“Take us in, helm.” You open the comm and give instructions to the prize crew to remain at a distance. Most pirates respected the neutrality of the Point enough that they wouldn’t try and snatch someone else’s prize from under their nose.

The Flow My Tears starts toward the station on impulse drive, and you continue admiring the view as the ship draws closer. The Point had the distinction of being one of the oldest stations in the Fringe (other than the Federation’s survey outposts), and its heritage shows in the sweeping curve of the durasteel plating which covers the station’s core. Unlike the more utilitarian constructions of the last few centuries, the Point had its special embellishments, from the vintage observation module jutting out from the main hab deck, to the graceful point where you knew its sensor systems were housed. It had seen its fair share of tacked-on modifications over the years, of course, but these did nothing to ruin the graceful lines of what had formerly been a deep-space habitat. Stellar matter shifts and you catch a glimpse of the station’s well-armored fuel bulb, situated at the very bottom of the station.

The ship completes its mate with the station, and helm initiates a low-power docking mode at your order. In this state, the Flow My Tears will take energy and atmosphere from the station, but it’s still ready to disembark under its own power in just a few minutes should any problems arise. That said, the Point’s neutrality was well-respected and you rarely saw it violated; you didn’t anticipate any problems.

–––––––––––––

Starkey, the good man he is, already has everything figured out with regard to the sale of your stolen goods. He’s set aside the best of the loot (spacesuits, computers, and whatnot) to supplement and replace your own outdated items; the rest is no trouble at all to find markets for. The Point is teeming with both large criminal cartels and small vendors eager to buy up your supply, no matter what your price is. You’ve only been docked for a few hours when the console starts notifying you of completed transactions (completed both digitally and via cash transfers conducted by trusted members of your crew), and you can finally say that the job’s done.


JOB COMPLETE: GENERAL SYSTEMS FREIGHT LINES – STATION RAID
Payout: 1.2 million credits (worth 26x ¢46,000 Libra Lines cruise trips)
Bonus: LaBauve-type laspistol; one bottle of Caprian liqueur
Crew status: Pleased; ready for more; adapting to new crewmates


A pretty modest payout, as things tend to go; the money is pretty small in the context of how pricey things get on the black market. You wouldn’t be buying a planet anytime soon.

Some of the crew has disembarked to buy some drinks on the station and celebrate, and you’re in no particular rush to head off on another job. The station’s got plenty of fun activities as well.

You’re at safe harbor, have made a decent sum of money, and have time to work on whatever projects you like. Here are a few suggestions, but there is no definite time limit or cap on what you can do, or any particular order to do it in.

>Investigate the prize ship. The boarding crew said it was clean, but you’ve got your own hunches about its function and purpose. A closer look might reveal something else about the otherwise unremarkable vessel.
>Additionally, you are entirely free to sell the prize ship for some more cash. Refurbishing it to create a second vessel is also possible, but will require some funds to be set aside and isn’t an instant return.
>Socialize. The Point is full of pirates like yourself. Making friends could create many unique opportunities, such as special missions, possible customizations for your ship, new crew members, or anything else you’re wise enough to leverage them for.
>Walk the ship. It’s not a requirement, but visiting the crew is never a bad thing, and you never know what might come of it.
>Go shopping (specify the category you want to shop in)
>Write-in. You’re docked at one of the biggest stations in the Fringe and you have a computer.

>>5883193
>Investigate the prize ship. The boarding crew said it was clean, but you’ve got your own hunches about its function and purpose. A closer look might reveal something else about the otherwise unremarkable vessel.

>Refurbish

>Walk the ship. It’s not a requirement, but visiting the crew is never a bad thing, and you never know what might come of it.

>Socialize. The Point is full of pirates like yourself. Making friends could create many unique opportunities, such as special missions, possible customizations for your ship, new crew members, or anything else you’re wise enough to leverage them for.

>Go shopping (specify the category you want to shop in)
Alcohol; whiskey, sake, mead, grappa, and absinthe
Clothes; a new custom made, tailored suit and tie, a hat, and shoes made by a cobbler
Food; a nice, upscale restaurant made from wild, crazy, unique ingredients
Massage parlour

>Write-in
Gambling den
Partake in a fight club
Wife matchmaker service
Shipyard for available upgrades to ship


In this order. Welcome back!

>>5883204
Oh, and look for an investment opportunity in between or during our outing.

>>5883193
>Investigate the prize ship. The boarding crew said it was clean, but you’ve got your own hunches about its function and purpose. A closer look might reveal something else about the otherwise unremarkable vessel.
Get assistance, any spare crew or specialists (engineers in particular) to look for any telltale clues. After every avenue of investigation has been exhausted, sell the ship to the highest bidder, or perhaps to the station if they will exchange favors.

>Socialize. The Point is full of pirates like yourself. Making friends could create many unique opportunities, such as special missions, possible customizations for your ship, new crew members, or anything else you’re wise enough to leverage them for.
See if we can't find a collector for our antique pistola, see if we can't sell some of the information we got on our raid. One pirate can't raid all those leads before they go stale.
>Go shopping (specify the category you want to shop in)
Use the money from selling the prize to visit the shipyard and improve our own ship. Better guns and propulsion are a priority, but any improvement that is a good deal should be considered.

Thanks all, working on an update now. There's a lot to do, so this "shore leave" section will be broken up into chunks with some decisionmaking in between so it's easier to digest.

>>5885157
Nice.

>>5883189
No link to the first thread?

File: bridge.png (2.97 MB, 1444x1188)

2.97 MB PNG

At your behest, Shis’so accompanies you on the shuttle over to the prize ship. With the Carlottan not one for casual conversation, the two of you ride in silence, accompanied by a few other members of your engineering crew.

You arrival is heralded by a single member of the prize crew greeting you at the airlock. The ship was just as run-down as it had appeared on the video feed during the initial boarding, though by now the air had been refreshed and the ship’s reactor had been brought completely online, restoring proper functionality to the vessel. Still, you feel just a little isolated as you and Shis’so walk the empty hallways, until you reach the bridge. It’s hard to tell what the ship was built for or how it’s been modified. Old, to be sure, and not the size to be a freight workhorse.

The bridge itself is a cramped affair, a hallmark of commercial vessels designed to have as little crew space as possible to better accommodate business needs. Shis’so disembarks from their floating cylinder and conglomerates around an unoccupied console, while the commander of the prize crew steps over to you. A human like yourself, Carrak’s not the sharpest member of your crew, but he’s loyal, and you would rather have someone in command of the prize ship who wouldn’t run away with it at the first opportunity.

“Here’s the best we’ve got after poring over the diagnostics, skipper.” Carrak hands you a ‘pad with a woefully small list of conclusions, which you scan quickly. Based on his analysis, the ship had once been a routine light hauler, typically used for internal company business rather than fulfilling contracts, and had been stripped of its equipment before getting sent out to its resting place at the station.

“Anything nonfunctional?” you ask. Carrak shakes his head.

“Aside from the lack of cargo loading equipment, it seems completely intact, even if it is dated. One thing did strike us as a bit odd, though… the coldsleep section seems to have been expanded.” He steps over to the master console for the section, pointing at one of the panels. “See, FSP regulations mandate room and supplies to house the standard crew, and half again. This hull would need, say, thirty for a full complement… but there’s room for seventy down there,” he says, indicating the rows of lights on the console.

That was certainly an anomaly, and extra room for coldsleep was exactly the opposite of what you’d expect from any large company. And with no signs that the ship had been used for anything other than light hauling, you were at a loss for a reason for all the extra capacity.

“Any idea where the modification came from? Or was it built this way?”

Without waiting for an answer, you crouch down and peer at the manufacturer’s label on the underside of the console. Hu Veron Shipways. Not a name you were familiar with, you admit; but there were hundreds of major and minor shipyards in the known galaxy.

“Shis’so, what’s the brand on that console?”

“Tyrconia Yards,” they reply after a beat. You nod to yourself and stand back up, satisfied for the moment. There’s something off about the ship after all: a coldsleep modification. “Coldsleep is an act of last resort. I fail to see why this ship would need such a large capacity,” your XO comments.

“Probably some sort of company plan,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. Food for thought. “Shis’so, can we turn this ship around into something useful?”

“It is useful.”

Typical. “Useful to us. Weapons, extra storage, what have you.”

“The ship could be altered for many purposes. However, there are some general modifications and repairs that need to be made before anything specific is decided upon. I will leave that determination to you.”

What would you like your second ship to do? This is not a time-sensitive question and can be decided later, but it is worth thinking about as you continue on.

Additionally, Shis’so will remain with the ship to oversee the refurbishment, but you are free to recall them if you so desire.

–––––––––––––

On the short ride back to the Flow My Tears, you ruminate on coldsleep. It was an unpleasant reality of interstellar travel: should a ship suffer a critical failure, such as its FTL drive being disabled, the crew was expected to enter that hibernative state until such a time as rescue arrived. Having experienced it yourself, both in Fleet training and as a part of your defection, you held your own private reservations about the process. Coldsleep itself was considered infallible, the formula having been perfected 140 years ago, but nevertheless there were stories about failed procedures. More common, however, were the tales of sailors who had been revived from coldsleep years or decades after entering it, stranding them out of time. The heavyworlders referred to such a fate as the ‘death of sleep.’

You could imagine few worse fates for a pirate than coldsleep. It was an empty oblivion, with no dreams and no awareness. It meant relinquishing control of yourself and your ship, helpless–––and that could mean murder at the hands of another opportune pirate or suffering an indefinite hibernation, to say nothing of what happened to criminals captured by the Fleet. But you still had coldsleep facilities on the ship, of course. You just hoped you never had to use it.

The ship is quieter when you return, with most of the crew having stepped off to indulge themselves on the station. Those who decided to stay are either holed up in the sleeping sections, or congregating in the ship’s common space. A benefit of having such a large ship was that few of the crew was left wanting for room, which you note as you step into the communal living area. The large room was mostly empty, the large entertainment systems and Tri-D projector going unused. In the adjacent galley, a pot bubbles softly on the stove, while a handful of men are sat around a circular table with a deck of cards. One thing which was universal across spacefaring crews, you note, also taking in the unmarked bottle of clear liquid and small cups in the center of the table. It’s just a little hazy above the table, as a smokey fragrance wafts your way.

“Captain!” One of them stands unsteadily, but you silently gesture for him to sit, instead leaning over him to grab the bottle. The group watches you in suspense as you unscrew it and take a sniff.

“Spending all this good gin without me,” you say finally. They relax, and one of them, Shaver, offers you an unused cup. You pour yourself a little and take a sip, appreciating the navy strength.

“Figured you’d be on the station, skipper,” he says.

“Soon enough, but I thought I’d see how the crew’s doing.”

The group exchanges knowing looks. “Shouldn’t have come here, then. We’re just the sons of bitches too lazy to walk across to the station,” Shaver explains with a wry grin.

“And yet, not lazy enough to avoid cooking…”

“Oh, the galley––Baihe was going on about an heirloom recipe, said he’d give it his best shot from memory.”

Baihe is one of the pirates smoking, and he gives Shaver a shove before tapping the ash out into a tray. “Can it, brillig, you’ll love it when you try it.”

“Yeah? This isn’t going to turn out like last time? I think those dumplings were so hot only a Thek woulda eaten them-”

The cook offers Shaver an expletive-laden response, then points a finger at you. “Can you handle your heat, captain?”

Not one to back down from a challenge, you merely nod. Baihe grins and stands up. “Freeborn, come help me serve this up. Better pour yourself some more gin, Shaver, you’ll need it.”

Freeborn was the last name for a lot of Fringe orphans. You glance surreptitiously at the man as he sets bowls down, and he certainly does look like the kind of ‘bait raised on a station… Baihe and Shaver, on the other hand, are definitely colonial stock. The Chinese chef grinds out his cigarette and takes a moment to savor the aroma rising from his bowl. You do the same, detecting only a few staple spices (expensive enough already), but it smells delicious anyway. For a minute, all you hear is the table digging into Baihe’s cooking. It really does taste good, though it really is spicy as hell––but you don’t really care. Authentic, cooked meals are a rarity on any spacefaring vessels, since the matter synthesizer is always more resource efficient, and even with captain’s privilege you tended to order authentic meals sparingly.

Shaver finally gives up and runs to the galley for some recycled water. “This is one way to celebrate!”

“Celebrate,” Baihe echoes with some skepticism, glancing at you and surprised to see that you’re looking at him. He holds your gaze for a moment before continuing. “Why celebrate now, when we’ve got so much ahead of us to do?”

“Don’t ask me, you’re the ones who decided to drink and cook,” you respond, taking a sip of your gin. Baihe inclines his head in deference.

“Sure, skipper, but don’t you think we’ve got more in us than a station raid? I mean… I want something to brag about it.

“And that raid wasn’t enough?” you say coolly, curious to see where this goes. Shaver sits back down with his cup of water.

“I think what Bai is tryna say is that, uh, we were ready for a bigger job than that. All that stuff about 'burning buildings,' you know.”

“‘Not a pirate if you’re not daring,’” Baihe offers. “Not– not to imply that you’re a coward, sir. But I get the sense that the crew, uh, we want a test, something like that.”

>An informed crew is a trusting crew. Explain your strategy, if you have one.
>There’s a line, and these guys have crossed it. Captains don’t need to explain themselves, and they should be reminded of that fact.
>No need to say anything else. Thank them for their time and take your leave.
>Write-in.

>>5885251
Archive for first thread here:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/5839835/

>>5885304
>What would you like your second ship to do?
We could probably refurbish it for second storage, to hold extra loot we might come across. We could also use it to start a legitimate company down the line to funnel our money into or lease it out. Slap a new coat of a paint on it, a logo, and BAM! Clean money. We should look into Hu Veron Shipways and Tyrconia Yards regardless. I would like to suggest the name "Ring My Song" or "Reach My Strike".

>>5885306
>An informed crew is a trusting crew. Explain your strategy, if you have one.
Freedom. To live and die our own way. For that, we need strength. We will build our way up and become a power recognized throughout the cosmos.

This coldsleep business makes me want to buy a huge king-size bed for us.

>>5885306
>An informed crew is a trusting crew. Explain your strategy, if you have one.
It is all well and good to carve out your name on the void in blood and fire, but you will not last long picking fights based on best guesses. Our conquest of the station was in itself lackluster, but it was merely the first chapter in our tale of glory. We have information, and power, and we earned it through blood and risk. What comes next will be built on this, and will propel us beyond what you seek. Trust in me, my men, and I will lead us all to fame and fortune that will be made legend and legacy to be spoken of even in the core worlds. I swear it.
>What would you like your second ship to do? This is not a time-sensitive question and can be decided later, but it is worth thinking about as you continue on.
She's not built for combat is she... even less so than our current girl. But, she does have her own quirks that can be utilized, one way or another. For now, I think she will serve as a mobile base of sorts, the extra coldsleep capacity can be used as a prison of sorts for hostages or unruly crew, until we find a suitable purpose that is... and the lack of loading equipment will preclude dedicated shipping or freight without external assistance, making the idea of developing it into a base of sorts practical if nothing else.
If we wind up keeping her, I would like to see her built into an engineering ship capable of working on other ships, or disassembling them for profit. I can envision a future home base somewhat resembling a metal ribcage, replete with scrapping lasers and manipulators descending from a dark spine, perhaps supporting a larger hab area along the back.
In that spirit, I would have her named "Skeleton Vault"

>>5885306
>An informed crew is a trusting crew. Explain your strategy, if you have one.
>Freedom. To live and die our own way. For that, we need strength. We will build our way up and become a power recognized throughout the cosmos.

Might as well vote for this unless somebody else had any better ideas.

You pause momentarily, considering your words. Pirates were fickle, and everyone had their own private motivations… but as you had told Shis’so, there was one common cause among you all.

“It is all well and good to carve out your name on the void in blood and fire,” you begin, “but you will not last long picking fights based on best guesses. Our conquest of the station was in itself lackluster, but it was merely the first chapter in our story. We can spend our time and resources on securing material possessions, or we can pursue a higher purpose.”

Flashes of your past life come unbidden. Crossing the academic quad at the Academy, your first tour, the wooden lark your father had carved for you before you left. Gateway, the Playtak.

“Freedom. Pester the Federation as much as we like, but we won’t have severed the knot until we have the strength to assure our own independence. For that, we need to be more than just common raiders. We have information, and power, and we earned it through blood and risk. What comes next will be built on this, and will propel us beyond what you seek. Trust in me, and I will lead us all to fame and fortune that will be made legend and legacy to be spoken of even in the core worlds. I swear it.”

Was your choice of words a bit lofty? Perhaps, but the group sitting around you seems enthralled nevertheless. After all, existence outside of the FSP’s jurisdiction was the ultimate raison d’etre of everyone on your ship. Baihe and Shaver, especially Freeborn, grasped that well, going by the look on their faces. Satisfied, you quaff the rest of your gin and set the cup down.

“Enjoy your meal.”

Hushed tones follow you out of the room.

–––––––––––––

Unsurprisingly, foot traffic on the station is quite intense once you leave the immediate vicinity of the boarding area. Aside from the expected fare of spacers and other errant crewmen, you lay eyes on a trio of Seti gamblers, a human dressed in the white garb of the Novaplex chain, and unsurprisingly, quite a few heavyworlders, trudging down the corridor with their typical stone-faced expressions. You note that the station seems almost entirely unmoderated, save for a few humans wearing the pointed symbol of the station itself. Although the Point’s neutrality is effectively maintained by the same people who used it, there’s a still a station administration, though their responsibilities lay mainly in maintenance and traffic control rather than security

Your feet know the station well and guide you to a popular hangout: Gravanc’s, one of the mid-tier watering holes. Though the quality and atmosphere wasn’t the greatest, it was always crowded and thus made an excellent place to both meet new people as well as conduct conversations under the obscuring mask of a large crowd.

As you expected, the place is packed, with some of your own crew included in the flock of patrons sampling the bar’s wares. You’re mostly interested in the back of the place, though: it’s in the more dimly-lit sections of Gravanc’s that the important figures take their meals. Seeing a few people who you know (and some that you don’t), you decide to walk over and join:

>Icoman. You two had kept in loose contact ever since meeting for the first time years ago, and you know that his operations spread across much of the Fringe. Like most pirates, he refused to be tied to a particular line of work.
>Zadane. You’re surprised the old corsair’s still kicking after that business at the Phoenix colony. Zadane and his ship have seen more history than anyone else you knew, and he had quite a few prosthetics to show it… though maybe he’s not quite right in the head at this age.
>Srrl. Ryxi are an interesting lot, and you’re surprised to see one of the avian species in a space as claustrophobic as this restaurant. As a matter of fact, you’ve never met him face to face, but he’s infamous as one of the major information brokers in the Fringe.
>Lee. He’s always been a loner as far as you can tell, though you often see both greenhorns and seasoned freebooters alike speaking with him. Beyond that, you don’t know much.

>>5885813
>>Zadane. You’re surprised the old corsair’s still kicking after that business at the Phoenix colony. Zadane and his ship have seen more history than anyone else you knew, and he had quite a few prosthetics to show it… though maybe he’s not quite right in the head at this age.

Cooky old bastards are great.

>>5885813
>>Lee. He’s always been a loner as far as you can tell, though you often see both greenhorns and seasoned freebooters alike speaking with him. Beyond that, you don’t know much.

>>5885813
>Zadane. You’re surprised the old corsair’s still kicking after that business at the Phoenix colony. Zadane and his ship have seen more history than anyone else you knew, and he had quite a few prosthetics to show it… though maybe he’s not quite right in the head at this age.

>>5885813
>Srrl. Ryxi are an interesting lot, and you’re surprised to see one of the avian species in a space as claustrophobic as this restaurant. As a matter of fact, you’ve never met him face to face, but he’s infamous as one of the major information brokers in the Fringe
caught up with last thread, this is pretty great, qm, hope you continue this

>>5885813
>Icoman. You two had kept in loose contact ever since meeting for the first time years ago, and you know that his operations spread across much of the Fringe. Like most pirates, he refused to be tied to a particular line of work.
We could certainly share our new leads with Srrl to trade some information, maybe get some clues on these mysterious modifications to our prize and their shipyards, but I think we will get more mileage if we take our tips straight to a buyer, and a captain is a good friend to have. If he's not interested, Srrl will surely take the opportunity he passes up.

File: bar.jpg (127 KB, 976x549)

127 KB JPG

Zadane has a cluster of younger men sitting around him, who you surmise to be members of his crew. You haven’t taken more than a few steps toward him when his gaze snaps over to you, the iris of his bionic eye spinning rapidly.

“Well, look who it is!”

His crew reach for their weapons upon hearing the old coot’s tone of voice. You play it cool, though, and stop a few paces away from the nearest pirate. “Zadane.”

“You’ve got some nerve,” he continues, a pint of ale clutched in his metal fingers. “You went silent on me after Golgotha… I was out in the cold.”

“That had been a tough battle.” Participating had been a mistake on your part as well as Zadane’s. “But I wasn’t the only one, and here I am now.”

There’s a tense silence. Suddenly, a crooked, platinum-studded grin breaks out across Zadane’s face, and he snaps the fingers on his organic hand. “That’s right, you are. More than I can say for the rest of them. No one comes to see old Zadane anymore, no.”

That isn't quite true, you think, as his lackeys relax slightly. Golgotha might have been Zadane’s own failure, but it hadn’t completely destroyed his reputation. As a matter of fact, that abortive engagement with a Fleet flotilla had actually secured him some notable prestige among the more radical pirate factions. He’d roped you into it, though you hadn’t been able to do much during the battle and were forced to jump out of the system before your ship got totally destroyed. That had been a decade ago, at least.

There’s an open chair at the table, which you take. Zadane leans back, reaching into his voluminous overcoat for a pipe. “Golgotha,” he begins to reminisce. “Farstan, that old bastard. Can’t believe I didn’t expect him to deploy a force on the far side of the moon like that… yeah, that was quite a battle. Wasn’t it?”

>“They had us outnumbered two to one. What were you thinking, Zadane?”
>“You were too cocky, but it was a good battle.”
>“We took the fight to Fleet for once, that’s all that mattered.”
>“I was proud to be there.”
>Write-in.

>>5886463
>“I was proud to be there.”

>>5886463
>“We took the fight to Fleet for once, that’s all that mattered.”

>>5886463
>>“We took the fight to Fleet for once, that’s all that mattered.”

“I was proud to be there,” you reply simply. Zadane gives you a respectful nod before he lights his pipe, puffing on it a few times.

“I’m glad. It was a good thing to do, just a shame… a shame what happened, is all. All that effort, for nothing.”

“I’ll bet the Federation hasn’t been more worried than it was then,” you say in the way of reassurance. “I’d do it all again.”

Curiously, Zadane seems finished with that line of thought and instead asks, “So what brings you back to the Point?”

“Selling some loot, looking at some upgrades for the ship. Catching up with friends,” you add, but your charms are unfortunately lost on the older man. “Looking into a few matters.” You catch his inquisitive look and continue in a more hushed tone. “Picked up a prize ship from a station, and it turns out it’s got expanded coldsleep facilities. It’s a General Systems ship, but Tyrconia built it, and the coldsleep mod was done by ‘Hu Veron Shipways.’”

Zadane huffs, clicking his tongue as he bites on the stem of his pipe. “Hu Veron, huh.”

“What about them?” you prompt.

“Hu Veron is owned forty percent by Allied Geochemical… not a big deal on the surface,” he says to your bemused face. “But Allied is itself owned completely by the Paradens.”

Ah. That really could be a problem. A big one, actually. It was hard to go anywhere without encountering some sign of a Paraden presence. They were one of the largest merchant families in the known galaxy, headquartered in the core worlds, with dozens of cadet branches, subordinate businesses, and possibly their own (highly illegal) paramilitary force. Not that they would ever need their own military, if the rumors about their subtle infiltration of the FSP’s bureaucratic body were to be believed. You remembered Nigel Paraden, one of the students a year above yours at the Academy. He had gotten away with quite a few policy violations, aided by the vast influence his family wielded at seemingly all levels of the Federation. They were living proof that an organization as idealistic as the FSP was still subject to rot.

And now this same family had a tie to your prize ship. “Just a coincidence,” you murmur to Zadane, who shakes his head vigorously.

“You don’t want to bet on coincidences, son. And you especially don’t want to get tangled up in whatever that ship is for.”

“It was mothballed. Besides, who’s to say when the coldsleep modification was done, or if it was actually intended for something,” you finish lamely, still at a loss for what it was for. “Hu Veron only did the overhaul. General Systems owns the ship.”

“What does ownership mean in these times?” Zadane asks darkly. “You and I steal for a living.”

You resist the urge to contest that assertion and instead respond, “The fact stands that whatever ties it may have to the Paradens are tenuous. When I’m done with that boat, it’ll be unrecognizable from whatever bucket of bolts they had left it as. I wish them luck finding it.”

“It may be that it’s happenstance,” the old man allows. “But I didn’t live by staking my life on luck.”

What a curmudgeon! He must be off his rocker. You bite your tongue again. “What’s going to happen, then?”

“They come looking for their ship.”

Wonderful. Your spirits feel thoroughly dampened by this unexpected revelation, but you force yourself to acknowledge that it’s useful information, worth considering. Seeking a change of topic, you produce the stack of datacards from the station. The colorful plastic catches Zadane’s eye, the question going unsaid. You pick out a lavender-colored card and hand it to him.

“Thought you’d get more use out of this than me,” you say. “Given the Phoenix business.”

He glances at the card and pockets it. “‘preciate it. What else?”

You have five more cards. “How much are you offering?”

“I’ll pay thirty thousand for all six,” he says. You raise a quizzical eyebrow at the prospect.

“Five thousand for each? This information is worth more than that, Zadane. You could score big off of any one of these. Ten thousand.

“Seven,” he says quickly, and this time you start catching glances from the rest of his crew. So much for a nice old man.

>Insist on a higher price.
>Settle for seven thousand per card (that’s 42,000 total)
>Inform Zadane that you’ll be looking for a different buyer.
>Write-in.

>>5886731
>Insist on a higher price.
>Inform Zadane that you’ll be looking for a different buyer.
I'm sorry you feel that way. Perhaps an information broker, like Srrl, would be able to put this to better use than I.

See if we can goad the old man to a higher price.

>>5886731
>>Insist on a higher price.

>>5886781
Seconding

>>5886781
>>5886731
Seconding

“I’m sorry you feel that way. If you’re not willing to pay what this information is worth, then I’m sure there are others who would happily do so instead.” You stand up, casting a glance toward the colorful alien occupying a nearby table. Although Zadane doesn’t look himself, he clearly understands the implication. The corsair scratches at his white stubble with metal fingers.

“The bird’ll just turn around and sell it for twice the price,” he says. “Get wise, son.”

“If you’re short on credits, just say so,” you reply. Zadane merely raises both eyebrows skeptically and places a hand underneath his coat… was he…?

Before that question could be answered, someone bumps into you. “Captain!”

It takes you a moment to recognize Crane, the older crew member who volunteered to be the actor for your little ruse back at the General Dynamics station. Clearly, he’d decided to take his celebration further than most. Two more of your crew approach from the bar, reaching for their friend to pull him away.

“Quite some… quite some show back there,” he slurs, spilling some beer on your boots. “What’s all this?”

His lidded gaze has turned to Zadane, who wears an amused face. “Just a deal, mate, between your captain and I.”

Crane gulps and leans back on his friends, who themselves seem quite inebriated. “Well, uh. Hope it’s good. Risked my life for the skipper, yes sir…”

“Sorry, skipper,” one of his friends apologizes as they haul him back towards the exit.

“No worries,” you mutter, looking back at Zadane. Curiously, the old codger seems mollified by the scene, and he releases his hand from whatever he had been holding under the coat.

“Ten thousand per? Fine.”

At a gesture, one of his crew produces a small box, which is opened to reveal some high-value credchips. The requisite amount makes its way into your hands. “Pleasure doing business, Zadane.”

“Of course,” he says in a normal tone of voice, running a thumb over his freshly acquired datacards. “And good luck with your Paraden ship. Hasui might be able to help you with it, if he’s in at the yard today.”

One of Zadane’s trusted mechanics? You file the name away for consideration and nod in silent thanks.

Lee and Icoman have taken their leave while you were talking, and Srrl seems deep in conversation with a potential client. At any rate, your main bargaining chips have already be sold, and at the moment you’d rather save your money to look at any potential modifications to that prize ship… though Zadane’s tip about the Paraden connection was worth some thought.

–––––––––––––

The Point’s plethora of vendors extends to spirits, and you have no trouble finding a liquor store to patronize. Having made a call to your ship for a lackey to be sent (there was always some junior crew member willing to be your bag boy), you purchase only the finest grappa, sake, and mead. Some more deliberation is made for the whiskey, and you eventually go with a bottle from a small distillery on Casey’s World. Along with some absinthe, it all goes into the container your page brought. You throw in a bottle of wine in the way of payment for his services (and also so he doesn’t try to steal one of your bottles), and pay with the very same credits Zadane had given you. The total sum is a neat 2,400, and the clerk wishes you fair winds as you depart.

“And following seas,” you finish under your breath as you swagger out of the liquor store. Your page looks at you in askance. “An old phrase, from the age of sail,” you explain benevolently. That history had been taught to you at the Academy, in buildings named after famous commanders of ancient Earth navies: Themistocles, Drake, Nelson, and others… you found it amusing that the old sailor’s farewell had stuck with you after all these years. “Now, a tailor.”

You had burned your Fleet uniform early into your time as a pirate, and when you became captain, you had sufficed with a basic layer of whatever workwear lasted the longest, and a leather coat reaching halfway down your thigh which you had taken during a raid on a merchantman. While that had served you well, you felt that it was time for an upgrade; something to make you look more like the commanding figure you always felt you were.

The proprietor of the clothing store greets you warmly, complimenting your fine figure. You wave aside his sugary words and begin to describe your preferred look:

>High leather boots, brown pants, a white shirt, and a velvety sanguine overcoat with gold accents. Distinguished, but not attention-grabbing… mostly.
>Boots and a colorful scarf, paired with a leather duster. Dusters were timeless in the Fringe, and you could still look good without drawing too many glances in your direction.
>A custom-made suit and tie, replete with a top hat and fine leather shoes. Who said that pirates couldn’t be gentlemanly?
>Pants and a white shirt paired with a dark blue jacket and a belt for your laspistol. Simple, but classy.
>The full course: a white shirt with a cravat, white breeches and silk socks, over which you wore a dark blue coatee.
>Write-in.

A/N: I know that only one voter mentioned clothes specifically, but I wanted to keep the update on the short side and give everyone a chance at deciding what to wear.

>>5887656
>Write in
A silver shirt, brown leather gauntlets, knee high brown leather boots, gold skull and crossbones belt buckle on a brown belt with a gun hostler, dark red pants, black tricorne hat with white skull and bones, and a big black cape with red interior and yellow french marigold symbol on the outside. Sure to turn a few heads.

Bold and brash.

>>5887675
The right boot has a hidden spring-loaded OTF knife.

>>5887675
Seconding
Pirate mode pirate mode pirate mode

File: dinner.png (1.6 MB, 850x1100)

1.6 MB PNG

(posting from a different location)


The salesman takes your order unflinchingly, and you submit to a series of measurements. The cape, hat, and holster are special items, but he promises to acquire them by day’s end and have them sent to your ship before you depart. The rest, however, you can wear now. Satisfied, you leave your old clothes with the page and instruct him to remain at the store to pick up the rest of your order, and depart after paying a princely 3700 credits (with another 1000 owed when you receive the three remaining items.

All the talking, inspecting, dealing, and shopping have worked up a considerable appetite, so you decide you’re due for a meal. Although the Point has a wide variety of restaurants, you decide to avoid the fanciest of them and instead visit the Yacht. Although it wasn’t the most high-end business, its old age and elegant decor had won it a dedicated clientele, and you feel much more at home among them in your clean new outfit. Despite the overenthusiasm of the store clerk’s compliments, you have to admit that you did cut a fine figure; the clothes perfectly accented your:

>Considerable musculature.
>Exceptional height.
>Attractive features.

After being shown to your table (a large but otherwise unoccupied booth; clearly the staff recognize your importance), a waiter appears in just a few minutes.

“The ‘43, sir? Excellent choice,” he says in response to your wine order, and hurries off while you examine the vidifax menu, which was long and varied. As you had hoped, it has Forellian biscuits and Aldebaran paste, your appetizer of choice. The concentrated paste is developed from the ground innards of the planet’s scaly Bounds wolf. A potent narcotic to the natives, it serves only as a slight stimulant for humans, with a pleasant savory taste. For the main course, you decide on a complex casserole composed of Fuertan fish since it’ll be more filling.

The server returns with your bottle, and you sample the wine, a sweet fortified red. “Excellent. Tell me about the Crel fungus jelly,” you ask, pointing at the item in question.

“Limited time item,” he replies. “We don’t get consistent shipments from Regg, obviously.”

Obviously. Crel jelly was Regg’s biggest export, aside from Fleet officers. You hadn’t had the jelly since your graduation celebration at the bar. “I’ll take that at the end, then.”

“Very good, sir.” And the waiter disappears.

You’ve been sampling the paste and biscuits for a few minutes when a hand claps you on the shoulder.

“Woah, I’m a friend!” Icoman says as you drop a hand to your laspistol. He steps away and slides into the seat opposite yours, brushing his curls out of his eyes. “Wow, biscuits. On a diet?”

“I thought you’d gone back to your ship, Icoman.”

“Ah, well, I did have to leave Gravanc’s early to take care of some business, so we couldn’t chat then. But I was hanging around to tie up a few loose ends, and I saw you in here. Bam! Like two magnets.”

Despite yourself, the other pirate makes you grin slightly. He’s the opposite of Zadane in many ways: lively, coherent, and sharp. “What’s your business here?”

“This and that,” he says vaguely, taking a biscuit when you push the plate toward him. “Stocking up, making some crew exchanges. Planning on a longer-range expedition soon. Love the new look, by the way.”

“Thanks.” The silver shirt was made of high quality grallie-fiber, smooth to the tough but quite durable in reality. “Expedition where?”

He pushes his hair back again. “Out and about. There’s a job I’m looking at, I’m hoping it’ll take me to some new places.”

Now you were sure he was being vague for a reason. You and Icoman had known each other for longer than most, and he was usually open with you, and you with him. “Any place in particular?” you prompt. Sensing that he was caught, Icoman spreads his hands and says simply,

“Sedon-VI.”

The slave world.

>Slavery was abhorrent. You were shocked to know that Icoman had stooped so low, no matter the excuse.
>Despite your personal objections to slavery, it was a lucrative business for pirates. You didn’t blame him for participating.
>You had never taken slaves yourself, but always considered it a possible line of work.
>If people could not defend themselves sufficiently, then slavery was all they deserved.
>Write-in.

>>5888133
>Considerable musculature.
SWOLE

>>5888134
>Despite your personal objections to slavery, it was a lucrative business for pirates. You didn’t blame him for participating.
You're better than that though.

>>5888133
>Exceptional height.
>If people could not defend themselves sufficiently, then slavery was all they deserved.

>>5888184
Supporting

>>5888184
+1
>Thanks but no thanks

Hi anons, thanks for voting. I'm a bit busy tonight but I should be able to get an update out by the end of the day tomorrow, thanks for your patience

>>5886730
Also just wanted to address that this update was actually written in response to the wrong vote... no idea what I was thinking when I did that, sorry about that.

>>5888184
+1

File: fight.jpg (117 KB, 765x1000)

117 KB JPG

Slavery’s been rampant in the Fringe long before you were ever born. Growing up in the Federation, you often heard stories about newly established colonies disappearing overnight, raided by pirates who easily overran a woefully underequipped defense force and pillaged everything. Slavers had no room for that which they could not use, so the entire adult population was usually wiped out, while children were taken aboard for transport to Sedon-VI. The ten-to-twelve age range was preferred: “old enough to be used, young enough to be broken” was the oft-repeated adage. What happened on Sedon-VI, you have yet to know. It was a truth that many pirates purchased slaves to augment their crew, particularly since slave trainers went to great lengths to ensure that their wares were adequately educated in such delicate matters as piloting. You’ve never thought to do so, feeling safer in the knowledge that your crew’s loyalty was genuine and not forced upon them by some mind-altering training regimen.

“Profitable,” you remark laconically. Icoman inclines his head.

“That’s right. I hadn’t intended on it, to be honest, but I caught a tip on my last outing that there was a colony suffering from chronic malfunctions in its defense satellites. Couldn’t pass that up.”

“Could’ve been a Fleet trap.”

“But it wasn’t,” he replied. “And I’m all the better for it.”

The fish casserole arrives. You offer Icoman a portion, but he declines, so you begin to tuck in while he surveys the restaurant. You notice that he’s made some subtle upgrades to his own wardrobe, including what looks like armorweave inside his blue jacket. You’re about to make a comment about it when there’s a loud crash from behind you. Icoman’s eyes widen slightly and you twist around to see two restaurant patrons grappling with each other near an upended table!

>Intervene in the fight.
>Stay in your seat.

>>5891677
>>Stay in your seat.

>>5891677
>Intervene in the fight.
Unfortunately, we can't ignore the disturbance, the risk of being bumped and tarnishing our new duds is unacceptable. Analyze the room and the fight, and take the first opportunity to lay one of these fools low in a way where it wont needlessly spiral into a brawl. A good opportunity to flash our pretty gun too.
I know it might be too late to change my vote but if I could I would like to have Exceptional Height rather than Considerable Musculature. My original reasoning was that being too tall may be an issue with any potential pilot seats, but as a captain we can get our personal craft modified and height is more intimidating and harder to fake.

>>5891699
This anon has the right idea. Those were $500 shoes, asshole.

Sensing that this fight requires your involvement, you rise from your seat and approach the two men. Although you don’t yet have your hat or cape, you still make an intimidating figure, brandishing your laspistol. With a flick of your finger, the LaBauve begins to hum as energy flows out from the battery and into the barrel. The sound is enough to draw their attention. One of them makes an ill-advised lunge for your legs, which you dodge easily to send him tumbling towards Icoman, who quickly restrains the man. The other scrambles backwards, but you’ve already got the barrel of the pistol trained on him.

“Muhlah, what kind of guy is it that decides to pick a fight while I’m on the premises?” you ask, deciding to ham it up. “Seems like someone forgot the neutrality of the Point.”

“Forgot,” he repeats, wiping some blood off his lips. “I didn’t forget. He just threw the first punch.”

“Is that so?” The other guy looks equally unhappy. “Why’s that?”

“He was trying to poach my team, made all sorts of threats—I wasn’t about to take any more of that, so I had to let him know what happened to people who try to screw with me!”

Despite the mild hysterics, you detect a hint of genuine panic in the man’s voice. A small-time mercenary, by the sound of it; someone had tried to buy him out and he wasn’t having it. A story you hear all too often. You scratch the back of your head in awkward contemplation and gesture for Icoman to release the man.

“I don’t suppose it’s too much to ask the two of you to play nice.”

Neither of them says anything, but you get the sense that it is indeed a lot to ask. To be fair, you hadn’t gone into this thing expecting to be doing any conflict resolution, but you get the sense that there’s something to be done here.

“You could’ve made a lot of money, Erie,” the first man says as a last vibe.

>Resolve the situation (describe your method)
>Keep it chill, cowboy. Hand out a final reprimand and walk away, you don’t need to do anything else.
>Write-in.

>>5894771
>Resolve the situation (describe your method)
Turn to the man who made that snarky comment, bearing your pistol at him. "And you are about to make a burning hole in your chest, if you insist on being such a stain on this fine establishment. You have only one option remaining to you if you live: a round of drinks for every other patron here, and a generous tip for each and every one of the staff, as compensation for your grave mistake. Put that money to use before you put your foot in your mouth yet again."
Turning your head back to the mercenary captain while keeping the pistol on the more dangerous character, you continue, "But don't think I will let your lack of respect and short temper slide. Come, sit with my friend here, and we will educate the both of you on how to conduct business befitting of a free man." Gesturing him over with our free hand.
If I'm reading this situation right, the rich man has a job we can snipe, and the merc has a quality crew. Let's see if we can't walk away from this situation with both!

>>5895038
Sounds good to me.

You bring your laspistol back up to point at the man. “If you insist on being a stain upon this fine establishment, my friend, you’ll have more burning problems to deal with. If you want to avoid such a scenario, I advise that you buy a round of drinks for everyone here, with a considerable tip for the waitstaff, as compensation for your mistake. Put that money to use before you put your foot in your mouth yet again."

You keep your pistol trained on him as he produces his wallet, and then turn your face to the merc. “Not that I won’t let your temper and disrespect slide. Why don’t we have a seat, and we can be a bit more civil about everything?”

By the time you’re all seated, your water has brought out two servings of the Crel fungus jelly, which you and Icoman indulge in while the other two watch sullenly, your pistol laid on the table in way of warning. The jelly is of near-perfect consistency and flavor, meaning that it must’ve been from the freshest shipment the restaurant had. You savor the sweet delicacy as you contemplate the situation, sensing an opportunity.

“We are, all of us, free men,” you begin. “We have a common cause. To fight each other is… to fall prey to the baser instincts that govern so many of our kindred. Now, have your discussion.”

“With you around?” the first man grumbles. “I might as well have it with you instead of him.”

Clearly he had not been greatly humbled. “You both have inconvenienced me. Consider it a favor that I’ve allowed you to continue your discussion in my presence, let alone at all.”

“Jar-tan made me an offer,” the mercenary, Erie, begins. “A simple mission, he said. Cargo retrieval. Not a large cargo, either, just a single crate, perfect for my crew – my ship’s a smaller girl, you see. Trouble is that the cargo was located on Burn Caladh.”

Though you and Icoman both conceal your reactions, you understand the significance of that. Burn Caladh had been blacklisted by the FSP for colonization decades ago for undisclosed reasons, though you had occasionally heard rumors of it serving as a hideout for smugglers in the past. It was unsurprising that Erie would take exception to a job there.

“I told Fraus I wouldn’t do it. He said my crew was going to do it, regardless of whether or not I was with them.”

“Let’s not get hysterical,” Fraus responds irritably. “You seem to have a higher opinion of your crew’s loyalty than you ought to.”

“Reckless endangerment is not part of any mercenary code,” you butt in. “He’s free to make that choice. Though I’m surprised you didn’t just seek out another crew.”

“Erie has delivered on several jobs before this. I had no reason to think he would decline, though since I had already given him the details, I had no desire to seek out another mercenary outfit and risk spreading word of the precious cargo.”

Not that many people would risk going to Burn Caladh, no matter the potential reward, you think. “Is the planet under Fleet interdiction?”

“Not even that,” Fraus replies. “In fact, there’s no real reason to be scared of it, other than a Federation order from decades past. It seems that even mercenaries lose their nerve-”

“Let’s not get into any name-calling,” you say to forestall another scuffle. “What were you offering Erie?”

“A hundred thousand up front, with half again upon delivery.”

Icoman whistles softly. 150000 credits for a retrieval job, without even needing to run a blockade? Now you begin to see why Fraus was so surprised that Erie turned the job down. Still, you have to acknowledge that such a sum is small compared to a lot of other, safer jobs. Self-preservation was more important than money to most. “And the cargo…?”

“Secret,” says Fraus, unsurprisingly. “I was prepared to throw in a little extra to keep it that way.”

You ruminate on this new information. It wouldn’t be much trouble to convince Fraus to give the job to you, and you could include Erie as much or as little as you wished. Burn Caladh was far removed from the Point, but you wouldn’t have any competition for the prize, and apparently Fleet wasn’t involved either. That left only the rumors about the planet: the EEC’s messy withdrawal, the details of which were completely classified, and the travel ban issued soon after. The reward wasn’t high by your standards, though, and a small part of you did believe that there was some truth to the rumors.

“Here is my alternative, gentlemen. My ship and I will take on this job, with a little more payment—let’s make it a round 200000—and no questions asked. Erie is free to join my crew for the mission, with a cut of the prize depending on his contribution, and you two can continue your relationship afterwards. How does that sound?”

“Done,” Fraus says, but Erie looks on sullenly.

“So you reap the reward, and I get a sliver.”

“You would get as much out of it as you put in, mister Erie,” you reply frankly. “Or you can stay here. That’s just the nature of our work.”

He stays silent, so you look back to Fraus. “Sounds like we have a deal, then. Here’s my commcode. We’re docked at berth forty. Erie, you’re free to join, but I wouldn’t take too long to make up your mind.”

You and Icoman finish your Crel fungus and depart after tipping handsomely. The two of you haven’t taken more a few steps out of the restaurant when he says, “Burn Caladh? Look, I know that neither of us have ever gone in for rumors, but come on.”

“It piqued my interest. Just a side job that I can hit on the way to somewhere else.”

“Nobody is willing to go up to 200000 on a side job,” Icoman says quickly. “Don’t get in over your head.”

“Well, at least I’m not trafficking,” you bite back. Your friend shakes his head with a wry grin.

“Listen. Do what you want, but don’t say I didn’t tell you so. At least live so I can hear the story, eh?”

You take his hand and shake, nodding to each other. “Good hunting.”

“Same to you,” he says, and disappears into the crowd.

You take a trip to a massage parlor, where you chat up a skillful masseuse (to no success) while she works out some of the knots in your back. After that, you decide to take a trip to the Point’s lower concourse, where its numerous ship services are located. Zadane mentioned Hasui, so you ask around and quickly locate a smaller business front, nestled between two larger enterprises. Hasui is a small man covered in greasy overalls and a complex headpiece with numerous lenses and other mechanic’s devices, but it soon becomes clear that his knowledge reaches far beyond what you would expect from the owner of a small workshop. He listens patiently as you describe the nature of your own ship as well as the prize, and he thinks carefully.

“I cannot offer an answer to the Paraden dilemma, as politics are beyond my ability,” he begins. “As for refurbishment… I’m afraid I cannot offer you anything truly complete with your current budget. That said, there are a few options.”

>Mobile warehouse. Although your own ship already has a prodigious cargo capacity, you suppose you might find a use for more. The ship would be secure, yet movable to where you wanted it to go.
>Fire support. You could potentially turn the ship into a gunboat, but given the high cost of this retrofit, it would mean running it on a constant skeleton crew with no other functionality.
>Ship’s tender. In this configuration, the ship could be focused on maintenance and other engineering duties, with little to no combat ability.
>Write-in (suggestions might be declined depending on how elaborate/extensive they are.

Transferring your flag to the prize ship is also possible.

>>5897828
Are these options for both ships? what are their current capabilities? could we get some estimates on the limits of our customization? how many hardpoints, their size and positions, if they can have tracking turrets, etc. Also, this whole debacle got me thinking a light carrier could be exceptionally effective for space combat, and we may even be able to ferry our new friend's 'smaller ship' internally.
On that note, I think we could stand to make our buddy a mote more cooperative if we let him in on a job or two of ours as well. He would get paid just as much as he was before, if not more, and he would have bigger guns for backup, and in return we get a versatile ace in the hole for anything we were planning in the future.

>>5897828
>>Ship’s tender. In this configuration, the ship could be focused on maintenance and other engineering duties, with little to no combat ability.

Hasui is a capable mechanic, but the modifications he can do are inherently limited by the difficulty of acquiring high-quality goods, even on the Point, without being on someone else’s bankroll. Here are some prices:

EM beam: 50,000 (always turreted)
Railgun: 55,000 (+5,000 for turreted)
Torpedo tube: 70,000
(–/+ 5,000 for small/large sizes)

FTL upgrade: 500,000
Upgrading your FTL system allows you to cut a smaller flux margin, shaving off travel time. These upgrades cannot be transferred from one ship to another unless otherwise noted.
Sensor/comm upgrades: 100,000 per
Engine upgrade: 200,000
- In-system chem boosters are available for 100,000 credits as a backup to the regular drives

Modifications that change the purpose of the ship are difficult to price as they can involve extensive modification that can't be broken down into hardpoints. However, let’s say that making the prize ship a mobile warehouse is cheapest at only 200,000 (plus whatever else you want to tack on) since the ship is basically empty already. Gunboat is dependent entirely on what weapons you pick, and tender is probably the most expensive, hitting around 650,000 since it requires a lot of new equipment, especially if you guys want to do what this anon >>5885442 said and significantly alter the ship’s structure and turn it into a mobile base.

To be frank, how these modifications would work on the Flow My Tears is a tough question because it’s so big. Right now it’s mostly a warehouse with some weapons, since it’s got so much empty/unused space (not necessarily a bad thing). Hypothetically you could turn it into a jack of all trades, giving it some functionality in all areas. I suppose those would look more like a module instead of a total overhaul, with a tender "module" being something like 150k but offering far less functionality than if an entire ship was dedicated to that purpose.

----

You’d outfitted your ship in what was a pretty standard configuration: a focus on optical weapons with a smattering of projectile and explosive to provide a good amount of flexibility. Since your craft was a modified civilian vessel and not a purpose-built warship, the distribution of hardpoints is limited, and reconfiguring it to gain more will require extensive time in drydock.

Flow My Tears
Category Four hull
Twenty-five available hardpoints, twenty in use
Sensors: Standard
Comms: Standard
Shielding: Deflector and combat
Engine: In-system drive, FTL capable

(all weapons systems are of medium size unless otherwise noted)
Fore: 9/9
- 4 torpedo tubes, standard explosives
- 2 casemate railguns
- 3 turreted EM beam projectors
Aft: 5/7
- 2 torpedo tubes, standard explosives
- 3 turreted EM beam projectors
Ventral: 4/5
- 1 turreted railgun (large)
- 3 turreted EM beam projectors
Dorsal: 1/4
- 1 turreted EM beam projector


Since the prize ship was discovered stripped of hardpoints, it’s a blank slate in many ways. That said, it’s also a civilian model, so options are limited.

Prize ship
Category Two hull
Twelve available hardpoints, zero in use
Sensors: Standard
Comms: Standard
Shielding: Deflector only
Engine: In-system drive, FTL capable

Fore: 0/5
Aft: 0/4
Ventral: 0/2
Dorsal: 0/1

----

Hope this gives some guidance, I'm happy to answer questions (up to a certain extent). Wasn't expecting to get into the nitty gritty of ship modification so soon but I suppose I have only myself to blame lol

>>5898116
Ty for indulging me, this does help a long way in getting a better picture of what kind of ship we're working with and flying.
Could we get a look into what a carrier conversion might look like? You mentioned we have a lot of unused space, how many fighter/bomber/boarding craft could we feasibly store? and what would the docking and resource (fuel, ammo etc.) take up? And how much space is currently being taken by loot? can we offload that somehow? I suppose we could always store it in our prize, but we still might be selling that too...
If its a good idea or not, I wouldn't go for it immediately, we've got at least one job to do and we could order requisite parts to be delivered and held in the meantime.

As for modifications right now, I think it would be a good idea to get another EM beam on top, for point defence at the very least. And also, if the fore casemate railguns are fixed, we might as well take advantage of their location and upgrade their size. Also engine and sensor upgrades. As pirates, we never want to be surprised, or in a situation we can't get out of.

Do we have hitpoints? what's the hull situation? is it all going to be handled narratively? Does the reactor factor into what we can effectively run?
Sorry for all the questions, you got me keen.

>>5898228
In response to the latter questions, I would say that they will be more narrative than not, at most with something like "bad/fair/good" condition for the hull. The reactor is capable enough that it shouldn't be a limiter to modifications, unless you decide to do a serious overhaul.

To that point, a carrier conversion would indeed be complex, since you would be making modifications to the ship's structure to allow for a hangar bay/landing deck/launch tubes (depending on your choice, that can be hashed out). I suppose the question here is if you guys want to be more independent or not---more fuel takes up more space, yes, but you can spend more time out in space without needing to stock up at spacedock. Let's say 60 fighters, or 30 craft of various sizes assuming you want a mix. Those numbers go up or down depending on how much fuel and ammo you want to stockpile. I hate to assign a particular number to a carrier mod without having thought about it a lot, but I think that would definitely be over the one million mark unless you really want to cut corners with safety, crew, and training. If another anons are in agreement about going down this carrier route than I can go further and outline some options, but this kind of conversion would be pretty long and in-depth regardless of price.

We sold most of our loot when we arrived at the Point, so consider that a non-factor right now (but note that if too much space is taken up by carrier functions than you'll have to return to spacedock more often to empty your loot storage).

As for the suggested modifications:

Dorsal EM beam (medium): 50,000
Fore railgun upgrade: 10,000 total
Engine: 200,000
Sensor: 100,000

Total: 360,000

Good with this? Other anons are encouraged to chime in.

>>5899054
Looks good.

For the Prize ship
I say we upgrade the shielding, if only for defensive purposes, two claws on the fore for help with grabbing other ships or debris, and a huge chainsaw blade on the Ventral and Dorsal that form a point in front of the ship for ramming/cutting purposes. We grab a ship, then we cut them to pieces.

>>5899054
Do you advertise the quest on /qtg/? Could help getting more players.

Would it be possible to do a simple retrofit to our largest cargo bay so we could carry a heavy fighter/bomber internally through FTL jumps as a short term thing?

>>5899077
Agree about the shielding and manipulators, but two giant ship-sized chainsaws sounds expansive af, and honestly not as effective as, say, a half a dozen torpedoes.

>>5899164
No, I have trouble putting myself out there lol. But I'll make a post

As for a simpler job, I've no problem letting you take on a flight of three fighters, or a pair of bombers, for a round 150,000, plus 40,000 for fuel, ammo, and hiring capable pilots.

To be frank, fighters and carrier tactics aren't something I've considered heavily in this setting (yet), so if you guys do go down this carrier route it'll be interesting to see how it pans out.

>>5899077
We can say a round 250,000 for the shielding and claws, without the blades.

>>5899164
>>5899194
The blades would look cool. It'll help with dismantling other ships/bases for rescue/boarding operations and close quarters combat. How much with the blades?

Carrier tactics would be sweet, but with a bigger ship. The Prize Ship sounds more like a goods holder than a flotilla holder.

>>5899390
I'm of the mind that refits are so expensive that right now we should try and keep the prize out of combat for the moment, I was thinking of converting our flagship to the carrier since it's (at least) twice the size and mostly empty. Put all that space to use with guns, y'know?
I do agree giant blades would look cool, but the feds aren't likely to cut and run from big sword, maybe if it was some kind of laser sword, but even then it would be better suited to a faster ship that won't get blown to smithereens before it can close distance and get out.

>>5899471
A laser cutter on the Dorsal instead would be more practical until a faster ship is found, turning it into a quasi-mining ship.

We're up to 800,000 so far, plus whatever the laser cutter would cost.

>>5899480
I don't think a mining ship is a good idea until we are well established, for it to be profitable we would need a buyer for the ore, a prospect and a processor/refinery, which we don't have any of currently.
I dig the whole space economy vibe but I think we need a better picture of the cosmos we're working with. There's only one independent outpost we are aware of, and while that gives us plenty of room to grow (I would love to establish a colony/enterprise and help it grow) I think we need to be as lean and vicious as possible for the moment. I still have half a mind to sell the prize and go in for even more upgrades to the flagship.

OK so I think there's kind of a misconception about how space combat works since we haven't actually engaged in it yet. I personally do not foresee a lot of scenarios where you're going to be able to sneak up on any kind of ship with giant chainsaw blades. Like it or not, most of the truly advanced tech is reserved for Fleet or private ships that have blessings from higher mercantile powers, which you guys do not. Engagements are going to be at a distance, and if you're in "close quarters combat" range than it means the enemy ship has probably already been disabled enough that hacking at it with a giant saw isn't going to be necessary. That said, if you're really interested in pursuing that line of thought, it'd probably be 275,000 given the size and how unorthodox it is. A laser cutter is, like, 150k? But I encourage you guys not to get too ahead of yourselves with this planning, after all, piracy is about stealing from the economy, not building one.

>>5899611
Welp, there goes my dreams of a Gunzan or grappler ships.

Where the archives at

>>5899776
>>5885307

>>5897828
My vote is for deferring on updates to the ship, or gunboat or mobile warehouse, in that order.

I'm cooking up an update that wraps up our station fun, so if there's no consensus on modifications by the time I'm done then I'll just leave it for the next time we're at spacedock.

>>5899922
Deferring on everything? So no upgrades?
Pls at least
>Dorsal EM beam (medium): 50,000
>Fore railgun upgrade: 10,000 total
>Engine: 200,000
>Sensor: 100,000

>Total: 360,000
these ones

>>5900052
I could agree on the
>Engine: 200,000
>Sensor: 100,000
But not the
>Dorsal EM beam (medium): 50,000
>Fore railgun upgrade: 10,000 total

on the condition we instead purchase an additional
Dorsal
- 1 turreted railgun (large)

>>5900192
Yeah we can get more guns, they're very affordable honestly. So it would be:
>Dorsal EM beam (medium): 50,000
>Dorsal Turreted Railgun (large): 65,000
>Fore railgun upgrade: 10,000 total
>Engine: 200,000
>Sensor: 100,000

>Total: 425,000

Hearing the prices that Hasui outlines, you decide to keep it simple for the most part, purchasing some upgrades to your existing armament as well as your sensor array and in-system drives. All in all, the expenses still leave you with a considerable sum of 775,000 credits left over from the money won during the station raid. While the upgrades are applied, you swagger off to finish the rest of your plans on the station.

–––––––––––––

By the time the modifications are complete, you’ve satisfied your lust for gambling and fighting. Between your fight winnings and stints in the casino, however, you’ve just about broke even, and you wryly acknowledge that perhaps it would’ve been wiser to lay off the alcohol before you went about trying to bluff all those Tarassians that dominated the Point’s numerous gambling floors. As for your crew, they also seem to have been well-sated, and by now most of them are hanging out aboard the ship, waiting to cast off.

Fraus has taken up residence in one of the guest quarters, and has used most of his free time to pester you about a possible departure date. His badgering seems to be concerned mostly with some kind of urgency to the retrieval of his special cargo, although he still refuses to disclose exactly what it is or why he needs it so fast.

Shis’so has done all they can on the prize ship, so you recall them back to the Flow My Tears and put Carrak back in charge.

>Leave the prize ship at the Point; it’ll live there indefinitely, nominally safe from being stolen.
>Take the prize ship with you.

Once again, you find yourself back on your bridge. Some of the crew are still nursing headaches, but you feel quite spry as you recline in your chair and go over potential missions with Shis’so. In addition to your regular sources of information, there’s also the Burn Caladh retrieval as well as some special opportunities that you discovered as a part of your General Systems intel.

Do note that going forward, you will be able to continue performing jobs indefinitely instead of returning to port after each mission. However, opportunities are always changing, what’s available now may not be after you finish a raid (with some exceptions)

>Commerce raid, General Systems Freight Lines. Much like any other raid, except with the added benefit of knowing the exact route of the ships you’re going to hit. General Systems is large enough that the convoy might come with its own civilian escorts, but nothing you can’t handle.

>Depot raid, General Systems Freight Lines. Part of the intel you nabbed included the coordinates for a moonbase supply warehouse operated by General Systems, the contents of which seem to consist mostly of consumer goods, as well as mechanical components for small-time civilian use and various raw materials. Like the station, it seems lightly defended.

>Commerce raid, Tervorod-Clancy route. Bog standard raid, except for the fact that a lot of these ships are flying Guild colors. That doesn’t really mean much: the Guild doesn’t offer as much protection to traders as it used to, but a raid on their ships is a prestige thing for pirates.

>Relay raid, FSP Post 185-B-3. Alright, you admit, there’s basically no monetary benefit here, but hitting one of the Federation’s subspace relays would feel good and maybe earn you some brownie points with Zadane or something. You have no idea about the risks, though.

>Retrieval, Burn Caladh. This is the job that you had ‘volunteered’ your services for. Payout’s only 200,000, but you figure that you could bargain that up pretty easily. Burn Caladh has a travel ban placed on it, but there’s no indication of a Fleet interdiction, so you don’t see any trouble going to get this mysterious unnamed cargo. Quick and cheap. [The client seems in a rush to get this job done.]

>>5900596
>>Leave the prize ship at the Point; it’ll live there indefinitely, nominally safe from being stolen.
>Commerce raid, Tervorod-Clancy route.
I get the feeling we're going to hit a few targets on this voyage, so it is immaterial what order the retrieval takes place. Gives us more time to potentially find some info on Burn Caladh before we visit as well, and a raiding mission, especially on the guild, will give our men their slake of bloodthirst and glory.

>>5900596
>Take the prize ship with you.
>>Retrieval, Burn Caladh. This is the job that you had ‘volunteered’ your services for. Payout’s only 200,000, but you figure that you could bargain that up pretty easily. Burn Caladh has a travel ban placed on it, but there’s no indication of a Fleet interdiction, so you don’t see any trouble going to get this mysterious unnamed cargo. Quick and cheap. [The client seems in a rush to get this job done.]

Will give some time for other anons to answer/break the tie before I start writing, update in the next 24-36 hours hopefully

>>5901445
Oh, okay lemme catch up real quick

>>5900596
>Take the prize ship with you
What's the worst that could happen if we drag along the ship connected to one of the galaxy's most powerful families and get it associated with our current vessel/self.

More seriously, if they come looking for it then it might be better to have it than to tell them it got stolen.

>Burn Caladh
Open the mystery box

>>5900596
>take it with you
>GenSystems raid
He wants this to be done real quick he should have paid us more. Let's do this, then the caladh raid, then the GenSystems depot raid. Guess we can use the prize ship as extra cargo or a gunboats or whatever we kit it with last votes.

Alright so, putting the votes together and I think we'll take the prize ship and go to Burn Caladh. Writing (finally)

File: aeolus-breathed-003-copy.jpg (624 KB, 900x829)

624 KB JPG

Although the prize ship isn’t in any shape for combat, you decide to bring it along anyway, feeling that it’s better to keep it close to your chest instead of leaving it floating around with a token crew. Shis’so makes no comment as you give the order to resume the navigation slave system, and order helm to set a course for Burn Caladh. Common sense dictates that you take a roundabout path to the system, which the pilot obediently sets, and you begun traveling to the minimum distance from the Point.

“This is not our usual mission profile,” your XO says. You steeple your fingers and regard the Tri-D tank contemplatively.

“Let’s just say that my interest was piqued.”

Owing to his incessant buzzing, you made sure that Fraus was kept in his quarters for the duration of the trip; you didn’t need him on the bridge to make a simple trip to an uncolonized backwater. The Flow My Tears navigates through the stellar matter surrounding the Point and soon clears the jump boundary. Helm’s fingers fly over his board: equations to calculate the most efficient combination of travel time, fuel cost of Insystem drive, probability flux of FTL, and finally, the transform equations that set up the FTL path. High flux could spread a ship across half of a solar system, turning it into a smear on radar and a burst of noise on the radio. A good pilot was one of the first things you had found as captain. “Entering FTL state on a .035 flux path,” helm announces, and soon the orange settings of realspace are replaced on the monitor by the computer’s technicolor approximation of the unimaginable flux state.

You’ve got plenty of time, so you start flipping through the available data from your bootlegged Looking-G.L.A.S.S. database. Unfortunately, it’s not particularly up to date, but Burn Caladh was quarantined so long ago that the information is there anyway. Like you remembered, there wasn’t much: only the barest of facts that there had once been an EEC mission there, but it had left under some mysterious circumstances. Certainly it wasn’t the first time that the FSP had made a mistake and quietly covered it up. In fact, there are probably a dozen potential colonies that get abandoned or delayed every year for undisclosed reasons. Burn Caladh was only different because it experienced some brief fame as an upcoming vacation site for several galactic travel companies; apparently it had remarkable natural beauty. You find some amusement in being able to see the same vistas soon at no extra cost.

Most of the rumors and conspiracy theories about the abandonment mention either mutiny or the Others; you knew from Fleet that mutiny was always unfounded and was so rare that many in the Federation thought it to be impossible. The Others, though, were an equally improbable explanation, since the mysterious race of planet-hallowing aliens had never been proven to exist and the only ‘evidence’ of their presence was planets which had already been desiccated hundreds of millennia before the Federation ever reached them. The more probable explanation is that the expedition group encountered some unforeseen complication that they were unprepared to deal with and the EEC pulled them out instead of committing anyone else. That, or the planet had proven less materially useful then expected and, again, they were pulled out to spare the resources.

The Others had always been the spacers’ explanation for mysterious phenomena, a tendency to attribute the otherwise unexplained to an easy scapegoat.

>Superstition is the realm of the mentally misguided; you know better.
>You’ve seen enough of the deep black to know that there were some things that science and rationality cannot explain.
>Whether it be ancient aliens or some higher power, you rest comfortably with the protection of your faith.
>The Discipline taught you that there is always a kernel of reality in everything. You merely had to work to find it.

>>5906795
>>You’ve seen enough of the deep black to know that there were some things that science and rationality cannot explain.

>>5906795
>Whether it be ancient aliens or some higher power, you rest comfortably with the protection of your faith.

>>5906795
>You’ve seen enough of the deep black to know that there were some things that science and rationality cannot explain.

>>5906795
>You’ve seen enough of the deep black to know that there were some things that science and rationality cannot explain.

Popping by to let everyone know the update is on the way, just need to wrap up some university work first. Should be posted in the next 24 hours

You admit that the dead planets that many people attributed to the Others are, in fact, difficult to prove as the result anything, and with that lack knowledge, considering them to be the remains of some mysterious alien race devouring resources like a swarm of galactic locusts is just as good an explanation as any.

That said, you were sure that there was a different explanation for the Burn Caladh fiasco. With any luck, you might be able to find out as a part of this job.

Since things are going slowly, you go against your better judgment and allow Fraus to come to the bridge. The client seems less antsy now that you’re on your way, but he still bounces around the bridge more than you like. Your crew shoots him looks, but stays focused as you look on. “Pacing won’t get us there faster.”

His footsteps put him close to the command chair. “Surely you understand the value of expediency, captain.”

“I understand the value of a safe flight path,” you respond tartly. “It’s not like your cargo is going to expire.”

Fraus shoots you a glance, then resumes his walk. “Well, I’ll rest better when I know it’s safe.”

“Then rest assured that I’ll get it to you without a scratch. I have to admit, though, that you’ve aroused my curiosity about what exactly it is I’m retrieving for you.” As you talk, you make sure to adjust the position of your cape so that it drapes in the most flattering way; similar effort is taken to keep your tricorn hat perched neatly on top of your head. The clothing store had honored your request for an old-style skull and crossbones motif, which sits prominently on the front of the hat.

Fraus stops in front of you. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“And who are you to stop me from taking what I want? You may count yourself lucky that I gave you the right to observe. If I want to crack open that container, I’ll do so with impunity.”

He hasn’t got much to say to that, so you ignore him and continue examining the available data on Burn Caladh. Over eighty-five percent of the planet’s surface is water, with the landmass consisting mostly of rock formations and scattered oases. There’s some vague reference to the planet’s ecosystem, which is naturally centered on ocean life, and its prodigious storms. Perhaps that’s one explanation for the EEC’s evacuation? But surely they would’ve been prepared for any natural elements…

“I have powerful friends with an interest in that container,” he speaks up again.

You swing around in the chair with deliberate slowness, resting your chin on your fist. “Is that a threat?”

“Just something you should know,” Fraus says, but he squirms slightly under your gaze. You enjoy the moment.

“You should know that I don’t take well to someone threatening me, especially aboard my own ship. I invited you here out of the goodness of my heart, and you repay me with impatience and ultimatums which I imagine you have neither the ability nor the capital to follow through on. I’m surprised your mercenary friend on the station put up with you for as long as you did. Ah, perhaps it was because you ‘paid well,’” you add, anticipating his rebuttal. “I’m afraid that I’m not swayed so easily. Perhaps more money is due to me, since you’ve been so obstinate about my services so far. How about double the fee?” you end with a wolfish grin. The bridge has gone even quieter as the crew tunes in to your ‘negotiations.’

“I don’t have that money with me.”

“Then we can stop at the nearest banking station,” you suggest. “Also, I think it’s only fair that I know what’s inside the container, considering that it’s my ship that’s carrying it.”

“That was never a part of our deal,” Fraus starts to snarl.

>“I am altering the deal. Pray I don’t alter it any further.”
>Ask about his ‘powerful friends.’
>Acquiesce, at least for the moment.
>Write-in.

>>5911339
>Ask about his ‘powerful friends.’
If he's that mad about it, it must be something good.

>>5911340
>"I am altering the deal. Pray I don’t alter it any further.”
The fool needs to understand exactly where he is and what is happening. The bigger fish has found him, and he has already lost control of this situation. I suspect he will call for help, so have our comms officer seal the ship and monitor all transmissions.

>>5911340
>>“I am altering the deal. Pray I don’t alter it any further.”

“Altering the deal” wins, writing
(posting from phone at the moment)

You casually place your laspistol on the arm of your chair.

“I am altering the deal. Pray I don’t alter it any further.”

Feeling that the conversation was at an end as far as you were concerned, you gesture to your guards and they open the door. Fraus thankfully takes the hint and departs, but not before shooting you a venomous glare.

“Tactful,” Shis’so remarks with a rare bit of humor. You swivel around to look at them.

“Just doing my due diligence as captain. I’d like to make this jaunt a little more worth it… my ship isn’t meant to be a courier for scum with inflated egos.”

The bridge seems to have let out a collective breath after Fraus leaves. No doubt they approve of your handling of the situation, though you do wonder exactly what he meant by his mention of ‘powerful friends.’ You suppose that it could really mean anything, if it wasn’t a bluff to begin with. Certainly nothing that you didn’t have the skill and guile to handle, particularly if your ambitions were fulfilled. ‘Best laid plans’ held true, of course, and you didn’t harbor any illusions that you would have a spotless record. Zadane was just one example of old pirates with their fair share of failures. The ability to recover from a mistake was a better indication of one’s ability than avoiding failure altogether. Should the time come, you feel confident that you can roll with the punches.

–––––––––––––

The transition out of the FTL state is marked by nothing more than a slight feeling of inertia. Unlike your earlier jump to the General Systems station, the drop to realspace is planned and thus goes much smoother.

“Good reversion,” helm reports. “Traveling to within four hundred kilometers.”

“Are we tracking anything?”

“Scanners clear. Just reading a few FSP satellites, civilian grade. Sector beacon’s been stripped.” Ops’ report is corroborated by the Tri-D tank, which displays some very empty local space. True to Fraus’s statement, there isn’t a whisper of a Fleet vessel in the system.

“Wonderful.”

Wonderful indeed. The visual display is limited, but Burn Caladh still shimmers a cool blue in the light from the system’s sun as you steadily draw closer. It’s no wonder that there were plans to make it a stop on a galactic cruise, as even from here it looks beautiful. A white whorl is all you can see of what is no doubt a massive storm raging in the northern hemisphere.

“Planetary scans?

“Limited, skipper. Matches with the old database statistics, to be sure. I don’t see any settlements or manmade energy sources. Did our client have coords for the pickup?”

“No. Seems like his plan is to keep it to himself until absolutely necessary, that way we don’t cheat him.” You don’t really like the idea of need him to do anything, but at the same time, there’s no other way to locate a single crate on an entire planet.

In theory.

“Options?” you ask the room. Naturally, your XO is the first to speak.

“It would be possible to run some kind of comprehensive scan that is capable of pinpointing a specific location. However, it would have to be done in-atmosphere.”

The Gourney-class sat at a category four-plus in weight, straddling the line of atmosphere-capable flight, but possible in theory. You also had a few shuttles which could probably be outfitted with the requisite equipment for the same task. “And that would take…?”

“Between five to seven days.”

You raise both eyebrows, but say nothing. Maybe you should just ask Fraus after all-

“Captain, if I may…”

You gaze over at the ops officer, Kunzea, and make a wordless indication for her to continue.

“With the new sensor upgrade, I think we could make the scan from out here. Not that it wouldn’t require some modification to the array, but if I understand the system correctly, it’s possible.”

“And it would be done fast…?”

“...yes, but, the crystal attunement could be an issue. That’s assuming what we’re looking for is in a ship, though.”

“Assumptions are not always reliable,” Shis’so interjects characteristically. “But this is not a reliable method.”

“Sorry-” you cut in before they can get into a discussion, “what exactly is the trouble with the crystals?” Fleet had made sure you had a basic education in everything you needed to survive in space, but Ballybran crystals were a very recent development in technology, largely unknown to you save for the highly secretive way in which they were manufactured. You had harbored doubts about their risk, but everything indicated that they were far more effective than most conventional systems.

“The upgrade incorporated some black crystal nodes into the sensor system,” Kunzea begins. “It’s the most versatile of the Ballybran crystal types, which is usually a good thing. The modifications I’m proposing would essentially be re-tuning the crystals to a different pitch, so they could possibly locate a ship on the surface by resonating with whatever crystals are being used in that ship’s comm array, or other components, depending on its systems… assuming it has crystals integrated to begin with,” she allows. “But, uh, if I tune our crystal the wrong way, or if the target’s crystals are tuned the wrong way, it could, potentially, have a malignant vibration, which could cause a malfunction on the target ship. And that malfunction could take any form.”

“So we might blow it up,” you say slowly, and she nods.

“Crystals are not meant to be used in this manner,” Shis’so says. “Even crystal tuners are not trained in or advised to perform that kind of modification.”

“Well, I don’t see a singer on our ship,” Kunzea replies irritably. “And this way we wouldn’t be trawling with shuttles in atmosphere for a week.”

Your XO bristles, the spiders swelling around the console. “It is ridiculous to suggest these maverick techniques. Disregard the target: such use of the crystals could even cause damage to our own ship if we are not careful.”

“Muhlah! Cut it out!” Was that… indignity, from the Carlottan? You were shocked, to be frank. You massage your brow. “We’re basing all of this on the idea that what we’re looking for is near or inside a ship, which we’re not sure about. Both of these ideas could be a waste of time.”

“A traditional in-atmosphere scan could pick up a single container,” Shis’so adds.

So there’s that. “Crystals, or a week of scanning.”

“Five to seven days,” they correct.

“The crate could even have crystals in in,” another one of the crew says half-jokingly.

>Execute the crystal retuning and scan with that method. [High DC]
>Use Shis’so’s scanning method and hope it doesn’t actually take a week. [Guaranteed success, medium DC on time]
>Ask Fraus for his information. [Guaranteed success…?]
>Improvise (write-in).

>>5912874
>Use Shis’so’s scanning method and hope it doesn’t actually take a week. [Guaranteed success, medium DC on time]

>>5912874
>Ask Fraus for his information. [Guaranteed success…?]
It's in his own best interest, I'm sure he would appreciate the expediency in any case. With him refusing to spill about his 'friends' or any particulars of the job the only thing we have benefited from our alteration to the deal is annoying him. It shouldn't be difficult to convince a prisoner to get out from under us sooner rather than later.

>>5912967
To that point, I completely forgot to write it in, but it can be assumed that his communication access was blocked as per your stipulation.

>>5912874
>>Ask Fraus for his information. [Guaranteed success…?]

Crystal tuning, atmospheric scans… memories return of the monotony of Fleet staff meetings, the arguments between different departments aboard the ship. There was, of course, a simple rule on any ship: the captain had the final choice in all matters.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We can come back to those solutions if necessary, but if I can avoid… risks, I will.”

Of course, running to Fraus had not been your intention, but when confronted with both of those options, it suddenly seemed more appealing. His quarters aren’t too far away, and a couple pirate guards look on from down the hallway as you buzz the door. Going to his door hadn’t been your ideal, either, but you thought it wise to avoid putting yourself in a situation where the rest of the bridge crew could see you asking for help from the person you just yelled at.

The door opens, but before you can even open your mouth, Fraus has held out a cred-card in both hands with his head down.

“I-”

“Accept my apologies,” he says, still not looking up. You take the yellow plastic from his hands and examine the amount on it… two hundred thousand credits! “Consider it a down payment,” he adds, finally straightening up. “We can discuss additional payments after you’ve acquired the cargo.”

Despite his verbiage, you detect no conniving tone, no deception. Fraus seems oddly reconciliatory. You conceal your surprise and pocket the card. “Actually, I’ve come to collect any information you have on the location of the cargo.”

“Certainly.” He again shocks you by quickly retrieving his personal device from the small bed. “I don’t have very accurate information, but it should be enough to narrow the search. I’ll share it with the ship's computer.”

You rub your eyes while he has his back turned. What was with the change in demeanor? Demanding once, helpful the next.

“You see, I only know about the ship itself,” he says. “Not about the crash site. But the information on the craft should be enough to track it, no?”

“Most likely,” you reply, not really thinking about the specifics and instead formulating a plan of action. Assuming a location can be pinpointed, you’d take a shuttle down with whoever you chose, with Fraus naturally tagging along. “I’ll be in touch about a landing party.”

But Fraus has already turned away, murmuring to himself. He offers a quick bow in your direction, and you decide to leave.

Back on the bridge, you direct the team to parse Fraus’s data, and soon Shis’so and Kunzea have arrived at a consensus: the cargo is indeed located in a ship, somewhere on the coast of the planet’s small southern continent. “Any details on the ship?”

“Nothing, comprehensive, skipper, but it looks like an older model. Very sleek.”

Well, you have a location from a very cooperative Fraus, and all you need to do is take a shuttle down and check it out.

i]Who do you select for your away team? Pick up to three, plus yourself (or four, and the away mission will switch to someone else’s perspective).[/i]

>Shis’so, the expert engineer and your XO.
>Marly, the weapons officer. One of the more experienced crew members, you had poached him from another crew back in the day.
>Kunzea, your operations officer. Experienced in all sorts of ship systems, though she’s a bit on the younger side.
>Crane, the older crew member you had used as a part of the raid earlier. Seems to be great at improvisation, if nothing else.
>Wilmar, the leader of your assault teams. Good in a fight.
>Fraus, the client.

>>5917533
>Kunzea, your operations officer. Experienced in all sorts of ship systems, though she’s a bit on the younger side.
>Crane, the older crew member you had used as a part of the raid earlier. Seems to be great at improvisation, if nothing else.
>Fraus, the client.

>>5917533
>Marly, the weapons officer. One of the more experienced crew members, you had poached him from another crew back in the day.
>Crane, the older crew member you had used as a part of the raid earlier. Seems to be great at improvisation, if nothing else.
>Wilmar, the leader of your assault teams. Good in a fight.
>Fraus, the client.

Others may not be a fan, but I enjoy perspective switches.

Just to clarify, the perspective change would just be for the duration of the away mission, not permanent.

The shuttle slips out of the Flow My Tear’s hangar into the silence of space. Despite the size of the shuttle, the crew compartment only accommodates you and your chosen three, plus the pilot in the cockpit.

Kunzea is sitting next to you, the operations officer having donned a worn-out armorweave vest for the trip. As Crane jabbers away to your unresponsive client, you examine her discreetly.

Like all humans of Brinianish origin, she has a reddish hue to her skin and piercing ice-blue eyes. The two of you had first crossed paths when you were the XO on a different vessel and she had been a fresh-faced recruit on the Environmental level. She had a certain zeal and drive about her, and you knew that her quarreling with Shis’so on the bridge was not the exception but rather her modus operandi. Hotheaded, a bit brash, but with a sort of confidence and innate authority that could both make a good pirate, or be the death of one. You had to admire her tenacity.

“Passing through atmo now,” the pilot calls back, and the ride gets significantly bumpier as the forces of drag begin to act on the shuttle. Without any windows in the crew compartment, you can only ride it out as it went through a descending circuit of the planet. Kunzea sits with her arms crossed in front of her safety belt, while Crane looks on nonchalantly. Fraus seems the most affected, though he hasn’t vomited yet. It was entirely possible that he was one of the hundred million shipborn humans who had never stepped off of a station or starship, never experienced what it was like to land on natural rock. Or he was just bad with turbulence.

It had been a while since you landed on a planet yourself, you reflect. It wasn’t your domain, nor did you want it to be, though you had descended on occasion to the precious few pirate bases which had been established on some uncharted planets. Planets could be messy and dangerous, and while you aren’t one to shy away from danger, you did feel more comfortable on your own ship.

File: burn caladh 1.jpg (181 KB, 1680x1050)

181 KB JPG

The turbulence subsides as the craft approaches its landing point, slowing its speed to make a smooth touchdown. A final rock of the cabin indicates that its settled on the ground. You unbuckle and poke your head into the cockpit.

“Breathable, gravity is one-point-one times standard,” the pilot reads out from one of his displays. “Scattered lifesigns above sea level.”

“Sounds good. Our target?”

“A couple hundred meters inland. We’re on an island in some sort of small archipelago, mostly just rock.”

You order the pilot to remain onboard for the moment and pop the egress hatch. Fraus and Crane head out first, followed by you, and Kunzea brings up the rear.

Burn Caladh is… beautiful. A boundless azure sea stretches out from the rocky islet you’ve landed on, and waves lap at the pastel orange shore. Small scrub grasses and hardy trees grow in and around the boulders scattering the island, and in the distance you can see larger specimens of flora abound on other islands making up the small chain. Spanning the distance between many of the small islands are tall, smooth stone arches, catching the afternoon sun. A cool sea breeze whisks away any uncomfortable warmth from the sun, and the fresh air ruffles your cape in a rather dashing away.

Kunzea seems to be enjoying the weather as well, as she’s already shrugged off her shipboard jacket and tied it around her waist. Fraus looks around warily at the empty shoreline, and Crane puts his hands on his hips.

You take a deep breath, savoring the fresh ocean air, and look around at your more immediate surroundings. A shimmering metal shape sits in the distance, which you presume to be the target ship. Amid the scrubs, Fraus pauses and shades his eyes.

“What else about the ship?” you ask him. He shrugs.

“I gave you everything that my patron gave me. We know the same.”

“So we’re both in the dark, then.” It was quite clear now that Fraus was himself just a broker, the lower-level of some greater machine. You wondered how far up it went, and who exactly you were really working for. Would you ever know?

Kunzea steps over to you, holding the data-recorder in both hands and peering at the display. “Now that we’re closer, I’m picking up a lifesign reading… from the ship. Intelligent, I think.”

You glance at the readout. “The cargo?”

“Not sure, skipper. One of the local critters, snuck aboard? No idea if anything’s here smart enough to do that, though. Unless the ramp’s just been left down.”

“The EEC wouldn’t have had enough time to survey for sapient lifeforms,” you say, toeing at a loose stone. “Probably just some local wildlife. Crane?”

The older man is doing his own surveying with a pair of macrobinoculars. “The ship must’ve had a rough landing… listing to one side, and I see some damage to the port wing. Weapons damage, maybe, but we’d have to get closer.”

His words are a good catalyst, so you kick everyone into gear and start walking toward the target ship. As you draw closer, the ship becomes easier to see. It really is sleek: unlike many ships built solely for deep space, this one is clearly meant for frequent travels into the atmosphere. The narrow, pointed nose flows into a wide, lifting-body design, with no visible cockpit bubble or engine intake. The entire hull is constructed out of a dark green alloy, lending the ship a dapper look quite opposed to your own craft. Some sort of star courier, you think to yourself. Despite the fact that only one of its landing skids deployed and the port side does indeed show some optical weapon scoring, she still looks impressive. You’re already thinking about scavenging her, if Fraus doesn’t lay claim first. Kunzea takes another reading with the recorder.

“Lifeform is still in there, sir. It appears stationary.”

“Asleep, I hope.” You aren’t expecting to make use of your laspistol on this mission, but have no qualms about doing so. Kunzea and Crane are both capable of holding their own as well, though you’re not sure about Fraus. One lifeform wouldn’t pose a threat, though you suppose it’s possible the ship was carrying coldsleepers, who wouldn’t show up on lifesign scanners. Somehow, that seems unlikely. “Crane, keep watch out here. Fraus, Kunzea, let’s head up.”

The courier is big, but you take notice of a crew entrance on the exposed starboard side of the hull. The airlock is carefully molded to the curve of the hull, a kind of intentional craftsmanship you hardly see on modern starships. Kunzea examines the small console concealed under a metal flap. “Locked. Let me see what I can do…”

As she fiddles with the computer, another cool breeze washes over the three of you, and you hear a faint, animalistic wail. The local fauna, you assume, though none of it had shown itself on your walk over to the ship. It would make sense for most of it to be in Burn Caladh’s vast oceans, though; emerging on land only when it was necessary. You had never paid much attention during the ecological courses at the Academy. “How’s it going?”

“Tough encryption, and I’ve never seen it before. But not impossible, skipper,” Kunzea adds quickly. You grin slightly and turn away.

The site of the target ship is near the shore, so you watch the wavelets come to shore with mild curiosity. Before long, there’s a flapping of a multitude of wings, and a flock of animals comes down all at once, gathering at the edge of the water in a line. They weren’t birds, not exactly, but they were avian, with a bright red and yellow crest on their head and a creamy orange body no longer than your forearm. The flock stays just in front of the tide, before suddenly darting forward in a mass. The water thrashes for a moment before birds start taking flight, each one with something purple clutched in its talons. They rise up in the air for a few moments before dropping their load; the purple things fall to the ground with loud cracks, and the birds then fall upon it and begin eating furiously.

You suddenly understand that the deep purple masses are actually some kind of crustacean that the birds are cracking open against the stone. The feeding frenzy continues for several more minutes before it seems to subside. The flying creatures seem to have exhausted the supply of crustaceans in the shallow water. To your surprise, a single crustacean has escaped and skitters into the shadow of the ship’s wing, heading toward you. The birds notice the attempt to get away and hop after it, stopping short when they notice you and the other two.

>Pick up the crab and keep it for yourself.
>Throw the crab back to the birds and see how they react.
>Write-in.

>>5921210
>Pick up the crab and keep it for yourself.
Exotic dinner. Good material for spinning tales, too.

>>5921210
>Write-in.
Observe.

>>5921210
>>Throw the crab back to the birds and see how they react.
CROW FRENS

>>5921299
Change my vote to
>Write-in.
Shoot the crab, allow the smell to attract birds, grab bird. Exotic pet.

writing

Keeping an eye on the watchful avian creatures, you flick your laspistol to a low setting and attempt a quickdraw move on the crustacean, blowing off one set of its legs. A rivulet of blue blood begins to flow from the severed limb, and the meat proves irresistible for the shorebirds. They surge forward in a flurry of motion and set upon the crab, their narrow beaks easily tearing at the unarmored joints. As they finish off the crab and begin fighting with each other over the last few scraps of meat, you quickly step forward and snatch one of the creatures. You’re able to wrap one hand around its wings, and with the other you hold its beak shut before it tries to peck at you.

The rest of the birds begin to disperse as you peer at the black eyeball currently giving you a wild look. [i]Smart thing. Smart enough to be tamed, perhaps.[/i] You pick up the crab shell and hold it out, after which you release your grip on the beak. It fishes around in the shell for any forgotten nibbles, then looks at you for any other treats. You toss the shell away. “Nothing left.”

“[i]Peent![/i]”

“Loud.” You set the bird down and it briefly inspects the rest of the crab carcass, but when it finds nothing left, it hops back to you. “Ah…”

“Reminds me of some species on Astris Alexandria,” Fraus says. You give him a glance.

“You were at the university?”

“I visited a few times,” comes his cryptic response. Before you can interrogate him further, Kunzea yelps in surprise as the green hull plating cracks apart to reveal the airlock entrance.

Fraus is the first one to climb up into it, looking back at the two of you impatiently. As you step inside, the bird manages to hop in after you and narrowly misses getting crushed by the airlock door when it seals shut. The air cycles for a few moments, and then the inner door opens to reveal an empty hallway. Fraus draws his needlegun and moves in first, but finds the hallway clear.

In fact, the entire ship is clear. Aside from internal signs of the port side weapons damage, the white and gray corridors were clean, if not showing obvious signs of heavy use in the past. The rear end of the ship boasted a compact but clearly efficient FTL drive in addition to the power plant for a very neat set of dual-use in-system drives; an impressive loadout, but entirely typical for a courier vessel as well-built as this one. Forward of the drive section is an empty space with a large lift, presumably a cargo area. The middle section is occupied by a modest wardroom, furnished with simple but high-quality furniture and accompanied by a similarly empty kitchen with the standard amenities, and a well-stocked pantry. Around the wardroom are several living quarters, each one with a perfectly made bed and showing no signs of occupation.

Curiously, the ship’s bow is made up of additional rooms, including just one with the token signs of occupation. In the amidships area which would otherwise be occupied by a bridge, you find only a large steel column and an expansive workstation, though it seems to be surprisingly dated.

“Central Service!” You and Kunzea echo each other unintentionally upon seeing the distinctive lightning-bolt insignia on the corner of the console. The bird, having followed on foot, flies up to land on the console’s edge. “[i]Peent![/i]

“Not just any courier, then.” You turn to Fraus. “A [i]Central Service[/i] courier!”

“I had no idea,” he speaks quickly, holding his hands up and taking a step back. “But really, what’s the difference? If the Service was coming for the ship to begin with, they’d have gotten here before us.”

Your estimation of Fraus drops even lower than it already was. “That’s not something I’d like to risk. Let’s locate the cargo and leave as soon as possible. We shouldn’t even be on this ship.”

As if to punctuate your remark, the deckplates vibrate ever so slightly and an uncomfortable low hum penetrates your inner ear. “Power plant’s online,” Kunzea reports from the main console. “Wasn’t me, skipper.”

“I should hope not!”

The new voice reverberates all around you as if emanating from the ship itself. Your ops officer takes a step back from the console and looks around, as does Fraus, for the source of the voice.

“‘Now she’s gone to her father’s coffer… And she took out his gold like a common robber.’” The song bursts forth unexpectedly, a wonderful mezzo-soprano. “Thieves aboard? That won’t do!”

Clarity comes. “A brainship,” you murmur to Kunzea, who inclines her head.

“Very good,” the voice comes, patronizing. “Faster than many. Would that trivial knowledge absolve you, my friend. But, no—anyone who comes seeking plunder deserves nothing more than a swift death, more than was given to fair Aldon!”

The doors slide shut, sealing you in the room. Your new pet hops around anxiously, while Fraus blanches white and Kunzea bites a knuckle. The ship’s low hum continues unabated.

>What do you do?

>>5923676
>What do you do?
"Kunzea, find out what you can through the console, though I suspect our host will not make it easy for you.
"Speaking of you, I find it only right to address you personally. A brainship is no common creature, and especially so in a ship as small as this. I respect that you must have a no less dire duty than those of your larger cousins, but it would behoove you to not act on assumptions. We are both reasonable persons, so let us first introduce ourselves, and perhaps negotiate. I am sure you do not wish to spend the next few centuries rusting and sinking in an alien sea, with or without our corpses to keep you company."

I'm thinking that if this ship was able to leave, it would have. We might hold its only hope for escape.
I love this bird. I vote to call it Neptune.

Roll 1d100

A laugh issues from the ship, a throaty chuckle with an undertone of derisiveness. “A sharp tongue on this one. No common creature, indeed! It seems, my friend, that I have a far better sense of duty than one of your ilk. You see, I have no qualms about your cadavers in my main cabin. It certainly won’t be the first time I’ve dealt with such things. Now—you all will do me the good grace of telling me your name and provenance, so that I may report your, ah, passing with the necessary accuracy upon my return to the Central Systems.”

Kunzea is gingerly fussing with the console in all its antiquity, though her efforts seem to be entirely frustrated by the ship itself. “Unresponsive, skipper…”

As if it couldn’t get worse, Fraus speaks up. “We’ve come only for a single container-”

“What container?” the ship booms in response, and you get the feeling that it’s actually amused by its own joke. “Too late for that, friend. You see, a locked ship usually means ‘stay away,’ but you really didn’t take that advice, hmm. I’m afraid you only have yourselves and your arrogance to blame.”

“We wish you no harm,” you say quickly. There is only a microsecond of a pause before the ship replies,

“Harm, to me? Certainly not, were it possible for you to do so anyway. Yet, I have a duty to my employers, and to let you do as you wish would be dereliction of that duty. Surely even someone so black-hearted as yourself understands that.”

The ventilation system seems to grow in volume.

>Response?

In the interest of keeping it moving, we can skip the roll this time, but the first voter to respond to this should still roll a 1d100.

Rolled 10 (1d100)

>>5923870
>>Response?
Hold up your pet, "would you really kill an innocent creature?"

Rolled 99 (1d100)

>>5923870
"Indeed, this situation is quite amusing. A talking wreck of a skiff, purporting to be immune from orbital bombardment! Of course, you must be a craft composed entirely of unobtainium from the ends of time! Out of my misguided goodwill, I will allow you a last opportunity to open negotiations on equal terms. You call me black-hearted, yet you use deceit to ensnare any means of salvation. You suppose you shall be rescued from this planet? You place all hopes on Central Systems? They have clearly left you here long enough for your living company to perish, it seems that your 'employer' isn't employing you for anything but rusting on the beach. Do you presume your marvellous intellect so valuable to them that they would flaunt Federation law again for a shuttle that can't fly? If you truly wish to see what sense of duty my 'ilk' has, then we can remain here, waiting to see what comes raining down from orbit when they find I have been killed by a fanatic computer.

>>5923910
>You call me black-hearted, yet you use deceit to ensnare any means of salvation
and your very presence on this planet is a violation of the standards you hold me to

Will take the roll from >>5923909 since they went first. Writing

“Indeed, this situation is quite amusing,” you begin. “A talking wreck of a skiff, purporting to be immune from orbital bombardment, as if you were crafted from unobtainium! Now, out of my misguided goodwill, you may have a final opportunity to open negotiations on equal terms.”

The ship remains silent. You cock an eyebrow and continue,

“You call me black-hearted, but you use deceit to ensnare me, your means of salvation. If you suppose to place your hopes for rescue on the Central Service, then you seem sorely mistaken, given that they’ve left you to rust away, and they’ve no wish to flaunt FSP law. They’ve already let your living company perish-”
“How little you know,” the ship interrupts coldly. “Aldon did not die from starvation. It was the despicable deeds of foul men like you that took his life. As for your meaningless appeals to the law, you seem to have forgotten the Courier Service’s indispensable role in the FSP. Rest assured that rescue will come, be it now or in a century, and swift retribution will come to all you hold near to you.”

“My crew has their own sense of duty,” comes your swift reply. “And when they find out that I’ve been murdered by a fanatic computer-”

“A fanatic computer!” Laughter thunders around you: mocking, jeering laughter. “Then you truly are a fool. I believe I’ve heard enough, softperson. A shame about the creature, though there are many more to serve as my companions.”

“Skipper!” Kunzea is still at the console, no longer bothering to be careful with it. She covers her mouth with her hands and whispers to you, “Sir, maybe I can crash the power planet, but to be honest, I have no idea what it’s going to do to the ship.”

“No idea? Is it going to blow up?” you ask incredulously. The operations officer shrugs irreverently.

“It’s a CS ship. The fardling thing could turn inside out for all I know.”

The ship begins to sing out again:

For we have got some letters,
to be carried home by you…

“Well, give it a try,” you say dubiously, glancing at Fraus. The man seems to have backed into a corner, examining part of the wall.

A sailing down all on
The coasts of High Barbary

>Response?

>First three anons roll a 1d100 each, DC is 50, 60, and 80 respectively. This is rolling for something different from last time.

Rolled 32 (1d100)

>>5924279
"I shall not grovel to a silicon husk. All this thing understands is pain and humiliation, so I shall lower myself to its rudimentary level."
Contact Crane and inform him of the situation if possible, but pull out the pistol and attempt to blast our way to the FTL engines either way.
I can understand your logic by taking first roll, but c'mon man, u did me dirty

>>5924642
Actually, it kinda worked out perfectly, since the roll was to determine what exactly our MC knows about brainships... and, well, your dialogue is just a tad ignorant from an in-universe perspective. That said, I could've handled it better. You guys can still pull this off though, especially depending on the next two rolls

So here's my question, anons: seeing that the thread is going a bit slowly owing both to my own posting schedule and the lower number of voters, do we want to stop now and I'll continue in a third thread, or just wrap up this bit with the brainship as soon as possible before making another thread? I could go either way, it just feels like the thread is slowing down even more than it had been owing to only having a few voters (thank you all) and that a new thread could get things moving faster. Curious for your input.

Rolled 12 (1d100)

>>5924279
100 natty

>>5925317
Either or is good.

>>5925317
I've got the thread watchlisted, and I'll just add the new one when it comes, so no real issue either way for me.
A new thread could bring in some more voters, sure.

Alright, sounds good. Let's get that final role then, and then the update for that will be the start of the next thread.

Rolled 90 (1d100)

>>5927196

>>5927292
Thanks anon. I'll write the update and get the new thread started within a week.

Feel free to discuss while the thread is still up. I feel like it's been a rough start to the quest given my update schedule but I'm interested to hear comments or feedback.

Honestly I didn't realise this wasn't 100% homebrew until you mentioned brainships having lore. I hadn't even heard of the dragonriders or anything by Mcaffrey until I looked into it. What would you recommend for the uninitiated?

>>5928567

Hm, I dunno how cagey I want to be in order to preserve the surprise of any potential plot points kek. The first book of hers I read was The Ship Who Searched, which IMO is actually better than The Ship Who Sang but they're both good. I actually haven't read all of the Brainships books because a lot of them just... aren't in library systems and can only be found in used bookstores, and of course all the paperbacks are 30+ years old at this point so their condition is often questionable. There's also the Crystal Singers trilogy, which is incorporated here, and Dinosaur Planet. All three series are set in different settings though, McCaffrey used the "Federation of Sentient Planets" as a blanket setting which she would tweak for different series. I'm basically stitching three different settings together to make the quest more interesting.

tl;dr nothing wrong to start with per se, but IMO her 90s sci-fi is better than her older stuff. The Ship Who Sang was written in 1968 and it really shows, using slide rules to calculate hyperspace jumps and everything is on cassette tape. That said I actually like the retrotech feel and I've been trying to capture it here between my descriptions and the images I've used.