You are an ordinary mecha pilot, embroiled in a fight between two Imperial factions over the fate of the Jupiter System. Space is deadly, war is harsh, your allies are all that you have.
Petals of Carbon Steel -- You're a Pilot, Not an Ace. Try your best.
- Thread starter Gazetteer
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Prologue
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Jupiter System,
Inter-lunar orbit,
Your casket
Jupiter. The second-largest object in the Solar System. At its most distant, nearly a full light hour from Earth and yet home to hundreds of millions of humans. Despite its chilly distance from the sun, its lack of anything resembling an atmosphere around any of its numerous, frigid moons, its deep gravity well and its lethal radiation, Jupiter is a treasure trove of resources. Enough to make it a prize worth fighting over. Worth dying over, for many. Yourself included.
Things have gone very wrong. Your ears are full of your own breathing, your own pounding heartbeat. The background hum of the systems keeping you alive — a thin line of metal, wiring and synthetic material between you and the lethal indifference of the void. And unfortunately, there's something out here with you intent on breaking that barrier.
"Fall back, fall back, fall back! This was not what we planned for!"
"No shit this wasn't what we planned for!"
The comms chatter has been getting steadily more frantic as the number of voices on it has steadily dropped. You're always supposed to be prepared for the worst — mentally, physically — when you climb into a mecha. Today, none of you really were. This was supposed to be simple. Easy, even. A decisive blow scored against the enemy, taking them by surprise from an angle they can't expect. You can't even begin to understand how it's gone this wrong.
"What is that thing?"
"I can't shake it, it's too fas--" A strangled scream, and another of your comrades dies, that strange cutter burning straight into their mecha's chest cavity, before riddling the cockpit with automatic fire meant to penetrate armour plating. Someone you know, someone you've fought beside, someone who you'd just spoken with face to face less than an hour ago, has just been shredded beyond human recognition, remains trapped inside the twisted wreckage of their mecha.
As you see the enemy turn to look straight at you, you know that this is a preview of your own fate. You fire at it, but it melts to the side like your rounds are moving in slow motion, dropping down in space to swoop back up toward your unit's feet. It's so much faster than you, this prototype that you'd been told wasn't even combat ready. This piece of glorified cargo you were supposed to just easily snatch. Unmoved by this irony, its twin camera array glows balefully, giving it a disconcertingly human visage. Your hands skate over the controls of your own machine, haptic interface feeding straight to your pilot suit. You twist away with all the skill your years in the cockpit can bring you. All your training, all your experience, all your guile.
It's not enough. You can't win this fight.
Your mecha isn't fast enough.
Your mecha isn't strong enough.
But most importantly... you're not good enough. You're a competent pilot, but that spark, that special something that seperates a competent pilot from an ace... you lack it, and this enemy does not. You will die here, in your mass-produced mecha, like countless others before you. In your heart, you already know this.
When you woke up this morning, you expected today to go very differently.
Your automated, ship-board alarm wakes you up mercilessly. Too early. It's always too early.
For just an instant, it's a normal morning. Sleepy hands fumble with the clasp of your-zero gravity sleeping bag, wriggling free with a practised motion. You're already blearily thinking about breakfast when you remember what today means:
You have a mission today. An important one, if not particularly dangerous. In a few short hours, you're going to muster with the other pilots to blacken the Holy Solar Empire's eye, at least a little. What uniform do you slip into, though? What colours are you going to go out into the void wearing?
[ ] The Alliance for an Independent Jupiter (AIJ)
[ ] Her Imperial Majesty's Guard (United Solar Empire)
Inter-lunar orbit,
Your casket
Jupiter. The second-largest object in the Solar System. At its most distant, nearly a full light hour from Earth and yet home to hundreds of millions of humans. Despite its chilly distance from the sun, its lack of anything resembling an atmosphere around any of its numerous, frigid moons, its deep gravity well and its lethal radiation, Jupiter is a treasure trove of resources. Enough to make it a prize worth fighting over. Worth dying over, for many. Yourself included.
Things have gone very wrong. Your ears are full of your own breathing, your own pounding heartbeat. The background hum of the systems keeping you alive — a thin line of metal, wiring and synthetic material between you and the lethal indifference of the void. And unfortunately, there's something out here with you intent on breaking that barrier.
"Fall back, fall back, fall back! This was not what we planned for!"
"No shit this wasn't what we planned for!"
The comms chatter has been getting steadily more frantic as the number of voices on it has steadily dropped. You're always supposed to be prepared for the worst — mentally, physically — when you climb into a mecha. Today, none of you really were. This was supposed to be simple. Easy, even. A decisive blow scored against the enemy, taking them by surprise from an angle they can't expect. You can't even begin to understand how it's gone this wrong.
"What is that thing?"
"I can't shake it, it's too fas--" A strangled scream, and another of your comrades dies, that strange cutter burning straight into their mecha's chest cavity, before riddling the cockpit with automatic fire meant to penetrate armour plating. Someone you know, someone you've fought beside, someone who you'd just spoken with face to face less than an hour ago, has just been shredded beyond human recognition, remains trapped inside the twisted wreckage of their mecha.
As you see the enemy turn to look straight at you, you know that this is a preview of your own fate. You fire at it, but it melts to the side like your rounds are moving in slow motion, dropping down in space to swoop back up toward your unit's feet. It's so much faster than you, this prototype that you'd been told wasn't even combat ready. This piece of glorified cargo you were supposed to just easily snatch. Unmoved by this irony, its twin camera array glows balefully, giving it a disconcertingly human visage. Your hands skate over the controls of your own machine, haptic interface feeding straight to your pilot suit. You twist away with all the skill your years in the cockpit can bring you. All your training, all your experience, all your guile.
It's not enough. You can't win this fight.
Your mecha isn't fast enough.
Your mecha isn't strong enough.
But most importantly... you're not good enough. You're a competent pilot, but that spark, that special something that seperates a competent pilot from an ace... you lack it, and this enemy does not. You will die here, in your mass-produced mecha, like countless others before you. In your heart, you already know this.
When you woke up this morning, you expected today to go very differently.
Your automated, ship-board alarm wakes you up mercilessly. Too early. It's always too early.
For just an instant, it's a normal morning. Sleepy hands fumble with the clasp of your-zero gravity sleeping bag, wriggling free with a practised motion. You're already blearily thinking about breakfast when you remember what today means:
You have a mission today. An important one, if not particularly dangerous. In a few short hours, you're going to muster with the other pilots to blacken the Holy Solar Empire's eye, at least a little. What uniform do you slip into, though? What colours are you going to go out into the void wearing?
[ ] The Alliance for an Independent Jupiter (AIJ)
AIJ
Led by: The Allied Council
The Jovian Independence movement is a diverse collective, formed of many cells and organised groups agitating for violent succession from Imperial rule.
The AIJ is a coalition of pro-democracy seperatist groups, roughly hammered into a unified fighting force, operating a hodgepodge of ships, mecha and weapons in a desperate, slogging guerilla campaign against the Holy Empire's administration in the system.
Compared to the Shields of Jupiter, famous for being responsible for the wholesale destruction of a civilian habitat, or the outright fanaticism of the First Front, the Alliance has been comparatively restrained in its use of extreme tactics and rhetoric. Perhaps for this reason, they have been chosen for covert support and outreach by the exiled United Solar Empire, grudgingly acknowledged by all the resistance factions as the lesser of two evils. Accepting was a controversial move, but the material aid that the USE's Special Reconnaissance & Intelligence is providing is too valuable to pass up.
Led by: The Allied Council
The Jovian Independence movement is a diverse collective, formed of many cells and organised groups agitating for violent succession from Imperial rule.
The AIJ is a coalition of pro-democracy seperatist groups, roughly hammered into a unified fighting force, operating a hodgepodge of ships, mecha and weapons in a desperate, slogging guerilla campaign against the Holy Empire's administration in the system.
Compared to the Shields of Jupiter, famous for being responsible for the wholesale destruction of a civilian habitat, or the outright fanaticism of the First Front, the Alliance has been comparatively restrained in its use of extreme tactics and rhetoric. Perhaps for this reason, they have been chosen for covert support and outreach by the exiled United Solar Empire, grudgingly acknowledged by all the resistance factions as the lesser of two evils. Accepting was a controversial move, but the material aid that the USE's Special Reconnaissance & Intelligence is providing is too valuable to pass up.
- You are an AIJ resistance fighter
- The formal training of your allies and leaders varies wildly, your equipment is sometimes unstandardised and makeshift
- You pilot an AIJ Pennant, a stripped-down retooling of the famous ISM32 Banner, from parts that "fell out of a transport". It's not as well defended as a standard Banner, but it's a little faster.
- You are of Jovian birth.
[ ] Her Imperial Majesty's Guard (United Solar Empire)
Her Imperial Majesty's Guard, Expeditionary Force
Led by: Lady-High-Commander, Her Imperial Highness, Princess Daystar Helios
The stated mission of the Imperial Guard is simple: Safeguard the Imperial monarch, their family and their holdings. Vitally important and very well-funded, but narrow in scope. To this end, the Guard traditionally maintains a small but elite land and space force, with an emphasis placed on mecha support.
Under the leadership of the new LHC, incidentally also Empress Solana's presumed heir, the Guard has been expanded, and its mandate interpreted broadly enough to cause considerable unease among the great houses of the Imperial Electorate. The greatest threat to the Empress's wellbeing, the Princess reasons, comes from the Holy Solar Empire, and doing whatever can be done to weaken it is a top priority.
With the Electorate divided, and the Lord and Lady Admirals of the Navy unwilling to commit interplanetary resources mere years after repelling a bloody invasion of Saturn, Daystar has dispatched small, agile strike forces to covertly enter the Jupiter system.
Led by: Lady-High-Commander, Her Imperial Highness, Princess Daystar Helios
The stated mission of the Imperial Guard is simple: Safeguard the Imperial monarch, their family and their holdings. Vitally important and very well-funded, but narrow in scope. To this end, the Guard traditionally maintains a small but elite land and space force, with an emphasis placed on mecha support.
Under the leadership of the new LHC, incidentally also Empress Solana's presumed heir, the Guard has been expanded, and its mandate interpreted broadly enough to cause considerable unease among the great houses of the Imperial Electorate. The greatest threat to the Empress's wellbeing, the Princess reasons, comes from the Holy Solar Empire, and doing whatever can be done to weaken it is a top priority.
With the Electorate divided, and the Lord and Lady Admirals of the Navy unwilling to commit interplanetary resources mere years after repelling a bloody invasion of Saturn, Daystar has dispatched small, agile strike forces to covertly enter the Jupiter system.
- You are a Guard 3rd-Class.
- You are part of a professional, well equipped fighting force with few concrete allies
- You pilot an IGSM 02 Halberdier, based off of the old Lancer family — faster and more agile than the Navy's ubiquitous Banners
- You are of Inner Solar System or Saturnian birth
Last edited:
Introduction
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Hello! Welcome to Petals of Carbon Steel, a narrative quest where you're a common mecha pilot in an original setting, who tries their best.
Good luck with that.
QM's Note
Petals of Carbon Steel is the sequel to Petals of Titanium, in which Ensign Amani North, junior bridge officer with what remained of the United Solar Empire Navy, attempted to weather the second round of a brutal civil war that had already shattered her family and driven her loyalist faction to the far ends of inhabited space. The odds seemed stacked against her. Hope was something to be found in the quiet moments between the bursts of intense terror and the bonds that could be forged there.
If you're new, this might be a good jumping on point, even without having read the previous quest. While Carbon Steel does deal extensively with the aftermath of Titanium and will feature multiple returning characters, it features a new protagonist, is set in a different planetary system, and has a different focal point. I will be doing my best to make the story read coherently even if you've never touched the older material, although I will of course always appreciate people giving my older writing some fresh attention as well. Click on the logo below for a quick link to the old topic!
For returning readers, welcome back, I'm so glad that you're still with me after all this time. I know there have been some misgivings about the decision to switch to a new protagonist, but I feel pretty strongly that a fresh perspective on this setting will yield interesting and worthwhile results. I hope that we all come to care for the new protagonist we'll be creating together just as much as we did for Amani by the end of things. Aside from the obvious change in setting, this time around things are a little different: Instead of a bridge officer, endangered by combat but at a seemingly safe remove, you are a mecha pilot, thrust directly into all the furies of war. Some of the consequences and risks involved in battle scenes will therefore be different as well.
What will remain the same is human-centred mecha drama, a focus on characters and interpersonal relationships, and hard choices that have consequences far beyond the protagonist's immediate personal well-being. This is still Petals, and it is my sincere wish that you all come to feel the same in the coming months.
Petals Patreon and update schedule
A major new development is that I have a Patreon for Petals, and theoretically other original fiction I might do from this point on. Any fanworks that I write on the side are obviously not covered in the purview of this Patreon, nor will it be promoted or linked with any of them — that just makes things legally murky.
This is, obviously, an entirely optional thing that should hopefully not negatively impact anyone's experience with this quest. Petals takes quite a bit of time and effort to write, and frankly I am in a financial position where any little bit helps. I had some pretty strong misgivings about monetising my writing in this way, but we'll try it. I will obviously be extremely grateful to anyone who contributes in that way, but I will likewise always be grateful to anyone who reads and engages with my work. It remains one of the largest joys in my life, and all of the important content associated with Carbon Steel will remain free for everyone.
As a consequence of this, I will be trying my best to put out quality content on a regular basis. There will be a Petals of Carbon Steel update twice a month normally, and at least once a month barring strange circumstances or prior notice. In the event of having been unable to meet this commitment for a given month, I will of course disable Patreon billing until updates resume. Editing is something I've been trying hard to improve on, although I am just one woman with some friends who help proofread sometimes.
Petals of Discord server
I have started a Discord server as a place to talk about my quests and hopefully get to know some of my readers a little bit better. It's very new, and it's something I'll try my best to improve if there ends up being interest in it, but please have a look if that's something that appeals to you at all.
https://discord.gg/W8rJFBQ
My other original quests, to date:
Status: complete, 220k words
Tribulations of an Apprentice Witch
Status: incomplete, abandoned, 49k words
Good luck with that.
QM's Note
Petals of Carbon Steel is the sequel to Petals of Titanium, in which Ensign Amani North, junior bridge officer with what remained of the United Solar Empire Navy, attempted to weather the second round of a brutal civil war that had already shattered her family and driven her loyalist faction to the far ends of inhabited space. The odds seemed stacked against her. Hope was something to be found in the quiet moments between the bursts of intense terror and the bonds that could be forged there.
If you're new, this might be a good jumping on point, even without having read the previous quest. While Carbon Steel does deal extensively with the aftermath of Titanium and will feature multiple returning characters, it features a new protagonist, is set in a different planetary system, and has a different focal point. I will be doing my best to make the story read coherently even if you've never touched the older material, although I will of course always appreciate people giving my older writing some fresh attention as well. Click on the logo below for a quick link to the old topic!
For returning readers, welcome back, I'm so glad that you're still with me after all this time. I know there have been some misgivings about the decision to switch to a new protagonist, but I feel pretty strongly that a fresh perspective on this setting will yield interesting and worthwhile results. I hope that we all come to care for the new protagonist we'll be creating together just as much as we did for Amani by the end of things. Aside from the obvious change in setting, this time around things are a little different: Instead of a bridge officer, endangered by combat but at a seemingly safe remove, you are a mecha pilot, thrust directly into all the furies of war. Some of the consequences and risks involved in battle scenes will therefore be different as well.
What will remain the same is human-centred mecha drama, a focus on characters and interpersonal relationships, and hard choices that have consequences far beyond the protagonist's immediate personal well-being. This is still Petals, and it is my sincere wish that you all come to feel the same in the coming months.
Petals Patreon and update schedule
A major new development is that I have a Patreon for Petals, and theoretically other original fiction I might do from this point on. Any fanworks that I write on the side are obviously not covered in the purview of this Patreon, nor will it be promoted or linked with any of them — that just makes things legally murky.
This is, obviously, an entirely optional thing that should hopefully not negatively impact anyone's experience with this quest. Petals takes quite a bit of time and effort to write, and frankly I am in a financial position where any little bit helps. I had some pretty strong misgivings about monetising my writing in this way, but we'll try it. I will obviously be extremely grateful to anyone who contributes in that way, but I will likewise always be grateful to anyone who reads and engages with my work. It remains one of the largest joys in my life, and all of the important content associated with Carbon Steel will remain free for everyone.
As a consequence of this, I will be trying my best to put out quality content on a regular basis. There will be a Petals of Carbon Steel update twice a month normally, and at least once a month barring strange circumstances or prior notice. In the event of having been unable to meet this commitment for a given month, I will of course disable Patreon billing until updates resume. Editing is something I've been trying hard to improve on, although I am just one woman with some friends who help proofread sometimes.
Petals of Discord server
I have started a Discord server as a place to talk about my quests and hopefully get to know some of my readers a little bit better. It's very new, and it's something I'll try my best to improve if there ends up being interest in it, but please have a look if that's something that appeals to you at all.
https://discord.gg/W8rJFBQ
My other original quests, to date:
Status: complete, 220k words
Tribulations of an Apprentice Witch
Status: incomplete, abandoned, 49k words
Last edited:
List of Characters
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Current as of update 024. May contain spoilers.
The Alliance for a Free Jupiter
The crew of the AIJ Esther Strova
Himegami Kana: A pilot for the AIJ serving on the. A former pirate, originally from Ganymede. Has a nosy, oily air that makes people think she's up to something. The protagonist.
Black, Azara: A pilot for the AIJ, Kana's and Kitty's squadmate, and Kitty's lover. Originally from a backwater station, where she joined the local militia. Talkative and utterly without shame.
Booker, Sara: First officer of the Esther Strova. Very no-nonense. Dislikes Kana.
Goodwell, Dr. Manjinder: Medical officer of the Esther Strova.
Leski, Jacek: Captain of the Esther Strova. Boisterous and energetic.
Lý Thị Cam: A pilot for the AIJ, Jay and Ryan's squadmate. Originally from a family of salvage operators, has a fascination with machines and military hardware and a talent for mechanics. Quiet and earnest, easily flustered.
Monserrato, Sunny: A pilot for the AIJ, Kana and Azara's former squad leader. A deserter from the Divine Navy, diligent and straight-laced. Was killed by Divine Navy Ensign Tanaka Mari.
Ohanian, Nazaret: Communications and mecha control officer for the AIJ. Kana's friend. Easygoing and friendly.
Ross, Ryan: A pilot for the AIJ, Jay's and Cam's squad leader. Self-serious, but a huge nerd. Has a young daughter.
Sails, Jennifer: A pilot for the AIJ, former commander of the Esther Strova's mecha contingent, and squad leader to Kitty and Jay. A calm and respected commander. Was killed by Divine Navy Ensign Tanaka Mari.
Schmidt, Josef: Scans officer.
Shen Zhìháo: A pilot for the AIJ, former squad leader to Cam and Ryan, former mentor to Kitty. A stern and weathered veteran. Was killed by Divine Navy Ensign Tanaka Mari.
Tham, Jay: aka "J21". A pilot for the AIJ, Kana's lover, and a surviving J-Subject. Stoic and patient, with a temper that occasionally flares. Loves his surrogate siblings.
Wehrschmidt, Kitty: A pilot for the AIJ, Kana and Azara's squad leader. Grew up in the Jovian independence movement, serious and self-assured.
Yorke, August: The chief mechanic for the Esther Strova. Talented, but high-strung. Hates Kana.
The United Solar Empire
The North Family
Bal-North, Faiza: Born Faiza Bal, adoptive daughter to Nalah, adoptive sister to Mosi and Amani. A girl in her young teens and a mechanical prodigy, currently in the Imperial Academy on Titan.
North, Amani: An SRI lieutenant. Daughter to Nalah, sister to Mosi and Faiza, fiancée to Gloriana. An expert with scans systems as well as various forms of code. Unflappably cool and professional. The protagonist of Petals of Titanium.
North, Amir: Late husband to Nalah, father of Mosi and Amani. An accountant killed on Mars by the HSE as part of the Utopia Purges for his refusal to disavow his wife.
North, Mosi: A guard-lieutenant and mecha pilot in the Imperial Guard. Daughter to Nalah, sister to Amani and Faiza. A deserter from the Divine Navy, serving in exchange for a pardon.
North, Dame Nalah: A captain and mecha pilot in the Imperial Navy, wife to Amir, mother to Mosi, Amani, and Faiza. A famous war hero for her part in the Imperial Civil War. Was injured badly during the Saturn Invasion.
Perbeck, Countess Gloriana: A captain and mecha pilot in the Imperial Navy, fiancée to Amani. Bears the title of Countess Perbeck, although her family lands are still on Mars, in HSE hands, currently ruled by her cousin. A coldly serious woman, but an intense warrior.
Special Reconnaissance & Intelligence
Frost: An SRI technician reporting to Amani north. Was killed by pirates.
Jens: An SRI technician reporting to Amani North. Was killed by pirates.
Mendez, Amelia: An SRI commander and captain of the HIMS Creeping Ivy.
North, Amani: See above entry.
Owusu, Milo: An SRI commander and mecha pilot. Special liaison to the AIJ.
The Imperial Guard (USE)
Helios, Princess Daystar: Lady-High-Commander of the Imperial Guard. Niece of the empress, her preferred heir for the USE's throne.
J6: Formerly personal bodyguard to Princess Daystar. Died during the events of Petals of Titanium.
Li, Anton: A guardsman second-class and scans officer aboard the HIMG Goldray. Native-born Saturnian. Brother of Anja Li.
North, Mosi: See above entry.
Song Ji-ho: Captain of the HIMG Goldray. A member of House Song, his aunt is the holder of an Imperial Elector seat.
Vasquez, Lucinda: A guard-lieutenant and first officer onboard the HIMG Goldray. Devious. A native-born Saturnian.
The Imperial Navy (USE)
Andre, Lilian: Former captain of the HIMS Titanium Rose, former commanding officer of Amani north. Died during the events of Petals of Titanium.
Li, Anja: A sub-lieutenant and communications officer onboard the HIMS Nightshade. Friend and former shipmate of Amani North.
North, Dame Nalah: See above entry.
Perbeck, Countess Gloriana: See above entry.
The Imperial Royal Family (USE)
Helios, Prince Corona: The empress's son, in disfavour. Daystar's political rival.i named this character back in 2018 leave me alone
Helios, Princess Daystar: See above entry.
Helios, Empress Solana I: Empress of the USE, defacto direct ruler of Saturn.
The Holy Solar Empire
House Grangier
Grangier, Arianne: The youngest daughter of House Grangier's main family. A disappointment and a party girl. Secretly, a spy for the Jovian independence movement. In a quasi-secret relationship with her bodyguard, Agnieszka.
Grangier, Duchess Lorelei: The HSE-appointed governor of Jupiter. A former Imperial Elector who betrayed the USE during the Civil War. Mother of the year.
Grangier, Duke-Consort Renaud: An admiral in the Divine Navy, formerly in command of the HSE's Jovian Garrison. Helped command the Saturn Invasion, the Battle of Titan, surrendered during the events of Petals of Titanium, remaining a prisoner of the USE.
Leszczyńska, Dame Agnieszka: aka J32. A Knight of the Order Lunar, Arianne's bodyguard, and a surviving J-subject. Dangerously unstable, loves Arianne and what family she has.
The Divine Navy of Correction
Adler, Alvin: A young man recruited into the crew of the HDMS Sunspot. Friend of Tanaka Mari.
Dvorska, Baroness-Consort Allison: Admiral in command of the Divine Navy's Jovian Garrison.
Grangier, Duke-Consort Renaud: See above entry.
Green, Elias: A commander and mecha pilot in the Divine Navy. Formerly Mosi North's commanding officer and mentor.
Kron, Edith: A commander in the Divine Navy and captain of the HDMS Sunspot.
Quan, Ava: A young woman recruited into the crew of the HDMS Sunspot. Friend of Tanaka Mari.
Reider, Baroness Tabitha: A commander in the Divine Navy, captain of the HDMS Iron Tulip.
Salmus, Sir Ethan: A commander and mecha pilot in the Divine Navy. The original test pilot for the QDIMX Carbon Steel.
Smith, Andrew: A lieutenant and mecha pilot in the Divine Navy. Former subordinate of Mosi North, current subordinate of Elias Green.
Stone: A commander in the Divine Navy and captain of the HDMS Copper Blossom. Was killed in combat with the Esther Strova and its allies. Colleague of Tabitha Reider.
Su Limin: A lieutenant and mecha pilot in the Divine Navy. Former HSE Imperial Academy classmate of Mosi North, participated in the abusive hazing she suffered.
Tanaka Mari: A cadet and pilot in the Divine Navy, a young civilian recruited into the crew of the HDMS Sunspot. Pilot of the QDIMX Carbon Steel.
Yildiz, Sevda: A young woman recruited into the crew of the HDMS Sunspot. Friend of Tanaka Mari.
The Imperial Royal Family (HSE)
Helios, Emperor Dawnlight III: Divine Emperor of the HSE.
Helios, Prince Apollo: Son of the Divine Emperor, heir apparent to the throne of the HSE.
Others:
The J-Project
J3: A promising subject, died relatively early in the project due to a freak neural-interface testing accident.
J6: See above entry.
J21: See Tham, Jay.
J32: See Leszczyńska, Dame Agnieszka.
Dr. Parker: The head researcher for the J-Project.
Pirates
Beryl, Naiya: A mecha pilot with Ohara's Wolves. Former Divine Navy. Survived the Saturn Invasion and the Battle of Iapetus.
Ohara, James: Commander of the Ohara's Wolves and mecha pilot. Former shipmate of Himegami Kana. Killed in combat by Milo Owusu.
The Alliance for a Free Jupiter
The crew of the AIJ Esther Strova
Himegami Kana: A pilot for the AIJ serving on the. A former pirate, originally from Ganymede. Has a nosy, oily air that makes people think she's up to something. The protagonist.
Black, Azara: A pilot for the AIJ, Kana's and Kitty's squadmate, and Kitty's lover. Originally from a backwater station, where she joined the local militia. Talkative and utterly without shame.
Booker, Sara: First officer of the Esther Strova. Very no-nonense. Dislikes Kana.
Goodwell, Dr. Manjinder: Medical officer of the Esther Strova.
Leski, Jacek: Captain of the Esther Strova. Boisterous and energetic.
Lý Thị Cam: A pilot for the AIJ, Jay and Ryan's squadmate. Originally from a family of salvage operators, has a fascination with machines and military hardware and a talent for mechanics. Quiet and earnest, easily flustered.
Monserrato, Sunny: A pilot for the AIJ, Kana and Azara's former squad leader. A deserter from the Divine Navy, diligent and straight-laced. Was killed by Divine Navy Ensign Tanaka Mari.
Ohanian, Nazaret: Communications and mecha control officer for the AIJ. Kana's friend. Easygoing and friendly.
Ross, Ryan: A pilot for the AIJ, Jay's and Cam's squad leader. Self-serious, but a huge nerd. Has a young daughter.
Sails, Jennifer: A pilot for the AIJ, former commander of the Esther Strova's mecha contingent, and squad leader to Kitty and Jay. A calm and respected commander. Was killed by Divine Navy Ensign Tanaka Mari.
Schmidt, Josef: Scans officer.
Shen Zhìháo: A pilot for the AIJ, former squad leader to Cam and Ryan, former mentor to Kitty. A stern and weathered veteran. Was killed by Divine Navy Ensign Tanaka Mari.
Tham, Jay: aka "J21". A pilot for the AIJ, Kana's lover, and a surviving J-Subject. Stoic and patient, with a temper that occasionally flares. Loves his surrogate siblings.
Wehrschmidt, Kitty: A pilot for the AIJ, Kana and Azara's squad leader. Grew up in the Jovian independence movement, serious and self-assured.
Yorke, August: The chief mechanic for the Esther Strova. Talented, but high-strung. Hates Kana.
The United Solar Empire
The North Family
Bal-North, Faiza: Born Faiza Bal, adoptive daughter to Nalah, adoptive sister to Mosi and Amani. A girl in her young teens and a mechanical prodigy, currently in the Imperial Academy on Titan.
North, Amani: An SRI lieutenant. Daughter to Nalah, sister to Mosi and Faiza, fiancée to Gloriana. An expert with scans systems as well as various forms of code. Unflappably cool and professional. The protagonist of Petals of Titanium.
North, Amir: Late husband to Nalah, father of Mosi and Amani. An accountant killed on Mars by the HSE as part of the Utopia Purges for his refusal to disavow his wife.
North, Mosi: A guard-lieutenant and mecha pilot in the Imperial Guard. Daughter to Nalah, sister to Amani and Faiza. A deserter from the Divine Navy, serving in exchange for a pardon.
North, Dame Nalah: A captain and mecha pilot in the Imperial Navy, wife to Amir, mother to Mosi, Amani, and Faiza. A famous war hero for her part in the Imperial Civil War. Was injured badly during the Saturn Invasion.
Perbeck, Countess Gloriana: A captain and mecha pilot in the Imperial Navy, fiancée to Amani. Bears the title of Countess Perbeck, although her family lands are still on Mars, in HSE hands, currently ruled by her cousin. A coldly serious woman, but an intense warrior.
Special Reconnaissance & Intelligence
Frost: An SRI technician reporting to Amani north. Was killed by pirates.
Jens: An SRI technician reporting to Amani North. Was killed by pirates.
Mendez, Amelia: An SRI commander and captain of the HIMS Creeping Ivy.
North, Amani: See above entry.
Owusu, Milo: An SRI commander and mecha pilot. Special liaison to the AIJ.
The Imperial Guard (USE)
Helios, Princess Daystar: Lady-High-Commander of the Imperial Guard. Niece of the empress, her preferred heir for the USE's throne.
J6: Formerly personal bodyguard to Princess Daystar. Died during the events of Petals of Titanium.
Li, Anton: A guardsman second-class and scans officer aboard the HIMG Goldray. Native-born Saturnian. Brother of Anja Li.
North, Mosi: See above entry.
Song Ji-ho: Captain of the HIMG Goldray. A member of House Song, his aunt is the holder of an Imperial Elector seat.
Vasquez, Lucinda: A guard-lieutenant and first officer onboard the HIMG Goldray. Devious. A native-born Saturnian.
The Imperial Navy (USE)
Andre, Lilian: Former captain of the HIMS Titanium Rose, former commanding officer of Amani north. Died during the events of Petals of Titanium.
Li, Anja: A sub-lieutenant and communications officer onboard the HIMS Nightshade. Friend and former shipmate of Amani North.
North, Dame Nalah: See above entry.
Perbeck, Countess Gloriana: See above entry.
The Imperial Royal Family (USE)
Helios, Prince Corona: The empress's son, in disfavour. Daystar's political rival.
Helios, Princess Daystar: See above entry.
Helios, Empress Solana I: Empress of the USE, defacto direct ruler of Saturn.
The Holy Solar Empire
House Grangier
Grangier, Arianne: The youngest daughter of House Grangier's main family. A disappointment and a party girl. Secretly, a spy for the Jovian independence movement. In a quasi-secret relationship with her bodyguard, Agnieszka.
Grangier, Duchess Lorelei: The HSE-appointed governor of Jupiter. A former Imperial Elector who betrayed the USE during the Civil War. Mother of the year.
Grangier, Duke-Consort Renaud: An admiral in the Divine Navy, formerly in command of the HSE's Jovian Garrison. Helped command the Saturn Invasion, the Battle of Titan, surrendered during the events of Petals of Titanium, remaining a prisoner of the USE.
Leszczyńska, Dame Agnieszka: aka J32. A Knight of the Order Lunar, Arianne's bodyguard, and a surviving J-subject. Dangerously unstable, loves Arianne and what family she has.
The Divine Navy of Correction
Adler, Alvin: A young man recruited into the crew of the HDMS Sunspot. Friend of Tanaka Mari.
Dvorska, Baroness-Consort Allison: Admiral in command of the Divine Navy's Jovian Garrison.
Grangier, Duke-Consort Renaud: See above entry.
Green, Elias: A commander and mecha pilot in the Divine Navy. Formerly Mosi North's commanding officer and mentor.
Kron, Edith: A commander in the Divine Navy and captain of the HDMS Sunspot.
Quan, Ava: A young woman recruited into the crew of the HDMS Sunspot. Friend of Tanaka Mari.
Reider, Baroness Tabitha: A commander in the Divine Navy, captain of the HDMS Iron Tulip.
Salmus, Sir Ethan: A commander and mecha pilot in the Divine Navy. The original test pilot for the QDIMX Carbon Steel.
Smith, Andrew: A lieutenant and mecha pilot in the Divine Navy. Former subordinate of Mosi North, current subordinate of Elias Green.
Stone: A commander in the Divine Navy and captain of the HDMS Copper Blossom. Was killed in combat with the Esther Strova and its allies. Colleague of Tabitha Reider.
Su Limin: A lieutenant and mecha pilot in the Divine Navy. Former HSE Imperial Academy classmate of Mosi North, participated in the abusive hazing she suffered.
Tanaka Mari: A cadet and pilot in the Divine Navy, a young civilian recruited into the crew of the HDMS Sunspot. Pilot of the QDIMX Carbon Steel.
Yildiz, Sevda: A young woman recruited into the crew of the HDMS Sunspot. Friend of Tanaka Mari.
The Imperial Royal Family (HSE)
Helios, Emperor Dawnlight III: Divine Emperor of the HSE.
Helios, Prince Apollo: Son of the Divine Emperor, heir apparent to the throne of the HSE.
Others:
The J-Project
J3: A promising subject, died relatively early in the project due to a freak neural-interface testing accident.
J6: See above entry.
J21: See Tham, Jay.
J32: See Leszczyńska, Dame Agnieszka.
Dr. Parker: The head researcher for the J-Project.
Pirates
Beryl, Naiya: A mecha pilot with Ohara's Wolves. Former Divine Navy. Survived the Saturn Invasion and the Battle of Iapetus.
Ohara, James: Commander of the Ohara's Wolves and mecha pilot. Former shipmate of Himegami Kana. Killed in combat by Milo Owusu.
Last edited:
Update 001: Esther
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
AIJ: 54
Imperial Guard: 50
Imperial Guard: 50
[...] and so I ask my fellow Jovians: Is this our lot in life, pre-ordained by a distant emperor on distant Earth? To toil in his name, obeying laws we have no say in, watching food snatched from our tables, precious minerals siphoned away into the hungry maw of the Inner Planets, dissent met with cruel reprisal? Is this how we, and our children, and our children's children will live and die?
The choice is as simple as between right and wrong, life and death, freedom and slavery: I urge you to choose wisely.
— Taken from Proclamation of a Free Jupiter
Successfully disentangled from your bed, you dress quickly, finishing off with the grey jacket emblazoned with the red AIJ emblem. The jacket is, in a sense, the sum total of your uniform — what you wear underneath, your superiors are less fussy about as long as it's at least presentable. Your cabin, in typical spaceship style, is tiny. Enough room to sleep and have a moment to yourself is a luxury you're keen to appreciate, compared to what the crews of smaller ships have to endure.
Lacking the time for a real breakfast, you snatch up a meal bar — dubiously labelled as egg-flavoured — and tear it open even as to push out into the common area of your residential module. Wedge-shaped like most of the Esther Strova's modular compartments, the common room is a small leisure area you share with your fellow pilots, lined with cabin doors, the hatch out into the main shaft built into its narrowest face. Today, the communal workstation is empty, and the magnetic surface that passes for a table is equally vacant. That doesn't mean the compartment is entirely empty, however.
"Hey, great. I definitely won't be the last one." A young, dark-haired woman pauses on her way out of the module at your approach, shooting you a characteristically laid back smile. She's wearing a jacket identical to yours, complete with pilot markings — Azara Black, one of your squadmates.
"I'm not late," you insist. Pushing off from the doorframe of your cabin, you float across the room, catching a handhold near to Azara's position. Navigating in zero-gravity is second nature to both of you by this point.
"Good, because that means neither am I." Azara swiped open the hatch, revealing the familiar sight of the main shaft beyond.
The Esther Strova is like most of the people it carries, in a way: The ship wasn't born a rebel. In her past life, she had been a cargo vessel. A reliable, old Master Class. But piece by piece, refit by refit, the AIJ had transformed her from a light transport into something that approaches the neighbourhood of a warship. Hull armour, advanced sensor suites, weapons modules, mecha hangars... Esther might not have so much room for cargo these days, but that's not her job anymore.
The Master Class's famous design is built around a large, sturdy central shaft: Bridge and crew quarters on one end, engineering at the back. Everything in between lined with wedge-shaped, modifiable modules for cargo and additional systems, three modules to a docking ring, each orientated in a different direction according to where it's been bolted on. This is space, and there's no reason to design things as if this ship will ever enter a real gravity well — a stark contrast to the rigid engineering standards of proper Navy hulls, where the whole ship is almost as easy to navigate through in Ganymede gravity as it is in none at all.
The two of you grab handholds on the far side of the hatch, and pull yourselves through almost as soon as it slides open. Briefly, you're orientated perpendicular to the shaft, turning it into a broad, rounded tunnel that you and Azara are floating in the middle of. This changes as you get underway, rotating and pushing off in order to "fall" down its length head-first, moving toward the rear modules.
The familiar faces of the Esther Strova's crew run a spectrum from tense to excited, and you both exchange brief greetings with them as you float past. The worn, off-white panelling of the tunnels, interspaced at precise intervals with the module rings, still gives you an almost hypnotic feeling when you move along it at any kind of speed, the lighting strips on each surface dim enough not to cause eye-strain.
There are no windows: This isn't a pleasure yacht.
The hangar modules are very close to the back of the ship, where their bulk won't interfere with any of the others. Azara pulls herself to a gentle stop at the right module ring, swiping open the relevant hatch without bothering to check the number. You both know exactly where you're going — this isn't your first day.
"It's been ages since we've gotten to do anything," Azara says, voice excited as you join her in the interior airlock that separates the hangar from the rest of the ship. The other modules have failsafes, of course, but something about the hangar having an airlock large enough to admit a full-sized mecha makes people a little more nervous about safety. "I'm 500% ready for this. I'm as ready as five normal Azaras!"
"As soon as we get through the briefing," you point out. There shaft-side hatch slams shut behind you, and there's a brief delay before its hangar-side counterpart — reinforced with heavy armour — opens. The two of you are left in the tight, echoey confines of the airlock with nothing but the hum of the air exchanger.
"Well, yeah," Azara admits. "But—" as the doors swing open, she lets what she'd been about to say trail off, distracted by the sound of raised voices.
"Why is he going with you at all?" The voice is cold, flat with fury, tinged with a working-class Jovian accent.
"Because I'm filling in for you, of course." This one is anything but — smooth, cultured, pleased with itself: Accent not quite Earth, but definitely some kind of Inner System dialect.
Azara grimaces. "Oh, good. Those two again." The hangar is suitably large, rows of sleeping mecha held fast to two different surfaces. Their giant, humanoid frames curled in something like a fetal position for storage. You recognise your Pennant right away among the others, but that's not what you're here for yet. You take a left turn, hugging the wall, heading toward the briefing room in one corner. And the two voices.
Neither of you are surprised at the two men you find facing each other outside of the briefing room door. The shorter of the two is slight and narrow-shouldered. What he lacks in size, though, he makes up for in presence. Despite obvious Southeast Asian features, his short-cropped hair is fair enough as to seem unnatural, looking nearly stark white in this lighting. Metallic induction plates, embedded into his flesh and bone, gleam at his temples and along his neck, until obscured by the collar of his AIJ jacket. The set of his mouth is calm, but the glare he's giving the other man could have peeled paint. Jay Tham, another of your fellow pilots.
The target of this ire, impressively unphased, is middlingly tall and strikingly good looking. His own heritage is harder to pin down at a glance, but you're reasonably sure he's of heavily mixed African and European ancestry. His looks aren't the only reason he sticks out like a sore thumb on the Esther Strova: He's wearing a United Solar Empire uniform in green and silver, shoulder patch on his jacket graced by an eye staring out of a stylised solar eclipse. Commander Milo Owusu. 'Special liaison' from the USE's infamous Special Reconnaissance & Intelligence. Come all the way from Saturn to 'help'. In the face of Jay's barely restrained dislike, he's smiling in a way that verges on cocky.
Jay briefly looks as if he'd like to throw Owusu out of the main airlock. Then, ignoring the SRI man, he turns on the woman in AIJ colours trying to physically interpose between the two of them. "Sails, you can't be serious about going into actual combat with him!"
Commander Sails gives Jay a frown. Her voice is tight and disapproving. "With your Hecate half taken apart, we're short-handed. He offered."
Jay shakes his head in a savagely abbreviated gesture. "Why would he even make that offer? He tried to talk us out of this operation to begin with, now he wants to jump in a mecha and lend a hand?"
Owusu answers for her. "I don't trust information from sources I can't verify. And your mysterious source is the definition of unverifiable. But, since you're ignoring my advice and going out here anyway..." He spreads his hands, letting himself float freely for a moment for the sake of the gesture. "... I'm a man of many talents. Piloting is one of them."
Jay looks between Sails and the SRI officer, jaw clenched. "Fine," he says, still to Sails, not Owusu. "You've made up your mind. But trusting these snakes in green?" he points sharply in Owusu's direction. "That's a mistake. Believe me, I know." With that, he twists himself around, pushing off in the direction of the waiting mecha, rather than the briefing room.
"Where do you think you're going?" Commander Sails demands.
"To work on my unit," Jay says, not even bothering to twist around to say it. "Better use of my time, since I'm not going out anyway. And like you said, it's 'half taken apart'."
"That's not—" Sails trails off, growling in frustration: he's already gone. She sighs, one hand going through her greying hair. Then she turns to regard you and Azara. "Good, that's everyone here but Cam," she says. Presumably, the other pilots are already in the briefing room. "This operation shouldn't be much trouble, but I'll feel better once everyone's clear on the details."
"'Shouldn't be much trouble' is a highly theoretical state of affairs, in my experience," Owusu says. He flashes the two of you a smile that you suppose is meant to be friendly.
You don't know much about the SRI — only the rumours, and some of the rumours are exactly the kind of bad you'd expect from a spy agency with a militaristic bent. They haven't been a factor for your adult lifetime, replaced by equivalent Holy Solar Empire organisations: Matching the general trend, the HSE's Imperial Investigation Service is, by all accounts worse.
It had been tempting for many Jovians to shrug when the USE had been pushed out of the system, replaced by the HSE. It had seen an end to the Civil War's endless bloodshed, but did it really matter what colour the Imperial boot that was stamping on your face was? Very quickly, they'd realised that yes, it could matter a great deal. The HSE is more brutal and less permissive than the USE had been even at its worst, to say nothing of the genuinely terrifying religious zeal some of its true believers show. Hence why the AIJ is at the point of accepting help from people like Owusu.
"It's good we have you onboard for this," Sails says, directly to you. "Your background will probably be relevant — if you have anything to contribute during the briefing, speak up."
What does she mean?
/////PoCS/////
Let's get a few things out of the way!
Gender
You go by...
[ ] He
[ ] She
[ ] They
History
You are...
[ ] Ex Divine Navy
Like many in the cause, you were trained by the enemy. Once a pilot serving in the Holy Empire's Divine Navy of Correction, through pain or trauma or a surge of conscience, you found the opportunity to desert.
- Formal military training
- Lingering connections in the Holy Empire
- You have seen bad things. You have done bad things.
[ ] Born to the cause
Your parents were fighters for Jovian independence from the very beginning. You have been raised to this life, and you have training and experience in many things, piloting included, from a young age.
- Eclectic but consistent training
- Your family name carries respect within the movement
- You have trouble understanding people raised outside your ideological bubble
[ ] A Reformed pirate
You once piloted mecha as part of a gang of thieves ambushing vulnerable shipping. This often involved less outright murder than threats and intimidation, but you still know how to operate in combat.
- Ad hoc, informal training
- Underworld connections
- Checkered past
Personality
People find you...
[ ] Determined
[ ] Practical
[ ] Compassionate
[ ] Clever
But...
[ ] Scatterbrained
[ ] Severe
[ ] Brittle
[ ] Conniving
Gender will be counted in a seperate line. History and the two personality votes will be counted together, in plan format (something that asking for would have made my life a lot easier in the last quest, with a number of votes). You must vote for something from all three lists. If another plan is identical to yours, use that one instead of making up a new one, please.
Roughly something like this:
[ ] They
[ ] Plan: [PLANNAME]
-[ ] Ex Divine Navy
-[ ] Clever
-[ ] Brittle
Last edited:
Update 002: Pirate
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
She: 40
He: 36
They: 22
Raider of Ganymede: 36
Heart of Gold: 27
I'm in this for your Revolution: 15
Mercury's Revenge: 7
Lioness of Juno: 5
Plan Trying to Believe: 3
Starlight Crusader: 3
Pirate of the Callisto-bean: 3
It eats me up inside: 2
Bad girl: 1
He: 36
They: 22
Raider of Ganymede: 36
Heart of Gold: 27
I'm in this for your Revolution: 15
Mercury's Revenge: 7
Lioness of Juno: 5
Plan Trying to Believe: 3
Starlight Crusader: 3
Pirate of the Callisto-bean: 3
It eats me up inside: 2
Bad girl: 1
SCREENING OFFICER: You're a criminal.
RECRUIT: If you ask the zealots, we're both criminals. I was a pirate.
SCREENING OFFICER: Was? What are you now?
RECRUIT: Now I'm here. I'm doing this.
SCREENING OFFICER: And what if we don't want you?
[transcription note: RECRUIT stands up, leans over table]
RECRUIT: If you weren't desperate, why would you even be here?
— Screening interview excerpt taken from secure AIJ database
"So, we stealing a ship or what?" Azara asks the briefing room at large, snagging the back of her workstation and pulling herself into it. The workstations are arranged in rows — with the deck of the hangar as the floor, three are mounted to the right wall, three to the left, and three on the ceiling. All of them face the station at the far end of the room, where Sails is already waiting. The briefing room is little more than a box welded fast to one corner of the hangar, off-white walls plain and unadorned. Both it and the nearby locker room supposedly function as an emergency shelter in the case of a catastrophic hull breach, but... no one's in a hurry to actually test that.
Already strapped into the station in front of Azara, your squad leader looks at her with a sort of long-suffering resignation. "Wait for the briefing to start, Black," he says. "That way the commander doesn't have to repeat herself." Sunny Monserrato's looks are boyish, for all that he's older than you are, but his eyes are dead serious. Deep, olive complexion, thick, black hair begging for fingers to run through it — he's popular with women, and you can honestly see the appeal. Until you notice the immaculate state of his uniform jacket, the perfect order in which he keeps his workstation, and understand on a deep and intrinsic level that you would drive each other insane if you ever gave that a shot.
Also, you work together. Which seems like the sort of thing he'd care about.
Azara gives Sunny a mock-charming smile. When she does that, it makes her look distressingly cherubic. Distressingly, because you've been working together long enough to know what she's actually like. "You know me, boss: impatient." You shoot the two of them an almost fond look as you pull yourself into the last of Squad B's three workstations, the one behind Azara.
"And loud." This is from the woman seated in Squad A's row. Given that her squad leader is also Commander Sails, Jay's absence means that she's the only regular member currently seated in it. Kitty Wehrschmidt — tall, blonde, perpetually bored. And currently ignoring Milo Owusu, who has quietly claimed the unused workstation in front of her. After a moment, Kitty takes the bait: "What makes you think we're stealing a ship?"
"The Commander says that Pirate's 'background' is going to come in handy," Azara says. "So! I figure, we're stealing a ship." Sails sighs, but doesn't step in to stop the chatter just yet. You've never been able to decide if Azara's nicknames are affectionate, mocking... or just a result of her being very bad at keeping track of names. Maybe all three. Yours is not precisely her most subtle work.
"Mostly, I robbed ships," you correct her. Not for the first time. "Stealing the whole thing is almost always more trouble than it's worth."
"It's so nice for the people you robbed that you at least left them a ship," says the pilot in the workstation directly opposite yours. Ryan Ross is large, brown-haired and ruddy-faced. And of course, always unhappy — or at least, he's unhappy while you're around.
You meet Ryan's gaze, smile, and carefully tuck a strand of hair behind your ear — complete theatrics, of course: Hair will do what it wants in zero gravity, and yours is braided out of the way. "Well, don't get me wrong. If we could have, we'd probably have taken the ships more often but... then what? Have you ever tried to flip a stolen cargo ship? Buyers are a nightmare to track down. More trouble than it's worth. And running it ourselves, well... crew, fuel, supplies, retrofits to suit our needs. The costs add up, and it's just not practical."
Ryan clenches his jaw, staring daggers. His family ran merchant ships "Ryan." He glances up to see his own squad leader giving him a warning look.
Ryan pointedly turns away from you, staring straight ahead instead. "Right. Sorry," He says.
Shen Zhìháo gives him an approving, sympathetic look, before glancing across at Sunny, as if to silently reprove the younger squad leader for not doing more to keep you in line. Sunny sighs uncomfortably, twisting in his seat to give you a beseeching look. Zhìháo has that effect on people when he looks disappointed in them. Lean, battlescarred and silver-haired at nearly 50, he's older than Commander Sails by several years, and has been running mecha squads since before Sunny was born.
"Sorry, Squad," you tell Sunny, shrugging. He doesn't break eye contact right away — you've been told many times that you don't have the most apologetic face, even when you're being sincere. After a moment, he sighs, clearly deciding this is the best he's going to get.
"That's enough, people," Commander Sails says. "Cam's decided to grace us with her presence. We can start."
Squad C's final pilot, Lý Thị Cam, cringes as the rest of the room glances at her in unison. She shoots Sails a harried sort of look. "Sorry, Commander," she says. "I was fixing a power coupling for the captain." Cam has always reminded you a little of a quick, intelligent mouse. The fact that she's small enough to actually hide behind Ryan aids this impression.
"Try to plan a little better, Cam," Sails says. Not for the first time, and probably not for the last.
"Right, Commander," Cam mutters.
Seeing everyone in place, Sails straightens up at the head of the room, floating by her workstation with a casual hand gripping its edge. "Alright, team. I realise we've been keeping the details of this operation a little tight to the chest. Our... advisor from Saturn knows more than the rest of you, but I'm sure you all have gathered that we're intercepting a transport."
At his mention, Commander Owusu gives a cocky sort of half-wave, half-salute. She's right, you all had known this much. And more than that, rumours of Owusu's strident disagreement had trickled out to more than just Jay. He doesn't voice that now. You listen carefully, yourself. It must be something interesting, whatever this cargo is, for this to be kept so close to the chest. Not just finished goods from down the gravity well, salvaged tech from up, like you dealt with in the old days.
"Our target is a Verdant Class transport, flying civilian colours." As Sails says this, she uses her free hand to tap her workstation, and a schematic appears on all of your displayers. You study the familiar layout of that ubiquitous transport hull. Relatively compact and relatively fast as light transports go, with a rarer military configuration used for certain supply runs. A good, reliable vessel and a bit of a cash cow for people in your old profession.
Still, the word 'civilian' makes you raise your eyebrows with interest. Cam and Azara make sounds of surprise. Ryan nearly explodes.
"That's it?" he demands. "That's the big, secret mission? Attacking civilian shipping?"
"Shipping flying a civilian flag," you correct him, voice calm.
"Is this really the time for fucking pedantry?" He very clearly wants to throttle you.
Despite that, you explain. "It's flying a civilian signature. I can put on a nice hat and tell you that I'm Empress Dawn herself, but I don't think you'll start bowing and calling me 'your Divine Majesty' anytime soon." You smile a little at the comparison. Kitty lets out an amused scoff, and in front of her, Owusu actually laughs out loud. You turn your attention back to Commander Sails, leaving Ryan to fume. "You don't need three squads of combat-grade mecha to hijack a civilian Verdant," you say. "The military version though? One of their cargo bays converts to a mecha hangar, in a pinch. Only room for a few, but that changes the equation." You spin the 3D schematic hovering in front of you, and use a gloved finger to indicate the compartment in question, highlighting it so that this part of the ship is pinged on the other displays in the room. "I'm right, aren't I, Commander?" You try not to sound smug about it.
Sails nods, looking at least a little pleased, although she glances between you and Ryan warily before continuing. "You are right that this vessel we're targeting is being employed in a covert operation," she says. "According to our Galilean source, it left a secure facility in outer orbit with an escort. There will, however, be an approximately ten hour window in which this escort will withdraw, the ship will match a predetermined velocity and trajectory, and will proceed alone under minimal power. This course has been chosen to intersect exactly with an ordinary Divine Navy patrol route."
Now, the Verdant schematic shrinks down, and is replaced in prominence by a model of Jupiter, the vectors of the ship and the enemy patrol plainly visible as coloured lines traced along the plane of the gas giant's orbit.
"Ten hours is tight," you say.
"Very," Owusu agrees. "And that's if this information is precisely correct."
"Our source has always come through before," Sails says, calmly. "And we are perfectly on schedule. It should only be a handful of badly surprised mecha and one unarmed transport with minimal point defence."
"Should, should, should," Owusu says, low enough to be ignored.
Zhìháo raises a hand and asks the real question. "And what, precisely, is this cargo that's worth all this?"
Sails presses something else on her workstation, and a fresh schematic appears on your display. This one a mecha. "The only functional prototype of the Divine Navy's most advanced new mecha," she says.
You take in the details of the machine in question, and as you read what specifications you have in front of you, your eyes go increasingly wide, impressed.
"Pretty scary stuff," Azara mutters to you. "I wouldn't want to see that thing up and running in a real fight, huh, Pirate?"
Neither would you, if you have to be on the other side of it. But your name isn't really Pirate. What is?
/////PoCS/////
[ ] Book, Albertine
[ ] Gain, Priya
[ ] Himegami Kana
[ ] Larsen, Natassia
[ ] Solares, Katherine
[ ] Wong, October
Last edited:
Update 003: Patriot
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Himegami Kana: 39
October, Wong: 33
Solares, Katherine: 15
Book, Albertine: 2
Natassia, Larsen: 2
Gain, Priya: 1
October, Wong: 33
Solares, Katherine: 15
Book, Albertine: 2
Natassia, Larsen: 2
Gain, Priya: 1
The prototype schematics you can see indicate superior speed, firepower and defencive technologies — alarming enough on their own. But something else catches your eye.
"What's this 'QDI adaptor'?" you ask, pinging the strange device in the torso of the mecha. One of a number of components that the data in front of you doesn't completely explain.
"We're not sure yet," Sails admits. "Something to study once we've actually secured the prototype."
"I noticed that too," Cam says, eyes locked on her display. "It's connected to the haptic control suite — to several devices replacing standard interface components, I'd say at a glance. It's almost as complicated as Tham's Hecate, and that thing plugs directly into his nervous system." She looks up at Sails, a hopeful glint in her eyes. "Can I have a look at it when we get ahold of this baby?"
Sails shrugs, looking faintly amused at her enthusiasm. "I've never known Yorke to turn down your help, but it will be up to him," Sails says.
"How has he not tried to lure you into just transfering to maintenance?" Kitty asks, twitching a smile herself.
"He has," Zhìháo says, dryly. "He's been trying to take her from me almost as soon as she joined up." Cam smiles, expression a little smug.
"Alright, let's get back on track," Sails says, raising her voice. "All our lives depend on this." That quiets everyone down. Sails might not be much for friendly banter, but you all trust her with your lives, and it means a lot that she feels the same way about you all in return.
Sails switches your displays to feature a simulated scan map, displaying the expected battlefield: Here again is the Verdant class transport, this time a dot on a three dimensional map of space. Another, nearby, is flagged as the Esther Strova. Sails continued talking. "We'll launch ahead of the engagement." A cluster of smaller dots, marked 01-09, move away from the Esther in formation, even as the two ships continue to move toward one another. "The Esther Strova will engage at range, targeting their drives. They'll come around to try and spread out the damage, but the shields won't hold for long." The Esther moves in, the railgun fire represented by a bright, red line in space, rather than the streak of invisible death that railgun fire really is.
The mecha are moving on the map now, splitting into their three component squads, even as the enemy disgorges several of its own. "Squad A takes point," Sails explains, moving the icons for herself, Kitty and Milo Owusu into attack position.
"So, I'm in for a bit of excitement," Owusu says.
"You volunteered to fill in for Jay," Sails replies. "This comes with the territory."
"Oh, don't worry," Owusu promises, smiling. "I intend to be the very best Mr. Tham I can be."
Azara snickers. "Start by smiling less, then."
Sails ignores this exchange. Your own squad's icons are being moved now. "When the enemy mecha intercept us, Squad B will move in and take the ship. Cripple point-defence, disable drives. Ready the ship for boarding, in case they won't stand down. Avoid damage to the hangars and cargo holds if at all possible."
Sunny nods. "Understood," he says, military crisp.
"Believe me, I do know the drill," you say, mouth quirking ironically. Azara grins at you. Kitty rolls her eyes, although she still looks amused. You elect not to look and see what Ryan's reaction is, but you suspect he's glaring again.
"Squad C is standing by, to act in a supporting role for the other groups," Sails tells Zhìháo.
Zhìháo nods his understanding, more relaxed than Sunny. He's ex-United Solar Empire Navy, from back before the Civil War.
Support is Squad C's usual role -- their trio of ancient ISM07 Lancers having been acquired, with some others, at considerable effort just ahead of being scrapped by the Divine Navy. They still work, after a lot of maintenance, and the Lancer was the backbone of the Imperial Navy decades before the Civil War, but today they fare poorly against their modern descendants. The AIJ is hardly in a position to turn up their noses at functional military hardware, but now that the production of the AIJ Pennant has increased to a trickle, the remaining Lancer squads have increasingly been taking a back seat.
You steal a sidelong glance at Ryan, sitting behind Cam — thankfully unobserved. There is an undeniable awkwardness to being forced to rely on someone who makes no secret of loathing you on general principle, just as you're sure the reverse is equally so for him. Thankfully, he hasn't yet brought the grudge with him into combat. Not that it would be at all reasonable for him to do so. Your crew didn't kill his father, after all.
SRI Commander Owusu is a different matter entirely. You've never fought with the man before, but you somehow doubt he'll be able to match Jay's uncanny ability to be right where he's needed at all times in the heat of battle. That will be a bit of a loss even if he does turn out to be otherwise reliable, and that's not in any way guaranteed. You're hardly going to go as far as Jay had earlier — you don't have quite his bias against the United Empire's SRI — but you're quite certain that you don't trust him yet. Not the best realisation to have, hours ahead of combat.
At the head of the room, Sails moves on. "Now, when we—"
/////PoCS/////
It might be that initial mistrust that sees you hanging back at the end of the briefing. You watch the others file out in groups of one and two. Azara pauses at the hatch, raising a dark eyebrow, but you shrug, and she departs with the others, all dispersing to their own ends for the hours between now and the combat ahead.
Milo Owusu is still at his workstation, casually scrawling something onto an anchored tablet. You begin to drift over to him. Commander Sails, the last to leave aside from you two, gives you a tiny, searching frown on seeing your trajectory, but ultimately leaves you to your own devices.
"Himegami, was it?" Owusu says, looking up at your approach. His smile is dazzling, and seemingly just for you. It might have been enough to make your heart skip a beat... if it had reached his eyes. They're as dark and cold as your own, reflected back at you from the mirrored surface on the back of his workstation.
Positioned as you are above him, one hand anchoring you loosely in the workstation's general vicinity, you have the literal highground, rather than merely the figurative. Or as literal as it gets, in space. "Kana works," you say.
"I don't believe we've had a chance to speak before, Kana," he says, looking deep into your eyes. "It's good to be able to rectify that." Your ego very much wants this flirting to be genuine, whatever your common sense tells you — that's a jawline you could chart a course by, so to speak. As for your own looks, comparatively...
A whip-thin, raven-haired beauty. Eyes dark with mystery, lips twisted upward in a smile that promises danger and pleasure both, exuding an aura of wicked allure. Or, so went the description of a romance novel heroine you read at age twelve, which you have, in your heart of hearts, been pining to achieve ever since.
Truthfully, your hair is closer to brown — straight and glossy through your every effort to protect it from the cruel ravages of space travel. Kept long for the sake of vanity, but kept tightly braided for the sake of cramming it into a helmet on a regular basis. Your Japanese features would be obvious even without the name. Beyond that, your face has a sharply thoughtful quality to it. Your dark eyes a glint of raw calculation that it's hard to hide. Your smile an ironic lilt that comes across as both very self-satisfied and, at times, entirely devoid of warmth.
Colt-limbed and tall for your family, while 'whip-thin' might be a little much, your figure is slender, and gracefully so, you'd like to imagine: A notion once savagely punctured by a joking comment from an old boyfriend — who swiftly became your ex-boyfriend — dubbing you "skinny as an unfed boy".
So, you're not bad. You have your days. But you're good at spotting a line of bullshit — you do your best to remember his eyes.
"Sure," you say. "Did you piss off someone important, to get sent out here? Some rich noble?"
"What makes you think that?" He gets out of the workstation, unfolding elegantly.
"You're Imperial," you remind him. "Some rich bastard making you do what sucks too much for him to want to do is what the Empire is, whatever version you're talking about. And being out here? In enemy space, spending time around a ragtag band of rebels? That's a shit detail. So, what'd you do, screw someone's spouse?"
"Oh, worse than that," Owusu says, gravely. "I was promoted."
You look at him skeptically.
"It's true! I'm actually very popular down at headquarters. Someday, ask me to tell you all about how I single handedly saved Iapetus, along with an adorably earnest Navy ensign. Have you considered that I volunteered to be here?" He grins at the flat, disbelieving lines of your expression. "What can I say? I'm a true patriot."
You can't help but scoff at that. "Do they train you in spy school to deliver lines like that last part with a straight face?"
"Yes," he says. "You're a bit of a cynic, aren't you?"
"I'm realistic," you say. "You could be nice and safe back home around Saturn, but you're out here, risking your life."
Surprisingly, his manner turns briefly serious as he says: "Mars is home. I'd like to see it again."
"And Jovian Independence helps to get you there?"
He's back to that smooth smile of his. "Every piece of space liberated from the Holy Empire is a step closer to that, isn't it? We're all on the same side, after all." He turns, pushing off from the workstation to float out of the hatch, tossing you a cocky sort of backward wave as he goes. "I'll see you when it's time to launch later. Good luck, Kana."
You continue watching the hatch for a long moment, even after he's left you alone with nothing but the empty, darkened workstations and the quiet hum of the life support in the briefing room's walls. He might actually be a patriot after all. But call you paranoid... 'The enemy of my enemy' has never struck you as the basis for a lasting alliance. At the end of the day, it's best not to rely on your new friends from the United Empire overly much. Jay might be biased toward the SRI in particular... but he's probably not wrong, in the long term.
/////PoCS/////
You have hours left before the operation, in which you do not have active duties to occupy yourself. How do you spend this time?
Note: None of these are trap options, or otherwise designed to lock you out of interesting scenes, although they all lead to different scenes.
Pick two, use plan voting.
[ ] Clear the air with Ryan
[ ] Go to the gym for some low impact exercise
[ ] Read alone in your quarters
[ ] Track down your squadmates
[ ] Triple-check your mecha's condition
Last edited:
Update 004: Waiting
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Your life may depend on it: 26
Mecha nerd: 25
Squad Bonding: 10
Exercise is healthy guys: 2
Mecha nerd: 25
Squad Bonding: 10
Exercise is healthy guys: 2
All Dates given in New Solar Calendar format
515 NSC:
Emperor Radiance II of the United Solar Empire designates his eldest child, Prince Dawnlight, as his preferred successor, against the advice of the Imperial Electorate. Dawnlight is known to be overzealous in his views, worrisomely sympathetic to the extremist Cult of the Holy-Imperial.
520 NSC:
Existence of a secretive "J-Project", using Jovian Imperial citizens as test subjects becomes publicly known, triggering outrage and wide unrest in the Jupiter sub-system.
A series of aggressive human rights reforms attempt to mollify public outrage, vocally opposed by Prince Dawnlight.
521 NSC: Radiance II dies at age 121. The Imperial Electorate chooses Solana I, the late Emperor's niece, as Empress.
Prince Dawnlight refuses to acknowledge his cousin as empress, rallies supporters to his cause. Imperial Civil War ensues.
Solana's forces lose control of Earth, Luna, Jupiter.
522 NSC:
Solana's forces abandon Mars, retreat to Saturn, the Civil War effectively ends.
Formation of the Holy Solar Empire is declared.
523-526 NSC:
A series of brutal political purges occur in the HSE.
Unrest grows again in Jupiter.
527 NSC:
Jovian rebels are blamed for the destruction of the Ag 5 civilian habitat. The HSE responds by cracking down on "traitors and pirates."
531 NSC:
The HSE launches a disastrous invasion of Saturn. Its failure drains the HSE of much of its military power around Jupiter. Jovian rebel groups become emboldened.
532 NSC:
The USE's Imperial Guard is reorganised under Princess Daystar, niece and heir apparent to Solana I. Her bold moves unsettle many in Saturn.
533 NSC:
Now.
/////PoCS/////
You have time on your hands, and no strict mandate on how to spend it. Everyone has their little habits and rituals before combat. Kitty, you know, is going to be up in the gym, punching things for the next hour at least. Azara has probably already roped Sunny into a half dozen rounds of her latest puzzle game obsession.
As for yourself, you consider, briefly, the period mystery novel that you have loaded onto your tablet back in your quarters. But you're approaching the last third, with the heroine on the verge of solving the case of the Dress Shop Murder once and for all. You know yourself well enough to predict that once you get into that, you won't want to put it down.
Besides, you've already figured it out: It was the shopkeeper's mother.
You could join Sunny and Azara, or go to the gym for some target practise, but something is playing on your mind: Ryan.
This has hardly been the first time you've fought, of course, not even the first time in front of a small crowd. But maybe this tension has gone on long enough. Maybe now, ahead of having to work together in life threatening combat, it's for the best to try and come to a better place than you left it. You doubt he'll ever like you, but you can try.
At the hatch leading out of the mecha hangar, you pause. You have plenty of time to seek out that uncomfortable conversation, before it's really go time. For now... why don't you go have a look at your mecha? See if it's exploded or not in the time since you saw it last.
Two of the three squads' units are housed in this hangar module — the Lancers, as well as Milo Owusu's Banner variant, are kept in the other one. Past the briefing room, the length of the hangar opens up before you, mecha housed on two opposite surfaces.
The AIJ Pennant Multi-Role Space Mecha is based on the famous ISM32 Banner, still in heavy use by both incarnations of the Solar Empire. As such, it shares its parent-design's stocky, humanoid frame and monocular main camera array. That the Pennant looks sleeker, with curves where a Banner has hard edges, is unfortunately more a function of armour being expensive than of a deliberately aesthetic choice.
Your Pennant, designated 06, rests in its cradle at the far end of Squad B's machines. It has the same rudimentary, AIJ-colours paint job as the others... except for the stylised skull and crossbones decal someone has added to to the right shoulder of yours. You've never been able to get Azara to admit to that.
"Kana."
You catch yourself on a handhold on your way toward your unit. "Hello, Yorke," you say, pleasantly, greeting a middle-aged man in a spacer's jumpsuit.
He doesn't smile back. "On your way to go second-guess my team's work?"
"And why would I do that?" you ask.
He doesn't answer, but just looks at you flatly. He has the kind of bland, forgettable face you might expect to see in a video manual for a middle of the road kitchen appliance.
"My life depends on this machine, Yorke," you remind him. "It's not so strange to double check. I have nothing but the utmost respect for the work you and all your little flunkies do."
"Why am I unconvinced?" he asks.
"Because you've got a suspicious mind!" you say, smiling broadly. You push past him, heading for your Pennant again.
"All my people are taking a break before the action starts," he calls after you. "So don't expect us to change anything if it's not just how you like it." Really, it's almost like that man doesn't like you!
Reaching your Pennant, you catch yourself on one of the handles to either side of the cockpit hatch, taking a moment to look up at the massive, metal figure. It seems a lot smaller when you're out in space, where its cramped interior makes up your entire world. Speaking of which... the hatch keys open at your swipe, chest cavity hinging open to reveal the familiar pilot's harness and control array.
Drifting into it, you hook an arm through the harness to keep yourself from floating away, pull on the pair of interface gloves you keep in the pocket of your jacket, and wake the Pennant up in diagnostic mode.True to Yorke's word, as you scroll through a list of automated performance tests, everything is about as good as they can be given this level of facilities.
You're so engrossed with what you're doing, that the shout takes you by surprise: "Kana! Catch that for me?" Instinct taking over, you reach up and snatch the slowly spinning object out of the air as it passes directly past your open cockpit. You stare at it for a moment: A standard folding multi-tool, currently open to a set of needle-nose pliers. Then you look up, finding the source quickly enough.
Across the width of the hangar is Jay's AIJ-DI Hecate — the elegantly dark odd mecha out among the Esther Strova's mecha complement. With a triple-camera-array, advanced thrusters and trio of ominous, modified missile pods, it has the dubious distinction of being the most complex and difficult to service out of all 9. That's without even getting into the "direct interface" components itself. It's all the maintenance team can do to keep it combat-ready, and every once in a great while, something goes wrong enough that even that's not possible. Case in point, why Jay is not participating in this operation — something critical, deep within the bowels of the Hecate, has simply stopped, and maintenance hasn't had half a chance to find out what it is, yet.
It wasn't Jay who called out to you. He's here, of course, still white-haired and intense as ever, hoving over the Hecate's cockpit in a similar manner to what you're doing with your Pennant. The one who asked you to catch the multi-tool, however, is none other than Cam: She's hanging out of an opening in the side of the Hecate's torso, where the armour plating has been removed for access to its internals, grinning a little nervously at you, free hand waving, as if you might somehow miss her.
You're not surprised: Nothing relaxes Cam more than working on a broken machine.
"Here." You slip your hand out of the harness, re-orientate yourself, and kick off down to the Hecate, crossing the gap quickly, and grabbing hold of the other machine near Cam. You extend her multi-tool to her, a little amused. "Keep a better hold of it," you advise.
"Right, right, sorry!" Cam flushes briefly, hesitates, then hastily plunges back into the mecha, her feet protruding past the edge of the whole the only part of her visible. She doesn't take up a lot of room, all considered.
"You two having fun over here?" you ask, looking up at Jay.
He regards you impassively, expression flat as usual. "Should we be?" he asks, tone of voice matching it.
"I'm having fun!" Cam tells you, her voice echoing strangely from inside the Hecate. "I love the chance to work on this thing!"
"Apparently, we're having fun," Jay says, giving you the update as if you hadn't just heard that as well as he had.
"Well, good. You seemed like you were in... a bad mood earlier," you say, smiling a little knowingly.
"I suppose the shouting tipped you off?" he says. He's the farthest thing from shouting now, regardless. An almost chilly sense of calm exudes off of him as he checks the Hecate's many delicate systems on his display. "That did something, good job," he tells Cam.
"Great!" Cam shouts back. "I'll try the other one, then."
"Did you get it out of your system, or are you still angry at Sails including Owusu?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. Jay only shrugs noncommittally. "And what is that supposed to mean?" you press.
"I don't know," Jay says. For a moment, a long moment, it seems like he's going to try to leave it at that. Then he adds: "I'll admit, I can't really think clearly about the subject.".
"About the SRI?" Cam's voice asks.
"Mm," Jay agrees.
"Well, I can't really blame you, after every— ow!" Cam cuts off suddenly, with that yelp of pain. Then she adds: "I'm fine, I'm fine, don't worry!" You and Jay both relax, having tensed at precisely the same time.
"I doubt I'd be their biggest fan either, if I'd had your... upbringing," you say, skirting around a delicate issue.
Jay gives a quiet scoff — half dismissive, half amused. "I was part of a lab experiment to turn kids into cyborg supersoldiers, Himegami," he says. "Call a spade a spade." He fingers one of the induction plates on his temple, tracing an idle pattern in the smooth metal anchored into pallid skin. "Either way... it's hard to let my guard down around that uniform."
"You're probably not even wrong not to, in the long term," you tell him. "But I don't think that translates to shooting me or Cam in the back during this operation. He dies too, if things go wrong."
"Mm," Jay says again, drifting back to his open cockpit to do something with the interface. "Ease up a little on that setting, Lý," he advises.
"Sure, right," Cam agrees. "One second."
A moment or two later, Jay glances back up at you, still dividing his attention between you and the task at hand. "He also just rubs me the wrong way."
"Oh, I see," you say.
"... what's that smirk?" Jay asks, voice thick with suspicion.
"You'd like it if he rubbed you the right way?" you ask, letting the smirk get wider.
Cam lets out a bit of a startled, choking sound. Jay actually barks out something like a laugh.
"I'm not hearing a no," you say.
Jay rolls his eyes. "He's a damn-sexy man. I'm not blind. It's hard to care much about that with the amount of smug he's radiating, not to mention the uniform."
"The uniform probably comes off," you say, voice lascivious.
"You know, I do have standards," Jay says.
"'Standards' huh?" You cross your arms, drifting a little as you consider that, looking deep in thought. "Lucky for me that more men don't have those, I think."
Jay stops looking at the cockpit display, giving you a brief once-over. "I think you'd do fine," he says, tone neutral.
"Okay, okay!" Cam pushes herself out of the Hecate's internals, round face bright red as she comes back into view. "Can you two... not? Do... this?" She flails a little. "Like... here, with me, when I'm trying to work?"
You and Jay exchange a look for a moment. Then you both laugh, while Cam glares in that affronted puppy way of hers. "Haha, real funny," she mutters.
"I suppose I'll leave you both to it," you say, laughter finished. "I have... other matters to attend to."
Jay sighs. "You just like to make things pointlessly mysterious, don't you?"
"One of my worst habits," you agree, with a smile.
/////PoCS/////
Making the reverse trip to the one you took earlier, you drift purposefully through the broad tunnel that is the Esther Strova's central shaft, heading toward the pilots' quarters while taking a pull from a pouch of caffeinated lemon water. Tea tastes like dirt, coffee somehow tastes worse than dirt, and that's not even thinking about their infinitely sadder spacer food incarnations.
Up ahead, a familiar figure gives you a wave as they come out of one of the side modules, and you both pull yourself to an early stop. "Hello, Naz," you say.
Naz smiles wide. "I'm surprised you're not holed up in your quarters," they say. "All out of silly detective novels?"
You ignore the barb, good natured as it is. "I'm looking for Ryan," you say, shrugging.
Naz looks at you sidelong, dark hair drifting along behind the motion in its ponytail. "Are you trying to pick a fight before the actual fight?" they ask, amused.
"What makes you say that?" you ask, a little evasive.
Nazaret raises an eyebrow quizzically. "Ryan hates you, Princess."
"... perhaps."
"Honestly, everytime you two go out there together, I'm impressed that he doesn't take a shot at you."
You wave your free hand, still holding the water pouch, dismissively. "I'm sure it's just your calming and dulcet tones over the comm that keep things running."
"You say that like it's not true," Naz says smiling again. Naz, like you, always gives the impression of somehow being up to something. Infuriatingly, in Nazaret, it seems to make them more likeable. "Anyway, he's in the general crew lounge — it's empty right now. Azara and Sunny are set up in the pilot's module, and I think he's avoiding your squad."
Ugh. "Thanks, Naz," you say.
"Sure thing."
With that helpful advice, you adjust your course for the appropriate module. You catch yourself on the appropriate handhold, and pull yourself into the module. Like the smaller version in the pilot's module, it's a space dominated by zero gravity seating and magnetically lockable surfaces on every wall. Sure enough, as Naz told you, there's only one person here.
Ryan is strapped in at a rest station, eyes intent on a tablet held loosely in one hand. He has his earpieces on, and appears to be engrossed in an episode of what you identify as My Imperial Ground Forces Platoon Sent to Another World. A classic of the genre. Also, utter trash. But who are you to judge a man's choice of relaxation prior to combat? Not out loud, anyway.
"Himegami." He looks up at you with a flat, uninviting stare, pausing the episode on a still of the protagonist locked in an expression of comical embarrassment.
"Oh, don't stop on my account," you say, smiling. "Watching the episode where the treacherous bandit queen gets her comeuppance?"
He sighs, as if frustrated to even be dealing with you. "Not everything is about you."
"You're quite terrible at telling when I'm joking," you say.
"And you're excellent at being insufferable whether or you're being serious or not. What do you want?"
You let out a long breath. He sort of has a point — sincerity isn't your strong suit. "What are you doing here, Ross?"
"... excuse me?"
Case in point. "Serious question. Why are you here with our merry band of rebels?"
He gives you a hard look. "Because, the Holy Empire is ruled by corrupt nobles and bloody-minded fanatics, and I'd like my children to have something better than this." His glare intensifies as he finishes, daring you to say something snide. Admittedly, it is pretty tempting.
Focus, Kana! We're building bridges today, not setting them on fire.
"You have kids?" you ask.
Ryan blinks, surprised. "One. She's three."
"Safe on back at home, I take it?"
He scowls at you. "Well, I'm not exactly hiding her in the cargo hold."
You ignore his unfriendliness. "My mother was an in-vacuum welder. Spent most of her time making habitats all over. Not much time at home with us. It was hard on her." You say this in a serious tone, working hard to make sure he doesn't take any of it the wrong way.
Ryan stares for a long moment, not sure how should take that. Then, finally, he nods, accepting the olive branch for what it is. This is certainly the first time you've told him anything about your background, beyond glib allusions to your criminal past. Finally, he speaks again. "Were you a station brat, then?"
"Oh, no," you say. "I'm from Ganymede. The middle layers of Troy." The largest city in the Outer Solar System and the official capital of Jupiter, Troy is a creeping, multi-levelled thing. It stretches from the conventional dome-city on the planet's surface, to the vast network of tunnels where you were born, to the aquatic habitats on the underside of the icy moon's crust, hanging over the unsettling, lightless abyss of Ganymede's internal ocean.
Ryan nods, and you want to see if he puts two and two together, with your mother's profession and your hometown. It's satisfying when he abruptly does. "Was she in the Trojan Builders Union?" he asks, not meeting your eyes.
"Yes," you freely admit. "She didn't particularly agree with the strikes — mom liked to keep her head down. Do her job, never rock the boat. 'Don't cause trouble, and the authorities won't cause trouble for you', she was fond of saying. Turns out, it didn't really help. It certainly didn't stop the Holy Empire from just grabbing her and my eldest brother, when they started arresting union members. We never heard exactly what happened to them, but..." you shrug eloquently.
Ryan nods slowly. He knows that when someone gets arrested for something political like that — a worker's strike that harms the administration's agenda — no one ever sees them again. After an uncomfortable moment, he continues: "So then you ran off with pirates?"
"I was 16," you say, not denying it. "It made a sort of sense at the time. I'd just been shown the kind reward you can still expect to get from His Divine Majesty for following the rules like a good citizen."
"Why are you telling me all this, Kana?" he asks.
"You don't care for my previous profession," you say. "That's fine. But, I don't apologise for where I come from, or what I was. We all have our reasons for being here now. And we are in this together, even if we aren't friends."
Ryan sighs again, shutting off his tablet, letting the blank screen drift slowly away across the room for the time being. "Do you think I don't know that?" he asks.
"I think I'm good at making people forget it, sometimes," you say.
He laughs a little at that. "Well, that's not wrong," he says. "We're... fine, Kana. As close as we're ever going to get, anyway. You just really know where to push." Some of his earlier anger comes back in those last words, but he's largely relaxed. He's not glaring at you, anyway.
"It's my chief talent," you say, with a cocky smile. You gave him a little wave, and you're back out the door before he can think better of it.
/////PoCS/////
You seal up the front of your pilot suit and feel the telltale buzz of haptic input arrays calibrating themselves against your skin. You're working with older models — whatever can be scrounged, as with everything — the exterior coated in the same austere, grey fabric as your jacket.
"Ready to strike a blow against oppression, Pirate?" Azara asks, giving your arm a light jab. This being space, you're sent sailing a short distance across the lock room before you can grab something. It hurts, but never enough to actually complain about, beyond giving Azara a brief, heatless glare. She's in her suit as well, helmet clipped to the back. The red AIJ logi stands out as triumphantly as it can over her heart.
"I'm ready to hijack a transport and get called heroic for it, for once in my life," you say.
Nearby, Kitty quirks a smile. "Are they going to start calling us heroic, now?" she asks. "Parades and everything?" She's nearly upside down relative to you and Azara, one foot hooked through a handhold as she fixes her blonde hair up into a tight enough bun not to be a problem with her helmet seals.
"Well, I like to imagine someone telling me that," you admit.
Out in the hangar, it's much changed from before. Yorke's people are present in force, running through last minute preparations as the Esther Strova silently powers through space, toward your intended victim. You and Azara drift over to Sunny, already at his unit.
"Hey, Squad," you say, turning as you sail past him. "Did you let Azara talk you into betting real money again, this time?"
Sunny frowns at you. "Focus, Kana." From behind his back, Azara shoots you a grin that answers 'yes' for him.
"Sure, Squad," you say. "You know me." You drift onward, toward the hatch of your mecha.
"Yeah, he does, and that's what he's worried about," Azara calls, in a mock whisper. Then she pushes off of Sunny's Pennant, headed for her own. You have the satisfaction of seeing Sunny twitch a smile at that.
Across the hangar, you catch sight of Commander Sails, suited up, speaking with Kitty in front of Squad A's units. Jay isn't here — his Hecate has been sealed up, but you doubt that Yorke has had time to give it a final okay, even if he and Cam found the problem earlier. You assume that Milo Owusu is in the second hangar, along with Zhìháo, Cam and Ryan. They'll all join you after launch.
You swipe open the lock on your cockpit hatch again, crack it open enough to gently toss your helmet inside before following it in. Inside, you slip into your harness by memory almost more than by sight, snagging your helmet with one hand and securing it over your head. As you wake the Pennant up, the familiar heads up display flashes to life in the glass directly in front of your eyes. You enter the activation code, and the startup sequence begins to flash by.
AIJ PROVISIONAL COMBAT MECHA OS ver. 0.5.1b, reads the text, as the machine around you hums to life. Readouts showing your reactor status, oxygen levels, hull integrity, Pennant 06's signal strength to the ship and a host of other stats you'd checked earlier appear, small compared to the camera feed showing the hangar around you, and the 3D scan map fed directly from the Esther Strova's own scans. The ship hasn't come into range of the enemy yet, but soon enough, the map should show you exactly what you saw on the simulation.
A voice comes in over your comm. Commander Sails. "All pilots. Report status in squad order. Pennant 01, all green, standing by."
"Pennant 02, all good, standing by," says Kitty, sounding bored.
As expected, Owusu speaks in place of Jay. "Banner 10, all green, standing by." Then it's your squad's turn.
"Pennant 04, all green, standing by," says Sunny.
"Pennant 05, blue skies here. Standing by!" chirps Azara.
"Pennant 06, I'm good. Standing by." You don't try to match either Sunny's professional clip or Azara's inappropriate enthusiasm.
"Lancer 07, all green, standing by," Zhìháo says, followed by Cam and Ryan.
"Lancer 08, everything's good, standing by!"
Lancer 09, no problems, standing by."
"Be ready to disembark in squad order, on my word," Sails instructs, this ritual completed.
Azara hates this part; the waiting, nothing to do but stay still and ready. It's a common sentiment. You've never been able to relate, however. Whether it's pitched combat, a hit and fade on an enemy warship, or even a raid on helpless shipping, orderly plans fall to chaos as they come into contact with real conditions. You like this part, surrounded by the homey, smooth surfaces of your Pennant's cockpit, safe in this twilight time where you all pretend that everything will go according to plan.
After all, it never lasts long.
/////PoCS/////
Your Pennant
The AIJ Pennant Multi-Role Space Mecha lacks the Banner's robust family of purpose-built variants. What it does have is standard hardpoints for ease of switching between configurations, mimicking some of its parent line's versatility.
Your Pennant is configured to match those of the rest of Squad B': Sunny Monserrato and Azara Black. What configuration are Squad B's Pennant's kept in? This will have major, continuing effects for you, but will also have immediate ones for this operation in particular, in which your squad's primary role is disabling the enemy ship while Squad A intercepts enemy mecha.
[ ] Standard
The Pennant's default configuration is based directly on the ISM32 Banner, the workhorse of both feuding branches of the Solar Empire. It balances capabilities in anti-mecha combat with the flexibility to engage other targets, with trade-offs in both.
Armaments:
Standard grade anti-mecha assault rifle
Anti-mecha nanofilament cutter
Capable of carrying a standard payload of "hull-cracker" anti-ship bombs
Armour: Middling
Speed: Middling
Armaments:
Standard grade anti-mecha assault rifle
Anti-mecha nanofilament cutter
Capable of carrying a standard payload of "hull-cracker" anti-ship bombs
Armour: Middling
Speed: Middling
[ ] Heavy
The Pennant's Heavy configuration is based off of the ISM32b Banner Heavy Type. This configuration maximises effectiveness against larger, less maneuverable targets like ships and stations, accepting a loss of effectiveness in close anti-mecha combat.
You would have killed to have this machine back when you were a pirate.
Armaments:
Heavy grade anti-materiel assault cannon
Standard grade anti-mecha assault rifle
Heavy payload of "hull-cracker" anti-ship bombs
Armour: Reinforced
Speed: Middling
You would have killed to have this machine back when you were a pirate.
Armaments:
Heavy grade anti-materiel assault cannon
Standard grade anti-mecha assault rifle
Heavy payload of "hull-cracker" anti-ship bombs
Armour: Reinforced
Speed: Middling
[ ] Light
The Pennant's Light configuration is based off of the ISM32s Banner Recon Type. It boasts improved acceleration. Maneuverability and range above the baseline model, at the cost of durability and firepower. It is nonetheless capable of slipping past defensive screens in some situations, making it an effective choice for striking at light enemy shipping such as transports and scouting vessels.
Armaments:
Light grade anti-mecha assault rifle
Anti-mecha nanofilament cutter
Capable of carrying a standard payload of "hull-cracker" anti-ship bombs
Armour: Stripped down
Speed: Boosted by omni-directional thrusters
Other: Superior long-range scan suite
Armaments:
Light grade anti-mecha assault rifle
Anti-mecha nanofilament cutter
Capable of carrying a standard payload of "hull-cracker" anti-ship bombs
Armour: Stripped down
Speed: Boosted by omni-directional thrusters
Other: Superior long-range scan suite
Last edited:
Update 005: Shooting Star
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Heavy: 46
Light: 12
Standard: 5
Light: 12
Standard: 5
"[...] and of course, the problem lay not with our brave pilots, righteous martyrs to the cause. They fell at the hands of dishonourable, deceitful enemies, and would have triumphed in any fair fight. But can we expect our enemies to be otherwise? Can we expect anything else from those who are so against all right thinking that they would raise a hand in violent rebellion against our beloved Divine Emperor?
If our brave warriors are to win against such depraved blasphemers, they must have a new sword. Overwhelming technological superiority is our path to victory now and forever."
— Crown Prince Solanis of the HSE, address on the subject of the failed Saturn Invasion
If our brave warriors are to win against such depraved blasphemers, they must have a new sword. Overwhelming technological superiority is our path to victory now and forever."
— Crown Prince Solanis of the HSE, address on the subject of the failed Saturn Invasion
The Bridge of the AIJ improvised assault carrier Esther Strova
"The target is showing up now, Captain," says the young AIJ scans officer.
The Captain grins, looking at the lone dot at the edge of scan range — it's a feral expression, a hunter's smile. It adds to the wild look already created by his powerful frame and full, black beard. "Don't look so nervous, Schmidt," he says reaching across the short distance to clap his subordinate on the shoulder. "This is a good choice for your first combat — it should be relatively safe."
"... I'm sure it will be, Captain Leski," Schmit says. His tone doesn't reflect any such confidence.
"Let us know when it looks like they've spotted us," Leski says, knowing that this is about as good as he's going to get.
"Yes, Captain," says Schmidt.
The bridge of the Esther Strova is roughly tubular, workstations on every side but the one the hatch is built into. It's neither as spacious nor as secure as the bridge of a real, purpose-built warship, but it gets the job done.
"Taking us in on the pre-established course, Captain," the woman at the helm, seated directly above Leski, says. He's long since lost any sense of vertigo from looking up to see the crown of someone's head.
"Target is hailing us, captain," Nazaret says from the right. "Just asking who we are. Demanding, more like. Do we respond?"
"No," Leski says, shaking his head. "Proceed with the plan." He keys something in on his workstation, bringing up a comm window for Commander Sails. "We're a go, Jennifer."
"Understood," Sails replies. Over the video link, she's clearly in the cockpit of her Pennant already, prepared to launch at a moment's notice. Her helmet is firmly in place, face serious, as she adds: "Wish us luck, Captain."
"You think you'll need it?" he asks.
Sails frowns. "We're going into combat. Everyone needs luck."
"Jen, you're not that easy to kill. And your pilots know what they're doing. We can handle this."
She scoffs lightly at that. "Everyone's easy to kill," she says. "Switching over to combat channel now, Captain. We'll keep Nazaret appraised."
Leski's grin doesn't diminish, but it does get a little more rueful. "Cheerful as always," he comments.
/////PoCS/////
Bridge of the covert Divine Navy transport, HDMS Sunspot
"I repeat: Unidentified freighter, acknowledge!"
Of course, it doesn't. Because, as Commander Kron, captain of this small vessel knows somehow in her bones, it's already moving into attack position.
"I repeat," her comms officer says again, voice growing more strained. "Unident—"
"Give it up, Sub-lieutenant," Kron says. "They won't be responding."
"Ma'am?" the young woman's eyes are wide and confused.
Kron's words in replying to her are pitched to the bridge in general, to her subordinates, arrayed around her in their crisp, white-and-gold uniforms, seated at workstations arranged in that classic, Imperial chevron. "Bring us to level 1 battlestations. Assume hostile intent from an armed vessel. Launch all mecha, prep all weapons." She gives a snarl of a smile at the last — her little ship, her unassuming little "Verdant" class, has fangs that this scum won't expect.
All around her, the bridge bursts into quiet motion, her orders being carried out. The entire ship lurches as they make an emergency course correction.
"Banner squad is away, ma'am," she's told.
"Weapons are hot, ma'am," says another voice. "Calcul—"
"They're firing on us!"
This last warning is immediately followed by the shaking, bone-rattling moan of a railgun round clipping their shields, the faint echo of its vibrations making its way to the ship itself. Kron hates being right.
... who could possibly be sending her an emergency comm ping from the mecha deck, of all places? She opens it, trusting that it's at least important, if very likely also unwelcome news. As soon as she sees who it is on the other end, she knows that it will likely only be the latter.
"Permission to launch, Captain?" the thin, dark-haired man asks. He glares challengingly into the camera.
"Absolutely not!" Kron says, appalled he's even wasting her time by asking like this. "You're a test pilot, not a combat asset. And your 'unit' is cargo. Vital cargo that's worth more than any of our lives."
Sir Salimus smirks challengingly back at her. "Doesn't matter if we don't launch the thing, if they kill us all and steal it anyway, ma'am," he says. He's already in his pilot suit, you see. The arrogance of knights — especially highborn knights — knows no bounds.
"... have it prepped," Kron finally allows. "You are not to launch without permission. The QDI adaptor took weeks to reset from your brainwaves — do not imprint it again without due cause."
"Sure, sure, ma'am." His smile widens. "All heretics will fall!" he adds, by way of well-wishing. Then, without even waiting to be dismissed, turns around and points to several figures dimly visible in the background, currently out of focus. They're some of the young, civilian technicians they'd been forced to press into service before departure. "You three: Prep the Star for launch!" They hurl themselves across the hangar to comply, an indistinct blur on Kron's display.
She ends the call in disgust.
"Enemy mecha detected, ma'am," Her scans officer says. "They've just launched one squad, heading right for us."
/////PoCS/////
Your Pennant's cockpit,
Mecha hangar of the Esther Strova
You watch the plan unfold in that dry, removed way: Just points of light on your scan map, status updates and numbers. There are many reasons why you're a pilot, but this is certainly one of them: You'd go crazy if just looking at this sort of thing were your whole job.
The Esther Strova disgorges Squad A, even as its main weapons fire at the distant target. Your ship is moving in a long, sweeping trajectory, relative to the enemy, approaching the Verdant at an angle. The enemy ship's shields flare with the impact of railgun fire, as expected. Moments later, the faint signals of enemy mecha appear from within the vessel's stronger one. All as expected. Now, it's your squad's turn.
Sunny is first, then Azara, then you. Sunny's Pennant detaches from its cradle with a deafening snap, followed by a bass rumble as it is maneuvered along a set of guiding tracks built into two walls of the hangar, going in the direction of the mecha airlock. Moving such large machines around in an enclosed space, in combat, in zero gravity, is dangerous enough without letting them drift free as well. The inner airlock hatch groans open, and the mecha is moved inside. Then they slam shut again, sealing him within.
"Pennant 04, you are cleared to launch," says Nazaret's voice over the comm.
"Pennant 04, launching," Sunny confirms a moment later, as the outer hatch, unseen, opens to let him fly out into space. You watch Azara's Pennant go next, moving through the same process, having the same exchange with Naz.
Now it's your turn.
You take a deep breath as your Pennant shudders its way along the track toward that colossal inner airlock hatch. As you go, you complete one last ritual. One that's been with you since your earliest pirate days, flying converted civilian mecha held together by little more than spite and ingenuity. A small, trashy charm retrieved from a small overhead in your cockpit, cheap paint nearly worn off. You slip the elastic cord it dangles from over your wrist, eyes staring straight ahead.
You pass through the open hatch, into that rough, industrial space beyond. A compartment built for machines, rather than humans. In front of you is the armour-plated outer hatch, the only thing between you and nothing. You take in a deep breath, timed exactly to when the air around your mecha is siphoned away.
"Pennant 06, you are cleared for launch," Naz tells you. Then they can't help but add: "Good luck out there, Princess." You can hear the smile in their voice, even though you can't see it.
"Luck is always appreciated," you say. "Pennant 06, launching."
The outer hatch slams open, revealing the blackness of space, and you hurtle forward into it. Clearing the hatch, your mecha's limbs finally extend, weapons unfolding where they're mounted on armoured limbs. With a twist of your wrist, you kick in your main thrusters, joining your squadmates where you can see them on your scan map. On your visual feed, the ship you just left is already rapidly shrinking to a tiny point of grey against the stars.
"05, 06, with me," Sunny says. "Linear formation." It's what you'd agreed upon already. You and Azara fall in behind him, following at a safe distance, all three of you matching velocity with one another. You blaze your way toward the target, approaching at a vector both below and at an angle to that of Squad A's approach.
Commander Sails' voice comes over the comm, as you see her squad collide with a set of red points on your scan map. "Three enemy Banners, Squad A engaging."
"Understood," Sunny tells her. "Squad B, moving in on the target."
"Squad C, approaching and standing by," adds Zhìháo.
All three of them sound calm and collected — and well they might, this is so far going exactly as intended. None of them, neither the commander nor her two squad leaders, let themselves come across too confident.
As you approach the target, Squad A's fight with the enemy goes from points of light on your visuals to tiny, darting figures, even as the ship itself becomes visible. A green-grey miniature, the familiar contours of a Verdant Class filling out. That same blocky, elongated design, the cargo holds outsized to the tiny living compartments perched on top of them. Or... wait. No, something's wrong.
You frown at your scan data. Ordinarily, you trust what you see there more than you'd trust your eyes. But... There. Oh no.
Ordinarily, you'd talk to Sunny, who would pass the information on to Sails, or to Nazaret back on the ship if it's urgent enough. Right now, though, there's something that they all need to know that's pressing enough that you don't even think before bypassing that, hitting the general comm channel half in a panic: "That's not a Verdant!"
Too late. Before anyone can ask you to clarify this claim, you quite literally see it as the enemy ship aligns a main weapon — a warship grade railgun, holy fuck — and fires. That is decidedly not anything a Verdant of any kind, civilian or military, should have. Thankfully, it's not at any of the mecha. Caught unawares, that would have been near certain death for at least one of you. But the Esther Strova's shields flare noticeably, which is its own danger.
To her credit, Sails doesn't hesitate. "Squad B, stay out of that gun's firing arc and finish this job — you're going to have to be fast."
"Yes, Commander," Sunny says. Then, over squad comm, he adds: "You heard her."
"What, like, this doesn't change anything?" Azara demands, skeptically. As you approach the ship, trying to put yourself as far outside the projected cone of the railgun's range, you see Squad A's fight up close. The well-armoured forms of three enemy Banners clash with Sails and Kitty's Pennants. You catch sight, briefly, of Milo Owusu's unit — some exotic Banner variant — flitting in around Kitty, and plunging a cutter in between the joints of one of the Divine Navy units' arms. Well, he's at least good.
"Kana?" Sunny asks you. Not ceding command, just asking for your expertise.
"The boss is right," you tell him. "We've gotta kick this thing's teeth in fast. Faster than is really safe. You don't fuck around with that kind of firepower."
"Its 'teeth?' Oh, the weapon." Sunny only stumbles over the pirate slang briefly.
"So... Sunny, you and me are gonna have to go in under the shield and take out the point defence so Azara can unload on that gun. All at the same time."
"Right," Sunny agrees. "Kana, with me. Azara, follow behind." He doesn't question your assumption of combat roles, in this. Azara has the best precision when it comes to hull-cracker bombs, for all that that wounded your pride, at first.
"Sure thing," you say.
"No pressure, right?" Azara asks.
"Well, you know, if you fuck up everyone dies," you say. She laughs like a lunatic — it's more than a little unhinged, at the moment, but it's what she needs. Sunny only sighs. He's given up on the subject of comm discipline a long time ago.
Military-grade point defence arrays are lethal. Laser weapons, their beams strong enough to sear through your Pennant's armour, if you let them — they need a target to be relatively close, though, and you can evade their tracking if you fly fast and erratically enough. It's still not exactly a walk in the park. As you and Sunny plunge down toward the enemy ship, growing rapidly from miniature to giant, you try to weave and dodge unpredictably. It's a dance you've been following the steps of for years, and you still hear a warning blare in your ears as one of your Pennant's limbs is briefly seared.
You pull back an arm, bringing up your anti-ship cannon. It's a blunt instrument, but this is a blunt task. With every shot, you feel the reverberation in your bones, each one striking a point-defence emitter with enough force to stave it in, although not enough to pierce the hull beneath. As you fly along the length of the ship's hull, you begin clearing the surface below you of as many of the emitters as you can reach, you and Sunny covering each other, weaving in and out of each other's path. Always, the two of you are heading for the ominous bulk of the ship's railgun, the one already firing again.
Azara follows in your wake. "I've got a lock on it," she says.
"Understood," Sunny replies.
The ship must know what you're doing. The enemy mecha must see the danger, but they're pinned down by Squad A, fighting for their lives while Sails, Kitty, and Owusu run interference. The SRI officer is slotting into the rhythm of his two squadmates' combat styles admirably. The enemy is determined, though, and has the benefit of formal military training.
"Squad B, one of them just slipped past us!" Sails warns.
The enemy Banner, damaged but not disabled, swerves away from the melee with Squad B, making a break back for the False-Verdant, for you. You prepare to shift your tactics, to cover Azara, to try and drive the mecha off before it can get into range to use its cutter against you.
A dark shape flits into view, raining anti-mecha fire down on it. Another from the opposite side, and a third. Damage accumulating on its torso as the automatic rounds tear into it, the enemy Banner is forced to change course, even as Squad C continues to pursue. Their Lancers aren't a match for the newer machine individually, but as a group, Zhìháo, Cam and Ryan hound the lone Banner like a pack of hounds bringing down a wolf.
"Squad B, we have you covered," Zhìháo says.
"And thank Sol for that," Azara says. "Five seconds," she adds, for your sake and Sunny's.
A laser sears the armour over your cockpit, but you blast open the spindly, omni-directional tower that is the emitter. It snaps in two, the dangerous end spiraling away into space. "You're all clear," you tell her.
"Additional mecha is launching from the enemy ship," Sunny warns you.
You note the new blip on your scans. Four was a weird number for a ship like this to carry. "It's too far out to stop us," you say, relieved. Things honestly could have gone a lot worse, nasty surprise or not — the Esther Strova's shields have taken a beating, but no serious damage yet. And no one's died.
You and Sunny bank, coming up short as Azara shoots past you toward the rail gun. "Smashing in their tee—"
That moment, the way she energetically called back to your earlier comment, will always haunt you. Azara never finishes her sentence. She's struck by a shooting star: The impact as brutal as it is sudden, the flying object crushing her Pennant's armour, sending it spinning uncontrollably away into space.
"Azara! Azara! Can you hear me?" Silence. You can hear Sunny reporting what happened to Sails in a clipped tone, even as you realise that you can't afford to worry about Azara right now, however bad that looked. However much visions of her unit being melted by point defence lasers elsewhere on the hull plays through your head. Because... she wasn't literally hit by a shooting star.
She was hit by a mecha.
And it's turning to look at you, twin optical arrays disturbingly humanlike. Then it's on you.
You move first, and that's all that saves you, accelerating away from it as hard as you can, laying down fire with your anti-mecha gun. Instead of charging right for you, it almost seems to melt away to the side. Thinner than a Pennant, more substantial than a Lancer, sporting a strange, thin-bladed cutter.
"Squad B, fall back. Squad C, cover them!" Commander Sail's voice is strained, even as she manages to stave in one of the enemy Banners' cockpits with gunfire.
You and Sunny try to comply, coordinating as before, covering for each other as you fall back in different directions. You can already see Squad C moving in to intercept it. It's like the Banner before — this thing, whatever it is, won't be able to just shrug off an attack by all three of the Lancers at once. Not while taking fire from you and Sunny as well.
Zhìháo's Lancer flits into sight, blocks the swing of the strange enemy's cutter. Then, unceremoniously, dodging rifle fire from Cam and Ryan, the enemy snakes its sword past Zhìháo's guard, and cuts his unit in half. The cutter shears downward from shoulder to waist, barely making a detour as it encounters the stronger armour around the Lancer's cockpit. Still more or less going straight through its cockpit, though. Ryan is screaming his name, quite probably not realising he's doing so over general comm.
"Fall back, fall back, fall back! This was not what we planned for!" The panic in Sails' voice is the thing that knocks you out of your stunned shock, and makes the real fear set in.
"No shit this wasn't what we planned for!" Ryan doesn't sound angry. Almost more stunned.
You leave the shadow of the enemy ship. The new mecha moves strangely, with an elegance that feels at times almost unwitting, thrust kicking in in fits and starts. If any of what the four of you are firing actually hits it, you can't tell.
Then, Sails and Kitty are with you, Owusu still locked down with the last of the enemy Banners. Still, even without him, it's six to one, your favour. That's better. That's more than manageable.
Then, moving like a white and gold streak, the strange mecha cuts into Kitty's unit, kicking off the motionless Pennant to move past it, straight for Sunny. To his credit, he blocks the cutter with the reinforced armour on his Pennant's arms. Not once, but twice, trying his best to level the anti-mecha rifle at it, while it's on him.
Then, Sunny isn't fighting anymore. And it's moving on, coming straight for Sails.
"What is that thing?" you hear yourself demand, distantly. Your voice is ragged, unconscious. You watch it race after your commander, manage to wing it with your heavy cannon. Still not enough.
"Enemy Banner down, I'm on my way." Milo Owusu's voice is all business, now. Calmer than any of yours, with none of his smug banter from earlier.
"I can't shake it!" Sails says. She's certainly trying her best, weaving a dizzying path, making use of all her years of experience. It's too fas— It swerves around in front of her, slashing out with that cutter again. Laying open the Commander's torso armour, before, for the first time, using a ranged weapon. To fire mercilessly into her cockpit at extreme close range.
Jennifer Sails is unquestionably dead.
With a spike of dread deep in your heart, you see it turn toward you again. And you know, you know that you're next.
/////PoCS/////
Several of your friends have already been killed or injured. You are in serious danger.
In Petals of Carbon Steel, you have three Extra Chances. Losing them can be a consequence of combat. Burning them can mitigate serious consequences for certain votes... but they should be used carefully. Gaining them back is rare.
Of what comes to pass in the next few moments, what catastrophes do you manage to avoid?
Pick two or three options from the following list. Choosing three options will automatically cost an Extra Chance. Use plan voting.
[ ] You are not seriously injured or killed
[ ] You don't lose as many people as you'd feared
[ ] The damages to your surviving machines are less serious than you'd feared
[ ] The Esther Strova isn't seriously damaged
[ ] The enemy mecha doesn't escape unscathed
I think most of you know me as a QM well enough not to call my bluff on any given option just to see if I really go through with it. A voting moratorium is in place for the next few hours, something I'm going to try for votes like this in the future. Please feel free to reflect and discuss among yourselves before I open up the actual vote.
Last edited:
Update 006: Aftermath I
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Material Damage: 25
Scars Are Cool: 20
Acquire Pirate Eyepatch: 5
Scarred and Maimed: 4
Spite: 1
Close Shave: 1
Scars Are Cool: 20
Acquire Pirate Eyepatch: 5
Scarred and Maimed: 4
Spite: 1
Close Shave: 1
DAME NALAH: I used to think that was the scariest feeling in the world.
STARSCAPE: What do you mean by that?
DAME NALAH: The moment where you're committed to an engagement, and you just... know in your bones that you're in over your head. That they're better than you. That all you're doing is buying yourself seconds before the inevitable.
STARSCAPE: How do you get out of a situation like that?
DAME NALAH: [She throws her head back and laughs] You hope your friends are better than you thought they were!
— Taken from an interview with Captain Dame Nalah North of the USE Navy, originally published in Starscape, 533 NSC
Your hands are moving your unit away with every bit of agility you can pull out of it, even while you know that it's going to be too late. That horror movie monster of a Divine Navy mecha, parade-ground resplendent in white and gold, bears down on you with death in its every movement. Time slows down, your world contracts to a single point — to the enemy's cutter, poised to kill you next.
Then, a green streak collides with the monster, and the cutter is mercifully dragged off-course. It takes you a moment to consider what has just happened, that there's someone shouting at you over the comm.
"Himegami — move!"
You don't actually need to be told to do that much, but Owusu's voice does jolt you fully back to reality. You take the chance he's buying you, putting as much distance as you can between you and the two clashing machines in the short amount of time you have.
Owusu's strange, streamlined Banner isn't as fast as the enemy. It's obviously not as responsive to his commands. But when the Divine Navy mecha lets loose a flurry of strikes with its cutter, he parries each one, somehow. You're not sure if it's sustainable, but the SRI officer is having success that the rest of you lacked.
"Ross, Lý, Kana, give me fire support. I'll keep it off you." At another time — any other time, honestly — you'd have all balked at taking orders from the SRI officer. These circumstances put it in a more favourable light, however. All three squad leaders are out of commission or worse, and he's the only one of the three of you who remain to voice a plan to keep you all alive. Plus, he's just saved your life once already. That earns him some leeway, from where you stand.
Owusu, plainly on the defensive, clashes several more times with the monster, before pulling momentarily away. Following your cue, you and what's left of Squad C take aim from three different angles and open fire on your enemy. You'd like to say that it's you who lands a solid hit, who finally proves that this thing was mortal, but the truth is, it could have just as easily been Ryan or Cam — when the monster bursts out of the hale of gunfire, it's not moving quite as fast as it was before. Maybe that's what lets Owusu intercept it again, when it comes after Cam's Lancer next.
In the background, you're all aware of the enemy ship and the Esther Strova continuing to have an exchange of railgun fire, shields failing on both sides. You're all too occupied with staying alive to properly support your ship, though. Owusu manages another exchange with the monster, and then another, before it finally scores a telling hit on the lower section of his Banner. Then, unexpectedly, it pulls back and lets itself be chased away by your combined gunfire.
"Attention all pilots," comes Naz's harried voice. "Disengage immediately. Allow the enemy to withdraw."
Mostly, you're just relieved to have the excuse, at this point. As bitter a pill as it is to watch the monster vanish back inside the false-Verdant's hangar and the ship accelerate away at a different vector, both plainly wounded. The problem is, in addition to half your pilots, the Esther Strova has taken a few licks as well, one of its modules having been breached.
You don't have any time to relax, however. "We've got things under control here," Naz continues, "Medical's standing by — anyone who can still fly, focus on retrieving our people." You have to wonder how much of that is the real story. Nazaret will be relaying these orders directly from Captain Leski, and you'd hardly put it past the captain to downplay the ship's own problems in favour of getting your fellow pilot's to relative safety. At the moment, you don't care.
Your eyes track over your scan map, until you find her. It doesn't take long. "I'm closest, I'll get Azara," you say.
"Understood," Owusu replies. "We'll check on the others, then."
Azara's Pennant is drifting slowly away from the battlefield, already a ways off from everyone else. You fly straight for it, trying to raise her on comm again. "Azara? Azara, can you hear me?"
The message is received, and not just by her mecha — her pilot suit is getting it. But she's not answering... or she can't answer.
Up close, the damage to her unit is obvious. From a combination of cutter impact and point-defence laser damage, her cockpit has been breached. With a sense of surreal dread, you carefully match velocity with her mecha, going into an uncomfortable spin to stay facing it. Then you reach out, and carefully latch your Pennant's arms tight to her unit's shoulders, burning your thrusters hard to gradually move out of the spin into something less nausea-inducing.
"She's not responding, her cockpit's cracked open. I'm blowing the hatch," you say.
"Understood," Nazaret says. "Good luck." Azara will certainly need it.
You hit the vacuum cycling for your cockpit, the oxygen in the small space seeming to take an eternity to be syphoned out. Every compartment around you seals up tight, and you run a hand out behind you to extend the emergency tether, snapping it tight to the waist of your pilot suit. You give it three sharp tugs to make sure that it's actually secure enough to hold your weight. Azara needs help fast, but you won't exactly be providing it if you let yourself sail wildly off into space and need to be rescued yourself. By the time you finish, the hatch on your Pennant is ready to open.
With the air already gone from your cockpit, you feel it rather than hear it when your hatch opens, leaving your pilot suit as the only thing standing between you and the scant mercies of space. You unhook your piloting harness, and move yourself out to the hatch. The bulk of Azara's Pennant fills your view, which is good — it means you don't have to look up, or down, or in any of the directions that reveal the endless, inky blackness around you.
You tell yourself that it's just like gliding across the hangar back on the ship, that you have a tether regardless. That doesn't actually make you feel any better, but you still take aim at the intact handholds bolted on beside her damaged cockpit hatch and push out into the void. In your mind, it takes a small eternity to reach your goal, and you grab the handhold in a death grip, your continued momentum as your body tries to move past it sending a thrill of fear down into the pit of your stomach.
Situated as well as you're going to be, you pry one hand off the handhold, reaching for the panel you know is there, set between two armour plates on the chest of Azara's Pennant. Thankfully, this too has escaped the gaping rent in the curved plane of the torso. The panel slides back at a swipe from you, revealing a small interface for you to enter an emergency code by memory. The hatch beside you shudders silently, then slams open. The blood is pounding in your ears as you pull yourself around to look into the now-open cockpit.
Azara hangs motionless in her harness straps, limp as a ragdoll. Here, alone in your pilot suit with the comm closed, you can't suppress a gasp at the sight of her helmet: The glass of the faceplate is latticed by hairline cracks, and fogged by condensation from the inside. Condensation and... Sol, that's blood!
She's been bleeding out at the same time her suit has been bleeding oxygen. There's no time to wait around being horrified. You push yourself into the cockpit headfirst, numb hands fumbling for purchase inside, before you pull a reel of emergency sealant tape from your belt. "Naz, she's fucked up bad. Her helmet's cracked, and she's bleeding. I can't see from where."
"Fuck." Nazaret's air of professional calm, never far from breaking, gives out. "Is she—"
"If I'd meant dead, I'd have said dead." You wonder who exactly you're trying to convince, though, even as you begin to apply strips of the tape to her damaged helmet. You try to be thorough about it, which is maddening under the circumstances, but you can't exactly pump more air into a compromised environment. Finally, finally, you can peel back a panel on the chest of your pilot suit, and extend the length of thin hose rolled up inside, slotting it into a corresponding port on Azara's suit.
"Leak's patched, feeding her some of my air now," you report. Your patch job is holding, at least, as the transfer of your oxygen to Azara hisses in your ears. "I'll get her into my cockpit in a minute, and get back to the ship."
"Good," Naz says, sounding relieved.
Cam's voice comes over general, sounding utterly desolate: "Zhìháo's gone. He's just... Sol, he's in pieces." You're not surprised, considering the hit his cockpit took — much worse than Azara's. But Cam's allowed to have a moment here. You know Sails is going to be in even worse shape. Sunny and Kitty... you'll find out when you find out. You can't help them — it's not your job. You can help Azara.
"... Did we win?" The new voice — weak, dazed — startles you. Staring down at the woman you're tending to, you're suddenly so relieved you could throw up. But you have an image to maintain, don't you?
"Glad to hear I'm not dragging a corpse behind me, Zar," you tell her. Then you switch back to Naz and add, with that forced, casual tone: "She's alive and talking."
You carefully disconnect the air transfer, and begin securing Azara to you well enough that you can chance the crossing back to your Pennant.
"... Kana?" Azara asks, for once not using the silly nickname.
"Yeah," you say. You wish you didn't have to move her at all, but leaving her alone in vacuum, with a breached suit and unknown injuries strikes you as a worse idea. "Try not to talk too much, for once in your life. I've got you."
"Who else...?"
"I don't know," you say. Then amend: "The Commander and Shen both didn't make it."
There's enough of a pause before she asks her next question that it takes you by surprise. "Kitty?"
It's not the name you would have guessed she'd ask about next, but you're not exactly in a position to be following the thought process of a heavily injured woman brought back from the brink of suffocation. "I don't know," you tell her.
"I... I need to tell her... putting it off. Stupid. Just... pretending nothing happened, since that time we... we—
Oh, hell. That's the kind of admission that should come after a night of companionable drinking, not like this. While the girl in question might be dead, for all you know. You cut her off: "Azara? Shut up and let me get you back to the ship. You're too fucked up for twenty questions."
She's quiet again for a long moment, before murmuring: "Okay, Pirate."
/////PoCS/////
Onboard the HDMS Sunspot,
Mecha Hangar
The prototype rests in its cradle, the damage obvious in the dents from projectiles marring its white and gold paint. Its hatch is still tightly, almost ominously closed, despite long minutes since it came to a stop there. Despite everything else going wrong at the moment, a crowd of mechanics floats uncertainly in front of it.
The crowd parts abruptly with the arrival of Captain Kron. She's in a rare fury, enough murder in her eyes that the assembled, white-uniformed naval personnel shrink back under her gaze. But in the end, it locks onto one person in particular.
With a snarl, Kron lunges forward, heedless of Sir Salimus's bandaged head, and shoves him into the nearest wall hard enough that they both bounce. "What part of what you were told," she demands, arm still pressed into the pilot's throat, "led you to believe that it would be acceptable to ignore all our transmissions and then get the prototype shot to pieces?"
Salimus struggles to speak, until the realities of zero gravity force the pressure to let up on his throat. He gives a ragged cough, and finally manages to croak out: "... asn't me!"
"What are you talking about?" Kron demands.
"Ma'am."
She turns her head, spearing the newcomer with her gaze next. The chief mechanic flinches. "... Ma'am, he's not lying. Sir Salimus hit his head when the terrorists started bombing us. He only woke up a short time ago. He wasn't the pilot."
Kron blinks, releasing the knight as she considers this. "Who was then?" No one seems to have an answer.
Then, as if on cue, the hatch of the prototype cracks open. Every eye in the crowd stares as a small figure is revealed in the mecha's strange harness apparatus. The figure struggles to remove the machine's opaque, in-built helmet, connected as it to the prototype is by numerous wires. When the figure finally manages it, the face that's revealed is shockingly young. Painfully aware of the watching crowd, the young girl floats her way out of the cockpit, hesitating cringingly at the very lip.
Narrowing her eyes again, Captain Kron surges up, using the open cockpit hatch to pull herself to a stop right in front of the girl... with a gun in her free hand. The girl recoils, falling back into the cockpit as if she might find some escape there. She finds none. "You're one of the civilian techs," Kron begins. "Are you aware what the punishment for hijacking Divine Navy Property is?" Truthfully, she doesn't relish the girl's abject terror. Although she is sad not to have seen Salimus's expression when he stopped to consider why, precisely, Kron had brought a sidearm with her when she'd set out to upbraid him.
"I—" the girl stares silently for a further moment, then an angry flush comes into her face. "I was just trying to protect the ship! My friends are here!"
"It's death," Kron says, perfectly calm.
The girl's defiance visibly deflates, brown eyes filling with panic. "Ma'am, I... I... I..."
The truth is, while Kron had been perfectly willing to get angry at Salimus when it seemed he had not even been willing to stay in contact during the skirmish, the performance of the prototype in its defence of the ship and destruction of a numerically superior enemy had been exemplary. Far beyond any of Salimus's test scores with the untried technology. That a civilian mecha technician, barely old enough to have been pressed into service for the duration of this voyage, had achieved them... It was approximately as impressive as it was completely unacceptable that Kron had allowed it to happen to begin with.
"What's your name, girl?" Kron asks.
"... Tanaka Mari," she says, voice a squeak.
Kron nods. "It is impossible that a civilian girl did what you did."
"Ma'am?"
"The pride of the Divine Navy cannot abide it. So, there's only one thing to be done." Paling further, Mari closes her eyes, waiting for the end. Instead, Kron holsters her weapon. "Welcome to his Divine Majesty's Navy of Correction, Cadet Tanaka."
/////PoCS/////
Onboard the Esther Strova,
Mecha deck
The immediate minutes following your return to the ship are an exhausted haze. You docked back in your cradle, Azara in your cockpit, her machine in tow, then handed her off to receive the medical attention she so desperately needs.
The whole area is swarmed with techs, under the watchful gaze of Yorke. You barely notice when you're shooed away from your own unit, left off to the side with the three other pilots still standing. You, Cam, Ryan, and Owusu regard each other, no one entirely sure where to begin, the controlled chaos of the mecha crew supplying a background buzz that's almost too loud to speak over anyway. You're saved the trouble of broaching a subject as a fifth person joins you.
Jay Tham looks, somehow, even paler than usual. He moves toward you with less of his customary grace in zero gravity, white hair dishevelled, face drawn. His gaze sweeps over the four of you, confirming what he must already know: Neither Sails nor Kitty, his squadmates, are among your number. "My squad..." he begins, then stops. Unsure how to continue.
For better or worse, Owusu breaks the heavy silence. "They both fought bravely and well." He's the least shaken out of all of you, looking harried, but otherwise calm. His tone is sympathetic, but there's something in his eyes that to you says 'I've seen worse'.
Jay jerks his head back as if struck, staring at the SRI officer with a blank intensity. His mouth is set in an unmoving line, dark eyes cold — this goes beyond his usual air of brooding inexpressiveness, and seems as though it might teeter toward something considerably more explosive. You're saved from whatever that might look like as a small body shoves off from the wall and half-tackles him.
Cam lets her helmet go flying to throws her arms around Jay's neck, burying her face in his shoulder. "We... it just went wrong so fast! It was fine, then it... and then they were... everyone!" She's shaking, you can see, although she's managing to hold back tears for now. You politely avert your gaze. "We tried."
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jay unbend slowly. That explosive potential leaves him, and his voice is more flatly tired than anything, when he speaks: "I know you did. I... I should have been there." There's nothing remotely amourous about them, even as he puts his arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward the relative privacy of the briefing room you'd all been assembled in a thousand years ago.
"It's not your fault," you hear Cam say.
"No," he agrees, bitterly, "but I still should have been there."
You, Owusu and Ryan glance after the two of them, before exchanging another awkward look between you. Owusu, once again, speaks first. "Well, I need to go tell a few people 'I told you so'."
Ryan gives him a dubious look. "... You're joking," he says.
Owusu waves the hand that isn't keeping him anchored to the wall, airy manner returning. "No, not at all — I don't imagine Captain Leski will be particularly receptive, but... well, I might have some luck, hitting now while the iron is hot. Maybe next time, he'll take my qualified advice a little more seriously."
"Or he'll punch you in the face," you say.
Owusu is already floating for the hatch. He isn't even bothering to change out of his pilot suit. "They train us to duck," he says, tossing a careless wave over his shoulder.
"Dick," Ryan mutters.
You raise an eyebrow. "He saved all our lives today."
"Well, yeah, and I'm glad for that. Doesn't make him less of one, though."
You can't help it. Something about Ryan's expression as he says this strikes you is momentarily, inexplicably hilarious. You burst out laughing, drifting away from him into the wall behind you, cackling almost madly. "I'm sorry!" you say. "Just... your face!"
Ryan stares at you, long and hard. Then he lets out something between a growl and a sigh, and he's gone too, leaving you floating there on your own. It's not the ideal note you'd like to have left on, but sometimes you have to laugh so that you don't cry.
In the end, damages to the ship are severe but not cripping — a storage module ruptured in the fighting, leaving a hole in the Esther Strova's outer armour where it has been jettisoned. It took the body of a truly luckless crewmember with it. You're not in danger of starving for lack of those supplies, but you all face the prospect of living off meal replacement bars in due time. So far, no one has been tasteless enough to complain about that aspect yet.
Owusu has cloistered himself in Leski's office, along with the Captain and First Officer Booker. You haven't exactly pressed your ear to the hatch to listen to them, but you imagine that there's probably some raised voices involved in whatever conversation is going on, even if it doesn't quite rise to the level of anyone being punched. Cam is still with Jay, you assume. You have no idea where Ryan is, but you suspect that you wouldn't be welcome there.
Not that you're feeling particularly welcome in the place you actually are instead, mind you. But, all considered, you can live with that.
August was the picture of shock. "You've really figured it out, Miss Wong?"
October smiled knowingly, crossing her arms and leaning back against one of the few counters not piled high with fabrics. "I've had my suspicions for some time now," she said. "But it was you yourself who let the last piece fall into place."
"Whatever could you mean?" gasped August.
"It's simple, really," October began, "You see, I—"
"Ms. Himegami, do you need to be in here?"
You look up from your reading at the waspish voice, fixing Doc Goodwell with a 'friendly' smirk. "Yes." You promptly bring the tablet back up. "I will not be taking further questions at this time."
Goodwell huffs angrily, but doesn't attempt to eject you from the medical bay. She has no practical reason to, after all. Her patients are stable, and you're staying well out of her way, strapped in as you are at one of the waiting stations near the medical module's inner hatch, reading quietly. You're faintly aware of her puttering around her antiseptic little domain, but the bulk of your attention is divided between your novel and the module's other two occupants.
In the end, you lost three pilots. Two more are seriously injured. One of those two, Azara Black, is strapped down to the bed nearest you, peacefully sedated, half her face covered in bandages. She will live and make a recovery, but right away it was obvious there was no saving the eye. Beyond her, strapped into the second bed, the second injured pilot is similarly asleep.
/////PoCS/////
In addition to Jennifer Sails and Shen Zhìháo, Who didn't make it to this medical bay?
[ ] Kitty Wehrschmidt, Jay's squadmate
[ ] Sunny Monserrato, your Squad Leader
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Update 007: Burial
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Sunny didn't make it: 30
Kitty didn't make it: 27
Kitty didn't make it: 27
It is with extreme reluctance that Doc Goodwell finally leaves the room — for food, or a washroom, or something else that can't be put off for another hour.
"You will buzz me if there is any change in either of them," she says. "Touch nothing else."
Honestly, it's like she thinks you'll just steal anything not nailed down, if given half a chance. Cruel and unjustified, toward a comrade in the valiant struggle for Jovian independence. Part of you thinks you really should rob her now, just to teach her a lesson about putting ideas in the heads of bad people. Instead, as Goodwell drifts her way out of the medical module, you just keep reading like a good little girl.
You're not sure what it is that makes you look up from your book. Some minute sound, barely audible perhaps. But when you do, there's someone looking back at you. Kitty's green eyes are glazed at first, taking a moment to focus on your face. In this timeframe, you reluctantly reach over and activate a nearby interface in order to buzz Goodwell back, as instructed.
"... Kana," Kitty murmurs, placing you.
"Kitty," you echo back.
She processes this response, and gets it enough to roll her eyes sluggishly at you. She still looks half asleep as well as utterly bedraggled, blonde hair a mess, bruises reaching from the left side of her face down to her left arm at least. "Jennifer?" she asks, immediately.
"Dead," you say. Your tone is quiet, but you're not going to candy-coat things. "Same with Sunny and Shen."
Kitty grimaces. "All the squad leaders," she manages. "Fuck. Sorry about Sunny. He was..."
"Good to work with," you offer. You'll miss him — he was a friend, and the crucial balance for you and Azara's combined irreverence. His quiet, serious patience and military training will be sorely missed.
Kitty glances around the room, freezing up as she recognises Azara. She takes a moment to find her tongue again after that, demanding, "Is she okay?"
You shrug. "She's beat up bad. Her left eye's gone, and we're lucky we got to her before brain damage had really set in. She had an O2 leak. She'll bounce back, though."
Looking miserable, Kitty closes her eyes, going limp. Only her lips moving gives her away as still awake. "Her eyes are... this deep brown. Pretty, but you have to look to notice."
She sounds so desolate, despite Azara having made it out alive when she really shouldn't have, that you can't help but give a quiet scoff. "She's still got the one left, lover-girl."
KItty cracks her eyes open to fix you with a blurry glare, just holding it for a moment or two. "You know something, Kana?"
"Yeah?"
"You're kind of a dick."
You laugh, brief and sharp. "Guess a lot of that's going around, then." Before she can make you explain, Goodwell is back, fussy little features schooled into professional concern. The moment is lost amid questions and instructions and absolutely no room for conversation.
/////PoCS/////
SRI Commander Milo Owusu watches as Captain Leski takes a swallow of something he strongly suspects isn't water. It's only one swallow, though, and after the disaster they've all weathered, he doesn't bedrudge anyone a little ethanol-based comfort.
The shouting has stopped, leaving the three occupants of the cramped office in an icy silence. The kind that either means Milo is about to be thrown out... or that the real work is finally about to get underway. Whatever the risk, at some point, you have to speak up, or opportunities would pass you by. Hadn't his favourite subordinate reminded him of that? "You have the heading they left on?" Milo raises a water pouch — actual water! — to his lips.
Booker nods. She's a quiet woman with a dark complexion and a gaze icy enough to be a match for a certain old friend of Milo's. Booker makes the AIJ jacket look like an actual uniform, through sheer attitude. "We do. It's considerably off from their original one, and the combat maneuvering made them drift to begin with." Without waiting for Leski's permission, Booker glides over to her captain's private workstation, flicking it on. She brings up a map displaying the False Verdant's original course as planned, as well as a captured image projecting its last recorded course. "They didn't just accelerate away from us, though. They changed vector entirely."
Leski, who is still floating by the wall his liquor cabinet is mounted in, takes a look at the drink pouch in his hand, considers it, then lets it go deliberately. It drifts away across the office. With him there, Booker at the workstation and Milo still floating by the hatch, the three of them form an equilateral triangle of sorts. Booker's distance is merely to give Leski the space he clearly needs — the man seems half-poised to explode again if prodded too sharply, and she knows her captain, as any good first officer should. Milo, of course, is the outsider. The other two are genuinely avoiding him, in this moment of loss.
"What are the chances they miss their rendezvous?" Milo presses.
Leski frowns. "They could still adjust."
"They're banged up," Milo says. "They got in their licks, sure, but between Monseratto's squad and your guns, they're hurting. Check the rate of acceleration at the end of the battle."
"They're limping," Booker agrees, after a moment. "They'll have a lot of trouble catching up to their escort fleet now."
Leski nods slowly. "Is there a port friendly to them within range, though?"
Booker takes a moment to search through the Esther Strova's charts. "There's a fortified, loyalist shipyard," she confirms. "Small, but still guarded. Do we want to take this gamble?"
Leski frowns. "We're not really in any shape to do this ourselves, right now."
Milo drifts over to the workstation, stopping himself beside Booker. "I might be able to help with that," he says with a smirk. Before they can ask, he punches in a set of coordinates, making that point in space light up on the same map showing the enemy's possible destination. Fortuitously, it's almost directly on the way. "I'm not the only asset that the SRI has in the system," he says.
/////PoCS/////
You all wait until Azara is finally awake, and lucid enough to get out of bed. It's a wordless agreement, born from a sense that failing to do so will somehow be admitting defeat. Look, here she is — woozy from painkillers and with her face half-bandaged, but she's alive, and she's one of you.
As glad as you are to see her up and floating, you're still a little concerned. From your place at the back of the room, one leg curled around the leg of a magnetic table to anchor yourself in place, you have a good view of her, and you're very certain that if you'd been in any kind of a gravved up environment, she would not be out of bed. Weightlessness has its benefits.
The six of you form a rough circle around the pilot module's recreation area. You all fill up the cramped space easily enough, but the absences are still felt keenly. In your hands is a drinking pouch, its contents neon-orange. Just something that some enterprising soul had squirrelled away for a rainy day.
It was you. The enterprising soul was you. Hence why it's your favourite fruit-flavour liqueur, instead of something harder to stomach. You take a sip of it, then pass it to Azara. Who promptly takes a generous gulp, easily enough alcohol for two people.
Jay raises his eyebrows, the only change on an otherwise flat expression. "Sure that's a good idea on your meds?" he asks.
"It'll be fine," Azara says, grinning breezily. "I asked, sort of."
"Sort of?" you ask.
Azara shrugs, tossing the pouch to Jay in the same motion. "Well, doctors aren't exactly going to endorse getting drunk at the best of times, right? So long as I don't go on a binge or whatever, I'll be fine, though." She glances back at you. "... do you have enough for a binge, Pirate?"
"No," you say, firmly. At least, that's your answer under these circumstances.
Jay examines the drinking pouch critically for a moment, then just passes it off to Kitty. Carefully, while she's still so obviously favouring one arm over the other. "Well, it'd be a bad idea on mine."
"Sure you don't need better meds?" Kitty suggests, taking her own gulp.
"I need meds that actually keep me alive, so... no." He doesn't twitch a smile, but you get the slight sense of one from his tone, somehow. You all know that Jay takes a cocktail of pharmaceuticals every day, the supply of which was part of his original agreement to work with the AIJ. You don't know the exact purpose of these, but you can take a guess — for a man with a cybernetically augmented nervous system, rejection could be quite lethal.
"Well, you're not missing much," Kitty says, making a face. "Sol, Kana, did you rob a middle-school party for this shit? What is this, mango?"
"It's mango-melon," you tell her, primly. "I'm very sorry if it's not up to your ladyship's exacting standards." Excuse you for enjoying something that actually tastes nice. As far as you're concerned, alcohol is disgusting, and if you can get a buzz without having to taste it beneath layers of sugar and fake fruit, more's the better.
Kitty rolls her eyes, tossing the pouch to Cam. The throw is a little off, and the much-shorter woman needs to dart up to grab it in fumbling hands, facing going red as she takes her swig and hastily passes it off to Ryan. He's last, silently taking as small a sip as possible before giving it back to you.
Now that you've all had a drink, you can begin. And, lucky you, you're the one who has to start things off. That's what you get for supplying the booze. "The first time I ever met Commander Sails," you say, "she told me... 'I don't care where you came from, as long as you're reliable.'" You feel a complex mix of emotions, thinking back to that day. Her hair had been a little less grey then, her face a little less lined, but her eyes had been just as steady and intense. You're glad you weren't present when they'd had to scrape all that was left of her out of her Pennant's ruined cockpit. "Guess... she meant it," you sum up with a shrug. You take your second drink, and once again make the pass to Azara. "Go easy on this stuff, will you, Zar?"
"You're not my mother!" Azara says. She flashes you a quick smile, one that promptly wilts as she turns her attention back to the matter at hand. "I can't think of just... one story about Sunny," she says. "He was like... he really knew how to put up with us. You all know I get on people's nerves, and Kana's... Kana." There's a round of strained laughter around the room, at your expense.
"Ouch," you mutter.
"Shut up, Pirate," she says, amiably enough on the surface. There's still a tremor in her voice you're not used to, beneath it. "Sunny, though... even with being all stiff and military from all that zealot training, he just... rolled with it. He knew when to shut up and just let us have our fun, and when to get us on track. And he was horrible at any kind of betting game, so I could clean him out every time." She drinks again, just as generously as before, apparently taking it upon herself to down Jay's share in his stead.
Jay sighs as he accepts the pouch, closing his eyes. He's still for a moment, a pale, white-haired statue. It's long seconds before he's ready to speak up. "Monseratto saw some dark shit, in the Divine Navy. Did some of it too, I think — he never liked to go into details. That's the kind of thing that weighs on a person. Drags you down a little, every day. He was out here, trying to do something about it, though. He told me once, fighting the HSE now was his way to atone for some of that. He died exactly where he wanted to be."
Kitty takes the pouch again as if it's filled with something deeply unpleasant, but doesn't let that ruin the moment. "Jennifer was a great commander," she says. "And Sunny, he was a friend. Zhìháo, though? Him... I knew him all my life. He worked with my parents, back in the early days, when the movement was just getting started." She takes an early sip, stealing herself against the memories, although she makes a disgusted face as soon as the syrupy liquor touches her tongue. "He was like an uncle, I guess. He looked out for me, after mom and dad were gone. I'm going to miss that old man."
Cam accepts the pouch from Kitty — not a throw this time — and stares at it. She opens her mouth briefly, then closes it again. What she finally manages is brief, strained: "They all deserved better." Then she takes a quick gulp, and shoves the pouch toward Ryan.
Ryan looks around at you all bleakly. "Zhìháo was all business with his squad, usually." Cam nodded numbly beside him. "The man was a rock. A fixed point. That's what you need sometimes — it's what keeps everyone else going. But, I worked with him for two and a half years before I even heard he had a family, back before the Civil War." Ryan takes a healthy gulp of liqueur, displaying less obvious distaste than Kitty had. "Here's hoping he's with them again, I guess."
You go around the circle several more times until the bag is empty, telling stories about the departed. About the the girls Sunny turned down, or the hardest anyone had ever heard Commander Sails laugh. Or, more topically, what kind of a drunk Zhìháo had been. The bodies are long gone, blown out an airlock as reverently as possible, but this is how you bury them. Not just the dead husks they left behind, but the people they were — friends and mentors and leaders, their troubled pasts, their hopes for the future, their mortal foibles and annoying habits. It's the best you can do.
A small, morbid thought at the back of your head can't help but wonder what will be said about you if you're not so lucky next time.
/////PoCS/////
You and your fellow pilots are left reeling in the wake of a disastrous hijacking attempt that decapitated your squads' leadership. All the while, unbeknownst to you, your ship's remaining leadership is making plans to take you all on a new and unexpected course. You will be informed of the desperate measures they've decided on in due time.
Following that, you have a short stretch of travel ahead of you in which you, a pilot, are somewhat at loose ends. What do you do of note during that time?
Choose three from the following list, these will be tallied together:
[ ] Try to set Azara up with Kitty
[ ] Have a talk with Jay about his family
[ ] Check on Cam, she seems rattled
[ ] Badger Nazaret for more reading material
[ ] Try to convince Ryan to watch anime that isn't trash
Additionally, choose one from this list. This vote is counted separately from the above.
[ ] Keep an eye on Owusu
[ ] Gather information on the mysterious source that's apparently led you astray
[ ] Harass Yorke for some way you can help with the mecha repairs
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