Post by drakadorchaos on Jan 28, 2024 9:20:51 GMT
It was a strange ship which registered on their sensors when they arrived in the system. A sleek gray-brown vessel, curved like the talon of an impossibly huge beast, and around 1 kilometer in length. A flurry of transmissions erupted in all frequencies. It sounded like the they were surprised.
THIS IS CONA-ARM-SAU-CTDO HRUANAK-4 STATE IDENTITY
ANY HOSTILE ACTIONS WILL BE MET WITH LETHAL FORCE
Already it looked like it was trying to put distance between itself and the new arrivals. Despite its declaration of a willingness to fight it didn't seem to actually carry that out if escape was an option. Not much heart seemed to be in its threats at all, really more like general paranoia and shock. Given the chaos of Corona it was hardly surprising. It may well have assumed itself to be one of the last survivors in the area. Or maybe it was confident of its safety for other reasons...
It was a planned stop. The combined fleet couldn’t make it all the way to the distress signal Gadried had received in one jump. Periodically they had to drop from FTL and give the drives time to cool. Which made it something of a surprise when her comms operator told her about the ARM transmission and piped it to the speakers for her to listen to. Scrimshaw chuckled as they reported the message had come from a single ship. It certainly was ballsy to take that kind of a tone with a fleet a hundred times your size. But Scrimshaw was a woman on a mission, and picking a fight with random military assets wasn’t really on her agenda for the day. She picked up her communicator and waited for the thumbs up from her comms operator to confirm she was broadcasting on all the same frequencies the ARM ship just had. “Not to sound too flippant,” She answered. “But I don’t think you’ve come heavy enough for lethal force to really be on the table,” She swiveled herself in the command chair, hanging one leg over the arm. She clicked off the communicator long enough to stretch and yawn before continuing. “But since you threw like six acronyms at me I guess the friendly thing to do is reciprocate. Name’s Scrimshaw, chief of the Overdrive Raider Clan. Since you said CONA I guess I’ll append ‘Black Sail Organization’ since that might mean more to you than Overdrive. My… what should I call you guys? Comrades? Compatriots? Co-conspirators? Whatever, we’ll sort that out. They can introduce themselves and then I’d like to know what you’re doing out here all by your lonesome Fours.”
Another response from the ship, this one less mechanical. An actual voice can be heard on the line. They sound human, but off. There is a buzz to the way they speak, their words a kind of stilted, broken-up galactic standard. "Apologies. We had not expected survivors. Much less ones like yourself. I hypothesize your ego is functional, yes? And so many. Black Sail, that identity is recognized. Yes. This is Anthropic Refinement Unit vessel Hruanak 4, operating on behalf of the Coronan Dynamic Task Force. Currently ensuring a clear perimeter, watch for enemy forces. When your fleet arrived without warning, ah, I was shocked. Again, apologies." They definitely sound rattled, but it likely wasn't just their encounter with the fleet. No surprise, given recent events. "You are real, yes?" A barking laugh, the static in their voice increasing. "Or at least, not aligned with our enemies. A hallucination would also be acceptable compared to the remaining alternative."
"We are, fortunately, very real. And we are not fighting for the Army of the Panopticon." Rutha replied, walking up from behind Scrimshaw and placing a hand on the chair, stopping the pirate's spin and giving her a stern glance, a look that practically said be professional. "This is Armiral Rutha of the Quosx Alliance, commanding the First Orphan Flotilla. You do not have to apologize for being surprised, the past few weeks have been quite stressful for many of us." She paused for a moment, releasing her hand off of Scrimshaw's chair. "We, too, are focused on making our return to the OCCCA, but we have unfinished business, and we think it would be in your best interest to aid us. We're in search of a superweapon capable of disrupting the psion field, formerly belonging to my friend's organization here-" 'Friend' was a careful choice of word, but still genuine. "-And we believe the detour to recover it would provide us with an invaluable asset for the future." She gave one more pause. "So, what do you say? Would you like to join us in recovering a powerful weapon?"
"I cannot leave on my own. As I said, I represent the CDTO. It still exists, in a diminished form. I could inform Director Hurst of your presence, you would have to speak to him." The voice replied. It paused. "I believe he would find your information to be worthwhile."
"I cannot leave on my own. As I said, I represent the CDTO. It still exists, in a diminished form. I could inform Director Hurst of your presence, you would have to speak to him." The voice replied. It paused. "I believe he would find your information to be worthwhile."
“Friend huh?” Scrimshaw commented glancing up at Rutha. She was someone who wore her emotions on her sleeve, not at all skilled at facades or concealment. Her expression seemed to wonder if Rutha was sure she wanted to have a friend like Scrimshaw, but as soon as the emotion appeared it was gone. She clicked the communicator back on. “We’re in a bit of a rush here Fours. Get your boss on the line quickly.”
“Friend huh?” Scrimshaw commented glancing up at Rutha. She was someone who wore her emotions on her sleeve, not at all skilled at facades or concealment. Her expression seemed to wonder if Rutha was sure she wanted to have a friend like Scrimshaw, but as soon as the emotion appeared it was gone. She clicked the communicator back on. “We’re in a bit of a rush here Fours. Get your boss on the line quickly.”
It didn't take long to get the Director online. A transhuman specimen of synthetic demibiological skin and superceramic exoskeleton which looked near identical to the material covering the ship they'd be encountered. His eyes were pinpricks of harsh violet light flickering in all-black sclera, devoid of any iris. "This is director Bavra Hurst of the CTDO. Speak."
As the other three had been talking Gardreid sat in his ship silently, he had been, 'in the line' so to say, listening though had yet to make any comment or introduction. Had anyone seen him at the time they would've likely read the concern on his face as Scrimshaw revealed right off the bat that they were after a psionic superweapon that could deal with Panopticon forces, something many more or less desirable individuals could be after and something that could very well get them killed on the way their for many individual reason. He sighed and then mumbled to himself. "Well, let's just hope this goes smoothly then." Another thought later he began scanning the proximity for potential escape route, began calculating jumps out and programming Banshee-missiles to blind their newfound acquaintances if necessary. "Better safe than sorry after all..." (edited)
14 January 2024
It didn't take long to get the Director online. A transhuman specimen of synthetic demibiological skin and superceramic exoskeleton which looked near identical to the material covering the ship they'd be encountered. His eyes were pinpricks of harsh violet light flickering in all-black sclera, devoid of any iris. "This is director Bavra Hurst of the CTDO. Speak."
“Wazzup?” Scrimshaw greeted, very much in stark contrast to the transhuman. She didn’t have any augmentations herself, all meat and baseline humanity, and where the Director stood at military attention she was still lazing in her command chair. “Did Fours fill you in? Eh, whatever I’ll go over it all again.” She cleared her throat loudly over the open comm. “So we ran into Fours out here all by his lonesome and he says you’re all with CONA. Now Black Sail, that’s my peeps, and CONA have done some work together in the past and Fours seemed to indicate that you’re all not super keen on the Panopticunts.” She paused for a moment. “So, two things. One, if you’re still operating in the West then you probably want to get out of dodge. Word is that CONA is setting up shop in the OCCCA Unification Camp… hey Rutha what does OCCCA stand for? Too many damn acronyms. Anyway, you probably want to head there. Bunch of us are heading there, maybe you want to link up with them. Safety in numbers and all that. But this merry band,” She gestured broadly around her before continuing. “Is on our way to retrieve a powerful weapon. The kind of thing that might come in handy if you wanted to say, punch a psionic army in the throat. Figure the odds of success are better the more firepower we have on our side. So! Whatchya say Hurst? Up for a bit mischief?”
Hurst paused, leaned back. "A superweapon? Promising. We are willing assist with that." He steepled his fingers together, his digits superceramic talons. As he leaned in, anyone viewing his screen could see the wires and tubes, pulsing like veins, embedded in his flesh, or whatever it was that wasn't his exoskeleton. "In truth, we were devising a countermeasure of our own. That is, we were independently planning a counterattack against the oncoming Panopticon force." A pause. "Perhaps some of it, of course. I would propose it to you, perhaps as an addition to your own strategy. I can have my fleet link up with your own as we speak, I would wish to waste little time."
Rutha paused for a moment, her brow furrowing as she tried to remember the meaning of the acronym. "Outer Conglomerate Colonies of Corona and Ancerious. This is one of the few times such an acronym is nessessary." She turned her attention back to Hurst. "A direct counteroffensive against one of the AOTP's strike fleets would be, put simply, a waste of resources. Unless they've been somehow disabled by other means, Putting a pistol to the roof of your mouth and pulling the trigger would be an easier means to kill yourself. At least in that case you have the chance to an afterlife." She arched an eyebrow. "However, if we were to find that superweapon... we may very well be able to launch an attack that, quite possibly, could do some real damage to one of their strike fleets. This is why we're organizing an effort to recover it."
"Your superweapon? I certainly think obtaining it would be beneficial. As I said, I am willing to assist you in this." He leaned back. "But what if another weapon was made available to you?" "Consider, what are the flaws inherent in ordering my entire fleet to ram a panopticon force? Not only is there a risk of failure, but it would be a foolish and short-sighted waste of my assets, would it not? I would irreplaceably lose valuable crew and commanders, including myself, and only destroy a number of ships equivalent to my own forces. Once spent, they would be unable to be reclaimed or salvaged in any realistic scenario, and my nation would be made vulnerable. Trading one-for-one against a numerically superior enemy only ends in defeat. Even if I do not use my ships, they would have to belong to somebody. That is, I would still be inflicting the ARM with a devastating financial burden, if the owners were to demand payment. It would be an appalling diplomatic incident to confiscate another's ships for such a task. It is overall, a maneuver not worth performing in most cases, yes?" "And yet, such desperate maneuvers were used against the panopticon, were they not? Brave sacrifices, but sacrifices they were. Unfortunate. Still, the movement of such immense masses of matter, it is a formidable thing. Even quite powerful weapons may struggle to alter the path of a freighter ship, once it is set." He paused. "Have you realized that the vaccuum left by the Violation- ah, our term for the incident- has left the largest nation in the galaxy effectively erased? But in such a way that its infrastructure, its assets, were relatively unharmed? And furthermore, with the state Borealia is in, it is unlikely these assets will ever be able to be claimed. No power exists to assert any real ownership. If they were taken, few could dispute it. This sector is dead." "Hundreds, thousands, of pristine vessels." "Intact." "Expendable."
Gardreid pondered on the mans words and this time, for the first time in the conversation he actually chimed in. The man that appeared on teh screen was pale and dark hair, though most notably he looked like he hadn't slept in... ever, though given the recent events that was perhaps not that unusual. "Gardreid, APS Field Commander, worked with all sorts of people. ... So, your plan sounds reasonable though do you have any up to date info if they're still there? I have heard rumours of some force hijacking a large amount of ships and heading east and that's not yet taking into account those ships may be full of absent and potentially be lacking fuel to move out of system. How do you intend to deal with that?" He wasn't sure how well thought out the ARM's plan was, whetehr they had supplies to get all those ships running or if they were just in denial. He didn't have any experience with them besides the general work for CONA within the confines of Corona so it was hard to judge.
"I have already requisitioned an amount of ships myself, and have under my command local crews. Fanatics, ones who did not flee. They have the know-how to operate their native vessels, to have them programmed to follow instructions autonomously, and to have them repaired or maintained should any issues arise. Not to say that will be much of a concern. They only need to last until expended." "As for the issues of fuel, it was not as if the crews expected to have their minds rent asunder. For every ship that is empty, another may have its tanks full. Now we shall have two ships at half fuel, yes? Again, they will only be used within a local area. They need only have enough power to make a short trip, and then ram themselves into the nearest panopticon vessel. If even a single ship is found with a full tank of ancerium, that equates to several ships with the minimal fuel required to perform their function. In addition, my own fleet experienced a similar phenomenon. That is, our ships were stripped of life, but their machinery left completely intact. I have sent one of my subordinates away to save as many as they could, but the remainder I could not properly crew still possess the ancerium fuel they have been alotted. That too has been added to our total pool. To say nothing of refueling stations we can make use of. My information was up to date to the minutes before the Violation. It struck without warning, simultaneously. I would find it hard to believe any survivors capable of commandeering ships could commander so many as to make it impossible to obtain ships in the numbers I desire. No, Corona is like a fresh corpse, just beginning to rot. Only a few worms tunneling through it so far. No doubt it will be multiplied in time, but so soon? No, there is still much to feed upon."
"Remember, Corona is- was- an immense polity. Its population numbered in the trillions. Even with a force other than ourselves commandeering vessels for their own use, statistically I am confident enough ships, and fuel, will remain to strike a significant blow. I would consider this opportunity to be a unique one, perhaps in all of this galaxy's recorded history. A chance to, with no cost to ourselves, weaponize a barely comprehensible amount of tonnage." "With only myself participating in this maneuver, a certain element of risk presented itself, but I was and am confident in its success." "However, if it were to be deployed alongside your superweapon, if you were to assist me in gathering ships on the way to your destination, well. That would considerably augment our collective power, do you not think?" "I am under no illusions this is a trick that could work more than once, not in the way I want it to. I theorize something like this is so inherently counterintuitive to conventional tactics it may catch the panopticon off-guard, but only the first time it is used." "I wish to take full advantage of that first time to strike the greatest blow possible. With your aid, I may strike with even greater force."
Gardreid retorted almost immediately this time, noticably displeased about the thought of making any more stops than necessary on the way to their destination. "We do not have the weapon right now and I'm afraid if we make stops along the way we may never find it either, we found it in the first place because it sent out a distress signal and stars know whichever of the abominations in this forsaken place could've caused that." Hursts suggestion of taking more ships was no less tempting than it was initially, especially with them likely running on similar systems as those in 'I-hate' which those they left behind were already preparing to lift to OCCCA along all the other equipment, though the simple fact was that they were, already, running on borrowed time, even as they spoke it could very well be the Blaster was already long gone, destroyed or worse.
"Ah. That complicates things. Mmmm..." His brow furrowed. "I have already begun the process of amassing ships. The Hruanak-class that alerted me to your presence, that was its purpose here. The locals, the ones whose loyalty I gained, similarly bay for blood, and I have promised them their revenge in the manner detailed. I can hardly give up the plans I have set in motion, nor I am I inclined to do so, if it can be helped. While what you offer is tempting, what I can weaponize is verifiable, and quite obtainable." "Tell me, is this weapon further or closer to the oncoming enemy fleets? If it is the former, I feel I could take steps to ensure my route, and the arrival my suicide ships, coincides with your seizing of the weapon. I would possibly arrive later but, ah, no matter what, it's the Panopticon that sets the pace, does it not? I simply need to be present before they are." He looked to the others, to see what they thought. "Perhaps some broader plan of action may be worked out, one that does not impede the pace of your own mission." Hurst sighed. "We both seek to deal a blow to the Panopticon. The greater the damage struck, the better our odds in the future. I had only hoped to wound the thing, catch it off-guard with a tactic it could not have anticipated, and flee. To speak crudely, I would have struck it between the legs and ran. Hah. Whatever weapon you seek, would it not be the same? I would be most surprised if whatever it is you sought out was of sufficient strength to lead into a counteroffensive." "But together... Well. You've given me much to think about. I am very willing to develop a plan of action that can combine both our strengths."
Scrimshaw was not thrilled with Hurst’s plan. Throwing away lives and equipment on an actual suicide mission while the people in the OCCCA were all but begging for any supplies and equipment that could be brought to them seemed colosally wasteful to her. Moreso given she doubted Hurst’s plan would work. AOTS-K’s Coronan vessels may be effected by the ramming, but if there were thousands of ships up for grabs, then the Coronan contingent of the Panopticon wouldn’t have any more trouble replacing them than Hurst had had acquiring them in the first place. The Panopticon’s vessels, the ones that ran on psionics and could slice a linebacker in half with solarite would never be effected. Conventional interdiction barely effected them, and even a Linbacker was a trivial challenge for them. A ramming force would never get close to one of them. It would cut them apart or run away. She fiddled with the comms unit in her hand, listening to Gadried and Hurst go back and forth. She wondered if she should say something, interject about just how foolish a waste of resources Hurst’s plan was. Was it her place? Hadn’t she considered something similar not a few days earlier? She scowled and clicked the communicator on. “Hol up,” Scrimshaw chimed in. “So, my guy, you see a veritable smorgasbord of free shit at a time when everyone is practically begging for anything that can be used to reinforce a new defensive line and you think to yourself ‘nah fuck that; let’s tape it all together and whip it in Panopticon’s general direction’.” She snorted.
“Truly, one of the plans of all time.” She swung her legs down and stood up. “Look Hurst, the fact you’re calling it a violation says it all. You feel fucking violated? We all feel fucking violated. We had some motherfucker in our goddamn heads poking around in all our private thoughts and passing judgment. I was there. We were all there. You think we’re not mad about it? You think I don’t stay up at night dreaming of revenge? You think I don’t want to turn my hidey hole into an anti-matter laced death trap and beat my chest screaming every vitriolic curse I can think of until they come for me?” She was holding the communicator in a white knuckle grip, her words dripping with a barely restrained fury she had been keeping buried under a flippant attitude and a false bravado. She inhaled sharply and clicked the communicator off for a moment, releasing the breath slowly before clicking it back on. “Dead is dead. Martyrs don’t win wars. They just get sad songs about them after the fact.” The rage had ebbed out of her voice, leaving behind only a steely determination. “Every ship you banzai at the Panopticon is a ship that could have been part of a defensive formation in the OCCCA. Sure, you may take out some of the Linebackers, but you’ll never hit their big psionic death ships. They can cut a linebacker in two without breaking a sweat, and FTL through pretty well all conventional interdiction. If you try to drive a ship at them, they’ll cut it up. If you try to drive a dozen ships at one, it’ll just run away. Plus if you can loot Corona for more ships, so can they and they can do it a lot easier than we’ll be able to. You’re throwing away lives and material to inflict a momentary setback.”
She shook her head. “We didn’t get the Panopticon on the ropes the first time by throwing ourselves at them. We had plans. We organized. We coordinated. We cooperated. But most of all we persisted through setbacks, losses and weirdo fascist plague rats.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “We can persist through this too, but not if we throw away what limited resources we have for glorious momentary victories.” She paused there, letting her monologue sink in. “We’re in a rush. Like Gadried said, we’re responding to a distress signal. I can give you the route, and you can send what you can spare to link up with us along the way. We don’t know what’s waiting for us when we get where we’re going. We don’t know if there’s gonna be a big force of the Bastards who can be suicide bombed out of existence. And we can’t wait for you to set up the charge of the light brigade before going in. This is a high speed low drag op. You’re in, great, meet us with what you can spare at our next cooling stop. You’re out, fine I understand.” Another pause. “But before you and your boys throw yourselves against the Panopticon you should seriously ask yourself if you’re doing it because it will score a major strategic victory or if you’re doing it because you hurt.”
Rutha opened her mouth to speak, but Scrimshaw spoke before her. Practically taking her very words out of the admiral's mouth at that point. Scrimshaw was right, the potential use of all those ships could have been used for anything else, but this... this here would be a simple waste. This time she placed a hand on Scrimshaw's shoulder. The pirate had every right to be mad, but Rutha was... well, the closest word was proud that she was able to keep her cool through her monologue, while still getting her message across loud and clear. "Scrimshaw's right." She spoke up herself. "We are in no position to waste assets on suicide charges. If you want to make use of these ships, as Scrimshaw said, bring them to the OCCCA, where they can bolster the defenses there. Better yet, collect whatever supplies you can and deliver those as well. Billions of refugees will be arriving there sooner rather than later, and the nations there will desperately need the goods to aid them." She narrowed her eyes. "But if you wish to join us, then we don't need thousands of glorified torpedoes. We need good, well trained crews and well-equipped vessels. This mission is a matter of quality heavily taking president over quantity."
Hurst looked to them both, his expression unreadable. "What makes you think I am using military ships? The ones I've commandeered are civilian vessels. They would be useless for, as you say, reinforcement. The only value they have is mass. Do you think a pleasure cruiser will offer any meaningful value against the Panopticon, in any other way? And martyrdom? You misunderstand. My ships will not be sacrificing anything. We will be a hub of coordination for the commandeered vessels slaved to our systems. I fully intend to survive the encounter, and preserve those under me." "We cannot win in a conventional battle. We can only win with an overpowering strike, one which the weapons affixed to my vessels simply cannot do. But one which a ship, many ships, made into a weapon can, and at the scales we speak of, even civilian vessels, ones which are of no use to you or I in a conventional sense, serve this role quite well. Do you think I am unaware of the capabilities of my enemies? My captains already have been devising a multilayered formation, using a system of staggered waves of attacks and ships held in reserve to force the Panopticon ships to respond to one attempt, and thus be made vulnerable to another."
"It is no different than the way we fight under normal circumstances. Our missile systems are similarly multilayered. For every expendable decoy, meant to waste chaff and misdirect point defense, another exists to penetrate the shields, to lead the way for high-yield variants. Another missile system circles to strike in a different direction. Applying this to a greater scale is child's play. As I said, it is a unique opportunity to make use of assets that are otherwise impossible to effectively weaponize. You worry of the Panopticon doing the same? Then better we seize them first." "Even at the most optimistic, the ratio of unclaimed material within Borealia, relative to the remaining survivors which may forge a new nation from its ruins, is so lopsided that even the maximal amount of ships I could theoretically confiscate would still leave plenty with which they may use to rebuild their lives, if that is what has you so concerned-" Hurst looked like he was about to outright reject them, before a burst of static erupted in the channel. A flicker of inhuman buzzes and clicks, as rapid as binary, filled the air. Hurst’s gaze flicked to someone off-screen. For a transhuman, he suddenly managed to look tired.
“Give me a moment.” Hurst closed his eyes for several seconds before opening them again. While his earlier tone had been impatient and condescending, he seemed to be speaking earnestly now. “I am Peerage. The peak of the ARM’s existence. I am not a fool, though… perhaps, as a 'Colonial' by your definition, I have underestimated the madness of this galaxy. Everything I have done has been to maximize the damage I am capable of inflicting using the tools I have available, and emerge victorious. You may decry my methods, but I have done worse to win before. If you hate me, so be it.” “But you speak like the weapon you desire far outweighs the victory I, even with your assistance, would be capable of accomplishing with my own methods. I find this hard to believe. Such things never existed in the spacetime I hail from. My people never found any miracle that saved them. We paid for our triumphs in blood and metal. We sacrificed everything in order to live.” “What is it?” “You promise a superweapon. What can it do. Can it be relied on? I will not abandon my mission for hopes and vague promises. You ask if I am the one acting because I am hurt? That I am irrational? To me, a desperate search for some singular artifact, placing your hope in some wondrous savior that can change things for the better, reeks of wishful thinking." "But the Violation casts that all into doubt, doesn't it? That is why I did not dismiss you out of hand. Maybe this universe is illogical, or so strange that my foundational perspective of reality is fundamentally not equipped for processing it." The 'yet' was left unsaid, but it could practically be heard as Hurst's eyes gleamed. "It sounds too good to be true, so I need details, data. And if what you are after is real, and truly beyond anything we could accomplish here and no time remains for a better option, then I shall join you. No complaints, no tricks."
Gardreid had been listening for another while to either sides outbursts, given, they may be justified from each sides perspective though it would not get them anywhere. The one thing that was somewhat strange to him right now was that he of all people, the guy who had been moping face down in some run down improvised bar not even a couple days ago, should now apparently be the voice of reason. He sighed and then opened with a rather diplomatic tone. "I am afraid there is no such data in our possession, it does exist, potentially, but those who controlled the weapon held their secrets very closely, even from their own allies, if they ever considered anyone such." He paused searching for the right words though there was nothing he could really say to fix the situation. "I... Do not think any further discussion or any infighting will get us anywhere, we have made our offer, explained our situation and so did you. If it is of any use, we are headed to the OCCCA after this endeavour so if you have any vessels which intend to tag along to escape whilst you prepare your other plans I do not think anyone would mind their presence." He fell silent and observed either of the other ends of the call tentatively, waiting for what would happen next.
Hurst listened carefully. With the lower half of his face obscured by a superceramic exoskeleton, it was hard to read his expressions. Another burst of static, hisses, clicks, was audible. He sighed. “You do a poor job of arguing your case. However…” “I have been… persuaded.” “Three separate organizations.. I am familiar enough with most of your allegiances. Pirates, mercenaries. Yet ones with a conscience.” He met Scrimshaw’s gaze at that. “Somehow, without evidence to display for me, you all, from vastly different walks of life, have come to the same conclusion, the veracity of this weapon. What personal experiences have you endured to grant you, individuals who by all rights should be running rampant, stealing anything which has been left unguarded, so assured of the truth of your mission? Coming up with some fanciful last hope on your own doesn’t fit the psychological profile your kind ought to possess. No, barring some immense deception only a mentally distorted individual could conceive of, the only thing that would cause such divergent behavior would be that there is truth to your words. Or at least, sufficient evidence that you are willing to take the risk and believe the words of strangers.” “I am a rational individual, I have made this clear. But A-humanity did not become what it is by refusing to act boldly. I will join you with what forces I currently have. My fleet comprises of the remaining vessels of the CDTO, unscarred by battle and fully crewed. It is far less than what we arrived with, but you wish for quality? You shall have it. If you are wrong, expect no pity from me. You will have set back my timetable quite severely. If you are correct, then I will defer to your commands on the best use of my fleet, when the pivotal moment arrives.”
Scrimshaw scowled as Hurst gave his final answer. It had become clear throughout the last few exchanges that Hurst wasn’t going to change his mind on his kamikaze rush. Something about the phrase ‘the peak of ARM’s existence’ said all of that. Said that he wasn’t prepared to conceive of a reality in which he could make a bad call. No, he’d underestimated the madness and illogical nature of the galaxy. He hadn’t made a mistake. She didn’t like the way he spoke about the world. Didn’t like the way he made assumptions about what her psychological profile should be based on nothing other than the label ‘pirate’. Didn’t like that her working with someone like Rutha could only be thought of as ‘divergent behaviour’. She didn’t like him. But for the moment she’d have to set that aside. “I’ll send over the route,” She said after clicking the communicator back on. “We’re just about ready to set out from here so you’ll need to meet up with us along the way.” She clicked the communicator off and returned to the command chair with a muttered curse, while her comms tech sent over the route to Hurst.
The screen terminated, followed by an affirmation the coordinates had been received. It would have to be seen if the transhuman actually followed through.
Rutha furrowed her brow before looking down at the woman scowling at the screen. Scrimshaw clearly wasn't in a good mood, and she as well didn't like her presence was purely the result of 'Divergent Behavior' as well. As far as she was concerned, their alliance was entirely predictable. She shook her head. This wasn't the time to dwell on that. "I'm going to start preparations for when we cast off." Rutha gently said to Scrimshaw. "If you need anything, just let me know." And with that, she turned away and walked out of the room, off to organize the briefing of this operation.
THIS IS CONA-ARM-SAU-CTDO HRUANAK-4 STATE IDENTITY
ANY HOSTILE ACTIONS WILL BE MET WITH LETHAL FORCE
Already it looked like it was trying to put distance between itself and the new arrivals. Despite its declaration of a willingness to fight it didn't seem to actually carry that out if escape was an option. Not much heart seemed to be in its threats at all, really more like general paranoia and shock. Given the chaos of Corona it was hardly surprising. It may well have assumed itself to be one of the last survivors in the area. Or maybe it was confident of its safety for other reasons...
It was a planned stop. The combined fleet couldn’t make it all the way to the distress signal Gadried had received in one jump. Periodically they had to drop from FTL and give the drives time to cool. Which made it something of a surprise when her comms operator told her about the ARM transmission and piped it to the speakers for her to listen to. Scrimshaw chuckled as they reported the message had come from a single ship. It certainly was ballsy to take that kind of a tone with a fleet a hundred times your size. But Scrimshaw was a woman on a mission, and picking a fight with random military assets wasn’t really on her agenda for the day. She picked up her communicator and waited for the thumbs up from her comms operator to confirm she was broadcasting on all the same frequencies the ARM ship just had. “Not to sound too flippant,” She answered. “But I don’t think you’ve come heavy enough for lethal force to really be on the table,” She swiveled herself in the command chair, hanging one leg over the arm. She clicked off the communicator long enough to stretch and yawn before continuing. “But since you threw like six acronyms at me I guess the friendly thing to do is reciprocate. Name’s Scrimshaw, chief of the Overdrive Raider Clan. Since you said CONA I guess I’ll append ‘Black Sail Organization’ since that might mean more to you than Overdrive. My… what should I call you guys? Comrades? Compatriots? Co-conspirators? Whatever, we’ll sort that out. They can introduce themselves and then I’d like to know what you’re doing out here all by your lonesome Fours.”
Another response from the ship, this one less mechanical. An actual voice can be heard on the line. They sound human, but off. There is a buzz to the way they speak, their words a kind of stilted, broken-up galactic standard. "Apologies. We had not expected survivors. Much less ones like yourself. I hypothesize your ego is functional, yes? And so many. Black Sail, that identity is recognized. Yes. This is Anthropic Refinement Unit vessel Hruanak 4, operating on behalf of the Coronan Dynamic Task Force. Currently ensuring a clear perimeter, watch for enemy forces. When your fleet arrived without warning, ah, I was shocked. Again, apologies." They definitely sound rattled, but it likely wasn't just their encounter with the fleet. No surprise, given recent events. "You are real, yes?" A barking laugh, the static in their voice increasing. "Or at least, not aligned with our enemies. A hallucination would also be acceptable compared to the remaining alternative."
"We are, fortunately, very real. And we are not fighting for the Army of the Panopticon." Rutha replied, walking up from behind Scrimshaw and placing a hand on the chair, stopping the pirate's spin and giving her a stern glance, a look that practically said be professional. "This is Armiral Rutha of the Quosx Alliance, commanding the First Orphan Flotilla. You do not have to apologize for being surprised, the past few weeks have been quite stressful for many of us." She paused for a moment, releasing her hand off of Scrimshaw's chair. "We, too, are focused on making our return to the OCCCA, but we have unfinished business, and we think it would be in your best interest to aid us. We're in search of a superweapon capable of disrupting the psion field, formerly belonging to my friend's organization here-" 'Friend' was a careful choice of word, but still genuine. "-And we believe the detour to recover it would provide us with an invaluable asset for the future." She gave one more pause. "So, what do you say? Would you like to join us in recovering a powerful weapon?"
"I cannot leave on my own. As I said, I represent the CDTO. It still exists, in a diminished form. I could inform Director Hurst of your presence, you would have to speak to him." The voice replied. It paused. "I believe he would find your information to be worthwhile."
"I cannot leave on my own. As I said, I represent the CDTO. It still exists, in a diminished form. I could inform Director Hurst of your presence, you would have to speak to him." The voice replied. It paused. "I believe he would find your information to be worthwhile."
“Friend huh?” Scrimshaw commented glancing up at Rutha. She was someone who wore her emotions on her sleeve, not at all skilled at facades or concealment. Her expression seemed to wonder if Rutha was sure she wanted to have a friend like Scrimshaw, but as soon as the emotion appeared it was gone. She clicked the communicator back on. “We’re in a bit of a rush here Fours. Get your boss on the line quickly.”
“Friend huh?” Scrimshaw commented glancing up at Rutha. She was someone who wore her emotions on her sleeve, not at all skilled at facades or concealment. Her expression seemed to wonder if Rutha was sure she wanted to have a friend like Scrimshaw, but as soon as the emotion appeared it was gone. She clicked the communicator back on. “We’re in a bit of a rush here Fours. Get your boss on the line quickly.”
It didn't take long to get the Director online. A transhuman specimen of synthetic demibiological skin and superceramic exoskeleton which looked near identical to the material covering the ship they'd be encountered. His eyes were pinpricks of harsh violet light flickering in all-black sclera, devoid of any iris. "This is director Bavra Hurst of the CTDO. Speak."
As the other three had been talking Gardreid sat in his ship silently, he had been, 'in the line' so to say, listening though had yet to make any comment or introduction. Had anyone seen him at the time they would've likely read the concern on his face as Scrimshaw revealed right off the bat that they were after a psionic superweapon that could deal with Panopticon forces, something many more or less desirable individuals could be after and something that could very well get them killed on the way their for many individual reason. He sighed and then mumbled to himself. "Well, let's just hope this goes smoothly then." Another thought later he began scanning the proximity for potential escape route, began calculating jumps out and programming Banshee-missiles to blind their newfound acquaintances if necessary. "Better safe than sorry after all..." (edited)
14 January 2024
It didn't take long to get the Director online. A transhuman specimen of synthetic demibiological skin and superceramic exoskeleton which looked near identical to the material covering the ship they'd be encountered. His eyes were pinpricks of harsh violet light flickering in all-black sclera, devoid of any iris. "This is director Bavra Hurst of the CTDO. Speak."
“Wazzup?” Scrimshaw greeted, very much in stark contrast to the transhuman. She didn’t have any augmentations herself, all meat and baseline humanity, and where the Director stood at military attention she was still lazing in her command chair. “Did Fours fill you in? Eh, whatever I’ll go over it all again.” She cleared her throat loudly over the open comm. “So we ran into Fours out here all by his lonesome and he says you’re all with CONA. Now Black Sail, that’s my peeps, and CONA have done some work together in the past and Fours seemed to indicate that you’re all not super keen on the Panopticunts.” She paused for a moment. “So, two things. One, if you’re still operating in the West then you probably want to get out of dodge. Word is that CONA is setting up shop in the OCCCA Unification Camp… hey Rutha what does OCCCA stand for? Too many damn acronyms. Anyway, you probably want to head there. Bunch of us are heading there, maybe you want to link up with them. Safety in numbers and all that. But this merry band,” She gestured broadly around her before continuing. “Is on our way to retrieve a powerful weapon. The kind of thing that might come in handy if you wanted to say, punch a psionic army in the throat. Figure the odds of success are better the more firepower we have on our side. So! Whatchya say Hurst? Up for a bit mischief?”
Hurst paused, leaned back. "A superweapon? Promising. We are willing assist with that." He steepled his fingers together, his digits superceramic talons. As he leaned in, anyone viewing his screen could see the wires and tubes, pulsing like veins, embedded in his flesh, or whatever it was that wasn't his exoskeleton. "In truth, we were devising a countermeasure of our own. That is, we were independently planning a counterattack against the oncoming Panopticon force." A pause. "Perhaps some of it, of course. I would propose it to you, perhaps as an addition to your own strategy. I can have my fleet link up with your own as we speak, I would wish to waste little time."
Rutha paused for a moment, her brow furrowing as she tried to remember the meaning of the acronym. "Outer Conglomerate Colonies of Corona and Ancerious. This is one of the few times such an acronym is nessessary." She turned her attention back to Hurst. "A direct counteroffensive against one of the AOTP's strike fleets would be, put simply, a waste of resources. Unless they've been somehow disabled by other means, Putting a pistol to the roof of your mouth and pulling the trigger would be an easier means to kill yourself. At least in that case you have the chance to an afterlife." She arched an eyebrow. "However, if we were to find that superweapon... we may very well be able to launch an attack that, quite possibly, could do some real damage to one of their strike fleets. This is why we're organizing an effort to recover it."
"Your superweapon? I certainly think obtaining it would be beneficial. As I said, I am willing to assist you in this." He leaned back. "But what if another weapon was made available to you?" "Consider, what are the flaws inherent in ordering my entire fleet to ram a panopticon force? Not only is there a risk of failure, but it would be a foolish and short-sighted waste of my assets, would it not? I would irreplaceably lose valuable crew and commanders, including myself, and only destroy a number of ships equivalent to my own forces. Once spent, they would be unable to be reclaimed or salvaged in any realistic scenario, and my nation would be made vulnerable. Trading one-for-one against a numerically superior enemy only ends in defeat. Even if I do not use my ships, they would have to belong to somebody. That is, I would still be inflicting the ARM with a devastating financial burden, if the owners were to demand payment. It would be an appalling diplomatic incident to confiscate another's ships for such a task. It is overall, a maneuver not worth performing in most cases, yes?" "And yet, such desperate maneuvers were used against the panopticon, were they not? Brave sacrifices, but sacrifices they were. Unfortunate. Still, the movement of such immense masses of matter, it is a formidable thing. Even quite powerful weapons may struggle to alter the path of a freighter ship, once it is set." He paused. "Have you realized that the vaccuum left by the Violation- ah, our term for the incident- has left the largest nation in the galaxy effectively erased? But in such a way that its infrastructure, its assets, were relatively unharmed? And furthermore, with the state Borealia is in, it is unlikely these assets will ever be able to be claimed. No power exists to assert any real ownership. If they were taken, few could dispute it. This sector is dead." "Hundreds, thousands, of pristine vessels." "Intact." "Expendable."
Gardreid pondered on the mans words and this time, for the first time in the conversation he actually chimed in. The man that appeared on teh screen was pale and dark hair, though most notably he looked like he hadn't slept in... ever, though given the recent events that was perhaps not that unusual. "Gardreid, APS Field Commander, worked with all sorts of people. ... So, your plan sounds reasonable though do you have any up to date info if they're still there? I have heard rumours of some force hijacking a large amount of ships and heading east and that's not yet taking into account those ships may be full of absent and potentially be lacking fuel to move out of system. How do you intend to deal with that?" He wasn't sure how well thought out the ARM's plan was, whetehr they had supplies to get all those ships running or if they were just in denial. He didn't have any experience with them besides the general work for CONA within the confines of Corona so it was hard to judge.
"I have already requisitioned an amount of ships myself, and have under my command local crews. Fanatics, ones who did not flee. They have the know-how to operate their native vessels, to have them programmed to follow instructions autonomously, and to have them repaired or maintained should any issues arise. Not to say that will be much of a concern. They only need to last until expended." "As for the issues of fuel, it was not as if the crews expected to have their minds rent asunder. For every ship that is empty, another may have its tanks full. Now we shall have two ships at half fuel, yes? Again, they will only be used within a local area. They need only have enough power to make a short trip, and then ram themselves into the nearest panopticon vessel. If even a single ship is found with a full tank of ancerium, that equates to several ships with the minimal fuel required to perform their function. In addition, my own fleet experienced a similar phenomenon. That is, our ships were stripped of life, but their machinery left completely intact. I have sent one of my subordinates away to save as many as they could, but the remainder I could not properly crew still possess the ancerium fuel they have been alotted. That too has been added to our total pool. To say nothing of refueling stations we can make use of. My information was up to date to the minutes before the Violation. It struck without warning, simultaneously. I would find it hard to believe any survivors capable of commandeering ships could commander so many as to make it impossible to obtain ships in the numbers I desire. No, Corona is like a fresh corpse, just beginning to rot. Only a few worms tunneling through it so far. No doubt it will be multiplied in time, but so soon? No, there is still much to feed upon."
"Remember, Corona is- was- an immense polity. Its population numbered in the trillions. Even with a force other than ourselves commandeering vessels for their own use, statistically I am confident enough ships, and fuel, will remain to strike a significant blow. I would consider this opportunity to be a unique one, perhaps in all of this galaxy's recorded history. A chance to, with no cost to ourselves, weaponize a barely comprehensible amount of tonnage." "With only myself participating in this maneuver, a certain element of risk presented itself, but I was and am confident in its success." "However, if it were to be deployed alongside your superweapon, if you were to assist me in gathering ships on the way to your destination, well. That would considerably augment our collective power, do you not think?" "I am under no illusions this is a trick that could work more than once, not in the way I want it to. I theorize something like this is so inherently counterintuitive to conventional tactics it may catch the panopticon off-guard, but only the first time it is used." "I wish to take full advantage of that first time to strike the greatest blow possible. With your aid, I may strike with even greater force."
Gardreid retorted almost immediately this time, noticably displeased about the thought of making any more stops than necessary on the way to their destination. "We do not have the weapon right now and I'm afraid if we make stops along the way we may never find it either, we found it in the first place because it sent out a distress signal and stars know whichever of the abominations in this forsaken place could've caused that." Hursts suggestion of taking more ships was no less tempting than it was initially, especially with them likely running on similar systems as those in 'I-hate' which those they left behind were already preparing to lift to OCCCA along all the other equipment, though the simple fact was that they were, already, running on borrowed time, even as they spoke it could very well be the Blaster was already long gone, destroyed or worse.
"Ah. That complicates things. Mmmm..." His brow furrowed. "I have already begun the process of amassing ships. The Hruanak-class that alerted me to your presence, that was its purpose here. The locals, the ones whose loyalty I gained, similarly bay for blood, and I have promised them their revenge in the manner detailed. I can hardly give up the plans I have set in motion, nor I am I inclined to do so, if it can be helped. While what you offer is tempting, what I can weaponize is verifiable, and quite obtainable." "Tell me, is this weapon further or closer to the oncoming enemy fleets? If it is the former, I feel I could take steps to ensure my route, and the arrival my suicide ships, coincides with your seizing of the weapon. I would possibly arrive later but, ah, no matter what, it's the Panopticon that sets the pace, does it not? I simply need to be present before they are." He looked to the others, to see what they thought. "Perhaps some broader plan of action may be worked out, one that does not impede the pace of your own mission." Hurst sighed. "We both seek to deal a blow to the Panopticon. The greater the damage struck, the better our odds in the future. I had only hoped to wound the thing, catch it off-guard with a tactic it could not have anticipated, and flee. To speak crudely, I would have struck it between the legs and ran. Hah. Whatever weapon you seek, would it not be the same? I would be most surprised if whatever it is you sought out was of sufficient strength to lead into a counteroffensive." "But together... Well. You've given me much to think about. I am very willing to develop a plan of action that can combine both our strengths."
Scrimshaw was not thrilled with Hurst’s plan. Throwing away lives and equipment on an actual suicide mission while the people in the OCCCA were all but begging for any supplies and equipment that could be brought to them seemed colosally wasteful to her. Moreso given she doubted Hurst’s plan would work. AOTS-K’s Coronan vessels may be effected by the ramming, but if there were thousands of ships up for grabs, then the Coronan contingent of the Panopticon wouldn’t have any more trouble replacing them than Hurst had had acquiring them in the first place. The Panopticon’s vessels, the ones that ran on psionics and could slice a linebacker in half with solarite would never be effected. Conventional interdiction barely effected them, and even a Linbacker was a trivial challenge for them. A ramming force would never get close to one of them. It would cut them apart or run away. She fiddled with the comms unit in her hand, listening to Gadried and Hurst go back and forth. She wondered if she should say something, interject about just how foolish a waste of resources Hurst’s plan was. Was it her place? Hadn’t she considered something similar not a few days earlier? She scowled and clicked the communicator on. “Hol up,” Scrimshaw chimed in. “So, my guy, you see a veritable smorgasbord of free shit at a time when everyone is practically begging for anything that can be used to reinforce a new defensive line and you think to yourself ‘nah fuck that; let’s tape it all together and whip it in Panopticon’s general direction’.” She snorted.
“Truly, one of the plans of all time.” She swung her legs down and stood up. “Look Hurst, the fact you’re calling it a violation says it all. You feel fucking violated? We all feel fucking violated. We had some motherfucker in our goddamn heads poking around in all our private thoughts and passing judgment. I was there. We were all there. You think we’re not mad about it? You think I don’t stay up at night dreaming of revenge? You think I don’t want to turn my hidey hole into an anti-matter laced death trap and beat my chest screaming every vitriolic curse I can think of until they come for me?” She was holding the communicator in a white knuckle grip, her words dripping with a barely restrained fury she had been keeping buried under a flippant attitude and a false bravado. She inhaled sharply and clicked the communicator off for a moment, releasing the breath slowly before clicking it back on. “Dead is dead. Martyrs don’t win wars. They just get sad songs about them after the fact.” The rage had ebbed out of her voice, leaving behind only a steely determination. “Every ship you banzai at the Panopticon is a ship that could have been part of a defensive formation in the OCCCA. Sure, you may take out some of the Linebackers, but you’ll never hit their big psionic death ships. They can cut a linebacker in two without breaking a sweat, and FTL through pretty well all conventional interdiction. If you try to drive a ship at them, they’ll cut it up. If you try to drive a dozen ships at one, it’ll just run away. Plus if you can loot Corona for more ships, so can they and they can do it a lot easier than we’ll be able to. You’re throwing away lives and material to inflict a momentary setback.”
She shook her head. “We didn’t get the Panopticon on the ropes the first time by throwing ourselves at them. We had plans. We organized. We coordinated. We cooperated. But most of all we persisted through setbacks, losses and weirdo fascist plague rats.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “We can persist through this too, but not if we throw away what limited resources we have for glorious momentary victories.” She paused there, letting her monologue sink in. “We’re in a rush. Like Gadried said, we’re responding to a distress signal. I can give you the route, and you can send what you can spare to link up with us along the way. We don’t know what’s waiting for us when we get where we’re going. We don’t know if there’s gonna be a big force of the Bastards who can be suicide bombed out of existence. And we can’t wait for you to set up the charge of the light brigade before going in. This is a high speed low drag op. You’re in, great, meet us with what you can spare at our next cooling stop. You’re out, fine I understand.” Another pause. “But before you and your boys throw yourselves against the Panopticon you should seriously ask yourself if you’re doing it because it will score a major strategic victory or if you’re doing it because you hurt.”
Rutha opened her mouth to speak, but Scrimshaw spoke before her. Practically taking her very words out of the admiral's mouth at that point. Scrimshaw was right, the potential use of all those ships could have been used for anything else, but this... this here would be a simple waste. This time she placed a hand on Scrimshaw's shoulder. The pirate had every right to be mad, but Rutha was... well, the closest word was proud that she was able to keep her cool through her monologue, while still getting her message across loud and clear. "Scrimshaw's right." She spoke up herself. "We are in no position to waste assets on suicide charges. If you want to make use of these ships, as Scrimshaw said, bring them to the OCCCA, where they can bolster the defenses there. Better yet, collect whatever supplies you can and deliver those as well. Billions of refugees will be arriving there sooner rather than later, and the nations there will desperately need the goods to aid them." She narrowed her eyes. "But if you wish to join us, then we don't need thousands of glorified torpedoes. We need good, well trained crews and well-equipped vessels. This mission is a matter of quality heavily taking president over quantity."
Hurst looked to them both, his expression unreadable. "What makes you think I am using military ships? The ones I've commandeered are civilian vessels. They would be useless for, as you say, reinforcement. The only value they have is mass. Do you think a pleasure cruiser will offer any meaningful value against the Panopticon, in any other way? And martyrdom? You misunderstand. My ships will not be sacrificing anything. We will be a hub of coordination for the commandeered vessels slaved to our systems. I fully intend to survive the encounter, and preserve those under me." "We cannot win in a conventional battle. We can only win with an overpowering strike, one which the weapons affixed to my vessels simply cannot do. But one which a ship, many ships, made into a weapon can, and at the scales we speak of, even civilian vessels, ones which are of no use to you or I in a conventional sense, serve this role quite well. Do you think I am unaware of the capabilities of my enemies? My captains already have been devising a multilayered formation, using a system of staggered waves of attacks and ships held in reserve to force the Panopticon ships to respond to one attempt, and thus be made vulnerable to another."
"It is no different than the way we fight under normal circumstances. Our missile systems are similarly multilayered. For every expendable decoy, meant to waste chaff and misdirect point defense, another exists to penetrate the shields, to lead the way for high-yield variants. Another missile system circles to strike in a different direction. Applying this to a greater scale is child's play. As I said, it is a unique opportunity to make use of assets that are otherwise impossible to effectively weaponize. You worry of the Panopticon doing the same? Then better we seize them first." "Even at the most optimistic, the ratio of unclaimed material within Borealia, relative to the remaining survivors which may forge a new nation from its ruins, is so lopsided that even the maximal amount of ships I could theoretically confiscate would still leave plenty with which they may use to rebuild their lives, if that is what has you so concerned-" Hurst looked like he was about to outright reject them, before a burst of static erupted in the channel. A flicker of inhuman buzzes and clicks, as rapid as binary, filled the air. Hurst’s gaze flicked to someone off-screen. For a transhuman, he suddenly managed to look tired.
“Give me a moment.” Hurst closed his eyes for several seconds before opening them again. While his earlier tone had been impatient and condescending, he seemed to be speaking earnestly now. “I am Peerage. The peak of the ARM’s existence. I am not a fool, though… perhaps, as a 'Colonial' by your definition, I have underestimated the madness of this galaxy. Everything I have done has been to maximize the damage I am capable of inflicting using the tools I have available, and emerge victorious. You may decry my methods, but I have done worse to win before. If you hate me, so be it.” “But you speak like the weapon you desire far outweighs the victory I, even with your assistance, would be capable of accomplishing with my own methods. I find this hard to believe. Such things never existed in the spacetime I hail from. My people never found any miracle that saved them. We paid for our triumphs in blood and metal. We sacrificed everything in order to live.” “What is it?” “You promise a superweapon. What can it do. Can it be relied on? I will not abandon my mission for hopes and vague promises. You ask if I am the one acting because I am hurt? That I am irrational? To me, a desperate search for some singular artifact, placing your hope in some wondrous savior that can change things for the better, reeks of wishful thinking." "But the Violation casts that all into doubt, doesn't it? That is why I did not dismiss you out of hand. Maybe this universe is illogical, or so strange that my foundational perspective of reality is fundamentally not equipped for processing it." The 'yet' was left unsaid, but it could practically be heard as Hurst's eyes gleamed. "It sounds too good to be true, so I need details, data. And if what you are after is real, and truly beyond anything we could accomplish here and no time remains for a better option, then I shall join you. No complaints, no tricks."
Gardreid had been listening for another while to either sides outbursts, given, they may be justified from each sides perspective though it would not get them anywhere. The one thing that was somewhat strange to him right now was that he of all people, the guy who had been moping face down in some run down improvised bar not even a couple days ago, should now apparently be the voice of reason. He sighed and then opened with a rather diplomatic tone. "I am afraid there is no such data in our possession, it does exist, potentially, but those who controlled the weapon held their secrets very closely, even from their own allies, if they ever considered anyone such." He paused searching for the right words though there was nothing he could really say to fix the situation. "I... Do not think any further discussion or any infighting will get us anywhere, we have made our offer, explained our situation and so did you. If it is of any use, we are headed to the OCCCA after this endeavour so if you have any vessels which intend to tag along to escape whilst you prepare your other plans I do not think anyone would mind their presence." He fell silent and observed either of the other ends of the call tentatively, waiting for what would happen next.
Hurst listened carefully. With the lower half of his face obscured by a superceramic exoskeleton, it was hard to read his expressions. Another burst of static, hisses, clicks, was audible. He sighed. “You do a poor job of arguing your case. However…” “I have been… persuaded.” “Three separate organizations.. I am familiar enough with most of your allegiances. Pirates, mercenaries. Yet ones with a conscience.” He met Scrimshaw’s gaze at that. “Somehow, without evidence to display for me, you all, from vastly different walks of life, have come to the same conclusion, the veracity of this weapon. What personal experiences have you endured to grant you, individuals who by all rights should be running rampant, stealing anything which has been left unguarded, so assured of the truth of your mission? Coming up with some fanciful last hope on your own doesn’t fit the psychological profile your kind ought to possess. No, barring some immense deception only a mentally distorted individual could conceive of, the only thing that would cause such divergent behavior would be that there is truth to your words. Or at least, sufficient evidence that you are willing to take the risk and believe the words of strangers.” “I am a rational individual, I have made this clear. But A-humanity did not become what it is by refusing to act boldly. I will join you with what forces I currently have. My fleet comprises of the remaining vessels of the CDTO, unscarred by battle and fully crewed. It is far less than what we arrived with, but you wish for quality? You shall have it. If you are wrong, expect no pity from me. You will have set back my timetable quite severely. If you are correct, then I will defer to your commands on the best use of my fleet, when the pivotal moment arrives.”
Scrimshaw scowled as Hurst gave his final answer. It had become clear throughout the last few exchanges that Hurst wasn’t going to change his mind on his kamikaze rush. Something about the phrase ‘the peak of ARM’s existence’ said all of that. Said that he wasn’t prepared to conceive of a reality in which he could make a bad call. No, he’d underestimated the madness and illogical nature of the galaxy. He hadn’t made a mistake. She didn’t like the way he spoke about the world. Didn’t like the way he made assumptions about what her psychological profile should be based on nothing other than the label ‘pirate’. Didn’t like that her working with someone like Rutha could only be thought of as ‘divergent behaviour’. She didn’t like him. But for the moment she’d have to set that aside. “I’ll send over the route,” She said after clicking the communicator back on. “We’re just about ready to set out from here so you’ll need to meet up with us along the way.” She clicked the communicator off and returned to the command chair with a muttered curse, while her comms tech sent over the route to Hurst.
The screen terminated, followed by an affirmation the coordinates had been received. It would have to be seen if the transhuman actually followed through.
Rutha furrowed her brow before looking down at the woman scowling at the screen. Scrimshaw clearly wasn't in a good mood, and she as well didn't like her presence was purely the result of 'Divergent Behavior' as well. As far as she was concerned, their alliance was entirely predictable. She shook her head. This wasn't the time to dwell on that. "I'm going to start preparations for when we cast off." Rutha gently said to Scrimshaw. "If you need anything, just let me know." And with that, she turned away and walked out of the room, off to organize the briefing of this operation.