Special Circumstances #1

[spoiler]optional additional info; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special_Circumstances [/spoiler]

[spoiler]Chapter revised 5/2/13[/spoiler]

 

        Against the backdrop of space everything is but a twinkling star. Starships comprise some of these, drifting lazily through the cosmos. Some are stationary, at least in relative mathematical terms with reference to the galaxy as a whole. Some, instead, aren’t visible at all. Some travel on The Grid.

 

        The GCU ‘Check Your Gravitas’ was currently travelling in what could be said was ‘hypospace’; superluminal speeds achieved not by ascending above but dropping beneath the plane of realspace, skimming over the top of the pure energy boundary separating the matter universe from its antimatter counterpart, where the laws of physics were less restrictive. It was cruising for a rendezvous with a smaller, less recognizable vessel, so a few special individuals could jump ship and travel to their destinations unnoticed. A couple of these individuals were currently preparing themselves for disembarkation, making their way through the interior of the advanced vessel for a shuttlebay.

 

        “You know I hate going in blind, Mous,” you speak to your partner beside you. Special Circumstances had another mission for you, but Contact refuses to tell you anything before you were on the last leg of your journey. You like to spend as much time as possible getting familiar with the strange new world you’ll be spending the next couple years of your life on, and twenty days just doesn’t cut it for you.

 

        After not hearing a response for a bit, you look to your right. Hovering beside you, matching your pace was one of the many, many drones that could be found within The Culture. This one was about half a meter long; an elongated galena-toned saucer connecting to a silvery tail. Three pairs of plates were the only articulate features on its chassis- one pair hung beneath the saucer, a second pair laid across the top of the base of tail angled inwards towards each other, and a third pair aligned vertically jutting up from either side of the end. The whole tail section was not part of its original frame; instead an upgrade it received when it joined Special Circumstances, the two pairs of plates there housing additional effector fields. They also contained a much larger power supply than it would have needed in its previous occupation as a doctor- occupation insofar as anyone in the Culture actually had to work for a living.

 

        You’ve asked Mous, several times, about the power storage upgrade and why it was necessary. It never gave you the same answer twice.

 

        After a second or so longer, the drone finally responds. “Check Your Gravitas refuses to give me any information besides the usual survey readings. I know you’ve gone over those a dozen times already, so I won’t waste your time.”

 

        You grumble to yourself in irritation. “So what are we even supposed to do? It’s not going to be a rehash of Vergil’s Star is it? Where we get dropped in a hotel room and take orders from a mysterious pen pal?”

 

        “If you’re not happy with it, that more recent approach worked out so well. Murder anyone who stands in our way!”

 

        “Hey that was only the last mission, and only because we couldn’t bribe anyone anymore. A bureaucracy so corrupt we had to practically offer a small moon to get a name changed here and there? How can anyone even afford to deal dirty in such a place? ‘Sides, I didn’t hear you object at all”

 

        “I stopped bothering to try when you decided you could sleep your way to the top. You know they started a cult around your assumed name after you left. A sort of savior from tyranny. The way you eliminated a couple of those top officials to secure goals the locals couldn’t understand left the only explanation for your motivation as a sense of justice, in their minds.”

 

        “I heard. Contact wasn’t happy about that.”

 

        “They rarely are. That’s why we work for Special Circumstances.”

 

        Mous always needles you about your operational approaches. Strictly speaking it wasn’t uncommon; Special Circumstances was designed to play dirty where Contact couldn’t intervene, so assassinations were just one of the many tools of the trade. It’s more that Mous tends to needle you on just about everything. You’ve gotten used to its sarcastic demeanor during your long partnership with it, a partnership of several decades now, with no end in sight. You were the face of the pair, but you definitely appreciated its contributions to the team, and on more than one occasion has it saved your life. Where you took your business behind closed doors by choice, generally Mous had to by necessity. Most lesser civilizations in the galaxy today didn’t consider artificial intelligences to be people.

 

        The two of you lapse into silence until you reach the teleportation pad that linked to the shuttlebay. Whenever you used one, the more anxious part of you never failed to recall that there was always an infinitely small chance that the teleport would fail, and you would fail to materialize at your destination. In a much more general sense, your anxiety was more correct than you’d appreciate.

 

        In this instance specifically, it just got another one of those little victories.

 

        When the two of you reconstitute, you’re no longer on the ‘Check your Gravitas’ at all. Only System Vehicles had public parks as large as this. Hell you couldn’t even see the other side of the shell that enclosed the atmosphere. This probably wasn’t a starship then. It could be an orbital, a ring, or a planet.

 

        “Mous, where are we?”

 

        “Not on the ship.”

 

        “Yeah I got that. Answer the damn question.”

 

        “Give me a moment.” The drone made slight adjustments across all axes, bobbing up and down, swaying side to side, rotating, tumbling and turning. It tilted to the sky, staring into the blue expanse, looking for things your eyes couldn’t see. “We’re on a planet. Gravity is normal. Atmosphere is ideal breathable for humanoids.” The drone pauses for half a second more. “I can’t contact any network either, on-planet or satellite-based. This isn’t a Culture world.”

 

        The obvious question left your lips as soon as it entered your mind, “Is it our target world?”

 

        It was Mous’s turn to be irritated, a colored effector field flaring around its frame an annoyed orange, “If it was I would have told you.”

 

        “Alright so it was a teleporter accident; if it was a prank Check Your Gravitas would still be within range. If there’s no communication network on-world that means we won’t be able to send a message home at soonest convenience. We’re stuck here for awhile until we can figure out a way to signal for pickup. Any idea where in the galaxy we are?”

 

        Mous considers your words for a moment before returning with the answer you grasped as soon as you asked the question. “Going to have to wait for nightfall to tell you that one.”

 

        Looks like you weren’t going on assignment after all. Fortunately your training would allow you to fit in well enough here anyway. Special Circumstances has trained you extensively to be able to integrate with all kinds of cultures, important since your job was to then go and change these cultures, mold them like putty in your hands. You had basic survival knowledge, a decent grasp on engineering, and extensive knowledge of socio-political and socio-economic theories. You’ve charmed, slept, bluffed, bribed, and murdered your way through a dozen civilizations before on assignments, just because this one was off the books didn’t mean it was beyond your grasp. The only thing you lacked was resources. You felt you were at least as prepared for this as anyone could ever be.

 

        You were placed on a path just outside a local settlement. You can see the structures from here, and it isn’t that long of a walk. That answers the “Is this place civilized” question. Time to meet the natives.

 

“Guess you’re going to get some use out of those batteries, eh?” you quip to Mous.

 

The drone’s emotion-colors fade from its frame as you take the edge off its earlier irritation. “You think we’re going to be stuck here that long? And not self-terminate of boredom first? There aren’t any stations here to back your brain up if you want to euthanize yourself in a few hundred years, kiddo.”

 

        Looking ahead, there is an aquamarine-coated quadruped approaching. The creature vaguely resembles an equine about a meter tall, but with a much larger head and facial features. As soon as it catches sight of you it breaks into a gallop. As it nears you see it wears a pretty excited expression. You stop walking and look to Mous, who angles its body back towards you. It’s too late to hide the drone now. “Hope you like making friends.”

 

        “Upset that I’ll get some time in the spotlight this round, Anon?”

 

        “I’ll deal.”

 

        “OH MY GOSH ARE YOU A HUMAN?!” The pastel-colored pony finally arrives at your location. You quirk an eyebrow at Mous, who flashes orange across its frame briefly but immediately after extinguishes completely the colored fields that express its emotion, leaving just the lustrous dark grey coloration of its shell. You look back at the equine creature, considering the knowledge that one question presented you. It was capable of speech and form recognition, so it was sentient. It seemed excited at a humanoid’s presence, so you were either very rare or very special- the question was more confirmatory or rhetorical than a genuine request for information. Mous was not, in fact, its primary object of interest, and you weren’t even sure what that could mean. Guess you’re going to find out really quick how hard it is to blend in.

 

        Mous, apparently just as curious as you are on these ramifications, and not wanting to draw the creature’s attention, flashes a quick message in Marian’s grid-like script across the plate hanging beneath its body facing you. ‘Go on!’ the sequence read.

 

        “Yeah, I’m a human, is that a problem?”

 

        “Not at all!” the pony replies, “I can show you around the town, but if you want to settle in first I can take you back to my place! The name’s Lyra, by the way.” Lyra turns to head off, not even waiting a response from you.

 

The generous offer of an immediate home catches you off guard; every time you went on assignment the people you visited were usually jaded by the oppressions of their society, oppressions taking any form from social stigmas to mere monetary cost, some offset by a simple act of chivalry to shelter a woman in need but not enough you could rely on. Generally, Special Circumstances supplies you with the means to secure lodging, if their groundwork hadn’t already provided any. Considering they couldn’t help you here, you figure you weren’t about to spurn the offer. But with nothing in orbit it would be easy to assume this world hasn’t made spaceflight yet, and you couldn’t recall a single civilization that managed post-scarcity without achieving that first. Cost must still be a factor, why is Lyra willing to soak that cost on your behalf? Is it some sort of local custom to take in strangers? Were humanoids a privileged class here? Your first thought was some sort of royalty, but Lyra met you with excitement, not reverence.

 

        It wouldn’t be hard to fish for more information without appearing clueless, though. “While we appreciate the generosity, we wouldn’t want to burden you with our presence. My friend and I could make our own way.”

 

        “Oh no, I insist!” Lyra calls back, trotting away. You start walking after her, to avoid being left behind. “I’ve studied your kind for so long; it’s so great to finally meet one! I’d be honored if you stayed with me! I’ll take in your magical friend too, no problem!”

 

        Ah, there is the angle; you were to be analyzed and interrogated. While they know of humans, there must not be any existing specimens for them until you showed up. “Mous, did Contact ever muck about with an equine civilization before?” you subvocalize, your earbud communicator picking it up and transmitting it directly to the drone.

 

        “Not that I have any knowledge of. I’m still worried about being called magical. That never ends well,” comes the private reply. Special Circumstance always warns new drone recruits to lay low; most of the civilizations that might get ahold of them would want to dissect them. Very rarely would this actually endanger the drone, but defending yourself with effector fields is always a messy and barbaric endeavor.

 

        “Well Lyra seemed to take your presence in stride. They might be survivors of an earlier Humanoid civilization, with drone tech of their own?”

 

        “I know how much you love your wild speculation Anon but really, we’ll probably find answers to all of our questions in about an hour. We’re here for awhile, just enjoy the scenery.”

 

        You finally catch up to Lyra; her pace is quite quick, demonstrating her excitement. As you continue down the street through town, you catch sight of other ponies like Lyra, though they seem to react with a greater mixture of confusion, suspicion, or even fear.

 

        “Hrm,” Mous sounds in your earbud. “From what whispers I can hear Lyra is an eccentric concerning your species. There is much surprise she found you. Be careful.”

 

         “So what was that about you getting some time in the spotlight?” you respond under your breath back

 

        “Not a word…”

 

You return your attention to Lyra. The one thing you notice is all the ponies around had markings on their flanks, mostly of mundane objects. Lyra’s was, appropriately, a lyre. You haven’t seen any without such markings yet, perhaps this branding is another element of their culture you should look into.

 

        You arrive at Lyra’s residence without pulling an overly large amount of attention. “Bon Bon!” the pony calls, “Guess what I found!” Lyra guides you further into her house. A cream colored pony comes out, initially enthused at her housemate’s return but when she sees you her face takes on an exaggerated look of shock. You throw out a little wave, and Mous tips the front of its chassis down in the approximation of a nod. Lyra doesn’t even seem to notice, and continues down some stairs into a basement. The two of you dutifully follow.

 

        The basement appears to be a study of some sort. Reference charts for various things line the walls, what appears to be exceedingly old items are kept under glass display covers, a bookshelf in the corner is packed with different works.  Most, if not all of it, is either archeological or anthropometric in nature.

 

        “It’s not exactly my talent… but welcome to the center of my greatest hobby!” Lyra proudly declares from the middle of the room. The horn on her head starts glowing, and some objects on her desk become infused with the same glow and start levitating. Was it neurologically-controlled effector field technology, or some sort of biological means of producing a similar effect? The glow is a specific color, though. She mentioned Mous was a ‘magical’ friend; perhaps this glow and levitation effect is what they term magic, and is what led her to call the drone that.

 

        You return your attention to Lyra, still shuffling paperwork- looking for something you suppose- and hazard a guess at what this hobby entails. “So humans… used to live here and no longer do?”

 

        “Well, I’m not entirely sure on that. I mean before you showed up, I wasn’t sure if they were real at all, maybe just an elaborate legend, a collection of myths. But you can tell me about all that n-“  Lyra stops and looks at you with a confused look, the first expression you’ve seen her wear that wasn’t full-tilt excitement. “Wait a sec, you would know whether or not humans lived here, so why ask, unless…?”

 

        “We’re not from… around these parts.” Mous interjects. The drone then turns to you, “We’re not here on official business, and we don’t have to lay low.”

 

        Lyra looks back and forth between you two, and then brightens back up. “Oh my gosh, you’re like, secret visitors! It’s fine I can keep everything hush-hush! You just gotta help me with all this, tell me everything about yourselves!”

 

        You start to subvocalize to Mous again. “I know we’re not here on official business but that doesn’t mean we still can’t change this place. We are technically still active Special Circumstance agents, and Contact would want to carry it out anyway, if they knew of this civilization. Why not?” you whisper to it

 

        “Understood,” Mous responds, “But play along for now. We’ll talk over the details later. First we’re going to have to gather enough information about this culture to figure out what needs to be done. We’re being practically handed a place to stay while we do that. Can’t hurt.”

 

        You return your attention to your new host. Lyra is still wearing that maniac grin, but her eyes had filled with confusion and worry during your pause. “Fine by us.”

 

        Lyra cheers and starts dancing in place, speaking at such a rapid pace you can’t even keep up. You sigh and look at the ceiling. This is going to be a long week, you imagine…

 

[spoiler]http://pastebin.com/YVwqK28G[/spoiler]

[spoiler]http://pastebin.com/u/Cee-esS[/spoiler]