Fama leaned on the table, staring down the microscope with a frown flashing across her interface, transmitting her displeasure and frustration as easily as she knew how to anyone who would be looking. Not that anyone would at the moment unless they had hacked into the cameras scattered across the laboratory. That was always a possibility and Fama had learned to take nothing for granted if she could help it.
She just wasn’t designed that way. Assumptions, in her line of work, typically ended in disaster and not just the type of disaster that meant spending six weeks mopping up the mess in her lab because she accidentally liquefied an entire crop of mushrooms instead of accelerating the breakdown of dead matter into nutrient rich soil (which was not helped by the fact that the liquefied mushrooms still somehow managed to sprout in every single crevice and crack of her laboratory if the humidity got above 71%). No, the assumptions that brought disaster could be of a more permanent variety as programs were overwritten and personalities were permanently changed (or had to be reverted to an older version of her previous selves).
Who knew how many years she had lost with each painful lesson forgotten and then repeated with each singular reboot and factory reset. Actually, scratch that, she didn’t want to know anymore. Each time she calculated the time based on the relay stations time stamps she felt—well, old. And she was far older than some on the relay station.
Frowning a little more, Fama activated another program, letting a long, flexible arm to snake it’s way into the air as it exited a compartment on her side before it landed on a notepad next to her on the table and started writing down notes. The new batch of nanomachines were about 0.5 seconds more sluggish than she expected them to be, keeping themselves in a tight cluster on the agar rich plate under her microscope. More peculiar though, was that instead of scattering to seek out the broken tissue, they were clumped in a set, moving together was they walked across the agar. More to the point, only a handful of the machines broke apart from the group to tackle the frayed edge of the scarred tissue cells she had grown on the plate which was counter to the program she had uploaded into them before testing them.
She just couldn’t seem to get it quite right.
Frustrated, Fama shoved a third appendage against the counter, pushing her chair away from the experiment as she finished her notes and rubbed her copper brow in a gesture as old as time itself, or so the old sayings go.
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Scene 2 - WIP
Date: 2021-11-04 01:46 am (UTC)She just wasn’t designed that way. Assumptions, in her line of work, typically ended in disaster and not just the type of disaster that meant spending six weeks mopping up the mess in her lab because she accidentally liquefied an entire crop of mushrooms instead of accelerating the breakdown of dead matter into nutrient rich soil (which was not helped by the fact that the liquefied mushrooms still somehow managed to sprout in every single crevice and crack of her laboratory if the humidity got above 71%). No, the assumptions that brought disaster could be of a more permanent variety as programs were overwritten and personalities were permanently changed (or had to be reverted to an older version of her previous selves).
Who knew how many years she had lost with each painful lesson forgotten and then repeated with each singular reboot and factory reset. Actually, scratch that, she didn’t want to know anymore. Each time she calculated the time based on the relay stations time stamps she felt—well, old. And she was far older than some on the relay station.
Frowning a little more, Fama activated another program, letting a long, flexible arm to snake it’s way into the air as it exited a compartment on her side before it landed on a notepad next to her on the table and started writing down notes. The new batch of nanomachines were about 0.5 seconds more sluggish than she expected them to be, keeping themselves in a tight cluster on the agar rich plate under her microscope. More peculiar though, was that instead of scattering to seek out the broken tissue, they were clumped in a set, moving together was they walked across the agar. More to the point, only a handful of the machines broke apart from the group to tackle the frayed edge of the scarred tissue cells she had grown on the plate which was counter to the program she had uploaded into them before testing them.
She just couldn’t seem to get it quite right.
Frustrated, Fama shoved a third appendage against the counter, pushing her chair away from the experiment as she finished her notes and rubbed her copper brow in a gesture as old as time itself, or so the old sayings go.
It wasn’t