nexus_crossings | The Fall of Every Sparrow

The Fall of Every Sparrow

It’s a calm cold morning on the outskirts near the Wilds. The aeronautiloids are hibernating in their nests, the odd small creature chirps in the bushes, and the blue grass is hidden by a shallow layer of snowfall. It’s picturesque, and quiet: most of the Nexus visitors prefer the shelter and hot drinks of the built-up streets this time of year. In fact, someone’s counting on that.

There’s a white flash, a split-second burst of horrendous noise. An armed figure drops out of the air backside first, her plate armor in flames, and hits the ground with a low whumph. She rolls over immediately and pushes herself to her knees, swearing- then looks up, over her shoulder. There’s just a second to register the source of the noise above, and then the blazing, half-melted remains of a hoverbike crash down onto her.

It takes a minute before she pushes herself back up, twisting to shove the smoldering wreck off of her with a grunt. The fire on her own armor has gone out at this point, but it's black with chemical ash. Blaze lurches back a step or two and surveys the damage through the half of her helm that isn’t totally destroyed. The nearby snow has melted and begun pooling around the ex-bike, steaming away from the hot metal. Ghost materializes above her shoulder to scan his smoking Guardian, then the bike. Here’s hoping they didn’t land on anything important.

“Think we can salvage it?” Blaze asks him. The tiny floating robot gives her a Look.

Abashed, the Exo Guardian reaches up to try and detach her crumpled helmet, wincing at the pain when something jostles inside. Anyone getting close to help (or spectate) will get her hand lifted in sheepish greeting and a rueful look, the glow of one optic visible through her cracked faceplate.

“Ever had a great idea that you, uh, kinda regretted instantly?”

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"It really... was." Blaze gives a synthetic sigh. Her hands are lifted to her helm, but she pauses in her careful tugging to give the mechanic a sort of apologetic look. She's not sure if anything of the bike's internals have survived, given how warped and melted the chassis looks. It certainly doesn't look as nice as it did, but the sleek outline is still kind of visible. "We call them Sparrows. That is- heh. Was a Cavalier model. S-21 variant. Modified for maximum maneuvering power with a heavy passenger."

She winks, but that doesn't actually show with how broken her helm is. Whoops.

Palmer does have a story to take her mind off her own misfortunes, however. She leaves her helm alone while she listens. "Sounds kinda familiar. You seem all right to me, Palmer, but I see your point. Sometimes you've got to seize the one shot you've got. So was Antarctica all that bad? You know- before the monster."

"Pity it's broken. I'd offer to help you fix it, but I'd guess it's busted up badly enough that nothing can be done. Shame." Palmer's a good mechanic, and he's gotten better from his time in the Nexus, but he's willing to bet this - Sparrow? - was beyond his ability to fix. He pats it sympathetically. It's never any fun to lose a good ride. Sometimes he misses his old bike back home.

He stands up to answer Blaze's question, thinking back. He still remembers his crew vividly.

"It was pretty good. I was brought on as an assistant mechanic. Most of the guys I worked with were decent - I rubbed the wrong way with some folks, but I guess that was to be expected, and none of 'em were bad people. Not even Garry or Blair. They were just a bit..." Palmer struggles to put in in a nice way. "Old-fashioned. They didn't bug me or anything, they were just kinda boring. But I enjoyed it - Nauls and Childs were good guys, and Mac was all right, even if he spend most of his time in that shack of his."

The Exo's hand is on his wrist before he can touch the bike, unyielding despite intending to be gentle. Palmer's probably noticed the heat already, but her instincts won't take the chance of him burning himself.

"Careful," she warns, letting go. The inner side of her gauntlet is a little hot too, but the flexible mesh that lines is softer and less burning than plate metal. "I left it pretty hot." She appreciates the sympathy, though. Poor Sparrow. It served her well. "If I figured there was much left I'd open it up and show you."

Losing a bike is small in the greater scheme, of course. Listening to him reminisce reminds her of that. "Just a few of you out there? Antarctica have been pretty isolated even in those days. The worst part about work like that is usually the boredom. And the confinement, for you. You don't make it sound bad, though."

"I'd love to see inside it - just to learn how it works. Now I'm kinda wondering what a working model is like. A hoverbike sounds like somethin' outta a science fiction movie. Probably seen 'em in one. Never thought I'd see one, y'know, in real life."

Palmer yanks his hand back - he didn't realize how hot the bike was right away. That one was close. He breathes in a sigh of relief. He really needs to think before he touches more often.

"There were twelve of us." Palmer rattles off the names. "Me, of course. Commander Garry, RJ MacReady, Vance Norris, George Bennings, Nauls, Childs, Clark, Blair, Fuchs, Windows, and Doc Copper. Can't forget the Doc." He remembers the names and faces well. "I hope they're all right. Miss 'em sometimes. But I'll be seeing them again soon."

"Once I replace it I'll bring the new one round to show you. Can't beat them for a mount in the field." She pats his shoulder with a heavy hand and a smear of ash to match the one on his wrist (sorry Palmer). Usually she's the one touching things without thinking, so she completely understands the impulse. It's just easier for her to get healed if she loses a hand.

...Though, speaking of putting oneself in danger. Her respectful nod at the recitation of names ends with a surprised grunt as her head snaps round. The cooling wreck is temporarily forgotten.

"You're going back?" She looks him up and down, oblivious to the wisps of smoke still peeling off her armor. "Are you prepared for the fight?"

"Yes, I'm going back to kill the Thing." Palmer nods excitedly. "I met a couple folks who're willing to help. There's a guy from another team similar to mine, and there's Cricket. Both of them agreed to help me fight it, but we're trying to round up a little more help before we go. They're good people. You might bump into the first guy at some point - he's not a gearhead like me, but he gets around. You'll know him if you see him."

Palmer's still amazed that he still met a man with a similar history to his own, even if there being two monsters was an unpleasant discovery.

"I mean, it'll be dangerous, of course it will be, but it's a chance I'm willing to take to stop that Thing. It could destroy my world if it gets out of Antarctica, and we can't let that happen."

"Humans?" That seems likely. Logical. Still, the concern bleeds into her stance. She, too, would go back. But for Palmer and his new friends alike, it could well be a one-way trip. Or worse...

She reaches up and pulls her helmet off, ignoring the wrenching crunch and stab of pain as her left antenna snaps. She needs to look Palmer in the eye.

"I know you want to face the beast yourself, but my offer from before still stands. If there is any help I can give, it's yours."

"Yeah, the rest of us are humans, far as I know. Kinner might've recruited more folks. I know I turned you down before, but I've changed my mind. I can't fight the Thing alone. It's too dangerous."

With how big a threat the alien is, Palmer no longer has any problem with accepting help, forget the butterfly effect.

Palmer thinks for a moment. "You're mechanical, right? If there's nothing organic, there's nothing the alien can assimilate. That could really help us."

"Machine to the core," she confirms, her optics flaring brighter as she nods. There's something fiercely keen in her voice now. "We're with you. Whatever it takes. But you're saying this organism is infectious?"

Palmer gives a single grim nod. "It's partly a living thing and partly a disease. If my friend's right, it can digest living things - organic things - and make copies of them. That's what it was trying to do to me, before I got away."

"Hnnh. That complicates things." Understatement, Blaze. "I can't be infected, and I can kill a monster. But that's only if I know where the monster is. Who it is. And you're right: we're facing human extinction if that escapes Antarctica."

"We'll need a plan," Ghost agrees, already sure he's going to be staying out of sight for the whole mission. The tiny bot looks from Palmer to his Guardian. "

And, um- Blaze, your appearance could be a... disruption. If we meet any local humans, maybe it would be better if you were wearing some kind of disguise?

"

Blaze frowns. "Like what, Ghost?"

"Well, let's start with 'not full plate armor'..."

"The little guy's right," Palmer says. Everybody at Outpost 31 was already on edge and the last thing he wanted was more misunderstandings. Palmer's team would need to understand that they were there to help.

They did not need a repeat of the incident with the Norwegians.

"Yeah, it would be a good idea to pass as human, if you can do it," he continues. "I don't want my crew to panic. The last time we ran into a bunch of strangers near our outpost didn't end well, though to be fair on us they didn't do a great job of explaining themselves. But we don't want anyone getting shot this time."

If the Norwegians hadn't been killed and were questioned properly, Palmer thinks bitterly, they might have taken care of that dog right away. But both sides were to blame for that.

Edited 2018-12-21 06:48 (UTC)

Blaze looks down at herself, brow plates drawn down in a frown. "I can find some old-fashioned winter gear and bundle up. Can't do much about my face. Wear a mask and keep my distance, maybe. Might not inspire a lot of trust."

And then Blaze has an idea. A wonderful idea. An idea that cannot backfire in any way.

"Hey, maybe we can do something about that." She rubs her broken antenna to soothe the pain, the stump of it sparking into the air. Ghost is looking at her with wary curiosity. "Leave it with me. If what I'm thinking doesn't work out, worst case scenario I'll stay clear and you can call me in when you need a heavy hitter."

"I could probably find something for you at Outpost 31 - some polar gear to make you look like a member of a neighboring team or somethin'..."

Palmer listens curiously. He's sure he could find some winter coat for Blaze to use, but maybe there's a better way to help her pass as human. A mask might run the risk of setting off the uncanny valley.

"I'm glad to hear you've got a plan," he says, voice chipper. "I'll tell my friend Kinner you're in. Small man, with a scar across his face like he was scratched. You'll know him if you see him. He's a decent guy. We could use a heavy hitter on the team, since neither of us are the biggest guys around."

"Anything that's puffy and heavy," she says. "I'm kinda skinny under this armor. Got plenty of mass but it doesn't exactly match up to human proportions." She'll do whatever she can to help. One way or another.

"I'll keep an eye out for Kinner. Let him know we're on the same team." She pauses. "I'm glad to help, but I have to warn you as well, Palmer. This isn't just about protecting your Earth. If this creature is smart enough to pass for human, it can't be allowed to reach the Nexus either. That means we need to make damned sure we know who's clean before anyone returns."

"And make sure it can't get its... appendages on a PINpoint either."

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The Fall of Every Sparrow

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