Starlance

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

”Swear loyalty to the captain and you’ll get all the time you want.” Vigdis grinned under her mask, ready to explain she wasn’t being serious in case the joke didn’t carry over. ”Many of the ailments you speak of haven’t been much of a problem for hundreds of years for us, though I agree that it’d be good to have another alternative even if our stores should last years, in addition to speeding up things we can’t heal quickly.” There may have been twice the number of people on board, but the Jo was still an exploration ship. She’d been fortunate to avoid any notable encounters with the infirmary, but surely the ship’s original mission would’ve had it away from resupply points for extended periods of time. Unless all of their medical gear fell out of the shuttle bay, but she had a feeling that would’ve been mentioned in one of the daily briefings. ”We might also need your help with local diseases, if we can catch any. There’s still a lot of unknowns about what the local conditions might do to us in both short and long term.” Another reason she preferred to wear the breathing masks, even if it wasn’t the most comfortable thing ever made. ”Out of curiosity, has your life expectancy increased as people aren’t dying of mundane injuries and diseases, or has your lifespan increased and people actually live longer?” If life magic had a regenerative effect on the whole organism in addition to fixing damage, that would be a big boon on top of the near double increase of lifespan since 300 years ago.

”Fair point on the infiltrators. Again going on nothing but your word though. Either way, not my decision to make.” Fortunately, screw having that sort of responsibility. ”So that’s the anatomy chapter skipped until a more qualified person has time, what’s next? History? Where we came from?”

Rise of Rasalhague

”And naturally being defeated is outlawed in squintland. Fucking barbarian.” Karel growled at Fuka’s ‘outlaw’ comment. But stiff demeanor aside, at least the boss knew how to run a briefing. After having to cook out of water during a significant number of Sapphire Swords sorties, this was a welcome change. Maybe he’d come around yet. As the presumed captain gave the ten-second warning, Karel looked around for something resembling a stable handhold. Resigned to his fate, he sat down on the floor where he found a rust-free patch and gripped his chair, not wanting to risk the rickety thing folding underneath him if he leaned the wrong way after the jump. The jump apparently quelled any will to argue if there was any, leaving them headed to the main event of the night.

Ankhanne, Mech Bay

The Combine girl immediately made a beeline for the only heavyweight in the racks. Made sense in a way, if she was familiar with the machine, more power to her. It would make everyone’s life easier. ”Look at her go. Add some fried chicken on top and she’ll outpace the ship.” He said quietly to the nearest person when Fuka took off, covering an impressive distance in a few seconds. Following her path, his eyes fell upon the Mech bays and their mis-matched occupants.

”Bože, co jsem komu udělal že mě takhle trestáš kurva?”

The ‘Mechs were… about what could be expected given the DropShip. That Centurion was a prime cand- of fucking course, nevermind. Trebuchet 7K. Sniper, no. Hermes II 4K. Walking oven, no. Javelin 10N. Alright loadout and jump jets, but the armor may as well have not been there, no. Panther 9R… Kind of a sniper, but with decent armor and able to keep itself cool… No, that minimum range on the PPC would spell his doom sooner than later. He passed the Urbanmech without acknowledging its existence at all. The Raven was a sweet deal, but he didn’t like the likelihood of the controls being written in that spilled tea leaves script the Capellans used. The Mongoose was definitely an ancient design, but despite being Drac-made, it was built for the SLDF - back in the days of glorious standardization - and therefore most likely in an actual language. And with a loadout he liked and blistering top speed of over 120 kilometers per hour - assuming these particular ones could reach it without rattling themselves apart - that would do it for a start. Karel climbed up to the closer Mongoose’s entry hatch and dropped down inside. He clambered back out faster than he went in, driven out by the smell of what he guessed was dead rodents and mold that permeated the cockpit and made his way over to the second Mongoose before anyone had time to claim it. ”Spare parts.” Were his only words as he passed an AsTech visibly confused by his behavior, pointing at the abandoned BattleMech.

Standing in front of the other, hopefully nasally inoffensive antique, parts of the armor were still stripped to allow the technicians easier access. The parts that weren’t were clearly intended to have some kind of green-black-sand three-tone woodland camouflage pattern, except it had a few problems. Chiefly among them that the person who applied it had no clue what the hell they were doing and they also clearly grabbed a bucket of paint that said ‘desert sand’ instead of ‘sand’ and thought “Good enough.”, resulting in a Jackson Pollock-esque mess of olive and black colors interspersed with pink splotches.
“Soooo? What do you think?” An oddly chipper MechTech appeared by his side.
“It’s the BattleMech equivalent of a crackhead.”
The techie nodded her head energetically in agreement. “Good luck, merc.”
Making his way inside, he took some time to examine the dashboard, ergonomics of the most commonly used controls he could identify at a glance, field of view and… a cup holder? He was staring at a loop of wire welded to the dashboard, with a piece of scrap metal similarly attached underneath it. What else could that have been?

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

”Don’t worry, I have no intention of telling Silbermine or Nellara anything of the sort without clearing it with the captain first.” Vigdis reassured Kareet, ”You seem trustworthy enough. Either that, or you’re at least a competent spy, time will tell.” She chuckled. ”Bet Silbermine won’t be happy when he learns we have a lot in common with the Ascendancy though. When, not if. Some things are impossible to keep a lid on.”

”We’ll end up having to take sides eventually anyway.“ Vigdis sighed, ”Those two can’t be anywhere near each other without clawing at each others’ throats and Silbermine seems convinced he’s the best thing since sliced bread and thus no one should be able to say ‘no’ to him. I can’t really see a peaceful way out of this, not unless Silbermine’s reinforcements include someone higher ranked and more reasonable than him. I just hope someone will force our hand, that way I will have tried my best to avoid it and won’t have to feel too bad about the mess it will bring.”

She listened intently to Kareet’s sales pitch of life magic, the descriptions of ‘Cure Wounds’ and ‘Regenerate’ spells from DnD popping into her mind. Some of her injuries didn’t bother her. Her hands retained almost full functionality and although people who knew her learned to look out for her tic to know if she was getting agitated, she learned to mimic it to get people to get out of her hair if she didn’t feel like dealing with them. But the idea of being able to run up seven flights of stairs under a minute like in her university days was a tempting one. ”Why take second hand information? If Kerchak’s allowed to study us, you could join him. Saves our doctors time by explaining it once to more people at once. That is, if you’re allowed access to that knowledge in the first place. You can understand how teaching everyone where to stab us, not to mention potentially mimic us, is something we might not want to do.” Now maybe Kareet, Kerchak, or even the Ascendancy as a whole wouldn’t misuse that knowledge, but in absence of a better reference point, she’d continue to play things safe and judge based on the worst leadership humanity had to offer.

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

”I’ve spent four years in the military, never had to fire a shot in anger.” Vigdis spoke after a noticeable pause when Kareet said soldiers of the same species had trouble killing each other, conversions of human time to K-A days becoming standard. ”I salvaged shipwrecks, killing another being was never something I gave much thought to, even less so after I got out. Until the Jotunheim’s dock got attacked a week ago. When the situation devolved into a ‘kill or be killed’ scenario, you’d be surprised how quickly I came around to the idea. Every animal just wants to live, and humans are no exception. But when someone else is determined to end that life and bullets are whizzing by your head, the most effective way of preventing that is to end theirs. Whether you can or can’t live with the guilt is a question that can only be answered once you’ve ensured you will be alive to feel guilty.” She shared her view somewhat melancholically, having postponed figuring out her answer to that last question until the more pressing source of existential dread had been dealt with.

”I’m saying this as if they are inherent and obvious truths because throughout a large portion of our history that we have written records of, they were. Despite a relatively peaceful time around 300 years ago, circumstances once more led to resource shortages and squabbling over land. When things such as lumber or fertile soil become scarce, people will do desperate things. I’m not saying it’s right, I’m saying that’s the way it is. Give it a thousand years and you’ll get there too. Maybe two thousand, magic and all.” She was by no means an anthropologist or biologist, but as an engineer she knew nothing worked for free. Unless the locals forever froze on their current technological and low enough population level, they’d one day be facing many of the challenges humans did, since even living beings were essentially engines burning oxygen and fuel, complete with their own emissions.

”Anyway, onto more pleasant topics.” Vigdis made a proverbial full stop behind that topic, her demeanor returning to her usual self. ”What’s next in your encyclopedia? Anatomy? History? A second opinion on some of your non-magical knowledge of the world around you?”

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

”Why would we be peaceful just because we are currently the only intelligent species around? Are you trying to say you’ve never had a war between two groups of Tekeri, or two groups of Glen? Resources, land, religious and political disputes are still going to be a thing. And we didn’t need someone to be completely different to decide we don’t like them either, sad as that is. We’ve moved past that at least, save an odd degenerate or two. And oh my, can we fight! One of the most destructive, if not the most destructive conflict in our history was waged over 350 years ago, lasted six years” Vigdis quickly recalculated the times to a number of K-A days for Kareet’s benefit, as that was the only known local unit of measurement. ”spanned the entire world and took over 70 million lives. That would be…“ Another wristpad-aided conversion, ”at least 413 016 600 dead to put it in base 8 as you use.” She wrote the numbers on the large tablet in case orders of magnitude didn’t translate properly. Vigdis remembered Kareet writing down the explanation of numbers she wrote on the shuttle bay wall, so that should be understandable, even if she might have to look up the reference chart.

”We have a holiday to commemorate the fallen, regardless of which side they fought on, but we don’t exactly ‘venerate’ warriors. There were at times cultures and religions who held martial prowess in high regard - the island my family comes from was discovered by people whose faith claimed only those who fell valiantly in battle would go to the good part of their afterlife - but not anymore. That was, what, 1200 years ago?” She made a guess, once again converting the time to K-A days. ”But pretty much every nation has a standing army. It’s better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it, plus an army is a lot of fit people with useful equipment who are used to working together, which is useful if you need to clean up a natural disaster, like a flood or a volcanic eruption. A few nations still retain conscription, but most human soldiers are volunteers, joining up for one reason or another.” Vigdis chose not to let Kareet know most humans instead venerated celebrities and online influencers, not knowing where to begin explaining those to a late medieval bird.

”But for all the bad things about war, it would be dishonest not to mention how conflict drives innovation. I don’t mean to promote warfare, but for example, the technology that enables us to leave a planet began as an alternative to our alternative to a catapult during that war I mentioned earlier. Flying machines, weather forecasting, machines that allow us to see heat given off by objects an let us see in complete darkness, ships that sail underwater, countless medicines, computers…“ She tapped her wristpad and the tablet to indicate the last one, having noticed the locals calling them ‘golems’, ”All were initially developed for or had its development accelerated by military use, sometimes by accident.” She still couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of microwave ovens being invented when a technician working on a radar antenna noticed a chocolate bar in his pocket was melting.

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

”We’re not exactly hairless. These sketches were made for anyone who found them to get an idea of our shape, so they are depicted without body hair. Although after our ancestors started making and using clothing to keep warm, hair became useless and we’ve lost most of it over millions of years. In addition to the hair on top of all our heads, most men can still grow facial hair and both are styled to the aesthetic preference of the individual or practical considerations. Some body hair is still left over, but it’s for all intents and purposes useless.” Vigdis rolled up her sleeve past the burn scars to demonstrate vellus hairs. ”To our understanding it never served a defensive role, but we have ways to keep going even after suffering harm. Sometimes humans are able to perform complex physical and mental tasks in a fight, like flanking or reloading weapons, even after suffering lethal injuries for some time. A doctor would explain that better.” If anyone would talk to any of the locals about how to best kill a human. Which they definitely shouldn’t.

”I can’t give you any specific numbers, but I am familiar with the mechanism behind our endurance. We have small… organs you could call them I suppose, across our skin, which secrete a liquid called ‘sweat’ in response to increased core temperature, such as when we’re in a hot climate or during intensive physical activity, like running. I won’t get into the details of how it works, we’d just get bogged down in sciences you may not be familiar with, but this serves to cool us down, allowing us to keep going where species without this ability will overheat.” Thermomechanics of heat transfer and evaporative cooling better wait. ”What drove the Driisu underground? Hiding from someone?”

As Kareet was scribbling, Vigdis got up again and risked a social faux pax by looking over Kareet’s shoulder, having never seen K-A writing aside from digits during their initial contact on Crash+3.

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

”I’m with you on the politics.” Vigdis agreed, trying to find an anatomical drawing of a human for Kareet to copy into her notes. ”Well, the easiest, though in this case not very useful, way to define a Human would be ‘the dominant species on Earth’. Unlike here, with Tekeri, Glen, Gar'Tan's species and whatever Shirik is, we are the only intelligent species where we come from, although there are small differences, subtypes you could call them, based on which part of the world our ancestors lived in. You've already seen some of these: eye and skin color, hair color and type, etcetera. For example: Those hailing from warm climates are lankier and have darker skin. The dark pigment protects us from the sun’s light which can be harmful if overexposed, and greater skin area aids in cooling. Conversely, those who trace their origins to cold climates, such as myself, tend to be shorter and more stocky, since the protective pigment is not necessary and the lower surface-area-to-volume ratio impedes heat dissipation.” She finally found something she could use - a picture of the Pioneer Plaque - and placed the tablet on the crate Kareet was using as a desk. Good enough for what she needed at the time, Vigdis just hoped Kareet wouldn’t start asking about the plaque too much as it contained things she didn’t understand.

”We're not the only ‘smart’ ones on Earth, there are numerous animal species capable of things such as using tools and thinking for the future, but we’re the only species who developed civilization. We are social mammals, living in groups and giving birth to and nursing live young, rarely more than one. And like you, we are omnivores requiring a varied diet to avoid long-term health problems. Our ancestors were endurance hunters, running their prey down until it dropped from exhaustion, but we get most of our food from farming and raising cattle these days. Why work hard when you can work smart?” ‘There also isn’t that much wild prey left’ She thought, but didn’t say. ”By now you've no doubt figured out for yourself that we like to be out and about during the day and that none of us posses magical abilities. Out of curiosity, are other intelligent species on Kanth-Aremek nocturnal, or just Tekeri?”

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

Sleep did not come easy that day. How could it, amid a brewing territorial dispute, an intellectual arms race and a glimmer of hope in the shape of trade of food and other necessities? At least as far as she knew no one who ate the Glenbread had started puking their guts out. ”What do you make of all this, Wise One?” She asked the quietly purring, lightly vibrating ball of fur on her chest. The Wise One did not answer, unless one counted the increased volume of noise coming from the furball, coinciding with being scratched behind the ears. Fritjof wasn’t the only one shaking, as Vigdis got shivers of excitement every time she started thinking about that little experiment she carried out that meant that with time and effort, many of their headaches would be alleviated, another step towards their return home would be taken and even if they were to become stranded on K-A forever, they would be stranded in the comfort of the 23rd century and not the iron age.

Vigdis had put herself up for a later shift the next day, but was up early in the morning. And this time, Fritjof licking her face at 0600 sharp until she got up and fed him wasn’t the sole reason. The captain wanted volunteers to start talking to some of the locals who made smaller-scale offers that didn’t include whole countries, and as she was one of the people who’d be working with the mages to get power going and had already taken some steps in that direction, it made sense to her that she’d go. Plus, she would have to be mad to decline an opportunity to further speak with the locals, especially since it would be ‘on company time’. She intended to eat her breakfast outside, until she remembered - again - that the plastic container it came in might burst to flames. Her homeworld had some serious habitability problems, requiring solutions many outsiders considered absolutely insane, but no planet in Sol managed to be quite as irritating as K-A did. It wasn’t just that there were problems, the issue was that it was this close to being good, except those small inconveniences.

Having made sure there were no overnight updates to the translator, she checked a bigger tablet out of storage for the purpose of showing things to Kareet if there happened to be materials related to a given topic stored in the ship’s database and headed out into the meeting area. ”Good morning.” She greeted the avian scholar, pulling up a chair and setting her weapon down on a nearby crate, ”Others may be joining later, but I’m yours for the time being. Where would you like to start?”

Rise of Rasalhague

Assembled in the briefing room or whatever it was, might as well have been a storage room before, was where Karel got the first good look at his comrades-to-be. A full two lances by the looks of it. A couple of experienced-looking ones, two baby-faced ones… and a biker? The first thing about this command that looked ‘middle of the road’ instead of screaming ‘cobbled together’. These people were clearly external like him, if the recruiter and doctor were any indication of the Rasalhagenaar locals. Surely not, though.

Surely yes, if the first few minutes of the commander’s presence were anything to go by. At Ulrik’s ‘Commander or Sir’ a sigh like an unspoken ’Fuck’s sake…’ escaped Karel’s mouth. There may have been a hint of silver lining in his words, but nonetheless the first impression of his new boss being that of one who needed people to know he was in charge did no favors to the mood. Karel briefly entertained the thought of reaching into his bag and placing two bottles on the table at Ulrik’s ‘couple beers with me’ bit, but sticking out like that on day one when Mäkinen could still offload him without any logistical issues was not worth the laugh. He let the talk of fat paychecks and retiring go in one ear and out the other, having heard a similar spiel at least twice before already.

Karel sat through the briefing slouched comfortably in his chair in silence, noting down as much as he could manage. Why bother remembering something if all you have to remember is where to find that information? Effectively a search-and-destroy against an inferior or equal hostile force, potentially assaulting enemy fortifications, no allied support. It could have been worse, at least they were not expected to protect some soft target, but he’d pass definitive judgment once he knew what equipment they’ve been given. When Ulrik opened the floor, Karel took a breath to say something but stopped, trying to unpack what the mop-headed one just said for a few seconds before electing to ignore it and move on. ”What’s scaring them off good for? They’ll just be back later and we’ll miss out on salvage.” Having seen financial issues fold a company first hand, that was the first thing that came to his mind. ”And since when are pirates granted any protections?” The thought of a forewarned enemy was not a pleasant one. He’d been fortunate enough to avoid the massacre at Wyatt, where the Eleventh Lyran Guards tore up the 25th Marik Militia as soon as they materialized at the jump point, though several of his classmates from the Allison MechWarrior Institute weren’t that lucky. ”Locusts and Cicadas you say. What are we working with and does it also predate myomer like this thing?” Karel gestured around himself to indicate the pile of ship. ”And what sort of travel time are we looking at?”

Rise of Rasalhague

At last, he was free of the prick of a recruiter. He’d heard the locals weren’t too keen on mercenaries, but one would expect some humility when they admitted to their presence being necessary. The recruiter himself even admitted they needed them. Well, he said he didn’t see a reason to hire mercenaries and then spelled out the reason for hiring mercenaries, poor fucker probably got hit upsode the head with an axe too many times playing with all the other little vikings in daycare to notice the contradiction. But the slog wasn’t done yet. Karel was immediately directed to a nearby battalion aid station and put through a battery of medical examinations, even a damn height measurement. The nerve of these people. But with the medical finally over, he could go grab a beer once he navigated the place, with most of the signs being written in a diabolical mix of Swedish - an even angrier version of German - and that gibberish the Dracs speak, and found a suitable watering hole.

At least the search was worth it. With a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of ‘class III’ beer - whatever that meant but it tasted right - in the other and some time before the scheduled departure of the shuttle he was directed to, Karel found a spot with a good view of the spaceport near where his shuttle was supposed to be departing from, perched himself on a crate and watched ‘Mechs go by to get an idea of what he might be working with. Locusts, ubiquitous for centuries. Not great, not terrible. An Urbanmech. Ugh. Hopefully they had something with a bit more pep in its step than a Lloyd Marik-Stanley Aerospace graduate after a shot and a beer. Some assault or heavy ‘Mechs, fat chance of that. Wasps, ‘Mechs with jump jets, actual arms and hand actuators. That was a bit more interesting. A Whitworth… God damnit. One couldn’t expect much from a newly established power, he wouldn’t be surprised if the Lyrans and Dracs alike just dumped their trash equipment on the fledgling republic and claimed material support for the PR, but not even a single 1D Commando? Or a rusted 1K Phoenix Hawk the Dragon couldn’t be bothered to steel brush and paint?

And what would their DropShip look like, and what would it be? A Union? A Leopard? Maybe a Danais? He’d even seen a Buccaneer in what looked like hastily applied military colors fly overhead. Then again, perhaps a civvie DropShip wouldn’t be bad, unless all the amenities were stripped down to save weight. Anyway, time to find out. After swinging by the pub again, now armed with a Hel Special for the road and eight more beer bottles in one of his bags, he found his way to the appropriate boarding gate with the aid of a helpful cargo handler - and one of the beer bottles - in time for the flight. And boy, a DropShip it was. Someone dropped it onto a gutter and left it there for half a millennium. At least the crew might be good? Maybe…?