Unutterably Silly Friday's question of the Day 03 Oct 08

[Slite]

Will LazyScot ever come out from the bunker?

[montsnmags]

Originally Posted by Slite

Will LazyScot ever come out from the bunker?

[beep beep beep beep beep beep...] The tip truck backs up to the bunker, to where a big funnel is inserted in the bunker's breather tube. The truck's tray is chockers with hungry pirate ninja squirrels, and as the tray starts to tip [beep beep beep beep beep], the squirrels are running, flying, diving, double-diving, backflipping, pivot, twirl, scrambling to get straight down that chute like a rat up a drainpipe.

Evil-Marc winds down the driver's-side window, leans out, looks out to the back of the truck, looks down to where Slite is standing - eyebrow-raised, concern undermined by a barely suppressed smirk - and says to him...

"Yeah, he should be out any second now"

You're next,
Evil-Marc

[LazyScot]

Originally Posted by montsnmags

"Yeah, he should be out any second now"

A silence slowly rolls out over the forest concealing the bunker. Slite looks nervously towards Evil-Marc, the Squirrel-Hive Master.

"Patience. Trust in the Dark Side." says the Master.

Then, the silence is gently broken, initially with scurrying, then slithering and then the beat of wings as every creature capable of movement attempted to vacate the vicinity with extreme rapidity. Then a gentle rumbling shakes the ground. Scrabbling, banging, screaming, hysterical giggling and the sound of hundreds of thousands of squirrel sized gas masks being quickly pulled on. Then the sound of something akin to a rocket engine is heard, and the doors of bunker fly open.

At a speed that only just allows recognition of the object, something resembling a bed flies out of the bunker doors, apparently powered by a new style of biological engine, and sandwiched up against the bed, and possibly part of this weird engine with a brown flame, is LazyScot.

"Yearrrrgghhhh....!!!!" is just audible as the new space-going bed is seen heading upwards.

Unfortunately, the backwash from the engine is something of a biological hazard--deforestation, squirrel alopecia, contagious rot13itious, and many other diseases are triggered....

"Hzz... Obyybpxf...." said Slite.

"--- .--. .--. ... .-.-.- .-.-.-" said Evil Marc.

[pshrynk]

Huh. I was just going to ask if I could drive my new car, yet.

[vivaldirules]

[Slite]

Originally Posted by pshrynk

Huh. I was just going to ask if I could drive my new car, yet.

No, you can't, ever! Especially not after buying a black one and ruining all chances of doing "The Blue one next to the fish" thingy viable!

Oh well, you can drive it, but only around the block, once!

[LazyScot]

<scene: deep inside a mountain, lit by subdued lighting, uniformed military men pour over large screens, studying tracks, and analysing threats and drinking near lethal amounts of coffee.>

"Sir, we have a problem, " said a young officer, in clipped controlled terms pointing at his display. "It's small, moving fast and appears to be on an intercept course with some of our space assets. It seems to have come out of nowhere, and is not broadcasting any signals at all. I recommend treating it as hostile, and going immediately to code red."

The senior officer strode over, and studied the display. "I concur. This is it. Code Red." And with that she hit the alarm button and across the complex sounded the alarm signal – 99 red ballons by Nena (apparently the protest aspect of the song was lost on the military). "What are our intercept options?" she asked several operators at a different desk who had just received the tracking data, as various doors throughout the complex started pointlessly closing, affording the chance for people to hurl themselves dramatically through the diminishing opening risking limbs in the pursuit of the director's desire for added tension.

"We have a flight of F-22s just about within range, approximately 2 minutes intercept at max speed. And the experimental anti-satellite missiles based at Site 43 should be able to acquired lock." Replied one of the officers without looking up from the console.

"Order the F-22s to intercept, and send details to Site 43 and ask for their hit probability. Alter the major agencies we have a category one event underway."

"Aye, Aye. Ma'am" replies the officer and promptly started issuing commands, as the other comms officers start passing the messages on.

"Right. What is the apparent target? Is it still on the same track?"

"The target appears to be Fred, Ma'am. It is remaining on track, though is jinking rather a lot; it may be trying to avoid Site 43 acquiring lock"

"Ma'am?" Enquired a junior comms officer.

"Yes?"

"We're getting a message from CDC and EPA. It appears that the general area of the launch is showing serious damage, both Biological and Chemical, Ma'am"

"Okay. Let's go Ultra. The F-22s are free to fire." And with that Nena was replaced with 2 Minutes to Midnight in what might have been an attempt at irony, and results in approximately two thirds of the personal nodding their heads to the beat of the song.

"75 seconds to intercept. Site 43 reports provisional lock, estimating a 65% probability and are requesting a go for a first launch. Ma'am"

"Give them the go. Oh, I suppose someone ought to tell potus."

"Now we wait....."

[badgoodDeb]

VR, pass the salt, please! Thx, there's a good boy (scritch, scritch)

[LazyScot]

The seconds crawl by, seeming like hours and the silence builds towards a tense climax. With the clock still many seconds from the intercept times, everyone jumps when the communications officer unexpectedly speaks.

"Ma'am? Site 43 reports four of its missiles have been destroyed. They believe the target must be equipped with some complex counter-measures. Though one missile had a live video feed and the operator reported, and I quote Ma'am, it looked like a squirrel." Nervously reported the comms officer.

"Damn Site 43 geeks. No common sense at all." Snapped back the commander, dismissively, "Is the remaining missile still on track?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Though it's unclear if it has the range given the target's erratic path."

"Can they launch again?"

After a brief, staccato exchange, of which all that can be heard is something that sounds somewhat like "forget about the darned squirrels", the officer replies "Yes Ma'am. Only 50% probability. They are nervous about the countermeasures."

"Launch." Barked the commander, glancing at the clock, and shaking her head as if to say why can't we have proper military types handle these research areas, and that when she meets the occupants of Site 43 they will definitely consider several years of winter training in Northern Alaska as a summer holiday by comparison to what she'll mete out.

"Yes Ma'am. Also, the first CDC and EPA units are reporting in. They're setting up a base on the edge of the estimated launch and devastation zone, assisted by Rangers. Initial chemical analyses indicate levels of neuro-toxins, synapse inhibitors and psychotropic drugs. No indication yet of specifics."

"I only need useful information, sonny." Retorted the commander, attempting to disprove that 0 degrees Kelvin is the lowest temperature possible with her stare. "We're worried about an attack, not some traces of a hippy party in the woods. Someone warn Fred. Which is the nearest SM-Base?"

"Three." Replied the Space Marines liaison officer. "But the marines there are up for training and have only been there 2 weeks."

"Well they're about to get some real experience. Order them to move to defend Fred and intercept the target. Now get me F-22s flight commander; they must almost be in visual."

[vivaldirules]

Ooooo. Nice scritchin', bgDeb. Here's the salt. Great show, huh?

[LazyScot]

<scene: inside of a cockpit of an F-22; various displays indicating count-downs and distances to target. The pilot is complete hidden behind their helmet. Just visible in reflections are two other F-22s, also indicated in the cockpit displays.>

"Yes, Ma'am?" says the pilot, in response to the radio hail.

"How long?"

"I have it on radar, I should be in visual any second now…. Got it! It's small. Maybe about 2 meters. A couple of seconds and I should be able to m….."

"Captain? ….." crackled the radio as the plane hurtled towards the target. "Captain! Report. NOW."

"It.. " the pilot coughs. "It appears to be a single bed piled high with squirrels, with someone underneath it powered by some sort of reaction engine connected with what looks like a human in some form of NBC suit."

"WHAT?" is heard over the radio, in a tone indicating that fiction was not expect and a career path has just taken a downward trend. However, before anymore can be heard one of the other F-22s interrupts.

"I'm hit. CM decoy ingested by engine. Loosing power…. Engine failure… Hydraulics failing… I'm going down. Ejecting…"

"Open fire." Said both the pilot and commander simulateously.

"Fox-Three; guns." Said the remaining pilots.

"Missiles intercepted. Fox-Three, Fox-Three, Fox-Three, Fox-Two. Guns." Said both pilots simultaneously.

"That pilot is good; I can't get a hit. Nothing that size should be that small and fast. It must be some sort of cloaking or holographic projection, Ma'am." relayed the lead pilot. "Missiles intercepted again. Those squirrel-like things are good. Fox-three, Fox-two remaining." And with that an alarm started sounding in the cockpit.

"Captain?" enquired the commander.

"We've just passed operating ceiling. We have maybe 20 seconds at current rate of climb. No more."

"Keep up. And take that target out. By any means necessary. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes. Ma'am." And the pilot swallowed, clearly aware of the order just given. "Remaining missiles intercepted. Guns almost out." With that both craft accelerated towards the target.

"Flame-out. Control failure." Reported the other plane as its engines died and it started a ballistic tumble. "Too thin to restart; 60 seconds fall to regain."

"Guns out." Reported the lead pilot. "Nearly there… I can make out the person… He's shrugging apologetically???" said the startled pilot as he caught sight of the person under the bed, who had just grabbed several of the nearly unconscious squirrels from the top of the bed and throws them at the rapidly approaching Site 43 missiles. And with that, various plane alarms came on and the engines failed in the thin air…

[nekokami]

Well, I was going to use my interdimensional transport abilities to try to help out LazyScot (there's a reason I ignore the escape tunnel, y'know), but he doesn't seem to need my help. Standing by with a team of llamas with British accents and bouquets of daisies to rescue hapless fighter pilots.... (Might as well try to convert them to pacifism while I'm at it....)

[LazyScot]

<scene: A hive of activity on the edge of a forest as many differently logo-ed trucks and lorries are rapidly set up and configured by teams of contamination protection-suited personnel, as similarly garbed military folks set up checkpoints and perimeters, nervously pointing machine guns at anything that moves.>

<cut to inside one of the larger trucks.>

"Sir? The next stage analysis results, based on the second set of air samples from the UAVs." Said a junior scientist handing over a clipboard with printouts to a besuited officer, who spent a few seconds glancing through the printout.

"Hmm. Confusing." He replied. "What do you make of it?"

"Umm… Well…" she muttered.

"Come on, you're bright. You must have an opinion. And if you want to progress you need to be able to speak quickly and succinctly. And time may well be of the essence for us now."

"Okay. I think we're dealing with two or three contaminants. First off we have a really nasty bio-chemical that is most decidedly not natural. Second is something that appears to be little more than fertilizer slurry. I've no idea about the third, but it's like nothing I've seen or read about."

"Very good. That third one, however. Could it be a result of the interactions?"

"N… Yes! Of course. I'll confirm that in a few minutes. And whoever made the first probably never mixed it with the second, and so might not know of the results… It's probably accelerating breakdown as well" and with that, as she was about to run off he interrupted her enthusiasm.

"We must know the breakdown times. How long till it's safe to enter the area?" he said.

"I'm on it." She shouted over her shoulder, running back to lab section of the truck.

As she did this, the suit picked up his mobile, dialled and reported back his initial conclusions, finishing with "I'd guess about another 15 minutes till it's safe and we can go in and search for the source, but I'm awaiting confirmation. If I had to guess I'd say we have a bioweapon that got accidentally mixed up with some fertilizer followed by aerial deployment. That mixup is probably beneficial as it's destroying the reagents. Oh, by the way, Julie's good. I'd like keep her in my team, if I can; take this as a formal request for her, and the automatic promotion she'll need."

[LazyScot]

<Cut back to the military control room in the mountain.>

"Ma'am? The target is too high for the F-22's, though they've regained control of their craft. And Site 43 reports that all but one of the missiles have been destroyed, and the remaining one has lost lock. They've had to detonate that missile." called the comms officer from behind his displays.

"The target appears to be slowing down. It looks like it will attempt to dock with Fred. It certainly doesn't look like it is trying to destroy Fred; more likely it will try and capture it." Said the space liaison officer.

"Okay. It's down to the Marines – order them to move to retake or destroy Fred." And with that she turns to the liaison officer.

"They're ready and moving into position. They won't get there until shortly after the target. They'll do their utmost." replied the space marines officer.

"Raise Fred, and warn them. Have they any defensive capabilities?"

"None Ma'am," responded the liaison officer. "The best they can do is very limited manoeuvres. It may be best for them to evacuate – any space battle is messy and generally fatal. If we do this now, we can bring them down over the mainland." He consults a display. "Almost certainly out of sight; no-one should know about it."

"Can the manoeuvres achieve anything useful?"

"No, not really. We can control them remotely from the ground, anyway."

"Very well. Order the evacuation of Fred. Get the crew to safety. And manoeuvre however the marine commander sees fit."

"At once." Replied the liaison officer. "Ma'am? We can bring Fred's crew down almost directly to us. Given how close the target is, they may have some useful information. We can also get their cap…"

"Whatever you think best." Interrupted the commander, "just get on and do it," she added very slowly, clearly indicating that such details were not relevant to her.

[LazyScot]

<Cut to the inside of space station "Fred", a surprisingly spacious tin can. From the inside, it looks like a white, inward-facing circular filing cabinet gone mad with a diameter of over four meters. Here and there, the occasional drawer is replaced by a window, a computer display, or console. At the one end, lie a collection of large airlocks, more than capable of taking a small car, two of which are connected to re-entry capsules. At the other are a range of accommodation provisions, and a small zero-G espresso machine.>

"Commander? Apparently some unknown object has been launched and is heading towards us. Ground Control seems to think we should consider evacuating as it appears hostile."

"Not another flipping drill. I'm sick of having to get into those cramp capsules. Okay. Lets start the warm-up process. Oh and ask G-C for timing and trajectory of the object. That should be fun. Get them to be a creative for a change."

"I don't think this is a drill – look" said the astronaut indicating the control lights by the capsules which were automatically cycling through the startup sequence. "G-C appears to have taken over that part." With that he touched his headset. "And they are saying the object should be here any minute, we should move quickly; they are really insistent and colourful about that. And they indicate some "help" is coming, and we'd be better off out of the way."

"They're saying w—"

<And with that a loud "clunk" sounds from outside one of the airlocks, and various status lights start changing colour, eventually settling down to green, under the amazed stare of both astronauts. Then the airlock opened. And to the disbelieving stare of the two crew, a bed floats into the space station.>

From underneath the bed, a voice drifts out from inside a suit bearing the emblem Montsnmags Enterprises Special Suit, and very nervously utters "Have all the squirrels gone?"