[IC] Dark Space - A Mecha-Focused Space Opera RP

[Rhona W]

Hanging in the airless void above a green-blue world sheathed in cotton-wool clouds, the silvery-grey wheel of Confederation station Hoyland Station spun lazily and patiently. Miles across, the steadily spinning structure had almost spidery protrusions all around it's circumference; antennae, docking arms and pylons, heat radiators, solar panels and all manner of other devices. Amongst them, light reflected off of the hulls and hides of spacecraft, mecha, and people in spacesuits industriously working at all manner of tasks to support the gigantic structure and the hundreds of thousands of souls within its' protective embrace.

Nestled alongside one of the many docking arms, the angular yet sleek shape of a modern military vessel with a dark-painted hull sat ready, taking on supplies, equipment, and most importantly; crew. Spirit of Adventure was making ready for her first operational cruise, departing in a few short hours as the home ship for a new unit of the Confederation Ranger Corps, arriving to take their place

On the bridge of the ship, it's commanding officer stared out at the tapestry of movement. He raised a mug to his smooth, sleek-skinned lips as he watched, keen eyes following movement.
"Excuse me; Captain Gavren? The rangers and their mecha should be arriving shortly. And we're done with loading supplies. Stowing them is underway. All crew have arrived, and their berths assigned".
"Thank you, Commander Holden. I think I'll make my way down to the hangar bay to meet our pilots and their machines. From what I've seen in their records, it looks like we're going to be receiving quite an eclectic bunch". His lips curled in an amused smile at the thought. Eclectic was something of an understatement; the group due to arrive were absolutely a varied bunch, with all sorts of backgrounds and from almost all the races the Confederation was home to - and a few more besides.
A movement caught his eye, and the cetanui turned back to the viewport. A sleek, arrowhead-like shape slashed through space, propelled by the glow of blue engine exhausts.
"And here comes the first of them now," he said, as his eyes followed the shape of the variable fighter.

Aboard the sleek, jet-like shape of the transforming fighter, Lorei admired the angular, purposeful shape of the Spirit, it reminded her of some sleek, aquatic predator with its' blunt snout-like prow and dark colours. A handful of running lights illuminated it, as well as the glow of lights from within the open bays along its' flanks.
The synth didn't have a heartbeat that quickened, but she still felt and still had thoughts and reactions that were equivalent. Anticipation surged through her body, and her artificial muscles tensed. Her long tail twitched at the tip, and a surge of energy sung through her bodies' network of nerve-like fibers and conduits.
She'd read through and studied the profiles and dossiers of who she was to be working with; there was a broad mix of people, species, and attitudes to navigate. Partly she was worried, how would she relate? Would they be compatible? But she was equally excited; new people to meet and understand, new friendships to build, and new things to learn.
She wasn't a young woman, nor one lacking in experience of people and life in general. But this sensation never really went away, especially when coming to a new place, a new role, and a new direction in life.
Although, at least she had some familiar comforts. The space for the back seat in her VF-0 was packed with her belongings; personal effects and items she'd dragged with her from place to place, memories in physical form.
And then there was the VF-0 itself. It held an emotional resonance for her, the mecha keeping alive a memory and connection to her old instructor and mentor.
She lazily and indulgently rolled the fighter-mode machine as she pulled away from the sleek ship to line up for an approach to the bay, hitting the controls to shift mode to the bird-like 'GERWALK' mode, perfectly suited for a landing in the mecha bays of the ship. The foot-thrusters braked and slowed her approach as the glow of lights in the bay loomed large.
"And here we go," she said to herself in her lilting, musically feminine voice that had a slight flanging, mechanical undertone to it.
"Time for a new chapter"

[The Man Emperor]

Just another posting.

The Truth and Reconciliation walked on its four legs with a rather surprisingly fast gait. Its advanced sensors detected all the obstacles on its path, and the artificial intelligence managing its systems, autopilot in particular, had adjusted and precisely calculated each movement of the legs to avoid stepping on anything, or anyone.

Meanwhile, its pilot was lounging about in the cockpit. Anka Kraec, otherwise known as Old Man by his old colleagues from decades prior (even though for his species, he was in the equivalent of the mid-20s at the most), sat in the most peculiar way possible. His feet were raised to the air as he relaxed his legs on top of an instrument panel that just happened to be the one responsible for the operation of the mecha's radar systems. His back was almost squarely on his seat, while his head was pressed against where one should have their backside when sitting properly. But Anka just couldn't be assed to do it properly. He can just do it later. Or never at all. It wasn't like the commanders peered into the cockpits and invested themselves in the pilots' posture. As far as anyone, mecha pilots were always sitting the same way. Well, except for those with seats that looked more like motorcycles, if a motorcycle was used as a component for a mech's cockpit. That wasn't even practical at all. The pilots in there must have very tired arms.

As his mech moved on its own, Anka only glanced from time to time at the projected path overlaid on the 3d screen that made up the inner shell of the Truth and Reconciliation's cockpit. He busied himself with reading on his tablet, or rather, the pirated copy of the novel 'Babylon's Ashes.' The book had been around for, what, 180 years? It's not like you can file copyright claims when it's been centuries. This story... is this what the humans thought would happen when they colonized other worlds? They would simply repeat the cycles of oppression?

How odd. Any self-respecting species would have learned that harmony with one another is a more practical and logical step. Did they look upon themselves so lowly that they would forsake members of their own species? But again, the other Zarrah-Kul didn't like Anka very much.

"Do not form attachments" my ass. They're just afraid.

Just as Anka was about to curl up into a sleeping position once again, the mech stopped moving, throwing the unprepared pilot out of his seat. He slid down to the floor into a most ungraceful heap. "Ugh," Anka grumbled as he reached up and grabbed at his seat. "You just had to come now..."

"You have arrived in your destination." The monotone voice of the AI began to resonate within the cockpit. It was... annoying. Anka wanted to have it changed, but apparently it was a fixed feature. Did the manufacturer of this mech set it to this irritating, lifeless voice that would make even actual dead planets look alive purely to spite him? Considering how the Zarrah-Kul carried their spite and grudges for literal centuries, that would make sense. But what did he even do to the manufacturer? Did he get the wrong mech because the deliverer mixed up the address? Did mix it up to spite him?

Eh, whatever.

The cockpit opened up, finally exposing Anka to some light for once. The Zarrah-Kul yawned, letting his beak suck in fresh, no, recycled air. "Ah! So we are here," Anka looked up at the beautiful frigate before him. Another mech had arrived, which meant that at least one of the other rangers was here. "Could have just waited for five more m... eh, nah, I should go, right?"

"I think you should go," the Truth and Reconciliation's AI replied.

"Can you even actually think or are you just spitting our pre-recorded scripts?"

"Yes."

"Tch," Anka shrugged. "Oh well. Let's see what interesting new things we can find here..."

[ODAberration]

The docking indicator started blinking, issuing a sequence number and asking for a check. Mercil thumbed the controls at his side, shrinking from his display the familiar manual "Energy Maneuver Theory and the Pilum Matrix", a dense articulation on kinetic energy transfer and control in space flight, particularly with mecha. It might have been a heavy creased tome at one point in history, but few things were drafted in paper these days. Even in backwater stations there had to be a good reason for using paper, something official. Not that it was uncommon, only there's an intrinsic connection in comfort to each species that founds it. As done on Kriyuu; the long breadth sheets of dilloweed that float near the surface of its salt lakes were the source, or humans and their emulsified and baked wood.

"CRC fighter Q.0.S., waiting to dock, bay 2", he transmitted.

"Spirit of Adventure to Q.0.S. cleared to dock, bay 2, hangar 2", returned an enthusiastic tone. Doubtlessly some Confederate hard-knocker to be working on the magnificent vessel. The kind with multiple recognitions, a spirited work-ethic, top of their class. Whether you liked them or not, they warranted some degree of respect.

Mercil synchronized his mechas roll with deck and lulled it into the hanger with gentle ease. Two men stood at the deployment rack ushering him in with wands, intending to immediately slave his mech to the ship. He followed their commands, and began the shutdown procedure as it settled into the rack. When he stepped out of the cockpit and onto the entry-fold, the two crew engineers greeted him with a salute. Through their visors he could see they were both Inadri, the taller one was a dutiful by manner man with a half-cocked brow and black hair and the other a woman, older than he, a stern but friendly and wisened face with her dark hair in a tight bun beneath her helmet.

"Welcome aboard the Spirit," she sparked up and shook Mercil's hand firmly, "I'm Chief Klisq Oliri, and Sergeant Ubendan Allindir here, we're going to be the ones running hangar 2 for you. So, this 44d here is a bit unusual, has it been retrofitted with the CUN protocols?" She asked wittingly as if expecting a no.

She was sharp. It wasn't secret knowledge, but far from common due to the limited fielding of the mechframe. He could surmise she knew the why's about it as well.

"I just spent the last week in the naval intelligence block, I damned hope so."

"A miserable place," she chuckled "but you guys always have to make things hard with your stubborn tech so we're hard right back."

"Hey, a hard head makes a hard pilot," he knocked on his helmet and smirked.

The sergeant stowed a data panel in the engineering rack and waved them in.
"Looking good enough!"

"Alright. Where can I get something to eat, this place seems like it would have killer dining." Mercil asked, prodding for some direction.

"We'll find out soon enough, we're the new kid on the block. Just head through the bay gate at the end there, you'll see the bulletin which-" the chief cut him off, "Actually, the boss will be down to welcome you all personally. He'll likely conduct the brief straight away too, so you can just wait there. We can meet later about the Q0S and figure everything out when you're settled"

"Perfect," mercil said relieved, "I'll make sure to have something put together for you Chief." Have to stay ahead of the game, always.

"Sure, we'll see you around" she smiled. He gave them each another shake and they went to their business beneath the deployment rack.

Other hangars opened, funneling in other craft. Another variable fighter was already resting in the hangar space across from him. A tried and true model with some wear to its bones and thousands of hours flight time. A kind he remembers seeing fighting the shodane, and studying thereafter. His mecha was half its age, but he lived in it like a second skin, as his duty. It would be a miracle if he could see the same years before his retirement in obsolescence. Even if the life expectancy of a pilot increased from the war's 1 month, to eight, now fifteen years as its projected in this relatively quiet period. Much too long for a soldier to live; somewhere, Mercil thought, someone with the power to change this is always waiting.

[SleepyWrites]

This didn't have to be that long.

Chilling in the cockpit of the Gundam as she was piloting humming to herself boredly. As within the cockpit of the mecha, a Lepizari dressed in a Piloting Uniform, and helmet that obsucred her eyes... well including covering up her ears and feet, as she had her hands on the controls of the Mecha. This was Michazaru, or Mii for short, Your day to day mechanic & pilot of the Gundam Aerial Rebuild. She heard a small noise and pulse from the cockpit as she sighed, They're nearly here and at least the AI could tell her that.

"Thanks, Aerial, How long until then?"

Another Pulse.... followed by a small screen tracking their distance from the Spirit of Adventure, That earned a chuckle from her then on there. "Is everything all green still?" This was followed by a much harsher pulse causing the adult to flinch, followed by her whole HUD being covered with an unholy amount of Dianogstics, earning her to wave her hands in worry frantically and let go of the controls momentarily. "Too much! Too much information! Reel it back a little, Aerial!"

On via command all that went away, as she quickly grabbed the controls and sunk in her seat sighing in relief. "Phew.... I don't want you overloading the processors again..."
Yeah, That wasn't the first time that happened. But, It's been a few years since she piloted anything and the Aerial and since she... uh crashed it from being reckless, Heh still paying off the damages for that time. But at least she managed to upgrade it to the rebuild variant, Since that was more efficient with her trusty AI that runs the OS from the original. Much so as she sighed to herself a bit, A soft ping was heard and Mii ear's twitched followed by her eyes landing on one of the HUD hologram panels with a notification, One of her hands touched It, Turns out the Spirit of Adventure was trying to open a channel with her.

"Designation Aerial Rebuild, Ye Read me over?" a gruff voice answered.

"This is the Aerial, I read you loud and clear, Ya know!"

"I need you to dock in Hangar Bay 4, Hangar 2, Lower your flight speed by 5-3rd's please, You should receive that on your end."

"Roger."

"Aerial, Lock on Coordinates for that Hangar" She commanded as she typed in a couple of commands. She felt a pulse before feeling her groan, She hated the AI sometimes for it questioning her being sure about it. "Right right, thanks for the advice.... Mother." Another pulse... It didn't sound to happy. "You don't have to be like that...! It was Sarcasm!"
A screen popped onto view, Revealing the coordinates with a line of text also reading: "Here." She sighed, sometimes disliking this AI but at the same time, This was what made the Aerial, Aerial. Mii saw the flight coordinates being received as she was coming in sight of the Spirit of Adventure, and man did the sight always manage to catch her breath as she was in awe at it's large design. She lowers the thrust in the Aerial Rebuild, as the mecha lowering it's speed as it heads towards the one of the open entrances of the Hangar. The Aerial lands insides with it skidding for a bit before stopping kinda accidentally scratching the ground. She caught sight of a couple of engineers pointing and directing her towards one of the docks, as the aerial activates it'd walking procedure, since it was clear enough for her to get there without any casualties... Finally it'd arrived with getting locked by on its back and limbs onto the dock.

It was clear enough to start shutting down the Gundam, as one by one each screen shuts down as the hatch towards the Aerial opens up with a bridge connecting towards the hatch to the dock was there. Mii gets up with her stepping out of the cockpit and onto the bridge towards the docks. This time she took off her helmet, with a hiss and albeit carefully revealing the face of this Lepizari and her long ears as she breaths in the artificial oxygen. "Aahhhhhh, Home sweet home." She said making herself at home. Since Mii was also used enough to a docking bay because of her experience as an Engineer. Her eyes caught sight of the other mechs that was coming in and her future colleges.

[CitrusArms]

The co-pilot space in the cockpit was crammed full of all the stuff Lay’arra usually kept in the small sleeper compartment behind, though it was possible for her to climb over it all into the seat, to use the full computer suite. She’d never had to use the sleeper compartment before, since she’d been on a sandship, usually. It was.. only slightly too small. Though it fit her from head to toe, there was no headspace or room to stretch her feet without pushing herself into the wall, head first. There was only a narrow strip of floor space between the bunks and the cockpit, some of which had been sacrificed for a closet. Opposite that was a ladder to the second bunk, the ladder doubled as a series of cubby holes and also either bed’s nightstand. She used hers as a little desk to stand her datapad on, when she hadn’t climbed into co-pilot. There was only really enough standing space to dress and undress.

The sound suite in the cockpit was way better than the datapad’s, and the co-pilot had a few different monitors to use, some smaller but the main screen was nice and big. She’d watch videos off the comms network or that she’d stored internally with some food in her lap in copilot or get into the pilot’s chair to admire the view of space and the glass keeping her safe. She’d started poking around her mech’s systems interface and found some interesting, dormant items, but was interrupted when they entered the destination system.

What a beautiful planet below them, green and blue and clouded! No band of desert across the center. And look at that station! Like nothing She'd seen around Grael II. She'd never been away from her home planet, never been away from the sandships and the facilities available aboard. Never had to use the sleeper in the back of her mech for anything but storage. It made her think about the second bunk and second seat a little more.

Her ruminations were interrupted by comms from the hauler captain, “this is your stop, ma’am. Good day.”

“Thanks. See ya around.” She turned tossed the old copy of Gurren Lagann to the copilot’s seat above and behind her. She didn’t feel confident in her ability to fly from co-pilot. It was all cameras and no canopy, no direct view to orient herself with. It had been tricky enough to dock with the budget transport to get here. Space walks are finicky, she found out very quickly, and docking procedures are pretty specific, and though there was an autodock, she’d never used it before and didn’t trust it. The LX-DrGN computer had some guidance features to support manual coupling, as well as a basic AI, capable of handling things like docking handshakes. It was how she had managed at all, honestly.

Instead of a dock coupling to latch on to from a weird angle, this time she understood there was a hangar bay to aim for. Ooh, that was much preferable. The disconnect from the transport pushed her mech forward, and she eased on her thrusters to clear the ship. He’d had the kindness to bring her to a straight approach, too.

She saw a transforming mech change shape as it came in to land and felt a pang of jealousy. The Violet Dragoon was a bit of a bucket of bolts, if she was honest, and she was wondering who had even scouted her when she heard an automated, female voice,

“Docking granted.”

“Right. Thanks, Betty.” Lay’arra laid her torso forward against the support of the cockpit seat and aligned herself as she approached the hangar. A sleek fighter craft entered, and a quadruped mech. The variety was pretty cool. Another biped mech flew in ahead of her. That one had a pretty definitive head to it.. isn’t that an obvious weak spot? Well, so was her cockpit. Mnn.

Gliding into the hangar, carefully following Betty’s flight recommendations, the mech spun just before hitting the touched down with a flare of wrist and ankle jets. The Violet Dragoon took a few short strides to come to a complete stop. Feet now on the ground, her confidence returned. Fitting into a hangar bay, from here, manually, under the conditions of gravity, was something she’d done many times before.

Yes, those riggings looked familiar, and this was the right bay, by the number on the wall. Made sense, since she used the door she’d been directed to. Betty’s advice confirmed, though she was already maneuvering herself to step back into the riggings waiting for her.

“Standby.”

“Aaaye,” came the bored reply, though it wasn’t long before she was cleared to proceed and she fit herself neatly into the waiting infrastructure.

”Cleared to resume docking procedures.”

Once the mech was all hooked up and in, the cockpit glass hissed and swung open, allowing the Anhur within to emerge and stretch greatly. “Whooo! Damn, that’s a small space for traveling.” The fox-like woman groaned as she stretched out her back, first forward and then backward.

[Letter Bee]

Raven Rivers

The Ranger Corps was the first step Raven had to rescue his wife and son; he had to remain optimistic for his daughters sake. And that meant putting on a smiling face and making himself feel optimistic about his new commanding officer - He did not know her and while what he had heard caused him respect mixed with a tinge of pity, that was no substitute for experience and trust. He also did not know his shipmates, and had no shared history with them, and while he was always ready to lend a hand, to help, to listen to whatever they felt like saying... He just felt like he was alone, even desperate.

Most of the other Mech Pilots here had their own traumatic backstories; he could not impose the burden of his own until there was mutual trust. But, he was curious about what troubles they had, anyway.

He breathed in, then out, realizing that he was not sure how to approach this collection of Humans and Aliens as he waited for his Commanding Officer to arrive and give them the debrief. He was a married man; he did not want to seem like he was approaching a woman - or another man - out of less-than-pure intentions. Damnit; how was making new friends this hard?

Well, the bird-man seemed friendly, so he'll just approach him first once he got out of his mech; once he was fully docked inside the ship. Honestly, the process of docking, of entering the aptly-named 'Spirit of Adventure' via the hangar... He could not find the words to describe it, so he just followed the instructions until he was able to get out of his mech and get into the lift; artificial gravity was a thing, after all, and he couldn't just fly down, despite the small size of his machine.

As he got down, he wondered if people would be surprised by how small Lumen Humanitas was; it was meant to enter small places, then shoot out as much firepower as possible before getting out - He was proud of his machine.

Not that that bird man's own was not... fashionable. In a cool way. Speaking of cool, as Raven approached Anka, waving hi in greetings with one hand while taking off his helmet with another unless ordered not to, the man would realize that he was older than many of these people...

@The Man Emperor

[Expendable]

Blackjack (Ziggy)

"Never set the cat on fire," John Tyrell sang softly, eyeing the Spirit of Adventure as he awaited his turn, "You only will annoy it. The heat will make the beast perspire, she surely won't enjoy it."

There were transforming mecha out there, which made him heave a sigh. Elegant machines, to say the least, but many were shop-hogs, requiring difficult repairs. His Zacarias-Geiger unit, however, was just tailored made for the army. The idea was simple to grasp - a basic humanoid-shaped unit, on which you could then install modules to enhance the unit, allowing you to adjust it for various missions as well as quickly replacing damaged ones. But in practice, the machines became a hodgepodge of different modules - and Zacarias-Geigers' certainly were not elegant, even if it looked like they were wearing bits of armor.

After the last scratch up, the only headpiece they could find for his unit was a prototype. Barely field tested, prototypes tended to flake out at the worse possible times. Or was this an Army cost-saving thing? Keep the better modules for the units in the field and give the prototypes to the detached duty units?

"Well, at least they managed to get it all painted up for me," he muttered, then continued singing softly. "Likewise do not ignite the dog, the snake, the gerbil, or the frog. No, never set the cat on fire. And mind your manners..."

"Ziggy, this is Spirit of Adventure, over," sputtered in his headphones above the chatter. "Ziggy, please respond. Over."
"Spirit of Adventure, this is Ziggy. Over," John grinned, keying on the mic.
"Ziggy, you are cleared to land on deck. After landing, follow the deck marshal for your bay assignment. Over."
"Spirit of Adventure, I received cleared to land on deck and to follow the deck marshal for my bay assignment, confirm. Over."
"Ziggy, confirmed, Over."
"Spirit of Adventure, roger wilco. Making my descent. Over.

The transatmospheric turbine built into his flight unit made a whine he could hear in the cockpit as he jetted over to the deck, flipping at the midway mark so he could slow the unit down to hover above the deck, then used his maneuvering thrusters to lower his mecha to the deck, feeling that moment the ship's gravity kicked in. He flipped the landing switches, hearing the clunk as the locks disengaged and the motors started rotating this wings overhead, making it look something like a peacock's tail towering over Ziggy's headpiece as they locked in place in this new position. Definitely not elegant.

"Spirit of Adventure, I have touched down. Turning myself over to the deck marshal, over."
"Ziggy, touchdown confirmed, over."
"Spirit of Adventure," John called out. "Do you know if my luggage has arrived? Over?"
"Blackjack, do I look like a gigin' bellhop to you?" the controller complained, clearly annoyed. "Get that piece of umbela off my deck so the next mecha can land. Over."
"Spirit of Adventure, roger wilco." John grinned, "Over."

Giving a hand salute to the deck marshall-bot, John followed it towards the hanger and atmosphere. He hated the thought his gear might not have made it. Last time someone pulled a prank on him and swapped out his spare uniforms for a damned tuxedo, command definitely didn't approve. With this ship mostly alien, this meant B ration packs, probably TravelRation, so he'd arranged for a care package to be delivered to the ship - two pallet loads of coffee and peanut butter, and a coffee maker for his berthing compartment - wherever that was. At least he had his thermos.

"And mind your manners, as circumstances may require, and never set the cat on fire."

[Smike]

HB-202
Hoyland Station

The Gehenna was sturdy, dependable, dangerous and, to the enemy, terrifying. What it was not was maneuverable. It had been built to travel at a slow and steady pace devoid of deviation; it was not a scout but a long-range sniper. It would deploy to a good position and sit there plinking away at anything unfortunate enough to be in range, dealing destruction from miles out so that its victims didn't get a chance to respond. This was its mantra, its ethos, its entire purpose, the thing it had been built from the ground up to do. When the UEC's death-designers had put their heads together and gave birth to what would be the Gehenna they had neglected to consider that in only a few years there would be mechs that were not just capable of being fast but could transform to achieve flight. Thus they had packed on as much extra armor and additional power sources as they could, and HB was resigned to having to hitch a ride every time deployment orders came through.

That was how it had always been, and they were content with it anyway. It wasn't like they had many places to go. HB followed the work, hopping from station to station and system to system under the orders of the Confederation. As far as the higher-ups were concerned, the Gehenna and its pilot were just more cargo to sling onto one of the many freighters typing their domain together.

They were aware of the approaching space station but did not remark on it, letting the automated docking instructions echoing through the ship fade into the background of their mind. The hallucinogens in their system, the Stepping Stones, as their fellow Zealots referred to them, turned the mechanical voice into a steady drone. In that meditative state, they could look inward, turning their gaze away from the infinite space outside their window to the one in their mind.

They could not reach the Ideal Conscious, not in this state. Instead of a flat plane their thoughts were a churning sea, roiling and crashing in a storm of uncertainties. HB knew that the Beloved Synth would be there, that was the whole reason behind their request for a transfer. This knowledge registered as satisfaction, excitement, even joy, but beneath the foamy surface of those positive emotions lay currents of disquiet. Nervousness was to be expected after such a long separation, but it was curdling into anxiety and fear.

With the detached air of a scientist inspecting a failed experiment, HB observed their arm, noting how it trembled. Adrenaline was running through them, fight-or-flight instincts from a long-gone primal era. Their self-control was broken for the time being; they could not quell themselves.

What an odd state of being! They could identify the responses their body was going through, but their mind, the arbiter of their reality, was unable to rein them in. This was a failure on HB's part. They had been trained to rise past their emotions, but the lapse was understandable. Seeing a loved one for the first time in twenty years would have an effect on anyone.

Even someone as jaded as they.

The transport made contact with the hangar, the gentle bump as it activated its landing struts reaching through the storm clouds to shake HB to action. A door opened somewhere in the distance, a ramp descended, and HB went to leave. She could feel the spray of nonexistent saltwater as she walked, hear the rush of a wind that blew only for her. There were figures in the distance, indistinct even as though HB could see the most minute of their features.

HB could not make out their faces but even if they could it wouldn't have mattered. None of them were Lorei.

The waves kept crashing, threatening to capsize the Zealot and drowm them inside their own head.

[Rhona W]

Lorei Corben
Hoyland Station

The VF-0 skated on low-power foot-thruster flame to it's parking stall, and Lorei shut the machine down, opening the canopy as the pressure equalised with the exterior and the atmosphere contained within the bay. The synth removed the mask around her mouth that protected her sensitive innards from vacuum and unstrapped herself before climbing out. She cast a gaze around the mecha bay, taking in with interest the variety of machines, their different forms an immediate reminder of the number of races that formed part of the Confederation. Their various pilots disembarked and stood by, and again; she was delighted and intrigued to see how varied in species her new comrades were. Her better-than-human vision caught a good sight of each, and that mix of excitement and nervousness rose within her once again.
A transport spaceplane touched down close by, and a further figure approached. She turned to get a better look at them, optically zooming in and...
A jolt ran through her; and a wash of confusion followed. Her mind spiralled; the person approaching was a Mon'nnari; she could make that out with ease. But more; the way in which they moved, the shape of their face, their horns, the piercings... something tugged at her mind, a thought she couldn't quite reconcile; that sensation of something almost out of reach. She recognised them, and there was a sense of familiarity.
But she couldn't think of why, couldn't bring to mind what it was she knew about them, how she knew them or where from, what connection she had with them... Another familiar feeling began to rise as she struggled, desperately, to recall anything, her mind racing and arriving at dead end after dead end, turning in on itself trying to make connections and recall memories that weren't there. Anxiety and panic started to rise and she hesitated, grinding her jaw and lashing her long, strong tail. Her three-fingered hands tightened around the safety railing at the edge of the platform, squeezing the metal as she stared, shifting through her memories and caught in a loop. The icons on her visor flashed and shifted changing from her 'eyes' to patterns of pixellated static and colour; until one of the techs shook her shoulder and she snapped back to reality.
"Ma'am? Are you all right? Ma'am??"
She jolted with a beep and wrestled her hands free of the railing.
It was twisted and bent out of shape.
She said nothing more, other than exchanging a glance with the confused tech as she vaulted over the railing and dropped to the floor, moving toward the growing group of pilots.

From the other end of the bay, a voice called out. "Captain on the deck!"
Gavren walked in, nodding and waving away the attention as technicians and other personnel snapped smartly to attention.
"At ease, as you were," the Cetanui captain called out as he walked toward the mecha stalls, looking up at each parked machine and then toward the newly arrived pilots.
"Rangers, your attention for a moment please; I'd like to welcome you and introduce myself"