White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

[Morte]

"AMERICA! @!#$ YEAH! COMING AGAIN, TO SAVE THE MOTHER@!#$IN' DAY YEAH!"

The lyrics blasted Luke out of his sleep like trance and onto the dusty floor and reaching for his M495 before he realized where he was. He grumbled and groaned as he lifted himself out of the hammock and stretched his back. Of course some moron with too much time on his hands and an unrestricted connection would find some lame ass early 21st century song to play. Already, it was beginning to cause a monumental headache, which made Luke want to bring out his weapon and shoot the player of the music and then preferably himself, if ONLY to stop the headache. Life in this desert with these idiots was beginning tiresome, if not downright tedious. But of course, who of Sigma Blue would expect a former Federation Army sniper in an Amerikka post outside some s**tty hole in the ground that used to be a town in West Texas? Needless to say, the boys here enjoyed the help he could provide. Why, that army colonel was going to cause all sorts of hell for them and if it was not for a lovely 7.62x51mm entering the colonel's skull right before taking a bite of some nasty meal that was supposed to be a steak, well Luke wouldn't be 25k richer and the AC would have to worry about a mecha raid.

Of course, it wouldn't stop the Federation from sending some other useless dreg to do what the former Colonel Joe Wils had failed to do. But that wasn't Luke's problem. Guided by a beep from his commlink, he ambled over to the small table provided for him and tapped a button idely while eyeing the glaring light of a hot sun from outside the tent flap. He would not look forward to walking into that!

A glance to his link made him take another, longer gander. A smile slowly crept across his features, one from a man who was used to smiling. A contract for some work up in Alaska would certainly get him out of this hole and far enough away to give him some room to relax. Maybe he could find something up there worth shooting? With another glance, he closed the link after a quick noncommittal reply and packed quickly. There wasn't much to pack. His rifle, while having been lovingly taken care of, would not be able to come along. The clothes though could. What made Luke such a terrific former operative for Sigma Blue was the fact that he was not noticeable. He looked like any other older man approaching his senility, an uncle or grandfather perhaps. Certainly not one of the most feared snipers and now assassin in the world! Nor was he picky on the weaponry that was available; anything with a large caliber and mid-range or long-range scope would work for him.

Cold didn't bother him! He would certainly enjoy himself! With that, he skipped a little as he left the blasted hellhole he had been staying in for three months with nary a glance backward!

Alaska! Here I come!

[axlerowes]

OCC: I am going say it is early March, I hope that is okay


The Blue road out on the deck of Muldoon's nameless boat while Muldoon road in the small cabin directing the boats travel using passive sensors, and charging himself and the batteries from his EtOH engine. He noted the increased fuel consumption, only slight, from carrying Blue and adjusted his expense account accordingly.  He would prefer it if nothing would interfere with his profit margin. 

He directed the craft southwest out of the sound and then took a sharp right up the coast to the north east.  As  soon as they were out the sound the chop pick up and the plasto-carbon hull of the boat began slapping against waves as there progress slowed.  Muldoon suck in a lot of air, Blue still smelled healthy.  He climbed out on the small deck and cord still connecting him to generator.  The wind was pushing against the bow. 

"This chop is slowing us a down a bit sir, we should be parrell to the hunting grounds in about 45 minutes.  I going to make one pass of the shore line using the engine, then switch to batteries before double back and bringing us to shore.  The engine produces a larger EM signature then the batteries that might spoke the game we are interested in.  I find that direct visual scanning is the best survey method on an abbreviated time scale, do you require any ocular aides?" 

 

[Scrasamax]

"AMERICA! @!#$ YEAH! COMING AGAIN, TO SAVE THE MOTHER@!#$IN' DAY YEAH!"

The lyrics blasted Luke out of his sleep like trance and onto the dusty floor and reaching for his M495 before he realized where he was. He grumbled and groaned as he lifted himself out of the hammock and stretched his back. Of course some moron with too much time on his hands and an unrestricted connection would find some lame ass early 21st century song to play. Already, it was beginning to cause a monumental headache, which made Luke want to bring out his weapon and shoot the player of the music and then preferably himself, if ONLY to stop the headache. Life in this desert with these idiots was beginning tiresome, if not downright tedious. But of course, who of Sigma Blue would expect a former Federation Army sniper in an Amerikka post outside some s**tty hole in the ground that used to be a town in West Texas? Needless to say, the boys here enjoyed the help he could provide. Why, that army colonel was going to cause all sorts of hell for them and if it was not for a lovely 7.62x51mm entering the colonel's skull right before taking a bite of some nasty meal that was supposed to be a steak, well Luke wouldn't be 25k richer and the AC would have to worry about a mecha raid.

Of course, it wouldn't stop the Federation from sending some other useless dreg to do what the former Colonel Joe Wils had failed to do. But that wasn't Luke's problem. Guided by a beep from his commlink, he ambled over to the small table provided for him and tapped a button idely while eyeing the glaring light of a hot sun from outside the tent flap. He would not look forward to walking into that!

A glance to his link made him take another, longer gander. A smile slowly crept across his features, one from a man who was used to smiling. A contract for some work up in Alaska would certainly get him out of this hole and far enough away to give him some room to relax. Maybe he could find something up there worth shooting? With another glance, he closed the link after a quick noncommittal reply and packed quickly. There wasn't much to pack. His rifle, while having been lovingly taken care of, would not be able to come along. The clothes though could. What made Luke such a terrific former operative for Sigma Blue was the fact that he was not noticeable. He looked like any other older man approaching his senility, an uncle or grandfather perhaps. Certainly not one of the most feared snipers and now assassin in the world! Nor was he picky on the weaponry that was available; anything with a large caliber and mid-range or long-range scope would work for him.

Cold didn't bother him! He would certainly enjoy himself! With that, he skipped a little as he left the blasted hellhole he had been staying in for three months with nary a glance backward!

Alaska! Here I come!

Getting from the American Taliban (the expanse of land from the Mexican border, north to Colorado and stretching from Vegas to Dallas) to Alaska was not just a trek in terms of miles, but also years. Leaving the pock marked battlegrounds and ruined hulks of armored vehicles and the scavenged remains of light mecha for the shining citadels of the arcologies.

Alaska was a far cry from where he had been. The predominant reds and browns of the hinterlands were replaced with a palette of white, light blue, and hints of green. There was no sign of generations of low level fighting. There was only the cool crisp air, and the distant smell of conifer. Fade found Bolles, Matos, and Prewett as they were looking to acquire a more substantial craft than Muldoon's skiff. He recognized Prewett as a fairly new, but decent middle man liaison.

[caesar193]

"Hey, Fade. Little late, aren't you? We have all ready started our mission! And I'm so sorry that you missed two of our group. They're off on a scouting mission. Which leaves us to acquire a boat. I hope you have no qualms with theft?"

Bolles grinned.

"Now, lets go shopping! Unless your samurai honor forbids you from participating in such a lowly and criminal activity, oh lord mutant," with the last directed at Matos.

"Now, let me make some introductions, since you are new, Fade. I am Brian Bolles- call me Brian- and resident hacker extraordinaire! Not to brag, but I've gotten past securities that'd make any other hacker's head spin from all the flashing alarm lights. And then there's Blue, who's off on a scouting mission, who sucks at whatever it was he professed to be good at. Needless to say, he's a neo-ethnic. Then we have our seibertonian Muldoon, who is an excellent and skilled hunter and ranger type person. Outdoorsy. Wolf-like. He's great! Oh, and while we're on the subject of Muldoon, he gave me a biomonitor for you. It's so he can keep you alive." Here, Brian handed the biomoniter to Fade. "Now, where was I? Oh yes, Mr. Jãos Matos. He is, as you can quite plainly see, is an augmen. He's some sort of street samurai from Brazil. And then there's Jacobim Prewett, our local guide and liaison with our illustrious fixer, Mr. Johnson."

"Now that these introductions are complete, let us continue with shopping."

Brian all but bounced with maniac glee. They were finally starting with the mission! 300K was all but in his grasp! Unless he died along the way. The thought almost sobered him, but then he dismissed it. If the PMC did try to kill them, they'd go for the buff ones and tall ones first, not the nondescript hacker. Which would give Brian time to exercise that most glorious of combat stratagems- run away. But right now, wearing the quite warm clothes that Muldoon had suggested they buy, and breathing in the fresh sea air, life was good. Life was exhilarating. Brian then started eyeing the available boats. Hmm... Preferably one that was fast, sexy, and belonged to a rich person so their would be money on board for Brian to pocket... And of course good mileage figured on their somewhere.

[Scrasamax]

"This is Bolles' first real 'run," Prewett said, "So please forgive his obvious enthusiasm."

(longer response in the AM)

[Dozus]

"We have need of it," Matos answered Bolles reluctantly. "Its service to us is greater than its service to them."

He nodded respectfully to Luke before moving onto more business matters. "Where do we plan on getting this vehicle?" he asked. "We do no want too much attention drawn here."

[Scrasamax]

They inspected the marina and it was a simple matter of finding a small cabin cruiser that suited their needs. It was a 30 foot model that had hybrid propulsion, in the typical Alaskan style. It had a simplified set of sails, simple enough that a novice could use them, and the GPS NavCom could adjust the mast and spar as needed with minimal input from the crew. The sail material itself was a a photoelectric fabric that gathered sunlight to charge the batteries to power a single electric driven screw prop. While not fast or flashy, the boat could maintain a good pace regardless of wind or light conditions. It held them all easily, along with room for a good pile of loot if required. Bolles had to hack the NavCom to accept them as the new owner/operator of the craft. Prewett smooth talked his way past a harbor security operator and got them clearance to leave.

They were on their way.

(OOC - will be out of town this weekend, posting will be sporadic, and short)

[Scrasamax]

The two craft tracked their separate courses, both moving closer and closer to the looming mass of the Juneau Military arcology. The structure was dark colored, an almost navy blue, with the exterior struts a gleaming brushed steel. The coloration made for good heat absorption as the northern arcos tended to not have overheating issues, but rather had to run heating systems to remain comfortable inside.

Muldoon and Blue landed and started their scouting trek on foot. Muldoon was decidedly faster, but this was his home ground. He had highly accurate maps of the island, and the waters around it, save for the legally blank spot of the military arco, and the ground contained within it's perimeter fence. As they scouted they came across the wreckage of several light electrofan aircraft and two broken up whippoorwill helocraft. (investigation rolls please)

The second team was moving when their cruiser was hailed by a PRC airship. The radio crackled for a second...

"You are entering a Coalition restricted zone, your craft is in immediate danger. Please return to your point of origin immediately." there was a bried pause, "Please identify yourself,"

The craft veered around to make another pass over the cruiser when it flared brightly and one of the engine pods was turned into a cloud of metallic vapor and fire by a high intensity laser. The arco defense system was indeed active. The helocraft plunged to avoid a second hit while trailing a cloud of smoke and metal debris.

[EchoMirage]

"I'm glad we did not fly - I guess they really mean it with the no-fly zone. No warning shots here."
Blue approached the broken craft, cautiously looking around.
"I wonder if these were heading to the arcology, or trying to flee..."
(investigation roll 13/d20)

[Scrasamax]

"I'm glad we did not fly - I guess they really mean it with the no-fly zone. No warning shots here."
Blue approached the broken craft, cautiously looking around.
"I wonder if these were heading to the arcology, or trying to flee..."
(investigation roll 13/d20)

Blue can tell that all of the craft shot down were leaving the arcology, likely launched from it's rooftop heloport. They are all facing away from the arcology, or the impact pattern indicates they were moving away when they hit the ground. The Whippoorwill in front of them has been hit twice in the rear, blowing the tail to pieces and shattering one of the rotor hubs. The crew inside died on impact. It was a messy bad landing.

[EchoMirage]

"Someone really did not want them to leave. Let's see why."
The Draenei scrounged through the frozen remains, stepping over the rime-covered corpses.
"They might have some IDs or clearance on them - and let's see if anyone is alive to tell a tale, or if there's any records of what Charlie-Foxtrot went on in the arco.

[Scrasamax]

"Someone really did not want them to leave. Let's see why."
The Draenei scrounged through the frozen remains, stepping over the rime-covered corpses.
"They might have some IDs or clearance on them - and let's see if anyone is alive to tell a tale, or if there's any records of what Charlie-Foxtrot went on in the arco.

Three of the passengers have no identification on them, two young girls and boy. The fourth passenger has identification, his name was David Rooker and he was formerly a computer arcanotechnician, the sort of mad scientist boffin type that lived sequestered deep in the core of an arco, with the AISC. He had high clearance, and would have been a VIP. The two dead in the front of the craft were a bloody mess. The woman in the pilot's seat was one Denise Scarborough, another arcanotechnician, but a dimensional engineering and energy specialist. Not the sort of person who routinely took up flying. The co-pilot seat was occupied by another engineer, a mundane technician but one who worked with telecommunication equipment.

Somewhat more disturbing, they are all armed. Even the children. The girls, likely in the vicinity of 10-12 years old are both holding/close to MagCoil assault rifles, while the boy, 5-6, has a rare and now likely destroyed laser pistol. Scarborough also has a MagCoil rifle, but half of the clip has been expended.

[EchoMirage]

"The trouble in the arco walks, and likely can be killed. Good." Blue smiled. "Likely, it can't be killed with half a clip. Less good."
Blue pilfered the key cards of the arcanotech eggheads, looked at the kids, gave them a nod.
Not much on the religious side, this Blue. Can appreciate a kid taking up a gun when necessary and holding on to it, though.

"Muldoon, can your robo-nose pick up anything? Otherwise, we can leave this little grave and head for the big one."
"Wait."
"One more thing."
"Do we take a head? There might be a retina scanner."

[axlerowes]

Muldoon stay back in the under growth or the low pines, which ever applies, while Blue examines the craft. He scans the area, bullet in chamber and sniffs the air trying to filter out particles.  If nothing alerts him....

He approaches the Whipperwhill crash, using the carbon blades in his for limbs he will expertly remove the trophies (thumbs or eyes) that Blue indicates.  He places them in the self cooling carbon fiber trophy bags he carries neatly stowed in his pack (a fanny pack type item worn closely on his torso) He gets a strong scent imprint of all the humanoids in the craft. Then looks to Blue "Sir, I suggest we move away from the carcasses, if there are other predators out here...and there are, they will be drawn to this slaughter as well, and they could just as easily pick our scent if they haven't already. We cannot hide that we were here, but we may be able to hide our path.  Please walk back to the tree line, along your same path... if practical ...I will cover your tracks as best I can and then move to the trees before joining you.  Thank you"

If something alerts Muldoon....then he will respond to that first.

[Scrasamax]

Muldoon's efforts to hide Blue's and his tracks suddenly becomes moot as Muldoon finds another set of tracks. The tread impressions are roughly 22 inches deep in the spongy soil, and spread out across an area of almost thirty square feet. The marks are far enough apart that he had initially thought them to be geological features.

Mech treads.

Judging by the distance between the footprints, it was running through the area.

[axlerowes]

OCC (which way was it heading, how old are the tracks...tracking skill?, do we hear or see any evidence of it now, and why does it make hiding our tracks moot)

[Scrasamax]

OCC (which way was it heading, how old are the tracks...tracking skill?, do we hear or see any evidence of it now, and why does it make hiding our tracks moot)

It was heading on a diagonal away from the arcology, the tracks roughly coincide with the time of the crash. There is no evidence that the machine is present, or nearby.

[axlerowes]

After Muldoon covers Blue and his tracks within ten yards of the crash, he returns to Blue. 
Doing his wing slowed fall from a tree he lands at Blue's feet and tilts his not entirely human head uptowards Blue. "Sir I am sorry, I was correct, there is another predator near by, a large mechanical one...it passes here directly before us and is heading in that direction." He then opens the channel that on his comlink that Brian said would be secure. 

"Mr. Brian, I have observed a large mechanical creature heading at high speed SE (OCC: Assuming the Archology is NE of us)  of current position.  Current coordinates attached, if you are South East, please us extra ordinary caution. "

[caesar193]

"Thanks for the warning, Muldoon. I'll check our position now."

Brian headed over the ship's controls.

"Hey guys," Brian called out to the rest of his shipmates, "We might get some fun early. Muldoon says that some 'mechanical creature' might be headed our way. I'm checking the maps right now."

[Scrasamax]

As Brian's fingers fly across the cruiser's computer console he doesnt find anything on the short range radar. Unfortunately it was a civilian system, and chances were that there could be subroutines that would detect, identify and then automatically edit out military equipment on it's feedback. He also noted that his signal strength had plummeted since leaving Anchorage. Not a small amount, but it was down almost 60% and the closer they got to Juneau, he could see the signal bleeding away.

The only thing that did that was active interference, Omega waves cancelled out and jammed the alpha waves that carried most CogNet transmissions (The CogNet is assumed to be wireless to the point that having a hard connection is worthy of note and wireless is assumed). Given their course and heading, they would lose their signal well before reaching the perimeter of Juneau, let alone the arco itself.

(I would like everyone to PM me a single D20 check)

[axlerowes]

OCC: While I am sure he would check "the scanners and all that" I think we were trying to coordinate our positions on the map.  I said sent him the location of the tracks and there likely direction, I believe he was seeking to find whether or not the thing was heading in his direction by looking at the map.

[caesar193]

Brin cursed under his breathe once he realized that someone was jamming his signal. He'd have to check the actual maps so see if they were in line with this machine. He loaded up the electronic maps and scanned them.

"Let's see," Brian muttered under his breath. "Alaska. Where... Here. Zoom in... Juneau... And here we are. Muldoon said southeast of about here..."

OOC: axelerowe's is right, seeing as he's a seibertonian and all. I was checking the actual maps. But I'll go with checking the scanners first.

[Scrasamax]

They were easily on track. Both parties advanced on their paths.

The scouts found more wreckage, a few small personal craft and unrecognizable debris. It seemed that there had been an airborne exodus from the arcology and that the craft were all shot down. The mech trail comes back, passes through the debris fields and continues back towards the arcology.

Prewett looks at Bolles, Fade, and Matos, 'Looks like an easy in," he pulls a smoke from his pocket and lights it. "But you know how these Paccies (Pacific Rim Coalition slur) are, if they can't fly in they just can't get there."

[caesar193]

"How long till we get there? Because if there's enough time, I could try and hack the boats systems, to detect military stuff. It would probably be useful to have a better idea of the threats either in or out of the arco. And if the PRC get here before we leave, I probably wouldn't have time to hack if then."

Brian shrugged.

"And we might find out where the jammer's Omega Waves are coming from. If its outside the arco, it might be worth our time to turn the jammer to slag metal."

[axlerowes]

Muldoon consults his maps again, plotting the location of the downed aircraft....is there a pattern, a line, a kill zone?


He looks up at Mr. Blue in the growing expanse of the long Arctic nights, "Mr. Blue, how are you progressing? Any cold points or points of friction on oyu body that need to be assessed?"