The glow of fluorescent lights shine down from the ceiling a few meters above you as you leave the lobby behind. You're in the security checkpoint now, just as nicely furnished as the lobby itself, though the auto-turrets on the ceiling does lend a bit more of a militaristic angle to it. Nothing too unusual for the Solar Union as a whole, nor the rest of Civilized Space for that matter.
The large pillars are still there and are still made of real marble. You let out a low whistle as you catch sight of the mosaic on the ceiling. It's of one of the Solar Union's founders, Leon Unar, holding a globe in one hand and a sword in the other, a fleet of warships on his brow like a crown of metal fury.
But regardless of your feelings on the politics and policies of the Solar Union, you've still gotta get your things from the checkpoint.
You stroll up to the weapon deposit area, the behatted security guard, body armor and sunglasses equipped watches you approach with a frosty expression on his face. As do the two guards, these two with reflective face masks, standing guard on either side of the opening, PEP rifles held in a relaxed pose. You grimace as you spot them, the burn on your left bicep throbbing as you pass by.
"I dropped some things off, they're under a 'Sam Vonkartha'." You tell the guard behind the counter, leaning on the surface as you watch him open the safe containing your things. The hard-faced man plops the grey plastic tub on the counter. He taps it as you reach towards it, looking up at you expectantly with a gleam of greed in his eyes.
You sigh, great, looks like even here corruption runs rampant. With a sigh, you fish out a trio of coins and slide them over, 30 SUDs in total.
He grins and nods, tipping his hat as he releases his hold on the tub, "Thank you kindly."
"Yeah yeah," You respond as you grab your things, sliding them into place. The boot knife goes in the boot, of course. The normal knife goes on your belt and the pistol, a normal firearm, goes in your armpit holster. It pays to be prepared, and if you hadn't had that pistol you'd likely not be here to talk about it.
With your head held high and an account filled with 5 Million SUDs, you set out. There's only one place to buy a ship on Orbital Plate 7B, well, only one place that would serve somebody like you, and that place is Discount Dan's. Well, there's likely other places, but none that you know of.
~~~~~~~
(Random Encounter Roll: 35, Crime Time, babes)
You're a few blocks away from Discount Dan's at this point, well, a few blocks and a couple levels down, and are currently taking what you reckon to be a shortcut through the maintenance tunnels when your ears catch the telltale pop-pop of an airgun shootin' not too far away from your position. And, being the enterprising business man that you are, you figured that you could take a look-see at what's going down, see if you couldn't get something to line your pockets with.
You have to duck through a hatch on your approach, those bound by the chains of gravity tend to be shorter than Beltborn like yourself, though you're not nearly as tall as those who've been out there for generations. Those guys are absolutely massive, though they do oftentimes have a bit of trouble operating in grav, having to wear special suits so they don't fuckin' crush themselves under their own weight if their family lived out there for too many generations.
By your reckonings, you're just about there, just beyond this corner. Peeking around it, you spot a lady who appears to be a technician of some sort, judging by her attire. Seafoam green hair with a set of goggles in place of a hairband. She's got an angry scowl on her face, a reasonable response given the situation at hand.
She's currently standing over a guy curled up in the fetal position, groaning as he clutches at his bleeding head. Blood drips off the multitool in her hands, giving you a pretty good guess to what happened. And, judging by the airgun on the floor, you reckon you're correct.
Airguns, being the generally nonlethal weapons that they are, are pretty good for incapacitating someone. And a lone technician is an easy mark, especially a female one. This one, of course, is very much not the easy mark this mook thought she was.
(Stealth Roll DC 65: 29, failure)
Her eyes zero in on you, pupils dilated to dinner plates as she raises the multitool high.
"Well, you with 'im?" She challenges you, flicking her chin at the groaning guy.
"No, not at all." You say stepping out from your spot with your hands held up, fingers splayed out to show off just how empty they are. "Just a passerby."
"A passerby that just so 'appened to be 'ere?" She asks, reasonably skeptical of the whole situation.
"As strange as that may sound, yes."
(Perception Roll DC 50: 91, success)
As you finish saying that, your eyes drift over her shoulder to catch sight of two men creeping in the low glow of the ceiling lights. One of them carries a club and the other has another airgun in his grasp.
Well, you've got a couple options here.
-[ ] Warn her, and help out of course (It just doesn't sit right with you to leave somebody to a fate like the imminent one, even if you just met them. And hey, you're probably gonna need somebody who knows their way around a wrench in your company, so perhaps she'll be amiable to that.)
-[ ] Don't warn her (This isn't your business and you've got places to be. And besides, how useful would some technician even be in the first place?)
~~~~~~~
(Contact Roll DC 75: 70+25=95, success)
You arrive outside the storefront of the warehouse, your steps still uncomfortably heavy in the artificial gravity. Sure, you've acclimated to the Earth's gravity, but that doesn't mean you're happy with it.
But no matter, you step through the automated door, a tinny jingle playing out as you do so. You have to duck under a low-hanging pipe, but such is the price of being a big guy.
"Welcome to Discount Dan's, where no questions are asked and no budget is too small!" A cheery, almost artificially so, voice calls to you. It comes from the older man behind the counter, the latest in a long line of 'Discount Dan's', it's tradition in that family to name your firstborn 'Dan', or so you've been told. He squints as you come into view, the lights illuminating your face. "...Little Sam?" He asks you, giving you pause. How does he…?
"I remember your Grandpappy bringing you 'round back in the day!" Ah, that would explain it. Your Grandfather… You really don't remember much about him. What you do know, gathered from long hours stalking the 'web and from what your junkie of a father told you, in those rare moments where he wasn't chasing that high, is that he was a feared and respected mercenary. The only real memory you have of him is of a wide grin and an itchy beard as he took you joyriding in his MBF.
A grin reaches perks up your mouth, under the scraggly thing growing on your face you call a beard. Your Grandfather, Wilfus Vonkartha, was one helluva pilot, according to the 'webs at least. He fought in a multitude of conflicts in his younger years, back when he was still part of the Itari, a nomad people that roam from place to place to ply their trade, whatever it may be, before breaking off to form his own mercenary company. He settled down in his 30s, having your Father, Uncles, and Aunt in quick succession. You never knew your Grandmother, or at least you don't have any memories of her, as she died alongside him when the pleasureliner they were on got spaced by pirates. A lot of money was spent tracking down their killers...
"You knew my Grandfather?" You finally ask as you lean on the counter, eyes dancing across the multitude of things on stock behind the old man manning the machine.
"Knew him? I practically made him!" ...Sure, whatever you say, Dan.
"Well, do you think you can make me too?"
"Why, I don't see why not? What kinda budget are we working with here?" He leans in, eyes gleaming and trademark grin shining on his face. You tell him and the grin only widens. "Go on, take a sit while ol' Dan here grabs a selection of ships and sundry!"
You nod slowly as Hurricane Dan starts up, backing off to the caf tables covered in a mountain of aged magazines, some of which are even paper! Soon enough, a selection of ships and, as Dan says, sundry finds their way in front of you.
"First things first!" He proclaims, waving his arms wildly, "we've got you a good ol' Falco-class innersystem patroller! It only recently stopped production, too, so I was able to buy this one off the Solar Union Navy for a pittance! Though if you're looking to get into the salvage game, I'd look elsewhere as Falco-classes don't have very much cargo space."
"And the reason it was pulled?" You ask, eyebrow quirked in skepticism.
He rubs at his arms, looking around. "Weeeell, it might be because it's just not enough for their standards anymore. And that it's horribly outdated compared to, well, all the competitor's ships."
"That'll do it." You nod, pausing as a thought occurs to you/ "If it's so outdated, why're you trying to sell it to me?"
Dan levels you with a dry look. "Because, even in the state it's in, it's still better than the half-slagged pieces of garbage that the scavs haul in."
"...Right." You concede with a nod. If you can have it your way, you'd much rather have an out of date ship than a half-dead craft.
"But, if you're looking for something a little more… punchier, I've got just the thing!" He grins wide as he punches the air. "The Punchette-class destroyer! It's a little beastie of a ship, punching hard and fast… though it's armor does leave quite a bit to be desired."
You open your mouth to comment, but Dan interrupts that, tossing the next ship out in front of you. "And finally, we've got a big boy ship! A Tableman-class cruiser. The epitome of the Titanites' brick style of ship design. It's got guns and by the Sun does it have armor! Just don't ask too many questions on how I managed to get a hold of a Titanite ship of all things, just be happy that I have it at all!"
You glance through the list, but none really stick out to you. You grimace, you'd very much prefer to have something a bit nicer looking than… a brick. "This is all you've got for me?" You eventually query Dan, trying your best to be gentle with your wording.
"Well, it's the best of my selection. By the Black, these are the only actual warships I've got, what with the SU gearing up for another go at Mars." You file that away mentally, could be a good opportunity for you to make a name for yourself, if it kicks off sometime soon, anywho.
Right as you go to shrug and get back to the ship selection, Dan leans in, a conspiratorial look on his face. "Say, if these don't satisfy your desires, I have a little something something you could go after if you wanted."
You squint at him. "Go on."
He grins his trademark grin, all smarmy and used-hovercraft salesman-y. "I've got a lead on a custom-built Itari cruiser drifting out in the Black." That… would be one helluva ship to start with. Sure, you're not overly familiar with the Itari, but you, like everyone else, know that they build good stuff. "I've got a scav crew gearing up to go out and grab it and they're looking to shore up their security with another guard, there's been reports of pirates in that area, but that's nothing special."
"And you're just telling me this outta the goodness of your heart?"
He throws back his head and laughs. "Ha haaa, no, no." He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. "Sorry, ol' Sammy boy, but I am a businessman. So lets say… 100k SUDs as a finder's fee? I know you've got the creds for it."
He leans in. "So whadduya say? You can even count this as a job for that new band o' mercs of yours."
-[ ] "So when am I shipping out?" (Accept the job. -100,000 SUDs but gain a custom-built Itari cruiser, should the mission go smoothly)
-[ ] "Thanks, but no thanks. I'll just choose one of these here." (Decline the job and choose from the below)
--[ ] Falco-class innersystem patroller. Little more than a flying stick with a couple guns bolted on, it's only saving grace is that it costs little more than 230,000 SUDs. (3 MBF launch bays, 5 days of fuel, 500 tons of cargo space, 20 crew space, and Grade 1 Armor and Armaments)
--[ ] Punchette-class destroyer. A ferocious little ship with a price tag to match: 470,000 SUDs (4 MBF launch bays, 1 Fightercraft catapult, 9 days of fuel, 1,500 tons of cargo space, 70 crew space, Grade 3 Armaments, and Grade 1 Armor)
--[ ] Tableman-class cruiser. A big brick with big guns and a big cost at 1.5 Million SUDs. (8 MBF launch bays, 2 Fightercraft catapults, 12 days of fuel, 2,250 tons of cargo space, 150 crew space, Grade 3 Armaments, and Grade 4 Armor)
~~~~~~~
"I'll give you a moment to think it over." Dan says, leaning back up from the table, leaving a dataslate in his place. "Here, you're gonna need to actually make that company, unless you already have."
You pick it up with a nod of thanks and begin filling it out.
-[ ] What's the name of your new mercenary company? (Write in)
~~~~~~~
GM Note: I screwed up a little bit with calling it too soon, but hindsight's 20/20 and all that. Votes will be called at 1 PM CST tomorrow, or around that time as I might get distracted by something or another.
Q: What is a Fightercraft?
A: Did you think that conventional fighters and bombers went anywhere after the advent of the MBF? Nope! They instead evolved, becoming significantly more armored and armed. Think of MBFs as your WWII fighter plane and Fightercraft as your B-17.
Q: What do the Grades mean?
A: They're a general description of the level of weapons and armor that a ship class or similar has. It goes from 0-10. Grade 0 is civilian while 10 would be fortress station levels. While Grade 0 is technically civilian, it's not super uncommon to see civs rocking Grade 1's or rarely a Grade 2.
