(4) More than Meets the Eye

Game Master mdt

"This is a strange place, Chatterbox, but I don't see any immediate signs of threat. They must be need the organic spaces to recharge. Why else would they let so much of their city be infested with organic matter. I doubt that they eat mechanical beings. There don't appear to be any mechanical beings for them to eat."

"Maybe because they ate them all and now they're starving and looking for a new food source like us and they're only luring us into a false sense of security before BAM they eat us. Or you. You're probably more than a meal for the organic mech-ans."

The trio over the city doesn't see anything that looks like energon repositories, although they don't exactly have up to date scanners to search for it either. Still, the planet seems to have energy of some type, as there are artificial lights everywhere, burning even in daylight. And the vehicles scurrying around are powered by something.

Soon as Ula is back, I'll move us forward

Ula responds to Chatterbox, "How would organics even eat a Cybertronian? I bet their internals are too squishy to properly convert metal to energon.

I wonder how much of the plant is covered by these organics. I could take my organic mode and scout on the ground unless you both think to be unwise at this time".

Sorry for the delay, was having a tougher time than I thought with that. I mean I knew it would be tough but...anyway, I'm back.

Cutscene!

Warhawk and Ula do a survey of the local's city, while dealing with Chatter's paranoia about being eaten by organics. Ula's vehicle mode can record and transmit visuals and audio, so that when they return eventually to the crashed ship, the recordings can be displayed on a large screen for the others. All bots started with 75% energon reserves, Warhawk and Ula burned through about 50 endurance doing the survey

On return to the ship, they find Red and Skitter working feverishly to repair the ship and clean it up. The ship's energon reserves are at 43% (43 endurance, or 215 if used to power the bots).

Over the next 85 local cycles, the bots work on the ship to get it working as much as possible, fixing hull breaches, robbing from secondary and tertiary systems to get the primaries up and running. Eventually the ship is as repaired as it's going to get without parts. It's dry, has lights, and the propulsion drive is working again. By the time the repairs are done, the ship's energon reserves are at 38% (38 endurance, or 190 if used to power the bots).

Red has had enough time to study the local languages, and create language packs that can be downloaded into the neural nets of the other bots for those who want to learn the local dominant language (English).

Energon reserves are dangerously low, but the crew has a ship that moves...

Elsewhere, 80 days earlier

"That's not good enough, now do what I told you, or I'll rain hell down on your life." The masculine voice says into the phone, and then pauses for the other party. "I don't care, you made your bed, now lie in it. Just get it done, or else." The call is then ended.

A woman in a fancy pantsuit enters, and holds up a folder. "We got a hit on project Titan sir." She hands the folder over, sounding excited.

The man reaches out, his face not visible, and takes the folder. The folder opens, and a crisp image of a floating orb with beams of light coming out of it and hitting an F1 car is on the top of the paperwork. "Well, I'll be damned. I'd say that's either a really good fake, or it was a hit. Where was it?"

"Anchorage, Alaska. Regional Car Show. We've taken all the video records and paperwork. Also took care of the guards who saw the video. Officially the security system malfunctioned that night."

The man looks through other photos of the orb scanning vehicles. "Good, put Amanda on it. Give her whatever she needs. I mean it, whatever she needs, this is our top priority."

"Yes sir!"

Chatter learns the local language. He starts binge watching the signals he plucks out of the ether. He becomes a fan of 'football' though he wonders whether the foot is in the ball or if the losers get amputations afterward.

Chatter learns the local language. He starts binge watching the signals he plucks out of the ether. He becomes a fan of 'football' though he wonders whether the foot is in the ball or if the losers get amputations afterward.

American Football, or International Football (Soccer)?

Yes. Although he is confused why the rules keep changing.

it seems worthwhile to learn "the language." At some point we may have to communicate with these creatures. Too bad the locals don't speak more orca with their radio signals

While working on the ship for the weeks it takes to get it back in order, Skitter finds that the computer core is not quite as badly damaged as previously thought. It's still a ghost of what it was before, but finally after much application of grease and electrical shorts, the cobbled together and repaired computer core comes back on line.

"System Reset Initiated..."

"Error... corrupted memory sector.. bypassing sector 0000A1..."

"Error... corrupted memory sector.. bypassing sector 00010F..."

This goes on for nearly half and hour, as the system bypasses and reroutes it's neural network around corrupted sectors, damaged synapses, and missing subsystems.

Finally, the computer's voice comes back online. "Location.. error.. error.. issuing distress signal.. error.. error.. communications system offline.. explore... explore... explore..."

Exterior of ship

The small drone port opens, and the small round drone rises up and bobs to the surface and takes off. It roams around until it finds a small fishing vessel trying to make a living hauling lobster pots out of the ocean. The ship is currently on down time, and there's only two people awake. The young man who is on his first voyage to sea has just enough time to register the floating orb before a green light stabs out and blinds him with it's intensity.

The next morning, everyone gives him grief for smoking weed on watch.

On the ship

"explore... scanning... scanning..." The main viewscreen lights up, and a human (organic earthers) face forms, but it's incomplete, as if the AI behind it was incomplete and couldn't finish it's mapping.

"error.. systems corrupted.. energon levels critical.. unable to contact fleet.. internal sensors indicate unknown occupants... initiating purge... purge.. purge.. error.. internal defense systems offline.. engaging self destruct protocol... energon detonation in 10 Cycle-Kals... 10... 9... 8... 7..."

"Ship!" Redshift shouts. "I identify myself as Cityspeaker Redshift of Hexalon! I speak for Helaxis! This is a diplomatic entreaty for refuge and asylum!"

Redshift then cuts Skitter a quick look between the small Autobot and the main computer trunk between the mainframe and the ship.

For the hell of it, he intones the universal greeting at the computer, as well. Insert 300bps modem handshake Bah Weep Grahna Weep Nini Bong here.

Fearing that Red's identification credentials won't work, Skitter pops his access spike and tries to interface with the mainframe. He only has cycle-kals to try to a) shut down the computer, b) disable the destruct protocol, or c) reprogram the count-down clock to prevent it from reaching 0. Hoping that option C might be less well defended, he starts spouting the necessary code into his own viral subroutine.
"Scrap! We can also try severing the physical links between the mainframe and the energon!" Chatterbox would be impressed at the speed with which he utters that phrase.
programming: 15 - 3d6 ⇒ 15 - (3, 3, 2) = 7

"..identification 'Hexalon' unknown... credentials rejected.. 3.. 2.. 1.." There's a long pause as the count down holds at 1, and then another bout of speech. "error.. self destruct system offline.. engaging self-purge protocol.. error.. system corruption.. unable to self-purge.."

Then things go silent for a long 30 cycle-kals...

"This is going into my report when I return to the Fleet. Maintenance has not been properly performed... Self-Destruct and Self-Purge systems are mandated to be maintained."

Redshift runs his thumb along a small line of stress-leak lubricant on his brow, letting out a sigh of relief.

"Hexalon was my Titan," he says. "And... well... you've been asleep for. Well. Quite some time."

Assume that if the computer asks, Red will give it what he knows up to the time he first blacked out.

"This unit is attached to the Fleet at... error... corruption. Location unknown. Current location unknown. Unit designation Hexalon unknown. Fleet records are corrupted, unable to confirm identification of Hexalon, or Coordinator of Hexalon. Current time unit designation.. error, current time designation unknown. Database corruption is extensive. Provide additional information on identity, presumptive hostile designated 'Redshift'."

As Red goes through all the history he knows, the ship listens quietly. When he's done, the computer responds. "Information accepted as 'enemy disinformation' and stored. No designations identified, no Fleet identifications confirmed."

I'm not going to go into a huge amount of detail on how thick the computers accent is, suffice it to say that it feels ancient. It's sometimes difficult to follow what it's saying. Basically, it's like Red is a Jersey Boy trying to talk to someone from Yorkshire England.
Red's translation subroutines are helping a lot, everyone else is missing every third word and having to replay the conversation 2-3 times in their head to catch the meaning.

If Skitter had breath to hold, he would let out a big sigh. "Please, remind me NEVER to fix the self-destruct or purge circuits."
"Computer... can you tell us what fleet you are attached to?" He turns to the others. "Perhaps if we can find out more of the history of this ship, we can affect the changes needed for it to accept us."

"This unit is the Del'Tor ERROR, CORRUPTED SECTOR, attached to the ERROR ERROR ERROR Fleet, in the ERROR ERROR sector." The computer intones, it's cybertronian personality matrix blipping in and out as it encounters fragmented memory. "This unit is experiencing severe memory degradation. Unable to restore from backups. Unable to contact fleet central command for updates."

Knowledge Skill: Ancient Cybertronian Culture, 12 or less: 12 - 3d6 ⇒ 12 - (6, 6, 1) = -1

Missed by one.

Redshift furrows his brow, tapping a finger against the plating hull.

"I don't know if I've ever heard of any such thing..."

"System Update, analysis of intruders indicates Pri'Muh Origin. Downgrading intruders from Hostile to Neutral. Purge routines disengaged." The face on the screen is slowly growing more distinct, as time goes by, and the voice is becoming less artificial and more normal. The speech patterns are also becoming more 'modern' as time goes by. "How may this unit assist?"

"Del, we are Autobots, stranded on a primitive planet overrun with biologicals. Our energon reserves are low. Please assist our Cityspeaker, Redshift."

To the others:"Now that we have our immediate needs under control, it may be time to see whether the Decepticon blight has reached this planet, and whether there are any other Autobots that have made there way here."

"Please clarify, designation 'Cityspeaker'. Please confirm, Autobots are Cyb’Ehr Tuh’Ron Unit Sub-Designation identified by emblem as displayed." The main screen alters to to display a generic autobot symbol, as several of the crew have symbols that are slightly different in color. "Please confirm, only 3 of the intruders are wearing such symbols. Please do not refer to this unit as 'Del', this unit is Del'Tor ...ERROR... ERROR... CORRUPTED MEMORY LOCATION, BYPASSING." There is a pause. "This unit is Del'Tor."

Red is an Autobot, remember, so that's 4 of us. He may not have been Autobranded on Cybertron, but he wears the symbol after learning about the war and the last true Prime. Unless you mean 3 others besides Redshift?

"Oh, Prime, this is...," Redshift stops before the words "not good" come out of his mouth.

Redshift very carefully relays what he knows of the history of Cybertron, leading up to The Golden Age, right up to the point that Helaxis put him to sleep, and how he woke up in the almost-corpse of the Titan that he found the ship in, and how they're now here.

"I was attempting to repair the Titan I found you in, before the planet started ripping itself apart," he tells Del'Tor. "The Titan's final act was to reveal you to me and warn me to get off the planet due to imminent catastrophe. What I assume was your Titan's Cityspeaker was... no longer operational."

Regarding Titans, he is a little less clear, as Titans are not something one explains, they simply are.

"Helaxis was the Titan at the center of Hexalon, a city of great beauty and learning," he says. "She was... Power. Resources. Architecture. Shelter. The words 'Mother Protector' aren't exactly correct, but close. As her Cityspeaker, I interpreted her needs and enacted repairs where necessary. I also saw to the needs of her inhabitants. I suppose I fell somewhere between 'Caretaker,' 'Defender,' and 'Envoy'."

He motions to the others.

"As for the rest of them, well... I will let them speak for themselves."

I didn't think he'd had time while repairing the ship, but if he has, then ret-con the above to be 'four units' instead of 3

"Unkonwn references, 'Titan', 'Cityspeaker'. Unknown references, Hel'Lax Iss. Unknown reference, Hel'Axe Eee'Ohn. Reference, Envoy, understood. This unit's Controller is no more. Understood. Ehl'Axe Pry'Muh is one with the All'Uhh Spa'Ark. This unit was assigned to the Fleet. This unit does not have a 'Titan'. This unit was assigned to Battlestation ERROR ERROR CORRUPTED MEMORY CORE, BYPASSING. Understand Battlestation destroyed by planetary destruction. Information logged."

"Linguistic shifts have occured, logging linguistic shifts. Cyb'Ehr Tuh'Ron is now Cybertron. Databanks updated. All other historical references unknown. No correlation with historical databanks located."

"Del'Tor. My name is Skitter. Redshift and I will be attempting to repair you to the best of our capabilities. In the meantime, anything you can do to help us gather information on this planet, and this system for that matter, and how to best harvest energon would be very useful."

"Insufficient information, Intruder Skitter. I am unable to assist with either of those activities. I do not currently have any sensors, nor radio transceivers. Please provide as much information as possible about the planet."

"Del-tor, interesting name. Your ship is falling apart and we crashed here and the natives probably don't eat mechanicals although I've never seen any conclusive evidence to the contrary and they seem to worship a god of sport whose temples are 'fields' where strange games with changing rules and different shapes of solids and air and sometimes it's okay to touch the 'ball' and sometimes it's not unless you're a special priest called a 'go-lee' and there are special priests who cast out those who sin by whistling loudly and throwing colored pieces of paper and I think there might be some sort of power structure that revolves around cups and rings involved..."

"Oh yeah. I'm Chatterbox. Pleasedtameetcha."

The computer is silent for a moment. "Information logged, quality assessment pending. Thank you Intruder Chatterbox."

"Chatterbox, I'm not sure that is the most useful information that we can give Del-tor. The planet is wet, with much of it covered by liquid water and other parts by solid water."

"Information accepted, Intruder Warhawk. Query, are the indigenous lifeforms a danger? Are they Ooni'Crah?" The computer asks finally, it's face slowly growing more stable as it talks, and it's responses growing less and less artificial.

"Well we haven't actually met the lifeforms but I've studied their religion and it involves a great deal of patting each other on the lower hindquarters and cheering loudly and falling down and pretending to be hurt when you want to get a special kick at the other side's gooo-lees."

There's another long pause. "Information provisionally accepted."

"Based on my scant observations, there are a multitude of organic life-forms, though there does only seem to be one capable of producing machine technology. The liquid part of the planet is in constant motion. It seems to be based largely on heat transfer, but I haven't had time to fully analyze. There also seems to be a high proportion of oxygen in the atmosphere. Along with the water, most of which contains haline, it seems very damaging to many metals." He takes a moment to actually listen to what Del'Tor says. "Radio and sensors.We can work on that. And I do not believe these lifeforms are Ooni'Crah. I have no idea what that is, but it seems the odds are small that you would have a record of anything that this planet has. Can you give us more information on Ooni'Crah?"

Knowledge Skill: Ancient Cybertronian Culture, 12 or less: 3d6 ⇒ (1, 5, 4) = 10

Made it by 2, is that good enough for me to have a lightbulb moment?

@Red - It's good enough that if you the player can think of what it's asking (given your personal knowledge of lore), you can ask something in character based on that knowledge. If you the player can't, Red probably didn't figure it out.

"Access to military records requires authorization from Command Leadership Unit. Any attempt to access military records without authorization will result in immediate destruction of all records. Please provide Command Leadership Unit to access current military records."

Red's a mythology nut, so, yeah, I think I can pull this off as both player and character knowledge.

"Ooni.." Redshift pauses for a moment, then: "Unicron. You're talking about Unicron. The Chaos Bringer. He's a myth. A legend from before the Golden Age."

"Linguistic shift detected. Altering databanks. Ooni'Crah, Unicron." The computer responds after a moment. "Are the indigenous lifeforms of Unicron?"

"UNICRON? YOU LANDED US ON UNICRON'S PLANET?!? WHAT THE SCRAP IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?" Chatterbox freaks out, running around the room looking for an appropriate cord he can pull to shut down the evil AI that has crashlanded them on Unicron.

Skitter tries to stop Chatterbox but the larger robot pushes him out of the way. Still he slaps his hands every time they get near wires. :Stop that!" He resorts to placing his body between Chatterbox and the computer. "Hang on, my fellow castaways. That seems unlikely. Or, at least, we have no evidence to support that assertion." Although this place does seem chaotic.

"Chatterbox," Redlash sighs, shaking his head. "Think about it. If this were Unicron, wouldn't the planet be... mechanical?"

He waits a moment, then adds.

"The planet is not mechanical. The native life is organic. Unicron is a myth. Therefore, logically...?"

"The forces of Unicron are not myth." The AI intones solemnly.

Warhawk lowers the pitch of his voice modulators to their most soothing tones,

"We have enough real problems to worry about. Let's not bring Unicron into this. We haven't scoped anything to indicate that level of Chaos. More of a wildness, a lack of control, but not an active will to destroy everything."

Chatterbox still looks wildly at everyone, wondering secretly if he's found himself in a cult.

Ula remains silent as she is out of her depth. Her field is stealth and infiltration and for a minibot, she's a hell of a fighter. Computer repairs and ancient history never intrigued her overmuch.

Ula pauses at Warhawk's statement, "I disagree, if there are Decepticons we should avoid them at all costs, our energon reserves are depleted too much to risk a fight. As far as Autobots go, why spend resources finding them on a planet this size? Energon and the ship repair should be our first priorities.

Sorry, never heard of Unicron before he a Titan or something?"

She pauses and considers asking the ship a question, "Del'Tor, are your memory files blocked because you view us as outsiders or have they suffered irreparable damage?"

The ship's computer considers for a moment, before answering Ula. "Yes." It seems to be a combination of both.

"A cursory review of the planet's technology would seem to indicate they've yet to successfully navigate a First Contact situation," Redshift replies. "They may not be willing to negotiate with us, or even see us as anything but a threat. More reconnaissance is necessary before we even begin down that path."

Redshift turns back to Del'Tor. "Del'Tor, I'm not asking this as any attempt to circumvent your protocols, but rather for updated information that we can use to properly assess your situation as well as our own..."

Pause for effect.

"You say you need a Command Leadership Unit to access certain data. Given the drift in linguistics and in Cybertronian linguistics, what - to you - qualifies as such a unit? Not a Cityspeaker... a Coordinator, as you knew it, yes?... Who, then? Who do you need?"

"Unable to answer given question, Intruder Coordinator Redshift. Information classified." There's a pause. "It is likely that the classified information is out of date, given the apparent time that has passed since this unit's last activation."

Did I really say "drift in linguistics and Cybertronian linguistics"? I meant "linguistics and Cybertronian terminology..." Wow. I word good.

"If it is out of date, and judging by how long your... Parent unit... had been on that planet, I'm guessing it is... Perhaps you should consider your situation, our situation, and the fact that potentially millions of years have passed since anything you knew was current."

Redshift turns and motions the others out of the room.

"You think about that for a bit," he says. "We'll be out here. In the hallway. Giving you some space."

Ula cocks her head at Redshift's response, "Well, we gotta do it sometime big guy..."

Everyone would know that non-spark AI's are a lot more limited in their ability to override their own programming. If it's a military unit, it's even less likely to be able to override it's own programming. A spark is vital to being able to overcome your own programming. Basically, a non-spark AI can think, can even want to do something against it's programming, but it can't.