//This works just like the last vote, as will every vote going forward. If you want to participate, no matter who you are, you are free to do so. Just read the OOC notes in the earlier posts to learn how, come up with a character, and write a post!.
Battleship Klaxon - All-Hands Meeting Minutes 08/23/830 AS "All non-essential personnel, report to mess hall. Essential personnel will be contacted when off-shift by their immediate CO. Over and out."
Another meeting. Who knows what Howe has for the crew this time? Last time it was a proposition to take up arms alongside the Corsairs, a group of bloodthirsty pirates that few of the crew had ever even encountered. As they made their way to the mess, some of the crew rolled their eyes at the memory—even their own survival was beginning to feel somewhat droll despite the increasing urgency of their situation.
Just as before, Howe was standing atop the same desk, with the same blackboard next to him. When the crew was assembled, he raised his voice, just loud enough to be heard over the whine of the engine and the buzzing of the lights.
"At ease, all. Fate has not been kind to us thus far, yet we shall not abandon hope. Each of us fights for their own reason, yet we all stand united for the causes of justice and freedom in our house and in the sector abroad. With this in mind, I have contacted a man some of you may have heard of—Erich Klugmann, the famous leader of Rheinland's Bundschuh Party.
"While we may not necessarily agree with the specifics of the Bundschuh's goals, their tenacity in constantly providing effective resistance to the kleptocrats and authoritarians of what is now an openly imperialist power is something I believe we can all admire. As such, I have asked Mister Klugmann if he and his people are willing and able to offer us asylum. He has answered in the affirmative, and what's more, has not even asked for financial recompense, nor for our service in combat against the Imperialist forces. I believe that rendezvousing with the Bundschuh's forces is our best bet at restocking our supplies, no matter where we go from there. Klugmann has proposed we meet with him at Eltmann Moor, a station operated by the Party in the disaster-wrought Munich system, where the Party will provide us with basic repairs to our systems, and we will be able to plan what may come next.
"So, we have several options available to us. We can accept the Bundschuh's offer, exfiltrating either via hyperspace drive or more conventional means to Eltmann, where we will resupply before leaving to seek out other opportunities. We can offer to join forces with them and fight for freedom in a land which is not our own. Or, we could reject their offer entirely, and strike it out alone—for I truly do not believe there are many other options—and hope for the best. Remember, you are encouraged to vote for as many options as you are comfortable with."
As he spoke, Howe drew up three columns on the board to contain the tallied votes. One column was labelled "RESUPPLY"; another was labelled "JOIN THEM"; and the third labelled the ominous "GO IT ALONE". When finished his speech, Howe dusted his hands and turned to the assembled crew, calling out the first mate who raised their hand to say their piece.
Jim Tate Assistant He was back. Nobody knew where he had been since the last vote, but he was still there, and he was still Jim Tate. For whatever reason, he had a crowbar in his left hand, while in his right hand was something that looked like an ID card. Nobody really minded him, as it looked like he was just doing some maintenance work on one of the robots - just with a bit of an odd timing.
Nevertheless, as Howe was done talking and people started to have their eyes on everyone else again, the bald man let the object in his right hand vanish in a pocket and let the crowbar slide back into his toolbelt. However, when he pulled his perfectly generic manly hand out of his pocket, a bar of soap flopped out of it. Nothing out of the ordinary, given he often cleaned the floor of various hallways. It was just the timing that made people pay attention to him and his bar of soap as he picked it up and let it vanish in his pocket again.
He gulped, somehow having managed to get Howe's attention this way.
I say we go it alone. O-ho!
There was a moment of silence. He coughed. The person in front of him didn't appreciate it.
Going all the way to Munich, that sounds nuts! Munich is way too dangerous and way too far out for us! I would rather ask them to give us some supplies here. O-ho!
And once they have proven their value, we can still take up on the offer to Munich!
Morgan Lou Jeong Chief Architect/Engineer Coming all the way up from engineering took long enough as is, stopping maintenance however was never something Morgan was of mind to do, as such, he was late yet again, and his armor rig arrived relatively coated in oil over the front, as well as caked in some sort of gel, and was smeared down the helmet like he'd attempted to wipe it off with his hand, almost as if he'd crawled into something. Anyone standing near the suited up man could smell the burns, far, far from anything resembling pleasant. Despite being late and missing a majority of Howe's speech yet again, he was forced to pick up the pieces from those mumbling around him, and when the name "Bundschuh" was discerned, in line with the last meeting talking about the Corsairs, he could very well guess what this was about.
Though this time around, Morgan would prove to be considerably less fiery with his words.
"With Rheinland fresh off the heels of civil war, with its military and economy in disarray, It is unlikely the Klaxon would meet overwhelming opposition should it be detected, with due caution, we may be in for a very boring trip, assuming we pass through Texas without incident. The largest threats to the Klaxon being the unlawful elements that prowl the dark we'd be forced to obscure ourselves in, though as guests of the Bundschuh, as far as my limited knowledge of underworld politics is, we wouldn't have to worry about the Hessians, at least while in vicinity of a Bundschuh station."
"While the Bundschuh have withstood the test of time, they are by far the smallest element in the underworld, and with the resource issues of the civil war only making their already desperate straights worse than before, calls into question their capability of providing us with any sort of aid, be it logistical or otherwise. With the obvious dangers taken into consideration that this may well be yet another trap, as I've not heard this man's name before either. Assuming they are genuine, as they more likely than the rest could very well be, we'd be better off than we are now in terms of resources accepting this proposal, even if worst case scenario."
"There are many things outside of my knowledge causing hesitancy, so I offer my vote to the captain's better understanding of the matter."
Lieutenant-Commander Max "Barrelman" Schlesinger Quartermaster, Acting Gunnery Chief Pleasantly surprised by the civility of this meeting thus far compared to the last, QM Schlesinger couldn't help but be amused by the typically oh-so-spirited CE offering his vote to someone else. With that said, it was hard to be surprised the most outspoken authoritarian among the crew would offer it to the captain. Cigarette already in mouth, Max raised his hand, rising as Howe pointed at him after acknowledging Jeong's deferment with a nod.
"Personally, I'm of a similar mind to Jeong here, folks. If Crete's likely to stab us in the back or shower us with everything we'd ever wanted, Rheinland's most infamous bleeding-hearts are likely to do next to nothing. Yet, assuming we have the fuel, I don't see the harm in jumping there thru' hyperspace, and if they make bad on their offer of assistance, fly out to the Omicrons with the main drives.
"If there's one thing I don't expect from the Bundies, it's a backstab. Fact they can't field capitals of their own indicates to me they'd need a hell of a large squadron to take us out, even as busted as the Klaxon is at present, and no matter how I figure it, I can't see a reason they'd gun for us. Even if we get nothin' more than water and flour from 'em, Ortega and the line cooks would appreciate it, and we'd be good for a few more weeks. All that said, can't help but vote aye."
His characteristically to-the-point speech finished, he silenced his drawl and retook his seat, rump planted firmly on a cafeteria table and one foot resting on the bench. Howe marked one tally under "RESUPPLY" and called out the next mate to raise their hand.
//This works just like the last vote, as will every vote going forward. If you want to participate, no matter who you are, you are free to do so. Just read the OOC notes in the earlier posts to learn how, come up with a character, and write a post!.
Battleship Klaxon - Situation Report 11/16/833 AS It had been three years since the Klaxon and her one hundred thirty seven die-hard loyalist crew members had sought shelter with the Bundschuh. Three years since nothing more than a hunch on Augustus Howe's part had taken them halfway across the galaxy, from the dying heart of the Insurgency's cause to the doorstep of the Sigma and Omicron clusters; three years since one hundred thirty seven men and women had put their lives in the hands of an experimental jump-drive and a disgraced radical.
Those three long years had seen a communiqué by Admiral Amy West essentially dismissed with as much military decorum as Howe could muster, hundreds of disaffected Zoners from homes as far afield as Erie and Freeport Nine swear oaths to some day overthrow Liberty's government as part of the Klaxon's crew, and new bonds form. While nothing could replace full-scale military supply networks, and naught in the world could soothe the pain of the hundreds of souls forced to rend themselves from their beloved homes, those bonds had kept the Klaxon afloat; Klugmann had pulled through. His network of supporters had provided the war-weary crew with food, water, oxygen, and safe harbor in Rheinland's border systems, even if they lacked the materials or expertise to repair the dreadnought's highly-technical equipment.
Yet, an army must always march. Now four hundred-some strong—still a far cry from the six hundred thirty crew typically required by the Monument-class—the crew of the ship wondered what was to become of their oaths; if ever they would be held to them, if ever they would once again fire their guns in the name of freedom. Sensing the rising dissatisfaction of the ship's personnel, Howe realized that action was now long overdue. He would once again summon the crew for a meeting.
Howe murmured to himself as he leaned forward at his desk to speak through the ship-wide intercom. "We're going to need a proper meeting hall at some point." Jeong might not be happy with that assignment.
"All non-essential personnel, report to mess hall. Essential personnel will be contacted when off-shift by your immediate CO."
Battleship Klaxon - All-Hands Meeting Minutes 11/16/833 AS Dutifully—eagerly, even, perhaps alarmingly so—the crew gathered in the mess, packed ass-to-elbow, with many sitting or standing on top of tables to get a look at the blackboard, and at Howe. There he stood, still in his orange and grey uniform, cutting an almost fatherly appearance as he looked over his assembled men with an indiscernable expression. It was finally time to see how strong these new bonds were.
Howe picked up the same piece of chalk he'd used three years ago, and blew the dust off the board. After the last meeting, the board had remained where it was, almost becoming an artifact to the crew representing the spirit which animated them all, from the hardened Legion veterans to the recent ex-Zoner recruits. He began to write, once again marking out columns and labelling them. Only two of them. "PLATFORM" and "THE EDGE". As he finished, he turned back to the crew as an immediate understanding fell over the room.
"It is time for us to make a pivotal decision.
"Three years ago, we voted to resupply here, capitalizing upon the generosity of the Exiled Party. In that time, our supplies have been constant, and many of us have formed friendships and loyalties, yet our dedication to our cause has not wavered. Now, we are at a crucial juncture. Our personal ideologies may vary, yet all of us believe in what this very ship's stars and stripes were originally intended to symbolize. We must now decide how to carry this legacy forward."
Here, he paused, and tapped at the PLATFORM column on the board.
"We may confine our struggle, in essence, to the Houses—to fight alongside the good people who believe in freedom as we do, setting aside our differences in understanding what 'freedom' itself means."An allusion to the Platform's anarchism, a sentiment shared in truth by few among the crew.
He tapped at the THE EDGE column.
"Or, we may struggle alone, becoming the defenders of our ideals at the forefront of Humanity's expansion, until such time as we believe ourselves to have the strength necessary to return to our homeland.
"What is clear is that a decision must be made. We must reach our internal concord, such that we may stand for what is right against the world."
With that, Howe stood aside, waiting for the deliberation among the crew to begin.
Lieutenant Anthony "Doorstop" Capley Fighter Pilot The years had taken effect on the former Lieutenant, now sporting a seemingly permanent stubble and any semblance of an adherence to uniform regulations, as he now wore his flight suit, which had any of its former military patches stripped long ago and the arms wrapped around his waist revealing a stained white t-shirt underneath.
Capley was among the first to raise a hand after carefully listening to the captain's speech, and once his turn came to speak, Capley jumped up onto one of the tables before beginning. His voice ran steady and confident. Perhaps the Lieutenant had been expecting this for some time.
"I won't even bother with explaining why the Edge is a shitty idea. You're all smart enough to realise that, even Tate."
The Lieutenant cast a gaze over the crowd that had been amassed, a fond glint in his eye as he looked over the men and women he'd spent the last three years in exile with before continuing on.
"I know what you're all thinking but, I want to ask you all one simple question. What good did the strict military doctrine and the focus on a conventional fight of the Legion or Harmony get us? What did a steady neutrality get the people of Erie?"
A cautious gaze was cast over the assembled crowd, Capley clearly taking care not to push the emotional issues to the point of offense but enough to provoke some serious thought for the argument he was about to make, only continuing after he allowed a moment for the seed of thought to burrow.
"The Platform didn't have to help us, but they did. And I can already hear the cynics and nihilists. Yes, maybe the potential prospect of the Klaxon among its forces was the only goal; I'll even admit I thought as much as well at first. But, if the Klaxon itself was truly their only intention, they had three years to make a move, so why didn't they?"
A paused breath and the beginning of a slight grin formed on the Lieutenant's face.
"Way I see it, we tried the conventional method, it's time we got unconventional. The people here aren't bad folks, and they could use our help, just as we once needed theirs, I'd say it's about time we returned the damn favour."
Capley's slight grin had broken into a wide smile as he walked off the table with an uncharacteristically casual attitude, his boots dropping onto the floor. The time spent among the men and women of the platform clearly has had an effect on Capley, the once-reserved and ever-tactical pilot, now a willing anarchist ready to join the ranks of the radical left.
Leroy Trentham Ships Cook I would like to voice my opinion.
Bellows a shot older-looking man known as the ship's cook. Dressed in a spotless standard navy apron, the only thing off about it is a grey patch placed where the emblem of Liberty should be.
A diligent man by all accounts, but not much else; some would describe him as a classic "done," only caring for his work and not much beyond it. During the ship's exile, he has kept himself groomed, as a cook should, giving him a constant look when Leroy is at work. Leroy's crowning achievement was making bread out of synth paste that was palatable.
I believe that we should stay with our hosts. They have provided us with supplies and allowed me to continue to feed all of you. They even gave us some actual vegetables a few times, and because of that, we had stew on Thursday. Repaying them with our help would be the least we can do.
An interesting rumor about Leroy is that he chickened out of being a fighter pilot on his first deployment against someone, nearly dying to them. After that mortifying moment, he decided never to fly again, but the shame forced him to stay.
Here, we might be able to make a difference and actually do some good, and it looks to be the safest option as going into the Edgeworlds is too terrifying if we do decide to go there.
After Leroy finished his little speech, his head was lowered, and he proceeded to sit on a chair, looking a bit nervous.
An engineer squatting on the back wall was usually there because it was mandatory to assemble under orders. His own constant conclusion was that he lived to keep this vessel in a steady shape, usually working the background of the Klaxon constantly and taking duties that people don't realise are important. The one you see in every hall, every deck, every service tunnel with a welding gun and replacement a power conduit that blew out. While he was recognised as a member of the crew, it never surpassed the description of 'that engineer' and it didn't bother him as he never felt a desire climb ranks in fear of leaving his most skilled work behind. But this time, his silent complacency was making him twitch and struggle to keep still more than usual.
"The Klaxon has never looked this way before, granted this has been a strange few years."
Tomas didn't even have the energy to stand up, so instead people either twisted around to look down or made a path to make him more visible to the commander.
"I've worked on gear I never thought I'd be splicing into our home. Met new people that were more than willing to help because we could hardly help ourselves... I don't even know if any of them have a solid idea of what we went through or why. But that really doesn't matter to them, they still went out of their way to get me the supplies I needed; I have no idea how difficult that will be in the edge worlds."
He took a hasty moment to grab his water canteen on the floor, raising a finger to signal he wasn't finished.
"Mmm--! Sure, I don't like showing them out weapons systems when they needed repairs and I sure as hell was suspicious about letting them onboard in the first place... But then I realised that my job wasn't to keep a ship in order ready to wage war against our claimed enemy anymore. But its because I live here, my friends live here and sure... I might not talk to all of you but All of you live here. Permanent or not, this is now why I'm here doing the same thing, but never has it ever felt like it was worth it until now."
He was juggling the sealed canteen between his hands as he was talking, fingers keeping themselves busy as they kept a wide distance of air for the canteen to fly in the middle. He kept his face with fixated eye contact with Howe as he did so as he began to slowly stumble back onto his feet.
"The Klaxon fights for who it wishes to fight for, but if I chose the Platform, they better hope that they will return us more than a favour like they have proved to me. Sure they're rag-tag bunch of armed civilians... But they certainly seem dedicated enough to support each other in the fight for their lives."
He broke eye contact with the commander and looked towards the written words of PLATFORM on the board.
"Sir with respect, The Klaxon is the Klaxon, at least under the Platform we have a chance to still be that and more."
Mishiro Usui Third Engineer Usui was a relatively new part of the Klaxon's crew; a young Zoner who got caught up in the conflict between Liberty and her people. Usui was an aspiring and peace-seeking individual, perhaps somewhat too passionate in the cause at times. Proving to be an invaluable asset to the Zoners' war against the Nomads, Usui was held at high respect among her people and was a highly decorated captain for her twenty-eight years of age.
She commanded a standard Aquilon-class battleship, the Hope's Bastion, and a standard Condor-class gunboat, the Wayward Warden. Commissioned at 826 A.S., the Hope's Bastion was a top-of-the-line battleship for it's time and with Usui being placed as her commanding officer the battleship and her crew saw great successes in the war against the Nomads in the deepest of Omicrons.
In a dreadful twist of fate, the Aquilon-class Mishiro was in command of would take part in a mission taking her - among other Zoner forces - into Omicron Major. Sources report the disappearance of the Zoner battlegroup, with the only direct information available on the matter being mere rumors. With all data on the events strictly classified, what remained were the captain's memories of what had happened.
Suffering severe mental issues and heartbroken after having lost her significant other, Usui was relieved of her duties and at 828 A.S. was moved to Bethlehem Station in the Pennsylvania system which she'd call home from now on.
During an unforeseen turn of events, Mishiro's peaceful life aboard Bethlehem would see it's end when Liberty waged war on the Zoners. Being caught up in a conflict she did not wish to be part of, a young Usui tried to reason with Liberty's armed forces - to no avail.
Word eventually reached Mishiro about the Insurgency and their cause, and about how Veracruz is about to be taken over by Liberty's forces. Rumors spoke of a ship in dire need of help, with dwindling personnel and even more dwindling supplies. The young Zoner knew that her peaceful life aboard Bethlehem has ended and it is only a matter of time before Liberty's forces repeat what they did to Veracruz against her people.
With not many options left on where to go, Mishiro followed up in those rumors and retreated towards Rheinland - the place the Klaxon was told to be at. It took quite the effort, but she managed to get in touch with the ship's command and was eventually accepted among the crew.
For the last two years - and at thirty-two years of age -, Usui has been spending her life aboard the battleship, her knowledge granting her the position of third engineer by now.
"A s-s-strange few years it has b-bee-been... Indeed," Mishiro's stuttering voice echoed from the very back of the open room, "while we-we-we haven't been through that much to-to-tog... Together... yet, I can safely say you all have m-m-made m-m-me feel like home aboard here, and that-... That is something I v-va-v-value beyond what I can d-des-d-... Describe w-with words."
Mishiro had made it to the conference room along with everyone else - for the very first time. Having not been in touch with the ship's entire history leading up to this point, it was obvious that the weight of such an option was one too heavy for her to lift. Regardless, she appreciated the value her word had and did not intend to dishonor the shelter that had been provided to her.
"I-... I have to agree w-w-with everyone that's sp-... Spoken before me. The Klaxon is m-m-more than just a s-sh-ship. It-... It is an i-id-idea. We-... We represent th-those that h-h-have been let down b-by-by the Houses and b-b-betrayed by the v-v-very people they considered... Their friends."
A pause followed, as Mishiro would avert her gaze towards her feet and the ground beneath them, clearly being embarrassed by all of the attention averted towards her as she spoke.
"Leaving f-f-f... For the Omi-... Omicrons would mean we're giving up our-... Our ideals. It-... It would mean that th-... Th-... They won." Mishiro sighed, once again lifting her head and looking towards the board and what was written on it. "I... I don't know much about the P-... P-Pla-... Platform. I-... I don't know much a-... About Rheinland in general. B-B-... But if that's our... Our only option to c-... Continue with our i-... Ideals... Then... I-... I think w-w-we should go with it."
"My v-v-vote goes t-t-to the Platform," Mishiro said while making eye contact with her commanding officer for not more than just a few moments, before falling in silence again.
