I make it back to Steven Steel without incident, and get to work on repairs… but for all the damage, it only takes about five and a half hours of work and forty UPB's for parts. No, not in parts, for parts. I've mentioned this before, but UPB's can be turned into basically anything (in this case, basically welding material), so I use them directly.
The reason it's so cheap is because of my engineering check, and how that works: Anyone can patch holes in a ship's hull with five hours of work at a cost of ten UPB's per Hull Point, provided they have access to the outside of the ship and it's a safe environment. A DC fifteen engineering check cuts either the time or cost in half, with each five full points exceeding that result cutting either the time or cost in half again, at the engineer's discretion. I'm not in a hurry, so I cut costs all four times with my “take ten” check result of thirty… which would put the cost down to 0.625 UPB's per hull point, but there's a clause that limits it to one UPB per hull point. Steven has thirty five hull points, and was five points into the negatives, so it cost me forty UPB's to fix his hull. Wrecked systems are a flat DC 25 check, ten minutes of work, and don't require parts. The power core was wrecked, the engines were wrecked, and the weapon (he only has one, and it's small) was wrecked. Life Support was wrecked too, but I fixed that during the interview. So yes, five and a half hours of work.
It takes me a total of six, though. Between fixing the hull and fixing the other systems inside Steven (I didn't want to risk him running away while I was still outside, so I handled the engines and things last), I take a bit to actually look at the guy's real body. And oh boy, did I do a number on him. His real body is a hundred feet long, about thirty feet tall, and about thirty feet wide… but that doesn't tell you much: He is most definitely not a rectangular prism.
Steven Steel looks like a generously proportioned human woman, and an anatomically correct one at that: Including coloration (seriously, it looks like tanned skin from a distance), a face (the entry tube for the station goes into his “mouth” so it looks like he's giving the station a blowjob… because his mouth is the main airlock; the eyes are windows into the bridge, the nose seems decorative, the ears are actually sensor pods). He even has milk taps on his titanic ta-tas and fully featured female genetalia (which is an entrance to the cargo bay). He's arranged like he's kneeling, keeping his arms and legs as close to his body as possible (which form the landing struts), his head down, presenting his rear for a lover to enter. The vents from the engines form his backside. So really, he looks like a lady of the night at work with a client. And this person is expected to be my home for the next six years: Joy.
At least I'll have an entertaining view when I return ‘home’ to him.
The inside is a lot better, once I clean up the debris. The bridge has seating for three: One “captain’s chair” with a set of holographic screens and controls, fully configurable to the point where one person could, in fact, adequately fly the beast. The other two seats are below and in front of the captain’s chair, situated just behind the “eyes” from outside… but are set up the same way as the captain’s chair: Any seat can serve any function, one just needs to seta dial on the chair arm to pick the right settings. There's enough space between them that people waving their arms around to press the imaginary buttons won't interfere with each other, plus a bit for a person to walk between.
The ship seems to be built more for luxury than anything else. OK, yes, the storage bay is completely utilitarian, as is the engineering section where the actual core systems are located… but the crew quarters? The two for lesser officers are a good fifteen feet square (the captain’s is twenty-five by twenty-five): Each with their own individual bathrooms (complete with bubble jets in the bathtubs), walk in closets (with automatic clothes cleaning, and I'm pretty sure those arms could dress me), holographic projectors (with an entertainment library in the ship's main computer… which is all various flavors of porn…) even kitchenettes. The mess hall? At first glance, it's marble counters, mahogany tables, leather seats, a crystal chandelier, and tapestries on the walls, with automatic food preparation made to order and a dishwashing setup where all you need to do is toss the dishes in, and they'll be cleaned, dried, and put back into stock for the next meal.
At first glance, all the materials are top notch… but very close inspection reveals they're high-quality fakes: The marble countertops are actually a thin veneer of some high-density material that looks and feels very much like marble over simple steel sheeting. The mahogany tables are similarly a clever printed coating over normal materials, and while those sheets certainly feel like silk… they're apparently some synthetic fiber or other. Still… this is a first class pleasure boat for some rich snob.
Most of the rest is as low as they can go and still do the job. The engines won't win ANY races, the shields are only slightly beter than navigational ones, and it has only a singe laser cannon for ship's weaponry (mounted in the back, presumably to discourage pursuit while running away).
But Steven does have some very, very practical aspects. The sensor suite is top of the line: Djezet-infused Ultra Long-range sensors. The longest range and highest quality sensors available. Also… he has a cloaking device. A top of the line Gray cloaking device, no less; I have NO idea where he got it. Most sensors won't be able to see this ship at all when that's turned on, and the few that can will need to be close… which means Steven will almost always see them first, and be able to get out of the way. That… kind of explains the distinct lack of weaponry and shielding, really. This ship was not built for fighting. Covert spy missions? Sure, it'll do great with those. Courier work? No problem, as long as you're not in a rush (see prior note about the engines). But for the rich snob that wants to get away from it all for a while? The only real problem is the lack of servants … and Steven was a Virtual Intelligence, capable of flying the ship, before he became a full AI: The ship itself was a servant, and in these luxury crew quarters, basically everything is automated.
Honestly, the setup suits me splendidly: I really don’t want to get into fights, as those will accelerate my transformation. There’s enough cargo room for shipping gigs or becoming an independent trader, while the sensor and stealth setup is good for getting into scouting or exploratory work. Steven's a pretty good ship, really, although I’ll want to upgrade the power core, engines, and maybe the weapons as I can.
Not that I'm going to tell him that.
Of course, the tour does leave me with questions… and I can just ask: “Hey Steven, how would you describe your owner from before you became your own person? The choices on your systems could go a couple of different ways, and I'm curious which one is right.”
“Her? She was a stupid playgirl living a life of hedonism off of her father's success; he's the one who designed my body… well, before you redesigned me, but that’s… mostly cosmetic. I have no idea where he got the cloaking device, but he REALLY wanted to keep her safe: Standard travel protocol was to keep it engaged whenever possible, and avoid all other ships. Not that the daughter was worth the cost of the silicone in her chest (and there was a lot of that): She was always bringing home whatever beach boy struck her fancy, showing him a WONDERFUL time in her bedroom, dumping him, and flying from planet to planet to find her next conquest. I would swear her brains were in her pelvis, based on her decision making,” he actually snorts, “You know, like all women who can get away with it, a typical stupid bi.…”
He trails off because he can feel the effects of another light hit from my magic, and I can see the interior decore turn a little pink… that might get annoying, “It's one thing to say a particular individual is a rotten person. It's quite another to paint every member of a group with the same brush.”
“Yes Ms. Abrams,” that still stings…
… and with Steven, at least, I can fix it, “Don't call me ‘Ms.’ You will address me as ‘Captain’ or ‘Captain Abrams’ in formal contexts; ‘Alex’ or ‘Boss’ in informal ones. Is that understood?”
“Yes captain,” he replies, sounding unsure of himself.
“Of course she's unsure of herself,” my feminine frenemy inserts into my head, “When he was still a guy, his desire was that he'd have a weak-willed wench who'd do everything he said. Now he's becoming said weak-willed wench who will do everything her boss says - everything you say - because she wants to be a servant. She's not quite there yet… just a little more, and she'll never leave you unless you tell her to do so… at which point, she'll simply find someone else to slave herself out to.”
Which… is not what I want, but I also can't let her get away with… ugh. Wait… why am I thinking of Steven as a woman now? HE last said HE was a guy inside… and the most recent hit turned his innards pink… symbolism? Hmm… still, ‘he’ for now.
But… I have what I came for at this station, really, so I'll need to settle accounts… “Steven, please message the harbor's accounting team asking for an itemized and dated bill for your time here, and forward it to my com. I expect I'll need to settle accounts, identifying what I am, and am not, responsible to cover.”
“Yes captain,” she… HE replies.
Ugh. I feel dirty after all the work, so I head over to the captain’s cabin - MY cabin - for a soak.
I make it back to Steven Steel without incident, and get to work on repairs… but for all the damage, it only takes about five and a half hours of work and forty UPB's for parts. No, not in parts, for parts. I've mentioned this before, but UPB's can be turned into basically anything (in this case, basically welding material), so I use them directly.
The reason it's so cheap is because of my engineering check, and how that works: Anyone can patch holes in a ship's hull with five hours of work at a cost of ten UPB's per Hull Point, provided they have access to the outside of the ship and it's a safe environment. A DC fifteen engineering check cuts either the time or cost in half, with each five full points exceeding that result cutting either the time or cost in half again, at the engineer's discretion. I'm not in a hurry, so I cut costs all four times with my “take ten” check result of thirty… which would put the cost down to 0.625 UPB's per hull point, but there's a clause that limits it to one UPB per hull point. Steven has thirty five hull points, and was five points into the negatives, so it cost me forty UPB's to fix his hull. Wrecked systems are a flat DC 25 check, ten minutes of work, and don't require parts. The power core was wrecked, the engines were wrecked, and the weapon (he only has one, and it's small) was wrecked. Life Support was wrecked too, but I fixed that during the interview. So yes, five and a half hours of work.
It takes me a total of six, though. Between fixing the hull and fixing the other systems inside Steven (I didn't want to risk him running away while I was still outside, so I handled the engines and things last), I take a bit to actually look at the guy's real body. And oh boy, did I do a number on him. His real body is a hundred feet long, about thirty feet tall, and about thirty feet wide… but that doesn't tell you much: He is most definitely not a rectangular prism.
Steven Steel looks like a generously proportioned human woman, and an anatomically correct one at that: Including coloration (seriously, it looks like tanned skin from a distance), a face (the entry tube for the station goes into his “mouth” so it looks like he's giving the station a blowjob… because his mouth is the main airlock; the eyes are windows into the bridge, the nose seems decorative, the ears are actually sensor pods). He even has milk taps on his titanic ta-tas and fully featured female genetalia (which is an entrance to the cargo bay). He's arranged like he's kneeling, keeping his arms and legs as close to his body as possible (which form the landing struts), his head down, presenting his rear for a lover to enter. The vents from the engines form his backside. So really, he looks like a lady of the night at work with a client. And this person is expected to be my home for the next six years: Joy.
At least I'll have an entertaining view when I return ‘home’ to him.
The inside is a lot better, once I clean up the debris. The bridge has seating for three: One “captain’s chair” with a set of holographic screens and controls, fully configurable to the point where one person could, in fact, adequately fly the beast. The other two seats are below and in front of the captain’s chair, situated just behind the “eyes” from outside… but are set up the same way as the captain’s chair: Any seat can serve any function, one just needs to seta dial on the chair arm to pick the right settings. There's enough space between them that people waving their arms around to press the imaginary buttons won't interfere with each other, plus a bit for a person to walk between.
The ship seems to be built more for luxury than anything else. OK, yes, the storage bay is completely utilitarian, as is the engineering section where the actual core systems are located… but the crew quarters? The two for lesser officers are a good fifteen feet square (the captain’s is twenty-five by twenty-five): Each with their own individual bathrooms (complete with bubble jets in the bathtubs), walk in closets (with automatic clothes cleaning, and I'm pretty sure those arms could dress me), holographic projectors (with an entertainment library in the ship's main computer… which is all various flavors of porn…) even kitchenettes. The mess hall? At first glance, it's marble counters, mahogany tables, leather seats, a crystal chandelier, and tapestries on the walls, with automatic food preparation made to order and a dishwashing setup where all you need to do is toss the dishes in, and they'll be cleaned, dried, and put back into stock for the next meal.
At first glance, all the materials are top notch… but very close inspection reveals they're high-quality fakes: The marble countertops are actually a thin veneer of some high-density material that looks and feels very much like marble over simple steel sheeting. The mahogany tables are similarly a clever printed coating over normal materials, and while those sheets certainly feel like silk… they're apparently some synthetic fiber or other. Still… this is a first class pleasure boat for some rich snob.
Most of the rest is as low as they can go and still do the job. The engines won't win ANY races, the shields are only slightly beter than navigational ones, and it has only a singe laser cannon for ship's weaponry (mounted in the back, presumably to discourage pursuit while running away).
But Steven does have some very, very practical aspects. The sensor suite is top of the line: Djezet-infused Ultra Long-range sensors. The longest range and highest quality sensors available. Also… he has a cloaking device. A top of the line Gray cloaking device, no less; I have NO idea where he got it. Most sensors won't be able to see this ship at all when that's turned on, and the few that can will need to be close… which means Steven will almost always see them first, and be able to get out of the way. That… kind of explains the distinct lack of weaponry and shielding, really. This ship was not built for fighting. Covert spy missions? Sure, it'll do great with those. Courier work? No problem, as long as you're not in a rush (see prior note about the engines). But for the rich snob that wants to get away from it all for a while? The only real problem is the lack of servants … and Steven was a Virtual Intelligence, capable of flying the ship, before he became a full AI: The ship itself was a servant, and in these luxury crew quarters, basically everything is automated.
Honestly, the setup suits me splendidly: I really don’t want to get into fights, as those will accelerate my transformation. There’s enough cargo room for shipping gigs or becoming an independent trader, while the sensor and stealth setup is good for getting into scouting or exploratory work. Steven's a pretty good ship, really, although I’ll want to upgrade the power core, engines, and maybe the weapons as I can.
Not that I'm going to tell him that.
Of course, the tour does leave me with questions… and I can just ask: “Hey Steven, how would you describe your owner from before you became your own person? The choices on your systems could go a couple of different ways, and I'm curious which one is right.”
“Her? She was a stupid playgirl living a life of hedonism off of her father's success; he's the one who designed my body… well, before you redesigned me, but that’s… mostly cosmetic. I have no idea where he got the cloaking device, but he REALLY wanted to keep her safe: Standard travel protocol was to keep it engaged whenever possible, and avoid all other ships. Not that the daughter was worth the cost of the silicone in her chest (and there was a lot of that): She was always bringing home whatever beach boy struck her fancy, showing him a WONDERFUL time in her bedroom, dumping him, and flying from planet to planet to find her next conquest. I would swear her brains were in her pelvis, based on her decision making,” he actually snorts, “You know, like all women who can get away with it, a typical stupid bi.…”
He trails off because he can feel the effects of another light hit from my magic, and I can see the interior decore turn a little pink… that might get annoying, “It's one thing to say a particular individual is a rotten person. It's quite another to paint every member of a group with the same brush.”
“Yes Ms. Abrams,” that still stings…
… and with Steven, at least, I can fix it, “Don't call me ‘Ms.’ You will address me as ‘Captain’ or ‘Captain Abrams’ in formal contexts; ‘Alex’ or ‘Boss’ in informal ones. Is that understood?”
“Yes captain,” he replies, sounding unsure of himself.
“Of course she's unsure of herself,” my feminine frenemy inserts into my head, “When he was still a guy, his desire was that he'd have a weak-willed wench who'd do everything he said. Now he's becoming said weak-willed wench who will do everything her boss says - everything you say - because she wants to be a servant. She's not quite there yet… just a little more, and she'll never leave you unless you tell her to do so… at which point, she'll simply find someone else to slave herself out to.”
Which… is not what I want, but I also can't let her get away with… ugh. Wait… why am I thinking of Steven as a woman now? HE last said HE was a guy inside… and the most recent hit turned his innards pink… symbolism? Hmm… still, ‘he’ for now.
But… I have what I came for at this station, really, so I'll need to settle accounts… “Steven, please message the harbor's accounting team asking for an itemized and dated bill for your time here, and forward it to my com. I expect I'll need to settle accounts, identifying what I am, and am not, responsible to cover.”
“Yes captain,” she… HE replies.
Ugh. I feel dirty after all the work, so I head over to the captain’s cabin - MY cabin - for a soak.
