Hand pruners, a couple of pruning saws, vibroblade trimmer. All drop into the sack along with a scattering of plyers, snips, screwdrivers, and a few other basic hand tools. It is just as he's ready to scram out of there, that Myron spots a grease stained, battered tool case. The Uncle Albert's smiling faced logo just noticeable through the grit. Quickly flipping the latches open, Myron discovers the kit inside to be in excellent order and well maintained.
The Happy Mechanics Miracle Maker's Toolkit was a galactic standard in workshops across the Imperium and beyond. The compact kit contained everything a good mechanic or engineer might need to solve those pesky mechanical problems in minutes. Mini-plasma torch, universal socket set (with metric and old standard sizes), and, of course, several rolls of the handyman's secret weapon, Uncle Albert's patented Seals-All Duct Tape. Any ship's engineer would be happy to have one of these kits on board. Now all they needed was an engineer...
Hunched over and breathing very carefully, Blood made his way down the path towards the kiosk.
ACHOOIE
Keeping an eye on sight lines and maybe more drones, Achooie said "Yep, time to move out. Myron! Get a move on! Doubletime!"
He grabbed Blood's arm and hustled him along faster.
Myron comes running out of the maintenance shed loaded down with a heavy duty sack filled with a variety of landscaping implements and tools. The sirens continue to blare the imminent arrival of station security and so you all take off as fast as possible for the elevator kiosk and the relative anonymity of the lower levels.
Face pale and breathing heavily, Blood slaps the button on the lift shutting the doors closing off the park-like upper levels and the flashing lights and noise of the security bots just arriving on the scene. The pass given to you earlier works like a charm and the lift begins to whisk you away toward you destination.
Feeling the need to take care of his aching ribs before dealing with the full gravity or potential high-g maneuvers of a planetary excursion, Blood taps out the command sending the lift down into mid levels of the city.
A rare non-alcohol infused memory floods the good captain's mind. A woman he met while just arriving at one of the nicer casino's when first arriving in the Floating City. She was attending a medical conference happening in the same area and was meeting several colleagues for a bit of fun and relaxation during the evening cycle. He recalls her seeming quite competent and up to speed on the latest techniques and nanotherapy's. It takes him a few moments to scroll through the various contacts in his archaic handcomp, but eventually he finds the name of a Dr. Misha Certando, Partner and Principle at the Blue Cross Drinaxian Health Center Number 243.
Blood's comp takes you on a winding journey through one of the station's more secure and pleasant professional districts. You pass numerous offices for lawyers, insurance agents, inter-system banking, import-export agencies, and, of course, a variety of medical clinics. Finally you come upon a lavish office front. An incredibly expensive zero-G fountain and koi pond greet you as you step through the silent sliding glass doors. Calming synth-harp music plays in the background and the air is scented by actual living trees and station acclimated plants.
A blonde haired, green-eyed receptionist turns to great you her pretty face quickly taking in your battered, stained, vaguely-still-smelling-of-sewage appearance and smile immediately drops.
Initial pleasantries are attempted and although the woman is loath to even be within the same station level as the three of you, she does do her best to try and assist you in seeing Dr. Certando. Yes, the doctor is in. No, she does not have any available openings. She may recall meeting Captain Blood, but no, absolutely no, she does not treat patients on Basic Station Medical Care or with bank accounts as...limited as the poor captain's. That last is said with such clear and obvious distaste as to leave little doubt about any further success without an insurance upgrade or a sizable increase in liquid cash assets.
Finally, the receptionist stoically directs you to Dr. Nick-Bot's Quick Care Emporium. The logo on the card she hands you reads We treat anyone, for anything, low, low, prices guaranteed.
Thus, you find yourselves another 57 levels down station sitting in a semi-sterile patient room where the florescent lamp flickers nearly constantly and somewhat in time with rattle of the ancient Briggs and Painkiller Auto-doc XXII. Achooie lowers Blood into the auto-doc chair as it greets you with in a friendly, slightly accented voice.
"Hullo Everybody, I'm the Dr. Nick BP-Auto-doc uni...Bzzzttt...Hullo Everybody, I'm the Dr. Nick BP-Auto-doc unit. I see you are on Basic Station...whhhhiiiiirrrr...Basic Station Medical Care...zzt. How may...ZZZTT...How may I assist you today."
Several arms tipped with syringes, scalpels, heart monitors, and pressure indicators begin to emerge and swarm around the captain even as Achooie finishes clamping down the arm and leg restraints.
Embarassed at his bedraggled appearance, Blood quickly accepted being directed down another 57 levels.
Laying back in the auto-doc chair, Blood thought he recognized at hearing the designation "Dr. Nick BP-Auto-doc unit" on the news sometime back, but couldn't bring the memory to mind.
Ah well, He thought, I'm sure it'll be alright...
"How may...ZZZTT...How may I assist you today."
"Ah, yeah doc. I have these... broken ribs. I really need them fixed within the hour." He said, feeding the tokens into the slot. He felt uneasy with Achooie fastening down the restraints.
"Broken ribs? You've come to the right....ZZZZT....right place. Fix you up in a jiffy or your next appointment is free" Says Dr. Nick. Blood, Achooie, and Myron each hear the sound of liquids suddenly pumping into the system as the whir and whine of gears and cooling fans start to rev faster and faster.
"Our records indicate that is has been over one year since your last...brrrrrttt...visit." The autodoc articulates cheerfully as a pair of needles suddenly strike like deranged cobras jabbing Blood in arm and neck. A hiss of injection and the Captain's face goes from extreme concern and discomfort to a blank, bleary-eyed, carefree, picture of drug induced bliss. (Not so dissimilar to most night's when someone dumps him back at your quarters and one of his all-too-frequent benders.) "By Royal order, all citizens are required to complete a....GGGRRRRbbbbtTTT....complete a full physical every solar cycle. Fortunately, I am a fully qualified unit. Would you care to view the colonoscopy in real...ZZtt...or receive the result's in your station account?"
"Blurg!" Is the Captain's drug enhanced reply.
"Excellent choice!" The doc bot explains as a screen flickers to life overhead.
Achooie and Myron both take this as a certain sign it is time for them to wait outside. The two hastily exit the room and accidental reach of the autodoc.
Time passes. Noises are heard coming from the examination and treatment area while Achooie and Myron sit in the outer waiting room. A stack of tattered magazines from the late first Imperium years are the only entertainment to be seen.
Finally after what seems like an eternity, but in reality is only about thirty minutes, Blood staggers out of the treatment room. Pale faced and bleary eyed from the various painkillers, downers, uppers, brain blockers, anti-depressants, statins, and rapid healing drugs currently battling it out within his already abused system, the captain manages to wave and arm and signal his readiness to leave.
"Thank you and...ZZttt...come again!" Are the cheerful parting words heard beyond the door.
"Blurg!" Is Blood's witty response.
"Hey, guys I don't know about you, but all this is in my quarters is an extra shirt and some 10-day-old-Chinese. I'm all for heading straight to the docking level now?"
Blood's eyes focussed past Myron and a dreamy smile crawled across his face.
"You're pretty..." He said to the wall socket.
Before the recuperating captain does something regrettable with the innocent wall socket, Myron and Achooie steer his off in the direction of the docks and the rendezvous with the shuttle.
The trek to the docking ring, and one momentary stop at an actual working public fresher station to empty his stomach, and Blood is feeling a bit better. His ribs are healed and seem to be in tip-top shape. The occasional tingling sensation in his leg and the sparkles in his vision are a bit disconcerting. Blood is definitely in a better state upon arriving at the marked departure airlock than when he left the posh environs of the upper levels.
An impatient looking shuttle pilot greets you briefly and quickly waves you onboard.
"We are about to lose our launch window to some Zhentarium cargo scow." She says with a blue-eyed glare. "So strap in and hold on unless you want to sit here for another three days waiting for the next opportunity? A wait I doubt our employer will be happy with."
A few flipped switches and pressed buttons later and you each feel weightlessness take over as the shuttle slips free of the station.
As the shuttle launched and weightlessness took hold, Blood's heart leapt. Back in zero-g! He thought to himself; the feeling was so giddy, it had been such a long time since he had last been to space. He was suddenly eager to get a look at the promised ship...
"Prepare for burn!" The pilot's voice cries out from the cockpit. "Boss says you need to be on planet asap, so we're goin' in hot."
You've a few seconds to insure yourselves strapped in tight before the roar of the engines kicks in and you feel yourselves pressed back in the acceleration chairs. Bolts rattle and the ship's hull creaks and groans ominously as the shuttle continues its acceleration. Shaken like martini's in the hands of a speed addicted bartender, you begin to question the structural integrity of your craft.
Then everything cuts out, including the lights and life support circulation fans. Cursing erupts from the flight cabin, and moments later a rotund squat legged little man dashes out of the cabin clattering with the jangle of spanners, wrenches, and a variety of other tools hanging about his person. A large hammer is held in one hand as squat legs carry him hurriedly past your passenger seats and through the hatch to the engineering section beyond.
The sound of metal pounding on metal erupts and clangs throughout the hull of the ship. It stops. Starts again, this time from a slightly different locale. Stops again. A piercing, grinding squeal that sets everyone squirming in their chairs as teeth chin and spines tingle. More pounding. A snap of electricity followed by the smell of ozone drifting into the cabin. Another crackle followed by a one last resounding *BANG!* of the hammer on metal.
Suddenly the lights flicker on, fans whir (although now with a slightly off balance rattle), and the engines roar back to life.
Another two hours and a knuckle whitening, sphincter clenching descent and landing you stagger to your feet.
"Woohoo! Beat our record eh Mort?" The pilot says to the short engineer, who simply nods his triple chins up and down. [b]"Best you lot get suited up and on your way. I saw at least two other shuttles already on the ground. Looks like you'll have a bit of competition." She adds pointing to the rugged, bubble helmet suit lockers lining the far wall of the passenger cabin.
Shaken up by repeated traumas, mental, physical and chemical, Blood felt the need for a nip and reached into his vest pocket for his flask. With an awful realization, he drew out a mangled metallic mess.
The flask must have taken some of the shot that hit his ribs... he thought.
"Oh, I picked a bad time to stop drinking..." He realised, as the same memory flooded into him again. His eyes lost focus, looking at things there weren't there in the cabin.
"OK, here we go boys, rolling in over Macho Grande...
"George! Tighten it up! You're gonna clip that sensor tower!
"Where is that fire coming from? This zone is supposed to be clear!"
His hand grabbed the arm of the person next to him and wrenched it over with mad strength.
"There's something wrong with my joystick! Stay on track!"
The ride is rough. There were most certainly moments when the ship could have simply burst apart at the seams or blew itself apart it a great fiery blast. But Captain Blood has been through worse. A lot worse. And so, once the rattletrap shuttle is down on the ground and the images of that terrible, terrible day over Macho Grande finally fade from his vision, Blood finds himself calm, poised and ready to get himself another ship.
If only his companions were so eager. For when Blood locks his bubble helmet into place ready to slap the button on the airlock, he sees Myron and Achooie still sitting in their seats glaring at the sickly pale yellow, orange and rust brown desert-scape punctuated by the occasional blackened, twisted metal remains of some ruined structure visible through the single small portal. The ping and rattle of sand and small pebbles clattering against the shuttle's hull rings through the interior as the harsh winds sandblast the craft with the dead bones of the planet.
"Welcome to Drinax fellas." The pilot says with a sarcastic grin. "Our little slice of heaven in all the heavens. Be sure to wipe your feet. Wouldn't want to muss the place after all." She adds drolly.
Blood grabbed his equipment pack and hit the latch to open the airlock.
"Come on boys! Time to get us a ship." He said on his comlink.
Myron fumbles with his suit, and manages to get it on, dogging the helmet down. he grabs the Fertilizer bag, slings it over his shoulder, and picks up the 'Uncle Al in his other hand, and staggers into the lock.
Like Myron Achooie struggles to get into his vacsuit. It takes several minutes before his stomach settles and his knees stop wobbling before he is comfortable enough to actually seal himself inside the big bubble helmet. But finally, after one last gastrointestinal lurch, the gormalite is ready to go.
Blood cycles the airlock and the more expansive view is just as disheartening at the smaller glimpse through the portal. What was once a thriving, blue-green gem slowly circling its yellow star on its journey through the black void of space, is now a broiling, hellish desertscape of toxins and grinding wind-blown sand. The prattle of sand grains bouncing off of your suits begins as soon as you step out of the outer lock. The constant patter is nearly deafening and you're forced to shout into the comm so others can hear.
It takes a moment to get your bearings. Straight ahead to the east is the rolling, churning sea of gritty, ash and sand dunes. More of the same lies to the south. You plow your way through nearly foot deep drifts of ochre ash to the other side of the shuttle. There to the west, you see the blinking light of a low dome and a smattering of rock formations that appear to overlook a wider canyon that was once home to a lush river valley.
"Alpha One. This is shuttle two-six-niner. You are clear and we are heading home." The voice of your shuttle pilot crackles over your comm units. "Good luck and happy hunting."
You continue to trudge toward the waiting dome and your dreamed of prize. After a few more minutes the roar of the shuttle's engines overcomes the pattering of sand on glassteel as your ride down blasts off for orbit. Little is left to show the shuttle was even here except a long patch of blackened and fused sand which even now starts to dissipate or get buried in the constantly changing landscape that is Drinax.
"Keep a weather eye out boys, there were other ships landed around here somewhere..." Blood said, doing as well as saying as they trudged towards the distant dome.
Blood pulled out his Radio Shack datapad and tried to look for a moving map app or passive sensors.
Myron turns in a slow circle.
Then follows the Captian.
Blood wanders along busily tapping at his datapad while also waving it in the air trying to get a signal. Any signal. Anything resembling a signal. Unfortunately, he gets nothing but the standard Out of Service Area message and a defunct link to upgrade his service plan.
Unsurprisingly this causes the Captain to stamp about and curse his former engineer who insisted on spending all of their hard earned credits on ship armor rather than a decent communication provider. For all the good it did. Meanwhile, Myron points at the beacon blinking light on the quonset hut structure overlooking the canyon still a bit less that a half click to the west. It is also the savvy scrounger who spots the telltale spindle of a Q34-Explosive Anti Personnel Mine poking up out of the sand only a few feet from where Blood is about swing his foot in a vigorous kick aimed at an imagined engineers behind.
Jerking his two companions to a halt, Myron points out the skinny piece of glassteel and the dual rows of tiny blinking yellow electric eyes that circle it. Now knowing what to look for, Myron, Blood and Achooie all manage to spot more of the protruding sensor sticks scattered in every direction.
Frantically, Blood tried to think of a way out of a minefield...
He grabbed at the large furry one.
"Achooie. ACHOOIE! How do we get out of a minefield?!" He whisper/shouted to his companion.
[dice=]4d3-8[dice]
Lol. f me!
I have no idea. I'll check my comm link (Fate +2)
Startled from watching his latest download from his gormelite homeworld, Fur and Fury XXXV[, Achooie works on answering Blood's plea for aide in navigating the mine field. For several moments nothing passes the ex-soldier's lips except a string of curses aimed at Blood for leading them into a minefield and the oh-so-voluptuous shiny fur coated body of Tazmania Jaff, star of the Fur and Fury series, whose prowess on and off the battlefield entranced him into not noticing the situation sooner.
Fortunately, the specs on the Q34 Explosive Anti Personnel Mine had just been updated in a recent notice from central command. Unfortunately, Achooie usually just deletes that S%$t to make room on his standard issue comp for Fur and Fury downloads. Fortunately, about ten years ago, the Master of Administrative Services for Gormelite Central Command, realized this was a common problem among the ranks. And so he order that all standard issue comp Operating Systems maintain a hidden backup copy of all central command notices issued over the last five terran standard years. This solved two problems, the first being that no one could now claim they didn't receive the notice in question, thus eliminating one of the most used defenses for those caught ignoring command orders and protocols. The second being that any actual useful information passed along to field personnel could still be accessed in situation where said information may be vital. Situations such as being caught in the middle of a Q34 Explosive Anti Personnel Minefield.
Thus after more cursing, several restarts, and the accidental deletion of Fur and Fury XX through Fur and Fury XXVI Achooie is able to pull up the relevant information and technical specs. Discovering that the Q34's suffer from a poorly designed sensor array that limits each device's active detection range to less than five feet, the big gormelite is able to map a path through the minefield.
Upon finally reaching the opposite end of the minefield and the edge of the canyon. You all gain a spectacular view of what once was a vast river valley with an advanced city inhabiting much of the far end. Now only a few mangled spears of weathered steel and ruined remnants dot the valley floor. Each skeletal ruin surrounded by mounds of blown sand and rock. The bones of a planet and lost civilization. It is a view to take ones breath away.
In fact after the extended wait and trek through the minefield, you each realize that the shortness of breath isn't actually the doom view from you perch upon the canyon edge. It is the plunging levels of oxygen in your cheap shuttle suits.
Alarms start to dig in your helmets as every eye quickly switches to look at the only sign of recent habitation. The plassteel huts with their blinking marker lights off to your left. They aren't far, but those red lights blinking over the airlock doors seem a bit ominous.
Warning beeps in his ears, Blood pointed towards the nearest hut.
"The huts! They're the only chance we have!" He said through comms before hustling over to them.
He looked for an entranceway or airlock.
Prophet dashes after the captain.
It is easy enough to locate the airlock, it being clearly identified with white and yellow stripes and the series of glowing red lights above the hatch. Gasping on the increasingly stale air, you each stagger up to the command panel. Blood, being captain and currently sober, slaps a gloved hand across the access panel and waits for the airlock to cycle open. Achooie coughs and wheezes in stoic gormelite fashion even as Myron leans against the building in eager anticipation of fresh recycler air.
The airlock continues its mocking red-eyed stare. Blood slaps the panel again. Again nothing. The tried and true methods of poking, slapping, prodding, and kicking the panel yield the same frustrating result.
"Dammit it's locked!" Blood gasped, sweat beading on his forehead as he gasped for more air that was present.
He reached over to open the side panel and try to trigger the opening mechanism that way.
"Prophet! You know security systems! Get us in there quick!" He gasped out, feeling the onset of flashbacks.
4. Gormalites are strong.
SKILLS
Fight: Good +3
Planetary Survival: Fair +2
Wheezing and choking on the last remnants of his oxygen, Achooie is simply unable to wait any longer and being of a gormelite mindset sees little benefit to dillydallying over security panels. Walking up to the sturdy sealed doorway, he takes a few moments to runs his gloved hands over the surface of the metal. After completing one swift circuit of the seal, he steps back cuts loose with a mighty roar and unleashes a flurry of kicks and punches aimed just above the actual security lock.
After a string of curses that would curl a teamster's toe hairs, the metal suddenly begins to give way. Finally with one last metal booted kick, the seal breaks. Air comes hissing out and then bursts out for a moment as the hatch shifts open a few inches. The opening allows for an easy grip that the hulking gormelite uses to force the screeching, complaining door open far enough for everyone to squeeze through.
With the integrity of the outer seal ruined, lights around the inner door shift from warning yellow to blinking red as alarm klaxons ring and a happy synthetic voice echoes into the open lock and beyond.
"WARNING! SEAL BREACH IN AIRLOCK! ALL PERSONNEL SHOULD TAKE PRECAUTIONARY MEASURES. WARNING SEAL BREACH IN AIRLOCK!...." The message continues to repeat itself.
After several failed attempts, Blood finally manages to connect his old hand comp to the inner airlock panel. With everyone's oxygen indicators blinking red and alarms beeping in helmets, the captain uses his many years of experience convincing ship systems and AI's to follow his, usually inebriated, commands. With a final gasping "Just Open the F$%^@#g door!" The airlock door grinds open allowing Blood, Achooie, and Myron to fling themselves inside.
Within seconds the door slams closed and the sound of environmental systems pumping extra air into the area can just be heard over the constant warnings of an airlock breach.
After throwing off sealed helmets and several minutes of gasping for as much air as possible, attention can be turned to surveying the immediate surroundings.
A first glance has each of you longing for the filth and overcrowding of the station's lower levels. Dim red emergency lighting illuminates the area. Obviously a simple supply hold, a trio of bodies lie about the room. Their human frames showing the usual searing, burnt wounds of heavy blaster fire. They appear to have been unarmed and dressed in simple coveralls marked with the patch of the Royal Drinaxian Archeological Core.
Several stacked crates line the southern wall, while the north used to be lined with shelves that are now tipped across the floor, their contents broken and scattered all about. Mostly things like rations, oil, hydraulic, and other fluids for maintaining whatever mechanical equipment was being used in the expedition. An open doorway stands directly to the west.
Laying on the floor and gasping for breath, Blood mumbled; "I need a drink."
Pulling out his flask, he stared at the mangled and perforated container with a deep sense of betrayal. How had that happened anyway? So much had happened, he couldn't remember.
He rolled over to start to get up and was face to face with a corpse.
He scrambled back with an oath until his back hit a bulkhead.
Pulling his holdout pulse pistol he scanned the area for threats.
"Get up. Get up!" He hissed, kicking at his companions. "Dead bodies!"
Blood is freaked out so easily I'm not sure if he's delusional. I pull my sidearm and do 2 notice checks. One for immediate threats and the other to see how long they've been dead.
Oops
Fudgecicles!
Blood doesn't see much else but the dead eyes of Mechanics Mate Forsythe staring at him from behind one of the tipped over shelves. Achooie, being the one to identify the doomed Forsythe by spotting the name and rank badge still visible on the victim's blood soaked coveralls, judges the area to be safe. At least as safe as anyplace on a dead planet, with several dead bodies, and only a partial airlock seal intact might be.
Although not a medical doctor, Achooie has seen enough death in his time to know that these people haven't been dead more than an hour maybe two. And it was certainly a heavy blaster weapon that killed two of the victims. The third suffered from some kind of concussive blast that must have caused a stroke or massive heart attack as her body only show bruising rather than the burns and punctures of blaster fire.
Giving the victims a cautious once over, Blood whispered "Lords of Light, heavy blasters and ...some kind of concussion thing. I'm feeling way under armed now." He looked at his pistol with some regret.
He looked over the racks briefly, looking for something useful, before sidling up to the doorway to the west.
He listened briefly before rolling through, gun pointing all around.
Searching among the racks and debris Blood comes across a yellow security key belonging to a Section Chief Bolorondo. That's according to the ID on the pass. He also discovers a couple of spare oxygen pods, useful for recharging any depleted vaccsuits and a partially complete Engineering Toolkit.
With the security pass tucked safely in his pocket, Captain Blood then rolls out into the hallway. The move reminds both Myron and Achooie of those same stylistic stunts Chip Bander is always making in the constant stream of B-grade galactic adventure holovids that made him a household name in over three quarters of the Imperium. Of course, neither Achooie or Myron recall Bander hitting his head on a conduit valve and cursing like undercity grandmother when he rolls across the hall and comes up firing. But the two are used to Blood. And both wait an extra heartbeat for the captain's vision to clear so he can wave them forward...or he manages to draw any fire from hidden enemies or booby traps.
Fortunately for the captain, the corridor appears to be empty to both the north and south. A light fixture, dangles on wires twenty feet to the south while to the northern corridor contains more blaster scarring along the walls and floor.
Do the corpses have better weaponry or armor than we do?
Blood waived his crew forward. Cautiously, he advanced into the northern blaster scarred corridor.
Achooie examines the corpses. None wear armor or anything that would be of further protective use. Lifting one of the bodies aside, the gormelite does discover a heavy blaster pistol. The charges are mostly spent, but it does appear to have enough for one or maybe two shots.
In the corridor, Blood starts to creep his way forward. Scuttling along like a slow motion crab, the captain cautiously comes to another set of doors to east and west. The one to the east, is labeled Storage B while to the west is Commisary.
The corridor continues to the north another thirty feet before ending in another intersection with corridors to east and west and a door going further north.
Assuming the others were following, Blood looked around at the doors, then listened at the "Commisary" door before easing it open.
The commissary door slides open revealing a tidy dining area with a half dozen round tables and sturdy stack chairs spaced across the fifty by fifty foot room. On the far side of the room, a trio of Kormakov Automatic Meal Dispensers. Self contained units that can be stocked with a variety of nutritional, organic compounds that the unit then turns into edible meals. At least according to the brochures. Most crews and others who've had to use the units consider the machines nothing less than gastric torture devices and usually end up smuggling in other food regardless of the extra cost.
Aside from a a quartet of half eaten meals and cold, half finished coffees the place is completely empty. A pair of fresher units are off to the left while on the same wall as the KAMD units is another door.
What do you do?
Blood backed out of the Commissary and shut the door.
He went across the hallway to the door marked "Storage B", listened for movement and opened the door.