Here's chapter two. This really is a Traveller adventure, the character
development is important right now. (I originally expected just a short
thing, but we've only begun.) Writing is a little different from GM'ing,
I get to make all the characters do whatever *I* want :-).
Have fun.
Richard.
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Chapter 2: Braen awakens
Braen's right arm felt like he'd hit it with a club. "Must've rolled
over on it in my sleep," he thought. "But I'm on my back. Oh, yeah
I can't move. I screwed myself up and I've been having these hallu-
cinations. The confessor's gonna love some of this stuff."
He opened his eyes. He glanced about the room, not even trying
to move anything but his eyes. The room was indirectly lit, from where
was not immediately obvious. There was enough light to see, but not
enough to read, and it was a peculiar color anyway. He was alone in the
room. Around the walls were various kinds of strange equipment. The
room smelled antiseptically clean.
"A hospital," he thought, "I should have known. Julien put me up to
that party, and doped me so she could get my sack space. Then she turned
me in." It was customary for invalids to become the ward of the church
and spend the remainder of their days transcribing doctrine. Not Baen's
idea of a good time, especially since he was young.
He was mad. He clenched and unclenched his teeth and fists in rage.
"I'll get that bitch!" he quitely cursed. "Wait! I just moved my hands."
There's nothing quite like both pain and surprise to temporarily pre-
occupy you. He looked down at his arm and slowly moved the sheet aside
with his left.
A gauze pad was taped to the inside of his left elbow. Around it was
the unmistakable darkening of a large bruise. In the center of the pad
was a small spreading stain, unmistakably his own blood. The pain,
combined with the view, was agonizing. "Yecch," he said, and quietly laid
back on the pillow to think things through. "Well how bout that, he said
aloud. I can move, AND I'm finaly warm."
The lights began to slowly brighten and the door opened. A short, dark-
skinned man, about 30 by his appearance came through and pulled the chart
from the end of the bed. "Ah, good you're awake. Now we can get the
gravity back to normal and get you fed. Someone will be here with some-
thing for you to eat shortly.
As the door closed behind the short man, Braen felt the familiar tug of
gravity and the resistance of the bed to his weight. "THAT'S what was
missing," he thought. "How'd they do it? What else have they been
keeping from the faithful? Did the Great One return and them hide it?
Presently the door again opened and a fairly massive-looking dinner
tray silently glided into the room. It sailed over to the bed and
hovered while the bed behind Braen's back and shoulders raised him to
an almost-seated position. "Is that far enough?" asked a disembodied
voice.
"Yeah, yeah" replied Braen. "This is going to take some getting used
to."
"Would you like a translator and some crysals to study?" The tray unfolded
legs beneath itself like aircraft landing gear. It then slowly drifted over
the bed and extended the legs to the floor. "Is my height satisfactory?"
"Y-yes" Braen stammered.
"Is that in response to the first question or the second?" asked the
tray.
"Oh," Braen replied, recovering his senses, "the second. I'd like you
to answer some questions before I answer the first."
"Very well, but first you have to eat. Orders of Doctor Llewellyn."
"What've you got?" the man asked.
"For you, a very large glass of what the crew calls 'slime 'n' squeeze'
and a small pastry. You are instructed to ingest all of these." The
tray magically sprouted an arm from somewhere. An unnoticed panel slid
all the way to the rear, revealing the contents of the tray (one
large glass filled with a bronze colored liquid and one small pastry, both
on a small plate). The arm reached into a hidden cul-de-sac, sprouted two
'fingers' and removed a straw. It then slipped the straw into the glass
and disappeared.
Braen sat momentarily stunned. This whole setup is nothing like he'd ever
contemplated, never mind expected. In all, it was a bit much for a young,
inexperienced man just recovering from trauma, hypthermia, culture shock,
and technology shock.
"Please eat now," the tray said "before your food cools."
Gingerly, Braen touched the straw to his lips and sipped. The drink was
not quite like anything he had ever tasted. It was served warm but not hot.
It smelled like citric fruit and tasted like soy beans. But for all that,
it was really wlecome, and it did wonders to cure the nagging metalic
taste that had been with him all morning. He took a real drink. It
seemed to have an analgesic in it, too. Or maybe it was the chicken
soup syndrome that eased the pain not only in his arm, but throughout
his body.
"What is this?" he asked the tray as he picked up the pastry. The "pastry"
was a pretty tasteless mass of something that sort of half-way melted in
his mouth and stuck to everything inside it.
"I presume you are talking about the pastry," the tray responded. "It and
the drink are a scientifically designed, balanced blend of liquid electro-
lytes, carbohydrates, vitamins, and amino acids. They work together to speed
healing and are extremely easy to digest. There are almost no waste products.
In your case, the doctor added a general analagesic and a general antibiotic.
Ask your questions."
Now that he was both waking up and beginning to get some energy Braen
realized he was truly hungry. "Where am I?" he managed to squeeze out
around the pastry-mush.
"I do not know our present location. We, collectively, are on a starship"
"WHAT THE ..!" Braen chocked out involuntarily. The tray remained silent
and unmoving. Braen swallowed hard and took a deep breath. This could
be a test of the inquisitor. His Confessor had warned them all of the
inquisitor, and so he a took a few moments to speak clearly. "Travel to
the stars is impossible. That's written in every one of our chatecisms
from even before we learn to read."
"Really!?" Finally, the tray seemed genuinely interested. "What catecisms
are those?"
Braen's thoughts now raced, "Got to think smart, think clearly, and remember
all that drivel they drilled into my head for so many years." Slowly he
answered.
"Five years creche,
Seven years school,
Three years prep,
Two years tool."
just like he'd been taught. It was something everyone learned through years
of drill and corporal punishment.
"Do you believe all you've been taught?"
"Certainly" Braen quickly, and automatically replied.
"Where are you from?" the tray asked, putting away the empty dishes.
"Surely you know. But for the record, Haildrun."
The tray continued disposing of dishes and began silently retracting its
landing gear. It quickly sped toward the door, the door opening at its
approach. It paused. "And what is the name of our blessed world?" it
asked.
"Why, Omigosh" replied Braen as the door closed. Slowly the bed returned
to a horizontal position, and Braen felt himself again mostly, but not
completely lifted off the sheets. "Oh well, he thought, "I didn't feel
much like doing anything but sleeping anyway."
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next chapter: Dr. Llewellyn
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Richard Johnson
FPS Computing, Beaverton Oregon