Welcome back to Zane, Clara and that dubious stowaway, Clara found on the Nibelungen. We left this strange crew when they departed from the Lepanto system in a hurry. Fleeing from Tahon Rez, the leader of the Iba Yekoth, they also have to deal with an unexpected guest on board their ship.
Let’s zip back on board of the Nibelungen …
Scene #4 – The strangest of all Travellers
Zane’s confusion transformed into incredulous disbelief as Clara laid out her peculiar discovery. A worm with legs and an affinity for blankets? The absurdity clung to the air like static electricity.
“A worm that… talks?” Zane’s skepticism was palpable, yet Clara’s steady gaze betrayed no fabrication.
“It’s beyond strange,” she affirmed, mimicking the creature’s size with a gesture. “Two legs, translucent body, and wrapped in some sort of colorful fabric. Said it needed passage.”
Zane rubbed his temples, processing this surreal twist amidst their already perilous circumstances. “Alright… a stowaway worm. Any threat?”
“Friendly enough,” Clara replied, though her tone carried an undercurrent of caution. “But it’s not from around here, that’s for sure.”
A brief silence enveloped them as the jump engine hummed persistently.
“Alright,” Zane declared, his tone brooking no argument despite the surreal twist. “Bring our new … friend to the bridge immediately.”
Moments later, Clara guided a perplexing sight before them: a creature indeed resembling a large, translucent worm, its bioluminescent body accentuated by two surprisingly deft legs and swaddled in an iridescent blanket. It emitted a soft, almost melodious hum, radiating an aura of benign curiosity.
“Greetings,” the creature’s voice resonated, startlingly articulate despite its unconventional appearance.
Zane leaned back, eyes assessing this peculiar traveler. “Who—or what—are you?”
Zane’s skepticism did little to veil his curiosity as he scrutinized the alien before him—Quk Olzan, hailing from the distant reaches of Hoa in Reaver’s Deep.
“Quite the journey,” Zane remarked, a hint of disbelief shading his words. “And your purpose here? Surely not for idle wandering?”
With an almost theatrical gesture, Quk’s bulbous eyes seemed to scrutinize him in return before replying with a blend of formality and unyielding calm. “A personal matter, sir,” the Tlyetrai stated, mimicking a human bow that conveyed both respect and resolute secrecy.
“Personal affairs tend to intersect odd paths,” Zane retorted, his gaze sharpening as he mentioned Rez’s name deliberately. “Especially in places where certain syndicates loom large.”
Surprise flickered—a rare glimpse of an emotion on Quk’s alien visage. The creature’s answer was firm and unaccompanied by the usual subterfuge one might expect. “No acquaintance with that individual, sir.”
Zane’s instincts—honed through years of deception and survival—concluded this honesty in Quk’s demeanor seemed genuine.
“Alright then,” he conceded, a cautious alliance forming in his mind. “Just remember, personal or otherwise, allies can be found where least expected.”
Zane’s scrutiny lingered on Quk Olzan as he spoke with the measured caution of one stepping through minefields. “The tale of your boarding can wait for safer waters,” he declared, his voice carrying the weight of experience and latent suspicion.
Turning to Clara, a flicker of doubt shadowed his eyes. “Rez’s hand reached us faster than wind across dunes,” Zane mused, rubbing his jaw with fingers calloused by countless struggles. “Any whispers from shadows you might have heard?”
Clara’s brow furrowed in the stark honesty that defined their alliance. “No hint, Zane. Our jumps were chaos itself—aimless and untraceable even to us,” she affirmed, her voice steady despite the rising tension.
A silence fell, heavy with unspoken fears and possibilities. “Could it be,” Zane ventured slowly, his gaze probing Clara’s reaction, “that you, without knowing, play unwitting messenger? The Widows share a consciousness… if one knows, all do.”
The words struck Clara like a lash; her shock was palpable, a rare crack in her stoic facade. “Shut up, Zane!” she snapped, the pain of accusation slicing through their camaraderie. With a sharp pivot and a glare that could carve stone, she continued, “That implies betrayal by kin—a bond stronger than steel. They wouldn’t—couldn’t—betray without reason beyond imagining.”
The room’s atmosphere grew taut with unspoken fears and the bitter truth: trust, in this brutal expanse of stars, was a fragile construct easily shattered, yet desperately clung to amidst the void.
Clara’s voice carried a defensive edge as she countered Zane’s insinuations. “And if true, I’d know—one knows, all know, remember? Your logic extends its shadow to you,” she challenged, eyes locking onto his with fierce defiance.
Zane’s grip on her shoulders was firm but not hostile, more an anchor in the storm of their unraveling suspicions. “Clara, listen,” he implored, voice steady despite the turbulence of possibilities swirling between them. “I’m not casting blame without cause—it’s our rapid recapture that gnaws at me.”
A flicker of doubt crossed Clara’s normally resolute expression, a chink in her armor revealed by his earnestness. After a pause heavy with contemplation, she admitted, “There was mention, long past my time… Q2,3nrpi2. A clone who tried severing the collective connection. Temporary or permanent—there might be ways to obscure from the network.”
Zane echoed the alien sequence, letting its foreignness settle between them before realization dawned. “Q2,3nrpi2?” he repeated.
Clara offered a rare, almost tender smile beneath the gravity. “A name… an ID. Clara’s not my given moniker either—just silly human mimicry.”
Their shared gaze held a moment’s fragile peace before Zane probed deeper. “Could they then—Rez might’ve contacted your collective, painting you as a traitor for a failed client? That could compel them to reveal you.”
Clara pondered this with the cold logic of one versed in the machinations of power and duty. “Indeed,” she concluded softly but with certainty. “Yes, protecting reputation over individual… Rez becomes their enforcer, ensuring we face his wrath for a perceived disgrace.”
Zane completed her thought with grim finality: “So he can do the dirty work for them, clearing their name while chasing us to oblivion.”
Scene #5 – Welcome to New Königsberg
The violent halt of jumpspace’s ebb marked their second evasive maneuver since Lepanto’s harrowing encounter with Rez’s syndicate. Tension simmered in the air, two weeks’ worth of relentless flight distilled into a single, bated breath.
“Location?” Zane demanded, urgency cutting through the bridge’s tension as he eyed Clara for answers.
“I chose randomness,” she replied, her voice a calculated blend of pragmatism and defiance. “If I don’t know our destination, neither can the collective extract it from my thoughts. Check the screens—keep this knowledge to yourself.”
Zane moved with grudging respect for Clara’s strategy, his stride purposeful as he approached the navigation holos. A smirk touched his lips as a name materialized: New Königsberg—a barren world, fitting their need for anonymity.
Quk Olzan’s arrival broke the silence, its form almost timid yet carrying an unmistakable aura of intellect. “dear valued humanoid lifeforms…” it began cautiously before Zane’s impatience cut in with a wave of his hand dismissing formalities.
“Just names here,” Zane reminded sharply.
Undeterred, Quk resumed: “My expertise in psionics suggests your predicament stems from Blacksand Widows’ specialized telepathic links. A disruption—a device—could silence Clara’s broadcast while allowing her to still monitor their network.”
Zane’s interest piqued, the alien’s slender arms began tracing ethereal blueprints in the air—diagrams of a potential salvation against Rez’s relentless pursuit.
His decision to bypass High Port and touch down directly at a secluded desert base was a testament to their growing wariness. As the Nibelungen’s sleek form descended, landing legs kissing the dusty ground, Zane exhaled a breath laden with cautious relief—Clara remained blissfully ignorant of their new hideout.
A modest collection of utilitarian buildings and a solitary landing pad offered scant clues to prying eyes. For now, anonymity reigned.
Stepping onto New Königsberg’s arid expanse, the trio was met by an eccentric figure—a man in a garishly patterned outfit crowned with a disturbingly anachronistic hat from Terra’s distant past. His arms waved erratically as he greeted them with a boisterous “Welcome to New Königsberg! Stan S. Stanman the name!”
“Shit,” Zane and Clara muttered almost simultaneously, their expressions grim.
Quk, ever the pragmatic observer, pointed out the man’s inadvertent revelation: “That is unfortunate, good sir; you’ve just broadcast our location to Clara’s sisterhood.”
Stanman, oblivious or indifferent, launched into an unending spiel about his entrepreneurial exploits on this forsaken world.
Zane brusquely interrupted the monologue, shoving the garrulous man aside. “Alright,” he said, addressing his companions with renewed urgency. “We’ve likely got a week before Rez catches wind of our position via the collective. Time to move fast.”
Eyes fixed on Quk, Zane’s tone shifted from command to inquiry: “What do you need for that device?” The question hung in the hot desert air, a catalyst for their next desperate maneuver against an unseen, telepathic foe.
As the litany of components rolled off Quk’s tongue, an inventory both alien and arcane, Zane’s skepticism mounted. His gaze swept over the list, landing on entries that seemed as likely to brew a potion as construct a psionic disruptor.
“New Königsberg ain’t exactly tech nirvana,” he grumbled, brow furrowed in doubt. “This setup looks more like kitchen sorcery than high-end gear.”
Clara’s eyes flickered with unease, her trust stretched thin by the stakes and the peculiarity of Quk’s demands.
The alien, sensing their hesitation, met their scrutiny with calm assurance. “My kin excel at TL8-9 devices, intricate yet precise—this falls within our expertise,” it explained, an optimistic tilt to its posture.
Zane turned to Clara, seeking her wary agreement. After a tense moment of internal conflict, she nodded—a reluctant concession born not from faith but necessity.
With that nod, the fate of their covert plan rested on Quk’s slender fingers and the hope that this desert world could yield the rare components essential for their survival gambit.
Scene #6 – Be a good doggy!
Fortune’s fickle hand guided their path as they stumbled upon intel of a clandestine market nestled within New Königsberg’s desolate expanse—a black-market bazaar with whispers of rare components.
“Outstanding news, Quk,” Zane announced, a flicker of hope breaking through his usual stoicism. “We might just pull off this scavenger hunt after all.”
Clara noted an unusual cheer in Quk’s demeanor, a subtle shift in its chromatic hue suggesting some internal satisfaction or perhaps mere relief at the prospect of progress.
With haste becoming their ally, they secured a rickety landspeeder—an aging relic suited for New Königsberg’s harsh terrain. As they set forth on the three-hour journey to a secluded merchant hub, a sense of wary optimism cloaked them.
The sands and dunes blurred past, each mile a gamble against Rez’s impending discovery. Beneath the blazing sun, their makeshift expedition steered towards a sliver of hope: an enclave where technology’s shadows might provide the fragments needed to thwart their telepathic pursuers. The desert stretched vast and unforgiving, but for Zane, Clara, and Quk, it offered a fragile path forward.
The expanse of the desert plain abruptly altered their tranquility as a distant dust cloud materialized on the horizon. A sudden tension gripped the group as Zane snatched his binoculars, focusing intently.
A nightmarish vision emerged: a sleek, predatory silhouette breaching through the dunes like an apex hunter in a sandy ocean. Steel-like jaws glinted ominously amidst the sandstorm they conjured.
“Fuck’s sake,” Zane muttered, his voice a grim acceptance of this new peril. “Someone ought to have warned us about these damn desert demons.”
Without wasting breath on curses past, he handed the binoculars to Clara and swiftly swapped seats with her, commandeering the landspeeder’s controls.
“Clara, arm up,” he barked over the wind’s roar. “Wait for your shot—don’t let it close too fast.”
Clara nodded, blaster ready, her eyes now a mix of determination and wariness. The vehicle’s engines roared louder as Zane navigated through shifting dunes, their every movement a dance against an unpredictable adversary.
The sand-bound predator closed in with terrifying speed, a creature born from the harshest reaches of New Königsberg’s desolation. With each heartbeat thrumming urgency, Clara steadied herself, prepared to meet this new threat head-on—her aim, Zane’s commands, and the silent understanding that survival here depended on their united resolve against both nature and lurking enemies.
The sudden jolt as they struck a dune sent the landspeeder careening out of control. Clara’s sarcastic reprimand hung in the tense air, but there was no time for blame. They sprang from the cockpit, seeking cover behind their mechanical shield.
Gunfire erupted in a cacophony—desperate shots aimed at the relentless predator now bearing down with predatory grace. Hits landed erratically, more sparking off scales than piercing deep.
Just as the beast swung to flank them, Zane’s instinctive pivot and well-timed blast caught one of its dorsal fins—a crucial strike that disrupted its assault. The creature faltered, a brief hesitation offering Clara her chance.
“Now!” Zane’s voice cut through the chaos, galvanizing their coordinated effort.
With focused precision, Clara leveraged her cybernetic enhancements, her shot true as an arrow to the predator’s exposed eye. A deafening shriek tore across the desert as the beast staggered, blood pooling in the sand before it vanished beneath the dunes—a wounded relic of nature’s harsh elegance.
In the eerie silence that followed, breathless and hearts pounding, they shared a grim yet victorious glance.
With the adrenaline ebbing, Zane assessed their conveyance, relieved to find the landspeeder’s resilience had spared them further trouble. They pressed onward towards the settlement—a ramshackle collection of scrap and survivalist tenacity.
Navigating a maze of makeshift dwellings, Zane zeroed in on the described Vargr merchant, an imposing figure amidst the detritus.
“Someone vouched we could secure parts here,” Zane declared, stepping into the haggard individual’s gaze. His tone carried urgency, but a hint of desperation underpinned it.
The Vargr’s scrutiny was thorough, his growling voice resonating with skepticism: “I possess nothing for you,” he dismissed curtly, a clear attempt to extricate himself from this unexpected encounter.
Zane’s eyes narrowed; he had no time or patience for games. Leaning closer, the Free Smuggler’s hardened resolve cut through the air: “We aren’t leaving empty-handed,” he stated firmly, hinting at persuasion—or perhaps threat—beneath his words.
Clara’s intervention was a calculated shift in approach—one where her poised menace promised more than brute force could convey. She approached the Vargr, her demeanor shifting from Zane’s rough-hewn assertiveness to a cold precision.
“Listen furball,” she began, her voice slicing through layers of subterfuge. “Names and histories don’t interest me; only results do.” With a subtle yet deliberate gesture, Clara revealed her tattooed barcode—the unmistakable marking of a Blacksand Widow clone—a sign that spoke volumes more than any threat.
The Vargr’s eyes widened instinctively, his previous gruffness dissolving into palpable unease. “No disrespect intended, lady,” he stammered, now acutely aware of the gravity of her presence and the potential consequences should their exchange sour.
“Your list?” he asked almost pleadingly, an implicit acknowledgment of her influence.
Clara extended the required items, a document of their dire need. The Vargr scanned it briefly before nodding with a grim determination to scavenge through his hidden caches.
Turning back to Zane and Quk—standing vigilant at a distance—the intergalactic thumbs-up signaled success, if not without a hint of the underlying tension that had been deftly diffused by Clara’s calculated display of power.
Clara’s composed demeanor belied the edge of her earlier confrontation, her innocent smile masking the sharp negotiation that had just transpired. “Deal sealed,” she informed Zane with a casual air. “He’ll deliver our parts directly to the landspeeder.”
She then turned toward what appeared to be an unassuming cantina—an oasis amid the settlement’s desolation.
“Drinks?” Clara proposed, her tone lightening as if dismissing the recent tension into the annals of necessary deeds. It was a rare moment of levity in their relentless pursuit, an offer to momentarily forget their burdens over shared glasses and the ephemeral comfort of camaraderie.
Zane’s gaze flickered from the bar back to Clara, a mix of appreciation and the familiar undercurrent of his ever-watchful nature. “Sure,” he finally nodded, allowing himself a brief reprieve. “Might as well toast to surviving another round of New Königsberg’s… hospitality.”
To be continued …
Now tha all parts are aquired, will Quk be able to help Clara? We will find out in the next part of “Scum of the Gateway Domain”.
Thank you so much for reading and following this series. It is really appreciated! I hope to see you back in the next part.
Sources used:
– Traveller Core Rulebook 2022 Update (Mongoose Publishing Ltd.)
– Traveller Companion 2024 Update (Mongoose Publishing Ltd.)
– Traveller The Trailing Frontier (Mongoose Publishing Ltd.)
– T20 Gateway to Destiny (QuickLink Interactive Inc.)
– “Widowed” by Chris A. Jackson (Mongoose Publishing Ltd.)
– Mythic GME 2nd Edition (Word Mill Games)
