Round 6: The Mekhala-Veehra Dash of 2050!

[The Snark]

Twelve years ago, the Group of Seventeen had deemed the Mekhala Mad Dash too dangerous - and too frivolous - to risk one of their Imperial engines on. But after more than a decade, the drive cores are... not commonplace, exactly, but the Logistics and Rationing Group no longer controls them quite so strictly. A group of Geralds has put together an entry, drawing lots to see which of them gets to be at the wheel.

Castaways ships are typically modular in design: a narrow superstructure contains the engine and power source (typically a fusion reactor or solar panels), while crew quarters, cargo space, combat drones, and other ancillary systems are housed in interchangeable modules. By swapping the modules in use, it is a relatively simple matter to refit a cargo ship into a long-distance survey vessel, a diplomatic escort, or a passenger liner, and vice versa. However, these ships are not built for speed; the attachment points limit how swiftly they can safely accelerate, decelerate, or turn. As such, Gerald's racing vessel is custom-built. It is inelegant in its simplicity: a large, blocky rectangle with an engine on one end. But what it lacks in aesthetics... and maneuverability... and probably raw speed, if we're being painfully honest... it'll hopefully make up for in reliability. Gerald 48223 isn't really expecting to win this race, but he's damn well going to finish it.

As the GO light flashes green, Gerald hits the thrust. His engine flares to life, propelling his ship forward... at nearly a ninety-degree angle to the other racers. Rather than gunning straight for Veehra, Gerald's planned trajectory will take him out of Mekhala's ecliptic plane, at which point he can reorient and make a beeline for the planet without having to waste time and fuel avoiding asteroids (or other racers).

Roll notes

First leg: 2d6+4 (half Econ) = 13
Pickup: 2d6+5 (half Diplomacy, visiting Gerald's native region) = 16
Las leg: 2d6+4 (half Econ, +1 for Thaumonuclear Reactor technology, -1 for not being Mekhalan) = 9

 

Edited April 19 by The Snark (see edit history)

[EmBark]

14 hours ago, Elemental said:

Elias was getting comfortable, at this point there was literally nothing for him to do for weeks so he'd started making himself a cup of tea as he listened to the latest hits from Ishtahnos. He was just adding a pinch of cinnamon as a reward for not blowing the ship up when an indicator started blinking. With slight panic that almost caused him to drop the precious cinnamon he realised it was the communications array. He flicked a switch and heard the last bit of Guyineber's message.

"Hello, you've reached the Eclipsing Eagle, what can I do for you?" he asked. His Low Imperial was heavily accented and the sound of an Ishtahn singer could be heard in the background. His eyes scanned the holo display. He didn't exactly have a sophisticated detection system, but near as he could tell everyone was on course and no one was spiralling off out of control. That likely ruled out a distress call, not that he could do anything if it was. This burn was calculated, he had only enough fuel to slow down once. That thought did admittedly give him a bit of anxiety.

"Ah, hello!" Guyineber responded, excited to hear Elias' voice. She realized mid-sentence that her ship didn't have an official name yet, but she didn't want to seem as inexperienced at racing as she was. She quickly thought about tall things and adjectives with the same initial letters. "This is the, uh, the Crepuscular Cliffside." Yeah, that made sense! Cliffsides were tall, just like her.

She listened to the other pilot's accent and tried to decipher it. Her own Low Imperial was practiced, but since she hadn't talked regularly with people from other orbits the way most ambassadors and flightmasters were expected to she had a much stronger accent than a lot of llort that foreigners might be used to.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you. I don't know what the proper ettiquette is during races, but a friend told me it's okay to have an... what is it called... social conversation? During a Mekhala Dash? My apologies, I am more used to more formal gatherings when speaking to humans." She didn't mention that her mentor consistently reminded her of the fact that she also was terrible at ettiquette at formal gatherings half the time.

 

OOC notes

For ease of reading, I don't write an accent into my characters, but Guyineber's speech sounds more like it's missing some consonants and vowels. Like she'd be more like

"Ah, elo! Tis is de Kerebooskoolar Kilibsayid. Ayi ope ayim not distoorbin yoo. Ayi dont no baht de borober etiket is doorin reses, boot eh boorenid tolod meh is okey toh ab an... baht is it kalad... sosiyal konbersasiyon? Doorin a Me[pleghm]ala Des? Mayi abologis, ayim mor yoosoot too mor boromal gaderinis ben soopikin to yoomanas."

 

The VIP Dome - the E.A.T. Meeting Room

15 hours ago, bc_56 said:

The Chief Executive downs the contents of the vial without complaint. Slowly a smile forms across his face. "That's good stuff. I may have to acquire a share in that brewery. Thoughts, Martin?" The younger dwarf seems less pleased. "It's strong, but it lacks flavor." "Ah, you're still young. Your palate hasn't developed yet."

"Now where were we? Oh right, exploring. My people are quite keen on gathering the resources of the outer planets. There's all sorts of wealth out there just waiting to be discovered. I expect we'll see you out there?"

Hekaton Karcheras Katos responded with a grin of satisfaction. The moonshine burnt pleasantly down his throat and the dwarven chief executive taking well to it pleased him.

"Naturally, Chief Executive. It is my mission to lay bare the secrets of Holy Space and prepare the way for the people and establish early outposts. On behalf of the Protectorate, I will gladly share our information with you and the others in the E.A.T."

 

The VIP Dome

@Frostwander

Ambassador Yessikruz Donce shook herself out of staring after Lady Charyti d'Partout as she left. "My. Queen Chalise, you've certainly come with a spirited racer. That counts for a lot in the Dash. If not in becoming Champion, it certainly matters for the love of the audience."

Edited April 18 by EmBark (see edit history)

[Elemental]

15 hours ago, Frostwander said:

Llewellyn's glance at the staging area catches just in time to see Charyti blowing a kiss in Elias' direction.

Llewellyn catches sight of the kiss and he feels his heart rate rise in panic, especially when Elias gives Charyti a wink in return. But he can't be helped now, he just had to hope they'd both be too distracted by the race. The race with several weeks of flying on a more or less straight line with nothing to do but talk to people on the comms...

6 hours ago, EmBark said:

"Ah, hello!" Guyineber responded, excited to hear Elias' voice. She realized mid-sentence that her ship didn't have an official name yet, but she didn't want to seem as inexperienced at racing as she was. She quickly thought about tall things and adjectives with the same initial letters. "This is the, uh, the Crepuscular Cliffside." Yeah, that made sense! Cliffsides were tall, just like her.

She listened to the other pilot's accent and tried to decipher it. Her own Low Imperial was practiced, but since she hadn't talked regularly with people from other orbits the way most ambassadors and flightmasters were expected to she had a much stronger accent than a lot of llort that foreigners might be used to.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you. I don't know what the proper ettiquette is during races, but a friend told me it's okay to have an... what is it called... social conversation? During a Mekhala Dash? My apologies, I am more used to more formal gatherings when speaking to humans." She didn't mention that her mentor consistently reminded her of the fact that she also was terrible at ettiquette at formal gatherings half the time.

 

OOC notes

For ease of reading, I don't write an accent into my characters, but Guyineber's speech sounds more like it's missing some consonants and vowels. Like she'd be more like

"Ah, elo! Tis is de Kerebooskoolar Kilibsayid. Ayi ope ayim not distoorbin yoo. Ayi dont no baht de borober etiket is doorin reses, boot eh boorenid tolod meh is okey toh ab an... baht is it kalad... sosiyal konbersasiyon? Doorin a Me[pleghm]ala Des? Mayi abologis, ayim mor yoosoot too mor boromal gaderinis ben soopikin to yoomanas."

Relieved that it wasn't some emergency Elias goes back to mixing cinnamon into his tea, stirring it with a fancy spoon he'd borrowed from Llewellyn's office. He briefly checks the race manifest to make sure he heard the name correctly, which he didn't and he can't find anything close. Honestly it's not easy at all to decipher the Llort accent, but he figures his own must be equally incomprehensible to them so he just tries his best.

"You're not disturbing me at all, just making a cup of tea before settling in for the long stretch," he says, the sound of a spoon softly tinkling against the edge of his cup can be heard over the transmission, "How's everything going on your end?"

OOC notes I can do this too, fear me

I also don't write accents out, mostly because I'm bad at it. For the Ishtahn just imagine they're talking like old timey cowboys.

[zabbarot]

The Starting Line

As the countdown to start begins Zabir begins loosening his grip on the core. The entire ship thrums with energy. The small mock planets orbiting the core begin to move in an intricate dance as a circle of glowing sigils forms out of mana. The planets rapidly accelerate their dance and the engines hum as the countdown reaches one. The light changes to green and the archmage unleashes the core. Mana surges through the ship and the golden core begins to shine like the sun before the ship slams forward. Without any other crew Zabir only has to worry about theirself as they accelerate at breakneck speeds.

It's a long way to Veehra, but as Mekhala fades in the rearview the archmage settles into a meditative rest for the trip.

 

Roll Stuff

To Veehra: Ruler's 10 Econ + 1 for Core Tech - 1 for not being Veehran - 1 for not having dust hardening? I goofed!
Sand Scoopin: Paid off Castaways of the Loop 10 Econ -1 for no dust hardening
Back home: 10 Econ + 1 for Core Tech

 

 

Edited April 19 by zabbarot (see edit history)

[TheDarkDM]

Befitting an event of such prestige as the Dash, Duke Esarhaddon III and his Duchess had chosen to attend together, socializing easily with the other luminaries in the VIP dome. There is little to distinguish their presence from earlier years for most of the preamble, until a coded alert springs up on Esarhaddon's subcutaneous transmitter. As if summoned by the nondescript flash of code, a blazing star detaches from the surrounding sky and resolves into the monstrous drive plume of a ship very familiar to the veterans of the first Mad Dash. Outside, transmitting on an open channel, comes the first scream of a valkyrie war cry.

"Ani'Quin, you son of a bitch! I hope you didn't think I was missing this show!"

The Lilin howled past the already-lit starting line, under thrust that would have been impossible were it not for the questionably-treasonous work of Naram-Lu and Naqi'a's quiescent engineering team.

Edited April 19 by TheDarkDM (see edit history)

[The Snark]

The long burn from Mekhala to Veehra passes smoothly. With the asteroids out of the way, there's not much for Gerald to do other than sit behind the wheel, and catch up with the latest broadcasts out of B.I.R.B., Heliotrope and Snake News. Just like driving a truck back home, but not as bumpy. He's got running water, a decent bed, a month's worth of pre-packaged meals... if not for the gravity, it'd be a perfect little getaway, really. He barely needs to touch the controls, aside from flipping the ship around and beginning to decelerate around the halfway point. The course the eggheads back home have plotted for him will burn off a little speed via orbital slingshot... but since he needs to make landfall to pick up his prize, he's going to have to slow most of the way down the old-fashioned way.

Mons Orochos is the tallest mountain on Veehra; tallest in all of Tekhum, unless there's something hidden in the outer orbits where astronomers can't see it. The atmosphere at its peak is far too thin to be breathable, allowing Gerald's ship to come in far hotter than would be safe under other circumstances. If everything goes as planned, there should be a pit crew waiting for him on the lip of the caldera, with a canister of dust ready to go...
 

---

"Dude! Todd! Have you seen that new magic engine the House of Brimstone pulled out for this?"

"Yeah, they've been here and gone already."

"Oh yeah, I figured that might happen, the way they took off from the starting line. But check this out: some of our guys talked to some of the guys from Kish, and we've got schematics for those engines!"

"Oh yeah?"

"So I thought, you know, maybe you could take a look and see if you can soup up my ride?"

"..."

"Like right now. Kind of in the middle of a race here, my guy."

"Gerald. We've known each other for, what, ten years?"

"Sounds right."

"In that time, have I somehow managed to give you the impression that I'm a goddamn space wizard?"

"No, but you're an engine guy, and this is engine stuff! Engine wizardry. That's kind of your thing."

"I'm a metaphorical engine wizard. This is literal engine wizardry."

"So is that a no?"

"Just to be clear what you're asking. You want me to take a look at the Archmage's volatile prototype magical nuclear reactor - two fields, I have to stress, that I am not remotely qualified in - and see if I can jury-rig one for your ship... using spare parts and igneous rocks... in the two hours it'll take you to refuel and resupply?"

"Basically, yeah."

"... gimme the schematics. I'll see what I can do."

"You're the best!"
 

---

Four hours later, Gerald's ship takes off again, now equipped with something Todd 52776 calls a leyline ramjet; in his words, "it might give you a boost if you can follow in the Archmake's wake closely enough, and I'm almost certain it won't explode and kill you." Gerald is pretty sure he won't be beating the Archmage of Kish back to Mekhala, but that's no reason to give up. The race to al-Miraiya is on!

Edited April 19 by The Snark (see edit history)

[Frostwander]

Mekhala to Veehra (First Stretch)
The weeks between Mekhala and Veehra provide a great deal of time to entertain oneself, or if you are Lady Charyti d'Partout, to have your fellow racers entertain you. She keeps a steady string of conversations over the radio frequencies with the other racers keeping near pace - while Archmage Zabir's ship seems to be handily outstripping the rest, the others are within a reasonable radio range.

Charyti looks to get to know her peers. Where are they from? What drew them to racing, and what experiences or training prepared them? What do they like, dislike, dream about? She does not pry if anyone wishes to keep things to themself, but does her best to give everyone plenty of time to talk about themselves. She also intersperses and enjoys a fair amount of competitive banter, bragging about ships, chatting about plans for the pickup stage, and what each would do with the fame or winnings if they are the victor.

At other times, the lady's voice can be heard for any who wish to tune in, singing to herself (and listeners) in a native Usheret tongue. Slow ballads, romance songs, and occasionally lullabies carry over the radio waves in alto tones, with the confidence of someone singing in the shower and unafraid of anyone hearing.

The Pickup
The travel stretch is mostly leisurely and relaxed, despite the extreme speeds of the racers. The Pickup is quite the opposite, and as the PEREGRINE descends into the atmosphere of Veehra, Charyti snaps into action. Dials and lights across her dashboard measure the strains of engines, weather, air resistance and more, while course adjusters update to show the optimal flight path to a preset landing zone. Charyti observes the stress meters, and decides that she can take a steeper descent to shave some time.

The first real hitch in her plans arrives as she flattens out her trajectory over the desert. Having arranged a pickup in advance with some contacts in the Pan-Tekhum Worker's & Trader's Union, the horizon is obfuscated by a wall of blowing sand. An unpredicted sandstorm has sprung up in the last day, and the bits of signal she can access from Union channels indicate it is expected to last several more. 

Charyti frowns, an unusual expression. Normally she is all for throwing caution to the wind, and briefly considers doing just that. She is confident she can handles the currents of the storm, but knows the PEREGRINE's hull is not properly sealed for the abrasive elements of such a squall. The dust accumulation could wreak havoc with her sensors and thrust nozzles, and while she has the tools for simple repair, full recalibration would waste significant time. She pulls back on the stick and the thrusters realign to vector her above the storm - she'll simply have to find another option for a short-notice pickup.

Easier said then done. The nearest territory in her path that has any reasonable chance is the Great Western Waste. Charyti plots a course, and lacking any particular connections there, begins broadcasting on any frequencies she can find her request for assistance. Many channels simply ignore her, and those she does reach are either unable to assist, or unwilling. No official of the Castaways is going to assist a competing racer with no prior arrangement when Gerald 48223 is representing them. Even offers of payment are turned down. Charyti watches as her fuel timers creep closer to the minimum point of return as she loops in a holding pattern for hours.

She is rashly considering heading back east and just flying through the dust storm with her cockpit open to accumulate some sand, when her comm blips the incoming signal of a small high-band radio. Charyti takes a deep breath, plasters a smile on, and tunes in. "This is Peregrine, with whom am I speaking?"

The voice of a young woman replies, words tumbling hastily over each other, "This is Tina 52404. I've, uh, we've been watching the Dash, and caught some broadcasts that you're in a jam. I think I - we - can help, you just need a soil sample pickup, right?"

Spirits lifted in an instant, Charyti responds, "Yes! I would be most grateful, thank you!" 

Tina transmits a set of coordinates, and the pilot quickly plugs them into her navigation and banks sharply to follow them southeast. They lead to a small monitoring station, little more than a few pre-fab shelters and some sensors set to observe the nearby terraforming equipment. There is no landing pad, but the terrain is flat enough for the PEREGRINE to touch down with some care. Two figures wait in the shadow of the building as the heat of the landing thrusters dissipates. One of them approaches, and Charyti slides out of the cockpit down an extending ladder to meet her partway.

The young woman holds a cylindrical cannister under one arm, and speaks as though out of breath, despite no physical exertion. "Hi! I'm Tina 52404. Wow! I've been following the Dash broadcasts, it's really great to get to meet you in person."

"A pleazure! Thank you for reaching out, I'd be in a fine mess if you had not. Is there some way I can repay you?"

Tina smiles, her free hand tucking a few loose hairs behind her ear. "I don't really need anything, but," she pauses, "could I get an autograph, please? And a selfie?"

The pilot is glad to oblige, removing her helmet to shake loose her red hair and putting an arm around Tina's shoulders, smiling into the tablet camera the woman angles to get a shot of them together with the PEREGRINE in the background. She signs a book for the Loop-born, and then unzips a pocket of her flightsuit to produce an embroidered handkerchief to gift as well. A mark of brilliant red lipstick is left on the kerchief as a personal touch.

As Charyti returns to the cockpit and stows the soil-cannister, Tina heads back to her coworker still waiting by the shelter door. Rasha 38721 puts out her shock-cigar, giving Tina the look of someone who has put up with entirely too much fangirling the last few weeks, but still smiles at seeing her happiness. They return inside, to watch the liftoff of the racing craft from the viewport. 

Edited April 19 by Frostwander (see edit history)

[EmBark]

The First Stretch - Guyineber

16 hours ago, Elemental said:

Llewellyn catches sight of the kiss and he feels his heart rate rise in panic, especially when Elias gives Charyti a wink in return. But he can't be helped now, he just had to hope they'd both be too distracted by the race. The race with several weeks of flying on a more or less straight line with nothing to do but talk to people on the comms...

Relieved that it wasn't some emergency Elias goes back to mixing cinnamon into his tea, stirring it with a fancy spoon he'd borrowed from Llewellyn's office. He briefly checks the race manifest to make sure he heard the name correctly, which he didn't and he can't find anything close. Honestly it's not easy at all to decipher the Llort accent, but he figures his own must be equally incomprehensible to them so he just tries his best.

"You're not disturbing me at all, just making a cup of tea before settling in for the long stretch," he says, the sound of a spoon softly tinkling against the edge of his cup can be heard over the transmission, "How's everything going on your end?"

6 hours ago, Frostwander said:

Mekhala to Veehra (First Stretch)
The weeks between Mekhala and Veehra provide a great deal of time to entertain oneself, or if you are Lady Charyti d'Partout, to have your fellow racers entertain you. She keeps a steady string of conversations over the radio frequencies with the other racers keeping near pace - while Archmage Zabir's ship seems to be handily outstripping the rest, the others are within a reasonable radio range.

Charyti looks to get to know her peers. Where are they from? What drew them to racing, and what experiences or training prepared them? What do they like, dislike, dream about? She does not pry if anyone wishes to keep things to themself, but does her best to give everyone plenty of time to talk about themselves. She also intersperses and enjoys a fair amount of competitive banter, bragging about ships, chatting about plans for the pickup stage, and what each would do with the fame or winnings if they are the victor.

At other times, the lady's voice can be heard for any who wish to tune in, singing to herself (and listeners) in a native Usheret tongue. Slow ballads, romance songs, and occasionally lullabies carry over the radio waves in alto tones, with the confidence of someone singing in the shower and unafraid of anyone hearing.

"Tea! Emperor's shins, that would have been a great idea." Guyineber tells Elias. "Everything's going quit well! Pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Guyineber, LSP racer."

Over the weeks that followed, Guyineber makes herself as comfortable as she can in her ship, small as it is. Chatting with other racers over comms, playing little games on a console her friend Ani-Quin had given her ("trust me, you'll need this"), and occasionally stepping outside the airlock to stretch her legs.

She talks at length about her childhood on al-Miraiya, her love for sporting events and how little she's been to other planets. She speaks very familiarly with Lady Charyti, remembering her voice and name from the Grand Opening of the Golden Phoenix casino on Badal, and she compliments her on her singing. She occasionally jokingly berates Ani-Quin for "leaving me in the space dust", cracks wise with a Khylokian, and shares music from her home planetoid.

When at one point the question of their winnings comes up, Guyineber is struck by the realization that she hadn't even considered that. What would she do with it?

 

The First Stretch -- Ani-Quin

6 hours ago, TheDarkDM said:

Befitting an event of such prestige as the Dash, Duke Esarhaddon III and his Duchess had chosen to attend together, socializing easily with the other luminaries in the VIP dome. There is little to distinguish their presence from earlier years for most of the preamble, until a coded alert springs up on Esarhaddon's subcutaneous transmitter. As if summoned by the nondescript flash of code, a blazing star detaches from the surrounding sky and resolves into the monstrous drive plume of a ship very familiar to the veterans of the first Mad Dash. Outside, transmitting on an open channel, comes the first scream of a valkyrie war cry.

"Ani'Quin, you son of a bitch! I hope you didn't think I was missing this show!"

The Lilin howled past the already-lit starting line, under thrust that would have been impossible were it not for the questionably-treasonous work of Naram-Lu and Naqi'a's quiescent engineering team.

Ani-Quin laughs loudly in response, their barely-more-than-thrusters ship speeding along quickly.

"And here I thought you would be too busy getting your ass kissed at some palace! Better keep up, princess, or else you will miss the show I'm putting on!"

 

The Pickup

Guyineber makes her way down to the planet carefully, calling ahead to Soom-Clan air traffic monitors to announce her arrival and purpose. When she lands and gets out to meet with her local team, one enterprising local pipes up and asks "want to buy some HUDs before you go? Implantation as a free bonus, just today!"

"Ah, uh, thank you? But no thank you." Guyineber waves them off awkwardly. She grabs hold of the metal canister with dust desert sand... and finds it has been cracked open. She stares at the merchants.

"Sorry," the merchants say, "we don't know what happened. You'll be good with any canister right?"

She curses. "No! I need one properly labeled for the Dash, otherwise they'll think I cheated!"

She hops back into her spaceship, onwards to find a different spot where she can get some sand.

...

Guyineber flies off and through the sandstorms raging around Veehra she tries to find another pickup point with the necessary soil samples. Her attempts to contact the WTU central base fail as the dust particles raging around her appear to block her signals. She thinks of turning around or venturing north, hoping to perhaps run into the lost expeditors from years ago. Finally, her on-board computer signals that she has found herself in Vesper, as all lights turn red and alarms go off.

Engine failure.

She prays to Holy Space, thankful that at least she didn't get a thaumonuclear engine installed just before the race. She loses altitude at a rapid pace as the Crepuscular Cliffside all but nosedives towards the ground. Guyineber takes a deep breath and wills her magic out, causing her glow to increase and the green light to wrap itself around her in a blazing verdant aura.

From a distance, the ship is seen barely through the haze of dust as it crashes and burrows into the ground. When the storm passes--however briefly--the shining mirrored tail end is all that can be seen sticking out of a sandy hilltop. The sunlight reflects off it, visible for miles around.

Guyineber's radio goes silent.

Edited April 19 by EmBark
Intrigue roll result 5 (see edit history)

[xanxosttheslaad]

At the Starting Line

A brilliant green craft gently touches down in line next to the other ships. It appears somewhat familiar, if an odd shape for a spacecraft to any Veehrans in attendance (although certainly not the strangest in that regard -- thanks to the lack of atmosphere in space and the technomagical engineering of many of the other Elect, some truly eccentric designs have also made it to the starting line for this year's Dash). The Fourth Green-Line Train to Veehra is a speed-optimized version of the others of its class, built primarily from high-performance kelp fiber composite and magnesium alloy, carefully shaped into sweeping curves algorithmically optimized to evenly distribute structural loads. Much of what would typically be passenger or freight capacity is replaced with tanks filled with kelp-derived combustion fuel, with the front section only leaving space for its single pilot and a small cargo compartment, and the rear of the vehicle dominated by an array of combustion power cells, feeding power and combustion products into CASSIOPE's local version of Imperial Drive technology: the SPIKE drive, which magnetically accelerates a high energy stream of spun-particulate ionized kelp exhaust for propulsion.

A rectangular hairline crack appears in the side of the front car, interrupting an otherwise smooth and untextured outer hull, uniformly coated in the vibrant green of enriched vacuum-resistant kelp mucus. The outline becomes a rounded rectangular panel as it slowly pushes out and slides to the side, revealing a dark interior, from which emerges a single robotic unit, humanoid in shape, stepping noiselessly down to the platform with the grace of a dancer. As Unit 2323 walks toward the entrance to greet Ambassador Yessikruz Donce, the light of Ophon glints off of a coat of violet paint, betraying an elegant iridescence. "High noon in the Space-Kelp Cluster, neighbor! I am Cassiope, representatively; it's truly an honor." From an internal chest cavity, 2323 produces a small box, wrapped in an intricately folded, fine kelp fiber cloth. The cloth bears the image of a map of Mekhala on a dark, virescent field, artfully distorted so as to enlarge the homes of Mekhala's Elect (orbitally positioned as they were on the first day of the Imperial calendar year in which the program of the Elect was begun), as well as to take up the entire field besides a luminous image of Ophon in the center. The chest itself is machined from a particularly reflective steel alloy, inlaid with a delicate filigree pattern of platinum and platinum-gold blends, balanced in color so as to only subtly stand out from the steel. Inside are a selection of high-grade raw ores, including platinum-group metal ore, Corbomite, and Cinnakite ore, as well as a small gold-inlaid glass bottle of liquid gold. "For you, Ambassador; a token of our appreciation for your hospitality."

Somehow, 2323 conveys a remarkable warmth of speech and body language. Massive amounts of computing power have been devoted to discerning such subtleties of optimally personable interaction with organics, and 2323 is encoded with the most advanced protocols of this kind of any custodial unit yet. After an exchange of pleasantries, they make their way to the EAT room for diplomatic discussions.

The Race

Upon return to the Fourth Green-Line Train to Veehra, Unit 2323 begins final preparations for their first venture out of Mekhala. The door to the pilot car closes seamlessly, leaving the outer hull smooth once more, excepting the countless miniature cameras spread across its surface. These cameras boot up, and resume transmitting livestream video back to the Space-Kelp Cluster, where custodial units and organics alike gather in the KelpNet forums and their favorite community hubs to watch the Dash, and to cheer on their custom-built champion.

Meanwhile, the Third Green-Line Train to Veehra makes landfall in the Great Western Waste, bringing a shipment of gifts to the Castaways of the Loop, as well as preparing a canister of Veehran sand and a tanker full of liquified kelp combustion fuel for the arrival of Unit 2323 and the Fourth Green-Line.

[Elemental]

18 hours ago, Frostwander said:

Mekhala to Veehra (First Stretch)
The weeks between Mekhala and Veehra provide a great deal of time to entertain oneself, or if you are Lady Charyti d'Partout, to have your fellow racers entertain you. She keeps a steady string of conversations over the radio frequencies with the other racers keeping near pace - while Archmage Zabir's ship seems to be handily outstripping the rest, the others are within a reasonable radio range.

Charyti looks to get to know her peers. Where are they from? What drew them to racing, and what experiences or training prepared them? What do they like, dislike, dream about? She does not pry if anyone wishes to keep things to themself, but does her best to give everyone plenty of time to talk about themselves. She also intersperses and enjoys a fair amount of competitive banter, bragging about ships, chatting about plans for the pickup stage, and what each would do with the fame or winnings if they are the victor.

At other times, the lady's voice can be heard for any who wish to tune in, singing to herself (and listeners) in a native Usheret tongue. Slow ballads, romance songs, and occasionally lullabies carry over the radio waves in alto tones, with the confidence of someone singing in the shower and unafraid of anyone hearing.

12 hours ago, EmBark said:

The First Stretch - Guyineber

"Tea! Emperor's shins, that would have been a great idea." Guyineber tells Elias. "Everything's going quit well! Pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Guyineber, LSP racer."

Over the weeks that followed, Guyineber makes herself as comfortable as she can in her ship, small as it is. Chatting with other racers over comms, playing little games on a console her friend Ani-Quin had given her ("trust me, you'll need this"), and occasionally stepping outside the airlock to stretch her legs.

She talks at length about her childhood on al-Miraiya, her love for sporting events and how little she's been to other planets. She speaks very familiarly with Lady Charyti, remembering her voice and name from the Grand Opening of the Golden Phoenix casino on Badal, and she compliments her on her singing. She occasionally jokingly berates Ani-Quin for "leaving me in the space dust", cracks wise with a Khylokian, and shares music from her home planetoid.

When at one point the question of their winnings comes up, Guyineber is struck by the realization that she hadn't even considered that. What would she do with it?

"Well it's nice to meet you Guyineber, this is Elias Rutherford High Mountain of Ishtahnos," he says politely before having some of his cinnamon enhanced tea. It tastes good despite the gravity-free preparation method. He sees on his display how quickly the Archmage Zabir is outstripping them so far, "Looks like we're being left in the dust. That's honestly a relief, means I don't have to stress for the next few weeks about my lead."

And true to that Elias spent the next few weeks not stressing, chatting with the other contestants near to the back of the pack in between very slowly making his way through audiobooks of the 'classics' of Ishtahn literature, many of which were objectively too longwinded, especially 'The Prince of the Bangle'. He answers all of Charyti's questions, enjoying the chance to ramble about his childhood growing up in the desert and how he'd started his racing career at twelve on nightmares before eventually becoming a stunt pilot at eighteen. At the topic of winnings he can only laugh, he gave up on those when he saw how fast the Archmage zoomed ahead. He too shares music, singing Ishtahn classics over the radio in a deep baritone, even once or twice harmonising along with Charyti if she doesn't mind.

 

The Pick Up

The relaxation wasn't to last though, eventually the red dot that was Veehra started to grow brighter and brighter as the days ticked down. On the final day of the trip Elias was all business, he wasn't the last there, but that was no reason to rest on his laurels, he was only a few hours behind Charyti after all and he knew the local terrain and conditions. A few carefully programmed final adjustments to his course before he flipped the entire ship around to reverse. He could see the Crepuscular Cliffside in the distance shining like a star. This was the moment of truth, he had to trust the calculations and as soon as the timer reached zero he pushes the throttle to full for a timed deceleration burn. He was nearly thrown forward against the console if not for the harness holding him in his seat. Blinding white fire shot forth from the engines, indicators lit up green and gold all across the console, occasionally flickering red as the fuel tank got lower and lower and eventually everything shut off.

Elias sat in the dark for a few moments before the battery backup came online and the whole system rebooted. A reactor fuel warning started to slowly beep before he slapped the disable alarm button to shut it up. Of course the reactor was out of fuel, he'd used it all up to not crash right the Mons Khassia. He flips a few switches as the Eclipsing Eagle returns to facing in the right direction, Veehra now right ahead. He was coming in fast, but he'd accounted for that. He switches to manual controls and levels out, slamming right into the sky above Alaari. Heat warnings immediately started alarming all over the place as the heat shield was put through its paces, but slowly he reached subsonic speeds and it only took two whole flights around the planet.

Less than thirty minutes later he was landing by an old hangar at Dantenon for resupply and refuel. He got out of the cockpit, glad of a chance to stretch and really move. As the Sun fell on him he felt revitalised and he felt like wolfing out and going for a run, but he still had stuff to do. His parents were there waiting for him and he gave them a hug, posed with his shovel for the papers as he filled a canister with sand. There was just time for a proper sit down meal of his mum's Aurochs and mushroom stew while the fueltanks were filled. It would be nice to just throw the race now and stay on the ground for longer, but he had a schedule and Minister Cade's assistant minister was there being all dramatic about his watch so once the tanks were filled he gave his parents another hug and took off.

The return trip was much the same, once Elias was in orbit he repeated the same process, but once he was clear of any satellites around Veehra he unfurled the solar sail for the additional boost, the gleaming material looking nearly like a miniature sun when viewed from the right angle. It was then that he noticed a slight deficiency in the fuel rate, but he'd started the burn and couldn't turn back now. The strain of atmospheric flight had probably damaged one of the fuel lines and hindered its flow. He'd just have to hope the time he gained on the surface would be enough to keep him from dead last. He turned on the rest of 'The Prince of the Bangle' to listen to while he waited for his unofficial race buddies.

[Frostwander]

Return stretch

Despite the time lost to the pickup complications, Charyti is in high spirits after Tina's assistance and enthusiasm. As soon as she is airborne the computers are already calculating escape trajectories favourable to the return to al-Miraiya. The PEREGRINE curves upward as she steers to follow, scanning over her other instruments. Several points on her radar show the other racers. Most are well on their way out of orbit already - the Archmage's ship is barely a flicker at the edge - but at a glance, at least she isn't in last place.

Wait. Why isn't she in last place? A second look at the radar explains: one of the racers' signals is missing. The flip of a switch replaces the simple positional markers with indicators showing names, coordinates, and vectors. All vessels accounted for except for the unofficially named 'Crepuscular Cliffside'.

Both hands leave the flight stick as she cycles through sensors and frequencies, pinging the radio channel most often used by the pilots, as well as common emergency channels. Nothing. She finally finds what she is looking for with a geographic surface mismatch. An impact crater lies to the east that does not match her terrain charts, just large enough for a crashed vessel. 

While the PEREGRINE may not be so fast as some of the competition in straight-line burn, it is definitely designed for fine maneuvering. Charyti hauls over hard on the stick and adjusts the lateral thrusters, rolling the craft out of its climb to speed toward the crash site. A light from the fuel system gives a warning: reserves approaching minimal limit to complete return journey. She ignores it.

Charyti brings the ship in low, skimming a few hundred feet above the ground as she crosses Vesper in a blur, white smoke trail highlighting her path. A ventral camera allows her to scan visually, noting the ruins and tombs that dot the desert, until the sunlight reflecting off a half-buried hull catches her eye.

Bounding out of the cockpit as soon as landing is completed with a toolbelt and emergency kit, Charyti climbs the sandy hill to find the aft section of the ship, crumpled and damaged but largely in one piece. The access hatch is warped, and it takes a cutting torch and crowbar to pry it out of the way. The interior is scattered, but the llort within the seat appears to be alive; badly bruised and bloodied, but saved from more serious injuries by her protective magic. Charyti cuts her free of any harness and drags her from the wreck.

After applying what first aid she can and returning Guyineber to consciousness, the human looks to the Cliffside wreck. Maybe it's salvageable, but not with her limited equipment.

"Why don't you come with me? I've got some wine that will blunt the pain. The cabin will be a little cozy, and meals a bit spare. But at least we can get you to the finish, and back to your crew?" She holds out a hand to the other pilot.

[EmBark]

18 hours ago, xanxosttheslaad said:

[...]

A rectangular hairline crack appears in the side of the front car, interrupting an otherwise smooth and untextured outer hull, uniformly coated in the vibrant green of enriched vacuum-resistant kelp mucus. The outline becomes a rounded rectangular panel as it slowly pushes out and slides to the side, revealing a dark interior, from which emerges a single robotic unit, humanoid in shape, stepping noiselessly down to the platform with the grace of a dancer. As Unit 2323 walks toward the entrance to greet Ambassador Yessikruz Donce, the light of Ophon glints off of a coat of violet paint, betraying an elegant iridescence. "High noon in the Space-Kelp Cluster, neighbor! I am Cassiope, representatively; it's truly an honor." From an internal chest cavity, 2323 produces a small box, wrapped in an intricately folded, fine kelp fiber cloth. The cloth bears the image of a map of Mekhala on a dark, virescent field, artfully distorted so as to enlarge the homes of Mekhala's Elect (orbitally positioned as they were on the first day of the Imperial calendar year in which the program of the Elect was begun), as well as to take up the entire field besides a luminous image of Ophon in the center. The chest itself is machined from a particularly reflective steel alloy, inlaid with a delicate filigree pattern of platinum and platinum-gold blends, balanced in color so as to only subtly stand out from the steel. Inside are a selection of high-grade raw ores, including platinum-group metal ore, Corbomite, and Cinnakite ore, as well as a small gold-inlaid glass bottle of liquid gold. "For you, Ambassador; a token of our appreciation for your hospitality."

Somehow, 2323 conveys a remarkable warmth of speech and body language. Massive amounts of computing power have been devoted to discerning such subtleties of optimally personable interaction with organics, and 2323 is encoded with the most advanced protocols of this kind of any custodial unit yet. After an exchange of pleasantries, they make their way to the EAT room for diplomatic discussions. [...]

"Hail and Emperor's blessings upon you, Cassiope." Ambassador Yessikruz Donce greets Unit 2323. She gently takes the box from it and opens it, admiring the ores within and the craftsrobotship of the chest and cloth itself.

"This is absolutely marvelous. Thank you for this gift, honoured representative." She bows and directs the robot to the EAT lounge, informing it that other Mekhalans like the Glix and dwarven representatives have already arrived. She silently hopes that Karcheras hasn't gotten them too drunk before the official meetings.

 

On Veehra

6 hours ago, Frostwander said:

[...]

Bounding out of the cockpit as soon as landing is completed with a toolbelt and emergency kit, Charyti climbs the sandy hill to find the aft section of the ship, crumpled and damaged but largely in one piece. The access hatch is warped, and it takes a cutting torch and crowbar to pry it out of the way. The interior is scattered, but the llort within the seat appears to be alive; badly bruised and bloodied, but saved from more serious injuries by her protective magic. Charyti cuts her free of any harness and drags her from the wreck.

After applying what first aid she can and returning Guyineber to consciousness, the human looks to the Cliffside wreck. Maybe it's salvageable, but not with her limited equipment.

"Why don't you come with me? I've got some wine that will blunt the pain. The cabin will be a little cozy, and meals a bit spare. But at least we can get you to the finish, and back to your crew?" She holds out a hand to the other pilot.

When Guyineber returns to consciousness, her eyes flutter open and she looks up at Charyti by her side. With a light crackle, the glow in the crevices of her horns and in her irises flares back on, just duller and softer than usual.

"How are you here? I'm not dead... did you save me?"

She tries sitting up, then sees Charyti's hand held out for her. She takes it.

"Um. Yes. That sounds good. Wine. Cozy. Meals." She shakes her head as she rises to her full height, then bends over a bit again, clutching her side with her other hand. She winces. "Especially the wine right now. Thank you for the save, Charyti. Lady Charyti? My lady." She stumbles over her words. "I'll be in your care then."

[Featherscale]

Chif'Blak, at the urging of his lawyers, never actually makes it to Veerha...

There are concerns a colony ship headed by the Prime Minister stealing things might send the wrong idea to the xenophobic natives.

[FriendlyHeadcrab]

The STAR RATS envoy arrives with little fanfare, not sending a participant to the race. Instead, the greying Exalted Vuk Cssskk Tyculhajodejana makes his way to the VIP dome, to meet with Ambassador Yessikruz Donce. He gives many warm smiles as the Supreme Speaker reaches out a hand.

"It is so good to meet with the Society once again. And a wonderful event this is. I come to partake in your delights, and join in your Alliance of E.A.T. Let us be merry together."

As the Exalted Pod plays politics, a different figure arrives. Surprisingly, not a Durat. A human from Coastaphornia, dressed in a reflective silver shining suit toned green as it takes the hues of the Mirrored Flats. He confidently walks to a stage that has been prepared for him, and when prompted, begins a show.

 

 

[EmBark]

Finish Line!

At the end of the race, with over 8 imperial standard weeks having past by, the air is tense on Al-Miraiya. The tension is broken when Zabir's ship bursts through the sky and comes down, shooting past the finish line!

And yet he is closely followed by the humble Unit 2323.

The remainder of the racers follow over the days after that, with the first among the main body of the racers--the "peleton"--being Gerald 48223, racing closely against Lewis.

 

The festivities that follow are lavish and uproarious, during which time the PEREGRINE arrives with Lady Charyti and Guyineber, just in time to witness the bestowing of the championship belt upon Archmage Zabir.

The Mekhala-Veehra Dash Championship Belt

 

OOC

Zabir has 11 points, Unit 2323 has 10, Gerald 48223 has 4 and Lewis has 3!

(I'm taking notes for how a potential future Mekhala-Sansar Dash should perhaps be different mechanically.)

Thank you all for participating! And thanks to FriendlyHeadcrab for sportscasting!