Post by Trask on Jul 3, 2006 15:46:55 GMT -5
Trask sat rigidly behind the armoured screen flanked by a small legion of scientists. The only sound was that of the scratching of pencils as notes were hastily made across clip-boards stuffed already to bulging with papers.
On the other side of the screen the air was filled with the mechanical whine of servos, the occasional 'thrump' of a heavy metal tread and the hiss of expelled gasses as weapons fire stitched its way across the huge testing hangar. Trask did not smile as he watched his creation in action; this was duty, not pleasure.
The demonstration rumbled to a close and the pencils scratched to a halt. "Gentlemen," Trask said, glancing left and right, "how have we performed?"
Several of the white coats puts hands to ear pieces and listened intently. "The pilot reports that the frame is now operating with a reactive speed of less than zero point seven seconds, almost half a second faster than our predicted range." One replied.
"The new munitions feed coolant has solved the overheating and jamming issues with the pacifiers," said the next, "pilot reports that the feed was maintained at a steady one hundred and eighty degrees."
"And the tolerance range and Cerebro circuit?" Bolivar queried.
"Tolerance has been recorded at minus thirty and plus one hundred and twenty degrees, more than that and there will be issues." Trask tilted his head in acceptance; that was something that would have to be worked on.
"And the Cerebro circuit?"
The scientists shifted a little uncomfortably, "the circuit operates as predicted in a simulated environment sir," one hesitantly replied, "however the only documented case of the technology being used in the field is that of William Stryker and none of his findings can be verified."
Trask absorbed the information without comment. For a long while he said nothing, content to let the scientists fidgeted uncertainly.
"If his findings cannot be verified," he said at last, "then we are going to have to verify them ourselves."
The scientists glanced at each other.
"Get me Rawlins."
On the other side of the screen the air was filled with the mechanical whine of servos, the occasional 'thrump' of a heavy metal tread and the hiss of expelled gasses as weapons fire stitched its way across the huge testing hangar. Trask did not smile as he watched his creation in action; this was duty, not pleasure.
The demonstration rumbled to a close and the pencils scratched to a halt. "Gentlemen," Trask said, glancing left and right, "how have we performed?"
Several of the white coats puts hands to ear pieces and listened intently. "The pilot reports that the frame is now operating with a reactive speed of less than zero point seven seconds, almost half a second faster than our predicted range." One replied.
"The new munitions feed coolant has solved the overheating and jamming issues with the pacifiers," said the next, "pilot reports that the feed was maintained at a steady one hundred and eighty degrees."
"And the tolerance range and Cerebro circuit?" Bolivar queried.
"Tolerance has been recorded at minus thirty and plus one hundred and twenty degrees, more than that and there will be issues." Trask tilted his head in acceptance; that was something that would have to be worked on.
"And the Cerebro circuit?"
The scientists shifted a little uncomfortably, "the circuit operates as predicted in a simulated environment sir," one hesitantly replied, "however the only documented case of the technology being used in the field is that of William Stryker and none of his findings can be verified."
Trask absorbed the information without comment. For a long while he said nothing, content to let the scientists fidgeted uncertainly.
"If his findings cannot be verified," he said at last, "then we are going to have to verify them ourselves."
The scientists glanced at each other.
"Get me Rawlins."