Canceled RP

[Achesia]

CANCELED

[Meinkraft]

In a Tidal-Locked Orbit around Halivara, Halivara system, Lawless Space

“Sir, the last shipment planetside for this month has departed.” came the gruff, yet smooth and calculated voice of Captain Kemp's robotic AI assistant.

“Thank you, ALAN.” replied the Captain. As of this moment, the duo was briskly moving down a wide hallway, made of smoothed steel and chrome. It was kept nigh spotless by maintenance crews with buffer wheels and anti-rusting agents, so the diamond plated floor seemed to reflect the fluorescent lighting from above. This was Sector Four, District 11, Zone 11, a service corridor that provided a connection to the cargo bays dozens of decks below. Along the hall were gunmetal grey doors that contained the quarters for utility staff. In here, austerity was enforced.

Captain Tartan Kemp, a man of thirty-five and tall stature, wore his grey uniform with gold epaulets and shoulder marks, which indicated his significant position. He held his peaked cap in his hands, which revealed his head of thick brown hair, which accented the piercing green eyes he maintained. This was the sixth year of his rule onboard Catharsis, and he ran a tight ship, just like hundreds of his predecessors before him. When the last Captain died, he was chosen to lead the people based on a rigorous occupational exam he had taken when he was sixteen. A perfect score for Leadership, the likes of which having not been seen in centuries. Of course, referencing these documents, the Overseers unanimously chose him to lead. Fourteen months ago, he became the last voyage captain, after the Catharsis began orbit around the desert planet Halivara, ending the over-millennia long journey.

Beside him strolled ALAN, Kemp's personal AI. He was the size of a small refrigerator—about a meter and a half tall, 18 inches in depth, and almost a meter wide. Made of four matte grey pillars, he moved as a quadrupedal, as if he were a man on crutches. On the pillar that was second to the left was a screen which displayed notes Captain Kemp had taken as well as various processes being performed by the CPU at any given time. Emblazoned and engraved in simple orange lettering, on the same leg, was the unit's name, ALAN. Every officer on the Catharsis was assigned one of these units upon graduation of the soldier into the leadership role. Every one of them had a four letter naming scheme, and they served an advisory position aboard. ALAN had been with Kemp ever since he'd graduated, eleven years ago.

The duo were reaching the end of the corridor, where a massive blast door blocked the path. There was a lone soldier on duty near a keypad on the wall. He wore the standard onboard working uniform, which was a bright orange jumpsuit with black steel-toed boots. He spotted the Captain and immediately snapped to attention, partly out of fear, and partly out of respect.

“At ease, Engineer,” Kemp ordered calmly, “Open the door.”

The engineer relaxed his posture, sighed, and punched in a code on the wall-mounted keypad. Behind him, the blast door hissed and trundled open, retreating into the wall. Getting back into position, he saluted as Captain Kemp and ALAN moved past.

The hallway opened onto a large greenspace. A cobblestone path led through what could be considered a park. The grass was fake, of course, but it looked so real. Currently, it was approaching midnight onboard, and the expansive ceiling was retracted to reveal a skylight which let in the illumination of distant stars. As well, faux gas lanterns lined the path casting a soft glow. The door shunted closed behind the duo, cutting off the harsh, fluorescent light from the corridor. This was Sector 5, the capital of Catharsis.

Briskly heading past benches, trash receptacles, and other park installations, Kemp and his assistant eventually cross a large, empty plaza, and enter a building built in a style that hadn’t been seen in thousands of years. This was the capital building, built in a neoclassical style. Four large pillars supported the front, which was made of steel with a brick texture layer. It looked quite lifelike, built into the hull of the ship.

Passing through the front door led into a hall of doors, at the end of which was the Captain’s Quarters. Despite the name, the Capital Building was not the de facto seat of government; Most decisions of importance were made in the Bridge, more than 20 levels up. This was just for posterity to the populace, since the Bridge was off-limits.

At this very moment, that is the place the Captain had on his mind. As he removed his coat and placed his hat on a rack, he sat in his desk chair.

“ALAN, patch me through to Command.”

“Of course, sir. One moment please.”

In exactly two seconds, he was in touch with the First Mate.

***

“There goes the last one!” remarked Operator Kalem Jergens.

“Yeah. Wish I could’ve joined the Planetary Militia. But my skills were ‘essential’ to Catharsis.” replied Operator Zam Marks.

Currently, the two were busy maintaining a section of paneling and watching the last cargo ship depart for planetside, shielded from the hostile conditions of space from within their cozy mech cockpits. Mechs required a delicate touch, dexterity and skill to use for any role, but maintenance especially. For this reason, Operators were idolized by the populace even above Pilots. They wore skintight, black and white spacesuits that hugged the body yet provided warmth and were surprisingly comfortable.

“How d’ya think people planetside are doin’?” asked Zam, her eyes and hands carefully focusing on using a massive welding torch.

“Hell if I know. I did hear that tons of the Outsiders are dying of a plague or someshit. No casualties our way, though. For now.” Kalem was also occupied, their mech holding the panel in place from drifting away.

“Maybe they’re sick of us already!” jested Zam, and the two of them shared a hushed chuckle.

“Yeah….still can’t believe we happened across civilization again. I remember when we got first contact. We were still in grade school, right?”

“Yeah. Honestly, my mother told me that we were the last humans ever. That the other seed ships didn’t make it. She kept going on about how we were the ‘chosen ones’ from some place called ‘Arth’ or somethin’. I love her, but sometimes she’s so senile!”

Kalem let their grip on the panel relax as the final corner was welded into place. That would do it for this quarter’s maintenance! And not a moment too soon. A blue light illuminated the cockpit, signalling an incoming communique from command. Of course, it'd be metaphorical suicide to ignore it, so Kalem double tapped the side of their helmet to respond. Zam did the same.

“This is Operator Jergens.”

A smooth, suave and crisp voice spoke with some urgency.

“Operators Jergens and Marks, once you're done with remedial work, please report to Hangar Seven. There will be a briefing there for all members of the Mechanical and Conventional forces.”

“Ayesah. May I inquire as to what the gathering will be about?”

“That is privileged information, Operator, you know that.” The voice sounded exasperated.

“...Right. We will be right over as soon as we land.”

“The briefing is in an hour. Captain’s orders.”