Megan Space: The Treasure Hunters of Mega

It was early morning in Adella, the capital of Mega, and the Buck Rogers spaceport was bustling with activity. There were no less than three starliners in orbit that day; their size could be judged by that of their landed shuttles: big bulky things that could barely take off a planet. A constant stream of people flowed from them and huddled on the rolling sidewalks that would carry them through the customs.

There were people from all over the Megan Space in that crowd. Here, a radical Cyblan walked stiffly in his exoskeleton. There, a Tsheia nobleman paraded his gorgeously ornated uniform. A Caino, almost twice as tall as anyone else, delicately balanced a ceremonial spear that must have weighted a hundred kilograms. A bunch of insect-like Unaani scuttled around his feet to get in front. And everywhere else there were humans, Mythians, Kinac... any species who could get around on Mega without a spacesuit. Which was most of them.

Somewhat further afield, a single passenger disembarked from a small private starship. He looked very much like a stereotypical mad scientist; but at least he had the common sense to wear a blade-proof coat (and, one could hope, a bullet-proof vest underneath). It was a sure sign he traveled a lot, and not just in civilized places.

For a long moment he stood there surveying the landscape, while the wind played with his white unruly hair. Then he shouldered a small, floppy bag and started towards the customs gate at a brisk pace.

***Time to introduce your characters. See Megan Space for details about the setting. Natually, I'm available for details and clarifications.***



Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 11/28/2008 08:23AM by Shadow.

** English version **

Asherio looked around rather nervous, his ears moving rather wild and his tail dancing around in a rythm that could hardly be controlled by the young Tsheia.
He hadn't slept for almost two days, and things couldn't be worse. His trouble started at the very moment when he had moved to this planet (which was the dream of any hi-tech lover to be among such many innovations from the known worlds).

But this came with a certain price. Unfortunately, his last boss proved to be a rather unscrupulous person. Not only that he had exploited him and payed him with a low wage, but he also took advantage of the fact that many people were not familiar with the specific troubles of the feline race.
Asherio was raised amnog humans since he was a small child (to be more precise, among a small group of physicians from the Earthree constelation), but his rank among his compatriots Tsheia was rather unclear, since they could treat him as either a humans' slave (therefore he would be seen worth less than even a crushed bug) or as a fugitive rebel (a status which was even worse than being a slave since it would assume that any other Tsheia was given the right to kill him on sight without any further notice).

So, his last boss (some obscure guy named Mutton) used this whole situation to get some leverage and made Asherio's life a living hell. He got some advantage from the fact that he used to know people among the local administration, people that were affiliated to the Tsheia nobility and he had tried to treat the young man exactly like you would treat a slave (this thing would not have been so unusual in itself, since he used to treat all his employees exactly the same way, however it was a rather unorthodox blackmail in this case).

Normally, in a society like the Megan one these kind of things should not have raised any problems to any regular citizen. Unfortunately it was not the same thing when it came to Tsheia traditionalists, who would put their ethical and racial issues above any other law. There was a major risk for one to be put on the "black list" and be hunted for the rest of his or her life.

Asherio did posses papers that were proving he was a "free" citizen. Unfortunately, the written prove of this was well hidden by Mutton, and since Asherio had left his job in a hurry without announcing anyone, he suspected his boss had already marked his as a "fugitive" for his deed. That in itself was no big deal, as I said before, but unfortunately we are talking about Tsheia here. Until some other identity paper would arrive from his home planet (or should we say foster planet, where he was raised by the researchers' group who had set him free) he was sitting duck for any fanatical traditionalist. And generally speaking, it was rather hard to find any Tsheia who was not a fanatic.

His luck in Adella came with the fact that he was dressed in his rather used technician jumpsuit and that he was carrying around his "tool bag" which made him rather unspicuous for his kind, who were probably considerring him a slave in that disguise. Unfortunately, once Mutton would give the alarm about the fact that there was a "fugitive on the run" things would turn rather ugly.

He could find another job rather easily - anyone needed a good technician or a man skilled in many ways who could repair your "proto-watch" or your personal home robot. Unfortunately, the Tsheia chasers were not a bunch to be fooled around by hiding in some basement. He could find himself stabbed in his back without any given warning - the felines had some of the most redutable "shadow assasins".

So, he had no choice but to run to the Buck Rogers astroport hoping he would find a way out on a ship that was good to go, since this planet had become a "hot spot" for him.

** Romanian version - deprecated **

Asherio se uita nervos in jur, urechile i se miscau nelinistite iar coada de felina ii dansa in mai toate directiile, intr-un ritm ce nu parea a fi controlat de catre tanarul Tsheia.
Nu dormise de aproape doua zile, iar lucrurile nu aratau prea roz. Problemele sale incepusera din momentul in care se mutase pe aceasta planeta (visul oricarui iubitor de tehnica de a fi in mijlocul celor mai noi inovatii din lumile cunoscute).

Acest lucru venise insa cu un pret. Din pacate, ultimul patron se dovedise a fi un individ lipsit de scrupule din toate punctele de vedere. Nu doar ca il exploatase si ii daduse sume de mizerie, dar profitase si de faptul ca multa lume nu era la curent cu problemele rasei felinelor.

Asherio fusese inca din frageda pruncie crescut in mijlocul oamenilor (mai exact de o mica grupare de fizicieni intr-un sistem din constelatia Earthree), insa statutul sau in mijlocul compatriotilor Tsheia oscila undeva intre sclav al oamenilor (drept urmare, undeva sub valoarea pe care o dai unei insecte calcate) si rebel fugar (un statut care de obicei era mai rau decat cel de sclav, deoarece presupunea omorarea lui pe loc de catre oricine l-ar fi "recunoscut" ).

Asadar, ultimul patron (un individ obscur pe nume Mutton profitase de aceasta stare de fapt si ii facuse viata un iad lui Asherio. Profitase de faptul ca avea si cunostiinte in administratia locala pe cineva care tinea de nobilimea Tsheia si incercase sa il transforme pe tanar in sclav personal (lucru nu neaparat deosebit in sine, deoarece asa facea cu mai toti angajatii sai, numai ca in acest caz gasise un instrument foarte interesant de santaj).

In mod normal, intr-o societate precum cea de pe Mega asemenea lucruri nu ar fi trebuit sa puna probleme majore vreunui cetatean. Din pacate nu la fel stateau lucrurile si in ceea ce ii priveste pe traditionalistii Tsheia, care puneau problemele lor etice si rasiale deasupra oricarei legi. Riscul de a ajunge pe "lista neagra" si a fi vanat tot restul vietii, doar pentru ca nu aveai "eticheta" in regula era unul major.

Asherio avea acte de cetatean "liber". Din pacate, dovada scrisa a acestui lucru fusese bine ascunsa de catre Mutton, din al carui serviciu fusese nevoit sa fuga si care probabil il daduse deja in urmarire ca si "fugar" pentru "fapta" lui. Nici asta in sine nu constituia o problema majora DACA nu ar fi fost vorba de Tsheia. Pana avea sa ii vina un alt act de pe planeta lui de bastina (sau mai bine zis adoptiva, unde fusese crescut de grupul de cercetatori ce il eliberase) avea sa fie la bunul plac al oricarui "traditionalist" fanatic. Si in general era tare greu sa gasesti vreun Tsheia care sa nu fie fanatic.

Norocul sau in Adella fusese acela ca imbracat in salopeta uzata de tehnician si cu desaga destul de ponosita fusese de multe ori ignorat de semenii sai, care il considerau ca fiind probabil un sclav. Din pacate odata de Mutton avea sa sune alarma ca exista un Tsheia "fugar" lucrurile aveau sa se complice urat de tot.

Ar fi putut sa gaseasca de lucru - oricine avea nevoie de un tehnician sau de om-bun-la-toate care poate sa iti repare proto-ceasul sau chiar robotul personal din menajerie. Doar ca "potera" Tsheia nu era chiar o grupare pe care sa o duci de nas ascunzandu-te in garajul din spate al vreunui atelier. Se putea trezi oricand cu un cutit intre coaste fara nici un fel de avertisment - felinele aveau unii din cei mai redutabili "criminali-din-umbra".

Asa ca, obligat de situatie fusese nevoit sa se refugieze in astroportul Buck Rogers in speranta ca va gasi o nava care sa ii ofere o plecare cat mai rapida din acest loc ce devenise prea fierbinte pentru el.



Edited 3 time(s). Last edit at 12/03/2008 09:18PM by Shadow.

***Okay, resuming the game after a long time... and switching back to English, the way RPGs are meant to be played.***

Ash-like sand swirled around his boots, but the white-haired man didn't seem to notice. The planet's F-class star burned impossibly white in the pink sky, casting stark shadows on the mountains looming to the southwest. Up high above the rocks, dark shapes danced madly in the wind, but what they were, he couldn't say.

It was a long trip over the little strip of desert that was the spaceport, and this particular traveler was on foot. Slowly but surely, his mind wandered...

Jonathan Ish-Kan had given up a long time ago trying to explain why he had a Terran first name and a Mythian surname. Or why his left hand carried a Cyblan's cybernetic enhancements. He simply pointed out with a smile that he was a xenologist, and let others imagine the rest. At least he wouldn't have to give many details about his presence on Mega. These days, thousands of treasure hunters scoured the Elder ruins under the guise of scientific research. At worst, a genuine researcher would draw attention by having very little funding, but Jonathan had enough... for now. Not that he was about to waste much; unlike most others, he knew there was no treasure to be found.

He was no longer paying attention to the road, and so he almost ran headlong into a young Tsheia who was hurrying in the opposite direction.

"Sorry, young man." He said promptly, avoiding the collision with a graceful move.

*** And sorry for the short post, but with only one player we might need to re-evaluate the direction of the story.***



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 11/28/2008 08:17PM by Shadow.

At first Asherio wanted to pass by the man with white hair. He was in a hurry after all, and who knows what Tsheia chasers might be already on his tail...
However, there was a device attached to the man's arm that caught his eye. The technician from within came to surface and Asherio stood still. He hadn't seen Cyblan technology in a while (lately he was using just Mirrian parts, they were cheaper and of course, of lesser quality), and he couldn't stop himself from asking:
"Excuse me, where did you get this?"

Quote:

Nightwrath
"Excuse me, where did you get this?"

A Cyblan's cybernetic hand was the 23rd century equivalent of a tribal tatoo, so the question carried more meaning than it seemed. At least for someone who had lived on Cybl for years, and Ish-Kan had. Most people feared the cyborg race, but he found their culture fascinating. The merging of man and machine, an unrelenting love for building and improving, but also the willingness to fight when necessary were THE tenets of Cyblan culture, and the cybernetically augmented hands embodied all of them. True, the xenologist was just that, as opposed to a real Cyblan, and he hand't gone any further with the implants, but what he had, he cared about. So those simple words were enough to make him suddenly sympathetic towards the stranger. But he knew fear might have lurked behind the superficial interest.

"Why, I've got it at the source. It's a long story. Let's just say I... spent some time on Cybl. Not entirely my fault, either."

*** At this point I should probably underscore that the guy's hand (and forearm) is cybernetically augmented as opposed to being replaced with a robotic version.***

Asherio was familiar with many technological devices, since he was forced to deal with many races' problems, and he had a certain soft spot for some exotic devices that were not entirely legal.

However, in this case the man with white hair had a pretty strange hybrid gizmo that seemed to belong to a newer generation than the ones he was used to. Strange enough, some of the devices usually were not shared between species, and yet... the man's arm was the proof that sometimes small miracles do happen.
"I never knew that terrans could get tribal marks from Cybl. And I guess it's not just a souvenir."

Perhaps an interesting story was behind the whole cybernetic enhancement thing...

"Aren't you a curious young person." The white-haired man said in an oh-so-slightly mocking tone of voice (when talking to a Tsheia, that was usually unwise, but the situation didn't look usual; besides, he wasn't a crybaby either). He half-turned towards the main gate, which was now closer than Dock 14, where he came from.

"Tell you what, I believe there used to be a restaurant outside the spaceport. If it's still there, we can talk over a good meal. You look like you need one."

And a new job, he added for himself, looking at Asherio's worn jumpsuit. He should have been distrustful. On Myth or Cybl, the worlds he was most familiar with, only a lazy person could be poor. But the Megan society was a mish-mash. Anything could happen.

Something else occured to him. The youngster seemed pretty tense at first (if he interpreted the alien body language correctly). What could have bothered him? He scanned the thickening crowd, but whitout his augmented reality glasses he couldn't even tell whether anyone was armed.

"By the way, I'm Jonathan."

Oh yes, the glasses. He fished them from the inside of his coat: a big slab of yellowish plexisteel with a thick black rim. As he put them on, tiny lights began to flicker, creating a superimposed image just for his eyes. The Mythian device showed a lot of information, but he was used to process even more of it. Yet everything appeared normal, from the ambient temperature to the latest local news.

*** While the game is on hold waiting for two new players, you might want to check the Megan Space development thread.***



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 12/04/2008 06:34AM by Shadow.

*** The game will resume shortly. It's a good opportunity to centralize certain clarifications I've circulated out-of-band.

The Megan Space aims to be a space opera setting with a hard sf flavor (think Ringworld on a larger scale). Don't worry if you're not good with technology, we're focusing on people here, and I'm around to give advice anyway.

The setting is ill-defined, which is just as well, as I encourage improvisation. Anything that improves the game is... well... fair game.

Regarding the species/civilizations:

The Sulhru, Unaani and Rivoli are anything but humanoid. I recommend treating them as non-playable.

The Tsheia: Nightwrath's got them covered, see his first post.

The Mythians are reserved for future use. I'll provide more background on them during or after the winter holidays.

Terrans are the resident technophobes of the setting. They use starship-level tech only out of neccesity. Those raised in colonies may be more open-minded.

Cyblans are they polar opposites. We're talking cyborgs living in a permanent network, and the only reason they haven't run into a technological singularity yet is lack of critical mass (read: small population).

The Kinac love their homes and families more than anything else. They take great pride in all the activities that involve building and developing an area: farming, architecture, manufacturing, research/terraforming, etc. Unfortunately they are saddled with a militaristic Emperor and High Council. Luckily, the Empire's border is far away.

Caino keep mostly to themselves. When they do come into contact with other species, they often have contradictory behavior. Everyone else suspects they keep fighting among themselves, but nobody really knows.

These are, of course, just guidelines. I don't believe in carbon-copy aliens.

Regarding the worlds:

There are 9 homeworlds in the Megan Space (let's not venture into the Kinac Empire yet...) and many hundreds of small colonies/outposts. Interesting stuff can happen anywhere.

That said, a few colonies have been defined already. I'll put them on the map RSN.

Euphoria is an exotic-looking Terran colony halfway between Earth and Mega, with, ahem, very liberal sexual mores. There has to be one of those, right?

Mirrium is somewhere between Mega and Myth. It's an outlet through which shiny Mythian toys are being leaked out to the less advanced societies. The Mythians get a lot of money out of it without really giving up their tech advantage.

Beta Earthree is one of the oldest Terran colonies, very close to Earth. It's surprisingly human-friendly, and a haven to scientists.

Centerra (it's on the map...) doesn't yet exist at the time of this story.


Jimdor, Mahla - time to introduce your characters, I guess. ***

*** OK, let's resume (and sorry for the delay). Fast forward a little bit... ***

The restaurant had changed names since Jonathan's last visit. Owners too, apparently. Instead of the old-fashioned sign saying "The Hospitable Human" there was now a virtual display with the word "Star Gate" in several languages, and the tall enclosures that used to segregate customers from different species had been replaced by a smart maze of tables and light screens, arranged so as to make it easy for the patrons to ignore each other.

Jonathan led the young Tsheia (what was his name again? oh right, he hadn't said) to a table facing the nearby spaceport gate. He sat in silence, and passed his guest an e-menu. He looked at him for one more moment before asking carefully:

"So, young man, you like technology?"

After all, if he was going to need a crew for his little expedition, the least he could do was to find people who would care.

*** And sorry if I'm leading a bit here. The whole thing's a bit awkward anyway. ***



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 12/15/2008 06:02PM by Shadow.

Asherio replied:
"My kind do not seem to show too much interest in technology, but then - I was not raised by my kind. Therefore I was offered the unique opportunity to see the world outside the Tsheia dogma and found out that the universe it's very interesting in its own way. One of the most interesting things it appears to be the technology."
Indeed it was not very often for one to see a Tsheia working on some engine or device. Or to be more honest you would never see one. Felines and mechanics do not seem to get along in any way. That was perhaps one of the reasons that made Asherio to love even more his line of work - the fact that the chances to meet there another dogmatic Tsheia would be minimal.

"You speak well... I'm sorry, I didn't get your name." The xenologist was intrigued and relieved at the same time. Not raised by his kind? That was unusual... and fortunate for him. A true Tsheia would have been difficult to deal with. Then again, a true Tsheia would have ignored him in the first place, more likely than not. Speaking of which...

"I believe you wanted to know how I got to be accepted among the Cyblans as one of them, or almost. It's a long story, one I've never told before. You might as well be the first to hear it. Unfortunately, it would take more than one dinner's worth of time. Stiil, I'm paying."

By way of demonstration, he tapped a generous order on the menu - for himself. He didn't dare guess what this particular Tsheia might want to eat.

"Too bad the time is so short, " he added. "I would like to hear your story, too. But I have some business here on Mega, and I suppose you have better things to do than following an old man around."

Not that he was particularly old, of course. But people - especially non-Terrans - tended to think he was. (The hair. Must be the hair.) And frankly, sometimes it was better to be underestimated.

All of a sudden Tsheia realized he was really-really hungry. He was still on the run, but he would not refuse a good meal...
"I think the dinner would be fine" he said quickly, his ears dancing again.

"You do know how to use this, right?" Jonathan asked with a smile, pointing towards the second e-menu. He was certain by now that the pseudo-feline was pennyless. Just the opening he needed.

"Anyway, " he added, " if you don't have anything better to do, I might have a job for you."

He leaned forward. Spacer wasn't such a good language when it came to whispering, but the xenologist had practice.

"I'm going to find the Elders' biggest secret."

Of course, everyone knew about the Elders. They had crossed this part of the galaxy ages ago, leaving their print in the DNA of sentient species, terraforming some planets, polluting others - Mega's poisonous oceans were telling - and generally having a blast. Nobody knew why - and the Elders weren't around anymore to answer questions. But most people didn't care anyway. Those guys must have been advanced, right? Like, really advanced? They must have left stuff lying around - technology beyond the dreams of even an interstellar civilization. So that's what most "archaeologists" were looking for. Few in the known galaxy knew better, and Jonathan was one of them.

"I'm going to find out where they went, and go after them. But I need help."

*** Great, now my character sounds like a con artist. And hopefully I didn't just break Jimdor's character concept... ***

Tsheia did not wait an invitation for the e-menu. The stake looked delicius. The menu's interface however... was terrible. He had worked on an improved version for a nearby restaurant a few months before.

Something that Johnathan has just said caught his attention though:
"The Elders? I would be surprised if they had only one big secret. I mean, if they were as advanced as some of their devices were... we don't even know if they were humanoids."
He had seen such a device (a broken one, no one ever found out how it worked) in a tech museum. He could not touch it, of course and he believed that parts of it were missing.

But there were rumours that some interesting artifacts were being kept by some very rich folks, people who did not know what to do with those devices but kept them the way do when you collect a painting. Of course, it was very much possible that various other devices, machines or technological wonders were just sitting there undiscovered everywhere in the galaxy. And of course it was not always obvious how an Elder device would actually look like...

But about their departure...
"Are you sure they actually went somewhere? I mean couldn't they just vanish as a species at some point? This happened long time ago. They might be dead, perhaps?"



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 12/17/2008 09:29PM by Nightwrath.

The xenologist smiled.

"There is more data available on the Elders than most people think. Unfortunately, it's scattered among the stars - often literally. I spent years gathering pieces from the puzzle. Now, the trail has led me here, and it's not the end of the road, not by far."

"As for what happened to the Elders, " he added, " that's what I want to know, too. And not just from academic interest. Have you actually studied one of their devices?"

He didn't wait for an answer.

"They're really not that advanced - not by modern standards, anyway. But if the Elders are out there, if they haven't vanished, as you say... well, they've had three and a half teraseconds to advance technologically, whereas we're only now getting to the level they used to have."

He paused for dramatic effect, just as a robot waiter arrived with the two orders.

"Well, they say some of the technological breakthroughs were because of the Elders legacy, but otherwise I haven't seen any specific device made by them. I did see some exotic technologies that may compete with the Elders' though."
And he was proud to be one of the few that could single hand some of the most diverse tech approaches in the galaxy.
Proud or not hunger did not forgive. So the young Tsheia was eating, listening and speaking almost at the same time - not the most polite gesture, but after so many hours of hunger...
"However. You say there were _signs_ that lead you here? What kind of signs could the Elders leave after so many years that could be tracked in such a prscise way?"
Asherio was suspecting about some tech gizmo discovery (that was why he was so anxious), but xenology was not only about tech. It could have been just a regular map. On some gods forgotten rock in the middle of the galaxy.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 12/22/2008 09:31PM by Nightwrath.

Jimdor Armimane crept into The Star Gate cautiously. This gave every sign of being a fairly simple extraction operation, but years of experience had taught him to never take anything for granted. He favored the bartender with an inquiring glance; the bartender in turn looked pointedly toward one of the enclosed booths reserved for those dining as well as drinking. Jimdor made a mental note to deposit the requisite credits into the bartender's account, and turned his attention to the environment around him, taking in locations of doorways, furniture, and of course the other patrons. See nothing out of the ordinary, the big Caino padded with surprising grace toward the booth in question.

He paused again a meter or two away, listening to the conversation coming from the booth. His quarry -- what was the name this time? Ah, yes, "Asherio" -- appeared to have found a friend. Their conversation was -- odd. Something about the Elders? It almost sounded as if Asherio's friend (human judging by the sound and accent of his voice) was making a sales pitch or job offer to Asherio. Did he know that the Tsheia with which he was dealing was as hot as nuclear slag? That people just like Jimdor (actually, for the most part much worse) would be chasing him relentlessly all over Mega (and possibly beyond)? The "friend" was an added complication in what Jimdor had hoped would be a quick and clean apprehension, but he didn't sound particuarly threatening. He should scare off easy enough.

Once hand clutching his distruptor pistol inside his coat, Jimdor stepped into the booth and clamped his free hand down firmly on the Tshieia's shoulder. "Asherio? I'm here on behalf of Osprey Recovery Services. For your own safety and that of your friend here, I need you to remain calm and prepare to come with me."

Jonathan froze in surprise. Like any scientist talking about his work, he had become distracted. Not that he had any reason to expect trouble in perhaps the most civilized place on Mega. But there it was, and several thoughts raced his mind simultaneously.

Was Asherio a criminal? His behavior had been a little suspect earlier at the spaceport, but then, it should have been a State Guard coming after him, not this... recovery guy. What was that supposed to mean, anyway, a legally-endorsed racket? The Caino certainly was clean and well-dressed, and he spoke Spacer better than the xenologist. Then again, a mobster only had to be intimidating, and that he was.

Jonathan considered his options. With his AR glasses, he might just manage to call the State Guard unnoticed... or maybe not. His built-in taser could fry a human. It should have been enough to stun a Caino... or maybe not. In any event, the moment wasn't favorable to any approach. He chose a third.

"What is going on here?" He asked drily.

As he spoke, it occurred to him that it wasn't his problem. But for all his Terran genes, he had the independent mind of a Mythian. He didn't respond well to intimidation. Not well at all.

*** Merry Christmas, Jimdor! Welcome to the game. Nightwrath is on vacation, but I think we can exchange a couple of posts without bothering his character. ***

Jimdor sized up carefully the man on the other side of the booth. His gray hair marked him as middle-aged if not beyond; his small frame, slightly archaic sense of fashion, and lack of obvious cybernetic enhancement marked him as most likely a Terran. He should be utterly non-threatening. And yet...

What was that device on his arm? An ordinary (technophobic) Terran would never wear such a thing. And there was something odd about the man's glasses. Most of all, though, his manner told Jimdor that this was a man out of the ordinary. Jimdor had learned long ago to trust his instincts, and doing so had saved his life many times over. Now, his instincts told him there was more to this aged little scientist than met the eye, and that he had best tread carefully until he sorted out exactly what the man's relationship to the Tsheia beside him really was.

Still, Jimdor didn't loosen his grip on Asherio's shoulder as he spoke. "Your dining companion here has run away from a perfectly legal and binding indentured service contract. I am simply here to return him -- preferably for everyone, undamaged -- to the man who holds legal title to him. I have no quarrel with you, friend. If you will allow me to do my job, I and this fugitive who undoubtedly took advantage of your trust will be out of your way and allow you to finish your meal in peace."

"I... understand."

The xenologist had seen it before. While slavery proper was illegal across most of the known galaxy, it was a sentient being's prerogative to voluntarily give up its freedom and the responsibilities that came with it. Never mind that only a desperate one would do that, and that only a scumbag would take advantage of one's desperation. It was the law, and in a way it was better than the authoritarian abuses of the past.

It was also none of Jonathan's business. None at all. And yet...

"I'm suddenly interested in buying this particular contract. With your permission, I will accompany you back, Mr..."

Jimdor knew that the idea of the man who had contracted his services bargaining over this particular escapee was likely absurd. Mutton had paid Osprey a ridiculous amount of money to get this one back quickly and, just as importantly, safely. This was not just another unskilled laborer that Mutton (one of Osprey's best customers) wished to make an example of. There was something special about this one, something that made him very valuable.

So many mysteries Jimdor encountered here on Mega, and yet he always remained focused on the bottom line; on doing his job effeciently and unemotionally and on collecting the requisite credits in return. It was just this cold unemotionality that made him so good at his job, and made people pay him so well to do it. And yet his universe had once consisted of more than quotas and credits. Lately the longing for something more had been building within him. He found that these two strange, mysterious characters awakened it even more. What was the story here, and why must he always remain a bystander to the adventures of others?

But, no... no. These fantasies passed, were forced from his mind by an effort of will, as they always were. Once again he was all business. "Mr. Armimane is the name. Jimdor Armimane. And I am not contracted or empowered to negotiate on my employer's behalf. If you would like to give me your card, I'd be willing to relay your interest in his sl... servant to him, although I wouldn't get your hopes up about his response. In the meantime, Asherio here and myself really must be going."

*** OK, time out. We can't go on too long without giving Nightwrath a chance to react, and I still haven't mastered Inkscape enough to draw the map we'll need shortly... ***

*** Edit: OK, here's the map I promised. Explanations coming soon. Sorry for the quality, my map-making skills are essentially non-existent. ***



*** Grrr. Edits don't show up on RSS. So be it.

* Adella is the planetary capital, where all the excitement happens. Well, most of it. It is also across the mountains from the spaceport. It can be reached via suborbital craft (not readily available) or the monorail via Turntown.
* Turntown is a Terran-founded settlement, about 150 klicks along the monorail line to Adella. It's an industrial town that deals with the output of extraction platforms along the Southern Ocean shores. It sports a strong State Guard presence, but also considerable corruption.
* Awaiaih is a predominantly Tsheia town, serving as the main gate to the Elder ruins (if going by ground car, the most common option), as well as a connection to the planet's second-largest spaceport (not on this map).
* Eleshar is named after a city on Myth, where most of its inhabitants originate. Mythians have an anarchistic streak, so they are likely to ignore fugitives - or bounty hunters, for that matter - as long as they don't cause too much trouble. It's 300 klicks away from the spaceport, along the monorail line (which goes around the mountains, and through the desert).

But I'm getting ahead of myself...***



Edited 3 time(s). Last edit at 01/01/2009 10:04AM by Shadow.

Asherio froze at the moment he felt the Caino's touch on his shoulder. His ears started dancing wildly, while his mind was trying to process the whole thing. First of all he must have been a bounty hunter, and not a Tsheia killer, otherwise he would be dead. The hunter must have had a gun with him.
"This must be a mistake" he started saying with a calm voice (or at least he hoped it was calm).
He was trying to decide what kind of person was the "bounty hunter".

The xenologist started to make the gesture that would beam his digital "business card" (the size of a 21st century press dossier) to the bounty hunter. He stopped at Asherio's plaintive question, instictively trying to come up with a soothing answer. But he found himself at a loss for words... and then it was too late.

The shockwave came a good 3 seconds ahead of the thunderclap. One of the booth's walls hit him in the back. He fell over the table, unwittingly pushing it into the Tsheia's midsection. An inflatable sun shade came down with a "whuf!" and he could hear shrapnel rapping on it and the booth wall that now pinned him to the ground. Then the sound caught up, and he winced as it rang in his unprotected ears.

A moment later, it was over. He waited a few more seconds, then shuffled, trying to assess the situation.

As soon as the explosion came Jimdor's instincts took over. He rolled himself into a ball as he dropped to the ground. The shock wave buffeted him badly enough, but the worst of its shock passed over him. He stayed crouched for a second more, as a rain of glass and small debris came down on and around him. Then, covering his mouth and nostril with his hand to filter out the smoke as best he could -- this could be a chemical attack -- he was on his feet again, gun raised, peering through the smoke, trying to assess the situation. The smoke and dust had not yet cleared sufficiently to allow him to see who or what had been the source of the explosion. He did, however, see that his would-be bounty was pinned underneath the table, and that the old man was peering around in obvious alarm and confusion. Whatever was happening, it didn't appear that it was a rescue operation for the Tsheia.

Among the remains of a nearby table, a well-dressed Terran woman cried in fear as she saw her own bloodied arm, then she noticed Jimdor's weapon, which gave her a brand new reason to panic. More cries echoed from the recesses of the semi-enclosed restaurant - there must have been some real casualties in there. A few people actually started moving, presumably trying to get some help, but confusion reigned.

What was remarkable at first sight was the relative lack of flame. Whatever smoke there was came mostly from scraps of metal heated by their impromptu ride on the supersonic blast. Here and there, small pieces of flammable materials had ignited, but there was no fire to speak of, and the furniture, though shattered, was not scorched.

Jonathan picked up his AR glasses with a trembling hand. The radio spectrum was filled with silent messages, and the device struggled to organize them into a semblance of coherency. An orbital shuttle had apparently exploded while taking off. Strangely enough, there were no reports of a fireball. The spaceport's control center was cancelling flights left and right, but the emergency services were not on the move yet. Hard to blame them, really - this kind of incident was virtually unheard of.

He focused again on his immediate surroundings. Unsurprisingly, there was the same confusion as online. At least he was uninjured, and so was the bounty hunter, apparently. He couln't see Asherio, though, and he felt a pang of worry as he scrambled out from under the leaning booth wall. He stood... and almost fell back on all fours. Oh well, he thought, mostly uninjured.

Jimdor saw the Terran raise himself unsteadily to his feet... and then promptly collapse toward the floor. Jimdor wrapped one arm around the Terran before he hit the floor, supporting his weight as easily as he might a child. Peering around through the now clearing smoke and seeing no one immediately intent on killing him, he passed the pistol to the Terran. "I assume you know how to use one of these..." he said. "Keep an eye out while I try to help out our friend here."

Right arm still supporting the Terran, he pulled the table away as gently as possible with the left, allowing it to rest back against the wall of the booth. Asherio lay crumpled beneath, looking none too good. "Can you tell me where you're hurt?" he asked, prodding him gently, trying to discover the extent of his injuries. A damaged bounty was worth much less to him than a healthy, after all.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 01/15/2009 02:12PM by Jimdor Armimane.

Apparently cats no matter their size they tend to have a sixth sense whenever they feel danger. Asherio was no exception so his first reaction was to get under the table.
Unfortunately, his Tsheia reflexes were not as genuine after years of behaving rather human. So he felt a part of the shock from the explosion.
The bounty hunter was asking him something but his ears did not hear what he had said.
He felt a little dizzy.

Jonathan threw the Caino a funny look, but he took the weapon without a word. His dizziness was subsiding, and with the AR glasses he actually had a chance of detecting threats. Assuming there was a threat in the first place. For the moment, he was more worried about Asherio. The young Tsheia had actually risked his freedom to satisfy his love for knowledge, and the xenologist could not help but feel responsible. Not that he had time to think about it.

A drone drifted silently overhead, and the few people who were still among the remains waved at it. Something about it looked wrong, though, and Jonathan didn't realize what it was until he noticed a dozen men and women grouped around the entrace. They were about to come in, unlike everybody else... and they had energy weapons.

"Friends of yours?" He asked, tapping Armimane on the arm.

Asherio did not answer to Jimdor's queries -- merely moaned softly. He was plainly disoriented, if conscious at all. Jimdor decided he would have to take him to a hospital, much of a risk of him escaping as that presented. Jimdor was engaged in a sometimes distasteful business, but he was not a monster.

A second later, the risk of losing a bounty were the least of Jimdor's problems. Through the gradually clearing smoke, Jimdor spotted about a dozen individuals in full combat gear, energy weapons at the ready.

The Terran obviously spotted them at the same moment. "No," Jimdor answered his query. "I work alone. I think we had best get out of here."

While the soldiers were entering through what remained of the entrance, a sizable hole had been blown in the wall opposite -- and the smoke was somewhat thicker in that direction. Without another word, Jimdor lifted Asherio as gently as he could -- the risk of exasperating his injury being, he judged, a favorable alternative to his risk if left at the mercy of these characters who had just entered the bar. "Cover us," he said to the Terran, and duck away through the smoke toward the daylight shining in through the hole in the wall.