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by the inquest
"Arguments on their nature are refuted by those who return to shore, wide-eyed with tales of their savagery."
All Moirans are woken to the sounds of the ship coming to a rather grating halt some time in the early morning cycle. It’s no faster or slower than any other stop, but it is unexpected as the captains didn’t mention an upcoming disembarkment. Shortly after, a message is sent to every MID:Navigation has informed us that we’re approaching bad traveling conditions: an overactive star. Instead of stopping on Liant El, we’ll be docking here on Ceta. Please exercise caution while gathering supplies and during excursions. Follow their safety guidelines. If the chance allows, we’ll also be signing new crew on the planet. Please greet them first and show them to the ship. Thank you. The Ingress has pulled you in. Your body experiences several sensations at once: being pushed forward as if a hand is resting on your back, momentary and startling blindness, a gentle ringing in your head. You have difficulty discerning whether it is hot or cold, but where you have been prodded is noticeably warmer than the rest of you. Some may suffer from dizziness while others are perfectly fine. Once equilibrium has been reestablished, you will notice you are standing on a long platform and that the room is filled with a soft cerulean light. It's slightly humid and dark despite the glow around you, and nothing is familiar.
For those few who come through Ceta's Ingress, there will be crew of the Moira there to greet you. They tell you of the Ingress, how it is broken, even on this planet, and that the ship is headed back to the origin of this technology. This planet’s Ingress is set precariously atop a floating rock formation, the only way from one area to the next is on small air-propelled boats. Crew members will guide everyone back to the Moira and take them to the Medbay; contracts will be signed posthaste.
WELCOME TO CETA
At first glance, Ceta seems mostly inhabitable, and that's because it is. The atmosphere around the planet is surprisingly thick in most places, sometimes thin in others, and without some way to filter the air, it is mostly unbreathable; it's a giant gas planet, its core made of various molten metals and the atmosphere a mix of oxygen, hydrogen, and nitrous. Ceta's gravity is also uneven, meaning that some areas will have stronger focal points than others. The terrain, when it is visible, appears rather rocky—hardly the best conditions for life and stable living. What's more unusual, however, is that despite this fact, there is, indeed, a small populace "living" among the mist and clouds, but it's clear they do not live here year-round. It's hunting season, and they are there for the bounty.
These visitors have built small platforms that are hooked together by ropes and swinging bridges, which they call "temporaries". Unstable buildings are rare, dangerous, and spread out over these temporaries to prevent damage or accidents. The temporaries float along, swaying and shifting with the planet’s atmosphere, and posted at every point of entry and all open surfaces are a particular set of rules that everyone must abide by. They are written in dark ink and large block letters so that all passing by will stop and read them:
NO FIRE. Flammables, ignition sources, matches, lighters, and anything that creates a spark is prohibited. The atmosphere has higher levels of hydrogen, and the smallest spark will create a problem.
AIR BREATHABILITY. Monitor your vitals. Wear masks or re-breathers if needed.
WATCH THE EDGE. All walkways are the only thing from you and falling. Be cautious and watch your step. These signs should be given their due attention. The edge is just that: the end of where it is safe to walk. If a wooden plank gives way beneath your feet, you will plummet through hundred of miles of atmosphere before hitting the planet’s thin surface. The captains reiterate that crew should be careful and stick to the main temporaries, gather supplies, visit at their leisure, and then go back to the ship.
☄ IT'S A BIRD! IT'S A PLANE!The organisms that have evolved on this planet are unintelligent—a fact that is told to you by the other visitors. As there is no solid materials or ways for them to interact with their environments, these giants float along within the atmosphere, though it appears that they are flying when they are merely navigating through. They travel in groups of three or more and sometimes come close to the outskirts of the temporaries. Because there is an invisible filtration dome around the temporaries, this allows the creatures to pass through without harm and return again into the mist as they please. They are difficult to see at night and are rather skittish in the presence of sudden light.
☄ @ THE MUSEUM Every evening when work is done, artificial light sources illuminate the streets of the temporaries. There is one bar, if you can actually call it that, but the main attraction is a museum. The support structure appears to be made out of the skeletal system of the giants that "swim" and live on Ceta, and though the outside seems rather unassuming, the inside is not for the faint of heart. As it's considered informative, there are displays of the internal structures and functions of the very creatures that seem harmless and as unintelligent as the visitors claim. There are sections of the museum dedicated to their anatomy and what makes them so valuable: inside their air sacs, which is what gives the illusion to flying through the atmosphere, is a mineral that, when harvested, attunes and sharpens the senses so that brain capacity and function excel over one-hundred percent efficiency. Likewise, aside from these informative areas, there is also a history of how and when the visitors began to hunt them for this valuable, unnamed resource.
☄ HARVEST SEASON Are you looking for work? Or perhaps you're bored with your duties aboard the Moira and prefer to see just what it is these visitors do during the day? Hunters will often pay for menial labor to help with the killing and retrieval of the giants of Ceta. It is by day, not by hour, and once aboard one of the many ships, you will be put to work handling equipment or being on the lookout for "signs" of the creatures. Once they've been spotted, the real work isn't in capturing them or even trying to subdue them—though they give a good fight. It's in the harvest, done below deck once they have been safely brought into the ship's cargo areas by the tethers, that can get quite gruesome. As a defense mechanism, cutting into the skin creates a rather noxious emission that can cause disorientation, hallucinations, or unconsciousness. Worst case scenarios can often result in death.
☄ WORD LIMITS As things are beginning to wind up (or down), something seems to have gotten into the MID systems and caused a malfunction. On the morning of 03.13, it suddenly becomes clear that communicating with others who are not from the same universe or similar timelines seems very difficult. Understanding each other becomes rather hopeless as the day continues, and these repercussions can be felt across the entire ship. The Captains send out another MID message that appears as a jumble of unusual letters and symbols. However, there is one word that can be read by everyone and (hopefully) understood: RATCHET. Figuring out this problem shouldn't take long if everyone can leap the language barriers and work together.
( ooc; All New Arrivals: you have the choice of coming through the Moira's Ingress OR Ceta's Ingress. For questions, go here. Please comment to activity check to receive new ranks (if applicable)! )
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thisavrou_log2016-03-01 02:40 pm
organ jar land
This building was, in some ways, no exception. The architecture was equal parts bizarre and disturbing. The various cases of meat-parts, mostly just the latter. Rinzler's glancing away from the latest plaque promising new upgrades when a glint of light catches his attention. It looks almost like circuitry. In red.
A scan snaps out immediately. The core signature of user disappoints, but there's code filtered in around it—the armor, and... another device. Curious, the enforcer moves a little closer, helmet tilting in assessment. The enforcer's own armor is lit in slightly more orange-red streaks and panels, and Nihlus will hear a noise as Rinzler draws closer: a constant, ticking rumble, like a damaged hard drive skipping on each spin.
no subject
Which, well, wasn't a surprise, the museum was public space after all and people could come and go as they pleased.
No, the problem was there was someone else in here and they were watching him.
He listens to the soft footsteps as they approached and then... the oddly mechanical rumble that sets his mandibles on edge as it resonates along his jawline.
The deeper red of the circuitry in Nihlus' cowl gleams off of his visor when he turns to peer at the stranger over his shoulder. He doesn't react immediately otherwise, letting himself be examined and examining in return.
"Is there something you'd like?"
His voice is gentle, but the alien subvocals would sound rather wary to any other Turian.
no subject
His own mask shakes in answer. No requests, just analysis. Despite the hunch that seems ingrained to the program's posture, his movements are fluid—more so than the human shape might lead one to expect.
The sound continues unabated... but there's a faint skip as the encryptions on Nihlus' armor stop Rinzler's scan from retrieving more data. Not irritation. Interest. Don't mind the nosy program testing your security.
no subject
His armor's systems didn't carry any particularly valuable data: atmospheric readouts, the state of his armor, live information of his physical health, logs for his backup communication board which had already been cleared out. Anything really important was stored on the Omni-tool, under a wall of security only two people had the keys for- and those people were all currently in another universe.
There were a lot of reasons for a Spectre to keep their armor locked down however, and he didn't particularly appreciate those locks being tested. The hardware and software were his custom designs, but while Nihlus trusted (could only trust) himself with its security, and no one had ever managed to get past the encryptions before... well. Living Spectre agents didn't survive without some measure of paranoia.
Fortunately, neither the encryptions or the armor had ever been Nihlus' first line of defense.
"This is awful personal," and Rinzler didn't need to understand the subvocals to hear the purring, sultry note in that tone. There's a distinctly flirty cant to the Spectre's helmet now.
"Aren't you going to take me out for a drink first?"
no subject
Their user, on the other hand... well. Can a staticky audio glitch qualify for 'rude sound'? Rinzler's certainly trying. The enforcer's mask fixes in what's probably some sort of scathing look... and the focus of that scan shifts to the omnitool.
Sorry, Nihlus. Rinzler only likes you for your code.
no subject
Kind of an asshole though.
Another ping pops up on his HUD. This time he does turn his attention to the readout, watching the small alert flash at the bottom of his vision, contemplative.
This was not a species or person he was familiar with, and thus not likely to be from his universe. There was very little reason for this person to want the data on his omni-tool. There was even less of chance that they knew what was on the thing to begin with.
Were they just scanning him for the sake of it?
"Seriously. There's nothing on there but games and racy photos. Of me." Which... is not entirely untrue. "And if you want those, you can just ask me for them."
no subject
Encryptions: your design?
The line appears in holographic orange text, projected up from the device and angled out towards Nihlus. If the speed with which the display shows up is any sign, that's the default setting for Rinzler's MID.
no subject
"Wouldn't you like to know."
He probably shouldn't give the weirdo any kind of ammunition to come after him, but Nihlus was feeling kind of mischievous. There was something about spending time with stoic asshole sorts that just brought out the ridiculously aggravating side of this Spectre agent.
"I'm Nihlus. You know, in case didn't come up in any of that probing."
And he knows it didn't.
no subject
Nonstandard user frame.
The tact is not strong with this one.
no subject
Leaning away from the glass and the organs behind it, Nihlus finally turns to fully face the person in front of him.
And he was sure it was a person.
It was looking less and less like the person was organic, however.
This entire encounter has been... strange. The whirrs and clicks were too familiar for him to be comfortable with, but this wasn't a Geth. Not a VI either.
"What would qualify as a standard user frame?"
no subject
It's easy enough to tell the difference at a glance. They're human. Unlike Nihlus... but very much like Rinzler, at least in rough dimensions. Five fingers. Same proportions. The program's noise sets him apart, and the circuit-covered armor seems more built into the enforcer than externally applied. But the shape is similar.
A 'standard' frame.
no subject
Well, he wasn't the one who nodded to a human.
"Are you human in origin?"
no subject
Program.
Because that explains everything.
no subject
Of all the things Nihlus expected to hear though, 'program' wasn't one of them. His eyes narrow in thought.
He supposes in the most strictest of definitions, an AI was, indeed, a program. A program wasn't always an AI, though. Why use the most basic definition?
Perhaps it was a translation error? Or was he missing something?
"Would you mind defining 'program'?"
no subject
He's not a glitch. He's not stupid. And it's not his problem if users ignore the intelligence of any coded being they don't train to speak to them. The low rumbling skips a beat with irritation. Still, Rinzler types out the reply.
Coded entity written to perform a specified function.
Meant to operate in larger digital systems.
Not an AI. Not a robot. Program.
no subject
Either way, it seems he's dealing with something a bit more unfamiliar than an AI. He has a lot of questions he wants to ask, but while the programmer in him was kind of nerding the fuck out, Nihlus' more politically adept sensibilities knew a potential barrier when it saw one.
"Well, that explains some things," he says instead, sighing and placing his hands on his hips. "If I'm going to have to resign myself to dealing with this chemistry you have going on with the encryption software though, I might as well ask: what's your name?"
no subject
Rinzler.
no subject
"Interesting as this conversation is getting, I've unfortunately got some work to prepare for," he shrugs and turns to leave. "I'll be seeing you around, I guess."
no subject
Back to user-parts for now.