Scrap Metal Philosophy 12 (Patreon)

Scrap Metal Philosophy

Chapter 12

-VB-

Now that he was here, Taylor didn’t know how to act or think!

Sure, she’s seen and met him quite a number of times, but it was different when her dad was involved! Would he judge her for acting a certain way with this clearly older guy? Did he think she was a villain in the making? Would he force her int-?

“Normally, telling people to relax does not work unless the person is ready to relax themselves.”

She turned to look and saw dad talking with a small amused smile. “You might not remember, but you fretted a lot when you had a new friend come over,” he chuckled. “Your fingers get very, uh, let’s say twitchy.”

She froze and looked down.

Yes. Her hands that were on the table had ten twitchy fingers.

She slowly pulled them down and out of sight.

Alan chuckled, and she glared at him. “She likes to act cool around me,” he told dad, and she felt her stomach drop as dad grinned.

“Oh, does she now?”

“No, no, stop this,” she hissed at them both.

“Stop what?” dad asked with a big fat grin.

“Serious talk! We’re here for a serious talk!”

“Oh, were we?” Alan hummed before shrugging. He gave dad a faux contemplative look before shrugging. “I suppose we can skip the pleasantries. Taylor is not one for small talk, is she?”

“No, it isn’t. Her mother was like that, too.”

“Ah. A strict librarian kind of …?”

“Yes. At least until either Taylor or I became involved. Then she became a much more relaxed person.”

“I see, I see,” Alan hummed. “Well, we should get on with it before Taylor explodes.”

“Yes, we should.”

They were mocking her!

She fumed quietly as the two men broke out into laughter.

Alan then got serious. “Alright. With that little ice breaker out of the way, let’s really talk for real,” he said. “What would you like to know, Mister Hebert?”

Taylor tensed and looked at dad.

“... A man would normally ask about broad things. Can you protect my daughter, what are your goals, and whatnot,” dad began. “But I find those questions meaningless because they are words without substance. Instead, I would like to ask what kind of tinkertech device you would make for her.”

“It would depend on what she wants. She is a master capable of staying very far from the battlefield and controlling the battlefield. Though I know that she can grasp some basic tactical information from her bugs, she could use more tools to help her keep a sight of the action.”

“So you would have her away from the battlefield if you can help it.”

“Yes. I can build her anything from a plasma shotgun to powered armor, but neither of those would benefit her.”

“Then what do you think benefits her?”

Taylor looked back and forth at the two of them.

Alan paused for a moment before speaking up.

“A mobility option. Something like an autonomous self-defense mount that she could ride to keep out of her enemies’ reach. It would have to be either small and discreet or loud and powerful.”

“The former would keep her hidden longer but obviously be weaker while the latter would increase her threat and make her a target.”

“Yes.”

Dad understood the implication in all of that so quickly?

“And how good is your best at keeping her safe?”

“I’m not here to cocoon her up,” Alan replied after a moment. Dad frowned. “If I wanted to keep her safe, then the best I could do is crack her brain open, neuter her corona and gamma, and then heal her. No power, no conflict to be dragged into.” She stared at Alan in horror. He thought that?! He actually had an idea about how to remove her power?! “Of course, Taylor would never accept that. She’s a fighter.”

Dad looked at Alan before his head dropped and he sighed. “She is. Just like her mother.”

“Of course, I won’t. This is my power,” she snapped at Alan.

Alan nodded calmly. “Then you will fight people. You will see people die and may even kill people yourself,” he said softly.

Both she and dad froze at that.

“No, she is not -”

“Slaughterhouse Nine already visited Brockton Bay. What keeps them from coming back, especially so soon after a disaster like my rampage?”

A shiver ran up her spine, and from the corner of her eyes, she saw dad shiver, too.

“Common people die. Common people kill. This is a fact of life on this Earth.”

“Then what can you do to keep her safe?” dad demanded again, this time more harshly. “Tell me something that I don’t already know.”

“Of course, you would know, Mister Hebert,” Alan smiled wistfully. “The Dockworkers have to keep themselves safe from the gangs.”

Dad didn’t say anything.

“Very well. If you want more concrete options, then here is an example I made.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a metallic wristband. “This is an energy shield generator. It’s only good for a hundred small arms bullets at max, but that’s better then going without one.” It looked kind of rough, almost as if it was made out of scrap parts. 

(It probably was.)

Both dad and she looked at the wristband. Then to her surprise, dad picked it up and put it on.

There was a whirring sound and a half dome of energy crackled briefly before disappearing.

“Or if you want me to help her in a more active way, then I can train her to fight and build her a companion who will keep her safe.”

“A companion?” she asked with a frown.

“Yes. Tell me, have you ever heard of gynoids?”