Billy Cranston (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
morphitudinous) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
trans_92012-06-03 11:36 pm
morphitudinous) wrote in trans_92012-06-03 11:36 pm
The Time We Lost [open, post-rebellion]
Podded and popped again? Billy was less than enthusiastic, especially considering the circumstances. He'd been podded to hinder the engineers---of that, he was certain. He hadn't tried nearly hard enough to affirm his loyalty to the Daligig. Billy would really have to work on his ability to lie.
He'd shivered in the puddle of biostasis fluid, bogged down by worry and fear carried over from his last memory. What had happened, how long had he been gone? Weeks, months, years? Was there even a single familiar face still here?
At least one, his heart answered, though that little warmth in his chest couldn't tell him how he'd be received by her. He hoped there were more friends waiting. Resigning himself to the fact that he'd have to face them sooner or later (especially if she was telling people that he was awake---the last thing he wanted was anyone rushing down here to check), Billy rose to his feet and trode onward and upward.
Finally, he reached the traditional destination, the Observation Deck. As he gazed around at the strangely barren environment, that nagging sense of wrongness finally clicked in his mind. It felt wrong because it was empty. Where were the other popping crew members, where was the welcoming committee? A quick visual sweep across the room revealed no presence that caught his eye---was it his blind spot, were these new glasses not the right prescription strength? Or was everyone asleep, or...worse?
Billy knew by now that it was best to fight pre-emptive panic---his body needed the resources for when it was truly time to panic. He knew at least one person was alive. That was enough. So he settled on a small meat-chair, thinking of exactly what he'd say to the first person he saw. Where to begin? Apologies, questions...he had so many words in his head he worried he'd trip on them.
He'd shivered in the puddle of biostasis fluid, bogged down by worry and fear carried over from his last memory. What had happened, how long had he been gone? Weeks, months, years? Was there even a single familiar face still here?
At least one, his heart answered, though that little warmth in his chest couldn't tell him how he'd be received by her. He hoped there were more friends waiting. Resigning himself to the fact that he'd have to face them sooner or later (especially if she was telling people that he was awake---the last thing he wanted was anyone rushing down here to check), Billy rose to his feet and trode onward and upward.
Finally, he reached the traditional destination, the Observation Deck. As he gazed around at the strangely barren environment, that nagging sense of wrongness finally clicked in his mind. It felt wrong because it was empty. Where were the other popping crew members, where was the welcoming committee? A quick visual sweep across the room revealed no presence that caught his eye---was it his blind spot, were these new glasses not the right prescription strength? Or was everyone asleep, or...worse?
Billy knew by now that it was best to fight pre-emptive panic---his body needed the resources for when it was truly time to panic. He knew at least one person was alive. That was enough. So he settled on a small meat-chair, thinking of exactly what he'd say to the first person he saw. Where to begin? Apologies, questions...he had so many words in his head he worried he'd trip on them.
Beware...space war infodump commencing!
Honor freezes for a moment at Billy's comment, and the assumptions behind it.
Then she throws back her head and laughs in a short, cheery bark.
"Really?" She says finally. "Mr. Cranston, I'm both flattered and tickled that you think I'm a scurvy sea-dog from out of a C.S. Forester novel!"
Even while standing, Honor still has a good chunk of height advantage. As Nimitz jumps and scurries back up her uniform jacket, she folds her arms over her chest and bends forward slightly with a small grin.
"To clarify, I'm am an naval officer of the 'Star' Kingdom of Manticore, founded by good King Roger 1705 Post Earth Diaspora. I trained and graduated from the Saganami Tactical Academy on the planet Gryphon, and learned aeronautics, physics, engineering, spatial mathematics, shiphandling, and three dimensional maneuvering in both star systems and in hyperspace. My last command was the H.M.S. 'Unconquered', a 4 million ton command class dreadnaught meant for tactical battle management within the wall of battle. Thus it's armament was only composed of 40 total anti-ship Graser batteries with a 1,000,000 kilometer range, 70 point defense clusters, and 40 missile launching tubes with submunition warheads, and it's maximum acceleration was only 500 Gravities. The remaining 40 ships of the wall in Task Force 34, the battle group I commanded in the Sidemore sector of space, were more well equipped for interstellar warfare...
Honor's voice cuts off suddenly, and she leans back.
"So rest assured, I've a passing familiarity with space."
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After a (perhaps slightly awkward) pause, he returns to Billy's question. "In my time, on the other hand, guns are being more widely adapted by military forces, supplanting swords." Although his tone of voice is as flat and even as always, there's a faint twinge of something just barely suppressed in his expression - bitterness? "The samurai's relevance is being called into question in the face of modern warfare."
Modern warfare in this case being very, very relative.
"The most advanced technology available in my homeland has been imported from the west, so I confess that I'm familiar with very little of it." Not that it would do much to prepare him for anything here, either.
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"Then you'll be perfect. You should ask about joining the crew on the Bridge, I'm sure there's a place for you. And as for you, sir..."
Billy turns back to Saito. "There are people who can train you with guns. I'm functional with one, though I'm not the best. I'm better at using polearms. And we do have other crew members who use swords. Sometimes it's impractical to rely on ammunition or energy pulses."
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She cocks her head to the side as a thought comes to her, hand resting on the hilt of her sword.
"Perhaps to balance things out, you could help me practice with the sword: I've had training, but the style used for this sword back on Grayson...was rather stylized and meant for tourneys."
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For a warrior to put aside their sword, in his beliefs, is for a warrior to put aside his soul. But it's his duty to fight this, and as he told Kazama, he will do anything required of him to fulfill his duty.
He's already given up his humanity. Could this really be any worse?
At Honor's suggestion, though, the slightest flicker of a (humorless) smile finds its way to his face. "What looks flashy in a regulated match seldom has much to do with what kills most effectively on the battlefield." He can remember all too many arguments he's had about that - all too many so-called masters of their art who insisted that his choice to fight with his left hand rather than force himself to learn to use his right was cheating, that his victories were meaningless. Men who couldn't beat him.
Men who would have been dead, had he faced them in war and not in peace.
"Your proposition is acceptable, Commodore Harrington."
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"Then you'll be fine. I can recommend gun types and go over the options with you whenever you're ready. Laser guns are more precise, but some people prefer the weight of bullets. And..."
He awkwardly silences himself before he goes into an extended lecture about the merits of various guns, smiling sheepishly.
"I'll be around if you need any kind of technical help. Is there anything else you two need from me at the moment?"
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Nimitz nudges Honor with his head.
Honor blinks. "Oh, and Nimitz wishes to know if you have any celery.
[So, speed demon: want to roleplay a mutual bit of weapons training later? Trying out the Sensoriums, being all amazed at the Clarkian Tech and such?]
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He gestures at the haori he's wearing - the one piece of his clothing he'd been able to find in the weapons and possessions storage, and as far as he's concerned, the only one worth worrying about. But bloodstains show up a little too well on light blue.
"Is there somewhere I can wash this?"
[yessss absolutely.]
Teh Cutest Icon
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if it's still okay! >.< I know I'm late.
Billy takes one look at Saito's clothing and nods. That will need some help. "There's a river in the city, on the fourth level. It's our only source of running water, but I installed a filtration system, so washing shouldn't be a problem."
Re: if it's still okay! >.< I know I'm late.
Honor blinks as if listening to something, then sighs.
"Alright, Stinker: we'll stop over there after this."
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"Thank you."