driftfleet | 03. | When everything's meant to be broken

Entry tags:

03. | When everything's meant to be broken

Who: the Bucky Barnes who no longer goes by Bucky or Barnes (

sinistral)
Broadcast: no
Action: yes; SS Starduck, Lyndia
When: throughout the visit to the Bix star system

SPACE
→ SS Starduck;

Once, far enough back in Earth history that no one would likely truly remember it, some sarcastic jackass responded to a challenge with two now infamous words: Watch me. And while it's more likely than not that the Soldier had been in cryo for said occurrence, he certainly seems to embody the spirit thereof. He's been told, by several different people at several different times, that his life is his to live as he wishes. It's invariably followed up by recommendations, and even at times objections when his wishes do not conform to the path they'd imagined. He can't, shouldn't, withdraw from everyone and everything, they say.

Watch me, his current behavior replies.

He's stopped visiting the Iskaulit, save for a single afternoon to memorize a document. Most of the Starduck's crew keeps to themselves, making the avoidance of casual conversation easy. He keeps appointments to train in the gym space in their cargo hold, still makes his own rounds of the ship to check its safety and integrity — and to check that nothing new has been planted on board without their knowledge. He checks, re-checks, and re-checks again the upgrades to their systems. He trains himself, choosing odd hours, times during which other members of the crew aren't likely to observe the way he uses — abuses — the punching bag. It's not solving anything, his brain supplies. It's not answering any questions.

Watch me, his fists beat into the bag in steady cadence. Watch me. Watch me. Watch me.

PLANETSIDE
→ Sun's Rest;

A desire to surround oneself with physical beauty seems simple enough, right? He recalls a conversation, one in which the other person had told him that the aesthetic appreciation of a thing need not be based on extensive knowledge or experience. The words were meant as a kindness, he thinks, and they're what sends him to see the glowing grove when he hears of it.

If a single word must describe the place, he supposes that beautiful is the one most would use.

Thankfully it also seems quiet, which is a small miracle. He directs his thanks to the flora and fungi of the planet; were it not for their apparently aggressive allergens, it's likely that there might be more people wandering the paths to enjoy the sights — or wandering off the paths to enjoy other activities. Put in that context, the relative emptiness is a blessing. Still, it apparently doesn't stop all of those with amorous intent and on hearing rustling and moaning (and a sneeze or two) from a particular cluster of bushes, he'd been quick to abandon his exploration of the weeping, flowered branches of a tree, not having any desire to know any more about who's in those bushes or what, exactly, they're doing together.

He stops by the edges of the lake, watching the glowing forms of the fish swimming underneath the water. There's an imagery there for which he doesn't have words. But as he sinks to a sitting position at the edge of the lake, he supposes that he doesn't really need them either. For a little while at least.

→ Kenn-Tellnic;

At least this planet is relatively high end, as far as supplying oneself is concerned. Proper combat knives are a requirement and most people would probably scoff at how much of a morning is given over to the pursuit of obtaining just that, but he's picky. He needs to be picky when it comes to something that needs to feel like an extension of his own body and needs to be just as reliable. It's a process that takes him through several shops and half the city before he finds something that meets his standards and specifications; he realizes the time once he's left the shop with purchases secure in their sheaths and decides that the cafe caddy-corner to his current position will do. It's glass and brushed aluminum and streamlined — apparently this planet's high-profile coffee chain — and even the short line of customers moves efficiently.

It's too good to be true.

There's certainly something to be admired in the efficiency of the operation that is taking an order, accepting payment, and fulfilling that order. It's clean. Impersonal. Exactly the way things should be, and the entire thing grinds to a halt when the cashier looks him in the eye and asks, in that distinct retail blend of perky-yet-interested-in-moving-the-line, for his name. It's an uncomfortable moment, made worse by her follow up, the slight slowing of two syllables: "name, sir?"

"Nothing. Never mind," he says, turning away from the counter to move for the door. He doesn't spare another glance for the girl left standing behind her register, nor for the other patrons of the shop. No coffee in the universe is worth answering that question right now.

→ Jungles;

Being around people has become increasingly uncomfortable. He knows it's all internal, all him; he was designed to be a weapon, not a person. At least out here he can put that reality of his existence to good use: there is game to hunt, and he's nothing if not a hunter. And the creatures here are certainly big enough and strong enough to provide a challenge.

When they don't, there's always the escape of pure physical activity, running and hiking and climbing, if he can find it. Anything that presents a challenge; anything that pushes the body to its extremes, that elusive point of exhaustion where the brain finally quiets and nothing exists outside of pushing the muscles to achieve more. It's a luxury in every sense of the word: to have a body that can perform on such a level, and to have not only the freedom to exercise it, but a place that presents enough challenge to do so.

He's being reckless, he knows. But as it's not endangering others, he just doesn't give a damn.

WILDCARD
→ Elsewhere;

Did we discuss something and I forgot in the hell that has been final projects and exams? Have another idea? ~~Want to go steal some Flouds?~~ I'm open to almost anything, hit me up via PM or at

sometimesamuse and we'll figure out out. I do write starters in prose but if you prefer brackets I'm happy to match.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That's even stranger and Connor's not sure where this is coming from. Was Bucky rejecting the idea of names altogether? He was human, so Connor doesn't know where this impulse comes from. Of course he knows of androids who've relinquished their registered names in favour of ones they've chosen for themselves ... but that's a very specific circumstance.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," he says, before shaking his head. "But if you don't want me to call you that, I won't."

What he'd like is some indication of what to call the other man instead. That might be awkward to ask, however. The subject change offers a smoother alternative while he runs through some scenarios in the background. "I was checking which of these stores had the best electronic components. I'd like to upgrade the tablet I have, eventually." Gesturing further down the street, Connor adds: "Right now I'm heading to a firearms store to get the gun I purchased."

"The Atroma have brought others who have more claim to it than I do." They're real, functioning people, not weapons walking around waiting for the trigger to be pulled. "So I gave it up to them."

He has a feeling that Connor wouldn't push for an explanation if he didn't offer one, but that very consideration is what had him speak in the first place. That and the fact that they do share a ship; they're going to come in contact with one another.

"Seems a good place for stocking up," he says in response to the apparent shopping goals. This has been the most technologically advanced planet they've visited in his short time with the Fleet anyway, so he appreciates the idea of taking advantage of the credits sitting in their accounts. The mention of the firearm catches his attention though, because he'd considered it himself before ultimately deciding against it. "Oh? What kind?"

Ah. Now that makes more sense. Connor's noted the other 'James Buchanan Barnes' names appearing on the network but hadn't considered the difficulty this might pose. Even if another android of his model had shown up, they would have had a different serial number. It's virtually impossible for him to be confused with another.

The Fleet tends to make absolutes more debatable, though.

"If you decide on something else, let me know," he says at last. "I probably can't alter the ship's register but I could try it." The Fleet network bars him from pretty much anything. Still, he tries to disrupt it every single day just out of relentless curiosity ... and spite.

The subject of guns is simpler so it's easy enough to respond to. "A rifle. There are attachments that can convert it into a sniper model, but I'm undecided on whether that would be necessary."

He shrugs. "Don't really need a name. Never used to have one. But if you want to hack the Fleet and call me Nameless just to fuck with the Atroma, I'm not gonna stop you." That last statement comes out sounding more bitter than he'd intended, but he doesn't take any of it back. Connor isn't the only one who's less than thrilled with their hosts, and it rankles that there's little enough they can do about it.

"Depends on what advantages the attachments give you, and how good you are without." Rifles — sniper rifles especially — are something with which he actually has a decent amount of experience. "I don't just mean accuracy, I mean your skill as a sniper. Staying invisible, picking your targets for maximum effectiveness, knowing when and where to shoot. And if you're really going to need the long range enhancements, or are you sacrificing short range usability?"

"I'll see what I can do," he replies evenly. Now that the idea's been floated, he's absolutely going to try it. Why not? It's a different sort of test.

Connor nods at the other man's assessment. "I have the requisite skills, just no experience in the field." For a human that might be a problem. For an android... it could still be a problem, but less of one. Connor had been relentlessly tested in all his attributes, after all. Just because he hadn't found cause to snipe a target yet didn't mean he couldn't. "But I feel like short range would be more useful. The scenarios in which I would need to target someone from a distance diminish significantly if we aren't on a planet."

"If you're bored and need something to occupy your time." Why not, if Connor gets some amusement out of it? And, more importantly, if it's successful, if he's finally able to breach the Atroma's systems, then it's certainly worth pursuing.

"There's plenty of game on this planet, if you're thinking of heading up to the surface to practice. Start big, and work your way down to a target the size of a playing card." He does agree with the advantage of short range over extra long range though; most of what they're likely to encounter isn't going to be at sniper distance. At least that's not what it's seemed so far, judging from what he's experienced at least. "While I don't doubt that we've been lucky in our recent planetary visits, I also don't doubt that we could be brought to a place where those skills might become necessary. I guess it's good that you happen to know another sniper just in case."

"It's highly likely," he agrees. "This Fleet has visited hostile systems before, and even been boarded by raiders. If something like that was to happen again, I'd rather have my own firearm than rely on the Atroma-issued ones."

Because, well, that shit's shady.

"It is ... do you know whether anyone else aboard our ship has any combat experience?"

"Raiders, or any similar threat that could board the ships, would concern me the most." In theory, a hostile planet could be avoided by simply staying on board the ship and not making it to the surface. It;s likely not that simple of course, but it has crossed his mind.

He does personally agree with Connor on the Atroma's firearms. "Have you made provisions for replacement ammunition?" It's why he'd gone for knives; he's just as deadly with them in close quarters as a firearm, and he doesn't need to worry about reloading ammunition.

"You and me. I've been working with Sansa on self defense, but she's no fighter. I suppose I should ask Escha about her skills, but she doesn't strike me as the soldier type." It also hasn't escaped him that their crew is amazingly small for the size of their ship. It's both a tactical advantage and disadvantage.

"Not yet," replies Connor. "Since I'm picking up the gun tomorrow I had thought I would stock up on ammunition at the same time."

It was the most efficient way of doing things. The shop would already have the right bullets in supply. Besides, Connor rarely spends any of his credits, as he has no need for food and can get by with relatively little. It's the most significant purchase he's made in his entire stay.

"Escha is more of a ... scientist." Connor hesitates over the word slightly, given his mixed feelings on her position as an alchemist. A redundant field for many centuries as far as he's concerned, but he can't discount the fact that in other worlds that might not be true. "I know that Mirage is an experienced pilot but I don't know if she's been in combat situations before."

“I meant once we leave this system. It may be beneficial to see if supplemental supplies can be manufactured, since there’s no true guarantee of finding anything compatible in our travels.” He doesn’t mean to be a buzzkill one must consider all angles. Connor might appreciate it though, given his logical thought processes.

He makes a noise of agreement about Escha though. He still doesn’t fully understand their captain’s skill set but in this at least it doesn’t much matter; were a hostile boarding to happen, he and Connor are clearly the first line of defense. “I’ll ask her about her knowledge of combat situations regardless. But Mirage is no longer with us; I noticed today that she’s been reassigned to another ship. So it’s just the four of us now.”

"Yes; good point." The ammunition seems fairly standard to his eye ... but it's risky to think of anything as 'standard' when they travel between whole solar systems. "It shouldn't be hard to get information on the components at least."

The news about Mirage makes Connor frown slightly. Obviously this had happened in between his network sweeps. "I see. Four people on the ship. That doesn't leave much room for error, if any one of us was incapacitated."

At what point does their crew become a skeleton crew? At what point does it matter to the Atroma. "I understand," he begins carefully, going back through what he knows from the network, "that at times these ships can be merged or returned to the Marsiva if their crews become too small."

"I'll help you in research if you need it." Not that he thinks Connor would. "But if it's anything like the bullets I've used, it's possible to make them from scratch, as long as suitable materials are available."

He won't dwell long on that offer however, not when they seem to share concerns about the ship and its crew. "Or if one of us is turned against the others."

An uncomfortable thought that, especially since he knows he can be triggered. And he's pretty sure that he'd be able to eliminate his shipmates with little trouble.

"I've heard of ships merging as well, from several sources." Which means it's likely true; there's too much evidence to suggest otherwise. "Our own ship was apparently two at one point; I don't know if that makes it more or less likely for it to happen again."

"That's another thing that's difficult to prepare for," Connor admits. The sheer unpredictability of someone being glitched into aggressive behaviour or something like it can't be truly factored in. It's a known unknown.

"I'm not sure. It may not even be crew size that's the trigger. Many of the ships have only five or six crew at this point."

They could be heading for a scenario where there's only one or two large ships, if the Atroma decide to do something drastic.

“About the only preparation is just being constantly vigilant.” Even then there’s no guarantee; should the situation arise their actions are reactionary, not preparatory. He knows logically it’s the best they can do but that doesn’t make it a satisfactory situation.

Connor has a fair point about crew size though, especially if other ships are in the same state. “There is the thought of looking at other ships whose crew might complement our own, and simply making a move to whichever ship is better appointed, do it on our own terms. But I don’t know how I feel about doubling our numbers like that. As we are, four of us are manageable in an emergency, and we could all fit into a single shuttle if we had to.”

Constant vigilance isn't much of an issue for Connor. He doesn't need to sleep, after all. Even he can get distracted though, android or not. It's been a long time since he felt compelled to keep track of everything.

"It's a possibility," he agrees, though he shakes his head. "But not one we need to exercise at the moment. If things devolve to a point where greater numbers are an asset, it's an option we can look into."

Connor's persistence is something to be envied, obviously — especially by a man who feels more artificial than real himself. But he doesn't know if androids have the same gut feeling as humans; in that regard, they probably complement each other fairly well.

"I agree. Something to keep in mind, but not something we need to act upon immediately." Is he thinking about packing necessities into a bag or bin in the shuttle bay, something they can grab on the go if they're forced to abandon the Starduck? Yes. Yes he absolutely is. If they're forced to flee chances are it would be to another ship and as Connor noted, most of the ships are understaffed. Those vessels would have room for their small crew if necessary.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

03. | When everything's meant to be broken

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject