Place is akin to a NASA control room. Many consoles, many seats for tech and command support, but the whole is set at screensaver, low power. Anytime a mouse is moved, all you get is a battery warning message. Then, the screen goes back dark w/ a bouncing Vegas Resort-Life emblem. There is just not enough juice to keep this running in standby. What the whole may do, ultimately, is unknown.
Fix is in: A robotic-human voice (think Steven Hawking) responds. “I’m impressed. Normally all the shortwave chatter we encounter is barbaric lunkheads, shooting first to deem whether we are worthy of a parley. You’re also a century overdue. Grossly ill-informed? Let’s have a longer sit-down. I’ll throw a party in your honor. You probably haven’t had a fine meal in ages. How about ice cream?”
You can’t help but state your favorite flavor. Was this mind control or muscle memory.
“Sure, we have gallons. Make your way to Charleston Peak. My penthouse is on the top. Toodles. Oh, and the crawlers are not your friends.”
Your PDA is suddenly programmed to a new channel.
“Use this frequency-14.875 MHz-if you wish to contact me or my children in the future. Hope to see you soon, but twenty quatloos says you’ll soon be dead.”
You hear the speaker guffaw. The silence. They do not seem like the Alpha Command depot and did not give any Password. I say Password Pumpkin, you say Pie Spice Latte.