[M] Galactic Empires II

[Enigma]

No response to any inquiries.

Not unexpected.

Disappointing, but she was a Gamma. Alphas and Betas gave orders to Gammas, they seldom listened to them unless there was a problem. Humans seem to think like that, too.

Iona removed the webbing and bandoleers she had carried out of the cryobay and deposited them on an available empty surface while she pondered her next actions.

*Learn more about the enemy

- What was its needs?
- What caused it injury?
- How to avoid the enemy?
- What kept it from entering this place?

*Isolate the enemy if they cannot be destroyed
*Separate the survivors from the enemy

Ordinarily,she would pull that information off the network, but that was isolated now. Dangerous.

She would have to ask the biologics until the Beta acknowledged her request.
Biologics had misgivings about Sentinax.
Would they be more open if she took Human form?

[dakkagor]

"Where should this unit put the supplies that this unit was tasked to carry?" Iona asked as they exited the decontamination chamber, ready to surrender the webbing, bandoleers, and assorted supplies it had taken from the robotic mules.

“In that area.” Nevarn pointed to a hazard taped area of deck, just past the security check point. “We'll need to sort it all and assign it to projects. A job for tomorrow.” The young Charabidian yawned. “Hit me up tomorrow. I've never seen one of the Sentinax's infilitrators up close.”

+++++

Hearing the news about Hekatonkles corrupted, like those biologics they had encountered in their run... Unimaginable.

"How long since the ship arrived in this system?" Iona asked, still in its form of a Gamma class maintenance unit. "How long before another ship arrives?"

“As I said, over two years.” The Doctor rubbed his temples. “As for another ship. . Help? I don't know all the protocols in place, but we were expected to send back a message drone within a week of arriving. And that would take a year to arrive back home. So its likley they have sent another ship through, looking for us, probably a military scout towing a civilian generator to re-power the gate on this end.” He shrugged. “Much will depend on what that scout finds, and if it survived to report back. They may already be assembling a task force on the other side of the gate to come save us, or they might be fortifying their end against attack. We have no idea.”

"Great, there goes our major defense in this hell hole." Winter sputtered out. "Without them, consider us a fish in a barrel."

Garrick smiled. “Don''t count us nerds out just yet, Marine. This foe, the Beserker, can't be defeated by brute force alone. We've had a lot more success out-thinking it, than out-fighting it. We are stuck in a barrel, but the enemy can't see us in that barrel.”

Then Vezarres's attention turned to the doctor. "Where are the other Dragonoids!" He said walking up close to the doctor. "Did they manage to escape or fight back?!" He asked once more, almost starting to appear desperate for an answer.

The Doctor backed up a step, a little intimidated by the elder Dragonoid. “You. . . you are one of the last on board, most likely. The security contingent was badly mauled in the initial fighting, and as far as we are aware, both the frigates and all the fighters are lost. Most of the Dragonoids served as marines, so . . . there is still hope a few might have made it to the bridge. If there are survivors there, they might have some of your kin. I can say, they did your race proud. Each one of them.”

Garrick rubbed at his face, exhaustion falling over him like a shroud. He flicked a look to Kolvar, who nodded.

"Kolvar tells me you all check out, which is excellent news. Take 12 hours, get a little sleep, stretch your legs, eat some food, and meet the people you'll be working with. After that, I'll be calling an all hands. I want to lay out our plans, and figure out our next steps. And finally, welcome to the team."

[MidKnight]

The Marine gives a slight nod and looked around the area they were in. So far everything she had seen was salvaged from scrap or whatever was left laying around. She was curious about the armory set up that was close by. She moved cautiously as she entered inside and looked around. Walls and shelves stocked with armor, weapons, ammo, mods and a large variety of accessories. She smiled once her eyes caught almost every weapon that was on display. But what caught her attention, was the standard issue shotgun by the Terran Federation Marine Corps. But it wasn't just any old standard, it was hers. She recognized the small emblem on the butt of the rifle. It was a pirate logo that most veteran's like her would use. This logo was simple. A skull with a little gold colored on one of the tooth's, a eye patch and two swords crossing each other.

At first, she thought this was a stupid thing among the Marine Corps, but once she served for as long she could remember. The logo was actually meant "Welcome to the family." Also it was her assigned squad.

She quickly rushed to the weapon laying on the shelf. She sets the one she carried and picked up the rifle and held it close. "Never thought I see you again." She muttered to herself. Then she gives the weapon a full examination and her hand crosses over the emblem. Memories filled her head of her old squad. She stayed there, holding the rifle as if it was an old relic.

"Its a nice piece. Found it in an armoury."

Davrry slumped into the room, hands in pockets. He was tall, rangy, his dark skin, long hair and preternatural stillness conspiring to make him almost a shadow on the wall. Even when he wanted you to notice him, he somehow conspired to be difficult to track with the eye.

"But for what we are hunting, it will need some modifications. You game?"

She looked over her shoulder and sees the person talking to her. Recognizing the man from before. The one who helped them, or more to put it more accurate, saved their lives. She chuckled softly and turned her gaze back to her weapon. "Seeing those things, modifying it is not a bad idea." She walked over to a table that looked more fitting to use.

"Hang on a sec. I need to get out of this suit." She unzipped the suit she kept one when she first awoke. There wasn't any time to change into her uniform and armor. Especially her action against the Lyran woman. Though she will remember that cheap shot she left. Winter was wearing a black compressor top and black compressor shorts. She sighs heavily and tossed the suit across the room. "Thing is useless in a up front battle." Her eyes turned to the other. "So, let's play." She begun checking her shotgun.

"Like your style." Davrry gave a lopsided grin. He wandered over to Winter, and pulled out a box of parts, then led her over to the machining bench.

"So, you saw Nevarns piece in action right? He re-chambered it for these custom shells, big bore and packed with explosives, mono-wire and electronic chaff. He got the idea from some old human science fiction novel, which is just crazy."

He placed out replacement barrels, magazines, and actions, with the care a surgeon had for laying out tools before an operation.

"With that metal arm of yours, you can handle the recoil. And we can piece together some Power Armour for you from supplies, give you some more protection and strength. Unless you like strutting around in your underwear, which will be amazing for morale." He smiled slyly.

"Yeah but with that kind of fire power your weapon is practically begging to be destroyed after firing over fifty round. Unless he had a barrel and a trigger to handle that kind of ammo." She started to take her weapon apart piece by piece until it looked like it ready to be put back together.

"Theoretically it was just a novel. Some parts of the story is true though. But seeing the kid in action? I thought I never seen it happen." She laughed after he mentioned about her walking around in only her underwear. "Hey, eyes up here." She pointed at her two eyes. But what caught her on her mind was the metal arm. She looked at and gently touched the surface. "This arm can handle any recoil and I can reload faster than anyone else. Thing is...it's somehow connected to how I feel." She admitted. "Like if I panicked in a fire fight?" She flexed the metal fingers. "It will not act right." She looked over her shoulder and outside the armory. "But if I was pissed off...than the thing acts like war machine." Than she laughed again. "No pun intended."

"Well, I'll be careful not to piss you off then." Davrry smirked. "Me, I went for a more subtle approach." He tapped his chest "Lung" his right cheek "eye" and then he waggled his fingers. "And trigger finger. Anything to make me a better shot." He picked up the pieces of the shotgun and started to deftly reassemble them. "You're right about the barrel. He has to replace it after every 30 shots or so, and that's with significant reinforcement." He slotted the final pieces into place. "Perfect."

"Consider yourself lucky. I could have ended up in prison instead of where I am now." She examined the pieces before placing each new part. Replacing several pieces which appeared to had a little rust. Her hand raised up as he said 'Perfect.' She wiggled her finger with a "Nah huh." She looked and finds a stronger gauge mag-coil. She tossed the old one and puts the final piece in. "Now it's perfect." She smirked. "Don't worry. I won't tell." Then she winked. Putting the weapon back together in seconds. Winter pointed the barrel up while cooking the shotgun. She listens for the perfect sound to ring every time she reloaded and pulled the trigger. Then she aimed at the wall and repeated the same process over and over. "My drill instructor can kiss my ass on this one." Chuckled over the comment while placing the shotgun on the bench.

"Now." She stretched out her arms and back with a yawn. She looked for her gear pack and picked it quickly. "Where can a girl get a shower?" She asked while putting her hand on her hip and her head tilted.

"Decon shower block is just over yonder." Davrry had an amused smirk. "Stay frosty, Winter."

+++++

Once the old lizard heard the news. His head lowered, eyes looking down at the floor and sighs in disappointment. "They did more than that." He added as he walked away. Putting a few distance away from the others, his nose filled with something that was very familiar. He chuckled as he recognized the scent coming from a nearby bar.

Heavy steps made it's way towards the bar. He stopped at the end of the table and continued sniffing around. "Where is it?" He asked himself. "I know it's here." He started digging through the items that was on top, making a rather clanking noise as he pushed each bottle and cups around.

"I stopped keeping it up there. Just in case it fell and burned a hole in the deck" Sanders shouted over his shoulder from the kitchen area. "Give me a minute."

Sanders ambled over and vaulted the bar with a grunt. He ducked down and rolled back a section of deck grip surface, revealing a recessed safe. Punching in a quick combination, he opened it and pulled out a large, green bottle.

"Alixer, right? I was saving this to treat wounds, but hey, if you want it, its one less biohazard for me to track."

He thumped the heavy bottle onto the bar, and put a tumbler next to it. He reached back into the safe, and pulled out a bottle of bourbon whiskey, along with another tumbler.

"Not a good idea to drink alone. Or so I'm told."

Vez bursted out laughing once he had seen the man grabbed a bottle to join. "Dragonoids always welcome drinking company." He reaches for the green bottle and untwisted the cap. The cap fell on the table and the bottle was lifted with one hand. Vez had taken a big guzzle from the bottle. The sounds of gulping was loud and there was a slight hiss after each guzzle.

He slammed the bottle on the table and sighs with delight. With a slight groan. He shudders and laughed once more. "Alixers are the best drinks to have. Too bad you small beings can't enjoy this wonderful beverage. If ya did...I would be cleaning up your guts with a mop."

"Alixers can be used for many things believe it or not." He looked at the bottle once more. "One, it can be used as fuel." Then he chuckled again. "Well, we tried it once....best experience ever."

[Azazeal849]

“Fair point.” Sayori admitted, and excused herself from the small group towards the two figures Garrick had indicated. One was an angular Sentinax beta unit in a blue and grey humanoid chassis, the other a tall, tan-skinned Kel’Cyre with greying hair and beard. He was the only person who looked more or less exactly as Sayori remembered him.

“Heya doc.” she greeted him tiredly.

Behind her, the maintenance bot was speaking up. That was odd. Sayori had thought that those things weren’t usually self-aware enough to think beyond their immediate tasks.

“And you must be Cicero.” she said to the android accompanying Dr Kolvar. One Sentinax beta unit looked almost identical to any other, but he was the only body-mobile Sentinax in the room. “Sorry in advance for the hack job I did on your Elemental suit.”

Kolvar was drawn out of his musings when he heard her call out to him. “Ah Doctor Sayori good to see you. I am glad to see you have made it here safely. Can I help you with that IV?” He asked, readying another bandage.

“Yeah, thanks.” Sayori said, offering her arm to the Kel’Cyre. She rubbed at her eyebrows with her other hand, trying to massage away the dull pain that had clearly settled in for the long haul. “And about a hundred excedrin, if you’ve got any.”

"I'm afraid we are rationing our medication for the most dire of cases." Kromlyn said.

Sayori groaned melodramatically, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Today isn’t a good day.”

Kromlyn carefully removed the IV. Pulling it out caused a little pain, mostly just a light pinch. He was quick to press a bandage to the site to soak up any bleeding.

"If you could hold just here for a moment."

He gestured for Sayori to place her other hand over the bandage, then moved to get a piece of tape. Once it was in place he reached into his bag, pulling out a water bottle that looked like it had been refilled many times, though it was clean.

"This should help a bit. The slurry they gave you was enough to keep your nanobots going for the last two years, but isn't much for when you are out of hibernation. Drink it slowly.”

“Gotcha.” Sayori nodded, taking the bottle. This time she took the doctor’s advice, and resisted the instinct to gulp it all down at once. After a couple of sips she felt marginally better, although the pulsing headache remained.

“When you are done, wait about twenty minutes and if your stomach isn't queasy get something to eat."

Sayori slumped down onto a canteen table that had been pushed away against the wall, and perched her feet on one of the circular stools attached to it. She didn’t feel like eating any time soon. Two-year fast or not, her stomach was cramped and sour-feeling.

“We ran into a...thing.” she said, taking another sip and then letting the half-empty bottle hang from her fingers as she rested her forearms over her knees. “One of the Berserkers. Nevarn killed it, but...it had people’s heads stuck all over it…”

"Dreadful creatures." Kromlyn said, thinking of the few times he had seen them. First when he had woken up from hibernation and fled with the others, allowing the little military component with them to attempt to fight them. Then later when the soldiers had brought a few corpses to him. He had conducted an autopsy of the berserkers given to him but was no closer to figuring out what they were. He had treated a number of races in his time but the Berserkers were still a mystery to him. A strange mixture of organic and machine. The engineers hadn't had much more luck figuring them out. "I haven't been able to figure much out about them except they aren't fully organic."

Sayori took a deep breath and sighed it out, still picturing the collector and the leaping, blade-armed hunters. “Or they aren’t fully robotic.” What kind of madman created machines like those?

(It kills us to learn about us...and then it recycles us to make more of itself.)

Maybe they hadn’t been created like that. Maybe this was all emergent behaviour of the most monstrous kind. (It’s constantly learning.) If Gaea was right and it really had killed everything in this galaxy...well, that probably had to rate as the biggest engineering fuck-up of all time.

Fuck-up didn’t quite cover what had happened to the skulls studded into the collector’s underside.

“The anti-AI campaigners back home would be loving this.” Sayori dug the heel of her hand into her eyebrow again and rubbed hard. “You got anything better than the decon chamber by the door? I need to clear my head and I really, really want a shower.”

"There’s another one at the back with water sprays that they rigged up for privacy. The decontamination gels will get you clean if you don't mind smelling like antiseptic. I do have this though." Kromlyn said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a purple colored bottle. He handed it over to Sayori. "A modified version of the soap we've been using. Sanders has a small hydroponics bay going. I made it from the flowers of a Kacoui plant. The roots make an excellent coffee substitute but the flowers aren't edible. They do smell nice kinda though, like earth's lilac."


Sayori took the bottle, unscrewed the top and gave it an experimental sniff.

“Doc,” she said, “You’re a genuine life-saver.”

+ + + + +

After showering and climbing into a clean jumpsuit, Sayori felt considerably more normal. She even found herself, despite her earlier stomach pains, very much craving the food that Dr Kolvar had recommended. The kitchen at the far end of the canteen hall was still operating per its original function, judging by the smell of cooking oil, and so Sayori made it her first port of call. The large eight-hob cooker unit was being manned by a single cook; a ruddy-faced Caucasian man with thin limbs and a thick waist.

“You still serving?” Sayori asked, tapping the inside of the open door with her knuckles.

The cook looked back at her with a distinct lack of humour. “Open all night.” His voice had a rolling drawl from somewhere in the former American states’ central belt. “You’re one of the new cryo-jobs, right?”

Sayori nodded. “Sayori Warrick.”

The cook didn’t bother to return the introduction. “As the guys out front might have told you, supplies are running a little low. So for the moment, I got chicken, chicken or chicken.”

Sayori had to grin. “In that case I’ll have the chicken, please.”

The cook cuffed at his shiny forehead with one arm, flicked a switch beneath the integrated fryer unit, and tossed two marble-skinned chicken thighs into a bowl of flour that was flecked through with brown spices and black peppercorns. He dropped the coated chicken into the pressure fryer and pulled the lid closed with a snap, muffling the sound of bubbling oil.

“Just be a minute.”

When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to say anything else, Sayori asked: “When you say running low, how bad are we talking?”

"Basics really." The man squinted at Sayori. "We have rationed protein blocks to last the entire crew at launch ten years. Considering who's left, we could last a hundred years on that. But, we can't get to a lot of it. Some genius decided that the blocks, and the water tankage, would be best stored in bays facing vacuum. A lot of those got opened by the Berserkers on their way in. So if you want to restock the stitcher out back, we need to go on a space walk. And no-one's come back from one of those yet."

The pressure fryer began to beep. Sanders popped the lid to release curls of steam and a waft of cooking oil, and fished out the now crispy and golden chicken thighs with a pair of tongs. He dropped them into a paper cone and thrust them towards Sayori. “There you go, unless you got more questions to bug me with.”

Sayori took the cone and tried a second time for an introduction. “Thank you, mister…?”

This time, the cook caved. “Sanders.” he grunted. “Jake Sanders.”

Sayori looked at the cook, and then down at the fried chicken in her paper cone. “You’re joking.”

“Ha fucking ha.” the cook stated levelly. “I thought that line had worn itself out three months ago, but thankfully they hauled you out of cryo to keep it going. Turns out they didn’t have much use for a biochemist after the Berserkers trashed the labs. What’s your speciality?”

“Robotics.” Sayori answered, blowing on her chicken. “I’m with the Phayder team.”

Sanders grunted in disappointment. “They might still have a job for you then. Nevarn’s got a few of you corporate techies working on some drones over in the engineering section.”

“You managed to salvage some drones?”

“Yeah, Davrry’s team pulled them out of storage from one of the labs we had crawlspace access to. They’re trying to configure ’em with the same codes Cissy wrote for the remote sensors. Berserker’s can’t hack ’em, or so he boasts.”

Now that was interesting. Sayori decided to pay Nevarn a visit, and shifted her paper cone to her left hand so she could tip two fingers to her forehead in salute. “Thanks, colonel.”

Sanders returned the salute with a single finger as she withdrew from the kitchen. “Fuck you.”

Weaving through the manned science benches of the canteen, Sayori took a bite out of the still-hot chicken. The oily coating and the slightly sticky texture of the meat between her teeth was a contender for the best thing she had ever tasted. She would have to thank colonel Sanders properly when she got back. She had eaten the first thigh down to the bone by the time she had crossed through the adjoining storage bay - now full of crewmen crashed out on sweat-stained cots, that had probably been looted from the marine barracks - and was sucking the grease off her fingers as she entered the engineering section.

The survivors had converted the bay into some kind of prototyping and reverse-engineering lab. Workbenches were strewn with mechanical parts, some of them looking very much like the clawed weapon-limbs of the Berserkers Gaea and Davrry had killed. A hunter’s blank-masked head eyed her from the nearest bench, and dead or not it made Sayori look away.

A blocky fabricator unit stood against the wall, its programmer panel levered open as a Kel’Cyre tech fiddled with something inside. Next to the fabber were several Phayder androids - an ES-6, several ES-7s and an ES-7V - ranked up like silent statues while Nevarn and three other techs worked at opened chest units and tapped away at PDAs cable-linked to the backs of the drones’ necks. Nevarn had divested himself of his weapons and armour, and now the young Charabidian was working in grim silence.

Sayori put the rest of her chicken down on a convenient bench-corner, and wiped her hands on her jumpsuit.

“How can I help?”

Nevarn sniffed and spun, snapping out with surprising speed to grab a chunk of fried chicken and jam it in his mouth.

"Sowry." he mumbled.

“No problem.” Sayori said dryly, as the rest of her breakfast disappeared.

"Ow, hot." Nevarn licked his fingers. "You want to get on Sanders’ good side, by the way. He can cook other stuff on request, but you've got to really get in his good books. I pulled a blender out of C deck and for that I got something close to an actual steak.” He gulped the last of the chicken down. “Heavenly, thanks. Brushes with death are good for the appetite."

He stepped back for a second and looked Sayori up and down, and smiled.

"Where were we, help? Yeah, we could use it. We want to get Cicero's code working on the droids transmission units. Harden them against subversion. Once we've done that, we can use them for exploration, combat, and hauling stuff around, all at reduced risk to us. But every time I've tried to get the code working, it borks. Stack overflow errors, system crashes, the works."

He gestured to the workbench, loaded down with tools. "They're your machines. Feel like giving it a go?"

Sayori was happy to have any kind of work in front of her that was both practically useful and served to keep images of the fucking (faces) Berserkers out of her head. And, as Nevarn had pointed out, the ES series were very much her machines.

“Hell yes.” she affirmed.

[Enigma]

Iona found a quiet corner in what appeared to be the human's recharging chamber, out of the view of the others and sat down.

*Run Diagnostics/t Surrogate /L5*

Internal routines examined the surrogate module, looking minutely for the slightest sign of corruption.

*Diagnostics/t Surrogate /L5 complete, 0% issues.*

It had been isolated, but what about...?

*Run Diagnostics/t Self /L5*

While she'd been in her dream-state, she experienced it invading, the screaming of a thousand voices....

*Diagnostics/t Self /L5 complete, 0% issues.*

Had she been human, Iona reflected, this would probably be seen as a relief. As it was, she had to wonder if the diagnostic routines had missed something? Whatever the invader was, it had overwhelmed an Alpha.

And the current Prime was off-network. Even if it was a Beta.

The maintenance frame shivered and collapsed in on itself, reforming into a young blonde-haired girl wearing the same uniform she had when boarding.

Glancing around the chamber, she decided it was safe, and went back in where the other biologics were. Perhaps they'd be more forthcoming...?

[AngelDellaNotte]

She wrapped the bandage around her hand struggling a little putting it on with only one hand but finally she managed to get it. Still storming off she found a cleared out area not at all sure what it was for but it wasn't occupied and honestly she wasn't in the mood to be around anyone making small talk or thinking they knew her. Miranda was warm, she didn't know if it was because the excitement of getting here, an after affect of the slurry or if the temperature controls were off because of the attack. She unbuckled the top of her flight suit and zipped it down. Leaving her in a black tank top, she tied the arms around her waist to keep them out of the way and the suit from sliding off. Sitting down on the ground her mind was still on her sister thinking of when Quentin came to see her after getting arrested.

Miranda was sitting at a table in a small room. There wasn't much in there just a table and two chairs, one on each side. No decorations were in the room, no windows and only a single door. In the corners of the ceiling were cameras. The wall to her left was a mirror that covered the whole wall. Miranda wore a bright neon green jumpsuit and her hands were cuffed to the table. She had been sitting here for what she thought was about half an hour. Time was hard to tell because there were no clocks. In the last week she hadn't been let out of her cell often and only ever to come here. Investigators had been grilling her about the bombing but she didn't have any information to give them. Still they didn't seem to believe her.

The door to the room opened with a couple guards both of them Lyran, entered standing directly across from her each of them with their rifles slung across the front at the ready. It struck Miranda as odd. Even when they moved her around the guards were only armed with a sidearm and a stun gun. They didn't usually pack a long gun. A second later the reason for all the fire power entered the room. The two guards moved to the side their attention still on Miranda as Secretary General Quentin Sinclair walked in stopping before Miranda.

She still wore her coat having come straight from the transport ship to the cell not really wasting any time on her way to her main task. “Guards you can wait outside.” Quentin said, taking her coat off draping it over the back of the empty chair. It was winter in the capital city though that wasn't usual, ten months out of thirteen on Lyre was spent in winter.

“Madam Secretary I must advise against it.” The guard said. Since being brought here Miranda had been kept in solitary after she got into a number of fights in the yard. No one bothered to find out the reasons for the fights as many didn't like Miranda whether it was because of family, beliefs or her mouth it didn't matter.

“I don't believe I am in any danger.” Quentin said, looking to the guards her eyes showing it wasn't up for debate. Reluctantly the guards exited the room. She sat down across from Miranda looking at her for a moment before reaching up to her left shoulder and rubbing it. The cold weather bothered her shoulder, where several years ago she had been shot by Franklin Pierce. There had been many who didn't believe she would survive the attack but thanks to Kel'cyre medicine she had. The wound was one reason she didn't spend much time on Lyre anymore the cold causing the pain. Though the main reason was her duties as Secretary General. She didn't speak for a while only staring at Miranda. “You really stepped in it this time.” Quentin finally said.

“Really? I hadn't noticed. I was just thinking that the Clarke's looked good in prison green. Makes me wonder if a Sinclair would look as good.” Miranda said, thinking of their brother Cedric who had spent the last ten years sitting in a concert prison. “Think they would be open housing us in the same prison? We could have a little family reunion.”

Quentin frowned at the thought of her brother. Cedric had done unspeakable things during the war but he still was her brother. It had taken everything she could to keep him from being executed for his crimes.“This is serious Miranda, fourteen people died in the attack.” Quentin said, frustrated at how Miranda could be sitting here cracking jokes. “Fourteen people...”

“People? No fourteen beasts died in the attack. There are far to many of them running around our homelands anyway.” Miranda said, the bigotry dripping from her words. “Public service if you ask me.”

Anger flared in Quentin and before she even realized it she had reached out and backhanded Miranda splitting her lip open. Miranda's head was forced to the side giving Quentin a clear view of the tattoo on her neck. She shook her head at the sight of it. During the war and in the years after she had gotten to know many Charabidian and respect them. The Lyre First Movement was misguided, it let old hatred and fear twist the minds of too many. It hurt that Miranda had fallen in with them though with their stepfather it wasn't hard to believe. “I won't warn you again to watch your mouth.”

“Oh was that what you are doing? Warning me? And here I thought the Concert frowned on beating prisoners. But don't worry I won't tell on you. If anyone asks I'll say I fell.” Miranda said, spitting on the floor some of the blood from her lip hitting Quentin's freshly shined shoes. “We are family after all.”

“Enough of this Miranda, as much as we both know you are a pain in the ass you don't belong here.” Quentin said, looking down at her shoes and ignoring the blood. She looked back at Miranda regretting that she had hit her. Miranda had still been a child during the war and didn't know how bad it had been. She had been shaped by Victor's bitterness and bleak views. She only hoped it wasn't too late for Miranda to turn her life around. “Why won't you work with the investigators? Tell them what they want to know.”

“You want me to lie?” Miranda said. “I mean it when I say I know nothing. I am being hung out to dry simply because of my beliefs.”

“No, I don't want you to lie but drop the attitude it might help them to believe you.” Quentin said, though it didn't really matter if she agreed to work with investigators or not, a deal had already been made. Once again Quentin had bailed Miranda out though it would go much smoother if Miranda spoke to the investigators without insulting them. They had been comprised of three Lyrans a Kel'cyre and a Charabidian. Miranda hadn't treated any of them well and they were ready to charge her along with those who had actually been connected to the bombing. “Here is the thing Miranda. You have been assigned Concert Exploration Ark. You will met with the investigators and answer all their questions without the snark. The mission is still several months away, in the meantime you will be transferred to the mission headquarters where you will be kept in custody and you will not cause any problems. Am I understood?”

“Oh I will now?” Miranda growled, she never liked people telling her what to do, especially Quentin. “What makes you so sure of that?”

“Because if you don't there is nothing else I can do for you.” Quentin said, shaking her head hoping Miranda didn't fight her on this because it was the truth. If Miranda didn't take this deal she would go down with the terrorists and the Charabidians were seeking the death penalty. This deal was the best she could do. Quentin was out of favors and wouldn't be able to save Miranda. “Miranda, please just this once don't push this.”

“You've finally found a way to get rid of me and keep your hands clean.” Miranda said, knowing it was her only option.

After a while of sitting there Miranda finally stood up the heat still in her but it wasn't the only thing, she felt wound up. This mission was screwed beyond belief, it frustrated her that she was only one here who actually didn't want to be here in the first place. Surely once the shit hit the fan everyone felt that way but she had from the start. Miranda closed her eyes breathing deeply as removed the holo-glasses dropping them in a pocket. Her left hand went to her sword. In a quick movement she drew it and began spinning it around. Her eyes were still closed and her movements fast as she began twirling just as fast as the sword was. She moved to a music in her head and finally found herself chanting in an old forgotten language. She didn't speak it and honestly didn't know what it meant. The movements she did were a dance that her sword master had taught her to learn control of her weapon. The words used to keep pace with the dance. While learning it she had cut herself many times the sword master not allowing her to practice with a wooden sword, saying she would never learn to respect her weapon if she trained with a toy. She had been six when she first began training.

Her chanting grew faster as did her spinning and flipping of the sword as she tossed it from hand to hand. She reached the part in the dance where traditionally she would have a second sword but since she didn't have an extra she unhooked her scabbard in a fluid motion and used it as the second blade. When she had been young she hated doing these dances thinking that she much rather be sparring but over the years it had become relaxing to her and helped to center her. By the time she was done she was breathing hard and covered in a layer of sweat. She slid her sword back into the scabbard and hooked it back on her belt noticing that the dance had caused the bandage from the IV to come off and her hand was bleeding again but it didn't look that bad, she merely stood there staring at the blood as it clotted on her hand.

[Enigma]

Glancing around the chamber, she decided it was safe, and went back in where the other biologics were. Perhaps they'd be more forthcoming...?


"Well, aren't you a delight."


Iona turned to face Garrick, who was watching her intently, like a specimen. Not with malice, but with curiosity.


"I'd heard rumours, of course, that the Sentinax had beaten out the Terrans in JIT manufacturing. But being able to replicate a biological facade, on the fly, from just the materials around you and what you carry on your chassis? Remarkable.


He gestured to a chair next to him.


"Please sit. Iona, right? I'd love to chat. Any questions, anything I can help with, please ask. I'm so glad you survived. You and Warrick. . . between the two of you, we might stand a chance."


Iona tilted her head slightly, considering him.

"I pulled nothing from this room," she said, crossing over to the offered seat and sitting down. "In many ways, I am like the ship we are in. While I can change my shape and appearance, some of my internal volume is void or empty space. My prior form was to prevent confusion while I was in the charging chamber. This form is just more condensed. I can also shift some of my excess mass to my Surrogate module."

"This form allows me to mimic biologic forms, to project not only the appearance, but sensation so that I feel as the form I mimic should, smell as it should, even taste as it should," she said, raising a hand. At least to dull human senses, she diplomatically left out. Being able to broadcast sensation had other advantages, even if it was limited largely to touch.

"Hekatonkles has been consumed by this invader," Iona stated, looking down at the floor. "Cicero has become the new Prime. However, I am under instruction not to use my network, so there has been no contact between us. I find this... disturbing."

"You are able to keep the invader out," she added, looking up directly at Garrick. "I find it curious you have not expanded this outward, to drive the invader back?"

[MidKnight]

On the Dragonoid home world. Multiple ships orbited around the planet as it's defenses. Hundreds of shuttles flying from the planet to the ships and returned with cargo. On the surface of the planet in a large city. Thousands of Dragonoids roamed the streets. Shopping for armor, materials, weapons and heavily modifications. And others examined the meat that was on display. Hunters had to kill their new prey. A large beast that roamed the lands. There was no shortage on these beasts due to not finding the source location.

In the middle of the city was the largest building. The leader of the Dragonoids. Who serving term was not part of their culture like the Terrans or Lyrans. Their position was permanent unless challenged by another. Tharos however was never challenged after taking down Verath who wanted to destroy the Concert forces who stood on their last leg. Since his ruling, many respected Tharos and stood by his decisions ever since. Some frowned upon when he abandoned many traditions to get where they needed to be. Dangerous.

He stood by his desk looking out a large window bigger than him. He watched as the city progression of rebuilding. He chuckled as he could see young children flying in the sky and chased each other. It was quiet in his office. Until the doors hissed open and an old Dragonoid walked in. The elder kneels in the middle of the room with his head bowed. "Tharos..." The voice filled the room, "It...it is an honor to meet you."

Tharos finally turned around with his hands behind his back. Looking at the old Dragonoid kneeling on the floor. "No." He said walking over to the elder. His hand displayed for him to stand on his feet. "The honor is mine." Tharos kneels down and lowered his head. "Many had forgotten about how to treat our elders. Especially those who served as Chiefs for a long period of time." He looked up with a smile on his scaly lips.

"Haha! Indeed." Vezarres admitted.

Standing back on his feet he gestured towards a chair by his desk. "Drink?" He asked, picking up a green bottle and cup next to it.

"Please." Vezarres said gladly.

Tharos poured two cups of Alixar and set one by Vezarres whom takes the cup and drinks in one shot. Tharos poured him another. "I always wondered who is the oldest among our people and so far you are the only one who is." Tharos finally sits in his own chair. "I am glad to have this moment." The two chuckled softly.

Vezarres tapped on his glass cup with his talon and sighs softly. "Age is just a number." He looked at the liquid and sees his reflection. "I could have remained Chief among my clan, but I figured why not follow someone who is new to this age. Someone who can lead us far better than I." His eyes looked up to Tharos. "Sure my strength is almost gone, but I still got it in my blood."

The Clan Leader chuckled. "Good." He lifted the cup and drinks it in one shot and sighs heavily. "I figured you got one more adventure in you...despite your conditions I think I can have someone see pass that."

He raised an eyebrow and looked at Tharos with a curious look. "One more adventure?" He asked as he leans forward.

Tharos slowly nodded. "I have been asked to donate a large number of Dragonoids to serve as..." His face grew a little disgusted. "Marines." He leans up and scratched his neck. "The other leaders had said they are being used as security on their new expedition."

"I heard something about that." Vezarres looked at his glass cup again. "Something about finding a new world and means new aliens and such."

"Or a new home for the Dragonoids." Tharos cut in. "Since we are deploying a large number. I have enough Dragonoids to repopulate a empty world and claim it as ours." He refilled his cup and sets the bottle close. "I figured the Concert owes us since using my people as a brute force." He smiled.

"But why informing me about this?" Vezarres was curious about Tharos small statement about sending young warriors across the galaxy to repopulate. Something about that was odd since Vezarres couldn't reproduce himself due to his age and his children already grown and died on their own terms, save one.

"I want to add you on the expedition roster." Tharos admitted. "Many of the recruits are young and barely have the experience for a real fight. Unlike the battle over on the Lyran home world." He looked across the room and sees the sword sitting in a glass container as a display. "It would be wise to send a more experience soldiers, but I need them here." His gaze turned back to Vezarres. "And many young Dragonoids are now looking up to their elders for both wisdom and inspiration. If they see you on that ship...many will look up to you and you will feel as a Chief once more." He placed his arms on the desk and holds in his hands together. "What say you?"

Vezarres looked at the glass and took his time to think while listening to the empty room. His memories flowed through him of his time as a Chief and hears the roars and voices of his clan speaking to him. He looked up to the leader with a smile and raised his cup to him. "I'll do it...for the Dragonoids!"

"For our future." Tharos lifted up cup and clashed with Vez's. Some of the liquid spilled on the desk and the acid burns through. The two laughed as they see the smoke.

Vez looked around the bar and sighs heavily. "Though I wish I could see the warriors that are here." He admitted. Turning his worried expression to the bartender. "I heard many of the Dragonoids had vanished, but fought bravely again'st the demons. They did more than anyone could have ever done."

+++++

Once she was pointed in the right direction. Winter chuckled at Davrry's last statement. "Your not the first to say that." She walked past the soldier and walked out of the armory with her shotgun in her metal hand and the bag in the other. She didn't care to what the others would think of her about how she dressed to the nearest showers.

She could feel yet both cold and heat coming from the showers. Though she stopped curiously at the sounds of scurry feet moving. She looked around and noticed the Lyre woman dancing with the sword in her hand. She only frowned on the woman as she watched her.

She watched for a moment until she stopped and noticed about the blood on her hand. She scoffed and walked away. "Idiot." She muttered. Looking inside the shower room and stepped inside. She could feel the cold floor on her feet. Her skin felt the chill as she entered.

Winter was used to these kind of conditions since living on the streets and in foster home cares. Her blanket was donated by some family who didn't want it anymore. At first it smelled funny, but after washing it with her bare hands and a hand soap the odor was no longer recognizable. Many of the things she got was all hand me downs. Nothing new unless it was Christmas. Sometimes there would be charities and large donations.

She learned to steal once she got older. She would steal and sell them on the streets, pawn shops or dealers who would want it. She was pretty good at breaking down doors when nobody was home.

Her hand searches in the dark for a switch to turn on the lights. The room lit up brightly and there were many stalls to use. But most of it looked hand made. Winter set her bag on a bench nearby. Taking off the rest of her garments to cleanse herself better.

Taking her time to one of the stalls and pulled the curtain to conceal her body. She flipped the handle and water came pouring out. A cold pour. She gasped at first at the touch of cold water splashing on her body. Shivering for a moment until the water started to become a little warmer. She sighs heavily at the delicate water dripping from her wet hair.

But than she felt her stomach grumble. Her hands covered her belly. But her throat felt an urge and soon her mouth opened with a liquid vomiting out the ooze she had drank from earlier. A delay perhaps. The oozy vomit splashed on the ground and the shower washed it down to the drain. "Better out than in I guess." Winter said catching her breath from the sudden vomit.

[dakkagor]

"Hekatonkles has been consumed by this invader," Iona stated, looking down at the floor. "Cicero has become the new Prime. However, I am under instruction not to use my network, so there has been no contact between us. I find this... disturbing."

"You are able to keep the invader out," she added, looking up directly at Garrick. "I find it curious you have not expanded this outward, to drive the invader back?"

"That's right." Garrick nodded. "Cicero is the defacto leader for the Sentinax for now, atleast until we can get access to Julian again. The network. . .its a safety thing. We just can't risk losing more people. As for this safe space. . ." Garrick chuckled. "We're here more by luck than design. Expansion would draw more attention to ourselves. We've been hiding, not fighting, remember?"

+++++

Vez looked around the bar and sighs heavily. "Though I wish I could see the warriors that are here." He admitted. Turning his worried expression to the bartender. "I heard many of the Dragonoids had vanished, but fought bravely against the demons. They did more than anyone could have ever done."

"Demons." Sanders frowned. "Odd choice of words. Apt, maybe. As for your boys. . .I didn't see them fight. Glad of that, in all honesty. But I'll drink to their memory, because without them we'd all be dead for sure."

+++++ Mission Clock +1201 +++++

"Remember, we've lived this long by hiding, not fighting. So don't go picking a fight we can't win." Garrick looked over the assembled team. Gaea and Davrry, both in their familiar battle armours, stood nearby. Gaea's suit had been repaired, again, and looked more functional than before. But not by much.

"Your goal is the bridge. Its deeper into the ship than anything else except the reactors, and behind thick armour. The only way in, without using the main access way, is either following the data trunk that connects the bridge to the rest of the ship, or the main power feed. Both pierce the armour layer and have jefferies tubes big enough for all of you. Just."

Gaea chimed in. "We'll be using the data trunk. It will give us a chance to place monitoring and bypass systems in the trunk, which will help us suborn more systems back from the Berserker, especially sensors, navigation and propulsion."

"And we'll be using the main access to exfiltrate." Garrick continued. "Because, with the help of the Phayder drones, we'll be setting a distraction at the main power feed. The Beserkers have previously repaired damaged power systems, so we plan on using a few drones to slag the power feed on the way out, and that should draw in the locals long enough for you to make good your escape. We're also hoping that if the drones hide and shutdown, we might be able to recover them later. But if not, I'd rather lose a pair of phayder drones than a person."

"Once we get to the bridge." Gaea stepped in again. "We'll have three main objectives. One, to get a static copy of Julian from the main AI core. Two, get a full rundown on the ships current status. Three, salvage whatever we can."

"Three is always a given, around here, by the way." Davrry piped up. "You want to keep eatin' and a breathin', you learn to scav whatever is useful, light, and valuable. Fungible circuit blocks, power sources, modular components, E-rations, and guns."

"Once you make it back here, we can assess our next step. But without an update on the ships status, and the overrides that Julian has, we are stuck." Garrick looked over the survivors, freshly equipped with body armour, actual weapons, and as many tools and pieces of equipment they could carry.

"Any questions?"

[Azazeal849]

The robotics lab was a monument to invention and organised chaos. Two ES-7 androids, all tube-like cybermesh bundles and curved carbide over-plating, stood to attention on either side of a work bench that held a glass water jug, a mug, and a liberal collection of coffee-cup rings. Every other surface in the lab was occupied. Phayder-branded laptops balanced precariously alongside mechanical parts and sheaves of scribbled notes, and chargers and telemetry cables spaghettied across the floor. The lab smelled of pneumatic fluid and very strong coffee. Dr Sayori Warrick embodied the same spirit as her workspace, her voice high and excited as she talked at her colleague in machine-gun bursts.

"So most interfaces are console," she explained as she flitted between the two statue-like drones, unplugging feeds and closing access ports."Or haptic mo-cap. But those can only move as fast as your hands. This one is as fast as your mind. And your mind is 50%..." she suddenly snapped her fingers in her colleague's face, causing the other woman to flinch backward. Sayori grinned. "Instinct. When you tie your shoes, you don’t think about it - it’s subconscious. It's muscle memory. You could be thinking about something completely different...and that’s where this comes in."

She brushed her wispy fringe back behind her ear, and tapped a tiny silver stud that she had attached to her temple. The interface disc lit up at the touch, blinking a ring of blue LEDs. Sayori tugged on a pair of tactile gloves laced through with heat ad pressure transmitters, and picked up a small bushed-metal remote.

"I’ve been uploading my brain signals to them for a week. I just set one going and then switch over, which means..." The tip of her tongue found its way to her top lip as she clicked a button with her thumb, and a halo of LEDs lit up on the blank faceplate of one of the drones, matching Sayori's own interface disc. The drone's left hand reached forward with a soft humming noise. The fingers of Sayori's own left hand twitched just slightly, and the drone closed its hand around the water jug, lifting it up. Her face still scrunched in concentration, Sayori clicked a second button on the remote and the second drone lit up, scooping up the empty mug. She cursed under her breath as the first drone tipped the jug and a little water splashed down the side of the mug onto the table, until the second drone corrected its hold slightly. She clicked again as the ceramic mug filled, and the first drone brought the jug back to the vertical.

"Agh, that's what I get for trying it without a visual link." she chastised herself as she tapped the disc at her temple. The blue LEDs faded, and the two androids lapsed into stillness once more. Sayori turned to her colleague, dark eyes shining with excitement. "But you get the point. You can sleeve one drone full-time with incredible precision, or you could use the muscle memory system to do the work of two people at once! I’m still only comfortable with one for now, but if you trained someone up there’s no reason you couldn’t have them pilot two, three, four of these - especially if they were working on the same task."

Sayori's enthusiasm was infectious. "You got it working?" her colleague grinned.

"I did. But you’ll never guess the real dae-bak. I came across some really cool emergent behaviour; watch this."

Sayori tapped her interface stud again, and the first drone lit up in tandem. And then it executed what could only be described as a flinch, hunching its shoulders and drawing in its smooth head in a violent start that set water sloshing up the sides of the jug it was still gripping.

"See that?" Sayori asked triumphantly. "It flinched."

"Uh...yeah?" her colleague replied, her own enthusiasm cooling slightly out of confusion. "Why'd it do that?"

"Because I was thinking about something embarrassing. I didn’t think of any movement, just a memory. The receiver chip applied the closest match it could find. So it doesn’t just translate muscle memory - it can translate emotions too! Isn’t that fucking cool?"

Her colleague chewed on it for a moment. "It's pretty wild." she allowed. "But what's the point of that? Won't that just mess with the operators control?"

"Yeah, course." Sayori said, gesticulating with her hands even as she peeled off the interface gloves. "I'm going to debug it out of the drones before we meet the Elcano reps, and code a new implant from scratch. But like, if you could find some way to put that receiver chip in a human, I could think any thought and they would instantly know exactly how I was feeling."

"I'm not sure if I'd want everyone knowing that." her colleague joked. "So what, you're talking about techno-telepathy?"

"Why not?" Sayori grinned. "We've had function-perfect prosthetic limbs and artificial organs for decades now. It's about time someone started on the human brain. The Sentinax are so far ahead of us with cognitive integration it's ridiculous."

"Yeah," her colleague countered, "But the Sentinax are computer programs. And not the nicest computer programs either."

Sayori shrugged. "So they have a head start. But aren't you embarrassed by how limited we are? No way do I want to die a baseline human."

+ + + + +

It was the vibration against her wrist that woke her. The alarm she had set sent her palmtop PDA buzzing, nudging her arm insistently as it rattled against the workbench. Sayori groaned her way back to consciousness, feeling a painful dryness in her mouth and a dull, non-specific ache in her spine. It was still much better than when she had woken up in her cryo pod the day before. She cuffed an embarrassing slug-trail of drool from the edge of her mouth, and knuckled her eyes back into focus.

The lights in the engineering bay were still on, casting a dimmed white glow over Nevarn's PDA and the cable-splitter snaking out of it and into the neck sockets of the last droid kneeling in front of the work station. The last thing Sayori remembered was closing down the PDA and slumping her head into her arms as she finished uploading the last of the haptic codes. That was when she remembered that the interface disc was still stuck to her head, and she peeled it off before dropping it onto the table with a click.

With Cicero's help, they had eventually succeeded in getting the Setinax's (theoretically) uncrackable command link working, and Sayori had offered to stay up and re-synchronise with the drones - to make operating them easier before they activated Cicero's code and locked the androids' software against any external changes. Trying to re-map in a day what she could have taken a leisurely week over back in the lab. Sayori exhaled a dry laugh. Two years lying dead in the cryo bay, doing sweet fuck all, and now there was everything to do and scarcely any time. Scale One.

Sayori almost preferred the hectic schedule. Having a practical problem in front of her to solve kept her focused and made her feel useful; like she had a modicum of control in their new, hellish reality. Three hours of snatched sleep and a sore back seemed like a fair enough trade in the short term. (Even if there was a bed in the next room, you idiot.) Feeling her tongue peel like velcro across the inside of her mouth, she reached for the water mug that had been at her elbow, and ("Ah, fuck.") put it back down when she remembered that she had drank it all before falling asleep. Scraping her chair back across the floor, she paused to rub some feeling back into her limbs before traipsing through to the galley where Colonel Sanders was serving up breakfast.

Before long, Garrick had called them all together.

"Any questions?"

Sayori mhmm'd. The plan was light on detail, and that always made her nervous - even though she knew there was a lot about their route that couldn't easily be predicted. Never mind the Berserkers.

"You said the bridge is heavily armoured." she said, focusing on something that her fellow scientist could reasonably answer. "Like, thick enough to interfere with the drones' signal? Or would we still be able to link to them from outside?"