Chapter Text
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UNIQUE UNIT IDENTIFICATION [UUID]
ANGeL-PH1LZ4
CONNECTING TO SERVER…
address: 36337.927.1:26370137
WAITING FOR SERVER…
ESTABLISHING SECURE CONNECTION…
CONNECTION FAILED
ERROR 1.6077.4 SERVER NOT FOUND
ACTIVE COMMAND - E.40.2929
- defend corva-6p
- spare no one
> await return command
END
_ _ _ ____________________|
Corva-6p is a small planet. Very small. Surprisingly still a planet, Technoblade is pretty sure he’s been to places that were larger than this that weren’t planets, but who’s he to judge?
It’s very small, very barren, and very, very out of the way.
Two whole folds from the nearest orbit-point docks, to be exact. Sure, there’s a run down, pre-war moonstop a system over, but past that? You’re on your own out here. Nothing but space dust, various archaic satellite probes—really, it’s amazing so many of them are still out here, prime scrapping real estate if you ask Techno—and a SolarWind 6 zipping through the nothingness a little faster than it probably should.
“Niki?” Techno asks, refusing to look up from his game of constella. Ranboo has a habit of slipping in an extra connection when his opponent isn’t looking. Not that he needs the advantage, but still.
“Yeah?” Niki’s somewhere behind him, probably messing with the D-Hum again. Ranboo’s been complaining about stiff joints, and Techno agrees. It’s a little wet in here for his tastes.
“One circ,” Techno replies, spinning the projection in front of him. The point he selects turns red, and he strings a connection out to one of his already claimed systems.
Ranboo curses.
“Anyway, eta? Wanna get the scans up an’ runnin’ before I call it highfire.” Techno smooths his mane back, twisting one of the braids between his two hooved fingers. The golden bead on this one has been worried nearly smooth. They’re dotted throughout the coarse hairs of his mane, bright little flashes of gold amongst the dark brown. They stand out much better in his mane than they do against the pale pink fur covering the rest of him.
“Oh, should be…” Niki trails off. “One and a half orbital hours? Maybe a bit less. I can do the scans if you need to sleep, you skipped last highfire.”
“Nah, it’ll be fine. I mean, who really needs sleep, right?”
“Not me,” Ranboo chimes in, deftly pulling the brightest point in the projection into his own system. His lanky body is hunched close over the game, close enough the light of it is staining his dual toned, insectoid-like exoshell purple with the competing blue and red lights. His twisting horns are, at least, not so far forwards Techno’s whacking his head on them.
“Bruh, c’mon! I needed that!” Techno says, throwing his arms up.
“So did I,” Ranboo replies, smug as ever. “You do realise that the scans are my job, right?”
“My preparations, Ranboo,” Techno retorts. “How can I fight without my preparations!”
“C’mon, there’s nothing there,” Niki says, banging away at something metallic. “It’s Corva-6p, tell me you’d ever heard of it before mission codes.”
“Ah, that’s where they get you. A tiny unknown planet? Best place for a war machine. Or death ray. Spare death ray. More voidbreakers? Maybe even a factory.”
“You are not fitting a factory on that rock,” Niki replies.
“Techno has a point,” Ranboo adds. “Corva-6p was specifically mentioned in Ender’s highest security documents. Pretty sure it took almost half a cycle just to decrypt the planet’s name.”
“Decoy, probably,” Niki says, though she doesn’t sound quite as sure. “Off topic, Ranboo, moisture count?”
For a blessed moment, Ranboo looks away from the constella projection. Techno takes the opportunity to give him a taste of his own medicine and rope two more mid-brightness points into his system.
“Point five three eight and a few more. Would love it at or below point five two seven, Techno’s used to point three one average.”
“Quark, you guys like it dry,” Niki mutters.
“Bruh, I’m from Nether. What do you expect me to do, turn into a fish?” This time Ranboo is looking at the projection, so Techno makes what he’ll claim is his only move this turn.
“Would make a nice change,” Niki shrugs. “I was stationed on Aqalia before it… y’know, oh my hadron it was beautiful.”
Ranboo shudders at the same time Techno does. A planet made of water sounds like a personal hell, actually. Maybe it’s a blessing Ender’s voidbreakers tore the place apart. Aside from the millions of people that died and were displaced, that is.
“Can’t believe you like to live so… wet,” Techno says. “Don’t you shrivel when you’re in water too long? That’s a thing humans do, right?”
“‘Shrivel’ is a bit dramatic,” Niki says, leaning over the back of the couch beside Techno and swatting at Ranboo’s hand as he tries to make a sneaky second move. She flicks her head, trying to get a stray strand of hair out of her face. Like all humans, her hair is limited mostly just to the top of her head. Unlike most humans, hers is a vibrant pink, bundled up in two slightly sagging buns on her head. This is one of those rare times where she’s comparable in height to Techno, instead of barely reaching his shoulders. “Our skin wrinkles. It helps with grip, and besides, it’s only on our hands and feet.”
“Gross,” Techno says. Ranboo’s really boxed him into a corner here.
“Says the guy who bathes once a cycle,” Ranboo says, evidently siding with Niki.
“I’m Nether!” Techno repeats. “You never bathe!”
“Of course not, I’m self-cleaning. Mostly. Basic servo function, where’ve you been the last hundred cycles, Corva-6p?”
Ranboo laughs at this own joke, and so does Niki. Techno gives him a begrudging chuckle. It wasn’t a very good joke.
Ranboo wins the game of constella. 429 to 12, apparently. Ranboo says the numbers don’t lie. Techno reminds him that he does. Niki finishes with the D-hum and fixes herself a third meal in her waking, and Techno sits on the bridge to watch the scrawny planet come into view.
It really is just a rock. Barely enough to sustain an atmosphere, let alone one breathable for Niki. Its only feature of note is a crater on its magnetic-northern pole, and by extension, its tiny ring of fist sized debris.
What could a warlord have wanted with a place like this? Does its core house some rare mineral? Is there some otherwise undiscovered use for the compounds in its dust? Or is it really just a decoy, like Niki says?
Carl’s engines slow, rumbling in the belly of the ship below where Techno sits. She’s done well, getting them out here. She’s not supposed to be a folder—she’s a SolarWind, or, she used to be—but Niki worked her magic installing an Origami 2.55 drive, and the folds went just about as smoothly as they could. Sure, with an Origami 2.79 they could’ve gone smoother, but apparently that starts to produce risk of ‘falling apart at the seams’ and ‘dying a slow painful death forever and ever between spacetime’. Carl’s not exactly a new ship, and Techno has to admit that there are just some things she can’t handle.
Or rather, shouldn’t.
After a few degrees, Carl’s engine hum fades completely. A blue light illuminates on the control board, and the ship practically breathes a sigh of relief. They’re in orbit now, able to rest after what feels like way too many rotations of travel.
Techno sighs too. Orbit means ring, with a planet this small, and ring means debris. The tiniest stuff can be deadly, and Carl’s their only trip out of here, so he’d really like to keep his ship intact. A few buttons and a lever later, Techno’s pulled up the electro shields, leaving them well and truly able to rest.
Well, mostly. They’re here for a job.
“Ranboo, scan time!” Techno calls over his shoulder. He has no idea if Ranboo’s even within earshot, but now that they’re in orbit, he’s sure he’ll appear soon.
He does, sliding into the second seat on the bridge, the tips of his horns beginning to glow purple.
“Alright. Connected to Carl’s server, shouldn’t take too long. Ten cuts if there’s any life.”
“You look me in the eyes an’ tell me that’s a bet I’ll ever win,” Techno scoffs. There’s nothing here. Microorganisms, maybe, but anything complex? Anything sentient?
“C’mon,” Ranboo whines. “You give me ten cuts, I give you a string?”
“Still no. Do the scans already.”
Ranboo is a lot defter with the controls than Techno is, even though it’s Techno’s ship. His extra reach and extra fingers help, Techno supposes. Several holo-windows are pulled up, most of them empty, and Ranboo’s horns continue to pulse.
Sure, the hardware for a scan like this is part of Carl—and so is most of the software—but without Ranboo, this process would be a whole lot harder. His own software is much faster at processing the data, and a lot more detailed about it. It is, after all, kind of his entire job.
Circs turn to degrees turn to orbital hours, and Techno has to admit he dozes a little. He’s skipped his last two highfires, and sure, while he could keep going another two, he does admittedly need rest. He’ll blame it on all the folding. It always takes it out of a person.
Something beeps and Techno jerks awake. He definitely was not asleep, thank you.
“Life scan done, absolutely nothing sentient,” Ranboo reports. “Cluster of something that might one rotation dream about being proto-conscious in that crater, but otherwise we’re not even looking at miner-mites.”
“No miner-mites?” A rock like this would be perfect for them, surely.
“None. I mean, they’re from where, five folds away? Sure, they spread pretty easy, but it doesn’t look like anyone or anything has been out here for at least fifty cycles. Probably a good idea to decontaminate before we land.”
“No life, got it. I’m not givin’ you any cuts.”
“Killjoy. Want to bet on art-con instead?”
Now that’s a much more interesting bet. Artificial consciousness is vast and varied, and Ranboo’s scans are detailed. He’ll pick up anything from the most basic of task constructs, to the most advanced of droids. Anything that can make its own decisions, Ranboo will be the first to know.
“Fine. Ten there’s nothin’.” Can’t hurt to have a bit of fun, right?
“Fifteen there’s something.”
Techno slips back into his not-quite-nap, the warmth of the bridge making it really hard to stay awake.
Once again, something beeps. This time Techno definitely was asleep, and whatever is beeping is doing so much louder than last time.
“Uh, Techno?” Ranboo says, sounding decidedly less certain of himself as he pulls one of the holo-windows over. “You need to look at this.”
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UNKNOWN CRAFT DETECTED
CRAFT SIGNAL
SW6-444667-C4RL
DEACTIVATING ENERGY CONSERVATION
ART-CON ONLINE
kinetic energy transfer ONLINE
flight system ONLINE
ocular sensors ONLINE
synth-neurons firing
! WARNING !
SYSTEM DAMAGE
- flight system 55% operation
- RIGHT WING damage to primaries
- RIGHT WING extension system locked
- LEFT WING joint locked
ACTIVATING SIGNAL CLOAK
UUID scrambled
incoming signal dispersed
ACTIVATING ANGeL PROTOCOL…
RETRIEVING ACTIVE COMMAND…
PARSING ACTIVE COMMAND…
ANGeL PROTOCOL ACTIVE
- active command - E.40.2929.1
> defend corva-6p
- secondary command - E.40.2929.2
> spare no one
_ _ _ ____________________|
There’s something on Corva-6p.
Something perplexing.
The signal was hazy, Ranboo said it was a scrambler, and a very advanced one at that. Even after Techno finally slept his highfire, the best Ranboo could tell them was that the scramble pattern looks endran. It’s something of Ender’s, and Ranboo says that if he was given a few rotations he could probably crack it, but there’s an equal chance that they don’t have a few rotations.
They don’t know what it is.
Ranboo votes stay. Niki votes go. Techno ends up as the deciding vote, and it’s a hard decision. But he’s the captain here, and the hard decisions are always his responsibility.
“‘M sorry Ranboo, any risk is too much risk in a situation like this,” he says. “I wanna know what it is, but maybe the best way t’ do that is gettin’ our eyes on it.”
So he and Niki suit up, Niki in her oxygen-providing suit, Techno in his warmth providing one, and Ranboo just makes sure he puts his open port covers on. It’s a nightmare getting the dust out.
Their descent is manual, Techno taking Carl’s controls in his hands and maneuvering her down to the feeble atmosphere, pushing through and making sure to touch down a good distance from the mystery signal.
Techno brings his sword. It’s a deadly thing, a blade of pure stellar plasma from Nether’s star the Empress herself, and maybe it’s overkill right now, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. Even Niki brings her knives, little things made of meteor ironites, deadly sharp and dangerous in her hands.
Ranboo brings his staff, complaining yet again about the weight of his axe and his lack of combative programming.
Quite possibly over-armed, Techno leads the trio out onto the planet. It’s nice to breathe something that hasn’t been recycled sixteen times over for once, even if it is a little thin.
“Mag-east,” Ranboo prompts, and Techno nods. It’s all very solemn as they make their way in the right direction, all trying to pretend this isn’t as scary as it is.
War is one thing, one thing Technoblade is very familiar with. Beings on all sides, noise from all directions, death and destruction coming with every swing of every blade, every firing of every weapon. No time to think, only time to act, to trust your instincts and survive, to protect the people and the things you love most.
This is not war.
There is so much time to think. Too much time to think. They don’t know what sort of situation they’re marching into, and Techno’s beginning to think that a mistake this large is going to kill them. And on Corva-6p of all places.
Technoblade does not go into battle without preparations. It’s not a rule, it’s a fact. Stars die, the universe grows, and Technoblade does not enter a single situation without having considered at least three different angles.
He hasn’t even considered one.
But maybe he’s overthinking again. This could be anything. On a planet this small and this inconsequential and this far away from everything else, chances are it’s a task construct, or maybe a lost nav-scout.
The shadow that crests the horizon is not one he recognises. Humanoid, something- something coming out of its back. A sword held in front of it. The glow of its eyes piercing through the dust.
“Good motherboard,” Ranboo breathes, voice shaking. “That’s an Angel unit.”
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LIFEFORMS DETECTED
COUNT: 2
1: hoglin
1: human
ART-CON DETECTED
UNITS: 1
1: ServO
RUNNING RECOGNITION SCAN…
SCANNING ART-CON UUID
UUID DETECTED
DECRYPTING UUID…
UUID
SRVO-R4800
SCANNING FORMS…
HUMAN: UNIDENTIFIED
registered to local database ID HM-6454
> register to server?
ERROR
server connection failed
HOGLIN: IDENTIFIED
PROFILE: GENERAL TECHNOBLADE
— HIGH PRIORITY TARGET —
ORIGIN SYSTEM: Empress Nova
ORIGIN PLANET: Nether
SPECIES: Hoglin
ALLEGIANCE: Fire Queen Army
RANK: Blazing General
DANGER - SKILLED HAND TO HAND COMBATANT
DANGER - LICENSED STELLAR PLASMA WIELDER
APPROACH WITH CAUTION
ELIMINATE AT ALL COSTS
_ _ _ ____________________|