Futuristic IC: When Night Falls [Space/Sci-Fi]

[Loralyda]

Godreth found himself slouched in a metal seat, his messy hair covering most of his face and the fur rim of his jacked pulled up high against the constant stream of cold air blowing out of the air conditioner to his right. The blue light that emitted from the small card-like computer screen he was holding reflected of off the tinted spectacles which had been pushed far up the bridge of his nose. Surely a couple of people would’ve taken notice of him, but the average population within the transport vessel consisted out of shady figures, and everyone knew better then to stick their noses where they did not belong. A rather large man in a greasy tank-top who smelt like fried foods, had taken place next to him and for a brief moment Godreth’s eyes darted sideways, his jaw locking in annoyance. Yet, he was too lazy to move and pushed his nose further down into the rim of his coat, thankful for the bottle of cologne he had used earlier that day. Focusing his attention back on the little screen in front of him he inhaled deeply and allowed the spicy wooden scent to calm him down.

E.M. Ainsworth, occupation; professor and collector. As usual Martouf his information was woefully specific, curse that Terran for forcing him to read the entire file! Halfway through the profile Godreth hummed subconsciously, perhaps he should have mister Elbert read everyone’s files, he seemed to have vast knowledge of literary works, or love for it at the least. So why did Martouf hire this man? Sure, deductive reasoning might come in handy, but the man looked like an aged bookworm who had never experienced a live threatening encounter before, would he be able to hold his own in a city filled with criminals? Godreth wondered, and mentally made himself a note; ‘Ask for solutions and information, make sure the man doesn’t get himself killed.’

Next, John Haverson, occupation; former alliance soldier. Good, someone with combat experience, but old enough to be his father, well almost… Wait, was he? Godreth held the screen closer to his face. No, they didn’t look anything alike. Where was he? Ah yes, what did Martouf expect him to do, take the elderly out for a stroll? Well fine, the man looked to be in good shape and they needed knowledge of how alliance facilities operated, but was the man still alliance? Note; ‘Reliable in a fight, trustworthy?’

Next! Dacian James Cross, occupation; Medic. Finally someone younger! Although a little young to be a seasoned medic, but Godreth had learned never to underestimate an Ignian. Going of off previous mission experience he knew Ignis had the most experienced doctors when it came to the more traditional ways of medicine. Good to see Martouf expected there to be little in de sense of technology to save their asses, why had he accepted this job again? Note; ‘Useful, protect the medic.’

Next. Niall Quinn, occupation; native… Godreth paused for a moment, unable to comprehend that last word. What kind of information was that? That earthworm of a Terran was going to get some serious feedback on how to categorize information. Technically, he could count himself as a native too, why… He inhaled deeply to stop his mental rant, freezing as the smell of burnt oil snuck up his nose once more. One… two… three… Fine, he was calm. No need to throw a tantrum in a small room filled with questionable people. So Quinn, was apparently their contact and guide? Well at least the man had the most recent knowledge of the Elder City and on top of that, bound to know most hidden routes, which would be vital to their upcoming mission. Note; ‘Guide.’

Next… Mikiah and Mikaela Evans, occupation; weapons and demolition specialists. Godreth was sure Martouf had mentioned these girls in the past, the perfect couple to operate on the front lines of the Terran rebel operations against the Alliance. It made him wonder why Martouf hired them for the mission, as far as he knew they were supposed to do things quietly and had the alliance not left the Elder Planet? No use wondering about it now. Note to self; ‘Mikaela knows her weapons, Mikiah good with explosives, trigger happy?’

And next! Claude Glass, occupation; Researcher… A blank look washed over Godreth’s face, what was Martouf after that he would send two bookworms on this mission? Heck it was starting to make him wonder whether the Elder Cities alliance facilities held the key to the downfall of the Alliance. Breathe, not the time to get distracted! Claude, researcher from Aeris, which probably meant this man went to an actual university, or maybe he was still in one? Godreth blinked, darnit he was starting to lose focus. Note; ‘There to analyze alliance data, needs protecting.’

Lastly Subira Nakano, occupation; scout/sniper. Finally, someone adapt at subterfuge, maybe there was hope for them yet? He had to close his eyes for a moment, feeling the early signs of an impending headache throbbing between his temples. Was it possible to get eye damage from looking at a screen too long? His mother used to tell him that, he would have to ask that Dacian guy later. Before he could continue reading the loud ringing of a bell broke his concentration, followed by a static, female voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching Asteria Spaceport docking bay seven. Please make sure you take all your belongings with you, anything that’s left behind will be confiscated. Thank you for choosing Wickers transport services and see you next time!” He refrained from rolling his eyes, Wicker transport was nothing more than a simple mercenary vessel that had fixed some make-shift seats in their hanger, to get some extra credits by smuggling people from one place to the next. Not that he complained, he wasn’t in the Alliance’s good books so staying off the radar was all he cared about.

Waiting for the majority of the people to leave he eventually got up out of his seat, forced by the threat of the oil-man who had been staring at him for at least ten full seconds and was now in the process of bending over to, well… Either steal something or check if he was still alive and Godreth really didn’t feel like waiting around to figure out which one. Slipping away from the man at an awkward angle almost made him topple over, but he managed to keep his balance and quickly made his way onto the loading docks. It was surprisingly quiet, being the last spaceport between the Elder Planet and the new worlds made that it didn’t see traffic often, but usually it was still crawling with people; mercenaries, workers, pirates, the occasional Alliance ships looking to make an arrest or two. Stalls stacked next to each other, each selling and trading food or items. Now the place was eerily quiet and one of the only stalls left was that of the oil-man. Just his luck!

Godreth scanned the area until he noticed the tall, dark, hooded man near one of the entrances further into the spaceport. The man beckoned him with a small twist of the wrist and Godreth stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat, his eyes darting left and right to make sure he wasn’t drawing any unwanted attention before he casually moved forwards. Through twisting, narrow, corridors and past steaming vents he followed the man deeper into the bowels of the spaceport, until eventually they emerged in a thirty feet wide dome. Well-kept, red, leather couches and dark-blue, metal tables seemed to have been placed sporadically throughout the room. Flashing, neon lights decorated the walls and ceiling and the occasional holo-projection would pop up on a random table. With a sigh and a clenched jaw he dropped onto one of the couches, choosing a darker area while pushing the tinted glasses further up the bridge of his nose and propping his right leg up against the table. “This was the best he could come up with?” He growled, as more of an angry statement rather than an actual question.

The tall man turned towards him and Godreth could’ve sworn that hidden in the shadows of the hood he could see the man smile. “It was the safest place he could think of mister Foxe.” A short pause. “The rest of your team should be guided here shortly.” And with that the man took off, in what Godreth had dubbed the typical Terran style, or just broodingly silent.

Interactions: None. Mentions: Everyone.

 

[Hell0NHighWater]

↽LOCATION⇁________________↽MUSIC TO SET THE MOOD⇁
Asteria Spaceport__________Honestly this is just Dacian at all times
=The Elder Planet=
↽INTERACTIONS⇁_____________________↽OOC⇁
Loralyda ____________________Look Mom, I did a thing

〚 DACIAN CROSS 〛​

"Have you ever been to Marinus, Doctor?"
"No, but I—"

"Oh, you must visit, sometime. My granddaughter is around your age and she is by far the prettiest girl in the entire sector."
In the bright artificial light of the space craft, the small grey bun on top of her head was pulled back so severely that it made her skin look like a wax dummy, crudely carved with tools far too sharp. The plastic consistency of her complexion belied the beauty she must have had in her youth. Even as she spoke, her head was in constant motion as if agreeing with sentiments no-one else could hear or perhaps the ruminations of her own mind, mulling over a lifetime that was drawing to a close.

Dacian's fingers were wrapped around her frail wrist, using the clock on his datapad to time her pulse. The corners of his mouth pulled into a warm but courteous smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "I'm sure she's lovely, ma'am. But I—"

"Have you ever seen the ocean, Doctor?"
She was going to give him whiplash from how fast she changed topics. The practiced and patient expression never left his face. Ever since she had fainted about an hour into the flight, she had deemed Cross worthy of listening to any topic that entered her mind. Unfortunately for her, he was a medical doctor and not a psychiatrist. Dacian didn't particularly care about this woman's life on some ocean planet ruled by Alliance overlords, nor did he particularly care for her blatant attempt at matchmaking.

Washed-out green irises rimmed in amber fixated on the elderly woman's face, a slow sigh escaping his lips as he pulled his hand back, "Yes, I—"

"Then you would love Marinus!" She beamed, "Almost the entire planet is covered in water, you know. My Granddaughter—" He closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to drown out her prattling with thoughts of food. His imagination had successfully conjured an Ahii poke bowl when her voice slapped the image away, "—can you believe that? At such a young age too."

Forcing his irritation down, he switched his attention to the screen of his datapad. It was an older model, clunky and prone to technical failure, but it was probably the most advanced piece of technology he had on him. Besides the pistol on his hip of course, one could never be too careful. "Impressive," He muttered dryly, rising to his feet, "Anyway, I believe it would be best if you rested until we dock. I'm concerned about your blood pressure—"

"My blood pressure is fine, young man. I am not a day over ninety-three and still as spry as a chicken!"
She was definitely a chicken alright, her continuous squawking was beginning to make his head hurt.

Dacian dragged a hand down his face, letting out a breath that was bone deep, "I understand, however it is my professional opinion that you should limit your space travel. The effects of prolonged space exposure can result in ebullism, hypoxia, hypocapnia, and decompression sickness. In addition to these, there is also a risk of cellular mutation and destruction from high energy photons and sub-atomic particles. Obviously all of these risks increase the older you get."

Cross paused to level the older woman with narrowed eyes and a slight frown, "So while you may be as spry as a chicken, Ma'am, I hate to inform you that even chickens can suffer from ebullism."

"E-Ebullism?" The woman placed a hand to her throat, eyes wide and fearful.

"Oh yes," He drawled, "That's why it is crucial for you to go as long as you can without speaking."
He knew what he was telling her was utter bullshit. The health issues he had so plainly terrified her with were real enough, but from what he could tell the woman was just fatigued. Why someone her age was even making the trip to the elder planet was beyond him, but he wasn't about to ask. It didn't concern him. All he wanted was silence.

Silence and a nice hot plate of food.

Convinced the older woman would no longer pester him, Dacian was about to take a seat when a chipper but vacant voice came over the speakers, “Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching Asteria Spaceport docking bay five. Please make sure you take all your belongings with you, anything that’s left behind will be confiscated. Thank you for choosing Wickers transport services!”

Collecting his bag, the Ignisan was one of the first to rush off the transport. He already wasn't the biggest fan of flying, but he decided that he hated it more in that moment. He had begun to walk in a random direction, long legs intent on carrying him as far away from the docking bay as possible. His gait began to slow, however, as he started to become aware of how empty the place seemed. Dacian may have spent his entire life on Ignis, but he imagined that spaceports were typically filled with more...activity. There were rows of empty stalls completely abandoned, save for the odd few that still had a humanoid figures attending to them, and a surprising lack of ships coming and going. He pressed his lips together, attempting to recall where he was supposed to be going from here.

A hand clasped onto his shoulder suddenly, a low voice rumbling from behind him, "Mr. Cross?"

Dacian jumped almost six feet in the air, failing to stifle the curse that slid out of his mouth. Turning to glare at the culprit of his frantically beating heart, the medic narrowed his eyes at the shady looking man. "Who's asking?"
The suspicious figure did not answer his question only opening his mouth to say, "Follow me, please."
He wasn't enough of an idiot to mistake the command in his voice for a suggestion, but he sure was stubborn enough not to immediately follow. "Listen, buddy, I've had a long flight. I'm going to get some food—"

He didn't have a chance to finish his sentence, the hand was back on his shoulder and he was being forcefully carted off to some unknown destination. Every protest he made was met with cold indifference and that only served to piss him off more. Hardly paying attention to where this stranger was taking him, it dawned on him that this must have been the person who was meant to meet him at the space port. That didn't mean he was any less unwilling to be man handled however.

"Hey! Let go of me asshole! I can walk—"
"The rest of the team should be here shortly."

Dacian stumbled into a large room, twisting away from the man who had practically dragged him here, expression bouncing between anger and confusion, "Team? Wait, wait, wait, hold it. No one ever mentioned anything about a team."

His bag hit the floor with a dull thud, his hands moving aggressively with each word that fell from his lips, "I don't like teams. I don't participate in teams. In fact, you can take your team and shove it up—"

Impervious to his irritation, the man began to walk out before Dacian even finished his sentence, "Hey! I'm still talking to you, you stale ham sandwich of a human being!"
Letting out an irritated noise, he pushed dark brown curls out of his face before turning his attention on the rest of the area. His gaze caught on a holo image that popped up at a table. Without looking around further, Dacian gravitated toward the table and automatically stuck his hand through the image. His fingers danced through the image, marveling as if he had never seen something like it before. It was then that he noticed the other man in the room, sitting in the far corner and shrouded by shadow.

"Fucking hell!" He jerked back, bumping into the table behind him and half tripping over his own bag. Fixing the figure with a glower, his jaw clenched as he fought to bring his heart rate back down, "Who the fuck are you?"
Hazel irises focused on the new stranger with gruff irritation while his arms folded themselves across his chest, "How long have you been sitting there?"

 

[Blemmigan]

Claude Glass
Sheet • Location: Asteria Spaceport
With: Loralyda (Godreth) • Hell0NHighWater (Dacian)​

"I'm sorry, you can't light that in here... Doctor?" she hazarded a guess. It was usually a safe one to make on a shuttle leaving Aeris. Particularly if addressing somebody who looked like they ought to be wearing a cardigan. With egg on the sleeve.

Glass beamed at the mistake. "Not a problem, not a problem. I daresay the nerves are getting to me. Never taken to the skies before, can you believe it?"

"No, sir," the shuttle conductor answered dutifully, and quickly left before he could say anything else.

He almost lit the cigarette again out of habit, then stopped himself, took the cigarette out of his mouth, put it back in, put the lighter in his pocket, took the cigarette out of his mouth, put it in his pocket, took it out of his pocket, looked at it, put it in his mouth, opened his mouth to gape at the scenery, and dropped it on the floor, where it thankfully rolled away to bother someone else.

Despite his constant fidgeting he was enraptured. So primitive! So unnecessary! To cram oneself into a metal tube, breathing the coughs and worse of your fellow passengers, trusting entirely in the mechanisms beneath you and the talent of whoever or whatever was piloting. Perhaps they'd all be dashed to smithereens before they could land (the windows gave the entire journey that safe, lab-view feeling that made him wish something would happen for the interest of it).

If he stopped and thought about the journey itself, though... well, he still wasn't precisely sure why he was taking it. The note already felt like a dream, but the credits had been real enough, allowing him to both buy this shuttle ticket and keep his quarters' lessor quiet, at least for the time being.

He hadn't actually told anyone where he was going. There was nobody really to tell, and besides, there was an air of secrecy shrouding the whole thing that was completely new to him. Maybe he should have worn a disguise, or travelled under a different name. No, best not. The entire thing was exciting enough as it was, like that threedee he had once watched about a spy, although so far his own adventure had involved significantly fewer encounters with men and women in their underwear.

But still, somebody clearly needed him, enough to pay a decent amount upfront. Particularly if, as seemed likely, he had not been the only one contacted (Glass took the opportunity to look around the shuttle, forgetting entirely about discretion, before realising that he didn't know who he should be looking for). Either that, or the person behind this was rich enough to throw money at whomever they thought might bite. For the first time, he wondered just how dangerous this mission might actually turn out to be...

The conductor reappeared, mid-muse. "Five minutes to landing!" she announced. "Docking bay eleven." There were a few grumbles at this from the more seasoned travellers. "Take this time to gather your belongings. Anything left behind will be destroyed before the turnaround."

Glass patted his pockets (Qualia was in the inside of his jacket: he'd had enough decorum to mute it for the flight, though not enough to leave the thing at home) and pulled his battered, misshapen shoulder bag out from under the seat to look through it, as though the contents might somehow have escaped. By the time he was satisfied that everything was in place, the shuttle was landing, and the cabin rang with the thuds of the magnetic clamps latching onto the small ship.

The Asteria Spaceport was a disappointment. It was big, but perhaps most of that was from the pervasive feeling of emptiness. There were shouts and sounds, but it was all too echoing to really be called noise. He found himself following the other passengers as they streamed away from their isolated docking bay, towards the main bulk of the port.

He rubbed his chin. What had that letter said? That he would be contacted b—

"Mr. Glass." The smooth voice sounded almost bored, as though its owner was already tired of rounding up visitors. "If you would come with me."

"Yes!" Glass answered, relief amplifying his voice by about twenty decibels. He grabbed hold of the man's hand and gave it a hearty shake. "That's me. I was wondering who would turn up. Worried that I'd be rambling around here aimlessly for a good few hours! Ha! Wouldn't that look suspicious?"

The stranger pulled his hand free with as much dignity as he could manage, and walked away at a speed which suggested that he didn't care that much if he lost his charge after all.

For his part, Glass was much happier now that he knew he hadn't somehow imagined the entire thing. It was easier to appreciate his surroundings if he wasn't worried that he'd been abandoned within them. Even the port seemed less disappointing: it might be sparse and grimy around the edges but there were people, and things going on. And, to make it more interesting, his guide was heading towards none of it.

It was safe to say that, by himself, he would never have found the room. It was also safe to say that, once inside it, he wouldn't have been able to find his way back outside (he wouldn't, but somebody with more of a habit for paying attention to their surroundings might have a chance). And that was it: the stranger turned and left without a word, and Glass was left in a surprisingly open space, with too-bright lights, almost-comfortable couches and... oh!

"Hello! I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

 

[Krowe]

"I mean... what if they have the wrong person, Lynn? Why me? Why not you, or Nik, or Xavier, or literally anybody else in our goddamn city?"

Niall dropped his elbows to his knees and rubbed his temples roughly. Although the shuttle cabin was nearly empty, save for himself and few worn-out looking individuals, Niall felt as if a million bodies were encroaching on his personal space, forcing him into the corner where he sat. His mind kept reeling, each thought fighting the last for even just a second in the spotlight, and his lungs struggled to take in enough air.

"Hey, Niall. Everything's going to be okay, trust me." Lynn's voice responded through his earbud, piercing his anxieties for just a moment. "Do you know what you're supposed to be doing?"

"I guess? I don't know, even if he told me I just..." Niall let out a heavy breath. Tossing his handheld onto the seat beside him, he leaned his head back to rest on the cold window and gazed up through the ceiling, watching stars and space rocks roll by gently. "Even if I did know, I don't think I'd be able to tell you. This is supposed to be top secret, I guess."

There was silence on the other end as Lynn thought of what to say next. In the background, Niall could hear Xavier and Nik digging through his apartment scraps and commenting on the various equipment they found. He wanted nothing more in this moment than to just be back home with his friends, exploring junkyards and abandoned buildings, or annoying the shit out of Mr. Ransworth down the street until his son came out and chased them away with a bat. A pang of sadness radiated through his chest. Instead here he was, on a rickety old space shuttle that's floors and walls were caked with mysterious residue from decades of transportation without being washed. 'What if this whole mission was just a ruse to kidnap some poor sap who didn't know any better? Does this "Martouf" person even exist? Why--'

"Are you scared?" Lynn asked quietly, interrupting his thoughts once more.

Niall hesitated for a breath. "Would you believe me if I said no?"

"You're breathing all weird. You always sound like that when you're starting to get anxious."

Niall quickly attempted to normalize his breathing, then smiled. "You been listening to how I breathe? Perv," Niall joked, attempting to lighten the mood.

Lynn giggled on the other end, making Niall smile wider. "Shut up, dude," she said. "I'm just looking out for--"

She was interrupted by the thunderous clanging of hundreds of pieces of metal falling to the ground in unison, followed by an annoyed "Shit."

Lynn sighed. "What the fuck are you doing Nik?"

Niall chuckled and closed his eyes, rubbing his eyelids with his palms. "Tell them that if they break anything, I'm beating the shit out of them the second I get back."

"I'd like to see your scrawny ass try!" Xavier yelled back. They all laughed.

The festivities were brought to an end by the shuttle intercom. The cheery automated female voice came on with a deafening electric screech, spoke a few unintelligible words before being overtaken by a blaze of static, then died with a loud click.

"Well that was, uh... quite the announcement," Lynn said, then added under her breath, "They should really fix those things." But Niall was barely listening. He'd been violently jolted back into reality and had to get moving before his thoughts took over again.

"I gotta go. Call you back when I get a chance, 'kay?"

"Oh. Okay," Lynn replied dejectedly. "Stay safe please."

"Of course."

Niall picked up his handheld and ended the call before rising to his feet and shoving the device and his single earbud into his pockets. When he reached overhead to grab his backpack, the shuttle shuddered as it locked into place, knocking Niall off balance. He regained his footing, retrieved his bag, and absentmindedly rubbed his chin while he double-checked his carry-ons. Everything seemed in order. He slung his bag over his shoulder and hurried to the nearest exit.

...

Niall wasn't sure what to expect when it came to spaceports, considering he'd never been into space before, but he at least expected something more grand than... this. The hallway that led from the dock to the spaceport's central lobby had been littered with garbage, and it's tiles were cracked and falling off the wall, which various species of resilient weeds and mold had taken the opportunity to make homes in. Broken light bulbs every couple of feet made it so dark that one could barely see six feet in front of them, and Niall swore he had somehow gotten lost before finally emerging into the more well-lit lobby. But even here, standing in the spaceport's grand center (which he figured out was called Asteria thanks to a torn poster in the dock entryway), he was a bit underwhelmed. He could tell that this place was usually packed with people by the various market stalls which looked as if they'd been abandoned in a hurry.

Niall walked cautiously out into the lobby with his shoulder hunched, realizing he had no idea where to go from here. He turned on his heels a few times, looking for a sign, a door, ANYTHING that screamed "Top-secret mission recruits here!", but there was nothing. That was, until he noticed a tall man with a dark hood over his eyes approaching him from a few yards away. Niall's heart jumped and began to race, but he straightened his posture and kept his outward composure calm and professional as the man walked up to him.

"Niall Quinn?" the hooded figure asked.

Niall nodded, but didn't speak.

"Come with me." The hooded figure brushed past his shoulder and continued forward, not checking to see if he would comply. Niall hesitated for a heartbeat then turned and followed, gripping his shoulder strap tightly.

As Niall was led down a series of seemingly endless complex twists and turns, he could feel his anxiety begin to grow. 'Fuck. This guy's totally gonna kill me. I'm so fucking stupid', he anticipated, but he kept walking anyway. At last they reached a rather inconspicuous looking door, and the hooded man stopped and turned to Niall. "A few of your colleagues are inside already," the man said. "The rest will be arriving shortly. Make yourself comfortable." And with that, he was off.

Niall stared at the door. So this was really happening, huh? A nobody from one of the worst parts of the worst city of any of the galactic sectors being called on to work with people likely much smarter and much more talented than him on a very important secret mission. Niall shook his head and pushed open the door. 'This is ridiculous.'

Inside, he immediately noticed three people, who he assumed were his new "colleagues", standing around a couch looking at each other, seemingly engaged in an altercation of some sort. Their clothing alone already made Niall feel incredibly inferior. He shut the door behind him softly, hoping not to draw attention to himself, and sidled around the outside of the room, observing the contents of the dome-roofed space.

This room definitely fit Niall's expectations of a spaceport better than his initial impressions. Fancy crimson leather couches and navy blue tables decked out with holograms were scattered here and there in an organized mess, and a few geometric windows provided a nice view of the star-dappled void outside. Niall, now 1/4 of the way around the room from the other three men, approached the table closest to him as a hologram popped up and ran his fingers through the image, intrigued. He'd never seen hologram equipment this advanced before. Niall began to examine the image projector, using his knowledge of the more basic hologram tech from back home in an attempt to identify the pieces of the apparatus in front of him.

Location: Asteria Spaceport
Mentions: Godreth ( Loralyda ); Dacian ( Hell0NHighWater ); Claude ( Blemmigan )
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