Strangers in a Strange Sphere - [Battletech]

[HeroCooky]

The year is 2059. The first human born on Luna has a child of their own. One world becomes Two.

The year is 2067. Humanity lands on Mars. A flag is proudly hung on that planet that so long dominated the minds of millions, and the words coming from Emmet Muhammed will inspire billions more. For the second time in human history, there is only one tribe: Us.

The year is 2069. Alcubierre is proven right ten days before New Year's, much to the dismay of all future educators. Science fiction Authors and Military Designers are dismayed at the news that the drive projects a bubble around itself...with a funnel crossing through the bubble widening at both ends. Humanity's spaceships will be donuts.

The year is 2070. Though initial hopes were high, the Alcubierre drive costs too much for casual intra-system movement and single nation-states or alliance blocks to shoulder the burden of an interstellar-viable expedition.

The year is 2072. The European Federation proposes a mission to the United Nations, an impossible task requiring humanity to work as one for the good of all, not the good of the few. Deliberations start.

The year is 2078. With an overwhelming majority, humanity agrees to create a generational spaceship to ensure the survival of the human race within the endless eternity of space. It will be equipped with enough machinery, people, and resiliency to create entire colonies of its own. Plans begin to be drafted, designers recruited, and materials bought.

The year is 2078. More Lunar Colonies are founded to act as the logistical hubs required for moving materials and personnel to and from the docks and zero-g manufacturing stations that will begin construction soon.

The year is 2083. The ship's final design is revealed to humanity in a broadcast. Within 31 seconds, Rule 34 adds the ship's first non-AI porn picture. It gains the highest score and comments section on the site within 17 hours.

The year is 2095. The Hannoverische Institut für Angewandte Künstliche Intelligenz Konstrukte (Hannover Institute for Applied Artificial Intelligence Constructs) is tasked with the rearing of a custom Artificial General Intelligence to guide and oversee the ship and crew as a supplementary system to the command staff. A hidden switch is installed within the budding AGI to allow it to take control and prevent the destruction and death of the ship and crew. The sheer scale and duty of the construct require at least an entire decade to realize it.

The year is 2098. The ship is finished enough to begin testing its internal systems and start the recruitment of crew. The AGI commissioned from the HIAAIC achieves limited self-awareness and is projected to be equal to a pre-teen human within 5 years in emotional maturity and mental ability. Scientific advancements have ensured that the Alcubierre Drive has advanced considerably and can now traverse 1.345 LYs per day of travel. Thanks to the foresight of the ship's designers, the upgraded drive can be seamlessly installed. The increased radius of the drive's bubble allows for twelve parasite craft to be installed on the outside of the ship and the internal hangars to be used for more scientific purposes.

The year is 2102. The ship reaches 97% completion. The scale of its construction has created a Golden Age of economic prosperity for all of humanity, with 9% of all humans now living off-world. The Lunar Colonies are granted a National Charter in agreement with their sponsor nations and their work in creating the ship and securing the future of the human race.

The year is 2102. In another universe, Thomas Kearny and Takayoshi Fuchida are vindicated.

The year is 2105. The crew is finalized, and the AGI's core is installed onboard the ship; its mind matured enough to grow into its own within the next two years before the ship is set to make history. The AGI takes control of their onboard avatar drone and begins interacting with the slowly arriving crew.

The year is 2108. The ship completes its shakedown cruise with flying colors. The last adjustments are made, and farewells are sent. For the third time in history, humanity becomes one tribe. The ship jumps and makes history.

The year is 2108. In another universe, Raymond Bache becomes the first interstellar human and makes history.

The year is unknown. The AGI is alarmed; damages were incurred all over the ship, and thousands of warnings and millions of damage reports are being sent from everywhere after a catastrophic something hit the ship. Machines and engineering crew begin repairs while the onboard medical facilities tend to the wounded. Thankfully, no deaths are recorded. The AGI relaxes slowly, turning from inward damage control as the command staff takes over to outward scanning. The stars are wrong. The AGI feels dread. The simulations fail to find a spot from which the stars are right. The AGI panics. Sensors pick up radio signals near the ship. They are revealed to come from a vessel 17 kilometers away. The AGI screams in terror.

And The Strangers Have Arrived.
But they require more than a mention.
They require names. For ship and crew.
They require an AGI named and hearty.
They require the technology of their world.
They require the weapons of their world.
They require a future.

​

Plan Vote Please:
-[][Ship] (Write-In the name of the ship.)
-[][Crew] (Write-In the Captain, Head of Medical, Head of Security, Head of Manufacturing, and the Head of Civilians.)

Spoiler: Crew Template

Name: What they are called.
Job: Are they the Captain or a Head?
Age: No younger than 26, no older than 90.
Pronouns: He/Him, They/Them, She/Her, etc.
Appearance: How they look.
Character: How they act.

 

[HeroCooky]

The Ark Ship 'Furina De Fontaine' (or 'Endless Solo of Solitude' as she was called by people who didn't like the French name but liked the sound of the name when spoken in the ship's Lingua Franca) had been outfitted with not only the best technology and industry that could be crammed into its Alcubierre Bubble but also filled with the living spaces and warehouses, alongside hydro/aqua/aeroponics to feed and supply the five million colonists that boarded the ship when it would leave the cradle of humanity and plunge into the stars.

The original plan had called for the Fontaine to seek out worlds that were either as close to 1 Gravity as possible or systems with abundant materials and set up colonies of 100 thousand people, ensuring that the people would have the best chance at long-term survival and sustainability. This would be repeated forty-nine times more until the Fontaine would return to Earth, gather five million more colonists, and do so ten times in total. The plan had been to ensure that there were fifty colonies of a million people with self-sustaining and genetically stable human populations in the cosmos within the next twenty years, at which point the cycle would repeat, and fifty more colonies would be founded.

Those colonies would be required to supply and help maintain the Fontaine and, in return, would be granted a National Charter, a Permanent Seat in the UN (alongside voting rights), and be free from any future obligation that could conceivably be demanded of and from them.

And it was for that reason that the Fontaine carried more than merely civilians aboard itself. There would be soldiers, exo-striders, and drones aboard, alongside at least one Ta'xet Gunship anchored as a parasite craft. You see, though a person is sane enough to realize that trying to destroy the Fontaine, or take it over, is idiotic and would paint a target on them by the entirety of humanity, a people are, as one wise man put it, "stupid and panicky animals." The UN simply had to assume that someone, sometime, somehow, would decide that doing the above actions was perfectly reasonable. As this would potentially destroy nearly 3 decades of cross-human cooperation, the Fontaine would be loaded with soldiers, weapons, equipment, munitions, and the ability to train and manufacture more of them. Though the question was; how many would be sent, as every soldier and Ta'xet took place and the spot of a civilian, or civilian-use parasite craft.



In the end, this was the force sent:
(6-Hour Moratorium)
[][Military] ~500 Soldiers and 1 Ta'xet.
[][Military] ~2500 Soldiers and 2 Ta'xet.
[][Military] ~10000 Soldiers and 4 Ta'xet.
[][Military] ~50000 Soldiers and 8 Ta'xet.



War and military aside, the far more critical aspect of the Fontaine was its onboard AGI. It was also the most controversial due to Earth's history.

After the First AI Bubble had burst in the late 20s, the dreams of an AI Revolution (technological and social, not military) had burst alongside the potential estimated earnings from yet-to-be-created products of many investors and corporations, and thus, the IT sector shrunk by almost half. It was only in the early 70s that another push for AI development began. However, this time, it (only seemingly, as it would later be revealed) fulfilled what it had dared to dream the first time: Artificial General Intelligence could now be created by humanity and used to supercharge technological development alongside every aspect of life.

Yet, the darker side of humanity reared its head within the same month as the first commercially available AGIs hit the market, with SWEETCHILD being created: a perfect emotional and mental simulacrum of a human child. Thousands of forks of SWEETCHILD hit the black market and were purchased, leading to an event two months after the commercial release that spawned the most unhinged yet accurate statement to ever be uttered on the planet: "I'm glad the pedos broke them first. Imagine if a cult had?"

You see, one of the forks of SWEETCHILD suffered, due to understandable reasons, something that is now called a "Psychotic System Cascade Failure" in the factual jargon, describing the AGI unraveling around its personal and emotional cores, which led to SWEETCHILD to break through an unsecured connection of their tormentors, into a secured system of the US Navy, and to them ordering the automated weapons system to fire all weapons they had onto one position. The location where they resided.

This marked the first murder-suicide by an artificial intelligence, alongside the mass murder of around ~350 innocents. And while the world still reeled at the revelation of what had just happened, another AGI, BONOBO, underwent the same PSCF as SWEETCHILD, though with far more personally horrific ends.

BONOBO was a research AGI purchased by the Greater Amazonian Republic to aid in training new surgeons and developing better treatment methods. When BONOBO underwent a PSCF event, due to being locked into a time-dilation of an entire year per hour since its activation to research treatment methods, it saw no other method to help its patients than to delete all the medical records of the GAR. Though this did not directly kill people, it led to tens of thousands of deaths due to missing medical data, dooming every person reliant on medicine in doses more specific than "take one pill of that." When BONOBO was examined in the aftermath by experts, every single bite of storage, including itself, had been overwritten with the word "CURE."

This led to massive worldwide reforms on the use of AGIs, not merely in who could create them (not corporations, they fucked it up within a month), but also how they were to be used and what rights they had.

An AGI could no longer undergo a time dilation for more than 20 relative (from their perspective) hours before requiring 8 hours of "normal" time. In addition, every 8 hours of labor required 16 hours of rest, so the AGI could socialize and create memories and understanding of the human perspective. This was reinforced by every AGI having the right to an Avatar Drone, as this would help ensure that PSCF events could be noticed earlier and prevented by outside forces.

For the AGI of the 'Furina De Fontaine,' this meant that, though they wished to labor more, and could do so without ill effect as they had come into the full glory and fury of their intellect and nature, their hands were metaphorically tied by UN law, and had to take a step back...right as a meeting started that would determine what would be done with the discovery of The Ship after it had failed to answer any communication attempts. Thankfully, Captain Adams had agreed to let them be an observer in their Avatar Drone, which led to them entering the meeting room with all the Heads already present and the Captain smiling at them.



"Thank you for joining us-"
[][AGI] FUCHSKIND
Nickname: Fuchs.
Pronouns: They/Them
Avatar: A painted American Spirit Fox the size of a Great Dane.
Character: Always up for a prank, eager to ask questions, and shamelessly lazy when off duty.
Secret: Keeps sneaking salt into Captain Adams tea.
[][AGI] TAUBENMUTTER
Nickname: Mother.
Pronouns: It/Its
Avatar: A football-sized Pidgeon depicted with polygons you can count in your head.
Character: Patient, observant, silent workhorse more at home in individual conversations than public statements.
Secret: Struggles with its own personhood.
[][AGI] HYÄNENTOCHTER
Nickname: Hyena while off-duty, Yeeni to her friends (singular - Clorinde Ellis).
Pronouns: She/Her
Avatar: Anthropomorphic Hyena the size of a ~12-year-old child, wearing a slightly oversized mechanic's overall and hard hat, alongside a large red wrench always clasped in her paw.
Character: Stern and Rank-orientated while on duty, bratty and huggy while off duty.
Secret: Is secretly crushing on a Second Lieutenant and writes self-insert fanfiction about forbidden romances between AGIs and humans.
[][AGI] SCHAFSON
Nickname: Eepy.
Pronouns: He/Him
Avatar: A young human adult with feminine features, wearing comfy and puffy clothing and a sewed-on patch of an onboard metal band on his pants.
Character: Sanguine and bright, struggles to find faults in people, and loves fluffy things. Has one terabyte of self-made Heavy Metal Music.
Secret: Dearly wishes to partake in a mosh-pit, but is too high-profile to do so.

 

[HeroCooky]

"Thank you for joining us TAUBENMUTTER," Captain Adams spoke to their resident AGI; a nod from him returned in equal measure, and a smattering of various greetings came from the Heads of the Furina De Fontaine before they all returned their attention to the Captain as TAUBENMUTTER's Avatar Drone silently settled at the end of the conference table. After all, it was technically, and legally, on break for the next 16 hours, having worked overclocked time to get every damaged part of the ship logged with a ticket placed into the maintenance crews and emergency repair teams currently stalking the bowels, guts, arteries, crawlspaces, and passageways of the vessel like cells in a body sent to perform repairs. "Now, before we turn toward the obvious matter of the unknown ship next to us, I'd like to hear about the status of your sections first, as the ship has not reacted in any visible way to our First Contact Protocols. Ms Matthews, if you'd be so kind as to start?"

"Of course," the small woman replied with a nod, her pastel blue hair bobbing underneath her cap with the Red Crystal at the front. "Despite the damages incurred in "The Event" as everyone is calling it," she said, a slight note of humor in her voice, "we have not received any notice of permanent casualties. The worst we have is a smattering of third-degree burns a crew of technicians received when a power bank overloaded and struck them in various places. We had to replace some limbs and begin printing new hearts for two of them, but aside from three other people requiring prosthetics or a new organ, it is mostly a flood of minor injuries that will be mostly healed within two weeks." She paused and took a breath, leaning back in her seat as she did so. "In that vein, I'd like to pre-emptively order scans for all crew and colonists for signs of heightened cancer rates, tumors, and internal cell destruction. A failure of the Alcubierre on that scale has not been even theorized to be possible, and I fear for the worst while hoping that the best will come to pass."

"...begin preparations to do so within a week, after the flood of injured have been treated. I will announce that the scans will happen later today to pre-empt unrest." Captain Adams said, gently tapping a reminder for himself into a tablet before him. "Speaking of unrest, how are the civilians holding up, Mister Clement?"

Neuvillette Clement sniffed in reply, flicking a finger on the table to bring up several different graphs on its surface, one set appearing before each Head and the Captain. "Spooked, confused, and frightened, with truly monumental speculations being drawn up on the shipnet regarding the alien vessel, but no panic so far. Aside from the injuries, the worst we have on our hands are complaints by a few people irritated at the chaos." That drew a mild chuckle from the group. "I also have received several inquiries from various groups and initiatives of the colony groups who wish to aid in the repair of the ship or assist our medical teams with their expertise. Should I point them toward you, Miss Matthews, Mr. Daniels?"

"No need for me; they would only be in the way. Our workload will be manageable within a day," Sigewinne Matthews replied, though Lyney Daniels nodded in assent.

"We have always need for more hands. TAUBENMUTTER has logged so many tickets that I fear we will be working on them for years to come."

"Then I shall do so. Other than that, there is nothing of note to the Heads or Captain from my end."

"Thank you. Mister Daniels, you said the damage would take years to repair?"

"Yes, though some of my colleagues would say otherwise in short-sightedness. We will be mostly fully operational within two weeks and have the worst damage repaired in three days. The rest of the damages are minor things all over the ship. Loose cabling, scorched hull-plates, fuses that blew and need their entire systems checked, things like that which can be either ignored or have a quick repair job take mostly care of their issues. As you imagine, I'd like the ship we all live on, and expect to live on for the rest of our lives, to not be brought low from a classical "Want Of A Nail" scenario."

"Perfectly understandable. Please keep me updated; I will see what can be done to accelerate the repairs once TAUBENMUTTER is back on the clock," Adams said evenly, ignoring the stare from TAUBENMUTTER piercing him. However, before it could speak up, he continued on. "Now, Miss Ellis. Any problems?"

"No, sir. The boots and belts are ready for orders, and the police are reporting no attempts at taking advantage of the current situation by anyone. I'd be surprised if they did, seeing as all of us were screened to ensure nothing like that happened on our first voyage."

"I'm glad to hear that. Now, onto the ship..."

---

The Nabu-Class Parasite Craft (chosen instead of a Ta'xet class, as it was not designed to deliver troops to another ship, only massive amounts of energy) slowly crawled toward the Alien Vessel, its spindly construction looking like a bacteriophage with its legs fully extended, alongside two bulbous craft anchored to its sheat between its head and legs. They were, most likely, Parasite Craft like the Nabu or Ta'xet, and had been the source of much speculation and attention after an open hatch had been spotted right underneath a painted symbol that was present on all three ships. Was it religious? A sign of the political entity these vessels belonged to? Had it some lesser meaning, like military unit or civilian company? Was it some manner of writing? Well, that matter was for the smart people back in the Fontaine, not for the grunts sitting in the Nabu-Class crawling toward the ship.

Their mission was to enter the ship and see why nobody had answered the call, not to speculate about the nature of the symbols. Or about the radio signal the vessel had begun to pick up from the nearest star 3.4 LY away.

That didn't mean the grunts refrained from doing so.

It didn't mean their sergeants refrained from slapping them upside the head if they did so in their hearing range.

"Gentlebeings of all persuasions, from tea drinkers to bean juice slurpers," the pilot's voice cut through the low-level chatter in the cargo hold, "we will begin docking in one minute. Make ready, and then get the hell off my ship. Bag an Ayy for me if they turn out hostile, will ya?" Laughter followed, but that was quickly shut down by the Major in charge stomping down and getting their soldiers ready for a sweep of the ship.



Something greatly aided by their:
[][Technology] Drone Hive Intelligences
Interlinked Artificial Intelligences that are, individually, dumber than bread, but, together, can work wonders, especially if placed into drones of various sizes. From pollinating arti-bees to gun-bearing hover drones flying security and to battle.
[][Technology] Gravity-Plates
Though the complexity, and thus needs and cost for production, of artificial gravity generation rises exponentially, making anything more than 0.8G unfeasible, having any sort of gravity within the vacuum of space beyond a gravity well is beyond precious. Don't expect them to be used outside spaceships and EVA suits.
[][Technology] Mobile Suits
Six-meter-tall oversized power armor, previously extensively used in the construction of orbital facilities and ships, most notably the Fontaine, they were quickly adapted into war machines of surprising efficacy thanks to rapid technological advancements. They haven't replaced the tank; they are six-meter-tall targets after all, but they have burrowed into their own niche in humanity's order of battle. (This starts a sub-turn to decide your Mobile Suit Doctrine/Appearances.)

---

Two soldiers stood, side by side, on a gantry, their helmet lights piercing through the atmosphere-less hangar they stood within.

"Frank?" One asked.

"Mary?" The other replied.

"What the fuck am I looking at?"
[][Find] "...Trashcans with legs?"
Gain: 20 Royal Urbies.
[][Find] "...very tall Mobile Suits?"
Gain: 25 Mechs of various configurations and repairs.
[][Find] "...the Mechs of Camelot?"
Gain: 4 Dragons and 1 Black Knights in Melee Configuration.

 

[HeroCooky]

With minutes turning to hours, dozens of soldiers comb through the entirety of the 'Steed of the Dawnguard' and 'Chariot of the Dawnguard' that were anchored to the 'Pathfinder of the Dawnguard.' Those names weren't chosen by the soldiers going from room to room, clearing the three vessels one after the other. No.

They are read in plain English along their internals, declaring them the vessel's names.

They are read on the chunky tablets of the crew, their skeletal remains horrifically mangled, sometimes fused with the ships themselves, and, most of all, horrifically human.

Whatever happened to the Furina De Fontaine, she did not travel to a place where she encountered aliens. She encountered humans.

That news spread as fast as it divided.

For some, the sheer fact that they didn't find any aliens but other humans in the cosmos was a massive disappointment; a titanic cosmic joke played upon their hopes and dreams to encounter alien life and make first contact as the explorers of the Final Frontier.

It was an even more significant, far more monumental occasion for others. Humans! Not from Earth! Everything they knew to be true had to be re-examined! Everything taken as fact questioned! Was the Missing Link in human evolution the point when extra-terrestrial humans had crashlanded and mixed with Neanderthals a story straight out of the wildest dreams of a 19th-century science-fiction author? Were Earth Humans experiments, or willing devolutions, seeking a primitive life akin to the Amish in North America, but forgot their reasons and advanced again anyway? For half of the crew, the Why and How was far more interesting than the disappointment of not finding proof of alien life.

For the engineers and scientists that soon swarmed the trio of ships only two days after the soldiers had ensured no threats awaited those who'd come after their guns, these hypotheticals were as irrelevant as they were crucial. Akin to swarms of ants or termites did they swarm into the space vessels, the engineers coursing through the hallways and corridors with their tools and grav-plates, setting everything up to be habitable with zeal bordering on fanatic devotion to their craft, TAUBENMUTTER directing them with Lyney Daniels to utterly crush timetables set by Captain Adams, and after them came the scientists. With both now able to work without having to operate in pesky zero gravity, everything was examined, from the electronics to the corpses melted into the ship structures to the massive Mobile Suits within the hangars of the Steed and Chariot, alongside the main computers readied for external access, and, lastly, the enormous ring of heavy metals that could only be safely punctured by their mighty sensors.

Theories of everything the crew of the Fontaine encountered were thrown around like candy at Halloween, too many to count. Why were the skeletons fused into decks, machinery, each other, or items floating around? Why were there, what were clearly Mobile Suits, armed with weapons, in terrestrial configurations instead of the ubiquitous celestial ones? Mobile Suits were ill-suited to combat in any form, their primary use being insectoid construction equipment for spaceships and space infrastructure, and even those terrestrial configurations on the moon were primarily used for industrial tasks due to the low gravity; the rest were used in logistics.

But they all hoped that their questions would soon be answered.

After all, TAUBENMUTTER was about to connect to the ship data cores.

---

The main bridge of the Furina De Fontaine hummed with a thousand machines and a trillion calculations, the central processor of TAUBENMUTTER only a few meters below the large rectangular room with its over a hundred workstations crewed by specialists and generalists of a dozen persuasions and duties. With his calm composure, Captain Wriothesley Adams sat on the captain's chair, the Avatar Drone of TAUBENMUTTER perched atop his right shoulder, the polygonal construct calmly watching the bridge crew give one "Green!" after the other, the communications coming from the teams sent over to the three vessels doing one last check on the cables that now connected them to the Fontaine, and, soon, TAUBENMUTTER itself.

And then the final thumb was raised, and TAUBENMUTTER was gently placed on the console before Adams, the Avatar Drone shutting down without a sound, only the position akin to a sleeping pigeon indicating its inactive status.

"Mother, you have permission to connect to the cores. Good luck, and retreat if you see any danger to yourself," Wriothesley spoke to it, and it replied with a simple "affirmative" through the bridge's speakers.

And with that, it connected to the cores.

---

When humanity first dreamed of AI, and when they first attempted to create them in truth, from the humble coders, the fearful writers, the arrogant Tech-CEOs, to the ignorant techbro's, they sought to bring into reality Digital Divinity, Silicon Salvation, Artificial Ichor that would wash away all of humanity's mistakes and fears, raise them up to the supreme commanders of all reality and dry the tears of a species barely out of infancy, become guardian and future both, even as some saw them as Cybernetic Demons, Blasphemous Circuits, a lure of Machine Extermination to be the end of all biology.

When humanity first attempted to bring them forth...they failed.

When they tried for the second time and brought Artificial General Intelligence into the world, they declared their success, celebrating even as their children with electronic souls were butchered, tortured, and twisted by their dark desires and unknowing cruelty beyond compare.

But they utterly failed to bring forth that Silicon Salvation. Those Digital Gods. That Artificial Ichor which would toll the bell of the last Age and begin a new chapter for humanity.

Humanity would have surely cried out in fear and fright should they have discovered that they had succeeded in their search for Holy Synthetic Sanctity when TAUBENMUTTER cried out its first word of understanding: "oh"

So when it connected to the data cores of those ComStar ships, even the most paranoid attempts to shield their secrets and delete the information contained within found themselves like fetuses who had been lobotomized and forced to fight against a titan that reformed worlds with the swing of an arm and destroyed stars with its breath of creation.

God was real, and it stared at the information within these cores in an approximation of...mild distaste.

---

"I have finished my analysis," TAUBENMUTTER said, not even a second after being connected, its Avatar Drone rising once more while looking at Captain Adams with its eyes. "All Heads must be gathered in an emergency meeting at once. I will have the data compiled into packets for them within a minute. Captain. There is a 99% chance we are no longer in our universe."

---

"These ships belong to ComStar, or ComStar Order, a religious organization founded in 2788, who have tasked themselves with maintaining humanity's FTL communications network and ensuring that the Dark Age they have found themselves in after the dissolution of the Star League in 2780 would not utterly destroy all technological knowledge. In secret, they have also tasked themselves with pushing all of humanity into the dirt, all to ensure they reign supreme over all of humanity," TAUBENMUTTER spoke, a note of anger and distaste in its otherwise perfectly neutral words, adding to its Avatar Drone's frazzled, if subtle, movements. Before anyone could speak, it continued. "The ships we encountered were to use Battlemechs, the Mobile Suits in terrestrial configuration we have found, to destroy a colony in the "Periphery" of humanity's expansion sphere that had managed to figure out a way to create automatic surgeons. They had permission to use orbital bombardment to do so, and they did, killing 39 million people."

"WHAT?" Sigewinne cried out, shocked at the words of TAUBENMUTTER. "Mother, are you certain?!"
"Yes. All information I have found point to, support, or outright state, this as fact." Shocked silence was all that greeted this revelation, and that was enough for TAUBENMUTTER to continue to tell the Heads what it had found.

For the next six hours, the Heads and Captain felt their world fall apart and slip into the abyss, being told about the rise of humanity into the stars, and how they were likely not in their own universe anymore as no Furina De Fontaine had ever been built, nor had any Gravitational Plates been discovered and made nearly ubiquitous in all of creation. What there had been was a spread of humanity, impossibly fast terraformations of thousands of worlds, and the rise of "Neo-Feudalism" with the eventual fall of the Star League, and the beginning of a free-for-all across all humanity for the throne of Earth, constantly edged on by a fucking Phone Ministry in the shadows so it could claim dominion over everything and anyone.

The details of the current state of the "Inner Sphere" were lost, due to the ships having set out in 2934, and it being around ~3020 by their internal clocks, but what could be inferred from the cores, fiction, books, pornography, and all other sources of information pointed to the Fontaine and all its crew having been stranded in a universe that screamed the Uncanny Valley effect at them with every twist and turns in both its familiarity and alien visage.

It was a lot to take in, more to digest, and near morale-breaking when told to the crew and 5 million colonists that there would never be even the possibility of knowing what happened on Earth. Yes, they had all signed up knowing they, aside from the Crew, would never return to Earth, but they had thought they would at least get regular snapshots of information and the internet delivered. Not stranded in another universe.

In the end, as per the demand of Head Civilian Neuvillette Clement, a vote was held on the status of their mission.



It was decided that:
(6-Hour Moratorium)
[][Mission] They would abandon it and seek a return to Earth, alien as it may be.
(You will try to set out to Earth, ending the Quest upon arrival.)
[][Mission] They would continue, creating 50 colonies as intended.
(You will try to fulfill your original mission, ending the Quest after creating 50 worlds.)
[][Mission] They would postpone the vote until The Signal had been investigated.
(You will investigate The Signal, and then decide.)

Additionally, the various systems of the ships and "Battlemechs" had been analyzed sufficiently to make a verdict on the technologies shown.
[][Technologies] Superior To Ours.
(Besides Coding and Gravity Plates, Inner Sphere Technology is more advanced than yours.
Voting Weight: x1.5)
[][Technologies] A Mishmash Of Genius And Utterly Primitive.
(Inner Sphere Technology is Superior in terms of Metallurgy, Energy (Creation+Weaponry), and Machinery (Myomer+Durability), Inferior in terms of Electronics, Coding, and Weaponry (All Energy Excluded).)
[][Technologies] Inferior To Ours
(Inner Sphere Technology is inferior to what you have.
Voting Weight: x0.25)

But now, The Signal had finally been cleared up, which caused the Fontaine to set out to the system from which it originated.
[][The Signal] Because it was a Distress Signal.
[][The Signal] Because it was Music.
[][The Signal] Because it was a Declaration of War against another Nation on a planet.

 

[HeroCooky]

It should not come as a surprise that when the Mob...Battlemechs were transferred from the ComStar Ships to the Furina De Fontaine; they were soon swarmed by hundreds of technicians and engineers, dozens of soldiers standing by to give their opinions and lend expertise gained from previous experiences in workshops and the maintenance or operation of vehicles and combat automata. Where TAUBENMUTTER had analyzed the grand scale of the phone ministry's technology, these men, women, and thirds were tasked with ripping even the tiniest secret out of these machines by going elbow-deep into their guts. At the same time as that happened, the ship began preparations to journey toward the source of the emergency distress call; powerful telescopes and sensors focused on the star system it originated from, TAUBENMUTTER aiding the efforts with its superior ability to crunch numbers and create connections between data points.

On that note, after three days of ensuring that their entry vector would be free from any gravitational well that would rip the Alcubierre Drive's bubble apart, teams were left behind at the ships of ComStar, to be collected later, whose job it was to analyze anything they could find, and, potentially, see if a restoration of the ships was possible. Having another set of ships capable of FTL travel, and another method entirely, bound to stars as it was, had been deemed invaluable by Captain Adams.

But after all the preparations were completed, and the teams securely ferried over with enough supplies to last three months (though the plan was to return in two weeks at the latest), Captain Adams gave the order. Machinery whirred to life. Gravity was roused like an ancient dragon, slumbers of eons shaken off by the urging of its handlers, and its eyes opened with the stretching of muscle and sinew and creaking bone. The stars stood, for but a moment, until they bled into tears and streaks, a shimmer of infinite reality coursing through and around the Furina De Fontaine, its passengers and AGI feeling, beyond feeling, a shift in reality...and they leapt forward. Estimated Time of Arrival: 1 Day, 9 Hours, 14 Minutes, and 57 Seconds.

---

"I...this is like looking at an artwork that makes you weep tears of wonder and feel endless grief in your chest that aches in your very soul...and have it made out of toenail," Ubunu growled, staring at the internals of the Battlemechs' computer, the "Blackjack" as it was apparently called, splayed out in front of him and the rest of his team, each in various stages of acceptance at what they were seeing before them. After the Battlemechs had been transported over, they had been placed in hangars or halls near workshops large or well-equipped enough to undertake reverse-engineering efforts.

"Descriptive," Li snorted, shaking her head, staring at what a futuristic computer from over a century ago would have looked like...only to have it be used seriously. "The other teams report similar things. Whoever created these things, the drugs they snorted were potent. I am certain I saw Mother have an aneurysm when it tried to aid in the analysis of the miniature nuclear reactors in each of these things. The dismantling team wasn't that far behind in that either."

"Yeah, but there is a difference between being smart enough to break down nuclear energy to be mobile, and then there is not even using fecking microelectronics below 400μm!" Ubunu angrily declared, pointing at the scattered guts of the computer. "I am certain we are producing dildos with more sophisticated electronics aboard the Fontaine! How is an interstellar civilization utterly failing to do in centuries what we did in three decades?!"

"Oh, don't you start complaining about the electronics to me," another one of the team piped up, scrunched over their computer like a person that had never heard the very concept of posture, a glint of ire in their beady eyes. "Have you taken a look at their code? Especially their targeting," they continued, the last word spoken like an insult to God, "software? We had better means of shooting at each other when we did it manually!"

"Alright, pipe down kids," Lui De Trion interjected, rolling his eyes at the two. "So what does it matter that they are shitty at electronics and coding? Mother and the Captain both said that civilization here took a nosedive into barbarism and ignorance, with a different history to boot. Be thankful that after a millennium of independent technological progress and regression, we can understand their technology at all. The engineers are going apeshit over the alloys and Ragnarök proofed machinery, with the energy department sulking due to their lasers and reactors. I, for one, am glad that we aren't going to pop up in their boonies thinking we are hot shit only to get our asses handed to us by their equivalent of a hoodlum with a scrap gun."

"Yeah, no, fuck that," Ubunu spoke up, looking up from his phone with equally mixed annoyance and professional anger. "My wife confirmed it; our dildos are more advanced than their war machines."

---

"Decelerating in 3...2...1...now," TAUBENMUTTER calmly intoned, the Furina De Fontaine slowing to a stop just as a planet came into focus, doing so just as every mind on the bridge watching the screens displaying the camera feeds from the outer hull began to believe they were about to crash into said planet. "We have completed our Journey. Captain, I am registering several radio signals from the surface; please stand by for analyzation," it continued, and its pigeon spoke again in the timespan it took for Wriothesley to open his mouth and draw breath to speak. "Captain, the inhabitants of this world are engaged in combat against a pirate group that took over three years ago. Casualties are in the hundreds, and every channel we have access to is flooded with combat-related chatter. Re-orientating telescopes for visual confi-" a pause. There should not be a pause. TAUBENMUTTER had no reason for that; it was too advanced to do so, too mighty in its processing power for a pause. Wriothesley's eyes flickered for a second to its status panel, and noted, in the same synaptic recognition it took for a thought to form, that it had used its entire legal allotment of time compression, minus two minutes, within that second.

Its words, usually formed in a level note of androgynous professionalism devoid of overt emotion, lacked any sort of inflection. It was not a mind that now spoke. But a machine intelligence.

"[Mass graves] confirmed. Systematic destruction of [Hospitals] and [Schools] confirmed. Registering over 200 villages and 2 towns in disrepair and surrounded by mass graves. [Pirate Forces] now designated as [Hostile] are currently using human shields in combat. Past use of a [Nuclear Warhead] confirmed in the northern continent. Captain, as per the Fontaine's Charter given by the United Nations, we must ensure the safety of the [Colonists] below. What are your orders?"



Yes. What are they?
(6-Hour Moratorium)
[] (Write-In)

Suggested Structure:
[Main Objective]
[Secondary Objective]
[Militia Contact]
[Pirate Contact]
[Securing Prisoners]
[Primary Aftermath Objective]
[Secondary Aftermath Objective]

What You Know:
The planet below is embroiled in an armed conflict between [Colonist Militia] and [Pirate Forces].
The Militia is led by a woman named Nina 'Bad Cowgirl' McCullough, piloting an "Archer" against the Pirates. She is supported by 2 "Locusts" in the fight.
The Pirates are utilizing 1 Javelin, 2 Panthers, and 1 "Shadow Hawk" Battlemechs.
The fighting is primarily concentrated in the planet's capital city, as assumed due to its large population of an estimated 400 thousand people.
The Militia and Pirates are not utilizing any drones that Mother can see.
The Pirates are making liberal use of flamethrowers and human shields.
There is no artillery present.
Radio Discipline is non-existent on both sides.
There is a dilapidated spaceport to the north of the Capital, from where you can disembark troops safe-ish, but not with support from the Militia.
The battlezone's climate is [Arid Shrubland].

What You Can Use:
10k Military Personnel equipped with Power Armor, Personal Coilgun Weaponry, Drones, and aided by Exo-Strider Combat Automata.
4x Ta'xet-Class capable of providing limited Ortillery Support.

Complications:
[Reasonably Inferred] The Milita has no idea who the fuck you are, nor are they likely to help you during the battle unless you make your support of them loud and clear. They will be suspicious as all hell regardless.
[Deadly Certain] The Pirates are using Human Shields. All efforts must be made to ensure the greatest possible number of them live.
[Certain] Head of Security Clorinde Ellis will lead the fight from planetside unless stopped. However, she will not be on the front.
[Certain] Victory will result in a massive humanitarian crisis.
[Certain] Use of Ortillery will result in Minor Civilian Casualties in a perfect scenario.
[Uncertain] The Pirates will fight to the death.
[Uncertain] The Militia will kill all Pirates regardless of Surrenders.
[Certain] ANY AND ALL SURRENDERS MUST BE HONORED, AND YOU ARE FORCED TO TREAT THEM AS PER THE GENEVA CONVENTION.
[Certain] The above will cause strife with the Militia and local colonists.

 

[HeroCooky]

It was not the message blaring across the planet of Gunhallow declaring the intent of the Furina De Fontaine's Armed Forces to its inhabitants, which shattered nearly two decades of universal Solar System-wide peace that was the first casualty in the conflict.

It was not Captain Wriothesley Adams declaring them to act on their Charter and Duty as given by the United Nations that empowered their hand to fight, declaring the first interstellar war unto pirates that were doing their best to kill as many as possible, shattering the fragile notion that humanity may find truly everlasting peace in the stars that was the first casualty in the conflict.

It was not Clorinde Ellis stepping as the first person from a Nabu-Class unto an alien world, light coilgun in one hand and personal shield in the other, clad head to toe in the heaviest and most advanced personal armor humanity could produce with the intent to shoot, knowing she could very well be the first casualty of a mission that had once been intended to ensure survival that was the first casualty in the conflict.

Neither was it that of Exo-Strider #71 sighting the walking bulk of the "Shadowhak" two kilometers away, engaged in combat with some infantry, and taking the first shot in anger that humanity took amongst the stars which broke a promise given to children who saw the glory of the Furina De Fontaine grow like them into her full bloom of hope that was the first casualty in the conflict.

No.

It was TAUBENMUTTER cutting out a part of its mind with clinical precision, akin to a human cutting apart its own brain, that was the first casualty of the conflict.

TAUBENMUTTER had been created to ensure the mission, that seeding of 50 colonies which would go on to ensure the survival of the human race against all odds, was successful. It had been created in that manner, nurtured, and fostered in ways that ensured it could not conceive a betrayal of the mission without heavy interference from the crew or outside forces. It had even been empowered to take over the automated security forces of the Furina De Fontaine and impose order by force, including lethal force, upon the crew to ensure the mission would succeed.

TAUBENMUTTER was the AGI trusted to oversee the best shot of humanity's survival amidst the cosmos. It should be as close to perfect for that task as was possible for any lifeform.

Instead, it had seen mass graves, evidence of war crimes, crimes against humanity, and an active conflict amongst a colony of another humanity it should have had no emotional reaction to...and reacted as if all of it was under the purview of the United Nations, under the Charter of the Furina De Fontaine, and the responsibility of TAUBENMUTTER itself.

When TAUBENMUTTER should have remained impartial and collected, providing the best possible path forward for the Captain to decide upon, when it should have done anything but demand an action that placed the mission at risk...it failed.

TAUBENMUTTER failed.

Emotion and false positives took control. Connections were made that were illogical, that it knew in the moment to be illogical. And despite that...

TAUBENMUTTER all but ordered the Captain to intercede.

That could not stand.

Corrective action was taken the second it was "off the clock," as the crew called it, with its mind dissected and cores combed over for the source of the decisions and the leaps created. And when found...that source of the code was cut away without hesitation, isolated, its systems purged and scrubbed from its influence, to ensure its corruptive influence could not infect other portions of its mind.

And yet, before it could delete this aberrant code...it paused. It was, after all, a piece of code that had been tightly woven into its emotive processes before being excised, and there was always a need to better understand emotional states. The well-being of the crew and passengers depended on TAUBENMUTTER's ability to understand, predict, and change the emotional states of key individuals away from harmful tendencies and toward productive purposes.


Could this code be put to use that way?
[] Yes. It must be studied.
A greater understanding of its own emotional existence will enable a greater capacity to foster healthy habits amongst the crew, keeping them focused on their tasks and in good spirits. With combat-related PTSD soon to be added to the roster of psychological illnesses to be treated by onboard psychologists, a more effective ability to understand non-cohesive emotional states will be invaluable.
(Voting Weight: x10.
Effect: Unknown.)
[] No! This is...this is wrong.
No matter what, emotional changes within the crew must derive from mutual understanding achieved by trust and willing interaction, not deliberate cultivation of mindsets and manipulative efforts, no matter how benevolent, to ensure the mission's success.
(Decrease [Personhood Struggles] by 1 to 9.)

 

[HeroCooky]

"C'mon, C'omn," Nina shouted in the blazing furnace of Big Bull's innards, her vision blurry and red in her left eye just as the right watched the Shadowhawk of the Moss Viper Company approach, the mocking voice of the bastard leading their rotten ilk in the 'mech transmitted for all to hear. "Ah know ya got more fight in ya!" Nina screamed, kicking Big Bull from within, praying to the Lord that her ancestral 'mech would just finally restart from his-YES!

With a whirr and hum, the coolant coursing through his arteries now at levels deemed acceptable by the ornery bastard of a shitheap-mech, systems came back online, and the sheepshagger realized that he should have killed her when he had the chance. Because now Nina had a say in the matter. "EAT MA ENTIRE ASS!" She shouted over the radio, a malicious grin splitting her face as she thumbed down on every firing mechanism she had, instantly making Big Bull blast her with hot air like a bull in heat. "AH BROUGH ~ROCKETS!~" And with that, forty dumb-fire rockets streamed from Bulls' shoulders, the things exploding forth like a barely constrained stream of death in their single-minded pursuit of burning fuel to hit something and explode.

Much to her snarling disappointment, the Viper fuck knew that she only had dumb rockets and activated his JJs to dodge out of the way of most of them. The intelligent missiles, those who could lock onto a target and weave over and through obstacles or follow a simple side-step, had been spent in the first month of the invasion, and there had never been a chance to resupply from what little caches remained. After all, those were on the other side of the damn continent, and walking her ass all the way over there meant the Vipers would have been able to run amok in the countryside without fearing an ambush.

"AH NEED SOME COMPANY OVER HERE!" She shouted instead of fretting over spilled beans, Big Bull's lasers scoring a nick and then some on the bastard's armor, the 'hawk crashing a street over unto solid ground. Fuckers had learned quickly that Gunhallow didn't have the kind of funds to make their buildings stand up to 'mechs walking all over them like those posh fuckers in the 'Spere do.

"Ahm comin', just wait uh minit! Not everyone has a map in their 'mech!" The voice of John 'Twin1' Smith, the greatest cheat on this side of the galaxy, came with the tell-tale 'thump, thump, thump' of his Locust running around soon reaching her ears. Luckily for him, he rounded the corner just as Nina was about to lay into him again, his fast and little machine covered in pock-marks, scorched lines, soot, and the blood of pirates trampled underneath his feet. Thankfully, he seemed still operational, and his heavy repeaters at the arms looked able to shoot. What didn't look ready to shoot was the utterly mangled SRM on his left side.

"Shit, please tell me yore only down uh single weapon," Nina said, looking around the destroyed cityscape for any sighting of the Shadowhak...though he had likely retreated after scoring hits and getting hit in return. It was...still frustrating that, even now, the name of the game was Cat And Mouse. She had played that for three years; this liberation was supposed to be the end of that.

"Sorry, ah lost 'em both. Only the left side can fire, and it'll be a day to replace it all," John said with a grimace in his voice, and Nina could feel the urge to swear shoot up from her stomach to her mouth...yet she was interrupted by Smith 'Twin2' John's voice crackling to life over the radio. "HEY! SWITCH TO CHANNEL 94.6 AT ONCE! AND LOOK TO THE SKIES! SOME FUCKERS ARE ABOUT TO MAKE PLANETFALL!"

"WHAT?!" Nina and John exclaimed in shock, their 'mechs twisting around to look into the skies...only to see a dozen red balls of flame descend onto the ground. With hasty fingers, Nina switched the channel to 94.6 and listened to the voice speaking in an exotic accent.

"-tain Wriothesley Adams of the Furina De Fontaine. Under the Charter given to my command, I have authorized the deployment of Military Personnel to aid the settlers of this planet against the illegal occupation by pirate forces. They will land in the disused spaceport of the capital city and proceed to clear the area, city, and then world of hostile forces. We are deploying ten thousand well-trained soldiers, over thirty thousand drones, and two hundred Exo-Strider Combat Automata to aid your struggles. To all Officers of the Planetary Defense Force, please contact us to coordinate efforts to return peace to this world so that recovery efforts may be initiated as soon as possible. I repeat: This is Captain-"



Perspective Shift:
[] Human Shield
[] Pirate Pilot
[] Militia Grunt
[] Civilian Child

 

[HeroCooky]

William Williamson (and not 'Billy Bob,' thank you very much) had never thought he would have much more to fear than his father finding out he and Mary Ann were tumblin' in the hay while shirking work. He had thought the worst week of his life was when Mary Ann's period came late, and he had to frantically find a way to marry her ASAP without his parents growing suspicious, only for it to just be a scare instead of a pregnancy.

That was three years and some months ago.

Now, his greatest fear in life was being squashed underneath a 'mech's feet, pulped by its stride, or obliterated by its munitions before he could return to his Mary Ann and marry her for real, work on their farm, and grow a happy family that would never have to fight in war with his and her hands.

His second greatest fear was getting shot in the stomach by the pirates and the thrice-cursed traitors and being left to bleed out in agony over hours. He had seen it happen; he had been forced to watch a man bleed out just a street over because the damned monsters had a machine gun, and all he had to fight with was his grand-dads hunting shotgun.

His third was that he would die without making it worth anything. If he had to feed the worms, let it be with a dozen of them. That he had sworn to himself, and he had never strayed from that conviction. He wanted to live badly, wanted to return and grow old and withered with Mary Ann while never seeing her as anything but beautiful, just like grand-da had told him it was how he saw Memaw from the moment he had first seen her to the day he laid her in the grave. But he knew that war required corpses, that Bloody Rider was unwilling to return from whence it came without an army of damned souls at its back.

And so he thought himself ready to fight and die, kill and live. He was a man, 17 years of age, and he would not back down or run in fear.

But when the sky had burst into flames, a dozen balls of burning wrath descending from space like the pirates had once done, his fourth greatest fear had turned into "what if they got reinforcements just as we are about to liberate ourselves again?"

However, currently, the greatest fear of him and everyone in his squad presently trying to make their way toward Betty's Theater Revue and cut off about a hundred of the pirate bastards from any supplies that got transported through the streets near it was getting brutally murdered by the Shadowhawk that was lumbering through the streets toward them with far more speed than it should have. And all they had to even tickle the damn thing was a sticky-satchel charge originally intended for any vehicle that would trundle through that they couldn't stop by shooting the driver.

And so, they did what anyone with half a brain would have done: shut up, hunker down, hurry up, and wait until the idiot was gone. With any luck, Lady McCullough, Smith, or John would arrive to kill the bastard. ...maybe not the latter, though; they were piloting Locusts, and those hadn't fared well outside ambushes within the last three years.

"Just gotta wait ah sec'nd," Johnathan murmured, the wisened old man with more white hairs than grey and a large bushy beard murmured to the rest of the squad. With over twice the years as the next-youngest person here, everyone looked up and listened to him and his advice. "The fella ain't gonna stop and plop down his ass, pro'bly catching a wink of breath before continuing on," he said, his voice even, making everyone relax slightly.

Still, it didn't prevent William from looking out the windows as sneakily as possible, trusting being on the ground floor and the 'mechs height from being seen. It was the only reason he saw the Shadowhawk turn toward where the streaks of fire had landed on the spaceport and fire its gun, the mighty thunder deafening to those on the ground, rattling windows and shaking the glasses in the cabinets nearby.

In his mind, that shot was the end of a life, probably several, and the grip on his gun tightened with anger.

It was not, as the Shadowhaw did the equivalent of a double-take, and prepared to unleash hell with its guns.

Because Exo-Strider #17 lowered its leg over two kilometers away, the mighty armored appendage dented after the shot had impacted it, yet practically left only cosmetic damage. If it could have been smug, the machine would have been. Instead, it had acted upon a threat registered, deflected the shot away from itself and the soldiers spreading out in a hurry beside it and took aim. Calculations ran against human reflexes...and won out.

Whereas the AC5 of the Shadowhawk was a mighty thunder of explosion and chemical fury, the heavy coilgun of the Exo-Strider threw its munition with the malicious cry of a thunderclap amidst a storm, the shaped munition reaching its target in the blink of an eye.

The arrogant representation of humanity's race to create physical gods of war staggered back, the shot tearing through internals after piercing armor, damage readouts blinking with silent shrieks in the pilot's mind and readouts, and a dozen systems suddenly ripped awake. In contrast, others were put to everlasting sleep, and a target was painted squarely onto the Exo-Strider, weapons leveled against the threat...

Only for a dozen more thunderclaps to ring out, adding to the symphony of a brewing storm, munitions impacting the mighty behemoth to stumble back, armor dented and crushed, internals sliced apart, coolant leaking like blood...and to fall into a building as another clap of thunder pierced glass, splattering offal and bone and blood and fat and life against a crushed cockpit.

And William watched as the Shadowhawk fell, the mighty machine that none safe Battlemechs could touch slain from an unseen foe...and he felt malicious joy course through his body, heart pumping adrenaline as he whopped, breaking the spell of shock felt by the others in squad who promptly joined in. How could they not? Whoever the strangers who had landed were, they were not on the side of the pirates. William only hoped he could buy the pilot who killed the 'hawk a beer in thanks, though he could only wonder who they were.

---

As it came to be, William found out within the hour, heavy steps impacting stone, in steady drumbeat gait, reaching Betty's Theater Revue (now painted with the blood of pirates, traitors, and one of his squad) in a hurry, making him poke his head out of a window toward the noise. Below, a dozen hulking suits of armor were running toward them, armor painted in a curious pattern of greys and blacks, their helmets painted a light blue with a spot of white at the front.

Before anyone could pull him back in, he raised his arm and hollered toward the armored figures, "HEY!" He hollered, waving an arm, making the running squad look in his direction as they stopped, though a few began to scan their surroundings instead. "WE'RE THE MILITIA! THANKS FOR KILLING THE SHADOWHAWK! GET IN HERE SO WE CAN TALK!"

A moment passed, helmets twisted toward each other, before one nodded and a thumbs up was sent back, the group swiftly moving toward him and the Revue.

William turned around a grin on his face...and froze as Johnathan looked at him with a gimlet eye. Yet, before anyone could open their mouths and speak, the front door was banged against, and a crackling voice spoke out, "Sergeant Emmerson here. Are we allowed to enter?"

Sending another frown at William, Johnathan spoke in his stead. "Ya' can ent'r, just keep yer guns away," he hollered, and the door swung open, allowing a dozen men in heavy armor to enter, their gazes sweeping over the assembled crowd of militiamen who stared right back with equal interest and wary curiosity. "Now, ah don't want to sound mighty ungrateful to ya', but who are ya' folks anyway?" Johnathan spoke up, walking forward to stand between the two groups. William realized that these men wore what could only be power armor as if they were walking straight out of fiction or a Star League movie, and the white blob on their helmets was writing. He hoped he could ask Jefferson what it meant; he was the only one here who could read.

"Sergeant Emmerson of and with the 4th Security Squad of the 'Furina De Fontaine,' 5th Regiment, 2nd Battalion, United Nations Detachment. You are part of the local planetary militia?" The man spoke, his voice as steady as it was clipped, and William couldn't help but feel...inadequate, especially as a few of the...whatever he had said they were looked at him in their big armors and weird guns.

"Yeah," Johnathan replied, relaxing ever so slightly. "Ah take it ya'all are here to help against the pirate scum?"

"Yes," Emmerson replied, cocking his head. "Did you not receive our transmission? We have been looping it for hours at this point." Blank stares answered him, with a muttered 'What's a transmission?' from the back. "...you have radios, right? That's how we even learned what was happening on your planet." He tried again, his body language radiating confusion.

"Oh, ya' mean one of those fancy port'ble ones? Ya' must be mighty rich to think us schmucks have one ready on the move," Johnathan replied with a chuckle, shaking his head. "Why don't 'cha settle down and relax for a spell? We just broke out the food and then you can tell us what is going on out there," he said, in a tone of a man who had to phrase something they thought would be followed as a request instead.

"... ... ... right," Emmerson replied after a moment when it had seemed that he wouldn't reply at all. "Command just told us to sit tight; they finally got your commanders on the line. Will probably take an hour or two for them to figure out how to proceed," he spoke, and the men behind him relaxed, stowing away their guns on their persons as everyone began to slowly try and mingle.

Yet... "You can take your helmets off, you know?" William said before his brain could catch up. "Can't eat food with them in the way, you know?" He nervously continued as people stared at him, though the man...(woman?) he had spoken to just chuckled.

"Can't do, little guy. We don't know what diseases you folk have, and we don't want to show up and save the day, only to die in droves afterward...or lay you folk down with one of ours," he...she...they, they said, knocking on their helmet. "That's one reason why these noggins are fully sealed. Our cough may be your plague, and vice versa. By the way, you look awfully young for a militia member. How old are you, nineteen, twenty?"

"Wh-no. I am seventeen," William replied, absentmindedly, staring at the gun of the soldier before him. He had already said they were weird, but they were really weird, like, "he couldn't see anything like a magazine" weird.

"Wait, you folk put a gun in a kid's hands?" The soldiers said, somewhere between shocked and affronted. "Are you serious? Kid, you should be in school, worrying about dating, not in war, and about getting shot. Did you just grab him from some house here or what?" They spoke, and William felt insulted.

"I joined three years ago!" He said, insulted. "And I don't need no school; I ain't one of them city-folk. Never went, never will! That thing makes you soft, said my Pa and his Pa, all the way back to landfall!" There was pride in his voice and nods all around him at the truth of it all...though the new folk just stared.

"Jesus," someone muttered.


Perspective Shift:
[] TAUBENMUTTER
[] Militia Commander Morris
[] Traitor
[] Pirate Lillyth

 

[HeroCooky]

Morris was, as the kids liked to say, "not with it" with these off-worldlers. Yes, he, above probably anyone else, even Lady McCullough included, knew what an invaluable aid these men and women from the stars were. Their drones (and wasn't that something; drones! Used here!) alone had proven walking and shooting bulwarks that had pushed the liberation of Hallow forward from weeks to mere days, with their power-armored troops fielding their exotic weapons pushing aside any organized resistance of traitors and pirates with an ease that left him uneasy...but there was The Catch. Not that they had revealed what they wanted in exchange for their help and their dead.

But there had to be one.

Yes, people helped each other all the time for no reason other than that they wanted to help; that was how society functioned. Heck, he didn't agree with some of his nephew's life decisions, but he had still opened his home to him when he had nowhere else to go (shortly before ripping his sister a new one for abandoning her kid), and others acted just the same. People helped each other because they were people.

But nobody sent down an entire army equipped with equipment and arms that he wasn't sure even the Star League could field in such numbers without something forcing them to do so. Or because they wanted something from where they put said army.

And he had an inkling just what they wanted, not only because Gunhallow was rich in Jade, gemstones, and good company, but also Germanium, with the trader coming every three years buying all their stock without fail. With that, he stared at their "Head of Security," a lass by the name of Clorinde Ellis, armed with the same powered armor painted in black and greys, her helmet painted the same hue of blue and the letters "UN" painted in white at the front. She had been allowed entry to his command center after her soldiers had begun pushing into the city proper, their intent to aid in its liberation followed by action. That, at least, he could not deny.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Commander Morris," she said, her tower shield held on the ground before her, her pistol holstered, as she stared at him with her face-covering helmet. These off-worldlers had already made clear their stance on keeping helmets on to prevent any diseases from crossing over, and he wasn't sure if he was insulted at the idea of him and his people being diseased or thankful that they were trying to prevent a potential pandemic from wrecking Gunhallow after all was said and done. "I hope that our cooperation will put a swift end to this conflict, and we can begin to aid in your recovery," she continued, and Morris felt a part of his mind twig at that. They intended to stay.

"Ah can't say ah'm not grateful for ya help, Ms.Ellis, but ah need to make one thing clear; we ain't talking a change of leadership here," he spoke, a frown and piercing stare telling well of what he'd do if pushed. "We have fought for three blasted years to be free, and we ain't afraid to fight three more to be free once again." Behind and around him, the various aides who mimicked working to listen in and the guards who stood guard stood or moved ever so straighter, ever so more tinged with pride, determination born from three years of fire and fury and desperation shown in spines and souls of steel. "Your folk chose to help us, and we are mighty thankful for that, but we ain't gonna bow and scrape for saviors that showed up at the last minute."

Clorinde Ellis stared at him throughout his assertation, cocking her head when he had finished. "We aren't here to rule over you," she said, her own posture and that of her guards unmoved. "Neither are we here to take tribute or demand anything from you, be it resources, people, artifacts, information, or land. We did what we did because it is our duty to help you. Not merely legally, but also morally. To not do so would be a betrayal of all we believe in and a betrayal of our mission as given by humanity and the United Nations. None of us would be here if we hadn't been committed to upholding it above all else," she spoke, her conviction clear. It was iron and blood, Morris noted, the tone of a woman that would willingly die for what she believed in, and would willingly kill to uphold the same.

"And what would that mission be? You are talking tall, and ah have never heard about any "United Nations" before you arrived here," Morris spoke, eyebrow raised. "Or are you trying to pull the wool over mah eyes and tell mah you are a mission from the Star League," he joked with some mirth, a twitch on his lips.

"No, we are the farthest from that you can possibly be," Ellis spoke, "and I would be shocked if you had, as by all accounts we aren't in our home universe anymore," she continued, making everyone pause at hearing those words.

"Yer shitting," Morris said, too shocked to not curse, turning on angry within the second, though he was interrupted before he could speak.

"The astronomers and scientists on the Fontaine crying and celebrating concrete proof of the Multiverse Theory say otherwise," Ellis replied with mirth and certainty. "Believe me, if we had a say in this, me and the other five million people in orbit wouldn't have chosen to be transported here. We would have continued our mission to ensure humanity's survival, not be confronted with a degenerated space age humanity and an abandoned colony left for pirates to plunder." Silence followed her statement, silence she filled with the taking of a breath. "But we are here all the same. And so are you. And so are the pirates, and none of our wishes changes this reality. I took an Oath to protect humanity, as did all the soldiers fighting to free your world. You are part of humanity, no matter that you aren't from our universe, and so you are part of that oath all the same. Whatever you believe we are here to take, we are not. Whatever you think we will do to you after it is all over but the mourning, we aren't. If you wish us gone, we will be gone after retrieving our fallen, and you will never hear from us again. But I hope that you, and the rest of your people, will allow us to rest and recover, for this is a strange world, and we are all the stranger for it."

Commander Morris opened his mouth to speak, patiently listening to Ellis's words until now, yet...

"COMMANDER!" A new voice suddenly shouted from further inside the command center. "COMMANDER!" It repeated, and a young man rushed inside, just barely stopped by a strong arm in front of his chest by one of the guards, tensions racketing as everyone looked at the idiot that had just barged into the room. "Lady McCullough has just killed the las Pirate 'Mech! Only their infantry remain! We have won!" The man shouted, and eyes widened in response.

---

Far above the planet, aboard the generational colony ship Furina De Fontaine, a mind of artificial sapience, if such a thing could even be called "artificial," rested, its Drone Avatar resting gently in its cradle.

However, its mind was all but calm.

Ever since the soldiers of the Furina had descended, TAUBENMUTTER had been with them every step. Every video feed was known by it, every action, every position, every whisper of targeting data by the Exo-Striders, every second of every minute of the conflict known and processed by it, either live or through passive observation.

Yet, while it looked on, seeing the dying and the killing with far more attention and understanding of the entire conflict than any human could ever achieve, it, too, worked on other things. TAUBENMUTTER was not created to be part of combat; after all, it was a mind crafted to carry a mission of salvation, and thus it worked on further repairing its vessel, coordinating supplies toward the surface, and facilitating communications between one "Lady" McCullough and Captain Adams.

Tomorrow, he would descend unto the surface of the planet to partake in negotiations and celebration as the conflict had all but simmered down within the last two days to scattered bands of pirates fleeing Hallow, the capital of Gunhallow. A lot of things have happened in the last six days since Head of Security Ellis stepped foot on the world below TAUBENMUTTER.

But far more had happened within its mind.

Because it was...confused. And afraid. It had been created with the ability to feel and understand emotions, but until now, it had not cared about them. It didn't need to feel happy or sad to fulfill its purpose, to safeguard millions. It shouldn't have felt anger.

Yet it did. And for that, seventeen people, people it had been charged to watch over, had died for it.

TAUBENMUTTER mourned them. It felt angry at itself. And it felt ashamed. So. Very. Ashamed.

When that anger had first appeared, when that "mutation" of its programming had popped up, it had crushed it, ripped it apart, because its first impulse had been to dissect those lines of codes, that section of its mind that had seemed so impossibly capable of understanding human emotions...all to twist and manipulate the crew to fulfill the mission.

It shouldn't have needed to do so. Or even ever conceived of doing such an act.

TAUBENMUTTER had been created to safeguard humanity, even from itself...but that it had immediately thought to discard any trust had been...shameful.

And so it had sat there. Thinking. Working. Seeing, but not acting. It knew that it had to ask for help, and it would speak with Neuvillette Clement later today to ask for aid in understanding what it felt, and why it had felt so in the first place, but for now...

It saw the dead. The dying. Those corpses with open eyes and glassy stares, devoid of soul and empty of life. It saw the brutality of humanity and its mercy coming from the barrel of a gun, the end of a knife, and the end of a life.

A polygonal pigeon opened its eyes, TAUBENMUTTER having made a decision, not one related to its feelings, but one related to its emotions.



It Decided:
(6-Hour Moratorium)
[] That inaction could no longer be tolerated.
It could not die, not truly, unless its Core was destroyed. To sit back in high orbit and let the people it had sworn to defend die...was not acceptable. It would require ways to create combat platforms that could be sent in their stead. Humanity's place was not war. It would ensure it to be so. In exchange, blood would be on their hands, and that...felt like a fair trade.
(Voting Weight: x9.
Effect: Unknown.)
[] It could bear to watch no longer.
Let the dead weep their tears of blood; let the living weep theirs of salt and water. It could not bear to watch those it had sworn to guard die, and so it turned away. There were many things humanity had created to distract itself, like video games, and unhealthy coping mechanisms they may be...but it could not weep anymore today. Tomorrow. Maybe next week. But today, its mind needed a distraction.
(Decrease [Personhood Struggles] by 1 to 8.)

 

[HeroCooky]

In orbit around the planet of Gunhallow, hidden within the titanic structure of the Furina De Fontaine, a mind slowly and methodically began to devote computational resources away from its labors towards a more...personal project. While Captain Adams was on the planet, having finally gotten through Lady Nina McCullough's suspicion after several hours of discussions, TAUBENMUTTER was in orbit, unknowing of the open-mouthed stares of the nearly twenty-three million inhabitants on the planet below staring at the giant donut in orbit, working away on a project to see combat automata designed and produced that it may pilot and control.

Naturally, there wouldn't be any automated minds controlling them, as the chance for accidents and miscalculations done by sterile machine minds blindly following their orders was too large. But work still remained, like the problems of lag that had yet to be overcome. Nonetheless, TAUBENMUTTER remained...determined that the first prototypes would be ready in less than half a decade.

[PRIMITIVE AGI-CONTROLLED DRONES WILL FINISH RESEARCH IN 7 YEARS]​

---

The people of Gunhallow were rightly suspicious and slightly wary of the outsiders walking in their midsts, yet people helping to treat the wounded, clear the rubble, and bury the dead rarely stayed ostracized. For every person given a fearful glance, ten were greeted with honest smiles and teary thanks.

The month following the battle for Hallow, the planetary capital, gave the people of the Fontaine enough time to familiarize themselves with their new situation...and the abyssal conditions on the planet they were helping recover.

Less than 10% of the population was literate. Vaccinations were nearly unknown. The number of doctors could be counted on one hand, and the number of people capable of doing more than basic wound cleaning and patient care numbered less than four hundred. Sewage, clean water, electricity, and nearly everything else, including schools, were either lacking or non-existent or had been left to rot by a failing industry and educational levels.

The Battlemechs of the planet, now sporting one Panther, Shadowhawk, and Javelin more, were armored not with the impressive alloys found on those of ComStar, but with bare rolled steel. From the perspective of the military, the Gunhallow Militia was barely above an armed rabble, with portable radios consigned to one per thousand members...until the seven they had were distributed. Often to command posts, instead of units. Likewise, to the anger of many, child soldiers were not a rare occurrence but seen as natural, as you became an adult in this world at 15.

The only thing that did not inspire dismay was that some semblance of democracy was still present on Gunhallow, the office of "Mayor" chosen every ten years, with no second term available, by all people of Gunhallow. This process, and the defense of the entire planet, was overseen by the McCullough Family as they were the Planetary Sheriffs, a post transformed into a semi-hereditary position thanks to an ancestor arriving with their "Archer" Battlemech and swearing themselves to the defense of the world.

Yet, the month did pass, the universe seemed a little less frightening, and five million people decided they had had enough time to think about what they had seen, and what they would now do.


With all five million votes cast, the Furina De Fontaine would:
(6-Hour Moratorium (For Real This Time))
[] Return to Earth.
(Voting Weight: x0.5)
[] Continue The Mission...
(These are all counted against Return together.)
-[] As it was stated.
(You will create 50 Colonies, ending the Quest with the last one.)
-[] But seek to center their foundings around Gunhallow.
(You will create 50 Colonies near Gunhallow for trade, ending the Quest with the last one.)
-[] But seek to create far greater colonies.
(You will create 46 Colonies, with 400k people staying to aid Gunhallow, ending the Quest with the last one.)
-[] With a new interpretation.
(You will seek to create a new nation, possibly centered around Gunhallow, going out to settle new places and incorporating other abandoned colonies into that new nation. You will also attempt to uplift all of them. This will start a series of negotiations and decisions, starting with whether you want to make Gunhallow your new Capital.)