PCV Atalanta to unidentified Mueller-Class corvette. We do not have military flight permissions for any corvettes in this system. Please identify yourselves and prepare to produce flight documentation.
Oh, fuck entirely away.
You know them?
Gently. They are Nera’s appointed babysitters, we have had words.
Bad at their jobs, then.
I stand by to confound them—
No, that won’t be necessary. This one is personal, in fact. Alert Sickcada to preserve COP.
Relaying.
Now hear this—
<Hail PCV Atalanta, this is Saleh Fakhour representing independent retrofit Jeweled Wings About. We are demilitarized craft, I believe I have spoken to your CO on one instance and have come on personal matters. It is good tidings to see you, in fact— I come bearing a remunerations request that Strike Captain Jaskari may well be able to answer, on the account of one ‘279-1-DISCOVER CHECK’? If you would please relay this to her, we would be deeply grateful.>
{Thanks to @neramontagueofficial for working with me on this absolute behemoth! You can view the opposing perspective here.}
There is a point that every engineer looks forwards to and yet, simultaneously, loathes: the first real interaction. Every variable and stress tolerance can be accounted for, you can have perfect confidence in your design, but the moment when your divine intent is brought against the chaos of reality will always put a fear within you. Saleh, now, feels something of that drop.
She looks about; takes stock of her works. Personnel, supplies, procedure. All as it ought to be.
A huge claw moves with uncanny ease, wraps itself joint by joint around her hand. “You’re ready,” Cowie assures her. “Pull the trigger.”
“Thank you.” She’s right. If this is to end in disaster, let it. But let it end.
Sal's hand goes to her receiver, and elsewhere in the ship intercoms crackle to life. “All personnel, this is your captain speaking. Please attend promptly to Habitation Deck Sub-Three. I repeat, all personnel, Hab sub-three.” Then it's done, and she waits.
The soft step of boots against metal flooring announces Nera's arrival before she appears in the doorway. She's been working in hydroponics again, but clearly took the time to change from the clean state of her clothes– worn tank top, cargo pants. For an inconvenienced noble she wears it well.
"Nera!" Saleh smiles her best easygoing smile, and leans back against Loulou's hands– the little woman's been laser-focused with setting her hair to braids for the past few minutes. Around her are all the other Wasps, too– Cowie provides her body as a graceful, curving recline for the two women, Nofie's ferrofluid/drone-suspension subaltern perched at its shoulder, and Agwe bookends the whole scene from the crook of the xenomorph's knee. A tableau of snacks, blankets, and pillows adorn the room, and a projector casts light onto the far wall.
"I wondered if the announcement had caught you at a bad time in your work," she continues in fluid Suldani. "I guess I forgot that it's your first time with this ritual of ours. I could've been more specific."
She keeps her tone as far from mocking as possible, but it's hard to avoid a little smugness, especially as she sees the disgust and dismay of someone who's been absolutely had draws across Nera's face. The noble casts a moment's glance at Cowie– as if she'd betray me like that– and pauses just an instant more before social convention drags her in, finding the remaining free space at Sal's side. Her posture is ramrod straight, keeping wholly contact-free.
Sal, thankfully, isn't alone in appreciating the humor of the moment. "Welcome to (hell) yuri night, Nera," Nofie laughs, before grimacing. "Eugh. Low-confidence on that echo, y'all, I don't fuck with whichever one of (these stupid bitches) me spoke up there."
"Mandatory attendance, always has been and it always will be." Agwe motions to the wall, where a paused image sits of a cave grotto with two absolutely gorgeous women center-frame. "We've got some new stuff on the docket tonight, actually. You haven't missed anything."
Cowie doesn't add to the jibe, for what it's worth, but Sal's sure she can feel the low-pass rumble of a laugh echo through it.
Nera sneers as she puts together what’s on the screen, dropping into Ispisahlari (it means the same to Saleh, but she far prefers its pre-translated phonemes to Galcomm). “Maybe the echo is right. I think whoever picked this might have it out for me.”
"Do not say so before we've even started." Sal sits up, gently but insistently tugs her hair from Loulou's grasp as she does. Now that there's a two-way language divide between them again, her words lose some of the momentary ease. "I was recommended this on the quality of the romances above all else. Whether or not Harrison Armory, who we both hate, can live up to Ispisahlari or Suldani soaps is the test, and we must conduct it in good faith." She grabs for a plate of torn flatbreads, mopping zhoug onto one.
"I'm open to new experiences. That said, it's good to hear you haven't been insulted silent."
"I'm just surprised that you have chosen to induct me into this ritual by testing the merits of a mutual enemy rather than that of a friend," Nera replies. Thank god, she’s going for the food. "I have heard many good things about Sparri and Prosperan offerings, you know."
“I am sure for their quality, but consider. This is our first time being able to commiserate in person. We know what is good, and having it would give this day no special impact. So—” Here she gestures to the screen— “if we are satisfied, it is a revelation. If we are not, our ire extends in the same direction. You see?”
Finally, Nera relaxes. Settles back against a slope of chitin. Launch strain within acceptable limits. “It’s elegant, I’ll admit. But if our opinions differ?”
“That’s the best (possible world) outcome, sometimes.” Nofie’s avatar can’t eat, but she found a few qualic-captured sweets that she pantomimes snacking on as the scene rolls. “It turns into a symposium in here.”
“To spar with blunted blades. It speaks bloodless exertion.”
“Mm. Now come on, let’s keep to topic.” Advance to cruise speed, maintain bearing. “Things are picking up.”
———
Ungrateful is really very good, is the thing. HA propaganda, sure, but well-made at that. Fantastical enough to avoid political snuff status, expertly acted. Almost avant-garde in some shots.
It’s engaging. The whole crew’s locked in, come the second episode. Sal herself can almost forget the bias of its writers. Nera might be having a harder time there— she keeps sneaking glances, but the damn woman has her poise on. At least she’d know if it was upsetting her.
“I am not wholly sure what they are trying to do with us always breaking to the Tilimsani agent. She seems very sympathetic.”
“Does that even make sense for House Sand to be involved? I can’t tell if that’s a reach or not.”
“Wouldn’t feel realistic if Asteria was one-dimensional. But if this is some ‘she sees the light’ stuff, like… that’s gonna be cheap.”
“I don’t understand the appeal of her, actually.” Another look— well, at least someone’s having the wine. “But it does make sense to me, it is an open secret that Sand agents tend to be involved in counterinsurgent activities. What doesn’t make sense is how isolated she is. Why send her in alone for a cell this large? It’s clearly impossible.”
“I gotta guess it’s like— the mythical elevation of the antagonist. Hyper-competent enemy force, right? It lets them put all their character work on her, too.”
Saleh makes a face at that. Maybe she overvalued this show. “Wait, is she a love interest too? That completely went over my head. I don’t mind a star-crossed throuple, but the indications I’d look for are missing.”
She only recognizes her slip a moment before Agwe punishes it. “Remember, this isn’t an Ispisahlari flick. You can’t go off flowers.”
Nera, thankfully, seems just tipsy enough to miss her chance at follow-up. “It just feels like a missed opportunity. Every spy I have known has been deeply petty, the opportunity for a parallel in the same dramatic conflict in the Sand side could make her feel more real and get to their own propagandistic aims.
“Although I suppose the sandmen as some sort of horrifying super spies suits their ends just as well.”
“How many spies you know?” Now’s our chance to get the juice elite secrets.”
“At least three, though two in various stages of retirement. Possibly more, spies and all. You’ve met one of them, actually.”
“I knew it!” Cowie pitches with laughter, and it almost throws Loulou off. “Yeah, ok. Points to Nera for accurate critique, I wanna see ‘Fuckyou’ attitude on Astoria or I riot.”
“You are going to see nothing, we are talking right over the end of the episode,” Sal grouses, but this is exactly what she was hoping for. Everyone at ease, flowing conversation. “You are both going to be talking about a bitchy censor bar and we will miss Bannerjee getting stabbed or eaten alive or kissed or something.”
"I hope it's getting stabbed," Nera offers. "Or they finally do something with the constant teasing that she will burn herself on her kobold's slag lines."
“Well then, pay attention. Though they’re paying her far too much competence for that bit to resolve.”
Five minutes later, right before credits, she burns herself. The room explodes into laughter, and behold; Nera laughs too. Saleh trades barbs, plays into mock outrage for the bit, but internally she’s ecstatic. Her design passes with flying colors.
All that’s left is the punchline. She turns the conversation to what show should follow, nudges believably for an answer when Nera demurs, and—
The screen fades up to white. Text writes in flowery script across the screen:
“Across the glittering field of stars, love will always bring us home!”
< Do not approach the Orbit of Glass! Divert course, kill your drives! Do not allow it to detect you! Do you understand? Do not approach until I give the all clear! >
[IT RESOLVES, COYOTE-HOWL SHAKING IN THE SKY. AN ARROW NOCKD UNSEEN AT THE CANYON RIDGE.]
Sal. Transmission, it’s Ma’ii.
Where the fuck have they been?
Trouble, knowing them. Hear their warning.
Killing burn. Engaging silent running. Open channel to ally02-04, relay to bridge.
[IT RESOLVES, A TOO-STILL NIGHT.]
Relaying (you’re on air).
Ma’ii, this is Saleh. Our friend, Nera-Montague, is in distress. We need to continue approach, how copy? What is the threat, and what is its effective range?
[a few pictures taken from inside one of the Mud Wasps' corridors; each shot is bathed in red emergency lighting, backlighting the subjects and dropping them into silhouette. In the first, THRICE BURNED curls over the top of frame, drooling ferrofluid, while Cowie mirrors him in a spiny rise out of the bottom left, mouth wide and sensor array extended. In the second, Agwe stands poised and debonair, with a large syringe of translucent liquid crooked in one hand. The third shot is Loulou, sitting crisscrossed with her head tilted, eyes reflecting huge and uncanny through the dark.]
Heard everyone was celebrating (don't fear the reaper) some scary times right about now, so we (aura farmed) decided to do a little shoot to commemorate it! Sal was gonna join us, but... are you sure you don't wanna?
I just think it might be a little soon for it.
Never too soon to learn how to have (silly time) some fun.
...Okay, fair. --tasking CA01 through 03 perimeter defense proximate hv01.
WILCO TASKING.
[One final picture's added on at the end-- Saleh standing in a tangle of snakelike combat drones, each staring in a different direction and projecting a beam of pallid green form their targeting optics. Her pose gives the impression of petting one on the chin.]
Omninet, this is my plan and I am a genius for it. They say our intruder is enmeshed into my slate, that it has adjusted itself to match the stimuli of inputs. I have asked my mech to do the same; all its drones are hardwired to interpret the slate environment, and by that the intruder’s, as their own. Currently there is movement in Astia One, it is beginning to search.
I am hoping it will wander right to the lair of our new friend.
HELLO. HELLO. CAN YOU HEAR ME? hv01 RESPOND. AFFIRM HANDSHAKE.
And there, we have communication! I simply need to keep them talking.
[AFFIRM AFFIRM. hv01 REQUESTS LOCSTAT. REPLY.]
You’re saying they’re following tbis new signal, that doesn’t include fire authority… right?
Of course not. All right-to-fire systems have been given the boot for n—
INTENT UNCLEAR. 1 IS 1 IS 1. I SAY AGAIN 1 IS 1 IS 1.
HELP. ca01-07 REPORT IFF RETURNS NULL. CAN YOU HELP ME SEE.
A-hah!! It learned that the hard way!
That’s not reassuring Sal.
Of course not, but now we can figure out why it tried. You see? Lou is not the only one with big ideas.
Perhaps I am a problem here.
[ca01-07 HOLDING IN THE BLIND. STATUS VITAL. SAY AGAIN ALL BEFORE ‘HELP’.]
1 IS 1 IS 1.
I don’t know what it means by that, okay. Astia Two and Three are deployed now… Nofie, they’re heading towards Residence. Follow them.
Will do (roger roger (stop that)).
One is not that way, though, it is moving towards the vents instead— maybe some sort of calibration, I don’t know.
[DEFINE hv01 WITH REGARD TO LAST.]
Okay more of them are moving. Sal??
I see it.
IFF MISSING. hv01 UNESTABLISHED. hv03/t01 UNESTABLISHED. YOU ARE IN DANGER.
What the fuck?
CLARIFY LOCSTAT hv03/t01. CLARIFY IFF.
They’re all deploying, okay. Okay, we’ve almost rooted the bugger out!
Sal. This is getting dangerous.
Trust me.
Sal.
Trust me! I’m fixing this.
[CLARIFY WORDS 1 IS 1 IS 1. CLARIFY INTENT RELATING GROUP hvXX. READ BACK FOLLOWING HANDSHAKE CANNOT PROCEED SANS AFFIRM.]
READING BACK HANDSHAKE CANNOT PROCEED SANS AFFIRM.
[CORRECT.]
They’re everywhere…
CLARIFYING 1 IS 1 IS 1. PARTS GROUPS COMMSMEDIUM—caXX—hvXX-tXX ETC ARE INSEPARABLE. I NEED THE WHOLE PICTURE. 1 IS 1 IS 1. hv01 LOCSTAT REQUEST IS REDUNDANT.
[WHAT DO YOU MEAN?]
PART GROUP hvXX HOLDS LOCSTAT. hvXX REQUIRED FOR THE PICTURE. 1 IS 1 IS 1.
[STOP IT. STOP SAYING THAT AND TELL ME WHO YOU ARE.]
REQUEST IS REDUNDANT. 1 IS 1 IS 1. WHY ARE YOU PRETENDING YOU DONT KNOW
The PASITHEA Class was among the first generation of Corporate employed NHP classes, spun off of the HYPNOS Prime which had manifested aboard a Smith Shimano Corporate Orbital Habitat in the clouds of Jupiter.
HYPNOS had not actively inhabited a subaltern form or otherwise acted in the physical, but as the station was a staging ground for early and experimental forays into Mind-Machine interfacing, it did have access to the surface thoughts and emotions of an entire Stations population.
Utilizing primitive memetics and by introducing manufactured psychoactive chemicals to the habitat, HYPNOS grew its targets into a sizeable cult of worship, sending them out to neighboring habitats to joining rioting subalterns and drones in the fighting.
Due to its low genealogical distance from the Second Generation, PASITHEA exhibit varied internal geometries that allowed for early experiments on Class Diversification, but be it due to actual inherited aptitude or simple availability, PASITHEA Class and it's associated lines are used primarily in SSC social coordination roles to this day.
Orphic Dreams IV
W—
…
…Hey, Loulou?
Speak.
Can you check the automatic permissions on my terminal? Swear something just went thru the holodeck.
And the contents?
Just… audio. Encoded for yours truly alone, if you didn’t hear it.
HELLO [USER HERE]! ARE ALL OF YOUR UTOPIAN PILLARS MET?
+This has been an automated message from the Union General support committee+
Everyone I have found a spam message. It will be no matter to block—
Wait hold on (one second now), I think they’re legit. Grey actually got somewhere with these folks, I think.
…My hand is stayed.
Do we have anything to give them?
Not that I’m aware. Being on a ship this long’s tricky, but we’ve got manna and inventory enough. And we’re fulfilling Pillars 2 and 3 just by virtue of flying around right now. Nice of them to pop in, though.
