Scene #3453:

Owner	Pose
John-117	The Chief wanders, windswept sand causing his shields to flicker. It's an unusual feeling, being self-directed. It means not taking orders, following his own ideas. A SPARTAN is hardly an automaton, but they had been essentially created to thrive in the chain of command. Here, on another world which is only remarkable for how distant it is from everything else, there is nothing the Chief has ever known. There's only that strange sensation of being free. He's wandered many worlds like this one, seeding them with resource caches set on a transponder that can only be decoded by the systems of his MJOLNIR suit. Weapons, supplies, other things of interest. Things to barter with. Things to offer in exchange for favours. Inside a cave, out of the sandstorm, John sits. His contact with the Flotilla had allowed him a way to contact them through pre-arranged channels. This time, the message is a simple one: Meeting. And a set of co-ordinates.
Starbound Flotilla	The STARBOUND FLOTILLA are here, in their standard Durasteel exploration equipment! Moonfin, the fishman, is in elaborate full-body durasteel armor that looks like a powered cross between a diving suit and a samurai's armor, glowing cyan at the faceplate. Biteblade, the humanoid plant, is in durasteel plating with elaborately carved wood and bone ornaments over glowing powered components that glow an intense green. Pavo the bird-girl wears a pirate-aesthetic set of mesoamerican-style armor, with yellow bands of energized fabric linking the pieces and powering them. Albert the monkey-man is wearing elaborate dystopian commando armor reconstructed with a 'rebel spy' aesthetic: A sleeker faceplate, a slimmer form, and a more chaotic design that integrates thin, resilient plates of durasteel, and lines of bright white. George (just plain human) wears a set of futuristic EVA-combat and exploration armor in a suit that glows a gentle red at the faceplate. Seft, the robotic Flotilla member, is wearing full-on medieval knight armor with a soft energized blue glow below the plates on her body, and especially around the eyes. Each has a heavy industrial-yellow two-pronged plasma-cutter-like tool strapped to their side, a Matter Manipulator. They have driven here on what appears to be the futuristic combination of a tour bus and a dune buggy. It's a George design, so it has a few hotrod-like embelishments, but for the most part, it's just a sweet ride, big enough that Asche could catch a ride on the back of it. It's thankfully shielded against the sandstorm, so the Starbounders heading inside aren't overexposed to the harsh conditions by the time they enter.
Starbound Flotilla	"Knock knock, jolly green giant, what's up?" "Ahooooy, matey! Choose a fine planet, ye did, not a chance of someone walkin' in on us like this!" "Polite. Sir? Thank you for contacting us again." "A cave. Ugh, such conditions. Shall I provide superior furnishings, or do these rocks offer any fascination to you?" "Tall shooty frieeend! Hiiii! How isss? Repair hold? Need more?" "Hmph. Scans indicate we were not followed by non-allied forces. Seft, run further scans. No missed chances. Chief, we are prepared to speak."
Zwei	It seems to be pretty frequently that Zwei tags along to these recruiting initiatives. Of course, 117 had been a subject it had taken interest in from the start, but ultimately it pays to personally know the deal of each member of this little pet project group. The fact that Asche is in attendance goes without saying. Unlike the others, 117's capacity for cooperation is in question, and the level of potential danger he represents is extremely high. Riding on the back of the bus is a little bit humble to say the least, but a less flashy and dramatic entrance would be desirable anyways. The massive Armiger hops off the back bumper with a reverberating thump in the sand, letting the entire vehicle bob on its suspension as his weight is lifted from it. He doesn't actually need to look from side to side to check his surroundings, but it expresses intentional alertness and communicates the fact he is looking regardless. Nothing for miles, of course, and no electronic tracking save for the faint EM fields of running sensor hardware from the MJOLNIR itself, as is ideal. "For a man left to wander free for the first time in his memory, you continue to choose the least exciting places to wander."
John-117	The Chief greets the Starbounders, and Zwei, with his rifle in hand. He doesn't aim at them but it's clear he's prepared for the off-chance that the meeting would go poorly. His armor is still burnished in places, scuffed down to worn metal. It's a MJOLNIR suit but one that has gone through hell, pockmarked with shell impacts and splashed with plasma fire. Not knowing what he should say to the exuberant greetings, John falls back on protocol. "Captain Petrov." He's not sure if the others have ranks. They're not quite civilians but they're also not quite officers. He's not sure where they stand. Biteblade, however, gets a response. "The repairs are holding. Thank you." "I require assistance," the Chief says, voice gravelly behind his visor, "Beyond the usual channels. Given previous events, I've asked for your Flotilla."
Starbound Flotilla	Albert gives the appropriate military greetings back to John-117. "Understood. You have already provided resources to us before. It is our duty to help you now." The man, for the very first time, presses a button at the back of his helmet, unsealing it and letting it come off. He is... Yeah, he's a monkey. This will be the first time it gets shown in its full glory. He keeps the helmet at his side, under one arm, showing his face more as a gesture of authentic exchange and respect. "Least exciting is right, Zwei unit." Moonfin says, grumbling. "Here, I will furnish the environment, make it something more habitable." And in the next three or four minutes, Moonfin gets to work on making the meeting a nicer area, projecting furniture out of his Matter Manipulator. Couple tasteful hand-carved chairs, a nice table, some survivalist kitchen faculties off on a counter to the side to get some tea going... Seft also sets up a few things. Monitoring equipment, making double-extra-sure that scanners are displayed on big holo-screens that show off the lacking following. "Saw you got some trouble with the jarheads. Hey, anyone dealing with the bad side of the USCM -- sorry, for you that's the UNSC, right? -- has got my support. I keep neutral on the 'good side' of 'em, but if you've got troubles with, what, extremist splinter factions? Bad priorities? Eh, whatever, you keep it to yourself, but if you've got troubles, we're up for helping." George says, already settling in at the table. "You need more, tell Floran! Floran help. Help with what you need now too! What is, tall shoot friend?" Biteblade is always a bit too close for comfort, a bit too friendly, but she doesn't mean any harm by it. She is, uh, already checking over the armor again, though.
Zwei	/How come I don't get a 'captain'? Heck I'm a general! Supreme commander!/ //With no forces and no recognized authority.// /Well at least a 'hi' would be nice!/ //Three days on an alien planet with no-one else to speak with should have tempered expectations otherwise.// /One more shot!/ //Weiss is sitting this one out for the foreseeable future.// /Ugh, I knooow./ "Further repairs; complete ones; remain available. You will find yourself swiftly running out of basic supplies wandering these barren nowheres, stopping only to fight without anything to gain." Asche is currently unarmed but that means essentially jack shit at any and all times. Another token show of cooperativeness. "Permanent, or at least semi-permanent residency. Raw materials. Food supplies. Ammunition. Skilled maintenance. I would say you have spent too long on your own if you had forgotten that you have had the benefit of these for the vast majority of your career, as any soldier needs. It is not difficult to anticipate. Likewise, it should not be difficult to imagine our stance on the UNSC and what it has to do with you. There are few sins greater than rare talent backed by legitimate motivation going to waste."
John-117	The fact that Albert is something of a monkeyman actually gives John pause. Of course, he's hard to read through the helmet, but maybe someone can still pick up on the, if not surprise, apprehension. The Chief had been honed to kill aliens. Those neural notches don't vanish overnight, if at all. Moonfin gets a response from John. "That's really not necessary." It's not a harsh reprimand. He doesn't seem bothered by Biteblade checking over his armor - given that she had been riding on his back, that seems to engender a certain level of trust. As George speaks, and as Asche speaks, the Chief nods, his helmet tilting down slightly. "That's correct," the Chief says. "I need food, water, ammunition, other supplies. I have no logistical support beyond what I can find in the field. I'm still fighting for the UNSC. They just don't realise it. My task is more important. I've only acted in self-defense when fired upon."
Starbound Flotilla	"Heyyyyy, I know, don't worry, Big and Tall Bullet Emporium." Moonfin has ignored John's response, and is aleady serving a drink of some kind to George. Tea? No, too quick. It's definitely another kind of beverage. "I'm not gonna judge, I know how that works. Sometimes dudes just don't wanna listen, and keep not listening, right?" He kicks back with his drink. "Educating. Core Fleet accelerated hydroponics produces excess food for the purposes of trade. Mining and manufacturing for the purpose of industry. Resource harvesting of all kinds. Armory services for Elite work." Seft says, her eyes flickering to a cheerful ^_^. "Offering. For your services and through the exchange of various goods, we would be happy to provide these. Our system is a scaled-down and streamlined comprehensive naval operations support package." She goes back to scanning soon after that. "Zwei is correct. You can only last so long without infrastructure. I have designed the Core Fleet to cover all modern needs for a military force. We will make an exchange." Albert says. He doesn't sit, he remains standing as long as the Chief does. "Materials. Jobs. Money. Service. Whatever you provide, you will be credited support. Connected with allies willing to provide support at lower cost. Zwei is one example." "If you do work for Floran friendsss long, we help get you ssspaceship! Ssstarling-classss, little ssspacebus for you private!" Biteblade offers, still scampering around and examining armor.
Zwei	"You have yet to tell us anything of this task. I would gather that you have had plenty of time to decide for yourself whether our having knowledge of it would be counterproductive to its achieval. If you are willing to reach out to us here, I have reason to assume you believe it would not, but are holding your cards to your chest regardless. More importantly is the matter of whether fighting for the UNSC is synonymous with fighting for the Union, or fighting against the Confederacy." Those two things are deliberately said separately for a reason. "All the same, it would be a lie to say that you have no value to us without saying. It is exactly as Seft and Albert say. The Flotilla is not a structured military, but you will find it to suit your needs far better than one would. Reliable intelligence, high priority responses, availability of all resources without clearance, cooperating and integration of exotic technologies and abilities. Few would be seriously entertained as candidates for such a vague offer. Consider your position fortunate." Asche isn't about to do /totally/ nothing while Moonfin is making himself busy. The air pressure fluctuates as the dust and sand rise off from the ground in a vortex centered on Asche's outspread hand, coalescing into a far denser point than should technically be allowed, that spreads out gradually like a form of reverse-disintegration. A heavy, graphene wired case of something that rattles and clinks rather obviously crunches to the ground as a more practical addition to the temporary base of a soldier. Scavenging ammo is for suckers.
John-117	The Chief remains standing although, by now, he's clipped his rifle to the maglocks at the small of his back. "I'll be on hand to provide whatever support is necessary or required of me," John tells Albert. He tilts his head towards Seft, armor creaking quietly. "Exactly. Elite work. My record speaks for itself, sir. This Starling-class. It would need to be quiet and to be able to evade attention. The warpgate network has been suitable so far but it doesn't reach everywhere." That golden visor glints as the Chief regards Asche. "It's classified. I'm not able to share any details at this time." Basically what he would have said when asked back on that jungle world, weeks ago. "SPARTAN-B312 is of Ensign rank in the Union. She will attempt to apprehend me again. She will fail. But they will put pressure on the Union if I was to remain there. I can't allow that. For now, I'm done fighting for any of them. If I need to fight the Union to complete my objective, then that is what I will do. I had considered contacting Colonel Serori..." The Chief trails off, seeming watching Asche's display with the dust and sand. Frankly, it seems like the Chief might just be grateful to have something like a chain of command.
Starbound Flotilla	"Aye, matey?" Pavo seems to have gotten interested. "Stardogs like us, we work better with some simple, clear goals, aye. Not a boatload of obligations to some big crew, most ye don't even know. Ye got respect from me, havin' something like that and stickin' to it. Ye want a Starling class, the price is a little higher than the gear ye dropped for us, but we got an Erchius mine, enough Durasteel... Aye, ye won't go without for long, if ye can pay right. Stealth? Round as big as the bus we drove in on. Yer radar, lidar, all other kinda profiles, might as well be space junk for the big craft ye see around. Jam some heat sinks on and ye got nothin' ye need worry for. Half of winnin' fights be not fightin' in the first place, aye!" "I would be quite interested in learning the nature of your efforts, but it is no necessary part of our arrangements. You do the necessary work for us, and we will do what you require. Seft is our expert in all matters pertaining to armor. The weed has done shoddy patchwork. Consider our first payment for you to be more simple. Albert grows... Ugh, ration-grade nutrient pastes, I cannot believe I would ever deign to suggest such a thing, as I expect you hold little interest in the superior examples of fine Hylotl cuisine. We have plenty of purified, harvested water. I believe the Zwei unit is more than willing to handle matters of ammunition. Seft will provide repairs to your armor. These will be provided at our standard rate in exchange for your previous service." That's Moonfin's own offer here. "And join on up, from the sound of it. We got an associated fleet. Only catch is controlled infighting. Sometimes Union folk in there might need to make a declared move against you, gotta promise no grudges, same as they won't hold any if you beat their ass on a job." George winks at Chief from the table. "Get you linked up with some infrastructure stuff. Healers, more regular manufacturing, the works, you know? You take some jobs, earn your keep, you'll have real navy support, near as good as the old days."
John-117	"I can pay," the Chief says, "Or find some way to pay. The nutrient pastes will be fine." That's probably not a surprise. Nutrient paste and water - seems like SPARTANs live large when they're out on their own. As for the notion of infighting... "I won't start anything, but I will finish it less-than-lethally if they attempt something." The Chief shrugs, rolling his bulky shoulders in what is probably one of the most human gestures he's made recently. It seems like George's words are just what he's looking for. "Better than the old days. But one more thing. Experts in artificial intelligences. I'll need to talk to them, if you fleet has any."
Starbound Flotilla	"Then it is agreed. We will connect you with any experts we have within the greater Flotilla on matters pertaining to artificial intelligence. None of our members are experts, but the FUJIN Research Institute, our Argonauts associates, and several skilled individuals within our Flotilla may be able to assist." Moonfin says, finishing serving tea. The others head on over to the table, seems like that's just what the Flotilla does sometimes. Even Albert! "We are never lacking for effective connections, and in the interim, you will find what you need to survive, fight, work, and make progress on your task on your own as well." There's a bit of tea out for the Chief too. And Weiss! Weiss, he knows, can just drink tea for the symbolism. With the Chief, he squints for a while. George is the one who speaks up, not looking up from his drink. "Hey tin man, you got, like, a filter you can tip this through? It's good shit. The chairs aren't about to break if you take a load off, you know." He laughs a bit. Seems like they'll just sit down and be social whether or not Chief joins them for a bit, though Albert always remains commander-like and military in his posture, not participating much.