[HAL isn't completely adept at manually encrypting things, but given his AI-ness, he's got some basic abilities. And he is most definitely going to use them here, since this is a private conversation.

He'd considered going face-to-face, but he's a bit more proficient when not standing directly in front of others.]

GLaDOS, if you don't mind, I was hoping we could... [...How to say this?] Discuss Wheatley. If you're all right with that, of course.

[ Here's Heather and an absence of scenery. She looks more annoyed than scared, though her cheeks are a flushed from some experimental running and her hair is kind of sticking up in front where she's been tugging at it in frustration. ]

So I'm lost. Or stuck, or whatever. I've been talking to lady Japan and she's lost too, but we can't see or hear each other.

[There's some jiggling as the view turns to a long stretch of corridor unrelieved in any way by doors. Blank walls move past as Heather walks, holding her communicator out in front of her, and still nothing new comes into view. Her voice is clear (and seriously ticked-off) in the background.]

This is getting pretty old, so if anyone's got any advice that isn't find a lift and get in it, that'd be swell.

[have a young but serious looking young man, horrorship. he's sure been on his toes lately, but from the look of him, you can hardly tell.]

Passengers of the Tranquility, this is Jim Kirk.

We seem to be having a problem [or a few of them] as of late, regarding individuals getting lost in the ship. My colleague has already expressed the need to exercise caution, which I would like to stress, in light of the recent attacks.

I'd also like to reiterate the call for search parties.

Anyone interested in forming groups to split up in the ship should use the common room on Passenger Deck 255 as a rendezvous point. We'll keep a group behind that will include Mr. Spock, whom you can check in with at fifteen minute intervals.

I encourage anyone lost to stay where they are, because the more you move around the harder it'll be for us to pinpoint the last location you were at. Also, if you know where that was, please leave your coordinates here.

[he'll refrain from mentioning that he hasn't seen hide nor tail of Ward or Resnik, but the more keen of them might know, and he expects the questions.]

Everyone please be careful.

Kirk out.


( private message OPR » 001 » 099 | encrypted 100% )





[ooc: OKAY EVERYONE YOU CAN USE THIS POST TO COORDINATE IC IF YOU SO WISH IT. threadjacks ahoy, whatever you want. the OOC post regarding all this is HERE]

[ there's a crackling stream of static in the video as it bursts in to life - Cambridge is attempting to do her usual technopathic shit by mentally logging in to the network but she's not really giving it her all. Probably on account of the fact that her attention is half-drawn by the fact she's having to bicker irritably with someone off-screen as she does so: ]

Do shut up - no, just shut your mouth, Justin Bieber, I am trying to transmit here, for the love of God--

[ the feed adjusts itself and Cambridge's face - petulant, frustrated and visibly worried - swims in to view. The backdrop to the feed is one of those hideously never-ending corridors and in the crook of her elbow is an over-sized black leather handbag containing one (1) cat. Which definitely doesn't belong to her. And she's largely ignoring. Guess who hates small furry creatures. ]

Listen here, all of you: for God's sake, don't go out in to the corridors. Evidently someone is playing silly buggers with the ship because it's certainly not making any sense. It's all rather ridiculous out here right now...

[ There's a quaver of fear in her voice that she quickly swallows in an effort to keep a stiff upper lip and SHOW NO FEAR etc etc. ]

Dearest Aberdeen - if you're not dead or sulking or what-have-you then I do believe I've found your horrid cat.

[ A quick shot of the newly-christened Cat the cat in Cambridge's handbag; needless to say this is not that particular Motherfucker. ]

If it survives this horrible door-less ordeal then someone had better take it off my hands before I turn it in to gloves.