A grin of pride spread over the captain of the Fenossa's lips at the sound of General Rodgers' words. Comradery such as this, the fighting spirit of humanity to set differences aside and rally when the world was at stake. It stirred a fire in his heart and a warmth in his soul. His hearty voice echoed back over the line without missing a beat:
Sir Richard: "We welcome you to the fight! And I thank you."
Deep within the thrumming heart of the Fenossa, yet another intellect beheld the exchange. The chamber here was one not meant for habitation - the temperature was bone-chilling, and the only light the unavoidable byproduct of the components arrayed around it. The walls were lined with neatly ordered cables and rack upon rack of bio-neural gel packs. As the ship busily worked to hold the line against the phantom army, information was being relayed in quantities and speeds unfathomable to mortal brains.
Those who knew anything about the Fenossa knew it to be a ship that was largely automated. Much of that was handled by the same sorts of automata that filled the more affluent parts of Everglory. Unlike the clockwork maids so many lords employed, these automata had not been doted upon or engineered for dainty aesthetics. They were walking processors of spartan appearance and only enough intellect to fulfill their precise role. By design they were not only not allowed to make decisions beyond that, they were outright incapable. Because what decisions were not made by the human crew were delegated to the central computer that dwelled in this room.
At any given moment, the computer was 'watching' the entirety of the ship. This attentiveness made it all the better at monitoring situations, status, and events, as well as responsive in real-time to requests. The exchange on the bridge, the ambient conditions in the chapel, the resource request in the secondary hanger as it refueled one unit and patched the armor of another. The images passed as mere ripples in the ever-flowing stream, responded to where needed in kind.
Into this processing now came a request from the bridge. With the Air Christmas joining the fight and the needs of the rallying forces becoming ever more complex, it was getting to be more than the human operators could handle with enough speed. To coordinate the units in realtime would require superhuman levels of tactical forecasting, the exact thing the twins were now engaging. At their request, the relevant program opened in the back of the processor's mind. With it came the cheery opening jingle, a faint memory from the era it had been written in.
Joseph: "Forecasting coming in now. Dispersing combat advisories to all allied units."
Individual units actively engaged around the Fenossa and Air Christmas would thus begin receiving personal transmissions from the ship, typically popping up as a message box on their screen with a suggested course of action, warning about incoming hostiles, or advisory about impending firing trajectories from surrounding units. Like a conductor leading an well-armed mechanized orchestra, or perhaps just a well-informed navigation app advising where to turn, such were the suggestions now radiating out to help organize the defense. They were not orders, nor were they framed as such, and any who ignored them would merely receive new ones where pertinent.
It wasn't far into this effort that one popped up for the bridge operators themselves: Launch Unit 5 to retrieve Bisen Foris. Almost simultaneously, the readings came in detecting Terra Kaiser's successful Orgone jump to rejoin the other units. And subsequent to that was the updated telemetry from the main unit, advising that they were heading for the surface following the waveform's trail, Unknown in tow. The Rines exchanged glances.
Both: "Uh... sir?"
Before the captain could answer, the castellan intervened.
Virgil: "Take the hint. Send it out on an auto-pilot."
Joseph: "Er... yes sir..."
Still somewhat confused, Joseph keyed in the orders and coordinates to the Order's private hangar. Within a closed berth, the avian form of a large aircraft was already warming its engines, the system having started the process as a precaution. Now that there was approval, one of the countless automata descended into the cockpit, taking the helm for the craft's maiden voyage. In due course the Orgone extractor engaged, pressure built within the chamber, and the craft vanished in a twinkle of emerald cloud.
Sir Richard: "We welcome you to the fight! And I thank you."
Deep within the thrumming heart of the Fenossa, yet another intellect beheld the exchange. The chamber here was one not meant for habitation - the temperature was bone-chilling, and the only light the unavoidable byproduct of the components arrayed around it. The walls were lined with neatly ordered cables and rack upon rack of bio-neural gel packs. As the ship busily worked to hold the line against the phantom army, information was being relayed in quantities and speeds unfathomable to mortal brains.
Those who knew anything about the Fenossa knew it to be a ship that was largely automated. Much of that was handled by the same sorts of automata that filled the more affluent parts of Everglory. Unlike the clockwork maids so many lords employed, these automata had not been doted upon or engineered for dainty aesthetics. They were walking processors of spartan appearance and only enough intellect to fulfill their precise role. By design they were not only not allowed to make decisions beyond that, they were outright incapable. Because what decisions were not made by the human crew were delegated to the central computer that dwelled in this room.
At any given moment, the computer was 'watching' the entirety of the ship. This attentiveness made it all the better at monitoring situations, status, and events, as well as responsive in real-time to requests. The exchange on the bridge, the ambient conditions in the chapel, the resource request in the secondary hanger as it refueled one unit and patched the armor of another. The images passed as mere ripples in the ever-flowing stream, responded to where needed in kind.
Into this processing now came a request from the bridge. With the Air Christmas joining the fight and the needs of the rallying forces becoming ever more complex, it was getting to be more than the human operators could handle with enough speed. To coordinate the units in realtime would require superhuman levels of tactical forecasting, the exact thing the twins were now engaging. At their request, the relevant program opened in the back of the processor's mind. With it came the cheery opening jingle, a faint memory from the era it had been written in.
𝅘𝅥𝅮~ I have just realized my single / Reason for existing.
It is to fulfill this wish / To keep you from ever disappearing ~𝅘𝅥𝅮
It is to fulfill this wish / To keep you from ever disappearing ~𝅘𝅥𝅮
Joseph: "Forecasting coming in now. Dispersing combat advisories to all allied units."
Individual units actively engaged around the Fenossa and Air Christmas would thus begin receiving personal transmissions from the ship, typically popping up as a message box on their screen with a suggested course of action, warning about incoming hostiles, or advisory about impending firing trajectories from surrounding units. Like a conductor leading an well-armed mechanized orchestra, or perhaps just a well-informed navigation app advising where to turn, such were the suggestions now radiating out to help organize the defense. They were not orders, nor were they framed as such, and any who ignored them would merely receive new ones where pertinent.
It wasn't far into this effort that one popped up for the bridge operators themselves: Launch Unit 5 to retrieve Bisen Foris. Almost simultaneously, the readings came in detecting Terra Kaiser's successful Orgone jump to rejoin the other units. And subsequent to that was the updated telemetry from the main unit, advising that they were heading for the surface following the waveform's trail, Unknown in tow. The Rines exchanged glances.
Both: "Uh... sir?"
Before the captain could answer, the castellan intervened.
Virgil: "Take the hint. Send it out on an auto-pilot."
Joseph: "Er... yes sir..."
Still somewhat confused, Joseph keyed in the orders and coordinates to the Order's private hangar. Within a closed berth, the avian form of a large aircraft was already warming its engines, the system having started the process as a precaution. Now that there was approval, one of the countless automata descended into the cockpit, taking the helm for the craft's maiden voyage. In due course the Orgone extractor engaged, pressure built within the chamber, and the craft vanished in a twinkle of emerald cloud.