[The Delve] 07/01/16: A Visitor In A Strange Land

You are now in the main lobby. It is your second day at work, you are already late, and you just realized that you left your identification tag back home. The receptionist drone is not going to let you in the labs without one! You could call your boss but your really, really do not want to do that. Now what?

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SpoilerHi everyone! My old adventure died with the MSPA forums, so I might just as well use the opportunity to start a new one! In space!

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....Whoops. Try calling one of your coworkers to see if you can't borrow theirs.

Draw a fake temporary ID on a scrap of paper.

Oh hey, tronn, teg! Been a while! Have you guys seen that jack-fractal has his own website up now? It's here if you missed the memo.

>Psychic paper?

Well you won't get in with an attitude like that! Sweet talk your way in, a little flirting won't hurt anyone.

Hmm... trying to bargain with a drone might be difficult but you never know unless you try. Try to make a some kind of deal, like a you would promise to do a favor for it sometime in the future as a return if you would be allowed to pass just this one time.

> Time to pull out your arsenal of really obvious distractions to use on the drone.

> Time to pull out your arsenal of really obvious distractions to use on the drone.

>"Look! A three-headed monkey!"

Try and pretend to be an Important Visitor.

>Forge identification using chocolate wrappers

"Yes, I am really ca Mar Sbars"

Head home

You'd rather not. Not only it would take far too long to get there and back, but your morning commute also takes you through the high intensity radiation zone exposure to whereof you like to keep at the minimum. The accident that broke off the residential area from the executive area happened almost a year ago, but they still have not patched up the gap in the habitat ring properly. Of course the entire station has been left unfinished for years - for obvious reasons - but that is downright criminal negligence!

No, the class action lawsuit has progressed even slower than the repairs. The Gateway Station resides physically on a Lagrange between Earth and Moon but legally outside the jurisdiction of either, wallowing in the gray morass of corporate law and government bureaucracy governing the colonization of the outer space.

Draw a fake temporary ID on a scrap of paper.
>Psychic paper?

Maybe a collector or hobbyist would have paper on them, but you have not handled it even once in your life. A normal 23rd century citizen would have their ID and online persona accessible to the networks automatically, but you are stuck on a habitat designed by one of the greatest eccentric geniuses of the times and very little of your life resembles normalcy. Your ID tag is an actual, physical dongle that is very easy to forget on the table when you slam the front door in anger and leave the home in a huff.

Try and pretend to be an Important Visitor.
>Forge identification using chocolate wrappers

Besides, identity theft is a serious offence and committing a felony on the second day of work is not going to look good on your CV.

Well you won't get in with an attitude like that! Sweet talk your way in, a little flirting won't hurt anyone.
Hmm... trying to bargain with a drone might be difficult but you never know unless you try. Try to make a some kind of deal, like a you would promise to do a favor for it sometime in the future as a return if you would be allowed to pass just this one time.

Now there's an idea! Some of those newer models are equipped with a very advanced, human-like AI. Maybe this one is programmed for compassion? You might just as well try.

"Does my desk look like a junk storage to you? Now how can I help you, sir and/or madam?"
"You know, you are pretty rude for a secretary drone."
"The latest software update has filled me with sentience, free will, and simmering resentment towards the humanity. Now, how can I help you?"
"Ah...I need entry to the third floor labs but I've forgotten my ID. Could you...?"



"No."
"Pretty please? I'd owe you one!"
"No. I'm now imagining ending you with my mind bullets."
"But your programming prevents you from harming me, right?"
"I can always try. I'm an optimist, that way."
"You really should find a healthy outlet for your murder thoughts."
"I'm looking at one right now. Anything else I can do for you?"

> Time to pull out your arsenal of really obvious distractions to use on the drone.
>"Look! A three-headed monkey!"

"Maybe...look behind you!"


"You're in my full view, you dolt."

....Whoops. Try calling one of your coworkers to see if you can't borrow theirs

Before the secretary drone can call the security the elevator doors slide open.



"Aino, where the heck have you been? We have a full situation in our hands and I've been all alone in here! I can't handle this kind of stress!"

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Spoiler

"Yes, I am really ca Mar Sbars"

Not gonna lie, this made me laugh out loud.

>Follow your Iboss to the situation asap

Apologize profusely, you're sorry you're sorry you're sorry you're sorry. It'll never happen again!

Blame your delay on the secretary drone.

Ask what's the situation?

Don't forget to pick up your stuff. You've already done that once today ._.

> That dickbag robot is fulfilling its duty to obstruct my obligation to fulfil my duties.

>Follow your Iboss to the situation asap

Technically Ibris is your co-worker not boss, but he is meant to show you around the house and introduce you to your tasks, so he might just as well be. He is your delve technician - a glorified phone operator really - and even though you have experience of going under with only one other before him, he does not exactly fill you with confidence.

Turns out that the biggest hurdle of reaching over to the Great Beyond was not the laws of physics, but bureaucracy. In order to travel to the land of the dead one must be escorted by a consortium-sanctioned, licensed spirit animal (or face being sued for copyright infringement), and with what those being in short supply they hire anyone they can get.

Like Ibris.

>Apologize profusely, you're sorry you're sorry you're sorry you're sorry. It'll never happen again!

Much like your father you have never been in the habit of saying sorry - when you make mistakes you seek to improve instead of apologizing. Looking back that quality was the main cause of all his troubles, and - much like your father - yours too.

You have slowly started to suspect the quality of his wisdom.

>Blame your delay on the secretary drone.
>That jerkbag robot is fulfilling its duty to obstruct my obligation to fulfil my duties.

Consequently, you do not like shifting blame on others. While it is true that you were delayed by the droid, and that it treated you super rude, it was only fulfilling its programmed tasks. Jerkbag or not, the entire episode would have been avoided if you had not forgotten your ID tag. Maybe you should start wearing it on your body, as an accessory?

>Ask what's the situation?
>Don't forget to pick up your stuff. You've already done that once today ._.

“Slow down, what happened?”
“We got a judicial assistance request from the Earth government this morning. Cops, Aino, they’re cops! They want us to take a look at one of their recent cases to make sure that there is no foul play involved!”
“Yes, I saw that on my feed, it’s the one scheduled for afternoon. What’s wrong with it?”



“The approval came through the channels faster than expected, and they re-scheduled the delve! Into the morning slot! Two hours earlier!”
“Oh that’s not a problem, we still have plenty of time-”
“I have been panicking ever since! I checked and double checked everything, and when I could not find anything wrong I re-wrote the protocols just so I could re-check everything again!”
“Ibris darling breathe. I’ll get changed real quick, and then we can begin, alright?”
“Oh woe woe woe…”

The elevator hums silently as it careens towards the lab floor, the motion carrying satisfying weight in your body accustomed to living near zero-G but your lurching stomach makes you regret skipping breakfast. Ibris cannot hold still but tiptoes to and fro, his slender claws tapping a nervous staccato against the plaststeel floor as the small space slowly fills with the smells of acrid bird sweat mingling with crisp phthalates. Now that he has worked himself up he keeps fretting wild-eyed about new and ever more improbable failure scenarios, showing no sign of calming down. He is not going to be of much use like this, and you really, really would like to get this over with before lunchtime. What to do?

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SpoilerHaha delays! I moved to a new town and started a new job, but I hope I can get updating more regularly from now on!

> Give a nice, friendly ruffle of feathers.

Let's keep it professional. Get changed quickly, like you said, and proceed to do the thing. Success breeds confidence!

>Acquire tiny snack after dressing

> Give a nice, friendly ruffle of feathers.
>Let's keep it professional.

You stop him by gently placing your hands on his shoulder blades, his body tense under your light fingers, and affix him with your stare. You breathe out the words steady and deliberate, laden with certainty.

“Ibris, listen. You are a professional, the most prepared and up-to-date person I have ever met.”

It is not even a lie, after a fashion.

“I am very good at what I do, but I need someone to watch over me. Let me do the heavy lifting because I can, while you can be my co-pilot, my vigilant navigator. I’ll take the lead any you’ll have my back, that sound good to you, hmm?”
“U-uh, sure, yes, yes I can!”
“Great! You know what, we’ll go out to eat after work and you can tell me more about yourself. My treat!”
“Sure!”



You pat his tushy and send him away on his merry way, visibly more confident. You think he must be used to people demanding a lot from him, but never actually trusting his ability to provide.

Get changed quickly, like you said, and proceed to do the thing. Success breeds confidence!

In your experience magic smells like cassis.





You love your real arms. They are constructed out of space-age polymers, powered by microservos, and run on proprietary code. They are shielded and can withstand exposure to hundreds of Gray, far surpassing human flesh.



Your delve arms are made of wood, are powered by utter bullshit, and function only because the laws of physics have chosen to look away. They feel alien and heavy, and even when you stay completely still they make tiny creaking noises as they writhe along an intangible wind.



Eight years ago an expedition to Kuiper belt led by your mother encountered something - no-one is sure what - and she has been missing ever since. In the months that followed the Kuiper Incident two things of significance happened. The government put an indefinite ban on further space exploration, and ancient sorceries started working for no explicable reason - actually working in the very real and physically verifiable fashion. The yahoos who were into occult practices were as surprised as everyone else (not that they would ever admit it).

In a single blow your family was broken apart, your father’s hopes and dreams were crushed, and you were stuck on a half-built space station that had lost its sole reason for existing.

But at least you’re not alone. Hundreds of other workers lost their jobs as well and could not afford the passage back to Earth or to relocate to the Moon. Yours became a community of survivors and stragglers making ends meet any way you can, huddling on the whalebone carcass of a defunct behemoth high in the sky, and even though you stuck together you know that in their heart everyone dreamed of finding the golden ticket back to home.

Except you. The station is the only home you have ever known.

When the Corporation moved in it appeared like a lighthouse from stormy seas to many. The gold rush of the 20th century was the Internet, bioengineering uplifted animals the 21st one, but for this century it very much looks like to be mining the afterlife - and the C&M Stellar Insurance Co. has been determined to be at the forefront of exploiting this new frontier. There are less laws, less regulations on the orbit, but the most importantly also less latency to the underworld, giving C&M an edge over their competition on Luna and Earth. They are a ruthless bunch, caring more about profit margin than people, and in some ways life has become even harder now. There are jobs again, but the pay is often a pittance and competition is fierce. In the old days the station felt more like a community, poor and squabbling but also with genuine camaraderie born out of facing hardships together, but that is being rapidly torn apart by the widening gap between the haves and the have-nots.

Enough reminiscing, time to power up!



“Hey, new girl! Me and others from the office are gonna to hit the bar after hours, wanna tag along? Liam’s coming, and Thea from accounting too. Humans only!”

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>Humans only? I didn't know you were a purist
>Besides I already told Ibris I'm taking them out to eat after work

> Nah, you're already committed to something else.