Bastilen went to tending to his armor, going with a standard load-out. HPARs and Hostiles were still a little alien to him, but he felt comfortable rolling out with a rookies set-up, with added DART launchers.
With a little push and shove he got his armor on it's knees and opened a port panel on the side. These hard links were usually used when a damaged suit couldn't be contacted wirelessly by engineers. Though, sorrow-eyed soldier had an alternative use for them.
He pulled up a cord with his Marine DataJockey, and began running a software suite to put the suit into maintenance mode. The SAVtechs in the suits never agreed to anything a person wanted to upload in a Power Armor's tiny file-base. In active mode, they viewed any sort of uploaded data that didn't come from a command module as a threat and cut connections as soon as possible. Working with a cautious Semi-A.I. was difficult, especially since it couldn't be reasoned with.
These files in particular he was uploading into his hostile were proudly made viruses and hacking executables. Now, as decent a hacker as Bastilen might have been, even he knew he was no match for something that had feverish reaction time. He couldn't do something as grand as hacking a cannon from a door panel, the ship's A.I. would snuff out that obvious link in a heart-beat.
Bastilen knew this well, and his work weren't obvious cracks and what-not, but instead carefully disguised them as distress calls, device malfunctions, and other minor threats that the A.I. would be force to check on. Once the ship's construct linked into the disturbance, the virus would spread like an infection, copying itself into independent clones, and running intensely complex algorithms with each clone. In this, Bastilen could do the one thing that was possible against an artificial intelligence, stall them. While it would take several minutes for the virus to really show an effect, it would give them time against reactive security. Doors might shut too late, or not at all; defensive counter-measures might be lest effective; tracking software might react sluggishly, giving fighters a better chance.
All in all, it was all a matter of finding more direct links into the system. If he had the time, he could use his junk-viruses to upload separate, more pointed programs. Though, the likelihood of that happening was pretty small, since Ship A.I.'s were little different from their P.A. counterparts, and would lock out doors to potential threats.
Bastilen plucked a cigarette into his mouth, and fished out his lighter, watching the upload bar move slowly across the datapad. His blue eyes scanned back at the others, the engineers discussing possible applications of tech, fighter pilots jabbing back and forth with armor pilots. He sighed, lighting the cancer-stick in his mouth, before sucking in a sharp inhale.
It was good to be back.
With a little push and shove he got his armor on it's knees and opened a port panel on the side. These hard links were usually used when a damaged suit couldn't be contacted wirelessly by engineers. Though, sorrow-eyed soldier had an alternative use for them.
He pulled up a cord with his Marine DataJockey, and began running a software suite to put the suit into maintenance mode. The SAVtechs in the suits never agreed to anything a person wanted to upload in a Power Armor's tiny file-base. In active mode, they viewed any sort of uploaded data that didn't come from a command module as a threat and cut connections as soon as possible. Working with a cautious Semi-A.I. was difficult, especially since it couldn't be reasoned with.
These files in particular he was uploading into his hostile were proudly made viruses and hacking executables. Now, as decent a hacker as Bastilen might have been, even he knew he was no match for something that had feverish reaction time. He couldn't do something as grand as hacking a cannon from a door panel, the ship's A.I. would snuff out that obvious link in a heart-beat.
Bastilen knew this well, and his work weren't obvious cracks and what-not, but instead carefully disguised them as distress calls, device malfunctions, and other minor threats that the A.I. would be force to check on. Once the ship's construct linked into the disturbance, the virus would spread like an infection, copying itself into independent clones, and running intensely complex algorithms with each clone. In this, Bastilen could do the one thing that was possible against an artificial intelligence, stall them. While it would take several minutes for the virus to really show an effect, it would give them time against reactive security. Doors might shut too late, or not at all; defensive counter-measures might be lest effective; tracking software might react sluggishly, giving fighters a better chance.
All in all, it was all a matter of finding more direct links into the system. If he had the time, he could use his junk-viruses to upload separate, more pointed programs. Though, the likelihood of that happening was pretty small, since Ship A.I.'s were little different from their P.A. counterparts, and would lock out doors to potential threats.
Bastilen plucked a cigarette into his mouth, and fished out his lighter, watching the upload bar move slowly across the datapad. His blue eyes scanned back at the others, the engineers discussing possible applications of tech, fighter pilots jabbing back and forth with armor pilots. He sighed, lighting the cancer-stick in his mouth, before sucking in a sharp inhale.
It was good to be back.
