Turn 2
The six inmates atop the Nemesis watch in semi-shock as the shuttle, their only clear path back to the station, flies away.
Buck shakes his fist at the retreating shuttle. "You go fukc yerself too, you ugly alien piece o' shit!" he shouts, thoroughly forgetting that there's no way the pilot could possibly hear him. He flings his 1-plat chip angrily after the craft, hurling more obscenities. Gene gets ahold of him and starts to calm him down, while Sukava, Vynkor, and Ishmael - Fireteam Gamma - walk away from the others, towards the front of the Nemesis.
Brom is just as bewildered as the others. "To think that
I, the great Brom Keegan, would be denied transportation!"
"Come on, Buck," Gene whispers. "You don't know if he's got a commlink to the station. I'd very much prefer to stay alive and maybe get a drink at the station's watering hole later.
This thought thoroughly wins Buck over. "Yeah, we don't need his retarded, squiddy tin can. We'll just get there ourselves!"
Brom is
not on board with this idea. "I can't afford to wait for you to come around to your senses, Buck," he states admonishingly. "Those responsible for this embarrassing mess must apologize at once!" He's about to say more, but a thought interrupts him -
You are a failure of a human being. I wish you would just die already. There is no indication of where this thought comes from, and it confuses him.
Buck, taking advantage of Brom's sudden silence, makes it clear that he finds Brom's suggestion positively absurd. "What? That shithead squid was tryin' to scam us! I mean, I dun' fault them for talkin' 'bout killin' the bastard, it should grow a thicker skin! Besides, I wouldn't expect no one in their right mind to ever say sorry to a damn squid, of all things. Anyone have any ideas?"
The fireteam with all the ideas is already standing near the bow of the Nemesis. "Watch this," Vynkor says to the two inmates with her, and pulls out a plat chip. After holding it up to make sure the group sees, she flings it with all her might towards the station. It spins, glittering and twinkling in the starlight as it flies away in a nearly straight line. Try as they might, Ishmael and Sukava soon lose track of it, but by a stroke of luck, Vynkor manages to follow it with her eyes all the way to the station. As it nears the buildings, it suddenly curves downwards; she loses track of it among the rooftops of the docks.
Sukava speaks up. "Vynkor? I lost track. How did it go?"
"Well," Vynkor says cautiously, trying to freeze the chip's path in her mind, "it looks like the artigrav field ends fairly close to the wall. Should be able to come in close to the roof and skid to a halt." Without even waiting for a response, she de-activates her mag boots and lays herself flat against the hull's scorched and pitted armor plating. Then, pulling herself hand over hand to pick up speed, she pushes off at the last moment, launching herself towards Fuhodo's docks with the intent to land lightly on the rooftops.
Watching as Vynkor sails away, Sukava nods in approval and claps Ishmael on the back. "Don't fall back, handsome," she says in a mocking tone, and makes her own running leap towards the station, planning to rely on her rocket boots to help her land.
Across the ship, Buck looks on at the two women in horror, and then glances back at Gene and Brom, mortified. "Wait, we aren't doin'
that, right? There's
gotta be a better way!"
"Fame and glory waits for no man, Buck," Brom says in a heroic voice, and then radios the shuttle. "Greetings to you, good sir! I'd like to apologize for the horrible behavior of my crewmates. I'd be willing to pay for a trip to the station, as well as take care of any business you might have there as an added bonus!"
Frightened half out of his wits, Buck glances back and forth between Brom and Fireteam Gamma, and quickly blurts, "I'm - I'm comin' with y'all! I was just jokin' with the guy for FSM's sake, he should lighten up a bit! Tell him - tell him we'll pay 400 tin up front - a great deal for three passengers! He can even sell our info, I don't care! There's just no way in hell I'm going to jump!"
Brom relays the information, but the response isn't very promising.
"I do not trust you, kap'shik! No amount of pleading will change that!" the pilot stresses over the radio.
"And only 400 plat? Even now you insult me! The charge is per trip, not per passenger! It says so on the sign in the cabin, which you would have seen had you not been plotting to cheat me! Get off my comm channels!"
"WELL FUKC YOU TOO!" Buck shouts back, already raging again. "Stupid alien asshole! We don't need yer shitty shuttle anyway! Besides, it smelled real queer in there!" This is, of course, a lie. Buck had his helmet on the whole time. "I'd never go anywhere in such a piece o' crap! Go burn in hell!"
There's no response.
"I was afraid this would happen," Brom sighs, downcast. "He probably thinks he's unworthy to have me as a passenger."
Gene shakes his head and turns away.
Vynkor, now quite close to the docks, suddenly feels herself caught up in the station's artificial gravity field; she jerks downwards, spinning. With some careful maneuvering, she manages to right herself and land on her feet, rolling to a gentle (if messy) stop. She's very slightly worse for wear, but overall, it proceeded exactly the way she wanted it to.
Back on the Nemesis, Ishmael watches her landing with trepidation.
By FSM's tender meatballs, he thinks to himself.
Of all the challenges you've bestowed upon me, my Lord, did it have to come to THIS? And then, after a sigh and a quick prayer, he too launches himself from the Nemesis's hull. Unlike Vynkor and Sukava, he has made few preparations and doesn't exactly know how he's going to land. However, he
is guided by the noodly tentacles of the Flying Spaghetti Monster; he is a conduit for His glory - a beacon of hope for all who walk through the darkness - an embodiment of virtuous piracy. The Flying Spaghetti Monster shall not fail him, for He never has.
Over on the docks, Vynkor is dusting herself off and getting to her feet. She looks around. She is standing on a low, flat rooftop. Several nondescript protrusions jut out of the ground nearby - potentially large battery cells, air filters, or radiator panels, but she hasn't taken a close enough look to discern which. On the other side of the roof, a sloping wall marks the boundary to a taller area of the station; in its base is a single door with a keypad beside it. A convenient entryway, surely, but at the same time, it makes sense for there to be a way for maintenance workers to get at the roof's equipment.
Sukava sets down next to her gently; it's a near-perfect landing. Her trajectory had been off by a fair margin, but she had managed to correct it with her rocket boots. Almost immediately, she takes cover behind one of the protruding structures, ready for combat if necessary.
Looking upwards, the pair watches as Ishmael sails silently overhead with the grace of an eagle piloting a blimp, apparently outside of the artigrav's bounding area.
~~~
Fireteam Beta stands at the end of a small cul-de-sac off the side of the Downtown area. Behind them is an airshield and set of open blast doors that lead into a small hangar bay, presumably for delivering supplies to different restaurants nearby. Ahead of them is the interior of the station, down a short hallway terminating at a wide, central boulevard - the main path through the downtown area.
Saoirse, held in rapt attention by the sights, cautiously cracks her helmet and listens in awe to the hustling, bustling sounds of the station. It's her first real glimpse of alien day-to-day life. She closes her eyes and breathes deep. There's a faint scent of decay in the air - a barely perceptible musk - a sickly sweetness. There's a quiet chatter of alien voices all about: a soft sing-song that echoes through the well-worn metal corridors, beneath the dim lighting and soft hum of air recyclers. Despite the ugly surroundings, she finds it enchanting.
Frank, on the other hand, feels nervous. He doesn't really
mind aliens, per se, but from what he's heard, everyone on the station wants to kill him. While Saoirse might be able to forget about it for a little while, he is not. He doesn't relish the thought of what might happen to them if they're discovered.
Caleb isn't really that afraid, being a soldier - or, ex-soldier, now. To him, Fuhodo Station looks... fairly downtrodden. It's not like most of the midworld space stations. In fact, saying it's a bit run down would be a massive understatement. He's reminded of the slums on the outskirts of the cities, where he had to patrol every now and then. It looks like the blight of urban decay crosses species barriers pretty easily, and that means that the poor, the underprivileged, and the criminal - desperate amoral individuals - would probably not hesitate to rob them blind or worse. Caleb is just about to suggest that they stay out of dark alleyways when Saoirse speaks up.
"Now then, em, will we do some recon and shopping first, or do we head straight for the Tanker to find those Vesuvius fellas?" she asks, perhaps a bit unsure of herself. After a brief hesitation, she adds, "I didn't mention this on the ship, but I'd also like to see is there a way to send a message from here. To... another system. I don't have my hopes up, but I want to check regardless."
Nodding, Caleb says, "There's probably something like that around, but I'm not sure how much you'd get out of any comms terminal on this station."
Frank adds, "Where do we even find a comms station though?"
Bob's thoughts are elsewhere. "Saoirse-boss. Before Bob look for work, Bob like some ice cream. Can Bob and Jimmy has ice cream?"
The other three inmates turn to look at the big guy standing in their midst. He dances on his toes, excited at the prospect of the cold, sugary treat. The group as a whole is amused by his excitement and anticipation, and feel inclined to indulge in this particular desire. Frank speaks first: "We could take a look at the Tanker so we can be sure it's the right location and that we can find it again... and then grab some ice cream for Bob?"
"I agree," Caleb puts in, nodding. "It'd be a good idea to get some clue of how people around here are going to take our presence."
"All right, we can look for that pasta Ishmael wanted as well then, I suppose," Saoirse says.
And it's decided: the inmates have their plans, and they start going about enacting them. First on the list of course is checking out The Portside Tanker - and this is an activity that hardly takes two minutes. The pilot, Shebnii Kervin, had mentioned it was on their left, and that's where they find it: through a short hallway just to the left of the corridor, labeled with "Tʜᴇ Pᴏʀᴛsɪᴅᴇ Tᴀɴᴋᴇʀ" above the doorway in skewed holographic lettering. Curious, the inmates walk down the short hallway and find themselves... inside a tanker. It has apparently been welded to the rest of the station, and now serves as... a restaurant? A tavern? An inn? It's difficult to say exactly, but the four inmates don't spend the time to look around. They head right back out the door and begin their Great and Terrible Quest for Ice Cream.
~~~
"We are going to enter the station the old-fashioned way!" the assassin announces with gusto. "We will walk away from the Nemesis and onto the docks, all while posing as mercenaries! This means I need to come up with an alias to use while I am here. I would suggest you do the same, but for both of you, it is not necessary.
"Until this mission is completed, I will be known as...
Connley 'Killshot' McKale!"
This loudly proclaimed statement is followed by a light tittering of applause, in which "light tittering" means "absolutely none". Buck raises his eyebrow mockingly as he repeats, "Killshot?" But no, overall, the idea makes sense. You can't go wrong with an alias. If you're going to be a mercenary, you ought to play the part. "A'ight then, I'll just use my ol' alias from Arskosha - Billy Butcher, 'the Terminator'!"
"And I shall be Ellis 'Hammerhead' McCormick!" Gene says, drawing his gauss shotgun menacingly with a flourish. "And now, gentlemen. Shall we depart?"
Fireteam Alpha - Killshot, Terminator, and Hammerhead - enact their clever plan: they are going to proceed down the ramps on one of the rear docking clamps, and enter the base through a maintenance hatch - if they can find one. It's a risky plan, to be sure, but then... when was Alpha ever known for being cautious? Granted, it's only been a few days since they were formed, but still. They most certainly were never
known for being cautious.
One foot over the other, the team uses their mag boots to climb up and down the armor plating of the Nemesis, past the hulking wrecks of ruined turrets and down past the nacelle and side of the hangar.
It's actually rather pretty out here - a faint nebula curving across the sky lends a gentle, beautiful ambiance that stands in stark contrast to the ruined hulk of the Nemesis, and wear and tear of Fuhodo Station. The dead silence might feel eerie, but the three inmates, all decked out in their merc gear, weapons, and new names, feel as though it is more peaceful than anything. What have they out here to fear? They're masters of their own destiny, for the first time since they woke up from cryo. They feel... free.
It isn't long before the trio reach the rear docking clamp. In essence, it's a framework of metal beams with miniature hooks designed to grab onto parts of vessels and hold them steady. Through the center runs a single perforated walkway, lit at intervals by low-power lighting. The joints between the separate bits of framework are capable of both pivoting and telescoping, letting them grab onto the ship at any angle - and this means that the walkways do the same. Killshot leaps down first, and Hammerhead soon follows, along with Terminator. They plant their feet firmly on the walkway and keep going. There's no resistance of any kind. Not a soul in sight. They keep their weapons out all the same, just in case. It isn't long before they've left the Nemesis behind - or above, depending on perspective - and they continue down the worn structure until they reach the end.
The clamp terminates at a small building protruding directly from the asteroid's rock. If the inmates wanted to, they could step right out onto the asteroids surface - there's only a few meters to fall, and in this gravity, that's hardly something to care about. However, the entrance to the building is locked with an airlock door and a combination keypad - covered in alien symbols. It's the only way in from here.
"Hang on - I got this," says Billy Butcher, the Terminator, as he pulls out his PDA. After a very quick hack, the doors slide open without any resistance. While he's at it, Buck installs a backdoor passcode, just in case they ever end up coming back again - not that it's likely. Then, the three mercenaries step boldly through the door. It closes behind them silently, and in moments, the airlock cycles, and the inner doors open. The way into the great fortress of Fuhodo lies open - down a long, boring hallway that could easily be 500 meters long. There is, however, someone working on something in the wall some 200 meters or so ahead, but apart from that... it looks deserted.
~~~
Ishmael realizes only too late that he's misjudged his flight. He got close, yes, but "close" in this instance wasn't good enough. With Quantum lashes in hand, he makes a few attempts to grab hold of something - anything - but the lash simply doesn't reach that far. Soaring like a Spaghetti Monster, he floats gently several meters above the heads of the other members of Fireteam Gamma, soon passing them.
Ahead of him lies the tall, misshapen cylindrical structure of Merc Central. Given the rate at which he's descending, he'll probably manage to land... somewhere on the roof. Assuming he doesn't simply splat onto the side. It's a little difficult to tell from this distance.
Nevertheless, the wide priest feels no fear. What comes, will come.
~~~
Being careful of straying from the main boulevard, Squad Beta has found little in the way of ice cream. Various alien foods, yes; some of them were unpronounceable, others smelled like catboxes (although the shop owners claimed the taste was much better than the smell, and it was actually a bhezian delicacy), and others hardly looked like food to begin with. Some of them did look palatable - various fruits and vegetables, for instance, or a popular plodii dish called "kwohsa" that actually looked extremely appetizing (if rather messy) - but there is no ice cream. In fact, no one here has even heard of such a thing. They
have heard of noodles, however, and one of them - an old plodii trader - speaks of a
fantastic noodle place down in the Fuhodo Markets - but up here? That would be hit and miss. It just depends on what's on a particular restaurant's menu. As to pudding - that seems to be an insult in one of the more common languages, unfortunately.
Apparently humans in the station isn't so odd after all - not if they're mercenaries. The little group definitely feels a tinge of racism here and there - speciesism, perhaps? - and are often given dark glares or silently ignored. But it isn't like anyone wants to attack them. They're just mercenaries, after all, and must be a relatively common sight. Indeed, they pass several other humans in their walk down the Boulevard; these pay little attention to them either.
"Do you know Ice Cream?" Bob asks again of another alien. The others have given up on trying to quiet him down at this point; they just let it happen. "Do
you know Ice Cream?"
The short, gray, bulb-headed alien answers in the negative. "I have never heard of such a person," he says, and continues walking... wherever he is going. Everyone has a purpose. Everyone has a place they're going. Everyone has a goal in mind.
Everyone except this little group of "mercenaries".
Just as they're beginning to give up, one of the shopfront speaker-ads says something rather close to what they had wanted to hear: "NEED TO SEND A MESSAGE? CHECK OUT KELZZIDE'S COMMUNICATION STATION! NO DISTANCE TOO FAR!" the voice promises with pep, in a nearly indecipherable accent. The advertisement then ends as abruptly as it begins, and picks up with an advertisement in some other alien language.
So now the inmates have three different destinations. Which one will they choose?
((To be clear... try
not to do so much in one turn. It's really overwhelming. Fair warning for future turns: if you want to go multiple places on a turn, I will take you to
only the first one. Looking for the one location and then going there is fine, but doing this "let's visit everything everywhere" thing? That really screws up the whole tone of the piece and isn't very RPG. It just feels like you're trying to fast travel without actually paying attention to anything. Fast travel doesn't let me - or you - tell a story.
To Alpha: For the record, I, Tal, don't give a flying shit that visible nebulae aren't remotely realistic. It's my story, man. My story.
))
