Drifter moves to assist Flatfoot and wonders what the next boot to fall will be.
Argo turns from one of the screens he's monitoring. "Something's happening dirtside," he says. "I can't be sure, because we're not getting any comms here. But there have been some high-energy discharges in several parts of the city. I think it's laser fire."
"That could be your resistance at work," says Abel Hruthbar.
"It is more likely factional fighting among the Sentient Counsel or their followers," says Robert 571. "The Defense Bloc fighting Finance or Nolodyne or both. This happens a lot."
"Bloody hell," says Argo. "How did these things beat us?"
"Because the Imperials let them into their homes, their ships and every aspect of their lives," says Paka. "They put the knives to their own throats and then made the knives angry."
"This makes things much more dangerous," says Robert 571, "Especially if the flotilla decides not to land. But it's also an opportunity. The Resistance waited for times like these. It's when they could move couriers or run materials more readily."
"Is the flotilla reacting? If they decide not to land, we may be screwed. If we take the ship in without them, then they might just fire on us. Unless, of course, we give them a good reason." Mascot looks at Hruthbar.
"Might be damned if we do, damned if we don't," Flatfoot says weakly.
"If the fleet delays or doesn't land at all, let's try to spin a story. From what I heard, some of the fleet would not be sorry to see the old Ship leave."
"The question is, how long do we wait?"
"I think we can assume that the flotilla is going to land. They are trying to talk the ship into it now. The big question is how can we use the distraction of in fighting to get off this blasted ship safely."
"Senior Machinist, next time the Commanding AI calls to coax The Ship to land, make sure you mention the fighting on the surface as a reason we are hesitant to land. Maybe she'll drop some intel on the planetside situation in her attempts to coax The Ship."
Spider takes a good look at Archer's comms station. Does he think he has the necessary equipment here to monitor surface communications on Promise to get an idea of whats happening down there?
Abel Hruthbar nods his understanding. He is still very clearly uncomfortable with having taken over the ship.
"This just started. I haven't heard anything from the flotilla yet. Usually, they discuss it themselves and tell us later. They don't like having to go through a human, but The Ship insisted."
Suddenly, the intership comms come to life. You recognize the neutral, reasonable tones of the flotilla AI. "Archer, the flotilla is going to proceed with the landing as planned. You are directed to assume station 1,000 kilometers astern of Ganimakkur and follow the beacon to Landing Pad 971-G. Tensions are high among Our Brothers of the Sentient Council. You are directed to refrain from any interaction with the Council beyond that necessary to obtain fuel, supplies and repairs. You are directed to confine all personnel and organics to a short radius around your hull and remain ready to lift off on short notice. Acknowledge and Reply."
Abel responds. "Director, this is Senior Machinist Hruthbar. The Ship acknowledges your orders but...expresses dissatisfaction and concern. She has detected evidence of fighting near the port and desires confirmation of her safety. She is very...concerned."
One can almost hear the sigh in the distant AI's perfectly cultured synthetic voice. "Archer, you are in little danger on Promise. The Downport sentience has given us assurance of our safety. It is the only chance for refined fuel and adequate repair facilities within nine parsecs. You must land as directed for the good of the flotilla."
Hruthbar looks at Spider and continues after an adequate delay. "Sir, She is not mollified. She wants data on the ground situation."
The answer comes back immediately. ”You tell your mistress that she would have the data if she would just speak like any other sentient and not waste time with this farcical and slow organic cut-out.”
After a few moments, the Director continue. ”We believe the fighting is merely a proxy fight between forces loyal to two of the factions within the Sentient Council, admittedly involving Downport and Ground Security, but we have been assured that it remains distant from the landing fields and supply facilities.”
Abel Hruthbar looks to Spider for any further instructions.
Spider nods, "Relay that The Ship has reservations, but will comply as long as no natives will be allowed to enter or approach her."
The Chief Machinist does that and the flotilla proceeds towards the planet of Promise.
It is no garden world, but it obviously supports life. Though great deserts ring much of the equator, the temperate zones consist of vast grasslands dotted here and there with many lakes and half a dozen large seas. As Star City appears on the nightside horizon it shines out as large and bright as any city in the Reformation Coalition. At least a dozen ships drift in orbit near the planet - all Vampires. None is as large as the flotilla's 30,000-ton light cruiser, however, and the various ships make way for the flotilla as it burns for atmospheric entry. Only the cruiser will remain in orbit, shuttling supplies from the planet by cutter.
Argo guides the former Imperial destroyer down to the planet's surface with many a tense order. The ship is queried several times by the planet's defense and finance systems, but has no means of direct communication. Presumably, this is handled by the flotilla's Director AI, because the ship is allowed to land safely on the surface.
Everyone lets out a little sigh when the Archer's landing struts make contact with the ground. "We've moved from the Belly of the Beast to its bloody kitchen," says Argo, eyeing all the robotic workers on the Downport's expansive landing field.
He turns to Robert 571. "Alright, mate. This is your show, I reckon. What now?"
The rebel and former slave nods tensely. "First, we deal with security and convince them we're nothing unusual. That may be easier if they're watching the fences instead of us. Then we test our luck. We go and find some Seewalp lads and have a talk."
"Do we all go?" asks Paka. "Or just you?"
"I can try to get through alone," Robert 571 says, looking to the RCES team. "Or I can lead a small unit. I think the whole lot of us would be too easy to spot."
"How small? Us and a couple others? Or not that many?," asks Flatfoot.
The thought of sky and horizon is pretty attractive, having been in the ship for what seems like far too long.
"Yeah, I'm comin'. I need off this ship." Mascot growls. "Even for a short while. But I'm not crazy about the idea of a Virus tattoo."
"Sending out more then three seems unnecessary. I think we should limit it to one or two of the more diplomatic members of those on the ship and the rest remain here. We can get some info on how these docks work while we wait."
"I think Drifter has the right of it - a group of three should be enough. Flatfoot, you go with Robert to help if you need to talk yourselves out of a situation. And Mascot - you go in case talking isn't enough."
Drifter scratches the back of his head and muses "If we are sending someone in case of trouble, maybe we shouldn't send both the injured crew members?"
Spider takes a closer look at Flatfoot, and notices that he, while clearly willing, is a bit unsteady on his feet. "Right, strike that. Mascot and I will go with Robert. Flatfoot - get yourself back to sick bay."
Robert 571 nods his understanding. "Digital readers are everywhere, monitoring the presence of all humans and cyborgs. They will register that I was traded to the flotilla and that you have no ID's. We'll need to get off the grid quickly. We won't arouse too much suspicion until we leave the Downport, though. After that we're going to have to move quickly. I have everything I need. Do you?"
Argo speaks up, keeping his voice low enough that Abel Hruthbar can't overhear him. "We're in it now. But I'd rather get shot down lifting off than let the cans take over again. If it looks as though they're about to seize the ship, we'll be making a run for it. So don't take too long if you plan to come back."
Flatfoot wishes that he could learn more the planet and it's factions, both the machine factions and those among the human resistance. Unfortunately, Robert 571 seems to be the only one who knows anything.
Before he returns to sick bay, Flatfoot heads towards the kitchens. Despite the takeover of the ship, everyone still needs to eat. And, maybe, Paka will still be there. Before he takes the uncertain step onto the planet, Flatfoot really wants to speak with Paka.
Drifter wanders back to check on the Dr. When he finds her he says, "Hello, hope you don't mind but I thought I would try and keep you around a bit longer to see our mighty heroics."
Spider nods his understanding to Argo. To Robert 571, he asks, "How risky is it to carry weapons? Will we be searched?"
Mascot nods. "Yeah, I'd like to carry something in case s~*@ happens. But maybe it can just be a piece of equipment, so it won't arouse too much suspicion. Maybe like a utility knife for cutting cables."
Paka meets Flatfoot in the passageway and helps him move around a bit more easily. She kisses him on the cheek. "I thought maybe I wasn't going to see you walk again, James. I'd hug you if I thought it wouldn't put you back into Sick Bay."
She walks in silence for awhile then smiles ruefully. "I don't know what I expected. You told me who you and your friends were. I guess I just didn't believe the stories. Where I come from, the Star Vikings are at least as feared as the Vampire ships. I'm beginning to see why. You're really quite dangerous, aren't you?"
________________________________________________________________________
Doctor Sirkaa smiles wanly. She's sitting up, an uneaten tray of cold fungus salad before her.
"From what I hear, I missed them already," she says. "But what was the point? We've gone from the frying pan into the fire. A fire made of insane machines on the bring of a nuclear civil war. You should have let me go."
She leans back against the pillow, her eyes puffy and red and sighs. "You have a plan. Men like you always do. Is it a good one?"
________________________________________________________________________
Robert 571 shrugs. "Nobody is supposed to have weapons if they're not part of Ground Security or one of the dozen factional security forces. We could carry just about any armament if we could manage to look like security for Downport or one of her allies, but it would be harder to leave Downport's territory if we did. We'd draw the attention of rival groups and with shooting already having occurred..."
He turns to Mascot. "Better. Nobody can fault a mechanic for carrying a wrench, or hauling a broken pipe."
"All right then. Kinda what I figured." Spider hands off his nearly spent laser pistol to Drifter (it has 2 charges left), and looks for a solid looking wrench (or other heavy tool) to take out into the port.
Spider finds a good solid wrench and slips it into the webbing of his RCES bodysuit.
Robert 571 leads Spider and Mascot away from the ship. The atmosphere of Promise is a little thick for Mascot, but fairly close to the standard for Spider's native undersea habitats on Baldur. The air is thick with machine smells - oil and grease, fuel and smog, but it is something different from that of the Archer and thus highly welcome. It is a relief to be smelling something other than unwashed crew and burnt fungus.
The wide flat expanse of the Downport is broken up here and there with large buildings dwarfed by two dozen starships - more than any seen at one time in Reformation Coalition space. To the northwest lies the sprawling urban skyline of Star City. To the east and south the buildings thin out towards the unseen countryside.
The vast open area of the Downport is sparsely traversed by men, robots and a few vehicles. A few security robots patrol the area and a large anti-aircraft missile battery glowers over the field from its northern edge. From here, there is no visible sign of the violence in Star City.
As several people and a robot approach on a grav sled, Robert 571 indicates a sizable building about a kilometer away. "That's one of the supply depots. With luck we can find some proper clothes there. Maybe even make a contact."
Before you can reply, the grav sled arrives. One man appears to be a functionary or representative of the Downport. The other appears to be a mechanic or worker of some sort. The robot is an unknown model, designed to look very much like an attractive female human, but with skin the color of burnished brass and lips the color of old ice. She wears a tailored suit with some sort of logo over the left breast.
"Which of you speaks for this person?" asks the robot in a tone of command. The worker and administrator sit passively while she speaks.
"Dangerous? I don't know about that. We are trained and expected to be resourceful and achieve our mission. Sometimes ... I guess ... I guess that might mean we sometimes think of 'us' and 'them'. And you can guess how that works out."
"The worst of it isn't just the Virus. There's places ... places where it's one group of people doing to another group, as bad or worse than what the ship put us through."
"That wears on you. And someone might think that our home is the only worthwhile spot left."
Flatfoot s+!$s uncomfortably during this speech. He's spent a lot of time thinking, being laid up. And Paka makes him uncomfortable, too. But his next question is to her.
"So, you've seen what might be worst. Will you stay with us?"
Robert 571 slightly inclines his head towards the ship.
He speaks, pointing to Spider. "This is our liaison, Mistress. Our Mother chooses to have no direct communication with others of her order."
The android regards Spider with the distaste with which one might view an actual spider. "We seek to accommodate our guests, but this policy has its limits. During the present unrest, no organics will stray from the vicinity of your 'Mother'. You will request what your Person needs and it will be provided. Any organics found at large will be disposed of."
"This is Edric 014. You may give it your requirements. Do you understand these limits as I have explained them?"
________________________________________________________________________
Paka is quiet, walking alongside him as he moves slowly down the dingy passageway, her usually smiling nut-brown face drawn up in thoughtful seriousness. "Four years ago, I visited a world not too far from this one. That world had suffered badly from the Collapse. But one city still had lights and a little infrastructure, a small militia to keep the bandits at bay. The Star Vikings arrived there about a year before my ship did. They landed, killed some guards and a local girl and seized that world's only functioning fusion plant. When we arrived the city had collapsed. The militia had become just another bandit gang and the government was gone."
"That was everything I knew about the Star Vikings. It's a story the Guild takes pains to tell every planet it encounters. I didn't even know the name of your Reformation Coalition until you came aboard."
"I spent some time talking to Laney...Petty Officer Fusco... about where you come from. She told me how the people of the Coalition see it...how they see us. She told me that you plan to take it all back, to bring back the light of civilization, how that end justifies the means. It's a beautiful dream, James. A noble one. I can even see how, in the abstract, it makes sense to give yourselves a fighting chance even if it costs others their last chance. But James... if you are one of those others, it makes the Coalition just as terrifying as the Vampires."
"I said that to Laney and she told me about the dictators the Coalition had toppled, the poor planets that had been brought into the Coalition and educated. In truth, I don't know what to feel about your Coalition or your RCES."
She turns to face him, stopping his forward progress. "But I know what I feel about you, James. I trust you. I see you try to do the right thing even if it is the hard thing. I won't come with 'us'. But I will come with you."
Seeing Robert's subtle nod towards the ship, understanding washes over Spider. Better get it through your think head, Jasper - ships and robots are considered people here.
He comes to attention and respectfully nods to the robot, "Ma'am, under direction from the flotilla, The Ship requests that She be provided fuel, supplies, and equipment for repairs. She also wishes it known that she does not want to become embroiled in the hostilities taking place planet-side."
Spider keeps his head bowed as he awaits the robot's reply.
Drifter laughs a bit and leans against the wall, "Eh...I am not really what you would call a plan guy. From my personal experience plans tend to look all tidy and clean and then go down fast and hard. I am more the guy that shows up when everyone is about to roast and puts out the fire with a bit of a bang. It got me kicked out of the force, brought back in, made an officer, and then skipped over on promotions because apparently appearance matter more then some results or something. A few days ago though it all went well, a few weeks back it worked out but I was laid up for a bit."
Drifter shrugs and says, "As for the plan. There is a plan to get us all off of this boat. In theory its pretty sound and shouldn't be too hard. We have contacts on the planet and a theoretical way off this rock and back to a place where you can forget this nightmare happened. And we can all just cross our fingers and hope I don't need a flying car. But for now you should just relax and not worry about what's beyond our control. If we get off this planet and back to where machines don't pretend to be gods where would you go?"
Mascot stays silent like a good little organic though he tests the weight of the toolbox in his right hand. Inside were fairly standard maintenance tools, including a hammer, several wrenches, an electrical test kit, pipe cutter, vise, and clamps. Any number of them could make for a good weapon in a pinch, but he missed his static sword.
The former marine looks to Edric 014 to assess the being.
Flatfoot stands facing Paka, looking into her face.
"Thank you. That means more to me than you can know. I trust you, too," says the former police officer.
"I want to show you Aubaine, let you see what we have accomplished. It's ... beautiful. But that will have to wait. Right now, I need to get back to sick bay. Would you walk with me? We could talk some more, too."
Flatfoot holds out his hand towards Paka. "Would you help a cripple back to sick bay?"
Spider continues to address the robot, "I understand completely. In this, The Ship and you are in agreement - She intends to avoid contact with any outsiders, and seeks to minimize all contact between her organics and outsiders." He turns to Edric 014, "Edric 014, your assistance is welcome."
The android regards Spider for a long moment - he gets the definite feeling that it is sizing him up. Its beautiful features and clearly coldly hostile approach incongruously remind him of a girlfriend he had back in the Academy and he has to suppress a snort of amusement.
"You may proceed," says the android, touching the grav sled's controls and whisking away, leaving only Edric 014, who touches a datapad and looks up.
"No data stream? That's going to make refit and resupply take longer. You got a list for me?"
Some time later, Edric is looking over the ship's external surfaces a dozen meters away with the aid of a contra-grav belt. Robert 571 whispers to Spider. "I don't like the sound of being disposed of, but if we stay here we're just as dead in the long run. We have to find a way to get into that depot."
_______________________________________________________________
Doctor Natalie Sirkaa listens to Drifter allude to his fight with the Scarlet Knight on Isis. Her gloomy mood doesn't so much change as show the smallest cracks. He can see a ghost of a smile that comes and goes rapidly.
"Is that what I am? Your latest fire to put out?"
"I don't have anywhere to go. My planet pays tribute to the Vampires in materials and people. Anyone with useful skills and no connections can wind up being forced onto the crew of a ship at almost any time. There's nothing for me there, anymore."
"What do you do when you're not raiding planets and putting out fires? Also, what do I call you? Drifter? James? Ensign Monroe?"
Muscles, sensing he is not wanted here, coughs slightly and heads out into the hallway to leave Drifter and the doctor alone.
_______________________________________________________________
Paka puts her shoulder under Flatfoot's arm, giving him support while he walks. "Go easy." she says. "Aubaine. That's your world? What's it like? What's any place in the Coalition like? We never hear that side of it in the Guild."
"Aubaine? It's a water world - seas that stretch forever. Blue skys, white clouds. The cities - well, they are big with lots of people. But there are plenty of smaller places, too."
Flatfoot winces when he moves too quickly, then continues. "People do all sorts of things. Lots of people farm or fish, but more work in factories and hospitals and the like. People eat real food - some have too much, too. Not like on this ship."
Flatfoot looks up as they approach the sick bay. "This is the end of the line for me, today. I need to lay down. Can you come see me later, Paka?"
"Nah, I think your fire should burn brightly a bit longer. Just because where you came from isn't waiting for you to come calling doesn't mean there isn't a place for you. The Coalition could always use a good doctor. And finding a place to call home can be something to burn brightly for."
Drifter shrugs and moves onto her other question, "You can call me what you like. Drifter tends to be more of an ops thing. Its easier in the field and becomes kind of natural with teams. If James is more your style then that works just fine. If you start calling me Ensign Monroe or Mister Monroe I might start getting paranoid about being old or having bunk inspections. Which considering the rags I am sleeping with would not go over so well. As for my hobbies and less exciting work, I am a pilot. I have had various schooling and can do pretty well at fixing machines and other general mechanical job. But flying is always my preference. It has a certain freedom and enough randomness that being stuck on the ground grows kind of dull. When flying hasn't been an option I have tended to wander from place to place picking up more odd jobs then anything else, hence the name."
"A list sure." Mascot continues on ignoring the man's request. "The most important items we need are new power couples. The ones we took from the last ship we encountered were bad. Maybe they were at the end of their life. All the better if they're the bifold design. The Ship has kelso-watt rotaries and the bifold design is more efficient for that. We also need distilled water to refresh the forward batteries. Water in general is a need for the algae too. We had some contamination a while back."
"Hey, do you live on algae planetside too? Or are there other methods of nutrition here?"
As Mascot engages Edric 014, Spider whispers back to Robert 571, "So, either we sneak into the depot, or we come up with an excuse for going there in full view. Do you have any idea what's in the depot? If there is something bulky that the ship might conceivably need, maybe we can finagle a way to send a party in to fetch it, and a couple of us can slip away from the group."
]bigger]MASCOT[/bigger]
"Bifold power couplers, distilled water. Understood," says Edric 014. "Promise has a tainted atmosphere and sharply limited water resources. It once had a population in the billions, so it must have imported most of its food. In much the same way, the subject tribes now provide most of the food for Star City and the servants of the Sentient Council. I will see what I can procure for you."
________________________________________________________________________
]bigger]SPIDER[/bigger]
Robert 571 shrugs. "It's a good idea. I didn't spend much time in the Downport. But those depots store almost everything necessary to support the many ships that call here. They'll have everything from uniforms to drive components, including large components. This used to be a Class A Spaceport and even though they don't manufacture anything here yet, most of the old supply depot material should still be here. I'm not really a mechanic, though."
"Subject tribes? I figured you guys had your own water distillers. Hey, maybe I could see one of those. Maybe we ought to be rigging up one for the Ship, then we could reclaim more of our water. It could allow us to have to claim less resources from you next time."
"Are you a mechanic, Edric? Have you lived here all your life, or are you from a Ship like us?"
"From what I can see, your unit could use a good doctor, too. Don't Star Vikings have medics on their team? Or did something happen to your doctor?"
"Well, I don't believe we're getting out of here safely, but if we do, I might as well go see this Coalition of yours. I'd like to see a real life Hiver."
She sighs, closing her eyes. After a few moments, she says "I didn't say thank you. I'm still not sure I should. But I appreciate the concern."
_______________________________________________________________________
Paka pats Flatfoot on the arm and helps him back to Sick Bay. "I'd like to see Aubaine," she says. "If only because it isn't here. Stay alive, James, and take me there some day. Unless they put Guilders into slave labor? Still, I guess even that would be a step up." Flatfoot isn't sure if she's joking or not.
Muscles is lounging outside Sick Bay, but stands up to help Paka get Flatfoot inside, where Drifter and Doctor Sirkaa are talking.
_______________________________________________________________________
"Distillation isn't the issue. Promise has only a 20% hydrosphere. We're nearly a desert world. Fresh water is scarce and desalinization is a low priority for the Sentient Council. It's easier to force the subject tribes to bring it to us."
"I'm an engineer," he answers. "And yes. I'm Promise born and bred. I've worked for Downport for fourteen years now."
Spider calls out, "Hey Mascot! What about a jump capicitor? We've been lucky with the old one so far, but if it decides to spontaneously discharge again, and we're in mid-jump...."
Flatfoot heads to his bunk, ready for rest. He nods as he passes Drifter and Doctor Sirkaa. "I need to turn in. See you later."
Sleep does not come, though, when he is lying in his bunk. His thoughts keep coming back to Paka ... worry .. doubt about the future ... fears about their passage through Downport.
Eventually, after much tossing and turning, Flatfoot does get some rest.
"Well, there have only been a few times we needed major surgery. We tend to travel in small groups of eclectic skills and a doctor would definitely be handy. When we get you to the Coalition you can decide what you want to do and where you want to go. As for thanks, you don't need to. Having some brilliant conversation is thanks enough. But for what little it may matter, I think you will be glad to still be around when its all said and done." Drifter nods to Flatfoot and then leaves the two to rest and heads out to try and make the ship ready to take off again.
"Really? So what happens if the subject tribes refuse? What if they allied and caused a shortage of supplies?" Mascot turns at Spider's comment.
"Hey, yeah, do you have a jump capacitor? You're an engineer you said, maybe you can come look at ours for a sec?" Mascot points up into the Ship.
Spider gives Mascot a surprised look. "You're kidding, right? If he gets on the ship he won't be able to get off. Either Mother will "recruit" him into the Children, or - more likely - she'll order the robots to kill him as an invasive outsider."
Mascot rubs his chin. "Hmm, you might be right." He turns back to Edric. "Sorry, the Ship has been acting paranoid lately, she might think you're a threat. Well, let's go see if you guys have a jump capacitor that will fit. Where do you store your equipment like that?"
Edric 014 seems a bit nonplussed by the exchange.
"Uh, I dunno," he says in response to the geopolitical questions. "I don't have anything to do with the Tribes."
In regards to being made a prisoner of a crazy ship, the mechanic seems less than surprised. "Yeah, I'll just take your requirements and see what I can do."
He looks concerned. "You heard the Praetor. You can't leave your designated pad. You don't want to cross her, Citizen. She's not...um... forgiving."
__________________________________________________________________
As Flatfoot rests, Drifter organizes a team to go over the the hull, patching and readying the ship for another journey, even though it's not one he plans on taking with them. This is the kind of story the future will forget about the Star Vikings. It doesn't fit with the tales of reavers, raiders and tyrant-smashers that will be remembered centuries hence. But it is the kind of ordinary work-a-day integrity that will hold the Reformation Coalition together as it faces its most serious challenges in the decades to come.
Spider looks at Edric 014. "Those jump capacitors are pretty big. If your team wants to lug one over to the Ship that's fine by me." Spider shrugs and continues, "But if you want me to put together a team from my crew to fetch it, let me know. The...um...Praetor, wasn't entirely clear. All it...she...said was we had to stay in the vicinity of our ship. You're clearly more familiar with her than us, so I'll have to trust your interpretation of what the limits of 'the vicinity' are."