Hai. Would it be okay if I pm any of you asking the question of just who you might be playing in the complex advisory board that is Pheobe's horribly stitched together mind?
"I hope so. You mean well. That's all that matters, I suppose." Emma is teasing, giving you a flash of a smile as you turn and head back into the hangar bay. More ships slowly stream in. You pass by the organized divulge of huddled masses; the crying children, the exhausted mothers, and the wounded soldiers. You stride into one of the twelve central personnel elevators, avoiding the massive freight elevator currently being loaded with civilians, and press a button. If you were not mistaken, the farms started on the twelfth level...
The room is massive, carved from the mountain itself, and reinforced with that concrete. Great gantries overlook the tanks and Scholars fiddle with primitive displays. The tanks are being filled with water, pumped up from innumerable mountain streams and groundwater wells. One of the nulls approaches, giving a tight, mechanical bow of his head.
"Alphira."
"What is our food situation...-- and how should I address you?"
"I am the Third to be made of this batch of Special Services. That title will suffice if you have need of confirming my individuality. As for our supplies, we have nutrient cubes enough to feed three million for twenty years, as stated in the documentation. They are located within the warehouse. Two is overseeing the distribution."
"--how?" You blink at the information, surprised.
"During the last hundred years of construction, we were given the task to provide that much according to SEED's emergency plans, should [the Plague] ever destroy the Holy City. We stored them in cryo-containmant warehouses based on designs provided by SEED on flours eighteen to thirty-six. No doubt some have gone bad, but we can re-proccess them."
You watch as the Scholars take small vials out of foggy containers, pouring them into the vats, and sealing them with great lids covered in thousands of lights.