Vote closed update 033
Petals of Carbon Steel -- You're a Pilot, Not an Ace. Try your best.
- Thread starter Gazetteer
- Start date
- Original Sci-Fi
Update 034: Parting Gift
Gazetteer
Alleged poisoner
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
As mentioned last time I posted, my productivity tends to fall off a cliff every Winter, and yet it still always takes me by surprise.
Private shuttle for the envoys of the Shields of Jupiter
Tanner Station, headquarters of the AIJ
"I think you've seen by now that you just can't rely on them for this," Iris Lash says. She leans back as if holding court, strapped into a chair in the shuttle's small debriefing area, leftover from this craft's no doubt long history in the Imperial Navy. Zola Lash is anchored fast by the hatch to the compartment, seemingly standing guard, silent and watchful. There's no discernible hierarchy or division of labour between the Lash twins that Milo Owusu has noticed — they trade out which one takes the lead based on their own unknowable criteria. All he can do is assume they're both equally dangerous and equally competent.
Iris continues: "The AIJ has peoplepower and resources, but they lack expertise. We have that, and you obviously need it."
"Whatever we might need, and whatever the AIJ's shortcomings, your methods are not acceptable," Owusu says. The AIJ had never decided that the destruction of a civilian habitat was acceptable collateral damage. Even so, the issues with the AIJ are becoming increasingly obvious, much to his own frustration. From the incident where Amani had lost her team, to the repeated loss of USE personnel and equipment due to poor AIJ operational security.
He still doesn't know what he's going to say to Glorian next, and he has to explain to her why her fiancée was shot.
"Failure here isn't acceptable." Lucinda Vasquez interjects. The sunburst colours of the two Imperial Guard officers present stand out garish against the drab surroundings of the shuttle. Of the two, Vasquez is by far the more relaxed and talkative, approaching this situation with a hungry gleam in her eye. This hasn't endeared her to Milo. "Obviously, we need the locals onside. We'll never take the system otherwise. But we need results. We have an incredibly narrow window to act here, before Saturn's too far for us to do shit."
"We can't do that if we alienate the AIJ!" Milo says. "We need their numbers."
"Of course," Iris says, as if this is obvious. "We're not cutting them out entirely. We do need what they bring to the table, and they currently are the ones with control of the Grangier girl. What we're asking is for you to reconsider who the USE's primary partner is in this endeavor."
For the first time, the second Guard officer speaks. "And you'd work with us if we pushed the Holy Empire out? We wouldn't be back to square one?" Guard Lieutenant Mosi North frowns in plain mistrust. It's still a little strange to Milo, seeing her here like this. He still remembers her as she'd been the first time they'd met face to face -- a terrified prisoner of war, freshly taken from her half-destroyed mecha and brought aboard the Titanium Rose. Now here she is, quietly representing the interests of the Lady-High-Commander herself.
Princess Daystar certainly does like to find a use for broken and discarded things, Milo supposes.
"The people of Jupiter will not go meekly back into the Imperial fold," Iris says. "But... if your lady can guarantee us a real degree of self determination, the Shields of Jupiter are open to compromises."
Milo can see that the Guard officers, at least, are at risk of being persuaded. And here he is as usual, holding the bag and caught in the middle of it all. The story of his career in the SRI. This is what he gets for agreeing to try and wrangle a bunch of pro-democracy extremists.
/////PoCS\\\\\
Tanner Station Space Port
It feels strangely good to be in your pilot suit again, despite what happened the last time you wore it. It gives you a sense of purpose — you're a pilot, that's what you're here to do. No more recovery time or makework light security postings.
You push yourself at against the flow of human traffic in the spaceport shaft, drifting past maintenance workers and administrators and fellow pilots, heading for a dimmer, less often travelled corner of the place.
As soon as you bring yourself to a stop by the hatch you're looking for, you send a ping on your comm unit to say you're here. Then you rap a fist loudly and incessantly against the sealed hatch anyway. Wholly unnecessary, but as always, you have a reputation to consider. And if they're irritated by the noise, whatever underling is going to get saddled with walking you through all this might avoid taking their time.
The hatch hisses open, revealing none other than Peter Kassmeyer, chief mechanic for the station, looking distinctly annoyed to see you. "Must you be like this?" he growls.
You're actually faintly surprised and a little dismayed it's him and not a lackey you were antagonising... but it won't do to let him know that much. "Peter!" you say. "You look... great." He does not, in fact, look anything of the sort. There are heavy bags under his eyes, and his face is currently host to at least three days' worth of salt-and-pepper stubble. There are men his age who can make that look hot. Kassmeyer is definitely not one of them.
"Save it," Kassmeyer says, pulling himself around to move ahead of you down the shaft leading to the R&D hangars. "If this weren't a favour to Cam, I'd tell you to go fuck yourself."
Oh, right, that's why he looks so horrible. "Shit," you start, "look, I—"
"Save it," he says, repeating himself. "Just... try not to be yourself."
You fall silent as you follow him through a hatch at the end of the shaft — a large compartment filled with workstations is on the other side, adjoining the hangars. "Wait here," Kassmeyer says, going through the hatch to one of the hangars.
"Right, sure," you say, but he's already gone, and you're already completely sidetracked. There are two large windows set into different walls of the compartment. One of them gives you a very good view of why you're here in the first place, hanging suspended from a mecha cradle:
It's a Lancer, obviously — the shape and that simple, monocular main camera are utterly distinctive. But it's been bulked up — the cutter has been replaced with an anti-ship weapon, and additional reinforcement and bomb capacity have been added. As if to make up for this, though, is a large and strange looking thruster array. It looks surprisingly elegant, for something that should be so cobbled together.
You touch the piece of scrap metal hanging off your bracelet. Had Cam actually had time to design this, just for you? You swallow, fighting against a certain tightness in your throat, and winning out. Which is good, because it's around this point that you realise you're not alone in the compartment.
Maybe she made a slight noise, or her workstation whirred just a little louder than the air exchange. Or maybe you noticed by some sixth sense, and this is the dawning of your amazing psychic abilities. Either way, you turn around, and your eyes meet Tanaka Mari's, this time not separated by any kind of barrier. She shifts uncomfortably in the workstation's straps, apparently having been doing some task or another under the ostensible supervision of a nearby security officer.
"What are you doing here?" you ask.
Mari flinches, which is odd, given that you hadn't been particularly sharp or accusatory this time. "I'm..." there's a moment's hesitation, before she finishes weakly: "... cooperating?"
Something about the way she says that makes you narrow your eyes. "Are you."
"Leave her alone," the security officer says. "She's harmless."
You can't suppress a scoff at that, as visions of all the people she's killed flash through your head. "Oh, trust me, she's definitely not harmless."
Mari cringes again, and the guard gives you a look like you're being a vicious bully. "Without that thing, she is," he says, jerking a thumb at the window over his shoulder, the one showing the other mecha hangar. It's darkened, but just the sight of a familiar silhouette on the other side sends a chill down your spine. You're looking at the Carbon Steel — the monster that you last faced an eternity ago.
"She's not got access to it, though, right?" you ask. Mari pontedly avoids your gaze.
"Not without supervision," the guard says.
You don't like this. A deep sense of unease grips you from the very pit of your stomach. Before you can express as much to the guard, however, the hatch that Kassmeyer had just vanished through opens again, and he comes back into the compartment. You don't even let him open his mouth: "You're putting her in the prototype?" you ask, real urgency in your voice as you sail across the room at him.
Kassmeyer jerks back in mild alarm when you catch yourself on a handhold beside him. Once he processes what you're saying, he scowls. "We need her to access anything in its systems."
"Do you even have any real idea of what she's doing with it?" you ask. You know exactly enough about direct neural interfaces of the kind Jay uses to know that you have no idea how they work, and to also be deeply suspicious of anyone who doesn't actually use one claiming to have much more of a clue.
"We know what we're doing," Kassmeyer says.
"Do you, though?"
"I don't answer to you!" he reminds you. "Look, you're here to test pilot a mecha, not to tell me how to do my job. Kana, get in the fucking robot. Or leave."
One look at his face tells you that your sharpened rapier wit will serve you poorly in this particular situation. You swallow down the first ten things you'd like to say, and settle with: "Fine. But when this blows up in your face, you know I don't have the good grace not to say 'I told you so'." You drift past him through the hatch without waiting for any kind of reply, Mari's eyes on your back the entire way. He mutters something probably unkind, and follows you.
You're not so preoccupied that you don't feel a thrill of satisfaction as you go into the small hangar and see your new unit looming ahead of you. You drift across the space, catching yourself near its head, spending a self indulgent moment looking into its dull, inactive main camera. Before anyone can complain at you any further, you push yourself down toward the cockpit hatch, trying your pilot code to key it open: It works, and the armoured panel on the mecha's torso hisses open.
The cockpit you slip into is narrower than your Pennant's was, the technology unmistakably older. It's still yours, and a gift from a lost friend at that. Despite the danger you'll no doubt put yourself in while piloting this thing, it's a relief to know you won't need to stand idly by while your fellow pilots fight and die again.
"Run some basic tests and check the settings before you take it out," Kassmeyer says, having appeared on the other side of the open hatch as you strap yourself into the cockpit.
"Not my first space rodeo, Pete," you tell him.
"Oh, so I also don't have to tell you not to set off a bomb right in your own face? News to me."
"Oh, don't worry, everyone else has got that part covered. Try to keep up." You grin at him, and then jam your helmet onto your head. Blowing yourself up again would make your boyfriend sad — obviously you're not going to bring that up out loud as something that will sway your future decision making, though. Jay knows, and that's all that matters.
The systems all check out. As the novelty of being in a mecha cockpit again begins to wear off, Mari starts to creep back into your thoughts in a way you just can't shake. It gnaws away at you as you finish up, seal your cockpit, and prepare to actually take the Lancer custom out into space for a brief, pre-approved test flight.
You almost can't appreciate the details of its handling — which is a real shame, because Cam and Kassmeyer really outdid themselves. You're sure the age of the overall frame will cause problems here and there, but it accelerates at least as well as your Pennant if not a little better, and you won't have any problems with slowing down Azara and Kitty.
You're so consumed with the powerful feeling that this situation is another disaster waiting to happen that, by the time you get back to the station, you've already decided what you're going to do with this information.
Increased acceleration: 27
Increased melee performance: 9
Increased long-range firepower: 7
Increased melee performance: 9
Increased long-range firepower: 7
A. NORTH: I've gone through those Jovian codes you wanted broken. You're sure this will work? It's a lot to risk.
M. OWUSU: Anyone who says they're sure about this kind of work is incompetent or lying to you. And I'm neither of those things, at the moment.
A. North: You're good at avoiding questions, sir.
M. OWUSU: Thank you, North. I try.
[APPROXIMATELY FORTY THREE SECONDS OF SILENCE]
M. OWUSU: It's a risk, but I don't take gambles I think I'll lose. Especially not with my life.
A. NORTH: These rebels don't precisely have a sterling reputation, sir.
M. OWUSU: The group I'm making contact with isn't particularly radical, or too excessively violent, by the standards of Jovian rebels.
A. NORTH: I'm sure you know what you're doing, sir.
M. OWUSU: As am I! On that note, I am about to ask you for a great deal, North.
A. NORTH: That sounds in character.
M. OWUSU: [Laughter] You're getting to know me a little too well. Joking aside, if I successfully establish contact, will you accept the assignment if I request you be sent as well?
A. NORTH: You mean, will I go to Jupiter, sir?
M. OWUSU: I don't want to put you in the position of turning down a dangerous posting. It won't look good.
A. NORTH: Why me, sir?
M. OWUSU: Because I have every faith in your skills, North. And I trust you, which is more important in these situations. I'll need people I can trust, out there.
A. NORTH: Well, I suppose we weren't going to have the wedding this year anyway.
M. OWUSU: Good woman! You'll make lieutenant over this, easily. They have to give you some incentive to go out where you can credibly be shot at, after all.
A. NORTH: Very reassuring.
M. OWUSU: Cheer up, North. At least we're not working with the Shields of Jupiter.
— Transcript of conversation recorded in the office of Commander Milo Owusu, SRI headquarters, Titan
M. OWUSU: Anyone who says they're sure about this kind of work is incompetent or lying to you. And I'm neither of those things, at the moment.
A. North: You're good at avoiding questions, sir.
M. OWUSU: Thank you, North. I try.
[APPROXIMATELY FORTY THREE SECONDS OF SILENCE]
M. OWUSU: It's a risk, but I don't take gambles I think I'll lose. Especially not with my life.
A. NORTH: These rebels don't precisely have a sterling reputation, sir.
M. OWUSU: The group I'm making contact with isn't particularly radical, or too excessively violent, by the standards of Jovian rebels.
A. NORTH: I'm sure you know what you're doing, sir.
M. OWUSU: As am I! On that note, I am about to ask you for a great deal, North.
A. NORTH: That sounds in character.
M. OWUSU: [Laughter] You're getting to know me a little too well. Joking aside, if I successfully establish contact, will you accept the assignment if I request you be sent as well?
A. NORTH: You mean, will I go to Jupiter, sir?
M. OWUSU: I don't want to put you in the position of turning down a dangerous posting. It won't look good.
A. NORTH: Why me, sir?
M. OWUSU: Because I have every faith in your skills, North. And I trust you, which is more important in these situations. I'll need people I can trust, out there.
A. NORTH: Well, I suppose we weren't going to have the wedding this year anyway.
M. OWUSU: Good woman! You'll make lieutenant over this, easily. They have to give you some incentive to go out where you can credibly be shot at, after all.
A. NORTH: Very reassuring.
M. OWUSU: Cheer up, North. At least we're not working with the Shields of Jupiter.
— Transcript of conversation recorded in the office of Commander Milo Owusu, SRI headquarters, Titan
Private shuttle for the envoys of the Shields of Jupiter
Tanner Station, headquarters of the AIJ
"I think you've seen by now that you just can't rely on them for this," Iris Lash says. She leans back as if holding court, strapped into a chair in the shuttle's small debriefing area, leftover from this craft's no doubt long history in the Imperial Navy. Zola Lash is anchored fast by the hatch to the compartment, seemingly standing guard, silent and watchful. There's no discernible hierarchy or division of labour between the Lash twins that Milo Owusu has noticed — they trade out which one takes the lead based on their own unknowable criteria. All he can do is assume they're both equally dangerous and equally competent.
Iris continues: "The AIJ has peoplepower and resources, but they lack expertise. We have that, and you obviously need it."
"Whatever we might need, and whatever the AIJ's shortcomings, your methods are not acceptable," Owusu says. The AIJ had never decided that the destruction of a civilian habitat was acceptable collateral damage. Even so, the issues with the AIJ are becoming increasingly obvious, much to his own frustration. From the incident where Amani had lost her team, to the repeated loss of USE personnel and equipment due to poor AIJ operational security.
He still doesn't know what he's going to say to Glorian next, and he has to explain to her why her fiancée was shot.
"Failure here isn't acceptable." Lucinda Vasquez interjects. The sunburst colours of the two Imperial Guard officers present stand out garish against the drab surroundings of the shuttle. Of the two, Vasquez is by far the more relaxed and talkative, approaching this situation with a hungry gleam in her eye. This hasn't endeared her to Milo. "Obviously, we need the locals onside. We'll never take the system otherwise. But we need results. We have an incredibly narrow window to act here, before Saturn's too far for us to do shit."
"We can't do that if we alienate the AIJ!" Milo says. "We need their numbers."
"Of course," Iris says, as if this is obvious. "We're not cutting them out entirely. We do need what they bring to the table, and they currently are the ones with control of the Grangier girl. What we're asking is for you to reconsider who the USE's primary partner is in this endeavor."
For the first time, the second Guard officer speaks. "And you'd work with us if we pushed the Holy Empire out? We wouldn't be back to square one?" Guard Lieutenant Mosi North frowns in plain mistrust. It's still a little strange to Milo, seeing her here like this. He still remembers her as she'd been the first time they'd met face to face -- a terrified prisoner of war, freshly taken from her half-destroyed mecha and brought aboard the Titanium Rose. Now here she is, quietly representing the interests of the Lady-High-Commander herself.
Princess Daystar certainly does like to find a use for broken and discarded things, Milo supposes.
"The people of Jupiter will not go meekly back into the Imperial fold," Iris says. "But... if your lady can guarantee us a real degree of self determination, the Shields of Jupiter are open to compromises."
Milo can see that the Guard officers, at least, are at risk of being persuaded. And here he is as usual, holding the bag and caught in the middle of it all. The story of his career in the SRI. This is what he gets for agreeing to try and wrangle a bunch of pro-democracy extremists.
/////PoCS\\\\\
Tanner Station Space Port
It feels strangely good to be in your pilot suit again, despite what happened the last time you wore it. It gives you a sense of purpose — you're a pilot, that's what you're here to do. No more recovery time or makework light security postings.
You push yourself at against the flow of human traffic in the spaceport shaft, drifting past maintenance workers and administrators and fellow pilots, heading for a dimmer, less often travelled corner of the place.
As soon as you bring yourself to a stop by the hatch you're looking for, you send a ping on your comm unit to say you're here. Then you rap a fist loudly and incessantly against the sealed hatch anyway. Wholly unnecessary, but as always, you have a reputation to consider. And if they're irritated by the noise, whatever underling is going to get saddled with walking you through all this might avoid taking their time.
The hatch hisses open, revealing none other than Peter Kassmeyer, chief mechanic for the station, looking distinctly annoyed to see you. "Must you be like this?" he growls.
You're actually faintly surprised and a little dismayed it's him and not a lackey you were antagonising... but it won't do to let him know that much. "Peter!" you say. "You look... great." He does not, in fact, look anything of the sort. There are heavy bags under his eyes, and his face is currently host to at least three days' worth of salt-and-pepper stubble. There are men his age who can make that look hot. Kassmeyer is definitely not one of them.
"Save it," Kassmeyer says, pulling himself around to move ahead of you down the shaft leading to the R&D hangars. "If this weren't a favour to Cam, I'd tell you to go fuck yourself."
Oh, right, that's why he looks so horrible. "Shit," you start, "look, I—"
"Save it," he says, repeating himself. "Just... try not to be yourself."
You fall silent as you follow him through a hatch at the end of the shaft — a large compartment filled with workstations is on the other side, adjoining the hangars. "Wait here," Kassmeyer says, going through the hatch to one of the hangars.
"Right, sure," you say, but he's already gone, and you're already completely sidetracked. There are two large windows set into different walls of the compartment. One of them gives you a very good view of why you're here in the first place, hanging suspended from a mecha cradle:
It's a Lancer, obviously — the shape and that simple, monocular main camera are utterly distinctive. But it's been bulked up — the cutter has been replaced with an anti-ship weapon, and additional reinforcement and bomb capacity have been added. As if to make up for this, though, is a large and strange looking thruster array. It looks surprisingly elegant, for something that should be so cobbled together.
You touch the piece of scrap metal hanging off your bracelet. Had Cam actually had time to design this, just for you? You swallow, fighting against a certain tightness in your throat, and winning out. Which is good, because it's around this point that you realise you're not alone in the compartment.
Maybe she made a slight noise, or her workstation whirred just a little louder than the air exchange. Or maybe you noticed by some sixth sense, and this is the dawning of your amazing psychic abilities. Either way, you turn around, and your eyes meet Tanaka Mari's, this time not separated by any kind of barrier. She shifts uncomfortably in the workstation's straps, apparently having been doing some task or another under the ostensible supervision of a nearby security officer.
"What are you doing here?" you ask.
Mari flinches, which is odd, given that you hadn't been particularly sharp or accusatory this time. "I'm..." there's a moment's hesitation, before she finishes weakly: "... cooperating?"
Something about the way she says that makes you narrow your eyes. "Are you."
"Leave her alone," the security officer says. "She's harmless."
You can't suppress a scoff at that, as visions of all the people she's killed flash through your head. "Oh, trust me, she's definitely not harmless."
Mari cringes again, and the guard gives you a look like you're being a vicious bully. "Without that thing, she is," he says, jerking a thumb at the window over his shoulder, the one showing the other mecha hangar. It's darkened, but just the sight of a familiar silhouette on the other side sends a chill down your spine. You're looking at the Carbon Steel — the monster that you last faced an eternity ago.
"She's not got access to it, though, right?" you ask. Mari pontedly avoids your gaze.
"Not without supervision," the guard says.
You don't like this. A deep sense of unease grips you from the very pit of your stomach. Before you can express as much to the guard, however, the hatch that Kassmeyer had just vanished through opens again, and he comes back into the compartment. You don't even let him open his mouth: "You're putting her in the prototype?" you ask, real urgency in your voice as you sail across the room at him.
Kassmeyer jerks back in mild alarm when you catch yourself on a handhold beside him. Once he processes what you're saying, he scowls. "We need her to access anything in its systems."
"Do you even have any real idea of what she's doing with it?" you ask. You know exactly enough about direct neural interfaces of the kind Jay uses to know that you have no idea how they work, and to also be deeply suspicious of anyone who doesn't actually use one claiming to have much more of a clue.
"We know what we're doing," Kassmeyer says.
"Do you, though?"
"I don't answer to you!" he reminds you. "Look, you're here to test pilot a mecha, not to tell me how to do my job. Kana, get in the fucking robot. Or leave."
One look at his face tells you that your sharpened rapier wit will serve you poorly in this particular situation. You swallow down the first ten things you'd like to say, and settle with: "Fine. But when this blows up in your face, you know I don't have the good grace not to say 'I told you so'." You drift past him through the hatch without waiting for any kind of reply, Mari's eyes on your back the entire way. He mutters something probably unkind, and follows you.
You're not so preoccupied that you don't feel a thrill of satisfaction as you go into the small hangar and see your new unit looming ahead of you. You drift across the space, catching yourself near its head, spending a self indulgent moment looking into its dull, inactive main camera. Before anyone can complain at you any further, you push yourself down toward the cockpit hatch, trying your pilot code to key it open: It works, and the armoured panel on the mecha's torso hisses open.
The cockpit you slip into is narrower than your Pennant's was, the technology unmistakably older. It's still yours, and a gift from a lost friend at that. Despite the danger you'll no doubt put yourself in while piloting this thing, it's a relief to know you won't need to stand idly by while your fellow pilots fight and die again.
"Run some basic tests and check the settings before you take it out," Kassmeyer says, having appeared on the other side of the open hatch as you strap yourself into the cockpit.
"Not my first space rodeo, Pete," you tell him.
"Oh, so I also don't have to tell you not to set off a bomb right in your own face? News to me."
"Oh, don't worry, everyone else has got that part covered. Try to keep up." You grin at him, and then jam your helmet onto your head. Blowing yourself up again would make your boyfriend sad — obviously you're not going to bring that up out loud as something that will sway your future decision making, though. Jay knows, and that's all that matters.
The systems all check out. As the novelty of being in a mecha cockpit again begins to wear off, Mari starts to creep back into your thoughts in a way you just can't shake. It gnaws away at you as you finish up, seal your cockpit, and prepare to actually take the Lancer custom out into space for a brief, pre-approved test flight.
You almost can't appreciate the details of its handling — which is a real shame, because Cam and Kassmeyer really outdid themselves. You're sure the age of the overall frame will cause problems here and there, but it accelerates at least as well as your Pennant if not a little better, and you won't have any problems with slowing down Azara and Kitty.
You're so consumed with the powerful feeling that this situation is another disaster waiting to happen that, by the time you get back to the station, you've already decided what you're going to do with this information.
Article: This is bad — you're sure of it, and you know that Peter Kassmeyer won't be paying attention to your concerns, at least not as presented by you.
You can overcome that, though! You have people who will listen to you, you're sure. Who do you take this to?
[ ] Commander Bernard — straight to the top! You've... talked to him, at least
[ ] First Officer Booker — you think she's been warming up to you
[ ] Nazaret — they don't exactly have more authority than you, but unlike you, they're a people person
[ ] SRI Lieutenant Amani North — she owes you now, and she seems to have real expertise in encrypted comms
[ ] SRI Commander Milo Owusu — you have a rapport, you think, even though you still owe him from the last favour he did you
Last edited:
Vote closed update 034
Update 35: Being Serious
Gazetteer
Alleged poisoner
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Ideally I would have liked to follow up a three month unintended hiatus with a longer post. Things got difficult for a lot of reasons, though, and I remain very grateful to everyone who follows my writing and bears with me through periodic extended absences like this over the years.
"Tham, I need you desperately," you say into your comm as the lift slowly takes you out to the hab ring. Effective gravity slowly increases bit by bit as you're carried down the shaft that connects it to the spaceport.
There's a momentary pause before Jay responds. "From another woman, that might sound more promising," he says. "What's on fire?"
You watch the lights pass by on either side of the shaft. "That girl we took captive -- they're just... letting her plug into that mecha. I don't think anyone really understands how it works."
"They haven't asked me to help monitor that," Jay says, not sounding pleased.
"Honestly, Jay, it's fucking scary," you say, letting some genuine anxiety come into your voice, alone as you effectively are. "I've just... got a bad feeling about it."
"What are we doing with this, then?" he asks, without so much as a second's hesitation.
You feel an intense swell of relief and affection -- you'd probably have kissed him if you'd been in the same room. You refuse to gush, however. "I'm going to Booker — she doesn't... hate me these days, I think. But you'll help me be more convincing about all this, so I'm taking you with me. There have to be some perks to our arrangement, right?"
"It's so romantic when you talk about our relationship that way," he says. "Where are we meeting?"
You tell him, and it isn't long before you're in the midst of catching Jay up to speed.
"This is the right move," he says. "Leski will listen to Booker. And we need to deal with this in-house. Our SRI 'friends' don't need to know more than they need to know."
He falls silent as you approach a waiting tram car, filled with other people now within earshot. You suppose this would be a very different conversation if you'd tried to tell Jay that you intended to share this information with one of the SRI operatives you have a tentative in with. "I thought so too," you say. "You're sure this is where she'll be?"
"Booker told me she was going to try and relax, and this is how she relaxes," Jay says, this being much less sensitive-AIJ-secrets territory. He takes his seat, and you follow suit, just as the tram begins to move. "So, yeah."
"Oh, we're bothering her on her day off," you say. "Now I just feel like a jerk."
Jay snorts. "That is your favourite feeling in the world."
"Normally, yes. But I'm trying to be serious today," you say. "The goal is to not wind her up, for once."
"Well, I can see why you brought help, then," Jay says.
Despite yourself you laugh, before leaning over in your seat and kissing him. It's not long or drawn out, but it's a good release of tension for both of you. "More or less," you say.
/////PoCS\\\\\
Tanner Station's library is not a particularly large space, in and of itself. The size of several living compartments, the whole thing is crammed with public workstations, cozy places to work and study, and even a modest selection of physical books. Mostly picture books, in this last category. Paper and its equivalents are not precisely practical materials on a space station, but kids are often tactile enough to make them worth fabricating anyway.
A young man sits behind a desk near the entrance, the library's sole staff member, by visible appearances. You flash him a winning smile, and are rewarded with a long, wary sort of look in return. As if you can't come to a place like this without being up to something. The fact that it's apparently true doesn't make this less rude — you have a library account, but you've only ever accessed books remotely.
You find Booker reading alone at a quiet table in one corner. As she sees you, you don't make any puns based on her name. For this, you think, you should be praised. "First Officer Booker," you say, taking a seat across from her uninvited.
"... Himegami," she says, after a conspicuous pause. Her tone isn't quite suspicious, but it is wary, as though she's already correctly guessed that you're here to ruin her day, somehow. She's out of uniform, in a comfortable looking sweater, her hair down, which you've never seen before.
"This is important, Sara," Jay says, sitting down beside you. You hadn't known that they were actually on a first name basis.
"Important enough to corner me on my day off?" Booker asks. Still she puts her reader down, looking at the two of you with reluctant attention.
"Sadly, yes," you say. "We have a problem, I think."
As you give her the same explanation you gave to Jay, to your relief, Booker seems to take your concerns seriously. When you finish, however, she still turns to Jay.
"Is this really a concern?" Booker asks.
Jay thinks about that for several long moments, as if choosing his words carefully. "It's impossible to say what that machine is capable of. That's highly experimental neural interfacing tech — it likely has functions that only Tanaka can access, and that could be hard to track externally. What they're doing with her is incredibly dangerous."
"And what would you like me to do about it?" Booker asks. It's a serious question.
"Get the captain to take this to the high commander," you say. "There's not really anyone else who can tell Kassmeyer to fuck off."
"Or at least to make him let me have a good look at whatever it is they're doing," Jay says, perhaps more constructively.
"Right," Booker says. She takes in a deep, weary breath, letting it out slowly. "Right. Well, I knew that this day was going to be a writeoff the moment Kana showed up."
"I've been on my best behaviour!" you say.
"Yes, I noticed. That's what worried me immediately." Booker turns off the reader, and stands up with a reluctant sort of stretch. "You looking serious and sober about something is a good sign that things are very wrong."
"She has a point," Jay says. He gives your shoulder a little squeeze that you pretend isn't as reassuring as it is.
You scoff. "Well, good thing you both won't have to get used to it anytime soon."
/////PoCS\\\\\
Onboard the HDMS Sunspot
Disguised Divine Navy transport
"I've convinced him that the information is good." Captain Edith Kron stares up at the ceiling as she says this, eyes tracking the handholds mounted there in sequence in an effort to calm her nerves — it's as futile an effort in this regard as the stylus she repetitively taps against the surface of her desk. Her office isn't large, and not looking directly at the person she's sharing space with lets her pretend it's a little bit larger. A workstation, one hatch that leads out into the main shaft, another that leads into her sleeping quarters. Space for her strapped in behind the workstation desk, and two others... theoretically.
"Are we sure that it is good?" Sir Salimus asks. He's gripping the edge of her desk, leaning over it with that infuriatingly casual air of his.
"As sure as we can be," Edith says. "No one else is going to have access to that channel."
"That we know of," Salimus says. Out of the corner of her eye, Edith can see him running a hand down his face. He looks like an older and far less carefree man than he did at the start of this voyage — maybe that's why Edith can stand being in a compartment with him now. "They took her and the Carbon Steel intact."
"That's all the more reason to get her out before they can force her to do anything they can use," Edith says. "The technology is what Command cares about, anyway."
Salimus is quiet for a long, uncomfortable moment. "And the girl?"
Edith takes in a deep breath, and lets it out forcefully, flicking the stylus up and away from her. It spins wildly through space, drifting to ricochet off the ceiling, forcing Salimus to dodge out of the way. "Well, we're the only ones who are going to give a shit about her, beyond the way she's useful. So, we'll just have to do what we can. We're the ones who threw that girl into battle, completely unprepared, because we needed her. She's our responsibility."
Salimus gives a sigh in response, which Edith takes for agreement. What else can there be, to something like that? The man can be insufferable, but he's reliable where it counts.
/////PoCS\\\\\
"I don't appreciate my expertise being questioned like this," Kassmeyer says. If he weren't floating, you suspect he'd be leaning aggressively across the table.
"Calm down, Peter," High Commander Bernard says. "This is a matter of operational security. Tham has concerns."
"Tham is a pilot," Kassmeyer says.
"Tham is the closest thing we have to an expert on this technology," you say. You don't flinch, despite the fact that everyone in the room turns to look at you at this point — Kassmeyer glares, and Captain Leski casts you a warning glance. You ignore the first, but heed the second. That you're here at all is entirely a courtesy, and one that can be revoked at a moment's notice.
Still, Jay gives you a look that's halfway between fond and exasperated, which makes it worthwhile. "She's not wrong," he says. "I don't have neural interface tech grafted into my nervous system for nothing."
"Exactly," Bernard says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Let's just get this over with — enough complaining, Peter. Set Tham up with access to your logs."
With a disagreeable sort of grumble, Kassmeyer moves over to the nearby workstation. With a few deft motions, he unlocks access to the system.
Jay is already messing with the terminal below the workstation, threading a heavy duty data cable into a port there, before steading himself firmly on the table. Then he raises the cord to his temple, and clamped it fast to the induction plate there. "Well, let's see, then," he says. And then he goes under.
First Officer Booker — you think she's been warming up to you: 27
Nazaret — they don't exactly have more authority than you, but unlike you, they're a people person: 10
SRI Lieutenant Amani North — she owes you now, and she seems to have real expertise in encrypted comms: 4
SRI Commander Milo Owusu — you have a rapport, you think, even though you still owe him from the last favour he did you: 2
Nazaret — they don't exactly have more authority than you, but unlike you, they're a people person: 10
SRI Lieutenant Amani North — she owes you now, and she seems to have real expertise in encrypted comms: 4
SRI Commander Milo Owusu — you have a rapport, you think, even though you still owe him from the last favour he did you: 2
The interface is hideously overdesigned. Functions nested behind functions, hierarchies that supposedly make sense if you're actually jacked into the thing, but not at all otherwise... and we've only got one test pilot who can do more than make it twitch an arm.
Direct neural interface tech that you don't need to get turned into a fucking Frankenstein's monster to use is great on paper. Like, obviously. I just don't buy that we're anywhere near that. And the adaptive neural dampeners? The shit that's in there to keep you from just frying your brain if something fucks up? In some of the test environments, repeated use by the same operator caused it to get stuck on their brain patterns. Which means, even if we find a pilot who can actually use this thing to its full potential, well, congrats, they'll probably be the only one who can use it, after a combat or two. And none of this is reliable enough for mass production. Waste of people, waste of resources, waste of time.
What? No, obviously I'm not going to tell this to anyone who matters. I'd end up shuffled off to somewhere worse, and nothing would change. I'm just griping. Hand me that multi-tool, will you?
— Engineer working on the development of the QDIMX Carbon Steel
Direct neural interface tech that you don't need to get turned into a fucking Frankenstein's monster to use is great on paper. Like, obviously. I just don't buy that we're anywhere near that. And the adaptive neural dampeners? The shit that's in there to keep you from just frying your brain if something fucks up? In some of the test environments, repeated use by the same operator caused it to get stuck on their brain patterns. Which means, even if we find a pilot who can actually use this thing to its full potential, well, congrats, they'll probably be the only one who can use it, after a combat or two. And none of this is reliable enough for mass production. Waste of people, waste of resources, waste of time.
What? No, obviously I'm not going to tell this to anyone who matters. I'd end up shuffled off to somewhere worse, and nothing would change. I'm just griping. Hand me that multi-tool, will you?
— Engineer working on the development of the QDIMX Carbon Steel
"Tham, I need you desperately," you say into your comm as the lift slowly takes you out to the hab ring. Effective gravity slowly increases bit by bit as you're carried down the shaft that connects it to the spaceport.
There's a momentary pause before Jay responds. "From another woman, that might sound more promising," he says. "What's on fire?"
You watch the lights pass by on either side of the shaft. "That girl we took captive -- they're just... letting her plug into that mecha. I don't think anyone really understands how it works."
"They haven't asked me to help monitor that," Jay says, not sounding pleased.
"Honestly, Jay, it's fucking scary," you say, letting some genuine anxiety come into your voice, alone as you effectively are. "I've just... got a bad feeling about it."
"What are we doing with this, then?" he asks, without so much as a second's hesitation.
You feel an intense swell of relief and affection -- you'd probably have kissed him if you'd been in the same room. You refuse to gush, however. "I'm going to Booker — she doesn't... hate me these days, I think. But you'll help me be more convincing about all this, so I'm taking you with me. There have to be some perks to our arrangement, right?"
"It's so romantic when you talk about our relationship that way," he says. "Where are we meeting?"
You tell him, and it isn't long before you're in the midst of catching Jay up to speed.
"This is the right move," he says. "Leski will listen to Booker. And we need to deal with this in-house. Our SRI 'friends' don't need to know more than they need to know."
He falls silent as you approach a waiting tram car, filled with other people now within earshot. You suppose this would be a very different conversation if you'd tried to tell Jay that you intended to share this information with one of the SRI operatives you have a tentative in with. "I thought so too," you say. "You're sure this is where she'll be?"
"Booker told me she was going to try and relax, and this is how she relaxes," Jay says, this being much less sensitive-AIJ-secrets territory. He takes his seat, and you follow suit, just as the tram begins to move. "So, yeah."
"Oh, we're bothering her on her day off," you say. "Now I just feel like a jerk."
Jay snorts. "That is your favourite feeling in the world."
"Normally, yes. But I'm trying to be serious today," you say. "The goal is to not wind her up, for once."
"Well, I can see why you brought help, then," Jay says.
Despite yourself you laugh, before leaning over in your seat and kissing him. It's not long or drawn out, but it's a good release of tension for both of you. "More or less," you say.
/////PoCS\\\\\
Tanner Station's library is not a particularly large space, in and of itself. The size of several living compartments, the whole thing is crammed with public workstations, cozy places to work and study, and even a modest selection of physical books. Mostly picture books, in this last category. Paper and its equivalents are not precisely practical materials on a space station, but kids are often tactile enough to make them worth fabricating anyway.
A young man sits behind a desk near the entrance, the library's sole staff member, by visible appearances. You flash him a winning smile, and are rewarded with a long, wary sort of look in return. As if you can't come to a place like this without being up to something. The fact that it's apparently true doesn't make this less rude — you have a library account, but you've only ever accessed books remotely.
You find Booker reading alone at a quiet table in one corner. As she sees you, you don't make any puns based on her name. For this, you think, you should be praised. "First Officer Booker," you say, taking a seat across from her uninvited.
"... Himegami," she says, after a conspicuous pause. Her tone isn't quite suspicious, but it is wary, as though she's already correctly guessed that you're here to ruin her day, somehow. She's out of uniform, in a comfortable looking sweater, her hair down, which you've never seen before.
"This is important, Sara," Jay says, sitting down beside you. You hadn't known that they were actually on a first name basis.
"Important enough to corner me on my day off?" Booker asks. Still she puts her reader down, looking at the two of you with reluctant attention.
"Sadly, yes," you say. "We have a problem, I think."
As you give her the same explanation you gave to Jay, to your relief, Booker seems to take your concerns seriously. When you finish, however, she still turns to Jay.
"Is this really a concern?" Booker asks.
Jay thinks about that for several long moments, as if choosing his words carefully. "It's impossible to say what that machine is capable of. That's highly experimental neural interfacing tech — it likely has functions that only Tanaka can access, and that could be hard to track externally. What they're doing with her is incredibly dangerous."
"And what would you like me to do about it?" Booker asks. It's a serious question.
"Get the captain to take this to the high commander," you say. "There's not really anyone else who can tell Kassmeyer to fuck off."
"Or at least to make him let me have a good look at whatever it is they're doing," Jay says, perhaps more constructively.
"Right," Booker says. She takes in a deep, weary breath, letting it out slowly. "Right. Well, I knew that this day was going to be a writeoff the moment Kana showed up."
"I've been on my best behaviour!" you say.
"Yes, I noticed. That's what worried me immediately." Booker turns off the reader, and stands up with a reluctant sort of stretch. "You looking serious and sober about something is a good sign that things are very wrong."
"She has a point," Jay says. He gives your shoulder a little squeeze that you pretend isn't as reassuring as it is.
You scoff. "Well, good thing you both won't have to get used to it anytime soon."
/////PoCS\\\\\
Onboard the HDMS Sunspot
Disguised Divine Navy transport
"I've convinced him that the information is good." Captain Edith Kron stares up at the ceiling as she says this, eyes tracking the handholds mounted there in sequence in an effort to calm her nerves — it's as futile an effort in this regard as the stylus she repetitively taps against the surface of her desk. Her office isn't large, and not looking directly at the person she's sharing space with lets her pretend it's a little bit larger. A workstation, one hatch that leads out into the main shaft, another that leads into her sleeping quarters. Space for her strapped in behind the workstation desk, and two others... theoretically.
"Are we sure that it is good?" Sir Salimus asks. He's gripping the edge of her desk, leaning over it with that infuriatingly casual air of his.
"As sure as we can be," Edith says. "No one else is going to have access to that channel."
"That we know of," Salimus says. Out of the corner of her eye, Edith can see him running a hand down his face. He looks like an older and far less carefree man than he did at the start of this voyage — maybe that's why Edith can stand being in a compartment with him now. "They took her and the Carbon Steel intact."
"That's all the more reason to get her out before they can force her to do anything they can use," Edith says. "The technology is what Command cares about, anyway."
Salimus is quiet for a long, uncomfortable moment. "And the girl?"
Edith takes in a deep breath, and lets it out forcefully, flicking the stylus up and away from her. It spins wildly through space, drifting to ricochet off the ceiling, forcing Salimus to dodge out of the way. "Well, we're the only ones who are going to give a shit about her, beyond the way she's useful. So, we'll just have to do what we can. We're the ones who threw that girl into battle, completely unprepared, because we needed her. She's our responsibility."
Salimus gives a sigh in response, which Edith takes for agreement. What else can there be, to something like that? The man can be insufferable, but he's reliable where it counts.
/////PoCS\\\\\
"I don't appreciate my expertise being questioned like this," Kassmeyer says. If he weren't floating, you suspect he'd be leaning aggressively across the table.
"Calm down, Peter," High Commander Bernard says. "This is a matter of operational security. Tham has concerns."
"Tham is a pilot," Kassmeyer says.
"Tham is the closest thing we have to an expert on this technology," you say. You don't flinch, despite the fact that everyone in the room turns to look at you at this point — Kassmeyer glares, and Captain Leski casts you a warning glance. You ignore the first, but heed the second. That you're here at all is entirely a courtesy, and one that can be revoked at a moment's notice.
Still, Jay gives you a look that's halfway between fond and exasperated, which makes it worthwhile. "She's not wrong," he says. "I don't have neural interface tech grafted into my nervous system for nothing."
"Exactly," Bernard says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Let's just get this over with — enough complaining, Peter. Set Tham up with access to your logs."
With a disagreeable sort of grumble, Kassmeyer moves over to the nearby workstation. With a few deft motions, he unlocks access to the system.
Jay is already messing with the terminal below the workstation, threading a heavy duty data cable into a port there, before steading himself firmly on the table. Then he raises the cord to his temple, and clamped it fast to the induction plate there. "Well, let's see, then," he says. And then he goes under.
Article: What Jay finds isn't remotely good — you are all poised to be thrown into turmoil once again, and you can only scramble to prepare for that inevitability. What does the advanced warning your trip to the R&D department and dogged initiative provided earn you, during the coming crisis?
[ ] There are no surprise technical problems at inconvenient times
[ ] The civilian population is kept calm and orderly, even in the event of emergency lockdowns or evacuations
[ ] You determine the enemy's angle of approach beforehand
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