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roci-by-book · 4 years ago

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Nemesis Games [WIP]

“Towers of curved ceramic and steel made great piles, denser than mountains. Hair-thin wire hundreds of kilometers long stood on plastic spools taller than Filip.” (5)

“Filip shuffled down the rows of welding rigs and metal printers. Tubs of steel and ceramic dust fine than talcum. Spiral-core mounts. Layers of Kevlar and foam strike armor piled up like the biggest bed in the solar system.” (5)

“At the emergency ward, he found himself wheeled into an automated surgical bed not that different from the ones on the Rocinante.” (158)

“The passage was the usual design of inflated Mylar and titanium ribs.” (221-222)

“The curve was like the airlock on the Roci, and the design of the latch. Martian design. And more than that, Martian Navy.” (222)

"The bridge looked like the Rocinante's younger brother" (222)

“She pulled herself out of her crash couch and walked out to the common room. It was so much like the Roci’s galley that her brain kept trying to recognize it, failing, and trying again.” (262)

“Magnetic pallets locked to the decks and walls in neat rows. She wondered idly where it had all come from, and what promises had been given in exchange. She went to the nearest, plugged the array into the pallet, and popped it open. The crates unfolded.” (263)

“A toolbox in the machine shop had a bent hasp and, given a few minutes, could be forced open. The Allen wrenches inside would open the access panel on the lift wall between the crew quarters and the airlock, which was where the secondary diagnostic handset for the comm array was stored.” (304)

“While she worked, pressing the plastic into the seams, scraping out whatever had gathered there, doing it again, she tried to fit the new information into the larger scheme of things.” (306)

“When the deck was clean, she dropped the spatula into the recycler, stood, and stretched.” (307)

“In her bunk, her fingers laced behind her neck, she stared up at the blackness on the ceiling. The interface screen at her side was dead.” (311)

“The ship lurched hard, snapping the gimbals of the couches forty-five degrees to the deck.” (329)

“One bulkhead failed to open, reporting vacuum on the other side, and they had to backtrack.” (330)

“The comm array was unable to transmit either broadcast or tightbeam.” (330)

“She popped the straps loose and sat up, pulling her leg away from the needle.” (338)

“In the lift, she selected the machine shop and gripped the handholds as the mechanism dropped her down the body of the ship.” (338)

“The machine shop was empty, all the tools locked in place, but with enough tolerance that when the ship lurched, they all rattled: metal against metal like the ship itself was learning to talk.“ (338)

“She stumbled, her head crashing against the metal shelves.” (339)

“All the wrenches, epoxy welders, voltage meters, and cans of air and lubricant were strapped in place, She flipped through the close-packed layers to a line of Allen wrenches and plucked out the 10 mm.” (339)

“She gathered up a voltage tester, a wiring crimp, and a light-duty soldering iron and stuffed them in her pockets.” (339)

“She killed the lift between the crew quarters and the airlock, bracing herself so that the deceleration didn’t leave her trapped in the middle of empty air.” (340)

“The access panel was fifteen centimeters high and forty wide and opened on the major electrical routing through the center of the ship. If she cut though all the cables there with a welding torch, all the traffic would have rerouted instantly to other channels. Apart from a few warning indicators, nothing would happen.” (340)

“The screws were integral to the plate and didn’t come free, but she felt it when the metal threads lost their grip.” (340)

“Ten. The plate came free. She scooped up the handset, checking its charge. The batteries were nearly full. Connection read good.” (341)

“Channel eighteen was a comm array using the D4/L4 protocols that the Rocinante did for broadcast.” (341)

“Hand over hand, she pulled herself along the shaft and then into the corridors.” (342)

“The narrow corridors of the crew deck seemed too wide.” (344)

“The occasional ticking and popping of the expansion joins adjusting to shifts in temperature were like the knocking of ghosts.”(344)

“He undid the straps on his couch, floating forwards.” (346)

“He stopped at the med bay on the way to his quarters.” (346)

“Fred landed feetfirst on the wall, ankles hooked into the handholds like he’d been born in the Belt.”(348)

““All the bunks are the same,” Holden said. “Except mine. You can’t have mine.”" (349)

“The halls had the same anti-spalling covering that the bridge and the mess had, but marked with location codes and colored strips that would help navigate the ship. One line was deep red with HANGER BAY written in yellow Hindi, English, Bengali, Farsi, and Chinese.” (355)

“Across the corridor from Alex, Prime Minister Smith was huddled behind the lip of a doorway.” (356)

“Another burst of fire sang past, tearing long black strips from the walls and deck and filling the air with the smell of cordite.” (356)

“She drank the same version of chamomile tea that the Rocinante made, and it felt like having a secret ally.” (364)

“The mess was empty, the screens turned off and the crew set away.” (364)

“First drawer: gauze and bandages. Second drawer: one-use blood cards for maybe a hundred different field tests. Third drawer: emergency medical supplies like decompression kits, adrenaline shots, defibrillation tape.” (368)

“The medic had her sit up, the cushion of the medical table crackling under her shifting weight. The analgesic was a spray that went in Naomi’s mouth. It tasted like fake cherry and mold.” (369)

“The cabinet doors were open, spilling test cards and preloaded hypodermics across the floor.” (369)

“She fell to the side, her belly to the deck, decompression kits the size of her thumb pressing into her face as Miral writhed around to kneel on her back.” (369)

“She wanted to say something, but she couldn’t, so she just watched as Karal opened the door then closed it behind him. The lock slid closed.” (371)

“Wet with her saliva and no bigger than her thumb, it was the sort of thing any mech driver kept with her. A tiny ampoule of injectable oxygenated artificial blood and a panic button what would make an emergency medical request for an airlock to cycle.” (371)

“Fred held up the coffee cup. The name TACHI hadn’t quite worn off the side, red and black letters half-erased by use.” (381)

“The crash couch was bolted to the deck with thick steel and reinforced ceramic canted so that any direction the force came from was compression on one leg or another.” (407)

“The drawers were thinner metal, the same gauge, more or less, as the lockers. She pulled them out as far as they would open, examining the construction of the latches, the seams where the metal had been folded, searching for clues or inspiration.” (407)

“The tiny black thumb of the decompression kit, she kept tucked at her waist, ready to go if she could just find a way.” (407)

“The mirror was polished alloy built into the wall. No help there. If she could take apart the vacuum fan in the toilet...” (408)

“A simple EVA suit hung there, suspended in the null g by thin bands of elastic.” (423)

“The indicator went from green to red under her thumb.” (424)

“The airlock door closed behind him, the magnetic seals clacking.” (424)

“The lock was small enough he could put flat palms on both doors.” (424)

“Naomi thumbed the emergency override. Three options appeared: OPEN SHIP DOOR, OPEN OUTER DOOR, RETURN TO CYCLE.” (424)

“Without magnetic boots, she’d have to reach it with bare handholds, but she was close.” (426)

“She plucked the black thumb out of her belt, twisted it to expose the needle, and slammed it into her leg.” (426)

“The airlock indicator on the Chetzemoka’s skin blinked, the emergency response received, the cycle starting.” (426)

“There were handholds on the surface – some where deigned, but others were the protrusions of antennae and cameras.” (427)

“Maneuvering thrusters lit along the warship’s side, an ejection mass of superheated water glowing as it jetted out.” (427)

“And then, Mfume was gone, bolting up the ladder toward the cockpit faster than the lift would have taken him.” (431 - 432)

“Holden tapped in an order for another coffee.” (432)

“Finding Sun-yi and Gor wired into gaming googles shooting the crap out of each other in simulated battles – because as weapons techs with no one to shoot at they were getting antsy – stopped being weird and edged into sort of endearing.” (432)

“The hatch to the cockpit was closed, but Holden could still hear the wailing of the raï that Mfume liked to listen to during his shift in the pilot’s seat.” (433)

“Holden sat on the couch beside Fred’s and leaned in.” (433)

“The first disappointment was that the controls were in lockdown. She tried a few passwords – FreeNavy and Marcoisgreat and Filip – but even if she got it right, there was no reason to expect that they’d left the biometrics profiles turned off.” (448)

“The three EVA suits that remained didn’t have batteries or air bottles. The emergency rations were gone. She expected the toolboxes to be gone from the machine shop, but they’d taken out the racks that held them too, the drawers from the cabinets, the LEDs from the wall lights. The couches were all slit open, gel and padding pooled on the deck beside them. The drug delivery system and reservoirs were gone. The only water was in the drives; ejection mass to be spit out the back of the ship. The only food was the residue in the recyclers that hadn’t been processed back into anything edible. The stink of welding rigs and burning still hang in the air, so the air recycler was probably running unfiltered.” (449)

“The deck shook under her, the vibration of thrust setting up resonances that no system even tried to damp down.” (449)

“There should be a way through the machine shop. All machine shops were supposed to be connected at the back.” (449)

“The EVA suits weren’t powered and didn’t have bottles, but they had seals and reinforcement. She could take the cloth apart, and salvage some lengths of wire. Maybe something solid enough to cut with. And could she use the helmet clamps as a kind of vise grip or clamp?” (450)

“In a real ship, it would all have been protected by conduit. On this piece of crap, the wiring had all been fixed directly to the hall with a layer of yellowed silicone epoxy.” (452)

“Across the space, maybe four meters away, an indicator light went amber, and she was falling sideways. With the extra illumination, she could see the round, tree-thick body of the maneuvering thruster. She put out her arms, catching herself against a steel strut.” (452)

“Three sorties ago -- number forty-four -- she’d thought there might be a diagnostic handset. Not that should could speak into it, but she might have been able to tap out a message. But despite the fact that handsets like that were standard and required, there wasn’t one” (454)

“She scrambled down, moving from strut to strut, watching her hands and feet with every movement so she wouldn’t midjudge.” (455)

“The air in her suit didn’t feel stale or close; the carbon dioxide scrubbers worked well enough on passive that she wouldn’t feel the panic of asphyxiation. She’d just gently pass out and die.” (455)

#nemesis games #the expanse #roci by book

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puttingfingerstokeys · 5 years ago

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junkenstein’s revenge prologue

Nanowrimo day 14 Featuring McCree, Hanzo, 76 and Zenyatta Ye olde Sci-Fi/horror Overwatch, violence, gore, ZOMBLES, death Unfinished and unedited

“Hail!” The gunslinger’s voice echoed off the stone walls of Adlersbrunn’s gatehouse. His horse shifted nervously, her hooves adding to the mild cacophony. The gates were closed and the quietude which reigned over it all unsettled the man, if only a little. A storm was brewing and the pregnant silence before it always charged him in a way nothing else could. He adjusted his hat, tipping it back, to peer upward, wanting to be inside before the maelstrom broke upon him.

He knew darn well no one would be opening those gates before sunrise, but the least they could offer was a place in the guard house. He was an honest hunter, plying his trade. His quarry was not stag or boar, however, but something much more sinister. Whispers of such prey had summoned him to this part of the world, in fact.

“Who goes there?” A voice shouted down with sharp, menacing volume, almost like a bark.

“A gunslinger, lookin’ for lodging for the night… an’ maybe some work.”

The face which peered over the wall spared him only a glance before retreating. “We’re full! Come back when the sun is up!”

As if on cue, thunder rumbled in the distance and the low-hanging clouds which had been threatening all day seemed to move. “Have mercy on a traveler,” he pled calmly with the now-disembodied voice. “Ain’t it the custom in these parts to give aid and succor to weary pilgrims?”

“So you’re on a spiritual journey now, eh?” The voice sounded skeptical, but a little guilty for leaving the man outside.

“In a manner, I s’pose I am,” he tossed back, a toothy grin on his handsome face. He could almost hear the conflict which raged within the gate guard. How many had come seeking shelter this evening? Was the place really full, or did the guard simply not want to admit anyone? He had not long to wait, however. A golden sliver of light made itself known where the door creaked open a little ways, just enough for the occupant to see who was outside.

The gunslinger dismounted, holding his beast’s reins in one hand and touching the brim of his hat with the other. “Hail,” he repeated. The door opened slowly and the guard stepped out, armored and tired-looking.

“You’re the fourth one tonight,” he groaned. “Forgive my impoliteness, won’t you?”

“Long as ya let me an’ my mare in, I’ll let ya drink straight outta my flask, stranger,” promised the gunslinger. The guard seemed to brighten at the sound of the word and he eagerly reached out for the mare’s reins. The beast stood calmly as the hunter of dark things passed them over to the guard, who gestured that the traveler should head right inside.

“It won’t be but a moment. Your bunk mates are inside.”

The gunslinger doffed his hat and moved into that warm, golden light just as the first droplets of rain began to hit the ground. From within, the sound was a cleansing, gentle sort of thing; outside, he was sure it would have been droning and monotonous.

A merry fire crackled further in the gatehouse and three individuals sat dispersed about the room, conversing in low tones. These conversations pulled up short as the man entered, spurs jingling, buckles clinking and leather creaking as he moved. “Hail,” he repeated for the third time that evening. “Well met, I hope?”

“Well met, indeed,” came the serene, almost jovial intonation of a strange-looking man whom the gunslinger now realized was hovering a few feet off the ground. His proportions were difficult to gauge, given his posture, but he gave the impression of being quite tall, should he have decided to stand. “Welcome to Adlersbrunn, Mr….”

“McCree,” said McCree, ��an’ you?”

“Zenyatta,” replied the doll-like man. In the light of the fire, his beauty was haunting, his face a gentle mask of calm knowledge. The name was as unique as his appearance.

“There’s usually a last name attached, though I’m guessing that is your last name, isn’t it?” The surly voice did not surprise McCree, given that it came from a white-haired gentleman who looked to be in his sixties. His build was something altogether else. He stood and offered a hand and the two were about eye-to-eye. “Good to hear those drawling consonants, though,” admitted the man with a similar accent that marked him as a countryman, but which was sharp enough to differentiate the region of his origin. “John Morrison, friends call me Jack.”

“Jesse,” supplied McCree, shaking the man’s hand with firm vigor. Their camaraderie was evident already, which brought a sigh of relief and a draining of tension from the gunslinger. The fourth and final occupant of the room had, however, not volunteered his name or hand. McCree’s eyes settled upon him.

The man was watching the exchange with sharp, dark eyes. His beard and mustache were manicured to perfection and the scar-like quality of his mouth told McCree that he would be the tough nut to crack. “Howdy,” said the gunslinger disarmingly. He noted the weapon propped nearby, a fearsome recurve bow that did not look like it was from these parts. In fact, the entirety of the man’s presentation, from his carriage to the incredibly elaborate tattoo on his arm suggested to Jesse McCree that this stranger, too, was from far, far away.

“Hmm,” came the man’s response as he looked McCree up and down. His eyes alone settled on the gunslinger’s left arm. He tucked it back a little, resting it more thoroughly beneath his cloak. “How do you do?”

The stranger’s voice was accented as well, but as McCree had first assumed, not in the way the gate guard’s had been. They were possibly the most diverse group that poor man had seen in his entire time of service. It was probably jarring, but McCree was intrigued.

“Glad t’be outta the rain, Mr…” He would allow the stranger to fill his name in as Zenyatta had done to him. The stranger did not. He looked hard at the gunslinger, as if evaluating him. “That’d be the part where ya tell me yer name,” suggested McCree, not without humor. The other two seemed entertained by this, but did not engage, preferring to watch. Morrison returned to his seat at a small table and Zenyatta remained where he was.

“It would,” admitted the stranger, “if I cared to give it. I do not.”

“Well ain’t that just a kick in the ol’ hindquarters!” McCree was not put off by this. If anything, he was more intrigued than ever before. It was only presently that he realized how long the guardsman was taking with his horse and his suspicion as a hunter which drew him away from the bow-wielding stranger to wonder after the guard.

“Johann is taking quite a long time with your mount, Mr. McCree,” observed Zenyatta, doing exactly what McCree thought he might and hovering over, his feet never touching the ground. Fortunately for Zenyatta and all assembled, Jesse McCree had seen many strange things in his lifetime. Pretty, hovering monks were not the strangest.

“I’m gunna check it out,” said McCree. “You fellas stay put; that rain sounds bad.”

Morrison shifted, not liking to be told what to do, but liking the pain in his joints from the change in pressure even less, and liking to admit it least of all. He stayed where he was. The stranger in the corner, too, did not move. Only Zenyatta refused.

“Rain is an act of cleansing sent by the heavens,” he said, gesturing upward with one long, uncomfortably perfect finger. “It will do me no harm.”

McCree noticed the rosary about his neck and wondered of what those beads were made. They were large and appeared heavy. He thought that if he wore something like that, he would bruise. The monk did not seem bothered in the least by their presence, or McCree’s glance. His hands remained folded before him.

“‘Preciate the comp’ny,” admitted the gunslinger, ducking out into the downpour.

Lightning arced overhead and split the night, followed by a violent peal of thunder. McCree heard his horse squeal over the din and caught the sound of clattering hooves at the last moment before she nearly ran him down in her effort to escape. He tossed himself aside, rolling through the mud to avoid her mad dash. As she passed, McCree caught the whites of the poor beast’s eyes and sent up a prayer that she would get far enough away from whatever was scaring her like that.

It was only after seeing her flee this way that McCree remembered he was not alone. “Zenyatta!” He called out to the monk over the roaring storm, turning to see if the monk was behind him or if he had been trampled by the mad beast. He was quite unharmed, but seemed to have frozen to the spot, gentle eyes wide, serene expression all but gone.

McCree turned to see what had caught the monk’s attention and was horrified to witness a shambling, twitching thing coming at him. It was not quick, but it also was not alone. The baleful light in its eyes was joined by others and, despite the downpour, gore was still stuck to faces, chests, and hands. Johann, he thought, dear god.

Energy arced from them, mimicking the lightning overhead, but holding an ugly, supernatural quality that made a shiver run down McCree’s stout spine. He felt on his belt for a flash powder ampoule, determined to drive these things back. His fingers shook, however, and he could not grasp what he sought. One of the creatures raised an arm to strike him.

Something whizzed past the gunslinger’s head, narrowly missing his ear but taking the shambling thing full in the face and near knocking its head off. The blow did enough damage that the monster fell back, twitched once, and lay still. This shocked McCree back into action and he found and tossed the ampoule he’d sought and fanned the hammer of his six-shooter, bringing down two more of the inexorably marching things before retreating back to Zenyatta.

“What are they?” McCree heard himself shouting this over the storm, which seemed determined not to allow conversation. Zenyatta shook his head, a strange expression passing over his features before the passive mask returned. He lifted a hand and, to McCree’s wonder and astonishment, one of the gigantic beads of the monk’s rosary lifted with it. A subtle gesture, barely more than a twitch sent the ball hurtling toward its next target, hitting it dead center in the head and snapping it back.

It fell, but was replaced by another and another. Zenyatta sent two, three more balls into the throng. These projectiles returned somehow, though McCree could not ascertain the method. He was fascinated but understood what little time they had should be spent in retreat, rather than conversation about weaponry and the practical use of psychokinetic magic, for that was surely what this was. McCree was not well schooled in that branch, but he had heard of it and had even witnessed it a time or two. Never, in all his days, however, had he seen it weaponized to such deadly effect.

He was suddenly grateful for the previously observed size and weight of them now. “Thanks,” he grunted, “now let’s git ourselves inside an’ barricade the door.”

They would not be safe until they were within the town proper, but the risk of allowing those things in was too great. The citizens of Adlersbrunn would not be ready for the onslaught which McCree had begun to realize was much, much larger than first anticipated. Well, he thought, ya came here t’hunt dark things; git huntin’.

#CC #CW #AU #Jesse McCree #more like McHelsing #Hanzo Shimada #who's probs a demon #Jack Morrison #idk what his deal is #Zenyatta #he's just a monk but maybe also a hommunculus

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bucketofchum · 6 years ago

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Had a dream I was in a marine lab in Singapore doing research. But there was a storm with 40ft (12m) riptide waves which were crashing down and reaching all the way across even the road/highway along the coast. Waves not unlike what I had seen on Ascension Island except waters a little less clear.

There was a desert on the other side of the ocean with something going on but I couldn’t even access it because of the storm so I had to run into the city to get help.

But for some reason no one would rly help me and I had to even try and escape this building to actually find ppl who would help. I exited out a back door for shipping and there was this weird complicated gate to prevent exit. With little red laser dots that give a small disuasive shock like the ones used in horse pastures. Anyhow I mounted on the railings and tried to rely on my balance to hop from rail to rail avoiding the dots (they were placed in the junction areas so places with more stability). I got shocked just once or twice (very unpleasant or disagreeable but won’t kill you).

But even after I got past, my heart sank as I realised this is kind of a dead end. No way out and it’s just walls and the backs of buildings. But wait there is a sculpture that I can climb bouldering style and try to scale the outside of the building en face and it’s hella scary and dangerous but I know I only have so much time before people come after me from the other place. So I risk it.

I’m climbing and trying to be fast but careful and there are some tourists passing by who are me through the glass window and they are like “wow look at the cool recreational opportunities locals have here these days!” And I’m just thinking... I’m not... local... im a visiting researcher...

And while I’m still climbing, now off the statue scaling the outside of the building, I come across my parents on vacation??? And they tell me I am well known back in America amongst the Chinese community (rad!) for being the American trained Chinese scientist with a French technique (becomes very unclear if my research is French or Singaporean... or maybe it’s an international collaboration idk).

Anyhow then I wake up.

But there was also a huuuuuge long sequence beforehand during my research and everything. One time when I was in the desert, there was a weird march like thing approaching us (idk who us even was in this instance - other researchers?) and heh gave everyone a water bottle in the form of a large ampoule. But like ? What are you supposed to do break it open? Wtf. Turns out not everyone got the same one and I was so upset I got like a 25cL one and there were people like the girl next to me (WHO DOESNT EVEN DRINK THAT MUCH WATER) who got like a 75cL one and my sister (who was also a scientist here) who got like another different but bigger one. Overall there were 4 sizes, and two were plastic. Mine was plastic. Sucks cuz that’s not what they said Hahahah. Anyhow 3/4 types had lids. The largest glass one did not so honestly idek how you’re supposed to open it besides breaking the neck but then you lose some water and you’ve got these pointy glass shards. Idk.

I started collecting empty bottles to recycle them (in France — maybe the desert is France — the glass recycling is far away and I know that ppl always are too lazy to go so if I want it to get recycled I have to be the one to do it.)

But as I went to collect the bottles someone else (Becky, friend from uni who died in a car accident) was already lounging on a couch with a reusable shopping bag open to collect the bottles for recycling. So I didn’t have to.

Then I went back home for a nap cuz I was exhausted. Oh jk I had to run home to grab some things and meet my sister and some people in the desert asap but I was exhausted and I figured I could rush but maybe I could also sneak in a little 1-2 minute power nap??? Didn’t end up happening. Anyhow I eventually made it outside (had to meet the ppl in the desert which is on the other side of the ocean right) but there was a huge time pressure and I didn’t realise why until I got out of our residence to see the storm. With the storm waves, I couldn’t cross the beach (ohhh maybe That’s how there was a desert .. the sand on the beach then just continued forever and that was the desert) bc the waves flooded so far inland that here wasn’t a beach anymore completely separating what used to be joined.

(There was a narrow strip of beach but the back of the beach was some rocks and also wetland foresty area before the highway — and all that was basically flooded) the desert was fine and still there — and everyone already there I imagine was perfectly fine and not in danger. It was just now separated.

Anyhow from there, cue the beginning of this post

#dreams

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