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Story Hour
Traveller T20: Tales of the Bray Keaven [Updated 12-20-05]
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<blockquote data-quote="Shadowdancer" data-source="post: 1244200" data-attributes="member: 515"><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px"><p style="text-align: center"><strong><span style="font-size: 15px">Chapter IV</span></strong></p><p></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"><strong>Date: 110-993</strong></span></span></p><p style="text-align: left"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px"><strong>Place: Aboard the <em>Bray Keaven</em>, in orbit around Sentry.</strong></p><p></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px">Swann sits down at one of the bridge workstations and places his fingers lightly, almost reverently, upon the computer keyboard. "A </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Naasirka</span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"> model 1bis," he thinks, appraising the machine. "Should be pretty basic. Too bad they didn't upgrade to a model 2 -- then they could have upgraded the sensors and comms for better range. Might as well be flying blind, deaf and dumb. Well, let's see what we can see."</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">He logs onto the ship's computer and starts searching through the OS. He quickly finds a tag under the fuel scoops saying they are sealed and should not be used. "Hmmmm. I'll have to ask Martha about that. We should really get that fixed. We might need to dip into a gas giant for an emergency refueling. So, let's take a look at the avionics."</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Swann calls up the flight avionics system. All the controls appear to be in the green. He calls up the astrogation calculator to make sure it works OK. He first uses the system to determine the <em>Bray Keaven’s</em> location. That checks out. Then he plots a standard course from their position in orbit around Sentry to the planet’s middle moon, Ruria. That appears to be correct. He then plots a jump route to Alief, and checks it against the ship’s last jump to that system from Sentry. "Close enough. That would get us in the neighborhood," he says to himself when the calculations come up. "OK, Astrogation looks good. I know the comm is working -- Argent was using it earlier. Let's check out the sensors.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">"Hmmmm, only one ship within 15,000 kilometers of us. A far trader, the <em>Pirouette</em>, registered out of Sentry to a Captain Diana Staha. Guess she got pulled into this rescue mission just like us. I guess no one else wants to get close to us. Don't blame them -- they probably think we're contagious."</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Swann rubs a hand across his face and sits looking at the terminal screen a while, thinking. "Well, I should probably take a look at that fuel scoop next. We might need those. And one of the turrets isn’t working. I don't know if we’ll need them on this mission, but I'd sure feel better knowing we can defend ourselves fully. I also remember seeing a big red X taped onto one of the low berths. I’ll look at that later, maybe when we’re in jump. Hopefully, we won’t need it right away, and I’ll probably need the Doc’s help with that, and he’s pretty busy right now."</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Swann pushes a button on the ship’s communicator and calls down to the engineering room. Emile answers.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">"Emile, this is Swann. Is Argent still down there with you?"</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">"Nope. Try the cargo hold."</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Swann switches channels and pings cargo. A few moments later there is a reply: "Argent here."</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Swann hesitates. "Do I call him ‘Captain’ or ‘Argent’ or what?" he thinks to himself. "We need to establish some protocol." He keys the communicator.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">"This is Swann. I wanted to report in, let you know that the life support system and the computer system both check out. They’re good to go as far as getting us to Alief and back. While I was checking out the computer, I discovered that the fuel scoops are not working. I need to talk to Martha to find out what is wrong with them, and whether we can fix them. Is she down there with you?"</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">"I sent Martha to bed several hours ago. She could barely stand up. Is it really necessary to disturb her?"</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">"Well, I’d sure feel better having those fuel scoops working before we leave, if they can be fixed. We might need them to get back here in an emergency situation."</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">"OK, go ahead and wake her. Maybe she’s gotten enough rest. </span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">If you haven’t had a rest period yet, take one ASAP. Otherwise, go ahead and work on the fuel scoops. If you need anything further, check with Mr. McConnell or me. I’ll be checking systems elsewhere on the ship."</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Swann punches in Martha’s room. "Martha, this is Swann. Sorry to wake you, but I have some questions. What’s wrong with the fuel scoops, and can they be fixed?"</span></p><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><strong>-----</strong></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><em>The ship screams as air whistles out of her stateroom. The Captain, his face dripping blood, coldly calls "Martha." She leaps for the vacc suit stand, looking past the Captain, out of the ship to an asteroid painted with a skull and crossbones. She feels small furry arms grab her feet before she can reach the suit and she slams into the floor. The Cold Voice calls again "Martha, are you OK?"</em></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Lying on the floor in her room, halfway towards her vacc suit with a quilt tangling her legs, she wakes up. The intercom pings again. "What’s wrong with the fuel scoops, and can they be fixed?"</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">"Ahmm, Captain said he didn’t believe in fuel scoops, he didn’t trust fuel we processed ourselves so there’s a shroud welded over the intakes. Reduces our drag coeff a fair chunk. He kept on threatening to sell the processors, apparently they are pristine and they’ve been mothballed so there’s no maintenance to do on ’em."</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">She scratches the sleep out of her eyes as Swann asks again, "So when did you last run the diagnostic?"</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">"I don’t think I ever have. Captain ran one every six months and he said it was OK. He was no Leonardo, so I wouldn’t really trust them without a full strip down. Why, I thought we were going to the fuelling depot at Alief?"</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Swann sighs. Maybe she lived her whole life in Bray Corp, but he liked contingency plans. "OK, talk to you later."</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><strong>-----</strong></p><p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Swann sits back in his chair, stunned into disbelief. "He didn’t believe in fuel scoops? He didn’t BELIEVE in fuel scoops?! He must've been mad," Swann thinks to himself. "It’s a good thing that captain is already dead -- otherwise, I’d have to kill him myself. To put his ship and his crew into that kind of danger was . . . was . . . what was the word? Reckless. Criminally reckless."</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Swann rubs a hand across his face and stares at the Naasirka's screen, considering. "I’m pretty beat, but I wonder . . . do I have time for a quick session of Wizard War before I grab some sleep?"</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><em>He didn't believe in fuel scoops . . . a shroud welded over the intakes . . . threatening to sell the processors . . . pristine . . . mothballed . . . no maintenance to do . . . Captain ran one every six months and he said it was OK . . .</em></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Swann bolts upright in his chair. "Damn it! I must be getting brain addled," he thinks. "That’s what going 18 hours without sleep will do to you. I should’ve thought of this sooner."</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">He jumps out of his chair and heads through the bridge access. In the darkened dayroom he brushes past Ian, who appears to be headed toward the bridge. He cuts across to the port side and starts down the companionway, past piles of cargo crates and through the iris valves toward the aft engine room and fuel scoops. On the way, he continues to consider the situation, his mind racing down the possibilities.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">"Ah, maybe there was a method to the dearly departed Captain’s madness," Swann thinks. "There are very few reasons I can think of for a sane starship captain to deprive himself of a critical piece of machinery such as fuel scoops. And they all involve money.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">"A, maybe he sold them as he’d threatened to do. But I doubt he could’ve done that without Martha knowing.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">"B, he sealed them off so he could use the space to haul more cargo. There wouldn’t be much room if the processors are still there, but it would be enough to carry some small packages, especially if the contents were very valuable.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">"Which brings us to C, smuggling. The fuel scoops, if inoperable, would make a perfect spot to carry contraband. And that would explain why he never let Martha run the diagnostic on the system. He didn’t want her to know what he was up to."</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Swann enters the engine room, grabs a wrench off the toolrack on the wall, and heads to the port side fuel scoop and processor.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">He passes Vargas beavering away at the power plant. Every now and again Vargas calls things like "Blue wire," and a wire would poke itself from behind a console for him to grab and wire in. Swann stops in shock -- A telekinetic onboard their ship. Frellin' mind readers preying on the helpless!</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">"Red Wire." This time, instead of the wire, a small furry head pops up, shaking its head. "It might have a yellow stripe down it." The little head ducks back behind the console.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Swann, shaking his head, moves toward the fuel processor. He needs sleep, but this is silly. Who expects animals helping with engineering!</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">He stands in front of the first suspect fuel processor. He starts unloosening the bolts to the processor’s maintenance hatch. "Well, let's just see what we can see here." With the controls clustered at the fore end, pipes leading out the back, a huge cylinder -- perfect for a volume replacement. Yes, it was all nicely sealed up and blinking the correct sequences. "Mmm. If it were smuggling, there should be a compartment somewhere," he thinks.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Feeling along the fore edge, a click warns him something is happening. Stepping back in time to notice a slight movement in the side, he catches the door before it swings back closed.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The compartment is a meter square and at least two meters deep. The old Captain must have run air vents into the processor because there is definitely conditioning in the space. Currently it held four small shrubs in racks under lights. The Captain was smuggling bonsai?</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The four little orange trees are covered in blooms and have the knotted bark that Swann associates with a high–value bonsai. He isn't familiar with this particular breed or why the captain thought he must conceal them. But Swann knows bonsai were high–value cargo.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">There was dust clogged all over the vent -- it hadn’t been cleaned for months. That explains at least why the air pump had been straining. If he had been more alert he would have spotted the oxygen lines going in. There was still something nagging at him, something he should know. What to do next?</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">First things first, he clicks the door closed and heads over starboard, through the cargo bay -- everyone still working away. Did nobody else sleep?</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">He arrives at the starboard processor and spots the oxygen lines. "Yes, this one was outfitted the same way." A decent search would have found the compartments. Swann had seen lots of better ways to hide things, but it should work, out here in the backwaters.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">He opens the sealed compartment. There is no rack of lights. Peering inside briefly, with the aid of a small flashlight, Swann notices there are no plants, either. He hears footsteps on the deck behind him and quickly pulls his head out of the compartment, then pushes the small door shut.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Shadowdancer, post: 1244200, member: 515"] [font=Verdana][size=2][center][b][size=4]Chapter IV[/size][/b][/center] [b]Date: 110-993[/b] [left][b]Place: Aboard the [i]Bray Keaven[/i], in orbit around Sentry.[/b][/left] Swann sits down at one of the bridge workstations and places his fingers lightly, almost reverently, upon the computer keyboard. "A [/size][/font][font=Verdana]Naasirka[/font][font=Verdana] model 1bis," he thinks, appraising the machine. "Should be pretty basic. Too bad they didn't upgrade to a model 2 -- then they could have upgraded the sensors and comms for better range. Might as well be flying blind, deaf and dumb. Well, let's see what we can see."[/font] [font=Verdana]He logs onto the ship's computer and starts searching through the OS. He quickly finds a tag under the fuel scoops saying they are sealed and should not be used. "Hmmmm. I'll have to ask Martha about that. We should really get that fixed. We might need to dip into a gas giant for an emergency refueling. So, let's take a look at the avionics."[/font] [font=Verdana]Swann calls up the flight avionics system. All the controls appear to be in the green. He calls up the astrogation calculator to make sure it works OK. He first uses the system to determine the [i]Bray Keaven’s[/i] location. That checks out. Then he plots a standard course from their position in orbit around Sentry to the planet’s middle moon, Ruria. That appears to be correct. He then plots a jump route to Alief, and checks it against the ship’s last jump to that system from Sentry. "Close enough. That would get us in the neighborhood," he says to himself when the calculations come up. "OK, Astrogation looks good. I know the comm is working -- Argent was using it earlier. Let's check out the sensors.[/font] [font=Verdana]"Hmmmm, only one ship within 15,000 kilometers of us. A far trader, the [i]Pirouette[/i], registered out of Sentry to a Captain Diana Staha. Guess she got pulled into this rescue mission just like us. I guess no one else wants to get close to us. Don't blame them -- they probably think we're contagious."[/font] [font=Verdana]Swann rubs a hand across his face and sits looking at the terminal screen a while, thinking. "Well, I should probably take a look at that fuel scoop next. We might need those. And one of the turrets isn’t working. I don't know if we’ll need them on this mission, but I'd sure feel better knowing we can defend ourselves fully. I also remember seeing a big red X taped onto one of the low berths. I’ll look at that later, maybe when we’re in jump. Hopefully, we won’t need it right away, and I’ll probably need the Doc’s help with that, and he’s pretty busy right now."[/font] [font=Verdana]Swann pushes a button on the ship’s communicator and calls down to the engineering room. Emile answers.[/font] [font=Verdana]"Emile, this is Swann. Is Argent still down there with you?"[/font] [font=Verdana]"Nope. Try the cargo hold."[/font] [font=Verdana]Swann switches channels and pings cargo. A few moments later there is a reply: "Argent here."[/font] [font=Verdana]Swann hesitates. "Do I call him ‘Captain’ or ‘Argent’ or what?" he thinks to himself. "We need to establish some protocol." He keys the communicator.[/font] [font=Verdana]"This is Swann. I wanted to report in, let you know that the life support system and the computer system both check out. They’re good to go as far as getting us to Alief and back. While I was checking out the computer, I discovered that the fuel scoops are not working. I need to talk to Martha to find out what is wrong with them, and whether we can fix them. Is she down there with you?"[/font] [font=Verdana]"I sent Martha to bed several hours ago. She could barely stand up. Is it really necessary to disturb her?"[/font] [font=Verdana]"Well, I’d sure feel better having those fuel scoops working before we leave, if they can be fixed. We might need them to get back here in an emergency situation."[/font] [font=Verdana]"OK, go ahead and wake her. Maybe she’s gotten enough rest. [/font][font=Verdana]If you haven’t had a rest period yet, take one ASAP. Otherwise, go ahead and work on the fuel scoops. If you need anything further, check with Mr. McConnell or me. I’ll be checking systems elsewhere on the ship."[/font] [font=Verdana]Swann punches in Martha’s room. "Martha, this is Swann. Sorry to wake you, but I have some questions. What’s wrong with the fuel scoops, and can they be fixed?"[/font] [center][font=Verdana][b]-----[/b][/font][/center][font=Verdana] [i]The ship screams as air whistles out of her stateroom. The Captain, his face dripping blood, coldly calls "Martha." She leaps for the vacc suit stand, looking past the Captain, out of the ship to an asteroid painted with a skull and crossbones. She feels small furry arms grab her feet before she can reach the suit and she slams into the floor. The Cold Voice calls again "Martha, are you OK?"[/i] Lying on the floor in her room, halfway towards her vacc suit with a quilt tangling her legs, she wakes up. The intercom pings again. "What’s wrong with the fuel scoops, and can they be fixed?" "Ahmm, Captain said he didn’t believe in fuel scoops, he didn’t trust fuel we processed ourselves so there’s a shroud welded over the intakes. Reduces our drag coeff a fair chunk. He kept on threatening to sell the processors, apparently they are pristine and they’ve been mothballed so there’s no maintenance to do on ’em." She scratches the sleep out of her eyes as Swann asks again, "So when did you last run the diagnostic?" "I don’t think I ever have. Captain ran one every six months and he said it was OK. He was no Leonardo, so I wouldn’t really trust them without a full strip down. Why, I thought we were going to the fuelling depot at Alief?" Swann sighs. Maybe she lived her whole life in Bray Corp, but he liked contingency plans. "OK, talk to you later." [center][b]-----[/b][/center] Swann sits back in his chair, stunned into disbelief. "He didn’t believe in fuel scoops? He didn’t BELIEVE in fuel scoops?! He must've been mad," Swann thinks to himself. "It’s a good thing that captain is already dead -- otherwise, I’d have to kill him myself. To put his ship and his crew into that kind of danger was . . . was . . . what was the word? Reckless. Criminally reckless." Swann rubs a hand across his face and stares at the Naasirka's screen, considering. "I’m pretty beat, but I wonder . . . do I have time for a quick session of Wizard War before I grab some sleep?" [i]He didn't believe in fuel scoops . . . a shroud welded over the intakes . . . threatening to sell the processors . . . pristine . . . mothballed . . . no maintenance to do . . . Captain ran one every six months and he said it was OK . . .[/i] Swann bolts upright in his chair. "Damn it! I must be getting brain addled," he thinks. "That’s what going 18 hours without sleep will do to you. I should’ve thought of this sooner." He jumps out of his chair and heads through the bridge access. In the darkened dayroom he brushes past Ian, who appears to be headed toward the bridge. He cuts across to the port side and starts down the companionway, past piles of cargo crates and through the iris valves toward the aft engine room and fuel scoops. On the way, he continues to consider the situation, his mind racing down the possibilities. "Ah, maybe there was a method to the dearly departed Captain’s madness," Swann thinks. "There are very few reasons I can think of for a sane starship captain to deprive himself of a critical piece of machinery such as fuel scoops. And they all involve money. "A, maybe he sold them as he’d threatened to do. But I doubt he could’ve done that without Martha knowing. "B, he sealed them off so he could use the space to haul more cargo. There wouldn’t be much room if the processors are still there, but it would be enough to carry some small packages, especially if the contents were very valuable. "Which brings us to C, smuggling. The fuel scoops, if inoperable, would make a perfect spot to carry contraband. And that would explain why he never let Martha run the diagnostic on the system. He didn’t want her to know what he was up to." Swann enters the engine room, grabs a wrench off the toolrack on the wall, and heads to the port side fuel scoop and processor. He passes Vargas beavering away at the power plant. Every now and again Vargas calls things like "Blue wire," and a wire would poke itself from behind a console for him to grab and wire in. Swann stops in shock -- A telekinetic onboard their ship. Frellin' mind readers preying on the helpless! "Red Wire." This time, instead of the wire, a small furry head pops up, shaking its head. "It might have a yellow stripe down it." The little head ducks back behind the console. Swann, shaking his head, moves toward the fuel processor. He needs sleep, but this is silly. Who expects animals helping with engineering! He stands in front of the first suspect fuel processor. He starts unloosening the bolts to the processor’s maintenance hatch. "Well, let's just see what we can see here." With the controls clustered at the fore end, pipes leading out the back, a huge cylinder -- perfect for a volume replacement. Yes, it was all nicely sealed up and blinking the correct sequences. "Mmm. If it were smuggling, there should be a compartment somewhere," he thinks. Feeling along the fore edge, a click warns him something is happening. Stepping back in time to notice a slight movement in the side, he catches the door before it swings back closed. The compartment is a meter square and at least two meters deep. The old Captain must have run air vents into the processor because there is definitely conditioning in the space. Currently it held four small shrubs in racks under lights. The Captain was smuggling bonsai? The four little orange trees are covered in blooms and have the knotted bark that Swann associates with a high–value bonsai. He isn't familiar with this particular breed or why the captain thought he must conceal them. But Swann knows bonsai were high–value cargo. There was dust clogged all over the vent -- it hadn’t been cleaned for months. That explains at least why the air pump had been straining. If he had been more alert he would have spotted the oxygen lines going in. There was still something nagging at him, something he should know. What to do next? First things first, he clicks the door closed and heads over starboard, through the cargo bay -- everyone still working away. Did nobody else sleep? He arrives at the starboard processor and spots the oxygen lines. "Yes, this one was outfitted the same way." A decent search would have found the compartments. Swann had seen lots of better ways to hide things, but it should work, out here in the backwaters. He opens the sealed compartment. There is no rack of lights. Peering inside briefly, with the aid of a small flashlight, Swann notices there are no plants, either. He hears footsteps on the deck behind him and quickly pulls his head out of the compartment, then pushes the small door shut. [/font] [/QUOTE]
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Traveller T20: Tales of the Bray Keaven [Updated 12-20-05]
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