Itty Bitty Bigger World - The Interview
May. 26th, 2015 09:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drewkittyItty Bitty Bigger World – The Interview
I sighed as the diver's finger began to tighten. I knew that I should paste on a smile and look into the lens – I mean, who doesn't know the basics of this sort of thing? – but I just wasn't in the mood.
Most people have smartware for this sort of thing. A few people carry specialized equipment. I certainly never do.
Anyone who cares what they look like would insist on having the chance to change first. A skilled operator would be horrified to not have a chance to put on makeup.
So naturally, I am here, sprawled on the deck in the wet remains of a business suit that has shared in my incredibly bad day, about to make my debut on major social media.
“Here LIVE with Two Two Four Two NEWS! Troop with the scoop! We have secured an Exclusive Interview with the Mastermind himself, the reclusive billionaire Alan Anderson! So, Alan, why would you have your goons fire missiles at Stanford Hospital?”
You may have been thinking he was about to use a weapon on me. I think I'd have preferred that.
Amy Tsai and Captain Murphy regarded the news reporter, currently costumed and about to be formerly employed as a diver with CalFire, with great disfavor. Amy said nothing but was clearly thinking of how much she'd like him to star in an pre-mortem autopsy under her personal, lengthy supervision.
Captain Murphy said mildly, “Steven Hwong, Firefighter III, you are suspended from duty pending internal investigation for gross misconduct. I order you to leave the bridge.”
“The News Media Has Rights! I am a Credentialed Reporter With Two Two Four Two News!”
Yes, he really spoke in All Capital Letters. I suppressed a sigh and spoke.
“Captain, I'm willing to answer his questions to get this over with.”
Murphy said dangerously, “That is your right, but NOT ON MY BRIDGE.”
We were interrupted by a metallic voice.
You may recall that the last time this happened, I went briefly elevator sailing. Not an option on an underwater submarine.
“Vampire, vampire, impact in six seconds, five...”
We were knocked off our feet as the expert system of the submarine fireboat decided that full emergency power to the forward propulsion was the best available option. I subvocalized “TAC!” before remembering that my smartware had been helped to take a dump, but the smart goggles and sensor pack figured out what I meant and gave me a 30% overlay of the ship's tactical schematic.
Two streams of missiles were tracking us – one from the approximate direction of Hawaii, and a second from the Coast Guard Island at Alameda. As I watched, the second stream self destructed midair. What can be launched by hacking can be counter-manded by more hacking.
The first stream however was still inbound. But the bridge crew, the captain, Amy Tsai, the reporter and myself were all piled in a heap against the aft bulkhead.
Captain Murphy was subvocalizing single syllable commands. So was Major Tsai. A firefighter-cop and a cop-paramedic, both of whom had advanced combat training. Either of them could have run the submarine by themselves.
I found out later that Tsai had taken Weapons and Intelligence and Murphy had taken Navigation, Helm, Defenses and Communications. Either of them could have run all six stations.
In the 21st century, she who thinks fastest lives to laugh last.
The fireboat shot down the incoming missiles. Then the fireboat – and several thousand orbital lasers using verified passcodes – shot back.
A very large patch of ocean about fifty miles [80 kilometers] east of the Golden Gate Bridge boiled and flashed to plasma, unfortunately obliterating the launch platform and any evidence.
It looked an awful lot like a mushroom cloud.
As the fireboat stopped roaring forward and came slowly to a stable course, Amy was the first to get up and disentangle herself from the group.
“Sorry about that. We determined that the rogue orbital laser commands were originating from that point, and I didn't want any more shots at the City.”
The diver-reporter was next.
“You've Cut Off My Network Access! You Violated My Rights Under Cairo...”
The Captain started to casually raise his right palm and the reporter stumbled to a verbal stop.
“You may no longer be a member of the crew, but you are on board active fire apparatus responding to a declared and verified disaster. Cease speaking or you will be stunned. All non crew will now be escorted to the mess. Major Tsai, please remain.”
We were immediately hustled off the bridge and towards a large, well-lighted space in the after third of the fireboat – an oddly furnished cross between a cafeteria and the triage area of a mid-sized hospital.
As someone wrapped a towel around me, I started frantically planning what I would say and how I would say it.
Accuse _ me _ of being the Mastermind? I always wanted to own a media news station, and after the slander lawsuit went through, I had no doubt but that I would.
I sighed as the diver's finger began to tighten. I knew that I should paste on a smile and look into the lens – I mean, who doesn't know the basics of this sort of thing? – but I just wasn't in the mood.
Most people have smartware for this sort of thing. A few people carry specialized equipment. I certainly never do.
Anyone who cares what they look like would insist on having the chance to change first. A skilled operator would be horrified to not have a chance to put on makeup.
So naturally, I am here, sprawled on the deck in the wet remains of a business suit that has shared in my incredibly bad day, about to make my debut on major social media.
“Here LIVE with Two Two Four Two NEWS! Troop with the scoop! We have secured an Exclusive Interview with the Mastermind himself, the reclusive billionaire Alan Anderson! So, Alan, why would you have your goons fire missiles at Stanford Hospital?”
You may have been thinking he was about to use a weapon on me. I think I'd have preferred that.
Amy Tsai and Captain Murphy regarded the news reporter, currently costumed and about to be formerly employed as a diver with CalFire, with great disfavor. Amy said nothing but was clearly thinking of how much she'd like him to star in an pre-mortem autopsy under her personal, lengthy supervision.
Captain Murphy said mildly, “Steven Hwong, Firefighter III, you are suspended from duty pending internal investigation for gross misconduct. I order you to leave the bridge.”
“The News Media Has Rights! I am a Credentialed Reporter With Two Two Four Two News!”
Yes, he really spoke in All Capital Letters. I suppressed a sigh and spoke.
“Captain, I'm willing to answer his questions to get this over with.”
Murphy said dangerously, “That is your right, but NOT ON MY BRIDGE.”
We were interrupted by a metallic voice.
You may recall that the last time this happened, I went briefly elevator sailing. Not an option on an underwater submarine.
“Vampire, vampire, impact in six seconds, five...”
We were knocked off our feet as the expert system of the submarine fireboat decided that full emergency power to the forward propulsion was the best available option. I subvocalized “TAC!” before remembering that my smartware had been helped to take a dump, but the smart goggles and sensor pack figured out what I meant and gave me a 30% overlay of the ship's tactical schematic.
Two streams of missiles were tracking us – one from the approximate direction of Hawaii, and a second from the Coast Guard Island at Alameda. As I watched, the second stream self destructed midair. What can be launched by hacking can be counter-manded by more hacking.
The first stream however was still inbound. But the bridge crew, the captain, Amy Tsai, the reporter and myself were all piled in a heap against the aft bulkhead.
Captain Murphy was subvocalizing single syllable commands. So was Major Tsai. A firefighter-cop and a cop-paramedic, both of whom had advanced combat training. Either of them could have run the submarine by themselves.
I found out later that Tsai had taken Weapons and Intelligence and Murphy had taken Navigation, Helm, Defenses and Communications. Either of them could have run all six stations.
In the 21st century, she who thinks fastest lives to laugh last.
The fireboat shot down the incoming missiles. Then the fireboat – and several thousand orbital lasers using verified passcodes – shot back.
A very large patch of ocean about fifty miles [80 kilometers] east of the Golden Gate Bridge boiled and flashed to plasma, unfortunately obliterating the launch platform and any evidence.
It looked an awful lot like a mushroom cloud.
As the fireboat stopped roaring forward and came slowly to a stable course, Amy was the first to get up and disentangle herself from the group.
“Sorry about that. We determined that the rogue orbital laser commands were originating from that point, and I didn't want any more shots at the City.”
The diver-reporter was next.
“You've Cut Off My Network Access! You Violated My Rights Under Cairo...”
The Captain started to casually raise his right palm and the reporter stumbled to a verbal stop.
“You may no longer be a member of the crew, but you are on board active fire apparatus responding to a declared and verified disaster. Cease speaking or you will be stunned. All non crew will now be escorted to the mess. Major Tsai, please remain.”
We were immediately hustled off the bridge and towards a large, well-lighted space in the after third of the fireboat – an oddly furnished cross between a cafeteria and the triage area of a mid-sized hospital.
As someone wrapped a towel around me, I started frantically planning what I would say and how I would say it.
Accuse _ me _ of being the Mastermind? I always wanted to own a media news station, and after the slander lawsuit went through, I had no doubt but that I would.
