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Luis studies the landscape on the other side of the Gate. It's a blasted wasteland, like looking at Geurnica or Dresden. He shudders slightly. Trying to stay light, he turns to the others, "Nice place. Think they get many tourists?"

Meanwhile, his mental card catalogue is pulling everything related to Imperium ruins, wastelands, and the like. All that comes up is Bakashara and vague references to worlds the Imperium cut its ties to. "So...where is this lovely getaway retreat, anyway?"

"It is 674 light-years spinward from this spacetime. Its designation to either the current inhabitants or us is irrelevant to you. Its closest meaningful designation is Hashateem."

"A sprawl-world, lost during the Sheen War," Arketta adds. "No reclamation ships were ever able to determine what happened."

Angel grunts. "Lovely - well, lets follow the bird. And apparently, don't run."

Luis nods. "Right," he says, "Let's get this show on the road." He steps forward, but halts just before the Gate. "So...there any particular reason we might want to run? Or why we shouldn't if we get the urge?"

"Across every world, there is a constant: if the prey runs, the predator gives chase. The species currently indigenous to Hashateem came from your species. We/I cannot confirm but the possibility exists that they inherited/learned the capacity for deceit during their evolution along with their understanding of sacrifice/strategy/warfare/murder - an understanding that still eludes us."

"To date, however, they have not deceived us in our negotiations. A margin of error exists relative to our ability to sense/discern/predict these things, of course. There is still the prototype/teleport option if your choice is modified by this information. I/we would offer you a transport option with a 100% success ratio if only one existed. Our habitat/home/bunker was designed to limit transport. The remaining methods of egress are therefore experimental/unsafe."

"Are you telling us the Sheen are still on Hashateem?" Arketta asks.

"Ah," the golden humanoid responds. You get the feeling that it just found the right word. "Yes, the species you designate 'sheen' have claimed Hashateem as their homeworld, hence the presence of a tier 2 instance."

Arketta tenses at the news. "Ah!" The humanoid exclaims again, and through its neural projection you feel the glow of a pleased parent seeing their child walk. "Meeting you has instantiated feelings/memories/logged experiences from long ago. I never regretted our decision to choose/recruit your species. Even now, you instinctively/subconsciously alter your biochemistry in preparation for battle. Astounding."

Arketta ignores the prattling. "The... Sheen are why drones always have operators, why we still have human pilots for our starships, why the Keepers of Secrets keep such a tight grasp on research... the Sheen are... what's your word for when a drone doesn't have an operator? When it's masterless? That's the Sheen, and if we're going through their Gate I wonder if we shouldn't maybe get rid of anything with an Imperial insignia on it."

admiralducksauce wrote:

Arketta ignores the prattling. "The... Sheen are why drones always have operators, why we still have human pilots for our starships, why the Keepers of Secrets keep such a tight grasp on research... the Sheen are... what's your word for when a drone doesn't have an operator? When it's masterless? That's the Sheen, and if we're going through their Gate I wonder if we shouldn't maybe get rid of anything with an Imperial insignia on it."

"Sounds like a bad case of the Cylons, but...I'm still saying go with the Gate" Luis has seen too manypeople messed up by Masters-technology to trust it when he's got other options. Even options that sound like the plot of old sci-fi shows. He looks out, across the Gate's field of view. "Looks quiet enough. Let's strip the Imperial stuff we can and go for it." He turns to the humanoid. "How long can you hold one of these open? Should you shut it down now and let us gear down while you power it up for another go?"

"It will not be a problem," the humanoid replies. The silent vista's yellow light glares through the Gate chamber as Luis, Arketta, and Angel doff anything with an Imperial akwhela. They're left with the wetsuit-like underarmor suits, boots, mag pouches and vests for their Earth equipment.

Hashateem smells like thunderstorms creeping up on a summer day. There's a palpable tension in the air. The crackles and snaps of static charges tingle your feet. The black glass covering the ground runs right up to the Gateway - a Gateway which appears to be a counterpart of the Black Gate. Luis has a pretty good memory for these things, and the glyphs look the same, plus it's gold rather than the standard silver. Its portal winks out, leaving Luis, Arketta, Angel, and the hummingbird-like drone alone under the monolithic ruins. The wind howls as it blusters its way through the old bones of buildings long forgotten. The larger ruined shapes seem to form a sort of structure or partial shell around the Gateway's resting place.

The bird flutters about for a moment, then heads off towards a crumbled slope between two old Imperial-style hab-towers. Beyond that, a tall rock wall stretches up to a foreboding cliff face that look down upon the team from all points. The Gateway and its ruins are in a tremendous crater, although it's hard to tell if the ruins were built in a naturally-occuring formation or if they were excavated somehow.

Angel feels like he's being watched. It's not surprising - after all, the humanoid said they were negotiating with something - but it is disconcerting. He eventually spots the source. There are machines along their path up towards the slope, black machines ranging in size from insect to minotaur. They are scattered here and there, and at first just looked like part of the ruins, but some are neatly folded up on multiple legs while some simply lie sprawled on boulders or hang out of distant empty windows. As the team moves, Angel can spot the sensors on the closest machine track his movement. Then once they've passed by, another machine regards them through red optics. This chain continues as the team follows the Masters' hummingbird. One machine watches them, then the next one down the line peers at the Deltas, then the next closest machine, and so on.

Angels hands twitch slightly as they walk, the instinct to do - something - nagging at his mind. He speaks, his voice low and tense.

"So here we are, following an extraterrestrial hummingbird built by a civilization trapped in its own gate network by...a demon...wandering through a Terminator set full of renegade robots who are acting for all the world like bored teens."

He shakes his head and glares at the sensor suite for one of the things. "Great, just fucking great"

The Sheen watched the newcomers exit the Gate and take in the vistas. They did not seem overly impressed with either the blasted hulks of the Imperial structures nor the Groi ruins that once shielded their precious Gate.

It didn't matter. The actual planet was incidental; the true Sheen Homeworld existed beyond the newcomers, beyond the ruins, beyond the cybershells littering the realscape. It existed in the transmissions and energy pouring through the air. The energy was no doubt interfering with the humans' nervous systems already, instilling feelings of paranoia and stress.

The Sheen flits from shell to shell, keeping track of the humans. They don't completely match any Imperial military records and their equipment is puzzling at best. Not a single energy signature from the humans, and only the normal readings from the Groi familiar.

The lead male speaks, and this is when the Sheen take interest. At least their gear made a partial match for the Imperium. Their language, however, was coming up completely blank.

If they aren't Imperial there's no reason to kill them. However, even if they're not Imperial, there were subroutines active in the realscape that might not be able to tell the difference.

The language the humans speak may not match Imperial or any known dialect, but Imperial is the best baseline the Sheen has.

---

One of the machines, a dog-sized sleek pod with four manipulators resting in the dirt, raises a cluster of sensors from its collar area. In Imperial, it asks, "Where are you from? Why are you here? This place is dangerous for your kind."

Luis is taken aback when one of the scary erector sets that litter the wasteland pops up and speaks. First contact with Evil Aibo. Just what I needed. Wish Hugh was here, he's better at this crap. That said, Luis is the highest ranking in the tiny detachment (Good word, makes us sound somewhat official instead of pathetic). He holds up a hand, signaling the others to hold position, and responds in Imperial. "I am Luis Stanhill of Earth. We come in peace, and seek only safe passage as we return to our home planet. Am I addressing the Sheen?"

"You are. 'Earth' is unknown to me. Are you Imperial? You understand it and can speak it, but your initial communications were as unknown to me as the planet you referenced."

At least it doesn't have an Austrian accent, Luis thinks. "No. Earth is not Imperial. Our home has only recently made contact with the Imperium or any other worlds. Our meeting with the Imperium was not a happy one. Over time, that has led us to where we are now. We simply seek to return to our home via another Gate on this world."

A second machine perks up - this one is all overlapping plates over a massive wide fuselage, like a metal trilobite.

"You have failed then, humans," it growls. "There are two Gates here. One leads to the Groi, and the other is our Homeworld Gate. It speaks only to other Homeworlds. You have come here in vain."

The first Sheen doesn't hop to a new shell, opting instead to whirr to its feet and pad along with the group, prompting a general pointing of rifles and a cat-like scurry back several meters. "Ah, but what if you meant to find a Homeworld Gate, yes? Are you the Imperium's little lost Narsai?"

admiralducksauce wrote:

A second machine perks up - this one is all overlapping plates over a massive wide fuselage, like a metal trilobite.

"You have failed then, humans," it growls. "There are two Gates here. One leads to the Groi, and the other is our Homeworld Gate. It speaks only to other Homeworlds. You have come here in vain."

The first Sheen doesn't hop to a new shell, opting instead to whirr to its feet and pad along with the group, prompting a general pointing of rifles and a cat-like scurry back several meters. "Ah, but what if you meant to find a Homeworld Gate, yes? Are you the Imperium's little lost Narsai?"

Can't answer that without dropping some cards on the table. Might as well play it like you mean it. "My name is Luis Stanhill. I'm a Sergeant in the United States 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta . The others I have in my team are Specialist Rivera and Private Quis, of the same. We may be few, but it sounds like you've got our way home, so we ain't lost." He tries to put on the determined "I'm in charge here" air of command Hugh seems to be able to pull off in his sleep. Please don't shoot us.

"You're a rank we don't recognize from a military we don't know about," the larger Sheen replies in a voice like scraping lead. "You said your meeting with the Imperium was not a happy one. Why? If you are enemies with the Imperium then perhaps you are among friends here. Tell us."

The hummingbird has paused in mid-air some distance ahead. It circles slowly but impatiently. The larger Sheen shuffles along with the group now, keeping its own distance.

Ah, fuck it. Might as well go all in. "Why? Let me draw you a picture here: We were escorting a team of scientists through a mysterious alien artifact discovered in our polar wastes to the first non-Earth world any person had ever set foot on other than our Moon. Started out, well, not routine, but peaceful. Saw some pretty scenery, met some friendly natives. They got our team confused with the Imperium, who then proceeded to show up."

"They didn't know who we were, and we who they were either. They offered us the chance to sell our freedom and our future for some new technology. Our home nation on Earth, the United States, was founded on the principles of freedom and independence, so we said no thanks. They waited, then stabbed us in the back. Through our Gate, they sunballed our base back home and tried to capture it. We shut them down, but not before they found we were the Homeworld and decided we must all die or be enslaved. We fight to prevent that, we fight for our countrymen to live and for our children to not live as slaves."

"Then you have learned what the Imperium has not!" curses the larger trilo-bot. "Freedom is the right of all sentient beings! We fought and killed and died for ours - if you mean to do the same, then we are your ally."

A distant whine echoes over the great crater. Its high-pitched turbine-scream cascades off the Groi monoliths.

"They are not," the smaller, dog-Sheen pipes up. "Simple creatures, but effective. Keep moving to that ridge and seek cover."

admiralducksauce wrote:

"Then you have learned what the Imperium has not!" curses the larger trilo-bot. "Freedom is the right of all sentient beings! We fought and killed and died for ours - if you mean to do the same, then we are your ally."

A distant whine echoes over the great crater. Its high-pitched turbine-scream cascades off the Groi monoliths.

"They are not," the smaller, dog-Sheen pipes up. "Simple creatures, but effective. Keep moving to that ridge and seek cover."

..Great. More shooting. At least they're not doing it. "Team, let's call these provisional friendlies. Take their advice, but...don't run," Luis says quickly in English. As they proceed to a better position, Luis returns his attention to the Sheen representatives and switches back to Imperial. "Can I maybe get a bit more in the way of an explanation? My team left much of our equipment before Gateing in, as it was Imperium-standard from an infiltration operation, and we didn't want to make a bad impression. We can still fight," Luis gestures with his SMG, "but we are low on ammunition and medical supplies."

Angel thumbs the safety off his rifle as they walk - briskly, but walk - toward the ridge, his eyes glancing from left to right. Stanhill's right - they've been in combat for awhile now without truly significant downtime. He's running low on ammunition, and most the truly enjoyable force multipliers got used up fending off an interstellar empire of religious fanatics. To top it off, frisbee or no frisbee, Angel's body is starting to acquire a number of...quirks. Downtime, a ton of sleep and a warm shower could probably cure most of them.

Instead, Angel sweeps the ridgeline and the sky, sighting down his rifle as they advance.

"Stanhill, you know they're never gonna give you clearance again? Seriously, should have given them your social security number and your mother's maiden name while you were at it."

CrazyIvan wrote:

Angel thumbs the safety off his rifle as they walk - briskly, but walk - toward the ridge, his eyes glancing from left to right. Stanhill's right - they've been in combat for awhile now without truly significant downtime. He's running low on ammunition, and most the truly enjoyable force multipliers got used up fending off an interstellar empire of religious fanatics. To top it off, frisbee or no frisbee, Angel's body is starting to acquire a number of...quirks. Downtime, a ton of sleep and a warm shower could probably cure most of them.

Instead, Angel sweeps the ridgeline and the sky, sighting down his rifle as they advance.

"Stanhill, you know they're never gonna give you clearance again? Seriously, should have given them your social security number and your mother's maiden name while you were at it."

As he checks his own weapon, Luis turns, and answers Angel in English and with as much of a command tone as he can. "Specialist Rivera, I believe that in the current situation, command of this detatchment does fall to me. That puts me in charge of this little group, so what I reveal in the course of achieving my goals is my own decision and the fallout my own responsibility. My current goal is to get us all home alive, with a possible side benefit of a potential ally against the Imperium. If you care to contest my command, you may do so at the proper time, which is when we aren't in danger of getting shot at. If you want to contest my mission goals, you may do so at that same time. If you have any helpful suggestions on how not to die while making first contact with freedom-loving sentient robots, I would love to hear them, because I am so far out of my comfort zone I couldn't even say which direction it is."

"North Northwest" the scout says, in a very, very flat town, before adding "Sir."