T20 Traveller - The Kursis Charter (complete Aug 8th 2005)
- Thread starter Morte
- Start date
Morte
Explorer
Act IV: 069-526 - Nice Little Runner, Needs Work
Date: 174-993 to 174-993 Imperial.
Location: 069-526 system (0721), Fonnein Orbital.
Fish was busy.
First he and Maelcum went to see honest Ab. Maelcum had forgotten more about weaponry than the Avaricious would ever know, and Fish went into terminal geek mode at the first mention of equipment shopping. They oohed and ahhed at the fancy lasers and vehicle mount gauss weapons, then bought Cr20 worth of carbine ammunition for the ship’s locker.
Then he went with Sir David to visit a couple of the local repair yards. With Kursis paying, they picked the best. Their overhaul was scheduled six weeks hence, and they also contracted for certain sensor modifications which would be useful in a gas giant’s atmosphere. Sir David reached a tacit understanding that as much as possible of the costs would end up on the “refit” bill. Then they went for lunch with the yard owner and he finessed an agreement that the yard would have a TL11 fuel purifier ready to fit if they wanted it. There would be no need for a deposit, and no cancellation fee if they changed their minds.[1]
Next Fish and Silea settled down for a thorough computer search on the local net. They looked for anything they could find on the scout Malfeasant they’d intercepted in the gas giant back at Liar’s Oath, or the freighter Vraidercalt which was presumed in to be abandoned in the Kleister Beta system, or any of the sophonts involved to date. They found records of the Malfeasant retrieving a drifting launch, with dead sophonts aboard, its origins unknown. Vraidercalt was in the database of ships registered lost. It was the property of Ling Standard Products[2], who offered salvage on ship and cargo. Putting an offer for salvage on cargo on public record was unusual, so far as Silea could tell, and it suggested that the Ursa captain was right about there being something valuable aboard.
Finally Luan borrowed the Fish to look at some water purification gear she’d found on the local net. “Do you think they could use this on a world with steam power?” she asked. He studied schematics for a bit, then accidentally delighted her by suggesting that they should get a shuttle down to the planet to check the gear out properly.
Her eyes grew wide as the grav shuttle shot through the clouds towards the blue and white planet, then decelerated and levelled out over pack ice and sundry bergs. It hurtled towards the landing tower poking up through the waves at exhilarating speed then braked to a halt at 5g (internally compensated) just when she started to worry. Three hundred meters down the elevator shaft, they arrived in a submarine habitation. It seemed, well, just like the orbital spaceport. The gear checked out, so Luan placed an order.
They caught the shuttle back up. It was local evening, and the pilot flew a few unscheduled circles to give the passengers a view of sunset on the ice field. This was more like it. “It’s a pity the surface atmosphere’s not breathable,” said Fish, “the missus would love to go for a swim”.
The starport delivered two dtons of hardcopy records that evening, ship’s time. They loaded freight and booked in a group of five passengers for Kerin’s Tyr, respectable businessvargr every one of them. Sir David made sure they knew their weapons would be going in the ship’s locker, and assured them that Major Rivers the ship’s security controller would take good care of them. The team from the medical charity who were going in low berths presented less of a worry.
Bright and early the next morning, just as everybody was about to start in on whatever they’d planned for the two free days before jump, the comm rang. A lieutenant Jamish Kharassiss, Imp Nav (retd), now of the starport authority, had an offer of work for them. It should only take about 36 hours for a 2g vessel. Fish blanked the comm and made rude gestures at the screen as he routed the squid through to Sir David.
[1]Sir David’s Liason skill is godly, especially when his feats kick in to help.
[2]A humungous imperial megacorportaion, imagine a cross between General Electric and Ford that spreads over 11,000 worlds.
Date: 174-993 to 174-993 Imperial.
Location: 069-526 system (0721), Fonnein Orbital.
Fish was busy.
First he and Maelcum went to see honest Ab. Maelcum had forgotten more about weaponry than the Avaricious would ever know, and Fish went into terminal geek mode at the first mention of equipment shopping. They oohed and ahhed at the fancy lasers and vehicle mount gauss weapons, then bought Cr20 worth of carbine ammunition for the ship’s locker.
Then he went with Sir David to visit a couple of the local repair yards. With Kursis paying, they picked the best. Their overhaul was scheduled six weeks hence, and they also contracted for certain sensor modifications which would be useful in a gas giant’s atmosphere. Sir David reached a tacit understanding that as much as possible of the costs would end up on the “refit” bill. Then they went for lunch with the yard owner and he finessed an agreement that the yard would have a TL11 fuel purifier ready to fit if they wanted it. There would be no need for a deposit, and no cancellation fee if they changed their minds.[1]
Next Fish and Silea settled down for a thorough computer search on the local net. They looked for anything they could find on the scout Malfeasant they’d intercepted in the gas giant back at Liar’s Oath, or the freighter Vraidercalt which was presumed in to be abandoned in the Kleister Beta system, or any of the sophonts involved to date. They found records of the Malfeasant retrieving a drifting launch, with dead sophonts aboard, its origins unknown. Vraidercalt was in the database of ships registered lost. It was the property of Ling Standard Products[2], who offered salvage on ship and cargo. Putting an offer for salvage on cargo on public record was unusual, so far as Silea could tell, and it suggested that the Ursa captain was right about there being something valuable aboard.
Finally Luan borrowed the Fish to look at some water purification gear she’d found on the local net. “Do you think they could use this on a world with steam power?” she asked. He studied schematics for a bit, then accidentally delighted her by suggesting that they should get a shuttle down to the planet to check the gear out properly.
Her eyes grew wide as the grav shuttle shot through the clouds towards the blue and white planet, then decelerated and levelled out over pack ice and sundry bergs. It hurtled towards the landing tower poking up through the waves at exhilarating speed then braked to a halt at 5g (internally compensated) just when she started to worry. Three hundred meters down the elevator shaft, they arrived in a submarine habitation. It seemed, well, just like the orbital spaceport. The gear checked out, so Luan placed an order.
They caught the shuttle back up. It was local evening, and the pilot flew a few unscheduled circles to give the passengers a view of sunset on the ice field. This was more like it. “It’s a pity the surface atmosphere’s not breathable,” said Fish, “the missus would love to go for a swim”.
The starport delivered two dtons of hardcopy records that evening, ship’s time. They loaded freight and booked in a group of five passengers for Kerin’s Tyr, respectable businessvargr every one of them. Sir David made sure they knew their weapons would be going in the ship’s locker, and assured them that Major Rivers the ship’s security controller would take good care of them. The team from the medical charity who were going in low berths presented less of a worry.
Bright and early the next morning, just as everybody was about to start in on whatever they’d planned for the two free days before jump, the comm rang. A lieutenant Jamish Kharassiss, Imp Nav (retd), now of the starport authority, had an offer of work for them. It should only take about 36 hours for a 2g vessel. Fish blanked the comm and made rude gestures at the screen as he routed the squid through to Sir David.
[1]Sir David’s Liason skill is godly, especially when his feats kick in to help.
[2]A humungous imperial megacorportaion, imagine a cross between General Electric and Ford that spreads over 11,000 worlds.
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Yeah! Another Traveller Post. That's two today 
Morte
Explorer
Act IV: 069-526 - Go Fish
Date: 175-993 to 176-993 Imperial.
Location: 069-526 system (0721), aboard the free trader Avarice Rewarded.
“Lieutenant… Kharassiss is it? Hello, I’m David Shetland the owner aboard. How can we help you, lieutenant?” Sir David sat at his desk in his cabin. He’d been checking out restaurants when the call came in.
“Yes, good morning Sir David.” The young navy man knew his title, so he’d done some sort of basic background check. “I’m one third of the Imperial Navy in these parts, I’m here as an advisor and to carry out the occasional inspection at the shipyard. We don’t have any vessels in system, but we’ve a small recovery job in the outer system that needs doing and we’d prefer not to use a local. It seems you have a bit of a reputation for boarding on intercepts.”
“Oh really?” Sir David immediately wondered if he was talking about the Vraidercalt, and tried to look more interested than alarmed. “Would this be a confidential mission, by any chance?”
“Just so,” Kharassiss nodded, “but nothing of a military nature. To cut a long story short, there’s the wreck of a pirate vessel drifting in the Kuiper belt. We got a lucky intercept when they’d just hijacked her, while they were heading for the border. Our frigate had to move on immediately after the battle, so we never searched the wreck. And now we’ve, well, discovered a few things around here and we’d like to recover the data cores from that ship’s computer to have a look at them.”
“I should think our engineer and security officer could handle the boarding. How far out is the ship? What sort of vessel is it?”
“It’s above the plane, spiralling slowly in towards the sun. Call it thirteen hours each way at 2g, plus the boarding. The ship’s a thousand dee-ton freighter.”
Sir David raised his eyebrows. “Pretty big. Nobody’s tried to salvage it?”
“We pulled rank on the locals. And the rumour that it was irradiated after the particle beam hits probably helped. Not that it’s true, but we sort of forgot to scotch it.” He shrugged and grinned.
“Well, I could be interested. Even if this is meant to be our day off, and we’re committed to jump in 48 hours. What sort of fee are we talking about here?”
Kharassiss offered Cr500 a head and Cr5000 for successful recovery. Sir David countered that it was a decent offer for hire of the crew, but owning the ship cost him about Cr3000 a day in interest, maintenance and salaries. They settled on Cr6000 for the job plus the Cr5000 bonus.
Later, in the galley, Sir David explained that he wouldn’t have normally cancelled the day off for a job like this. But a bit of practice boarding and searching a large vessel could be handy if they were going to do a tricky salvage later. And a friend in the local navy might be a good thing, too.
Silea talked to traffic control, and they were under way within an hour of the call ending.
…
“These are pretty hefty. Have you tried moving in them? I bet they’d be no fun in high gee.” Maelcum waved at the two environment suits they’d taken off Malfeasant and looked at Sir David.
“They weren’t much fun in one gee ship’s gravity. I was out of breath in fifteen minutes. Hopefully they’ll be less work in the wreck at zero gee. And the alternative is emergency soft suits, if we’re to suit everybody.”
“Alright, well I’ll look them over on the way. Come and suit up before boarding, and I’ll adjust yours. You get the hang of it after a few thousand hours walking around in methane or whatever.”
“See you in nine hours, then.”
…
“No nuclear radiation worth talking about. The sun has made it a bit warmer than background, but there’s nothing generating heat anywhere near the surface. No radio emissions. No response to a transponder request.” The former survey/contact specialist sat in his co-pilot’s chair, putting the ship’s sensors through procedures nobody had used in years. They weren’t ideal for the job.
The Avaricious were gathered on the bridge, looking at the freighter on the docking telescope.
“And there’s a really big hole in it.” Fish said, in case anyone had somehow missed the really big hole in the freighter’s side.
“Some little holes too,” said Silea, “maybe they fired missiles to occupy those turret lasers while they hit it with the big beam. Then the missiles hit the hull later.”
“At least it wasn’t a Meson gun” said Maelcum.
“What do you mean?” asked Luan.
“The hole in the side. A meson gun fires a stream of particles that pass through normal matter, then decay to normal high-energy particles inside the target. It’s not actually mesons, there’s some historical reason for the name. But it wouldn’t leave a hole like that, exploding inside. The thing is, they do massive radiation damage. That would have been a problem when we go aboard.”
“I see” said Luan. “Do you think there was anyone aboard when the navy destroyed it? Not pirates, I mean?”
Sir David puffed out one cheek. “That Lieutenant didn’t say. I was thinking that if we find any obvious prisoners, we should collect ID and maybe bring the bodies back.”
“It’s funny that they haven’t been to look at it before now” said Silea. “Even with the war on, they usually want to check a wreck like that.”
“Yes, it is a bit odd.”
Date: 175-993 to 176-993 Imperial.
Location: 069-526 system (0721), aboard the free trader Avarice Rewarded.
“Lieutenant… Kharassiss is it? Hello, I’m David Shetland the owner aboard. How can we help you, lieutenant?” Sir David sat at his desk in his cabin. He’d been checking out restaurants when the call came in.
“Yes, good morning Sir David.” The young navy man knew his title, so he’d done some sort of basic background check. “I’m one third of the Imperial Navy in these parts, I’m here as an advisor and to carry out the occasional inspection at the shipyard. We don’t have any vessels in system, but we’ve a small recovery job in the outer system that needs doing and we’d prefer not to use a local. It seems you have a bit of a reputation for boarding on intercepts.”
“Oh really?” Sir David immediately wondered if he was talking about the Vraidercalt, and tried to look more interested than alarmed. “Would this be a confidential mission, by any chance?”
“Just so,” Kharassiss nodded, “but nothing of a military nature. To cut a long story short, there’s the wreck of a pirate vessel drifting in the Kuiper belt. We got a lucky intercept when they’d just hijacked her, while they were heading for the border. Our frigate had to move on immediately after the battle, so we never searched the wreck. And now we’ve, well, discovered a few things around here and we’d like to recover the data cores from that ship’s computer to have a look at them.”
“I should think our engineer and security officer could handle the boarding. How far out is the ship? What sort of vessel is it?”
“It’s above the plane, spiralling slowly in towards the sun. Call it thirteen hours each way at 2g, plus the boarding. The ship’s a thousand dee-ton freighter.”
Sir David raised his eyebrows. “Pretty big. Nobody’s tried to salvage it?”
“We pulled rank on the locals. And the rumour that it was irradiated after the particle beam hits probably helped. Not that it’s true, but we sort of forgot to scotch it.” He shrugged and grinned.
“Well, I could be interested. Even if this is meant to be our day off, and we’re committed to jump in 48 hours. What sort of fee are we talking about here?”
Kharassiss offered Cr500 a head and Cr5000 for successful recovery. Sir David countered that it was a decent offer for hire of the crew, but owning the ship cost him about Cr3000 a day in interest, maintenance and salaries. They settled on Cr6000 for the job plus the Cr5000 bonus.
Later, in the galley, Sir David explained that he wouldn’t have normally cancelled the day off for a job like this. But a bit of practice boarding and searching a large vessel could be handy if they were going to do a tricky salvage later. And a friend in the local navy might be a good thing, too.
Silea talked to traffic control, and they were under way within an hour of the call ending.
…
“These are pretty hefty. Have you tried moving in them? I bet they’d be no fun in high gee.” Maelcum waved at the two environment suits they’d taken off Malfeasant and looked at Sir David.
“They weren’t much fun in one gee ship’s gravity. I was out of breath in fifteen minutes. Hopefully they’ll be less work in the wreck at zero gee. And the alternative is emergency soft suits, if we’re to suit everybody.”
“Alright, well I’ll look them over on the way. Come and suit up before boarding, and I’ll adjust yours. You get the hang of it after a few thousand hours walking around in methane or whatever.”
“See you in nine hours, then.”
…
“No nuclear radiation worth talking about. The sun has made it a bit warmer than background, but there’s nothing generating heat anywhere near the surface. No radio emissions. No response to a transponder request.” The former survey/contact specialist sat in his co-pilot’s chair, putting the ship’s sensors through procedures nobody had used in years. They weren’t ideal for the job.
The Avaricious were gathered on the bridge, looking at the freighter on the docking telescope.
“And there’s a really big hole in it.” Fish said, in case anyone had somehow missed the really big hole in the freighter’s side.
“Some little holes too,” said Silea, “maybe they fired missiles to occupy those turret lasers while they hit it with the big beam. Then the missiles hit the hull later.”
“At least it wasn’t a Meson gun” said Maelcum.
“What do you mean?” asked Luan.
“The hole in the side. A meson gun fires a stream of particles that pass through normal matter, then decay to normal high-energy particles inside the target. It’s not actually mesons, there’s some historical reason for the name. But it wouldn’t leave a hole like that, exploding inside. The thing is, they do massive radiation damage. That would have been a problem when we go aboard.”
“I see” said Luan. “Do you think there was anyone aboard when the navy destroyed it? Not pirates, I mean?”
Sir David puffed out one cheek. “That Lieutenant didn’t say. I was thinking that if we find any obvious prisoners, we should collect ID and maybe bring the bodies back.”
“It’s funny that they haven’t been to look at it before now” said Silea. “Even with the war on, they usually want to check a wreck like that.”
“Yes, it is a bit odd.”
Last edited:
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Hey Morte!
Glad to see another post.
Glad to see another post.
Morte
Explorer
Act IV: 069-526 - Death Ship
Date: 176-993 Imperial.
Location: 069-526 system (0721), high above orbital plane.
“No lighting. No atmosphere. No AG from the deck plates. And finally no spin. Thanks, missus.”
Fish, Maelcum and Sir David were through the aft dorsal airlock which Silea had selected for docking. It gave her the right leverage to cancel the freighter’s tumble, using 0.02g attitude thrusts to keep the stress on the coupling within limits. Docking had been “complex” – Luan went green watching the screen as Silea flew a path like a demented ball of string to align the airlocks. They’d sent her off to “get the sickbay ready”.
The away team set out to explore the ship, led by Fish who was the best in zero gravity. The entry point was a long way from the bridge, where one would normally expect to find the computer they were after. Silea had offered to shift to another airlock now that the nameless freighter was stable, but the guys seemed to like the idea of an expedition through the hull.
They worked their way in towards the central spine of the ship, expecting to find a corridor running along its length. This upper deck was an accommodation area for crew and perhaps passengers – most freighters took the odd passenger, just as most liners would carry some freight – and it seemed eerily mundane in their helmet lamps. The walls were cream, the carpets pale grey, and the pictures were apparently fixed to the walls because none of them were drifting around. The cabin doors were closed and un-powered, so they ignored them for the time being.
Apart from a couple of frozen/desiccated pot plants, they didn’t see any deceased life forms for about nine minutes. The first dead sophont was a little girl, in pyjamas decorated with a cartoon Ursa (or perhaps a bear) playing grav-ball. She was drifting up near the ceiling, with a deflated survival ball[1] dangling off her like a translucent silvered shroud.
Maelcum eyed the body neutrally. Fish, who was seeing his first dead child, grabbed a handhold and gasped “sh-t” over the voice net. Sir David bounced off a couple of walls and came to a rest next to the corpse.
After a long look, he opened a channel to Silea. “Note for the log. We have encountered the body of a human female child, estimated age ten, floating in an emergency life support bag. No signs of rapid decompression or rupture to the bag, it appears the child died of suffocation before the air drained out. Two fingers have snapped off since the body froze. That may have happened when we docked. She doesn’t look to be carrying identification. Coordinates from airlock are…” he read off the figures from the inertial locator on his suit cuff.
“I think you might have to open all the doors after all, Fish. But let’s go to the bridge, first. We’ll see if we can find anything useful there.”
They moved on, the Fish not looking quite so graceful now. After a couple of minutes they found the first open cabin door. Inside was a dead woman, again in a deflated survival ball, again the apparent victim of suffocation after her air ran out. There were clothes and toys suitable for a ten year old girl, several with an Ursa motif.
“She doesn’t exactly look like a pirate.” Sir David sent back another log entry.
“The air in the ball would last longer for a child, right?” asked Maelcum. The others confirmed. So, thought the retired counter-insurgency officer, she stayed here like she was told but when she saw her mother suffocating she opened the door and fled outside. Just like hiding from guerrillas in a burning building. He didn’t say anything to the others.
“Alright, let’s get to the bridge. Then we’ll take stock.” Sir David waved them back out of the cabin.
[1] Ships carry at least one survival ball per passenger in each cabin. They’re like big plastic bags. Passengers can step into them and inflate them with the incorporated air cylinder, which lasts about four hours for an adult. They’re usually transparent, with a vapour-deposited metallic pattern added to reflect light and radar. Even if they are undamaged, the air will eventually leak out of them by osmosis.
Date: 176-993 Imperial.
Location: 069-526 system (0721), high above orbital plane.
“No lighting. No atmosphere. No AG from the deck plates. And finally no spin. Thanks, missus.”
Fish, Maelcum and Sir David were through the aft dorsal airlock which Silea had selected for docking. It gave her the right leverage to cancel the freighter’s tumble, using 0.02g attitude thrusts to keep the stress on the coupling within limits. Docking had been “complex” – Luan went green watching the screen as Silea flew a path like a demented ball of string to align the airlocks. They’d sent her off to “get the sickbay ready”.
The away team set out to explore the ship, led by Fish who was the best in zero gravity. The entry point was a long way from the bridge, where one would normally expect to find the computer they were after. Silea had offered to shift to another airlock now that the nameless freighter was stable, but the guys seemed to like the idea of an expedition through the hull.
They worked their way in towards the central spine of the ship, expecting to find a corridor running along its length. This upper deck was an accommodation area for crew and perhaps passengers – most freighters took the odd passenger, just as most liners would carry some freight – and it seemed eerily mundane in their helmet lamps. The walls were cream, the carpets pale grey, and the pictures were apparently fixed to the walls because none of them were drifting around. The cabin doors were closed and un-powered, so they ignored them for the time being.
Apart from a couple of frozen/desiccated pot plants, they didn’t see any deceased life forms for about nine minutes. The first dead sophont was a little girl, in pyjamas decorated with a cartoon Ursa (or perhaps a bear) playing grav-ball. She was drifting up near the ceiling, with a deflated survival ball[1] dangling off her like a translucent silvered shroud.
Maelcum eyed the body neutrally. Fish, who was seeing his first dead child, grabbed a handhold and gasped “sh-t” over the voice net. Sir David bounced off a couple of walls and came to a rest next to the corpse.
After a long look, he opened a channel to Silea. “Note for the log. We have encountered the body of a human female child, estimated age ten, floating in an emergency life support bag. No signs of rapid decompression or rupture to the bag, it appears the child died of suffocation before the air drained out. Two fingers have snapped off since the body froze. That may have happened when we docked. She doesn’t look to be carrying identification. Coordinates from airlock are…” he read off the figures from the inertial locator on his suit cuff.
“I think you might have to open all the doors after all, Fish. But let’s go to the bridge, first. We’ll see if we can find anything useful there.”
They moved on, the Fish not looking quite so graceful now. After a couple of minutes they found the first open cabin door. Inside was a dead woman, again in a deflated survival ball, again the apparent victim of suffocation after her air ran out. There were clothes and toys suitable for a ten year old girl, several with an Ursa motif.
“She doesn’t exactly look like a pirate.” Sir David sent back another log entry.
“The air in the ball would last longer for a child, right?” asked Maelcum. The others confirmed. So, thought the retired counter-insurgency officer, she stayed here like she was told but when she saw her mother suffocating she opened the door and fled outside. Just like hiding from guerrillas in a burning building. He didn’t say anything to the others.
“Alright, let’s get to the bridge. Then we’ll take stock.” Sir David waved them back out of the cabin.
[1] Ships carry at least one survival ball per passenger in each cabin. They’re like big plastic bags. Passengers can step into them and inflate them with the incorporated air cylinder, which lasts about four hours for an adult. They’re usually transparent, with a vapour-deposited metallic pattern added to reflect light and radar. Even if they are undamaged, the air will eventually leak out of them by osmosis.
Morte
Explorer
Act IV: 069-526 - Administrative Error
Date: 176-993 Imperial.
Location: 069-526 system (0721), high above orbital plane.
They passed more doors on the way forward, but most were closed and unpowered. The only exception was the galley, where they found a tattooed man in an apron drifting amidst strands of frozen stew.
“Aren’t those like Silea’s tattoos?” said Maelcum.
“Almost,” said Fish, “he’s one of the Mmarislusant. They’re Vilani people who live with the Luriani, kind of like me except I’m descended from the old Solomani garrison.” He paused. “I can’t imagine one of that lot as a pirate.”
“He doesn’t look it”.
…
The bridge door was powered down. Fish popped an access panel and started poking around with a probe from his portacomp. Soon a power cell came out of his pack and found itself wired into the door. He hit the “open” button. Nothing happened. He sighed.
“Oh terrific, anti-hijack mode. Give me a minute…”
Out came a bizarre vacuum-friendly fibre crimping tool. Fish snipped away at the optical links inside the panel and spliced one into a trailing lead back to his portacomp. Soon he was running an anti-security programme of questionable legality (as used by all sensible spacers) while Sir David studied the ceiling. The door dilated. He checked his power pack. “That’ll hold it open for months. In we go.”
There was no light on the bridge save starlight through the windows. They played their headlamps around and clamped a couple of floods to the ceiling.
This time the bodies were vacc-suited. Two of them had apparently chosen to asphyxiate in the privacy of their helmets, strapped into seats. A third had taken his helmet off to allow pistol access; his brains were all over the wall beside him. There was a data crystal, the sort that holds personal or media files and plugs into a portacomp, taped to the middle of the console in front of him.
“I’ll have a look at it” said Fish.
…
Date: 176-993 Imperial.
Location: 069-526 system (0721), high above orbital plane.
They passed more doors on the way forward, but most were closed and unpowered. The only exception was the galley, where they found a tattooed man in an apron drifting amidst strands of frozen stew.
“Aren’t those like Silea’s tattoos?” said Maelcum.
“Almost,” said Fish, “he’s one of the Mmarislusant. They’re Vilani people who live with the Luriani, kind of like me except I’m descended from the old Solomani garrison.” He paused. “I can’t imagine one of that lot as a pirate.”
“He doesn’t look it”.
…
The bridge door was powered down. Fish popped an access panel and started poking around with a probe from his portacomp. Soon a power cell came out of his pack and found itself wired into the door. He hit the “open” button. Nothing happened. He sighed.
“Oh terrific, anti-hijack mode. Give me a minute…”
Out came a bizarre vacuum-friendly fibre crimping tool. Fish snipped away at the optical links inside the panel and spliced one into a trailing lead back to his portacomp. Soon he was running an anti-security programme of questionable legality (as used by all sensible spacers) while Sir David studied the ceiling. The door dilated. He checked his power pack. “That’ll hold it open for months. In we go.”
There was no light on the bridge save starlight through the windows. They played their headlamps around and clamped a couple of floods to the ceiling.
This time the bodies were vacc-suited. Two of them had apparently chosen to asphyxiate in the privacy of their helmets, strapped into seats. A third had taken his helmet off to allow pistol access; his brains were all over the wall beside him. There was a data crystal, the sort that holds personal or media files and plugs into a portacomp, taped to the middle of the console in front of him.
“I’ll have a look at it” said Fish.
…
My name is Eneri Louie-Tiemme. I’m the second officer of this vessel, the Cochrane’s Burden. The hijackers killed the captain and the first officer when they wouldn’t tell the console codes. They cut their throats, they did, and made me watch so I’d sing. Which I did, to be sure. Then they locked us in the belly bay, as hostages or slaves or some such. Which O’Gandy and I escaped from five days into jump, with the aid of Louisa distracting the guard. There was only four of them, so we took the ship back just fine when it was us with the surprise. We gave them the pleasure of our former accommodations, with Louisa doing the guarding.
We came out of jump with our boots laced and our flies buttoned, ready to hail, and found the scum had scragged the transponder and the voice twig. Which was a bit of a shame on account of the navy corvette which had come out of jump before us. The Emperor’s fine lads and lasses sat there for ten minutes, watching us do nothing. I was thinking they’d send a boat over. No such luck. There was a big explosion aboard and every alarm in creation sang before the power went down, including the backup.
Now we’re here on the bridge, with the door shut and no juice, and there’s maybe eight hours of air. And I’m f-cked if I know what to do.
We came out of jump with our boots laced and our flies buttoned, ready to hail, and found the scum had scragged the transponder and the voice twig. Which was a bit of a shame on account of the navy corvette which had come out of jump before us. The Emperor’s fine lads and lasses sat there for ten minutes, watching us do nothing. I was thinking they’d send a boat over. No such luck. There was a big explosion aboard and every alarm in creation sang before the power went down, including the backup.
Now we’re here on the bridge, with the door shut and no juice, and there’s maybe eight hours of air. And I’m f-cked if I know what to do.
Morte
Explorer
Kesh said:Rule of Adventuring Survival #1: Never take jobs from the military.
Even when you're tyring to win friends an influence people amongst the navy. Or with the sort of publicity this could bring, especially when you're trying to win friends and influence people amongst the navy.
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