It's been a cool spring, with frequent stiff winds coming in off the coast of Constance Bay bringing light rain and thin sleet. Less than ideal for crops that struggle to grow in the fertile soils that ring the bay.

In the middle of the bay, Bakaar, the floating city is alive with energy as local communities and small businesses that have weathered the bad economy have come together in a spirit of togetherness, but it is beginning to feel a bit forced.  Conversely, tough times have hit the regional capital Port Hopewell much harder.  The city houses the souther contingent’s major spaceport and it is frequently busy managing the large number of emigrants who are leaving Akir seeking greener pastures.

Akir is not well known for heavy industry, but what little there is produce sturdy, if not cutting edge, android electronics. The market tunnels of Serrah City provide great deals and pretty much the only nightlife and live music scene in the system. It’s a fun place to hang out if can handle the narrow, low tunnels. Down in the tunnels, the instructors at the Planetary Academy are winding down for planting season break.  A few crowd sourced courses will be running this 'semester' but for the most part, the Academy will be slow until after the harvest.  Until then, the curriculum doesn't have a rigidly structured schedule, and it's pretty common for programs to pop up or wind down every few weeks. 

Across the bay, the militia base Fort Stalwart Settler is a hub of activity. fearful of aggressive neighbours, the planetary council has authorized additional call outs of reserve volunteer forces.

The sun peeks through the window shade. Amaterasu, and the people of Akir, rise early.

Half awake, you hear the stream on the satfeed. As usual, the daily crop report drones in the background, it’s the same as it has been for the past three cycles. Yields are down, prices are down, the only crop that remains profitable is coffee, but even those prices are keeping the planetary economy barely viable.

”In other news,” the reporter continues, ”Another Malmori cruiser was spotted at the outer reaches. This the third incursion of the cycle. The planetary council has sent diplomatic missions to reinforce our sovereignty to both the Empire and the UDW. Economic woes remain on the forefront of everyone’s mind, but a coalition has formed within the council seeking funding to create an automated defence system to augment the planetary militia and regional volunteer forces. An expense estimated to cost over 2,000 credits. Global referendum on the spending reforms is scheduled to occur early next week.”

”Belit,” comes a familiar voice, somewhere nearby, bringing you fully awake, ”Get out of bed, you’re going to be late if you don’t get moving.”

@Belit - you are here.

Where are you? Who is calling? What are you going to be late for?

Belit groans, rolls over, and mashes her face halfway into the pillow. "Goddess, Marn," she replies in a sardonic tone. "Do I hafta go people today?" 'People' being a verb in Belit's lexicon. I people. You people. They people. He/she peoples. "Can't I just stay in bed, do shrooms, and project hallucinations into Missus McGillicudy's prefrontal cortex?" Marna would catch all kinds of hell if anyone found out, so Belit flings back the covers, climbs out of bed, and trawls the bedroom for the nearest approximation of clean clothes. She 'reads' her foster-sister's retort and responds before Marna can speak. "Commming!" She half-climbs, half-tumbles out of the loft and pads to the kitchen where Marna has already dispensed piping-hot coffee. Belit cradles the mug in her hands, closes her eyes, and inhales before taking a drink. "Great coffee, Marn, but I'mma need to motor if I wanna be ready for that funeral."

Great start!

Marn sat silently for a long moment, you didn’t have to be psychic to know something was eating at her. Avoiding the looming conversation, she busied herself at the cooking unit, taking longer than normal and growling at the little domestic robot that was trying to help.

Finally, she let out a sigh and spoke her mind. ”I’m not even sure why you’re going. It’s not like he was anything to you. They… they gave you up, sis.” she said choking back an empathic sob. ”She’s probably going to be there you know. Are you going to speak to her?”

Belit pats Marna's shoulder in what she hopes is an approximation of the appropriate -pathy. Em- or sym- or neuro-, one of those she was fairly certain. "Hey now, he was something to me. Okay, he was just my splooge donor, but that... that's gotta count for something, right? Right?" She slumps forward, hiding her face in her mug while gesturing vaguely with one hand. "I am not even remotely sure what I could say to her. 'Hi, I'm Bae. Sorry for all the weird food cravings I gave you waaaay back when I was squatting atop your bladder for nine months like some kinda mutant prawn'."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:23, Wed 11 Oct 2023.

‘Spooge donor’ causes Marna to spit blue milk across the table as she tries to stifle a laugh. ”Gorramit Bae, be serious for once,” she says giving you a playful shove. ”Do Mom and Dad know you’re going? They’ve been so busy and stressed out dealing with the bank, I hope you didn’t tell them. They would totally freak out and get all self-doubty.  They’d be bent out of shape for the whole quarter cycle thinking they did something wrong.”

Belit rolls her eyes and pops an edible in her mouth. "Worse than when they found out I was selling, not just," she says as she crooks her fingers in the air, "'growing for personal use'? Because that would be one epic freakout." She gives Marna a harmless thwap. "Like the time I went through that whole telekinetic phase when I was eight." Belit slants her eyes to one side and grins conspiratorially. "Goddess, what a boon that would be for my burgeoning criminal enterprise."

”Real criminal genius.” she says laughing. ”You we’re still in probation when the referendum to legalize passed. Doofus.”

Glancing at her chronograph, she added, ”Better hurry up and get dressed,  I can drop you at the maglev terminal. It’s on my way anyway.”

Belit grumps and glances over to where her Academy skirt and blazer hang. "Isn't it just pathetic that my fanciest outfit is my school uniform?" She crosses the room and dons skirt, blazer, blouse, and most of the traditional Academy accessories. The chonky shitkickers are all Belit, though. "Thank Goddess these are self-cleaning. Imagine smelling of patchouli and pot when you arrive at a stranger's funeral," she says as she tugs on the appropriate tabs. She brushes her hair, fixes her scarf and lapels, and takes one last glance at herself with her smartphone. "Baby, I'm ready to go."

---

Soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JgffRW1fKDk
This message was last edited by the player at 08:50, Thu 12 Oct 2023.

”Passable.” your sister says giving you a once over. ”But swap your school blazer for mine. Plain gray blends in better than academy burgundy”

You hop into the passenger seat of the micro-compact and Marna pulls out into the grid, letting the automatic nav system take over while she preens in the mirror. It’s a short drive to the maglev terminal where you can catch a bullet train to Port Hopewell.  ”Call if you need to talk, ok?” she says supportively as you get out of the car. ”And behave yourself!”

The automated turnstile accepts your student pass and lets you out into the platform. The wait is bearable and before long you are on a maglev hurtling around the bay, seated next to a Tlaxian who chitters proudly about its brood.

You are fortunate enough to have caught an express and the train makes up for lost time. You arrive at the Port Hopewell terminal with some time to kill before the funeral.

What do you do with time in your hands?

Belit finds herself a cafe with outdoor seating along one of the less busy boulevards, where she can drink coffee, watch the pretty girls, and vape in the poised way she knew people found chic. Getting others to do what she wanted had always come easily to her, though how much was due to her talents and how much to a certain moral flexibility she couldn't say. The day was already somber enough without dwelling on the state of her soul, if even she had one. Puff. Sip. Admire. Meditations on the little pleasures. Puff. Sip. Admire. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Yes...mmm.

Outdoor cafes rarely let you down, but the weather today puts a literal damper on your plans for people watching. Normally the city would be on the cusp of summer dress weather, but most of the pretty young things are still wearing heavy sweaters to keep out the chill.

Watching the street from under a heat lamp, you see few figures moving out in the morning drizzle. A company man here, a professional looking woman there. Then an unlikely pair catch your eye.

Seeking shelter from the drizzle in the awning under the entrance to a transparent geodesic dome, one of the colony’s first buildings, prefab and brought from offworld, you spot a man wearing a spacer vest arguing with a scratched and pockmarked droid that has seen better days.

It’s too far to hear, but the man’s emotions are powerful enough to hit you, even across the distance of the street. He is really pissed about something…

Belit likes heavy sweaters and breathy girls, so the inclement weather actually suits her. She does make the cafe staff come out and serve her, but she is just demanding enough to hint that there is a big tip in it for them if they cater to her. The pair across the way intrigue Belit, so she opens a window in her psychic shields just enough to attempt what her pirate side likes to think of as 'a boarding action'. She queues up an ancient Earther tune on her smartphone, takes a big hit from her vape, and closes her eyes as she probes the boundaries of the spacer's noosphere. What has you so upset, Mister Man? Tell Bae what's wrong, hm?

---

Soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GpBFOJ3R0M4
This message was last edited by the player at 08:56, Thu 12 Oct 2023.

You reach out, across the drizzle in the street to touch the spacer’s mind…

Scanner 18:03, Today: GM, on behalf of Belit Ilani, rolled 11 using 2d6+1 ((6,4)). full success

…he is troubled that the ‘droid has betrayed him…

…they are friends… no, not friends, business partners…

…why is it asking about that anyway… it should already know that it is safely stored on the ship’s computers…

…he realizes that someone has gotten to the machine… reprogrammed it…

Vapor wreathes Belit's head as she exhales and opens her eyes a fraction. Yes... safely stored, she projects, reinforcing the man's convictions over and over as she carefully manipulates him. Safe. Yes, safe. It's safe. Over and over. Safe. Safe. Over and over. Safe. Stroking his thoughts like she would a lover's special places, coaxing him toward giving her what she wants: the revelation of his secret. Her gaze locks on him from beneath her eyelashes. She takes a long draw on her vape pen. The music in her ears, the vapor in her mouth, and the smolder of her psychic seduction each contribute to her own excitement. She parts her lips, exhales sensually. This is it, she thinks. Money shot. Give it to me.

As you concentrate, working toward understanding what the spacer has hidden, what the hijacked droid is looking for, a heavy cargo transport blocks you view. As it passes by, inching down the city street, blocking your view, you feel the spacer’s mind suddenly reeling. As it moves away, you see the droid retracting a long needle from its wrist. The spacer stumbles, catches himself, then falls against the structure, using it to prop himself up.

Fear. The spacer feels fear, sadness, regret.

All thoughts of what is stored in the ship’s computer are gone.

Have you touched the mind of a dying man before? How does it make you feel?

The droid looks as if it is about to grab the spacer, but a passing colonial police drone seems to make it think otherwise. Without looking up, the droid hastily walks away from the scene of its crime, unnoticed by the drone, leaving the spacer staggered in the shallow alcove, his breathing labored and shallow.

Belit gasps as she feels whatever substance... Poison? Nanites?... the droid injected sink its claws into the spacer. Grandma was different, dying of natural causes. Soft. Warm. Familiar. The spacer's dying is the opposite. Hard. Cold. Strange. She knows if she stays too long his psyche might latch onto her like someone drowning, but she can't resist. Even as her thumb keys the emergency services code into her smartphone, she telekinetically caresses the dying man's neck and projects to him in a small 'voice', ~Hang on, mister. Hang on. Help is on the way.~ She can't help her morbid curiosity, a hushed but insistent voice in his head. ~Why? Why did he kill you? What was worth your life?~

---

Soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DBNLXZ6UusI
This message was last edited by the player at 09:45, Thu 12 Oct 2023.

You hold the connection, forging ahead into the unknown…

Scanner 19:26, Today: GM, on behalf of Belit Ilani, rolled 8 using 2d6+1 ((4,3)). partial success

…map…

…star map…

…Lambda zone…

A star map. Saved in the computer of the spacer’s vessel is a star map. It must lead to something in the Lambda Zone. More than that, it’s a map that leads to something worth killing for.

As you let the connection fade, you sit up with a jolt.

…come closer…

The mind of the dying man beckons you to show yourself. To come to him. You know the time for aid has slipped away  in the seconds since the poison took effect. Yet he calls to you anyway.

Belit attempts to psychically keep her distance, wary of being sucked into the man's dying need to her own death, but she rises to her feet and crosses the boulevard to the alcove where he is. Emergency Services knows my phone made the call, and I'mma bet their computer is hella less secure than this guy's. I may be seriously up Schitt's Creek. Her back to the alcove so no one surprises her, she kneels beside him and takes his hand. "I'm here," she tells him aloud, her noetic self withdrawn to the very edge of his. She realizes that she is crying when she tells him, "I'mma stay until..." Her voice cracks a little. "I'mma stay. You stay too, okay?"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:32, Thu 12 Oct 2023.

He can’t speak. He makes a gurgling sound, the poison causing foaming at the mouth while his breath comes in short, sharp huffs. You know he won’t stay, despite your plea.

He holds onto your hand, blindly reacting to your touch. You’re not even certain he gets that you are there, but he responds and grasps your hands in his. There is a sticky wetness that follows the pressure. His right hand, covered in blood, his thumb freshly severed leaving a wound that bleeds profusely.

Coughing, he presses something into your palm. Hard, smooth, sharp edged. You can’t yet see it, it stays held between his hands as the light in his eyes fades.  His body shudders and he is gone…

…vengeance…

His last thought hammers into your mind. Driving deep. After the shock, you feel it sitting with the weight of a singularity in the back of your psyche. Whispering black hate. Vengeance.

Take the condition compelled. To clear the condition you must avenge the spacer; not now, but some day, you must make that droid pay.

Belit surreptitiously pockets the object as the dead man's hands go slack, but retains her hold on the hand she clasped. She rests her chin against her chest as she reels her noetic self back in from the yawning gulf that was his mind, his self. Having seen his entire life as it flashed before their mutual mind's eye, Belit realizes knows... knew... the man more intimately than had he been her lover. "Vengeance," she whispers to the corpse beside her. Still holding his hand, she allows the tears to flow until someone arrives and can relieve her in her vigil.

There is a sound in the distance. A siren. The colonial police.

There is a sound nearby. An alarm. Your phone reminding you to leave for the funeral.

You have only seconds to get away unnoticed, or stay and spend hours being questioned by constables.