Precision Malfesense IC - Shiny

[TheAmishPirate]

People don't appreciate the substance of things. Objects in space. People miss out on what's solid.
-Jubal Early

STARRING
Mrs. Rebecca Snow (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=20171309&postcount=10) the Battlebabe
Jane Amethyst Rose (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=20182265&postcount=44) the Savvyhead
Willow Skaro (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=20204703&postcount=73) the Skinner
Mr Harold Hall (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=20198547&postcount=72) the Driver
Aeron (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=20281398&postcount=149) the Brainer

OOC Thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?471066-Precision-Malfesense-OOC-Serenity-Now)



(or at least the NPCs anyhow)

Crew

Thomas Chen - Relief Pilot, miscellaneous assistant, wiry and excitable
Unnamed - A chef.
Unnamed - An operations/cargo manager.
Unnamed - Security person
Ollie Anders - Engine assistant, competence plagued with laziness
Unnamed - Engine Assistant #2
Unnamed - Engine Assistant #3

Passengers

Mr. James Snow - Rebecca's father, a sweet and charming old scientist who's senility is causing him to forget his scientific ethics.
Mrs. Olga Snow - Rebecca's mother, an evil old hag who does not appreciate the decline in her living conditions.
Mr. Tom Snow - Rebecca's trophy husband - he's very pretty, very charming but very shallow and not used to being poor.
Justin Dober - Rebecca's creepily devoted secretary, who makes up for inexperience with obsessive behavior.

[TheAmishPirate]

In a sky full of stars, how do you find the sun?

It is said the people of Earth-That-Was set their clocks by daylight. Wherever you traveled, you woke with the sun, your shadow vanished at noon, and you fell asleep with the moon. So enamored with the day were they that they would conspire to all push their clocks forward, and spend a few minutes more in the light.

Now we have more suns than we know what to do with. This planet has one, this world has two, and every boat carries its own on their back. None of them ever agree - suns are temperamental and argumentative by nature - but this does not stop the Alliance. By their decree, all suns have made peace, the time is 0840 hours, and your morning news broadwave is next. Maybe one of these is useful to a Captain. On a good day.

The Neruda carries a sun with her too, though it has set for now. The black's chill creeps a little further through the hull, the lights carry a little shorter. All are in their bunks, waiting for the ship's dawn to rouse them. But this night, dawn will not come for them.

BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARNNNNNNNNNNNNN

The proximity alarm will.

The klaxon blares throughout the ship, harsh and unyielding. It rings through every room, every hold, every ear, every nook and cranny of your poor, unsuspecting brain. The message is clear; something big, something near.

What do you do?

Oh, and when you're jolted awake, before your sensibilities catch up with you, what's the first, worst thing you think must be coming for you?

[Thanqol]

"I knew it!" said Mrs. Snow, sitting up sharp in Willow's bed. "This crumbling garbage scow is breaking apart! I knew nothing this ugly could be safe!" She continued grumbling as she hastily gathered and applied her clothes and picked up that mysterious silver briefcase she carried everywhere. In moments she was ready, looking professional though slightly windswept. "Well? You coming?"

[Anarion]

Proximity alarm sounding like that out of the blue? I rubbed my bleary eyes from a night spent in the engine room trying to find the loose gasket on the fuel ignition for back engine number 2. My hands left grease stains like spectacles around my eyelids. This can't have been natural, sensors would have picked it up and alerted us with less disruption way earlier. Either we're about to run into some debris that's got its own rockets or a ship just jumped into system right on top of us. My worst fear is that nobody's paying attention and we're about to ram an Alliance frigate and get ourselves hauled to jail for life.

[BlasTech]

Blood, screams and gnashing teeth.

Hall jolts awake, his hand going instinctively to his pistol. It closes around the cool metal just in time for Harold to realize that he's run out of bed to lie on, sending him tumbling to the floor in a twist of blankets and pissed off old man. By the time he's pulled himself free of the mess, rational thought is catching up. They're too far out of reaver space right now. It's not likely to be them. Working down the list, Harold settles somewhere around pirates or alliance as the most likely headaches of the day.

Zhe shi hen duo gou shi.

Muttering to himself, he pulls his shirt on whilst smacking the intercom with his other hand.

"Chen!" he yells, addressing the night-shift pilot. "What the Diyu is going on up there?"

[Anarion]

"Chen!" he yells, addressing the night-shift pilot. "What the Diyu is going on up there?"

Chen would be getting a second message up from engineering with pretty much the same content right about now. I need to know if somebody is about to ask me to supercharge the engines too.

[Elanorin]

"I knew it!" said Mrs. Snow, sitting up sharp in Willow's bed. "This crumbling garbage scow is breaking apart! I knew nothing this ugly could be safe!" She continued grumbling as she hastily gathered and applied her clothes and picked up that mysterious silver briefcase she carried everywhere. In moments she was ready, looking professional though slightly windswept. "Well? You coming?"

Willow gasped at the chill air suddenly washing over her skin as the covers got yanked off. She sighed a soft sigh and smiled patiently as she watched Rebecca get dressed in a hastened flurry of fabrics, boots and that infernal suitcase. She eventually sat up and reached for an elegant yet simple gown which would not take too long to put on, and began securing it in place, followed by her hair. She wasn't rushing like Rebecca but she wasn't taking her time either. It is true the alarm was concerning but it's not as if there was much she could do about it other than stay out of the way of those with more applicable skills.

It would be prudent to be dressed however.

"I think the most helpful thing we can do is to stay out of Harold's way, to be honest." And then, with a admonishing frown; "and I'd appreciate it if you don't talk like that around Jane, please."

[TheAmishPirate]

Muttering to himself, he pulls his shirt on whilst smacking the intercom with his other hand.

"Chen!" he yells, addressing the night-shift pilot. "What the Diyu is going on up there?"


Chen would be getting a second message up from engineering with pretty much the same content right about now. I need to know if somebody is about to ask me to supercharge the engines too.

So you keep a night pilot? It's not every ship that does. Some folk trust the ship's computers to keep them on course through the night, but there's reasons enough to keep a man at the wheel at all hours. Like things that go bump in the dark, that's a good reason.

There's a mighty rattling on the intercom, and Chen finds his voice. "Alliance, Captain! Lao tien fu, they came out of nowhere!"


"I knew it!" said Mrs. Snow, sitting up sharp in Willow's bed. "This crumbling garbage scow is breaking apart! I knew nothing this ugly could be safe!" She continued grumbling as she hastily gathered and applied her clothes and picked up that mysterious silver briefcase she carried everywhere. In moments she was ready, looking professional though slightly windswept. "Well? You coming?"


Willow gasped at the chill air suddenly washing over her skin as the covers got yanked off. She sighed a soft sigh and smiled patiently as she watched Rebecca get dressed in a hastened flurry of fabrics, boots and that infernal suitcase. She eventually sat up and reached for an elegant yet simple gown which would not take too long to put on, and began securing it in place, followed by her hair. She wasn't rushing like Rebecca but she wasn't taking her time either. It is true the alarm was concerning but it's not as if there was much she could do about it other than stay out of the way of those with more applicable skills.

It would be prudent to be dressed however.

"I think the most helpful thing we can do is to stay out of Harold's way, to be honest." And then, with a admonishing frown; "and I'd appreciate it if you don't talk like that around Jane, please."

As the two of you get dressed, you hear something over the proximity alarm, twice as shrill and equally persistent:

"Rebeccaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Rebeccaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Ah, yes. That would be Mr. Snow, looking for his wayward wife. Where did you tell him you were again?

[Anarion]

Oh god, oh god, oh god, why was I right? Why did I have to be right? I don't want to be right? Oh god. Okay, okay, engine is buzzing and humming, she can get us out of here if we can get a lead on them. But how in sam hell are we ever gonna get that?

I'm racing upstairs to the cockpit, hoping I can at least get a look at them. I'm sure I run into Ms. Snow and her entourage on the way up, and when I see her, first thing I do is shout. "Why in tarnation did you bring them here, Snow!? That ship will blow the whole lot of us to bits if it wants."

[BlasTech]

So you keep a night pilot? It's not every ship that does. Some folk trust the ship's computers to keep them on course through the night, but there's reasons enough to keep a man at the wheel at all hours. Like things that go bump in the dark, that's a good reason.

There's a mighty rattling on the intercom, and Chen finds his voice. "Alliance, Captain! Lao tien fu, they came out of nowhere!"

Course he keeps a night pilot. He's way too old and untrusting like of machines to let it run on its own.

"Hold course, I'll be up in a minute." he replied, after a moment's pause. An approach like that probably meant that it wasn't a routine patrol. Which either meant that the alliance already suspected something was up. Or ... well, he was already at a bad scenario, no sense ruminatin and makin it worse.



As the two of you get dressed, you hear something over the proximity alarm, twice as shrill and equally persistent:

"Rebeccaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Rebeccaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Ah, yes. That would be Mr. Snow, looking for his wayward wife. Where did you tell him you were again?

"Who the ..." he growled, before tugging his jacket on the rest of the way. A few bounds later and he was on the bridge.

"Chen, give me visual. What are we looking at here?" he ordered.

[Thanqol]

Willow gasped at the chill air suddenly washing over her skin as the covers got yanked off. She sighed a soft sigh and smiled patiently as she watched Rebecca get dressed in a hastened flurry of fabrics, boots and that infernal suitcase. She eventually sat up and reached for an elegant yet simple gown which would not take too long to put on, and began securing it in place, followed by her hair. She wasn't rushing like Rebecca but she wasn't taking her time either. It is true the alarm was concerning but it's not as if there was much she could do about it other than stay out of the way of those with more applicable skills.

It would be prudent to be dressed however.

"I think the most helpful thing we can do is to stay out of Harold's way, to be honest." And then, with a admonishing frown; "and I'd appreciate it if you don't talk like that around Jane, please."

"Harold. The only thing as old as that man is his damn ship," muttered Mrs. Snow, hastily combing her hair into place with her fingers. "Jane's the one with the greasy face, right?"


As the two of you get dressed, you hear something over the proximity alarm, twice as shrill and equally persistent:

"Rebeccaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Rebeccaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Ah, yes. That would be Mr. Snow, looking for his wayward wife. Where did you tell him you were again?

I told him I was taking care of my dear old mother, of course. It's the perfect excuse because he's too terrified of her to ever go and check on me.

Mrs. Snow snorts a little at his wailing and holds the door open for Willow even though she's evidently set to start rushing out of this place.

[Anarion]

"Jane's the one with the greasy face, right?"


Yep. The one that's shouting right at you when you reach the bridge.

[Elanorin]

"Harold. The only thing as old as that man is his damn ship," muttered Mrs. Snow, hastily combing her hair into place with her fingers. "Jane's the one with the greasy face, right?"

"You're always such a delight in the morning," Willow said with a quick reproachful glance Rebecca's way and put the last pin in her hair.




As the two of you get dressed, you hear something over the proximity alarm, twice as shrill and equally persistent:

"Rebeccaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Rebeccaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Ah, yes. That would be Mr. Snow, looking for his wayward wife. Where did you tell him you were again?

Mrs. Snow snorts a little at his wailing and holds the door open for Willow even though she's evidently set to start rushing out of this place.

Willow looks up at the wailing on the intercom, throws another glance at Rebecca to the effect of 'you should see to that' and then follows her out the door, but as she's not rushing she soon falls behind and is quite content in doing so.


Yep. The one that's shouting right at you when you reach the bridge.

So the yelling is well under way then by the time Willow arrives to the bridge.

"Good morning," she smiles a very quick smile, "are we facing another imminent doom?" Willow makes sure to keep to the back and out of the way of everyone and tiptoes to catch a glance at the displays to see what's going on.

[BlasTech]

So the yelling is well under way then by the time Willow arrives to the bridge.

"Good morning," she smiles a very quick smile, "are we facing another imminent doom?" Willow makes sure to keep to the back and out of the way of everyone and tiptoes to catch a glance at the displays to see what's going on.

"Surely are." replied Harold, briefly turning away from the scanner screens as the passengers arrived.

"Ladies. Could you all be a'kindly not yellin' on the bridge? Already got one screamer in our speakers, don't need more."

[Anarion]

"Aye aye sir" I say, a little sheepishly. Probably was the wrong time to be hollering at someone. Least we hadn't rammed them, after all. "So, what's the plan?"

[TheAmishPirate]

I told him I was taking care of my dear old mother, of course. It's the perfect excuse because he's too terrified of her to ever go and check on me.

Well then, I'm sure he'll have a grand time figuring that one out. Let's look back to the bridge, shall we?


"Who the ..." he growled, before tugging his jacket on the rest of the way. A few bounds later and he was on the bridge.

"Chen, give me visual. What are we looking at here?" he ordered.

Chen's a wiry fella, the kind you could fold into a ball without causing any lasting harm. As you all walk in, he's frantically juggling the scanners, the helm, and a rapidly-approaching panic attack. "Working on it, Captain..." He lunges out, mashes a few buttons, and the screens hum to life:

http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/firefly/images/2/25/Allinace_Patrol_boat.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20130709015101

Alliance patrol boat. Akita-class. One of the smaller ships of the "could swat you like a fly" category. Relatively small crew, likely a few fighter ships ready to deploy, and packing a suite of missiles and a nasty 20-pounder autocannon. They usually deal in customs enforcement, search-and-rescue, and, oh yeah, anti-smuggling patrols.

"We're bearing down on them, starboard side. Haven't changed course yet. Haven't hailed us. Haven't done anything and gorram it, where'd they even come from?!"

[Thanqol]

"You're always such a delight in the morning," Willow said with a quick reproachful glance Rebecca's way and put the last pin in her hair.

"And you are delightful in the evening, now shall we escape this collapsing pile of - oh, good morning Captain," said Mrs. Snow.


http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/firefly/images/2/25/Allinace_Patrol_boat.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20130709015101

Alliance patrol boat. Akita-class. One of the smaller ships of the "could swat you like a fly" category. Relatively small crew, likely a few fighter ships ready to deploy, and packing a suite of missiles and a nasty 20-pounder autocannon. They usually deal in customs enforcement, search-and-rescue, and, oh yeah, anti-smuggling patrols.

"We're bearing down on them, starboard side. Haven't changed course yet. Haven't hailed us. Haven't done anything and gorram it, where'd they even come from?!"

"Is there a reason why you have not immediately cut your engines and surrendered to the heavily armed patrol cruiser?" snapped Mrs. Snow.

[Anarion]

"Is there a reason why you have not immediately cut your engines and surrendered to the heavily armed patrol cruiser?" snapped Mrs. Snow.

"Hate to say it, but Snow has a point. I'd prefer not getting vaporized to start the day, Captain."

[BlasTech]

"And you are delightful in the evening, now shall we escape this collapsing pile of - oh, good morning Captain," said Mrs. Snow.



"Is there a reason why you have not immediately cut your engines and surrendered to the heavily armed patrol cruiser?" snapped Mrs. Snow.

"Well, typically I like to be asked to surrender first. Gives the whole thing an act of officialness." retorted Harold. "S'far, all I'm getting over the airwaves is your name."

He reached over, detaching a microphone from the console and opening the intership comm.

"Alliance ship, this is transport Neruda." he said. "We are cutting speed and standing by for instructions."

[Thanqol]

"Hate to say it, but Snow has a point. I'd prefer not getting vaporized to start the day, Captain."

"Yes, listen to grease-face," affirmed Mrs. Snow.


"Well, typically I like to be asked to surrender first. Gives the whole thing an act of officialness." retorted Harold. "S'far, all I'm getting over the airwaves is your name."

He reached over, detaching a microphone from the console and opening the intership comm.

"Alliance ship, this is transport Neruda." he said. "We are cutting speed and standing by for instructions."

While Harold waits on a response, Mrs. Snow picks the microphone out of his hand, switches to the ship's internal frequency and says "Tom! Be silent or I shall make you silent." She irritably flicked it back to external frequencies and handed it back to Harold.

[Elanorin]

"Surely are." replied Harold, briefly turning away from the scanner screens as the passengers arrived.

Willow flashed him a smile in reply that was only a bit worried.


"Yes, listen to grease-face," affirmed Mrs. Snow.

Mrs Snow would find herself on the receiving end of an elbow jab at that.


While Harold waits on a response, Mrs. Snow picks the microphone out of his hand, switches to the ship's internal frequency and says "Tom! Be silent or I shall make you silent." She irritably flicked it back to external frequencies and handed it back to Harold.

"Whoever said romance was dead?" Willow muttered to herself with obvious sarcasm.

[TheAmishPirate]

While Harold waits on a response, Mrs. Snow picks the microphone out of his hand, switches to the ship's internal frequency and says "Tom! Be silent or I shall make you silent." She irritably flicked it back to external frequencies and handed it back to Harold.

The shouting stops, completely and immediately. There is a shuffling on the other line, not unlike the sound of a hapless husband tugging a radio out of the pocket he'd left it in. A breath, silence, another breath, and the line cuts out.


"Well, typically I like to be asked to surrender first. Gives the whole thing an act of officialness." retorted Harold. "S'far, all I'm getting over the airwaves is your name."

He reached over, detaching a microphone from the console and opening the intership comm.

"Alliance ship, this is transport Neruda." he said. "We are cutting speed and standing by for instructions."

You're hardly done transmitting when the patrol boat veers suddenly in your direction. A sharp voice snaps over the comms: "Transport Neruda, this is the I.A.V. Fielding. You are ordered to release control of your helm, and stand by for boarding."

Chen flicks some switches, and you're slowing to a crawl. His hands are off the helm, the patrol boat is headed your way, and you have five minutes before a troop of the Alliance's finest are taking a tour of your lovely boat.

What do you do?

[Thanqol]

Mrs Snow would find herself on the receiving end of an elbow jab at that.

"Whoever said romance was dead?" Willow muttered to herself with obvious sarcasm.

"Oh please," said Mrs. Snow, "wasn't it you who told me, 'romance is my day job'?"


You're hardly done transmitting when the patrol boat veers suddenly in your direction. A sharp voice snaps over the comms: "Transport Neruda, this is the I.A.V. Fielding. You are ordered to release control of your helm, and stand by for boarding."

Chen flicks some switches, and you're slowing to a crawl. His hands are off the helm, the patrol boat is headed your way, and you have five minutes before a troop of the Alliance's finest are taking a tour of your lovely boat.

What do you do?

Mrs. Snow's hand twitched. She felt a thousand tiny pinpricks along it, felt the flesh swirl and warp, felt her fingernails lengthen and harden. It was reacting to something, something like it, and Snow let the strange blood-sense pound through her body as the Alliance ship approached.

Open Your Brain: 10; I want to know about what weird alien stuff is going on in that ship. Remember you can ask me questions before/as you answer.

[TheAmishPirate]

Mrs. Snow's hand twitched. She felt a thousand tiny pinpricks along it, felt the flesh swirl and warp, felt her fingernails lengthen and harden. It was reacting to something, something like it, and Snow let the strange blood-sense pound through her body as the Alliance ship approached.

Open Your Brain: 10; I want to know about what weird alien stuff is going on in that ship. Remember you can ask me questions before/as you answer.

Willow's standing right next to you. She looks your way, what's she going to see as all this is happening?

[BlasTech]

You're hardly done transmitting when the patrol boat veers suddenly in your direction. A sharp voice snaps over the comms: "Transport Neruda, this is the I.A.V. Fielding. You are ordered to release control of your helm, and stand by for boarding."

Chen flicks some switches, and you're slowing to a crawl. His hands are off the helm, the patrol boat is headed your way, and you have five minutes before a troop of the Alliance's finest are taking a tour of your lovely boat.

What do you do?

"Acknowledged. Ventral docking port standing by."

Hall put the receiver down, considering. On the one hand, they're not hauling any contraband. Well, besides the Snows, but the liklihood of a person looking for that lot out here was pretty thin.

I'm the other hand, there was something about the patrol ships actions that were off. Hall had been stopped by many a patrol boat, but rarely was it a case where he was the one doing the initial hailing.

Something wasn't right here, but what?

[Read a sitch]?

[Thanqol]

Willow's standing right next to you. She looks your way, what's she going to see as all this is happening?

Well, Mrs. Snow is wearing gloves to cover the fact that weird, multicoloured bird-of-paradise feathers are sprouting from her hand and the veins along her arm are standing out and running blue. So hopefully nothing but she is eerily perceptive sometimes.

[Anarion]

I'm looking at how that ship's maneuvering and it's pretty off. We can't stop them, of course, but every instinct in me says I should be racing to make preparations. Nobody's better than me at prepping the ship for a boarding party, whether that means locking the doors or ushering them in with a bright smile.

[going to read a sitch, and not wait on the roll. Hall can modify his questions based on what I end up with. [roll0]
[questions:
1. What's the best way through this boarding party without us getting killed or captured?
2. What's my enemy's true position here?
3. Who's in control here?]

[TheAmishPirate]

[Read a sitch]?

Go for it. Your mechanic's beaten you to it, but no harm in more answers, right?

[Elanorin]

"Oh please," said Mrs. Snow, "wasn't it you who told me, 'romance is my day job'?"

Willow flinched, it was subtle and easy to miss unless you happened to be staring, but it was there.

"Not exactly, but I can see how that was all you managed to take from it," Willow bit back.



You're hardly done transmitting when the patrol boat veers suddenly in your direction. A sharp voice snaps over the comms: "Transport Neruda, this is the I.A.V. Fielding. You are ordered to release control of your helm, and stand by for boarding."

Chen flicks some switches, and you're slowing to a crawl. His hands are off the helm, the patrol boat is headed your way, and you have five minutes before a troop of the Alliance's finest are taking a tour of your lovely boat.

What do you do?

Willow frowned and nodded once to herself before standing away from the cold metal behind her, direct a brief glance at the others and then turned to hurry back to her quarters where she'd do her best in straightening herself out and refining her appearance in the limited time they had before boarding.

Then, she'd make sure to be there, at the ventral docking port, with whoever else that intended to greet them.

[TheAmishPirate]

Mrs. Snow's hand twitched. She felt a thousand tiny pinpricks along it, felt the flesh swirl and warp, felt her fingernails lengthen and harden. It was reacting to something, something like it, and Snow let the strange blood-sense pound through her body as the Alliance ship approached.

Open Your Brain: 10; I want to know about what weird alien stuff is going on in that ship. Remember you can ask me questions before/as you answer.


Well, Mrs. Snow is wearing gloves to cover the fact that weird, multicoloured bird-of-paradise feathers are sprouting from her hand and the veins along her arm are standing out and running blue. So hopefully nothing but she is eerily perceptive sometimes.

What weird alien stuff? There's no weird alien stuff. The only people who think there's weird alien stuff are weird themselves, and we don't like them. Stinking rabble with crooked lips and wild eyes who belong far beyond the Rim where nobody will ever have to look at them again. Only thing here is the glorious pinnacle of human accomplishment. Look at the soldiers! Look at the ships! Look at how shiny-

-what's that you hear? Melting? Melding? Oh no, no, that's just not possible. This is pure, unadulterated human technology, with absolutely no bits of foreign additives slowly being assimilated in. Pay no attention to the sounds behind our porcelain masks.

They will cease soon enough.


I'm looking at how that ship's maneuvering and it's pretty off. We can't stop them, of course, but every instinct in me says I should be racing to make preparations. Nobody's better than me at prepping the ship for a boarding party, whether that means locking the doors or ushering them in with a bright smile.

[going to read a sitch, and not wait on the roll. Hall can modify his questions based on what I end up with. [roll0]
[questions:
1. What's the best way through this boarding party without us getting killed or captured?
2. What's my enemy's true position here?
3. Who's in control here?]

Your best way through is to convince these purple-bellies that you're not breaking any (obvious) laws, and to do it as quickly as possible. The feds have better things to do than yet another routine customs and smuggling check. But they were bound to stop, even though they'd rather keep going. If they were looking for a ship, they would have hailed you, not the other way around. Protocol ties them here, and if they don't find anything obviously suspicious, then they'll turn around and go their merry way.

This means that the man calling all the shots is bound to be the fellow with the sharp voice over the comms. Ship like this won't have much more than a group of soldiers and a single commanding officer, all linked up on shortwave. They won't so much as hurt a fly without his word. Convince him, and you're home free.

But he's not your true enemy here. Nobody on that ship is. No, you should be far, far more worried about old Olga Snow, who is at this very moment deciding she's fed up with This Sort of Thing.

[Anarion]

I'm at the console in a flash, while Hall is still thinking. I'm not worried about answering, he'll bungle his way into making us look innocent enough. No, I'm pulling up the ship's cams and cycling through. Where are the passengers? The old lady? "Hey, uh, Snow...Ms. Rebecca" I say, "where's, uh, where's your family getting to at a time like this?"

[Thanqol]

I'm at the console in a flash, while Hall is still thinking. I'm not worried about answering, he'll bungle his way into making us look innocent enough. No, I'm pulling up the ship's cams and cycling through. Where are the passengers? The old lady? "Hey, uh, Snow...Ms. Rebecca" I say, "where's, uh, where's your family getting to at a time like this?"

Mrs. Snow fixes you with an icy gaze. "I do not have trackers installed on them," she sniffs. "Tell me: on an Alliance ship like this, what is the quickest way to gain access to their infirmary?"

[Anarion]

Mrs. Snow fixes you with an icy gaze. "I do not have trackers installed on them," she sniffs. "Tell me: on an Alliance ship like this, what is the quickest way to gain access to their infirmary?"

"No, you might wanna consider the trackers." Viewscreens popping up, need to know where they are. Something's going to happen.

"Infirmary will be right next to the docking bay, on the right usually, past quarantine. fastest way to get sick or wounded folks some help when they're brought onboard ship" I mutter, not paying that much attention to the question but glad to have something to fill time while I fiddle with the controls.

[BlasTech]

Go for it. Your mechanic's beaten you to it, but no harm in more answers, right?

Sure, no harm at all. Gotta get those XP points anyhow. Besides, something about this whole setup stinks.

[roll0]

[Question: Is your character telling the truth?]

Hall broke away from the console and turned to the others.

"Folks, we've got alliance a'comming. Get down to the main hold, hands in plain sight and all that, let 'em see we've got nothing to hide."

[TheAmishPirate]

"No, you might wanna consider the trackers." Viewscreens popping up, need to know where they are. Something's going to happen.

"Infirmary will be right next to the docking bay, on the right usually, past quarantine. fastest way to get sick or wounded folks some help when they're brought onboard ship" I mutter, not paying that much attention to the question but glad to have something to fill time while I fiddle with the controls.

You're able to find her quick enough. Olga Snow is arm in arm with James Snow, her doddering husband, on a lovely stroll towards the engines. James is primarily asleep, and only among the waking on a technicality. Olga, meanwhile, is accomplishing the astounding feat of looking discontented and proud of herself all at once.

You also see Tom Snow, pacing in his rooms and looking at the immaculate watch on his wrist that's probably worth more than the man himself.

What do you do?


Sure, no harm at all. Gotta get those XP points anyhow. Besides, something about this whole setup stinks.

[roll0]

[Question: Is your character telling the truth?]

All the Alliance Officer has said to you is that he's going to board your craft. That much is certain, so at least you're not about to be blown out of the sky. But you're curious about something deeper, aren't you? It isn't often that you're the one doing the hailing in this situation.

So, let's move on to their purported mission. Is this just another Alliance patrol, bothering folk in the middle of nowhere? Absolutely not. They were all set to ignore you before you hailed them. Fun fact about communications; Alliance keeps track of that sort of thing. Until you came calling, you didn't exist as far as their records were concerned. But now that you exist, they have to stop you, have to search you, and probably have to slap you with some trivial fine for the trouble. That's an uncommon amount of concern coming from the people who were just pretending you didn't exist.

What do you do?

[Thanqol]

Mrs. Snow didn't like this situation. She needed to wait for the Alliance to make the first move; to see how they docked and what their disposition was when they entered. She concealed herself in the cargo bay and waited for the docking link to establish, ready to act the moment she had eyes on.

[Anarion]

You're able to find her quick enough. Olga Snow is arm in arm with James Snow, her doddering husband, on a lovely stroll towards the engines. James is primarily asleep, and only among the waking on a technicality. Olga, meanwhile, is accomplishing the astounding feat of looking discontented and proud of herself all at once.

You also see Tom Snow, pacing in his rooms and looking at the immaculate watch on his wrist that's probably worth more than the man himself.

What do you do?


I would point it out to Rebecca, but she's gone and scurried off when we weren't looking. Whole family of crazies, I tell you. "Captain, those old codgers on camera there are heading towards my engine room and I've got a bad feeling about it. With your permission, I'll be heading down there to make sure nothing crazy happens."

I'm already out the door by the time I finish talking, and then I'm breaking into a sprint and heading down the corridors. If I can do it, I'm gonna beat them to the engine room and be there to meet there, or at the least catch up to them in the corridor.

[BlasTech]

You're able to find her quick enough. Olga Snow is arm in arm with James Snow, her doddering husband, on a lovely stroll towards the engines. James is primarily asleep, and only among the waking on a technicality. Olga, meanwhile, is accomplishing the astounding feat of looking discontented and proud of herself all at once.

You also see Tom Snow, pacing in his rooms and looking at the immaculate watch on his wrist that's probably worth more than the man himself.

What do you do?



All the Alliance Officer has said to you is that he's going to board your craft. That much is certain, so at least you're not about to be blown out of the sky. But you're curious about something deeper, aren't you? It isn't often that you're the one doing the hailing in this situation.

So, let's move on to their purported mission. Is this just another Alliance patrol, bothering folk in the middle of nowhere? Absolutely not. They were all set to ignore you before you hailed them. Fun fact about communications; Alliance keeps track of that sort of thing. Until you came calling, you didn't exist as far as their records were concerned. But now that you exist, they have to stop you, have to search you, and probably have to slap you with some trivial fine for the trouble. That's an uncommon amount of concern coming from the people who were just pretending you didn't exist.

What do you do?

Well he turns around to let the passengers and crew know about his realization.

"Well. D'you know ... I've seen my share of Alliance, and ..."

When he does, the bridge is already empty. Well, except for Chen, leaning against the wall.

He looks at Hall, Hall looks at him. He shrugs. Hall tugs his jacket, sets his face and strides off. Grumbling.

"Chen, do me a favour, and when you find the rest of this crew of errants. Tell them to keep their heads down!"

With that, he heads down to the bay to greet the boarders.

[Elanorin]

With that, he heads down to the bay to greet the boarders.

"Captain," Willow greets him as they meet by the docking bay. "I thought you could use someone to watch your back." With a genuine smile she took position behind him to one side.

[TheAmishPirate]

I would point it out to Rebecca, but she's gone and scurried off when we weren't looking. Whole family of crazies, I tell you. "Captain, those old codgers on camera there are heading towards my engine room and I've got a bad feeling about it. With your permission, I'll be heading down there to make sure nothing crazy happens."

I'm already out the door by the time I finish talking, and then I'm breaking into a sprint and heading down the corridors. If I can do it, I'm gonna beat them to the engine room and be there to meet there, or at the least catch up to them in the corridor.

They've got a good head start, coming from the living quarters, but this is your ship and your turf. Plus, they're old, and you're not. All that means is that when you reach the door to the engine room, they're right there beside you. If the old hag is surprised to see you, she hides it well.

"Hello, dearie. You're...John, is it?" Olga gives you a smile as sweet as tea and twice as bitter. "What seems to be the trouble?"

James rubs his eyes and mumbles something about the grav dampners being necessary for a proper slice of toast. Olga pats his hand gently.


Well he turns around to let the passengers and crew know about his realization.

"Well. D'you know ... I've seen my share of Alliance, and ..."

When he does, the bridge is already empty. Well, except for Chen, leaning against the wall.

He looks at Hall, Hall looks at him. He shrugs. Hall tugs his jacket, sets his face and strides off. Grumbling.

"Chen, do me a favour, and when you find the rest of this crew of errants. Tell them to keep their heads down!"

Chen throws a a messy salute, glad to be anywhere far from the Alliance. He scurries off, spreading the word as he goes.


With that, he heads down to the bay to greet the boarders.


Mrs. Snow didn't like this situation. She needed to wait for the Alliance to make the first move; to see how they docked and what their disposition was when they entered. She concealed herself in the cargo bay and waited for the docking link to establish, ready to act the moment she had eyes on.


"Captain," Willow greets him as they meet by the docking bay. "I thought you could use someone to watch your back." With a genuine smile she took position behind him to one side.

It's a long five minutes, like waiting for a shot when you can't see the needle. Nothing to do but hold your breath and steel yourself.

Then finally, you feel the whole ship shudder. You hear the hissing of equalizing pressure. You smell air cleaner than it has any right to be. The hold opens of its own accord, and out steps a man in a tidy grey uniform, peaked officer's hat on his head, and flanked by four of the Alliance finest. Two more stand in the white docking tunnel, and all six carried strange, shiny guns without clip or barrel. Not brandished, but ready to fire, if they even used fire anymore.

Tell me, have any of you been shot before? What do you remember most sharply about the incident?

In any case, the officer walks briskly to the two of you present and visible, taking in the cargo bay as he approaches. "This is your ship, Captain?" He asks you, Hall, being the one in front and all. "You're well off the beaten path." His tone is testy, challenging.

[Anarion]

They've got a good head start, coming from the living quarters, but this is your ship and your turf. Plus, they're old, and you're not. All that means is that when you reach the door to the engine room, they're right there beside you. If the old hag is surprised to see you, she hides it well.

"Hello, dearie. You're...John, is it?" Olga gives you a smile as sweet as tea and twice as bitter. "What seems to be the trouble?"

James rubs his eyes and mumbles something about the grav dampners being necessary for a proper slice of toast. Olga pats his hand gently.


"Well, Ma'am, we're gonna be having a ship inspection, and I thought it proper to come and man the engine room for when they take their tour. Didn't expect to see you here, though. Would be much safer for you to be in your quarters when they come through, it wouldn't do at all for you to have to deal with such impolite folks. So with your permission, I'd be happy to escort you both back to your room and we can stop at the kitchen along the way and I'll whip you up the best slice of toast you'll ever taste on the galactic rim."

[Thanqol]

It's a long five minutes, like waiting for a shot when you can't see the needle. Nothing to do but hold your breath and steel yourself.

Then finally, you feel the whole ship shudder. You hear the hissing of equalizing pressure. You smell air cleaner than it has any right to be. The hold opens of its own accord, and out steps a man in a tidy grey uniform, peaked officer's hat on his head, and flanked by four of the Alliance finest. Two more stand in the white docking tunnel, and all six carried strange, shiny guns without clip or barrel. Not brandished, but ready to fire, if they even used fire anymore.

Tell me, have any of you been shot before? What do you remember most sharply about the incident?

In any case, the officer walks briskly to the two of you present and visible, taking in the cargo bay as he approaches. "This is your ship, Captain?" He asks you, Hall, being the one in front and all. "You're well off the beaten path." His tone is testy, challenging.

Of course I haven't been shot, what kind of question is that? People die when they are shot.

Mrs. Snow sizes the situation up and makes a quick decision - the two guys in the docking tunnel were the problem. None of her options were clean so she opted for boldness.

She opened her suitcase and unfolded her fusion lance. It was a lovely weapon. Beyond hi-tech; gleaming and silver, with coruscating lines of orange energy flowing inside it like liquid. She hefted it, got a good grip on it, then stepped out from behind the alliance guards in the main hangar and walked down that corridor as brazen as you pleased.

From this angle only the two alliance guards would be able to see her. And they'd see her holding a weapon that could put a hole through the side of their ship, not to mention this tiny boarding tunnel. And they'd see her putting a finger to her lips, 'shhhhh'

[Go Aggro: 11 - I want you guys to stay quiet and pretend you never saw me. I also want you to keep in mind that if I am discovered and engage in a firefight to defend myself the odds are pretty good that I hole your ship and kill everyone you know and care about, so it will remain in your interest to continue to pretend you didn't see me even after I leave your field of view.]

[BlasTech]

"Captain," Willow greets him as they meet by the docking bay. "I thought you could use someone to watch your back." With a genuine smile she took position behind him to one side.

"Always do. Although on this ship it seems like everyone takes a runnin' as soon as I turn my back." he replied, still grumbling about the bridge.



It's a long five minutes, like waiting for a shot when you can't see the needle. Nothing to do but hold your breath and steel yourself.

Then finally, you feel the whole ship shudder. You hear the hissing of equalizing pressure. You smell air cleaner than it has any right to be. The hold opens of its own accord, and out steps a man in a tidy grey uniform, peaked officer's hat on his head, and flanked by four of the Alliance finest. Two more stand in the white docking tunnel, and all six carried strange, shiny guns without clip or barrel. Not brandished, but ready to fire, if they even used fire anymore.

Tell me, have any of you been shot before? What do you remember most sharply about the incident?

In any case, the officer walks briskly to the two of you present and visible, taking in the cargo bay as he approaches. "This is your ship, Captain?" He asks you, Hall, being the one in front and all. "You're well off the beaten path." His tone is testy, challenging.

Course Hall's been shot before. He was in the war, y'know.

The part he remembers most and least sharply, paradoxically, is the fire. Once you're shot, there's always a moment where adrenaline drags you through. You might not even realize you've been hit for a while. But, like taxes and the alliance, the pain always comes round a'knockin. And it burns. Fire so hot, right under your skin, that it burns itself right out of your memory.

Being in his currently non-shot state, he can't remember the pain. But he knows that it hurts.

"That it is, Captain." he replies. Glancing over the assembled boarding party. "Though a path's only as beaten as the folks that tread it. These lanes are my backwoods, good for a stroll in my old age."

[Elanorin]

"Always do. Although on this ship it seems like everyone takes a runnin' as soon as I turn my back." he replied, still grumbling about the bridge.

"If that's all that happens behind your back, perhaps you should consider yourself lucky?" Willow leaned in to whisper, to the backdrop of the hissing air.



It's a long five minutes, like waiting for a shot when you can't see the needle. Nothing to do but hold your breath and steel yourself.

Then finally, you feel the whole ship shudder. You hear the hissing of equalizing pressure. You smell air cleaner than it has any right to be. The hold opens of its own accord, and out steps a man in a tidy grey uniform, peaked officer's hat on his head, and flanked by four of the Alliance finest. Two more stand in the white docking tunnel, and all six carried strange, shiny guns without clip or barrel. Not brandished, but ready to fire, if they even used fire anymore.

Tell me, have any of you been shot before? What do you remember most sharply about the incident?

In any case, the officer walks briskly to the two of you present and visible, taking in the cargo bay as he approaches. "This is your ship, Captain?" He asks you, Hall, being the one in front and all. "You're well off the beaten path." His tone is testy, challenging.


"That it is, Captain." he replies. Glancing over the assembled boarding party. "Though a path's only as beaten as the folks that tread it. These lanes are my backwoods, good for a stroll in my old age."


Willow only smiled to the alliance officers as they entered. She counted them and eyed each of them over and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

"Will you gentlemen be with us for long?" she asked with a tone that suggested she hoped they would.

[TheAmishPirate]

She opened her suitcase and unfolded her fusion lance. It was a lovely weapon. Beyond hi-tech; gleaming and silver, with coruscating lines of orange energy flowing inside it like liquid. She hefted it, got a good grip on it, then stepped out from behind the alliance guards in the main hangar and walked down that corridor as brazen as you pleased.

From this angle only the two alliance guards would be able to see her. And they'd see her holding a weapon that could put a hole through the side of their ship, not to mention this tiny boarding tunnel. And they'd see her putting a finger to her lips, 'shhhhh'

[Go Aggro: 11 - I want you guys to stay quiet and pretend you never saw me. I also want you to keep in mind that if I am discovered and engage in a firefight to defend myself the odds are pretty good that I hole your ship and kill everyone you know and care about, so it will remain in your interest to continue to pretend you didn't see me even after I leave your field of view.]

Way I see it, you're behind the officer and his four guards. There's no way they'll spot you. But that also means Harold and Willow can see you plain as day.

Is this what you're after? Or do you try to conceal yourself from them somehow?


Willow only smiled to the alliance officers as they entered. She counted them and eyed each of them over and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

"Will you gentlemen be with us for long?" she asked with a tone that suggested she hoped they would.

This sounds like you're trying to Seduce and/or Manipulate. Are you?


"Well, Ma'am, we're gonna be having a ship inspection, and I thought it proper to come and man the engine room for when they take their tour. Didn't expect to see you here, though. Would be much safer for you to be in your quarters when they come through, it wouldn't do at all for you to have to deal with such impolite folks. So with your permission, I'd be happy to escort you both back to your room and we can stop at the kitchen along the way and I'll whip you up the best slice of toast you'll ever taste on the galactic rim."

"Oh dear. Is it really all that bad?" The old hag radiated concern. "I thought only criminals and thugs had anything to fear from inspections. That's the whole point, isn't it? To mop up the filth of the worlds and leave us law-abiding citizens safe?" You couldn't help but notice the way she eyed you (and your greasy clothes) when she mentioned cleaning up the 'verse.

[Thanqol]

Way I see it, you're behind the officer and his four guards. There's no way they'll spot you. But that also means Harold and Willow can see you plain as day.

Is this what you're after? Or do you try to conceal yourself from them somehow?

Mrs. Snow doesn't mind them seeing her. She doubts they're inclined to rustle her, and if they are they'd also probably want to keep in mind the whole hull-penetration thing.

[Anarion]

"Oh dear. Is it really all that bad?" The old hag radiated concern. "I thought only criminals and thugs had anything to fear from inspections. That's the whole point, isn't it? To mop up the filth of the worlds and leave us law-abiding citizens safe?" You couldn't help but notice the way she eyed you (and your greasy clothes) when she mentioned cleaning up the 'verse.

"Well, I sure hope it's no problem, Ma'am, but it's better safe than sorry. Sometimes folks think you're a criminal just for being at the wrong place at the wrong time, and we wouldn't want the Alliance folks getting the wrong impression."

I'm ushering the two of them back down the corridor. I'm not dumb enough to touch the old lady with my greasy clothes, but I'm using my body to make sure there's only one path they can walk and it's away from the engine room.

[BlasTech]

Mrs. Snow doesn't mind them seeing her. She doubts they're inclined to rustle her, and if they are they'd also probably want to keep in mind the whole hull-penetration thing.

Well, if Hall saw her, he was doing his level best to pretend he hadn't.

Inside, of course, he was thinking very fast about whether there was any way to resolve this that didn't end with them being shot, arrested or shot and then arrested. Unfortunately, almost every train of thought was leading to the conclusion that they were probably humped.

[Elanorin]

This sounds like you're trying to Seduce and/or Manipulate. Are you?


Not yet. I'm just making myself known and trying to get a feel for how easily distracted these officers might be. I'm not about to ruffle any bed covers if I don't have to. Who do you think I am?


Mrs. Snow doesn't mind them seeing her. She doubts they're inclined to rustle her, and if they are they'd also probably want to keep in mind the whole hull-penetration thing.

By the glint in Willow's eye you know she's seen you and that you have nothing to worry about in terms of her giving you away, in fact;

"Will you be questioning us at all?" Willow adds, continuing to draw attention towards her.

[TheAmishPirate]

Mrs. Snow doesn't mind them seeing her. She doubts they're inclined to rustle her, and if they are they'd also probably want to keep in mind the whole hull-penetration thing.

Then they see you too, but your crewmates aren't interested in ratting you out. Which is mighty unfortunate for the feds. The Alliance train their soldiers for several different varieties of hell; riots, pitched battle, boredom, decompressed spacecraft, you name it. Only, you've discovered a gaping hole in the training regimen. Seems nobody taught them what to do in case of near-suicidal opponent with a preposterously lethal fusion lance. The guards look to you, the weapon, each other, then forward. Straight forward, no funny moves. You pass by without trouble.

The boarding tunnel itself is not unlike the sterile, plastic tunnels used by hazmat and medical professionals everywhere. Only, instead of stretching between tents, it stretches between ships, with boarding dock underfoot. You creep along the tunnel, find the door to the patrol boat shamefully left open, and you're inside the docking bay. It's boring, standard-issue grey-metal as far as the eye can see, without any frills or frippery. You can see guard posts, encircled with something like glass, but when you look at your reflection more closely you can see all your clothes are reflected a bright, bloody red. No personnel in sight though. You can see the signs for the Infirmary over to the right, just past Quarantine like Jane said.

What do you do?


Not yet. I'm just making myself known and trying to get a feel for how easily distracted these officers might be. I'm not about to ruffle any bed covers if I don't have to. Who do you think I am?

By the glint in Willow's eye you know she's seen you and that you have nothing to worry about in terms of her giving you away, in fact;

"Will you be questioning us at all?" Willow adds, continuing to draw attention towards her.

Let's be frank here; if the guards didn't react to the sight of a Companion, then you'd be in a whole different world of trouble. For many of these souls, you're the first Companion they've ever seen. Perhaps the only they'll ever see. They shift uncomfortably, suddenly more conscious of their actions. One poor sap was accidentally looking your way when you were looking his, and now he's keeping his eyes forward as if his life depends on it. But you know how to spot when a person is looking at you out of the corner of their eye.

The chief officer pauses before answering, and when he does his tone is just a shade softer. "Yes, we'll need accounts from all hands."


"That it is, Captain." he replies. Glancing over the assembled boarding party. "Though a path's only as beaten as the folks that tread it. These lanes are my backwoods, good for a stroll in my old age."

You, however, are an aging captain, and share no such benefits.

"We'll see about that." He pulls out a tablet-like clipboard and starts to write. "Destination, cargo, number and nature of passengers." He orders without looking up.


"Well, I sure hope it's no problem, Ma'am, but it's better safe than sorry. Sometimes folks think you're a criminal just for being at the wrong place at the wrong time, and we wouldn't want the Alliance folks getting the wrong impression."

I'm ushering the two of them back down the corridor. I'm not dumb enough to touch the old lady with my greasy clothes, but I'm using my body to make sure there's only one path they can walk and it's away from the engine room.

Olga grimaces at you, but allows herself to be ushered away from the engine room. "No, I'm sure we don't dear."

Once you're a fair ways towards the kitchen, she nudges her husband towards you. "James, why don't you go with the nice young man to the kitchen and get your breakfast? I'm going to go back to our rooms for a nice lie-down. All this excitement is just too much for my nerves."

"Did you bring in the paper, dear?" James asks, moving to take your arm like you were some kind of butler.

A flash of annoyance crosses her face. "You've already read it. Remember?" she says sharply.

"I did?" His brow furrows, and he looks off into the ceiling. "Huh. I suppose I must have..."

[Thanqol]

Then they see you too, but your crewmates aren't interested in ratting you out. Which is mighty unfortunate for the feds. The Alliance train their soldiers for several different varieties of hell; riots, pitched battle, boredom, decompressed spacecraft, you name it. Only, you've discovered a gaping hole in the training regimen. Seems nobody taught them what to do in case of near-suicidal opponent with a preposterously lethal fusion lance. The guards look to you, the weapon, each other, then forward. Straight forward, no funny moves. You pass by without trouble.

The boarding tunnel itself is not unlike the sterile, plastic tunnels used by hazmat and medical professionals everywhere. Only, instead of stretching between tents, it stretches between ships, with boarding dock underfoot. You creep along the tunnel, find the door to the patrol boat shamefully left open, and you're inside the docking bay. It's boring, standard-issue grey-metal as far as the eye can see, without any frills or frippery. You can see guard posts, encircled with something like glass, but when you look at your reflection more closely you can see all your clothes are reflected a bright, bloody red. No personnel in sight though. You can see the signs for the Infirmary over to the right, just past Quarantine like Jane said.

What do you do?

Mrs. Snow folded up the fusion lance and put it back in the silver briefcase, while also taking out a white lab coat and putting it on. With the haughty and professional air of someone who was supposed to be there she walked into the infirmary and got her bearings - computer, medicine, medical scanners.

[BlasTech]

You, however, are an aging captain, and share no such benefits.

"We'll see about that." He pulls out a tablet-like clipboard and starts to write. "Destination, cargo, number and nature of passengers." He orders without looking up.


Not even a glimmer? Hall must've been losing his touch.

"Headed for Elion." replied Hall, keeping to the point but keeping it boring. Nice and easy. This was a boring transport ship with nothing else going on. No point in doing everything by the book.

"Bay's mostly empty, save for some condenser parts we're dropping off. Main goal is pickin' up a shipment of export for the backleg. Six passengers, eight crew. One family heading for Elion, that's most of whom needs accountin. A couple of semi-permanent stayers, like Miss Willow here and another sales-lady, who do their business on the road."

[Anarion]

Olga grimaces at you, but allows herself to be ushered away from the engine room. "No, I'm sure we don't dear."

Once you're a fair ways towards the kitchen, she nudges her husband towards you. "James, why don't you go with the nice young man to the kitchen and get your breakfast? I'm going to go back to our rooms for a nice lie-down. All this excitement is just too much for my nerves."

"Did you bring in the paper, dear?" James asks, moving to take your arm like you were some kind of butler.

A flash of annoyance crosses her face. "You've already read it. Remember?" she says sharply.

"I did?" His brow furrows, and he looks off into the ceiling. "Huh. I suppose I must have..."

"Of course." We're just getting to the kitchen now, and there's Ollie Anders making himself some coffee. Ollie's on the engineering team, one of the three boys that help me out when I need someone to hold down a screw or keep a power converter stable while I'm working inside the ship's guts. He's a good kid, quick with his hands and with his head. Bit lazy though, it would be just like him to be off getting a snack soon as he learns the emergency klaxon wasn't threatening to blow up the ship.

"Ollie, would you do me the favor of being a polite young gentleman and escorting Ms. Snow here back to her rooms while I make Mr. Snow some toast? It wouldn't do for a woman of her station to be wandering about alone while we've got an alliance search team boarding the ship."

[Elanorin]

Let's be frank here; if the guards didn't react to the sight of a Companion, then you'd be in a whole different world of trouble. For many of these souls, you're the first Companion they've ever seen. Perhaps the only they'll ever see. They shift uncomfortably, suddenly more conscious of their actions. One poor sap was accidentally looking your way when you were looking his, and now he's keeping his eyes forward as if his life depends on it. But you know how to spot when a person is looking at you out of the corner of their eye.

The chief officer pauses before answering, and when he does his tone is just a shade softer. "Yes, we'll need accounts from all hands."


Willow looks at her hands, smiles and one of her eyebrows twitches as she politely stifles the smile and returns her gaze to the Alliance captain.

"Coffee? No reason we can't do this like civilised people."

[TheAmishPirate]

Mrs. Snow folded up the fusion lance and put it back in the silver briefcase, while also taking out a white lab coat and putting it on. With the haughty and professional air of someone who was supposed to be there she walked into the infirmary and got her bearings - computer, medicine, medical scanners.

Infirmary is standard-issue for a ship of this size. One operating table with all the fancy instruments and scanners, a few beds for the sick and wounded, and moderately stocked with whatever medicine a small team might need on a long flight. There's a computer, but it's locked down. You'd need an ID card to get access, probably from one of the doctors or crew.

Anything you're looking for in particular?


Not even a glimmer? Hall must've been losing his touch.

"Headed for Elion." replied Hall, keeping to the point but keeping it boring. Nice and easy. This was a boring transport ship with nothing else going on. No point in doing everything by the book.

"Bay's mostly empty, save for some condenser parts we're dropping off. Main goal is pickin' up a shipment of export for the backleg. Six passengers, eight crew. One family heading for Elion, that's most of whom needs accountin. A couple of semi-permanent stayers, like Miss Willow here and another sales-lady, who do their business on the road."


Willow looks at her hands, smiles and one of her eyebrows twitches as she politely stifles the smile and returns her gaze to the Alliance captain.

"Coffee? No reason we can't do this like civilised people."

"You have coffee on this dump?" The soldier who'd caught your eye blurts out before catching himself.

"Ramirez."

Ramirez stands stock-straight, face pale. The officer continues without even looking at him. "KP duty. One week. And you will wash my gloves when we're off this goushi."

"Yessir Colonel Andersen." He nods stiffly.

Andersen turns back to the two of you. "Drink whatever you wish. I will pass." He says, fidgeting with his black leather gloves. "You are to remain in their quarters until we call for you."

And with that, they escort you back to your rooms to await questioning. Back in the hold, you can see the remaining soldiers verifying that, yes indeed, you are not carrying any obvious cargo. Brilliant deductive work.


"Of course." We're just getting to the kitchen now, and there's Ollie Anders making himself some coffee. Ollie's on the engineering team, one of the three boys that help me out when I need someone to hold down a screw or keep a power converter stable while I'm working inside the ship's guts. He's a good kid, quick with his hands and with his head. Bit lazy though, it would be just like him to be off getting a snack soon as he learns the emergency klaxon wasn't threatening to blow up the ship.

"Ollie, would you do me the favor of being a polite young gentleman and escorting Ms. Snow here back to her rooms while I make Mr. Snow some toast? It wouldn't do for a woman of her station to be wandering about alone while we've got an alliance search team boarding the ship."

Ollie gives about the longest sigh a body can make. "Alliance? Man...just, man..." He shakes his head lethargically, and takes his coffee with him. "Come on, Mrs. Snow."

Mrs. Snow, to her credit, goes with Ollie without a fuss. She restrains herself to one veiled comment insinuating frequent indecent relations down the full length of your family line.

You also make Mr. Snow some toast. It is pretty good toast. Perhaps not the best in the Rim, but it's good enough for him.

But that's about as far as you get before some nice men with big guns come your way and commandeer the room for questioning.

************************************************** *******************

Rather than do this one at a time, we're going to be holding your interviews in parallel. Unless, of course, one of you intends on doing something cheeky before they come to question you.

Do you sit in your rooms like good little citizens? Or do you misbehave?

************************************************** *******************

And there's one more on this ship we need to check in on. Aeron, was it? What were you doing when the alarms were going off and everybody was running around in a panic?

Whatever it was, it's coming to a stop soon. There's Alliance soldiers on board with orders to put all passengers back in their quarters. Tell me about where you are when they find you. Your room, someplace common, someplace secret?

[Anarion]

My room? Who cares about my room? You think I'm letting these alliance pigs wander around my engine room unaccompanied? No sir, that is not what's happening. Since the team is very conveniently commandeering the kitchen (I finish off the last of the coffee before they come in, by the by), I'll be staying with them or accompanying their personnel on any tour of the ship until it's my turn to come in for questioning.

[Deadly]

And there's one more on this ship we need to check in on. Aeron, was it? What were you doing when the alarms were going off and everybody was running around in a panic?

Whatever it was, it's coming to a stop soon. There's Alliance soldiers on board with orders to put all passengers back in their quarters. Tell me about where you are when they find you. Your room, someplace common, someplace secret?

When the alarms went off, Aeron was in his bed, rolled tightly into his blankets. At the alarm, his eyes flashed open behind the old prosthetic mask as if someone had flipped a switch. He listened in silence but unmoving until the alarm went out again, then he reached out, grabbed a pair of head phones, put them on, and went back to his warm and cozy cocoon like nothing had happened.

Only seemingly at the very last moment did he crawl out of his bed, like some kind of giant blue-faced worm, dressed himself and quickly but calmly made his bed. Then he sat down on the bed, straight as an arrow and impeccable posture, eyes facing forward at the door. The first thing meeting the Alliance soldiers who came to check his room would be Aeron's blank metal face and unblinking eyes staring right through them, the young man sitting at attention on the bed, ready for inspection.

If it didn't creep them the hell out, there was probably something seriously wrong with them.

[Thanqol]

Infirmary is standard-issue for a ship of this size. One operating table with all the fancy instruments and scanners, a few beds for the sick and wounded, and moderately stocked with whatever medicine a small team might need on a long flight. There's a computer, but it's locked down. You'd need an ID card to get access, probably from one of the doctors or crew.

Anything you're looking for in particular?

No lab? No science team? Disappointing, ISI would never send a ship out this far without a fully equipped scientific suite to the medical bay.

So, Mrs. Snow has a few objectives here. First is to perform an in-depth scan of her hand.

She injected herself with the alien blood under rather dramatic circumstances. Not only did the infusion heal the damage to her arm, now her hand is super-strong, slightly taloned, and growing feathers. The changes also seem to be progressing slowly up towards the elbow.

Rebecca is not looking to reverse it, cure it, any of that weakling tosh. She's just looking to understand it, observe it, and maybe accelerate it if she can. That's the first priority. Only so much she can do outside a major hospital but it's better than what's on her own ship.

Objective two is to loot the place of as much medicine and tech as she can fit in her suitcase, and then escape out an airlock.

[Elanorin]

"You have coffee on this dump?" The soldier who'd caught your eye blurts out before catching himself.

"Ramirez."

Ramirez stands stock-straight, face pale. The officer continues without even looking at him. "KP duty. One week. And you will wash my gloves when we're off this goushi."

"Yessir Colonel Andersen." He nods stiffly.

Andersen turns back to the two of you. "Drink whatever you wish. I will pass." He says, fidgeting with his black leather gloves. "You are to remain in their quarters until we call for you."

And with that, they escort you back to your rooms to await questioning. Back in the hold, you can see the remaining soldiers verifying that, yes indeed, you are not carrying any obvious cargo. Brilliant deductive work.

************************************************** *******************

Rather than do this one at a time, we're going to be holding your interviews in parallel. Unless, of course, one of you intends on doing something cheeky before they come to question you.

Do you sit in your rooms like good little citizens? Or do you misbehave?

************************************************** *******************


Well, we did have coffee, until someone went and guzzled it all. I wish I could be surprised. Coffee seems to be the one thing we get through the most of on this ship. Oh well. Some hot sweetwater would have to be enough.

Willow does wait patiently in her room, though she takes the opportunity to wash her feet as she waits.

[TheAmishPirate]

My room? Who cares about my room? You think I'm letting these alliance pigs wander around my engine room unaccompanied? No sir, that is not what's happening. Since the team is very conveniently commandeering the kitchen (I finish off the last of the coffee before they come in, by the by), I'll be staying with them or accompanying their personnel on any tour of the ship until it's my turn to come in for questioning.

That's cute, but to them you're just a dirty scrounger, probably lousy with grease-lice. Your escort is firmly insistent that you stay in your room. Nobody's point a gun at you yet, but they don't sound like they're paid to be patient.

That could change if you give them a good reason for you to be out and about.


When the alarms went off, Aeron was in his bed, rolled tightly into his blankets. At the alarm, his eyes flashed open behind the old prosthetic mask as if someone had flipped a switch. He listened in silence but unmoving until the alarm went out again, then he reached out, grabbed a pair of head phones, put them on, and went back to his warm and cozy cocoon like nothing had happened.

Only seemingly at the very last moment did he crawl out of his bed, like some kind of giant blue-faced worm, dressed himself and quickly but calmly made his bed. Then he sat down on the bed, straight as an arrow and impeccable posture, eyes facing forward at the door. The first thing meeting the Alliance soldiers who came to check his room would be Aeron's blank metal face and unblinking eyes staring right through them, the young man sitting at attention on the bed, ready for inspection.

If it didn't creep them the hell out, there was probably something seriously wrong with them.

Poor Ramirez. It's just not his day.

He opens the door, gets one word into his spiel, and then "Lao Tien Fu!" He recoils back, clutching his gun like it's a security blanket. He can't take his eyes off you, as much as he clearly wishes to.

And now only one of you is wearing a mask. Would you like to touch his brain?


Well, we did have coffee, until someone went and guzzled it all. I wish I could be surprised. Coffee seems to be the one thing we get through the most of on this ship. Oh well. Some hot sweetwater would have to be enough.

Willow does wait patiently in her room, though she takes the opportunity to wash her feet as she waits.

Why the feet, if you don't my asking? You'd think the face or hands would be of greater importance when making a first and/or second impression.


No lab? No science team? Disappointing, ISI would never send a ship out this far without a fully equipped scientific suite to the medical bay.

So, Mrs. Snow has a few objectives here. First is to perform an in-depth scan of her hand.

She injected herself with the alien blood under rather dramatic circumstances. Not only did the infusion heal the damage to her arm, now her hand is super-strong, slightly taloned, and growing feathers. The changes also seem to be progressing slowly up towards the elbow.

Rebecca is not looking to reverse it, cure it, any of that weakling tosh. She's just looking to understand it, observe it, and maybe accelerate it if she can. That's the first priority. Only so much she can do outside a major hospital but it's better than what's on her own ship.

Objective two is to loot the place of as much medicine and tech as she can fit in her suitcase, and then escape out an airlock.

Right? They really ought to contract out more.

So you're looking at some pretty fancy tech, and it's not usually designed for this sort of thing. Typically the patient stands here, and the trained doctor works the buttons over there. You are a stowaway, sticking your own hand under the scanner and mashing buttons at the same time. Needless to say, it's a tricky operation. Remind me; what was your position in ISI? How much of your own tech did you understand?

Either way, roll to Act Under Fire.

[BlasTech]

Rather than do this one at a time, we're going to be holding your interviews in parallel. Unless, of course, one of you intends on doing something cheeky before they come to question you.

Do you sit in your rooms like good little citizens? Or do you misbehave?

Misbehave? 'Course not. This, after all, is a nice and boring ship, captained by a nice and boring old man.

In fact, while he's waiting for the interrogator to get to him, Hall grabs a beaten old ranch hat from the shelves, pulls it over his eyes and has a quick nap on his bunk.

[Thanqol]

Right? They really ought to contract out more.

So you're looking at some pretty fancy tech, and it's not usually designed for this sort of thing. Typically the patient stands here, and the trained doctor works the buttons over there. You are a stowaway, sticking your own hand under the scanner and mashing buttons at the same time. Needless to say, it's a tricky operation. Remind me; what was your position in ISI? How much of your own tech did you understand?

Either way, roll to Act Under Fire.

7

Mrs. Snow was the owner, founder and CEO of ISI, but she was always a researcher at heart. She made her fortune through bio-science and spent as much time in the lab than she did running the company. The company was always there to support the research rather than the other way around. She wasn't one of those socially broken ultra-geniuses slaving away on math formulae on a chalkboard somewhere, but she was both brilliant and audacious and was responsible for at least one major breakthrough. When she gets the requisite crap together she could easily set up and run her own infirmary.

[Deadly]

Poor Ramirez. It's just not his day.

He opens the door, gets one word into his spiel, and then "Lao Tien Fu!" He recoils back, clutching his gun like it's a security blanket. He can't take his eyes off you, as much as he clearly wishes to.

And now only one of you is wearing a mask. Would you like to touch his brain?

Would I! Oh wait ... you're not by any chance being literal, are you?

Aeron said nothing, and his face remained fixed in that expressionless stare as he waited for Ramirez to speak. Don't speak until spoken to, that was the rule. By the book. What a nice, obedient young man.

He didn't need to say anything, of course. His eyes seemed to do all the work for him, casually staring right into this man's most private soul as if his skull was made of magnifying glass.

Read a Person (casual brain receptivity): 3+6+2 = 11

Okay, now I gotta ask ... you understand that you made me do it, I hope. How can I convince him to let me literally touch his brain? Aeron is currently fantasing about stroking this man's frontal and parietal lobes with his fingers like you stroke a cat on the head.

Holding my two other questions for now.

[Anarion]

That's cute, but to them you're just a dirty scrounger, probably lousy with grease-lice. Your escort is firmly insistent that you stay in your room. Nobody's point a gun at you yet, but they don't sound like they're paid to be patient.

That could change if you give them a good reason for you to be out and about.


I'm not all that interested in dilly-dallying here. I'm going to tell them I'm the chief engineer on this ship and if they don't buy it, they can go ask the captain. My reason is that they're inspecting the ship and I want to be sure that they don't take anything from it. Not that I suspect alliance personnel of ever breaking rules like that, but since they're all on the up and up, they shouldn't have any problem with an engineer accompanying them on their tour.

[Elanorin]

Why the feet, if you don't my asking? You'd think the face or hands would be of greater importance when making a first and/or second impression.


Oh petal. I'm not washing my feet in order to get clean feet. I am washing them to wash them. Or, more specifically, I am washing them so that when they come to fetch me they will find me in the slow and deliberate process of washing my feet while ensuring none of my skirts get wet.

[TheAmishPirate]

Oh petal. I'm not washing my feet in order to get clean feet. I am washing them to wash them. Or, more specifically, I am washing them so that when they come to fetch me they will find me in the slow and deliberate process of washing my feet while ensuring none of my skirts get wet.

Oh.

Oh I see.

In that case, Andersen and two fine Alliance soldiers knock, enter, and find you drawing a sponge across your exposed ankle as if you were stroking a brush across a canvas. You are a breathtaking work of art, the likes of which is rarely seen in these parts; would you care to roll Artful and Gracious?


Would I! Oh wait ... you're not by any chance being literal, are you?

Aeron said nothing, and his face remained fixed in that expressionless stare as he waited for Ramirez to speak. Don't speak until spoken to, that was the rule. By the book. What a nice, obedient young man.

He didn't need to say anything, of course. His eyes seemed to do all the work for him, casually staring right into this man's most private soul as if his skull was made of magnifying glass.

Read a Person (casual brain receptivity): 3+6+2 = 11

Okay, now I gotta ask ... you understand that you made me do it, I hope. How can I convince him to let me literally touch his brain? Aeron is currently fantasing about stroking this man's frontal and parietal lobes with his fingers like you stroke a cat on the head.

Holding my two other questions for now.

Son of a...it was a figure of speech, kid! Jeez, I'm gonna have to watch what I say around you.

Okay, ordinarily I'd say there is no way, no how that you could convince Ramirez to let you touch his brain. It's probably one of the last things he'd ever want. But since you asked, it's not so much a question of wanting you to touch his brain, is it? No, he has to need for you to touch it. You have to present him with something so horrible, so terrifying, so unimaginably bad, and the only way out is for you to mess about with his brain. Don't go the route of tumors or disease; they have a ship full of fancy scanners that can expose your lie in an instant, and on the off chance you were right, the man has access to countless facilities that could trivially deal with it. No, not nearly frightening enough.

You've obviously made an impression on the man. Ride that. Find a boogeyman that lurks in his closet, and convince him that it's already got its claws in his mind. Then offer to fish them out for him. That's what you were waiting so patiently for, no? For him to come to you, and beg you to cleanse his brain?

So tell me; what creature of the void makes the purple-bellies sleep with one eye open?


Misbehave? 'Course not. This, after all, is a nice and boring ship, captained by a nice and boring old man.

In fact, while he's waiting for the interrogator to get to him, Hall grabs a beaten old ranch hat from the shelves, pulls it over his eyes and has a quick nap on his bunk.

Nice hat. Where'd you get it?


I'm not all that interested in dilly-dallying here. I'm going to tell them I'm the chief engineer on this ship and if they don't buy it, they can go ask the captain. My reason is that they're inspecting the ship and I want to be sure that they don't take anything from it. Not that I suspect alliance personnel of ever breaking rules like that, but since they're all on the up and up, they shouldn't have any problem with an engineer accompanying them on their tour.

Fortunately - or unfortunately - they aren't interested in dilly-dallying either. As soon as you start making a fuss, the soldiers all but roll their eyes and agree, if only to shut you up. You can walk with them on their tour, but you're going to be handcuffed so you don't try anything. Guilty until proven innocent, you understand.

The tour itself is short. Like your gut told you, these guys want to be in and out of here as quick as possible. Almost a little too quick, even. You spot at least three different spots where you totally could have carved out a hidey hole - and maybe one of you has - and the soldiers just gloss right over it. They're checking the main cargo hold, the obvious hiding spots, the shallow surface of your junk piles, and so forth.

Now, while you're watching the soldiers, you get a chance to be up close and personal with one of those fancy, shiny, not-guns they carry. They won't let you touch it, heaven forbid, but surely they won't notice a curious peek, hrm?

Do you want to roll Things Speak? On a gun, or something else interesting your escorts are carrying?


7

Mrs. Snow was the owner, founder and CEO of ISI, but she was always a researcher at heart. She made her fortune through bio-science and spent as much time in the lab than she did running the company. The company was always there to support the research rather than the other way around. She wasn't one of those socially broken ultra-geniuses slaving away on math formulae on a chalkboard somewhere, but she was both brilliant and audacious and was responsible for at least one major breakthrough. When she gets the requisite crap together she could easily set up and run her own infirmary.

Good to know.

So you get the scan of your hand, no problem. You toss a bunch of meds in your briefcase, no problem. You even get a data rod of the results so you don't have to hurry your analysis along, no problem. Everything's going your way.

Except as you're finishing up, you realize something. Alliance takes records of everything, especially of important things like medical procedures. Right now, there is a scan of your hand sitting in this ship's data files. Copy of it might already be transferring to a remote database somewhere, you don't know. What you do know is that if you leave like this, then the Alliance will have the same information you have, whatever it might be.

What do you do?

[Thanqol]

Good to know.

So you get the scan of your hand, no problem. You toss a bunch of meds in your briefcase, no problem. You even get a data rod of the results so you don't have to hurry your analysis along, no problem. Everything's going your way.

Except as you're finishing up, you realize something. Alliance takes records of everything, especially of important things like medical procedures. Right now, there is a scan of your hand sitting in this ship's data files. Copy of it might already be transferring to a remote database somewhere, you don't know. What you do know is that if you leave like this, then the Alliance will have the same information you have, whatever it might be.

What do you do?

Well when you've got a prototype fusion lance every problem starts to look like it's made out of matter.

The advantage to using the fusion lance instead of just smashing some consoles is that it's thorough. Mrs. Snow has to take a moment to ensure that this shot isn't going to produce a hull breach but she is happy for a whole bunch of chaos. Chaos is her element. Chaos and science.

As soon as she's set up, angled, and fired - a brilliant beam of gold with a tinge of red around the edges - she packed up the lance, glanced at the evacuation chart (and list of fire wardens/damage control officers), grabbed a lab coat off the wall, and rushed away.

[Elanorin]

Oh.

Oh I see.

In that case, Andersen and two fine Alliance soldiers knock, enter, and find you drawing a sponge across your exposed ankle as if you were stroking a brush across a canvas. You are a breathtaking work of art, the likes of which is rarely seen in these parts; would you care to roll Artful and Gracious?


Why, don't mind if I do.

"Oh, hello again," Willow smiled but did not look up from her slow meticulous work, nor did she stop drawing the mesmerising patterns of water along her foot, ankle and up her lower leg. "I had not realised you'd come to me so soon. I... doubt I have much to tell that would be of interest to you, officers."

[Rolling Artful & Gracious: 2d6+3=7 Andersen must have my services]

[Anarion]

I would like to roll things speak, but I'm more interested in those fancy scanners than in yet another way to put a hole in good folks. I'll take the gun if I can't get anything else.

[roll0]

[BlasTech]

Nice hat. Where'd you get it?


It was a gift. From his son, in fact. Bought it for his dad's 40th birthday, back when they used to work the ranch together. He saw that the sun was beginning to weather his dad's fine, country features, and thought it would be right proper to give the old man some protection, lest all his good looks waste away too early.

He'd clipped that cheeky kid upside the head, once the young'n had finished his sales pitch. Kept the hat though. Everyone needed a good hat.

[Deadly]

Son of a...it was a figure of speech, kid! Jeez, I'm gonna have to watch what I say around you.

Okay, ordinarily I'd say there is no way, no how that you could convince Ramirez to let you touch his brain. It's probably one of the last things he'd ever want. But since you asked, it's not so much a question of wanting you to touch his brain, is it? No, he has to need for you to touch it. You have to present him with something so horrible, so terrifying, so unimaginably bad, and the only way out is for you to mess about with his brain. Don't go the route of tumors or disease; they have a ship full of fancy scanners that can expose your lie in an instant, and on the off chance you were right, the man has access to countless facilities that could trivially deal with it. No, not nearly frightening enough.

You've obviously made an impression on the man. Ride that. Find a boogeyman that lurks in his closet, and convince him that it's already got its claws in his mind. Then offer to fish them out for him. That's what you were waiting so patiently for, no? For him to come to you, and beg you to cleanse his brain?

So tell me; what creature of the void makes the purple-bellies sleep with one eye open?

He's never seen Them, so in his mind they all have no bodies, just smooth, empty faces floating in the distance, nearly out of sight yet always too close somehow. That's what the mask reminds him of, but it's not the mask that truly frightens him; surely there's nothing They want from him, as long as he keeps his head down, doesn't question, doesn't speak, doesn't step out of line. He can do that; he's done it long enough.

No, what forever haunts him are ruined eyes in Their wake, the ones They leave behind.

No one talks about it, but everyone's seen it. Maybe just once, maybe twice ...
http://img08.deviantart.net/800e/i/2013/310/7/9/disease_by_reykat-d6tal6t.jpg

... and now he can't get their eyes out of his mind. No doctor, no medical facility, is going to excise these demons from his head. He knows that. He knows that if he opens his mouth about it, the doctors will put him away in a cell, if he's lucky ... or They will come and burn the visions from his eyes.

Deep down he has a Need, a need to face the eyes and ask them to leave him alone, to stop haunting his dreams. Or he can keep running from them, but they always find him.

[TheAmishPirate]

Well when you've got a prototype fusion lance every problem starts to look like it's made out of matter.

The advantage to using the fusion lance instead of just smashing some consoles is that it's thorough. Mrs. Snow has to take a moment to ensure that this shot isn't going to produce a hull breach but she is happy for a whole bunch of chaos. Chaos is her element. Chaos and science.

As soon as she's set up, angled, and fired - a brilliant beam of gold with a tinge of red around the edges - she packed up the lance, glanced at the evacuation chart (and list of fire wardens/damage control officers), grabbed a lab coat off the wall, and rushed away.

*BOOM*

The lance punches straight through the console, the wall behind it, and the next few rooms behind that. Anybody's guess as to what just exploded, but smaller cruisers like this one don't tend to have an abundance of harmless, empty rooms scattered about. Alarms are blaring, voices are shouting, fires are starting, and you're making yourself scarce.

Quick glance at the wall shows the officer in charge of damage control is 1st Lieutenant Pearson. No sense in listing fire wardens; any Alliance soldier worth their salt knows how to handle a fire.

The evacuation chart gives you a few options. There's the boarding dock you just came from, just around the bend, which will run you straight into the arms of the soldiers on the Neruda, as well as any reinforcements responding to the fire. There is a hangar, but it's incredibly unlikely that they'd leave a ship just sitting there with the keys in the ignition. There's an airlock on top of the ship, if you don't mind the cold vacuum of space. Lastly, there's the escape pods, which look like little more than cramped tin cans with no navigation fired out of tubes.

What do you do?


I would like to roll things speak, but I'm more interested in those fancy scanners than in yet another way to put a hole in good folks. I'll take the gun if I can't get anything else.

[roll0]

Well now, I do believe this is the first time you're opening your brain, even though you didn't quite intend to. What's the psychic maelstrom like to you? How do you usually open your brain?


He's never seen Them, so in his mind they all have no bodies, just smooth, empty faces floating in the distance, nearly out of sight yet always too close somehow. That's what the mask reminds him of, but it's not the mask that truly frightens him; surely there's nothing They want from him, as long as he keeps his head down, doesn't question, doesn't speak, doesn't step out of line. He can do that; he's done it long enough.

No, what forever haunts him are ruined eyes in Their wake, the ones They leave behind.

No one talks about it, but everyone's seen it. Maybe just once, maybe twice ...
http://img08.deviantart.net/800e/i/2013/310/7/9/disease_by_reykat-d6tal6t.jpg

... and now he can't get their eyes out of his mind. No doctor, no medical facility, is going to excise these demons from his head. He knows that. He knows that if he opens his mouth about it, the doctors will put him away in a cell, if he's lucky ... or They will come and burn the visions from his eyes.

Deep down he has a Need, a need to face the eyes and ask them to leave him alone, to stop haunting his dreams. Or he can keep running from them, but they always find him.

Spooky.

After spending some quality time gawking like an imbecile, Rameriez pulls himself together and - with extreme trepidation - steps back into your room. "I-Inspection." He stammers out. "Need y-you for questioning."


Why, don't mind if I do.

"Oh, hello again," Willow smiled but did not look up from her slow meticulous work, nor did she stop drawing the mesmerising patterns of water along her foot, ankle and up her lower leg. "I had not realised you'd come to me so soon. I... doubt I have much to tell that would be of interest to you, officers."

[Rolling Artful & Gracious: 2d6+3=7 Andersen must have my services]

"Standard practice, ma'am." Andersen says, but his eyes are fixed on your leg. "Come with me."

He leads you to the kitchen, and the soldiers wait outside. At first it's just basic questions; name, how long you've been aboard, where is this ship going, etc. Once those are through...

"Strange company for a Companion to keep." He says, studying you closely. "Old transport ship going to the dregs of civilization. Clients are...rare, out here."


It was a gift. From his son, in fact. Bought it for his dad's 40th birthday, back when they used to work the ranch together. He saw that the sun was beginning to weather his dad's fine, country features, and thought it would be right proper to give the old man some protection, lest all his good looks waste away too early.

He'd clipped that cheeky kid upside the head, once the young'n had finished his sales pitch. Kept the hat though. Everyone needed a good hat.

Good thing to have, a hat. Lends a man a bit of dignity, doesn't it?

Your nap is rudely interrupted by Andersen and two soldiers arriving to take you for questioning. Same as Willow, he takes you to you the kitchen and drills you on basic information for a while. Then...

"What," he asks. "Is your relationship with Ms. Skaro?"

[Thanqol]

*BOOM*

The lance punches straight through the console, the wall behind it, and the next few rooms behind that. Anybody's guess as to what just exploded, but smaller cruisers like this one don't tend to have an abundance of harmless, empty rooms scattered about. Alarms are blaring, voices are shouting, fires are starting, and you're making yourself scarce.

Quick glance at the wall shows the officer in charge of damage control is 1st Lieutenant Pearson. No sense in listing fire wardens; any Alliance soldier worth their salt knows how to handle a fire.

The evacuation chart gives you a few options. There's the boarding dock you just came from, just around the bend, which will run you straight into the arms of the soldiers on the Neruda, as well as any reinforcements responding to the fire. There is a hangar, but it's incredibly unlikely that they'd leave a ship just sitting there with the keys in the ignition. There's an airlock on top of the ship, if you don't mind the cold vacuum of space. Lastly, there's the escape pods, which look like little more than cramped tin cans with no navigation fired out of tubes.

What do you do?

Mrs. Snow was originally planning to go out through the airlock - stealthy, not a target for alliance battery fire, capable of putting holes through the ship if it dissed her. But her eyes were drawn relentlessly to the hangar. She remembered a misspent youth jacking absurdly expensive racing starships and evading police patrols at speeds that most scientists considered theoretical.

Ship. She wanted it. She was going to take it. That was where she went.

[BlasTech]

Good thing to have, a hat. Lends a man a bit of dignity, doesn't it?

Your nap is rudely interrupted by Andersen and two soldiers arriving to take you for questioning. Same as Willow, he takes you to you the kitchen and drills you on basic information for a while. Then...

"What," he asks. "Is your relationship with Ms. Skaro?"

"Business." replies Hall, immediately. "Ms Skaro has chartered with us to fly the rim. Seems there's quite a few folk out here who see their way to needing companioning."

[Elanorin]

"Standard practice, ma'am." Andersen says, but his eyes are fixed on your leg. "Come with me."

He leads you to the kitchen, and the soldiers wait outside. At first it's just basic questions; name, how long you've been aboard, where is this ship going, etc. Once those are through...

"Strange company for a Companion to keep." He says, studying you closely. "Old transport ship going to the dregs of civilization. Clients are...rare, out here."


Willow, dried up carefully and followed barefooted to the kitchen where she proceeded to make herself some hot sweetwater after offering the same to her interrogator.

"Not as rare as you might think," Willow said as she stirred her cup, slow deliberate circles three times clockwise. "Of course there are limited grand social functions out here, but the people out here have forged a kind of society of their own. It is admittedly not like that of Ariel or Orion but it has a kind of nobility and culture of its own that I find quite fascinating. Naturally this society spands an area vast in comparison to the core planets, but that is why taking up residence on an ever-moving vessel that travels these skies is such a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Willow sipped her water. "Each companion finds their own way through this universe and chooses their path, and their clients, with great care," she said, directing the full force of her gaze on Andersen.

[Anarion]

Well now, I do believe this is the first time you're opening your brain, even though you didn't quite intend to. What's the psychic maelstrom like to you? How do you usually open your brain?


Well, usually I open my brain by caressing some bit of machinery I'm working on and whispering sweet nothings to it or singing to it, so that I get lost in my own little world, just me and the metal. Don't look at me like that, they work better when you pamper them, I guarantee you. I'll do it some other way every once in a while, just patch myself into the network and let my mind get lost to the point that it takes someone giving me a hard slap to bring me back before it's time to come back.

As for the maelstrom, well, you've seen some of the Alliance planets maybe? Big glowing neon billboards in hot pink and lemon lime, sparkles and sounds and jingles all playing at once so that the noise and the light just kinda swallows you up. That's the malestrom, to me at least. But like any maelstrom, it's got its bits of calm, its swells and its eddies. When I go there normally, I'm going with one of my babies and they're like guides when I'm in. They're little islands in the sea, small quiet rooms or dark shady corners under a big oak tree, the machine there just humming along right with me, or maybe struggling and in need of a helping hand if they're having a bad day. A hand I'm more than happy to give.

[Deadly]

Spooky.

After spending some quality time gawking like an imbecile, Rameriez pulls himself together and - with extreme trepidation - steps back into your room. "I-Inspection." He stammers out. "Need y-you for questioning."

Aeron gave him a nearly imperceptible nod, waiting politely for the questions. If he could, he might have been smiling behind the mask as he observed this man like he was some kind of a neurotic cuckoo bird performing strange and bewildered dance moves in the doorway. In other words, entertaining and mildly curious.

[TheAmishPirate]

Mrs. Snow was originally planning to go out through the airlock - stealthy, not a target for alliance battery fire, capable of putting holes through the ship if it dissed her. But her eyes were drawn relentlessly to the hangar. She remembered a misspent youth jacking absurdly expensive racing starships and evading police patrols at speeds that most scientists considered theoretical.

Ship. She wanted it. She was going to take it. That was where she went.

You head out of the infirmary, and immediately things are bad. There's fire licking through the hole you shot, thick blast doors are closing on both sides of the passageway, and snaking limbs ending in hoses are creeping down from the ceiling.

You wanted chaos? You got chaos. Roll Act Under Fire to get out. With style.


Willow, dried up carefully and followed barefooted to the kitchen where she proceeded to make herself some hot sweetwater after offering the same to her interrogator.

"Not as rare as you might think," Willow said as she stirred her cup, slow deliberate circles three times clockwise. "Of course there are limited grand social functions out here, but the people out here have forged a kind of society of their own. It is admittedly not like that of Ariel or Orion but it has a kind of nobility and culture of its own that I find quite fascinating. Naturally this society spans an area vast in comparison to the core planets, but that is why taking up residence on an ever-moving vessel that travels these skies is such a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Willow sipped her water. "Each companion finds their own way through this universe and chooses their path, and their clients, with great care," she said, directing the full force of her gaze on Andersen.

Andersen politely refuses the offer, and does not bow or flinch at the weight of your judgement. He takes down notes with an air of haughty confidence, as if even the pen he was holding was beneath him.

"Of course, of course." Scribble scribble. Scowl scowl. "Actually, we may not need any more questions, Ms. Skaro. If you could just show me your Companion registration, then I think we could be done here." He looks to you expectantly. He's doing you a favor, by not grilling you for petty fines and inconsistencies. Feel free to be eternally grateful.


Aeron gave him a nearly imperceptible nod, waiting politely for the questions. If he could, he might have been smiling behind the mask as he observed this man like he was some kind of a neurotic cuckoo bird performing strange and bewildered dance moves in the doorway. In other words, entertaining and mildly curious.

Same deal as the other two; Ramirez escorts you to the kitchen, where Andersen is waiting for you.

Unlike the others, he opts to skip the small talk, and opens with a disgusted, "What is wrong with your face?"


Well, usually I open my brain by caressing some bit of machinery I'm working on and whispering sweet nothings to it or singing to it, so that I get lost in my own little world, just me and the metal. Don't look at me like that, they work better when you pamper them, I guarantee you. I'll do it some other way every once in a while, just patch myself into the network and let my mind get lost to the point that it takes someone giving me a hard slap to bring me back before it's time to come back.

As for the maelstrom, well, you've seen some of the Alliance planets maybe? Big glowing neon billboards in hot pink and lemon lime, sparkles and sounds and jingles all playing at once so that the noise and the light just kinda swallows you up. That's the malestrom, to me at least. But like any maelstrom, it's got its bits of calm, its swells and its eddies. When I go there normally, I'm going with one of my babies and they're like guides when I'm in. They're little islands in the sea, small quiet rooms or dark shady corners under a big oak tree, the machine there just humming along right with me, or maybe struggling and in need of a helping hand if they're having a bad day. A hand I'm more than happy to give.

Neat!

So you take hold of the scanner, all mind-y like, but rather than an island in the storm it's a wave tossing you through a hurricane. It grabs you by the hand and pulls you right into the heart of the neon city; the bad side of town. A steady hail of screeching ads impact your skull, vipers of gaseous light hiss and snap at your heels, and from throngs pressing in all around you there's ceaseless chatter in a tongue of roaring gears. The scanner leads you through the thick of it, and you must be in a market because its bartering and buying and haggling even as it pulls you onward. It presses a dollop of pink neon light into your false arm, where it immediately dissolves rapturously into the circuitry...

One pleasant blur later, and you're coming out of the maelstrom. Though you can't recall much of your stay, you have an idea for a marvelous machine bouncing around your brain. You don't know what it will do, but when has that ever stopped you? If you go and explore this wonderful idea in your workshop, mark an XP. If you keep working on it? There'll be more where that came from.

In any case, you're shaken awake by Andersen pounding his fist on the kitchen table. "This is your last warning! Tell me about the family of passengers on board!"

Whoops. Looks like you were out for a bit, and your interrogation is already underway.


"Business." replies Hall, immediately. "Ms Skaro has chartered with us to fly the rim. Seems there's quite a few folk out here who see their way to needing companioning."

Andersen nods. He doesn't hate what you've told him. "That's how Ms. Skaro pays her way. What of your other passengers? There's a family traveling with you. Why are they flying with you, and how are they paying?"

[Anarion]

Neat!

So you take hold of the scanner, all mind-y like, but rather than an island in the storm it's a wave tossing you through a hurricane. It grabs you by the hand and pulls you right into the heart of the neon city; the bad side of town. A steady hail of screeching ads impact your skull, vipers of gaseous light hiss and snap at your heels, and from throngs pressing in all around you there's ceaseless chatter in a tongue of roaring gears. The scanner leads you through the thick of it, and you must be in a market because its bartering and buying and haggling even as it pulls you onward. It presses a dollop of pink neon light into your false arm, where it immediately dissolves rapturously into the circuitry...

One pleasant blur later, and you're coming out of the maelstrom. Though you can't recall much of your stay, you have an idea for a marvelous machine bouncing around your brain. You don't know what it will do, but when has that ever stopped you? If you go and explore this wonderful idea in your workshop, mark an XP. If you keep working on it? There'll be more where that came from.


Sweet, I'll rush right to that, gotta get a good idea down while it's hot and...


In any case, you're shaken awake by Andersen pounding his fist on the kitchen table. "This is your last warning! Tell me about the family of passengers on board!"

Whoops. Looks like you were out for a bit, and your interrogation is already underway.

...right, this idiot. I take Andersen's hand in my own, imploring him like the lovely lady I am, though I'm quite aware that I'm getting grease on his fancy uniform. "Sir, I'm just crew on this ship, and tech crew at that. It ain't my place to be inquiring into the details of our passengers. Now between you and me, though do seem to really like toast sir...that's what I can tell you."

[Thanqol]

You head out of the infirmary, and immediately things are bad. There's fire licking through the hole you shot, thick blast doors are closing on both sides of the passageway, and snaking limbs ending in hoses are creeping down from the ceiling.

You wanted chaos? You got chaos. Roll Act Under Fire to get out. With style.

10.

It's wrong to say that Mrs. Snow is used to this kind of thing, that she's made a living firing ship-killer weapons on the inside of spaceships and escaping from the consequences. It's also wrong to say she's somehow remaining aloof and serene from the chaos around her.

Mrs. Snow is the chaos. She just moves faster and with less hesitation than anyone else. She will jump over fires, shoulder aside stragglers, and make split second decisions that somehow just always turn out to be the correct ones.

[BlasTech]

Andersen nods. He doesn't hate what you've told him. "That's how Ms. Skaro pays her way. What of your other passengers? There's a family traveling with you. Why are they flying with you, and how are they paying?"

"They pay the usual way. Credits and supplies, food and the like." replied Hall, keeping things on point. "As to the why, well ... if you're lookin' for a guess, I'd say we're about the only ship that's sailing to Greenleaf that isn't about to space them on the way."

"They sure ain't payin' their passage with charm and sunny personalities, if you get my meaning."

[Deadly]

Same deal as the other two; Ramirez escorts you to the kitchen, where Andersen is waiting for you.

Unlike the others, he opts to skip the small talk, and opens with a disgusted, "What is wrong with your face?"

While I walk with Ramirez to the kitchen, let me ask my second question. What is he really feeling? In general, you know, not specifically about me. He's here for a reason, he must be feeling something while he's going about his orders.

As we get to the kitchen, Aeron takes his seat at the table and regards Andersen with the same attentive stare. His mouth - if it can be called that - doesn't move as he speaks, but his voice comes out clear and confident, though the sound has an odd hollow quality as if it comes from further away through some unknown channel. "Lost my other one, sir," he states matter-of-fact. "This one has grown on me." It was a figure of speech, of course, but in the context it could give some, um, interesting mental images.

[TheAmishPirate]

10.

It's wrong to say that Mrs. Snow is used to this kind of thing, that she's made a living firing ship-killer weapons on the inside of spaceships and escaping from the consequences. It's also wrong to say she's somehow remaining aloof and serene from the chaos around her.

Mrs. Snow is the chaos. She just moves faster and with less hesitation than anyone else. She will jump over fires, shoulder aside stragglers, and make split second decisions that somehow just always turn out to be the correct ones.

You leap over the fire, grab one of the protruding hoses, run along the wall to keep your momentum up, swing for the door, and slide under it just as it closes a hairs-breadth behind you. And all without getting a lick of ash on your labcoat.

You're just onto your feet when you hear the thunder of boots from the passageway ahead of you, racing towards the blast that just rocked the ship. You can't see anybody yet, but they're closing in fast. What do you do?


While I walk with Ramirez to the kitchen, let me ask my second question. What is he really feeling? In general, you know, not specifically about me. He's here for a reason, he must be feeling something while he's going about his orders.

As we get to the kitchen, Aeron takes his seat at the table and regards Andersen with the same attentive stare. His mouth - if it can be called that - doesn't move as he speaks, but his voice comes out clear and confident, though the sound has an odd hollow quality as if it comes from further away through some unknown channel. "Lost my other one, sir," he states matter-of-fact. "This one has grown on me." It was a figure of speech, of course, but in the context it could give some, um, interesting mental images.

Rameriez is increasingly feeling like he has no idea why they're even there in the first place. He trusts Andersen, he trusts that man but good, but he absolutely does not see the point of sticking around here. And because crap keeps happening to him, he's getting increasingly anxious about staying. He wants to finish up here, and move the heck on, but he can't do that with his officer's word, so he's working himself into an anxious tizzy instead.

"Cute." Andersen replies, not even touching his notes now. "How old are you? Do you have an ident card? A passport? Any papers at all?" He shakes his head skeptical-like.


...right, this idiot. I take Andersen's hand in my own, imploring him like the lovely lady I am, though I'm quite aware that I'm getting grease on his fancy uniform. "Sir, I'm just crew on this ship, and tech crew at that. It ain't my place to be inquiring into the details of our passengers. Now between you and me, though do seem to really like toast sir...that's what I can tell you."

Andersen swats your hand away immediately, and wipes the grime from his fancy black gloves. It doesn't all come off.

"Hmmph. Are you sure about that? Because your Captain assured us that you knew all about them." He taps his pen on the table, watching you closely. "Where are they getting off?"


"They pay the usual way. Credits and supplies, food and the like." replied Hall, keeping things on point. "As to the why, well ... if you're lookin' for a guess, I'd say we're about the only ship that's sailing to Greenleaf that isn't about to space them on the way."

"They sure ain't payin' their passage with charm and sunny personalities, if you get my meaning."

"Greenleaf, you say?" Andersen raises an eyebrow. "Funny; that's not what your engineer told us. She said they were headed to Highgate, all of them. Why would she say something like that?"

[Anarion]

Andersen swats your hand away immediately, and wipes the grime from his fancy black gloves. It doesn't all come off.

"Hmmph. Are you sure about that? Because your Captain assured us that you knew all about them." He taps his pen on the table, watching you closely. "Where are they getting off?"


"I'm quite sure I don't know, sir. I can be insightful at times and perhaps the captain mistakenly thought we'd spoken more than we have."

[Elanorin]

Andersen politely refuses the offer, and does not bow or flinch at the weight of your judgement. He takes down notes with an air of haughty confidence, as if even the pen he was holding was beneath him.

"Of course, of course." Scribble scribble. Scowl scowl. "Actually, we may not need any more questions, Ms. Skaro. If you could just show me your Companion registration, then I think we could be done here." He looks to you expectantly. He's doing you a favor, by not grilling you for petty fines and inconsistencies. Feel free to be eternally grateful.


"I don't see why I need to do that, aren't your officers just finishing up their survey of my private quarters right now?" Willow replied confidently, adding a glance over her shoulder in the direction of the passenger's quarters for effect in her call on his bluff. "That is why you're bringing something so trivial up as a Companion licence, isn't it?" she smiled, not in the least offended, or at least not showing it.

"Why don't we skip ahead to what it is you really want me to show you, officer?" she said, leaning forwards towards Andersen, pinning him with another gaze.

[Deadly]

Rameriez is increasingly feeling like he has no idea why they're even there in the first place. He trusts Andersen, he trusts that man but good, but he absolutely does not see the point of sticking around here. And because crap keeps happening to him, he's getting increasingly anxious about staying. He wants to finish up here, and move the heck on, but he can't do that with his officer's word, so he's working himself into an anxious tizzy instead.

"Cute." Andersen replies, not even touching his notes now. "How old are you? Do you have an ident card? A passport? Any papers at all?" He shakes his head skeptical-like.

Aeron fished out a worn ID card from a pocket and wordlessly slid it across the table to Andersen. Sure enough, it had a photo of the young man, possibly a couple years younger than now. "Aeron *smudged*", it read. "Age 19, from Midas", otherwise known as the trash planet because ... well, it doesn't take much imagination, I'm sure. The Alliance produces a lot of trash, and the galaxy has enough planets. Some say the Trash Planet wasn't around fifty years ago ... that it's trash all the way to the core. That's just fanciful tales, though ... one would hope.

At any rate, there are groups of nomadic people living on it. Not hard to imagine why one would decide to leave it.

When Anderson tries to scan it, the machine won't read it. No error, just doesn't register the chip. Card does look kinda ravaged, and someone's drawn weird squiggles on the back. "It needs a little rub sometimes," Aeron says and takes the card, offering to give it that magic touch so the machine can read it. He proceeds to hold it up to his mouth and breathe on it, long and slow, then begins gently smoothing the card and rubbing the chip. He seems quite focused on it.

Finally, he holds it up to his forehead for a second, almost like some kind of religious symbol, then hands it back to Andersen. "This usually helps." True enough, this time it should work, and come back clear. Aeron, meanwhile, leans back silently, blank stare as he waits.

I'd like to Open my Brain with that card, which is currently making a connection with this alliance ship and their network. As my "identity" travels through its systems, I want to see why they're really here. 6+5+2 = 13

[Thanqol]

You leap over the fire, grab one of the protruding hoses, run along the wall to keep your momentum up, swing for the door, and slide under it just as it closes a hairs-breadth behind you. And all without getting a lick of ash on your labcoat.

You're just onto your feet when you hear the thunder of boots from the passageway ahead of you, racing towards the blast that just rocked the ship. You can't see anybody yet, but they're closing in fast. What do you do?

Mrs Snow yells, "Help! The fire's through there!" and continues her dash to the hangar.

[BlasTech]

"Greenleaf, you say?" Andersen raises an eyebrow. "Funny; that's not what your engineer told us. She said they were headed to Highgate, all of them. Why would she say something like that?"

"Oh dear, my delicate web of lies has been shattered." replied Hall, deadpanning. "Now I have to confess the existence of my ragtag sabotage squad and our various desires to topple the tyranny of the Alliance."

He eyeballed the captain for a moment. Trying to gauge what kind of response would cause the captain to stick around a little longer. After all, whatever Ms Snow was doing over there, she probably needed more time.

"That was sarcasm, if you done wonderin." he said, sighing and leaning forward. "Look, captain, with all due respect, this ain't the first time I've had one of these little chats. The whole 'tryin' to trip me up thing?' it's wastin time, time that could probably be better spent going our own ways."

[TheAmishPirate]

Aeron fished out a worn ID card from a pocket and wordlessly slid it across the table to Andersen. Sure enough, it had a photo of the young man, possibly a couple years younger than now. "Aeron *smudged*", it read. "Age 19, from Midas", otherwise known as the trash planet because ... well, it doesn't take much imagination, I'm sure. The Alliance produces a lot of trash, and the galaxy has enough planets. Some say the Trash Planet wasn't around fifty years ago ... that it's trash all the way to the core. That's just fanciful tales, though ... one would hope.

At any rate, there are groups of nomadic people living on it. Not hard to imagine why one would decide to leave it.

When Anderson tries to scan it, the machine won't read it. No error, just doesn't register the chip. Card does look kinda ravaged, and someone's drawn weird squiggles on the back. "It needs a little rub sometimes," Aeron says and takes the card, offering to give it that magic touch so the machine can read it. He proceeds to hold it up to his mouth and breathe on it, long and slow, then begins gently smoothing the card and rubbing the chip. He seems quite focused on it.

Finally, he holds it up to his forehead for a second, almost like some kind of religious symbol, then hands it back to Andersen. "This usually helps." True enough, this time it should work, and come back clear. Aeron, meanwhile, leans back silently, blank stare as he waits.

I'd like to Open my Brain with that card, which is currently making a connection with this alliance ship and their network. As my "identity" travels through its systems, I want to see why they're really here. 6+5+2 = 13

More souls wandering the maelstrom. Only this time, you may just know where you're going.

Tell me, what's the psychic maelstrom like to you?


"Oh dear, my delicate web of lies has been shattered." replied Hall, deadpanning. "Now I have to confess the existence of my ragtag sabotage squad and our various desires to topple the tyranny of the Alliance."

He eyeballed the captain for a moment. Trying to gauge what kind of response would cause the captain to stick around a little longer. After all, whatever Ms Snow was doing over there, she probably needed more time.

"That was sarcasm, if you done wonderin." he said, sighing and leaning forward. "Look, captain, with all due respect, this ain't the first time I've had one of these little chats. The whole 'tryin' to trip me up thing?' it's wastin time, time that could probably be better spent going our own ways."

If you want to get a bead on Andersen, then I think you'll be wanting to Read a Person. If you want to take stock of your situation, that'll be Reading a Sitch.

Either way, you know that something is up from your previous Read a Sitch roll, and now you're trying to take advantage of that fact. If you roll, take your +1.


"I don't see why I need to do that, aren't your officers just finishing up their survey of my private quarters right now?" Willow replied confidently, adding a glance over her shoulder in the direction of the passenger's quarters for effect in her call on his bluff. "That is why you're bringing something so trivial up as a Companion licence, isn't it?" she smiled, not in the least offended, or at least not showing it.

"Why don't we skip ahead to what it is you really want me to show you, officer?" she said, leaning forwards towards Andersen, pinning him with another gaze.

He smiles, smug and satisfied. "Do you know," he asks. "How hard it is to get a decent bath out here? You'd think the terrible vacuum of space would leave things cleaner, but where there is life, there is dust and germs and filth." He wipes at one of his gloves, smile dropping a fraction. "You would not believe how often I've had to wash these."

"I would love if you could show me the miracles of hot water and skilled hands." He offers his gloved hand to you.

What do you do?


"I'm quite sure I don't know, sir. I can be insightful at times and perhaps the captain mistakenly thought we'd spoken more than we have."

"I suppose that must have been the case." Andersen says flatly. "After all, you spend all your time crawling around the guts of this junker. Hardly time to tell you anything, is that right?"


Mrs Snow yells, "Help! The fire's through there!" and continues her dash to the hangar.

You run past a group of soldiers, all of them wearing full-face oxygen masks, and seeming extremely alarmed to find someone who's not wearing one. The rest of the group races past you, while one soldier peels off and grabs at your arm, trying to lead you down a different way.

[Thanqol]

You run past a group of soldiers, all of them wearing full-face oxygen masks, and seeming extremely alarmed to find someone who's not wearing one. The rest of the group races past you, while one soldier peels off and grabs at your arm, trying to lead you down a different way.

Mrs. Snow feigned gasping from the smoke and heat. She grabbed the Alliance soldier, pulled him close, and hissed in his ear, "The reactor is releasing catastrophic levels of gabion particles," she said, "it won't kill anyone so Command won't give the evacuation order but we will get cancer ten years down the line if we don't leave now. Get me and my research on board the shuttle and we'll both live long, healthy lives,"

Manipulate: 9

[TheAmishPirate]

Mrs. Snow feigned gasping from the smoke and heat. She grabbed the Alliance soldier, pulled him close, and hissed in his ear, "The reactor is releasing catastrophic levels of gabion particles," she said, "it won't kill anyone so Command won't give the evacuation order but we will get cancer ten years down the line if we don't leave now. Get me and my research on board the shuttle and we'll both live long, healthy lives,"

Manipulate: 9

Understand for a moment that I'm not nearly as traditionally educated as yourself, so spare me this foolish question: Is there actually such a thing as a gabion particle?

[Thanqol]

Understand for a moment that I'm not nearly as traditionally educated as yourself, so spare me this foolish question: Is there actually such a thing as a gabion particle?

No. Mrs. Snow stole Professor Gabion's research, beat him to the patent office and named the particle she's thinking of the Yamaguchi Particle (which was her maiden name). So while history will remember it as the Yamaguchi Particle she still thinks of poor old Professor Gabion whenever she says it.

EDIT: Oh wait, you mean, 'are they flooding this spaceship right now?' How the f*ck would Mrs. Snow know? She's a scientist, not an engineer. Ask grease-face.

[Anarion]

"I suppose that must have been the case." Andersen says flatly. "After all, you spend all your time crawling around the guts of this junker. Hardly time to tell you anything, is that right?"


"Now captain, I'm sure you didn't mean any offense to this lovely, fetching young lady." I rub a nearby bulkhead appreciatively and give it a reassuring pat. "She's very sensitive you know, and this gal would get you halfway across the galaxy and back carting a herd of cattle the whole way if you wanted." I look back over to him. "But you'd be right that I spend my time keeping the lady running and not making small talk with the passengers. So, would there be anything else you'd like?"

[Deadly]

More souls wandering the maelstrom. Only this time, you may just know where you're going.

Tell me, what's the psychic maelstrom like to you?

You know how it is when you close your eyes and focus on the back of your eyelids? How shadows and blotches of light and color linger and drift around in an empty blackness? And maybe if you focus on them long enough, follow the trails of light long enough, they will take form, make sense and show you a different world? Aeron doesn't have eyelids like others do, or even eyes in the same way others do. Aeron has his face, and when he withdraws his mind from this world, he can see behind it ... see behind his face almost like others see behind their eyelids. Imagine that your whole face was nothing but eyes, or even one big eye, and when you close them ...

... he can see and hear and go places that are not in this world, but yet of this world. It is a world of light and shadow, of whispers and silence. And if he watches, the world will take shape, but always the images and sounds and movements exist within a background of dark, silent stillness. As if what he sees is the real world reflected on the back of a black curtain in a silent theater.

[Elanorin]

He smiles, smug and satisfied. "Do you know," he asks. "How hard it is to get a decent bath out here? You'd think the terrible vacuum of space would leave things cleaner, but where there is life, there is dust and germs and filth." He wipes at one of his gloves, smile dropping a fraction. "You would not believe how often I've had to wash these."

"I would love if you could show me the miracles of hot water and skilled hands." He offers his gloved hand to you.

What do you do?

Willow smiled. "A good bath is indeed a rare luxury out here. Thankfully I share your love for them and have just the thing to soak away the grime of space and cares of the galaxy." She rises tentatively, looking to Andersen and his guards to see if she may leave.

"Let me go about drawing it for you now. Join me in... 10 minutes?"

[TheAmishPirate]

No. Mrs. Snow stole Professor Gabion's research, beat him to the patent office and named the particle she's thinking of the Yamaguchi Particle (which was her maiden name). So while history will remember it as the Yamaguchi Particle she still thinks of poor old Professor Gabion whenever she says it.

EDIT: Oh wait, you mean, 'are they flooding this spaceship right now?' How the f*ck would Mrs. Snow know? She's a scientist, not an engineer. Ask grease-face.

Just the first answer is fine, but the second's appreciated.

The soldier stops tugging at your arm for a moment. Hard to see his face behind the gas mask, but it looks like he doesn't fancy dying a slow, horrible death. "We have to get to the cargo hold first. We can hit the evacuation signal once we're in the shuttle." Way he talks about the cargo hold, it sounds like it's something you're supposed to know about, being a respectable member of Andersen's crew and all.


You know how it is when you close your eyes and focus on the back of your eyelids? How shadows and blotches of light and color linger and drift around in an empty blackness? And maybe if you focus on them long enough, follow the trails of light long enough, they will take form, make sense and show you a different world? Aeron doesn't have eyelids like others do, or even eyes in the same way others do. Aeron has his face, and when he withdraws his mind from this world, he can see behind it ... see behind his face almost like others see behind their eyelids. Imagine that your whole face was nothing but eyes, or even one big eye, and when you close them ...

... he can see and hear and go places that are not in this world, but yet of this world. It is a world of light and shadow, of whispers and silence. And if he watches, the world will take shape, but always the images and sounds and movements exist within a background of dark, silent stillness. As if what he sees is the real world reflected on the back of a black curtain in a silent theater.

A grand, cosmic puppet theater, where all that matters is the shape of a thing. Men can put on a face or a voice as easy as putting on a suit, but no man can hide his shape. You of all people know that best. Figures the kid with a false face can't be fooled by a mask.

You see the silhouettes of Andersen and his troops putting on their sharp uniforms, gearing up with their dangerous weapons, and marching in time to a silent beat. Their pretty little patrol boat sails in the skies above them, and all scatter before the long arm of the Alliance. But although they wear the trappings well, you have seen their shape.

And it is not the shape of the Alliance.


Willow smiled. "A good bath is indeed a rare luxury out here. Thankfully I share your love for them and have just the thing to soak away the grime of space and cares of the galaxy." She rises tentatively, looking to Andersen and his guards to see if she may leave.

"Let me go about drawing it for you now. Join me in... 10 minutes?"

Andersen motions to the guards, and they move away from the door. "I will see you then, my dear."

True to his word, you can get back to your quarters without any trouble at all, and nobody's going to disturb you for the next ten minutes. What do you do?


"Now captain, I'm sure you didn't mean any offense to this lovely, fetching young lady." I rub a nearby bulkhead appreciatively and give it a reassuring pat. "She's very sensitive you know, and this gal would get you halfway across the galaxy and back carting a herd of cattle the whole way if you wanted." I look back over to him. "But you'd be right that I spend my time keeping the lady running and not making small talk with the passengers. So, would there be anything else you'd like?"

"Just one." He waves the guards over, and doesn't even bother with whispering. "Go take a look through engineering, and the engines too. Leave no stone unturned."

"Sir, we already walked through the engines. Messy, but nothing out of the ordinary to report."

"Leave no stone unturned, soldier." He folded his hands resolutely. "That's an order."

[Thanqol]

Just the first answer is fine, but the second's appreciated.

The soldier stops tugging at your arm for a moment. Hard to see his face behind the gas mask, but it looks like he doesn't fancy dying a slow, horrible death. "We have to get to the cargo hold first. We can hit the evacuation signal once we're in the shuttle." Way he talks about the cargo hold, it sounds like it's something you're supposed to know about, being a respectable member of Andersen's crew and all.

"Sure, whatever," said Mrs. Snow, interested if there was anything worth pinching from the cargo hold, "but tick f*cking tock, sir, tick f*cking tock."

[BlasTech]

If you want to get a bead on Andersen, then I think you'll be wanting to Read a Person. If you want to take stock of your situation, that'll be Reading a Sitch.

Either way, you know that something is up from your previous Read a Sitch roll, and now you're trying to take advantage of that fact. If you roll, take your +1.

For better or worse, Hall is playing the player in front of him. Trying to get a feel for whether Andersen is going to bite or not.

[roll0]

Question 1: What does your character intend to do?
Question 2: How can I get Andersen to allow Hall to head back to his quarters.
Hold 1

[Anarion]

"Just one." He waves the guards over, and doesn't even bother with whispering. "Go take a look through engineering, and the engines too. Leave no stone unturned."

"Sir, we already walked through the engines. Messy, but nothing out of the ordinary to report."

"Leave no stone unturned, soldier." He folded his hands resolutely. "That's an order."

It seems I must again copy our fine captain.
Read a person [roll0]
First question: What's Andersen intend to do with them leaving no stone unturned in the engines?

[Deadly]

A grand, cosmic puppet theater, where all that matters is the shape of a thing. Men can put on a face or a voice as easy as putting on a suit, but no man can hide his shape. You of all people know that best. Figures the kid with a false face can't be fooled by a mask.

You see the silhouettes of Andersen and his troops putting on their sharp uniforms, gearing up with their dangerous weapons, and marching in time to a silent beat. Their pretty little patrol boat sails in the skies above them, and all scatter before the long arm of the Alliance. But although they wear the trappings well, you have seen their shape.

And it is not the shape of the Alliance.

Is that so? Interesting. Aeron observed Andersen with a new intensity, looking right through the facade to the mind behind it. Funny how the interrogator became the interrogee.

Read Andersen: 4+2+2 = 8

How can I get him to let me in on his secret?

[Elanorin]

Andersen motions to the guards, and they move away from the door. "I will see you then, my dear."

True to his word, you can get back to your quarters without any trouble at all, and nobody's going to disturb you for the next ten minutes. What do you do?

Willow would dive out to find Hall as soon as she was clear, dashing for his quarters, assuming that's where he was being held, hoping Andersen wasn't moving on to question him just yet. Should she run in to anyone she simply claimed she was fetching 'supplies' for the bath.

[TheAmishPirate]

It seems I must again copy our fine captain.
Read a person [roll0]
First question: What's Andersen intend to do with them leaving no stone unturned in the engines?

He intends to have his men empty your tools out of their boxes, touch everything and anything you own, pick up parts and not put them back where they go, and otherwise blunder through your workspace until whatever system of organization you had is completely annihilated.

Then - much later, in the privacy of his rooms - he will think of the trouble he's caused you, and laugh.


For better or worse, Hall is playing the player in front of him. Trying to get a feel for whether Andersen is going to bite or not.

[roll0]

Question 1: What does your character intend to do?
Question 2: How can I get Andersen to allow Hall to head back to his quarters.
Hold 1

Andersen intends to abuse his power over you and your crew for his own amusement. You both could've been well on your way, except you had to hail him and ruin everything. Now he's going to have what fun he can in payment for this unnecessary delay.

Now, best way to pull one over a man like this is to make him think he's pulled one over on you. Fake some sentimental attachment to a useless piece of junk on this ship, and squirm appropriately as he sends his troops off to "investigate" it. Once they're done messing with it, he'll be feeling mighty good about himself, and he'll send you back to your room without any more fuss.


Is that so? Interesting. Aeron observed Andersen with a new intensity, looking right through the facade to the mind behind it. Funny how the interrogator became the interrogee.

Read Andersen: 4+2+2 = 8

How can I get him to let me in on his secret?

Kid, I don't know what the world's coming to when I can tell you how to get a man to let you touch his brain, but I can't tell you how to get Andersen to let you in on a secret. He's big, you're little. Anything you could offer him, he'd take by force. Any threat you make on him, he can threaten harder. I just can't see the angle here.

Best I can say is this; you might not be able to get him to squeal, but Willow can. You know she can do it. Rope her into your scheme, and maybe it can happen. Otherwise, your best bet is to cut off his communications - Jane could do that, I wager, if she got full access to her workspace - separate him from his troops, and jump him. He's not armed, he thinks he's safe, so long as he doesn't make too much noise, he's yours. But there's a whole lot of 'if' in that plan.

Sorry, kid. Wish there was more I could tell you.


Willow would dive out to find Hall as soon as she was clear, dashing for his quarters, assuming that's where he was being held, hoping Andersen wasn't moving on to question him just yet. Should she run in to anyone she simply claimed she was fetching 'supplies' for the bath.

Alas, Hall's not in his quarters. Must have just taken him for questioning. Or maybe he's someplace else. Who knows?

The important question is that you've got an opportunity burning a hole in your pocket, and your Captain's gone missing. Who do you go to instead?


"Sure, whatever," said Mrs. Snow, interested if there was anything worth pinching from the cargo hold, "but tick f*cking tock, sir, tick f*cking tock."

He gives one more pointed look to your lack of oxygen tank, then rushes off towards the cargo bay. It's a place normally reserved for dockhands, robot help, and thems what misbehave. Low lights flicker as the ship's systems are still reeling from your lance. Crates are stacked up everywhere, each of them proudly stamped with the flag of the Union of Allied Planets. It's a safe bet that whatever was inside would be similarly marked.

http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/firefly/images/9/98/Alliance_Flag-2.png/revision/latest?cb=20080805195458

Your soldier friend - whose badge identifies him as Pvt. Curtis Adams - makes a beeline for one crate in particular. Up goes the lid, up goes a second, and a third, and after digging around the guts of the false crate he plucks out a case full of data rods. "Hope these things don't mind a little Gabion radition..." He mutters, though it comes out more like a prayer.

Of course, while he's working, you have the opportunity to root through some boxes yourself. Not like he'd begrudge you trying to salvage some goods from a potentially doomed ship. Before you do, though, what are you hoping to find? It's not like you'll discover a giant bag full of credits, or the full technical specifications of all your competitor's products. Salvaging is a gambler's game, and you have to know what it is you're really after.

Tell me about a treasure that you'd never dream of taking, and a common piece of junk you'd give your good arm to steal.

[Deadly]

Kid, I don't know what the world's coming to when I can tell you how to get a man to let you touch his brain, but I can't tell you how to get Andersen to let you in on a secret. He's big, you're little. Anything you could offer him, he'd take by force. Any threat you make on him, he can threaten harder. I just can't see the angle here.

Best I can say is this; you might not be able to get him to squeal, but Willow can. You know she can do it. Rope her into your scheme, and maybe it can happen. Otherwise, your best bet is to cut off his communications - Jane could do that, I wager, if she got full access to her workspace - separate him from his troops, and jump him. He's not armed, he thinks he's safe, so long as he doesn't make too much noise, he's yours. But there's a whole lot of 'if' in that plan.

Sorry, kid. Wish there was more I could tell you.

Oh, is that what he thinks. Unarmed, thinking he's safe and dealing with a useless kid... but no, as tempting as it was to play with Andersen all by himself, perhaps there was something even more tempting about teaming up with Willow to make him squeal. Mmm ... now there was a mental image he liked.

Aeron resumed patiently waiting, giving the best impression that there was nothing worthwhile to come for here, just a clueless kid with nothing to offer, while in his mind he was already imagining all sorts of ... things.

[Anarion]

He intends to have his men empty your tools out of their boxes, touch everything and anything you own, pick up parts and not put them back where they go, and otherwise blunder through your workspace until whatever system of organization you had is completely annihilated.

Then - much later, in the privacy of his rooms - he will think of the trouble he's caused you, and laugh.


I see, I see. That sounds like a might big waste of time. Mind answering me another question? What could I do to make him rescind those orders?

[Thanqol]

Your soldier friend - whose badge identifies him as Pvt. Curtis Adams - makes a beeline for one crate in particular. Up goes the lid, up goes a second, and a third, and after digging around the guts of the false crate he plucks out a case full of data rods. "Hope these things don't mind a little Gabion radition..." He mutters, though it comes out more like a prayer.

Of course, while he's working, you have the opportunity to root through some boxes yourself. Not like he'd begrudge you trying to salvage some goods from a potentially doomed ship. Before you do, though, what are you hoping to find? It's not like you'll discover a giant bag full of credits, or the full technical specifications of all your competitor's products. Salvaging is a gambler's game, and you have to know what it is you're really after.

Tell me about a treasure that you'd never dream of taking, and a common piece of junk you'd give your good arm to steal.

Mrs. Snow would really like to take one of the A.I. cores. Nothing better than a good fake person to help you with your research and handle all the long division. But you can never be sure of their loyalty, or know what weird tricks the Alliance stuck in 'em, and so she reluctantly passes them over.

The hunk of junk she does grab? The cargo manifest. Not only does this big ol' data file show what they have in stock, it also shows all the resupply stations in the region - which includes co-ordinates and approval codes for ISI stations - and what they have in stock. It's like a crime map, and no one will miss it because they can just download a newer copy.

[BlasTech]

Andersen intends to abuse his power over you and your crew for his own amusement. You both could've been well on your way, except you had to hail him and ruin everything. Now he's going to have what fun he can in payment for this unnecessary delay.

Now, best way to pull one over a man like this is to make him think he's pulled one over on you. Fake some sentimental attachment to a useless piece of junk on this ship, and squirm appropriately as he sends his troops off to "investigate" it. Once they're done messing with it, he'll be feeling mighty good about himself, and he'll send you back to your room without any more fuss.

Hall, bored, leaned back in his chair and took to staring at the walls of the kitchen.

In particular, he let his eyes rest on one piece of fabric that was hanging over the mantle. An old, tattered thing, with the number 84 written on it in faded yellow thread.

[Elanorin]

Alas, Hall's not in his quarters. Must have just taken him for questioning. Or maybe he's someplace else. Who knows?

The important question is that you've got an opportunity burning a hole in your pocket, and your Captain's gone missing. Who do you go to instead?


Well, my second choice is Rebecca (oh hell, do not tell her I said that) but she went and snuck on to the Alliance ship so...

Willow cursed under her breath when she realised Hall was not there. She hesitated for a second as the though of who else to seek out and a moment later she hurried quietly off to find her good friend Jane instead.

[TheAmishPirate]

I see, I see. That sounds like a mighty big waste of time. Mind answering me another question? What could I do to make him rescind those orders?

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeell the bad news is that you've done a good job of both making him mad, and showing him exactly what you care about on this ship. Like I was just telling Aeron, this isn't a situation where you've got an overabundance of leverage to push back with.

Still, if you could show him that your workspace is dangerous, and too risky for his men to go poking about all willy-nilly, then he'll relent. He'll probably turn around and make you root through everything yourself, but at least your system will be intact. Failing that, there is the universal language of bribery.


Oh, is that what he thinks. Unarmed, thinking he's safe and dealing with a useless kid... but no, as tempting as it was to play with Andersen all by himself, perhaps there was something even more tempting about teaming up with Willow to make him squeal. Mmm ... now there was a mental image he liked.

Aeron resumed patiently waiting, giving the best impression that there was nothing worthwhile to come for here, just a clueless kid with nothing to offer, while in his mind he was already imagining all sorts of ... things.

*beep beep*

Andersen's card reader blinked green. He didn't hide his disappointment. "Well, would you look at that. Fake face and a real ID." He flicks over your ident card and waves Ramirez over. "Finish processing him. I've got better things to do." And with that, he leaves you in the very capable hands of Ramirez. Given how he hasn't left since your roll, I'll say you still have a Read a Person question on him.

The private flicks through the list he'd been given, nearly dropping it twice "Alright. Port of entry? And...destination?"


Hall, bored, leaned back in his chair and took to staring at the walls of the kitchen.

In particular, he let his eyes rest on one piece of fabric that was hanging over the mantle. An old, tattered thing, with the number 84 written on it in faded yellow thread.


"Oh dear, my delicate web of lies has been shattered." replied Hall, deadpanning. "Now I have to confess the existence of my ragtag sabotage squad and our various desires to topple the tyranny of the Alliance."

He eyeballed the captain for a moment. Trying to gauge what kind of response would cause the captain to stick around a little longer. After all, whatever Ms Snow was doing over there, she probably needed more time.

"That was sarcasm, if you done wonderin." he said, sighing and leaning forward. "Look, captain, with all due respect, this ain't the first time I've had one of these little chats. The whole 'tryin' to trip me up thing?' it's wastin time, time that could probably be better spent going our own ways."

Andersen sighs. "Well, if you promise you're not up to no good, and that you'll sail along like good little boys and girls, then I suppose we must let you go. I'll tell my men to stop their search immediately, and to make your bunk on their way out."

"...that was sarcasm, if you're done wondering." He gets up and starts pacing the kitchen. With every pass, he gets closer and closer to the bit of cloth. "Honestly. I've lost count of the number of times I've heard a crew of bottom-feeders assure me that I am wasting my time. One particularly idiotic specimen kept telling me that even as I uncovered his stash of stolen drones. Said they were a gift from his grandmother..." He trails off, stopping right in front of the fabric. "...hrm. '84. A good year for you?"


Well, my second choice is Rebecca (oh hell, do not tell her I said that) but she went and snuck on to the Alliance ship so...

Willow cursed under her breath when she realised Hall was not there. She hesitated for a second as the though of who else to seek out and a moment later she hurried quietly off to find her good friend Jane instead.

Jane may or may not be available. While we sort that out for you, what about the other crew? The passengers? Don't you have anybody there you can rely on?


Mrs. Snow would really like to take one of the A.I. cores. Nothing better than a good fake person to help you with your research and handle all the long division. But you can never be sure of their loyalty, or know what weird tricks the Alliance stuck in 'em, and so she reluctantly passes them over.

The hunk of junk she does grab? The cargo manifest. Not only does this big ol' data file show what they have in stock, it also shows all the resupply stations in the region - which includes co-ordinates and approval codes for ISI stations - and what they have in stock. It's like a crime map, and no one will miss it because they can just download a newer copy.

Smart find. Small, portable, and valuable only to the ones with the right sort of insight.

You've just copied over the data when the entire ship lurches under you. Then falls away. Then comes rushing back to greet you. You hear your guide hit the deck hard.

As the gravity stabilizes and the lights stop flickering, you hear a tremendous *CRASH* as a pile of crates come tumbling down. Right in front of the exit.

What do you do?

[Thanqol]

Smart find. Small, portable, and valuable only to the ones with the right sort of insight.

You've just copied over the data when the entire ship lurches under you. Then falls away. Then comes rushing back to greet you. You hear your guide hit the deck hard.

As the gravity stabilizes and the lights stop flickering, you hear a tremendous *CRASH* as a pile of crates come tumbling down. Right in front of the exit.

What do you do?

Well it sounds like we're going to have to crawl through the -

*dramatic shudder*

ventilation shafts.

Oh damn I'm going to look like grease face after this.

[Deadly]

*beep beep*

Andersen's card reader blinked green. He didn't hide his disappointment. "Well, would you look at that. Fake face and a real ID." He flicks over your ident card and waves Ramirez over. "Finish processing him. I've got better things to do." And with that, he leaves you in the very capable hands of Ramirez. Given how he hasn't left since your roll, I'll say you still have a Read a Person question on him.

The private flicks through the list he'd been given, nearly dropping it twice "Alright. Port of entry? And...destination?"

Aeron had very little interest in filling out a lot of unimportant paperwork, he had more important things to attend to. Besides, he didn't like leaving behind a trail, or at least not a useful one.

How can I get Ramirez to just wave the thing off, maybe fill in some random made-up answers for me?

[Anarion]

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeell the bad news is that you've done a good job of both making him mad, and showing him exactly what you care about on this ship. Like I was just telling Aeron, this isn't a situation where you've got an overabundance of leverage to push back with.

Still, if you could show him that your workspace is dangerous, and too risky for his men to go poking about all willy-nilly, then he'll relent. He'll probably turn around and make you root through everything yourself, but at least your system will be intact. Failing that, there is the universal language of bribery.


Oh, well that's not too hard. About the time his men would get there, I quietly press a button on my arm. I've got some spare capacitors hooked up on my desk. They're cheap, not worth much, just extra electricity storage. But overload them and you get some very nice results (https://youtu.be/2_cqN38wSD8?t=56s).

[BlasTech]

Andersen sighs. "Well, if you promise you're not up to no good, and that you'll sail along like good little boys and girls, then I suppose we must let you go. I'll tell my men to stop their search immediately, and to make your bunk on their way out."

"...that was sarcasm, if you're done wondering." He gets up and starts pacing the kitchen. With every pass, he gets closer and closer to the bit of cloth. "Honestly. I've lost count of the number of times I've heard a crew of bottom-feeders assure me that I am wasting my time. One particularly idiotic specimen kept telling me that even as I uncovered his stash of stolen drones. Said they were a gift from his grandmother..." He trails off, stopping right in front of the fabric. "...hrm. '84. A good year for you?"

Hall carefully schools his features, clearly trying not to give anything away. He also, with obvious reluctance, looks elsewhere in the kitchen. The ceiling, the floor, Andersen. Basically anything other than that piece of cloth. That, rather brown-ish, almost flag-ish, piece of cloth.

"Yeah. Good year." he mutters.

It clearly wasn't the flag of the browncoats, as that was (paradoxically) green and yellow. But the 84th Overlanders had been a division in the war, one that fought hard in the battle of Keylene, and had held the line in the stalemated Battle of Dhu Kang.

[Elanorin]

Jane may or may not be available. While we sort that out for you, what about the other crew? The passengers? Don't you have anybody there you can rely on?


I try to make a point out of not relying on anybody. That's the kind of thing that leads to complications. I don't like complications. Sure, I enjoy mine and Mr Snow's talks we have and the occasional culinary adventure with our chef, but neither are people I feel I can run to when in trouble.

[TheAmishPirate]

Aeron had very little interest in filling out a lot of unimportant paperwork, he had more important things to attend to. Besides, he didn't like leaving behind a trail, or at least not a useful one.

How can I get Ramirez to just wave the thing off, maybe fill in some random made-up answers for me?

Rameriez has been jumpy since first he clapped eyes on you. He wants to do this whole song and dance just as much as you do. I'd advise against threatening him directly, as there's a chance he might up and shoot you if you came right at him. But if you push him a little further, if you give him a glimpse at the weird, the grotesque, the downright disturbing you, he'll bolt, and make up something for the paperwork later.

Out of purest curiosity kid, does your face come off?


Hall carefully schools his features, clearly trying not to give anything away. He also, with obvious reluctance, looks elsewhere in the kitchen. The ceiling, the floor, Andersen. Basically anything other than that piece of cloth. That, rather brown-ish, almost flag-ish, piece of cloth.

"Yeah. Good year." he mutters.

It clearly wasn't the flag of the browncoats, as that was (paradoxically) green and yellow. But the 84th Overlanders had been a division in the war, one that fought hard in the battle of Keylene, and had held the line in the stalemated Battle of Dhu Kang.

Andersen roughly snatches the flag off the wall. He puts his ear to the wall, tapping and listening for a hollow, a safe, a hiding-place.

Now, I'm going to take a leap here and guess you haven't led him to a secret stash of yours, but I've been wrong about a fair bit before. Come to think of it, tell me about your hiding-places. Does your ship have any? Is there anything in them right now? Who all knows about them?

Oh, and as always, what do you do?


Oh, well that's not too hard. About the time his men would get there, I quietly press a button on my arm. I've got some spare capacitors hooked up on my desk. They're cheap, not worth much, just extra electricity storage. But overload them and you get some very nice results (https://youtu.be/2_cqN38wSD8?t=56s).

Right on cue, Andersen's communicator buzzes to life with reports of fire, explosions, and electrical witchcraft. Disgruntled, he buzzes back, "Get back up here, and let the grease-skink do it herself." Turning to you, he glowers menacingly. "My men will be watching. Don't try anything."

A few minutes later, his soldiers return to escort you down to the engine room for your long, boring task of sorting through all your junk. Mission accomplished.


I try to make a point out of not relying on anybody. That's the kind of thing that leads to complications. I don't like complications. Sure, I enjoy mine and Mr Snow's talks we have and the occasional culinary adventure with our chef, but neither are people I feel I can run to when in trouble.

The Outer Rim is one of the last places in the 'Verse a body can just keep to themselves. Then again, it's awful hard to be truly alone, isn't it?

In any case, you find Jane being escorted to the engine room by a pair of guards.


Well it sounds like we're going to have to crawl through the -

*dramatic shudder*

ventilation shafts.

Oh damn I'm going to look like grease face after this.

The sacrifices we make for the things we love.

With some help from Pvt. Adams, you both climb up some crates and into the ventilation shafts. It's dark, it's cramped, and there isn't a single sign pointing the way to the hangar. How are you navigating?

[Anarion]

In any case, you find Jane being escorted to the engine room by a pair of guards.


"Howdy, Willow" I say as we pass in the hallway. She looks like she's got something on her mind, but I can hardly ask her to speak it all with the guards right there. "If you need something, the alliance captain has asked these fine gentleman to escort me to the engine room while I 'search' it for them." The slight twang to the word "search" is just faint enough for Willow, who knows Jane well, to get that she's being sarcastic, but not enough that the soldiers would think it's anything more than an ugly frontier accent to which they should turn their noses up. "I'll be a few minutes, or you can come with."

[Thanqol]

The sacrifices we make for the things we love.

With some help from Pvt. Adams, you both climb up some crates and into the ventilation shafts. It's dark, it's cramped, and there isn't a single sign pointing the way to the hangar. How are you navigating?

Woman's intuition? These evac maps I grabbed? The guy who lives and works on this spaceship?

[Elanorin]

The Outer Rim is one of the last places in the 'Verse a body can just keep to themselves. Then again, it's awful hard to be truly alone, isn't it?

In any case, you find Jane being escorted to the engine room by a pair of guards.


"Howdy, Willow" I say as we pass in the hallway. She looks like she's got something on her mind, but I can hardly ask her to speak it all with the guards right there. "If you need something, the alliance captain has asked these fine gentleman to escort me to the engine room while I 'search' it for them." The slight twang to the word "search" is just faint enough for Willow, who knows Jane well, to get that she's being sarcastic, but not enough that the soldiers would think it's anything more than an ugly frontier accent to which they should turn their noses up. "I'll be a few minutes, or you can come with."

"Hello, Jane," Willow's smile doesn't falter despite noting the unfortunate presence of guards. "I see. I would offer to help you but Captain Andersen has requested a bath so I will be busy seeing to him for a good while." Willow smiled happily, clearly delighted to have a client. The kind of delighted a good friend could tell was part of a careful act. "I'm sure our Captain will help you if you let him know, so you're done by the time Captain Andersen emerges from his bath. I think he wants to head off quite soon after, from what I understand," Willow added, all innocent sweetness and light.

[Anarion]

"Oh, I'm sure we'll be done by then. These fine young soldiers wouldn't want to keep their captain waiting after his nice bath, ain't that right boys?"

[Deadly]

Rameriez has been jumpy since first he clapped eyes on you. He wants to do this whole song and dance just as much as you do. I'd advise against threatening him directly, as there's a chance he might up and shoot you if you came right at him. But if you push him a little further, if you give him a glimpse at the weird, the grotesque, the downright disturbing you, he'll bolt, and make up something for the paperwork later.

Out of purest curiosity kid, does your face come off?

Well, sort of. Some of it. See, a large part of his skull and jaw has been replaced with metal and electronics, all part of the prosthetic. That part can't be removed ... certainly not without massive surgery, at least. But much of the outward mask - the part you see - can be removed, yes. It's not particularly easy or neat, but it can be done.

"Have you ever looked in the mirror," Aeron said conversationally as they left Andersen, entirely ignoring the questionnaire, "and thought you looked a little different? Like maybe your face was changing, but you can't quite put your finger on what has changed?"

He stopped and leaned against a wall. "Before I got this," he said and tapped his metal face, "I sometimes couldn't recognize myself in the mirror. My face was too sick and pale, like wax that couldn't hold its shape. It reminded me of some alien, fleshy fungus growing out of my head.

"Do you think a face can exist independent of its body? That it can take over its body?" Aeron paused and studied himself in the reflection of a metal pipe. "When they cut away my old face and replaced it with this, it was a relief. I was ridding myself of a cancerous growth, replacing it with something that doesn't change. I wake up every day now, and it's the same face I see. I don't have to worry."

He turned and looked straight at Ramirez. "Or so I thought, anyway." He turned his head slightly to show the intersection between metal and skin, running a finger over the scarred tissue. He seemed to invite Ramirez to study it more closely, showing how the skin seemed to grow over the metal. "Right after I got it, I could take the face plate off with ease, but now everything's begun to merge with the flesh and bone beneath. It's like the old face, the alien cancer the doctors tried to cut away, is growing again, trying to recover and grow over the metal like it did the face I was born with.

"Maybe it'll spread, and spread ... and spread," he said, studying Ramirez' face like it had suddenly sprouted some obscene growth. "Perhaps the face you see, the smooth unchanging metal, is the only thing that's me anymore. Maybe it's the only real face among a walking flock of fleshy alien fungi. I think about that sometimes."

[Elanorin]

"Oh, I'm sure we'll be done by then. These fine young soldiers wouldn't want to keep their captain waiting after his nice bath, ain't that right boys?"

"Right. Good. That's... good." Willow was painfully aware she was no good at this subversive plotting thing and hoped she wasn't making a mistake in detaining Andersen. "I'll just... get some towels..." she motioned over her shoulder and took a few hesitant steps away, offered her friend another warm yet slightly worried smile before heading back to actually get that bath set up. It wasn't just a case of hot water in a tub after all, there needed to be lit scented candles, soaps, fragrant oils, toasty towels, bubbles.

[TheAmishPirate]

He turned and looked straight at Ramirez. "Or so I thought, anyway." He turned his head slightly to show the intersection between metal and skin, running a finger over the scarred tissue. He seemed to invite Ramirez to study it more closely, showing how the skin seemed to grow over the metal. "Right after I got it, I could take the face plate off with ease, but now everything's begun to merge with the flesh and bone beneath. It's like the old face, the alien cancer the doctors tried to cut away, is growing again, trying to recover and grow over the metal like it did the face I was born with.

"Maybe it'll spread, and spread ... and spread," he said, studying Ramirez' face like it had suddenly sprouted some obscene growth. "Perhaps the face you see, the smooth unchanging metal, is the only thing that's me anymore. Maybe it's the only real face among a walking flock of fleshy alien fungi. I think about that sometimes."

Rameriez wordlessly closes his notepad, clicks the pen back into place, gets up, and briskly walks out without so much as a sideways glance to the alien freak.

Nope. Not today. Not him. No sir.

So now you've got the room to yourself and-hey, was that Willow just now, heading to her rooms? Fancy that.

What do you do?


"Oh, I'm sure we'll be done by then. These fine young soldiers wouldn't want to keep their captain waiting after his nice bath, ain't that right boys?"

"Just get to searching, lady." One of the soldiers pushes you along, into the engine room.

Come to think of it, I haven't mentioned their names yet, have I? The one who just shoved you is named Kendall, and Spencer is backing her up. The engine room itself is largely untouched; they didn't have much time to search before your capacitors overloaded. Fortunately, they didn't catch anything else on fire, and are smoldering nicely on your workbench.

"A bath? What's he doing?" Spencer gripes.

"Can it, soldier. It is what it is." Kendall bristles, equally uncomfortable.


"Right. Good. That's... good." Willow was painfully aware she was no good at this subversive plotting thing and hoped she wasn't making a mistake in detaining Andersen. "I'll just... get some towels..." she motioned over her shoulder and took a few hesitant steps away, offered her friend another warm yet slightly worried smile before heading back to actually get that bath set up. It wasn't just a case of hot water in a tub after all, there needed to be lit scented candles, soaps, fragrant oils, toasty towels, bubbles.

Quite the relaxing atmosphere you've made. Tell me, what do the candles smell like to you?


Woman's intuition? These evac maps I grabbed? The guy who lives and works on this spaceship?

It's true, the evac maps do show where all the vents open up. Doesn't take much imagination to figure out how to get to the hangar from here. Thing is, the reason the maps don't show the ducts themselves is that when there's an emergency, all the smoke and fumes and badness has to go somewhere. Sooner or later, it passes through the vents on its way to the oxygen harvesters.

And wouldn't you know it; somebody's not wearing their oxygen mask.

You can duck out the vents early, and avoid all that crap. You'll still have an exposed hike to the hangar, but at least you're not trapped in the cargo hold, and it beats breathing a fume cocktail. Or you can risk crawling all the way through. You'll probably be exposing yourself to toxic gases, but it'll take you straight to where you need to go. Who knows? Maybe you'll even hear something interesting on the way; all sorts of voices wind up echoing through the vents. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

What do you do?

[Thanqol]

It's true, the evac maps do show where all the vents open up. Doesn't take much imagination to figure out how to get to the hangar from here. Thing is, the reason the maps don't show the ducts themselves is that when there's an emergency, all the smoke and fumes and badness has to go somewhere. Sooner or later, it passes through the vents on its way to the oxygen harvesters.

And wouldn't you know it; somebody's not wearing their oxygen mask.

You can duck out the vents early, and avoid all that crap. You'll still have an exposed hike to the hangar, but at least you're not trapped in the cargo hold, and it beats breathing a fume cocktail. Or you can risk crawling all the way through. You'll probably be exposing yourself to toxic gases, but it'll take you straight to where you need to go. Who knows? Maybe you'll even hear something interesting on the way; all sorts of voices wind up echoing through the vents. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

What do you do?

Does Mrs. Snow strike you as the kind of person who doesn't make major business decisions while taking deep breaths from a bag labelled 'DRUGS'? Between her natural tolerance and the fact that her biology is pulsing with weird alien compounds she likes her odds against some smoke.

[Deadly]

Rameriez wordlessly closes his notepad, clicks the pen back into place, gets up, and briskly walks out without so much as a sideways glance to the alien freak.

Nope. Not today. Not him. No sir.

So now you've got the room to yourself and-hey, was that Willow just now, heading to her rooms? Fancy that.

What do you do?

Aeron watched Ramirez flee the scene. It was almost disappointingly easy. Ho-hum, oh well ... now, what was it he was doing again? He started whistling to himself - which went about as well as you imagine without lips - and turned when he heard Willow. He stopped mid-"whistle", staring for a second or two longer than could be called inconspicuous. Then he remembered himself, and his purpose. "Morning, Miss Skaro," he said. "May I walk with you?"

[Anarion]

I start opening some drawers and holding things up for the soldiers. Old wires, rusty but salvageable scrap metal, resistors, diodes, transistors, a good variety of wrenches and screwdrivers. "So...anything you boys looking for, or am I just supposed to show you my whole socket wrench collection?"

[BlasTech]

Andersen roughly snatches the flag off the wall. He puts his ear to the wall, tapping and listening for a hollow, a safe, a hiding-place.

Now, I'm going to take a leap here and guess you haven't led him to a secret stash of yours, but I've been wrong about a fair bit before. Come to think of it, tell me about your hiding-places. Does your ship have any? Is there anything in them right now? Who all knows about them?

Oh, and as always, what do you do?

Turns out it does lead to a secret compartment. When Andersen opens it, he's greeted by the soft hiss of cool air, and the tinkling of glasses. Inside the small compartment, one which only the Captain knows about, is a small bottle of Triumph Firewhiskey. Nasty stuff that the locals turn out, and that the Captain subjects himself to every so often.

As far as other hiding places go, there's plenty. The Neruda is a large ship, prone to allowing small nooks and crannies to be turned into stashes of something or other. Most of them are nothing more than a dark place, where folks tend to hide the odd momento, wad of cash, or adult magazine. That's not what you're really asking about though, is it? As far as proper hiding places go, there's far fewer. People tend to ask the difficult-like questions when you're trying to get sensor-damping cabinets installed, and they usually leave records about which ships might have 'em.

There's a sequence of three storage cabinets in the main hold - shielded, airtight. Can only be opened with the right sequence of codes on the loading bay panel, or by someone who is very determined with the cuttin' tools. The crew know about them but the passengers don't, or at least nobody's told 'em (Aeron's weird mind powers notwithstanding).

All three are currently empty, on account of business not being that great in the whole smuggling scene.

Hall also has a smaller one in his quarters, where he keeps some of his more private mementos. A journal, a family photo, some star maps, a gun. That one only he knows about.

Back in the kitchen, though, Andersen is finding out about one of the not-so-secret compartments. Most everyone knows about it, most everyone avoids it on account of the taste of the booze inside it. Hall keeps his posture straight, although he makes a point to grip the table slightly more than is strictly necessary. Playing the part of the tense, angry, captain.

[Elanorin]

Aeron watched Ramirez flee the scene. It was almost disappointingly easy. Ho-hum, oh well ... now, what was it he was doing again? He started whistling to himself - which went about as well as you imagine without lips - and turned when he heard Willow. He stopped mid-"whistle", staring for a second or two longer than could be called inconspicuous. Then he remembered himself, and his purpose. "Morning, Miss Skaro," he said. "May I walk with you?"

Willow paused her hurried barefooted step for a moment, threw a glance over her shoulder at him. There was no undue rejection in her eyes, she was becoming used to him being on this ship and as such was getting her feelings regarding the new arrival more under control, but neither was she pleased to see him. That's not a thing that would happen. Her nod was barely noticeable, she would not mind if he missed it entirely, and then she continued back to her quarters.



Quite the relaxing atmosphere you've made. Tell me, what do the candles smell like to you?


The lit candles give off a perfect relaxing and fresh scent of chamomile, saltwater and lavender. But that is just the beginning; there will be the soft and gentle sound of waves rolling in over a beach quietly in the background, dimmed lights, drapes drawn to hide away the light from the rest of the ship, heavy drapes that even muffled some of the sound from the engines.

She looked up at Aeron as she went about lighting candles.

"Don't get any ideas. This is not for you." This would never be for you.

[Deadly]

Willow paused her hurried barefooted step for a moment, threw a glance over her shoulder at him. There was no undue rejection in her eyes, she was becoming used to him being on this ship and as such was getting her feelings regarding the new arrival more under control, but neither was she pleased to see him. That's not a thing that would happen. Her nod was barely noticeable, she would not mind if he missed it entirely, and then she continued back to her quarters.



The lit candles give off a perfect relaxing and fresh scent of chamomile, saltwater and lavender. But that is just the beginning; there will be the soft and gentle sound of waves rolling in over a beach quietly in the background, dimmed lights, drapes drawn to hide away the light from the rest of the ship, heavy drapes that even muffled some of the sound from the engines.

She looked up at Aeron as she went about lighting candles.

"Don't get any ideas. This is not for you." This would never be for you.

"Of course. I wouldn't dream of thinking it," he said flatly, standing well out of the way so she could work. Without many of the usual tells and signs of a living face, it was always a little hard to say what the young man in the mask was thinking or feeling, but it was a good bet that more was going on inside his head and heart than the words he spoke.

He glanced back over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. "I know something about our visitors, something worth knowing," he said. "But I'd like to know more and I believe you could help with that, if you knew what to look for."

[Elanorin]

"Of course. I wouldn't dream of thinking it," he said flatly, standing well out of the way so she could work. Without many of the usual tells and signs of a living face, it was always a little hard to say what the young man in the mask was thinking or feeling, but it was a good bet that more was going on inside his head and heart than the words he spoke.

He glanced back over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. "I know something about our visitors, something worth knowing," he said. "But I'd like to know more and I believe you could help with that, if you knew what to look for."

Willow hesitated mid-motion as she was about to light a big white candles with purple petals infused in its wax. She thought for a moment before looking up at Aeron.

"Go on."

[TheAmishPirate]

Does Mrs. Snow strike you as the kind of person who doesn't make major business decisions while taking deep breaths from a bag labelled 'DRUGS'? Between her natural tolerance and the fact that her biology is pulsing with weird alien compounds she likes her odds against some smoke.

Figured as much.

So you're crawling through the vents, almost pitch-black, getting high on chemicals I can't even begin to pronounce correctly. The echoes of your knees on metal swirl together with voices near and far, past and future, and you think you can smell green.

Would you kindly roll to Open Your Brain?


I start opening some drawers and holding things up for the soldiers. Old wires, rusty but salvageable scrap metal, resistors, diodes, transistors, a good variety of wrenches and screwdrivers. "So...anything you boys looking for, or am I just supposed to show you my whole socket wrench collection?"

"Just keep opening drawers, and dig where we tell you." Kendall snaps. Obviously, they're looking for anything illegal. Guns and explosives, sure, but also techno-contraband/newtech you probably shouldn't have. Precision laser focusers, cellscope scanners, straight-up Alliance engine parts; girl like you has something too fancy, they'll assume you swiped it and confiscate it as illegal salvage.

You don't have anything like that in here, do you?


Turns out it does lead to a secret compartment. When Andersen opens it, he's greeted by the soft hiss of cool air, and the tinkling of glasses. Inside the small compartment, one which only the Captain knows about, is a small bottle of Triumph Firewhiskey. Nasty stuff that the locals turn out, and that the Captain subjects himself to every so often.

As far as other hiding places go, there's plenty. The Neruda is a large ship, prone to allowing small nooks and crannies to be turned into stashes of something or other. Most of them are nothing more than a dark place, where folks tend to hide the odd momento, wad of cash, or adult magazine. That's not what you're really asking about though, is it? As far as proper hiding places go, there's far fewer. People tend to ask the difficult-like questions when you're trying to get sensor-damping cabinets installed, and they usually leave records about which ships might have 'em.

There's a sequence of three storage cabinets in the main hold - shielded, airtight. Can only be opened with the right sequence of codes on the loading bay panel, or by someone who is very determined with the cuttin' tools. The crew know about them but the passengers don't, or at least nobody's told 'em (Aeron's weird mind powers notwithstanding).

All three are currently empty, on account of business not being that great in the whole smuggling scene.

Hall also has a smaller one in his quarters, where he keeps some of his more private mementos. A journal, a family photo, some star maps, a gun. That one only he knows about.

Back in the kitchen, though, Andersen is finding out about one of the not-so-secret compartments. Most everyone knows about it, most everyone avoids it on account of the taste of the booze inside it. Hall keeps his posture straight, although he makes a point to grip the table slightly more than is strictly necessary. Playing the part of the tense, angry, captain.

"Well, well, well. What have we here, Captain?" Andersen slams the bottle on the table, smirking. He's enjoying himself. "What is it today? Gift from the family? Never seen it before in your life? Or is this where you keep the spare engine coolant? It's been a long time since I've heard that one."

[Thanqol]

Figured as much.

So you're crawling through the vents, almost pitch-black, getting high on chemicals I can't even begin to pronounce correctly. The echoes of your knees on metal swirl together with voices near and far, past and future, and you think you can smell green.

Would you kindly roll to Open Your Brain?

6! Green is my favourite smell.

[Anarion]

"Just keep opening drawers, and dig where we tell you." Kendall snaps. Obviously, they're looking for anything illegal. Guns and explosives, sure, but also techno-contraband/newtech you probably shouldn't have. Precision laser focusers, cellscope scanners, straight-up Alliance engine parts; girl like you has something too fancy, they'll assume you swiped it and confiscate it as illegal salvage.

You don't have anything like that in here, do you?


Not in one piece, more's the pity. If I had all these amazing laser cores and cellular scanners, I wouldn't be drooling all over myself just at their little alliance hand scanners. I've got spare parts, scorched and junky, that might have been from discarded advanced tech, but they're mixed in with all the junk and covered with grease and dirt.

[Deadly]

Willow hesitated mid-motion as she was about to light a big white candles with purple petals infused in its wax. She thought for a moment before looking up at Aeron.

"Go on."

"The colors they wear? Not theirs," he said. "I don't know what or who they are, but I know what they aren't, and they aren't Alliance." He shifted a bit as he glanced around the room and the preparations being made. "Thought you should know. I'm also curious to know what this Andersen is hiding, and I know you're just the one who could make him share everything with us ..."

[Elanorin]

"The colors they wear? Not theirs," he said. "I don't know what or who they are, but I know what they aren't, and they aren't Alliance." He shifted a bit as he glanced around the room and the preparations being made. "Thought you should know. I'm also curious to know what this Andersen is hiding, and I know you're just the one who could make him share everything with us ..."

"They're not Alliance?" Willow hissed in disbelief, trying to keep her voice down despite her surprise and anger at the news. "Then why don't we just kick them out? Surely we outnumber them and if they have no way of causing us legal trouble... let's just get rid of them before..." She shuddered at the thought of who this Andersen might really be and she pulled her shawl a little closer around her, but it was not Aeron's attention that bothered her anymore.

[Deadly]

"They're not Alliance?" Willow hissed in disbelief, trying to keep her voice down despite her surprise and anger at the news. "Then why don't we just kick them out? Surely we outnumber them and if they have no way of causing us legal trouble... let's just get rid of them before..." She shuddered at the thought of who this Andersen might really be and she pulled her shawl a little closer around her, but it was not Aeron's attention that bothered her anymore.

"I was tempted," he said, looking like he was going through strategies and plans in his head. "But I take it the others haven't caught on, and we are unfortunately separated. Had we known earlier, our options would have been better. Also, they may not be Alliance, but they have apparently commandeered an Alliance ship, possibly including their communications. They were able to verify my ID card, which requires communications with Alliance to work. I wouldn't rule out that they could still cause us trouble with the actual Alliance if we force their hand and allow them a chance to communicate.

"Our only advantage right now is knowledge, and the fact that they don't know we have it. The more we can squeeze out of Andersen without alerting him to what's going on, the stronger we stand. Meanwhile, I can alert the others, quietly. If we blare it out on the ship's communications, we'll only cause chaos and lose our only advantage."

[Elanorin]

"I was tempted," he said, looking like he was going through strategies and plans in his head. "But I take it the others haven't caught on, and we are unfortunately separated. Had we known earlier, our options would have been better. Also, they may not be Alliance, but they have apparently commandeered an Alliance ship, possibly including their communications. They were able to verify my ID card, which requires communications with Alliance to work. I wouldn't rule out that they could still cause us trouble with the actual Alliance if we force their hand and allow them a chance to communicate.

"Our only advantage right now is knowledge, and the fact that they don't know we have it. The more we can squeeze out of Andersen without alerting him to what's going on, the stronger we stand. Meanwhile, I can alert the others, quietly. If we blare it out on the ship's communications, we'll only cause chaos and lose our only advantage."

Willow gave Aeron a series of reluctant sideways glances as he spoke and she conceded he had a point, albeit with little else than an annoyed flutter or two of her eyelashes and pursed lips.

"So what is it you want me to find out- and- wait- how did you learn this in the first place?"

[Deadly]

Willow gave Aeron a series of reluctant sideways glances as he spoke and she conceded he had a point, albeit with little else than an annoyed flutter or two of her eyelashes and pursed lips.

"So what is it you want me to find out- and- wait- how did you learn this in the first place?"

"I'm an excellent judge of character," he said and met her brief glances, "and faces.

"What they're doing here, their plans, their strategies, their command structure and communications, and if you can, who or what they really are. Squeeze as much as you can out of him, but be careful." He paused as if he wanted to say something else, but was trying to think better of it.

[BlasTech]

"Well, well, well. What have we here, Captain?" Andersen slams the bottle on the table, smirking. He's enjoying himself. "What is it today? Gift from the family? Never seen it before in your life? Or is this where you keep the spare engine coolant? It's been a long time since I've heard that one."

Hall gazed at the bottle for a heartbeat, before shifting an entirely unconvincing smile towards the captain.

"Just my back medicine." he said. "Gettin' old and creaky-like in the mornin's"

[Elanorin]

"I'm an excellent judge of character," he said and met her brief glances, "and faces.

"Ironically," Willow shot in, under her breath



"What they're doing here, their plans, their strategies, their command structure and communications, and if you can, who or what they really are. Squeeze as much as you can out of him, but be careful." He paused as if he wanted to say something else, but was trying to think better of it.

"That's a lot to filter in to casual conversation!" Willow protested. "I mean, communications? Strategy? Not exactly topics that lend themselves to pillowtalk. You'd be better off searching through his effects while he's in the bath," she pointed out.

[Deadly]

"That's a lot to filter in to casual conversation!" Willow protested. "I mean, communications? Strategy? Not exactly topics that lend themselves to pillowtalk. You'd be better off searching through his effects while he's in the bath," she pointed out.

"You're suggesting I hang around in here while you 'pillowtalk'?" Aeron asked, wanting to make sure he hadn't heard her wrong. Of course, who was he to make a big deal about it if she made the offer herself.

[TheAmishPirate]

6! Green is my favourite smell.

The trip rapidly spirals into a bad one. In the lonely dark, the metal ducts close in and constrict around you. Slowly, inexorably, they squeeze out words, memories, and dreams like juice from a ripe plum.

Tell me about a childhood dream you've held onto. It can be as big, little, mature, or naive as you like, so long as you haven't given up on it. And as it comes to mind, tell me what you say. What words slip from your lips and fall clanging through the vents?

*************************************

We've had some pleasant chats aboard the Neruda, but I'm afraid the pleasantries are coming to an end all abrupt-like.

Wherever you are, and whatever you're doing, everybody hears an explosion rumbling in the distance, and the ground shudders beneath you. Given there isn't much distance to be had on the Neruda, and the fire alarms haven't sounded yet, it's not too difficult to guess where it came from.


Hall gazed at the bottle for a heartbeat, before shifting an entirely unconvincing smile towards the captain.

"Just my back medicine." he said. "Gettin' old and creaky-like in the mornin's"

Andersen had just tucked away the bottle of liquor for "examination" when the explosion rocked the ship. "Report! What the hell was that?!" he shouts into his communicator.

It's hard to make out everything, but you distinctly hear something about a fire in the infirmary.

"Get these leeches back to their quarters! Lock them down, now!" he barks.

The soldier who had been standing guard while you talked comes to lock you in your room. What do you do?


"That's a lot to filter in to casual conversation!" Willow protested. "I mean, communications? Strategy? Not exactly topics that lend themselves to pillowtalk. You'd be better off searching through his effects while he's in the bath," she pointed out.


"You're suggesting I hang around in here while you 'pillowtalk'?" Aeron asked, wanting to make sure he hadn't heard her wrong. Of course, who was he to make a big deal about it if she made the offer herself.

Right around here, after the rumbling stops, there's a heavy stomping of boots and a sharp rap on your door. "You are to stay in your quarters until further notice. This is an order." A soldier shouts from outside.

What do you do?


Not in one piece, more's the pity. If I had all these amazing laser cores and cellular scanners, I wouldn't be drooling all over myself just at their little alliance hand scanners. I've got spare parts, scorched and junky, that might have been from discarded advanced tech, but they're mixed in with all the junk and covered with grease and dirt.

Jane, you've just heard a fine ship scream out in agony. What does it sound like to you?

Kendall moves to lock the three of you in the engine room, while Spencer covers you, watching for trouble. Though still not pointing his gun at you. What do you do?

[Thanqol]

The trip rapidly spirals into a bad one. In the lonely dark, the metal ducts close in and constrict around you. Slowly, inexorably, they squeeze out words, memories, and dreams like juice from a ripe plum.

Tell me about a childhood dream you've held onto. It can be as big, little, mature, or naive as you like, so long as you haven't given up on it. And as it comes to mind, tell me what you say. What words slip from your lips and fall clanging through the vents?

*************************************

"Friends! Be wary! I am about to open the door to the Crystal Spire, and who knows what lurks within? Excitement? Danger? Adventure? Perhaps even my old enemy, Major Peril? I'm going to need you to be brave. You can't venture into the unknown without bravery! Now... the door is... open! Aha! Peril! I knew it! Take that!" *Zap!* *Pow!*

A little girl sat by the radio, staring enraptured. When the sounds of laser fire broke out she held out her toy blaster pistol and yelled "ZAP ZAP ZAP" at the top of her lungs, and in her head the evil Stiltmen minions of Major Peril burst into flames.

"Ha ha ha!" shrieked the voice of Major Peril. "You have fallen into my trap, Lancelot Biggs!"

"Not so fast, Peril! You won't get away with this!" Lancelot Biggs' voice cut through the sounds of battle like a battleship through a fishing trawler.

"But I already have, Biggs! The Crystal Spire is mine! This entire planet is mine! And soon I shall blow it all up and there is nothing you can do to stop it! Ha ha ha!"

"Gadzooks, he is right!" said Lancelot Biggs. "There is no way I can get through that force field! It seems like we are done for, my friends... unless... Yes! That's it! I'll make a distraction and you sneak around him and knock him out on the count of three. Are you ready? I am trusting you!"

The little girl nodded hard and seriously. She clutched her laser blaster until her knuckles were white.

"Major Peril! Why blow up the Crystal Planet? What has it ever done to you?" said Lancelot Biggs. The girl crept off to the side, crouching low, taking cover behind a row of toys - equal part aliens, robots and stuffed animals.

"Because it is filled with aliens, Biggs! Doesn't the sight of them make your stomach turn? They look like birds! They have beaks and feathers and they only talk by singing! Who knows what they are thinking? They could come for us at any second! They could kill us all, so I have to blow them up first!"

"Why, you are a coward, Peril!" cried Biggs.

"I am not a coward!" said Peril. "I am just being safe! I am just being sure! The galaxy is a dangerous place and the only thing that is safe is exploded planets!"

"This," said Lancelot Biggs, voice full of sadness, "is where cowardice gets you, my friends. Exploded planets. No Crystal Spires. No beautiful song-speech. No adventure. Nothing at all. But there is still time to change things. Stand up to Peril! One! Two! Three!"

The girl leapt from hiding. Her aim was true. Her laser bolt struck Major Peril in the back! "Oh no! I'm exploding!" cried Peril.

"Turns out the only thing to be afraid of was fear itself, Major Peril," said Lancelot Biggs. "Now quickly! Help me disarm this bomb!"

"In comparison to the ultra-volcanos of Istelmar VII, this is nothing!" said Mrs. Snow in her best impression of Lancelot Bigg's voice. "Come, friends! We must hurry if we are to catch up to Major Peril!"

[Anarion]

Jane, you've just heard a fine ship scream out in agony. What does it sound like to you?

Kendall moves to lock the three of you in the engine room, while Spencer covers you, watching for trouble. Though still not pointing his gun at you. What do you do?

It sounds like a poor wounded animal that needs tending. What, you want me to get all fancy with the description? There ain't time for that, there's a ship that needs tending to.

"Aight, now look here boys, that's your ship on fire and if you'd like to fly out of here, and I'd bet you'd like that, you might want to let me grab my toolbox, unlock that door, and just maybe I can patch the girl up before the airlock disconnects. What'dya say?"

[Elanorin]

"You're suggesting I hang around in here while you 'pillowtalk'?" Aeron asked, wanting to make sure he hadn't heard her wrong. Of course, who was he to make a big deal about it if she made the offer herself.

Willow's mouth dropped open in indignant disapproval but before she had a chance to protest,



Right around here, after the rumbling stops, there's a heavy stomping of boots and a sharp rap on your door. "You are to stay in your quarters until further notice. This is an order." A soldier shouts from outside.

What do you do?


Willow, distracted by the banging and barked orders, looks away from Aeron and looks at the door with a frown, "What? Why? Wh- B- At least get him out of here!" she protested, a little flustered, with a pointless pointing finger at Aeron. Being locked up in your quarters wasn't exactly pleasant but to be stuck with Aeron was just...

[Deadly]

Willow's mouth dropped open in indignant disapproval but before she had a chance to protest,



Willow, distracted by the banging and barked orders, looks away from Aeron and looks at the door with a frown, "What? Why? Wh- B- At least get him out of here!" she protested, a little flustered, with a pointless pointing finger at Aeron. Being locked up in your quarters wasn't exactly pleasant but to be stuck with Aeron was just...

Aeron's pale, sickly eyes rolled briefly towards the ceiling in one of the few sorts of expressions he could actually do. "Don't strain yourself," he said and went towards the door. "I have no more wish to be locked up together than you do." Oddly, he seemed to mean it.

Before leaving the room entirely, his hand slipped into his pocket and fished out a slightly crumpled card which he wordlessly left sitting behind one of the many candles, where it would be visible but hopefully unobtrusive.

[BlasTech]

Andersen had just tucked away the bottle of liquor for "examination" when the explosion rocked the ship. "Report! What the hell was that?!" he shouts into his communicator.

It's hard to make out everything, but you distinctly hear something about a fire in the infirmary.

"Get these leeches back to their quarters! Lock them down, now!" he barks.

The soldier who had been standing guard while you talked comes to lock you in your room. What do you do?

Hall stands, complying with the soldier, but raises his voice before he's led off.

"Cap'n, I don't know what the gou de pi gou that was, but if you've got a fire on board ship ... you'll be needin' all the help you can get."

[TheAmishPirate]

"Friends! Be wary! I am about to open the door to the Crystal Spire, and who knows what lurks within? Excitement? Danger? Adventure? Perhaps even my old enemy, Major Peril? I'm going to need you to be brave. You can't venture into the unknown without bravery! Now... the door is... open! Aha! Peril! I knew it! Take that!" *Zap!* *Pow!*

A little girl sat by the radio, staring enraptured. When the sounds of laser fire broke out she held out her toy blaster pistol and yelled "ZAP ZAP ZAP" at the top of her lungs, and in her head the evil Stiltmen minions of Major Peril burst into flames.

"Ha ha ha!" shrieked the voice of Major Peril. "You have fallen into my trap, Lancelot Biggs!"

"Not so fast, Peril! You won't get away with this!" Lancelot Biggs' voice cut through the sounds of battle like a battleship through a fishing trawler.

"But I already have, Biggs! The Crystal Spire is mine! This entire planet is mine! And soon I shall blow it all up and there is nothing you can do to stop it! Ha ha ha!"

"Gadzooks, he is right!" said Lancelot Biggs. "There is no way I can get through that force field! It seems like we are done for, my friends... unless... Yes! That's it! I'll make a distraction and you sneak around him and knock him out on the count of three. Are you ready? I am trusting you!"

The little girl nodded hard and seriously. She clutched her laser blaster until her knuckles were white.

"Major Peril! Why blow up the Crystal Planet? What has it ever done to you?" said Lancelot Biggs. The girl crept off to the side, crouching low, taking cover behind a row of toys - equal part aliens, robots and stuffed animals.

"Because it is filled with aliens, Biggs! Doesn't the sight of them make your stomach turn? They look like birds! They have beaks and feathers and they only talk by singing! Who knows what they are thinking? They could come for us at any second! They could kill us all, so I have to blow them up first!"

"Why, you are a coward, Peril!" cried Biggs.

"I am not a coward!" said Peril. "I am just being safe! I am just being sure! The galaxy is a dangerous place and the only thing that is safe is exploded planets!"

"This," said Lancelot Biggs, voice full of sadness, "is where cowardice gets you, my friends. Exploded planets. No Crystal Spires. No beautiful song-speech. No adventure. Nothing at all. But there is still time to change things. Stand up to Peril! One! Two! Three!"

The girl leapt from hiding. Her aim was true. Her laser bolt struck Major Peril in the back! "Oh no! I'm exploding!" cried Peril.

"Turns out the only thing to be afraid of was fear itself, Major Peril," said Lancelot Biggs. "Now quickly! Help me disarm this bomb!"

"In comparison to the ultra-volcanos of Istelmar VII, this is nothing!" said Mrs. Snow in her best impression of Lancelot Bigg's voice. "Come, friends! We must hurry if we are to catch up to Major Peril!"

Your delirious voice bounces down the ventilation shaft. Your sight falls out of your eyes, and tumbles after it. Around corners, down dark holes, and dodging the sounds of panic and fire, until you see artificial light streaming through the crisscross shadow of the grille. You can't reach through, but your words are slippery enough to wiggle through the bars.

And then a claw of naked wires snatches them out of the air.

Through the grille you see a mask of shiny metal and black plastic, completely encasing a person's head and shoulders. Medical tubing runs to the mouth, and bare wire feelers wave erratically out of precision-cut earholes. They curl around your words, draw them into the mask, and then all grasp at the grille. Searching. Yearning. Listening.

Then it is gone. And you are gone. Back in the vents, with a concerned Pvt. Adams shaking you.


It sounds like a poor wounded animal that needs tending. What, you want me to get all fancy with the description? There ain't time for that, there's a ship that needs tending to.

"Aight, now look here boys, that's your ship on fire and if you'd like to fly out of here, and I'd bet you'd like that, you might want to let me grab my toolbox, unlock that door, and just maybe I can patch the girl up before the airlock disconnects. What'dya say?"

Kendall and Spencer share a look, and Spencer reaches for his radio.


Hall stands, complying with the soldier, but raises his voice before he's led off.

"Cap'n, I don't know what the gou de pi gou that was, but if you've got a fire on board ship ... you'll be needin' all the help you can get."

Just at that moment, Andersen's radio buzzes. "Sir? The ship's engineer has volunteered to aid repairs. What are your orders?"

Jane, why don't you roll a Manipulate? Captain, if you want to stay and capitalize on your uncommonly good timing, you feel free to Aid if you like.


Aeron's pale, sickly eyes rolled briefly towards the ceiling in one of the few sorts of expressions he could actually do. "Don't strain yourself," he said and went towards the door. "I have no more wish to be locked up together than you do." Oddly, he seemed to mean it.

Before leaving the room entirely, his hand slipped into his pocket and fished out a slightly crumpled card which he wordlessly left sitting behind one of the many candles, where it would be visible but hopefully unobtrusive.

Well, if we're all in agreement, the soldier hauls you roughly back to your quarters.

Why don't you tell me a little more about that card of yours? What's it look like? Did you make it yourself?


Willow, distracted by the banging and barked orders, looks away from Aeron and looks at the door with a frown, "What? Why? Wh- B- At least get him out of here!" she protested, a little flustered, with a pointless pointing finger at Aeron. Being locked up in your quarters wasn't exactly pleasant but to be stuck with Aeron was just...

You're back on your own, alone in an atmosphere built for two. Waiting for your next "client."

You've prepared the room; how do you prepare your body? Your mind? Your soul?

[Anarion]

One order of manipulate, two eggs sunny-side up, and some toast, yes sir. [roll0]

[BlasTech]

Just at that moment, Andersen's radio buzzes. "Sir? The ship's engineer has volunteered to aid repairs. What are your orders?"

Jane, why don't you roll a Manipulate? Captain, if you want to stay and capitalize on your uncommonly good timing, you feel free to Aid if you like.

"You ought to think on it cap'n." said Hall. "Jane's our miracle maker out here. Kept this boat flyin' when she shouldn't ought'a over a dozen times."

[Assisting [roll0]]

[Thanqol]

Your delirious voice bounces down the ventilation shaft. Your sight falls out of your eyes, and tumbles after it. Around corners, down dark holes, and dodging the sounds of panic and fire, until you see artificial light streaming through the crisscross shadow of the grille. You can't reach through, but your words are slippery enough to wiggle through the bars.

And then a claw of naked wires snatches them out of the air.

Through the grille you see a mask of shiny metal and black plastic, completely encasing a person's head and shoulders. Medical tubing runs to the mouth, and bare wire feelers wave erratically out of precision-cut earholes. They curl around your words, draw them into the mask, and then all grasp at the grille. Searching. Yearning. Listening.

Then it is gone. And you are gone. Back in the vents, with a concerned Pvt. Adams shaking you.

"What? I saw nothing. You saw nothing," said Mrs. Snow almost reflexively. "Cancer. Shuttle. Go, go, go!"

[Elanorin]

Well, if we're all in agreement, the soldier hauls you roughly back to your quarters.



You're back on your own, alone in an atmosphere built for two. Waiting for your next "client."

You've prepared the room; how do you prepare your body? Your mind? Your soul?

If Andersen was an actual client perhaps she would make further preparations. If he was someone who had sought her out and applied for her time with genuine respect and she had been free to accept or not as she saw fit without repercussions, yes, perhaps she would have prepared herself for a mutual union and connection of spirits and hearts.

What is happening here is something else entirely and I will have to disappoint you regarding the preparations you so eagerly seek to hear about (at great length and detail, I'm sure). Therefore the last preparations that happen in Willow's quarters, after watching Aeron skulk out of the door, is that of strategic weapon placements to give her an easy access to self defence. This is the kind of 'appointment' where she feels she might need it.

Then it's a waiting game. If he takes too long she will help herself to the bath before it goes cold.

Waste not.

[Deadly]

Well, if we're all in agreement, the soldier hauls you roughly back to your quarters.

Why don't you tell me a little more about that card of yours? What's it look like? Did you make it yourself?

Since there are many kinds of cards, I should say we're talking about a post card here, one side blank to write on, the other containing a little piece of art.

http://img13.deviantart.net/e89a/i/2015/280/d/4/inktober___day_7_by_owlyjules-d9cbgsz.jpg (http://owlyjules.deviantart.com/art/Inktober-Day-7-564885971)

And yes, Aeron did make it himself, as he makes all his cards. When he leaves something of himself with someone, he likes to make it something they might wanna keep, maybe even treasure, and wouldn't you know it, he's secretly rather good with paints. Aeron puts a lot of effort into these little cards, almost literally pouring his heart and soul ... or at least his mind ... into them. The ink and colors he uses are carefully chosen, as is the motif of each.

One thing is always true of his cards, however: they always contain a lot of black, but it's a black that never seems truly empty.

So there's only one guard with Aeron? Who's got the thankless job of escorting the boy who their captain clearly doesn't think is a serious threat?

[TheAmishPirate]

"What? I saw nothing. You saw nothing," said Mrs. Snow almost reflexively. "Cancer. Shuttle. Go, go, go!"

Adams can't really argue with that logic.

You reach the hangar, and find a pair of shiny shuttles waiting for you. There'd be room for more boats here, but for now about half the hangar is empty. There's a walled-off booth, presumably where the docking and hangar controls are located. It's here that Adams runs to. "Get on board! I'll sound the evacuation for the others." he shouts to you as he goes.

The light on the shuttle is blinking green; you are cleared to board.

What do you do?


One order of manipulate, two eggs sunny-side up, and some toast, yes sir. [roll0]

"Fine. Bring her over." Andersen snaps over the comms. "Tell Tom I want us flying within the hour. I've got business to finish here, don't disturb me."

Spencer rolls his eyes, then waves you along. The airlock's still open, which is a good sign. Means the hull hasn't been breached yet. They give you an oxygen mask, just in case, and lead you down into the engines.

I wish I could say it's everything you've been hoping for, what with your first glance at a real, honest-to-goodness Alliance-made engine. The smoke, sparks, and red flashing lights ruins the mood a bit, but beneath all that you can spy what must have been a mighty shiny piece of work. Before an errant bolt of plasma melted part of it off. "Tom! Got some help for you." Kendall shouts out.

A man in dirty, Alliance grey cover-alls crawls out from under the wreck and wipes off his safety goggles. "'Bout gorram time. Who's this?"

"Your help. Civilian mechanic, volunteered to lend a hand. Better get moving; Captain wants us good to go within the hour." The pair of them step back, out of your way, but always watching.

"Qing wa cao de liu mang." The mechanic swears, before extending a greasy, gloved hand. "Tom Cypher. You ever worked on one of these before?"


"You ought to think on it cap'n." said Hall. "Jane's our miracle maker out here. Kept this boat flyin' when she shouldn't ought'a over a dozen times."

[Assisting [roll0]]

Back in the kitchen, Andersen is on his way out. "I've got more interviewing to do. If anything goes wrong, it'll be on your head, Captain."

No sooner has he gone than Ramierez turns the corner and marches straight for you. "Captain, one of your crew is threatening to shoot the next person who tells him to stay in his bunk. Go tell him to stay in his bunk."

Who do you suppose that is? And what do you do?


Since there are many kinds of cards, I should say we're talking about a post card here, one side blank to write on, the other containing a little piece of art.

http://img13.deviantart.net/e89a/i/2015/280/d/4/inktober___day_7_by_owlyjules-d9cbgsz.jpg (http://owlyjules.deviantart.com/art/Inktober-Day-7-564885971)

And yes, Aeron did make it himself, as he makes all his cards. When he leaves something of himself with someone, he likes to make it something they might wanna keep, maybe even treasure, and wouldn't you know it, he's secretly rather good with paints. Aeron puts a lot of effort into these little cards, almost literally pouring his heart and soul ... or at least his mind ... into them. The ink and colors he uses are carefully chosen, as is the motif of each.

One thing is always true of his cards, however: they always contain a lot of black, but it's a black that never seems truly empty.

So there's only one guard with Aeron? Who's got the thankless job of escorting the boy who their captain clearly doesn't think is a serious threat?

Well, it's not Ramirez, he's with the Captain. It can't be Kendall or Spencer, they're with Jane. That would mean Yang is the bear of a man pulling you down the hall.

What do you do?


If Andersen was an actual client perhaps she would make further preparations. If he was someone who had sought her out and applied for her time with genuine respect and she had been free to accept or not as she saw fit without repercussions, yes, perhaps she would have prepared herself for a mutual union and connection of spirits and hearts.

What is happening here is something else entirely and I will have to disappoint you regarding the preparations you so eagerly seek to hear about (at great length and detail, I'm sure). Therefore the last preparations that happen in Willow's quarters, after watching Aeron skulk out of the door, is that of strategic weapon placements to give her an easy access to self defence. This is the kind of 'appointment' where she feels she might need it.

Then it's a waiting game. If he takes too long she will help herself to the bath before it goes cold.

Waste not.

You don't have long to wait before you hear boots approaching at a sharp clip.

Andersen shuts the door behind him, massages the bridge of his nose, and lets out a sigh that takes part of the man out with him. "My sincerest apologies for any delay. Something on my ship exploded." He says flatly.

[Anarion]

"Fine. Bring her over." Andersen snaps over the comms. "Tell Tom I want us flying within the hour. I've got business to finish here, don't disturb me."

Spencer rolls his eyes, then waves you along. The airlock's still open, which is a good sign. Means the hull hasn't been breached yet. They give you an oxygen mask, just in case, and lead you down into the engines.

I wish I could say it's everything you've been hoping for, what with your first glance at a real, honest-to-goodness Alliance-made engine. The smoke, sparks, and red flashing lights ruins the mood a bit, but beneath all that you can spy what must have been a mighty shiny piece of work. Before an errant bolt of plasma melted part of it off. "Tom! Got some help for you." Kendall shouts out.

A man in dirty, Alliance grey cover-alls crawls out from under the wreck and wipes off his safety goggles. "'Bout gorram time. Who's this?"

"Your help. Civilian mechanic, volunteered to lend a hand. Better get moving; Captain wants us good to go within the hour." The pair of them step back, out of your way, but always watching.

"Qing wa cao de liu mang." The mechanic swears, before extending a greasy, gloved hand. "Tom Cypher. You ever worked on one of these before?"


"Jane, pleasure to meet you. And no, can't say as I've worked on one of these, but I can't say as that much matters either when you're short on hands. You just let me take a look-see here."

I put my hand on the engine and let it tell me just what it needs. [rolling things speak. [roll0]
[Questions: what’s wrong with this, and how might I fix it?
what words have been said most recently nearby this?
and the real kicker for 10+ who made this?]

[TheAmishPirate]

I put my hand on the engine and let it tell me just what it needs.

Before I answer all that, tell me a bit more about what this is like for you. Is this a voice in your head? A feeling in your gut? A moment of clarity? Walk me through this little communion of yours.

[Anarion]

Before I answer all that, tell me a bit more about what this is like for you. Is this a voice in your head? A feeling in your gut? A moment of clarity? Walk me through this little communion of yours.

Like I told you last time, for me the maelstrom is like your noisy, neon downtown with lights and sounds blaring everywhere. This time, though, it worked instead of sending my flying through the middle of it like a tumbleweed. So with something like the engine, it's got its own little space, and when I join it, it takes me into that space.

Now, different machines make that space differently. The little ones, the handheld sort, they'll have a little room and they'll flit about in it and hum a song or talk a mile a minute, and you can feel what they want and where they're trying to go through the crescendo of their tempo. Big stuff, they're more ponderous: they might take you to an island or a building that represents them, all its various bits somehow directing you towards their end. The big ones'll talk to, but it's a low sound, the sort of thing that goes right into you and surrounds you. The really complex ones, they might even have a multi-room compound, like a serving staff all living in the place to keep the thing going, and you can talk to bits and pieces of the thing. All of them have no trouble getting their point across, through some combo of music, sound, and visuals. It's an interactive experience, if you follow me.

[Thanqol]

Adams can't really argue with that logic.

You reach the hangar, and find a pair of shiny shuttles waiting for you. There'd be room for more boats here, but for now about half the hangar is empty. There's a walled-off booth, presumably where the docking and hangar controls are located. It's here that Adams runs to. "Get on board! I'll sound the evacuation for the others." he shouts to you as he goes.

The light on the shuttle is blinking green; you are cleared to board.

What do you do?

Mrs. Snow was going to wait for Adams - this was a military shuttle, who knows what security measures it has? - but no longer than that. She space-floors it and takes off into the void. The destination is whatever po-dunk planet they were all heading for before they got pulled over, she'd meet up with everyone there.

[Elanorin]

You don't have long to wait before you hear boots approaching at a sharp clip.

Andersen shuts the door behind him, massages the bridge of his nose, and lets out a sigh that takes part of the man out with him. "My sincerest apologies for any delay. Something on my ship exploded." He says flatly.

"I do hope no one was hurt," Willow said softly in what most would think was genuine concern, sitting up and putting the candle in her hands down at hearing this news. "Do you need to go see to it?" she asked, her shawl accidentally falling off her shoulder.

[Deadly]

Well, it's not Ramirez, he's with the Captain. It can't be Kendall or Spencer, they're with Jane. That would mean Yang is the bear of a man pulling you down the hall.

What do you do?

Yeeesss, a new juice bit of gray matter to explore. This day was bringing so many new brains. Sometimes, outer space got a little boring when all you got were the same minds every day, so unexpected visitors was occasionally a welcome thing.

Let's read that sucker: 4+1+2 = 7

How can I get Yang to not bother and just let me go, or maybe just dump me with one of the others in their room?

[TheAmishPirate]

"I do hope no one was hurt," Willow said softly in what most would think was genuine concern, sitting up and putting the candle in her hands down at hearing this news. "Do you need to go see to it?" she asked, her shawl accidentally falling off her shoulder.

"No, no need," Andersen says, drinking up your sympathy like water. "What would I do? Order the ship to fix itself? I have people to deal with these things. No one is badly hurt, they'll get on fine without me."

He eyes the tub of warm water hungrily. "Shall we?"


Yeeesss, a new juice bit of gray matter to explore. This day was bringing so many new brains. Sometimes, outer space got a little boring when all you got were the same minds every day, so unexpected visitors was occasionally a welcome thing.

Let's read that sucker: 4+1+2 = 7

How can I get Yang to not bother and just let me go, or maybe just dump me with one of the others in their room?

Easy; Ramirez is the only soul on their crew who knows which room is yours. So long as you don't pick something obviously wrong like, say, the bridge or the Captain's quarters, Yang isn't going to bother double-checking.

Kid is out of room? Put kid in room. Problem solved, nice and simple, that's how Yang likes it.


Mrs. Snow was going to wait for Adams - this was a military shuttle, who knows what security measures it has? - but no longer than that. She space-floors it and takes off into the void. The destination is whatever po-dunk planet they were all heading for before they got pulled over, she'd meet up with everyone there.

Greenleaf. You're headed to Greenleaf.

True to its name, Greenleaf possesses a massive tropical belt, stretching across its equator. The thick jungles and rainforests are home to plants not seen anywhere else in the 'Verse. Crush 'em up nice, blend them together, and you've got a whole legion of drugs for everything from the common cold to the skin-rust. In short, a pharmaceutical company's dream. They employ most the folk on the planet. Thems that don't work for them, are probably getting into the business on their own. All it takes is a little sample from the jungle, and you too can start growing your own money farm. All highly illegal, of course, but it's awful hard to pin down these people. The jungle's a dark place, and no man's seen the full of it and lived to tell the tale.

Mrs. Snow, ISI would be fools not to have an installation on this planet. What are they up to here, last you checked?

Oh, and tell me why no black market farmer worth their salt would ever go near the five-pointed flower, with blooms like the sun.


Like I told you last time, for me the maelstrom is like your noisy, neon downtown with lights and sounds blaring everywhere. This time, though, it worked instead of sending my flying through the middle of it like a tumbleweed. So with something like the engine, it's got its own little space, and when I join it, it takes me into that space.

Now, different machines make that space differently. The little ones, the handheld sort, they'll have a little room and they'll flit about in it and hum a song or talk a mile a minute, and you can feel what they want and where they're trying to go through the crescendo of their tempo. Big stuff, they're more ponderous: they might take you to an island or a building that represents them, all its various bits somehow directing you towards their end. The big ones'll talk to, but it's a low sound, the sort of thing that goes right into you and surrounds you. The really complex ones, they might even have a multi-room compound, like a serving staff all living in the place to keep the thing going, and you can talk to bits and pieces of the thing. All of them have no trouble getting their point across, through some combo of music, sound, and visuals. It's an interactive experience, if you follow me.


"Jane, pleasure to meet you. And no, can't say as I've worked on one of these, but I can't say as that much matters either when you're short on hands. You just let me take a look-see here."

I put my hand on the engine and let it tell me just what it needs. [rolling things speak. [roll0]
[Questions: what’s wrong with this, and how might I fix it?
what words have been said most recently nearby this?
and the real kicker for 10+ who made this?]

Chaos.

You're brought into a skyscraper of utter chaos. Everywhere little light-people run screaming from room to room. Here they need the figures from the third floor, but he hasn't gotten them yet so he went to go check on progress from the fifth floor, but she hasn't heard anything from the seventh floor and what do we do aughhhhhhhh. Everywhere it is the same story, with a few details changed; things are missing. Gone. Burned away. Until they are returned, or an acceptable substitute is found, nothing can be done.

As you look out over the melee, you feel a tugging at your sleeve. A little lady of neon green is trying to get your attention, pointing out the window. You can see, way out past the skyline, two-no, one circus tent set up in a open field. She sighs; if only someone were to go there, and fetch what is inside, she is certain it would be just what they need. A little lightness, a little levity, a little lifting of spirits.

Lifting. Flying.

Of course.

If you were to take one of the shuttles from the hangar, and raid its engine for parts, you're sure you could do a good enough job until a proper replacement can be found.

The green lady, not quite finished, leans up to your ear to whisper the latest gossip. Most of it is extremely impolite, and in the voice of Mr. Cypher here, but one snippet catches your ear above all else. A woman's voice, whispering low and insistent.

"Don't forget MO-414."

Her gossip done, your new friend leaves you with a little pamphlet; a booklet of their proud history. They were not the work of any one man, no. It took many laborers to pull levers and attach screws on the long assembly line. Many more to push and pull and agree the work was a good one. And a few more to put it in its rightful place. But there is one for whom none of this would be possible. She is the one who told them when to pull levers, when to attach screws, and how to fasten the engine just so that it would work at its peak efficiency, and never ever fail.

Dr. Sophia Quinn. Have you heard of her?

****************************************

You are sharply pulled out of your little daydream by the blaring of the evacuation alarm. Tom and your soldier buddies are looking mighty confused, but the voice on the intercom insists that everybody needs to get to the Hangar, get on the last remaining shuttle, and get the hell out of here.

What do you do?

[Anarion]

Chaos.

You're brought into a skyscraper of utter chaos. Everywhere little light-people run screaming from room to room. Here they need the figures from the third floor, but he hasn't gotten them yet so he went to go check on progress from the fifth floor, but she hasn't heard anything from the seventh floor and what do we do aughhhhhhhh. Everywhere it is the same story, with a few details changed; things are missing. Gone. Burned away. Until they are returned, or an acceptable substitute is found, nothing can be done.

As you look out over the melee, you feel a tugging at your sleeve. A little lady of neon green is trying to get your attention, pointing out the window. You can see, way out past the skyline, two-no, one circus tent set up in a open field. She sighs; if only someone were to go there, and fetch what is inside, she is certain it would be just what they need. A little lightness, a little levity, a little lifting of spirits.

Lifting. Flying.

Of course.

If you were to take one of the shuttles from the hangar, and raid its engine for parts, you're sure you could do a good enough job until a proper replacement can be found.

The green lady, not quite finished, leans up to your ear to whisper the latest gossip. Most of it is extremely impolite, and in the voice of Mr. Cypher here, but one snippet catches your ear above all else. A woman's voice, whispering low and insistent.

"Don't forget MO-414."

Her gossip done, your new friend leaves you with a little pamphlet; a booklet of their proud history. They were not the work of any one man, no. It took many laborers to pull levers and attach screws on the long assembly line. Many more to push and pull and agree the work was a good one. And a few more to put it in its rightful place. But there is one for whom none of this would be possible. She is the one who told them when to pull levers, when to attach screws, and how to fasten the engine just so that it would work at its peak efficiency, and never ever fail.

Dr. Sophia Quinn. Have you heard of her?

****************************************

You are sharply pulled out of your little daydream by the blaring of the evacuation alarm. Tom and your soldier buddies are looking mighty confused, but the voice on the intercom insists that everybody needs to get to the Hangar, get on the last remaining shuttle, and get the hell out of here.

What do you do?

"Jian ta de gui!" Too much happening at once, information overload, hard to keep it all straight. And did that announcement say the last shuttle?

"Tom, can you override that evac order? You're chief engineer right? There's no reason to evacuate the ship, and we need that shuttle. If we just cannibalize a few pieces of its flight system, the anti-inertial coupling and the mass accelerator should do it, I think, we can fix this. But if that thing goes, there aren't any other compatible parts. The hell is wrong with you alliance folks anyway? Panicking at one little explosion."

MO-414. And Dr. Sophia Quinn. I'm gonna flip that question back. Should I know who she is? Is she famous? Big alliance engineer that everyone aspiring engineer studies? Is her work on every planet? Is she someone other than alliance, and this would tip me off about something?

[BlasTech]

Back in the kitchen, Andersen is on his way out. "I've got more interviewing to do. If anything goes wrong, it'll be on your head, Captain."

No sooner has he gone than Ramierez turns the corner and marches straight for you. "Captain, one of your crew is threatening to shoot the next person who tells him to stay in his bunk. Go tell him to stay in his bunk."

Who do you suppose that is? And what do you do?

Oh, it was probably Harke - the chief of security. Guy's a bit rough around the edges, what with being from Persephone, and never had a abundance of schoolin', but he knows how to fight better than anybody else on this crew. Hall is surprised to hear that he doesn't want to be kept in his bunk though, since that's where he keeps his collection of weaponry (which is about the right size to occupy a small moon).

Still, what the Alliance wants, the Alliance gets. Hall gives the trooper a smile, a friendly pat on the back, and then asks him to lead the way to Harke.

[Thanqol]

Greenleaf. You're headed to Greenleaf.

True to its name, Greenleaf possesses a massive tropical belt, stretching across its equator. The thick jungles and rainforests are home to plants not seen anywhere else in the 'Verse. Crush 'em up nice, blend them together, and you've got a whole legion of drugs for everything from the common cold to the skin-rust. In short, a pharmaceutical company's dream. They employ most the folk on the planet. Thems that don't work for them, are probably getting into the business on their own. All it takes is a little sample from the jungle, and you too can start growing your own money farm. All highly illegal, of course, but it's awful hard to pin down these people. The jungle's a dark place, and no man's seen the full of it and lived to tell the tale.

First things first.

Mrs. Snow tells Adams, "So I actually lied to you. I am an intergalactic fugitive and you just committed high treason by helping me rob, sabotage and then escape an Alliance military vessel. Your options are to turn yourself in and spend the rest of your life in jail, go off on your own as a fugitive in your own right, or accepting a job as bodyguard while I go after the biggest score in the galaxy that will set you up as a king amongst men."

He'd find out sooner or later so it's good to get on top of this sort of thing!


Mrs. Snow, ISI would be fools not to have an installation on this planet. What are they up to here, last you checked?

Xenobiology is the obvious thing, but that stuff is done on a space station with some pretty good purge and lockdown measures. The real draw, though, is the ISI Galactic Faire, which is an upscale space version of the World Fair on Earth-that-Was. It's a big science-themed amusement park where lots of megacorps - Yamaguchi, StellarWave, TekWerks, all the regular brands - get together to show off their latest innovations. There is a giant bronze statue of Mrs. Snow in the Hall of Thinkers, dominating all the lesser 'great scientists' in human history. There are also a bunch of Mrs. Snow's management cultists who are, like...

Think ISI has an internal culture somewhere between a management guru fad and Scientiology based around the messiah figure of Mrs. Snow. The average ISI employee can quote passages verbatim from her autobiography. They've internalized a lot of her ruthless ambition and drive. As an organization it's been made in her image, which means that it's a bit of a nest of vipers.


Oh, and tell me why no black market farmer worth their salt would ever go near the five-pointed flower, with blooms like the sun.

Because it sucks oxygen out of the air at a crazy pace, so if you carry a box of them out on a spaceship then you're going to be an airless coffin when you arrive. The ghost ships dominated the news for a while before they figured that out.

[Elanorin]

"No, no need," Andersen says, drinking up your sympathy like water. "What would I do? Order the ship to fix itself? I have people to deal with these things. No one is badly hurt, they'll get on fine without me."

He eyes the tub of warm water hungrily. "Shall we?"

"Yes," she said and traced a few fingers through the surface of the warm water. It was milky with scented oils and salts and the hot steam smelled wonderful and relaxing. She nodded to a beautiful screen with cherryblossom decor stood near the wall. "There are towels behind the screen," she explained with a smile that she then stifled, "if you require one," she challenged him.

Aeron's voice returned to her mind and she raised her voice a little and said as she reached for a small basket of assorted bath sponges and picked up two big ones to soak in the water, "Do you not need to report this incident then to... your General or Major, forgive me, I don't know the ranking structure too well. There might be another Alliance cruiser or Galaxy ship or something not too far away that could help with your repairs." Willow watched and listened carefully for his reaction to this, knowing full well the mirror on her vanity desk would reveal everything that was behind the screen from where she sat.

[Deadly]

Easy; Ramirez is the only soul on their crew who knows which room is yours. So long as you don't pick something obviously wrong like, say, the bridge or the Captain's quarters, Yang isn't going to bother double-checking.

Kid is out of room? Put kid in room. Problem solved, nice and simple, that's how Yang likes it.

Good. I pick the first, the best, the most random room that'll fit. I don't much care whose room it is, because the moment Yang is gone, I'm going to sneak back out and look for our captain.

[TheAmishPirate]

Xenobiology is the obvious thing, but that stuff is done on a space station with some pretty good purge and lockdown measures. The real draw, though, is the ISI Galactic Faire, which is an upscale space version of the World Fair on Earth-that-Was. It's a big science-themed amusement park where lots of megacorps - Yamaguchi, StellarWave, TekWerks, all the regular brands - get together to show off their latest innovations. There is a giant bronze statue of Mrs. Snow in the Hall of Thinkers, dominating all the lesser 'great scientists' in human history. There are also a bunch of Mrs. Snow's management cultists who are, like...

Think ISI has an internal culture somewhere between a management guru fad and Scientiology based around the messiah figure of Mrs. Snow. The average ISI employee can quote passages verbatim from her autobiography. They've internalized a lot of her ruthless ambition and drive. As an organization it's been made in her image, which means that it's a bit of a nest of vipers.

A nest of vipers that somebody violently kicked, and then set on fire for good measure. Good times.


First things first.

Mrs. Snow tells Adams, "So I actually lied to you. I am an intergalactic fugitive and you just committed high treason by helping me rob, sabotage and then escape an Alliance military vessel. Your options are to turn yourself in and spend the rest of your life in jail, go off on your own as a fugitive in your own right, or accepting a job as bodyguard while I go after the biggest score in the galaxy that will set you up as a king amongst men."

He'd find out sooner or later so it's good to get on top of this sort of thing!

So, correct me if I'm wrong, but you're driving this thing, right? Got your foot to the pedal and hands on the wheel?

The news hits Adams right in the chest, and it's a while before he can catch his voice. He finds it not as big and commanding as it used to be. "...what's the score?"

All this talk of scores and treason and fugitives has the situation pretty charged. Would you like to Read a Person/Sitch?


"Jian ta de gui!" Too much happening at once, information overload, hard to keep it all straight. And did that announcement say the last shuttle?

"Tom, can you override that evac order? You're chief engineer right? There's no reason to evacuate the ship, and we need that shuttle. If we just cannibalize a few pieces of its flight system, the anti-inertial coupling and the mass accelerator should do it, I think, we can fix this. But if that thing goes, there aren't any other compatible parts. The hell is wrong with you alliance folks anyway? Panicking at one little explosion."

MO-414. And Dr. Sophia Quinn. I'm gonna flip that question back. Should I know who she is? Is she famous? Big alliance engineer that everyone aspiring engineer studies? Is her work on every planet? Is she someone other than alliance, and this would tip me off about something?

In that case, it's safe to say this is the first time you remember hearing her name. I mean, maybe there was a Sophia Quill a couple towns over when you were growing up, but she was a useless layabout who considered herself too fancy for real work. It's also safe to say that Sophia didn't suddenly grow a work ethic, change her name, and get into engine manufacturing.

"I know, right? It's not like the ship's breaking apart yet." Tom shouts back over the alarm, mashing buttons on a console. "I can shut down the alarm and put a dock-lock on that shuttle, but we better haul to the hangar before some idiot tries to override it."


"Yes," she said and traced a few fingers through the surface of the warm water. It was milky with scented oils and salts and the hot steam smelled wonderful and relaxing. She nodded to a beautiful screen with cherryblossom decor stood near the wall. "There are towels behind the screen," she explained with a smile that she then stifled, "if you require one," she challenged him.

Aeron's voice returned to her mind and she raised her voice a little and said as she reached for a small basket of assorted bath sponges and picked up two big ones to soak in the water, "Do you not need to report this incident then to... your General or Major, forgive me, I don't know the ranking structure too well. There might be another Alliance cruiser or Galaxy ship or something not too far away that could help with your repairs." Willow watched and listened carefully for his reaction to this, knowing full well the mirror on her vanity desk would reveal everything that was behind the screen from where she sat.

Andersen steps behind the screen, and starts undressing. "Oh, I don't think either of those will be necessary, don't you?" You can just hear his smug smile. "I have every confidence my crew will take care of it, and I see no reason why I should hasten to inform Command of such a small hiccup."

Sounds like you're looking to Read a Person here.


Oh, it was probably Harke - the chief of security. Guy's a bit rough around the edges, what with being from Persephone, and never had a abundance of schoolin', but he knows how to fight better than anybody else on this crew. Hall is surprised to hear that he doesn't want to be kept in his bunk though, since that's where he keeps his collection of weaponry (which is about the right size to occupy a small moon).

Still, what the Alliance wants, the Alliance gets. Hall gives the trooper a smile, a friendly pat on the back, and then asks him to lead the way to Harke.

Ramirez leads you to the end of a hallway, where Yang is waiting. On the other end, you can see Sam Harke stubbornly crossing his massive arms, a gun resting in his holster. "S'that you, Cap'n?" He calls down the hall. "C'mere. I wanna talk t'you."


Good. I pick the first, the best, the most random room that'll fit. I don't much care whose room it is, because the moment Yang is gone, I'm going to sneak back out and look for our captain.

You're a slippery little bugger, ain't you?

Though the last time you snuck out of a room, the ship wasn't on lockdown by "Alliance" soldiers. Makes things a little more tricky. Roll Acting Under Fire.

[Deadly]

You're a slippery little bugger, ain't you?

Though the last time you snuck out of a room, the ship wasn't on lockdown by "Alliance" soldiers. Makes things a little more tricky. Roll Acting Under Fire.

You didn't buy into my "good boy" act earlier, did you?

Acting under Fire: 5+1+1 = 7

[Elanorin]

Andersen steps behind the screen, and starts undressing. "Oh, I don't think either of those will be necessary, don't you?" You can just hear his smug smile. "I have every confidence my crew will take care of it, and I see no reason why I should hasten to inform Command of such a small hiccup."

Sounds like you're looking to Read a Person here.


You're not wrong.

Willow turns just enough to get a clear line of sight to the mirror and a clear view of Andersen as he undressed. She neither blushed or looked away.

[Rolling to Read A Person: 5+4+1=10, Hold 3, Spending 1; How can I get Andersen to admit his true identity to me? 2 Hold remaining]

[Anarion]

In that case, it's safe to say this is the first time you remember hearing her name. I mean, maybe there was a Sophia Quill a couple towns over when you were growing up, but she was a useless layabout who considered herself too fancy for real work. It's also safe to say that Sophia didn't suddenly grow a work ethic, change her name, and get into engine manufacturing.

"I know, right? It's not like the ship's breaking apart yet." Tom shouts back over the alarm, mashing buttons on a console. "I can shut down the alarm and put a dock-lock on that shuttle, but we better haul to the hangar before some idiot tries to override it."


I'm already running there. And, I'm not totally clear on events here. Is the shuttle that Snow's in the same one that I want or is there still one left over?

[Thanqol]

So, correct me if I'm wrong, but you're driving this thing, right? Got your foot to the pedal and hands on the wheel?

Sure.


The news hits Adams right in the chest, and it's a while before he can catch his voice. He finds it not as big and commanding as it used to be. "...what's the score?"

All this talk of scores and treason and fugitives has the situation pretty charged. Would you like to Read a Person/Sitch?

Rolled a 3.

"See? That's the spirit!" said Mrs. Snow. "I like you, kid. I see a bright future for you in the years ahead."

[BlasTech]

Ramirez leads you to the end of a hallway, where Yang is waiting. On the other end, you can see Sam Harke stubbornly crossing his massive arms, a gun resting in his holster. "S'that you, Cap'n?" He calls down the hall. "C'mere. I wanna talk t'you."


"Oh that ain't ever been a phrase a man wants ta hear." said Hall, gripping Ramierez's arm for support.

As he did so, he tried to subtly 'bump' the guy's safety back to on. Be better if they didn't have too many guns waving about right now.

[Act under fire?: [roll0]

"Well I'ma here, we got some verbalisin' to be doin'?"

[TheAmishPirate]

"Oh that ain't ever been a phrase a man wants ta hear." said Hall, gripping Ramierez's arm for support.

As he did so, he tried to subtly 'bump' the guy's safety back to on. Be better if they didn't have too many guns waving about right now.

[Act under fire?: [roll0]

"Well I'ma here, we got some verbalisin' to be doin'?"

Real quick-like; whose gun are you tinkering with now?

Aeron, I'll deal with you once I get this sorted out.


You're not wrong.

Willow turns just enough to get a clear line of sight to the mirror and a clear view of Andersen as he undressed. She neither blushed or looked away.

[Rolling to Read A Person: 5+4+1=10, Hold 3, Spending 1; How can I get Andersen to admit his true identity to me? 2 Hold remaining]

Andersen is a man oozing with ego, but there's also a lot of folks depending on him to keep a secret. Sure, he'd love to brag about how he's pulling one over on the entire gorr-erm, apologies, ma'am. Pulling one over on the whole dang Alliance. But that might spell trouble for him and his, so he'll hold his tongue. But supposing you convinced him you were going with him? If you were one of his, then there'd be no trouble with telling you, would there? It'd take more than just your word to do that, though. You'd need to give him a real, tangible sign of your loyalty, something to prove you're serious about this.

Or, if you'll pardon my bluntness ma'am, you could always sleep with him. No secret can stay hidden under a Companion's charms. S'why they pride themselves on their discretion.


I'm already running there. And, I'm not totally clear on events here. Is the shuttle that Snow's in the same one that I want or is there still one left over?

There were two shuttles. Mrs. Snow took one, and now there's one left, surrounded by a crowd of confused and frightened people, all in gas masks. Tom and your two soldier buddies are right behind you as a storm of panicked voices hits you.

"What's going on?!"

"Who pulled the evac?"

"The reactor's been hit!"

"Where's the Captain?"

"Somebody get this shuttle open!"

"It's leaking Gabion particles!"

"Who's the bastard who took off already?!"

One of the crowd approaches you, or more accurately approaches Tom. She's got a shiny red gas mask complete with a tactical visor, and white rubber gloves that stretch from her hands and down into her sleeves. "About time you got here. What the hell is going on, and why aren't we evac-ing?!"

What do you do?


Rolled a 3.

"See? That's the spirit!" said Mrs. Snow. "I like you, kid. I see a bright future for you in the years ahead."

You've only just landed when you hear Adams behind you. "Yeah. And getting brighter all the time."

And that's when he clubs you upside the head with the butt of his gun, then brings an arm around your neck to choke you out. All before you even had a chance to stand up. Some people are just so touchy about business, am I right?

That's 2-Harm before armor. What do you do?

[Anarion]

There were two shuttles. Mrs. Snow took one, and now there's one left, surrounded by a crowd of confused and frightened people, all in gas masks. Tom and your two soldier buddies are right behind you as a storm of panicked voices hits you.

"What's going on?!"

"Who pulled the evac?"

"The reactor's been hit!"

"Where's the Captain?"

"Somebody get this shuttle open!"

"It's leaking Gabion particles!"

"Who's the bastard who took off already?!"

One of the crowd approaches you, or more accurately approaches Tom. She's got a shiny red gas mask complete with a tactical visor, and white rubber gloves that stretch from her hands and down into her sleeves. "About time you got here. What the hell is going on, and why aren't we evac-ing?!"

What do you do?


What do I do? I elbow Tom, real subtle-like y'know, and tell him to reassure these people that they'll be fine. Then I rip off the external engine panel on the shuttle and start getting the pieces I need to fix this bucket of bolts. I give the shuttle a little pat too. It should know that its service is appreciated.

[Thanqol]

You've only just landed when you hear Adams behind you. "Yeah. And getting brighter all the time."

And that's when he clubs you upside the head with the butt of his gun, then brings an arm around your neck to choke you out. All before you even had a chance to stand up. Some people are just so touchy about business, am I right?

That's 2-Harm before armor. What do you do?

"I'm not mad," chokes out Mrs. Snow, "I'm just very disappointed."

She's landed in a spaceport, right? Nice glass buildings? Lots of civilians? Well, she ignores the fact that she's being choked, reaches out to the control panel, flips some switches and floors it. She'll drive this spaceship through a wall if she has to and hopes the inertia will throw Adams off her.

Presumably an AUF, which is 9.

[BlasTech]

Real quick-like; whose gun are you tinkering with now?

Aeron, I'll deal with you once I get this sorted out.

Well, the plan is Ramirez's first, then Yang's when he gets the chance. Ramirez is only because the guy was the one who walked Hall down and is, presumably, closer to him.

Leaves a man with more options, like whether to jump the guards at some point, because this 'getting marched around to your quarters' schtick could get old fast if something else goes wrong.

[Elanorin]

Andersen is a man oozing with ego, but there's also a lot of folks depending on him to keep a secret. Sure, he'd love to brag about how he's pulling one over on the entire gorr-erm, apologies, ma'am. Pulling one over on the whole dang Alliance. But that might spell trouble for him and his, so he'll hold his tongue. But supposing you convinced him you were going with him? If you were one of his, then there'd be no trouble with telling you, would there? It'd take more than just your word to do that, though. You'd need to give him a real, tangible sign of your loyalty, something to prove you're serious about this.

Or, if you'll pardon my bluntness ma'am, you could always sleep with him. No secret can stay hidden under a Companion's charms. S'why they pride themselves on their discretion.

"How long have you been out here? Am I likely to see you again?" Willow asked at the screen he was pointlessly hiding behind, with impeccable hopefulness.

[What is Andersen really feeling?]

[TheAmishPirate]

You didn't buy into my "good boy" act earlier, did you?

Acting under Fire: 5+1+1 = 7


Well, the plan is Ramirez's first, then Yang's when he gets the chance. Ramirez is only because the guy was the one who walked Hall down and is, presumably, closer to him.

Leaves a man with more options, like whether to jump the guards at some point, because this 'getting marched around to your quarters' schtick could get old fast if something else goes wrong.

Areon, you successfully navigate the ship without running afoul of any patrols. You find your Captain with Yang and Rameriez, and all their backs are to you. Unfortunately, this means Sam Harke is looking right in your direction, and you know he's not known for being a master of subterfuge. If you poke your head out, he'll almost certainly react, and the game'll up.

Harold, you flip the gun's safety back on, right as Sam starts drumming his fingers on his holster. "I ain't keen on havin' a shouting match, Cap'n. You come over here. Then I got some verbs for you to...alize." Yang tightens his grip on his gun.


"How long have you been out here? Am I likely to see you again?" Willow asked at the screen he was pointlessly hiding behind, with impeccable hopefulness.

[What is Andersen really feeling?]

First of all, he's tired. He wanted to be in, out, and on with life, yet he's had to put up with so many shenanigans from low-life scum, and now something on his ship's gone and exploded. This really isn't his day, and there's the barest hint of anxiety that this is a sign of things to come. I mean, of course it isn't, he's the great Colonel Andersen, he's going to do brilliantly, but the seed of doubt is a quiet, hardy thing.

Second, he's preparing for a full-on ego trip. Yes, things are crap, but he's attracted the attention of a bona fide Companion, and he's about to have himself a darn fine bath. And after that, who knows where things will lead? You do seem to be quite taken with him and his generous manners. Either way, he is relishing the chance to indulge his wounded pride.

Thirdly, and perhaps you may already know this, but he's quite taken with you too.

"Too long, my dear. Too long." He shakes his head wearily. "When you've seen one patch of empty space, you've seen it all. Perhaps our paths may cross again, if luck is with us, but I'm afraid I don't know for certain. Then again, isn't that more reason to cherish the time we have?"


What do I do? I elbow Tom, real subtle-like y'know, and tell him to reassure these people that they'll be fine. Then I rip off the external engine panel on the shuttle and start getting the pieces I need to fix this bucket of bolts. I give the shuttle a little pat too. It should know that its service is appreciated.

You ever tried talking to a panicked crowd before? It's like dealing with a wild dog. Maybe half your words actually get through, and they're still twitchy as all getout.

Tom's doing the best he can, but he's not helped by the damage control officer - that would be the 1st Lieutenant Pearson that Mrs. Snow read about - grilling him on every little detail. Meanwhile, the rest of the crew watches as somebody they've never met before starts taking a wrench to what might be their best means of escape. You haven't hardly got the panel off before people start shouting and hands are grabbing at you, trying to pull you away from the engine.

All in all, things are pretty charged. Would you like to Read a Sitch?


"I'm not mad," chokes out Mrs. Snow, "I'm just very disappointed."

She's landed in a spaceport, right? Nice glass buildings? Lots of civilians? Well, she ignores the fact that she's being choked, reaches out to the control panel, flips some switches and floors it. She'll drive this spaceship through a wall if she has to and hopes the inertia will throw Adams off her.

Presumably an AUF, which is 9.

Wow. Okay.

You get the shuttle just high enough off the ground to take it into a solid nose dive into the next building. It's like you said; big, glass building with a wide open space for the lobby, and lots and lots of civilians. There's a great crashing of windows, rending of metal, and blaring alarms coming from the controls. You see people running madly for cover, screaming in terror as your now-flaming comet comes streaking down.

The shuttle skips off the ground, skids, and crashes headlong into a wall. Only this one's not made of glass.

Adams flies forward and hits the windshield with a sickening thud. You're jerked back by the pilot's restraints, but it ain't gentle. [Suffer 2 Harm AP, rolled a 5 on the Harm move.] You're left gasping for breath in the wreckage of an Alliance shuttle, there's a dead guy in the windshield, and you can hear the sirens a-comin'.

[Anarion]

You ever tried talking to a panicked crowd before? It's like dealing with a wild dog. Maybe half your words actually get through, and they're still twitchy as all getout.

Tom's doing the best he can, but he's not helped by the damage control officer - that would be the 1st Lieutenant Pearson that Mrs. Snow read about - grilling him on every little detail. Meanwhile, the rest of the crew watches as somebody they've never met before starts taking a wrench to what might be their best means of escape. You haven't hardly got the panel off before people start shouting and hands are grabbing at you, trying to pull you away from the engine.

All in all, things are pretty charged. Would you like to Read a Sitch?


I would indeed. [roll0]
[Why don't we cut to the chase here and just let me know what my best way through this situation is?]

[Thanqol]

Wow. Okay.

You get the shuttle just high enough off the ground to take it into a solid nose dive into the next building. It's like you said; big, glass building with a wide open space for the lobby, and lots and lots of civilians. There's a great crashing of windows, rending of metal, and blaring alarms coming from the controls. You see people running madly for cover, screaming in terror as your now-flaming comet comes streaking down.

The shuttle skips off the ground, skids, and crashes headlong into a wall. Only this one's not made of glass.

Adams flies forward and hits the windshield with a sickening thud. You're jerked back by the pilot's restraints, but it ain't gentle. [Suffer 2 Harm AP, rolled a 5 on the Harm move.] You're left gasping for breath in the wreckage of an Alliance shuttle, there's a dead guy in the windshield, and you can hear the sirens a-comin'.

Well, that's Mrs. Snow in the bleedout zone. Going to a real hospital sounds like a good idea. Luckily all her stolen kit is in her silver suitcase, so she didn't actually lose anything in the crash.

She's going to find the nearest rescue crew and tell them that a psychopathic Alliance soldier kidnapped her and was going to use her as a hostage while he committed an act of terror. And she is a poor innocent traumatized victim who is lucky to be alive, and now she needs urgent medical attention please.

(This was also a great way to get into a proper core-world hospital and start doing some in-depth analysis of her stolen data)

Manipulate: 10

[Elanorin]

"Too long, my dear. Too long." He shakes his head wearily. "When you've seen one patch of empty space, you've seen it all. Perhaps our paths may cross again, if luck is with us, but I'm afraid I don't know for certain. Then again, isn't that more reason to cherish the time we have?"


"Mm," Willow agreed and folded up a towel neatly and placed at the head of the bath to cushion his head. "I can't help but think that a ship such as yours must be... well equipped. Comfortable. Spacious, even. More so than... civilian freighters," she commented, nudging the conversation along in a direction she hoped would prove yielding.

"Perhaps, while we savour the moment, we could also consider this... an audition?"

[Deadly]

Areon, you successfully navigate the ship without running afoul of any patrols. You find your Captain with Yang and Rameriez, and all their backs are to you. Unfortunately, this means Sam Harke is looking right in your direction, and you know he's not known for being a master of subterfuge. If you poke your head out, he'll almost certainly react, and the game'll up.

Harold, you flip the gun's safety back on, right as Sam starts drumming his fingers on his holster. "I ain't keen on havin' a shouting match, Cap'n. You come over here. Then I got some verbs for you to...alize." Yang tightens his grip on his gun.

I'm done sneaking and peeking around corners. I've found what I wanted, now to take it.

I step out from hiding, but I give Sam Harke no time to so much as peep before I activate the pain-wave projector in my mask, filling the hall with a subsonic assault on every nerve. Sorry Capt'n, but there's no time to be gentle here. What I'm going to do is swiftly and decisively disable them all, drag them into a room where no one's likely to come looking, and tie up the two "Alliance" folk and Harke. Then hopefully have a one-on-one talk with the captain (note to self: apologize).

I'm not sure how this goes in the new system. In the old it would be Seize by Force. In the new one, that's called Seize Something Valuable by Force ... I guess people are valuable, and I'm seizing four of them, but maybe this is just Suckering Someone. I'm going to roll, and you tell me if it's SBF (Hard) or Sucker/Go Aggro (Weird). Either way, I mark XP and gain my first advance.

Taking them by force: 3+6+1 or +2 = 10 or 11

If SBF, I take definite hold, and uh ... everything except "inflict terrible harm". I'm not out to kill anybody here, just knock them out good.

[BlasTech]

Harold, you flip the gun's safety back on, right as Sam starts drumming his fingers on his holster. "I ain't keen on havin' a shouting match, Cap'n. You come over here. Then I got some verbs for you to...alize." Yang tightens his grip on his gun.

Hark's grumpy, but that's about usual. He's looking a bit nervous though, which is less usual. As Harke walks closer, switching off Yang's rifle in the process. He tries to get a read on Harke's face, to see what it is that's causing him such disquiet.

[roll0]
What is he really feeling?

Edit: ouch.

[TheAmishPirate]

I'm done sneaking and peeking around corners. I've found what I wanted, now to take it.

I step out from hiding, but I give Sam Harke no time to so much as peep before I activate the pain-wave projector in my mask, filling the hall with a subsonic assault on every nerve. Sorry Capt'n, but there's no time to be gentle here. What I'm going to do is swiftly and decisively disable them all, drag them into a room where no one's likely to come looking, and tie up the two "Alliance" folk and Harke. Then hopefully have a one-on-one talk with the captain (note to self: apologize).

I'm not sure how this goes in the new system. In the old it would be Seize by Force. In the new one, that's called Seize Something Valuable by Force ... I guess people are valuable, and I'm seizing four of them, but maybe this is just Suckering Someone. I'm going to roll, and you tell me if it's SBF (Hard) or Sucker/Go Aggro (Weird). Either way, I mark XP and gain my first advance.

Taking them by force: 3+6+1 or +2 = 10 or 11

If SBF, I take definite hold, and uh ... everything except "inflict terrible harm". I'm not out to kill anybody here, just knock them out good.


Hark's grumpy, but that's about usual. He's looking a bit nervous though, which is less usual. As Harke walks closer, switching off Yang's rifle in the process. He tries to get a read on Harke's face, to see what it is that's causing him such disquiet.

[roll0]
What is he really feeling?

Edit: ouch.

Sounds like you are Suckering Someone. Four someones, to be exact.

Harold, before you even know what's hit you, there's this...actually, Areon, this is your toy. Why don't you tell the fine Captain what it's like? In fact, I'm leaving this in your capable hands. Harold, Sam, Yang, and Rameriez are all down for the count with bleeding ears and screams aplenty. You've got all the time you need to take them someplace, tie people up, maybe light some candles, set the mood, whatever it is you do when you've got company. Tell me - and Harold - what happens when they wake up.


"Mm," Willow agreed and folded up a towel neatly and placed at the head of the bath to cushion his head. "I can't help but think that a ship such as yours must be... well equipped. Comfortable. Spacious, even. More so than... civilian freighters," she commented, nudging the conversation along in a direction she hoped would prove yielding.

"Perhaps, while we savour the moment, we could also consider this... an audition?"

There is a thoughtful, telling pause. "And what role is our rising star aiming for?" he asks coyly.


I would indeed. [roll0]
[Why don't we cut to the chase here and just let me know what my best way through this situation is?]

The best way through is to explain that you're not dooming them all to a slow, painful death, and for Tom to back you up. But Tom's busy with the damage control officer, and the crowd's too panicked for logic right now. You need a way to shut everybody up for just a few seconds, so you can set the record straight.

Best answer I can think of? If the crowd's being loud, you just gotta get louder. A sharp bang, a piercing siren, a blast from a loudspeaker, something like that. Think of it like shooting in the air to get everybody's attention, only you don't have a gun handy.


Well, that's Mrs. Snow in the bleedout zone. Going to a real hospital sounds like a good idea. Luckily all her stolen kit is in her silver suitcase, so she didn't actually lose anything in the crash.

She's going to find the nearest rescue crew and tell them that a psychopathic Alliance soldier kidnapped her and was going to use her as a hostage while he committed an act of terror. And she is a poor innocent traumatized victim who is lucky to be alive, and now she needs urgent medical attention please.

(This was also a great way to get into a proper core-world hospital and start doing some in-depth analysis of her stolen data)

Manipulate: 10

The cops show up and start combing over the wreckage, but as soon as they hear your story they shuffle you into an ambulance, along with some more official help. Along the way, they ask you for a few more details on your story. What ship you were on, how he got you on the shuttle, did he take anything with him, when did he first start acting strange, did he seem like he was having hearing problems, anything you could tell them would be helpful to their investigations.

[Elanorin]

There is a thoughtful, telling pause. "And what role is our rising star aiming for?" he asks coyly.


"Oh I am who I am and I have no desire to be anyone else," Willow assured him with a content smile. "I imagine you reach just as many border-planet society as a freighter does. Perhaps with the added bonus of some visits closer to the core now and then? I can see the appeal in a slightly more busy calendar. Then there is, of course, the possibility of an exclusive contract. But an Alliance military salary would be somewhat prohibitive. Even for a Captain, I'm afraid. Unless... there is more to you than meets the eye?" she asked, appraising him head to toe and inviting him in to the bath.

[Thanqol]

The cops show up and start combing over the wreckage, but as soon as they hear your story they shuffle you into an ambulance, along with some more official help. Along the way, they ask you for a few more details on your story. What ship you were on, how he got you on the shuttle, did he take anything with him, when did he first start acting strange, did he seem like he was having hearing problems, anything you could tell them would be helpful to their investigations.

Mrs. Snow does not consider it to be in her best interests to give them a clear answer. She's playing the part of a traumatized civilian - notoriously unreliable types. If she gives them a push in any direction it's she mentions something about browncoat sympathies - surely some two-bit Independent militia will claim responsibility out of reflex.

[Anarion]

The best way through is to explain that you're not dooming them all to a slow, painful death, and for Tom to back you up. But Tom's busy with the damage control officer, and the crowd's too panicked for logic right now. You need a way to shut everybody up for just a few seconds, so you can set the record straight.

Best answer I can think of? If the crowd's being loud, you just gotta get louder. A sharp bang, a piercing siren, a blast from a loudspeaker, something like that. Think of it like shooting in the air to get everybody's attention, only you don't have a gun handy.



Well, I've already got the panel off, I just slam my wrench into the wire that connects to the emergency klaxon and boom the shuttle is blaring out one of those ear-splitting warning beacons. "If all y'all don't mind" I shout over the blaring shuttle. "I'm gonna need some pieces from here to fix your ship, and then we'll all be just fine! I'm helping out Tom, ain't that right, Tom?"

[Deadly]

Sounds like you are Suckering Someone. Four someones, to be exact.

Harold, before you even know what's hit you, there's this...actually, Areon, this is your toy. Why don't you tell the fine Captain what it's like? In fact, I'm leaving this in your capable hands. Harold, Sam, Yang, and Rameriez are all down for the count with bleeding ears and screams aplenty. You've got all the time you need to take them someplace, tie people up, maybe light some candles, set the mood, whatever it is you do when you've got company. Tell me - and Harold - what happens when they wake up.

It's not really a sound, which is why simple earplugs don't help. It's just that your brain doesn't have anything else to compare it to, so a sound is what it 'hears', but it doesn't go through your ears or even activate the hearing regions of the brain in the normal order, which is why you can't pinpoint the direction and why it feels really f*cking wrong, like it's coming from within your own skull. And technically, it kinda is.

It's not a loud 'sound' in the traditional sense either. You can't fail to 'hear' it if you're nearby, but assuming you were conscious enough to actually put words to it ... you'd probably find that hard, but 'maddening', 'confusing', 'nagging', 'low whine' might be some of the words you came up with. But the words you're more likely to use are various forms of agonized and delirious vocalizations, because that's what the 'sound' feels like. Much like a loud bass can be felt in your body, or certain notes can cause a shiver to run down your spine or tingles in your scalp, this 'sound' is felt too. Intensely so.

It's basically your brain overloading every sense and every nerve all at once. The bleeding, which at least isn't lethal on its own, is due to the intense physical shock and is largely internal. When all conditions are ideal, the overwhelming mental confusion and pain leave most people subjected to it unable to do anything but writhe and cry on the floor. It's most unpleasant.

At any rate, Aeron is quick to shove them all into a room, disarm them, and tie up all but the captain. He apologizes to them all, but especially Harold. "Didn't have time to be gentle, sir," he says once he's got them safely secured and turned off the pain generator. "We must talk." Sure, he would have liked to light some candles, put on a nice dinner ... but he didn't think they'd appreciate the delay as he ran off to the kitchen.

[TheAmishPirate]

"Oh I am who I am and I have no desire to be anyone else," Willow assured him with a content smile. "I imagine you reach just as many border-planet society as a freighter does. Perhaps with the added bonus of some visits closer to the core now and then? I can see the appeal in a slightly more busy calendar. Then there is, of course, the possibility of an exclusive contract. But an Alliance military salary would be somewhat prohibitive. Even for a Captain, I'm afraid. Unless... there is more to you than meets the eye?" she asked, appraising him head to toe and inviting him in to the bath.

"Maybe there is, maybe there isn't..." He teases, stepping out from the screen. "What can I say? I do fancy myself a man of mystery. And I can't reveal all my cards so early into negotiations. Surely you-ohhhhh, that's divine." He sighs, sinking into the warm water. "Surely you understand. 'The poor officer floods the field with bodies. The wise officer holds his mighty men patiently.'" He misquotes.


Well, I've already got the panel off, I just slam my wrench into the wire that connects to the emergency klaxon and boom the shuttle is blaring out one of those ear-splitting warning beacons. "If all y'all don't mind" I shout over the blaring shuttle. "I'm gonna need some pieces from here to fix your ship, and then we'll all be just fine! I'm helping out Tom, ain't that right, Tom?"

The crowd collectively shrinks a few inches as everybody winces and covers their ears. Folks are a lot more receptive when there's only one person talking.

"She sure is!" Tom shouts, glaring at the Pearson - the officer. "So if you'd give us some space, we'll have this all taken care of soon enough, dong ma?"

Pearson scowls (or so you assume) behind his visor, then backs down. "You hear the man! Back to your posts! Masks on until further notice, and somebody get me a full damage report!"

The report comes quick enough. Tom and Pearson pour over it, and from the snippets you can hear they've got more questions than answers. As you're finishing up, Tom checks over your work, and then pulls you aside. "Listen, I know you're just a civvie, but you're a damn fine engineer and it'd be a shame to see you, ah, come to serious trouble. So hear me out; you wouldn't happen to have anybody on your crew luggin' around some military-grade hardware would you? Anybody at all?" He watches you intently.


Mrs. Snow does not consider it to be in her best interests to give them a clear answer. She's playing the part of a traumatized civilian - notoriously unreliable types. If she gives them a push in any direction it's she mentions something about browncoat sympathies - surely some two-bit Independent militia will claim responsibility out of reflex.

Certainly. Nothing like free credit, right?

Once they see you're horrifically traumatized and of no use to anybody, they're all too happy to dump you off at the hospital. It's no Core World, state-of-the-art facility, but it's mighty respectable for the boonies. All the medical trade is doing them good. Especially considering half their medicine they can probably grow in their backyard.

Unfortunately, those hospitals are reserved for good little workers. Not for bums who crash-landed without so much as an ident card to their name.

The place they take you to is less of a hospital, and more of a longhouse where they keep folks with doctorin' knowledge. Compared to the shiny white hospital you glimpsed out the window on the way here, this place is surely infested with lice, all manner of tropical diseases, and the unwashed masses. Ugh. And they have the gall to charge you a competitive rate. If you're interested in paying in cash, it'll be 1 Barter per segment healed, and you'll have to stay overnight.

I mean, you're not bleeding out yet, right?

[Anarion]

The report comes quick enough. Tom and Pearson pour over it, and from the snippets you can hear they've got more questions than answers. As you're finishing up, Tom checks over your work, and then pulls you aside. "Listen, I know you're just a civvie, but you're a damn fine engineer and it'd be a shame to see you, ah, come to serious trouble. So hear me out; you wouldn't happen to have anybody on your crew luggin' around some military-grade hardware would you? Anybody at all?" He watches you intently.


"Mrs. Rebecca Snow." I say it without hesitation, just deadpan while I'm finishing up the work. "Mind you, I don't actually know what sort of hardware she's got. Might be nothing, might be that one of your own folks got a little antsy with the gun controls here. But I know all the tech that my ship's got, and Snow's the only passenger on there that's both unaccounted for while this happened and might have some of her own equipment capable of doing it in her personal stuff. So she's your gal if you care to hang around long enough to ask about it."

[BlasTech]

It's not really a sound, which is why simple earplugs don't help. It's just that your brain doesn't have anything else to compare it to, so a sound is what it 'hears', but it doesn't go through your ears or even activate the hearing regions of the brain in the normal order, which is why you can't pinpoint the direction and why it feels really f*cking wrong, like it's coming from within your own skull. And technically, it kinda is.

It's not a loud 'sound' in the traditional sense either. You can't fail to 'hear' it if you're nearby, but assuming you were conscious enough to actually put words to it ... you'd probably find that hard, but 'maddening', 'confusing', 'nagging', 'low whine' might be some of the words you came up with. But the words you're more likely to use are various forms of agonized and delirious vocalizations, because that's what the 'sound' feels like. Much like a loud bass can be felt in your body, or certain notes can cause a shiver to run down your spine or tingles in your scalp, this 'sound' is felt too. Intensely so.

It's basically your brain overloading every sense and every nerve all at once. The bleeding, which at least isn't lethal on its own, is due to the intense physical shock and is largely internal. When all conditions are ideal, the overwhelming mental confusion and pain leave most people subjected to it unable to do anything but writhe and cry on the floor. It's most unpleasant.

At any rate, Aeron is quick to shove them all into a room, disarm them, and tie up all but the captain. He apologizes to them all, but especially Harold. "Didn't have time to be gentle, sir," he says once he's got them safely secured and turned off the pain generator. "We must talk." Sure, he would have liked to light some candles, put on a nice dinner ... but he didn't think they'd appreciate the delay as he ran off to the kitchen.

See, that's the problem with life out in the black. Nothing ever goes all neat like. One minute, things are going well, under control, accordin' t'plan. Next thing, you're a'bleedin out on the ground, screaming for momma.

Not Hall though, he's too old to scream for momma. Yup. You better believe it. Ain't nobody better say otherwise who don't want their breathin' rights revoked.

Anyway, you said you disarmed them. Does that mean you took Hall's gun? Or is ole Betsy safe in her holster? Cause, far be it from the captain to be able to question how things are run on his ship, but having armed and, above all, angry alliance on the ship don't strike as the best time to go unarmed.

[Elanorin]

"Maybe there is, maybe there isn't..." He teases, stepping out from the screen. "What can I say? I do fancy myself a man of mystery. And I can't reveal all my cards so early into negotiations. Surely you-ohhhhh, that's divine." He sighs, sinking into the warm water. "Surely you understand. 'The poor officer floods the field with bodies. The wise officer holds his mighty men patiently.'" He misquotes.


Willow smiled in good humour at his comment, "That's quite alright. I understand if your Alliance life does not have space for a Companion. And I know not everyone finds it appealing to have one of us close at all times." she said softly and with complete understanding. With that she let the subject drop and silently began the slow and utterly sublime ritual of bathing another, waiting for him to take the bait.

[Rolling to Manipulate the good Captain to invite me to come live on his ship: 5+4+3=12]

[Deadly]

See, that's the problem with life out in the black. Nothing ever goes all neat like. One minute, things are going well, under control, accordin' t'plan. Next thing, you're a'bleedin out on the ground, screaming for momma.

Not Hall though, he's too old to scream for momma. Yup. You better believe it. Ain't nobody better say otherwise who don't want their breathin' rights revoked.

Anyway, you said you disarmed them. Does that mean you took Hall's gun? Or is ole Betsy safe in her holster? Cause, far be it from the captain to be able to question how things are run on his ship, but having armed and, above all, angry alliance on the ship don't strike as the best time to go unarmed.

Unless it was concealed, yes, but Aeron is happy to give it back to you once he's reasonably sure you're not going to blindly shoot at anything that's not on the ground with you. People can get so very trigger-happy when they're suddenly on the ground and don't know why, so it's just a precaution you see.

[BlasTech]

Unless it was concealed, yes, but Aeron is happy to give it back to you once he's reasonably sure you're not going to blindly shoot at anything that's not on the ground with you. People can get so very trigger-happy when they're suddenly on the ground and don't know why, so it's just a precaution you see.

Hey, a you can knock a man out, make him bleed from all the orifices he knows of (and a few of the others to boot), but takin Ole Betsy? That's just rude. Next thing you know, and you'll tell me that he took his hat too!

Anyway, Hall will follow Aeron to the kitchen. But he's gonna ruin any attempted conversation by bein' the grumpy old man he is until he gets his gun back.

[Deadly]

Hey, a you can knock a man out, make him bleed from all the orifices he knows of (and a few of the others to boot), but takin Ole Betsy? That's just rude. Next thing you know, and you'll tell me that he took his hat too!

Anyway, Hall will follow Aeron to the kitchen. But he's gonna ruin any attempted conversation by bein' the grumpy old man he is until he gets his gun back.

Nah, your hat is safe.

Aeron leads Hall out into the ... hall and hands him back Ol' Betsy. He's not going to go wandering off too far, what with these people around. Just far enough to be out of earshot. "These people aren't Alliance," he says, getting straight to the point. "They look like, and it's a pretty good ruse, but it's fake. Ms. Skaro is the only one I've told so far, besides you. She's got their captain in her care for now."

[TheAmishPirate]

"Mrs. Rebecca Snow." I say it without hesitation, just deadpan while I'm finishing up the work. "Mind you, I don't actually know what sort of hardware she's got. Might be nothing, might be that one of your own folks got a little antsy with the gun controls here. But I know all the tech that my ship's got, and Snow's the only passenger on there that's both unaccounted for while this happened and might have some of her own equipment capable of doing it in her personal stuff. So she's your gal if you care to hang around long enough to ask about it."

"I don't think we'll be asking her much of anything now." Tom shakes his head. "See, we're thinking she took off with the other shuttle after she did a number on our ship. Still piecing together the 'why', and if she had any help. Do you know where she might've flown off to? I don't think I need t'say this, but anything you could tell us would be a big help."


Willow smiled in good humour at his comment, "That's quite alright. I understand if your Alliance life does not have space for a Companion. And I know not everyone finds it appealing to have one of us close at all times." she said softly and with complete understanding. With that she let the subject drop and silently began the slow and utterly sublime ritual of bathing another, waiting for him to take the bait.

[Rolling to Manipulate the good Captain to invite me to come live on his ship: 5+4+3=12]

Temptation makes fools of even great men. So really, poor Andersen here didn't stand a chance.

Partway through the wondrous bath, he cracks. Tells you he's got plenty to offer a lady of your standing, and much more besides. He wears the colors of the Alliance, sure enough, but he's destined for greater things. The Alliance didn't appreciate a man of his caliber. Didn't see his value. Only a matter of time before somebody else did. Sure enough, he got word one day that his ship had come in. A person by the name of Madame Ching had a job for an Alliance man sick of Alliance work; delivery of some special cargo through heavily guarded territory. Suicide for any ordinary junker or scavver rat. But for him? It was as simple as getting together a loyal crew, hopping in an Alliance Patrol Boat, and cruising on through. The Alliance thinks he's just on routine patrol, and the lowlifes? The scum? Who of them would tangle with an Alliance vessel? The plan was utter brilliance. Foolproof. And now, my dear, you could sail away with him, and never have to worry about money again.

He makes you swear not to tell a living soul. And he's fool enough to believe anything you say.

What do you do?

[Anarion]

"I don't think we'll be asking her much of anything now." Tom shakes his head. "See, we're thinking she took off with the other shuttle after she did a number on our ship. Still piecing together the 'why', and if she had any help. Do you know where she might've flown off to? I don't think I need t'say this, but anything you could tell us would be a big help."


"Uh, the planet? We've got no connections with any other ships around these parts, and far as I know you folks and are the only thing in the area. If Snow's got some other friends floating around out here in the big ol void, it beats me."

[BlasTech]

Nah, your hat is safe.

Aeron leads Hall out into the ... hall and hands him back Ol' Betsy. He's not going to go wandering off too far, what with these people around. Just far enough to be out of earshot. "These people aren't Alliance," he says, getting straight to the point. "They look like, and it's a pretty good ruse, but it's fake. Ms. Skaro is the only one I've told so far, besides you. She's got their captain in her care for now."

"What, all o'them?" replied Hall. "They'd have to be pretty pretty slick to be haulin' off an Alliance cruiser intact. I got a good look at her comin' over: no damage, no burn marks. Looks official enough."

"Not sayin' I doubt you though. Their capt'n; I can believe him havin' more to his story. He didn' stike me as an example of upfront honest-like folk."

"You got a plan, young one? Or is this more a makin-up-as-you-go kind o'thing?

[Deadly]

"What, all o'them?" replied Hall. "They'd have to be pretty pretty slick to be haulin' off an Alliance cruiser intact. I got a good look at her comin' over: no damage, no burn marks. Looks official enough."

"Not sayin' I doubt you though. Their capt'n; I can believe him havin' more to his story. He didn' stike me as an example of upfront honest-like folk."

"You got a plan, young one? Or is this more a makin-up-as-you-go kind o'thing?

"I don't know what is more believable," said Aeron, "that a bunch of people got off with an intact Alliance cruiser, or that one person tricked an entire Alliance cruiser into thinking he's their captain." That'd make Andersen a master of manipulation and possibly even more scarily brainy than Aeron. Oh wait, he did know what he found more believable.

"My plan was to inform you. This is your ship, your call what to do. Personally I'd like to extract everything from them, possibly under torture ..." or pleasure, but sometimes the line was blurry between those two. His mind drifted off towards Willow's room, where no doubt an extraction was going on ... sadly he couldn't be the one doing the extracting, or enjoying the 'torture', but that was okay ... he had a very powerful imagination.

Casual brain receptivity via brain relay to Read Willow: 3+4+2 = 9

Let's see ... what is she really feeling during all this?

[TheAmishPirate]

"Uh, the planet? We've got no connections with any other ships around these parts, and far as I know you folks and are the only thing in the area. If Snow's got some other friends floating around out here in the big ol void, it beats me."

Tom nods, and thanks you for your time. He goes back to Pearson, and you hear something about having to make a call.

But that don't concern you none, does it? You've finally got the parts you need to get this engine back in shape. Now that there aren't any alarms blaring or people panicking, the job goes much more smoothly. Between the two of you, you have the engine all patched up in no time. "That ought t'about do it." Tom says, taking off his gloves and stretching out his back. "I'll just have to run a few tests on her, then we can tell Andersen we're good to go."

Oh. Right. The captain that Willow is still "interrogating." Your insight was so good, you got this thing taken care of quick. Much too quick. You haven't heard a word from your friend, your Captain, or anybody on the Neruda.

What do you do?


Mrs. Snow does not consider it to be in her best interests to give them a clear answer. She's playing the part of a traumatized civilian - notoriously unreliable types. If she gives them a push in any direction it's she mentions something about browncoat sympathies - surely some two-bit Independent militia will claim responsibility out of reflex.

Certainly. Nothing like free credit, right?

Once they see you're horrifically traumatized and of no use to anybody, they're all too happy to dump you off at the hospital. It's no Core World, state-of-the-art facility, but they've got some mighty respectable establishments. For the boonies, anyway. All the medical trade is doing them good, especially considering half their medicine they can probably grow in their backyard.

Unfortunately, those hospitals are reserved for good little workers. Not for bums who crash-landed without so much as an ident card to their name.

The place they take you to is less of a hospital, and more of a longhouse where they keep folks with doctorin' knowledge. Compared to the shiny white hospital you glimpsed out the window on the way here, this place is surely infested with lice, all manner of tropical diseases, and the unwashed masses. Ugh. And they have the gall to charge you a competitive rate. If you're interested in paying in cash, it'll be 1 Barter per segment healed; mark off Harm for however much you pay. In any case, they also want you to stay the night, and you find yourself an open cot to sleep off the day's excitement.

In the middle of the night, the cacophony of the jungle becomes too much to bear. Hundreds of thousands of insects, screeching together in an unending chorus of torment. As you try to get back to sleep, you notice the beds around you are vacant. As are all the others. No doctors walk their rounds. You don't even have the company of corpses. The entire hospital is empty, with all the supplies and furniture intact. Like no one was ever there.

What do you do?

[Anarion]

I nod to Tom. As engineers, we share a bond around these machines that's fundamental. I got something working for him, and he'll always respect that whenever we next meet, and no matter how we next meet. It feels good too: machines do what they're supposed to, and this crazy alliance ship, as high tech and crazy as it might be, still purrs like a kitten stretching out in sunlight when you get it running just so.

Oh, right, what do I do now. These choices. I'm burning all over to go run to my workshop, I've still got this crazy idea in my head. But Willow seemed pretty nervous earlier and I really ought to go check on her. I really, ought to, I'd feel like such a heel if she needed me and I didn't do anything about it. So...I go to check on Willow. She's got a sign on the door when she's doing "business" if you know what i mean, but I'm gonna try and listen in if I can, see what's what.

[Elanorin]

Temptation makes fools of even great men. So really, poor Andersen here didn't stand a chance.

Partway through the wondrous bath, he cracks. Tells you he's got plenty to offer a lady of your standing, and much more besides. He wears the colors of the Alliance, sure enough, but he's destined for greater things. The Alliance didn't appreciate a man of his caliber. Didn't see his value. Only a matter of time before somebody else did. Sure enough, he got word one day that his ship had come in. A person by the name of Madame Ching had a job for an Alliance man sick of Alliance work; delivery of some special cargo through heavily guarded territory. Suicide for any ordinary junker or scavver rat. But for him? It was as simple as getting together a loyal crew, hopping in an Alliance Patrol Boat, and cruising on through. The Alliance thinks he's just on routine patrol, and the lowlifes? The scum? Who of them would tangle with an Alliance vessel? The plan was utter brilliance. Foolproof. And now, my dear, you could sail away with him, and never have to worry about money again.

He makes you swear not to tell a living soul. And he's fool enough to believe anything you say.

What do you do?

Why, carry on of course. This is just getting interesting.

Willow swore her lips were sealed (demonstrating with a little kiss on his shoulder) and continued to make good on her promise of an utterly sublime bath and then a warm massage with more well-placed questions mingled with skilful seduction to learn what he knows of his cargo, where the cargo is and what his plans are once this job is over. All part of a genuine interview for the arrangement of their contract, of course.


His mind drifted off towards Willow's room, where no doubt an extraction was going on ... sadly he couldn't be the one doing the extracting, or enjoying the 'torture', but that was okay ... he had a very powerful imagination.

Casual brain receptivity via brain relay to Read Willow: 3+4+2 = 9

Let's see ... what is she really feeling during all this?

Oooooooh so that's how you get your kicks, little creep. I knew it. Makes a girl wonder if this is the first time your mind has wandered off towards a Companion's quarters during one of her appointments.

Willow is feeling bitter-sweet triumph right this moment. She has Andersen in the palm of her hand, wrapped around her finger and generally worked in to a compliant man-shaped puddle, but what she is gaining from him also proves you right and that annoys her. She'd much rather be able to show you up by gaining information that contradicted you or at least greatly exceeded what you already knew or suspected. You bet she's not done here.

She feels power, she knows she has Andersen at her mercy and can shape so much of his future, and her own, with a simple lustful whisper, a gentle touch of her hand. She is slightly drunk with it and its an exhilarating feeling that she knows well, you might even suspect it's an actual perk of her job that she enjoys perhaps more than she should, despite the demure and modest façade that she portrays of an average day (which you probably saw through long ago).

Last, she is no robot, Willow is so good at portraying herself as taken utterly away by her client, at seeming seduced by the moment despite herself, because she genuinely lets herself believe she is for those moments, and there is no small amount of erotic pleasure being gained by her too here. Even if she doesn't seem particularly attracted to Anderson himself, in fact, in her mind's eye you get the feeling he probably has an entirely different face.

[Thanqol]

Certainly. Nothing like free credit, right?

Once they see you're horrifically traumatized and of no use to anybody, they're all too happy to dump you off at the hospital. It's no Core World, state-of-the-art facility, but they've got some mighty respectable establishments. For the boonies, anyway. All the medical trade is doing them good, especially considering half their medicine they can probably grow in their backyard.

Unfortunately, those hospitals are reserved for good little workers. Not for bums who crash-landed without so much as an ident card to their name.

The place they take you to is less of a hospital, and more of a longhouse where they keep folks with doctorin' knowledge. Compared to the shiny white hospital you glimpsed out the window on the way here, this place is surely infested with lice, all manner of tropical diseases, and the unwashed masses. Ugh. And they have the gall to charge you a competitive rate. If you're interested in paying in cash, it'll be 1 Barter per segment healed; mark off Harm for however much you pay. In any case, they also want you to stay the night, and you find yourself an open cot to sleep off the day's excitement.

In the middle of the night, the cacophony of the jungle becomes too much to bear. Hundreds of thousands of insects, screeching together in an unending chorus of torment. As you try to get back to sleep, you notice the beds around you are vacant. As are all the others. No doctors walk their rounds. You don't even have the company of corpses. The entire hospital is empty, with all the supplies and furniture intact. Like no one was ever there.

What do you do?

Mrs Snow goes ahead and pays the two barter she's got on her. When she awakes and finds the place empty she thinks for a moment, then goes to steal it back. She'll also pick up any expensive medical supplies she can find along the way.

But she's sharp and alert as she goes, even as she's hurriedly rummaging through drawers. There are few good answers to why forty odd people go missing.

Read a sitch: 7 - what should I be on the lookout for?

[TheAmishPirate]

Why, carry on of course. This is just getting interesting.

Willow swore her lips were sealed (demonstrating with a little kiss on his shoulder) and continued to make good on her promise of an utterly sublime bath and then a warm massage with more well-placed questions mingled with skilful seduction to learn what he knows of his cargo, where the cargo is and what his plans are once this job is over. All part of a genuine interview for the arrangement of their contract, of course.

That's perhaps the best part; the cargo is a set of data rods. Small, inconspicuous, easily hidden in their cargo bay. Madame Ching's man wouldn't say what it was. He tried accessing them, of course, but the data was...jumbled. Incomplete, almost. Of course, it's nothing that he couldn't puzzle out. See, he noticed coordinates and fragments of coordinates scattered all throughout the data. Whatever this is, it's big enough that Ching won't send it over the Cortex. Too risky that it'll be intercepted. So what does she do? Break it up, and send it in pieces. What has lots of coordinates, is valuable enough to be divvied up and hand-delivered?

A treasure map. Pardon his poetic license, but it's almost assuredly a map to something big. And on top of the reward for bringing it to Ching, can you imagine what she would offer the ones who helped her find it? With his cruiser, the Alliance would have no idea what they were up to before it was too late.

As for afterwards, well, what would you do with a shiny pile of money and the favor of a crime lord? Andersen implies pretty strongly that he'll have his mind on carving out his own corner of space and living like a king. But what about you?

In any case, by the time you've finished milking him for information, you're through with the bath, the massage, and a thousand other little affections. "Mmmmmmm. And what an audition that was." Andersen says as he dresses himself, practically glowing. "I look forward to working with you, Ms. Willow. I think you'll be a fine-"

And then his radio buzzes; word from his ship that the engine is all fixed, and they're ready to go just as soon as he and his men get on board.

"Well, well, well. I had thought this day was cursed, but it seems I've found quite the good-luck charm." He gives you a smile he believes is charming, and offers you his arm. "Shall we?"


I nod to Tom. As engineers, we share a bond around these machines that's fundamental. I got something working for him, and he'll always respect that whenever we next meet, and no matter how we next meet. It feels good too: machines do what they're supposed to, and this crazy alliance ship, as high tech and crazy as it might be, still purrs like a kitten stretching out in sunlight when you get it running just so.

Oh, right, what do I do now. These choices. I'm burning all over to go run to my workshop, I've still got this crazy idea in my head. But Willow seemed pretty nervous earlier and I really ought to go check on her. I really, ought to, I'd feel like such a heel if she needed me and I didn't do anything about it. So...I go to check on Willow. She's got a sign on the door when she's doing "business" if you know what i mean, but I'm gonna try and listen in if I can, see what's what.

Just as you put your ear to the door, you hear Andersen telling Willow that he's looking forward to having her on his crew, and inviting her to leave.

What do you do?


Mrs Snow goes ahead and pays the two barter she's got on her. When she awakes and finds the place empty she thinks for a moment, then goes to steal it back. She'll also pick up any expensive medical supplies she can find along the way.

But she's sharp and alert as she goes, even as she's hurriedly rummaging through drawers. There are few good answers to why forty odd people go missing.

Read a sitch: 7 - what should I be on the lookout for?

You find 1 Barter worth of meds and supplies. You don't find any money; the safe hasn't been forced, but it was left open. You also don't find any blood. Whatever happened here was a singular sequence of deliberate events. It was without violence, with enough warning for somebody here to empty the safe, yet not enough to take the medical supplies. And strangest of all, they left you alone. You and your precious case are untouched.

Somebody has gone through a great deal of trouble to get you alone. You would do well to figure out why. Because if you've got some leverage, something that somebody else wants, odds are you're going to be in grave danger if you hand it over.

As you search, you find an old, beat-up communicator lying dead center on one of the tables. It's blaring static, there's a click, and then a female voice.

"Hello, Mrs. Snow. May we talk?"

What do you do?

[BlasTech]

"I don't know what is more believable," said Aeron, "that a bunch of people got off with an intact Alliance cruiser, or that one person tricked an entire Alliance cruiser into thinking he's their captain." That'd make Andersen a master of manipulation and possibly even more scarily brainy than Aeron. Oh wait, he did know what he found more believable.

"My plan was to inform you. This is your ship, your call what to do. Personally I'd like to extract everything from them, possibly under torture ..." or pleasure, but sometimes the line was blurry between those two. His mind drifted off towards Willow's room, where no doubt an extraction was going on ... sadly he couldn't be the one doing the extracting, or enjoying the 'torture', but that was okay ... he had a very powerful imagination.

Casual brain receptivity via brain relay to Read Willow: 3+4+2 = 9

Let's see ... what is she really feeling during all this?

Hall eyeballed the creepy fella for a moment, before shrugging.

"Much as I'd like t'do somethin', sad fact is that the cruiser over there has enough hurt on board to kill us all twice over." he continued. "'ain't sure what kind o'torture you had in mind, but we gotta worry about what we're bringin' down on ourselves. And I ain't sure this here mys-ter-ee s'worth dyin' over."

[Thanqol]

You find 1 Barter worth of meds and supplies. You don't find any money; the safe hasn't been forced, but it was left open. You also don't find any blood. Whatever happened here was a singular sequence of deliberate events. It was without violence, with enough warning for somebody here to empty the safe, yet not enough to take the medical supplies. And strangest of all, they left you alone. You and your precious case are untouched.

Somebody has gone through a great deal of trouble to get you alone. You would do well to figure out why. Because if you've got some leverage, something that somebody else wants, odds are you're going to be in grave danger if you hand it over.

As you search, you find an old, beat-up communicator lying dead center on one of the tables. It's blaring static, there's a click, and then a female voice.

"Hello, Mrs. Snow. May we talk?"

What do you do?

"You must have the wrong person," said Mrs. Snow into the communicator, feigning a Liverpludian accent. "Shall I tell her you called?"

Basic test, she figured, to see if they had eyes on her or not. She picked up her suitcase and walked around the clinic, peeking out the windows and making sure there was no one outside, also now checking for/breaking cameras.

[Anarion]

Just as you put your ear to the door, you hear Andersen telling Willow that he's looking forward to having her on his crew, and inviting her to leave.

What do you do?


You're thinking to yourself "Oh, she's gonna freak out and barge in with a big ol 'how could you?!'" ain't that right? But yeah, that ain't happening. First off, Willow's a big girl and if she wants to wander off with a crazy alliance captain, that's her business and we'll have a chance to hug it out before she goes. Second off, if he's talkin all nice like to her, then she's not in any danger so I won't be needing to kick the door down.

I'm just gonna wait outside at a polite distance for the two of them to come out. I want to gloat at the captain a bit about fixing his ship, you understand.

[Deadly]

Oooooooh so that's how you get your kicks, little creep. I knew it. Makes a girl wonder if this is the first time your mind has wandered off towards a Companion's quarters during one of her appointments.

Willow is feeling bitter-sweet triumph right this moment. She has Andersen in the palm of her hand, wrapped around her finger and generally worked in to a compliant man-shaped puddle, but what she is gaining from him also proves you right and that annoys her. She'd much rather be able to show you up by gaining information that contradicted you or at least greatly exceeded what you already knew or suspected. You bet she's not done here.

She feels power, she knows she has Andersen at her mercy and can shape so much of his future, and her own, with a simple lustful whisper, a gentle touch of her hand. She is slightly drunk with it and its an exhilarating feeling that she knows well, you might even suspect it's an actual perk of her job that she enjoys perhaps more than she should, despite the demure and modest façade that she portrays of an average day (which you probably saw through long ago).

Last, she is no robot, Willow is so good at portraying herself as taken utterly away by her client, at seeming seduced by the moment despite herself, because she genuinely lets herself believe she is for those moments, and there is no small amount of erotic pleasure being gained by her too here. Even if she doesn't seem particularly attracted to Anderson himself, in fact, in her mind's eye you get the feeling he probably has an entirely different face.

Who can tell where Aeron's mind has wandered before ...

Aeron would quietly smirk if he could. Who knows what goes on inside his head right now.


Hall eyeballed the creepy fella for a moment, before shrugging.

"Much as I'd like t'do somethin', sad fact is that the cruiser over there has enough hurt on board to kill us all twice over." he continued. "'ain't sure what kind o'torture you had in mind, but we gotta worry about what we're bringin' down on ourselves. And I ain't sure this here mys-ter-ee s'worth dyin' over."

"Are you sure?" This on the other hand, was a big let-down. His mask almost managed to look disappointed. "We have the advantage of surprise. They don't know we're on to them. We could take over control quietly and quickly before they realize what's up."

[Elanorin]

That's perhaps the best part; the cargo is a set of data rods. Small, inconspicuous, easily hidden in their cargo bay. Madame Ching's man wouldn't say what it was. He tried accessing them, of course, but the data was...jumbled. Incomplete, almost. Of course, it's nothing that he couldn't puzzle out. See, he noticed coordinates and fragments of coordinates scattered all throughout the data. Whatever this is, it's big enough that Ching won't send it over the Cortex. Too risky that it'll be intercepted. So what does she do? Break it up, and send it in pieces. What has lots of coordinates, is valuable enough to be divvied up and hand-delivered?

A treasure map. Pardon his poetic license, but it's almost assuredly a map to something big. And on top of the reward for bringing it to Ching, can you imagine what she would offer the ones who helped her find it? With his cruiser, the Alliance would have no idea what they were up to before it was too late.

As for afterwards, well, what would you do with a shiny pile of money and the favor of a crime lord? Andersen implies pretty strongly that he'll have his mind on carving out his own corner of space and living like a king. But what about you?

In any case, by the time you've finished milking him for information, you're through with the bath, the massage, and a thousand other little affections. "Mmmmmmm. And what an audition that was." Andersen says as he dresses himself, practically glowing. "I look forward to working with you, Ms. Willow. I think you'll be a fine-"

And then his radio buzzes; word from his ship that the engine is all fixed, and they're ready to go just as soon as he and his men get on board.

"Well, well, well. I had thought this day was cursed, but it seems I've found quite the good-luck charm." He gives you a smile he believes is charming, and offers you his arm. "Shall we?"


"Yes," Willow said, also satisfied but for entirely different reasons, "how long do I have to gather my things and talk to the Captain to terminate my contract with him?" she asked innocently as she opened the door of her quarters to let the good captain out.



I'm just gonna wait outside at a polite distance for the two of them to come out. I want to gloat at the captain a bit about fixing his ship, you understand.

"Jane?" Willow was surprised to find her there, but happily so. "Is everything alright?"

[Anarion]

"Jane?" Willow was surprised to find her there, but happily so. "Is everything alright?"

"Peachy. I just wanted to check in and see how you were. With everything I had to do, this was my first chance to get by, if you understand me."

I give the captain a little doff of the head. "Howdy captain. I fixed your ship for you, had a big old hole in it and your fella Tom needed a helping hand. Would have thought you'd alliance folk would be a better hand with the anti-grab thrusters, myself, but I guess your baby needed some frontier know-how to get her back up to speed. I sure do hope there's no hard feelings on account of everything." I offer him a hand to shake, and of course I came straight here and haven't bothered cleaning up since rifling around in multiple engines. But I'm sure he wouldn't want to be impolite, in front of Willow and everything.

[TheAmishPirate]

"Yes," Willow said, also satisfied but for entirely different reasons, "how long do I have to gather my things and talk to the Captain to terminate my contract with him?" she asked innocently as she opened the door of her quarters to let the good captain out.

"Why don't we go up together?" Andersen offers, stepping out. His smile instantly fades when he sees who's waiting for him.


"Peachy. I just wanted to check in and see how you were. With everything I had to do, this was my first chance to get by, if you understand me."

I give the captain a little doff of the head. "Howdy captain. I fixed your ship for you, had a big old hole in it and your fella Tom needed a helping hand. Would have thought you'd alliance folk would be a better hand with the anti-grab thrusters, myself, but I guess your baby needed some frontier know-how to get her back up to speed. I sure do hope there's no hard feelings on account of everything." I offer him a hand to shake, and of course I came straight here and haven't bothered cleaning up since rifling around in multiple engines. But I'm sure he wouldn't want to be impolite, in front of Willow and everything.

"Don't push your luck." He says sharply, and refuses to shake your filthy hand. "You've done your duty as a citizen of the Alliance. For once. If you're looking for a medal and a pat on the head, you've come to the wrong place." He motions for Willow to lead on to the Captain, and stop wasting time with this lowlife.


"You must have the wrong person," said Mrs. Snow into the communicator, feigning a Liverpludian accent. "Shall I tell her you called?"

Basic test, she figured, to see if they had eyes on her or not. She picked up her suitcase and walked around the clinic, peeking out the windows and making sure there was no one outside, also now checking for/breaking cameras.

"Mrs. Snow. There is a fifty-foot tall statue of you and your own portrait gallery in the Hall of Thinkers. You are not difficult to recognize." The voice explains patiently.

You don't find any cameras, nor do you see anybody outside. Then again, it is the middle of the night in a jungle. They could be a stone's throw away and you wouldn't see them. However, when you look out the window, the voice cautions you. "I would not go that way. More well-equipped than you have been beaten by the jungle. Who knows? Maybe you would disappear forever, and that would be unfortunate for all of us." Yeah, they've definitely got eyes on you somewhere.

The voice continues. "You had some things of ours, Mrs. Snow. And then you lost them. We think it is only fair that you get them back. I ask again; may we talk?"

[Thanqol]

"Mrs. Snow. There is a fifty-foot tall statue of you and your own portrait gallery in the Hall of Thinkers. You are not difficult to recognize." The voice explains patiently.

You don't find any cameras, nor do you see anybody outside. Then again, it is the middle of the night in a jungle. They could be a stone's throw away and you wouldn't see them. However, when you look out the window, the voice cautions you. "I would not go that way. More well-equipped than you have been beaten by the jungle. Who knows? Maybe you would disappear forever, and that would be unfortunate for all of us." Yeah, they've definitely got eyes on you somewhere.

The voice continues. "You had some things of ours, Mrs. Snow. And then you lost them. We think it is only fair that you get them back. I ask again; may we talk?"

"No, we do nothing," said Mrs. Snow. "I am talking now you pathetic over-promoted pocket protector! You are some wannabe hack who has cribbed your entire operation from cheap thriller movies, you have accomplished nothing of note in your life, and not only were you dumb enough to get your sh*t stolen your sh*t is so inconsequential to me that I don't even remember taking it! So I want you to understand something very clearly: You are a fat, greasy blob drooling into a microphone and I would rather take my chances with the alien forest than hear your amateurish attempts at threats for another second. You are not dealing with some wilting violet in a lab coat, you are dealing with Mrs. F*cking Snow and I will take you the f*ck apart."

Go Aggro: I want this guy either show himself or reveal his hand. I am threatening him with continued insults. 10; he can either cave and reveal, or he can force my hand and suck up listening to Mrs. Snow brutally demolish his ego.

[TheAmishPirate]

"No, we do nothing," said Mrs. Snow. "I am talking now you pathetic over-promoted pocket protector! You are some wannabe hack who has cribbed your entire operation from cheap thriller movies, you have accomplished nothing of note in your life, and not only were you dumb enough to get your sh*t stolen your sh*t is so inconsequential to me that I don't even remember taking it! So I want you to understand something very clearly: You are a fat, greasy blob drooling into a microphone and I would rather take my chances with the alien forest than hear your amateurish attempts at threats for another second. You are not dealing with some wilting violet in a lab coat, you are dealing with Mrs. F*cking Snow and I will take you the f*ck apart."

Go Aggro: I want this guy either show himself or reveal his hand. I am threatening him with continued insults. 10; he can either cave and reveal, or he can force my hand and suck up listening to Mrs. Snow brutally demolish his ego.

If there isn't any violence involved, then this is going to be a Manipulate, with the leverage of "do as I say or else I keep insulting you." And what specifically do you want this gal to reveal? You know what it's like; some hotheaded punk comes storming into your office, demands to know why you did it, and you're left wondering if this is about the union crackdown thing, or the time you stole all the alcohol from your secretary's desk.

[Thanqol]

If there isn't any violence involved, then this is going to be a Manipulate, with the leverage of "do as I say or else I keep insulting you."

The 2E wording is When you go aggro on someone, make it clear what you want them to do and what you’ll do to them, which is decoupled from violence, but I am not fussed either way.


And what specifically do you want this gal to reveal? You know what it's like; some hotheaded punk comes storming into your office, demands to know why you did it, and you're left wondering if this is about the union crackdown thing, or the time you stole all the alcohol from your secretary's desk.

Sh*t, Snow doesn't know. She's fishing. She wants this person to lose their cool and go on a rant about how great they are and monologue about how they set this whole thing up and has Snow surrounded on all sides by ninjas or whatever they've done. Mrs. Snow wants them to feel hurt and defensive and like they have to explain themselves to her to prove that they're not the chucklehead she's saying they are. Hurt their feelings so they can't be cool and objective and blurt out sh*t they shouldn't. That kinda thing.

[Elanorin]

"Why don't we go up together?" Andersen offers, stepping out. His smile instantly fades when he sees who's waiting for him.


"Peachy. I just wanted to check in and see how you were. With everything I had to do, this was my first chance to get by, if you understand me."

I give the captain a little doff of the head. "Howdy captain. I fixed your ship for you, had a big old hole in it and your fella Tom needed a helping hand. Would have thought you'd alliance folk would be a better hand with the anti-grab thrusters, myself, but I guess your baby needed some frontier know-how to get her back up to speed. I sure do hope there's no hard feelings on account of everything." I offer him a hand to shake, and of course I came straight here and haven't bothered cleaning up since rifling around in multiple engines. But I'm sure he wouldn't want to be impolite, in front of Willow and everything.


"Don't push your luck." He says sharply, and refuses to shake your filthy hand. "You've done your duty as a citizen of the Alliance. For once. If you're looking for a medal and a pat on the head, you've come to the wrong place." He motions for Willow to lead on to the Captain, and stop wasting time with this lowlife.

Willow's eyes narrows dangerously and her soft and smiling face is suddenly hard and utterly focused on Andersen. Without a second's thought she lashes out to slap him right across the face with her hand, taking no care to be gentle.

"I will give you one chance to apologise, dear. Or I think I might just struggle to untangle myself from my current commitments to be able to come with you."

[Rolling to Go Aggro on Andersen to give him a good slap: 3+4-1=6 ...oops
Rolling to Manipulate him in to apologising to Jane, using his desire for me/for to come with him as leverage: 5+2+3=10]

[BlasTech]

"Are you sure?" This on the other hand, was a big let-down. His mask almost managed to look disappointed. "We have the advantage of surprise. They don't know we're on to them. We could take over control quietly and quickly before they realize what's up."

"A whole warship worth of soldiers and techs, 'gainst the dozen or so of us?" replied Hall, sceptically. "I don't see those bein' profitable odds ... leastwise without a reason to be runnin' them."

"Let's go find their capt'n. Maybe we can be persuasive about him letting us be on our merry way."

[Anarion]

Jane sucks in a little breath at Willow's attempted slap, but waits to see what Anderson has to say.

[Deadly]

Willow's eyes narrows dangerously and her soft and smiling face is suddenly hard and utterly focused on Andersen. Without a second's thought she lashes out to slap him right across the face with her hand, taking no care to be gentle.

"I will give you one chance to apologise, dear. Or I think I might just struggle to untangle myself from my current commitments to be able to come with you."

[Rolling to Go Aggro on Andersen to give him a good slap: 3+4-1=6 ...oops
Rolling to Manipulate him in to apologising to Jane, using his desire for me/for to come with him as leverage: 5+2+3=10]

Oh ho ho ... Aeron would like to aid here, but are you within sight of his little card? If so,

Help on Go Aggro: 3+5+3 = 11

You may get the odd feeling like yours wasn't the only will behind that slap, as if something - some faceless ghost behind your eyes - spurred your hand on and gave it less pause and a little more force. Maybe you felt the urge to punch, rather than slap.


"A whole warship worth of soldiers and techs, 'gainst the dozen or so of us?" replied Hall, sceptically. "I don't see those bein' profitable odds ... leastwise without a reason to be runnin' them."

"Let's go find their capt'n. Maybe we can be persuasive about him letting us be on our merry way."

Aeron shrugged despondently. "In that case we should probably untie the two guards first and apologize. Make up some story about a misunderstanding. Maybe stress to them how embarrassing it would be if they were to admit what happened."

[TheAmishPirate]

The 2E wording is When you go aggro on someone, make it clear what you want them to do and what you’ll do to them, which is decoupled from violence, but I am not fussed either way.

Ah, that's right. You're Going Aggro.

There's a pause after your venomous tirade. "Are you done?" The voice asks, though she already knows the answer.


Willow's eyes narrows dangerously and her soft and smiling face is suddenly hard and utterly focused on Andersen. Without a second's thought she lashes out to slap him right across the face with her hand, taking no care to be gentle.

"I will give you one chance to apologise, dear. Or I think I might just struggle to untangle myself from my current commitments to be able to come with you."

[Rolling to Go Aggro on Andersen to give him a good slap: 3+4-1=6 ...oops
Rolling to Manipulate him in to apologising to Jane, using his desire for me/for to come with him as leverage: 5+2+3=10]


Oh ho ho ... Aeron would like to aid here, but are you within sight of his little card? If so,

Help on Go Aggro: 3+5+3 = 11

You may get the odd feeling like yours wasn't the only will behind that slap, as if something - some faceless ghost behind your eyes - spurred your hand on and gave it less pause and a little more force. Maybe you felt the urge to punch, rather than slap.

Andersen - moving quicker than his wits - catches your hand a split second before you make contact. His eyes flash in anger, but it is nothing compared to the weight of your disapproval. They dim to a tender warmth. His fingers clasp yours, his mouth kisses your hand. "Promise me," He says, and you know the man is begging. "That you will never again speak of staying here, or leaving my crew."

[Thanqol]

Ah, that's right. You're Going Aggro.

There's a pause after your venomous tirade. "Are you done?" The voice asks, though she already knows the answer.

"Am I done? You leprous, pus-dripping sore on a she-mule's taint! Your voice sounds like a malfunctioning garbage disposal!" Mrs. Snow continued to bark insults as they came to mind as she expanded her search outside the house, looking for a vehicle, motor pool, road or map. "Iconoclast! Aboriginal! Beer-gutted Berliner! Aztec! Ectoplasm! Cataphract! Carpetbagger!"

She could do this all day. They wanted something from her; the only leverage they'd demonstrated was the ability to clear out a hospital.

[Elanorin]

Andersen - moving quicker than his wits - catches your hand a split second before you make contact. His eyes flash in anger, but it is nothing compared to the weight of your disapproval. They dim to a tender warmth. His fingers clasp yours, his mouth kisses your hand. "Promise me," He says, and you know the man is begging. "That you will never again speak of staying here, or leaving my crew."

The transformation on Willow's face is complete and it is a marvel how she could go from one extreme to another so effortlessly without losing the sense on genuine feeling behind it. She smiles kindly, tenderly, even and her eyes sparkle again and her hand that is now at his mouth caresses the cheek she had sought to slap.

"I won't, as long as you don't give me reason to," she said softly and then gave a slight nod to Jane as if to point out that an apology was still very much due.

[Deadly]

Oh yes ...

Read Hall: 1+4+2 = 7

How could I get Hall to agree to enacting some daring, dastardly plan rather than simply letting Andersen and his crew go quietly? Surely there's some rebel plot, some guilty desire deep in the old fox's heart ... something he wish he would do here, but his rational, cautious, non-rebellious self is talking him out of it.

[BlasTech]

Oh yes ...

Read Hall: 1+4+2 = 7

How could I get Hall to agree to enacting some daring, dastardly plan rather than simply letting Andersen and his crew go quietly? Surely there's some rebel plot, some guilty desire deep in the old fox's heart ... something he wish he would do here, but his rational, cautious, non-rebellious self is talking him out of it.

Oh, there's plenty going on in that old heart.

The fastest way to achieve this is simple: put Willow in danger. The old coot is in love with her, after all. If she goes with Andersen willingly, he won't lift a hand, but if she's being kidnapped, then there's gonna be blood.

The other way to do it is to make it profitable. Right now, he just can't see an easy way to take out that ship's capabilities, not to mention her crew without getting caught or reported (same thing, in his mind). But if there's something that makes it easier - like if Jane tells him the guns are out of commission on account of the fire, or that she's likely to founder if say ... the docking clamp is blown open accidentally ... then he'd consider it. You'd still have to fight his conscience (in that killin' alliance isn't exactly what he's after here) but you'd have his interest by that point.

The other half of that job is to tempt him with money. The ship itself isn't going to do that, it's too big to fence. But if Andersen lets slip about treasure ... and that there's a map on the boat? Well ...

[Anarion]

Jane leaned back and looked ready to receive an apology whenever Anderson was good to go.

[TheAmishPirate]

"Am I done? You leprous, pus-dripping sore on a she-mule's taint! Your voice sounds like a malfunctioning garbage disposal!" Mrs. Snow continued to bark insults as they came to mind as she expanded her search outside the house, looking for a vehicle, motor pool, road or map. "Iconoclast! Aboriginal! Beer-gutted Berliner! Aztec! Ectoplasm! Cataphract! Carpetbagger!"

She could do this all day. They wanted something from her; the only leverage they'd demonstrated was the ability to clear out a hospital.

It's the middle of the night, so you can't see particularly far, but there's a few tromped-down paths that could conceivably be roads. Where they lead is anybody's guess. Hopefully not the outhouse.

In any case, your search doesn't last particularly long before the voice sighs frustratedly. "Alright. Have it your way."

There's a click, and then you're listening to yourself:


"You are not dealing with some wilting violet in a lab coat, you are dealing with Mrs. F*cking Snow and I will take you the f*ck apart."

"ISI would pay good money for this, and your last known coordinates. And they're not the only buyer on the market." She explains, maintaining a cold professionalism. "Once the bidding is through, we should turn a tidy profit. More than enough to, say, commission a legion of vandals to desecrate your portrait gallery in the Hall of Thinkers. And tear down your pretty golden statue on the way out."

"Or. We can talk business now, avoid all that...unpleasantness, and then all go our merry ways. Your choice."

What do you do?


The transformation on Willow's face is complete and it is a marvel how she could go from one extreme to another so effortlessly without losing the sense on genuine feeling behind it. She smiles kindly, tenderly, even and her eyes sparkle again and her hand that is now at his mouth caresses the cheek she had sought to slap.

"I won't, as long as you don't give me reason to," she said softly and then gave a slight nod to Jane as if to point out that an apology was still very much due.


Jane leaned back and looked ready to receive an apology whenever Anderson was good to go.

Andersen hesitates, scrutinizing you closely. There is something more he wishes to say, but at your touch he relents.

Turning to Jane, he gives the slightest of nods. "My apologies. Words were spoken too rashly. Your assistance is...appreciated, citizen." He glances to Willow, gauging if that was enough and - more importantly - if they could go and leave already.

[Anarion]

Andersen hesitates, scrutinizing you closely. There is something more he wishes to say, but at your touch he relents.

Turning to Jane, he gives the slightest of nods. "My apologies. Words were spoken too rashly. Your assistance is...appreciated, citizen." He glances to Willow, gauging if that was enough and - more importantly - if they could go and leave already.

Jane gives a slight nod. "Well, that's mighty hospitable of you, cap'n. Willow, I'll be down in engineering if you need me. Don't finish packing up without sayin goodbye, y'hear?"

I turn to leave, but hesitate, giving Willow one more hard look. It's so hard to read her, but I want to make sure I'm not doing something wrong here.

[Read a person on Willow. [roll0]
Q: What does Willow want Jane to do right now?

[Thanqol]

"ISI would pay good money for this, and your last known coordinates. And they're not the only buyer on the market." She explains, maintaining a cold professionalism. "Once the bidding is through, we should turn a tidy profit. More than enough to, say, commission a legion of vandals to desecrate your portrait gallery in the Hall of Thinkers. And tear down your pretty golden statue on the way out."

"Or. We can talk business now, avoid all that...unpleasantness, and then all go our merry ways. Your choice."

What do you do?

"Woah now, let's not get hasty here," said Mrs. Snow, "I mean, I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to my f*cking statues. God forbid anything happen to my statues. I don't know how I could live with myself if anything bad happened to my god-damn statues."

She leaned in. "Listen, mouth breather. You don't get to the point in life where people are building golden statues of you if you're afraid of what happens to the statues. Tell you what! Just for you, when I get back to my office, I am going to commission a golden statue of you engaged in sexual congress with a horse made out of diamonds, and then I'm going to seal you inside it and then I'm going to toss the thing in the ocean. And I'm going to do it while relaxing on a space yacht with the entire Alliance Supreme Court looking on as witnesses. And the expense of all that won't even show up on my monthly balance sheet! I could buy and sell this entire planet and everyone on it, you insipid fool, and I have.

"That is the kind of business I talk. You want to try and threaten me? I will sodomize and skull-f*ck you. That's my answer to your limp wristed threats. If you want to talk business then get your greasy ass off your greasy couch and look me in the eye."

She started following one of the paths. She enjoyed this, an evening walk in the jungle while chewing out a subordinate over the radio made her feel normal.

[Deadly]

"Mm. I'm not sure I trust this man, Andersen, to just leave in peace," Aeron mumbled. "On second thought, maybe we should at least keep his two men tied up for now, as added security just in case. We can let them go once we're sure they're leaving peacefully."

Meanwhile, his mind was once again elsewhere, this time looking for Andersen. The man needed a nudge in the right direction. A little incentive to make a jerk of himself and an enemy of Hall.

Go Aggro via direct-brain whisper projection: 3+4+2 = 9

I want Andersen to get f*ing paranoid and get the hell out of here as soon as possible. Basically, I want him to rush it even more than he's already doing. There's something whispering in his head, threatening him, he can feel it crawling through his skull like a worm. It's going to mess with his soft little tissue and make him look like a madman - a sick, bleeding madman - if he doesn't stick his tail between his legs and scurry out of here pronto.

[Elanorin]

Andersen hesitates, scrutinizing you closely. There is something more he wishes to say, but at your touch he relents.

Turning to Jane, he gives the slightest of nods. "My apologies. Words were spoken too rashly. Your assistance is...appreciated, citizen." He glances to Willow, gauging if that was enough and - more importantly - if they could go and leave already.

Willow nods with a radiant smile, approving of the apology and taking Andersen's arm as if to grant his request and leave.


Jane gives a slight nod. "Well, that's mighty hospitable of you, cap'n. Willow, I'll be down in engineering if you need me. Don't finish packing up without sayin goodbye, y'hear?"

"Oh, I won't. I'll make sure to come by," Willow assures her and then, looking up at Andersen who she anticipates would protest or at least disapprove, "I must afford proper goodbyes to my friends. They have done so much for me."


I turn to leave, but hesitate, giving Willow one more hard look. It's so hard to read her, but I want to make sure I'm not doing something wrong here.

Then her eyes and smile returns to Jane as she throws her that final searching glance.


[Read a person on Willow. [roll0]
Q: What does Willow want Jane to do right now?

Willow is desperate to speak to the Captain, our Captain, alone right now, or at least freely, away from Andersen and his goons, and would love for you to detain Andersen right now, giving her an opening to find Hall on her own without him at her side. It's obvious to you that she has information she is bursting to share.

She would also welcome any and all help delaying their departure as much as possible, she has stalled as much as she thinks she can and is playing along with the leaving notion but Willow has no desire to set foot on that boat.

[Anarion]

Willow is desperate to speak to the Captain, our Captain, alone right now, or at least freely, away from Andersen and his goons, and would love for you to detain Andersen right now, giving her an opening to find Hall on her own without him at her side. It's obvious to you that she has information she is bursting to share.

She would also welcome any and all help delaying their departure as much as possible, she has stalled as much as she thinks she can and is playing along with the leaving notion but Willow has no desire to set foot on that boat.

Oh, that's the game, is it? Well, Jane could do distraction. She could do distraction all day. As she was turning to leave, she tapped a small button on her robotic arm. One that sends a signal all throughout the ship. Red lights shot out and warning klaxons started blaring. Jane whipped around in an instant. "What in tarnation?! That's the klaxon for a reactor leak! Cap'n I'll take you back to your ship, lickity split. Willow, beggin yer pardon, but as chief engineer I'm gonna have to ask you to stay in your room while this whole little mess is worked out. You understand I hope, we'll get her fixed up right quick and then you can be on your way."

If he doesn't take off ahead of me, I put my arm around the captain and lead him right off away from Willow. Everyone else, there's now a series of blaring warning sirens going off in the ship. Be worried as appropriate.

[TheAmishPirate]

"That's my answer to your limp wristed threats. If you want to talk business then get your greasy ass off your greasy couch and look me in the eye."

She started following one of the paths. She enjoyed this, an evening walk in the jungle while chewing out a subordinate over the radio made her feel normal.

"Oh, I don't look anyone in the eye. I have people to do that for me."

A bright red dot appears on your hand, traces its way up your arm, and hovers excitedly over your chest.

"I do apologize if my previous offer was not to your liking. Let me make you another. You convince me you didn't mean what you said - because frankly, you've hurt my feelings, when I've been nothing but polite and accommodating - and that you're actually worth working with. Or, you keep walking until we tell you to stop, and you can wander blind through the jungle until the bounty hunters come to collect you."

"Or, I guess you can do something reckless, my associates shoot you, and we let interested parties know that taking you alive is now a limited-time offer. That's still on the table."


Meanwhile, his mind was once again elsewhere, this time looking for Andersen. The man needed a nudge in the right direction. A little incentive to make a jerk of himself and an enemy of Hall.

Go Aggro via direct-brain whisper projection: 3+4+2 = 9

I want Andersen to get f*ing paranoid and get the hell out of here as soon as possible. Basically, I want him to rush it even more than he's already doing. There's something whispering in his head, threatening him, he can feel it crawling through his skull like a worm. It's going to mess with his soft little tissue and make him look like a madman - a sick, bleeding madman - if he doesn't stick his tail between his legs and scurry out of here pronto.


Willow nods with a radiant smile, approving of the apology and taking Andersen's arm as if to grant his request and leave.


"Oh, I won't. I'll make sure to come by," Willow assures her and then, looking up at Andersen who she anticipates would protest or at least disapprove, "I must afford proper goodbyes to my friends. They have done so much for me."


Oh, that's the game, is it? Well, Jane could do distraction. She could do distraction all day. As she was turning to leave, she tapped a small button on her robotic arm. One that sends a signal all throughout the ship. Red lights shot out and warning klaxons started blaring. Jane whipped around in an instant. "What in tarnation?! That's the klaxon for a reactor leak! Cap'n I'll take you back to your ship, lickity split. Willow, beggin yer pardon, but as chief engineer I'm gonna have to ask you to stay in your room while this whole little mess is worked out. You understand I hope, we'll get her fixed up right quick and then you can be on your way."

If he doesn't take off ahead of me, I put my arm around the captain and lead him right off away from Willow. Everyone else, there's now a series of blaring warning sirens going off in the ship. Be worried as appropriate.

Andersen doesn't let go of Willow. He pulls her closer, and fishes out his radio with the other hand. "All hands; report!"

A flurry of responses answer his call. Two names are missing. "Yang? Ramirez? Report!"

No response.

Andersen swears. "Everybody, get back to the ship. Now!" He takes off for the docking tunnel like a man possessed, dragging Willow behind him if he has to. Jane, you can still try and get his other arm, try to get him away from Willow, but his eyes are going wild and you can see a sidearm gleaming at his hip.

What do you do?

*************************************

Harold, Aeron, over the blaring sirens you can hear some mighty agitated thumping coming from the room where your guests are all tied up. Sounds like they're done napping. What do you do?

[Anarion]

Well, this is gonna get awkward real fast. Like I said, if he didn't take off running instantly, I put my arm around him. So here we are: me with one arm on Anderson by the time he's done with his little walkie-talkie, him with one hand dedicated to Willow, and the whole mass trying to be shoved down a hallway without any folks letting go.

Well, you know this ain't gonna last. I'm a clumsy gal, I've got wrenches, and I ain't about to let Anderson go dragging away a member of this crew without permission. So I "trip" you know, while getting a wrench out and Anderson is gonna be letting go of us.

[Go aggro: let us go or face the wrenching consequences. [roll0]

[TheAmishPirate]

Well, this is gonna get awkward real fast. Like I said, if he didn't take off running instantly, I put my arm around him. So here we are: me with one arm on Anderson by the time he's done with his little walkie-talkie, him with one hand dedicated to Willow, and the whole mass trying to be shoved down a hallway without any folks letting go.

Well, you know this ain't gonna last. I'm a clumsy gal, I've got wrenches, and I ain't about to let Anderson go dragging away a member of this crew without permission. So I "trip" you know, while getting a wrench out and Anderson is gonna be letting go of us.

[Go aggro: let us go or face the wrenching consequences. [roll0]

There's a lot of "ifs" and uncertainties in there, Miss. So let's make sure we know where we stand.

You sound the alarm, Andersen goes for his radio, when he's done you try to pull him off of Willow and he doesn't let go, so we've got this whole tug of war going on. We good?

Then, you fake-trip, get a wrench out, and what then? You're swinging at his head? His arm? Shouting in his face about how he needs to let go of that young lady or you'll boff him good?

[Anarion]

There's a lot of "ifs" and uncertainties in there, Miss. So let's make sure we know where we stand.

You sound the alarm, Andersen goes for his radio, when he's done you try to pull him off of Willow and he doesn't let go, so we've got this whole tug of war going on. We good?

Then, you fake-trip, get a wrench out, and what then? You're swinging at his head? His arm? Shouting in his face about how he needs to let go of that young lady or you'll boff him good?

None of that confrontational stuff. We're all holding onto each other, it's a tangle, and I'm working out my wrench when woops I swing it into his arm, right on the funny bone. You know, that spot around the elbow that makes the whole thing go numb? Unless, of course, he lets go of Willow to get out of the way. I'm sure he could handle that.

[Thanqol]

"Oh, I don't look anyone in the eye. I have people to do that for me."

A bright red dot appears on your hand, traces its way up your arm, and hovers excitedly over your chest.

"I do apologize if my previous offer was not to your liking. Let me make you another. You convince me you didn't mean what you said - because frankly, you've hurt my feelings, when I've been nothing but polite and accommodating - and that you're actually worth working with. Or, you keep walking until we tell you to stop, and you can wander blind through the jungle until the bounty hunters come to collect you."

"Or, I guess you can do something reckless, my associates shoot you, and we let interested parties know that taking you alive is now a limited-time offer. That's still on the table."

Mrs. Snow smiled. "Finally. Oh my god, I thought it was going to take you forever to actually threaten me. See? Now we're getting somewhere. You have leverage now. You see?"

In her private opinion the laser light was as dumb as rocks move. All it did was blow her sniper's position and establish that this bitch had such weak guys that they couldn't even walk into an abandoned hospital and shove a gun in her face while she was still f*cking cuffed to a bed. Had these guys never shaken someone down before? Because here she was, at night, in a rainforest, surrounded by good cover, marked by only a single sniper.

And more to the point, what this rube didn't comprehend is that someone as high-tech and fancy as a red-dot sniper wasn't going to come into the jungle and squat in a bush for hours waiting for her if he didn't have a way out for himself. Screw wandering through the bush - she was going to jack his ride.

Plus she knew - she knew! - that they weren't going to shoot her. They wouldn't have gone through all this trouble if they could do that. Maybe wing her a bit to try and spook her but they'd hesitate and that'd be the opening she needed.

She made a sudden movement - feinting to the side to draw the shot - and then ran forwards at a shockingly fast pace, alien blood pumping through her system, covering the ground towards the sniper with blistering speed, hand growing talons and feathers as it scented battle was nigh.

[Presume this is acting under fire. Also following the advice of my earlier read a sitch, 2d6+4 = 11]

[BlasTech]

Oh, that's the game, is it? Well, Jane could do distraction. She could do distraction all day. As she was turning to leave, she tapped a small button on her robotic arm. One that sends a signal all throughout the ship. Red lights shot out and warning klaxons started blaring. Jane whipped around in an instant. "What in tarnation?! That's the klaxon for a reactor leak! Cap'n I'll take you back to your ship, lickity split. Willow, beggin yer pardon, but as chief engineer I'm gonna have to ask you to stay in your room while this whole little mess is worked out. You understand I hope, we'll get her fixed up right quick and then you can be on your way."

If he doesn't take off ahead of me, I put my arm around the captain and lead him right off away from Willow. Everyone else, there's now a series of blaring warning sirens going off in the ship. Be worried as appropriate.

"What in the ..." started Hall



Andersen doesn't let go of Willow. He pulls her closer, and fishes out his radio with the other hand. "All hands; report!"

A flurry of responses answer his call. Two names are missing. "Yang? Ramirez? Report!"

No response.

Andersen swears. "Everybody, get back to the ship. Now!" He takes off for the docking tunnel like a man possessed, dragging Willow behind him if he has to. Jane, you can still try and get his other arm, try to get him away from Willow, but his eyes are going wild and you can see a sidearm gleaming at his hip.

What do you do?

*************************************

Harold, Aeron, over the blaring sirens you can hear some mighty agitated thumping coming from the room where your guests are all tied up. Sounds like they're done napping. What do you do?

"JAAAAAAAAAANEEEE"

Hall's yell can carry through the ship in the best of times. One of those old captain'n kind of skills he's picked up over the years.

"Why's my ship explodin'?? And where in the sphincter' o'hell is everyone?"

As far as our two erstwhile captives are concerned, Hall just locks the door and heads off into the ship. The room they're in will serve well enough as a brig, and Aeron already got rid of all their guns.