GM Dinketry's Against the Aeon Throne for FoDs and GCP Faithful! (Inactive)

Game Master dinketry

You are down on your luck. You may be broke, you may be stuck in a rut, you may be recently dumped - whatever your specific situation, the story of your demise is one to be told over the inebriation-inducing beverage of your choice, but not just yet. What is more, you are also stuck on Absalom Station. While Absalom Station may or may not be your home, your impoverished state does not bode well for your career ambitions or your likelihood of spiritual regeneration.

You have sought out work as a means to escape Absalom Station. Capitalism is alive and well in all sectors of the Pact Worlds, largely buoyed by those just like you. It did not take you too long to find gainful employment, but just like any thing that seems too good to be true, there were invisible strings attached: in this case, a contract.

AbadarCorp, the largest corporation in the Pact Worlds, has recently uncovered records detailing a staging outpost that it abandoned centuries ago in Near Space. The outpost was one of many sponsored by AbadarCorp during the post-Drift colonisation rush three centuries ago. The organisation deemed the outpost as a low-priority endeavour mainly due to its abandonment and relative lack of impact on the organisation’s modern enterprises, but now they would like to employ a team to travel to the site (named Colony-753), secure it, and retrieve or salvage any data or equipment found there. You were hired (or sub-contracted) for just this job.

AbadarCorp has authorised your team the use of a Kevolari Venture explorer ship complete with a Drift engine in order to complete your contracted mission. Your contract further obligates you to complete at least two further missions for AbadarCorp as a means of mitigating the potential costs of hiring an unproven crew and leasing their corporate starship for your use.

With this job, you will at least be able to get away from the embarrassment of your present state on Absalom Station, and hey - an exploration such as this might be quite interesting, or it could be quite boring. Nevertheless, one day you will return - that is, if you decide that you want to do so. In the mean time, the stars are the limit.

You have each been employed by AbadarCorp as independent salvage agents. You each have a physical (or digital) copy of your AbadarCorp contract on your person, and are instructed to keep it on hand at all times. You have further been told that the contract acts as a galactic personal signalling (GPS) device, allowing AbadarCorp to be able to easily locate its employees. (Consulting with others who have been employed by AbadarCorp in the past reveals that this is their standard operating procedure.

You have each been directed to report to Docking Bay 42 on Absalom Station at 1700hrs later today. There, you will meet your new spacecraft and crew members and set out on your mission. It is just after mid-day (1230hrs); you have some time to sort out any personal issues prior to departure.

You may introduce or describe your character here as they would be seen via our movie camera. I'd prefer if you share stats and things that wouldn't be immediately obvious to your fellow crew-mates (i.e. class, theme, etc) in the Discussion thread. Unless you decide that your characters knew each other before this campaign opens, you will meet each other when you all arrive for departure.

GM rolls: 1d4 ⇒ 31d6 ⇒ 6

"These charges are very serious, Miss Barbinis," an older kasathan woman says as she reads over the information displayed in the datapad she passes from her upper left to her lower left hands. "You understand that this will require further investigation, I presume?"

Mallura Barbinis, a young lashunta woman wearing a sharply tailored grey suit with electric pink pinstripes, stands across the desk from the kasathan woman. She opens her mouth to reply, but is cut off by the telepathic interruption of a host shirren standing in one corner of the office. "These actions are grounds for termination, at the least, if not arrest," they say, projecting the thought into the minds of Mallura and their manager, Mistress Oljera.

Mallura ignores the shirren and speaks up, "Of course, Mistress Oljera, but I don't see why I've been contracted out to AbadarCorp. I've been making sales left, right, and center this quarter! Haven't I earned a little grace?"

"Because we cannot have you present during the investigation," Miss Oljera replies matter-of-factly. "And I'll pretend I didn't hear that last remark. As Miss Elixbez noted, your...history could earn you a pair of binders and a visit from the Stewards. It's because of your excellent record that I haven't called them here already."

Elixbez straightens up and moves toward the desk, looking alarmed, "You're not even going to fire her?" they ask. "But look at this record! What's the point in investiga-"

"The point, Miss Elixbez," Mistress Oljera interrupts, snatching the datapad away from the shirren, "Is that Estex Corp. does not need its customers getting the notion that the company employs..." She pauses momentarily and looks toward Mallura, "Disruptive elements."

Elixbez throws her clawed appendages up in defeat and returns to her corner, while Mallura withers under Miss Oljera's gaze. After a moment of silence, the kasatha's expression softens, and it is Miss Oljera's voice that resonates within Mallura's mind. She can tell from Elixbez's expression that this message is for her alone. "This is the best I can do for you. I hope you know that."

Mistress Oljera stands and seizes a different datapad from her desk, tapping on it rapidly as she speaks aloud once again. "For now, you will be contracted out AbadarCorp on their expedition to their colony as a sales representative for Estex Corp. You will make whatever sales you can to these colonists, and while you are away, we will determine the extent of your infractions. When we have concluded our investigation, we will contact you to return to make any final statements in your defense. Do not make me regret this," she breaks off again and concludes her assignment with a telepathic, ..Miss Barb.

Mallura nods and gives a small appreciative smile. Her antennae wave slightly as she replies, "Yes, Ma'am."

She turns to leave the office and shoots a parting glance at Elixbez. Each of them nods curtly at the other and gives a short parting.

"Bez."

"Barb."

Absalom. S~$$, I'm still only on Absalom.

Jeryn opened his eyes to the cramped boarding room, and breathed a sigh of relief that this would be the last morning to do so. The haze from the night before still clouded his mind as he sat up in bed and rubbed his face.

"What time is it, Shim?" He asked to the empty room.

"Sh-Ux?"

After a moment of silence, he looked about and squinted. "Top left corner. I'm not in the mood for games"

The drone Sh-Ux shimmered into focus, it's single iris glowing white hot.

"Oh Shim, you're just mad you don't drink"

The drone skittered down the wall, retracted it's climbing claws into it's hull and began floating on its air cushion with a quiet hum. It's iris shifting to an orange hue.

"Yeah Bud, I am excited to get out of here too."

Jeryn fought the urge to flop back down onto the cot. He shook the cobwebs from his brain and activated his wrist mounted custom rig. The document from AbadarCorp glowed before him, it must have been the last thing he looked at last night. It may have been the cause of last night, he thought to himself. The word at the top of the document loomed large. Contract. Reading it again this morning made him restless. He closed it and checked the time, and the route to Docking Bay 42. Enough time for a cup of something hot, dark and strong.

With that done, he scooped up his few possessions from the room into his backpack, and dressed himself in a dark green set of overalls, blank except the the name Power on the left side of his chest. Before leaving he reached up under the bed for his hidden pistol and slipped it into it's holster.

"Come on Sh-Ux, let's go see what we've gotten ourselves into this time"

He stepped from the room into the litter filled hallway, only turning back to the jail cell of a room to activate the datapad at the door and end his stay. As he began the journey to Docking Bay 42, he thought "wherever we go, it's gotta be better than this part of the station"

"Your thoughts are loud today, child."

Verne looks up from a data pad from his cross-legged position on the floor. Around him, stacks of books are piled precariously, illuminated by a flickering fluorescent light.

It's not much to look at, Verne thought when he first entered the temple of Yaraesa a handful of weeks ago. I can hardly complain to those granting me sanctuary. In the Spike, proseletyzers huddled in nooks and crannies as best they could, but space was limited.

The lashunta priest spoke aloud to him out of courtesy. Verne switched the tablet off, and the words faded to black. "The great lashunta philosophers are not easy to discipher," he replies softly, self-consciously.

Priest Oleia nods sagely, her threadbare hood dipping her face in shadow. Her green eyes glint curiously at him.

"I believe you were puzzling through Marcin's distinction between the magic and scientific arts, until I interrupted you. And yet," she drew her hands across her midsection, "I heard the echoes of your prayer to the goddess more strongly. Something...about leaving us."

There was not much point of hiding anything within a place of worship of knowledge itself. "I..I decided to take the AbadarCorp contract," Verne stammers, adjusting his ocular inputs. "I was concerned that it would not be much of an opportunity to further my studies, however...it will also be advantageous for me to reap the benefits of exploration..."

The older woman kneels beside Verne and places a gnarled hand on his mechanical shoulder. "You don't want to stay a penniless runaway vagabond forever, naturally. Our goddess has greater plans for you to uncover." She chuckles, and walks to the threshold of the doorway, the boundary between the calm of the temple within and the chaos of the station without.

She takes one last look over her shoulder. "Remember her path, Verne. Don't let money and power sway you from it." And with that, she is gone.

"A big bet for such a little mouse," the vesk, Kesva said smugly, "but not big enough for me. I raise you... let's say double."

"Are you serious? Don't keep stringing out the bets like that, it's a bad look," said the human, Jaden. He used to win consistently when he first introduced his friends to the Earth game a few months back, but the vesk and ysoki had quickly caught up and then some. He was a good sport to keep playing.

"It's either a rule or it isn't," said the vesk, and then, turning her attention back to the ysoki, "your move, Chisk."

The three players -- vesk, human, and ysoki -- sat around a rad-pocked shipping container they were using as a makeshift card table.

Lih Soloro, short even for a Korasha Lashunta and sturdy even for a tree, sat on the ground nearby (no one would play cards with a telepath). He scoffed derisively.

"Something funny, Lih? If you give away my tell you're going to have problems."

"Everyone knows your tell, Kesva -- you suddenly look even more self-satisfied than you do stupid, when usually it's the other way around."

Blunt insults always got a reliable laugh out of Jaden, and this one was no different. Chisk, however, wasn't paying attention to anything other than the game, trying to figure out if the Kesva had just accidentally tipped her hand, or just wanted the other players to think she had.

"Besides, I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing at this contract. It's not just corporate level f&!@-you cheap, it's... I dunno. The length of the contract feels off. I don't know why AbadorCorp would even want this job done in the first place."

"So why are you taking it?" asked Jaden.

"It's on the way to where I'm going."

"Yea, and where's that?"

"Away."

Discrete but noticeable. These were the words that popped into his mind when he regarded the two AbadarCorp security officers which flanked him. Their armor was barely noticeable under their crisp uniforms, and if you weren't looking carefully you wouldn't even notice the slight bulge where their holdouts were concealed. Their lapels sported a golden key pin.

He sighed. You've been caught, so you'll need to play nice for a while.

He tried to distract himself from his current predicament by looking around the docking bay. #42.

One of his keepers (he hadn't bothered to learn their names) pointed to a nearby ship.

"Criminal 46257, your period of indentured servitude begins here. I will remind you that your contract is enforced by the divine will of Abadar. There will be consequences should you break it."

Simultaneously they turned on their heels and walked back the way they had come. Nice trick, that.

He sighed again and shrugged off the memory of those impersonal hands guiding him. He shuddered almost imperceptibly at the thought.

Jeryn entered the Docking Bay earlier than most, hoping to size up the ship before leaving the station. Still holding what could only be described as a comically large cup of coffee, and appearing (to those more familiar with human physiology) to be nursing a mild to moderate hangover, he doesn't pay much attention to anyone else in the Docking Bay. Instead he gets busy studying the ship, assessing it with his wrist mounted custom rig and speaking quietly in a strange language to his drone, who responds in kind.

so essentially he's doing a circle check of the ship, hoping to familiarize himself with it. I assume that's an engineering check? I am just excited to get rolling dice lol

engineering: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24

rolls to aid, just to get him on the thread

engineering: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19

Noticing Jeryn studying the ship, he walks over to him.

"Hey! Are you stuck on this thing too?"

He indicates the ship.

Asenath sighs with pleasure as she moves through the docks, her wingtips quivering each time she looks through another hangar opening to spot yet another gleaming, top of the line Abadar ship.

Paint them? Or Fly them? Or both? Her contract with Abadar contains an addendum enlisting her services as a technical illustrator in certain capacities "to be determined," whatever that means. To be determined. Someone in Abadar recruiting definitely knew the kind of non-legalese to draw her in.

To be determined, she muses, pausing to allow a tour group of curious/bored schoolchildren in parochial uniforms pass by with their shepherding AbadarCorp deaconess. As in not pre-determined, not a life of being an agreeable Strixian wife and respectable political helpmeet stretching out before her. Not wasting any more time growing more and more disappointed with this person you made such exciting plans with.

She smiles and nods to the harried deaconess, who meets her eyes with a humorous Abadar help me... feigned desperation as she loses the reins on a diminutive ysoki pup making a break for a vending machine in the corner. Stretching out one sleek wing, she blocks the little malingerer's path and gives him a cozy, gentle push back toward his group.

"It was a good try. But I'm sure you have snacks waiting for you at the end of the tour," Asenath says to the little boy with a wink. He grumbles and shrugs, nods, and turns back to rejoin his group -- turning at the last moment to repay her wink with one of his own.

She laughs. Yes, this was the best decision she could have made, even if she had to impoverish herself temporarily to do it. Let Aaron clip his own wings, let bury himself in protocol and neighborhood policies and homeowner association disputes in some hope of future rewards.

As for me, the raven-winged woman muses, adjusting and reclasping the strap on her haversack as she spots the signs directing her to Dock 42 and her own gleaming, Drift-capable promise, I'd rather spread my wings and leave my future to be determined.

Noticing Jeryn studying the ship, he walks over to him.

"Hey! Are you stuck on this thing too?"

He indicates the ship.

Startled at first, he looks up from his diagnostics, and nods at the word stuck.

"For three runs, at least. I usually prefer less formal arrangements. But I'm happy to be heading off station again at least"

He extends his hand in greeting. "I'm J.D., and this is my associate, Sh-Ux"

Sh-Ux bobs up and down

"γεια σας"

Stardate: Fifthday; 23 Neth; 318AG; hours 1430

The smell of interstellar jet fuel and the occasional crackling spark of an arc-torch greet the senses upon entry to Docking Bay 42. A handful of space-worthy vessels and their attendants litter the semi-crowded hangar. Automated lifts and hauling hovercarts move across the floor, bringing goods to and from the world beyond the transparent electromagnetically-sealed hangar bay door that looms large and dark a few hundred metres past the main floor.

Docking Bay 42 seems just as busy as any other docking bay on Absalom Station, but the number of Scales-sporting agents of AbadarCorp seems a bit over-represented. You've been on Absalom Station long enough to know that commerce is the beating heart of the Pact Worlds, and AbadarCorp might as well be its high priest. You've simply stumbled upon an altar.

"This ship is private property, citizens." An armoured guard in non-AbadarCorp-branded garb addresses JD and his friend, his two-handed heavy weapon held ready (but not pointing at JD) at his waist. His tone is non-conversational.

culture: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (18) + 3 = 21

Not wanting to attract any attention, JD holds his hands out to his sides, open save for the thumb and forefinger holding the coffee cup.

"We're crew. Just making sure she don't spring any leaks out in the vast"

Satisfied with his preliminary check, he steps backwards to wait patiently for the rest of the crew out of the way.

my space hobo is already being harassed by space cops!

Verne steps tentatively into Docking Bay 42 and is greeted by the bustle of commerce that constitutes the core of Absalom station's activity.

Reminds me of the Hivemarket.

Culture: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7

The android's musings are cut short when he spots the beginnings of a disagreement between station security and a slightly hungover-looking human, alongside another one that seemed equally rough around the edges. From a distance, he hears:

We're crew. Just making sure she don't spring any leaks out in the vast

They're contractors as well. Verne evaluates his options, then opts to engage them.

"Pardon me over overhearing," he says, approaching while still keeping a polite amount of distance between himself and the other two strangers. "But did you say you were crew members? I would like to introduce myself. I am Verne, and I too am a member of the crew of this vessel. A pleasure to meet you."

First roll - woohoo!

He shakes Jeryn's proffered hand heartily before they are interrupted.

"You can call me Mayhem."

Culture: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11

"Station security guy, we're here on the direct orders of AbadarCorp. You might want to check with them before hassling us. Oh, hey Verne. Yeah, lets go see what sort of rust bucket AbadarCorp saddled us with."

Mayhem then blithely walks past the security officer toward the ship.

Without turning around to check to see if J.D. or Verne are following, Mayhem continues talking.

"I'm not much of a pilot. Not much of anything really. Though if this thing has a peashooter I can give as good as we get."

”I’m late!” Jarix jumps out of bed and hits his head on the ceiling of the coffin he rented last night to sleep in. He spent his last credit to rent it and couldn’t afford fee for staying past checkout. He quickly dressed and grabbed what little belongings he had and left, sprinting out the door to get to Docking Bay 42 as fast as he could. Please don’t leave without me. Please don’t leave without me. he repeats over and over in his mind as he runs through the streets of Absalom Station.

Six years prior, a similar scene played out. Jarix was running to catch a flight off of Eox. He owned little more than the rags on his back, but he knew he had to get off planet. Fortunately, the Eoxian government offered anyone who wanted a one way ride to Absalom Station. It took only moments after his arrival to get robbed. As fate would have it, the next person he met was a recruiter for the military. With no money and nothing better to do, Jarix joined up. He did well in the military, at least until he lost his arm. Now he’s signed on with Abadar-Corp and, once again, he’s late for his flight.

Jarix comes skidding around the corner into the docking bay, nearly slamming into a pair of workers and almost being run over by a load lifter bot. ”I’m here! I’m here!” He calls out to the first sentient he sees that looks vaguely in authority, stopping in front of them and rummaging through his pack for his contract.

Well, I'm not hanging out here with security of I don't have to

He watches Mayhem brush past the amoured guards and turns to Verne with a shrug. "JD, Sh-Ux." He motions to the drone who bobs again.

Then takes off in step behind Mayhem. "Looks pretty standard, Kevy Ventures usually pack a light forward laser and HE missiles."

As JD and Mayhem attempt to move past station security, the guard steps in their way again. "I will need to see evidence of your claim - citizens - otherwise you will need to step away."

He seems quite inflexible. And his gun has moved up in position to be held just across his chest.

A voice calls out from within the ship. "Iss ok, Derrett! I saw dat human witt da beard get dropped off by da AbadarCorp taxi. I can vouch for him; his companion likely is a crewmate. Dey're due for takeoff in two hours or so." The head of a ysoki female hangs out upside-down from one of the main engine blocks on the ship, a blue cybernetic eye shining out from her left eye socket.

The soldier remains stiffly staring at Mayhem, his bulk and his expression unmoved. He replies to the ysoki without turning his head. "That may be, but my orders remain. They show me evidence of their claims or they step away."

Petty officials just need to flex their muscles, don't they?

Mayhem laughs and holds up his hands.

"I'm unarmed, so if you want to gun down a helpless AbadarCorp employee its your funeral."

Bluff: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9

Mayhem attempts to brush past the guard once again, prepared for some sort of ill-advised violent reaction.

GM roll: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3

The guard snaps into action, drawing his rifle as he steps back from Mayhem. A high-pitched whine emanates from the assault rifle as the guard cocks his head to the right, contacting his ear to his shoulder.

"Control control protocol alpha 2. Backup to Docking Bay 42. Three instas - two human and one android." The guard then addresses Mayhem directly with his rifle aimed below the belt as his transparent riot helmet face guard drops down.

"I have authorisation to utilise required force in order to guard the privacy of this property. You have been informed of the status of this locale and asked to provide documentation, both of which you have disregarded. This is your final warning; you and your colleagues will be placed under arrest if you do not comply."

As if on cue, a klaxon sounds out throughout the hangar and red lighting replaces the typical illumination.

Mayhem, JD, and Verne, please roll for initiative! (The remainder of the crew have not yet arrived).

βλάκας. δείξτε του το συμβόλαιο.

The flaw of following someone who self identifies as Mayhem suddenly dawns on JD. So much for not drawing any attention. Not gonna get off this station in a holding cell

He opens his hands again, nods at the drone and slowly points to his left wrist.
Wooooaaaahh fellas, I've got a contract right here on my wrist pad.

He slowly reaches his right index finger to the screen "Just a sec, they sent it as an attachment"

If he isn't vaporised first he will pull up and show his contract

Initiative, just in case: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8

The combination of the blaring klaxon and the red light pervading the scene has brought all of the kinetic energy focused on arriving to and departing from the station to a halt. At least, that is, here on Docking Bay 42. The guard holds his rifle comfortably, still pointing it in the direction of Mayhem.

"...Three instas - two human and one android..."

GM roll: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4

JD activates the vidscreen module on his custom rig, displaying a holographic form of his AbadarCorp contract. As he does so, the guard glances his way.

"That's fine, citizen. Please stay where you are while I take care of these unidentified individuals." The guard then turns his attention back on Mayhem and Verne.

Mayhem and Verne, it is your turns!

"I...I...here!" Verne stammers. He slowly pulls out his reading tablet and displays the contract.

I should attempt to smooth over this situation. Not a good start to my tenure with this company. Not at all...

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24 nat 20! *airhorns*

"Forgive me and my fellow contractors," Verne says, adjusting his posture and modulating the tone of his voice to present as open and non-threatening. "We were unaware of protocol in this docking bay. I'm certain my colleague was only trying to express his great enthusiasm and excitement for working with your illustrious corporation."

The guard glances at Verne’s contract, then returns his gaze towards Mayhem.

”Thank you for providing your identification as an agent of AbadarCorp, citizen. I do not work for them; I work for Absalom Station and have been authorised to protect this ship. Only verified crew members and attendants are allowed within the perimeter.”

His rifle still points at the bearded human.

Mayhem, it is your turn!

Just then a calm but commanding voice echoes in from the far entrance of Docking Bay 42.

"Excuse me, sir, but as I'm sure you know, pursuant to Section 3 Article 1 of Absalom Station Contractor Agreement and Code of Conduct, all registered employees of this station are authorized to conduct themselves and take actions in the best interest of the licensed and registered clients -- such as AbadarCorp -- and inhabitants of Absalom Station up to but not including actions that would conflict with the safety, welfare, and livelihood of the station's populace or that of other licensed and registered clients."

It's Lih, moving toward Mayhem and the guard, 'striding' as purposefully as a man can while burdened by the massive bulk of an over-stuffed industrial pack.

"As you say, you are not an employee of AbadarCorp and as such have no authorization or right to assess or establish what constitutes the best interest of aforementioned party."

By now Lih is just a few meters away from the guard. He sets down all of his gear except for a nicely made but extremely well worn leather briefcase.

"However," he says, pulling a datapad from the briefcase and brandishing it like a holy sigil, "according to my AbadarCorp Binding Contract, I AM authorized to make such assessments and establish best interest."

Then, gesturing to Verne and Jeryn:

"And so are they. And we jointly establish that the continuing freedom of movement and physical wellbeing of this gentleman is important to us insofar as it is important to the commercial interests of AbadarCorp."

Lih moves into conversational range of the guard, his voice lowered, but no less commanding.

"So unless you would like to hash this matter out with your supervisor and the contracting board, or perhaps meet with an AbadarCorp arbitration tribunal, I would suggest that you lower your weapon and yield the privately held contents of this docking bay - including that ship - to us."

Then, without a trace of formality:

"Really, hanks for your help, but we'll deal with this a$%+~!~ ourselves."

Lawyer: 1d20 + 9 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 9 + 4 = 24

Mayhem, caught in a moment of indecision between his natural reaction to authority and his self-preservation instincts, hesitates. As Lih strides in to the docking bay he smirks at the speech he delivers to the security guard.

I guess that they're comparing the size of their male reproductive organs? Lets see how this plays out.

Mayhem puts his hands up and lowers himself to sprawl on the deck plating.

"Mr. Triggerhappy, go ahead and shoot somebody who is actively surrendering. Like I said, it'll be your funeral."

The expression on Mallura's face shows her utter disdain as she rereads the contract scrolling down her comm unit and walks the last few blocks to Dock 42. Dammit, Elixbez! Why'd you have to go putting your antennae in other people's business? It was just a little bit of theft. And some light smuggling. And okay, there was the one time on Bretheda, but they never actually convicted...

"Oof!" Mallura nearly falls backward as she bumps into the back of a burly vesk standing in her path. "Sorry, I was just...wait, what's going on?" She peers around the vesk and sees a crowd of merchants, security personnel, and AbadarCorp dockworkers massed in the passageway ahead of her.

"Some kinda security situation at Bay 42," the vesk says, only mildly disgruntled by the light shove he got from the slender lashunta.

"Tsk! Typical," Mallura says, cursing her luck. She breaks off and finds another route into the docking bay, and arrives a few moments later to see a station security guard standing over a person laying face-down on the ground, his gun trained on the figure. "Geez, and they get on my case about following some code of conduct," she mutters to herself as she pulls up her documentation, including her contract, to show to the security personnel.

"Pardon me, officer," she says sweetly as she approaches the docking bay, "My name is Mallura Barbinis, I'm a contractor with AbadarCorp meant to join a crew aboard this ship. Is there a problem?" She shows the guard her information, then gazes down to get a closer look at the prone figure.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23

Oh, here's a few rolls for whatever in case you need them:

initiative: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (16) + 0 = 16
whatever: 1d20 ⇒ 6
whatever #2: 1d20 ⇒ 10

Asenath stops short at the entrance to the bay, heaving a sigh. Whirling red lights, stern indecipherable babble over the intercom at the far side of the dock -- it was just as Fayna had warned her, three booths down the wide corridor when she had stopped off at the shirren's Starbeans & Hudson News for a last Elysian Cuvacara Froth and a subscription renewal code for Polyworld Cuisines Illustrated.

Got it for you right here, Nattt, the motherly telepath had clicked and hissed at Asenath, sliding her cup forward across the counter. No tttime to dawdle today, I hear you need ttto getttt on in there. Something up.

O-Oh! Oh, really? Why, what's... I don't think I missed any messages... With a frown, Asenath had fumbled in her pocket for her comm unit and her credstick.

No, no, you won'ttttt have, assured Fayna, touching the strixian's hand with one dry, gentle claw. Ssssssshirren gosssssssip network. Ssssssssounds like sssomeone'ss poking about your sssssship and that new guard is being a bitttt... overzealousss.

Asenath still marveled at the shirren's ability to convey the impression of a knowing smirk when she spoke telepathically. She had grinned uncertainly at Fayna, reaching again for her credstick. Thissss one issss on me, fledgling, the shirren had demurred. Go and sssssmile atttt that young man, meettt your new people. Hylax will go with you.

And yes, now her path is blocked by onlookers watching a commotion going down by her ship.

Ugh. My ship. Like I've been training ten hours a day so some random Protean can delay us because he needs to stick it to The Man.

She tilts her head around, noticing a lashunta woman pushing her way through the crowd with purpose. Lashunta woman, that's... probably the captain? They really should have gotten us together before today, she grimaces, darting into the wake the other woman created.

Oof, bedtime. Asenath will arrive on Mallura's heels, pulling her training credential out and clipping it to her sleeve. Her head darts around as she looks about, and she will sidle a step closer to Derrett with the beginnings of a flirtation smile.

Officer Derrett was not having the best of days. A bead of sweat trickled down his left temple as his increased respiratory rate slightly fogged the supposedly fog-proof crysta-glass of his riot helmet. The headache he had since getting into and losing the telepathic argument with his shirren roommate this morning had only intensified as the day wore on, and this tedious detail on Docking Bay 42 was threatening to send it straight into migraine territory. It was not his job to keep the humidity of his shared apartment above 70% at all times, no matter what his roommate claimed.

It was his job to protect this mundane Kevolari Venture spaceship from any interlopers - any interlopers that is, apart from the ship's crew. And now he had signalled a perimeter alert and drawn his rifle on three instas without proper credentials - except that two of the three had provided proper credentials and the third, who was smiling far too widely to not know something that Derrett did not, was laying on his belly on the metal docking bay floor, his arms outstretched in standard arrest posture, fully unable to provide credentials even if he had them.

Derrett's headache intensified as an unfortunate sense of déjà vu overtook him. That is when the attorney entered the fracas.

"So unless you would like to hash this matter out with your supervisor and the contracting board, or perhaps meet with an AbadarCorp arbitration tribunal, I would suggest that you lower your weapon and yield the privately held contents of this docking bay - including that ship - to us...."

It seemed as if authorised AbadarCorp crew were multiplying in front of Officer Derrett like skittermander arms.

"I should have listened to the ysoki," thought the hapless security liaison. "Never too late to do the right thing," his motivational calendar had said that morning.

The security guard pulls his rifle up abruptly and again touches his ear to his right shoulder, his eyes scanning the crowd forming around them.

"Docking Bay 42, all clear. Stand down alpha response."

His visage shifts from the figure stretched on the floor to the two lashunta in business attire addressing him directly. "Citizens, as crew members of this ship you may take responsibility for this gentleman." Here, he gestures to Mayhem lying on the floor.

The lighting returns to normal as the klaxons cease. A female ysoki in a jumpsuit walks up from behind Officer Derrett as the security officer steps aside and attempts to blend into the background, his hand going unconsciously to his temple.

"Well, now dat you've all, ah, met da Sunshine Squad, I guess it's time to meet you ship. I'm Twizzle; I've been refitting you ship." The ysoki jerks a clawed thumb at the ship. "I've been asked to add anudda bunk to her for you numba."

She bends over Mayhem. "You wanna come see what you almost took a slug for, honey?"

The maintenance worker shakes his head with a chuckle at Jarix and points toward the group of beings walking up the ship's ramp. Jarix takes off running, dropping his jacket, turns around and picks up his jacket. A power battery falls out of his pack, he turns around and picks it up. After a few more steps, his jacket falls again. He skids to a stop to turn around and retrieve it. Jarix takes a moment to readjust his grip on his belongings and runs the rest of the way to the ramp. "I'm here! I'm here! Who do I show this to?" He says heaving breaths and holding his papers up as high as he can in his laden hands.

Mayhem sniffs. "Gentleman? No need for insults security guy."

He rolls over on his back and looks up at the ysoki from his position on the floor.

His nearly constant grin disappears for a brief instant.

"I did warn him that it would be his funeral."

Smile firmly in place once again he deftly rolls to his feet.

Acrobatics: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13

He waves and bows to the onlookers, as though he hadn't just almost been shot.

"Really, they should be thanking me. This was probably the highlight of their week. Sure, let's see the ship."

"I'm here! I'm here! Who do I show this to?" He says heaving breaths and holding his papers up as high as he can in his laden hands.

Mayhem points to the retreating Officer Derrett. "That guy seems pretty obsessed with paperwork. He takes it pretty seriously though, so I'd be careful if I were you."

Ah, fleem! Is that...

"Mayhem?! What are you doing here?" Mallura's face has changed dramatically from the charming look of gratitude and respect to one of shock and irritation as she looks at the soldier now getting to his feet. Stepping quickly toward him, Mallura seizes Mayhem by the arm and leans in close to whisper in his ear. "I thought you got put away for good after that last stunt we--I mean--you pulled! What's going on?"

"Work release. Its better than the alternative, but only just."

Mayhem shrugs, not really making an effort to remove Mallura's hand from his arm.

"Besides, haven't you heard? I've been rehabilitated. Nothing but clean living and the straight and narrow path for me now!"

Bluff: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (8) + 9 = 17

He gestures as if to take in the whole docking bay.

"See? Not even one injury."

Wink.

JD looks to Verne and Lih and nods. "Thanks for your help"

Twizzle (Slide 2) turns from the newly-formed crew and begins a tour of the ship (Slide 3). By the end of the brief tour, you all have some familiarity with the capabilities of your new home for the foreseeable future.

Ship Statistics

"You can see, dis Kevolari Venture ship has a fairly standard build witt two extra bid outs dat my team added extra per da AbadarCorp contract: the extra personnel cabin and the training gym. It was---"

The crowd surrounding this end of the docking bay has dispersed by the time Twizzle leads you back out from your tour of the ship. Unfortunately, a second disruption awaits you, interrupting the conclusion of Twizzle's speech.

A squad of guards (Slide 4) marching in unison, bedecked in resplendent golden armour, parts any lingering gawkers and forms a phalanx pointing away from the ship. They halt at parade rest, silently attentive. A still beat passes as everyone looks on in wonder. Then, from within the clearing provided by the phalanx, a strange figure (Slide 5) steps sideways out of thin air and smirks conspiratorially at the gathered adventurers.

"Welcome, AbadarCorp crew to Colony-753," begins the effete human wearing a tabard emblazoned with an image of golden scales. "I am Ezra Tellestria, locality manager for AbadarCorp Near Space expeditions launching from Absalom Station." He regards a small hand-held datapad as he absently twirls one side of his long archaic moustache. "It is good to see you all here relatively early - forty-five minutes prior to your launch time. I can assume safely that Madame Twizzle has informed you of the AbadarCorp ship taking you to your contracted site of operations for your first of three obligations to the organisation." He lowers his datapad and focuses on each of you in turn with a smirk on his lips.

"You each possess a copy of your contract with AbadarCorp. You will find the conditions listed within legally binding, but what is more, AbadarCorp uses these contracts as a means of locating agents working under our contractual employ - consider it a mystic galactic positioning device for your benefit. We, of course, expect you to return safely, but the contracts allow for salvage of AbadarCorp records, equipment, and personnel - or remains - should the need arise."

"Now, I'm sure that you all want to know something of where you are going. I'm happy to provide what we have on file regarding Colony-753, but it does feel rather impersonal as a manager who cares to not have a chance for formal introductions. You know my name; who are you all?"

He smiles a sickly-sweet smile, awaiting your replies/intros.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13

Jarix did not like the order of salvage, but it is no less than he expected. "Jarix, sir. Excited to be onboard." Jarix quickly answers. "What information do we have on the colony? I'd like to know a bit about the place I'm going to, sir." Jarix is an odd mix of youthful exuberance and military discipline.

Manager Ezra Tellestria smiles at the dreadlocked human. "Yes, Jarix, is it? Good to have you on board. Former military officer, now cybernetically-enhanced, I see from my notes." The Abadarian glances down to his datapad and back to Jarix.

"No lingering effects of your injury, I take it?"

"Actually there is, sir. It made me better at playing some instruments and helps with my aim." He indicates the guitar on his back and pistol on his hip. "But nothing else that I've noticed, sir."

Ezra nods politely at Jarix and raises his eyebrows at the others.

Awaiting everyone else's introduction...

Verne has second thoughts - or perhaps third thoughts. The AbadarCorp contract wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he travelled to Absalom station, and being introduced to this motley crew while having a rifle pointed at his head certainly didn't help persuade him he'd made the right decision.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18

And this human clearly cares more about information than our lives.

He steps forward slightly. "I'm Verne. I hail...or used to hail from Akiton."

Ezra turns to Verne. ”Yes, our android friend. I have read that you have been living with the Lady of Wisdom sect in the Spike since arrival here on Absalom Station. We Abadarians look kindly upon Yaraesa; we would hope that you would bring some of your scientific pursuit to the contracted mission at hand. Welcome aboard.”

His thin-lipped smile seems perfunctory.

Big smile...

Big smile.

"Mayhem."