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two ficlets: PKJ/Bab5, and GitS
Fandoms: Painkiller Jane (comicbook), Babylon Five
Disclaimer: not mine. Rating: PG, implied femslash. Characters: Painkiller Jane, Susan Ivanova. Set: Season three/fourish. Length: 300 words
"So, let me get this straight: you can be injured, bleed and hurt, but you can't die. And you're here to help us with the war effort."
Jane flipped her sunglasses up and narrowed her eyes at the brunette across from her. "If you can afford me. You forgot that part."
"How could I forget it?" Commander Ivanova's sarcasm might have been missed by some.
"Easy," Jane grinned at her, "Most people hate thinkin' about money. Me? I love it. Money makes my world go 'round."
"I can tell."
"Babe." Leaning forward, Jane gave Ivanova an excellent view down her shirt. And smirked, as the woman noticed and couldn't quite tear her eyes away. "Listen. You sound like you need a little relaxation. I got just the thing: me."
"You." Tone forbidding, Ivanova stood, "I'm afraid you've been mistaken about the needs of this station. We can't afford you. And we sure as hell don't need you."
"Pity." Taking her sunglasses off, Jane leaned back in her chair, smirking still. "Because I can be quite useful. Not to mention entertaining." She suddenly stood, and put the glasses back on, "But if you're not interested, I'm sure that Earth will be. Especially when I mention you're recruiting for an army to them."
"Wait. Let's not be hasty," her tone not exactly pleased, Ivanova stepped between Jane and the door. "Besides, we wouldn't want you to have to be detained, now would we?"
"Oh, blackmail right back." Jane chuckled, and threw her arm around the other woman's shoulders. "I definitely think I like you. Now. Show me the facilities of this place, and maybe I'll consider lowering my price--but just for you, babe."
"Don't," said the other woman, easily disengaging Jane's arm, and turning the move into a jointlock, "Call me babe."
Fandom: Ghost in the Shell
Disclaimer: not mine. Rating: er... PG? Set: post Innocence, pre-series. Sort of. Character: The Major. Length: 500 words.
Ones and zeroes. Yeses and nos. There are no maybes in binary language. There are if then statements, allowing multiple possible outcomes, given the correct data. But give it the wrong data, and the results are garbage.
The human brain is different. Full of maybes, yeses, nos, and a hundred billion different possible outcomes while the synapses fire.
A saying has passed on from the twentieth century. Garbage in, garbage out. It applies to both computers and human brains. If the human brain is fed nothing intelligible, the resulting reactions of the human to whom it belongs will be the same.
Grow up in a white-walled room, and that will become your norm.
Grow up in one body, and the thought of switching to another is alien, anathema.
Grow up moving from body to body, and the thought of being locked into only one body is strange.
It's something Motoko knows well--she's been fitted for countless bodies, from early childhood on. She will never age, unless she wants to. Never die, unless someone overloads her brain and destroys all back-ups of her on the 'net.
Artificial Intelligence is trying to mimic the human brain, but even then, it still has to learn from the beginning. Like a child taking its first step, A.I. doesn't have enough data to produce more than tears when it skins its knees falling downstairs.
Humanity is still more intelligent.
Lost in the 'net, though, Motoko floats and wonders if that's the reality anymore. Maybe the 'net itself, containing all of the knowledge of the human race, written in binary and backed up on countless hard drives, knows more.
But the data has no filter, it simply exists.
The human brain must decode it, must place it in the correct order to recognize it. Otherwise it's scrambled gibberish with no bearing on any subject.
She can spin a web of disinformation in the blink of an eye, download and code-lock thousands of bytes of real-time data without so much as a run-time error. And yet, she still misses her body. She's freer than she ever was before, free to be anything she wants. She doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, she simply is.
And perhaps that's the most frightening thing of all.
Waking in one body, trapped in one mind is almost a nightmare, but she moves past it. Relearns walking and talking, slipping in and out of shadows instead of data streams.
Relearns eating when she's hungry and drinking herself into a near-stupor. Standing on rooftops and dancing on balconies. Feeling the sun on her face, the wind in her hair and the rain creeping down the back of her collar.
Some of it is not that easy.
With a body, she relearns the pain of being shot, beaten, kicked. Bruised and battered--if only by the training mat.
But it's an honesty that feels better than the nothingness of the vastness of the 'net.
And it's more than ones and zeroes.
-f-
Disclaimer: not mine. Rating: PG, implied femslash. Characters: Painkiller Jane, Susan Ivanova. Set: Season three/fourish. Length: 300 words
"So, let me get this straight: you can be injured, bleed and hurt, but you can't die. And you're here to help us with the war effort."
Jane flipped her sunglasses up and narrowed her eyes at the brunette across from her. "If you can afford me. You forgot that part."
"How could I forget it?" Commander Ivanova's sarcasm might have been missed by some.
"Easy," Jane grinned at her, "Most people hate thinkin' about money. Me? I love it. Money makes my world go 'round."
"I can tell."
"Babe." Leaning forward, Jane gave Ivanova an excellent view down her shirt. And smirked, as the woman noticed and couldn't quite tear her eyes away. "Listen. You sound like you need a little relaxation. I got just the thing: me."
"You." Tone forbidding, Ivanova stood, "I'm afraid you've been mistaken about the needs of this station. We can't afford you. And we sure as hell don't need you."
"Pity." Taking her sunglasses off, Jane leaned back in her chair, smirking still. "Because I can be quite useful. Not to mention entertaining." She suddenly stood, and put the glasses back on, "But if you're not interested, I'm sure that Earth will be. Especially when I mention you're recruiting for an army to them."
"Wait. Let's not be hasty," her tone not exactly pleased, Ivanova stepped between Jane and the door. "Besides, we wouldn't want you to have to be detained, now would we?"
"Oh, blackmail right back." Jane chuckled, and threw her arm around the other woman's shoulders. "I definitely think I like you. Now. Show me the facilities of this place, and maybe I'll consider lowering my price--but just for you, babe."
"Don't," said the other woman, easily disengaging Jane's arm, and turning the move into a jointlock, "Call me babe."
Fandom: Ghost in the Shell
Disclaimer: not mine. Rating: er... PG? Set: post Innocence, pre-series. Sort of. Character: The Major. Length: 500 words.
Ones and zeroes. Yeses and nos. There are no maybes in binary language. There are if then statements, allowing multiple possible outcomes, given the correct data. But give it the wrong data, and the results are garbage.
The human brain is different. Full of maybes, yeses, nos, and a hundred billion different possible outcomes while the synapses fire.
A saying has passed on from the twentieth century. Garbage in, garbage out. It applies to both computers and human brains. If the human brain is fed nothing intelligible, the resulting reactions of the human to whom it belongs will be the same.
Grow up in a white-walled room, and that will become your norm.
Grow up in one body, and the thought of switching to another is alien, anathema.
Grow up moving from body to body, and the thought of being locked into only one body is strange.
It's something Motoko knows well--she's been fitted for countless bodies, from early childhood on. She will never age, unless she wants to. Never die, unless someone overloads her brain and destroys all back-ups of her on the 'net.
Artificial Intelligence is trying to mimic the human brain, but even then, it still has to learn from the beginning. Like a child taking its first step, A.I. doesn't have enough data to produce more than tears when it skins its knees falling downstairs.
Humanity is still more intelligent.
Lost in the 'net, though, Motoko floats and wonders if that's the reality anymore. Maybe the 'net itself, containing all of the knowledge of the human race, written in binary and backed up on countless hard drives, knows more.
But the data has no filter, it simply exists.
The human brain must decode it, must place it in the correct order to recognize it. Otherwise it's scrambled gibberish with no bearing on any subject.
She can spin a web of disinformation in the blink of an eye, download and code-lock thousands of bytes of real-time data without so much as a run-time error. And yet, she still misses her body. She's freer than she ever was before, free to be anything she wants. She doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, she simply is.
And perhaps that's the most frightening thing of all.
Waking in one body, trapped in one mind is almost a nightmare, but she moves past it. Relearns walking and talking, slipping in and out of shadows instead of data streams.
Relearns eating when she's hungry and drinking herself into a near-stupor. Standing on rooftops and dancing on balconies. Feeling the sun on her face, the wind in her hair and the rain creeping down the back of her collar.
Some of it is not that easy.
With a body, she relearns the pain of being shot, beaten, kicked. Bruised and battered--if only by the training mat.
But it's an honesty that feels better than the nothingness of the vastness of the 'net.
And it's more than ones and zeroes.
-f-
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Somehow, I could see you doing that. ;)
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