[Winter Contest Entry 2013] Potato Chips and Machine Guns

They were pristine halls that the team walked down and through, day and night, but they didn’t stay that way by themselves. It was nothing but the dull roar of the cleaner that accompanied the janitor as he decked them, that and headphones blasting, a tap of the foot here to a beat no one else could hear and a hum-along there. Outside the snow fell in force, snow so white it was like a fairytale.

---

The little red light blinked, letting Ted know the camera was on. Ted blinked in return. “This is video log six hundred and fifty-one. The mark thirty-two prototype failed. It, uh, blew up as a matter of fact. Our test pilot didn’t survive. Mark. Marvin? God, I swear it’s on the tip of my tongue. Anyway, a request has been filed for a new pilot. He or she shall arrive here shortly. Work on the mark thirty-three prototype has begun immediately. This is Doctor Ted signing off--oh! His name was Malik.”

“Bryan.”

Ted shuffled his feet until his chair swiveled a full one hundred and eighty degrees. Alan stood over him, bag of potato chips in one hand; he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The bright white light of the overhead lights reflected off the lenses.

“Malik was the pilot we had before Bryan,” Alan said.

---

B. Janis: did you hear those noises they were making the other night?

G. Lynch: how could I not? they were so loud

B. Janis: you’d think alicia and john would be more modest. especially john . . . wtf john

G. Lynch: srsly I know! he lost some major points in my eyes

A. Jacobs: you guys are just now talking about this? it’s soooooooo cOLD in here

J. Parker: why you guys find extreme chess so interesting to begin with i’ll never know . . .

---

“Achoo!” Greg cursed. He blew a slimy wad of greenish-brown snot into the tissue. “I swear, we have all of this at our fingertips.” He spread his hands, a gesture meant to encompass not just his work station but the whole facility. “And we waste it on trying to build stupid mechs when it could be better used trying to, oh, I don’ know, find a cure for the common cold.”

Blake stared at him like he was a raving mad man. Greg sneezed again. “Just saying,” he said, sniffing. He reached for another tissue from the box at the end of his desk and came up short. He stretched and stretched, but all he got was a fingertip to touch. He sneezed so loud his body lurched, sending the tissue box over the edge and out of sight. Greg cursed.

“Dude, you sound like a dog barking,” Blake said.

“I do n-no--achoo!”

Somewhere in the base, Alicia’s dog started barking.

“See,” Blake said. “The poor little guy thinks you’re challenging him.”

“Achoo!”

“I think that right there was dog-speak for †˜I’m gonna murder you.’ That’s not very nice, Greg. You just don’t come up on another dog’s territory and run your mouth off like that. You listening to me, dawg? I’m trying to stop you from starting a turf war here.”

Greg rubbed at his sore, red nose, too out of it to even get up and grab the tissue box. “I just want to die.”

---

Crunch. Alan savored every bit of saltiness as he swallowed the last chip. The empty bag fell in a trash can containing, among other things, more potato chip bags.

Now I’m thirsty, he thought. But the vending machine was all the way down the hall. He resolved himself to leaning on the railing that overlooked the hanger instead. He shivered. They had the heart running twenty-four/seven, but it did little to dispel the cold in the cavernous chamber. Should have brought my coat.

“What’s the hold up?” Ted said over the loudspeaker. He was just a tiny little man in the control box hunched over some terminals.

“You’re the one who told me to triple check the engine,” Alicia radioed in from below. Alan could hear what sounded like the turning of a wrench in the background. “Or do you want this one to blow up as well?”

“Excuse me.”

Ted sighed. “No. I suppose I don’t.”

“Um, excuse me?” It was the new pilot. Scott Davis was his name. Someone had to get it right. Might as well be Alan. “I thought you said the old pilot resigned.”

“He did,” Ted said. “That’s what happens when you die on the job. It’s all the same.”

“It most certainly is not. Let me out of here.”

Alicia climbed down from the backside of the mech; she jumped down the last few feet, tucked her legs and landed in a roll. She took off sprinting for the stairwell leading up to the observation level. “Alicia here,” she said, puffing hard. “We’re all good down here.

“No we’re not,” Scott cut in again. “I’m climbing out now. Hmm. The cockpit won’t open. I think it’s jammed or something.”

“Initiating remote activation,” Ted said. “In five, four, three . . .”

“No, you let me out right now!”

“Two, one.”

“Noooooooooo!” Scott’s screams echoed across the hangar. The loudspeaker screeched.

Nothing. The mech fell over in a colossal, ear-splitting crash of metal clashing against concrete.

The voice of the rig’s interface chimed in when the din had died down. “Warning. System failure.”

---

The red light blinked. Ted cleared his throat. “This is video log seven hundred and two. The mark thirty-three test run was a failure today. Something went wrong with the hydraulics this time, and the whole thing fell over. Then it exploded. Needless to say, a request for a new pilot has been filed to replace Sam.”

Ted paused and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know what to say. I like to think God put us all on Earth for a purpose. I had thought that building giant robots with machine guns and rocket launchers was my purpose, but now? Now, I’m not so sure.” The clacking of keys resumed off to his right. “All I know is . . .” The clacking stopped; it began again seconds later accompanied by a snigger. “All I know is I DON’T TEXT CHAT WITH THE GUY LITERALLY SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO ME WHILE OTHERS ARE WORKING.”

---

Crunch. Munch munch munch. Crunch. Munch munch munch.

Greg slammed the pen down on the cafeteria table. “Do you mind?”

Crunch. “What’s the problem?” Alan’s eyes didn’t meet Greg’s. They were focused listlessly on the crossword puzzle mag in Greg’s hand. “I’m just eating chips.”

“While leaning over my shoulder, right next to my ear.” This wasn’t the first time Alan bothered him during lunch. Greg doubted it would be the last.

Munch munch munch. “Babykiller.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Fourteen down.”

Greg followed his finger. Sure enough, he was right. It was a perfect fit; not only was it the right amount of letters, the “k” lined up with the “k” in “cornykorn” in twelve across. He picked up the pen and scribbled it in.

Crunch.

“That doesn’t mean you can continue eating in my ear.”

---

It started as one and then two, but now it was a gathering. They watched through the glass door that led to the roof as Ted walked back and forth along the edge, bottle of wine in hand. What started as a search for the chief scientist turned into a source of mild amusement. John was among the last up top.

“Has anyone tried to go out there and talk to him,” John asked. Ted’s sharp turnabouts brought him precariously off balance each and every time. Every now and then he’d stop and look out toward the fleeting sun on the darkening horizon. It wasn’t long before the snowcapped mountains would have it swallowed whole. It was during these pauses that some of the spectators held their breath in anticipation that the project leader had had his fill of the rigid winds whipping his fur lined coat.

“You go out there, dude,” Blake said. “You know now scary he is when he gets mad.”

“Is he mad right now,” John asked, taking another study of Ted. It was impossible to tell with his back turned to them.

“Be my guest and find out.”

John ran back down the stairs, through the halls (passing the janitor on the way, completely oblivious to the world outside his headphones) and into the living quarters. He grabbed his own coat and was back to the rooftop entrance in what had to be record time. The scene was the same as when he left it a minute ago. Ignoring his colleagues, John went out. Ted gave no hint that he heard his approach. He stepped up next to him.

“It’s cold out this evening, isn’t it,” John said. He had forgotten to grab his gloves in his haste. His hands were already going numb so he thrust them deep in the coat pockets.

Ted looked blankly ahead. The sun had sunk further behind the mountains now. The sky overhead was turning the color of deep violet.

“I think it’s time we go back inside, Doctor.”

Still no reply.

“Perhaps you’ve had enough wine to drink.”

“No I haven’t. I haven’t had a sip, and it’s not wine. It’s a bottle of champagne. I bought it personally for the day when we’d succeed, but it doesn’t look like that day will come.”

“Need I ask what you’re doing up here with it?”

“I was going to drop it off the roof seeing how there’s no need for it.”

This was too much for John to take in. Ted was many things. A little eccentric, but never melancholy. “Cheer up, Doc. No one ever said building giant robots of doom to take over the world would be easy. There’s bound to be setbacks. If there’s anyone who can do it, it’s you.”

“You mean it? You really think I have what it takes?”

John wrapped an arm around him. “Absolutely.”

Ted’s eyes glistened. “I don’t know what to say. That’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever told me. I was an only child, you know. I never knew my mom, and Dad didn’t support my dreams and aspirations.” He held the champagne bottle up. “What do you say we open this sucker up?”

John waved the idea away. “Forget about it. Save it for when we have a working mech.”

“Nonsense! Now you’ve got me in the mood for a drink. Besides, I can always buy another bottle.” Ted popped the cap off before John could stop him, but nothing happened. The liquid inside was frozen solid. “I thought this bottle felt awfully cold after the first hour.”

“How long have you been up here?”

“Fffffffffffffff--seven hours?”

“How about we go back in and make sure you haven’t got frostbite?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They were pristine halls that the team walked down day and night, but they didn’t stay that way by themselves. It was nothing but the dull roar of the cleaner and headphones blasting that accompanied the janitor as he decked them. Outside the snow fell in force, snow so white it was like a fairytale. It was a shame no one cared enough to pay attention to it.

---

The little red light blinked, letting Ted know the camera was on. Ted blinked. “This is video log six hundred and fifty-one. The mark thirty-two prototype failed. It, uh, blew up as a matter of fact. Our test pilot didn’t survive. Mark. Marvin? God, I swear it’s on the tip of my tongue. Anyway, a request has been filed for a new pilot. He or she shall arrive shortly. Work on the mark thirty-three prototype has begun immediately. This is Doctor Ted signing off--oh! His name was Malik.”

“Bryan.”

Ted shuffled his feet until his chair swiveled a full 180. Alan stood over him, bag of potato chips in one hand; he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The bright white overhead lights reflected off the lenses.

“Malik was the pilot we had before Bryan,” Alan said. His face was a blank. He would have made an excellent poker player in another life. Ted hated poker.

---

B. Janis: did you hear those noises they were making the other night?

G. Lynch: how could I not? they were so loud

B. Janis: you’d think alicia and john would be more modest. especially john . . . wtf john

G. Lynch: srsly I know! he lost some major points in my eyes

A. Jacobs: you guys are just now talking about this? it’s soooooooo cOLD in here

J. Parker: why you guys find extreme chess so interesting to begin with i’ll never know . . .

B. Janis: oh hey there john. when did you join the chat?

J. Parker: ive been here the whole time

G. Lynch: awkward

---

“Achoo!” Greg cursed. He blew a slimy wad of greenish-brown snot into the tissue. “I swear, we have all of this at our fingertips.” He spread his arms wide, a gesture meant to encompass not just his work station but the whole facility. “And we waste it on trying to build stupid mechs when it could be better used trying to, oh, I don’ know, find a cure for the common cold!”

Blake stared at him like he was a raving mad man. Greg sneezed again. “Just saying,” he said, sniffing. He reached for another tissue from the box at the end of his desk and came up short. He stretched and stretched, but all he got was a fingertip to touch. He sneezed so loud his body lurched, sending the tissue box over the edge and out of sight. Greg cursed.

“Dude, you sound like a rabid dog barking,” Blake said.

“I do n-no--achoo!”

Somewhere in the base, Alicia’s dog started barking in response. Its agitated reply reverberated down the halls.

“See,” Blake said. “The poor little guy thinks you’re challenging him.”

“Achoo!”

“I think that right there was dog-speak for †˜I’m gonna murder you.’ That’s not very nice, Greg. You just don’t come up on another dog’s territory and run your mouth off like that. You listening to me, dawg? I’m trying to stop you from starting a turf war here.”

Greg rubbed at his sore, red nose, too out of it to even get up and grab the tissue box. “I just want to die.” And it was no understatement. In fact, if the dog busted in ready to tear him limb from limb, he would welcome it with open arms.

---

Crunch.

Alan savored every bit of saltiness as he swallowed the last chip. The empty bag fell in a trash can containing, among other things, more potato chip bags.

Now I’m thirsty, he thought, but the vending machine was all the way down the hall. He resolved himself to leaning on the railing that overlooked the hanger instead. He shivered. They had the heat running 24/7, but it did little to dispel the cold in such a cavernous chamber. Should have brought my coat.

“What’s the hold up?” Ted said over the loudspeaker. He was just a tiny little man in the control box hunched over some terminals.

“You’re the one who told me to triple check the engine,” Alicia radioed in from below. Alan could hear what sounded like the turning of a wrench in the background. “Or do you want this one to blow up as well?”

“Excuse me.”

Ted sighed. “No. I suppose I don’t.”

“Um, excuse me?” It was the new pilot. Scott Davis was his name. Someone had to get it right. Might as well be Alan. “I thought you said the old pilot resigned.”

“He did,” Ted said. “That’s what happens when you die on the job. It’s all the same.”

“It most certainly is not. Let me out of here.”

Alicia climbed down from the backside of the mech. She jumped down the last few feet, tucked her legs and landed in a roll. She took off sprinting for the stairwell leading up to the observation level. “Alicia here,” she said, puffing hard. “We’re all good down here.

“No we’re not,” Scott cut in again. “I’m climbing out now. Hmm. The cockpit won’t open. I think it’s jammed or something.”

“Initiating remote activation,” Ted said. “In five, four, three . . .”

“No, you let me out right now!”

“Two, one.”

“Noooooooooo!” Scott’s screams echoed across the hanger. The loudspeaker screeched.

Nothing. The mech fell over in a colossal, ear-splitting crash of metal against concrete. The voice of the rig’s interface chimed in when the din had died down. “Warning. Critical failure.”

“No shit,” Alan said to himself.

---

The red light blinked. Ted cleared his throat. “This is video log seven hundred and two. The mark thirty-three test run was a failure today. Something went wrong with the hydraulics this time, and the whole thing fell over. Then it exploded. Needless to say, a request for a new pilot has been filed to replace Sam.”

Ted paused. That was all he had to report to the log, but to leave it at that just didn’t see right. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “I don’t know what to say. I like to think God put us all on Earth for a purpose. I had thought that building giant robots with machine guns and rocket launchers was my purpose, but now? Now, I’m not so sure.” The clacking of keys resumed off to his right. “All I know is . . .” The clacking stopped; it began again seconds later accompanied by a snigger. “All I know is I DON’T TEXT CHAT WITH THE GUY LITERALLY SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO ME WHILE OTHERS ARE WORKING.”

---

Crunch. Munch munch munch. Crunch. Munch munch munch.

Greg slammed the pen down on the cafeteria table. He sniffed. The worst of the cold had passed, but its lingering effects still taunted him. He was not in the mood to deal with Alan right now. “Do you mind?”

Crunch. “What’s the problem?” Alan’s eyes didn’t meet Greg’s. They were focused listlessly on the crossword puzzle mag in Greg’s hand. “I’m just eating chips.”

“While leaning over my shoulder. Right next to my ear.” Greg didn’t understand while Alan always did stuff like this. Was he purposely trying to piss people off, or was he just a clueless dumbass?

Munch munch munch. “Babykiller.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Fourteen down.”

Greg followed his finger. Sure enough, he was right. It was a perfect fit; not only was it the right amount of letters, the “k” lined up with the “k” in “cornykorn” in twelve across. He picked up the pen and scribbled it in.

Crunch.

“That doesn’t mean you can continue eating in my ear!”

---

It started as one and then two, but now it was a gathering. They watched through the glass door that led to the roof as Ted walked back and forth along the edge, bottle of wine in hand. What started as a search for the chief scientist turned into a source of mild amusement. John was among the last up top.

“Has anyone tried to go out there and talk to him,” John asked. Ted’s sharp turnabouts brought him precariously off balance each and every time. Every now and then he’d stop and look out toward the fleeting sun on the darkening horizon. It wasn’t long before the snowcapped mountains would have it swallowed whole. It was during these pauses that some of the spectators held their breath in anticipation that the project leader had had his fill of the rigid winds whipping his fur lined coat.

“You go out there, dude,” Blake said. “You know how scary he is when he gets mad.”

“Is he mad right now,” John asked, taking another study of Ted. It was impossible to tell with his back turned to them.

“Be my guest and find out.”

Unbelievable, John thought. They aren’t even trying to defuse the situation.

John ran back down the stairs, through the halls (passing the janitor on the way, completely oblivious to the world outside his headphones) and into the living quarters. He grabbed his own coat and was back to the rooftop entrance in what had to be record time for an out-of-shape scientist. The scene was the same as when he left it a minute ago. Ignoring his colleagues, John went out. Ted gave no hint that he heard his approach. John stepped up next to him.

“It’s cold out this evening, isn’t it,” John said. He had forgotten to grab his gloves in his haste. His hands were already going numb so he thrust them deep into the coat pockets.

Ted looked blankly ahead. The sun had sunk further behind the mountains now. The sky overhead was turning was becoming a deep violet.

Screw the small talk. “I think it’s time we go back inside, Doctor.”

Still no reply.

“Perhaps you’ve had enough wine to drink.”

“No I haven’t. I haven’t had a sip, and it’s not wine. It’s a bottle of champagne. I bought it personally for the day when we’d succeed, but it doesn’t look like that day will come.”

“Need I ask what you’re doing up here with it?”

“I was going to drop it off the roof seeing how there’s no need for it.”

This was too much for John to take in. Ted was many things. A little eccentric but never melancholy. “Cheer up, Doc. No one ever said building giant robots of doom to take over the world would be easy. There’s bound to be setbacks. If there’s anyone who can do it, it’s you.”

“You mean it? You really think I have what it takes?”

John wrapped an arm around him. It was meant to be a friendly gesture, but he relished the doctor’s body heat. “Absolutely.”

Ted’s eyes glistened. “I don’t know what to say. That’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever told me. I was an only child, you know. I never knew my mom, and Dad didn’t support my dreams and aspirations.” He held the champagne bottle up. “What do you say we open this sucker?”

John waved the idea away. “Forget about it. Save it for when we have a working mech.”

“Nonsense! Now you’ve got me in the mood for a drink. Besides, I can always buy another bottle.” Ted popped the cap off before John could stop him, but nothing happened. The liquid inside was frozen solid. “I thought this bottle felt awfully cold after the first hour.”

“How long have you been up here?”

“Seven hours?”

“How about we go back in and make sure you haven’t got frostbite?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

We're not tracking them. They simply need them to test the mech they're trying to build, but the prototypes keep exploding and thus killing the pilots.



Alicia and John were playing. No one is actually seen playing during the entry. We only hear about it. They're just text chatting each other for the hell of it.



Ted either wants to take over the world or is working for someone who does. The specifics of Greg's job are never mentioned. Feel free to speculate, but he's one of the team.



Just jokes. It turns out Greg's crossword puzzle is really weird.



Yes, Ted is the chief scientist. His goal is to create a mech. He spent 7 hours out in the cold simply because he's depressed that nothing is going right.



John helped Ted feel better, and they go back inside.