Katana Jones and the Pocatello Kid, Part One
Hey, remember I threatened you with fan-fiction? Here we go--generated by Ed's sci fi pulptastic Future Tales and starring this pretty little grrl in all her ferocious predatory glory.
Unfortunately, Hero Forge does not have appropriately "Buck Rogers" options for their miniatures, so she's still more Apocalypse World / the Sprawl than she is Forbidden Planet. Them's the breaks.
Katana Jones
Rep 5 SS3 Scavenger Star (Humanoid Alien) (Power 5)
Brawler +1d6 in Melee
Quick Reflexes +1d6 on In Sight tests (Racial)
Laser Pistol
Solid Melee Weapon
(Up to 5 items)
Home: Rural/Salvage
Myrna
Rep 4 SS3 Exotic Grunt (Humanoid Alien) (Power 2)
Pilot (Counts as Rep 5 when piloting Starcraft)
Stunning (+2d6 when taking Talk the Talk test vs. affected parties)(Racial)
Opening Scene generates thusly: 1d6+5 on the Person or Thing Table is a 9 Find/Rescue Person...5 clues needed to unlock the final scene. 1d6 for specific sort of case...5 means the Victim is to be hunted down! Right up the real Katana's alley. 2d6 on the Rural column of the "Who Is It?" table generates an Exotic target...and a further d6 generates a Gambler (Male, Rep 4, armed with a Laser Pistol) who was last seen in Urban Area 1...the Undercity! And this is where the investigation will officially begin after a quick Travel Scene to get to the Big City which results in no confrontation as the pair use Myrna's ship to make a brief domestic flight.
I was busy separating a primary drive coil from the thruster housing with the old fashioned standby of a crowbar, my full body weight, and a lot of cussing when Myrna buzzed my workshop by way of saying hello. That inspired a few more variations on copulatory impossibilities, since she knows full well I'd rather she comm me first instead of just zipping overhead before touching down on the improvised landing pad by my humble abode. By the time I'd gotten my tail to stop frizzing out with alarm and schooled my face into something less ferocious than she deserved, the blue-skinned beauty was almost dancing out of her cockpit with an ear to ear grin that told me maybe, just maybe, she had an excuse this time.
"D'you mind," I called out, sounding annoyed. "Almost skinned my knuckles when you flew over."
"Sorry, K," she answered, rubbing the back of her neck. "Only I got you a job offer. Guy back in New Kuna has a bounty and you were saying the other week how you were getting bored and..."
"Hold up." I narrowed my eyes. "What sort of job?"
"Nothing major. Sounded like a grab-and-secure. No wetwork, I promise! I remember you don't like that stuff." Her grin grew a bit wider, as if she thought this was some sort of joke. Which it was, for her, but then she's not a felinoid life form descended from apex predators. Me? I have a rep to protect, and getting caught playing with the perp is not a helpful thing.
"And the client?"
"The Horseshoe Club."
Oh. Oh, great. New Kuna had three main economic points of interest. The spaceport, which was more of what you might call a truck stop for intersystem haulers. The hospitality district, which catered to other needs of lonely freighter crew. Then there was the Horseshoe Club, which was first and foremost a casino and secondarily a saloon, hotel, and restaurant...and also the unofficial second city hall. If they wanted someone caught...I ran one hand through my mane and grumbled.
"Okay, gimme a minute to secure everything and we'll go see what the Horseshoe gang wants."
"No hurry. It's an exclusive sort of contract." Myrna stretched and let her grin fade to a mere smile. "I convinced them to leave it in your capable hands."
Translation: I flashed my breasts at the guy with the offer and he agreed to delay posting the task until after you got a chance to review and refuse. That was Myrna for you. Flirtation was her primary weapon in the same way that a replica Japanese katana was mine. Not that I was about to complain, since her silver tongue had gotten the both of us out of a few tight spots over the years. Ducking into my bunker, I hastily groomed and put on a cleaner shirt, then shrugged into my armored jacket and grabbed both sword and blaster pistol. Might as well look the part.
With Myrna flying, it was less than half an hour from my burn-flat workshop on the edge of a scavenger's dream to the bustling metropolis of New Kuna. Like most spaceport towns, it was a sprawling mess. You could tell the upper class areas from the air, since they were neatly laid out and looked much more carefully planned than the broad band of high-tech shantytown that marked the poorer areas. But we didn't have to go very far to meet our contact, since he was waiting for us when we touched down in the 'local traffic' section of the port. He was tall, reedy, thinning sandy blond hair, and a well-tailored suit that made him stand out in the working-stiff atmosphere of the landing zone.
"Katana Jones, I presume? Horatio Harrison, at your service." He held out a hand, which I shook, and glanced at Myrna. "The partners have agreed to let you take this one without any competition, if you're interested."
"Who's the target?"
That seemed to stump him, as if he'd expected me to ask about payment or cynically demand to know which partners were behind this. I could have grinned, but Basics seem to find my show of teeth unnerving.
"Ah...uhm..." He fumbled with his briefcase, dug out an old-fashioned hardcopy dossier, handed it over. "Boris Dillard Grumman, also known as the Pocatello Kid. Why he's called that, I have no idea."
I flipped it open and immediately understood--the man in the holo was old enough to be my grandfather. Wrinkly, white-haired, fully bearded, and honestly demands I add that the look in his eyes was distubingly jolly. A quick glance at his particulars read like a week at the sheriff's office: con-man and gambler, possibly also a thief.
"Probably the same reason people call small dogs Goliath," Myrna quipped.
"Yes, well, anyway...payment will be Guild standard rate." I narrowed my eyes, but he raised a hand to cut me off. "Yes, I know you aren't a member. They've agreed to overlook the peculiarity since this is considered a private matter between Mister Grumman and the Horseshoe Club. This time."
Okay, that set off all sorts of alarm bells in my head. I looked at the jolly old fellow again. There was something in that face that made me want to hit it with a shovel. Shutting the dossier with a snap, I met Horatio's eyes.
"A quarter payment up front."
"Yes, of course. And we'll pay for your ship's restock before you depart should off-world travel become necessary." Myrna's eyebrows went up at that. This was way too generous! I nodded, slowly. Whatever this Pocatello Kid had done, it wasn't just a simple unwanted visit. I wondered who he'd ripped off, what he'd stolen, who he'd angered.
"Then you've got yourself a hunter. I don't suppose you have any leads?"
Horatio swallowed, tugged at his collar, tried to smile reassuringly.
"As it turns out, we do. Mister Grumman was using an alias to skirt the edges of a previous agreement with the Club, and someone tweaked the biometric security to allow him entry. A local accomplice, already in custody. Quite the talkative fellow, too, once he realized that Grumman was going to skip out without paying him. He says the man mentioned a bolt hole in the Downunder, so unless he's already slipped offworld you should probably start there."
I nodded, glanced at Myrna. When she nodded back, I smiled...yes, I admit, I let my teeth show, and was gratified to see Horatio squirm a bit at that.
"We're on the job."
Not that finding a sticky-fingered con-man in the Downunder was going to be easy, but if it was easy they wouldn't have asked me to do it. Myrna stayed behind to, ah, secure the ship and confirm the initial payment. I'm pretty sure she was also going to be spending a little quality time with our Mister Johnson while I got down to business.
A good solo hunt was just what I needed to cure my blues. This was gonna be fun...
Unfortunately, Hero Forge does not have appropriately "Buck Rogers" options for their miniatures, so she's still more Apocalypse World / the Sprawl than she is Forbidden Planet. Them's the breaks.
Rep 5 SS3 Scavenger Star (Humanoid Alien) (Power 5)
Brawler +1d6 in Melee
Quick Reflexes +1d6 on In Sight tests (Racial)
Laser Pistol
Solid Melee Weapon
(Up to 5 items)
Home: Rural/Salvage
Myrna
Rep 4 SS3 Exotic Grunt (Humanoid Alien) (Power 2)
Pilot (Counts as Rep 5 when piloting Starcraft)
Stunning (+2d6 when taking Talk the Talk test vs. affected parties)(Racial)
Opening Scene generates thusly: 1d6+5 on the Person or Thing Table is a 9 Find/Rescue Person...5 clues needed to unlock the final scene. 1d6 for specific sort of case...5 means the Victim is to be hunted down! Right up the real Katana's alley. 2d6 on the Rural column of the "Who Is It?" table generates an Exotic target...and a further d6 generates a Gambler (Male, Rep 4, armed with a Laser Pistol) who was last seen in Urban Area 1...the Undercity! And this is where the investigation will officially begin after a quick Travel Scene to get to the Big City which results in no confrontation as the pair use Myrna's ship to make a brief domestic flight.
I was busy separating a primary drive coil from the thruster housing with the old fashioned standby of a crowbar, my full body weight, and a lot of cussing when Myrna buzzed my workshop by way of saying hello. That inspired a few more variations on copulatory impossibilities, since she knows full well I'd rather she comm me first instead of just zipping overhead before touching down on the improvised landing pad by my humble abode. By the time I'd gotten my tail to stop frizzing out with alarm and schooled my face into something less ferocious than she deserved, the blue-skinned beauty was almost dancing out of her cockpit with an ear to ear grin that told me maybe, just maybe, she had an excuse this time.
"D'you mind," I called out, sounding annoyed. "Almost skinned my knuckles when you flew over."
"Sorry, K," she answered, rubbing the back of her neck. "Only I got you a job offer. Guy back in New Kuna has a bounty and you were saying the other week how you were getting bored and..."
"Hold up." I narrowed my eyes. "What sort of job?"
"Nothing major. Sounded like a grab-and-secure. No wetwork, I promise! I remember you don't like that stuff." Her grin grew a bit wider, as if she thought this was some sort of joke. Which it was, for her, but then she's not a felinoid life form descended from apex predators. Me? I have a rep to protect, and getting caught playing with the perp is not a helpful thing.
"And the client?"
"The Horseshoe Club."
Oh. Oh, great. New Kuna had three main economic points of interest. The spaceport, which was more of what you might call a truck stop for intersystem haulers. The hospitality district, which catered to other needs of lonely freighter crew. Then there was the Horseshoe Club, which was first and foremost a casino and secondarily a saloon, hotel, and restaurant...and also the unofficial second city hall. If they wanted someone caught...I ran one hand through my mane and grumbled.
"Okay, gimme a minute to secure everything and we'll go see what the Horseshoe gang wants."
"No hurry. It's an exclusive sort of contract." Myrna stretched and let her grin fade to a mere smile. "I convinced them to leave it in your capable hands."
Translation: I flashed my breasts at the guy with the offer and he agreed to delay posting the task until after you got a chance to review and refuse. That was Myrna for you. Flirtation was her primary weapon in the same way that a replica Japanese katana was mine. Not that I was about to complain, since her silver tongue had gotten the both of us out of a few tight spots over the years. Ducking into my bunker, I hastily groomed and put on a cleaner shirt, then shrugged into my armored jacket and grabbed both sword and blaster pistol. Might as well look the part.
With Myrna flying, it was less than half an hour from my burn-flat workshop on the edge of a scavenger's dream to the bustling metropolis of New Kuna. Like most spaceport towns, it was a sprawling mess. You could tell the upper class areas from the air, since they were neatly laid out and looked much more carefully planned than the broad band of high-tech shantytown that marked the poorer areas. But we didn't have to go very far to meet our contact, since he was waiting for us when we touched down in the 'local traffic' section of the port. He was tall, reedy, thinning sandy blond hair, and a well-tailored suit that made him stand out in the working-stiff atmosphere of the landing zone.
"Katana Jones, I presume? Horatio Harrison, at your service." He held out a hand, which I shook, and glanced at Myrna. "The partners have agreed to let you take this one without any competition, if you're interested."
"Who's the target?"
That seemed to stump him, as if he'd expected me to ask about payment or cynically demand to know which partners were behind this. I could have grinned, but Basics seem to find my show of teeth unnerving.
"Ah...uhm..." He fumbled with his briefcase, dug out an old-fashioned hardcopy dossier, handed it over. "Boris Dillard Grumman, also known as the Pocatello Kid. Why he's called that, I have no idea."
I flipped it open and immediately understood--the man in the holo was old enough to be my grandfather. Wrinkly, white-haired, fully bearded, and honestly demands I add that the look in his eyes was distubingly jolly. A quick glance at his particulars read like a week at the sheriff's office: con-man and gambler, possibly also a thief.
"Probably the same reason people call small dogs Goliath," Myrna quipped.
"Yes, well, anyway...payment will be Guild standard rate." I narrowed my eyes, but he raised a hand to cut me off. "Yes, I know you aren't a member. They've agreed to overlook the peculiarity since this is considered a private matter between Mister Grumman and the Horseshoe Club. This time."
Okay, that set off all sorts of alarm bells in my head. I looked at the jolly old fellow again. There was something in that face that made me want to hit it with a shovel. Shutting the dossier with a snap, I met Horatio's eyes.
"A quarter payment up front."
"Yes, of course. And we'll pay for your ship's restock before you depart should off-world travel become necessary." Myrna's eyebrows went up at that. This was way too generous! I nodded, slowly. Whatever this Pocatello Kid had done, it wasn't just a simple unwanted visit. I wondered who he'd ripped off, what he'd stolen, who he'd angered.
"Then you've got yourself a hunter. I don't suppose you have any leads?"
Horatio swallowed, tugged at his collar, tried to smile reassuringly.
"As it turns out, we do. Mister Grumman was using an alias to skirt the edges of a previous agreement with the Club, and someone tweaked the biometric security to allow him entry. A local accomplice, already in custody. Quite the talkative fellow, too, once he realized that Grumman was going to skip out without paying him. He says the man mentioned a bolt hole in the Downunder, so unless he's already slipped offworld you should probably start there."
I nodded, glanced at Myrna. When she nodded back, I smiled...yes, I admit, I let my teeth show, and was gratified to see Horatio squirm a bit at that.
"We're on the job."
Not that finding a sticky-fingered con-man in the Downunder was going to be easy, but if it was easy they wouldn't have asked me to do it. Myrna stayed behind to, ah, secure the ship and confirm the initial payment. I'm pretty sure she was also going to be spending a little quality time with our Mister Johnson while I got down to business.
A good solo hunt was just what I needed to cure my blues. This was gonna be fun...
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