Rolled 2 + 2 (1d8 + 2)
>>5608880“FoZ?” You prompt, gentle but firm “did you copy my last, bud?”
His head snaps around and he responds distractedly, “Sorry Sir, but it's just so strange. My simulations are taking exponentially longer to run. It's as if all of the available runtime and memory is being prioritised elsewhere.”
His words bring your conversation with Control to mind, and you attempt to ping the AI subsystem through the comm. It said it would use its available runtime to prevent Guard from interfering with the captured voidcore’s installation, you recall. You receive only static in reply — no signal — which only causes your brow to crease in concern at the implications.
You feel a slight tingle as Peedee’s visor brushes your shoulder.
“Dal’s box all fuzzy.” She pines in her squeaky, nasally voice, “Makes Peedee sleepy. Don’t wanna sleep!”
Three pairs of eyes all snap to the floating ship’s avatar, red, green and blue. Your concern grows further and you begin to develop a headache. Why are your crew looking at you with such glazed stares, you should know why. You do know why. You just … can’t… ugh. You clutch your pounding temple. You don’t have time for more implant sickness, lives are at stake.
“Oh!” Peedee exclaims, oblivious to the scrutiny and her tiredness apparently banished for excitement. “Look! The shadow birds from Peedee’s drawing woke up!” She points to the main display where the optical feed has flicked to the wildly shifting debris field left in the wake of your last round of counterbattery fire seemingly of its own accord. Though you suspect your orange friend may be just flexing her control of the ship’s systems, you take a moment to consider just what she’s showing you. The colour suddenly drains from your face with dawning realisation.
>>5604404>some of their own torps could have switched to ballistic like we did and be coming in slower.“CONTACTS!” Your Ops officer is the first to react, snapping out of his green-eyed trance and calling out in a return to his normal, shrill manner. He punches the two officers either side of him when they don’t react, his blue fists tiny compared to the bulk of the Ulveng and Tyllano but enough to break them from their own stupors.
“Cleo, evasive! FoZ, power to mavs, everything you can give the ion jets.” He sets them to work and they respond with practised motions.
“Shit! On it!” She growls.
>Cleo rolls to evade. (Navigation and Body+ bonus applied.) 