Hi Alex,

Thank you for a great write-up for this adventure it has made my days a bit brighter.

Tom Rux

> On 07/21/2020 8:53 AM Alex Goodwin <xxxxxx@multitel.com.au> wrote:
>
>
> "You can't prove that I'm the captain in a court of law" - El Capitane
> "We can - your name's on the ship's articles" - Badass-Moustache
> "Well... crap." - El Capitane
>
> Landing on Prometheus was routine, and the paperwork from Grand
> Walkabout could no longer be put off.
>
> El Capitane promptly got on with mucking that up.
>
> Nikki had, much earlier during the "annual maintenance" run when they'd
> put down, jimmied the bridge data recorders to leave out annoying
> evidence of crimes committed on Gashidda, etc.
>
> The passengers they'd gone out to pick up from Gashidda were apparently
> mislabelled as "refrigerated tractor parts".
>
> I'd clean forgotten Drake was also a degree-qualified biologist.
>
> "Of _course_ the briefcase is legit, apart from its origin.  You can't
> move a briefcase _except_ on a ship." - El Capitane (referring to the
> briefcase of precious metals they'd received in return for Bert's 3.5
> dton of "enhanced" pharmaceuticals that apparently were going to be
> palmed off at Gashidda Naval Downport).
>
> Nikki wandered off to spec trade the valuable metals, (1176k base),
> comes back with a bank draft for 825k.  (Both Easy Frag and Herr Sweep
> have said they enjoy the trading, wheeling and dealing side of things).
>
> El Capitane joked that Nikki was suffering from haggling withdrawal.
>
> "_Now_ you can afford to pay your docking fees." - Me
>
> With that oh-so-subtle reminder, they paid two weeks' of docking fees
> and purchased 80 tons of fuel, which Nikki duly loaded.
>
> "Well bugger me, the ordinary fuel lines still work.  I thought they had
> corroded in the past year." - Badass-Moustache
>
> Between the fuel, life support supplies, docking fees and spare-part
> restocking, 250k of purchases made a dent in their ready funds.
>
> "_Prioritise_.  You can high-pressure your ass clean.  Doesn't work so
> well for propelling the ship." - EL Capitane
>
> This sparked Nikki swinging out again in wheeler-dealer mode, scoring a
> dton of whitegoods & fittings to refit staterooms, common areas,
> captain's office and drug lab for 40k.
>
> After that was all installed, El Captaine authorised a week of
> off-the-boat shore leave at ship's expense, based out of the Risky Dingo
> Brothel and Bar.  Making whoopee, blackjack, hookers, etc was not only
> authorised - it was specifically _encouraged_.
>
> Everyone pulled through the week-long Mandatory Fun ok, except for Rosa
> - her low END and crap roll meant she had a _miserable_ time.
>
> During the week, Badass-Moustache got himself uninvited from the local
> casino, a half hour before Bert lobbed in and blew 50k of his own cash
> in roughly a minute - he was bored.
>
> The week of Mandatory Fun was apparently 75k well spent, according to El
> Capitane.
>
> "Why'd you refit the dunnies?" - Bert
> "Afraid of running out of bog roll - again." - El Capitane (the players
> were also sardonically referencing the First and Second Great Australian
> Bog Roll Panics of 2020)
>
> After a recovery day, the Boatload Of Lunatics departed for Terra.
>
> "Does anyone know where my extra C4 went?" - Bert
> "Depends, where did you keep it beforehand?" - Drake
>
> "Gentlemen, it is a _plot_ device." - Me
> "Plot devices are easily disarmed, as we have like 4 kilos of C4 still."
> - Herr Sweep
>
> 6 days later, the Paradise emerged from Jump on approach to _very_ busy
> Terran space - especially around the highports.
>
> Bert decided to threaten Rosa with sedation.  Drake decided to threaten
> Bert with gun.
>
> "You do it - I'm holding a gun and discussing medicine" - El Capitane
> threatening Bert
>
> Badass-Moustache got on blower to Phoenix Orbital to request docking
> clearance.  Was told to sit tight and wait for pilot cutter to come
> alongside.
>
> "Captain to medbay, hide the drugs... and the C4." - El Capitane
> "Anything you want me to do with the guinea pigs back here?" - Bert
> "Nah, we got paperwork for them." - El Capitane
>
> They spent a total of 20 hours waiting for their slot to advance far
> enough to get them a pilot.
>
> "I can escape a prison.  I can't escape death!" - EC
>
> "WTF happened with that other hour?  What the hell's in my coffee? 
> BERT!" - EC
>
> Drake amused himself walking around with magboots on the walls + ceiling
> of cargo bay.  This backfired somewhat when he ended up hanging by one
> boot, having overcooked the splits.
>
> Rosa barely passed her "make-pilot-cutter-docking-easy" roll, then the
> cutter came alongside, requesting permission to dock and come aboard.
>
> First Mate Moustache gave permission, and sent Nikki to meet the pilots.
>
> "We only got one chair" - Nikki
>
> Lobbing from the pilot cutter were two junior TCN officers.  The first
> (and their actual pilot) is a certain Sublieutenant Collinson, and along
> for the ride is Ensign Rupert.  The cutter undocked while they headed
> bridgewards.
>
> "Kid barely looks 22.  Poor sod." - Badass-Moustache
>
> The junior presumed-rupert was spun out by how the bridge had been
> customised.  "Collision" Collinson rolled with it, asking (in a quiet
> voice) exactly how close Rupert Rupert wanted to come to a charge of
> conduct prejudicial.
>
> Badass-Moustache reflected that Collinson, for all his faults of
> ultimately coming from the Royal Navy, had the imperturbability almost
> down pat.  After satisfying himself that the specialists were in place
> and he had a solid picture of the traffic flow, he first asked Drake's
> permission to get underway, then, permission received, threw a Moustache
> at the blower and started guiding Rosa in.
>
> Touchdown came as a surprise to most people on the bridge.  After shore
> power was applied, Collinson handed back over to El Capitane, collected
> his junior, and made to debark.
>
> In response to Badass-Moustache's quiet query as they headed to the main
> hatch, he found out that Collinson Sr had been a colour sergeant and,
> wonder of wonders, Collinson Jr had paid attention, which apparently
> justified the lack of adult supervision - two ruperts running loose in
> public can turn out quite the nightmare for the poor sod behind the
> "Officer Commanding" nameplate.  His opinion of Collinson's line went
> up.  For further reference, in the British Army.  His opinion of
> Collinson's line went straight back down.  None of them had the good
> sense to join the Royal Marines.
>
> Post-debark, Drake continued his luck with paperwork - flubbing the next
> admin roll by 1.
>    
> Words along the lines of "TROUSER THE LOT OF 'EM, MILLENNIUM HAND AND
> SHRIMP!" were uttered, and Drake collected the crew for real grub,
> cooked by _someone else_, without the distraction of Mandatory Fun.
>
> Bert dug up a public map of the port, and they ended up lobbing at a
> joint with the following sign outside:
>
> https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/612927701258469378/734725727877857340/unknown.png
>
> (No, the image isn't mine.  It's from GT: Starports)
>
> Burgers with the works all around + sides of chips were Drake's shout,
> but everyone had to pay for their own plonk.
>
> While waiting for dinner to arrive, Badass-Moustache tried ringing
> Derryn - ended up leaving a terse, cryptic message.
>
> They took the time to unwind, eat, drink, and enjoy Brubek's.  Not sure
> if anyone reflected on the irony of recreating the mythical
> pre-starflight neighbourhood joint on Terra approx 36,000 km up from
> said rock.
>
> As they were in no rush, they took a scenic route back to the Paradise's
> berth.
>
> There, they found the berth had been locked down, with port security
> people posted.
>
> Turns out, after Drake rang the bank and worked through the run-around,
> three fifths of one half had actually landed on the mortgage in the 12
> months since departure.  1.3 million solars were outstanding.
>
> Drake found somewhere he could deposit the remaining 475k of that bank
> draft onto the mortgage - that apparently quieted enough of the bank's
> concerns to let the crew access their ship tomorrow, according to a
> phone call an hour later.
>
> They needed somewhere to kip tonight, so Drake and Rosa went down market
> to a youth hostel - they figured their combined old-fartness would keep
> the kiddies away.
>
> Badass-Moustache asked if anyone else wanted to kip in comfort. 
> Receiving a unanimous "yes", he led the remaining crew into the FTA
> lounge and asks the concierge there if they could arrange a night's
> lodging - he wasn't really surprised when the concierge identified him
> on sight.
>
> Concierge took 40 min to chase up 5 rooms - 4 singles, 1 double.  500
> solars - includes dinner, bed, breakfast.
>
> Moustache tried ringing Derryn again after dinner, but still got no answer.
>
> Everyone kipped in their chosen digs.
>
> Dodgie rang back during breakfast.  Badass-Moustache, with help from his
> fellow diners, told now-Commodore Dodgie the story of Milford's Run. 
> One bottle of Scotch later, a slightly-sozzled Dodgie bets
> Badass-Moustache that the latter's intention to retire will last 18
> months.  After the others sod off, Dodgie says that two ... specialist
> ... gentlemen will be along for the refrigerated tractor parts probably
> day after tomorrow.
>
> The berth was unlocked at roughly 2pm station time. El Capitane and
> Nikki board and start catching up on the planetoid of paperwork that had
> become outstanding since they jumped outbound from UN space the year
> before - that took them two weeks just to scratch the surface, get the
> ship's paperwork up to date, and scratch the surface of what else came
> up during Milford's Run.  Multiple habitable planets, one rogue gas
> dwarf, claims thereon and thereto, masses of survey data, etc.  Nikki
> rocked a 15 out on her Admin roll to help El Capitane, who netted out a
> respectable 10 with the assist.
>
> The .. specialist .. gentlemen lob 2 days later and take delivery of the
> refrigerated tractor parts (ie, the four dissidents extracted from the
> Ziru Sirka) - the PC's Proper Prior Planning paid off and got them
> through customs without notable issue.  About half an hour after
> delivery, Drake's handcomp pings an alert that another 400k has landed
> on the mortgage.
>
> A day later, Drake digs out a bank error in its favour - Dodgie et al
> had made the payment of 400k upfront, but for whatever reason it hadn't
> been applied to the mortgage.  That brought the mortgage up to date to
> the bank's satisifaction, so they withdrew their lien.
>
> Badass-Moustache cashed one of his FTA-issued high passage vouchers,
> topped it up with 500 solars of his own, and paid the two weeks' docking
> fees.
>
> Eddles proposed Badass-Moustache retire from active adventuring and take
> over doing the near-literal planetoid of paperwork outstanding.
>
> This quickly morphed to suggestion of a shore office as well, breaking
> out as follows:
> Moustache Ltd - Shore office, holding company, paperwork handling.
> Butchers Paradise plc - Company actually owning ship.
>
> And that, much to my surprise, signalled the natural and logical end of
> Parental Advisory: Vector Thrust.  (Words I doubted I would ever
> actually type in a session writeup).
>
> Herr Collinson, when organic gameplay hands you such a giftwrapped
> opportunity to transition a character like this, GRAB IT WITH BOTH HANDS.
>
> I'm not sure if the continuing PCs (Drake, Nikki, Bert) will end up with
> Badass-Moustache as a Contact or Ally.
>
> --
>  
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