"Forget the former things; do not dwell upon the past. See, I am doing a new thing! See, it springs up; do you not perceive it?" - Isaiah 43:18-19
New Hope Spaceport, Early January ‘01
Simon Makavan pushed the food around his plate in a desultory manner. He stabbed something that might have been a chunk of root vegetable with his fork before it could get away, sniffed it, then wrestled it into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
His stomach complained queasily at the quality. He told it sternly that this was what they could afford now, so it had better get used to it.
Looking out through the window, he could see the Snakebite Inn’s illuminated sign; an improbably jolly-looking serpent, salivating over a burger which looked considerably better than the Chef’s Special he was eating. He could see the sign because it drooped at a dangerous angle, which in a more upmarket part of town would have drawn some sort of inspector to remonstrate with Billy the Snake, who Makavan supposed had been nicknamed after the sign. He did not know Billy’s surname; for all Makavan knew, he might not have one, and if he did, he would probably charge you extra to use it.
The windows rattled in the hot, dry air as something lifted off from a spaceport pad, and in walked trouble.
She had long, raven-black hair; a thin, intelligent face; and two metres of muscles and bulging armpit which she had very sensibly delegated to someone else. Makavan could imagine a harassed major-domo saying to her “Madam, if you must venture into those less than salubrious quarters, at least take one of the Household with you. I know just the fellow...”
The pair of them walked up to the bar and spoke briefly to Billy, who pointed at Makavan; then walked over to his table.
She moved like old money; he knew that kind of movement, because he could still move like that himself when it was useful, which it generally wasn’t in this part of town, and his family had all moved like that until politics intervened. He instinctively sat up straighter and put on his old manners and a patrician accent. If a pretty woman with money wanted to talk to him, well, he had nothing better to do, and it would take his mind off lunch. He expected it wouldn’t taste any worse cold.
“Captain Makavan?”
“That’s me,” he agreed, shifting the register of his speech from Not Rich Enough To Be Worth Robbing to Old Money, “But please – call me Simon. Do I know you? One of last year’s balls, perhaps?” He didn’t know her – he was sure he would have remembered that face and walk – but she looked like the type who went to a lot of balls in the season, and they were crowded enough that it was plausible.
“I don’t think so,” she frowned, “I’m Yelena Ribeiro, and this is my associate Mr Guzman.” Makavan had learned by now to sit with his back to a wall, and the door and window meant Guzman couldn’t, so he focused on scanning the bar inside and out for threats and being uncomfortably exposed.
“Delighted to meet you, Ms. Ribeiro,” he said, and meant it. “How may I help you?”
“I’m hoping to book passage to Thalweg,” she explained. “None of the regular lines seem to go there, but I understand you might.”
“Wherever profitable business takes me,” he agreed, hoping that would convey that he could, but it would be expensive. “But why Thalweg? It’s on the border with Xeog space, and we’re not exactly on good terms.”
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss that,” she said, primly. “But I think I can make the trip worthwhile for you.”
“You should know that my ship is somewhat less than luxurious,” he said. This was true; the Egregore was a second-hand mail packet which had already seen better days when it was sold as Hegemony war surplus twenty years ago. “Certainly not up to the standards a Ribeiro would expect. My family allows me to indulge my adventurous foibles,” not least because they were all dead or in prison awaiting trial, where he would no doubt join them once the wrangling over his extradition was resolved, “But there is a limit to the funding I can draw on.” A limit he had, in fact, exceeded some time ago.
Makavan was not overly concerned by that; his debtors’ desire to be repaid was one of the main reasons his political enemies hadn’t yet managed his extradition. Thalweg was interesting as it promised not only revenue, but a chance to move further away from those enemies.
“Well,” Ms Ribeiro said, “In that case, perhaps we can help each other. When can we leave?”
Makavan considered who he might have to talk into doing what, and how long it would take.
“Tomorrow morning,” he said. “I’ll comm you once I have a launch slot.” And after a brief pause: “The Port Authority might contact you to confirm funding.” Ribeiro raised an elegant eyebrow. “It’s, ah, an anticorruption measure,” Makavan got out. “They want to be sure I have a charter from someone... respectable. Which I don’t doubt that you are for a second.”
Not that he would have minded if she weren’t; ethics are soluble in sufficient poverty, especially when garnished with a pretty face.
GM Notes
To kick off the campaign, as we’re starting planetside, I’ve used GM fiat to force a Job Offer (5150 NLMV p. 44), Hauling Passengers (p. 42) to a xeog world in Ring 4, because it sounds like it will be interesting. That means we get two Contact in Space encounters on the way to delivery. Who are the passengers? Working through pages 28, 44 and 45 tells me Ribeiro is a Rep 4 Mover (although p. 45 suggests she is more likely employed by one), and Guzman a Rep 4 Mercenary; Ribeiro will be a handy contact later. Conveniently, p. 12 lists six types of Mover, and the dice say she is an Office Holder. Hmm, food for thought. The pay for the job will be 7 Increasing Rep Dice; at some point soon I need to work out how Rep Dice interact with Wealth, but I already know how Rep interacts with SWADE character generation, more of that later.
"and two metres of muscles and bulging armpit which she had very sensibly delegated to someone else." and "ethics are soluble in sufficient poverty" - it's for pulp lines like these that I return to your blog. Nice work.
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