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Futuristic The Steller Jay
- Thread starter sspky
- Start date
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- Tags
- adventure science fantasy
sspky
ooof my bones
The Steller Jay was a work in progress. Hale Idas had bought it as selvage several years ago, with the winnings he’d made rigging games in some middle-tier arena on Drion 7B0. He liked to tell himself he’d gone clean since then. The galaxy was vast and he had absolutely, definitely, and completely, left his roguish youth behind him in favour of a more reputable line of work.
Now he mostly scavved ruined colonies and derelict space stations in the galaxies wild frontier. He was fully licensed and affiliated with Elecom Systems Salvage Guild, and only occasionally took under the table work for less than scrupulous private contracts. All in all, he’d carved a nice little life out for himself in the frontier. He had a decent ship with a capable AI, and he managed to keep is still partially organic mind and body in decent repair.
Currently, Idas was standing at the counter of a rough-and-tumble saloon called The Wandering Star -- which was a far more whimsical name than anything in this run-down colony deserved. Although it billed itself as a saloon, the four-story prefab boasted several roles in the local community. Of particular interest to Idas, it also stood as Guild approved trading post.
Salvage, even when legally obtained, still had to be sold through the proper channels. Idas had just finished offloading his latest haul and was currently negotiating a new contract with the portly man behind the counter.
“You’re crazy, you think I’m travelling to some deserted Gul outpost for anything less than 25000 bits. Seriously, what your offering won’t even cover the medical costs when I need my ass sown back on after some bog-beast regurgitates me.”
“You don’t want to deal with medical costs? Don’t get eaten. It’s pretty simple stuff, junker.” the man replied
Iras rolled his eyes dramatically, though the man presently annoying him wouldn’t have seen the gesture behind the scavenger’s full facial helmet. It was an angular orange and black thing, with a sharp, triangular face-shield and no clear visor or ocular plating. It masked his voice, giving him a tinny, almost robotic tone.
Naturally, the helmet went along well with his accompanying body armour -- it was bulky, sharp, and followed the same orange and black colour scheme. He’d certainly look out of place on any of the core worlds, but out here in the frontier, Idas was just another adventurer armed to the teeth and ready for mayhem.
Now he mostly scavved ruined colonies and derelict space stations in the galaxies wild frontier. He was fully licensed and affiliated with Elecom Systems Salvage Guild, and only occasionally took under the table work for less than scrupulous private contracts. All in all, he’d carved a nice little life out for himself in the frontier. He had a decent ship with a capable AI, and he managed to keep is still partially organic mind and body in decent repair.
Currently, Idas was standing at the counter of a rough-and-tumble saloon called The Wandering Star -- which was a far more whimsical name than anything in this run-down colony deserved. Although it billed itself as a saloon, the four-story prefab boasted several roles in the local community. Of particular interest to Idas, it also stood as Guild approved trading post.
Salvage, even when legally obtained, still had to be sold through the proper channels. Idas had just finished offloading his latest haul and was currently negotiating a new contract with the portly man behind the counter.
“You’re crazy, you think I’m travelling to some deserted Gul outpost for anything less than 25000 bits. Seriously, what your offering won’t even cover the medical costs when I need my ass sown back on after some bog-beast regurgitates me.”
“You don’t want to deal with medical costs? Don’t get eaten. It’s pretty simple stuff, junker.” the man replied
Iras rolled his eyes dramatically, though the man presently annoying him wouldn’t have seen the gesture behind the scavenger’s full facial helmet. It was an angular orange and black thing, with a sharp, triangular face-shield and no clear visor or ocular plating. It masked his voice, giving him a tinny, almost robotic tone.
Naturally, the helmet went along well with his accompanying body armour -- it was bulky, sharp, and followed the same orange and black colour scheme. He’d certainly look out of place on any of the core worlds, but out here in the frontier, Idas was just another adventurer armed to the teeth and ready for mayhem.
spacepirate
gͯͣ.̄͑̌ͨ̉͒̚uͪ͌̇̄̈mͫm̃͌͂ͨ̅͗̃ÿ́͐̄̔b̀̉͆͌3̚a̐͋͋̈r
Frontier colonies like the Wandering Star's certainly had a far more bizarre array of visitors than anything a Core Worlder could ever imagine. Back when he lived in Orcinus-5, Quintos never would have seen himself rubbing shoulders with the scourge of society- there was every type of criminal ranging from slave operator to Dorcovian game peddlers, all drinking and and fleeing and generally keeping to their own booths. From his seat behind the glowing purple tanks of Glurm 'n Fizz, the freelancer could see the entire saloon spread out, and its many peculiar patrons.
By the central bartop, was a reptilian crew of what looked to be mercenaries of some sorts, complete with belts strapped with enough sharp stabby objects to make shish kebabs of anyone foolish enough to cross them. Sitting directly across from him at the other side of the saloon was some sort of hooded figure. Besides a set of glowing yellow orbs where their eyes should, Quintos couldn't discern any facial features. That is, until the patron picked up their glass and out shot a barbed tongue, spindly and covered with what looked like hundreds of needle-like appendages.
The ex-Core Worlder did his best to hide his shock. That was a telltale sign that he wasn't from around these parts, he reminded himself, adjusting the mouthpiece covering the bottom half of his face. It was a metal covering, a respirator of sorts, pulsing green from the center, where his mouth was. Then again, he supposed that anyone who knew what to look for would know he had a strifeless childhood, perhaps not as wealthy as he could have been, but nothing compared to what most folks and strokes from around here dealt with, that was for sure.
In fact, the last crew he'd worked with, the mercantile traders of the *Osk Tsok Tsama*, had described to him in vivid detail the trials of their youth. There was a bit of a language barrier, since his translator didn't pick up on whatever the merchants spoke, but he did eventually come to understand that the crew members were brothers and sisters of some sort. They were on their way to return their mother's remains back to their home planet, a great ocean world with turning seas and shifting landmasses. It sounded just awful.
They'd hired him for his ability to handle a hardlight harpoon, one of the few relatively cheap weapons that could pierce through metallic megafauna hides. In other words, he didn't charge an exorbitant amount for his services, and he could take down difficult creatures and pierce through certain types of exotic armors, all because he had a weapon that was relatively uncommon in these parts. During monsoon season, their homeworld flooded and great terrors from the deep would rise to the surface in a teeming mass of tentacles, fins, slime and scales. That's why they'd hired him for a seasonal job, before paying him only half of the credits they owed him and dropping him off in this backwater bar in the underbelly of the galaxy.
But, he mused, ears piquing at the notion of a bog creature. Bonus points since the folks spoke in a language he mostly understood. Slowly, the man got to his feet. He was a little bit above average height for a human, but was dwarfed by the absolutely massive weapon he toted behind him. It was easily three or four heads taller than him, and currently appeared as nothing more than a metallic tube. He nodded to the two, showing his interest. "What's this about a Gul outpost? If it's monsters you're afraid of," he offered, "I guarantee there's nothing this side of the Turaga Cluster that can withstand my hardlight harpoon."
By the central bartop, was a reptilian crew of what looked to be mercenaries of some sorts, complete with belts strapped with enough sharp stabby objects to make shish kebabs of anyone foolish enough to cross them. Sitting directly across from him at the other side of the saloon was some sort of hooded figure. Besides a set of glowing yellow orbs where their eyes should, Quintos couldn't discern any facial features. That is, until the patron picked up their glass and out shot a barbed tongue, spindly and covered with what looked like hundreds of needle-like appendages.
The ex-Core Worlder did his best to hide his shock. That was a telltale sign that he wasn't from around these parts, he reminded himself, adjusting the mouthpiece covering the bottom half of his face. It was a metal covering, a respirator of sorts, pulsing green from the center, where his mouth was. Then again, he supposed that anyone who knew what to look for would know he had a strifeless childhood, perhaps not as wealthy as he could have been, but nothing compared to what most folks and strokes from around here dealt with, that was for sure.
In fact, the last crew he'd worked with, the mercantile traders of the *Osk Tsok Tsama*, had described to him in vivid detail the trials of their youth. There was a bit of a language barrier, since his translator didn't pick up on whatever the merchants spoke, but he did eventually come to understand that the crew members were brothers and sisters of some sort. They were on their way to return their mother's remains back to their home planet, a great ocean world with turning seas and shifting landmasses. It sounded just awful.
They'd hired him for his ability to handle a hardlight harpoon, one of the few relatively cheap weapons that could pierce through metallic megafauna hides. In other words, he didn't charge an exorbitant amount for his services, and he could take down difficult creatures and pierce through certain types of exotic armors, all because he had a weapon that was relatively uncommon in these parts. During monsoon season, their homeworld flooded and great terrors from the deep would rise to the surface in a teeming mass of tentacles, fins, slime and scales. That's why they'd hired him for a seasonal job, before paying him only half of the credits they owed him and dropping him off in this backwater bar in the underbelly of the galaxy.
But, he mused, ears piquing at the notion of a bog creature. Bonus points since the folks spoke in a language he mostly understood. Slowly, the man got to his feet. He was a little bit above average height for a human, but was dwarfed by the absolutely massive weapon he toted behind him. It was easily three or four heads taller than him, and currently appeared as nothing more than a metallic tube. He nodded to the two, showing his interest. "What's this about a Gul outpost? If it's monsters you're afraid of," he offered, "I guarantee there's nothing this side of the Turaga Cluster that can withstand my hardlight harpoon."
sspky
ooof my bones
(( I’m going to introduce a Gul character when they get there. They have quills; they live in a hyper-technological, authoritarian, xenophobic society that’s at war with the GCSS*; they eat people, and they’re are extra smol.
*GCSS: Greater Coalition of Star Systems gonna be the Space UN. ))
“Bit eager, eh?” Idas asked, sizing the stranger up, “Most folk steer clear of anything ‘Gul’ these days.”
“It’s the cannibalism,” he added, throwing the guildsman a pointed (but concealed and therefore entirely pointless) look, “I object to being cannibalized by space rats.”
The Gul had gained a certain reputation in the last few decades since breaking they’re self-imposed cultural isolation in favour of declaring war or just about every civilization stupid enough to encroach on their territories. To the chagrin of the Greater Coalition of Star Systems, the fledgling empire had proven both formidable in battle and absolutely tenacious.
They bred like rabbits. Which was bad enough. Worse; they specifically bred a disposable, genetically modified soldier-chaste that they threw into battle by the millions. It had been proving difficult for the GCSS to combat a civilization with virtually no respect for conventional sentient-beings rights and battle-field etiquette.
“It’s deserted, junker,” the guildsman replied
“Sure, but it’s still on Ajiix-4. So, even if the space-rats have run off to who-knows-where space-rats go, we’ve still got those ugly, leggy Xchrix critters to deal with,” he cringed at the thought of those 10-metre long centipede-like crab-things that lived in the fetid bogland in which the Gul had apparently built their little base.
“We.” the guildsman said
“Hmm?” the junker replied
“You said we. And your friend there looks like he can handle a few Xchrix.”
Idas cocked his head towards the stranger, gave him another appraising once over, before finally asking, “ s‘last critter you killed with that stick of yours, mate?”
*GCSS: Greater Coalition of Star Systems gonna be the Space UN. ))
“Bit eager, eh?” Idas asked, sizing the stranger up, “Most folk steer clear of anything ‘Gul’ these days.”
“It’s the cannibalism,” he added, throwing the guildsman a pointed (but concealed and therefore entirely pointless) look, “I object to being cannibalized by space rats.”
The Gul had gained a certain reputation in the last few decades since breaking they’re self-imposed cultural isolation in favour of declaring war or just about every civilization stupid enough to encroach on their territories. To the chagrin of the Greater Coalition of Star Systems, the fledgling empire had proven both formidable in battle and absolutely tenacious.
They bred like rabbits. Which was bad enough. Worse; they specifically bred a disposable, genetically modified soldier-chaste that they threw into battle by the millions. It had been proving difficult for the GCSS to combat a civilization with virtually no respect for conventional sentient-beings rights and battle-field etiquette.
“It’s deserted, junker,” the guildsman replied
“Sure, but it’s still on Ajiix-4. So, even if the space-rats have run off to who-knows-where space-rats go, we’ve still got those ugly, leggy Xchrix critters to deal with,” he cringed at the thought of those 10-metre long centipede-like crab-things that lived in the fetid bogland in which the Gul had apparently built their little base.
“We.” the guildsman said
“Hmm?” the junker replied
“You said we. And your friend there looks like he can handle a few Xchrix.”
Idas cocked his head towards the stranger, gave him another appraising once over, before finally asking, “ s‘last critter you killed with that stick of yours, mate?”
spacepirate
gͯͣ.̄͑̌ͨ̉͒̚uͪ͌̇̄̈mͫm̃͌͂ͨ̅͗̃ÿ́͐̄̔b̀̉͆͌3̚a̐͋͋̈r
((Aight, so Guls are maniacal space goblins? In space?? Lookin forward to it!))
Ah, so they weren't turning him away. That was a good sign, especially since Quintos was entirely nothing more than a complete stranger to the two men. But 25000 bits? If he had a ship or some other form of transportation, it would probably be a worthwhile trip to just take the job himself, without having to split the reward money at all! Stars knew he could use the cash to get off this hunk of dust.
It had only been a few days, but Quintos knew his savings couldn't lodge him here forever. Not that he particularly wanted to stay here in the frontier, but no one asked questions and it would've been impossible to track him down. So that was nice, but if he was going to settle down outside of the Core Worlds, it wouldn't be on a planet that had acidic fog. Acid rains and rivers are annoyances, but they weren't a silent killer the way a noxious fog was.
Still, this talk of space rats was troublesome. In his time with a cargo cruiser, Quintos had the incredible misfortune of facing the Guls in raid combat. The cheeky critters were like bugs, or rodents, like the helmeted individual had so eloquently described them. Honestly, comparing them to vermin was a bit of a compliment. Far as he could tell, their soldiers were nothing more than mindless drones- a species who hadn't gained space flight simply to see how many stars shone in the Gumaja Cluster, that's for sure.
Perhaps it was his old Core Worlder values showing, but he absolutely hated dealing with the spindly fuckers. Still, advanced and dangerous as they were, he'd faced hordes of critters and chaos before. So if it meant getting off this miserable world, he was in.
"I'll admit I've never skewered any Xchrix," the man began, shifting his weapon back and forth, "but my last kill was an Annoran Lurker, an armored naval beast also native to the Ajiix system. The moons of Ajiix-8, to be specific. They're as long a full-length GCSS Colony Carrier, and twice as thick. If this baby can take care of one of those monstrosities, there's nothing that can stand up to it."
Ah, so they weren't turning him away. That was a good sign, especially since Quintos was entirely nothing more than a complete stranger to the two men. But 25000 bits? If he had a ship or some other form of transportation, it would probably be a worthwhile trip to just take the job himself, without having to split the reward money at all! Stars knew he could use the cash to get off this hunk of dust.
It had only been a few days, but Quintos knew his savings couldn't lodge him here forever. Not that he particularly wanted to stay here in the frontier, but no one asked questions and it would've been impossible to track him down. So that was nice, but if he was going to settle down outside of the Core Worlds, it wouldn't be on a planet that had acidic fog. Acid rains and rivers are annoyances, but they weren't a silent killer the way a noxious fog was.
Still, this talk of space rats was troublesome. In his time with a cargo cruiser, Quintos had the incredible misfortune of facing the Guls in raid combat. The cheeky critters were like bugs, or rodents, like the helmeted individual had so eloquently described them. Honestly, comparing them to vermin was a bit of a compliment. Far as he could tell, their soldiers were nothing more than mindless drones- a species who hadn't gained space flight simply to see how many stars shone in the Gumaja Cluster, that's for sure.
Perhaps it was his old Core Worlder values showing, but he absolutely hated dealing with the spindly fuckers. Still, advanced and dangerous as they were, he'd faced hordes of critters and chaos before. So if it meant getting off this miserable world, he was in.
"I'll admit I've never skewered any Xchrix," the man began, shifting his weapon back and forth, "but my last kill was an Annoran Lurker, an armored naval beast also native to the Ajiix system. The moons of Ajiix-8, to be specific. They're as long a full-length GCSS Colony Carrier, and twice as thick. If this baby can take care of one of those monstrosities, there's nothing that can stand up to it."
sspky
ooof my bones
(( sorry for the slow post and poor quality. Been feeling under the weather all weekend. ))
‘AGI, what’s an Annoran Lurker?’ Idas asked.
Due to starting his question with an address to his ships Advanced Guidance Intelligence (and due to the cybernetic implants that linked his mind allowing the aforementioned AI to gain some insight into his intent), his voice was not broadcast through his helmets voice modulator. To the outside observer, he was silent.
‘Annoran Lurker: an aquatic being native to oceans of Ivvix, the third moon orbiting Ajiix-8. They are a carnivorous species of sub-average cognitive intelligence. They are covered in titanium-calcium plating, They can range from 30 metres to 100 metres in length, although there have been unconfirmed reports of larger specimens adapting to other aquatic planets after introduction.’
‘AGI, very helpful. Totally not exactly what he just said.’
I detect sarcasm, captain.’
Idas sighed, and turned his focus back towards the two strangers.
“Right, you got a name, spacer? Wanna give me a heads up on any outstanding warrants or horrific criminal records on file? I’m gonna look you up, anyway.” he asked. AGI had access to a few basic record systems, including any publicly available bounties, and would run keyword searches on GCSS news archives, journals, and other open information systems. It was a pretty standard safety precaution these days.
Never fly with anyone who might knife you in your sleep and steal your shit.
‘AGI, what’s an Annoran Lurker?’ Idas asked.
Due to starting his question with an address to his ships Advanced Guidance Intelligence (and due to the cybernetic implants that linked his mind allowing the aforementioned AI to gain some insight into his intent), his voice was not broadcast through his helmets voice modulator. To the outside observer, he was silent.
‘Annoran Lurker: an aquatic being native to oceans of Ivvix, the third moon orbiting Ajiix-8. They are a carnivorous species of sub-average cognitive intelligence. They are covered in titanium-calcium plating, They can range from 30 metres to 100 metres in length, although there have been unconfirmed reports of larger specimens adapting to other aquatic planets after introduction.’
‘AGI, very helpful. Totally not exactly what he just said.’
I detect sarcasm, captain.’
Idas sighed, and turned his focus back towards the two strangers.
“Right, you got a name, spacer? Wanna give me a heads up on any outstanding warrants or horrific criminal records on file? I’m gonna look you up, anyway.” he asked. AGI had access to a few basic record systems, including any publicly available bounties, and would run keyword searches on GCSS news archives, journals, and other open information systems. It was a pretty standard safety precaution these days.
Never fly with anyone who might knife you in your sleep and steal your shit.
