Basil sets to the inspecting the crew’s work. Myra and Sonam are elbows deep within the mechanicals and programs of the auto-doc. They’ve removed it from The Saber, and set it up in one of the many rooms on the first level of the base. With little modification, it has been adapted to the power ports within the room. One of its twin terminals, cleaned of their dusty shrouds, displays long lines of code, diagnosing any errors within the complex intelligence contained within the machine. The other provides exact instructions to Sonam about necessary physical repairs, when one of these terminals gives a prompt, she heaves herself up to examine the message.
“You’re back.” Myra states as she leans into the machine to strip a plastic coated wire at Myra’s direction. “I had hoped you would see no need to return.”
Sonam looks up from her delicate work with a photonic circuit board and shoots a guarded glare at Myra. When her attention refocuses on Basil, she smiles, and begins to speak, “So, hey, we’ve managed to get this auto-doc working, but I noticed some minor damage to the codes and internals. It was probably caused by radiation or power fluctuations over the time we were in cryo--”
Myra loops the wire around her finger and picks up a soldering iron. She cuts Sonam off with a wave of the hot iron -- “Jesus, Sona, he does not care about the details. With the recovery system helping us, we’ve got a few days left on the diagnosis. All you need to say.”
“Can I hel--”
“Are you a doctor?”
“Uh…no? But you aren’t--”
“Then we let the recovery system do its job. Otherwise the machine will think our livers are on the right-hand side.”
“Isn't it supposed to be on that side?" Sonam, who had lapsed into a moping silence, interjects.
“I do not know. That is what the auto-doc is for.” Without turning her attention from the internals, Myra directs her next statement to Basil, “Can we help you?”
Understanding the curt, polite dismissal, he dips his head in a bow and walks out the door.
The Auto-Doc will be functional on [43470/05/05 Terran Time].
Basil beats his retreat from the room. He searches for Ty next-- and finds them sitting in the ‘entry hangar’ with Aintin Sloan. The two are peeling a pile of those fibrous tubers and giving them a rough chop, before placing them back into the wooden crates. Ty nods to Basil, and Sloan gives him a warm smile.
“I figured I better get started on processing this stuff before we put it in the freezers.” She explains, “And I also figure Ty was getting tired of movin’ around rusty desks and such. Give ‘em a break.”
Ty nods, continuing to peel, much more slowly, then Sloan.
“What’re you up to?” She asks, tossing a cut root into the crate it came from.
“A few things. I just wanted to check in on everyone first.”
“Well, we should be good. I’m about to go snag the other two to help get this food ready for the freezer.”
Basil nods, unwilling to be bogged down by the mass production of food, begins to leave, “Let me know if you need anything.”
Sloan nods, and Ty waves a heavy hand.
Descending into the depths of the base, Basil makes his way into the lowest kitchens, the ones unused by Sloan for storage. The stainless steel box of the walk-in requires no real technological knowledge to recreate, only a simple understanding of insulation and welds. But the square box, perched up high in the center of the room, does require a great deal of knowledge. Tendrils of the deepest, gaseous black reach out, consuming the machine, atom by atom.
The stainless steel casing falls away from the block. Coolant sprays out from the copper coils as they dissolve into black mist, but it doesn’t reach the floor, devoured alongside the metal. Aluminum fans, the platinum thermometer, and the silicon circuit board, all dissolve away into data and energy. Basil keeps note of the placement of each part, each component, each atom within. The schematic is reconstructed, saved.
I’ll need to find a source of copper for the coolant tubing. The platinum and silicon I can pull from broken terminals. I have an abundance of steel. I could scavenge wires from the base, but with the amount I need it could cause damage to vital structures.
With that task begun but awaiting advice, he begins another. Basil begins to plan out the most efficient route to explore the base and surrounding environs--
Purpose? Twitchy sends an interrupt ping, cutting Basil’s plans short for the moment. It chews on a chunk of bone, having begged or intimidated Aintin.
Preparing a plan to investigate the base and surroundings. Basil explains, turning his consciousness back to the task at hand. I think I should do it as a swarm--
Replicate - It sends its personal identifier.
Basil’s hesitates, confused. Replicate you?
Affirmative. Define task. Complete task. Return data. The bone is smashed between thick, serrated sharp teeth. The marrow within drips down its chin, a splotch of bloody white on the wiry black fur. The gleaming red eyes, even as jaws work to crunch through bone, are fixed upon Basil. Previous primary purpose: Scouting. Resource Acquisition.
Basil considers the mathematics of such a Synthesis. A large barker like Twitchy would take a month’s worth of biomass from the food stores each, but smaller units that grew, by consuming on the paw so to speak, would take half that amount. As a combat force, they could also be useful.
While divine consciousness allows for multitasking, Basil is still limited by his willpower distance. Theoretically, he could develop nodes to extend that reach, but those are stationary and lacking in autonomous processing.
“Hmmh.” Aintin Sloan leans forward, considering Basil’s suggestion and wiping her hands on her dull gray overalls. It does nothing to help with the stains of brown and the powdery white starch. “We’ll, we've got a good lot of food already out of storage. A banquet would be fun? ”
Ty nods.
“I’ll break out all the stops. I think I’ve a bottle of wine somewhere, and maybe a bit of ice cream.” Aintin continues, scratching at a splotch of starch on her nose with her pinky, the cleanest bit of her grimy hands, “I’d have to have Ty keep helping me, if they don’t mind.”
Ty gives a thumbs up.
“Do…they talk?” Basil asks, after a beat.
“I don’t know that Binaric-Hive o’ theres. Might’ve been a translator on board the ship, but I can’t find it.” Sloan shrugs, eying them. “ Ain’t too worried about it. Hive people don’t really conversate too much.”
Ty smiles and nods.
“Returning to the subject. How badly will the banquet set us back?” Basil asks.
“Food wise?” Sloan’s lips quirk. “Iunno. A week’s worth. I’ll save leftovers. Ya’ll goin’ to be eatin’ a lot of casserole for the next month.”
The base is a six tiered ziggurat in shape with the lowest level stretching deep into the earth. There are hundreds of depots, engineering bays and hangars, sprawling outward from the central staircase. Most are empty, save for rubble and the dust of dried mud. Some of the engineering bays are filled with rusting hunks of congealed, rotten steel; Old droids decayed by the flood, their valuable internals corroded into nothingness by water and time. The lights in this level are all burnt out, leaving it buried in darkness, and silence.
The next floor is, as the Navy Crew explains, ‘Enlisted Quarters’. Bunkrooms arrayed around dining halls, with attached kitchens, and communal living spaces. Bunk beds have rotten to mold, the metal frames collapsing into rust, and the concrete of the roof lay in chunks. Rebar juts at haphazard angles, poking down into the empty hallways. Scattered lights flicker on at Basil’s studious approach.
One level up is the ‘Junior Officer and Specialist Quarters’. This section is smaller, but follows the layout of the floor below. The primary difference, Basil notes, is that there are no bunks here. Each room has two beds, cabinets, and desks. The living spaces here are larger, and the kitchen has individual tables that seat five instead of the cafeteria tables below. There are also office spaces and meeting areas here instead of gyms.
There is something of note, however, within one of the meeting rooms, a small pipe in the wall had burst in ages past, trickling water onto the floor. As time went on, the trickle carved a stream into the concrete. The tables and chairs were stacked up here, and while the lower ones have collapsed into rust, the upper levels remain intact.
Four large felids emerge from that pile of decaying furniture when Basil wrenches on the half-open door. With raised hackles, curved spines, and long tails a’twitching, they mewl and hiss their anger. Quiet, confused cries sound from that pile of legs and moldering cushion, as the kits whine. Juveniles and smaller individuals watch the interaction with dilated pupils and raised fur. Ready to pounce alongside the others, no doubt, if he were to make any hostile moves. Basil backs away and out of the room.
The Officer’s Quarters are arranged the same as the specialist floor, but with fewer bedrooms around living areas that are the same size as the lower levels. Solitary beds fill the rooms, which have larger desks and cushioned chairs. All of it lays rotten, however, the same as the other levels. A large Felid, even larger than the others, scurries into a broken vent at Basil’s approach.
The next level contains three wide hangars with heavy concrete gates on the east side, and what appears to once have been general administration offices. This area has been cleared of rubble, trash, and rusty metal by Ty. The rubble is piled, unsorted, in the landing of the officer’s quarters, a floor down. The lights always flicker on, if one keeps to a path of spray-painted marks on the wall. An auto-doc sits in one of these cleared rooms. Its shining stainless steel laying in sharp contrast to the rusted metal and stained concrete. Another room, behind a rusty steel door with a working lock, holds The Saber’s small arms.
The Saber still lays claim to being the most comfortable place in the Base, and despite the safety Basil provides, the crew always seals the airlock behind them when they enter at night. Despite this, the hull contains a number of surgically carved holes. Wires lay exposed and charred from entry. The gun bays are empty, having been salvaged for their rare components. Going directly to the most experienced member of maintenance on the crew, Basil approaches Sonam to raise his concerns.
“What would it take to get the Saber back to full functionality?”
“An industrial revolution.” Sonam quips, without missing a beat, “Or a full Naval Fleet.”
“That seems unhelpful.” Basil murmurs, rubbing at his face. “And like an exaggeration.”
“It isn’t. Well, it isn’t an exaggeration. Totally unhelpful I agree. General policy for ship repair and refuel is to do it in orbit. Far safer to store antimatter fuel in orbit and far easier to repair the ship without gravity. If this planet was advanced enough it would have a space elevator with attached station.” Sonam takes a deep breath, “We lack printers for part manufacturing, we lack the pure metals needed, and the rare earth materials for certain connections-- I don’t want to even get started on what we would need for the hard light shielding and reactive hull.”
“Why then, are there hangars here?”
“For hovercraft and transports.”
.
“Alright…if not full functionality, then could we get into space?”
“I’d have to check, but from experience; we wouldn’t be able to get very far, very fast, but we would be able to get into space. We don’t have much in the way of fuel and they don’t store antimatter planet-side. Seven percent…we might be able to get into a stable orbit. Maybe.” Sonam stretches out on the chair. “If we dropped mass, majorly, like flying into space in a E Vee Ai suit, maybe, just maybe you’d be able to break orbit.”
Basil worms his way through the rubble, pulling great chunks of stone away and tossing them into the many empty rooms of the base. It takes him a few days of steady work, but he comes to a steel blast door. Absently, he swipes his wrist over the pad. It makes an affirmative beep, but the door doesn’t open. It has been welded shut. Heaving an exaggerated sigh, he takes hold of the frame and begins to pry. The metal groans, then screeches as he pulls the frame from the concrete wall. When the airlock is ripped from the wall, there's a soft hiss of air. With no hint of exertion, the scrawny teen sets the hatch and hatchway down to one side.
The room beyond is an enormous dome carved from the stone, lined with insulating material, and smoothed with concrete. The air is chilly, and Basil’s simulated breath comes out as a fog. A column of carved silicon, shining metals, and glimmering lights sits in the center, its circuits filled with exotic rare earth metals imported from half a galaxy away. Small lights flicker like sparks in a pile of ash. Terminals line the wall, their monitors blank and cold.
Basil walks around the empty room, pressing buttons on them. Some start, shining statements of [NO CONNECTION], some do not activate at all. One finally starts, showing [BASE MAINFRAME OFFLINE].
[TROUBLESHOOT?]
Basil presses enter.
A wall of text burns its way up the monitor. Instructions for starting the mainframe. Basil begins at the top, with the main power supply.
As his long work progresses, Basil notices something. First, it was the power supply -- the wires of aluminum are torn by a wide crater charred into the floor. Next the power input is ripped from the machine. Fuses have been pulled and shattered against the floor. Massive blocks of memory lay haphazardly strewn, bearing prise marks. Some are shattered. Coolers designed for keeping great rooms of processors have been powered off, the cords cut. Breakers are all switched off.
I think, Basil notes wryly, That someone sabotaged this Mainframe.
It takes Basil a full forty-six hours to repair the almost arcane systems of the Mainframe. He makes sure to wait three minutes to make that assessment accurate. When Basil stands in front of the troubleshooting terminal, it displays only one thing, [ACTIVATE MAINFRAME? Y/N]
Basil the Scholar of V̵̖̉õ̶̼͠i̷͇̖͒d̷̨̈́ͅ
Terran Time: 43470/05/03 19:37
Personal Time: 169 years
Active Dust: 5 × 10
12 corpuscles
Nexus (
Heart) Stability: Flawless
Nexus (
Mind) Stability: 95%
ENERGY RESERVES:100%
Willpower Level: 3(d10)
Max Willpower Range: 10mTraits:
Empathetic (3/10)
Haunted (1/10)
Proud (1/10)
Perks:
ScholarVoid- 30% The First Mask
- ̶͕͖̣̗̗͈̏∞̴̠̣̺͔̬̼̍̍̉̂̀̅̄̌̓͠͝% ERROR:DATA CORRUPTION
Ḙ̵̛̬̺̤͍̼̬̣̊̐̈̋́̏̔̊̑̃̊̚̚͜͠͠͠n̶̗͔̯͕̮͗̑ͅd̸̡̨̯̯̰̜͚͈̼͖͔͎͍̺͒͛̽̅͋̀̀̓͗̎̅̓͛͆͠͝l̴̟̺̳̍́͌͂̀͂̀́̎́̓͘͠e̸̦͈̋̔̃̂̒̃͝ş̸̗̯̘̣̻̪̠̗̤͑̎̓͛͗͝s̵̛̛͙̟͔͈͉̫̍̊̈̓͋̈̿̀̈́̍̚͠ ̷̳̣͉̯̗̣͓̼̠̠̆̃̑͌̚͝V̷̢̫̙͖̘̾́͗̿͒̾o̶͓̞̐͆̅̀̀̈́̿̿̚i̴̛̟͛̈͊͒̄̉͋̓̇̄͘͝͝͝d̵͕̜̬̜̠̝͇̈̂͂̂:
Instinctive (NULL)Brawling:
Amateur(800/1000)Ranged:
Inept(50/100) Meditation.:
Instinctive (NULL)Mimicry.:
Instinctive (NULL)-
Arsenal of Agony.:
Instinctive (NULL)-
The First Mask:
Trained (2835/3000)-
The Second Mask:
Dabbler (492/500)-
The Third Mask:
Amateur (521/1000)-
The Fourth Mask:
Novice (800/1000)-
The Fifth Mask:
Dabbler (456/500)-
Healing Factor:
Instinctive (NULL)Control:
Instinctive (NULL)-
Voice of the King:
Dabbler (492/500)Amalgamation:
Dabbler (432/500) Synthesis :
Competent (4000/4000)[SELF-TAUGHT CAP]
Rot:
Dabbler(456/500) Instant Quantum Networking :
Instinctive (NULL)Divine Conscious:
Competent (4000/4000)[SELF-TAUGHT CAP]
Unified Field Manipulation :
Dabbler (393/500)-
Gravity:
Dabbler (393/500)-
Matter Manipulation:
Dabbler (393/500)-
Fission:
Dabbler (393/500)-
Fusion:
Competent (4000/4000)[SELF-TAUGHT CAP]
-
Energy Manipulation:
Novice (847/1000)Void Vessel Piloting:
Neophyte (1500/2000) Head:
A white plastic headset.Body:
Gray coverallsBody:
A black jacketBelt:
A black, leather belt.Right Shoulder:
A gray flashlight.The Devoured Sun- A Plague Entity. Brought about the Galaxy's First Night.
- (Hereditary) grandparent of Basil
- Deceased(?)
The Blighted Glass- A Plague Entity of immense power.
- (Hereditary) parent of Basil
- Contactable through Quantum Networking.
Sloan
- Homo Fundamentum Female
- Basil saved her life. (++Opinion)
- Contactable through Verbal Communication.
- The thought of harming Basil causes her immense fear and disgust.
- If she harms Basil, she will be infected by a Targeted Rot.
- Melee: Skilled
- Organization: Journeyman
- Cooking: Competent
The PerversionBob Twitchy.- A Plague Drudge
- One of Basil's Lictors.
- Contactable through Quantum Networking.
- Dedicated to the protection of Basil.
[A las-pistol/rifle]
A cheap, hydrogen battery laser pistol/rifle.- Small Hydrogen Battery
- Large Hydrogen Battery
- Laser Focusing System
- High-Accuracy Laser Focusing System
- Micro-Reactor
- Plastic Case
[A cooling unit]
A two meter square cooling and freezing unit.- Temperature Control Circuit Board
- Platinum Thermocoupler
- Copper Coolant Array
- Steel Case
[A small hydrogen reactor]
A household hydrogen reactor, capable of outputting 35000 watts with only water as input.- Large Hydrogen Battery
- Hydrogen Reactor (Small, Household))
- Fuses
- Plastic Case
[Cryo-pod]
A Cryo-Pod- Cryo-Pod Insulation Fluid
- Cryo-Pod Internal Anti-Freeze System
- Microwave Stasis Field Generator
- Controller Board
- Outer Shell
- Dream Modulating Systems
[A Microreactor]
A tiny microreactor from a las-gun, using energy stored within Hydrogen Batteries to produce light.- Hydrogen Reactor (Micro))
- Fuses
- Plastic Case
[A Small Ship's Reactor]
A reactor design, with optional material production designs.- Hydrogen Reactor (Small Ship)
- Reactor Piping
- Reactor I/O
- Fuses
- Metal Case
[A cheap space suit]
A thin, cheap space suit.- Oxygen Tank
- Emergency Sodium Chlorate Heater
- Carbon Scrubbers
- Micro-Medicine Array
- Small Tablet Screen
- Carbon Fiber Cloth
- Water Reclamation System
[A small engine]
A small thruster- Liquid Hydrogen Tank
- Small Scale Reactor Piping
- Rocket Nozzles
- Engine Moderation Software
[A .35
c engine]
A larger thruster for small to medium-sized vessels- Reactor Piping
- Electromagnetic Plasma Control Nozzles
- Engine Moderation Software
[Uni Ľubomíra]
A young man. Born on a dusty mining world. Became an Auxiliary Pirate Marine Lance Corporal. Died to Plague Infection on 43301/10/01.- Brawling: Amateur
- Shooting: Inept
- Mining: Apprentice
[White Barker]
A massive white Barker, killed on an unknown planet. Succumbed to wounds on [UNKNOWN].[Plague Ivy]
A multipurpose vascular, manipulation and motile system.N/A
Capital: N/A
Population: 5^1
Military: Tiny Las-Rifle Equipped Militia
Commodities of Note: Rations [Food Stuffs](11.75mo(?))
Quality of life: Food, clean water, lighting, sanitation, lack of food production, lack of healthcare, isolation.
Population Morale: High
Government Legitimacy: Illegitimate
Economy: Non-existent, survival focus
Territories: Old Empyreal Navy Fortress (EXPLORED:45%)
Ethnic Groups of Note:
-Empyreal Naval Spacers: 3
-Empyreal Pirate Spacers: 1
[GROUNDED:OLD EMPYREAL BASE]
Main Reactor: [standby]
>[0% TOTAL OUTPUT LEVELS]
>[ERROR:REACTOR:MODIFIED]
>[6% FUEL LEVEL]
Hull: [standby]
>[COMP_REACTIVE_HULL:EN192121:SLAVE_AI] [standby]
[210:HULL_BREACHES_DETECTED!]
Shield: [standby]
>[COMP_HARDLIGHT_SHIELD:EN192121:SLAVE_AI] [standby]
Artificial Gravity: [standby]
Life Support: [standby:TEMP_ONLY]
Cryogenics Support: [online]
>[1/6 [CRYOPODS ACTIVE]]
Empyreal Communications Array:[online]
>[EMPYREAL_COMMS: ON_STANDBY][DISCONNECTED]
Main Thruster System: [standby]
>[0% TOTAL OUTPUT LEVELS]
Living Spaces: [online]
Author
Topic: The Halcyon Crown - Chapter Two: ProtoKen System (Read 41401 times)