fishesoutofwater | TEST DIVE #2

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test dive

TEST DIVE #2

PREMISE & NAVIGATION ✦ RULES ✦ MOD CONTACT
TAKEN ✦ RESERVES ✦ APPLICATIONS ✦ HIATUS & DROPS
FAQ ✦ BASE ✦ BIOMES ✦ URSULA ✦ URSULA CONTACT

TEST DIVE MEME

For information about the animals and locations, be sure to check out the BIOME and BASE pages!

A: There’s a Storm on the Horizon
A brainstorm. On advice about the ingenuity of multi person parties, and from admitted lack of understanding of many needs of organics, URSULA has selected you and a partner (or partners) to go to one of the observatories with food, beds, and recording devices to have a jam session for ideas about missions.

You are not to leave the room until you have some good ones. So get cracking! Start suggesting to one another what the base needs to do.

Or get horribly, horribly sidetracked and possibly a little crazy at being locked up together with the ocean staring at you. Judging.

B: The Abysmal Sea
You’re stranded.

One of the planet’s troublesome signal-interfering pulses has just made your communication devices 100% nonfunctional. No matter how you try to call URSULA for help, she isn’t able to respond. The database strapped to your wrist is just a useless chunk of metal now, leaving you without a useful library of knowledge to survive off. If you were driving any underwater vehicle prior to this point, it’s broken down. And unless you’re a mechanic, it’ll be pretty hard to get it jumpstarted again.

Don’t fret! The communication systems always come online eventually, so if you stay put, it’ll boot back up and give you directions straight back to base so you can finally get home. But can you really afford to stay put? The sunlight’s slowly streaming out of the sky, leaving the waters darker and darker with each passing second. Soon, you won’t be able to see five feet in front of you, and the only warning you’ll get of any approaching threat is through sound, if they even make any.

You have a few choices: take a daring risk and try swimming back to base, but on the off-chance you don’t remember the directions correctly from before you were cut off, you’re going to get even more lost, in the darkness of the night no less. Or, you could huddle in, with any friends if they were unfortunate enough to be with you, and start focusing on getting warm. Because spending the night out here in the vast oceans with the entire world against you is becoming a very, very real possibility.

C: It’s dangerous to go alone. Take them!
URSULA’s technology is breathtaking. With enough materials, she could make practically anything: weapons, vehicles, all those human comforts and entertainments she forgot to build... or perhaps she could expand the base to give everyone even more leg room. But there’s a catch: you need to get those materials to her in the first place, and scavenging can be a monumental task.

The planet Iniidae has a plethora of materials to provide, but you’ve got to go find them first. Some are easy enough to get, by plucking off the ground or breaking a rock. But some are a bit more challenging, such as Crash Powder, seeing that the Crash defending it will literally explode in your face if you get too close. And then there’s materials such as Blood Oil, only harvestable within the Blood Kelp Caves several hundred meters underwater in the pitch-black darkness… remember, you have to gather resources with your two bare hands. No such thing as driving around and conveniently collecting them within the somewhat-relative safety of an armored vehicle.

Since it’s so dangerous to go alone, URSULA will encourage you all to leave the base in pairs or groups if you’re going to try collecting some of the more precarious materials to harvest. She has heard that most lifeforms find being reconstituted from nanites traumatic, so try not to die in front of each other!

D: Almost, but not quite, Entirely Unlike Tea
The droids, URSULA promises, will do their best to make anything you want. Go on! Ask them anything! She’s excited. This seems like a great way to test out their capacities.

Of course, you need to be very careful what you wish for. Maybe you ask for Hamlet by William Shakespeare, and they do their best but only know so much, giving you a book with some… creative changes. Maybe you ask for a puzzle box, but you weren’t specific enough and things went awry.

Maybe you made the mistake of asking for tea..

No matter what, you were given something that was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike what you asked for. Now what do you do with it?

E: CREATURE FEATURES (possible body horror)
As more data is collected on the creatures of the deep, DNA can also be gathered to allow URSULA to research how to integrate it into her crew members in useful and hopefully unintrusive ways, unless of course permission is given first for more obvious or exhausting additions.

Well, that's the idea, anyway.

Unfortunately, something malfunctioned while URSULA was researching. Her incomplete serum was injected into you through your devices while you slept (or maybe you were knocked unconscious by the sudden change to your body). Now maybe you have the temperament of a Stalker or the thirst of a Bleeder or Gasopod pods on your back that trigger when you're startled. How this genetic malfunction works and what it is can be up to you but while URSULA assures you it's only temporary, you're stuck like this for now.

Have fun?

F: The Caverns of Dream
The ocean calls you. Of course, it's much easier to dismiss it as nightmares. You'll probably think that's all it is after you have them. Flashes of screaming sea creatures writhing in agony, pleading for help, but these creatures can't ask for help, can they? Something huge, beyond the scope of imagination, moves in the ocean of your dreams and calls out to you to go deeper into the darkness. It pleads and begs but not with a voice you can hear or words you can understand.

You wake up in a sweat with the unrelenting desire to take a swim, even though it's late and everyone is asleep. Or maybe someone else just had the same nightmare as you? Are you willing to take a swim and try to understand the dream?

BASED ON CODE BY TESSISAMESS AND SUPERSUITS

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Dirk prods at his wristband again. "Nothing." If he had the tools, maybe he could try to spark life into it. But for the moment, it looks like they're SOL.

With utter impassiveness: "You up for a swim?"

The drone tilts slightly to one side and its aura shades slightly brownish. "Do we have a choice?"

At least its scanners, effectors, and—yes—knife missiles are all still active. Culture technology is nothing if not reliable.

"Dunno, bro. Depends on if you like your odds better in here or out there."

Dirk, clearly, wouldn't mind either way. He has his sword captchalogued, his sunglasses on his nose, and URSULA's weird courtesy of ocean-breathing in his throat. He is about as chill about nighttime ocean threats as he is about spending the night with a vaguely dubious sentient work of foreign technology.

"Personally, I find the idea of staying here a little dull. I was going to teach Wiz the rap greats tonight." (No one is going to stop Dirk from teaching those modified droids to rap like champions.)

"Far be it from me to spend your time in such a productive activity," the drone replies dryly. "Well, let's get on with it, then."

Secretly, it would rather stay out here, as there's not much that can harm it, but it feels a certain obligation towards the flesh-and-blood sorts, instilled no doubt by the years at Diziet's side (and her occasionally ungentle reminders to be nice).

Dirk gives a shrug as if to suggest the drone can have things its way: not appreciating rap properly (terrible). Without further ado, he breaks out into the water. The cold currents washing over him taste familiar like this: salty memories of home, and even an artificial life form at his side for the journey.

He reaches out across the telepathy, giving the depths a good scan before picking his course.

Any weaknesses I should know about before we come across anything dangerous?

I ought to be asking that of you, the drone replies. My own armor is quite sound, and if we run into serious trouble, I can take care of it easily.

Not much stands up to a Culture knife missile, after all. The drone's aura—visible as a gentle glow in the dark water—is tinted a light rose-pink: amusement, and also some pleasure at the prospect of some proper excitement.

Just the usual squishy organic bullshit, Dirk answers. But if you say so, bro.

The entire pattern of the shifting auras is interesting to Dirk, and he has wondered a lot about it as a form of communication. It reminds him a bit about what he read about octopuses. Maybe he'll be able to work out what all the patterns mean, in time.

For his part, he swims pretty silently. The shades have been modified well enough to suit this kind of environment, but the water is still dark, deep, and murky. He turns his head just a fraction, not sure if he saw motion to his left or if it was nothing...

Skaffen-Amtiskaw's sensors pick up both a subtle shift in the current and some kind of large mass moving a short distance away. One of its effector reaches out and touches Dirk's shoulder, which will feel not dissimilar to a human hand.

Three o'clock, it says. Movement. Can't tell yet if it's a living being or not but... ah yes, whatever it is, it does seem to be coming this way.

The very similarity is unsettling in its own way. Brobot might have looked like Dirk, but he didn't feel like him. The sheer difference between Skaffen-Amtiskaw's appearance and that method of interactivity produces a strange dissonance that only makes Dirk more interested in Skaffen-Amtiskaw's origin and construction.

It isn't the time to ask. He squints in the darkness, even as he instinctively repositions himself so he can move fast to strike back. Fighting underwater isn't easy, but it isn't like he hasn't tackled with some deep sea nasties back at home. While Dirk's companion says he can cover it, Dirk simply isn't in the habit of leaving things like this to rest.

But he's still a human. He just doesn't have the eyesight to make out a Stalker in the dark.

The drone's visual sensors cover a wide range of the electromagnetic spectrum, well into infrared and ultraviolet and beyond on either end. The surrounding water temperature adds an extra complication, but it's not long before the shape resolves itself into that of an eight-foot long Stalker.

Definitely a Stalker. I suppose we could wait it out. Or, of course, there's the more proactive option.

Skaffen-Amtiskaw deploys a knife missile—a deadly little dart no bigger than Dirk's little finger. Dirk may notice a small ripple in the water as the object's own effector field resolves, separate from Skaffen-Amtiskaw's.

What do you think?

If the drone had been alone, it would have already left the Stalker in small pieces for other creatures to snack on. But humans, it knows, do not always approve of that response. Years of working at Diziet Sma's side have taught it to be, if not nicer exactly, a bit more polite. Civilised, even.

Dirk sees it, or he sees something. And he's incredibly, incredibly curious.

Have yourself some fun, dude.

In the dark in the depths? Maybe better not to take a chance.

Besides. Dirk really just wants to see what will happen next.

Very well. In the interests of form, Skaffen-Amtiskaw tries not to sound too cheerful about it, but its aura is reddening, a sign of a very good mood indeed.

There's a barely audible hiss in the water as the knife missile streaks off. The Stalker is close enough now that even Dirk should be able to make out some sort of shape, and in any case there's no mistaking the change of currents in the water.

What happens next is almost too fast to follow. The knife missile, its field glowing faintly silver (unnecessary, strictly speaking, but the drone felt like showing off) bisects the Stalker vertically, then whisks around to repeat the operation crosswise before sweeping back to slide into Skaffen-Amtiskaw's casing with a soft click.

The quarters of the creature thrash and twitch involuntary, as if the thing doesn't even realise it's dead, as they slowly separate and begin to sink.

There. We'd better get moving before anything else shows up to investigate the blood in the water. At least it will keep them occupied, and perhaps less interested in us.

Holy shit.

Dirk built his robots for battle capability. None of them were capable of that. That weapon was incredibly, at least as much as he could see it.

Agreeing with Skaffen-Amtiskaw's suggestion, Dirk resumes swimming away. No need to linger, or make themselves prey.

But he really wants to know more about that cool trick his companion pulled. That was remote controlled. Do you use EM fields or some kind of telepathy? How does that work?

While his face may not be particularly expressive as a rule, telepathy broadcasts interest clearly. A little nerd got a bit excited by technology he's never encountered.

Normally Skaffen-Amtiskaw would be cagey about the nature of Culture tech, but there isn't as much room to hide in a place like this—and perhaps a few people knowing what the Culture are capable of is no terrible thing.

Neither. A knife missile has its own processors and memory—below the level of consciousness or sentience, but capable of highly complex commands. Furthermore, if needed, I can download myself into one—but for a task as simple as this, a few commands are more than sufficient.

It's the sort of thing he never had the right materials to do. No matter what kind of robots he made, they were going to be limited by the need to follow basic mechanical principles. He could put a mind in a knife, but he could never get that knife to move on its own. Certainly not like that.

The knife and Skaffen-Amtiskaw must rely on the same kind of principle for mobility. But what is it? He has noticed the fields they seem to manipulate, so maybe...

Would you object to sitting down with me sometime and talking a little bit about how you function?

It's not like he could take Skaffen-Amtiskaw apart to find out. Not that he'd do that without permission anyway.

He's thought about how he might do it, but he wouldn't.

If we could supplement URSULA's droids and the transporters with something along these lines, we'd be able to take some major steps to protecting members of the crew less capable of combat.

Not at all, the drone replies. Privately, its initial instinctive reaction is hell no, but—play nice. Besides—

I should say there may only be so much that I can offer, it goes on. I truly don't mean to be intransigent, but to put it simply—if someone were to ask you how your arm works, would you be able to answer in enough detail for them to replicate an arm?

That depends on if they had the resources to work through what I told them.

In other words, yes. Dirk is confident in (arrogant about) his knowledge and understanding of his own physiological makeup.

An intelligent person with the right materials can make leaps in technology of hundreds of years, if the key principles are set out properly. The human mind its limits, but technology helps us surpass those. The potential is unlimited as long as that technology doesn't decide it's too far superior to organics it's working with to let them decide on their own fates.

It isn't a jab at the drone. It isn't thought with such a 'tone' at any rate. Dirk has someone very specific in mind.

A thin ripple of brown passes quickly through the current pleasant magenta of Skaffen-Amtiskaw's aura—the drone equivalent of a skeptical raised eyebrow. Whatever Dirk's intention—and Skaffen-Amtiskaw doesn't think this meant as an insult, insofar as he can read tone and expression—he has inadvertently brushed against one of the ethical debates that has been raging amongst the Culture's Minds for a good long time now.

I can't speak for "technology" outside of my own civilisation, but amongst ourselves, we're firmly favour of fruitful collaborations amongst sentients, regardless of composition, it says. Which is to say, in that spirit, I'm more than happy to discuss our technology with you, but there may be limits to my knowledge. I'm an Offensive drone, after all; not a scientist.

Huh, that brown. He wonders what that means. It feels different from the more pleasant aura. Interesting.

I appreciate it. It feels like a sincere thought. It is, well enough. His distrust for AI (or rather, non-organic intelligences) is really mostly focused on one particular AI, and while Dirk considers the Auto-Responder a general principle lesson in the dangers of having to depend on someone who thinks they're smarter than you, he is hardly in a position of dependence on Skaffen-Amtiskaw. I'll do my best with whatever you can tell me. It will probably be more than what I've had to work with in the past.

Oh? If you don't mind my asking, what have you had to work with in the past? I'm afraid I missed exactly where it is that you hail from.

Well, Earth, obviously—Skaffen-Amtiskaw knows that much from the language, manner, and human sub-species. But there's more to learn.

The detritus of two dead civilizations, essentially. The Batterwitch's people had more advanced robotics than humanity did before she wiped us out, so I worked with the information she left around and whatever scraps I could dig up from the ruins.

The thought behind it is all is pretty blase, accentuated by brief images only: scraping through Internet archives for knowledge, swimming through the sunken wreck of Houston, Texas to find bits and pieces of still-salvageable wire or metal.

A living source can at least respond to any questions I have, even if you don't know the answers.

Skaffen-Amtiskaw accepts the explanation and the images in silence, and processes them thoughtfully before resuming. There's an echo of familiarity from the Culture's files on Earth, though it is also quite new.

Batterwitch? it asks after a moment.

Nickname for an alien Empress responsible for the enslavement and eventually annihilation of humanity. She started out more insidiously with a baked goods company as a front. So, the Batterwitch.

Truly, Betty Crocker is the most evil woman of them all.

Baked ... goods. The drone's aura ripples rainbow. There have undoubtedly been stranger origins for autocratic empires over the millennia, but Skaffen-Amtiskaw can't think of one offhand. I see. I initially thought you meant "batter" as in the verb.

Dirk decides to guess that rainbow means 'baffled at the absurdity of the universe.' Which is fair to Dirk. She did a lot of that too. Although she always preferred to use intermediaries, she was pretty damn formidable in a fight herself. But the nickname's for the Crocker baked goods empire.

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TEST DIVE #2

SCREAM b

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