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Thread: [M] The Andromeda Federation (IC)

  1. #21
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    The survivor’s eyes fluttered open and blinked at Tink, red-in-amber. The movement was sluggish, like someone just waking up...or like someone who was in imminent danger from lack of oxygen and warmth. It was risky making assumptions about unfamiliar species but Pedro was willing to bet that much.

    "What species?" Sirc demanded over the radio. "Diagnostics run faster if I can key it in."

    Pedro exchanged a glance with Tink, a brief flicker of blank shrugs and shaken heads. “None that I’m familiar with, Sirc. Falcor, are you getting a visual feed?” Maybe one of his crewmates back on the ship would have a better idea.

    “[CONCERN].” Zya’s voice sounded, serious despite its high pitch. “Are they capable of movement and geared for void travel? If not, relay the co-ordinates and I can come over with a spacer’s stretcher whilst you two continue to search for survivors.

    Pedro placed his tongue in his cheek, looking again at the gas monitor on his arm. They had already opened the outer doors once, and the air left was mountain-top thin. Luckily Tink had thought one step ahead and brought along a spare exo-suit. It was sized poorly for the small alien, though they didn’t seem to have much of an alternative.

    “We've got a spare suit.” he counteroffered. “We’ll float them back over to you.”

    If we can get them into it.

    He pulled his way along the wall and floated down to Tink and the alien, gently shaking its shoulder to get its attention, and then trying to make himself understood with gesture, tapping the suit strapped to Tink’s back.

    “I know you probably can’t understand me, but we need to put you in this suit to get you somewhere safe. Is that okay?”
    Last edited by Azazeal849; 02-05-2021 at 01:07 PM.
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  2. #22
    Wolf of the Highlands
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    She opened her eyes again at the shake and the voice-directed at her.
    She couldn't understand what they were trying to say, but they did sound concerned as they pulled out a suit that looked a little like their own.

    "help" she thought, and directed it to the two strangers along with a small feeling of comfort at their presence. She didn't think they'd understand since she couldn't understand them.

    She stretched a little and tried to loosen up as she closed her still heavy eyes before looking over at the oxygen tank. The gauge was getting rather low and she figured that some of the air was getting a bit stale. That might be the reason she felt a little light-headed right now.

    It was a chore to keep her eyes open. She just wished she had 5 more minutes.
    The one who will save you, the one who will stick by you, the one that will never back down,
    or maybe the one that finally brings you to your knees and makes you realize what kind of person you are.
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  3. #23
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    The juxtaposition of the seriousness of the situation and the pitch of the captain's voiced concern forced an involuntary laugh out of the mechanic, who quickly made an effort to stifle it. Turning her back and unfastening the suit, she started shrugging it off of shoulders still twitching faintly with amusement. When she turned again to see the stranger's unusual eyes staring at them groggily, her face quieted.

    When heavy eyelids began to droop over those strange eyes again, Tink waved Pedro towards the legs and feet of the survivor. No use waiting for a response when the alternative was suffocation. Moving around behind for a moment, she pursed her lips at the tail. That might have been trouble, but with a little adjusting the suit that could host a much larger being did well enough. Carefully she tucked the curious tail against one of the drifter's legs so that they could begin the very complicated process of wedging a semi-conscious alien into a human-formed exosuit. Blessedly the manufactured legs were more flexible than jointed, but it was still clear that it was an ill fit. When they had finally managed to suit out the survivor, Pedro secured the respirator before Tink followed it by sealing the mask.

    Busying herself with checking the tank while Pedro glanced over the readout on the exosuit's arm display, she rose to peer over the alien's shoulder and gave an all good gesture. It was far from ideal, but it was better than a deoxygenated tomb of a room aboard a derelict star vessel.

    Spoiler: Completely Unsolicited, Contextual Praise Definitely not Acquired via Torture 

  4. #24
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    "I'm going to need samples," Sirc ordered, her tongue flickering out of her mouth rapidly in irritation as she keyed in the Emergency Unknown diagnostic protocols into the Autodoc. "Atmosphere, food, drink, and any waste you can find."

    Assuming, of course, there was any to find. Some cultures held on and treated it, others pumped it off. But if they could find it, it would let her know what sort of diet the being had. Combine that with a very thorough exam, and they should be able to approximate or even synthesis the right food for them.
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  5. #25
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    “I’m going to need samples.” Sirc said. “Atmosphere, food, drink, and any waste you can find.”

    “Shotgun not waste.” Pedro said quickly, side-eyeing Tink with a briefly flickered smile. He paused to tap the keys of the omni on his forearm. “I’m sending you the atmo analysis now, Sirc. Once the survivor’s safely suited-up we’ll get looking for the rest. If you need food and microbe samples we could use Ayo over here, once she’s set everything up for you in the med-tech.”

    He turned back to the alien just in time to see them open their red-irised eyes for a second time. A strange sensation twined its way through Pedro’s head as they did so. It was an instinctual sense of need, of help. He blinked as it set sparks dancing in front of his eyes.

    The alien said something.

    Pedro blinked again, pulling back slightly so that he almost drifted away into the wall. He glanced at Tink.

    “Did you hear that?”

    Tink looked round curiously from the exo-suit she was preparing, her eyebrows knitted.

    Pedro shook his head. “Uh...nevermind.”

    Perhaps he had just instinctively read the alien’s emotion from its eyes. Or he had projected it - which was a risky business when even within species there might be several body-language codes for the same sentiment, or a common gesture could mean different things depending on where you grew up.

    “I’m going to take your mask off now, okay?” he told the alien, miming the procedure to them as Tink coaxed their legs and tail into the lower half of the suit. “We need to get your top half on. The air’s thin but it’ll only take a minute.”

    The alien didn’t give any sign of refusal or panic, so he slowly reached out and removed their respirator, fumbling for a few seconds with the weird alien clasp design. The face underneath was vaguely canine, with a protruding muzzle and a small, splayed nose. He still didn’t recognise the species, though maybe Sirc - or captain Zya, with their encyclopedic memory engrams - could identify something from the video feed.

    A minute later and the two humans had screwed on the suit’s upper torso with its integrated helmet, and activated the auto-homer. The alien was too small for the suit, their limbs too short to operate the gloves properly, but that wouldn’t matter - the suit’s programming would jet it safely back to the Falcor’s spinal airlock, where Sirc and Zya could unsuit the alien and take it straight to the med-tech module.

    “Coming your way now.” he radioed as he and Tink guided the exo-suited alien to the bulkhead, the last of the compartment’s atmosphere sighing out into space as they opened the hatch for a second time. The suit bobbed out through the portal, impact sensors sweeping the debris-strewn space beyond, and then jetted forward on bursts of mist from its backpack. Pedro watched carefully as it boosted and corrected, until he was satisfied that it was safely on its way to the cargo ship hovering out amid the starfield. As the auto-piloted suit receded into the distance, another silvery speck detached from the belly of the Falcor and started making its way towards them.

    “Okay Falcor, we’ve got visual on Ayo, she’s on her way over now.”

    Pedro reached up to his helmet torch and tapped it on and off a few times to give Ayo something to home in on as she jetted across. He held out a gloved hand to help the botanist in her bulky suit through the door.

    “Easy easy.” he croaked in Zalmade before switching back to the crew’s universal Trade. “Okay Falcor, we’re going to close the door again in case there’s any more sections further in that still have pressure. Let us know if our signals start to wobble.”

    He used the zero-G handholds that lined the walls to pull himself carefully round, watching as the torch-beams of his companions scissored and crossed over dim metal and derelict control panels. No power, one survivor, no sign of what killed the ship.

    He exhaled raggedly, his imagination running away from him as he wondered what else they might find on the doomed vessel.

    “Alright ladies.” he said to Tink and Ayo, trying to keep his tone light and steady. “This is your speciality. Samples of everything, power if we can get it running, and if anyone else is still alive in here let’s find them and get them off safe.”
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  6. #26
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    Experiment 019 did little as she was put into the suit.
    She held her breath as the mask was removed until she was sure the suit was secure and started to breathe normally.
    She was so tired... her body was still waking up.

    She didn't struggle or move much at all as the suit did all the work as her eyes tried to close.
    She saw another ship of interesting design coming closer and she was almost to it when she went back to sleep.
    The one who will save you, the one who will stick by you, the one that will never back down,
    or maybe the one that finally brings you to your knees and makes you realize what kind of person you are.
    Wastelander

    Spoiler: I'm an Ajin! 

    Spoiler: extra 

  7. #27
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    Ayo could hear over the intercoms that they needed more help. There was a survivor, which mean there could be others. The side of the ship also told a story, although one she wasn't sure she wanted to stick around for. But she still found herself suiting up and leaving the comfort of their ship. If Pedor and Tink could do this, then so could she.

    Before she knew it she was leaving the hatch out into the expanse of space. The free floating feeling had her become giddy as she was excited to explore the wreckage. Not to mention help gather samples and learn about new life forms, some which she hoped were plant based. It would be nice to see how this ship fed its occupants compared to the algae system she had set up. Ayo's suit had her two blaster pistols in case for the needof defense. Small various sized terropods were also attached to her for collecting samples.

    Her heart fluttered as she used her jet pack to make her way over to the wrecked ship. Seeing Pedro's signal she went towards the light. She easily grabbed his hand and said thank you in her natural amphibious language. It still amazed her that someone not of her species could communicate in her tongue, it was not easy to learn.

    As she finally had her bearings and took a deep breath, she gave a nod within her suit. It gently sprayed a warm mist upon her skin to keep her from drying out and losing body heat. Space was cold and she would not survive if her body temperature fell.

    "I do not mind going off on my own. I want to check out their food supply and how they may have incorporated plants or algae to sustain life aboard the ship. I will be sure to communicate over the intercom if I run into a problem. Or would you prefer to stick together?' She waited for a response. Ayo was use to being on her own, but she did not want to appear to abadon her ship mates if they wanted to explore together. The process would be slower for sure, but she would learn to be patient.

  8. #28
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    "Uh, is anyone standing by an airlock for the survivor?" Sirc demanded, looking away from her console.

    This ship needs a proper queen, she sighed, shaking her scaly head, grabbing a portable med scanner from the charging rack and left the sick bay.

    Why didn't one of them escort the patient to make sure they got in? she wondered. So it's an unknown ship? It's not like it wasn't going to be there after they delivered the patient!

    Or would it it be?

    One heard stories of ghost ships. The Queen, bless her, would listen to these stories gravely, giving even the most disreputable alien aid or payment, depending on their skills at storytelling or the weight of the information they provided. Coordinates were particularly welcome and well-paid for. More than she thought they might be.

    Coordinates usually rated a visit. Sometimes they found wreckage.

    In some of the stories, the ghost ships would appear, and crew would venture over - only for the ship to vanish, taking the crew with it, swallowed up by the Darkness. What if this was one such being, a visitor to a ghost ship who got separated from his crew? Would their rescue cost them three others?

    Surely such would not happen now! Sirc scolded herself. This was a rescue mission, not a ghost ship!

    One of the equipment lockers would have her suit, while the other would have the float litter and other emergency supplies. Assuming they were there as they should be...? She did not relish the thought of dragging a survivor to her sickbay.
    Spoiler: ¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤ √Ăłł Єѵïł ¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤ 

  9. #29
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    Mid-daydream about new, alien snack foods and a sketchy plan on how to improve the helicon couplers within their propulsion systems the next time they docked, Tink mimicked Pedro's words about five seconds too slowly. Giving a good natured scowl, she rued her internal distractions and the hunt for waste that was their consequence. With a good-natured grumble at his smirk, she smirked in kind and added a new prank to her shipboard to-do list. He was clever enough to catch many of her practical jokes before they hit their mark, but that only served to make it particularly satisfying when she managed to slip one past him.

    Rising and looking around cagily at Pedro's question, Tink studied the whole room around them before furrowing her brows at the pilot. She was well-used to situations where time prevented cave-ins, flooding, or worse. Her pulse slowed a little and she teased him as he dismissed his question and floated back towards the survivor again, "Senility?"

    To be fair, Tink's mind was such a whorl near-constantly that broadcasting anything to her would have been rather like broadcasting to a curious and energetic golden retriever - hardly a statement on Pedro's hearing or other senses. Equally dog-like, Tink triple-checked the seals on the suit one last time as they guided their new companion free of the wreckage and off towards the Falcor.

    With a lop-sided grin, the mechanic waved into the darkness at Ayo even though there was probably no way the other woman could see it. She liked the Zalmade botanist even if, as with the more business-like Sirc, she sometimes let her curiosity about non-human races overwhelm her manners. Captain Zya's several heads and Skylar's cosmetic modifications were also curious, though she didn't much understand the reasoning for the latter. Efficiency seemed like an admirable goal, but she had yet to suss out what Skylar's motivations were... Maybe to be pretty? She supposed he was, in the soft way flowers could be. Not that she had a chance to see many flowers, given nearly all available green space on her world was carefully cultivated to maximise food production. There was nothing about Skylar with which she could tinker. The captain, however, had at least a few dozen items within their frame that she would love to get her hands on...

    As their Zalmade member arrived and was helped into the ship by Pedro, Tink came back to herself, jetting into a slow backflip.

    "'Eyo, Ayo!" She made an effort to mimic what she thought was Pedro's greeting to the woman, slaughtering it merrily. Dog Rock had its own evolution of an old-world human dialect, so while she spoke the common trade language reasonably well there were still sometimes gaps in her understanding and uses. It was a small wonder that in addition to struggling with even a basic level of the dialects represented about the Falcor, she often misquoted or misunderstood things in Trade. Some might view that as a problem, but she always chose to see it as an adventure. Sometimes you ended up accidentally selling one of your mates to an alien species-collector, sometimes you found yourself with a deeply discounted and state-of-the-art part for the ship. Sometimes there was even a meal thrown into the deal. Her stomach rumbled as she wondered what the Zalmade word for hungry might be.

    Bracing herself, Tink muscled the door closed behind them as Pedro and Ayo moved further into the ship. Turning, she glanced up at their bobbing lights and mapped out a course. When Ayo had finished speaking, she let out a "Shotgun not waste!" Surely the scientist would find more information about the strange crew's diets from that and have more to discuss with Sirc than would Tink. With a few aggressive maneouvers with her jets, Tink vanished into the dark interior on a course for where she suspected the generator, junction box, and any other power backups might be located.

    Spoiler: Completely Unsolicited, Contextual Praise Definitely not Acquired via Torture 

  10. #30
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    As the wreck drifted slowly through space, the crew rescued 019 and began to explore what remained of the cargo ship. As soon as the door to the rest of the ship opened, there was a slight hissing noise and everything in the room was pulled toward the door a few inches. The hallway was dark, with a few odds and ends floating about. Compared to 019, the rest of the ship was standard. It seemed the alien had snuck aboard a ship that was relatively local.

    As the crew spread out, it became apparent why this ship had been turned into a wreckage: pirates. The crew of this ship were frozen and drifting, most with blaster holes. A F’tagn drifted by, a blaster hole in the center of his forehead, his skin an ashy grey. Anything of value had been taken, even the ration packs.

    It was silent. It was dark. It was cold.

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