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“I’ll be sleeping,” you reply as you stand up from your chair. “I’m beat.”

“Right,” Tom replies. “I’ll hold down the fort while you get some shut-eye, sir.”

You give him a casual salute and exit the bridge. As soon as you get into your quarters, you throw your jacket onto your chair and remove your boots. Then you sit your holster, pistol still inside, onto the coffee table. After that, you remove your jeans and shirt, throwing a tank top on.

You climb into your bunk with a groan, barely avoiding hitting your bandages on your pillow as you collapse into a sleeping position. You roll onto your back and reach over to the light switch, turning the lights off. The stars outside of your port hole are bright, but the low light they cast is appreciated.

You grumble, allowing sleep to wash over you. And suddenly you find yourself back aboard the Abraxis.

You feel the ship shudder beneath you as the hull-breach alarm sounds. The smell of smoke and burned flesh fills your nostrils as you try unsuccessfully to push a pile of debris off of you. The Imperials must’ve resumed their attack. You struggle to breathe, feeling the weight of what you assume is a piece of wall pin you down. You cough as you try to breathe, inhaling smoke.

There is shouting, though it seems far-off and indistinct. You force your eyes open to see several people in orange jumpers run through the hallway, with medical personnel following close behind. They pass you, likely assuming you to be among the dead. You scan the hall as much as you can, but you fail to see Warwick anywhere. There are many bodies lining the hall, some in pieces. Though the lights are back on, they flicker dimly, most of the light is coming from the fires throughout the hallway. You close your eyes, feeling tired. Then, almost as if by the grace of some god of mercy, you feel the weight of the wall panel yanked off of you.

“Come on, sailor! We need to get you out of here!” You look up to see one of the damage control personnel holding out a hand to you. It takes a moment for your eyes to focus on them.

>It is a woman, about your age, with a rather nasty cut on her forehead and a grim expression to compliment it.
>It is a gruff man who looks far too old to still be in the Navy.
>It is a young guy, with a small scar on his chin and a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
>It is a motherly-looking woman with a prosthetic arm.

>>784612
>It is a motherly-looking woman with a prosthetic arm.

Rolled 2 (1d4)

>>784612
1. >It is a woman, about your age, with a rather nasty cut on her forehead and a grim expression to compliment it.
2. >It is a gruff man who looks far too old to still be in the Navy.
3. >It is a young guy, with a small scar on his chin and a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
4. >It is a motherly-looking woman with a prosthetic arm.

I'm gonna wait until 4:25 to call the vote. If no more replies come in, I'll roll a 1d2 between the motherly-looking lady and the gruff old guy.

>>784612
>It is a motherly-looking woman with a prosthetic arm.
I'll support this, nice to see you back Zap

>>784715
It's good to be back. Anyhow, votes are tallied, going with the motherly lady with a bionic arm. Write-up coming in a few minutes.

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You notice a gentle expression on the woman’s face first. She is maybe five years older than you. As you reach out to take her hand, you notice that it is made of steel, a prosthetic. You take her hand and she pulls you up surprisingly quickly.

“Where’s my co-pilot?” You look around for Warwick as the lights sputter out again. You try to walk, but lose your balance. The woman catches you and drapes your arm over her shoulder.

“I’m here, Starwind,” you hear Warwick’s voice off to your side. You look and see him about fifteen feet down the hallway, yanking an injured crewman out of some debris. “We need to do as the lady says.” You notice that he has a bad gash across the side of his head. “We’d only get in their way with our injuries.”

“Come on,” the woman speaks up, dragging you down the hallway toward Warwick, who picks up the unconscious crewman and throws him over his shoulders. You look over at her and try to speak, but you end up coughing from the smoke again. “Not now,” she looks at you. “This smoke will kill you if you breathe too much. We need to get you three to the sickbay.”

You’re surprised at how calm the woman is as she guides all of you back to the hangar, where you see that a makeshift first-aid station has been set up. You point to it, but she merely shakes her head.

“Those men are as good as dead,” she says grimly. “They’re just trying to make them comfortable.” She directs Warwick to head up a flight of stairs on the opposite end of the hangar, which she drags you up as well. “My name’s Swanson, by the way. Ensign Linda Swanson,” she raises an eyebrow at you. “And judging by what’s left of your jumper, I’d guess you’re a pilot, right?”

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“Allen Starwind,” you reply. “Squadron eight.” You point to Warwick. “That’s my co-pilot.”

“I figured that he’d be a pilot,” she says with a steady tone as the two of you reach the top of the stairs.

“My reflexes are just a bit too slow for a fighter pilot,” Warwick calls back with a crooked grin.

The four of you arrive at the sickbay to find it full with injured men and women. Swanson sits you down in a chair just outside the medbay, then leans against the wall tiredly. Warwick nods at the two of you, then carries the injured crewman into the medbay. You hear him argue with one of the nurses about the severity of the man’s injuries.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she finally speaks. “I mean, battlecruisers are supposed to be the safest ships in the Navy.” She crosses her arms.

“You’d think,” you reply. You don’t want to mention to her that the Abraxis’ escort ships retreated two days ago, leaving the ship virtually defenseless.

“Attention all crew,” the loudspeaker blares through the ship. “The Imperial forces are falling back. The attack is over. All personnel not currently assisting damage-control are to return to their quarters.”

The both of you sigh at the same time. “Well at least we can focus on fixing the ship for now,” Swanson says with a sad grin. “We lost a lot of good people today.”

Your eyes shoot open as the sound of your intercom blares next to your head. Your heart races as you roll over and answer it. “Yeah?”

“Captain,” Tom’s voice croaks through the damaged speaker. “We’ve been stopped by a CFP cruiser. They’re requesting that the captain speak with them over the radio.”

>”What? Why?”
>”I’ll be right there.”
>”Tell them that you’re the captain.”
>”Give me a minute.”

>>784783
>”What? Why?”

>>784783
>”What? Why?”

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“What?” You groan, burying your face in your pillow before continuing. “Why did they stop us?”

“Apparently they’ve tightened the border,” Tom replies. “Every ship that wants to pass through the DMZ has to be personally cleared by a CFP captain.”

You groan again. “Dammit,” you finally say. “Why couldn’t they have sent out a warning of some kind?”

“Apparently they did, sir.” Tom grumbles as you hear another voice over the intercom. “Just give me a minute, dammit! I’m on the intercom with him right now.” Oh, he’s talking with the CFP. “Sir, they’re saying that they sent a message out over all quantum-band information frequencies. I never got anything.”

“Great, so the q-band receiver is probably broken,” you reply. “Why do they need to speak directly to the captain though?”

“Something about legal reasons,” he says. “Now they’re saying that they tightened the border in response to the explosion on Venus—!” There is an interruption. “Dammit, give me a minute to explain this to my captain!” He grumbles. “So sir, I really need you on the bridge, as soon as possible. These guys are getting kind of testy!”

>”Sure, I’ll be right there.”
>”Give me a minute.”

>>784847
>>”Sure, I’ll be right there.”

Oy, testy is right.

>>784847
>”Sure, I’ll be right there.”

>>784847
>”Sure, I’ll be right there.”

>>784847
>>”Sure, I’ll be right there.”

File: CFP Light Cruiser.jpg (50 KB, 788x460)

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“Sure,” you reply quickly. “Be right there.” With that, you turn off the intercom and roll out of your bunk, throwing a pair of cargo pants on. You walk out into the bridge without even putting your boots on, noticing just how cold the metal floor is. A glance up at the clock tells you that you’ve managed to get five hours of sleep, not bad considering how tired you feel.

“I’m here,” You walk into the bridge and deposit yourself into your chair. Tom looks tiredly back at you as your eyes wander outside to the light cruiser parked right off your port bow.

“Captain of vessel ‘Bad Habit’, you are requested to state your name and reason for crossing the DMZ.” A nasally voice crackles over the radio.

“My name is Captain Allen Starwind, and I am crossing the DMZ with cargo bound for Ganymede and New Albany,” you reply tiredly. The cruiser is close enough for you to see the outlines of people on its bridge. You see a man walk up to the window, holding what looks to be a microphone.

“Captain Starwind,” a deeper voice replies. “This is Captain Joel Teller of the CFP Armed Forces, I’d like to know what your cargo is.”

“Machine tools, cutting oil, and ammunition,” you sigh. You notice that the bridge is quite chilly when you aren’t wearing your jacket. “Oh, and one passenger bound for Ganymede.”

There is a long pause before the captain on the other end speaks again. “Do you have any other things to declare?”

“Nothing else to declare,” you reply bluntly. “Can I go back to bed now?”

There is another long pause, and you’re sure you hear hushed speaking on the other end. “You are cleared for travel through the DMZ. Have a good day, Captain.” With that, the cruiser turns away and speeds off, killing the radio transmission. Tom looks back at you with a shrug.

>”That was weird.”
>”I’m going back to bed.”
>”Anything else happen while I was out?”
>”Well, I’m awake now, I’m headed to the Wardroom to get some coffee.”

”Anything else happen while I was out?”

>>784913
> Anything else happen while I was out?

>>784913
>>”That was weird. And annoying. Keep an eye out in case they bug us anymore. Call it a hunch.”

>"Anything else happen while I was out?"

>>784913
>"All that just to take our word for it, huh. Sounds like the usual policy of putting up appearances"
>”Anything else happen while I was out?”

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“That was…” You cross your arms. “Odd.”

“I’m guessing they’re just trying to keep up appearances,” Tom replies. “Or maybe they have bigger fish to fry.” He grimaces.

“It’s possible,” you say. “Anyway, did anything important happen while I was out?”

“Not much, sir.” Tom engages the sublight drive, bringing the ship back up to speed. “I was just waking up from a nap when the cruiser pulled us over.” He yawns. “As far as I know, nothing major happened while I was out. Corrigan and Virgo had the conn while I was resting.” All of a sudden, you feel the ship shake beneath your feet as a groaning sound reverberates through the hull. The engineering alarm buzzes as a small red light begins to blink on your panel. The text underneath it reads 'UNSPECIFIED ISSUE--CONTACT ENGINEERING'.

“Uh…” You look over at Tom, wide-eyed. “What the hell was that?”

“Don’t know, sir.” He scoots over and checks the damage control panel. “Give me a second to decipher this thing, it’s way different than the one on our old fighter.”

“Cynthia?” You activate the Engineering intercom, then the shipwide PA. “Somebody get Cynthia on the phone now.”

“I’m here…” You hear her voice over the intercom. “I just got down to engineering. Give me a minute to see what’s going on.”

“Right,” you reply.

After maybe thirty seconds, you hear her speak again. “Okay… I found the problem…”

Roll a 1d24, lowest of three, to determine how long it takes Cynthia to fix the problem in hours.

Rolled 8 (1d24)

>>784962
NO WHAMMIES NO WHAMMIES NO WHAMMIES

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Rolled 21 (1d24)

>>784962
Maybe we could help too, ahaha just kidding.

>>785033
Oh god, that poor dog.

I'll wait ten more minutes for a third roll, if one doesn't come in, I'll roll a d24 so that we can continue.

Rolled 15 (1d24)

Here's hoping it's lower than 8.

Rolled 20 (1d24)

>>784962

Alright then, 8 hours to repair then.

>>785139
Disregard this roll.

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“Uh…” Cynthia mumbles over the intercom. “It looks like the PMD is shot.”

“The PMD, what’s that?” You scratch your head, trying to remain calm.

“Primary Maneuver Drive,” she replies bluntly. “Without it, we can’t maneuver at all.”

“Does that mean we’re stuck?” You look over to Tom as you speak.

“Not as long as the ship is already moving,” she replies. “Newton’s first law, sir.” You slap your own forehead. Of course you would keep moving if you had already gotten up to speed.

“How bad is it?” You get ready to get up and head down to engineering yourself. “Do you need help?”

“No thanks,” she says. “I can jury-rig something within about eight hours. Still, we’ll need to get a new one when we get to Ganymede.”

“Ah great,” you reply. “Ad how much is that going to set us back?” You hear her make some calculations out loud before she replies.

“We’d be looking at around 6,000 for a used one. And maybe 8,000-12,000 for a new one.” You groan.

“Dammit,” you finally exclaim. “That’s cash we DON’T have…”

“Well, sir,” Tom looks back at you. “With the cargo we have headed to Ganymede, we’ll probably be getting upwards of 9,000 Standards when we arrive, maybe more.”

“Well that’s not terrible,” you reply.

>”Well I’m awake now, I’m headed downstairs to get some coffee.”
>”I’m going back to bed.”
>”Do you need me to do anything particular?”

>>785205
>>”Do you need me to do anything particular?”
if so do it, if not
>”Well I’m awake now, I’m headed downstairs to get some coffee.”
>Our PMD getting shot just after getting pulled over by someone asking after our cargo. Tom this raising any red flags for you?

>>785225
Supporting

>>785225
The PMD didn't *get* shot, it broke down. Shot is just slang to mean broken when mechanics use it.

>>785252
Then it can just be changed to "being shot" right?

>>785262
I mean, sure.

>>785252
I meant it breaks, JUST as that happens. Strange no? Coincidences generally are not.

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“Well, I’m awake,” you say, standing up and stretching. “I’m gonna head downstairs and get some coffee.” You turn to leave, but a peculiar thought crosses your mind. “Say, you don’t think our mechanical problems could be related to that CFP ship, do you?”

Tom shrugs at you. “I honestly don’t know how,” he replies. “I’d think we would know if they shot something at us, and they were already on their way back to their patrol route when we activated our sublight drive. I suppose it’s possible.” He leans back in his chair and yawns. “You’d have to ask Cynthia if it would even be possible.”

“Duly noted,” you turn and walk out of the bridge. The wardroom is quiet, with the other two members of your crew likely still being asleep. You make a pot of coffee, strong enough to knock you back a little, just the way you like it.

You sit at the booth, reading through an old aftermarket parts magazine. There are some interesting performance packages that would fit the Bad Habit, but they’re all a little too pricey for your tastes. The coffee pot dings, letting you know that the pot is done brewing.

You yawn and stand up, going over to the kitchen to get a mug, over on the counter, you see an old, stainless steel thermos.

>Get a cup for yourself.
>Fill the thermos and have a cup with Cynthia.
>Explore a part of the ship. (destination will be voted on after vote is locked in)
>Go talk to a crew member. (specify)

>>785419
>>Fill the thermos and have a cup with Cynthia.

>>785419
>>Fill the thermos and have a cup with Cynthia.
Better ask her about the PMD and getting sabotaged by the CFP ship

Hey guys, I hate to call it here for tonight, but some friends came over and I've got to entertain them for however long they're here.

I'll resume the thread tomorrow afternoon.

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You open the lid of the thermos, pouring the coffee into it. Then you go over to the cupboard and grab two mugs, one with a Federal Navy logo on it, and another with a cartoon cat. You then grab the thermos and head down to the engineering room.

You find the place to be in total disarray when you get down there, and you hear metal against metal in the reactor room. You go aft, entering the reactor room for the first time, only to notice that the sounds are actually coming from a room even further aft, and up a small set of stairs. You climb the stairs and find yourself in a small, poorly-lit room. Or, it would be poorly lit if not for the shop lights you bought back on Mars. You see Cynthia in her blue coveralls working on what you assume is the PMD. It is a large cluster of machinery that sticks out of a hole in the floor, running up into the rear wall of the room.

“Hey, Cynthia.” You hold up the thermos as she turns around tiredly.

“Thank goodness,” she says as you hand her a cup and set the thermos down. “I need some coffee right now. That tea worked a little too well.”

“So this is the PMD?” You gesture to the massive machine as she fills the cup with a cat on it.

“Not exactly,” she replies. You fill your own cup and take a sip. “This is the engine drive transmission. The PMD is just a small part of it.”

She stretches and yawns, then takes a sip of coffee. You decide to bring up a theory you’ve been tossing around in your head for a while. “Cynthia, we got stopped by the CFP just before this happened,” you say. She raises an eyebrow at you. “Is it possible that they might have sabotaged the PMD?”

“Not likely,” she replies. “The only way to get to it is to half-disassemble this whole monster,” she hits a wrench against the transmission. “And they couldn’t have done it from the outside either. The only access is through here.” She sighs. “This ship is just old, and the sublight drive has been used far more than the FTL, so parts are going to break. The Bad Habit is just…”

“High-mileage?” You grin at her, taking another sip. She merely nods.

>”And you’re sure you don’t want any help?”
>”So I think the Q-band receiver might be broken too.”
>”I’ll leave you to it then.”

>>787415
>>”So I think the Q-band receiver might be broken too.”

>>787415
>”So I think the Q-band receiver might be broken too.”

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“So I’m thinking the Q-band receiver is broken too,” you say. Cynthia looks at you and sighs.

“Well that’s not good,” she replies. “How do you figure it being broken?”

“The CFP apparently sent out a transmission on Q-band about tightening the borders, but Tom says he didn’t hear anything of the sort.” You shrug, then take another sip, emptying your cup.

“Well that’s not an easy fix…” Cynthia hands you the thermos and you refill your cup. “I can’t just jury-rig something like I can with engine parts. A quantum-band radio is a delicate piece of technology. So I’ll need to get some honest-to-goodness new parts if you want it fixed.”

You contemplate letting it go for a while, but apparently Cynthia can read the look on your face, because she frowns at you.

“And it needs to be fixed,” she says sternly. “That’s how the authorities send out messages, and it’s the only way to send and receive distress signals.”

“I know,” you reply. “I just don’t know if we’ll have the cash to fix this stuff. How much would the new parts cost?”

“Depends on what’s broken in the Q-band. If it’s just the receiver, we can probably snatch one up for 3,000 Standards. If the whole thing is busted, you’d be looking at twice that.” She shrugs. “Unless we can find a used one for cheap.”

“So how soon can you get the Q-band looked at?” You take a drink of coffee and sit the cup down.

“Well, assuming everything goes according to plan with this thing,” Cynthia points to the transmission. “I can get around to looking at the Q-band in about eight hours.”

>”Right. Duly noted.” (leave)
>”Are you sure you don’t want any help?”
>Write-in.

>>787535
>”Are you sure you don’t want any help?”

>>787535
>>”Are you sure you don’t want any help?”

>>787535
>”Are you sure you don’t want any help?”

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“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” You raise an eyebrow at Cynthia.

She sighs, crossing her arms. “No offense,” she says. “But you need to command the ship. I know what I’m doing better than just about anyone else.”

“I’m more mechanically capable than you realize,” you reply. “Me and Tom used to help the maintenance crews repair our fighter after combat ops.”

“And this ship is totally different from a fighter,” Cynthia says in a scholarly manner. “First off, this transmission design was phased-out forty years ago. Nothing currently in production is built like this.” She points to a small hole in the transmission that used to be covered by a hatch. “I bet you can’t tell me what that mechanism inside the access hatch does.”

You kneel down and look into the hatch, seeing a machine that looks totally foreign to you. “It’s… A ratio-equalizer?”

“Nope,” she replies. “This transmission doesn’t have one.” She puts her hands on her hips. “It uses a harmonic strip.”

“… Okay,” you finally say. “I’d probably only get in your way.” You stand up and sigh.

“Glad I could make you see the light,” she jokes. “This ship uses some weird systems, but once you get familiar with them, working on it becomes like second nature.” She finishes her third cup of coffee.

“Then I guess I’ll be going,” you reply.

“There is one more thing,” she says. “It’s really none of my business… But Corrigan seems anxious about returning to the Empire. I tried to ask her about it, but she didn’t seem to want to talk about it. At all.”

>”I’ll see what’s up with her.”
>”She’s just a nervous person. Nothing to worry about.”
>”It’s really none of my business either. If she wants to feel that way, who am I to pry?”
>Write-in.

>>787622
>>”I’ll see what’s up with her.”
If there's something in your backstory we should be worried about, we need to know

>>787622
>”I’ll see what’s up with her.”

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“I’ll go see what’s up with her,” you reply. “Do you need anything else before I head back upstairs?”

“No thanks,” Cynthia says. “I think I’ve got everything on-lock down here.”

“Alright then,” you turn around hand scoot out through the small doorway leaning back into the reactor room. Then you decide to head back up to the Wardroom.

Since it’s still early, the ship is mostly deserted, though Tom is in the kitchen. “Captain,” he greets you as you enter. “Just taking stock of whatever breakfast food we have left. I found some powdered eggs in the pantry, so I could make some not-omelets if you want.”

“What’s the alternative?” You raise an eyebrow at him. Powdered-egg omelets really don’t sound that appetizing.

“Uh…” He looks at a small ledger that he has hanging on the kitchen door. “Well, we’ve got some cured meats, mostly ham. I could just heat some of that up and throw some spice on it to make it taste breakfast-y.”

“I…” You weigh both options in your head. “Okay yeah, let’s do omelets.”

“Alrighty then,” he replies. “I’ll get the stuff ready. Breakfast will be in about an hour and a half.” He lights a cigarette and takes a long drag. “So what’d you find out about our mechanical problems?”

“Well, it’s not likely that we were sabotaged.” You shrug at him. “Ship’s just old.”

“Fair enough,” he replies. “Though I figured it wouldn’t be them. I went ahead and ran their hull numbers to make sure they’re legit and not some guys pretending to be CFP.” He cracks his knuckles and retrieves a pan from the cupboard. “They were legit. Apparently the CFP custom-builds all of their own ships, and they never sell them.”

>”Is Corrigan awake? I need to speak to her.”
>”You need any help making breakfast?”
>”So how long until we get into the DMZ?”
>Write-in.

>>787747
>”Is Corrigan awake? I need to speak to her.”

>>787747
>”Is Corrigan awake? I need to speak to her.”

>>787747
>>”Is Corrigan awake? I need to speak to her.”

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“Is Corrigan awake?” You lean against the doorway to the kitchen. “I’ve got to speak to her about something.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he says bluntly. “If I were you, I’d just knock on her door. It’s about time for breakfast anyway.”

“Okay then,” you reply. You leave the kitchen and head down the hallway, stopping in front of Corrigan’s door. You knock three times, then you hear something moving behind the door.

“Just one moment, please,” you hear Corrigan’s muffled voice on the other side. She sounds tired. After maybe three minutes, she opens her door, wearing long-sleeved pajamas. “Oh, good morning, Captain.”

“Morning,” you reply. “Do you mind if I come in? I’d like to talk for a minute.”

“Of course,” she steps back into her room, then turns the light on. “I had just woken up actually.” She motions for you to sit at the desk. You see a lot of clothes piled on the top bunk of her bed. “Is something on your mind, sir?”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re alright with going back to the Empire,” you reply. You remember how the two of you had initially met. She had been having a serious fight with her family, and you paid for a hotel room for her to stay in while things calmed down. After that, you left Europa and returned to Earth.

She looks away when you mention the Empire. “Captain…” She crosses her arms. “I lived on Ganymede for some time after I left Europa,” she explains.

“So you’re familiar with the place?” You raise an eyebrow.

“You could say that,” she replies. “Though my family has never been popular there… There is another powerful Missile Clan that conducts business there…” She sighs and rubs her eyes. “I have made some enemies there simply by having the last name 'Vatner'.”

>”If anyone tries to start something with my crew, they’re in for a rude surprise from me.” (protective)
>”Then you don’t have to leave the ship when we land.” (pragmatic)
>”I’m afraid that’s your problem, not mine.” (dismissive)
>”When you say ‘enemies’, what do you mean? Are they dangerous?” (inquire further)
>Write-in.

>>787865
>>”When you say ‘enemies’, what do you mean? Are they dangerous?” (inquire further)

>>787865
>”When you say ‘enemies’, what do you mean? Are they dangerous?” (inquire further)

>>787865
>>”If anyone tries to start something with my crew, they’re in for a rude surprise from me.” (protective)

>>787865
> inquire further

>>787865
>”When you say ‘enemies’, what do you mean? Are they dangerous?” (inquire further)

“Enemies?” You raise an eyebrow at Corrigan. “When you say that, what do you mean? Are they dangerous?”

She looks away again. “They… Can be. It all depends on the individual. The Missile Clan that competes with the Vatner Clan is known as the ‘Van Damen Clan’. They manufacture the fighters used by the Empire.” She frowns and stands up before continuing, going over and leaning against the wall. “The heads of the family are honorable people, for the most part. It is their three sons that I am afraid of. Vadim, Luca, and Alexi. They are very… Frightening people.”

“Frightening? How exactly?” You lean forward.

“They threaten anyone who they believe is a threat to their parents’ business. It is because of them and their thugs that no other clans are powerful on Ganymede. They run all of the manufacturing there, civil and military.”

“Are they violent?”

“Yes,” Corrigan replies in a somewhat hushed tone. “Though they would never attack a ship captain. That would bring shame upon their clan.”

“Would they try to attack you if they saw you?” You rub your eyes, still not properly woken up from the coffee.

“They would not attack me,” Corrigan admits. “But they would do everything short of it.” You see her shiver.

>”Well anyone who messes with my crew is going to regret it.” (protective)
>”You can stay on the ship while we’re there then.” (pragmatic)
>”I’m afraid that’s just not my business.” (dismissive)

>>788012
>>”You can stay on the ship while we’re there then.” (pragmatic)
>”Well anyone who messes with my crew is going to regret it.” (protective)

>>788012
>”Well anyone who messes with my crew is going to regret it.” (protective)
I feel like pragmatic is the best option but this is what Allen would probably say

>>788012
>”Well anyone who messes with my crew is going to regret it.” (protective)
>But how will they recognize your clan?

>>788012
>>”You can stay on the ship while we’re there then.” (pragmatic)

>>788034
>But how will they recognize your clan?
Let's just say the brothers Van Damen recognize her by sight from when she lived there.

>>788012
> Well anyone who messes with my crew is going to regret it
>>788045
Well then we better disguise her. I'm thinking one of those glasses and fake nose ensembles.

File: Corrigan1.jpg (23 KB, 225x350)

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“Well…” You furrow your brow. “Anyone who messes with a member of my crew is going to regret it,” you say.

Immediately, Corrigan blushes, just enough for you to notice. “Captain, you do not need to get in any fights because of me… Again.” She is of course, referring to the event that got you banned from returning to Europa, good times.

“If one of those Van Damen guys tries to start something with you, they’re going to get it,” you affirm. For emphasis, you crack your knuckles.

“I will stay aboard the ship while we are on Ganymede,” Corrigan continues. She sighs a little bit. “It would be better for everyone that way.”

“If that’s what you want,” you reply. “But I’m not going to tell you that you can’t leave the ship.” You lean back in the chair, yawning.

The two of you idly chat for a little bit longer, mostly about nothing in particular. She tells you more about her adventures on Mars, repeating a few things she had already told you. You tell her about the mechanical problems, as well as the CFP stopping you. She initially assumes sabotage as well, but you explain why that’s not very likely. Then she mentions some missiles that would fit in the Bad Habit’s launchers that can only be bought in the Empire. ‘Katyusha missiles’, she calls them, supposedly they are guided cluster missiles.

Then, after you finish talking about the missiles, you begin to smell breakfast being cooked. The two of you fall silent for a moment before Corrigan points at you. “Captain, how did you get that scar?” Oh, she’s talking about the long, deep scar that goes from your shoulder to the end of your middle finger. The one that you got during the Navy. It makes sense that she would have only seen it today. You’re still wearing your tank top.

>”This? It’s nothing important.”
>”I screwed up and almost lost my arm. Mainly because I was young and stupid.”
>”Corrigan… Have you ever heard of the Battlecruiser Abraxis?”

>>788120
I bet if she dons that sundress and lets Cynthia do some makeup no one will recognize her.

>>788159
>"Oh, it's from the gun implanted into my arm."
>Be as straightfaced as possible while saying this.

>>788159
>>”I screwed up and almost lost my arm. Mainly because I was young and stupid.”

>>788159
>I screwed up
I'm ok with >>788188 too

>>788159
>>”I screwed up and almost lost my arm. Mainly because I was young and stupid.”

>>788159
>”I screwed up and almost lost my arm. Mainly because I was young and stupid.”

File: Wardroom.jpg (46 KB, 640x427)

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“I was young and stupid,” you explain. “I wasn’t thinking and I screwed up. Almost lost my arm.” You look at the scar, one of many from your Navy days, though this one is the worst. It was back when you were aboard the Abraxis, during the fleet operation that came to be known as ‘Bloody April’, it was a period of about two weeks in April of 2353 when the ship was under almost constant Imperial attack. Over a quarter of the crew ended up being killed in action. Still, nobody remembers Bloody April nowadays, it was soon overshadowed by the Incident.

“What happened though?” Corrigan takes a step toward you, looking at your scar.

“This is a surgery scar,” you reply. “My arm was practically torn apart when I tried to activate a damaged hydraulic door.” You let out a sigh. Warwick had told you to wait for him to activate the manual override, but you didn’t listen. Still, you had a good reason to be in a hurry. “They had to put artificial bones in what was left of my arm,” you explain.

Corrigan grimaces. “That sounds terrible!” You laugh a little bit.

“Trust me,” you say. “It wasn’t the worst injury I ever received in the war.”

There is a long silence. “I am sorry,” she finally says. “For what my people did in the war.”

“My people did the same things,” you reply with a sad grin. “That’s just what war is, I guess.”

Then, you hear a knock at the door, and Tom’s voice on the other side. “Breakfast is ready, you two!”

The two of you walk out into the wardroom and find that Virgo has already finished his plate. He has another in his hands though. “I’m going to take this down to Miss Cynthia,” he explains. “She said she wants to stay in the transmission room and keep working for now.” With that, he turns and leaves.

You sit across from Tom, next to Corrigan.

>Talk to Tom. (about what?)
>Talk to Corrigan (about what?)
>Finish eating and do something else. (specify)

>>788393
>>Talk to Tom.
Ask him if he wants to do anything on Ganymede

>Talk to Corrigan (about what?)
Anything we can do for her while we're out?

>>788393

>Talk to Tom. (about what?)
>Talk to Corrigan (about what?)
War stories

>>788393
> Tom
Ask if he is banned from any planets too

File: Tom Papers.jpg (21 KB, 210x253)

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“So Corrigan, is there anything interesting to do on Ganymede?” You look up at her with a raised eyebrow.

“There are several interesting things to do there, sir. Though that also depends on your definition of interesting.” She takes a bite of her omelet before continuing. “There are many shops that sell high-technology of various types, and there are many coffee houses where people go to have a good time. And of course, there are sports venues. From what I remember, ice hockey is quite popular there.”

“Really?” Tom leans forward, intrigued. “I know that the moon is mostly ocean ever since they terraformed it, are the various platform cities different, culturally?”

“Well,” Corrigan replies with a thoughtful frown. “I lived on Soyuz when I was there, and it is really the only actual city. Most of the rest of the platforms are either manufacturing or mining cities.” She stretches. “Soyuz is a proper city with major entertainment establishments, and it is the only platform with a customs office for starships coming in from other planets.”

“I see,” you reply. “So Soyuz is the place where we’re going to have to land then.”

“I was just reading about Soyuz,” Tom says. He then pulls out a travel magazine. It shows a picture of a massive city that looks a little bit like an oil platform from Earth. “Apparently they also have a festival there every year. Kind of like Mardi Gras back home.”

“Really?” You motion for him to hand you the magazine, which he does. “When is it?”

“Starts two days from now, sir,” Tom replies with a grin. “We’ll get there right in the middle of festivities.”

“Nice,” you say.

“She ask about your arm yet?” Tom points to Corrigan, then to the arm with the scar.

“Yeah,” you reply, flexing your bicep absently. “I told her the real story,” you look warningly at Tom.

File: Thoughtful.png (386 KB, 2703x2000)

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“Come on,” he groans. “Why didn’t you use the arm-gun story like we used to in the old days?” The two of you laugh.

“Because it was a stupid story,” you reply. The two of you laugh again, only for Corrigan to raise an eyebrow at you.

“Arm gun?” She leans over to look at your arm. “You had a gun in your arm?”

“No,” you reply with a chuckle. “It’s just an old joke from when me and Tom were in the Navy.”

Now she only looks more fascinated. “You were both in the Federal Navy?”

“Well yeah,” Tom replies. “Why do you think I call him ‘sir’ all the time?” He points to you while looking at Corrigan. “I was the co-pilot for this maniac after he got transferred from medical leave to the Ottawa.”

“That’s enough war stories for now,” you reply with a smirk.”

“Right, sir.” He immediately drops the subject.

After that, the three of you finish your meals with no incident, then Tom returns to the Bridge, and Corrigan goes downstairs to see if Cynthia needs any help. That leaves you in the Wardroom with nothing much to do.

>Explore a part of the ship. (the part will be voted on after this option is locked in)
>Visit a crew member. (who?)
>Go up to your quarters and get properly dressed.

>>788635
> visit a crew member (Tripe)
> Timeskip to Ganymede
Let's smuggle Corrigan into the festival with a costume as a disguise and visit her old haunts while being forced into ridiculous shenanigans to avoid her nemises who keep trying to get in her pants.

>>788635
>>Go up to your quarters and get properly dressed.

>>788635
>Go up to your quarters and get properly dressed.

>>788635
>Explore a part of the ship.
I'd love to look into this whole ftl-inhibitor we may or may not have

File: Tripe.jpg (298 KB, 945x945)

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You decide to head up to your quarters. After all, you are still wearing your tank top, ripped cargo pants, and socks with no shoes. You find Tripe sleeping in the corner of the former CIC, and he awakens as soon as you enter, then follows you to your quarters. As soon as you enter your quarters, you get the cargo pants off, replacing them with a pair of clean jeans. Next, you throw a blue t-shirt on over the tank top. Then, your holster goes on, and your jacket immediately after. Finally, you pull your old flight boots on, stomping on the metal floor once per foot to make sure they’re on tight enough. You notice that Tripe has fallen asleep in your bunk. You put your communicator in your pocket before you do anything else.

You decide to head into your bathroom and comb your hair, which is still sticking out in multiple directions from sleep. After that, you decide to take a moment to rest on your couch and flip through that travel magazine you got from Tom.

Apparently Soyuz is quite the place. You weren’t aware that coffee houses were as important as they are in the Empire, apparently being places where people do business with each other. You read in the magazine that coffee houses are like saloons in the Federation, and that basically every Imperial settlement has one. Which explains why it was a pain in the ass to find a saloon on Europa.

Another interesting detail is the Royal Hollander Armory, which is apparently a small arms emporium on Soyuz. They sell everything from assault rifles and pistols, to man-portable railguns, though you soon learn from a warning at the bottom of the page that most of their inventory is limited to Imperial Military personnel. That’s kind of a bummer, but it might not hurt to give the place a look-see while you’re there.

And then there’s the Lord’s Palace, which is a beautiful building that resides within a massive, geodesic dome at the top of Soyuz. The palace itself looks like a palatial estate from the 1700’s, with gardens and everything. Apparently it has been turned into a museum.

Near the back pages is a segment on local industries, which mostly talks about the manufacturing on Ganymede. However, you notice a small article on something called the ‘Gany Fish’, which is apparently a large sea creature with bones made of naturally-occurring palladium. You learn that the fishing of these sea creatures makes up most of the palladium mining industry on Ganymede.

File: Blackheart.jpg (6 KB, 259x194)

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As you finish the magazine, you notice that Tripe has woken up, and is pacing worriedly around your quarters, whimpering. You are stumped by this, as the door is wide open, he could leave if he wanted to. You are about to usher him out of your quarters, fearing that he’s about to make a mess on the floor, when Tom calls back from the bridge.

“Sir, we might have a problem!” You jump off the couch, rushing to your chair on the bridge.

“What’s up?”

“We just got a collision course alarm,” Tom replies grimly. “Whoever it is, they’re using stealth systems. I couldn’t detect them until they were already way inside our sensor radius.”

“Well who is it? CFP?” You raise your eyebrows.

“Not likely sir,” Tom looks back at you. “They wouldn’t do something like that if they were going to shake us down. Plus their light cruisers aren’t big enough for a stealth drive like that.” As he finishes his sentence, a massive, dark shape looms into view above the Bad Habit.

“Well good morning.” A voice crackles over the close-range radio, the sound is too distorted to tell whether it is a man or woman on the other end. “I recognize that ship.”

“Tom, can we do anything?” You hiss at your second in command.

“Not a damn thing, sir. Our PMD is dead, remember?”

You get ready to talk back to the person on the other end when your communicator starts beeping. You open it up and see that the video-chat function is already on. A woman’s face appears on the screen, with dark hair and an eyepatch. Her face is one that you recognize, and you suddenly feel as though you’ve been duped. “Well hello again~” The woman says with a sly grin. “I’d recognize that face anywhere.”

It’s the pirate known as Blackheart.

Aaand I'm gonna call it for today. I'll be running later in the afternoon tomorrow, which means I'll run later into the night as a result. As always, I like questions and criticisms, so fire away.

Mood music:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0-tWLi0Kp4

>>789173
Thanks for running Zap

>tfw the good deed bites you in the ass

>>789156
Tell her you just got this ship. If she robs you now you won't be able to continue hauling so she won't get anything from you in future. It's simple economics, go rob someone who can afford it.

>>789173
Thanks for running, I hope we don't get robbed or have to fight off a boarding we need the cash to fund our endeavors

>>789173
Did we really save a pirate lord? And we're still a sitting duck aren't we?

>>789412
Yes and yes.
Though there's more to this situation than meets the eye. Much like a transformer, only it's a social situation instead of a robot that can turn into a car.

>>789431
Dread pirate Roberts?

>>789536
Nope, the woman Allen is speaking to is the one and only Blackheart. You'll get a chance to pry into her motivations during the next session.

File: Blackheart0.jpg (10 KB, 320x240)

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“So you’re Allen Starwind,” Blackheart continues. “I must say, I’d expected you to be taller.”

“I was a pilot,” you reply with a frown. “We can’t exactly be giants, you know.” With that, Blackheart laughs.

“I suppose so,” she says. “Do you have any idea why I showed up here and now?”

“I presume you want to rob me,” you grimace. “Which isn’t going to go well for you. We don’t exactly have much.”

Blackheart raises an eyebrow. “Rob you? I’m not here for that. Trust me, you don’t have enough cargo on that little Oberon for it to be worth my while.”

“Then what could you possibly be here for?” You raise an eyebrow. She’s right. You are too small-time for someone as infamous as her.

“I might just be passing through,” she responds slyly. “Or maybe I want to co-opt you into my crew…” You grit your teeth at the possibility of having to work for her. “Calm down,” she continues with a grin. “I was joking. Nobody gets forced into joining my crew. It causes morale issues.”

“So what do you want?” You’re getting tired of beating around the bush with this woman.

“I want to meet the man who helped me get free of the authorities without causing a scene. I may be a pirate, but I still have morals.”

“Well you’ve met me,” you growl. “What now?” With that, Blackheart rests her chin in the palm of her hand, sighing.

“Military men are so dense,” she replies. “I want to meet you in person. Consider it an invitation to speak freely with public enemy number one.” She chuckles a bit. “Most people never get that opportunity without joining my crew. Not just that, but I’m even inviting you aboard my ship, an even rarer honor.”

As she speaks, an airlock tube extends from her ship to yours, clamping onto your forward airlock. You feel the whole ship shudder as the tube joins with your ship. Blackheart laughs, likely taking amusement from your troubled expression.

File: Space pirate crew.jpg (45 KB, 853x480)

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“So please, from one captain to another, come aboard and talk with me for a bit.” She smiles again, this time it’s a smile that seems to be completely genuine. “I swear I won’t do anything, scout’s honor.” She puts two fingers up in a salute.

“Like I have a choice,” you hiss, getting up from your chair. You kill the transmission and look over at Tom. “After I leave, gather the crew up here and lock the door.”

“Right,” he nods, saluting you. “Be careful, sir.”

“I will,” you reply.

After that, you head to the forward airlock and walk through the tube, arriving at the airlock for Blackheart’s ship, the Iron Hand. You step through the airlock to find yourself in a cargo hold, with about twenty pirates standing near the back, looking at you with anticipation.

You are about to say something when a voice fills the hold. “I’m so glad you could make it,” Blackheart stands on a platform above the rest of the pirates. Immediately, a blond man in olive drab fatigues turns around and salutes.

“Captain on deck!” The rest of the pirates turn to their captain, taking a surprisingly crisp attention stance.

“At ease, Tylor.” Blackheart salutes him back. The rest of the pirates drop their stance and return to looking like space pirates. “That’s enough standing around, back to your stations.” At their captain’s command, the pirates all leave the hold, and Blackheart walks down a set of stairs to where you stand.

“Interesting welcome,” you say.

“Oh, that?” She shrugs. Even though this woman looks different now, it is definitely ‘Lauren Harrington’. She has the same mannerisms, and subtle movements that are unique to a specific person. “That wasn’t the welcome; that was just my crew being rubberneckers. It’s not every day I just let someone walk onto my ship.” She steps back raising her arms bombastically, grinning. “Welcome aboard the Iron Hand, flagship of the pirate Blackheart!” She then puts her hands on her hips and motions for you to follow her. “That was the welcome. Come with me, let’s talk in a place that isn’t a cargo hold.”

>”I’m fine where I am.”
>”Your crew are surprisingly well-disciplined.”
>”So what’s this all about, really?”
>Follow her without speaking.
>Write-in.

>>792974
>>”So what’s this all about, really?”

>>792974
>>”So what’s this all about, really?”

>>792974
>”So what’s this all about, really?”

>>792974
>”So what’s this all about, really?”

>>792974
>”Your crew are surprisingly well-disciplined.”

File: Cargo Hold.jpg (93 KB, 1248x685)

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“What’s this all about, really?” You stand your ground, crossing your arms.

Blackheart looks to be at a loss of words for a moment. Then she sighs. “Come on, do you really want to talk about this in the cargo hold?” She waits for a few seconds, then rubs her forehead before continuing. “Fine. If you want to stay in the cargo hold while we talk, fine by me.” She raises her eyebrows and takes a step toward you. “Though I wasn’t lying about the reason. I may be a pirate, but I have no reason to lie to someone in a broken-down frigate.”

“So you knew about our mechanical problems?”

She purses her lips thoughtfully. “It was really more of an assumption. I had been following you with the stealth drive engaged for a while. When you did that second sublight burn, you only got up to about two-thirds of the first burn’s speed, and then you just sort of… Stalled out.” She crosses her arms and leans in toward you. “Let me guess, the PMD went out?”

“How did you know?” You take a step back, frowning.

“Well, you might not believe it, but the first ship I ever sailed on was an old Oberon, they don’t have a backup PMD, so a problem with it can knock the ship out entirely.” She lets out a low whistle. “So where are you headed? Ganymede? Maybe Titan?”

“Does it matter?”

She rolls her eyes at you. “I guess not, though I’m going to be doing an FTL jump out of this system as soon as we’re done here, the Sol System is way too crowded for my tastes.” She takes a step back and points to the doorway behind her. “So, can we get out of this hold now?”

>Follow her to wherever she wants to take you.
>”Let’s not. I just want to get back to my ship.” (ends conversation)
>”Your crew are surprisingly well-disciplined.”
>”Why were you in the Sol System to begin with? Don’t you normally stay near the frontiers?” (pry, roll 1d100, best of three)

>>793188
>”Your crew are surprisingly well-disciplined.”

Rolled 75 (1d100)

>>793188
>”Why were you in the Sol System to begin with? Don’t you normally stay near the frontiers?” (pry, roll 1d100, best of three)

>>793188
>Follow her to wherever she wants to take you.

>>793188
>Follow her to wherever she wants to take you.

Rolled 34 (1d100)

>>793188
>>”Why were you in the Sol System to begin with? Don’t you normally stay near the frontiers?” (pry, roll 1d100, best of three)

>Follow her to wherever she wants to take you.

Rolled 8 (1d100)

>>793188
>Follow her to wherever she wants to take you.
>”Why were you in the Sol System to begin with? Don’t you normally stay near the frontiers?” (pry, roll 1d100, best of three)

>>793188
> Follow her WHEREVER she wants to take you.
Maybe she wants to give us a piece of her booty?

>>793361
nah, not a guy she just met, unless she's a slut.

File: Iron Hand.png (227 KB, 1024x334)

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“Sure,” you reply reluctantly. With that, the two of you leave the cargo hold through the door. Entering into a long hallway, you remember what she had said about the Sol System being too crowded for her. “I do have a question though.”

“Fire away,” she says casually.

“So you mentioned Sol being too crowded for you, and I know that you generally hang around the frontier worlds. Why were you here in the first place?” The two of you reach a stairwell and begin ascending. She doesn’t answer the question at first, seeming very reluctant.

“I was born on Mars,” she explains. “And… Look, How about I explain this once we get to where we’re going.” She looks at you with apprehension, making you wonder just what her reason could have been.

“And where are we going?” You notice that the two of you have climbed a good distance, passing several doorways along the way.

“My office,” she replies. “It’s in the conning tower, so it’s kind of a long climb.” You’re honestly more surprised that a pirate captain has an office. You decide not to pry further about the whole Mars thing until you reach your destination, though you find yourself impressed with the sheer size of the ship.

“Nice ship,” you say absently as the two of you reach the top of the stairwell. She then leads you through a door and onto what you assume to be the ship’s bridge.

“Thanks,” she replies. “The Iron Hand is a Hadrian Class heavy cruiser. It got damaged after the War, and the Federation just sort of left it drifting, so I appropriated it and repaired the damage.” The ceiling is at least fifteen feet above the floor, and there is an elevated captain’s chair at the aft end of the bridge. The ten or so crew on duty all salute Blackheart as the two of you make your way aft, toward the chair. You notice that there is a door behind it. “Right this way,” she continues, opening the door and gesturing for you to enter.

>>793361
She'd more likely hand us a piece of our booty.

File: Blackheart's office.jpg (244 KB, 1280x651)

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You walk into the office to see that it is surprisingly well appointed for the abode of a pirate lord. There is a large, wooden desk, with a fancy chair. Two large couches are situated across from each other in one corner, with a coffee table separating them, and the walls are lined with tall bookcases filled with literature. Overall, the place reminds you more of a university headmaster’s study than a pirate’s office. You also notice a door off to one side of the room, likely leading to the captain’s quarters.

“Go ahead and have a seat,” she points to one of the couches. You sit down and she flops onto the couch across from you. She looks around the room, then sighs. “Home sweet home… So, you wanted to know why I was on Mars.”

“I’d like to know,” you reply.

She sighs loudly, almost uncomfortably. “Well, like I said, I was born there. Most of my family came from there, but I hadn’t been back in almost ten years,” she explains. “Can you think of a reason why someone would return home after so long?”

“A funeral,” you realize. She grimaces.

“Yeah… A funeral.” She lets out another long sigh, rubbing her head. “I was only there to go to the funeral, but I couldn’t go looking like I do, so I used that holo-mask. It would’ve gone off without a hitch if I hadn’t dropped my ID.” She looks at you with a sad smile. “But I was careless, and if you hadn’t stepped in, I would’ve had to blast my way out of jail later.”

>”Whose funeral was it?”
>”This is a pretty nice office, I wouldn’t have figured you to be the bookish type.”
>”So you just brought be here to say thanks?”
>Write-in.

>>793413
>>”This is a pretty nice office, I wouldn’t have figured you to be the bookish type.”

>>793413
>>”Whose funeral was it?”

>>793413
>”So you just brought be here to say thanks?”

>>793413
> So you just brought new here to say thanks?

>>793413
>”Whose funeral was it?”

Okay, since there's a tie between prying further about the funeral, or asking why she brought us here, and both options have a VERY different conversation after them, I'll wait ten more minutes for a tie-breaker, then I'll roll a 1d2 if none is made.

>>793413
>”Whose funeral was it?”
I'll bite on this since it's personal

Alright then! Writing.

“Whose funeral was it?” You lean forward, frowning.

Blackheart sighs again, picking up an expensive-looking, leather-bound book from the coffee table. She starts leafing through it absently. “I was out by New Brazil when I found out,” she says. “You know how when you first hear that someone important to you has died, it doesn’t even feel real? Almost like it’s a bad dream you’re about to wake up from?”

You nod. “Yeah, I know.” She raises an eyebrow at you, then returns your nod knowingly.

“You know, I’ve seen people get blown to bits right in front of me, I’ve lost crew before, people I’ve been close to… But it’s totally different when it’s family.” She rubs the bridge of her nose. “It was my dad,” she finally says. “I guess he’d been sick for a long time, I just never learned about it until it was too late.”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can muster. She shakes her head.

“Don’t be. Ain’t like it was anyone you know.” She seems to find a specific page in the book, and you see her eyes begin to glide across the page.

“Maybe not,” you reply. “But I know what it’s like.” You cross your arms and lean back.

She laughs mirthlessly. “I guess so,” she says. “You know, you’ve got more depth to you than most military men.”

“That’s because I’m not a military man anymore.” You point to her book, which you now recognize. “The Grapes of Wrath?”

She grins with a look of recognition. “There ain't no sin and there ain't no virtue. There's just stuff people do.” She closes the book and sits it on the coffee table.

>”Good quote for a pirate to live by.”
>”I never expected you to be so well-read.”
>”I can’t help but wonder why you wanted to meet with me.”
>”What was your dad like?”
>Write-in.

>>793852
>>”I never expected you to be so well-read.”

>>793852
>”What was your dad like?”

>>793852
> why you want to meet me?

>>793852
>”I can’t help but wonder why you wanted to meet with me.”

>>793852
>>”I never expected you to be so well-read.”

Will wait ten minutes for a tiebreaker, then roll a 1d2.

>>793852
>”I can’t help but wonder why you wanted to meet with me.”

You stay silent for a little while longer before bringing up a topic that you feel you still haven’t gotten a straight answer to. “Why did you want to meet with me in person?” You shrug at Blackheart. “Was it just to thank me for stepping in and helping you on Mars?”

Blackheart instantly seems to return to the way she was when you were in the cargo hold. A sly grin appears on her face. “What? I can’t just invite a guest aboard my ship?” She stretches tiredly on the couch. “Maybe you merely piqued my interest. After all, it isn’t every day that I meet a war hero who doesn’t try to shoot me and claim the bounty on my head.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

She rolls her one good eye at you. “Like I said before, I mostly wanted to thank you for helping me out. You see, when someone helps you out, it’s common courtesy to help them in return at some point.” She sits up straight, leaning toward you. “Don’t you get it, I’m telling you that I’m in your debt.”

“And why would a pirate feel the need to honor a debt to some random spacer?” You cross your arms.

She almost looks hurt. “One person’s pirate is another’s bread-winner,” she says. “Besides, you could’ve just kept watching like the rest of the crowd, but you went out of your way to help someone. The fact that you’re willing to help people who need it is a trait worth praising.”

She gets up from the couch and walks over to her desk, retrieving something from it. She tosses it at you and you catch it. The object is a small medallion with a symbol that you recognized from the fake ID that Blackheart had used on Mars. You flip the medallion over and see a scanner-code on the back.

“That’s a deputy diplomat’s badge from Reznor’s Pride,” she explains. “You can flash that at almost any authorities and get diplomatic immunity from most petty crimes. It’ll also allow you to land without paying port fees at Reznor’s Pride. You might find it useful to keep it on you if you ever plan on doing anything illegal.” She holds up a finger. “But, you know, it only works for small-time stuff. Oh, and you can land on planets with travel restrictions. Consider it a thank-you from me.”

>”Thanks.”
>”How did you get this?”
>”I don’t want a gift from a pirate.”
>"And what happens if a diplomat from Reznor's Pride catches me with this? A real diplomat, I mean."
>Write-in.

>>794264
>>"And what happens if a diplomat from Reznor's Pride catches me with this? A real diplomat, I mean."

>>794264
>"Thanks."

>>794264
>"And what happens if a diplomat from Reznor's Pride catches me with this? A real diplomat, I mean."

>>794264
>>"And what happens if a diplomat from Reznor's Pride catches me with this? A real diplomat, I mean."

“And what happens if a diplomat from Reznor’s Pride catches me with this?” You hold the badge up, then look at Blackheart, who leans against her desk. “I mean, a real diplomat.”

“Now that’s just uncalled for,” she replies with a grin. Then, she laughs for a solid thirty seconds. “You’ve never heard of Reznor’s Pride, have you?”

“No,” you admit. “But if it’s a big enough colony to have diplomats, it must be important.” She only laughs again when you say that.

“There’s only one diplomat for Reznor’s Pride,” she explains. Then she points to herself. “You’re looking at her.” She returns to the couch and sits down, resting her feet on the coffee table. “Reznor’s Pride is a small colony, so they only need one diplomat. That diplomat’s name is Lauren Harrington.” With that, she reaches into her pocket and produces the fake ID, handing it to you. Upon closer inspection, it doesn’t look at all like any fakes you have seen before.

“Wait a minute,” you inspect the ID closer. If it’s a fake, it’s the most thorough one you’ve ever seen. “There’s no way this is legit.”

“I’ll let you decide if it is or not,” she says with a smug grin. “But I promise you won’t run into anyone who will question the validity of that badge.”

You hand her ID back with a nod. “So this will let me go just about anywhere that a diplomat or ambassador is allowed?”

“Bingo,” she points at you. “But like I said, that’s just a thank-you. I’m still in your debt, so any time you need a favor from little old me, just let me know.”

“And how would I even ask for a favor from you?” You shrug at her, weighing the medallion in your hand.

“I have ways of being contacted,” she replies. “If you go to a consulate on any colony and ask to speak with Lauren Harrington from Reznor’s Pride, they’ll put you on the phone with me.”

>”I never would’ve expected a famous pirate like you to be so well-read.”
>”Actually, I don’t think I want a gift from a pirate.” (refuse the badge)
>”What is Reznor’s Pride like?”
>Write-in.

>>794538
>>”I never would’ve expected a famous pirate like you to be so well-read.”
>crafty? Yes. Reading the Classics and philosophical books, no.

>>794538
>”What is Reznor’s Pride like?”

>>794538
>>”What is Reznor’s Pride like?”
It's a pirate base isn't it

>>794538
>”What is Reznor’s Pride like?”

“What’s Reznor’s Pride like?” You pocket the badge. “It’s a pirate base, isn’t it?”

Blackheart laughs at your comment. “No, it is most certainly not a pirate base. It’s a small colony out in the Spiral Arm Frontiers,” she explains. “Tiny desert moon of a gas giant. Originally it was a Federal colony, but they cut all ties and financial support during the war, when mineral deposits at the poles ran dry.” She grimaces. “After that, times were really tough for everyone there. The colony had to raise its own self-defense force.” She points to an old peaked cap hanging on a chair in the corner. “I was a member in the beginning.”

“So what happened?” You lean forward, intrigued.

“Nothing happened,” she explains. “I just realized that I was in the wrong line of work if I actually wanted to help the people there. They were still just as poor and destitute as they were before the Defense Corps got set up, just safer.” She looks away, as if trying to remember something. “So I turned pirate. Steal from the rich, give to the poor, you know?” She shrugs. “That’s the reason I only go after Unionized ships. They don’t give a damn if their cargo gets taken, it’s not theirs to begin with.”

“So you give the money back to the people at Reznor’s Pride,” you say. “And somehow they make you an ambassador?”

“They don’t know that Ambassador Harrington is the pirate Blackheart,” she replies simply. “Well, that’s not exactly true. They don’t know we’re the same person, but they figure that we’re in cahoots. Not that the government there minds, it’s one of the few worlds where I don’t have a bounty on my head.”

“So you rob the Federal Transit Union and give the spoils to the people who need it,” you say. “That’s actually quite noble.”

“Well,” she grins. “Not all of the spoils, but most of it. I still have to keep enough to keep the lights on here.”

>”You know... This is an awfully private setting for just giving someone a badge and thanking them.” (flirt)
>”You’re very well-read for a space pirate.”
>”If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my ship.” (ends conversation)
>”What made you move from Mars to the Frontier?”
>Write-in.

>>794845
>”You know... This is an awfully private setting for just giving someone a badge and thanking them.” (flirt)

>>794845
>”You know... This is an awfully private setting for just giving someone a badge and thanking them.” (flirt)
>”You’re very well-read for a space pirate.”

File: Blackheart1.png (351 KB, 720x540)

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You raise an eyebrow at Blackheart, leaning back and draping an arm over the back of the couch. “You know…” Though your brain tells you there might be a better time and place for this sort of thing, you decide to go for it anyway. “This is an awfully… Intimate setting for just thanking someone and giving them a badge…” Immediately you lock eyes with her.

She blushes just a tiny bit, and for barely a second, then laughs. “Slow down, space cowboy,” she says with a smug raise of her eyebrow. “If there were two good things my father ever did for me, it was introducing me to classic literature, and telling me to watch out for charismatic spacers like yourself.” She crosses her arms. “Besides,” she continues. “This place is about as intimate as a living room for me.”

“Fair enough,” you reply. However, just as you’re about to say something else, Blackheart gets up from her couch and walks over to you, sitting uncomfortably close. She leans in, close enough that you can tell she’s wearing a little bit of perfume. She brushes up against you.

“Though, if we ever cross paths in the future… Buy me a drink and I might give you the time of day,” she says into your ear. Then, she backs off and scoots away, still sitting on the same couch as you.

You decide to change the subject, looking around the room. “To be fair,” you say. “This place looks more like a library than a living room. For a pirate captain, you’re surprisingly well-read.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” She shrugs. “But when you’re constantly doing multi-day FTL jumps, it pays to have some way to occupy yourself.” She gets up and walks over to one of the shelves, then makes a sweeping gesture with her arm. “I’ve read every book in this place at least once.” She pulls a book off of the shelf and brings it over to you. You take it and read the title aloud.

“The Sentinel,” you say. You look up at Blackheart, who crosses her arms. “Why are you handing this to me?”

“Because it’s a good book to read while traveling through space,” she replies. “It’s a collection of short stories from hundreds of years ago, but they’re all really good. Each one has an interesting take on what they thought the future might be like. Take it.”

“Uh… Sure, thanks,” you reply. You take the book as Blackheart sits back down at the couch opposite you.

>”You mentioned that your father introduced you to literature, what was he like?”
>”If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my ship.” (ends conversation)
>”How did you end up going from Mars to a Frontier colony anyway?”
>Write-in.

>>795224
>>”If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my ship.” (ends conversation)

>>795224
>>”You mentioned that your father introduced you to literature, what was he like?”

>>795224
>”You mentioned that your father introduced you to literature, what was he like?”

>>795246
>>795328
girls with daddy issues are ez

>>795404
I like Cynthia though

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>>795404
>Implying the space pirate waifu route will be even remotely easy if chosen

“You mentioned your father introducing you to literature,” you hold up the book for emphasis. “What kind of guy was he?”

Blackheart seems to ponder your question for a moment. “Well, if I’m being completely honest, he was a bastard,” she says. “He was a career military man, commodore in the Federal Navy.”

“Really?” You completely understand what she means when she says that he was a bastard, anyone who makes it to Commodore is at least an uptight, pompous asshole.

“Yeah, everything that I did had to be perfect, all the time.” She leans back, looking off at one of the bookcases. “Still, without him, I probably wouldn’t have had any goals or ambitions, so at least he motivated me to do something with my life.” She sighs. “I actually moved to Reznor’s Pride for the sole purpose of pissing him off.” She laughs a little bit, smiling fondly.

“Sounds like he was one hell of a guy,” you reply. “It’s not easy to make Commodore.”

“Yeah,” Blackheart affirms. “But he always took time to educate himself about whatever piqued his interest. I guess I inherited that from him. Well, that and my temper,” she grins.

“I’ll take your word for it,” you joke.

“So, Captain Starwind,” she leans toward you with a curious expression. “You were stationed aboard the Abraxis, right?”

“Yeah, for a little while,” you reply. You immediately change the subject. “What did you do when you were in the defense force for Reznor’s Pride?”

“I was a weapons officer at first,” she explains. “Then I became a captain for like two weeks before I resigned.” She leans in once more. “Come on, you’ve got to have some interesting stories from the Abraxis. It was the most famous ship in the war.”

>”I really, really don’t want to talk about it.” (polite)
>”Don’t push this topic with me.” (forceful)
>”Fine. You want a war story? I’ll give you a war story.” (tell her a story)

>>795551
>>”I really, really don’t want to talk about it.” (polite)

>>795551
>”Fine. You want a war story? I’ll give you a war story.” (tell her a story)
But only if it's the gun arm one Tom mentioned earlier

>>795551
tell her a story

>>795551
>>”Fine. You want a war story? I’ll give you a war story.” (tell her a story)

>”Fine. You want a war story? I’ll give you a war story.” (tell her a story)

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“You want a war story?” You sigh as you lean forward. “I’ll give you a war story…” You rub the bridge of your nose, thinking of where to begin. Blackheart looks expectantly at you. “This one was forgotten by most everyone because of what happened to the Abraxis eight months later. Anyway, so we were tasked with sailing straight into Imperial space on what’s called a ‘deep strike’ mission. After the first wave of Imperial attacks, our escort ships fled, leaving the Abraxis alone in enemy space.” You pause to think of how you’re going to word the next bit, then it comes to you. “But our captain was too stupid to withdraw with them, so he kept sailing us deeper into Imperial lines… About two days later, we came under constant Imperial attack, mostly from fighters and bombers. We managed to use our anti-ship defenses and fighters to repel the first few waves… But the attack lasted for over two weeks with no relief.”

“Jesus,” Blackheart sighs, her good eye wide with shock.

“Oh, it gets worse from here,” you reply. “So my squadron ended up being grounded during the hostilities, and we got co-opted by damage control a few times. The first time, I got caught in an explosion, but they rescued me and I didn’t get too banged up from it, no big deal. A few days later though, when the Imperial attacks resumed, I was tasked with assisting a crew in unblocking the damaged access door to a medical room. A fire started in the room while the patients were still trapped inside, and I rushed in without thinking and tried to open a hydraulic blast door. My squadmate told me to wait for him to use the manual override, but I didn’t listen…”

“And what happened?” She leans in closer, almost like a kid listening to a campfire story.

“One of the hydraulic pistons exploded when I tried to open it the normal way.” You roll up your sleeve, showing her your arm scar. “Pulped my arm. And the door was too badly damaged to use the manual override after that, so they had to pry it open with a pneumatic cutter. It took them almost an hour…” You grimace, rubbing your eyes. “Of the sixty patients trapped in the room, only fifteen made it out alive. All because of a stupid mistake.” You lean back, stone-faced. “That’s one of the more tame war stories that I have.”

“I…” Blackheart leans back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

>Write-in.

>>795811
>It's fine, you opened up to me it's only fair.

>>795811
"Nah, I'm the one who's sorry. People ask me that all the time and they expect something heroic, but it just kind of...grinds my gears."

>>795811
You can see why I am not a particular fan of war, or pirates. Both cause shit like that at the best of times. war hero my lily white ass.

I've got to do some grocery shopping. I'll be back in 30-45 minutes.

>>795811
Supporting >>795862

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“I’m the one who’s sorry,” you reply sadly. “People ask me that all the time expecting something heroic. It just kind of…” You trail off, frowning. “Grinds my gears. You know?”

Blackheart merely nods. “Yeah… I never knew about that.” She looks at the floor, sighing. “I know it takes a lot to say all that, so thanks.”

“No problem,” you reply with a small smile. The two of you chat just a little bit more, mostly about literature, surprisingly enough. It turns out that she enjoys many of the same authors and genres that you do. Then you decide that it would probably be best to head back to your ship. Captain Blackheart walks you all the way back to the cargo hold.

“See you around, captain.” She nods at you. You say goodbye to her, then walk back to your ship. As the airlock tube disconnects from your own vessel, you head up to the bridge, opening the door slowly.

Only to find Tom standing on the other side with a shotgun in his hands. The rest of your crew stand behind him. Upon recognizing you, he lowers the weapon and sighs. “You scared the hell out of me, sir.”

“It’s what I do best,” you reply sarcastically.

The rest of your crew then begins to clear out of the bridge. You watch as the Iron Hand turns and sails away, then engages its FTL drive, disappearing into the black.

You sit down in your chair, feeling exhausted from the encounter. You hold up the book that Blackheart gave you, opening it to the first page. There is a note written on the inside cover.

Today is your victory over yourself of yesterday. Tomorrow is your victory over lesser men.

You smile slightly, closing the book.

“So captain,” Tom crosses his arms and smiles crookedly. “I take it your visit wasn’t as unpleasant as either of us anticipated?”

>“Blackheart apparently enjoys classic literature.”
>”I guess she’s not as bad as the press makes her out to be.”
>”She probably only did that to size us up while threatening us. She has to have some ulterior motive.”
>”She totally digs me.”

>>796338
>>”She probably only did that to size us up while threatening us. She has to have some ulterior motive.”

>>796338
>“Blackheart apparently enjoys classic literature.”

>>796338
>>“Blackheart apparently enjoys classic literature.”

>>796338
>”She totally digs me.”

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“Blackheart apparently enjoys classic literature,” you say, holding up the book. “She’s got a damn library on her ship. But other than that, she just wanted to thank me. I sort of saved her when we were on Mars. She was wearing a disguise when I did though.”

“Well how about that,” Tom replies as he lights a cigarette. “The girls were worried sick, you know. Me too.” He takes a long drag of the cigarette before continuing. “Virgo seems to think you’ve got some kind of alien god watching over you. The thought of you walking onto a pirate cruiser didn’t even bother him. Kept saying that you weren’t in any danger because Blackheart didn’t want you dead.”

“That’s Virgo for you,” you say. “He’s insightful like that.” You open the book to the first page of the first story, then leaf through for a minute or two. “Everything in good order here?”

“Yes sir,” Tom replies. “Though I’m thinking of getting some shut-eye here soon. I’ll probably have Virgo man the bridge while I’m out.” He gets serious. “Seriously though, if I were you, I’d go talk to the girls, make sure they both know you’re completely alright. Corrigan went down to assist Cynthia with the PMD, with both of them on it, it might not take so much time to get it fixed.”

“Right,” you reply. With that, the both of you leave the bridge. Tom heads downstairs, and you pop into your quarters really quick and set the book on your bunk. Then, you head down to the Wardroom, where Tripe crawls out from under the table to greet you with a playful bark.

You pet him for a little bit, then get a drink from the fridge in the wardroom’s kitchen. After that, you turn on the TV really quick and check the Imperial news stations. They’re all covering the preparations for the festivities on Ganymede, and apparently Titan as well. There is a quick blurb about anti-military protestors on Triton, but it’s nothing to worry about.

>Head downstairs and talk with Corrigan and Cynthia.
>Go up to your quarters and get some rest.
>Do something else. (write-in)

>>796555
>Head downstairs and talk with Corrigan and Cynthia.

>>796555
>Go up to your quarters and get some rest.

>>796555
>Head downstairs and talk with Corrigan and Cynthia.
GOOD WORK CYNTHIA! We were sitting ducks for a pirate because you couldn't be fucked doing basic maintanance on my ship! [/jk]

>>796555
>>Head downstairs and talk with Corrigan and Cynthia.

>>796555
>Head downstairs and talk with Corrigan and Cynthia.

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Remembering what Tom had mentioned, you head down to the transmission room to check in with Cynthia and Corrigan. You first notice that the engineering room is near-total disarray, with tools scattered all over the place. Once you head back into the reactor room, you can hear the two of them talking.

“Hey girls,” you call out as you enter the transmission room. They are both wearing blue coveralls.

“Captain,” Corrigan nods at you. Cynthia is halfway into the transmission, but you hear her grunt a greeting as she scoots back onto the floor next to the machine.

“Hey Allen,” she says with a smile. She leans up against the bulkhead and points a wrench at the transmission. “We’re almost done here.”

“I heard that you two were worried,” you say bluntly. Cynthia and Corrigan glance at each other.

“Well yeah,” Cynthia says. “You got taken aboard a pirate ship.” She wipes her forehead before continuing. “And we didn’t even know about it until Tom came down here with a shotgun and told us to follow him to the bridge.”

“I am just glad that you are alright, Captain.” Corrigan speaks up, sounding very uneasy. “I do not know what… What any of us would do if you were taken, or worse.” She shakes her head. “It is not a future I like to think about.”

“Especially when you’re constantly going out and doing dangerous things,” Cynthia says, pointing to your cheek. “It’s not that far of a possibility for you to make a pirate lord angry somehow.”

“You know,” you reply with a sheepish grin. “That pirate was Blackheart… And you remember the woman I helped? The one who was getting harassed by those cops on Mars?”

“Yes…” Cynthia crosses her arms.

“Well it turns out that was really Blackheart wearing a disguise.” You see Cynthia’s eye twitch.

“I won’t beat you over the head with this wrench since you’re my captain,” she says as she waves a heavy-looking wrench at you. “But I want you to know that if you weren’t my captain, I would absolutely go full three-stooges on you with it.”

“Duly noted,” you reply with a smile. “Though she’s apparently a friend now.” You shrug. “She gave me a diplomat badge that lets me land wherever I want pretty much.” You pull out the badge and show Cynthia who makes an impressed expression at you.

“Fine,” she says jokingly. “I’ll let it slide just this once, sailor.”

“Understood, ma’am.” You joke right back at her, saluting. With that, the three of you talk a little bit more, then they get back to working on the PMD, so you leave them alone. They give you an estimate of five more hours until it is fully repaired.

>Head up to your quarters to get some rest. (Timeskips to next important thing in the voyage. Also there might be a surprise scene.)
>Do something else (specify)

>>796711
>>Head up to your quarters to get some rest. (Timeskips to next important thing in the voyage. Also there might be a surprise scene.)

>>796711
>>Head up to your quarters to get some rest. (Timeskips to next important thing in the voyage. Also there might be a surprise scene.)

>>796711
>>Head up to your quarters to get some rest. (Timeskips to next important thing in the voyage. Also there might be a surprise scene.)

>>796711
>>Head up to your quarters to get some rest. (Timeskips to next important thing in the voyage. Also there might be a surprise scene.)

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You decide that it would be best to head up to your quarters and get some rest. You enter your room and remove your jacket, boots and jeans, rolling into bed and grabbing your book.

You begin reading it, and get all the way through the first story, which is about a conflict between the outer and inner Solar system. Huh, that’s pretty topical. However, in this one, the Federation is the outer solar system, and Earth is pretty much on its own.

After that, you start to read the second story, but quickly feel your eyes getting heavy. You struggle to keep awake, but eventually lose to your tiredness.

You awake in pain, looking up at a white-tiled ceiling. You’re in a bed with uncomfortable sheets that smell like disinfectant, and there is an IV in your arm. There is music. No, a woman is humming. You look over to see a young lady in a nurse’s uniform. She has raven hair and deep, green eyes.

“Where…” You begin to speak, even though you know exactly where you are, a hospital ship, you have no idea how you got here. The woman looks up from a book that she is reading.

“You’re awake,” she says calmly. You can tell now that she’s younger than you. She looks like she just got out of the academy. You move to get up, but she stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.” She nods to a doorway behind her. “The Thulian who found you insisted that he stay with you until your condition stabilizes properly.” You look through the doorway, out into the hall. There is a Thulian sleeping, sitting on a bench in the hallway. He is the same one that you remember pulling you out of what was left of the escape pod.

“But how?” You croak, barely able to speak.

“You’re aboard the Mercy, a hospital cruiser.” The nurse replies to your question as best as possible. “The Navy received part of the distress call and arrived as quickly as possible.” She smiles gently at you. “I’m Nurse Owens, by the way.”

You let your head sink back into the pillow, feeling the sting of tears forming in your eyes. “What about the others?”

Nurse Owens seems confused by your question at first. Then she looks away apologetically. “Oh, you mean the other survivors…” She grimaces, then looks back at you. “I… I’m afraid the other crew—“

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You awaken with a small yelp, gripping the book you fell asleep with. You are back in your quarters, the smells of the hospital ship are gone, but still fresh in your mind.

You see that you slept almost twelve hours straight, missing two meals. The next day and a half are relatively uneventful, with the PMD fixed, Tom makes up for the lost time, and you are soon through the DMZ and onward to Jupiter.

On the morning of the third day, when you begin to see Jupiter ahead of the ship as a tiny dot in space, you learn on the news that the protests on Triton have boiled over into riots, and that the army garrison there has been called out to suppress them. You hear similar stories from certain cities on Venus, where people are now protesting the toxic waste from the Federal Navy Shipyard. Just more of the same shit, you figure.

As you eat breakfast in the Wardroom, you hear that the CFP has been making the criteria for the Federal Navy to pass through the DMZ stricter. You also learn that the pirate captain Blackheart has been sighted near Reznor’s Pride, which figures. The Transit Union has apparently increased the bounty on her head to 400,000 Standards.

“Captain,” Tom’s voice comes over the intercom. “Could you grab Cynthia and get up on the bridge?”

You do as he asks, and when the two of you arrive on the bridge, you see a beautiful, blue globe in front of you, with Jupiter looking angry and orange in the background.

“Here we are,” Tom says with a grin. “Beautiful Ganymede! The Great Blue Diamond of the Empire!”

And that's it for tonight! Thanks so much for playing! I'll resume the session tomorrow afternoon sometime, but my run-times will be weird because I have to write a paper comparing the governments of North Korea and Germany.

Feel free to leave any questions and criticisms.

Mood music:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1A9lcO2xeMQ

>>796908
Thanks for running QM

I feel like the 'writes female characters terribly' complaint is gonna spring up again considering it seems Blackheart just gave away a fairly useful item and automatically shows some attraction to Allen

>>796922
You may be right. There was a reason for her doing that though. We're not the only person she's given a badge to. It helps to have people on your good side when you're a pirate. She's very pragmatic, we've only seen a very small element of the 'real' Blackheart.

>>796922
Also, the only place where we can land now that we couldn't before is Titan. We're still banned by name on Europa. The badge is not nearly as useful as Blackheart made it sound. Especially since most places don't really respect or honor the deputy badges since a diplomat can just give them out to whoever they feel like deputizing.

Or, to but it in a more blunt, less spoilery way: Almost every character I write is duplicitous as a motherfucker. This is a world where most everyone in any position of power has a hidden agenda, or at least reasons for their actions beyond what appears to be obvious.

The most honest person Allen has met outside of the crew has been Claudia, she doesn't even use her real name.

>>797003
>tfw even mechanic girl is a duplicitous bitch

>>797014
Sorta. You'll just have to find out why though. :^)

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It's strange to see the readerbase actually giving backlash against waifuing. Most people would be falling over themselves about seducing everybody and making them waifus.

>>796937
I'd say the problem isn't in the badge or the encounter with Blackheart in itself. The problem was it was written like a waifu route opening. It showed.

>>797404
No complaints from me. I want the cute well read pirate queen for a waifu

>>797624
>tfw can't actively join because of time difference but Corrigan a best waifu

>>797404
>The problem was it was written like a waifu route opening.
The possibility for one is there. Let's just say Blackheart views Allen as more than just a useful pawn. Because anons succeeded with the pry option (by the skin of their teeth, I might add) they managed to make her feel... Something toward him, other than cold pragmatism.

Anyway, quick announcement: I'll post a write-up sometime around 8:00 PM, but the actual session won't start until around 10:30-11:00 due to a prior obligation.

>>798177
Cool I look forward to it. The whole reason I voted to tell her one of our war stories was because we made her feel.

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You manage to find an economy port slot open on Soyuz, costing you 2,500 0f your 5,000 standards. With the amount paid, you can remain docked there for two days. The port authority tell you that if you leave early, the remaining time’s bill will be returned to you, which is relatively nice compared to dock slots in the Federation or CFP, where you don’t get any refunds. Tom takes the ship down through the thick, humid atmosphere of Ganymede, another product of terraforming. And as you break through a bank of clouds, you see it.

Soyuz City is a massive structure on a platform in the middle of the ocean, towering easily 5,000 feet high. Its massive outcroppings pay host to all kinds of white buildings, and you see many small and large starships flying near the city. The ATC instructs you to land at a platform near the base of the city, and soon the spaceport comes into view. It is basically a massive bay constructed into the side of the lower part of the city, with several large docking stations. Tom puts the ship into a slot off to one side.

You feel the ship shudder beneath you as the landing gear deploy and the engines power down. One of the first things you notice is just how flamboyantly decorated the docks are, likely for the festivities. You head down to the cargo hold, where the port authorities collect the cargo and pay you your dues. Totaling in at a whopping 14,000 Standards. Then, as your passenger leaves, a pair of men in suits show up and give you the fee for transporting her, 8,000 Standards. Altogether, you now have 24,500.

You take your cash and return to the Bad Habit, going up to the Wardroom, where your entire crew waits for your next actions. Tom steps forward, crossing his arms. “A word, Captain?” He points to the now-empty room that used to be the CIC.

“Of course,” you reply. The two of you walk into the room, then he pulls out a pen and a pad of paper.

“Seeing as we’re starting to pull in some cash now, and considering that the initial pay from when you’ve hired all of us has mostly run out… I’m thinking it would be a good idea to divvy up the cash now and pay the crew.”

“Go on,” you reply.

“Well, there are a few different ways we can do this, sir.” He positions the pen right above his notepad, ready to write. “You could divide up the payout equally five separate ways, you could keep half and divide the rest equally four different ways, or you could divert some of it into a kind of common fund for the ship, and divide up the rest among yourself and the crew.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter to me, as long as we’re getting paid enough to live on.”

>”Alright. Let’s divide the whole thing equally.”
>”I’ll keep half, and the rest will be divided equally among the crew.”
>”Let’s put an amount into a general fund and divide the rest.” (specify amount for general fund)
>”I have a different idea.” (write-in)

Also, guys,I won't be able to write another update until I get home. That will probably be about three hours from now. Have fun deciding how to divide the spoils until then!

>>800497
>>”Let’s put an amount into a general fund and divide the rest.” (specify amount for general fund)
4500 in the general amount, the rest split five ways

>>800497
>”Let’s put an amount into a general fund and divide the rest.” (specify amount for general fund)
I can agree with this split>>800553
Seems pretty fair

>>800497
> I'll keep half
Which well immediately be spent on getting a new radio and drive. They ain't cheap.

“I’m thinking we should put 4,500 in the general fund,” you reply. “Then we’ll divide the rest up equally among the five of us, which should give everyone 4,000 each.” You figure that to be the fairest way of paying your crew, not to mention the most efficient. Plus you figure that having general fund for the ship is a must, seeing as you’ll probably need to have some extra cash at your disposal at some point.

Tom writes the numbers down, mumbling the amounts to himself. “Okay then,” he says. “Sounds good to me. Let’s go ahead and dispense the cash.”

The two of you walk back into the Wardroom and begin handing the cash out, 4,000 to each crew member. You then keep 4,000 for yourself, and deposit the remaining 4,500 into a lockbox. The crew all light up upon receiving their pay, though Corrigan seems a little bit less happy about it than the rest of the crew, and Virgo seems about as stoic as normal.

“Alright,” Tom explains as soon as everyone gets their pay. “This is your cut of the most recent payments we’ve received. Do with it as you please.”

“I understand there are ongoing festivities here on Ganymede,” Virgo speaks up, crossing his arms. “What are your plans for shore-leave, sir?”

“I was just about to ask the same thing,” Cynthia adds. "Though I need the time to look for engine parts and a new receiver for the Q-band."

Tom looks over at you with a shrug. “Well, we’re here for two days, sir. It’s your call.”

>”As long as you’re back by the time we take off, feel free to do what you like.”
>”You get six hours of shore leave today, six tomorrow.”
>”We haven’t the time for shore leave. You’ll need to have a specific reason to leave the ship.”
>Write-in.

>>801655
>>”You get six hours of shore leave today, six tomorrow.”

>>801655
>”You get six hours of shore leave today, six tomorrow.”

>>801655
Then it falls and when they say, they say it with the likeness of all. There in that time, for once, we had every outlier, but it was not to last.

>>801655
> do whatever you want
But if you get locked up I'm not bailing you out until the return trip.

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“You’ll get six hours of leave today, and six tomorrow,” you reply professionally. “I’d like to have everyone back aboard the ship in time for supper if I can.”

Your crew acknowledge your decision, and Virgo and Corrigan leave, likely headed back to their staterooms. Cynthia, however, approaches you.

“So like I was saying, I’ll be needing to head out to a place to find a receiver and replacement PMD.” She crosses her arms. “I know you just paid all of us, but this isn’t going to cover everything,” she holds up her pay. “I’ll need to take some of the ship’s general fund with me when I head out.”

“How much are you going to need?” You raise your eyebrows at her. It makes sense though, seeing as the parts do need replaced.

“Well, I have 4,000 on me from just now,” she says. “And I should be able to find a Q-band receiver for 3,000. The PMD is going to be what gets us.” She trails off, likely doing some mental math. “If I can haggle a shopkeeper down some, I can probably get a PMD for 3,500. But it’ll be used, and it won’t have any warranty.” She grimaces. “But a new one with a warranty is going to cost at least 6,000. Probably more.”

You glance over to Tom, who is leaning against the bulkhead, lighting a cigarette. “I mean, this is what the general fund is for, sir.” He shrugs at you. “Though you could always add your own money to the general fund, but it’ll mean having less to spend on your own.”

You sigh, considering your options.

>”Fine, take what you need from the general fund.” (-2,500 from general fund)
>”The PMD can wait.”

>>801827
>>”Fine, take what you need from the general fund.”
Maybe add 1000 from us to offset the cost

>>801827
>”Fine, take what you need from the general fund.” (-2,500 from general fund)
Maybe give her some of our cash too

>>801827
> Take whatever you need
We really should have saw to the ship before paying everyone. And then making Cynthia spend her money on our ship.

Alrighty. We're gonna have a little runoff vote because you guys bring up some good options.

Give Cynthia some cash from our personal account?
>Yes (specify amount)
>No

Add money to the general fund?
>Yes (specify amount)
>No

>>801884
>Give Cynthia some cash from our personal account?
>Yes (1000)

>Add money to the general fund?
>No

>>801884
>Yes
1000

>No
But the next time we get payed we should add some of our personal into the general

>>801884
> yes, all of it, she can return any she didn't spend
> no, not until we need to

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“Alright,” you say. “Take whatever you need from the general fund.” You point to the lockbox, which is still sitting on the table, then you hand her the key to it. She heads over and retrieves 2,500 from the box.

“Thanks,” she says with a nod. She turns to leave, but you decide to stop her.

“Cynthia, wait.” You walk over to her and take some money out of your pocket, 1,000 Standards. “Here, take this too.” You hand it to her.

She reluctantly takes the extra cash. “Thanks again,” she says almost questioningly. “I’ll go ahead and bring back whatever I don’t use.”

“Sounds good,” you reply. With that, she leaves, heading down to the cargo hold and likely out to look for a store.

“Sir,” Tom speaks up, still leaning against the wall. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to head out and get some groceries. Mostly fresh produce and stuff like that. I make a mean bell peppers and beef.” He salutes you casually, which you return. Then he leaves, and you stand alone in the Wardroom.

>Explore the docks.
>Visit a crew member. (Virgo or Corrigan?)
>Bring up your communicator’s map and find some places of interest.
>Do something else. (what?)

(OOC: this is going to be my last post for the night, but we'll resume around 3:30 PM tomorrow and finish the thread with some Ganymede action.)

>>802050
>Explore the docks.

>>802050
>>Bring up your communicator’s map and find some places of interest.
Look for extra cargo jobs we can do

>>802050
>Bring up your communicator’s map and find some places of interest.

>>802050
>Bring up your communicator’s map and find some places of interest

>>802050
>Visit Corrigan

>>802050
> visit Corrigan
Tell her about our plan (it is, fuck you) to get her on planet in disguise during the festival.

>>802050
>Visit Corrigan

Alright. I'm going to combine the map thing with talking to Corrigan. Will begin writing shortly.

First, you pull out your communicator and check the map function. A holographic display of the city shows up in front of you, with many points of interest shown. You notice something called the Ritter Club, which is apparently some kind of fancy night club. There is also the Royal Hollander Armory, which is having a public expo due to the festival. The Lord’s Palace has also been reconfigured for festivities, and there will apparently be some kind of banquet going on there. You imagine that a lot of high-society types will be there. The map also shows a number of popular destinations for spacers, including several saloons. The coffee houses that you’ve heard so much about are also highlighted. There are also apparently several large movie houses, which are like movie theatres mixed with opera houses, if you remember correctly. You then see some photos of the festivities from last year, many of which show people wearing what look like Zorro masks.


Even though your map has a myriad of destinations, you honestly have no idea which places are worth visiting. So, with that in mind, you head over to Corrigan’s stateroom. You knock on the door and she lets you in, seeming somewhat deflated. “Good morning Captain,” she says as she gestures for you to sit at the desk.

“Something wrong? You seem kind of depressed,” you say as you take your seat. Corrigan sighs as she sits on her bed.

File: Born Strategist.jpg (13 KB, 633x349)

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“I am merely saddened that I am not able to use my pay for anything while we are here.” She shrugs. “It is not a problem though. I am sure that I will be able to spend it when we go to New Albany.” She frowns.

“There’s no reason that you can’t leave the ship,” you reply. “We’d just have to make you look different at a glance so that those Van Damen creeps don’t recognize you. Which won’t be difficult considering how many people are out in the streets due to the festival.” You cross your arms, thinking of ways to disguise her. “I saw some photos of the festival, a lot of people seem to be wearing those masks. Besides, it’d be nice to have someone who knows this place showing me around.”

Corrigan’s eyes brighten at your suggestion. “You wish to go to the Festival with me?” She then seems to become lost in thought for a moment. “The masks are called ‘Domino’. We will be able to find a vendor selling them on just about every street corner.” She raises an eyebrow. “They were actually banned for a brief time just after the War.”

“But we won’t look out of place wearing them, right?” You lean forward, beginning to worry.

“Of course not,” Corrigan explains. “They are generally worn by the wealthy or famous in order to stay anonymous. Though just about anyone may wear them.” She shrugs, raising her eyebrows. “Though tourists also wear them whenever they visit during the festival. Generally the more colorful masks are the ones being worn by tourists, since they do not know any better. People who actually live here on Soyuz wear the black masks, they also dress more modestly.” She points to the bunk above hers, where much of her new, colorful clothing sits. “I am thinking that since you are obviously not an Imperial, it would be best for us to pretend to be tourists. But it is your call, Captain.”

>”As long as you can act like someone from the Federation, sure.” (pretend to both be tourists)
>”What if I pretend to be a tourist and you pretend to be my friend from Ganymede who is showing me around?”
>”I’m not half-bad at impersonation, we could both pass as Imperial citizens.” (go dressed as regular Imperials)

>>803302
>”As long as you can act like someone from the Federation, sure.” (pretend to both be tourists)

>>803302
>”What if I pretend to be a tourist and you pretend to be my friend from Ganymede who is showing me around?”

>>803302
>”As long as you can act like someone from the Federation, sure.” (pretend to both be tourists)

>>803302
> pretend to both be tourists

>>803302
>”What if I pretend to be a tourist and you pretend to be my friend from Ganymede who is showing me around?”
It might be hard for her to hide the accent

>>803302
>>”What if I pretend to be a tourist and you pretend to be my friend from Ganymede who is showing me around?”

File: she basically tried to im(...).png (149 KB, 512x512)

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“What if I act like your friend from the Federation and you just pretend to be a local showing me around? Would that work?” When you say that, Corrigan frowns.

“It would not be very believable, sir.” She crosses her arms. “It would look to many like I was… Accompanying you, if you catch my meaning.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” you shrug. “I AM accompanying you, right?”

She instantly goes red. “I-I think that word means something different to you than it does to Imperials,” she explains quickly. “To accompany someone means…” She trails off and you instantly get what she’s trying to say.

“Oh,” you exclaim. “I feel dumb, my bad.”

“It is no problem,” she shakes her head. “It is merely a small misunderstanding. I believe that we should stick with either pretending to be tourists or Imperials.”

“As long as you can pretend to be someone from the Federation,” you say with a shrug.

“I got a pretty good notion of how you folks act, sir,” Corrigan speaks in an atrocious, semi-Southern accent. The grin on her face shows that she’s joking. You think.

“Corrigan,” you sigh. “Please, for my sake. Don’t use that accent.” She chuckles a bit at your displeasure. “All you have to do is try to mimic my accent.”

“I know, sir.” She replies to you in an almost flawless imitation of your accent, which is honestly a little bit unnerving. You’re not used to hearing her voice without the Imperial accent. “I was just joking. Miss Cynthia says you enjoy jokes.” Ah, it figures. Of course she would start to pick things up from hanging around Cynthia.

“Well, I guess your accent will be enough to fool most Imperials,” you say with a small grin. “I guess we can head out whenever you’re ready.”

“Very well then,” Corrigan keeps the American accent up. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get some nicer clothes on if we’re going to the Festival. I’ll meet you in the Wardroom when I’m ready.” With that, you leave her stateroom.

>Head up to your quarters and put on something nicer than a white t-shirt and jeans.
>Wait in the Wardroom.
>See what Virgo is up to.
>Do something else. (write-in)

>>803462
See what Virgo is up to.

>>803462
>Head up to your quarters and put on something nicer than a white t-shirt and jeans.

>>803462
>>Head up to your quarters and put on something nicer than a white t-shirt and jeans.

>>803462
> Had to your quarters and put on something touristy
I Ganymede?

You decide to head up to your quarters and put some less generic clothes on. When you get up there, you open your suitcase to see a few different things. There’s the Olympus United Football shirt, which you decide to wear. You then swap your jeans out for some brown canvas pants, and you throw on your old, fur-collared flight jacket. You also decide to take the diplomat badge, just in case.

After that, you head back downstairs to the Wardroom, where you have a seat and read the book Blackheart gave you. You get about a quarter of the way through the second story before Corrigan’s voice catches your attention.

“Captain,” she greets you. You look up from the book to see her in the yellow sundress that she seems to like so much. Though you also notice that she carries a wide-brimmed hat with a yellow ribbon around it, which likely came with the dress. She puts the hat on smugly as you stand up. “I like your jacket,” she says. You notice that she’s still using her fake American accent. Raises an eyebrow as she likely spies the patch on your left shoulder. Luckily, it’s just a generic Federal Navy patch, with no specific insignia. You figure that it would be good to wear your flight jacket to emphasize that you aren’t from Soyuz.

“Thanks. The hat is a nice touch,” you reply as you point to her hat. “So, are you ready to get going?”

“Sounds good to me,” she says as the two of you head down to the cargo hold. It is somewhat interesting seeing the hold as empty as it is now, since two-thirds of your cargo is gone.

You both walk out onto the docks, which are crowded with various people, many who you assume to be spacers like yourself. The two of you pass the customs booth, as well as several small vendors of various products. Eventually, the two of you happen upon a stand where a short man is selling masks. There are the plain, black ones, then there are a variety of strange colors and styles. The both of you walk right up to the stand and begin searching for masks to conceal your identities. Corrigan chooses a red one with little devil horns and a black, swirly pattern. You decide to go with a dark blue one with black stripes. The masks are cheap, 10 Standards a piece, and the two of you make your purchases and walk away from the booth.

“So what places here are interesting?” You say as the two of you climb the wide stairwell leading out of the docks.

Corrigan scrunches her lips as she thinks. “Well, I remember the Lord’s Palace as being a popular place during the Festivals, but it is very touristy. There are the coffee houses of course, which are also places where you can find cargo and passenger contracts. The customs office is merely where people register their cargo.” She nods thoughtfully. “The Soyuz University of General Studies is having an open house, like they do every year, so we could go there for free entertainment and refreshments. And speaking of entertainment, movie houses are fun. I believe Soyuz FN Football is having a match against Olympus United,” she points to your Olympus United shirt. “Assuming you enjoy going to football matches.”

“Anything else worth mentioning?” The two of you reach the next level, which is a large room, easily the size of several football stadiums, though filled with regular sized buildings, and lit from above. You realize that the lower levels of Soyuz are designed to mimic a conventional city.

“Hmm…” Corrigan pauses. “We could always check out the Ritter Club.” You raise an eyebrow at Corrigan.

“You’re not even old enough to drink,” you say.

She scoffs at your statement. “On Earth, maybe.” She leads you to a part of the roadway where several cabs lay waiting. “In the Empire, the legal drinking age is seventeen. With the consent of parents.” She gestures to the cabs. “So where do you want to go?”

>”The football game sounds interesting.”
>”Let’s check out a coffee house, I should probably see about some cargo contracts while I’m out anyway.”
>”The university open house sounds interesting.”
>”Let’s go to a movie house.”
>”I’m always down for hitting up a club. Let’s check this Club Ritter place out.”
>Write-in.

>>803795
>>”Let’s check out a coffee house, I should probably see about some cargo contracts while I’m out anyway.”

>>803795
> The university
How come all the cargo contracts so far have been handled through customs? Were they all government jobs or do private companies delegate shipping or what?

>>803838
Basically the Federation (and any formerly-Federal planets like Mars) has a system set up that lets people post their cargo contracts in the local customs office, so long as the cargo is insured. When you go to a customs office to pick up contracts, you're basically just going through an intermediary designed to make it easier for spacers to get work. The Empire has a much, much less hands-on approach to facilitating trade.

And the really fun ones are going to be totally independent planets where you'll have to go to the saloon to find work.

I'll wait ten more minutes for a tiebreaker then rolla 1d2.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

1. Coffee Haus
2. University

Writing now.

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“Let’s check out the university open house,” you reply. Corrigan nods, then opens the door to one of the cabs, which it turns out are totally automated. The two of you sit down in the vehicle and she pulls up the destination list, selecting the Soyuz University. The cab takes off quietly, yet quickly, and speeds down the street.

“I didn’t expect you to be a fan of academia,” Corrigan says with a small smile. She rolls down her window and leans back in her seat, stretching. The mask she wears really emphasizes her eyes, and the dress emphasizes everything else about her. If you were to see her at a glance, you wouldn’t recognize her.

“Well, I’m not a huge academic,” you reply honestly. “I got pretty average grades in high school and Navy Polytechnic.” You shrug as you roll your own window down. “But I was always learning about things that actually interested me outside of school. It all really depended on what interested me at the time.”

“I see,” she says with a nod. “And what interested you?”

“In high school? Not a whole lot. Old movies and books mostly, as well as my motorcycle.” You frown just a little bit thinking back to high school.

“You had a motorcycle?” Corrigan’s eyes go wide and she grins just a little bit.

“It was a shitty old dirtbike, but yeah.” You think back to it. A little 250cc hack-job with a messed up transmission and bent rear wheel. “Anyway. College was a little bit different,” you continue. “I had just flunked out of Marine Boot Camp because of an injury, and a Navy recruiter offered me a deal: two years of college while simultaneously training to be a pilot, and they’d set me up as an ensign once I graduated.” You lean back in your seat and adjust your mask a little bit. “In college I was mostly interested in Navy fighters, since that was what I’d be doing once I got out.”

“What did you go to college for?” Corrigan raises an eyebrow.

“Business,” you reply guiltily. “Same as just about every Navy officer. It was just an easy program to do while training to fly.”

File: Soyuz University.jpg (215 KB, 950x600)

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The two of you talk about some other inconsequential stuff as the cab goes up several levels, then exits the interior areas of Soyuz. The university is on an exterior outcropping overlooking the ocean. The campus is a multi-building complex designed after the classical universities on Earth. Photographs of Harvard first come to mind when you see the buildings. However, something strikes you. The buildings, despite being made to look ancient, just look too… New. They are merely impressions of great places of learning. The cab pulls up outside the main building and the two of you get out, finding yourselves face to face with a thirty foot tall statue of a bearded scholar. Many other masked people mill about the campus, likely students and professors. You honestly don’t see many people dressed like the two of you.

You both stand in front of the main building, where the festivities seem to be centered. However, there is a map that shows other interesting locations. There is an observation platform that overlooks the sea, an outdoor auditorium, which appears to be the source of some far-away music, and an engineering building which is apparently hosting a delegation of some kind. Also, stuck to the map, you see a poster in both English and the Imperial language which tells of a culture festival being held at the science and math building.

You look at Corrigan, who merely shrugs. “You’ve been to a college before, not me.” She gestures for you to choose where to go.

>”Let’s go to the main building.”
>”The observation platform probably has a great view. Let’s go there.”
>”Want to see what that music is all about?”
>”That engineering delegation might be interesting.”
>”I’m curious about the culture festival.”

>>804152
>>”I’m curious about the culture festival.”

>>804152
What kind of delegation? A diplomatic one? Because we are a diplomat! If it's just a bunch of visiting engineers then fuck that, go look at the ocean, maybe they have dolphin analogues doing tricks there.

>>804152
>”I’m curious about the culture festival.”

>>804152
>”I’m curious about the culture festival.”

“I’m curious about the culture festival,” you reply with a smile. “Seems pretty interesting, don’t you think?”

“Indeed,” Corrigan says with a nod. “I’ve never really experienced many other cultures.”

With that, the two of you walk over toward the large, grassy area where the festival appears to be taking place. There are large crowds, and many different booths. You notice that the cultures here are not only human ones, but two alien species as well. You see a booth with several Thulians in traditional garb, and a booth with several Psirineans in both traditional and regular clothing. There are also food stands with cultural foods from the various human and alien cultures. You notice that the foods are being prepared and served by their respective cultures and species, which is interesting.

You and Corrigan go over and sit at some picnic tables in the middle of the festival area. “This is quite amazing,” she says. “I did not know that Thulians were so… Mystic.” She points to a pair of old Thulians, male and female, wearing traditional elders’ garbs.

“They’re not normally like that,” you explain. “I mean, the elders tend to be like that, but the younger generations are a lot more moderate. Contact with humanity has altered their culture significantly too, from what Virgo tells me.” You shrug. “According to him, the traditional ways of the elders are going extinct. Though he doesn’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing.”

“I see,” she replies. Then she points to the booth with the Psirineans, who look almost identical to humans, only with pointy ears. “And who are they?”

“Psirineans,” you explain. “I don’t know a whole lot about them. I’ve only ever seen maybe a dozen. Never spoken to one.” You shrug. “They’re a complete mystery to me. And to most of humanity. We’ve had pretty limited contact with them as far as I know. This culture festival might be unprecedented.”

“Interesting,” Corrigan nods again. “What do you think we should do first?”

>”Let’s see the Psirinean booth.”
>”Let’s see the Thulian booth.”
>”Let’s mingle with the crowd a bit first.”
>”I’m interested in the frontier-colony cultures, let’s check those booths out.”

>>804469
>”Let’s see the Psirinean booth.”