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 In Search of The Gypsy Orca

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Number of posts : 773
Registration date : 2007-04-26

In Search of The Gypsy Orca Empty
PostSubject: In Search of The Gypsy Orca   In Search of The Gypsy Orca EmptyMon 1 Jun - 13:40:05

In Thearch of The Gypsthy Orca

Well here we all are in orbit awound my home, Bwitheno,* tho near, yet tho far. Father would have a fit if he knew I wath here with my little band of bwotherth. I dare not even withk a vithit to my little Too, but I’m getting ahead of mythelf, of courth I thould intwoduth mythelf for the litheners out there.
*Editors note: The phonetic dictation device used for recording Salakan’s segments is a little too accurate. He is referring here of course to his home planet of Brizeno.
I am Viscount Thalakan Moweau*, thon of the Arch Duke Marthellus**, unfortunately, the third thon, tho I didn’t have a particularly eathy time of it and he wath pwobably glad to see the back of me when I was exthiled a couple of yearth back. I never theemed quite up to the mark with him, I feel thure that I dithappointed him in thome way, more than when I presthented him with a grandthon thired out of wedlock with a commoner ath he memowably put it.

*Salakan Moreau
**Marcellus. Going to stop doing this in a minute.

Any way, my upbwinging as a third thon meant that I retheived a vewy fine education and I took advantage of thith when I joined mithter Gometh, my cuwwent employer ath a pilot. Me and my cwew have had thome good timeth togetgher.* Thereth Thar d’Tak** our friendly medic whoth had to patch me up more than oneth I can tell you.

*When Baldrick was out
**Yes that’s Sar. Why Salakan picks associates he cannot pronounce I can’t say.

Then thereth the wepwessed homothexual thug, Thud Wondwous*, who uthed to enjoy bullyng me at thchool, and of courth, our thelf appointed captain, Thcrap Mavewick** who actth as if he’th in command and I let him think tho as he hath a big ego that needth to believe that. After all who ever heard of a navigator being in command? Thatth the pilotth job, a gentleman never navigateth.

*Thud Wondrous, who also has two brothers, Bolton and Wolverhampton.
**Scrap Maverick

Anyway, our employer, Heythuth Gometh* hath uth looking for the Eth Eth Gypthy Orca, a thtolen thtarthip and he hath given us the Eth Eth Company Thip with which to find her. One hundwed thousand cwedits if we can find the blighter. Tho we set off and Thcrap (who I thall be calling Ginger fwom now on for obviouth weasonth**) managed to get uth completely...

*Jesus Gomez
** Obviously, Scrap is a hermit, hermits are a type of Crab and Crabbes make… Ginger beer… completely obvious.

OK. Time out people, Scrap Maverick here in command, in control and incandescent. I’ve just reviewed the log entry of Sally here and frankly I have to admit to that rare beast, a mistake by me, Scrap Maverick. Now it takes a big man to admit to a mistake and there’s none bigger than me as I am happy to confirm to all you ladies out there.

Now Sally’s not the sharpest tool in the box as he would admit if he had any sort of self awareness. I thought he couldn’t do any harm keeping the ship’s log but well, I was wrong. So It’s Kipper smoking detail for Sally and I’ll just have to keep track of my achievements myself, just hope the memory capacity on this old bird is up to the job.

So after Sally tried to get us off to a flier by breaking a bottle of vintage bubbly over the control panels I set off on an even keel, but there’s clearly some sort of fault in the nav systems already as I continually found we were emerging off course when we made a jump. We eventually arrived in a sector next to the one where the Gypsy Orca was last reported. Great navigation by the Maverick, yeah.

We flew in to an Exchange station and went looking for a few opportunities to restore in particular our life support systems thanks to the extra long journey here caused by that pesky nav malfunction, and certainly not by me, the great Scrap Maverick.

A couple of notable incidents – Sally was the victim of a pickpocket who tried for his commpad only to find the pilot’s monoblade passing through his windpipe. The irony is that Sally confessed to me he had been thinking about a bit of theft himself just before he was targeted. Seems that nobility on Brinzeno all take fencing lessons from a young age.

Sally made some money from pawning three compads on the cutpurse’s body and seemed quite happy saying ‘that’th how you deal with wiff waff’. Thud meanwhile went to the toilet. Now I hear you cry ‘What’s that Scrap? Have you lost your hold on reality that you need to share such things with your log? Not Scrap Maverick, rest assured, this visit to the toilet was worthy of a log entry.*

*Scrap Maverick, pun master extraordinaire.

Thud had decided to separate some luckless citizen minding his own business or perhaps more accurately doing his own business, of his possessions. He broke into an occupied cubicle and relieved a gentleman of his compad and credits, unlike Sally he even left his victim breathing.

We left having used Thud’s loot to buy more precious flight days but the malfunction occurred again and I was forced to have non-essential personnel put to sleep to save air for the rest of us. I would have had Sar slept too obviously but he had to administer the drugs. Had it not been so Scrap Maverick could have handled everything of course.

Mind you Sar was not that good on the drugs front it seemed as he struggled to revive Thud when we made planetfall. Arriving at B’Tal we landed at a spaceport after being warned about atmospheric storms. Once more we were broke and short of supplies. Sar sent a message to our employer requesting assistance as we had damaged our cargo bay in transit owing to the nav system problems that were nothing to do with me.

Sally and I went down the local bar scene and I had a conversation with a dock foreman who was clearly unaware of just who he was talking to and went away having missed the opportunity of earning the great Scrap Maverick’s gratitude. The poor fool. We asked around in the bar about local gambling opportunities and got a lead on the local fight club, despite the fact that no one talks about it.*

*They passed us a note

Sar had meanwhile begun a long distance relationship with one of the ground controllers and got word that the Gypsy Orca was regularly calling here on a fortnightly basis. We also got a lead on some employment, a callback in a few days would let us know. Meanwhile once Thud was fit we went looking for the fights. We witnessed knife fights to the death in a coliseum like arena formed with containers, then a huge alien snake beast that destroyed a score of human opponents. In side betting we made a little money. Then Thud decided to take part on a 150 man free for all.

We placed some money on him, Sally and I foolishly backing him to win, Sar won some credits as Thud made the last 50. Thud spent some time recuperating and then we got some unexpected good news; 15k transferred from our employer, no doubt given confidence knowing Scrap Maverick’s firm hand is on the tiller of the mission. We spent some thousands on repair and more life support, and then went to a rendez vous with our possible employer.

Turned out to be some kind of hippy who said he worked for the government. Wanted us to fly by a huge mystery storm causing some problems on the planet. Just approach to a kilometre and take some pictures with the fancy equipment they would fit to the ship. A thousand credits a pic, not bad, what could go wrong is what Scrap Maverick says.

We took off, Sally insisting on flying with archaic rock music accompaniment. We took pics wondering idly why so many other ships had apparently failed to return. Then we suffered a number of system failures and were sucked into the storm and through to the eye, a place we had been told was not reachable.

As a trained Navigator and expert in many mysteries of the universe I immediately noticed something odd. Scrap Maverick cannot be deceived – a huge battleship floated in the eye, 50 million credits worth of someone’s money. Sally, having difficulty flying the ship on manual landed heavily in a fighter landing bay and we were aboard.

We were out of communication and hoped that the cameras would also be out. We cautiously left to search the ship, where for example were the hundreds of crew personnel that usually thronged such a vessel? No sign of anyone. The fighters were dead, internal ship systems were dead. Engineering was deserted, we found a couple of laser rifles in the armoury but most things were locked tight. No-one in the brig, then a strange discovery on the bridge.

No active systems again, but an odd chair, a chair made of wood in a central position, more like a throne than a chair. No throne is complete without the application of Scrap Maverick’s buttocks of course and I decided to give this chair the honour of receiving my famous form. Sitting in the chair activated a floating holographic orb above the chair arm, and I tried to see if I could interface with it, suspecting it to be a control mechanism.

No luck, all I could do was get small black holes that floated on its surface to glow red when I attempted to probe the orb. The others got bored and went off exploring further, locating a female in a coma in sick bay. The woman was cold to the touch but seemed to have a pulse, though she resisted all attempts to revive her. They wheeled her from the sick bay and back to the bridge where I continued to ponder our predicament.

We searched the captain’s cabin but could find no clue, so decided to withdraw after unsuccessfully trying to remove it or break off the arm from which the orb sprang. We returned to our ship with the woman. There we established communication unexpectedly with someone, or something. Long story short; it turned out to be the chair. We went back to the bridge although it seemed able to communicate through our compads and any instrumentation in the ships. There I successfully unlocked the orb at last.
Here’s what we know about it.

And here’s what we have guessed, surmised, speculated and pieced together that may or may not be accurate.
The chair is highly sophisticated illegal AI pre tech.
It is 1600 years old.
It is also the orb, but the two facets of its operation appear to have split into two personalities that do not exactly get on.
The chair claims not to know what’s going on, what is causing the storm and so on, though the orb says it lies.
The woman may be the source of the storm which our psyker Sar thinks may be psychic in nature.
We wondered if the psycher was creating the storm to protect the universe from chair and or orb.
Even basic terminology is a problem sometimes when talking to the orb or chair. When it suited them they did not recognise the word ‘storm’ for example.
Their memories are very poor and vague about little things like where they have come from or what they are doing here.
It showed Sar a lot of game changing information all about psykers, that he didn’t really understand (probably just as well)
They referred to previous visitors and Chair hinted that some had not returned owing to its actions. We all had visions of the battleships impressive weaponry in action at this point.
But they weren’t omnipotent, they had not for example, heard of me.

I decided to leave my very valuable hat behind in the custody of the chair, as this would convince it that we would return. Sally very nearly blew my ploy here with his looks of puzzlement and I felt that the words ‘You’ve never said your hat was so special before’ were about to cross his lips. Like I said, not the sharpest tool in the box.

We returned to the hippy, whether because chair believed I would return for my hat or not we could not be sure. We discovered we had successfully photographed the storm, but not the battleship within. He was curious as to what had happened in the eye but I told him that Scrap Maverick had it all under control. I offered a return trip for photos within the eye if he could upgrade the equipment and he agreed to get right on this. We had decided not to reveal the full truth because:

a) We didn’t entirely trust the hippy.
b) Even if a trustworthy person, would he regard us as trustworthy having been in contact with clearly illegal pre tech?
c) We would probably be blamed for anything bad about to happen as a result of our discovery.
d) If there was any chance of a super weapon that would make its owners invincible falling into the wrong hands, we wanted those hands to me mine, sorry, ours.

So will the Gypsy Orca appear? Do we now have bigger fish to fry? Should we be talking about fight club? Will I ever see my hat again? Who is the mystery woman? How stupid is Sally? Who is sabotaging our nav systems? Are Chair and Orb tools to be mastered or the doom of humanity?

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