The lawyer takes back his datapad, stopping it from dropping to the hard marbled floor with a little huff that betrays his annoyance.

On the floor, the envelope has spilled out the property Robert bequeathed to you. It’s another one of those odd little fobs, just like the one you have hidden away under your schoolgirl skirt.

The same black plastic, the same copper circuitry, fortunately no blood and a different number… 307.

Belit mutters aloud as her fingers fumble with folder and fob. "I have absolutely no clue what you are, little doohickey, but you appear to have at least three hundred and six siblings." She raises her eyes to the lawyer's. "I don't know that I've ever seen anything like this. Should I? Know what it is, I mean. 'Cause I don't." She turns it over and over in her palm.

”We didn’t know either “ he replies, ”Most people never see them, but we happen to have an intern articling at the firm who spent some time on an inter-planetary freighter. That’s a slip tag, for a berth at the space port.”

He pauses, obviously waiting for your reaction…

Belit silently mouths the words she has just been told. Slip tag. Spaceport berth? What the actual fuck. She shakes her head incredulously. "How many spaceports are there on Akir? And how would I know which one, if so?"

Growing up in Akir, it sometimes felt like a bit of a galactic backwater. It’s mostly farmers and businesses associated with farming. And banks. And Lawyers. Plenty of vultures to prey on failed farms after a tough season.

There’s a handful of other industries and a few of the mercenaries from what came to be known as the ‘battle beyond the stars’ have hung around, but all-in-all, life here is pretty slow.

Which explains why there is only the single spaceport. There are a few smaller launch pads up in the northern continent, but the only proper space port is right here in Port Hopewell.

Belit thanks the man and excuses herself after jotting down the name of his firm. Outside the church, she digs out her vape pen and takes a strong hit to calm herself. Belit starts walking back toward the maglev station, stopping at the very first city services kiosk she can find to look up the location of the nearest public library. Once she arrives there, she makes use of one of the public computer terminals to do a little research. First, she finds and prints out a pamphlet map of the spaceport with the locations of the two berth numbers marked. Second, she tries to ascertain whether her phone can be hacked to disable the locator, so as not to be picked up within minutes by the police if she uses the damn thing. Damn it, wish I had paid more attention in electronics shop.

The vapour hits hard, which is exactly what you need to calm yourself down and come up with a plan.

What do murdering robots and your inheritance have in common? A spaceport that up until today, you never gave a second thought.

You’re not going to rest until you are sure that there isn’t a capture drone waiting around the next corner. And you’re certainly not heading to the spaceport until you can be reasonably sure that there are no security forces on your tail. It’s a short trip to the public library and a public data terminal that isn’t going to set off the colonial police alarm bells. A public terminal where you aren’t afraid to look up some shady shit…

Roll+Intelligence: 21:14, Today: GM, on behalf of Belit Ilani, rolled 11 using 2d6+1 (6,4). full success

…it’s actually as simple as getting a new user identity module and swapping your old one out. You’ll be assigned a new number and the device will be clean.  Your contact info will be different, but that’s a small price to pay and, since the privacy referendums, neither the council, the courts nor the colonial police are permitted to access personal device logs.

With a new user module, you’ll be clear of any law enforcement complications.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:32, Sat 14 Oct 2023.

Belit rests her chin on her palm and ponders what she has discovered. Where do I purchase a user identity module? And do I have enough dosh in my credit account to afford one? She pensively tugs at her lower lip with her teeth. Mart might know, and he'd keep his nose out of my business. Could even ask him to send a small tub or two of one of my 'special blends' via messenger so I have some less-traceable 'currency' to work with.

A few more keystrokes tell you all you need to learn:

To your surprise, your account balance is still sitting at 7CR. With the rent and groceries split between you and Marna and the part time work you had been doing at the Academy hydroponics urban farm, it looks like you hadn’t dipped into your savings nearly as much as you though that you had this semester. Seven credits is about half a year of rent money for a small apartment, about half the price of a new(ish) car or the price of a ticket offworld.

Getting a new UIM is actually not all that tough. In fact, the library has a vending machine that will print you a fresh one for a nominal fee. Price: inconsequential.

After a few texts with Mart using the terminal, he agrees to ship you the goods by courier drone. He just needs a place to deliver. He’s available to chat if you want to vid-call.

Belit starts the vending machine printing her new UIM and settles down to chat with Mart. "Hey, Mart. Thought I'd spend the rest of the afternoon in Port Hopewell and catch the late maglev home. I am in such a good mood, the funeral went so well. Maryanne... that's my birth mom... was happy I came, and Robert... that's my late birth dad... left me something... not a clue what it is... in his will! How goes your day? Oh, before I forget, here's the address of the library I'm at!"

Soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5W6gjAAHvo0

Great choice. I’m also a fan of This Corrosion

”The funeral went well!? You know sis, if we hadn’t spent our entire lives together, I’d think that was a strange thing to say.” he jokes, but you can tell from his voice and the look on his face that he is relieved knowing that you are doing well after such a difficult day.

”Left you something? Well, so tell. Are you a wealthy heiress?” he asks lightly, then adds in a more somber tone of voice, ”Or at least enough to pay off the bank.”

Belit spreads her hands and shrugs. "I'm every bit as mystified as you. I got there, was sitting in the back, the preacher doing what preachers do at funerals, and suddenly he says 'also survived by a daughter, Belit'." She leans toward the vid-screen and lowers her voice. "And that was when I realized... they never stopped thinking about me, never stopped loving me. They were good and decent people who just... couldn't deal with a special-needs baby. And that was when I stood and spoke up."

”You spoke?” he asks somewhat stunned. ”God and Goddess, what did you say about him? About them? With all of their friends and family there. That must have been a tough crowd.”

Sorry for the one-liner… trying to keep pacing as if it was an actual conversation.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:12, Sun 15 Oct 2023.

Belit sighs heavily. "Was all professional mourners that I saw, save for Maryanne, the preacher, and the probate guy. What family they have left all live on other worlds." She sniffles as she tears up a bit. "I said that I had been unwell as a baby, that they realized they couldn't care for me as I deserved, and loved me enough to find someone who could. It's clear that they carried around tremendous guilt about giving me up, it traumatized them more than it did me. So much so that they never had other children.

”Well I’m glad they found us and glad you came into our lives,” he replies, ”It’s pretty messed up that they carried that trauma until he died. But, totally fair if you think about it. It must have been really hard for them to make that decision, and hard for you to unpack all of this. It sounds like you really worked through some heavy shit today! That’s probably the understatement of the cycle.”

”So you gotta go see this lawyer or whatever? That what’s holding you up in Port Hopewell?”

Belit laughs self-consciously. "I kinda do, to check out the arrangements that have been made for Maryanne's long-term care." She simply says, "She's not well, and I've discovered that I care very much that the rest of her life is as pleasant as possible." She leans close to the screen again and whispers into the microphone. "What's really holding me up, though, is that I have to retrieve whatever Robert left me. It's here at the spaceport and I have something called a slip tag. Another one of those came into my possession before the funeral, but... I don't think it's wise to talk about that over a public data channel. I'll call you back when I get my phone working. If Marn is home, might wanna make it a three-way call. Mart? I... may be in trouble. Call you back soon." She disconnects before Mart can respond and goes to check the progress on her replacement UIM.

His stunned face freezes on the screen momentarily as you cut the connection and close down the public data terminal.  Tou can see that he was a little taken aback, a little hurt too. But, the cloak and dagger routine feels right somehow. Knowing that the anonymous spacer had something worth killing for leaves you confident that keeping things to yourself for now is the right play.

The UIM sits waiting for you in the machine and swapping chips proves to be very simple. You can only trust that the help files and user suggestions you found on the net are right and that switching on your phone won’t bring the colonial police down upon the library.

Belit furtively wipes down the vending machine and the data terminal, to remove or at least badly smudge her fingerprints like she has seen in vids. She then exits the library, briefly wondering whether Mart sent the courier drone already or would make her wait until she contacted him again. She did the mental math, trying to figure out how long it would need to arrive from home. She kills enough time vaping to calm herself for the package to have gotten here, based on her quick-and-dirty guestimate. Whether it does arrive or not, she takes a deep breath and powers up her smartphone. Hope all this effort has been worth it.

As you wait outside, the speedy little drone whirs to a hover before you. The little bot has an LED display that informs you of the need to scan your thumbprint to confirm receipt of the property.

For the second time in just a few short hours, you scan your biometrics and collect your stuff.  The blends your brother packed will keep you in spending money if you sell them off on a vice sharing network which will keep you from dipping into the cred you have in the bank.

If the new UIM works as described, Belit knows that Martin's and Marna's phones will not recognize hers. She sends them both email with the proper identifiers and a warning that, if they receive this from her old UIM, they will need to discover where the Port Hopewell police are holding her. She summarizes what happened earlier and explains that she will be going to the police as soon as she can, admitting that it was a very mixed-up thing to allow intuition guide her when she had just seen a murder. She begins walking toward the starport, waiting for either a callback, the police to surround her, or both. Ready to go...

The chill air is bracing against the skin of your bare legs as you walk through the city.  Nearing the place where you witnessed the spacer’s murder, this part of Port Hopewell dates back to the colonies early days when much of the building material was brought in from off world. Most of the city that surrounds the spaceport are old style geodesic domes.

As you walk, and explain the day’s events, messages begin flying into the group chat that you share with your brother and sister. Both share their doubts about what you are doing and urge you to reconsider. Advise you to go to the police now because it will only be worse if they track you down, it will look like you have something to hide.

Before the conversation ends, you find yourself under the shadow of the space port command centre. Arrayed around the central command tower are six terminals, each with a number of slips. Only terminal two is big enough to handle the big star freighters. Terminal one is dedicated to the colonial militia, leaving terminals three to six for passenger traffic and small cargo vessels.

Belit agrees to go to the police immediately. "The station at the starport is nearest to me, or should I just contact Emergency Services?" She frets somewhat. "I worry that anyone could show up claiming to be the police if I contact them. If I just show up, no one could predict at which station." She stops where she is to await her siblings' reply.

Both of your siblings text you their support, relieved that you have decided to tell the police what you know. There is naturally a station at the spaceport, one of the oldest precincts on Akir. Over the years, the detachment and the volume of spaceport operations have outpaced investment in the precinct. They have clearly outgrown their home, making the place a disorganized buzz of activity.

It is easy to get the attention of the desk sergeant. After a few questions, a constable leads you to an interview room, provides you with a cup of coffee and asks you to wait for on of the detectives to come and speak with you.

Your paper coffee cup is empty and ringed with dried brown stains by the time the detective joins you. She moves quickly, efficiently. Placing a recording unit on the table and flattening her conservative black uniform before settling in facing you. ”Good evening, I’m Detective Sanders. I’ll be conducting this interview.”

This message was deleted by the player at 01:40, Tue 17 Oct 2023.