Other Is a paragraph enough?

[rae2nerdy]

Also just to clarify the site itself defines Simple and Casual the following ways

Simple - Simple Roleplays are games for people who just want to roleplay and for people that are not interested in meeting post requirements. That means within simple roleplays, players are not expected to meet a post length requirement (posts can be varying lengths) and players can expect an easy process of joining the game in terms of character creation and understanding the setting/plot.

Casual - Causal Roleplays are games for people who are interested in improving their roleplaying abilities. Casual Roleplays expect posts that are about a paragraph (1+) long minimally. Players joining a Casual Roleplay are also expected to be interested in developing the roleplay’s plot, add details to their characters and possibly even add to the setting of the roleplay.

I actually didn’t know Simple had no post requirements prior to looking it up so I thought I’d post for others who were maybe not aware ( I’m not sure if these definitions are posted anywhere prominent or just in personal details on our accounts. )

 

[BackSet]

Can someone get him back in here. I'd kind of like to yell at him for making baseless accusations against me. It's fine to have opinions but a lot of the stuff he said was not nice. This is the theorizing section debacle all over again.

 

[Elephantom]

Can someone get him back in here. I'd kind of like to yell at him for making baseless accusations against me. It's fine to have opinions but a lot of the stuff he said was not nice. This is the theorizing section debacle all over again.

I probably should've been there right then. Been itching for a good argument nowadays, and haven't been catching one. Shit.

Well, enough said, time for my own plain opinion:

I think, in my personal opinion and what I've gleaned from the few writers' circles I've been in, that a paragraph is simply not enough, mostly always. It forces one to write in the passive voice, which is considered a sin amongst novelists, and generally shows a partiality to fun itself. Fun is good, and you each have the right to seek fun in its fullest, but I always found it more rewarding and, well, fruitful if effort were put into it. Dopamine and all, I assume.

Nevertheless, I do not mean to endorse purple prose, or overly lengthy replies, but, I only mean to undermine the contrary of it; beige prose, or simply said, the considerable lack of details over a dietary simplicity. Put rightly, it can work, but one needs to practice their individual democracy with words, which can be a notch more harder than it seems. I recommend writing beyond the measures of a single paragraph, and sticking to common rules of writing — write simply, of course, as you wish, but expertly.

 

[Idea]

Well, yes, a single paragraph can have a lot of depth, however, they rarely do. Is a single paragraph enough? If you're in a hurry once in a while it can't hurt, but if you want to do anything serious like I do, then you ought to try a little harder, in my opinion. And I mean, if you don't have time to write, and if you can't put in the effort to write a bit more detailed posts, why are you forum RPing? With some people I might see how they just love it so much despite their life circumstances, but most answers I do came across are stuff like "I was bored" or "I didn't get the muse" which may be true answers, but are also ridiculous reasons not to put more effort into the hobby you want to take up.

Long story short, I won't go after anyone who wants to write just one paragraph, but I won't go out of my way to roleplay with one or keep a roleplay with one as most of the time I just can't see them putting the level of commitment I want out of a partner into our roleplay

 

[rae2nerdy]

I probably should've been there right then. Been itching for a good argument nowadays, and haven't been catching one. Shit.

Well, enough said, time for my own plain opinion:

I think, in my personal opinion and what I've gleaned from the few writers' circles I've been in, that a paragraph is simply not enough, mostly always. It forces one to write in the passive voice, which is considered a sin amongst novelists, and generally shows a partiality to fun itself. Fun is good, and you each have the right to seek fun in its fullest, but I always found it more rewarding and, well, fruitful if effort were put into it. Dopamine and all, I assume.

Nevertheless, I do not mean to endorse purple prose, or overly lengthy replies, but, I only mean to undermine the contrary of it; beige prose, or simply said, the considerable lack of details over a dietary simplicity. Put rightly, it can work, but one needs to practice their individual democracy with words, which can be a notch more harder than it seems. I recommend writing beyond the measures of a single paragraph, and sticking to common rules of writing — write simply, of course, as you wish, but expertly.

Er I have no idea what most of this meant. I got something about maybe wanting to start a fight, novels, and fun?

And the general idea that you think roleplay is the same as writing a novel and that paragraphs are bad.

I just do not understand that mindset. A roleplay isn't a novel, heck for a lot of people it's not even a writing exercise or a primarily written medium. But for the sake of argument we'll go with it being a written exercise. That still doesn't make it a novel nor does it mean that it should follow the same conventions as a novel.

For one thing you rarely write a full length novel purely as a hobby. Not saying you can't but it's a lot less common. Usually if you put the effort into writing a full length novel you are doing it for some specific purpose. Whether that's because you want to publish it, you want to post it for other people's consumption, or you just really want to tell that story for some reason there is usually an end goal in mind.

Roleplaying rarely has an end goal. Not saying there are no roleplays that have a beginning - middle - end but they are by far the minority not the rule.

Roleplaying is typically speaking a hobby and a means for interacting with other people ( and yes you might improve your writing along the way but that is rarely the sole point of the roleplay itself ). So this idea that oh a roleplay must involve effort and that you must use such and such novel style writing approach has always been baffling to me. It's like apples and oranges. They aren't at all the same thing so why are you trying to compare them?

A roleplay is a hobby and a hobby should be fun. Does that mean that no effort ever must be put into a roleplay. No of course not you can put effort and work into something and still understand that it's meant to be fun.

The same way that you can value detail without imposing a word limit.

Like for me that's where I stand on the whole paragraph / one liner / whatever business. I honestly don't care how long your post is. I don't care how often you post. I don't even care how much effort you put into character sheets.

All I ask is -
1. You inform me if you have any questions about the plot/setting/character requirements/etc.
2. You inform me if you do not want to roleplay anymore
3. You not be an asshole

If you can manage those three things chances are we'll be fine. I mean I might occasionally ask you to alter your post if I don't feel like I have enough to respond to but I'm never going to be - you must post blah blah words in such and such a style or we can't roleplay.


( to clarify I do 1x1s primarily which are much easier to personalized but even when I did groups I mostly only asked people to align with those three requests I was just usually a little more strict on character sheets and post frequency than I am now )

 

[BackSet]

Um... I'm pretty sure you can write a paragraph and still put effort into it. Take the opening post of this thread for example.

 

[Hall Kervean]

but one needs to practice their individual democracy with words, which can be a notch more harder than it seems.

Sorry sorry sorry
but

"one needs to practice their individual democracy with words"

"can be a notch more harder"

That's all.
*rolls out*

 

[Elephantom]

the general idea that you think roleplay is the same as writing a novel and that paragraphs are bad.

I just do not understand that mindset. A roleplay isn't a novel, heck for a lot of people it's not even a writing exercise or a primarily written medium. But for the sake of argument we'll go with it being a written exercise. That still doesn't make it a novel nor does it mean that it should follow the same conventions as a novel.

---

A perspective, a sport, not a mind-set. I do understand myself, that what I'm trying to do, is by sheer force, comparing the spans of the definition of recreational activities with the technicalities of it. Like, for example, videogames; this is, assuming that Rping is a recreational activity, and not it the extreme sort. Writing a novel, would vaguely translate to making a commercial game, or otherwise, playing it professionally or in a purely competitive/weighty atmosphere (not to say there aren't that sort of posh fluff going on around in this place). Rping would translate to playing a game or creating one of mild levels.

But, what I'm suggesting here, is simply following the rules a novelist should bear in mind — that is, an etiquette in writing, manners, and an easy to dedication to the hobby. Effort results in accomplishment, and in itself leads to a better sense of joy and a sense of solidarity — oh, I do know many people who disdain simplistic writing, waving the banner of basal English grammar to defeat it. You should follow grammar too.

Should it follow the same conventions of a novel? Nope. Is it a sort of little novel? Noperidoo. Does it involve prose that has to be in novels? Yes. Since the first two are NOs, does that mean the novel has to be wildly contrary to it? Opinion promptly preserved, no. Why? How? Let's see, you've got someone who keeps throwing paragraphs with no structure or composition. I know people who can throw around a few short lines and make it a good scene. Your post doesn't need to be a strong buckaroo of 8-feet posters. Nussir, it doesn't. But, what it can is just follow basic etiquette and conduct of prose.

For example, what quite a many inexperienced (in the form of the writing) RPers do utilize is the passive voice, which people not in touch with prose can experience. It can condense structure to the aforementioned posters, just sticking slack to the wall like a limp banana that keeps falling off. Am I making myself clear? Passive voice = Kid's voice. People will feel insulted.

‘Am I kid?’

‘Fuck yeah! Now am I going to spoon-feed my story to you.’

Fucking aces. That's how you mess up. Adults being adultsy, though there's a disturbing amount of kids nowadays. You tell your kids. We're gonna show shit to our men. Concern de la fucktwat for the audience.

Skipping the grotesque language (I do sometimes get maddeningly crazy), let's move on to the next part.

---

For one thing you rarely write a full length novel purely as a hobby. Not saying you can't but it's a lot less common. Usually if you put the effort into writing a full length novel you are doing it for some specific purpose. Whether that's because you want to publish it, you want to post it for other people's consumption, or you just really want to tell that story for some reason there is usually an end goal in mind.

Roleplaying rarely has an end goal. Not saying there are no roleplays that have a beginning - middle - end but they are by far the minority not the rule.

---

I've already illustrated the misconception in the previous section. Prose, not the entire gods-shit-on-it RP.

---

Roleplaying is typically speaking a hobby and a means for interacting with other people ( and yes you might improve your writing along the way but that is rarely the sole point of the roleplay itself ). So this idea that oh a roleplay must involve effort and that you must use such and such novel style writing approach has always been baffling to me. It's like apples and oranges. They aren't at all the same thing so why are you trying to compare them?

A roleplay is a hobby and a hobby should be fun. Does that mean that no effort ever must be put into a roleplay. No of course not you can put effort and work into something and still understand that it's meant to be fun.

---

I've employed it, and so far, it has managed to shorten my disturbing case of purple prose, and has also fine-tuned my writing to the the point of being brief and utterly curt, or so I like think. At least more so than previous shades of my writing.

Novels? Let's break it down. Books? Let's break it down? Stories? Let's break it down. Prose? Hell yeah. Prose is prose, and even it can be fun without being lazily casual — is maintaining a modicum of functionality and adult-capacity a threat to fun? No, sport, never! You write, but you don't just write for the hell of it. Write three four lines, five lines. BUT, never a short paragraph that gives nothing — no detail, no monologue, no narration, n-no DIALOGUE! (Excuse the hyperbole, feel free to ignore this part)

---

The same way that you can value detail without imposing a word limit.

Like for me that's where I stand on the whole paragraph / one liner / whatever business. I honestly don't care how long your post is. I don't care how often you post. I don't even care how much effort you put into character sheets.

---

Who the hell said I was imposing a word limit? Always MORE than three paragraphs, and they can be lines too, and without being 8 feet posters. Three lines to describe the scene. First, to the scene itself. Second to, perhaps, character DIALOGUE and ACTION. And third to monologue. Hell it can even be mix and matched. But, why, for God's sake, one big wall of words? Or, really, one short line of zero dialogue and action. Those are not fun. Well the latter is definitely. That is an RP-killer!

---

All I ask is -
1. You inform me if you have any questions about the plot/setting/character requirements/etc.
2. You inform me if you do not want to roleplay anymore
3. You not be an asshole

If you can manage those three things chances are we'll be fine. I mean I might occasionally ask you to alter your post if I don't feel like I have enough to respond to but I'm never going to be - you must post blah blah words in such and such a style or we can't roleplay.


( to clarify I do 1x1s primarily which are much easier to personalized but even when I did groups I mostly only asked people to align with those three requests I was just usually a little more strict on character sheets and post frequency than I am now )[/I]

---

I call monkeys on it! I bet you crack down on imps try'na bullshit their way into your personal world with 1st person writing and diminutive-dick-flaunting.

May the gods shit my madness.

I met a lot of assholes, and they're assholes. There are assholes about one-liners and one-paragraphs, there are assholes about the long-form. Assholes everywhere.

(Don't take any of these with animosity in mind. They were definitely said with good in heart, and I bear absolutely zero hatred towards people who write one lines. I'm just saying, writing two more lines isn't going to kill you. Threes are always best.)

 

[Elephantom]

Sorry sorry sorry
but

"one needs to practice their individual democracy with words"

"can be a notch more harder"

That's all.
*rolls out*

Oh, hey, Sano. Didn't see you there for a moment.

 

[Elephantom]

Um... I'm pretty sure you can write a paragraph and still put effort into it. Take the opening post of this thread for example.

Never! Fuck details. Write with all the structeroo of threes! One large wall of words is just demonic, sir.

 

[Hall Kervean]

Never! Fuck details. Write with all the structeroo of threes! One large wall of words is just demonic, sir.

This is part of something I did
There's stuff before it and after it.
Basically, this is the character introductions without the characters.
Up to this point, the captain of the spaceship had walked into the ship, seen someone sitting and reading, and seen someone fixing a coffeemaker.

Next to the machine, the captain spotted a half-complete drawing of the crew at a table and everyone bantering except one member. The only person not talking was Kagaya Killiaka, who was also the only person who was deeply shaded. Next to the presumably incomplete drawing was a cup belonging to Bradley Cooper, one of the two biologists aboard, partially filled with water. Given the sideways glares the aide was giving the cup, it was probably intended to be used for coffee. There was a fandom argument between the other technician’s aide and the technical specialist that had been carried out via sticky note under his nose and the two lance corporals had kept their combat suits stored in a pair of lockers.


I just described Kagaya Killiaka's depression, that he likes to draw, that he's trying to draw attention to his loneliness and, by the captain's reaction, failing, that Bradley may be irresponsible and untidy since he left his cup, that Bradley is a biologist, that Bradley is not the only biologist aboard, that the aide was upset at Bradley for something (and given the chain of events, logically, Bradley was the one who broke it), that the other two mechanical dudes on board are passionate about their fandoms, that the lance corporals trust the crew and leave their combat suits in the middle of everything, and that the captain is fond of his crew.

In five sentences.
I counted.

Don't need no word wall, boiiiii

 

[Elephantom]

Don't need no word wall, boiiiii

Oh, no, that is supremely WALLY!?!?!?

 

[Hall Kervean]

Oh, no, that is supremely WALLY!?!?!?

DID SOMEONE MENTION
THE GREATEST WORK OF MEDIA OF ALL TIME!?

WALL-E!?

: O .O. O : Ö

 

[Elephantom]

DID SOMEONE MENTION
THE GREATEST WORK OF MEDIA OF ALL TIME!?

WALL-E!?

: O .O. O : Ö

Of course, I did. Now let's take a look here. Proper structure, zero signs of poster posting.

Next to the machine, the captain spotted a half-complete drawing of the crew at their table, bantering. Except one member. He frowned.

The deeply shaded Jakarta Wackliner, with an air of gloom binding him to his seat. A cup belonging to Bradley Cooper, one of the biologists, stood next to the incomplete drawing, bearing half its length of water. It was probably intended for coffee, as the aide gave a sideways glare at it.

The captain turned his gaze. “Techno-geeks,” he muttered though gritted teeth, forehead furrowing. There was a fandom argument between the other technician’s aide and the technical specialist. It had been carried out via sticky note under his nose. To further embellish his anger, the two lance corporals had kept their combat suits stored in a pair of lockers. Disgraceful.

The captain shook his head. He wasn't going to let it ruin his day.

 

[Hall Kervean]

Of course, I did. Now let's take a look here. Proper structure, zero signs of poster posting.

Next to the machine, the captain spotted a half-complete drawing of the crew at their table, bantering. Except one member. He frowned.

The deeply shaded Jakarta Wackliner, with an air of gloom binding him to his seat. A cup belonging to Bradley Cooper, one of the biologists, stood next to the incomplete drawing, bearing half its length of water. It was probably intended for coffee, as the aide gave a sideways glare at it.

The captain turned his gaze. “Techno-geeks,” he muttered though gritted teeth, forehead furrowing. There was a fandom argument between the other technician’s aide and the technical specialist. It had been carried out via sticky note under his nose. To further embellish his anger, the two lance corporals had kept their combat suits stored in a pair of lockers. Disgraceful.

The captain shook his head. He wasn't going to let it ruin his day.

Now, see, this was mid-paragraph, you jester.
His fingers tensed against the bright blue pad on the door before sliding them across the width of the door. There was a distinct pop and a quiet hum before the door vanished. The hardlight barrier between the bridge and the belly had deactivated, leaving the entrance wide open. Without a glance backwards the captain put his arm to his side and made his way out of the confining cockpit and into the cramped corridor that let him choose to go right or left with the knowledge both led to the same place. His decision held no weight, and so the ethereal decision to go left led him to the belly of the ship; a comparatively large compartment with a round table in the center, used for meetings, reports, communications, and putting objects onto, and traces of everyone able to be seen somewhere in the hub. He saw Aria VonPart sitting in the corner on a seat, flipping pages on an old paperback book about the weight of counsel on the counselor and the counseled. He wasn’t a psychologist, but he could tell she was definitely feeling affected by the book. He internally quipped that it was most likely what the book said that was affecting her and gave a small smirk at himself. He was distracted by a loud bang and a grunt of pain, accomplishment, or frustration, it was hard to tell, coming from his left. He saw one of the technician’s aides fixing a coffee machine… or, more accurately, “fixing.” Next to the machine, the captain spotted a half-complete drawing of the crew at a table and everyone bantering except one member. The only person not talking was Kagaya Killiaka, who was also the only person who was deeply shaded. Next to the presumably incomplete drawing was a cup belonging to Bradley Cooper, one of the two biologists aboard, partially filled with water. Given the sideways glares the aide was giving the cup, it was probably intended to be used for coffee. There was a fandom argument between the other technician’s aide and the technical specialist that had been carried out via sticky note under his nose and the two lance corporals had kept their combat suits stored in a pair of lockers. The only person who hadn’t left a trace in the room was Ken Long, their documenter.

 

[Elephantom]

Now, see, this was mid-paragraph, you jester.
His fingers tensed against the bright blue pad on the door before sliding them across the width of the door. There was a distinct pop and a quiet hum before the door vanished. The hardlight barrier between the bridge and the belly had deactivated, leaving the entrance wide open. Without a glance backwards the captain put his arm to his side and made his way out of the confining cockpit and into the cramped corridor that let him choose to go right or left with the knowledge both led to the same place. His decision held no weight, and so the ethereal decision to go left led him to the belly of the ship; a comparatively large compartment with a round table in the center, used for meetings, reports, communications, and putting objects onto, and traces of everyone able to be seen somewhere in the hub. He saw Aria VonPart sitting in the corner on a seat, flipping pages on an old paperback book about the weight of counsel on the counselor and the counseled. He wasn’t a psychologist, but he could tell she was definitely feeling affected by the book. He internally quipped that it was most likely what the book said that was affecting her and gave a small smirk at himself. He was distracted by a loud bang and a grunt of pain, accomplishment, or frustration, it was hard to tell, coming from his left. He saw one of the technician’s aides fixing a coffee machine… or, more accurately, “fixing.” Next to the machine, the captain spotted a half-complete drawing of the crew at a table and everyone bantering except one member. The only person not talking was Kagaya Killiaka, who was also the only person who was deeply shaded. Next to the presumably incomplete drawing was a cup belonging to Bradley Cooper, one of the two biologists aboard, partially filled with water. Given the sideways glares the aide was giving the cup, it was probably intended to be used for coffee. There was a fandom argument between the other technician’s aide and the technical specialist that had been carried out via sticky note under his nose and the two lance corporals had kept their combat suits stored in a pair of lockers. The only person who hadn’t left a trace in the room was Ken Long, their documenter.

Gods, what is that? Explains why their names are Chinese. . . It's the freaking Great Wall!

 

[Hall Kervean]

Gods, what is that? Explains why their names are Chinese. . . It's the freaking Great Wall!

Legit the longest paragraph in the document.

 

[Elephantom]

Legit the longest paragraph in the document.

The longest paragraph to grace us with existence, slightly reminiscent of Weird Fiction. Vandermeer, that man, always writes in the long form.

Be wary, though, Sano, writing is lot like fighting. And if your riposte comes off too varnished and flourished, you will be bit on the arse.

 

[Hall Kervean]

The longest paragraph to grace us with existence, slightly reminiscent of Weird Fiction. Vandermeer, that man, always writes in the long form.

Be wary, though, Sano, writing is lot like fighting. And if your riposte comes off too varnished and flourished, you will be bit on the arse.

Spoiler

There is no sound in space. So when the research ship rapidly decelerated from many times the speed of light to many times the speed of sound, the only announcement was the radiation burst that spread outwards from the ship. The wave swept across the star system like a ripple on a pond, and one with minimal effect; most of it either being deflected by the magnetic field around the planets or passing through the system entirely, dissipating into deep space shortly afterwards. The only major effect the burst had was being sensed by a system of satellites and sensors orbiting around the third planet in the system. The data was transmitted to the surface and processed, the ship being pinpointed and tracked, and the planet’s military assets were activated. But those aboard the ship weren’t aware.

The pilot, a female geologist, slowed their rate of deceleration as they approached Mach 10; or over seven and a half thousand miles per hour. They were just under two hundred thousand miles from the planet’s surface; closer than the moon to the Earth, and as the ship shuddered around its crew, she updated her captain.

“Sir, estimated final distance at optimal speed is one hundred seventy five thousand, give or take sev-” She corrected herself as one of her HUD GUIs refreshed itself with new data. “Six thousand.” The captain nodded, staring ahead at the planet. Department Heads had demanded he land as quickly as possible and, despite his reservations due to crew safety and how much they would accomplish, he had agreed to decelerating that close to the planet.

“Once the marker has been reached, slow deceleration by D to negative three.” He commanded, calculating. “Continue that rate until we reach ten thousand from surface.” She nodded, brow furrowed and eyes staring at the data.

“Once reached, slow by D to negative three until ten thousand, aye, sir.” She repeated back at him, confirming. It was standard procedure, and would be both disrespectful and potentially hazardous to neglect it. Unfortunately, the captain occasionally thought of it as an optional waste of time, not a mandatory regulation.

“That’s exactly what I said.” He snapped at her, before immediately regretting the decision and sighing. “I’m sorry, we’ve been a little pressed….” He raised his eyebrows when she responded with an “Apology accepted, sir.” It was cold and crisp, and she said it without forgiveness in her voice. She was normally cold in her apology acceptance, but she placed extra emphasis on the absence that made her apology seem insincere, or at least passive-aggressive.

“Thank you. When you reach the marker and set us on a trajectory, head on back.” He gripped the arms of his chair and pushed himself upwards with a quiet groan. He didn’t have much room to move around, with the size of the ship small and the bridge even smaller, and he had a little difficulty getting around his own seat. He pressed his hand against the door and held it there for a second, pausing in thought.

His thoughts were not towards his uncalled-for and harsh response, nor her apology. They were not towards the crew, their strained relationships, or the only other female on the ship, Aria VonPart, who had done her best to resolve conflicts as serious as learning about a breakup to as petty as Karen’s frustration over losing her card game with their documenter and quickly escalating it. He owed her somehow, that much was certain to him. But in that pausing moment, he was not deciding what he owed her. He was formulating a list of requirements for their landing site.

His fingers tensed against the bright blue pad on the door before sliding them across the width of the door. There was a distinct pop and a quiet hum before the door vanished. The hardlight barrier between the bridge and the belly had deactivated, leaving the entrance wide open. Without a glance backwards the captain put his arm to his side and made his way out of the confining cockpit and into the cramped corridor that let him choose to go right or left with the knowledge both led to the same place. His decision held no weight, and so the ethereal decision to go left led him to the belly of the ship; a comparatively large compartment with a round table in the center, used for meetings, reports, communications, and putting objects onto, and traces of everyone able to be seen somewhere in the hub. He saw Aria VonPart sitting in the corner on a seat, flipping pages on an old paperback book about the weight of counsel on the counselor and the counseled. He wasn’t a psychologist, but he could tell she was definitely feeling affected by the book. He internally quipped that it was most likely what the book said that was affecting her and gave a small smirk at himself. He was distracted by a loud bang and a grunt of pain, accomplishment, or frustration, it was hard to tell, coming from his left. He saw one of the technician’s aides fixing a coffee machine… or, more accurately, “fixing.” Next to the machine, the captain spotted a half-complete drawing of the crew at a table and everyone bantering except one member. The only person not talking was Kagaya Killiaka, who was also the only person who was deeply shaded. Next to the presumably incomplete drawing was a cup belonging to Bradley Cooper, one of the two biologists aboard, partially filled with water. Given the sideways glares the aide was giving the cup, it was probably intended to be used for coffee. There was a fandom argument between the other technician’s aide and the technical specialist that had been carried out via sticky note under his nose and the two lance corporals had kept their combat suits stored in a pair of lockers. The only person who hadn’t left a trace in the room was Ken Long, their documenter.

“Sir, we’ve stabilized.” The captain turned back towards Karen. She’d left the bridge and had left the ship on autopilot, like he’d instructed.

“Good. Stay here.” He turned back to the center of the room and strode forward quickly, stabbing a few buttons with his finger. His button-stabbing made the elevated semi-sphere in the middle of the table glow bright blue, projecting light all around the room. After a moment, it focused its light on him, and he closed his eyes to shield them from the painfully bright light. When it stopped, he cautiously opened his eyes to see that the half-orb was now barely blue, with very little light being emitted from its once star-like surface. It hummed and then spoke audibly, its light pulsing with each syllable.

“Begin message at the beep.” A pause, then a beep.

“Arm 2 Frontier Department Command, this is Jeffrey Polack, captain of E.C.R.S.S. Pendulum, enroute to S872, planet Verde, Discovery Division. We are in-system, and are closing on the planet’s surface. E.T.A. for landing site is a day and a half, give or take six hours. We will send another message once the trajectory for the site has been selected and we are within ten thousand miles. This is report one from E.C.R.S.S. Pendulum on Voyage Verde. This is also log #042 for E.C.R.S.S. Pendulum on Voyage Verde.” He waved his hand slightly, indicating that he wanted the orbs attention. It paused recording. “I want this duplicated and the duplicates stored. As for the message, purge the previous sentence. Confirm.”

The half-orb blinked once, confirming it had received its instructions and carried them out. The captain nodded and waved his hand again, and the blue half-orb blinked in acknowledgement. “We will be receiving the buoy results within the next hour, and our next report will contain that data. Thank you for your time.” He waved his hand again, telling it to pause. “Replay message.” The half-orb blinked in reply, replaying what was going to be sent. It had, as it had been instructed, purged the sentence about the log. He nodded. “Send message.” The half-orb blinked once, paused, then blinked again as it started to speak.

“Message sent. Any other needs?” Captain Polack nodded.

“Please play ‘intercom announcement seventeen’ over the speakers.” The half-sphere blinked, and Jeffrey’s voice rung throughout the vessel.

“All crew members, please report shortly to the meeting room. I repeat, all crew members.”


Aria looked up from her book at the announcement but lowered her gaze back down to the words below her that encouraged, instructed, and incriminated her about her efforts to counsel the crew. She thought she might be pretentious by thinking she was their stable rock, but that was what she felt like. She heard another bang and glanced up to see Bradley running into the room and bumping into the technician’s aide. She could tell it was supposed to be playful, but Bradley wasn’t gentle. The aide was knocked back and the coffee machine fell, jarring the loose components around and shattering the coffeepot. Anyone who was within earshot turned towards the broken machine, and the technician’s aide clenching his fist. She thought she heard a voice that sounded like Killiaka’s say something about a drawing, but she couldn't tell; he spoke like he hadn't gotten much sleep and she couldn’t understand the voice. Even if he had said something, she had a bigger problem to worry about than his art.

“I… told you… not to tou-!” The aide’s angry growl was cut off by Aria.

“That was friendly and you know it, Henry.” She was quick to establish her neutrality, though. “Bradley, you knew he was already upset with you, so that wasn’t funny. You shouldn’t have done that. Calm down, both of you.” She was internally jarred when she realized Bradley actually had kept his cool and blown the whole situation off, but was relieved to see that Henry had calmed down a bit.

“Sorry, Mrs. Vonpart, ma’am, I guess I lost my cool….” Aria nodded and put a hand on his shoulder, gripping it… hard but not too hard; that was how it had been put.

“It’s understandable, Henry; two weeks is tough. Once we land, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time away from each other!” She realized, too late, that what she said did not convey her intended meaning. Thankfully, it didn’t look like he’d misinterpreted her words. Before she could be sure, however, she heard whisper-shouting that steadily grew louder as it approached the doorway into the hub.

“…Shinaki to completely annihilate Stang. I’m sorry, Shinaki is op, but that’s how it is.”

“Ah, but you see! Stang’s shield is made from the bones of Imori, which absorbed a Shinaki blast in episode 73.”

“But Imori was burnt to a crisp!”

“True, but his bones were unharmed when the rest of the planet was destroyed!”

“It was an exoskeleton. That means that it was basically a shield; and Imori was still….” The two technicians lowered their voices when they entered the hub, so Aria couldn’t catch the rest of their conversation. Just behind them, though, she saw Ken Long huffing through the corridors. He wasn’t in the best of shape, so his puffs helped to shadow the technicians’ debate further. He took a moment to look around and pause for breath before grinning and heading over towards Bradley. The videographer slapped the unsuspecting biologist on the back, making him spit room temperature water back into his mug. He whirled to look at Ken before coughing into his elbow politely, expelling water from his lungs.

“Well, I hope you’re ready!” Ken smirked, seemingly overconfident. In reality, and it was obvious to anyone who cared, he was a little nervous, and his overconfidence was both covering up his fear and another attempt to break the ice with his new colleagues, but as Bradley coughed up the melted ice he had been drinking, his ice hardened a bit towards Ken in momentary frustration. He was careful not to show it though; Aria would notice.

“I am indeed. I’m curious whether the planet is covered in late-successional forest or if this is just what passes as mid-successional. What about you?” He gave a lopsided grin at Ken’s confused look. He knew that Ken was trying to learn all he could so he could be more helpful, but he was having fun poking at Ken’s lack of knowledge in some sciences, though he had been cramming.

“U-Uh, I guess the metabolic efficiency of the trophic levels and how energy is passed between them….” He gulped, staring at Bradley, whose lopsided grin shifted into a surprised smile. Ken guessed that he had said the right answer and sighed internally as Bradley confirmed this.

“U-Uh… y-yeah! Yeah. We’ll be able to look into that after a little while, I’m sure. We’ll tell you about the results as soon as they’re discovered!” Bradley was a little shaken up, actually, by how detailed his curiosity was. It was almost like he’d been studying a textbook and had only read so far, which made complete and total sense to Bradley. He coughed again and took a small, cautious sip from his mug, wary of his surroundings lest someone bump into him again. The water had been sitting out ever since he’d poured some of it into the coffeemaker and it hadn’t responded. The issue, it turned out, boiled down to “Get a new one, take a long time to fix, or go without.” The first was impossible, the third improbable, and the second hadn’t gone over well with Henry. That didn’t matter though; those who forfeited a man’s right to coffee forfeited their own rights. He chuckled to himself as Ken walked away from him towards one of the technicians, apparently interested in their debate over how comparatively overpowered Stang was when paired with the likes of the Bonohagan, a secret society in the same fandom as Stang, and Naruto, from a different fandom that had been the first franchise to accumulate over seventy thousand episodes. So Ken liked Naruto… huh. Bradley took another sip and started to back away from the crowd so as not to touch such a toxic fandom, and inadvertently drew within earshot of a conversation that was being carried out through whispers.

“Stratica-9.” One of the two Equinox Defense Force LCPLs said to the other, unaware of the accidental eavesdropper. Everyone knew that the two were great men; an anomaly among the soldiers who usually accompanied most vessels, and that said much since most soldiers weren’t bad, either. The game changed if you were caught eavesdropping when they were whispering; the universal sign of “not your business.”

On the other hand, he was concerned for his younger brother.

“Hear they’ve got a band of freedom fighters trying to stir up trouble. Take the planet.”

“The whole thing? Ambitious grents….” Grents; a minor pest that got a break and starved a planet. Harsh comparison.

“I haven’t heard what HiComm’s planning, b…” Captain Polack interrupted Bradley’s attempts at overhearing the information exchanged by slapping a hand on his shoulder, surprising him and making him jump a little. The captain had approached right in front of him. Had he been innocent, he would have known it was coming and wouldn’t have budged. Bradley gave the captain a sheepishly guilty grin, but Polack shook his head.

“Brad, I know you want to hear about Ben. I felt the same way. Sometimes you need to just trust that he’s fine.” He saw Bradley nod sharply, and he could tell it’d stuck. He slapped his shoulder again, this time without a reaction, and walked back towards the center of the room. Polack could see that they were getting a little rowdy, and if they got rowdy, they wouldn’t pay attention. Which went against why he’d called them there in the first place. A solution came quickly, and he pulled himself up onto the table. When he’d made his way up and managed to stand, he felt a quick rush of impressiveness. His position as the officer over everyone had just taken on a double meaning. He was also very glad that the table was sturdy so he could relish the pun. He didn’t even need to make a move to silence the room; after a few seconds, everyone realized that the fact that their captain was atop a piece of furniture held some significance. He grinned.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are closing in on the planet at around Mach ten. We’ll be planetside in a day and a half, give or take, so say your goodbyes and get pepped…” He paused in confusion as everyone began to chuckle at his error. When he realized what he’d done he had to take a second to calm down before he could see the humor in it. “Ahem, yes. Get prepped and pepped, boys and girls, because we’re taking this planet by storm.”

With that, he outlined their tasks that they would undertake upon landing. Their first expedition would be within a mile of the ship; Karen, Aria, Bradley, and Ken would collect samples of early-successional autotrophs while almost everyone else stayed behind and set some equipment up outside, though one would go on alone and start setting up a forward camp. As the assignments were finalized, Karen raised her hand.

“Yes, Ms. Cessner?” The captain asked, eyebrow cocked in interrogative questioning.

“Have we designated a landing site, sir?”

“Not yet; you and I will discuss it with our meteorologist when the data is processed, and…”

“Sir, with all due respect, we won’t know what to expect if we don’t know where we’re landing.” The room went silent. With the exception of the captain and Karen, it had already been silent, but now that one was regretting every mistake she’d ever made and the other had seemed to become sunburned indoors in a matter of seconds, the silence became oppressive.

That reign of tyrannical noiselessness was overthrown by an unruly din that exploded from the captain. Everyone, including the two veterans, took a step back. The gist of what those in the room heard and would never repeat to their mothers was that the pilot was a failure and that she could have been replaced by him. She appeared like a statue, transfixed in both angry resilience and absolute terror, resulting in her face taking on a more tame imitation of a gargoyle. When the captain paused for breath, Aria had her hand over her mouth, most were staring at the captain, and one of the technicians was close to having a panic attack, but Aria’s quick thinking and amateur psychology kept the disaster at bay.

“M-My apologies, c-captain, sir.” Karen managed to stammer. She spent the most time around him, so she knew the anger stemmed from a need to produce results and raise humanity up with the knowledge gained, not from a narcissistic need to remain unquestioned and respected absolutely. She knew.

And then Bradley dropped his mug, shattering it.


A yell burst from Captain Polack’s lips, echoing a bit around the room. Had the hardlight door been inactive, the ecstatic exclamation would have reached into the main compartment of the ship. Before the reverberations had finished their excited explorations of every edifice and crevice inside the confines of the bridge, Polack had pressed the button to activate the intercom. Since he didn’t have a prerecorded intercom command, he could bypass the ship’s option selections. A side effect of lacking a prerecorded command was that he was live. Normally when he was excited he would take a moment to calm himself so he didn’t misuse or abuse the intercom. Unfortunately, he was beside himself, and counseling never worked on a crazy man.

“Karen! Get the meteorologist and get in the bridge!” He was obscenely loud, and thanks to the intercom’s amplification and wide reach, none of the other ten members of the crew had their fingers outside of their ears. But while his shouting wasn’t necessary, his excitement was not unwarranted. After all, he had just received the files from the sensor buoys that had been dropped off in the star system a decade prior. He had been told to expect only about half to be able to send their data at all, and that number, to Polack’s jubilance, was wildly off; only one was incapable of transmitting. And while his excitement was watered down some when it turned out a few of the files were largely corrupted, he was still close to dancing when the two he had called arrived.

Their reactions were a concoction of equal parts excitement; “Wow, that’s a lot more than we thought there’d be!” and dread; “Wow, that’s… a lot more than we thought there’d be.” Polack remained oblivious to the half of the mix that didn’t match his own feelings, and this was clear when the dread began to lose its density in two of the samples; rising to the top as their deadline of six or so hours seemed closer than beforehand. They’d need a landing zone, a certain one, once their time was up. It’d be a shame if they had to randomly select one in an acidic climate, as had happened before when a ship’s crew had tried to use guesswork for landing. There were still two crew members missing, but the rest were found in or around the skeleton remains of the ship… two weeks after they’d landed. But their captain was impatient, and she doubted he’d agree to turn around and make another pass because they couldn’t calculate in time. So they were going to calculate in time. They had to.


“You’re positive?” The captain asked the radarman, an edge of desperation in his voice that was visible on the officer’s face when he nodded crisply. There was a tinge of resignation in his voice when he spoke a second time. “Alright. Keep track of them, and keep all of this quiet. We don’t want the other four to know. Let our leader know; he will decide what to do.” The aide’s right fist swung around and collided with his left hip in a salute. It had evolved since medieval times; if one had respect for one’s opponent and oneself, they would pause a moment, hand on their sword’s grip, before unsheathing their blade. As swords became obsolete, the modicum of respect remained relevant. And of course, being of lower rank, the radarman had to respect both his rank and the regulations set in place that demanded he did it.

“Yes, sir!” He brought his fist back to his right side, a gesture that came from more recent times and was used for convenience before doing an about-face and walking away from the captain in precise, measured steps. His back was to the captain, so he could not see as the color slowly drained from his superior’s face as his chloroplasts stopped functioning. Much like he himself had, the captain was taking it in. The captain’s head swiveled around in a daze, trying to comprehend the vibrantly green and slightly translucent men who surrounded him as individuals instead of a unicolored blur. As every last one consumed the local vegetation and fruits without fear, the captain felt jealous at their bliss ignorance of their collective worst nightmare becoming reality: A Truly Foreign Entity. Their entire species had always been fearful there was something beyond their Sphere, and here it was. It had the drop on the, and it had as much power over them as it wanted. This was confirmed when the captain recalled the strange, unknown blinks and blips his sound officers had picked up in-system when listening for TFEs a decade before and ever since; they were an early data detection system.

When he was able to stop musing about the systems they could use to stop the unparalleled threat and moaning about the aliens’ mere existence for a moment, his eyes wandered inexplicably towards the Fully-Light-And-Touch (FLAT) Pad that lay on the table, taunting him with its pale-green lighting scheme that reflected his own unusually pale shade of green and scorned him with the instrument of their very demise displayed in unfortunate clarity. But when he could stomach a glance at it, he lowered the fork that had been on its way into his mouth to the plate below. As his eyes began to flick across the screen, picking up every hue, crevice, and curve of the ship, he began to feel the chloroplasts in his cells working again, pigmenting his skin and giving him a renewed energy. He was shocked, in the best way possible; there were absolutely no weapons on the ship that he could see, which was an unexpectedly foolish move for a TFE to make when planning to invade and defile their Sphere. They had dispensed data detection systems; dozens of them, from the sounds they’d picked up; and when they returned, it had been in a spectacular fashion… a single, relatively small, unarmed ship. It had to be a strike team; there was no other explanation that made logical sense. He stood and left his dishes where he had left them, and while he’d felt guilty about his minor housekeeping faux-pas and his failure to finish a salad most enlisted servicemen would kill to enjoy, he had far more pressing matters. Specifically, their survival.

 

[BackSet]

Elephantom Look, I was going to join in this argument but it's pretty obvious you want me to conform to your style and your style only which clearly means that you are a major class, for lack of a better word, jerk which means I will not associate with you. Good day. Can't believe this is the only thing in my alerts.

Hey look! I wrote a paragraph! And I put effort into it!

 

[Elephantom]

Elephantom Look, I was going to join in this argument but it's pretty obvious you want me to conform to your style and your style only which clearly means that you are a major class, for lack of a better word, jerk which means I will not associate with you. Good day. Can't believe this is the only thing in my alerts.

Hey look! I wrote a paragraph! And I put effort into it!

Easy there, sport, I'm talking in good humour. You seem to be the one piping up like a snake in heat: hostile, maybe horny, but incredibly aggressive.

 

[Elephantom]

Spoiler

There is no sound in space. So when the research ship rapidly decelerated from many times the speed of light to many times the speed of sound, the only announcement was the radiation burst that spread outwards from the ship. The wave swept across the star system like a ripple on a pond, and one with minimal effect; most of it either being deflected by the magnetic field around the planets or passing through the system entirely, dissipating into deep space shortly afterwards. The only major effect the burst had was being sensed by a system of satellites and sensors orbiting around the third planet in the system. The data was transmitted to the surface and processed, the ship being pinpointed and tracked, and the planet’s military assets were activated. But those aboard the ship weren’t aware.

The pilot, a female geologist, slowed their rate of deceleration as they approached Mach 10; or over seven and a half thousand miles per hour. They were just under two hundred thousand miles from the planet’s surface; closer than the moon to the Earth, and as the ship shuddered around its crew, she updated her captain.

“Sir, estimated final distance at optimal speed is one hundred seventy five thousand, give or take sev-” She corrected herself as one of her HUD GUIs refreshed itself with new data. “Six thousand.” The captain nodded, staring ahead at the planet. Department Heads had demanded he land as quickly as possible and, despite his reservations due to crew safety and how much they would accomplish, he had agreed to decelerating that close to the planet.

“Once the marker has been reached, slow deceleration by D to negative three.” He commanded, calculating. “Continue that rate until we reach ten thousand from surface.” She nodded, brow furrowed and eyes staring at the data.

“Once reached, slow by D to negative three until ten thousand, aye, sir.” She repeated back at him, confirming. It was standard procedure, and would be both disrespectful and potentially hazardous to neglect it. Unfortunately, the captain occasionally thought of it as an optional waste of time, not a mandatory regulation.

“That’s exactly what I said.” He snapped at her, before immediately regretting the decision and sighing. “I’m sorry, we’ve been a little pressed….” He raised his eyebrows when she responded with an “Apology accepted, sir.” It was cold and crisp, and she said it without forgiveness in her voice. She was normally cold in her apology acceptance, but she placed extra emphasis on the absence that made her apology seem insincere, or at least passive-aggressive.

“Thank you. When you reach the marker and set us on a trajectory, head on back.” He gripped the arms of his chair and pushed himself upwards with a quiet groan. He didn’t have much room to move around, with the size of the ship small and the bridge even smaller, and he had a little difficulty getting around his own seat. He pressed his hand against the door and held it there for a second, pausing in thought.

His thoughts were not towards his uncalled-for and harsh response, nor her apology. They were not towards the crew, their strained relationships, or the only other female on the ship, Aria VonPart, who had done her best to resolve conflicts as serious as learning about a breakup to as petty as Karen’s frustration over losing her card game with their documenter and quickly escalating it. He owed her somehow, that much was certain to him. But in that pausing moment, he was not deciding what he owed her. He was formulating a list of requirements for their landing site.

His fingers tensed against the bright blue pad on the door before sliding them across the width of the door. There was a distinct pop and a quiet hum before the door vanished. The hardlight barrier between the bridge and the belly had deactivated, leaving the entrance wide open. Without a glance backwards the captain put his arm to his side and made his way out of the confining cockpit and into the cramped corridor that let him choose to go right or left with the knowledge both led to the same place. His decision held no weight, and so the ethereal decision to go left led him to the belly of the ship; a comparatively large compartment with a round table in the center, used for meetings, reports, communications, and putting objects onto, and traces of everyone able to be seen somewhere in the hub. He saw Aria VonPart sitting in the corner on a seat, flipping pages on an old paperback book about the weight of counsel on the counselor and the counseled. He wasn’t a psychologist, but he could tell she was definitely feeling affected by the book. He internally quipped that it was most likely what the book said that was affecting her and gave a small smirk at himself. He was distracted by a loud bang and a grunt of pain, accomplishment, or frustration, it was hard to tell, coming from his left. He saw one of the technician’s aides fixing a coffee machine… or, more accurately, “fixing.” Next to the machine, the captain spotted a half-complete drawing of the crew at a table and everyone bantering except one member. The only person not talking was Kagaya Killiaka, who was also the only person who was deeply shaded. Next to the presumably incomplete drawing was a cup belonging to Bradley Cooper, one of the two biologists aboard, partially filled with water. Given the sideways glares the aide was giving the cup, it was probably intended to be used for coffee. There was a fandom argument between the other technician’s aide and the technical specialist that had been carried out via sticky note under his nose and the two lance corporals had kept their combat suits stored in a pair of lockers. The only person who hadn’t left a trace in the room was Ken Long, their documenter.

“Sir, we’ve stabilized.” The captain turned back towards Karen. She’d left the bridge and had left the ship on autopilot, like he’d instructed.

“Good. Stay here.” He turned back to the center of the room and strode forward quickly, stabbing a few buttons with his finger. His button-stabbing made the elevated semi-sphere in the middle of the table glow bright blue, projecting light all around the room. After a moment, it focused its light on him, and he closed his eyes to shield them from the painfully bright light. When it stopped, he cautiously opened his eyes to see that the half-orb was now barely blue, with very little light being emitted from its once star-like surface. It hummed and then spoke audibly, its light pulsing with each syllable.

“Begin message at the beep.” A pause, then a beep.

“Arm 2 Frontier Department Command, this is Jeffrey Polack, captain of E.C.R.S.S. Pendulum, enroute to S872, planet Verde, Discovery Division. We are in-system, and are closing on the planet’s surface. E.T.A. for landing site is a day and a half, give or take six hours. We will send another message once the trajectory for the site has been selected and we are within ten thousand miles. This is report one from E.C.R.S.S. Pendulum on Voyage Verde. This is also log #042 for E.C.R.S.S. Pendulum on Voyage Verde.” He waved his hand slightly, indicating that he wanted the orbs attention. It paused recording. “I want this duplicated and the duplicates stored. As for the message, purge the previous sentence. Confirm.”

The half-orb blinked once, confirming it had received its instructions and carried them out. The captain nodded and waved his hand again, and the blue half-orb blinked in acknowledgement. “We will be receiving the buoy results within the next hour, and our next report will contain that data. Thank you for your time.” He waved his hand again, telling it to pause. “Replay message.” The half-orb blinked in reply, replaying what was going to be sent. It had, as it had been instructed, purged the sentence about the log. He nodded. “Send message.” The half-orb blinked once, paused, then blinked again as it started to speak.

“Message sent. Any other needs?” Captain Polack nodded.

“Please play ‘intercom announcement seventeen’ over the speakers.” The half-sphere blinked, and Jeffrey’s voice rung throughout the vessel.

“All crew members, please report shortly to the meeting room. I repeat, all crew members.”


Aria looked up from her book at the announcement but lowered her gaze back down to the words below her that encouraged, instructed, and incriminated her about her efforts to counsel the crew. She thought she might be pretentious by thinking she was their stable rock, but that was what she felt like. She heard another bang and glanced up to see Bradley running into the room and bumping into the technician’s aide. She could tell it was supposed to be playful, but Bradley wasn’t gentle. The aide was knocked back and the coffee machine fell, jarring the loose components around and shattering the coffeepot. Anyone who was within earshot turned towards the broken machine, and the technician’s aide clenching his fist. She thought she heard a voice that sounded like Killiaka’s say something about a drawing, but she couldn't tell; he spoke like he hadn't gotten much sleep and she couldn’t understand the voice. Even if he had said something, she had a bigger problem to worry about than his art.

“I… told you… not to tou-!” The aide’s angry growl was cut off by Aria.

“That was friendly and you know it, Henry.” She was quick to establish her neutrality, though. “Bradley, you knew he was already upset with you, so that wasn’t funny. You shouldn’t have done that. Calm down, both of you.” She was internally jarred when she realized Bradley actually had kept his cool and blown the whole situation off, but was relieved to see that Henry had calmed down a bit.

“Sorry, Mrs. Vonpart, ma’am, I guess I lost my cool….” Aria nodded and put a hand on his shoulder, gripping it… hard but not too hard; that was how it had been put.

“It’s understandable, Henry; two weeks is tough. Once we land, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time away from each other!” She realized, too late, that what she said did not convey her intended meaning. Thankfully, it didn’t look like he’d misinterpreted her words. Before she could be sure, however, she heard whisper-shouting that steadily grew louder as it approached the doorway into the hub.

“…Shinaki to completely annihilate Stang. I’m sorry, Shinaki is op, but that’s how it is.”

“Ah, but you see! Stang’s shield is made from the bones of Imori, which absorbed a Shinaki blast in episode 73.”

“But Imori was burnt to a crisp!”

“True, but his bones were unharmed when the rest of the planet was destroyed!”

“It was an exoskeleton. That means that it was basically a shield; and Imori was still….” The two technicians lowered their voices when they entered the hub, so Aria couldn’t catch the rest of their conversation. Just behind them, though, she saw Ken Long huffing through the corridors. He wasn’t in the best of shape, so his puffs helped to shadow the technicians’ debate further. He took a moment to look around and pause for breath before grinning and heading over towards Bradley. The videographer slapped the unsuspecting biologist on the back, making him spit room temperature water back into his mug. He whirled to look at Ken before coughing into his elbow politely, expelling water from his lungs.

“Well, I hope you’re ready!” Ken smirked, seemingly overconfident. In reality, and it was obvious to anyone who cared, he was a little nervous, and his overconfidence was both covering up his fear and another attempt to break the ice with his new colleagues, but as Bradley coughed up the melted ice he had been drinking, his ice hardened a bit towards Ken in momentary frustration. He was careful not to show it though; Aria would notice.

“I am indeed. I’m curious whether the planet is covered in late-successional forest or if this is just what passes as mid-successional. What about you?” He gave a lopsided grin at Ken’s confused look. He knew that Ken was trying to learn all he could so he could be more helpful, but he was having fun poking at Ken’s lack of knowledge in some sciences, though he had been cramming.

“U-Uh, I guess the metabolic efficiency of the trophic levels and how energy is passed between them….” He gulped, staring at Bradley, whose lopsided grin shifted into a surprised smile. Ken guessed that he had said the right answer and sighed internally as Bradley confirmed this.

“U-Uh… y-yeah! Yeah. We’ll be able to look into that after a little while, I’m sure. We’ll tell you about the results as soon as they’re discovered!” Bradley was a little shaken up, actually, by how detailed his curiosity was. It was almost like he’d been studying a textbook and had only read so far, which made complete and total sense to Bradley. He coughed again and took a small, cautious sip from his mug, wary of his surroundings lest someone bump into him again. The water had been sitting out ever since he’d poured some of it into the coffeemaker and it hadn’t responded. The issue, it turned out, boiled down to “Get a new one, take a long time to fix, or go without.” The first was impossible, the third improbable, and the second hadn’t gone over well with Henry. That didn’t matter though; those who forfeited a man’s right to coffee forfeited their own rights. He chuckled to himself as Ken walked away from him towards one of the technicians, apparently interested in their debate over how comparatively overpowered Stang was when paired with the likes of the Bonohagan, a secret society in the same fandom as Stang, and Naruto, from a different fandom that had been the first franchise to accumulate over seventy thousand episodes. So Ken liked Naruto… huh. Bradley took another sip and started to back away from the crowd so as not to touch such a toxic fandom, and inadvertently drew within earshot of a conversation that was being carried out through whispers.

“Stratica-9.” One of the two Equinox Defense Force LCPLs said to the other, unaware of the accidental eavesdropper. Everyone knew that the two were great men; an anomaly among the soldiers who usually accompanied most vessels, and that said much since most soldiers weren’t bad, either. The game changed if you were caught eavesdropping when they were whispering; the universal sign of “not your business.”

On the other hand, he was concerned for his younger brother.

“Hear they’ve got a band of freedom fighters trying to stir up trouble. Take the planet.”

“The whole thing? Ambitious grents….” Grents; a minor pest that got a break and starved a planet. Harsh comparison.

“I haven’t heard what HiComm’s planning, b…” Captain Polack interrupted Bradley’s attempts at overhearing the information exchanged by slapping a hand on his shoulder, surprising him and making him jump a little. The captain had approached right in front of him. Had he been innocent, he would have known it was coming and wouldn’t have budged. Bradley gave the captain a sheepishly guilty grin, but Polack shook his head.

“Brad, I know you want to hear about Ben. I felt the same way. Sometimes you need to just trust that he’s fine.” He saw Bradley nod sharply, and he could tell it’d stuck. He slapped his shoulder again, this time without a reaction, and walked back towards the center of the room. Polack could see that they were getting a little rowdy, and if they got rowdy, they wouldn’t pay attention. Which went against why he’d called them there in the first place. A solution came quickly, and he pulled himself up onto the table. When he’d made his way up and managed to stand, he felt a quick rush of impressiveness. His position as the officer over everyone had just taken on a double meaning. He was also very glad that the table was sturdy so he could relish the pun. He didn’t even need to make a move to silence the room; after a few seconds, everyone realized that the fact that their captain was atop a piece of furniture held some significance. He grinned.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are closing in on the planet at around Mach ten. We’ll be planetside in a day and a half, give or take, so say your goodbyes and get pepped…” He paused in confusion as everyone began to chuckle at his error. When he realized what he’d done he had to take a second to calm down before he could see the humor in it. “Ahem, yes. Get prepped and pepped, boys and girls, because we’re taking this planet by storm.”

With that, he outlined their tasks that they would undertake upon landing. Their first expedition would be within a mile of the ship; Karen, Aria, Bradley, and Ken would collect samples of early-successional autotrophs while almost everyone else stayed behind and set some equipment up outside, though one would go on alone and start setting up a forward camp. As the assignments were finalized, Karen raised her hand.

“Yes, Ms. Cessner?” The captain asked, eyebrow cocked in interrogative questioning.

“Have we designated a landing site, sir?”

“Not yet; you and I will discuss it with our meteorologist when the data is processed, and…”

“Sir, with all due respect, we won’t know what to expect if we don’t know where we’re landing.” The room went silent. With the exception of the captain and Karen, it had already been silent, but now that one was regretting every mistake she’d ever made and the other had seemed to become sunburned indoors in a matter of seconds, the silence became oppressive.

That reign of tyrannical noiselessness was overthrown by an unruly din that exploded from the captain. Everyone, including the two veterans, took a step back. The gist of what those in the room heard and would never repeat to their mothers was that the pilot was a failure and that she could have been replaced by him. She appeared like a statue, transfixed in both angry resilience and absolute terror, resulting in her face taking on a more tame imitation of a gargoyle. When the captain paused for breath, Aria had her hand over her mouth, most were staring at the captain, and one of the technicians was close to having a panic attack, but Aria’s quick thinking and amateur psychology kept the disaster at bay.

“M-My apologies, c-captain, sir.” Karen managed to stammer. She spent the most time around him, so she knew the anger stemmed from a need to produce results and raise humanity up with the knowledge gained, not from a narcissistic need to remain unquestioned and respected absolutely. She knew.

And then Bradley dropped his mug, shattering it.


A yell burst from Captain Polack’s lips, echoing a bit around the room. Had the hardlight door been inactive, the ecstatic exclamation would have reached into the main compartment of the ship. Before the reverberations had finished their excited explorations of every edifice and crevice inside the confines of the bridge, Polack had pressed the button to activate the intercom. Since he didn’t have a prerecorded intercom command, he could bypass the ship’s option selections. A side effect of lacking a prerecorded command was that he was live. Normally when he was excited he would take a moment to calm himself so he didn’t misuse or abuse the intercom. Unfortunately, he was beside himself, and counseling never worked on a crazy man.

“Karen! Get the meteorologist and get in the bridge!” He was obscenely loud, and thanks to the intercom’s amplification and wide reach, none of the other ten members of the crew had their fingers outside of their ears. But while his shouting wasn’t necessary, his excitement was not unwarranted. After all, he had just received the files from the sensor buoys that had been dropped off in the star system a decade prior. He had been told to expect only about half to be able to send their data at all, and that number, to Polack’s jubilance, was wildly off; only one was incapable of transmitting. And while his excitement was watered down some when it turned out a few of the files were largely corrupted, he was still close to dancing when the two he had called arrived.

Their reactions were a concoction of equal parts excitement; “Wow, that’s a lot more than we thought there’d be!” and dread; “Wow, that’s… a lot more than we thought there’d be.” Polack remained oblivious to the half of the mix that didn’t match his own feelings, and this was clear when the dread began to lose its density in two of the samples; rising to the top as their deadline of six or so hours seemed closer than beforehand. They’d need a landing zone, a certain one, once their time was up. It’d be a shame if they had to randomly select one in an acidic climate, as had happened before when a ship’s crew had tried to use guesswork for landing. There were still two crew members missing, but the rest were found in or around the skeleton remains of the ship… two weeks after they’d landed. But their captain was impatient, and she doubted he’d agree to turn around and make another pass because they couldn’t calculate in time. So they were going to calculate in time. They had to.


“You’re positive?” The captain asked the radarman, an edge of desperation in his voice that was visible on the officer’s face when he nodded crisply. There was a tinge of resignation in his voice when he spoke a second time. “Alright. Keep track of them, and keep all of this quiet. We don’t want the other four to know. Let our leader know; he will decide what to do.” The aide’s right fist swung around and collided with his left hip in a salute. It had evolved since medieval times; if one had respect for one’s opponent and oneself, they would pause a moment, hand on their sword’s grip, before unsheathing their blade. As swords became obsolete, the modicum of respect remained relevant. And of course, being of lower rank, the radarman had to respect both his rank and the regulations set in place that demanded he did it.

“Yes, sir!” He brought his fist back to his right side, a gesture that came from more recent times and was used for convenience before doing an about-face and walking away from the captain in precise, measured steps. His back was to the captain, so he could not see as the color slowly drained from his superior’s face as his chloroplasts stopped functioning. Much like he himself had, the captain was taking it in. The captain’s head swiveled around in a daze, trying to comprehend the vibrantly green and slightly translucent men who surrounded him as individuals instead of a unicolored blur. As every last one consumed the local vegetation and fruits without fear, the captain felt jealous at their bliss ignorance of their collective worst nightmare becoming reality: A Truly Foreign Entity. Their entire species had always been fearful there was something beyond their Sphere, and here it was. It had the drop on the, and it had as much power over them as it wanted. This was confirmed when the captain recalled the strange, unknown blinks and blips his sound officers had picked up in-system when listening for TFEs a decade before and ever since; they were an early data detection system.

When he was able to stop musing about the systems they could use to stop the unparalleled threat and moaning about the aliens’ mere existence for a moment, his eyes wandered inexplicably towards the Fully-Light-And-Touch (FLAT) Pad that lay on the table, taunting him with its pale-green lighting scheme that reflected his own unusually pale shade of green and scorned him with the instrument of their very demise displayed in unfortunate clarity. But when he could stomach a glance at it, he lowered the fork that had been on its way into his mouth to the plate below. As his eyes began to flick across the screen, picking up every hue, crevice, and curve of the ship, he began to feel the chloroplasts in his cells working again, pigmenting his skin and giving him a renewed energy. He was shocked, in the best way possible; there were absolutely no weapons on the ship that he could see, which was an unexpectedly foolish move for a TFE to make when planning to invade and defile their Sphere. They had dispensed data detection systems; dozens of them, from the sounds they’d picked up; and when they returned, it had been in a spectacular fashion… a single, relatively small, unarmed ship. It had to be a strike team; there was no other explanation that made logical sense. He stood and left his dishes where he had left them, and while he’d felt guilty about his minor housekeeping faux-pas and his failure to finish a salad most enlisted servicemen would kill to enjoy, he had far more pressing matters. Specifically, their survival.

Aces, mate.

 

[BackSet]

Easy there, sport, I'm talking in good humour. You seem to be the one piping up like a snake in heat: hostile, maybe horny, but incredibly aggressive.

...horny? I am not... Horny. Unless you mean it in a different connotation from what I'm thinking. Also: please don't call me sport. I find the term more than somewhat... you know what, I can't find the proper word. Just please don't call me sport.

 

[Elephantom]

...horny? I am not... Horny. Unless you mean it in a different connotation from what I'm thinking. Also: please don't call me sport. I find the term more than somewhat... you know what, I can't find the proper word. Just please don't call me sport.

13 year olds are often horny, eh, amirite? Puberty's hard and all, eh, eh? Though, seriously, mate, you need to cool off. We're here to talk, not piss off each other. Conversational blues.

 

[BackSet]

13 year olds are often horny, eh, amirite? Puberty's hard and all, eh, eh? Though, seriously, mate, you need to cool off. We're here to talk, not piss off each other. Conversational blues.

Um... Maybe you would normally be right but I'm never horny. I'm Aesexual. I don't do horny.