Doc briefly considers heading back to the Pu for supplies. It's already past noon and they've got nearly six miles to cover to get into town. Doc decides he can make do with what he has. He's got enough supplies for a makeshift medical kit.
"Okay, lets go." Doc collects himself and leads the way to Toledo. The mud no longer belabors their every step, and they begin to make good time at last. As they walk, the corduroy road becomes simply dirt and stone. The ground, while damp, is no longer a mudpit. The trees begin to thin, and thick black smoke can be seen drifting on the horizon.
An hour later they're free of the forested swamp and at the edge of a cornfield, which the road winds past on its way to the town still two miles away. Black smoke rises from the growing smelters and refineries along the Maumee; a sign of progress in this day and age.
To Doc it is a sickening sight. He was raised during the Greenhouse crisis; an age of smog and heat, where nearly everyone in he grew up had asthma, and skin cancer and lung disease overtook heart disease and car accidents as the leading causes of American deaths. Fortunately, science and medicine had reacted quickly and cured the symptoms, but not before he lost nearly a third of his graduating class.
They continue on until they reach a fork in the road. A wooden sign welcomes them to Toledo, and declares the road they are on to be Indiana. Another, smaller sign indicates the intersecting path as Monroe St. Down both paths they can see people and horses bustling through the town.
They stop and rest for a bit. It's been a while since Doc has done a ten mile hike, let alone one through the mud. Lightning chews on some roadside weeds. Thunderhorse snacks on mead and horse-oats. Doc is not quite that hungry, although he's getting there.
A horse and wagon approach them from Monroe St. Thunderhorse goes on alert and stands near Lightning where its a quick grab for his battleaxe. They watch as it approaches. It is a simple cart with an old nag in front and an old man leading it. He's wearing overalls and a straw hat, and moves at a slow, steady pace. He's carrying a rifle similar to Doc's. He waves to them as he approaches.
The Edge of Town
The Great Black Marsh, pt 2
Doc is quick on the draw as he pulls his pistol into position, but the snake reacts to the threat just as swiftly. The speed of its movement surprises Doc, causing his shot to go a bit wide, splattering mud into the air. The snake dives towards his foot and bites into his shin.
Doc yelps in pain as the sharp teeth hit bone. The snake strikes again, this time hitting flesh. His calf goes numb as the snakes venom enters his blood. He vainly tries to knock the thing away with his pistol.
The snake rears back once again, flattens its head, and practically throws its self at Doc. It goes wide and ends up turned around confused. Doc takes the opportunity to back off and aim his pistol. One well placed shot neatly smashes the snake's head into tiny pieces.
"Thunderhorse!" calls Doc. "Donnerpferd! Whatever the hell your name is," Doc mumbles agitatedly as he switches the translator back on. Thunderhorse had already turned around to watch Doc dispatch the water moccasin. He collects the muddy cloth and escorts Lightning towards Doc.
"Was that your thunder sling?" Thunderhorse asks, observing the remains of the snake with extreme caution.
"Yeah. Can you get me the medicine box?" Doc asks. Thunderhorse complies. Doc feels the poison in his leg, and the numbness is starting to spread. Doc is able to ignore it for now, but it won't be long before it gets worse.
Doc sits down in the mud with the medical kit. He expertly treats the snake bite on his calf and bandages up his wounds. Meanwhile, Thunderhorse inspects the remains of the snake. He refuses to get too close to it, though.
"Fucking snakes. I hate them," he mumbles.
When he's finished with his leg, Doc collects the snake's remains. He drains it's blood, wraps it in a bit of cloth, and slips it into the saddlebag.
The two head up to the corduroy road and have a seat on a sand covered log. Doc looks up and down the road. The woods are thick and the road curves around the large marshy puddles in the swamp, but it leads towards Toledo. Doc can find no sign of people within his field of view or range of hearing.
Doc reloads his pistol as they rest. He cleans the mud off his suit as much as he can. He retrieves the flintlock rifle from the muddy cloth, inspects it, and rams a ball and powder into the muzzle.
Doc contacts the ship. "Yes, sir?" the Host speaks to Doc through his I-Browse.
"Can you replicate some equipment and send it down to us? I need some more first aid kits and a flare gun."
"Negative, sir. The only option for delivery is to launch a torpedo into your vicinity, and I have neither the programming nor the clearance to perform such an operation. You'll have to return to the Pu for supplies."
"Acknowledged," replies Doc.
The sun is high in the sky and is beginning to break through the dark clouds. After a twenty minute break, Thunderhorse begins to grow impatient. "Are we sitting here all day crying over your leg?"
The Great Black Swamp
Doc and Thunderhorse lead Lightning down the gangplank onto the muddy, rain-swollen marsh. It is a gray and overcast morning, but the air is fresh and free of smog. Doc is instantly reminded of his youth in the country. Its been a long time since he's tasted natural, clean air.
"You should take off your helmet. We don't want to scare the locals," Doc instructs Thunderhorse as he adjusts the top hat on his own head. Thunderhorse reluctantly complies.
Doc wishes his costume would allow him some decent boots. His new shoes are already muddy.
The two begin loading Lightning with supplies. Without a cart, they can't carry as much as Doc would like to take, but in this terrain it's probably for the best. They tie the rum and whiskey barrels together and hang them across Lightning's saddle so that they hang to the sides and offset their weights. They conceal the flintlock rifle, Thunderhorse's battleaxe, and other equipment within the bolts of cloth and mount them onto the warhorse, who does not seem to enjoy his new role as a mule. Thunderhorse keeps him calm.
The two set off eastward. Going is slow, as the mud is thick and heavy with spring rain. Mosquitoes and flies torment them. The further they go, the more they smell of drowned worms and dead fish. The cool spring air does nothing to offset the hot sweat they generate while plowing through the mud.
They walk for an hour. Thunderhorse is getting pissed. His excessive layers of clothing and armor are irritating him. He mutters curses under his breath, but the I-Browse in Doc's waistcoat pocket translates and repeats them at full volume. Doc turns this off for the time being. He checks the GPS map. They're still seven miles out from town.
Half an hour of trudging through muddy woods later, they reach something of a clearing. Doc spies a corduroy road in the distance. "Look, there's a -"
Doc is cut short by a high-pitched, girlish scream and an accompanying whinny. Doc turns round to see Thunderhorse and Lightning in a panic attempting to flee through the mud from a water moccasin. Doc must've stepped over it unnoticed. As Lightning tries to run, the bolts of cloth tied to his back come loose and fall into the mud. So much for white linens.
The three-foot snake, turning its attention towards Doc, rears up in a defensive position hardly five feet away, mouth agape and hissing.
The Descent
"Just a couple more things." Doc is rounding out his plan. "How long will it take to load my Jeep onto the Pu?"
"Well, sir," replies the Autopilot. "Th' thing is we need ta' clear some space out in the hold, plus we can't jus' move the Jeep through th' ship, y'know? Too big. Gonna hafta dock with the main cargo bay after we launch. Should be a breeze once we're down there, though. Been meanin' to clean up the Pu cargo bay, anyway."
"Good. Grab as many tools from the repair bay as you can, including the plasma torch and load them on the shuttle, then get ready to launch."
"Yessir!" The Autopilot happily obliges and goes of to complete his tasks.
"Host, do we have any body armor on board? Bullet proof vests or anything?" Doc asks.
"No, sir. There are several EVA suits on board which can withstand micro-meteor impacts but they are not combat rated and they are far from concealable." replies the Host, dutifully.
"Fine. Go get Lighting and load him up on the shuttle." The Host obeys. "Chef, can we borrow some vibro-knives? Three if you can spare 'em."
"Sure! Glad to help!" The Chef goes off the the kitchen and returns fairly quickly with a set of the devices. There's a butcher's knife, a cleaver, and a serrated bread knife each with a small thumb button to activate the ultrasonic feature in the shape of a two-headed stick figure with eight limbs representing the Spyderhenckel's brand. They are lightweight, ceramic, and very nice. "Gonna need these back, though, sir, unless you don't like your bread sliced."
"Noted." Doc goes over to the replicator and quickly orders a couple kevlar vests. They will be ready in twenty minutes and costs $1132.68 from his personal account. While that's printing, Doc has a chat with Thunderhorse.
"We're going down to Earth in a few minutes," explains Doc.
"Yes," nods Thunderhorse.
"We have to rescue the beardless dwarf."
"...to kill him ourselves?"
"NO! No. We need him to tell us why he brought us here."
"And how we can go home?"
"Yes, exactly. Although, I'm sure he has plans for us."
"...to kill us?"
"No. Not to kill us. He needs our help. He brought us here to save... his tribe. Ourselves, in fact. He can see the future, just like Odin. He can take us there to fight evils that would destroy us, or take us to the past to stop the evils before they start."
Thunderhorse has a blank, quizzical look on his face.
"He can travel through time."
Thunderhorse furrows his brows. "Travel through time. Make what has passed what will pass. And change it?" Something begins to dawn on Thunderhorse. "So he can take me to that day when King Nathan took my Jazelle? And I can stop him?!" He's on his feet, pumped and ready.
Doc is wary of passing on false hope, but doesn't want to kill his enthusiasm. "Yes. I'm sure he can. But first we have to rescue him."
"RHAAUUGH!" Thunderhorse screams a warcry. "VENGANCE WILL BE MINE AT LAST!" He throws a barstool across the galley, smashing its aluminum frame upon the wall.
"Yes, yes. But first we have to go get him. Now the people we are rescuing him from are... from a different tribe. They're my ancestors and they speak my language. Let me do the talking."
"I understand. You talk and I will kill."
"No, no. Don't kill just anyone. I'll tell you when it's time to kill. But you have to be very careful. The people of this tribe have powerful weapons. They have these." Doc picks up the flintlock rifle. "It makes thunder that can kill you. It is like a sling. It shoots these." Doc shows him the lead balls. "It is a thunder sling."
Thunderhorse listens carefully in awe. "Truely, they are powerful." He likes weapons. "But no mere stone can stop me. I am Goeth."
"You are strong, but don't let its little size fool you. Just like those tiny poisoned arrows the metal bugs hit you with, these little balls can take you down quickly. This might help you, though."
They wait while the Kevlar vest finishes. Doc gives it to Thunderhorse. "Put this on under your armor. It will protect you from the bullets. And put these on. It's a disguise. You'll look like a commoner of the tribe."
Thunderhorse understands and takes the work clothes. He begins stripping down in the galley. The smell of unwashed barbarian taint hits the room like a nuclear bomb. No time to explain the concept of showers or modesty now, though. Doc takes his new suit and goes to his room to change, half choking.
Minutes later they are both dressed and ready. Thunderhorse looks almost twice his normal size as his studded leather armor bulges beneath the work shirt and overalls. He's still got his goat-skull helmet on, beneath the felt sun hat.
They take the remaining equipment and Doc's duffel bag down to the docking bay and enter the Pu. The engines are humming. The Autopilot is in the cockpit, strapped in and ready.
"What have you done to my horse?!" screams Thunderhorse to the Host, who has Lightning lying on the ground between the seats and secured with multiple safety lines. The horse does not like this situation and is struggling against the restraints.
"It's okay, its for the best. It's going to be a bumpy ride and we don't want him to break a leg," explains Doc.
Thunderhorse sits himself on the ground next to his horse and comforts him. Doc straps himself in behind the Autopilot. "Thunderhorse, you have to sit in a chair and strap yourself in. This will be a bumpy ride."
"Piss off," he says.
"Y'all ready to go?" the Autopilot asks.
"Not if he's not in a seat."
"He'll be alright 'till after we dock with the cargo bay."
"Alright, then. Let's go."
There is a sound of mechanical devices decoupling the two vessels. The Pu pulls gently away from the Younger Brother Pear. A bluish force-field passes over the windshield as they leave the hanger. Gravity leaves them.
Thunderhorse is notably upset by this. "Thor's Balls! What the fuck is going on?!" he yells as he begins to float away from the floor. Lightning whinnies in alarm.
"We're enterin' freefall. Don't worry, it's normal. We'll be docked with the cargo bay in a minute."
The ovoid Younger Brother Pear diminishes in the window for a brief moment. The Earth takes up the entire sky above them. Doc realizes they're upside down and is made a bit dizzy by it. Or is it the lack of gravity? The Autopilot hits a control, and there is burst of acceleration as the shuttle begins moving back towards the main part of the ship. The Younger Brother Pear begins eclipsing the Earth. Blue and red plasma bursts forward from the shuttle as the Autopilot begins slowing down and starts docking. A quick tap on the controls, and a large, circular door opens on the underside of the YBP. The shuttle start moving upwards (or downwards?) slowly towards the circular opening. There is a sound like a fender bender as the shuttle docks with the main ship, and the sound of metal clasps securing their position. Gravity returns, and they're all upside down. Thunderhorse hits the ceiling.
"FUCK! That hurt."
"Careful, gettin' down, y'all," says the Autopilot as he unhooks his safety belts, hangs on to some handles on his chair, and drops expertly ass over head onto the ceiling feet first.
Doc also unhooks his seatbelt and manages to get down safely with a bit more difficulty. Thunderhorse picks himself up and tries to comfort his braying horse who is now tied to the floor above him.
The three go back into the cargo bay. All the cargo is secured to the floor, hanging over a large, gaping hole leading into the main cargo bay. The Autopilot hits a few buttons in sequence and cargo begins releasing its self from its restraints and dropping onto the cargo bay floor with surprising gentleness.
"Leave the alcohol on board," Doc commands. The Autopilot obeys.
Once all the rest of the cargo is transferred, the Autopilot crouches down to a handle and another control panel at his feet. "Grab on, fellers." The other two do so. With a quick punch of keys, the gravity suddenly reverses. Their feet fall towards what is now once again the floor. They drop from the handle.
The dizzying transformation of gravity and the dizzying realities of orbit begin to take its toll on the operatives. Thunderhorse takes it surprisingly well considering he's never even heard of "gravity" before, let alone experienced free-fall. Doc knows all too well what's going on, and that doesn't help the butterflies in his stomach. He pukes violently.
"Don't worry, happens all the time," the Autopilot explains. He goes back to the control panel on the wall and enters some more commands. The tied to the floor of the main cargo bay above them starts slowly falling into the shuttle's cargo bay, rotating to remain upright as it does so. Once secured, the Autopilot closes the bay doors.
"Alrighty, fellers, time to git on down there." The Autopilot leads them back to the cockpit. Everyone straps in this time.
With a click and a whoosh, the shuttle decouples from the ship again and gravity disappears. The Pu rockets past the Younger Brother Pear and towards the Earth, entering a lower orbit.
"We'll hafta go round once 'r twice to get inta landing position. Should be about fifteen minutes 'till atmospheric entry."
Doc takes the time to recover is facilities and study maps and historical information. (History) (Timeline). He finds this map of ancient Toledo:
Governor Robert Lucas of Ohio, backed by President Jackson, is disputing the claims on the Toledo strip and its valuable access to waterways made by hot-headed Michigan territorial governor Stevens Mason (who is backed by former President J. Q. Adams). Lucas has just created Lucas County, and Mason has assigned Brigadier-General Joseph Brown the task of keeping Ohioans out of the strip. On Sunday (tomorrow), a group of surveyors will be out to mark the Harris Line, and will come under fire from sixty of Brown's men; the Battle of Phillips corners.
Doc doesn't know who might be involved with Dr. Ritenrong's kidnapping, but he suspects that it may have something to do with the Pains and Penalties Act Mason has enacted, prohibiting any Ohioan government officials from performing their duties within the Toledo strip. Dr. Ritenrong was dressed as a coroner, and may have been arrested under this act. He's probably in the courthouse or somewhere nearby. Why he went down there in the first place is anybody's guess.
"Hold on ta' yer butts, fellers." The Autopilot warns them as the shuttle begins to turn upright. There is a feint glow of red as the Earth begins to swallow them up. There is a sudden jolt and a burst of flame as the atmosphere engulfs them. "Yeehaw!" yells the Autopilot. The cockpit gets hotter. Lightning whinnies. Thunderhorse begins screaming Nordic curses. Doc clings tightly to the handles on his seat. Sweat pours down his brow. Condensation forms all over the inside of the ship and begins raining on them as the careen towards the ever growing ground.
Slowly, the ship begins leveling off. Soon, they are simply flying eastward at supersonic speeds over the forests and mountains of the American west. They continue to descend and decelerate as they approach the great lakes. Within a few moments, they come to a near stop just above the treelines. Toledo is just visible, probably ten miles away, as they descend vertically below the trees and land easily onto swampy ground.
"Alrighty, partners. We're landed. These trees should keep us hidden for a while anyway. I don't think no one goes this deep into the swamp much. Least that's not what the Doc says. Not you, Doc, the other Doc. I'll be waitin' here for ya'. If I run inta troubles I'll jes let ya know on the com." He flicks some controls and the ship's hatch opens.
"Welcome ta' Earth!"
Items Acquired:
2 kevlar vests
3 vibro-knives
Doc Fort save: 1 (+1) vs DC15 critical failure. XP +2
Thunderhorse Fort save: 20 (+3) vs DC15 critical success! XP+15
No bullshit, it happened that way.
Doc History check: 19 (+4) vs. DC 20 Success! XP +20
Group Inventory
Doc
Weapons
Doc's Colt .44 Revolver w/ holster, 2d6+1, 40' RI, 46 rounds, Mastercraft(+1 to hit)
Pulse Ion Particle Pistol (2d8, 73 shots +3 power packs, 80 r. each)
Switchblade 1d4
Pain Gun
Armor:
Jumpsuit (Def +3, +2 Rflx vs. Pain gun, Mag Field, Low: +4 vs. Charged Particles, Mag Field, High: +6 vs. Charged Particles, Recharge time: appx. 12 minutes)
Marine Jacket
HUD Glasses: +2 Reflex, Combat Awareness, +1 Firearms
Materials:
Chewing Tobacco
4 Pictures Nude Women
Tools:
Megaphone
Nylon Satchel
Lighter
Multitool
Simple Lockpick kit
i-Browse hand-held device.
Maglite Flashlight (1d4 club, full batteries)
Advanced medical kit (2 use left)
Backpacks:
50' Rope, tarp, flashlight, cooking kit, Freeze dried food (1 weeks worth), bedroll, 2x canteens
Money:
Cash: 0
Spending Acct: $-26598.42 QNC
Savings Acct: 0
-----------------
Thunderhorse
Weapons:
Battleaxe (1d8)
Stun Baton 1d6 NL
Slug Thrower 2d6, 5 rounds, 2 clips (10r each)
Light Railgun Assault Rifles 2d10, 76 shots left, +1 clip (100 shots)
Armor:
Jumpsuit (Def +3, +2 Rflx vs. Pain gun, Mag Field, Low: +4 vs. Charged Particles, Mag Field, High: +6 vs. Charged Particles, Recharge time: appx. 12 minutes)
Goat Skull Helm: Def +1
HUD Glasses: Weakness Sensor (Critical Hit 19-20)
Backpack:
9 Sticks Dynamite (10 second fuses)
Mk3 HEDP rockets (x11)
Money:
Cash: 1 gar, 18 krum (~ $236 QNC)
Spending Acct: 0 QNC
Savings Acct: 0 QNC
-----------------
Cpt. Mark Daniels
Weapons
Cutlass 1d8
Stun Baton 1d6 NL
Pulse ION Particle Pistol 2d8, 77 rnds, + 3 power packs (80 rnds each)
Light Railgun Assault Rifles 2d10, 73 shots left, +1 clip (100 shots)
SMAW MK153 Missile Launcher: 10d6, 150' RI, 30' min range, 10' blast Reflx DC18, Ignore 10 hardness. Spotting Light (+1 attack)
Armor
Jumpsuit (Def +3, +2 Rflx vs. Pain gun, Mag Field, Low: +4 vs. Charged Particles, Mag Field, High: +6 vs. Charged Particles, Recharge time: appx. 12 minutes)
Blue Militia Jacket w/ Cap
HUD Glasses: Mind Focuser: Will +2
Money
Cash: $22.16 US1835 = $454.72 QNC
-----------------
Veronica Autopilot
Weapons
2 Slugthrowers 2d6, 10 rounds each + 4 clips (40 rounds)
Armor
Flight Suit (Vacuum survival, temperature regulation, acceleration compensation, Piloting +2)
Flight Helmet (Def +1)
-----------------
Dr. Ritenrong
Weapons
Pain Gun
Armor
Lab Coat
HUD Glasses - Advanced Targeting (+4 Firearms)
Tools
Q-TIP Wormhole device
UltraSonic Multitool
19th Century styled Q-NET Pocket Watch
Universal Computing Interface device
Materials
Small Electronics Repair kit (1 use)
Wormholes:
Camping cup
-----------------
Doc's 2008 Jeep Wrangler
Fuel Level: Full
Weapons
M2 Browning .50 cal Machine gun (unmounted): 2d12, 110', Automatic, 1000 rounds (100 shots)
Slug Thrower (2d6, 7 rounds)
2x Pulse Ion pistols 2d8, 80 rounds
Materials:
Antifreeze
4qts Oil
Oil Filter
Air filter
Jerry can w/ Water
Jerry Can w/ Gasoline
Tools:
Basic repair kit (screwdrivers, wrenches, ratchets, fuses)
Spare tire kit
4 Road flares
Misc:
10 Music CDs
-----------------
Pu Shuttle
Armor:
Leather Barding w/ Saddlebags
2 Light saddles
Materials:
3 gallons red wine
16oz. Black Powder
8oz. Laudenum
5 lbs Oats
1 Boarshead Mead
Leather straps
Tools:
Electronics repair kit
4 Iron Shackles
2 pair leather work gloves
Pry Bar
Survival Kit (lantern, canteen, tent, rope, folding shovel, etc)
-----------------
Younger Brother Pear
Weapons, Ship Defenses:
4 Hover Sentries
Internal Microwave Emitters (Pain guns)
1x Light Particle Cannon: 8d8, 4000' RI
2x Light Laser: 6d8, 3000' RI
22x 25kT Nuclear warheads: 10d12
136x Unarmed Torpedoes
Armor, Ship Defenses:
Aurora Magnetic Particle Shielding
Composite Hull plating, 10MT rated
Armor, Personal:
8 Extra-Vehicular Activity Suits
Studded Leather Armor: Def +2
2x Kevlar Vest: Def +1, +2 vs. Bullets
Weapons, Sidearms:
2 Ion Pulse Laser Pistols
1 Bull-pup Railgun
3 Kitchen Vibro-knives
1 Flintlock rifle, 50 rounds ammo
2 "Fancy" Flintlock Pistols, no ammo
1 Old Flintlock Pistols, no ammo, -1 attack and damage
Vehicles:
Pu Shuttle
Egu Shuttle
SF-112 Starfire "Maria Bochkareva"
Materials:
3 years food & life support
Tools:
Portable Spacewalk toolkit:(Sonic Screwdriver, Hydrospanner, Pneumahammer, Safety Lasersaw, Hover laser level)
Plasma Torch
Replicator
ARSE Money Dispenser
Fully equipped galley
Partially equipped shuttle repair bay
Fully equipped medical bay
Partially equipped robotics lab
Sparsely equipped chemistry lab
Misc:
Archaeological Cargo
Entertainment supplies
The Plan of Action
It feels like months have passed as Doc ponders a thousand scenarios. He has always been prone to daydreaming, sometimes for days at a time. But only an hour has gone by when he returns to reality, such as it is.
He has a plan, and it's time to get to work.
The Chef had cleared the table while his mind had wandered. Thunderhorse had passed out under the table after finishing off the gobbit and emptying the bottle of wine. The Host is standing at the ready nearby.
"I need to speak to the captain," Doc tells the Host.
"Dr. Ritenrong is ships captain, sir. He is not currently responding to hails," the Host replies.
"Are there any other crew members aboard ship?"
"Unfortunately, no, sir. Dr. Ritenrong left space port without a full compliment, indeed without a crew at all. You, sir, are listed as both First Mate and Science-Medical officer with the unofficial rank of Commander. Thunderhorse," the Host looks almost disdainfully at the meat-bag passed out beneath the table. "...is your Lieutenant and Security officer. The Autopilot is currently filling the rolls of Pilot, Navigator, and Engineer, although his programming is stretched a bit thin. I will be serving as your Information and Communications officer."
"Stretched a bit thin?" Doc asks worriedly.
"He is programed to operate the ship at a basic level: station keeping, docking, routine maintenance, etcetera. He is ill-equipped to handle the ship in an emergency. Fortunately, we are at little risk at the moment. Dr. Ritenrong has plans to acquire a human pilot at a future date; specifically, July 3rd, 2299. I'm sure you can discuss it with him in detail later."
Doc digests this information for a moment. "Okay, what about ships resources? Do we have any weapons?"
"The ship its self is armed with civilian grade defense systems. The particle cannon is rated at one megaton, enough to deflect most small asteroids, and our shields can withstand a ten megaton impact. In comparison, a small military patrol vessel of the same era can withstand well over one hundred megatons and fire one hundred 50 megaton particle blasts in a second. We are also carrying 22 twenty-five megaton warheads and 136 unarmed torpedoes.
"Internally, we have two hover sentries armed with shock guns and tranquilizers. There are microwave emitters on every deck that can generate an immobilizing pain field. There are two pulse particle-laser pistols and one bull-pup railgun locked on the bridge for emergency defense. There is also, of course, your side arm, Thunderhorse's battleaxe, a plasma torch in the repair bay, and a number of vibro-knives in the galley."
"Can we get the laser pistols to take with us to the surface?" Doc asks.
"They are limited in ammunition and thus for emergency use only. Dr. Ritenrong has coded the locks and only he has access," replies the Host.
"What about explosives? I don't mean nuclear warheads but something like a grenade?"
"None, sir. Although we do have a chemistry lab and facilities to create them, I do not believe we have the appropriate materials to do so."
"Can the replicator make any weapons for us?"
"I don't know, sir. The replicator can only create materials and simple devices, and only those for which we have patterns. New patterns can be purchased and downloaded from Q-Net. Military-grade patterns, however, are often extremely expensive and require proper licensing and permits which we do not have. Skilled hackers, of course, can often find ways around this problem. I personally do not have the appropriate programming to do so as it would be illegal for me to be programmed in such a manner."
"What about information. Do we have maps of the target area? Any political information? Can we bring a computer? What about a printer to forge documents?"
"We have sattelite images of the area in question prior to Dr. Ritenrong's departure. As to political information, you will have to research that on your own. We only have information that is available to us through Q-Net.
"Your IBrowse will keep you connected to the ships computer. Translation services, maps, tracking, and GPS systems are available through it. We have no paper printing devices on board, as such things were made illegal fifty years prior to my activation date. You will have to create any documents either with the replicator or on the surface with materials you find there."
Doc acknowledges this. "Thank you. If I have more questions, I'll call."
"Of course, sir," bows the Host.
Doc makes his way back to the galley. The Chef is cheerfully sweeping up broken glass. He waves a greeting as Doc makes his way to the corner of the galley next to the bar. There are two machines here, one kind of looks like an old vinyl jukebox and the other is kind of like an oversized vending machine.
The jukebox is labeled "Banking Unification Network Services Automated Residual Savings Exchange." It has an electronic touchscreen like an ATM but fashioned to preserve the jukebox look-and-feel. After touching the screen once, it verifies Doc's fingerprints and displays his account information:
WELCOME, LUCAS SHAW. THANK YOU FOR USING ARSE.
PERSONAL SPENDING ACCOUNT BALANCE:$14,998.52 QNC
PERSONAL SAVINGS ACCOUNT BALANCE: $1.48
MISSION ACCOUNT BALANCE: $5,000 CE1835 ($112,870.06 QNC)
| WITHDRAW | DEPOSIT | TRANSFER |
He leaves it be for the time being.
The vending machine is labeled "Q-MART REPLICATOR, ADVENTURE!" Inside the glass encased compartment is a series of nozzles, robotic arms, and laser devices. Next to the glass is a control panel. Doc activates it.
"WELCOME TO Q-MART!" buzzes an annoying electronic voice. "WHAT CAN WE MAKE FOR YOU TODAY?"
"A simple black suit from 1835 America for myself and some rough work clothes: overalls, flannel shirt, hat, and coat for Thunderhorse," he asks.
The control panel displays a range of styles and sizes of those things. Doc selects the ones he wants.
"THAT WILL BE $338.56 QNC. IS THIS A PERSONAL PURCHASE?"
"What? I thought this was free."
"NEGATIVE. THESE PATTERNS MUST BE DOWNLOADED. IS THIS A PERSONAL PURCHASE?"
"No, put this on mission credit."
"PURCHASE AUTHORIZED. TRANSACTION COMPLETE. REPLICATION WILL COMPLETE IN THIRTY TWO MINUTES."
The robotic arms within the glass case spring to life. Various nozzles spray some unknown chemicals while laser beams dance about and begin stitching molecules together.
"WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONTINUE SHOPPING?"
"Yes. I need a lockpick set, hydrochloric acid, four pairs of handcuffs, zip ties, binoculars, gloves, a pry-bar, and nude photos of women."
The machine does some calculations. It presents some options to Doc on the control panel. He is able to find some appropriately old-timey pictures of nude women with surprising ease.
"THAT WILL BE $10,472.93 QNC. IS THIS A PERSONAL PURCHASE?"
Doc hesitates. "Uh, mission credit." Those are some nice binoculars.
The machine whirs for a bit. "PURCHASE DENIED. SOME ITEMS ARE OUTSIDE MISSION PARAMETERS." The zip ties, the handcuffs he picked, and the binoculars are all from beyond 19th century Earth. "WOULD YOU LIKE TO MAKE THIS A PERSONAL PURCHASE?"
"No," replies Doc. He removes the offending items from the list and replaces the handcuffs with a less modern model. It comes to $512.46 and will take a further two and a half hours.
"WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONTINUE SHOPPING?"
"I need some weapons. Grenades, explosives, lasers, assault rifles, anything you've got."
The control screen delightfully displays a wide range of deadly futuristic weapons.
"Can I purchase these on mission credit?"
"NEGATIVE. FILTERING DISPLAY TO MISSION PARAMETERS."
The display reduces to the simple blades and firearms of the time. Doc picks out a good flintlock rifle and fifty rounds worth of flint, balls, and powder. He also gets some extra black powder. It comes to another $2,257.40.
"Can I purchase modern weapons with my personal account?"
The machine calculates a bit. "NEGATIVE. YOUR WEAPONS PERMIT ONLY ALLOWS FOR CLASS C PERSONAL BALLISTIC FIRE ARMS."
"Can I get a new permit?"
"THAT FUNCTION IS BEYOND THE SCOPE OF THE Q-MART REPLICATOR ADVENTURE!. APPLY FOR PERMITS AT Q-NET WEAPONS REGULATIONS COMMITTEE SITE FOR A BACKGROUND CHECK AND A TWO YEAR WAITING PERIOD."
"Okay. What about dynamite?"
"THAT ITEM IS BEYOND MISSION PARAMETERS. ONLY ITEMS AVAILABLE IN 1835 ARE WITHIN PARAMETERS. YOU MAY PURCHASE DYNAMITE WITH YOUR PERSONAL ACCOUNT."
Doc briefly considers getting some raw nitroglycerin instead, but if the ride down to Earth anything like the transit shuttles from his era, that would not be a wise thing to carry. Doc curses Nobel for not having invented the thing thirty years earlier as he shells out $467.83 of his own money to get only 10 sticks of dynamite and some blasting caps. The prices on this thing are almost random. In fact, they are up-to-date to the nanosecond with current Q-Net market value, as well as often being hijacked by hackers looking for an easy buck.
"Sleeping gas? Tranquilizers? Anything like that?"
The control panel on the replicator displays a selection of mission appropriate items. Doc picks out a bottle of Laudenum. The pattern is already in the system.
"Okay, computer. One last round. I need a horse-cart, bolts of cloth, barrels of alcohol, and some mixers."
"ERROR, SOME OBJECTS AND QUANTITIES ARE TOO LARGE TO BE REPLICATED. WOULD YOU LIKE TO UPGRADE TO Q-MART REPLICATOR INDUSTRIOUS!?"
"Not right now, thanks. " Doc is upset. Acquiring the key elements of his plan will be more difficult than he thought. He goes ahead and orders a few bolts of cloth; some simple white linens, drab canvas, and floral patterns that are already downloaded to the system.
The current queue of items will take about six hours to produce. Doc checks his account status.
WELCOME, LUCAS SHAW. THANK YOU FOR USING ARSE.
PERSONAL SPENDING ACCOUNT BALANCE:$14530.69 QNC
PERSONAL SAVINGS ACCOUNT BALANCE: $1.48
MISSION ACCOUNT BALANCE: $4,862.30 CE1835 ($109,761.64 QNC)
| WITHDRAW | DEPOSIT | TRANSFER |
Doc withdraws the mission account balance. The jukebox looking device begins spitting out masses of official US bank notes and coins from 1835 onto the floor like a slot machine. Doc begins collecting it onto the table before giving up and going to bed.
Eight hours later Doc awakens. He wanders into the galley and orders some coffee and steak and eggs from the Chef. His replicated items and the mission money is all neatly stacked and arrayed on a galley table. Thunderhorse is already up and having a breakfast ale.
"Good morning, friend," says Thunderhorse in a peculiarly cheerful mood. "The strangest thing happened last night. Well, just as strange as anything around here, but much more fun. I woke up under the table in the field above us. I was still sleepy, so I found my way down here to get into that soft bed again. When I got here, I saw this amazingly beautiful wench goddess cleaning up the shit falling out of that magic box in the corner. Suddenly, she stopped. She walked right over to that bed room over there, took off her frock and lay there legs up! She began writhing and moaning as if she was fucking a ghost! I followed her in and looked around. If there was a ghost there, I couldn't see it. So I got on and fucked her rotten! It was wonderful, I tell you, my friend. When I was done she was still going! I got off her when it started to hurt, but she kept it up. It was amazing. Just as suddenly as she started, she stopped again, got her frock back on and went on cleaning up the magic box shit."
The Chef chimes in. "The Maid has a programming burn. One of the previous crew members used her as his personal 'service' droid. He did it so regularly that it was scarred into her systems. Every night at the same time she goes into his room and goes through all the motions automatically whether anyone is there or not. It is not good for her processors or servos, but no one has tried to clear out the bad programming for some reason."
"Horseshit!" yells Thunderhorse, confused. "She loves me!"
Doc briefly considers trying to explain, but his mind is focused on other things. Like how to get a horse drawn cart to appear from thin air. "Computer, what's in the cargo bays?" he asks.
A quick inventory appears on the view screen. It reads like an archaeological inventory. Urns, vases, pots, barrels, bottles, cups, jars, bowls, various items of art and clothing, etc, all from different Earth eras and cultures. It turns out his Jeep is in the main cargo hold on deck six. There's some barrels of rum, wine, and whiskey in the Po's cargo bay. No horse carts, chariots, or even a wheelbarrow, however. The only thing that comes close is a palette jack. He'll just have to find something on the surface.
The Host walks in with another android beside him, presumably the Autopilot. The Autopilot is dressed like a World War 1 fighter ace complete with goggles and scarf.
"Gentlemen, this is the Autopilot," introduces the Host. "He will be delivering you to the surface."
"Howdy!" He's got a drawl and swagger much like Slim Pickins in Dr. Strangelove.
The Host continues. "Dr. Ritenrong has called again this morning requesting an update on your preparations. Are you ready to go?"
Any last minute preparations or changes?
Doc regains 1 Chi
Items aquired:
1835 Men's Suit, Medium
1835 Work Clothes, Large
2 pair leather work gloves
Simple Lockpick kit
Pry Bar
3 Bolts Cloth
4 Iron Shackles
Flintlock Rifle, 50 rounds balls & powder
16 oz. Black powder
10 Sticks Dynamite & blasting caps
8 oz. Hydrochloric acid
12 oz. Mojito mix
8 oz. Laudenum
4 Pictures Nude Women
Cash Aquired: $4,862.30 CE1835
A feller'd have a real good time in Vegas with all that stuff.
