Hundred bared her teeth as the Syndarin spoke. It was a smile. It did not just resemble one. It wasn't just with her teeth. Mirth reached her eyes. But there was something else in it. A bloody stain on the purity of the genuine smile. A brutality. Some awful anticipation glistened off of Hundred's teeth. The Syndarin was actually challenging her. In albeit an insipid and infantile way, but the brazen gall with which she did so sent an electric shiver through the faulty Gygan. Her mouth opened slightly to respond, so many possibilities whirling through her head and on her lips. Then the Syndarin spoke of the most beautiful thing Hundred could imagine. An explosion of excitement burst through Hundred's nervous system. Then the console exploded across her face.
Hundred did not flinch. She regarded the melted ruins of the node. The smile remained. If anything, it only grew in intensity. She looked at the console, then back at the Syndarin. She looked like she was about to kiss the alien, or, perhaps, tear out her throat with her teeth. The smile on her face suggested that the two propositions were not exclusive. Hundred parted her teeth again to speak. A click, the gentle breathy sound of metals sliding across one another, nearly frictionless. The whine of auto-lasers. Now Hundred's smile shifted. No more warmth in the eyes. A snarl now. This ship had a most irritating sense of timing.
The Dust reacted according to automated contingencies, reflexively contracting in the atmosphere around Hundred, reorienting themselves in response to the observed threat of the lasers. A small cloud of refractive particles was being generated around her to diminish the strength of any stray bolts that found themselves firing at Hundred, who remained still, crouched next to the panel. Her lips slipped over her teeth, the snarl becoming a more comfortable frown. She calmly watched the scattering barrage. The turrets were not exceptionally powerful, designed for suppression and to avoid causing significant damage to the ships hull or systems. Still, effective anti-personnel weapons with consistent, direct fire. Movement to her right caught Hundred's eye, the Syndarin retreated behind the cover of her drone, retreating into the far chamber. Perhaps she was a useless creature after all, Hundred mused. The magic of the moment was gone, in any case. Hundred turned her attentions elsewhere.
The human, combat-medical officer had pulled the Thuboisii into cover turning his weapons to bear upon the turrets. He managed to disable one, drawing the attention of the other. Hundred frowned. The turrets were behaving from software. They had almost completely ignored her. She glared at the remaining turret, firing incessantly with a rapid whine. A burning, liquid anger rose in Hundred's throat. She growled low to herself. It offended her. It wasn't that the thing was trying to kill her or her fellow mercenaries. It wasn't that it's attention resources were not focused upon her. It was how pointless the exercise was. How utterly banal the entire affair was in comparison to the possibilities that had surge through her consciousness a scant, few moments ago. Hundred's wrist flexed. This was the end of enough.
The Dust arrayed a portion of itself into a long black blade, similar to the one she had driven into the hull of the ship when she had tried to access the airlock, smaller in scale, but almost identical in function. A second iteration of the idea. Hundred sniffed with disdain, heavy, gloved fingers closing around the lance. She whipped her arm forwards, throwing the spear. The gravimetric control of the Dust adjusting to the flippant, untrained throw. The tip of the spinning spear connected with the base of the turret arresting it's motion vertical, in line with the center of the turret's housing socket. Hundred's fingers transcribed a small circle in the air, the Lance thrust into the machine, punching a small, but vital line through the center of the turret. In the fractions of a second that followed the penetration of the turret casing, the tip of the lance blossomed, a flow of compressed Dust injecting itself into the turrets circuitry. But Hundred was not interested in the simple, robust innervation of the security device. Dust flooded along the circuit lines, swift as signals. It skated along the q-bit, superconductive wiring, fast as thought, spreading throughout the local area circuitry. Hundred did not have a lot of time, she was frozen, her arm still outstretched, somato-tactile control switched over to point-to-point interfacing with the Dust. The remaining Dust cloud around her body slithered and shifted through the air, forging free-form circuits in the air that shifted constantly with her computations. Little golden sigils formed and flowed into one another in the air around Hundred, the only visible indicator of what she was trying to accomplish.
If Hundred was correct, she would not have much time to accomplish her intentions. The Dust spindled and spread through as much of the internal ship circuitry as it could, it was beautiful, tracing the Lone Star's nervous system, an intricate, crystalline web of metal and mineral that gave the ship it's life. Hundred's supply of Dust dwindled, her mylination efforts slowed. She felt the commands firing through the network. No time. Hundred mutilated her little slice of the ship. The ships lights turned off for .023 seconds before popping back on. Hundred straightened. She moved slowly, as through carelessness could kill them all. Perhaps it would. She blinked rapidly, her eyes darting with similar frenetic energy around her field of vision. It was always difficult to reorient herself to the more singular perceptions of her 'natural' body. She slowly flexed her fingers and toes. She spoke over the comms in the silence that followed.
"I have-" her voice cracked, Hundred paused and cleared her throat. "I have introduced a halting problem to the local area systems for this part of the ship and physically isolated it from the rest of the network." Her voice sounded alien to her ears. "The alternating compilation problem with the system could cease in this part of the ship and we should have no interference from agency in other parts of the vessel." She did not elaborate. Those that would understand a more detailed explanation would more efficaciously be informed by their own interactions with the ship. Those that did not were not worth her time.
Hundred walked slowly towards the control room. She had not mentioned how uncertain it was that she could maintain the system isolation or lockdown, the Dust had physically severed the mainline connections with the central ship computers. Thousands of tiny segments of broken superconductive wire were floating around in the walls. But there could be no way of knowing yet whether the ship had the ability to repair such damage, or even if it was capable of identifying that such damage had been done. It did not matter. The brutal action had bought her time. Time to think. To plan. To observe and experiment upon the specimens of the ships computational software she had within her newly minted control conditions. A small, toothless smile returned to Hundred's lips as she stalked towards the control center. Possibilities blazed once more in her mind. She would get what she came for in this mission. Her thoughts only briefly noted the presence of her fellows. Perhaps she was be the only one.
Hundred did not flinch. She regarded the melted ruins of the node. The smile remained. If anything, it only grew in intensity. She looked at the console, then back at the Syndarin. She looked like she was about to kiss the alien, or, perhaps, tear out her throat with her teeth. The smile on her face suggested that the two propositions were not exclusive. Hundred parted her teeth again to speak. A click, the gentle breathy sound of metals sliding across one another, nearly frictionless. The whine of auto-lasers. Now Hundred's smile shifted. No more warmth in the eyes. A snarl now. This ship had a most irritating sense of timing.
The Dust reacted according to automated contingencies, reflexively contracting in the atmosphere around Hundred, reorienting themselves in response to the observed threat of the lasers. A small cloud of refractive particles was being generated around her to diminish the strength of any stray bolts that found themselves firing at Hundred, who remained still, crouched next to the panel. Her lips slipped over her teeth, the snarl becoming a more comfortable frown. She calmly watched the scattering barrage. The turrets were not exceptionally powerful, designed for suppression and to avoid causing significant damage to the ships hull or systems. Still, effective anti-personnel weapons with consistent, direct fire. Movement to her right caught Hundred's eye, the Syndarin retreated behind the cover of her drone, retreating into the far chamber. Perhaps she was a useless creature after all, Hundred mused. The magic of the moment was gone, in any case. Hundred turned her attentions elsewhere.
The human, combat-medical officer had pulled the Thuboisii into cover turning his weapons to bear upon the turrets. He managed to disable one, drawing the attention of the other. Hundred frowned. The turrets were behaving from software. They had almost completely ignored her. She glared at the remaining turret, firing incessantly with a rapid whine. A burning, liquid anger rose in Hundred's throat. She growled low to herself. It offended her. It wasn't that the thing was trying to kill her or her fellow mercenaries. It wasn't that it's attention resources were not focused upon her. It was how pointless the exercise was. How utterly banal the entire affair was in comparison to the possibilities that had surge through her consciousness a scant, few moments ago. Hundred's wrist flexed. This was the end of enough.
The Dust arrayed a portion of itself into a long black blade, similar to the one she had driven into the hull of the ship when she had tried to access the airlock, smaller in scale, but almost identical in function. A second iteration of the idea. Hundred sniffed with disdain, heavy, gloved fingers closing around the lance. She whipped her arm forwards, throwing the spear. The gravimetric control of the Dust adjusting to the flippant, untrained throw. The tip of the spinning spear connected with the base of the turret arresting it's motion vertical, in line with the center of the turret's housing socket. Hundred's fingers transcribed a small circle in the air, the Lance thrust into the machine, punching a small, but vital line through the center of the turret. In the fractions of a second that followed the penetration of the turret casing, the tip of the lance blossomed, a flow of compressed Dust injecting itself into the turrets circuitry. But Hundred was not interested in the simple, robust innervation of the security device. Dust flooded along the circuit lines, swift as signals. It skated along the q-bit, superconductive wiring, fast as thought, spreading throughout the local area circuitry. Hundred did not have a lot of time, she was frozen, her arm still outstretched, somato-tactile control switched over to point-to-point interfacing with the Dust. The remaining Dust cloud around her body slithered and shifted through the air, forging free-form circuits in the air that shifted constantly with her computations. Little golden sigils formed and flowed into one another in the air around Hundred, the only visible indicator of what she was trying to accomplish.
If Hundred was correct, she would not have much time to accomplish her intentions. The Dust spindled and spread through as much of the internal ship circuitry as it could, it was beautiful, tracing the Lone Star's nervous system, an intricate, crystalline web of metal and mineral that gave the ship it's life. Hundred's supply of Dust dwindled, her mylination efforts slowed. She felt the commands firing through the network. No time. Hundred mutilated her little slice of the ship. The ships lights turned off for .023 seconds before popping back on. Hundred straightened. She moved slowly, as through carelessness could kill them all. Perhaps it would. She blinked rapidly, her eyes darting with similar frenetic energy around her field of vision. It was always difficult to reorient herself to the more singular perceptions of her 'natural' body. She slowly flexed her fingers and toes. She spoke over the comms in the silence that followed.
"I have-" her voice cracked, Hundred paused and cleared her throat. "I have introduced a halting problem to the local area systems for this part of the ship and physically isolated it from the rest of the network." Her voice sounded alien to her ears. "The alternating compilation problem with the system could cease in this part of the ship and we should have no interference from agency in other parts of the vessel." She did not elaborate. Those that would understand a more detailed explanation would more efficaciously be informed by their own interactions with the ship. Those that did not were not worth her time.
Hundred walked slowly towards the control room. She had not mentioned how uncertain it was that she could maintain the system isolation or lockdown, the Dust had physically severed the mainline connections with the central ship computers. Thousands of tiny segments of broken superconductive wire were floating around in the walls. But there could be no way of knowing yet whether the ship had the ability to repair such damage, or even if it was capable of identifying that such damage had been done. It did not matter. The brutal action had bought her time. Time to think. To plan. To observe and experiment upon the specimens of the ships computational software she had within her newly minted control conditions. A small, toothless smile returned to Hundred's lips as she stalked towards the control center. Possibilities blazed once more in her mind. She would get what she came for in this mission. Her thoughts only briefly noted the presence of her fellows. Perhaps she was be the only one.
