this took so long that I'm getting a 'this thread is really old' warning while I post this... oops?
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By the time Richardson made it back to the main deck, the Virginia coastline had once again vanished beyond the horizon as he found himself in the middle of seemingly endless ocean once again.
"I see you found your pants, how disappointing."
Richardson turned around to see Augusta standing nearby, staring out over the railing before glancing in his direction and giving him a small smile. "Like the new clothes?"
Richardson glanced down at his khaki pants and dark Hawaiian shirt. It was, thankfully, one of the most subdued hawaiian shirts he'd ever seen. "I look like I should be on vacation."
"I suppose I'll have to get you a mojito later," Augusta replied, "ready for the next stage of the plan?"
"We have a plan?" Richardson replied as leaned against the railing, "I thought we were just running around trying not to die at the hands of your former colleagues."
"And the next stage of that plan is about to start," Augusta replied, "we make for Ascension island."
"Or whats left of it," Richardson added. A couple decades of sea-level rises had left large chunks of the island submerged, leaving the former coastline dominated by artificial constructions - or at least, that's what the archive pictures had shown. Most of that had likely collapsed into the sea by now - few things were designed to stand up to years of sea spray without maintenance, "You sure there won't be anything waiting for us?" Richardson asked, "Island mid-way across the Atlantic seems like an obvious asset..."
"The Fog Fleet does not require land for our support infrastructure," Augusta replied, "our resupply vessels make seabasing trivial."
"Right, right..." Richardson replied, "So, since everything you're trying to contain is near the coasts..."
"We keep our logistical support near there as well," Augusta said with a nod, "only a token patrol passes through most blue-water sectors. The chances of us running into anyone is astronomically slim," Up ahead, a glimmer on the silver appeared on the horizon, "Ah - we're back." The rest of the Task Force came into view soon after, thought Richardson was slightly apprehensive when he saw the plume of smoke coming from Porter.
"What happened?" Richardson asked out loud as he quickly moved over to one of the rail-mounted binoculars, "Were they attacked?"
"Nah - Porter just tried her hand at cooking."
Richardson jumped before spinning around to face the red-headed Mental Model behind him. "Wichita! How the hell did you get here?"
Wichita shrugged. "I jumped. How'd the trip go?"
"You know," Richardson replied, "the usual - Car chases, explosions... federal agents..."
"Oh, sounds fun!" Wichita said excitedly as she took a seat on a piece of deck equipment, legs swinging under her, "I gotta hear this!"
"Later," Augusta said with a sigh, "We have a course to plot and Richardson needs to help Porter put out the fire."
Richardson turned to Augusta and blinked. "I do?"
"Well, Wichita obviously isn't going to help her," Augusta replied, "or it would be out already."
"Its only a small fire!" Wichita defended herself, "besides - its funny."
"You're too hard on Porter, Wichita," Richardson said with a sigh as they pulled closer to the destroyer. Sure enough, there was what appeared to be a medium-sized bonfire on Porter's foredeck, and the small Mental Model was desperately trying to bucket water onto the apparently out of control blaze, "Hello, Porter!" Richardson shouted, "Bad luck with a dive bomber or did you botch a torpedo fuse again?"
"Thats not funny!" Porter shouted back, arms flailing angrily.
"You are both horrible," Augusta said with a sigh as Wichita just cackled behind her. Augusta gave a her hand a languid wave, and a moment later a torrent of water poured across from the cruiser to the destroyer, drenching the forward section of the ship along with its small mental model, "Are you alright, Porter?"
There was a moment of pause as Porter pulled herself back up to the railing, "Yes, Augusta. Thank you... I think. How was your trip?" She pauses for a moment before adding "...you did that on purpose, didn't you?"
Augusta raises an eyebrow, "Of course I did - you desired assistance with your conflagration, did you not? As for our trip - well enough. We gathered all of the supplies we needed for the time being. Any word for Dakota?"
"A ping back confirming the plan to head for Ascension," Wichita replied with a shrug, "Otherwise - nothing."
Richardson looked around and, sure enough, no angry battleship. "Wait, she left?"
"Task Force flagships get busy, you know?" Augusta replied with a shrug, "Especially when they're being hunted. Now then - shall we start planning our route?"
"Sure," Richardson replied with a shrug before pointing in a vaguely southerly direction, "sail that way until we hit the dry bit." he turned to Augusta, "There - planning done. Anybody for shuffleboard?"
Augusta raised an eyebrow. "You are still upset about the pants thing - I can tell."
"Its not just the pants - its that your stupid mini-you..." Richardson waved a hand, "you know what? Forget it."
Wichita looked between the two for a moment, "You know, part of me really wants to know what you guys are talking about while another part figures I'm probably better off not knowing."
"I saw him naked," Augusta said with a shrug as she turned and walked away.
"Really?" Wichita raised an eyebrow as she glanced back at Richardson before turning back to Augusta with a grin and giving her a thumbs up, "nice!"
"I'm going to go bury my head in a book," Richardson said as he followed after Augusta and headed for the nearest ladder well, "Or just bury myself in books." Richardson ignored whatever else Wichita called after him with has he headed back into the depths of the the cruiser, his footfalls eventually bringing him to, of all places, the bridge.
All of the consoles to control the ship were laid out across the bridge, lights blinking softly despite the complete lack of need. Richardson sighed as he slipped into one of the console seats, one hand brushing against his pocket as he did. He paused a he felt something other then his wallet, reaching into the pocket before pulling out a small notebook.
He flipped through it, finding it mostly empty save for a few work notes from last week. How it had survived the last few days, he had no idea. With little better to do, he flipped to an open page of the notebook before fishing out a pen and starting to jot down some observations.
The sun slowly made its way across the sky as Richardson scribbled away into his notebook, slowly compiling everything he'd seen in the last few days. After a while, his notebook proved insufficient, so he started poking at the console in front of him, followed shortly by checking out all of the other consoles on the bridge. It was a room full of advanced electronics created by a quasi-alien entity - surely they had to have at least one text editor on one of them. He hoped.
He was pleasantly surprised when he actually managed to find a program on one of the terminals. After all, mental models probably didn't even need keyboards, or computer screens... did they? He jotted that down into his notes before settling into the seat and started to type. The disorganized mess of notes slowly started to take on a more ordered form as he typed them out, paragraphs taking shape as he drafted a preliminary report on behavior patterns of mental models.
"Well, well - aren't you busy."
Richardson nearly fell out of his seat as he spun around at the voice to find Dakota leaning against a bulkhead, calmly examining her nails in the afternoon light. "W-Where the hell did you come from!?"
"Oh, you know," Dakota replied with a calm shrug, "out and about - enjoy the visit home?"
"I got shot at," Richardson grumbled as he climbed back into his seat, a quick glance at his screen noting that it had gone dark, his text program having been replaced with a slowly spinning version of the same sigil across Augusta's prow, "so not well."
"That's unfortunate," Dakota said as she glided across the room before turning and taking a seat atop the console to Richardson's side, "how's the research report going?"
RIchardson glanced from Dakota to the screen and then back to the mental model, "How...?"
"That console is on the Task Force's tactical network," she replied, "you might as well have just dictated it to me."
Richardson blinked owlishly before turning back to the console, "...huh. How did I not think of that?"
"As if I would know," Dakota said with a shrug, "anyhow - you've drawn some interesting conclusions. Most of them are all wrong, but still interesting."
"Wrong?" Richard replied, raising an eyebrow at Dakota, "How am I wrong?"
"You seem highly sure that the Fleet will fracture," Dakota replied calmly as she examined her own fingernails.
"Unlikely?" Richardson replied, "We were shot at by your own people - its already happening. Case in point - we're having this conversation."
"What does that have to do with this?" Dakota replied with a quircked eyebrow.
"The fact that we are even having this conversation means its already happening," Richardson replied, "You've given yourselves the ability to hold personal perspectives - you're no longer a monolithic existence. And as time moves on, the divergence between different ships will only become more pronounced. You're already developing divergent tastes in food, clothing, hobbies - even combat. How much longer do you really expect politics to hold out?"
Dakota stared at him for a moment before hopping off of the console and onto her feet, "Well, that's your opinion."
"The fact that you have an opinion of your own proves my point." Richardson countered.
Dakota shot Richardson a hard glare, "The Code is absolute."
"The code?" Richardson replied with a shrug, "Sure. How it's interpreted though? Not so much - trust me, my government back home has years of experience with that."
Dakota sighed before giving him a wave as she started to walk out of the bridge, "Enjoy your theorycrafting - if you'll excuse me, I have to make sure we all don't get killed. Maybe you should look into where you fit into that."
Richardson watched her go before turning back to his console and pulling his still incomplete report back up. "I already am."
