[Skeleton Ensemble] Program 1; Disintegration, Transience, Transcendence

[Cordinarr]

Six Three closed his eye and nodded at the Type Five’s sagely knowledge. Asking for waste from another ship would appear to be more of an insult than it would seem to be asking for help. He continued to look over the ship specifications in silence while others finished their discussion and Jack detailed the tasks for them to choose from.

Kiver and the Type Four had good points in the Viridian Array. Simple enough job provided there was someone on board to keep the facility secure. The only problem that he could see is how to clear out the factory if it was held by hostiles. He had no idea how to fight, and gauging from the look of everyone so far, he wasn’t sure they were experts in it either. Then again, on the other hand, if there was fighting to be involved, pro-Nelelsians would probably be on board to hop into the action and show their stuff. He was on the fence about it.

The destruction of the Ley-Line subsystem sounded like an undertaking given their current circumstances and the ship that isn’t made for combat. Turning that one down, the Genesculptor turned toward the first option. “…scientific apparatus…stray fleet…a Mothership” If Six Three didn’t know any better, he’d think that Jack had offered this mission solely to pique his interest; he eyed the Type Five wearily. What do you have in mind for me? He thought to himself. Type Fives are…something else. Their reach far exceeds the grasp of any Type Three and can see the magnitude of possibilities from each action. This mission wasn't something that a random number generator happened to pick up, this was a decisive move that algorithms devised.

Six Three found himself in the position to play Jack's game and to see where the Type Five's gambit lay, however he relented with his would-be-crewmates. “The Viridian Array task would be the most advantageous for us at the moment. We're going to need raw materials to keep the ship going. Though I would like to strongly suggest that White Lament would be a close second in my opinion. If by the time we’re finished with whatever, or whoever, is disrupting the factory we can still reasonably make it to the White Lament, that’s where my vote goes.” At the mention of some military training by Halcyone, Six Three turns his head and regards her, “If the factory is held by those that would fight to keep it, do you think we can handle them? Or do you think we should ask the Viridian Array for help in that regard?”

 

[Primitive Polygon]

"Hum. Very interesting..." A sudden maniacal glint in the virtual pumpkin's singular eye. "None of you suggested using Cinereal's information to gain access to the sub-leyline gate system ourselves!"

No matter who they supported, it seemed like it would be an uphill battle fighting to repair the free state as a whole. In regards to this distant goal, Jack-o-lantern had no qualms in whoever the crew chose to support. They were all the disgruntled children of the same rude awakening.

Hearing a fragment of Kiver's history raised more questions that it answered, but it did reinforce his feelings over their quality of experience. Well, that, and the simulated starfield of their skin continued to make their stumbling demeanor precious to him. He wondered what interesting things an introverted person like that dreamed about. "The crane arm. That's the only weapon..." Jack's response was direct, slightly humorous in tone. "Alrough I suppose if you grabbed a little asteroid and dragged it to light speed, you now have a little asteroid moving at light speed."

Phase kind of just dissipated right after making the most blunt choice. They had a point, but it certainly said a lot about the type four, too. He wondered what they were going to be like when the bullets began to fly. Great maker, he wondered what they were going to be like if the mechanical person ever decided it was more efficient to backstab them all...

"My contact within the Viridian Array is a person who just calls themselves hollowpoint." Was the response directed at Six Three. He crossed his arms to signify that he felt the whole thing was a little suspect, but not an impossible task. "Never met them in person, simulation only... Well, I don't know what they use as a real body... You know what I mean!"

"What irks me is that they wanted an independent, outside team to perform this operation. Does this mean he or she is afraid of somebody spoiling their operation from the inside? Most perplexing."

 

[Gunsight1]

Halcyone was not sure what Phase's problem was, or if she even liked the other Freespacer any at this point. Despite having served together for a short while in the Nepleslian military training program, they had not talked much and she got the feeling Phase did not like her for some reason, though what that reason was, Halcyone did not know.

Instead she turned her attention to the question their host had posed to them for their mission. She thought the proposed courses of action over. She did not know if she wanted to get involved in fighting again. She was an engineer, not a soldier, even with her recent experience and training. The idea of finding a long lost Freespacer fleet and mothership, though. That got her attention.

Once there was a gap in the others talking, she spoke up, squeezing the stuffed toy starship-spacer in her arms even more as she spoke, "I would like to do option one, find the missing fleet and mothership" she said. "They might need our help, or want to come home now that things are getting better?" she suggested.

She then turned to Six Three, as the other Freespacer asked his question, "I, um, don't know" she replied. "My experience with combat type stuff is very limited, we did not finish our training with the Nepleslians, so I don't think I am a good judge of that" she shrugged sheepishly. She was an engineer after all, not a soldier.

 

[Dumont]

"'cessing the sub-leyline system mebbe interesting, buh we dunno where i'goes." Kiver half drawled, seemingly taking a more intense interest in the simulated fries in front of her the more the conversation seemed to drag on. Petite little thumb-fingery grabbers made out of empty space tipping out a container of simulated greasy potato, before beginning to arrange them by some unknown category.

"Dang'rous..." Ever so carefully, Kiver's fries were put into the right little piles. Longest, crispiest, girthiest... Other, miscellaneous, as yet to be determined, and ketchup stained. "Euh. If we set a roun'er course, an' the Verdy Arr'y thing is jus' tech problems we c'n proba'ly do tha' one on a way to finding the Mothership over polysentience."

 

[Cordinarr]

Six Three gives Halcyone a kind smile, “Ah, no problem. It seems we might be a little shorthanded if it were to come to a fire fight. However, I’m sure we can cook up a way to neutralize anyone before it devolves to that.” Nodding he turns his attention back to Jack, “Yeah, I know what you mean,” and starts to rub his chin. “That does sound most perturbatory. That question did cross my mind, but I thought I would ask when we learned more about the Viridian Array and their habits.”

His mind began to work, thinking of tasks to accomplish, systems to inspect, compounds to formulate, and contingency plans to implement. However, he ended all of that with a slight but quick shake of his head. One step at a time, he thought to himself turning his focus to she spoke. The GeneSculptor watched as the star speckled shape arranged her fries as she gave her professional opinion on the matter, trying to discern the pattern that she was arranging the fries in. In the end, he found himself gently nodding and agreeing with her plan. “Sounds like the best use of supplies, along with out talents and time.”

 

[Primitive Polygon]

Jack-o-lantern closed his eyes as Halcyone talked, wary of making any weird patronizing sounds. The idea of the tallest person on the ship being so sheepish was pretty cute, through. Hard to tell if she wanted to be taken seriously or not, through, so he just summoned a virtual Drenja-bar coffee from the resident menu, and sipped it thoughtfully.

"The first option is certainly the most noble one, most certainly. In fact, it's the kind of task that I would most like us fellows to pursue as a team. A family with the purpose of reuniting families... Sounds nice, doesn't it?" He responded to her carefully, now swilling the brew and looking down into it. "But... I also agree with the otherfellows that jumping in head first might be foolish. Unfortunately, stories like that are not exactly rare these days. We have no idea what we will find when we get there, my goodness..."

"Which brings us to the next point, I dare say. The Viridians." Kiver suddenly found a small log cabin made of fries slid before her, complete with a beef lawn, bun roof and pickle windows. Jack just cheated and altered their vertices rather than placing them conventionally, through, of course. "Those sultry blokes pay for standard tasks in guns, yet only give repairs to official members. I can't tell if they are adventure capitalists or proper anarchists at this point... There is just no way to gauge the fellows from afar, I'm afraid."

He didn't really know what to add to Six Three's train of thought. The Array were all over the polysentience chatrooms lately, annoying the hell of of people with their constant recruitment drives. Who knew which grim rumors were just spread by vindictive pro-separatists, and which ones were actually true.

"Goodness, I guess we will have to deal with them at some point." He threw his arms up and shrugged. It seemed like the vote had been cast, alright. "Mightawise go and find out what the vainglorious chums are after first hand, one would suppose!"

"Unless you have any outstanding endeavors here, you are all welcome to come aboard then!" The tree-like hologram of the facilities' structure was spawned onto the table once more, so that he could point out the exact docking location of the ship in real-space. "Port nineteen. Quite untidy. You can't miss it. Sign says sixteen, but I think the number nine is just upsidedown..."

"We will be leaving in six hours. Mostly because I'm not sure if there is anything else to trade for port fees. Please bring some food for yourselves... And probably entertainment?... Cleaning supplies?... Apologies, I'm not really accustomed to what a meat body needs anymore. We have some leftover oxygen, through!"

"I'll see you when I see you, my fine new associates-you!"

And with that, the virtual representation sparked out of existence. The bustle and extravagance of the simulation continued wholeheartedly around them, but it wouldn't be unnatural to feel that things were about to get real serious real fast...

///

He wasn't lying about the docking port. It was a dump. There were candles and tinsel everywhere still, as if someone had thrown a vast celebration to the god of never cleaning up after one's self.

The person-sized airlock tube was pressure sealed onto the 'roof' of the skeleton ensemble's cargo bay doors, through it was in fact on the belly of the robust little frigate, just with the gravity of that one room in particular reversed. The mess continued inside. Was this the work of the last crew, before their departure?...

At any rate, it looked solid enough. The cargo bay alone was big enough to fit three or four traveler shuttles inside, and through the bronze-ribbed silver substructure and dim orange lighting was as bare bones as possible, there was little in the way of old clutter preventing them from upgrading it in the future.

Now all that was left to decide was to get their own belongings on board, and choose what corner of the snug little vessel they would make their personal den for the duration of long journey ahead.

 

[Moogle]

The eye blinked out, having seen the end of the meeting.

///

What first arrived was certainly not what Halcyon would recognize as Phase.

It was a thin machine, though humanoid. It had a torso, a head, and four limbs. But it was thin, and gangly. It walked with a grace like animated fluidity. The legs were like blades, dancing on the tips to move around. And it was accompanied by a massive walking brick, even larger than the Bricklet she'd known.

"You are an in~ter~est~ing vessel, Jack," were the sultry remarks that first came out of the Type Four. "And though nobody else is here yet, it is safe to say that this whole operation could be done by just me, so have no fears about the others and their ad~or~a~ble fears~"

 

[Cordinarr]

Six Three waved at Jack as they blinked out, “See you later.” As he said that however, a letter appeared in front of him, “You’ve received a parcel and a letter! Please pass the following tests for verification.” Knowing who might have sent it, the GeneSculptor quickly looked around and said “Nice meeting you all!” before popping out of the VR. He gathered up his duffle bag and found a quiet secluded corner near the restaurant. Mímir always had a way with making their mark on the items they sent.

The Type Five had been a scientific teacher to Six Three during his research, heck even before then, back when he was still in tube. When he was still in his tube Mímir had access to all different types of scientific resources for him to gobble up, page by page. The seemingly endless fountain of knowledge wasn’t lack for wisdom either when it came time for Six Three to leave his tube and pursue his passion. Guiding him in his endevours, coaching him on his studies, and giving him that “nudge” that was needed whenever he hit a brick wall. Mímir had, and in many ways still was, his mentor.

The letter that had been sent was locked with quizzes that could only be unlocked within a quick time period and were all questions about what he had learned in the past. Filling in sequences, what compound would be best to combat a genetic degradation, how to best synthesize an antidote given certain chemicals, air speed velocity of an unladed swallow (trick question), and then finally, if he had made any new progress recently. He smiled under his mask as he answered “Yes” to the final question. The letter immediately opened when Six Three hit “Submit” and read as follows:

“Dearest Coeus,

It’s been too long since last we spoke and exchanged experiences. I see you have received an invitation to join an expedition. I have sent 1 tank each of Nitrogen, Carbon, Oxygen, and Aluminum. I hope they are received well, and that they aid you in your endeavors. Be sure to drop by when next you’re in the polysentience range.

May you never slake your thirst for knowledge,

Archon Mímir”

Six Three sent a reply back to Mímir, relayed the co-ordinates of the Skeleton Ensemble for delivery of the tanks, then stood up and headed towards the ship.

///

He allowed the gravity to invert and guide him “down”, attempting to slip by whatever was in the cargo bay. Finding his way to the airlocks that link to the Manufacturing Room, the GeneSculptor sent the resident Type Five a message “Heya Jack, Six Three here. I’m aboard and I have a bit of cargo trailing behind me. They are a few tanks of Oxygen, Nitrogen, Carbon, and Aluminum to give us a boost.” He began to wander around the room, picking up arch-spanners, Argon welding torches, and sonic hammers attempting to tidy up the place while taking inventory.

 

[Dumont]

As the meeting started to wrap up, Kiver found herself staring at a very strange sight. This... Construct of foodstuff before her that just appeared as she finished straightening the crispiest fries... Oh dear, this was a problem. A starfield finger hovered over the landscape of simulated calories... Held still for one second, then two, then fifteen. It was a pity, but once you get momentum going with a good sorting... Oh it's so beautiful. Kiver slowly began to tear apart Jack's addition to the table landscape, sorting its components into the same mysterious categories as the fries before.

She almost looked like she was about to cry. By the time she'd finished, there was a few people missing from the meeting. Must have ended. Hrm.

Kiver logged out, and tottered off down the hallway. Her empty food slurry tray left to gather dust or maybe flies.

///

It took a while for Kiver to gather supplies for the trip. A cashing in of some favors, the borrowing of this or that, asking six separate people to borrow their shirt. She shook hands with the Freethinkers who helped her man the trips to the ship graveyard. She never understood the shaking of hands, and it showed. Usually it wound up with one or two fingers hanging limp while the others squeezed harder every few seconds. Type III's were weird for wanting to do that sort of thing.

But she made it, tottering into the messy loading bay with a thick fluffy blanket being used as a makeshift sack for her effects. She'd traded in her tank top for a simple button-down red shirt made of synth wool, with its long sleeves rolled up, and the whole thing fastened with a single button for the sake of expedience. The little pilot didn't pay any mind to the machine in the loading port, there was more important things to do. Metal boots clanking on the metal floors, she navigated the gravity reversal with ease and clambered up to the important bit: The cockpit.

She sat there for a little while. Just... Giggling, apparently giddy for finally getting back at the controls for a real journey. Propped up behind the pilot's seat she had apparently found her new favorite thing: If she looked down the access shaft she could look from one cockpit straight to the other. Two! Two! There were two cockpits! The look on her face as she peered down the hatch seemed more like she was looking into an occupied locker room. As if she were seeing something taboo, somehow. Oh yes, this would do. This. Would. Do.

Dumping the rest of her assorted junk into a hanging hammock, Kiver nestled into the pilot's seat. Pulling the blanket she borrowed in around her, stuffing snacks in nooks and crannies, hanging up a keychain with little polysentience external drives for her personal entertainment next to the little pine tree air freshener, she pulled out a marker and popped the cap off it with her teeth. Soon she was scribbling on the cockpit's canopy. Marking out various errata for shipboard operations. Points to keep horizons on, or adjust the angle of the ship's nose for a safe descent or successful atmospheric escape. Safe turning angles for not harming stress points in the hull. Little notes in the margins of a pilot's vision.

This nest was hers now.

 

[Primitive Polygon]

Skeleton Cargo Belly

In lack of any internal security cameras, it was a squat, spindly miniature junker that came to greet Phase's physical body. It had a candy-red shell about the size of a coffee table, just one eye offset from the center, actual arms instead of tendrils, and was overall less spider and more spider-crab. The mono-camera flipped between green and blue whilst listening to them speak, imitating the effect of blinking, but changing camera modes in actuality.



"Why, thank you! My goodness. I was beginning to suspect your were also a type five, comrade Diharmonious!..." Jack's voice sounded rather more nasally relayed through such tiny speakers, but they sounded pleased at least. The little crab pincers made his habitual welcoming arms-out gesture look more like a crustacean macho display, through.

Basically calling the other crew members unnecessary was just met with an amused tone, mostly just ratifying to Jack that the oddball automata had been constructed that way, and was probably not born organic themselves. "I also thought you would pack heavier, somehow... Oh well! The fabrication room is just one room forwards, whilst the computer rooms... and, erm, myself... are one floor up, to the aft. Please make yourself at home! Grab some space and make your mark on it!"

"The skeleton is an old thing that will probably outlive us all yet, who am I to call it mine?"

More new crew members were coming on board now. Fortunately, there were apparently enough individual midget crab assistants for everybody.

Skeleton Fabrication Guts

Six-Three had found the reckless use of facilities continue even inside the work areas. The chemical refinery had an odd series of tubes connecting to the distillery, and rough it was empty other than a sticky yellow residue, one wiff of the pungent aroma that prevailed within the small chamber could have told him what it was being used for. It was almost definitely the waste product from an alcoholic sith brew which had fueled the rampant party only hours earlier.

The tank was big enough to fit a sitting person inside, through. Crikey.

"Do you require any assistance with bringing the new materials on board?" A slightly more dented-looking crab robot was sitting on the charging bench next to the metal furnace, through the voice was still immediately recognizable as Jack's. There were three more charging stations alongside it, but the rest of them were currently empty. "Also very good to have you, I must say, Genesculptor. I'm not sure we have ever had a proper science-fellow on board... As far as I know our fine ship's history, anyway!"

Skeleton Control Skull No.1

"Kiver, dear... You look really different in person!" A buzzing chirp, from a mono-eyed metallic bug peeking over the cusp of the cockpit access ladder. It looked in no way shape or form like a pumpkin. "Good to see that you have already made this place your home!"

The flat spindly thing could only really manage to climb up sideways, but seemed to manage anyway just through pure experience. They observed the strange new markings on the windows, at first thinking them decorations (or perhaps mecha-druidess wards), before finally extrapolating them into a 3D space and realizing that they were, in fact, of a more practical nature. Most other type twos just had it digitally overlayed before their vision senses, using their mindware.

Jack didn't mind, through. Now the Skeleton finally had an actual HUD of its own. That was a nice feeling.

 

[Cordinarr]

As Six Three entered and began to pick up the loose array of tools, he found a nice corner to lay down his duffle bag. Placing the tools on a nearby bench, he removed his shirt and slung it over one of the tubes that connected to the chamber. Reaching into his duffle bag, he took out his third metal arms and attached it to the metal track that ran along the vertical center of his body. He smiled under his mask as it felt better to have it on his body once more; two arms are nice but three arms are so much better. Conducting some diagnostics, he found it was in prime condition and set out to work.

Thankfully his mask sheltered his breathing from any…less than pleasant smells. However, judging from the color, the texture, and the viscosity of the residue that covered the tank he could surmise the purpose that the tank fulfilled. Creating a new file for his memory, he titled it “Chemical Refinery – Tank Use” then made one column for the date and then another column for the use, then made a note at the very top, “Apparatus appears to have been used for an sith substance. Low grade, but high in potency.” This might explain why Jack didn’t have too much to trade off of the ship, Six Three thought to himself. He began to explore the nearest workbench, exploring the drawers, noting their contents and organizing them in an orderly fashion.

The Genesculptor looked up from the bench as the little crab-bot spoke to him. He looked down at his own three arms, “Hm, I suppose so. I’m not sure if the delivery people will go ahead and bring them in, or really how big they are. But to be safe, let’s plan on me needing some help.” He walked over to take out his Datapad with a High Performance Liquid Chromatography Attachment, and nodded at the artificial crustacean. “Yes, thank you, nice know my experience will be appreciated!” He said in a cheerful tone. Truth to the matter was, while most scientists were a little uppity and expected their labs already clean, sterilized and up-to-date, Six Three took a quiet joy in helping get other labs to that point. One cannot expect the whole of the nation to move forward if only one lab is in tip-top shape, and someone has to roll up their sleeves to make things cleaner, might as well be him.

“I’ll share a few documents with you Jack. One will be a working inventory spreadsheet with how much we have of what, when I use it, how much I’ll be using each time, when I expect it expire, as well as a Material Safety Data Sheet for each compound that expect to synthesize. Another document will be along the same lines but for instrument logs. The final one will be progress reports that I’ll be making. Be it for research purposes, findings or failings that I discover, recommendations that I may refer back too, or just my thoughts on the state of things, it can all be found there.” He began to take a reading of the sludge that was found inside of the tank, and had adjust the settings to a reversed-phase chromatography to analyze the composition that only cemented what he had guessed. “For starters,” he raised a finger with a bit of yellow gunk on it, “I’m going to have to clean this out, and pretty thoroughly if we have any desire to use it. But no worries…”

He got out of the tank, went over to the workbench retrieving a squirt bottle labeled “LAB SOAP”. “Thankfully, polar substances dissolve easily in other polar substances. This soap should work wonders.” With it in one hand, and two scrub bushes in the others he got to work cleaning out the tank.

 

[Dumont]

Gettin' some HUD:

If Jack took a good long look, it showed that there were several things that Kiver would have to overlay in order for her canopy to work. This was all just the static stuff, and cheat sheet shortcuts for what would be needed to keep the ship moving.

"M' old ship wossa pile'a junk." Kiver explained. Just faintly smiling as if there was nothing but fond memories despite her assertion of a terrible ship, "Hadda run low power lotta th' times, an' when th' starcells couldn'a kept up wi' what we need'n t'do we hadda charge 'em from 'r own selfsames. So we all hadda run low power."

Kiver licked her thumb, wetting it and then scrubbing out a little mistake she'd made in one of her notes. Then the marker went right back to squeaking against the glass.

"I'da looked like th' stars if I coulda. But I canna when'm meat... So I jus' make 'm all feel like home."

 

[Moogle]

"Oh, I am not a type five. That would be too in~con~ven~ient~" Phase whispered to the little drone, stooping down and stroking the crabdrone with a very pointed finger. "But, this is not the me-me. I am just using a quantum device to move this form from my own little lovepad~"

The Type Four picked up the crab and placed it on the truck-sized brick with legs, moving towards the passage to the fabrication bay. "That is Bricklot. He has everything I need and very likely everything everybody else needs for this little mission. You can paint on if, you so desire~ but you are not allowed to stick your hands into his in~tern~als, got it?"

Two tetrahedron-shaped drones popped out of the previously-smooth surface of Bricklot's front, pulsing with lights on the vertices and hovering about. They set off down the halls, scanning the place visibly with little beams coming from their tips.

Phase left the cargo and made it to Fabrication, leaving the massive brick behind. The beautifully simple form of her remote body towered over Genesculptor when she entered.

"This place, it is very ~lived~ in!" She remarked, the smooth, rounded head of hers alighting with previously unlit volumetrics emoting a simple set of circular eyes over the metal.

 

[Primitive Polygon]

Fabrication Bit

"Okay. I'll send number four to keep a look out." Jack responded simply, sending a message to the primitive automata. Other than that, they just seemed to stare at the Genesculptor's third arm for a minute, realizing that this matched their polysentience appearance a lot better than before. "Cleaning supplies are in the medical lab if you need more... Oh, and the cargo bay tends to stay like a giant fridge when not docked, so that's a pretty good place to put chemicals that need to stay cold."

Examination of all the new tools Six-Three had brought along didn't seem to do much good. Jack had a pretty good idea what most of them did, but was not a born engineer themselves. Sometimes using the polysentience to cheat knowledge just made it look that way. Ironically, the Junker drones piloting their own NU AI would be a considerable deal more help.

"...Oh. One more thing." A sudden thought, something he could lend assistance with. From the prospective of everyone on the ship, a data stream from some weird site called 'poly://spooky_house.jol' booted up, offering to download a new software package. "This will enable mindware communication through the skeleton's own server. You'll be able to adjust environmental and gravitational settings on the ship, leave digital signs in real-world locations, and access the leisure site, of course."

The tall and rather skeletal metallic form of Phase suddenly entered the room in the middle of this talk, to which the dented Jack-crab turned and continued their conversation with a straight forward "I understand..."

It would have been easy to be a cheeky bastard, and proclaim that the junker drone's hands weren't technically his, rough being honest, Phase and the walking safe-dog were pretty intimidating. At this moment in time, they were like the two most advanced systems on the beaten up old ship. Did they even have the tools to maintain bodies like those?... 'Everything I need' was kind of a ominous comment, given he didn't know what their overall goals were.

"You don't have a nuclear bomb or anything like that inside this 'brick-lot' do you? Oh dear." He asked nervously, pincers clicking together. Back in the cargo bay, the second crab was doing the exact same thing whilst still sitting on top of it. "Like, this fellow used to fly a phantasm, so it wouldn't be the end of the universe, but... What a bother... It just seems like something we should vote on, at least!"

The HUD Zone

Kiver got the data stream too, rough Jack would have felt a bit forceful physically telling them to download it.

'So I jus' make 'm all feel like home.' It was a weird turn of phrase. The syntelligence wasn't completely sure he understood, viewing this all from the particularly low perspective beneath the hammock. They understood the part about loving their old ship, through. Newly constructed machines and fancy prototypes could break down, backfire, fail to live up to the hype. A machine which had done their best for previous crews and stumbled on no matter the weather, that was something which deserved warmth and appreciation.

All of that might have been a bit mushy to say to a person they had only just met, through.

"Kinda slow on the turning, but put her in the corona of a star, and she'll fly like a sunbeam in a straight line." Informative talk, then. "Not like you don't know this skirt of the nebula, deary me... But just remember it takes two thirds of the power reserves to knock the old thing into FTL... Might need that after we nudge through the leyline, my fine compatriot."

 

[Cordinarr]

From inside the tank Six Three nodded, “Thanks, I’ll get to downloading that right now.” He set it to download and install while he scrubbed away at the tank. The lab soap had been a bit diluted but he had worked with less, it still did its job of breaking down any ethanol into methane, methanol, and dihydrogen monoxide.

The Genesculptor poked his head out from the top of the tank as he heard a voice as well as doors opening and closing, with a drop of yellow goop on his head from the tank. From the way that the automata had enunciated its syllables, he guessed it was Phase. “I suppose that’s one way to put the state of the Fabrication Bay. Though I’m trying to get a bit more…proper so that we can work in it for maximum efficiency.”

Turning back to scrubbing the inside of the tank, he found he was beginning to run low of the soap. Looking around, he scanned the tank with his mechanical eye and it read back to him“98.67% of contaminant removed”. He sighed to himself, “I suppose that will do for now.” Lifting himself out of the tank with all three hands on the rim, then his body like a comical spider, he walked over to find the least dirty rag to wipe off the sludge from his head. Quirking his only eye brow, he turned to face Phase and the stationary dented crab, “Bomb? What kind? For what purpose?”

 

[Gunsight1]

Halcyone looked upon the ship that was to be her home for the foreseeable future. It was old, battered and worn, a workhorse of a ship and defiantly not a sleek and deadly gunship like Harmonious Solarsailor had been. But, as she looked upon the starship she did not see it's flaws or age or condition. She saw potential. And an engineer such as herself loved to have potential to work with.

She quickly boarded the ship, all of her belongings with her, a backpack, two duffel bags were slung over her shoulders, and another large box held in her arms, all clanking with the sound of tools and other bits of hardware rattling around inside. She spotted some of the others already ahead of her as she came aboard and noted one of the little crab bots talking to the giant hulking brick thing, which looked like an overgrown evolution of Phase's bricklet, though she was not sure if it was or not.

Halcyone set her box down and waved to one of the lingering crab bots, which she figured had to be some sort of greeter, or extension of the ships computer AI. She remembered the instructions to come aboard and find a nice spot to make themselves home, to which there was only one spot for her. The engine room. She needed to go there, set up shop and see what she had to work with!

 

[Moogle]

Fabrication Bit

"Oh you~! No, not a bomb. Just a nuclear power core, but that's to be expected when you don't want to rely on the. . . Yamataian treachery that is Aether." Phase said, leaning down to pet the crab-drone. "My, you are as transparent as you are concerned~"

The elegant figure folded down two panels in the effective "abs" of the body, and four baseball-sized drones flew out.

"If you wanted a place to be fixed up for effi~cen~cy, all you had to do was ask, Six-Three~" Phase told them, letting the little drones fly about and unsheath their cleaning and repair tools.

 

[Primitive Polygon]

Fabrication

The crab seemed to relax a little, but was still blindsided by all of the extra drones now wobbling out of Phase's chest. Given the amount of spacers who had RTGs implanted into them, the idea of a nuclear power core wasn't all that threatening, at least.

"Aether is a bad joke. Trying to create something that is non-toxic, by going as far as tapping power straight through dimensional barriers." He reflected, voice taking a suddenly somber turn for just a pace. "Sometimes I think they only utilize it to stop low-tech planets from running off with their space hulks."

"Reminds me of this spider-girl I met called Treasure, working for Origin." Hopping down from the desk, the drone examined an array of old sponges and washspray cans from a rusty old cabinet, determined to be of some actual help. "Maker knows what crawling around in those vents is doing to their metabolism. I hope they are okay..."

"So what do you two think of the Viridians and the Greens?" The crab just made a motion like a small shrug, it's singular eye flickering between various colors again. The sponge it had picked out was in a terrible state, but not nearly as bad as half the ones still in the footlocker. "You really think it's worth helping them over the Astral Locksmiths?... Goodness gracious, they could kick us out of the leyline system if we get too chummy, you know..."

An extra thought, regarding the key badge on Kiver's foppish beret. He wondered if they had been to Planet Arsenal, or if it was just another random trinket find.

Cargo

The first crab that Halcyone encountered seemed to be lost in thought, or perhaps now in autopilot, examining the advanced gleaming steed in great detail. Behind the tall pallid freespacer, however, came another voice; A second metal crab, this one bearing a black '4' numeral in the center of it's shell-head.

"Greetings Gearhead! You are just in time!" The small thing chirped. "I was just awaiting the arrival of some of the crew's newly delivered supplies, but everyone else seems accounted for!"

"Make yourself at home! Make yourself at home, dear!" The one standing on the brick-horse piped up again now, speaking in the exact same boisterous voice. It's pincers were making little waving motions towards the airlock at the rear of the cargo hangar. "Engine room is just past the bulkhead, can't miss it! Habitation room is one floor up on the right!"

 

[Dumont]

Skully Tops:

Kive paused for a few seconds, reviewing her pending download before blinking slightly out of synch. One eye after the other. After that her scribbling seemed to stop. The HUD was complete as it was. Tolerances were scribbled here and there, elevations were here and there. The optimum entry angles were a little line graph to the side so she could eyeball atmospheric entry, apparently she was anticipating them going to ground more than once. Little random dots were here and there showing things that Kiver seemed to have just remembered off the top of her head.

And then she just sort of ground to a halt. Crawling over to perch on the back of the piloting seat. Her boots clanging to the edge of the stairwell.

"I saw 'at onna ship's specs. I know. I'll be sailin' us out t' be fired fr'u th' black'ole's escape shaft" Kiver said. Then grimaced just a little bit. Placing her hands on her knees and leaning down to stare at the crab in the access shaft. "So do you... Uhm... Do you... Like... Mm... Hm."

The scrawny pilot's brain seemed to stall out. Obiously trying to process something close to small talk while someone else was both present and inoffensive within her workplace. Her mouth opened and closed once or twice, forming half words but halting each time to clench her jaw in thought. As if to fill time she took up the physical cable from the navigation computer, and twiddled with the plug. Cleaning it of dust and dirt that wasn't actually there over and over again.

"Guess we jus' waitin' fer th'rest, hm?" She finally settled on impatience, although her heart was obviously not in it.