Starlance

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

They did have SAMs. Lady Luck had been standing somewhere else this entire day. Apparently they didn’t want the ship intact after all, so what the fuck were they? Religious extremists claiming FTL went against God’s plan? Of course the pilot did what pilots do and seemingly did everything except turn the ship so the active shield segments were facing the threat, evidenced by a bang and the sound of shearing metal. Some of the missiles hit the shield after all and as soon as they did, the reactor output readout completely lost its marbles. She recalled one salvage job where the ship in question had power problems and was unable to scram their reactor, so they turned on everything that could draw power and blacked out their ship, causing the reactor scram to initiate automatically. If the FTL drive was ‘running away’ then robbing it of its power should do the same as long as they didn’t trip the reactors as well. Sitting at the shield control console, Vigdis entered the command to power up the remaining shield segments.

ERR: Insufficient power, FTL system priority!
<OK>

Of course the ship was designed to prevent this. A smart thing to do under any other circumstance except here. She would find the computer geek who thought this error window only needed an ‘OK’ button and not an ‘ignore’ option alongside it and smack some sense into him when this was over. When the noise kept rising, something in her mind went ‘Yeah, this is beyond hope.’ and she gave up attempting to handle the situation and instead strapped in for the fallout. Crap, where was the Jackal? Did she secure it when she disarmed herself or did she just leave it lying around somewhere? A glance confirmed the sling was tied around the frame of a machine beside the door. Good.

Then, an idea. Primitive and straight out of the ‘Geriatric’s Manual of Computer Repair’, but an idea nonetheless. “Breakers!” Vigdis yelled, figuring whatever damage would be caused by physically cutting the connection between the FTL drive and the ship’s power grid would be limited to the drive itself and wouldn’t hamper their escape attempts, but not even hoping there was enough time for it.

---

The unholy noise reached its peak and the room flooded with unnaturally bright light before turning into pandemonium. It seemed like half of the Really Bad Lights and their accompanying bells and whistles came on at the same time. The machine behind her seat crapped out a shower of sparks and some more alarms sounded. As Vigdis grabbed one of the three kilogram powder fire extinguishers affixed by the console to address that latest problem, the rest of the room didn’t seem to be faring much better. It was getting hot and she could see some of the cables were straining against their mountings as the current flowing through them created magnetic fields strong enough to move them. Something vile assaulted her nostrils. “Charred insulation. Smells like a failing grade to me.”

Having put out the closest fire, she returned the empty extinguisher back into the bracket and returned her attention to her assigned station, fielding a sea of warnings and errors - electrical resistance in the shield cabling reading infinite, voltage zero, temperature just below melting point. “Chief, we’ve lost the shields. Looks like melted or severed conduits.” Vigdis reported, anxiously waiting for a similar report on propulsion.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

The trek to the dam was every bit as bad as she expected it to be. In an attempt to stave off the boredom, she started reading through the Archer’s user manual, figuring the 900 page, A4 format grimoire would last a few hours even if she didn’t understand half of the maintenance sections. Apparently, Earthwerks Inc. also made the Thunderbolt. She didn’t know that. What was it with Earthwerks’ seeming inability to design a ‘Mech that had enough heatsinks, Marit thought as she worked a straw under the neurohelmet’s seal to take a sip of MRE lemonade that had gone disgustingly warm during the 17 hour road trip through the tunnels. One day, one day she would find a working, unattended minifridge somewhere and tape it into her cockpit. Lovett would complain about fire and loose object hazards in the cockpit, but it was hard to express how little she cared.

As they neared their objective for the day, she reached for the push to talk. ”Lance Leader, I’ve been thinking: breaching a dam doesn’t take much, all you need is to weaken it and the weight of the water behind it will do the rest. Now our working theory was that they’ll drive a truck full of explosives in from the South or something along those lines, but what if they load up a boat with explosives and come from the West side?” She offered a suggestion she’d been going over in her mind for the past 45 minutes, ”Should I post up by the Northern end of the dam? That way I could see the upstream water and have an easy way of getting onto the dam if they came from the South as expected. It would also help with collateral damage. I can’t accidentally hit the dam if I‘m standing on top of it.”

When the Colonel mentioned dirt roads to the South of the dam, she at first thought that played into their hands until she remembered she was on fucking Espia, where it rained 696 days of the year and a few days on top of it for good measure, so dust clouds kicked up by moving vehicles wouldn’t be a thing. And if what the Colonel warned them about was true and the lunatics got their hands on actual military hardware, would they use it and how? Distractions so the actual bomb could slip through? At least she didn’t have to worry about aiming too much. Once a lock was achieved, the missiles did their own thing, guided by gods knew what space magic, and the directions the attack was expected to come from didn’t have much cover.

𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝙾𝚞𝚝𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝

As others have noted, a general idea of the tech level of the setting would be nice to know (For example more like Aliens or more like Heinlien's Starship Troopers etc.)
Looking to try playing a combat medic, so any medical advancements/tech would also be appreciated.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

Maybe some simple mechanoid body remotely operated by the ship's AI a la EDI? Engineers can't be arsed to handle clogged shitters.

𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝙾𝚞𝚝𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝

Still here.

𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝙾𝚞𝚝𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝

@DeadDrop
You got a set minimum number of players requirement in mind?

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

“Mister Varen. Can I hel-”

That was a gun. She complied with their instructions on partial autopilot, still working through the fact that she’d just been directly shot at for the first time in her life and was now being held at gunpoint by someone she knew. Having a coworker pointing a gun at you was a jarring experience in a completely different way. She wanted to ask what they were looking for, why they thought she was a threat or at least have some witty remark about the lead engineer’s ‘copping a feel’ comment, but her mind just kept going back to the shotgun threatening to do what the bad guys hadn’t managed while at the same time processing Varen’s getup. Contrary to the situation and to her own surprise, she started snickering at the display of tactical beachwear.

“Hostiles kitted out like local armed forces, comm jamming, ship full of whoever happened to be close by... ‘Shitstorm’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. Probably shaved off at least three years off your dear Captain.” She summed up what little she knew on her way to the shield console, “We’ve got about two and a half tons of extra live mass on board.” She guesstimated the weight of the thirty-or-so extra people that weren’t supposed to be on the ship. Plus 65 kg of live mass and tools, give or take, she wasn’t supposed to be there either. Why was she even there? Damn ship was done, she could’ve gone on vacation and left the routine stuff to someone who needed some overtime. She wanted to see Iceland ever since she learned her family was originally from there. She could’ve at least taken a sick day and stayed at the hotel. Of all the times she could’ve chosen to let the inner workaholic loose, she had to do it now.

“Friendly reminder, I supervised hull construction, I only know as much about the shields as was necessary for that purpose.” She cautioned the other engineers. Fortunately, at least the interface looked simple enough. Now, she knew the maximum rated output of both reactors - which was really the ‘long-term safe’ output and thus up to 105% of that could be sustained for brief periods, that was industry standard - but didn’t have access to power control, so had no clue how much power the rest of the ship was drawing except that it was taxing the power supply by at least 50% on account of the engines. Who knew what life support was using up with 30 extra people on board or if it could even keep up with that demand? Unlike the reactor guys, whom she knew well, the life support equipment team supervisor was an insufferable bint whose presence Vigdis could never stand for longer than the amount of time it took to use the coffee machine. No, Denise, I don’t care that you write poetry in your spare time, your garbage doesn’t even rhyme. Rear hemisphere would do for now, they were in a fjord anyway, only places to go were forward and up. “Chief, how much free power capacity do we have for the shield?” Unless the attackers brought anti-ship weaponry, she assumed the shield - presumably designed to handle debris and civilian-grade ship weapons - would hold up just fine. But what if the bad guys did have access to anti-ship missiles? They had army equipment after all… Somewhat back in her element and with no bullets flying around her, her brain had at least gotten some traction and was quickly working through the gears. Of course the boys were suspicious. If you wanted to pull a stunt like this, having someone on the inside would’ve helped and she’d been there for two years, knew every one in three bolts and welds on the ship and knew someone who knew the other ones.

‘Can you blame them, chief?’ That would’ve been a good one, damn it.

𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝙾𝚞𝚝𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝

A pic from Aliens right out of the gate. Well played, sir.

The Eye of the Needle (where Fantasy and Sci-fi collide)

The screaming caught her mid-reload. She didn’t need to look to know why the man was screaming. Considering that only one person was screaming, her mind evoked images of meatloaf instead of the intended lesser damage over all three targets. Violent injuries were nothing new to a four year veteran of salvage duty. Vaccum exposure, hot vapors and liquids, electric current, exploding pressure vessels, shrapnel large and small, people trapped in an inferno so hot the heat cracked the teeth... Just two months before she got out of the navy, she slipped on a patch of charred goo that used to be a crew member of a freighter that completely burned out. She’d seen and smelled it all, but always as a third party. An unfortunate observer. But here, she did that to the man. Knowing she caused it made her sick. ‘Better them than me.’ she thought, but it rang somewhat hollow. Snapping in a new magazine with a shaking hand, she popped out of cover again and immediately recoiled back. Meatloaf. Meatloaf in marinara sauce.

The sound of her name being called brought her back into the here and now. Sprinting up the ramp and not even stopping as she hit the button to close it, she went straight for the airlock, heading to the machine shop. Having connected to the shipwide PA, Vigdis whistled into the microphone, completely uncaring about how weird it probably sounded to everyone else on board. She listened for the sound of doors opening or something moving in nearby vents when movement in one of the shelves near the ceiling caught her eye. To her infinite relief, she was met with the sight of Fritjof, eyes at half mast from having just woken up. “You lazy slacker, how’d you sleep through that?!” She stepped closer to the shelf and tapped her shoulder, the cat taking the cue and leaping down onto her shoulders. “Sure wish I could’ve.” She ruffled the hair on his head before placing him in the carrier strapped to the floor for safety and made for the engineering section. As she was unregistered luggage on this trip, she might as well make herself useful.

Somewhere in the distance, something at last put an end to the muted screams of the man she’d crippled.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

The speed of the total collapse of the loyalists came as a surprise to her, though on second thought it made sense. The CCAF weren’t particularly known for decentralized command structure, much less a garrison in the armpit of the universe. Some lucky ones may have made it out of the city and joined the FPA, assuming they could put their differences aside to face a more immediate and capable threat. Those that hadn’t were probably in for it. She wondered how many of them they would find in Tie Shan when they stormed it.

Before the briefing, Jon hadn’t been the most forthcoming conversation partner, but what they say about opposites attracting was true, because he and his boss were like Whiskey and Whisky. The Jeong family history lecture was a bit jarring amid a mission briefing, and was met with a puzzled expression. Cassandra was clearly the type of person who liked the sound of her voice, and now she had an audience. Regardless, the tunnels were like a gift from the gods themselves. She just saved their lives. Same with the new base, even if Cassandra was implying they might wake up one day and find their ‘Mechs on cinder blocks and even if Marit was skeptical of hiding their footsteps among IndustrialMechs. If you’re a Crimson Fist commander and annoying mercs are stomping around and breaking all your employer’s stuff, why would you not look somewhere ‘Mechs are stomping around just because they’ve been stomping there before? Especially since that place has facilities and materials the annoying mercs need to continue being a thorn in your side and the amount of stomping increases every time your employer’s stuff gets broken.

To keep the good news going, Marit could hardly be happier about the mission she was assigned to. Close to the new base, striking at loons spoiling to commit a massive war crime, with Jon on hand to share knowledge of the site and best of all, she wouldn’t have to get out of the ‘Mech. Only way it could be better would have been not having to defend something. Another thing that put a damper on the mood was the Crimson Fists presence. At the Depot raid, the CF lance that attacked them was reported further away than this one, yet they still managed to intercept them, likely due to their intel placing the Fists somewhere they weren’t. And a target this important - the dam, though no doubt they’d hear of their presence as well - was unlikely to go ignored. And they’d be coming from the North, meaning that if they arrived before the Knights got away, they’d have to go through them. ”Sir, do we know anything about forces stationed at the dam and the CF lance at Golf 12? Composition, how old that position report is…?” She supposed running into a different lance than last time was a safe bet, with the Fire Witch perhaps still being down a Raven, though the last one surprised them with a Longbow. What was this going to be? The Battlemaster? Some SLDF royal ‘Mechs they dug up from whatever forgotten bunker? A Steiner scout lance? ”And do we have any indication of what the Sword are bringing and from which direction?”