Showing posts with label Flyover Country. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flyover Country. Show all posts

Friday, July 11, 2025

Flyover Country: Chapter 10

Sketch by Kunrong Yap

 

Continued from Chapter 9.

* * *

The crew heads back to Morrow, making the drill out around midday on the 24th (Coordinated Atomic Time), arriving in Betharan late on the 25th, and getting down to the planet around the end of the 26th, all thanks to BQ's expert piloting. Having looked over the data they pulled from the ruins under Freeport, which included the sites of a dozen or so other pretech planetary engineering observation sites, they head straight for the most accessible source of extra pretech junk.

It's in a swamp, half-submerged but undefended and fairly easy to access. Unlike the site in Freeport, this one seems to be entirely inert, unpowered, unaware of their presence; they blast its door open with a demolition charge. It's not as full of goodies as the first one, but it does have the same computer equipment, wall panels, etc.—good enough to impress Ashbrook or her proxies. Orlando plays a little cat and mouse with her via email, trying to walk the line between appearing too eager to meet and too wary or too demanding. The crew spends a bug-plagued but otherwise uneventful day dragging old tech out of the ruin, and they eventually nail down a rendezvous that might give the crew just enough time to install a reaper battery on Quora before meeting Ashbrook's people.

They just need a reaper battery, and the right contractor, and a favor to skip the queue. Elias connects them to a Milieu-affiliated operation at the Freeport docks that has some used weapons lying around. For friends of Elias—and such a charming, gracious friend as Sarai, who naturally handles the negotiations—they'll sell the crew the weapon at cost and expedite the installation. Elias will owe the contractors a favor, which means the PCs will owe Elias another favor, but what else is new? By midday on the 29th, they're ready to go.

The rendezvous site Orlando has arranged is a desolate salt flat northwest of Freeport—not far, at least for a TL4 starship. Arriving, the PCs see a gunship (a shuttle with some armor and a small weapon, really) and a gravflyer parked not far from one another. Ashbrook is taking no chances; not present herself, she has sent a team of 10 mercenaries to handle the handoff. The gravflyer, it emerges, is meant to shuttle the crew back to the city after the mercenaries take possession of their ship. The PCs land, drop the ramp, let the mercs confirm that there really is a load of pretech salvage in their cargo bay, and arrange for the mercenary leader, with three of his soldiers backing him up just in case, to come aboard, inspect the goods up close, and prepare to authorize the transfer.

The PCs, naturally, double-cross and murder these poor schmucks. Thanks to yet another godawful initiative roll by the NPCs, the crew manages to teratically overload the mercenary leader and wipe out the other three (including the team's most capable, and best-armed, fighter) without a shot. The remaining mercs immediately launch their gunship and try to disable Quora's new weapon, but instead quickly find themselves facing a hull breach and fire in their cargo bay, then a disabled engine. They try valiantly to make repairs, but can't quite manage, and all the while the PCs' faster, more powerful ship is breathing down their necks. They crash-land their gunship into the accommodating desert plain, and after some negotiations (they aren't eager to leave cover and their one decent bargaining chip, the intact ship), the PCs take the six remaining mercs prisoner.

An uncomfortable debate promptly begins. Should they murder these guys? Batias is strongly in favor, of course. Krissa is uneasy about the ethical dimensions, but not keen to let a bunch of guys who might be able to work out that she's a psychic walk free. Roman, Mustang, and BQ are various shades of indifferent; they set about inspecting the downed gunship and trying to get it back into flying condition rather than getting bogged down in the argument.

In the end, Sarai, despite being the only person strongly opposed to summary execution, is the most eloquent and persuasive of the bunch. She proposes dumping the six prisoners in farm country farther north, beyond the desert belt, without any comms equipment. They won't starve or die of exposure, but it'll take them days to find their way back to Freeport, and by then Quora will be long gone. Roman and Mustang stay behind to work on the gunship while the rest of the crew carries out this errand of mercy.

Once the gunship is up and running and the others have returned, BQ loads the gravflyer aboard Quora and they blast off for Freeport, where they'll leave the gunship and the soggy pretech junk for Elias to dispose of. Krissa, having stabilized the downed mercenary leader almost as soon as she disabled him, straps the guy into a bed in the medbay, slaps a Squeal patch on him, wakes him from his brief biopsionically induced coma, and interrogates him. Between that and searching the gunship's computer systems, the crew learns a little about Ashbrook and Mputu, but not much. They learn more about the mercenaries and their ship, for whatever that's worth.

* * * 

Eminent Alternatives, it seems, is the PMC Ashbrook hired for her various Freeport jobs; this is the same outfit that attacked the PCs as they were trying to unload their trucks back at the city dump. The field commander who led the team whose asses the crew just kicked, and who is now their prisoner, is a guy named Wei Khan. Ashbrook has had EA on retainer on Morrow all month. Like her, they're based on Khabara, and their previous job was in Istanu, one of the systems that connects Sanasar (Khabara's star) to Betharan (Morrow's). EA is a small company, with only about 25 employees total (some of them administrative types), including those who went to the handoff. The loss of four soldiers (including Wei) represents a pretty disastrous setback—that's a quarter of their combat strength.

Wei did some digging into Ashbrook's background and reputation when she offered EA the job. She's worked with all the major Khabaran security outfits (OKR Personal Defense; Patil, de Lima & Company; Rodrigues+Chen) and various smaller ones, and she's also brokered contracts with Juman privateers via the Mundan firm Müller, Bhatnagar & Yang (probably off-books mercenary work by Imperial military personnel). Wei got in touch with a couple of the smaller outfits that have worked with Ashbrook, Cloudy Mountain Defense Services (based on Khabara) and Sable Company (a local Morrow operation)—they found her reliable, professional, demanding, and unfriendly.

Between the lengthy retainer and some beefy hazard-pay bonuses, Ashbrook seems to have spent almost 40,000 credits on the mercs, and the money came from her longtime client Mputu Manufacturing. The mercenaries' gear was not entirely uniform—their armor was mostly from Ogenne, a Khabaran company, but their weapons a hodgepodge from Sayed+Spiner, Laxardal Forge (both Mundan corporations), Omni Armory (from Opis, in the Commonwealth), AKHI (the massive state-owned conglomerate in the Directory), and other sources. The ship itself was of Khabaran manufacture (from Gemini Interstellar, a subsidiary of Seneschal), and was provided by Mputu, not owned by the mercs. Far more than the mercenaries and their gear, the ship represents a huge loss for Ashbrook—a setback second only to the loss of the computer equipment and data from the Freeport dig site.

The gunship is called the Stormy Petrel. Stripped of its sandthrower (which the PCs want to hastily install on their own ship), it's worth about 230,000 credits on paper, but it's now both stolen and damaged, which dents its value—Elias might get close to full freight for the armor plating, which can be stripped off and reused, but repairs will cost a good 10,000 credits, and refitting the hull, changing the drive signature, counterfeiting new registration, and so forth will cost another 100,000 or more, so even if Elias can resell the ex-Petrel for close to full price, the profit is “only" going to be in the neighborhood of 110,000 credits (and he'll take a hefty cut). The new pretech junk might sell for 80,000 or so, after expenses getting it where it needs to go and all that, and Elias will take his cut there too; still, the crew are looking at a payday well above 100,000 credits. It'll take at least a few weeks to come through, but hey—not bad for a couple days' work.

The Echelon Altostratus gravflyer the mercs brought (also the property of Mputu Manufacturing, big enough to carry 10 crew and passengers, and crammed with bells and whistles) stays in Quora's cargo bay; it seems like a handy thing for the crew to have, even if it takes a big bite out of their cargo capacity. The onboard computer had a flight plan prepared that would have taken the vehicle back to a Mputu Manufacturing facility in Freeport (at the north edge of Center City, near the Havre)—it seems Orlando and co. were meant to just get a lift back to the city, then return the gravflyer to its owners and find their own way from there.

* * * 

With a bunch of stolen goods and ever more enemies gunning for the PCs here on Morrow, it's probably time for them to make themselves scarce. Elias points them toward Istanu, one star over. It's a neutral system, long dominated by megacorps from Khabara but now sliding into the Kyran Directory's sphere of influence, and its on its way to the Directory's core systems, where the PCs have vague designs on learning how to counterfeit atrament. The Directory's main base in Istanu is Seven Miracles Station, a port in LEO above Salafai, the system's one Earth-like planet. The Milieu is well entrenched there, and the local boss is an associate of Elias's: Nour Mbuyu.

First, though, a brief entrepreneurial interlude. The PCs may have just double-crossed a powerful corporate fixer, stolen a ship worth hundreds of thousands of credits, killed three mercenaries, and captured a fourth; they may be fighting against the clock as the mercs they didn't kill work their way back toward Freeport and could be getting in touch with Ashbrook any minute now; they may still be on the bad side of the entire Najeeb crime family and harboring the traitorous Orlando Ilunga; but they still have to make time to look into a good business opportunity.

Hoop Cola, you see, is going gangbusters over on Rustam. Jenny Beck may have been an indifferent engineering student, but it turns out she's got a real knack for marketing and soft-drink distribution. And Roman and Sarai have, in their spare time, cooked up a Diet Hoop recipe that they have every confidence in. They schedule a quick meeting with Hoop Barrett himself while Elias's people get the Petrel's sandthrower installed on Quora. They hash out a business plan: Roman, Mustang, Sarai, and Krissa will each contribute 2,500 credits to an investment that'll get Hoop's bottling operations going again; in exchange, each of them gets a 12% ownership stake in the company, with Hoop narrowly maintaining control with his 52% share. Dividends will be paid out quarterly from profits. Hoop is advised to get Diet Hoop production going and to concentrate on the burgeoning Rustami market. And then we're off.

Poor Wei Khan definitely knows that Krissa is a psychic, and a biopsion at that. Overriding Sarai's moral squeamishness, they chuck the guy out the airlock, in drillspace, during the voyage to Istanu. Krissa performs a little Juman ritual—a salt circle, some burning alcohol, some drinking, a bit of chanting—to keep the spirit from catching on the hull of the ship. Does it work? Well, they don't hear any ghostly screaming on the way in to Salafai, so…maybe?

Monday, May 5, 2025

Flyover Counter: Chapter 9

"Anthill Stories—Arcade" by Marat Zakirov


Continued from Chapter 8.

* * *

The two groups debrief and divvy up the loot, with the high-value stuff and the pieces Nobu Stephanidis wanted going in the secure crates Director Rao provided (alongside the sniper rifle, the rocket launcher, and the other weapons they're definitely not allowed to be carrying around down here). The three young survivors from the other group of looters will have to smuggle their share of the take into the city bit by bit and fence what they can locally.

These three are Kathy Chen, Oksana Yousef, and Patrick Muñoz. Patrick is the oldest and most experienced of the three, and he's barely 21—seems like the late Lorena was something of a Fagin figure in the lower depths of Sokhna, recruiting teenagers to a life of crime. Without her to lead them, these kids are at loose ends, and Sarai, being something of a Fagin herself, offers them a chance to sign on with the crew, get off Opis, and see the Sector.

After discussing matters among themselves, they agree. Kathy and Oksana will sign on immediately; Patrick is staying on Opis for now to manage the sale of their loot. The three accept a 60/40 split on their art from the heist. The share they're leaving for Patrick to deal with wouldn't all fit in the secure crates, even if the PCs were inclined to stiff the kids (and certain parties are so inclined, though thankfully not a majority), but it's worth a good chunk of change, maybe 100,000 credits altogether if Patrick can swing some good deals.

* * *

Safely back in Sokhna, with their loot loaded up, no APB out on them, and no pressing time crunch to worry about, the PCs split up to run errands, meet old friends, and close a major commodity transaction, with Sarai netting a 16,000-credit profit on the wine they shipped over from Rustam. Batias and BQ find their way, down in the lowest depths of the underground city, into an illegal casino, where Batias gambles away 13,184 of his own credits, then 13,000 borrowed from BQ. On their way back, jumped by would-be robbers, they explain that they're completely destitute. The robbers, impressed both by Batias's sangfroid in the face of deadly violence and how sanguine he is, having just lost a modest fortune, about his financial prospects, stay awhile to listen to him preach the prosperity gospel.

“Give me your credits,” he promises them, “and your wealth will be returned to you sevenfold.” They dig around in their pockets for the credsticks they've lifted off other victims and scrape together 118 credits. BQ promptly demands that Batias give him half.

Sarai has looked up the chef who was assigned to her parents during the family's glory days as high-flying diplomats. The woman, Laurence, is back on Opis, her homeworld, retired from the Ministry of External Relations and raising her two teenage kids, Timothee and Charlotte, in Anchorpoint, which is only five hours away or so from Sokhna by high-speed rail. They make plans for dinner; Laurence recommends several fine restaurants in Sokhna, and Sarai chooses a Franco-Egyptian place called Barbeau's.

Sarai wants to catch up—it was Laurence who started her on the path to being a gourmet and an amateur chef, and Laurence who, among the foreign-service staff who essentially raised her in the stead of her negligent parents, was always kindest to her. They swap stories and recipes; Sarai finally gets the list of secret ingredients to make the tiny samosas she most loved as a kid. But she has an ulterior motive, of course. She wants information. Who ratted her parents out? Laurence isn't 100% sure, but she points a tentative finger at a man named Yuriy de la Cruz, a senior secretary in the diplomatic corps who was assigned to the Commonwealth embassy on Alzuhr alongside Sarai's mother. Just as crooked as the Lentiers, if not more so, he might have betrayed them to save his own skin when his sloppy trail of graft caught up with him.

Mustang, meanwhile, gets in touch with old friends from the world of filmmaking. She meets Elsa Herrera, a documentarian, for a drink at a dive bar down in the lower city. Elsa promises put Mustang in touch with some folks she's been working with who might be interested in facilitating the Jaynewei Moon cinematic renaissance.

Back on the ship, Mustang finds a beautiful pair of shoes among the odds and ends she bagged at the estate—seems Elsa wears the same shoe size as Nana Malik, slightly too small for Mustang—and has Kathy wrap them up and run them over to Elsa as a gift. She gets Kathy cleaned up and dressed up first and gives her some “ice cream money.” Mustang then retires to her quarters to bask in the 126,000 comments and multitudinous DMs her TannTann videos have provoked.

* * *

Krissa wants to find a mentor to help her understand and manage her burgeoning telekinetic powers, but is, as always, leery of letting anybody know just how powerful she is, or that she's a psychic at all. Could she find a trustworthy teacher around here?

There must be literally thousands of telekinetics on Opis; even if a disproportionate number have been pressed into government service, and their mortality rate is high, and less than 10% of the planet's population is in and around Sokhna, there should be several hundred telekinetics in the region, which means several tens of skill-1 telekinetics, which means several skill-2 (but probably at most one skill-3). Even if there is anybody above skill-2, Mosylon has a near-monopoly on the highest-level psychics, and any skill-3 psychics who emerged in the Commonwealth were probably snatched up by the government and military. So there's likely no psychic around who's more powerful than Krissa, but there might be a handful who are as skilled at telekinesis as Krissa is at biopsionics and precognition, and perhaps one or two of them have private academies.

The dice say…yep, there's a fellow named Adamu Ibrahim in Sokhna, trained in metapsionics and telekinesis, who offers discreet training and mentorship, a sort of one-man private academy with a limited curriculum. There's no time for a proper course of story, but Krissa has a consultation, and the kindly Mr. Ibrahim teaches her some exercises to practice her telekinetic powers and settle her fears.

She and Sarai meet up when their engagements are done to restock the ship's liquor cabinet (five bottles of the good stuff, five of rotgut) and kitchen (all-purpose pan, stock pot, stand mixer, etc.).

* * *

Everybody spends the night on the ship and, after some cooking and other lollygagging, depart around midday. They drill out around the same time on the 20th, having tortured Kathy and Oksana (neither of whom has ever been off Opis before, no less out of the system) a bit with mild hazing and then terrifying horror stories about interstellar travel. They arrive in Marquez around midnight at the start of the 22nd, and land on Rustam early in the morning on the 23rd. The delivery of goods to Stephanidis goes off almost without a hitch, but Batias can't resist trying to shake the old man down for some extra money. Not only will he not budge—they get paid only what he had promised them—but they've now probably burned a valuable contact. Oh well; there are more fish in the sea. And more valuable contacts to burn!

They've got a couple other irons in the fire, after all. For one thing, there's the other stuff Leila asked them to look into. Having landed a sweetheart of a deal on Opis, they don't have much incentive to head to Marjan now, so investigating the pretech cultists is out. Leila had two tasks for them here on Rustam, though—looking into Enderlein & Sons and snooping around sketchy pharmaceutical company Foxglove. Their inquiries about Enderlein haven't turned anything up, and the local who probably has the best inside info on whatever pretech smuggling the company might be doing is now disinclined to help the PCs.

Foxglove, though? Turns out a couple university classmates of Roman's ended up working for them, and one, Aline Wang, is an associate director in the R&D department right here at the Porto Seguro research campus. She's willing to meet with them; guess Roman didn't make too negative of an impression on her.

Their conversation is cagey. Aline makes it clear that she has some knowledge of what Foxglove is doing on Lopez Ring—she travels to the station semi-regularly, and her position involves organizing research logistics—but of course she's not going to sell company secrets cheaply. The amount of cash the PCs have on hand clearly isn't enough to interest her. What else have they got? Roman explains that they're in the business of archaeological assessment and salvage, they've been identifying and recovering relics from Mandate-era sites all over the Sector (he begins to exaggerate a little), and surely something they've recovered would be of interest. Associate Director Wang asks, “For example?”

Roman's player turns to me. “Is there any kind of pretech super-science material she'd be desperate to get her hands on?” And hey, what do you know? At one point in my brainstorming, I actually did come up with just such a material: atrament. Of course, at this point, atrament exists only as a couple of scribbles in my notebook:

inky black mercury-like psychic smart matter?

And then, slightly more thought out:

Atrament, or atramentum, is an ink-black, psychically resonant liquid metal invaluable for repairing, producing, or modifying advanced pretech. It's the most important and most valuable of the strange synthetics identified thus far.

It's not nothing, but it's gonna need some fleshing out. Roman's player's first thought was, hey, Roman's a genius chemist, he'll just cook some of this stuff up. But I have to veto this: The thing about atrament, I decree, is that nobody knows how to make it. Limited quantities are left over from before the Scream, tightly controlled, hoarded by governments and other powerful factions. If Roman could figure out how to synthesize the stuff, he'd be the richest (and/or most wanted) man in the Sector.

Roman's player is unfazed. Can't make it? No problem. Roman can just fake it, probably.

“We pulled a couple liters of atrament out of a site not that long ago,” he lies. “We've stashed it in a secure location, of course.”

Wang is astounded, skeptical, and greedily curious. A couple liters, I explain, is far more than she's ever seen of the stuff, more than her employer possesses. Probably on the level of a sovereign planet's entire strategic reserve. A quantity that would be extremely significant even to the few entities in the Sector that do have considerably more than that already—the Commonwealth, the Directory, Seneschal Systems, maybe a handful of others.

She wants to see, if not atrament (she understands why they wouldn't be walking around with it), some kind of proof that they really have been rooting around in untouched pretech ruins. The PCs, who are still carrying a handful of the items they yanked out of the Freeport site (roachpoppers, holocodices, projector panels), oblige. She still doesn't entirely believe them about the atrament, but she can't miss even the chance of an opportunity like this; she asks them to bring her a milliliter of the stuff, gives them the next dates she'll be at the Foxglove offices on Lopez Ring, and encourages them to meet her there as soon as possible.

* * *

How are they going to get their hands on even a small supply of atrament? They contact Leila, who scoffs at the idea of supplying them any, but does transmit some useful information about the substance's chemical and electromagnetic signature, which might help Roman spoof some. Having run some experiments in his makeshift lab aboard the ship, he experiences a rare moment of humility; he doesn't think that any fake atrament he'll be able to produce will stand up to the kind of scrutiny it would be reasonable to expect from Wang. The crew decides to put this flimflam operation on the back burner. They'll be headed in the general direction of Magonia, Roman's home planet, where the Sector's greatest expert on atrament, a researcher named Nelson Martinez, lives. Maybe he can help? Maybe they can rob his lab.

In the meantime, they want to focus on ripping off Ashbrook, with Orlando as their double agent. Ashbrook doesn't know where Orlando has disappeared to—few people, if any outside of the crew and Elias, know that he's aboard the PCs' ship—so a little while back, they had him contact her, explaining in a carefully calibrated tone (half angry, half pleading) that he survived the fiasco in Freeport, still wants his fair share of the money, and has been independently tracking the PCs. He believes the looted cargo is still aboard their ship, he claims, and he has the opportunity to seize it if only Ashbrook will extend him some funds with which to hire mercenaries. She needs to act fast, though.

She does. The message, and the money, come through. She wants Orlando to hire mercs, seize the ship, and bring it back to Morrow. The rendezvous site is a desolate salt flat within easy flying distance of Freeport. He should communicate his ETA at his earliest (secure) convenience.

Batias takes the entire 8,000-credit payment Ashbrook has sent, claiming that he knows a guy who can hook the crew up with combat field uniforms—they want to be prepared for what might turn out to be a knock-down, drag-out firefight, right? He does, it turns out, know a guy, whom he manages to persuade to sell him four CFUs on credit. Batias pockets Ashbrook's credits. Now he just needs to find another gambling den.

Next: Chapter 10

Friday, February 21, 2025

Flyover Country: Chapter 8

"Investigation" by Maxime BiBi

Continued from Chapter 7.

* * *

Faisal Rao, director of the Sokhna office of GeOpis, is as good as his word. The PCs have a big-wheeled all-terrain transporter at their disposal, plus a cover identity that'll get them within mere kilometers of Nana Malik's estate before they have to get sneaky about it. They've loaded a bunch of weaponry, too, including a sniper rifle. They suit up: Light armor, filter masks for the sometimes-unpleasant atmosphere, and hooded jackets or ponchos for protection against acid rain and ashfall.

Krissa has used her precognitive Oracle ability to scout things out. The path of least resistance, an old service road to the west, seems to lead to an ambush; Krissa had a searing vision of the transporter being ripped open by an anti-vehicle laser and the crew sheltering, pinned down, behind a cyclopean hunk of concrete by the desolate roadside.

They resolve to take a different approach: They'll drive out to a GeOpis monitoring station near the edge of the restricted area, drop in on the scientists there, and then maneuver down into the tangle of ravines and volcanic hotspots between the station and the abandoned suburb; there's another old road through there. Much of it has collapsed in seisms or been buried by landslides, but some tunneled segments appear to be intact, and taking this route will obscure the PCs' movements from any observers.

Along the way, as they exit one of the tunnel sections, they're hailed by radio. The man claims to have been ambushed and stranded out here; he says he's a homesteader who was trying to squat in one of the abandoned estates, but was run off by bandits. Mistrustful, the crew refuses to meet him, but they do promise to drop some supplies for him if he's still there when they return to the city. They pass a smaller ATV, carved apart by a heavy laser like the one in Krissa's vision, which partially corroborates the stranger's story, but the players remain divided about whether to help—maybe he's in league with the bandits. Maybe the ATV belonged to somebody he killed.

* * *

The suburb is on a long, fairly smooth slope that rises gradually to a soft ridgeline in the north and east. To the west, it sinks a little farther to a dry riverbed and then rises across much rougher terrain toward a higher, more jagged ridge. To the south are the tangle of ravines, pocked with fumaroles and scarred by landslides and ashfall, that the PCs have just traversed. High points several kilometers away are visible to the west, but sightlines in the other directions are much shorter. They pass a few other houses on their way to Malik's, and a few more are partially visible off to the southeast and northwest—the grounds were arranged so that each estate was invisible to the others, but with the vegetation that screened them from one another reduced to desiccated stubble and a few charred tree trunks, the illusion is broken. Still, it's a pretty isolated spot.

Mustang and Krissa disembark to scout ahead on foot; while they observe the Malik estate, and the rest of the crew trains the transporter's limited sensors on it, they are hailed yet again. This time, their interlocutor is a middle-aged woman, and she's up front about ambushing them: Her team, she says, have a rocket launcher trained on the PCs' transporter, so no funny business. They don't want any trouble, she explains, and aren't trying to hold the PCs up—she wants their help, in fact. She just doesn't want to negotiate from a position of weakness. The players, of course, don't like this; Mustang and Krissa promptly begin stealthily maneuvering for a firing position. The rest of the crew, however, follow the woman's instructions and emerge, hands in the air, from the transporter.

The woman, who introduces herself as Lorena, and her team, five in total, are also here to loot the Malik estate. They approached on foot, and their technician tried to interface with the security system and shut it down. She thinks she managed to isolate it from the regional network, but in the process, she alerted a veritable swarm of security bots to their presence. They disabled a few of the machines, but one of their number was badly injured, and they beat a retreat. They don't have a medic, unfortunately, and their comrade will die if he doesn't get assistance soon. Do the PCs have any medical expertise? Any stims? They can offer weapons in trade, and they're willing to cooperate in a renewed attack on the house. Time is of the essence, after all—they're pretty sure they cut the house's system off without tripping any alarms, but who knows. Security might already be on the way. And there are bandits around.

The PCs are always ready to wheel and deal. How many rocket launchers do these guys have? Can they get one? Two rockets to go with it? Scratch that—make it three. Lorena is amenable. And they have a shopping list, Sarai explains. There are five things they need from the house. “Six, actually,” says Krissa. She's used her Oracle power again, imagining a future where they take all the loot for themselves and get the pieces appraised, so she knows that there's one painting in Malik's collection more valuable than any of the items Stephanidis sent them for. That, too, is fine with Lorena; there should be plenty to go around.

Krissa takes the injured man, Sunil, into the transporter to work her biopsionic magic away from prying eyes. She doesn't merely stabilize him but gets him on his feet again—Lorena's group probably suspects the use of a pretech cosmetic—and the two parties team up for the heist. Lorena throws the still-tender Sunil's arm over her shoulder and helps him limp his way toward their group's transporter, which they parked in a hollow nearby, out of sight from the house and most of the surrounding area. The other three squeeze in and ride along with the PCs.

* * *

The house itself is grand in an austere, rectilinear way. It's just two stories with a basement, but its footprint is huge. It faces south, so the transporter is approaching the front. There, the lower level is nearly flush with the ground—the driveway slopes down only slightly to two big garage doors that open straight into the basement. The first floor stands at ground level on the northern side but is well above grade to the south and must be approached via a long staircase. There's a first-floor deck around the west side and southwest corner, and a second-floor deck on the north and east sides. The two aboveground levels are clad in a durable glass-like polymer, wrapping most of the space in floor-to-ceiling windows, and a few more private areas in translucent panels. The security bots, canny enough to avoid being picked off from range, have retreated into the house.

BQ drives right up to the house's garage entrance; the six PCs, supplemented with a little NPC firepower, rush in and make short work of the remaining bots. The two groups begin their inventory of the house, and the PCs realize that the three NPCs who came along with them are little more than kids—19, maybe 20 years old. There's plenty of stuff for their group: Sixteen notable ceramic pieces, four more major paintings and a host of lesser ones, a couple of big sculptures, a pretty nice wine collection, and more.

All of the pre-Scream objects and alien artifacts Stephanidis wanted are here too, proudly displayed in vitrines in a small gallery: a collection of bronze and electrum implements that look like darts and scalpels; a levitating force plate and control glove; a toy composed of 26 miniature cubes that can be rotated, nine at a time, around three different axes (like a Rubik's cube, but with a uniform metal finish), with each configuration causing the device to play a different tune; a shifari polearm and an ornate shifari breastplate; and some bony-looking bits and pieces of betaal manufacture. BQ immediately starts smashing and grabbing. The three kids start stacking up paintings and vases in the garage, waiting for their group's transporter to pull up. Outside, not far from the house, there's an explosion.

It's the bandits from Krissa's earlier vision, and the anti-vehicle laser mounted on their armored car has just obliterated Lorena, Sunil, and their vehicle. The players' transporter, parked right up against the lowest level of the house, is sheltered from the armored car by a berm, but the car is coming down the slope to the west and maneuvering for a clear shot. It's over a kilometer away, out of range of nearly all of the PCs' weapons. Mustang grabs her new rocket launcher and slips outside to take a shot at the armored car from behind the berm; Batias takes his sniper rifle out on the second-story deck to try to cover her from any dismounted bandits. Two dismounted bandits who have approached the house from the north duly draw a bead on him; one sends a mag rifle round ripping through his meager armor, taking a (non-essential) chunk of him with it. He falls prone, getting out of their line of sight.

Mustang's first shot at the armored car connects squarely with the vehicle but fails to disable or destroy it; her second rocket is a near miss. Good thing they bartered for three of these! Heavy laser blasts spray dirt, dust, and chunks of concrete all around. Mustang heaves the launcher over her makeshift parapet a third time, aims carefully, fires…and blows the car to smithereens.

With help from the three young NPCs, the others have all this while been shoving everything they can into the transporter's cargo hold. There's a heated but brief debate about whether to dispatch the two bandits to the north so that they can finish looting the place at their leisure, but pragmatic heads prevail: There might be more bandits, and at any rate the two who have Batias pinned down are firing from cover with weapons that slightly outrange, and significantly outclass, the laser rifles that represent the crew's best long-range weapons (other than the sniper rifle trapped on the deck upstairs with Batias). Besides, they've got a lot of valuable loot already, there's only so much room for it, and with the bandits' vehicle knocked out, the transporter represents a distinct advantage mobility advantage. They should just leave.

Unwilling to retreat back into the house, whether out of fear of being perforated while fumbling with the door or for other, less explicable reasons, Batias insists that he will rappel down from the deck, run around the west side of the house, and hop aboard the transporter there. Nobody can persuade him otherwise, and nobody's willing to go and physically get him, or get into a shootout with the bandits for the sake of covering his withdrawal, so off he goes. Unsurprisingly, he gets shot again, and hurt pretty badly this time, but he manages to lurch to his way into cover around the side of the house, stumble to the transporter, and submit to Krissa's healing touch.

The PCs don't forget to stop and drop off some supplies and a spare oxygen tank for the guy who claimed to be a stranded homesteader…but Batias, ever mistrustful, shoots the oxygen tank from the back ramp of the transporter as they drive away, destroying it and probably damaging the supplies. The guy was in cahoots with the bandits! He's sure of it!

They pass by the GeOpis monitoring station on their way out of the restricted area and pay the scientists another visit, passing around a couple nice bottles of liquor and thanking them for their assistance, assuring them that Director Rao will be glad to hear they were so helpful. Their return to Sokhna is otherwise uneventful.

* * *

This was the first proper adventure I mapped out and planned after the construction-site caper back on Morrow, and it was a nice change of pace after a bunch of free-form wandering and improvised social encounters. I drew up a simple map of the area, rolled up some hazards and potential complications (bandits, rival looters, a stranded civilian—yeah, he really was just an innocent squatter—some scientists, a security post to the east that never came into play), showed the players potential routes they could take to and from the estate, and let them loose.

It worked out pretty well! Their hostile and mistrustful natures nearly got the better of them (a loud minority really wanted to counter-ambush the other looters) but they ended up doing a good job tempering their classic TTRPG player greed and bloodlust with pragmatism. The bandits were formidable, armed with much better equipment than the PCs had at this point (mag rifles and an anti-vehicle laser) and attacking from advantageous positions. I'm not entirely sure how the PCs would've fared if one of the looters' rocket launchers hadn't ended up in the hands of a warrior-class PC. But I'm certain they'd have figured something out!

Next: Chapter 9

Monday, February 10, 2025

Flyover Country: Faction Turn 2 & News Roundup

Celistic Concept Art by Maxim Revin

The pace of the first faction turn, with only one day separating each action from the next, worked fine to kick off the campaign but was never going to be sustainable in the long run. It didn't make sense with the game mechanics—Capital Fleets conceivably could bounce around the map going six hexes in a few days—and it would've meant a flood of background news too fast for the players to keep up with. Plus, it was a little too rigid.

My solution: roll a d4 after each faction's move and have that many days pass before the next one. A full faction turn could still conceivably happen in a week, but it could be as long as 24 days, and the average will be 15. It seemed, when I decided on this, that big cycles of astro-political events lasting about two weeks would work well with the pace of play; the PCs could make a whole 10-day interstellar voyage and not arrive at their destination feeling that history had passed them by while they cruised (or hurtled, or howled) through metaspace. As it happened, BQ's superlative piloting skills ended up drastically shortening the PCs' travel times, but this pace has worked nicely nevertheless.

So what's been happening across the Sector while the PCs cut a swath of criminal mayhem and destruction rude behavior and disorderly conduct across the Commonwealth of Free Worlds? (Consult this handy-dandy map as an aide-memoire.)

* * *

I rolled for faction order and my d4-day gaps in between actions for the second turn. The dice decreed that the Morrovian Milieu would act first (followed by a one-day break), then the Commonwealth (plus three days), the New Terran Empire (plus one day), the Aureus Meridian (plus two days), the Kyran Directory (plus three days), and finally Seneschal Systems (plus a four-day break until the beginning of turn three). A 20-day turn, pretty close to the anticipated average.

The Milieu's starting goal was Inside Enemy Territory: “Have a number of stealthed assets on worlds with other planetary governments equal to your Cunning score.” (Their Secretive tag gives all of their assets stealth, so this seemed like a layup.) Accordingly, they choose to use their existing assets' abilities. Their new Harvesters gain them one extra FacCred (on top of their base income of three), and their Freighter Contract comes home to Morrow. They now have three stealthed assets in the Betharan system; when the Commonwealth accomplish their goal of annexing the planet, the Milieu will immediately be 75% of the way toward their own goal. If they buy a fourth asset next turn, they'll have all their ducks in a row—it seems like the leading families of the Milieu are unanimously betting on accommodating themselves to regime change rather than maneuvering to keep Morrow independent.

The Commonwealth draw their substantial income, including a little extra from Party Machines, and pay the burdensome maintenance on their mighty Capital Fleets. They too will use their assets, moving Capital Fleets and Tripwire Cells to Betharan (paying a FacCred for the latter with Extended Theater) and the slower Space Marines to Usil. At the end of the next turn, Morrow will join the Commonwealth, and the Commonwealth will have achieved their faction goal. The players witness these movements firsthand, as Commonwealth warships head toward Morrow and begin establishing a defensive perimeter and intelligence operations, but they get a short news bulletin too:

In regional news, IPBC reports that advance elements of the Commonwealth Militia Navy are on their way to Betharan alongside representatives from the Ministry of External Relations. The task force, led by the battlecruisers Justice and Unity, will assess the security situation in the system and establish a formal embassy with the Pan-Morrovian Government as the process of Morrow's accession to the Commonwealth begins.

Next door to Betharan, in Penrose, the NTE find themselves in a precarious situation. Their Blockade Fleets don't have enough strength to knock out the Meridian's Demagogues, and those Demagogues and the Lawyers working alongside them pose a serious threat to the Fleets. Discretion, the NTE commander decides, is the better part of valor; the Blockade Fleets pull back to Arktos (Postech Industry in Tovuz also delivers an extra FacCred to the faction). These developments are days old at this point in the campaign—the PCs are on Opis, preparing to loot Nana Malik's country house—but because they took place three systems distant, the news is still a couple days away:

The latest development in the Penrose Crisis indicates a temporary lull in the violence, but portends a serious escalation to come: NTE forces have withdrawn from the system, returning to their bases in Arktos. They cite an untenable security situation on Temenos and the hostility of the “puppet regime” on Delphi, claiming that agents of the Meridian have launched an “undeclared war” against the Empire and vowing to respond in kind. Munda and Juma will reportedly move to a war footing, with the Archon promising to bolster the fleet and “root out the terrorists and saboteurs who infest Penrose.”

The Meridian's position in Penrose, by contrast, looks strong; they decide to press their advantage against the NTE, using their Covert Transit Net to move Psychic Assassins from Mondrian to Arktos in pursuit of the retreating Blockade Fleets. The NTE's Pirates faction tag imposes a one-FacCred tax on this movement; presumably, the Meridian's special operatives have arrived incognito via “smugglers and gray-market freighter captains,” but the latter still had to pay the usual fees and duties on whatever their registered cargo was. This, of course, would not seem to be newsworthy.

The Directory are nearly unassailable on their own territory (at least so long as the Commonwealth's Capital Fleets don't get involved), now have overwhelming superiority over Seneschal in Istanu, and even have a pretext for taking action against them—however thin a pretext “their Commodities Brokers tried to get our Lobbyists pushed out of Penrose” might be. They have everything to gain by attacking, and very little to lose…so they attack, and we finally have some real action on this turn. Kyran Venture Capital drops the Seneschal Base of Influence to three hit points, and the Directory's Strike Fleets easily finish it off, destroying the BoI and dealing a punishing 15 points of damage to the Seneschal faction (this brings the Directory one-sixth of the way to their goal).

What does an attack by Venture Capital and Strike Fleets on an undefended BoI look like? There are probably a few different ways to explain it, or at least a few different ways to order the events, but I think what makes the most sense is an all-out economic, legal, and administrative attack on Seneschal's operations and local subsidiaries—a wave of hostile takeovers, essentially—followed by an “anti-terror” campaign to knock out whatever actual (minor) military assets Seneschal had in the system and any locals sympathetic to Seneschal or hostile to their new Kyran overlords. As with events in Penrose, this has already happened by the time the PCs roll out into the hills beyond Sokhna, but the news is a few days away from Usil:

Conflicting stories are emerging from the Istanu system.

Per AKN, a number of Salafaian enterprises heretofore controlled by Khabaran corporations were recently acquired, in a routine and legal manner, by a Magonian venture-capital outfit; upon taking possession of these companies' operations, however, the new owners were reportedly subjected to a campaign of sabotage, intimidation, and terror by Khabaran mercenaries and stay-behind elements of Seneschal's security division. Local forces of the Kyran Armada had no choice but to intervene and disperse these hostile operatives in order to safeguard the life and property of the civilian population. The Directory's highest local authority, Lord Proprietor Ibrahim Smith of Seven Miracles Station, issued a statement condemning the violence. “Cloak-and-dagger operations carried out by private security contractors may be business as usual on Khabara,” he said, “but they will not be tolerated within the Directory's sphere of influence.”

In contrast, Durian News+ reports that the contested acquisitions—a coordinated wave of hostile takeovers—were illegal under Khabaran law; the Magonian “corporate raiders” acted surreptitiously via straw buyers who were not properly registered as agents of a foreign power. In accordance with the law and the directives of their supervisors, the staff of the enterprises in question refused to turn over their assets and operations. Far from being directed at criminals or saboteurs, the intervention by the Kyran Armada was to force the hands of these employees, who were merely fulfilling their duties to their rightful parent companies. The Khabaran Corporate Council decries the “brazen treachery” of the Armada and “repudiates any attempt by the Kyran Directory to extend its so-called sphere of influence into Istanu.”

Seneschal are in a tricky position. The wolves are suddenly at the door, right next to their home system, but their outlying Bases of Influence represent a major liability. Losing either the BoI on Mosylon or the one in Penrose would be fatal, causing the entire faction to collapse. There's nothing to do about Mosylon other than remain on the Commonwealth's good side; it seems improbable that the Directory or any other hostile faction would be able to march all the way across Commonwealth space without meeting lethal resistance. Penrose, though, is a real hornet's nest. If Seneschal pull their Commodities Brokers back to Khabara to shore up the homeworld's defenses, its Penrose BoI is at the mercy of the other factions. The Directory's Lobbyists can't damage it, but what if the Meridian pivot from their skirmish with the NTE to kick Seneschal while they're down?

Seneschal don't have a lot of firepower at home—only the Counterintel Units are even capable of attacking or counterattacking—but they do have a lot of hit points the Kyrans would have to chew through to get at the main BoI, giving Seneschal time to raise more combat units. The company decides to hold its ground in Penrose; rather than launching a preemptive attack on the Meridian, the Commodities Brokers will try again to knock out the Kyran Lobbyists. This time, they succeed handily (this brings Seneschal one-fifth of the way to their goal). This news will arrive several days behind the previous two reports (it actually hasn't even happened yet while the PCs are in Sohkna):

The violence in Penrose has abated, at least for the time being, but the war of words continues. Reversing a position it had defended in official statements just two weeks ago, the Delphean regime abruptly expelled all lobbyists representing Kyran corporations, including representatives of AKHI itself, from Mosa City. Shortly thereafter, Mariam Demir, the Armorers' Company delegate to the Temenoan Guild Council, voted to break the Council's weeks-long deadlock on the same matter: Kyran representatives will no longer be welcome at Council chambers. Spokespersons for Seneschal Systems and the New Terran Empire welcomed this development; the Kyran Directory lodged a protest regarding the “unfair and unequal” treatment of its representatives in comparison to those of Khabaran enterprises, while Eparch Yun Saeed, the Aureus Meridian's highest-ranking cleric on Delphi, blasted the “naked graft” they claim has set these developments in motion.

And that does it for the second faction turn. The third will kick off on the 24th, but the PCs have a bunch of adventuring to do (or I have a bunch to recap, anyway) before we get there.

* * *

Amid all the faction news, I also dropped in some other items. Some were related to the PCs' backstories, some were related to the crew's jobs (or potential future work), and others were just a little set dressing. This one, for instance, which I actually shared while the PCs were still on Morrow, was mostly establishing info to set the scene on Opis, but it also related to events on Morrow and introduced the Commonwealth's legislature to the players (which might soon be relevant, given that they're about to loot an MPA's house):

Opis: PMG has received word that, following the successful evacuation of Faraskur earlier this week, debate in the Popular Assembly has turned once again to the matter of emigration. MPAs from the New Workers' Party and the Opisian Brotherhood have jointly proposed a fixed timetable for evacuating settlements in Red and Orange zones, arguing that a proactive strategy will be safer and ultimately more economical than waiting to respond to catastrophes like the Faraskur ashfall. Representatives from all four independent Rustamese parties and Jewel of Kazina spoke in opposition. Unity Party MPAs have yet not indicated their position. Other topics up for debate in the CPA in recent days have included the annexation of Morrow, in favor of which a consensus seems to be forming, and a formal end to the century-old State of Emergency, with MPAs from various minority parties still bitterly divided about whether the post-Emergency Militia should be reconstituted as a standing military, reduced in size, disbanded entirely, or otherwise.

This one, delivered around the same time, was basically pure fluff:

On Khabara, the Trilune Journal reports that public-relations agencies Zephyr and OSG have released dramatically divergent statements regarding the recent violence in Rio Claro. Zephyr claims that an accident at a Vaalbara Chemicals laboratory led to the release of an experimental gaseous psychoactive agent, driving several hundred Vaalbara employees and otherwise uninvolved civilians temporarily violently insane. OSG counters that the damage to the Vaalbara lab was the result of an attack by operatives from an unidentified PMC, and that most or all of the subsequent civilian casualties in the district were incurred by these mercenaries as they effected their escape from Vaalbara security by laying down a “reckless” volume of suppressive fire. A spokesperson for the KWC Bureau of Investigation promised a swift, unbiased investigation into these claims.

Amid the faction news above came some “Hey, remember that stuff you did a few sessions ago? It's still important!” reminders, plus a reference to an NPC from Mustang's past who might become important to the PCs way, way in the future:

In a public broadcast from their capital, Narawad, the Sylvan government calls on Prince Armand of Konyr to lay down arms. “The recognition of the People's Republic of Konyr by the Provisional Pan-Morrovian Government, and the recent invitation from the Commonwealth for the PPMG to form a permanent federal state and ratify the Commonwealth Charter,” says Narawad, “make it clear that the so-called Principality of Konyr is an illegitimate government, and furthermore that the continuance of the royalist insurrection threatens the stability and long-term prosperity of the entire planet.” The Sylvans invite Armand to abdicate, offer assurances of full amnesty for him and his enlisted troops, and guarantee fair trials to those of his officers accused of crimes and atrocities during the recent fighting. If he does not surrender, they warn, “it may be incumbent on the Republic of Sylva to conduct a police action to disperse the insurrectionists” in advance of the anticipated Pan-Morrovian Constitutional Convention.

In lighter news, from Alzuhr: Mere weeks after the conclusion of their grueling five-planet Avalanche of Annihilation tour, Kingsley is back in the studio working on the follow-up to Interred in Hyperborean Permafrost. Industry watchers hint at conflict in Kingsley's camp, however, with their producers pushing for them to double down on the melodic sound of smash hit “Crypts of Eternal Winter,” whereas the legendarily temperamental artist is reportedly determined to return to the grittier, more challenging sound of earlier albums like Banners on the Horizon and Cimmerian Desolation.

This was all probably a little too much, a little too fast, but I do think the players got a few things out of it, and it's all fun to write (reading these bulletins aloud in an old-timey newscaster voice helps on both counts). Slowing the pace of news alerts in sessions past this point in the campaign has helped them absorb a bit more of the worldbuilding and factional-conflict stuff, I think.

Friday, January 24, 2025

Flyover Country: Chapter 7

"Industrial District 2" by Andreas Rocha

Continued from Chapter 6.

* * *

BQ presents himself to Nobu Stephanidis as a fellow enthusiast of ancient artifacts and alien relics. With quiet intensity, he describes a symbol he saw in his youth on faraway, icebound Ayaz, a mysterious sigil inscribed on otherworldly material, evidence to the youth of the existence of a higher power. He's sought for more signs or remnants of his alien gods ever since—has Stephanidis ever seen such symbols?

He has, in fact—but the crafty old man won't give up valuable information for nothing. Instead, he offers a quid pro quo arrangement: He's planned a heist and needs a crew to carry it out. He'll provide the details, they'll get the goods, and if they bring back a few choice pieces he has his eye on, he'll cut them 20% and give BQ what info he has on his long-sought alien relics—and the PCs can keep whatever else they manage to grab during the operation. Our band of ne'er-do-wells, of course, jumps at the opportunity. The target is on Opis.

* * *

The Commonwealth's capital world is in some respects quite Earth-like; its orbit is at almost exactly 1 AU, its rotational period is close to 24 hours, its year is 376 days with a leap day every fourth year, it is nearly the same size as Earth, and its gravity is more than 80% of standard. The main differences are its star—the subgiant Usil, though it appears nearly six and a half times larger from the surface of Opis than Earth's sun did from our ancestral homeworld, is significantly dimmer—and the climate.

Opis had many qualities that made it an attractive terraforming candidate back in humanity's golden age, but the colonists who first settled it began with a world more like Venus than Earth, wracked by intense volcanism and shrouded in a toxic atmosphere. Undettered, they built enormous pretech terraforming engines to still the planet's seisms and purify its air. Unfortunately, this work was not complete at the time of the Scream. The engines labored on, but the talents and technology needed to maintain them were lost, and over the succeeding centuries, they have failed one after another.

Opis is now experiencing catastrophic climate change in fast forward: a runaway greenhouse effect, terrible storms, and an atmosphere difficult, and often downright dangerous, to breathe. What were forests and meadows mere decades ago are ashfields and deserts today. Crops have failed across most of the surface. Earthquakes and volcanic eruptions have buried entire settlements. All but the hardiest settlers have abandoned the new towns of last century and retreated into the planet's largest, oldest settlements, where overcrowding is now a serious problem.

Nearly all of the vast population (three-quarters of the Commonwealth's billion-plus citizens) is now packed into a few sprawling urban areas: paraterraformed canyons and craters, massive tower blocks sealed against the atmosphere, warrens of subsurface tunnels and chambers. Many industrial and infrastructural spaces underground and in the interiors of massive arcologies are now hived with informal housing and markets. In and around the densely populated cities, the terraforming machinery has been kept functional, or replacements have been jury-rigged, and areas of seismic stability exist. Nothing can prevent storms of dust, sand, and volcanic ash from sweeping across and sometimes into the protected areas, however.

For now, the people endure, but with every passing year, their prospects grow darker. The ever-more-intensive effort to import protein from the Karyatis system is not economically sustainable in the long run; the need to construct and maintain superfreighters, and protect their shipping lanes, is a tremendous burden on the Marjani shipyards and the Commonwealth Militia Navy. But for all its troubles, Opis remains a major center of commerce and industry. Many state-owned enterprises, including GeOpis, ComAtom, and the Interplanetary Public Broadcasting Company, are headquartered here, as are a number of prominent private companies, including Omni Armory, media giant Ad Astra, and Banik Technologies. Offworld businesses, particularly Seneschal Systems, have extensive facilities here, and Mosylon has a massive embassy complex in the city of Anchorpoint.

* * *

Nobu has his eye on a (relatively) smaller city in the southern hemisphere, Sokhna; he wants the crew to loot a country estate nearby. The area, once a pleasant wooded suburb, fell outside the zone of planetary engineering control and is in danger of being utterly destroyed by seismic or volcanic catastrophe, although thus far nothing worse has happened than a firestorm sweeping through the vegetation, some noxious air blowing through the area, and substantial ashfall. A certain ambitious young Member of the Popular Assembly, Nana Malik, was forced, along with other property owners in the area, to abandon her country house; she wasn't there at the time, and lost many objects with great sentimental—and some material—value.

Since nothing catastrophically bad has happened to the house in the months since it was quarantined, she's begun to agitate to be allowed to return and pack up some of her possessions. Although she comes from a wealthy, influential family, she's trying to maintain a squeaky-clean image as a legislator and is unwilling to bend or break the rules to get her things back (as many of her neighbors have done). Stephanidis has taken notice of her efforts, done a little research, and surmised that it's worth an expedition.

The quarantined suburb is adjacent to a restricted area that's closed to unauthorized civilians but remains staffed by security personnel, researchers, and maintenance workers; there's also some traffic through the area as construction and maintenance teams take the highway to still-operational facilities north of Sokhna. Near the city's outskirts, there's a vehicle depot, sheltered in the lee of some mountains, that serves these various purposes.

The crew will need to:

  1. Get to Sokhna.
  2. Find a way to either smuggle weapons and equipment off the ship or acquire gear in the city.
  3. Find a low-key way to get outside the city (nearly all of which is underground) and into the restricted area.
  4. Get their hands on a vehicle to drive out to the estate.
  5. Pick a route that gets them to the Malik estate in reasonable time without exposing them to the security station above the highway to the east.
  6. Defeat the estate's security systems and break in.
  7. Load up the loot and get it back through spaceport security and off the planet somehow.

The house itself—Nobu has a pretty comprehensive trove of images—is a large two-story building with a deck on the ground floor and a wraparound balcony on the second floor; much of the structure, including the central spaces on both floors, is floor-to-ceiling “glass” (actually a very durable transparent polymer) and everything is attractively appointed, with art everywhere. There's also a substantial, much more austere basement about which Nobu has less intel; there are presumably security bots and other expert systems still defending the property.

* * *

The crew blasts off from Rustam early in the morning on the 14th and has an uneventful trip to Usil. Mustang, back in her home system for the first time in years, flirts with trying to reclaim her bygone celebrity; as the ship glides planetward, she posts a brief hello to short-form video app TannTann, then an ASMR cooking video. They touch down at Sokhna Spaceport late on the 17th, having transferred 500 credits to a helpful traffic controller to “expedite approval of their flight plan and landing clearance.”

Batias has tapped his mysteriously wide and deep network of connections to line up a meeting between Roman (presenting himself as the crew's science officer) and Faisal Rao, director of the local GeOpis office. It's nearly midnight by local time, but Rao is still at his office, so the crew heads straight there as soon as they're through starport security. Rao tries to bargain hard, but he doesn't have the best poker face—it's obvious he badly he wants what the PCs have. Centuries of climatic, seismic, and geomagnetic data from a pre-Scream facility monitoring the stability of a terraformed planet's environment, and the computer systems that produced and crunched that data? It could—as Dr. Lei's endorsement suggests, Roman points out—lead to a breakthrough in arresting the ongoing terraforming failure that threatens Opis.

Rao puts his cards on the table: The absolute limit of what he could authorize in payment on short notice would be 272,000 credits, and that would represent his department's entire budget for the year; he needs to hold on to a few thousand credits to cover expenses until the central office can reimburse him. The PCs aren't likely to get more than 270,000 credits anywhere—not without a lot of waiting and bureaucratic wrangling, at least—and maybe he can sweeten the deal for them with some in-kind assistance. Do they need access to a ground vehicle? Are there any…legal snafus he could help them smooth over?

Why yes, Roman says, there certainly are. If Rao could take them on as contractors and put together some paperwork that would allow them to move a few crates off their ship in the guise of sensitive survey equipment, and a few more crates back onto the ship in the guise of sensitive geological samples—no scans of any of this sensitive stuff permitted, please—they'd be much obliged. And they'll definitely take the ground vehicle, too. “Say no more,” says Rao. “Please.”

Mustang has backed up the data to the ship's computers, but the PCs agree to give Rao exclusive license to it for the next two years. (After that, maybe they'll take it to Munda and see if there's a buyer there too.) Handshakes all around. The deal is done, and the path to Nana Malik's estate looks a great deal clearer.

The PCs go shopping for equipment (pressure masks and outerwear for the noxious Opisian weather) and provisions (a couple cases of wine, a big jar of krill-encrusted peanuts) and debate when to launch the heist. Several of them have other business they'd like to attend to in Sokhna: Sarai and Mustang want to look up old friends; Krissa hopes to find a trained telekinetic who can teach her some exercises to help her master her fledging powers in that discipline, and her discomfort with using them. If the job goes sideways, they won't have time to do any of this while making their getaway.

But Stephanidis has stressed that time is of the essence—Malik's public statements about the valuables she left in an empty house in a deserted area will no doubt have drawn other looters and scavengers. They decide to return to the ship, assemble their gear, and prepare to roll out at dawn. Rao will have an ATV transport and secure, properly documented crates waiting for them. Early on the 18th, they set forth.

Next: Faction Turn 2 & News Roundup and Chapter 8

Saturday, December 21, 2024

Flyover Country: Chapter 6

"Exodus" by Sparth
 

Continued, incredibly belatedly, from Chapter 5. It's a good thing our campaign moves slowly, because I am way behind on this! Thank goodness for my semi-decent note taking.

* * *

Having extorted a thousand credits from poor bewildered Orlando Ilunga and decided not to throw him to the Najeeb-syndicate wolves, at least for the time being, the crew hastily fills Quora's hold with cargo (more on that later), blasts off from Freeport, and heads out of the Betharan system for the first time ever. Transit downtime means opportunities to study the data they pulled from the terraforming facility (Mustang identifies all the sites on Morrow climatically likely to grow delicious truffles), the culinary arts (Sarai potters around in the galley), and each other (we learn that Roman has siblings; we learn absolutely nothing else about them or him). Orlando they leave stewing in his bunk (there are six on the ship and BQ has opted to eschew the use of one, preferring to sleep in the pilot's seat).

Quora arrives in Marquez, the outermost system in the Commonwealth of Free Worlds, around midday on the 11th. An encrypted message from Leila Pak awaits the crew. She explains the terms of their ship lease, their working relationship with ValuDyne, their company's merchant license (including that they're not bonded for travel outside of hazard level-0 and level-1 regions, as defined by the Commonwealth Ministry of Public Safety), and her expectations regarding the crew's availability for intelligence-gathering tasks; she also directs them to her office in the city of Satu Mare on the planet Rustam. Her tone is chipper, and she's clearly excited about the opportunity to meet the crew in person (especially Mustang). She's arranged transit and landing permits and a berth in Satu Mare.

Even with all their figurative paperwork sorted out by IRIS, the process of entering the Commonwealth and going through customs is time-consuming; traffic is heavy, and several ships are in the queue ahead of them. They are routed to Sarkar Station, where a punctilious customs officer logs the ship's registration, business, flight plan, crew and passengers, and cargo (confirmed with a scan). As they wend their way through Commonwealth bureaucracy, news arrives from Betharan with the next several ships to drill into Marquez: Gang warfare in the Collines, a scandal in the Najeeb organization, a territorial push by the Bautistas, and so forth. Nothing about the PCs, Manny, or Orlando, at least not by name.

Once they're clear of Sarkar, with their flight path down to Satu Mare preapproved thanks to Leila, things speed up, and by the afternoon of the 12th, they've made planetfall. More news—of the latest turns in the emerging Penrose Crisis—reaches them shortly before they set down.

* * *

Together with Gombad, Marjan, and Opis, Rustam is one of the four signatory worlds of the Commonwealth Charter. It's the most Earth-like of the four, but that it's saying much; it isn't nearly as lush as Morrow. Rustam's seasons are harsh, water is scarce away from the shallow equatorial seas, and agriculture is a challenge. Large stretches of the planet are covered in steppe grasses rooted shallowly in weak soil; elsewhere, bare desert prevails.

Still, the air is breathable and, with irrigation, crops can be grown throughout the lower latitudes. Consequently, and in stark contrast to the other three major Commonwealth worlds, Rustam's population is widely dispersed; whereas nearly all of the population of Gombad, Marjan, and Opis is concentrated in a handful of densely populated urban areas, and the largest settlement on each is home to tens of millions, Rustam has hundreds of settlements, the largest of which are home to only a few million people each. Being less dependent on the state for the most basic of necessities has given rise to an independent, somewhat recalcitrant character among the Rustamese people.

Whereas Gombad, Marjan, and Opis bring the Commonwealth material advantages, particularly production capacity (food and medical technology; starships and astronautic equipment; and arms, tools, and consumer goods, respectively), Rustam's contributions have always been less tangible. The planet is a center of academic and cultural power, home to the Commonwealth's finest universities and some of its most popular entertainers. Tradition holds that, in the days before the Scream, Rustam was the administrative capital of the fledgling Sector.

Animal husbandry is better established here than plant agriculture. The Rustamese taste for red meat is seen as something of a cultural oddity on the other Commonwealth worlds (some Marjanis do raise goats and sheep, but eat their meat sparingly). Some wheat is cultivated, as are grapes; bread is another Rustamese peculiarity, but wine is a significant export.

* * *

The crew's first order of business in Satu Mare is to meet Leila, receive codebooks and other spycraft materials (encryption keys, manuals, etc.) from her, and get briefed on several situations IRIS would appreciate a low-profile look into:

  • The Rustamese livestock company Enderlein & Sons has long been rumored to be hiding a huge hoard of pretech from the authorities. Probably baseless, says Leila, but do put some feelers out while you're planetside, see if anybody bites on the wares you're offering. Could be a straw buyer for Enderlein, or somebody who has or can establish a connection to Enderlein's pretech operations, if they exist.
  • Pretech cultists are always a nuisance on Marjan, but they mostly confine their activities to scrabbling around in the dirt planetside. There seems to have been some infiltration of the workforce at the Marjani Arsenal's orbital works lately; could be nothing, could be they're making some kind of move. Leila wants them to put out feelers there too, and make it known that they'd be interested in buying as well as selling (ship parts, weapons).
  • Rustamese separatists are plotting to bomb government offices at Port Kyungu. Leila doesn't need the crew to do anything about it, just a heads up.
  • Foxglove Pharmaceuticals is a Gombad-based company owned by Perez-Enciso Capital Management (PECM). There are reports that they're using a secret lab on the PECM-owned station above Morrow, Lopez Ring, to conduct illegal experiments. The first of the aforementioned cargoes the crew took on in Freeport are plants grown on Morrow that provide raw materials for drugmaking (daffodils, poppies, borage, echium, etc.). Leila asks the crew to shop the drug components around, see if anybody from Foxglove bites and whether they can make any kind of connections to supply their operations on Lopez on their way back to Betharan later.

There are protests going on all over Satu Mare; Leila explains that there are always protests going on somewhere in pretty much any Rustamese city—the Rustamese love protesting, marching, going on strike, occasionally rioting—but this is an unusually intense period. There's a “Day of Indignation”: protests against the anticipated annexation of Morrow, against the draft, in favor of at least two different separatist movements, against the Orthodox Church, against PECM, and related to some relatively minor local issues, like working conditions at local universities. Mostly a unified expression of displeasure with the Commonwealth and other institutions, but there are some major fault lines among the protestors. Nothing to worry about, just be aware and stay alert.

When it's the PCs' turn to ask Leila questions, BQ pipes up. He knows of a trafficker in antiquities who operates from Rustam, somebody who might be able to give the crew a lead toward alien ruins or interesting artifacts—a fellow by the name of Nobu Stephanidis. Can Leila direct them to him?

She can. He's 16 hours away by high-speed rail, though, in the city of Porto Seguro; if the crew wants to fly rather than take a train, a similar amount of time or longer will be taken up by filing flight plans, securing landing permits, and whatnot. (They'll take the train.)

At this point, the crew splits up, with Sarai leading one group to arrange some commodity transactions (including a successful sale of those drug precursors they bought on Morrow—they make a tidy 10k credit profit—and the purchase of some ludicrously expensive wine, a bottle of which Batias promptly steals) while Roman and the others take the tram out to Satu Mare National University of Engineering (SMNU). Among the commodity brokers, Sarai connects with a man by the name of Danus Ragar, who might be able to find them a job shipping something to Lopez Ring on their return to Morrow. Roman, meanwhile, has an in at SMNU with Dr. Abdul Lei, a geoengineering professor who's able to offer them some potential leads on selling their pretech stuff and their terraforming data.

SMNU isn't the only institute of higher education in Satu Mare, though, and the whole crew soon reconvenes at another: Philip Asuni College of Science and Technology (PACST). Here, Roman is on a personal vendetta against a scientific rival (i.e., he wants to yell at somebody who wrote a journal article he thinks was stupid), but Sarai is still wheeling and dealing.

* * *

The second item the crew loaded in Freeport? A hundred pallets of Hoop Cola.

See, Sarai (whose player took the Henchkeeper focus) is always on the lookout for lost souls and hard-luck cases she might bring into her orbit. She met Hoop Barrett in a karaoke bar in Freeport; he was drinking away his sorrows after the business venture he poured his heart, soul, and life's savings into—the eponymous Hoop Cola, a carbonated beverage flavored with gentian root extract—was ruined when a larger competitor flooded the market with a cheaper alternative. Sarai is also always on the lookout for business deals, of course, and the opportunity to score a whole warehouse full of high-quality knockoff Moxie was too good for her to pass up.

And now it's time for that wise investment to pay off. Gentian-root soft drinks may be old hat on Morrow, but on Rustam? An exotic luxury import. The crew laid the groundwork for Hoop Cola's conquest of the Commonwealth at the Satu Mare spaceport, luring several security guards into an impromptu sharpshooting competition with Mustang, passing out free Hoop Colas to the spectators and awarding a case of the stuff to the runner-up and a whole pallet to the winner. The town is abuzz.

Now Sarai switches tacks. An exotic luxury import? Why not a performance-enhancing sports drink? While Roman is berating poor Dr. Isabel Johar in the biochemistry department, Sarai buttonholes PACST's athletic director and spins some nonsense about the curative properties of gentian root and Hoop Cola's proprietary blend of high-quality electrolytes. She secures a contract: 150 credits per one-ton pallet for the entire cargo, with a standing resupply contract at 125 per ton. Now she just needs a local liaison. She recruits another lost soul—Jenny Beck, an unhappy PACST engineering student on the verge of dropping out—and puts her to work as Hoop Cola's Satu Mare brand rep.

* * *

Next, it's off to Porto Seguro. After snoozing on the train while the dun plains of Rustam whip by outside, the crew splits up again. Sarai goes shopping for trade goods. Roman, troubled by a guilty conscience over the death of Donald Nunes, mulls over the possibility of establishing a Donald Nunes Memorial Track and Field Scholarship via their new contacts at PACST, and in the meanwhile decides to take Orlando under his wing and teach their not-quite-a-prisoner the rudiments of university-level chemistry.

Batias and Krissa follow their unerring instinct for trouble to a gun shop where, in a dark back room, the proprietor sells Batias a black-market thermal pistol, which Batias immediately uses to menace said shopkeeper. They wander around outside looking for food, try taking combat stims for fun (a half-dose each), smash the empty bottle of ludicrously expensive wine Batias has been toting around all day, and get scolded by a couple of public security officers, who issue each of them a 10-credit citation for littering and public nuisance. Batias vows never to pay.

Mustang and BQ head off to meet Nobu, who turns out to be a gruff and very cagey old man who's loath to give up any information without a quid pro quo. He does, however, have some work the crew might do to get in his good graces, if they happen to be on their way to Opis…

Next: Chapter 7

Tuesday, June 11, 2024

Flyover Country: Aliens

From "Creatures" by Giorgio Grecu

With my players soon to meet semi-important alien NPCs for the first time, it occurred to me that I should probably provide them with a little more info than the cursory sketches I gave them months ago. At least some of the characters know a decent amount about the common alien species—shouldn't their players? And then I thought, hey, I should just throw this up on the blog. Somebody will find it useful, probably!

Please do whatever you want with these guys. They were created with the tools in the SWN rulebook (p. 202 in the revised edition), and although they've got some SWN-specific elements to them (e.g., histories involving the Scream), as well as a very few elements specific to my campaign, they should be suitable, without much need for adaptation, to any game or setting that has psionics. They do all presuppose a setting where humans are the dominant species, though.

If you do use them in SWN, I've thrown in some not-yet-playtested origin foci for using them as PCs. That stuff would probably be a little trickier to adapt to other systems.

* * *

BETAAL

The betaal (also known as "arbusculae," singular "arbuscula," or "arbos"/"arbo" for short) construct much of their "bodies" from inert foreign matter, which they bind together with sturdy elements of the pseudomycorrhizal network that is their main organic component. Even more than other complex macroorganisms, the betaal test human ideas of what an individual organism or being is; each betaal is composed of multiple species of tiny, mutually interdependent plant- and fungus-like organisms that, entwined with each other and a found armature, form a humanoid being with a keen distributed intelligence.

The name "betaal" comes from Bengali and, like several other human names for these beings, derives from folklore about a supernatural creature capable of animating or inhabiting dead bodies; the humans who first encountered them saw shambling, rotting-looking forms emerge from organic detritus or the earth itself and associated them with legends of the walking dead; in some cases, it seems, betaal had used human bones, even entire skeletons, to form their armatures. In isolated human communities, superstitions associating betaal with the risen dead persist, but elsewhere newer prejudices prevail: the long-lived, slow-acting aliens are often derided as lazy, stupid, or both. They do spend a great time of time seemingly torpid, photosynthesizing or drawing nutrients from soil, water, and air, but they can be energetic, industrious, and downright willful when motivated. They are inclined to quarrelsome democracy and resent impositions on their liberties, particularly their freedom of movement.

The betaal are effectively hermaphroditic, and capable of sexual or asexual reproduction. They can, given time, energy, and inclination, shape themselves into nearly any roughly human-sized form, but once fully grown, cannot radically change that form without time and great difficulty. (They can, however, redistribute some of their "muscle" fibers to trade strength for dexterity or metabolism for mental processing power.) Those who live among humans (which is probably the substantial majority in the Sector) tend to take human-like form for ease and comfort of interaction with humans and in order to make convenient use of human tools, architecture, vehicles, and so forth. Nearly all incorporate into their anatomy structures that can produce human speech, which they render with a pleasant musicality, and most use Mandate or other human languages to communicate even among themselves. There are no consistent naming conventions among the betaal; they seem equally apt to take traditional human names, call themselves by flattering adjectives (e.g., Lucky, Winsome, or Roborant), or coin entirely novel words to name themselves.

Whether all betaal are constitutionally peripatetic or the scattered population encountered in the Sector represent the descendants of a self-selecting, adventurous minority is unclear. There are no betaal colonies of note in the Sector, and little in the way of advanced technology of their own manufacture (mostly heirlooms passed down from ancestors who traveled, almost certainly before the Scream, from the betaal homeworld or homeworlds). Today, betaal in the Sector are happy using human technology and working to advance science along human lines. A few very old wrecked betaal starships have been encountered; it seems that their equivalent of spike-drive travel depended on psionic training that was lost in the Scream. It is probable that most betaal ships were largely or entirely disassembled and incorporated into the "skeletons" of their crews' and passengers' offspring; this was apparently an intended aspect of their design.

Betaal PCs: Innate Ability (this character can draw food and water directly from air and soil), Flexible Attributes (once per day, this character can spend fifteen minutes redistributing their body fibers, gaining +1 to any one attribute bonus with a base value of +1 or less and losing -1 from any one attribute modifier with a base value of -1 or greater; the effect lasts until they next use this ability), and Tough (whenever this character rolls their hit dice to determine their maximum hit points, the first die they roll automatically counts as the maximum, and further hit dice that roll a 1 are rerolled)

* * *

CHUFYU

Unlike the other common alien species in the Sector, these reptile-like humanoids have speech organs that lend themselves readily to human languages, and their own languages are fairly easy for humans to grasp. Consequently, they alone are commonly known by an endonym: chufyu ("chafyu" in some dialects). Some Mandate speakers also call them "specks" or "palmers"; they often refer to themselves, when speaking Mandate or other human languages, as "sevomenoi" (singular "sevomenos," adjective "sevomeninos"), a Greek word, gleaned from their research into human theology and religious history, which they deem to be the best translation of "chufyu."

Chufyu tend, compared to other aliens in the Sector, to be well-received in human communities; although they are often seen as busybodies and nuisances, they are also stereotyped (not incorrectly) as friendly, cheerful, and charitable. Inveterate travelers, tinkerers, and hobbyists, they produce a broad range of artwork and handicrafts, which they trade liberally or simply bestow on human friends as gifts; most chufyu consider it a terrible vice to amass goods beyond what one can comfortably travel with.

Physically, chufyu are bipeds with colubrine heads, retractable membrane frills at their necks, and an exceptional sense of smell, but—especially compared to other aliens encountered in the Sector—broadly humanoid features: two eyes, two ears, two nostrils, a big toothy mouth, two arms with opposable thumbs, and only the stub of a tail. Some humans find them to have a pleasant, faintly lemony odor. They daub paint on their bodies in elaborate, albeit monochromatic, patterns (particularly prominent on their faces and arms, as these are often the only parts exposed) and on their armor, if and when they wear it. Their everyday clothing, which tends toward flowing robes, is richly patterned and brightly colored. Talented mimics, they nearly all speak, and most have also learned to read, Mandate. Many have mastered multiple human languages; old scriptural languages like Arabic, Hebrew, Greek, and Sanskrit are particularly appealing to them.

Their society is organized into "families," although the members of these small communities, ranging in size from several dozen to several thousand individuals (a typical family has several hundred members), are not all biologically related. Each family has a single leader; these latter are sometimes identified by humans as "teachers" or "gurus," although chufyu invariably describe them as "catechists." Religion, or something very much like what humans understand as religion, is all-important to the chufyu, but the practice of their faith is nearly impenetrable to outsiders, an ever-shifting journey through different rituals, prayers, and theological concepts.

Interchange of ideas and even members among different communities is common, and they have shown an almost overbearing interest in human religion, particularly in its thorniest, most complex aspects. Christian theological subjects, particularly Orthodox concepts of the Trinity, are objects of fascination for many chufyu communities. Some chufyu take human names, often from Abrahamic faith traditions (e.g., Fatima, Isaiah, and Paul), but they generally go by appellations from their own languages, which tend to be reasonably easy for humans to pronounce (e.g., Aksu, Ensa, Sib, and Unwob).

Chufyu PCs: Innate Ability (this character can track a scent as well as a trained hound and can mimic most sounds passably well; give them one extra language at character creation) and Unusual Movement Mode (this character can climb sheer walls, as long as they're not unusually smooth or slick)

SHANBEI

The shanbei—also known, somewhat derogatorily, as "flatheads" among Mandate speakers ("shanbei" is from the Chinese 扇贝, "scallop," but is not considered offensive)—are a species difficult to fit into a human taxonomy of life. They could be described as an exotic hybrid of insectile, avian, and vegetal features. Lichen-like colonies of cyanobacteria and fungi analogs mottle their carapaces; these symbiotes, which give the otherwise nondimorphic shanbei pronounced male/female color differences, help them synthesize essential nutrients. Because the symbiote colonies are hydrophilic, they don't handle arid conditions well, and this includes most offworld environments; shanbei tend to stick to humid regions on planetary surfaces, or to orbital habitats specially calibrated to suit them.

Shanbei have large, dish-like heads, with eyes in a ventral line from the rim of the dish down toward their mouthparts. They have long, digitigrade legs, spindly but muscular, that sprout from the bottom rear of a small torso which also sockets two large, strong arms and two small, dexterous ones. Although they cannot come close to approximating human speech, and humans similarly find their burbling and chittering vocalizations impossible to imitate, those who live among humans achieve understanding of the latter's languages, and those humans who have made the effort to learn shanbei speech have found most dialects reasonably easy to grasp with practice; the phonology is totally alien, but the structure surprisingly akin to that of human languages.

Shanbei society, before the Scream, was monarchic (with one queen per colony and one colony per planet, as far as is known today). They were an old civilization, but not an aggressive one, spreading through space at a stately, measured pace, putting each of their worlds in perfect order before embarking on the enormous project of establishing a new colony. Each colony was a complex and highly stratified society, with slight local variations on a great number of different castes, generally including breeder–workers, warriors, scholars, priests, rulers, and stewards. Several of these castes, most crucially the stewards, were psionically active; the stewards guided the reproduction of the colony. All castes, despite being physically dramatically distinct from one another, were genetically identical; their drastically different phenotypes were epigenetic expressions triggered psionically during gestation.

The Scream wiped out the psychic castes, including the stewards, and without their intervention, no castes other than breeder–workers can be reproduced. These sophonts, genetically engineered millennia ago for an inclination to be obedient, cooperative, hardworking, and nonviolent, have felt, ever since being separated from their queens by the Scream, unprotected, exposed, and acutely at risk. Groups of them tend to seek out the protection of strong human patrons (like regional or even planetary governments) and then form insular communities fiercely loyal to those patrons. Individual shanbei, or very small groups, may attach themselves to lower-level leaders, like a village chief, a criminal boss, or a ship's captain, and assimilate more fully into human society. Their names, translated into Mandate for the convenience of their interlocutors, are usually images from nature, especially the sea, often with colors appended, e.g., Red Cloud, Snag, Yellow Blossom, Green Wave, and Boulder.

Shanbei PCs: Environmental Native (this character is able to survive underwater), Natural Defenses (this character has a base Armor Class of 15 plus half their character level, rounded up), and Useful Immunity (this character is immune to atmospheric toxins/contaminants)

* * *

SHIFAR

The builders of the enigmatic ruins on Oriflamme, Barham, and Neith, still present throughout the Sector in small numbers, are most widely known as the shifar (an exonym probably derived from the Arabic "shafr," "shifr," or "shfar"—"blade," "cipher," or "steal")—singular "shifari" or "shifri." They are also called, in Mandate, "shivs" or "shivers." They belong to an intricately stratified oligarchic society whose inner workings are opaque to non-shifar; no living human has seen an active, inhabited shifari community, and few have even been aboard a shifari starship or station.

A labyrinth of social strictures governs shifari interactions with superiors, subordinates, peers, outsiders, and so forth; even their language takes remarkably different forms in different settings. It is complex to the point of being incomprehensible to humans, and its phonology impossible for humans to imitate besides; shifar vocalize not with their mouth-parts but by rubbing speech organs together, like certain Earth-origin insects. By contrast, shifar can reproduce human vocalizations well enough to make themselves understood by native speakers. In their limited dealings with humans, the shifar usually identify themselves with Mandate monikers that seem to be literal translations of shifari names or honorifics, e.g., Braves-the-Flame, Lambent Spear, Sword of Wisdom, and Guards-the-Hearth.

Maneuvers for social standing among the shifar are long, careful, and subtle; they quietly catalog innumerable minute dishonors, breaches of trust, and faux pas committed by their rivals and then compile them into cases brought before a court of honor. Such cases are usually (but not always) settled by a duel, usually (but not always) between the principals, with the defendant hobbled by some set of handicaps or impediments decided upon by the arbiters of the case.

Shifari bodies are very roughly human-shaped, but trilateral: three legs rooted at the base of the torso and three long arms (120 degrees apart) socketed in a rounded but roughly hexagonal clavicle-like bone below the head. The head is somewhat insectoid, and does not feature trilateral symmetry; instead, all three eyes (one very large and central, two about half its size to the sides) are contiguous, define the alien's face, and give it the excellent vision of an apex predator, with substantial peripheral awareness to boot. Shifar can turn their heads more than 180 degrees, but they do not rotate entirely freely; this and several other subtle anatomical features (the forearm, for instance, is slightly shorter than the rear ones) indicate a front side. Most of their exposed parts are composed of dark-green (or gray-green, or greenish-brown) chitin; more vulnerable areas, and their innards, are very pale. Their blood is bright yellow. Their eyes are luminous and iridescent, shimmering with a range of blues, violets, and pinks.

The shifar are rarely seen without weapons, and tend to carry two at a time, frequently a halberd-like blade with two hands and a pistol-like ranged weapon with the third, or a rifle-like weapon with two and a short sword with the third. They usually use their forearm for fine manipulation. Tools and weapons are, to a degree, interchangeable between humans and shifar, although the latter, with their more flexible arms, tend to have an easier time of it.

The shifar commonly encountered in the Sector have access to technology commensurate with that of the most advanced human organizations, but there is evidence that the "higher" shifar have even more advanced technology. Their typical armor is dark and form-fitting, with a bulbous, translucent helmet onto the interior surface of which a HUD is projected. Broad-"shouldered" tunic-like garments with structural ribbing and intricate draping are their typical clothing, at least among starship crews. High-ranking officers wear a rigid headpiece that creates a halo-like effect when seen from the front.

Shifari architecture, encountered only as centuries-old ruins by humans, features helical towers and pillars, triangular buttresses joined by arched concavities, elaborate wall carvings, and enclosed courtyards; these structures make extensive use of stone, chitin, and coral-like bone. Elements grouped into threes or nines are common; tessellating triangular tiles are ubiquitous floor features, and many buildings feature a nonagonal nave where an 80-degree entrance hall meets three 40-degree transepts.

Shifari PCs: Origin Skill (this character receives their choice of Shoot or Stab as a bonus skill) and Strong Attribute (this character gains a +1 bonus to their Dexterity modifier, up to a maximum of +3)

* * *

VRONS

The vrons ("vrone" or "vrona" to linguistic purists—the name is derived from a Slavic language, probably Russian—but "vrons," singular "vron," to most Mandate speakers) are an ancient species of psychically sensitive cyborgs. They prize the life of the mind, the pursuit of knowledge, and intellectual self-improvement, but fear and loathe, with an intensity hard for most humans to fathom, the violation of the mind's autonomy. Nothing, to a vron, is more repulsive, dangerous, or loathsome than a telepath, and many vrons take a dim (bordering on murderous) view of all psychics.

Physically, no two adult vrons are much alike—their biomechanical self-modification is expressed in highly individualized ways—but all share some general characteristics. They are bipeds slightly taller than humans, on average, with broad shoulders and strong necks supporting large Y-shaped heads that jut forward somewhat from their torsos (the upper lobes' backward tilt keeps the head's overall center of gravity above the body's middle point). A vron's organic body features two arms and the vestigial stump of a tail; most maintain these features, although some add extra limbs and some remove the stump, redistributing weight elsewhere. All are born in vitro.

Vrons in the Sector tend to speak a wide variety of human languages, prizing linguistic mastery as a worthy intellectual pursuit (and being aided by synthetic memory and translation aids). The vocalizers they employ can mimic nearly any accent flawlessly, but by a quirk of history and vron psychology, many older vrons (the vast majority of their kind) find that a light Slavic accent sounds most authentically "like them"; the first human languages they encountered and mastered were Slavic, and the habit has stuck. Even some younger vrons have picked up on this peculiarity, especially in their pronunciation of Mandate.

Although the typical vron, even "naked," has few exposed organic elements, many of their mechanical components are fragile or otherwise vulnerable to damage; exposed wires, tubes, and valves are not uncommon. For this reason, and as a matter of custom, vrons strongly prefer outerwear that protects all, or almost all, of their body. Those who cannot secure a deflector array or FEP often favor elaborate powered exoskeletons that can interface with their mechanical components; these can be noisy and energy-hungry, and are almost always bulky, complicating the vron's ability to move discreetly or even maneuver in enclosed spaces. The ornamentation vrons favor looks subtle to the point of dullness to most human eyes; their armor is usually matte metal with faint but intricate patterns etched into it, and their garments thick, dark, heavy robes with minute but tremendously complex patterns woven into the fabric.

No vron is psychic or even partially psychic in human terms, but all have what might be considered a wild metapsionic talent—they can instinctively, like a trained human metapsion, visually and audibly detect the use of psychic powers in their vicinity, and can often recognize the source. They are also naturally resistant, themselves, to psychic powers, a talent which some vrons have managed to refine or augment to a significant extent, particularly in defense against telepathy.

The vron yen for intellectual achievement takes a psychological toll; those who fail to live up to their own standards of sagacity fall into terminal depression, and even those who have some modest accomplishments to speak of are often eccentric and troubled. In point of fact, though, the vast majority of vrons do wield unusually keen intellects, even if they can bring them to bear only in some narrow niche. Many are experts in engineering or applied sciences; the stereotype of the vron as a mad-genius cyberneticist has its roots in fact.

Vrons will readily accept the authority of their fellows (and even humans or other aliens) if they recognize them as intellectual superiors, and will work cooperatively with those they consider to be their peers. Those they see as inferiors, however, they usually regard imperiously, expecting unthinking obedience and often raging at what they see as recalcitrance or insubordination. Their criteria for these categories—superior, peer, and inferior—can be inscrutable to outsiders. Although some especially flexible corporate and military organizations manage to make use of vrons' talents, most find them difficult to fit into any hierarchy other than an intellectual one of their own devising.

Vrons left biological sex behind many centuries ago; they are decanted as sexless individuals and construct much of their own physiology themselves as they grow up. Their ancestors, however, exhibited moderate sexual dimorphism, with females generally larger and stronger and males more colorful. Contemporary vron attitudes toward gender can be divided into three camps of roughly equal and size and influence: those who identify as female, those who identify as non-binary but recognize gender among others, and those entirely indifferent to gender not only among vrons but among all species. Many of the former two groups, particularly the first, regard the male gender in other species as an embarrassing atavism.

Almost no vron, perhaps none at all, identify as male, but they do confound humans by frequently choosing names and synthetic voices that read as male to human acquaintances. Whatever names vrons have among their own kind, they typically identify themselves to humans with aspirational names drawn from human history or mythology. Russian tsars; famous generals, philosophers, and scientists; figures from Slavic folklore; and Greco-Roman deities are all popular choices, e.g., Ivan, Napoleon, Plato, Volta, Koschei, and Hyperion.

Vron PCs: Origin Skill (this character receives their choice of Fix, Know, or Program as a bonus skill) and Wild Talent (this character has an ability equivalent to the level-0 core metapsionic technique, Psychic Refinement: they can visually and audibly detect the use of psychic powers; if both the source and target are visible to them, they can tell who’s using the power, even if it’s normally imperceptible; and they gain a +2 bonus on any saving throw versus a psionic power)

Housekeeping