trex841: Yeah I basically scrapped my poll idea and think I'm just gonna make a mix of purple and pink with a hint of black for glasses color
rfollman: Thank you for commenting, sure hope you enjoy the next chapter!
DISCLAIMER
Ross Bagdasarian Sr., Ross Bagdasarian Jr. and Janice Karman are the rightful owners of The Chipmunks under Bagdasarian Productions, formally Bagdasarian Film Corporation.
Ross Bagdasarian Jr. and Janice Karman holds the rights to The Chipettes under Bagdasarian Productions.
Jeanette heard those responses before from her holographic pad. Usually when sent on the yearly reconnaissance missions to various terrestrial planets to find any trace of life forms, from microbiological specimens to full sized plants to verify if the planet is capable of sustaining complex life but hasn't found ONE on any mission.
In her mind, she was basically sent on some getaways to new worlds for simple joy flights to get the feel of 'freedom' he imagined from this kind of work on top of making glorifying discoveries of life on alien worlds, all she had to do was have fun and look. Yet, the ease of searching for life for glory gave an empty promise to this job, having searched countless worlds across astronomical distances for even a tiny trace of life wasn't easy for a privileged cadet, only a certain few selected to explore outside of their own generation ships. Jeanette thought she could become famous by bringing back a microbe of a specimen and goof off if wished. She found no life, at all, throughout her line of work. Her drive for fame to become the first person to find a habitable world full of lush, green life waned out by mission after mission with the same directive and the same result: no plants and nothing to do but fly around. After six of searching here on Earth of all places, it gotten on her nerves, the mission appointed to Jeanette felt more like a 'down to earth' task as he calls it.
Jeanette shook her head, closing the hood to a rusted pickup truck she scanned, continuing her search to enclosed spaces where living things are likely to be hiding from the harsh extremes in this environment. She tries not to react when she surprisingly gets another reading from inside a toilet booth.
"Identified: Specimen Negative."
At least they would have some microbiological development that would be enough to satisfy her scanner's evaluation relay and to end her inane search so she could go back home. She guessed wrong. Groaning in frustration, Jeanette closes the door to the port-a-potty, contemplating her thoughts.
Home didn't feel free either. She would usually return weeks later after traveling in cryogenic sleep, debrief useless information, and then end up spending all year training for the next mission in a cramped starship, it all felt dull and routine. After a while, she hated traveling onboard the Axiom Reconnaissance Vehicle in hibernation. Cryogenic sleep felt very uncomfortable to her, having to freeze and unfreeze hurt her skin and always getting confused too, having to wake up weeks later as if nothing happened and it interrupted her aging process. Despite the fact being only eighteen years old, she was technically younger by at least two years being chronically frozen for weeks at a time on several missions, slowing her age and prolonging her lifetime then getting back from missions only the worst part of a boring job. This directive something no one else wanted to do since no habitable planet ever discovered, but had to keep searching nonetheless. Jeanette would scout a planet surface once every five years instead of a group of scouts once a year, and they chose Earth, the least expectant of all impossibilities. The home planet long abandoned by her kind and humans for almost seven hundred years since the Axiom and other Buy N' Large starships left with the population.
So why search an already dead planet? Jeanette thought to herself, antagonized in her search of her next scanning. Even though she's never seen Earth, she didn't think she would since being born and growing up on the Axiom, Jeanette always dreamed of escaping the feverish cabin walls of the ship, having grown sick and tired of doing the same 'activities' as everyone else onboard that ship. Growing up, educated, and trained with her mindset onto the promises of timeless horizons of space looking for infinite worlds and skies to fly through, the ultimate freedom. Earth was so dead and pointless. Due to the fact Jeanette could only go where instructed, it made her think there isn't much freedom in anything. Her prolonged life felt as if to be maroon in routine, no matter where she went.
Her thoughts interrupted by yet another "Identified: Specimen Negative," after scanning inside a Buy N' Large replica of the Apollo capsule and slammed the hatch shut, failing to react not so angrily as she hard that negative chime.
"Identified: Specimen Negative."
All through the day, she got angrier and angrier by the minute at that sound after hundreds of readings. She finished what she thought would have productive results was in the cargo hold of an ancient Buy N' Large cargo ship in the late afternoon.
"Identified: Specimen Negative!"
"Aaaagh!"
Jeanette slams the cargo doors with all her might, screaming in frustration as she threw her holographic-pad over the railing and down to the dried up bedrock. Her actions only fueled the fire as she stomped away off the ship to go find her holographic-pad and stop for the day, not noticing a metallic grating sound from behind her.
Before Jeanette registered a tugging sensation on her, the circular magnetic disk attached to a cargo crane yanked her off her feet and pulled to the disk, her whole body immobilized by the powerful magnetic field.
"What the hell?" she exclaims at what happened.
Oh bother! How could I forget this suit's magnetized material made of nanofabricated ceramic gossamer . . . She tries budging to no avail.
Made for skintight protective suits in the harsh environments of any extraterrestrial landscape! Still infuriated, she fidgets violently and flings the disk around.
Thin, comfortably smooth, and its own form of clothing almost indistinguishable from Egyptian cotton. She activates her antigravity servomechanism, trying to fly away, maybe swinging with enough momentum to break free.
It is still metallic regardless of its characteristic structure, Jeanette adds on to her thought as she almost makes it, but the magnet is far too strong.
What idiot puts magnetic crane up for lifting cargo but doesn't take it off? she thought, cursing all sorts of things in his mind.
After a few minutes of trying, Jeanette finally lost whatever patience she had left. She wrestles her hand for the plasma rifle strapped to her waist. She struggles as she pries it out of its harness, as it is also metallic. Save for she has the barrel aimed at the magnet set to low power, she closes her eyes and pulls the trigger.
The bolt of plasma melts through the magnet, releasing Jeanette as she stops from falling with her antigravity boots.
Finally free to release all her rage and anger from the day of not finding what she's looking for on the ship, Jeanette unloads discharge after discharge of ionized gas projectiles, screaming and cursing at the freighter, blasting full power at the hull, superstructure, and especially the crane, twice for good measure. One shot hits the petroleum tanks, instantly lighting the ship up in a ball of fire as she continues firing at the disintegrated ship in a blind rage. The raining debris of fireballs and her stray plasma blasts causes nearby ships to explode as well, Jeanette's anger lighting up the dead valley like Hiroshima.
… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …
Simon watches in terror and awe at the sight of the chipette turned explosive on those ships, while trying to avoid flying flaming debris from his cover at a safe distance from the ship and from her in this state. In the week she has been here, he tried to get close as he can to her but hadn't recovered his confidence to get her attention after building that statue of her and it took him a while to pry himself free from those pipes, not wanting to go through that again. After seeing the chipette full-blown rage, made him scared to consider going over to her.
Now back on the ground after finally stopped shooting, the chipette's beautiful face that showed murderous rage now blank from hopelessness. The chipette slumps over in defeat lost in thought, not taking any notice of the ships tilting over each other, creating a fiery domino effect. Simon notices she is clenched her fists, hiding her face in his knees, wrapping her arms around her lower legs, saddened beyond measure, closed up on not finding a single specimen in an entire sector.
Concerned, Simon feels something tug inside him. He loved her gracious self, but he couldn't stand to see her so depressed. Simon wanted to go over to her and comfort her however way he could. Disturbing her would most likely worsen her god-awful mood and he would risk incineration by her own fury.
It wasn't until then Simon notices a shining blue screen along the burning debris in front of him. He picked it up, recognizing it as the chipette's holographic-pad. He saw her throw it almost in the direction of his hiding spot.
"Hmm," Simon looks between the holographic-pad in his hand then to the chipette, getting an idea that might actually work. He could return this to her and maybe she will at least thank him, maybe get an opportunity to talk to her. He would do anything for this chipette to say at least a few words to him. He looks back at the chipette and back to the holographic-pad in his hand, making a decision of running the risk of her killing him, but at least he would try to get close to her.
It's now or forever be a coward, he thought as he composes himself with all his courage and slowly makes his way over to her side not without feeling a bit nervous.
… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …
Jeanette sat there unresponsive, face buried in her arms, exhausted from spending her anger and energy on the defenseless ship. Her eyes threatened to water, Jeanette thought for a moment if she could have just put her energy into flying away, feeling free from directives and frustrating as hell readouts. Having already vented her willpower to even move, there wasn't much she could do to ease her pain. She felt for the first time true hatred for her job, cursing the planets she visited to having no life and cursed her superiors for selecting her for this meaningless safari. She wanted to block reality immediately, she won't respond to anything, wanting to go home and away from this hellhole. She wouldn't look forward to returning home either, wishing she could fly away from this life if she could...
Slow, careful footsteps to Jeanette's left caught her attention. Her sonic detection automatically registered it as the annoying garbage chipmunk that kept following her around. She wanted to blast the irritating stalker on the spot, her plasma rifle next her, it's barrel still glowing red hot from firing continuously, its ion power cell fully drained and in need to recharge.
She heard another noise. The garbage collector sat no more than ten feet away from her, nervously shifted closer to her, tapping and fidgeting with his fingers as he whistled out of tune. Jeanette didn't bother with him, he seemed rather harmless to her.
Jeanette thought about the male chipmunk next to her. The way he kept following her and popping into her thoughts, something about him . . . She nearly killed him the first time they meet, she over-defensively presumed he was hostile, save for his innocent looks and curiosity the only thing present in his eyes. She remembers those eyes. The way he looked at her, he looked like a very lonely chipmunk, trailing her like a lost puppy. She also knew nothing could survive here as far as she could tell, being told all of the Buy N' Large cleanup settlements left on Earth died out long ago in six hundred, ninety five years of reconnaissance, the scouts sent from the Axiom star liner never found a single survivor anywhere. How is it possible for this living, breathing worker to be here on Earth? Could he be the sole survivor of a long lost government on this planet?
Maybe he knows . . . even better, maybe he knows where to find what she's looking for, he the only thing in her search of Sector NA-001 he hasn't bothered with yet. She thought of more questions like who was he? Where did he come from? Why is he here? How did he survive this world? Her blossoming curiosity about him snapped her out of her gloomy state.
Only four feet away, he sat in an awkward position, apparently wanting to speak. Finally! She can do something useful on this meaningless mission and satisfy her inquisitive mind.
… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …
You can do this, Simon repeats to himself, trying to overcome the growing nervousness in his stomach.
He is over a meter away from her, she probably knows he's there and hasn't had the ability to kill him for the time being. He is neither relieved nor panicked, still sitting next to her in awkward silence. The only sounds are the cracklings flames from the burning hulks of the ships in front of them. He collects his composure, clearing his throat, ready to speak. He forgot what he was going to say, but he's going to say at least something to her.
"So what's your story?" the chipette spoke, turning her head to face him.
"Ah!" He jumped at the sound of her voice and looking at him so suddenly, falling over on his back in surprise and close his eyes, preparing her to blow him away.
The chipette calmly tried to reach out to Simon.
"It's alright, it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you."
Simon had not expected that to happen. Simon realizes he was on his back and not dead. Simon sat up from the ground slowly and found himself in direct eye contact with the woman for the first time since she arrived. Only this time, Simon wasn't staring down the barrel of a plasma gun nor into the eyes of a trained killer. He glanced at a sincere chipette with no intention to harm him at all. She looked at him awaiting an answer, her emerald green eyes continued to stun him.
"You're very jittery aren't you?" Her voice soothing and friendly, she seemed amused by his anxiety at the slightest of her actions. It finally hits him.
She's talking to me!
"What's your directive?" she asks.
"Qual è la vostra direttiva?" she asks in a foreign language.
Still nervous, he tries to say something.
"Uuuh...Huh?" was his only intelligible response.
Jeanette blinks at him.
"You're a garbage collector, yes?" she asks him again with her sweet voice.
"Oh!" he realizes what she was saying.
"Um…uh…y-yes, yes I-I am," he stutters but not as nervous about her. Simon's voice sounded rough and dry, he hasn't used it for a full sentence in a very long time. Simon notices a pile of trash nearby, maybe he could impress her. He eagerly whips out his shovel and proudly scoops it all into a broken compactor nearby as swiftly as he could. The compactor grinds painfully as the rusted away gears try compressing the trash. At last, it spits out a cube, only for it to fall apart.
"Uuh….Tada!" he nervously triumphs over the sloppy cube.
"Oh." Jeanette looks at the fallen apart cube in mild amazement as if she never saw the act of compacting garbage before.
"What's your də·'rek-" Simon tries to speak, knowing the ice is somewhat broken.
"My directive?" she points to herself, which Simon nods.
"That's classified," she coldly says looking away, neither short nor cutting in her answer.
"Oh…sorry," he replies in defeat, mentally cursing himself.
Suddenly he remembered the holographic-pad she threw away. Simon quickly pulls it out of his pocket and hands it to her.
Jeanette looks at her holographic-pad in his hand, remembered chucking it over the railing because it drove her to madness, destroying a ship for not finding what she was after. She hates having to do that again or be reminded of it but he didn't know better.
"Oh." She takes it from his gloved hand, and examines it, it wasn't damaged and it's built tough for a frustrating job. At least she won't have to go look for it or replace it.
"Thank you, um-uh, what's your name?" she asks.
"My name?" he repeats.
"Yes," she looks at him for an answer.
He's never said his given name before or for as long as he could remember, speaking to anything or anyone in particular to share his name. He remembered it, it's even written on his uniform for that matter but hasn't said it for almost…forever. It's hard for him to say it.
"Uuuh…uhh." It's really hard for him to say it.
"S…Sie," he takes his time.
"Sie…Sie-Sie·mən!" he finally manages to speak it.
"Simon?" the chipette repeats it perfectly with her harmonious voice.
Simon's heart went warm the way she spoke his name. He coos at the beautiful sound of her voice that rolls off her tongue as she says it again.
"Simon," she lightly giggles.
"That's a nice name," she smiles at him. He gazes lovingly at her.
"My name is Jeanette," she replies, pointing to her name patched on her arm under a single gold bar for the rank of second lieutenant and a green plant patch with Buy N' Large Navy - Axiom E.V.R.E. embedded in it.
Her name is the most wonderful word Simon ever heard.
"Ch'netta." He tries to pronounce it but he isn't very good with phonetics either.
He tries again.
"Ch'netta," he fails once more.
"No it's like this: jə·NET," she says her name slower.
Simon put all his efforts into pronouncing it right, only to worsen his speech impediment.
"NED·ə . . ."
That slow stuttering sound made Jeanette uncontrollably giggle, he's trying so hard to get it right and his pronouncing of her name with an "a" sounded too cute. It made him look so adorable!
Simon is entranced at the sound of her laugh, her voice like music to his ears. He loved making her laugh so he says her name again.
"Netta."
She collects herself after a few seconds.
"You're funny. But the cognomen Netta sounds good to me," she says with a smile on her face, making him more drawn to her, now he's up close, personal and on friendly ground with the first being he has spoken to who knows how long.
The wind picked up, the atmosphere around them getting cold, the sand at their feet blew with the wind and the recognizable sound of howling draws Simon's attention away from Jeanette. Since the wind blew from behind Jeanette, he looks past her, and sure enough, a column of dust and sand headed their way fast.
"Oh no," he says half-panicking, his truck about a kilometer away and judging from the wind's speed and distance of the wall of sand, they had less than a minute before it hits.
"Netta! We need to go!" Alerted, he moves to grab her and run.
"Whoa, don't touch me!" Jeanette warns, drawing her plasma rifle on him. Simon stops dead in his tracks but she doesn't know what's happening.
"Netta look! There's a storm coming!"
Before she could turn around, the winds hit full force, leaving Jeanette dumbstruck of what happened. The sand now picking up and obscuring her vision, even her HUD is unable to shield her face. The gale force winds even extinguished the fires of the burning ships. Jeanette now disoriented in the blast of air and dirt all around her, difficult to not blown over. Suddenly she remembers Simon standing near her, only to disappear in the cloud of dust as the storm hit.
"SIMON! SIMON! WHERE ARE YOU?" she calls out to him, no response. It's so loud and visibility is zero. She panics, not finding any shelter, the only person who knows what to do is gone and she won't survive in this for long.
Suddenly she feels a rough, masculine gloved hand grasp her own for dear life. Jeanette may not see Simon but knows he's there.
"NETTA!" Simon screams to her over the blasting winds, he's still there, and she's going to live. His silhouette appears in the cloud of dust.
"DON'T LET GO! FOLLOW ME!" Simon calls out to her, placing his ultraviolet goggles on his face, guiding both to the only secured place.
The foreign language that Jeanette spoke is Armenian.
The reason I chose that is because both Ross (Rostom) Bagdasarian and Ross Bagdasarian Jr. are both of Armenia descendents. Armenian is a landlocked mountainous country in the South Caucasus region. Armenia is bordered by Turkey to the west, Georgia to the north, the de facto independent Nagorno-Karabakh Republic & Azerbaijan to the east and Iran & the Azerbaijani exclave of Nakhchivan to the south.
For those who are curious, the vertically centered dot ( · ) placed in between the enunciated words ("NED·ə," "jə·NET," "də·'rek-" and "Sie·mən") is called an interpunct, which is used for interword separation in ancient Latin script. Speaking of pronunciation, the enunciation "jə·NET " is the English pronunciation for Jeanette. The French pronunciation of Jeanette is "zha-NET."