Sounds delightful! I'd love to be a part of this :) .
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In
The Institute: A Sci Fi Story About The Supporting Cast
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6 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
Also rather interested in this :) .
In
Municipal Darwinism: A Traction Cities NRP (Open and Accepting!)
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7 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Roleplay
Working on my sheet :) . Vienna will rise again!
A few more people might join up when the actual OOC is posted, you never know :) .
Michi contented herself with reading the file that had been given to her, her face carefully kept mildly interested as she read. Subtler than a poker-face, the expressionless mask that revealed much of what its producer aimed so desperately to hide, a beacon to those who knew how to read faces.
The scowl at the hadean red shades of 'CLASSIFIED' and the redacted material, for instance, made no impression on her serene exterior; secrets were irritating. Perhaps, next time, a little money and a few favours in the right places might open some unofficial channels.
After all, preparation and planning were nine-tenths of victory, and being crippled by secret objectives wasn't helpful. Something to think on, certainly, and to definitely not mention to Captain Fietmaal.
“Two things, if I may, sir, before I check on Kaiserin's shells and make ready? First, is the truck itself important in some way, Captain Dawn?” she asked, after a respectful interval, carefully closing up her own file. “I merely wonder if the VIP – no point in blurting out identities, even here - might be safer inside one of our vehicles, such as Captain Fietmaal's tank, for added protection.” She waited a beat, and then continued. “Second – I appreciate that details are sketchy, but do we know the size of the package we're to collect, sir? Is it something that can fit in the palm of a hand, or large enough to need a low-loader for transportation?”
Michi hoped, vaguely and without much in the way of expectation, for the former – a nice, simple, easy package that any one of them could easily carry, deep inside the armoured hull of their Valkinai. Maybe even a memory stick or a set of storage drives, perhaps with vital research data that, whilst important, wouldn't take up much space or leave them reliant on civilian equipment for transport.
Getting bogged down whilst transporting precious equipment was, after all, an ambusher's dream – a stationary target that forced its defenders onto the back foot. The defense had to be lucky every time, whilst the attackers only needed one chance.
It wasn't a comforting thought, even if Kaiserin's targeting systems could triangulate rapidly and accurately and her hellbore battery rain down fire and brimstone.
The scowl at the hadean red shades of 'CLASSIFIED' and the redacted material, for instance, made no impression on her serene exterior; secrets were irritating. Perhaps, next time, a little money and a few favours in the right places might open some unofficial channels.
After all, preparation and planning were nine-tenths of victory, and being crippled by secret objectives wasn't helpful. Something to think on, certainly, and to definitely not mention to Captain Fietmaal.
“Two things, if I may, sir, before I check on Kaiserin's shells and make ready? First, is the truck itself important in some way, Captain Dawn?” she asked, after a respectful interval, carefully closing up her own file. “I merely wonder if the VIP – no point in blurting out identities, even here - might be safer inside one of our vehicles, such as Captain Fietmaal's tank, for added protection.” She waited a beat, and then continued. “Second – I appreciate that details are sketchy, but do we know the size of the package we're to collect, sir? Is it something that can fit in the palm of a hand, or large enough to need a low-loader for transportation?”
Michi hoped, vaguely and without much in the way of expectation, for the former – a nice, simple, easy package that any one of them could easily carry, deep inside the armoured hull of their Valkinai. Maybe even a memory stick or a set of storage drives, perhaps with vital research data that, whilst important, wouldn't take up much space or leave them reliant on civilian equipment for transport.
Getting bogged down whilst transporting precious equipment was, after all, an ambusher's dream – a stationary target that forced its defenders onto the back foot. The defense had to be lucky every time, whilst the attackers only needed one chance.
It wasn't a comforting thought, even if Kaiserin's targeting systems could triangulate rapidly and accurately and her hellbore battery rain down fire and brimstone.
And Pittsburgh really will be the pits...
Haha, I know what you mean! It is a shame that Philip Reeve wasn't able to get a publisher for Mortal Engines as he originally envisaged it; he had to cut out a lot of things to make it child-accessible, apparently.
American...behemoths...
Ready the airfleet!
American...behemoths...
Ready the airfleet!
Ah, I see academic rivalry on the horizon :) . Such fun! Sniping over College Council minutes, bickering over High Table, cannonfire broadsides and daring airship raids.
@PentagonWhite, will we have to contend with the Anti-Traction League at all?
@PentagonWhite, will we have to contend with the Anti-Traction League at all?
Ah, fantastic! I loved the Mortal Engines books, and I think it will make a superb setting :) . Definitely interested in taking the helm of one of these vast behemoths.
“My apologies, Captain,” Michi replied after a long moment, the queasiness of the unknown and the unexpected twisting her stomach and roaring in her ears. The man's eating habits weren't helping, either, and she closed her eyes for a long moment. Fortunately, she could hardly get any paler – but the grapefruit, half-eaten in front of her, looked distinctly less appealing, and even its smell, normally a divine temptation, soured. Carefully – almost too carefully, the exquisite precision of someone fighting their own senses – she laid down her spoon and blotted her lips with the napkin.
“I do not like the unknown, and I find myself...out of sorts...as a consequence.” A half-smile, one side of her mouth quirking upwards for a split-second. “Once I know the why of our deployment, things will improve. If-” she had been about to enquire after his cybernetics, a distraction from her own stomach and his...basic...table manners both, when the shriek of a microphone cut through the air and the order to report to the bridge came through, deep and sonorous.
If Michi had thought that Gregory had eaten quickly before, now he was a man possessed, powering through his food at an alarming rate and then all-but throwing his plate, bowl, cup and cutlery together and neatly slotting them into one of the racks before leaving at a march she would be hard-pressed to keep up with.
His cybernetics might have been ugly, but they were functional. In fact, they functioned very well, given the turn of speed the big man had put on. With a faint sigh, Michi pushed herself up from the table and went through the same motions as the captain, although at a rather more sedate speed. Not slow, exactly, but certainly not Gregory's inhuman pace either.
The bridge of the carrier was an impressive sight, a sweeping horseshoe of consoles filling the air with light and information as impeccably-uniformed UNF sailors and soldiers paced between them, discussing in low, earnest tones their duties and data and a million and one other things, all the myriad little details that went into keeping tens of thousands of tons of metal flying serenely above the ocean, in total contrast to its natural state. Even during the graveyard shift, the bridge barely changed; vital jobs had to be done, and machines cared little for the hour or for human failings and foibles like sleep and relaxation.
Unusually for the hour, however, and a sign that things were out-of-the-ordinary, the captain of the carrier himself was on deck, looking as fresh as a daisy and sipping coffee with every air of nonchalance whilst two others – her colleagues, in point of fact – stood at attention in front of him, ready and waiting to receive the briefing.
“Lieutenant Maganza reporting in, Captain Dawn,” she said crisply in her turn, salute flawless and body braced at parade-ground attention, fresh from the drill squares of the Royal College. Her eyes drifted idly over the files at his left, but she was skilled enough to keep her gaze quick and disinterested, allowing it to pass over them to gaze at the screens showing the carrier's progress through iron-gray clouds that were grossly pregnant with rain.
She returned her attention rapidly to his face, however, keenly interested to see his reaction and for any further information that might be forthcoming.
“I do not like the unknown, and I find myself...out of sorts...as a consequence.” A half-smile, one side of her mouth quirking upwards for a split-second. “Once I know the why of our deployment, things will improve. If-” she had been about to enquire after his cybernetics, a distraction from her own stomach and his...basic...table manners both, when the shriek of a microphone cut through the air and the order to report to the bridge came through, deep and sonorous.
If Michi had thought that Gregory had eaten quickly before, now he was a man possessed, powering through his food at an alarming rate and then all-but throwing his plate, bowl, cup and cutlery together and neatly slotting them into one of the racks before leaving at a march she would be hard-pressed to keep up with.
His cybernetics might have been ugly, but they were functional. In fact, they functioned very well, given the turn of speed the big man had put on. With a faint sigh, Michi pushed herself up from the table and went through the same motions as the captain, although at a rather more sedate speed. Not slow, exactly, but certainly not Gregory's inhuman pace either.
The bridge of the carrier was an impressive sight, a sweeping horseshoe of consoles filling the air with light and information as impeccably-uniformed UNF sailors and soldiers paced between them, discussing in low, earnest tones their duties and data and a million and one other things, all the myriad little details that went into keeping tens of thousands of tons of metal flying serenely above the ocean, in total contrast to its natural state. Even during the graveyard shift, the bridge barely changed; vital jobs had to be done, and machines cared little for the hour or for human failings and foibles like sleep and relaxation.
Unusually for the hour, however, and a sign that things were out-of-the-ordinary, the captain of the carrier himself was on deck, looking as fresh as a daisy and sipping coffee with every air of nonchalance whilst two others – her colleagues, in point of fact – stood at attention in front of him, ready and waiting to receive the briefing.
“Lieutenant Maganza reporting in, Captain Dawn,” she said crisply in her turn, salute flawless and body braced at parade-ground attention, fresh from the drill squares of the Royal College. Her eyes drifted idly over the files at his left, but she was skilled enough to keep her gaze quick and disinterested, allowing it to pass over them to gaze at the screens showing the carrier's progress through iron-gray clouds that were grossly pregnant with rain.
She returned her attention rapidly to his face, however, keenly interested to see his reaction and for any further information that might be forthcoming.
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