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Author Topic: Small Mercies (IC) | Death is knocking, and he wants to buy a goat.  (Read 53160 times)

Chevaleresse

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Re: Small Mercies (IC) | Death is knocking, and he wants to buy a goat.
« Reply #30 on: October 08, 2016, 12:18:32 am »

"This is the kind of guy we need to prepare for. You can't collect on anything if your brains are smeared across some bulkhead." She continued to work on preparing for the worst, triple-checking the medical programs and such built into her nanites along with getting more conventional remedies ready.
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Dwarmin

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Re: Small Mercies (IC) | Death is knocking, and he wants to buy a goat.
« Reply #31 on: October 08, 2016, 08:57:51 am »

"My only comment is to wonder if Mr. Varkonius is, in fact, a superb killing machine-or, if one of our rivals is perhaps being incredibly proactive in reducing potential competition...

As for own role, I am sure you all have everything under control-do make sure we have enough anti-inflammatory cream, that fin-walker suit chafes my fins horribly, Ms. Just Scarlet, er, ah-Scarlet the Just Scarlet..  ((OOC:Sadish does not grasp entirely that Scarlet has no second name. Cultural differences!))

I instead, will attempt to make a device that can safely seal the artifact away, when we get it under our possession. Our employers will not be likely to forgive us if the item is destroyed or greatly damaged....you all remember the Fungus-Mantis, yes? Despite your unwarranted hostility toward such an interesting creature, I may in fact still be able to reproduce it's....'spit', as you called it...in great enough quantities to keep the item safe from incidental damage. Retrieving it should likewise be simple, if I can reproduce the sub-sonic frequency the Fungus-Mantis uses...this will, incidentally, make the item nearly impossible to safely retrieve from it's cocoon, without the knowledge my lab possesses. This will helpfully deter potential thievery or...'adjustment of terms', on our employers part."


...

Sadish considered that she didn't exactly have much to do, as this mission went counter to her own expertise in pretty much every way. Aside from the medical part, she figured it would be in their best interest to preserve the artifact, and that's what she was certainly best at. Her employers wouldn't like it to be damaged.

One way of keeping important things intact was 'animation-amber'-a resource she had developed after 'studying' the giant Fungus-Mantis of Procython Prime. Granted her allies had done plenty of damage to the corpse (Most unfortunate) by the time she had gotten it to the dissection table...still, she found the fluid the creature produced to build it's nests was remarkably sturdy. Once it had time to harden, it more or less froze an item in cellular stasis-it built the walls and chambers of it's home with this, protected meals this way, along with it's own eggs-sometimes for centuries. When it wished to retrieve whatever was in the amber, the Mantis used a subsonic sound wave to fracture the bubble cleanly. The amber itself was hardened toward most forms of weaponry, with a weakness toward sonic implements, naturally...

She wished she would have had a chance to study the nest and the creatures in detail, but her impatient allies had taken homemade flamers to it, for some reason.

Growing more animation amber had not been easy (it was nearly impossible to replicate artificially, and had to be grown with cloned organs), but she had lately been tinkering with larger and larger devices, with technology she had scavenged from her adventures. She had made small, hand held versions so far-good for trapping insects. She had some designs in mind. One was a sort of bio-cannon, constructed to resemble the Fungus-Mantis's amber spitting mouth organ...another, the one she decided to try and work the 'bugs' out of (this pun amused her), was the 'Amber-Platform'. It was more or less a large dish, placed on the ground, then you placed the artifact inside-said artifact could be sealed into a perfect sphere of animation amber.

Action: Sadish tries to tinker up one of her portable animation-amber devices, the sort she uses to collect samples safely in the field. It should be the right size to preserve the artifact.
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Draignean

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Re: Small Mercies (IC) | Death is knocking, and he wants to buy a goat.
« Reply #32 on: October 09, 2016, 11:01:47 am »


Sadish

Action: Sadish tries to tinker up one of her portable animation-amber devices, the sort she uses to collect samples safely in the field. It should be the right size to preserve the artifact.

The cloned organs producing the animation amber are wonderful pieces of biotech, at least given the circumstances of their construction. They are, however, quite temperamental. Today is definitely a day you're glad that you don't have that ridiculous mat of hair that human have on top of their heads, otherwise it would be a solid block of amber by now. With substantial coaxing, you're able to get the organs to produce a single sheet of animation amber. It's a bit thin, but it should be capable of forming a sphere approximately a half-meter in total diameter. Problematically, the current batch of amber seems to be decaying rather rapidly. Potentially something to do with the diet of the cloned organs. The amber, once sealed and active, looks like it will only last for around half a day before losing its rather fascinating properties and gradually reverting to goop.

Item Gained: Medium Animation Amber Containment Vessel (Unstable)

You don't have long to admire your craftsmanship before the Reunion lurches slightly and floor vibrates slightly with the energy of the bore drive powering up. There's slight shudder as the massive ship opens a rent through space, the primary thrust kicking in to make one great push and propel you through the other side. It's enough warning that you're able to exhale completely before the ship traverses the aperture horizon. That helps. A lot.



Khate

See if I can look up any intel on our target's abilities and killing methods. The Deeps might contain all sorts of morbid curiosity on the topic.

While the scale of the Deep made it difficult to look for details on his activities, Varkonius' resume provided a wealth of potential search terms. Khate spent many of the hours that the Reunion needed to calculate jump coordinates growing steadily more impressed and excited, her tail thumping in a rather embarrassing frenzy of holy-shit-this-dude-is-kinda-cool. From what she could tell, Varkonius' resume is strictly accurate, without any puffing up or prideful lying. He sold himself as a blockade running courier, saboteur, and general force of chaos. He's not a precise assassin or the kind of gun for hire that any rational empire would want their people to associate with their actions; he's a natural disaster that rents out to the highest bidder. If he'd been a contestant on Dead Neo Running, she might even have a poster of him by now.

Varkonius seemed to specialize in making the best out of bad situations, thriving on chaos and cataclysmic disaster. Unlike most saboteurs, it isn't often that he escaped scene of his crime before whatever devastating event he engendered was well underway. Which meant there were a ton of pictures of him silhouetted against flames taken by security cameras. There was even one of him on fire but seeming rather unconcerned, which pointed to some pretty nice augmentations. On the surface he seemed impulsive, immature, and given to destruction for the sake of destruction, but you don't survive as long as he had without a much harder core. Kate didn't think Varkonius wanted to watch the world burn for the sake of watching it burn, he wanted it to burn because there was no place he was more at home than within the fire. Khate needed to bring this guy back alive to DNR, if only so she could watch the shows where he competed.

He was a bore jumper, and favored micro explosives and vibro-knives in combat. He doesn't appear to get along with most firearms, and there wasn't much a record that Khate could find of him shooting anyone. Whether that was a lack of aptitude or an ideology was unclear. Still, he seemed much more the person to leave his enemies in a position to die easily than to finish them off personally.

Khate spent several hours combing through all the footage she could find of Varkonius, going through a couple tubs of popcorn in the process.

The Reunion boring through to Deliria was the first thing to shake Khate out of her focused 'study', the jump making all of her hair stand on end and rendering her very poofy for a couple minutes.



Boris
Watch over Kesari so she doesn't totally wreck my beautiful piece of junk. In fact, watch over the ship's systems in general, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.

Despite having grown used to other people tinkering with his ship, Boris still keeps a paternal watch as Kesari continued to fiddle with the sensor systems. This ship was his, and while all the others had their place and their usefulness, he was still the one that had raised her up from the flames and breathed new life into her broken body. No one understood the Reunion like Boris did, though he was willing to admit that some of them did do an alright job with modifications in their own regard.

While Kari continued fiddling with the computer and asking the expert system all sorts of fiddly questions that were undoubtedly beyond its limited mind, Boris took a general stock of the ship. The reactor he'd pulled out of the cruiser was the only thing that generated readings in the 'concerning' level for him. The matching electronics between the two vessels made the merger possible, but that didn't mean it was always a happy coupling. The Reunion needed a few patches here and there, but hopefully this job would pay for it before the other crew-members came down with rad poisoning.

On an odd, but not new, issue, motion sensors kept tripping in the sealed ship sections. It was most likely debris bouncing around in zero gravity, but sometimes it almost acted like something was moving between the rooms. Granted, that was the next best thing to impossible, but it was more than sufficient to deserve a raised eyebrow and a sharp rap from the knuckle to try and jog the problem out.

The blips all stopped when the reunion began boring, possibly whatever electrical fault or debris cloud was responsible for the odd action being disrupted by the rumble and electric charge of the Drive in action.



Scarlet
"This is the kind of guy we need to prepare for. You can't collect on anything if your brains are smeared across some bulkhead." She continued to work on preparing for the worst, triple-checking the medical programs and such built into her nanites along with getting more conventional remedies ready.
Medical supplies were low, dreadfully low. Scarlet had worked with less, but typically not to the best results for anyone involved. Her nanites were good, but typically worked best just for her. What remained of their medical supplies was the bottom of the barrel pulled from various places on board the ship. There was a clinic on the Reunion, but that area was still sealed off due to severe radiation and continuous exposure to hard vacuum. What had been left to salvage were the first aid kits available to typical passengers and crew, which, while it provided a wealth of the anti-inflammatory cream that Sadish used faster than a Duster prostitute going through lube, didn't give a lot else that was useful for injuries more serious than a small cut, a mild allergic reaction, or a strong sneeze.

They needed more supplies. Cost would always be an issue, but Scarlet had no desire to open fifty packs of mini-gauze meant to bandage fingers if she needed to treat a bullet wound. Hell, at thay point she'd just cauterize the wound and have done with it- though that might be met with some objections from the rest of the crew.

The bore took Scarlet by surprise, catching her in the middle of her tirade. It felt like if someone had upended a bucket of ice-water on her head in reverse, leaving her skin feeling hot and uncomfortably dry. It did mean that they were on Deliria, where they could at least pick up a few necessities in addition to their info-needs.



Aubrey

Action: search the deep for information on the target planet/Hub Station Flounder and even if possible the more exact area where this possible exchange is to take place.

 It had been a long time since they'd been on Deliria, too long. The station was one of the few stable ports that seemed like it could weather any storm, and while no one would classify Fuzzy as an altruist, he was fair in his governance and a neo of exquisite taste. Still, there was work to be done before they reached Deliria, and while Fuzzy's resources far outstripped Aubrey's, she could at least do enough beforehand to put intelligent questions to Fuzzy's extensive networks.

The Flounder was a smaller space station primarily functioning as an agri-goods trading post, without any significant permanent population outside of its direct workforce. Ships dock, unload various technological goods, take on high grade foodstuffs, and then leave. Much of the business is automated, with deals being struck via long distance communication and loaded via autoloaders. Most of the ships that go to the Flounder aren't even manned vessels, just cargo drones running pre-programmed courses.

There was a small repair dock and a hostel on board, with surprisingly reasonable rates for long term stay. One of the perks of its agricultural bias. The world that the Flounder orbited was an enforced agricultural world, owned for the specific purpose of growing crops and without any significant industrialization. Farming equipment and replacement parts were shipped in, and crops were shipped out. There were a few vacations spots on the planet, most of them pulling on the 'simpler time' string pretty heavily as their main attraction. They weren't particularly successful from what Aubrey could tell, and mostly existed to take up land that was too poor to farm consistently.

As to where Varkonius might be buying a goat... Well, if he was after a literal goat there were several rather expansive farms that raised the animals, three of which would be directly under the shipping umbrella of Flounder station at approximately the time that Varkonius was alleged to be meeting his contact.



Kesari
Kes wondered about priorities. Sure the computer was not feeling well, which explained its outbursts and otherwise coping habits, but that was for later on. Her priority now was to align and 'persuade' the sensors along the general range of her target--the thief and any possible others in the system, alongside tracking for surface craft or any trails of that matter.

If she did actually have time after that, she would try to diagnose what the general problems about the computer were. Deduction was the key; she would get to the root someday as this would expectedly take long.


The computer was, as ever, a bit of an enigma. It wasn't a true AI, just an advanced expert system, but there were times when it seemed to have become something much more erratic, if not much smarter, than its roots would've suggested. Increasing the sensitivity, as Kari had done before, was straightforward, so she settled on trying to keep the computer from sending a storm of adverts immediately and alerting everything that it detected. That turned out to be harder. Much harder.

Several hours and a couple cups of Very Hot coffee later, Kari thought she might have it finished. Maybe. She wasn't exactly a professional programmer, and every race put their own spin on the languages they used to write their systems. The best she could say about the work she'd done was that it looked like it should work. Which wasn't exactly the most confidence inducing estimation.

Still, her timing was decent, as about five minutes after she got 'finished' with her first run at the code the bore engine kicked on. Kari braced up and, like Khate, briefly become exceedingly fluffy as the Bore swallowed the ship and the reunion emerged from the aperture on the other side.



"Fuzzy wuzzy was a lion,
   Fuzzy wuzzy made them all run cryin'
No matter how the law keeps tryin'
   They're all awfully afraid of dyin' "

-Scrawl on Deliria tenement wall, author unknown.

Deliria
Population: 3 Million
Government Allegiance: None
Owner: Massakhar Ashanti. AKA 'Fuzzy'

Space station Deliria, the five pronged hub of information, refugees, and rebellious tendencies that no government likes and no government can afford to even make the effort to destroy.

The station itself is comprised of five major parts; one central spire that contains the heart and soul of the station, and four other habs attached parallel to the central spire. Each part is a cylinder, a little more than a kilometer in length and approximately one-hundred meters in diameter. The station is also modular, each part capable of breaking away and maintaining its own orbit, though, in practical reality, the only time the pieces disengage is during long range jump travel, when the four periphery spires break off so that they can each jump through a narrower bore generated by the central spire rather than waste energy on generating a bore large enough to push the entire station through.

Despite being a well known pit stop for mercenaries, refugees, expatriates, fugitives, and other unsavory elements, Deliria is not the stereotypical waster station they show in entertainment. Her hull is clean, her paint is sharp and fresh, her docking authority polite but firm in their resistance to bribery and corruption, and her weapons systems are shiny and fully licensed mil-spec. Massachar, better known as Fuzzy, runs a tight ship, as most Felids do. More than 3 million people live on this station, and for many, there is no home left to turn to.

Written on the side of each hab is one of the following four lines of an ancient poem: "Give me your tired, your poor/Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free/The wretched refuse of your teeming shore/Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me". A good proportion, if not the majority, of Deliria's residents are the leftovers of the losers from planetary wars. Most planets have an evacuation plan of some variety, some method of trying to get the people offworld before the invaders destroy everything. Most, however, do not also include a plan for what her citizens should do in the event that the entirety of their government and way of life collapses behind him. Which is where Fuzzy comes in. Fuzzy has a knack for calling losing battles, and will frequently find a nice spot in a war-torn system and wait for the refugees to start fleeing. He offers them a home, a place to stay, all for a very simple price.

Deliria is, first and foremost, an information center. It's a place where known information is categorized and collated, where sensitive information is locked away and protected zealously, and where the locks of the competition are broken for the right price. All three of these activities are heavily computation intensive, which is where the fugitives come in. Fuzzy purchased a helpful bit of cybernetics tech from an Apex civ long before he had this station constructed. It allowed an organic brain to be used as a processor by a computer running the typical GMS3 framework. The fugitives provide plentiful organic processors, and in exchange Fuzzy provides food, clothing, and a place to stay. It's a good deal for people without a home, and though many stay only long enough to afford a way to escape and make a new life, a few are comfortable enough with the amenities to end up making a life on Deliria.

This isn't to say that the process is an ideal exchange, where Fuzzy benevolently provides the essentials of life in exchange for risk free work. There's always a risk, and depending on what a bio-processor is used for, this can range from simple exhaustion to migraine headaches to seizure disorders to death. Of course, what risk level an individual takes on is entirely up to them, but the pay is commensurately higher for high risk work. Medical cadavers and bio-medical research are also prime exports of Deliria station.

The HMS Merciful Reunion is a known ship to port control, and her crew was welcomed back politely. In order for any needed special accommodations to be made, they send in a form to fill out that requests the crew's business in port and the amount of time they intend to spend here. It's worth noting that the box for 'docking assistance' has already been checked. They apparently remember the last time the Sled landed there under manual control, and they aren't anxious to repeat the experience.
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Digital Hellhound

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Re: Small Mercies (IC) | Death is knocking, and he wants to buy a goat.
« Reply #33 on: October 09, 2016, 12:15:01 pm »

Boris eyed the gleaming form of Deliria in the forward camera feeds with a sullen twist of his lips. The place was too shiny and too clean to make him feel at ease, without even getting into the business of its master. Besides, being filled to the brim with the lost and fallen of the stars just reminded him of what had been taken from him. He had a strange fear of stumbling into a survivor of Strenger, even after all these years...

'The sooner we are out of this soul-scavenger's little cage, the better,' he said aloud. 'I'll find a jump solution we can afford. You see what you can find out.'

He looked over the form they'd been sent. 'Length of stay - a day, at most? I expect you can finish your business in that time.'

Once we dock, look for a jump solution to Flounder... one that doesn't bankrupt us to buy. Search scrap markets for any interesting bits and pieces, such as anything that could be used to help contain the reactor before its inevitable meltdown and painful prolonged death of the rest of the crew.
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Dwarmin

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Re: Small Mercies (IC) | Death is knocking, and he wants to buy a goat.
« Reply #34 on: October 09, 2016, 12:58:19 pm »

In retrospect, a self decaying organic shell was probably better in the short term, she considered, tamping down her disappointment. No need to bother finding out if her sonic wave amplifier would work on such an important piece properly the first time...the conundrum of the organs was interesting to ponder. Did the Fungus-Mantis need to 'age' it's meals before consuming them-the state of the nutrition interacting somehow with the amber itself? She had considered the idea, but up till now had been working on the assumption the creature's interesting methods of preserving food were related to long periods of planetary famine. Or perhaps the sonic waves that allowed it to deconstruct it's shells, served an additional gastronomic function...

...

It took her a moment to remember where they were visiting, and why. She placed her omni-tool back in it's 'proper place', which was wherever it landed when she randomly dropped it.

It was  easy to lose herself in her work-she had to remind herself to step out into the 'real world' now and again. She cheered herself by considering there were plenty of fellow bright minds to commune with on the station. Her fellow crew was somewhat lacking in intellectual stimulation, though they were excellent listeners.

She considered she could also use a good meal (A few tons of fresh Synthapisc, maybe? Or perhaps maybe Squijium. If they made the spicy kind she liked the most), and a dip in a saltwater habitation...these things you could not get everywhere, unfortunately.

Sadish had found that if a station catered to Fins or not, however, depended entirely on it's population. It wasn't cheap or easy to modify an artificial habitat to accept aquatics, even on the most basic level. So most places didn't bother, until they showed up. The first Fins to reside in someplace, were always those most comfortable in walker suits...as time went on, things would change-while Fins didn't really complain much as a society, they did have a tendency to become increasingly sarcastic and moody when stressed. If enough passive-aggressive whale-people started to congregate around your station in large enough numbers, all the while not exactly 'demanding' anything, you eventually got the message.

Action: Sadish goes to mingle the local Intellectuals on the station, perhaps over future-lunch.
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Chevaleresse

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Re: Small Mercies (IC) | Death is knocking, and he wants to buy a goat.
« Reply #35 on: October 10, 2016, 11:40:50 pm »

Scarlet let out a few choice expletives at the unpleasant feeling of the unexpected bore, but the feeling passed quickly enough that no one ended up on the receiving end other than maybe some portion of the ship's computer that happened to be listening in to the woman's irritability.

The medical supplies were another conundrum entirely. She wasn't entirely certain what to do about that. They didn't exactly have a lot of cash to throw around on the issue, and the main option for accessing more would probably do a lot more damage than she'd be able to fix using the requisite supplies. She sighed, putting the meager supplies she'd pulled out back where she'd found them - or at least returning them to something resembling a container in the case that they'd landed on the floor.

While she pondered how to resolve the situation, she checked her gear. Other than her trademark flamethrowers, she had a few choice weapons dependent on the level of force needed. The first was her preferred weapon: a burst-fire laser cannon sized like a traditional rifle, made for snapping quick, precise shots. It wasn't fantastic at any significant degree of armor penetration - technology by and large was still restricted by the laws of physics, after all - but it was fairly good at its intended purpose of targeting weak points, and as an added bonus had a nonlethal toggle. The second was a chemically-propelled mass driver weapon - a fancy term for a standard gun, an assault rifle made to withstand an incredible amount of abuse from the user and still put bullets where they needed to be.

The last was, ideally, not something she'd actually need to use. A railgun that was just barely light enough to qualify as an infantry weapon, the recoil the weapon inflicted was second only to the damage the slug would cause if it actually hit the target. The damned thing had actually broken her collarbone multiple times when she'd used it in the past, but she packed it anyway because it put a lot more hurt on whoever wasn't intelligent enough to get out of the way than it had ever inflicted on its wielder.

Once she ensured nothing had rattled loose - rather difficult, as the only one that had actual sensitive bits was the laser rifle - she elected to see if there were any remote or AI-controlled drones she could use to poke at their actual med bay.
((OOC: Let me know if any of these need to be vetoed.))
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Tiruin

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Re: Small Mercies (IC) | Death is knocking, and he wants to buy a goat.
« Reply #36 on: October 11, 2016, 05:17:52 am »

((Eee ._. I had this open in my working tabs but then didn't reply in the previous days because depression.
Also best line:
Quote
Khate spent several hours combing through all the footage she could find of Varkonius, going through a couple tubs of popcorn in the process.
))

Kesari reached an important conclusion that she wanted to tell Boris and the rest before anything would occur.
"The ship's sensors appear more of an advanced advertising relay than a depth-scanner type or theme of construct, which both have great similarities especially in the input and process, but differ in the output. Also I asked a ton of deeper questions and it doesn't appear that it can process them well, or doesn't understand binary that well. However, it can work on many different frequencies and is able to remain less-than-detected to any intrusive countermeasures, a big plus. It's just that the language is consumerist. Did I say that already? Still a lot more to sift through. It has great potential, but requires a...delicate input to work the way one wants. Supposedly handled by marketing executives and elites of that class due to its...delicate nature in turn. I could not however parse the term "goat", if ever it had another meaning than the animal itself."

Looking back at the sensors and spying the information form, she wondered about something she didn't think about earlier.
"Hey King, could we order some stuff to help us explore and repair this ship better? While I'd like to try out new stuff for personal use, all the tinkering with these systems tell me that there's a lot more left unknown about this thing. I'm also wondering if anyone has information on our mark, like the methods he uses and such--it's best to know how he works too. Wouldn't like to get shanked or shot where I'd least expect it."

Inquire as to a deeper HMS Reunion-status check and repairs about it, or at least being able to conduct more repairs on it [like where or how to obtain such, and stations we may visit and log for our benefit?].
But PRIORITY goes to a comprehensive computer check up--where can I find similar information regarding tech computers like the ones of our sensor-make, for cross-referencing in how it works and how to better understand it? [Goal: Better calibrations pre-use of sensors]
« Last Edit: October 11, 2016, 11:50:54 pm by Tiruin »
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lawastooshort

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Re: Small Mercies (IC) | Death is knocking, and he wants to buy a goat.
« Reply #37 on: October 11, 2016, 08:48:29 am »

Aubrey liked Deliria. It was a place you could get lost in, in mostly a good way, and a place where the lost could go. She’d spent plenty of time here in the past. Not so much with her new colleagues.

Hmm. First things first – she’d go for a drink. Best place to see what the atmosphere felt like. She’d try to catch Fuzzy and discretely pose some questions. Well, she said discretely, but straight forward honesty might be best, because the truth tended to come out anyway… But still, she’d try a little sideways discretion. They’re not here just to murder a thief, right?

Maybe ask him for a drink and an awkward (physically – Aubrey isn’t clumsy, but she’s not exactly an extrovert, especially physically… Not exactly comfortable with that kind of thing…) dance.

So, things she’d like to know. Well – Aubrey’s from a third party paid to investigate the theft of the object Exile’s Star. He’s bound to have heard about it, there’s been an increase both in mercy activity in the Flounder’s area, and an increase in mercy turnover, so to speak. While that’s interesting in itself, we’re more interested in why. Does Fuzzy have any idea where the Exile’s Star is headed? We can make educated guesses as to who benefits from this – is there any confirmation?

And what’s the AL-Loy’s role in this? Are they protecting the thief? Or paying him?

But, the most important thing, I guess: any whisper of who might actually be picking up the Exile’s Star? We would like to monitor the exchange and above all the exchangers, you see.

It’s common knowledge in this sort of business that it was Varkonius who stole it. Any idea where he’s likely to be hiding out?

Look – I’d prefer it doesn’t come to that, but if we have to get directly involved with Varkonius, I’d like it not to go as badly as it did for the dozen crews that tried to take him out over this.

Action: engage in Gathering Information with old acquaintances.

If there’s any information we can get for free that that’d be nice. Any that we have to pay for, well, we have a strictly regulated budget. I’ll be happy to offer my services for something that’s really worth it though.


((colleagues: please let me know if we should ask a specific question I should edit in))
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Dwarmin

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Re: Small Mercies (IC) | Death is knocking, and he wants to buy a goat.
« Reply #38 on: October 11, 2016, 09:58:21 am »

Hmm. First things first – she’d go for a drink. Best place to see what the atmosphere felt like. She’d try to catch Fuzzy and discretely pose some questions. Well, she said discretely, but straight forward honesty might be best, because the truth tended to come out anyway… But still, she’d try a little sideways discretion. They’re not here just to murder a thief, right?

Sadish met Aubrey as they left the ship together, though their destination was different, they were after the same thing.

She made sure to give her crewmate a mighty slap on the back. She had heard that was a friendly gesture among non-fins, though this one might have sent the Neo-Crow sprawling...she started talking, then...

"Ah, going out for some 'fresh air', as it's called? Of course, that's a metaphor-the breathable air of any station is entirely recycled. Of course you knew that. You fly the ship, I believe? And you are good at stealing things. And you do a good job, a great job-on those things. One could say I've never known a better pilot or maybe a thief-probably, though I have known personally very few pilots or thieves from which to form a proper frame of reference. Let's just say you're probably the best pilot I've ever considered, in a very small pool of applicants, as to their degree of skills. And, you're the first person I ever knew who was sometimes a thief, but sometimes only an abettor of thieves, but something in the middle. I have to admit I barely noticed you at first, to be honest, since I hold those with purely technical skills in extremely low regard. Also, I thought you were a thief-that is, nothing more than a thief. Thankfully, you have since clarified your unique moral turpitude to me.

Anyway, let's hope our adventures here don't result in consequences of an overly litigious nature, my friend. If you feel a deep larcenous desire come upon you, and don't we all-remember that they execute the very worst criminals here by feeding their minds to the Bio-Processor. Quite efficient, wouldn't you say? And very fair. Harm done to society paid back in full. I just mean-you might be surprised, but I do keep a note of laws and ordinances on the planets and stations we visit in case I have to act as your attorney. Or perhaps the entire crew, who knows! I'm sure I'd be a good lawyer, even though I flunked out of law in my collegiate. It was entirely too boring for me! So many annoying details. My true love was always for the foundations of law, the quite physical foundations-a little archeology joke, there-since the foundations are quite literally what I often find myself digging into..."


And on, and on, and on...
« Last Edit: October 11, 2016, 10:00:26 am by Dwarmin »
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lawastooshort

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Re: Small Mercies (IC) | Death is knocking, and he wants to buy a goat.
« Reply #39 on: October 11, 2016, 04:13:53 pm »

"Sadish."

"Sadish."

"Sadish."

"I have to admit that those who invade the personal back space of the neo-crow without prior receipt of consent are not generally held in particularly high regard by the aforementioned species, so perhaps that makes us even in regard to consideration one of the other."

"I am not going for some fresh air, metaphorical or otherwise, I am going to call on what we might name, if we wanted to perhaps make its worth intelligible to creatures who otherwise might not understand that their interference in said activity was not necessarily welcome - at least, in particular, their vocal interference - what we might name the probing of a deep depository of knowledge perhaps relevant to the task in hand but not accessible to all, with possibly an associated exchange of equally worthwhile knowledge, or, if not, promises of currency, labour, and or gratitude to later be expended in the form of received labour or knowledge or et cetera and so forth. I believe in some species there is often even a physical exchange of some sort in these meetings. But I am just going to call it going for a drink with an old friend, and I'd very much appreciate it if you didn't talk at him if you insist on attending. I can only imagine he will feel very similarly. I hope for all of our sakes that your attendance is not detrimental to the value of the outcome of the meeting. "

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Dwarmin

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Re: Small Mercies (IC) | Death is knocking, and he wants to buy a goat.
« Reply #40 on: October 11, 2016, 04:47:50 pm »

"Well then, I believe our fortunes are at opposite ends of the social spectrum, as it were! While you 'drink' with an 'old friend'..." ...Sadish assumed this was linguistic hyperbole for something else entirely... "...I will plumb the depths of the local intelligentsia, non-hyperbolically speaking, to enrich my wealth of knowledge. I am particularly interested in the recent advancements in bio-tech. I know there's never quite a lack of things to know. I know that you know that I know that there's things I would rather know that I don't know, or that I don't know, I know..you know? No, no, maybe you don't know!" This was Sadish's brand of humor.

"...Afterwards, perhaps I shall find you! And join you, for a non-larcenous 'drink', with a non-criminal 'friend' of yours. I know you wouldn't mind."

Sadish gave Aubrey a ridiculously exaggerated whale wink. Fins really shouldn't copy gestures from other species.
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IronyOwl

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Re: Small Mercies (IC) | Death is knocking, and he wants to buy a goat.
« Reply #41 on: October 11, 2016, 10:34:56 pm »

Khate was super excited. Khate was usually super excited, but this was more than usual. She needed to catch this guy! But to do that she needed to figure out how to stop him from murdering everything long enough to stuff him in a murderbox so he could be deposited into an appropriate murderchute.

This required specialized information.

See if anybody on board the station is familiar with bore jumpers, microexplosives, or close combat in general. Bonus points if they possess such specialties themselves, and are willing to practice for fabulous Dead Neo Running themed prizes!
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Draignean

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Re: Small Mercies (IC) | Death is knocking, and he wants to buy a goat.
« Reply #42 on: October 13, 2016, 10:30:59 am »

Space Station Deliria

Sadish, Khate, Aubrey, Boris

After short, but still confoundingly tooth rattling ride on the slide, most of the Reunion's crew arrived on-board Deliria station. This wasn't the first time on Deliria for any of them, but only Aubrey knew the station well enough to not still be slightly disoriented by Deliria's sheer scale. Of course, even Aubrey's experience couldn't prevent slight shock when the Sled's doors opened out onto a chaotic throng of people crowding this level of Deliria's docks. Neos of every kind pushed around on the dock-side, some pushing to get deeper into the station, some pushing to get back to their ship, and most pushing to browse what appeared be an impromptu bazaar selling what looked like fan merchandise. A lot of people were wearing VERY similar outfits. The phrase 'Goliath Falls!' was repeated in more font variations on more apparel types than anyone could count. There was even a Fin in a clear bodied walker suit that appeared to have had miniature holo-emitters embedded into their skin, making the side of their own body into an impromptu screen depicting a furious ship-to-ship battle. After the recent stint on board the relative isolation of Deliria, with a max of five other people to run into, suddenly being thrust into the middle of a semi-jovial mob was a bit of a jolt for all involved.

Someone had clearly tried to create a semblance of order here, with tape marks demarcating where the merchant stalls should end and law keepers in blue and white trying desperately to keep people flowing in an out of Deliria smoothly. The guards weren't failing, not exactly, but their role as keepers of order seemed to have been reduced primarily to triage. A port authority guardswoman, a Cane marked by a blue flower with a detached petal embossed onto her otherwise matte grey-white uniform, gave the crew a quick once over as they exited the shuttle. Her expression was pinched, and her hackles seemed to have become perpetually frozen in the middle of trying to rise. She didn't even bother trying to speak over the din of laughter and shouting and milling bodies. She looked at the crowd, then looked back at the Reunion's crew with an expression that seemed to say 'if I had enough ammunition, I cold solve all these problems. Don't tempt me,' then pointed up at a massive holosign shedding blue light on the crowds.

Welcome! Goliath is Falling!
Please be courteous to other guests and proceed inside quickly to reduce dock traffic. Thank you!




Sadish

Action: Sadish goes to mingle the local Intellectuals on the station, perhaps over future-lunch.

Thankfully for Sadish, who had spent comparatively little time on board the station, several smaller holosigns also hovered near all the exits from the dock, espousing various amenities available on Deliria. It was most likely for the benefit of the tourists, but it still helped Sadish a great deal. After all, one of the signs was advertising an establishment called "The Think Tank" with a little hologram of a swimming Fin built right into the advert! All Sadish needed to do to get there was to follow the signs and cross through the docks without accidentally crushing anyone with the walker. Which was, in all honesty, much harder than it looked. Particularly with the little hollow boned crows hopping around on the ground instead of flying properly...

Several close calls, a couple of curses, and one potentially broken toe later, Sadish managed to navigate through the crowds and follow the strand of glowing signs that led down to the Think Tank. The establishment, fronted by an even more elaborate hologram, contained one of the major features Sadesh had hoped for: a Neo-Dolphin pool. The lobby was basically a check-in booth with posted rates, attended by a blue haired human female with her hair done up in braids strung with beads that seemed to have the collective effect of nullifying the effect of their mass. The woman smiled at Sadish, greeting her buoyantly and immediately producing a price sheet for Fin-Walker storage. It was surprisingly inexpensive, a pinprick on Sadish's funds compared to typical lab expenses, and she paid quickly.

After the nebulously haired human had checked Sadish in and wished her a good swim with a rather surprising wink, the door out of the lobby clicked upon, leading onto a lowered gravity platform that let Sadish strip out of her mech and dunk into a tank of refreshingly saline water. From here there were two ways forward, one through a small 'door' designed to be pushed through, and another that terminated in a chute and a mech selector that presumably was how the club was exited. Sadish naturally pushed forward, bullying through the pressure door into the main tank.

Trinary song immediately hit Sadish; Fins with quite honestly exceptional voices performing in metaconcert. Sadish might never have been the most song oriented of Neo-Dolphins, but there was still no more beautiful music than that produced by her own kind. Humans, Corvids, Felides, Canes, they all had music, and they knew how to work in concert, but her people... The three singers were in the center of the tank, dancing in pattern as they sang, creating currents that altered the propagation of the sound waves they generated. The sound waves pulsed outwards, striking large bubbles held in place by sophisticated fields, resonating off of walls, outlining the dining areas, playing Fins, artistic organo-sculpture, and then bouncing back inwards. The bounce of the original sound waves was a ghost sound, an aftereffect that the other races principally considered an incidental interaction. The Fins, however, used it. They sang with the ghosts of their old song, colliding sound waves to warp and split it into new forms and shapes, painting phantom pictures with their voices. The sang, and their song reverberated back from the past to combining with the present and shape an idea of the future. The essence of a Neo-Dolphin metaconcert.

Of course, Sadish wasn't there for the music, she was there for food and stimulating company. She swam through the saltwater with relish, powering through an air bubble in order to take a breath before heading over to the swimming bar. Nearly all the guests were Fins, but there was also a pair of humans wearing breathers with resonators attached to allow speech. The menu for the place was expansive. Rather liberally so. There was the expected menu of foods in various ethnic flavors, but there was, in place of where other races would have a drinks menu, a rather complete list of mind altering narcotics.

It wasn't all that unusual, given that Deliria was a free port, and Sadish squeezed in between a pair of other Funs and ordered the bar's three 'S' sampler mix of Squijium, Sealite™, and Sorbet. The Squijium was a little bit disappointing, but the Sealite tasting surprisingly good, and the Sorbet was a Sorbet. There wasn't a lot you could do wrong there. The conversation, meanwhile, was rather interesting. Due to the acoustics of water, it was fully possible (unlike in a human bar) for every person at the bar to be engaged in the same conversation. It was also why, further unlike human bars, there were multiple bar areas separated by various sound diffusing organo-sculptures. It turned out that nobody there was a station native, but only two were actually there to see the firstwave premier of Goliath Falls. Most were doing secondary jobs, including one Fin who was conducting research into the history of televized war and battle. Like most Fin conversations, the rhythm of it was physical visible to everyone but the humans, which made it rather difficult for them to get a word in edgewise.

For Sadish, it was a surprisingly engaging conversation, and the amount the two Fins who were actually fans of Goliath Falls were able to contribute about its deep history, and the history of events like in general, was a refreshing change. It was also nice to not be interrupted constantly by people trying to flee the conversation, which happened a great deal on board the Reunion. And almost everywhere else.

Well into the conversation, after Sadish had finished her Sorbet and had shared several relevant theories about the cultural transference of violent ideals and the emergence of ersatz proxy war as a means to release the expansionist need of the average citizen, the Fin to her right bumped her with his flipper. He was smaller, maybe nine feet, and had typically been adding more comic relief than content to the conversation. He grinned at her, and asked if she'd want to help him bury his artifact someplace.

A much older Fin, with deep scars across his left side, gave Sadish a knowing look and twisted his flukes sideways. The polite gesture for 'do you want me to accidentally tumble this idiot with my current?'.



Khate

See if anybody on board the station is familiar with bore jumpers, microexplosives, or close combat in general. Bonus points if they possess such specialties themselves, and are willing to practice for fabulous Dead Neo Running themed prizes!

Holy shit that was a lot of fan-ware. Not as much or as nice as a DNR meetup, but still, Khate had to admit that some of the stuff was pretty impressive. The Fin that was basically a living holoscreen was kind of all-out, and the crow hovering through the air dressed up as what appeared to be an advanced superiority fighter that must have required rather expensive personal grav nullifier to support was pretty cool too. There wasn't much merch that Khate wanted, but it was still nice to be among 'her people' again. More than one individual let out a sudden noise of excitement and pleasure when they saw Khate, either because of her DNR or her Pretty Soldier Sakkakl accouterments. More often than not, they'd stop, pose, and take a picture while Khate did her best to strike a suitably supportive pose. She did her best to advertise and ignore the occasional 'accidental' jab from neos who were less enthused about her favorite shows. 

There wasn't really a good holo-board up that would point her towards what she wanted directly, which meant consulting a guard. The guard was somewhat less than enthused to be asked where a very excitable and heavily ornamented Cane could find a rather dangerous sounding individual. Still, whatever instructions were left with the guards by the station boss seemed to include being as helpful as possible. The guard politely informed Khate that the station had war gaming rooms that could probably handle those simulations, but they're a bit high priced and have been booked solid for months. There was also an independent suite of troubleshooters that the station kept on retainer, and there was at least one of them that sort of fit the bill. The guard does warn that they're not exactly the friendliest bunch, essentially acting as permanent mercies for when the Guard needs to extend their reach off station. There were a couple training dojos on station as well, but there was a good chance those were just as booked as the war-game studios.



Boris

Once we dock, look for a jump solution to Flounder... one that doesn't bankrupt us to buy. Search scrap markets for any interesting bits and pieces, such as anything that could be used to help contain the reactor before its inevitable meltdown and painful prolonged death of the rest of the crew.

Boris didn't immediately stalk back inside the shuttle the moment the doors opened onto the pulsing crowd. That was as much victory as he managed.  He couldn't prevent himself from growling involuntarily at the sight of all the consumptive glee, nor could he prevent the snarl from spreading across his face, but he could avoid walking away. He did his best to ignore the crowds, and the crowds instinctively parted- shying away from his augmented form rather than press up against him and pull him in as one of their number. Boris stumped over to the port-control kiosk, getting in line and trying to shut out the maddening, meaningless noise that seemed to be trying to bore inside his skull.

After far, far too long, Boris reached the front of the queue, finding himself face to face with a claw that seemed as thrilled to be there as Boris himself did. The felid explained in short, pointed statements, that someone had joy-hacked the automated kiosk system. Repairs would be underway, but he would be happy to assist with any needs Boris had. Boris had a grudging respect for the sheer amount of contempt the neo-cat could put into the word 'happy'.

That grudging respect evaporated when Boris got a look at the prices on jump solutions. There was no question that they'd been inflated, but the amounts were insane; ten to fifteen times Boris' worst estimate. It made sense as a way to keep people on the station and buying things for as long as was possible, but the prices still made Boris nearly pop a vein. The prices were usurious, no borderline about it.  Yes, the Ship's fund could afford them, but the Ship's fund was typically set aside for actually buying expensive components for the Reunion, not hemorrhaging money into simple travel.

Boris stumped away from the Claw, cursing under his breath in his native tongue. Queuing up the scrap market from a display integrated into his exoskeleton. Thankfully, unlike the kiosk, the local scrap market for the station was still up and running without actually having to go through the trouble of meeting someone in person.

It was also enough of a goldmine to make Boris almost forget his anger. Apparently the massive influx of ships was good for the market, and people were selling 'spare' parts off their ships in order to get a bit of liquid money. Of course, who the hell would consider on a EM flask radiation baffle as a spare part was a mystery to Boris, but their loss was his gain...




Aubrey
Quote
Action: engage in Gathering Information with old acquaintances.

If there’s any information we can get for free that that’d be nice. Any that we have to pay for, well, we have a strictly regulated budget. I’ll be happy to offer my services for something that’s really worth it though.


Aubrey cut through the thronging crowd as swiftly as was possible, hopping madly and flapping sparingly. Wingroom was always one of the major problems with space stations. Claws, Humans, Canes got along fine, and Fins did too with a bit of assistance, but there was something terribly undignified about being forced to move along the ground- and something very unsafe when one considered the height disadvantage and comparative frailty of Crows in comparison to the other species. Still, Aubrey had experience, and was able to deftly weave through the tourists without getting her feathers more than slightly ruffled. She headed for the furthest dock exit, noting with a bit of satisfaction that the establishment she was after didn't have a holo up to guide tourists in. The Well was an establishment run by long term locals, for the long term locals. Aubrey didn't imagine they were taking too kindly to the influx of foreigners, no matter how deep their pockets were.

It had been too long since Aubrey had been on Deliria, and while a few faces seemed familiar, there was no one she recognized until she actually got to the Well itself.  The Well was, in the bluntest terms, a club. There were drinks, finger food, more drinks, dancing, even more drinks, an unholy number of various games of chance, and, naturally, drinks.  Calling the Well a club, however, was to miss the forest for the trees. The Well was neutral territory for every major group on the station, a place for the 'pillars' of the community to mingle, exchange notes, make deals, and carefully bustle for influence under Fuzzy's watchful eyes. There was more concentrated power in the Well than in any other place on the station, with the exception of Fuzzy's personal office.

Aubrey had a rare moment of self-consciousness before she entered the Club, a brief realization that she'd changed a great deal since she'd last set foot here. She edged inside carefully, breathing in a deep breath of scented, but slightly too antiseptic air. She didn't get a chance to see too much else before the bouncer, a thickly built young Cane with shredded ears and more facial scars than original teeth, intercepted Aubrey. She prepared to get a chit out and pay the cover, but something glinted in the corner of the bouncer's eye, an iris display.

"Welcome back, Ms. Brakhadakh," the bouncer said formally, his pronunciation perfect despite his damage face.  "The Well is always happy to welcome back old friends." He stepped aside, motion Aubrey to step inside.

She didn't recognize him, and he probably didn't actually know her, but it was rather touching that they'd kept her identity in the computer after all this time. Particularly since, by the look of the place, remodeling had been extensive and it would have been easy to lose an old record like hers. The new dance floor seemed to sport grav plating more advanced than the Reunion's, and more than one couple was engaged in a pin-wheeling dance untethered by gravity's shackles. Crows were the best at such feats, the lack of gravity freeing them to dance unhindered in the air, but Aubrey had to admit that some of the groups were rather talented- even lacking wings. The bar area had been redone into a single heavy circle in the middle, roughly separating the dance area from the lounging/dining/talking and gaming areas. Fuzzy wasn't in his customary spot, a contoured sort of couch built directly into the bar that looked like it was imported from the old place, bloodstains and all. The head woman running bar, however, was a familiar sight. The Well was Malissa's baby, and it was good to see her still leading from the front.

A fair bit over seven foot and scarcely over a hundred pounds, Malissa cut an odd figure. She'd modded both her skin and hair to be pure white, and accented herself heavily with various shades of blue. She'd been born and raised in zero-g, and though extensive cybernetics and bio manipulation had since removed its need, she still bore the scars of the integrated exo that had once kept standard gravity from crushing her thin bones. She was a woman of great pride and not inconsiderable power. Not even Aubrey had known all of the things that Malissa controlled, but it was no coincidence that Deliria's security and Malissa shared a taste in colors.

Malissa glanced sideways at Aubrey the instant she approached the bar, her ever-present smile deepening on one side. "The usual?"



HMS Merciful Reunion

Kesari
Inquire as to a deeper HMS Reunion-status check and repairs about it, or at least being able to conduct more repairs on it [like where or how to obtain such, and stations we may visit and log for our benefit?].
But PRIORITY goes to a comprehensive computer check up--where can I find similar information regarding tech computers like the ones of our sensor-make, for cross-referencing in how it works and how to better understand it? [Goal: Better calibrations pre-use of sensors]


After about an hour, Kari was willing to admit that trying to do a direct check on the repairs the Reunion's computer thought it needed had been a bad idea. Even trying to narrow the field by restricting it to 'serious' damages had filled several screens with vibrant red text. Actually looking at the number of warnings and errors currently displayed, Kesari began to wonder how they hadn't already exploded as space debris by now. There was an additional list that Boris had tacked on -physically tacked on, with a yellow sticky note no less- for 'critical' repairs, which included the air processors, water filtration, and the pulse synchronizers for the reactor. It made Kari's heart sink a little to see that the last item had been circled repeatedly and the word 'Radiation!' added beside it as an additional note in all caps.

There were stations where the ship could be repaired to any number of degrees, completely overhauled even, but the cost was... prohibitive. The Reunion was a damn good ship, but she was also painfully unique. It wasn't as though she was a mass-fabricated model, she was a custom built resort combined with a military carrier, both from an empire that no longer existed. There was no 'good as new' for the Reunion, because there was no time when she was new and had all the functionality of her current state. That said, it might be possible to get a new blueprint made that would preserve her current functionality while shoring up her structure, but... Well, there was a very good chance that a full overhaul of that kind would be more expensive than just getting a new ship constructed from said mythical blueprint. So far, the Reunion had gotten by on spot repairs and infusions from various other ships along with the occasional trip to dry-dock to treat the more serious repairs.

The computer system was likewise difficult to work with. All the nuances of the language were from the Toriad, and Kesari had a better chance of finding the API information in the Deep than she did of finding a Toriad programmer. That being said, if there was someone left from the Toriad, Deliria would be one of the best places to find them. Finding compatible technology for the computer was relatively easy, Toriad were prime-tech, and thus their systems were capable of interfacing with anything else running GMS3, so with a bit of work it was possible to make it play with almost anybody. Upgrading the power of the Reunion was a straightforward process, but the actual methods the computer used, the way the intelligent systems went about their tasks, was core piece of the ship. Replacing that would basically mean putting a new brain in the Reunion, which, while occasionally tempting, would mean that new IS (or AI, if they went top shelf on the purchase) would have to relearn how to work with all of the Reunion's faulty, or at best 'eccentrically functional' systems.

If Kesari could get her hands on an original model of the same intelligent system that had been packed into the Starset Resort, then she could do a lot of things, and potentially fix a lot of problems, but that wasn't exactly the kind of thing one could buy easily.



Scarlet
see if there were any remote or AI-controlled drones she could use to poke at their actual med bay.


The Starset resort had focused heavily on providing its clients with an organic experience, and had eschewed robotics to a large degree. Of course, there were a few janitorial tasks that couldn't be easily accomplished without the use of either children of special purpose robots. The Resort's owner had drawn a line at child cruelty when attempting to keep machines out of the way of his guests, and so the air-circulation maintenance was done by  automated drones. The problem with that was that none of the drones had live feeds. They had retrievable boxes that Scarlet could probably pull the video from, assuming it wasn't much more complicated than plugging it in to her own device, but that was assuming the drone didn't succumb to any hazards. Boris might also be a bit miffed at having one of his drones vanish into a section of the ship that he'd removed from their cleaning plan, but, well, Boris was always a bit miffed.

The second option was that, since Sadish was off station, Scarlet could also try to 'borrow' the Fin's remote control survey drone. That would be a much better alternative to the cleaning drone and offer a live feed as well as some light scanning capability, but it might end up with agitating Sadish. Regrettably, that probably wouldn't end with Sadish refusing to speak to scarlet, it would probably end up with a lecture about how theft was treated in various cultures through the last five millennia.

Scarlet wasn't sure how long she could stand up to that kind of torture.
« Last Edit: October 18, 2016, 11:09:00 am by Draignean »
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Dwarmin

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Re: Small Mercies (IC) | Death is knocking, and he wants to buy a goat.
« Reply #43 on: October 13, 2016, 01:17:53 pm »

A much older Fin, with deep scars across his left side, gave Sadish a knowing look and twisted his flukes sideways. The polite gesture for 'do you want me to accidentally tumble this idiot with my current?'.

Action: Sadish gestured back with a quick counterclockwise twirl of her own fluke, meaning yes, quite emphatically so.

She sincerely doubted the other loutish fin actually had any valuable artifacts...

She considered it was nice to meet another fin who knew some fluke-language, though it wasn't surprising considering his age. Such subtle cultural gestures like these were well known on on most uniquely Fin societies, but those Fins who favored a metropolitan or purely spaceborne existence often lost their 'social graces', as it was called, in regards to others of their kind-excellent evidence of that idea being present at the moment. As more Fins had taken to the stars, the old ways had begun to die out, as they always did...

It took a moment for her to escape these wandering thoughts.
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Chevaleresse

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Re: Small Mercies (IC) | Death is knocking, and he wants to buy a goat.
« Reply #44 on: October 13, 2016, 01:33:09 pm »

Scarlet sighed. You know what, she's just gonna have to deal with it. Besides, it's a survey drone, right? I'm surveying something with it. She headed over to the console for controlling the device, and after prodding it a few times and squinting hard at it, she figured she had a reasonable grasp on how the thing would operate once she turned it on. Probably. It was set up for an eccentric fin, after all, not a human, but she didn't think their sensibilities should differ overmuch in this case.

She powered the thing on, the drone flaring to life. She drove it around a bit inside the room, definitely not knocking anything over or scraping against any walls in the process, and then sent it on its way toward the real med bay.

Action: Send the drone into the med bay. Look for useless crap interesting historical artifacts to appease Sadish with alongside attempting to locate actual medical supplies.
« Last Edit: October 13, 2016, 02:18:56 pm by KingMurdoc »
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