Episode 1​

Read the OOC thread before you respond

The Blue Swallow Saloon

A solitary dog barks as the Red Sun begins to set over the western horizon, bathing the dust of mainstreet in a crimson glow. Jiangyin looms impossibly large in the sky, small flecks of green visible amongst the white swirls of cloud and vast blue oceans. The air is rich with the sound of insects, when the wind picks up it blows dust down the road and jangles the handful of wind chimes hanging outside the general store.

The stillness is broken when a man stumbles out of the local saloon, filling the silent street with a stolen snatch of the merrymaking inside before the door swings shut behind him. He stands for a moment, swaying in the thin light before falling flat on his face, casting a small plume of dirt up around him.

Welcome to Hidden Acres, folks.

This podunk town is located just south of Dangun's equator and the area is inhabited by perhaps fifty or so families of ranching and farming stock. It is an entirely insignificant town on an entirely insignificant moon. Yet, it is to this town that you have tracked the renowned art thief Oberon.

Now, Oberon's one of those tall tales people share around a campfire, two parts legend to one part bullshit. Or so you'd thought until Goldmund-Teller put you onto his trail. They're mighty serious people after all and not prone to flights of fancy. Oberon had stolen a painting, or so you were told, an exceptionally valuable one, an artefact of Earth-That-Was, and by the artist Van de Boer.

It was an important enough job that your handler, Munk he calls himself, had arranged a face to face meeting. It was priceless, he'd told you, and that it was of the utmost importance to retrieve the painting intact.The thief was more preferable alive, but Munk made it clear that this was entirely to your discretion.

Despite his reputation, Oberon hadn't seemed all that difficult to track down. You'd put out feelers with your usual contacts and pretty soon you'd managed to arrange a meet with him. You're posing as potential buyers and this was the location he'd given for the exchange.

The thief nobody has ever seen sits across the table from you in the Blue Swallow Saloon, which is in the throes of the busiest night it's seen in years. He doesn't look like much; caucasian, perhaps fifty years old, medium height, slightly on the heavy side, his dark hair thinning on top, his weathered face set into hard, straight lines.

"You'd best have brought the cash," he says, eyes narrowed, his tone brooking no argument. "Four million, like I said, no haggling, unmarked credits."

You can't help but notice that there's no sign of the painting.

If everyone who's present could describe what they're doing and give a brief description of their character. Are you sat at the table? Are you elsewhere in the saloon? How do you respond to his question?



Aboard The Manifest Destiny

She's a real beaut, this ship you call home. Once an alliance prisoner transport, and briefly used by the triads for even less scrupulous reasons, Captain Long has done a fine job of converting her into the sort of passenger ship that even the snootiest would have to consider shiney. Candelabra, fine furnishings and velvet hangings galore, you'd expect to have a real goldmine here. Except things never go quite that smooth and despite the fancy drapes, it seems like folk are a mite reluctant to voluntarily enter a prison ship.

So you've spent the last few months ferrying this Goldmund-Teller lot around just to make ends meet. The pay's good, they're of a decent sort, and they're happy to occupy the vacant crew rooms, leaving you free for what few charter passengers you can scrape together. But it does mean taking yourself way outta the way, from time to time.

More importantly and annoyingly, it also means taking your passengers out of their way. Something nobody appreciates. You get their point, nobody wants to take an unexpected berth two miles out of a tiny backwater like— what the hell did they call this place? Hidden Acres? Either way, the passengers already on the boat are kicking off in a big way, clamouring to speak to the Captain.

Somewhat fortunately, it just so happens that there's someone in this pokey little town that wants a ride. Willing to pay for First Class, too— a downright miracle in this neck of the woods. You know he's supposed to be arriving any moment, so you've come to the cargo bay to get sight of your newest passenger.

He arrives promptly, a good sign, and strides up the lowered airlock ramp. He's tall, built and a trifle easy on the eyes, dressed in the finest tailored suit. He flashes the lot of you a wide, white smile and then addresses nobody in particular.

"Evening," he says, his accent strongly favouring the core. "I'm Barnabus Wolfe, I believe I've been negotiating passage with a Captain Sinh. Have I found the right ship?"

If everyone who's present could describe what they're doing and give a brief description of their character. Are you sat around waiting? What've you been doing in the meantime? Are you elsewhere in the ship and, if so, what're you doing?

 

Jolene Ang - The Blue Swallow Saloon

The bar is hazy with cigar smoke and alcohol fumes, the smell of stale sweat and smoke permeating everything. A couple of people through darts at a board near the far end of the bar, two people with guns barely concealed under their coats sitting watching them. I see at least half a dozen health violations that would have gotten a place on the Core worlds shut down if a cop spotted them, but which are simply part of life out here on a Border world. The place is a dump, but if our guy is here it's where we ought to be.

I sit across from the prospective thief with my hands clasped in front of me and a hard look on my face. He's scum, I know that much, but I can't tell if he's our man or just some two bit con man trying to scam prospective buyers out of their hard earned credits. If he's our guy, great. If not, well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to inform the local sheriff. Doubt anything would come of it; in a place like this if offworlders get screwed that's their problem, but you never can tell.

I lean forward, staring him in the face with what my meanest look, committing his features to memory.

"Well you best have brought the painting, pal. I ain't coughing up a wooden nickel if I don't see the merchandise first."

 

Chang Stevens at the Blue Swallow Saloon

Chang sits across from Oberon, really really hoping that he can get this guy to give up the painting without any problems. And without any violence. Please please please no more violence. Chang keeps his left elbow just slightly elevated above te table. Its still sore from the last scuffle he fell into.
"We remember, nice to finally meet you. I fail to see the merchandise in question. For that kind of money, you can understand our concern in seeing the goods before we part with our employer's money. It would reflect extraordinarily poorly on us, and your reputation, if there was any hiccups. So, where is it? (13)" He flashes an extraordinarily bright and friendly smile.

 

Gareth Clark - The Blue Swallow Saloon

The Blue Swallow smells of a combination of smoke, sweat and piss. The drinks are watered down, the décor is shabby, and the local folk are rowdy and lecherous. So it's pretty much like the other dozen or so saloons I've been to out in the Border. Seen one, seen them all. Hell, I swear one of the last ones I was in had that exact same mounted deer head trophy.

I sit at a table a ways from the exchange, watching things at a distance. Our man sits across from Jo and Chang, with negotiations looking to get underway. With a drink in hand, a cigarette between my lips and my cap pulled low, I’d hoped to blend in with the locals and not arouse too much suspicion while I keep an eye out.

He doesn’t look much like an art thief. Would've expected someone in that line of work to look more refined or somesuch. Actually, given this Oberon guy's reputation, I wouldn't have expected to see him at all. Seems odd for a man that supposedly no one’s seen to just up and appear in some seedy dive in a backwater Border town. Especially alone.

I'd also expect an art thief trying to sell his goods to have, you know, art with him. Closest thing I see to art in this place is this stain pattern on the floor that might’ve came from vomit or blood, or both. He could be storing it elsewhere for safety, and given the state of this place I wouldn't blame him, but coupled with those other qualities I’m developing a suspicion.

First things first, I figure I should try scouting out the place and seeing if this guy is actually alone or not. He might have some muscle around, hidden in plain sight much like I’m trying to be. [Rolled a 6 looks like. Adding a d8 for the Fed distinction brings it up to 12.]

 

Sam Bose - Aboard the Manifest Destiny

Samuel sighs as he looks down at the piece of metal in his hand. He'd managed to get his hands on a compression coil for an older model Firefly for pennies on the dollar. He figured that he could fix it up and make a tiny profit on it.

Looking down at it now he saw why he'd purchased it for so cheap. Sam's an accomplished mechanic.

"Some might call me a miracle worker," he thinks to himself. But he recognizes a lost cause when he sees one. And this compression coil is beyond hope. He tosses it aside.

He looks up and sees the finely dressed dandy walk up the ramp.

When he hears that this newcomer is about to be a passenger, Sam has to suppress a scowl.

If the captain hears that he's being rude to the customers there'll be hell to pay. He stands up to greet him

"Name's Sam Bose, Mr. Wolfe," Sam starts extending a hand. "And if you're looking for the Destiny this is her."

He walks over to grab the gentleman's luggage. "If Captain Sinh's already assigned you a berth, let me know and I'll get you settled. Otherwise, if you'll follow me, I'll show ya to the cabins and we can pick you out a room."

As he leads Barnabus to the First Class cabins, Sam adds, "I'm the Mechanic here, so if you've got any problems of that nature, don't hesitate to ask."

He tries to be as sincere as possible.

 

Nick King - Aboard the Manifest Destiny

Nick heard the hard soles of fine boots clicking up the Destiny's landing ramp, and he couldn't help but give a sigh. Damn, but it had only been a few minutes since the Goldmunds left!

Not that he had anything against them. No, nothing like that at all. It was just that he liked to get out of the cockpit when he wasn't actually having to fly the old girl, and he was exhausted with listening to the bickering. Hell, the back and forth between Sam and Will when Will first boarded had been pain enough, and just when he thought he had that settled to a reasonable peace (albeit sometimes you couldn't tell), be damned if the captain hadn't picked up a team of Goldmunds, with a social facilitator that was the bane of Sam's existence. If that was Chang's fancy boots (and who else could it be with boots like that, on this quiet little rock?), he was gathering his things up and going to his room, to hell with this passenger. Sinh could drag him back if she needed him, but he was done with that for one day.

With that thought, he laid down the tools he was holding and closed back up his chair. He wouldn't need that little surprise any time soon anyway, if he had any luck at all. Having finished that, he looked up to see... Not Chang. Wolfe, he said? This was the passenger? From this rock? God, the 'Verse weird.

Well, he should probably probably speak up. Sam was a hell of a guy, when you got to know him, but his social skills with the higher classes... Well, sometimes they left a bit to be desired. With a smile to match the passenger's, Nick made his move:

"Mr. Wolfe! Of course, we've been expecting you. I hope you didn't have too much problem finding us: sometimes it can be a bit hard to convince folks that we're really running a vessel like this out of an old Hades. Still, you won't find a finer ship in the 'Verse. I'd know, I fly her for a living! The name's Nick, and I'll be your pilot. I'd come greet you properly, but, well, I'm a little indisposed [1PP]."

*gestures at his chair with a chuckle*

"Still, it's an absolute pleasure. Like Sam said, he can steer you to your cabin if you have one already, and if not you can more or less have your pick. I'm here if you have any questions or concerns; just let me know! But enough of that, go get settled if you feel like it. I know you would probably rather grab a room than listen to me talk!"

Having said his piece, he let Sam shuffle him away down the hall. As Wolfe was leaving, Nick gave him a thorough scan [7, 1 PP] to try and get a read on him. Somebody that dressed and spoke like that was a strange sight out here, and he liked to get a bead on weird things before they snowball.

 

Morris "Momo" Phan - The Blue Swallow Saloon

I peered through the smoke. Trying to take it all in but the haze is clouding lines of sight like a fog in the morning. I grimaced, gripping the chair I stood behind. I felt naked without the rifle, but I'd been warned to only bring my pistol for this. Too big a weapon would attract to big a scene, not something we were keen on doing.

The people around me kept right on singing and laughing even as a multi-million cred deal went down in their midst. What a bunch of sheep.

I glared at the thief, asking him to make my day really. I hadn't had a good fight in a long time. I was just waiting for Gareth's signal and then the fun would begin. I hoped.

 

William Davis - Aboard the Manifest Destiny

One great benefit of still looking like a kid is that no one pays you much attention. William liked the attention, but he also knew how to benefit from the lack of vigilance. That is why their new guest barely glance in his direction while following Sam out of the cargo bay. To be honest, there was not much to be looking at. William was sitting cross-legged on one of the ramp of the bay, working on his tablet.

What their guest did not know, was what he was working on. Him. As soon as he had stepped through the threshold of their ship, William had taken a picture of him and record his voice. The recording wasn't the best considering the distance and the echo, but it would do if it ever became necessary.

Navigating through the Cortex (10) [+1PP JINX], William tried to find anything about this first class citizen on this backwater planet. Call it precaution, but also curiosity. He always like to know everything he could about anyone.

 

The Blue Swallow Saloon

Oberon shakes his head at Jo's words and fixes her with a rueful grin. There's the slightest shake to his hand as he reaches out for his glass and an urgent glimmer in his eyes. But he rests his hand there, tapping his dirty fingernails on the tumbler.

"Now, now," he says, in a condescending tone. "That's a mighty fine way to speak to a fella'. Especially when he's offering you a priceless painting for a steal."

He drains the tumbler as he waits for Chang to speak his piece; the foul, off-smelling liquor served by The Blue Swallow with practised ease. He smacks his lips with the air of a connoisseur and then clunks the glass back to the table, wrong way up.

"Now you," he says, gesturing to Stevens. [9 - 13] "You're a man I can do business with. You got the right sort of attitude. I'll tell ya what—" He makes an elaborate show of slowly reaching into his pocket, other hand held palm up, fingers splayed. From his pocket he produces a small, black object you recognise as a datastick. "I've buried that there painting. The coordinates are on here; encrypted, of course. You give me the money, I walk out of here and wave you the password when I'm scott-free. How does that sound?"

He puts the datastick, and both his hands, on the table and leans back in his chair.

Gareth

As you take in the room as a whole [7 - 12], you come to realise that nearly everyone in the place is armed in some way or another. Aside from the couple of burly looking men watching the game of darts, with the guns at their hips barely concealed, there's a dozen or so others in the room that have strange outlines on the inside of their jackets.

But this doesn't worry you so much, it's not uncommon for everyone and their mother to be packing in a small border town. No, it's more that you can't help but pick out a few people in the mingling crowd who are taking an unhealthy interest in the proceedings of the other table.

Three men sit at a table in the corner of the room, blowing blue smoke into the general haze and, appear to have been stuck in the same hand of poker for the last half hour with nary a card nor chip being passed between them. They're definitely packing, and although you'd wager that they were of the same stock as the rest of the ranchers and farmers in the room, they also wear the mean expression of men preparing for violence.

The last person that catches your eye probably wouldn't have, on any other night. A small, slender woman of oriental descent sits at the bar, nursing a drink and you can't help but feel she looks out of place somehow. Her hat's a little too new, perhaps, or sits a little too upright on her head. Her boots, too, they've still got that gleam to them that's usually worn off after more than three weeks in the dust of a place like this. Not to mention she keeps shooting glances at that table, sly ones and artfully done, but you've an experienced enough eye to spot them. And, ontop of all that, when she reaches out for her next drink, you catch a hint of black markings on her forearm. You know enough to wager they're gang tattoos of some sort.

Unfortunately, you're so focused on scoping her out, that you entirely miss the dart that flies through the air and plops into your drink, sprinkling you with some of the watery barrel-swill inside. You glance across to see the man who'd done the throwing, laughing raucously by the bar and high-fiving his equally obnoxious friends.

Morris

A half-second after you hear the plunk of fluid and see the dart floating in Gareth's drink, you catch the sound of raised voices behind you. As you turn to look, you realise that an argument that'd been simmering all night has abruptly come to a boil. Two women hurl themselves at each other, one tackling the other and they both crash straight into you, bounce off and then collapse to the ground in a tangle of limbs. They begin grappling at your feet, rolling around on the beer sodden floor with punches flying left, right and centre.

It'd seem this place has some Mighty Rowdy Locals (d6).

(Gareth, take a Plot Point and a D8 Big Damn Hero dice. I rolled a jinx on my stakes, so feel free to either spend a Plot Point to step back the complication above or pass it on for someone else to use.)

Aboard The Manifest Destiny

Barnabus seems pleased by the favourable reception, shakes the proffered hand and gladly lets Sam take his luggage; a single flight case. It's remarkably light for a man that intends on spending any time in the black, from the hest of it, one couldn't imagine that there's much more in there than perhaps a couple of changes of clothes.

He seems, at first, a little taken-aback by Nick's chair, but soon regains his poise, fixing him with a wide beam as he listens. "Well thank you both," he says, straightening his suit jacket. "For your kind hospitality. I'd love to see the rooms, I don't think I've been allocated one, but I dare say that I'll find one to my liking on a ship this gao guhn. That said, I really would like to speak with your captain before we take to the sky."

Sam

Barnabus seems content to follow you through the thick blast doors at the end of the cargo bay that open into first class. Where the functional areas of the ship are immaculate and well presented, this corridor is more akin to a stately home, with thick wooden paneling on the walls, plush carpet under your feet and Shōji paper doors to divide the rooms.

"I really do love what you've done with the ship," he says, gazing around him. "If you didn't know, you'd never guess that you'd converted these rooms from holding cells."

Just as you turn off down the corridor toward the first pair of empty rooms, you almost run straight into Virginia Anderson, a passenger from second class who has always seemed to have a chip on her shoulder about something. She barely seems to register the pair of you as she storms by, muttering something about the captain under her breath.

"Ship's mechanic, eh?" asked Barnabus, when you explain your role on the ship. "Keeping a boat this size must be a hefty job for one man. I did a spot of electrical engineering myself at University, so I know what a challenge it must be just keeping the systems running, let alone all the mechanics of it too. You must be a skilled man indeed."

Nick

As you watch Samuel and Barnabus leave [14 - 7], you're struck by the manner of this newcomer's gait. There's a lightness to his step and a straightness to his back that you recognise as belonging to those of the core planets. There's something to his posture, too, that's unmistakably aristocratic. You'd wager what's left of your legs that he's got some blue blood in there somewhere.

His clothes, on second glance, aren't quite as shiny as his bearing. Although of a very fashionable cut, there's a certain amount of wear to them, especially around the hem of his trousers and cuffs of his jacket. It's pretty unmistakable as the sort of wear and tear you'd see from several weeks in a border town.

William

It's really strange. As you browse the Cortex, [10 - 10] flicking through file after file on Barnabus, you start to get a feeling that you can't quite put your finger on. There's plenty of material here to be found if you know exactly where to look, especially to someone of your talent— birth certificate, school grades, university diploma, even a gravbike license issued by the Ariel DMV, complete with three points on it for speeding. You know that he was briefly employed at the head office of a Pharmaceutical company and that he once ran PR on political campaign.

But oddly enough, while there's a wealth of 'official' information, you can't find anything personal. No emails, no contact information, no hint of any family, friends or contacts. You can't even tell where he's currently employed. As a human being, he has absolutely zero Cortex presence, something in this day and age of information is extremely rare.

You're just about to wrap up and pull the plug when you catch sight of something that peaks your interest— anomalous packet flow through your firewall. A couple of keystrokes later and you've confirmed it; someone or something has bypassed your security and installed software to your portable Cortex tablet. You've the presence of mind to immediately disconnect and quarantine the Unknown Trojan (D6), but in your experience, this might be only the tip of the iceberg.

In addition, you've absolutely no idea what the file is intended to do, how to remove it or even how it bypassed your security. The entire thing will require a thorough examination.

Aboard The Manifest Destiny

Almost as soon as Samuel and Barnabus disappear from sight, Virginia Anderson storms into the cargo bay and looks around, her pale blue eyes fixing on Nick and William in turn. She stamps a heeled foot into the ground in frustration and gnashes her teeth.

"Where on earth is the Captain?" she asks, of no one in particular. "Why is she always so difficult to find? Doesn't she understand that I've got to be in Donggyi in three days?"

To those of you with a brain, you know that Donggyi just happens to be the capital of Liann Jin in the White Sun system. Also, anyone with the slightest grasp of navigating in the black could tell you that it'd take weeks to get there. Not to mention she'd originally chartered her passage in completely the opposite way, St. Albans, she'd said. From Dangun to Liann Jin in three days— an Unreasonable Customer Demand (D6) if you've ever heard one.

 

Sam Bose - Aboard the Manifest Destiny

Sam dodges out of the way of Anderson as she barrels through the corridor.

"Sorry about her, Mr. Wolfe," Sam states as the lady leaves earshot. "Looks like she's got words for the captain too. Who I'm sure will be down to talk soon."

As Sam leads Barnabus to the rooms, he can't help but feel a little pride at the complements being thrown his way. Not to mention a surge of jealousy as he hears about the patrons education.

"Thank you for the kind words, but I just do my part." Sam says, as Barnabus finishes speaking. "I'm afraid I'm not well-schooled like you, but I keep the Destiny together."

Sam rests his hand on a bulkhead with fondness. Then he turns his attention again to Wolfe.

"So, university for electrical engineering. What kind of things did you study?"

As he waits for Wolfe to answer, Sam gets ready to test his mettle <14> against the passenger. He reminds himself not to be mean, but he wants to know how his skill match up.

 

Long Sinh - Aboard the Manifest Destiny

"Is there a problem, Ms. Anderson?" (14)

The captain of the Destiny revealed herself languidly, approaching with deliberate steps, neither fast nor slow. She wore her hair in a strict bun, hair pulled tight against the scalp, giving her a severe look as she regarded her troublesome passenger.

Her clothes - long dark slacks, a long dun coat, tall boots - did not lend her the authority she exuded, merely accentuating it. She held a bag of walnuts, an uncommon delicacy, in one hand.

With the same deliberate care she took in every movement, Sinh removed one nut from the bag, rolling it in her hand.

"Because if there's a problem, I would love to help you solve it. I consider myself a very efficient problem solver."

With a visceral snap, she curled her hand around the walnut, crushing it into shards. Even the light sounds of the shell hitting the floor seemed overly loud in the silence.

"For instance, I once had a passenger who couldn't decide where she wanted to go, only that she wasn't getting there fast enough. We had-"

She removed a second walnut. Snap.

"-a polite discussion, and I helped that passenger realize that space travel schedules are fickle things, prone to change and delay. After all, when you're off in the black..."

Maintaining eye contact, she paused with the treats at her lips.

"...many unfortunate things can happen."

After a brief pause, she popped the walnuts into her mouth, moving off to face her newest customer.

"What can I help you with, Mr. Wolfe?"

 

Jolene Ang - The Blue Swallow Saloon

I don't like lying and I don't like people who lie. I've got the feeling that this guy isn't entirely on the up and up, even if you don't count the attempt to sell stolen property, but we need proof if we're going to bring this guy in. We can't risk him getting away from us if he does turn out to be telling the truth, either.

"How about you saddle up some pigs and fly 'em to Shadow? I wouldn't riskin' 4 mil on the word of a guy I just met, no siree."

I lean back in my chair, brushing my coat open so that my rifle is on full display, then cross my arms over my chest. I fix a stern look on my face and glare at him, trying to project that this is not acceptable through every part of my body.

"How about instead we go to where you've buried this painting, we have a look at it, I give you the cash and we all walk away happy, kay? If'n you're worried about my intentions, well, I'm willin' to extend some trust and go out all by my lonesome if you are too. We can do this all civilised like, instead of this cloak an' daggers chūi níu."

(Persuasion - Social, Influence and Detective for a PP. Rolled 10 with a jinx included.)

I'm not happy doing this. It doesn't come naturally to me and I can tell I don't sound particularly comfortable. I try to cover it by being gruff. That at least comes easy to me.

I notice as Gareth reacts to something and I spare a glance towards him, but I figure he can look after hisself. Long as he keeps anyone from interfering in our little discussion, I figure we're golden.

 

Nick King - Aboard the Manifest Destiny

Nick watched Sam and Mr. Wolfe leave, waiting until the sound of their conversation faded away to silence, then transferred himself over to his chair and quickly made his way to Will, who still had his head buried in his tablet. Once he got within earshot, he quietly got his attention.

"Well, what did you get? Oh, don't look at me like that; I doubt any of the rest of them noticed, but I know you too well for you to fool me. I know you've ferreted out every movement the man has made by now just to satisfy your own curiosity."

*chuckles*

"So lets see how well I can read people these days: he some kind of gentry, having some sort of legal or family issues? He's almost definitely from the Core, eh? He's been out of the Core for a while now, no doubt about that; his clothes are getting a little threadbare, which Dr. Nick says means he's been on this rock or one like it for a while, and the single little suitcase says it wasn't a planned trip. How am I doing so far?"

As he finished his thought, the witch of Second Class made her appearance. Nick tried to look as unimportant as possible, but his best "helpless cripple" look was not pulling its weight today it would seem, and Ms. Anderson bore down on the two of them. She clearly didn't want them, though, or even the Captain, no matter what she said. She wanted a fucking miracle worker - Donggyi? In three days? Hell, that was three weeks at full burn.

Sometimes Nick was good at manipulating simpler folks perceptions, using their lack of knowledge and understanding of how things worked to bend them to his will. Other times, folks just said things so gorram stupid he was knocked off his game. This, this was definitely the second situation.

"Well, Ms. Anderson, we will -". Saved by the bell, it was the Captain. "Ms. Anderson, it looks like the Captain will handle your concerns." Poor woman. Anderson, that is. The captain would eviscerate her for that bullshit. Oh well, she should know better than that.

With a slight smirk, he turned back to Will. "Well, now that our excitement is over, let me have it; how'd I do?"

 

Chang Stevens- Blue Swallow Saloon

Chang worries hat they are dealing with a scarily comptent high level professional. And then he does the i've buried it out back. trick. Now, Chang knows that he is about 6 cards shy of a full deck, but even he knows that idea is bullshit. And when Jo calls him on it, Chang finds himself completely agreeing, though, tryin mighty hard to put it in as nice a tones as he can.

"Hmmm, that does seem quite reasonable. We get what we want, you get what you want. We both walk away with possible trading partners. This could be quite beneficial in the future"

Chang nods along with Jo's more...direct discussion. Its hard being on the negotiating team sometimes, but with Gareth an Momo watching his back, he has absolutely no concerns.

And then some idiot throws a dart thats probably got enough dirt and muck on it to qualify for a core-world boy's science project lands in Gareth's drink, as well as two beautiful women marring that beauty by attacking each other. Why oh why didn't Chang sit this one out again?

"We should probably leave now before something dangerously violent happens."

13, with a jinx and a d4 distinction used Chang says quickly, with a bright smile that is a bit strained by all the violent tension in the air.

 

William Davis - Aboard The Manifest Destiny

William barely registered the departure of their guest, his mind absorbed by the information collected on his tablet about the man and this annoying little trojan he had managed to catch. Hopefully, he would be able to trace it back to its owner and deliver his own little surprise to them. For now though, he turned to Nicolas.

"Ah! You caught me!" he said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're not too far from the truth actually, but there's one little detail that poses problem."

William brought up his tablet so that his friend could clearly see its screen.

"See there," he said pointing one portion of the screen, "that's all his official documentation. Driving license, past employment and blah blah blah. What's really interesting is that," he finished pointing a blank page.

Looking at Nick's eyebrows shooting up, William answered his unspoken question.

"No personal files. No emails, no personal usage of the Cortex trace, it's like he's never used the Cortex in his life. We both know how unlikely that is uh? But the best part is probably what I catched while researching him. I got a trojan who entered my tablet while performing my check. So either I'm just really a novice and unlucky or that man doesn't want us to know who he is. Which do you think is more likely?"

He was asking retorically of course. They both knew what it was. So William waited patiently for the Captain to finish his business with that damn annoying woman they had taken earlier this month. Sinh would probably still take the man aboard her ship. No point in throwing money by the window, but at least the crew would be prepare in case of an "unexpected" problem.

While waiting for the captain, he decided to try and trace the trojan's origin and destroy it if it poses more threat to his files security than it's worth (9).

 

The Blue Swallow Saloon

Even Oberon can't keep a straight face at Jo's words [10 - 10] and his face breaks into a slight grin. He taps on the table with his fingers, signalling to the young man passing by to refill his glass. You can tell that he's not mighty convinced by your gruff exterior, but think that you're starting to wear him down.

He tosses his fresh drink back [7 -13] and then inclines his head toward Chang ever so slightly at he speaks. In that instant, you both know you've convinced him to relent.

"Alright," he says. "I dare say you make a fair point. Here's what we'll do—"

But he swallows whatever it is he's going to say and his eyes fix on a point somewhere over your left shoulder. You glance in the direction he's looking and see that a tall, narrow shouldered man step in through the front door. He wears a dark stetson, pulled low over his eyes and the saloon's halogen lights gleam off the five pointed star affixed to the front of his waistcoat. Just your luck, it's The Gorram Law [D8].

When you look back to the table, Oberon is already on his feet and is collecting his coat from the back of his chair.

"Right, ladies and gentlemen," he says in a hushed tone, turning aside to keep his face concealed. "It was nice meeting y'all, but that's my queue to leave."

And with that said, he reaches for the datastick.


Aboard The Manifest Destiny

Virginia stands for a moment, gaping at the captain [10 - 14]. One gets the distinct impression that perhaps nobody has ever spoken to her like that in her entire privileged life. Her eyes move from Long to the broken shells lying on the floor and then back to Long, and then to her hands.

"Well," she begins. "Well— Well—."

But she's completely lost for words and after a moment's stammering, she turns and strides off into the bowels of the ship, looking mighty flustered.


Sam

"Oh I'm certainly no expert," [19 - 14] confesses Barnabus. "I took a single module on antenna blisters, frequency modulators and generators, that sort of thing. The only reason I took the class was to learn from John Spencer, who was the visiting professor for that semester. He gave the most fascinating insights on streamlining reception coils to enhance the data before protocol tracing. It's not something I've had to call on often, you see, but it makes for a fascinating mental stimulus." He grins at you. "But I've no doubt you'd know better than I."

He's right, actually. You do know better. The method he describes is actually now outdated by about ten years and much of John Spencer's work has been superseded by more recent thinking. But neither the technique, nor John Spencer, is the sort of thing you'd hear spoken by a lay person.

You come to the room and Barnabus sticks his head in and glances around. "This seems more than adequate for me. If you'll do me the kindness of tossing my case in, I'll go and see about finding your captain."

He claps you on the shoulder and without waiting for a reply, begins heading back in the direction of the Cargo Bay.


William

Curiouser and curiouser. [9 - 9] You can't quite tell where precisely this trojan has come from, or even particularly what the functionality of it is. What you are able to tell is that it was injected via your Cortex browser and that whoever engineered it was exceptionally skilled. Not as skilled as you, perhaps, but you think there's perhaps two hundred people in the whole verse capable of this sort of finesse.

You know from experience that this sort of thing is generally a highly specialised commission that would cost top dollar. However, you also know that this sort of thing is specifically targeted. That could mean that it has been embedded into the records for Barnabus Wolfe and is aimed at people looking him up; a distinct possibility. But the other reasonable alternative is that someone floated it out there on the Cortex looking for you in particular. It's certainly not something that's beyond the realms of possibility.


Aboard The Manifest Destiny

Barnabus passes Virginia on her way through the doors back to the passenger quarters. He glances from her panic stricken face to the captain's cool, collected presence, then offers her the tiniest of smiles and tugs a forelock.

"Good evening, Captain," he says. "As I mentioned by my wave, I'm hoping to charter passage to Osiris, though I dare say I don't need to be there in three days." He offers you all a wry grin. "I'd be happy to travel around in the black with you for a time, I've no pressingly urgent business to attend to and I'm rather keen to not be in Hidden Acres much longer. I've had more than my fill of the local populace."

 

The Blue Swallow Saloon

"Gorram it. This cannot be happening." I give a quick look around the bar, taking in the rowdy locals, the sheriff and the erstwhile thief. "Gorram it."

I raise from my seat and pin Oberon with a stare, every bit of authority I'd gathered over the course of a long war suffusing my voice. "Stop." I wait until he pauses a moment then turn to Gareth.

"Clark, go make us a distraction. Shouldn't be too hard." I turn around to face Chang, allowing my expression to soften just fractionally. "Stevens, go talk to the lawman. Keep him busy. I know you can do it, just keep his attention focused on you. Shouldn't have to be for long."

I grab Momo's arm, motioning him towards the door. "Phan, you're watching our backs, make sure no one follows us."

I finally turn back to Oberon, feeling every stubborn bone in my body make itself known. I will not lose this guy. The entire Browncoat army couldn't stop me now. "We're leaving right now and you're going to take me to this painting. There's too much riding on this deal for a lone sheriff on a backwater moon to screw it up. Now, we're going to wait a moment so that our distraction's ready, then we're going to head out of that door as calm as you please. Maybe give the sheriff a nod as we pass, all peaceful like. Nothing is going to go gorram wrong with this and we're all going to be happy freaking campers. Got it?"

(Rolling Influence again. Social [D6], Influence [D8] and spending a PP to bring Veteran of the Unification War [D8] in. Rolled a 16)

 

Nick King - Aboard the Manifest Destiny

"Nǐ kāi wán xiào ma? I don't like this, Will," Nick said, his expression darkening with every word Will said. "You and me both know you aren't some screw up that can't handle himself on the Cortex. That stuff isn't just floating out there with you missing it, and we both know that an aristocrat like that, even something of a black sheep like our new friend seems to be, is most certainly acquainted with the Cortex. Add that trojan in? Something's wrong, and I don't like this one damn bit. Fill me in on what you know, and I'll go track down Long and talk to her privately. I'm sure she is still going to want to take him, 'cause God knows we can't turn down good money, but we need to watch him closely."

After Will finished catching him up on everything the search turned up, Nick let him go to process the trojan, and went towards the berths in search of the Captain. He had barely started down the hall, though, when he was met by Sam, who was coming back from the passenger bay with a thoughtful expression on his face.

Not really who Nick was after, but Sam did bring Wolfe to a room, and he would likely have a different perspective on him.

"Sam! How about that passenger, mate? Did he seem normal to you? See, me and Will were talking about him, and I made some observations based on his clothes and the way he was carrying himself. You know, nothing fool-proof, but I thought I'd make a game of it. Turns out that, according to Will, I nailed it. Only problem was, the things that I guessed about him were almost the fullness of all of the information. All he had was official documents; not a damn bit of personal information to be found anywhere.

You know me, I'd be more than happy to count guessing his whole life to be a win for my amazing observational powers, but we both know I'm not that good. And I know you and the kid don't always get along very well, but you know he does know his stuff. With that said, either this Wolfe has just enough out there to show us what we want to see, or he is unfortunately disconnected for a wealthy guy. Anything weird come up in your conversation?"

 

Sam walks out of the passenger cabin area pondering what heard. There ain't too many people in the Verse that know Engineering to that level. Even if it was out of date.

He snaps out of that train of thought as he Nick speak.

"I wouldn't say strange," Sam says. "But he's smart as a whip, that Mr. Wolfe. Remembers engineering principles from who knows how long ago from just a few courses in college."

He walks over to the others. "Now it might just be my humble origins, but that don't sit entirely right with me."

He takes a seat and turns to Will. "What's this Nick's talking about, Silver Spoon? You poked your nose into our guest, and your piece of mǐ tián gòng couldn't find anything good? You're not loosing your touch are you?"

 

Chang Stevens- Blue Swallow Saloon

Chang nods as he gets his orders; this is why he likes Jo, and why he's walking towards the "police" that are as likely to punch him first as to listen to him. Which is why his posture straightens, he walks tall, and smiles so brightly that he draws the attention of everyone in the room.
(Spending 1 PP on Alluring-Turn Heads to give Joe a d10 on her next action)
"Thank Goodness you've shown up officers!" Chang says with all of the frazzled exuberance of a core-worlder. "There was about to be a huge fight between, uhhh." Chang's brain sputters and dies as he looks at the entire room giving him the stink eye, and promising absolute murder should he try to pin the blame on them. "you know!" He coughs, hoping that sounds reasonable. Trick- 6