Posted: Sun Feb 19, 2017 11:40 am
To the abandoned 'vator.
Welcome to the Gaming Den.
http://www.tgdmb.com/phpBB3/
Finding your way at speed is a Pentacles test, although you can proceed slow and steady if you prefer.The elderly passenger waves and wishes you luck as you go your separate ways.
"Wonder weapon," says one of the officers in answer to your question, as you start making your way towards Emergency Steering. "They keep talking about those, right? "
"Don't be romantic," says the other. "I'll bet it's nothing more than gasoline. Probably the plan is to drop some barrels into the ocean, make a floating resupply for U-boats."
"I'll take romantic over idiotic," the first one shoots back.
You leaf through the files as you walk, and identify your companions as Joseph Arnstein (engineer) and Johann Lehmann (co-pilot) respectively.
Notes indicate that both have been considered suspect by the Gestapo for years, but have been protected by the influence of Von Zeppelin himself.
Your trip aft takes you through the crew quarters, a narrow gangway lined with stacks of recessed bunks, miserably close living conditions. Once you reach the other end, you must stow the files to take a ladder up into the network of catwalks that run between the gas-bags. The billowing walls and swaying footing are extremely vertiginous, but much less disorienting than the sensations you started the day with. Still, it makes it difficult to keep your map-vision straight.
You stand before Sweet Pea's 'vator, everyone breathing hard from the run. Technically 'everyone-except-Dog,' who stopped to answer his cell and never caught up. Thin squad it is.
Sweet Pea stabs the call button with a finger, and as he does so, his wrist emerges from his Ripper-jacket sleeve and you see that his wrist bears a fluorescent tattoo very like your own. The 'vator pings that the car has arrived, but then makes the electronic fart of an error message.
"To contain an ongoing situation," it says in soothing-grating MomVoice™, "this elevator is for official use only until further notice."
"Rude!" says Sweet Pea. "Hey, can either of you sidestep this thing?" Slicer grimaces and starts going through his pockets with an air of desperation.
If you have no other ideas, you can try a Pentacles challenge.A quick burst from the rifle propels you free, although the landing is a little rough. Picking yourself up, you proceed, alone but for your ship's computer, which seems to wait juuust long enough between each reminder that you think it might have stopped.
*Complete the mission.*
The journey through the empty echoing corridors is nerve-wracking. Every stray sound of aging metal or scuttling vermin makes you start, expecting attack. But none comes. Passage and vent, chamber and bulkhead, there is no sign of further aliens. Could they have all been at the attack on the servos? The Ripper wastes a lot of energy on anxiety.
Finally, you reach an obstacle; a massive set of double doors that do not open at your approach. Predictably, this is a chokepoint with no alternate paths. To reach the bridge, the Ripper must get through somehow.
*Complete the mission.*
"What? Of course we know you," says Lehmann. He pauses as a bulging gas-bag covers his face before receding again. "You're the guy having a joke with us, right?"
"Also, that's not how amnesia works," says Arnstein, "except in the radio soap operas. Look, if you think this is beyond your job description and just want someone else to lead the way, you can say so. I mean, we're deferring to you because you had seniority, but ordinary was a long time ago."
You can see the door to the emergency steering station ahead. Wisps of shockingly frigid air are starting to become more common as you approach the outer edges of the envelope, away from the insulation of the interior. The door handle has some kind of device attached to it, about a foot square, matte black and chrome silver, all dials and switches.
"I'm open to suggestions, bar," says Sweet Pea, trying to pry the doors open with a bit of debris from the litter-strewn street. A fork. At least it's metal.
"I got nothing," says Slicer, giving up on his pockets with an elaborate arm-length shrug. "Like, fig nothing. I know how to get around, but not who I am. The face on my identicard is a stranger." He passes a hand over his eyes. "I think I need meds."
"Seriously, if you got any better ideas, maybe share before Slice goes completely linear," says Sweet Pea.
You lock your artificial fingers into the seam, and override the safety limits of your actuators.
*Bad idea,* says your ship computer, which is unusually judgey for it.
Your arms strain until their whine goes ragged. The doors move fractionally, but then hold fast. Maybe a monoblade could get through, but not the Ripper.
*M-E-M-O-R-Y F-A-I-L-U-R-E,* whines the computer, which you really should upgrade (or replace) next time you have some spare credits.
It's plain that whatever hydraulics or other system manages this security door is beyond the brute force at your disposal. As you stand back, defeated, the doors shift back to fully closed. Then, to the left, a panel lights up: it has a concatenated radial keypad and some kind of slot.
*Complete the mission.*
Trying to resolve the memory is a Cups challenge, but you can not do that and just let it pass."No, or at least I don't think so," says Arnstein, pulling the punch-card out of his coveralls. "I think it's related to that device." He comes to look at the thing with you. It appears to be a particularly elaborate padlock on the door, with a ridiculously thick shackle that must have been custom-installed.
"Whatever we plan to do," says Lehmann, "I think it's plain that getting in here will give us more information, and perhaps leverage."
Arnstein compares the card and the lock closely, then grunts, "I think – yes." He twiddles with a few of the controls, and the lock pops open. "After you, senior officer," says Arnstein, with a magnanimous gesture towards the now-unlocked door.
You get a sensation of lightening, like the ship has begun to descend. No one else seems to notice.
You squeeze the handle to release the latch and finally see the inside of the steering station. It is a marvel of efficient design, with almost all the instruments and controls of the main bridge compacted into this tiny space, yet all perfectly usable. One place is clearly for the navigator, with all the appurtenances that are as familiar to you as your name is not.
A wave of light-headedness, or perhaps a throb of mindfulness, rocks through your thoughts. It is like a powerful memory, one you had forgotten you had forgotten, demanding to be recalled.
You can try to ignore the sensation and proceed with another activity, or try to engage it somehow with a Cups challenge.The passcard fits neatly into the panel slot, and the security door slides open with disturbing speed. Through the door, you find that the grav-field is malfunctioning again. The attraction to the ground grows less and less as you follow your path until you are floating and using your cyber-arms to pull yourself along handholds in the wall.
The final door to the bridge opens as you approach it, releasing a chime that harmonizes with a similar chime emitted by your passcard. The ship's voice announces something with a series of hisses and pops that you suppose must be the native alien language (or a corrupted audio file). Within is a chamber enormous by most starship standards, but fairly modest compared to the great holds you have passed through elsewhere on the ship. Ancient consoles line the walls and rise out of the floor, and you see a few things, half-eaten and overturned, that might once have been furniture – or might have served some more alien purpose.
*Complete the mission,* says your computer, again, right before something ripples across your thoughts, almost causing you to lose your grip on the wall. It comes again, and you twitch involuntarily at its touch. Some sort of radiation? Telepathy? Perhaps something stranger?
I don't think you're allowed to voluntarily discard cards, but it's moot because your hand and trace are forcibly discarded here. The re-draws are 7 of Wands, 5 of Swords, Ace of Cups, King of Pentacles, and Page of Swords. The Ace is discarded and replaced with the 5 of Wands, and reveals a Major Arcana: The Empress.Your examination results in a moment of profound vertigo. You cannot tell if you are standing dizzy, or toppling over.
"You okay there?" someone asks. "We're pretty close to the rad-zone, but you shouldn't be feeling it here."
You are wearing a dusty blue jumpsuit and standing in some sort of long-unused control room; an elevated one to judge from the horizon. It is late twilight, but through the windows a pale green crescent moon is plainly visible, and a single large bright polychromatic star not far from it. There is a tinny rattle, and you turn to see that there are two others here. One wears a badge of some strange metal that reads: 'New Seattle, Sheriff.' The other is the source of the rattle, searching through the dust and debris of the control room floor. Both wear similar jumpsuits to your own and carry crude long arms of some sort.
"Nobody lives here, bar, that's why they call it an abandoned zone.' Sweet Pea pokes at the 'vator with something, and the doors swish open suddenly.
"Welcome, deputy – chief-of-staff – McClusky," says the MomVoice™.
"Let's hear it for hacked identicards," says Sweet Pea. 'Shame I probs can't use it again."
Slicer instantly steps into the 'vator, either restless or resolute, and you join him, Sweet Pea behind you. The 'vator whips away, and the acceleration makes you feel slightly nauseous. At least, you hope it's the acceleration and not some bad Snot™.
When the doors swish open again, it's on the dark and greasy corridors of a service/utility level. The emptiness is creepy, but also convenient, and you make your run to your chosen sector without interference. Whatever intuition or other sense drew your attention here was accurate; you round a corner and see the Sisters' farm!
Carrots! Peppers! Sweet corn on the cob! Rows and rows of flavorful, textured, vitamin-filled foods. Culinary pleasure and, to those raised on Snot™ and soda, an irresistable currency. All there... on the other side of a fine-mesh Securigrill™.
Slicer checks a map. "Bad news, bars. Detouring around this thing is probably going to take longer than we've got. And I don't think I can slice through."
"What about that?" Sweet Pea points out a small building, tight up against the Securigrill™ but on your side. "Maybe that's something."
They both look at you. "You've been bullseye so far, what's your say?"
The sensation recedes as you seek it out, then returns with stunning force, and your head twitches backward involuntarily; you feel it strike something.
Your hand and trace are discarded. You draw the 8 of Swords, the 6 of Wands, the Ace of Wands, the Page of Pentacles, and the 5 of Pentacles. The Ace is discarded and replaced with the 2 of Cups, and reveals a Major Arcana: The Star.You are standing in a vast chamber, which feels subterranean, deep deep down. The walls are covered ceiling-to-floor in elaborate glyphs, and lined with towering inhuman statues: huge-eyed mouthless things, their bodies concealed by long robes. You (and two other people) are standing here gaping at the sight, dressed in sandy overalls and carrying trowels. You feel your pockets bulging with unknown objects.
Thaluikhain:Your pockets contain some old optical disks, some sort of hand-drawn map, a sheath knife, a gas mask, and a pistol.
Looking around the control room, you instantly spot where your station... had been? The instruments and dials there seem as familiar as before. Perhaps more so.
The Sheriff blinks at you. "Those are some weird questions, and I'm not even certain where I am."
Maneuvering in this way is a Cups challenge.The building is some sort of pumping station, all valves and wheels and the sound of rushing water. The wet air inside smells like the fountain plazas in an old French town, and the rain on a big city at night, and the side of a hill after the flood. You hear your bars talking but they seem very far away.
You can feel the change coming, as you've felt it before. In that moment, between recognition and transition, you sense a chance to maneuver, rather than simply be tossed on the wind.
Your pockets contain a plaque of unknown metal, depicting odd humanlike figures; a foot-long figurine that matches one of the large statues, a rubbing of some strange diagram, goggles, and a Science Academy graduation ring. Inside the band of the ring is etched the word: Truth.
One of the others seems to be too astonished by your surroundings to hear your question, but the other looks at you. 'Did I say something? What's happened?'