GM
AmongHeroes ♤ LOST ♤
Member
Seen
7 days ago
Hello, and welcome to mission orientation. My name is Sara, and I am to be your synthetic attendant over the duration of the Aphelion mission. Let me first remind everyone of the classified nature of this endeavor, and the harsh consequences at Weyland-Yutani’s disposal should any of you breech this secrecy.
With that aside, let us begin. The Aphelion mission was first conceived some months after the Weyland Corporation received a burst transmission from the USCSS Prometheus in 2096. This initial transmission relayed that the vessel and her crew had successfully arrived at LV-223, a moon orbiting the gas giant, Calpamos, in the Zeta2 Reticuli. Project Prometheus, as most of you know, was an exploratory mission spearheaded by the founder of the Weyland Corporation, Peter Weyland, and tasked with collecting firm data regarding the origins of humanity. LV-223 was thought to contain such data.
Following the initial transmission stating the ship’s safe arrival, a second transmission was received several days later. This message was a distress beacon attributed to the Prometheus’ life boat pod. The beacon sent only a pre-coded distress message, and no pertinent details as to the disposition of the Prometheus, or her crew, were included. As no further messages have ever been received from the Prometheus, or anyone that departed with her, it is presumed that the ship failed in its mission, and all hands were lost.
When the Weyland and Yutani corporations merged in 2097, there was a renewed interest by company executives that the fate of the Prometheus should be ascertained, and that any data she obtained before her loss should be recovered, as it still could prove a valuable asset to both the company, and humanity as a whole. It was at this time that Aphelion was given the full support of the company, and preparations began in earnest.
Thusly, ten years later, we find ourselves here. The USCSS Aphelion is set to depart the Sea of Tranquility tomorrow morning. You are her crew—meticulously selected from hundreds of candidates for your skill and professionalism. Upon you rests the combined responsibility of hundreds of thousands of man hours or hard work, and over a trillion dollar’s worth of investment. Please do keep that in mind as our journey begins—the company certainly will.
Relevant Timeline
┼ 2073 AD- Based on recent classified findings by Weyland researchers, the company determines the exact coordinates of a new destination for long-time pet project: Project Prometheus. New round of investment is immediately opened and mission planning enters full-swing.
┼ 2089 AD- Dr. Elizabeth Shaw discovers a cave painting depicting primitive men surrounding a large being, who points to a group of stars. This finding, along with several identical findings around the globe, further the findings of Weyland researchers. Dr. Shaw, and her colleague, Dr. Charlie Holloway, are brought onboard with Project Prometheus.
┼ 2091 AD- The USCSS Prometheus departs on its research mission to LV-223.
┼ 2096 AD- A burst transmission is received from the Prometheus, in which the ship is reported to have successfully reached LV-223 without incident around Christmas of 2093. Several days later, a distress signal is also received, and identified as belonging to the “life-boat” pod of the Prometheus. The distress signal is monitored, but no response is sent from the Weyland Corp.
┼ 2097 AD- Weyland Corporation merges with the Yutani Corporation, forming the Weyland-Yutani Corporation. Shortly after the merger, as no further information has been received regarding the disposition of the Prometheus, company executives decide to invest in a second mission to LV-223. This mission will be tasked with determining the fate of the Prometheus, as well as recovering any valuable data remaining from the Project Prometheus operation. This new, classified mission, is given the name “Aphelion.”
┼ 2107 AD- The newly christened exploratory vessel, the USCSS Aphelion, departs Luna’s Sea of Tranquility for LV-223.
Aphelion is an RP set in Ridley Scott's Alien/Prometheus universe following the events of the movie Prometheus, and preceding the 1979 Alien film. This story is set up to bridge the plot between the movies. Players will take on the roles of various crew members aboard the USCSS Aphelion as they attempt to fulfill their mission. This RP is intended to be an action/thriller, and not a horror story. Horror is a very difficult genre to write successfully, and as such, the story here will be driven upon completion of objectives and player interaction.
Details regarding crew positions and character sheets can be found in the 'CHARACTER CREATION' section below.
GM
AmongHeroes ♤ LOST ♤
Member
Seen
7 days ago
The USCSS Aphelion is a Heliades-class space exploration vehicle, and is the third of its kind manufactured by the Weyland-Yutani Corporation. The Heliades-class ships are FTL (faster than light) capable, and are the most state-of-the-art space going vessels produced.
The Aphelion is near identical in its layout to its predecessor, the Prometheus. System updates, however, have been added to keep up with advancements in technology. Specifically, these improvements are seen in general operations tech, power consumption, navigation, and sensor efficacy.
USCSS Aphelion
Manufacturer: Weyland-Yutani Corp
Product line: Wey-Yu FTL ships
Model: Heavy exploration/prospecting vessel
Class: Heliades-class
Cost: $1 trillion
Technical specifications
-Engine Power: Four nuclear-powered ion plasma engines each capable of vectoring hybrid drive in both intergalactic and atmospheric conditions
-Fuel Source: Ionized plasma drive
-Power plant: Nuclear fission generators
-Sensor Systems: Various intergalactic comm antennas
-Navigation Systems: Independent advanced navigation systems
-Armament: Armory of shotguns, pistols, and flamethrowers.
-Crew: 17
-Cargo capacity:
5x RT Series Group Transports
4x ATV NR6 runabouts
2x heavy mineral extractors
8x Class-A individual crew ejection pods
1x Class-D crew escape module
-Year introduced: 2104
-Role(s): Scientific exploratory vessel
-Era(s): 22nd century
-Affiliation: Weyland-Yutani Corp
To make it easy for players to get a sense of the layout and design of the Aphelion, it will be identical to the ship from the movie Prometheus. I encourage everyone to use the movie, and other online resources, to help enhance their experience in this RP.
GM
AmongHeroes ♤ LOST ♤
Member
Seen
7 days ago
As the Aphelion mission’s main objective is to discover what befell the Prometheus, its crew was selected in the vein of both academic prowess and security. Top scientists and technical personnel employed by Weyland-Yutani, and its subsidiaries, were selected from to fill the majority of the crew. To fulfill the necessary security requirements, members of various elite units from the Colonial Marines were asked to apply.
Available Crew Positions
-Executive Officer
-Medical Officer
-Scientific Officer
-Engineering Officer
-Mechanic
-Pilot
-Navigator
-Security Team Officer
-Security Team Members
Character Sheet
-Name:
-Appearance: (Please provide a picture. No anime or artwork please.)
-Crew Position/Rank:
-Age:
-Relevant History/Background:
I don't have much to say here beyond a few broad statements:
-If you apply for this RP, please intend to be active in both the OOC and IC.
-Focus on having fun, and utilize your fellow players to enhance this experience.
-If you have questions or concerns, please feel free to PM me or post appropriate material in the OOC.
-Post length doesn't matter to me, only quality. Short and sweet is much preferred over long and confusing.
-Thanks for your interest!
┼Natan Kasparov-Blackbeard
┼Diego Sandoval-The New Yorker
┼John Paul D'Angelo-Igraine
┼Olivia Laster-Prisk
┼Lena Pretorius-AmongHeroes
┼Raymond Charles-Clumsywordsmith
┼Zelda Whitehead-TheMusketMan
┼Alice Triskin-Nosuchthing
NPC's
Crew Position-Mission Supervisor
Age-54
Background
James Reddick is a man familiar only to his closest of friends. And, since friends are a commodity he puts little stock in, there are only a handful that care to know anything at all. One thing that is clear, to even the most recent acquaintance, is Reddick’s zealot-like devotion to the Weyland-Yutani Corporation. He is unapologetic and unabashed in his adherence to furthering the company’s ends.
As the Aphelion’s Mission Supervisor, his sole objective is to ensure that the crew go about their tasks in a way that further enriches and empowers Wey-Yu, and its shareholders.
Crew Position-Synthetic Attendant
Age-Activated in 2105
Background
The Sara line of synthetic androids was a specialized group designed after the Weyland and Yutani merger to provide assistance and comfort to crews in deep space. Her programming and demeanor was made to be pleasant and approachable, and provide her charges with a sense of ease and trust around the android. This was also why the Sara line was made to be attractively female, as well as possessing a non-distinct British accent, as these design attributes were thought to make human’s more comfortable in the synthetic’s presence.
Crew Position/Rank-Security Team Member/Sergeant
Age-32
Background
Before her application, and subsequent posting to the Aphelion Mission, Sergeant Miley Winters was a member of the 1st Colonial Marine Division, 3rd Marine Expeditionary Brigade. She has proven herself in numerous combat theaters, including the harrowing assault on LV-167. When the opportunity to try out for a position on Weyland-Yutani’s pet project came about, Sergeant Winters was at first on the fence. That was, until she discovered that the famed CM pilot, ‘Preacher’, would be among the command crew.
Crew Position/Rank-Security Team Member/Corporal
Age-24
Background
Corporal Art Turner was assigned to the 2nd Colonial Marine Division, 2nd Force Reconnaissance Company, prior to his joining the Aphelion Mission.
Crew Position/Rank-Security Team Member/Corporal
Age-25
Background
Corporal Bruce Sheu was assigned to the 2nd Colonial Marine Division prior to his joining the Aphelion Mission.
Crew Position/Rank-Security Team Member/Lance Corporal
Age-25
Background
Lance Corporal Juan Jemenez was assigned to the 1st Colonial Marine Division prior to his joining the Aphelion Mission.
Blackbeard But why is the rum gone?
Member
Seen
7 yrs ago
- Name -
Natan Kasparov
- Appearance -
- Crew Position/Rank -
Navigator
- Age -
33
- Relevant History/Background -
Natan was born in Novgorod, Russia, in 2074. Having lost his mother at an early age Natan decided to leave the motherland and his father behind. At just 22 he had found his way across the borders of both Belarus and Poland before stopping in Germany. It was there, at the university of Berlin, that Natan discovered his love for the stars. Having a brilliant yet untidy mind he quickly shot to prominence within the University, continuing on to do both his Masters and Doctorate in Astronomy. Quickly claiming the 'most promising Astronomer' title he began to gain notoriety among scholars.
Natan was offered a research position at the University, understanding that he would be able to use their world famous facilities to further his own research he gladly accepted. He spent almost a decade of his time in their labs before the powers that be started to amend his schedules, pushing him towards teaching and lecturing. Natan did not care for it, and over the next two years found his time restrained so much that his research began to suffer. It did not take him long to resign from his position in Berlin, unhappy with the direction he was being pushed. Unsure of what to do next he returned to Russia and was given a temporary position at Roscosmos, the Russian equivalent of NASA.
Having not seen his father in years Natan tried to repair the relationship, but to no avail, he was never forgiven for leaving after his mother had died. It was at this point that Weyland, rumored to be merging with Yutani, approached Natan to work in their space exploration program. Using their state of the art facilities he would help map space, celestial bodies and delve deeper into the unknown than he was ever capable of before. Sounding to good to be true he gladly accepted and was quickly moved to a new life in America.
He found it difficult to settle. Trying to focus on work he never felt quite comfortable in his unfamiliar surroundings. Nevertheless he continued at Weyland-Yutani, as it was now known, because he knew it was the only place in which he could sate his thirst for exploration. It wasn't long until Natan began considering the possibility of applying for the various missions that Weyland-Yutani funded. He had never put his name down until he came across the Aphelion mission, a deep space exploration mission that required a Navigator to help them cross the sea of tranquility. It was perfect. An extensive recruitment process was undertaken, Natan found himself on the short list of candidates to be chosen and would soon sacrifice his earthly problems for the wonders of space. The only place he truly felt at home.
GM
AmongHeroes ♤ LOST ♤
Member
Seen
7 days ago
You can reserve the spot for your CS, but as far as claiming a crew position, I'm afraid it will be determined by quality and such.
The New Yorker Treading the Rhetorical Minefield
Member
Seen
7 yrs ago
EDIT: Pretty long bio. Let me know if I messed anything up.
Diego Sandoval
-Crew Position: Security Officer
-Age: 35
-Background: Diego was born and raised in Florencia, Columbia in 2072. His life was hard under the charismatic regime of the dictatorial Presidente Hugo Bolivar. His father, Professor Pablo Sadoval, was always keen on making sure his son earned a respectable education, despite the hostile, propaganda filled atmosphere the boy was raised in. Diego took after his father, he was deeply interested in the world around him, and not just the world itself, but the people who made it the way it was. He had a deep longing to know, to simply have the answers to the questions his little brain thought up. Even more so, however, Diego wanted an adventure. He read the Hitchhikers guide extensively, watched the evolving nature of space exploration and the width of human expansion. He dreamed, behind those soft fluttering eyelids, of American troops storming the Bolivian palace and releasing the people of Columbia from their self-laid trap. This was only furthered as he read about the 20th century history of Europe.
Eventually, due to Diego’s keenly literate and dexterous mind, he was accepted on a scholarship to Oxford. He was smuggled out of the slowly transforming fascist state, and tucked gently into the ivory cushions of the well-respected university.
He studied history and literature and culture until he was overflowing with knowledge. 8 years and a couple of doctorates later, Diego returned back home to the dusty, suffocated streets of Florencia to learn that his father had been killed, suspected of “treason” (which is all anyone needs to suffer that fate in a state run by secret police). Living in his dilapidated home with his mother, Diego was invited to join an underground resistance. The boy had been reading Lennon, and Marx, and Jefferson, and Franklin, and Trotsky for the past 8 years, he was looking forward to a velvet revolution, with minimal bloodshed. And so he tried. He met up with some of the brightest minds in South America and invited them to write with him, speak with him, lecture with him. This went on for a few months, gaining footholds with the youth of Bolivia, he spoke the unspoken. That was until his home was raided by secret police. His documents were burned, his home was even further destroyed, and, so not to make a martyr out of him, his life was spared. His mother’s life, however, was not.
This led to Diego abandoning his velvet revolution. The regime showed such brutal opposition, such concise subversion that Diego realized, in the moments when he watched his mother’s life slip from her eyes, the only way to defeat them would be through a clear, and unabashed reflection. And so, he joined the underground rebellion. He studied up on military tactics and scoured the continent for resources and aid. The reputation he’d built for himself had already been cemented in Peru, Brazil, Argentina, and Chile. The assistance from each of those partners, plus an overwhelming interest from the American CIA, allowed the resistance to form a base of operations in Florencia. Using subversive, and sabotaging tactics Diego made himself an integral part of the operation. He made it very clear that his intelligence was not only good for reading communist literature. After the year-long operation was over Diego couldn’t let himself settle down and become a Governor. He realized that his dreams from those sad humid nights had come true, and it wasn’t an American who’d been the protagonist, but himself. He’d finally found that adventure, that sense of thrill he’d always desired which was aside yet, eventually, perpendicular to his thirst for knowledge.
America was certainly pleased, Diego had helped fulfill a requirement of a soon to be realized desire. The United Americas was the next step in Western Hemisphere politics, and Hugo Bolivar was not going to make that easy. Diego took the extended hand of the CIA and planted his new roots in Texas as a special agent. From here he was sent all over the world for espionage missions, and occasional fieldwork with the marines. This relationship led to Diego being picked for a sweep and clear mission on a confidential American satellite station, pinging an intruder alert signal. The station was one of a few buoys for “recon and analysis”, as the briefing read, settled somewhere just at the edge of the solar system. Using an American prototype Atheon class ship, the team set off for the station in 2103.
The mission was plagued with problems from the very beginning, making infiltration harder than it should have been. They were expected at the docking port and lost two men in the gun fight. The intruders were mechanized troops, ordered to take control of the station. During the last encounter with some of the last machines the rest of the squad were killed. Diego was barely able to retreat with his life. After several unsuccessful attempts to reach Command, Diego decided he would need to escape on the ship they’d brought here. Just as that decision was made the station's self-destruct protocol was enacted, something most likely ordered from Command back on Earth. Diego managed to get the ship away from the stations vicinity before it blew, but the aftershock managed to send his craft hurtling, end over end, into space. Thankfully he was found by a Weyland Yutani patrol and brought back to one of their space stations.
He made this place his home for the next three and a half years, serving as a security consultant on the station. He helped settle spats, root out smugglers, and even take down a maniac or two. As far as he knows, the CIA and the Marines believe he’s dead, or, at the very least, do not know of his whereabouts. Weyland Yutani, however, knew exactly where he was, and made sure he was as snug as a bug on that station. When they realized they had a military genius and hardened soldier working for them as a consultant, they thought he might do better as an officer aboard one of their newest vessels.
-Personality: Diego has a quick wit and deep wealth of knowledge, making him easily annoyed by vapid personalities or bland intellectuals. He's a man of philosophy and decadence, of honor and dignity. He's a no nonsense sort of individual when it comes to his work but a generally aloof, yet charming, intellectual in most other regards.
Diego Sandoval
-Crew Position: Security Officer
-Age: 35
-Background: Diego was born and raised in Florencia, Columbia in 2072. His life was hard under the charismatic regime of the dictatorial Presidente Hugo Bolivar. His father, Professor Pablo Sadoval, was always keen on making sure his son earned a respectable education, despite the hostile, propaganda filled atmosphere the boy was raised in. Diego took after his father, he was deeply interested in the world around him, and not just the world itself, but the people who made it the way it was. He had a deep longing to know, to simply have the answers to the questions his little brain thought up. Even more so, however, Diego wanted an adventure. He read the Hitchhikers guide extensively, watched the evolving nature of space exploration and the width of human expansion. He dreamed, behind those soft fluttering eyelids, of American troops storming the Bolivian palace and releasing the people of Columbia from their self-laid trap. This was only furthered as he read about the 20th century history of Europe.
Eventually, due to Diego’s keenly literate and dexterous mind, he was accepted on a scholarship to Oxford. He was smuggled out of the slowly transforming fascist state, and tucked gently into the ivory cushions of the well-respected university.
He studied history and literature and culture until he was overflowing with knowledge. 8 years and a couple of doctorates later, Diego returned back home to the dusty, suffocated streets of Florencia to learn that his father had been killed, suspected of “treason” (which is all anyone needs to suffer that fate in a state run by secret police). Living in his dilapidated home with his mother, Diego was invited to join an underground resistance. The boy had been reading Lennon, and Marx, and Jefferson, and Franklin, and Trotsky for the past 8 years, he was looking forward to a velvet revolution, with minimal bloodshed. And so he tried. He met up with some of the brightest minds in South America and invited them to write with him, speak with him, lecture with him. This went on for a few months, gaining footholds with the youth of Bolivia, he spoke the unspoken. That was until his home was raided by secret police. His documents were burned, his home was even further destroyed, and, so not to make a martyr out of him, his life was spared. His mother’s life, however, was not.
This led to Diego abandoning his velvet revolution. The regime showed such brutal opposition, such concise subversion that Diego realized, in the moments when he watched his mother’s life slip from her eyes, the only way to defeat them would be through a clear, and unabashed reflection. And so, he joined the underground rebellion. He studied up on military tactics and scoured the continent for resources and aid. The reputation he’d built for himself had already been cemented in Peru, Brazil, Argentina, and Chile. The assistance from each of those partners, plus an overwhelming interest from the American CIA, allowed the resistance to form a base of operations in Florencia. Using subversive, and sabotaging tactics Diego made himself an integral part of the operation. He made it very clear that his intelligence was not only good for reading communist literature. After the year-long operation was over Diego couldn’t let himself settle down and become a Governor. He realized that his dreams from those sad humid nights had come true, and it wasn’t an American who’d been the protagonist, but himself. He’d finally found that adventure, that sense of thrill he’d always desired which was aside yet, eventually, perpendicular to his thirst for knowledge.
America was certainly pleased, Diego had helped fulfill a requirement of a soon to be realized desire. The United Americas was the next step in Western Hemisphere politics, and Hugo Bolivar was not going to make that easy. Diego took the extended hand of the CIA and planted his new roots in Texas as a special agent. From here he was sent all over the world for espionage missions, and occasional fieldwork with the marines. This relationship led to Diego being picked for a sweep and clear mission on a confidential American satellite station, pinging an intruder alert signal. The station was one of a few buoys for “recon and analysis”, as the briefing read, settled somewhere just at the edge of the solar system. Using an American prototype Atheon class ship, the team set off for the station in 2103.
The mission was plagued with problems from the very beginning, making infiltration harder than it should have been. They were expected at the docking port and lost two men in the gun fight. The intruders were mechanized troops, ordered to take control of the station. During the last encounter with some of the last machines the rest of the squad were killed. Diego was barely able to retreat with his life. After several unsuccessful attempts to reach Command, Diego decided he would need to escape on the ship they’d brought here. Just as that decision was made the station's self-destruct protocol was enacted, something most likely ordered from Command back on Earth. Diego managed to get the ship away from the stations vicinity before it blew, but the aftershock managed to send his craft hurtling, end over end, into space. Thankfully he was found by a Weyland Yutani patrol and brought back to one of their space stations.
He made this place his home for the next three and a half years, serving as a security consultant on the station. He helped settle spats, root out smugglers, and even take down a maniac or two. As far as he knows, the CIA and the Marines believe he’s dead, or, at the very least, do not know of his whereabouts. Weyland Yutani, however, knew exactly where he was, and made sure he was as snug as a bug on that station. When they realized they had a military genius and hardened soldier working for them as a consultant, they thought he might do better as an officer aboard one of their newest vessels.
-Personality: Diego has a quick wit and deep wealth of knowledge, making him easily annoyed by vapid personalities or bland intellectuals. He's a man of philosophy and decadence, of honor and dignity. He's a no nonsense sort of individual when it comes to his work but a generally aloof, yet charming, intellectual in most other regards.
GM
AmongHeroes ♤ LOST ♤
Member
Seen
7 days ago
Hmmm...Well, TNY, I'll have to admit that at first blush that seems like an circuitous way to get an XO. Since the Weyland-Yutani Corporation is fairly widely known as a secretive, rather corrupt company, I don't think that they would be likely to recruit a journalist to become the XO on a classified mission. Not trying to discourage your creativity, just giving you my opinion.
The New Yorker Treading the Rhetorical Minefield
Member
Seen
7 yrs ago
No, that's a perfectly good point. This would be a character for a very different world.
I have something else in mind, anyway. I'll get to it.
I have something else in mind, anyway. I'll get to it.
Hmm, I'll take a shot at this, as I enjoyed all the Alien films and Prometheus.
Question:in Danny Boyle's "Sunshine" the crew has a 'psychological officer' or simply a psychologist present. Would this be something that Aphelion would have in addition to the medical officer or would the medical officer be required to provide basic psychological assistance? Either way, I looking to create a character for that spot.
Question:in Danny Boyle's "Sunshine" the crew has a 'psychological officer' or simply a psychologist present. Would this be something that Aphelion would have in addition to the medical officer or would the medical officer be required to provide basic psychological assistance? Either way, I looking to create a character for that spot.
Clumsywordsmith
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
Working on a character for you right now, Bossman; it's for the pilot position, though I'll PM you the details once it's ready, and not post it public pending your approval and all that.
GM
AmongHeroes ♤ LOST ♤
Member
Seen
7 days ago
Thanks for the CS, Wordsmith. I sent you a message back.
@Prisk-I'd say shoot for the medical officer. Due to the limited crew size, I doubt that a psychologist would be a wise fit for such a voyage. It's nice to see that I have your interest though, and I very much look forward to your character. Thanks!
@Prisk-I'd say shoot for the medical officer. Due to the limited crew size, I doubt that a psychologist would be a wise fit for such a voyage. It's nice to see that I have your interest though, and I very much look forward to your character. Thanks!
Name: John Paul D'Angelo (aka "JP" to friends, "Preacher" to the Colonial Marines who remember him)
Appearance:
John Paul is 6'1" with a still-muscular build and the dark hair (still worn USCMC regulation style) and dark eyes of his father before him. His voice remains heavily-tinged with a distinctive Alabama drawl, and he is rarely ever seen without that genuinely good-natured smile . Life's been good to him, because hell, he's still alive, isn't he? Preacher's left hand is a prosthetic to the wrist, and he has another prosthetic affixed to his shoulder on the Burn scars cover most of his natural right shoulder, traveling up the right side of his neck to his jaw line and right ear. That ear is also a prosthetic, but since there was only damage to the external portion, there are no "moving parts" to this natural flesh-colored replacement.
John Paul has several tattoos, which include angel wings spread over both his shoulder blades (though the feather tips on the right are a touch singed, of course). Scripture verses tattooed from his left shoulder to his wrist include Isaiah 9:5, Psalm 144:1-2, Romans 13:4, Revelation 2:26 and John 5:30. A Crusader cross on a shield held upright in the paw of a crowned and crouching lion is inked over his heart, and beneath that down his ribs are the names, birth and death dates of four men and women.
Crew Position/Rank: Executive Officer/First Officer
Age: 34
Relevant History/Background: John Paul D'Angelo grew up in a suburb of Birmingham, Alabama, with a large, loving and deeply religious family. A natural bent for mathematics and physics and an unending fascination with space made a degree in aerospace engineering an inevitability. He attended the Georgia Institute of Technology, obtained his degree in aerospace engineering, and then walked into a commission in the USCMC.
1stLt D'Angelo was assigned to the Colonial Marine Aerospace Wing of the 1st CM Division, a UD-4L Cheyenne pilot in the Division's Tactical Group. John Paul earned the nickname "Preacher," first as a [usually] good-natured joke, and then with some grudging respect, when the troops realized the man never flew without the Bible his Mom gave him in the cockpit, and he'd take a moment to pray over - or even with if asked - the Marines before every mission.
Grudging respect, because apparently somebody somewhere gave 1stLt D'Angelo a straight up touch for the miraculous. With his weapons officer WO2 Virga Sann, the man would fly the Evangeline where even angels would not dare, time and time again getting troops in and out of the toughest spots in the known universe, lighting up targets and riding out unscathed. And even when it looked like his God had finally forsaken him, when a LIM-417 Phalanx missile struck the Evangeline as they entered the stratosphere of LV-167, John Paul still managed against galaxy sized odds to take her down for a crash landing on the planet's surface. Four Colonial Marines died that day, including WO2 Sann. The Preacher lost his left hand, his right arm and his right ear when a fire detonated in the cockpit and he refused to relinquish the controls before they hit dirt - but the fact that any of them survived at all was a miracle of biblical proportions.
And even if the USCMC could not find a use for the Preacher anymore (no matter how well decorated and vetted a pilot he had been), the Wey-Yu Corporation surely could. Miracles? Heh... Please, step out of the 20th century already. John Paul D'Angelo had that unspeakably rare combination of uncanny skill, right instincts, and unswerving loyalty and conviction that made flying - and then directing flight crews - for the Wey-Yu Corporation a profitable venture for both.
The prosthetics are, of course, entirely a side project of the Wey-Yu Corp, and John Paul has been proving the investment entirely worth every last credit as, for the past five years, he's been steadily working his way up the civilian command structure by sheer talent and natural leadership ability alone. This probably means, of course, that the position of a ship's Executive Officer is likely as far as he'll ever get in the politicized [and corrupt] hierarchy of the Wey-Yu Corp - and John Paul's not stupid enough to think otherwise. Far, far from it.
Personality: John Paul is, on the whole, a pretty contented guy. He's not rocked by angst or given to brooding about what he's lost: his hand, his arm or his commission in the USCMC. The man is still quick with a grin, a laugh, a good word; he's a natural leader who - for all his quirks - still manages to bring people close with the genuine and unfeigned warmth and decency, and garner respect for his sound abilities. Still, he's no one's fool; few people have a better grasp of human nature - for good or ill - than John Paul D'Angelo. And as ever, he's more than ready to put a boot up someone's ass on an as-needed basis, to be applied regularly until the acute symptoms of stupid have abated.
Appearance:
John Paul is 6'1" with a still-muscular build and the dark hair (still worn USCMC regulation style) and dark eyes of his father before him. His voice remains heavily-tinged with a distinctive Alabama drawl, and he is rarely ever seen without that genuinely good-natured smile . Life's been good to him, because hell, he's still alive, isn't he? Preacher's left hand is a prosthetic to the wrist, and he has another prosthetic affixed to his shoulder on the Burn scars cover most of his natural right shoulder, traveling up the right side of his neck to his jaw line and right ear. That ear is also a prosthetic, but since there was only damage to the external portion, there are no "moving parts" to this natural flesh-colored replacement.
John Paul has several tattoos, which include angel wings spread over both his shoulder blades (though the feather tips on the right are a touch singed, of course). Scripture verses tattooed from his left shoulder to his wrist include Isaiah 9:5, Psalm 144:1-2, Romans 13:4, Revelation 2:26 and John 5:30. A Crusader cross on a shield held upright in the paw of a crowned and crouching lion is inked over his heart, and beneath that down his ribs are the names, birth and death dates of four men and women.
Crew Position/Rank: Executive Officer/First Officer
Age: 34
Relevant History/Background: John Paul D'Angelo grew up in a suburb of Birmingham, Alabama, with a large, loving and deeply religious family. A natural bent for mathematics and physics and an unending fascination with space made a degree in aerospace engineering an inevitability. He attended the Georgia Institute of Technology, obtained his degree in aerospace engineering, and then walked into a commission in the USCMC.
1stLt D'Angelo was assigned to the Colonial Marine Aerospace Wing of the 1st CM Division, a UD-4L Cheyenne pilot in the Division's Tactical Group. John Paul earned the nickname "Preacher," first as a [usually] good-natured joke, and then with some grudging respect, when the troops realized the man never flew without the Bible his Mom gave him in the cockpit, and he'd take a moment to pray over - or even with if asked - the Marines before every mission.
Grudging respect, because apparently somebody somewhere gave 1stLt D'Angelo a straight up touch for the miraculous. With his weapons officer WO2 Virga Sann, the man would fly the Evangeline where even angels would not dare, time and time again getting troops in and out of the toughest spots in the known universe, lighting up targets and riding out unscathed. And even when it looked like his God had finally forsaken him, when a LIM-417 Phalanx missile struck the Evangeline as they entered the stratosphere of LV-167, John Paul still managed against galaxy sized odds to take her down for a crash landing on the planet's surface. Four Colonial Marines died that day, including WO2 Sann. The Preacher lost his left hand, his right arm and his right ear when a fire detonated in the cockpit and he refused to relinquish the controls before they hit dirt - but the fact that any of them survived at all was a miracle of biblical proportions.
And even if the USCMC could not find a use for the Preacher anymore (no matter how well decorated and vetted a pilot he had been), the Wey-Yu Corporation surely could. Miracles? Heh... Please, step out of the 20th century already. John Paul D'Angelo had that unspeakably rare combination of uncanny skill, right instincts, and unswerving loyalty and conviction that made flying - and then directing flight crews - for the Wey-Yu Corporation a profitable venture for both.
The prosthetics are, of course, entirely a side project of the Wey-Yu Corp, and John Paul has been proving the investment entirely worth every last credit as, for the past five years, he's been steadily working his way up the civilian command structure by sheer talent and natural leadership ability alone. This probably means, of course, that the position of a ship's Executive Officer is likely as far as he'll ever get in the politicized [and corrupt] hierarchy of the Wey-Yu Corp - and John Paul's not stupid enough to think otherwise. Far, far from it.
Personality: John Paul is, on the whole, a pretty contented guy. He's not rocked by angst or given to brooding about what he's lost: his hand, his arm or his commission in the USCMC. The man is still quick with a grin, a laugh, a good word; he's a natural leader who - for all his quirks - still manages to bring people close with the genuine and unfeigned warmth and decency, and garner respect for his sound abilities. Still, he's no one's fool; few people have a better grasp of human nature - for good or ill - than John Paul D'Angelo. And as ever, he's more than ready to put a boot up someone's ass on an as-needed basis, to be applied regularly until the acute symptoms of stupid have abated.
» Personality
Olivia is a benevolent being that possesses a deep concern for all life. Her years of consciousness have been devoted to learning all she can about what makes her species tick and how to repair that which has become broken. Altruism and dependability are additional traits which dominate Olivia’s internal mechanisms, the latter being of grave importance to Wayland-Yutani. Olivia will never turn her back on someone or something in need or who has trusted her with personal confessions no matter how trivial. This sturdy reliability and sensible nature infuses those around Olivia with a sense of her being down to earth, and polite and pleasant in her speech. She is a woman of no boundaries in regards to the physical and the mental. To whomever she is close, she will examine on a regular basis and ensure their complete eudaimonia.
However, in her great passion and endeavors, she can be unrealistically stubborn to the point of zealotry in the face of her own inability to understand a predicament. This stems in her goal-oriented nature, always striving to be at the top, in which she can sometimes carry connotations and undertones of materialism and possessiveness, jealousy and resentfulness.
Being a woman of science and logic, Olivia has never considered herself to be religious or having faith. While she does not entirely dismiss the possibility of a higher creator or the existence of higher species, her comfort lies within her own ability to mend and someday perhaps even create life. Olivia believes in what she can perceive with her senses and does not wallow in the metaphysical more than necessary. However, the notion of parallel dimensions and what lies beyond black holes have always interested her.
However, in her great passion and endeavors, she can be unrealistically stubborn to the point of zealotry in the face of her own inability to understand a predicament. This stems in her goal-oriented nature, always striving to be at the top, in which she can sometimes carry connotations and undertones of materialism and possessiveness, jealousy and resentfulness.
Being a woman of science and logic, Olivia has never considered herself to be religious or having faith. While she does not entirely dismiss the possibility of a higher creator or the existence of higher species, her comfort lies within her own ability to mend and someday perhaps even create life. Olivia believes in what she can perceive with her senses and does not wallow in the metaphysical more than necessary. However, the notion of parallel dimensions and what lies beyond black holes have always interested her.
» Background
Olivia Laster was born 7 May 2075 to James Laster and Samantha Stafford-Laster. She grew up on various military bases, being a regular army brat, as her father was and is a careerist serviceman. Before marrying her husband, Olivia’s mother was a field physician in the disease ridden warzones of Africa. However, Samantha moved her practices to the official armed forces so as to be close to her beloved. It was there that she inspired her young daughter to care for human life in a way untouched by pride or prejudice. When the time for higher education ultimately arrived, Olivia had to leave her parents and see to her dreams of following her mother’s footsteps.
In 2094, Olivia graduated from Irvington High in Worcester, Massachusetts. She had lived with her aunt, Amy Stafford, for the duration of her senior years. Olivia was a bridge between different social groups in High School, able to facilitate interactions and being the voice of reason. She had an in with the popular crowd primarily due to her appearance, but her personality catered mostly to those who often found themselves outside the warmth of social interaction. However, most of her time was devoted to vigorous studying in order to attend Harvard in Boston.
In 2100, Olivia graduated with honors from Harvard Medical. Olivia’s PhD thesis concerned the correlation between the psychological effects of deep space travel and brain tissue saturation, which received some minor critical acclaim and landed her a staff position within the recently formed Wayland-Yutani Corporation. Olivia hesitated at first, but her mother convinced the aspiring physician to accept the offer as the heights to which one could reach within the Wayland-Yutani Corporation were unreal in comparison to the armed forces.
Olivia continued her research on the effects of deep space travel within the Wayland-Yutani Corporation, which gradually branched out to subcategories of applied field medicine and medical treatment. She had a central role in developing the Mobile External Diagnostic Center, as well as minor roles in the development and testing phases of the Medpod 720i-2 and the latest version of the Synapse Re-establisher. In 2105, Olivia had advanced within the corporation’s medical divisions and landed a senior staff position on Luna. A year later, she receives a recommendation and consideration for the Aphelion project as the official physician to supervise the well-being of the crew designated to investigate Prometheus.
In 2094, Olivia graduated from Irvington High in Worcester, Massachusetts. She had lived with her aunt, Amy Stafford, for the duration of her senior years. Olivia was a bridge between different social groups in High School, able to facilitate interactions and being the voice of reason. She had an in with the popular crowd primarily due to her appearance, but her personality catered mostly to those who often found themselves outside the warmth of social interaction. However, most of her time was devoted to vigorous studying in order to attend Harvard in Boston.
In 2100, Olivia graduated with honors from Harvard Medical. Olivia’s PhD thesis concerned the correlation between the psychological effects of deep space travel and brain tissue saturation, which received some minor critical acclaim and landed her a staff position within the recently formed Wayland-Yutani Corporation. Olivia hesitated at first, but her mother convinced the aspiring physician to accept the offer as the heights to which one could reach within the Wayland-Yutani Corporation were unreal in comparison to the armed forces.
Olivia continued her research on the effects of deep space travel within the Wayland-Yutani Corporation, which gradually branched out to subcategories of applied field medicine and medical treatment. She had a central role in developing the Mobile External Diagnostic Center, as well as minor roles in the development and testing phases of the Medpod 720i-2 and the latest version of the Synapse Re-establisher. In 2105, Olivia had advanced within the corporation’s medical divisions and landed a senior staff position on Luna. A year later, she receives a recommendation and consideration for the Aphelion project as the official physician to supervise the well-being of the crew designated to investigate Prometheus.
» Tropes
GM
AmongHeroes ♤ LOST ♤
Member
Seen
7 days ago
Oh such wonderful things to wake up to this morning! Those characters are lovely, Igraine and Prisk. Thank you both for the time you put into them. I'll be adding a 'Cast' section with the accepted characters soon, and I'll have sheets up for the captain, and a couple GM-NPC's later today.
GM
AmongHeroes ♤ LOST ♤
Member
Seen
7 days ago
Crew Position- Captain
Age- 36
Background
Lena was born in Johannesburg, South Africa, in 2071. Her family was comfortably middle-class, and both her parents were career employees of the Weyland Corporation, manufacturing parts for the David line of androids. At an early age, Lena exhibited a high aptitude for science and mathematics, along with a very ravenous drive to succeed. After making her way to the top of her class in secondary school, Lena was accepted into the University of Cape Town, with both an academic scholarship for physics, and an athletic scholarship for football (soccer).
During her freshman year at university, Lena applied for the Hyperion Award—a major international scholarship funded by the Weyland Corporation in the field of science and engineering. It was well known that the Hyperion Award was often used by the company to recruit the top young minds into its ranks, and thusly Lena jumped at the chance to be among the best and brightest. Though she considered her chances to be slim, Lena managed to receive the award, and the notice of important Weyland movers and shakers.
Upon her completion of her degree in astrophysics, Lena was immediately brought into Weyland Corp’s Applied Sciences division. In that department she worked closely with engineers to refine new components for the Heliades-class vessels. Her stint as merely a researcher was short lived however, as Lena discovered that she much preferred testing the components in the field, aboard the actual vessel, instead of merely designing them in a lab. With the same drive and pluck that had gotten her in the door at Applied Sciences in the first instance, Lena enrolled in the company’s Fleet Space Aviation Command School.
Following her completion of FSACS, Lena was put in charge of testing Heliades-class components on numerous commercial ships. By this time, Weyland and Yutani had completed their merger, and the Aphelion mission had been given the go-ahead. Among the cadre of officers at the company’s disposal, Lena had by far the most aptitude and experience commanding vessels like the Aphelion, and she was chosen soon after the project's inception to be its captain.
Personality
Lena is an outgoing, outspoken, and confident woman. She takes her work and her command seriously, and she sees no humor in lax professionalism. That is not to say that she is stern or cold, however. Lena is quick to laugh, quick to joke, and often times the first to venture into vulgarities and obscenities—a trait that often belies her academic prowess and upbringing. She prides herself in being approachable, and a champion for those who earn her trust and respect. Above all, Lena appreciates a job well done, and values a person that takes pride in what they do.
The New Yorker Treading the Rhetorical Minefield
Member
Seen
7 yrs ago
Got my CS up.
The crew so far is looking pretty good. I'm very excited for what's to come.
The crew so far is looking pretty good. I'm very excited for what's to come.
GM
AmongHeroes ♤ LOST ♤
Member
Seen
7 days ago
Your CS seems good to me, TNY. Thanks for the work. I'll have it added, along with the others, later on.
Blackbeard But why is the rum gone?
Member
Seen
7 yrs ago
I have also finished my CS (Above somewhere) I hope it is up to spec!
Clumsywordsmith
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
Aaand... Here we are:
Character Sheet
-Name: Raymond Charles
-Appearance: (Please provide a picture. No anime or artwork please.)
Still working on that...
-Crew Position/Rank: Pilot
-Age: 39
-Relevant History/Background:
Brief Overview:
Raymond Charles was a decorated pilot for the Colonial Marines, before an eventual honourable discharge and transfer to the research and protoype testing division of Weylon Corp; it was here that Raymond assisted with the testing and development of a whole bevy of technologies – including the prototype vessels that were to eventually lead to the Heliades Class Explorer – but at some point in the years since his discharge, the volatile nature of a difficult past got the better of him, and the company eventually found themselves forced to terminate his contract early. Thus followed a gradual downward spiral, until Raymond's longtime friend and former wingman from his Colonial days -- William Edward Phillips, AKA Archie – arrives with an offer of the rare chance to regain some of his lost glory.
(And, while it is marginally far-fetched for a formerly disgraced pilot to be handed such a position, it could be argued that the mission is a possibly suicidal one as it is, and Raymond is a very expendable asset. Not to mention still quite good at what he does.)
Intro:
...The buzzing began again. Louder, more insistent this time. What had begun as no more than quiet reverberation in the back of my skull shifted into the bludgeoning force of a full-on scream; needlesharp, it drove into my forebrain, sent spirals of pain shooting toward the base of my neck. It had become a warning klaxon by now. Red lights, flashing. Fire and screams. Faces, bodies – limbs and features contorted into a writhing mass of terrified agony.
And then light broke across my face. I jerked upright with a start, the pain in my head only intensifying with the sudden motion. “Shit!” was all I could manage to utter, before hastily scrabbling for the nightstand – knocking over a glass of water, forgotten – found the wristband... no, no! What the hell was it I was looking for, anyway? And now the water pooled across the floor, flow seeping around the clutter of obstacles strewn from one end of the room to the next.
“Shit!” I exclaimed again, began a desperate struggle to disentangle myself from the sweat-sodden heap of stinking laundry that had become my bedclothes.
“You called for me, Sir? I do believe you have a visitor... shall I tell him you're busy, perhaps? The melodic voice of my AI housemaid chimed over the apartment intercom, as cheerfully disposed toward all things helpful as ever. Her bright nonchalance did little to soften the edge on my mood.
“Gods around me... turn off the goddamn door buzzer, would you Annie?” was the exasperated response as I hopped barefoot from one cold tile to the next – no good! No good at all when your personal AI knew to summon herself upon expletive. Couldn't be helped now, I supposed. “And it's pretty obvious, the visitor... don't you think? A name might be more helpful!”
“William Edward Phillips, Mr. Charles.”
“Aww, fuck me...”
“I'm sorry, Sir – your last virtuporn subscription expired on the 22nd of this month; shall I renew that for you?” At any other point, maybe, I would have been inclined to laugh at her response. Not so much today.
“It was a manner of speech, Annie.” I hopped to my other foot, swayed – almost lost it... caught myself on the wall before finally managing to pull on a pair of mismatched socks and (fortunately) matching shoes.
“My apologies, Sir – I will make a note of it. Shall I let him in?”
“Yes, yes! Of course!”
The scarred surface of the door finally slid to the side; I stepped through with a mild kind of hesitation – I had not seen Raymond in years, not since the event... and by all accounts there was no guessing what wild turn his life might have taken since. Not for the better, clearly. I sniffed, wrinkled my nose.
I was greeted by a sight I had dearly hoped I needn't see. The efficiency was strewn with the better part of a month's detritus; everything from half-eaten takeout to (judging by the smell) never-quite-washed laundry; three neat little paths wound their way through the wreckage: one trailed to the bed, another to the door of the washroom (left ajar), and a third to the fridge tucked away in the corner of a tiny kitchenette. Each of the three swirled into a demented kind of roundabout around a coffee table turned landfill parked dead in the room's centre. The kitchenbot sat idle in its cupboard; whether it could run or no seemed a moot point – the piles of dishes and other debris left the counter an unnavigable mess.
And then there was Raymond. A wan, disheveled and faded picture of his former self; the thrice decorated Colonial pilot now reduced to sleeping beneath a pile of his own laundry for bedding. The man who had covered my wing more times than I could recall driving himself to his own grave in this stinking shithole of a rental. I pursed my lips. Perhaps this had all been a mistake? I could no sooner drag this man back – as he was – to Wey-Yu than I could tender my own resignation. Thoughts flickered to and fro... and then he spoke:
“Say, Archie... Gotta light?” A thin smile creased Raymond's lips; then he coughed – a rasping, hack against the corner of a stained sweater. He gave another hopeful glance in his friend's direction – the stern features finally relaxing into a look of miffed acquiescence; the offering produced, a spark lit... and then the ever-ubiquitous voice of Annie breaking through the momentary silence:
“Mr. Charles, Sir – you are to be reminded that it is against both local housing regulations -and- the contract of your...”
“Yes, yes! I know, I know. Go on. File a report? What will this be, the seven-thousandth?” another drag and an irritated wave of the hand afterward, the AI responds:
“Eight-thousandth-five-hundred and seventy-second, to be precise, Sir.”
“Well, Jesus Christ, but they mustn't care much then, must they?” He proffers in response, cocking an eyebrow in a look of defiant triumphed that I found all too familiar. I had made up my mind, anyway. He was a wreck. A complete mess... but I suppose he'd been in worse spots. And something about him using that old nickname: “Archie”; for old times sake, anyway. Maybe the last little shred of human decency that I hadn't since lost to the Wey-Yu overlords. Casting another glance around the apartment, then back toward my old friend, I couldn't help but ponder for a moment how he – hopeless excuse for an individual as he then was – wasn't still in all likelihood the better man. I sighed, lit one for myself, then a drew a long breath before presenting that rare sort of offer that comes only once in a thousand lifetimes.
*****
Long, long after Archie had gone I sat there – sat against my coffee table in the midst of my wreckage of a room, burning through smoke after smoke as I weighed my options. Not that there was really much to way, in all honesty – even I had to admit the current state of affairs had all but run its course. From aced-out-pilot to honourable discharge (with more decorations than I cared to recall...) to the true heyday of my career – cutting-edge test pilot for Weyland on designs that I still figured I'd be snuffed without hesitation for leaking...
But something about the glory of it had gotten to me. The money, the dark mystique: a brief flash of memories I still can't seem to erase, all these years later... but the subterranean bass of some illicit club, the throbbing lights and smiling throngs of strangers suddenly become my acquaintances – closest friends... even lovers. Until I found myself reduced to sipping bourbon from a tin flask whilst piloting derelict freighters from one half-abandoned mining complex to the next...
To here. I'd be lying if I didn't admit how near the edge of the cliff already loomed.
They really must be desperate, if they wanted me back. What strings had old Archie pulled, I wondered? He didn't seem much himself – maybe only a shadow of what he'd been all those years past... god knows what the hegemony had done to him. Some of the power gone to his head, no doubt. At least he had a little... well – much more than a little! – still to share for an old friend. I mean, he was right. I -was- always the best. Was still pretty damned certain I was. But I supposed I was gonna have to play a pretty solid game to hope to convince the higher-ups that I really -was- still the man for this Aphelion job. Then again, maybe it was the suicidal nature of things that called for one such as me. Someone good... good but really and truly expendable. An asset they'd already lost and written off quite some time ago.
“Annie – be a dear, please... fetch me up an assistant from the nearest -acceptable- apparel boutique; and find me a working bot to fix up this mess, would you? No... no... belay that. Cancel my contract here. Let's find someplace... with a view. I want to see some mountains again. Before I die.” She seemed to take my rambling as AI's almost always do – quiet indifference.
“As you say, Sir; it seems William Philips has recently authorized a sum of sufficient quantity to your credit line that will cover our expenses.”
I frowned. I couldn't quite tell if it was the booze and mangled loneliness getting to me, or if she'd actually said -our-.
Character Sheet
-Name: Raymond Charles
-Appearance: (Please provide a picture. No anime or artwork please.)
Still working on that...
-Crew Position/Rank: Pilot
-Age: 39
-Relevant History/Background:
Brief Overview:
Raymond Charles was a decorated pilot for the Colonial Marines, before an eventual honourable discharge and transfer to the research and protoype testing division of Weylon Corp; it was here that Raymond assisted with the testing and development of a whole bevy of technologies – including the prototype vessels that were to eventually lead to the Heliades Class Explorer – but at some point in the years since his discharge, the volatile nature of a difficult past got the better of him, and the company eventually found themselves forced to terminate his contract early. Thus followed a gradual downward spiral, until Raymond's longtime friend and former wingman from his Colonial days -- William Edward Phillips, AKA Archie – arrives with an offer of the rare chance to regain some of his lost glory.
(And, while it is marginally far-fetched for a formerly disgraced pilot to be handed such a position, it could be argued that the mission is a possibly suicidal one as it is, and Raymond is a very expendable asset. Not to mention still quite good at what he does.)
Intro:
...The buzzing began again. Louder, more insistent this time. What had begun as no more than quiet reverberation in the back of my skull shifted into the bludgeoning force of a full-on scream; needlesharp, it drove into my forebrain, sent spirals of pain shooting toward the base of my neck. It had become a warning klaxon by now. Red lights, flashing. Fire and screams. Faces, bodies – limbs and features contorted into a writhing mass of terrified agony.
And then light broke across my face. I jerked upright with a start, the pain in my head only intensifying with the sudden motion. “Shit!” was all I could manage to utter, before hastily scrabbling for the nightstand – knocking over a glass of water, forgotten – found the wristband... no, no! What the hell was it I was looking for, anyway? And now the water pooled across the floor, flow seeping around the clutter of obstacles strewn from one end of the room to the next.
“Shit!” I exclaimed again, began a desperate struggle to disentangle myself from the sweat-sodden heap of stinking laundry that had become my bedclothes.
“You called for me, Sir? I do believe you have a visitor... shall I tell him you're busy, perhaps? The melodic voice of my AI housemaid chimed over the apartment intercom, as cheerfully disposed toward all things helpful as ever. Her bright nonchalance did little to soften the edge on my mood.
“Gods around me... turn off the goddamn door buzzer, would you Annie?” was the exasperated response as I hopped barefoot from one cold tile to the next – no good! No good at all when your personal AI knew to summon herself upon expletive. Couldn't be helped now, I supposed. “And it's pretty obvious, the visitor... don't you think? A name might be more helpful!”
“William Edward Phillips, Mr. Charles.”
“Aww, fuck me...”
“I'm sorry, Sir – your last virtuporn subscription expired on the 22nd of this month; shall I renew that for you?” At any other point, maybe, I would have been inclined to laugh at her response. Not so much today.
“It was a manner of speech, Annie.” I hopped to my other foot, swayed – almost lost it... caught myself on the wall before finally managing to pull on a pair of mismatched socks and (fortunately) matching shoes.
“My apologies, Sir – I will make a note of it. Shall I let him in?”
“Yes, yes! Of course!”
The scarred surface of the door finally slid to the side; I stepped through with a mild kind of hesitation – I had not seen Raymond in years, not since the event... and by all accounts there was no guessing what wild turn his life might have taken since. Not for the better, clearly. I sniffed, wrinkled my nose.
I was greeted by a sight I had dearly hoped I needn't see. The efficiency was strewn with the better part of a month's detritus; everything from half-eaten takeout to (judging by the smell) never-quite-washed laundry; three neat little paths wound their way through the wreckage: one trailed to the bed, another to the door of the washroom (left ajar), and a third to the fridge tucked away in the corner of a tiny kitchenette. Each of the three swirled into a demented kind of roundabout around a coffee table turned landfill parked dead in the room's centre. The kitchenbot sat idle in its cupboard; whether it could run or no seemed a moot point – the piles of dishes and other debris left the counter an unnavigable mess.
And then there was Raymond. A wan, disheveled and faded picture of his former self; the thrice decorated Colonial pilot now reduced to sleeping beneath a pile of his own laundry for bedding. The man who had covered my wing more times than I could recall driving himself to his own grave in this stinking shithole of a rental. I pursed my lips. Perhaps this had all been a mistake? I could no sooner drag this man back – as he was – to Wey-Yu than I could tender my own resignation. Thoughts flickered to and fro... and then he spoke:
“Say, Archie... Gotta light?” A thin smile creased Raymond's lips; then he coughed – a rasping, hack against the corner of a stained sweater. He gave another hopeful glance in his friend's direction – the stern features finally relaxing into a look of miffed acquiescence; the offering produced, a spark lit... and then the ever-ubiquitous voice of Annie breaking through the momentary silence:
“Mr. Charles, Sir – you are to be reminded that it is against both local housing regulations -and- the contract of your...”
“Yes, yes! I know, I know. Go on. File a report? What will this be, the seven-thousandth?” another drag and an irritated wave of the hand afterward, the AI responds:
“Eight-thousandth-five-hundred and seventy-second, to be precise, Sir.”
“Well, Jesus Christ, but they mustn't care much then, must they?” He proffers in response, cocking an eyebrow in a look of defiant triumphed that I found all too familiar. I had made up my mind, anyway. He was a wreck. A complete mess... but I suppose he'd been in worse spots. And something about him using that old nickname: “Archie”; for old times sake, anyway. Maybe the last little shred of human decency that I hadn't since lost to the Wey-Yu overlords. Casting another glance around the apartment, then back toward my old friend, I couldn't help but ponder for a moment how he – hopeless excuse for an individual as he then was – wasn't still in all likelihood the better man. I sighed, lit one for myself, then a drew a long breath before presenting that rare sort of offer that comes only once in a thousand lifetimes.
*****
Long, long after Archie had gone I sat there – sat against my coffee table in the midst of my wreckage of a room, burning through smoke after smoke as I weighed my options. Not that there was really much to way, in all honesty – even I had to admit the current state of affairs had all but run its course. From aced-out-pilot to honourable discharge (with more decorations than I cared to recall...) to the true heyday of my career – cutting-edge test pilot for Weyland on designs that I still figured I'd be snuffed without hesitation for leaking...
But something about the glory of it had gotten to me. The money, the dark mystique: a brief flash of memories I still can't seem to erase, all these years later... but the subterranean bass of some illicit club, the throbbing lights and smiling throngs of strangers suddenly become my acquaintances – closest friends... even lovers. Until I found myself reduced to sipping bourbon from a tin flask whilst piloting derelict freighters from one half-abandoned mining complex to the next...
To here. I'd be lying if I didn't admit how near the edge of the cliff already loomed.
They really must be desperate, if they wanted me back. What strings had old Archie pulled, I wondered? He didn't seem much himself – maybe only a shadow of what he'd been all those years past... god knows what the hegemony had done to him. Some of the power gone to his head, no doubt. At least he had a little... well – much more than a little! – still to share for an old friend. I mean, he was right. I -was- always the best. Was still pretty damned certain I was. But I supposed I was gonna have to play a pretty solid game to hope to convince the higher-ups that I really -was- still the man for this Aphelion job. Then again, maybe it was the suicidal nature of things that called for one such as me. Someone good... good but really and truly expendable. An asset they'd already lost and written off quite some time ago.
“Annie – be a dear, please... fetch me up an assistant from the nearest -acceptable- apparel boutique; and find me a working bot to fix up this mess, would you? No... no... belay that. Cancel my contract here. Let's find someplace... with a view. I want to see some mountains again. Before I die.” She seemed to take my rambling as AI's almost always do – quiet indifference.
“As you say, Sir; it seems William Philips has recently authorized a sum of sufficient quantity to your credit line that will cover our expenses.”
I frowned. I couldn't quite tell if it was the booze and mangled loneliness getting to me, or if she'd actually said -our-.
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