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Petals of Carbon Steel -- You're a Pilot, Not an Ace. Try your best.

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Vote closed update 023
  • Voting
    • Scheduled vote count started by Gazetteer on Jan 17, 2021 at 7:23 PM, finished with 66 posts and 57 votes.
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  • Voting
    • Lol, nobody even tried the AIJ party line

    Guess their propaganda is just that bad, which lives me some hope for their future polity
     
    My favorite thing about this quest is that the protagonist is literally named Princess God and the other characters will call her on it.
     
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    Update 024: Tanner II
  • Threadmarks
    • Be candid about your tragic backstory: 35

    Push Naiya to tell Mari about what really happened at the Battle of Iapetus: 22

    Fucking hell, you weren't kidding, Yorke. Calling it 'scrap' is generous, the state this thing is in. I feel like I owe you a drink, considering the idiots you have to work with day in and day out. ​

    — Message sent by Peter Kassmeyer, AIJ mechanic, Tanner Station​

    "Well, kid," you say, smiling a condescending smile at Mari, "why don't you just settle in, and listen to a story from your Auntie Kana."

    Limin stares at you with mingled disgust and horror. Naiya buries her face in her hands. Mari just glares at you all over again. "Are you serious?" she murmurs.

    "Once upon a time, there was a war," you say, voice sage and lofty. "Lots of shit all over Jupiter got wrecked."

    "Yeah, I grew up here too!" Mari protests.

    "Hush," you tell her, before continuing. "Anyway: A massive rebuilding effort was undertaken. Replacement infrastructure and habitats. For that, you need construction workers skilled at working in space, piloting civilian mecha, that sort of thing. And it's not like anyone begrudged the extra work, at first. But it just didn't let up — gruelling hours, no breaks. Cutting corners with safety, both for the workers and for the projects. People got hurt, and there was worry that these habitats would fail if they were rushed too much. So, on Ganymede, some of the construction workers got fed up, you know? Decided to peacefully organise."

    Naiya winces. She's Jovian, like you and Mari, and old enough that she probably remembers how this story ends.

    "Not everyone thought this was a good idea, of course," you continue. "The HSE isn't really forgiving of dissent, after all. They got shouted down, though: This wasn't sustainable. Surely, if she knew about these conditions, Duchess Grangier would see that improving them was in everyone's best interests." You flash Mari a ghoulishly inappropriate smile. "You know what happened instead, though, don't you?"

    Mari looks away, uncomfortable. Good. Less good is Limin chiming in and answering for her, even if she's more subdued than strident this time: "There was a crackdown. Disobedience is punished."

    You don't punch her right in her impassive face. "Yep! Most of the leadership just disappeared. Off the street, from their beds... you get the idea. Didn't matter if they were for or against, didn't matter if they were even involved at all. Just... gone. Then, the really fun part is that the families, friends, close associations, anyone who had been anywhere near those people? Their names were mud. Blacklisted from all the best work, difficulty getting decent housing, the kind of mark on your record that makes any kind of trouble you get into much, much worse. There are two ways you can go from there — keep playing a game you know is purposefully rigged against you, or run off to become a pirate."

    There's an awful, awkward silence then, where no one meets your eye. You're the one who eventually breaks it: "So, whose fault was all that? Who was wrong The people who tried to better their circumstances, not even actually to change them, just improve, or the people who brought down a divine fucking hammer on them all?"

    "Protest a storm, then complain when it rains on you," Limin mutters. People who grew up on planets love to assume weather metaphors are universal. "The Empire is too big to oppose. You can't go against it — you just need to make sure that it's someone else who messes up and gets smashed flat."

    "I bet your superiors would love to hear that," you say, eyebrows raising.

    Limin scoffs. "I'm being held captive by terrorists. You're just going to torture and kill me anyway."

    "Pfft, like you know anything worth torturing you over," you say.

    "And yet, there's been this conversation," says Naiya. You can see something of an echo of understanding as she looks back at you, though. Not the one you were aiming at, but... you'll take it. You might put in a word with Booker about her, soon.

    "Well! I'll just let you ladies think on that," you say. "I've got places to be."

    "Good, go bother someone else," says Mari. What you've said has clearly troubled her.

    "Oh, no, not in the plans, I'm afraid," you say, already drifting backward and waving. "Tonight, I've got a date."

    Limin mutters something deeply unfriendly under her breath. It does your heart a lot of good.

    /////PoCS\\\\\

    Fuck gravity, and thank every star for painkillers.

    The thought is fresh on your mind the whole way to your quarters. Dulled or not, you'd felt the pain building all the way down the transfer shaft, gravity building slowly as you'd been carried further and further out toward the habitation ring. You'd been looking forward to standing again, but it hurts even worse than you'd anticipated, a steady ache that turns white hot the moment you put any weight on your injured leg. Which, of course, you do immediately after your feet settle onto the deck of the hab ring. You half collapse onto a bench along the wall, spending several long minutes catching your breath. Then you make use of the crutches you've been given to hobble along the rest of the way.

    You catch sight of yourself in the reflective surface of an unlit display — you already look exhausted, your uniform is a rumpled mess, and your hair is a bit of a fright. Not quite Himegami Kana at her sexiest.

    The hab ring consists of a wide hallway sloping eternally upward, partitioned regularly into sections by emergency hatches that will slam shut in the event of a hull breach. Both sides of the ring are lined with units that serve as homes, businesses, and public utilities. It's brightly lit this time of day, full of people and noise, a light commuter line dividing the two tiled paths from each other. You gratefully catch a car going in the direction of your quarters, and slump gratefully onto one of the seats opposite a small child. The little girl stares at you shamelessly, and makes whispered comments to her father, who looks faintly embarrassed. You make a face at her when he's not looking, to the child's obvious delight.

    Before too long, you're able to get off at the section your quarters are in, and make your way to the housing unit that you have a third of for your use while on-station. The closest thing you currently have to a home. It's not a huge space, but it's much larger than what you have back on the ship, at least. The decor is limited to bare walls, a bed, a workstation, and several packing containers still laying open in the middle of the floor, filled with what clothes and other meager belongings you brought with you when you'd first moved in. You'll actually unpack it all, someday.

    Or so you keep telling yourself.

    There's a bit of flopping bonelessly down onto your bed, and then some showering, before you rifle through your clothes for something to wear. What you settle on is an ankle-length dress in a soft shade of purple. You put on enough makeup to disguise the fatigue and strain on your expression, and then wind up throwing an AIJ jacket on over the whole thing anyway. With the cast already ruining things, there's no reason not to at least try for a discount.

    You watch the crowds on your way to the restaurant, taking stock of what things are like on Tanner. Some overcrowding, not too many signs of food shortages this year. Things were hard in stray corners of the system. The lack of Imperial oversight helps the station's leadership to want to continue directly cooperating with the AIJ, but it's not actually easy to keep everything running without support.

    Your destination isn't hard to find. Nearly on the opposite side of the ring from your place, it's the only restaurant and/or bar in Section 010. It is therefore imaginatively named "Section Ten." It's basically two residential units, heavily modified and adjoined, always packed despite Tanner Station's often-limited stocks of food. Getting drunk and shovelling a hot meal into yourself matters more than strict quality, sometimes.

    You hadn't considered that the usual press inside would be difficult to negotiate with your crutches. People at least get out of the way when they notice you. It helps that you loudly declare your status as a wounded war hero.

    "Laying it on a little thick," says Jay, finding you in the crowd. "Here, I've got a table." It's small, shunted off to one corner and absolutely wonderful, because you can sit down.

    "I beg your pardon? I'm only accepting my due as a valiant freedom fighter wounded in the name of the cause!" you tell him.

    Jay rolls his eyes in a way that tells you he's actually amused, sitting down across from you. He spends a quiet moment sweeping his gaze over you in an up and down sort of way. "I've never seen you in a dress before," he says.

    "Well, you've never asked me out before," you point out, balancing the crutches against a wall, where they won't be in the way.

    "It's not a bad look on you," he says.

    You can't say you don't appreciate the attention. As long as it's been since you've been in any kind of romantic entanglement, it's been even longer since you've dressed up even a little. You grin. "Well, I am trying not to just look like someone you scraped up from the gutter." He's gone without any AIJ insignia, replacing his uniform shirt and jacket with a darkly-patterned sweater. It's a nice contrast with the cold palette of his hair and complexion, and tight enough not to hide the lean definition of his shoulders.

    "Well, mission accomplished. What are you drinking?" Jay asks.

    You grin a little ruefully, pulling up the sleeve of your dress enough to reveal a medicinal patch adhered to the skin of your arm. "Today, I am drinking soda. In solidarity with your whole 'can't mix anything fun with my meds' gimmick."

    "How bad is it?" he asks, with the slightest sliver of a frown. He means the pain, you assume.

    You wave it off. "Manageable, and better now that I've applied this. The company's better here than it would have been to just mope around in bed by myself."

    He looks at you for long, silent moments, interrupted by a harried looking server arriving to take your orders. When she's gone, Jay says, "I'm still not happy with what you did back in that last fight."

    Your strongest instinct is to blow this off. Make more excuses, maybe a tasteless joke or two. You don't, though, and the truth feels awkward coming off your tongue, like your mouth just isn't built for it. "I was... scared, okay? She was going to kill me. I was cut off from my squad. I didn't know what else to do, and I thought... 'if I'm going down, so are you'." Your shoulders slump a little, and you examine the synthetic texture of the tabletop. "Think 'cornered rat biting whatever it can reach'. I know I was being stupid." The server comes back and you snatch up your drink like it's a lifeline.

    Jay gives a faint sigh, once the server leaves again. "Alright. I won't keep on about it, then." There's a pause, then he adds: "You weren't the only one who was scared for you, though."

    This is sweet and all. You appreciate hearing it. The sincerity is making your teeth ache, though. "I think you're just upset because you're a leg man," you decide.

    He doesn't get thrown by this, damn him. Instead, he only sips his rootbeer before asking: "Would that be a problem?"

    "Currently, yeah!" you say, grinning. The crowded room is getting a little hot, you decide.

    "I think we've established, though, that I'm most attracted to your personality," Jay says, with a completely straight face.

    You laugh. "Oh, please, can that be what you tell people once this gets out?"

    "It would be fun," Jay agrees. Then he leans forward across the small table, and steals a kiss. It's a surprise, here in front of so many people, but you see it coming soon enough that it's your decision to let it happen. It's not a long kiss, but it's urgent in a way that takes you away from the loud room and the deadened pain in your leg and the eyes that must be on the two of you. You really did need this.

    "There are a few other things I could mention as well, of course," he says, pulling back.

    You laugh again, face flushed with elation. "Good answer."

    When your soup comes, it's all tank-cultured plant protein and whatever pallid root vegetables that Tanner's agricultural modules have managed to eke out lately. It's also hot, and served in a bowl, and it's never been frozen, reduced or otherwise preserved. It is therefore rapturously amazing.

    "Don't you need to worry about allergies?" you think to ask, eyeing Jay's own bowl. The soup is all that's any good here, usually.

    Jay shrugs. "I've had this before, and it was fine. Yes, there's always a risk, but what else am I going to do? Hide alone in my quarters, living off instant meals?"

    "That would get pretty bleak," you acknowledge. "Guess I'm not really in a position to criticise you for taking risks, though."

    "No, you're definitely not," Jay agrees.

    "How close is your place, by the way?" you ask.

    "The next section over," he says, finishing his drink.

    "Oh, good. Mine is clear across the hab ring. Guess I'm staying over."

    "You're up for that?" Jay asks. His gaze is fixed on you, caution thankfully mixed with what you decide is genuine enthusiasm.

    You scoff. "I'm willing to try if you are, Tham."

    /////PoCS\\\\\

    You won't pretend that there wasn't some awkwardness, but you and Jay still fall into bed together with all the restraint of two people who have been fighting for their lives for months. Afterward, you lay half-tangled together, your injured leg positioned well clear, your head resting on Jay's pale, toned chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, and the gradually slowing rhythm of his heart.

    You don't know why, but you'd expected this place to be spartan, if not quite so much as your own unit. It's about the same size, but certainly much more lived-in — a table and a couple chairs stand in one corner. Small displays hang from the walls, many with pictures of white-haired, cybernetically augmented youths. They're not personal shots. They have the cold, unsmiling look of something cropped out of news releases or official documents. You suppose that Jay hasn't had much opportunity to see even what members of his strange family are still alive and reachable, what with being a member of a known rebel group. The bedside table beside the bed is as you expected, though: covered in medication bottles.

    "You know, I've never asked you why you joined up," you hear yourself saying.

    "You haven't," Jay agrees. He's quiet for long enough that you wonder if he's going to make you ask again, before sighs, and asks: "Do you know how many of the people involved in the old Jovian SRI branch got rolled up into the IIS? I don't trust the USE much, but at least they were going to make a show of punishing the people who made us the way we are."

    "There are worse reasons to pick up a gun," you say.

    "I've heard a few people talk like I'm only in this for the medication," Jay says.

    You manage an awkward sort of shrug. "Well, fuck them, then."

    He seems to like that. "I thought you might say that."

    There's a silence then, pleasant and companionable in its character. You have something else on your mind, although it's not quite as serious. "I think that was Schmidt back there in the restaurant," you murmur. "He probably saw that kiss."

    "Were you planning to keep this a secret?" Jay asks. He strokes your hair gently as he talks.

    "No," you say. Then you admit: "Azara is going to be insufferable, though."

    "That sounds like it'll be a problem for you," Jay agrees. You don't have to see his face to know that sliver of a smile is going across it. You grab your unused pillow, and try to hit him in the face with it. You don't want to twist around enough to put any weight on your leg, though, so you miss by about a mile. You feel his silent laughter vibrating through his chest.

    "Traitor," you accuse, subsiding.

    His arm goes around you, metal implants cool against your skin. "Some ribbing might be good for you, honestly."

    "Traitor!" you say again. There's more of a drowsy note in your voice now, though. You're already on your way to falling asleep.

    /////PoCS\\\\\

    You get the call a few moments after leaving the following morning. With a muttered curse, you lean against the wall of the ring corridor, fishing in your bag for your comm piece. It reads: Nazaret Ohanian.

    "Uh, hey?" you ask, picking up.

    "Oh, good!" Naz's voice says. "We were worried!"

    You frown. "Why?" Apart from your crutches, you don't rate too much scrutiny from the passersby, staying out of the way as you are off to the side.

    "We stopped by your place this morning, first thing. No answer! You didn't go on an all-night bender in your condition, did you?"

    "No, I'm on pain-killers," you say. Although you might have gone without, if you'd been out with a different crowd than just Jay. "I'm fine."

    Where are you?"

    "Section 009," you say. "Did you want to meet up or something?" You showered, and you hadn't been wearing those clothes for very long before Jay had helped you out of them. Apart from being a little rumpled from where it had spent the night on his floor, your dress is perfectly presentable.

    "There's that park in Section 008," Naz says. "We can meet you there."

    "Sure, fine. Who's 'we'?" you finally ask.

    "Oh, right. Cam's here too," they tell you.

    "Hi, Kana," comes Cam's muffled voice, picked up on the same microphone.

    "We'll see you soon, then," Naz says, then hangs up.

    Well, you hadn't had specific plans for today anyway. You'll be interested to see what it is those two are trying to get ahold of you for, at any rate.

    The 'park' is a short rail ride away, so you get there pretty fast. Honestly, it is an extremely sad little affair. In place of a unit, there's an open seating area with a few flower planters, some benches, and some green, artificial turf for kids to play on. A few bedraggled looking displays try their best to pretend to be the continuation of a terrestrial meadow. Still, it has a sort of depressing charm you can't bring yourself to resent as you snag a seat on an empty bench.

    It isn't a long wait, at least. Nazaret's slightly gangly frame paired with the much smaller figure of Cam stand out as they angle toward you.

    You raise a hand in greeting. "Hi," you say. I'd get up, but... I don't want to."

    Naz grins at that. "Fine by me — here." They press a cup of something that smells horribly like coffee into your hand, matching the ones they and Cam are sipping from. "Don't look so worried. It's drowned in sugar, you won't even taste the actual coffee, you degenerate."

    You take an experimental sip, as Naz drops down beside you on the bench. Cam perches on the armrest of the nearest one over from the two of you. The coffee is passable, at least.

    "What were you doing all the way over here, anyway?" Cam asks.

    "He's a 'who', actually," you tell her, with a grin. She gets it a second later when Naz starts laughing, and turns brick red all the way up to her ears. This only makes you laugh at her as well. "Sorry, Cam, but — well, okay, I'm not actually sorry. You're just so easy, sometimes."

    "And after I came all the way down here!" Cam says, voice a little higher than she clearly means it to be. Cam's wearing an oil-stained work suit, like she intends to go right back to the shipyard and spend her downtime messing around with broken machines. Given that this is Cam, that's probably exactly what she's going to do. "Here!" She thrusts an arm out, pressing something small and metal into your hand.

    You examine it curiously. It's regular in shape, painted the same shade as your jacket, with a short chain attached to a hole someone's drilled into it. There's a serial number etched into the metal, one that you recognise immediately. "This is from my Pennant," you say, surprised.

    "Yeah, they already started scrapping it yesterday," Cam says, struggling to maintain her frown. "So, I thought maybe you'd want it."

    "This is..." you stare down at this little piece of your trusty mecha, the one you'd always managed to push too hard for too long, but which had always somehow kept you safe. It actually is sort of a nice gesture, although it's also very, very Cam. "... real weird, Cam."

    "It's a special keepsake!" she insists.

    "I'll wear it," you allow, "but I want it to be known that this is out of pity."

    "You're the worst!" Cam complains. "See if I ever do anything nice for you again!"

    You hang it around your wrist, right next to your brother's shitty Ganymede charm. You relent, not quite making eye contact as you say, "Thanks, though."

    Cam huffs a little, but mutters: "Yeah."

    There's an awkward silence then, stretching on and on. Naz breaks it. "So, was he anyone I know?"

    Well, you two have established that the secret is basically out already, and that you're not trying to hide it. "Pretty well, yeah," you say, smirking. "Cam knows him better than you do, though."

    Surprisingly, she's the one who pieces it together. Cam gasps, hands clasping over her mouth. "Jay?" Your smirk widens. "I thought he might like you!" Cam says. "That's, um... good for you?"

    "Well, I guess you like them serious," Nazaret says, thoughtfully, clearly trying to understand your taste.

    "I'll have you know, I make him laugh," you tell them, tone a little smug.

    Naz grins again, amused by what they clearly take for a joke. Cam shakes her head, though. "No, it's true. I've seen them. It's weird."

    "Huh," Naz says, struggling to square this with their own mental image of Jay. "Either way, it's good you two are enjoying yourselves while you can — things are going to get crazy again soon."

    You and Cam both blink at them. "Why, what have you heard?" you ask.

    Nazaret glances around, full of feigned casualness. "Well, I've had a bit of work to do. Not like Cam, who just hates taking a break."

    "The work that's going on in maintenance is really fascinating!" Cam insists. "Even if we haven't convinced that Tanaka girl to help us really get at that scary thing she was piloting."

    You're not surprised — Mari didn't seem to be overly cooperative, last time you saw her. You're more interested in what Nazaret is hinting at, anyway. "What did you hear about?" you ask them again.

    They turn back to you, awkward. "Well, I shouldn't spread this around... but, we've gotten a secure transmission that I've been working to verify. I'll just say, we're getting an important visitor soon."

    You nod, digesting this, turning the idea over in your head. "It's too bad I've been an HSE spy this whole time then, isn't it?"

    Cam lets out a nervous giggle. Naz outright snorts in derision. "If you were a spy, Kana, you'd try way harder to seem even a little bit trustworthy."

    You sip your coffee. "What if it's reverse psychology?"

    "Good job, then," Naz says. "And here we all just thought that you can't help it."

    You laugh at that. "Well, if anything too interesting happens, it's not as though I'll be much use. My leg's still fucked, and it'll take a bit before they let me have another mecha anyway."

    "I could help with that second part," Cam says, fidgeting.

    "Wait, really? Work those connections you make with all the extra work, you mean?" you ask.

    "Uh... yeah, I guess," Cam says, chewing nervously at her lip. "I've got a lot of friends from that? They're always saying 'if you ever need a favour'."

    "You'd really put in a word for me, though?" you ask.

    "Well, yeah, we're shipmates, right?" Cam asks. "Even though you're the worst."

    You glance away, studying the meadow scene on the display instead of meeting her eyes. "Thanks."

    "Sure," Cam says. "Just... try to heal up in a hurry, I guess."

    Article:
    What kind of mecha will Cam try to arrange for you? This will not be an instant acquisition, even with Cam's help.

    [ ] Another AIJ Pennant in heavy-configuration, with minimal customisation.

    Kana will be able to resume her old combat role with minimal adjustments or difficulty.

    [ ] An AIJ Pennant in standard-configuration, with minimal customisation

    Kana will take on a role more orientated to direct combat, which will take some getting used to.

    [ ] An ISM07 Lancer, customised by Cam

    An older model with lower performance than the Pennant, but one that Cam has a great deal of experience with, which will let her tune it to Kana's particular needs.
     
    Last edited:
  • Threadmarks
    • What exactly was the Heavy optimzed for? It's not listed specifically on the mech page and I can't remember.

    Found the vote. Anti-ship I guess. Hmm. There's no way we'll ever be able to completely avoid mech combat, but it definitely has its place, and that hull cracker bomb came in handy :V Have to think about it.
     
    Last edited:
    Gazetteer said:
    [ ] Another AIJ Pennant in heavy-configuration, with minimal customisation.

    Kana will be able to resume her old combat role with minimal adjustments or difficulty.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    No fucking way, they'd let us have another bomber after we used our last hull-cracker bomb in melee combat? You'd think they'd never let us touch anything heavier then an automatic rifle after our grievous misuse of a heavy bomber last time.
     
    rather have what we use too have then something new or older.
    [X] Another AIJ Pennant in heavy-configuration, with minimal customisation.
     
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    [X] An ISM07 Lancer, customised by Cam

    Older model means easier to obtain parts. We can have Cam tune it to become a heavy-configuration.
     
    [X] An ISM07 Lancer, customised by Cam

    We just got done with a major event, time for a mecha change. (It also lets us sell a totally new model to all the fans).
     
    [X] An ISM07 Lancer, customised by Cam

    You, I totally want a custom job. It'll make us more memorable a side character. It'll also make it so Mari immediately knows she's killing Kana instead of finding out afterwards!
     
    [X] Another AIJ Pennant in heavy-configuration, with minimal customisation.
    [X] An AIJ Pennant in standard-configuration, with minimal customisation

    We are not a good pilot, we're not going to do better with with outdated tech. Spending time and effort to get it almost as good as a pennant is not a cool thing to do.
     
    [X] An ISM07 Lancer, customised by Cam

    I'm going to be honest, the notion of learning Kana's 'needs' is what draws me. Sure, it's going to be 'weaker' BUT, I'm thinking being customized to suit Kana might give the old Lancer some life! Maybe even enough for Himegai to start living up to the 'God' moniker of her name!
    Oh who are we kidding even if we maxed Himegai kicking tail she'd still lose to the likes of Mari.
     
    [X] An ISM07 Lancer, customised by Cam
    And since it's custimised by Cam, there's a real chance it includes parts from our former mech!

    Gazetteer said:
    "Were you planning to keep this a secret?" Jay asks. He strokes your hair gently as he talks.

    "No," you say. Then you admit: "Azara is going to be insufferable, though."
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Oh yes, my dear Princess God, the tables are going to turn indeed.

    (seriously, this whole chapter was cute)
     
    [X] An ISM07 Lancer, customised by Cam

    Getting a custom mech is just a sign of Kana ascending from her mook status into a full secondary character role. Which is still a dangerous position, but at least the one where her death would be treated with some gravitas.
     
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