Work Text:
party line - a local loop telephone circuit that is shared by multiple users, commonly used in rural towns prior to the expansion of single household telephone service; it is common courtesy (and, in some localities, law) that party line calls in progress by one party be interrupted for emergency use by another party.
|~|~|
“Damn kid… if he goes making me kill him before the operation starts, we’re fucked…” Rubbing a hand across the large scar over his nose, he keyed in the code for his private office, headed for the emergency phone. Their encrypted com channel was only accessible physically from that room, both for security reasons, and to give him somewhere to hide when the kid got too obnoxious. ‘I’ll call H. His pilot was a spoiled little shit for a while, maybe he can give me some pointers…’
Making sure that he’d secured the double doors behind him, he opened the case for the com-unit, ready to punch in the alert signal to flag H… Only to find that the blue access indicator light was already on. The green alert light beside it blinked in a steady, repeating pattern; it was flashing his alert code. Not the emergency one, but still... He sat, flipping the channel on. “G here.”
For a long moment, there was silence. Then, almost too faint to make out, he began to hear a soft snickering, growing louder until it was a hitching wheeze in his ear, only to end in abrupt silence. Had the line been compromised? If so, this operation was a good as fuc-
[“He~elloo…”]
The snickering was back, but at least he didn’t have to worry about destroying their current base of operations. G recognized the voice, and sighed. “S, is this an emergency?”
[“No…”]
“Are you compromised?”
[“A bit…”]
“Are you compromised for reasons other than being drunk?”
[“No…”]
“So you thought it would be a good idea to use the secure com – the channel we keep open specifically for emergencies – to drunk dial me?”
[“No, no, no, no, no, not just you. O is also on the line. We’re having a drinking party.”]
As unnerving as he found the other man, the Professor was beginning to understand why Doctor J insisted on having such strict protocols for his and his pilot’s interactions. Proximity between the scientists left them especially vulnerable to attack. “Are you telling me that you’re getting drunk on L5?”
The Doktor’s response bordered on pedantic. [“No, no. I’m drunk, Griz’; I’m not stupid. He is on L5, and I am on L3. And I came up with a brilliant idea, that I wanted to celebrate so he said-”]
There was a soft pop on the line as the third com-unit microphone turned on so that the Master could pick up the story. His deep voice sounded more drowsy than drunk, but it was clear he was somewhat under the influence. {“I said ‘How ‘bout a drink to celebrate?’”}
[“Right, yes, so here we are!”]
“So you’re on L3… and you’re drunk?”
[“Of course! That’s what I said, isn’t it?”]
G considered – briefly – whether banging his head into the desk would make any of what was going on at least a bit more sensible. Keeping track of time was always a little iffy in space, given that clusters, and even individual colonies, could and did adjust their time at will. However, it was still possible to estimate within about an hour of the correct time of ‘day’ on most colonies. This, by his estimation, meant that currently on L3 it was… “It’s 8am… and you’re already drunk?”
[“That’s not important! I need to talk to you about my idea.”]
After spending the last two hours trying to explain the expectation of regular baths to a thirteen year-old, G was running out of patience. “Fine, what idea needed the three of us to be on this channel, and required both of you to be shit-faced?”
[“Well, first, I needed O. He’s been able to incorporate incredible agility into the frame of his design, and he’s accustomed to working with a suit that regularly shifts its center of balance. And you! You, my friend, I would argue, have the most artistic eye among all of us-”]
“Yet, you ignored my advice and insisted your suit should, like a caution cone after an car crash, be red, white, and orange-”
{“Shh-shh-shh-shhhhh… Let him speak.”}
[“Yes, thank you, O.”] S cleared his throat, his cough somewhat tinny as it echoed in his prosthetic nose. [“As I was saying, you are masters-”]
O snickered.
[“-masters in your fields, embodying the skills I find lacking as I push my design forward-”]
“Forward to what?”
[“Will you both shut up and let me finish?! I am trying to address the issue of my prototype running out of bullets.”]
“… But you’re the firepower expert!” It was too late to find someone else to head the project on L3, but maybe he could talk one of the Bartons into killing this idiot. One well-timed access hatch accident was really all it would take, after all.
[“Yes, yes, I know that, don’t shout.”]
{“’s undignified.”}
[“And, besides, I mostly have the solution worked out, but I need your help with the implementation.”] There was a brief pause, and he could almost imagine that other man drawing himself up as he prepared to speak. [“I realized that I was going to have to create an alternative weapon for when this frame runs out of ammunition.”]
“And you came up with a brilliant solution on how to do that?”
[“Yes, and something that requires a bit of your artistic genius…”]
Playing to his ego was generally something Professor G found somewhat flattering. Tonight, though, he only wanted to get these two off the line as quickly as possible. He had important things to do. “Go on.”
[“I plan to have it detach the guns… and use a knife!”]
‘A knife… A damned KNIFE?’ He pinched the bridge of his prodigious nose, hoping to maybe stem the tide of neurons trying to flee his brain for somewhere saner. The anger in his tone was palpable, even if he wasn’t shouting. “And you needed my help to make a knife?”
[“What? Oh, no, no… I swear, O, he’s drunker than we are.”]
{“Mmm.”}
The Professor bit back a scream.
[“No, no, I need your help to make it twirl.”]
“You..! Wait, what?” That, certainly didn’t seem like something that would be too difficult, had either of the other scientists been more in control of their faculties. “You… you’re having trouble making the knife twirl?”
{“Not the knife, no. I could have assisted with that.”} Never let anyone say that the man who called himself Master O was humble.
[“Exactly. It’s not the knife I want to twirl so much as… the suit itself.”]
“You want to make… the suit… twirl?”
[“Well, pirouette, really… While it slashes with the knife… Oh, and also, I think it would be best to minimize friction, so this needs to be done entirely with thrusters and gyro-restabilizers. I don’t want any part of the suit on the ground.”] The other man paused in spewing his inanity long enough for G to hear him take another sip of what had to be something much stronger than alcohol. No booze the Professor knew of could bring on idiocy like this. [“And, also, I think it should balance out and stand when it’s finished, and end with one arm up, like when a gymnast dismounts.”]
‘This is hell, isn’t it? That little shit really is Death, and this is hell.’ Of all of the bad ideas that had been considered in their sharing of design concepts, he was pretty sure this ranked at the top. J’s insistence that his frame would, at some point, look better with real wings: Goofy, but one he had to admit he’d considered copying for aesthetic purposes. H insisting that his absolutely needed a cape: Not the easiest way to deal with beam weapons and sand, but at least semi-practical. Both O and S – perhaps they shouldn’t be allowed to design together – creating suits that, for the most part, only had a single fully functional hand: Eccentric, but nothing that would compromise the operation. Hell, even his own near obsessive tweaking of the spikes on the armor plating were at least in response to integrating that damned cloaking device…
But this? This blew past all of that competition, burning with the glow of cheap heat shielding as it skyrocketed out of the atmosphere of plausible, and soared out into the vast, empty nothingness of insanity.
‘Of course, even if it IS insane… it’s not totally impossible…’ He tried to stop himself, but by the time he realized where his thoughts were going, it was too late. The idea was only almost impossible. It could be done. Certainly, it seemed a bit silly, and it would take a pilot with much better proprioception than their current one to pull it off well, but… It COULD be done. And, of course, he could do it. Well, either he or J could, but damn if he would pass up an opportunity to best that smug asshole.
‘No.’ Professor G shook his head, the gray half dome of his hair barely moving. He would help with this – Of course he would! Hell, by the time he was done calibrating this system, any idiot off the street would be able to execute this… This Blade Spin perfectly! “Alright, I’m in-”
[“Excellent! O, he’ll do it!”]
A snort and a groan – Master O had clearly dozed off in the interim – before the L5 scientist mumbled his approval.
“I will agree only on the condition that I get to name it.”
[“….. fine…”]
“Good, so, first we’re going to need to adjust the skirting panels on the back. Then…” As he set to work laying out his plan for the adjusting the armor plating to act as temporary airfoils, the Professor smirked to himself. This was a brilliant idea, and worthy of celebration. Perhaps Howard still had that bottle of scotch around here, somewhere. This celebration called for a drink.