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Little Green Button!
Posted By: houseoftang<houseoftang@sbcglobal.net>
Date: 18 January 2007, 8:42 am
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Author's Note:
This started out as an idea this past week in the MAC forum here at HBO. Thanks to all the contributors there–your comments are all a part of this story in one way or another. Especially Draconic–this story is for you. And Commander Demitri Wolf's mom. Yes, this is purely comedy, and not just in the classical sense. Sorry it's so short--I realize I could have done a lot more with the idea, but didn't want to risk getting repetetive.
It was a panorama both breathtaking and heart-breaking. The Covenant had excavated square miles of the desert, ripping up New Mombasa in the process. John-117 stepped out of the building, took in the view, and clipped his MA5C to his back. Things weren't going well.
"Hey! Hey, what do you think you're doing?" The Spartan's increased lung capacity meant he could shout very loud and that his voice carried for miles.
At the bottom of the cliff he was standing on, a Brute swinging a gravity hammer looked up. "We're digging up the Ark, what does it look like?"
"I meant, what are you doing here in our backyard? I don't recall giving you permission to dig everything up. Do you have any idea how long it took to build New Mombasa?"
"Yeah, well, we're not gonna leave. We're just gonna dig as we please, where we please. Whaddya think you're gonna do about it, huh?" The Brute put the hammer's head on the ground and leaned on the handle.
The Master Chief thought about the situation. He could probably take the Brute, no problem. But there were others, and it would just be a big mess if he took them all on. Better to take the high road. "If you don't leave, I'm gonna call the cops." John pulled out a cell phone and opened it up.
"Aw, crap! Let's get outta here!" The Brute scrambled for a Phantom, followed by Jackals, Grunts, and Drones. Within five minutes, the Covenant were speeding out from Earth's atmosphere.
Ok, the fight is finished. Now I can go collect Cortana, and then I can go bounce through a field of flowers with a basket in my hand, whistling, while unicorns fly around in the background.
Getting back to Delta Halo wasn't easy, but Spartans were trained to do the impossible. The Master Chief still had nightmares about the drills Mendez had put them through: trisecting angles with only a ruler and compass; finding both the exact position and momentum of particles; explaining a woman's moods; baking a cake that was low-fat, low-calorie, nutritious, and tasted good. Time after time, the Spartans had done the impossible, until they got good at it. John had managed to get back to Installation 05 by driving the Forerunner ship in reverse through the tire tracks it had made through space on the way to Earth. Not elegant, but it worked; he would have been able to follow the trail of breadcrumbs if he hadn't just eaten the bread as soon as he was tossed into the ship.
Then things got interesting.
"Cortana! I'm back! C'mon, let's get going home, I'm gonna miss CSI if we don't hurry."
"Chief! I can't leave yet–"
"Well, how long is it going to take? You had all this time to finish up whatever it is you were doing, you should have been ready," he snapped.
"No, it's not that. Gravemind won't let me go! You have to save me!"
John sighed. "Look, Gravemind, it's been a long day, and we all just want to go home. Let's not make this any harder than it has to be."
"To speak thus makes you sound just like a n00b;
they struggle more whose characters improve.
His motion sensors began to light up with contacts–Flood infection, carrier, and combat forms converging on his position. "Ok, fine, have it your way." In one swift, fluid motion, the Spartan pulled the assault rifle from his back, smacked it against the side of his head, and dropped it, spinning, on the ground.
"Wow, you alright, man?" inquired the nearest combat form, concern showing in the way it moved its twisted limbs.
"Yeah, just. . . it's been a long day."
"I hear ya. Can't wait to clock out myself–I hate it when the Boss pulls this kind of stuff at the end of the shift." The combat form pointed to the MA5C, and an infection form ran forward. Using half its short legs, it tossed the rifle up toward John, who caught it by the pistol grip. The Flood waited for him to get both his hands on the weapon before they began to advance again.
In upgrading from the MA5B to the MA5C, the UNSC had capitalized on a number of advances in technology. The rifle was more powerful, of course, and also more accurate, these being mainly functions of a somewhat longer barrel. It also boasted a sophisticated onboard computer which allowed it to function with greatly increased efficiency. The Master Chief pressed the green button on the right side of the weapon, behind the flashlight's tube. A four-colored flag appeared on the weapon's screen, flapping in a virtual wind, and a hidden speaker chimed.
"Are . . . you . . . gonna start shooting, or what? We have a quota to fill, you know, and the Boss'll dock our pay if we don't meet it." The combat form was close enough to wrap a tentacle around John.
"Sorry. They gave us these new weapons, and we're still getting used to them. I forgot that you have to boot these up. It'll just be a minute."
"Computerized guns, eh? Spiffy." A carrier form eyed the assault rifle.
"Ok, now I guess I log in. Hmm, they didn't tell us how to do that. . . must be my fingerprint? Or maybe it reads my IFF tag?" John turned the weapon over in his hands. "I don't see a keyboard. . ."
"Lemme go grab the one from my cubicle, I'll be right back," called the combat form which had originally spoken to the Master Chief.
While it was gone, the other Flood examined the weapon. "What's it run on? How much RAM does it have? Big hard drive? What's the resolution on that screen?" John had to admit that he didn't know. It was new weapon, and they hadn't thought to issue a manual with it. The parasites let him off with a promise to look for a digital manual when he got the weapon working.
Feeling an itch between his shoulder blades, John found another use for the longer barrel.
When the combat form returned, toting a USB keyboard, John was relieved. He'd noticed a USB port in the butt of the rifle. Plugging it in, he typed in the Spartans' standard codeword–olyolyoxenfree. A dialogue box popped up: Did you forget your password?
"Maybe you should just call tech support," suggested the combat form.
"I suppose so. Ah, good, they have the number here on the trigger guard." The Spartan pulled out his cell phone and began to dial, and then frowned. "I've got no reception whatsoever here. Could I please use someone's phone for a sec?"
The Flood patted their pockets, searching. "Here, you can use mine, I've got rollover minutes," offered a carrier form.
"Thanks." John punched in the number, and to his surprise, a live person picked up quickly. Maybe this day wasn't so bad after all.
"Hello, Microsoft Arms Tech Support. This is Lucy. How can I help you today?"
"I can't log in on my MA5C. I don't know the password. It's my first time using this model, and it's a big change from the MA5B or the BR55 that I'm used to."
"I understand, sir. I can help you make a new user ID with a new password, but you won't be able to access the personalized files from the other ID. Is that alright, sir?"
"That's fine, I just want to be able to shoot."
Grace explained what to do, and John did it; the whole process took less than five minutes. When he was through, he handed the phone back to the carrier form.
"Are we good to go?" It was the helpful combat form. John nodded. Infection forms rushed at him, and he aimed at the ground in front of them, sweeping as he squeezed the trigger. The weapon cycled through a trio of rounds, and then stopped, though John pulled the trigger repeatedly.
The Master Chief looked at the screen in puzzlement. Another dialogue box had popped up. Register your product, it read, and listed a phone number to call, along with an e-mail address.
"Great. Hey, can I use your phone again? Now it says I have to register."
"Sure thing." The carrier form was ready with the phone almost before John was done speaking. Perhaps they'd had experience with this kind of thing before.
This time it was Kirk on the other end of the line. "To register your product, I'll need the Product Authenticity Code. It should be on the top of the barrel, or failing that, on the CD that came with your MA5C."
It was going to be a problem–John didn't see any stickers anywhere on the weapon, except the one with the tech support number stuck to the trigger guard. And he didn't have a CD. Nothing a Spartan couldn't take care of, though.
"Yeah, I don't see it on the rifle, and I don't have the CD with me. I just need to use it for maybe half an hour–is there some kind of temporary code you can give me or something?"
The customer service representative was unimpressed; they heard this sort of thing all the time. "I'm sorry, sir, that's against company policy. You'll have to call back when you can find it, I'm afraid. Is there–"
"Wait. It's not actually mine; well, it's mine, but I didn't buy it. A friend of mine bought it, and he said I could use it. A gift, you know? But he has the CD. Probably took the sticker off the top, too. Fred is like that, he probably thought it looked bad, or messed up the feng shui or something."
"Again, sir, I'm sorry, but it's a very strict company policy. Is–"
"Alright, alright, I'll be honest with you. I bought it on Ebay, and it said new in box, but it turns out it wasn't, they only sent the rifle itself. They probably sold the CD separately, one of those scams where they steal the numbers. Isn't there any way you can help me?" Will, the best fast-talker of the Spartan IIs, would have been proud.
"You should have told me that in the first place, sir. We take piracy very seriously. Do you have any information on the seller, so we can follow up on it?"
"Um. . ." The Master Chief temporized. He could give them some kind of fake information, but that wouldn't help in the long run; they'd probably just say they'd look into it and get back to him. There was only one card left to play.
"Listen, this has happened a couple times here at my company, and the IT guy says that you always give us some kind of temporary code. We do a lot of business with your company. I mean, you always help us out like this. All the time! You gotta cut me some slack–"
Kirk was wise to his game. "Sir, there's nothing I can do for you. You just need to be more careful next time, and make sure you're dealing with someone reputable. Is there anything else I can help you with?" His tone of voice made it clear there wasn't.
"No, I guess not."
"Thank-you for calling Tech Support, then, sir. Have a nice day."
He was about to give up as he handed the phone over to the carrier form once again, but then an idea struck him. The Master Chief opened up a comm channel to Cortana.
"Cortana, I'm having a problem with my MA5C. I have to register the software, but they didn't give me the right codes. Can you just make it work?"
"Oh, that's easy, Chief! Hold on a second. Accessing. . ." The screen on the rifle flashed, went blank, and then rebooted. A flag flapping in the wind reappeared. And then the familiar ammo counter and compass were back. "There you go, Master Chief. Hurry up, Gravemind is starting to get restless--I think it's going to start rearranging the furniture."
"Thanks, Cortana. I owe you one."
The Flood came at him again, and John unleashed the full fury of the MA5C on them, blowing many to pieces before the first clip ran dry. He swapped it out for a fresh one, and the gun made a negative sort of sound. Your new hardware could not be installed properly read a prompt.
"Again?" The talkative combat form had survived the first barrage of fire, and now was peering over the Master Chief's shoulder. "Listen, it's quitting time for us. The Boss really discourages us from taking overtime unless it's already authorized, so we gotta get going. Maybe we can do this some other day?"
"Of course. Take care." When the Flood had filed out of the room, John sprinted to the other side, and dove through the door. Gravemind wasn't there, but Cortana appeared on a holographic pedestal.
"Quick, get me in your head. Gravemind will be back any minute, it just went to find a measuring tape."
The Spartan pulled Cortana into his MJOLNIR, and made a run for the door. Fortunately, Gravemind didn't show up, and they made it to the Forerunner ship without incident.
Skidding into the control room at full run, John reached for the ignition button bearing a Forerunner symbol that looked like it denoted "twelve o'clock" but actually turned the ship on.
"Wait! Don't touch that button, I'll hotwire it. I don't trust that symbol." John placed his hand above a control panel and Cortana jumped into the vessel's systems. The engines turned over with a satisfying rumble and the ship undocked from High Charity and began to move away.
John popped his helmet and hung his MA5C on the wall. "What's wrong with the symbol? It's the same one that's on that little green button on my–oh, nevermind, I understand now. So, how was your day?"
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