She stared up at some nebulous space in the room and then looked around at the office. It must be talking to her, which made her Bai Ling-Li if she understood the language correctly. A slow smile crept across her face and she had a few wicked thoughts, which were interrupted by the arrival of the man from back in the control room. She opened her mouth to reply to him, but he kept talking. She frowned at the talking. It seemed to go in circles. She felt a tension grow in her stomach for a moment. But the stuff he was saying was important; he was just saying it in an annoying way. She briefly pondered if her annoyance at this style of communication was personal or universal. She shrugged and let the man go about his business. Access to that data would be useful and he seemed determined to do it by himself. What need for her to contribute breath or thought?

"Computer? How many unregistered autonomous entities on board the ship? How many registered entities? Name and rank of registered entities?"

Baylee was first mate/acting captain of her ship prior to capture. She never accepted full-captain after their old captain died.

"Where's the Extranet terminal on this junkheap?" one of the guys said.  One of the guys who'd gone into the control room with Amin.

Lincoln shrugged.  He didn't know the ship.    Presumably, there was a galley or a lougne or something.  If it was a long-hauler, then there'd be a few such terminal scatterd throughout.  Possibly even in the persona berths.

Then Viper's speech came across the intercoms.  Talk about choosing a captain.   Linbcoln shook his head.  That was putting the cart before the horse, wasn't it?

"Can we do this face-to-face?"  the heavy-set black man said.  "And maybe after we've got these guys stabilized.  I dont think any of us favor a remote blown airlock."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:42, Sat 15 May 2021.

Gilina nodded.  She'd passed on the pep to one of the other tech-crew who--presumably--was still in the cargo-hold.  So, Gilina left the cockpit to return to the cargo bay.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:07, Sat 15 May 2021.

Baylee & Rayfe
Deck 2: Office

Rayfe reached down and produced the data chip from its hiding place in his trouser leg. ... I will need a few moments to crack it open. Once we have this information, we can search the extranet to see if there's anything else we should know."

There was a terminal, and while the Orishi was in regular space it should have access to the galactic extranet.  Unfortunately, the nearest repeater hub in this backwater part of the galaxy was Zenda-Meier's Ptolomen Station.  And that station was no in millions of little pieces off exploring the galaxy in their own way...

So, Rayfe is, unfortunately, left with the "Searching..." while the local computer attempts to access the nearest Extranet Node.

For now, he's limited to the databanks on the Orishi.   And for that, he'll need to either hack the Orishi's systems (Beat Orishi's current system rank of +2.   You could just "take zero" for the success or wait for Baylee to acknowledge you as being allowed on-board, which'll grant you standard access.

Baylee
"Entry logs indicate the following..."  The ship's AI gave a breakdown of those who came aboard at the time of the conflict.

Baylee listened to the list of names and facts with a pensive look. She smiled wickedly at Rayfe then spoke, "Rayfe..<<List of PCS and the mechanics group>> Are granted passenger access to terminals and operations. The captain is dead. I'll be taking over as Captain so promote my access. Viper and Gilina, those in the cockpit, are new recruits. Viper gains rank as ship's pilot and associated accesses. Gilina is pilot's assistant along with associated accesses. Amin...<<List of station personnel and marines>> Are permitted entry to the vessel but no access to terminals or operations." She nodded and returned to rolling the name the computer had spit out around in her head. She slowly cleared the entrance to allow the door to close behind her. She then spoke to the computer again, "Computer. List current crew aboard the ship."

Viper stomach turned instantly to a frozen stone when the joker she later would know under the name of Rayfe Karnell aimed the barrel of his PPP on her forehead. Her mind started to race. The young woman had not lived enough to see her life parade before her eyes, so it didn't, but she told herself "gain time - tell him what he wants to hear - HE HAS A GUN - smile and ask him if he wouldn't want sex instead".

But before she opened her mouth, this crazy sonnova delivered a little speech, in which he claimed he wouldn't be a good captain (she recognized the obvious truth), he wasn't social (also obvious, also true), somebody was more psycho than himself (!!), toodle-pip. Well, this jerk was lucky she hadn't her pep back, because she'd have carved a fuming hole in his spine with it, as a preemptive strike.

Waiting for her gun, Maissa shut the cockpit door and looked into the controls of the terminals for a way to communicate with the AI.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:06, Wed 09 Feb 2022.

"Thanks," Karnell spoke with genuine gratitude, now he was allowed access. Sure, he was one hell of a mixed up cookie, but he still had good manners.

He sat down at the terminal, but very soon realised that they were nowhere near a hub. So that was frustrating. Still, he did have the prison database. He popped the chip into the reader, and set to work pulling up the data he had stolen from Ptolomen Station.

His own, first, of course. He wanted to at least know why he was a convict. he really hoped it was something decent. The idea of finding out he was a child killer or something... that did not appeal. He suspected that their new captain was likely to take pretty violent action in response to that sort of thing.

OOC: How much info can we get on ourselves from the database? Name, personal details, and convictions, and maybe any relevant medical details? It will have to suffice, for now, I guess!

Viper



Whatever she'd done, it must have been the right thing, as a couple of additional consoles lit up, granting her mote discrete access to ship's systems: full propulsion and navigation, sensors and comms, life-support and sanitation, even.

Which coincides with Baylee giving Viper Pilot access...

But still... what do you do to try to communicate further with the AI?

Viper spoke aloud "hello IA?". She looked into the cockpit screens and controls for a button to contact the IA; then looked into the ship's directory for the IA com' dialing code, and finally flipped through the flight procedures and maintenance logbooks for a mention of the AI. Even if she did not find the info she was looking for, learn new things about the ship, and where to find them, was not a waste of time.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:38, Mon 17 May 2021.

Viper
Stand By.  a curiously androgynous voice said through the comms. Registration tables corrupted.  Rebuilding.  Registration systems online.   Provisional registration accepted.

Then, after a pregnant pause, "Hello Maissa Haukea."

This would be the first time Viper would have heard that name since awakening.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:29, Mon 17 May 2021.

<sup><sub>*throb* We... Feel... Your... Pain... *throb*

*throb*  *throb*</sub></sup>

*throb*  *throb*

 *throb*  *throb*

The older man's first flicker of awareness came not from sound, or taste, or smell, or sight.

He felt the waves of stress, and fear, and pain, and death swirling around him, washing over him, focusing his awareness as if he had been physically slapped in the face.

Flashes of very recent memories.

Staggering aboard with the injured technician as the pain in his shoulder spiked toward the limits of his endurance...

The profoundly grateful look he shot toward Karnell when Amin was brought aboard, and toward Bek when the marines were brought aboard...

The barely-controlled tumble laying the injured technician down as the air thinned...

The white-hot spike of pain as he fell...

The surge of stress, and fear, and pain from the station, as those still stranded and aware faced their approaching deaths...

The spike of death as those lives were lost with the station's demise...

His mind, like the ship, heading into the black...

And... a still small voice...

^{_{:: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. ::}}

And... peace.

He opened his eyes.  How long had he been there?  Probably not long, judging by how relatively unchanged the scene before him was.

He tried to rise, and was pleasantly surprised to find the pain level of his shoulder to be significantly decreased.

^{_{:: Thank you, Sovereign Lord... ::}}

He took a deep breath, and rose to see to the injured...
This message was last edited by the player at 22:56, Tue 18 May 2021.

"Glad you made it," Bek said as the hatch shut behind the three Marines, their usual quiet voice seemingly unaffected by the thinness of the air. They'd started it closing again as soon as the other two had boosted Stumpy inside and started hauling themselves up afterwards, the trio not having moved quite fast enough to be satisfactory.

The ragged figure stepped back from the airlock as the two conscious Marines sank down beside their fallen comrade and gulped for breath, taking up a position far enough back that the Marines couldn't lunge before being shot but still close that Bek wouldn't need to raise their voice to be heard. When the impact warning sounded the ragged figure shifted slightly to take a handhold but otherwise remained still and quiet with pep-gun held steady on the duo while they recovered.

"One moment," Bek chided, stopping an attempt to rise with a gentle 'tsk' and minute waggle of the gun barrel. "We had a deal, did we not? Weapons first, then you can take your friend to the med-station whenever you like."

---

OOC: I can roll if desired (Command, I assume?) but Bek's prepared to wait them out if they don't comply. I'm hoping that between their injuries and the various skill demonstrations in the flight deck fight they'll be inclined to, though.

Rayfe Karnell worked his way through all the data he found on himself, several times. Most of it was disturbing, and he found it hard to believe he could have done all the things he was supposedly guilty of doing. But the thing that stuck out the most was the list of his known, and suspected, co-conspirators. The woman... huge dark eyes, set in a deep brown skin, framed with midnight hair. She was beautiful. And from what the record showed, she had died under interrogation - before she had given him up.

Something burned in the deep recesses of his soul. He could not recall her voice, or her laugh. But there was a glowing, unrelenting spark. And it wanted revenge. Of that he was certain.

He returned the database to the index, and rose from the chair. He went out to find the others. He was very sure some of them would want to know all about this...

<<To: Galley, 2.01>>

He took one uncertain step... then another... then moved forward with increasing certainty.

Yet he felt something more than mere blind intuition this time.  There was the slightest, vaguest sense of... familiarity.

So it was that he beelined toward the cargo-bay med-station.

He looked over the available equipment and supplies with the vaguest sense of déjà vu, as if he had done this before.  But there was something missing... something else that felt like it was a part of this experience... something else that his intuition nudged him toward.

Without thinking, a word slowly came forth from his lips quietly, although he did not attach any meaning to it, or even contemplate why he said it.

"... A-...  Ashe..."

The name sounded familiar, so it must be her.
Maissa asked :
- where are you situated?
- what is the current airtight stauts? Is the ship airtight?
- what is the nearest planet?
- do you have a file about me? If yes, could you communicate it to me?
This message was last edited by the player at 22:07, Wed 19 Jan 2022.

"I am the Orishi.  I am where you are." The androgynous voice replied through the comm unit.  It then gave precise location in the way of galactic notation.  "Your seed identifies you as Maissa Haukea, prisoner ZM16-02157, Solari Baseline.  Your Cortical stack is not broadcasting.  No other information accessible."

The Orishi is currently airtight.  But we are experiencing several inefficiencies.  Remote units have been deployed to compensate and address.




Things introduced:

• Galactic Notation:  sort of like a GPS, but on a galactic scale, I guess?
• Seed the rice-grain sized implant that identifies you.
• Cortical Stack - the tech used to upload/download your personality...

"... A-...  Ashe..." Sheng-Xin said...

"Sheng-Xin.  Chang.  Hello."  A curiously androgynous voice sechoed from the small comm-unit near the tiny med-station.  "Do you require medical assistance?"

The older man pondered.

"I have just been awakened from stasis, and have significant memory gaps.  What capabilities do you have to identify possible causes and remedies?"

"What do you know or remember about me, besides my name?"

"There are also other injured aboard.  What capabilities do you have for identifying and treating physical injuries?"

Sheng-Xin & Ashe

Your name and biological baselines have been removed from the system.  You were present on-board the Orishi for travel to fifteen destination across a span of one-hundred and twenty galactic standard cycles.

This unit is equipped with a Level-5 Civilian Medical diagnostics suite. suitable for physical trauma and pharmacological maintenance.  This includes An Aramis Light Computer Tomography Scanner and Aramis Light Magnetic Resonance Imaging suite which may help identify trauma to the brain.  In addition, blood tests and sn Electroencephalograph may assist in identifying abnormalities.

The Orishi does not have baseline statistics for you on-file.  Any diagnostics would be imprecise.  If you suspect brain trauma, please seek medical attention at a Level-3 medical facility or better.


Which is to say... the Orishi is equipped with a hand-wavium medical unit.   It's a first-aid station, though, not a hospital or medical clinic.

The office was a fair size.

The bulkhead of the room had been overlaid with a lighter, smoother finish, so it looked a little less like a big metal box and almost more like a living space.    Almost like a sort of wood.

The lighting was pleasantly diffused and there were actual plants spaced throughout...

There's a large grey plasteel desk in the middle and a couple of low benches on either side.

After grasping the information he could, Karnell returned to the office and sat down. He looked rather worried. This was a change from his expression of somewhat sardonic superiority.

It was not an improvement.

Shortly on his heels, Gilina came in.  She'd found clothing that made her look almost presentable:  solid rough-weave pants and a thick vest that looked like it was probably original hide of something, not synthetic.   But it moved easily and was dark grey, nondescript. Almost like she was intentionally trying to fade into the background.

Gilina had wrapped her hand in bandages for the chemical burn she'd take aboard the Ptolomen.   In her hand, she had a tablet, and her own countenance was a mix of perplexity and distraction.  The look of someone who's min was working furiously on something else...

"Oh." She said, standing in the doorway.  She let her eyes flick over Rayfe for a moment, then, when noted his expression, "Oh.  Is it that bad?"

It had taken just about every ounce of control the spacer had to not be locked in a room somewhere naked and sweating with the pilot. She was still not sure if they'd be trying to beat each other bloody or elicit fluids far less red. Grunting darkly as she stepped into the room, she promised herself that was just a matter of time now. The invitation had been made and accepted and her blood was running dangerously hot now.

The sour feel in her stomach wouldn't go away until she did something about it.

Looking over the two present, she grunted and moved to the table to sit down, "Feck, I'd kill for some simple xifan or guobao. Hungry and horny are not great things to be at the same time." She looked to Rayfe with a diffuse irritable look on her face and raised her eyebrow in question, "What has your puss looking so sour?"
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 05:10, Thu 03 Feb 2022.

Karnell frowned some more. "I am not sure how bad it is, and that bothers me. I still feel like I have holes inside my head, and that annoys me as well. But my analysis of the data I looked at is decidedly peculiar." He considered what he had seen. "Someone - several someones - have tried to scrub the memory of this ship clean. The system is riddled with evidence of wiped disks, concealed trojans, some fairly unsubtle hacks, and probably physical hardware being yanked out as well. This ship is lucky it still has an operating system at all. I wouldn't even like to speculate exactly how much has been removed in one way or another. One thing that is gone, however, is the jump drive. All reference to it, any evidence it ever existed in the first place - gone. If your ship ever had a jump drive in the first place, it's been taken, and all evidence it was ever here has been wiped. Someone did a very professional job."

He rubbed his neck as he thought. "I had a look around the local network, though. There's no word out about Ptolomen station yet. We're ahead of the news, at least. When it hits, we may be in trouble, but for now, we're in the clear on that score. It might take a while for word to get out about it." Then he grimaced slightly. "I had a look into my own situation. Trying to jog some memories. I am still not sure what the truth is, but in this system? Someone has made mindscape flicks about me. Fiction, of course. But they seem to present me as some anti-establishment figure. Sticking it to the man, I believe the parlance goes. Using my expert criminal savvy to pull heists and thumb my nose to authority. It's complete nonsense. I am pretty sure I never did any such thing. But for some reason, ordinary people love that sort of thing. They get to live vicariously through my actions. If I could find whoever made them, I'd shove them out of an airlock. At the very least, I should have royalties."