RP: 188604 Work for the Restless Wicked

Ragna-City Outskirts, Shipyard Checkpoint:

Following the storm, the White Lament was even more of a lamentable wreck than before. Just about all loose debris had been sand-blasted off the thing, sand was piled up along the windward side to half-bury it from one direction. The inside... Well, it actually proved that it was possible to be even more of a wreck than the inside used to be.

Arccos stood around the edge of the perimeter, staring at the large tarps which now hung over the hull breaches. Each one slapdash painted with strange 'spacer symbols and stars of the office of Thieftaker General. Some of the refurbished junkers were busy clambering over the hull, gathering scrap materials gathered by locals and either moving to bolt it directly to the ship, or more frequently drag them inside towards the Grinder. All in all, despite the ruin of the last few days, the place was a hive of activity.

The whole area around the wreck was now staked out with signs crudely painted on to yet more scrap metal scrounged from the rest of the city. Old roofing panels, tin mess plates. All painted painstakingly with radiation symbols, and words in big sickly green letters:

WARNING: PROXIMITY WITH DAMAGED SHIP WILL MELT YOUR FACE OFF WITHOUT PROTECTION.

...It at least seemed more straightforward than explaining what radiation was.

Actual work was done at the checkpoint: A mid-sized storehouse that was abandoned soon after the ship crashed and the Junker hive went haywire in the city proper. Now it was a busy place. Local scavengers who had lost their livelihoods were turning in metal for rewards. Junkers in various states of operation lurked about in the rafters, whether clinging by their own might, or suspended from chains as they were readied for return to the work force. A team of Arccos' brigadiers patrolled the perimeter to try and catch unauthorised scavengers, or warn off those who would get too close. Occasionally a few I'ee engineers might flit in or out to see what goodies were on offer.

The little workshop looked to be where stuff would get done until the day the ship was fully powered and operative. And that was where those who stayed behind to work were meant to meet up.

Arccos stepped out to start arranging things. Or at least get things moving in some direction. She was still wearing the same clothes as she wore at the meeting, although now her power armor loped behind her ready to be worn as a hazard suit.

"Alright." She called to the various scavengers, workers, and drones. "We have a million messes to clean up, and a fraction of what we need to do just that. Anyone wants something done, we arrange it now and get it all in the works. Anyone who wants to help, get ready to work!"

Scraphouse

Neat rows of large blue-metal crates had begun to form outside of the storage shed on the perimeter, containing more useful intact materials than one might suspect from the vast smoldering husk. Being nearly a kilometer long in total, there were a great deal of colony-building resources still protected deep within the interior. Truffleclub had spent the most part of the night retrieving and reorganizing a considerable proportion of it, to the point where it looked like vast parking lot had somehow broken out, despite the planet's utter lack of motor vehicles. More than a few of the pods appeared to be little plastic greenhouse units, with nothing but boxes upon boxes of lemon seeds to actually grow in them. Shovels, saws, and random tools were also ubiquitous, through perhaps a bit useless, given that the locals already had their own. Maybe the larger eight-wheeled containers could be cut in half to create cargo runners of some kind?

A large white tent had even been set up for medical operations, through perhaps leaving a re-appropriated junker on call as a secretary was what had failed to make it popular. The large spacer robot didn't even seem particularly fond of the spider's aid either, having been marooned in space with nothing but their actively malicious company for years. The tent also contained a dozen double-thickness hazard voidsuits, originally intended for reactor operations... But now probably required just to stand around inside the ship, given all of the airborne heavy metal powder and stray puddles of coolant.

As for the lasting damage caused by that accidentally magnetized starlight cell which had exited the ship on its own, it turned out wind-propelled sand was the best fire extinguisher for chemical fires going. The compounds stored within the organic fabrication facility were a complete write-off even if they hadn't been years out of date, but at least some of the tanks were still useful.

Three had been moved to directly adjacent with the storage shed, twice the size of a human in scale, but not particularly laborious for the levitating giant to heft whilst they were empty. One them simply was separating hydrogen from water, the second was using the very sand beneath them to project a hideous acidic smell that the robot was either unaware of or didn't care about, and the third was some sort of heated pressure chamber for turning it all into weighty rolls of flexible solar-cell film.

Finally settling down, even if just to be informative and hand out equipment, the sleepless machine squatted in the corner of the storage house with a morose demeanor. A single ripe lemon was rolling around in their left hand, evidently waiting to test it on someone...

Shipyard Checkpoint>

Amongst the crowd of scavengers and locals, Gut-Stripe stood silently, the people around her having formed a small clearing for her to stand in. The I'ee was dressed fully in her armour, damaged as it was, with her rapier held in her upper-most left hand. Though it wasn't exactly obvious, she was staring at Arccos, her head cocked slightly to one side so that she could see her clearer. She didn't call out or make a fuss, however, standing quietly and waiting for the 'spacer to address her; following her silently if need be.

Weapons for Wasps:

A few orders shouted, and a few Junkers ordered to their duties, and Arccos finally turned to Gut Stripe. Her eyes narrowed for a second at the rather grim looking I'ee. This one was definitely not a Sammy. Hard to get the best read on this one, but then again... Eh. Shoot straight.

"Welcome to the workshop." Arccos addressed Gut-Stripe, waving the red and black wasp over. "We've got a lot of work to do, so I'm sorry we couldn't get to you earlier. Same time, the faster we get everything in working order, the faster we can start refitting your fleet and people..."

Arccos would lead Gut-Stripe in, and over a bit towards Truffleclub. Whatever foul smells were filling the place equally seemed lost to the pale 'spacer, there was a good chance that her nose was purely cosmetic. Although there was also the off-chance that she had just turned off her sense of smell for this occasion.

"To start I can have the junkers fix up your armor if you'd like... Shouldn't take too long. But I actually called you over to talk trade. On behalf of the Freespacers I'm prepared to offer you weapons, and ship upgrades, but I'd like to trade some raw materials for the labor. Right now we really need everything we can get patching the Lament, since without a lot of backup Uso's mercenary fleet won't be able to continue a pitched battle. My understanding is you have miners, or salvagers or something to that effect that you can negotiate with... So I'd like to tell you what we can add to your fleets and armies to even up the odds, and see what you consider a fair trade."

I Dare You to Hug Her>

The armoured wasp silently approached at Arccos' beckoning, her armour clanking with each waddling step she took. "It is no trouble.", Gut-Stripe replied. "I have no true work to attend to. Lots of time to spend." As she entered the workshop, she paused, her antennae quivering as they took in the nasty scent, before she tried to shake it off and keep moving.

"I... would very much appreciate repairs.", the I'ee commander said, already removing her helmet. "As for trade... Our engineers here are not true miners, but, I assume you mean to organise deliveries of material from off-world, am I correct?" As she spoke, Gut-Stripe continued to strip out of her battered armour, placing each piece in a neat pile on the ground until finally her body was bare. Her red war paint was quite intricate, almost pretty, with swirling lines and patterns adorning her face and abdomen.

Not until the time is right. One must woo the wasps first:

Arccos waved her hand almost as if giving a non-verbal command. In reality, all she was doing was sending an electronic ping from her mindware to one of the Junkers hanging from the storehouse's rafters. The hand waving was more to demonstrate that she was the one ordering it. Some didn't like how the Freespacers could move in unison without outside organisation. Two mechanical tendrils drooped down and snatched up pieces of Gut-Stripe's armor, the Junker then starting to heat the metal parts of the armor with its built in laser, and then clamp parts back together. Pressing out dings from bullets, and tears in the metal.

It wasn't exactly the prettiest fix, but the armor was coming back into form.

"I do mean that. This world's industry is still developing, and the more we can import right now the faster we can send the support fleet..." The 'spacer moved over and helpfully opened a window, a little breeze moving in to shift some of the smell. "My people's engineering is incredibly sturdy, and long wearing. But we're not quite as advanced as some others."

One by one the armor pieces would plop down in front of Gut-Stripe with a little 'klank'. Each piece being patched up and remoulded back into its old form, albeit with some visible welding marks where the pieces had been rejoined, forming little scars on the metal.

"While we can't offer you planet killing super weapons, or the strongest shields; we can offer you superior electronic warfare modules which will let your fleets move undetected by the Misshuvurthyar. It can prevent targeted missiles being able to land hits, and they can disrupt shields so you can ram right into the enemy without worrying about smashing against their force fields... On an infantry level we also have personal scale cannons that can punch through power armor, and at the very least we can make your bladed weapons cut through metal on a molecular level. Maybe plate those shields with buckypaper so they can shrug off energy weapons like there's no tomorrow... If I talk to Dr. Torr, he can probably work with your doctors to develop military grade cybenetics which can work on the I'ee as well..."

Woo her with deadly weapons over a plasma-lit romantic dinner>

Gut-Stripe observed the Junker in silence as it worked on her armour, looking rather uncomfortable at seeing the fluid movements of the automaton. "If I could track down the Thoot family, they would likely be able to transfer materials to us quicker; being deep-space miners who operate far from our territory.", the I'ee mused out loud. "But they are foul-tempered and greedy, and we do not keep track of their movements. That is Eethie's occupation. It would be easiest to contact Ithee back home and ask them to divert some of their materials to us. The chances of our convoys being intercepted during transit out of our home system is low."

As she spoke, the wasp edged over to the open window, leaning over the window-sill so that her head and antennae were out in the open air. She had her head turned slightly, still viewing Arccos in her peripheral vision for the purpose of conversation. "I honestly would not wish for super weapons.", she continued. "The more I hear about Yamatai's full power and capabilities, the more I despise and distrust them. No one would accumulate such raw, destructive power for any reason other than to use it."

Turning around to face the 'spacer, Gut-Stripe rested back against the window with her upper arms' elbows resting on the window-sill: A rather unusually casual posture for the I'ee to take. "I, nor any of my family, want weapons to destroy with. We want weapons for revenge. NMX, Yamatai, whatever. We want the capacity to make those who dare hurt us to pay for their arrogance." Gut-Stripe paused to let out a hot-headed huff of anger, her clawed digits clenching and relaxing.

Third Wheel;

The shielded head of the massive automata rose slowly, darkening their upper body due to the purely natural light sources entering the window of the glorified barn house. A soft stride placed them next to a workbench at the pair's side, upon which they placed the sour yellow fruit as a silent offering to the compact vespid warrior.

To say that they loomed was descriptive of pretty much every encounter with Truffleclub, but something about this conversation in specific seemed to make the way they held their formidable barbed shoulders quite melancholy. It was perhaps not in their capacity to really judge other people, but a war of blind hate was something they had experienced first hand.

"You want tools, we give tools... We help friend anytime." A forboding tone. "But justice... That thing is not really exist."

Weren't the kind of creature to soapbox. They were sort of built to know their place, and didn't stick around to defend such rhetoric.

Clomping outside, back into the fresh air, they just gazed at the over sized looms of flexible solar film, and thought about where to begin placing it.

Truffleclub was in Dark Souls III?:

Arccos glumly looked on as Truffleclub said their peace. She even lightly patted the big Automata's arm on the way out as if to comfort it a little, but it was questionable if they would even notice it.

"They're right, in a way. You're probably going to be able to put those NMX in your system to the sword. But the people who made them, and the systems that produced these things aren't going to be put down in our lifetimes..." Arccos rubbed a finger and thumb against her eyes, giving a sigh without her body moving to show she'd taken a breath. "The universe is full of great big armies who exist purely to keep people scared and dependent on those armies. So it's likely that even if we give you these means of getting revenge for what's been done, you have to keep in mind that you're probably going to have to keep on using them again and again."

"Then again, take it from me as one of the people who fought back against Yamatai: Without the means to get that revenge, sooner or later you're going to see the end of your people. It's just something you'll have to live with until we can find a better alternative. Until that day, we're stuck negotiating this sort of thing. In exchange for whatever you can bargain from your people, Ithee, Thoot, whoever. We can offer you what our people have used to both avoid wars, as well as wage them."

Seeing Truffleclub stir in the corner of her vision made Gut-Stripe jump with surprise, raising her blade and crouching slightly with a warning hiss as the tall automaton got to its feet. She didn't seem to relax again until Truffleclub had left the room, still observing the door it had left through with her mandibles open wide before finally returning her attention to Arccos.

"What would an empty automaton know of justice...?!", the I'ee muttered quietly with another hiss, presumably referring to Truffleclub, who she seemed quite disturbed by. "In any case, I have already stated that my family only wish for the means to defend ourselves. We do not want to fight wars. We want to protect our family. As for Yamatai... the Ee'ith tend to revere them naively. I only hope this placating patronage will let us avoid conflict with them."

Finally, Gut-Stripe seemed to notice the lemon Truffleclub had left, tilting her head to one side and plucking it off the work bench to examine it.

Shipyard Checkpoint

Corgan walked into the storehouse in full power armor, the gathered throng parting to let him past. He nodded a greeting at Truffleclub as he walked by. His power armor was spotless. The storm and the riot had covered his armor head to toe with blood and dust. A nearly seven-foot-tall man in a metal suit was terrifying enough to the locals.

The sight of Gut-Stripe was unexpected. He was starting to be able to tell some of the I'ee apart. The only one he was still a little scared of was standing in the room looking at something in her grasp."Arccos. I'm here to help with whatever I can, just let me know. I'll do whatever you need." He said although he suspected that might be a poor choice of words. No telling what the Spacer would have him doing since he said whatever.

Is a Defensive War not a War?

"Well... I'm not sure I'm completely understanding you. But don't get me wrong, I do like the idea of defending yourself without a fight. But in my experience one isn't exactly possible without the other unless you simply pack up camp and leave the known galaxy for a more peaceful one..."

Arccos raised one hand and rubbed the back of her neck. This didn't seem to be going well. Between this I'ee's attitude to her darling Truffleclub and whatever she was not understanding about getting revenge without fighting... She couldn't quite wrap her head around it. And that wasn't the best of things in her mind. Could she not understand a way to settle combat without fighting? In her days of fighting against Yamatai, their means of fighting without fighting were to remain immaterial, and flee before they could be found... The knowledge of some of the I'ee revering Yamatai wasn't good news, though. Not a good thing at all.

"I can offer you electronic countermeasures, maybe? Means of getting into enemy systems without facing them in the sky. Deactivate their ships from within, so you can detain or see about doing whatever else. Doesn't destroy, just deactivates..." Arccos offered, turning to watch Corgan coming in and waving him over.

"Corgan! I'm going to need someone in power armor to help with retrieving the depleted rods from the reactor. They're stupidly radioactive, and I don't want unshielded electronics going in there lest it get fried on the way in and out. But before that you said you might want my help with something?"

The I'ee commander watched Corgan cautiously as he entered, her wings buzzing softly, only to relax again when she heard his voice, recognising him as one of Uso's men. "If we do not defend ourselves without combat, our enemies do not die.", Gut-Stripe said to Arccos with a snort. "A threat must be annihilated, or it will continue to threaten. We will not leave Ee'ee. Those who attack us must either die, or kill us all."

The mention of electronic subterfuge seemed to intrigue Gut-Stripe, who tilted her head to one side thoughtfully. "Disabling a ship would make it easier to initiate boarding actions.", she mused. "Once inside, the enemy crew can be killed. It is easier to fight on our own terms after all... Ithee would like captured vessels." Distracted by her thoughts, she placed the lemon back upon the work bench, thinking to herself.

"I guess those NMX are technically brigands rather than invaders. I get you now..." Arccos leans down and takes up the lemon, pulling a little folding knife from her back pocket and extending it with a little snap. She calmly cuts the lemon in two halves, and bites into it, sucking out some juice, and tearing a chunk out of it with her teeth. Weirdly, she continued to speak perfectly audibly, despite a full mouth. The advantages of synthetic voice-boxes.

"When the former Free State occasionally clashed against the NMX, we had huge strategic operations computers to deal with them. They could blind their sensors, disable their shields, and prevent their weapons from targeting our ships. If you can negotiate those supplies, I'll gladly share with you a functioning library of programs and schematics for devices for your people to be able to do just that. Sound fair?"

Spacer finds the perfect algae planet, tries to grow fruit;

The lumbering humanoid did manage to look down upon Arccos before leaving, given that they had an extra pair of cameras on both sides of their head, but any emotions that they might have been withholding remained a mystery. They didn't even know who the power armored man was, lacking any kind of identification system, and so just offered the person a curt nod before continuing.

With the harsh sun beaming down, the surrounding sandy plains felt like they belonged to a completely different planet than the harsh storm that had battered them a few nights before. Had the machine a more of a consistent idea of what planets were even supposed to be like, perhaps it would have been more surreal.

The grip of oversized orange boots ground into the dirt, a baroque sentient contraption crouching before a sizable field of steamy plastic lemon incubators. Truth was, they knew perfectly well where a chamber filled with personal anti-power armor weapons was... Guided missiles, recoilless rifles, miniature nuclear charges... Things that the fabrication system could easily duplicate, even.

But that wasn't what Truffleclub wanted to do again. They wanted to make some life. Finally surrounded by people once more, strange and savage such as they were, the robot only wanted to heal people. That was their self-assigned hobby, in the years before the terrible exodus... Yet, the truth was, even their little fruit garden was struggling.

Crude steel brackets, three dozen of them, each one a meter and a half in length. Good enough for the rather disposable solar array that they were constructing. Yes, it was better to be constructive than sit around sulking.

Taking a sizable bundle and rhythmically jamming them into the topsoil in a long line, a conflicted mind was eased by something that would help everyone. They needed that first boot of power no matter what. Fixing a nuclear reactor wasn't exactly easy even with basic interior lighting.

Innocence of Youth and lax Child Labor Laws:

As Truffleclub set to work on their little garden, Arccos seemed mostly busy with talking to the man in power armor and the Wasp. Maybe she just didn't want to work Truffleclub harder, or... Who knew really? But, as Truffleclub got to work, they found themselves increasingly being watched by two locals who had finished delivering their load of scrap to be melted down... Two tiny locals. Little grubby kids, both in coveralls. One wearing a big jacket that probably belonged to an adult relative, while the other wore a worn out cavalryman's cap.

The both of them just poking their noses over the edge of Truffleclub's garden, watching the big automata poking seeds into the dirt fruitlessly (...!). The one in the cap looks up to Truffleclub.

"Is this gonna be spacefood?" The first asks.
"Not gonna grow much without greenfeed..." The other mumbles.

Gut-Stripe nodded her head with approval at Arccos. "Yes. These electronic countermeasures you describe sound very useful.", she said, letting out a soft squeak; perhaps the first Arccos had heard from her. "It will be much easier to kill our enemies when they cannot fight. Also more satisfying, dare I say?" The wasp nodded her head again. "If you can give us these technologies, then I will gladly arrange for the requested resources to be delivered to you."

Moppet-Machine Interface;

The horned disk of the dayglow collosus rotated slowly, able to angle it's five main vision slits towards the diminutive locals without breaking it's stride. What it saw confused them.

"Who are you? You are bringing bits?" The lumbering tone was even more unsteady than usual, given that they very much felt those juveniles should be in learning incubators still. They weren't entirely certain how the kids even managed to walk and talk, given that they apparently had no mindware... How did planetfolk do it without computers? Did they just keep them in a bathtub and read to them manually?... Well, these two were out and about, so evidently not... "What... Who is Greenfeed? Is Greenfeed you friend, is?..."

"Cloudy is growing that medicine for metals. Medicine you is eat." They didn't have much to show the kids as of yet, and so just balled up a couple of seeds in their hands, using the glare of the new solar panels as a enlightening focus. "You is lost? No caring system? You learning units are in-ade-kwuate?"

What Greenfeed is:

The two diminutives didn't seem to pay much attention to the questions of whether they were lost, or anything of the sort. If anything, they seemed all too accustomed to people questioning if they had anywhere to go. They looked at the seeds, only vaguely recognizing what they were. The city was close to a forest, so seeds existed for sure. They both sort of widened their mouths in awe, showing missing teeth.

The one in the jacket puffed themself up, drawing the oversized garment around their body to make their chest look a bit bigger and flapping about a banknote "Yeah! We broughtcha bits! Got dirty sheriff papers 'n'all for it!"

Arccos seemed to have no compunctions about putting small children to work...

"If'ya gonna grow stuff you gotta get greenfeed. 's how auntie grew Clinger Flowers in 'er windows!" The one in the hat explained, "Yo gotta scoop up green algae fromma puddle or a water barrel or sumfin... Then y' boil it up in a special kettle an' smoosh it down from th' top with a stick. Once th' water boils off, all th' salts outta it... Ya sell th' salt t' the butchers, an' then y' take th' moosh inna bottom to a nightsoilsman or the stables."

From there the one in the jacket butted in, looking sly like they were saying something particularly saucy.

"They mix it up with poops an' it turns t' greenfeed! Stuff grows outta it! Smells awful, but!"

If anything they seemed to be referring to some sort of way of refining the algae mixed with manure, and turning it into some sort of fertiliser. Maybe the nutrient rich algae wasn't just used in food...

Helpless, hm?

Meanwhile, Arccos just gave a little nod, hanging her head for a few seconds extra. Maybe not all I'ee were as affectionate as some. If any, these sorts seemed to be the majority. A bit sad. And that bit about Sammy's family revering Yamatai was... Bothersome. Potential information leaks, different sorts of diplomatic problems, and the possibility that the I'ee could always turn to the outside. Sammy... What were you getting yourself into?

She didn't sigh. She wanted to, but didn't.

She took up the little probe she kept around, just in case of technical issues. A small black networked device hooked wirelessly into her mindware, that looked more like an abstract blob that fit her hand, rather than any specific tool. It wasn't that it was likely she would need a hacking probe on this sort of planet, but it didn't seem impossible that technical skill would be useless after the White Lament fell. She stepped forward and handed it to Gut-Stripe.

"This contains a smaller database of what I have to offer potentially. It's got electronic countermeasures for most smaller systems... Open bulkheads, cracking databases to steal charts, letting you see what your enemy sees. The rest I'll have to get via datamining my peoples' collective networked consciousness." She looked out the window towards the wreck of the Lament.

"When properly linked to the Free State technologically, we can functionally know what every other Deoradh knows... But I can't access that network without fixing the evanescent wave couplers on the Lament. So consider it a downpayment."

Gut-Stripe seemed taken aback by the tiny, black device, holding it in her claws and staring silently at it for a long time. It was evident she was used to far bulkier electronics. "This... is... tiny.", the I'ee spoke slowly, not really knowing what to make of it, before looking up at Arccos. "How do we use this? How is the information extracted? How-?" She paused, musing to herself that this might all be obvious to her technicians, but still considered her questions valid. The rest of Arccos' words like 'collective networked consciousness' and 'Deoradh' meant nothing to her, but the general meaning carried over well enough.