An unresolved mystery yearns to be unravelled -will you finish what you've started?
Level: 16?
Start: Gerald Blackleg, Government Center, LeGuin Stronghold
Introduction
Gerald Blackleg, his pouting double-chin resting on his chest, does not make eye contact with LeGuin's Sheriff. Smythe eyes the plump corporate stooge harshly.
Gerald Blackleg: Why have you called me in for? I was out on…patrol, doing the rounds, you know.
Reginald Smythe: I wanted you to see first hand, what an upstanding Citizen looks like. They've identified the vandal.
Blackleg glances begrudgingly at you, his pouting, fat face red with shame.
Reginald Smythe: That will be all. Leave us.
Blackleg heaves his hefty form around and slithers out of the room.
Me: Sarananda Xon has offered to put me up at the Inn.
Reginald Smythe: Splendid. Then before you leave for a well deserved rest, let's discuss Ryan
- Look at Smyth.
Smythe’s charming demeanor has curbed, his eyes appear darker, the neat white hair somehow starker.
Me: Are you going to have the mercenaries apprehend him?
Reginald Smythe: I’ve known Ryan from the day he was born. His father and I were close friends. Rita, Archie and I studied together. I’d hate to think of those thugs laying a hand on him -or worse.
He pauses, his left eye dances slightly.
Reginald Smythe: I’d appreciate it greatly if you’d find him.
You look back at Smythe. It is never an easy thing to say, "No." Especially to someone asking for help, but this is as far as you're willing to go.
Me: I'm sorry Reginald, but this is as far as I go.
Me: Thanks for the ice pop.
Smythe's smile is a mix of understanding and regret.
Reginald Smythe: This LeGuiner thanks you for your service nontheless.
Mission failure
You have failed the "Lost Boy II" mission. You can retake this mission and try again.
Me: What was it you studied?
Reginald Smythe: Rita, Archie and I studied Iatrics at University on the House of Syria many cycles ago. We were young then.
He looks off past you, somewhere else -into some other time.
- Ask about Iatrics.
Me: What was it you said you all studied?
Reginald Smythe: Iatrics. We’re doctors -all three of us. Although Rita is the only one who still practices. Iatrics is the study of everything that has to do with the human mind and body. Some, like Rita, specialize in healing. Others, like Archie, have a passion for research. As you might well imagine, I took a fancy to the more administrative role of medicine. You’re speaking with LeGuin’s Chief Medical Administrative Officer.
Me: Ser Smythe, where do think I could find Ryan?
Reginald Smythe: His mother and him live near the Sick Bay, but the boy’s always been fond of Maple Town. It’s a darkened area now. No one goes there. He and his friends always hung around Maple High School and the labs at Maple Court.
- Ask about Maple Courts.
Me: Maple Courts? I don't remember them being on the station layout?
Reginald Smythe: In my grandfather’s time, before the Catastrophe hit, Maple Town was the heart of the station. The schools, full of hope and knowledge and youth; the scientific laboratories bustled with curiosity, ingenuity and activity.
His features darken.
Reginald Smythe: And then, in an instance, it all changed.
Reginald Smythe: So many children, floating, lifeless, over their school desks, on the playing fields, huddled, dead-eyed, their faces fear-stricken around picnic tables -half finished lunches in orbit around their corpses.
He pauses. Looks away.
Reginald Smythe: My grandfather was one of the few that survived that round of Death, here on LeGuin. He had to go into Maple Town. Rescue crew. Crew of just two. The torus had stopped spinning, there was no gravity. Most of the station’s sector’s had lost all oxygen and life-support back-up systems in moments.
Reginald Smythe: What they found -
He composes himself.
Reginald Smythe: What they found has caused Maple Town to be forever darkened.
Me: Darkened? What do you mean by that?
Reginald Smythe: That segment of the torus is forever dark. We do not feed it light and the spokes that lead to it from the hub are sealed. They are known as the dead spokes, because they lead to the past -they lead to Death.
The words do not leave. They hang, stout and heavy in the air.
Reginald Smythe: Can you imagine? Can you imagine entering your daughter’s high school? Making a slow and painful mid-air pilgrimage through the same hallways you walked her down as a child? Having to shift floating corpses -bodies who's silent faces you recognize? Hoping. Praying. Pleading, that by some miracle your girl has miraculously survived?
He struggles to compose himself. This story, you can tell -this horror-the Harsene has not put to words in many cycles.
Reginald Smythe: He found my mother. Found her holding some of her students, embraced in Death.
Reginald Smythe: She looked asleep. Till the day he passed, he thanked the Balance, that her eyes were closed.
Reginald Smythe: No one who breathed air past those days wants to remember Maple High. Only those who do not cherish life are found there.
Me: What did the rescue crew find at Maple Town?
Reginald Smythe: Heartache and despair… Can you imagine entering your daughter’s high school? Making a slow and painful mid-air pilgrimage through the same hallways you walked her down as a child? Having to shift floating corpses -bodies who's silent faces you recognize? Hoping. Praying. Pleading, that by some miracle your girl has miraculously survived?
He struggles to compose himself. This story, you can tell -this horror-the Harsene has not put to words in many cycles.
Reginald Smythe: He found my mother. Found her holding some of her students, embraced in Death.
Reginald Smythe: She looked asleep. Till the day he passed, he thanked the Balance, that her eyes were closed.
Reginald Smythe: No one who breathed air past those days wants to remember Maple High. Only those who do not cherish life are found there.
The words do not leave. They hang, stout and heavy in the air.
Reginald Smythe: That segment of the torus has been forever dark since then. We do not feed it light and the spokes that lead to it from the hub are sealed. They are known as the dead spokes, because they lead to the past -they lead to Death.
Either choice continues:
Me: I'm so sorry. No. I can't imagine. I don't think I ever want to.
Smythe, eyes wet, looks at you with a weak smile.
Reginald Smythe: Thank you. Please -forgive me. It's been countless cycles since I've spoken of it.
Smythe, eyes wet, looks at you with a weak smile.
What can anyone say to such a tale? You stay silent.
Reginald Smythe: Please -forgive me. It's been countless cycles since I've spoken of it.
Either choice continues:
You both sit across from one another in silence for a good segment. Smythe flicks away the quiet and attempts to alleviate the mood.
Reginald Smythe: What do you say we focus on the living? I can offer you another two hundred credits out of my pocket to find Ryan. Tell him I only want to talk with him. That he can repair the damage that's been done -and that there's no need for any of this to go any further.
Smythe doesn't wait for you to answer. He reaches into the desk drawer and takes out a small multi-pointed star.
Reginald Smythe: And the job comes with this. A deputy's star. Who knows, it might come in useful in Maple Town.
You reach across the desk and put the star in your breast pocket.
There's not much more to say. You want to help. You look back at Smythe and simply nod your acknowledgement. Words hold no more sway here.
Head to the Inn.
Next area: Inn, LeGuin Stronghold
- Step outside into the LeGuin evening.
You leave Smythe and head out into the LeGuin evening. The star’s light laps over the station in calm, red waves. The great Boulevard Ursur, that traces the torus’ circumference, lies quiet and abandoned. The artificial trees, silent sentries lining the sidewalks, do not stir. The tall, sleek buildings that populate the downtown district stand still and lifeless. The district's lights begin to dim, adding their own touch to the emptiness.
The scene is devoid of people. This is a set piece, not a city.
You begin heading westward towards the Inn. There, in the middle of the Boulevard, waiting for you, is the mechanical rat.
Me: You again.
The rat looks up at you. Tilting its tiny head it seems to be asking, "Friends?"
A moment passes and the rat scurries over to you. You kneel down and it climbs up onto your outstretched hand.
Me: Hey Buddy.
The memory of this creature's shriek's instinctively causes you to draw a weapon.
The mechanical rat does not react. It stares up at you.
What a surreal moment this is. You and the rat stare at one another on the deserted Boulevard.
A moment passes and the rat scurries over to you. You kneel down and it climbs up onto your outstretched hand.
Me: I guess we're friends now.
You raise your weapon
BUG: text disappears and mission ends
Mission failure
You have failed the "Lost Boy II" mission. You can retake this mission and try again.
You're not in the mood for this tiny robot's antics. At least the rat isn't shrieking its little head off this time. You step over it and go on your way.
It scurries pleasantly alongside you, zips ahead, turns and looks up at you again.
Tilting its tiny head it seems to be asking, "Friends?"
You kneel down and it climbs up onto your outstretched hand.
Me: Hey Buddy.
All choices continue:
The rat scampers into your pocket. The mechanical rodent reminds you of Ryan, the ingenious vandal and his charismatic mother. Not that either of them have ever been far from your thoughts. Perhaps this bite-sized reminder is a sign to go and seek out Mother Tiberius.
There will be time tomorrow to go and speak with Ryan’s mother and tell her what you’ve discovered. It’s been a long day and the prospect of a bed and a night’s sleep is more than just appealing -it’s necessary.
The Boulevard rolls out of sight through the spinning space station. You pass, on your right and your left, careful planned blocks of officious-looking buildings with nothing to do but wait. The emptiness persists. Here on LeGuin, as Smythe is fond of saying, one can’t help but be overcome by an odd sensation -the feeling of waiting for a ship that will never come in.
You check your CORETECHS. The Sick Bay is a mere three blocks from the Government Center. The cleanliness of this station is eerie, it gives LeGuin an unused feel.
A solitary shuttle-stand sits shuttered, silent.
Either choice continues:
- Continue down the Boulevard.
The station’s lights dim further. A slow and steady darkness seeps around you with each passing block.
You spot a man standing -no, swaying- on the street corner ahead.
He is wearing fluorescent yellow overalls on top of a bright green shirt. A large name tag bearing the name, “Alfred” is pinned to his chest. Alfred seems not to notice you, as he stares off into space.
To judge by his impressive height and build, Alfred is a Mall.
You run a CORETECHS scan, but no information regarding Alfred populates your view-path. Odd. Perhaps his settings are muted.
You walk past Alfred. He looks half-asleep, or drugged -possibly both- and sways slowly side to side; his stunted gaze fixed off into space.
This Mall on this street corner is no concern of yours. You continue on your way.
A woman's voice breaks through the silence.
You walk over to the Mall. He doesn't seem to register you approaching. Alfred looks half-asleep, or drugged -possibly both- his stunted gaze fixed off into space.
Me: Hello.
Silence. Alfred too, like LeGuin, seems staged and distant.
You tried. After all, this Mall is no concern of yours. You continue on your way.
A woman's voice breaks through the silence.
Me: How's it going?
The giant's eyes, glossy and wet, remain fixed on the heavens. You draw nearer, inspect the name tag. Alfred does not seem to notice you; he continues to sway, in a small rocking motion, back and forth on the street corner.
You stand beside the giant and try to trace his line of sight.
Me: What are you looking at Alfred?
The stars gleam in infinite playful constellations beyond the torus’ shell.
A woman's voice shatters the moment.
All choices continue:
- Turn to the woman.
Tumaini Muller: Balance restored! Alfred! There you are.
Tumaini Muller, as your CORETECHS kindly identifies her for you, runs over to Alfred. Tumaini is a tall, black woman with a shaved head -a Belter, to judge by her looks. Her white medical scrubs, glow a soft pink in the evening light, she seems sincerely relieved to have located Alfred.
Tumaini Muller: Thank you for helping him.
Me: I'm afraid I really must be going. It's getting late. You'll be alright?
Tumaini is not upset by your refusal. Her demeanor is calm, still thankful.
Tumaini Muller: I understand. Of course. Thank you. There is no cause for concern.
You watch the pair head down a narrow side street, Alfred, his head still in the stars, being lead by the elegant woman with the shaved head and golden eyes.
"No cause for concern." you tell yourself. "Other than the fact that you asked."
You look back over your shoulder one last time. Three mercenaries have blocked Alfred and Tumaini's passage.
You decide that you can't get involved with every, single situation that might require your attention.
You keep heading to the Inn.
The mechanical rat darts out of your pocket and down your leg. It begins to circle around your legs at high speeds impairing your movement.
Me: I get it. I get it. You want me to go back and help?
The diminutive rodent stops short, looks up at you, and squeaks.
Persuasive as this rat is, you're going to bed. The universe will need to make due without your services for a few segments.
The rat screeches it's disapproval, but you're already near the inn.
Me: I'm off to bed.
Mission failure
You have failed the "Lost Boy II" mission. You can retake this mission and try again.
The ever expanding universe is also expanding your bedtime it seems.
You mutter under your breath.
Me: This day won't quit.
Whatever the three mercenaries want, they're not going about it in a subtle, delicate fashion. Alfred is shaking violently as he cowers behind a defiant Tumaini.
- Look at the mercenary.
You plant yourself right in the middle of the action.
The Varangian guard barks down the alley flanked by two other mercenaries. His leathery skin gives him a worn and haggard look, his drawn hood hinting at more sinister intentions.
Milo Redhand: That's right. I'm talking about you, you giant mutation.
The cruelty, directed at Alfred, hits its mark. The Mall cowers behind Tumaini and begins to tremble uncontrollably.
Me: Is there anything I can do?
Tumaini turns to look back at you.
Tumaini Muller: Will you stay with us? Just a little longer? See us back to the Sick Bay?
Me: Is he alright? I found him just standing here.
Tumaini moves close to the Mall. Alfred, without shifting his gaze from the stars recognizes the presence of a friend as Tumaini nears him. A great smile beams across his face. Tumaini takes the giant by the hand and begins to lead him away.
Tumaini Muller: He's alright. He just lost his way -that's all.
The Mall gives her a series of bashful nods. She takes his head in her long hands, pushes her nose to his.
Tumaini Muller: You are known to me.
Alfred's smile grows, his eyes water.
Tumaini Muller: Will you stay with us? Just a little longer? See us back to the Sick Bay?
You wouldn't be the person you really hope you are, if you didn't see Alfred and Tumaini back. The lights have dimmed to a mere whisper and these lonely, deserted streets feel as though they have eyes.
Me: It would be my pleasure.
The three of you turn off the grand Boulevard down a narrow side street. Tumaini holds Alfred's hand as he continues to gaze up at the stars.
A harsh voice splinters your words.
Milo Redhand: I told you before. I don't want to see that thing out and about.
- Turn to face the voice.
You swing around to see the three familiar faces of LeGuin's hired mercenary detail.
The Varangian guard barks down the alley flanked by two other mercenaries. His leathery skin gives him a worn and haggard look, his drawn hood hinting at more sinister intentions.
Milo Redhand: That's right. I'm talking about you, you giant mutation.
The cruelty, directed at Alfred, hits its mark. The Mall cowers behind Tumaini and begins to tremble uncontrollably.
Failure
The Varangian keeps hurling epithets at Tumaini -who keeps her composure. You're certain that if you can get a word in that you can deescalate the situation. Be your charming self.
You swing around to see the three familiar faces of LeGuin's hired mercenary detail.
The Varangian guard barks down the alley flanked by two other mercenaries. His leathery skin gives him a worn and haggard look, his drawn hood hinting at more sinister intentions.
Milo Redhand: That's right. I'm talking about you, you giant mutation.
The cruelty, directed at Alfred, hits its mark. The Mall cowers behind Tumaini and begins to tremble uncontrollably.
Success
Me: What seems to be the problem?
It's not the most original of lines, but as far as diplomacy goes it beats punching him in the teeth.
Milo Redhand: This doesn't involve you.
Me: True, but if we got to know one another you might want to hear what I have to say.
Redhand gives you a harsh look, but your line has landed. He smirks and lets out a small laugh.
Milo Redhand.: Fine. Go on about your business.
And to Tumaini.
Milo Redhand: Get that thing indoors. You know the policy.
Tunaimi maintains her composure gracefully, but the golden rings house fierce eyes.
The mercenaries turn and leave.
You plant yourself firmly between the three mercenaries and their weaker quarry.
Me: Why don't you pick on someone your own size?
Not your best line, but it's been a long day. You follow it up with:
Me: And one at a time, if there's a shred of courage among you.
You regret not using, "I eat Varangians for breakfast", but no one's perfect.
Everything about your composure leads them to believe that you're not bluffing. One of the underlings whispers something into the Varangian's ear and their postures relax.
Milo Redhand: We might. We might just do that -but not tonight. Go about your business.
Part of you doesn't like resorting to pulling rank, but these professional mercenaries are being anything but professional.
You pull the star from your pocket.
Me: Beat it boys. I'm deputized.
The Varangian inspects the star, gives a disapproving grunt and with a wave of his hand corals his underlings.
Milo Redhand: Let's go. Get that thing off the streets.
Any success continues:
- Look at Alfred.
The three thugs walk away in the artificial dusk. You turn your attention to Tumaini, who is desperately trying to calm an extremely agitated Alfred.
Tumaini Muller: Alfred gets extremely upset under any kind of duress. It won't be easy for him to snap out of it.
Tumaini Muller: Shhh Alfred. Shhh. Shhh. It's alright.
Alfred is just as agitated as before and is beginning to tremble.
- Calm Alfred.
Words aren't working. You need to try something else.
You show Alfred the multi-pointed star. It glistens red in the light.
Alfred sees it, but it does little to soothe him.
- Calm Alfred.
Words aren't working. You need to try something else.
The mechanical rat peers out from your pocket and scurries over to Alfred. The Mall's face lights up and a smile beams across his face. He holds the rat in his great hands, caressing it gently. His panic subsides.
You walk Tumaini and Alfred the rest of the way.
Escort them to the Sick Bay.
Next area: Sick Bay, LeGuin Stronghold
- Walk them into the clinic.
The two blocks to the Sick Bay are thankfully uneventful -and it's a good thing, because your pockets are out of tricks. You all make it safely through a pair of shifting doors into a serene and unattended reception hall.
Alfred and his new pet are inseparable. He pets the mechanical rat ceaselessly.
Me: Looks like you have a friend there Alfred. What should we name him?
Alfred looks up at you with a quizzical grin.
Me: He likes you Alfred. Want to keep him?
Alfred looks up at you and smiles.
Either choice continues:
Tumaini Muller: I've got to get Alfred to bed. Please, excuse me.
Me: Goodnight. I'm going to turn in. The segments have dragged on forever today.
You smile at Alfred.
Me: Goodnight Alfred. Are you turning in as well?
Tumaini shakes her head.
Tumaini Muller: No, please wait a few segments. I'll be right back.
You've made Alfred smile. That, in and of itself, is a victory for the day. Tumaini leads him through a set of sliding doors above which is marked in vibrant red lettering, "RESTRICTED".
The Sick Bay, like LeGuin, is quiet. There does not appear to be a soul around. A soft green light coats the hospital in a soothing hue and calming music plays, almost inaudibly, from unseen speakers.
Segments pass.
Tumaini reappears through the restricted doors, without the Mall.
Tumaini Muller: Thank you for waiting. You must have many questions.
You try to phrase your question carefully; you don't wish to appear insensitive.
Me: Is Alfred…. Is Alfred alright?
Not as sensitive or careful as you might have liked, but it's late.
Tumaini, composure personified, understands the underlying sentiment of your question.
Tumaini Muller: He'll be fine. Giving him that little mouse was very kind.
Tumaini Muller: Alfred has always had difficulties adjusting to life on LeGuin. There were complications when he was born -he has developmental difficulties.
- Ask about the difficulties.
Me: You take care of him?
Tumaini Muller: Alfred's clone didn't gestate correctly. I look after him. He lives here -there's a wing dedicated to….
Tumaini stops herself. The slightest of cracks appears in her composed demeanor.
Me: Why were those mercenaries harassing you and Alfred?
Tumaini Muller: They're thugs. That's what thugs do, isn't it? Pick on those that can't defend themselves?
After you've seen both branches:
Tumaini walks away from the reception area towards a small room dotted with chairs and tables.
- Follow Tumaini.
Tumaini Muller: Care for an ice pop? They're tea-infused from off-station. Not quite sure from where. I could sure use one.
Who can say no to a LeGuin ice pop.
You share an ice pop with Tumaini.
Me: Thank you very much for the pop. It's been a long day, the segments have dragged on forever.
Tumaini Muller: Thank you again. You are known to me. Rest well.
Enticing as an ice pop sounds, you're trying to cut down; besides, it's late and the prospect of a bed sounds appealing.
Me: I'm afraid I'll need to pass on the ice pop. I'm going to turn in.
Tumaini smiles and the gold around her eyes glistens.
Tumaini Muller: Rest well. You are known to me.
Either choice continues:
You leave the room. Making your way past the reception your weary eyes catch the red sign above the sliding door that reads:
"RESTRICTED"
You glance over your shoulder to make certain that no one is around.
All of a sudden you don't think you've made the right call. You leave the restricted area.
Your curiosity takes you by the collar and drags you through the sliding doors.
A blue-hued hallway with five doors on each side dead ends at a large window overlooking the station.
Each door bears the name of a station to its right. They read: Taungoo, Hemingway's Megamporium, House of Syria -you continue down the hallway. Most of the doors are closed, but you hear a voice coming from an open one to your left. The nameplate on the door reads: LeGuin.
Find an angle:
(Intelligence check)
To your right you find a spot hidden in shadows, just a long step away. It gives you enough of an angle to get a glimpse inside the opposite room.
After carefully tiptoeing across the hall and quietly sidling to the other side of the door you have a clearer vantage point into the room.
Either success continues:
- Look into the room.
A long dorm room lined with hospital beds along one side stretches out before you. Only a few of the beds appear to have patient's sleeping in them. Next to each bed, a pair of florescent yellow overalls hangs dejected in the blue light. At the end of the room Alfred, sitting up in bed, is humming softly to his rat. The lullaby lifts through the sterile, blue light. Alfred soon drifts off to sleep, the mechanical rat nuzzled on his chest.
Segments pass, but your eyes stay glued to this scene.
A sound wakes you from the moment. Footsteps in the reception hall.
Several …
Approaching …
You find a door labelled "Hemingway's Hyperdashery" and pry it open quietly. You're in the room, but the footsteps have now reached the hallway. They're not headed to this room -are they? The feet stop outside the doorway, Voices confirm your fears; they're coming in here. Quick!
Two orderlies dressed in dark clothing walk briskly into the room. It's too late to go hiding under beds or climbing out windows.
The shorter of the two orderlies heads straight for you, with all the assertiveness and confidence that goes with being who you are and where you're supposed to be.
The bald man has a tired and strained face that belies his age -he's younger than he looks. Your CORETECHS identifies him as, "Xaffon Hunch. Orderly. Moss Hospital".
Xaffon Hunch: You! This is a restricted area. You've woken the subjects.
You decide to play it cool and let your wits handle this. Oh Boy. Here we go.
Me: I know. So that begs a question -doesn't it?
Me: How is someone like me, without properly identifying myself, allowed to wander around this hospital -and hang around in a room full of sleeping patients?
You flash your deputy's star. The confidence you project is impressive. The orderly's assertiveness diminishes. He takes a step back.
Me: I know it's restricted. I'm hired to make sure it stays that way. Why is security so lax around here?
Either choice continues:
The two stand dumbfounded. Wow. It's working. Well, the patients are awake and look about somewhat bewildered, but other than that, it's working like a charm.
Xaffon Hunch: We're not security ….
- Double down on your bluff.
Me: We're not security SER!
This is fun.
Xaffon Hunch: We're not security, Ser. We're just picking up two patients being transferred to Hemingway's. That's all. We didn't mean any disrespect. Ser. Did we?
Xaffon turns to his buddy for affirmation; the other orderly shakes his head vehemently.
You spot a clipboard with officious looking documents affixed to it.
Me: Let me see that transfer manifest.
Transfer manifest. "That's some good BS," you think to yourself.
The orderly hesitates to share this information. You double down on your intimidation.
- Insist on seeing the transfer orders.
(Social check)
Xaffon Hunch has his doubts about handing you any information, but you're not about to be bested by "Mr. Clean".
Xaffon Hunch: I'm not supposed to share that information. I'd need to check with-
Me: What sort of a name is "Xaffon Hunch" -you wouldn't happen to be a Freebooter, would you? I'm fairly certain Freebooters don't get this kind of security clearance.
The line works. Poor Xaffon recoils in fear.
Xaffon Hunch: No Ser. No Ser. I've been vetted. By Ser Smythe himself.
Smythe? It figures. Is there anything on LeGuin that the man doesn't administer? The orderly hands you the transfer manifest (yes, they're actually called that) with a trembling hand.
- Read the transfer manifest.
Xaffon Hunch hands you his digital clipboard. A list of two patient's names and station of destination are listed. Finwell Truant and Honore Multaffi. The names mean nothing to you.
Me: Why are these patients being transferred?
This last question may have be a bridge too far, he furrows his brow and breaths in slowly.
Xaffon Hunch: I think it best I not say anything else … Ser.
The gig is up, best to depart forthwith. You cover your tracks best you can.
Me: I'll be speaking to Ser Smythe personally in a few segments.
You've had your fun. It's time to go.
Me: Very well. On your way. As you were.
The orderlies shy away, and you make your way out of the restricted area as fast as your legs will carry you.
You make a space-bee-line out of the Sick Bay and into the dormant station. The deserted streets of LeGuin lead you to the doors of the Inn with their rhythmic melancholy.
Go to the Inn.
Next area: Inn, LeGuin Stronghold
- Enter the Inn.
The Inn is bustling. Two disheveled Belters, confide over alcoholic ice pops at the end of the faux oak bar. Sarananda Xon and Gerald Blackleg are conversing, as the former wipes down her counter. He's probably the last person you want to see. Smythe, on the other hand, you wouldn't mind asking a few questions to.
This business of late night transfers at the Sick Bay is very odd indeed.
Pleasant music, in the spirit of acoustic guitars, wafts from a small robot in the corner.
The station's hub and its adjoining spokes stand out from the Inn's giant viewport window. The scene is majestic, exquisite.
The small robot playing music is intriguing, and you could use a distraction to wind down. You walk up to the box-shaped bot that stands about four feet tall replete with buttons and labels.
"Space Waltz -5 credits" reads one label.
"Space Jazz -5 credits" advises the next.
"Space Jam -10 credits" nudges the following label. You recognize a theme.
The robot starts to speak. It's addressing you. The voice is not what one might expect the device to sound like. The tone is rich and deep, and emits a friendly confidence.
Merobot: Go on friend. Pick a song. It's a mere pittance. Flood the world in sound. You know what they say, don't you? Music is the blueprint of the soul.
This musical bot is quite the sales-bot. You press a label and select a song.
You have given 5.00 credits.
Your selection begins to play, filling the Inn with an upbeat air.
Merobot: I knew you could do it! Beautiful choice!
You walk over to the giant viewport window. The vista before your eyes is breathtaking. Ross 154 gleams faintly through the twelve spokes of the station, casting a cascade of red shadows on the artificial land encased in the torus. Above you the hub with its port and docking stations stands stern, somber and dark. Countless constellations twinkle into the infinite.
You make your way over to Sarananda. Blackleg, sat at the bar, looks up at you with a slight scowl.
Sarananda Xon: Hello. I've programmed a room for you. You're in the Rosewood suite…..
Blackleg interrupts her mid-sentence, a condescending grin on his face.
Gerald Blackleg: So, I hear you scared off a small rodent. You're quite the hero.
It's probably beneath you to sink to Blackleg's level, but the line escapes your lips before self control can intervene.
Me: No. You're still here I'm afraid.
Blackleg's smirk turns back into a familiar scowl.
You bid Sarananda goodnight, smile at Blackleg, and take your leave.
It's too late to deal with the likes of Gerald Blackleg. You don't as much as look in the petty, putrid, porcine man's direction.
You bid Sarananda goodnight and take your leave.
Either choice continues:
Head to the Hotel Rooms.
Next area: Hotel Rooms, LeGuin Stronghold
- Check into the Rosewood Suite.
The hotel rooms, located on the Eastern wing of the complex are decorated in a variety of faux woods. A small robot greets you warmly in the reception area.
Merobot: Welcome to the Adept's Repose, here on beautiful LeGuin.
Another robot. This one's voice has a metallic tinge to it. You check in and head straight to your room.
The room is all straight lines and functionality. A shower stall, a viewport, a minibar.
- Lie down on the bed.
You barely have time to remove your shoes. You lie back on the bed and drift off to sleep.
You fall into a deep sleep.
You dream.
- Dream. Dream. Dream.
The boy in the orange space suit has large owl-eyes. He stares at you through the tinted visor of his helmet. The small mechanical rat scurries around and around the boy’s head inside the helmet. His owl eyes grow larger, the sclera turn bright yellow; the irises a flaming red. The orange space suit sprouts wings, long, sleek-black, white-tipped feathers line the arms.
The boy is gliding through space navigating a labyrinth of his ice stars. The constellations are cold and beautiful. The boy’s large eyes come to you again. They are wet. He is crying and the tears begin to fill the helmet.
“Help me!” he cries.
The mechanical rat in the helmet is drowning. The boy can hardly breathe. The helmet fills with water. The great yellow eyes are wild, horrible -frightened.
The great eyes go dark. The dead rat floats numb in front of his lifeless face. The helmet begins to leak water.
- Wake up!
(Stamina check)
Failure
The image of the boy drowning is terrifying -it's haunting. Tell yourself that it is only a dream. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
- Wake up!
Success
You wake with a start. You are coated in sweat.
- Get your bearings.
You wipe the sweat from your brow. You've slept in your clothes.
The room is the same. Shower, viewport and mini-bar.
You jump in the shower. The monitor prompts you:
Remove clothes. Close eyes. Raise arms. Stand still.
A fungal fume coats your body, killing off odors and dead cells. Streams of dry air remove it. The monitor chimes.
You are clean.
Leave.
Your stamina stat has increased by <0.026-0.029>.
The minibar contains one standard ration. It is past its expiration date. Your CORETECHS informs you of the cost: 652 Bonds.
There's much to do. You throw on your shoes and leave the room and its disturbing dream behind.
- Go to reception.
You make it to the foyer. The robot at the reception greets you.
Merobot: We hope that you’ve enjoyed your stay with us. We also hope that you have not removed any towels from the room. They are encoded with an anti-theft coating that will cause them to soil if taken off the premises. Wet towels? Who needs that? Am I right?
Who is it, you wonder to yourself, who finds these personality improvement programs funny?
Merobot: Please claim the item you've misplaced at the Lost and Found before check out please.
Me: You're mistaken. I haven't lost anything.
Merobot: Please claim the item you've misplaced at the Lost and Found before check out please.
Great. This thing is stuck in a loop.
Me: Fine. Where's the lost and found.
Merobot: Down the corridor, just before the laundry. No towel stealing now.
- Talk to the man at the counter.
The lost and found counter too, is made of faux wood. The attendant has their back to you.
Me: This silly robot has sent me down here, but I haven't lost anything.
Your CORETECHS registers a incoming transfer of 200 credits.
You know for certain that you haven't found Ryan. You've yet to set eyes on him.
- Call Smythe on your CORETECHS.
Something strange is going on. You try and reach Smythe on your CORETECHS but you can't get through.
You turn to leave, this lost and found nonsense will need to wait.
Me: I'm sorry, but I need to go - I haven't lost anything in any case.
The attendant turns to face you. Immediately the large, owl eyes stand out -mesmerizing and pained.
Ryan Tiberius: That's true. You haven't lost anything.
He smiles -and his smile is warm, sincere.
Ryan Tiberius: But you have found something.
Ryan Tiberius: Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ryan Archibald Tiberius -and I never got the chance to thank you, for saving my life.
Segments pass. You are at a loss for words, if not questions.
Ryan Tiberius: We must go. You're not safe here. This way.
You're not going anywhere
BUG: text disappears and mission ends
Mission success
You have received 200.00 credits.
You have completed the "Lost Boy II" mission.
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