The Lost Ship

[Tribe of One]

The job didn't come through any of the normal channels.

There was no meet in the back room at The Clairvoyant, no posting on the black net at the spice market, no discrete visit from one of Mohammad McMurtry's capos at the docks. Just a slim, foil-wrapped disc that turned to dust in the optical drive after flashing a single-read message:

<<Got an assignment, if you want it. Recovery, and a fresh one. Almost certainly corpo, judging from the finder's fee they paid me to arrange something, but the money's good. 10k credits. Quick turnaround, so if you want it, send confirmation by morning same way as last time and I'll set up the meet. Don't expect a real person -- like I said, corpo, but the creds smell like the real thing.>>

The sigil that flashed right before the disc disintegrated was that of Ganji Grae, an upscale fixer you worked with on a couple of jobs, half a cycle ago. Both had gone well, so it wasn't inconceivable he'd reach out when looking for a reliable crew ... and the price tag more than overshadowed any lingering suspicions. Ten thousand credits was enough to get the full crew off 'Dessa, onto an outbound ship on Horizon Station and to the next system over ... maybe two systems if you bunked in steerage or signed up for a work detail.

Alternatives were few and looking poorly at the moment. The credits from the last job had barely paid to keep a pirated data line running to your safehouse. If there was ever a time to make your move and get off this choking rock, now seems as good as ever ...

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Who's going to signal Ganji Grae, and how? Who's going to the meet? Anything you want to do before-hand?

[Vi]

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The safe house had a distinctive odor of dishwater and ash. Vi wrinkled her nose and rubbed her forehead absently with a knuckle. Hunched over the portable vid compad she searched the news on the net to see if there were any clues on what the job might be. Nothing stood out. Finally sliding the device away from her she looked at the others. Yellow grey eyes looked out from under the pink, purple and white hoodie she wore. Her white and red hair flat and tied into a ponytail. No mohawk today as she lounged in sweatpants and hooded sweatshirt.

The stink of the place drove her up and out of her cozy chair. Grabbing a synth candle from the shelf nearby she read the scent on it as she pushed items on the shelf about looking for a lighter.

“Serenity Dock and Lavender.”

Frowning Vi recalled the half used candle smelling more like factory and balls but it was better than the stench of the safe house. Thus why one of the crew had swooped the thing.

Finally finding a little green lighter she danced from foot to foot wishing she had put on socks as the metal floor was cold as a dead spacer.

Flick. Flick. Flick. The lighter sparked as Vi stated: ”Well. Of course we are taking the job. It’s enough cred for us all to get off this ass hat choking planet.” Flick. Flick. Flick.

Finally a little flame burned until Vi held the lighter to the wick. Flame went out and Vi growled.

Flick. Flick. Flick. ”We sig back a yes and do our usual eh? Sab and I being the muscle escort one of us to the meet. Others on overwatch. Damn it! Does anyone have a working light?”

Looking annoyed Vi slams the candle onto the table, unlit, and chucks the empty lighter at the shelf. Sitting back on the couch she crosses her legs and tucks her bare feet into the cushions to warm them.

”What do you guys think?”

[Kosi]

“I like that. Thank you for bringing it out again.” Came the soft toned reply from Kosi as her attention was drawn towards the lavender candle, her eyes tilting ever so slightly in evident pleasure at the the attempted gesture, even though lighting it had failed miserably. Prior to this she had been hunched over her dataslab, carefully reading the screen over some information she had retrieved from the data line, looking every bit an enigmatic monk in red and silver ceremonial robes that she seemed to wear everywhere save for when it was required of them to go unnoticed... Which ended up being quite often of late. It seemed at the safe houses was the only spot where they could be donned.

Slender fingers of one hand reached out towards the candle, palm up as a sudden flick produced a tiny laser cutting tool. Just one of many attachments included in the wrist mounted metatool, a Swiss army knife styled kit favoured by technicians and reminiscent of the deployment of an old style concealed derringer. The small red beam was mostly used for minor repairs, but produced enough directed heat to allow the wick to catch aflame and spring to life. In short order filling the room with the scent of factory and balls. A few moments were then spared to slowly rub her hands together before holding them over the dancing flame, warming herself on it for a few moments. A small sigh of relief escaping her pale lips.

The others might wonder if such a gesture was part of her programming in an effort to appear as human as possible, or an intended farce that was consciously decided upon. They knew well enough by now that the dainty feminine figure with elegant movements was a VI and had no real reason to desire neither the warmth of the glowing flame or the scent it provided, despite the fact that she had gone through the motions and had gone through the effort to appear as such.

“If you like, I could send back a simple yes over the line to Grae. Even if intercepted, it would lack any sort of context to be useful to any onlookers. Of course Andrew and his silver tongue would be best for the meet itself. Once we have a location, I’ll keep an ear on the lines to see if there is any unusual activity headed that way.” She suggests as an additional course of action to Vi’s suggestion.

[Andrew Cofield]

Andrew watches Vi try to light the candle as he thinks about any corp that may have 'lost' something recently. Coming up blank he starts to say something just as Kosi lights the candle. Watching her movements he looks for any tale-tell signs that she is not what she appears but is impressed with her performance. He then shrugs. "I can't think of anything, or anyone, that has gone missing recently so this 'recovery' may be more of a heist. However, I also cannot think of any reason not to at least look into it and about ten thousand reason we should."

He stands up from the floor rubbing his butt through the sweats he has on in an effort to return feeling to that area. He then shuffles, trying to keep both worn out slippers on, over to the one closet that closes completely and starts sorting through some of his 'professional' outfits. "What look do you think I should go for? Hard gun? Middle management? Slum runner? I doubt upper management. I hope not gutter punk, that one itches."

[Sabrek Vek]

Being the muscle isn’t that hard. Sure you are more prone to injury. And it seems like you are always on. The One place Sabrek did not have to be on was the safe house. Currently it smelled like lavender after the lighting of a candle to cover up its normally unctuous scent of neglect.

The down side of being the muscle is the hyper vigilance and borderline paranoia. A more recent example is this job. Didn’t come by the normal channels. We all are desperate to get off planet. Details were slim. So you have an unknown job, that came outside of normal channels to a group that is frantically trying to get paid. Sounds like the perfect conditions for a job from hell. Sabrek keeps his mouth shut though. No need to get them worried. I’ve got this. Being vigilant is enough. If I get more indicators I can present it then. .

When we heading to the meet?, Sabrek inquired assuming he is going. He then awaits an answer.

[Jaxon]

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“Serenity Dock and Lavender.”

Frowning Vi recalled the half used candle smelling more like factory and balls but it was better than the stench of the safe house. Thus why one of the crew had swooped the thing.

Finally finding a little green lighter she danced from foot to foot wishing she had put on socks as the metal floor was cold as a dead spacer.

Flick. Flick. Flick. The lighter sparked as Vi stated: ”Well. Of course we are taking the job. It’s enough cred for us all to get off this ass hat choking planet.” Flick. Flick. Flick.

Finally a little flame burned until Vi held the lighter to the wick. Flame went out and Vi growled.

Flick. Flick. Flick. ”We sig back a yes and do our usual eh? Sab and I being the muscle escort one of us to the meet. Others on overwatch. Damn it! Does anyone have a working light?”

Looking annoyed Vi slams the candle onto the table, unlit, and chucks the empty lighter at the shelf. Sitting back on the couch she crosses her legs and tucks her bare feet into the cushions to warm them.

”What do you guys think?”

Jaxon's workbench is a testament to the efficiency of organized chaos. Spare parts litter the area, tools and projects placed haphazardly in neat piles. He's working on some electrical device while Vi is sparking the lighter. A small pen light hovers in the air over the device while a multi tool works on opening one end and Jaxon uses more delicate tools with his hands to work the cover free on side closer to him.

When Vi tosses the lighter to the self, the multi tool floats to the table and the lighter slowly slips off the shelf and floats over to his workstation. He pauses his work on the device long enough to examine the lighter. Satisfied, he returns his attention to the small device in front of him while he uses his telekinetic ability to slowly refill the lighter with flammable fluid from another section of his work station.

"Good as new," Jaxon mutters as the lighter floats over to Vi, "Credits are good. Just don't want to deal with the client. Don't mind playing backup or lookout."

With his attention fully focused back on the device, Jaxon is able to pop the cover off of it and begins carefully disassembling the delicate parts inside. Within seconds the device is completely gone, absorbed into ecosystem of the workbench.

“If you like, I could send back a simple yes over the line to Grae. Even if intercepted, it would lack any sort of context to be useful to any onlookers. Of course Andrew and his silver tongue would be best for the meet itself. Once we have a location, I’ll keep an ear on the lines to see if there is any unusual activity headed that way.” She suggests as an additional course of action to Vi’s suggestion.

Jaxon nods, "More credits is better. Could watch over Kosi instead.

Jaxon turns his attention to the weapons at his workstation. He never fails to check the condition of the team's gear before a job. Life, death, success and failure could depend upon his work. Whatever other failings he might have, Jaxon makes sure these responsibilities are carried out to perfection.

He stands up from the floor rubbing his butt through the sweats he has on in an effort to return feeling to that area. He then shuffles, trying to keep both worn out slippers on, over to the one closet that closes completely and starts sorting through some of his 'professional' outfits. "What look do you think I should go for? Hard gun? Middle management? Slum runner? I doubt upper management. I hope not gutter punk, that one itches."

"Need help?" Jaxon asks, "Not my specialty but can help get the look right."

[Tribe of One]

There's no direct response to Kosi's single-word transmission back to Grae, but a couple of hours later a greasy sack of vat-shroom tortas is dropped off at your door. Laser-etched on the underside of one of the buns is the address for the meet.

It's a space Grae has used before, a conference room in a bland and slightly-claustrophic warren of offices hanging off of the elevated walkway spanning a titanium manufactory and a hydroponics silo. The surrounding suites are all empty, used as fronts for various hustles and shell companies run by Grae or whoever it is he answers to.

Power and comms to office-cluster all come through a trunk-line running up the silo. Kosi and Jaxon set up in an abandoned food shack on ground level to try to tap the line, while Vi and Sabrek escort Andrew up the lift, then over and down into the office module. Grae's people left the doors unsecured, but there doesn't seem to be anyone hanging around.

As soon as Andrew steps into the conference room, a holo-projector at the center table lights up, static shaping up into a reasonable fascimile of a corporate salaryman, his perfectly symmetrical features the result of either cheap programming or expensive surgery.

“Well, let’s not waste any time,” the man says, forehead creasing into a perfect frown. “Two days ago, my company was robbed. That is, our CEO was robbed ... and ... " -- a bit of static causes the hologram to stutter before reforming -- " ... he would like the matter dealt with without the public embarrassment that would occur if this incident leaked to the media.”

With a success against DC 8, you notice that the video-shroud program is feeding into the holo is glitching, which is causing the static. Based on the split-second glimpses you get, you're pretty sure the suit on the other end of the line is a she, not a he.

If you fail the check, you still pick that up ... but also hear someone cursing softly after the glitch, followed by a whispered "Damn, think they clocked her?

“I ... " -- more static -- "our CEO owns an old free trader, the 'Free Rain,' that is used for special assignments, where the company needs to keep a low profile, so it's not something we wish to report to Blackwall or the other enforcement agencies. But the ship has sentimental value and we have reason to believe the thieves who stole it intend to have its identification codes changed and move it off planet within the next few days. Obviously we cannot allow this to happen. We need you to locate the ship and return it to us. If you can do this, we are prepared to offer 10,000 credits, half of which has already been placed as surety with your associate, Grae. Do you have any questions?”

If questioned, the suit says he doesn't know know the identity of the thieves or the location of the ship.

"Surely someone knows something about it on the darknet, but ... our initial inquiries turned up nothing solid, beyond a few mentions of a bar called the Blast Furnace where smugglers and ship-jackers are known to congregate."

With a success against DC 8, you're able to tap the data-line well enough to trace the transmission feeding into the holoprojector. It bounces through a couple of nodes, but the masking is amateur-hour, and in no time you're able to track the signal to a network address connected to Manticore Industries, a local corp with its hands in everything from plastics and textiles to gravcars and hab fabrication. The CEO, Kira Gurov, either inherited the company or stole it from her uncle in a bloodless coup, depending on which messageboards you believe, but the company generally appears to have kept its nose clean under watch.

If you fail, you get the above information but are pretty sure your tap was detected.

[Sabrek Vek]

Notice DC8 - 2d6: [4, 1] = 5 3d6-L: [3, 4, 3]-L = 7

Sabrek looks at the holo and when the floor is opened to questions he inquired ”Do you need the thieves in any particular condition? Alive or dead? Crippled or not crippled? Do we get a bonus if we make an example of them to make sure people think twice before ripping you off again?” He awaits an answer.

[Kosi]

Success
Int+2, Program 1 = +3
3d6-L: [2, 4, 1]-L = 6 +3 = 9
Expert Reroll not required 3d6-L: [2, 3, 3]-L = 6

“FauxFu Sticks” had once been sold at the tiny shack adjacent to the hydroponics silo. The plasticized sign that stood out front had been faded due to time and neglect as it tilted slightly, giving any passer by the reasonable expectation that this particular operation had long since gone under. The soy grown in the silo next to it ended up being too expensive for the margins that this particular franchise had desired for its fried Tofu snacks, so they had instead opted to go with a synthetic substitute, while trying to market themselves as a cleaner and more chic alternate to curdled beans. Unfortunately it seemed, Odessa had not been ready for the genius that was substitute for a food that was already a substitute for other foods.

Regardless, the product had been so distasteful that even if Kosi and Jaxon had been noticed, there would be the fear in those who witnessed their arrival that it meant a reopening of the horrifying food stand. A casual glance and then a determined walk past of denial at having seen anything was exactly what a pair of people trying not to be seen needed from the others who were accessing the linked buildings.

The inside still smelled of fryer grease, that sticky oily smell that never seemed to go away no matter how many years had passed, the sort that permeated your clothing and skin after spending a significant amount of time inside. The place as dirty as well, with cramped quarters akin to a typical food truck allowing little movement for the two of them, especially if they wanted to avoid touching the blackened filth encrusting the catch trays of the fryers hanging below waist level. Fortunately even the local rodents seemed to want nothing to do with this place, as it seemed that the traces of synthetic food hadn’t agreed with their pallets either.

As Kosi carefully turned over a wobbly stool that had been hanging off of a hook on the ceiling, she looked over at Jaxon with a slight tilt of her head before speaking with an impressed tone. ”Synthetic Tofu, what a wonderful concept. People dream up so many interesting things in an effort to become wealthy. Such imaginative thoughts have always interested me.”


Kosi’s words seemed to be genuinely interested in the subject rather than what one might expect would be an appropriate phrasing for sarcasm instead, quietly chatting as she set up her datapad on the counter next to one of the fryers directly across from the transmission cable leading into the building. Handing her metatool to Jaxon as she pointed a finger towards the line on the wall. ”Could you splice this for me please? One day I will be able to afford a phase tap so this can be done without being so invasive, but for now this will have to do. Thank you so much.”

The priest looked more like an overworked office employee than a member of the clergy as she started typing away on the device, brushing away strands of hair from her eyes with a hand made of skeletal shaped metal. The keys clacking away at different cadences depending on which of her two hands she used, be that of flesh or alloy. ”Have you ever tried it? The FauxFu I mean. Is it good?” Came a curious question before she carefully closed the device.

She waited patiently for his answer, nodding along as if absorbing important information to the matter at hand before finally saying. ”Thank you for your help, I have the information we came for, it seems like my intrusion wasn't detected. You did quite well today!”

[Vi]

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Notice Roll DC 8

2d6: [4, 1] = 5
(Int +1 but Untrained Skill -1)
Result 5 Fail

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As the three of them made their way to the meeting place Vi had her hands thrust into her coat pockets and ran her fingers over the gun and knife hidden there.

The trench coat was in bad condition but Vi loved it. It had once been brand new and had smelled like real leather, which of course it wasn’t. Dyed black with dozens of pockets, many concealed and designed to hold weapons, a grinning dark red orc head was burnt into the upper back portion of the synth leather. Was. Today the long coat smelled more like body odor masked by gunpowder and vanilla and the tears and rips in the coat outnumbered the amount of pockets. The orc logo all but gone looking more like a mutant smiley face.

Vi had the coat infused with odors to keep the stank of the old thing tolerable.

Gunpowder, also known as black powder, a chemical compound consisting of sulfur, charcoal and potassium nitrate. The formula had exploded into the fragrance infusion industry with its boldly peppery and smoky scent. Recommended to pair with a floral or vanilla scent.

Vanilla being a common, beloved ingredient in many top selling infusions and was cheaper than floral.

Vi picked it, even after the merchant had shared a little too much. He had stated it was cheap because, “Did you know that the anal secretions of beavers can also produce a pleasing vanilla aroma? Also known as castoreum, this ingredient has been often used in classic leather-themed perfume. That magic of science…”

Vi smirked as the three crew entered the unsecured doors and were greeted by the holo.

Looking around the room for dangers and possible threats she only half listened to the holo stiff as he droned on, until she absently heard the holo scrambled a bit and miss a step.

Heh, the guy was a gal it seemed.

Vi frowned.

Patriarchy. Always the same damn thing. A social system in which positions of dominance and privilege are primarily held by men.

As the meeting ended she escorted Sab and Andrew out. Hands still deep in her ratty pockets holding the weapons. She continued to observe and watch, ready for any action.

Time to regroup and then earn some credits.

[Andrew Cofield]

Notice: +2 Int, -1 unskilled
2d6+1: [6, 4]+1 = 11

Andrew was dressed in his 'middle management' outfit and walked with a practiced 'nervous ease', he looked like someone pretending to be confident even though he was scared beyond belief. Of course, with Vi and Sabrek along he was actually quite confident. Perhaps not the most skilled operators out there this team worked well together and knew how each would act in a given situation.

Approaching the meeting place he started scanning the area for anything out of place. Nothing stood out, but he did not expect it to be obvious. It was not until they were confronted by the holo that something slipped. A woman CEO, that does not want to be known. Interesting bit of info. "Before we go retrieve this cargo ship is there any cargo on it we need to be aware of? Anything volatile or corrosive? Or perhaps something the formal authorities don't want associated with your employer? We need to know so we can take appropriate precautions as we take it. We will of course keep any such information strictly confidential."

After receiving any answer Andrew then glances at his partners and seeing no other questions continues. "Then, as you said, let's not waste any time. We will have Grea contact you when we have possession of the ship." He then turns and strides from the room without a backwards glance.

[Tribe of One]

”Do you need the thieves in any particular condition? Alive or dead? Crippled or not crippled? Do we get a bonus if we make an example of them to make sure people think twice before ripping you off again?”

The sneers, flashing perfectly even, perfectly white teeth in a predatory snarl.

"Hurt them, yes, as much as is convenient. But don't draw attention. A public bloodbath will draw more scrutiny than it's worth. When the Free Rain is recovered, they'll know not to cross us again."

"Before we go retrieve this cargo ship is there any cargo on it we need to be aware of? Anything volatile or corrosive? Or perhaps something the formal authorities don't want associated with your employer? We need to know so we can take appropriate precautions as we take it. We will of course keep any such information strictly confidential."

The too-perfect smile seems to falter for a moment as the image of the corporate suit on the other end of the line glitches again. "No, no, nothing of the sort ... unless, I mean, the thieves brought it ... something, onboard. If that's the case, just leave it. My men at the rendezvous point can take care of disposal. Now, if there is nothing else? I look forward to hearing about your successful recovery of the ship."

The feed cuts out with another little shiver of the masking software, and you're left in the silence of the old, smoke-stained office pod. With the mission details now in hand, a few avenues present themselves: Doing some legwork and poking around in the dark corners of 'Dessa City's virtual and physical realities; checking out this Blast Furnace, the bar the contact mentioned; and since recovering a ship gets a lot more difficult if you can't get it airborne, you may want to look into recruiting a trustworthy pilot — or at least one that can be reasonably expected to get the job done in return for a cut of the profits.

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Go ahead and narrate how you want to spend the next 12-24 hours in-game as you begin your investigation. Skills like Administer, Connect or Talk obviously could be useful, along with similar Foci, so if you have something you think would fit, go ahead and include a roll.

I think Max planned to roll up a pilot, but if not, or if he's not going to be able to join, you can recruit an NPC easily enough.