Talk:NAV Trigger Point: An Opco Boone Adventure

The boobytrap

Boone snaps out of his reverie as the whizkid excitedly tells him there is a scramble briefing. Barber slapped his hands and rubbed them together with glee, his eyes fiercely aglow. “This is it, Boone! This is it! I’m finally going to see action!”

The air crackled as Eagle Squad filed into the briefing room. The banter-pulse was flat.

In a CDO warehouse on the edge of town there is a booby-trapped FWMD. Boone goes out on his motorcycle but finds his weapons hamstrung by new protocols. Stamps on the cross accelerator.

Throws a netting field around it and it implodes

Spvs are r&A a wasting commodity and are infrequently being grandfathered because there are no new ones to be found. The grandfather's are are weak and do not yield as much. There is talk of a new supply of spvs flooding in from a black market somewhere. Segue to hunting session.

History lesson at at crustards about the first men. Algy and George roleplay reg margin and Oleg paripassu

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Boone motioned the men forward. “Okay, Babarazza, threw a redline around the immediate area.”

The rookie unclipped his diff-binoc from his utility belt and set it up on the floor. He punched a few dials and it emitted a sheet of redlight, which swept the semantic content of the room. Babarazza watched the display. after a few moments it rendered. Zeroes across the board.

“It comes up clean, sir. No material alterations. The textfield is Delta-1 as we left it.”

Boone looked disappointed. “To what significance?”

“To one decimal place, sir.”

“Run it to three, soldier.”

The kid re-ran the analytics. The diff binoc whistled and beeped. Babarazza shurgged. “Point nine-nine-seven. As good as clean, sir. You could eat your dinner off that.”

As good as one, but not one. Interesting. “Recalibrate it, lad. Let’s go find those missing details.”

Whatever you say, sir. Babarazza twiddled the dials on the binoc unit and hit ‘re-render’. “Okay, boss. All material deltas should now show up.”

The redline swept the text-field, sweeping a red sheet over its surface.

“Nothing, Commander.”

“What are your settings, Soldier?”

“Text deltas down to per character, sir. Moves marked green. Formatting off. Punctuation off.”

Boone shot the rookie a quizzical look.

“This way I pick up all syntactically relevant amendment while ironing out the superficial noise. I’m sure we would have caught anything that made a difference. Sir. The text-field is clean.”

“Run it again, Soldier, but this time I want to see all the noise. Let’s have a gander at that formatting and punctuation delta”

“But —”

Boone shot him a stern look.

The rookie blanched. “Okay, sir. On the double sir.”

This time two curtain beams shot out of the DV generator: one red and one green.

The DV re-rendered on the HUD.

This time some changes showed up: some straight-to-curly action on the quote-marks round a definition. Something — or someone — had tampered with the docscene.

“That explains the point oh-three deviation, I guess, Commander.” The kid holstered his DV unit and moved forward.

“Stop right there, lad.” Boone’s voice was urgent.

Babarazza froze. What is it?

Boone intoned in a halting whisper. “It looks like — it looks like we have a Biggs hoson.”

Eagle-Squad Corporal J-P Barber looked at his commander with wondrous eyes. “Seriously? A Biggs hoson! I don’t bel —”

SHHHHHHH! silent running soldier!

Barber clammed pronto.

I don’t think it is a Biggs hoson, Barbarazza. It just looks like one. Hosons are not stable. A hoson would have degraded into entropic tedium by now. This has a much longer half-life.