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Traveller T20: Tales of the Bray Keaven [Updated 12-20-05]
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<blockquote data-quote="Shadowdancer" data-source="post: 1244196" data-attributes="member: 515"><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">With 12 hours left before the scheduled jump, Argent starts to make a check of the ship’s status. He starts in the engine room, and immediately notices Martha’s exhaustion. He sends her off for six hours of sleep and pitches in to help Vargas with work on the power plant and engines.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Emile straightens up, lifts his cap from his head and wipes his brow. As he stretches, a series of crunches come from his back, and Rusti Jerks awake from where he is curled up in the toolbag. "Go back to sleep you ball of trouble, I guess I was just hunched over too long."</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Argent looks up from his console. While doing a walk through six hours before, he had offered to lend a hand and had now spent six hours straight reading off number and throwing relays. "Next." His voice was still jaunty, but this would teach him to ask if there was anything he could do to help.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">" ‘Fraid there is no next," Vargas says. "The jump drive is ready to tear a rift in the fabric of space itself and throw us to wherever you tell it to go."</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Argent looks at him appraisingly. "Two quick questions."</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"Fire away El Commandante," Emile's fundamental good humor was starting to re-assert as he realized that he was still a damn fine engineer.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"Firstly, are you happy with the drive? Do you trust it?"</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Emile thinks for a moment. He's been on his feet for 20 hours, had the emotional whipsaw of the news of the plague pilled on top of being jerked out of a planned holiday. Nevertheless, he feels fairly good about himself -- one of the reasons he'd joined the Scout Service was to dash across the galaxy rescuing people. "Given that it's not a milspec drive, we'll be doing a single standing jump, we'll have time out for maintenance at the other end and the fuel was grade 3 refined, I reckon this crate will have a nice gentle jump."</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"Second question. What else needs doing?"</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Emile wracks his brain for a while. "I haven’t had a look at the life support, Swann wandered off to do that. The powerplant is pretty good. Internals are OK generally. My side of it is fine."</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Argent nods, thinking, "Looks like this side of the team could carry its</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">weight." "In that case, crash and I'll wake you a couple of hours before jump. You'll think clearer rested and I still haven't decided whether the ship is ship–shape."</span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px"><strong>-----</strong></p><p></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Swann opens the access panels to the ship's life support system. A stale, fetid odor assaults his nostrils. He wrinkles his nose in disgust, sneezes, then coughs as he covers his nose with the sleeve of his work coveralls.</span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"Frell! This smells as bad as a sewage treatment plant."</span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">He pulls a filter mask from one of the coveralls' cargo pockets, pours a few drops from a bottle of aftershave into the mask and puts it on -- a little trick he'd learned as a Belter to overcome the smell of a rank life support system.</span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"That's a little better. Now let's see what we can see." He pokes and prods around inside the equipment, checks the supplies. "Seems the Navy has brought in new O2 bottles and CO2 scrubbers. Good, wouldn't want to use the old stock, it might be full of that bug or whatever it was killed the crew. And they pumped out the waste collection container when they did the decontamination. Good, that's a nasty job I won't have to do. Well, this shouldn't take too long. I'd better get started -- I'm curious to have a have look at that computer."</span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">During the next 60 minutes working in the cramped confines, Swann connects fresh O2 bottles, replaces the scrubbers with new units and services the waste reclamation equipment. There is grease, dirt and moisture smeared across the front of his coveralls, and his face. He backs out of the cramped compartment, takes a clean rag out of his back pocket, and wipes off his face and hands.</span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"There, that should do it. Now let's crank this baby up and see how she runs."</span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">He walks over to the ship's communicator on the wall and hits the button for a ship-wide channel. "This is Swann. I'm about to turn on the life support system to test it. So rest assured that the smell you are about to notice is not a dead Bashtu swamp rat in the ventilation system."</span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">He turns on the system and checks all the gauges to make sure it is running properly.</span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px"><strong>-----</strong></p><p></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Vargas rolls over in his bunk and, barely waking, mumbles, "Uhhh. I've smelled worse. . . a Sooly that didn't make port for four months. . . kind with the bad scrubbers. . . whew. . ."</span></span></p><p> </p><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px"><strong>-----</strong></span></span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Argent peers into the Cargo bay to watch some organized mayhem.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Vasilii seems to have arranged things well. Vasilii would retrieve prep and confirm cargo, the Doc would check the contents for accuracy, then Darishun would move it. A lot seemed to be disappearing down the cargo Lift. From memory the only thing down there was staterooms. Clearly someone had decided they didn’t need the full complement.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"This group even had initiative," Argent thinks. "First that Scout turns out to be a drive-engineer guru, now people were thinking ahead. Life was good. If only they would stop wailing that awful noise, it sounded like a Vargr in pain."</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Backing out slightly he re-enters the room, making noise so as not to startle. "Well, how close to the invoices are we?"</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Vasilii looks down to check while the others continue their merry way. "We're a solid third of the way through. So far we haven't found anything in the cargo that isn't in the invoices. We've had about a dozen alternate supplies. Doctor Talbek says that they are the same product, but they don't quite match the signed good. For example, the emergency building was produced by Sternmetal rather than LifeCo. The Sternmetal is a better product, but it's an indicative fault."</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"So no problems?"</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"So far, everything is going smoothly. Darishun says he has filled one of the forward staterooms so we'll be able to clear the corridors. With a couple of days heavy lifting, I will set up access routes so that all the cargo is accessible. According to the expected volume we shouldn't be quite this overloaded. It is difficult to guess, given the lack of organization on the original pack. I think we are probably 3 tons over our inventory. We won't know till everything has been cataloged."</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"And how long till?"</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"It's difficult to know. Possibly another solid day for three people. There is a limit to how quickly we can go. Only the Doctor and Darishun seem to have any medical skills, so they are the bottleneck. I've been listing the other deficiencies with the ship as they are brought to my attention. When would you like them presented?"</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Argent bites back a response. "Now would be a good time. I'm hoping to have a delivery from groundside shortly."</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"Perhaps it would be more efficient if you were to organize the cargo bay and I assist the gathering of supplies?"</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Argent sighs. Being Captain was all glamour, first reading numbers curled around a slimy engine, now supercargo. Still, must remember efficiency. Some sleep would be good as well. Jump was only six hours away so better to just keep going till then.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">"OK, Mr. McConnell is in the bridge talking to Sentry, perhaps you would like to join him?"</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Vasilii turns to the Doctor and Darishun, "It's been a pleasure working with you, I leave you in the Captain's capable hands" and walks out to the bridge.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Argent turns to the other two. The Doctor was still working away, it looked as if he could keep going through a bulk freighter’s worth of medical supplies, and Darishun looked as if he was made of wood. Was he the only tired one here?</span></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Shadowdancer, post: 1244196, member: 515"] [font=Verdana][size=2]With 12 hours left before the scheduled jump, Argent starts to make a check of the ship’s status. He starts in the engine room, and immediately notices Martha’s exhaustion. He sends her off for six hours of sleep and pitches in to help Vargas with work on the power plant and engines.[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]Emile straightens up, lifts his cap from his head and wipes his brow. As he stretches, a series of crunches come from his back, and Rusti Jerks awake from where he is curled up in the toolbag. "Go back to sleep you ball of trouble, I guess I was just hunched over too long."[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]Argent looks up from his console. While doing a walk through six hours before, he had offered to lend a hand and had now spent six hours straight reading off number and throwing relays. "Next." His voice was still jaunty, but this would teach him to ask if there was anything he could do to help.[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]" ‘Fraid there is no next," Vargas says. "The jump drive is ready to tear a rift in the fabric of space itself and throw us to wherever you tell it to go."[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]Argent looks at him appraisingly. "Two quick questions."[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]"Fire away El Commandante," Emile's fundamental good humor was starting to re-assert as he realized that he was still a damn fine engineer.[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]"Firstly, are you happy with the drive? Do you trust it?"[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]Emile thinks for a moment. He's been on his feet for 20 hours, had the emotional whipsaw of the news of the plague pilled on top of being jerked out of a planned holiday. Nevertheless, he feels fairly good about himself -- one of the reasons he'd joined the Scout Service was to dash across the galaxy rescuing people. "Given that it's not a milspec drive, we'll be doing a single standing jump, we'll have time out for maintenance at the other end and the fuel was grade 3 refined, I reckon this crate will have a nice gentle jump."[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]"Second question. What else needs doing?"[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]Emile wracks his brain for a while. "I haven’t had a look at the life support, Swann wandered off to do that. The powerplant is pretty good. Internals are OK generally. My side of it is fine."[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]Argent nods, thinking, "Looks like this side of the team could carry its weight." "In that case, crash and I'll wake you a couple of hours before jump. You'll think clearer rested and I still haven't decided whether the ship is ship–shape." [center][b]-----[/b][/center] Swann opens the access panels to the ship's life support system. A stale, fetid odor assaults his nostrils. He wrinkles his nose in disgust, sneezes, then coughs as he covers his nose with the sleeve of his work coveralls. "Frell! This smells as bad as a sewage treatment plant." He pulls a filter mask from one of the coveralls' cargo pockets, pours a few drops from a bottle of aftershave into the mask and puts it on -- a little trick he'd learned as a Belter to overcome the smell of a rank life support system. "That's a little better. Now let's see what we can see." He pokes and prods around inside the equipment, checks the supplies. "Seems the Navy has brought in new O2 bottles and CO2 scrubbers. Good, wouldn't want to use the old stock, it might be full of that bug or whatever it was killed the crew. And they pumped out the waste collection container when they did the decontamination. Good, that's a nasty job I won't have to do. Well, this shouldn't take too long. I'd better get started -- I'm curious to have a have look at that computer." During the next 60 minutes working in the cramped confines, Swann connects fresh O2 bottles, replaces the scrubbers with new units and services the waste reclamation equipment. There is grease, dirt and moisture smeared across the front of his coveralls, and his face. He backs out of the cramped compartment, takes a clean rag out of his back pocket, and wipes off his face and hands. "There, that should do it. Now let's crank this baby up and see how she runs." He walks over to the ship's communicator on the wall and hits the button for a ship-wide channel. "This is Swann. I'm about to turn on the life support system to test it. So rest assured that the smell you are about to notice is not a dead Bashtu swamp rat in the ventilation system." He turns on the system and checks all the gauges to make sure it is running properly. [center][b]-----[/b][/center] [/size][/font][font=Verdana][size=2]Vargas rolls over in his bunk and, barely waking, mumbles, "Uhhh. I've smelled worse. . . a Sooly that didn't make port for four months. . . kind with the bad scrubbers. . . whew. . ."[/size][/font] [center][font=Verdana][size=2][b]-----[/b][/size][/font][/center] [font=Verdana][size=2]Argent peers into the Cargo bay to watch some organized mayhem.[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]Vasilii seems to have arranged things well. Vasilii would retrieve prep and confirm cargo, the Doc would check the contents for accuracy, then Darishun would move it. A lot seemed to be disappearing down the cargo Lift. From memory the only thing down there was staterooms. Clearly someone had decided they didn’t need the full complement.[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]"This group even had initiative," Argent thinks. "First that Scout turns out to be a drive-engineer guru, now people were thinking ahead. Life was good. If only they would stop wailing that awful noise, it sounded like a Vargr in pain."[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]Backing out slightly he re-enters the room, making noise so as not to startle. "Well, how close to the invoices are we?"[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]Vasilii looks down to check while the others continue their merry way. "We're a solid third of the way through. So far we haven't found anything in the cargo that isn't in the invoices. We've had about a dozen alternate supplies. Doctor Talbek says that they are the same product, but they don't quite match the signed good. For example, the emergency building was produced by Sternmetal rather than LifeCo. The Sternmetal is a better product, but it's an indicative fault."[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]"So no problems?"[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]"So far, everything is going smoothly. Darishun says he has filled one of the forward staterooms so we'll be able to clear the corridors. With a couple of days heavy lifting, I will set up access routes so that all the cargo is accessible. According to the expected volume we shouldn't be quite this overloaded. It is difficult to guess, given the lack of organization on the original pack. I think we are probably 3 tons over our inventory. We won't know till everything has been cataloged."[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]"And how long till?"[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]"It's difficult to know. Possibly another solid day for three people. There is a limit to how quickly we can go. Only the Doctor and Darishun seem to have any medical skills, so they are the bottleneck. I've been listing the other deficiencies with the ship as they are brought to my attention. When would you like them presented?"[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]Argent bites back a response. "Now would be a good time. I'm hoping to have a delivery from groundside shortly."[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]"Perhaps it would be more efficient if you were to organize the cargo bay and I assist the gathering of supplies?"[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]Argent sighs. Being Captain was all glamour, first reading numbers curled around a slimy engine, now supercargo. Still, must remember efficiency. Some sleep would be good as well. Jump was only six hours away so better to just keep going till then.[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]"OK, Mr. McConnell is in the bridge talking to Sentry, perhaps you would like to join him?"[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]Vasilii turns to the Doctor and Darishun, "It's been a pleasure working with you, I leave you in the Captain's capable hands" and walks out to the bridge.[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=2]Argent turns to the other two. The Doctor was still working away, it looked as if he could keep going through a bulk freighter’s worth of medical supplies, and Darishun looked as if he was made of wood. Was he the only tired one here?[/size][/font] [/QUOTE]
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Traveller T20: Tales of the Bray Keaven [Updated 12-20-05]
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