This is part 5 of the Islands in the Rift adventure from the official Traveller series Great Rift Adventures. The crew of the Perfect Stranger gets dragged around the Island Cluster by local authorities like there is no tomorrow. One thing is clear… this job is underpaid. Oh?! There is payment for this?
After getting this far I compared my progress to other reports of groups who played the adventure, and I must say that my pacing is quite ok… even though it seems to me like I rush through the systems too much.
Now let’s see what happens to Milcoat, Deenon and Parry this time…
Scene #23 – Just in time!
The moment the pursuing ship’s weapons flared, bathing the void in brief bursts of crimson light, Milcoat barked the order. “Jump! Now!” The Perfect Stranger shuddered violently as it ripped free from normal space, the familiar disorientation of jumpspace washing over them.
Silence descended on the bridge after the chaotic surge of the jump. It was a silence punctuated only by the hum of the ship’s systems and the ragged breaths of its occupants. Milcoat, his face pale but set in grim determination, leaned back against his command chair, knuckles white as he gripped the armrests. Deenon, her fingers still dancing across the console, slowly released her tension, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. Parry, ever stoic, remained ramrod straight, his gaze fixed forward, though a slight tremor betrayed the adrenaline coursing through him.
“Status report,” Milcoat finally rasped, his voice rough from the abrupt jump and the preceding stress. “Damage assessment.”
Deenon ran another diagnostic sweep. “Negative,” she replied, her voice tight but steady. “No hull breaches detected. Systems nominal… considering.”
Milcoat exhaled a shaky breath. “They fired,” he stated the obvious, more to himself than anyone else. He paused, his gaze drifting towards the swirling chaos of jumpspace visible through the viewscreen. “That had to be from Neubayern,” he concluded with a certainty that bordered on bitterness. “Who else would intercept us?”
Deenon nodded slowly. “They’re getting more aggressive,” she agreed, her fingers returning to the console. “And they’re likely tracking our route. They might suspect we’re using Sturgeon’s Law as a waypoint to Elysee.” She paused again, considering.
Milcoat remained silent for a long moment, allowing the weight of their situation to settle upon him. The jump had bought them time, but it hadn’t erased the threat. Neubayern was closing in, and the prospect of facing their superior firepower alone wasn’t comforting. He glanced at Deenon and Parry, assessing their condition. They were battle-hardened veterans, but even the most seasoned warriors needed a moment to regroup.
Finally, he broke the silence with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire mission. “Alright,” he said, his voice regaining some semblance of composure. “We’ve bought ourselves a little breathing room. Let’s use it wisely.” He paused again, then added, almost as an afterthought, “Anyone want a drink?”
Parry was the first to respond, a flicker of something akin to amusement crossing his face. “Whisky,” he stated simply. Deenon nodded slowly. “Something strong,” she agreed, her voice still tinged with fatigue. “And fast.”
Scene #24 – Jumpspace
The bridge of the Perfect Stranger felt marginally less oppressive than it had earlier. The brief respite afforded by the jump, coupled with the shared whisky, seemed to have settled the crew into a semblance of routine, albeit one steeped in anxiety. Deenon sat nestled within her engineer’s chair, a rare grin stretching across her face. It wasn’t a boisterous expression; rather, it was subtle, almost secretive, but undeniably present.
“I plotted a new course,” she announced, her voice calm and steady despite the underlying tension. “It allows us to choose – either we head for Elysee, or we take a more direct route straight to Besancon.” She paused, letting the implications sink in. “That way, Neubayern has a hell of a time anticipating where we’re going next.”
Milcoat returned her grin with one of his own, a flicker of genuine relief crossing his features. The situation remained precarious, but Deenon’s ingenuity offered a sliver of hope. “Then you should prepare everything,” he instructed, his voice laced with approval. “Do it as you see fit. Don’t hold back on modifications or rerouting power – just ensure we have the best possible chance of slipping past them.”
Across the bridge, Korbin Parry occupied a corner, seemingly oblivious to the strategic discussion unfolding between Milcoat and Deenon. He was engrossed in the new game Milcoat had acquired – a holographic simulation that involved maneuvering miniature warships through asteroid fields.
Deenon’s gaze drifted towards Parry, her grin widening slightly. “Look at that,” she said to Milcoat, a playful lilt in her voice. “This giant baby over there enjoys his new toys.” She chuckled, then returned her attention to the navigation console, her fingers flying across the controls as she finalized the course adjustments.
Scene #25 – Islandbridge Trading Corporation
The Perfect Stranger shuddered as it settled into the docking cradle at Elysee’s Downport. Four consecutive jumps had taken their toll on the aging vessel, but she held together – barely. Deenon’s decision to prioritize this stopover hadn’t been driven by a desire for scenic views; it was purely pragmatic. The ship needed repairs, and more critically, they needed credits to pay for them. Elysee offered a better chance of securing work than the notoriously tight-fisted Besancon did.
The Downport itself was a sprawling network of interconnected platforms and docking bays, buzzing with activity. Ships of all sizes – freighters, couriers, even a few sleek yachts – jockeyed for position, their crews shouting orders and haggling over prices.
Milcoat turned to Parry, who was still absorbed in his holographic game. “Alright, Korbin,” he said, his voice sharp. “Listen up. This world has a peculiar law – portable energy weapons are strictly prohibited. I’m assuming our blasters fall under that category.” He paused, letting the information sink in. “We secure all our weaponry in the ship’s safe before we deboard. No exceptions. Understand?” Parry nodded curtly without looking up from his game.
“Deenon,” Milcoat continued, addressing the engineer, “ensure the shields are active and that the sensors remain online. I want eyes on us at all times while we’re down here.”
With their weapons secured and the ship’s defenses primed, Milcoat led Deenon and Parry out of the Perfect Stranger and into the bustling chaos of Elysee Downport. The sheer density of people was overwhelming – a mix of spacers, merchants, laborers, and what appeared to be several individuals attempting to blend in with elaborate disguises that failed spectacularly.
“My priority is finding work,” Milcoat stated, his gaze scanning the crowd. “Something simple, something reliable. Transporting cargo would be ideal – Besancon or Herzenslust are always looking for ships.” He approached a data kiosk and began sifting through job postings, filtering for transport contracts.
It didn’t take long. A message flashed across the screen: “Islandbridge Trading Corporation – Seeking Ship for Urgent Delivery to Besancon.” Milcoat tapped on the link, pulling up the details. The contract was straightforward enough: fifteen tons of specialized clothing destined for a mine venture operating in the asteroid belt of Besancon. The pay wasn’t exorbitant, but it was substantial enough to cover their immediate needs and potentially leave some credits over for repairs.
He located the Islandbridge Trading Corporation’s office – a small, unassuming storefront tucked away in a side alley. Inside, he found a middle-aged man with tired eyes and a perpetually stressed expression. The man introduced himself as Mr. Elmsworth.
“You’re responding to our advertisement for a ship capable of delivering cargo to Besancon?” Elmsworth asked, his voice raspy. “We need it done quickly – the mine is experiencing equipment failures and they desperately need these specialized suits.” He paused, scrutinizing Milcoat and his crew. “The clothing is sensitive to temperature fluctuations; you’ll need to maintain a stable environment throughout the journey.”
Milcoat nodded confidently. “The Perfect Stranger is equipped for precisely that kind of transport,” he assured Elmsworth. “We can have the cargo loaded and underway within the hour.”
Elmsworth’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he seemed satisfied enough. “Very well,” he said, pushing a contract across the desk. “Read it over carefully. The deadline is firm.”
The terms were standard – liability waivers, insurance clauses, and a surprisingly detailed section on maintaining cargo temperature. Milcoat skimmed through it quickly, then signed his name with a decisive flourish. “We’ll have your cargo delivered on time,” he promised Elmsworth. “Just as you requested.”
Scene #26 – On the news today…
Deenon’s protests were a sharp counterpoint to Captain Milcoat’s brisk orders. “Captain, with all due respect, we haven’t run a full diagnostic on the jump drive or life support systems. Rushing this is reckless.”
Milcoat’s face tightened. “We can’t afford to linger here, Deenon,” he snapped, his voice laced with impatience. “Zuflucht isn’t going to wait for us while we conduct a week-long inspection. I know the ship’s condition; she’s serviceable enough.” He gestured dismissively. “The intel is priority one. We need to deliver it before…” He trailed off, unwilling to voice the implications of failure.
Before he could finish his thought, Korbin Parry moved with a speed that belied his ex-marine training. He intercepted both Milcoat and Deenon, gripping their arms firmly but not aggressively. The sudden halt silenced the argument instantly. Parry’s gaze was fixed on the massive screen above them.
He nodded towards it, a silent command. The news feed displayed a grainy image – security camera footage, clearly taken recently. It showed Milcoat and Deenon in what appeared to be a crowded transit hub. Milcoat’s face was clear, his expression caught mid-sentence. Beside him, Deenon’s features were equally visible. But Parry himself was shrouded in shadow, obscured from view.
“That’s… concerning,” Parry stated flatly, his voice low and devoid of emotion. “Authorities are searching for the crew of a vessel believed to be involved in smuggling activities.” The broadcast continued, detailing the alleged crime – trafficking in restricted weaponry – and highlighting the faces of those being sought. Milcoat and Deenon were now undeniably on that list.
Milcoat’s face paled slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. “This changes things,” he admitted, though his tone remained clipped. “We need to get moving. Now.” He glanced at Parry, a flicker of something akin to gratitude crossing his features. “You’re not visible in the footage. Forget the transportation contract. You handle the paperwork and any necessary… explanations. We need to leave this system immediately. Every moment we waste here increases our exposure.”
Parry’s grip on their arms loosened slightly but remained firm. “Understood,” he replied, his voice a steady counterpoint to Milcoat’s rising anxiety. “Get to the ship. Full burn for Zuflucht. No stops.” The Perfect Stranger shuddered again as its engines began to spool up, pushing them away from Reudden Starport and deeper into the grim expanse of the islands subsectors.
Scene #27 – Rushed!
Luck, as Milcoat often remarked, was the only thing separating success from catastrophic failure in this sector. And tonight, luck seemed to be on their side. Nobody noticed Captain Milcoat and Jela Deenon slip aboard the Perfect Stranger, blending into the pre-dawn bustle of the port like ghosts. The security presence at Downport had been lighter than anticipated, a welcome anomaly that they exploited with practiced efficiency.
Korbin Parry, meanwhile, was already working his angles. He’d secured a private comm channel and sent a carefully worded message to Mr. Elmsworth of the Islandbridge Trading Corporation. It was a fabrication, naturally, but one designed to minimize offense and preserve any lingering possibility of future dealings. “Mr. Elmsworth,” the message read, “Regretfully, we must inform you that due to unforeseen and critical malfunctions within our vessel’s systems, we are unable to fulfill our agreement regarding the transport of… materials. We apologize for this inconvenience and any disruption it may cause. Further communication will be impossible until repairs are completed.” Parry added a polite but firm closing, ensuring no room for argument or further inquiry. He knew Elmsworth wouldn’t be pleased, but damage control was paramount at this point.
Milcoat found Deenon already hunched over a diagnostics console in the ship’s cramped engine room. The air hummed with the low thrum of failing machinery – a constant companion aboard the Perfect Stranger. “Status report,” he demanded, his voice tight with suppressed anxiety.
Deenon didn’t look up immediately. “The jump drive is… temperamental,” she admitted finally, her fingers flying across the keyboard. “It’s holding together, but it’s operating on fumes and a prayer. Life support is stable for now, but we’re bleeding power faster than we can replenish it.” She paused, running another diagnostic sequence. “We need to reach Herzenslust in two jumps without a missjump. That’s the bare minimum.”
Milcoat swore under his breath – a brief, controlled burst of frustration. “Can it be done?” he asked, already knowing the answer wouldn’t be entirely reassuring.
Deenon ran her calculations again, her expression grim. “The ship is stressed,” she confirmed. “We’re pushing her beyond her design limits. But… yes. It’s possible. I estimate an eighty percent chance of reaching Herzenslust without a catastrophic missjump.” She emphasized the last phrase with a significant look. A missjump could mean anything from being stranded in uncharted space to being ripped apart by gravitational forces – or worse.
Milcoat nodded slowly, absorbing the information. Eighty percent wasn’t great, but it was better than fifty. “That will have to do,” he declared, his voice hardening with resolve. “Prepare for immediate departure. No further diagnostics. We move now.” He knew that every moment spent lingering in this system increased their risk of discovery and exposure.
The hours that followed were a tense blur of activity. Deenon worked tirelessly, coaxing the Perfect Stranger’s aging systems to perform beyond their capabilities. Parry oversaw security protocols, ensuring all external comms were scrubbed and internal sensors were minimized. Milcoat paced the bridge, his gaze fixed on the navigation charts, each tick of the chronometer amplifying the pressure building within him.
Parry was the first to break the quiet. “Well,” he said, his voice a low rumble through the bridge’s comm system, “using our last few credits for that emergency fuel top-up before we left Elysee is looking like a damn good investment right now.”
Deenon’s reply crackled back instantly. “You’re telling me. Elysee doesn’t have a gas giant to skim from, and we were running on fumes. A missjump with those reserves would have been… unpleasant.” She paused, her fingers still dancing across the fuel gauge display. “The tanks are full now. Enough to reach Herzenslust without issue.”
A flicker of relief crossed Milcoat’s face, though he kept his expression carefully neutral. He’d been chewing on that worry for hours. The gamble had paid off – a desperate measure born from necessity and fueled by dwindling resources.
“Confirming course,” Deenon continued, her voice regaining some of its usual confidence. “All systems nominal.”
With a final check completed, the Perfect Stranger slipped into jumpspace, leaving behind the turbulent currents of Elysee. The ship vanished into the void, carrying its weary crew towards Herzenslust.
To be continued…
Thank you for reading and I hope you liked the adventure so far. Just like last week, I added a star chart with the plotted course of the Perfect Stranger so far.
