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No, no, no. Resorting to poetry is an understandable reaction to the vastness of space, but if we must use metaphor, let it at least be accurate metaphor – and it is vastly inaccurate to refer to space as a ‘frontier.’ For one thing, the term ‘frontier’ implies the existence of a border; and you can’t have a final border because then there’d be nothing for it to be a border to (although I grant you that “Space. The antepenultimate frontier” does not exactly trip off the tongue). For seconds, a ‘frontier’ is a finite region: something perhaps not yet mapped to its fullest extent, but nonetheless mappable, capable of being reduced to manageable proportions.
Space is not like that. It is infinitely vast: even the discovery (gift?) of the Hyperspace Drive merely made travel through space possible, rather than convenient. Set against the vast infinity of space, any number you can write down – any number you can imagine – basically approximates to zero.
That same cold arithmetic has a distorting effect on qualitative values, as well. Take, for example, morality – are the Pact Worlds a force for Good in the universe? Set against the excesses of the Azlanti Star Empire, or the extradimensional forces from the fiendish planes, then the answer is probably yes; but a visitor from the Celestial realms might look askance at the compromises made on a day-to-day basis to ensure continuity (like the inclusion of the planet Eox into the Pact; although the belief that all undead are inevitably Evil is terribly unfashionable, these days). Such a visitor would almost certainly protest the crushing, systemic, injustices which are accepted as part and parcel of civilised modern life. Accepted by most, that is, but not all: if the Free Captains of the Diaspora agree on anything, it is the motto ‘Better to die free on your feet than live on your knees.’ (although the luckless bastard who’s just been spaced out the airlock of his own ship by marauding pirates might have something pithy to say in response to that. If he weren’t, you know, dead.)
In the face of these forces, of this arithmetic, there would seem to be little that an individual can do. But just occasionally, an individual – or a group of individuals – gets to do something extraordinary. Our story concerns just such a group. Of course, they don’t know that yet (which is probably just as well: the call ‘Heroes wanted to save Galaxy. Must be willing to repeatedly risk life, limb, sanity and soul. Minimal prospects of success. Meagre reward.’ tends not to find people wanting – it generally fails to find them at all)...
‘Heroes wanted to save Galaxy. Must be willing to repeatedly risk life, limb, sanity and soul. Minimal prospects of success. Meagre reward.’
Well, what are we waiting for? ;)
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Absalom Station is the metaphorical center of the Pact Worlds—the hub around which all things revolve. It was here that the Pact Worlds as a formal entity were created, via the eponymous Absalom Pact, and it remains the system’s heart governmentally, culturally, and economically. All sentient species, from the familiar to the most alien, are welcome in its streets, with the mysterious artifact at its heart acting as a singularly powerful hyperspace beacon, Absalom Station finds its significance only growing as the races of the Pact Worlds spread out across the galaxy.
After the Gap, Absalom Station’s inhabitants found themselves even more adrift than most cultures, with no home world and no trustworthy records of their social ties and governance. Anarchy reigned; gangs based on racial or religious identities looted and fought in the streets, and systems broke down as people abandoned their posts. Only when a runaway malfunction nearly resulted in the venting of the entire station’s atmosphere did people recognize their precarious position and begin to pull together, with the heads of the various gangs forming the first Syndicsguild and electing the first Prime Executive, Loqua Tem.
With the advent of Drift travel, the residents of Absalom Station were surprised to find it transformed from a backwater raft of “homeless” races—most notably humanity—to the most prosperous and powerful port in the Pact Worlds. Early post-Gap engineers attempting to understand the station’s workings had known for several years that the station’s power core was no mere reactor but rather a powerful magical artifact called the Starstone, believed to be the same object that had lain at the heart of the station’s namesake city on Golarion and through whose magic Iomedae and other deities had risen to godhood. Locked away behind unbreachable defenses, it had always provided enough free energy to power the entire station, yet it came to reveal a new function: no matter where in the galaxy a ship started from, the Starstone made Drift travel to the space around Absalom Station as quick and safe as hopping between planets in a single system. Now, no matter how far explorers may roam, Absalom Station is always right next door.
The next decades were marked by harsh growing pains as Absalom Station struggled to retain its independence. Various other governments attempted to claim the station, most notably the Bone Sages of Eox, who launched the Magefire Assault in 7 ag only to be rebuffed by the station’s formidable defensive batteries. Since then, having dedicated itself to neutrality and equitable trade, Absalom Station became the natural headquarters for newly formed interplanetary organizations and eventually the seat of government for the Pact Worlds, forever giving all other planets in the system a stake in defending its independence.
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The shuttle Okimoros works it's way through the mulititude of ships and shuttles coming and going from the station's docking arms. The massive volume of starcraft moving about the station's environs is daunting. Massive freighters kilometers long intermingle with small shuttle craft like the Okimoros in a giant mixing bowl around Absalom.
Strapped in to the cargo area in the temporary fold-down seats in the bay, you share the seats with three others. Strangers for sure, but all headed to the station. Reason enough to engage in some friendly chat.
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Damn cowlicks! Lolo licks her hand and runs it across her brow, cursing silently as the tuft of fur above her eye springs right back into place - or misplace, as things actually were.
The ysoki blushes, suddenly very self-conscious (not that anyone can tell the difference). Becoming a Starfinder seemed like a good idea back in the Pipetown midden heap, but here, on this shuttle? Lolo had quickly cashed in her, um, borrowed ship's com-unit and bought a shiny new gun with the proceeds, but the rest of her... we'll, it was obvious that her armor was cobbled together with spare parts, as was the drone circling that space knight's head. That very annoyed looking kinght-
"Psst! T! Stay in your lane!"
"I am perfectly capable of wandering the shuttle without humping anyone's leg, thank you," the drone said, nunplussed.
Lolo sighed. T-13, no, now it was T-14, it had come back a little weird from its last rebuild. Still, at least T listened; the little drone slowly circled back over Lolo's head. Lolo turned her attention to the kinght, realizing it wasn't annoyed with her at least!
"Uh, apologies! T-14 has phantom memories, you know? Code that doesn't totally get overwritten, each time I have to rebuild it. Makes it a little screwy. Anyways, please don't kill us-"
Smiling, the ratling runs her thoughts together with all the nuance of a crashing speeder.
"-cause we're gonna be Starfinders!"
The ratling wetted her hand and ran it over her brow once again. Damn cowlicks!
A young man with raven-black hair, shaved close to the side and the top slicked back in a typical Disporian style. sits hunched over a rifle sitting in his lap aboard the Okimoros. Though young, his dark, sunken violet eyes and his pale skin make him look older than he is. If one were to look clser at those eyes, they would see flecks of gold throughout the deep violet of the irises. He looks almost homeless, but cleaner. He wears a black leather bomber jacket over a simple grey and black plaid shirt. His right wrist is covered with a personal computer with tools extending out of it to work on the rifle in his lap. Just under the collar of his shirt a myriad of tattoos can just be made out. A wide-brimmed black hat casts shadows over his face as he work, save for his mouth, almost highlighting the fact that his toungue sticks out the side of his mouth just slightly, unbeknownst to him, as he concetrates on the task at hand.
Ok, now I just reconnect the charge-capacitor to the thermal vent and...
A small spark erupts from the side of the modified Azimuth Laser Rifle sitting in John's lap. He retracts his hand quickly, sticking his burnt finger in his mouth and mutters, "Dammmit!" He looks down at the old rifle in his lap, running his hands over the cursive engraved name down the barrel: Nona.
That rifle had seen him through a lot. He had been given it when he had been with the Hellknights and he had carried it with him during his time with the Midnight Stars. It had seen better days, but he couldn't quite bring himself to upgrading to a newer gun.
He looks up from his work to the drone that was hovering over his head in a bit of a discoarse with the ysoki in the seat opposite him. He reaches up and pets the undercarriage of the drone like rubbing the belly of a dog before it flits away back to its master. He smiles at the ysoki and says, "No hard feelings, little miss. I'm nawght gunna be killin' anyone right now. I enjoy a bot that has some initiative. Gives them a personality, ya know?"
He looks up to the drone and says, "Though I would appreciate you taking me to dinner 'fore you go humping anything on me."
With a sigh, he sets his rifle to the side, somewhat glad to have something else to distract him from the failed modification he was working on. He tilts back his hat and says to the ysoki, "Starfinders indeed! I'm sure you and your buddy will be a welcome addition to the organization. The name's Fletcher and I too am lookin' to join up."
The third passenger of the small shuttle appears human enough, at least at first glance. Seemingly between his late twenties to mid thirties and around six feet tall, he appears fit and somewhat slender of build with raven black shoulder-length hair, this latter physical trait contrasting with his fair or rather, to be more precise, pale complexion, at least what can be seen of it considering he is clothed from head to toe. But there are certainly differences to an actual human, such as the synthetic look of his skin, the tattoo-like circuitry that is fainly visible under it here and there and, perhaps most tellingly, his eyes with their lack of both irises and pupils and their soft blue glow.
"It is fortunate," the android speaks up, his voice and tone calm and even. "Violence in here could potentially cause any from a variety of unpleasant consequences, depressurization from a stray projectile only one of them." And then he smiles a thin and slightly crooked little smile to the ysoki and the human. "I am Aaron, though my original designation is... was...," he starts before pausing for a moment, as if trying to decide on the appropriate tense before giving up, "...RN-4." He pauses once again momentarily and pulls his right sleeve up just a little, the letters RN-IV easily visible on the anterior side of his wrist. "So, Aaron Ivey. Like the plant."
"I... run a little cooler than most," he answers a question about his wearing gloves no one really asked as he offers his hand for a shake. "Some find it somewhat... disconcerting," he adds with a shrug.
John reaches out to shake the android's hand. "Uh-huh..." he pauses, not quite sure how to react to Aaron's point. Finally, he opens his mouth again, "Well... that's good, Ivey. Often times its better when cooler heads prevail." He chuckles lightly at his own joke, before realizing that the humor is probably lost on the android. He quickly clears his throat and follows up with, "Well, it's mighty kind of you to think to warn people ahead of time. You wouldn't want to shock anyone who might think you were... uh... human..."
John drums his fingers on the rifle sitting next to him nervously. I hate akward silences...
The final passenger, previously hunched over their wrist-mounted communicator, leans backwards in the folding seat until they can see the others in the cargo hold upside-down. The holographic display on the device shows an electronic game of some kind, now apparently paused. "You guys are looking to join up with the Starfinders?" asks the chair's occupant from their awkward position, an androgynous half-elf with a messy shock of brown hair streaked with various colors. "Small galaxy, I guess! That's where I'm headed too!" They grin as the chair tilts back alarmingly far. "I guess taking the same shuttle probably isn't enough to call it destiny, but you never know!"
"I'm Avery by the way. I guess we might be coworkers if everything goes well in there!"
"Ooohhh, destiny!" Lolo murmurs, while gesturing for T-14 to settle on the seat next to her.
"That would would explain a lot. See, I was lower than my auntie's belly just a few hours ago. Got my ship taken and everything! Have you every built a spaceship? I have! Well, I built a near-space ship anyways, it didn't have a drift engine or anything like that. Annnnnnnyyyyyways, it got taken, so I need a new job. Figured, if I can build a near-spaceship, then the Starfinders would be interested in taking me on. So I'm off to meet this guy Kreel!"
"I'm pretty good with gadgets! What do you all do?"
"Oh, I'm a priest!" chimes the youthful half-elf. "My connection to Weydan lets me use a bit of magic and I'm a pretty good pilot too." Leaning forward in the chair, they spin the folding seat around to better face everyone. "Don't worry though, Weydanites don't really preach. We try to be an example by helping people wherever we wander, and just let people live their lives otherwise."
As John drums his fingers on his rifle there is a slight distortion across him. His form flickers like he's a hologram before reverting to his normal state. Sitting in the same spot, sits a man with ebony skin and large, white pupil-less eyes. His hair and features remain the same, save for the large black-feathered wings jutting from his back. He's dressed in a black jacket with the sleeves torn off over a black t-shirt designed with a silver butterfly with a black star on its thorax across most of its front. Silver, angular tattoos of butterflies flying with ravens coat both of his arms down to the finger-less gloves he wears on his hands. The shirt is tucked into black combat pants that lead down to black combat boots.
The rifle next to him changes as well, going from a lever-action modified laser rifle to an even longer rifle. The black rifle is almost as tall as he is with two barrels stacked on top of each other and a complicated looking scope mounted to it. Astonishingly, the cursive name engraved along the barrel remains the same.
He pauses, a look of shock across his face, before a nervous chuckle escapes him. He speaks, the accent from before gone from his voice, "Well, this is... embarrassing. I thought the trip would be a little shorter than it was... I hope you'll excuse the theatrics. Not a lot of people have seen a strix. I was only trying to blend in a little, an avoid any unpleasantness for being different. I saw 'The Good, the Bad, and the Xeno' on the vidnet and decided to appropriate the main character's looks.
"Let's try this again..." he says with a sigh, "I'm Dej'arrick Vorron," he looks to the half-elf, "I too am a priest of a sort, though probably a little different than you." He wipes his hands together and turns to the ysoki with her little friend and says, "I too am a tinkerer. I've never been close to building a space-ship, though. My skills with technology lean a little more towards... martial pursuits."
He places his hand on the rifle next to him and finishes with, "I've got some skills that the Starfinders may find useful in more... uhh... sensitive situations."
"No hard feelings!" chimes Avery, nonplussed. "What sort of priest? There's so much you can learn from people in this life. I'd love to hear about what you believe."
Dej’arrick looks quizzically at the half-elf, his head twisting quickly to the side like a bird to look at her better, ”My lady is the Black Butterfly. She is the darkness between the stars where Desna presides over the twinkling beacons in the dark, my goddess is the void. Her holy men and women believe in doing good in ways that go unnoticed. The more devoted of our priests will go out of their way to help those without ever being seen. If they are caught they must sequester themselves and pray, looking to the goddess to show them where they went wrong...” the strix trails off, realizing that he is rambling.
Lolo's mouth hangs open - lower and lower - as the knight suddenly changes into a birdman thingy.
"Baller."
"Different?"
The android repeats the strix's word and reason for the disguise before looking -pointedly, one might say- from the winged humanoid to the small ysoki to the androgynous half-elf and then back to Dej'arrick, who probably gets the feeling Aaron would also direct his gaze on himself if such a thing was physically possible. And then the same smile as before appears on his face. Literally, the exact same smile.
"It is quite interesting you would think that. Fascinating even."
Dej’arrick looks at Aarron with a shrug, slowly getting more at ease with the group, ”People usually have mixed emotions about something new. They either love it or hate it. Since most other strix stay in the Qidel on Verces, hardly anyone in the verse has seen one. I’d much rather just blend in with the crowd than make waves.”
He leans back into his seat and flicks his hood up over his head before looking from the ysoki to his wings and smiles thinly, ”Yeah, they are pretty baller.”
The Okimoro slides into Docking Bay 94, one of scores of docking bays occupying the starlike arms that encircle Absalom Station’s equator. Final docking procedures take a few minutes, at which point the cabin attendant comes over the intercom:
"Welcome to Absalom Station. Please watch your step."
Avery is out of their seat as soon as the ship comes to a halt, bouncing up and down on their heels excitedly as they wait for the doors to open. "Yippee, let's go, gang!" the energetic half breed calls out, hopping off the disembarking ramp with a flourish. They look at their wrist communicator quizzically. "Hey Sidhea, where were we supposed to meet this guy again?" they ask the device.
A shimmer of holographic light cacades upwards from the device before coalescing into the shape of a tiny blue woman with dragonfly wings and round antennae. The computer's artificial personality speaks. "Accessing itinerary files now, Avery," she says with a smile as bits of data stream past, represented by sparkling pixie dust drifting from the fairy-avatar's wings.
Dej’arrick allows the others to get up and head for the exit before he does. He stands and stretches his cramped wings out before tucking them back behind him and picks up his rifle. As they step out from the ship he pulls his hood tighter to conceal more of his face, while he awaits for the half-elf’s computer to tell them where they are supposed to go.
Aaron follows suit, faintly glowing blue eyes taking in his new surroundings in mere seconds, if not fractions of one. "We are here," he states matter-of-factly as he looks at the tiny hologram coming from Avery's communicator with interest. Interest and more than a little curiosity.
"Why wings? And antennae?" The question is asked in his usual even tone. Well, usual for him anyway, as these people do not really know him all that well. Yet.
The holographic fairy looked at Aaron as he spoke, and turned to Avery, who responded with a nod. "You can add these three as friends, Sidhea," they said, prompting a 'thumbs-up' gesture from the blue woman.
The artificial personality turned to look at Aaron again. "Avery thought they looked cool when they were designing my avatar. Pretty neat, huh?" she replied to the android with a smirk, flourishing her wings. "You guys are on Avery's friends list now so I can chat with you. I handle their itinerary and answer most of their mail."
"You should all see a handshake notification popping up on your devices, by the way. Add Avery if you want to stay in touch!" The other three prospective Starfinders' communicators all show a notification from Avery's device including their digital contact address so they can stay in touch across Absalom's stationwide infosphere.
Lolo smiled and hit the handshake notification on her custom-built rig. Baller! That's a nice AP, Avery! Mine's not much to look at, but its powerful. Built it from four scavenged microprocessors, including one from a fridge!"
Dej’arrick keeps quiet about the fact that he didn’t even own a computer, let alone a social media account. His crew had been his only friends for so long that he hadn’t needed one. Not to mention that it was poor practice for someone running under the radar.
"Thanks... Lolo," Sidhea said with a smile as she received the Ysoki's name from the friend request confirmation. "I'm actually a gift from Weydan. Avery met one of his Avatars when they were little who happened to be a personality crafter, and he created me for their comm unit!"
"Don't go thinking I'm a big shot just because I've met my deity in the flesh," Avery interjects. "Weydan is everywhere. Sometimes they don't even know they're an avatar. Just good people who know they're in this life to journey and help those in need." They smile broadly. "That's why Weydanites are so friendly! Anybody we meet could be Weydan!" Avery chuckles at the idea, though it's clear they don't mean it in jest.
"That is a fascinating outlook, Avery," the android remarks, pausing for a moment to ponder on the information. "But I have to ask, how did you know that the man you met was indeed the avatar of a deity, in this case Weydan? Did he introduce himself as such? Did he possess some distinctive divine trait that identified him?"
Aaron's tone is not challenging. It is one of curiosity. It would seem this particular android is an inquisitive one.
Avery doesn't seem upset in the slightest. "I really don't!" they reply, nonplussed. "It's the official stance of the church, though, which grants it some weight in my book. He was a remarkable man, famous for the advancements he brought to AP technology through his journeys to study other cultures. He always helped those in need on the thousands of worlds he visited." Avery has clearly heard a lot about this man. "After he died, the Church formally declared him an Avatar. I imagine divination was used to confirm their suspicions in the end." They shrug. "Out of respect we don't try to deduce if someone's an Avatar while they're alive. It could distract them from their important work."
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The brightly lit docks of Absalom Station are abuzz with activity as travelers bustle by, preparing to board or disembarking from starships bound to or from any of dozens of worlds. Brash and swaggering starpilots, scurrying ysoki mechanics, and expectant colonists mingle with enigmatic
kasatha mystics, hard-faced asteroid miners, imposing vesk mercenaries, and more, creating a microcosm of the abundance and variety of life in the Pact Worlds.
New arrivals meet friends, loved ones, or business contacts, and are whisked away into the humming activity of daily life on the vast space station. Beyond them, ground crews tend to the docked ships, and dockworkers in mechanized cargo lifters load and unload freight and baggage. A sharp tang of ozone hangs in the air—a byproduct of electrical discharges from the docked ships—but underneath, the station’s atmosphere has a slightly used aroma. The docking bay’s deck plates thrum beneath your feet, though whether it’s from the passage of innumerable feet or the vibrations of the station’s power conduits and air recycling systems is impossible to say.
Dej’arrick looks up from the group to look around the hangar. He spots their contact a ways away, but more disturbingly he sees two groups of armed men setting up fortifications with everyone else in between. He nods towards the armed men for the others and says, ”He’s there, but we may have some trouble here. We’ve got two groups that look like they’re gearing up for a fight. I suggest getting our man out of here quickly and getting the authorities.” Dej’arrick pulls his rifle from his back and looks for a place above to get a vantage point on the groups, ”I’ll keep watch from above.”
Dej’arrick flies up to set up his rifle in an over watch position.
Taking note of the men taking up defensive positions, Aaron remains impassive. It is a good look for him. In fact, so far it has been his most common look actually.
"Are we certain they are not on our contact's side? Security of a sort? Perhaps we should talk to them first, avoid any misunderstandings."
Lolo whistles as she steps onto the docking bay. Really nice! Much nicer than the midden heap I launch out of! Nodding to a passing ysoki, the ratling is lost in thought when Dej'arrick pulls a gun and just flies! upwards.
"I..." Lolo trails off, indecision gripping her. The ratling waves to Kreel, beckoning the dwarf closer.
Avery spots the possibly-armed groups setting up on opposite sides of the packed docking bay, and a sudden fear grips them. All those people are in danger! They're gonna get caught in the crossfire! they think. "EVERYBODY! GET DOWN!" shouts the half-elf in concern, despite knowing how futile their warning shout will be in such a crowded area.
Avery's eyes change color as the Weydanite begins casting a spell, the glassy orbs changing to a dark void punctuated with a myriad of glowing stars.
Kreel is tall and lanky for a dwarf, with a bristly, iron-grey beard and deep-set eyes beneath bushy eyebrows. With his patched and stained coveralls, he looks like any other dock worker, but the Starfinder Society badge on his chest marks him out.
He checks the computer he's holding, and looks up to scan the crowd. When he sees Lolo wave, he smiles and returns the gesture, taking a few steps forward through the crowd.
Suddenly, the air is filled with laser blasts! Bystanders scream and flee in terror, diving for cover or milling about frantically. Kreel freezes, paralyzed with fear.
As the laser bolts fly about, you see one hit Kreel. He falls to the floor without a sound and does not move.
"Very well then, they are hostile after all," Aaron observes, more or less stating the obvious before moving to close the distance to one of the two groups, preferably behind some cover.
Dej’arrick mutters a prayer to the Black Butterfly and runs his hand down the barrel of his rifle. As his hand slides along its length the engravings etched in the rifle begin giving off a soft violet glow.
"No!" Avery cries, seeing the dwarf take a hit. Seeing no way to get to the fallen Starfinder without wading into the middle of a killing zone, they rush to take cover behind a stack of crates and crouch down, beginning to focus on their magic.
"No!" Avery cries, seeing the dwarf take a hit. Seeing no way to get to the fallen Starfinder without wading into the middle of a killing zone, they rush to take cover behind a stack of crates and crouch down, beginning to focus on their magic.
Dej’arrick braces his rifle up against his shoulder and targets one of the gangsters on the far side of the hangar near their contact before sending a bullet their way.