Already making himself at home on his new bridge, Captain Joseph Joestar sits poised for a comfortable cruise to Delhi Station: One leg resting across the knee of the other, palms on the comfortable fabric of his command uniform, and his posture reclined just enough to be relaxed. It's already been a long day of ass-kissing and hand-shaking and 'You can expect a full report the very minute we arrive, Sir'-ing. Their mission into Unexplored Quadrant A116 won't actually take them outside EA territory for a while yet, so now that he's got a moment without anyone breathing down his neck, he's eager to give his eyes a short sabbatical.
However, Joseph is keenly aware that he's meant to be leading by example; it's just that his current example is 'rest when you can.' He thinks it's an important lesson, at least, though he's sure that won't be unanimous. This doesn't really bother him, per say, but he's also aware that continued silence on his part could be unnerving the rest of the crew.
They had only met each other a few hours prior, and most of their introductions had consisted of someone else guiding them over to one another by the shoulders. A pleasant exchange of 'Oh, Captain Joestar, I'd like to introduce you to...', followed by small talk did not a meaningful conversation make. Of course, pulling everyone else away from their duties to chat now wouldn't work, either, so Joseph settled for what seemed to be the next-best thing.
He adjusts his posture again, tired eyes opening. He had hoped five minutes would be enough to get the throb of soreness out of his eyes, but it was not meant to be.
"How are our numbers looking?" Joseph calmly asks the room, keeping most, but not all, of his fatigue out of his voice. "If you've noticed anything that feels off, let me know and I'll get it taken care of before we head off for real."
One Brunch Man
Tatsumaki—U.S.S. Verne—Bridge
Tatsumaki’s elbow sat on her armrest, adjacent to Joseph’s, propping up her cheek even as she tapped it with her index finger. Her eyes were narrowed and distant, occasionally darting about the cabin as she drank in the sight she’d be faced with for most, if not all, of the next five years.
Tatsumaki had gotten through the media debacle via the opposite end of the spectrum from her immediate superior’s; she was notoriously bad at kissing ass, and since most everyone knew that, no one expected her to. She was able to get by lurking in the corners, smiling for the cameras, and nursing the bitter taste of the non-alcoholic pan-species refreshments that had been mixed and re-mixed until it resembled nothing so much as a squeezed out love-child of dish soap and pumice. Let those who would choose universal ingestibility over basic flavor get neither. Idiots.
As for her crew, the esper hadn’t really learned anyone’s name, and most anyone she had met she had then quickly forgotten. It was partially because this was the first time that she had been given command of such a large group of people, since peacekeeping patrols could keep more modest numbers under the reassurance that help was never more than a transmission away. Now, they would be self-sufficient, more akin to a very tiny, very mobile colony than a proper ship. But mostly, it was because she didn’t want to spend her last few days anywhere close to her home, her family, and her beloved patrol routes rubbing elbows with starry-eyed recruits who no doubt thought “expedition” rhymed with “glory”. Once again, she had five entire years to do that. For now, she just wanted to daydream.
But she supposed she also needed to let her presence be felt, even at this early juncture. Lifting her head to let her hand fall into her lap, she barked her own command. “Make one of those numbers our ETA.” She said crisply. “I want to make stationfall within fourteen hours, edge of the Milky Way or not.”
If I had that kind of power, I'd have dropped a meteor on your house ages ago~
feeling blue
Never would Genji have thought he would be a part of humanity's biggest project. His time in World War III was more than enough to get him quite the infamy even among people of the very country he had served. Why the Earth Alliance bothered to track him down after years of isolation just to get the position of Military Adviser of the crew, he still couldn't quite understand. All things considered, hiring an infamous assassin who had carried countless assassinations for four years sounded like a good way of causing a scandal and generating controversy, it would have been a much safer bet to just hire some other war veteran, but then again most of those who were still alive were probably not in good shape for fighting if the need came, definitely not in better shape than a cyborg unaffected by the passage of time at least.
Genji had little trouble going along with whatever the Earth Alliance wanted. He kept mostly quiet whenever he was asked about something from the media and thanks to his helmet covering his face there was no way for anybody to read his expression. Even during the meetings he kept himself quiet, merely observing the others unless he was directly addressed, at which point he acted polite and casual towards anyone attempting to hold a conversation with him. He still felt much like an outsider among everyone, partially due to his cybernetic nature, however he did find some comfort on the fact that many members of the crew were probably more freaky looking than he could hope to be.
And there he was, standing in front of a panel right behind the Captain and the First Officer, his back turned against the door that led into the bridge. Wearing the red uniform over his metal armor was a bit strange, he had to get a customized uniform just to be able to properly wear it, at leas the red coloration matched well with his white and red armor. He noticed he was the only one in the crew that didn't have a chair to sit on, not that he really minded standing still, but at the same time he wished he was a wall behind him so he could lean against it, but it probably wouldn't be very practical.
It didn't take long for the Captain and First Officer to start asking questions. What they were asking was not something Genji could provide a good answer for, so he simply remained quiet and stared at the view of space in front of him with his arms crossed. That was a view he would get used to eventually, probably grow tired of it even, but for now he was going to simply take it all in and admire it while still making sure to pay attention to what was going on around him.
edited 13th Sep '16 8:48:47 AM by FullMoon
A dogged fellow, aren't we?
"Main reactor operating at 60% capacity, 99.8% efficiency." The owner of the cold, high-pitched voice was sitting at her station behind the First Officer's chair. The small, green-skinned woman dispassionately surveyed her screen, trying to ignore the way her legs swung from the standard-issue bridge chair.
Peridot resisted the urge to tug at the collar of her uniform, but couldn't help but roll her eyes slightly. Role insignia that weren't part of your body? It was irritatingly inefficient. She was going to have to grow accustomed to it, though, because that was how the Alliance did things. Take the ridiculous reception she'd been forced to endure before launch! They could have leaving Delhi Station by now! Instead she'd been forced to watch a bunch of organic life-forms ingest their liquid nutrients while she did her best to lay low. The only saving grace had been that Homeworld had sent an Aquamarine and a couple of Pearls to handle the human media. With a stately diplomat and some frilly eye-candy to distract them, no-one paid any attention to the Peridot on the sidelines.
Thankfully, she was back in her element now. She'd take technology, even human technology, over synthetic arthropod meat-curls any day.
"Warp engines running within tolerances, Moreau Field fluctuations negligible." She continued her report, reaching up to tap a few icons on her screen. A smug note crept into her voice as she added, "If we're late to Delhi Station it won't be because of the Verne."
edited 13th Sep '16 2:46:39 AM by LittleMako
Transcender of Gender
Bridge
At the Navigation station Leo called up a map of the Delhi colony and its surrounding area. He appeared to scrutinise its contents- 'appeared' because, despite his concentrated expression, his eyes were closed the entire time- before turning back to the myriad of colourful, blinking controls that adorned his workplace. "Position and altitude are stable. Long-range sensors aren't picking up any obstructive terrain. Everything's running smoothly here, Jo- uh, Captain. Plotting course for Delhi Station."
The tremor in his voice and his shaking hands, those were things he'd dispelled with a good hour of relaxation beforehand. The sweat on his brow was a different matter, and he could count himself lucky that his bird's nest of a hairstyle kept it from sight. He was also fortunate that the pre-launch meetings had steadily introduced him to the various famous and/or dangerous figures that he'd be working alongside; if he'd had to adjust to them all at once, he might have crumpled.
It was because he was the opposite of them, neither well-known nor powerful, that he'd kept under the media's radar throughout the whole ordeal. Who wanted to talk to some awkward greenhorn when the most terrifying girl (no, woman, despite appearances) in the Outer System was in the same room?
As she was now, asking for their arrival estimations. He hurriedly punched in all the required coordinates, working in tandem with the computer to crunch the numbers. He already had a sinking feeling that the result wasn't going to satisfy her. "If we maintain a steady velocity at maximum warp, then our ETA should be..."
Yep, as he thought. He tugged at his collar, unused to clothes that would cling rather than hang. "S-sixteen hours, ma'am." His nervous report appeared all the worse when juxtaposed to the engineer's confidence. He quickly busied himself with sending the route specifications over to the pilot's computer. Maybe they'd have a better estimate, or maybe they'd agree. Either way, not a good start for him.
they/them || "Forgive me, regent of queer amphibians" - Lt.BGob
Toa of Anarchy
On the opposite corner from Leo, over in the Tactical position, a little green man with a white beard and bouffant wig crunched a few numbers of his own. "Recommending a boost in speed, say, .5 warp factor increase, Captain. The sooner we reach our destination, the sooner our mission is underway, and the sooner we leave that spinning ball of ssssssickie little sssycophants in the meteor dust."
Zim had been in a sour mood ever since the last pre-launch meetings. Under much duress, he'd been made to put his sulking on hold and try having a conversation with one of the lower crew members. He'd loudly gone through the conversational script, the lad had stammered back, he'd got even louder, and to cut things short, a cocktail had been spilled and Zim had spent the next minute writhing on the ground.
Still, in spite of how much Zim enjoyed being angry, there was little that could quell the excitement bubbling in his irken guts like a bubbling bottle of bubbly. His leg dangled in the air, tapping rapidly on nothing. Every few seconds, his eyes would dart to the main screen, and occasionally at the helm to glare in envy. If it weren't for that miserable Ulrik and his ability to be so incredibly tall, then it would be Zim who laid claim to the prime position. But no bother. Zim had wanted a front row seat, and there were few seats front-rowier than this. Soon, inexorably soon, Zim would witness a planet never before seen by Irken eyes, and lay claim to it for the glorious Irken Armada. It was only a matter of time...
Meanwhile, further in the bowels of the spacecraft, a gleeful buzzing sound echoed down the passageways. There, racing full tilt through the hallway, was a little thing in a puffy little boy suit, with arms outstretched by his sides and an impression of an airplane emanating from his mouth. GIR soared down the metal corridors, tilting to the right to swoop past a turn in the road. He zoomed low beneath the legs of personnel, ducked through a door into the engine room, and raced across an overhead walkway as the thrumming of Moreau beneath just about masked his propeller noises.
Darting out the room again, GIR ran into the nearest elevator, hopped in the air to slap a number, and ran around in circles until it was time to get out again. Then onwards he flew once more, soaring straight past the door to the holoroom, screeching to a halt, and backing up with a beeping noise. GIR slowly turned to face the door, the eyes in his mask's mouth transfixed on the sign. Slowly and calmly, he walked up to the door, stopped, and leaned forward until planting both hands on the metal surface. There, he continued to stare at the sign, running his hands across the door as if it were a 2001 monolith. "Oooooooooo..."
edited 13th Sep '16 6:18:26 AM by LizardOfAus
The Verne was... different, thought Botanica as she carefully tended to the small seedlings that adorned her quarters.
Botanica had been to space many times, of course, so it wasn't the odd tug of the artificial gravity, or the slight but faint hum that tickled her cranial vibrissae that was putting her on edge. No, there was something less tangible, less perceptible, that was keeping her on edge. Perhaps it was the proportions that felt all wrong. Cybertronian warships - the ones that hadn't been dismantled, mothballed, left to quietly rust away in hangars and bunkers - were cavernously vast affairs, originally built to accommodate the great lumbering war machines of aeons past and hastily refitted to suit the needs of the smaller Maximals and Predacons. There was no rust aboard the Verne, no corrosion, no ancient weapons systems hastily stripped and refitted laving gaping holes in the superstructure. Humans were young and pushing outwards, and they built their ships to reflect their youth and energy - Cybertronians were old, far older than anything else in the Galaxy, and their mental age had caught up with them long ago.
Humans were a frighteningly different species. A little less than three centuries ago, they'd been struggling to master the basics of steam propulsion - and now, here they were, hurling themselves into space with Moreau fields and artificial gravity and however many other inventions designed to protect their fragile little bodies. So fragile, so short-lived, and yet so vibrant. Even her new "uniform" was based off EA technology; a series of synthetic chromatophores she'd installed into her superstructure, able to overcoat her bronze-and-emerald coloration with a series of black and blue stripes for when she was needed on duty.
At any rate, it was probably time for her to see what her new shipmates were doing- after all, her seedlings would still be there when she returned to her quarters. Her door slid open - Botanica toook care not to bump her seven-foot frame against the 5.6 foot doorway - and she was out, striding down the hallway.
edited 13th Sep '16 8:26:35 AM by Locoman
I have a plan.
Bridge
Ulrik Svensgaard sat right beside Zim. Had he been aware of Irken customs, and how uncomfortable Zim felt about the physical height of other people... He probably would have remained First Pilot anyways. Ulrik boiled down the information given by his crewmates even further, to come up with—you guessed it—another number crunch.
"Given current conditions, an ETA of sixteen hours sounds accurate. But if we went with a .5 warp factor boost, I'd say we'd just barely get within fourteen hours."
Ulrik was also in a bitter mood over the last pre-launch meetings. His instructors made it clear that he was not to disclose the boring truth of the Verne's actual destination. In fact, they seemed to single him out and grill him specifically to keep his mouth shut. He was also advised not to discuss the incident aboard the Raleigh that lead to his promotion, out of fear that it would establish the 'wrong tone'. That cut out a lot of interesting conversations he could potentially have. The cocktails at the meetings were so watered-down and unpalatable it was a wonder anyone could get drunk off of them—which happened, and the shrimp insulted him personally, given that he used to work on a fishing trawler to harvest actual shrimp.
Ulrik couldn't keep from making a small smirk, however. Once the business in Delhi was done, they'd all be able to make actual progress aboard the Verne.
"@[=g3,8d]&fbb=-q]/hk%fg"
Aside from gawking over the size of the Verne, the day had been going smoothly so far, which is exactly what you want in a shakedown cruise. The crew so far had given him plenty of aside glances, and in one case some poor woman hid inside a maintenance door when she saw him coming, but it wasn't anything he wasn't used to. Ricco smiled, keeping his teeth from showing too much, and nodded to many people today, and he often did get waves back. A kind group of people so far.
Everything was fine until he heard an elevator open, and something hard whack him in the shin. Running past him at great speed was...something small and squealing. It didn't smell anything like a human, and in the same way it didn't smell like anything. It was some small robot, going by the impact of the hit against his leg from his tiny arm, vaguely dressed as something resembling human. He wasn't going to knock it for its strange dress, considering he'd seen stranger, but he stomped off after it anyway to tell him something important.
It made him feel a bit stupid to say it as he caught up to it, but he said, "Crewman, don't run through the halls like that! Someone's going to trip over you!" The little thing was transfixed on the door in front of it, and Ricco figured he was too small to set off the auto-open, or reach the panel. He shrugged, opened the door for the robot, and finally noticed the name of the room: HOLODECK.
That sounded unlike any kind of deck that he'd ever been on, and his curiosity was piqued. He had rounds to do, of course, but it couldn't hurt to peek in here for a second, right? Inside was a curiously empty room, featureless at the moment. Ricco cautiously stepped foot inside this HOLODECK, trying to figure out its purpose.
Halkrath, Bridge
The Verne's new Chief of Security M-di H'chak Halkrath made his way to the bridge, having completed his inspection of the ship's layout. Thus far since boarding he had kept largely to himself, and while his silence may have made him seem intimidating to some, in truth he simply felt awkward. His past experiences with humans, and the other select species he had some familiarity with, hadn't exactly lent themselves to much conversation, and he wasn't sure what to talk about.
It was a strange thing to consider, working alongside humans and even serving as subordinate to one. For so much of their history his people had hunted them for sport, a practice he himself had seen... and taken part in (although of course that sort of thing wasn't done these days, absolutely not. Well, mostly not. Certainly not in polite company.)
He had found himself somewhat stymied for conversation, both now and during the various briefings and meetings prior to the launch, as by this point his planet's ambassadors had assured him that it was considered somehow impolite to regale his new crewmates with thrilling tales of his experiences hunting down others of their species, which he'd always found a suitable icebreaker in the past. Well, perhaps later once they all knew each other better.
For now, he made his way to Captain Joestar, still feeling uncomfortable and constrained in his uniform. His armor was secured in his quarters (although nothing could persuade him to willingly part from his face-concealing mask) as were most of his weapons. All he had on him at the moment were his gauntlet blades, a combi-stick at his waist, and a shoulder mounted plasma cannon, which by Halkrath's reckoning was so lightly armed as to be considered barely more than well-dressed.
"Nothing to report, Captain."
Tails was accustoming himself to the ship, visiting as many room as he could. He already had examined several times its blueprints before but he personnaly felt that machinery needed to be examined in person to be truely understood. And what machinery it was! The closest thing on mobius were the warships utilised by the Egg Army and he never really had the time to inspect them. But even compared to them, the technology utilised by the Earth Alliance was truly astounding.
Even at the pre-flight meetings, he spent most of the time checking out the server robots, fascinated by how closely they imitated the appearance of their builders. Because of that, he didn't really get to know the other crew members. "Oh well, he tought to himself. I think we will have plenty of time to know each other better."
He was interrupted in his musings by the sight of a insectoid alien ( a security officer, judging by his red uniform) and a strange, small creature vaguely ressembling a cheap mascot costume and a very ugly human boy ( he had no clue what role this thing could possibly fill ) .entering the holodeck. He was planning to check it out himself, and decided that some company wouldn't hurt. He entered the holodeck too.
edited 13th Sep '16 12:06:16 PM by Alecoene
Sarah Manning stood outside the ship counselor's quarters, feeling uncomfortable in her red security officer's uniform.
The reception had gone surprisingly well- nobody had accused Ensign Elizabeth Childs of acting strangely. She had been gracious, polite, a little reserved, and nobody had seen her dump her non-alcoholic beverage into a nearby plant.
She wasn't sure what the counselor wanted from her. She had already passed her psych eval on Earth, and it wasn't like she had done anything yet to make anyone think she was crazy. Was it because she had backed out of her assignment on the Verne, only to ask for it back? Surely that didn't require a trip to the ship shrink.
Expression neutral, Sarah entered the counselor's quarters. "I'm Ensign Childs. You wanted to see me, Dr. Quinzel?"
edited 13th Sep '16 12:50:56 PM by emilyorthoclase
One Brunch Man
Tatsumaki—U.S.S. Verne—Bridge
Tatsumaki’s gaze flicked over to the Junior Navigator in the corner as he stammered out his reply, and lightly frowned. She recognized the type, all skill and no ego—a phenomenon she couldn’t really begin to understand. Tatsumaki then slid her arms back to cup the ends of the armrests, nodding at Zim’s suggestion and Ulrik’s explanation. “Good. One-half warp factor boost, on my mark.”
Then, remembering she was no longer dealing with the rank-and-file, “Yes ma’m” “No ma’m” mentality of her own men, decided that she might as well give them a view as to her thinking. “Fourteen hours will place our intake of relief personnel at the same period as the shift rollover.” She said, recupping her cheek. “The less time we spend acclimating, the more time we spend climbing. So to speak.” She glared out into the starry expanse. “I know how… eager, we all are, to get our mission underway. And… mark.”
Tatsumaki then turned her attention to the man at her side—and, briefly, to the masked security chief giving his lack of a report—and voiced her thoughts. “It’s redundant for us to be on deck at the same time, for as long as we’re in hyperspace.” She said lowly, taking advantage of their proximity to maintain privacy. While she talked, a stray rag across the room lit up with a pale emerald sheen, before lifting up and landing on Leo’s workstation. “I’ll maintain discipline, if you want to retire.” She smiled thinly, a portrait of sardonic whimsy. “Unless, of course, you want to give a speech, to commemorate the occasion.”
If I had that kind of power, I'd have dropped a meteor on your house ages ago~
Fear me
Armory
-In the ship's armory, an enormous man in a massive suit of armor reverently completes the maintenance rites on a gun two men would have trouble holding, let alone firing. Muttering a final prayer under his breath, he puts on his helmet, lifts the boltgun and gestures to the young woman standing silently beside him.-
We go.
-Both leave the armory, the giant scanning the hallway before activating his commbead to the security channel.-
*This is Avitus. Beginning patrol, armory level.*
-As the Astartes' measured step resonates throughout the corridor, P'li follows him, glaring at every air duct and down every intersection. In such an enclosed environment, unleashing their full combined firepower would put the ship in greater danger than any invading foe, but intimidation can nip many a security sitation in the bud.-
-As the patrol route goes past the holodeck, Avitus sees multiple people heading inside, including one of the alien security officers. That crewmembers would seek entertainment so quickly after the ship's departure is unencouraging (if not unexpected of civilians unadapted to the monastic life of an Astartes), but it is not his place to deliver judgement or to decree how his fellows should spend their free time.-
edited 14th Sep '16 9:29:26 AM by Chabal2
It was almost too much to believe that she was actually here on the ship. Excellen's head turned from side to side as she took in all the sleek bells and whistles that made up the entirety of the bridge. Even the seats were fancier than she was expecting. On top of that, all the press meetings and parties was making her feel like they were all belles of the ball. So what if she got a little too drunk at one of the pre-meetings? Nothing was going to bring her mood down at this point.
Positively beaming, she turned to the console on the bridge and made sure to take everything in. This was going to be where she would be working for the next few years. She would have to memorize every button, screen, speaker, everything there was to know about it. Likewise, she would have to get to know her crewmates. Just looking around the bridge, Excellen could tell that there wasn't going to be a boring person around. She didn't know too many names at this point, but she did get the chance to meet their handsome captain and adorable first officer before.
That did put an idea into her head as her train of thought continued. Wasn't it the normal thing for newly christened voyages to begin with a speech from the captain? She could certainly see her old Boss doing something like that. "Oh Captain~" Excellen called as she turned to face Captain Joestar. "Intercoms are working fine incase you want to say something to the crew." she not-so-subtly suggested.
The Mighty Pen
Croaker - Bridge
Chief Medical Officer's Personal Log, USS Verne'
It is immortality, of a sort...
I write these words for the benefit of my brothers and sisters of the Black Company. I am not vain enough to write for myself. If I should die out here among the distant stars, I have mandated that all my worldly assets, pathetic as they are, go towards getting this chronicle to the Company, that it might be entered into the Annals and the fate of one lost brother be laid to rest. It still feels wrong. Like as not, I'll die out here, or we all will, and the ship with us and my self-pitying monologue will be scattered to the solar winds. Or the messenger will be lost. Or I'll spend the next few eternities wandering and never finding my lost kindred. But it would feel worse not to write, for although my memory is no longer as fallible as it once was, I cannot rely on it staying that way and should I find what I'm looking for, I would have no time to waste scribbling down all that happened to me on the way.
Hence, this chronicle. It would not be right to call it a Book of the Annals. I am dead to the Company, as surely as anything. But I salve my flecks of pride by refusing to call it a journal or logbook. There is no power in such things, and the intent of the chronicler matters more than some think. I am still given to rambling.
There is little enough to tell of how I came to be here. I recall every detail perfectly, and so few are worth recording. And yet, it is the first time that I have written in this way since I woke up and found my family gone. My honor as Annalist, even a former one, demands an accounting worthy of the Company, but I find I cannot give one just now. Perhaps later, I will find the strength. Suffice to say, I used Earth Alliance to get what I needed and they did not appreciate it. I find I do not care. The galaxy, the universe, are bigger than even they think. In these days, I am in service to them still in my capacity as a physician. They have a fancy title for me and a nice office. Young, helpful staff so bright it pains me to look at them. They would not fit in the Company and I would not ask them to go, but such as they are sorely needed. Or were. I have no way of knowing what misfortunes have befallen the Company in my absence.
Though none will call it so, this is a beginning. Our ship, the Verne, is traveling for Delhi Station on the Outer Rim, there to resupply and make final checks. Many of those aboard do not consider it dangerous. They think it dull, and perhaps it is, but they do not see it is by necessity that we teach ourselves to ignore the myriad dangers of space and those who sail this black sea along with us. They will learn. Some will die. With luck, I may ensure the former outnumber the latter.I was present on the bridge, as is customary when a ship departs from port, particularly for the first time. It is not my place there and I surely felt it, but I have learned to put up with worse. The Captain and Commander beneath him both demanded reports on our readiness. I turned my chair around halfway to answer.
"Sickbay is fully stocked and staffed. I'll start putting my people through training tomorrow."
I do not tell the Captain what said training entails. Doubtless some will be upset, but for now, my position is more secure than most. I have made it known people will be very unhappy if I should get kicked off this trip. Besides, I meant take advantage of this little moment of calm while it lasts. I also do not tell him that our stocks include some things not approved of by Alliance regulations, or that I have chosen some apprentices that were not on the first pick list. I will do what I must to keep my patients and people safe. Though this is not the Company, they have been, for the most part, nothing but polite, though given the receptions we have suffered through together, they had little choice. Wonder of wonders, I am curious. Could some here know me or I them as I once did? We shall see.
A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent upon arriving. -Lao Tzu
Botanica was feeling like a bit of a lost Spark herself as she took in the sights and sounds of the Verne, letting her memories drift back to the cocktail party some nights before, the synthetic Energon - a rather sumptuous mercury-nickel blend with magnesium flavoring -that she had been given in lieu of small cooked crustaceans. The fact that she, a mid-ranking science officer, was allowed such freedom of movement, was still an odd thought for her, the sense of freedom almost overwhelming.
Then there was the fact that her captain was so... energetic and lively, not a decrepit hulk hard-wired directly into the ship's reactor note . But then, humans were a young race; they did things differently. She briefly tried to imagine where humans would be two million years down the line - would they repeat the mistakes of her kind? - before discarding that thought. Humans focussed on the present. This was a human ship, and she lived on a human world.
Infirmary. Engineering. Reactor. Botanica briefly scanned the various doors, portals, and passagewaysa as she wandered through the ship's hallways.
Holodeck. That was something she'd heard a bit about during her time in the EA, an experimental technology rolling out on the latest ships. She'd seen the datatrax of Old Cybertron, the great holographic lightshows that lit up Crystal City and Nova Cronum every night- but nobody on Cybertron had the time or energy to try and re-create the beautiful lightshows that had once graced their planet, not since the Armistice. A holodeck, though... this was an application that her people had never even considered.
Noticing a few other individuals - a xenomorph, what was outwardly a human boy giving off some anomalous energy readings- Botanica poked her head inside, taking a long, quizzical look around at the blank space within. "This is the holodeck, correct?" she said, tilting her head. "And this is what humans do for recreation, correct?"
Counselor Quinzel's Office
Sarah Manning steps into a rectangular room and feels a moment of disorientation. The floor, walls, and ceiling are painted in a series of red and black checkerboard squares and, at first glance, it seems like some giant has twisted the room. After a moment to assure herself the floor is actually flat, Sarah realizes the truth; what her brain initially assumed were perfectly aligned colored squares set on a twisted surface is actually distorted squares set on perfectly flat surfaces. A large screen on the wall opposite the entrance way is currently displaying an upside-down video image of a fish tank full of piranhas. The only furniture in the room is a reclining couch and a comfortable padded chair, with a computer terminal built into the arms of the chair.
Another door, in the side of the room, opens and Dr. Harleen Quinzel steps out of her private quarters. She wearing her blue uniform tunic unfastened, so that the bright red sports bra and black biker shorts she's wearing underneath are visible. She's wearing a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses with no lenses and her bleached white hair is pulled back into a ponytail. "Hi ya, hi ya, hi ya!" Dr. Quinzel walks over to Sarah, having no problem with the distorted floor, and quickly shakes Sarah's hand. "I mean, hello. Pleasure to make your acquiescence. Call me Harley Quinn, or Dr. Quinzel, or that crazy chick with the dye streaks. I get that last one a lot, for some reason. Come on in and sit down."
Dr. Quinzel goes over to the couch and lays down, facing the empty chair. "So, anyway, Beth... may I call you Ensign Childs? The reason I called you in, Lizzy, is I was checking you last psych eval and I noticed there was a few differences between it and your previous evaluation. Nothing major, just enough I wanted to find out if there was any changes you'd been going through that you'd like to talk about. Had a mysterious stranger run into you, received an obscene clone fall, decided that it was never too late to be a lesbian until graduation... anything like that?"
edited 13th Sep '16 11:43:26 PM by Nodrog
Paranoia - The Most Fun You Can Have With Deadly Lasers!
Lizard Metabolism
Seath The Fashionably Late, Bridge
A distinct aroma of fresh snow, thin mountain air and an incense of cedrus deodara slithered onto the bridge as Chief Scientist himself slowly shuffled onto the bridge, careful not to bump his head there at the entrance. A giant, bizarre figure moved ponderously, but seemed to have no difficulty operating even in spite of his closed eyes. Soon after it, two more reasonably-sized figures of pure azure crystal shuffled behind Seath, carrying a bunch of notes and a candle that added more of the Himalayan aura to the bridge.
"Apologiesss for being late. I had to make sssure everything is in tip-top shape back in my quartersss." Considering that, by his request, only he had a key to those and that he hadn't even had any visitors yet, that was just Chief Scientist's own paranoia about leaving things in tip-top shape.
Seath was excited to venture into the lands unknown. Truth be told, Earth was getting a little too uncomfortable what's with all the accusations of the war crimes. Bah. War crimes? He saved human science, and they called it a war crime? So what if he had to make sacrifices to do so? Some people simply were more valuable than others.
Nevertheless, all this populism and moral guardians soured him to the civilization, and the badly-done artificial shrimps only sealed the deal. He needed an out and USS Verne was such an out. "All of the inssstrumentsss are perfectly prepared." He nodded. "I am pleasssed to say that this vesssel is outfitted better than I would have expected."
Seath folded his arms, his figure straightening out a little bit, but still hunched over. "How long are we expected to ssstay in Delhi Ssstation, Mr. Joestar?" He addressed the captain.
How do lizards fly?
Transcender of Gender
Bridge
Leo started calculating a new possible course as soon as the pilots suggested a .5 change. What he lacked in confidence he could at least make up for with good, quick work. He had it just about figured out when Tatsumaki approved of the power boost.
"Yes, ma'am! Adjusting course to accommodate a 9.5 warp speed... and locked in." The new route would again be sent to the computers of Zim and Ulrik. Assuming the Verne didn't run into any unforeseen complications along the way, Leo's role now would mostly consist of monitoring their course and making sure they didn't stray from it- or that nothing else strayed into them. Not exactly the most exciting job in the world (or out of it, as they soon would be), but watching is what Leo did best.
A rag floated down onto his workstation at about the same time a mountainous scent pervaded the bridge. After a moment of hesitation he picked up the cloth, a little grateful and a lot embarrassed, and wiped his brow, at the same time peeking out the corner of his still-closed eyes at the new arrival. He recognised Seath from the party- not that an 8-foot dragon was hard to forget- but beyond that only knew what he had heard. The same of which he could say for the rest of the crew.
Maybe some actual interaction would quell the intimidation factor, but for now he folded the rag away and turned back to the main viewscreen.
they/them || "Forgive me, regent of queer amphibians" - Lt.BGob
Guy-Manuel sighed. Or, at least, he made the the motions of a sigh combined with a sighing sound from his speakers. It had been a number of years since he'd actually been able to sigh. He sighed again, and this time skipped the needless melancholy in describing it.
This was pointless. So what if one of the reporters had blindsided him with questions about his past in Daft Punk and the accident? It wasn't that big a deal. Still, it had been jolting to say the least. Over ten years on, and the general public had lost any interest in that part of his past, mostly. Even years later, and with numerous speeches on various new xeno-technology discoveries, awards ceremonies and public appearances under his belt, he still hated talking to the media. Didn't matter what field you were in, the media sticking their noses into things rarely ended well. And the dinner was just another example.
It had been incredibly dull, and he had spent a good deal of it standing quietly off to the side and silently judging the terrible music they had chosen. Muzak, really? A style of music so bland and attempting to be inoffensive, it ended up the exact opposite. Still, he hadn't had much else to do. He still hadn't figured out how to give himself the ability to eat or drink again, if he ever would, his fellow crew members were enthralled in their own conversations, and there was no chance he would willingly approach a reporter. So of course they ended up approaching him, instead. Most had been inoffensive and asked the same stock questions about his position on-board and thoughts on the trip, his research, and his thoughts on various current events. Then one man, apparently a fan of his and Thomas' old work, dropped a bomb on him. He'd wanted to know if they ever planned on getting Daft Punk back together, if he still enjoyed music, and then if him 'no longer being human' had crippled his ability to do so.
That had pretty much killed any semblance of fun he might have had for the event.
He'd put all that behind him a long time ago, but he supposed it only made him human to dwell on it from time to time. Especially when shoved in your face by boorish reporters. Even if his body might not be human anymore, he was still human where it counted. That's all that mattered. He shook his head. If he kept thinking on it, he would just get mopey again. He needed to do something else.
And Guy had just the idea. Music always helped him unwind, and while he had the bare basics needed here in his quarters to compose, it would be fun to do so in a proper studio. And, he was aware of a new holodeck that had been installed on this very ship.
Leaving his quarters, he set his HUD to guide him towards his desired destination. Surely it would be empty this early in the trip?
Ok, so he had pretty much asked for this to happen, didn't he.
Guy-Manuel found himself standing a short distance from the entrance to the holodeck, watching and listening to the small number of people that were currently interested in the new room. According to his senses, there were two currently inside the room itself, with two more standing just at the entrance.
One was a small robot of some sort, a fact that even its terrifying disguise (What looked like a badly stitched caricature of a child) couldn't hide from his senses, and the other was, well, a tall robot. But, there was a reason why the taller of the two caught his attention. Guy wasn't sure for certain, having never seen one in person, but from what he could see of the figure, he had a good feeling they were Cybertronian. And judging by the fact that they were currently in this ship and could actually fit, a Maximal or Predacon.
He was curious, very much so actually, to see a cybertronian on-board. Of course, he'd known they would be here, but it was still another thing to see one in person. He'd researched the cybertronians once, years ago, as a possible line of research to find a reason and possible cure for his affliction. He'd spent a good deal of time, and money, on acquiring and experimenting with various bits of their technology. He had even managed to get a hold of one of their transformation cogs and a spark chamber. Though, whether from damage, or just the sheer alien nature of the 'organs', he'd been unable find any answers to his questions. But, it hadn't been entirely fruitless, and had been fascinating the whole way through.
Shaking himself from his thoughts, Guy frowned in his head. The holodeck was obviously occupied, so maybe it would be best to come back later?
...No.
These were going to be the people he would be spending a large part of the next five years around. It would be best to get to know them now, even if he would rather be off by himself. And, it would give him the chance to talk to an actual cybertronian. Just the thought of the things he could learn from them was enough to push away a good deal of shyness. Miming the action of breathing in deeply, he worked up his courage and started to walk towards the door. As he got closer, he noticed that they, she it would seem, had a fairly feminine shape to her. That had always confused Guy, and he wasn't sure it was a question that was polite to ask. Probably not.
Coming up beside the cybertronian, he leaned against the opposite side of the door frame to make his presence known and glanced inside the room. There was a small bipedal fox-like alien, and a xenomorph in a security uniform.
...Well ok then. That made him a lot more nervous. And confused.
Glancing at the woman beside him, he nodded, and then shrugged and made a 'so-so' gesture with his hand in answer to her questions.
huzzaaaaaaaah
A sixteen hour travel time was to be expected, after all, they were travelling from one side of the Milky Way to the other. Why, a few decades back, this trip would have taken months! Of course, no one likes spending months in a wormhole, which is why they'd only use the warp drive to travel between planets, sometimes trading a wormhole for a nice leisurely pace through the vastness of space. That's how one of the most populous off-world colonies was founded, by the way, they just gave up and decided to settle-
WARNING. WARNING. LARGE OBJECT APPROACHING.
Okay. That's not supposed to happen.
A wormhole, for those who don't know, is a shortcut through space and time. I'd do the old 'bend a paper in half and drive a pencil through it' trick but it's way played out. The reason why the Earth Alliance love wormholes is because of the fact that they're personal shortcuts through the cosmos. A warp drive engine uses Moreau fields to basically tear a hole in existence so the ship can cross through. What I'm trying to say is that... it's physically impossible for something to just 'enter' a wormhole out of nowhere. You'd have to follow the ship opening it, match their warp factor, and maybe you'd get a mirage, but that's all. Two objects can never occupy the same wormhole.
And yet, a colossal chunk of metal, maybe two times the size of the Verne, was now heading right towards it. It spun around itself, hurtling through the wormhole like a meteor-in-the-making, and those with quick eyes would be able to catch an inscription on the hull of the chunk: the words DELHI STATION - RESIDENTIAL PLATFORM 441B written in bright, bold, platinum letters.
With a 'fwoosh', the doors slid open to reveal a surprisingly small room
, occupied only by a set of luminescent lines that spread through the walls, the ceiling and the floor.
"Hello. Welcome to the Holodeck room. I am the Assistant." A smooth female voice, clearly developed by a computer, echoed through the room. "Currently there are no scenarios in the database. Please contact Chief Engineer Peridot if you wish to program new scenarios. Official authorization from Captain Joestar and/or First Officer Tatsumaki is required for scenarios which can inflict harm upon users."
Lo and behold, nothing else was said.
"This is Ensign Nadir, currently patrolling the lower decks, near the main engines, uh..." A brief silence, interrupted only by the characteristic hum of the engines going on at full power. "Several Engineering officers have reported seeing something moving whenever the engines flare up? They just saw it now when we changed the warp factor. Can we get someone down here?"
edited 15th Sep '16 5:37:07 PM by Stratofarius
Counselor's Quarters
Sarah managed to look incredulous in response. "That's remarkably specific. Has that sort of thing happened before?"
Clones. Sarah had assumed Beth was a long-lost twin sister or something, but clones- even if Harley obviously wasn't playing with a full deck, she might be on to something.
When Ensign Nadir's request came over the radio, Sarah stood up. "I'd better check this out. Can we finish this up some other time?" Or never.
"Well, I was going to save my speech for when we shoved off from Delhi Station, but if you're all that eager to listen to me flap my gums, I can't exactly say no, can I? Just remember: If you get bored, this is what you asked for." Joseph grins cheekily at the two ladies. All this feigned reluctance is obviously that, but some humility seems like the captainly thing to do. Besides, everyone is probably just as wiped out as he is, so they're not going to be expecting anything grand.
He clears his throat before taking the microphone. A few other crew look at him as he stands up, but the rest need to keep an eye on the dials and doohickeys.
"Hello, everyone. I know it's a bit early for me to be giving a speech like this one, but here we are. We're going to be spending the next five years together, and while we haven't really gotten to know each other yet, I'm-"
The alert blares over Joseph's voice. Screens unfold from screens, measurements zooming across them for the crew to decipher. Within seconds, a clear picture of exactly what they're dealing with appears projected for everyone to see.
DELPHI STATION - RESIDENTIAL PLATFORM 441B
Joseph's pulse quickens. How could something else be inside their wormhole at the same time? And how is is moving in the opposite direction, for that matter? As far as unlucky breaks go, this takes the cake; so unlucky it should be impossible.
"Augh! You've got to be kidding!! What is that even doing here!?" Joseph exclaims, his hands dramatically placed on his cheeks, and sounding more exasperated than concerned. His demeanor flips immediately, however. He points at the navigators, his whole being emanating calm urgency.
"Svensgaard! Zim! Evasive maneuvers! We need to get out of that thing's path right now!" Joseph shouts, only now remembering that he should probably be sitting for what's about to happen.
As far as the people back on Earth were aware, the USS Verne had just set off into the undiscovered country, the limits of the Earth Alliance's territory. The colossal new ship, created to celebrate the fifty years of the creation of the Earth Alliance, was outfitted with technologies beyond everyone's wildest dreams. Outside, the new warp drives got warmer and warmer, bending the space around the ship, exhuming Moreau fields of pure energy as it contorted time and space and forced it to serve a new master. Inside, a new and unexplored room with a sign saying 'HOLODECK' awaited its first visitor. So it wasn't that weird to imagine that the ship was doing a straight line from Earth to deep space, right?
Not weird, certainly not impossible, but absolutely not worth it. Economically, that is. Which is why the USS Verne wasn't heading into deep space, no. It was heading towards Delhi Station, one of the off-world colonies at the edge of the Milky Way, where it would make a short stop before truly heading into deep space, into Unexplored Quadrant A116. But what was the point of telling that to the people of the Earth Alliance?The image of humankind just marching right into the jungle was much more romantic and much more inspiring. And that's what the Earth Alliance wanted to be right now, at the 50th anniversary of its creation. Inspiring. It wanted to be something its ancestors were not.
The crew had been instructed to not tell the truth to anyone, not even one of the seventy two thousand media channels covering the launch of the Verne. It was a fact that had been hammered several times over their pre-launch meetings, where they were supposed to mingle and meet the people who they'd be spending the next five years with. Awkward encounters set to muzak in brightly lit white rooms filled with automatic cocktail serving androids. And then one crew member accidentally got way drunk, and the cocktails were replaced by shrimps. Artificial shrimps, so no one had an allergic reaction.
So here they were, the crew of the USS Verne, the people supposed to be holding the torch for humanity's newest expedition into the darkness, five seconds into their mission. Did they know each other? Probably. Did they really know each other? Not really. But then again... how can you ever truly know someone? Some people would say that you'd need to spend at least a thousand hours with them. Some people would say you'd need to learn to love them. And some people would say that you'd need to go through hell and back with them.
I guess you could call what's on the other end of this wormhole 'hell'. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's see where this goes.