MrSkimobile

DELTΔ HYPER (An F1 Drive to Survive inspired Anti-Gravity, Slice of Life, Cyberpunkish/Solarpunkish RP)

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Mare Australe, Luna
Formula Anti-Gravity Lunar Grand Prix
Sunday 21-May-2094, 1700 LCT
Race Day

Soundtrack: Guillaume David - Lost Signal (IXION OST)

The countdown reached green, engines flared up all around, and the G-forces went from negligible to crushing in less than a second. Kais raced against the unrelenting pressure of the track as much as the others, and when Harrison and Jamie flashed past them, both of them, Kais couldn't help but curse. Small beadlets of sweat travelled across his face, every fibre in his his core contracted as he pushed his ship with his mind as if it were a whip, but it was all to no avail. During qualy, he was able to push so much, his handling so much more refined, carried by the muscle memory that came with their so many simulations. But now, in the chaos of other racers around him, he was reminded of just how alien the handling was. The lack of significant airflow around the ship made racing, despite the hum of the pulse drive and mag-array, and the mental beeping of the distance sensors, an experience that was almost

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Eerily silent the Al-Saqr/Supercat event had become, despite the fall of Layla and Kais out of the top-3, despite Kofi's pushing into the top-10. A high-fidelity scale replica of the racetrack had been holo-projected on the sports stadium's field, and on it, in sync with the action, racing ships were projected speeding around. Well, most of them... The main screens of the stadium flickered across the various delta-hyper and pilot streams, two of which had now turned to an ominous blue 'Lost Signal' screen. Nadia's face went pale.

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[ Red Flag --- !!! --- Red Flag --- !!! --- Red Flag --- !!! --- Red Flag --- !!! --- Red Flag --- !!! --- Red Flag --- !!! --- Red Flag ]

The beeping had turned to the full-on blare of a high-prio alert, the virtual safety ship turned an intense red, and Kais groaned when his ship suddenly dropped with a hefty magnetic pull, the track's AI and mag strip's safety systems tightly gripping his ship, almost dragging him back towards the pits by force.

"Kais, you reading me?" his race engineer's voice came over the comms laced by static. In the distance on his rear-view sensors, gray dust plumes settled down at a ghostly pace, speckled with reflections of light.

"Zeina, status! What's going on, why are we being recalled?"

"Massive crash, Kelly and Villarosa..." Her voice tinged with worry. "You might want to look away on this one."

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Kais made his way to the Al-Saqr quarters after his own debriefing and check-up. The biometrics sensors recognized him as he approached and the door slid open. Then it closed and locked again, and their quarantine went in effect. Layla looked up from her hands, her eyes ringed by strain, and she stood up.

"Kais, hey. I promise you, whatever it was, that wasn’t me. That wasn’t even a thought in my head. I… please, please tell me you believe me. I beg you. Kais, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want this.”

Layla's voice shuddered as she floated into him. Desperate. He steered her away resolutely, his gaze distant as he went to reach for his bag. "You didn't know last time either, Layla." he said, the only emotion to his voice being control. Scrolling through his own holo-tablet to view the reports, Layla's voice broke into a panic.

"This might be a home race....but I would never. Never. Is this what it comes to? This....thing? I have to ask myself that question? Sorry, Kais. I'm so sorry. We were meant to do better, then that.....I don't understand it. The strategy was to deploy at the end, not the start. So I suppose I'm to blame for that too. I cost you with that."

"Compose yourself!" Kais just about barked the order at her as the situation started to get the better of her before he realized: this must've been her first time. Then, with a bit more measure to his voice. "We'll deal with this."

"I... It's just... How do I even fix this? I don't know what to..." Her eyes wandered over the room, scrambling for anything, any straws to grasp, and then settled on her teammate who, for someone usually so hot under the collar, seemed so unusually coolheaded. And at a time like this, no less. "A--Aren't you worried?"

"If it really was an accident, we can brush it off as a systems glitch. Then it'd likely be disqualification at worst. If it had nothing to do with us, we're lucky. If it was someone else..." And Kais thought, we'll deal with that too, then. "We'll have to wait and see what the inspections say."

"I was talking about Ava and Nora!" Her voice cracked.

"Danger comes with the sport. Better to stay ahead of that." Yes, it was as clear-cut as that.

"How can you say that? At a time like this?"

"There's a time for everyone where your number comes up." Yes, no other way about it.

And Layla fell dumbstruck for a few seconds. "This is how you deal with this?" And she sat down as she whispered "This is insane..."

"It's the only way." Yes, it's just how it is.

"Kais, I need your help here."

"It's the only way, Layla..." But, somewhere in his mind, he knew it wasn't entirely true: it was just the only way he knew.

Then Kais sat down, and waited for the end of it all.

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Medical Center, Some time post-quarantine

Kais stood at the room at the medical center, his eyes steeling themselves on the door. He had briefly traded words with some of the other pilots he had come across, and at the reception he had gotten a status update from the head nurse. He took a deep breath as if before a plunge, tapped the touch-pad in the door's center, and the door slid open.

"Ya khabar..." escaped Kais' lips as he entered the medical room, hit by the sight that laid out before him. He had hoped he would've been more used to it. He could just about hear her snark something back at him. Except Nora didn't. Not this time. It was strange seeing her drained of all her usual attitude, to see the punk replaced by hospital gown. Now she was just a bundle of bandages and blankets, catheters and scanner patches, skin and bones... or just over half of it. Delicate, in the purest sense, and he got why Layla had been so hesitant, scared, and in the end had asked for him to go alone.

The sight only took a moment for his jaw to clench, eyes to tighten. Old behavior patterns made him walk his way over to Nora's left, where Kais wrapped his fingers around her wrist, though perhaps with a softer touch than one would've anticipated. The pauses between the ba-dumps were shockingly longer than he expected. Yet, her skin felt temperate to the touch, her heartbeat came through clear and steady, and was in sync with her breathing, even despite the sedation. "Good..." signs, he nodded as he let her go. It was apparently to the bots' contentment, as they went back to their original positions - he hadn't even heard them come up to him over his own ba-dumps ringing in his ears, now finally settling down.

Then Kais put down the small container he had with him on her nightstand. He understood it was a customary thing in her part of the world to bring such a gift to the hospital bed.

"So, turns out they've got some hydroponic gardens for research here. Layla pulled us some strings, dragged me around the complex. Swiped you a little something."

In the improvised vase was a flowering plant that was, admittedly, mostly stalk, and a rather tall one in this lunar gravity at that, with a fan of green leaves at the bottom. But at its top there was a crown of white petals.

"It probably won't do too well in earth gravity, if it even gets through customs, but there you go: thale cress. I first thought it was a weed, to be honest, but I tried to pick the nicest one. It's damn hardy, so I think you'll like it. It was either that or potatoes."

Nora didn't answer.

"Get well soon, Nora. See you on the track."

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A view on Earth, A little later

The earth outside the viewport was in waning gibbous.

Kais walked up to the bench where Layla had been seated since his visit to Nora. She paid no heed to the view outside. "FIAR just came out with a preliminary report." Her voice was shaky. She had been frantically scrolling through every bit of news that flashed up on her holo-tablet for the last few days now. "Shielding failure on the track." Her caramel skin looked so pale in its light, so tired. "Nothing to indicate the other ships had anything to do with it. Nothing about..." And her eyes ever so briefly flashed to Kais. You know...

Kais sat down next to Layla, and let out a sigh of relief. "One less thing to worry about."

"How is she?" Layla's voice was tight, and Kais knew that despite the news on the official channels, she wanted, most of all, to hear it from him.

"Induced coma. Damaged spine. Right-side unilaterally amputated. She's..." And he paused to think, how to...

"She'll get better, Layla."

And Layla's composure collapsed. Kais had seen her come close to literally breaking down from overheating close to a dozen times now, but never quite like this. Through all her digital filters and mechanical safeties, Layla trembled against his shoulder. Every last microgram of adrenaline she had bravely held back, now dumped into her system all at once. Her eyes blinked uncontrollably, though no tears would come to flow from her prosthetics. Her chest heaved in ragged sobs as her lungs, one of the only few biological systems she still had, frantically sought to cycle themselves with breath. And for the first time in a very long time, she held someone's hand, unafraid to hurt them. And for the first time in a very long time, Kais let her.

After a while, the release slowed down. "I get it, Layla." Kais said as he felt the relief and calm return to his teammate. "Why you do the things you do. Why you're pushing yourself so hard. It must've been harrowing going through what you went through. Then to see others go through it too. I get it. I myself have seen more than I would have, if it'd been up to me. But..." And Kais paused. Layla had put her body and mind on the line. Anything to push the limits. To win, reach new heights, or to risk it so others wouldn't have to? "But it wasn't all up to me. And neither was everything you went through up to you. And neither was this. The world's not safe, not really, not even with all our advancements. Even if we decided we'd want to, we can't control everything... no matter how hard we might try." And though Layla may not have agreed completely, she knew there was a story hidden behind every word.

"But I think you underestimate one thing, Layla." Kais continued. "People are strong. We can overcome." And he thought of Ava and Nora. Then he nodded at the viewport. "Look..." And Layla, finally, looked up and out onto the view on Earth. But Kais saw something else, something much closer, right there in the glass' reflection.

"We may be a bunch of idiots, fighting and bickering, going around in circles, scrambling for anything to keep us going, to find our way." Kais hesitated. He never was very good at this, but... "But we are still going, and that's not nothing." Kais nodded. And Layla nodded with him, the smallest hint of a smile coming over her face. "And you know what? We're going to keep going. And we're going to find our way, too." He took a breath. "Forget all the flashy tech, the big ideals... if there's anything you can be proud of, it'd be that, I think." The world outside simply kept on spinning. "That's what I believe, you know, what makes us..." He fell silent. And then, the smallest squeeze on his hand. "...human."

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The way back to Earth proved to be more busy than a moment for introspection. The lunar lockdown had flown by faster than they thought, with all the flight prep and remote meetings with back-home they had to contend with: from Layla's parents, to Nadia, to the various teams checking in and reporting on their own progress, to many, many calls with team principal Omar, to Nadia again. And when they finally returned, Kais' adjustment to Earth's gravity did take some time. Layla had less trouble with it, having simply adjusted a few parameters on her system. Despite the truly awful crash, the world marched on, and soon enough, things returned to business as usual, more or less. And so...

Weeks later...

Aurora's question came as a surprise. The interview had gone smoothly enough up till now. But then they had to ask, and for quite a few seconds after the punch, all that the camera would've picked up was breathing. Breathing. Shifting to sit forward. Searching for the right words...

"What was your reaction to the crash?"

"Look... Everyone gets theirs at some point or another, Aurora. Shit happens. Throw of the die. Best to be ready for it when it happens. But they'll bounce back, Ava and Nora. They got that feel about them, you know? And I'm..." What was the right word? "...thankful to get to race with them again." The usual awkward pause. "That's all."

Soundtrack: DI-RECT - Soldier On

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Scum and Villainy [Firefly/Cowboy Bebop/Star Wars Inspired, Forged in the Dark]

[edit: ignore, too little time, but have fun! ☺️]

Age of Broken Shackles(Soft Sci NRP)

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Asteroid Base Maza-Colnya
Sector Gama-Yellow
A few weeks ago

Outside of the shielded transpari-steel dome, asteroids floated with a deceptive serenity. It wasn't visible to the naked eye at this distance, but five fleets of heavily-armed battleships patrolled the far, far-off distance in a spherical shell around the base.

The Five sector bosses of the Golden Sun were seated around a round table. Not because they felt themselves equal, far from it, but rather because that way they could keep an eye on each other better. Slugg Pa writhed its body, shaped very much like what earned its species its name, and a psychic message was sent to outside their lavish room. Fast enough, dumbwaiter droids came in to take their orders. Duuk Dremal, the Vrunak warlord snapped his draconic cyber-claws and asked for four shots of their strongest firespiced liquors, impatiently clawing at the table with one of his fingers. Then he raised a performative skål towards each of his rivals, and downed them all one after the other, before leaning back into his chair, and continuing clawing obscenities into the table. Merav-Yla, the once-planetary princess mirrored the black-dressed spy-mistress known only as Shade opposite her, and waved the droids away - contrary to the Vrunak, they didn't have auto-poison filters in their guts. Au Rodan the hologram never took anything except for lag-time before his answers. And Pa, as usual, ordered a small fishbowl-like container with a creature that looked suspiciously like a Vrunak tadpole. Then he reached down with its psychic antennae, and promptly drained it of its mental faculty.

Duuk Dremal looked upon the spectacle with disgust, then kicked off the meeting with a frustration in his gravelly voice that even the Vrunak-to-Galactic Human Basic translator managed to pick up. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get to it, then."

"Calmth," Pa vibed, and the Five felt a sensation like a pressure blanket coming down on their impatience, "the tides are favorable," and thus passed the turn to speak on to Rodan, who proceeded to give a brief update on their joint mining and mercantile cartel in infuriating detail. Several minutes and holo-graphs later, and the conclusion was simple: "This interbellum is very profitable, indeed. Many are looking to rebuild or cleanup. And our networks are of great service."

With that, Pa turned to the spy-mistress in her elegant all-black dress. "So then what news do you bring, Shade? Why did you call our meeting early, and with such urgency?"

The lady in black closed her eyes, and turned nonreactive for a few seconds. One would almost think she hadn't heard the question. But her fellow sector bosses knew better. She heard everything. Lines of encrypted text scrolled across her sternly closed eyelids, information locked away deep inside her brain's cybernetics that she queried only when absolutely necessary - everything to keep her secrets. Her lips fluttered ever so slightly as she subvocalized its decryption in real time. Then she opened her eyes, leaned forward, tented her fingers, and spoke without ever letting her eyes meet any of their gazes.

"Sector Alpa-Red surrounding Tar Yrra is in motion." Shade said plainly. "The probes sent into its rimward region have been rendered inoperative by destructive force. From the few transmissions we got back from them, all we know is that the Cyber-people are awake, and are amassing a great force there. A force not suited for peacetime."

"So the Supremites are gearing up for war..." Duuk Dremal said. "How much intel and influence do we have along their rimward systems?"

"Little," Shade continued, "the systems there are notoriously self-reliant due to a richness in resources. Save for the occasional trade, we have little leverage there."

"We might have soon more substantial, then," Pa said as his fringe shuddered in revelry at the thought of war coming to their systems. War was good for business, after all.

And Duuk Dremal nodded in agreement. Then he turned to face the lady next to him that was dressed in opulence, who chimed every time she moved from her precious metal jewellery, but who had not yet spoken a single word. "Speaking of leverage, what of your... internal troubles, Yla?" Duuk asked, with a mischievous glint in his optical array. Once-Princess Merav-Yla had worked her way up to a syndicate sector boss in record time compared to the others, just a single decade. And with her people's belief and loyalty behind her, no less. But now there were rumours of a rebellion within her ranks. With the wish to return to their older way of life, the one from before their planet found itself in the path of a stray relativistic killshot during the last Reclamation War. And rebellions were a nuisance.

"My people are well taken care of," Merav-Yla responded with a regal grace that may have fooled the others, but not Duuk. He smiled at her being very deliberate in not using the word 'placated'. "Of course. But, if I may offer some advice, from the longest sitting member of this Family to its youngest: gather up these miscontents of yours, and send them to patrol this Supremite warpath," Duuk sat up. "Tell them it is a... expeditionary diplomatic mission. To scout out a new opportunity for settling, or a people to join." Duuk's voice softened, as if talking to himself. "And then, when disaster strikes again, then they will come to understand why we live as we do." The world was ruthless out here. The history of his own people-in-exile flashed into his mind, driven off by the Augustans, and Duuk ground his jaw in barely-contained anger and hate. Yes, there was only one way to climb to the top here. "I will send along some of my mercenaries as an escort." Not his best, of course. But still, he decided, it might be better to keep the princess on his side for now.

And so, the Five continued for a while. As was customary, more small talk and barbs were traded, and they tried to gather some more information on each others' business, get on each others' good side, or bad side, or at least feigned as much. But the real business of importance had been concluded, in lines that were as throwaway as the lives they would be sending off in some weeks time. One more round of drinks followed, then each went back to their protection fleet, and hundreds of bluish-white lightstreaks briefly illuminated the asteroid base as their FTL drives shot them back to their home sectors.

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Repurposed Guardship New Hope
Sector Deltha-Yellow
Some weeks later...

Some weeks later, in a different fleet, a different system, and in a very different credit-range, Rasan Do Csina stood in the employment line of the Pauper Ship laughably named New Hope. It had been one of the older vessels of their fleet, one of the Old Guard-ships, from before their motherplanet's destruction. And to be fair, for a while it did serve valiantly as one of their people's hopeful crown jewels. But now it seemed not a single week went by without there being something major that had to be duct taped together, again. Rasan was sure the ship had a future. Just not for him.

So, into the employment line he went. The smell of neurospice was strong here. Around him, holo-ads blared the perks of their respective vacancies, but he had no interest in most of them. No, there was only one that caught his eye: "Join the Expedition: Explore New Worlds! Learn Valuable Skills! Be a Part of Something Greater! Join the Expedition..."

"Rasan Do Csina, call me Rasan," he told the recruiter when he reached the end of the line and scanning drones whirred around him to take some medical scans. The recruiter said nothing as he looked upon the scans, but didn't send him away as quickly as he did with others, so that was a good sign. "Spelling of Csina?" "Doesn't matter." And it was true: the family wouldn't care what he did with their name, just that he'd send them back some credits. "Skills?" "Farmer. Or we used to be, back home." "Any fighting?" "A bar brawl here and there. Why, expecting trouble?" "In this day and age? It'd be foolish not to. And our Princess only wants the best for her people, and that includes safety. Bar brawls you say? I'll put you down as 'trainable.'" "When will I hear back from you?" "Why? Want to get going so quickly?" And Rasan smiled with more than a hint of sourness as he looked around him. "In this day and age? It'd be foolish not to..." The recruiter paused for a second, tapped some buttons, then faced Rasan and nodded. "Approved. Proceed to transport ID:34-75Δ with destination expedition ship Pendant-12. Good luck, Rasan."

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Summary

The Five sector bosses of the Golden Sun Syndicate discuss business, including rumours of the Supremites gearing up for war, and how they might use this to gain influence and profits in the affected star systems. Later, in one of the Pauper Fleets, Rasan Do Csina is drafted into an expedition which, unbeknownst to him, will be sent out to scout along the Supremite warpath under pretense of exploring and envoying for settlement locations.

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Blackguards!

Hey Red, hope all is well. If you need anything from us, do let us know.

Age of Broken Shackles(Soft Sci NRP)

The Golden Sun Syndicate

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Or, on a pile throughout Sable, a Credit-Chip in Its Splendor Or and Argent.

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Mood music: Wilbert Roget II & Jesse Harlin - Nar Shaddaa, The Playground (SW:TOR OST)

Names: The Golden Sun, The Consortium, The Syndicate, The Gold Cartels, Reavers, Junkers, Trash Kings

Map Location: The GS is a mostly mobile people flanking the major powers along Tar Yrra's FTL-highways (the map's yellow sectors).

Government Type: Mafia State. The Golden Sun is a Consortium of vagrant fleets ruled by a Syndicate of cartels and oligarchs. Shady deals, bribes, lawfare, and some tactical application of violence every now and again, serve to maintain order. Its five sector bosses, simply known as 'The Five', meet sporadically to settle disputes and coordinate operations. Though infighting between them is common enough, they do keep a united front towards the outside world for their own protection and profit. The Five (listed by their sectors, from left to right on the map) are:

• Pa: one of the two non-humans of the Five, this 'Slugg' is valued highly for his far-reaching trade connections.
• Shade: the fearsome spymistress of whom nobody knows her true name or history.
• Au Rodan: a paranoid who attends meetings only by hologram, but is tolerated due to his well-managed salvaging business.
• Merav-Yla: once-princess of a destroyed planet, she has practically appropriated an entire sector for her people.
• Duuk Dremal: also known as 'Ironfist', this cyborg Vrunak warlord is The Five's longest sitting member due to his, well, iron fisted rule.

Demographics (approximate):

• Ethnic Composition:
  
  • 65% Baseline-humans / near-humans (i.e. evolved to exotic environments)
  • 30% Xeno-species (a wide variety of non-humans, but mostly Vrunak(-Nek) and some Sluggs (see info-box below))
  • 5% Digital Intelligences (droids and systems at various degrees of specialization and autonomy)
• Social Composition:
  
  • 70% Drifters: Remnants, refugees and outcasts from other civilizations. Drifters usually get by having some private enterprise, through bartering, by vagranting between ships and stations to do odd jobs and labour, or through conscriptions into salvage, smuggling, mercenary, privateering, or blockade- and hazardspace-running crews.
  • 20% Guilders: Those who have joined to work for a Guild-Cartel. Their income is more stable, and they tend to stay at one station for longer periods of time, doing shore-work or on remote postings, but at the cost of becoming more involved with the (more or less) underhanded elements of the Syndicate. Most well-known of these are the Mining and Merchant Guilds.
  • 10% 'Borgs / 'Tekkers: A subculture within the Syndicate of extensive (and expensive) cyber- and biotech augmentation. These are often highly sought after for various high-tech work, for example when it comes to hazardous environments, mechanics and digital systems, and mercenary work at the most extreme.
  • 1% The Inner Syndicate: The 1% elite and ruling class, made up of the wealthiest and most ruthless individuals in the Syndicate and their inner circle. The Five are at the head of these.

Sluggs

Sluggs are a relatively rare, self-centered species which saw opportunity in establishing connections with the Syndicate. Their bodies are run through with their equivalent of brain matter, capable of communicating and controlling their technology through psychic connections. Their psychic ability stems from their evolution on their swamp planet, where they used it to detect hidden dangers and communicate with each other. From youth on they develop extensive psychological mechanisms that allow them to hide or cover-up information and intentions, which protects them against similar psychics. They guard the location of their homeworld almost religiously, and though they are looked upon with distrust, their psychic abilities make them a powerful ally within the Syndicate when it comes to inter-species communication (read: lie detection, interrogation, and hypnotic suggestion). Due to this (and a fair share of nepotism), they are often found in the Syndicate's mid-to-higher ranks.

They do not have a 'proper' or preferred inter-species-name, as their psychic name cannot simply be transmitted between species upon first contact, and often defaults to the concept which they most remind the connectee of. In humanity's case this happened to be simply 'Slug'. The name stuck. Alternative names used within the Syndicate are 'Damn Slug', 'Alien Slug', or 'Alien Scum' (though this, confusingly, is also the name the Sluggs tend to use for other species).

Military (representative, non-exhaustive):

• Mercenary Buccaneers: The Syndicate relies on mercenary networks instead of an organized military, and hit-and-run tactics and ambush boarding operations more so than full-frontal warfare. Crews range from the Dread Corsairs (boarding, shock troops) and Blackstars (heavy armor, pilots) to the Ghosts of Axura (stealth, recon) and the Maco Blue-Masks (psychological warfare).
• Scavenged Vessels / 'Uglies': the images of the Syndicate that will come to mind for most people are its fleets of roaming 'Uglies', kitbashed ships made from salvage, tributes and bargain buys. Being the public face of the Syndicate, most are designed and done up with various holographics to attract customers for their pleasurables and bazaars of goods and services, more so than for outright piracy.
• Cutlass IRD Ships / 'Cutters': sturdy craft originally mass-produced for 'Intercept - Reconnaisance - Defense', but are also often equipped with plasma cutters and tow-harpoons (and unique paintjobs) for mining and salvage.
• Mod-barge: Most of the Syndicate's ships are made to be modular in some way. The Mod-barges are the pinnacle of that, capable of being configured into carriers, refineries, weapons platforms, or transports depending on their containerized attachments. Because of this, they may not be as specialized as vessels of the great powers, but they are cheap and numerous, and thus easily replaceable.
• Ripperships / 'Rippers': Salvage and mining ships usually crewed by conscripted drifters, equipped with magnetic grapplers, plasma cutters, and boarding craft. Some of these are commandeered by fully independent A.I. which have willingly aligned themselves with the Syndicate for salvage and trade rights (also affectionately known as 'Mechavores').
• Disruptor Cruisers: Ships armed with massive electron beams, designed to overload and disable enemy ships' electrical systems to make them easy pickings, or to create an opportunity to escape.
• AT-UM's: rugged All-Terrain 'Ugly' vehicles that have been repurposed in various ways, from mobile base units, to temporary starports and refueling stations, mining rigs or troop transports. UM thus definitely stands for 'Utility Mech', and not for 'Ugly M**********r')
• FTL-Towable Base Stations: Though there are permanent Syndicate bases and settlements, their arguably most important hubs of action are pack-up-and-go asteroid bases and orbital platforms which are FTL-towable and often strategically positioned near war-torn zones or along the more dangerous trade routes for easy access and interception.
• Interdictors: Rare, specialized ships that are basically massive antennae with only one function: to try and force oncoming ships out of FTL by creating noisy turbulences in FTL-spacetime that trick navi-computers into emergency-braking. Due to their high energy demands, they can only fire short bursts before recharging. Usually deployed for fleet protection, shakedowns and ambushes.
• Staryachts: The most luxurious fabrications belonging to the Syndicate are these Staryachts, often used by VIP and their organizing members, and equipped to the teeth with the most high-grade defenses.
• Cybeasts: predators genetically un-lifted from a (previously) intelligent (possibly Daxini) species. They are often found in animal fighting arenas, but are sometimes also cybernetically augmented and used as remotely mind-controlled guard- and war-dogs.
• Info-drones: These probe-drones are often disguised as asteroids and scattered whenever a fleet goes through an area to scan planetary systems, and intercept or jam communications. With these, the Syndicate has developed an intelligence, communications, and subterfuge network that might well rival those of more major players.

History: The Golden Sun, or as they are also known: the Consortium, has a patchwork history, having amalgamated over the centuries from peoples hit by disastrous developments along their star systems, ranging from battles between great civilizations, entire star empires falling, and even hyper-trade lanes collapsing. Like many, the Consortium had humble origins with the Great Fall of Tar Yrra, but every Reclamation War since has added more to their ranks, growing into a civilization of its own. Pirate gangs and organized crime families quickly rose to the top to shape its governing Syndicate, and though most of the Consortium's population (and clientele) gets by well enough without much trouble, things gets shadier the more one rises in rank and profits, and loyalty and betrayal become a matter of life and death. The Syndicate is ruthless in its survival ethos, and never quite stops roaming (for to stay still is to become vulnerable and invite further disaster), and skirts the edges of conflict zones to profiteer off of all sides, engaging in trade and services that may otherwise be frowned upon in their client civilizations, as well as protection racketeering, mining and salvaging in post-battle and hazardous environments (using shell companies that make up most of their 'legal' services), info brokering, bounty-hunting, and -sometimes, with a special price tag to match- special ops. To the Syndicate, Tar Yrra represents a payday of mythic proportions - an actual Treasure Planet - and they are very eager to get in on the action.

^{Flag image made with: Flag-Creator | Header font: The Godfather Font, by randombell, on 1001Fonts}

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Roleplay Summary

[1]: The Five sector bosses of the Golden Sun Syndicate discuss business, including rumours of the Supremites gearing up for war, and how they might use this to gain influence and profits in the affected star systems. Some weeks later, in one of the Pauper Fleets, Rasan Do Csina is drafted into an expedition which, unbeknownst to him, will be sent out to scout along the Supremite warpath under pretense of exploring and envoying for settlement locations.

DELTΔ HYPER (An F1 Drive to Survive inspired Anti-Gravity, Slice of Life, Cyberpunkish/Solarpunkish RP)

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The Sofa on the Moon

"Indeed, we're a long way from home! And what would you say about your overall mood at Luna? Lot of rumours abound that there's some extremely exciting developments in Pilot Modifications that Al-Saqr has undertaken over the last five months- how has that felt for you and Layla?"

"Hmm," Kais nodded, "we have had some sync issues with the ship. Last few races were a big headache because of it, yes. But the team have fixed the issue, and the sims and practice runs felt... seamless, so," and he shrugged, "even here," and he looked around, and took a breath, as if to emphasize how utterly insignificantly thin the atmosphere was, separated only by the thin transparent alu-ceramic pane that was his helmet visor, "we'll show the world how far we can go."

The ensuing qualification went well, and Layla and Kais saw their efforts in practice pay off. The speed was somewhat slower and more careful than on Earth, especially during the more dangerous jumping sections, but Layla and Kais looked like they could push their crafts a bit more than most, and eventually came in 2nd and 3rd respectively.

"Kais, an excellent 3rd place, and it seems like both you and Layla are really thriving here in Luna. Do you think you can close the gap to Silver Apex and Southern Cross here, and still show the team has the ability to challenge for the Constructors?"

"We have been practicing a lot for this race, and the improved sync controller seems to have paid off. It helps that Layla and I are... made, for hazardous environments, more or less. Things are in our favor." Kais nodded, "We'll catch up to them."

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Garage L-Ball Court, Mare Australe Complex, Luna

"You ready to lose to me again, Zenix?" Layla taunted as she floated down the garage, having scored another point for her and her small team of what few engineers she had been allowed to take to Luna. Kais hadn't really thought too much about it, but with more-or-less permanent residences on the moon, of course other sports besides racing would have eventually found their way here. So too had basketball. It had been one of the first sports that had been adapted, to the point that it was generally referred to as lunar or low-G basketball, colloquially 'L-ball', or so Layla had convinced him. The garage, once used for one of the larger mining rovers, had high enough ceilings for it to make sense trying out a bout. And it was slow. The low gravity made the pace deliberate, but it did allow for interesting and elaborate team-based maneuvers almost reminiscent of dance performances.

"Just don't feel like showing off in some kid's game when we should be prepping for the race coming up." Kais said, stepping off of the holographic field lines they had set up. Why did he let her talk him into these things?

"Uh-huh. Just give it another try, I'm sure you'll like it, just have to get the hang of it -it's very tactical. Or are you scared you're going to mess up the airflow systems again?" Layla replied, referring back to one of Kais' sponsorship vids they shot back in the spaceplane ride (for some reason, all of their sponsors wanted something from them during this race in particular). And that - his first attempt at trying the newest Nomad Nutrition product in microgravity - hadn't gone over too smoothly. Their claims of 'anytime, anywhere' could've used some more low-g-suitable product development, or so Kais coped. Still, their endorsement vid was dropped on the extranet faster than Kais could veto it, and the likes-counter now showed that he and Layla had been seen frantically chasing mocha-flavored droplets of long-shelflife high-caloric nutri-paste by thousands of people too many already.

And so, with that comment, the challenge was definitely on. Kais bobbed and weaved with precision, passing the engineers with ease, so far so good. Then he attempted to dunk the holographic ball through the hoop. A big leap and...! "Oop, too hard!" Layla called after him as he overshot, trying to right himself in mid-air. But without the training auto-adjusters they had back at Hamad, his attempts turned out to be less-than-ideally useful. His instincts had kicked in a bit too hard, and the low lunar gravity had turned his absolute power jump into an inevitable, and rather ungraceful, collision-course with the opposite... well, ceiling.

A small-scale rescue operation ensued, and having finally descended back down, Kais had fast donned his mighty scowl again, and threw the holo-ball at Layla's face where it blipped out of existence.

"Listen. What happens on Luna stays there, you copy?"

---

Kais Zenix @ASZenix:
[Holo-picture in embarrassing detail of Kais stuck in the rafters wearing the latest Jackals&Co. sports-shirt]
"I've decided lunar basketball isn't for me. Like and share to have a shot at winning this shirt."
#Jackals&Co #Like&Share #L-Ball #AlSaqrRacing #DeltaHyper #FormulaAG
👍🏽😆 RadNad and 8,239 others

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Age of Broken Shackles(Soft Sci NRP)

A draft of my civ idea, for your consideration.

The Golden Sun Syndicate

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Or, on a pile throughout Sable, a Credit-Chip in Its Splendor Or and Argent.

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Mood music: Wilbert Roget II & Jesse Harlin - Nar Shaddaa, The Playground (SW:TOR OST)

Names: The Golden Sun, The Consortium, The Syndicate, The Gold Cartels, The Cartels, Reavers, Junkers, Trash Kings

Map Location: The Syndicate is a mostly mobile people flanking the major powers along Tar Yrra's FTL-highways (the map's yellow sectors).

Government Type: Mafia State. The Golden Sun is a Consortium of vagrant fleets ruled by a Syndicate of cartels and oligarchs. Shady deals, bribes, lawfare, and some tactical application of violence every now and again, serve to maintain order. Its five sector bosses, simply known as 'The Five', meet sporadically to settle disputes and coordinate operations. Though infighting between them is common enough, they do keep a united front towards the outside world for their own protection and profit. The Five (listed by their sectors, from left to right on the map) are:

• Pa!: one of the two non-humans of the Five, this 'Slugg' is valued highly for his far-reaching trade connections.
• Shade: the fearsome spymistress of whom nobody knows her true name or history.
• Au Rodan: a paranoid who attends meetings only by hologram, but is tolerated due to his well-managed salvaging business.
• Merav-Yla: once-princess of a destroyed planet, she has practically appropriated an entire sector for her people.
• Duuk Dremal: also known as 'Ironfist', this cyborg Vrunak warlord is The Five's longest sitting member due to his, well, iron fisted rule.

Demographics (approximate):

• Ethnic Composition:
  
  • 65% Baseline-humans / near-humans (i.e. evolved to exotic environments)
  • 30% Xeno-species (a wide variety of non-humans, but mostly Vrunak(-Nek) and some Sluggs (see info-box below))
  • 5% Digital Intelligences (droids and systems at various degrees of specialization and autonomy)
• Social Composition:
  
  • 70% Drifters: Remnants, refugees and outcasts from other civilizations. Drifters usually get by having some private enterprise, through bartering, by vagranting between ships and stations to do odd jobs and labour, or through conscriptions into salvage, smuggling, mercenary and privateering, or blockade- and hazardspace-running crews.
  • 20% Guilders: Those who have joined to work for a Guild-Cartel. Their income is more stable, and they tend to stay at one station for longer periods of time, doing shore-work or on remote postings, but at the cost of becoming more involved with the (more or less) underhanded elements of the Syndicate. Most well-known of these are the Mining and Merchant Guilds.
  • 10% 'Borgs / 'Tekkers: A subculture within the Syndicate of extensive cyber- and biotech augmentation. These are often highly sought after for various high-tech work, for example when it comes to hazardous environments, mechanics and digital systems, and mercenary work at the most extreme.
  • 1% The Inner Syndicate: The 1% elite and ruling class, made up of the wealthiest and most ruthless individuals in the Syndicate and their inner circle. The Five are at the head of these.

Sluggs

Sluggs are a relatively rare, self-centered species which saw opportunity in establishing connections with the Syndicate. Their bodies are run through with their equivalent of brain matter, capable of communicating and controlling their technology through psychic connections. Their psychic ability stems from their evolution on their swamp planet, where they used it to detect hidden dangers and communicate with each other. From youth on they develop extensive psychological mechanisms that allow them to hide or cover-up information and intentions, which protects them against similar psychics. They guard the location of their homeworld almost religiously, and though they are looked upon with distrust, their psychic abilities make them a powerful ally within the Syndicate when it comes to inter-species communication (read: lie detection, interrogation, and suggestion). Due to this (and a fair share of nepotism), they are often found in the Syndicate's mid-to-higher ranks.

They do not have a 'proper' or preferred inter-species-name, as their psychic name cannot simply be transmitted between species upon first contact, and often defaults to the concept which they most remind the connectee of. In humanity's case this happened to be simply 'Slug'. The name stuck. Alternative names used within the Syndicate are 'Damn Slug', 'Alien Slug', or 'Alien Scum' (though this, confusingly, is also the name the Sluggs tend to use for other species).

Military (representative, non-exhaustive):

• Mercenary Buccaneers: The Syndicate relies on mercenary networks instead of an organized military, and hit-and-run tactics and boarding operations more so than full-frontal warfare. Crews range from the Dread Corsairs (boarding, shock troops) and Blackstars (heavy armor, pilots) to the Ghosts of Axura (stealth, recon) and the Maco Blue-Masks (psychological warfare).
• Scavenged Vessels / 'Uglies': the images of the Syndicate that will come to mind for most people are its fleets of roaming 'Uglies', kitbashed ships made from salvage and bargain purchases. Being the public face of the Syndicate, most are designed and done up with various holographics to attract customers for their pleasurables and bazaars of goods and services, more so than for outright piracy.
• Cutlass IRD Ships / 'Cutters': sturdy craft originally mass-produced for 'Intercept - Reconnaisance - Defense', but are also often equipped with plasma cutters and tow-harpoons (and unique paintjobs) for mining and salvage.
• Mod-barge: Most of the Syndicate's ships are made to be modular in some way. The Mod-barges are the pinnacle of that, capable of being configured into carriers, refineries, weapons platforms, or transports depending on their containerized attachments. Because of this, they may not be as specialized as vessels of the great powers, but they are cheap and numerous, and thus easily replaceable.
• Ripperships / 'Rippers': Salvage and mining ships usually crewed by conscripted drifters, equipped with magnetic grapples, plasma torches, and boarding pods. Some of these are commandeered by fully independent A.I. which have willingly aligned themselves with the Syndicate for salvage and trade rights (also affectionately known as 'Mechavores').
• Disruptor Cruisers: Ships armed with massive electron beams, designed to overload and disable enemy ships' electrical systems to make them easy pickings, or to create an opportunity to escape.
• AT-UM's: rugged All-Terrain 'Ugly' vehicles that have been repurposed in various ways, from mobile base units, to temporary starports and refueling stations, mining rigs or troop transports. UM thus definitely stands for 'Utility Mech', and not for 'Ugly M**********r')
• FTL-Towable Base Stations: Though there are permanent Syndicate bases and settlements, their arguably most important hubs of action are pack-up-and-go asteroid bases and orbital platforms which are FTL-towable and often strategically positioned near war-torn zones or along the more dangerous trade routes for easy access and interception.
• Interdictors: Rare, specialized ships that are basically massive antennae with only one function: to try and force oncoming ships out of FTL by creating noisy turbulences in FTL spacetime that trigger navi-computers into emergency-braking. Due to their high energy demands, they can only fire short bursts before recharging. Usually deployed for fleet protection, shakedowns and ambushes.
• Staryachts: The most luxurious fabrications belonging to the Syndicate are these Staryachts, often used by VIP and their organizing members, and equipped to the teeth with the most high-grade defenses.
• Cybeasts: predators genetically un-lifted from a (previously) intelligent (possibly Daxini) species. They are often found in animal fighting arenas, but are sometimes also cybernetically augmented and used as remotely mind-controlled guard- and war-dogs.
• Info-drones: These probe-drones are often disguised as asteroids and scattered whenever a fleet goes through an area to scan planetary systems, and intercept or jam communications. With these, the Syndicate has developed an intelligence, communications, and subterfuge network that might well rival those of more major players.

History: The Golden Sun Syndicate, or as they are more generously known: the Consortium, has a patchwork history, having amalgamated over the centuries from peoples hit by disastrous developments along their star systems, ranging from battles between great civilizations, entire star empires falling, and even hyper-trade lanes collapsing. Like many, the Consortium had humble origins with the Great Fall of Tar Yrra, but every Reclamation War since has added more to their ranks, growing into a civilization of its own. Pirate gangs and organized crime families quickly rose to the top to shape its governing Syndicate, and though most of the Consortium's population gets by well enough without much trouble, things gets shadier the more one rises in rank and profits, and loyalty and betrayal become a matter of life and death. The Syndicate is ruthless in its survival ethos, and never quite stops roaming (for to stay still is to become vulnerable and invite further disaster), and skirts the edges of conflict zones to profiteer off of all sides, engaging in trade and services that may otherwise be frowned upon in their client civilizations, as well as protection racketeering, mining and salvaging in post-battle and hazardous environments (using shell companies that make up most of their 'legal' services), info brokering, bounty-hunting, and -sometimes, with a special price tag to match- special ops. To the Syndicate, Tar Yrra represents a payday of mythic proportions - an actual Treasure Planet - and they are very eager to get in on the action.

^{Flag image made with: Flag-Creator | Header font: The Godfather Font, by randombell, on 1001Fonts}

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Age of Broken Shackles(Soft Sci NRP)

Hi @Sigma, is this still alive?

Blackguards!

Thanks! Then here's to making something fun and awesome. :)

Harth's intro-post is up, and already tried stoking a little. #Let's goo

Blackguards!

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In the Belly of the Beast

You have woken...

The space was cold, impossibly cold. And yet, Harth felt a warmth in it. It was colder than the dwarf mountains that were once his home. Colder than the sea he had raided, the graves he had robbed, than the corpses he had interrogated. Colder than his cell was when they put him to ice. Colder still than his own memories. Of that other him. Of his pilgrimage to that faraway land where he had found... nothing. Where the Stonefather had abandoned His faithful servant, left him in deathly silence, to become mere dust amongst the ruins of His own temple! And yet, in this strange now, a voice did come to him. That voice. Her voice. The Warden of the Maw herself.

Harth's gag shaped into a smile, "What is it, Blood-Witch?" he muttered, and soon enough contorted when a pain shot through his very soul that was unlike any that earned him his deformities. Horned hoofed hordes raged around him. Fear raged inside him. Fire raged everywhere else. And then: that voice. Sulfrey. God-King Ael-Gol -bah!- Tristana, Yorleif, Nashur. The Golden Chalice. in Malasta. That smile! Find. Kill!

You will do what I have said. That is all.

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Out of the Ashes...

And then all rumbled into... The world! Harth came to on his back. Deafness made way to blindness and he gasped as, peaking through his eyelashes, he saw the culprit: the sun! Fields of gold-hued grass swayed in the wind, and birds sang in defiance against their own mortality -must've been just past sunrise, or was it sunset?- ...such a long time since he'd experienced, well, time...

He noticed his body was clad again, the bear-pelt gambeson still fit. And in his right hand was the stone-headed mace that had served him well in the past. With a groan, he stood and raised himself up to look upon these Blackguards, all...

A sorceress with an otherworldly sheen to her, and not just from all the jewellery - royalty? Another dwarf, though she seemed more a swamp-dweller than from the Dwarf Mountains, crone-like, with a strange mind to match, rhyming and rattling with flasks of the strangest ingredients. A green-skin that had been the bane of his people, already shouting and swinging his sword -certainly one to keep an eye on. A human young man who seemed foreign to the Kingdom, with abs that were more than a little intimidating. A boyish-looking human clearly a thief, if his shadowing within the group were any indication. An aged man, yet with a strange, artificial youth to his visage and, apparently, to his personality as well. An elf - graceful, yet a strange elf she remained, and that spelled trouble. And then there was the old and gruff knightly fellow who had a bad feeling about this.

"What worry souls." Harth mumbled to himself. "And the day has only just started..."

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...And Into the Fire

The distance rumbled yet again. The sounds of raging hooves rolled over the hills like thunder, but there seemed to be no end to it. Two score of horsemen. Easterlings. And beyond, there came the screaming echoes of war. Harth felt a creeping familiar fear raise in his heart. Fire came to rage before him. And then, opportunity! It had been a while since he had a crew of raiders at his side.

"Stand," Harth snapped at the strange armored man taking a knee to the horde. "This is not a mere barbarian circus troupe you can sop! These are fighting men. And the Fire of Sulfrey is fast behind, remember your vision! They will value a show of strength now more than mere prostration." And Harth thought to himself, it wouldn't hurt to try both ways, in any case. So, Harth raised himself up to as high he could, arm outstretched to the heavens, and felt the old clerical ways come back to him as he sermoned with magical thundering voice, "Hearken! We know of the foe snapping at your heels! If you're running from the dread-horde of Sulfrey now, you've already lost! But fight with us, and you may prove yet to be more than ashen prey and spoils!" Then he pointed his mace towards the ring of fire in front of them, with the ogre behind, as if to emphasize their abilities. "This is how we might stand together!" He paused. "Or you may try through that fire and make things quick on yourself."

Then he waited. And murmured something for luck, good or ill. Fifty riders were a lot, after all...

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