DocTomoe
Inactive Member
Operations Platform, Pilot Ready Room
“I would personally prefer to say that we were fisting the universe, if you prefer to dick it, that is entirely your prerogative.” Chambers spoke in reply to the gluttonous Nekovalkryja of the group, as her amber-yellow gaze went to the synthetic life-form. Chambers' eyes did not carry any sort of scathing intensity that would be expected, instead, there was something else that her humor in that moment was hiding, hidden behind a momentary smile that had been rarely seen upon the Lorath gunslinger.
I hope you die.
It was a thought that screamed in Chambers’ mind, as species driven prejudice raged like bitter bile within the woman. What churned that bitter ichor was not irrationally born from silly things such as ideological differences, or even the difference of flesh and bone. Chambers’ hate was born from the last five Lorath years; subjugation, dismissal, discrimination, disappointment, betrayal, manipulation, grief, pain. It was a living death that Chambers’ ancestors had known as they were confined beneath the surface of Lor so many years ago. Within the sickly feeling of raw malice that hope, that hate filled hope, was what kept Chambers’ spirits aloft.
“Since it seems there are no objections or uncertainties, I am glad to say we will be departing in one Yamataian hour.” Chambers stated, as she stood from her position in the ready room, and made her way to the hatch of the compartment. “Gather your in-flight belongings to be carried on your person, and complete final checks that your additional belongings and supplies have been loaded into the cargo hold of the Herald, and complete any final arrangements you may have in mind… However, do note, your off-station communications are now suspended.” With those words, Chambers stepped away and made her way through the interior of the orbital operations platform on her own.
Operations Platform Docking Bay, Aboard ‘Herald’
“Tha floor is buzzin’.” Came the raspy chitter of words from a feather-clad Lorthet.
Skills of impressively keen observation were not monopolized by only one of the avian creatures; “Walls too.” It spoke.
“Whas it mean?” Asked the first one of the observationally gifted birds.
“Idjits” Grumbled the third Lorthet, the defacto leader of the trio of stowaways. “Means the ship is being turned on.”
There was a confused expression from one of the other Lorthet, the floor-observing one of the group, as he hopped about while tilting its head quizzically. “Ya mean is horny?”
A hissed squawk left the group’s leader, as the sharp crooked beak ideal for gripping, crushing, and even tearing into carrion was held open in a threatening gesture, before closing to chitter in disapproval. “No! The ship is not fuckin’ horny! It means is getting ready to go!”
“Uhm… whar?” Asked the wall observing Lorthet.
“Tha hell I look like? A fuckin’ navcomputer?” Snapped the leader of the group, before waddling his feather-fluffed body through the interior compartment the group had chosen to nest in, some sort of compartment with brightly colored tarps, and fancy boxes, some of the fancy boxes that even contained foil wrapped food. There were ‘Trade’ words printed on the foil, which meant nothing at all to the Lorthet, ‘Emergency Rations’. More words were on the brightly colored tarp, which they had torn into for nesting bedding, ‘Emergency Shelter’. At that point, as far as the boss-Lorthet knew, the Trade word ‘Emergency’ meant ‘Pretty fucking neato’.
“Let’s just be quiet in here… cut the squakin’, and if you gotta make shit, do it in the zippy-suit there, we don’t want them smellin’ it.” With that instruction, the boss gestured to another item printed with that ‘Pretty fucking neato’ word. Little known to him, he was gesturing to an emergency atmospheric suit of classic Lorath design.
One Yamataian Hour Later, Aboard Herald
It had been an hour since the briefing, and with that hour passed, Chambers had led her group aboard the prototype ship. “Danny on operations, Taela take the sensor monitoring position. Tamamo A, Tamamo B, take primary and secondary helm and get Koa mounted.” Orders came from the Fyunnen, as she made her way through the control compartment. Seats were arranged to form a central aisle to move through, with a seat positioned to port and starboard; one for sensors, one for operations. Ahead was a compartment that was distinctively separate, marked by a threshold meant for an emergency bulkhead, and in that small forward compartment were three seats clustered closely together, two of which were meant for navigational control, one of them was meant for a centralized command role.
It was a cramped compartment, to say the least. Chambers took to her position in the confined forward area, and the moment she rest her head upon the headrest of the seat, a sharp sound followed by a click rang out from her position as a neural interface cable embedded itself into a cybernetic port at the base of the Fyunnen’s skull.
For those of the group which had the benefit of being crammed full of Lorath design data during the course of their preparations, something was distinctive about the design sensibility of the piloting compartment, which differed from the original Star Seeker the Herald was based off of; the overall structural design, control interfaces, even the seats seemed to be adaptations of technology used in the Cardinal and Hawk fighter designs, and almost as a confirmation of that design feature, Chambers’ voice came through the speakers of the ship; “Prepare for atmospheric fluid submersion.” Pouring from ports in the deck and ceiling plates, a swift and steady flow of breathable fluid began to fill the compartment.
“Danny, begin airlock and docking clamp separation procedure.” Chambers ordered, as she felt a flutter of butterflies brought on by the creeping feeling of atmospheric liquid climbing up past her neck, touching upon her lips, and with a sharp steady breath she pulled the liquid into her lungs as her head went under, and everything was fine shortly after. “Taela, link with our sensor network in system” Came the next order, as the Herald sped through much of the pre-flight process on its own, with subtle nudges from its fresh crew. “Tamamo A, when ready, take us out from the docking bay at regulation speed. Tamamo B, coordinate with Koa and Taela’s sensor feed to determine the best FTL route out of system and tune the FTL drive accordingly. I want maximum speed to our hyperfold entry point as soon as possible; I do not want to be intercepted by any curious Garts or Yams. Plot our exit point on the far side of the blackhole.”
With orders set, Chambers closed her eyes, only to see beyond herself, beyond the ship. There was much out there, so much, and none of it was meant for Lorath hands to touch, for Lorath feet to stride upon. As the ship began to move, Chambers could feel the shift in gravity and inertia as synthetic impulses fed into her brain. As the void of space embraced the Herald, and the visual sensors of the ship looked upon the assembled armada of Lorath ships which stood vigil over the start of their venture, the gunslinger had only one thought cross her mind, three words, that expressed all of her regret. Three words that were thought time and time again, by those who wore the armor of the Fyunnen, those who wore the pins and regalia of an officer, and even those who were part of the nobility and royalty of the Matriarchy: ‘I am sorry’. Those words were the only thing that Chambers could use to articulate the feeling of the first steps that her people were about to take as they prepared to leave home.
“I would personally prefer to say that we were fisting the universe, if you prefer to dick it, that is entirely your prerogative.” Chambers spoke in reply to the gluttonous Nekovalkryja of the group, as her amber-yellow gaze went to the synthetic life-form. Chambers' eyes did not carry any sort of scathing intensity that would be expected, instead, there was something else that her humor in that moment was hiding, hidden behind a momentary smile that had been rarely seen upon the Lorath gunslinger.
I hope you die.
It was a thought that screamed in Chambers’ mind, as species driven prejudice raged like bitter bile within the woman. What churned that bitter ichor was not irrationally born from silly things such as ideological differences, or even the difference of flesh and bone. Chambers’ hate was born from the last five Lorath years; subjugation, dismissal, discrimination, disappointment, betrayal, manipulation, grief, pain. It was a living death that Chambers’ ancestors had known as they were confined beneath the surface of Lor so many years ago. Within the sickly feeling of raw malice that hope, that hate filled hope, was what kept Chambers’ spirits aloft.
“Since it seems there are no objections or uncertainties, I am glad to say we will be departing in one Yamataian hour.” Chambers stated, as she stood from her position in the ready room, and made her way to the hatch of the compartment. “Gather your in-flight belongings to be carried on your person, and complete final checks that your additional belongings and supplies have been loaded into the cargo hold of the Herald, and complete any final arrangements you may have in mind… However, do note, your off-station communications are now suspended.” With those words, Chambers stepped away and made her way through the interior of the orbital operations platform on her own.
Operations Platform Docking Bay, Aboard ‘Herald’
“Tha floor is buzzin’.” Came the raspy chitter of words from a feather-clad Lorthet.
Skills of impressively keen observation were not monopolized by only one of the avian creatures; “Walls too.” It spoke.
“Whas it mean?” Asked the first one of the observationally gifted birds.
“Idjits” Grumbled the third Lorthet, the defacto leader of the trio of stowaways. “Means the ship is being turned on.”
There was a confused expression from one of the other Lorthet, the floor-observing one of the group, as he hopped about while tilting its head quizzically. “Ya mean is horny?”
A hissed squawk left the group’s leader, as the sharp crooked beak ideal for gripping, crushing, and even tearing into carrion was held open in a threatening gesture, before closing to chitter in disapproval. “No! The ship is not fuckin’ horny! It means is getting ready to go!”
“Uhm… whar?” Asked the wall observing Lorthet.
“Tha hell I look like? A fuckin’ navcomputer?” Snapped the leader of the group, before waddling his feather-fluffed body through the interior compartment the group had chosen to nest in, some sort of compartment with brightly colored tarps, and fancy boxes, some of the fancy boxes that even contained foil wrapped food. There were ‘Trade’ words printed on the foil, which meant nothing at all to the Lorthet, ‘Emergency Rations’. More words were on the brightly colored tarp, which they had torn into for nesting bedding, ‘Emergency Shelter’. At that point, as far as the boss-Lorthet knew, the Trade word ‘Emergency’ meant ‘Pretty fucking neato’.
“Let’s just be quiet in here… cut the squakin’, and if you gotta make shit, do it in the zippy-suit there, we don’t want them smellin’ it.” With that instruction, the boss gestured to another item printed with that ‘Pretty fucking neato’ word. Little known to him, he was gesturing to an emergency atmospheric suit of classic Lorath design.
One Yamataian Hour Later, Aboard Herald
It had been an hour since the briefing, and with that hour passed, Chambers had led her group aboard the prototype ship. “Danny on operations, Taela take the sensor monitoring position. Tamamo A, Tamamo B, take primary and secondary helm and get Koa mounted.” Orders came from the Fyunnen, as she made her way through the control compartment. Seats were arranged to form a central aisle to move through, with a seat positioned to port and starboard; one for sensors, one for operations. Ahead was a compartment that was distinctively separate, marked by a threshold meant for an emergency bulkhead, and in that small forward compartment were three seats clustered closely together, two of which were meant for navigational control, one of them was meant for a centralized command role.
It was a cramped compartment, to say the least. Chambers took to her position in the confined forward area, and the moment she rest her head upon the headrest of the seat, a sharp sound followed by a click rang out from her position as a neural interface cable embedded itself into a cybernetic port at the base of the Fyunnen’s skull.
For those of the group which had the benefit of being crammed full of Lorath design data during the course of their preparations, something was distinctive about the design sensibility of the piloting compartment, which differed from the original Star Seeker the Herald was based off of; the overall structural design, control interfaces, even the seats seemed to be adaptations of technology used in the Cardinal and Hawk fighter designs, and almost as a confirmation of that design feature, Chambers’ voice came through the speakers of the ship; “Prepare for atmospheric fluid submersion.” Pouring from ports in the deck and ceiling plates, a swift and steady flow of breathable fluid began to fill the compartment.
“Danny, begin airlock and docking clamp separation procedure.” Chambers ordered, as she felt a flutter of butterflies brought on by the creeping feeling of atmospheric liquid climbing up past her neck, touching upon her lips, and with a sharp steady breath she pulled the liquid into her lungs as her head went under, and everything was fine shortly after. “Taela, link with our sensor network in system” Came the next order, as the Herald sped through much of the pre-flight process on its own, with subtle nudges from its fresh crew. “Tamamo A, when ready, take us out from the docking bay at regulation speed. Tamamo B, coordinate with Koa and Taela’s sensor feed to determine the best FTL route out of system and tune the FTL drive accordingly. I want maximum speed to our hyperfold entry point as soon as possible; I do not want to be intercepted by any curious Garts or Yams. Plot our exit point on the far side of the blackhole.”
With orders set, Chambers closed her eyes, only to see beyond herself, beyond the ship. There was much out there, so much, and none of it was meant for Lorath hands to touch, for Lorath feet to stride upon. As the ship began to move, Chambers could feel the shift in gravity and inertia as synthetic impulses fed into her brain. As the void of space embraced the Herald, and the visual sensors of the ship looked upon the assembled armada of Lorath ships which stood vigil over the start of their venture, the gunslinger had only one thought cross her mind, three words, that expressed all of her regret. Three words that were thought time and time again, by those who wore the armor of the Fyunnen, those who wore the pins and regalia of an officer, and even those who were part of the nobility and royalty of the Matriarchy: ‘I am sorry’. Those words were the only thing that Chambers could use to articulate the feeling of the first steps that her people were about to take as they prepared to leave home.