I have no idea how to feel about this.
There's nothing wrong with women. But I'm NOT one. And I don't want to be. I like me. I mean, the girl thing is tied to immortality and eventually ultimate cosmic power, and that's nice, but… I won't be me anymore. Will I?
I stand up and start pacing, trying to sort out my thoughts, but I quickly find I'm just going in circles both mentally and physically.
And that's still where I am when I see something wonderful: A starship. It's not a very big one… but it's a starship! Rescue! Civilization! I just need some clothes and a job… or two: I don’t need to sleep.
It looks nice… quite the sci-fi setup. It's… smaller than I'd expect. The main body seems to be about three times the size of bigger motorhome - in all three dimensions - and it has engines about half that size on either side, held together by something of a wing assembly. This is “small” on the starship scale, I think. I also see things that I expect are weapons… and as it turns to land, I see the other side, where it's heavily cratered… I think I can see some of the interior. I'm guessing that's battle damage… but they're still flying, so… yay them?
I'll need a story… I consider what to say as I watch them land, their thrusters kicking up dust and rocks, their engines shut down with a shudder as the ship settles onto the landing gear. A gangway descends as their engines make loud tapping sounds as they cool down.
I can hear two men arguing as they walk down it.
“... What’s the point of inspecting the damage? Oir engineer is DEAD. Neither of us know the first thing about fixing the hull, much less the power core, which we need to run the drift engine! Face it, we're marooned. Might as well break the casks of whiskey out of the hold and drown our sorrows before we starve to death.”
“Look, it's in the handbook, and even if we can't do anything about the ship, we need to at least make sure nothing is going to jump out and gank us on this little breathable oasis…”
OK, this is too good to pass up, so I shout at them, “I have some skill at engineering, if you have the UPB's for materials. I got stripped and stranded here; I can lend you my expertise at repairs in exchange for some clothes, food, and rapid transport to Absalom Station.” This is technically true, for certain values of ‘here’. I'm stranded from Earth, not on this little rock. And yes, I got stripped by a pink explosion… so I'm telling the truth.
OK, I'm avoiding a direct lie, at least. But the truth is hardly believable.
“Thank The Dawnflower! I knew it was a good idea to come out here!” Ahh… you were the one saying ‘let's just drink until we die’.
I take a closer look as we speak. “Right…” the sensible one rolls his eyes.
They're both wearing… some kind of red space suit? It's not bulky like NASA's, but there are obvious seals, and they're completely covered below the neck. Both are also holding helmets in their hands. Sensible guy has brown hair and light skin, the drinker has blond hair and very dark skin… how do those genetics work? Both look human, and… military types. Big strong macho men. Makes me want to learn some Permanent spells I can put on others. Hmm… but I'm not pointlessly going to afflict others… as funny as it might be.
I smile, “So do we have a deal then? You get me some clothes, I try to fix your ship with materials you have, and when I succeed, you take me straight to Absalom Station, agreed?”
The more competent of the two seems suspicious, “And how do we know you'll hold up your end?”
I chuckle, “You can't give me a ride until after I fix the ship, can you? Your only real ‘down payment’ here is some clothes for me to wear and whatever food I end up eating.” That last bit is none unless you're watching, but I can't have them knowing I don't eat or sleep yet.
The blond partier comes to my defense, “Do you have any better options, Bob? Let's cut that deal.”
Bob stares at me. Which kind of makes me a little self-conscious about not having a stitch on. Maybe I should have figured out how to make leather clothing out of my corpse? Nah. That'd be worse even if I could have made it work in however long I was running in circles.
Eventually, he sighs, “No, CARL, I don't. Fine. Passage and supplies are little enough if you can get this bucket of bolts back to real space.”
Heh. Bob recognized that he wasn't sure he wanted to give names… doesn't matter. “Well, you can call me,” I suppose I don't have a reason to hide my name, “Alex. So how bad is it?”
Carl shakes his head, “There's a reason I wanted to just drink....”
Bob continues, “Yeah, because you're an alcoholic. But it is pretty bad. The power core is wrecked, Life Support, Sensors, the Weapons Array, and even the engines are all malfunctioning… and the hull is damaged to the point where it won't hold atmosphere.”
Carl laughs, “Yeah, I had to land the ship while wearing suit gloves and dealing with malfunctioning engines… not fun.”
“Well, I better get to work then. First though, unless you LIKE the show…”
“Clothes, right.” Bob fetches a simple jumpsuit, red like his, that fits… well enough to work with. It is bloodstained, has some holes, and is a bit too tall… which means I'm wearing a dead man's clothes. I'm not sure I want to know their last engineer's name.
I start with the power core, simply because it runs everything else. Surprisingly, they have all the needed tools, and the pieces are mostly in place. I hear dice in my head as I work… it takes a good twenty minutes for me to find the problem, and another ten to actually fix it, but in half an hour, they're back at full power.
The other systems go faster, about ten minutes each. Malfunctioning isn't nearly so bad as wrecked, and my engineering skill is high enough that I can simply “take ten” there, not bothering to “roll the dice”. They're mostly having issues because of little pieces of hull warped out of shape by the weapons fire that need to be bent back into shape… fortunately, they have the tools for that, as my little noodle arms could NOT bend six inches of steel. Also some cables pulled loose… not really a big deal, but hard to diagnose without training.
Which I don't have, but my Mythos bypasses that.
The hull itself is simple to fix (even these buffoons could have done it - this doesn't require training unless you want to save UPB's or time), but takes the longest due to how much brute labor is involved: Five hours. And yes, the ship was almost dead. One more hit - from anything, really - and it would have been lost.
Of course, UPB's (“Universal Polymer Base”) are usable as cash here, and are only slightly larger than grains of rice. They're a little miracle of technology (more like handwavium in the game…) that can be configured to work like basically any material and many small systems if you get enough of them together. They're used on the hull mostly to seal things up after bending the plates back together. For the hull, these two idiots - left on their own - would end up using around three hundred twenty of them to do the job… for the hull. With the other systems, they really didn't have a hope of getting it done. But… if you know what you're doing on a hull repair, you can reduce the cost… and these things are slightly larger than grains of rice.
I consider - very seriously - simply pocketing the savings. But while I might be able to get away with it… this ship is the cheapest on everything. The base frame is a “Pioneer” - it's got a nice sounding name, but no: It's less expensive than even a starship drone, can only handle a few weapons, and has almost no storage space. It has no armor, only a basic computer (which means it doesn't really help with targeting or anything), cots hung between bulkheads for their “crew quarters”, no electronic countermeasures, just a signal basic drift engine (which is, admittedly, twice as fast as I can manage alone right now), an Arcus Light power core (the smallest that will run the drift engine), cut rate sensors… the list goes on. They have the bare minimum to be an armed interstellar spaceship, really.
Which leads me to ask, once we're on our way and all sitting in the bridge, “Why in the world were you folks engaging in combat in this rig?”
Bob laughs, “Orders, and pirates. If it's not obvious, we don't actually own the ship. It was the one assigned to us along with the courier gig for the giant pile of UPB's in the hold. I was really surprised when we didn't have a better armed ship or an escort for this cargo, but… well, that's the military for you.”
Patricia whispers in my ear, but I already came to the conclusion myself, “And let me guess: The pirate was seemingly waiting for you in The Drift.”
Carl looks at me with one eye half-closed, “Yes… do you know something I don't?”
I shake my head, “Just pattern recognition. This ship, with that cargo, no escort, and a pirate waiting to kill you all? There's only really one way that makes sense.”
Bob leans back in the captain's chair and rubs his temples while he closes his eyes, “You’re saying someone in the chain of command is crooked, and we weren't meant to live.”
I give them a wan smile, “That's about the only thing that fits. How much is in that cargo bay anyway?”
Carl laughs, “As much as would fit. There's at least two or three million in there.”
Which makes for a doozy of a retirement plan. “Well… I don't have a pony in this race, and I can't pilot the ship. What are you two going to do?”
Carl shrugs, “Think about it. We have a few more days until we reach…” I don't miss the sudden, sharp glance Bob gives Carl, “... Absalom Station.”
Great. So that's not where we're going. Well then… what do I do with this?
I have no idea how to feel about this.
There's nothing wrong with women. But I'm NOT one. And I don't want to be. I like me. I mean, the girl thing is tied to immortality and eventually ultimate cosmic power, and that's nice, but… I won't be me anymore. Will I?
I stand up and start pacing, trying to sort out my thoughts, but I quickly find I'm just going in circles both mentally and physically.
And that's still where I am when I see something wonderful: A starship. It's not a very big one… but it's a starship! Rescue! Civilization! I just need some clothes and a job… or two: I don’t need to sleep.
It looks nice… quite the sci-fi setup. It's… smaller than I'd expect. The main body seems to be about three times the size of bigger motorhome - in all three dimensions - and it has engines about half that size on either side, held together by something of a wing assembly. This is “small” on the starship scale, I think. I also see things that I expect are weapons… and as it turns to land, I see the other side, where it's heavily cratered… I think I can see some of the interior. I'm guessing that's battle damage… but they're still flying, so… yay them?
I'll need a story… I consider what to say as I watch them land, their thrusters kicking up dust and rocks, their engines shut down with a shudder as the ship settles onto the landing gear. A gangway descends as their engines make loud tapping sounds as they cool down.
I can hear two men arguing as they walk down it.
“... What’s the point of inspecting the damage? Oir engineer is DEAD. Neither of us know the first thing about fixing the hull, much less the power core, which we need to run the drift engine! Face it, we're marooned. Might as well break the casks of whiskey out of the hold and drown our sorrows before we starve to death.”
“Look, it's in the handbook, and even if we can't do anything about the ship, we need to at least make sure nothing is going to jump out and gank us on this little breathable oasis…”
OK, this is too good to pass up, so I shout at them, “I have some skill at engineering, if you have the UPB's for materials. I got stripped and stranded here; I can lend you my expertise at repairs in exchange for some clothes, food, and rapid transport to Absalom Station.” This is technically true, for certain values of ‘here’. I'm stranded from Earth, not on this little rock. And yes, I got stripped by a pink explosion… so I'm telling the truth.
OK, I'm avoiding a direct lie, at least. But the truth is hardly believable.
“Thank The Dawnflower! I knew it was a good idea to come out here!” Ahh… you were the one saying ‘let's just drink until we die’.
I take a closer look as we speak. “Right…” the sensible one rolls his eyes.
They're both wearing… some kind of red space suit? It's not bulky like NASA's, but there are obvious seals, and they're completely covered below the neck. Both are also holding helmets in their hands. Sensible guy has brown hair and light skin, the drinker has blond hair and very dark skin… how do those genetics work? Both look human, and… military types. Big strong macho men. Makes me want to learn some Permanent spells I can put on others. Hmm… but I'm not pointlessly going to afflict others… as funny as it might be.
I smile, “So do we have a deal then? You get me some clothes, I try to fix your ship with materials you have, and when I succeed, you take me straight to Absalom Station, agreed?”
The more competent of the two seems suspicious, “And how do we know you'll hold up your end?”
I chuckle, “You can't give me a ride until after I fix the ship, can you? Your only real ‘down payment’ here is some clothes for me to wear and whatever food I end up eating.” That last bit is none unless you're watching, but I can't have them knowing I don't eat or sleep yet.
The blond partier comes to my defense, “Do you have any better options, Bob? Let's cut that deal.”
Bob stares at me. Which kind of makes me a little self-conscious about not having a stitch on. Maybe I should have figured out how to make leather clothing out of my corpse? Nah. That'd be worse even if I could have made it work in however long I was running in circles.
Eventually, he sighs, “No, CARL, I don't. Fine. Passage and supplies are little enough if you can get this bucket of bolts back to real space.”
Heh. Bob recognized that he wasn't sure he wanted to give names… doesn't matter. “Well, you can call me,” I suppose I don't have a reason to hide my name, “Alex. So how bad is it?”
Carl shakes his head, “There's a reason I wanted to just drink....”
Bob continues, “Yeah, because you're an alcoholic. But it is pretty bad. The power core is wrecked, Life Support, Sensors, the Weapons Array, and even the engines are all malfunctioning… and the hull is damaged to the point where it won't hold atmosphere.”
Carl laughs, “Yeah, I had to land the ship while wearing suit gloves and dealing with malfunctioning engines… not fun.”
“Well, I better get to work then. First though, unless you LIKE the show…”
“Clothes, right.” Bob fetches a simple jumpsuit, red like his, that fits… well enough to work with. It is bloodstained, has some holes, and is a bit too tall… which means I'm wearing a dead man's clothes. I'm not sure I want to know their last engineer's name.
I start with the power core, simply because it runs everything else. Surprisingly, they have all the needed tools, and the pieces are mostly in place. I hear dice in my head as I work… it takes a good twenty minutes for me to find the problem, and another ten to actually fix it, but in half an hour, they're back at full power.
The other systems go faster, about ten minutes each. Malfunctioning isn't nearly so bad as wrecked, and my engineering skill is high enough that I can simply “take ten” there, not bothering to “roll the dice”. They're mostly having issues because of little pieces of hull warped out of shape by the weapons fire that need to be bent back into shape… fortunately, they have the tools for that, as my little noodle arms could NOT bend six inches of steel. Also some cables pulled loose… not really a big deal, but hard to diagnose without training.
Which I don't have, but my Mythos bypasses that.
The hull itself is simple to fix (even these buffoons could have done it - this doesn't require training unless you want to save UPB's or time), but takes the longest due to how much brute labor is involved: Five hours. And yes, the ship was almost dead. One more hit - from anything, really - and it would have been lost.
Of course, UPB's (“Universal Polymer Base”) are usable as cash here, and are only slightly larger than grains of rice. They're a little miracle of technology (more like handwavium in the game…) that can be configured to work like basically any material and many small systems if you get enough of them together. They're used on the hull mostly to seal things up after bending the plates back together. For the hull, these two idiots - left on their own - would end up using around three hundred twenty of them to do the job… for the hull. With the other systems, they really didn't have a hope of getting it done. But… if you know what you're doing on a hull repair, you can reduce the cost… and these things are slightly larger than grains of rice.
I consider - very seriously - simply pocketing the savings. But while I might be able to get away with it… this ship is the cheapest on everything. The base frame is a “Pioneer” - it's got a nice sounding name, but no: It's less expensive than even a starship drone, can only handle a few weapons, and has almost no storage space. It has no armor, only a basic computer (which means it doesn't really help with targeting or anything), cots hung between bulkheads for their “crew quarters”, no electronic countermeasures, just a signal basic drift engine (which is, admittedly, twice as fast as I can manage alone right now), an Arcus Light power core (the smallest that will run the drift engine), cut rate sensors… the list goes on. They have the bare minimum to be an armed interstellar spaceship, really.
Which leads me to ask, once we're on our way and all sitting in the bridge, “Why in the world were you folks engaging in combat in this rig?”
Bob laughs, “Orders, and pirates. If it's not obvious, we don't actually own the ship. It was the one assigned to us along with the courier gig for the giant pile of UPB's in the hold. I was really surprised when we didn't have a better armed ship or an escort for this cargo, but… well, that's the military for you.”
Patricia whispers in my ear, but I already came to the conclusion myself, “And let me guess: The pirate was seemingly waiting for you in The Drift.”
Carl looks at me with one eye half-closed, “Yes… do you know something I don't?”
I shake my head, “Just pattern recognition. This ship, with that cargo, no escort, and a pirate waiting to kill you all? There's only really one way that makes sense.”
Bob leans back in the captain's chair and rubs his temples while he closes his eyes, “You’re saying someone in the chain of command is crooked, and we weren't meant to live.”
I give them a wan smile, “That's about the only thing that fits. How much is in that cargo bay anyway?”
Carl laughs, “As much as would fit. There's at least two or three million in there.”
Which makes for a doozy of a retirement plan. “Well… I don't have a pony in this race, and I can't pilot the ship. What are you two going to do?”
Carl shrugs, “Think about it. We have a few more days until we reach…” I don't miss the sudden, sharp glance Bob gives Carl, “... Absalom Station.”
Great. So that's not where we're going. Well then… what do I do with this?
