0006: NEW ARRIVAL BRIEFING

[crux_npcs]

Who: New Arrivals, Graham Baker
Where: Briefing Room
When: Late afternoon, Aprilo 1st
Warnings: None

When awakening, the immediate surroundings are swarming with activity. The people in the medical ward are polite and understanding, but firmly refuse to answer questions until the briefing. They move with a practiced efficiency, already veterans of this kind of thing. The same goes for the robots in the hangars. Either given hospital outfits resembling very comfortable pajamas, drone bodies, or their own bodies, they are escorted by polite, unyielding people in red and black uniforms to the briefing room.

The Briefing room is large. Not enough to accommodate a giant, but spacious enough for several dozen people. The tiles are black and featureless while the walls are nice, soothing colors. The chairs are high-backed and well-cushioned, more like comforting eggs floating a foot or so off the ground than anything else. Set into the ceiling and floor near the front is a large holographic projector. The floor in front of each seat also has a smaller projector, allowing people to see what the bigger device is showing without having to angle for a view. As of now, it merely displays a rotating pyramid.

Three Security personnel, dressed in their red and black uniforms, stand at ease in the rooms in strategic areas. One man stands at the head. Graham Baker, a middle-aged man showing the first signs of balding and wearing a wrinkled business suit, clasps his hands behind his back and smiles.

[Questions to the NPCs will go in the briefing thread. The rest of the post is there for people to mill about and do whatever with. The mods will not be doing hangar/medical awakenings unless it's specifically asked for.]

Comments

The Briefing

[crux_npcs]

Baker holds a single up to ward off any early questions or demands. When he speaks, it's in a language that isn't English, Japanese, or anything recognizable, but it still makes perfect sense. Much like the alien writing all over the place that shouldn't make sense, but does. "Please, hold your questions until we're done. I'm going to go through this once, but I'll go over something after that if you need me to. I ask that you pay attention to what everyone else is asking to keep us from hearing a lot of repeats. I'm sure you all want to know what's going on, so we'll just get down to business." The speech sounds memorized, despite the troubles he went through over the past few weeks to make it seem off the cuff.

"We, being myself and our Security personnel, represent the Confederacy of Inhabited Systems. We are the 43rd Scutum-Crux Fleet, consisting of a science vessel, two agricultural ships, and seven battleships. Our mission was to explore and found a new colony. This vessel is the Teuberg, a colony ready city-ship that is home to some five hundred thousand beings. And, though freakishly bad luck, you and many others." He bobs his head apologetically. "Bear with me, there's a point to this. Over one hundred years ago, we ran into a sixth-dimensional being who felt it would be amusing if it helped us 'explore' on the opposite side of the galaxy, dropping us into territory claimed by the Wadjit Empire. The Wadjit thought of us as thieves and declared war soon after. Right now, we're still officially at war with the Empire." The holo displays show their current position in the galaxy, with a large red splotch covering several thousand light years surrounding them. It's clearly labelled as the claimed territory of the Wadjit, and it's clear that they aren't getting out any time soon.

"Months ago, we tried an experimental new method for faster than light travel by means of folding space. It involved manipulation of multiple dimensions and an artificial gravity well, which, as you can probably guess, was rather risky." Graham pulls a small orb out of his pocket and aims it at the main display. Equations and proofs rotate slowly through it, intensely complex. "The experiment failed. Five hundred of our people died and you were dragged here from your relative universes and time periods. For which, we cannot apologize enough. Some of our greatest minds are working on a way to restore you to your rightful homes."

He paces a bit, just to get moving. "However, we don't have enough resources to support everyone if they aren't working. Fleet Admiral Bulsara has, therefore, ordered that all 'New Arrivals' have two months, which is sixty days, to adjust and find either employment, training, or registration for school. In return, you will be granted citizenship into the Confederacy until you can go home." Here, he pauses and adjusts his tie, frowning ever so slightly. "If you don't do so, he has ordered anyone who has not started work or training by the deadline to be, ah. Left on the nearest neutral space station or habitable planet. But I hope it won't come to that."

He coughs nervously and adjusts his tie. "We will supply you with temporary housing, fabricators to make food and clothing, a comm device, some money to get you started, while any training you need to perform in your chosen field will be provided for free. Again, you can find work in the civilian sector, join our civilian-run militia, enlist in the military, or go to school. If you were military in your own world, we will give you special 'guest' status, allowing you to keep your rank. However, you'll still need some training to familiarize yourselves with our tactics and weapons."

"Whatever your choice, you'll be able to register at the Renaissance Center. When you choose your communications device, it will have a map of the city, as well as instructions on how to get anywhere you want to go, and some information on public transportation. For paperwork's sake, the legal age for adulthood is your racial equivalent for sixteen years old. Until then, education is mandatory, whether it's in school or part of an apprenticeship somewhere. You'll have the option to test out of basic courses if you like, of course. No need to make you go over what you already know."

He smooths his jacket and clears his throat. "When you leave this room, your personal possessions can be signed for at the left. Any weapons will require a registration for a permit. You can find comm devices of several makes and models a little further down. These devices contact anyone on the Fleet, providing you have their communications code, supply you with maps and information, access our infonet and other information networks broadcast, and other functions that will be explained in a brief tutorial when you first activate and register your devices. They have a range of several hundred miles and can be in nearly any design you like." He pulls out an orb with several glowing lights. "I prefer the spherical models, but it's your choice. They have cubes, flip-tops, ones set on bracelets or bracers, small tablets... Really, it's your choice."

He pockets the device and folds his hands behind his back again. "In addition, we've already had several people wake up. We've included them on your commlinks, so you can skim through that to see if any of your friends or family were brought over with you."

He clasps the lapels of his jacket and beams, pleased with himself for not stumbling this time around. "Now! Any questions? I'll be glad to give what answers I can."

Pavel Chekov | Star Trek TOS

[commanderchekov]

[Chekov had many questions and the debriefing only answered a handful of them. He knew a lot of his questions would never be answered since they concerned his home world and his people. He tried to push those concerns to the side for now as he focused on trying to get his belongings back and his phaser.

The one thing he could say that this was all a familiar setting to him and he could quickly adjust to the ships rules and regulations. As soon as he had work the better. Immediately he signed up for the military and listed his rank and skills. The last thing he wanted to do was do civilian work or go back to school.

Warily he studied those around him trying not to be too obvious about it. The different cultures and races didn't bother him the least. It only made him more curious. He was actually hoping to find people from his own world, but tried not to get his hopes up too high.]

[sickbays]

[McCoy has to do a double take when he passes by the older gentleman, the uniform sticking out like a sore thumb, even though it was one he didn't recognize. What he did recognize, however, is the Starfleet insignia on the man's chest. That alone causes him to stop and study the man a bit closer.

He couldn't his finger on what it is exactly, but there's just something familiar about this man. Something in his mannerisms. Which is odd because McCoy is sure he's never seen him around before.

Who the hell knows. Might as well greet the poor sap before his starring becomes even more creepy.]

I take it you just got out of the briefing? [McCoy cups his hands behind his back, in a manner all to similar to his counterpart, the one that Chekov is more familiar with. He's got his military uniform on, and therefore no indication he's a member of Starfleet. McCoy's long since stashed that uniform away in a drawer, seeing as there's no need for it here.]

[commanderchekov]

Aye, I have, sir.

[Chekov turned at the voice and did a double take. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the other man standing before him. He seemed so familiar and at the same time he wasn't someone he recognized. It forced him to study the man more carefully to see why he was so familiar.

He must have been one to have woken up earlier and adjusted to the ship's ways. That much was apparent. As he was finishing filling out his form he discreetly looked at his comm. His eyes widened a bit when he saw a familiar name and quickly put the two together. He muttered softly 'How can this be?' in Russian and was even more confused.]

Perhaps, you can give me a bit of a tour of this place?

[Chekov suggested. He wasn't interested in exploring the ship, but what he wanted were answers. He wasn't going to break the prime directive in front of these people.]

[sickbays]

[McCoy quirks a brow when he hears the man muttering to himself, even if it all sounds indistinguishable to him. He makes no mention of it, however, because the newcomer is quick to ask him a question not more than a moment later. The doctor frowns at him.]

Do I look like some sort tour guide to you? [Word to the wise: Don't ever put Leonard McCoy on the welcoming committee. But he isn't about to just let this guy go wandering off by himself, not when he himself has some questions of his own to ask.

He clicks his tongue in annoyance.] Go outside and you'll get a better view of what this ship is like.

[Definitely not giving a tour, just leading him out to take his first steps into the city.]

slides in well hi hello fancy meeting you here

[totallytrustworthy]

[Defenition is everything when it comes to being from the same world. Or maybe it's perspective. Either way, Chloe makes her usual rounds with care, and Chekov is-- well, he's rather obvious isn't he? Shifting attention and curious glances.

She's got her hands low in the pockets of her trousers (about as innocuous as any approach will ever get) when she steps in at his side in the crowd.] Looking for someone?

Hello, we finally get to meet!

[commanderchekov]

[Chekov turned at the sound of her voice and gave a nod in acknowledgement.] Aye... although I have a feeling there will be a slim chance of finding someone from my home.

And you? Have you been here for sometime? [For all he knew she had woken up as well, but something told him that she had been here for a while.]

finally! :)

[totallytrustworthy]

More than most, less than some. But I know my way around the city well enough. [Chloe shrugs, slipping him as casual a smile as she can manage. Any mark that's looking for something-- or someone-- right off the bat is a mark she'll gladly stick to.] Anything about these people from your home that might set them apart from the rest of us?

[act_of_god]

Right now, Kelly is standing as close to an exit as she can get, eyeing the security guards, Graham Baker, and the others gathered there. She's already made one escape attempt, and seems like she's in the process of formulating a second. her body is tense, in part uncomfortable being on display without her armor as well as coiled to spring at the first sign of trouble.

Even out of armor, she's not exactly discreet; skirting just below seven feet, muscled and marked with precise lines of medical scarring. Her face is young, pale features, dark brown hair, and fierce blue eyes that flick to every corner of the room. She's listening to Baker's every word, expression shifting subtly as she processes it.

It could all be a lie; a brilliant fabrication by the Innies to keep their prisoners from rioting.

[commanderchekov]

[The girl's nervousness caught his attention fast. Warily, Chekov watched the young girl. He had noted her first attempt and had an idea that she was going to make another attempt. One would think she would have learned the first time it wouldn't work out.

If necessary he was prepared to grab her mainly so she wouldn't get hurt or hurt others in the process. Her actions naturally made him curious about her story. Chekov gave a small smile and tried to signal for her to come closer to him to sit down. Maybe if she could view him as a possible friend, she would relax more.]

[act_of_god]

[She catches his eye and gives him a startled expression. She certainly didn't trust that anymore than anything else around here. Still, even a lie from an enemy can give her more information than silence.

Kelly takes note of the security guards and Baker's general attitude before moving carefully over to sit by him, scooting her seat a fraction away from him. Nervous, ready for action, yes, but there's definitely a precision to her movements. For her size, she handles herself with a certain deftness and efficiency of movement.]

[She gives him an expectant look, waiting for him to break the silence before she gives up any information.]

[crux_npcs]

A squat little man steps towards the 7 foot tall woman, all beard and red hair and stubbiness, saying in a deep voice as he approaches her.

"Aren't you a little short for a Space Marine?"

[act_of_god]

She stares down at the little man with a faintly confused expression. Was he being funny? She knew she wasn't the tallest Spartan, like Jorge or Sam, but, well. She was nearly twice of this guy.

"Hasn't stopped me yet." There's a tension to her body that suggests her off-hand comment might be more of threat.

[crux_npcs]

"No doubt of that, no doubt of that." He says, sizing her up and stroking his beard.

"So why are y'with the recent awakees, were you working security on the ship or somethin?"

oops hi rude robot

[driftlock]

Hnf. So the last big stupid batch of big stupid arrivals had brought like every fraggin' genocidal Senator from Cybertron, which made him really doubt just how fraggin' 'coincidental' half this slag was.

So he's scanning for other Cybertronians. Which normally would be an easy job with all these short squishies, but he'd been shoved in a tiny noodlebot when he'd arrived, so he's got to look for those, too.

Too bad he's not real careful who he bumps into....

[act_of_god]

Kelly has a certain level of situational awareness that comes from early and intense training, and a personal agility that means nothing she does is accidental.

She dodges away from his bump, a hand going out to his shoulder to steady him and press him out of her personal space. She's staring at him with open curiosity, though; he was almost more of a familiar sight than the other 'squishies', considering she was much more comfortable in her robotic-reminiscent armor.

"Careful, there."

[sickbays]

[McCoy catches sight of the girl just as she leaves the briefing room, noticing her rigid posture with a quirked brow. Her height seems to surprise him more, especially when he comes walking up to her.]

Hey, nothing coming to get you. [A pause.] Yet.

[Today, he's dressed in his military uniform, the one designating that he's a member of the Crux Fleet. He doesn't act much like an officer, however, with that casual tone of voice and his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

He offers a tiny smirk.]

[act_of_god]

"I would say something already came and got me, considering I'm here." She casts an appraising eye on him, taking in the uniform. "What is the fleet's affiliation with the UNSC?"

[smallest]

He watched her escape attempt with his mouth open in shock. His mandibles twitched nervously for her. He did not want to see anyone hurt. Even though he understood her desire to leave, her actions seemed a little dangerous. All he could think to do was watch her. She looked as if she would try to escape again. What could he do then? If only he knew.

[act_of_god]

Best advice if she tried to escape again would be to just stay out of her way.

Which is probably good advice in general. She wasn't trained to work with others and right now isn't unconvinced she's been hijacked by the Insurrection - the enemies.

Then she catches Francœur watching her and everything changes. She doesn't attack - not yet - but her body immediately tracks through a quick series of subtle changes as her mind kicks into overdive; outwardly, her eyes widen, then narrow, she sucks in breath and holds it, and her body goes rigid with a slight shift in his direction. If she were to spring now, it would be at him.

But she stays any further movement. He looks like an Elite, one of the more dangerous species of aliens she'd been fighting with. He's not acting like an Elite, though. Missing are the terrible roars as Elites attack their prey with a terrifying ferocity. Kelly had seen too many of them continue to shoot at corpses once the life was already gone. This one - whether an Elite or something else entirely - wasn't like that.

She watches him with an intense gaze for a full two minutes before she finally moves. It's more with careful precision than a full out strike; she wants him to see her coming. She wants to see if he'll give her the chance to talk or if there's going to be a smackdown.

[smallest]

After the briefing, Francœur lingered about looking quite lost. It was a lot of information to absorb all at once; he could not possibly understand it entirely. What he could understand was that, once again, he was separated from home with no way to return on his own. At least it sounded like they were fixing this problem. He focused instead on recovering his belongings, especially his guitar. He touched his face and he noticed that his hat and mask were missing as well.

Where could he find those again? Those large, red eyes of his looked eerie yet helpless. He looked around to see where everyone else was going. If only he could just ask someone. Yet without as much as a pen, he had no way to communicate with them. He softly chirped in an uncertain tone.

[whatbedsidemanners]

[There were many things Red Alert expected to do with her day today, and this was not one of them. She has absolutely no time for this nonsense, and the first person to talk to her will get an audio-receptor full of why all of this was total nonsense.

Yes, she understands, sort of, what's going on, but she certainly doesn't like it. The part she likes least of all is the part where she's here because of someone else's mistake.

Whatever. The first thing she looks to do is find a way out of this room. There are far too many organics here, and she's faintly worried that she might step on someone. The medic sighs and edges around the room, hoping to get to a doorway and out of this mess.]

Charlie Cutter | Uncharted | OTA

[alittlesweptup]

It's not the first time he's found himself in a hospital bed, too bright lights and being guided around like a lamb trying to find its footing for the first time. He finds the repetition makes it easier to swallow, means he doesn't have any questions in the brief expect for cursory ones. The bigger ones - like how this all falls into place with the rest - aren't going to be something a simple QnA is likely to net any answers to. Something's slid out of place, which means the people running this ship (fleet, whatever) likely won't remember it and leaves him to fend for himself.

In summary: same shit, different day.

Charlie shoulders his way free from the briefing room, bypassing any offers of joining the military to retrieve his things. They're sparse: a handgun and a handkerchief, the former requiring a few extra hoops to junk through before they'll actually hand it over to him. He realizes with some dismay that he hasn't got anywhere to holster the bloody thing, awkwardly checking the safety before he jams it into the waist of his trousers. The handkerchief he carefully folds and forgets to pocket, absently scuffing his thumb across the fabric as he scans the immediate area.

[cyphered]

Nate had promised Chloe he would have something to deliver to Lazarevic -- its not the only reason he's hovering outside the briefing area, but its a pretty big one. Lifting things of new arrivals was definitely easier than risking good graces with the fleet, and with Lazarevic having an advantage over him in terms of arrival, simple recon just wouldn't do the job.

But with him in the picture and Chloe already at his mercy, Nate is determined to keep him off of anyone else who might arrive -- one person in particular (two, if he's honest), whom he has grown paranoid might show up at the worst possible moment.

What he gets instead is a (more recently) familiar and heavy set man doing some surveying of his own. "Charlie--?"

Crap. A second too late, and he realizes it might have been better to avoid him, to keep him out of what was going on. Maybe he shouldn't have called attention to himself.

[alittlesweptup]

He doesn't know exactly what he's expecting (he's learned to be more flexible than ever at this point), but his name on a familiar voice isn't it. Not really. The possibility that some of his people might be here was a thought he'd been turning over throughout the briefing - get access to the network, see what kind of traffic was there, run some kind of search for names or see if there was any database they might be filed in...

But sure, alright. Nathan Drake rolling out the red carpet for him does away with some of the hassle there. The relief is evident on his face, expression open in a way it hasn't felt for months. No damned snow, no Initiative (at least not under that name) - there's a kind of uncertainty to his footing that's got him on edge, but willing to jump to make sense of it. With Nate in view, Charlie rapidly closes in on him.

"What the hell's all this then?" He impatiently stuffs the checked handkerchief into his pocket.