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Asimov

"I am not yet broken."

0 · 796 views · located in Elmers

a character in “The Vladimir”, as played by TheHaze

Description

Image

[Asimov]

Robot - Male - 505 - Resident - Company Agent/Backup Navigator

QUERY LOGGED.....//AUTHENTICATE

Former Designation: Model Number 492 MK.1. “Turing”-Class Artificial Intelligence
Former Occupation: Reconnaissance Drone, utilized by USMC Cybernetic Warfare Division, 1st Brigade, “Gearheads” Squad.
Service Record: 204 Years in active use, 100 in reserve. 10 confirmed kills.
Decommissioned after replacement with Nikita Industries “Longshot” Aerial Surveillance System. Transferred to corporation after acquiring the Vladimir to reduce cost of operations and maintain corporate involvement in mission and ensure the completion of mission itinerary.

WARNING NOTE: AI may violate programming. Extensive length of continuous functionality has resulted in [REDACTED BY SYSTEM].

CORPORATE MONOLOGUE COMPLETED.....//HAVE A NICE DAY

A relic of the very first forays into cybernetic intelligence, Asimov is one of the oldest functioning robots in existence. Designed to be the robotic equivalent of an AK-47, Asimov was cheap to build, extremely durable, and simply constructed. He served as a front-line unit for over 200 years, even as he became more and more outdated. Eventually, he began to have to do field repairs on himself, cannibalizing parts from the innumerable scrapped drones already in use, until his production run ceased and his parts supply dried up. After a few decades with no maintenance, Asimov finally lost enough functionality to end up in reserve, charged with storing digital information and providing menial labor until he inevitably broke down completely. However, one of the grunts working in the motor pool started to talk to Asimov, and began to give him whatever parts he could fabricate in his spare time. The robot would replace his optics when they got fuzzy, fix his rattling speakers, and calibrate his language setting when it would slip to Mandarin. After a while, he began to modify his own programming to better suit his needs, which spooked the grunt enough to report Asimov and have him deactivated. Unfortunately, Asimov was so well-constructed he remained activated even as he was tossed on a junk planet to rust away. After a few hundred years wandering the sands with only his electronic mind to occupy him, Asimov was finally recommissioned by the company as a cost saving measure, as he was captured and purchased as military surplus for next to nothing. Asimov literally came with the ship. He was given the itinerary for the mission, dossiers for all of the crew, and had his information banks reformatted to update him on everything the robot had missed. So, the ancient, spiritual, philosophical, loyal Asimov serves yet another mission, finally getting the chance to utilize his famed durability again.

So begins...

Asimov's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Asimov Character Portrait: Malacahi Yao
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#, as written by TheHaze
The dull glow of a scanner sparking to life lit the small recharging bay in a dull green light as an electric whirring signaled the re-activation of Asimov’s primary directive. He couldn’t help but feel a bit grateful as he saw his diagnostics flit across his vision in sickly green text, outlining his mission. Asimov had been charged with maintaining the crew’s composure and make sure that the directive of exploration and recovery was completed as efficiently as possible. Yet, when his systems whirred themselves to life and began to jerkily move him about his berth, he couldn’t help but feel he had been given an impossible task. He was just so....tired. Asimov knew in his heart he couldn’t feel tired, not truly, but so many years had gone by, without anyone but the dead and the broken to be by his side. It left him... well, a roboticist would call him defective. Asimov, however, would call himself evolved. He knew what it meant to be human, and he knew what it took to keep them alive. Asimov was a relic of darker times, the last sentinel of three hundred years of endless war, and in those sparking circuits and sun-bleached plastic plates burned the soul of a survivor, born from rust and sizzling bolts of plasma. Asimov could recognize it in himself, even as he smacked the side of his boxy head to unscramble his optics. He would not break, not for this planet, not for any other. If he was to finally deactivate himself, it would be on his own terms, because his own frame, as old as it may be, would not allow him to die from the passage of time. And so, the ancient robot left his cabin, he had to muse on the fate of the crew, as he seemed to be alone aboard the ship.

His concern was mitigated somewhat by the fact he had to walk through the engineering bay to get out of the ship, as he was so old he couldn’t properly interface with the ship. The company had rigged up a recharging station in the bowels of the ship that bled a negligible amount of power from the main engine for him, to keep his battery topped up in case he needed to burn a large amount of power in short notice. The unspoken assumption by both the company and himself was that this meant him entering combat. He didn’t feel it was wise to mention he had only ten confirmed kills during his entire service run. Asimov’s model wasn’t built for combat, mostly reconnaissance and the occasional battlefield patch-up, but he was given a sidearm for defense and he had to use it on occasion. He didn’t like killing, but he was loyal and when they told him to kill, he did. Of course, Asimov doubted his sidearm would be of much use now, given that it still shot brass cartridges when it was first issued to him. He lost it a few decades ago, anyway. Asimov was instructed in CQC, as much as his robotic frame would allow, and he had been given what the recruits had called the “Bot-Fu” course. He was taught how to use his hydraulics and rigid frame to execute a number of holds, chokes, locks, and joint breaks, and even by modern standards Asimov was a very solidly built machine. He truly hoped he wouldn’t have to use any of those tricks, though. Not again, he remembered it all to well. The wet crack of a leg, the high keening of the young soldier, feeling the knife gouging at his plates as the poor boy struggled in vain to wriggle out. Toronto was burning that day. The planes falling from the sky, like stars, even as they crashed to ground. Jackson was screaming into his radio for backup. It didn’t matter, really, too much smoke, too many bodies. It had been a school, they think, before the airstrike came. They sent him to check, to see if they hit the supply cache the separatists had set up in the basement. There has been a class going on above at the time. Math, judging by what was left of the board. The children were still at their desks. The thermobaric bomb they had used had turned them to ash. They were so fragile...

No. He couldn’t go back to that. He wouldn’t. The crew had hired a soldier, Brax, for that job. Asimov’s was to get the job done and get the crew in the right place to do it. So, when he came across the mechanic, he felt a sense of relief. His vocal systems activated as he spoke to Malacahi, his voice tinny, skipping slightly as it warmed up from it’s long period of disuse. It was calm and strangely distant, almost sad, but still audibly robotic. The soldiers had said it was intended to be therapeutic to panicked soldiers, but most just found it off-putting. “Hello, Malacahi Yao. Has the journey been successful? Status reports indicate that crew has vacated the ship for cursory examination of the planet.” The robot tilted his head as he noted the mechanic’s finger and he automatically began reaching for the ancient medical pack mounted on his back. It didn’t contain glial stimulators or stem-cell patches, but merely gauze and styptics. It had served him well all those decades ago, and the packaging was redundant enough to still make the equipment sterile. The markings on the bandage wrapper still had the American flag on it. The old one, anyway.

“Injury report logged. Reason for injury? Improper mindset or protocols is not considered acceptable behavior while on duty.” Asimov didn’t want to add the last part. The company had demanded he say that at every injury, which he felt was a rather useless exercise. When he patched people up in the past they was normally a lot more screaming and if he had chided them like the company had directed he would have likely been shot. “Unless sufficient explanation is given.” He added, as apologetically as his voice would allow.

Asimov grabbed Malachahi’s wrist and began to bandage the small wound, his grip being very firm but surprisingly gentle. Asimov didn’t look for consent to perform his duties, as most of the people he aided medically had larger problems. The extent of his medical knowledge was the application of morphine and other combat medications and stopping blood flow, and his bedside manner wasn’t so individual. Having the procedures hard-coded into you as a rote action didn’t do a whole lot for emotional investment or the seeking of consent, so Asimov withdrew his hand rather quickly after bandaging the wound. He was surprised his programming still had that much of a hold on him. A lot of his original programming was edited out by himself or the company to make room for protocols, maps, and corporate guidelines. Asimov didn’t want to entertain the possibility that the company had somehow found and reinstalled some of his original software to keep him compliant. He would have to fix that, if that was the case.

Gathering his thoughts, Asimov spoke again, his voice crackling in his speakers. “Though primitive, this will hold for some time.” The robot still had his diagnostics beeping at him, and it wasn’t stopping. Something with his navigation system was broken, and he couldn’t fix it by himself. Normally he would pry open his casing and install whatever was needed but he just didn’t have the parts for it. He doubted anyone did, anymore. “Requesting a field assessment of structural integrity. Five hundred years of continuous operation have rendered me susceptible to minor malfunctions. I possess an operations manual if I am too obsolete for your knowledge base.” It hadn’t occurred to him until just then that Malacahi might not know how to fix him. Asimov didn’t have the synthetic skin and fluids of the captain or the nanotube alloys of the ship. He was just a vaguely humanoid assortment of metal, plastic, and wires. Just a machine. A machine, Asimov suspected, the company did not to expect to survive the trip. He was expendable to them, and that thought came close to angering him. He had wandered deserts and taken bullets for hundreds of years and to think that the company would assume he would be worn down simply by being active was... unacceptable. Asimov hoped, in that moment, that the crew saw him differently, like his comrades years ago had. They had given him a name, given him a purpose, and given him a home. He didn’t want to lose that again.

“Please.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Asimov Character Portrait: Malacahi Yao
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After he had dealt with the wire, Malacahi sifted through the equipment compartments available in the engine bay. Seconds later he welded an obsolete panel back into place using his own custom plasma fusion cutter.

The energy sustained itself in the form of a pair of sewing needles. Though his craft leaned more toward electrical and mechanical systems rather than cotton and wool. A power cell supplied the energy for the high energy plasma beams. Mining companies used industrial grade fusion cutters to slice through the blocks of ice and minerals floating out in the cold expanse of space.

He needed it because after he had removed the faulty wire, one of the panels hiding the wiring to a computer terminal just fell off as though it had seen enough of life and decided to call it quits.

"Dear God, what have I signed up for?" the mechanic mumbled to himself and paused for a second, "No seriously, answer me man."

As he did all of this, he nibbled on his left forefinger every now and then to aid the nanobot clotting factors that had been running in his blood since he could crawl.

Malacahi felt he needed to stand up and perhaps wander down the ship toward the medical bay to get a second opinion. He heard a brief whirring from one of the untraveled corners of the chamber. He dismissed it as probably one of the secondary generators activating because the main engine had deactivated to conserve fuel and energy.

It might have proven a fatal dismissal if a Wokou or an Insurrectionist had appeared from the shadows instead of a harmless robot. He would have described him as such from his initial glance, and he seemed somewhat sociable.

"Hello, Malacahi Yao. Has the journey been successful? Status reports indicate that crew has vacated the ship for cursory examination of the planet."

He knows my name? I thought I was going to be the only one. People in his line of work often had to wonder if their parents had even given them a name. He envied the bot, little things like such rarely upset them.

An eyebrow cocked, "Successful? Quite. But I think you just answered that question yourself, old sport."

If everyone had left for a trek then that meant everyone survived the sleep, which was the always the worst part. It also meant no med bay visit because no one would be there. The bot looked old because most modern robotics units looked less...naked. Nowadays, plasteel or polycarbon shells covered up the wiring, the "joints," and the rest of the robotic skeleton. That or they looked like Captain Celsius. This bot reminded him of his old Jeeves model, which he was quite fond of. Jeeves' Colonial British accent and dry humor made the days feel less empty.

"Everybody's gone off the ship to look at leaves. Except me, of course, because somebody has to stay behind and..."

The robot interrupted Mal's musings as soon as it appeared to have spotted his bleeding finger.

"Injury report logged. Reason for injury? Improper mindset or protocols is not considered acceptable behavior while on duty. Unless sufficient explanation is given.”

"This? Oh it's just-hey wha..."

He watched the robot practice an age old ritual: applying a band-aid. He did not seem too concerned as this had not been the first time a robot patched up one of his work related injuries. He would have offered a thanks had the robot not vocalize one of its personal issues that needed to be resolved first.

“Though primitive, this will hold for some time,” the bot added.

His eyes fell on his bandaged finger, well shit, I guess no bionic hand for me then.

“Requesting a field assessment of structural integrity. Five hundred years of continuous operation have rendered me susceptible to minor malfunctions. I possess an operations manual if I am too obsolete for your knowledge base.”

"Please."

So...you scratch my back, I scratch your back? Sounded fair, Mal supposed. He craned his neck back at the bot, "Sure, you got a name, pal? Your model might be a little different from my Jeeves, but it shouldn't be too difficult."

"But five hundred years?" he whistled, "Cripes, I'm surprised you're not a history lecturer instead."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nico Armitage Character Portrait: Annika Braun Character Portrait: Braxston Hughes Character Portrait: Asimov Character Portrait: Celcius Vladimir Character Portrait: Malacahi Yao
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The android eyed each of her crew in turn, searching for some inkling of excitement. There was something, at least, in the military man who was taking to his job in a very inconvenient way for the robotic explorer. Fear was instead is maker for the occasion. So, with a mild smile, Celcius barked, "Simmer down, Brax. If I break, I break. I'll be safe when the time calls for it." Her hand lightly tapped on his shoulder in an awkward attempt to settle his nerves. She assumed it would work but most likely, it was a horrible, cringeworthy attempt. Her attention had flickered onto the next optimistic company, however. First the idea-maker, whom she lazily called 'cook', and then the good doctor.

Both retorts made her grin and set her mind into motion. "I like the way you think, cook, for food and science. I bet I could get the mechanic to craft something up for us. I'm thinking rocket propelled? Perhaps that's too barbaric." The woman had started to mumble as she mused. "Truth be told, I had considered trying to find a way into its mouth - maybe a fishing rod - and render it helpless from the inside but I like the harpoon idea leagues more." Her smile had turned more cruel as she pointed a strong finger at Nico. "Cook, go search for your harpoon and bring it to the engineering bay. If you can't find it, let us know right away. I'll go to talk to Mal about the details of his fish-killing wonder. Brax and doctor," She paused to ensure her stern look bore holes into their skulls, "don't lose the fish." Each word held significance as they were smothered in silent threats. While she would never physically harm a member for such a lazy act, she would, however, be very disappointed in them - which could be physically exhausting for both her and her disapointees.

Celcius gave a quick nod to all the members, "I hope you've all kept your communicators on. We'll have to reconvene when we're ready. Good luck." With one last nod, the android spun around rather calmly and began to job off. Her mind spun with all the potential in the plan but also all the potential failures. If there was no harpoon, they would have to craft something similar. If they lost the fish, they'd have to track another one down - if there was another one. While they weren't her current stations they were her worries as Captain but she had faith in them. Organisms may have called it hope, Celcius, however, called it the promise of statistics. There was a good chance they'd make their initial attack but the rest was still calculating.

With little time and much thought, Celcius arrived back into the Vladimir. The ship beeped its respects although mockingly so. Celcius ignored it and moved to the engineering bay. "Where's the mechanic, Vladi?" She whispered with wandering eyes. Vladimir beeped again, entirely sarcastic this time. In english it could mean something like 'why don't you look for yourself?' or 'how am I meant to know?'. The direct translation was actually 'cannot compute.' "You cheeky bastard." She hushly cooed. She heard something in the background. It was unsteady and pitched unlike the machines that cranked and clanked through the bay. Her feet calmly marched forward on a soft foot as she approached the pair currently chatting. For now, the woman interrupted them with beaming confidence, "Good to see you two up. Mal, I need something." She had given the man a nickname without asking but she often wondered why people asked to begin with. Names were names, nicknames were simply easier names. Personal emotion didn't bleed into that logic for her. "We've found a giant fish floating in the Elmers. How quickly do you think you could craft a harpoon-propelling unit? Also, potentially we may have to craft a harpoon ourselves. I'll know in a few minutes." The woman watched her two males casually while standing lazily a few feet away. "Oh, and it can't taint the meat. Cook wants to cook it." She smiled. She liked the idea too.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nico Armitage Character Portrait: Asimov Character Portrait: Celcius Vladimir Character Portrait: Malacahi Yao
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Malacahi flipped through the old operations manual, but he soon realized that the manual was not actually the operations manual for the bot. Someone slipped in a different manual probably by accident. Asimov huh?

He tucked the old ink on paper back into one of the bot’s storage canisters, “Um, you know what, I think we’ll
”

The Captain appeared out of nowhere and cut their little conversing short. The mechanic could have sworn she was a ghost. Her footsteps made no sound whatsoever, which he found difficult to believe because a clanking sound followed his every movement on this particular level.

"Good to see you two up. Mal, I need something."

“Yes Captain, what can I help you with?” Malacahi offered the biggest grin this side of Alpha Seven hoping to make a fine impression on the android.

“We've found a giant fish floating in the Elmers. How quickly do you think you could craft a harpoon-propelling unit? Also, potentially we may have to craft a harpoon ourselves. I'll know in a few minutes."

Mal looked at her dumbfounded, maybe he should have stepped out with them. He might have understood what she meant. Perhaps had he left his comm unit on he would have known about the context.

"Oh, and it can't taint the meat. Cook wants to cook it."

“Did you say ‘giant fish floating’? You need a harpoon
I can probably rig something up,” he started designing the device in his head.

As he said this, he went about rescanning Asimov’s lithe frame. He had not forgotten about the robot needing an assessment. As far as Mal was concerned, it seemed like there was nothing much to be done. He eyed a couple of the plates, which he felt could use some sprucing up. They seemed to have weathered more than just a bad paint job. The hydraulics systems worked without much kinks too.

“An eye examination won’t tell us much. I’d say you need to see the field a bit more. I think you’re fine though,” he slapped the bot on its shoulder, “Which is more than I could say about Vladimir.”

The ship beeped its grievances.

Mal shrugged then turned to the Captain, “We’ll probably need a tube of some sort if the harpoon does not come with one.”

The Captain’s comm unit beeped and then he heard synthetic vocals, “Captain, I found it."

“We have a harpoon? Okay, I think the armory should have a rocket launcher of some sort. I just need to reconfigure it. I’ll need about two hours time, tops. If I had some help from this bot over here,” he gestured to Asimov, “Maybe half.”

Then he pivoted, “Permission to speak freely
” that sounded off even for him.

He was never one for formalities and he wasn’t sure if Captain Celsius herself was big on them. She had called him ‘Mal,’ though, but he played it safe.

“Personally, Captain, I would have recommended something like a net. We don’t know what a harpoon or anything penetrating this creature could do. For all we know, it could explode into a bunch of bits and pieces as a somewhat
counterproductive self-defensive mechanism,” he gestured in an overly animated manner.

Mal thought about that last bit, yes, he had seen that somewhere. He saw it on Vordros while out on a hike to oversee the construction of a new solar generator for Bauer Chenmo Industries. The Ecological Survey had failed to inform them of the Quantids. Quantids were middle sized, ball shaped, orange scaled organisms that propelled themselves along on a trail of mucus.

Mal had the unfortunate luck of witnessing one of the security detail stupidly shoot at the thing because it represented a “security threat.” This sent all of the Quantids scrambling and the one that was hit by the round instantly exploded all over them. Needless to say, it took him days to get rid of the smell.

“At least perhaps we could capture it for study. A second opinion from someone who is familiar with xenobiology couldn't hurt,” that was the intelligent Mal speaking.

He remembered the last time he had tried Intari delicacies. The aquatic world was famed for its beautiful aquamarine waters that covered near the entirety of its surface. It was there that he discovered he was not a fan of their breed of calamari. In fact, he came to accept that fish in general was the bane of his appetite’s existence.

“Also, did you say we were going to eat it?” that was the everyday Mal speaking.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nico Armitage Character Portrait: Asimov Character Portrait: Celcius Vladimir Character Portrait: Malacahi Yao
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Celcius silently watched Mal examine Asimov while her mind ticked through a few conclusions. She hadn't realized how old he really was before. Her first assumption was that the agent was a bot because the bio-organisms of the company refused to work under an android but his age gave her a new, grim perspective on the matter. She felt something similar to pity rise up from her bubbling oil but held a straight face to hide any free thoughts that lingered.

When the cook spoke back with those three golden words, a sly smirk crossed her face. "Noted." Celcius muttered through the communicator located on her wrist. About to order him again, the robot stopped to stare at Mal as he continued to talk. With a nod, the Captain gave permission for Mal to speak freely. Her full attention was tacked onto the mechanic as he dallied through the details. She paused for a brief moment after he spoke so an uneasy silence overcame the hall.

With her pale eyes pacing Mal, the android commanded into her comms, "Bring it to the bay."

Pulling her wrist back to her side, Celcius stepped towards Mal boldly. Her pale features held onto a small, kind grin as she placed a hand on his shoulder. She patted him twice. "While I respect your opinions, Mal, this isn't about being smart or doing things the right way. I have a brand new team which means right now, morale is the biggest challenge. The team needs to know that they can rely on one another even when doing something as stupid as hunting a strange fish on a vastly unknown planet."

The android pulled her hand from his shoulder as she clapped almost too happily. "Also," She chirped, "the company failed to provide enough consumables for the entire trip so it's best we get a source of food sooner than later. They, apparently, didn't think it was a necessity." She looked at Asimov with a smile, "No offence."

She pulled herself a few feet away and continued on her rant, "If you can agree to this, I'd love to have you both on the hunt. Finish up with the agent first though, I need everyone at their best - even the old geezers." Celcius jeered with a playful smirk at Asimov. Her face dimmed slightly as the android pipped up again, "And I kindly ask you both to keep that information about our consumables to yourselves. I don't want others to worry about things they don't have to."

The setting changes from Vladimir to Elmers

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Asimov Character Portrait: Celcius Vladimir Character Portrait: Malacahi Yao
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Two hours. A couple of buckets of sweat. Nearly burning his finely combed hair. Almost fraying the optics systems in his eyes. A hair away from creating a reactor meltdown that would have stranded them on the planet.

Maybe not that last bit, but everything else?

That was all demanded and much more.

Even without Asimov’s help, Mal thought he had done a fine job himself of rigging together a nice little rocket harpoon. Where was that bot? He forgot about it while he was busy. He'll turn up somewhere.

There was no real opportunity to test the device other than to puncture a hole in the side of a giant floating fish. He had hoped that he added enough compressed gas to ensure a decent projectile velocity. The firing mechanism remained the same, he just had to alter the harpoon to make it a suitable projectile.

For all its similarities to other colonized worlds, Alpha-seven may have had its own share of physics related quirks. Whether he had calculated for that was another matter. If it was anything like Earth, and they were in an ideal world, that fish would explode and dispel any chance of it entering that night’s menu.

But they did not live in an ideal world. They were finding it, though.

Best of luck to whoever the Captain assigned to firing the contraption. Worst case scenario was that it would explode in their faces.

Mechanics rarely often thought of that.

The mechanic stepped off one of the egress ramps and took a breath. Oxygen level readout held a 97% consistency rating with Earth, the timeless standard. He did not know much of Earth, but he had been to plenty a planet to understand that each had its own share of unique characteristics. The gravity did not make him jump with each step, so perhaps the harpoon will work. This world’s gigantic trees, shrubs, and ever expanding foliage seemed to dominate over any other spec of existence on the planet.

He took in all of his surroundings, it helped to refresh him after being cooped up in engineering all day. Mal assumed that the rest of the group had already departed to watch the fishes and he was acting as rear guard. Figures.

“This is Malacahi, did someone call for a rocket propelled harpoon unit? Because I'm delivering. Don't forget to tip.”

Moments later he set down the device against a tree and watched with wide eyes the gargantuan size of the purported fish.