First some background:
I'm not sure if this belongs here or on the Legendary forums or both. (Bob - Move and/or Delete this thread as needed) I recently rolled a new character as part of the i21 headstart, and got him up to lvl 20 real quick. I then had to leave for about a week, and during that week, I got attacked by rabid plot-rabbit and the ideas just wouldn't leave me alone. Just to get some quiet in my head, I wrote them out. However, they in-turn have sort-of breed a life of their own and I'm seriously considering continuing this. Looking at what's written, the only CoH element is the character name, and that's easily changed.
Hence the need for input. What I think I've written is the basis from which someone can write a really good book, I've done a bit of world building mixed in with commentary other stuff. I have at least double what's typed below written out in my book and its still growing.
Its currently a sci-fi detective story grabbing elements from all over... Mass Effect, Deadliest Catch, WH4K, and D&D to name a few that I have lined up.
Thus without further ado:
[Request for Assistance]
[Request for Beta]
[Release for Comment]
------
I am Draek Shepard. That is: Commander Shepard of the Dragonic Horde, Wielder of FireSpitter, Protector of the Innocent, Chosen of the Hunt, Sentinel of Peace, Defender of the Tri-Alliance, Vinco Vicis and many other titles.
Fear not my weapon: FireSpitter. ForgeCrafted in the Core Worlds.
With it I have tamed the beasts of Sjuk Major, Ganis Minor and hunted the Ghost Hounds of the Four Arms of Harkkuro.
Fear not my power: Temporal Bending. Honed in the Wildlands Regions.
With them I have made suns stand still, altered seasons and exploded stars and made planets shift orbit.
Fear not those that caused me to tread upon your world, to turn my attention towards you.
They will be dealt with shortly and shall soon feel the full weight of my ire.
Rather, fear the Authority which I represent, and who's Authority I wield.
Fear them and Live a prosperous life.
These are the journals of how I was grants these titles. Read them, so you don't fall into the same traps that I did.
Chosen of the Hunt
I can remember a time when I was what you would term a
"Greenhorn". We were hunting Gas-Skimmers on the Regis Narrows.
At the time, it basically involved some poor sap at the end of a long pole
setting off flares to enrich the veins of gas to lead the Skimmers into our
traps. And as the FNG guess who drew the short straw.
Still, there was a certain serenity, and certain beauty to the stars, when
its just you and the universe. Not that you get much of a chance to enjoy it.
They work the laborers tough on the hunting boats and the greenhorns doublely
so.
A typical hunt would begin with the Captain handing control over to the
"Findsman". On the Elexis, the Captain was a born Spacer, one a rare
breed of people (and I use the term loosely) that was both born in space, work
in space, and can handle the rigors of Space with the gift of Command.
The "Findsman" on the other hand is a different skillset. Despite
all attempts to breed and craft them, "Findsman" are born, never
made. They appear to be totally random and across all species boundaries. So
what makes them so special? A "Findsman" have this nack of feeling
gas vibrations and other funny things over great distance. Great as in stellar
distances. As such, "Findsman" were in great demand.
Captain to [Susan]: "Find us some cheddar"
Eyes roll back, body begins to glow faintly, eyes glow greatly. "Aye
Cap."
The ship would then be in the hands
of the "Findsman" who's aim it was to steer the ship into the richest
gases for us to lay our traps, grabbing Skimmers. The thinking was that the
higher the concentration, the richer the gas, the more Skimmers there would be,
and thus the more we would catch. Simple. Where do the flares come in? They
apparently, I'm told, make the gas tastier.
Can we eat Skimmers? No, not directly. Skimmers need to be processed on a
Processor Ship in order to be consumed by most humanoids. Even then, it tastes
like rubber. Trust me on that.
So why do we even bother? Why the mad scramble to gather Skimmers while the
season is open?
Simple: For the portion of intelligent species that can actual eat raw
Skimmer, it is a high class exotic food up there with the likes of caviar and
green leg loxy meat. They are willing to pay top dollar for mere mouthfuls of
the stuff. (They are, in-turn, considered bonkers by everyone else, but nobody
says anything, as money covers a multitude of sins and talks a myriad of
languages.)
If that wasn't reason enough, there is yet another, simpler reason.
Skimmers make excellent Bait.
Bait for what? Bait for what is generally called Leviathan. Giant whales of
the sky. Now there is where the real money was. There were typically only one or
two Leviathans taken a season, sometimes none. Landing one was enough to keep a
working Captain and a larger boat going for a good decade or longer, which was
the average. The Elexis Captain had landed one every other year for the last
six years straight.
No one was that lucky. No one.
This year, if the pattern held true, would be yet another 'lucky' year for
the Elexis. That was why I was busy seeding gas veins when I could be busy
doing a million other safer and saner jobs, like say flushing fusion vessels -
while they were still active.
My cover this time around was that of a "greenhorn". Bottom of
the totem pole sort of stuff. We had to load the traps, haul them into the
launcher, launch them, scrub the decks, maintain the ship, cook, catch the
traps, haul the traps back across the decks, clear them, sort the catch, haul
the traps into storage, ready the traps again, and maintain the catch. And all
that was within the first two days. In amongst all that, we had to put up with
the shenanigans of the crew, and find time to sleep and eat. The advantage to
being a "greenhorn" was, we had the virtual run of the ship after a
few days (just had to say we were on doing an errand for somebody, only issue
with that was we actually had to be on said errand) and is was easy to hide
ones lack of skills in certain areas. But oh did I ache in so many places.
To illustrate: Each trap is about 2 tonnes in weight and expand to about a
mynok or 3 metra cubed. You have to run in, hang the bait sack in the centre,
check the beacon is charged and programmed, and ensure that the various lines
are secure and not tangled. All this while wearing a Chem-suit and operating
under funky lights, as the gas tends to react to normal lights. Not that the
lights or the suit bothers Kaleb, the [ ] methane breather. To him, its just
another suit and the lights actually help him see better.
Typical load time for each trap is 2 minutes, 3 at the maximum. Once its
ready, the trap is man-handled over to the launcher and flung into space when
the ship reaches its mark. While waiting for the ship to reach its mark, the
next trap it being prepared. And to quote the nice and friendly safety brief
spat at us "greenhorns" when we first stepped onto the rear deck:
"DON'T GET CAUGHT INSIDE DA TRAP OR IN DA LINE - WE AN'IT COMIN' BACK FER
YA!" The suits wouldn't have enough air to last until they came back to
pick up the full traps, and woe betide anyone who caused the Captain to have to
slow the ship down. Nothing like the constant threat of danger to keep one on one's
toes. I feel at home already.
The number of crew on the ships varied depending on the size of the ship,
the depth of the pockets supporting it, and few other factors that aren't worth
mentioning here. The Elexis, being typical of most hunting ships, was of a
particular size, although some are a bit bigger and some are a little smaller.
The Elexis was big enough to carry a decent amount of Skimmers when full, along
with a sizeable amount of traps, yet small enough no the disturb the gas too
much as it passed. It also carried the mandated Leviathan stun shot (LSS).
I should mention that even though Leviathan hunting and Skimmer hunting for
that matter has a lot if Cowboys and Characters, all aspects of the hunt are
strictly controlled. That is despite the fact that Gas-Skimmers can breed like plague-rabbits
when the time is right (never store an even number together in a confined space
for any longer than 5 mintra), and have shown a surprising resiliency. Out of
season hunting is particularly frowned upon. There are reports that someone
tried a spot of unlicensed out-of-season Leviathan hunting back in '06. They
say that the broken up remains of their ship were found on a ballistic cause to
the nearest space station. Weather that's true or not; no one is in a particular hurry to test that particular
myth.
Every year there are at least 3-10 firings of the LSS. Some Captains go
their entire career without seeing one. So just to claim that they saw one and
"missed it my metra" or "it shook the shot off" they fire
the LSS off. The problem with firing the LSS is that it requires anyone else in
the area to drop what what they are doing and come and render aid.
Why would they need to come and render aid? The average Leviathan is
freaking massive. It is called a Leviathan for a reason. It out-weighs and
out-sizes even the largest of hunting vessels by several orders of magnitude.
The fact that they get so big is one of the greatest mysteries of the wider
scientific community. (How a Captain could miss a stun shot at something that
big and still call themselves a Captain was another.) Their typical diet was
Gas Skimmers and other stellar life, Star dust, and even the upper levels of
gas-giants. So we're doing the universe as a whole a service by taking a
Leviathan out of circulation. In return, the Leviathan breaks down into much
tastier food, fuel, vital medical supplies, and about a thousand other things.
The nerve sheath for instance, makes an excellent wiring harness for most
fusion drives and was so simple to maintain, even I can do it. (Read the color
code chart and take the appropriate action)
As the Elexis was such a successful ship, it was running with the full
compliment of crew. That meant we had the Captain in command of the whole shindig,
the "Findsman" and for once their apprentice was working besides me
as a "greenhorn". The two pilots worked also as navigators and split
there shift so that there was always at least one of them at the helm,
sometimes both of them. There was the Engineer in charge of the engine and
general systems of the ship, The chief Cook who also doubled as the doctor and quarter-marshal,
and the three deckhands. Then there was us two "greenhorns" where the
butt of everyone's jokes and given all the "real work" to do in order
"to toughen you up". The number of filters that needed cleaning was
ridiculous. I haven't seen that many filtres since my days on Fortunes Favorite and it was five times
the size.
Hands over a sludge and muck encrusted pipe
"Squid, I want this so clean I could eat of it"
Hands him a tooth brush
"Get to work!"
Mentally whimpers. "Yes Sir!"
One good thing about all the filters that they got me to clean, they were
excellent hideholes for Listeners... of which I found some and showed them to
the Captain, souring his mood for the rest of the shift. He made some nasty
comment about Port Authorities sticking their noses where they aught not, but
then all Spacers view them as a required evil. Of course, I then went about
replacing the Listeners with ones of my own knowing that I'll probably be the
one flushing them out before the cruise is over.
I felt particularly sorry for my fellow "greenhorn" [name]. In
addition to all the fun and excitement that came with being a
"greenhorn", she had to deal with tutage from [Susan], the ship's
"Findsman". While, true, it is a gift that is born and is neither
crafted nor made, it is not a free ride either. Neither does it mean that one
is endowed with skills or talents. Being a "Findsman" is as much a
curse as it is a blessing. She had a nations expectations riding on her
shoulders. From what little I glimpsed at, the training was rather unpleasant
on both sides.
To say stress and energy levels were running high on the ship would be an
understatement much like saying stars are hot, space is cold, and Torren as a
race are ugly. It was part of the reason why I was seeding the gas
It was mid-season, Elexis had filled her tanks twice already. One load had
gone to the Processor ship, and another had gone into raw storage. Thus even if
the Captain didn't have his prior Leviathan earnings in the bank earning who
knows what interest, the boat for this season at least, had reached break-even
point. It was something of a gentleman's agreement between hunters: They would
all make an appearance of hunting Skimmers for the Processor and the raw
market, and they wouldn't actively hunt Leviathans until the Skimmer season
closed. This made it fair for everyone including those that just hunted
Skimmers, and everyone had enough to pay the bills at the end of the season. If
you happened across a Leviathan during Skimmer season, eh, well, fortunes of
the hunt. When the Skimmer season closed, when it was called, you had whatever
was on your boat and in your traps to go hunting Leviathans. It added to the excitement
of the game.
There is always the element of risk that as the season progressed, the ship
will be caught empty and her traps will be hanging in dead space when the
season was called. Hence is was with good reason that Hunting Captains and “Findsman”
were some of the coolest heads and steadiest gamblers and risk-takers in the
known universe. The odds and other calculations that they make on a regular
basis during the hunt are rather daunting. Hence why little rituals and procedures
take place on the various ships. One Captain is known to fly alongside gas
fields and fire traps through them, while another only releases traps in a ring
fashion. One Captain is rumored to ritualistically kiss the first Skimmer
caught before releasing it and doing the same for one of the last ones as the
season closes.
The Elexis Captain mixed up their choice of traditions, doing a wide
varitey of little rituals, all aimed to ensure a good take. One of said
traditions that they employed was FOFI – First Out, First In. First Trap Out was
the First Trap In. It was so critically important to remember and log which
trap was the start of which particular lines, especially as the Captain would run
three lines at a time, 2 in a vein and one lurking nearby. During the peaks, or
when either the Captain or the Quarter Master is feeling particularly nasty,
there can be up to 5 individual sets of lines and the crew were expected to
keep an idea of where each line and trap generally was and in which order to go
grab them.
The practice of having two traps in a vein of gas and hanging another one
just on the edge outside the vein then ‘seeding’ the outside trap with flares,
while not against the rules per say, was against the spirit of the rules of the
hunt. It was like dragging a bleeding fish behind a boat in shark filled
waters. Unfair on the sharks and cruel to the fool holding the fish.
It was also one of the most foolhardy and dangerous things that an
intelligent being could do without being given a one-way pass to the Nav’bel
sector and automatic entry into the Idiot awards. The only thing anchoring the crew member
(usually the “greenhorn”) to the pole as they fired off the flares was the
Adhesion lock on their shoes. The pole itself? Well, it bends and flexes in
response to the various forces acting on it, and is only really firmly mounted
at a single point. Of course, by the time that a “greenhorn” has the honor of
riding the pole, they ‘know’ that the
safety line that holds them to the ship, it won’t work.
For the nth time since taking this assignment I asked myself what in the
blazes I was doing out here, and if the crew was actively trying to kill me.
I'm not sure if this belongs here or on the Legendary forums or both. (Bob - Move and/or Delete this thread as needed) I recently rolled a new character as part of the i21 headstart, and got him up to lvl 20 real quick. I then had to leave for about a week, and during that week, I got attacked by rabid plot-rabbit and the ideas just wouldn't leave me alone. Just to get some quiet in my head, I wrote them out. However, they in-turn have sort-of breed a life of their own and I'm seriously considering continuing this. Looking at what's written, the only CoH element is the character name, and that's easily changed.
Hence the need for input. What I think I've written is the basis from which someone can write a really good book, I've done a bit of world building mixed in with commentary other stuff. I have at least double what's typed below written out in my book and its still growing.
Its currently a sci-fi detective story grabbing elements from all over... Mass Effect, Deadliest Catch, WH4K, and D&D to name a few that I have lined up.
Thus without further ado:
[Request for Assistance]
[Request for Beta]
[Release for Comment]
------
I am Draek Shepard. That is: Commander Shepard of the Dragonic Horde, Wielder of FireSpitter, Protector of the Innocent, Chosen of the Hunt, Sentinel of Peace, Defender of the Tri-Alliance, Vinco Vicis and many other titles.
Fear not my weapon: FireSpitter. ForgeCrafted in the Core Worlds.
With it I have tamed the beasts of Sjuk Major, Ganis Minor and hunted the Ghost Hounds of the Four Arms of Harkkuro.
Fear not my power: Temporal Bending. Honed in the Wildlands Regions.
With them I have made suns stand still, altered seasons and exploded stars and made planets shift orbit.
Fear not those that caused me to tread upon your world, to turn my attention towards you.
They will be dealt with shortly and shall soon feel the full weight of my ire.
Rather, fear the Authority which I represent, and who's Authority I wield.
Fear them and Live a prosperous life.
These are the journals of how I was grants these titles. Read them, so you don't fall into the same traps that I did.
Chosen of the Hunt
I can remember a time when I was what you would term a
"Greenhorn". We were hunting Gas-Skimmers on the Regis Narrows.
At the time, it basically involved some poor sap at the end of a long pole
setting off flares to enrich the veins of gas to lead the Skimmers into our
traps. And as the FNG guess who drew the short straw.
Still, there was a certain serenity, and certain beauty to the stars, when
its just you and the universe. Not that you get much of a chance to enjoy it.
They work the laborers tough on the hunting boats and the greenhorns doublely
so.
A typical hunt would begin with the Captain handing control over to the
"Findsman". On the Elexis, the Captain was a born Spacer, one a rare
breed of people (and I use the term loosely) that was both born in space, work
in space, and can handle the rigors of Space with the gift of Command.
The "Findsman" on the other hand is a different skillset. Despite
all attempts to breed and craft them, "Findsman" are born, never
made. They appear to be totally random and across all species boundaries. So
what makes them so special? A "Findsman" have this nack of feeling
gas vibrations and other funny things over great distance. Great as in stellar
distances. As such, "Findsman" were in great demand.
Captain to [Susan]: "Find us some cheddar"
Eyes roll back, body begins to glow faintly, eyes glow greatly. "Aye
Cap."
The ship would then be in the hands
of the "Findsman" who's aim it was to steer the ship into the richest
gases for us to lay our traps, grabbing Skimmers. The thinking was that the
higher the concentration, the richer the gas, the more Skimmers there would be,
and thus the more we would catch. Simple. Where do the flares come in? They
apparently, I'm told, make the gas tastier.
Can we eat Skimmers? No, not directly. Skimmers need to be processed on a
Processor Ship in order to be consumed by most humanoids. Even then, it tastes
like rubber. Trust me on that.
So why do we even bother? Why the mad scramble to gather Skimmers while the
season is open?
Simple: For the portion of intelligent species that can actual eat raw
Skimmer, it is a high class exotic food up there with the likes of caviar and
green leg loxy meat. They are willing to pay top dollar for mere mouthfuls of
the stuff. (They are, in-turn, considered bonkers by everyone else, but nobody
says anything, as money covers a multitude of sins and talks a myriad of
languages.)
If that wasn't reason enough, there is yet another, simpler reason.
Skimmers make excellent Bait.
Bait for what? Bait for what is generally called Leviathan. Giant whales of
the sky. Now there is where the real money was. There were typically only one or
two Leviathans taken a season, sometimes none. Landing one was enough to keep a
working Captain and a larger boat going for a good decade or longer, which was
the average. The Elexis Captain had landed one every other year for the last
six years straight.
No one was that lucky. No one.
This year, if the pattern held true, would be yet another 'lucky' year for
the Elexis. That was why I was busy seeding gas veins when I could be busy
doing a million other safer and saner jobs, like say flushing fusion vessels -
while they were still active.
My cover this time around was that of a "greenhorn". Bottom of
the totem pole sort of stuff. We had to load the traps, haul them into the
launcher, launch them, scrub the decks, maintain the ship, cook, catch the
traps, haul the traps back across the decks, clear them, sort the catch, haul
the traps into storage, ready the traps again, and maintain the catch. And all
that was within the first two days. In amongst all that, we had to put up with
the shenanigans of the crew, and find time to sleep and eat. The advantage to
being a "greenhorn" was, we had the virtual run of the ship after a
few days (just had to say we were on doing an errand for somebody, only issue
with that was we actually had to be on said errand) and is was easy to hide
ones lack of skills in certain areas. But oh did I ache in so many places.
To illustrate: Each trap is about 2 tonnes in weight and expand to about a
mynok or 3 metra cubed. You have to run in, hang the bait sack in the centre,
check the beacon is charged and programmed, and ensure that the various lines
are secure and not tangled. All this while wearing a Chem-suit and operating
under funky lights, as the gas tends to react to normal lights. Not that the
lights or the suit bothers Kaleb, the [ ] methane breather. To him, its just
another suit and the lights actually help him see better.
Typical load time for each trap is 2 minutes, 3 at the maximum. Once its
ready, the trap is man-handled over to the launcher and flung into space when
the ship reaches its mark. While waiting for the ship to reach its mark, the
next trap it being prepared. And to quote the nice and friendly safety brief
spat at us "greenhorns" when we first stepped onto the rear deck:
"DON'T GET CAUGHT INSIDE DA TRAP OR IN DA LINE - WE AN'IT COMIN' BACK FER
YA!" The suits wouldn't have enough air to last until they came back to
pick up the full traps, and woe betide anyone who caused the Captain to have to
slow the ship down. Nothing like the constant threat of danger to keep one on one's
toes. I feel at home already.
The number of crew on the ships varied depending on the size of the ship,
the depth of the pockets supporting it, and few other factors that aren't worth
mentioning here. The Elexis, being typical of most hunting ships, was of a
particular size, although some are a bit bigger and some are a little smaller.
The Elexis was big enough to carry a decent amount of Skimmers when full, along
with a sizeable amount of traps, yet small enough no the disturb the gas too
much as it passed. It also carried the mandated Leviathan stun shot (LSS).
I should mention that even though Leviathan hunting and Skimmer hunting for
that matter has a lot if Cowboys and Characters, all aspects of the hunt are
strictly controlled. That is despite the fact that Gas-Skimmers can breed like plague-rabbits
when the time is right (never store an even number together in a confined space
for any longer than 5 mintra), and have shown a surprising resiliency. Out of
season hunting is particularly frowned upon. There are reports that someone
tried a spot of unlicensed out-of-season Leviathan hunting back in '06. They
say that the broken up remains of their ship were found on a ballistic cause to
the nearest space station. Weather that's true or not; no one is in a particular hurry to test that particular
myth.
Every year there are at least 3-10 firings of the LSS. Some Captains go
their entire career without seeing one. So just to claim that they saw one and
"missed it my metra" or "it shook the shot off" they fire
the LSS off. The problem with firing the LSS is that it requires anyone else in
the area to drop what what they are doing and come and render aid.
Why would they need to come and render aid? The average Leviathan is
freaking massive. It is called a Leviathan for a reason. It out-weighs and
out-sizes even the largest of hunting vessels by several orders of magnitude.
The fact that they get so big is one of the greatest mysteries of the wider
scientific community. (How a Captain could miss a stun shot at something that
big and still call themselves a Captain was another.) Their typical diet was
Gas Skimmers and other stellar life, Star dust, and even the upper levels of
gas-giants. So we're doing the universe as a whole a service by taking a
Leviathan out of circulation. In return, the Leviathan breaks down into much
tastier food, fuel, vital medical supplies, and about a thousand other things.
The nerve sheath for instance, makes an excellent wiring harness for most
fusion drives and was so simple to maintain, even I can do it. (Read the color
code chart and take the appropriate action)
As the Elexis was such a successful ship, it was running with the full
compliment of crew. That meant we had the Captain in command of the whole shindig,
the "Findsman" and for once their apprentice was working besides me
as a "greenhorn". The two pilots worked also as navigators and split
there shift so that there was always at least one of them at the helm,
sometimes both of them. There was the Engineer in charge of the engine and
general systems of the ship, The chief Cook who also doubled as the doctor and quarter-marshal,
and the three deckhands. Then there was us two "greenhorns" where the
butt of everyone's jokes and given all the "real work" to do in order
"to toughen you up". The number of filters that needed cleaning was
ridiculous. I haven't seen that many filtres since my days on Fortunes Favorite and it was five times
the size.
Hands over a sludge and muck encrusted pipe
"Squid, I want this so clean I could eat of it"
Hands him a tooth brush
"Get to work!"
Mentally whimpers. "Yes Sir!"
One good thing about all the filters that they got me to clean, they were
excellent hideholes for Listeners... of which I found some and showed them to
the Captain, souring his mood for the rest of the shift. He made some nasty
comment about Port Authorities sticking their noses where they aught not, but
then all Spacers view them as a required evil. Of course, I then went about
replacing the Listeners with ones of my own knowing that I'll probably be the
one flushing them out before the cruise is over.
I felt particularly sorry for my fellow "greenhorn" [name]. In
addition to all the fun and excitement that came with being a
"greenhorn", she had to deal with tutage from [Susan], the ship's
"Findsman". While, true, it is a gift that is born and is neither
crafted nor made, it is not a free ride either. Neither does it mean that one
is endowed with skills or talents. Being a "Findsman" is as much a
curse as it is a blessing. She had a nations expectations riding on her
shoulders. From what little I glimpsed at, the training was rather unpleasant
on both sides.
To say stress and energy levels were running high on the ship would be an
understatement much like saying stars are hot, space is cold, and Torren as a
race are ugly. It was part of the reason why I was seeding the gas
It was mid-season, Elexis had filled her tanks twice already. One load had
gone to the Processor ship, and another had gone into raw storage. Thus even if
the Captain didn't have his prior Leviathan earnings in the bank earning who
knows what interest, the boat for this season at least, had reached break-even
point. It was something of a gentleman's agreement between hunters: They would
all make an appearance of hunting Skimmers for the Processor and the raw
market, and they wouldn't actively hunt Leviathans until the Skimmer season
closed. This made it fair for everyone including those that just hunted
Skimmers, and everyone had enough to pay the bills at the end of the season. If
you happened across a Leviathan during Skimmer season, eh, well, fortunes of
the hunt. When the Skimmer season closed, when it was called, you had whatever
was on your boat and in your traps to go hunting Leviathans. It added to the excitement
of the game.
There is always the element of risk that as the season progressed, the ship
will be caught empty and her traps will be hanging in dead space when the
season was called. Hence is was with good reason that Hunting Captains and “Findsman”
were some of the coolest heads and steadiest gamblers and risk-takers in the
known universe. The odds and other calculations that they make on a regular
basis during the hunt are rather daunting. Hence why little rituals and procedures
take place on the various ships. One Captain is known to fly alongside gas
fields and fire traps through them, while another only releases traps in a ring
fashion. One Captain is rumored to ritualistically kiss the first Skimmer
caught before releasing it and doing the same for one of the last ones as the
season closes.
The Elexis Captain mixed up their choice of traditions, doing a wide
varitey of little rituals, all aimed to ensure a good take. One of said
traditions that they employed was FOFI – First Out, First In. First Trap Out was
the First Trap In. It was so critically important to remember and log which
trap was the start of which particular lines, especially as the Captain would run
three lines at a time, 2 in a vein and one lurking nearby. During the peaks, or
when either the Captain or the Quarter Master is feeling particularly nasty,
there can be up to 5 individual sets of lines and the crew were expected to
keep an idea of where each line and trap generally was and in which order to go
grab them.
The practice of having two traps in a vein of gas and hanging another one
just on the edge outside the vein then ‘seeding’ the outside trap with flares,
while not against the rules per say, was against the spirit of the rules of the
hunt. It was like dragging a bleeding fish behind a boat in shark filled
waters. Unfair on the sharks and cruel to the fool holding the fish.
It was also one of the most foolhardy and dangerous things that an
intelligent being could do without being given a one-way pass to the Nav’bel
sector and automatic entry into the Idiot awards. The only thing anchoring the crew member
(usually the “greenhorn”) to the pole as they fired off the flares was the
Adhesion lock on their shoes. The pole itself? Well, it bends and flexes in
response to the various forces acting on it, and is only really firmly mounted
at a single point. Of course, by the time that a “greenhorn” has the honor of
riding the pole, they ‘know’ that the
safety line that holds them to the ship, it won’t work.
For the nth time since taking this assignment I asked myself what in the
blazes I was doing out here, and if the crew was actively trying to kill me.
