Vignettes

[Leitz]

Feel free to post character scenes and short stories here. It can provide flavor and depth to a good game.

For example:

Jimmie used to be scared, but not no more. Now he was "wet his coveralls and swear to the Creator to be good for the rest of his hopefully not short life" terrified.

The day had started like every one of the last fifty-seven; Jimmie was told to clean the engineering section of BMM-100644. It had taken him two weeks of dirtside time to totally purge and scrub the bilge troughs. Chief Ivarsson hadn't been much for cleaning, unless someone else was doing it. Same with the rest of the crew. Captain Varin herself wasn't much for anything besides Captain Varin's purse.

Jimmie Lauwers, no one called him James, was the tall and lanky towhead folks assumed came from some back-world with no tech and not a lot of marriage prospects. At nearly eighteen, with a full year and half of usually being employed as an "Apprentice: Ships Engines", Jimmie could clean the engineering section. He could interpret the dials and work the control indicators he had cleaned off. He understood, from the on-comp lessons he had bought with the rare paycheck, how to tune the Brote-2315's that powered BMM-100644 across space. Course the Chief never let Jimmie touch anything important. Most folks failed to ask where Jimmie was from, and that was okay by him. Most folks would have been surprised.

When Jimmie's last ship had financially gone bust and was sold, he was broke and on Birach. The BMM-100644 was the only ship that would take him on, what with no credentials or license. She wasn't a bad ship; a very old merchant in a small hull. A decade or so ago her engines had been yanked and replaced with the Brote set; matching power and maneuver. No jump drive at all, she just hauled supplies and the occasional government official out to the belt, up to the high port, or sometimes out to the shipyards deeper in the system. She was officially a Birach Merchant Marine vessel, Jimmie mentally referred to her as "Miss Sally".

She wasn't a bad ship. Jimmie wasn't too sure about the crew and he had yet to get his pay; the Captain herself said the government subsidy checks were late.

Now Jimmie wasn't sure he was going to get paid at all. Of course, he wasn't sure he'd be alive long enough to spend any of it, anyway. The woman looked at him, as if waiting for his attack. Jimmie wasn't the "hit a girl" sort usually and surely wasn't about to hit a woman holding the broken stocked but still working part of Chief's pump shotgun. Antonio the second pilot crawled away from the women. He was moving slow and his left foot was turned funny. Chief was out cold, having someone take your shotgun and break it over your head can do that to a fellow. Jackie, the other "Apprentice: Ships Engines", leaned his hundred fifty kilo self against the bulkhead and tried to hold his jaw in place.

"Well?" The woman said. "Should I ditch the gun so you think it's fair?"

The woman sure was pretty; blond in a Raider haircut. Nice slightly tanned skin and frightening blue eyes. Not as tall as Jimmie but meatier. Wearing standard Birach Navy grey utility uniform with a Sublieutenant's pip on one side. Still holding most of Chief's shotgun.

Jimmie's heart raced. He they had told him to get to the loading dock and be ready for a tussle. They had not really explained the plan to lose the tussle this badly and this quickly. Jimmie really wasn't much for a tussle anyway.

"N..n..no. Ma'am." Jimmie said. He took a step back. "No ma'am."

The woman kept racking the action until no more shells came out. She looked at Jimmie. "Well, if you're not going to hit me then maybe you could answer the Captain's question?" She nodded down the loading ramp.

Jimmie wasn't sure his heart wasn't about to attack. "Uh..uh...uh..." Was all he could say. The woman stepped back just a bit and Jimmie took very careful steps around her, until he got to the edge of the loading ramp. A man in Birach Navy utilities stood at the bottom. Full Lieutenant's pips on his collar, comp pad in his hand, and a couple crates next to him.

"Uh..you...you had a question?" Belatedly Jimmie came to attention. "Sir."

The man smiled at Jimmie. About as much as the woman terrified him, the man's eyes said Jimmie was safe. Was important. Jimmie straightened even more.

"Permission to come aboard?" The man said. "Spacer Apprentice Lauwers, right?"

Jimmie nodded and the man walked up the ramp. in a few steps the man was almost between Jimmie and the woman. "Yes. Sir. Spacer Apprentice Lauwers, I mean. And welcome aboard. Sir. Captain?"

"Thank you, Spacer." The man smiled. "The Admiralty found enough irregularies in Captain Varin's accounting to warrant an investigation, and detention until things were resolved. Unfortunately, the fleet needs an emergency shipment of medicine taken to one of the asteroid mines. They asked us to help crew 100644."

The man looked at the the others. "Looks like the crew will be short. Is anyone else aboard?"

"Miss Lexis, she's the pilot. She don't go off ship much." Jimmie said. He shifted some so the man was a little more between Jimmie and the woman. "She's good people. Sir."

The man turned to the woman. "Shore Patrol should be enroute, hopefully with corpsmen. Clean off the deck and load our gear as fast as you can. I'll be on the bridge."

"Sir!" The woman stood at attention. She smiled at the Captain. And then winked as he walked by.

"Uh..." Jimmie said as he looked at her. The Captain's boot falls grew fainter as they moved forward. Jimmie wasn't sure the woman wasn't going to have them bring four stretchers. "Uh..."

She tossed the shotgun at him. "Stash that, might make the Shore Patrol itchy. You can fix it later. If there's a medkit around here bring it. I'll be getting these louts off the ship. You get those crates on and secure them forward, clear?"

"Clear!" There was a medkit in Engineering, which meant for a few moments Jimmie would have a quad strength bulkhead between him and the woman. He sprinted.

[Leitz]

[Birach 1416.54.0543 IST (1445 local)] Supply Convoy Kilo, Ulricehamn

Gerald struck the steering wheel yet again. Who would do this? Why? The loss of a team made him angry. He had heard the tone from the Oregund boys and they shared a pact to do their best to deal with the attackers. Gerald's mood was dark; people killed others trying to save people. In the times he wished to have a gun and a worthy target, this ranked high.

He was supposed to tell that young fellow. That was the team's nickname for him; just "that young fellow". The other officers Gerald knew were much older, more mature. People looked at Gerald himself as officer material even though he had never taken the uniform. His family, of course, were the reason. Old blood, old schooled, traditioned. The military life came easy to him because it was much like boarding school had been. Much like home had been, were he to admit it. Regimented; his home carried the tone of a military unit.

Like all Mountain Man stock he was raised on the land. The family lands, at any rate, always needed things done. There was more need for staff than money allowed and Gerald had proven useful at keeping things working. He was generally to be found somewhere on the lands investigating some broken down machine or driving into town with his friends. His real friends, not the ones that looked down on his inability to serve due to health. He could have been just like that young fellow, had they taken him in. He could have made a difference, he...

He had to face the truth. Just like the fencing coach had said; "exhaustion makes cowards of us all". Gerald's system couldn't transfer oxygen well, it was a genetic deficiency. He was doomed to be a coward by his own body. He could never be like that young fellow.

There. He said it. Gerald hit the steering wheel again; this time for himself. He was a coward leading a team of heroes. If only they knew! Would he have the nerve to shoot the people who had shot down the team? Could a coward do that?

He would resign. That was the solution. Let the young and the brave carry on. He would deliver the comm and his resignation, finish driving supplies for a few weeks, and then slink home. The old house might be there still and he could lose himself in fixing it up.

"Secure comm for Captain Domici, this is..." his throat caught. He had not resigned yet, "Captain Jacobs."

Willie put him through once they found the young fellow. "Domici here, good to hear from you Gerald. I need to talk to you."

He must have known. Gerald thought. That young fellow had seen the coward Gerald was and was at least being polite about replacing him. Willie should get the rank, he was a natural leader. Willie wasn't a coward.

"Captain Domici, message from BDCR-W. A rescue transport sent by the government was shot down on approach. The team was supposed to help reestablish comms with the rest of the CDC. All hands believed lost, possibly shot down by a high tech missile. Investigation continues."

Gerald saw the anger on the young man's face. He wasn't a coward, he would pull the trigger without hesitation. He had done so, it was said.

"Thank you for letting me know, Gerald, it makes what I need to talk to you all the more important."

"Sir, I understand." Gerald nodded. "There are better ways to deal with the situation and I accept your decision wholeheartedly."

The young man looked at Gerald for a long minute. "I think we may be talking about different topics. What's on your mind?"

"Sir, I think Willie Rose wold be a better leader for the team. I'm not cut from the same cloth as you military types are. I could better serve at home."

That young man looked at him. "No. Captain Jacobs, BDCR-E has accomplished great things under your leadership. Now we are faced with even greater challenges, and if I can be blunt about it, challenges where we need people with your brains to think of solutions the rest of us can't comprehend. I'm about to lay out a plan that will scare most military types, yet it's the right solution that we've proven over and over."

"Gerald, if you can't morally support the mission then I'll replace you. But if you are concerned that you are insufficient for the task at hand, join the stinking party. We are all insufficient when left to our own, that's why we stress teams. That's why we give each other cover when things get hot and grace when we mess up."

The young man paused. "Now, answer me honestly, are you willing to fully support the mission?"

Gerald sucked air, a wave of exhaust had hit him. He looked at the young man. "Yes sir. Awaiting your orders, sir."

"Thank you, Gerald." That young man's old eyes rested on him. "I appreciate your courage. Now we need your brains. I'm going to propose mixed hunter teams that have the full intel and comms capability of the BDCR-E embedded. Make the assignments; who goes with the shooters and who feeds the intel machine? Figure up to half the team will be forward deployed, we want to take down the worst of the gangs and bring the rest in line. You need to figure out who goes where and how we give each hunter team the absolute best support possible."

"On it sir. And, Captain...thank you."

"Keep up the good work, Captain. Domici out."

[BackworldTraveller]

Elvira looked back at the house on the cliffside - one final glimpse to sustain her as she headed off to serve on the Linna as Captain's Servant. None of the Grand Parties and Balls of the cousins...hard work to help stave off family bankruptcy. College gone in the punitive levies of the Atrean General. Still, leaving the world will be a chance to make something of her life away from the petty discriminations of the Atrean occupation.

Over the lake. Below her the boats of the Johannsen's - fishing for food (or perhaps goods smuggled past the watchers).

The hillside, covered in its mantle of flame-trees...not flaming at this time of year - but under there would be the deer and rabbits that allowed her people to survive when the crops and sheep were "Taxed".

And now, with her Rock, she is to return...Will the house have changed? - Does it even still stand after her parents demise? Are the Johannsen's still fishing or did they fall foul of some petty regulation? And the Flame Trees - She wouldn't put it past the Atreans to have clear-felled the lot - although the slope may have defeated even them.

She sighs and returns to the here and now - looking about the room at the faces of people who look like they haven't a care in the world. Are they too hiding their fears?

[The Bindoner]

Lady Kuryakhina thanked the crewmen who had taken her things into her stateroom on the Lady Perelandra and shook hands with them, palming Cr20 to each before dismissing them.

Zhenya closed the door to her stateroom and secured it, let out a held breath, hugged herself and giggled. She was among decent people again. At last, after years of exile. Clean rooms, civilised company. Her peers.

Cueing up the “Champagne Polka” , “Brindisi”, “Vin ou bière” and other operatic drinking songs she opened one of her cases, took out a bottle of champagne and a box of chocolate truffles and threw herself down on the bed to enjoy them, grinning like an idiot.

Ya vernulsya!

When the champagne bottle is empty and the vodka open her playlist has shifted to folk songs like "When we were at war", "Black Raven" and "Not for me" as her mood turns maudlin, thinking on the things she has lost.

Things that are with her grasp again, if she can help the Comte de Foix succeed.

Pulling herself into optimism she puts on a Cossack Lezginka, finds her sword and, somewhat drunkenly, dances with it in celebration of better times.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AN3uhImuy6E

[BackworldTraveller]

Rock is waiting aboard the pinnace, loaded with gear and not entirely certain what he's supposed to be ready for. The ship that stretches like a cliff before them is behaving oddly and - well who knows what.

The group seems chaotic - coalesced out of disparate elements with a few who have previously fought together but unpractised. The Count, Navy Crew, Retainers and even an unwilling Tutor - All he can do is keep out of the way of the Military guys and pick up the pieces if anyone got hurt. Elvira is clearly aware that he was going to volunteer - she's packed a "bag of useful stuff". She didn't know I hadn't taken a proper weapon when I left to get the children earlier so that isn't there.

A few terrible jokes - well everyone's nervous unless they're psychologically damaged at the start. Can't do much for that now.

Getting closer. The Count is sorting out who's going in what order. That's the problem with medic. In the middle until it all goes pear-shaped then crawling into the line of fire to recover the poor schmuck that went down. Concentrating on the casualty not the firefight.

Still, better make sure the crew know who's in my suit - this vislight stuff is handy for doing that - any colour you like or none at all. Freya likes the "Angry Cuttlefish" pulsing lights display - perhaps not entirely appropriate now, but the memory brings a smile. Silly girl. Fancy getting herself stuck in an escape pod. Well, neutral colour with the Harmersback arms on shoulders and the back of the helm. Like the "Knights of yore". I wonder if they were allies of the "Knights of the Round Table" - I'll have to look that up when I get back.

OK - Back to now. Find an assistant. And organise the second rank. A Noble's work is never done.