Long in the making and even longer in the promise of making, finally here it
is. A somewhat novelized version of my current Traveller campaign. The campaign
started in 87 and still is going strong (although only one of the original
characters still is alive). We only had the Traveller Book way back then
when we started and the most fearsome marines were armed with autorifles, but
I've tried to make it somewhat up to date and resolve any conflicts with
the official Traveller universe.
If you like it, let me know, and if you dislike it, let me know what you
dislike. I am fairly certain that I'll be able to keep them comming with
some sort of regularity.
===============================================================================
Copyright (C) 1990,1991 Bertil K K Jonell, All Rights Reserved, Permission is
hereby granted to the TML to distribute and store this document on the TML and
associated ftp-sites and to the Members of the TML to store it if they should
find it interesting enough:)
Written and Directed by: Bertil K K Jonell
Corrected by: Olof Dahlberg, Tomas Eriksson and Reine Hansson
Starring: Olof Dahlberg, Tomas Eriksson, D J Fredrik Granholm, Mikael Rubin and
Henrik Sjo"strand.
Rating: R (People get shot, and when they do they use harsh language, although
nobody has ever mentioned the word "Belgium".. Except me, that is..)
Ships and Vehicles provided by the IISS, the IMC and the Roupian Army.
Voyage of the "Gamla Bettan" part One
Prologue:
Time: 023-1114 2340 hours Local
Location: Roup/Regina/Spinward Marches
Excerpt from Library Data: Roup/Regina (0407 C77A9A9-6): TAS Amber Zone.
Waterworld situated on the express boat route from Regina to Efate. Its
population of 3.4 billions is concentrated on the peaks of a few underwater
mountains, the only dry land on the world. Real food (as opposed to the local
fish and plankton concentrates) is highly prized by the population.
The closed snowjeep plowed through the deep drifts and its headlights
illuminated the descending snow-flakes. It's tracks spread a cloud-like
mass of snow in a wide arc when the vehicle skidded around a corner and
briefly visited the sidewalk, narrowly missing a pedestrian.
"Don't worry about the civvies, trooper. We *do* have over-population here
on Roup." Major Schmallhaussen said dryly. "But try to avoid that signpost over
there, it might damage our sneep."
With a lurch to the left the sneep avoided the obstacle. The driver pulled
hard on the wheel as the vehicle almost lost its purchase in the deep snow.
After a brief look to make sure that they were driving in the right direction,
Major Schmallhaussen turned around to face those in the backseat.
"Do you know which pad those hooligans are using, Mr Troop?" he asked a
person dressed in thin but warm-looking parka, obviously an off-world item.
"Pad fourteen or forty, I think." James P Troop answered, "It was hard to
hear, the wind drowned out the sounds."
"There are only 35 pads on the port, Major" the other person in the back
interjected.
"I know that, Corporal." Schmallhaussen cut him off. "There is no need for
you to repeat truisms all the time".
The sneep braked to a stop in the well-illuminated space in front of the
marine guardpost at the starport gates. The guard came out of the building and
the driver opened the side window. When the marine saw the military markings
on the sneep and that the people inside were armed she said something into her
headset and unslung her gauss before continuing.
"I want to see some army ID's on you guys and your permits..."
The Major pushed his ID out through the window before she could finish the
sentence. "My name is Major Schmallhaussen, I'm from the State Security and
this is an emergency! A number of criminal hooligans are preparing to smuggle
in a large consignment of illegal foodstuffs from a ship in this starport,
thereby undermining our society and the faith in our Great Leader and seriously
threatening the Roupian Way of Life. I demand that you open the gates at once!"
the marine cringed when she heard Schmallhaussens political monologue.
"Well, Mr Propaganda, this port is Extraterritorial. You have no
jurisdiction here."
"As I said, this is an emergency. Those criminals might be unloading even as
we speak. And this man" he indicated Troop "is the only one that will recognize
them. Now, will you open the gate?"
"Hang on a sec, I got to check with the Lieutenant about this." She turned
away and began to speak into the headset. After a few long seconds the gate
began to open. The marine pulled an small object out of a pocket of her CES,
pressed a button and gave it to Schmallhaussen. "This is a marine communicator.
I've preset it to the guard tactical frequency. All you have to do is press the
big button on the side and speak."
"We *do* have radios on Roup, you know" Schmallhaussen interjected. The
marine pretended not to notice and continued "When you have found the ship,
observe and call on the guards, No shooting, No arrests, No anything, just call
the Starport guards."
"Of course, we don't want an diplomatic incident, do we?" Schmallhaussen
answered ironically. he indicated to the driver to start. "Put the pedal to the
metal now, trooper. Follow the signs to Pad 14"
The tracks spun and the sneep rapidly accelerated away, leaving the marine
in a cloud of snow.
The starport covered a large area and lacked illumination. Because of the
almost complete lack of dry land on Roup it had been placed on Roups southern
icecap. Now it was summer on the northern hemisphere, so the weather at
Antarctica Starport was at its worst. But the placement had one big advantage.
It made it very easy for the dictator of Roup and his security forces to
control access to the starport.
A few minutes later the sneep had found its way to Pad 14 and Schmallhaussen,
Moeller and the Corporal disembarked. Troop looked up at the hull of the
starship that loomed above them and read the name out loud "Free Trader 'Jason'
from Regina. Yes, that was the name they mentioned."
Schmallhaussen instructed the driver "Drive to the barracks, get the guards
and take them here. We don't know if the criminals have means to detect
transmissions so I won't use the communicator"
The driver saluted and drove off. The sound of the engine faded quickly
and soon only the wind could be heard. On the neighbouring pads the ships
stood dark and silent, their crews undoubtedly sleeping. "Either in their warm
staterooms or in the equally warm hotel rooms in Startown" the corporal
thought. The major's voice pulled him back to reality. "Lets take a look at
that ship", Schmallhaussen said, flipped off the safety from his SMG and began
to advance towards the ship. "Follow me."
They hadn't walked more than ten meters when Moller, who was in the rear, saw
something move behind the far landing-gear. He took a small penlight out of his
pocket and flashed it briefly two times towards the movements.
From behind the landing-gear came a shot that hit number two, the corporal,
who crumpled without a sound. The sound of the carbine was muffled by the wind
and the snow. "Good shot Preben!" Troop said into a commdot that was hidden
beneath his collar "For a scout, that is!". "The shot was easy enough" Preben
Moeller answered. "The hard part was to locate number two. This snow plays hell
with the IR! Perhaps I should've put a round in each of you, just to be sure."
Schmallhaussen bent down and searched for the corporals pulse. "Don't worry"
Troop told him as he took the corporal's SMG, "Preben used a tranq round."
"I think he'll keep warm enough until the guards get here" said
Schmallhaussen and held up the communicator, smiling. "This was a bonus.
Why don't we use it?"
While Preben Moeller and Troop fired shots and salvoes into the air in the
background, Schmallhaussen yelled into the communicator about an ambush and
demanded immediate reinforcements. He finished the transmission by placing the
communicator in the snow and firing a burst from his SMG into it. They then
proceeded to make footprints all around the ship and finally Schmallhaussen
poured out blood from a bag he had nicked in the battalion hospital earlier
in the evening.
"Lets get out of here" Moeller said and pointed towards his air/raft "The
marines will be here any minute now."
"I'm already here!" Troop said, grinning.
"Yeah, But you're retired! By the way, not even a kid would be frightened
by your stupid face."
Troop snorted and added proudly "Once a Marine, always a Marine!" as he
borded Moellers IISS-issue air/raft. "At last, a *real* vehicle. Not some
stone-age 'sheep'".
"Sneep" Schmallhaussen corrected. "We call them sneeps. It's short for
snow jeep"
"Well whatever, You ain't gonna believe me Moeller, but that contraption
ran on tracks, *tracks*. And it was powered by real bloody *combustion engine*,
you know, the ones that burn good booze and spews smoke all around. Might as
well have been a sled pulled by grazing herbivores. If we had those things in
the IMC we'd still be the Sylean Marine Corps, I tell you..."
After a short flight at the lowest possible altitude and a long monologue
from Troop at his best, in a loud voice, the three accomplices reached
Moeller's ship.
"Here she is: Gamla Bettan, The best scout ship behind the claw!" Preben
said proudly.
"It's certainly the oldest..." Troop blurted forth.
"All it needs is some paint. Hurry up and get inside, The countdown is
proceeding and Tower will call any minute now."
Even in the airlock Schmallhaussen thought he smelled something, and when
the cycle was finished and the inner iris opened the suspicion went to
certainty. From the ships interior came a smell as from well used barracks, not
ventilated for weeks. "Phew! Smells like boot camp." Schmallhaussen turned
towards Troop, "Is this because of the corps or a corpse?"
"Verrrrry funny, dustkicker" Troop answered sourly.
"We would be glad to have any dust to kick on Roup."
"It's the air-regenerators" Preben called from the bridge."They are of the
same type as the ones they use in the standard Type S." He turned his attention
to the controls. An irritated voice boomed forth from the commo panel.
"Tower calling Gamla Bettan, Answer me, you deadhead's!"
"Eh, Umm, Gamla Bettan here."
"That's better, Where the hell have you been? We've been trying to call you
for at least ten minutes."
"We had some, ehh, problems with the, ehh, powerplant, but it is fixed now."
"You're sure it keeps together until orbit at least? Fishing ships out of
the 'eitch to oh' is a bloody nuisance."
"Don't worry, It'll work"
"Well then, where were I... Oh yeah, You are clear to start at 0005 hours
local, that's in zero three minutes, The airspace is clear and the weather's on
your computer. When you have lift-off follow ascent-path nine, red marker, to
low orbit at 140 clicks. You are logged for three complete orbits."
"Can't you cut that a bit? I've got a date on Feri."
"Oh, you do eh, nudge, nudge, Ok then, the system is quiet tonight, scratch
the orbit, go directly to Onehundred Dee, Do not, I repeat, do not pass 'GO'"
"Thanks Tower, Over 'n Out from Gamla Bettan."
Back at the "Jason" the marines had found the tranqed corporal and the signs
of the "battle". They made a quick search of the area which turned up nothing
so they turned their attention to the ship.
After hailing it (to no avail since the crew was sleeping off the effects of
an evening in startown provided by a certain ex-marine by the name of Mr Troop)
Lieutenant Gargishiid took the decision to blow the hatch.
"Lieutenant! The ship is empty, sir!" sergeant Fulimara reported as he came
out of the destroyed airlock, "there's neither contraband nor weapons in there,
and no trace of that major."
The iridescent radiance of hot thruster-plates that pierced the thin blanket
of falling snow answered the liutenant's unspoken question. As the glow
accelerated upwards and disappeared into the low clouds he began yelling in
the communicator "Tower! Tower! Gargishiid here! Stop that ship, I repeat,
stop that ship! They have the major and the contraband on board!"
He jumped into the air/raft and took off towards the tower.
In the common room of the Gamla Bettan Schmallhaussen was searching for a
refrigerator to raid.
"By the way, I don't think I have introduced myself." He extended one hand,
while the other was occupied opening various cupboards, hatches and lockers
"Major Werner Schmallhaussen, State Security. Or perhaps I should say, Ex-State
Security"
"Force Commander James P Troop, Imperial Marine Corps". They shook hands
"How are you related to Moeller?"
"He's my cousin. My mother's sister managed to get off Roup, but had a few,
ehh, misadventures, and ended up in the slums of Efate." Schmallhaussen finally
found a fridge, or something that he suspected served the same purpose. "Yummy,
*Real* food!" He began to rifle through it. "Hey, what's this? Plankton Beef?
Crustacean Candy?? Seaweed Bread??? That's not food, that's from Roup!"
"Yeah, we had to stock new grub 'cause the old load was beginning to smell.
How much time to jump, Preben? I don't wanna get caught red-handed with a
deserter onboard!" he yelled at the bridge.
"I'm not a deserter..." Werner began to protest. Moeller interrupted
"We've got 400 seconds more in the atmosphere. Then it'll take, lets see...
4 hours 9 minutes and 26 seconds to Onehundred Dee, Fast enough?"
"What? Have we started? I didn't notice anything." a perplexed Werner asked,
began looking for a window and continued "As I was going to say, I'm not a
deserter."
"Riight" Troop grinned.
"No really! I'll finish my last term of service today at 2400" he looked at
his watch and smiled "Correction, I finished it ten minutes ago. But then,
however, there was this little matter with a forced-reenlistment bill from
Supreme HQ that's waiting in the mail, and there's no way I could have gotten
an emigrant visa until after I had got that letter from SHQ. By the way, aren't
there any windows on this thing?"
"The only big one 's on the bridge. How did you know you were going to get
the letter? Hey, what do you think you're doing?" Troop almost fell over
laughing when he saw that Werners fiddling with the controls of the iris to the
bridge only managed sealing it harder. "Press that other button. NOOOO! NOT
THE RED ONE!!!" he practically jumped the few meters to the fore bulkhead and
forcibly prevented Schmallhaussen from pressing the "Emergency Blow" button for
the iris valve.
"OK, Schmallhaussen, listen very carefully now, cause I shall say this only
once: Until Preben or I have thaught you all you need to know about the ship,
Don't...Touch...Anything! This" he indicated the valve "is called an iris valve.
Unless it opens by itself you open it by pressing this green button. Any
questions?"
"Yes, what are all the other buttons for?"
"They're advanced options for expert users, don't touch them!"
With Werner in tow, Troop entered the bridge where Preben was engaged in an
agitated discussion with Traffic Control. Werner immediately went to the main
viewport and placed himself in front of Moeller.
"No we are *not* going to turn around just because you have had some
immense foul-up at the port." He held a hand over the mike and asked
Schmallhaussen "Werner, do you mind? I'd like to see were I am flying."
"Oh, sorry"
"According to paragraph forty-two in the Imperial..." Preben cut them short
with "I know what that paragraph says, but it seems that you don't."
"It says that *you* should land *here* *now* or we'll punch holes in your
ship big enough to drive an AFV through!" another voice at Traffic Control
shouted. It was Lieutenant Gargishiid who came bursting through the door
followed by a blast of Roupian arctic weather.
"Read that paragraph again guys. It clearly states that it is only
applicable to civilian ships and this isn't a civilian ship. This is a ship of
the Imperial Interstellar Scout Service, and if you start punching holes in
Imperial ships, there will rain marines out of the sky!"
"Riiight ON!" Troop yelled.
"You are under suspicion for one or two cases of kidnapping and murder. Both
are high justice crimes. I'll give you one chance of turning back, If you
haven't complied within one minute we will give you what we have of surface-to-
space missiles!"
"He sounds pissed," Werner said, "High justice crimes! Wasn't there any
other way of getting me off Roup? Whose damn idea was this anyway?"
"His!" Preben and Troop exclaimed in unison, pointing on each other.
"No way Preben! It was your idea to use a false smuggling to lure him to the
starport!" Troop complained.
"But it was your idea to mask it as a kidnapping! Any moron could have
guessed that they wouldn't like a kidnapping! Just like that marine landing on
Grevgh, Major fiasco from top to bottom!"
"Eh, guys? One of the screens say 'Missile Alert'" Schmallhaussen said. Even
if this was his first time on a spaceship he was sure that that meant trouble.
"Who's ops do you call a fiasco? It was a perfectly executed vertical
envelopment from orbit. Who would have guessed that the enemy had left six
months ago?"
"LOOK AT THE BLOODY SCREENS!!!!" Werner yelled.
"Shuddup, Werner, we are having an discussion!" Troop said.
"What? What about them?" Werner cast a glance on the main screens "That's
just a missile alert.....MISSILE ALERT???" He threw the ship into a sharp roll
and dive and Werner, who had been looking out the window, suddenly turned very
green.
"What kind of antiship missiles do you have on Roup?" Troop asked worriedly.
"Blurrp" Schmallhaussen answered as he tried to reconcile what his eyes told
him with what the rest of his senses said. "Big ones," he struggled with his
stomach, "20 meters long passive radar homing missiles with proximity fusing
and a 200kt warhead! Brand new stuff, we bought them just after the 5th FW."
Preben swore silently and pushed Gamla Bettan even lower, down into the
surface fog. "We have to get below the port's radar horizon, then they can't
paint us with the designators." He pulled up suddenly when a big freighter
appeared out of a fogbank. They heard the 'clang' as Gamla Bettan struck a
piece of rigging.
"That was CLOSE!" Troop breathed.
"Tell me about it! Where is that bloody missile?"
Troop looked at the screens "Still after us, but too high, and we are losing
their signal."
"I think they are designed to blow if they lose their signal..."
"Preben! It's diving! Break Left!!"
As the LSP Thunderstrike came hurtling down, Preben made a 90 degree turn
and pushed the thrusterplates overload-meters way up into the red area. The
missile did not change course to follow them. When it discovered that the
target was gone, it triggered the warhead and disappeared in an expanding
fireball of plasma while still high above the ocean.
On Gamla Bettan even five centimeters of superdense hull didn't mute the
sound of the explosion. Simultaneously, several status lights switched from
green to red. Moeller fought with the controls and gradually most of the lights
began to revert to green.
"No major damage, thank our lucky stars, and the starport is below the
horizon now. Phew! That was a close one!" Preben let out a sigh as he let the
ship continue forward in a slight climb. "I don't think we should go to Feri,
though. Anybody got anything against jumping to Whanga, scooping, and continuing
to Efate? We got to get to Pixie before 070 to meet Miandwhypt and this way
we'll get three weeks on Efate to install new air-regenerators."
Troop and Werner didn't have any objections.
"Do you think they'll put out a 'wanted' on us, Troop?" Werner asked as they
left the atmosphere.
"That depends. If they suspect that this isn't a kidnapping or murder, just
a set-up to get you off Roup, and especially if they blasted their way into
that innocent trader, they will try to put a lid on it and "forget" it very
fast." He grinned. "After all, that's standard marine procedure for situations
like this!"
Intermission:
Time: 041-1114 0750 hours Local
Location: At the 100 diameter line above Efate/Regina/Spinward Marches
Despite various warning lights throughout the trip, Gamla Bettan exited
jumpspace in no worse condition than usual, and at the intended place.
Everyone was gathered on the bridge, even Schmallhaussen who had spent the
entire jump-time in bed.
"I can see Efate!" Troop said when he found the small, blue-gray, orb
contrasted against the black background.
"3 hours 50 minutes and we will get comparatively fresh air again"
"That's not important, Moeller, What's important is that in just four hours
we can buy every weapon we can dream about" Troop said starry-eyed.
"No," Schmallhaussen corrected them, "Most important is that we in four
hours will get...*Real* food!"
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- - -bertil-
- - --
>From the foolfile:
"The Baltic states are not occupied" - Swedish Foreign Minister Sten Andersson