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And thus the journey reaches its end. When I started this run the goal was to test player-made xenotypes, test the Mechanitor run, and see how different biomes, particularly Alpha Biomes biomes, reacted to pollution. The First base was set in a mechanite biome, second in a slime, and third on an ocular forest as you can see. Those that saw my other uploads will notice that the base style is very similar. That is on purpose, to give the sense of continuity, that they were made by the same people. Plus I was going for that circuit board look. Well, on to the tale.
The previous departure had left a foul taste on the mouth of the trio, the feeling of having achieved the bare minimum to create a self-sufficient base lingered in their minds...but such thoughts vanished as they witnessed the sight before them: A circle of mechanical pillars surrounding a massive construct, the very air drumming with pressure, their brains shuddering over the sheer amount of information being transmitted.
All around them the air was covered in a red fog, a strange sense of unbelonging stabbing at their minds, a wrongness in the very air, the very dirt. As far as the eye could see horrid mockeries of plant life rose, unblinking eyes following their very motions and queer red jellyfish floated through the air...This...this was more like it. This place was still being terraformed, changed and shifted by the archotech for some purpose beyond human settling...in fact the place seemed very much NOT built for human life. A perfect stepping stone for their purposes.
Settling was easy. The trio has become used to the construction of new bases by this point, but growth was slow. They had grown too accustomed to mechanical servitors, too softened by automation...but they would persevere.
This strange land offered some interesting challenges however. The first to be noticed was that the "trees" that populated the area did not produce wood in the traditional sense, the thick material within having more in common with fauna than flora, and thus being unsuitable fuel for early industry...it was however quite resistant to fire and thus an adequate early building material. Next were the ocular jellies, heralds of change and terraforming, the red gasses they bellowed seeming to be a concentrated form of the ever-present fog, which had the unfortunate effect of mutating any plant life into its mostly useless ocular equivalent...they would have to be...persuaded to leave the base area, by force of course. Their meat provided necessary nutrients for the first few meals.
For every challenge there is a blessing however, and the blessing of this land was revealed during the ground breaking of the mining operation: Red Quartz. The entire earthy strata of this place was converted to it, and each chunk contained a vein of a prized material: Alcyolite. Crystalline, piezoelectric and incredibly sturdy. They knew that the end goal would be to have every wall built of the wonderful material.
And such from humble beginnings the base rose. Rather than shy away from the opulent mechanical construct, they made it the central part of the base, forcing them to brave the mental strain produced by it, so they may grow accustomed to it, every other need being built radially around it. This would have unintended consequences however, as it strained the social bonds of the family, culminating in a divorce between Gaston and Campbell. It was an ugly affair, physical violence was involved, but in the end they agreed to work together for their common goal, their child remaining their best friend and confidant despite it all. Such things are easy when technology has made you barely a few years apart from your child's biological age, helped with a shared stuntness of social abilities from both parents, a flaw Baby did not share.
The base grew, mechanoids were built, as news of more factions focusing their eyes upon this small little rimworld. Perhaps rumours of their exploration and their ambitions had reached others, or maybe it was a recent investment in this arm of the galaxy. Nonetheless, with new factions came new technology and a strange peace, each faction too busy warring amongst themselves. Even the mechanoids made for easy pickings as they passed by, forced to march after a particularly gruesome fight. Perfect base materials for the base.
It was with a strange sense of glee that they were attacked by the fabled Cult of Arachna, a strange group bearing tech that before had been beyond the group's reach. Bionics that outperformed archotech at the price of wearing down the body, armour and gear of highly resistant materials, weapons that were casually built with personas...The pawns where outmatched...but the invaders where outnumbered. The tide was turned as 3 dozens of steel construct ruptured into the room, swarming the assailants. Of 4, 2 survived the assault...they would wish they hadn't.
You see, for a group that worships technology, the incompatibility between one's way of life and certain technological heights was...frustrating. Well, if they could not build it, they would steal it.
The survivors where undressed, one of them luckily featuring gear made with mechanitors in mind, and then strapped to a medical slab. Each of them endured a full day or surgery, each hour marked by a loss of body. A loss of senses. Limbs went first, followed by their spines, leaving them locked in their forms. Eyes next, plunging their world into darkness...then ears, removing any capacity to anticipate what would happen before pain and numbness warned them of what they were about to lose...Their hearts would be the very last, every single bionic soon placed within the Parents, the Child inheriting the pieces of archotech they had managed to accrue thus far.
It was a gruesome affair, but such is life on the Rim.
Maybe it was apprehension. Maybe it was the seed of doubt. But the closer they got to a sell sufficient base, the more they felt like adding to it. This could perhaps be their last work on this land as mortals after all...or at all. As such, certain...luxuries slowly crept in: A hospital built for more than the 3 pawns. A guest room for any people found in danger or ailing to rest before being armoured, armed and sent on their way. A classroom for the children that found their bastion of civilization in the wilderness...Eventually even that wasn't enough. They wanted permanence. Something that could outlast even the archotech dolmen at the heart of their base. An automated centre capable of working without any humanoid input... Mechanoid constructs were gutted. Generators of all kinds were built for redundancy, avoiding fickle sources such as the sun or wind, and a massive supercomputer was built to withstand the processing of Mechanoids without the need of a Mechanitor...Their gift to the ones that would take over. The cherry on top: A fully automated factory capable of providing stone, steel, components, alcyolite and skysteel, powered by a single atomic generator, locked bellow the danger line...
And then...there was nothing more to do...The tribal faction holding the key was offered a gift of alcyolite-infused plate armour, and skysteel and mythril low-tech weapons...and in exchange they got the key. The last piece of the key...
May the world forgive us.