Futuristic Cosmic Deep (open)

[Pacificus]

Daytona heard more radio calls but they were marred by static and his limited range. He began searching for a way to boost his range. With a purpose, he began sifting through debris until he found a long metal rod, that seemed to be made out of conductive material. He stabbed it upright into the deserts fine sand smacked it with the back of his fist; knocking the dust off. He took off his communicator and crudely ripped off the back. With nimble fingers, he cut two wires and placed their exposed ends against the rod. He fastened the rest of the device to it with a nylon strap recovered from a dead body.

Now came the hard part. Self-repair was always dangerous for an android. An android did not have eyes-on in their internals and one wrong move could damage something important. Atleast he didn't leak like the organics. Daytona inclined his chin to his maximum elevation. He reached into his neck and undid a limiter that allowed him to tilt his head back to an awkward 90 degrees. A very vulnerable position. He reached in and grabbed his modulator. Carefully and very slowly, he removed the device. Once removed, he gently tapped it against his thigh. A small amount of sand came lose. Again, carefully, he returned the part back into its place and brought his head back down. If he could gag, he would have.

"Testing, testing. 1, 2, 3." His voice came out smooth and refined. Even his slight southern twang was present. That's one repair down. He thought and clapped his hands together enthusiastically.

He turned to the communicator and pressed the transmit button. "This is Daytona. Is there anyone on this net? Can anyone hear me? This is Security Manager Daytona. Over." Now with a longer range, his message was transmitted out into the open desert.

FireMaiden Lord Saethos

 

[DarKnight36]

"Glad to hear you're all alive," Matias' voice came over the frequency being shared by Eickhern, Hart and Daytona. "Daytona, Hart, Eickhern, you should be in range of the flare. Firing now." Matias lowered the ship's radio, more powerful than the suits and thus more capable of transmission. He pointed the flare gun at the sky and fired. A brilliant burst of red lit up the desert sky.

"I'm at location of the Cassowary's crash," Matias continued. "If you find any other survivors, members of our crew or otherwise, bring them here. We're all in this together now."

Matias squinted at the desert sun. It was edging towards the horizon, which worried him. The place wasn't exactly warm already, and night would bring even colder temperatures.

"Let's get those shelters up!" Matias ordered the former pirates, who threw out an "aye aye captain" and began unwrapping the terrestrial bivouacs that had been included in the cargo.

 

[Lord Saethos]

As if by some miracle, Eichkern's radio feed was filled by not one, not two, but three responses from his comrades. He breathed a deep sigh of relief, as he took in what all three had articulated. In the distance, he could see a red flare go up. Perfect.

Eichkern checked some instruments he had built into his suit, and fortunately, the planet had a magnetic field it seemed. Compass was pointing...

He turned to face it's direction, with the sun now going down below the horizon on his Right side.

So North is ahead, the sun sets in the East, and the red flare was hovering in the West. He quickly pulled out a small notebook in a fireproof, metallic case, along with a pen. He'd convert this into digital format as well, but wanted to be sure he had a backup copy as he attempted to map this out.

Eichkern was by no means a mathematician, but the instruments he did have on him helped him to come up with some rough ideas of directions.

"Everyone, this is Eichkern reporting in. The sun is setting in the East. If you turn so that the sun is setting on your right side, you're facing North. From my position First Officer Kingsbury, you're to the West of me. I'm going to start making my way there, rough estimate would be between 45 minutes to an hour and a half, best guess."

He turned to face the oasis once more, before continuing. "If you're still able to copy me, I'm at a small oasis. Could be a useful spot for food and water, perhaps tomorrow morning we should gather some resources here, try to reach the others. First Officer, I'm heading to your position. Officer Hart, Chief Daytona, if you still copy, let me know if you need further directional assistance."

DarKnight36 FireMaiden Pacificus

 

[DarKnight36]

"Roger, good work Eickhern," Matias replied. He began sketching a brief map on a notebook he carried with him. It looked like there were some mountains to the north. He did another scan of the horizon. No other signs of smoke. Perhaps the Blackbird's Cry was in another location. Matias ran his tongue over dry lips. Or maybe the Cry had not crashed. One could hope... Well, they'd cross that bridge in the morning. For now, getting everyone together was paramount.

 

[PiePillager]

Sliding down the the dunes to rejoin the rest of the Blackbird's crew, Hector called out. "I need r&d out here! And Haul! Where that little dude at?" he wondered aloud. He'd need the captain too, if she ever turned up as well. He spotted the security chief, but he appeared to be on comms. If he was communicating with any other survivors, that was a good sign.

He glanced warily at the stone tablet in his hands. At the red gem shimmering in the middle. At the star map, he was certain matched no known cross-references in the Blackbird's databanks. Still wouldn't hurt to check though.

 

[egglover]

Within the darkness of the bush that surrounded Eickern's small oasis, a set of many glowing eyes peered at him curiously.

***

"Hodge I cant...I cant see..."

An all-consuming darkness. Panicked breaths of pain and heat.

"I-It hurts. I cant...where are the others? Hodge...where...are you taking me?"

A shriek in reply. Her body burned from a sticky substance. Blood.

"What about the others? Hodge wait I -"

Gasping for breath, Tish finally awoke in a panic, her robotic body jolting forward whilst she fought for a gulp of air. The artificial lungs that kept her alive pumped to keep up with her panic attack. She could hear them whispering to her. The voices. They begged silently in the darkness, and caressed her face with calloused, grainy fingertips...

Strange. They had never done that before.

Looking up pulled Tish out of her nightmare. A dark, desert cavern surrounded her, dimly lit by a single hole that seeped with moonlight and sand that fell gently onto her body. An arm and two legs pushed out of the pile of sand that she lay upon and she found herself standing and staring up at the hole with a frown. "Right, we must have crash landed after the jump..." Tish's words echoed in the chamber, "Great. Excellent. Shit. Well, it could be worse."

The Captain of the Blackbird's Cry bent down and brushed the sand off of her radio, banging it a few times on the palm of her hand to get the sand out. With a hopeful shrug, Tish turned it on and began to speak, "Hello? Hello? Can anyone copy? This is Captain Tish Suleiman from the Blackbird's Cry. Are there any survivors? Hello? Anyone copy?"

 

[druidquest]

"A quick return to consciousness," Dr. Haliday noted, handing the canteen back to the ensign. Her drones flitted about Tristan's face, clearing sand away from his eyes, nose, and mouth. "You must be the lucky type."

They only rested briefly before resuming the march toward their distant signal. They had jury-rigged a stretcher to carry Tristan on while they walked over the burning sand, his returns to consciousness frequent, fleeting, and weak. He most likely had a concussion, but without the resources in her medical ward there was little Dr. Haliday could do for him. For him or any of the other casualties under her charge.

Dr. Haliday was not a spiritual sort, but those that were let out exclamations of mixed relief and dismay as the Blackbird's Cry finally came into view. Those not burdened with carrying the injured rushed ahead, sprinting over the dunes to see what other survivors had made it back safely, and which ones were in a fit state to come help those lagging behind. For Dr. Haliday's part she moved slowly, the weight of the pirate woman on her back pressing her down deep into the sand with each step and making her strain to pull her long legs free so that she could press onward. Some of the crew aided her the best they could, as they had done in shifts the whole trek back. Now here, at the very end of it, she found that it was one of the pirates aiding her instead, dour and eyes averted as he helped lift her out of the sand with each stride.

The sand closest to the Blackbird had been somewhat hardened by the heat and pressure of its landing, making it easy enough to walk on that Dr. Haliday could finally bear the weight alone. She picked up her pace, flying through the hole in the back of the ship and into the wreck itself. Standing in the shattered cargo bay, Dr. Haliday took stock of the full situation. It would take many hands to carry the wounded up to her medical bay on the deck above; under present circumstances, it would be easier to set up camp around the outside of the ship and ferry what supplies she needed back down. Part of this looked to have already been done by the first survivors to arrive at the site (or those who had landed with the ship) and so when an ensign ran over as she stepped out of the wreckage, she kept her instructions brief.

Dr. Haliday wasn't sure how much time passed after her arrival. Perhaps a few hours, perhaps a full day. But for its entirety, the Chief Medical Officer of the Blackbird's Cry did not stop moving. Wounds were cleaned and dressed, medications administered where needed. A few were too far gone for saving, and she directed their bodies to be laid with the others in the cargo bay. They would be left to Captain Suleiman's discretion; somehow Dr. Haliday doubted the woman would want to leave them behind. Regardless of what fates awaited them all, Dr. Haliday kept herself busy, taking no notice of Hector Jordan's arrival, or Daytona's after him. It was only when the chief engineer called out for assistance that she finally looked over.

"There are still crew members yet to be accounted for," she called back, stepping away from one of her patients. "If the matter is not immediately pressing, it may be better to shift your focus toward reactivating some of the Cry's systems."

 

[PiePillager]

"It may be better if you shut your fuckin' mandibles up," Hector replied, without sparing a look at the Chalcidian. "I'll get to the ship. I need to contact whoever's in charge. If they're here...or alive," he noted, pacing the sands below, glancing occasionally at the tablet in his hands.

He wished he still had a smoke on him, as he let out a sigh. The robot in charge of security seemed busy trying to initiate contact on his own. Hector would have to ask him if he had any luck reaching anyone once he was done. ...And then he heard the crackle behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted a pair of crewmembers manning a communications array from which a familiar voice emitted.

"Hello? Hello? Can anyone copy? This is Captain Tish Suleiman from the Blackbird's Cry. Are there any survivors? Hello? Anyone copy?"

" 'Scuse me," Hector reached over, grabbing a small portable radio from the array and speaking into it. "Captain. This is your chief engineer. Where you at? There's survivors. Not everybody, I don't think...think we too busy taking care of the injured to do a headcount."