Spacetrawler, audio version For the blind or visually impaired, March 17, 2021.
It’s like getting back to work after a week of blissful vacation.
Spacetrawler, audio version For the blind or visually impaired, March 17, 2021.
It’s like getting back to work after a week of blissful vacation.
Ruddock didn’t put a limit on the mice’s intelligence. Chiphu may have an audience after all.
The mice’s main objective is to run around and avoid being caught. They may consider listening to Chiphu the same as being caught, if they are anything like the other bots on the ship.
Shouldn’t the Tips be being translated?
They are. Ruddock is literally saying “yip” just like we would say “yipes!” or “yea-haw!”
@Mic, @Fnordius is right (or at least, how I imagined it)
Fire-hair lady chase coyote
Run coyote run
A new man looks on dejectedly
The mice are plenty
Thus is the path of madness paved
I like this madness. It’s a comfy madness.
Look Chiphu, you’re the one that didn’t want to talk to anybody 😉
It ain’t just the food synth that isn’t programmed to act interested. This is Nogg’s ship. Association with him has trained all of the AIs to treat fleshy beings with contempt. Possibly patterned on Krep’s example.
I bet Aiyana would listen.
Chris, you need to update the cast page! None of these new beings are on it (Chiphu et al.)
I thought the mice were synthetic — not robotic, but edible flesh, complete with brains capable of finding hiding places. But then, Ciara is in a bit of a state right now, isn’t she?
We observe again the dangers of what Earth beings can bring to a modern Galaxy and all its wish-fulfilling technology. It’s like they never had an invention of theirs go off on its own and do as it pleased. I’m not counting Mr. Zorilla among them, mind.
It’s not like those mice are too big of a deal. They’re robot mice, after all, and they… um, almost certainly can’t reproduce. Unless they cannibalize parts to make more of themselves, as rodentia do.
I’m now imagining a set of mice unwelding Bar-Bot from the hull, but that might be because I’ve read too much Vexxarr.
I count 12 mice on the bridge.
I got to thirteen with panel counts of 3-1-4-2-1-2.
Ahh one bit me!
I only counted 2-1-4-2-1-2. You counted 13 correctly.
This kind of mayhem is my kind of chaos.
They are tiny hidey little devils! Once you thought to count them, I had to confirm the total – I am helpless against such compulsions. I look forward to scanning for mice in the near future.
Take one down, pass it around,
There’s 13 mice on the bridge overall…
Put on suits, evacuate the air.
Make sure that ship ignores Ruddock in future.
Chiphu’s predicament makes me ponder how much human communication is telling somebody else about what happened to the loquitor. How much we may owe our linguistic ability to the desire to relive the story we found in catching prey, or at least mice, or making a sharp edge out of a dull rock. It’s not the same urge to communicate that comes, say, from chasing an obstreperous coyote, or illicit synthetic mice — those can be handled with far more brusque, indeed brutal speech, more like a yell or a roar. But making sense of what happened to us so that someone else can comprehend the difficulty and emergent triumph drawing deserved praise or at least companionship and maybe food from the listener surely has to be one of the great drivers to human eloquence, no matter the language.
Hm.