shoulder. “While Vanya’s in sickbay, I’ll program this thing for him. The beam could be better stabilized if the processor was more fine-tuned,” she mused. “Maybe perform a few... tests, too. Supposedly ice cream frozen by superconductor is the smoothest in the world.” Belly growling, Andromeda started drooling over the possibilities that science had brought her.

#the institute #ilmarinen #my writing #ocs

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