Hallo and welcome back to part 4 of Islands in the Rift, my traveller solo roleplaying adventure based on the Great Rift Adventure 1 of the same name.
I forgot to mention that I made one small change to the original adventure… I ignored the fact that the crew of the Perfect Stranger has a sufficient source of credits to pay for expenses. I thought that this would make things too easy and getting the credits for fuel for the next leg would be a nice opportunity for random encounters and jobs.
So, that out of the way… let’s continue the adventures of the Perfect Stranger!
Scene #17 – 0800 hours
The next morning, Milcoat and Parry arrived precisely at 0800 hours for their meeting with Councilor Thorne on Colchis. The air hung thick with a palpable tension; even the sterile environment of the station seemed to hold its breath. They stood before Thorne’s office, a polished obsidian door marked only by an Imperial crest, waiting. A low hum resonated through the corridor as the door’s sensors registered their presence and, without fanfare, slid open silently.
Inside, the office was austere but meticulously ordered. Councilor Thorne sat behind a large desk crafted from some dark, unfamiliar wood, his expression carefully neutral. He gestured towards two chairs facing him with a gesture that lacked any genuine warmth. “Captain Milcoat. Mr. Parry. Please, be seated.”
Thorne wasted no time in pleasantries. After a moment of silence, he came directly to the point. “There has been an incident on Sochi One,” he stated, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “A significant one. A sabotage act resulting in civilian casualties and substantial financial and logistical losses.”
He paused, allowing the weight of those words to settle in the room. “Specifically, several automated shuttles within the gas skimming facility malfunctioned and crashed onto two of the refineries. The damage is extensive.” He regarded them with a gaze that felt like an assessment.
Another pause followed, longer this time. Then, Thorne delivered the bombshell. “Furthermore,” he continued, his voice now carrying a distinct edge, “the computers controlling those shuttles show digital traces – clear and undeniable traces – of access attributed to Jela Deenon.”
Milcoat opened his mouth to protest, but Thorne raised a hand, halting him before a word could escape. “I understand this is… unexpected,” Thorne conceded, though the tone suggested he found Milcoat’s likely reaction tiresome. “However, according to the logs, the assumed access occurred after Deenon’s arrest.”
“Given these circumstances,” Thorne continued, “I am willing to entertain the possibility that there is something… amiss with the narrative surrounding Ms. Deenon’s involvement.” He paused again, letting the statement sink in. “However, this does not negate the severity of the situation.”
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Interestingly,” Thorne added, “the local Imperial representative, Jordan Henderson, contacted my supervisor and arranged for Ms. Deenon’s release.”
The revelation hung in the air like a toxic cloud. Thorne, after his previous pronouncements about Deenon’s release, now added another layer of complexity to the situation. “We have information,” he stated flatly, “from an interrogation of the suspected spy Mr. Richter from Neubayern who was apprehended aboard your vessel, Captain Milcoat. He confessed that false information was deliberately planted into the database on Acadie with the express purpose of framing one of your crew.”
The implications were staggering. It suggested a deliberate manipulation far beyond simple sabotage, hinting at a larger game being played and Colchis caught in its crosshairs. Parry’s expression remained impassive, but Milcoat felt a surge of anger battling with his attempts to maintain composure.
Thorne continued without pause. “Given the circumstances,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion, “it is now demonstrably in Colchis’s best interest that you and your vessel, the Perfect Stranger, depart this system as quickly as possible. We wish to avoid any further entanglement in this… sorry affair.” The word “sorry” felt particularly hollow coming from Thorne.
“Also,” he added, “we have taken steps to expedite your departure. All necessary paperwork has been processed, and refueling of the Perfect Stranger should be completed by now.”
He paused, his gaze fixed on Milcoat with an intensity that felt unsettling. It wasn’t a gesture of goodwill; it was more like a calculated maneuver designed to push them out of the system as quickly as possible.
With a short, unfriendly salute – barely acknowledging their presence – Thorne dismissed them. “You are dismissed,” he stated curtly. “I have arranged for Ms. Deenon to be brought aboard your vessel. She will await you in the transit bay.”
Milcoat and Parry turned without a word, navigating their way out of Thorne’s office and back into the sterile corridors of Colchis Downport. The weight of the situation pressed down on them – a framed crew member, a manipulated database, a hasty departure orchestrated by a Councilor who clearly wanted nothing more than to see them gone.
Scene #18 – Leaving Colchis
The reunion with Deenon was met with visible relief. Milcoat and Parry exchanged a brief glance, a silent acknowledgment of the weight lifted by her return to the Perfect Stranger. Deenon herself expressed a desire for immediate departure. “Let’s get out of here as soon as possible,” she stated plainly, her voice tight with an underlying tension.
Milcoat nodded in agreement, and within an hour, the ship’s engines were roaring back to life, a defiant sound against the backdrop of Colchis space. Six hours later, they reached their designated jump point, a small victory carved out amidst the surrounding chaos.
Deenon had meticulously calculated a route that would take them two jumps and approximately two weeks of travel time to reach New Home. The system held a certain significance, as described in the files – a first-generation colony world with considerable prestige among the Islands worlds, known for its high tech level and influence on local politics.
A few days later, they found themselves seated on the bridge of the Perfect Stranger, discussing their onward journey to the Herzenslust system. The primary objective remained unchanged: locating the data backup. However, a disagreement began to brew between Deenon and Milcoat regarding the optimal route.
Deenon advocated for a shortcut directly towards the Elysee system, citing concerns about proximity to Neubayern. “Staying close to Neubayern is asking for trouble,” she argued, her voice laced with caution. “We don’t want to attract any unwanted attention.” Milcoat initially resisted, but after further discussion and Deenon’s persuasive reasoning, they ultimately agreed on the plan – a route away from Neubayern.
Scene #19 – Drinks are on me!
The Perfect Stranger eased into its berth at New Home Highport with a sigh of hydraulics, a welcome sound after weeks spent traversing the void. As the docking clamps secured the ship, Captain Milcoat, alongside Engineer Deenon and ex-Marine Korbin Parry, disembarked, stepping onto solid ground for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The air was thick with the scent of recycled atmosphere and a faint undercurrent of something sweeter – likely some local confectionary popular amongst New Home’s populace.
New Home Highport was precisely as described: an exemplary starport, a testament to the world’s technological prowess and economic standing within the Islands subsectors. The architecture was clean and functional, all polished durasteel and expansive transpariste walkways teeming with activity – traders haggling over prices, mechanics swarming over docked vessels, and uniformed personnel moving with purposeful efficiency.
“Drinks are on me,” Milcoat declared, a rare gesture of generosity born from the relief of reaching solid ground. He steered the trio towards a nearby establishment that looked promising – The Navigator’s Rest, its signage displayed in crisp, modern lettering. The bar was bustling but welcoming, filled with a mix of spacers, merchants, and locals enjoying their evening. The interior was well-maintained, boasting polished wood paneling, comfortable seating, and the comforting aroma of spiced liquors and freshly brewed coffee.
They secured a table near the back, away from the main throng, and ordered a round of local spirits – something strong and vaguely fruity to cut through the lingering fatigue. As they settled into their drinks, Milcoat’s expression turned serious. “Deenon,” he said, his voice low enough not to be overheard, “how confident are you that we’re completely off Neubayern’s radar? This ship-ID is a beacon for trouble.”
Deenon took a measured sip of her drink before responding. “Not particularly confident, Captain. And there is nothing I can do about it. The transponder system is deliberately located in an inaccessible section beneath the hull. It was designed to prevent tampering – and it’s proving remarkably effective at doing so.” She paused, a flicker of frustration crossing her face. “It’s not about confidence; it’s about physical access. Getting down there would require dismantling significant portions of the ship’s lower hull plating.”
Milcoat swore under his breath, a string of colorful expletives that were quickly swallowed by the ambient noise of the bar. “Fantastic,” he muttered. “So we’re essentially broadcasting our location to anyone who cares to listen.” He ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. “We need credits for fuel and repairs, and skimming from a gas giant is a last resort I’d rather avoid.”
Deenon considered the situation, her gaze fixed on the swirling liquid in her glass. “Given this excellent starport,” she finally said, “I propose we do a complete systems checkup of the Perfect Stranger before attempting that long gap to Elysee. A thorough diagnostic will identify any potential issues and hopefully reveal some cost-effective repairs.”
Milcoat sighed again, a sound that carried a weight of exhaustion and resignation. “Alright,” he conceded. “Let’s prioritize repairs first. We’ll allocate whatever funds we have left to potential fixes. And yes, if necessary, we’ll make a stop at the gas giant.” He signaled for another round of drinks, though his enthusiasm had clearly waned. “But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t want to spend any more time than necessary dealing with those… enthusiasts.”
Parry, who had been silently observing the exchange, grunted in agreement. “A solid diagnostic is a good plan,” he said, his voice gravelly from disuse. “Better to know what we’re working with before we push this old girl too hard.” He took a long swig of his drink, his eyes scanning the room, ever vigilant for potential threats or opportunities.
The Navigator’s Rest continued its lively hum around them, oblivious to the precarious situation of the Perfect Stranger and her crew. Milcoat, Deenon, and Parry were just three more faces in the crowd, but their predicament – a desperate need for credits, a vulnerable ship-ID, and the looming threat of Neubayern’s attention – hung heavy in the air around them, a silent counterpoint to the bar’s cheerful atmosphere. The promise of repairs and the potential necessity of fuel skimming loomed large, casting a shadow over their temporary respite on New Home.
Scene #20 – All systems nominal
The decision was made swiftly, born from a pragmatic assessment of risk and dwindling credits. Captain Milcoat, after a terse discussion with Jela Deenon and Korbin Parry, declared that no one would be leaving the Perfect Stranger while docked at Highport. The potential for complications – unwanted attention, or sabotage – outweighed any perceived benefit from a shore leave. It was a necessary austerity measure in their current predicament.
Deenon took the directive seriously, dedicating an entire week to a meticulous systems checkup of the Perfect Stranger. The ship had been showing its age, creaking and groaning with every jump they made, but her assessment revealed something surprisingly positive: all systems were functioning within acceptable parameters. There were no critical failures, no hidden anomalies that required immediate attention. It was a rare piece of good news in their increasingly bleak situation.
“Everything’s nominal, Captain,” she reported, her voice carrying a note of cautious relief. “Drive calibration is stable, jump drives are holding steady, and the sensor suite is operating at expected efficiency. No further repairs are necessary.” She paused, adding with a wry smile, “Though I wouldn’t mind replacing that flickering light in the mess hall if we had the parts.”
Milcoat nodded slowly, his expression betraying a mixture of relief and lingering suspicion. “Good,” he said, his voice gruff. “Very good indeed. It’s reassuring to know we’re not carrying any hidden gremlins before attempting the jump to Elysee.” He leaned back in his command chair, the worn leather creaking beneath him. The prospect of a four-week journey across an empty, interstellar space was daunting enough without adding mechanical failures to the equation.
Parry remained silent throughout the exchange, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the viewport. His presence served as a constant reminder of the dangers they faced – not just from mechanical failure or any scrutiny, but also from the myriad threats that lurked in the dark corners of the Islands Cluster.
“Four weeks to Elysee,” Milcoat mused aloud, his voice laced with a weariness that belied his outward stoicism. “A long haul, even for this old girl.” He glanced at Deenon and Parry, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “Let’s hope the jumps go smoothly, and we don’t encounter any… unforeseen circumstances along the way.”
The Perfect Stranger remained anchored at Highport for as long as necessary, conserving resources and preparing for the arduous journey ahead. Elysee awaited, along with whatever challenges it held.
Scene #21 – Departure day
Milcoat strode onto the bridge of the Perfect Stranger on departure day, carrying a significantly larger crate than usual. A genuine smile stretched across his face as he addressed Deenon and Parry.
“Right then,” he announced, his voice laced with an unusual joviality. “Paid for a little something to keep spirits high during this… extended journey.” He gestured towards the crate. “Entertainment, courtesy of my own credits.”
With a flourish, he opened it, revealing rows upon rows of bottles – not the usual synthetic substitutes they’d been rationing, but genuine Whisky. The scent of peat and oak filled the air, a stark contrast to the recycled atmosphere of the ship. “Real stuff,” Milcoat declared proudly. “Straight from New Home. A Scotsman here on this planet insisted it was worth every credit.”
He then produced a small data stick, tossing it casually towards Deenon. “And for you, Engineer,” he said with a grin. “A little diversion. Found this game at Highport. Install it in the ship systems – should keep things interesting while we’re out here.”
Deenon and Parry both visibly brightened at the unexpected gifts. The genuine whisky was a rare luxury, a tangible reminder of something beyond their grim reality. Deenon caught the data stick with practiced ease, already examining it with a curious glint in her eyes. Parry simply nodded, a flicker of amusement crossing his usually stoic features.
“Whisky? Captain, you’re spoiling us,” Deenon said, a genuine smile gracing her lips. “And a game? That’s… unexpected.”
Parry let out a short chuckle. “Well, that’s one way to pass the time on a four-week jump.”
“Just trying to keep things from getting too bleak,” Milcoat said laughing. “Now, let’s get this ship underway and see if we can reach Elysee without incident.”
Scene #22 – A tight window
The Perfect Stranger tore away from Highport, leaving behind the bustling markets and relative safety of New Home. Milcoat set a course directly for the gas giant, intending to skim fuel – a risky maneuver but necessary given their dwindling reserves. Hours later, with the tanks topped off, the ship adjusted its trajectory towards their designated jump point.
Just as they reached the closest possible position for initiating a jump, a crackling radio signal cut through the silence. A voice, crisp and authoritative, identified itself as belonging to the local administration. “Perfect Stranger,” it stated, “this is System Authority of New Home. You are ordered to cease all engine activity and await further instructions.”
Milcoat’s face darkened. “This is getting boring,” he muttered, his voice tight with frustration. Deenon reacted instantly. “They are only pretending to be from New Hope,” she snapped, her fingers already flying across the console. “and their weapon systems are activating.”
Milcoat’s eyes narrowed. “How quickly can we jump out of here, Deenon?” he demanded, his gaze fixed on her.
Deenon worked furiously, running diagnostics and calculating trajectories. “We have a window,” she replied, her voice strained but focused. “A tight one. I estimate… ninety seconds to full jump readiness. But if they decide to escalate…”
To be continued…
So, that’s it for this part. I hope you liked it and that you come back next week for the continuation of the adventures of the Perfect Stranger.
Oh hey, before I forget… I prepared a map with travellermap.com to visualize the trip for you.
