Sir, Yessir! (Thud!)

Via Slashdot, a bionic arm.  Link.


“Figby, why aren’t the troops saluting me?”

“Sir, they don’t want to wind up in the infirmary, like when General Havermeyer reviewed the last group.”


“Ah, but it was beautiful, Sir. The whole camp, passing in review, snapping their new powered arms up in perfect salutes . . . too much sun on the hardware . . . a firmware bug not caught in testing . . . .”

“You mean?”

“Fifteen hundred simultaneous concussions, Sir.”


“They dropped in well-ordered lines, north-to-south, toes straight up. A credit to the training officers, if you ask me, Sir.”

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