"JAY <NO SURNAME>" it reads. "CIT: RETALAN NATURALIZED". "M". A little counter in the bottom right corner shows your age as 23.
A small line of text at the bottom, as well as your card's unusual orange colour, signifies that you are a "VETERAN".
The card also holds a lot more secrets than just what's written on it, and you're sure that these Peacekeepers have the tools to access them.
If you’re confident your ID won’t betray you, you can wait your turn and attempt to pass through the checkpoint. If time is of the essence, you can try a way to get to the front of the line faster. Alternatively, you can try to get out of the station without passing through. Weston is Confederate Navy, and won’t have any trouble getting anywhere you need.
What do you do?
>1) Wait your turn
>2) Try to get to the front of the line
>3) Seek a way out

>>42757340
>>1) Wait your turn

>>42757491
You exhale gently. It’s ok, you think, you’ve got this.

The line inches forward as successive exasperated commuters make their way through the checkpoint. Eventually, your turn arrives. Weston shoots you a worried look.

You hand your ID over to the lieutenant. His eyes narrow as he looks it over.

“Just Jay?” he asked. “No surname? Naturalized citizenship?”

“That’s right,” you say, pointing to the line of text that says “VETERAN”.

“So what the hell’s that supposed to mean? You a merc?”

Although you regret having to bring the topic up, you want to get this farce over with as quickly as possible. Maybe this was your just due for calling Arthur by his old name. Or for meeting Weston at “Union” station.

“Used to be. Cold War, remember?”

“Oh,” the lieutenant says. He flips the card over, looking at it against the light. Seeming unsatisfied, he tosses it over to another Peacekeeper at the checkpoint.

“Nikita,” he says. “Run it.”

Nikita taps the card against the front of his helmet and reads the data newly-project onto its heads-up display.

“Hm,” he grunts.

“What is it?” The lieutenant asks.

“It all checks out, sir,” Nikita says. “He’s a Cold War vet.”

“Any ships?”

“No bunker-class, no nothing. This guy’s grounded.”

Good thing you didn't register the Wasp this morning.

“Really,huh?”

The lieutenant gives you a closer look.

“Tell me, Jay, what do you do for a living?”

How do you respond?

>1) Answer honestly
>2) Make something up (Roll 1d20 for bluff)

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>42757926
Handyman, wanderer, jack of all trades master of none.

Rolled 12 (1d15)

>>42758055

>>42758360
>Whoops, that was me. I'm shit at remembering tripcodes
“Just a jack of all trades,” you say. “I do odd jobs around the city.”

“Hmph,” the lieutenant says. He glances over at Nikita, who nods back at him. After a moment, the lieutenant starts examining something closely on his own HUD; presumably data that Nikita sent him.

“This is a waste of time!” A young man in line shouts. “Nobody pilots a bunker-class these days!”

“Shut up!” the lieutenant yells, distracted. “You know what, you’re moving to the back.”

“Bullshit!”

“Get to the back, sir,” Nikita says, stepping forward with a hand going down to his baton. The man, possibly realizing the lack of wisdom in confronting an armed and armoured officer of the peace, steps out of line, obeying the order. You’re sure that videos of that threatening gesture will be all over the net, tomorrow – but given that it’s a Confederate officer that did it, and not a local one, the chances that something would change were slim.

The lieutenant sighs and shoves the card back into your hands.

“Get out here,” he says. “Next!”

“Yes sir,” you say. Weston exists close on your heels, simply flashing his Navy ID at the Peacekeeper. They let him through without incident.

The two of you are out on the streets of Gibson.

>>42758611
“Let’s take a walk down to the plaza at Olde & Carlton,” you say. “Tell me what you’ve got.”

You begin to walk north, huddled close.

“Well,” Weston whispers. “I had a job to do down here; deliver some data on the battle at Carnegia to the Confederate consulate. Coulda told you about that if we had some time, but I guess you’re in a hurry.”

As a naval engineer, Weston had easy access to such after-action reports whereas the general public had to vault through complicated bureaucratic hoops to get a hold of them. For you, who often operated outside the boundaries of the law, knowledge of the Confederacy’s actions had proved useful on several occasions. Unfortunately, this was a tidbit you’d have to miss.

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Other than that, I guess I can tell you some cliffnotes. One, Confed deployment’s gonna step up a lot over the next few weeks.”

“Why? Is the shit in the south that serious?”

“Yeah. It’s looking like rebellion. That asshole Atter’s spewing some nasty rhetoric, got the people all riled up.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, we can’t even deploy the peacekeepers down there, it’s all in the hands of the RPD. Of course we could just lower their taxes, but you know the Presidium. Why fix things for the long term when you can just stomp a boot on the problem children, right?”

You check your watch. The time is 9:00, and the morning shift at Tom’s plant should have started.

“Right, right. Anything else you can tell me?”

“Well, maybe,” he says, stopping. You stop alongside him. He steps to the side, and you do as well, allowing a pair of patrolling Peacekeepers to pass.

“You seem kind of on edge, man,” he says. “Is there something on your mind? If something’s wrong, you can tell me.”

You’ve known Weston for a long time now, and he’s one of your closest allies. You’re pretty confident that whatever you tell him, he’ll keep secret, but…

>>42758627
What should you tell Weston about? (pick all that apply)
>1) How you ransacked a Wheel ship
>2) How you have a Battery
>3) How you saw the masked man
>4) How you found Tom’s body
>5) Tell him a lie (roll 1d20 for bluff)
>6) Don’t tell him anything

>>42758663
>>4) How you found Tom’s body
>1) How you ransacked a Wheel ship

Rolled 3 + 5 (1d10 + 5)

>>42758734

>>42759205
You didn’t forget about me, did you? I was only off momentarily, but don’t worry, I’m back.

You feel a slight pain in your temple, but decide to ignore it.

“Come on, let’s take this street,” you say, pulling Weston off to a near-empty side street. It’s rather drafty, and so you decide to zip up your jacket.

“Two things, Weston,” you say, and recount your story. You tell Weston how Tom gave you the hint about the Wheel battleship, and how you found it and stole a bunch of scrap. You tell him that the battle at Carnegia was, pretty much, because of you. You also tell him how you returned to Tom’s and found his body, leaving without reporting it. When you finish, Weston’s face is the textbook definition of shock.
“Well Jay,” he says, looking defeated. “That’s that.”
“None of it was my fault, man,” you say. “I just went in there and did what I always do.”
“Yeah, but this time you screwed around with the Wheel, you dumbass! Who the fuck messes with those guys?” Weston snaps, grabbing you by the shoulders. “Whatever you took from there, they’re going to want back, and if they want it, the Confederacy’s going to want it even more.”
“I just took a bunch of scrap, man!” You shout, knocking Weston’s arm away. He stares at you for a while, then sighs.
“Yeah, I guess,” he says. “But still, something’s up. They were looking for a bunker-class fighter back there, you know. And then that shit with Tom… listen, you’ve gotta get out of Gibson.”
“I’ve got to get off the planet, man!” You say.
“Yeah, if you could,” Weston says. “Come on, let’s keep going.”
Wait… if you could?
“What do you mean, if I could?”
“Didn’t I tell you? It was in the-aw, fuck,” Weston stops again. “Listen, Jay,” he says. “The DSC’s put a moratorium on off-planet flight.”

>>42759334

The words hit you like a punch in the gut. Given how heavy handed the Confederacy’s been, you’re sure that that ban on off-planet spaceflight is going to be enforced a lot stricter than their ban on scavenging.

“How long?”

“Indefinite. But at least while that battlecruiser’s in orbit.”

“Damnit.”

You’re trapped on Retale and the Confederacy’s closing in. At the very least, you’d have to leave the city, and soon. The side street you and Weston were taking opens out onto a large public plaza. People eat breakfast at cafes lining the sides, while others take morning strolls. Two Confederate Peacekeepers, armed and in full regalia stand on a street corner. An off-planet tourist couple strike a pose beside them while a passerby takes their photo. A large video screen is showing a dramatic news story. The ticker reads “STRONACH RIOTS CONTINUE TO INTENSIFY – MAGISTRATE ATTER CALLS FOR FURTHER AGGRESSIVE ACTION”.

What should you do?

>1) Watch the story.
>2) Ignore it.

>>42759348
>>2) Ignore it.

>>42759348
>1) Watch the story.

>>42759404
>>42759782
Tiebreaker vote?

>>42760013
roll it m8

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>42760013

>>42760013
Watch it.

>>42759404
>>42760059
>>42760064
>looks like we have 3 ignore to 2 watch
Time is of the essence, you know.
You decide not to watch the story.

“I’m getting out of here,” you say.

“That’s probably for the best, man,” Weston says. “Though I don’t think they’ll send the assassins for a few months at least.”

“Don’t be like that Weston, I gotta go,” you say. “There’s gotta be less Confeds out in the countryside.”
“Definitely,” Weston shrugs. “You’re going to have to give up some modern comforts, though.”
You take your first good, long look at Weston since you met him at the terminal. His ‘military-approved’ style contrasts with the Pilot’s shaggy bangs and beard. While Weston took to neatly ironed pants and a sweater, you wore faded jeans and a thick jacket that had seen sunnier skies. Though such superficial differences hid deeper, more significant contrasts, even they could not break the bonds of old camaraderie.
Weston’s obviously disappointed in your sudden departure, but like you, Weston’s no stranger to life outside the law and is familiar with its requirement for swift repositioning. Weston had been the wiser man and gotten out of that type of life while the going was good.
“Come on,” Weston says. “I’ll walk you to your apartment.”

>>42760487
You frown, shifting your gaze from Weston’s face and panning across the square. There’s a small police booth in one corner, where Confederate Peacekeepers have replaced the local RPD.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” You say, adjusting your goggles. “I’m not sure if they know they’re after me in particular, but if they do and I get caught, you’re going to get into shit, too.”
Weston thinks for a moment.
“Alright,” he says. “I’m on leave until the end of the month. Give me a call if you can. We’ll hang out like the good ‘ol days.” He offers you his hand.
“For sure. Like the good ‘ol days.”
You grab his hand and shake it, then give a mock salute and prepare to leave.
“Weston,” he said, half turning back. The morning sun peeks through a hole in the overcast sky, reflecting off your goggles.

What do you do?
>1) Ask Weston about Alaska.
>2) Don’t dwell on the past.

>>42760505
>1) Ask Weston about Alaska

>>42760505
>1) Ask Weston about Alaska.

>>42760505
>"Weston," he said.
My bad, that should be "Weston, you say"
once again kids, always proofread your work

>>42760505
>2) Don’t dwell on the past.

>>42760523
>>42760550
“Hear anything from…” you find yourself unable to end the sentence. There’s a moment of silence, and then Weston closes his eyes.
“No,” he says. “I’ve told you before Jay. All that’s behind me. You should think about forgetting it, too.”

No news of Alaska, then. You give a brief nod and vanish into the crowds, leaving Weston behind you.

You catch a bus back to your apartment. When you finally get home, you find your energy waning and collapse on the bed, exhausted from the morning’s events.

The scene in Tom’s office comes back to you and you cross your arms over your face. Try as you might though, you can’t get it out of your head. Tom, his head thrown back and his arm in a puddle of his own blood on the ground. Why would anyone kill someone in such a brutal way?

In your mind’s eye, Tom sits up, but you can’t see his face behind that ivory-white mask.

You let out a shout, jumping up out of your bed. Tom’s office fades away, and is replaced by a different, much older memory.

>>42761090
Seldom do we concern ourselves with the contract we all sign when we come into the world. We are endowed with human rights and protection from harm, and given the chance to follow our own true wills and realize our destinies, but of course at the expense of certain base liberties. Perhaps such a contract is necessary for a modern civilized society but it should not be enforced on such a large scale. This contract has brought stagnation to the galaxy, and if we do not destroy it, it will destroy us all.

Surrounded by winds of an imminent winter, two teenagers stood in front of a prefabricated, nearly windowless slab of concrete. Much of the multi-storied building was covered up by a giant poster.

CITIZENS!
DO YOUR DUTY FOR YOUR PLANET AND THE CONFEDERACY!
DESTROY THE TRANS-GALACTIC MENACE!

On the poster, a stern-faced confederate marine thrust out a black gloved hand at the audience, beckoning them towards him. A blood-red wheel loomed above and behind him. Confederate rifles pointed inward from the edges of the poster, aimed at the threatening Wheel. One of the teenagers, a boy, sighed. The other, a girl, looked at him with concern. The boy was tall, standing a head higher than the girl, and dressed for the icy weather. The girl’s black, shoulder-length hair covered her left eye, her right a pool of bright blue on pale white skin. Her long coat reached down to her ankles. She would be near invisible in the snow.

“We can’t put it off anymore,” she said. The sound of her voice came to him as a whispered song on a passing wind. The boy bowed his head.

“Seventeen,” he said, looking up to stare with contempt at the marine on the poster.

“Today’s the last day,” she said, lightly tugging on his arm. “We’ve gotta go.”

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, walking with the girl towards the recruitment office. The blowing snow overtook them, taking the girl away and bringing the boy hurtling back into the tumultuous present.

File: DSC FLAG.png (4 KB, 324x216)

4 KB PNG

>>42761127
Sometimes I may fall silent, but I’m always with you, Pilot. Don’t ever feel alone.

You find yourself standing once more in your apartment. You have no idea what brought that particular memory to mind, but it didn’t matter. You had to get out of the city, and fast.

You decide to take stock of what you know.

You have a Battery, a small box with enough energy to keep an entire Wheel battleship running. It would only make sense to sell the battery to someone who could appreciate its true value, which meant that the local scrapyards weren’t options, and either way, Tom was dead.

Anyone who could appreciate its true value would have to be well-connected, which naturally limits you to big-time smugglers or even the Confederacy itself. If any smuggler who you don’t know personally knew the true value of a Battery, you think they’d much rather kill you for it.

The Confederacy was a wild card. Sure, a billion-dollar cheque for your troubles would be pennies to the DSC, but throwing you in jail and confiscating the Battery would save them that sum. Jay knew well that in Confederate space, you could be incarcerated on flimsier pretexts.

So, you’d have to find a good friend that was well-connected. Your next thought is that if you had no shortage of well-connected good friends, you wouldn’t yourself in your current scenario

But – there was one faraway face that came to your mind.

>>42761230
An old map hanging on a wall, with a small district on the east coast of the country circled in red ink:
WASHINGTON.
You keep that name in mind, along with its connected place
NEW PALLAS.
Before you can think about getting there, though, you have problems of more immediate import. You’re not safe in Gibson. The Space Wasp, stored in a friendly Arthur’s barn a hundred kilometres out of town wouldn’t stay hidden forever, especially with the Confederates swarming around the north. You remember what Weston told you: The Confederacy couldn’t deploy any of its peacekeepers in the south because of the situation there. You figure that with the moratorium on off planet spaceflight, you’d be safer in the south than anywhere else.

You jump over to your computer and pull up a map of the planet. After a series of searches, you find two southern villages where you’d be able to blend in easily.

Armstrong, South Retale. The furthest North of the villages, but also the most modern. According to an Urban Exploration website, It has a large, but civilian operated spaceport. Although your funds are limited, you may have enough to bribe the local authorities into overlooking your lack of registration. But then you might have to settle on selling your Wheel-grade scrap metal at a discount price to get some cash.

Caulfield, South Retale. A much smaller village in the East. As a result of isolation, it is estimated that they are around 100 years behind the major cities. A prominent feature is a nearby “trailer park”, or an illegal landing site for spacecraft. You can stay there for free, but you might be looked down upon by the townspeople. You’d also have to procure some hard currency somehow, as it’s likely they don’t have the tools for reading ID cards in town.

Where do you go?

>Armstrong, South Retale
>Caulfield, South Retale

>>42761458
>Caulfield, South Retale
they can trace id usage

>>42761458
>>Caulfield, South Retale

>>42761458
>Caulfield, South Retale
Seems the better option, but makes me nervous that its a known "trailer park", that's one place someone might subtly look. Mind you they'll look at the other large civilian spaceport too. Anyways its probably not the confeds who might poke around for us. Someone was gunning for Tom right at the outset, and if it was the confeds they would have snapped us up at the office.

>>42761810
>>42761708
>>42761523
Going for the rustic life, huh.

You decide to head to Caulfield.

You grab the battery’s duffel bag and take one last look out your window. A Confederate armoured car rolls down the street followed eagerly by a gaggle of photographers. There was no martial law yet but it was always a possibility. You’d have to go somewhere too sensitive for them to send an army: somewhere small, and somewhere south. First things first though: You have to retrieve the Wasp from Arthur’s farm.
The farm is about an hour on the highway from the edge of Gibson, about where Tom’s plant is. You can take a taxi or a bus to the city limits, then hitchhike your way to the farm. You can bring more clothes and belongings this way. Or you could bike to edge of town and hitchhike from there, or you could just bike the whole way, but that would take nearly six hours. If you bike, you’d only be able to take what fits in your pockets, but on the other hand, the fact that you took a taxi or got on the bus means having your ID read by Confederate sensors.

What do you do?

>1) Taxi, then hitchhike.
>2) Bus, then hitchhike.
>3) Bike, then hitchhike.
>4) Bike the whole way.
>5) Find some other mode of transportation (write in)

>>42762054
>4) Bike the whole way.

>>42762054

>2) Bus, then hitchhike.

>>42762054
>>4) Bike the whole way.

Load up an extra pair of clothes in the battery duffel, that should also help us keep it secure and padded and at least vaguely hidden

>>42762054
>5) Find some other mode of transportation
Use uber or local equivalent

File: southretale.png (3 KB, 324x216)

3 KB PNG

>>42762071
>>42762200
I hope you remember your endurance training.

You’ve got to start living off the grid, as soon as possible. Tom’s corpse has surely been discovered by this point, and pretty soon the might of the law is going to descend upon you. As far as the system knows, your last position was where you got off the bus at the station near your house. Hopefully, it’ll stay that way until you can get off-planet.

You grab some extra clothes and stuff them in the battery’s duffel bag. This way, unless someone really digs through it, all they’ll see is a bunch of worn pants and shirts. But if someone really wanted to tear your bag apart, well, there’d be nothing you could do regardless.

You grab a few other necessities, including the key to your bike’s lock, along with a few bills and coins you have lying around, and head downstairs to street level. Your bike is stored under a small awning, locked to a post. With the duffelbag around your shoulders, you kick it into gear.

Arthur’s farm is a solid 100km ride, which should take you around six hours, or five if you hoof it.
As you set off to the north, you find yourself hoping it'll be an uneventful ride.
>SCAVENGER QUEST: EPISODE 2: TENSIONS (PART II) END

>>42762991
That's it for today, folks. Between med school essays, physics homework, and rock climbing club, i've had a busier weekend than expected so my apologies for the brief quest times.

Again, I'll stick around for a bit to answer questions if there are any. As before, if anyone has any comments, suggestions, criticisms, etc, I would be glad to hear them.

Next thread should be Tuesday afternoon, and if all goes well will go on for a bit longer.

>>42762829
RIDE SHARING IS PUNISHABLE BY SEVERE FINES BY OFFICIAL CONFEDERATE EDICT. PUBLIC TRANSIT NOT PEOPLE TRANSIT OK. PRAISE THE DSC.

>>42763078

Awesome as usual, I like seeing the world unfold like this. Are there any other big players our MC would know about?

>>42763133
What do you mean by big players?

>>42763133

Well there is the Wheel and DSC, are there any other Empires around or smaller confederacies that we can run to like a galactic Switzerland?

>>42763254
Taking up a stretch of the galaxy between the borders of the Wheel and the DSC is a "neutral" zone, or the "Union of Independent Planets". Pretty much, a buffer zone specifically created to keep the Wheel and Confederacy apart (we may see a few if we make it off Retale)

>>42763322

Awesome now to not kill him before this happens, do they have any form of central government themselves?

>>42763383
As far as the MC knows, each planet is independently governed.

>>42763437

Gotcha, thanks for running man, I'm digging it and good luck with med school