NationStates Jolt Archive

The city of Swadlincote is a large place, stretching around 100 miles across it is often regarded as Midlonia’s finest city, and is also the hub for most Naval and aerospace defence networks. Today there is much hubbub around the gothic like building denoting the exhibition centre being utilized for a conference of great significance. The building itself was a magnificent sweeping and large will of the fine eye for architecture that the Midlonians possess, and in good weather, the Goldman Exhibition Centre is a sight to behold.

All of which was promptly ruined by the rain and slight smog that had settled into the area. The fickle wind had swept the pollution in from the still heavily industrialized and yet to be modernized Northern sectors of the city.

A sleek steam train thunders into the nearby station that runs on a blue engineering brick bridge near to the conference centre, the flags upon it and the security escort on the streets and station denoted it was an ‘official’ train. The deep blue colour of the train festooned with the governmental crests confirmed it was not a regular commuter train.

The group of officials that got off included George Hillcrest, the Foreign and Economics minister, Defence Minister James Adams, and from the short stature and bowler hat, Prime Minister Benjamin Musotana was also amongst the delegation meeting at the exhibition centre, they moved hurriedly into the centre foyer itself, not wishing to stay among the foul weather for too long.

They were meeting with a delegation from the Commonwealth. With costs still being fairly astronomical in regards to space exploration and the colonization of new worlds a joint project was to be discussed with the aim of settling a new world to help alleviate population pressures….

Well, population pressures within the Greater Kingdom anyway.

The Freestian delegation were already milling, having been flown in the previous day on several flights, a mixture of the standard tanned humans in either fairly informally worn business attaire or the more elaborate desert robes that was 'official' Freestian dress. There was one exception mind, a towering hulk of a familiar Freestian subspecies.

These people were, in no particular order, Sir Alan Talbot, bald, short, robed rather poorly considering, the head of FDI, the stupidly spread out defence megaconglomerate that was basically a synonym of the Freestian aerospace industry. Foreign Minister (at large, given how he changed party alleigance so often he was once touted as an alternnative energy source) a Sir Alex Broxtowe, tall, lanky and pale by Freestian standards, though not exactly anorexic. Long, almost beatnik length black hair over a red undershirted black suit, and the towering hulk of the ghoulish Brigadier Oakland, a by-now two hundred year old, six hundred pound, seven foot snarling monster with a face as pretty as the contents of a nightclub ash tray.

The delegations exchanged pleasantries before they headed into the conference room proper, it was a long oak panelled room with several pitchers of water with ice dotted along the table, there was a set of high, heavy chairs [and a more heavy duty re-enforced one for the Ghoul] along with name plates for the seating arrangements.

The Freestians seated themselves accordingly, nodding their appreciation for sitting down, though only Oakland partook of the water for the moment, ignoring the glass and taking the jug, which thanks to his ludicrous proportions actually resembled a decent sized mug.

"I thank you for your hospitality," Broxtowe began, "Mr Musotana." I have forgotten how fantastically intriguing and picturesque the old country was. Now, to business, shall we?"

Benjamin settled at the head of one end of the table and the Freestian ‘counterpart’ sat at the other end,
“I’d like to thank you all for coming to this discussion on the securing of extra-solar assets for our respective nations. I hope that, together we can further our own interests and resources from the stars themselves.” He then inclined his head to Broxtowe. “It is such a shame of the fickle weather though.”

"Indeed, but it is somehow appropriate." He paused, bringing up and opening his briefcase, though its contents were hidden from view for the moment. "It is time humanity took its rightful place among the heavens." Oakland coughed. "Present company happily included."

“Perhaps so.” Musotana stated. “We fully intend to bring along some of our own minorities such as the Kokiri and the Birchestese.” he then clapped his hands lightly as he brought a folder up from under his table. “So, I believe that there are two else three worlds up for the colonization efforts, correct?”

"Indeed. Finding colonisable worlds is difficult. The right conditions mixed with the necessary spark of life is rare in this galaxy. Still, its also a big galaxy. And thanks to some decent cross referencing, oh and pass on my kindest regards to the Royal Society, by the way, I think we have found some with potential. I took the liberty of calling them Alpha, Beta and Gamma for clarity's sake at the moment. Mind if I?" Broxtowe pulled out a rather interestingly hued ZMI cigar.

Musotana merely inclined his head, giving permission.

Broxtowe lit up, flooding the room momentarily in the smell of burning cabbage, before he continued. "Well, baring it being some necrontyr tomb world, Alpha seems at first devoid of life." He flicked on what was obviously some sort of holoprojecter, the things a mainstay of meetings these days, like hyperactive flipcharts. "But, turns out, has a functioning ecosystem, although mostly on a microbe scale, but a few larger critters, and most importantly, sufficient greenery, though you can't tell given most of it is concentrated in the few water surfaces. 1.1 G, equator is hot as hell, but functional biomes in the mid to extreme northern and southern hemispheres. Dual star system, slight ecliptical outer orbit so the range remains stable. Not too shabby, though with most of the water as lakes we'd be looking at division along the equator." He finished. "Decent mineral resources, out of the way, which is both good and bad."

“The division along the equator seems highly reasonable in the proposition. However, I feel some concern over it being a dual star system.” The defence minister chimed in as he looked at the graphic. “Do we have any clues how extreme the seasons can be, weather patterns etc?”

"Well, as mentioned, the eclipitcal orbit pattern of Alpha ensures neither passage between the suns nor one sun ever eclipsing the other. The atmosphere is thin protection against the UV, although some terraforming work could solve that. Thicker atmosphere may also work to shield the planet somewhat from the harsher temperatures."

“I see. That may mean additional shielding and constant UV protection would be necessary for a while until the terraforming was completed, not to mention the astronomical cost of the terraforming itself. We may also greatly effect the ecosystems and throw the planet into major imbalance by altering the thickness of the atmosphere, the plant-life there is evidently used to the thinner atmosphere and we may inadvertedly scorch the planet by applying a thicker atmosphere.” Adams continued, with the Midlonian delegates merely nodding along.

"Yeah, concerns about native wildlife will be an issue, but colonisation will require at the least agricultural support. Itll be a fine step. Beta, now, is a more interesting proposition." He flicked the projection, and the pale orb changed to a cloud encircled blue one. "Water world, 95% surface covering thanks a fairly topography. ***However**** average sea depth is only about 250 metres or so, and we are talking big, shallow, polder possible continental shelves here, could convert in very little time to about 25% or more land surface. Native wildlife is again an issue, though even on this scale there would still be significant native territory left for these species to be preserved on. Prime agricultural land, decent mineral resources as well."

“This one seems like a more unusual proposition. We could design floating cities or ecologies of some form to boost space also.” Hillcrest chipped in, he was interested in the similar experiments being undertaken at the nearby city of Ashby-De-La-Zouch.

“One to place onto the ‘maybe’ list though. Again we’re talking very high costs on pumping that water,” Adams cut in again. “Would be better for the overall wildlife situation, however on a sustainability standpoint.”

"Perhaps. Last big option though is gonna be the most interesting. Gamma, near Earth-like, single star again, fifty ffty water/land, decent topography, lots of mineral resources and a fully functional microbic ecosystem with avrious ecologies scattered throughout the two main and five smaller continents. Extremely decent, 0.92 G, oxygen at 21% with a non-reactive atmosphere, but..."

The Midlonians lent forward before Musotana said. “But?”

Broxtowe looked to Oakland. The ghoul sighed outward. "There may...we stress may, be a pre-pastoral sapient species on at least two of the smaller landmasses."

Hillcrest sighed and sat back. “So we may wind up trampling all over somebody else’s pre-historic backyard. How do you know of the possibility anyway?”

"Initial probe surveying, we found no actual contacts but automated landers did find artificially produced flints scattered in what appeared to be a crater used as a quarry site. Further investigation of megafauna movements indicated a possibility of a semi-quadrepedal animal with a highly sophisticated tribal structure, though we only conducted distant monitoring."

Talbot suddenly pipped up. "Not a military threat of course, if this is the case..."

"No shit" Oakland muttered. "But it raises several ethical concerns, and..." He sighed, a tired sort of sigh. "Others, might take offence too."

Hillcrest nodded. “We could always try to find out where they are and set up away from them.”

Adams interjected. “And then what when we expand? Keep them contained in reservations? Bump them off? Bring them into the fold? They’re primitives for God’s sake, they’d probably freak at our settlements and be wary of our sky magic.” he waggled his fingers.

Musotana looked up at that moment from the holoprojector. “Who would take offence Mr Oakland?”

"Who do you think?" Oakland said slowly. "There are those out there who can afford to be idealistic over more pragmatic concerns.”

“We could always… skip the facts and not tell anybody of the possibility, if anybody discovers them we can simply feign ignorance on them.” Hillcrest mused.

“Oh don’t be silly George.” Adams replied. “They’d find out somehow that we knew of them, and even if they didn’t they’d accuse us of knowing beforehand either way.”

"Exactly." Oakland said, leaninging forward. "And we can't prep ourselves up for an away match, even combined." He leaned back in the same sweeping movement. "But...if they are sapient and even have rudimentary language and culture positive contact could be established. A Sentient ally familiar with the planet could be a huge boon to the colonisation effort, if handled correctly."

“How would you suggest we find out?” Hillcrest questioned.

Oakland grinned. "You have good scouts, Mr Hillcrest, five generations of desert forging." Broxtowe shook his head. "Principally, a combined battlegroup should enter the system to establish soverignty, land special force and scout teams, combined with observers and scientists to study and prevent pollution, and go from there. Shouldn't be too hard if we arrive in force to maintain a revolving station until ground and orbital facilites are established. The single star is also orbited by a close in rocky world, two far flung gas giants which could serve as well as decent hydrogen resources, and a loose belt of asteroids, with some mining and basing potential."

Hillcrest nodded, as did Musotana. “Then Gamma may be the best option. The others we could always look into their feasibility in time.” the PM said as he took a glass of water and sipped it. “Considering the 50/50 split we could easily claim a landmass each and work from there after the initial colony establishing the nature of the flora and fauna.”

"Indeed, what we thought may be a good split was to look at one major and two smaller land masses each, then the last minor as a neutral territory of sorts housing the capital and whatever joint infrastructure is required. Smaller islands can be divided up soon enough."

“The rough costs would be best also, little need to alter the planet or it’s atmosphere.” Adams chimed.

"Indeed. The neutral territory is also the site of the first contact crater, so to speak, so it may also be worth, perhaps, being the site of first landing and exploration. I propose, though we may change depending on circumstances, a site here..." The hologram flicked, zooming suddenly down onto a shallow, almost tropical beach and coastal plain covered with a blueish savannah. "For the first base, and from that humble beginning, the first capital. And for a name, well..."

“You have some suggestions?” Hillcrest smiled.

"Well, in the spirit of rebranding given its significance...Moonstone Harbour?"

“Moonstone Bay may be better.” Adams said as he also took a sip of water.

Broxtowe smiled. "Works for us."

Gamma Orbit
The planet stood below the ***Noble Duchess****, the Midlonian Colony ship. A giant, bulbous vessel it was flanked by a pair of the ageing Concordat-Era destroyers. The lack of threats from this distant, isolated planet had not warrented the Midlonians putting their latest warships to sea when, in the inky darkness of empty space, the greatest threat was a passing asteroid.

Captain Phynne of the ***Duchess**** merely stared down out of the observation deck window as he watched a gigantic weather front slowly sweep and swirl below him, the strange white smears like the paintbrush of an artist, it stood in stark contrast to the blue water below it.

Phynne scratched his chin, the stubble was forming again and he sighed, he needed a new shaver, it made him seem untidy, but because of the way they had now arrived, he hadn’t had time to claim a new one from the generous stores in the ***Duchess****. His crispy white uniform was the standard for officers, the main naval personel opting for their usual blue and white uniforms with their small sailor hats.

The Captain himself had his white tripoint hat, with the blue edges was held loosely in his hands as he lent slightly over the railing.

Phynne's Freestian equivelant, a stout, unusually human, red-haired Commodore with the name of Foster stood beside him, her own craft, a smaller but slightly sleeker shape in the viewscreen. A Pelios class Battlecruiser, of the Freestian designation for such, effectively an overarmed colony ship and carrier in her own right. Irony or coincidence meant the most powerful ships in the Freethinker Spaceborne Navy were actually named after Midlonians.

The ship was called the Sir Francis Whitestone, and she carried two escorts of her own, one, a supply and support ship, and the other, a light carrier hastily converted into a landing ship, decks filled to the brim with vehicles and building equipment, and, perhaps most unsubtly, the rank and file of the First Expeditionary force of the Freestian Space Marine Corp.

"Your call, captain." Foster said slowly, peering along the outline of the coast. "How fast do you want to go?"

Phynne lifted his hat and brushed it idly, not that there was any dust on it, indeed the air was sterile. He placed it on his head and stood up straight. “I’ll be worryingly chauvinistic and say ladies first, Captain Foster.” Phynne said as he turned and smiled. “I’ll let your marines land first and secure the immediate area, the Defluo Schola will follow in immediately afterwards…” he waved his hand in front of the observation window and a map of the coastline appeared. “…afterwards,” he repeated, “They’ll start their long distance recon and try to establish some form of contact with the sentients on the planet’s surface, if it all goes pear shaped, well. We have the necessary firepower.”

"Seems ideal. Atmospheric spectrum analysis seems oxygen and non-reactive sufficient for our men, but we will need to check on the surface itself for spore and pollen contamination. Probes indicate an acceptable air quality though. We'll get feedback up to you as soon as we can." She turned to him. "And if we meet the locals. I want an honest answer from you, how have you been ordered to proceed in regard to them?"

“We’re utilizing the Defluo Schola precisely because they’re more used to strange flora and fauna than any other troops under the Great Crown, meaning they'll be less trigger happy if they encounter anything.” Phynne replied, drawing the map in again and looking at the area he had selected for the Defluo‘s the recon. “Dependant on how they react to us I have effectively contextual orders in regards to them, if and I stress, if, they turn out to be more than we thought then my orders do go up to Don Freddie Ace.” He said, glancing to her, using the Midlonian phonetic alphabet, “DFA” - Death From Above.

"Pessimistic, no?" She said, simply, as before the the Whitestone turned on its axis, allowing its ventral sections to pass high over the small coastal strip marked as Moonstone Bay. "If there is anything down there at all..." She whispered.

“A pessimist is what an optimist calls a realist.“ Phynne replied “Besides that’s what they’re about to find out.” Phynne said. “All things considered if it turns out, as we suspect some of these things here,” he said as he zoomed again, showing a slightly fuzzy outline of some squares and structures covered in greenish fauna. “I’m largely interested in those outcrops there, it seems to me we might not be dealing with something as simply as pre-historical as we thought, what if they do exist and they have some powerful magic against the sky-gods.” he rolled his eyes and looked at the map again, prodding it on a large outcrop. “They’ll land here, initially. Then they’ll proceed around this area, seeing if there’s any kind of civilisation, if there is they will try to contact them and we can work on diplomatic relations of some form.”

"Lets hope so." She said, slowly.

Whitestone Mission Module (Landing Pod), FRSNS Whitestone****

Oakland walked the length of the pod line in the lower mission-specific module attached to the Whitestone, a long, bulkhead lined corridor with hinged and locked hatches, checking the seals and outside readings, his own helmet under his arm as he reached the end of the row of pods and found his own, the last open on the deck, and climbed inside, stomach churning and growling at the sight of the enclosed metal space. The thought of hurtling towards the ground, his life reliant on several small and seemingly fragile systems designed to stop his body being crashed into the ground as the speed of sound was not reassuring. Oakland wasn’t afraid of death, after all, but he was terrified of helplessness.

There was a dulled countdown, and a slow grumble as the ship rotated around them. He flicked a heavy duty switch to close the hatch itself, a thick steel panel coming down to encase him (and a few supplies) into the pod itself, a vaguely egg-shaped ceramic and steel coated one shot drop unit designed for this kind of insertion. Foster had insisted upon it, stating unknown possible threats, but then again she had always loved her pilots far more than his Marines.

There was another dull hiss as the tube hatches to deep space opened and the atmosphere re pressured itself. It was time.

“See you ground side men. Do me proud.” Lots of little green icons in his suit HUD blinked affirmatively. “Godspeed. Oakland out.”

Another set of clangs, sharper and driven by pneumatic rams, each pod fired out into space below. Oakland closed his eyes, and gritted his teeth as the acceleration took him from safety into the black abyss.

The pods soared through space, a line of two hundred and fifty metallic specs slowly turning bright orange and red as their dulled ablative skins burnt away in the upper confines of the atmosphere, shedding flaming debris and momentum in equal measure as the line softly spiralled around the atmosphere.

Back above, Foster let out the lightest of sighs. “Here we go.”

G.R 769, Beautiful Maiden***

The Maiden’s own cargo, the 4th Defluo Schola readied itself. It was slightly more elegant than the landing pods being literally fired from their Freestian equivalent. They were bulk, squat and fat dropships, who’s main body had inside supplies for several days, as well as some form of transportation, typically in the shape of hydrogen-powered dirt bikes.

Strapping himself in, Gregory Jones grabbed the roller coaster style brace and lowered it over himself and locked it in place with a satisfying clunk, a G.R.A.N flight officer came over next and quickly checked his harness, and the harness of the rest of his command squad, before giving a thumbs up and moving on as the motors on the fat blob that was the drop ship began to whine up. Around them the sound of roaring thrusters could be heard as two wings of Phantom Mark 3 Aerospace fighters were launched on the deck above, their winking thrusters in stark contrast to the cool, blue of the planet, and the winking red meteor shower that had been made by the Freestians.

Gamma Fall

It had been a long, horrendous journey, of minutes by his chronometer but eternity in his mind, not light save the dull red and green of his HUD lights and the horrendous sounds of re-entry. He felt the craft shake and burn and tear itself apart, its thick and reinforced exterior peeling away layer by layer, each strip creating another soft jolt that seemed to push the small pod to its limit. The grinding became ever louder, cracks in the exterior, though not harmful and indeed expected given it was a one shot journey, were not reassuring in the slightest.

He was right to be concerned.

The hull tore apart, catching on changing pressure levels the computer hadn‘t account for, the retarding mechanism twisting and snapping as their loads exceeded their deployed state. The seat itself seem to splinter beneath him, the combined mass of suit and the remaining frame of the pod finally shattering around him, Oakland only having moments to bring his suit shields up as he found himself freefalling.

Without a chute and with only primitive jump rockets to stop him.

Ten miles up, and with the aerodynamics of a literal brick. Pods tore past him, some still intact, most, he was relieved to see as their primitive computer intelligences adapted from the last surviving data of his own failed pod. One, however, was unluckier, a red cloud of vaporised dust echoing from a companion craft below. Oakland nearly choked.

The shallow waters and coastal strip, surrounded by jungle, now filled his visor. Too low for a pick up, he condensed himself to reduce the strain on his slowly weakening shields, and dipped his head towards the ocean.

He fell, free, almost morbidly trying to enjoy the experience as frantic calls and screams echoed through his comm system, the last calls of the dying and the pleas for aid from others. He soared, flames leaping across the dull transperant shielding, a ring of fire as he smashed thru the top layers of cloud.

The drop ships were behind the Freestians by some considerable margin, it was several minutes before they hit the planetary atmosphere like a dead weight, causing the innards to judder violently for several seconds before levelling out, Jones’ dropship seemed to shudder for some considerable time afterwards, even though he could now plainly see the blue sky, and not the dark dotted signs of space. Then a claxon began to go.

“This is your pilot speaking, one of the engines has been damaged and some of the stabilizers are out, we won’t be going back up with this bird.”

Oh, great.

The drop ship was still many miles above the surface, and falling fast, the nose pitched down slightly, fins flashing out from the sides and front, which began to glow red as the engines were thrown into reverse. The other dropships were fine, and the pilot, drilled well and running pretty much automatically with his training worked furiously within the cockpit to bring the craft into at least a controlled crash.

The rocky outcrops loomed large in the cockpit as the pilot hit the emergency boosters, suddenly the craft slammed into a hovering position before dropping like a stone the remaining 100 metres or so down to the ground, smashing through the roof of an abandoned stone structure with an almighty crashing and rending of metal and rock that hadn’t been disturbed in centuries.

In a neater order than the single drop ship, a second landed on a wide concourse nearby, immediately slamming open the drop ships doors a Platoon of Defluo Schola rushed out a minute or so later, scrabbling over the rubble to get to the stricken drop ship.

“Ah, cock.” Oakland thought simply as his mind raced over his training and experience. It wasn’t a scenario much discussed, as usually at this point either the Pod took over or you were dead.

He spread himself out now, hoping to try and reduce his still eye watering speed as the water came up far too quickly to meet him. He fired the dull jump jets, expendable sets of thrusters that flared, burned and jettisoned in quick succession, a nasty jolt and a bit more deceleration, but at this moment everything helped. He timed each pair, five sets in all, the slowly bleed as much speed as possible.

As the last few hundred feet flashed by, he hoped it would be enough. For the first time in a long while, he prayed.

He heard only a roar, a splash, his eyes snapping shut reflexively as his visor cracked, spraying his face with cold water and plastiglass, his gasped as the air was pushed out of his lungs. His body felt stiff, pain erupted across his body and the dull read hue was all that remained of his HUD. He wanted to yell, but kept his mouth shut. He felt the water rush, thankfully only filling the helmet rather though pushing past the neck seal into the suit itself. He tried to move his arms but found himself struggling with the weight.

And , as turned and finally forced his eyes open, he found himself sinking.

He growled, blasting bubbles, as he loosened the helmet with bloodied and seemingly broken fingers. Another flash of pain, and he resorted to simply tearing the helmet in two, his massive arms tearing the titanium alloy in two along the already present fracture line. He pressed across the suit, tripping the catches, treading with his legs seemingly ineffectively as the surface seemed to grow ever distant, the surrounding water getting colder and darker. A dull red haze from countless wounds flooded the water.

And dull yellow eyes appeared in the current.

Crash Zone Orange Sugar

Jones coughed as he tasted acrid smoke in the main bay of the drop ship, shifting his weight slightly he lifted the slightly twisted restraint over his head, he glanced to the radioman opposite him, Sergeant Harris.
The unnatural angle of his head made Jones rapidly drew upon the conclusion that Harris was no longer with them, thankfully the rest of his own squad, the one that actually kept the whole unit together, was unharmed. Dusting himself slightly he crabbed his rifle from the box bolted to the floor and checked it over.

The rifle itself was fine and the new friction powered high accuracy pulse rifle, a complex machine who’s inner workings were quite beyond the Colonel’s own understanding of such machines. He’d had his technician try to explain it to him but got lost after he started talking about pulsating energy field generator, and converting kinetic energy into pulse thingamagic… it worked, that was the main thing.

He began to organize some men to try to open the cockpit door, but it was rammed shut, the warping of the drop ship slowly became apparent.

Pushing his way further down the dropship, Gregory began to help random soldiers from their seating, every 20 or so seats there would be a single trooper still stuck, usually just knocked unconscious by the shuddering impact and just coming too. Several were definitely dead.

Shouting out a few more orders Gregory finally pushed his way to the end of the dropship and out of the now forced open rear ramp which was also warped and twisted.

Most of the Schola from the crashed drop ship were now standing around and marvelling at their new, alien surroundings. The building the ship hand landed in was some kind of multi-tiered building, and they had landed on the wide concourse on the very top of the structure, technically at ground level.

“You know what this reminds me of?” one of the Schola remarked as he looked to his cut and bruised comrade. “It’s like a shopping centre.”

Gregory moved over and glanced over the stone-edge himself, and it seemed that the soldier, a man named Jackson, was correct. There were a series of steps in several places down onto the concourse below them with boxes at regular intervals along the walls. While the contents themselves had long been removed, their purpose at least seemed apparent from the chunks of masonry, and even a stone sign that was cracked, denoting… something in some alien tongue that none of the soldiers that had landed were able to decipher, that would be the job of the scientists at a later date.

Gregory scratched the back of his head. “Alright then, what oh what do we do now we know this place is a city, rather than random rock formations.” he muttered as he scanned the ‘shopping centre’.

“How’re the bikes?” he asked his technician, a fat bald man named Smith.

“Buggered.” was the simple, one word reply.

No exploring for him then. Gregory sighed and looked at the drop ship behind him. “Ok then, lets set up shop right here, right now then.” he said after a moment to the groans of a couple of soldiers around him before he strode into one of the nearby “stores” and clicked on a torch, panning the beam over the gloomy area.

The beam seemed to hang in the fog, the material of the stone buildings almost seemign to absorb the light without reflection where the humid atmosphere didnt drown the light outright. There were other, subtler things perhaps that the Schola, almost uniquely observant by human standards given their unforgivable upbringing, would pick up on. Plants were green, yes, but a variety of shades that seemed to almost compete for the light that shone through the canapy.

Other things too, seemed odd. The sound of the air was filled not by animal calls, but by what seemed to be patterned rustling of the plantlife itself. Subtle movements of flowers and vines seemed to echoes wherever the scouts stepped, responding instinctually to their presence.

“Where’s our science officer?” Gregory said after a moment or two of panning his beam back and forth a few times over the area around him, he’d been joined by a couple of men who also watched the oddity like a cat would watch and follow a light upon the wall in sheer feline curiosity.

“Sir?” said a small wheezed voice, a woman by the name of Jennifer said as a ciggarette hung limply from her mouth, she had long brown hair that fell down her back gently and she often refused any kind of rudimentary headgear unless absolutely necessary.

“What you make of this?” Gregory said as he panned his beam back and forth again.

“Odd, it’s like the plants are actually drawing the light in, in an aggressive way to photosynthesise… Let me see if I can get a sample.” She bent down and set the small case next to her down and clicked it open with a pneumatic hiss. She rummaged around inside for a moment or two before pulling out a scraping tool, similar to a dentists and a small vial for samples.

“Make sure you cover me with those torch beams, maybe a gun or too also. I dislike the way these plants hiss.” she remarked as she began to prod and run the tool along a vine on the floor, gathering a small sample before placing that down and then reaching to snap a leaf off of a nearby plant.

The plants themselves seemed to be basically intelligent, almost, the vines curling away from the sampler vial, each attempt seeming to make the vine curl further and further up.

“Huh, well that is an oddity. Live vines.” Jennifer remarked casually as she placed the scraping into her box of tricks and then grabbed a vine and snapped a leaf off of it forcefully.

Other things too, seemed odd, the growing weeds and plants seemed to stay on the edge of the road and pathways, as if trained to stay within the confines of the olden gardens they had been planted in. Water still flowed in clear cut irrigation channels, seemingly free of deletrius again despite their obvious antiquity.

Placing the leaf into the box of tricks she hit a couple of buttons and simply picked the box back up. “Just needs some time to work out what’s up with the vines.” she said, coughing slightly as she looked into the room again. “Should be safe to set up in here though, considering it didn’t kill me when I took from it.”

Gregory merely nodded and then waved behind him. His technician and radioman brought forward a large wheeled box of sorts and began undoing the catches and opening it up. It pulled out to reveal a large control panel, computer and a flat holographic table.

“How long till the sat feed is up?” Gregory said, glancing to another Schola by the door.
“Charlie and Frederick are on it now, running the relay up to the roof, if they can find a stairwell or something.” came the reply after a few seconds.

Gregory clicked his tongue as the command table was folded out and booted up, it humming gently into life with a pale blue glow after only a few moments.

The blue shaded plants seemed to respond to this, edging toward the table slightly, though again not overstepping the stone boundary of their gardens.

Jennifer merely noted this on a small holographic computer around her wrist. “Quite interesting, this stuff.” she remarked as she watched the plants shifting around. “It’s like… well, the Pilonese stuff. Only less disgusting. Actually quite pretty.”

Gregory merely nodded absentmindedly as the image on the holographic table continued to flicker from time to time. Eventually an image stabilized and he could see the buildings and things around their crash site flicker into a three dimensional reality. It was the observation feeds from the Noble Duchess high above the planet’s surface. After another few moments several lights winked into existence on the panel from other buildings and locations.

“Oh good.” Smith said slightly sarcastically. “At least everybody else decided to set up shop than fart about.”

“Aside from this one here.” Gregory said as he pointed to a flickering light representing a drop ship that had landed in the middle “square” of another building. “Wonder why that is?”