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Have good times! 
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Dec 25, 2016 03:04
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| # ? Apr 25, 2024 07:52 |
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 Fluke is swallowed by the remorseless hulk of the alien craft, and the sub is swiftly drawn into its depths by means of whatever impellent force the Erb relic has brought to bear on her. The crew glances anxiously though the viewports, at the claustrophobic confines of the tunnel or duct in which you have found yourself, and at the spidery mechanical cilia that undulate in the current. “This must be what it’s like to be swallowed by a dhole,” Ramadi ventures. “Would not recommend.” Kamula mutters something you don’t quite hear, and shakes his head. “What was that, K,” Ramadi probes. “Distinct krumping lack of our vessel being peeled away around us, the screams of our dying crewmates, and the smell of our own flesh slowly turning to digestive soup,” he growls. “If you’re asking.” “That’s…not nearly hypothetical enough for my comfort,” Vare replies, unsettled. “You going to be okay with this?” The cyborg barks a rueful laugh, servos whining as he stretches his mechanical limbs. “After burning your way out of the Pnath, getting tractored into an alien derelict is babytown frolics.” The sub is drawn into a larger chamber, roughly globular, surfaced on every side with hexagonal plates. Eerie light spills from the borders as one such plate thrusts forward from what could generously be considered the floor, creating a column upon which the Fluke comes to rest with a dull finality. Pressure alerts flash on the sub’s displays as without the water filling the compartment is suddenly evacuated without visible mechanism or artifice, leaving the vessel high and dry atop the column, her hull groaning and creaking at the sudden atmospheric change. “Level six,” mutters Ramadi. “Housewares, pulse reciprocators.” “Suit up,” you command, the cool evenness of your tone more attributable to icy dread than any real sangfroid.  “What good are these vac-skins going to do us,” gripes Midas, plucking at his face with a scowl. The skintight, almost invisibly thin membrane stretches and snaps back, earning a wince. “In case you didn’t spec the local environs, it’s about the opposite of vacuum out there.” “It’ll at least keep all your sundry giblets together when you get crushed into a meatball,” muses Ramadi, whose anatomy relieves her of the need of either respirator or pressure suit. “It’s keeping my sundry giblets together now,” replies Midas, shifting his hips uncomfortably, “and in closer confederation than I’d prefer.” “They’ll be of limited use under full crush, admittedly,” notes Voulge. “But we cannot fault Ms. Kore her caution. The skins could provide a slight margin of safe operation in the event of partial breach, and given what we do not know about the Erb, we cannot entirely rule out the possibility of depressurized sections.” “Damned things give me a rash,” Midas growls, sliding on his helmet.  After almost a deci of checking and rechecking the exterior conditions on the lock’s enviro panel, you finally release the outer hatch. After a brief hissing pop of equalization, a wave of frigid, extremely humid air washes over you. Ramadi blinks, flexing her bronchoids. “Ramadi,” you question. “Just a smell,” the Raq explains. “You’d expect that old derelict mustiness, or maybe some rotten biological stew. Spilled coolant, salt water, anything like that? Neg…I just smell…I don’t know…forever?” “You smell forever,” Midas states with a dubious glance. “I’ve only seen forever. It’s nice to know what it smells like, is all.” “Stasis,” Kamula growls. You make an inarticulate noise in lieu of an actual question. “It’s all over elder sites,” the cyborg clarifies. “Slotting stasis fields. Don’t play nicely with mere mortal physics. Drops krumped-up molecules all around like an ur-vere dropping a hot load of drokk. Not a smell you’re soon to forget.” “This is a compelling inhalation,” Ramadi muses. “I could jet this.” “I doubt you’re alone,” Midas says, interest piqued. “We could move this. Bottled eons, forever in a drag? Salable as--.” “Focus,” you break in, gesturing to Kamula. “K, lead the way.” When your drones report nothing amiss, Kamula steps gingerly out onto the platform, lancejet sweeping in a languid arc. At his hand sign, the rest of the team emerges from the lock, peering anxiously into the alien gloom. The pedestal the Fluke rests upon is a tiny lighted island in an immense chamber, and dim lights gleam and oscillate in the oppressive darkness of the room's distant reaches. “So how are we supposed to—“ Midas begins, just before a sequence of hexagonal tiles flits up out of the darkness, assembling themselves into a narrow walkway leading to the edge of the cavernous compartment. “Never mind…” “Spec yourselves,” Vare warns over the comms. “Invited or no, who knows what’s lurking in here now.” The hum of repulsors, the click of boots and talons, and the squish of suckers on metallic tile echoes oddly in the air as you cross the walkway, and your gaze darts between either shoulder, as if in anticipation of some swooping horror. As you approach the exterior wall, a panel peels open before you, exposing a long passage minimally illuminated. Before you can react, however, an image flares to life, causing your entire time to bring weapons to bear before they realize they’re drawing down on a hologram, albeit an exceptionally realistic one.  The image is Troodontid, white-scaled and heavily augmented, and she regards you with a quizzical sort of grin. “Hello, cousin,” the hologram greets you cheerfully. “Hello...” you venture. “Echo 4,” the hologram replies. “I'm an Integration Facilitator...that means I'm here to make sure your Reconciliation is as comfortable and safe as possible! I see this is your first time; you're in for a treat!” Your crew eyes you and the hologram with obvious anxiety. You swallow the lump in your throat, and nod. “Tell me about...Reconciliation,” you say. “It's only the best thing,” Echo 4 replies exuberantly. “I can see you've got some alien implants stuck up in you!” You mentally reach for your swarm projector and let a claw drift toward your pulser. “Oh no,” Echo 4 quickly amends, “that's a good thing! Our purpose is to integrate with alien societies, and our capacity for technological integration is a big part of that! Reconciliation is just a way of...checking in! Uploading all the new things you've discovered, and making sure that your body is handling everything okay!” “What does this entail,” you ask, uneasily. “It's super-fast,” Echo assures you, “and it barely hurts at all!” Before you can ask for clarification, the hologram continues. “I see you brought some aliens with you! That's great!” Echo 4 sweeps her crimson gaze over your crewmates, who bristle and brandish their various armaments. “Don't worry,” the hologram says dismissively. “This isn't a sterile facility; aliens are okay. I can call a servitor to take them forward to Research while you Reconcile!” “Research,” Kamula growls, deeply unimpressed. “Research,” Echo 4 cheers, taking a long, interested look at the cyborg. “That's funny...According to our records, //012981a#65.12 isn't scheduled for a testing intervention for quite a while!” “Hash six five intervention what?” “I know! You can see why Reconciliation is important,” the hologram explains. “I have no record of #65.12 possessing advanced augment capacity, but here it is! Our records are clearly obsolete, possibly due to interaction from a hostile actor! Wow!” “This vessel predates the Jurani-Khaldean conflict,” Vare breaks in over comm. “Possibly by...a very long time.” “Oh,” Echo 4 suddenly cries, gazing momentarily off into the middle distance. “Research is...unavailable at the moment. Reactor output is currently .000002 of unity, and we seem to be on standby power. I know you're excited to Reconcile, but it would be super great if you could take a little trip abaft and cycle the reset protocol on the primary reactor. I'd do it, but I'm an incoherent photomatrix!” “What if we wanted to look around a bit first,” you venture. “My directives don't include putting pressure on you,” Echo 4 replies. “You're free to move about as you wish! Be careful wandering off, though...Without main power, I can't vouch for your safety, and I'd hate for something to happen!” “What sort of danger might there be,” you probe. “My internal sensors appear to be compromised,” Echo 4 says. “You might encounter flooded compartments, biohazards from failed specimen containment, terminal nuclear disentanglement, or any number of tripping hazards!” “Can you...give us a tick,” you ask. “Sure,” the hologram replies. “Take all the time you need! I'll just cycle down this projector until you need me!” The hologram vanishes with a buzz and a whiff of ozone, leaving you and your crewmates looking at each other with a definite unease and several unspoken questions. A. Follow Echo 4 to Reconciliation. Maybe you can get some answers for a change. B. Follow Echo 4 to the primary reactor. C. Venture abaft, but don't hit the reactor right away; take a look around. D. Explore off toward the fore; you'd like to take a look at what this ship has to offer before you commit to anything irreversible.
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Jan 4, 2017 18:12
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C
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Jan 4, 2017 19:22
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B I'm going to trust the nice projection...for now.
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Jan 4, 2017 21:26
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Arkanomen posted:B who are you and what did you do with Ark? also B
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Jan 4, 2017 21:57
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B
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Jan 5, 2017 00:43
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Hexenritter posted:who are you and what did you do with Ark? It's an ancient eldritch ship filled with god knows what horrors, paranoia tells me to trust the friendly projection that is warning me about the 20 shoggoths outside the door. One danger at a time. I'm only a paranoid sociopath when playing Ohone. Thar be valuable booty in this here mistake of existence
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Jan 5, 2017 00:49
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drat Im glad to see this back
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Jan 5, 2017 04:43
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me too, it's ace
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Jan 5, 2017 04:48
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Welcome back! C Reconciliation sounds... less than promising for our personal identity.
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Jan 5, 2017 05:04
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B
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Jan 5, 2017 06:16
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BNot Alex posted:Reconciliation sounds... less than promising for our personal identity. It seems like you'd still have one, just... you know, more of it. Having a species that actually likes being and then repeatedly taking that away from them over their vessel's life isn't great for a society's survival value.
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Jan 5, 2017 09:44
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dont be mean to me posted:It seems like you'd still have one, just... you know, more of it. Having a species that actually likes being and then repeatedly taking that away from them over their vessel's life isn't great for a society's survival value. Agreed. We'd be a happy little helper.
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Jan 5, 2017 15:36
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I've just caught up, and I'm disappointed that I hadn't discovered this before! B, but don't start the reactor just yet.
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Jan 8, 2017 17:48
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“Let’s get this reactor running, and see what’s what,” you declare. Silence greets you in response. One of Ramadi’s eyes squishes wetly. “Have you completely jettisoned your cortex, Kid,” Midas finally asks, incredulously. “We’ve got free run of this wreck, and you want to go turn the lights on?” “Bringing security online is going to make this op well krumping harder,” growls Kamula. “I was thinking that I could take care of that once I Reconciled,” you explain. “If I’m right, it will give me an access point fo—“ “Re-sa, you can’t be serious,” Vare’s voice cuts in. “You want to sync yourself with an ancient alien derelict on the off chance you can hack it?” “Well, when you put it like that,” you begin. “If I knew you’d roll over for the first AI who smiled at you,” Midas says, shaking his head, “I’d have invested in a Troodontid infomorph a long time a—“ “She’s not an AI,” you interrupt. “That’s—“ “The Erb don’t use AI. By all accounts, they never developed them.” “So they poured this brain-job out of a stasis tube somewhere to talk to you,” Midas says, throwing up a hand in exasperation. “The point stands.” “Ramadi, Voulge,” you begin, an edge of frustration tinging your voice, “care to chime in?” Ramadi rubs an eyestalk thoughtfully, and takes a look around. “This old hulk’s been out here by herself a terrible long time,” she says evenly. “Maybe instead of prybars and cutters, Skipper’s got the right idea. A little romance, a sneaky finger up the ramjet, see if the old eldritch relic won’t put out for us?” ”Ms. Kinu’s hypothesis,” Voulge comms, ”while anatomically unlikely, is not without merit. However, the fact remains the odds of successful exploitation of the site worsen precipitously with the addition of an active security presence. Ms. Kore’s somewhat inexplicable techno-charisma may again prove the deciding factor.” “Can you give us a figure,” Midas asks testily. ”A larger worry would be undisclosed reactor damage,” Voulge replies. ”Restarting a malfunctioning reactor could terminally compromise the site, not to mention our greater life functions. We suggest a thorough examination of the reactor before any further action is taken.” “Surely you can agree to that much,” you prompt Midas and Kamula. “Staying on our host’s good side while we case the place a little?” The swindler and the cyborg nod, Midas grudgingly, the cyborg with professional detachment. “Just be careful, Re-sa,” Vare implores. “I like your brain better when it’s driving your parts…don’t become a tube.” “Echo f—“ you begin, stopping short as the image flares to life, halfway inside Midas’s body. He jumps, boots clattering on the deck as he dances to the side with an inarticulate yelp. “Oh, several apologies,” Echo 4 purrs, crest momentarily flattening. “The power’s giving me a little trouble…I’m really just an integration facilitator, not a reactor technician? And all the servitors are dormant, so I’m really just pushing buttons? I’m getting the hang of it, though…The optical sensors were really eating a lot of power, so I shut them down so you wouldn’t die, which seems to be working? The particle sniffers in this compartment are just real bad at defining where bodies begin and end, though, so I’m sorry if I’m occasionally in you.” “That’s fine,” you quickly assure the hologram, who brightens in both expression and luminosity. “can you take us to the reactor? We’d like to take a look.” “Sure,” Echo 4 chirps, “just follow me!” The hologram looks puzzled for a moment, then perks up again. “I may stop being occasionally…power issues, you know? Don’t worry, it’s fine!” Midas gives you a long, wry look, and extends a hand in a you first gesture.  “So you don’t know what happened to the ship,” you ask the disembodied head and neck of Echo 4, currently gliding along above you as you make your way along a long, vertiginous corridor. The structure of the walls seem to bear a very gradual spiral in a way that mostly escapes conscious notice, but leaves you in constant fear of somehow plummeting down the lateral expanse. You find yourself unconsciously gripping the deck with your talons as you walk, and your legs quickly begin to grow sore and cramped. Occasionally, one of your crewmates stumbles, grabbing at one another for stability due to a lack of anything resembling a safety rail. “I was in stasis,” Echo 4 replies. “I only wake up when my expertise is needed.” “You haven’t checked the logs or anything,” you reply, puzzled. “You’ve been down here for quite a while…” “That…wouldn’t be helpful, particularly? And it’s not as if it’s unprecedented behavior. This vessel was once tasked with analysis of a species of sapient plasma emissions. We sat in the outer mantle of a local planet until such time as the star’s spectral output entered a wavelength with which our intervention team could meaningfully interact! Not that I was awake for most of that…But Echo 2 was quite excited about all the charismatic tectonics he encountered!” The hologram looks anxious for a moment, cheerful facade slipping. “Not that I have access to logs, or that logs actually exist in any way meaningful to our cognitive functions…” “So you do come out of stasis at other times,” Ramadi catches. “Is this Echo 2 around?” “No,” Echo 4 replies sadly, shaking the flickering image of her head. “Echo 2 is effectively an inanimate solid at this temperature and pressure.” “Of course,” Ramadi nods sagely, as you continue to walk. The seemingly sourceless light, oscillating too languidly to notice between an off-magenta and a green that you hardly notice until it is nearly gone, fills you with an indistinct malaise. Occasionally you close your eyes, as if to halt your contamination by the subtle alien radiation, but the colors persist, swimming on the insides of your eyelids in an oily swirl. Echo 4 appears sporadically, typically in mid-sentence, and vanishes just as unpredictably. Your companions have long since fallen to sullen silence; when Midas last chastised Hardjack (for being stumbled into by him), you actually welcomed the break from the trudging tedium. Twice you stop to sip from your hydrators and massage cramping calves. Now and again, you pass signs of damage; cracked panels from which spill drifts of reflective dust and tangles of segmented tubes, or precise troughs and craters burned mirror smooth. You see great smeared stains upon the decks, of no hue of blood you know, but obvious nonetheless, and far too frequent for comfort.  After what seems like decis, and to your legs feels like cycles, you reach a change in the seemingly interminable passage. The corridor widens, Set in the wall before to your left is a small cylindrical alcove inset partially into the bulkhead, disappointingly mundane-seeming. Set in the floor of the alcove is a featurless crystalline disc, flush with the deck, and the only control of note appears to be a single, palm-sized hemisphere, bloodily reflective in the alien light. You peer closely, and begin to address Echo 4, but the hologram has vanished again. “All this way for that,” Midas groans, holding his lower back as he stretches, “whatever that is...” “What do you say, Skipper,” offers Ramadi, “up for a round of Door, Lift, or Toilet?” “You always win DLT,” you reply with distaste, “because the Raq excretory system is an affront to both common decency and biological sense.” “I always win DLT,” Ramadi muses, her eyestalks circling in examination of the artifact, “because I am adaptable to circumstances.” The swindler sighs heavily, sweeping his wrist-scanner over the alcove. “If you drop ballast in this hallway,” he growls, “so help me I''ll--” Midas leaps back, drawing his sidearm as several panels in the walls slither open without warning. Your shield flares and the corridor fills with the hum of weapons cycling up and the whine of servos, but you relax incrementally as you see the rack of stasis tubes revealed by the receding panels.  “Just about done with these spook-jobs,” Midas hisses, thrusting his pulser back into its holster. “Grife and lather...” Ramadi whistles through both bronchoids, reaching out to one of the tubes without making contact. Inside it and most of the dozen others is a putrescent ruin; rotted flesh and naked bone tangled together with hair and gleaming cermet mechanisms. A few of the creatures are more intact but no less dead; the ferocious avian mien of the cyborgs is twisted in a rictus of agonizing death by suffocation. “Raikk, I think,” you observe, “but they're in bad shape.” Ramadi uncoils her eyestalks and fishes in her belt for her narcojet. “Not really a shape so much as a pile,” she observes.  “Looks like a live one over here,” Kamula rasps, gesturing with his gun barrel at a dimly-lit tube containing a motionless Khaldean, even its fur suspended with complete disregard for the forces of gravity. “Shak-III Kiruuz,” he says, pointing at the metallic bands circling the being's throat. “Probably held the krumping leash on these here.” Midas sweeps his scanner over the alcove and lets out a small cough. “Kid, take a look at the spectro on this,” he prompts. “Null spec on the element dictionary...whatever juice this piece has got in its internal power buffer, it's exotic.” Scuzzy's scan backs up Midas's observation, and you nod tersely. “Mark it,” you comment, “and tag that spectro sig...something to scan for if we're looking for the hot drokk in this dump. For now, though...” You step toward the alcove. You hear Midas's sigh, the whine of Kamula's weapons powering, and the moist padding of Ramadi shuffling back a few paces. ”Re-sa,” Vare breaks in over the comm, an edge of warning in her voice. ”Please refrain from activating unknown alien devices without warning,” Voulge admonishes. “Ease up, Maternal League...” you grumble. “I'm just going to--” As you consider the orb in the alcove, sudden awareness floods from your secondary cortex. Recognition is a far cry from Authorization, but as your synthetic also-mind brushes against the Erb data construct, you find yourself hip-deep in minor command function where previously there was only an inscrutable alien hum. You are highly aware, however, that the body of intelligible data is only an eggshell-thin veneer over a vast, unknowable alien ocean. Still, you consider, better than nothing. “This is a security hub,” you state with abrupt certainty, “and that is a transit device.” “Why do I get the feeling it's not going to hail us a skimmer,” Ramadi asks. “Less rapid,” you explain, “than nigh-instantaneous. And I'm picking up enough juice in the internal buffer to get us to the reactor construct. Or...a couple of other places, if I massage it a little. Research. Data Integration. Weapons?” “Re-sa,” Vare chides again. “I'll use Scuzzy as a proxy,” you bite back. “The added latency will only be significant on a quantum level, but it'll be a buffer between me and the Mysterious Alien Data Construct. Happy?” You look around to your crewmates, nodding at Midas as he stretches his back as best he can inside his encounter suit. “Or would you rather walk?” How Proceed? A. Use the transit device to travel to the Reactor. This will require no hacking. B. Use the transit device to travel to Research. This will require a minor hack. C. Use the transit device to travel to Data Integration. This will require a minor hack. D. Use the transit device to travel to Weapons. This will require a minor hack. E. Call a rest, and take the time to dig deeper into the data construct. This will require an in-depth hack. F. Call a rest, but refrain from hacking. Perhaps Echo 4 will return at some point and can provide guidance? G. Just walk to the reactor; don't access unknown alien tech. Bee Bonk fucked around with this message at 20:48 on Jan 18, 2017 |
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Jan 18, 2017 16:54
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F then ask e4 if they should 'port or walk
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Jan 18, 2017 18:48
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E Poke poke poke.
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Jan 18, 2017 19:32
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A this will definitely not come back to bite us in the rear end
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Jan 18, 2017 19:41
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F then G We do not use freaky space-warping or suicide-creation machines on a vessel with spotty power.
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Jan 18, 2017 20:25
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A I had a longer post about why this is a good idea but the phone ate it and now Im crunched for time.
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Jan 18, 2017 21:27
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F for now. I'm hesitant to use the transporter while the power is malfunctioning.
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Jan 19, 2017 02:07
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E. There's no need to wait and hope for guidance when you can access all the information yourself.
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Jan 19, 2017 02:40
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A. With the way the hologram was speaking, I get a sense of impending time related crisis. Kore's arrival seems to have kicked on a bunch of systems, rapidly eating away at the very limited power. Bad things are likely to happen if the tank hits empty. While the teleporter itself is a power drain, the description of very long and strenuous travel suggests moving on foot would be worse.
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Jan 19, 2017 03:46
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A Probably a good idea to get that reactor online ASAP before there's some kind of containment breach and we get creatively murdered by a bunch of Techno-Cronenbergs.
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Jan 19, 2017 05:53
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E then A, what could possibly go wrong? 
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Jan 19, 2017 21:08
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B
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Jan 20, 2017 01:59
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Tran posted:A. With the way the hologram was speaking, I get a sense of impending time related crisis. Kore's arrival seems to have kicked on a bunch of systems, rapidly eating away at the very limited power. Bad things are likely to happen if the tank hits empty. A. I agree with this reasoning
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Jan 20, 2017 05:55
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A
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Jan 20, 2017 07:36
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”I don’t like it,” Vare warns. ”Re-sa, I don’t want you using that thing while the power is unstable.” “The power’s not going to stabilize on its own,” you protest. “Waiting any longer is just asking for some system vital to our survival to bite it.” As a juve, you once stashed a score in the stagnant outflow basin of a malfunctioning hydroponic unit to preserve it when you were cornered by a rival band of scavengers. When you returned after your savage beating, you reached into the slimy fluid, and were seized by revulsion and near-panic as felt your fingers brush against something somehow both fleshy and fibrous. As you mastered your fear and plunged your hand deeper, you encountered even more filaments, threaded throughout the water. Your retrieval became a blind, frantic search through a tangle of grasping fibers, waiting breathlessly for the moment when some slithering denizen of that underwater knot sank a cluster of unseen fangs into you. The sensation when you reach out with your cortex to initiate the transport is disturbingly similar.   You regain your senses to the sound of Midas violently heaving into his helmet. Glancing around, you find yourself and your companions standing, in varying degrees of confusion and distress, in another compartment entirely. The chamber vaguely resembles an engineering station, albeit one from a spicer's fevered nightmares, but the racks of corpse-filled stasis tubes lined against the wall lends it a certain sepulchral air. “Regal,” Vare breaks in over comms, ”Are you there? Regal!” “I'm here, Vare,” you assure her, drawing close to a tube and peering through the static barriers at the techno-organic wreckage within. “As best as I can determine, and wherever here is.” ”We lost you for a tick there,” Vare breathes with relief. ”Really weird readings on your monitors.” “Good,” chirps an Echo 4 where there was none before, “you made it! We seem to have suffered a bit of power loss in the primary umbilical, and I was worried that you might have been affected.” “Thankfully,” you reply, “I seem to be a natural hand at deciphering quantum engtanglement devices.” You cast a look over to the hunched figure of Midas, wheezing heavily through his filter, and shake your head. “Assuming I didn't scramble the old man's viscera, I mean.” “You'll have to initiate the restart process yourself,” Echo 4 continues, unperturbed, “but you can do it!” As the hologram speaks, a squat pedestal emerges from the center of the room with a discordant chime of crystals rubbing against one another and begins to rotate, extending what appears to be a fluid-filled tube from its top. As light spills from the vessel, you see drifting within a knotted mass of fleshy bulbs and tendrils.  Unknown access, a dry, creaking voice intones, network error in command hierarchy. Unnoticed before, clusters of optical sensors arrayed around the chamber now swivel toward you with crimson regard. “She's here for Reconciliation,” Echo 4 speaks to the tube. “But we need to restart the reactor first!” Suddenly, a look of concern flashes across the hologram's face, quickly replaced by her usual cheer. “I need to take care of something,” she chirps, “so just go ahead and restart the reactor, and I'll be back shortly!” Echo 4 once more flickers away to nothing, even as you feel an unfamiliar presence brush lightly over your cortex. Command interface identified, the voice continues. Awaiting instruction. “When you said before that the Erb don't have AI,” Ramadi says, going eyestalk to eyestalk with one of the sensors. “I think so,” you finish. “Probably all of the higher computational functions on board are handled by a hybrid interface like this.” “Simply charming,” Midas slurs, apparently taking his mind off his discomfort by running his scanner over the various machines in the compartment. “Remind me if we get out of this to look into the marketability of artisanal brain jars.” “Your impending decrepitude is starting to present, old man,” Ramadi observes, reaching out to flick the bulbous red eye, which retreats slightly in dismay. “Might be time to trade in some of those old joints. You know a guy, K?” Kamula grunts with mild bemusement, checking the charge on his thermablade. “Don’t sign me up for the chop shop just yet, you damp-handed smoke-sucker,” groans Midas, leaning his suit against the wall and activating the mag-treads on his boots with a sharp chunk. “There’s juice in this geez’s conduits yet.” “Vigor,” you muse, “or venom, I wonder.” “You know what they say about age and treachery, Kid,” Midas remarks wryly. “If ever I should—“ His words die on the tips of his barbels as an eerie and mournful groaning noise vibrates up from the deck, and almost every light in the chamber dies with an abrupt crackle. Silence reigns momentarily save for the hiss of exchangers, and your crewmates share grave looks. “How long is the reactor gonna take to warm up,” you quickly query the techno-organic interface whose vessel is one of the only light sources in the compartment. “Because I feel like quicker is better at this point.” Critical anomaly detected in startup procedure, the reactor controller croaks with its dusty voice. Containment failure in secondary dynamo six has led to a buildup of dangerous electromagnetic radiation in the reactor housing. “So if we start the reactor,” you prompt. A certainty of terminal disruption of synthetic components to all subjects within reactor compartment. “Can we fix it?” Not at this time, the controller replies, voice still creaky, but seeming to gradually thaw as it speaks to you. Redundancies in system allow for shutdown of malfunctioning dynamo, but manual operation required. “So I just need to shut down the offending dingus,” you posit, “and--” Not recommended, the voice interrupts with what almost sounds like relish. Vicinity of dynamo six highly hazardous to synthetic components. “So I do it,” declares Ramadi. “I go pull the plug on our guilty spark, and you crank this beast back up.” “Doesn't have to be you,” notes Midas. “It just can't be Kore or Kamula. My implants are non-essential; nothing I can't shut down.” “And when that old clanker you're wearing gets zapped and seizes up on you,” Ramadi counters, “what then?” “This old clanker has pneumatic failsafes,” Midas declares. “And I reckon I'll be a fair span safer in it than you will be in all your moist squishiness.” Who do you send to shut down Dynamo 6? A. Ramadi. B. Midas. C. Summon Voulge from the sub to do it. This will take time. D. Summon Vare from the sub to do it. This will take time. E. Neither; forget the reactor, let's do something else: __________. Bee Bonk fucked around with this message at 05:00 on Feb 1, 2017 |
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Jan 31, 2017 21:23
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B, if he bites it oh well
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Jan 31, 2017 21:32
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Volmarias posted:B, if he bites it oh well Yep
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Jan 31, 2017 21:38
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B Midas has every reason to not gently caress up.
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Jan 31, 2017 23:17
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B Everyone was dead the moment we stepped into this non-euclidean deathtrap.
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Jan 31, 2017 23:18
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Arkanomen posted:B At least you'll be smithereens together.
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Jan 31, 2017 23:32
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I'll take B for 100 bob
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Feb 1, 2017 00:55
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B You just go ahead and do that, Mr. I won't retire until they drag me out of the office
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Feb 1, 2017 02:25
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big bag of nacho cheese posted:At least you'll be smithereens together. That's one of the more merciful outcomes.
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Feb 1, 2017 05:27
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B
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Feb 1, 2017 05:33
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Be useful for once you horrible old poo poo! 
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Feb 1, 2017 08:13
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| # ? Apr 25, 2024 07:52 |
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“Far be it from me to deny an old man his last request,” Ramadi replies, raising her suckers in concession, then turns to you. “If helping The Right Honorable Poole Midas stave off his obsolescence panic for a tick or two contributes to us getting off this death hulk in one piece…maybe two or three pieces, tops…Then by all means deploy The Geez, Skip.” You stare at the Raq for a long moment, vein in your temple throbbing. “Midas,” you say finally, “you’re on. Get that dynamo shut down.” The old swindler scans the navigational data on his HUD and nods. “I’ll comm when—“ Midas begins, then gives a rueful chuckle. “Or not…terminal EM interdiction; that old saw.” “Power down your implant before you enter the hazard zone,” you direct. “I doubt Hardjack’s trauma suite will cover implanting another commset in your jaw if you fry that one.” “Be back in a semi-shake,” Midas offers, stepping to the side door, which slithers apart into its frame at his approach. “Try not to teleport yourself into a wall while I’m gone, Kid.”  “Ramadi,” you direct once the hatch has closed behind Midas, “take over scanning this compartment. Bear in mind when you’re flagging portables that portable should take into account Crossbones’s cermet saw.” The Raq’s eyes goggle as she pages through Midas’s scans on her scriv. “Say what you will, but the miserable old sleeb’s got an eye for materiel. The spectro-spec on those weird deck lights out in the corridor is catalogue-quality.” “He was a quartermaster before he was a criminal,” you reply. “Or while…The stories were always a little hazy on that boundary. Midas didn’t become an old crook without having some chops.” “If you’re trying to tell me Midas wasn’t always old and sad,” Ramadi says, “I contend he was, in fact, decanted that way.” “You didn’t know him before he lost the gang,” you counter. “He used to be a player before the Vrantic stepped on his neck.” “Pull the other one,” Ramadi sneers, “it secretes a hallucinogenic compound.” “Poz-sure,” Kamula interjects, taking a break from squinting suspiciously into the failed stasis tubes and checking his weapons. “Nebula Hawks put the fear of Grife into many a pirate qwag in the back-cycles.” “So if he was this drokk-hot pirate hunter,” Ramadi queries, “how did he come to be a two-cred fixer in a 1-cred stack?” “Worst thing that can happen to a drokk-hot pirate hunter or a merc-cum-bodyguard,” Kamula rasps. “He survived too long. Outlived too many friends and made too many enemies.” “If he’d been smart,” you say, picking up the thread, “he’d have parlayed his connections into a governorship, or at least sold out to one of the big outfits. But he decided to be a father instead…” “Regal,” Ramadi’s tone softens, “he wasn’t a father to you. Handler, maybe. Sketchy uncle, at best.” “He was what I had,” you reply in a near whisper. “And whatever else happened, he made me what I—“ ”I’ve got eyes on our ill-behaved component,” Midas breaks in over the squadlink. ”Going dark.” “Make sure not to kill us all,” you reply. “See you on the other side of it.” “Same to you, Kid,” Midas replies with an audible grin, just before the ambient noise from his feed vanishes. ”We’ve lost Midas’s signal,” Vare confirms. ”Now we wait.” “Maybe you wait,” you counter, “but while you and Voulge are giving each other pedicures, we’re going to be working.” Looking to Ramadi, you point to a sinister piece of hardware looming to what you have decided is starboard. “Specialist Kinu, that inscrutable piece of nightmare tech isn’t going to scan itself.”  The deck trembles beneath your feet, and you hear a metallic slithering in the walls. “He’s got this,” you mutter to Ramadi, who nods dubiously and goes back to her scans.  For the twelfth time this deci, you glance anxiously at the hatch by which Midas exited the compartment. “He’s—“ you begin. “Probably zeroed,” Kamula rasps. “Or stranded, which don’t spec much better.” The already meager lights flicker and dim, and you feel it deep in your chest as a somehow oily sound shudders through the compartment. The alien noise washes over and through you, and your back teeth throb in its wake. “Pretty sure that’s what cancer sounds like,” Ramadi quips in a subdued voice. Remote monitoring lost, the Controller intones. “We can’t wait,” you gasp. “Controller, what will happen if we start this thing with Midas still in there?” “Same thing that’ll happen to you if he didn’t shut that thing down,” hisses Ramadi. Uncertain, the construct replies icily. Then, with an alarming catch in its otherwise steely voice, Cascade failure imminent. Failure to initiate restart procedures immediately will result in failure of core containment. You fight to swallow the struggling lump in your throat, ignoring the blunt pang of dread that digs beneath your ribcage. Then, mustering your resolve…  You don’t intentionally hold your breath; your brain is simply too busy waiting to die to bother.  “Slot me,” Ramadi quacks as the compartment brightens and ancient machinery throbs to gradual life, “the old qwag-hammer came through for once.” You sag in such profound relief that you’re certain only your synthetic components prevent you melting into a boneless puddle on the deck. “Ramadi,” you direct breathlessly, “go find Mi—“ Alert. Critical energy buildup detected in control construct. Failure of reaction regulator imminent. “Slot this bent verse,” you cry in frustration, slamming your tail painfully against a bank of alien machinery. “Advise, Controller!” Emergency procedure prescribes Operator purge excess energy via auxiliary power tap. As the controller speaks, a port on the housing of the reactor’s control interface illuminates briefly, before sputtering and beginning to spew spidery arcs of errant charge. “Reeg,” Ramadi asks, mystified and alarmed. “Kore,” rasps Kamula, similarly disposed. “Have to bleed this capacitor,” you bark to your crewmates, grimacing as you see Scuzzy’s power scan. “It’s…it’s real krumping hot.”  A. Direct your micro-drone swarm to link with the port and ground the current. This will certainly destroy your swarm until you can take the time and mass to manufacture more. B. Activate your shield and drain the power yourself, letting your shield ground the current. This will certainly blow your shield generator, if you survive. C. Direct Hardjack to drain the power. Hardjack is EM-hardened. D. Direct Crossbones to drain the power. E. Direct Scuzzy Jr. to drain the power. F. [Nanosynthesis] Override the controller’s safety protocols and command it to eject the capacitor. G. Something else: ______________!
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