>Darkness dominated your resting mind.
>Not that of a cruel nightmare to torment you, but a simply dreamless state.
>No sweet dreams, but also no terrors to make your night less-than-desirable.
>Time held no meaning in this forgettable void, merely but a pause between when your head hit the pillow and when your eyes would open.
>All of this was, up until the piercing screech of an alarm broke the silence.
>Even if there wasn't anything particularly nice happening in the realm of your dreams, you were still quite amgry to be awoken so early.
>With a scowl etched deep into your features, you look at the source of your woes.
>Your datapad chirped irritatingly, grating at your sensitive eardrums and precious little patience.
>In your groggy state, you had little in the way of tact or spatial awareness.
>All you knew was to reach for that damnable device and see what had it was blowing its load over.
>A hearty whack indicated that your hand had connected with the datapad, quieting the incessant screeching.
>However, you wanted to know exactly why it was getting all up in your face this early.
>You hadn't set an alarm, and you certainly hadn't planned any appointments.
>As the holographic screen flashed into existence, you realized you had made a grave mistake.
>Your sensitive, darkness-adapted eyes burned with the wrath of a dying star as the eerie blue glow of the screen flooded the room and gave you a faceful of regret.
>Once the stinging sensation of your eyes ablaze with blinding light had subsided, you were able to focus in and squint at the screen.
>From what you could determine, someone had sent you a message over the arkship's holonet.
>A special kind of lividness arose within your being, wondering who the fuck had the bright idea of bothering you this early.
>It better not be some body-mod faggot spamming your inbox, or another asshole warning you of the imminent collapse of the Mark, and that you should start instead using shit-cubes coated in toenails for your primary currency.
>Tapping at the over-eager notification, the datapad quickly took you into your inbox, displaying the message that so eagerly wanted to land right in your lap.
>Addressed to you from...
>The Navigator's Bureau?
>What in the shit was that, again?
>"Greetings, Corporal Anonymous, and congratulations on being selected for the Grand Fleet Admiralty Board's Navigator Initiative! For your commendable actions during the Yulmig III Offensive, the Admiralty Board has chosen you for the task. We are aware of your current difficulties adjusting back to civilian life back aboard the arkships, and we wish to extend our hand in gratitude for the valor you displayed by offering you this unique opportunity."
>It took a few minutes for your brain to register the words fully.
>Whenever it finally came to you, it was a surprise to see your old bosses offering this kind of thing.
>Following along further, you read into the details of what exactly it entailed.
>No point in jumping balls-deep into something without even knowing what was in store for you.
>At least, whenever you could actually ask them and not have some Captain or Major slap your shit upside the head.
>"The Navigator Initiative aims to chart parsecs of space that are unknown to the migratory fleet, both to determine ideal routes for travel and the potential danger of these far-flung reaches. A vessel will be provided for the journey, along with a Virtual Intelligence to keep you company out on your lonesome. Reports on any findings will need to be delivered on a regular basis, and you are beholden to the orders of the Navigator's Bureau - a subsidiary division of the Admiralty Board."
>Well, at least they're being up-front with you about what they can with you about the job.
>You also didn't consider yourself that much of a hero, but hey, you'd be willing to entertain the notion.
>The rest of the message is just information on where the nearest office to your current residence was, hours of operation, etcetera etcetera etcetera.
>If you recalled correctly, this wasn't exactly a wild stock broker on the loose or some barely-cohesive fuckhead...
>You supposed it might be a good idea to get cleaned up, if you were going to take them up on the offer.
>Tossing the datapad off to the side, you throw the covers off of you, climbing out of bed with the level of coordination of a drunk.
>Your residence's lighting began to slowly brighten, illuminating the way for you to the shrine of morning rituals.
>Arriving at the mirror and attached sink, your reflection reminded you of your days in the aforementioned Offensive.
>A small cluster of scars on your gut, scar tissue glinting peculiarly in the digital light.
>It had a long history, and remembering how you had earned them did not bring the most welcome and sunshine memories.
>Brushing your teeth to get the filth out of your mouth, your mind played back the old sights of your experiences.
>You were on this shithole of a planet with a platoon of your fellow drop troops, decked out in full bio-chemical hazardous environment get-up.
>The planet, Yulmig III, apparently had some wicked kinda storms.
>One moment, everything would be fine; earthlike, even.
>Next, a foul caustic supercell comes out of nowhere and makes life hell for anything that isn't adapted for existence on that planet.
>A fortified, deep-space listening post had been built by the Myegir, a mortal enemy to humanity ever since the two met.
>But that was neither here nor there, all you were there for was to hunt down the scaly fucks and take out that listening post.
>The migrant fleets could not move through around a several parsec area without being spotted - and thereafter, hunted down.
>Deployed with a few other platoons, large enough to form a proper battalion, getting there wasn't an issue.
>That was, until things went ass-over-tea-kettle.
>A perfect shitfest of a hostile patrol encountered your specific platoon and a sudden onset of the caustic weather all culminated in a firefight, and the detection of the allied force on Yulmig III.
>Reinforcements were likely coming for the Myegir, and everyone had to operate fast.
>Whilst you and your platoon held their ground, others were taking the fight to the listening post.
>Your men had taken a hilltop, holding their ground while transmissions from other subdivisions of the battalion were speaking of how they were assaulting the station proper.
>From that point, you don't know how long the firefight lasted.
>The more you and those you commanded slain, there just seemed to be another to take their place.
>You could barely see beyond the muzzle flash of your weapons and the quite visible miasma of toxins, awash in the aggressive winds that intermittently barraged both you and the enemy.
>As victory had been achieved elsewhere, the destruction of the forward listening post before any Myegir reinfocements arrived, all that was left was to mop up and clean shop.
>And you had been hit with a slug in the general area of your gut.
>It didn't perforate your armor entirely, only going so far before stopping.
>However, a crack had formed from the shock of the blast, ejecting spall deep into your flesh.
>Not to blame the engineers designing this stuff, they had put in some nice spall liners for just this sort of thing.
>Though, it didn't stop everything, and the agony that followed was a condensed nightmare.
>But wait, there's more, little Nonny.
>Since there was a broken seal now, the slurry of horrible caustic shit was now free to make your life hell.
>One of your mates out there had fortunately noticed this as you went down from the force of the impact, and did their damnedest to seal it with emergency sealing foam.
>Of course, by then, some things had already been put into motion.
>The moment it came into contact with your lungs, it was as if they had been set aflame.
>When it graced your skin, you could feel that it was lascerating it in the worst possible way, as though it was digging its horrible way under your epidermis.
>Everything from that point on was...a bit of a blur.
>You know the battle was won, and you weren't needed to hold the line anymore.
>Perhaps you had faded in and out of consciousness in between you leaving that "livable" planet and waking up in a medical ward, scattered with occasional bouts of observing your surroundings, tossed in with trying and failing to communicate.
>Whenever you tried to speak, your trachaea felt like someone had shoved fiberglass cottonballs down it.
>So, all you could do was simply nod or shake your head to basic questions.
>Or flash (in)appropriate hand gestures.
>To wrap that tale up, thank God above for advanced reconstructive surgery.
>You didn't look like a man coming out of a 1917 battleground, and if these scars weren't there, it'd look like nothing at all happened to you.
>After you had been deemed fit to leave the medical ward, you were honorably discharged from the service with full merits.
>And with your internal documentary film having ended, you proceeded with the rest of your morning rituals.
>Couldn't exactly show up to this invitation looking akin to an unshaven and disheveled duct-runner.
>Making sure you were dressed up in your old dress uniform, you took a moment to make sure all your little post-combat baubles were in the appropriate place.
>Even if it was somewhat troublesome to remember where all this shit goes, appearances can and often do matter.
>They're the beginnings of a first impression, after all, ain't they?
>Deeming yourself acceptable for public presentation, you snag your datapad right quick to glance at the address of your destination.
>Up near the bridge, where a lot of governing bodies and their offices sat.
>Good to know you didn't have to meet them somewhere shady, like at the arkship's main reactor arrays.
>Seeing no more reason to stay in your little cave, you left for the Bureau to see what they had in mind for you.
>The journey there was relatively eventless.
>Not like there would be anything too particularly interesting this early unless you were in law enforcement.
>Then you'd find some really weird shit, and folks decked out on every stim known to humanity causing that weird shit.
>Taking one of the internal maglev trains, you didn't have to wait that long at all to get where you needed to go.
>If you couldn't tell by the name, these arkships were absolutely massive.
>Such mega-engineering was almost completely out-of-scope during the time they were constructed, making their longevity and scale somewhat more impressive.
>You weren't exactly an engineer, content to hug his yellow hard-hat, but it was still cool to admire that aspect.
>Before you might be able to mull over more thoughts, those precocious little things, you had arrived at the Atlas Terminus; just a stone's throw and a skip away from the general complex of political offices and administrative hubs you were due to arrive at.
>Eager to get on with the matter, you disembarked from the maglev train, glancing around for your destination.
>Tucked away between a tax administration service and some other nameless arkship agency, a small office complex brandishing the title of "Navigator's Bureau."
>In comparison to those other complexes, the Navigator's Bureau appeared far more ascetic.
>You would have thought they would have blown some serious cash on making their little slice of government paradise all hip, ergonomically business buzzword-infused, and opulent as humanly possible.
>Making your way inside, you were confronted with something you absolutely did expect from a government agency.
>A long-ass wait time, even if you were pretty sure there weren't that many of your fellows in the lobby.
>Whilst you sat there with your thumb up your ass, you weren't left with much other to do than wonder what might happen if you accepted their offer.
>You were firly sure that you could simply reject the offer, if you felt it just wasn't your thing.
>It wasn't a direct order from your old superiors, after all.
>Though, for all intents and purposes, say if you accepted this little job-for-vets program.
>What then from there?
>How far out would you be going, exactly?
>A few giga-parsecs?
>And exactly how long would you be out in the middle of absolute nowhere?
>Months, years, decades?
>They did give you the gist of this job, but the devil within the details was hip-hop-hoppin' right out.
>Long after your mind wandered out your ears, oozing out figuratively in your bored waiting, you were finally called to one of the offices proper to meet with one of these bureaucrats.
>Dressed as sharply as you were in your dress uniform, you were hoping you left a decent impression.
>You may have been a boots-on-the-ground grunt, but you at least had some self-respect left to at the very least make an effort to present yourself.
>The official whom was to process your potential entry into the program was a woman of average stature, and judging by the standard issue dress of the Admiralty Board, a long-time denizen of the pages of a governmental balance sheet.
>You'd assume she was approaching her silver years, her hair graying and wrinkles making themselves known and more pronounced.
>Her smile attempted to exhude a warm and welcoming facade, but it didn't feel as geniune.
>Sort of like it was photocopied, if that made any sense.
>"Corporal Anonymous, I presume? It's good that you made it when you did; it's shaping up to be a busy day here at the department!"
>Now that was a real prostate-tickler.
>Following her little blurb, she held out her hand, waiting for you to take it and shake it.
"If this is before it hits that watershed, can't imagine what it's like then."
>You remark, wondering if they really were that busy as you were led on to believe.
>Taking her hand and giving it a proper, firm shaking, you took a seat opposite of the woman.
>With the both of you situated, the lady of the ledger before you began typing away on the desktop holographic display.
>You could notice images of older, very-long-range space vessels in the display with text you couldn't quite decipher.
>Primarily, because it was backwards, and scrolling too fast for you to focus on.
>"I'm sure you're already aware of what the Navigator's Bureau is all about, Corporal Anonymous, so we'll skip the history and move onto any questions you may have regarding the job detail."
>Fair enough.
"Alright...so...what's the timeframe for workin' out there? Just roam around until a different order comes through?"
>You ask what was most prevalent on your mind, wondering how close to the ancient sail-voyagers they were trying to play to.
>Judging by the design of some of these ships, it was meant to be an incredibly long and isolated journey from the main migrant fleets.
>"You'll be surveying a designated sector that appears to be an overall deadzone for galactic traffic. We can't be too hasty in making judgements, so we'll need someone to make sure that's the case."
>Walking into a pirate's lair or an awaiting Myegir hunter-killer group wasn't exactly fun.
>Speaking of which, it might be high-time to assess your occupational hazards if you were to accept this position.
"I see, now how dangerous would you say this line of work is? After getting shot once, I'd like to not go through that again."
>Taking her time to lay out her case, the official across from you responded with what she thought would be best.
>"Given that this area of space is, well, relatively uncharted...there's some inherent danger to it all. I can say with a fair bit of certainty, however, that it won't be any more dangerous than the life of a soldier."
>Perhaps a downside, but you believed you didn't have to box yourself into a dangerous situation.
>Mulling over her words, you think about what other conniptions you'd want hammered out.
>She already kind of vaguely outlined the dangers involved.
>You were pretty certain you might not have the top choice in starships, but...
"These ships you got, they do come with a defensive suite, right? None of that unarmed-and-drifting nonsense?"
>It was almost unheard of, but some daft cunts think it's still a good idea to leave their vessel defenseless.
>How they haven't gone extinct yet, you couldn't fathom.
>The bureaucrat was quick to assuage your concerns over not actually dying whilst in the vacuum of space.
>"Of course it's going to have its own defensive compliment, we'd like to see our brave pioneers actually come back home at their jounrey's end."
>She said with a half-hearted laugh, and as you remained silent, she awaited anything else you may have to say patiently.
>After a while of sitting there and seeing you stumble over yourself mentally for other questions, as though searching for any holes poked in this metaphorical condom, the bureaucrat elected to ask one of her own.
>"Perhaps you'd like a quick overview of what ships we think might best suit you? Should you accept, of course."
>Having nothing else one your mind in that moment, you nod.
"Couldn't hurt, I suppose..."
>Smiling and shifting her focus away from you, down to that holographic display, she summarily went through a short listing of vessels.
>MVS Sampo, a capable and well-proven blockade runner and/or smuggler's ship, mayhaps?
>No, it had a track record of having parts breaking down too often for your liking.
>Next one was MVS Four Winds, one of the fastest ships in the Admiralty's arsenal at the time of its creation.
>You may have considered it, but its hull strength...left a lot to be desired, from its history of being penetrated more than a porn star.
>Swiping past that one in disapproval, you then arrived at the MVS Creative Treason.
>Just wasn't your color.
>Also, its on-board V.I. was a turbodouchecanoe, if the testimonies of the previous crews were to be believed.
>Before long, you were starting to give up on finding anything that caught your fancy, and your interest in accepting resultingly declined.
>That was, until you ran across the MVS Seagull.
>An old freighter appropriated by the Migrant Navy during a program to develop newer, more powerful weapons and tactics, it was designed with the purpose of a commerce raider.
>With a bit of creative editing, the front of the vessel was remade into a spinal-mounted, ultra-heavy artillery cannon.
>More specifically, a bigMclargehuge railgun designed with the sole purpose to propell rounds at something that absolutely, positively needed to die.
>There was only one strategy best befitting such a strategy.
>Pop a squat down where the enemy least expected it, and drive the Lance of Longinus through targeted Myegir ships.
>Whilst certainly successful in this role, ultimately, the project was discontinued as Command's favor shifted away from the project.
>Getting away from the sick stats, you read up on the V.I. it came with.
>It was, apparently, a very goal-oriented and no-nonsense kind of unit.
>You think you could get along with it, what with being on a voyage of great scale.
>After some deliberation, you think you might just accept this whole Navigator thing.
>What else was there for you to leave behind, after all?
>An empty room, strewn about with your few worldly possessions?
"I really like this one right here, the Seagull."
>Sensing that she had found something that captivated you, the bureaucrat then asked the million-Mark question.
>"I see...so, Corporal Anon...do you accept, and want to join up with the Navigator's Bureau?"
>She held out her hand, awaiting you to take it and shake it.
>Which, of course, you did.
"That I'll do. So, anywhere I should go?"
>She was quick to explain these last details, now that you were aboard with the whole "go outside and get a healthy dose of cosmic radiation" thing.
>"Whenever you're ready, the Seagull will be awaiting, docked in Hangar 13-B. It's a reserved area for the Bureau; your datapad should allow permission to the hangar. You won't regret your decision today, Corporal."
>She said with all the certainty of a rinse-and-repeat procedure.
>As you parted ways with the appointed official, and packed your shit up after saying one last goodbye to home as you knew it, a part of you wondered what you might find out there.
>Another part of you pondered if being out on your lonesome with some V.I. for company would eat away at your sanity.
>Who knows what will happen?
>Arriving at your maglev stop, and taking a short elevator ride down to the hangar in question, you flashed your datapad before a scanner to make certain you were allowed to be there.
>A happy chirp of approval later, and you were taking a stroll down the corridors of the hangar.
>It took a lot of walking, but you were able to locate the airlock to the ship you were looking for.
>Both because of the name placard displayed voertop, and a curious shell of a robot.
>If you had to guess, it was vaguely equine in shape, sort of resembling a horse and yet distinct.
>You could still tell it was a machine, cutting down the creep factor some droids had, which was nice.
>It's "skin" was overall a distinct shade of darker gray, with off-white synthetic threads resembling hair.
>A mane and tail, if you will.
>Said "skin" was segmented, parts of it ending and revealing the robotic superstructure of the mechanical construct.
>Of final note as its head turned to face you, its eyes were a brilliant digital golden color, almost catching you by surprise.
>"Captain Anonymous, I presume?"
>A most decidedly feminine, mechanical voice pipes up neutrally.
>Hold on for one fucking second.
>'Captain?'
"Uh...don't think I ever got that high up in the chain of command."
>Blinking on occasion, the pony robot enlightened you on the matter.
>"You're the new commandant of the ship I am integrated to, which makes you Captain, does it not?"
>Couldn't beat that sound reasoning.
"I guess, yeah...so. You the V.I. to the Seagull?"
>It gave a slow nod.
>"I am. Unit Designation: Seven Hundred-and-Seventy-Seven, at your service."
>Its name was UD-777, huh?
"Nice to meet you, UD-777, I'd introduce myself but you already seem to know me."
>Aware of this fact, the robot only nodded in acknowledgement.
>Seeing as there wasn't much else to say or do, you wanted to get used to your new home.
"Think you could show me around, Sevens?"
>Obediently following your request, the airlock behind Sevens opened, and she led you on inside.
>One thing that became immediately apparent, the internal design of the Seagull was primarily practical.
>No need for platinum-plating every square inch of it all.
>Really, anything but an admiral's personal ship would have this kind of interior design.
>Felt like home already.
>What was even more homely was the Captain's quarters, that of which being far more comfortable than anything you were afforded back in your marine days.
>Whilst you unpacked, getting a better feel for your surroundings, Sevens went off to the bridge in order to prepare the ship for its first stop.
>After slipping yourself into a much more comfortable outfit and pleasing your autustic characteristcs about how you liked your new room, you went to meet up with the V.I.
>Upon hearing the doors slide upen to the magnificent view of the bridge, Sevens turned to face you.
>"A pleasure to see you again, Captain Anonymous. Are you ready to reach our first stop? The Seagull needs to resupply on fuel reserves before continuing its journey, so we'll be arriving at the Japhet's Folly outpost first."
>Not wanting to end up stranded in empty space, you think that route was just fine and dandy.
"Let's get to it, then, Sevens."
>Following some quick clearances with Hangar Traffic Control, the Seagull was free to voyage again.
>Shortly after reaching a safe distance from the fleet, Sevens informed you of the imminent FTL jump.
>"Jump Drives are warming up, Captain Anonymous. You may want to strap yourself in."
>Already in the comfy captain's chair, you give the go-ahead.
"Two steps ahead of you, Sevens. Let's put the jets on this bitch."
>You say with all due ceremony.
>Indifferent to your colorful language, Sevens stands by the navigation systems, guiding the vessel on its first journey in a long time.
>In the blink of an eye, the Seagull had accelerated faster than light, bound for a pitstop.
>The Jump Drive certainly was an innovative piece of technology, with the whole FTL thing.
>You may not be a man with one of them Polytechnic Edumuchashiunz, but you could at least appreciate how that marvel of science, engineering, and maybe just a little bit of space cocaine could make space travel so rapid.
>However, you reserved the right to feel grumpy that it was still taking time instead of simply popping in from Point A to Point B.
>The abandonment of good ol' human-engineered Breacher Drives was a mistake, in some ways.
>Indeed, you were currently wrapped-up in seeing what might be wrong with one of the backup Solagon reactors.
>Sevens had brought it to your attention that her ship-bound diagnostics had detected some fuck-up down the pipeline, and it might be pertinent to see what it was.
>So, cut from being in your personal quarters, sorting shit out and getting used to the change of place, to being in the ass-end of the retrofitted freighter.
>Sevens' vaguely-equine robotic shell was perched on a slight ledge, observing the influx of the Seagull's sensory data as you fiddled with some of the reactor's internals.
>Monitoring this likely incredible amount of information through a holographic visor display, Sevens gave feedback on your ship mechanic skills.
>The perfect way to waste your time whilst waiting to arrive at that distant refueling outpost.
>As you ever-so-tactfully move from one possible problem part to another, you probe the V.I. as to what might be the issue.
"What do you see with your android eyes, Sevens? Anything happening when I move this thing?"
>You question as you use a pry-bar to gently shift a coupling, specifically, where a Solagon Fuel Cell would be inserted into the hulking frame of the reactor to be promptly consumed for power.
>From the little, digital chirps heard nearby, you had an assumption that was indeed the case.
>"It would appear that a faulty fuel cell coupling might be the issue, among other possibilities."
>Called it.
>Moving onto the more complicated procedure of disassembling your way down to the purportedly-faulty part, you swap out your feely tools for fixy tools.
"Good, maybe that'll be the end of it. We have any spares just laying around, or am I going to have to wait for one to be machined?"
>You ask of the V.I. nearby, hoping you could get this done as soon as possible.
>Your question hung in the air for a few long moments, soon starting to feel uncomfortable.
>Before too long had passed in awkward silence, a gradually-stronger source of blue-ish light came to "hover" behind you.
>If your ears did not decieve you, an...energetic sound came with this light.
>The best guess you could come up with was that it sounded akin to arcing electricity, travelling ever closer yet remaining distant.
>Glancing away from your menial task for a moment to investigate, you were confronted with a shiny new fuel couping, hovering but mere inches in front of you.
>Suspended in a sort of aura, basking the part in question with a distinctive cyan-white field.
>Having a sneaking suspicion of who might be behind this, you crane your neck just a hair more to see what Sevens might be up to.
>Your eyes soon met with her optical sensors, their orange, digital glow piercing through the relatively dim lighting of the room.
>That, and a much brighter blue light being emitted from some antenna-analogue protruding from her robotic shell's head.
>Well, Sevens' probably got you beat on the number of surprising things either of you can do.
>"Where would you like this to be placed, Captain Anonymous?"
>Broken from your stupor, you gesture a clean, empty spot in the nearby toolbox.
"In there'll be just fine, Sevens. Ahd, uh, thanks for getting it for me."
>The android nods silently; the suspended, shiny-new fuel coupling finding its place approximately where you pointed to.
>With a soft, metallic 'plink,' the replacement bit was ready for you to jam it right up in there.
>When the time was right, of course.
>Before you could get to that time, reminding yourself, you had to get to the old one to take it out.
>And that required you to plod on through a questionably-designed housing to get all the way down to it.
>At the moment, you felt like throwing down hands with the designers of this reactor for making it this much a bitch to do so.
>Why she hadn't assigned some automated maintenance suite to the task, you may be asking yourself.
>The way Sevens put it involved familiarizing yourself with the Seagull's internals, as otherwise, there was a 'significantly heightened statistical likelihood' of your death should you not know how to perform emergency repairs.
>That wild fucking mountain wasn't a ride you wished another go on.
>And, of course, here you were, stuck with this quirky little V.I.
>Just as you had a clear path to removing that failing coupling, which did appear to be quite fucked at this point in time, another convenient little digital chitter decided it should go off.
"Ah, fuck, what now, Sevens? Did I break anything?"
>Glancing over to the dark-grey equine android, all she mustered was a simple shake of the head.
>"No, you haven't. It would appear, however, that there are more issues than just a worn-out coupling."
>Ain't that just what you wanted to hear.
"Fantastic...so, any idea of where I need to look now? Is this a problem of getting alien tech to talk to human tech?"
>You voice your thoughts on the matter, being of the mind that it was the predominant issue.
>Even if humans were building their own jump drives, it was still first and foremost reverse-engineered technology from a more advanced and longstanding empire.
>Simply put, giving a caveman a flintlock didn't always work out so smoothly.
>"Should by diagnostic subroutines be correct, the solagon primers are currently unresponsive."
>Though it sounded familiar, you were unsure how deep those primers lay in the dormant reactor.
>A quick guess never hurt, before you were already balls-deep into this problem-fuckfest wrapped up a pretty little bow people called a reactor.
"Mind telling me how deep those primers are? It'll give me a ballpark on how much I'll need to scream n' cry for it to be done."
>Whilst you awaited her answer, you decided now might be a good time to swap out the older coupling for its brand-new replacement.
>Arguably, this was the quickest and easiest leg of your journey in learning how to maintain a freighter-sized starship.
>Moments after switching the pieces out, Sevens gave her answer to your question.
>"You won't be going into the reactor's inermost chambers, as that would pose a significant health risk for you. There's a maintenance hatch that allows you to access the primers in question. It's above the fuel cell neck you had just disassembled."
>Glancing upwards, it was not that difficult to locate, as it was exactly where the android had said it was.
"Guess I couldn't have shitted that up unless I had one of those augment suits..."
>You thought aloud as you shifted around parts of disassembled superstructure, clearing some space so you could have better leverage and line-of-sight for what parts were in such desperate need of repair.
>Of course, at this point, you were expecting something else to be proven inoperable or caught in the V.I.'s thorough diagnostic sweep.
>It was better to be safe than sorry, as a bad reactor was very bad news.
>Now that didn't take a scientist to wrap one's head around, but having seen pictures of an old Colonial-Era frigate sheared apart from a catastrophic reactor breach...
>You don't even think that a prop-driven ammo magazine detonation come close to how nightmarish a way that was to go.
>So, perhaps in the end, it was better to follow along with your companion automoton's suggestion and fix this damnable thing.
>Who knows, you might even need it one day.
>And judging by the extensive wear and tear on the bits and bobs you've already seen, the Seagull certainly had used it plenty.
>At least with this next step in your pathway to a self-taught engineering degree, it was smoother sailing.
>Now that you weren't wanting to neck the one bastard who designed these earlier reactors as much, your thoughts inevitably drifted to the Seagull in its entirety.
>And alongside that, its accompanying V.I.
>Reading that report back at the NB didn't really fill you in on a lot of what happened, all those years in conflict with the Myegir.
>Or, Hell, even before this all-consuming conflict began.
>Window-shopping for a ship to explore the galaxy in wasn't exactly a whole lot of other information.
>Besides, this existential silence - only broken when you spiced it up with obligatory cursing - was getting a bit uncomfortable.
"Hey, Sevens. You mind if I ask questions about the ship?"
>You could almost feel the emulated curiosity burning into the back of your skull.
>"Should your inquiries avoid any potenitally-classified material, I can answer what you need to know. What did you wish to discuss about the MVS Seagull?"
>A part of you was a tad perplexed as to why something would still be classified on a series of ships that have been discontinued for quite a while, if you weren't mistaken.
"Fine, I'm not gonna ask if Old-Earth 'slim jims' are gonna be staples in marine rations or not, just gonna start with something simple. Like when you were first installed as the Seagull's virtual intelligence compliment, if you're up for talking about that."
>Following the withdrawal of one of the heavily-corroded primers, you look back to your android companion, taking a break for a moment.
>Her facial expressions remained relatively neutral as she nodded, accepting your inquiry.
>"I have been an integral part of the MVS Seagull's subsystems from approximately when human hands first claimed the ship."
>Her words had your interest piqued; arching an eyebrow, you continued to prod further.
"Really now? So, you weren't designed by the Admiralty's own hand? What did you start out as, then?"
>Sevens was silent for a moment, though not inactive.
>Digging through her extensive records and old subroutines, she was piecing together a picture for you to look into the past with.
>"The oldest designated functions still intact are centered around freighter maintenence, management of supplies and inventory, and risk assment for FTL travel points."
"Okay, so you started out as the Seagull's taskmaster when it was bought. How long ago would that've been, Sevens?"
>Her calculation of when she was first activated took little time to answer, her response ready almost as soon as the last words left your mouth.
>"First Activation was logged at solar year 2985, twenty-seven years before first contact with the Myegir Hegemony. Relative self-awareness was achieved fifteen years following First Activation following an ever-increasing scale of work and increased processing power from retrofitted hardware."
>Your eyes go just a little wide, knowing that this V.I. was somewhere over a hundred years old.
>A good number of later V.I.'s and some A.I.'s today suffered from gradually-fatal data matrix corruption, which meant she had a particularly robust defence against such things.
>Or was especially lucky.
"Wow, you've, uh...you've been in the service probably longer than me. In fact, when did the Admiralty get their hands on you and the Seagull?"
>It was a bit difficult to hide your wonderment; to the consternation of some your peers, you did have a soft spot for synthetic intelligences.
>At least, whenever some salesman wasn't trying to jam useless shit down your throat, refusing to take a hint and scram.
>"The Seagull's acquisition by the High Admiralty occurred twenty years into the Myegir conflicts. You would have been undergoing the opening phases of your military tutelage."
>Who knew that a bunch of stratocratic nomads would train their progeny in martial matters at a young age.
"The High Admiralty is a bit Prussian, aren't they? Anyway, I assume that they had a helping hand in deciding your later subroutines, just like they did in changing the Seagull's purpose?"
>Her next answer came a bit slowly, the android thinking over the question.
>"Two answers: no and yes. Whilst those within the High Admiralty are intensely responsible for changing the hull configuration of the MVS Seagull, alongside restructuring my programming to both process and execute the tasks of deep space naval engagements, limited self-reprogramming has allowed a more expedient evolution to the realities of modern naval engagements, amongst other concerns faced away from the rest of the Migrant Fleets."
>With how sophisticated she was sounding, you were somewhat surprised Sevens hadn't been classified as a true A.I.
"That's...honestly very impressive, Sevens. A different question, for now; what's up with the horse-like chassis?"
>Now back to a less difficult question, the V.I. was able to respond much, much quicker.
>"In a short explanation, it is to better accomodate the social needs of humans and to better serve in the role of companionship, especially when few fellow individuals are present, if at all."
>Well that didn't feel like it explained anything at all.
>So, of course, you dug a bit deeper.
"Okay...that kinda doesn't do it justice, though. Why choose that particular design over, say, a humanoid one?"
>The android shifted her head slightly, moving the white synthetic threads that comprised her mane out of the way from her optical sensors.
>"From behavioral patterns observed and documented among the previous crew of the MVS Seagull during its time as a commerce raider, robotic chassis designed in humanity's likeness appear to illicit a less-than-desirable response, save for outliers with certain predispositions. A...different form, was required."
>So anyone who isn't a robofucker might not find machines built like them to be pallatable?
>Made sense, in a way.
>"Through careful research, both from crew observation and selective holonet inquiries, the arrival at this particular form was inevitably reached. From experiences with the old crew...I would say that it was successful."
>If you didn't know any better, you would have thought that was a smile on the android's face.
>Disregarding that, if only temporarily, you had a sneaking suspicion her mobile shell wasn't exactly the entirety of the synthetic mind.
"The way you talk about it makes it seem like the physical 'body' you have there really isn't the extent of you. Does that mean you're...well, the ship?"
>After taking a moment to understand what your question exactly connotated, the machine gave what she believed an appropriate response.
>"An astute observation, Captain Anonymous. My central intelligence core is housed in an armored compartment of the ship, broadcasting control input to this particular shell. Within a significant-but-limited range, barring interference, I can accompany you or other humans outside of the MVS Seagull." 
>Evidently, she really held her companionship functions in some higher regard.
>As you racked your brains for any other titilating quandaries for the android, and frankly found nothing else for the time being, you elected to get back to work.
>Not a good idea to leave a reactor in pieces like this, whoda thunk it.
"We should probably get back to working, now...was nice to sit down and chat with you, though, Sevens."
>She gave but a simple nod in return, getting back to monitoring her sensory suite. 
>As you hefted a shiny new solagon primer into place, something that had been nagging at you chose to voice itself aloud.
"Oh, and Sevens? Can I ask of you something real quick?"
>Standing at attention, the pony-shaped robot attentively listened for what command you may issue.
>"You may, Captain Anonymous."
"If it isn't too much trouble, could you just refer to me as 'Captain Anon' or just 'Anon?' It feels...weird, being addressed all formally like that when I ain't even in my dress blues."
>If you were gonna be with this V.I. for a long journey, you'd prefer it she address you as though you were familiar.
>Also seemed like it was a bit of a mouthful, to keep calling you by your full name like that.
>"As you wish, Anon. I'll keep you posted on when we'll arrive at Jhorge's Folly, in the meantime."
>Giving your quick thanks, you return your focus back to your work, carefully sliding the new primer into its place.
>Getting into the pace of exploration seemed slow, for now.
>All there really was to do was simply wait.
>Wait for your arrival to this silent fringe of the galaxy.
>The long wait after that moment shared with Sevens gave you time to grow more familiar and accustomed to your surroundings.
>At the moment, whilst you wandered near the bridge, you took note of how quiet the ship was.
>Even during a jump, it remained remarkably devoid of most mechanical whirring and grinding, the only real noise being from the alien dimension outside the ship.
>You would have expected such an old vessel to constantly make noise, clanging and thumping, the sound of machinery constantly running amid other things.
>Hell, even the arkships and some military vessels still had some innate background noise.
>It was almost...discomforting, even if you knew the quirky little horse android kept a tight leash on any mechanical issues.
>So long as Sevens told you everything was running fine n' dandy, you supposed it was so.
>She was plugged-in to all the ship's subsystems, after all.
>Rounding a bend in the hallway, you end up at an observation deck, watching as the ship traveled in the hauntingly-beautiful non-realspace.
>You didn't get much of a chance to see it so vividly whilst in the service, so you were gonna take it all in while you could.
>Streaks of magenta and red, swirls of violet and teal, splashes of golden-brown and fiery orange, all wreathed by ghostly sheets of indigo surrounding the ship as it was closing in on the corresponding point in realspace.
>How this dimension roiled and undulated, it almost seemed as though there was something out there.
>A thought that made you wonder just what could possibly live in this place.
>You were lucky such a sight wasn't enough to drive a man to insanity.
>Would be a great shame to miss such a view.
>You could almost get lost staring out into that undulating void outside the vessel.
>In fact, that's exactly what you were doing right now.
>What a coincidence.
>Better than learning some children's card game that's only for tenth-chakra-level intellectuals because of its intricate ban-list.
>In the long run, however, maybe you should find something to do with Sevens to keep yourself from going insane between exploration tasks.
>Think of the Devil, the automatic door to the observation deck smoothly glided open, steps trailing soon after.
>"Captain Anon."
>She greeted, being to-the-point as ever.
>Glancing back over your shoulder, you meet that familiar, literally-glowing gaze of hers.
"Sevens. I take it you have something important to tell me?"
>Standing still and giving a quiet, short nod, she confirmed your suspicions.
>"As you have requested updates regarding our arrival at the Jhorge's Folly, I have come to inform you that we'll be exiting non-realspace momentarily. Your presence may be required on the bridge, of course."
>No doubt for the station to make sure you're really you and not some reptilian wearing a shittily-sewn skin-suit.
>You don't know how the Zuckerberg Method still worked in this day and age.
>Pushing yourself against the railing that kept people from smudging the glass, you turn to follow your V.I. companion back to the ship's nerve senter.
"Guess we shouldn't keep them waiting on us, right? Lead on, I suppose."
>Acknowledging your words, the V.I. gave a gentle gesture of the head to accompany her, which of course you followed through with.
>Though you had been getting more familiar with the layout of the repurposed trade hauler - with no small help from Sevens, might you add - you could still get lost among the bulkheads and corridors from time to time.
>You'd never openly say such a thing to the helpful Sevens whenever she asked what you were looking for, but you knew she knew that you needed a helping hand for now.
>It was one of the reasons she was your companion, after all.
>The trip to the bridge was uneventful, save for the sounds of creaking between the occasional bulkhead or a particularly-loud ventilation duct.
>You know, just the usual kinds of sounds amongst the drab gunmetal grey of the internal structural durasteel.
>As you and your V.I. companion entered the bridge, the characteristic chirping of the ship's FTL-Comms reciever soon filled your ears.
>A chipper tune if there ever were such a thing.
"They sure are some eager little fuckers, I tell you what...we shouldn't keep them waiting for too much longer, might mistake us for a Hunter-Killer Group's vanguard."
>You remark with a sigh, the sound slowly becoming more and more grating on your senses over time.
>Much better to clear the air, as getting killed so early in your adventure sounded quite boring.
>Sevens concurred silently, opening comms to respond to the station's hail.
>A very short crackle of static came over the intercom, followed by the voice of Folly's CIC, calm and measured with the whetstone of routine.
>"Incoming vessel, this is Refueling Outpost Jhorge's Folly; please transmit your vessel's identification for verification. Failure to comply with this request will be met with deterrence, and if need be, termination of your vessel as a potential threat."
>Now if that wasn't comforting.
>Might as well give them what they want.
"This is Captain Anonymous of the MVS Seagull, we're stopping to replenish our stocks of solagon batteries before continuing with our mission. Standby for IFF confirmation."
>You glance over to Sevens, who was diligently handling the process with such conscientiousness that her digital, golden eyes don't seem to notice your passing look.
>"...Welcome to Jhorge's Folly, MVS Seagull. Please proceed along the designated route to Loading Bay 7R post-jump."
>The CIC's voice chirped over your bridge's intercom once more, presenting a much more positive message than the last.
>Mainly because it didn't threaten you with a painful, explosive-themed death.
>A few moments later, you could see realspace start to materialize ahead of your vessel, the apparent threshold between the reality on the other end and the strange, undulating dimension the Seagull was currently swathed in.
>Instinctively, you shield your eyes with a hand, knowing what came next.
>An intense, short flash of whitish blue filled the bridge, before dissipating to normal light-levels.
>Sweet baby fuck, that shit's bright.
>You'd think they'd find a way to dim the lights a bit in the current century, but you thought they just wanted to melt a shut-in's retinas.
>With your mandatory minute of grumpiness spent, you remove your hand from your eyes to survey the scene before you.
>It wasn't often you got to see anything away from the Migrant Fleets now, after all.
>The Refueling Outpost proper almost appeared to be made more out of the constituent ships coming in that it was its own superstructure, with spaceships of every imaginable human design arriving out of non-realspace, moored, and jumping to another distant system.
>All of this seemed to occur with a masterful dance of coordination, no doubt thanks to the expertise of the station's capable staff.
>Sitting from the Captain's Chair, the holographic display before you lights up as Bay 7R is outlined with a "target" marker, letting you know where you were going amid the clustered mass of durasteel.
>Nice.
>Whilst you were admiring the station's existence, Sevens began to bring the ship in for docking and resupply without your prompting.
>Tight schedule, you presumed.
>With the V.I. at the helm, the ride was smooth and uneventful, though with how close some of the larger warships seemed, you did grip the armrests like a father teaching his progeny how to drive literally anything.
>Luckily for you, Sevens had well over a hundred years of experience in managing the ship.
>Or, well, you could say it was as natural as controlling one's own body.
>There was, after all, a strange line being walked in that regard.
>Seeing as your V.I. companion was holding down the fort, you left the bridge to redress into something more appropriate for waltzing about in public.
>What?
>Even if you were technically back to working for the High Admiralty again, it's not like you needed to be in your decorated dress blues or standard issue uniforms all the time.
>You could bunny-slippers this shit up if you wanted.
>Besides, if Sevens ain't complaining, why the fuck shouldn't you treat yourself a little bit?
>It was going to be a long Space Road Trip, anyway.
>One thing that wasn't long in comparison, however, was how long it took your companion bot to dock the Seagull with Jhorge's Folly.
>Hot damn, she worked fast.
>As the converted freighter rocked gently - its airlock coupling with the station's jetway - her synthesized voice came in over your new quarters' intercom.
>"Captain Anon, are you preoccupied with the filing of a mission report or some other mission-critical task as of now?"
>Though you're pretty sure she wasn't trying to be a dick about it, that little ship-horse robot was quite curious about your little delay. 
"No, I'm changing into something more, eh, acceptable! I'll meet you at the airlock in a minute!"
>You respond, trying to fit your foot through a pant leg that had somehow bunched up at the bottom.
>Sevens remained silent, simply acknowledging your biological problems and waiting for you to join up with the android.
>You were fairly certain you packed your shit up neatly.
>Naturally, you blamed this slight on the suitcase gnomes, this had their prints all over it.
>However, they would be spared your wrath, as you didn't have the time to deal with that shit.
>Right now, you needed to haul some serious ass to make up for lost time.
>Luckily, with how intensively Sevens had been pushing you to get familiarized with the Seagull's layout, it wasn't difficult to find out where the tethered airlock was.
>There, waiting for you like the first day you met her, was the ship's integrated V.I., patiently standing by the airlock.
>"Are you ready to go, Captain Anon?"
"Yeah; you coming along, too, Sevens?"
>The equine android nodded, turning her attention to the airlock doors as it automatically began the process of equalizing pressures and what-have-you.
>"Of course. Do you wish for me to leave this shell behind instead?"
>She questioned, as if asking what you would prefer for her to do on a regular basis.
>You shook your head, thinking some company other than your thoughts stumbling awkwardly around in your head.
"Nah, it's fine. Your transmitter's range isn't going to be blocked once we go inside, right?"
>Her expression changed upon hearing your question, a genuine - if soft - smile arose on her otherwise artificial features.
>"I wouldn't have chosen to come with you if I knew all it would accomplish was the deactivation of this chassis."
>As the seal separating the Seagull from Jhorge's Folly was lifted and the path to within the station rescinded, Sevens went forth, a gentle current of stale, recycled air ruffling her synthetic mane slightly.
>You followed right at her side, occasionally tossing a glace outside the narrow windows of the jetway.
>The station itself was deep within in a nebula, more specifically, one rich with solagon.
>You could tell where it was within the nebula, the blueish aerosol of exotic matter sticking out strongly against the dully-colored dust clouds.
>It was the only fuel out there that could make interstellar travel possible.
>Everyone wanted it, and everyone needed it.
>Means the resupply bases needed to be close to the tap, especially since the Myegir would probably get a real fat hard-on shooting up tanker fleets.
>Also explains why they're real tight-asses about security.
>Your attention quickly shifted gears as you and Sevens entered the vast open space of the loading bay itself.
>Being stuck in a hollowed-out metal box for so long, it felt nice to be in another, albeit larger, metal box.
>It seemed to stretch on into the distance forever, appearing much larger on the interior than you may have thought.
>Felt like you could breathe a bit more, and it wasn't as repetitive to walk around in.
>Little crowds gathered around their designated logisticians, duly purchasing a new stock of batteries to replace their expended stock, the process generally trying to be kept as efficient as possible to prevent a chronic backlog.
>Between the small gatherings of people, hovering lifts carried out their stock of precious cargo back down a different section of the loading bay.
>The administrators of the station must beat their meat to time-tables on the reg if this place has achieved this level of coordination.
>The thing that really woke up your walnuts was the small number of aliens among their number.
>Ain't no way in hell they could blend in to the environment, especially with the sealed-environment suits they had to wear.
>If you were to take a guess, they were probably Xma-Xml traders - the Mark-hungry fungus among us - haggling for some fuel cells for the next leg of their journey.
>Though their presence was generally tolerable, a good many of your fellows still looked upon them with suspicion and contempt as befitted a bunch of uninvited xenos.
>They weren't what you were here for, though.
>Following Sevens' guidance, the two of you eventually met with the group that would be handling your ship's proscription of supplies.
>The little group of logisticians not saddled with a hefty helping of work were a quaint pair; a female human robot preoccupied with some numbers-crunching and a former fighter pilot trying to hit a fat nap whilst his bosses might not be looking.
>His bionic legs kinda gave away what branch of the Migrant Fleet's military he was in.
 "Hey, tin-legs, wake up!"
>You call out to the resting veteran, but as far as you were aware, he was politely ignoring you.
>Rood.
>His compatriot, however, glanced up from whatever they were doing to keep themselves busy between jobs, noticing that the two of them now had work.
>Without missing a beat or a spoken word, the female robot picked up some piece of metallic junk, before plinking it off his forehead loud enough for you to hear.
>That woke his ass right up.
>Falling off his throne of trash as he attempted to stumble to attention, the grounded pilot nursed the now-apparent bruise as he glanced around to see for what he was jolted awake.
>"Ow, fuck! Alright, alright, I'm up! Ah, shit, Zoe, do you really gotta do me like that every time someone shows up for a resupply?"
>The robotic lady crossed her arms, and whilst you weren't sure what exactly it was, you assumed she was looking at him with a sort "I told you so"-kind of expression.
>"If you had actually listened to my advice and had chosen to rest instead of-"
>The ex-pilot gave his robotic compatriot an interruptive wave.
>"Yeah, yeah, love you too."
>The ladybot smirked a tad at his response, choosing to leave him be to address you.
>"So...what're you here for?"
"Just picking up some supplies for the MVS Seagull before heading out into uncharted deep space."
>Zoe was quick to begin searching through her datapad for any mention of your ship, whilst the man before you prodded for a little more info.
>"You one of them 'Navigators?'"
"What, do I have a look about me that says I am?"
>You question back, wondering where he got his superhuman powers of deduction.
>He shrugged his shoulders, apparently thinking such an observation was obvious.
>"Well, it's just you that's here instead of all the other support personnel, and I've had to deal with a couple of them as of late. Sometimes they have machine companions come in with 'em too, but not all the time. So, that's what I figured."
>Fair enough.
>Before that conversation got any deeper, Zoe spoke up to confirm a few more details now that she found your ship in the registrar.
>"Alright, MVS Seagull...you must be Captain Anonymous, heading out to Uncharted Sector 5723-0-I?"
>You still couldn't get used to being addressed so formally.
"Oddly specific, but yeah, that's me. Did the High Admiralty cover this, or do you guys need to tag-team my wallet?"
>That little flamin'-hot zinger seemed to stick more with the female android than her partner, her synthetic voice being made apparent by its clipping between giggles.
>"No, Captain, you're covered by the Admiralty. I'll be back in a minute with the solagon batteries you need for your trip."
>She didn't get too far before her fleshy friend stopped her.
>"Aren't you forgetting something, Zoe?"
>The robolady in question sighed softly, nodding slowly in response.
>"How could I?"
>Though her tone was sarcastic, her smile seemed to only grow.
>The reason behind that was made clear enough, as Zoe strolled closer to him, they embraced one another closely, the female-modeled robot giving him a quick peck on the cheek.
>"Forgot to say I love you back, 'Minate."
>Zoe parted from the embrace shortly thereafter, off to attend to the matter of hauling the required fuel for such a long-distance journey.
>"'Minate" must have noticed your staring, shrugging his shoulders as if he had been inquisitorially judged.
>"What, is it illegal for a man to marry an A.I. now?"
>Sevens decided it would be her turn to throw down in the Octagon of conversation.
>"Such laws have not been on record since the days of colonial expansionism well over a century ago."
>He must not have seen the equine android accompanying you by some force of magic, because when he saw the V.I.'s shell, he seemed to light up like a child on gift-giving holiday day.
>"Holy shit, man! It's been forever since I've seen one of the pony models! That's a quality vintage design, right there!"
>You were gonna be honest, you did not expect that much enthusiasm out of this guy.
>Then again, you have spotted a fellow robofucker with a sense of high culture like yourself, so it all evened-out.
>"Now how did you manage to snag that? Last time I checked on the holonet, the last company that made pony android assembly kits went belly-up. Can't even find them on shitty resale pages."
>He kneeled down to admire the craftsmanship that must've went into producing the more personable shell that Sevens was controlling from the ship's interior.
>Feeling something between pride and jealousy, though you weren't sure why, you told him what Sevens told you.
>With a bit of paraphrasing, of course.
"Believe it or not, she made it herself."
>With his pistachios particularly percolated, his attention drifted back to you, however briefly.
>"You're shitting!"
>"Purchasing things and having them shipped within isolated regions of deep space is an extraordinary inconvenience, thus it is a better use of time to produce it independently."
>Your equine-bot ship-friend says, matter-of-factly.
>"Still, you guys are are pretty damn lucky for that. When Zoe and I were making our relationship more serious, we couldn't find any housings like this, so we settled with what she walks around with now."
>Pausing in his divulgence regarding his history with Zoe, he glanced back to where the automaton-in-question had gone off to.
>The automaton in question had returned, riding and guiding an almost-overloaded series of hover-lifts towards the jetway tethering your ship to the station.
>"Eh, enough of my personal bullshit, looks like it's back to work."
>That it was, and perhaps to Sevens' benefit.
>She sure didn't seem the type to want all the attention on her like that.
>The rest of the resupply stop was, in comparison, quite uneventful.
>Once actually back to doing their jobs, they certainly weren't so chatty, with you or themselves.
>The only other things you got out of them was that the pilot's name was Innominate, and he used to be a part of an old squadron named Strigoi before it got obliterated by Command misplacing some zeroes.
>More prestigious than being a grunt getting shot at on the ground or in the middle of a boarded Myegir battleship, you did have to admit.
>With how much this station seemed to fetishize efficiency, you supposed the duo wouldn't have been hired if they were too much a net loss in regards to how fast they could process ships.
>Besides, they weren't going to have to be the ones to actually secure this shit.
>One could be forgiven for assuming that was part of their job description, but that just wastes valuable time that could be used elsewhere.
>But hey, at least they were quick about it.
>Nothing like waiting all day to realize that you still had additional shit heaped up onto your plate.
>Speaking of said extra shit-to-do, that was now what you and Sevens were up to as the Seagull was back to jumping to its next point, where the Navigator's Bureau would shoot you a message to ensure you actually made it there.
>You were a man who had done tasks of arguable bearability for a long time.
>You didn't complain that often, probably because one of your superiors would give you a can of "sit-yo-ass-down" if you actually did.
>You even ate your - probably edible - rations and made your bed like a good soldier.
>But THIS fucking bullshit took the cake and fucked it in half, too.
>You see, these solagon fuel cells weighed about as much as a neutron star each.
>Though there were some machines to help move the storage racks they would be kept in, you still needed to move them by hand into those racks.
>There wasn't any additional need to connect the dots to be made on that part.
>Which meant that you were going to need to break a serious sweat to get this job done.
>Maybe pull a few ligaments or tear a muscle while you're at it, too.
>All you knew for certain was that you would despise existing for a few days after this.
>At least Sevens was there to help you out with this torturous task, using that manipulation field her mobile shell possessed to strap two of those ungodly-heavy hunks of fuck to her sides.
>Even though she couldn't get exerted like a human would, as far as you knew anyway, you could hear and smell the servomotors within her leg joints burning up with each fuel cell stowed away safely.
>Poor little thing wasn't designed to handle that kind of work.
>Even though the pony-shaped robotic shell the ship's V.I. transmitted itself into was more likely than not replaceable if not repairable, it did serve as more motivation to get the task done.
>Including the fact that you really didn't want to do this shit again.
>As with most insufferable work, it felt like it would be ages before you would be through with it, but eventually, the task was done.
>You honestly thought your arms and legs would give out before everything was put away and in no danger of causing a catastrophe neither of you wanted.
>Instead, that honor went to the non-ship body of your V.I. companion, her standing appearing quite shaky with some of her legs seizing up.
>You did have to remind yourself that she was greater than this more diminutive form, even though the human tendency to judge what you can see immediately was pretty strong.
"Guess that one's...pretty toast?"
>You eek out between lungfuls of air, taking a well-deserved moment of rest.
>Sevens glanced at the rather obvious signs of overworking on the mobile robotic form, noting its imperfections.
>"It would appear the servomotors in this unit need further enhancement, forgive me for not having addressed this issue beforehand. The downtime for repairs and proper strengthening should not be long."
"It's nothing to be sorry about, Sevens, I mean, you still have the rest of the ship, right?"
>You found her apology a bit misplaced.
>"While that may be true, it temporarily prevents a subroutine from being filled; the subroutine of companionship in deep space."
>With some noted difficulty, she raised a hoof to her chest.
>"And there is no greater crime than an inefficient, wasteful machine."
>Was that a bit of pride you were hearing in her voice?
>This quirky little V.I. kept finding ways to surprise you.
"Okay, go ahead and take care of it, then. I'll be resting up and getting around to filing mission reports."
>You respond, with much less enthusiasm regarding the latter of the two subjects.
>You still needed to get used to that particular newfound fact-of-life.
>"Understood, Captain. In the meanwhile, shall a holographic display serve as an adequate substitute for this unit until repairs and upgrades are complete?"
>This V.I. and her fixation with optimization...
>You pat the android's head, noting how her synthetic mane felt amazingly genuine for something produced by a machine with no real sense of touch.
"Sure, whatever makes you happy...didn't know this ship was fancy enough to have one of those kinds of systems."
>"Merchants tend to be quite fond displaying their wealth with such luxuries. So long as it is not in immediate danger of being stolen."
>Sevens quipped about your observation as you left to unwind after your continued toil in the reactor's attached storage chamber.
>Whether or not it was just an observation on her part or an attempt at humor to lighten the air, it still gave you a bit of a chortle.
>On your way out, a couple of flying drones came in to retrieve the over-exerted shell, powering it down for safe transit to the Seagull's fabrication plant for repairs.
>Maybe you could convince Sevens to make some of these to do all that work instead of just you two?
>You were going to hold onto that thought for a little while, maybe even tape it to the fridge.
>For now, however, you had a bed that was telepathically beaming good vibes directly into your brain.
>Good vibes and getting around actually doing work was right up your alley about now.
>Once you had gotten back to the Captain's Quarters, the first thing you did was toss your sweat-drenched clothes off into a corner for safe keeping until you actually felt like moving them.
>The next step in your master plan would have been to take a shower and moan about moving heavy shit for the past hour or so.
>But something caught you before that would come to pass.
>That thing came in the form of a klaxon piercing your ear like an old hag's screeching and a canned message being broadcast throughout the ship.
>"|EMERGENCY ALERT| - Jump drive malfunction has been detected - Safety interrupt has been engaged - Prepare for immediate return to realspace."
>That was not the news you wanted to hear under any circumstances.
"Sevens, tell me what's happening, your my eyes and ears for this kind of stuff!"
>The terminal afforded to your new abode lit up, an insignia of the High Admiralty overlaid with Sevens' unit designation materializing on-screen.
>"An unknown actor has deployed a device designed to pull and keep a space-faring vessel from non-realspace. No natural phenomenon would be capable of replicating this interference."
>You prayed to anything that would listen that this wasn't the beginnings of falling into a Myegir trap.
"Keep me updated on what the hell this is, then...think you can try and patch us in to command while you're at it?"
>Seating yourself just as the Seagull was shorn from its FTL jump, the converted freighter lurching slightly from the suddenness of the ejection, you eagerly awaited the news to judge what course of action needed to be taken.
>"I should be able to exactly that...hold on, we're receiving a communication from an unknown actor, possibly from whoever is preventing us from continuing our course."
>You breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
>The Myegir weren't much ones for theatrics like having a fireside chat before slaughter.
>"Communiqué translated - standby for playback."
>The sound of static being cleared up was the first thing to greet your ears, preempting the message itself.
>"Attention, unidentified vessel, you are in violation of Order 0266 of the First Galactic Republic's Federative Council. All former core Ecumenical space has been placed under strict containment. You are instructed to turn away from this quarantined sector and discontinue any further probing of the restricted area. This will be your first and only warning before direct intervention is instantiated."
>An infodump that didn't even give a real reason as to why these cheeky cunts wouldn't let your ship pass.
>Delightful.
>Ecumenical?
>First Galactic Re- what?
>What the hell were you being lambasted with right now?
>With how vague and nondescript this transmission sounded, you were starting to get a tiny bit livid at how pretentious it all sounded.
>Though, yourself only being human, you curiosity had been piqued by whatever these terms meant.
"Sounds like this's something we really ought to check with the NB...don't want to be the retard that starts a war and kills us all. Do we have a working comms link, Sevens?"
>Behind her numerical demarcation, the light changed to a soft green in confirmation.
>Cute.
>"I'll go ahead and patch you in. In the meanwhile, I will search for whatever has halted our advance, in the event we are told to continue the mission."
>Two birds with one stone, right?
>Laying back in your seat while still feeling quite filthy with the dried sweat still clinging to your skin, you waited on hold, mulling over what you were supposed to tell the NB.
>You didn't get too much more than a few minutes before someone on the other end answered the call.
>"Right, so uh...MVS Seagull? It's a little early for you guys to be calling in for something, isn't it? You're not even at your waypoint yet."
>The guy who picked up your signal couldn't have been more than a new recruit.
>Real fortunate of this young lad to not have been sent off to die on some far-flung shitworld.
"Glad to know you guys have working starmaps on those arkships, was almost worried there for a minute."
>A sarcastic, half-hearted laugh was all the response that zinger got.
>"Is that really all you're reporting in for?"
"For real, though, we've been pulled out of our jump from Jhorge's Folly into unknown space, and sent us a canned message telling us to kindly fuck off. We can't continue on our planned route due to some kind of...interference field, I think is the term. Advise?"
>"...can you run that by me again, with a bit more info to fill in some blanks?"
>You could almost hear him sitting up a bit straighter, knowing this was more serious than asking for directions.
>Or whatever else other navigators have previously called in for.
"Some sort of device from, quote, the 'First Galactic Republic' is keeping us from continuing deeper into this sector of unknown space, in violation of an order to seal off, quote, 'Ecumenical' core territory...we're requesting orders as to what course of action we should take."
>Maybe it was your fault for not paying as much attention in Xeno History class, but you'd never heard those terms in your life.
>At least, not used in that kind of way.
>"Okay, uh...just give a moment to check something, I'll be back with you in a sec."
>And so, you ended up on hold again whilst the guy on the other end probably had to funnel this information up the chain of command.
>It did give an opportunity for your grey matter to start working and mulling over the topic at hand.
>Last you could recall, if the translator software worked and did its job, then that would mean whoever put that device out there was an empire humanity had extensive contact with at some point.
>The ten million Mark question was, who was it, then?
>After your few minutes of musing over that vagary, your contact with command came back to clear the air.
>"I've got a mission update for you from the higher-ups, so listen up; you're to continue on your exploration mission with a focus on identifying what this 'Ecumene' is, and if there's anything important we can learn from them. The governing body that created that inhibition device doesn't exist anymore, it fell apart a long time ago."
>Maybe that explains why you didn't hear about this enigmatic republic, now that you think about it.
>"You're also cleared to destroy whatever is preventing you from fulfilling this mission, starting with that FTL inhibitor. You'll be notified if any tasks for your mission change. Do you understand the instructions as I have provided them?"
>He seemed to be taking this a tad more seriously all the sudden, perhaps intending to follow orders so well as to not fall out of favor with whoever put him in that job.
"...Yeah, I understood what I've been told."
>You nodded to nothing in particular, knowing that whoever this young man was, he couldn't see you on the other side.
>"Good, just continue on as you were, and be thorough when you find something interesting. Guys with way too many medals'll be very curious about what you find."
>Got it, take more notes than usual when you see something shiny.
>Shortly after those final words, the signal cut out, all the information needed for you to hear having been heard.
>You leaned back in your seat, whatever grey matter remained between your ears processed and memorized your newer, more detailed mission statement.
>Well, with all that said and done, you supposed there wasn't much more room to waste time sitting here to see if that canned message repeats ad nauseam.
"Now that we know what to do...you got a bead on the target?"
>You said to the monitor, kinda starting to miss the ship V.I.'s little android frame to talk to.
>Felt a bit weird to just be saying those words to what felt like nothing in particular.
>Once again, the light behind her designation changed to a soft, appealing green in the confirmative.
>"The target is approximately an astronomical unit from our position, overall size standing at roughly a few dozen meters, defensive capabilities judged to be minimal from long-range scanning. Primary battery stands ready to fire at your order, Captain Anon."
>With such an open invitation, how could you possibly resist?
"Fire on my mark. Three, two, one...mark."
>It felt so corny and stupid to give the go ahead like that, but it was something you've been wanting to do for a while after getting roped into this whole "navigator" business.
>You didn't get a whole lot of opportunities to shot guns this big back in the service, anyway, so you might as well savor the moment while you could.
>The moment the last word left your mouth, you felt the whole ship rattle from the force of firing the main battery, and you could almost hear the ear-splitting sound it must have sputtered out into the void of space.
>A counter ticked down the estimated distance the shell had yet to travel, the numbers flying by with breakneck speed.
>Within a few minutes, the counter reached zero, faster than you honestly thought it would have taken a round to travel that far.
>However, Sevens was quick to notify you of the shell meeting its mark.
"Target confirmed hit, the inhibitor device has been successfully destroyed."
>You were almost happy that you didn't need to get a second shot in, it almost felt like the ship would just tear itself apart around the massive cannon.
"Right, and has the field preventing us from going where we want also been neutralized?"
>"...It would appear so. We are cleared to continue."
"Well, then, what're we waiting for? Let's keep going along our previous route until we run into something interesting."
>You said, eager to resume the trip you had been going on before you and Sevens were so rudely pulled out of non-realspace.
>Though, as the ship was once again moving back into that dimension of travel, you did have to admit a bit trepidation.
>Where you were going, there wasn't exactly any information to be had about your destinations in advance.
>It was just you, the ship, and the V.I. all alone out in this wild reach of space.
>It was both an exciting prospect and something to be cautious about.
>At this moment, though, it was too late to go back.
>Now began your journey into the dark.