For RP scenes that take place between adventures.  Putting this here for reference as far as the home base on Hyperion IX is concerned:

Imp. 473, Day 268

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The Imperial calendar has 360 25-hour days.

Petra rhythmically flipped the to elmonit chips over her knuckles back and forth as she lay on upper bunk in the stateroom.  She'd been simply lying there with both her hands moving almost constantly since they were placed in the room.  She'd been quiet, except for the main melody of an old six-part fugue that she'd been humming.  It was a very old composition by an ancient Terran composer; the lithe pilot had always loved the mathematical structural underpinnings of the six-part counter-punctual texture of the piece.

Her bolero-style leather jacket of her flight uniform was open in front and draped casually on the bed as the lay there humming.  And fidgeting.

The music stopped for just a moment, even if the credit-turning didn't.  "So." Petra mused quietly, to no one in particular, "... that all seemed ... terribly strange.  And generally horrible."  Her tone was even, if subtly insistent.  She might have been amused, if she weren't so utterly confused by the situation.  She'd known that she'd made some poor choices in life, but hated more not actually remembering making those poor decisions in this case.

And then the soft humming started again.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:46, Tue 02 Apr.

In reply to Petra Jelinek (msg # 2):

Hugh sits on his bunk with his back to the wall. Dressed in a thin coverall from the ship's supply with his own goods stored in the locker at the end of the bed. He opens his eyes at Petra's musing.

"That was quite unexpected. I would say not what I signed up for, but I do not remember signing up at all."

He takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulder.

"Not that I am opposed to taking on new foes or being in a new part of space, but I would like to know how it came to be.

Petra shrugged slightly, again to no one in particular, but the two chips refused to stop their traversal over her knuckles.  The light humming only stopped briefly for Petra's rejoinder to Hugh's request for more information, "Join the club of the clueless ... but there isn't much reason to cry over dead Colosians."  They were from Devon space, after all.

And then primary melodic and harmonic voices of one of Bach's six-part fugues started up again.  The music was catchy and complex, while her fingers danced both the rhythm as well as another subtle hand.

It was interrupted once more as Petra noted, "God, I miss navigating hyperspace ..." as it became obvious that the young lady was visualizing some complex multi-dimensional curvature in space with the flow of the notes.  In what would likely be clinically diagnosed as a type of synesthesia, Petra was experiencing spacetime with something more than just her visual cortex.  And then she was back to conducting, something that apparently she could only see, hear, and touch.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:47, Fri 05 Apr.

In reply to Petra Jelinek (msg # 4):

Hugh listens to Petra's humming, far more complex than anything he could keep up with. "I've no love for the Colosian leadership, but I doubt any of the people who lost their lives on that station have ever made a decision who mattered to anyone outside their system."

When she muses about hyperspace, he remains silent. Hyperspace journeys have always been boring times of drills and waiting, punctuated by barely edible meals and repressed anger. He watches her relaxed movements and puzzles over her apparent joy.

The door to the bathroom banged against the wall, and Nat stomped out in a white tank, her own partially zipped overalls, her hair splayed with dry shampoo, mashing her face with a towel.

Words growled from between clenched teeth.  "37 seconds?  37 SECONDS?!?  THAT'S how much water you get for a shower?"  She marched toward her bunk, the one below Petra, then spun and began to pace between the far-too-narrow walls of the stateroom.  An infuriated harpy with clipped wings.

"And no," she continued, finding Petra with eyes trembling with anger and anguish, "that was not generally terrible.  That was very, very *specifically* terrible."  Stride, stride, stride - turn. "What the FUCK did that mission need a Planetologist and Pilot for?"  Stride, stride, stride - turn.  "Didn't they have any idea what skill sets might be needed on a SPACE STATION??"  Stride, stride, stride - turn.  "Didn't Rach think that maybe, just *maybe,* getting our CONSENT and input before shipping us off might have been a good idea??"

She stopped at the wall, then looked back at the other occupants, eyes beginning to brim.  "We almost lost Lev.  We still might.  I get that when we signed up, we accepted a certain level of risk.  I *get* that.  But that risk was unecessarily exponated..." she stopped, a rivulet running down her cheek.  "That's not even a word.  I'm making up words."  She cough-shrugged. "Whatever.  It was exponated by their grievous lack of intel, and by...by my....by me."  She slammed the words out in time with her foot on the bulkhead.  "By. My. Stupid. Phobia. That. No. One. KNEW. About, until it was almost too late."

Fully awash now, she weaved to her bunk in emotional exhaustion and curled up, facing the wall.

"I don't care if they're Colosians.  Nothing can change, or grow, once it's dead."

A pause, then:  "Is that Bach?  That sounds like Bach.  My parents used to play Bach, then they got all the big brain Churg  -  which if you didn't know is, like, **all** of them  -  hooked on it.  I've heard so. much. Bach."

Another pause, a little longer, then a voice tight with struggle:  "Please don't stop."

In reply to Natakkoa Tukumpeh (msg # 6):

"The most charitable answer is that none of this was what was intended. That Rach, or whoever, assembled this team for something else entirely and something went wrong." Hugh muses. "Not that I'm in a mood to be charitable or that the most charitable explanation is ever likely to be correct."

"I as well struggle with why you are here unless you have some kind of command experience and were meant to be the officer. It seems the clearest omission if the station was part of the mission.

Petra slowly opened her eyes, letting the light from the room hit her retinas and dispelling at least some of the visually-orient musical synesthetic sensations receded.  Her head turned slowly to regard Natakkoa and lend at least one ear to the Professor's tirade.  The rest of her body remained as it was: prone, fingers and knuckles gently rocking the cred chips, while her right leg remained propped up over her left - ankle resting on knee.

Petra's eyes found Nat's (even if they were rotated by ninety degrees) and the humming stopped for a moment, "You are fine now.  We made it.  We made it out because of you... because we worked together."  A light smile touched her lips, along with her head giving a gentle reassuring nod; she seemed to refuse to acknowledge that Nat's aversion was that much of an issue, dwelling more on her quick-thinking and presence.

A light sigh escaped her burgundy lips, "We can continue to postulate..." which she didn't actually seem to mind, given their apparent isolation protocol for this transit, "but it will remain simply suppositions."  She paused for a thoughtful moment and addressed both Nat and Hugh's opinions with her own, "I suspect that we did consent to the mission.  And a mind wipe.  All of us not remembering anything from prior to the mission briefing is far too convenient."  Which smacked of being targeted, deliberate and thus consensual, "And I don't think that we were independently shanghai'ed." though the possibility wasn't impossible, in theory.

"Smells like being undercover," she posited tentatively, "and us doing someone else's dirty work."  But was Rach, Hyperion IX and they all knew the reputation of the planet as its illicit activities were overlooked by the Duchy of Devon in exchange for occasional 'favors'.

"But yeah," she conceded, "it obviously went pear-shaped somewhere ... perhaps during insertion."  And that still didn't explain  Illone or the nanofluid-driven androids.  There was some nasty, nasty (experimental, and potentially illegal) sh*t going on.  Or more parties at play than just the Colosians and Devonians.  "Or extraction.  Our rescue was also a little too... neat." Petra mused, as the timing bothered her - but, she knew that the Captain was just doing his job: he'd only been paid for package delivery on a timetable.  Nice and compartmentalized.

"What if we successfully completed the job...." the lithe pilot ventured rather stream-of-consciousness, "But weren't supposed to remember it for plausible deniability..." It would explain why pickup was prescheduled as well as the timing of the mind blank - but, not the other stuff.  And ultimately, they might never know ... especially, if they weren't supposed to.  There obviously weren't burn orders for them (otherwise, there would have been no pick-up and they'd have died on the station).  But somehow, that wasn't as comforting as Petra had hoped.

The Professor passed from her field of view as Natakkoa climbed into her own bunk.  And then PJ's eyes closed again and the fugue resumed.  Right where she'd left off.  "Mmmm-hmmmm" she hummed affirmatively to Nat's guessing of the composer, not breaking tune.  Petra added simply a few bars later - still without breaking melody, "Munchinger..."

At Hugh's suggestion that perhaps Nat was supposed to have been the "command experience" in the group there was a very wet, muted, gurgling expulsion of laughter from the curled form, followed by a quiet but forceful "...fuck!..." and the fumbling for some kind, any kind, of cloth, then:  "...awesome...", and more fumbling before rolling to her back and responding.

A wry half-smile underscored red-stressed eyes.  "At least we've kept our senses of humor, yes?  The only "command" experiences I've had have been about organizing and executing research missions, procuring equipment, analyzing routes and needs, recording data, that sort of thing, and almost exclusively only for myself  -  never for a 'team.'"   She rolled onto her side, to better see Hugh.  "I mean, I *do* have fairly extensive experience with, and even some training in, psychotherapy, psychology, and group dynamics, but that's more from..." she paused, then came to a decision..."my own therapy sessions, and growing up in a culture that's literally dedicated to psychoanalysis than it is from any formal training, and is not  -  and I stress this  -  not something Rach would've known, or tried to use."


She reached up and lightly tapped the bottom of Ace's bunk, less for attention than for awareness, then hooked a few fingers through the spring-taut lattice.  The proximity was reassuring.  "I'm having a difficult time formulating a situation where I, regardless of the reason, would consent to a mind-wipe."  She pulled herself up to the other elbow, and touched her temple with her free hand.  "This, this - my mind," she added for the top bunk, "is my *work*, my *life,* and my *existence,* and damaged though it may be, No One gets to fuck with it.  'Informed Consent' is a pretty big deal where I grew up, and is interwoven into baseline society.

What about you two?  Would you be interested in seeing if we can get a debriefing with Rach after we get back?  I, for one, would really like to see some footage or verification that I consented to having my mind tampered with.  That actually bothers me more than the clusterfuck that was that mission's intel and insertion."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:21, Tue 09 Apr.

In reply to Natakkoa Tukumpeh (msg # 9):

Hugh chuckles. "I suspect that we won't have a choice in the matter, but if we do, I'm in for a debrief."

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

"Where I am from, preparation of the mind is a more personal task, one not shared with others, though ofen in groups of people who do not share their thoughts. I am aware of psychology but it is, as I am foreign to you, foreign to me. I have not mastered centering myself or quieting the mind, perhaps that is part of what led me here." He pauses again, before continuing. I, also, can see few reasons I would agree to my mind being tampered with in such a way, but the lack of any guidance upon waking is, perhaps, evidence of the theory that this was unplanned for. So much is unknown. For now, I will be careful with my trust. You two have earned it, similarly with Lev and Yom and Quirrel as I sensed no deception in any of you. That you may have worked for Rach in the past is of no matter, for who in the city has not in some way.

"Our choices are our own...." Petra mused, it was serious enough that she'd stopped humming for a moment.  Her eyes were still closed.  Her back arched slightly, but the lithe pilot moves slowly as to not disrupt the cred chips on her knuckles.  The bunk's spring lattice flexed slightly, pushing down on Nat's fingers gently in response to the Professor's touch.

"A debrief would be good." she agreed, "But we don't have much to report... nor much ability to refute any assertions or accusations."  And somehow her words carried a shrug with them, even though Petra's shoulders remained stationary.  Her tone seemed unsure of what might be divulged during such a meeting.

She picked up the humming again even as her two companions postulated that they would never willingly allow their memories to be wiped.  After a brief pause, the melody continued - but with some improvised words, "And yet, ... and yet.  Here.  Here we are...."  Petra was, of course, referring to their current predicament where none of them appeared to remember anything starting from before the beginning of the mission.  The melody circled back as a fugue was want to do, her humming volume fading briefly before starting up again at a more relaxed pace.

In reply to Petra Jelinek (msg # 11):

"It is odd to think that we spent a week on this ship, with this crew, once already and have no memory, yet the captain and crew do. Whatever we were sent to do, if lack of memory was part of the mission, it was only the work on the station that necessitated that." He gestures around the cabin pointing generally towards the bridge when mentioning the captain.

"I cannot make sense of it. And returning to what should be familiar faces and surroundings does not bring any of the memory back."

He stands and paces for a few moments.

"The more I think about it, the less it makes sense the Rach, or whoever is working through him to employ us, that did the mind wipe. All it did was leave us unable to articulate the mission and execute on it. Clearly there was some expectation of survival, or at least the intent of that, or why bother with a privateer on standby with no backup orders."

Petra's eyes remained closed, but the humming slowly died down.  There was a slight, plaintive sigh; the cred chips stopped tumbling.  "Well," the dark-haired pilot noted off-hand, though there was an urgent ruefulness to her tone, "it sounds like, at best, we were partially successful in whatever mission was assigned.  And that we've been forcibly mind-wiped by someone, presumably an enemy or third party."  The frown and sadness in her voice lingered, even through the extended thoughtful pause, "Or ourselves."  There was another pause.  "Sounds like we need to find our own telepath and try to undo or recover some of that lost time and reasoning ..."  Her tone grew soft, as it resigned to something or dreading something.

And whether that telepath session was before or after the debrief, she didn't seem to have an opinion.  It was as far as her own reasoning went.

The cred chips where stowed in a pocket and Petra had turned onto her side to face the bulkhead wall.  After a soft sniffle, she lapsed into silence.  One hand moved, presumably to wipe tear away from her face.

Nat felt the gentle, controlled  -  and restless, for the petite pilot  -  movement above her through her fingertips, and a small peace warmed it's way down her arm, steadying her breathing, slowing her heartrate.  Petra's melody circled around and around, seeming to go nowhere, despite its building complexity  -  a metaphor; concious or unconcious, it didn't really matter: the inherent dissociative nature of both the musical and psychiatric aspects of the fugue were not lost on Nat, and she began to worry for her friend's seeming detachment. Maybe the thought of someone messing with her mind is bothering her more than she knows....


"I suspect you're right, Hugh  -  we may not have a choice and I, for one, am all for it." Her umber eyes cast upward, toward the minimal and tightly controlled movements in the bunk above, although only Hugh might have witnessed the look.  "We need some answers, even if that answer is 'I'm not going to tell you,' which in itself would inform my own working relationship going forward."


The tonal aura of the pilot's comment was not lost on Nat, and she began moving as she spoke.  "I am inclined to agree:  given what I know of myself, and the common sense observations you've both stated, I also believe it was unplanned, and some kind of third party interference." She untangled herself from herself, and sat up in her bunk.  "Maybe some kind of station defense mechanism that wasn't accounted for?  Nothing else really explains why the shuttle captain remembers everything, while we don't."  She scooted off the mattress and stood up.  "I'm *really* beginning to look forward to this debriefing."

She nodded to Hugh, and smiled, and then turned back to the top bunk, setting one foot on the ladder and tapping the mattress lightly.  "Requesting permission to board, Captain.  Would you like some company?"

Within a few days the ship returns to Hyperion IX, landing at one of the many discreet and partially concealed fields on Emerich Rach's island.  The crew is professional and Quirrel accompanies Lev to the hospital/clinic.  The ship's captain approaches Hugh, Petra and Natakkoa as they are disembarking.  "Rach sent word that he would like for you to meet with Jewel for a debriefing," he said with no ire or other strong emotion or intonation.  He then smiled in a friendly way as though trying to reassure them.  "I don't anything about the mission you were on, my contract was strictly limited to pick up, but I'm glad we got you," he added.

Meanwhile, Vesperos received word that Jewel Coz, number two on the island, requests the his presence at a meeting.  Immediately.

Groaning, Ves drags himself from bed, his head pounding with a hangover. Realizing that making someone like Jewel wait was a singularly bad idea, he quickly changed into his clothes and prayed that Number Two was not going to take a number two all over him for something he probably hadn't realized he had done.

Trying to be as presentable as he could manage, he quickly made his way to where the meeting was going to take place.

In reply to Game Master (msg # 15):

"If Rach wants to see us right away, he's got to be OK with us looking and smelling like a week onboard ship. Those tiny 'showers' don't do as good a job as you think while you're using them."

He also gets us fully armed. We'll see how much he really trusts us.

En route to Hyperion IX

Petra didn't turn to face Natakkoa, but edged towards the bulkhead wall to make a little more space.  "Permission Granted." the dark-haired pilot noted quietly and a sniffle and the clearing of another tear.

---

On Hyperion IX
Petra finished her stretching and isometrics, as she knew the importance of a physical regimen in space.  Besides what else was there to do.

She nodded curtly to the Captain of the Boat.  "Thank you for your timely intervention." Petra acknowledged the man.  Loaded with her pack and other equipment, the lithe pilot wore her heavier jumpsuit, helmet, and armaments.  It just made things more portable.  She headed down the cargo ramp and out in the port, pausing and scanning the berthing hanger to see if Jewel and/or a car was waiting for them or if they were going to be hoofing over to Rach's den on their own.

On Hyperion IX

It is relatively simple to hitch a ride into town.  The island's population is decentralized as part of their cover, and so it is a network of 'small towns' connected by roads (many unpaved) and each one with up to five landing pads or fields for ships.  At a strategic point along a bay or deep lagoon is the largest such town, where Rach has his home and offices.  Arriving there the trio is directed to a meeting room where Vesperos is waiting for them (as he had a shorter distance to travel.)

The meeting room is plain, a conference table for 10 people, the room big enough to walk comfortably around the table, and some low-tech displays on one narrow wall, turned off.  The building is small, three stories and very much like an ordinary office building.  Jewel Coz is not there when Hugh, Petra and Natakkoa are shown in, only Vesperos.

---

Feel free to continue the conversation on the ship in-transit by simply using a header as Petra did above or if you prefer a horizontal line as well.  I would like to introduce Vesperos quickly and give you the opportunity to decide your next move.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:31, Tue 23 Apr.

In reply to Game Master (msg # 19):

Hugh sizes up Vesperos as he enters the room without pausing his stride. He circles the table and drops into a seat opposite the displays.

Ves returns the measuring gaze of Hugh with a cocky smile. "Hello there! Name's Vesperos. I assume we are here on the behest of our common associate, and I'm quite sure that she won't be here until we are all here."

He's fidgeting with something that looks like a cheap tourist knock-off you can get all over the place- and it spins.