Commodore Earl Troy Rammage
2156: COMMODORE E. RAMMAGE PERSONAL LOGA transcript from the personal logs of Commodore Earl Rammage.
A hint in Aderastos’ eyes, the clarion trumpet of ill dreams sunk Rammage back in his seat. “... you were created to serve. Not be autonomous.” “Something went wrong.” “You said that, I didn’t. Drink?” Rammage shifted toward the liquor cabinet, knew he’d a better chance of running if the open hostility unveiled a more violent repercussion. He grabbed the wine. “The whiskey. Neat.” Aderastos looked at all three options of chairs and leaned his bulk against Rammage’s desk. Poked at the files on the smooth desk. Personnel files. Rammage growled and set down the wine, instead took the cork out of his whiskey. “You thought it. Part of the report you write for the ones above you, is that not correct?” “Is that not correct? Asking for whiskey neat? Where did you learn to English?” He poured two glasses, held one out to Aderastos. The Asset’s fingers wrapped around Rammage’s entire wrist, engulfed him like night engulfed a quiet room. It was then Rammage allowed himself to recognize how gargantuan Aderastos was. All eight feet of him confined in the office meant to be as spacious as a naval vessel allowed. “Your crew is loud.”What, you thought I'd let someone else write my biography? Feck you.
Neon Lieben by Sapha Burnell
General Physical Condition
If I got more sun, I'd tan. My brown hair is greying on the sides, uniform a bit more loose in 2155... Do I really have to tell you what I look like? My last IDent picture is right there.
See the picture. I am not... I'm not doing this.
The picture. See it. It's right there.
My glowing personality.
Cracking my neck.
Apparel & Accessories
Perpetually in a prim and pressed uniform. I don't press it myself, when I have junior officers for that.
A desk with a hidden weapon's compartment. A drinks cabinet with a biometric lock on it.... no, I lied. It's not a biometric lock. It's a key. And I have the key. The only key. Stay out of my whiskey or I'll shoot you with my hidden guns.
I wear being born before Lieben, to a family of Conglom Directors as a badge of honour. The Flag War was on its' tail end, when my mother went into labour at the Conglom tower in Vancouver, one of a few kids born to directors during the war. Post-war meant luxuries we didn't have to share, with 154 million people dead. I wonder if it should've meant more to a kid, the stares from employees, when I launched drones to take long glimpses through Stanley Park from the porch, or my room in our directorial penthouse. Got the best education, which I did alright in when my head was in it. Didn't matter much, when I was fast-tracked through the Conglom's Junior Leadership Program. What were a few 'networking events' which turned into wild parties? I was Fast Tracked. I couldn't lose more than a few years at lower pay-scales my investment funds would cover in time. I joined the Conglomerate merchant Navy in 2096 on my 18th birthday. It was a family decision, a respectable place for the wild youth who took to his life a bit too wildly. Maybe I should have respected my mother's wine cellar more than I did. Learned since, as all folk do eventually, my parents were right about something. Once I caught the first whiff of ocean air on a naval vessel instead of a yacht, my life was sunk for any other path. Who needed me to be on the Board, or in some land-locked position in a tower, when I could eventually command my own ship? On Fast-Track with a purchased commission, of course. What, think I'd bunk with the plebeians? My parents paid for my first Lieutenant commission as a graduation present, and I was set. A navy man. Tensions were rising again, the way they had prior to The Flag War, but this time, there was no UN to act initial peacekeepers. It was a bunch of Idless and some anarchists running around the planet, searching for a lost machine. Hoping for the salvation from their corporate overlords. Maybe if they applied themselves, and signed a contract they'd be able to afford to shut the frick up. Control Day happened in 2105. I was 27, a Lieutenant Commander aboard the CGM Ogopogo. A corvette which ran escort duty for the CGM Abraham, an aging Capital-Class carrier. We didn't realize when our AI started transmitting Lieben's message the world shifted undeniably, until the Ogopogo changed course without input from Command. I took an axe to the AI's processing node, while Captain Lau radioed the fleet in an old redundant transmission that made my ears bleed to do the same. We disconnected the ships we could, offlined our NEO-W's, while the others made their nearest port of call, and shut down all weapons. NEO-units walked off. Some straight into the sea. A waste of investment. Got a commendation for my decisive actions, and a six month furlough while the upper ranks and Board decided what the living hell to do with a bunch of shut down ships, and NEO-Ns claiming sapience. Walking off the jobs. During the furlough, my family introduced me to a fellow Director's daughter, a bit older than me and unmarried, with ties to the manufacturing side of the Conglomerate's interests. We wed two weeks later, a strengthening of bonds in chaotic times. Our son was born 2112. A few years after Lieben stole the planet for her 'protect the kids' routine. Furloughs were our marriage after the honeymoon I never spoke to my son after the inevitable divorce. Amicable enough, when one considered the Conglom's frantic position after Control Day and the shift in the tides. I needed less distraction out at sea, I needed to be useful to the Conglom, while she worked in psych to help disconnect those like us: high tech people thrust into the remedial age. My missions were getting more and more secret, and when the Conglom gingerly pushed a manilla envelope across the table with a contract extension for a mission which never intended to make land? My fountain pen scratched at the paper in less than a minute. Family life became the Sea, and while I rose in rank, I knew my dedication to the Conglom Naval forces was my ticket to the best possible life, even for the family I left behind. I will be rewarded. I will. It will be worth it. You see this, Mother Dear? I will be rewarded, lauded in the streets. I will defeat you.
I am a man's man. Anything else can shove it. My world is starkly biological, despite the wealth of humanity around me proving my antiquated ideas wrong. Sure, have your identities. Not on my ship, not where it can complicate our mission.
Currently not engaging in any sexual behaviours.
Since early childhood, my education was fast-tracked in the Conglomerate Junior Leadership Program. I got the best teachers, instructors, the best classroom dynamics. I obtained degrees in administration and history while on my boats as a junior officer. Bespoke leadership programs to up my game and push me through the ranks.
Being bound to the Conglom's ideals, I became the most fastidious option for commanding and presiding over the most secret project in the entire Conglomerate: The Asset Project. A man with no familial connections, no want to leave the sea, no conflicting histories would be the perfect one to ensure the Asset Project remained secret, and the war against Lieben could be fought at the proper time, once they had weapons which could take out the damned machines.
Accomplishments & Achievements
Achieving the rank of Commodore, and presiding over the flagship of the Conglomerate fleet.
Failures & Embarrassments
Marriage. AD-001 's escape from the Ithavoll was the largest failure of my career, and comes with deadly consequences.
Nothing traumatic enough to mention. I'm not going to cry 'trauma' when I've had a mostly charmed life of privilege. Those who have had honest trauma? Help them. They're the ones who need it. What? Thought I'd spout about losing my tech? Yes, it was hard. I chose not to have anything to attach to Lieben's ways, was it traumatic? No. Might've been a terrible husband, but I listened well enough to know my psychologist wife was dealing with people who'd undergone true, significant trauma. I might be a bastard, but I won't claim something, when others need the help much more.
I am a nihilistic rationalist, who believes anything remotely spiritual is a ruse, hoax or self-fulfilling prophesy. Give me facts, and give me ambition. If a person doesn't have ambition, they'd better only reach for a simple life.
Morality & Philosophy
The ends justify the means.
Lieben's cushy 'come and receive' nonsense. Betraying the Conglomerate. To betray the Conglomerate's vision is to betray the human race. I won't have it.
To end the reign of the Mater Machine Lieben and take control of our planet and our technology back from the machines who think they know better than us what we need. Screw you, Lieben. I want my planet and my tech, and I'm not willing to have you hovering over my shoulder to get them.
English, Mandarin, French & Hindi
Commanding the Ithavoll
Currently Boarded Vehicle
Year of Birth
2078 CE 77 Years old
Quotes & Catchphrases
"Did you hurt your pride? Get the frick up, brush it off and get working. Idiot."