[center][h3][color=gray]The One and the Pirates of Gilt[/color][/h3][/center][center][sub]Collab between [@Tortoise] & [@Timemaster][/sub][/center]

[hr][hr]





[quote=The One]One. One-One. One-One-Two. One-One-One-Two...the counting keeps going on and on. Everyday, every moment. Multiple goals, One person. Survive, multiply, find what happened. What if it happens again? Are we alone? No. No longer alone, together. Forever. Find a way, maybe it's possible, leave the planet. No, impossible. Ship ready but maybe not ready. Where to go? Maybe nothing out there. Light? No light. Danger, darkness is danger. Don't linger. Crazy smile up ahead. Pocket. Avoid. Circle around. Climb. Move.  [/quote] 


All of the thoughts of the One were mostly the same, every ”day”. Every night. Every single moment of their existence, from the moment they were made they had these thoughts. Not clones but the extensions of One. Working, researching. Each thought was similar but unique.

Thousands of One walked naked through the streets of the Circle, weapons at the ready. The next batch of Williams were ready, food had to be brought over to the others. The ever present M symbol visible on their forehead. An old symbol of old Earth. Food, sustenance. 

But…


Everything ended when a bright light filled the sky for the first time since they arrived on the planet. The city lit up and for once, hope was felt all over the One. Every clone felt the same feeling of true hope. For once in the history of The One, everyone stopped working. Abandoned their work and watched the sky, understanding what happened. 

A few thousands of the One went straight away to record the memory for the new ones that came. More went to study the new machines which suddenly activated. Tiny lights appeared on ancient computers and the infamous black spheres started vibrating causing a wave of concern around all One. A sense of urgency followed. An urgency to repair the ship, make it work. Somehow. No matter what. No matter if it’ll cause damage to it or it won’t work for long.

It had to be done. Survival was, for once, not on the minds of the One. Weeks pass and the ship has been completed, somehow. Barely any life support. A communication array that [i]worked[/i] most of the time, power supply from the black spheres for emergencies and the power plant, which was abandoned as it couldn’t be moved, charged with Williams. 


A moment passed and then a course of action was decided. The ship will be sent through the Gateway, if it comes back, it will bring some raw materials. Maybe some food. If not, then, they'll die. More will be made. More will take their place and life will continue as normal. Maybe other colonies made it. It was time to see if others survived. 

Meat, blood and mushrooms were brought onboard the ship and a small group of 20 Grants and James went in, getting ready for the ride of their lifetime. Each was followed by another 30 Williams to be used as batteries if the power supply was cut short. One burst of pain and salvation for the others. A good price to pay. 

With some very loud screeching noises and groans of metal, the ship shot up into the sky. A short cheer was let out by those that saw it and then nothing. Everyone went back to work. The One ship passed through the Gateway with no issue, the initial fear that the ship would break down or disintegrate midway through was long gone. Surprise, fear and at the same time, hope filled the One’s hearts upon seeing not only that they survived but that signs of other survivors were there. 


" [color=gray]We are not alone! WE ARE NOT ALONE! Wooooo![/color] " they yelled as loud as they could and everyone else joined in with a cheer. Finally the One aren't the only ones left. A message was soon sent to any nearby ship. 

“[color=gray]Survivors of humanity. We are the One. Can we parley?[/color]” the message was composed of all the voices of the One talking at the exact same time but due to the damaged communication system, what actually came out instead of normal human voices multiplied were metallic-broken voices, enough for someone to understand the gist of what they said.

Just as the message was sent, loud music started to blast through the damaged speakers, a jumble of distorted sounds and then voices. 

"Welcome to Gilt, the land of gold and great opportunities! If this is your first time, be sure to check with the [i]Grand Brand Ambassador[/i], our newly-redesigned space station. Repairs and refuelling offered at reasonable prices, and be sure to ask directions to our many attractions! For recognized national powers, intercorporate executives can also be contacted. Have a shining day!”

"[Color=gray]You heard that? They offer repairs! Maybe we'll repair this old rustbucket express![/color]" said the lead Grant as the others laughed…at their own joke. 

The jumble of sound they were hearing was intended to be Giltian jazz-pop, a swinging and catchy tune. Instead it sounded like anarchy. Catchy, autotuned anarchy. If the One ship had keen sensors they may notice that, just far enough off in the distance to be polite, a few sleek, silent and inexplicably pop-less warships were nonetheless watching the Gateway. The Giltians were corporate and corny, maybe, but not stupid.

The One hung there in the void for a few moments before- with precisely as much warning as it began- the sounds stopped. A crackle on the radio, and a new voice came through, this time sent from the largest of the watching ships:

“Excuse me, excuse me, this is Captain Francis Moore. We have received your message requesting parley. Unfortunately, the One are not on our list of human colonies.” He paused for a moment. Far off in the distance, Captain Moore was flipping quickly through his instructions. “Are you from an Earth colony?”

“[color=gray]Good morning, afternoon or night, Captain. You can call us, Grant. Colony is a stretch but we are indeed from one. Our Gateway just opened up now and after some deliberation, we’ve decided to forgo safety and flew this junker over to the first destination that popped on the screen. [/color]” sent the Grants a message back, their voices again all in unison. 

Captain Moore had some concerns. He wanted to believe he was mishearing the first time. But no, these were definitely more than one of the same voice, all speaking in the same tone, at the same time. His training told him not to jump to conclusions. He jumped to the conclusion that he was a little freaked out. The One received back: “Understood, Grant. Please, allow us to escort you to the Grand Brand Ambassador. There, you will be able to arrange repairs and speak to representatives of my nation. Welcome to the Gilt Division.” He paused. “Please, do not be alarmed at this precaution. There is a slight piratical presence in the area, and the safety of fellow colonies is, of course, our highest priority.” 

At the last words, two bronze ships of the Broker class broke formation and allowed themselves a slow, non-threatening sort of drift towards the One vessel. 

As soon as Moore said "don't be alarmed", the One all over the ship started laughing and only after a full minute they stopped.. 

"[Color=gray]Alarmed matey? Yeah. Sure. We won't be alarmed. Standard military practice and all that. Back on Earth it was normal for stuff like this to happen. So, yeah, don't worry about it. Just point us in the right direction and we'll follow along. Mind you, this flying junkyard is over 300 years old and repaired by people who've got no clue how to repair a spaceship or drive it for that matter. If it blows up or we end up drifting in an asteroid, just send a ship to our colony and try to keep one of our bodies. They'll know what to do with it and we’ll reward you for it.[/color]” said the One before chuckling a bit and sending another message. 

“[color=gray]Oh' and fair warning, we've got alien tech on board that doesn't like electronics and might release strong EMP strikes from time to time. Keep your ships away a bit just in case and before you ask, we’re not in control of it. 'Just won't do to blow up potentially new allies, ey? [/color]" 

The ship soon started following the two Broker class ships in a slow hurdle through space. Occasionally a tiny explosion could be seen on the hull as ancient electrical systems malfunctioned. The Giltian captain maintained a comms link with them the whole time.

“Up ahead,” he calmly narrated, “we call that the Lost Dreams Belt.” He was referencing the glittering asteroids that the One probably spotted when they first crossed the Gate. “There’s a funny story about it. See how sparkly it is? That’s because of frozen ice on the asteroids. When the first colonists got here, this was the first thing they saw and some fool, don’t ask me who, started a rumor that the asteroids were all diamond. You can see how it's almost believable, can’t you? And when the ship passed by, every individual colonist got to feel disappointed when they weren’t diamond, they hadn’t seen anything special at all, it was just some frozen water on some rocks.” His laugh was dry.

“Y’know, we gather that some of the Gateways are different than ours, but the Giltian Gate never moves. No orbit or anything. We’re working to move the Grand Brand starbase closer to the Gateway, so that it’ll be right there when you get across. But the planets we live on, Gilt and Argent, they’re still a lot closer to the sun than the asteroid belt is, so whenever someone comes to see us planetside, they’re going to have to cross the Belt of Lost Dreams. Funny.” He didn’t laugh this time.

"[color=gray]So there are more Gateways out there. More nations and you've got two planets. Belt of Lost Dreams. Sounds like our Circle. Lots of lost dreams there. Lots of dead bodies. Lots of death. Pretty much all there is there. Death and us. Maybe a bit more death than us. For now. For now. For now. [/color]" came the One's response in the way of multiple people talking at the same time. Each saying a different word or sentence. Almost at the same time. If one would pay attention, they could understand that there were multiple people talking with the same voice from different parts of the bridge.

The three ships, slowly swimming through the void, eventually came to where the first asteroids looked almost close enough to touch. They flew over the Belt, for safety’s sake, but you felt like you could reach your hand out and grab one. Crossing over the ring of asteroids was watching a thick disc of ice and rock spread out beneath you, and then to look and see that it stretches out in either direction, unbelievably far, encompassing the whole system. Ruining the moment, this is when Moore chose to speak again. “By the way, pirates like to hide in the asteroid belt. So if we’re going to get mugged, this is where it’s happening.”

Next, they got mugged. As if on cue, something stirred in a thick patch of asteroids gathered a-far off. Far too far to see with the naked eye, but sensitive scanners detected the powerful engines that suddenly roared back to life when they had been invisible a moment before. The pirates of Gilt liked to turn down all the lights, so to speak, to make themselves hard to notice until the moment they pounced. They had slipped into this choice spot between the Gateway and the Grand Brand in-between patrols, days ago, and nobody knew [i]quite[/i] where they were until just now. Until they spotted the One’s ship, a vessel that looked interesting, and was important enough to get a Giltian guard, but didn’t seem like it could fight back. Twenty small, mean Beetles emerged from hiding behind their asteroids and interstellar ice.

Comms crackled to life, and a voice unlike Captain Moore’s came through. It was a young man, thin and sarcastic. And, for some reason, it spoke with the exact accent you’d expect of a fictional Earth pirate. “I’d fire a warning shot, matey, but I don’t think you’d survive the blow. Well, well, welcome to Gilt all the same. Ye won’t be surprised to hear that this here is a toll station, and we’ll be needin’ to collect before we let ye pass.”

Next, the One heard Captain Moore answer back. “No! No, no, absolutely not. We have refugees here. I know you’re not exactly the kind known for decency, but these men obviously need our aide. Stand down.”

“Aye!” said the young man. “But who flees to a new home without bringing some of their valuables with them, if refugees they be? You here than then, newcomers? You got somethin’ on you?”

"[Color=gray]Heard that boys? Pirates! Ha! We haven't dealt with pirates since those Somalians hijacked our boat back in '09. Good times. Pirates of Gilt. Giltates. That's what we're going to call you, Giltates. You want valuables? Sure. Two ways you can do that. Come on-board. More than happy to share. Or even better, we'll send one of us with you and you can blow this ship up. Just take that one back home and our people will reward you greatly. [/color]" replied all the Ones. Each saying a different part of the sentence. They weren't lying, their voices spoke the truth. The Giltates would've been rewarded if they arrived with one One, back to the Circle.

“I…” Captain Moore was stunned. Part of him already wanted to drop his professionalism, take the mic and ask what exactly was going on in this strange ship. But, alas, he was a loyal man of Earnest, Smithers and Black, and knew his role was to get these unusual new people (person? exactly how many identities were at play here?) to his employers, where they could figure out how best to profit from all this. “I do not recommend that, Grant. These men will take everything they can carry. Are you certain you want them aboard?” Giltian Captains were expected to be pragmatic, and sometimes yielded to pirates when that was the most economical choice. Moore had done it, and was not proud of this. But he knew that sometimes lost goods cost less than lost crew.

“[color=gray]Oh’ sure. Let them come if they want. Not sure what you people consider valuable but we’ve got meat, blood and some mushrooms. If they want to take that, no problem. We can survive with no supplies for a while. If they want a fight inside our ship, we’re more than happy to give them one. ‘About time to die again. Ha! True. That didn’t happen in a while. If they do come on board and kill all of us, just get one of our bodies over to our planet. Don’t worry about it. Just a skull. You don’t need more. The others will understand. Don’t worry. No problem. Anyways, I digress. We stand no chance in a ship to ship combat. No weapons on this junkship. Sure we can make it explode. Maybe EMP their ship? Spheres. We could. Maybe. Not good enough. No other plan.[/color]” replied the One. 

So, the pirates came aboard. There was a brief pause as they moved their ships into more advantageous positions, now that they were sure of Moore’s cooperation. From somewhere hidden in the asteroids, another power signature came to life, and a larger and spacier ship, a big, bronze cargo vessel liberated from the corps to the pirates, emerged. It would have the space to hold robbed goods. It was not the size of cruisers like Captain Moore’s ship, but it was bigger than the little three-to-five-man ships the pirates flew. Speaking of men: some would be needed. A better operation would have had a dedicated group for raiding the ship, but this particular band of pirates was not so organized, and their looters were also their shooters. The One and Moore watched about a third of the Beetle ships surrender staff to the task, going- carefully, one at a time- to the cruiser and depositing a pirate or two. Guns stayed on them the whole time. The cruiser extended a bridge to the junker, and walking across it came-

“Captain Thomas, at your service,” said a young, dirty man with uncombed red hair. His voice said that he was the same man who spoke over comms and his smell said he’d been waiting under those asteroids for a while. Strolling out, dripping with bravado were ten others. All were human, except for their one stamp comrade, a six-foot man with gray scales covering his skin and a third, perfectly white eye placed in his forehead, and the only one not carrying a weapon.

They had been expecting refugees. Their plan was to go through a rough, overpopulated ship full of strangers and take things like jewellery, tools, medicine and spare items that they could either use or sell. But now, looking out at the One, their faces twisted strangely.

As the pirates were getting ready to board the One ship, the One was getting ready too. Traps were placed all over the ship, the usual spring traps with spikes at the end or simple wire, the wire being made out of muscle sinew, traps that threw metal shards at different places of the human body. 

The preparations were ready and not a moment too soon. The pirates arrived. In [url=https://cg2.cgsociety.org/uploads/images/medium/micro26-bone-armour-1-db3c9ee9-79ke.jpg]full bone armour[/url], the One moved as…one person. Their movement was in perfect synchronisation with one another. Each hand movement, each turned head or muscle twitch happened at the same time. The Ones were armed with a spear, sword and a massive shield that covered a good part of their bodies. The further in the back Ones, had bows.

The cargo bay, if one could call it like that, was a shadow of its former self. Missing metal sheets, an electrical fire here and there. Dried blood covered some of the walls and the smell of death permeated the bay. Truly, it was a wonder the ship flew at all. 20 One came out to greet the pirates. Out of all of them, one Grant didn't wear a helmet but even so, if one would take a close look at the other Ones they'd see their eyes, identical. Each scanning the room, the weapons, everything there was. The eyes of a silent predator.

Three Grants stepped towards the pirates but still in the reach of the spears of the other Ones.

"[Color=gray]Welcome. We are the One. Pardon the mess. We've hurried fixing this junker up so much that it didn't cross our mind to clean up. Anyways, straight to business. There you go, meat! 'Alas, we don't have any alcohol or anything of the sorts. [/color]" said the three Ones. Each saying parts of the sentences, the moment one of them would stop, another continued. 

Two of the Ones behind stepped forward with some bags made out of leather and inside said bags, meat could be seen. Almost freshly cut. 

"[Color=gray]Feel free to eat your pick. There is more where that came from. Our offer from before is still available, afterwards too. Feel free to take a trip to our planet, land towards the south west. Near the big tower. We're happy to provide you with more meat, [i]way[/i] more meat. No alcohol, unfortunately. That’s one thing we’ve been missing for the past 304 years.[/color]" they continued, ignoring the stamp next to the pirate captain. It reminded them briefly of the Immortalis's robots but more organic and certainly not a killing machine.

“What…” Captain Thomas’s face twisted in genuine horror. “What kind of hellhole is this? What kind of nightmare world have you fuckers been living in? I don’t want any of your-” he scoffed, half gag and half derision, and when he spoke again his piratical accent was wholly gone and he sounded much as any Giltian, something much more transatlantic. “What we want are supplies, real food, I dunno, treasured family heirlooms. You telling me there’s no woman on this ship who brought her grandmother’s bracelet with her? That’s what we’re after, freakshows.”

The strange stamp, whose name was Bryin, stared hard at Grant. He looked like a man trying to solve a particularly hard puzzle, piecing together wrong-shaped pieces. When he spoke, it was slow, and unsteady- “Captain, move carefully. These men are all the same, and they have eyes like starved animals. I think they might know desperation even better than we do.” He took a half-step back. “Captain, I think we should leave. I don’t know what they will do.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow at Bryin. Usually the stamp could read people like books, he was created for it, and nothing shakes someone who can predict people like that. He’d never before acted so… off put.

The lead Grant chuckled a bit and it was echoed by the others, almost immediately. “[color=gray]Hellhole? This? [/color]” said the Grant and took a step towards the captain, they leaned a bit forward as for the captain to see their dead eyes clearly and said, with a dark tone, completely different than how it was before. Their whole demeanour changed. Thomas met his eyes with a young man’s intensity.

“[color=gray]This isn’t hell. We’ve seen hell and this is not it. [/color]” 

As soon as they said that, they took a step back and smiled at the captain. Back to normal. The captain scowled.

“[color=gray]Supplies, real food. That is very real food. Kept us alive the past 300 years. It’s as real as it gets. Quite fresh too but really, if you want to take it, try to put it in a cold storage. Meat goes bad fast…you don’t want to know what rotten meat tastes like. As for women? We haven’t seen one in about 300 years so if you have any for sale, ‘more than happy to trade the meat for it. [/color]” continued the three Grants. 

One of the Grants with the helmet on from the trio looked at Bryin as he talked and shook their head. 

“[color=gray]Starved animals? Please. We’ve just finished eating before you guys came over. Trust us. You wouldn’t want to see us [i]hungry[/i]. These massive bodies aren’t kept up with only mushrooms. [/color]” 

“I didn’t mean that kind of starving,” said Bryin, dryly.

The women pirates, about seven of them in all, were stepping back. “You guys haven’t seen a woman in 300 years?” One of them asked. “Then how do you… nevermind, you know, I really don’t want to know.”

“Neither do I,” affirmed Thomas. He looked out at the horror show in front of him. Raw meat. A burning, glitching ship. He wasn’t completely heartless. “Do… have you men really been living like this since the Fall? How did you make it? I mean, just eating meat and mushrooms, and wearing each other’s bones… No, you were right. You have seen hell.”

Once more the One laughed out loud at the female pirate's words. The lead Grants turned towards the woman and said, in a friendly tone.

"[Color=gray]We've had better things to do. Surviving for one. [/color]" 

Turning back to the captain, the Grants shook their heads. 

"[Color=gray]We haven't seen hell. We've experienced it. We live in it. We call it…home. How did we survive? We ate. We fought for everything we have. We've made do with little at first. Died by the [i]billions[/i]. In other words, we've survived. [/color]" 

Once more the lead Grant took a step forward and shook their head. A sad tone in their voice. They pointed to their head and said:

"[Color=gray]We remember them all. Each maiming. Each disease. Each starvation. Every. Single. Death. [/color]" 

They took a step back and looked at Thomas again, smiling.

"[Color=gray]Feel free to visit. We're happy to show you. [/color]"

“I uh… I don’t think that will be necessary.” Thomas.

Bryin said, “Captain, these men obviously don’t have anything we want. I think we should leave.” Several of the other pirates were nodding along enthusiastically at this. They had decided the One vessel was far more worse than just waiting under the asteroids for richer prey. But Thomas hesitated.

“You know… this is a dangerous neighbourhood.” He scratched the back of his neck. He was about to do something he’d never done before, and he wasn’t sure how to phrase it. But the One’s story, their insane struggle, had pulled at his young heartstrings just a little. “We aren’t the only pirate gangs out here. If this is how you boys are travelling, we aren’t going to be the last ones to try to shake you down.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to rob you. I don’t think you’ve got anything to take. Actually- Julia, you here?” 

A pirate with long, braided black hair worked her through the armed crowd to Thomas’ side. “Listen, Julia,” he told her, “I want you to get these guys a datapad with one of our starmaps on it, the ones that show the dangerous parts of the system in red. So they won’t get ambushed again. And… and get a handful of our spare rifles. These men have been through enough. If they’re going to be visiting Gilt, they need to be able to protect themselves.” He looked at the lead Grant again, something like respect in his eyes. “We’re letting you off the hook. But the next guys won’t be so nice. We’ll put the word around to leave the junker ship alone. Try to get somewhere better.”


The One looked…confused. These people came to rob them. They came to kill and main. The lead Grants looked at each other and shook their heads, humanity [i]did[/i] get better in 300 years, maybe things were not that bad or maybe they were and they just got lucky this one time…for the first time in centuries. 

As soon as Thomas finished talking, the lead Grants stepped forward and the two others who hadn't uncovered their faces removed their helmets revealing the same face the pirates saw until now, just multiplied by 2. 

In unison, they offered the pirates a military salute. 

“[color=gray]We thank you for your kindness, Captain Thomas. It’s something we’ve learned [i]not[/i] to expect from humanity. Seeing people kill each other for centuries does that to someone. We have an idea. There’s nothing we don’t own that we haven’t produced ourselves, everything we have was worked and killed for. Let one of us come with you. We’ve fought for over 320 years almost daily, experience isn’t something we lack. We’ll be under your command for 6 months. We'll do whatever it is needed with only one condition…when it comes to dealing with Gilt or other nations, keep the one we’ll send with you hidden or if that’s not possible their face. A precaution in case others will confuse us. More than happy to send two or three if that's acceptable. We do work better together but up to you. [/color]" replied the three Grants while a few of the other Ones helped the pirates with the rifles.

Thomas blinked. Then Thomas blinked again. Bryin said “This is what I meant when I said they were all the same, Captain.”

“I thought you were being metaphorical.”

“I was not.”

“Oh.”

Just at that time the radio buzzed to life. Captain Moore’s voice asked: “Grant? Status report. Is everything still alright over there?”

"[Color=gray]We're here, alive. 'managed to work a deal with the pirates. There's no need for an intervention, we ask you to let these pirates go. Don't attack them, don't follow them. At least while we're here, afterwards, it's up to you. [/color]" replied one of the Jamess that were closer to the radio. 

“If I may, Captain,” said Bryin again, “I do advise we take them. What I said before was true. These men have dangerous eyes. But danger at our side is a benefit. I don’t believe they will betray us, not after this. I do believe they will fight for us fanatically, and they have none of the fear of death in them that all others of your kind- humans- have with them always. Do you note the way they move? These walk as men who have seen death so often that it is a familiar taste to them. They do not enjoy it, but neither do they try to spit it from their mouths.”

“I really wish you didn’t talk so creepy,” said Thomas to Bryin. “But… alright.” Turning to the One, he said, “We can take three of you aboard. Six months. Let’s hope you don’t mind the life of a pirate, mateys.”

"[Color=gray]Aye, we'll fight. We'll kill. 'Don't enjoy it but c'est la vie as they said back on Earth. [/color]" replied the Grants with a nod before realising what Thomas said to Bryin.

"[Color=gray]Ah. 'That bothers you? Haven't spoken with people that aren't us for a long time. We'll…adjust. [/color]" replied only one of the Grants this time. 

Three Jamess stepped out of the line and walked to the pirates' side in unison, their faces covered by their helmets.

Thomas smiled. “Well, welcome to the crew then, lads. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to the life of a pirate. We’ll have you singing sailing songs in a week.” His accent had come roaring back.