Chapter 1: "In for a micro CR..."

[Leitz]

[1419.230.1735] Below Berths, BMM-511A2X "Too Hexed"

"Get out!" rang down the hallway. Along with the clang of something metal hitting something else metal.

Charleen "Charlie" Turpin (Gunner Apprentice) ran by. Her light touch of mascara, matching her trimmed auburn hair, was streaked.

"Once a week, like a pulsar cycle. Try to get Chief's attention; get shot down," Illa Vargas (Engineer) chortled. She looked back at the new 'recruits'. Vargas had black grease smudges on her albino skin and coveralls. Her hair was tied up in a rag, like most engineers. "Fourteen weeks straight. He's not the attentive sort."

For the old hands, it was time to cash in, Captain offered Cr 50 a head for new recruits.

First and Second Shifts had taken all 1000 dT of BMM-511A2X out from the asteroid known far and wide as "Barkey's Bar and Blowfish Emporium". First and Second shifts got to do anything that remotely required skill. Or training. Or the least bit of competence. Third shift got to recruit from the dregs of wherever the ship stopped. Barkey's wasn't as bad as the one penal colony. Barkey's had beer on tap. The recruits were about the same.

The ship had a real name somewhere, in addition to the Birach Merchant Marine designation. Most of Third Shift called her "Too Hexed". Deep space was freaky enough, without quiet voices coming from empty hallways and locked up equipment being strewn about every so often.

Perey had gotten a knife in the gut and a dirtside jail term if he recovered. Tiberius was pretty sure he'd get stuck with the jumpy kid who wanted to look cool. Twenty-ish male, talker, lots of eye contact. When shown an image of a lacar, he knew which end to not point at himself. Overqualified to be a Marine aboard "Too Hexed", but Force Commander Cochran barely paid attention to his troops outside of daily parade marches and inspections. It would be a hot day in cold space before he actually opened the armory to Third Shift. Maybe the lacars and armor didn't even work?

One of the newbies drooled. Spittle ran down her chin, untouched. The hiring agency had "special needs" cases and Leslie Philips had gotten an extra Cr 100 slipped into the girl's work papers. She was trained to clean, that was about it. Too Hexed could keep her gainfully employed well past retirement. The girl shifted from side to side when standing, and walked at the wrong speed when moving.

Everyone kept moving. Sure enough, a stainless bowl lay on the greasy deck outside Chief's berth. A green sludge left a long trail down the corridor wall opposite his hatch. The drooling girl would have lots to do.

Alex had the lead. He knew better than to stand directly in front of Chief's portal. Two quick raps and he deftly stood aside.

The hatch opened and a two kilo spanner hit the green mess on the opposite side of the corridor. "I said-"

Chief stuck his head out. The odor of sweat, urine, and Vargas' poisonous home brew rolled out with him. He looked at them, muttered a string of curses, and then barked at Alex. "Report."


OOC: Everyone, introduce your character by description. Also, don't forget to work out which PC's have decent relationships with other PCs. At least one. We have one or two other players who may join.

[dragoner]

"Assistant Lead for Third Shift Kuznetsov reporting, ready to take control of the helm, Sir!" Alex saluted, his back straight, care worn uniform of the day ready for inspection. These petty hierarchies loved their titles and ceremony, where back on the farm, such as pulling a stump, nature only cared for your 'heave ho' and maybe not even then. Some might consider him humorless, cold, laconic; that wasn't necessarily true, because after a few shots, he could entertain with a tall tale or two.

He nodded for Tiberius, Philips, and any others, to step up on through and take their duty stations, imposing himself between them and the chief as some sort of flak cover. Alex only cared about the heave ho as well, how you put your back into it. Nature was a cold witch that would freeze you out, not caring who you are, and she had schooled him well. Once through, he ordered the hatch sealed and taking his duty station at the pilot's acceleration couch, and said in his characteristic dry humor: "This poop is not going to scoop itself."

[The Bindoner]

Leslie drifts along behind Alex, present, but hoping not to be noticeable enough to attract duties.

Absentmindedly adjusting the cuffs of his uniform and casting a bored eye around he smiles fondly at the new hire.

A real prize, that girl. Someone to clean up, not complain about the duty, or chatter while doing it. Oh yes, a very useful addition to Third Watch. Good for hygiene, and moral. “A clean ship is...” ah, a Godly ship? Hmm... Something like that. A good thing, anyway. Pity she's more use than ornament, but one can't have everything. Not for 100 credits, anyway.

Ah, the Chief. Tricky chap. Jolly good Alex has the lead on this.

[dragoner]

" ... not this one." Alex has a rumbling low chuckle finishing Leslie's axiom. "She your new front wife?" In a gentle teasing tone, as he sorts through the order of the day, flight plan, and various IRC messages on the console's monitor in front of him.

[The Bindoner]

Leslie shudders. "Perish the thought!"

Smoothly regaining composure: "An officer taking advantage of their position of power over a subordinate? Unthinkable. I'm surprised at you sir, that such an idea would occur to you."

The words are delivered deadpan, but the twinkling eye and sly smile betray the satirical intent. We are Third on the Hex after all.

Straightening his uniform Leslie thinks to himself: It would take a lot more than 100 credits, in this case, anyway.

[Stirling]

Tiberius

"Your report Sir." The marine stands to attention, used to the formalities of appearing before an officer. Usually it was about brawling or insubordination. Tiberius had this stubborn streak to not let officers get the better of him and they often reciprocated with the usual jerk orders to 'toothbrush the latrine' or 'knock out fifty' in the engine room. His report, brief and understated was swiftly handed over when he got 'the look'. It concerned the overall efficiency of the ship guns and armaments. Ball joints gone here, lens cracked there, not rigged for the sensors properly, outdated equipment on an outdated ship. Still defence, or attack, was something he took seriously as his life and yours depended upon it.

"Any more rumours of pirates and grease-balls. Rogue enterprises hiding behind mining moons or laying in wait on the fringe of gas giants? Would like to put the men through their paces at some point Sir, test them out with some target practice just in case. Besides it will liven the evening up when the other watches are off playing or sleeping."

He eyeballs the droopy cleaner and then whispers' "Ding Dong or cannon fodder?" in the ears of Leslie Phillips.

Tiberius was never too bothered about where we went, as long as it was somewhere. And 'somewhere' always meant 'not here'. He waited for his brief to be speed read and filed (normally in the shredder), and then go back to his assumed duties.

[dragoner]

Leslie shudders. "Perish the thought!"

Smoothly regaining composure: "An officer taking advantage of their position of power over a subordinate? Unthinkable. I'm surprised at you sir, that such an idea would occur to you."

The words are delivered deadpan, but the twinkling eye and sly smile betray the satirical intent. We are Third on the Hex after all.

Straightening his uniform Leslie thinks to himself: It would take a lot more than 100 credits, in this case, anyway.

"SIR?!?" Alex says in mock Slavic rage, "I werk for a livink!"

Nevertheless Alex's posture shows he's just bantering, as he sorts through the daily allotment of crud that has built up around the 1st and 2nd duty shifts.

He now calmly continues, "I have many, many ideas occurring to me at all times, maybe that is why they make me third shift assistant underdog."

[The Bindoner]

He eyeballs the droopy cleaner and then whispers' "Ding Dong or cannon fodder?" in the ears of Leslie Phillips.

Leslie whispers back: Well, that is rather a matter of personal taste I should say. Not my type though.

[dragoner]

Alex looks to see if Tiberius is trying to get spanner upside head from chief. "I guess that's one way to make infirmary roster." He says quietly.

"Leslie, astrogation check, please."

He would ask Tiberius for a sensors check, but he is busy, Alex thinks to himself. Anyways, he runs over the controls, "Flight control systems green, go."

Simple Pilot Check [2d6+2] = 7+2 = 9

[Leitz]

[1419.230.2115] BMM-511A2X "Too Hexed"

Internal explosions rocked the Too Hexed. Missiles exploded against her hull, ripping house sized chunks off with ease. Pirate fighters closed in for the kill...

"Pew...pew...pew," Dorcas "Dork" Guzeman said, as she maneuvered her last bit of meatbread around her plate. "And the fighters close in, destroying the Too Hexed. In one blindingly fast combat action they statistically elevate the quality of the Birach Merchant Marines!"

She looked at Alex. "You should lighten up, man. Them Red Domici pirates ever actually do show up, even your fancy flying won't save this tub. Lunch?"

Alex had his own concerns. The waste bucket smelled like Leriche had urinated in it again, right before shift change. Leriche could pilot a heavy, granted, but he was as socially uncouth as one could get and remain in the so called nobility. Neither First nor Second shift had emptied the waste bins, and the clean up girl hadn't made her way to the bridge.



Leslie could smell the waste. He could also do the math, they weren't where they were supposed to be. Third time in four weeks. Logs showed the course and heading plot, but somehow they had lost two hours of transit time. Still, both First and Second shift Navigators had signed off on the logs. Not much in this part of space; the occasional junk floating, or a stray asteroid. They were a couple of weeks from dirtside, no one came out this way unless they were seriously lost, or going to FarPort. That was three days away at twenty seven degrees port.




Outside the bridge hatch, Tiberius stood watch. Marines on the other shifts talked smack with the hatch closed, but kissed shiny insignia when it opened. "Fetch some qana" or "We need more food." All Tiberius had to deal with was the new kid, trying to be the perfect Marine.

"Do we stand at attention the whole time, Sergeant? What if the Captain comes by? Or Force Commander Cochran? Do we salute them on the ship? I mean, aboard ship? Huh, sir?"

Tiberius knew Cochran was a martinet. The FC talked a good game about commando school, and wore his salad properly. Still, he had been a mercenary, and somehow 'old injuries' kept him from working out in the makeshift gym or jogging the perimeter corridor like the others. He was just too mealy around bigger men while being a smooth talker around the younger, and very cuter, captain. Still, paychecks got credited.




Clangs and curses echoed through engineering. Charlie was supposed to be working on the electronics for turret four; no one was quite sure why a meter long spanner was needed.

"Okay, loser does full jump drive inspection. Even if it's so out of alignment that it'd mis-jump is into ancient history." Illa Vargas held her cards close. She looked at Seiji and and Larry. "We're taking 'help Charlie' off the list of loser options, no game is worth your life."

OOC: Roll Gambling (+ Int Modifier) to beat a 6

"I don't know what it is about her that throws Chief off the deep end. He was mostly sober six months ago, when we did refit. Then she came on and started smiling at him and making him meals. I sure never made a uniform blouse look that tight." She looked at her cards, sighed, and set them face down. "He was the old Chief, for a while. The one they tell stories about."

She shrugged. "He wants as many turrets as possible working. For him to countermand the XO and the First Officer, and authorize us to strip everything necessary to make things work, gets my attention. You two up for it?"

[The Bindoner]

Leslie snaps out of his absent-minded study of the plot at the mention of his name: Astrogation check? Yes, right, probably a good idea. Now then, let me see...

There is something to look at here, and it will at least pass the time. And distract from the smell. When what's-her-name gets here to clear up Leslie intends to tell her to store the waste in an airlock and bring it back at the end of shift.

Actually, it might be worth looking through the Bridge Logs as well as the Astrogation data. See if those 1st and 2nd chaps have been doing things by the book or cutting corners.

Astrogation check: [2d6] = 11
Admin check: [2d6] = 9

[Leitz]

It didn't take Leslie long to put together several data points. They were exactly on heading, at the logged speed. A two hour miss wouldn't usually be caught unless someone was paying attention. Even if they were, in a day or two there would be too much data to sift, and the change wouldn't be noticed. According to the bridge logs, about half way through First shift, some debris came up on the scanner. It was in the area of the flight plan, but not near enough to worry about. Quick math, not done on the main computer where it would be logged, showed that the Too Hexed could have approached the debris and then gotten back on course, no one the wiser. At this distance from civilization, long range sensors from other ships wouldn't notice much, if anything.

The damning piece of evidence was that they were on course, and nothing was logged or mentioned. That meant the pilot and navigator had to work to get them back on course, and not use the nav computer to do it. Or wipe the queries clean afterwards. Having seen Alex fly, Leslie was confident a good pilot and navigator could dead reckon most of the work.

[The Bindoner]

Hah! So those smug sods aren't perfect. Got a scam of their own, by the look of things. Well, perhaps we can horn in on it, if we can work out what it is.

Ah, Mr Kuznetsov? Bit of a rum do here, what do you make of it? Might it be worth making a copy of these logs, do you think? Could come in handy.

[Leitz]

When Alex looked at the data Leslie provided, a few things stood out. The Too Hexed normally runs the engines at 50%, thus they are cruising at less than M-1. Since they don't have any place particular to get to, but are just patrolling, it's not an issue. The other shift could have made up for the time, except that pushing the engines past the 65% mark would create audible and vibratory differences a human could feel. Alex has talked to Chief a bit, now and again, and is confident even pushing to 55% would be noticed by the old Engineer. Whatever the man's issues were, even half pickled he was sharper than the entire First shift combined.

Alex would have no problem changing arc and cruising on the far side of the debris, and then getting back on track. Likely they didn't push the engines at all and just assumed Third Shift wouldn't notice, or care.

[Stirling]

Tiberius

The familiarity of the shifts will causes some of the men to treat the job with contempt. Fatal errors. Boarding on vac-suits half full of oxygen, charging into the fray on an empty carbine."

It is not the old creaky vessel that most concerns the marine but the rickety shape of most of the crew. 'Misfits and mavericks' he echoes again, a long time description for 2HexD crews. "You salute the rank not the man. And then when you have been through a few scrapes, dicing with death and bleeding out together, your mates taking bayonets in the chest for you or one falls on grenades to take one for the team. Then you salute the men, not the ranks."

He didn't having to show the ropes to the new kid. He was okay, but prattled on too much, talking incessantly and worrying over things that didn't matter. Tibbs' had a satisfaction in knowing the men and machines were in order and only then you could cut corners and take liberties. He had ordered a report from the engineers regarding the turrets and armaments. He wanted a full brief and working knowledge of what capability we had. One concern from the last trip that still needed fixing was some of the gyroscopes on the laser sights in the turrets didn't rotate fully and thus left blind spots on the pin pointing of targets. Anyone coming out of the sun at a particular angle had an advantage of not being shot at. He would wander down later and check.

[The Bindoner]

Strolling across the bridge to the Sensor station and leaning nonchalantly on the console, Leslie addreses himself to "Dork"

I say, Ms Guzeman, might I ask a favour? The ship appears to have run through some debris on the previous shift. Perhaps you can find some record of what it was in the Sensor data? It might have caused some damage, after all. Scratched the paintwork. Left a nasty smell, perhaps. It would be responsible to check. Here, let me show you the time and location we are interested in.

[atpollard]

"I don't know what it is about her that throws Chief off the deep end. He was mostly sober six months ago, when we did refit. Then she came on and started smiling at him and making him meals. I sure never made a uniform blouse look that tight." She looked at her cards, sighed, and set them face down.

”A woman that dresses modestly doesn’t hide her body, she displays her virtue.” said Lawrence in a soft, matter of fact tone. All of his concentration was on his cards.
OOC: Roll Gambling (+ Int Modifier) to beat a 6
Gambling: [2d6+1] = 7+1 = 8

"He was the old Chief, for a while. The one they tell stories about." She shrugged. "He wants as many turrets as possible working. For him to countermand the XO and the First Officer, and authorize us to strip everything necessary to make things work, gets my attention. You two up for it?"

The Founder wrote “Walking by the field of the slothful and the vineyard of one void of understanding, I saw that it was overgrown with weeds and its walls had collapsed, and I understood: a little extra sleep and a little extra rest … then poverty will pounce as a bandit and scarcity attack like a highwayman.” Lawrence laid his cards on the table revealing his hand. " Heck yeah, I am in. If we can’t maintain it then we don’t deserve to have it. That makes it a TEST from the Creator."

Lawrence scratched his head for a moment " After we salvage what we can from what we have already on hand, we should look at trying to repair or build workarounds for some of the missing items to repair a few more turrets. What have naught to lose by trying, and much to gain."

4 requested rolls: [2d6] = 9; [2d6] = 7; [2d6] = 9; [2d6] = 7

[ffilz]

Seiji is clearly distracted while playing, his mind on where he might scrounge a coaxial plasma splitter to repair Turret #3.
Gambling [2d6+1] = 5+1 = 6

[dragoner]

Hah! So those smug sods aren't perfect. Got a scam of their own, by the look of things. Well, perhaps we can horn in on it, if we can work out what it is.

Ah, Mr Kuznetsov? Bit of a rum do here, what do you make of it? Might it be worth making a copy of these logs, do you think? Could come in handy.

Alex told the woman named penis (odd one that), "I'll have a sandwich, thanks." When she's gone, he'll have a look at the logs Leslie has to show him. "Hmm, you know there was politician, Frank something, say 'three may keep secret if two are dead'. I guess maybe we can use this to blackmail that other crew, or we could go check it out."

[dragoner]

alex takes his pistol and shoots himself in the head