Starlance

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Within the four minutes given by the Captain, there was a line of boxes across the hole in the wall, leaving a gap about 80 centimeters wide for people to enter and exit the hangar. Good luck fitting in there, Rudolph. The ancient Romans wouldn't have looked at their improvised fortification twice, but given the time and resources available, she was proud of it. It was around that time that Ixtaro brought the requested vest and helmet, along with some bonus ammo. Nice. Let’s hope that carrying that was just wasted effort. Looking up at Ixtaro as the woman spoke, Vigdis noted something in her eyes and voice that was commonly seen among people who were thrown into a situation they had little control over and weren’t yet used to it. She’d seen it at the academy when EVA instructors in the vac chamber released the air from their suits in an unguarded moment, in rookie technicians the first few times they had to board an unstable wreck… She probably looked like that when the bullets started flying in Stavanger three days ago. She turned to the time-tested method of dissipating some of these worries: A bad joke. “Had a feeling these vermin might be too big for him. He’d still try, given a chance, believe that.” Vigdis said in reference to Fritjof as she put on the provided equipment, noting the Captain leaving the safety of the hangar simply as another weird thing that was happening that made no sense to her.

“Fuck no. If she wants to get stabbed or trampled, that’s her choice, I’m staying here.” Vigdis answered the Cuban’s question and banged on the crate she was crouched behind with her fist, the sign on the side identifying its content as electrolytic iron powder. At that moment, Vigdis had to laugh. Her brain was still thinking in terms of human weaponry, where a crate filled with iron powder would’ve been adequate cover. Against arrows and crossbow bolts, it was as if they’d gotten the shield running again. As for magic, a decade of tabletop gaming had taught her there was no way to truly prepare for magic and they’d have to roll with the punches, assuming they survived the first one.

“What do you think they’re saying?” She shared her curiosity as she reorganized the magazines in her pouches to keep the armor piercing darts on hand, figuring they’ll be more useful at range and against armor than flechettes. If it came to the worst, assuming everyone could pull the trigger, she guessed the 23 ponies would be worm food before they got halfway, barring any magical protection. Or their mage would send a 20-foot radius Fireball into the shuttle bay and call it a day. Not great odds, but better a medieval cavalry platoon than a contemporary cavalry platoon. Then she got an idea. After all, they had their own brand of magic. “Chief, Vigdis.” She called Zhao, “How quickly can you reduce O2 content inside down to 19,5% if it turns ugly out here and the locals force their way inside? If they’re used to breathing 29%, such a drop would hit them like a ton of bricks, assuming airtightness to allow this.” She didn’t tell the Captain or the XO yet, confident that if it was possible, Zhao would notify them of that option herself and if it wasn’t, then there was no need to bother them with it.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

”And if my gods didn’t want your kneecaps dusted, they wouldn’t have allowed your gods to give you any.” Marit gave a curt reply to the lunatic raving on the open channel. A land train with a nuke on board. So much for no surprises at the end of the mission. They were just lucky the Heavenly Swords had paced themselves instead of going all at the same time. Where did they even get that? Some CCAF stockpile? Why would they keep nukes here of all places? Uranium from an old fission reactor somewhere? Or was it powder from some radiation therapy source like that one city eons ago on Terra - a salted bomb? Couldn’t be, that wouldn’t harm the dam. Either way, she had a feeling the ‘interrogation’ of any survivors would include a pipe wrench and a drill. And kneecaps.

”Let’s not all end up like the Blackwatch.” Marit muttered as she took stock of remaining munitions. All lasers working, 165 missiles left. Four volleys of 35 and then 15 plus 10. ”Lance lead, Giggles, I’ll get a head start while you finish the leftovers here, though I’m almost winchester LRMs.” She advised and started moving downstream, feeling Archie leaning side to side once every few steps as he compensated for his feet slipping on the muddy riverbed. Reaching a strip of the river where the Heavenly Sword presence was light on the other side, Marit made a ninety degree turn and headed across the river. She was gonna kick the damn thing if she had to. All light from the outside disappeared as Archie’s low-slung cockpit plunged into the murky depths, leaving nothing but the glow of instruments and the HUD in her neurohelmet illuminating the cockpit. She knew the ‘Mech was sealed and could operate in a vacuum, but diving like that still felt weird, especially since the Sons secured her first BattleMech when it fell into a lake after a hit breached its cockpit and its original pilot drowned. Navigating solely by compass, she felt upward acceleration after a few seconds as Archie started climbing the right bank. Feeling the feet start slipping even more, she pulled back on the throttle to reduce the shearing force exerted on the riverbed, the cockpit eventually breaching the water on the other bank, Archie coming out with a full laser salvo directed at a few nearby trucks while the leg heat sinks were still submerged.

Still moving through the river in order to be able to use all four of Archie’s lasers with impunity, she made a brief stop to take more careful aim at a dune buggy that somehow got past Raven. For a moment, Marit thought she felt the ‘Mech sink. But when she didn’t notice the movement again, she chalked it up to Archie automatically leaning into the current and let it be. The front half of the buggy disappeared after the laser hit, but when she moved the throttle to get going again, instead of moving, an alarm bell notified her of unusual stress on the myomer bundles in both legs and automation pulled back on the throttle. She tried advancing it slowly, but it didn't help. Neither did trying to reverse, turn the legs, leaning to any side or any combination of the above. Archie’s fruitless dance lasted a few seconds, accompanied by a series of quiet, yet increasingly frustrated ”Oh…”s as Marit realized what she’d just done. ”Uhh, problem. Someone’s going to have to be my eyes for indirect fire, I can’t move.” She let the lance know of her blunder and went back to picking off anyone she could reach just by twisting Archie’s torso.

Left Behind: Mulberry Street

I'm a fan of the Valeros. Not too many people willingly play old characters in zombie apocalypse roleplays. My only question is that you mention that that you mention their daughter, Amanda, being a regular visitor... but she isn't listed in the sheet? Do you intend on bringing her into the RP, or will she be a background character at most?

The sheet is accepted, I just want to know what's the haps with that particular character.

@Kuro

She was meant just as an extra bit of flavor for the family/Carlos, zombies happened to pick a weekend when she wasn't visiting, though I suppose when if someone's brain gets munched on and the town needs more manpower she could be used.

Left Behind: Mulberry Street

Valero Household

The Valero Household
The Valero Household

"Home is where you hang your hat."

_{[ ❇ ] B R I E F H I S T O R Y}

Mr. and Mrs. Valero have moved to Hudeen from Claremont for their retirement nine years ago. Drawing on their former careers, they've taken it upon themselves to organize annual neighborhood cookouts in the summer to get to know and give something to the town's citizens, something Mr. Valero has kept up even after his wife passed away of coronary heart disease. Mr. Valero has been actively taking part in the town's local government since their second year in Huddeen. Their daughter, Amanda, regularly visits, although most of Huddeen only knows she drives a silver Camry.

_{[ ❇ ] H O U S E H O L D M E M B E R S}

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "You bake with your brain, but cooking comes from the heart." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

V A L E R O, C A R L O S || H O U S E O W N E R / R E T I R E D V A L E R O, C A R L O S || H O U S E O W N E R / R E T I R E D _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A 74 year old retired chef, the son of Spaniards fleeing Franco's regime, Carlos worked himself up from potwash to owning a small hotel in Claremont along with his wife, Alejandra. At 65, they sold the hotel and retired to the countryside. After his wife's passing, he decided to solve the problem of being alone in a house far too big to inhabit or maintain by himself by offering rooms to students at lower rates in exchange for help with housework. One of the lucky few whose lifelong career had been their passion and hobby, Carlos is a cheerful fellow, nearly impossible to anger, at worst disappoint. A self-made man, he has no patience for lazyness and false excuses. Unfortunately, youth spent in financial insecurity and draconian working hours are catching up with him at his age in the form of Osteoarthritis.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "Hunt to live, don't live to hunt. Yes, those who do the latter exist, they're called 'cunts'." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

S O K O L O V Á, A L E N A || T E N A N T / F O R E I G N E X C H A N G E S T U D E N T S O K O L O V Á, A L E N A || T E N A N T / F O R E I G N E X C H A N G E S T U D E N T _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A 21 year old third year student gamekeeper from the Czech Republic spending a semester abroad. Adopted at an early age by a gamekeeper and a teacher after her biological parents died in a flood, her father instilled in her a love of the outdoors and she eventually chose to follow in his career footsteps, enrolling in a bachelor's gamekeeping program at the Mendel University in Brno. In her third year, she took a semester in the United States as part of research for her bachelor's thesis, which is where the outbreak caught her, now stranded almost 6500 kilometers away from home. An active, outdoors person and an avid fantasy fan, Alena is outgoing, irreverent and loves to talk about her field of study to anyone who's interested in hearing about it. She is also a competent guitar player, particularly of the folk and country genres. She's been staying in Hudeen for only a few months.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "If it's stupid but it works, it's still stupid, you just got lucky." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

H A C K E T T, C A R S O N || T E N A N T / E X C H A N G E S T U D E N T H A C K E T T, C A R S O N || T E N A N T / E X C H A N G E S T U D E N T _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A 19 year old second year undergraduate student of electrical engineering from Fayetteville, NC. The eldest of four siblings from two marriages, son of a USN machinist aboard the USS Helena and an optometrist. Finding the technical education in Fayetteville sorely lacking, he aplied to the New Hampshire Technical Institute in Concord, NH. A bashful Sci Fi nut, physics aficionado and amateur astronomer, Carson is the quintessential nerd. Unfortunately for the situation he finds himself in, he's spent a grand total of 20 minutes outside of a city in his whole life, the only reason he can even be found in what he would privately describe as the armpit of the universe being the drastically cheaper rent offered by Mr. Valero, althugh he would never admit his opinion of Huddeen to any of its citizens, especially since being in a sparsely populaated area might've saved his life. He's been living in Huddeen for a little over a year.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

”Understood.” She replied to Raven’s clarification before the first distant detonation. Marit directed the rangefinder in the town’s direction, but even if it wasn’t too far away, LRMs would do just as much damage to the town as the suicide bombers. She almost turned to make for the city on autopilot, but that would’ve been a mistake. If they ignored the attack on the town, those people would die. If they broke off to try and protect it, they could succeed in protecting both the dam and the town, with a probability of that happening somewhere between ‘tiny’ and ‘none’. But if they tried to help the town and the fanatics took out the dam, then everyone in the town would die, they would die, and who knew how many more would be killed by the lack of power. No heating, no fresh or running water, no power in hospitals, emergency services unable to communicate... Fuck. Her father once explained this to her as ‘calculus of war’ - Sacrifice 100 over here to save 1000 over there. If by the end of it more people survived than died, you did okay. It was the best they could do given the situation, but that didn’t mean one had to be happy about it. Knowing they were driving the Heavenly Sword maniacs to desperation was a small comfort for the price the locals would pay, and not even that surprising. Three ‘Mechs, a tank and a few squads short of an infantry company of the meanest fighting bastards within five lightyears. If you were facing that in a truck, you had to be afraid unless you were functionally braindead, although the average Heavenly Sword schmuck was approaching that definition.

Seeing how much the Heavenly Swords hated him, Marit considered asking Family Man if he needed help, but stopped halfway to the PTT. He'd probably spent more time in a ‘Mech than she had as a sapient being, he knew she was there and that she had almost a quarter of his 'Mech's tonnage worth of undamaged armor. If he needed help, he'd ask. Instead, Marit focused on offense. She started pacing her launchers, creating a continuous hail of ordnance, but taking care not to aim too close to Family man or in the 180° arc around his current heading. By only using both LRM 10 launchers and two medium lasers, and with the river’s help, Archie was sinking more heat than he produced and at that rate, she had some 220 seconds of fire, with 10 missiles every five seconds. Fortunately, unlike the depot raid, there weren’t supposed to be any nasty late-game surprises this time around according to the briefing, so she didn’t see any reason to conserve ammunition, aside from making what they had last longer than three sorties. She caught herself with the heretical thought that Archie was better at this than a Catapult. True, with 15 heat sinks, four of them in the legs and a smaller profile, it had its strengths, but with the same laser armament, two LRM 15s and only half the missile capacity, it’d be dry in a little over half the time.

Left Behind: Mulberry Street

Valero Household

The Valero Household
The Valero Household

"Home is where you hang your hat."

_{[ ❇ ] B R I E F H I S T O R Y}

Mr. and Mrs. Valero have moved to Hudeen from Claremont for their retirement nine years ago. Drawing on their former careers, they've taken it upon themselves to organize yearly neighborhood cookouts in the summer to get to know and give something to the town's citizens, something Mr. Valero has kept up even after his wife passed away of coronary heart disease. Mr. Valero has been actively taking part in the town's local government since ther second year in Huddeen. Their daughter, Amanda, regularly visits, although most of Huddeen only knows she drives a silver Camry.

_{[ ❇ ] H O U S E H O L D M E M B E R S}

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "You bake with your brain, but cooking comes from the heart." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

V A L E R O, C A R L O S || H O U S E O W N E R / R E T I R E D V A L E R O, C A R L O S || H O U S E O W N E R / R E T I R E D _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A 74 year old retired chef, the son of Spaniards fleeing Franco's regime, Carlos worked himself up from potwash to owning a small hotel in Claremont along with his wife, Alejandra. At 65, they sold the hotel and retired to the countryside. After his wife's passing, he decided to solve the problem of being alone in a house far too big to inhabit or maintain by himself by offering rooms to students at lower rates in exchange for help with housework. One of the lucky few whose lifelong career had been their passion and hobby, Carlos is a cheerful fellow, nearly impossible to anger, at worst disappoint. A self-made man, he has no patience for lazyness and false excuses. Unfortunately, youth spent in financial insecurity and draconian working hours are catching up with him at his age in the form of Osteoarthritis.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "Hunt to live, don't live to hunt. Yes, those who do the latter exist, they're called 'cunts'." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

S O K O L O V Á, A L E N A || T E N A N T / F O R E I G N E X C H A N G E S T U D E N T S O K O L O V Á, A L E N A || T E N A N T / F O R E I G N E X C H A N G E S T U D E N T _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A 21 year old third year student gamekeeper from the Czech Republic spending a semester abroad. Adopted at an early age by a gamekeeper and a teacher after her biological parents died in a flood, her father instilled in her a love of the outdoors and she eventually chose to follow in his career footsteps, enrolling in a bachelor's gamekeeping program at the Mendel University in Brno. In her third year, she took a semester in the United States as part of research for her bachelor's thesis, which is where the outbreak caught her, now stranded almost 6500 kilometers away from home. An active, outdoors person and an avid fantasy fan, Alena is outgoing, irreverent and loves to talk about her field of study to anyone who's interested in hearing about it. She is also a competent guitar player, particularly of the folk and country genres. She's been staying in Hudeen for only a few months.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "If it's stupid but it works, it's still stupid, you just got lucky." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

H A C K E T T, C A R S O N || T E N A N T / E X C H A N G E S T U D E N T H A C K E T T, C A R S O N || T E N A N T / E X C H A N G E S T U D E N T _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A 19 year old second year undergraduate student of electrical engineering from Fayetteville, NC. The eldest of four siblings from two marriages, son of a USN machinist aboard the USS Helena and an optometrist. Finding the technical education in Fayetteville sorely lacking, he aplied to the New Hampshire Technical Institute in Concord, NH. A bashful Sci Fi nut, physics aficionado and amateur astronomer, Carson is the quintessential nerd. Unfortunately for the situation he finds himself in, he's spent a grand total of 20 minutes outside of a city in his whole life, the only reason he can even be found in what he would privately describe as the armpit of the universe being the drastically cheaper rent offered by Mr. Valero, althugh he would never admit his opinion of Huddeen to any of its citizens, especially since being in a sparsely populaated area might've saved his life. He's been living in Huddeen for a little over a year.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

That had to have been the most awkward handshake in the history of two homeworlds. She was this close to giving up when Nellara finally made up her mind. “Friends. Not foes.” Vigdis confirmed with a nod and a shake of her head accompanying the respective positive and negative statements, delighted and relieved that it had worked. The fact that shaking one’s head for ‘no’ was the same, or at least she was reasonably certain, made things a bit easier even further. Having greasy substances on her hands was fortunately nothing strange to the engineer, so she resisted the impulse to wipe her hand off easily. Let’s not offend the ‘Not Foes. Friends?’ by giving the impression one found them filthy.

But all good things must come to an end, as was evidently true even in this system. “Shaking hands has been working great so far, Captain, none of us have been eaten yet.” Vigdis shrugged when the doom clock started ticking again, “I would guess they’re not their friends, since we don’t yet have any friends here.” Her latest exchange with Nellara still didn’t mean anything. Yes, they both expressed the desire to avoid fighting, but until they learned to communicate, no one could say they were friends. In order to communicate, they would either need one of their… what, interpreters? Mind readers? Either that, or Wodan. In order for Wodan to decipher a full language in a reasonable time frame, he’d need to be running at full capacity. In order to get Wodan to 100%, at least one reactor would have to be restarted. In order to restart at least one reactor, they’d need more power. And in order to get more power, they’d need to communicate with the locals. “If you want to know which faction to trust, in my humble opinion the people who showed up in force and formed a phalanx are the wrong choice.”

“Not friends? Not foes? Neutral.” She pointed outside, trying to get some sort of answer out of any of the locals that hadn’t yet run outside. “They are neutral?” What she saw when she looked out didn’t fill her with much hope for a peaceful resolution. She’d seen enough fantasy movies to know where this was going. A knight riding out in front of his ranks to address the men before a charge.

“Hey, someone who’s going into the armory, bring me a helmet and plate carrier, I wear a medium. Eva,” So that was the power armor operator’s name, she’d been meaning to ask for three days but circumstances said ‘no’, “,could you give me a hand with this?” Vigdis called out as she undid the straps around some of the crates that hadn’t been torn free by the crash. Bracing her shoulder against one and pushing with her healthy foot, she moved the box across the shuttle bay into its port side fore corner, trying to set up a barrier to further narrow down the entry point.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

“Then act like it.” She shot back at Darnell’s ‘I know how a gun works’, “We are actually at their home. How would you feel if a bunch of Deep Ones crawled out of the sea and started waving magic tridents at you? You’re making them nervous. Look at them. They’re wearing 1600s-era plate armor and leather cloaks. They might be sorcerers, but how do you think a spaceship looks to them?” She tried to explain calmly, “And given how we got here, figuring out where we are in relation to Earth is going to be part of the ‘getting home’ equation. I don’t think she could point them home if she wanted to.” She shared her opinion on the matter. But Vigdis knew better than to argue with drunk people and idiots, and Darnell was definitely the former, even if she didn’t yet know enough to pass judgment on the latter.

The materials engineer in Vigdis winced when she saw Ixtaro’s hologram of a sword being repaired that way. So many people thought that was the way to do it. She blamed those old Lord of the Rings movies, but it was a good enough illustration for its purpose. Since it looked like Ixtaro had it in hand for now, she turned her attention to trying to placate Nellara. “I think I got something, hang on.” She grabbed a piece of one of the smashed boxes lying around to use as a portable drawing board. Give her a technical drawing and she would knock it out of the park, but she was terrible at what she was attempting.

Hider

“Friends.” She said, showing the drawing to Nellara for a few seconds before drawing a second picture, giving the side-eye to Shirik as it summoned more and more flaming images and praying to whoever was listening that Nellara wouldn’t take her next picture as a threat.

Hider

“Foes.” She showed Nellara the second picture and handed her the ‘board’ to free up her hands, “Work with me, Darnell.” She turned to the Tamerlane employee and extended her hand out to shake his. If he bucked, she’d turn to whoever was standing nearby. “Friends.” She repeated to Nellara, pointing at herself and her handshake partner. Bit of a lie in Darnell’s case. Then she turned to Nellara and offered her hand, hoping whatever preening oil these ‘Tekeri’ secreted, assuming they worked like birds on Earth did, didn’t contain anything she would have an allergic reaction to and that Nellara wouldn’t think the burn scars on Vigdis’ hands were some sort of skin disease. “Friends?”

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

“That’s the point, guy. I know you’re just doing your job, but right now you’re making things worse. We’ve got their version of you in there and it’s just as twitchy.” She replied to Ezra when he complained that she was in the way. The expression on her face when Ezra waved was a mixture of confusion and unease so strong even the birdman might’ve found it funny. That was not a human, that was a skinwalker trying to figure out how fingers worked. Turning to the soldier, Vigdis pointed at the droids and showed him two fingers, then at Ezra and showed one. To help drive the message’s intent home, she pointed at the soldier she was standing beside plus one of his buddies she picked at random and showed a number of fingers corresponding to their number before turning back to return to the shuttle bay at a leisurely pace. Since she couldn’t hear weapons fire or screams of agony from inside the ship, someone had managed to keep the peace in there. Good.

Although she used the fact that the local soldiers were paying attention to Ezra and the droids instead of her and finally put an armor piercing magazine into her weapon.

Returning into the shuttle bay after announcing her presence by knocking on the remains of the wall with her fist, she had half a mind to give Nellara thumbs up to show that the error had been rectified, but decided against it. Who knew what that gesture could have meant to the locals? The last thing she wanted was for someone of Nellara’s stature to think she just told it to sit on it. Instead she repeated what she did with the soldier, seeing that it had seemed to work, and parked herself between Darnell and Nellara, who seemed to have calmed down a bit while Vigdis was outside. “A few rules of firearms safety: Don’t point it at anything you don’t want to kill and keep your booger hook off the bang-bang switch until you want to shoot.” She calmly addressed the Tamerlane suit. Although she hadn’t been a trooper of the fighting sort, weapon safety was drilled into the heads of everyone serving aboard ships that were full of things that didn’t react well to bullets. “Stop breaking two of the basic four and tell me what I missed while I was out there instead.” She gently guided the muzzle of his weapon toward the floor with her left hand while gesturing to Shirik, Kareet and Ixtaro with her right. She knew from recent experience that having that pointed at you wasn’t pleasant, and maybe if Darnell was busy talking, he wouldn’t have time to do something stupid by accident and Nellara would stop seeing him as an unpredictable variable.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

In response to Mallory, Vigdis walked over to him to point out things visible from where he stood. "Start with the port aft wall corner. See how the remains of the wall were bent inward by a force pushing on the outside? Missile. Then along the floor, ceiling and fore corner, it's all bent outward. Shuttle. The way we rolled, if the hangar was hit hard enough, the whole thing would've sheared off, starting in the starboard dorsal or starboard fore corner where it joins the hull." She fired off what she could say for certain from a cursory glance, "That's what you get when you have something sticking out of the main hull like this, a design feature the company went forward with despite our objections." She couldn't help adding loud enough for Darnell to hear, "Looks like we got lucky though. I didn't see any signs of such damage when I was up on the outer hull. If you'd like, I could take off all this interior paneling and go over the beams with ultrasound to make sure, once it’s airtight again. We could also have Wodan figure out the forces that had acted on the hangar from the acceleration measurements and check the strain against what the affected parts are rated for. Fortunately in our misfortune, with the long range dish torn off, the hangar isn't supporting as much weight as it was designed to, so we have a wider safety margin. As for why I haven't done it already, we were focusing on the parts of the ship that were immediately accessible and necessary for flight." She explained. 'If I thought the damn thing was gonna collapse, do you think I would be here trying to fix a hole in the wall?' Vigdis thought, but did not say out loud.

And then it all started to disintegrate. It wasn't her fault, but Eva could hardly have picked a worse time to wake up and the locals had just gotten the same scare Nellara gave her. Why was she even sleeping in that thing anyway? "Human, human!" Vigdis gestured to the talking armor, “Stupid human, fuck's sake.” She added in Eva’s direction, perhaps a bit hypocritical since the only reason Nellara didn't have a hole in its chest was the fact that Vigdis' weapon had not been loaded when she entered the ship, before turning to the captain. “Too many people, way too many people and not enough communication.” She said sternly, the last part while pointing outside to where the droids were spotted moving. It had been going rather well thus far, she was not getting gutted by one of these birds just because someone on this road trip can’t work within a chain of command. It was that fucking merc who brought the suit on board, wasn’t it? He was put in charge of security. In an attempt to salvage the situation outside, Vigdis pointed at herself, mimicked Kerchak's walking gesture and pointed outside. “Apologies, Nelly, someone out there needs his head examined.” She said to Nellara before walking out as fast as she could without running and stood in front of one of the alien soldiers, literally placing herself between the droids and the soldier…’s lower two thirds. These birds were big. She waved her arms above her head to draw the attention of whoever was giving orders to the two droids and ran the back of her open palm along her throat once in a standardized ‘engines stop’ signal. Not ideal, but it would have to do.