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>Here we go again.

>Previous thread:

This is a memory.

You are seriously hungover. Your stomach is twisted into knots and the inside of your eyelids feel as though they've been coated with salt. Last night, hell, the last three days are nothing but a slideshow of vaguely connected images. You barely remember why you came to APE-3.

Oh yeah, the Calvonians.

You reach under your pillow and pull out the water bottle that you stashed there last night. You rinse and spit on the barracks floor before taking another slug.

You haven't been this fucked up since the night after you volunteered for the Federal Republican Navy. Why were you drinking again? Oh yeah, you were grounded.

After landing you had encountered the local Republican Navy Planetary Administrator. He'd stripped you of your brevet rank of Sergeant and told you and the surviving members of your sector not to go any-goddamn-where. Looking around at the empty barracks you realize you must have been the only one who listened..

>Head out into the camp and look for the rest of your survivors
>Sneak out of the barracks the back way and slink your way back to the bar
>Turn on your Navy-Issue radio and try to catch up on the news
>Go pilfer the other survivors belongings
>Try and get the barracks coffee machine working
>Try and get the barracks coffee machine working

You walk over to the barracks coffee machine operating console and sit down in the swivel chair at the center of the controls. Normally a trained technician makes the morning coffee for you and your fellow pilots but there is no one with the sufficient credentials to make coffee on APE-3.

Some of the controls are labeled:

>Caffeine Concentration
>Adrenal Components
>Mood Suppressants
>Civet Emulation

There is also a large button with a sharpie on masking tape label that simply says "EMERGENCY".

>Write-in what kind of coffee you're going to make using three of the above factors. Post with seconds will win.
Just hit at the max (except for bitterness, because fuck that) and hope for the best.
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You turn all the options to the max except bitterness and press the button you think turns the machine on while hoping for the best.

The machine whines horrifically and then makes a sound like grinding gears. Then a thick black paste is squeezed into the pot, complete with an array of fecal noises. It piles up until the pot is full and the machine cuts out with an exhausted wheeze.

>taste your creation, it can't give you anything worse than this hangover
>just dump it out and clean the pot
>find crackers
>>just dump it out and clean the pot

You scrape your abomination out into the barracks waste processor and scrub out the coffee pot. Hopefully that shit doesn't escape into the environment somehow.

Without anyone around to give you orders, you decide to take a walk outside. You are immediately assaulted by the oppressive heat and humidity of APE-3. Terraformed planets of the Republic are assigned ecosystems based on their orbital placement and apparently APE-3s proximity to the sun and nutritionally rich soil earned it "Greenhouse" designation. This military site, having not been used in years, is therefore overgrown with vibrant green and red flora. Purple trunked trees with huge red leaves surround the camp and conceal an unknown array of wildlife within but they can't block out the sky, where you can see a sizable Calvonian blockade in orbit. It's been there since you arrived, so they don't seem intent on invading. They're probably just meant to isolate APE-3 from the rest of the Federal Republic while the Calvonians conduct their invasion of the inner planets. You doubt a military response will be conducted by the government.

There doesn't seem to be anyone around except for a disheveled civilian vendor that somehow made his way onto the base from the nearby town of Baalia.

>talk to the vendor
>head into town
>head to the armory
>head to the mess hall
>head to the communications facility
>talk to the vendor

You approach the vendor, a spindly man who looks to be selling anything and everything that shouldn't be availible for purchase on a military base. There are small rodents and birds in cages and his baggy coat looks awfully filled out for a man who obviously lacks decent nutrition.

"Hai there, Sarge."

"I'm not a sergeant anymore. And how do you know that I was anyway?"

"Oh, all my customers have been talking about how you led the retreat to this huuuumble planet. Everyone knows you, Sarge."

"Right. Well, I'm not a sergeant. So stop calling me that."

"Whatever you say, mister. Can I interest you in some Flakweed? It'll take the edge off that nasty hangover of yours. Only 20 FU-nits."

Shit, how many FU-nits do you have anyway? You swiftly check your wallet and find that you have:

>300 FU-nits : Enough to get by for a few days

You can afford to splurge a bit but you're going to need money to survive and you're not sure when your next Navy paycheck is coming with this blockade around the planet...

>Yeah, I'll buy that Flakweed (20 units)
>Got any weapons?
>I'd like to see the animals.
>Do you know where the rest of the pilots went?
>Got any other drugs?
>What's going on in Baalia?
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Calm bump.
Okay, I'll be monitoring this thread...
>>Yeah, I'll buy that Flakweed (20 units)
>>Got any weapons?
>Do you know where the rest of the pilots went?
>What's going on in Baalia?

But first get rid of this hangover so we can think.

"Yeah, I'll take the weed."

You hand over 20 units and the vendor gives you several grams of Flakweed. The thin, spongy tendrils taste like pickled carrots but you soon feel a wave of serenity washing over your dehydrated brain.

"Wow. Thanks."

"No problem, sar- I mean sir!"

"Sarge is fine... listen, do you know where everybody went?"

"They're either drinking in Baalia or at their posts, sarge. Baalia is chaos right now but you know the party never stops down there."

That's certainly true, if the gaps in your memory for the last three days are any indication. A thought strikes you.

"Since when do we have posts?"

"As I understand it, you don't. But some of your men can't seem to relax so they've been filling their time by messing around in the base facilities."


"Got any weapons?"

"Sure do!"

The vendor opens his coat to reveal some respectable firepower.

>Grenades - 10 FU-units each
>12 shot revolver with 24 bullets - 70 units
>Lasrifle with powercell - 120 units
>Combat Knife - 50 units
>Throwing knives (6) - 60 units

"See anything you like?"

>12 shot revolver with 24 bullets - 70 units
>Throwing knives (6) - 60 units
We can use the throwing knives in melee.

Full combat suits?

After this check up the men "at their posts"
There's gonna be a delay, I've been drafted into a drunken Scrabble game.

I'll give you a lead on full combat suit, right now all you have is a flight suit which does have cauterization and pressurization built into it.
Lets go walk off the hangover and check up on guys at their posts.

You purchase the revolver and the throwing knives. The knives aren't very long and you might not like to be in an even knife fight with them but you've always preferred asymmetrical combat.

You inquire as to where one might acquire an infantry combat suit and the vendor smiles.

"I have a contact in town. Jeremiah - tell him I sent you - he'll be on the south side, in the lower level of the sales tower."

A sales tower. You can't remember the last time you were in one of those, not since you got shipped off.

>remaining FU-nits: 150

Before going to town you decide to check on the men at their posts and opt for the mess hall first, since you haven't eaten anything since waking up.

The mess is a longhouse type building with tented entrances on each side. Pushing aside a flap you quickly encounter 4 men in pilots suits eating brunch. They turn around to greet you.

"McBride! About time you showed your face!"

>It's sergeant. Not that that really matters.
>Hey! You... guys! I don't know your names!
>Ignore them and get some food.
>Hey! You... guys! I don't know your names!

"Hey! Guys! I don't know your names!"

Laughter, followed by being invited to sit with the four of them as they introduce themselves. The tallest speaks for all of them.

"I'm Ginson, this is Davis, Winston, and Geraldo. You got us here and have been drinking with us for three days straight! You really don't remember anything?"

You smile hazily, revealing teeth stained neon yellow with flakroot.

"No, I'm afraid I don't."

More chuckles.

"Well, we're real grateful. Let me get you some food. Syn-chicken and rice alright by you?"


Ginson gets up and walks to the other side of the mess to get your food.

You make vague small talk with the men until Davis pipes up.

"Sarge, I'm gonna be frank. We've been here three days. I know theres a blockade up there but are we just gonna wait out the war here? I've got family on the inner planets."

The other men grimace, clearly thinking of their own loved ones back home. You know the planetary administrator said you couldn't leave but you've had it up to here with representatives of the Federal Republic. The war is getting too real for these men and they need something to do. They expect leadership from you...

>We're going to break the blockade, one way or another.
>We're leaving the Navy and getting the hell of this planet, boys.
>We can't stay here but I'm going to go my own way, men. What you do is up to you.
>We're going to break the blockade, one way or another.

What do we know about the governor?

Why was he such a dick?
>We're leaving the Navy and getting the hell of this planet, boys.
Rolled 2 (1d2)


Rolling for chosen response.
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>We're leaving the Navy and getting the hell of this planet, boys.

“Boys, the Republic isn't going to win this goddamn war. And we're not going to die for them. If we're going to get your loved ones, we're going to have get off this planet ourselves.”

“We're going rogue?”

“You know it.”

“But where do we start?”

Ginson returns with your plate of rations.

“It starts with Ginson and I going into town to see who we can find to help.”

“What? What are we talking about?”

“We're quitting the Navy, Ginson. Going AWOL to get back home. You alright with that?”

“Well, yeah. If they're going to keep us grounded we can't just wait here while the Calvonians take over the galaxy.”

“That's the spirit.”

“What about the rest of us?” asks Davis.

>I want you to see about rounding up additional pilots. We're going to need more men.
>You keep yourselves in decent shape. Stay out of trouble.
>See about acquiring funds. None of us are going to be getting paid anytime soon.
>>See about acquiring funds. None of us are going to be getting paid anytime soon.

Now I'm hungry op.
>See about acquiring funds. None of us are going to be getting paid anytime soon.

>See about funds

"If we're going to do this, we're going to need cash. You should all look for work. Any kind of work- merc, construction. door to door knife sales, it doesn't matter. We're not getting off this rock without cash."

"Understood. In that case, maybe we should pool our funds?"

"Sounds good. What does everyone have?"

"I've got 148 foonies."
"I'm down to my last 34."
"I've got 104 left. Thanks to Ginson."

Ginson grins.

"I've got 336 fun bucks. Doing the math quickly in my head, that gives us 622 plus whatever you've got, Sarge."

Not a bad start.

"Alright, as soon we're done eating, everyone head to Baalia."

One meal later and you and your makeshift band are walking the dirt road to Baalia. It's a 3 mile trip one way and your legs are all a bit debilitated from years in 678s but you make it in about an hour. Davis, Winston, and Geraldo all split up to find work. You and Ginson head off to:

>the bars
>the market
>the Administrator's mansion
>the hangar
>the public archives
>the residential zone
>>the market
See what's in demand.
>the hangar
See what's available.
and Good night yall

Ginson walks with you over to the sales tower, Baalia's spiraling vertical market. Food vendors are positioned around the base of the building, hawking various popular street cuisines from around republican space. Many of their prices already seem inflated, likely in response to the blockade.

Walking through the tower you notice that arms and armor have both shot through the roof in price - it looks like the vendor on base offered you a real bargain.

Trinkets and luxury products have generally remained the same in price, save for things like jewelry. Most of the jewelers have closed or are offering their goods at exorbitant prices. You get the feeling that many of the merchants here are expecting an economic breakdown if the blockade isn't lifted soon.

"You know," says Ginson as you leave the market "If we could work out a smuggling route around the Calvonians we could probably make a fortune. And help build a resistance of course."

"Of course. But I doubt we can be blockade runners in our 678s. They barely carry anything more than us as it is."

"Well, maybe someone can help us at the hangars."

The two of you walk through the crowded town at a pace, trying to avoid eye contact with the locals. They're a strange lot, brown-eyed agricultural stock with broad shoulders and low brows.Almost all of them seem to have some local fauna with them, seeming as pets. Birds, monkeys, cat-like creatures that perch on their heads, shoulders, or hang from sacks or pouches. A handful of them carry small arms and look mighty intimidating despite their small stature.

Your glad to see a more heterogenous populace when you reach the hangers. Various ships are parked there and most of their owners are either actively working on them or hanging out at a table near the hangar doors, drinking and playing cards. Those three activities make up the bulk of a spacer's lifestyle and to be honest you envy them.

Four ships catch your eye:

>A vast freighter, clearly damaged by laser fire. Her crew are repairing her while a stern-faced captain looks on.
>A candy-red high-performance space yacht. You assume the pilot is the dandy playing cards by the doors.
>A jet-black bounty-hunters craft. It seems to belong to the heavily armed man playing cards opposite the dandy.
>A dumpy-looking barge. The owner is probably the soused one in the ragged clothes, playing with the dandy and the bounty hunter.


>approach one of the craft
>approach one of the pilots
>observe the card game
>observe the card game

Approach someone who loses big and needs Cash, or appears to be cheating!

You walk over to the card table, little more than a piece of folding furniture brought out from the inspection offices and placed here so that the pilots could play and get some fresh air at the same time.

They look to be playing Pa'chaa, a game popular in the outer territories but which you are unfamiliar with.

"You familiar with Pa'chaa, Ginson?"

"Only enough to know that cheating is an essential part of the game, Sarge."

You look around the table to try and get a grip on whose winning. Right now the bounty hunter has the biggest pile of chips but that might be the result of him refusing to remove his visored helmet. The second most well-off is the dandy, smiling behind his purple flying scarf. A bit vain for a pilot you think, but you envy his freedom of expression and the flakroot tends to make intense colors register more pleasantly.

Bringing up the rear is the drunkard, stroking his beard violently enough to release a visible flurry of dandruff.

The cards are dealt out - 2 to each player. Each one picks them up and examines them before placing them face down again.

The drunk speaks first.

"I gather a tribute."

He receives an extra face down card.

The dandy goes next.

"I also gather a tribute."

He gets a card as well.

Then the bounty hunter.

"I strike at you, Marshall."

"Already?" replies the dandy, "You hardly know-"

"Oh, I know. Can you defend or not?"

The dandy harumphs and discards his tribute card. The drunk scratches his ear.

"I draw another tribute I guess. And I raise my bet. All in."

He pushes in his last few chips. The Dandy raises his eyebrow even higher. The bounty hunter simply grunts.

"You're up again, Marsh."

"I suppose I am. I exchange with you, Harkon."

"Fine. Pick a card."

Marshall selects a card from the drunk's hand. Neither of them show the slightest emotion.

The Bounty Hunter takes another tribute.

It goes on and on like this until you're certain you'll die of boredom when suddenly the drunkard, switching out a card from his hand with one of the face down tribute cards, lays out his hand.

"Pa'chaa, motherfuckers!"

You've long since lost the thread of the game but you can tell from all the chips he's picking up that Harkon must have won that round. It's not enough to win him the day however - as the three of them clean up the bounty hunter has clearly still come in first, while Marshall takes second place. Harkon has merely achieved a respectable third.

Who do you approach?

>Harkon, the drunk
>Marshall, the dandy
>the mysterious bounty hunter
>none of the above
Going to go dark until tomorrow. If you want to respond please do but I'll probably be back online to update around noon EST.

I'm also available @qmsimmons on Twitter.
>the mysterious bounty hunter
Don't tell him everything until we see the guys face.

Just hint at them and ask if hes interested in jobs...

You approach the mysterious bounty hunter as he clears his place at the table. You clear your throat.

"Excuse me, sir-"

He begins walking away.

"Not interested. Not unless you're hatching a plan to get off this planet."

Ginson steps into his path.


"That's exactly what we're planning."

"Oh really? Well tell her, she's in charge."

The bounty hunter points over your shoulder and you're suddenly aware of a high caliber sidearm being pushed into the back of your skull.

"That's right." coos a warm female voice. "Lets all find somewhere comfortable to talk about it..."

>End Thread because I can't keep running today due to social obligations.

Space Hero Quest will be back on Sunday, any schedule changes will be announced on Twitter @qmsimmons !

Feel free to leave feedback or complaints here however.
Can we talk to someone else? I don't like them.
Also, aren't we on a military base?

Are the guards slacking off? Goddamit, we are so abandoning this planet to the Calvonians!

So far so good, could use a bit of lore, either small tiny one word, phrase or sentence thrown in as a user promt, or have options for players to fin out more if they so choose.
So are we going to become Big Boss?
You should archive these threads.
We should also practice with our revolver as soon as possible.

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