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[Fate Core, IC] Aftermath: Life After the End of the Future - The Beginning of the Ending
Talonrazor
Registered User regular
Registered User regular
AFTERMATH
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWyqADk_Afk
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
- T.S. Eliot
Survivor near a ruined Colonial ship from the Great War
If it happens that the human race doesn't make it, then the fact that we were here once will not be altered, that once upon a time we peopled this astonishing blue planet, and wondered intelligently at everything about it and the other things who lived here with us on it, and that we celebrated the beauty of it in music and art, architecture, literature, and dance, and that there were times when we approached something godlike in our abilities and aspirations. We emerged out of depthless mystery, and back into mystery we returned,and in the end the mystery is all there is.
- James Howard Kuntsler
An explorer checks his surveying tool while searching for supplies in a collapse building
…So when the last and dreadful hour
This crumbling pageant shall devour,
The trumpet shall be heard on high,
The dead shall live, the living die,
And Music shall untune the sky
- John Dyrden
New Taipei on the Republic of East Indies world of Malaila under attack by Oijja-lu Dynasty forces
I have heard the languages of apocalypse, and now I shall embrace the silence
- Neil Gaiman
Martian Clones from the Armed Ground Forces engage Oijja-lu Dynastic soldiers with directed fire from their Infantry Direct Action Platform, supported by a Cavalry Combat Vehicle
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWyqADk_AfkWhat are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
- T.S. Eliot
Survivor near a ruined Colonial ship from the Great War
If it happens that the human race doesn't make it, then the fact that we were here once will not be altered, that once upon a time we peopled this astonishing blue planet, and wondered intelligently at everything about it and the other things who lived here with us on it, and that we celebrated the beauty of it in music and art, architecture, literature, and dance, and that there were times when we approached something godlike in our abilities and aspirations. We emerged out of depthless mystery, and back into mystery we returned,and in the end the mystery is all there is.
- James Howard Kuntsler
An explorer checks his surveying tool while searching for supplies in a collapse building
…So when the last and dreadful hour
This crumbling pageant shall devour,
The trumpet shall be heard on high,
The dead shall live, the living die,
And Music shall untune the sky
- John Dyrden
New Taipei on the Republic of East Indies world of Malaila under attack by Oijja-lu Dynasty forces
I have heard the languages of apocalypse, and now I shall embrace the silence
- Neil Gaiman
Martian Clones from the Armed Ground Forces engage Oijja-lu Dynastic soldiers with directed fire from their Infantry Direct Action Platform, supported by a Cavalry Combat Vehicle
Dr. al-Majjia: Please, have a seat. This will be a quick interview. As we’ve explained, we are establishing what it’s like for you with this downtime of the Uninet. Commonly called “The Collapse”, I will ask you a series of questions. Please answer them as succinctly and honestly as you can.
Subject: Err... ok... Uh, what’s succinctly?
Dr: As briefly as you can.
S: Oh. Oh, ok. I get fed after this, right?
Dr: Yes, we have an aid packet for you. Now, first question. What was your feeling with being connected to the Uninet.
S: Oh. Err... I guess I never really thought about it. About being connected, I mean. I mean, you just grow up with it, right? All the stuff being fed into the optronics. You just get used to the stuff. The info, I mean. I, like, I didn’t really.... uh... notice it until I traveled, I guess.
Dr: Explain your travel.
S: Oh, err. Well, we moved from Waterhouse to New Tokyo. My family, I mean. Like, err... when I was seventeen. Right in the middle of uh... high school. Pain. I hated it. The traveling. And high school, I guess.
Dr: Please, stay to the topic to receive your aid packet.
S: Yea, oh yea. Sorry. Err... (nervous shuffling) I mean, yea I noticed how important all that shit was. Being fed to my optos. When we got on that spaceship, there wasn’t any cybersphere connection. No Uninet. Just you, in space. It sucked. No talking to friends, reading news, checking out videos, surfing nodes. Just... emptiness. Like a part of you was missing. I could see why spaces are so weird. You are just there, alone. It’s claustrophobic. I spent most of my time immersed, I think. During the whole trip. Connecting back to New Tokyo’s cybersphere when we landed was so sweet. I spent, uh, five days reading tells and watching waves that had logged.
Dr: What did you spend most of your time on the Uninet doing?
S: Well, lots of checking stuff out. It was mostly the little things. You know, walking to a store and checking out specials or restaurant and getting menus. You never realize how much of that was all connected. Until it’s gone, I mean. It’s.... uh... like you take it for granted.
Dr: What impacted you the most with the Collapse?
S: Oh. Uhhh. the like... data. You know? Like, I never bothered really learning shit. You always just had the pearl ping it out. Bring it up. How do I do this or who is this person. Boom, in your opto. Now that we don’t have it, it’s like.... man..... I don’t know who this is. Or how to add something. Or like, you know, what planet is our neighbor, man. It’s like... my brain is gone. No calendar, no schedules, nothing man. Just.... isolation. You used to have all those datapools to access, all those nodes from all over the galaxy. Unlimted knowledge, connection. You could have friends you never met in meat, you know? Just pop on the Hive for a tea or play some games, telling while on the Uninet. Who needs the flesh? Not now, man. Fuck.
Dr: How does that make you feel?
S: I don’t know, man. Like.... by yourself. Like, everything you knew or everyone you talked was gone. Just.... it’s all gone man. I can see why there was all those suicides, you know? When the shit collapsed. It’s like..... what’s life without the Uninet and the Hive man? Fucking empty.
Dr: Thank you. That is all we need. You may exit, the soldiers will escort you back to the refugee camp.
S: Oh... uh... that’s it man? What about... err... like food man? I haven’t eaten in fucking days...
Dr: You will be given a cup of rice. Please, follow the clone.
- Social Psychologist Dr. Veni al-Majjia of the Eternal Knowledge Shrine, Fratabernalli Sodality
Files found in destroyed lab on Volarius, after refugee riots in 2420
A survivor flees the incoming Senbu scoutships on the Blighted world of United Colonies Frontier Colony Panpovia
The Blight is a fascinating phenomenon. It is truly the most vicious pandemic ever created. The ability of the Blight to adapt and change at speeds that rival any attempt to conquer it is one of the most remarkable traits that we've seen in galactic existence. Currently most survivors recognize three forms of the pandemic, the Blight, the Beast and the Horde. Some say these are phases while others debate that they are evolutionary patterns. It appears, however, that each ‘mode’ is an adaptable pattern to best fit the need of self-propagation. The Blight, the spread of the spores via biological stalks and mutated hostile agents that feed on new hosts, is a non-sentient form that conquers wild planets or acts to quickly move through a population. The Horde, commonly nicknamed ‘zeds’ or ‘infected’ due to the nature similar to human ‘zombie’ media, is a curious creation that allows dormant viral infections to bypass biological defenses or move to unknown territories. The ability to cause manic personalities in the neurological systems of most intelligent lifeforms can move the virus with blinding speed. The ability for these Horde virus to transmute into characteristics and creations of the Blight is unprecedented.
The Beast is most impressive. It is the most drastic form of evolutionary offensive capabilities we have ever seen. This shows that the Blight was able to produce a direct threat to combined military might of sentient life. The Blight became sentient itself, able to reason and think, outwit and strategize and most importantly of all, able to defeat anything stopping the spread of infection. The Beast is biomechanical in nature, directly adapting to use sentient life’s computers and technology. The molding and merging of neurological pathways as a form of a living circuitry is fantastic. Much more research is needed in this area. The intelligence of the Beast is astronomical, with neurons that spread over entire planets. We’ve never seen anything like this. It makes the peak of sentient knowledge, the Savants, look like mere playthings. 2419 will be an interesting year!
- Basil
Psychiatrist, Neuroscientist, Neurosurgeon, Communicate of the Bol’morra Order
National Health Sciences University, Venus, Sol System
United Colonies of Terra
Scouts move through the irradiated Outer Sphere world of Nosa Carda on a jury-rigged construction platform
Talonrazor on
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United Colonies Naval fighter pilots from the 249th Space Attack Squadron of the UCN Admiral Kane Fainklyn provide support during a Colonial Marine landing Anigone.
2381 - The incident known as the Linda Peters Conflict starts with the capture of a Colonial citizen know as Linda Peters by a chaebol on a People’s Republic world. After the mercenary forces working for Peters employer, a massive engineering megacorporation, fail to rescue a tortured Peters the United Colonies lands the Colonial Marines to perform an operation. It ends up being a resounding military failure.
2381.6 - The Prime singer Alyal tops human music charts and becomes the most successful musical talent in both the Collective and Covenant Earth, shattering previous records.
2382 - Linder Peters Conflict shapes up to be a large-scale proxy war as People’s Republic mercenaries and citizen volunteers arrive on the planet to back up corporate military against Colonial army and Marine units. The various Republican and corporate forces rally under the banner Star Alliance.
2383 - United Colonies successfully drives corporate and volunteer forces from the Li Chi capital. Three weeks later, a resounding naval defeat in the orbiting rings causes the United Colonies to overhaul naval strategy.
2384 - The Linda Peters Conflict draws to a close as the Colonies signs a peace treaty with factions of the Star Alliance
2386 - The Great House Manaan of the Landskraed Realm secures one of the biggest military hardware contract in history for the Joint Forces Next Generation Universal Energy Rifle Replacement Program that supplies new laser rifles for the entire Collective military as well as several human militaries and various human government agencies. Numerous corporate security forces scuffles between chaebols and House Manaan are attributed to this contract
2387 - Food shortages in several Fringe worlds prompt aid convoys and spike the grain futures market. Regional prices soar in nearby Frontier and Outer Sphere worlds,
2389 - Small-scale border conflict between the Arkhadias Democratic Federation and the Fratabarnelli Sodality occurs. Covenant Earth sends mediators for ceasefire talks.
2391 - A raid by Infer Dii destroys a village of the East Indies Frontier colony Dhakkatalal. Construction of the largest orbital casino is completed over Nueva Paradiso.
2392 - The Tannhauser League settles the nineteenth world of the Tannhauser Rift, a small colony on the terrestrial world of Binteen III by the chaebol Offworld Enterprises.
2396 - United Colonies of Terra holds their presidential elections. President Jonathan Korpin Garcia is elected on the Universal Progression Party ticket. The Confederation of Mars sees widespread protests for clone rights on the 25th anniversary of the death of clone rights activist Marsoom.
2398 - First incursions into Prime Collective space by Dynastic scouts.
2399 - The Collective world of Apoythal reports Oijja-lu forces invading the small outpost. War is declared. It is initially called the Dynastic Wars. Human media reports it as the War of a Thousand Worlds.
2400 - Over thirteen Collective worlds in nine different systems are invaded. Dynastic fleets strike several key military centers including the massive Landskraed Realm Starfleet Base Juulan. The Oijja-lu blitz is unexpected and catches most of the Prime Collective off guard due to the size and ferocity. Concern that the war will not just be a border conflict grows.
2400.5 - The first Senbu warships start a small campaign along the Collective’s galactic core border, diverting forces.
2400.8 - The human Frontier worlds report several devastating large scale Inferii Di raids. A mixed task force of Colonial Marines, Border Legionnaries and Republican People’s Soldiers are dispatched to reinforce the Fringe Worlds.
2401 - The Prime Collective suffers a devastating defeat at Ton’afa Prime, the Dhazo homeworld and major producer of Collective military ships. The loss of the Dhazon shipyards is a crushing blow to the Collective war effort and the deepest incursion into Collective space by hostile forces in their history.
2401.7 - A Landksraed Realm push to reclaim Ton’afa Prime, led mostly by House Manaan, is met with utter disasterr. The Realm fleet is ambushed and House Manaan, plagued by ineffectual tactical leadership, is effectively dismantled.
2402 - Another twenty-seven Collective worlds fall, mostly in outlying or minor systems. In Covenant Earth a push by Colonial and Confederation leadership for CE to join the war effort starts. Human supply convoys and mercenaries arrive in the Collective. Limited Colonial military forces start providing protection for Prime refugee fleets.
2402.8 - The Covenant Earth Office for the Coordination of Interstellar Relief and Aid Activities Commissioner for Refugee Rights begins establishing refugee camps in the Border worlds for the huge influx of refugees. The Commission for Refugee Rights requests CE peacekeepers to aid in protecting camps.
2403 - A joint CE task force arrives in several major Border Worlds to protect refugee camps. The “blue vests” dot various worlds but ordered to avoid direct action. The Collective make a formal request for military assistance.
2404 - Another major strategic defeat for the Collective occurs at Jotnarihum, the Jotnarie Clans homeworld. The Clans swear a Valhagga, a blood oath that demands either the Clans or their enemy perish. Many Jotnarie berserkers die on various Collective worlds in pursuit of Valhagga.
2404.5 - Oijja-lu near the Border Worlds. CE leaders hold emergency meetings; the Central Coalition forms to aid the Collective with military support. United Colonies of Terra, the Confederation of Mars, the East Indies Republic and the Hijjarian Pact all form the initial founders. A schism occurs between other CE members and members of the Central Coalition; marches and demonstrations occur demanding humanity stay out of the war.
2404.6 - A surprise assault by Senbu and Oiija-lu dropships on the UCT Frontier Colony Barbarossa causes members of the Coalition to declare war. Colonial carriers and Martian dreadnaughts face off against an Oijja-lu warfleet over the Collective world of Par-tabb.
2405 - The Oijja-lu suffered their first massive defeat at Gondor II. At the capital city of Whitetree Oijja-lu and Senbu forces are crushed by human mercenaries supplied via several chaebols involved in the war and the Landskraedi Fourth Sector Army backed by several Kizeran kajer-clans and Jotnarie berserker units. Fleeing Oijja-lu ships full of retreating troops are ambushed by a hidden fleet of Idimo and Breken ships. The Battle of Whitetree would spread throughout the galaxy to rally Collective and Coalition forces.
2405.6 - A combined Martian and Colonial fleet secures the important Collective world of Angoni, a major crossroads of various trade routes and high-capacity jumpgates. Many human and Prime military leaders believe the war will end soon.
2406 - Additional Senbu fleets invade the human Frontier, forcing more human fleets to divert from Collective space. A massive renewed push by the Oijja-lu pincers several Collective armies and traps them from reinforcements.
2406.5 - Leaders start to refer the Dynastic Wars as The Great War. Hopes of a quick end after human involvement start to fade. The Collective suffers a naval defeat at the Battle of Forthal IV in the system’s large asteroid field.
2407 - More human factions enter the war, notably the Intersolar Union and the Commonwealth of Independent Systems. Non-Covenant Earth governments of the Alviger Fold lend support as well. The Senbu reveal a massive campaign of infiltration amongst the top levels of various militaries and governments by detonating key aides and support personnel as suicide bombers that levels most high levels of leadership.
2407.5 - After the Bloody Betrayal, many human governments declare various emergencies. The human war effort is severely derailed due to the various deaths of leadership. The Frontier world of Asher ceases communication.
2408 - Ten years after start of the war Prime deaths number thirty-seven billion. Almost all of Covenant Earth is now directly at war with the Senbu, only Coalition members still fight the Oijja-lu in Collective space.
2409 - Senbu slow down the campaign in the Frontier and several worlds are retaken by CE forces. In the Border Worlds, Colonial and East Indies forces fight to keep the capture of key routes into human territory at Limina.
2410 - The Border World of Mentoval, previous site of several vicious campaigns, falls to Oijja-lu forces after heavy losses by Offworld Enterprises. Offworld moves additional mercenary and corporate military units into the region to prevent further encroachments.
2411 - Covenant Earth and Prime Collective holds the Conference of Waterhouse, a massive gathering of military and political leaders at the Inner Sphere world of Waterhouse. Collective admits it will not be able to sustain the war for a longer period. Several CE human nations express concern at war, desire to withdraw.
2412 - People’s Republic of the Galaxy and Commonwealth of Independent Systems withdraw military forces from the war. Intersolar Union scales back involvement. The “Big Surgeon” technology is transferred to the Collective in secret. The Collective stronghold world of Geyn falls.
2413 - The Collective loses a massive naval fleet over the gas giant of Atan-41 and one of the largest Collective military logistics orbital armory deep in the giant’s atmosphere is captured. Intersolar Union announces drawdown of all military forces by 2014 and a signing of ceasefire between itself and the Dynasty.
2414 - Covenant Earth defeats a large Senbu force on the human frontier rim. The Tannhauser League reports an Oijja-lu invasion but most CE member states do not offer military support. The Collective withdraws the government to the fortress world of Sanctuary. A campaign to keep up a supply route between forward Collective planets and the Border Worlds that link the Collective to human territory begins by Colonial forces.
2415 - Martian Confederation military withdraws from the Border Worlds, saying it will maintain “diplomatic” channels to negotiate ceasefire. Pressure builds on Colonial worlds for the UCT government to withdraw from the “Prime’s War”. Collective warns it is looking at utter destruction of the government.
2415.4 - The Collective dispatches a secret strike force to the heart of the Dynastic worlds. The siege of the Prime Core, a collection of central worlds and population centers pivotal to the Collective’s economy and culture, begins.
2416 - Syndicate forces attempt to push Oijja-lu Dynasty troops off of several Syndicate planets in the Tannhauser Rift. The Siege of the Prime Core breaks into Temple and Dal, two of the most heavily populated worlds in the Collective. Temple, an ecumenopolis, suffers massive destruction during the invasion and hundreds of billions of Prime refugees flood into camps.
2416.2 - The Collective fortress planet of Sanctuary falls and most of the Collective government is captured or killed. Interim leaders decide to activate an end-scenario operation. The molecular mass disruption weapons are installed on Collective warships and deployed.
2416.4 - A vast Senbu and Oijja-lu fleet is destroyed using the Big Surgeons disruptors. Collective fleets start an aggressive campaign by destroying outposts and orbital platform around captured worlds.
2416.6 - The Collective strike force arrives in the Oijja-lu Dynasty capital world and destroys the planet. Several other Dynasty worlds are utterly dismantled. Shock spreads throughout the galactic public at broadcasted images.
2416.8 - Dynastic military forces desperately scramble to stem the tide of destruction and withdraw large bulk of troops and fleets. An experimental biological weapon called Weapon 21 is used against Collective ships laying siege to the main military planet.
2417 - Infection of the biological weapon is reported on four planets and all across the military logistical channels. Pathologists cannot trace the rapidly evolving plague. Dynasty medical personnel report accidental infections in Dynastic military units.
2417.5 - Reports of thirty-four infections on separate worlds cause concern. Biological weapon begins to exhibit descolada type structure. The Collective world of Geyn reports over 50% surface covered by bio-material. Deaths from the pandemic are in the hundreds of billions. Most of the Collective and Dynastic military is crippled. The name the Blight is given to the pandemic
2418 - Thirteen Collective worlds cease transmission due to complete coverage of the Blight. Rapid mutations, rabid infected carriers and dormant viruses are all reportedly linked to the Blight. Emergence of sentient Blight vessels are theorized to be the rise of intelligence from the biological strands covering worlds.
2418.4 - First human infections reported. The Blight spreads rapidly in the Border worlds. Refugee camps spread billions of infected Primes across dozens of worlds. Various strands and viruses are all linked to the Blight, pathologists cannot pin down the exact nature of the pandemic due to rapidly shifting mutations and structures. Over a thousand variations of the Blight are expected to exist.
2418.8 - Transit Authority announces no infected ships will be allowed to enter the gates. Several Blight covered human worlds launch war fleets against Covenant Earth space after nuclear strikes attempt to erdicated the Blighted mutant creatures on the surface.. These sentient vessels are determined to be a single linked entity known as the Beast. The Beast begins infecting gates, controlling access.
2419 - Infected worlds number the hundreds. Military forces are decimated by infectious creatures, viruses and Beast forces. Human worlds are ravaged by infected hordes and mutated creatures. People’s Republic of the Galaxy announces total segregation of worlds.
2419.4 - Commonwealth of Independent Systems launches nuclear strikes against worlds reporting Blight infection. Governments begin to collapse. Covenant Earth announces humanity facing dangerous levels of infection and spread of the Blight.
2419.8 - Hundreds of worlds are glassed by nuclear strikes in desperate attempts to stop the spread of the Blight. The Dynasty and Senbu are assume utterly destroyed. No Collective government exists in any capacity. The last of CE leadership destroys the Solar System gates and seals off the system. Most planetary defense forces destroy any vessel coming from any Blight-reported world. Transmission problems and strange ansible errors are reported.
2420 - Covenant Earth leadership orders complete martial law and spot extermination of any suspected infected being. No contact with dozens of worlds and many are expected to be completely absorbed by the Blight. Last of existing military forces retreat to still uninfected colonies and isolate them. Many jumpgates are abandoned by the Transit Authority due to the Beast spreading infections in the machines through the wormholes themselves.
2420.4 - Covenant Earth leadership transmit an emergency code to all remaining officials, announcing sealing of any emergency public bunkers. All CE governmental communications cease. The Uninet fills with desperate messages of refugee and attempts at uniting with family and friends by survivors. Reports of Beast incursions, Blighted mutant monsters or sightings of infected Horde ships increase.
2420.5 - The Uninet ceases function. All ansibles no longer transmit, leading to complete anarchy. Deemed the Collapse, the only method of communications that colonies now have are Drivesat Arrays and years in transmission time. Existing governments can no longer coordinate or access stored data on the galactic-wide information systems.
2420.6 - All surviving governmental entities collapse back to planetary-level units due to inability to coordinate. All private ansible networks similarly collapse, leaving courier ships as the fastest communication possible.
2421 - Completely anarchy grips the rest of civilized worlds. The largest, most heavily populated and uninfected world of Waterhouse hosts the last emergency council remnants of the Martiant Confederation and United Colonies. A collection of Beast warships appear in orbit using Allhen Sakhament Foundation warships appear in orbit, signaling the Foundation has fallen. Using missiles with Blight-laced warheads, the Beast completely covers Waterhouse and wipes out the last organized attempts at re-establishing the Covenant.
It is the inability to breathe that wakes you.
It drags you out of unconsciousness. Gasping brings in air. Taste registers first as the air passes. It is harsh, noxious and sulfuric. Lungs, or the anatomical equivalent, fill with the bitter air and demand more. Smells comes now. Thick smoke fills nostrils and make demands of fire and pheromones. Responses are sluggish. Next is the sound.
Sound of screaming. Crying.
Sound of panic.
Muscles ache and scream in response to demands of movement. Vision has failed. No, you realize. Sight is there, light is not. It is dark as the brain processes. Tactile senses report liquids around you. The sense of smell registers the liquid is vomit. Perhaps your own. You slowly make sense that you are prone. The fog of the mind peels slowly. Sleep? Trauma? Drink? Sickness? The answers for why the fog is existent are nonexistent.
You have no sight. No, you have sight. It’s dark. Thick with smoke. A yell next to you. The yeller (human woman?) seems to be shouting about where is the fire. Questions pepper the air in the form of shouts and panicked yells. They ask if it’s attack, why have they stopped. You piece together that bodies are around you. Many are moving, a writhing mass. Metal and tubes above you.
Questions are in the mind as well as in the air. Where are you? What is happening? The mind spins feverishly. It seeks to find answers in the cloud. You seek to find clue in the smoke. More urgent shouts now. A few answers float through the mental quagmire. Quantanis. You came to this world Quantanis. But why? How long ago? A shudder moved beneath the metal plating under you. Metal plating. A drill rig. You had climbed aboard this drill rig. Someone shouted again. Questions of an attack. You sat up.
All around you were figure. You could see them through the smoke. Small figures, big figures. Mostly human. Women. Children. Yes, that’s right. The mind provided another answer and you seized on it. This world was an Outer Sphere world, an Intersolar Union planet. The drill rig was a tiny mobile community of survivors heading.... somewhere. The cramped room was the only one open enough to allow everyone to sleep.
A child was screaming, crying. You could just see it through the black smoke. Small thing clinging to the mother. Both were obviously too thin for human standards. Starving. The mother looked terrified. Another gasp, smoke that burned the lungs. Chemical fire. Fire. Somewhere on the rig. What was happening? Why were you here? A Prime next to you moaned. Kizeran. Fur falling out. Obviously extremely sick.
Smoke stings the eyes. They tear (if your eyes can tear).
Panic is in this room. Palpable. The occupants are waking, stirring. Someone is trying a radio device. Something about the drivers. Something about no response. Then it happens.
A figure comes through the door. Even in the dense stinging smoke you can see the blood. The statement.
“Attack. Infected.”
Panic. Chaos. Fear.
The noise and shouting deafens. Any attempt at calming, at subduing is gone in an instant. You struggle through the haze, to understand. What? How long have you been in this group? Do you know anyone? Is there a plan? Weapons? Anything?
Why can’t you remember?
Someone is up in the front. At the door. A Prime. You recognize it as an Athul Mantis of the Athul Hives, or as human marines called them “stick bugs”. If you know Primes, you know they refer to themselves as Etal Tai Doara, “Those Who Are” and are a hive-based society with winged females and wingless drones. They are devoted to structured societal ideology and the Collective religion of the Faith. This one is a drone, a towering creature with multiple limbs and a head that reminds a human viewer of coral. He had a gun. He yells in the heavily accented Universal, a clicking noise while he speaks.
“Infected! Infected!”
The gun makes a thuwmp-thuwmp-thuwmp. The dull report signals heavy calibers. Those who know guns know it’s a caseless .50 Spirel Auto Rifle, common issue to the Athul Mantis conscripts that serve extensively in human armies. He lowers the rifle, turns to the room again.
“IT’S THE HORDE! Get the children out! Get them out!”
It’s a chaotic wave of bodies. Scrambling, shouting. Humans and Prime; screams of children, wailing of creatures. Pushing. Shoving. You are almost knocked down. Crushing masses press around you. How many are here? Why are you so tired? What time is it?
The rifle barks again. You see them now. The smoke has cleared and you see the Infected. Scrambling bodies clawing and pushing at the door. Ripped bodies, manic bodies. You see mutilated flesh, marked or charred. Eyes that didn’t seem to focus right. Boils and sores, limbs twisted. They desperately surged forward. Crude weapons in hands, knives and spears and spikes and chains. Kept at bay by the drone. By the .50 caliber rounds exploding in flesh.
One Infected makes it past. Mutilated human. It scrambles, insane in pursuit of a horrified human male fleeing. It’s on him, biting and clawing. A round from the drone finds the Infected. The bullet enters the body. The micro-chip in the bullet detonates at center of mass. The Infected is turned into legs and splattered gore. Standard issue ammo. Army.
The attacked human is already convulsing, foaming. His arm was ripped off, blood flowing freely. Matter of time now. Another Infected is past, but explodes. Blood sprays into the face of a backpedaling human female. She wipes it off, horrified. Her friends around her back away, terrified. She looks at them, at you.
Pleading eyes. Begging. Sobbing. It stops. She starts convulsing, shaking. Frothing mouth. Eyes going black. Limbs whipping back and forth. Just minutes left. Her friend advances slowly, hysterically crying. A shaking pistol raised. Tears flowing. Forgiveness asked for. The bullet stops the convulsion, rips open the woman’s head. Transformation prevented.
The drone gets knocked over, wrestles with the twisted Infected that’s trying to stab human. It’s missing an arm, the Infected but it fights with savage possessed fury. The small room boils with chaos and fear. At least the smoke has cleared now. A back hatch opened, somewhere in the rear of the mass of bodies surging towards it. Natural chokepoint. More Infected surge into the room. Death is starting to take hold. Individual dramas all around you to delay it. The persistence of survival until the last second.
It’s the sound of pure despair now. The taste of utter fear. The smell of savage fight for life. The sight of the manic fury of death. The feel of blood and vomit of defeat.
What to do.
What to do.
This is the End.
Sideways lurches to his feet. It had all gone to shit, obviously. A run down planetside to scrounge some new parts for the Wombat. Three hours on the surface. Tops. That was a week and a half ago, and Sideways hasn't seen his crew since. The drill rig had been the last way out of the city once it started to burn.
Do something useful, idiot.
Sideways looks around, peering through the crush of people. They don't even notice when he waves his gun in their face. Panic. Not good. The mob will kill more than the Infected at this rate. He elbows aside a screaming woman and puts a few slugs into the Infected grappling with the bug.
Need him on his feet. Or need his gun. One better than the other, but either better than neither.
PAIN POISON TRAP NOISE
The noises and screams hurt the Kizeran's ears. Someone had tricked it. Someone was trying to kill it.
WHERE ARE THEY
WHERE ARE THE ENEMIES
At the mention of Infected the Kizeran roars, adding its voice to the chorus of yells and screams that accompany the word. But it was a happy roar.
ENEMIES HERE KILL DESTROY
The Kizeran runs forward to the door and aims a powerful swipe of its claws at the nearest Infected. The Kizeran's claws skitter against the hard carapace on the Infected's chest.
DIE DEATH
The Kizeran is foaming at the mouth and roaring incoherently.
The Kizeran kicks the Infected in the chest. It slams against the wall and staggers towards the Kizeran, swaying slightly.
HATE MAIM KILL
"Frak!" he groans as he returns the welder to the voluminous folds of his robes and straightens up, hefting his final piece of rebar.
Nothing to do now but hope that holds long enough for everyone to get out, he thinks, examining his work. A crude spider's silk weave with jagged metal and rebar, it's certainly not pretty. But it's strong enough to hold off the zed for a little while, and judicious application of force should discourage them further. He gives the rebar length a couple of whirls, testing its balance.
Good enough for contract work, he muses, turning to the zed the Kizeran had kicked into a wall. It looked confused.
acv > FEP01-32
proc: 00 online
upd: sys_routine
updated
> ROUTING POWER TO BASIC SYSTEMS
DRV_SRC: online
NRV_SYS 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08
SHNT_ALL
DAY SINCE INSERTION: 4114
DAYS SINCE LAST TRANSMISSION: 2283
The same red letters are superimposed over my vision, but this is not the end of a registered sleep cycle. I check the security log, and there is no registered intrusion. If something overwhelmed my defense protocols, it was either too strong or too subtle for me to detect. I push off the ground, parsing the cacophony of noise into its component elements, matching each voice against a threat algorithm. While there is ambient danger here, none of it is directed at me.
At least, until the infected arrives.
There is enough confusion here that I would have no trouble blending into the chaos and slipping away, but I pause when I recognize a face. A tool I used in the past. Quite successfully. It springs into action, taking steps towards fulfilling its primary goal of survival. Which presents an opportunity.
I tap into the recorded mannerisms and voice of a CE admiral I once had the opportunity to... study. My posture becomes confident, my movements calm and measured. I raise my voice to be heard over the din, but do not shout.
"Everyone, calm down. Move towards the back of the rig, and exit out the back. We have the situation under control. Do not push, and do not rush, but keep moving."
Create Advantage: Pliant Crowd.
"Remain calm and proceed in an orderly fashion!" That never works, he thinks.
One of the panicked people pushes against him and he pushes back, cursing. At some point in between the ensuing profanity and death threats Dalton's electoos flare up. The vile Venom Green pulses in time with his heartbeat. The crowd parts, but does not stop. There was only one thing to do after all else had failed.
"Please." A handful of people turn to look, and are barely able to keep themselves from being thrown into the filth below. "Please." Dalton inhales. "Please stop stomping on your friends like a bunch'a fuckin' animals, please stop shoving people's faces into vomit. Please please please just make my fucking day by pretending to give a single shit about the people around you, and please muster up the courtesy to not trip over the shedding Kizeran!" John Dalton looked at the people staring at him.
"What? He's my fucking stepbrother or some shit." A pause. "Oh yeah. Thanks." The glowing man's tattoos turn Blissful Blue before turning off.
But Saven would not panic. He was too focused. He must be aware of himself, even in these trying times... and he was not totally without senses. He could feel the crowd around them, their heat and their movement, he could reach out and touch them, feel as they brushed by in panic... and he went with them. But he must do more than this. His was a greater mind, a superior mental capability. He could overcome this.
The crowd seemed to calm somewhat, and that helped, for Saven had focused himself entirely to reach out to some of those around him he knew were present, and had felt in the brief instant before it had all come crashing to a stop. First, his mask appeared, and seemed to pull the attention of his first chosen target: John Dalton. It spoke to him, the calming and serene mask sounded clear as day, as if there was nothing that could drown it out, and the mask itself, seemed like a beacon, a white pearl in a sea of faces. "John, John Dalton. It is me, Saven. Do you remember me, from the Toroid? John I need help... I have become mind-blind. I cannot feel anything... and John the Drone, it needs help too. If it dies, who will stem the tide of the infected here?"
And, even as he spoke to John, he was reaching out to the Drone. It's fight was hard, the Infected was possessed of seemingly unnatural strength and ferocity, but the Drone had to win. It had to. Saven filled its mind with this purpose, cleared it of all doubt, or fear, or pain. It seemed as if the voice of the Eternal spoke to him. Commanded him. Filled him with divine purpose. Push away the Infected. Your gun. You must retrieve your gun. Even as it rattled through his head, he became instantly aware of its location relative to him, knowledge he had had... made freely available.
And even as Saven did this, he ran. He ran, totally blind, surrounded by chaos and movement, and nothing else.
This was supposed to be a safe place. Safe enough that he hadn't hesitated to match Sideways shot for shot of that rotgut whiskey they'd "found". Wet blood spewed past him, and he knew dry mouth was the least of his problems.
The old instincts kicked in. Rifle out, safety off. Cover, evaluate, survive. Grenade? Too enclosed. Some woman was speaking with surprising authority, calming the crowd even as the infected in the room mauled their current victims. Vic let them flow around him, the way scared people always did around a grim man with a big gun. Taking in the scene, he saw Dirge spot-welding rebar over the doorway the zeds were coming through. That made at least two people doing something smart.
"Dirge, get your ass back before they break through!" Vic shouts.
BAM BAM BAM
Muzzle flashes show Sideways shooting at an infected trying to bash a stick bug to death. A stick bug with a big fuckin' rifle. Let's get the bug back up, and in between us and the zeds. Vic starts forward to help and slips, flailing for a second before dropping to a knee and deciding to cover instead. Quick checks. Sideways, door, self. Sideways, door, self. First zed to threaten any is getting a laser through their bio-poisoned brain.
"Hey lady!", Vic shouts at the woman bossing the crowd around, "Where the fuck we going now?"
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The crowd was thinning. They poured through the rear hatch to the outside platform. Those inside felt a cold chill from the hatch. Bits of snow drifted in. Memories kicked in, Quantanis had a massive high desert belt. The belt saw heavy snowfall during the winter. It was winter. Inside the room the smoke was thinning out the hatch. Some of the Infected were now trapped in the room. They sought fresh flesh. Manic in their attempts, they flung themselves at the few remaining combatants. A man trying to help the sick Kizeran screamed as an Infected tore a limb off and pushed him to the ground. Five others, three humans, a Breken and a Fuulub, struck out at survivors as they wailed and hissed.
Behind the newly create barrier a gathering of screaming Infected beings tore and clawed at the rebar. A few simplistic weapons, projectile hunting rifles or spears, slipped through the cracks into the room. They did little but add to the chaos.
Even as Dalton spoke the crowd he saw a creature being swept in the tide. A Savarnaus, it's mask projected off of the end of the head-like appendage. It spoke directly to him, pleading, even as the Savarnaus was pushed and shoved through the hatch into the cold. The bitter wind bit through the hatch, into the room. It was dusk outside, and the rust-colored snow fell heavy.
In fron, more Infected surged against the rebar. It held, for now. They screeched and cried for blood.
The Mantis lowered his autorifle. The star-shaped head turned the band.
"I am Thilandar of Black Rock Hive."
A group of Infected pushed their way through the mass that was gathering near the blocked entrance. They had crude bows and took metal shards out of the small bags around their waists. The shards were fitted to crooked wooden shafts and the Infected dragged the shards across their bodies. It opened cuts and black blood ooze over the shards. The Mantis fired a few more rounds, ripping the group to shreds.
"We must leave before more bowman with bloodarrows arrive. They will spread the Infection quickly. We must abandon this spider-rig."
Sideways glances around. "Give me just a second."
"We must get off this rig before more Infected come. Let's go."
Riley stepped out on the metal platform. Outside, it was dusk. Rust-colored snow fell from the darkening skies and coated everything. It was cold out; a biting dry cold that comes from the high desert. The walkway that ringed the drill rig stretched six feet across and looped around the entire walking land rig. Various ladders led up or down and numerous control stations punctuated the catwalk at steady intervals. Most of the room's occupants had dispersed along this walkway. There seemed to be no order. They had fled in either direction, with some crawling up to the upper levels and some dropping down to the catwalks below. A few huddled near the hatch paralyzed by indecision. As Riley made her way along the walkway she spied Infected both above and below. They darted in and out of hatchways and doors like scurrying ants. The rest of the rig was narrow corridors and cramped control rooms. The bulk of the walking vehicle was devoted to machinery and engines that powered the exploratory drills.
She neared the closest corner and spied an airskiff tied to the rig. It floated at the level above her with grappling hooks attached to railings and a crude gangway connecting the two. It was a larger airskiff, seemingly about forty feet with a small interior cabin. Several Infected could be seen looking over the railing at the rig. Every once in awhile an arrow would fly out from the vessel to stab into a survivor trying to duck into a hatchway. Below Riley could see several survivors climbing down escape ladders and fleeing into the snow covered desert. It was a drop of about thirty feet to the ground and several ladders extended the length. She remembered something about the Red Wastes, an area the rig was traveling through that was known for large red rock formations and desolate scenery. The rig was motionless. Somewhere in the control room the two pilots had stopped the walking rig.
Back with the rest of the group the Mantis nodded to the skiff above them. "Only two left. Disable them, I will watch over these unfortunates here. Once the skiff has been cleared, I will bring them on board. We can try to rescue the rest after that." He turned back to the sick Kizeran that he had dragged out of the room. Making sure the rest of the room was clear of the living, he slammed the hatch shut.
"This should hold them out. Hurry, get that skiff!"
Two left, eh? We ought to be able to handle that.
He draws his pistols and watches as Vic and the rest come up the ladders.
"You got it," Vic tells her. This place is done. Time to move on to the next false hope.
Vic checks his rifle and covers left, while the Mantis covers right. He waves over a couple of panicked survivors still on the rig up the ladders to them and gets them into their temporary huddle of safety. "We're getting off this rig -- get ready to run, and make sure you don't get in front of our guns." Rust snow falling on them while they wait. Blood in the air.
Slams of metal, shrieks of madness, screams of terror. You're buying our lives at the cost of others, lady. Vic was no stranger to that; familiarity bred contempt.
"Only two left. Disable them, I will watch over these unfortunates here. Once the skiff has been cleared, I will bring them on board. We can try to rescue the rest after that."
"We're not waiting for anyone not there when the skiff's ready to go," Vic says, and crouch-runs to firing range on the skiff with Sideways. "I've got left," he tells Sideways.
Vic sights, tracks, and pulls the trigger. More red for the wastes.
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The tall alien with the gun says something and fires a burst at the enemies trying to get through the barred entranceway.
There are corpses on the floor, and Khiraz is defenceless. He searches the closest for weapons, useless to the dead. He finds several that are unusable, either useless to him or broken. He finds a blood-smeared projectile rifle and ammunition. Not his first choice, but he cannot afford to be choosy.
The Kizeran loads the gun and stands up. He starts- the tall alien has an injured Kizeran in its claws!
Khiraz rushes out the door and is greeted by the yelling hell that is more enemies he turns to KILL TAKE PROTECT
and the tall alien is cradling the injured Kizeran and firing at the enemies
alien cradling Kizeran firing enemies
alien firing enemies
alien cradling Kizeran
alien (PROTECTING) Kizeran (HURTING) enemies
alien = ally
There is a skiff next to the rig. There are allies around him firing at enemies on the skiff. Khiraz takes cover behind a bulkhead and prepares to join them.
Like insects, the Infected pour out of small hatches and doors to charge the sounds of conflict. Survivors flooded onto the skiff, a dozen in total. The Mantis tossed the last one on as others helped pull the The skiff rumbled and belched smoke. Inside the pilothouse the controls had been severely jury-rigged and damaged. Wires lead every which way, the Infected had barely gotten it running.
"We need to get this running!" A man huddled with a woman, shouting at those in the pilothouse.
There were few warriors in the group. Shots rang out at the Infected from those who could fight. Some fell. Others rushed towards the floating craft. Crawling over structures and rigging, they came. A few survivors were running along the platform, trying to make it to the ship. A man with an arrow lodged in his gut, a woman with a small child, a young Breken. The Athul Mantis fired a few rounds then leaped off the ship.
"I will grab them, get the ship running again!"
He surged forwards towards the crowd.
"This is going to take me a while, guys. I don't know what happened in here, but somebody screwed this thing up pretty bad. I'm going to see what I can do with these controls. Anyone who knows one end of a wrench from another start with that fucked up aileron and then see about getting that fuel pump in order. Hurry!"
Somewhere above me, I know a light has turned green. Hopefully our departure will come soon.
"I thought we agreed not to do this shit!" He can't bear to look, but he can't look away.
"Fuckin' heroes," he mutters, and lines up his sights on the hatches the infected are coming out of. See the slobber, pull the trigger.
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The high brushland of Quantanis was known for the dull red flowers that grew on the thorny branches of the low frucuas bush; it gave the rocky plains blotches of red on a gray landscape. The palette of color of the brushlands was enhanced with a slow growing yellow-and-gold lichen that splattered over the boulders and rocky precipices. However, The Red Wastes received their name not from the flowers but from the giant red sandstone boulders that dot the high desert. The boulders contrasted with the patches of lichen that grew on them. Over this landscape an ancient lumbering airskiff slowly drifted across the red, gold and grey patchwork quilt. The silence of the Red Wastes was lifted by the deep, soft thumping of an old drive system working overtime to move the overburden craft. It was occasionally punctuated by the staccato of a misfiring antigrav-lift array, causing a gentle rocking motion of the skiff as the array skipped.
On the dilapidated ailing craft huddled thirteen miserable sentients. Most were asleep, rocked by the gentle swaying and curled beneath a few blankets whose warming circuits fought the nasty chill. A tall Athul Mantis moved from one individual to another. His strange stick-like body bent and twisted to move around the crowd on the small craft, making an oddly melodic clicking sound as his four limbs pulled blankets tighter or handed out small bits of food to those unable to sleep. A thick steel string was around his neck sprouting flashy tidbits, charms and baubles that the Athul Manti loved so dearly. The largest medallion was his Faith pendant, signaling an adherent to the only spiritualist and organized religion movement that had any sort prominence in the vast Prime Collective. His auto rifle hung from a strap across his chest, dwarfing any normal sized humanoid but looking at home with the tall, thin agnatus sapien four wiry limbs.
The Prime clucked sympathetically at a wounded male human who moaned and tossed. The human had taken an Infected arrow to the gut. His Breken wife and child worryingly looked on, faces caked with blood and smoke and despair. The Mantis pulled out a small calorie bar from his chest rig and offered it to the child. The frail young child grabbed it greedily and chowed on it while staring at the Mantis with wide-eyes. The Prime clicked at him and removed a small shiny charm from his necklace. The child smiled for a moment as the Mantis handed it to him.
A second human huddled over the child’s sick father, muttering to himself as he poked and prodded at the wounded site before sitting back. He was an older man, dressed in a worn field jacket with the insignia of the Quantanis Global Security Force. The jacket was obviously the wrong size and made the man look slightly small and thin inside it. His hair was peppered with gray strands but he was decidedly Martian. His face bored the carefully designed good looks of a Martian. Attention had been made during the embroynoic genoscultping to give him an authoritarian nose, prominent but classic. A graceful jaw line and dignified chin indicated that he had done extensive v-writing on his genes to keep stubble from appearing. He looked statuesque, classical. Obviously the Martian had missed a rejuvenation cycle and was now appearing older in age, possibly in his mid-fifties. The greying hair and older lines only served to enhance his looks and grace. As a Martian human, it was impossible to know his true biological age and he could easily be century or two.
The Martian stood. The motion was accompanied by a mechanical whine and a grimace on his face. One leg moved awkwardly as he walked. It was a mechanical construct and a crude one at best. A servo motor in the knee was wearing out and causing problems. The entire prosthetic clearly was not installed at a medical facility and appeared to be homebuilt. The Mantis came alongside the Martian and offered him a carved stick. He accepted it gratefully and hobbled with the Mantis to small group standing at the bow of the skiff. The man clutched his jacket tighter to keep out the chill and gazed over the Red Wastes as it methodically slipped past.
He was Doctor Elkir Glacierfield Oscar Amadeus and he was the entire reason the community of sixty-plus beings had existed on the drilling surveyor walker. Dr. Amadeus was an infectious disease pathologist and had spent years attempting to help stop the spread of the Blight infection working for the Confederation of Mars Public Epidemiology Service. His small government team had been trapped on Quantanis after the Collapse and spent years scrounging together survivors in an attempt to get offworld. The rig had been jury-rigged and heading towards the last known transmission from a starport. The signal had been heard a local year ago and hope had quickly dwindled of anyone surviving. The Infected Horde was growing too strong and too organized over the years.
The Mantis, Thilindar, draped a blanket over the doctor. Amadeus barely noticed, silently rubbing his mechanical knee and lost in thought. Thilindar clicked thoughtfully and stood patiently to his side. A careful survey of the Mantis revealed many clues to the insightful eye; a challenge coin from a Colonial Foreign Legion hanging from his charm necklace; a patch from a governmental security division of the Ground Forces of the Martian Confederation Armed Forces sewn into his chest equipment webbing; a human-orientated medical kit with “PUBLIC EPIDEMIOLOGY SERVICE” printed on it strapped to his side. His bearing was military but he kept a watchful eye over Dr.Amadeus, one of his lower hands carefully placed on a Confederation service pistol as his head swept over the surrounding.
A massive pile of fur and scabs groaned on the plating and the Mantis moved towards it. His thin legs tapped against the plating and he clicked at the pile of fur. He tried to coax the creature into drinking water but the being could not. The fur pile thrashed and the blanket pulled away. It was a Kizeran, huge and obviously malnourished. Only patches of fur remained, exposing the hard leather-like skin. Tribal brands and military unit insignia marked the skin and a careful eye could see the same patch of the Confederation security division sewn into the Kizeran’s massive jacket. Thilindar clicked worryingly at the Kizeran and pulled the blanket back before returning to his post next to the Martian.
Amadeus turned to the group huddled around an aging trideo projector. The knee whirred and chirped as he stepped towards them, staring down at the equipment as one of their number worked on getting it fixed. The Martian human clutched the blanket tighter and grasped the railing tighter as the skiff rocked with another misfire.
“We never thought the Horde would be this organized.” His voice was gravelly with years of stress. Eyes turned to the doctor.
“They are getting stronger, weaponized. Back in the research cell, some of my colleagues postulated that the Horde is an evolutionary link to the Beast. That out of an Infected Horde the entity we know as the Beast formed.” He looked out over the plain. “We are fortunate that the planet has not been Blighted yet. It can’t be too long though until the Horde on this world starts mutating and we start to see the Blight emerge. It may have already happened on other continents.”
He gripped the rail again; a stuttering whine permeated the gentle hum of the main drive as the skiff rocked.
“The Beast will consume this world, as he has others. Once the Infection has root, the Blight is never far behind. And the Blight always heralds the Beast. We were close to understanding the evolutionary path of the Blight, the many paths it takes….. We once…. we almost understood….”
His voice trailed off as he stared to the projector, eyes unfocused.
“I always thought it strange. The Martian ideology strived so hard for that ideal, the elusive goal of complete transcendence. We were suppose to achieve physical independence. Ascend into a post-physical entity. Some thought the Hive was it, that we simply needed to enter it enmass. But it was too crude, too simple. The Higher culture was supposed to bring us into enlightenment. It never got the chance. The Blight was on us too quickly. The Beast was too ravenous.”
He smiled sadly. “Now the Beast brings us what we all want. We simply accept his embrace, be consumed horrifically into the biological spread of the Blight, have our neurological pathways meld into planetary-wide neurons and become part of a pan-galactic consciousness. It’s a transcendence we Martians always wanted…”
The projector started to purr. The doctor took a step towards it and squared himself. “We must make a decision now. We are the only able-bodies left.”
He spoke in perfect Universal. He glanced back at the number huddled around the deck or in the cabin. The sick, weak, the children. Thilindar moved into the light of the projector as it started to flare up. He clicked and whirred in his accented speech.
“We do not have enough food or water for those left. I do not need to eat for awhile but the humans will need water soon. Brother Suula-ta is Fuulub and will need a large amount of rations, especially with his arm injury. Brother Taroc is incredibly ill and needs medication, water, food.” The Athul Mantis looked at the Kizeran moaning on the deck with molting fur and scabs across exposed skin. He turned towards the human with the small thin child and Breken wife anxiously looking at his feverish face.
”Brother Saul carries the infection and will not make it the night. His child is so thin… I don’t have enough human rations…. I….” Thilindar fell silent except for his fretful clicking.
The Martian doctor followed Thilindar’s gaze to the sickened human. He sighed and leaned on his cane.
“We must deal with Saul. Tonight. The arrow he took in his gut has infected him. The virus will seize him soon.”
The projector sputtered and flared to life. The doctor turned back. “We face several choices. Over a year ago we received a transmission from Baratoga. It indicated that a starport was attempting to be cleared by local militia forces. There may be a ship available.”
Baratoga suddenly illuminated to life. The city was immense. The center of commerce for Quantanis, it was a true sprawl. The urban landscape ran for hundreds of miles. Dozens of starports were located inside the sprawl. The trideo appeared to never end.
“It will be difficult inside the city. There are leagues to move through and the Horde will have plenty of food to sustain itself in the sprawl. The Blight could have consumed the city by now and we will have it’s devilish flora and fauna to face.”
The doctor motioned towards the trideo. “We have no supplies to last the journey. We can travel to the closest urban center, Tartina. It may not have been picked clean. Or we can also head into the plains where agro-industrial parks are. Or we can attempt to make our way into the Joint Bicath Armed Forces Base. My team never received any news of it’s fate throughout the past few years and there have been rumors of a glassing operation near there but it may still be useful. It is rather close.”
He sighed and ran his hand through his graying hair. The knee gave cacophony of digital noises and the elder human winced. Thilindar clicked concerning.
“The Doctor needs proper facility for his leg. He needs a cloned replacement…”
Amadeus cut him off with a wave. “Thi, it’s fine. This leg has worked for the past few years and it will last longer. I refuse to end my life on this world.”
Thilindar bowed his head and remained silent.
“So, fellow beings. We are the last of this group. What do we do now?”
Geth roll 4dF for whatever.
Geth roll 4dF+1 for Notice
"Where there are people, there is Blight. Avoid city. Avoid farms, farms have only food. This zidara requires food, water, medicine, and weapons. The fighting-base has all."
He stumbles a bit when the skiff gives another lurch.
"It also might have parts to fix this bjak flying machine."
Geth roll 4dF+3 for finding a network
As the others spoke, Saven listened to the options presented, or more accurately he interpreted the reflected auditory waves through his mind and interpreted them into something he could understand. His projected mask, a pearl white, ghostly and serene faced that matched the species he spoke to and seemed to be facing to each of those around him individually, began to 'speak', "I believe food is likely our first priority, which is closer, the military base, or the agro-farms? And, even if the military base is closer, there is no guarantee there will be food there. If it would be helpful, I could spend my time searching for nearby Infected, their minds are... very unique, and they might stand out more to me than your electronics, though I am assuredly no expert in those matters."
Iona:
Khiraz:
Dalton:
“Thank you, Iona.” Dr. Amadeus flexed his knee and his smile was not as hard. “It feels a bit better. My speciality never was biomechanical or surgery. I appreciate it. And you are, food is important. Right now we have maybe a day or two of supplies, if that.”
Thilindar looked at Riley, his coral-head inscrutable. “Bicath is eight or nine hours. We would arrive in the middle of the dark cycle. My warrior brothers never received any word from the base after we had signals of nuclear detonations. It’s status is unknown.”
Dr. Amadeus nodded. “Bicath is a gamble. It may hold the greatest rewards but if the base is destroyed or inaccessible, we may not have enough supplies for everyone to survive another trip. The agroparks are a bit further than Bicath but they should hold enough foodstuffs for us to at least restock. We do not know who else is out there though, and if we encounter Infected I do not know if we can fight them off again. We lost so many the last time.”
He turned and study Saven. “We have a very unique opportunity in having a Savarnaus with us, however. He may indeed be able to detect Infected before we can see them. Not much research has been done with the unique capabilities of the Savarnaus and the Infected but Communicate Saven may provide us our greatest asset in staying alive.”
He gazed back over the group. “So, if we do not want to risk the city, we face two choices. We can take a risk and go to the closer JBAFB; which may mean we do not secure enough food or resources for more lengthy travel. Or we play it safe and go to the slightly farther agroparks which should contain food but may have more hostile forces and we not the means to fight them. Do we make a run for an unknown factor that may have guns and possibly food or make a run for food without the firepower?”
The older Martian rubbed his knee thoughtfully. “I do not know anymore. It seems Thi and I have been attempting to keep hope alive for years with little success. I do not know my way.”
"I choose fighting-base over farms. Military rations are edible, and with weapons we may raid the the farms at our leisure. Either farms or fighting-base will see this zidara arrive in the middle of night. We should prepare."
Need to be careful. Too much insight like that and some of these monks might start asking the wrong questions, Dirge muses as he temporarily reroutes the induction flow to a jury-rigged shunt while he repairs the claw gash in the main induction line. Good thing my practical skills cut me a lot of slack. He spares a glance for Riley, his eyes hard between the rags that conceal his face. Still can't figure out whether she's doing right by us or just right for herself by us.
Geth roll 4dF+4 for survival stuff