Sifu Blackirish
SOC-14 1K
WARNING: LONG POST
I was reading a bunch of old posts, and it motivated me to give another try at a Classic Traveller character generator. I found a couple of sheets with the basic CT information and gave it a go...got frustrated, because it's hard to do programming in 10 minute blocks of time during breaks at work, so I decided to hand roll one.
His starting stats were abysmal--948767, so where else would he go but the suicidal Scouts? Tried to play by the rules, but he 'bricked' (right term?) his 2nd term survival roll. I let him slide that once, just so I could see him develop.
But he 'died' again. And again. And again...
Out of 7 terms, he rolled 2 or 3 on five of them, and a natural 7 (which I call a wound) on one. With all of those forced autosurvives, an idea bubbled to the surface of my fevered brain...
Erasmus Johnson
Retired Scout 7448C7 Age 46 7 Terms
Jack-O-Trades-7, Navigation-3, Pilot-1, Shotgun-1
Cr 110,000 Dagger Shotgun
(Exploration Services Group Depot, Tau Ceti; 2143 AD)
It was a typical group of volunteers...rowdy, raucous, full of themselves, convinced they were invincible. Someone with training in psychology might consider them clinically insane. What sort of attitude would you expect from people who wanted to become interstellar Scouts?
No one noticed the older man who walked with measured steps down the central aisle. His cane made a faint ticking sound as he made his way to a low dais and pulled his chair close. Slowly he sat down, sighed deeply and looked over his new charges. Reflections from his polarized visor sparkled in the spotlight over his chair as he silently sat, waiting for them to acknowledge his presence.
An occasional face glanced at him, then resumed conversation with their friends. When fully five minutes had passed without his presence being noted, he reached up to his throat and activated a microphone, then spoke his first words...
"SHUT UP!"
Now that got their attention! They dropped conversation like a hot brick and assumed attentive postures. Some of the more prudent activated video/voice recorders.
"I am Scout Johnson. I am your liaison during your time in orientation and initial training. If you have a problem with anyone or anything, come see me first."
He looked over the group, then shook his head as if seeing something distasteful.
"So you think you can be explorers. Ready to go out into the great unknown, find the next Eden or Valhalla, sell your scan data to a merchant house and retire to a life of leisure. Well, I was there, right at the beginning, and I can tell you a few things. First off, you will all serve your first term under an experienced guide. I wish I had that when I was your age. All I got was a six week crash course in spacecraft operations and a handful of e-books to study from when I was in G-space.
"You think space exploration is some kind of grand adventure. Reality is much different from those stories you heard from the recruiters. Space travel consists of a great deal of boredom, with occasional moments of anxiety and terror. There is one remedy for that--read! I started reading and never stopped. That's one of the things that will keep you alive. Learn something when you have the chance. Some small bit of random knowledge might save your life, people."
He paused, took a deep breath, and stood up. He walked forward until he stood directly in front of the first row of trainees.
"Who knows about the Yo-Kuska?"
Every hand went up.
"Good. You want to stay as far away from them as you can. Otherwise you may get a souvenir like this one."
He slowly reached up and pulled away his visor. A collective gasp, then stunned silence came from the assembled group. A series of lines ran down the left side of his face, one of which went directly over where his eye had been. Silver glinted from his cybereye as its duraplas lens focused on one face, then another.
"This is the result of their attempts at persuasion. They wanted me to give them a copy of all of my scan data and inform them them of new exploration zones opening up.
"I refused."
He carefully replaced his visor.
"This is a hazardous profession you have chosen for yourselves. Sometimes you may think the galaxy is actively trying to kill you. Be prepared for anything!"
Slowly he returned to his seat.
"Any questions?"
One slender female towards the back of the room raised her hand.
"Yes?"
"Some of us heard that you had a nickname, but we didn't know if it was true. Are you really called 'Lucky' by the base staff?"
A small titter of nervous laughter went through the group.
"Considering how I look, you may not think so, but it is true. Despite my many injuries, one fact is beyond dispute--I always came back. I have survived asteroid collisions, magnetic storms, nebula flares, a misjump. Also, you know about the Ainuu--"
He stopped in mid sentence. One trainee in the front row was dozing, with his head leaning against the wall. He silently walked over to the slumped figure, raised his cane high over his head, and brought it down firmly over the sleeping figure's thighs. He came awake with a yelp.
"Pay attention, boy! You want to live?"
He turned back to the now very attentive group.
"As I was saying, you know about Ainuu culture. Their canine pack mentality and armed hostility towards humans are well known. What is not generally known is that I was the one that made first contact with them. I managed to escape with this small reminder to always carry a weapon myself."
He held up his right hand. Two fingers were missing.
"I might be older now, and I have always been slow, but I am always prepared."
He reached for his holster. Expecting to see a fancy fast draw, they were surprised when he made a strange twisting motion and and released a deafening blast. Everyone ducked, then gradually regained their composure when they realized that no one had been injured.
"This is a specially designed weapon with a custom fitted grip. I do not have to remove it from the holster to fire it. I always carry it loaded, usually with one scatter round and one slug.
"Any more questions?"
None.
"Okay, let's get you into your first class. And good luck--you'll need it."
I was reading a bunch of old posts, and it motivated me to give another try at a Classic Traveller character generator. I found a couple of sheets with the basic CT information and gave it a go...got frustrated, because it's hard to do programming in 10 minute blocks of time during breaks at work, so I decided to hand roll one.
His starting stats were abysmal--948767, so where else would he go but the suicidal Scouts? Tried to play by the rules, but he 'bricked' (right term?) his 2nd term survival roll. I let him slide that once, just so I could see him develop.
But he 'died' again. And again. And again...
Out of 7 terms, he rolled 2 or 3 on five of them, and a natural 7 (which I call a wound) on one. With all of those forced autosurvives, an idea bubbled to the surface of my fevered brain...
Erasmus Johnson
Retired Scout 7448C7 Age 46 7 Terms
Jack-O-Trades-7, Navigation-3, Pilot-1, Shotgun-1
Cr 110,000 Dagger Shotgun
(Exploration Services Group Depot, Tau Ceti; 2143 AD)
It was a typical group of volunteers...rowdy, raucous, full of themselves, convinced they were invincible. Someone with training in psychology might consider them clinically insane. What sort of attitude would you expect from people who wanted to become interstellar Scouts?
No one noticed the older man who walked with measured steps down the central aisle. His cane made a faint ticking sound as he made his way to a low dais and pulled his chair close. Slowly he sat down, sighed deeply and looked over his new charges. Reflections from his polarized visor sparkled in the spotlight over his chair as he silently sat, waiting for them to acknowledge his presence.
An occasional face glanced at him, then resumed conversation with their friends. When fully five minutes had passed without his presence being noted, he reached up to his throat and activated a microphone, then spoke his first words...
"SHUT UP!"
Now that got their attention! They dropped conversation like a hot brick and assumed attentive postures. Some of the more prudent activated video/voice recorders.
"I am Scout Johnson. I am your liaison during your time in orientation and initial training. If you have a problem with anyone or anything, come see me first."
He looked over the group, then shook his head as if seeing something distasteful.
"So you think you can be explorers. Ready to go out into the great unknown, find the next Eden or Valhalla, sell your scan data to a merchant house and retire to a life of leisure. Well, I was there, right at the beginning, and I can tell you a few things. First off, you will all serve your first term under an experienced guide. I wish I had that when I was your age. All I got was a six week crash course in spacecraft operations and a handful of e-books to study from when I was in G-space.
"You think space exploration is some kind of grand adventure. Reality is much different from those stories you heard from the recruiters. Space travel consists of a great deal of boredom, with occasional moments of anxiety and terror. There is one remedy for that--read! I started reading and never stopped. That's one of the things that will keep you alive. Learn something when you have the chance. Some small bit of random knowledge might save your life, people."
He paused, took a deep breath, and stood up. He walked forward until he stood directly in front of the first row of trainees.
"Who knows about the Yo-Kuska?"
Every hand went up.
"Good. You want to stay as far away from them as you can. Otherwise you may get a souvenir like this one."
He slowly reached up and pulled away his visor. A collective gasp, then stunned silence came from the assembled group. A series of lines ran down the left side of his face, one of which went directly over where his eye had been. Silver glinted from his cybereye as its duraplas lens focused on one face, then another.
"This is the result of their attempts at persuasion. They wanted me to give them a copy of all of my scan data and inform them them of new exploration zones opening up.
"I refused."
He carefully replaced his visor.
"This is a hazardous profession you have chosen for yourselves. Sometimes you may think the galaxy is actively trying to kill you. Be prepared for anything!"
Slowly he returned to his seat.
"Any questions?"
One slender female towards the back of the room raised her hand.
"Yes?"
"Some of us heard that you had a nickname, but we didn't know if it was true. Are you really called 'Lucky' by the base staff?"
A small titter of nervous laughter went through the group.
"Considering how I look, you may not think so, but it is true. Despite my many injuries, one fact is beyond dispute--I always came back. I have survived asteroid collisions, magnetic storms, nebula flares, a misjump. Also, you know about the Ainuu--"
He stopped in mid sentence. One trainee in the front row was dozing, with his head leaning against the wall. He silently walked over to the slumped figure, raised his cane high over his head, and brought it down firmly over the sleeping figure's thighs. He came awake with a yelp.
"Pay attention, boy! You want to live?"
He turned back to the now very attentive group.
"As I was saying, you know about Ainuu culture. Their canine pack mentality and armed hostility towards humans are well known. What is not generally known is that I was the one that made first contact with them. I managed to escape with this small reminder to always carry a weapon myself."
He held up his right hand. Two fingers were missing.
"I might be older now, and I have always been slow, but I am always prepared."
He reached for his holster. Expecting to see a fancy fast draw, they were surprised when he made a strange twisting motion and and released a deafening blast. Everyone ducked, then gradually regained their composure when they realized that no one had been injured.
"This is a specially designed weapon with a custom fitted grip. I do not have to remove it from the holster to fire it. I always carry it loaded, usually with one scatter round and one slug.
"Any more questions?"
None.
"Okay, let's get you into your first class. And good luck--you'll need it."
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I like a good backstory.
