dcrypt_icon.gif mayes_icon.gif

Scene Title Resolutions
Synopsis Georgia Mayes strikes a bargain with one of DoEA's captive. Maybe.
Date January 5, 2011


To say that the logging in of a user to a chatroom is a little like a light going on in a dark world would be misleadingly inaccurate. Where Alia Chavez is now spending her days isn't really a world that, like ours, is made of light and shadow. Information and no information, maybe. Street-like code layered over territory-like hardware, blind without the binary opposite of sight. It's a different way to be, but for a human conscious, it could also be very boring.

But for the sake of narrative visual effects, we can say that the logging in of a user to a chatroom is a little like a light going on in a dark world. And text, new data, is like a thunderclap.

Happy New Year, Miss Chavez.

Alia takes some time to respond. Maybe it's the fact she's not talking much lately. Maybe she was entertaining herself in some arcane and unusual way. Maybe it's that she feels a little ill at ease. Whatever the reason, the response takes, from her perspective, far longer then she'd like. Then again, she is in a world measured in microseconds. She'd likely find her response rather quick if she was on the opposite end of the connection.

D.Crypt> Happy 2011 A.C.E., Name?

No Name.

The response is a little slow as well, but probably not because the typer has much to worry about like Alia does, or anything to occupy themselves with in the interim. Maybe they're a slow typist, or in otherwise no rush. Certainly, they don't have the luxury of simply thinking the words and making them appear. But they do come.

Not yet. You may call me Ma'am if you must.

In the real world, this territory is very much that of Colin Verse's world, but Georgia Mayes is beginning to claim it as her own for the time in the form of leaking cigarette smoke and perfume in the immediate area. Her breed of computer is probably something sleek and white, containing iTunes, Outlook and Mozilla Firefox, perhaps some important and very boring looking documents neglected on the desktop. A far cry from this place of messy wires and bits and pieces, built in a private workshop rather than a factory.

No matter. She is not uncomfortable, taking her hands off the keyboard to tend to her cigarette with one blue eye on the screen.

The technopath starts poking the computer to see what info IT has about the logged in user, curiosity and self preservation in equal measure as she chooses words carefully.

D.Crypt>Hm. Ma'am. you seek something?

IT would seem that Chavez is under no misunderstanding that she's likely not high on the list of people someone would just stop to wish a happy new year. Despite her odd sentence formations, and brief wordings, it's pretty obvious there's intellegence on the other end of the line.

As far as Alia can tell, there is little especially new about this presence. It could well be Colin himself at the keyboard, save for the fact that the young man probably wouldn't be dicking around with her this much so far as to make her call him ma'am. Alia can't taste the smoke in the air nor feel the delicate tapping of manicured nails on the keyboard.

I am Seeking to make a deal with you. I think you should be excited as you have shown yourself to be very Keen regarding job opportunities in the government.

And I don't think you would like the Alternative.

The response is noticably slow. The sound of disks whirring, the hum of fans kicking in as CPUs start to heat up. It is several moments before text appears, and somehow, the whole thing seems to be moving slower all the sudden, as if the computer was working on some massive task that isn't listed or otherwise noticable. It seems Alia is NOT terribly quick to jump into this pool of sharks.

D.Crypt>Frankly, you scary people.

Nobody has EVER given Chavez high marks for diplomacy. That, and last she heard, the DoEA, the DHS, and one other group were all pretty well in tight cahoots with eachother. Yet…

D.Crypt>I listen. List options?

There is a smile from Mayes at that little show of diplomacy or lack there of, seated back in her chair as she watches the screen for its text, occasionally glancing towards the whirr sound coming from the tower. She tucks a hand beneath her chin as she considers the question, the list of options, before her hands approach the keyboard again to type.

Assist our technopath in his work and other researchers. Testing software and programming for a new initiative similar to what you have already stumbled into. Quite technical. A disembodied technopath like yourself is very Promising in his field or so I am told.

We'll put you back in your body and depending on your Work drop all charges against the Registry. If it is not good work then perhaps not but you will be alive again and lawfully prosecuted.

Her teeth set against the long nail at her index finger in consideration, before more text is fed to Alia before she can respond.

If you disagree then Alia Chavez tragically never woke up from her mysterious coma, an illegally unregistered Evolved of unknown quality.

But the other options are quite good Aren't they Miss Chavez?

There is a long pause, even for a typer, before there is any indication of Chavez responding.

D.Crypt>Charges were expected. Usually so. Civil Disobedence et al. Still. Rather be doing SOMETHING. No idea how BORING it is in here."

No I don't.

Easy agreement. Mayes glances at her watch, and towards the microphone that Verse had rigged up from his last conversation with Alia, but for today, she decides against it, pushing the chair out from the desk while making her departure known.

Good to know you are onboard and our technicians will have further details.

She hesitates, then:

If you encounter anything that is disagreeable in our work Miss Chavez or particularly sensitive to a precocious Evo such as yourself then please do remember you can pass your worries onto us but otherwise try to recall this deal we have made together before trying anything very stupid.

Have a good day.

The speakers make a noise, then a synthetic laughter emerges. What she says isn't TECHNICALLY true, but it's what she's willing to admit to.

D.Crypt> Only stupid thing last year? Contract with the military. And Monroe.

Unknown to Alia— unfortunately— Mayes startles at that strange sound coming through the speaks during her pulling on her wintercoat, a small and primly English 'oh!' before she shakes her head with a shimmer of white curls. Evolved. She settles the lapels as she reads the screen, an eyebrow raising, before leaning to type one handedly:

good to see your resolutions are sorted

And like a light going out, the user disconnects, leaving Alia alone once again.

The discs whirrr a little, as a text file is created, a log file perhaps. And then it disappears, shoved who knows where… maybe into the technopath herself, like a person would put a notepad in a pocket.

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