Turn 4 Aftermath
“I thought I’d find you in here,” Midori said as she walked into the medbay.
Dask looked up from his position leaning on the table where P’Hol’s cryo casket lay. The lid was open as a thin wisp of frosty mist rose up from the refrigeration unit.
“I’m finishing up the last of the arrangements for her body. Her end of life instructions were for her, her effects, and whatever pay she had outstanding, was to be sent back to her family. I’ve done everything, all I’m waiting on now is the courier to arrive.” Dask muttered.
He looked up and down P’Hol’s body, she looked serene, almost angelic in the mist of the cryo casket. Her personal possessions were nestled around her feet and legs, all wrapped in a few layers of plastic.
“You’ve never lost someone before?” Midori asked as she walked up to Dask and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“My first time,” Dask replied.
“When I was the XO on my last ship I lost a few in a pirate ambush on Theria. We got hit by snipers as we were offloading our cargo. It was a setup from the start and the captain was winged by a plasma bolt, we ended up having to amputate what was left of his right arm once we dusted off. It was a good crew, but we couldn’t bounce back from that one. We went back to a midworld and took a vote. The captain wanted to sell his share and I didn’t mind, the two other remaining crew members wanted to do likewise. In the end I can see why some crews can’t bounce back from a casualty event like that. So we sold the ship, split the proceeds and amicably parted ways. The two that bought it, we made sure their shares made it back to their next of kin.”
Dask stepped back and lifted up the lid of the casket.
“You’re a good one, Midori. I hope I can live up to that standard.” Dask said.
“You’re doing well so far, where is everyone else?” Midori asked.
“I’ve given them the day off, we haven’t got anyone gunning for us right now so I’m happy to let the crew recuperate from that fight. Just me to keep an eye on the ship while they’re out.” Dask said as he sealed the casket with a snap hiss.
“How about you take some time off as well, I’ll hand P’Hol off to the courier and watch the ship. You look like you can use some time to yourself.” Midori offered.
“Thank you, I’ll take you up on that,” Dask replied.
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Dask found a pub a short walk from the spaceport. It was a MacKeller’s, a chain of mid grade public houses that catered to the working class. Back in the core worlds he’d met a lot of clients discreetly at an anonymous table in the backrooms of a MacKeller’s franchise. Now he found the place strangely comforting and familiar, like all corporate chains, mediocre, but consistent in quality.
Dask sat at the bar with a pint of cheap lager and his data slate in front of him. He occupied himself by casually scanning and probing the electronics of the other patrons of the pub and seeing what casual hacking he could do to amuse himself. It was cheap and low rent data crime, but he didn’t even take anything. Dask found it amusing to read the kind of stuff that people kept on their personal devices, sometimes there was real paydata, but mostly it was inconsequential secrets.
Dask frowned as a series of data pings of Converter based signal protocols came into range and interfaced with his pad’s wireless. Dask looked up at the door and spotted a Converter drone standing in the doorway, or rather, a former drone. The drone scanned the bar with intelligent eyes that weren’t dulled by the harsh directives of a Converter control chip. Every eye in the pub briefly looked up to him for a moment, as Harlem’s World has had a long history with Converters, but just as quickly the attention was lost as they all came to the same conclusion, that this was a former drone, de-converted.
The drone crossed the floor with heavy footsteps and sat down next to Dask.
“A pint of Everbright Bitters,” the drone said as he addressed the bartender.
“Coming up,” the bartender replied as he went to the taps to fill the order.
Dask studied the drone, only for the drone to swing his head around and look at Dask directly in the eye.
“Can I help you, mate?” the drone asked.
“Nah, just never seen Converter chrome in person before, I meant no disrespect.” Dask said.
“How do you know it is Converter chrome?” the drone retorted.
Dask tapped his pad and lifted it slightly to show the drone the contents of the screen.
My passive datascrapers picked up base level Converter protocols when you walked in the door. I’m sorry about what was done to you, if that means much.” Dask said.
The expression of the drone softened a bit. Then he got his drink and took a swig.
“Yeah, me too. What’s your name, friend?” the drone asked.
“Dask Donovan, captain of the Hand of Fortune and freelance hacker,” Dask said as he offered a hand to the drone.
The drone took it with his left hand, the still human one.
“Malcom Khan, a farmer and pious man of faith in another life. Now a freelance dealer in death, violence, and mayhem,” the drone said.
Dask shook the offered hand.
“How long were you converted?” Dask asked.
“I’m not sure, I was de-converted after a Unity assault on a hidden Converter outpost on Dessany Three, I was one of the units they were able to disable mostly intact. The local Unity military high command was still on the capture and de-convert orders. I guess I was one of the lucky ones. After the techs finished scrubbing and auditing my episodic memory they reckon about six to eight years. I don’t remember much of it, only flashes. The techs mostly took care of that, Mashallah.”
Dask murmured in agreement.
“How did returning to the world go?” Dask asked.
“About as well as could be expected. Once the techs had done their job, Unity gave me an account with fifty cred and the contact details for a post trauma counselling specialist then kicked me out of the recovery ward. Money dried up quickly and I didn’t have enough to make my way back to my people. So I made a deal with some of the local gangs, I’d work for them as muscle for pay, and they would remilitarise some of my hardpoints. Turns out I was good at it. I ended up getting back in touch with my people, they were supportive and compassionate about what I had become, but being amongst them felt wrong, like I was putting them at risk, so I’m just drifting, I guess.”
“That’s rough, who are your people?” Dask asked.
A minor Islamic sect, you probably haven’t heard of them. The name translates into standard as Pilgrims of Shen. We’re a settler movement with the goal of bringing Allah’s light from the cradle of humanity to the uninhabited worlds of the cosmos, so that all worlds may be walked upon by God’s creations.
“Haven’t heard of it, sorry,” Dask said.
“Understandable, we aren’t well known, even within the Islamic community in the core worlds.” Malcolm replied.
“How about you, Dask. What brings you out to a cheap pub on a workday night?” Malcolm asked.
“I lost one of my crew, she was a good, very professional. I’m working through my feelings about it. It’s a fact of life that in this line of work that people die before their time. Still, I’m feeling guilty about it, I guess.” Dask replied.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Whatever gods she kept, I hope she is with them.” Malcolm replied.
“I never asked, if she did, she kept it to herself. Say, you said you’re drifting now, what happened?” Dask asked.
“I got tired of dealing violence to people over a kilo of narcotics at a time, I paid my way out of that world, now I do odd jobs for the Pilgrims when they need me. I am thinking about making a run for Hastina. I have family there, but I don’t have the cred to pay for passage.” Malcolm said.
“Hrm, I have something to ask you, Mister Khan?” Dask asked.
“Yeah?” Malcolm replied.
“Wanna job?”
Campaign Event, a chance meeting
De-Converted - Malcolm Khan
Background - Religious Cult
Motivation - Revenge
Class - Ganger
Other Events
Estra lost her shotgun, it will turn up soon.
From Battlefield looting the crew gained a motion tracker.
Turn 5 Pre Mission
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet our new colleague. Mister Malcolm Khan.” Dask said as he gestured at Malcolm.
Malcolm studied each of the crew members in turn.
“Peace be upon you,” Malcolm replied.
Midori stood up, went over, and shook Malcolm’s hand.
“Welcome aboard, Mister Khan. My name is Midori Jones and I’m the XO of the Hand of Fortune. If you need anything or any help getting settled in, let me know.”
Every member of the crew gave their introductions, though most of them seemed a bit put off by the ex-Converter metal standing before them that didn’t immediately want to capture or kill them.
“I appreciate the trust that you have placed in me. However, I regret I have not explained to Mister Donovan the full reason for my presence here in Calhoun City.”
Dask gazed at Malcolm with a slightly annoyed expression.
“Is this something that is going to change the nature of your time with us?” Dask asked.
“Probably not, I am also here to run an errand for my local Pilgrims of Shen chapterhouse. There is a patch of real estate near Marion, that is the main city of the southern hemisphere. My people have been using it for some time as both a retreat, and as a staging ground for long distance missions beyond the limits of explored space. Our colonists use this ground to train in all of the tasks required for building a sustainable colony on a hostile world. Unfortunately our staff on site were driven away from the site at gunpoint by some out-system smugglers. Since the facilities are just as much a shipping waystation as they are a religious grounds they have been using the site to smuggle goods too and from Unity space. We’ve tried to raise this with the local authorities, but we’ve heard that the smugglers are paying them to look the other way. They even threatened to arrest our local members unless they drop their complaints. That is where a team of seemingly unattached outsiders come in.” Malcolm said.
“I see, it looks like god has put us in your way.” Whillem said with some sarcasm.
“Inshallah,” Malcolm replied with a smile, then continued.
“I have been tasked with putting together a crew of operatives for this job, and to participate if necessary. The bad news is that we have a new wave of colonists expected to arrive and begin their training for far-reach colonisation next month. The training grounds need to be clear and repaired before then. So this job has some urgency attached to it.” Malcolm continued.
“It sounds very straightforward, I assume you have a briefing packet prepared?” Shoutheri asked.
Malcolm nodded and flicked a connection over to Shoutheri, who then opened it up on his wristcomp and studied the details.
“They have full plans of the grounds, recon data going back two months… This is well laid out,” Shoutheri said after perusing the packet for a moment.
Dask nodded and turned to the others.
“Thoughts?” Dask asked.
Estra stared at Malcolm with a weird mixture of fascination and fear, but she snapped out of it when Dask addressed her directly.
“Umm, yes, I think so,” Estra stammered.
Whillem, who had been sitting on the couch and soldering a broken control board on the coffee table, looked up and shrugged.
“If it pays, and these religious folk don’t sound like the worst clients we could have.”
Shoutheri nodded and then gave a thumbs up, a human gesture that he had recently learned from Dask and had now been employing it everywhere and with great enthusiasm.
Midori smiled, then turned to Malcolm.
“And I am happy to accept the job. Looks like we are all in agreement,” Midori said.
“Excellent, well I’ll get started with the dockmaster. It’ll be a decent flight to Marion, and we can use the time in transit to plan the op.” Dask said.
Mission: Reclaim the Facility for the Followers of Shen
Danger Pay +3 Cred
Battle Conditions - Delayed
Notable Sights - Curious Item
Objective - Secure
