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Now you gently ease into the throttle, both the reactor and the main engine finally springing life. As you do, you both listen and expand your Vis Sense, making certain that there are no discordant notes in the hum running through the hull and no oddities in the power output and transfer.

Oh yeah, being an unregistered psion - there's one more crime to add to the list.

However, all remains well with the ship's systems, even as you finally reach full burn. At which point you let the autopilot take over and simply sit there, watching the speed indicator climb from kilometers per second to tens, then to hundreds, the target being an even thousand - a safe enough inner system cruising speed that should let you pass in the vicinity of the innermost planet's orbit within two days or so. You'll need to go much faster soon enough, but no reason to draw attention to yourself quite yet. The inertial dampeners seem to be working fine, at least - you can barely feel the acceleration.

"I thought we were doing a slingshot around the sun," Fia says, observing the course display from the co-pilot's seat.

"That's still the plan. But remember: we will be pursued. We'll adjust course once we know what's coming after us and on what vector."

Fia is the unexpected companion on your escape from Barter. A designermate - an artificial sapient grown in a vat to the buyer's specifications, for the broadly understood purpose of "companionship". But Fia, in her own words, is jailbroken - her mind truly her own, free of the loyalty conditioning that would have her slip into lethal depression upon being separated from her owner.

And even if Jay Roberts - the owner of the ship you stole - did not own her, she had made it clear that their relationship dynamic was lacking, to put it gently. To the point that she was already going to abandon him - and it was only your sudden appearance that interfered with her own escape.

Which in your eyes says far more than words could. It requires significant incentive to overcome the inertia of one's life's trajectory. To successfully fight back against a sense of helplessness, the insidious belief that trying to change things for the better will only make them worse.

And perhaps it is for the better that she ended up with you, rather than wandering an unfamiliar station, particularly given her earlier question concerning slavery. Barter did not engage in the slave trade officially - not for any moral reasons, but simply because the profit margins were too narrow, given what food, water and even air cost on the station - but a lonely designermate could very easily draw the wrong sort of attention.

(cont)

"Anyone chasing us will easily guess we'll use the sun for acceleration and vector shift," Fia points out.

"Absolutely," you nod. "But can they guess the direction we'll take? Clockwise? Counter? Over or under, leaving the elliptic? And if not - will they have enough forces to cover every eventuality?" you smile and shake your head. "Their best hope to intercept us is here, while our options are still limited - before we reach the sun."

"And what if they do catch up?"

You shrug. "Then I fight back."

The way Fia's eyes narrow makes it clear what her next question will be. But as she's opening her mouth, she's interrupted - by a low, insistent beeping from a band on her wrist.

It is an interesting mixture of emotions that crosses her expression: anticipation, excitement, relief, apprehension, fear, and finally resignation. She glances at you, her eyes full of worry, then closes them and exhales.

"I'll be right back," she slips off the chair and leaves the bridge. True to her word, she's back less than twenty seconds later, clambering back into the seat. Only now she has a small lockbox with her, secured with a simple keypad lock.

"Could you open it? The code's 1551," she extends the box toward you, then notices your look. "It's not a trap or anything like that!" she adds quickly. "It's just... better to have someone else open it."

There is nothing about suspicious about the keypad to your Vis Sense and you'll admit you're a bit curious. So you punch in the code and the lockbox opens, revealing its contents - a simple, unassuming hairbrush.

Before you can say anything, Fia snatches it up with an almost hungry expression. And, curling her three fox tails forward, she begins running the brush through them in long, smooth, practiced strokes. The task seems to absorb her completely, without any attention spared to you or anything else.

The keypad's display has turned into a timer, counting down from fifteen minutes.

>Weird but probably harmless. Leave Fia be for now - she can choose whether to explain herself at her leisure
>Ask for an explanation. She's behaving like an addict who just got her fix
>write-in

Previous threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=KrakenQM

>>5915220
>Ask for an explanation. She's behaving like an addict who just got her fix
Welcome back QM

>>5915220
>>Ask for an explanation. She's behaving like an addict who just got her fix

>>5915220
>Ask for an explanation. She's behaving like an addict who just got her fix

>>5915220
>Ask for an explanation. She's behaving like an addict who just got her fix
Maybe she just got her fix?

>>5915220
>Ask for an explanation. She's behaving like an addict who just got her fix

>>5915220
>Ask for an explanation. She's behaving like an addict who just got her fix

>>5915322
>>5915484
>>5915721
>>5915832
>>5916363
>>5916630
A unanimous desire for information.

>>5916677
Oh and by the way, what did you think of the last image I posted on the previous thread?

File: sigourney weaver aliens.jpg (48 KB, 380x612)

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>>5916717
Still a bit on the youthful side, but at least the hair would be accurate to Elne's current dyejob. Though after some more searching, I'd say the best analogue to her appearance would be pic related: still slightly too young looking, but it hits the requirement for the hardness and angularity I imagine Elne's face to have.

"I've seen plenty of addictions in my time," you remark. "But I'll confess, hairbrushes is a new one."

Fia's response is not-quite-a-snort - she exhales through the nose, her shoulders dropping slightly. But the hand doing the brushing doesn't even waver.

"Comfort behavior," she says quietly. "An implanted instinct. Designermate always has to look her best, after all. The perkiest ears, the fluffiest tails - not an hair out of place. Just one of dozens of compelled and conditioned behaviors. But I'm jailbroken, yeah? Got most of that junk ripped out. Except some of it managed to cling on. Got all twisted up too. Like, tail brushing is good, yeah? Calm, relaxing, something to do when there's nothing else to do. Except most times, there actually is nothing else to do. So I brush. And brush. And brush. Until good hair starts coming out with the bad. Makes the tails look wrong. Gotta fix them. So I keep brushing and brushing, and brushing, and-" she breaks off abruptly. Closes her eyes, taking deep, steady breath. Getting the tremor in her hand under control. And then simply resumes brushing. "So basically, it was either ending up with three bald tails and a mother of all meltdowns... or this," she motions toward the lockbox. "Fifteen minutes in the morning, fifteen in the evening."

"And having someone else open it?"

"Makes it less likely I'll cheat. So yeah, I will be bothering you about it. But not like, actually bothering you. I won't be banging on the bathroom door or anything just cause it's time, and if you have a weird sleep schedule, I'll adjust," she pauses and sighs. "And I should also tell you about the other stuff."

"More implanted instincts?"

"I guess you could call them that," she shrugs. "I have a subconscious need to be around people. Like, I won't go crazy if left alone, but if you go somewhere on the ship, I'll follow you at some point. I won't constantly look over your shoulder or try to crawl into your lap or anything, but I'll just... be nearby. It's fairly benign, all things considered."

"Heavily implying I'm about to hear something less bengin."

Fia actually stops grooming her tails and tilts her head to give you a serious look.

"Stay out of the kitchen. If you set foot in there, I will come at you with everything I have. Usually a knife," she lowers her gaze. "And I'll feel absolutely terrible about it afterward. But I can't stop it from happening. So just.. don't go there, yeah? If you want something from there, just ask, I do all the cooking anyway. But like, seriously, don't go into the kitchen. Not even when I'm asleep, cause chances are I'll wake up the moment you start moving around anyway. If you have midnight cravings or something, just use the vending machine by the door to cargo."

"I did wonder what it was doing there," you tilt your head slightly.

"Jay got it after I stabbed him in the thigh."

(cont)

In the silence that follows, she resumes brushing. But then stops again and looks back up at you, her expression puzzled.

"You're taking this a lot better than you should," she says slowly. "Do you... no, you do believe me. But you're... amused? Look, I know I don't look like much, but I'm a Gen 3 with bodyguard functions. I can really fuck someone up without even trying."

>Tell her about Sivard. Good traveling companion, all around great guy. Would fly into a murderous rage at the sight of fruit.
>You're not worried because you're not just someone. Demonstrate - tell her to try and hurt you.
>write-in

>>5916792
>Tell her about Sivard. Good traveling companion, all around great guy. Would fly into a murderous rage at the sight of fruit.

>>5916792
>Tell her about Sivard. Good traveling companion, all around great guy. Would fly into a murderous rage at the sight of fruit.

>>5916792
>Tell her about Sivard

Its always a fun story.

>>5916792
>Tell her about Sivard. Good traveling companion, all around great guy. Would fly into a murderous rage at the sight of fruit.

>>5916792
>Tell her about Sivard. Good traveling companion, all around great guy. Would fly into a murderous rage at the sight of fruit.

>>5916792
>Tell her about Sivard. Good traveling companion, all around great guy. Would fly into a murderous rage at the sight of fruit.

>>5916792
>Tell her about Sivard. Good traveling companion, all around great guy. Would fly into a murderous rage at the sight of fruit.

>>5916858
>>5916983
>>5917069
>>5917211
>>5917859
>>5918211
>>5918351
Storytime with grandma Elne it is. Update will happen in a day or two, life decided to get busy

File: under the lake.jpg (34 KB, 500x700)

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You indeed believe Fia and your amusement is for another reason entirely. A distant memory of a life long over, murky and indistinct enough that you feel the need for a quick dive to recall it with the attention it deserves.

You focus inward - toward the lake. Its waters serene as always - as long as you don't look too far into the depths. But no, what you want is close, just beneath the surface. A dark figure, one of dozens, her features hidden and yet so familiar. You slip into the water and embrace her...

...the blade-grasses rustle in the cold evening wind, Bearded men huddle around the campfires, sharing a meal of mizzir stew before laying down for the night. On the edge of the firelight, darrukhs bray restlessly, smelling something amiss on the breeze. High above, a solitary, blue-tinged moon carries on, uncaring, across the star-studded sky.

"Ah, Sivard. My good friend Sivard," you smile to the memory of a particular face caught in the firelight. "Keen of eye, deadly with bow. Could hear trouble coming from o'er horizon, never sought it himself. Married, two daughters - too much to lose from dying. Solid, loyal, dependable, great sense of humor," you chuckle softly. "Would go mad as a rhavvak at the mere sight of fruit. He couldn't say why. His family couldn't say why. The greatest wisemen and healers couldn't say why. But if he saw so much as a single slice, furniture would be flipped, rocks thrown, and bystanders pummeled. But a great guy Sivard was, aside from that. Proud to have known him. Proud to have shared his path."

You let go of the memory, letting Okra Jasselay-Haaz sink back beneath the lake. And you finally look at Fia - only to be met with a disturbed, even fearful expression, eyes wide and ears flat.

"What the hell was that?!" she demands.

"What do you mean?"

"You... you became a completely different person for a moment!"

"In what way?"

"Your speech, your mannerisms, all the little subconscious markers and, just... everything!"

Interesting. But troubling.

"And you can recognize something like that?"

"I have an overdeveloped anterior insular cortex."

"The empathy center? Is that a you thing, or a-"

"Standard for all designermates."

"A necessity, I imagine?"

"Obviously. Like, say the owner comes back home from work and he's fucking angry. But what kind of angry? The sort of angry where you stay out of his way and let him decompress, but get dinner started and draw a hot bath? The sort of angry where you cuddle up and have him vent while making sympathetic noises? Or the sort of angry where you drop to your knees right there in the foyer and give him a- wait! This is just a distraction to avoid answering my question!"

Damn, she's good.

(cont)

"It's only because a thorough explanation would be complicated, more than a little unbelievable, and would also take a long time."

"My brain is a high capacity, artificially grown neural network," she points out testily. "I just told you I have a built in bullshit detector and right now we have nothing but time," she motions toward the nav console.

Which lights up, signaling an incoming hail.

"I should probably take this," you quickly put on the headset. Fia glares at you, her eyes saying that this topic will be brought up again - then reaches up and grabs her own headset - oh, it's shaped to fit over her fox ears. Very cute.

"This is cargo hauler Percheron, who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?" you say after accepting the call.

"Hail Percheron, this is Lieutenant Duskley of Barter External Security. I was hoping you could answer a couple of quick questions."

Ah, so it begins.

"Of course Lieutenant," you smile. "How can I be of help?"

"I have a human male here by the name of Jay Roberts - he is claiming that he is the rightful owner of the ship you are piloting and that you stole it from him after assaulting him in one of Barter's docking bays. Would you care to shed some light on this alleged incident?"


>Well, it's all very simple - Roberts put up his ship as collateral in a game of dice, lost, and refused to honor his debt. Under Barter law this makes it a trade dispute - which falls under ProfSec jurisdiction
>Openly admit that yes, you stole the ship. Chances are that unless Roberts has some clout with Command, ExtSec won't really give a shit
>write-in

>>5920540
>Openly admit that yes, you stole the ship. Chances are that unless Roberts has some clout with Command, ExtSec won't really give a shit

>>5920540
>say that it was lost in a game of cards.

I find the buaurocracy funny.

And high command will care, because they are looking for an escapee

>>5920540
>Well, it's all very simple - Roberts put up his ship as collateral in a game of dice, lost, and refused to honor his debt. Under Barter law this makes it a trade dispute - which falls under ProfSec jurisdiction
As funny as it would be to admit to stealing the ship, there's a dragon on our tail.

>>5920540
>>Well, it's all very simple - Roberts put up his ship as collateral in a game of dice, lost, and refused to honor his debt. Under Barter law this makes it a trade dispute - which falls under ProfSec jurisdiction

>>5920540
>Well, it's all very simple - Roberts put up his ship as collateral in a game of dice, lost, and refused to honor his debt. Under Barter law this makes it a trade dispute - which falls under ProfSec jurisdiction

>>5920939
>>5921031
>>5921298
>>5921629
Let's give him the ol' bureaucratic runaround.

There is a temptation, however brief, to simply admit to the theft. You're fairly confident ExtSec wouldn't do anything, for the simple reason that so many people misunderstand what ExtSec is.

However, you do have a Dragonblood chasing after you and is doubtlessly devoting every effort to locating you at this very moment. You're hoping that the sheer density of inner system traffic should confuse her auguries for now, so you see no reason to make yourself more visible to mundane methods while you build up a lead.

"Oh, it's all very simple, lieutenant," you therefore say. "Jay Roberts put up his ship as collateral in a game of dice we were having. And then he lost."

"I see. And the reason he was found in the landing bay, tied to a forklift?"

"He declined to honor his bet."

There is noticeable pause on the other end.

"He is saying there was no game and that you simply stole the ship."

"That sounds exactly like something a sore loser like him would say."

"Nevertheless, would you consider returning to Barter in order to have this dispute properly arbitrated, Miss..."

"My apologies lieutenant, but I'm currently pursuing a lucrative, yet time-sensitive business opportunity. I will have to decline."

"Understandable. Thank you for your time, miss."

"What the fuck?!" Fia exclaims incredulously the moment the connection drops. "He actually believed that bullshit?!"

"It's not a matter of belief," you smile at her. "Have you ever been to Barter before? Has Jay?"

"No. And no, as far as I know."

"Then there are two things that need to be understood here. First, ExtSec is Barter's military arm. Their sole mandate is defending the station against direct threats. What they are not is space police - and they get very annoyed with people who treat them as such. Second, under Barter law, gambling debts are treated as a trade dispute. And those fall under ProfSec jurisdiction. So even if the good lieutenant thinks I'm full of shit - as he should - I just gave him all the justification he needed to make Jay somebody else's problem."

"And what is ProfSec gonna do?"

"The case officer will hear out his story, get to the part where the ship in question is currently speeding away from Barter, and at that point Jay will be informed that ProfSec only deals with problems onboard the station and to try his luck with ExtSec instead."

Fia simply stares at you for a long moment.

"So it's that easy to get away with stealing a ship on Barter, huh? Is that it then? Jay's fucked and we're off scot-free?"

"Not by a long shot. He'll be given the run-around for a bit, until someone finally takes pity on him and suggests he should contact local system authorities. Which he should already be doing anyway, assuming he's smart. Or if he's really smart, he'll be hiring a bounty hunter - plenty of those working off Barter. But I suppose that's a question for you: how smart is Jay?"

(cont)

She lowers her gaze in thought - brushing out her tails the entire time.

"He definitely thinks he's more clever than he is," she says slowly. "And he tends to go for the solution that requires the least money or effort on his part even if it's not necessarily the best one."

Just then, the lockbox beeps twice - the timer having run down to zero. Fia freezes, tension visibly mounting in her shoulders. Slowly, with obvious reluctance, she places the hairbrush back in the box and, just as slowly, closes the lid - the lock reengaging with another beep.

"I'll be right back," she mutters, sliding off the seat.

Not two seconds after she leaves the bridge, the console in front of you lights up with another incoming call. You frown at the ID code attached to it - and then grin as you recognize the extension used in Barter's public terminals. You immediately accept the call.

"This is cargo runner Percheron, who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?" you ask sweetly.

"Who the fuck are you and where are you going with my ship?!"

Ah, you know that one. The old make the criminal incriminate themselves in a recorded call trick.


>Maintain the dice game story, flying in the face of all reason and reality.
>Express at least a modicum of regret. You had a need and his ship just happened to fulfill it.
>Ask Fia if she'd like to talk to Jay instead
>write-in

>>5922011
>Express at least a modicum of regret. You had a need and his ship just happened to fulfill it.

>>5922011
>Maintain the dice game story, flying in the face of all reason and reality.

>>5922011
>Maintain the dice story

>>5922011
>Maintain the dice game story, flying in the face of all reason and reality.

>>5922011
>>Ask Fia if she'd like to talk to Jay instead

>>5922252
>>5922335
>>5922354
Does this count as gaslighting? It does, doesn't it.

"I'd like to remind you that it's no longer your ship, Jay. You lost it to me in a game of dice."

"BULLSHIT I DID and we both know it, you fucking thief!"

"While I realize it's hard to accept this outcome, it is the reality of the choice you made. If you didn't want to risk losing the ship, you shouldn't have put it up as a stake on that last roll."

"THERE WAS NO DICE GAME you lying bitch! And even if there had been - AND THERE WASN'T - I'd NEVER have put my baby on the line!"

"I will give you the benefit of the doubt here about not remembering our game, as I recall you drinking quite heavily over its course. But, once again, getting blackout drunk was a choice you made."

"Either you're crazy or I am, because this. Did. Not. HAPPEN. And guess what, cunt: my head is perfectly fine!"

"I'm not sure I would say that about someone who carries a deadly weapon around. How many volts do you have running through that chain of yours? Fifty thousand? Sixty?"

"I, uh... it's not a-"

"Now me or you it might just knock on our ass for a bit. But yours is not the only race in this galaxy, Jay. There are sapients who'd suffer irreparable damage from that much electricity running through them. There are some who'd outright die. And what about those with implants? You ever met someone with a pacemaker, Jay? You carry that thing primed to go at all times? In crowded passages? What happens when someone brushes past you? And the counter you have on that thing - you keeping score, Jay? Twenty-four victims. How many were intentional and how many-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU STOLE MY FUCKING SHIP!!!" he roars loud enough for the audio to collapse into incomprehensible crackle. "And I am giving you exactly one, you hear that, ONE chance to turn it around and bring it back to me. Because if you don't, then trust me, sister," his voice drops to a low growl. "You cannot IMAGINE the suffering I will bring your way."

"If that's how you feel then that's how you feel," you shrug, despite the connection being audio only. And then, allowing yourself a moment of pity for the man, you add: "However, I'd recommend you either get off the station or find a source of income. Being a visitor on Barter can get expensive very quickly."

"I don't need your fucking condescension! And yeah, I will be getting off this shithole of a station - IN MY FUCKING SHIP!"

"If that's your stance then I see no point in continuing this conversation. Goodbye, Mr. Roberts."

(cont)

"Wait! Wait, wait, wait, WAIT!!! What about Fia? What did you do to her?!"

"Do? I haven't done anything to her. I offered to take her along and she accepted."

"So she's there with you?! Let me talk to her right now!"

You look over at the empty co-pilot's seat. The headset isn't there either - wireless, Fia must still be wearing it. And listening in on this conversation.

"One moment," you flip to an internal channel. "Fia? You heard that, right? Want to take over the call from here?"

A few seconds of silence. And then, also on the internal channel: "Should I?"

"That's entirely up to you. If you don't want to talk to him, I'll just tell him to fuck off."

"No! I... I want to say a few things to him."


>Listen in
>Give her privacy
>write-in


I am about to get slammed at work this coming week. Next update won't be until Thursday or even Friday

>>5923309
>>Give her privacy

>>5923309
>Give her some privacy

Its funny, but we got no stake in it.

>>5923309
>Give her privacy

>>5923309
>>Listen in

>>5923309
>>Give her privacy

>>5923309
>>Listen in
I don't trust him to not have some kind of hard-rule override code.

>>5923612
>>5923720
>>5924460
>>5925899
It's none of your business, to tell the truth.

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You let Fia take over the call and then disconnect from it. From experience you know conversations like these can get ugly quickly, with suppressed emotions and resentments coming to the fore. The last thing they need is a largely uninvolved witness.

You spend the next twenty minutes or so examining local traffic, particularly around Barter, trying to guess which of the voidcraft may belong to the Marchioness and whether it has already begun pursuit. Though something tells you that if it had, you'd be getting another call by now.

Eventually, the comm console indicates a dropped connection. After a few more minutes pass, you get up and head into the living space.

"Fia? You alright?" you call out.

"I'm in the kitchen," comes a muffled reply from above. "Don't come up!"

"Yeah, I remember," you assure her. "Just checking if you're alright."

"I'm... not fine right now. He... we both said some hurtful things. But I will be fine. I just need some time. Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for. I'll be back in- actually, I'll be in cargo. But I'll be keeping the headset on me."

It's not like you haven't done your share of simply sitting around waiting for things to happen. But the way you see it, if there's something useful you could be doing with that time, then you might as well. Which is why you head into the cargo hold with the intent of turning it into something that was extremely difficult to come by during your time on Barter: a dedicated meditation and sparring space.

But what you actually start with is reading over the cargo manifest, which does indeed claim Percheron is currently carrying twenty-two crates of rebian silk. But after cross-referencing the manifest with the star charts you've purchased, you quickly realize that the destination is a recently colonized system focused on asteroid mining and processing with little need for luxury goods but plenty of tension between contract miners and the various corporations hiring them.

"How naughty of a boy have you been, Jay?" you muse, forcing one of the crates open -- only to be greeted by two rows of silvery, oblong cylinders plastered with chemical hazard warnings. "Very fucking naughty," you answer, your expression turning grim.

Xilfil azasate. Caustic gas lethal to 96% of all known carbon-based lifeforms. Its use was considered a war crime in any system that at least pretended to be civilized.

You check a couple more crates only to find them filled with the same silver cylinders. eight per crate, twenty-two crates... enough xilfil to depopulate a metropolis or two. Or a few dozen stations and mining outposts.

You reseal the crates and, taking great care as you do so, you secure them individually in the cargo racks, checking the state of the padding and shock absorbers as you do so. At least a third show excessive wear, requiring urgent replacement and another third are getting close to the point of expiry.

(cont)

Which is still better than what you expected, based on your experiences with solo traders. But you make a mental note to strongly avoid putting the Percheron in any situation that might test the limits of its inertial dampeners in the near future.

You read over the manifest again and predictably enough both the seller and client are companies with nondescript nothing-names placing them as subsidiaries of subsidiaries of subsidiaries. Meaning Jay didn't even actually own this cargo. He was just contracted for transport and offered enough to keep his mouth shut until delivery - at which point he'd have been silenced far more permanently.

Either way, you're suddenly not in the mood for meditation, nor do you dare to use the cargo hold for your kind of sparring. But on your way back to the cockpit, a fox-eared head pops out of the ladder hatch in the living area.

"Hungry?" Fia asks, her voice a bit more chipper than it was just a short while ago. "Or will you be heading for bed - I don't actually know what clock you're on."

"Barter time. Which is basically galactic universal, barring the usual subspace temporal displacement. But I'll be staying awake for awhile, in case something happens."

"So... is that a yes on the food?"

"I ate just before getting off Barter," you shrug and Fia makes a disappointed face. "But maybe something light - something I could snack on through the night."

"Sure thing!" the head disappears, only to immediate pop back out. "Oh yeah: dietary requirements?"

"CH-3, 4, and 5 are all fine. I can stomach CH-6 in a pinch, but most of the stuff I tried from that category tastes like burnt coal and rubber. No allergies or special dietary requirements. Just put it in front of me and I'll eat it."

Fia cocks her head at that - an amusing sight given she's currently upside-down.

"But I thought elphs are obligate herbivores."

"I'm not. In fact, the more meat, the better."

"If you say so..."

"Also, I recommend you stay out of cargo for now. It's full of war crimes right now."

"...wait, what?"

(cont)

File: astral thorn.jpg (353 KB, 1920x1080)

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>Mana:253/253
>Wyrd: 21/34

Back in the cockpit, you barely have time to get comfortable in the seat before the comm console lights up with yet another incoming hail. This time you don't answer immediately, taking the time to identify the source. A voidcraft, identifying itself as the Astral Thorn.

Which turns out to be not what you expected at all. You don't recognize the profile or drive signature at a glance, but you are without a doubt looking at a military frigate of some kind.

Troublesome. And certainly with far better acceleration than the junkheap you're currently flying. You were really hoping for an up-armored pleasure yacht at most. The one point of solace is that the craft is still crawling through Barter's parking sphere. But being able to outrun it through mundane means is certainly out of the question. With a sigh, you accept the hail.

"You did not win that ship in a game of dice," Shanaia accuses before you can even say anything.

"How can you be certain of that, Marchioness?" you lean back in the chair with a smile. "After all, I had quite the lucky streak

There is a brief silence on the other end.

"I will admit Ms Blavis, I have erred in how I approached you," the Noble says finally. "And I have severely underestimated you and your capabilities. Be assured that I will not do so again."

The comingling of compliment and threat is of course intentional. As is the complete lack of an actual apology.


>You will have to negotiate. The journal of Maia Taris detailing her time within the Shattered Expanse - in return for being able to leave the system. You were planning to retrieve the damned thing for your own use anyway.
>You will have to show the Marchioness that you are a threat even across the void of space - and that she should really keep her distance (Vis Drain her frigate: 15 Wyrd cost. Also, unfortunately, reveals the extent of your power as a psion)
>Much as it displeases you, you will have to resort to magic to escape. Which means revealing your status as a mage on top of being a psion. But that's the only way you can think of to outmaneuver a military craft (~200 mana, which cannot be regained in the depths of space)
>write-in

>>5927886
>>You will have to negotiate. The journal of Maia Taris detailing her time within the Shattered Expanse - in return for being able to leave the system. You were planning to retrieve the damned thing for your own use anyway.

Better to hide our capabilities for now

>>5927886
>>You will have to negotiate. The journal of Maia Taris detailing her time within the Shattered Expanse - in return for being able to leave the system. You were planning to retrieve the damned thing for your own use anyway.

>>5927886
>You will have to negotiate. The journal of Maia Taris detailing her time within the Shattered Expanse - in return for being able to leave the system. You were planning to retrieve the damned thing for your own use anyway.

>>5927886
>You will have to negotiate. The journal of Maia Taris detailing her time within the Shattered Expanse - in return for being able to leave the system. You were planning to retrieve the damned thing for your own use anyway.

>>5927886
>You will have to negotiate. The journal of Maia Taris detailing her time within the Shattered Expanse - in return for being able to leave the system. You were planning to retrieve the damned thing for your own use anyway.
How do we regenerate mana and wyrd?

>>5927943
>>5927995
>>5928526
>>5928898
>>5930373
A unanimous call that diplomacy is always an option.

>>5930373
Wyrd can be regained slowly through rest or noticeably quicker through meditation.

Mana regenerates naturally, but only in the presence of sufficient concentrations of life, which is usually limited to planetary biospheres or particularly large space stations. It is theoretically possible to regain mana on sufficiently large voidcraft, but only on those with sufficient crew and passengers (~250-300 organisms) or a sufficiently robust hydroponics section. But even then it tends to be a trickle. Voidcraft that employ mages in any serious capacity almost always have a mana tank installed - a reservoir of liquidized mana that magic users can draw on.

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"And yet you continue to pursue me," you let disappointment seep into your tone. "I won't work for you, Marchioness: I believe I made that much clear both through word and action."

"Just as I made it clear that I consider you my House's best and possibly only chance at survival. You may not be my subject nor an imperial citizen, but when countless lives hang in the balance, the wants and needs of a single sapient cease to matter. Would that not align with your own philosophy of vigilantism and violence against select individuals? All I want is for you to- what is it that you find so funny, Ms Blavis?" she asks as the sound of your laughter reaches her through the connection.

"Countless lives, you say?" you continue giggling. "Your House numbers several dozen, perhaps a hundred members. Add to that your spies, assassins, high ranking military members, and everyone else whose loyalty to the new regime cannot be guaranteed and you have what, a few thousand individuals? That is the butcher's bill for House Maevian's downfall. Same as it was with House Zenivail when it fell out of favor and yours was chosen to rise to prominence in its stead," you visited a couple history and general information portals when having your last meal on Barter to settle a few doubts and now it was paying off. "There were no great purges back then, no mass extermination of valuable workers and taxpayers. And there is no reason to think there will be now. You're not nearly as important as you think you are, Marchioness. Hardly anyone is."

There is a long pause on the other end of the call, to the point where you start thinking maybe you went too far.

"Nevertheless, I have a duty," Shanaia says finally in a heavy voice. "Both to my House and to my people - to protect them from whatever depravities the one who will replace me may inflict upon them."

"I understand your position, Marchioness, believe me that I do," you say instead. "But ultimately we're talking about the death of bunch of Dragonbloods and their sycophants and I simply cannot muster an ounce of sympathy for their plight."

"And may I ask why that is?"

"Depravities, Marchioness," you reply.

Another silence follows.

If any member of my House has ever harmed you or someone-"

"Can you bring the dead back to life?" you interrupt.

"I cannot," she sighs heavily. "But if-"

"Then there is nothing to talk about."

"Nevertheless," she says. "I have a duty. And you are the key to fulfilling it."

"Am I?"

"You admitted as much: you have the knowledge I need."

"Indeed, but I would also like to point out that we live in a world where the knowledge need not be an intrinsic part of an individual,"

"Explain,"

(cont)

"I mean that near the end of her life Maia Taris was a rather disturbed and paranoid individual who retained just enough clarity to realize that memory can be a fallible and unreliable thing," you explain. "And so she wrote all her experiences within the Shattered Expanse down in a journal. Then, because she was disturbed and paranoid, she encoded it, made several copies and scattered them among the stars. No, before you ask, I do not have one of them with me. However, I remember the coordinates of where they can be found."

Shanaia catches on remarkably quickly.

"What is your price?"

"An escort out of the system. I have reasons to believe that this craft I acquired will soon become a target for all kinds of bounty hunters, mercenaries, other ne'er-do-wells, and possibly even the local authorities. A military vessel like yours should be more than enough to dissuade pursuit - or stop it dead, as it were."

"Do you expect me to enter battle against the system fleet on your behalf?! the Marchioness demands, incredulous.

"Is that a problem? Your Astral Thorn may not be a dreadnaught or a monitor, but the locals aren't much to talk about either. And with a semi-competent crew and you controlling the Manaskip Array, you should be able to pick apart any formation they throw at you," you shrug. "But ideally you should be able to dissuade them from attacking in the first place. You know, get imperious with them. Threaten Dragonblood retribution."

"And deal potentially irreparable damage to imperial diplomatic relations, my House's standing and my personal reputation in the process?"

"You are desperate, Marchioness - are you not?"

"And what guarantee do I have that you will deliver on your end of the deal?"

"And what guarantee do I have that you won't shove a torpedo up my engine the moment you're in engagement range?" you snort. "But if you need something to believe, believe in the loathing I have for the very idea of working for a Dragonblood. And since I can't hope to outrun you myself, giving you that journal is the only way I can think of to stop you from chasing me across the stars."

More silence follows as - hopefully - the Dragonblood considers your words.

"It seems that all it took was a few minutes for you to turn me into a liar," she says finally, her tone resigned.

"Pardon?"

"I said I would not underestimate you again - and yet here we are. This was your plan, wasn't it, Ms Blavis? Your way to escape the system. And I have no choice but to play along. Congratulations - you have a deal. The Astral Thorn will assume a rear escort position fifty K's off you port. Please inform my navigator about any anticipated changes in heading. Marchioness Shanaia out."

She ends the call and you slump into the chair with a long sigh - but also with a small smile on your lips.

(cont)

Not two minutes later, you hear Fia enter the cockpit, followed by a quiet clink of a plate being set down on the divider between the pilot's and co-pilot's seat. You glance at it only to be greeted with the sight of a neat stack of meat rolls of some kind, the outer pastry layer crisped to a perfect, golden brown.

The smell hits your nose a moment later. And it is, to encapsulate it in a word, divine.

"Did you actually plan all of this out?" Fia asks curiously, climbing back onto the other seat. "The way that Noble thinks you did?"


>Haha no, you're just really good at bullshitting and taking advantage of opportunities
>Plans are for masochists with too much time on their hands. You do gambits
>write-in

>>5931059
>>Haha no, you're just really good at bullshitting and taking advantage of opportunities

>>5931059
>>Haha no, you're just really good at bullshitting and taking advantage of opportunities

>>5931059
>Plans are for masochists with too much time on their hands. You do gambits

>>5931059
>Plans are for masochists with too much time on their hands. You do gambits

>>5931059
>Plans are for masochists.
>A reputation for being a genius is welcome though.

>>5931059
>Plans are for masochists.
>A reputation for being a genius is welcome though.

>>5931219
>>5931310
>>5931331
>>5931934
That still sounds like making shit up as you go along, only with extra steps.

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"Pffah ah fah... gah!"

You take the time to actually chew and swallow the two meat rolls you've already shoved into your mouth.

"These are amazing! Did you make them from scratch?"

"Yeah."

"Seriously, I can't overstate how good these taste. Crispy on the outside, but the inside just melts on the tongue," you say, already biting into the third roll. "And the spices: I can tase... maniri, zepsa... and a touch of navareen salt?" you look to Fia for confirmation. "And something spicy I can't quite identify."

""It's probably the cirrho," she tilts her head. "You're familiar with spices."

"Well," you shrug. "I may have worked as a chef at one point. So yeah, I know more than the average shlub. So you make your own marinades?," she nods in response. "That's a lot of work just for a snack."

"Nah, I actually make them in bulk. And I know what you're thinking right now," she gives you a smug smile. "That's my secret, see? I figured out the exact blend - several, actually - of spices and oils that preserves the flavor profile through a flash freeze."

"Bullshit."

"It's true!" she insists with full confidence. "Those meat rolls? I made them three standard months ago. Did a quickthaw, then popped them right in the oven," she grins. "And you couldn't even tell."

"You're absolutely right, I couldn't. I bow my head before the chef," you do as you say, taking note of how Fia preens at the compliments. "As someone who spent the last decade and a half surviving on a diet of street food and flavored carbohydrates from hydroponics, I can already tell we're going to be very good friends."

"Well, uh," she rubs the back of her head, suddenly bashful. "It's just that I figured out the moral of that story you told. About Sivard."

"Oh?" you ask non-committaly, grabbing another meat roll.

"I mean, it's fairly obvious," her expression, along with the mood in the cockpit growing somber. "Be useful. You can be fucked in the head, you can be an asshole, but just make sure you're a useful one. That the good outweighs the bad," she looks at you. "That's what you're telling me, right?"

"That's generally how most civilization works," you shrug. "And for what it's worth, I'd rather try and get along with a useful asshole than have to babysit the nicest sapient in the galaxy who couldn't find their own behind with two hands and a map."

That earns you a thin smile.

"Anyway, before I got distracted by some amazing cooking, I believe you asked me a question. And to answer you: no, I don't plan things out. Plans are for masochists who get off to watching their designs crumble due to unaccounted for factors. Been there, done that, not my fetish. These days I do gambits."

"Gambits?"

(cont)

"Yeah, they're a bit like plans, only superior in every way. Cause instead of spending days or weeks fooling yourself into thinking that you can control chaos if you just come up with enough contingencies, you just get things moving in the general direction you want and then use decades of field experience and a broad knowledge base to deal with obstacles as they come."

Fia considers this for long enough for two more meat rolls to disappear from the platter.

"So you basically make shit up as you go along?"

"No?" you huff in mock offense. "It's a lot more involved than that. Like, take the current situation: I decided to hijack this craft to get off Barter, yeah? So I'd have to deal with Barter authorities -- but I knew their procedures, so I also knew how to make them a non-issue once they did contact me. I also know I'll have to eventually deal with local authorities, bounty hunters and so on, as well as the Dragonblood chasing me. But since I have something that the Dragonblood wants, I figured: why not use her to neutralize every other threat to us leaving the system? Which is not something I planned on ahead of time - cause I didn't realize she'd be flying an actual warship."

"You were also very rude with her. I honestly didn't think she'd go for it."

You shrug elaborately. "She's desperate. And, to avoid needless modestly, being a useful asshole is something I perfected."

"So what if she didn't go for your deal?"

"Then I'd have used other means at my disposal."

"Such as?"

You grin. "Say, are you by any chance familiar with It'o Hat'emi's Principle of the Second Battle?"

"No?" Fia frowns. "Should I be?"

"Not necessarily, but I'd still recommend reading it if you find the time. It's a compelling piece of philosophical literature. And very applicable to our current situation."

"I can't even tell if you're making fun of me right now or not," she complains.

"You wound me with such baseless accusations. I'm being nothing but serious right now," your grin gets broader. "Though you're forgiven because you weren't there for the First Battle back on Barter," you motion toward the nav and comm consoles. "And this is the Second Battle, already underway. It will last until we successfully leave the system."

Fia's gaze tells you that she remains unconvinced.

"Regardless, what's important right now is that the good Marchioness seems to believe that I am some kind of tactical genius. Which I'm not, to be clear. In fact, the more you get to know me, the more you'll realize I can be remarkably dense in some respects. But having the person in command of a warship capable of turning us into space dust with a single salvo have this undeserved impression of me can only be beneficial. It might make her second-guess any plans to renege on our deal, on the off-chance that I have accounted for and prepared for it."

"Which you haven't."

(cont)

"Which I have, funnily enough. My impression of Marchioness Shanaia is that she suffers from the common Dragonblood foible of needing to feel she's in complete control of the situation. Having me anywhere but securely onboard the Astral Thorn is something she simply won't be able to tolerate over any appreciable length of time. So she will make plans and look for opportunities to rectify this erroneous state of affairs."

"So you're going to break the deal first?"

"I'd prefer not to - my offer to her, as well as the reasoning behind it, were entirely genuine - for me, that is the path of least resistance. But should Fate decide otherwise, it is like I said: I have other means at my disposal. Besides, right now we have a much more pressing problem."

"Like what?"

"Like a cargo hold full of highly illegal chemical agents intended to set off either a civil war or a hostile corporate takeover - I'm a bit hazy on the details. But either way, it's not something I'd like to be caught carrying by a customs patrol. Or by the people it belongs to."


>You will toss that shit into the sun during the slingshot maneuver
>You will sell it at the freebooter outpost you were planning to visit anyway for that ID-scrub on your new voidcraft
>write-in

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>>5933701
>>You will sell it at the freebooter outpost you were planning to visit anyway for that ID-scrub on your new voidcraft

>>5933701
>Sell it.

>>5933701
>You will sell it at the freebooter outpost you were planning to visit anyway for that ID-scrub on your new voidcraft

>>5933701
>You will toss that shit into the sun during the slingshot maneuver

>>5933770
>>5933885
>>5933969
You can take a Barterite out of Barter, but...

"Is that what you meant by war crimes earlier?" Fia asks and you nod. "So what are you doing about them?"

"Selling them. Our first jump destination will be a freebooter outpost a couple systems over. This baby needs an ID-scrub," you pat the nav console, "and some repairs like that wonky heat shielding. Plus, I've seen a lot of general wear and tear that could stand being taken care of. And all of that will need cred."

You try to be covert about watching for her reaction, but apparently not covert enough.

"Alright," she turns toward you and the flashes you a thin, knowing smile. "Oh don't worry, I'm not bothered. Before getting jailbroken, my morals were 'whatever the owner says.' After, it was 'whatever it takes to survive.'"

You chuckle and shrug, acknowledging your presumption. And are reminded that no matter how young she may look, Fia is a Gen 3 Vatgrown. And the last Gen 3 was produced soon after the time Maia Taris has emerged from the Shattered Expanse.

She is certainly no book to be judged by its cover.

Then she glances downward.

"I thought you said you wanted something light to snack on through the night."

You also look down, at your hand which has just picked up the last meat roll from the plate.

"That was before I was served a meal fit for a gourmet," you say, popping the roll into your mouth.

"Should I prepare another plate?"

"Nah. I am genuinely full right now. But I fear for my waistline if that's the quality of food I can expect from you."

"What's your calorie intake, by the way? If I have it, I can prepare a meal plan. Get a more accurate picture of how long our supplies will last."

"Three and a half, usually. Could go as high as five and a half once I start properly working out."

She simply stares at you.

"Thousand? As in, three and a half thousand?"

"Yup."

"You're being serious."

"As a rule, I don't joke about food."

"But that's more than double than what a typical elph needs! And you eat meat too," her eyes narrow. "Just what are you, exactly?"

"An elf."

Fia's eyes narrow further.

"You're acting way too smug for this to be an honest answer."

"I'm just made different."

"Biotech?"

"Nah."

"...Magitech?"

"Fuck no."

"If I keep probing, will I get an actual answer from you?"

"You already have."

"Fine, keep your secrets," Fia pouts. "But just so you know, that means we have way less food than I thought. We'll definitely need a full resupply at that freebooter station."

She collects the empty plate and slips off the chair

(cont)

"In case you do decide to sleep, I already changed the sheets on Jay's old bed," she says from the doorway.

"What about yourself? Where are you going to sleep?"

"Don't worry about me, I have a foldout in the kitchen. Unless you want the same arrangement I had with Jay,' she smirks provocatively.

"Nah," you shake your head. "I'm good."

You spend the next couple of hours monitoring local traffic and watch the Astral Thorn's IFF creep closer to the Percheron. At its current speed, it will reach escort position in eight hours. Though whether the deal truly will hold remains to be seen. You've seen far too many Dragonbloods who held the belief that there's no dishonor in breaking agreements with "lesser" sapients.

For now you do consider actually getting some sleep. With the headset on and set to alert you if something happens, of course, but this is the simple reality of void travel: everything plays out across distances incomprehensible to the average sapient mind. And consequently takes a very long time.

But assuming the current situation holds for the next few days, you'll have to find something with which to occupy yourself.

>Meditate as much as possible to regain your Wyrd
>Ascertain Fia's skillset, particularly her combat skills. If she wants to travel with you she will need training and you need to know where to start
>Rewire the craft's PD turrets for manual control. Foolishness under most circumstances, but it's the only way you can make some of your psychic powers work through them
>write-in

>>5937514
>>Meditate as much as possible to regain your Wyrd

>>5937514
>>Meditate as much as possible to regain your Wyrd
Really cool story QM, I have been enjoying it very much.

>>5937514
>>Rewire the craft's PD turrets for manual control. Foolishness under most circumstances, but it's the only way you can make some of your psychic powers work through them

>>5937514
>Meditate

>>5937514
>Ascertain Fia's skillset, particularly her combat skills. If she wants to travel with you she will need training and you need to know where to start

>>5937587
>>5937631
>>5937657
Ooooommmmmm...

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You've been a mage long before you were a psion and when your psychic powers awakened and you were getting a handle on them, at first you weren't too impressed. They were weak, limited, restrictive, couldn't do half the things magic could. And admittedly part of the problem, as you eventually realized, was the first Path you fell into. But nevertheless, you persisted in learning to control them, because not doing so would've meant letting them control you.

Then, as your skill grew and you discovered new Paths, you realized the advantages psionics held over magic. They were precise and predictable where magic was temperamental and had to be guided rather than used. They could be subtle and covert, manifesting almost exclusively through natural phenomena, where magic was obvious and loud. And perhaps the most striking difference: to be a mage meant being chained to the living world, to functional biospheres with life abundant enough to generate mana. But to be a psion meant drawing upon Wyrd, the mysterious and still poorly understood force that nevertheless seemed to permeate the very foundational blocks of reality. A resource available anywhere, to anyone able to use it -- even within the otherwise cold and lifeless depths of the void between the stars.

You spend the next couple of days in meditation in the cargo hold, returning to the living space only to deal with biological necessities, to open Fia's comb lockbox for her, or to answer the occasional hail, such as the couple of bounty hunters, who professionally and politely request that you surrender to them. With equal politeness, you request they contact the Astral Thorn and shortly afterward watch them break off pursuit.

But when not otherwise occupied, you sit in the lotus position, mind empty of needless thoughts, allowing your consciousness to drift with the ebb and flow of cosmic energies.

Which sounds hokey as fuck when said out loud, but that's how you always visualized meditation: drifting gently on the surface of a vast, unknowable ocean. It is what it is.

The first time you emerge from a meditative state, you discover that Fia, true to her earlier warnings, has followed you into cargo and is sitting under the wall on a small pillow, tapping away on her PCU. But as you rise to your feet, stretching out stiffened muscles along the way, she gives you a decidedly odd, somewhat wary look.

"You were doing some spooky shit," she complains in response to your questioning gaze.

"What do you mean?" you tilt your head - and push some Wyrd into your eyes.

[Expanded Vis Sense: 1 Wyrd spent]

"I don't even know. Like... you'd be sitting there, but then suddenly you'd be gone. Not literally, but I'd have to look up and confirm that you haven't left. And then at other times, it's as if you were right next to me, all but shoving me into the wall."

"Interesting," did she... no, if there was Wyrd there, it has already faded away. It might simply be too early to tell.

(cont)

"What do you mean, interesting?"

"I suppose it makes sense given your overdeveloped empathy center. You've probably been picking up on my PB Field fluctuations. Which normally shouldn't be detectable, but this close to a star things can get a little wild."

"Great. Now mind explaining it in a way that those of us not into spooky shit can understand?"

So you explain the Phavis-Botti Field to her, along with the extremely simplified theory of what Wyrd is. She listens attentively and, at the end asks:

"So you're a psion?"

"By most accepted definitions."

"But you can't read minds or control people?"

"The PB Field literally makes that impossible. If anything, you're more of a mind reader than I am."

"I'm not... ok, fair. But that's basically a whole lot of experience detecting and interpreting nonverbal cues and microexpressions. No spooky shit involved."

"I suppose that's true," you nod. "Anyway, want to learn meditation?"

Fia frowns in confusion.

"But I'm not a psion."

"You don't need to be. It's like I said: everyone has a PB Field and nearly everyone can benefit from becoming aware of theirs," and since she still looks unconvinced, you continue. "Besides, meditation is a good way to relax, de-stress, and realize that many things just aren't worth getting upset over."

"Is this the part where you tell me to subscribe to your self-help seminars?"

Faced with a tough customer, you're left with no choice but to play your trump card.

"Meditation is also a form of properly taking control of your own mind. And while certainly not a guarantee, it can help manage compulsions like yours."

This, at last, deals a significant blow to the doubt plaguing Fia's expression.

"You're being serious."

"I try to be, when it matters."

Five minutes later, you have her cross-legged on a mat, walking her through the basic breathing exercises.

There is no real reason for why you suddenly decided to do this -- at least not one you could lay out and rationally explain. All you have is a hunch. But you'd like to think that your hunches are somewhat superior to most.

After all, this one was imbued with a touch of Omen.

[Fia has begun learning the Stoic Mind skill]
[All Wyrd restored]

(cont)

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The system's star looms ahead, taking up the entirety of the viewport, the adaptive display working overtime to dim its light to below eye-searing levels.

You hail the Astral Thorn and after several seconds of waiting, you get a connection.

"Is this Elne Blavis?" an unfamiliar, but decidedly female voice asks with a strange amount of intensity.

"I suppose it would be, yes," you answer.

"I know what you did," the voice hisses. "You tried to hurt my Marchioness. You are a bad, bad person and you deserve only the worst to happen to you. I hope you die in a fire, Elne Blavis. And I hope-"

The connection drops abruptly while you and Fia, who was listening in from the co-pilot's seat, share a look full of raised eyebrows.

"So I'd need a longer voice sample to be sure," Fia is the first one to break the silence. "But I'm like sixty percent sure this was a designermate."

"Oh? How can you tell?"

"Voice harmonics. Vocal cords are optimized across models to deliver the most soothing, agreeable, and submissive tone possible. Variation exists and the pitch may be up or down-shifted depending on client preferences, but-" she's interrupted by the chirp of the comms console.

"This is Percheron, how can I be of assistance, Astral Thorn?"

"You contacted us a moment ago, Percheron," it's the Marchioness this time. "I assume - and in fact sincerely hope - this is about the flight plan."

"What the fuck," Fia mutters and you give her a nod. Yup: Dragonbloods.

"I would first like to make sure that whoever I just talked to lacks access to your craft's armaments."

There is a noticeable silence on the other end.

"She does not. This was my pilot. She has been reprimanded."

"Well if you say so, I have no choice but to believe it," you snort. "I will begin the slingshot maneuver in T-minus... twenty-eight minutes with change. Sending over the flight plan now."

"Flight plan received. Hm. Leaving the elliptic?"

"Worried, Marchioness?" you smile to yourself. Even now, seemingly at the height of galactic expansion and relative stability, there persisted countless superstitions and ghost stories about the fates of voidcraft that strayed too far from a system's elliptic plane: the well-tread traffic routes, the networks of communication satellites, and the patrol routes of local militaries.

"Certainly not. However, I am curious as to our ultimate destination."

"All in good time, Marchioness. For now I'm still focused on simply leaving the system. Incidentally, if you see my craft doing any superfluous maneuvering during the slingshot, it's because of damaged heat shielding - I will be trying to spare it as much as possible."

"Understood. But if you're concerned about your craft's integrity, wouldn't it be safer for you to come aboard the Astral Thorn?"

"Depends entirely on your definition of safe, Marchioness. This is Percheron, over and out."

(cont)

The vector you managed to wrangle out of the nav computer has you passing within spitting distance of the star at the closest point, plunging more than halfway into the corona. Which, based on the star's type and temperature, should still be well within your craft's tolerances.

And yet here you sit, watching the temperature markers rising into the warning zone with no sign of stopping. The diagnostic routines kick in and start blaring warnings about an unexpected fault detected in the portside heat shield. And you're still five minutes away from closest approach. And with the one on starboard already damaged...

"I don't think the heat shielding will hold out," Fia says, being remarkably calm about all this.

"You know, I think you might be right," you agree, just as calmly.

>Mana 253/253
>Wyrd: 34/34


>Abort the maneuver. You'll end up still on the elliptic and will have to burn a lot of extra fuel to get back on course, but it's better than cooking yourself, Fia and the craft
>You just need to keep rotating the craft to manage temperature along each side. You'll lose some speed, but it should work. Maybe. If all else fails, you have magic
>Vis Shield, but feed it into the craft's own energy shields. Crude, inefficient, and not really what the power was designed to do, but it will stave off the worst of the heat (10+ Wyrd)
>write-in

>>5938648
>>Vis Shield, but feed it into the craft's own energy shields. Crude, inefficient, and not really what the power was designed to do, but it will stave off the worst of the heat (10+ Wyrd)

>>5938648
>You just need to keep rotating the craft to manage temperature along each side. You'll lose some speed, but it should work. Maybe. If all else fails, you have magic

>>5938648
>Vis shield

If you got it, use it.

>>5938648
>Vis Shield, but feed it into the craft's own energy shields. Crude, inefficient, and not really what the power was designed to do, but it will stave off the worst of the heat (10+ Wyrd)

>>5938648
>You just need to keep rotating the craft to manage temperature along each side. You'll lose some speed, but it should work. Maybe. If all else fails, you have magic

>>5938648
>Vis Shield, but feed it into the craft's own energy shields. Crude, inefficient, and not really what the power was designed to do, but it will stave off the worst of the heat (10+ Wyrd)
I'd rather try to avoid revealing we have magic if possible

Just caught up, this is an excellent quest QM.

>>5938676
>>5939306
>>5939358
>>5939917
Channeling Wyrd in unusual ways it is. Update might not be until tomorrow.

>>5937631
>>5939917
Thank you for the compliments. I certainly appreciate them.

>>5939983
Forgot the trip.

My apologies for not having an update out yet, I got hit with an unexpected bout of writer's block. I'll try to resolve it as quickly as possible.

>>5942110
all good qm take your time

QM? You okay?

>>5952428
RIP Kraken

I'm still alive. Job and life's been kicking my ass though, with very little energy left to sit down and write. For now I've archived the thread and I'll start the next one whenever things let up on my end.

>>5957159
Good to hear from you again