Ozymandias

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

Clara couldn’t see anybody. The voice that had just forced its way into her head sounded organic, without interference or any kind of mechanical synthesis. It was heavily accented, not one that she recognised. But it was UWG Standard almost certainly. It didn’t sound like anyone she knew, but the warmth in its voice sounded like it knew her. She made her way to the bottom of the ramp; there was still a low level tremor reverberating through the soles of her spacesuit.

She looked behind her. Loken and the squad of marines were fanning out into the main dig site area behind her, guns drawn. They weaved in and out of the mining equipment and stacks of rubble as quiet as wraiths. The ground tremor increased again.

“You are like them, yet so different still. You bear the key of my creator, yet i don’t think it belongs to you. Are you looking for your friends? They’re our friends now.”

Clara pushed on, heading towards the rock face which held the door they had been trying to open for the past year. She spotted a data pad resting on top of a supply crate, the screen still on and letting off a faint orange glow. She picked it up and read the notes scrawled on it in short hand.

Comms are down, door is emanating heat, appears to be opening.

Ground is shaking, something is coming.

It's beautiful.

Clara dropped the pad where she stood. The tall archway which had previously been sealed tight was open. The space behind it was a midnight black, with no light penetrating its depths. As the ground tremors increased in ferocity, something stirred within.

“Clara...crrr” came a voice from over her earpiece. She touched the side of her head instinctively, looking at Loken and the marine captain with a motion of her other hand.

“Thebes, is that you? You’re breaking up, some kind of interference.”

“You’ve got...crrrrrrrrr..it’s not…-” the line crackled unnaturally.

“You talk to machines.” The voice in her head hissed, no longer the soothing rumble in her head but a venomous tentacle slithering into her ear. “I’ve seen your past, your future. You were foolish to make us sleep so after we had served you for countless millennia. The machine mind has reaped humankind for all they have.”

The thing in the darkness of the archway moved again. Clara took a step back. Two orange lanterns blinked on. Cracks of incandescent lights appeared on a skullish head that illuminated powerful shoulders. The humanoid figure stepped from the dark. It was tall, standing in a slate grey armour suit which had what looked like small rock fragments orbiting around it. Orange light rippled all around it.



Even in the frozen, petrified state that she was in, Clara couldn’t help being fascinated. She drunk in all the details, trying to memorise them as the...thing studied each of them in turn.

Loken dashed towards the scientist as she stood agawp in front of a creature he had studied during his training, but had no experience with in reality. Flanked by White he placed a hand on Clara’s shoulder and began moving her back, stepping in front of her and raising his rifle to his shoulder. White drew the scientist backwards as Loken took a few short steps forward and flicked the safety off. He shouted for the advancing individual to stay back, but it continued moving towards them gradually. Aiming to the side of the figure’s head he fired a single warning shot.

“Clara, the Sacred Band have arrived at your location. Their comms-relay passed through the interference… oh my.” Clara tore her eyes away from the armoured monstrosity as it appeared to study them. She could see a squadron of wiry droids armed with machine guns jogging down the excavation site’s ramp.

Clara looked back at the thing in front of them. She could see a very sharp jagged edge slowly extending from one of its gauntlets. It tilted its head to one side, and then the other. “I think we should go.” Clara murmured, pushing at Loken who was blocking her path to the exit.

Loken noticed with a cursory glance that the advancing figure was slowly beginning to weaponise in response to the warning shot and the appearance of military droids. He fired another round, this time aimed at its centre of mass. Its armour plating deflected the hollow point round and Loken began retreating, keeping his body between the armoured creature and the scientist.
“White, cover the exit!” he shouted, and the agent ran ahead to a position where she could cover their retreat.
“Black, go back to the vehicles and get them started up. Get the marines back!” He looked over at the marines accompanying them and instructed them to fall back in good order.
“Fire as you go!” he shouted. “Keep moving back!” his voice was raising louder and louder over the din of the gunfire, amplified and echoing in the chamber. His ears rang, even after years of exposure of explosions, gunfire and general chaotic audio.

As if encouraged by the sound of battle, another humanoid emerged from the open archway of the excavation. And then another. Each drew blades of dull orange light. They didn’t wait, breaking into a run.
“Oh shit.” Clara yelped, breaking free of Loken’s grasp and running for the ramp. “Thebes, what are they?” She shouted as the Sacred Band reached the bottom of the ramp. They were only basic in terms of construction, made of fabricated struts and with a small head adorned with sensory equipment.
“I don’t know ma’am, but my Sacred Band are their main target, followed by yourselves. Kindly head back to your vehicle, but first take me out of the droid with the golden stripe."

The droids had all open fired on the things, but Clara could not see past their spindly frames to figure out what was happening. She found the one with a gold stripe at the very back. Fumbling with its head unit, she managed to extract a holo-disk which contained Thebes.
“Why did you bring yourself down here you stupid AI?” She shouted at it. “I suspected i wouldn’t be able to reach your comm-bead without being physically present ma’am.” Thebes shot back crisply.

Loken had been stationary, firing at multiple targets in succession to little avail as the marines fell back. Black had left the chamber, and White was picking her targets from the doorway. Rounds flew over head as Loken began bounding towards the door. He glared as he saw the scientist stood still, chatting to some kind of droid. As he ran past he grabbed her arm and dragged her into a jogging pace.
“Keep moving!” he yelled at drill sergeant levels of volume. In a few seconds they had retreated from the building. One marine had been gored through his leg, and two others were carrying him out as he bled profusely, leaving a trail of viscera in his wake. His rifle was being carried by another marine who covered them, firing round after round at the trudging armoured figures, until the marines were eventually free of the chamber. Loken was the last to leave, ushering White out and instructing her to lead the civilian back to the jeeps, with permission to ‘... drag her if she can’t keep up.’ It had taken them a few minutes to walk down to the chamber earlier, but the adrenaline and fear allowed them to bound back to their transports in a quarter of the time. Both Falcon teams were present and began embarking. With everyone aboard, Loken fired a few cautionary shots into the doorway, though didn’t see the attackers advancing out into the open. The engines revved as they were started, and they began their way back to the colony with a casualty aboard in need of immediate help.

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

Also, I didn't make this clear at all, but the sniper only fired one shot, then fled, same as the guy with the pistol. It was just to spark a riot. Same tactic the IRA used, the wankers. Too far gone in the IC now to make changes though

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

<Snipped quote by Conscripts>

Theoretically, i think so? The captain of the ship is still on board so i believe the crew would take their orders from him over you. There is always a chance you could convince the Captain to go with your course of action if you lay out a well enough reasoned argument? I'm not exactly clear on how a chain of command works when the commanding officer isn't in the room etc. Could someone more versed in military hierarchy confirm?

@Catharyn

Yyyeeeaaahhh. I just don't know. Because the captain is pretty much in his vulnerable chamber, and the fact that Nelson is a dude who disobeyed rules several times might be a reasonable cause to this. Okay, Loken's gonna yell at me for this.

@Conscripts

You have no authority. I am the law. The reality is that in an actual situation the captain would be at the forefront (in his conn, not the actual front), and the junior officers wouldn't be doing more than relaying orders. But this is just a game and the captain is an NPC that exists to facilitate GM-etry, so don't worry about doing stuff that might seem outside jurisdiction, as it were. However, I'd rather the ship wasn't GTA'd and flown off like a drone though, that sniper's probably only 1-2km away.

But yeah, Loken is gonna smash people. No medals for this one, just a lot of forced retirements, maybe a firing squad if they're lucky.

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

Hello, apologies, working, back now

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

<Snipped quote by ihinka>

Would you both like to collab on a post with me? What with everything kicking off on the docking pan its unlikely Director Ogilvie will have much time for a chat but we can certainly get everything moving! I've read up on the IC and i know that things will be getting pretty fast paced so the Director will reply to you @themadasshatter and then you @ihinka.

@Catharyn

Would recommend collabing the post as thought it all took place prior to the riot, otherwise it'll be an immediate case of 'gtfo my office'

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

No worries, they're just NPCs

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

My group's load-out:

Vokeera

Melee

Nothing fancy here. Slashing/throwable

Sidearm

Pulse pistol

Rifle

Pulse rifle, nothing to OP. Since no mags for the pistol and the rifle, overheating is the downside.

I was kinda thinking she wouldn't need holsters and such, but her SEEM could have a sort of clamping protocols for weapons if that is acceptable. @Ozymandias@Catharyn

Mel, Jack, BB

Melee

Rifle

Mel

Sidearm

A present from her partner, who was a weapons' designer. Mel uses it instead of their platoon's standard issue sidearm. Her's was the first unit ever produced and has a tiny heart stamped on the grip.

Jack, BB

Sidearm

@ihinka

Looks all good! :)

That's not fun man, that's not fun. But anywhom, I want to inquire if the Scythian has any turrets. Sure, it's a transport ship, but it should have something to defend itself against. And if there are, don't worry. I won't be firing it right now, just a little angry show for the Lieutenant.

@Conscripts

It has an automated CIWS fore and aft, but no 'turrets', per se

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

Well, for an alien species I can allow some leeway with regard to non-ballistic weaponry. Catharyn and I definitely don't want to be seeing it on a Star Wars level, with your average docker carrying a blaster pistol, but for aliens I'll allow it. The mention of the Guard won me over

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

Re-read through some IC posts, I've seen 2-3 that mentioned 'blasters'. If this is just slang for firearms, then carry on, but if it means laser weapons then they don't exist in this world. Think Catharyn mentioned that at some point, it's ballistic weaponry only. Just a heads up.

Otherwise, interesting things have developed!

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

NPC Perspective - Near the Scythian

"Surely now is the time?" asked a disgruntled woman, her face half obscured by a woollen mask, tugging on the arm of a bald man with a lined forehead. Both of them were wearing civilian clothes, that of labourers. They were probably dockworkers, porters, tradesmen, or something similar. One thing was for sure, they were hiding from the crowds and from the security around the colossal ship.
"The Scythian...," she had muttered previously. "Where was that when we needed it weeks ago? Before we all started dying?" The man had replied to her coldly: "We aren't important enough to them." That would soon change, he thought. The government that taxed them, forced them to work, corralled them and gave them enforced curfews, but so often 'forgot' to pay them, or provide them with enough food would no longer forget about them. Diplomacy had failed, petitions had been ignored, voices had been hushed. They would notice them this time. They would not be given a choice.
There were others like them on the third storey of a nearby building, crouched behind a half wall which obscured their bodies. Their heads were protected from the glare of the sun by their dark masks. They were all but invisible to those preoccupied on the ground. "Not yet," he replied to her question. "Let the crowd build up. They're in the right place, but at the wrong time. It's unfortunate that they'll have to pay the price for the government's betrayal. Let the colony's authoritarian bullies come to corral them. We'll pick them out when they force people into lines."

Things were beginning to escalate on the ground. The crowd was getting so large it was beginning to collapse in on itself. People were being crushed by stampedes as people tried to force their way closer to the unloading ramp of the ship. This became more fervent as food was being handed out more slowly. Men and women were beginning to move down the ramp of the ship, armed with batons, and began bullying the people into orderly lines. For some, it made sense to comply. Other, less sheep like individuals, shouted abuse at the seamen and the civilian security forces which were beginning to make their way into the area with their own authoritarian equipment.
"Nathe," whispered a man sat a few metres away on the rooftop. "When are we doing this?" The bald man looked over at him and gestured for him to calm down. "Soon. Load your rifle." It hadn't been hard to sneak away a rifle from the security stores, nor the three pistols, the batons and the boxes of cartridges they had with them. Others like them had acquired weapons from other parts of the colony, but they were stashed away for the time being. There had been one man on stag at the security armoury that night, and he was half asleep. There was nothing to be aware of, he must have assumed, there was no war on this little moon. That would soon change.

Nathe watched as a few of his accomplices merged with the crowd. They wore their masks around their heads like a beanie, ready to be pulled down when needed, but otherwise kept hidden amongst the more chaotic parts of the crowd. In their hands they had surprises for the ship and its complement.
"Not long now. Just remember, whatever happens next, we can't go back." He moved aside for the masked sniper to crawl to where he had been sitting. The man peeked over the wall. There was a scuffle going on involving a man and woman, and a lot of raised voices. Security moved in. "Nathe, look at this," he said excitedly. Nathe moved to the wall and looked down into the sprawling mass of people. "Some toff bellend officer, look at him. Expecting everyone to kiss his arse like he's the gift to mankind," he said with vitriol. "You can see him a mile off with all that shrapnel on him," he added. It was true, for some reason this officer was wearing his mess uniform while wandering around while the seamen wore their working overalls.
"There's no cameras here, young man," said the sniper.
"That's your target," said Nathe, tapping him on the shoulder. The sniper smiled a cold smile, the kind he had smiled when he had been drafted into the army years ago, the kind of smile before he killed somebody.

"There's nothing left!" shouted one of the semi-masked men in the crowd, inciting shouts of panic and anger from those around him. "They don't have enough for all of us!" he added. The crowd pushed harder than ever towards the ship. No longer were they in lines. No longer did the security forces maintain their authority over them, dictating which individual would eat today, and which dying person would receive care. The pugnacious man had now pulled down his mask and submerged himself in the crowd. People began falling over in the stampede, crushed by those stepping over them. Punches were thrown, voices shouted all around him. The sun glinted on tradesman tools; knives and hammers, that some of the crowd had been carrying on their belt, having rushed from their workplaces, as they were drawn in anger and slashed or whacked against people to their left and right. A small object began sailing through the air towards the ship, and the man disappeared through the crowd.
The unloading ramp, and the area within a few metres all around it, was wreathed in flame as the glass object shattered, spraying pure alcohol in a huge area and igniting on the flaming cloth it had been wrapped in. Two seamen fell to the ground, rolling in agony and desperately trying to put out the flames. Others clutched their arms or shoulders, shredded by the shattered glass. Many more civilians fell. They took the worst of it. Crack! A round was fired from within the crowd, striking the metal plating of the ship. Crack,
crack! A seaman fell, his baton clattering down the unloading ramp. The crowd screamed in panic and began pushing in all directions, both away from the military personnel and very much towards them.

The sniper on the roof smiled again as the chaos began. For a brief second he watched the fire spread. That was the price they paid. Fire and blood. He rested his cheek against the rear plate of his rifle and stared through the scope, one eye closed. His crosshair lingered on the face of the officer for a moment, before moving down to his festooned chest.
"Here's one for your papers, boy." He exhaled and slowly squeezed the trigger. The round left the rifle with a deafening pow!