I've edited the audio recording of the first session of Space Opera 2760 - Lower Frontier Tales and have experimented with a "sprinkling" of sound effects and background music here and there. The goal is to retain the verbal "entirety" of a live game session while enhancing listener pleasure with traditional audio entertainment.
Stop the presses. I actually got a session of the clunky, 1980's beast released by Fantasy Games Unlimited onto the (online) table (video chat) and played an impromptu session with one other player. It is Space Opera. If you get one person to on for the game consider yourself fortunate!
But I always liked the cut of FGU's jib, and this kitchen-sink sci-fi rules set fires my imagination like TSR's Star Frontiers never did. Some of my allure was due to the ground combat system being based off of Space Marines, a set of miniature rules published by FGU, and the Starship Combat rules looked built to run Star Wars-sized Star Destroyer battles.
With willing PC online and a cleared evening, schedule-wise, I pulled out the charts and GM sheets I prepared ahead of time and gave the adventure's opening pitch.
The PC's name was a severe-sounding Sarah [Xara]. I don't no how to spell it so for the case of this narrative I will spell the PC's name SXara. SXara is Human or Near-human-Hybrid. 5'7, 125-135#, Elfin but Wiry.
She dresses 'back in the day's
Minor Telekinetic ability and a heightened sense of danger. She is also a clone. In her line of work the mental implants which go along with each mission can cause severe cognitive dissonance over time. Suiciding and being awakened in a new clone is the most efficient way to flush damaging old memories from a person's consciousness. We tried to come up with an industry-insider slang term for this "procedure". I'm thinking the "Black Hack".
Anyways, her current job was contracted with the 42nd Mechanized Lift, a division of crack professionals enforcing Kardorian will on planet Dismas. Dismas City was the last city controlled by revolutionary forces. They have been sheltered under a powerful force shield for months. Capable of withstanding any bombardment. Intelligence Services have made contact with a Panumanic officer inside the city who can get Sara past the Panumanic checkpoints. Once on the streets of Dismas, she is to follow subterreanean power raceways and sewer lines to a basement server room. There she will place a Xenon Damper Field Collar on the right wire, and poof, the shield protecting the city goes down. Easy-peasy.
No minds were blown but a serviceable session with a good chance to engage with the system and try and role play into something was achieved. I threw in two of my own procedural rolls during the session. First one was a 10% chance of the bad guys already being onto the PC and the second was a 25% chance of being set up. These checks were triggered at certain locations where the character had advanced closer to their goal. Otherwise, it was made up on the fly and we managed to transition into some player-directed activity.
Character creation gives you a PC with a hastily-packed suitcase of skills and an ex-career to justify their existence, but this is old-school play. When you get down to it there isn't many mechanics to occupy yourselves with so it demands players and referee (Star Master) to know how to roleplay and know what they are roleplaying for. A strong identity with something specific to the broad definition which is "Space Opera" is usually a requirement as well, but a requirement routinely handled well by experienced referees. Truly set up as a tool of the imagination. The flavor, the magic sauce has to come from everyone at the table.
We both were old hands at such a thing and we engaged Agility Checks when using a vehicle as a deadly weapon and skill levels to overcome save rolls required during critical improvising and jury-rigging stunts. Only NPCs fired shots in anger, and I called for Attribute Checks not so much for a pass/fail result (though you get that too), but let the Attribute Check trigger the game world to react. Good rolls trigger events favorable to the PC, poor rolls trigger something which makes the PCs life more difficult. Obviously, in the logic of old school game mechanics, having modifiers juiced by high skill levels is the way PCs stack the deck in their favor. And tonight the PC rolled well. There were two opportunities I can recall where an extreme dice result fell against the player, but it wasn't in a do or die situation, so they only experienced small setbacks during the mission adventure.
We also had some good discussion around player agency and how does a Star Master deliver the set up but also quickly allow for player-directed courses of action they are excited to pursue. Time and again, when I run a game with an old school system I enjoy the fact they require you to bring all the imagination. That everyone at the table has tremendous opportunity to exert responsibility over the story's action and drama. Creative stuff which is hard to do. But I never had to worry too much of losing the flow. The blaster rules are solid, stat'ing out NPCs is quick, and there are plenty of technological game toys to interface with in the rule book. And genre tropes to explore. The relationship between who employs her, who runs her, and clone technology was emergent and player directed during the session. With a good set of GM sheets Space Opera can give you a great Space Opera game of your own creation.
Stab pulled out a multi-tool containing a monofilament blade and the battery powered saw sliced through the duralloy fencing with a wave of his hand. He peeled back the fence from one side of the cut and stood back. Dab stepped through, weapon up, and posted up in a crouch several meters onto the grounds. Captain Green slipped through followed by Saars. Stab joined the troupe.
"You two go right, Saars and myself go left. Assess whether we got threats from each of these grow houses. We meet up in front of the control tower at the south end. Comms open, count off your buildings." Green gave his orders clearly without letting his voice carry. The rain had let up and more of the grounds could be seen through the lightening haze. Rumbles of the next weather system could be heard above black swollen rain clouds. The squad broke up and they made quick splashing sounds as they trotted through the mud.
Green and Saars had just passed the second of the three long buildings on their side of the complex when Dab's voice crackled over the coms.
"We've got the door on the west side open. No lights or power, all quiet."
"Post up, we'll come to you. We are going to cross straight over just south of you between building two and three." Green and Saars splashed their way across the grounds and caught up to Dab and Stab who were up against the wall, one on either side of the open door. Captain Green popped on the light attached to his carbine and shined it through the open door into the dark building's interior. Without a word he slipped inside, Dab right on his heels. Green gave the all clear and the other two men entered as well.
It was a typical farm outbuilding. There were six slug pools spaced evenly on the floor of the thirty meter long building. Normally the circulating equipment would be running, churning up the brown slop and feeding nutrients into the tub full of wriggling Skalvil mud-slugs. But the machines were off. Green and Dab were scanning the surface of the first large grow tub with their gun-mounted lights.
"What the hell?" Dab stated flatly. The slug tubs were not all that deep. A meter or so of organic brown slop. This made it easy to see the fermenting pool of compost was jammed with eight or more naked bodies. All appeared dead. They had been soaking in the slime for more than a week, if the bloated bodies and loose, rotting skin were any indication.
"Pull them out. I want to look at them." Green ordered his men. Saars looked on as the dead were pulled from the mud and laid like wet lumps onto the concrete floor of the building. Non-descript, men and women. Four of each. No obvious signs of death. No bullet wounds, cuts or blunt trauma.
"I've seen that mark before," Saars says. He points to one the deceased's chest. A curious symbol is carved into the soggy flesh. Like a stylized lower-case "n" with three circles clustered within the upside down arms of the n. The terrorists which we killed at Oh-Rif. They all had this same symbol carved on their chest. And recently, like these poor bastards. This definitely ties the theft of the dead scout from the water plant to these slug farmers."
"Stab, scrape a skin sample off a couple of these stiffs. I want Collice's lab rats to test for poison and possible psycho-actives." Green ordered. "Dab, looks like your guess on cult looniness is close to the mark."
"What do you expect, living out on the wastes making your own clean water and clean air? Sooner or later something breaks down under corrosion and everyone starts huffing fumes and shooting their neighbors." Dab finished his statement with a quick scan of the ceiling with his light.
"Okay, I've recorded some images." Saars put the pocket vid device back in his coat. "We should get into the control tower. If anyone is still alive around here they will be there. Or below in the living quarters."
When Saars finished his debrief he waited for Collice to reply, rattling his ice around in his glass. He backed the last of his drink and sat back, waiting.
"I would like to send in a recovery team. If we have been able to locate the likely location of the stolen corpse this fast then OHRIF won't be far behind." Collice announced after completing his thoughtful pause. I have a team of three specialists ready to go. Very good at what they do. I would like you to lead them in. You'll be well-paid of course."
"What does 'well paid' amount to, exactly?" Collice smiled and stated a number which Saars definitely considered meeting the criteria for well paid.
"I'm sure your comms and computer skills are going to be necessary.. Your crew will handle anything dirty so hopefully you won't have to shoot at people. They also have strict orders not to let you get killed. Deal?"
Saars nodded. "We'll need another grav vehicle. The last one is trashed by plowing through a Wempeer flock. It will need some bodywork before you send it up again."
Saars assault team was made up by a Captain Green and "spiff-jacked" pair of brothers, Stab and Dab. You could tell by their comm units being implanted in their neck. These would be feeding someone on Collice's end the pair's vital signs, live video, tracking beacon, etc. All wore high-end tactical gear (lacking any kind of insignia, of course), auto rifles built to withstand Skalvil's constant acid rain, sensing equipment, targeting shells, "air-eaters", and plenty of clips of armor piercing rounds. Green was a dry, somber man who served in the Inner Systems. Straight army. Dab and Stab apparently served under Green and followed him to the Outer Frontier in search of high paying merc jobs.
Dab did all the talking. To Green. Stab didn't say jack. Phlegmatic and sneering, the most noise Stab would make was a slight clucking sound in the back of his throat. Off and on. He looked bored to be there. Dab went down preferred landing and approach vectors with Green one more time and got into the new grav vehicle. Stab stored a bag of rifles and assorted small arms in the rear hatch. The grav unit was another high performance, all terrain jeep fitted out to tackle the cracked and splintering canyons of the Skalvil Wastes and not break down under the strain of the acid rain storms which were constant on this planet. Saars could tell it was clad in heavier armor. He stuck his auto-mag in his jacket pocket and climbed in next to Green, who was driving.
The garage doors sealed, the roof peeled back, and the Grav lifted into the purple, cloud-choked sky. The lights of Kazawan City were quickly lost behind a screen of drizzle. The heads-up 3D diagram gave a luminous depiction of the ground they were flying over. Green and red lines displayed the canyons, elevations and weather patterns on the windshield. The purple haze and mist ate up the arc lights. Green flew fast and steady.
"Their is a decent sized bluff crowding the farm from the north. Land on the backside of that." Saars instructed. "This rig have good jamming equipment?"
"Please," Green replied, not taking his eyes off the wet, purple slop they sailed through. "Tell me something about these slug farmers." he asked.
"Not much to tell. The place has been a low output farm for ten years, maybe. The only anomaly I can find is they stopped doing business a month ago. Stopped shipping protein, turned back regular suppliers. I mean, it isn't anything they can't do, but hard to make a living if you aren't selling anything. Besides, these places have a clan size of 15-30 people. How much slug protean does a farm family need?"
"They've gone looney. Someone licked the wrong slug. We are going to find a colony of tripping sub-surface farmers. I sure hope I don't have to shoot one of these farmer raving and waving plasma cutters on a three-day burner." said Green shaking his head. Dab and Stab fingered and inspected their carbines again and again. The grav unit had to endure a sudden acid rain surge. It burnt out the exterior antenna and tight-beam transmitter. This meant communication between the squad and Collice was severed. Couldn't be helped. Once inside the compound Saars was sure he could hook something up and get back in contact.
"Strap in." Green announced. He cut speed, dropped the generator and the grav plummeted downwards. Ten meters from the ground, if the display was to be believed, Green popped the grav generator back on and the vehicle settled with a practiced, sudden stop. Green was able to make a slam landing without so much as a meter skid. They all pulled down their protective hoods and stepped out onto the rain soaked hill. Gravel-thick mud slurried around their boots and the rain came straight down. Their goggles pulled the disorientating purple of the atmosphere from their vision.
It was a short walk to the crest of the hill. The farm laid below them. Rain bathed the grounds. Marking lights winked from their perch atop the perimeter fence. No could be seen moving on the surface and no lights appeared to be on in the slug hatcheries. At the opposite end of the farm from where they looked down they could see the communications tower. This concrete, two-story bunker would also harbor access below ground where the colonists would be living.
"Looks quiet and clear. Only signal coming from the tower says the farm is closed to landings." This was Dab. He was looking at his scanner wrapped in a tough, clear plastic.
"Okay, lets descend in line, three meters apart. Once at the fence line Stab cuts it open and we walk right in. Any one approaches you, wants to talk to you, you put them down. We are here to pick up the package and assume the farmers don't want us to take it. No fracking around."
The squad picked their way down the slippery hill and in ten minutes were standing in the shallow puddles along the slug farm's northern fence line.
Take the Dune books. Ostensibly the original book (the
only one that matters) takes place on one planet and in one city on the planet.
The star-spanning cultures of the Dune universe are only inferred through the
thoughts and actions of the characters. Neat trick I say. So Frank Herbert
created a huge galactic society by not creating a whole huge galactic
society...
It begs the question how much world-building should a referee do at the outset of a new campaign? And it seems not much. I appreciate the brutal nakedness of the first generation of roleplaying games. Here is a set of rules tilted towards an adventure genre so when you create your own classic vision of sci-fi, western, fantasy the rules will support the referee's efforts. The first part of the original rules for Traveller accommodate this game philosophy through character creation. The method is such a neat "trick" players and referee can begin a game with little prep and plop media res at opening scene. Something as simple as "You are in the starport bar when a stranger approaches you with a proposition." Now players are sure to start squawking for setting information; what bar, what planet, what system... What navy, army, scout service spawned my character?
I think the nimble referee looking to build a game universe around their player's characters is well rewarded by utilizing Classic Traveller rules. It is awesome if the referee has a crystal-clear idea on what the world setting will ultimately be about (Dune is a good example). Players get to "grow-up" with the game universe and learn about it like you would in real life, through experience. But if not, the game still supports the referee through all the important steps of adventure creation and campaigning. Without resorting to a pre-built universe to show you "how it is done."
In conclusion, Traveller was once able to assist you with whatever sci-fi subgenre tickles your fancy. Planetary Romance, Hard Science Military, galactic savants and sentient planets, telepathic whales and rabbit-holes of new discoveries. Demons, wormhole passages, dreamy natives living on top of the ruins of ancients. Its use was quickly blasted away under the understandable need for gamers to be given a starting point, an official universe and the understandable need for the company to sell what the majority of gamers want.
Long and short of it, I'm a relict of gamings past. The original design philosophy of the likes of Arneson and Miller leave me not wanting much more from the company outside of their genre specific rules. It is a concept I can lose hold of in the product push by game companies trying to pay the bills. Unfortunately for game companies fierce creatives will use their rules well, but not drop much on additional merch.
Going through my DriveThru library I came across a booklet from the great Rafael Chandler and seeing as I am chewing my nails as Denver may pull out a win at +660 (I have Denver +50, even money) I am whiling away the final moments by converting the paper tables to an instant generator.
This is a regular on game boards. What game system would you
use, what type of adventures would you run, where do the characters fit into
the universe and their relative importance. Sometimes the talk turns to
specifics, all system orientated, what would depict the psionic powers best, Sardukar,
Fremen, Sandworms and spaceships. There are paragraphs written on how intrigue
and interstellar politics are best adjudicated, what system will help you get
it right. I fuss and fret over these things to when my mind drifts to Dune, the
Moby Dick, of my gaming ambitions. When I see the same question (which
interests me) being trucked out again and again, and the answers are all predictable
I tell myself I and everyone else is looking at this ambitious goal, to game a
Dune-inspired game worthy of the name fucking wrong! Okay, I will only include
myself in this category. I am not here to bruise feelings. Unless you are a
player in my game…
Saar was modifying Anderson's power converters when he showed to pick them up.
“Wait out side. I'll get 'em for you.” Saar then plugs in the data chip and begins cracking. There are 8 files. All of various degrees of complexity, therefore various degrees of time to crack. Saar goes to work on the easiest. Time stamped photos of a corporate party in Kazawan City. The photos seem to focus on one individual in particular. It will take a facial recognition app to try and figure out who he is. Fifteen minutes tops. While the comp runs the program Saar looks up at the wal-vid broadcasting the latest scream sheet.
“Gang violence breaks out at the Synapsis club between off-duty Omni Security and the Binary Dogs. No information yet on why these off-duty officers were at the club or why they engaged gang members, but Omni Security has requested anyone with any information on the whereabouts of Officer Jones [Picture] or Omni Contractor Hernandez [Picture] please contact Omni Security immediately. They should be considered armed and dangerous.”
A series of video camera footage just outside the entrance of the club in the top floor of a high-rise is being looped showing Jones and Hernandez entering the club with two other men. Quick head shots of the deceased Binary Dogs are displayed, then the usual quick reactionary crowd shots of the average Vanders citizen at the scene complaining about police corruption, the drug-trade and the poor colonists stuck in the middle trying to earn a living.
“What the frak?!” When Saar
left Jones and Hernandez they were heading to the Below Zero to collect the
cash Bargar Vas promised them for getting the water turned back on out at
Oh-Rif. What were they doing hours later at the Synapsis in a gunfight? And
where is Schmidt? Sergeant Schmidt ran the mission out at Oh-Rif. Last he knew
he had just got done debriefing the chief and collecting credits. Well it sure
as purple-acid-rain did not concern Saar at the time. “My fraking fingers
hurt.” He winced as he stabbed his deck for the readout.
Paulo Song, Omni Sun,
COO Omni Horron Research Facility, responsible for the agra-augmentation
program being conducted there.
“Tell him I'm not here.”
“Okay.”
Saar bends back over his comp and begins an extraction program on the next most easily hacked piece of data. Six hours. “Run it.”
“He says he can't really
leave until he sees you.” the apartment's com crackles again. Aw hell,
Saar punches the door access code. Anderson and Yang come back in with a well
dressed man. Obviously Kazawan City, not a colonist. Anderson introduces
him as his boy Hugo Rossi. Both Rossi and Saar look at each other trying to
figure out why in the hell either one them would be talking to each other.
Rossi trimmed out, good job obviously, standing in a pumped cube in the dome
talking to cut up, electrocuted, dying computer hack. Saar was concluding once
again he was shit at choosing friends.
“My employer, Mr. Down, would like to talk to you if you wouldn't mind?”
“Can he patch me up?”
“I hope so, or I've taken a two-hour
tube ride for nothing.”
“Who's your boss?”
“Collace Down. His son just
returned from Xxcarvis. He is concerned about his son, the condition of his
return, and for some reason now he wants to talk to you. He also advises that
we try and leave the dome as soon as possible.”
“Down is big in the
professional circuit,” Anderson beams, “his son, Flare is probably the top
celebrity sports star on Skalvil. I've raced against him before, he's totally
cool.”
“What was reported. Some
unknown armed group had taken over the facility, disrupted the water flow.
Don't know why. Attracted a whole bunch of attention. How could it not. Angry
colonists were outside ready to force their way in if the water didn't get
turned back on. My group secured the facility, engaged the terrorists. We
killed some. Some got away. Looks like they killed the whole staff their too.
Didn't make much sense. Still doesn't. But it paid. Once we contacted Omni with
a sit-rep the salaried boys rolled in and told us to go home.”
“The official report is they came across Flare in life-pod orbiting the gas giant at 0304. Still 2 parsecs out from Xxcarvis. Word is he was never on Xxcarvis. No trace of his ship, his crew. He is not okay. Something happened to him. The surviving scout from the mission I have been unable to find out who or were he is. Probably under lock and key at their base here in the city. I was able to find out the body of the dead scout had been transferred to Oh-Rif. So I want to ask you again: What did you find?”
Saar let the stimpacks take him far away from his singed skin and lacerated torso. “They had some EMP device. Detonated in the power room. Brought the whole facility down. No power, no communication. They killed all the staff and took a body. They fled on boat out into the Skalvil Sea. We found it beached on the north shore. Original crew bound and executed. Most likely killed before the terrorists used the boat to enter Oh-Rif. They fled into the wastes on a four-wheeled ATV. The frequent acid-rain storms had quickly made their trail impossible to follow. Schmidt returned to the Omni tower to debrief and collect pay. I came home to find, well all of you.”
Saar looked at the rest of
the PC's. They all seemed happy with their drinks. “All I can say it didn't
make any sense.”
“I want to take a look at that body. Do you think you can find it for me?”
“Sure, were do you think we should look?”
“There isn't much north of the Skalvil.” Downs picks up a remote from the table and turns on the his holo-vid. A three dimensional image of the rain scarred wastes of Skalvil in brilliant display. The Skalvil Sea was prominent then the display zoomed into the terrain north. Three colonies were identified: Krunner Farm, Harean Station and Horsail.
“Harean Station is a slug
farm, protein bases for you poor colonist’s food supplies out there on the
plains and you poor dome'ers living on subsidy. Krunner Farm
harvests Hellboria Wood. Very hard, very colorful when back lit and
very expensive. My bar top here is a nice specimen. Horsail is a fracking
operation. Anyone heading north via ATV's cannot get very far without living,
knowing or being supplied by one of these colonies. Someone is going to
know who they are and where they are. I suggest you start out immediately. Omni
knows as much as this too. If they are hot to track down the terrorists, they
will be heading there soon. But then again, now the facility is back up maybe
not so soon. Hugo here has tuned up the Trell III, a capable back
country air raft. Enclosed of course. He has agreed to accompany you all. As a
top mechanic you shouldn't have to worry about breakdown.”
