video; public/unencrypted; now let's go! just gimme the signal (backdated)

[a_perfect_end]

Greetings!

[There's a reverence to that, the quiet, thunderous tenor certainty of a TV preacher about to go on a tear. He faces the camera squarely, like he can nail it in place by staring at it hard enough, and there's a manic glint to the way he smiles.]

I am Clu.

Now I don't know you, citizens of the good ship Moira, but, man, would I like to! There are so many of us here, from so many different worlds. Or, most of you are. Some of us seem to be arriving in groups--anyway!

[If he waggles his eyebrows any harder, they will pop right off his face.]

I know I'm not the only one aboard who runs parallel processes for a living. Seriously, if you dream in ASCII, or especially in C#? Call me. [Hands spread wide, animated, making big broad gestures as he begins to pace.]

And even if you don't dream of electric sheep, well. It sure sounds like some of you know me, too. Or you think you do. Speaking of: have you seen this guy? Around lately? Kinda looks like everyone's grandpa?

Well, he isn't.

Alan Bradley hurts Programs. Thinks nothing at all of doing it! Doesn't even think we're really, well, real. And I have proof, oh yes. [Only, the ugly smug grin makes that statement into something less than the moral high ground.]

So, if you want to trust everything that some sixty year-old code pusher you met yesterday says, go ahead! Believe the heavenly proclamations of the almighty User who was never even there. Just take his word for it!

[The grin melts into a sneer and hardens, shifts again into something tense and bizarrely earnest. Every word is punctuated with the jolt of his arm, pointing so hard he'd poke the camera if it wasn't attached to his wrist.]

But keep this in mind, my fellow synthetics! My inorganic brothers from another motherboard, listen up: you are of no more value to Mr. Alan Bradley--or indeed to any of his kind--than a very fancy pocket calculator.

When they get tired of you--and they will--you will be the one who will be sorry, I can promise you that.

[He looks away; he bares his teeth. Between them there's quiet venom:]

You wanna know the truth about me? About what happened to the Grid? You wanna know where your precious Kevin Flynn is.

Y'coulda tried asking me, man.

[That is certainly enough of that. Cut.]

Comments

[a_perfect_end]

All right, that parses: my sample size is very small--I haven't met many Users. So, for the sake of debate, let's try this on.

Let's suppose that there may be, in the vast and sweaty numbers of them, at least one User that asks questions first.

The flaw here is that Bradley isn't that guy! He's let it all hang out, for all to see--he does not consider Programs, in particular, to really be people.

And if you're waiting for somebody with his attitude to accept you, believe me--trust a thousand cycles of experience, if not me--you will wait a long time.

Have I miscalculated? Please tell me your preferred classification, and I will be sure to use it...I'm only curious.

[Oh, here we go.]

I kept Rinzler together, yes. The limitations of his original programming were quite restrictive, I'm afraid.

I see evidence of what happened, though not all of it is available on ship's feed.

[when suddenly, encrypted]

...Do you know where he is? It's important that I find him.

[meyneth]

You think I'm some "program," whatever that is, like you and Rinzler are? You really do need to do some asking around first. The weird user-versus-programs duality that people from your world are so stuck on doesn't exist here.

[She very intentionally doesn't encrypt that message or the next one.]

Even if I knew where Rinzler is, I wouldn't tell you. And I doubt the people he trusts, who might know his location, are going to tell you either.

[a_perfect_end]

And yet you self-classify as inorganic, and are angry that I speak for synthetic life.

[There's a genuine twist of real sorrow, somewhere under all that sarcastic mugging frownyface.]

Oh, dear. You really do believe in them, don't you? In whatever you'd call your Users.

You're not hurting me. Rinzler is...particularly, fearfully, and wonderfully made. It is very important that I find him, or many, many more people will be injured.

Some may be killed.

I am his Programmer; I need to fix it.

[And since we're not encrypting anything]

...Bradley is an idiot child playing with dynamite because the tip is all sparkly.

[meyneth]

Yeah, I got that already. You hate Alan. Thanks for making it extra clear.

[If it isn't obvious already, Fiora has zero interest in helping you, Clu, or humoring your weird User hate. This conversation is basically over at this point, but she might as well close it out.]

Rinzler is a complicated subject of conversation on this ship, and when people find out your involvement, they'll have a bone to pick with you. Better make sure to look over your shoulder.