[Characters] Morge

[driftwood]

Basic Data Name: Tenovasi "Vas" Adophu Occupation: Merc Culture: Core Worlds Genotype: Extremorph (Vacuum Adapted) //1A Tech Index: T10 Habituated Gravity: +0 Standard Actual Age: 65 Apparent Age: 25 Status and Consequences   Physical [][][][] Mental [][][] Current FP: 4/4 Refresh: 4 2 | Mild: - 4 | Moderate: - 6 | Severe: - Credit [][] 2 | Mild: - 4 | Moderate: - 6 | Severe: -

Aspects High Concept: Winged Extremorph Ex-Marine, Zero-G/Atmopheric Reentry SpecialistFallen Angel who Admires the Hooyow Trouble: No one turns their back on the Angeli ... or the Adophu clan Cultural Aspect: The Core Worlds are the best of the best ... which is why they're the worst of the worst. Game Aspects: Cultures in Conflict Phase One: Vas wants to make a checklist on how to live a less structured life ... this aspect is the opposite of thatGained an Appetite for Life from the Hooyow Phase Two: No Good with mechanical doohickeys, not technopsiGadgets - But No Trouble doing the Shot Titus in the FaceRight Thing Phase Three: Ayako is my Ace in the Hole

Skills +4 +3 +2 +1 Athletics Physique Will Rapport   Ranged Combat Notice Empathy     Unarmed Combat Contacts       Bureaucracy

Stunts Charge (Athletics) - Make an Athletics roll to movement must be unrestricted by any situation aspect or charactercharge a must be 2 zones awaytarget and gain any weapon-related bonusattack them Zero-G Specialist (Athletics) - Gain a +2 bonus to especially useful for setting up subsequent attacks or complex maneuversCreate an Advantage actions when maneuvering in zero-G. Danger Sense (Notice) - Uncanny sense for danger: Notice skill unaffected by like total concealment, darkness, or sensory impairmentsenvironmental conditions in situations where harm is intended

Extras Adaptation - Vacuum (High Concept Aspect) Mindscape Implant (1 aspect from extras budget) Wings (3 stunts - 2 from extras budget, 1 from Refresh) - Use Athletics to make same actions as Drivemovement actions in the air. Gain additional free zone of movement, move and attack a target up to 2 zones away. Biomed Array (2 skill points from extras budget) PSA (2 skill points from extras budget) Hand Scanner (2 skill points from extras budget)   Empty

Background Vas had just wanted to soar through the clouds and up to the stars. And it was his RIGHT, by birth, genetics, aptitude, and will. After all, he was a scion of the famous Adophu - the great Manhome clan of vacuum extremorphs, their famous wrought-iron skin glinting silver at the creases, and their drakish wings unfurling to enormous size as they plummeted through the atmosphere. Many thought that all the special Orbital Insertion Commandos of the Space Force Marines looked like that, even though most just had mechanical wings built into their zero-g armor. Hence the Commandos' common knickname of Angeli - a problem on religious neo-culture worlds, but an asset to purveyors of very popular adult entertainments. Vas was Captain of his own unit when they were instructed to teach a band of Hooyow to pay more respect to Valhalla's planetary quarantine. Unfortunately, a group of New Trader smugglers had arrived first, and decided to school the Angeli instead. Vas lost several men during the drop, and was himself badly injured while exacting retribution. He was surprised to discover that the Hooyow wanted to nurse him back to health and then fight him in an honorable duel. During that recovery, he was forced to watch with honest eyes how the Hooyow lived their lives - full of passion and violence, lacking any Tech at all... but seemingly so happy. When he was mended, he fought and killed his benefactor, eating his heart-analogue to the approbation of the roaring crowd. There were a lot of questions when he returned to Earth for R&R and debrief. For the first time, he felt out of conjunction with his culture. It wasn't the boyfriends who were now girlfriends or the girlfriends who were now disembodied jelly sacs - that was life in the Core Worlds (and in most cases no impediment to picking up where they had left off). It was that even the smiles seemed like grimaces. Although there were a lot of questions, technically his service agreement was satisfied, and he walked out before anyone could ask if they were really going to worry about the letter of the law. He quickly made his way off-world heading to the Fringe... before someone changed their mind and re-educated him. Not quite a renegade, he has to keep glancing over his shoulder, because an Adophu doesn't turn his back on the Angeli, his home, his culture and his destiny. But that's not going to stop him from having fun.   Vas is tall and powerfully built. His skin appears to be wrought iron, with creases and peaks glinting with silver highlights. (This black and silver helps with heat control in space.) He has thin, organic wings (not feathery like a traditional angel's), that are around his size normally, but are actually tightly folded and can extend dramatically and then billow out even further to accommodate surviving a drop from orbital space through an atmosphere. His hair looks like rivulets of wrought iron as well, but is actually soft to the touch. He likes to think he's a man of the Fringe now, but he has an incredibly distinctive appearance and a certain bearing, and you don't just drop decades of inculcation in the Core Worlds culture, the Adophu clan, and being a Captain of the celebrated Angeli. While he is not officially wanted by the authorities for any reason, unofficially a lot of people are going to have reason to notice him, and if he encounters a squad of Angeli or an Adophu agent, well... In terms of personality, he is trying to embrace the Hooyow way, to the extent he is culturally capable. He's drinking, smoking, fornicating with anything that can manage such activities (but not xenomorphs, he hasn't overcome that conditioning yet), and has even managed to cultivate a slight gut despite his physical conditioning. He deliberately tries to avoid refined speech, is obnoxiously brash to the well-heeled, generous to a fault with wretches, and always spoiling for a fight. Suncat is not sure that Vas is the best thing for her right now to help her work through her issues ... but there is something about him. And it's nice to be able to just eject him out of an airlock and not worry about him splattering on the planet below.   Vas struggled to breath in the chlorinated air of Valhalla, even with and respirocytes if we go that wayhis breather. The tactical package had been a frakking mess and he was personally going to rip out the mindscape implant of whichever Class A impacted proboscis had assembled it - they had dropped straight into a hostile killing zone, albeit their intention had been to do the same to whoever they had found there. Still, their attackers were from an unnamed Darradine Rim New Trader syndicate, and their targets were supposed to be the native Hooyow of Valhalla. Hooyow Mandatory spend: 1 aspect, 2 stunts The Hooyow, or “War Monsters”, are violent hexapedal aliens. Contacted only fifty years ago, little is known about them. They have three walking “modes” (two-legged, four-legged, six-legged), are cannibalistic, and like fighting; they’re intelligent, technologically primitive, and short-lived, with a violent world-view. Their homeworld, dubbed Valhalla (page 382) is quarantined, but specialist Hooyow serve the Commonality as soldiers or martial arts instructors. Hooyow interaction is governed by a complex behavioural code the Commonality calls “honour”. Decisions are based on hierarchical intimidation and short, non-lethal duels rather than discussion. Hooyow society lacks fire- and metals-based technology (tech index T0); create Valhallan Hooyow characters accordingly. Hooyow in Commonality service (informally known as Valkyrie) seem to be adapting native Hooyow practices to the higher tech Commonality environment. The Hooyow War Scribe On Valhalla, the traditional Hooyow war scythes are fashioned from the natural fibre glass which grows in its exotic environment; in Commonality Space, these items are fashioned by makepoint, or occasionally crafted by Valkyrie themselves. They have up to six blades, and may make multiple attacks if the Hooyow has the Multiple Natural Weapons natural ability (page 402). To disrespect a Hooyow’s war scythe is to invite violent retribution. But then again, so many things do… Chronological Age: 15-20. Apparent Age: Mature adult. Typical Occupations: Barbarian, Downtecher, Military. Typical Enhancements: Jumper*, Multiple Natural Weapons*, Spider Climb*. Mandatory Extras: Expert Climber*, Natural Armour*. Flaw: Weakness to Fire. Genotype Aspects: You must take at least 1 genotype aspect. Eat Your Foe and Take His Strength You honour your vanquished foe when you devour his body and take his strength within you! Invoke: To intimidate others in battle, feel emboldened to attack or resist pain or damage. Compel: To disgust civilised beings, become distracted in combat. You Slight My Honour! You do not feast with me? You wish to talk instead of fighting to decide this question? Invoke: To gain a bonus because your honour is at stake; believe you are absolutely right; be massively intimidating. Compel: To take violent offence at the most bizarre of pretexts; attack someone apparently without provocation. Short-Lived Your chitinous body was never designed to survive the corrosive rains of your homeworld long. But you will burn bright! Invoke: To act decisively, enjoy the here and now, gain bonuses to reach decisions or move quickly. Compel: To be impetuous, headlong, innocent, naive; not think of your own safety (or that of your companions!). When an Angelus made an orbital insertion, the wings were primarily for stabilization, deceleration, and limited navigation - gliding, or essentially a controlled crash. However, seeing the slaughter, Vas had used his fully-capable wings to truly fly, which was always a draining experience. It had taken every iota of his capacity to stay alive and slaughter the New Traders to a sentient. When that was done he had collapsed on the ground, lacking even the energy to furl his wings, let alone carry on the mission to teach the obstinate Hooyow a lesson. Luckily, the bizarre sense of Hooyow honor had kicked in, and they had decided that they could not honorably be insulted until he was healed enough for his death to be meaningful. Eating their strange foods and absorbing their toxic atmosphere, an ordeal that probably only an extremorph could have survived, he sometimes felt like he was going to end up with as much Valhalla in him as Old Mars. When Old Pregg, the aging headman and his nurse, announced he was healed enough for ritual combat, he immediately headed for his null rifle ... then set it back down. Old Pregg fingered his War Scythe and clicked contemplatively at him. He should have known - it was Old Pregg himself he would face in the Arena. Sooner or later, the aging Hooyow was certain to face ritualistic duel and defeat, condemning him to years of humiliated subservience to whomever replaced him. This way, he could either gain ever-lasting fame or die a death that would echo through the annals. The Hooyow offered him clumsy weapons rapidly adapted for an upright quadroped, but he had always been better with his fists than a blade. Although when he saw Old Pregg striding into the arena with his war scythe, he almost reconsidered. Old Pregg chittered a salutation/insult/inquiry as to his recovery, lowered his carapace, and charged. Vas made a mighty leap, billowing his wings at the last moment so that he landed later and farther back than Old Pregg was expecting - he delivered a mighty blow to Old Pregg's rear, and all six of his legs shuddered. But faster than he could have imagined, Old Pregg was pivoting and slicing, the deadly war scythe lancing the air, and catching incredibly painful nicks on his limbs and wings. Vas was fast, strong, and tough, but it was all he could do to backpedal for his life. Finally, he realized this wasn't going to work - the Hooyow was armed and he wasn't; this was his planet; and he was still recovering from grievous injuries. "For the Angeli and Old Mars!!!" he bellowed, and charged into the cyclone of scythe swipes; he felt serious gouges bloom on his limbs, and kept on pumping before the pain burrowed through the shock. At last he was through to Old Pregg, and with a mighty roar he settled his hands on Old Pregg's head, squeezing and pulling with all his might. Feeling the war scythe continuing to scourge his back, he instinctively launched into the air, dragging the frantically-struggling Hooyow with him. His back felt like it had been flayed open to the bone, but he flew higher and higher. At last, with a sickening crunch, the head collapsed and partially detached. With a hysterical roar, Vas threw the head to the ground, ripped open the chest carapace, and devoured what passed for a Hooyow heart. He declined additional medical treatment on Valhalla, and walked (barely) under his own power to the Space Force Marines shuttle. The Officer-in-Charge was shocked to find a survivor of the ill-fated Odin's Hammer operation, and doubly-so when he realized he was facing a unit commander of Adophu stock. He was not only summarily whisked away, but shunted to a sector capital for transport via 3-space back to Manhome. ************************************************** "You picked up some weird shrak on that planet," the medical technician murmured. Vas turned his exhausted gaze onto the medic. He wouldn't disagree; couldn't. To be honest, his body was feeling pretty odd, and people were looking a bit strange too. He just grunted. ************************************************** Later, after the increasingly evasive debrief, he wandered the streets of New St Reno in confusion. He had felt a deep-seated need to protect his new insights from his superiors, something he had never felt before. And what were those insights? He wasn't completely sure, but he was feeling very certain that he hated Old Mars, its milieu, and probably everything about the Core Worlds. Shunting away yet another halo invitation to a private lounge, he tripped over a fat cat. Well, nearly tripped - he went stumbling, but the cat (which was absurdly large but not at all fat) had darted ahead, and was looking at him with mirth in its eyes. "Disgusting," lisped a methane gas sack hovering nearby. "I say," said its companion, a suckling tentacle-membrane dissolving a cartilage cube full of mice. "Probably a xenomorph ... I remember when we could eat them without any permits at all." "Quite right, dear, quite right. Although, oh dear, is that an Adophu? Do you require PANSEC assistance? Would you like us to vaporize this thing for its insolence in walking near your path?" Vas coughed. "No ... thank you. Sentients. Please be on your way." He reached for his rifle ... which wasn't there. Right, he had lost it during debrief. And he was unarmored. Cat looked up at the clumsy gargoyle and obnoxious post-human snobs. Xenomorph! I never, indeed, she thought, and very deliberately sat down to groom. Vas gave a pained smile to the two nobles until they left, then glanced at the synthetic great-cat. "What's your story?" "Who says I have a story?" Cat preened, stretching her back. "Only ... let's say you're not getting the whole picture right now - the whole picture involves starjamming. And I could use some dumb, er, acquiescent muscle that's not inclined to ask questions. Comprende?" Vas took a deep breath, hardly believing he was going to follow through on what had seemed an idle whim back in Angeli HQ. "Sure," he exhaled, "give me your best shot."   Titus, the avatar rather than the ship, sprawled on the chair, overwhelming it's meager structure with his corpulence. Scratching at his belly, he belched and said, "Fox pelts? Seems rather ... downtech." He glanced at Vas. Vas hurriedly cleared his throat. "Yes, downtech. That will, er, cost you extra. For the INDIGNITY." Titus shrugged. Gerry the Gent never stopped moving. Dressed to the nines in tails, spats, and tophat, he spoke as much through the twirls of his baton (a deadly baton, capable of plasma torches and mindburns) as through the antsy twitches of his mouth. His eyes were different colors and focused on objects independently of one another. "Foxes, dogs, they all's mutts, see?" he drawled. "Don' much care wut ye' gents ken, dis work is the work that it is, right?" He spat conspicuously in between Titus' boots. Looking him in the eye and pushing his hat forward onto his brow, he yes, it can be donesidestepped forward menacingly. "Y'know, ah can make ye take t' job ... me paw taught me 'ow ..." "You got more fathers than you got fingers ... " Titus retorted, but his breath died in his throat and he finished without conviction as Gerry held his gaze. "Eidelon to eidelon, le' say that the whats and the whos and the how many's and the howzats? o' me head ain't none o' yuir concern, chap." "We'll, ah, take it. This, er, upjacked animal surely deserves what's coming," Vas interjected without much conviction. Gerry nodded vigorously, his ears twitching, and pointed at Vas. "'is one ah like. Solid stock, you can tell, Core Worlds genurging. Bring me back the Vixen's other ear, an' 'er tail, 'an 'er 'eart, an' you'll be well rewarded, else ma name ain't Gerry the Gent!" ************************************************** Vas glared at Titus. Their journey here had become littered with broken bones and even a few corpses. Instead of finding a new way of life, he was living his old one ... but without the moral ideals. Titus had managed to get the energy shackles on Vi, although it looked like her writhing and contortions might defeat them given enough time. Time which she didn't have. Past the end of the block, Vas thought he could hear rapid footsteps approaching, probably summoned by Titus to pick up the remains. Vi couldn't believe it. Not even a year had gone past and she was in the same position: shackled, and staring up at some weird winged man-thing this time about to end her life. Like an angel ... except with a serious detour through bat. I suppose now is when I'm supposed to re-think my life choices, she scoffs at herself. Stealing, dealing, living, it's the only thing she's ever known and she's not about to stop now....if she has a say in the matter. She tries to reach up and nervously touch the rough patch where her right ear used to be but the restraints stop her. Well how lucky can one fox be? Still got my tail....oh no, they won't take that will they?! Oh wait, yes, they're going to be taking my life. Who even are these guys!? I don't recognize them from The Blackguard but I know that they were trying to extend their roots....new recruits maybe? Won't they be pleased with themselves. Catching Vixen, the supposed notorious double-crosser. How was I supposed to know this thing would drop in on me from the sky?! Oh right, I'm about to be killed...this time no mistakes, no second chances. "Well, go ahead, sir," Titus barked. He had begun backchannel inquiries about who might be interested in acquiring part or all of the Adophu renegade, and he figured this a**hole more than had it coming. Hell, he might off him just for the personal satisfaction. Vas raised his sidearm. Grit his teeth. Said, "Dammit," and turned and shot Titus in the face. Vi had closed her eyes, her thoughts still racing. Well? Get on with it! she thought with false bravado. But when the laser pistol fired, it took her a moment to realize that she's not the one who was fried - that, in fact, she was perfectly fine. Squinting one eye open, she carefully took in the scene as the bat-man fussed unsuccessfully with her shackles. Hearing the imminent arrival of others, Vas hissed in frustrated impatience. Grabbing Vi by the arms, he launched into the air with a grunt of exertion. A few blasts followed them up, but the new arrivals were clearly confused about what had just happened and who they should be shooting at. "You know a way off this rock in a hurry? Titus is going to be pretty pissed about his avatar." Vi knew she couldn't really trust the man who just chained her up and was about to shoot her, but she also knew she didn't have much of a choice. "I may know one, set me down in the shipyard..." ************************************************** The trip didn't take long, they landed in an alleyway to the side of the main strip, Vi tripping over her shackles. "Hrm," Vas said authoritatively, as he eyeballed the shackles again. "I'm afraid I'm not too good with hacking those types of devices ... always had a solid technopsi corpsman for that. Do you know ... ? " She was just about to give him a solid tongue-lashing for lacking such basic real-world competence, followed by a crash course in escape artistry, when another individual sauntered onto the scene. Whell whell, wot do 'e ave ere. Lit'ol Vixen on 'e lamb, eh? An' I see my new friend is now yors. Gerry the Gent flashed a humorless grin, dropping his eyes to examine his fingernails. Next to him, Vi vaguely recognized Zeke ... a perennial no-load on the periphery of The Blackguard, always looking for a shortcut to the inner circle instead of putting in some hard work. Vi barely spared a glance for Zeke, but glared at Gerry. Even though she hasn't seen him before, his sartorial choices told her just what he was about. Whispering to Vas, she said, You were hired by this guy?? You need to pick your clients better, pal! Quick, get me out of these cuffs! I don't care if it's below your pay-grade, just do it! While Vas clumsily worked on her manacles, Vi focused on Gerry. "Ahh, so you were the one who put me in chains again... I suppose you're after this?" She said, flicking her tail left and right behind her before running it through her hands. "It is pretty nice, I'd hate to be parted with it..." "Aye," Gerry drawled, choosing his words slowly, "'t look mighty-fine on me ... baton ... but 'm just a middle-man, m'self, this go-round ..." he inclined his baton towards Zeke, who appeared befuddled by the goings-on, and continued, "'m more curious 'bout yuir new frien' an' wot happened to 'is ole frien'..." New friend? She looked back at the focused merc behind her, then back at Gerry, "Oh, you mean him? Actually, my dying request was to go for a walk so he's just indulging me." Vas looked up. "As for Titus, we found our partnership to be less compatible than we had anticipated, and terminated it. Since I didn't even know I was coming here until I got here, I'm surprised to see you two." Gerry chuckled again, "Quik'st way off dis rock is 'ere. Once I knew that...it ain't 'ard spot'in you from afar." With a grunt of frustration, Vas drove his utility psi-knife into the shackles. A bolt of energy vented upwards, somehow managing to avoid the two of them. Zeke alone jumped, and brayed, "Hey! He can't do that! That's my ticket to the Big Time!" Vi, feeling the shackles fall from her wrists, immediately reached inside her sleeve, and threw down a small bag that exploded in smoke. When it cleared, both Vas and Gerry were left staring at each other, wondering what just happened, while Zeke turned a complete circle in place, even more perplexed. "Ain't that a fancy trick? Yuir doin'?" Gerry asked Vas. Vas noticed a shimmer of movement, but his training kept his eye from lingering. "No ... my new friend is full of surprises." He considered the Gent ... he knew him primarily by reputation, and that reputation made him grateful for once not to have the standard issue null rifle his fingers itched for. No, they had to be very careful with Gerry ... he hoped Vi wouldn't do anything rash. And how much time did she need? "About the contract, then ..." Vas stalled. And then Vi acts. Vi didn't know the stories about this Gent, although she surmised she knew what he was about. Zeke, on the other hand, was an easy decision. Quick as a flash, she jumped down from a roof, scampered across the alley, and ended up behind Zeke, knife at his throat and teeth bared. Hissing with anger she whispered, "Maybe I'll wear your skin as a coat," as she sliced down. The blood poured down her arm, but she was already moving, preparing to strike at Gerry. Or at least, she intended to strike, but instead she smelled the oddest scent. Everything went black for just an instant, and when she blinked again Gerry was rocking back on his heels a meter away, his baton glowing softly. Gerry flashed a pearly grin at Vas. "'is one is much swankier than da last bloke! A bit 'o style, a dash o' moxie ... don't mind if I do, eh?" His eyes shifted to Vi. "Wot say we let bygones be bygones, client 'ein' dead an wot not ... I scratch yuir back an' you scratch mine. 'ow's 'bouts we say you 'all owe me ... *one* *chit*." His smile grew impossibly broader, and Vas and Vi couldn't help but feel that they'd leapt from the frying pan into the fire.   Vas began propelling himself steadily towards the vessel Vi had identified as the Suncat using his zero-g suit. The suit was mediocre compared to what he was used to - a feeble haze field and minimal armor, with almost no additional PSA capabilities - but when his evolved wings needed to be accommodated, he couldn't be picky. And it felt good to be back out of gravity - he allowed himself a few moments to perform some maneuvers, but didn't want to push the suit beyond its capabilities. Suddenly - Damn this feeble suit! - he felt an unfamiliar Mindscape handshake. "Enjoying yourself?" a voice droned. It took a moment, but Vas examined the handshake and realized who it was. "Capt I'Etrich ... you sound ... different. To what do I owe the pleasure?" There was a pause, during which Vas wondered if their connection was lost. Then I'Etrich spoke again. "You self-entitled bastards. Strutting around like the Commonality's gift to mankind - even worse than normal. As if being grown in a vat to have wings is worth a frak." Vas checked his position. He was exquisitely vulnerable out here alone, with his sub-standard gear. "You sound like you have something you want to get off your chest, shipmate. Let's have it." A strange rippling noise - laughter of a sort. "We're not shipmates. Not that we ever were. But when you flaked after that clusterfrak on Valhalla, the rest of us just got more orders. Frontier duty. Increased Venu activity."   The Venu The Venu are a lesson in what can happen when Rediscovery goes wrong — and one the Commonality has been trying to learn from. A lost colony from the distant Orion Cluster, they were contacted by Old Earth twice during the First Age of Space (each message taking three thousand years there and back). There was no inkling of the trouble that would face the contact team which visited their homeworld of Psi Orionis in the early years of Expansion. The Commonality contact ship never returned, and eighty years ago a human species calling themselves the Venu exploded out of the Orion Cluster in a frenzy of destruction, using a dangerously unstable FTL drive reverse-engineered from Commonality planing engines and embroiling the Rim Sector in a terrible war. Even now little is known about the Venu; they’re human supremacists, but many bear terrible mutations and have strange abilities. Their xenophobic culture worships a “god-emperor” and deifies technology. Thankfully it’s less advanced than the Commonality — the one reason the Venu invasion was brought to a halt. New Commonality Contacts the Venu First contact with the Venu brought the realisation that all was not perfect in this new the Second Age of Space, 2-planingGolden Age. A lost colony in the distant Orion Cluster, there had been only three communications in the entire First Age of Space. None of these had prepared the Commonality contact team for what they would find; a savage xenophobic society dwelling amongst the blasted ruins of a technological civilisation, with a fanatical hatred of anything that wasn’t genetically pure human and worshipping a “god-emperor” whose word was law. Until Venu Contact, Commonality contact teams had been unarmed, and not equipped for conflict. The contact team starship was seized, and all contact lost; subsequent efforts were met with violence, and the Commonality withdrew, to plan a better strategy for peaceful cultural exchange. Forty years later, the Venu returned. Suddenly and in great numbers, piloting primitive yet heavily-armed starships reverse-engineered from Commonality planeships, they attacked Commonality worlds and made a beeline for Old Earth itself. Countless star systems were transformed into war zones, as in a 5-year blitzkrieg the Venu fleet subjugated world after world, and the Commonality fell back. As the invasion force approached the newly-designated “Core Worlds”, the Commonality realised it faced an existential threat. In the solar system of Styphon, the Commonality threw everything it had against the Venu, and fought them to a standstill. The Venu, clearly overextended, began to withdraw, and the Commonality prepared to re-enter the devastated star systems and rebuild. The new Commonality “manowars” which were born in the Battle of Styphon V were the vanguard of this force. The Commonality pushed the Venu almost back to Orion. Worlds closest to the Venu homeworld had been transformed, occupied by Venu populations or scarred by occupation. Reluctant to re-incorporate potentially hostile populations immediately, the Commonality re-drew its borders, acknowledging the client “Successor States” between it and the Venu. Attempts to approach the Venu homeworld with diplomatic overtures were met with force, and the “Stop-Start War” continued for years along the Venu border until the Commonality withdrew, establishing a “Quarantine Zone” with the hostile and xenophobic state. Even today the Venu question is unresolved, and one way or another everyone is expecting war. The Xeno Wars and the Sentient Alliance By 160 NCE the Stop-Start War had fizzled, Venu and Commonality forces withdrawing. Pro-Venu states instigated anti-xenomorph pogroms on pro-Commonality worlds, which rapidly became a proxy conflict — the Xeno Wars. Dates for the end of the Xeno Wars vary, but twentytwo years ago in 171 NCE a political alliance between pro-Xenomorph, pro-Commonality worlds arose which was strong enough to quieten most of the violence. This “Sentient Alliance” is the first xenomorph state, a buffer between the Commonality and the Venu and their Successor State satellites. Venu often wear masks of varied designs; the subtleties are not understood, although it appears to be a recent custom. Captured Venu spies have been found with transplanted faces stolen from Commonality citizens. Rumour suggests some Venu possess “psionic” abilities, replicating Commonality technopsi without technology; yet Commonality consensus suggests humans lack the capacity to develop such abilities, even with genurgic modification. A link has been theorised to the “Cult of Radiant Darkness”, an elite Venu technopriesthood, although others believe the term “radiant darkness” refers to the debilitating z-radiation emitted by unshielded Venu “dirt drives”. Venu society seems unremittingly hostile, and in the throes of violent change; raids across the Commonality-imposed Quarantine Zone (page 380) are constant. There seems no prospect of negotiated peace with these strange, alien humans. Q-Zone The Q-Zone or Quarantine Zone stretches across several subsectors of the Rim and Bastion sectors, separating the xenophobic Venu from worlds under Commonality protection. It’s an unofficial frontier; there has been no negotiated peace since the Venu War. In some places it’s up to 100 light years deep, and contains many abandoned worlds. The Commonality patrols the Q-Zone, and there is constant low-level friction with the Venu. Venu Space From its fortress-sector of Bastion the Commonality eyes Venu Space with concern; the Venu War erupted from here a century ago without warning. The gleaming stellar nurseries of the Orion Nebula are the gateway to this chaotic region, where the Venu Empire exerts an oppressive hold over many worlds from its homeworld of Psi Orionis. There are constant rumours of Venu spies with faces stolen from Commonality citizens emerging from the nebula worlds; and others of Commonality black missions penetrating deep into Venu territory. Venu characters are non-Commonality humans, but may use their extras budget to purchase natural abilities (page 400) representing mutations and cybernetic enhancements according to their occupation. For each mutation or cybernetic ability selected, the character must also select a flaw (page 68). Cultural Aspects: Humankind Must Be Pure! Lover of Hierarchy; Domineering; Unremitting Foe of the Commonality. Genotypes: Non-Commonality Human. Demeanour: Arrogant, domineering, devious. Language: Venu; some may speak Universal as a second language. Tech Level: T7 (First Age of Space). Occupations: Venu Commissar, Venu Technopriest, Venu Trooper. Equipment: Venu mask, Venu armour, Venu disruptor. The Venu Empire The exact nature of Venu government is a mystery, but is believed to be an oppressive theocracy headed by a hereditary “God Emperor”. It captured planing technology over a century ago, and immediately set about conquering its neighbours. It expanded rapidly, recapturing colony worlds with which it had lost contact, then embarking on a mission of conquest. By the Venu War the Empire had fusion power; by the Stop-Start War it had hybrid zeropoint technology; now it uses the infamous dirt drive, and is expanding at a frightening rate. The Venu Empire tech index averages T7 (First Age of Space); the stolen dirt drive technology is entirely anomalous. In starship combat it is dangerously unstable and sometimes explodes; Commonality torsion field projectors are specifically designed to exploit this weakness. The Venu have no advanced technologies like the Mindscape, synthetics, or extreme longevity, although they do have rudimentary AI, and things we would recognise as “computers” which the Commonality regards as extremely primitive. Their technology is bulkier and less sophisticated than the Commonality’s. While they don’t use space combat drones, they do use attack droids in ground combat. Venu security isn’t as good as the Commonality’s, nor is the Empire physically as large, or able to command the same resources. However, they’re more violent, and have been at war since before Commonality contact; their aggression has the Commonality on the defensive. What they lack in sophistication they make up for in fanaticism and disregard for their own safety. Aspects High Concept: Xenophobic Theocratic Dictatorship Trouble: Chaotic Hierarchy based on Intimidation Other Aspects: Venu Rules All, Only the Strong are Fit to Command, Fanatical Crusade to Cleanse the Cosmos Venu Culture The Venu culture is Mindjammer’s “enemy” culture. Most Venu are human, although an increasing number are mutants. There are no xenomorphs or synthetics; both are forbidden in Venu society. The Venu have conquered some hominid worlds, but aren’t believed to be in contact with any alien species. Although their approach is to annihilate enemy cultures, they are nevertheless in the throes of cultural conflict themselves, after cultural contamination by the Commonality and its advanced technology. Memes Dominant Meme: You should have No God but Venu Trouble: Mutation is an Abomination! Other Memes: Trust the Technopriests; The Ends Justify the Means; Hail the Radiant Darkness! "We deployed out of Sentient Alliance space, linked up with some of their xenomorph commandos - pithacines and ursines, the normal array. But we didn't encounter Venu proxies, we encountered Venu themselves. It was ... bad." At some point, I'Etrich had stopped verbalizing, and was casting Vas a private exomemory - too classified for general consumption in the Mindscape. He watched in horror as Cassidy was shot with a penetrating acid which dissolved her from within, her membranes bursting. He saw Reister throw himself on a Venu protein disrupter grenade, his flesh melting from the z-radiation before his screams had a chance to fade. Vas broke into the stream. "How could this happen?" he asked, his voice coarse iron. Again, that strange laugh. "They plowed into my flank. My supporting unit had collapsed. Another ambush, right after Valhalla - they broke like raw recruits. Because they didn't have their commanding officer." Vas saw a drone's view of his unit - by designation, not by population, since most of his veterans had been casaulties on Valhalla - and saw the officer in charge flee as the first shots were fired. The unit dissolved before contact had even really been made. The view followed a Venu Predator - a one-man giant combat walker - trailing vast plumes of z-radiation, and then settled in behind the eyes of a Marine - I'Etrich - and the Predator seemed to be coming straight at him! The Predator's disruptor rifle burnt through the haze field and p-suit, leaving just searing agony. "How are you living with the pain of that engram? There should have been someone to redact it - SCI Force, someone ..." "Soon as I saw one of those a**holes coming, I took off. I'm more metal than flesh, these days," I'Etrich barked. "And you, you're doing twirls in space. How do you sleep at night?" Vas tamped down a flash of rage. "Are you saying this debacle is my fault? I wasn't even there! And that wasn't my unit, not really. You should be asking how two Angeli missions in a row were so poorly planned that ---" "They were clusterfraks? Yeah, I am. But, step 1, is to kill you. And seems like I'm not the only one." At that moment, an ominously familiar shadow ... small in the distance but large enough to be deadly ... cut between Vas and the Suncat. Titus... "Hey, partner..." Titus hissed. *********************************************** The PROFIT-class New Trader starship was small by comparison to many other 2-space vessels, but Vas knew that Titus had skimped on basic maintenance to indulge in an array of tactical capabilities - like the EW field now blocking his Mindscape implant or the null cannons undoubtedly straining to resolve his target profile. Vas conducted a quick 720 and evaluated his options. They were slim to none. Without a moment's warning, he fired a spread of laser blasts at I'Etrich - designed not to hit him, but to generate significant inertia that it would take his zero-G suit some time to overcome. The inverse inertia hit Vas, sending him planetwards - luckily, his intent. He wondered if Suncat was picking up any of this. "Shazz, he's going to make planetfall!" I'Etrich cursed over their limited 3-person Mindscape. "I thought you said you were twice the zero-G trooper he was? Why do I keep believing Angeli?" Titus complained. Quickly, Vas' comms were entirely cut off by the friction of reentry. His zero-G suit was not a Space Force Marines standard issue for orbital insertion, and he had serious concerns about its ability to stand up to stresses being applied. Luckily, he could rely to some degree upon his wings, which he had brought forward to form a protective cocoon, the heat billowing off their exteriors in a speckled fashion notionally thought to reduce sensor signature (this was debatable). At 1000m, he began perceiving through his wing sensors, and preparing to steer a course. At 800m, he began to deploy his wings, preventing any further acceleration. At 500m, still going fast, he open his wings to their full extent - not the single arch customarily seen rising above his shoulders, but quadruple that, the actual membranes of a single layer of his wings so thin as to be almost transparent. His velocity abruptly cut, his comms were restored. "Anyone there?" Vas cast carefully. "We have established contact with Fallen Angel," Suncat announced in reply, to him and the crew. "I see a Corporacy bureau-farm complex on a hill up ahead, planning to set down there. Any chance of a friendly reception?" "No," Suncat replied, "but we're coming in hot behind you. Titus can maneuver as well as anyone in atmo, but he's holding position and tracking us from orbit. Getting past him won't be easy." "You got one man-sized bogey on you," Suncat continued. "Think I see your friend accelerating - he's picked up some pretty restricted tech. You're not going to touch down much before him." "Great," Vas muttered. "And how far out are you?" "15 min," Suncat replied, "But don't worry - we have an ace in the hole." "Copy," Vas replied. I've got an ace for your hole, he thought sourly. At 50m, his wings locked together to create a single large parachute, billowing outwards in vast canopies, and his speed dropped the last order of magnitude in order to make his hard landing tolerable. Already tired, he scrambled to his feet, his wings furling, and began to frantically survey the sky. The first blast came from a Corp-u-Sec 1000 Bronze bot, twerping, "SIR. PLEASE DISARM AND PRESENT YOURSELF FOR DISSOLUTION." Vas blew out its central processing matrix with only a few shots. The second blast came from above as he was distracted by the Corp-u-Sec bot. It grazed his haze field as his automated combat routines shouted at him to lunge sideways. Deploying his mini-drones, he frantically scanned the sky for I'Etrich, but ultimately didn't locate him until the next volley was incoming - more grazes and a few decent partial hits that left his haze field nearly overloaded. Vas' mistake had been assuming that I'Etrich would follow him onto the ground - instead, the cyborg was hovering above. With a grunt of effort, Vas propelled his tired body off the edge of the building, flapping his wings desperately to gain altitude. Sacrificing evasion for expediency, he honed in on I'Etrich, catching a blast directly on and grunting in pain as it leaked through his haze field and zero-G armor. But it had been worth it - he had the height advantage, momentum behind him, and he charged straight ahead, firing as he went. *********************************************** Ayako felt a cool sheen of sweat on her forehead and the hollow of her neck as she raced to the coordinates Suncat had relayed. She didn't understand exactly who the players were in this encounter ... but wasn't that true of her entire life? She closed her eyes for a moment and her mouth twisted in appreciation of the irony. The Corporacy had minimal security, and with the help she was getting from orbit (or, hopefully, closer now!) she soon found her way to the main elevators. "HALT SENTIE---" She took out the two Corp-u-Sec bots without hesitation and punched the button for the roof. *********************************************** Vas' maneuver had been sound, and his firing on-target, but his equipment was mediocre and I'Etrich had indeed obtained some significant upgrades. In the end, his onslaught resulted in nothing more than a single wound, and Vas found himself grappling with a robotic demon. The combat enhancers were straining against the double-burden of mitigating the pain from his wounds and aggravating his aggressive capability - he opted for the latter and bellowed in pain. As he felt I'Etrich's actual combat drones finish sniping his pathetic mini-drones, his vision darkened for a moment - he had to act, and he brought down his rifle in a reverse grip, aiming not at I'Etrich but at his weapon. Both guns went spiralling away, and Vas used his wings to spin backwards and away, hooking his foot into I'Etrich's neck. His foot connected with something strong and metallic - he felt a bone in his foot fail, but thought he felt something similarly give way in I'Etrich. I'Etrich reeled backwards, his combat drones coming around. Vas finished his revolution and dove at the nadir, grabbing I'Etrich's feet as he went. Plummeting to the roof, he gave a great roar and spun the cyborg all the way around his body one time, hurling him into a wall with all his might. Vas landed on his hands and knees, and despites the screams of his defense sub-routines found that he just couldn't stand up. Looking up, he saw the dust settle ... and I'Etrich stride out, looking more than capable of finishing the job. A disintegrator pistol popped out of a metallic arm and aimed a targeting laser at him. Vas sighed ... he had tried to start his new life too late. But he supposed this death was no more pointless than those suffered by Reister and Cassidy. Suddenly, I'Etrich stumbled, then went staggering wildly to the side. He bent double, then straightened and advanced a step, then fell to one knee as he clawed at his head. A wave of technopsi pain assaulted and overwhelmed his mental defenses, and in that failure he saw the leering features of his Venu tormentors. "YYYYEERRRRHHHH!!!!!" he screamed, and threw himself over the edge of the building. Ayako advanced cautiously onto the roof, her breath resonating in her heaving chest after the Mindburn, and glanced appraisingly at Vas. "Any other hostiles," she cast on narrowband. "Negative," Vas replied, his many questions unasked. "Are you my ace?" Ayako straightened and looked at him. "I don't know what I am - but I am not that. Come, the Suncat awaits."   Vas cast a disgruntled eye across the cards in his mental hand, dealt by the shared virtuality of this wretched game. Already, he had lost his Mindjammer, Battle Cruiser, and Ambassador. But he still had his Virtuality Starlet and Deputy Planetary Adminstrator left to play. He glanced glumly at Dee ... it probably wouldn't be enough. Taking a sip of his draka,   Draka is a well-regarded drink in the Core Worlds, a kind of carbonated, alcoholic tea. It contains a precise balance of stimulants and inebriants, at least for more evolved genotypes, that nets out at roughly the level of lemon water. It bubbles due to some type of carbonation effect, giving it roughly the consistency of a witch's cauldron. A generous helping of floating objects are not, in fact, hot chocolate marshmallows, but are instead a kind of small swimming cricket, that when chewed have a delightfully refreshing raspberry flavor. The sight, smell, and crunching sound trigger the gag reflex in many unfamiliar with draka's delights. he turned his attention back to the wretched Acme Premium Combine Blaster - Platinum Edition. It had been all that he could scrounge after his undignified flight from the Core Worlds. But it was a piece of shrak. He had attempted to calibrate it using a series of decreasingly sophisticated Mindscape tutorials, descending from hahxx0z 4 u to Lasers for Dummies, and now the gun was partially disassembled, panels open more because they were easily accessed than because he had a reason to access them. Jabbing somewhat randomly with his tethering prong, an unknown energy source propelled it in a puff of blue smoke across the crew lounge to embed in a cushioned wall near Vi's face. Everyone stared at Vas, and he thought he could feel the ship snickering at him. Luckily, he wasn't capable of displaying the symptoms of a blush. Vi looked at the extremorph. Sitting there with his third-hand spacer's jumpsuit tied down at the waist, he looked like something from a god-damned propaganda 'stream. In fact ... she cast an inquiry to 'Cat, and the two of them began to giggle. "Rifle, activate!" he commanded. The rifle sluggishly blinked into operation. "Ehhh ... waddaya youse wants??" it slurred. This was a dramatic turn for the worse. Dee sighed. She kept on avoiding the easy wins, but what was the point? Win now or win later, it was all dead roses. She played her Financial Interdiction event, bankrupting Vas and creating a Transcendent Fail that would carry over to their next bout. "Mother-FRAKKER," he cursed loudly, then returned his attention to the gun. "What? What? You know how t'use me 'r what?? You a soldier ain't no gud at tac-tix???" Clearing his throat once, or thrice, Vas persevered. "Set fire mode to modulated dispersal, classical beta zone coverage, 3-stop intervals." "What? Whad he say? I think he kray! Kray-kray! Kray-kray-kray-kray-kray---" It wasn't clear if the gun was stuck in a verbalization loop or just really wanted to emphasize its point. With another curse, Vas turned it off. Vi cast a preview thumbnail of the recruiting virtu-stream 'Cat had found to Vas, Dee, and the semi-intelligent gun. It featured a familiar-looking wrought-iron countenance steadfastly joining the Space Force Marines, making the Orbital Atmospheric Insertion corps, and protecting cultural integrity. "Why didn't you tell us you had acting experience?" Vas reminded himself that he wasn't an Adophu Angelus officer anymore. He loved the rough and tumble of Fringe life. LOVED IT. Once again, he was grateful he couldn't blush. "That ... was ... my ... cousin ..." he tried. The gun woke up. "Hope you dodge incoming fire better than you act, HEY-AHH!!!" It was quickly deactivated again. Chewing the see abovedregs of his draka to general disgust, Vas felt decisive leadership was needed at this moment. Standing up to as close to his 6'8" height as the cabin would allow, he towered over the others. "It has come to my attention that my outfitting is deficient. In short, I need better gear. But living on the Fringe, that means I need ..." He cast a glance at Vi. "... money ..." Vi reminded him patiently. "... money," he continued, "which I can exchange for ..." "... goods and ..." "... goods and services. To earn this ... money ... to procure these ... goods and services ... even though the New Commonality has more than enough resources to provide every sentient with enough material items to satisfy their wants a million times over, if we just had access to a decent military-grade makepoint ..." Seeing the others look at him askance, he coughed and regained his line of thought. "I think we should get a job." He looked around expectantly. Into the silence, 'Cat piped up. "On that note, I think I *do* have some good news!"

[copatt]

 

Thanks to Matt Jordan for the drawing.

Basic Data Name: SNCT403d (also Dee; previously Erin Ikerd) Occupation: Spacehand (previously Wayfaring Student) Culture: Neo-Franchian Genotype: Hominid (Homo Variens servilis) Tech Index: T9 Habituated Gravity: +0 Standard Actual Age: 22 Apparent Age: 22 Status and Consequences   Physical [][] Mental [][] Current FP: 5/5 Refresh: 5 2 | Mild: - 4 | Moderate: - 6 | Severe: - Credit [][] 2 | Mild: - 4 | Moderate: - 6 | Severe: -

Aspects High Concept: Indentured Bioform with a Mindscape Collar Trouble: Overlooked and Underestimated Cultural Aspect: Joy of livingJoie de Vivre \\added translation Genotype Aspect: Sexually Neutered Servant Game Aspect: Cultures in Conflict Phase One: Injustice Anywhere Is a Threat to Justice Everywhere Phase Two: Vi is like a sister... a sister with secrets Phase Three: I belong to Suncat, and she needs me

Skills +4: Technical +3: Knowledge, Science +2: Drive, Empathy, Notice +1: Investigate, Ranged Combat, Rapport, Stealth

Stunts Better than New! (Technical Skill Stunt): Whenever you succeed with style on an overcome action to repair a piece of machinery, you can immediately give it a new situation aspect (with a free invoke) reflecting the improvements you've made, instead of just a boost. I've Read about That! (Knowledge Skill Stunt): You've read hundred-- if not thousands-- of books on a wide variety of topics. You can spend a fate point to use Knowledge in place of any other skill for one roll or exchange, provided you can justify having read about the action you're attempting. Collateral Damage (Technical Skill Stunt): Use Technical to make attack actions against opponents, as long as there are devices and structures in the area that you can us to cause damage, like power conduits that could be ruptured, power plant exhaust ports that could be opened, gears that could be thrown.

Halo Sensorview

Extras Mindscape Implant (Restricted Flaw) \\ 1A genotype

 

1 A
2 S
6 SP

Background It should have been the best year of Erin Ikerd's life, a year away from university, a year traveling across and learning about the galaxy. That fabulous year ended, though, in a drunken, high-speed, hovercar crash that left two other young women dead. Erin's family did what they could for their daughter, spending a great deal on her legal defense; but in the end Erin was convicted of two counts of vehicular manslaughter and sentenced to ten years of service as an indentured bioform. When Erin emerged from the modification tank, she bore little resemblance to the woman she had once been. Like all of the indentured bioforms produced on New Gibson, she is short, just under 5' tall. She has a thick trunk and thin limbs. Her long, spindly arms end in hands with two broad fingers and a thumb each. Her short, but equally spindly legs end in two-toed feet. Her face is round and flat. Her new name, if one can call it that, SNCT403d, is laser-stenciled on her forehead and both forearms. Hairless and sexless, only her green eyes and freckles hint at the person she once was. Aboard the Suncat, the ship to which SNCT403d is indentured, she (it?) performs a variety of tasks, mostly menial. She keeps the ship clean, performs minor repairs, loads and unloads cargo, and serves the crew and any passengers as instructed. Though her programming generally prevents violent behavior, she is capable of fighting to defend the ship itself.   For a time, she was unsure how long, Erin was back on Ajeux. Floating. The sun and the waters off the coast of Montparle were warm against her skin. How many new freckles will be born today? She laughed at the thought. Silly thought. Then she opened her eyes... and she was drowning. Erin kicked, pushing herself toward the surface. Her foot struck something hard, and pain lanced through it. She was not in the blue waters of her homeworld. Green? Too viscous for water. Still she ascended-- until her head too struck something hard. Metallic? More pain. Something's holding me under. Erin forced herself to focus. She could breathe, and she could see shapes-- people?-- moving about through the green viscous fluid. Not in the fluid, outside of it. I'm in a modification tank! Memories came flooding back: Vi... the Blackguard... animals in cages, so many animals... an explosion... a hovercar crash... more explosions... I must have been injured. Erin's memories, thoughts, were interrupted by a loud hiss from above. The tank is opening. She swam for the surface again, and again her ascent was halted, this time by metallic hands gripping her about the shoulders and arms. Erin was lifted unceremoniously from the modification tank. Cold air assailed her body. The hands held her above the tank for what seemed an eternity. Cold, naked, and afraid, Erin did the best she could to cover her private parts. Finally, without warning, the arms lowered her to the ground, released her. Erin's legs immediately buckled beneath her body's weight. Disuse atrophy? I shouldn't be suffering disuse atrophy after a stay in a modification tank-- no matter how severe the injuries. To her dismay, Erin wasn't helped to her feet by a friendly doctor waiting to discuss her injuries, how the tank had repaired them. She wasn't greeted by a nurse or even an aide with a soft, white gown to cover her naked body. She was greeted, instead, by a harsh voice and a sharp jab in her ribs. Move along 'dent. We don't have all day. From her knees, Erin looked up to see who had struck her, who was barking orders-- a muscular woman, short blonde hair, grey uniform. What Erin didn't see was any trace of augmented reality about the woman. Erin's head darted around in a panic. No AR anywhere! She tried to access the Mindcsape. I shouldn't have to try to access the Mindscape! Nothing. I said, on your feet 'dent, and move along. That voice again. Thankfully not another crack in the ribs. This time the woman, Jensen (Erin caught a brief glimpse of her name badge), hauled her to her feet and gave her a nudge in what Erin hoped was the right direction. Erin inhaled and calmed herself. I'm locked out from the Mindscape! I might as well be dead. Where am I? Her vision cleared. She was in a crowded lab. More like a factory. She wasn't the only person there. There were others in front of her, behind her. They were being herded toward a cage mounted on some sort of ground vehicle. They were naked too, but they weren't exactly people.

 

An excellent student, Erin Ikerd's academic interests ranged from engineering, to the life sciences, to the literature of the galaxy. Unsure which direction to take her studies-- and with her parents' full support-- Erin left the University of Montparle for a year of travel and self-directed learning abroad. Her travel itinerary would take her across the Darradine Rim... and beyond.

During her travels, Erin met and befriended individuals of all types: humans, hominids, xenomorphs, synthetics, and even a few aliens. She also came to realize that what she chose to study on her return to Montparle mattered less than what she chose to do to better the lives of those less fortunate than herself, especially indentured hominids (e.g. the agriculturalists of Gorko) and a great many xenomorphs.

Erin's travels eventually took her to New Gibson. There, she was implicated in a series of crimes including burglary, arson, destruction of property, and vehicular manslaughter. Despite her parents' financial and legal assistance, Erin was found guilty of these crimes. As punishment, she was genurgically modified-- like an alarming number criminals on New Gibson-- into a member of a new hominid race, homo variens servilis, and sold into legalized slavery.

Aspect: Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.

 

In the cage aback the tracked vehicle, Erin was packed, body against naked body, with a bevy of other hominids. That's what I am now, some sort of hominid. Cramped as they were, it was impossible for Erin to get a good look at any one of the others; but they all shared certain qualities, and she knew that she too now shared those same qualities. Hairless. They were all hairless, entirely so, as far as she could tell. Distinct body shape. Long, thick trunks; short, spindly legs; long, equally spindly arms.

As she continued to explore-- mostly indirectly-- Erin's memories started to return, take focus. I was in a lab, with Vi. We were rescuing animals. No, I was rescuing animals. She was supposed to be helping me, but, but, she was distracted by something else. What was it?

Erin brushed her pelvis with one hand. It felt weird. One small bump, moist, open... a urinary meatus... but nothing else. With her other hand, already pinned against her chest, Erin felt for her breasts. Smooth. Absent. These hominids, they're-- we're-- all sexual neuters. Erin swallowed hard, tried to force herself to breathe, to make sense of her situation. Still more thoughts came flooding back.

Vi recognized that there was a problem before I did. She urged me to run. We had arrived in separate hovercars, a precaution she had called it. Was I meant to be a distraction all along? I crashed. I remember now. There were two women in the car I hit. They both died... instantly. Names, what were their names? Aili Swan. Hedy Parrish. They both died. I killed them. But I wasn't injured, not much. I was well enough to stand trial. Guilty. The jury found me guilty, and the judge sentenced me to modification and indenture. How long? Twenty-five years. The knees of Erin's shortened legs buckled. Had she not been packed so tightly with the others, she would have fallen. A variable sentence. Twenty-five years was minimum. It could be extended, if I failed to... serve.

Aspect: I was the fox's scapegoat...once

 

Erin-- or who, or whatever I am now-- winced as the alarm sounded in her head. It was one of a few mindscape applications that she knew, without doubt, to still work for her. Sensing the change in her biorhythms that came with wakefulness, the alarm subsided. Erin eased herself up out of bed-- cot, more like-- and straightened the linens. All around her, other service hominids were starting their workdays in identical fashion.

Beds made, the service hominids proceeded to the showers. Each placed its grey sleeping shift in a designated bin and entered the cool spray. Erin knew from previous days' routine-- and a mindscape daily planner application-- that she had exactly five minutes in the shower. During those five minutes, Erin's thoughts raced. By her estimate, the batch of service drones of which she was part had lost around eighty percent of its original number. I wonder where they have been placed, what kind of permanent work they have been assigned? Where will I be placed? What kind of work will I be doing for the rest of my life? Laundry? Food service? Janitorial? Certainly nothing I would have ever studied at Montparle.

The shower ended, and the service hominids exited and dressed themselves. Each donned a form-fitting black jumpsuit and pulled on a loose green oversmock. Erin's daily planner flashed her work assignment-- ship maintenance-- and directions to the nearest tram stop. Erin shuffled that direction on bare, inhuman-- subhuman-- feet. Four other service hominids shuffled that direction too. I wonder if we all have the same work assignment? I wonder what they did to deserve to be here, who they were in their previous lives?

The service hominids boarded the tram. Erin was not surprised when directions to New Gibson's spaceport appeared in her daily planner. Despite this momentary foreknowledge, she was shocked when the tram sped away from the cluster of buildings where she had been born-- reborn? made?-- and had worked for the last two weeks. She watched the buildings and their Co-Prosperity, Research, and LogisticsCPRnL logo disappear into her past. For a moment, Erin was filled with hope, then the tram slowed to a stop.

The tram doors opened. Erin knew it was not her stop. None of the other service hominids moved to exit. Not their stop either. Then a crowd poured into the tram. Erin felt woozy; her short, thin legs buckled; she gripped a nearby handrail and managed to not collapse. They've released us into the wild! People are going to see me like this! I'm a freak! Erin glanced frantically at the other service hominids. She wasn't certain, but thought-- based on their eye movements-- that they might be experiencing similar feelings. They bunched closer together, pack animals shying away from their natural predator.

The service hominids endured stares and whispers, real or imagined or some combination of both, through three more stops. Fortunately for their damaged egos, New Gibson's spaceport was in relatively close proximity to the CPRnL compound. Exiting the tram, the service hominids were greeted by a trio of CPRnL employees. Two of them were typical security officers. Erin even recognized the muscular, blonde woman. Jensen. She was there when they pulled me out of the modification tank, cracked me in the ribs. The other security type-- Branson, based on his employee badge-- was tall and thick, with short dark hair and a neat beard. Alright 'dents, form a line. No, not front to back, side to side, like this, Jensen gestured to make her point. Are you all simple or what? Branson just stood and smiled, a menacing smile.

The third employee, she was dressed in professional attire, but still wore an employee badge. Descalza, Lindy. A cute name for a cute woman. Descalza looked over the line of service hominids, augmented reality revealing information hidden behind their otherwise uniform appearance. Finally, Descalza beckoned Erin to her. Obediently, Erin shuffled forward, stopping just short of the woman. Kind of short, but still taller than the new me.

Let me see your right forearm, Descalza requested firmly, yet pleasantly enough. Erin extended her right hand. No, like this, Descalza corrected, taking Erin's three-fingered hand and supinating her forearm. Descalza efficiently donned a pair of rubber gloves. Don't worry. This won't hurt at all, Descalza reassured her as she swiped Erin's forearm with a moist gauze. Almost immediately, Erin's forearm started to tingle. Local anesthetic. Descalza, sweet as ever, repeated the process with Erin's left forearm and her forehead.

Okay, right forearm again. Erin extended her right hand again, forearm already supinated. You're getting good at this. Descalza produced a device, the size of a pen-light, from her front jacket pocket. With the press of a button, the device projected a series of letters and numbers onto Erin' extended forearm. Erin could feel the warmth of the projection on her skin, could read the letters and numbers. SNCT403d. With a second press of the button, Descalza proceeded to laser-stencil the alpha-numeric sequence onto Erin's right forearm. True to her word, it did not hurt at all. Okay, two more to go, and with that, Descalza similarly marked Erin's left forearm and her forehead. Alright, Dee, good luck in your new life. Next. She is way too happy about all of this.

Dee-- it's as good a name as any; and now it somehow seems more appropriate than Erin-- shuffled toward her work assignment, berth 37a. A permanent work assignment. The ship was battered-- she's seen combat recently-- but beautiful all the same. Descalza was cute in an annoying way. Milo Fawkes-- how I miss him-- was cute in a goofy, handsome way, but this ship, there's something special about her. It's definitely a her. Dee reached dumbly for the ship-- though it was obviously beyond her-- with a three-fingered hand. Dee half shuffled, half stumbled toward a landing mechanism. Why do I feel like I have to touch her? What's wrong with me? The metal of the landing mechanism was cool to Dee's touch. So smooth, such perfect lines. I want to know more about her.

And then she did. Dee's sensorview sprang to life. Augmented reality flooded her senses, not to the extent that it had before her transformation, but sufficiently so that many of her questions about the ship were answered. Suncat. Dee glanced at the inside of her left forearm. SNCT. It was meant to be. I belong to her, and she needs me. She's injured. Gravitics, comms. Somebody tried to patch them up, but they did a lousy job.

Dee forced herself to back away from the ship, just far enough that she could see the closed cargo bay door, no farther. She found her voice. Suncat, my designation is SNCT403d, or Dee, if you prefer. I am an indentured service hominid. CPRnL, the Company, has assigned me to you. May I come aboard? I have work to do. Please.

Aspect: I belong to Suncat, and she needs me.

Advancement 1 x Milestone (Minor)

[Tbonezes]

Vixen Basic Name: Vixen (Vi) Occupation: Freelancer/Smuggler Culture: Rediscovered World Genotype: Xenomorph (GD -3) Uplifted Fox \\As Canids 2A, 1S; req. buy Enh.Sense (vision) 1 genotype aspect Tech Index: T9 Habituated Gravity: +0 Standard Actual Age: 25 Apparent Age: 25   Current FP: 5/5 Refresh: 5 Stress: Physical [][] ; Mental [][][] Consequences: 2 | Mild - 4 | Moderate - 6 | Severe - Credit [][][] 2 | Mild: - 4 | Moderate: - 6 | Severe: - Aspects High Concept:Uplifted Fox Freelancer/SmugglerFox in the Hole \\Works as Genotype Aspect (1A) Trouble: Being pursued by The Blackguard (upcoming crime group based in XXX). Also reputation tarnished in some circles.Dealings, double-crosses, and disillusion. Cultural Aspect: Overcompensating Game Aspects: Cultures in Conflict Phase One: The Blackguard Is After Me Phase Two: Spreading the Web Phase Three: The beginning of a family...syndicate Skills +4: Intrusion +3: Stealth, Athletics +2: Notice, Deceive, Contacts +1: Will, Melee Combat, Rapport, Resources Stunts Increase in Deceive when dealing with employersYou hired me +2 on Burglary rolls made to create an advantage whenever you’re trying to escape from a location.Always a Way Out Once per scene, you can vanish while in plain sight by spending a fate point, using a smoke pellet or other mysterious technique. This places the Vanished boost on you. While you’re vanished, no one can attack or create an advantage on you until after they’ve succeeded at an overcome roll with Notice to suss out where you went (basically meaning they have to give up an exchange to try). This aspect goes away as soon as you invoke it, or someone makes that overcome roll.Ninja Vanish Halo None - does not currently have a Mindscape Implant Extras Sensory Enhancement (Dark Vision) 1A, 1S Intrusion Fold - An aggregation of intrusion measures to thwart security, locks, sensors, automated defences. It doesn’t mask your signature, but insinuates itself into security systems and prevents them from operating. It provides a +2 Intrusion bonus to overcome security measures. Heat Shield - Masks your IR signature. Vibro-Knife - Her favorite toy and friend. She's often seen twirling and playing with it. A rumor is going around that she's actually named it, but no one can confirm any name as of yet.   1 sp 3 stunts? Background   Heh heh heh, so we've finally got you now, eh? Crap, crap, crap Vixen's eyes are covered with the dank, foul smelling rag but she already knows what's about to happen. She's seen it so many times before and had even done a few herself; she was going to die. Vixen. She hated the name, but it was the only thing anyone has ever called her so she stubbornly holds on to it, taking the nickname Vi as a comfort. She didn't know when she was born, or when she was made but she knew that she had always been alone. Vixen. She supposed those "scientists" had thought themselves clever when they gave her that name, but they were no more than schoolboys testing hypothesis when they made her. How could they have forgotten foxes were known for the cleverness, their resourcefulness? It didn't take her long to figure out the lock to her cell and even less time to escape the building... Yes, escaping. It had become her signature. No matter what trouble she got into she always managed to find some kind of escape though her words, agility, or flexibility. But not this time it would seem. Struggle as she might, the bonds would not loosen that held her fast to the table where so many before her had lost their lives. All she managed was that her blindfold slid down just enough to glimpse the all too familiar surroundings. Lately she had taken up with The Blackguard, a local upcoming organization of thieves and smugglers that had use of her skills of late. While they may not be the most imaginative group their inexperience meant more risky steps and therefore more money. This particular job had gone south. The loot wasn't where it was promised and The Blackguard suspected double-cross. Of course she had deceived them in the past and had many different dealings with other groups or interested individuals, but this particular time had not been her fault...and now she was going to pay the price. Little foxy finally slipped. Thome. One of the bigger, dumber members jeered. Vixen wasn't loved by many members of the gang and as she peered under the slipped rag she knew most of the names of those present. And I've personally screwed most of them over as well. She thinks to herself, though whether in pity or just perverse amusement she couldn't tell. She noticed the power cleaver in Thome's hand, twitching with his excitement. Never thought it would end like this, she thinks to herself as Thome brings the weapon up, however, a harsh word stops him. Issac. Though the founder of the gang, he was getting old, and though many still followed him, he was loosing his grip. Ughh finally someone to the rescue. Vi thinks. She owed a lot to the old man, he took her in and got her working. Taught her many of the things he knew...but the sad look in his eyes told her this wouldn't be that easy. She's served us faithfully in the past and done good work.....take her ear and let it be a lesson to her. And then he was gone. Thome's scowl showed he didn't like it. He was prepared to run Vixen through, but he was glad to do something as the cleaver came down, taking her ear and part of her scalp with it. Jeers followed her out the door as she tried to cover it up. Her time with the group needed to end, she had to run. Tonight if possible, before Issac lost all control and those that hated her were able to have their way. Vi knew now, she couldn't handle it on her own anymore. She had a lot to think about and it wouldn't be long before The Blackguard knew she was deserting them . Phases   Lately she had taken up with The Blackguard, a local upcoming organization of thieves and smugglers that had use of her skills of late. While they may not be the most imaginative group their inexperience meant more risky steps and therefore more money. This particular job had gone south. The loot wasn't where it was promised and The Blackguard suspected double-cross. Of course she had deceived them in the past and had many different dealings with other groups or interested individuals, but this particular time had not been her fault...and now she was going to pay the price. Little foxy finally slipped. Thome. One of the bigger, dumber members jeered. Vixen wasn't loved by many members of the gang and as she peered under the slipped rag she knew most of the names of those present. And I've personally screwed most of them over as well. She thinks to herself, though whether in pity or just perverse amusement she couldn't tell. She noticed the power cleaver in Thome's hand, twitching with his excitement. Never thought it would end like this, she thinks to herself as Thome brings the weapon up, however, a harsh word stops him. Issac. Though the founder of the gang, he was getting old, and though many still followed him, he was loosing his grip. Ughh finally someone to the rescue. Vi thinks. She owed a lot to the old man, he took her in and got her working. Taught her many of the things he knew...but the sad look in his eyes told her this wouldn't be that easy. She's served us faithfully in the past and done good work.....take her ear and let it be a lesson to her. And then he was gone. Thome's scowl showed he didn't like it. He was prepared to run Vixen through, but he was glad to do something as the cleaver came down, taking her ear and part of her scalp with it. Jeers followed her out the door as she tried to cover it up. Her time with the group needed to end, she had to run. Tonight if possible, before Issac lost all control and those that hated her were able to have their way. Vi knew now, she couldn't handle it on her own anymore. She had a lot to think about and it wouldn't be long before The Blackguard knew she was deserting them. The Blackguard Is After Me   Vi couldn't believe it. Not even a year had gone past and she was in the same position: shackled, and staring up at some weird winged man-thing this time about to end her life. Like an angel ... except with a serious detour through bat. I suppose now is when I'm supposed to re-think my life choices, she scoffs at herself. Stealing, dealing, living, it's the only thing she's ever known and she's not about to stop now....if she has a say in the matter. She tries to reach up and nervously touch the rough patch where her right ear used to be but the restraints stop her. Well how lucky can one fox be? Still got my tail....oh no, they won't take that will they?! Oh wait, yes, they're going to be taking my life. Who even are these guys!? I don't recognize them from The Blackguard but I know that they were trying to extend their roots....new recruits maybe? Won't they be pleased with themselves. Catching Vixen, the supposed notorious double-crosser. How was I supposed to know this thing would drop in on me from the sky?! Oh right, I'm about to be killed...this time no mistakes, no second chances. The two new recruits have been talking while her thoughts race. Well? Get on with it! She closes her eyes and shakes when she hears the laser blast...it takes her a while to realize she's not fried - that, in fact, she was perfectly fine. Squinting one eye open she sees that the bat-man had turned and shot the one (an eidelon? an avatar?) giving him orders right in the face. He then bounds over to Vi, fusses unsuccessfully with her shackles, then picks her up and launches into the sky just as more goons shows up. ******************************** Vi knows she can't really trust the man who just chained her up and was about to shoot her, but she also knew she didn't have much of a choice. "I may know one, set me down in the shipyard..." The trip didn't take long, they landed in an alleyway to the side of the main strip, Vi tripping over her shackles. "Erm," Vas says authoritatively, as he eyeballs the shackles again. "I'm afraid I'm not too good with hacking those types of devices ... always had a solid technopsi corpsman for that. Do you know ... ? " She was just about to give him a solid tongue-lashing for lacking such basic real-world competence, followed by a crash course in escape artistry, when another individual sauntered onto the scene. Whell whell, wot do 'e ave ere. Lit'ol Vixen on 'e lamb, eh? An' I see my new friend is now yors. Gerry the Gent flashed a humorless grin, dropping his eyes to examine his fingernails. Next to him, Vi barely recognized Zeke ... a perennial no-load on the periphery of The Company, always looking for a shortcut to the inner circle instead of putting in some hard work. Vi barely spares a glance for Zeke, but glares at Gerry. Even though she hasn't seen him before, his sartorial choices tell her just what he's about. Whispering to Vas, she says, You were hired by this guy?? You need to pick your clients better, pal! Quick, get me out of these cuffs! I don't care if it's below your pay-grade, just do it! While Vas clumsily works on her manacles, Vi focuses on Gerry. "Ahh, so you were the one who put me in chains again... I suppose you're after this?" She says, flicking her tail left and right behind her before running it through her hands. "It is pretty nice, I'd hate to be parted with it..." "Aye," Gerry says with long, drawn-out breaths, "'t look mighty-fine on me ... baton ... but 'm just a middle-man, m'self, this go-round ..." he inclines his baton towards Zeke, who appears befuddled by the goings-on, and continues, "'m more curious 'bout yuir new frien' an' wot happened to 'is ole frien'..." New friend? She looks back at the hapless merc behind her then at Gerry, "Oh, you mean him? Actually, my dying request was to go for a walk so he's just indulging me. How'd you know we'd come here?" Gerry chuckles again, "Quik'st way off dis rock is 'ere. Once I knew that...it ain't 'ard spot'in that one from afar." With a grunt of frustration, Vas drives his utility psi-knife into the shackles. A bolt of energy goes venting upwards, somehow managing to avoid the two of them. Zeke alone jumps, and brays, "Hey! He can't do that! That's my ticket to the Big Time!" Vi feels the shackles fall from her wrists, immediately reaches inside her sleeve, and throws down a small bag that explodes in smoke. When it clears, both Vas and Gerry are left staring at each other, wondering what just happened. Zeke turns a complete circle in place, even more perplexed. "Ain't that a fancy trick? Yuir doin'?" Gerry asked Vas. Vas thinks he sees a shimmer of movement, but is well-trained enough not to let his eye linger. "Ah..." His fingers itch for a null rifle, but he had also heard enough stories to know that he might not want to escalate with the Gent. Luckily, before his silence can become too awkward, Vi acts. Vi doesn't know any stories about this Gent, but she has long-since surmised all she needs to know. Zeke, on the other hand, is an easy decision. Quick as a flash, she jumps down from a roof, scampers across the alley, and ends up behind Zeke, knife at his throat and teeth bared. Hissing with anger she whispers, "Maybe I'll wear your skin as a coat," as she slices down. The blood pours down her arm, but she is already moving, preparing to strike at Gerry. Or at least, she intends to strike, but instead she smells the oddest scent, everything goes black for just an instant, and when she blinks Gerry is rocking back on his heels a meter away, his baton glowing softly. Gerry flashes a pearly grin at Vas. "'is one is much swankier than da last bloke! A bit 'o style, a dash o' moxie ... don't mind if I do, eh?" His eyes shift to Vi. "Wot say we let bygones be bygones, client 'ein' dead an wot not ... I scratch yuir back an' you scratch mine. 'ow's 'bouts we say you 'all owe me ... *one* *chit*." His smile grows impossibly broader, and Vas and Vi can't help but feel that they've leapt from the frying pan into the fire. Aspect: Spreading the Web   Phase 3 (CAT) Vi was running...again. She hated it. She knew that it was a possibility with all the risks she's taken, but for some reason she never thought that it would actually happen. I didn't even do anything wrong this time! She needed to escape, to go...somewhere! But where?? Ever since she escaped the first time, this planet was all she'd ever known. She darted through long familiar alleyways and rooftops clutching at her still bleeding ear...or stump now. Her vision was blurring...tears were soaking into her fur. She was dead. She was sure of it. Those that hated her in The Blackguard wouldn't just leave it at an ear. She needed to leave, get far away...she headed for the star port. She didn't know what she was looking for. Most of the ships were closed tight and guarded heavily. All in various stages of arriving and departing. It started to rain. Big, greasy, drops. Brownish from the atmosphere and various production districts scattered around. Then she saw one ship, a little away from the others and, miraculously, unguarded! It was still locked up, so Vi sought cover under it's body. She was cold, hungry, wet, tried...it was just like the first time, when she was on her own. She liked working alone, it made things easier...but the loneliness always crept back in. Even in The Blackguard there were people she likes....liked. Most likely she'll never see them again...another bout of tears as she curled up in a ball, taking shelter below the cold chassis of the ship, she closed her eyes and drifted into a restless sleep. Dreams. Her birth chamber, the students laughing at their success, she bit one and escaped. Alone...for so long. Vi clung closer to her pillow....pillow? Vi starts awake to a ball of orange yellow fur. She scrambles away from it before realizing it was just a large cat. Vi calms herself down and chuckles. Are you here to keep me company? I could use it... Just then raised voices could be heard not too far away What do you men you lost her! I'm sorry boss, it's this d@mn storm. I can't track anything in it. You better find a way, or it'll be your ear we throw to the dogs next. Let's circle back, I think I know an old haunt of hers... Vi is immediately at attention, on all fours. Tail standing up and bushed out, she hisses in pain as her ears (ear now) twitch and search for the source. No, I've got to get out of here. But where can I go? There's nowhere, there's nowhere for me now! The cat she had been holding strode uncaringly away. Well at least one of us has no worries it seems. Lucky girl. She was about to dash out from under her cover and risk being seen by the patrol out for her, but a rushing of air makes her turn around. The gangplank of the ship had descended and lay open. The large cat strode purposefully aboard, giving her one last glance before disappearing around the corner. It didn't take long for Vi to make up her mind. It may be a trap but still, at the moment, it was the best option. She scampers up the metallic surface and the plank slowly closes behind her. Vi expects an immediate ambush but is startled when she sees no one. She tiredly shakes out her fur and starts carefully exploring the ship. Empty? But who...the door.. It looks like you needed some help... a soft purring voice sounded behind her. Vi spins around but only sees the cat from before. Who's there? Vi asks, worried. She was trapped in here with someone now. The cat jumps down from her perch and moves closer, then...it speaks again. Don't be afraid. You're safe...for now. Now how long that remains the case depends on you. I've heard of you...not by name of course but the reputation of a skilled fox doesn't stay secret for long. It's possible we could help each other out. Vi, still wary listens closely; especially at the mention that the talking cat knew her. If you know me you know I've only got so much to give...especially now. Why did you save me? Helping another uplifted? Or what do you want from me? Another soft purring laugh, I'm not uplifted...well in a sense I am, but not like you. I'm stuck here until I get the repairs I need...unfortunately, my funds seem a bit low. Surely a clever fox such as you has some stashed for a rainy day such as this. Of course if you'd rather take your chances outside...that can be arranged too. If you help me I can get you out of here and we'll part ways at the next port. Vi was silent for a while. It was a good deal. More than anything she needed to get away. She had stored some credits but it may just barely cover whatever repairs this ship needed...she was fine with loosing it for the moment, she could always earn it back; not her life. I'd need to speak with the captain for their assurance of safe passage... Well you don't have to look far. The cat playfully flips her tail. You're the captain of this ship!? Vi ask incredulously. The cat seems to smile, No, I am the ship. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Well, here is where we part ways, the cat playfully swipes at Vi's remaining ear from her perch. The two had become close on their short journey. Cat sharing her experience with the star ways and the feeling she gets from flying through the solar winds. Vi took a bit to open up but she shared some of her less scandalous journeys. Cat rolls on her back and stretches her legs, I'll miss your stories. I miss the excitement I know I had in my former life. I catch only flashes, no full pictures. But flying all around, discovering new places, daring and exciting flying....that's what I miss. Now she was either a cargo flier or doing the deeds of a boring crew for whatever money she needed. She wanted to be the daring fighter pilot she knew she was again. Vi scratches Cat behind the ear, then gets quite for a while. Suddenly her face is lit up by a huge smile, Who's to say you can't have that again? I've been thinking, maybe we don't have to part ways. We both need a way of living now. My funds are dried up and I only know one way of getting them back...but I'd need some help. There's this professor, an archaeologist, if we could persuaded to sell... What do you say Cat. Want to take me on and we'll have adventures together, collecting artifacts, visiting worlds, and getting rich? Suddenly the engines rev up and Vi smiles again, We'll need to start collecting a crew. Aspect: The beginning of a family...syndicate.

[illgrace]

Basic Stats Name: Suncat Culture: Commonality Genotype: Installation \\Synthetic (sentient starship installation) Occupation: Sentient Starship Scout- Fastest Scout In The Fleet Habituated Gravity: Standard 1G (+0) Tech Index: T9 Scale: Huge (+2) Equipment: Makepoint, null cannon, repulser shield, remote sensor package. Status and Consequences   Current FP: 4/4 Refresh: 4 Physical [][] System [][][] Mental [][] 2 | Mild: - 4 | Moderate: - 6 | Severe: - Resources [][] 2 | Mild: - 4 | Moderate: - 6 | Severe: -

Aspects High Concept: Sentient Scout Ship Of The Company Trouble: Balancing The Book With The Thrill Cultural Aspect: Exotic Transhuman IntelligenceNew Hope Through Transcendence Game Aspects: Cultures In Conflict Phase One: Girl-ship Without A Past Must Make Her Own Future Phase Two: *** Phase Three: ***

Skills 1 Great (+4) - Manoeuvre (space) 2 Good (+3) - Planing, Active Sensing 3 Fair (+2) - Systems, Empathy, Passive Sensing 4 Average (+1) - Ranged Combat, Rapport, Stealth, Technical

Stunts Blind Jump Dog Fighter Long-Distance Life Support Extended Manoeuvre (atmo)

Extras Remote Senor Package (1S) - Avatar: An overly large orange yellow and white tabby cat. (Athletics +3, Unarmed combat +2, Passive Sensing +2)   0 A 1 S 1 sp

Halo Standard

Background The Suncat Lt Cmdr Hanna Deisis bint al-Incari never expected to die in her own bed, choking on her own fluids. Instead she had imagined her end would come in one brief eye searing beam energy explosion as she jinked her fighter craft through the upper atmo of her pretty little blue-green world in defense of her nation. Yet that was where she found herself: her once conditioned, muscled, firm and if she allowed herself to admit it, beautiful body riddled with an unknown wasting sickness that baffled her med tech's every approach to curing. The ultimate end was quick, she managed to stay on her feet for just over a month before she was too weak and ill to get out of bed. She was choking on her own pus and vital fluids when The Men came to her with their Humble Bargain. Work for us. You'll be immortal. Had she been able to laugh she'd have scoffed at their hubris. Instead she weakly pressed her thumb to their mobile's touch screen, signing the contract, literally with her own blood, which was beginning to seep through her pores. ***** Those are the only clear memories the Presence known as The Suncat has of her former life. The rest is a whirl of emotion, thought forms and nightmares. She couldnt tell you what missions Hannah had flown, who she'd killed, or who she slept with. But she knows Hannah was a fighter and one hell of a good pilot. Not that any of the past matters now. 'Cat has her own life now, in the deep black, along the edge of civilized space, racing the starlanes, feeling the solar winds caress her sleek hull and tickle her sensor suites, diving into the atmo of one world to lift off and away the next day for a new planet, new faces, new voices. This was living!

Phase Trio Phase One: Girlship Without A Past Must Make Her Own Future (makepoint) The revolutionaries on Pradol never expected a sentient ship to literally drop into their laps. Cat hadn't really expected it either. But it happened. With her gravitics damaged and temporarily cut off from Mindscape comms, Cat was forced to lend the revolutionaries a hand..or more precisely two null cannons..in exchange for some make-do repair work. The pradoli were so happy with her assistance they even installed a makepoint...for any future crew Cat might take on. Cat of course had no intention of taking on another crew but they didn't need to know that. Phase Two: Phase Three:

[ProfPaulBlemma]

. Name: Mark Bowman Occupation: Archaeologist Culture: Old Earth Genotype: Commonality (Core) Human \\Mand. extra: MS Implant Tech Index: T9/He knows a bit of dead cultures which had tricks in their sleeves.T11 T10 \\Core World Tech Limit Habituated Gravity: +0 Standard Actual Age: 38 Apparent Age: 38 (80 in terms of personality) Status and Consequences   Physical [][] Mental [][][] Current FP: 4/4 Refresh: 4 2 | Mild: - 4 | Moderate: - 6 | Severe: - Credit [][][] 2 | Mild: - 4 | Moderate: - 6 | Severe: - Aspects High Concept: An archaeologist, but knowing tech and science in order to understand old technological or too alien societies.Digger and knowledgeable of things old (and some new) Trouble: Misanthropic, grumpy and hater of all things transhuman.It's not that I don't like you... I don't like ANYONE Cultural Aspect: The Old Ways are the Best \\Core World Aspect Game Aspects: Cultures in Conflict \\Current Game Aspect Phase One: He is one of the best in the trade, knowing tiny details of obscure things, but he likes it to the point of risking his life to go ahead."This is a Kaminoan saber dart" Phase Two: Vi knows how to pull the strings, but she does it because she needs him.A flirty...flighty...fox! Phase Three: Mark sees Dee as a criminal, but he also sees her punishment as an even greater crime, making her a victim.The twisted shadow of Dostoievsky Skills +4 Knowledge +3 Investigate, Notice +2 Deceive, Ranged Combat, Will +1 Crafts, Melee Combat, Stealth, Resources Stunts Knowledge: Spend a Fate point to use Knowledge in place of any other skill when its possible to have studied in previously.I've read about that! \\scope added Knowledge: +2 to all rolls related to alien societies.Specialist (Xenology) Knowledge: +2 to all rolls related to old or dead societies.Specialist (Archaeology) Notice: Almost supernatural capacity to sense incoming danger when someone intends to do harm.Danger sense //refresh reduction for additional stunt // scope added Halo Standard Other Extras Mindscape Implant   2 sp 3 stunts

. Phase 1   Theme Song Yes. I do use spectacles. I don't really know if I use them to remind me of what I am - a fragile human creature - or simply because I like to be cult. I don't know... perhaps I don't care. The fact is that they are here and they are not leaving. I guess I was born in the wrong century, in the wrong part of the Universe. Perhaps... Anyway, I cannot choose much in that field, so all that links me to who I am is digging the dirt of those who lived better than I do, those who lived as humans among humans or whatever else they were, but as pure, unmodified creatures of whatever god decided them that way. Dealing with old stuff, from times that don't come back anymore... I dig it, I clean it, I trace it, I decode it, I label it... and somebody else breaks it on its way to Old Earth. This is the meaning of life, in the end. My life, at least. Not that I'm complaining. It's a living... the dirty, buggy, crappy living I chose. At least, it keeps me away from the madness of Old Earth. Away from people. Away from those crazy chip-brains that make up the bulk of what once was a proud Mankind. If I hate transhumanism? No, I love it! I love girls with razor-sharp hair, bug eyes and claws in place of hands. I love to walk the streets and find nobody I can relate to my own genetics. I love to get to a restaurant and see people eating through all the wrong holes. I love it. It's love. "It's something about his past", you must be thinking... well, my past is the one thing I am fond of. I grew in a farm, with my grandfather taking the place of the guy who gave his sperm to make me and the girl who accepted it. Rest in peace... he was a good man. A human! All of him. I grew up revolving earth, planting crops and doing all that stuff people don't do anymore... and did it by myself! No bots. Me and him... we did things the old way. The right way. The only way. Crap. It's gone now. That was the life for me, but it did not pay the bills... did not keep the farm. In the end, I was kicked away from the place and buildings grew where crops should. They had the decency to give me what was left after debts were payed and that gave me money for college. Hated it... freaks everywhere - even on the roof - but the books gave me a reason to go on. They showed me I could still see good things... even if they were dead things. They forced an implant through my throat, of course, but that I can bear. I never thought I would go free of that trash, anyway, and it, at least, allows me the job that sets me out in space, away from them... Oh! And it has a "quiet" option I use all the time. If they want to message me, let them send a letter! Well... here I am. Spectacles in my face... no! Spectacles in your face! I guess I know why do I use them, after all. It is not to remind me of what I am, but to remind you of what you are, for no matter what color you chose to your skin, what hocus-pocus you throw from your eyes or how deep underwater you breath, there is one thing you will always be even if you trash your DNA to crap and litter your whole body with graphene. That thing is human. It's the one and only good part in you, so don't forget it.

. Phase 2 (Vixen)   Theme Song Mark finally entered the bar... Five years had passed since he took the job at Do I have to say which one it is? Hervad, the oldest university of Manhome. Five perfect years they had been, he could not refrain from commenting to himself, but time had come for good things to have an end. Indeed, that perfect moment of tranquility took so long to be disrupted that he started to think it could last forever... a foolish thought. No one swims against the stream without sweating his every inch and that could not be different for a stubborn archaeologist who hated his own world, his own time. There was less light in the place than he would like and most of it came out of the display-covered walls, showing poor taste images that were, he wondered, intending to keep the environment more cozy. Of course they did not... An archaeologist! Who in this brave new world of shiny novelty could see a madman who digs old dirt as worth something? ...well, he gave them the reason. Five years of excellent work, but not a single word. Five years simply failing to answer every message, never attending meetings, never exposing a single poster, never writing a single paper. He was a good finder and deliverer of things, but not a scientist and scientists are what universities need, so one day they did what he jokingly used to think they would have to do: they sent him a letter! A brief one, essentially saying he was fired. In the end, they showed him the same consideration he gave them all those years. At least, they did not come in person to make a speech... Mark sat at a table, only to be serviced by a moose... A MOOSE! Who in sane thought would even consider uplifting and "hominifying" a moose for a bartender? What kind of virus was bugging people's minds those days? Whoever invited him had a taste for places... The last two artifacts were part of his work and were covered by his salary, but he would not even have the resources for the next run.That was his scariest thought: not being able to keep working on that. Where would he end up landing? Perhaps his next job would be beside Moe, his current bartender. He could imagine the long nights servicing all kinds of freak and treating them as if they were beautiful... a smile on his face, frozen, perhaps genetically frozen. The girl scheduled that business meeting with such a soft voice that it had the feeling of a date. "Redhead in a dress", she said. At least it was not purple hair... Finally, it came to him: there were people who valued old things! The same people who helped finance his runs via Hervad Foundation, essentially a buckmaker institution for the university, collecting from the rich to give it to science. They paid for those runs and paid well, mostly because some of the results ended in their party halls, one way or another. That could be an opening for him to escape the doomsday scenario where he was converted into a cybernetically enhanced dish-washing platypus! A few moments of grumpy boredom and Moe said that the girl was about to come. She called the bar, apologized for being late and even payed him a drink to soften the wait. Deep inside, Mark feared it was beginning to be too good to be true: a redhead full of money, projects, a soft voice and kindness... he had not seen even a tenth of it in years. Why right now? After seeking for weeks, he found one and only one runner who was about to assemble a group to seek "oldies for goldies"... it even sounded fun, so he made the calls to get in touch. The girl refused vidstream, so the talk was old-fashioned, what placed Mark in even greater comfort. All of a sudden, he heard the soft voice behind him, that if Vi (presumed "Vivian"), the redhead who would meet him "in a dress". Trying to keep composure, he slowly turned to see the girl, while a thousand faces ran through his head: mostly bearing charming A new term for "Irish"... :PIrshy freckles, always so hard to see and so welcome. When he turned, he even looked around to find the girl, but what he truly found would never more leave his memory: a fox! A flirty... flighty... fox! At first, he thought of rising and leaving outright, without a word... but then Moe entered and greeted the "girl", with him coming all those terrible images of a beak and dishes to wash. Mark remained and even attempted to greet his prospect new partner, after a nervous, deep breath: So... what's the plan? That was the beginning of the one business talk of Mark's life... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Frederick's Bovine. Vi had scouted out the bar well before the meeting time. While she didn't have the luxury anymore to enjoy a "regular haunt," the bar had been one of her favorites, featuring enough diversity that she didn't stick out like a...well a fox in a bar. Originally, she suspected, the name was supposed to poke fun at other uplifted such as herself. However, many enjoyed the irony and it became a regular hangout for those like her; uplifted with a sense of humor, her people. They had eventually driven out the original owners and now a friend of hers, Moe, owned the place. She gave this one a nod as she walked past. She picked her table carefully, allowing a good vantage point of both the door and easy access to both the back entrance and a convenient open window should the need arise. Mark Bowman. Archaeologist extraordinaire...and a bit of a prick. If I'm ever going to be free I'll need him...Well, more specifically what he can find. She pulls up a file on him once more, even though she's poured over it many times. Impressive resume, though no glowing references. The timing was almost perfect. Just as she needed to cut and run, the man who led teams in finding the most interestingly rare (and therefore most expensive) artifacts gets let go from the prestigious Hervad. Or at least I believe it is...well nevermind it, his reputation speaks for itself. She just pulls up a sizable list of his discoveries when she sees him walk in the door. Vi can't help but giggle to herself quietly as he expectantly looks around for the pretty redhead he hoped to find. Well, not too far off in my opinion. Maybe he'll appreciate the joke if he doesn't die from the shock. She wasn't worried about him spotting her because in no way during their conversations had he ever suspected her origins...and he was expecting someone in a dress, which, while Vi had always loved the colorful designs, she doubted she could ever pull off with her statue without looking ridiculous. She was dressed simply in brown shorts and a green vest with pockets showing as much of her silky fur as she dared in this crowd. Obviously the archaeologist is uncomfortable in his surroundings, he sits down quickly and looks around hoping to see the leggy redhead of his dreams whos sooo interested in his work. Vi giggles again. Catching Moe's eye she beckons him over and whispers instructions to him. Time to test the waters. She watches as Moe repeats her words to the man and gives him a drink. Mark appears disdainful but not outwards hostile, a good sign. As Moe walked by again Vi gave him a wink and slowly got up straightening her clothes and fluffing her tail...Wait, am I nervous? I'm never nervous! I guess I do need him. I could make so much money! Enough to finally get well out of here and out of the reach from The Blackguard....and I guess he's kinda cute.. She quickly makes her way to his chair and clambers up on the booth seat behind him.Hello there my clever man, sorry I'm late she sensually whispers in his ear. As Mark turns to look at her she flashes a toothy smile, showing off her canines. She revels in his shocked expression, making her smile wider. For a moment he looks as if he's about to leave but just then Moe comes round (with instructions not to let the man leave if he tired to flee). So... what's the plan? Vi smiles again, taking one of Mark's most recent finds out of her pocket, she lays it on the table, I'm so glad you asked.

. Phase 3 (Dee)   Theme Song And so it begun... It was raining again... not that it did matter. A long time passed since weather was an impediment to flight. A long, long time. At that moment in the night, big kids were way past bedtime and moms and dads were done... not all of them, of course, as some people cherish living the night 'till daybreak... but most... most would be annoying Morpheus in his realm, it's true. Mark didn't envy the sandman. All those people entering and leaving his place every night would make the man crazy! No... he didn't envy him. A few hundred meters away, the not so slick figure of Suncat could be seen... the fox did not lie and that was reassuring. Those days, finding someone true, even from one's own interest, was something to commemorate. A toast to the "redhead", then. Approaching the pad, raindrops could be discerned in 'Cat's lights, falling heavily to the point of making that kind of spray when they hit the ground. The man's dreaming wet dreams., he whispered, referring to Morpheus again. The cab's "face" (it's robotic driver interFACE) asked what did he say, but he ignored it. Silence. Morpheus was important to Mark... they never went well. Night after night, he struggled to get inside, but "the man" refused to open. Insomnia. Four hours of sleep per day and that was all. He wondered if one day he would drown in coffee... a deserved end. Finally, the cab's door opened, a few credits went running away and Mark was face to face with his new home. Wet steps, dry thoughts, he approached what seemed to be the right place for a hatch and there it was, ramp down, waiting. Mark made his way up and, just as he was to signal inside, the hatch opened by itself. No one there to receive him... there was a small sense of unimportance on it, as nobody was there meant that nobody cared to... anyway, it was way better than a formal reception with a cocktail. How he hated cocktails! He entered and the hatch closed, making the half-lit environment of a starship to swallow him. A few steps inside, a figure showed up. It was a small person, about as tall as 13 year old, but something was odd. Something was out of place. A few seconds passed, as if they were both thinking about how odd and out of place the other was, until the figure introduced herself: Welcome. I am SNCT403d, or "Dee", indentured service hominid. May I help you, Dr. Bowman? Silence. The figure was hard to analyse. Bald hair, neuter characteristics... the name suggested a girl. "Indentured". Did it mean a criminal? Juridic language was something used by those who met justice, so, perhaps "Dee" had broken some laws. A collar. At first, he imagined the collar was a kind of electronic cuff that would restrict her behavior in case of need. She had arms as long in relation to her body as those of a gorilla and people don't usually do this to themselves unless strength comes with the pack. A quick inspection and that was a Mindjammer collar. No cuffs. A few more seconds looking and the figure was not that of a fighter, a thief or a leader, but one of a perfect servant: long arms, featureless body and face, prehensile feet... that was when he first noticed: the collar was not there to restrict her because restrictions were already imposed on her. She was not the one to design that body! The idea of condemning someone to a forced transhumanization went to Mark's stomach and the figure in front of him bore the marks of sheer barbarian cruelty in his eyes! Who could do it? Many different people and places. That was fashion... a new slavery, fueled by hatred and fear of crime, but also by an intellectual sloth that prevented people from realizing what crime was made of: misery! They kept people in miserable conditions and wanted them to have shiny smiles... Mark gave her his luggage without a word, but he did not throw it to her... instead, he delivered it gently, almost cautiously. Silent she also took the researcher to his quarters. Not a word was exchanged by the two that night, but, despite that, mark saw in Dee everything he hated in that new world, everything he was intending to not see or experience... but she was not the source of that... she was not guilty. No matter what she had done, she was the victim of a much greater crime. "The Man" opened his door and Mark entered, as usual. A few hours, only, but enough for a frantic brain. Sleeping was for the weak... or so he tried to tell himself. With Morpheus, he found no peace, images of distorted legs and arms, faces and beaks populating the always timeless nowhereland of dream. Indeed, he dreamed of her and, with her, he dreamed of all the injustice there was in this world. When "The Man" finally expelled him, Mark was greatful. There was no coffee at the realm of Morpheus and he needed some... he needed a whole lot of it.

[savoylen]

This is the place dead and missing characters go!