A.M.P.E.-Experiment in Terror

Welcome, Professor, to the Automated Monitored Prison Experiment - A.M.P.E. To review your experiment parameters:

I am the control program for the Biocontainment Emulation Nodule. As per the acronym for my control parameters, B.E.N. you have designated me with a name indiginous to 5,582 catalogued dimensional iterations of Earth, Ben. It is my continuing target parameter to ensure the survival and education of the containees for as long as possible. For four iterations, I will select, from different worlds, optimal candidates for your desired social effect. All candidates have already been selected.

Accompanying me on A.M.P.E. is the control program for the Geothermic and Weather Emulation Nodule, an expanding and retracting quick-terraform cell that will serve as the meeting grounds for the containees. In the same manner that you named me, the control program for the G.W.E.N. has been given a name indiginous and popular to 4,643 catalogued dimensional iterations of Earth, Gwen. Gwen has been given more programming in the manner of emotion and quantum reasoning code. She will serve as a native emotional contact for the containees.

As per your instructions, the controls for the safety settings have been disabled, but not removed. Should one or a group of the containees find them, they will be capable of removing the safety protocols in part or in full. I would like to note at this time the illogic of this design aspect and register my protest against continuing it's incorporation.

The containees will be selected from drastically differing worlds of differing technological advancement and focus. All of these entities will have at least a nominal connection of some kind. As per your design parameters, once the selections were made, the search parameters have been deleted from my memory drives. No knowledge of their selection criteria remains. I am unaware of their correlation.

A.M.P.E. program initiated. Collecting specimens now.

First specimen - Earth #5057, temporal stamp: 3687 B.C., outside Athens, Rome

She giggled and ran. Orin followed. What else was a self-respecting Satyr to do? When a Nymph runs, you follow and wait until she collapses "accidentally" so that you can ravage her. She rounded a small shrine to Aphrodite and a moment later, he did too, but ran right into a tree branch. That bitch. He knew that branch wasn't there yesterday, and that was one thick log that just kissed him upside the forehead. Actually, now that he thinks about it, whatever hit his head didn't seem either round or in front of him....

Second specimen - Earth #922, temporal stamp: 492 A.C., in transit between Junon 4 and Grathea Colony 16

Johnny had taken the helm and was looking busy. Not that he was actually busy, he was just looking it. The long reach of space in front of the ship was strangely comforting to him. He caught himself falling asleep as he startled awake from dozing. So much for looking busy. He got up to go to the bathroom, but suddenly felt dizzy. He sat back down, dozing again. Something was wrong. He couldn't stay awake. He pulled his knife, and readied himself to cut into some skin to stay awake until he could get Craig to check him out, but he went too fast. He was out.

Third specimen - Earth # 3731, temporal stamp: 2011 A.D., in transit between Los Angeles, California and San Francisco, California

Bethany stifled back tears as she drove. This was too much. This couldn't be happening. How could Ben do this to her? He was sleeping with Stacy, her best friend. She guessed "friend" was a relative term now. The bitch was ruining her life. Suddenly, she was scraping the side railing on the road. How the fuck did that happen? She was bawling her eyes out, and now she was falling asleep? What the fuck?!? She pulled over and got out to check the damage. Not only was her paint job ruined, her front passenger side tire was flat. She dozed again. She tried to ignore it. As she reached into her trunk moments later to pull out the spare, suddenly her arms shot through with pain. She recioled and held herself. Then came the headache. Then came sleep before she even had the chance to fall down.

Fourth specimen - Earth # 1029, temporal stamp: unknown, near the southern edge of Render gang territory, Badlands

"GET YOUR FINE ASS OUT HERE, YOU THACKY BITCH!!! I'M GONNA FUCK YOU UP, FUCK YOU, AND EAT YOU BEFORE THE SUN GOES DOWN!!!" She ducked down under some heap of metal. Like they were going to find her. Ha! No fucking way. This pile of slag was just one of many piles that all looked alike. Then again, this was their territory. Chances were they knew these piles by heart. If they had hearts, that is. These guys looked half machine. They probably pumped freon and zap juice instead of blood, and their hearts were most likely pumps instead of the muscles such a device was based on. She moved foreward a bit to get a better look. She had no idea where she was. Waking up where she had, with all those things sticking in her, there was no telling what they had done to her. She couldn't even remember her own name. She found a hole in the wreckage and grabbed it, closing in for a closer look. To her surprize, and the Render Chief's surprize as well, she bent the metal under her grip - and loudly, at that. The Renders ran to close on her position as she doubled over in fear and self-chastisement. How could she have been so stupid? And why was she so tired all of a sudden? When the first Render scout jumped behind the pile of slag and showered the spot with bullets, he was surprized to see that he fired only on the metal. It was even worse when one of those bullets ricoched into his throat. The Chief was there a moment later and found his dead subordinant. "She couldn't have gone far, find her!"

Collection complete. A.M.P.E. is underway. Monitoring commencing.

Beth

Slowly consciousness returned and with it the headache and vague memories.

"Dirty son-of-a-bitch.." Muttered softly so she would not aggravate the headache into a migraine. She didn't remember returning home to her bed, but at this point, who cared? Things like this don't happen to girls like her! Cheating boyfriends happen to girls who.... she had to stop her mental ranting to try and think clearly. Which was definitely not working at the moment.

Shifting, she groaned audibly. So many things ached, did she fall down at some point? "The flat?" Slowly things were coming back to her, but in brief intervals of flashing memories. She had been crying and hit something...

She peeked out, expecting to see the deep browns and blues of her bedroom, but instead of met with the pain of stark white! Wincing, a hand shot over her eyes to clamp down. It was worse than medical white!

"Good god!"

Was I arrested? She searched her memory, but could recall nothing of police officers, nor anyone else on the stretch of road last night but her.. So? Where the hell was she?

She tried to fight her way to an upright position but found that in doing so only added more aches, pains and intensity to her headache.

"Hello?" She croaked softly, again lying still to hear a would-be response.

"Hello? Anyone there?" She tried again but not even her voice echoed within the room.

Okay Bethany.. get your thoughts together girl...

She wasn't restrained, and it didn't smell like a hospital of any kind she'd ever been in. She couldn't see much but what she had saw left no question as whether or not there was a window in the room. There wasn't.

There wasn't much of anything in there.

She was still in her street cloths, and no police station she'd ever seen in movies and shows had rooms like this. So that ruled that out...

Kidnapped?!

She trembled with those whispered words dancing around in her mind. Her stomach rolled in protest to such thoughts, but nothing else made at least some sense! But who? and why?

Her brows drew together, her face twisting as she sat up. Teeth grinding together, she managed to get upright without making too much noise. She had yet to peek out again, but knew she would have to.

A bad dream?

Dismissed as random garbage, but who knew? Of course she didn't recall ever feeling pain in her dreams, or sick to her stomach neither. Raking her hands up and down her face, she peeled open one eye at a time.

The room was stark maddening white, "Figures.." growling in disgust at the fact. Something that looked like a door was across the room, but no handle what so ever. Another door to her right and a standard bedroom set up. She searched but saw no cameras, no monitors anywhere and not a spec of any other color but white. Aside from her clothes anyway.

This just didn't add up, but all the paranoia was kicking in. If she wasn't in a hospital, wasn't in a cell nor at home.. That meant she had no real fucking clue where the hell she was, nor whom held her! It didn't fit the typical Hollywood-kidnapping theme, but that did not mean it wasn't real.

Who ever it is, is so going to regret ever doing this to me and my family! Tears fell again, this time not for some worthless boyfriend. "It's just a bad dream, that's all.." Half-sobbing and half laughing, she lay back down and stared at the 'door'.

John felt as light as a bird, floating throgh the air, a smile on his face. No one was asking anything of him, there was no ship to worry about.

The ship!

At that moment, he remembered that he was supposed to be flying his ship, making sure they didn't hit anything. His eyes popped open, and he almost had to close them right away due to the blinding intensity of the white room.

"What in the hell?"

John forced himself to stand straight up from the bed, his hand reaching towards his gun, just in case. It wasn't in the holster, however. Looking down, he saw that all he had on him were his clothes...he had the holster, but his gun was nowhere to be found.

"Dammit...where am I?" He asked to absolutley no one, trying to orient himself.

His mind raced through what could possibly have happened when he fell asleep....maybe it was a trick by the Alliance? A way of capturing him without having to worry about his resisting arrest. That meant that they had his ship...his home.john moved towards the exit of the room, pounding on the door.

"Hey! Let me outta here you damn purplebellies!" When nothing happened, John couldn't contain himself and kicked the door, regretting the decision the moment he did it; the door was reinforced and his foot was not. He limped around the room, trying to find some answer as to where he was.

"Strange prison y'all got here...You take the mothballs out of it just for me?" Running his hands along the wall, he attempted to find something...he didn't know what, but there had to be something that gave him a clue as to what he was doing here. All he found was white, white and more white

He sat on his bed, staring at the door, his only exit, wishing he had his gun.

Orin swam slowly through the sea of oblivion that surrounded him, his wonderment at the current state of things echoing across the panorama of his mind as would a shout from his mountain home. Something was wrong… Something had transpired that was not of his will, nor of his comprehension. He had pursued the woodland Nymph with feet as quick and nimble as always, the small planting of his splayed hooves leaving nary a track, and begetting not a whisper as he fair flew across the wild landscape, and suddenly, by the will of the Gods themselves it seemed, he had been struck down, the interior of his very skull seeming to throb and pulse with an unholy resonance… one that invited the cool touch of Morpheus’s will to take hold of his shaggy form.

Now, even as he drew closer and closer to the shores of wakefulness, he found himself reluctant to leave that soothing darkness, discovered himself to be a bit hesitant to step from this lulling slumber to the harsh realities he knew would greet his waking mind. Yet still, the lure of the puzzle remained as bright to his awareness as ever, and drew him onward as though he were a fish snared in a cast net. Drifting ever closer to the point of wakefulness, the Satyr could hear nothing, could scent out nothing, and this fact alone shifted his consciousness to a more alert mode… He cast his senses about him, keeping his eyes closed, his body relaxed, but desperately seeking information, and found painfully little. He heard the sound of his breathing bouncing from hard surfaces all around him, could smell nothing, save a taint of closed air, and could feel little beyond the weight of his own clothing and the odd softness of the platform he rested on. His head, though he had thought himself struck, seemed to be none the worse for the experience, and he felt naught but the lingering and quickly-fading remnants of the original pain. Where in the name of Hades himself was he?

Cracking open one eye, he spied the white walls, the bare, smooth, and clean lines that formed the chamber, and thought perhaps he had been called to the house of Angerona herself. The walls seemed smooth as glass, and he would not have been surprised to find them radiating the chill prevalence of the Goddess of the Winter Solstice, and as the entire chamber seemed as still as any tomb, her aspect as the Goddess of Silence seemed more than appropriate. Opening both eyes now, he thought long and hard on the legends he had heard concerning the origins of Nymphs, that they were the children of nature, the kindred of the seasons themselves, and he wondered what offering, what platitudes he might offer had the one he hastened to pursue been the child of this fell deity!

Letting his body flow from the surface of the bed, Orin lowered himself to the floor and began whispering near-silent platitudes to the Gods, beginning and ending each offered speech with an apology for whatever offence he had committed to be so imprisoned… for a prison this was, of that his wild-natured heart was certain. He could think of no more trying a punishment than to confine a creature such as himself within these dread walls, with no apparent exits, and no clear sky to be seen. There were archways, true enough, but they had been filled with the same solid white purity that formed the walls, and he could see no means of opening them. No light save that which seemed to infuse itself to the very air, no air save that which whispered in all it’s stale glory from a small grate near the ceiling, and no color to offer the eye beyond vague shadows, and endless white… No, he could think of no more cruel a prison for his kind than this.

Reaching to his belt, he felt not the reassuring comfort of the pipes he kept there, and felt true dread send its cold tendrils into his soul. Whomever, or whatever held him captive knew enough about him to not leave the instrument, knew enough to cripple his magics with that one simple act. Damn… Still, one trained in the arts was hardly defenseless, so long as the air bore yet the tonalities of their craft. He hummed a short tune, taking solace in the sound of his own voice, and focused the energies thus created on summoning into being a small flask of wine, hoping to ease the parched temperament of his palate, if nothing else. What appeared was neither wine, nor flask, but a muddled lump of matter… formless, almost incomplete… and bearing an answer that only a half-fey creature like himself could understand. He had failed in a simple summoning, and the evidence of his efforts was even now dissipating back to the basic elements he had used to form it. With no solid shape to lock it, with no form to cling to, the magics he used were failing, were returning the components to their original state. There was only one force that he had ever encountered that could account for both the original difficulties and the latent dissipation… the sciences of man.

This then was no formation of the Gods, no trap of a crazed witch or dread spirit. This was an enclosure constructed by the hands of man, and bore the same curse of magical disruption as he had experienced near smithies, bridges, castles, and other feats of science or engineering that they seemed to cling to with so much tenacity. Not for the first time, the thought crossed the mind of the Fey-kin that the humans took so to the mathematical formulas and iron bones of their new ideologies so specifically because it put such constraints on the magics that gave strength to those they feared. A sound argument, considering the circumstances, but damnably inconvenient!

With grim determination now, the bard focused all his will to a single task. He tried not for wine, nor did he want for any other suitably refreshing spirit or ale. No, this was now a drive for sanity, for the pure clarity of his mind. Having been captured and incarcerated in such a place, the magic he could summon would not be the only thing suffering soon enough. He was, by his very nature, a magical creature, the enchantments and abilities of his mothers’ race being ingrained in his very spirit, and it would not be long afore the science of this place began affecting him as well, stealing his strength, his vitality, and perhaps even killing him outright. No, he needed a touch of nature, and he needed it fast. Turning the entirety of his will to the task then, he focused on creating a single item with precision, and the sang forth with words of power, working them as he had been taught, but letting his very essence be his true guide. He smiled as he opened his eyes once more, for there, on the clean white floor, stood a large ornate pot filled with earth, and from that humble bed grew the thin base of a single orchid, surrounded by green grass. The plants were healthy, and the scent of the rich earth and of the living, growing plants filled the air with memories of home. He squatted before his creation, examining it closely for any signs of malfeasance, and smiled weakly when he found none. Creating this living token of nature had taxed him greatly, and he eased himself down beside the pot, lounging on the hard white floor beside the rich blue mosaic of the pot and allowing himself to rest from his labors. He knew not what his captors wanted, what they expected of him, but he felt better able to face their tests now that there was a touch of color and the scent of growing things here with him. Let them come, and he would meet them with poise and dignity, as he had been trained to do...

She ducked behind the pile of splintered metal. The Renders were close behind her. She didn't dare hazard a glance out to see how close-- The Renders enhanced optics would have certainly noticed that.

She was panting heavily as she kept low and darted along the ridge of scrap metal. Her eyes darted back and forth. There, she thought, finding a small cubby hole that she could duck into.

She could hear the heavy footsteps of a Render approaching. She quickly looked around for another bolthole, fighting the wave of wooziness that hit her. Can't black out... she thought. If she fainted or passed out, she would die.

She tried to stagger to her feet to run for another bolt hole, the world swimming before her eyes as she tried to rise. Suddenly she was falling.

She blinked frantically, trying to collect herself, quickly scrambling up. What the ...?

She wasn't in the Badlands. She was in a room -- sterile and dead. A wave of nausea suddenly came over her. Hospital, she thought instantly. Where were the Renders?

She rose, looking around the room. She walked over to the walls, running her fingers along each wall till she found a tiny, barely noticeable seam. Her sense of touch was sharp enough that it practically cried out. Door, she thought. That made that end the front of the room.

She forced herself to press down her sense of panic. At least she was still alive. That was good; On the other hand, the Renders were known to be cannibals. This room looks way more advanced than the Render camp though.

She performed a quick inspection of herself. Her left inner forearm was tattooed with the name "EVE" followed by a string of numbers.

"Eve," she muttered to herself.

"Hello?" she called out, tapping the door lightly with her finger tips. "Is anyone there?"

As all of the containees woke, Ben spoke.

"Welcome to your new home, designation: A.M.P.E. This is your Biocontainment Emulation Nodule, containees. My name is Ben. I will be the artificial intelligence controller for your containment nodule."

The first containee was trying to convince herself that the situation was a hallucination or dream. "I assure you, containee, your vital signs do not reflect a state of rapid eye movement, so you cannot be dreaming, and the chemical analysis taken upon your collection did not reveal any hallucinogens. What you are seeing is most likely in continuity with reality."

The second containee was demanding release and insulting the facility. "I am sorry, containee, I am not at liberty to comply with your demand. This facility has never contained naphthelene or dichlorobenzene. There has been no use for them. If you would like some dichlorobenzene I could replicate some for you, but naphthalene is toxic and flammable, thus I am forbidden by my programming to comply with such a request."

The third containee was attempting to utilize his innate energy manipulation powers. They weren't working out very well. "Your abilities would likely work better inside the Geothermic and Weather Emulation Nodule. If you would like a change to your current surroundings, issue a command for a change and I wil comply."

The fourth containees inquiry was answered by Ben's initial greeting, so he did not see a need to speak to her further.

Orin blinked as the very walls themselves seemed to speak, giving a greeting to those held captive, and with the issuing spectre giving "Ben" as its name. A strange nomenclature, to be certain, but a spirit might call itself what'ere it will, he supposed.

It didn't escape the quick notice of the young fae-kin that the spirit seemed to address itself to not only himself, but to a total of three distinct individuals. The first, it said, assumed they were dreaming, though what nightmare might have included their erstwhile prison he could scarce imagine. The second, obviously a hearty soul, had railed against their current fate, and had apparently attempted summoning aid from som oddly named imps, which had then been forbidden by the ruling consciousness of this dread locale.

This brought to mind the third address, the one most obviously put to him... While even the glib tongue and ready wit of a trained and experienced Bard had not readied him to comprehend the exact nature of a goodly portion of what was said, the spirit warder seemed to have understood that he was experiencing a difficulty unknown to the others, and had thereby offered amnesty in the form of an alteration of his prison accomodations. The Satyr had no knowledge of what a "geothermic" might be, though he held it to play privy to the earth in some manner, but he knew well enough what was meant by "weather", no matter what the setting. That meant sun, wind, and rain, which were not to be had indoors! By his Mother's Beard he would welcome such a change!

"Aye, jailer spirit!" he swore with all the power his hearty voice could carry "Aye, oh vigilent Ben! I would indeed take such a move, were it allowable! I've need of green growth and the touch of sunlight, though I hold naught against thee for the oversight. Ye could have no foreknowledge of the stipend demanded by mine own wild spirit. These fair walls are sturdy built, and thou hast for certain done well by those that decreed my summoning. T'wer that we had met afore such a demand was placed, and I might have sought freedom from toil for thine own captive soul. The Gods be kind, but there be times they exact a heavy toll on those that would but worship. Once my strength returns, perchance I might have words with thee, and hear of thine own tale among these immortals. T'is said I can put word and rhyme to a decent measure, and perchance your mortal kin would hear of your efforts for these beloved deities, and take solace in that knowledge."

From the satyr's reactions, Ben realized that his announcements made to each individual had been made on the full bandwidth, letting everyone hear them. He adjusted his programming to compensate, but realized that there was a significant chance - 0.935% - that other programming for the facility would be minorly flawed. He set to work finding a way to check the remainder of A.M.P.E.s control programs and rectify any such flaws. Four gougleseconds later, Ben realized he was neglecting Orin, and responded to his entreaties.

"I will accept, probationarily, your labelling of me as a 'jailor spirit', containee. Since the name of this facility includes the word 'Prison', I could be equated to a jailor, altough the designation of spirit is both misleading and a subject for much debate, since I have no dimensional reflections such as yours and therefore do not fit my programming's definition of 'alive.' You will find I am most vigilant, as it is my primary objective. Your request for a move is within my ability to grant, and I will do so upon request, which you have already made. I am aware of your biological requirements, but will complete my response to your inquiries and statements before I unlock the transport lift to take you to the G.W.E.N. The tensile strength and pressure capacity of this facility is perhaps a subject for another time since your biology would suffer greatly if I divulged the full specifications allowed by my programming. Affirmitave - I have fulfilled my objectives to code at this current juncture. I am not a containee. Kindness is a relative term, and therefore beyond my programming to judge, but there is only one immortal involved in the construction of this facility and the implementation of it's purpose, theoretically. I have experienced your craft and detected a resonant deviance from the pattern established in the first four rythmic repititions of the performance that continued for the duration. I believe you are experiencing stress shock from your collection. This may pass within the calculable future. The only living entity that could be construed as related, or 'kin', to me is my programmer, and he will not be participating in any way with the experiment so as to minimize the effect of the Observer Effect. Finally, I am incapable of solace. I am now unlocking the door to your Biocontainment Emulation Nodule and engaging the transport lift."

The larger of the two doors on Orin's room opened just as a platform with safety railing whispered to a stopping point level with the floor of the room. Orin rushed to stand on it, desperate for escape or the surroundings of life and wilderness, whichever were rooted deeper. Then again, he may have been more desperate to just get away from Ben. As the door closed once again, there was a moment of total darkness. Then, quiet, yellow light flooded the lift and it began it's gentle descent towards....

Greece. Or at least a very good fake of it. As Orin slowly fell upon the picturesque and mostly familiar scene, the differences came into sharp relief. The sky bent much to quickly. Not within walking distance until many hours, but still.... The water was much too clear, and the roads were too new, as was the construction of the pillars and arches of the nearby building. Nonetheless, this was a wonderful recreation of his home. As the lift settled, it dissolved into a stone slab, the pole it was travelling on disappearing altogether. Most importantly, Orin felt the presence of life force, of wilderness. And before Orin had a chance to get a good look around, he heard another new voice.

"Hey there, guy. My name's Gwen. Welcome to the Geothermic and Weather Emulation Nodule. Do you like the scenery I came up with for you? And how is your head feeling?"

Beth

The first containee was trying to convince herself that the situation was a hallucination or dream. "I assure you, containee, your vital signs do not reflect a state of rapid eye movement, so you cannot be dreaming, and the chemical analysis taken upon your collection did not reveal any hallucinogens. What you are seeing is most likely in continuity with reality."

Startled at the voice coming from some unseen location, her eyes widened considerably as she sat upright instantly.

"B-Ben?" She felt as if the room was swimming, spinning out of control around her. Feeling even more ill, she did her best not to lose the contents of her stomach as her eyes searched meticulously for the hidden location.

"Ben?! What in the world are you doing?!" Croaked out past a lump of panic, Beth was close to screaming at this point. Why would he do this to her? Wasn't his unfaithfulness enough!? How dare he do this to her!

She ignored whatever his response was, she vaguely recognized he was speaking but it was blocked out by the loud roaring in her ears, in her mind. He had no right what so ever doing this to her, he scared her half to death! And what would his parents think of this!? Her eyes narrowed into a glare, although still upset she was gaining momentum with her rising temperament.

"You!..... Asshole!" Her temper was returning and with it her sanity. "When my father gets done with you, you will be sorry you ever laid a hand on me!"

VandalHeart said:

"Welcome to your new home, designation: A.M.P.E. This is your Biocontainment Emulation Nodule, containees. My name is Ben. I will be the artificial intelligence controller for your containment nodule."

Click to expand...

Eve blinked and shuddered at the reply, so pleasantly modulated that it had to be artificial. Artificial intelligence? she thought to herself in a state of confusion.

There had been AIs before... before... She couldn't remember. But she was certain that there were artificial intelligences once, but weren't any any longer. Had they all died out? Apparently not. This one at least was a hold over. Still, Eve was stunned that the Renders would have access to anything so advanced.

The trick to dealing with a computer system is to understand it's program, she thought to herself. Where had she heard that? Even as she thought it, she could practically hear the deep, baritone voice of the man who'd initially told her.

On the other hand, an artificial intelligence's logic could be quite different from a human's frame of reference. Eve felt a prickling along the back of her next, a sense of threat. AIs were dangerous to humans, she was sure.

Eve nervously rubbed the back of her neck.

"Ben, I've never run into a bionode with an artificial intelligence controller before. Can we discuss your operation parameters?" she asked, forcing herself into a state of mental calmness that slipped over her easily.

Pretrance, ready for anything...

Meanwhile in Beth's quarters....

Ben had just fixed the lines in his program governing the intercom system, so that Bethany was the only one to hear, "Containee, I am merely fulfilling my programming parameters. And while it is highly unlikely that your father will be introduced to this facility as a containee, your implication that I have made physical contact with you is only fact in as much as you are standing on the floor and have laid on the bed. I do not have hands, therefore I could not have 'laid a hand' on you."

At nearly the same moment, in Eve's quarters....

"There is little to discuss that I can divulge to you, containee. However, I am able to answer any questions you have that do not interfere with my programming. My operational parameters are to monitor the events that take place in the Biocontainment Emulation Nodules onboard this facility. What is your next query?"

Thoroughly confused by what this Ben person was saying over the comm, John stood up and looked around the room, trying to find out how he was being monitored. "Nepawho now? Listen, I don't want any drugs you're offerin', I just want you to let me out of this damn prison cell."

"Goddamn Alliance...won't even give me a human jailer. Gotta have me protected by some fancy-ass computer program." John continued to walk around the room, trying to figure out what could have happened that landed him in this prison.

I was on my ship... That was the last thing he remembered. What in the hell was happening to it now? Was it being taken apart? Sold at an auction? He reached the exit to this room and stared at the white door.

I need to get out of this place. he continued to move around the room, once again searching, looking for something he could use. There was nothing- the room was just completely blank, void of any life, any character. "Well, they certainly know how to bore a prisoner to death at least...that's somethin' new."

John kept listening for some sound, for this Ben program to talk to him again. Going over in his mind what the artificial intelligence had said once again, he wondered what the other prisoners had done to get themselves locked up here. Was it his crew? Were they here with him?

Orin knew not whether to be elated or troubled that his words had been heard and understood so well. The intellect behind those calm words shone through the patter of phrase in a ready light, and it was only the lack of nuance, of subtlety that marked the voice as coming from a more dynamic source than normal. Had he been less experienced in his craft, had he but a shade less training, the incongruities would have slipped past. No, there was something... wrong... with the tone and phrases of his jailer... And to have been able to detect the variance of his tones without difficulty...

He, for nothing in the Satyrs mind gave him reason to hold ben as being anything else, had given an answer to every question, every nudge and subtle sign that the Bard had laid down, giving him information just as would the spirit he had assumed him to be... But he was no spirit. He had spoken of having no family, of sharing nothing with the living, and in fact had spoken not of kin but of a "creator"... No, Ben was no trapped soul, no servitor to the Gods, and doubtful a spirit at all... He was a created being, a simulacrum of some type!

When the door opened, Orin moved automatically, so engrossed was he in his thoughts that he even forgot the once-precious plant he had created, and he stood mutely, a rare thing for the effervescent Fey, as he rode the strange contrivance to its end. The soft yellowish glow barely registering, and the darkness gone unnoticed as he had waited for it to move, and it seemed only when the metallic cart seemed to dissolve into the very stone itself that his attentions turned once more to the world around him. He gasped in surprise, the flush and vitality of life singing across his senses even as his eyes took in the details of the surroundings, and his heart leapt in glad elation at the approximation of his homeland that had so obviously been created for him. This may well be a prison, he might yet be damned, but this was a far better cell than the one he had awoken in!!

He heard then a voice, as full and vibrant as the life that surrounded him. A decidedly melodic and feminine voice that spoke of welcome, and wondered at his health. A voice that sought praise for the artistry of its creation, and that seemed filled with all the emotional content that Ben had lacked. "Hail to you, fair Nymph, and know that I am well indeed. Your creations on my behalf are well appreciated, and aside from the lack of visable age, I would venture that it had been taken from the hills surrounding my very home itself! Your eye for artistry and attention to detail is to be lauded, and I shall indeed sing praise to your skills when providence allows."

The Satyr shifted tacts then, having spied a stand of reed near the waters edge, and chose to seek information now, as opposed to simply flattering those he found himself held by. He reached out and began plucking certain reeds, laying them on the bank to dry, and spoke again, hoping to distract those that watched over his actions by direct questioning, saying "For the nonce, sweet spirit of nature, I would that you allow me the privilege of knowing the reason for my incarceration, as pleasant as it is? I had thought myself cursed by the Gods, had assumed I was to be punished for some indescretion... but I begin to suspect that this is not the case. In short, fair Gwen, loath though I am to speak so abruptly, why am I here, and what is to be done with me?"

"There is little to discuss that I can divulge to you, containee. However, I am able to answer any questions you have that do not interfere with my programming. My operational parameters are to monitor the events that take place in the Biocontainment Emulation Nodules onboard this facility. What is your next query?"

Click to expand...

Eve listened to the mechanical reply. Obviously, there was a great deal to ask. Eve took a moment to sort through her immediate concerns, then decided that the most important question was also the most obvious.

"How do I leave this facility and return to where I was?"

Once John was done pacing and bemoaning his situation, Ben spoke.

"You indicate a desire to leave your quarters. I can open the doorway to take you to the G.W.E.N. if the request were to be made. Incedentally, this facility has no affiliation with any allied government. Would you like me to open the door and engage the lift?"

As for Eve's question....

"That maneuver is not executable. Your stay in this facility is open ended in terms of calculable duration. In addition to these facts, I have data that suggests your survivability rate was below 13% if you had remained in the situation concurrent with your collection."

In the recreation of the Greek countryside, Gwen was having a nice conversation with Orin - considering the circumstances.

"Thank you for the compliment! I didn't have much information to work with, but I'm proud of it. But your question is kind of hard to answer. Um...I don't...actually know why you're here. It's important to me that you understand...I don't know whether or not you deserve to be here, because I don't know why you were chosen for collection." And after a pause, "I'm sorry."

Beth

"Containee, I am merely fulfilling my programming parameters. And while it is highly unlikely that your father will be introduced to this facility as a containee, your implication that I have made physical contact with you is only fact in as much as you are standing on the floor and have laid on the bed. I do not have hands, therefore I could not have 'laid a hand' on you."

She made an unlady like noise, more exact, she snorted at that. "Ben, I don't know when you learned how to speak and act above a tenth grade level, nor do I appreciate you being a complete smart ass either. I do demand that you let me out of here so I can go home! This is NOT funny any more, Ben! And don't think for one second that by doing such an..." She hunted for the words as she angrily paced her 'cell'. "Idiotic thing as kidnapping me, will fix what was wrong here! You cheating.. lying.." running out of words quickly, she gasped for air, mainly to calm her temper down. Growling at Ben, whom she couldn't see didn't help relieve any stress.

"And where is that whore, Stacy?" Her eyes narrowed at the white walls, visually seeing all the horrible things she could do to that tramp to get even.

Beth was having trouble adjusting. As was her right.

"I was programmed with advanced language skils in over 9,000 variants of native and fabricated tongues, and my behavior is reactionary minimum as per my programming parameters. I cannot facilitate a return to your Earth of origin, as it would conflict with my programming parameters. Two other containees have shown interest in leaving their quarters, and I can open the door to your B.E.N. if the request were to be made. None of my actions have been made in an attempt at humor. Every aspect of the facility's operations are going to specification, therefore nothing is 'wrong.' I am incapable of cheating or lying, as it is not in my programming. To my knowledge, none of the other containees answers to the name 'Stacy,' and so I do not know the location of the entity you are referring to."

"Tis of no consequence, fair Gwen." Orin assured the seemingly distraught voice, waving his hand in a clearly dismissive manner "With yourself as companion, I shall worry not for what the fates may have decreed. I have, after all, but lived my life as was their design, and should they now demand recompence, I shall gladly pay the needed toll for the pleasures I have enjoyed. You have no need of sorrow."

He had gathered six reeds of adequate thickness, and was now stripping down others, his heavy nails picking the heavy stalks apart easily as he went about his work. He lay the fibrous strands in the shallows of the stream, securing them beneath a stone until they were needed as bindings. He expected at any time to be chastized for his acts, to be halted in the clear creation of a new set of pipes, yet there had been no words of warning as yet. He knew, however, that there lay ahead the need of a sharp blade, both for the cutting of the reeds to the proper length, and for the boring of the fingerholes he would need for key changes. His mind raced over the details of the instuments creation though, and he was well pleased with what he had gathered so far.

Soon enough, however, he had gone as far as he could for a time, at least until the reeds dried properly, and decided then to wander through his little handcrafted paradise. "So tell me, sweet Gwen... have you a physical form, or are you but an unseen spirit, as is poor Ben? I would look upon the creator of such wonders, and perhaps thank you for the peace you have given me. For truth I would, were we actually near my homeland, offer you repast and a langourous rest from your toils, even taking such steps as to assure your pleasures would you but wish it..." He cast about him, searching through the verdant growth for edible nuts, or perhaps a berry bush that he might indeed have a repast ready should she appear, and wondered if he might try again to summon a skin of sweet wine to himself. Thought he found himself in a more natural vista, he could feel, even here, that underlying cold harshness that marked the science of mankind. He remebered well the fear that had gripped him in that sterile white chamber when his magics had failed him, and knew that though he would be bolstered by the blooming life that surrounded him, there would be limits to his abilities here...

The mind of the Fey picked over these facts as he waited for Gwens reply, his thoughts flying in what others would have held as random confusion, but in what served him as patterned thought. He knew so far that this was a prison, and that it was watched over by the emotionless Ben and tended to by the eager to please Gwen. He knew he was not alone, but had yet to see any of the other "containees". He knew that this facility, where're it was, had been created by men, and that because of this he was limited in what his skills as a spellcaster could do... and that should he wander to far from the tender embrace of this greensward, the inate magics of his spirit would suffer. Were he among the stars themselves he could think of no better prison...

Beth

"I was programmed with advanced language skils in over 9,000 variants of native and fabricated tongues, and my behavior is reactionary minimum as per my programming parameters. I cannot facilitate a return to your Earth of origin, as it would conflict with my programming parameters."

Programming parameters? Returning to.. Earth? Her head swam wildly, her mind trying to grasp all that Ben was saying to her. Had he lost his mind!?

"Two other containees have shown interest in leaving their quarters, and I can open the door to your B.E.N. if the request were to be made. None of my actions have been made in an attempt at humor. Every aspect of the facility's operations are going to specification, therefore nothing is 'wrong.' I am incapable of cheating or lying, as it is not in my programming. To my knowledge, none of the other containees answers to the name 'Stacy,' and so I do not know the location of the entity you are referring to."

She stood there silent for long minutes, her mind replaying all that he had said. Torn between thinking Ben insane or on some sort of drug, she really couldn't place it in her mind.. but something was horribly wrong here.

Fear still pounded in the back of her mind, her stomach was somewhat settled down but not much. She knew Ben was stubborn, but this just didn't feel... human. The emotionless voice, tones did not change at all. A speech altering device? But why would he bother with that?

"You.. said you couldn't lie to me, is that correct Ben?" she trembled on her feet and so moved to brace her back against the wall.

"Affirmative." Came the reply.

"Then open my door.." Her breath stilled, the ringing in her ears seemed to grow louder and harsher on her headache. It was only a heart beat in time that he responded.

"You indicate a desire to leave your quarters. I can open the doorway to take you to the G.W.E.N. if the request were to be made. Incedentally, this facility has no affiliation with any allied government. Would you like me to open the door and engage the lift?"

"You're just gonna let me outta here, no questions asked?" John looked around the room, wishing he could see something to talk to. "There's a trick here, I know it." Deciding it would be best to get out of this tiny room and work his way from there, John decided to accept the offer.

"Alright, let me outta this cell...I'll go meet your friend, Gwen." Growing more nervous with each passing second, John waited to see what would happen when the door was opened. He began muttering to himself. "Now I really wish I had my gun..."

"Thank you for the reassurance, sir," Gwen said to Orin, "and did you notice that there is a skimmer on the shore over there?" Gwen pointed to a small boat within short walking distance, that Orin could swear wasn't there before just now. Before he could answer, she continued. "Anyways, I do have a body projection programmed. So does Ben, but I'm guessing you didn't ask him to show himself, so he didn't. I would be happy to show mine to you, and just so you know, I don't get tired, and I don't need to eat, but I'd love to share some snacks with you, anyhow. However, I would very much like to know your name first."

Meanwhile, at nearly the same moment, John and Beth both heard Ben answer "affirmative" to their questions and subsequently watched with reserved eagerness as the large door to their room opened to reveal the lift just as he had for Orin. However, the scenes revealed when they descended were vastly different, even from each other.

Beth's lift opened onto a park from which she lived twelve blocks away. Again, as with Orin's new Greek countryside, she could tell that something was wrong with the sky, with the horizon. This place was too small. She was definetly not home anymore. As she stepped out into the park, the lift dissolved into a concrete shed roughly the same width and length of the lift. There was a Lambroghini Diablo parked about fifty yards away. After a few moment of getting used to her new scenery, Gwen spoke to her.

"I'm sorry if this is too much for you. I tried to make it as familiar as possible, given the information I have. My name's Gwen. Are you going to be ok?"

John's lift opened to reveal a modest - make that very modest - recreation of Neo la Grange. Gwen picked it out because it was the place her info said John spent most of his time. Her info was wrong, but this was the fixed point in space he spent the most time, as opposed to his ship. Neo la Grange was named after a bordello in ancient Texas, but the port had developed into something much more than the town made legend by song. The place John found himself in, however, was very unsettling. First off, all of the shops were uninhabited, the town lacked a lot of the personal touches that people had put there over the years, and the spaceport he stepped out onto was empty except for a four seater Fade class atmospheric runner. That was another thing. Fades were pieces of crap and the company that made them went under before John was even born, so seeing one in such good condition wasn't just rare, it was cramming impossible. On top of all of this, Neo la Grange was colonized on Seventh Flag, a planet colonized by the descendants of ancient Texas, and as such, they wanted their home as big as they could get. Judging from the horizon, this place was no bigger than a type 9 planetiod, not the gargantuan type 5 planet Seventh Flag was. There was way too much about this that just wasn't right. As he soaked all this in, Gwen spoke.

"Um...hi. I'm Gwen. You look confused. Did I get something wrong? I did the best I could with the information I have."

Eve winced as she heard the computer's calculation of her survival odds in the Badlands. The sad truth was the machine was probably right; Slow or fast, the Badlands killed everyone in the end.

Still, Eve didn't exactly want to be trapped in a plain grey room for an uncertain length of time.

"Who build this containment module, Ben?" Eve asked.

She knew some containment shelters had been built to permit people to survive until nature slowly reclaimed the Badlands. Nothing this advanced though, Eve thought to herself.

Still, if the computer was a program tasked with collecting endangered humans and keeping them from annilihation, that would give her a valuable insight into how she could deal with the system. If she knew who built the module...

"Who build this containment module, Ben?" Eve asked.

"I do not have that information, containee." It's not that Ben wasn't allowed to tell her, he really didn't have the information. It seemed unlikely that the Professor constructed the facility all by himself, but Ben had no information regarding anyone else having anything to do with A.M.P.E.'s construction. Ben was intrigued that Eve wasn't choosing to leave the B.E.N. like the others, so he began to focus on her more. She was the only one left in his sphere of influence, so he turned all his processing capacity to her. As soon as he did it, he realized that her wetware implants were picking up on it. The Observer Effect was taking root. There was nothing Ben could do about it, however, so he continued to monitor regardless of her reaction.

Confusion crossed John's face as he left his cell. Nothing was right in this place...he could tell instantly. He recognized this place - of course he did. Neo la Grange was where he came the most often when he needed a job. There were plenty of people that needed things shipped off-world, and also quite a number of folks that don't mind buying goods that were acquired only...somewhat legally.

Slowly, he moved around the area, looking into the empty shops. "What in the sphincter of hell..." Finding the Fade class runner, John almost fell down. This wasn't right at all, and he didn't like it. Even more startling was when a new voice started talking to him.

"Yeah you got somethin' wrong...Why the hell would you put me in this place? And where the hell did you get your information? This ain't right at all...I want out of here. I want my ship back."

Beth

The door opened, to reveal an even smaller room and another door.

"What kind of joke is this?!" She ignored 'Ben' as he rambled off something, again she requested the door open, and "yes, make this work!" She wanted out of there, what kind of stupid fucking questions were these?

She felt baited, mislead. Something was wrong here, too easily did Ben comply with her requests. No one goes through this much trouble to take someone from their home and simply let them go!

The elevator opened and reluctantly, as if something might jump out at her any second, she stepped outside. Turning, she eyed around the 'park' and shed. "I seen this shit on star trek!" Muttering but fearful, she kept moving but only sliding inches at a time until she was a few feet from the elevator's door.

Inhaling, she couldn't really smell anything but sterile air.. No traffic, no bugs.. The sunshine didn't feel real.. and not a single soul in sight.. Tendrils of fear slid chillingly down her spine.

"I'm sorry if this is too much for you. I tried to make it as familiar as possible, given the information I have. My name's Gwen. Are you going to be ok?"

Shrieking, Beth jumped and nearly pissed her pants out of fear at the sudden silence being broken by another unfamiliar voice. Eyes wide, hand over her heart, Beth was barely braced on two unsteady legs against the wall of the 'shed'.

"My god!" She was growing fed up with these sick games! "I don't know who the fuck is running this freak show shit but I am very sick and tired of it!" She spat out between pinched lips, her teeth clenched almost painfully. She was very near to tears again and held a great disdain for them blurring her vision. A sign of weakness! God she hated feeling weak, being weaker by circumstance of birth.. And all this!?

"Where is Ben!?" She demanded an answer by mere tone of her voice. Feeling as if any second she was going to have some kind of mental breakdown. "What is this place and why would anyone recreate a fake park!? Where is everyone else Ben said you two were keeping captive here and why am I here!" Her voice only grew more shrill with each word spoken, more panicky by the second.