LegionPothIX

This galaxy isn't yours! (On hiatus)

@6slyboy6 I re-read your post a whole bunch of times and agree that my post was in need of a complete rewrite. So, I rewrote it.

This galaxy isn't yours! (On hiatus)

@6slyboy6The way I read your most recent post suggested to me that's what was going on in the first half of your most recent post, and I was just responding to it specifically. The more I re-read that post the more I think I jumped the gun a bit and will edit/rewrite it accordingly.

This galaxy isn't yours! (On hiatus)

@6slyboy6 The system requires a warp gate to enter it due to all the stellar phenomena surrounding it. That's how the pirates took over in the first place. Your point probably should have been raised in my very first post when the gate was mentioned, and specifically stated to have been moved in the first place. It's been turned to face the sun to provide a brief bit of disorientation and sensor malfunctions due to being so close to the sun's radiation. Warping into the system has an element of confusion attached for anyone who hasn't been there since the pirates too over, and it's never been fixed since the EOM never gave a shit about this place until there was something to exterminate.

It's supposed to be an uphill battle because they're entrenched and prepared (thus was the reason why there was political BS slowing down EOM response in the previous post and me saying in that post that it gave them time to prepare). Even still, Pirate resources are limited and so it's not impossible that the EOM would retake the system, and force the Perennials to flee, it's just supposed to cost them a lot to do so. That was the point: for an empire of seemingly infinite resources they're going to still feel the cost of this battle.

This galaxy isn't yours! (On hiatus)

Atmospheric Music

Sector 14

A burst of light emitted from the warp-gate at the arrival of the gubernatorial patrol, but that light itself was awash in the radiance of the sun that bathed the gate's aperture. A light corvette with with a fighter escort on both its port and starboard sides reoriented themselves from the sun's surface and maneuvered toward Tortuga station.
They were met instantly by a small pack of raiders—seven at the most—that descended upon them and flew close. Some light fighters in the pack skimmed the corvette's ion wake, and up and over the length of the ship never straying more than ten meters from its hull and the barrels of its guns. It was an ace bit of flying that sent a very clear message. Though the pirates crowded the patrols—bullying them for navigable space, no weapons fire was exchanged. And, as long as neither side gave the other any excuse it would remain that way until the patrols finished their search.
It was the governor's assistant's emphatic warnings that landed him the assignment, and he cursed himself a little for having to leave the safety of his cushy desk job. "Don't worry, sir," the corvette's chief pilot said to his the assistant. "They're here for the same reason we are: to show the colors and fly the flag... so to speak."
"We're here for more than that," the Governor's Assistant bit back. "We're here to assess a possible threat to the empire itself!"
The primary pilot shrugged and adjusted their course to do a fly-over of the first planet while his copilot spoke up. "These plant things seem to keep to themselves. We don't go down and they don't come up." She keyed in a command sequence to initiate a low orbital pass, "There's never been a ship, and the only people to come off-world have only done so per recall order and EOM sanctioned shuttle."
"What about the pirates?" the governor's assistant asked.
"What about the pirates." The ship's commander shot back as he stepped onto the bridge. Some boots clomped on the deck and salutes sailed through the air before all were waved away. He was obviously annoyed at his ship being dispatched to escort a low tier civilian, and somehow being roped into the patrol schedule, but it was the assistant pilot who responded.
"They don't go down there either," the copilot added "As far as we can tell there's no profit in it." She dismissively waved a hand as she added, "The closest they came was to drop a derelict hulk onto the planet, but it fell into an ocean. Mighty fine splash."
"And completely unrecoverable," the primary pilot added with a half turn to meet the governor's assistant's gaze.
While the govenor's assistant continued to question the crew about the system, and handed out orders to his civilian teams, chatter flashed across the comms—from port to starboard—outside the ship and earshot of its captain.
"Why are they even here?" The starboard escort asked the port one in reference to the light corvette that joined them in their normal patrol.
"Higher ups think this back water station is some kind of threat I guess," was the response that flicked back over the comms in the other direction.
"Don't start none. Won't be none." Was the grumbling response that echoed back.

***

After surveying the first planet from low atmosphere the light corvette returned and docked with the station, while its two escorts took up a defensive posture around it. The governor's assistant had growing concerns that the pirates themselves had become infected, and quite reluctantly admitted that he needed to see for himself if that was true. However, nothing in his experience suggested that, if they were, that they could still manage to fly as intimidatingly as the welcoming party did.
The governor's assistant and his armed guards disembarked the ship onto the station but were held in quarantine for an unnecessarily long amount of time. The port authority's claims that the airlock had jammed were eventually given weight by the appearance of a mechanic.
A petite woman with oil smeared across her freckled face, and the name 'Mac' on her badge, tore at the door panel with the butt of her spanner. Once the panel was opened, a mechanical rat scampered down her arm and into the inner workings of the door control. She thrust her thumb onto a communication control and made an announcement to those trapped in the airlock. "Sorry 'bout this. There ain't a door on this station that defaults to 'open' when the circuits are fried. We'll have you out in a jiff."
Inside the door control the mechanical rat stripped wires with its teeth and tied them with its claws. Then its tail was thrust into a port, like a programming spike, while the control commands were reconfigured to match the new setup. A few moments later the airlock door opened and released the governor's assistant and his personal guard onto the ship.
"We'd like to have a look around, if that's alright," the governor's assistant said as he motioned for some doctors to follow the trio through the station.
"Ain't my problem," Mac said while Brie scampered back out of the door control so that it could be resealed. As Brie made its way back up Mac's arm it caught sight of, and drew attention to, the station's resident mouser after which it quickly hid in the mechanic's overalls. The rat-like idle behavior was a personal touch to the custom mechanical pet that Myriam was most proud of. Meanwhile, the mouser—a black cat—hopped up onto a crate as to catch the entire disembarking crew in its deep yellow eyes.
"What exactly are we looking for?" one of the doctors more so complained than asked the govonor's assistant.
The assistant turned to respond and address the doctors directly while reiterating a summation of their orders. "Any sign of the fungal infection," he said, "We're only aware of the Zombie strain, but there's no reason to believe that it couldn't mutate." The assistant paused while handing out data pads. "You all know the symptoms. Keep a clear and level head out there."
A light flicked down the hall, and the word "balls" came out of mechanic's mouth around her spanner. She dropped the spanner into her kit and pointed at the airlock door control. "No warranties; implied or expressed." she said while backing away. She glared at the governor's staff for a moment as she walked down the hall. Then after a moment she flung her toolkit over her shoulder, turned, and disappeared down an adjacent hallway to continue the litany of maintenance the station so apparently needed.
Similarly, the mouser too was gone; having disappeared into thin air the moment that Mac broke the observer's line of sight to it.
"Stay safe," the governor's assistant ordered with unease as the light in the hall flickered again.

***

The activation of the gate did not go unnoticed by the Perennial fleet who had taken refuge on the other side of the sun, and it was with this in mind that Whisker Wishes was dispatched from its ordinary patrols on the station to observe the interlopers who had just arived. The 'zombie strain' of The Spore, as it was called, was a heavy mutation of an old spore of the ancient caste. It was a projection of what the Great Web's ancient ancestors might have become but not for the humans. It had begun as a variation of the spore that survived the cleansing 370 human years ago, and was as similar to the modern Perennial as humans were to chimpanzees. That is only sharing a mere fraction of DNA.
The great web was not quite certain how humans differed from monkeys but from the mind of Gretchen Gravage the answer was simultaneously 'a lot' and 'not as much as they'd like to think.'
As they watched, and waited, the Great Web consolidated its forces in the corona of the star where the sensors of men degraded to much for their organic presence to be considered a reliable reading. The behemoth that was dropped in the ocean was tackled by water breeds: algae, seaweed, and the like. The conversion process itself had been completed long before The Great Web began its diversion with Aria Summers.
Now, close to the sun, the Light Perennials genetics resurfaced in terms of chlorophyll in the armoring. By consuming vast amounts of stellar radiation that would ordinarily be cast off or stored in the science vessel's hull, the Great Web was able to to grow and evolve three capitol ships—carriers—from the science hull template they obtained in the ocean.
At this stage it was impossible to know exactly how the humans would react, as a society, and when they would come in force to return fire to the Perennial world. But, this time, they would be ready. They would be waiting. Of all the Perennials aboard, perhaps Boar was the loudest when he snorted in grim anticipation.

This galaxy isn't yours! (On hiatus)

@6slyboy6 I've been keeping up on IC and OOC posts but still haven't been mentioned. Was there not something coming for those not engaged in the battle?

This galaxy isn't yours! (On hiatus)

@6slyboy6 Looks like I have some more reading to do. I don't imagine my race is good at running a blockade, but they are phenomenal at surviving a siege; considering what plants and fungi consider "food and supplies" is drastically different than what meat does.

This galaxy isn't yours! (On hiatus)

@6slyboy6@Sophrus I haven't actually read any of the posts for that battle and was only planning on getting involved if I was involved directly in it. It was sort of ongoing before I even started this game, and figured it wasn't my business, and wouldn't be unless it was made my business.

However, if you want to do something other than that kind of massive battle, I am open to suggestions.

This galaxy isn't yours! (On hiatus)

@6slyboy6
I appreciate the complements, and wanted to mention that all of your points are more or less related in my head.

After reading through the earlier posts by others I had a sneaking suspicion that more action is what you had in mind, but it's not necessarily how I play, or how the race was designed to work. So, instead I decided to take the time to demonstrate the intent I brought with them.

The very core concept of this race is that they are very alien and different in almost every way from humans, but more importantly, that they see humans in exactly the same light: very alien and different from them. There's going to be a lot of caution in their mindsets, and skulduggery in their play-style.

I'll also assure you that I can write action sequences, and even have action oriented characters on this site, but a high action sequence felt like it would give a bad first impression of the race as a character in this (our interactive player-driven) story.

This galaxy isn't yours! (On hiatus)

Atmospheric Music

Perennial Exodus

Operant Conditioning Chamber
The two dimensional words projected in three dimensional space made for a hyper simple finale to the presentation. The presenting researcher summarized with a review of the detailed analysis presented. "An operant conditioning chamber, more colloquially known a Skinner box, has been an integral test of sentience for... well, ever." The presenter was the type of scientist who wore their lab coat as casual attire. There was an implication there that the audience picked up on. That either he felt comfortable in it, after so many years of being required to wear it, or that it was a form of armor designed to create the illusion of intelligence. In either event those present reserved their judgement as he swiped right and a recreation of Skinner's famous experiment with a new specimen: an infested rat.
The ability or determination to resist the environment had become a standard for demonstrating 'an above animal level of intelligence' and sufficient time had been given to study all manner of variations of what had been come to be called 'The Perennial Infestation'.
The scientist swiped right again and displayed a holographic recording of an interview explaining the state of a Perennial Infested human. "The specimen is very convincing," Dr. Xaith Calhound explained, "The infected's memories are leveraged in the same manner as the switch, or a button, in an operant conditioning chamber. However, in this case the chamber isn't a physical box, but rather it is the target's perspective and worldview."
The interviewer nodded with a bit of a befuddled expression, "Can you elaborate?"
"Certainly. Imagine if you will that there was an electronic database that contained every possible action a person could take, and the associated probabilities of the responses said actions would elicit." He waited a moment for a nod from the interviewer he continued that conveyed more understanding than just a simple acknowledgement before continuing. "The ability to elicit an emotional response would not be all that difficult for a sufficiently sophisticated computer that can make the required calculations."
"Wait," the interviewer interrupted, "Are you saying that these things are sufficiently sophisticated to do that? Wouldn't that make them intelligent? I thought you said they weren't."
Humanity's foremost expert on simulated intelligence shook his head. "No, you misunderstand. The human brain is that computer. To these parasites it is just a big red button that gives them food. In many ways society itself is an Operant Conditioning Chamber."
The presentation before congress ended with the call for the cited expert to speak directly on the topic that has proven somewhat derisive for many. After being sworn in Dr. Calhound got bluntly to the point. "Are they intelligent? That is the question on everyone's mind." The good doctor paused literally for no other reason than for dramatic effect. A pause that went on so long as to actually emphasize its own emphasis. "The answer is no." The good doctor had no qualms in the slightest in speaking to the nature of the imitation people. "They're a close facsimile, to be sure, and even inhabit people, but they are not people."
It was a definitive black-and-white answer to a question that plagued the frontier worlds since the their listening post in the Tortuga system went dark. The simplicity of the conclusion caused something of an uproar in the attending politicians. Among colonists, miners, and other simple folk who gravitated to the frontier worlds a naturalist movement was growing. To put a face on that movement, and provide the voice of the opposition was the Grand Priestess Aria Summers.
"You seem to favor bluntness so I'll respond in kind," Aria said in the sweetest tone she could muster while cutting to the heart of the matter, "At what point does something indistinguishable from a human being stop be considered a human being?"
A grimace crossed Dr. Calhound's face as he made a conscious and concerted effort to remain civil. "If you taught a sunflower to speak a few words would you insist on calling it a parrot?"
Luckily no one chose to quibble over what constitutes the number of "a few". Instead, Aria took an almost perverse pleasure in her response, as if she possessed the moral high ground. "A few choice words... Such as what, for example?" Aria dismissively flipped her hand and a digital document from her table was brought to life o the projector. She hemmed and hawed for only an instant while it loaded, but rather than a vocalization of indecisiveness, they were intentional passive-aggressive discrediting of Dr. Calhound's assertions.
Once loaded, she intentionally held the playback on its opening frame to underscore the human element of the tragedy. The opening frame was one of a heavily infected woman, and the recorder had tightly focused on her face to reveal the discoloration, lacerations, and growths on her body. The suffering of a human being was graphically emphasized before the holoprojection played out. She was running to a civilian police authority screaming "Please! Help me! They're going to kill me!". As it played out, the police warned to keep her distance numerous times before the woman's frantic, and aggressively escalating flailing resulted in her being shot to death. For the last two weeks scenes like these played out in isolation all over the empire and it always played out exactly the same way.
"That's enough Ms. Summers," the council chair interrupted, "You've already given your opportunity to present evidence. We'll be taking a recess to discuss what's been said here. That'll be all."
Hesitant to rise and step down, Dr. Calhound addressed the council one final time for the evening: "Ladies and gentlemen of the court, with your indulgence I would like to address that final point raised before we recess." After a thoughtful deep breath he turned directly to Matron Summers. "It's unfortunate that the pop culture icon of the Zombie did not prepare you, and others, for the possibility that they might actually be harder to distinguish from real people." The more he spoke, the angrier he got, and the harder it became to keep calm in the face of such willful anti-intellectualism. "The facade that the media has been presenting for hundreds of years is an incredibly dangerous one with real consequences."

***

A rear admiral sat impatiently waiting the outcome of civilian bureaucracy while the doctor stood by the window to survey the scene on the promenade. Through thick plumes of cigar smoke he conferred with his expert. "I don't like this. If it were a military installation, and personnel, we could have ended this before it started." He shook his head in disgust, "It's these damnable civilian courts. Everyone knows how this is going to play out, but these bureaucrats have to make a big show about dragging it out, just to show that they're still in charge."
Confused, the doctor adjusted his glasses and cocked his head, "And how is it going to play out sir?"
The burnt stub of a cigar was snuffed out in an ashtray as the admiral looked up to his guest. "The way it always plays out."

***

It was a quiet rebellion.
Information warfare against the humans? Nonsense. The human's network is eminent and their dominion is absolute. Their infrastructure for communicating and disseminating information is immense and no lesser race could even compare.
That is, unless every one is in agreement. The Perennials were in agreement. When everyone is in agreement there is no need for words. The rebellion was a quiet one. Or at least, it was until it was time to speak, and speak they did.
Colonists, scientists, mercenaries, and pirates they all had one thing in common and that was they had something to go back home to. That, and "home" was a different place for all of them. The Great Web had captured many avatars of flesh and distributed them naturally through the human population. Now they called out to any who would listen. Any who would hear them. It was a strategic maneuver that was derived from the human words: "broadcasting" and "obfuscation".
These shooting were not random. Their locations were carefully chosen and deliberately staged in places where the police were stationed to suppress the people, rather than protect and serve them. It was a message to any of those who would resist the humans, but could not do so openly. That they could find allies willing to fight and die to escape the human's rule.
These sacrifices were a regrettable and fairly recent part of a campaign of misinformation and confusion that had been going on for years. The Great Web had bread a special spore to confound the human scientists, and a subtle propaganda war to cripple the efforts of the humans from exterminating the Perennial species before they could flee their world. Now that the Great Web had amassed several ships, and had converted them to be Perennials themselves, it was time to leave. But their departure would not go unnoticed which is why the Great Web orchestrated such an elaborate event to serve both as a smoke screen for their exodus and, with luck, first contact with potential allies.
As their fleet—grown and bread from one lone abandoned ship—launched from the planet's surface. Due to the severity of the response it would not be long before humans once again returned to Tortuga. As Perennial ships broke from the planet's gravitational field, Gretchen Gravage sat among yet apart from the the swarm of all that made up the Great Web. She was a single member of the whole trying to think of itself as the whole while the whole tried to think of itself as an individual. It was an increasingly important, nuanced, and difficult thing for the Great Web to truly understand yet its survival depended on making contact with just such individuals.

Edit: Fixed some grammar and auto-correct errors that were driving me insane.

This galaxy isn't yours! (On hiatus)

@6slyboy6 Sorry, I seemed to have misinterpreted the context or intent of what the first post was supposed to be. My first post was intended to be an elaboration on the what we talked about regarding my race's origin story, and was intended as a teaser lead-up to my race losing their home world. I thought it best to just start from the absolute very beginning of the scenario as outlined in the OOC first post, and introduce my race as a character, rather than try to In-medias Res well... everything.

I fixed it by making it happen in the past. The post I've worked all day on should better reflect both your expectations, and the environment that it is in. I spent a lot of time going over the early posts of the thread to get a better feel for what was expected and where our races are at in their development.