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<blockquote data-quote="Arrgh! Mark!" data-source="post: 2373397" data-attributes="member: 14559"><p>HARP</p><p></p><p>The static clears as you play. The same voice speaks over the channel once again. "Hey! Thats a catchy tune! You have some skill, jazzman. But you know, I hope you have some spare cash. The cost of getting you here will equal ten thousand, three hundred, fourty-one creds for fuel and emergency hire of shuttlecraft. And that doesn't include repair. Sorry, man. </p><p></p><p>..You know, come to the Hot Blues club. Ask for. Terry. I might find you a gig to pay of this bill you got, if you can't handle it. </p><p></p><p>*there's a brief noise, sounding like orders. There's a cough over the speakers.*</p><p></p><p>You are coming into the main city of Paradise in four hours, fifty minutes. Yesnan III, out."</p><p></p><p></p><p>As you watch out of the port-hole, you see several tugs anchoring with your ship. A few moments later, and your inevitable course towards the sun is halted; only for the town of Paradise. </p><p></p><p>You get yourself ready, and soon enough you find your way onto Paradise - a desert planet with a slightly toxic atmosphere. Paradise itself is a rust-ridden once high tech, long forgotten by the faceless corporations that once funded this mining station. Now it's nothing more than a quick stop for traders and more unscrupulous types. </p><p></p><p>Your ships computer logs the dangers in the system. The law there is nigh ignored, barring the almost sacrosanct main port with it's vital fuel supplies.. and vital elite mercs. </p><p></p><p>In no time at all you find yourself walking the docking platform of the Calypso Telephone as it gets taken to a dry-dock for repair.. and impoundment, until you can pay. </p><p></p><p>Layers of red tape and bundles of paper later, you find your way to the front of the repair facility of Paradise, rebreather attached. High above, past the interlinking metal walkways between half-rusted buildings and the press of standard spacer crowd you see the firing of engines as some other lucky crew gets off planet. </p><p></p><p>You stand on the edge of corporate ground and the slums. Everyone wears masks, hiding more than faces. </p><p></p><p>What do you do?</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Arrgh! Mark!, post: 2373397, member: 14559"] HARP The static clears as you play. The same voice speaks over the channel once again. "Hey! Thats a catchy tune! You have some skill, jazzman. But you know, I hope you have some spare cash. The cost of getting you here will equal ten thousand, three hundred, fourty-one creds for fuel and emergency hire of shuttlecraft. And that doesn't include repair. Sorry, man. ..You know, come to the Hot Blues club. Ask for. Terry. I might find you a gig to pay of this bill you got, if you can't handle it. *there's a brief noise, sounding like orders. There's a cough over the speakers.* You are coming into the main city of Paradise in four hours, fifty minutes. Yesnan III, out." As you watch out of the port-hole, you see several tugs anchoring with your ship. A few moments later, and your inevitable course towards the sun is halted; only for the town of Paradise. You get yourself ready, and soon enough you find your way onto Paradise - a desert planet with a slightly toxic atmosphere. Paradise itself is a rust-ridden once high tech, long forgotten by the faceless corporations that once funded this mining station. Now it's nothing more than a quick stop for traders and more unscrupulous types. Your ships computer logs the dangers in the system. The law there is nigh ignored, barring the almost sacrosanct main port with it's vital fuel supplies.. and vital elite mercs. In no time at all you find yourself walking the docking platform of the Calypso Telephone as it gets taken to a dry-dock for repair.. and impoundment, until you can pay. Layers of red tape and bundles of paper later, you find your way to the front of the repair facility of Paradise, rebreather attached. High above, past the interlinking metal walkways between half-rusted buildings and the press of standard spacer crowd you see the firing of engines as some other lucky crew gets off planet. You stand on the edge of corporate ground and the slums. Everyone wears masks, hiding more than faces. What do you do? [/QUOTE]
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