Monday, March 30, 2009

Exit

Dr. Tomohiro Chambers, Personal Log Entry:

31 Winter TN1920, 05:30:

Gade and Natty must have reconciled. I went to discuss gears for tomorrow's dueling challenge with Gade, and I accidentally caught them in each other's arm in the Cave last night. Psychiatry is not my specialty, and though I had not seen any repeat incidents of Gade's sociopathic outburst/psychotic break of Spring 35 TN1919, I was still surprised to see them together. My initial impression was that Natty's own medical condition had caused her to reprioritize. Facing what she's facing, I can't blame her. Gade's motivation towards Natty has always seemed honourable, though I can't be certain about him in general.

Sigh. This isn't about Gade and Natty. It's about me. She forgave him and they are happy again. Gade may be dead tomorrow. Natty will likely not see TN1925. Despite it all, I envy them.

31 Winter TN1920, 22:42:

Reading what I wrote earlier this morning, I wonder if I am not projecting my own feelings. Perhaps Natty and Gade are genuinely in love. Perhaps she understands that fact, and forgave him, regardless of his motivations. This causes no small amount of discomfort as I simply cannot avoid the notion that perhaps I am being needlessly hard-hearted with regards to Julie. She excused her actions in New Baja with the tired phrase "I did what I had to do." It is far easy to dismiss your own actions under "I did what I had to do." Kain Delacroix, j'accuse.

Yet here in the Badlands I too have done what I had to do, countless times. I have killed, nay murdered, not for my homeland, not for my planet, but simply for my own personal gain, and for an ideology of Badlander liberation which remains nebulous and circumstantial. When I consider how New Baja was crawling with foreign interests, each doing what they had to do at the expense of the populace of a city that has already suffered so much, Lenny and Julie's actions, while committed at my own expense, were for the greater good.

I think I will go see Julie and help her with the casino.

-------------


31 Winter, TN1920

Dear friends,

It is with some regret that I announce my resignation, effective immediately, from the day-to-day operations of the Caravan. Please do not think that I am abandoning you, or our cause. It is simply a fact that I can better serve our interests managing the BCG from its central headquarters in Khayr-ad Din. I wish you all the best, and I am certain that our paths will cross in the future.

Sincerely,

Dr. Tomohiro Chambers MD

Sunday, March 29, 2009

Trouble in Tulsa

32 Winter, TN1920:


Basil Paleologus was a busy man. One did not rule the TerraNovan TransRail compound in Khayr-ad Din like a private holding without being busy. There were mundane, daily things to look after, long term plans to nurture, and then there were the sudden crises on which one always could count to liven up the routine.

Basil had a great deal on his plate. Today was an auspicious day. The middle-aged man looked out over Khayr-ad Din from his massive office bay window and smiled with satisfaction. The view was still Khayr-ad Din: the haze of garbage coming off the heaps was thick enough to obscure the Western Desert beyond the city. The haphazard, sprawling city of trash was no different now than any other day. There was, however, one major exception: the Core Tower’s refurbishment and expansion had been started today.

Basil watched with some smug satisfaction as the gantries and the scaffolding were erected before his very eyes. Though the tower itself was in no better or worse shape than it had ever been, its exterior was only one minor aspect of the upcoming renovations. It was inside that mattered. The Core Tower was to be home to the Web Arena. The railroad man nodded to himself. The Spider might make a fortune off of the Khayr-ad Din Dueling League matches that would soon be broadcast worldwide from the Arena. Basil let himself bask in the moment: as long as someone was making Khayr-ad Din a place to be, his own fortunes would rise.

A knock at the office door brought Basil back from his reverie. He sighed as his instincts told him that a crisis of some kind was about to break.

“Come in,” he called darkly, but did not turn to face the door.

“Sir,” a voice called tentatively from the door. It was followed by a few footsteps. There was a shuffle and a slap of plastic onto the granite tabletop, “the latest intelligence briefings from the Westridge Range.”

“Thank you. You may go.”

“They are urgent, sir.”

“You may go,” Basil’s tone was icy. He knew he wouldn’t have a moment’s peace for the next day or so, at least. After the door closed and he was alone again, Basil walked to the encrypted datapad. He picked it up and punched in his code while his thumb was pressed on the biometric reader.

The railway man’s eyes widened and then narrowed after a few moments of reading. He pressed a button on his data glove.

“Shelly, what resources do we have near the central Westridge mountains?” he asked calmly into a microphone which had extended itself from an earpiece he was wearing discretely.

“Checking sir,” came the calm reply. Moments later, Shelly spoke again, “Mr. Paleologus sir, there’s the Badlands Caravan Guild. Currently in Lance Point. A Doctor Chambers is the contact.”

Basil smiled. The Fort James Special Whiskey was a luxury he had indeed appreciated over the last two seasons.

“Shelly, contact the good Doctor,” Basil began, his instincts taking over, “tell him to go to the mining town of Tulsa in the Westridge Range. Tell him to investigate the town, and that his compatriots should proceed with the utmost caution. Whatever is happening in Tulsa is problematic, and I think the Doctor and his friends are just the people we need to stop things from getting out of hand.”

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

More updates

Updated "Asset" entry to include changes made to Corsair, Lex Talionis, Bulldog, Moby Dick and equipment roster accordingly.

Lex Talionis needs to have two new rows, as per the alert at the bottom of the entry.

Corsair

The Warrior III is a solid and successful Paxton clone of the Hunter/Jager series of Heavy Gears. Though the machine is built with the Badlands in mind, featuring rudimentary jamming gear to disable rover communications systems, the gear was never a major commercial success. This has more to do with Northco and Territorial Arms' cornering the trooper gear market with their Hunter and Jager designs than anything else. Still, the Warrior III has served Paxton and anyone who will buy it very well.

Corsair is one of the Warrior III gears acquired by the Badlands Caravan Guild in the aftermath of the battles with the New Baja Gang in TN1918. Unlike Moby Dick whose sensors and ECM gear have been removed, Corsair's ECM remains, as it is essentially a 'working gear' like all the main Caravan machines. Ari Mendelbaum has done very little work on the gear to make it race-worthy, except to tweak the secondary movement system to provide just a little bit more high-speed performance. He has also painted the gear a dark blue with red trim. Mendelbaum entered Corsair in the Lance Point Urban Obstacle Course Race, and won first place, much to everyone's pleasant surprise.

When on caravan patrol duty, Corsair is equipped with a standard load consisting of an MR-55 30mm autocannon, a 24-shot 52mm rocket pack, and hand grenades.

HEAVY GEAR VEHICLE RECORD SHEET
NAME:
VEHICLE SPECIFICATIONS
Corsair
SIZE:6
MODEL:CREW:1
PA-01 WarriorBONUS ACTIONS:0
CLASS:
CREW SKILLS
Trooper Heavy GearPILOT:

GUNNERY:
MOVEMENT
PRIMARY COMBAT:4 / -1
PRIMARY TOP:7 / +1
SECONDARY COMBAT:7 / +1
SECONDARY TOP:13 / +2
MANEUVER:0
ELECTRONICS
SENSORS:0
COMMUNICATION:0
FIRE CONTROL:0
ARMOUR
LIGHT DAMAGE:15
HEAVY DAMAGE:30
OVERKILL:45
WEAPONS
CODE-NAME:RANGEDAMACCRoF/CLIPSpecial
Vibroblade0x80-close combat
APGL
50m
x3
-1
0/6
AI, AE=0, IF
Hand Grenades x3
0
x15
-1
-
close combat, AI
MR-55 MAC
150m
x10
0
+1/40
-
Vogel-8 52mm LRP/24
50m
x12
-1
+3/24
IF


















PERKS
NAME:RATING:GAME EFFECTAUX
Easy To Modify
+2 repair/modify rolls
Manipulator Arm x26Can Punch
Hostile Environment Protection
Desert
ECM1Offensive EW equipmentYES












FLAWS
NAME:RATING:GAME EFFECTAUX
None


















DEFECTS
NAME:RATING:GAME EFFECTAUX
None


















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Bulldog

The Hunter needs nearly no introduction. This is the first mass-produced purpose-built Heavy Gear on Terranova, and has been the inspiration for all subsequent Heavy Gear designs. It is a solid, no-nonsense machine that has seen service all across the planet.

Bulldog is the personal gear of Peter Smit, a former Innsbruck 1000 Death Track racer who now is one of the gear pilots for the Badlands Caravan Guild. He has been driving it since he joined the Regulators back in New Baja Town. In anticipation for the races, Peter has spent time and energy tuning the gear's engine for high performance racing in the secondary movement system. He has also reinforced the gear's legs and transmission in anticipation of the highly punishing Lance Point 500km Endurance Race. Peter placed third. Bulldog is painted a conservative desert-gray with a single red shoulder assembly.

As the most experienced duelist in the caravan crew, Peter has outfitted Bulldog with a particularly devastating close-range assault weapon load. A 45mm frag cannon provides most of the general anti-gear and anti-infantry punch, and a 60mm grenade launcher with a 40-round drum is useful for suppression and against hardened targets.

HEAVY GEAR VEHICLE RECORD SHEET
NAME:
VEHICLE SPECIFICATIONS
Bulldog
SIZE:6
MODEL:
CREW:1
HACS-01MG-MP HunterBONUS ACTIONS:0
CLASS:
CREW SKILLS
Trooper Heavy Gear (Racing)
PILOT:

GUNNERY:
MOVEMENT
PRIMARY COMBAT:4 / -1
PRIMARY TOP:7 / +1
SECONDARY COMBAT:7 / +1
SECONDARY TOP:13 / +2
MANEUVER:0
ELECTRONICS
SENSORS:0
COMMUNICATION:0
FIRE CONTROL:0
ARMOUR
LIGHT DAMAGE:15
HEAVY DAMAGE:30
OVERKILL:45
WEAPONS
CODE-NAME:RANGEDAMACCRoF/CLIPSpecial
Vibroblade0x80-close combat
Frag Cannon
50m
x7
+1
(2)/20
AI
Light Grenade Launcher
50m
x15
-1
+2/40
IF
APGL
50m
x3
-1
0/6
AI, AE=0, IF
Hand Grenades x3
0
x15
-1
0



















PERKS
NAME:RATING:GAME EFFECTAUX
Easy to Modify
+2 to repair/modify rolls
Hostile Environment Protection
Desert
2x Manipulator Arm6Can punch
Rugged Movement Systems
Ignores first Movement hit












FLAWS
NAME:RATING:GAME EFFECTAUX
None


















DEFECTS
NAME:RATING:GAME EFFECTAUX
None


















xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

The Badlands Caravan Guild Racers

IT'S ALL IN A DAY'S WORK, AND THEN SOME
Guy Ramon exclusive for the Daily Republican
1 Spring, TN1920

LANCE POINT--The early morning routine begins with the trucks: there are a half-dozen Longrunners, a Camel, an Elan, an Antelope, and a Behemoth gear carrier. The crew of the Badlands Caravan Guild are up before Helios' harsh rays hit the tops of the oil derricks. Everyone contributes to vehicle maintenance, from the mechanics, to the drivers, to the accountant and the gear pilots.

"Without the trucks, we're not a caravan," explained Karin Hassan, 19, from Baja, "we all pitch in and get maintenance done in record time."

The Badlands Caravan Guild, the brainchild of Dr. Tomohiro Chambers, of the Mekong Dominion, is now in its second cycle of operation. It's only one of many organizations that have taken advantage of the Hermes72 satellite network to form long-distance business ventures. So far, the Guild focuses its efforts in and around the Westridge Mountain range settlements of Lance Point, Prince Gable and Fort Neil.

"So far, we've really been focusing our attentions on the Westridge Range area and the Gamma Maglev, it's true," Dr. Chambers confirmed, "but we do have Guild members who operate globally."

After a quiet breakfast, the caravan crew go about their daily routine with great energy. Drivers become salesmen, hawking and haggling with passers-by. Those not involved with the races here in Lance Point often handle larger sales negotiations, deliveries, and accounting. Of course, the Caravan Guild is in Lance Point not only because of the sales potentials.

"Yes, business is good," Ms. Ellen Cranby, the official accountant and cook for the caravan said over cawfee and biscuits, "but we're here in Lance Point for the races! They're not exactly lucrative, but we're all in this for the business and networking contacts these large scale events promote."

As I followed Karin around on her daily routine, she elaborated on the allure of the races.

"Well, it's complicated. Some of the racers are die hard adrenaline junkies. Others love engines and gears. Some of us just like competing."

Us?

"Oh sure, I raced! Didn't win, mind you, but it was a close thing." Karin showed me her gear, a modified Northern Ferret Gear she and her mechanic and racing partner Tessa Lin have dubbed 'Moby Dick.' The gear was entered into the 400-meter drag races and made it to the final race, losing in the end to a Chasseur hover-gear. "We didn't mind losing to Zephyr," Tessa Lin told me, "Hayden is a good pilot, and he's pretty cute." Karin reassured me that chasing boys was not the reason she and Tessa entered Moby Dick into the races.

"Don't get me wrong, Hayden is cute," she laughed, "but when the caravan picked up Moby Dick, we just fell in love with the little guy. Ferrets are just so much fun. And we're the only two who are small enough to drive it anyways. We knew we were coming to Lance Point, so we worked hard to get him ready."

Two other racers from the Badlands Caravan Guild entered the Lance Point races. Ari Mendelbaum, from Siwa Oasis has shocked the racing circuit here by winning the Urban Obstacle Race in a Warrior III he has dubbed Corsair. Mendelbaum is the antithesis of the gear pilot image: tall, lanky, and freckled, he nevertheless has all the cocksure confidence of a racer.

"Adrenaline junkie? Nah. Well, a bit, I guess. You have to like the rush. Otherwise I'd be sitting behind a desk in Siwa Oasis."

I caught up with Peter Smit, a retired Mercantile racer who was a contender on the Innsbruck Deathtrack 1000 before the War. Smit was reluctant to talk about his racing record before the War, but he did account for himself well in the Lance Point 500 Cross Country Endurance race.

"I placed third. Not bad. I had some experience on and off the track with long-distance, high speed gear driving, so the Endurance race seemed like the choice for me." I talked to Peter as he worked on his Hunter heavy gear, Bulldog. He was quite reluctant to divulge anything, but I managed a brief interview.

"Basically, I just like driving gears. I was always good at it, and I guess you can find my Death Track footage somewhere."

Peter denies being an adrenaline junkie, despite the speed addiction, "yeah, I like going fast, kicking up a ton of dust. Sure. Who doesn't? But adrenaline? No, not really. I think after Baja, my adrenaline gland gave up the ghost."

Baja. It turns out that the ghosts of Baja haunt this crew like no other.

"Yeah, we were all there," Karin confessed to me, "at least, most of us. I lived through the occupation. Most of the crew fought in the thick of it for the North or South or were Resistance members. It's not an exclusive thing or nothing. I guess we have a story to tell about Baja and about the Badlands. Maybe that's why we like traveling so much. All the stories just add up."

Meet the press

The SUV limousine wound its way through the clogged streets of the Lance Point caravan district. It was slow going. The streets were choked with dust, foot traffic, gears, cars and even the occasional barnaby lizard. All this was lost on the limousine's occupants.

"Guuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuy," a groupie whined as the limousine's slight jostling caused her to spill some of her drink from its martini glass, "I'm bored! When are we gonna go back to the hotel!?" she giggled suggestively.

"Soon Debbie, soon," came the annoyed retort from across the limousine's expansive passenger compartment, "this is the last stop in this podunk bush league town," the speaker trailed off.

Guy Ramon sighed to himself as he watched Lance Point from the security of his air conditioned limousine. This town was a dust-choked place where oil crept out from the ground and lodged itself in his pores and under his fingernails. He just felt grimy, all the time. But it was the only gear racing rally that the Daily Republican, that trashy Port Oasis rag everyone loved to hate, offered Guy as a gig. He just had to go out there, pretend to be interested, and let amateur gear nerds babble about their pet project that's been living in their basement for the last fifty cycles. At least, that's what his editor said.

Guy gave a dirty look to Debbie and the stupid knitted hat some old batty woman from the Fast and the Ferrets racing team had given him. It was now precariously mounted on her head. Mercifully, Guy's drunken companion for this trip took to the hat with almost as much enthusiasm as she had taken to the mini bar in the limousine. He smirked to himself: he'd probably have a harder time losing the hat than the girl.

Sure, it wasn't all yokels and drunken party girls. He actually met some interesting people. But it was always the same old story: war veterans who couldn't fit in back home, driving gears at high speeds. Sure, you had the polar and corporate racing teams, but they were par for the course, as it were. After interviewing the first twenty racers, Guy quickly realized that the only stories worth selling here would be those the editors called "local colour." The crazies...

"Here we are sir," Guy's local driver droned through the limo came to an abrupt halt, "the Badlands Caravan Guild compound. I'll wait here," the driver let his audible smirk hang in the air.

"You do that," Guy replied icily. He took a brief account of how much alcohol was in the mini bar, opened the door, and stepped out into the raw, dry heat. He swore and then coughed, the dust getting into his eyes only a split second before it got into his mouth.

"Hey mister, you ok?" a girl's voice asked over the din of a passing truck. Even through the coughing, Guy could hear the bemusement in the question.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine," he replied and laid eyes on one of the most beautiful creatures he had seen in a long time. Dark hair, a deep tan, big, innocent brown eyes that took in the world with ease and agility. She smiled.

"You here to buy something?" Karin Hassan smiled again, "we got lots to offer."

"Buh?" Guy had been to Ashanti, where the clothing was as non-existent as the sexual restraint. This girl with her soft Badlander drawl still had him at a loss.

"Mister?" Karin smiled again, clearly amused, "c'mon, let's get you a glass of water. You look like you haven't slept a wink in three days!" Karin wasn't too far off. Between the partying, the drugs and Debbie, Guy barely had time to be a journalist, let alone sleeping.

Moments later, Karin had the reporter sitting in the shade of the Cave. There was a little table set up at the entrance to the big Longrunner truck used by the caravan as a vehicle maintenance bay. She brought out a single glass of water, sauntering happily. It beaded with condensation. Guy licked his lips.

"Here you are," Karin placed the glass on the little table, "on the house," she smiled.

Guy didn't take his eyes off the girl as he slowly sucked back the ice cold water. He took long gulps, and then put the glass down, "thank you." He meant it.

Karin shrugged, "ain't nothin', mister. Welcome to the Badlands Caravan Guild...er...Caravan." The girl frowned cutely. Someone had to pick a name, and quick.

Guy smiled, picking up on the girl's uncertainty with a predatory instinct, "who might you be then?"

"Karin," she replied, eyes narrowing, "look mister, I'm busy, so finish up your water and get to buying, or leave. I ain't got time to-"

"I'm not here to buy anything, I'm a reporter," Guy raised a hand, reassuring the girl. She's got really, really good instincts, doesn't she? I wonder what her story is...

"A reporter? What are you reporting on?" Karin played the game.

"The races. I hear the Badlands Caravan Guild put three contenders into the competition."

"You heard that right then, mister..." Karin's innkeeping instincts took over. She smiled disarmingly.

"Guy. Guy Ramon. For the Daily Republican." the girl's mild doting actually made the Southerner feel proud of that for the first time since he got into Lance Point, "you guys are my last stop before I head back to Port Oasis. Got any stories for me?" he cracked his most charming smile.

"Well, we just might," Karin nodded, warming to the man, "we just might."

Friday, March 20, 2009

Elan Buggy

In contrast to most other Badlanding vehicles, the Elan has unusual aesthetic appeal. The sleek lines, aggressive stance, and sporty demeanor seem more at home street-racing than trekking through the desert, yet the Elan is a natural survivor. The durable light alloy frame and independently powered wheels are optimal for recon and other light duty.

The Caravan makes excellent use of the electric motors on the Elans, recharging them from the generators built into the Longrunners. Both of the Caravan's buggies have had the rear 2 seats removed to enable a gunner to stand on the rear deck and operate a weapon, as well as to allow for slightly more cargo space. As befits the group's nature, one of the Elan's has been upgunned with a VLAC in line with its Evil Eye military version. The other features a rollbar mount for an LMG or AGL, and the mandatory SAM launcher strapped to one of the upright stanchions.


HEAVY GEAR VEHICLE RECORD SHEET
NAME:VEHICLE SPECIFICATIONS

SIZE:4
MODEL:CREW:1
Elan
BONUS ACTIONS:0
CLASS:MOVEMENT
All Purpose Vehicle
PRIMARY COMBAT:11

PRIMARY TOP:22
RANGE:
575km
MANEUVER:-1
ELECTRONICS
SENSORS:na
COMMUNICATION:-2
FIRE CONTROL:-3
ARMOUR
LIGHT DAMAGE:5
HEAVY DAMAGE:10
OVERKILL:15
WEAPONS
CODE-NAME:RANGEDAMACCRoF/CLIPSpecial
9mm Light Machinegun
100/200/400/800
x30
0
2/50
(not mounted)
15mm OV-975 VLAC
100/200/400/800
x60
0
3/100

PERKS
NAME:RATING:GAME EFFECTAUX
Searchlight
150m, fixed forward

Hostile Env. Protection-Desert
Passenger Seating
-4 passenger seats behind driver

Pintle Mount
-Can hold 1 inf. weapon

FLAWS
NAME:RATING:GAME EFFECTAUX
Exposed Crew Compartment
-"Crew" hits one step worse

No Sensors
-Cannot use active sensors

DEFECTS
NAME:RATING:GAME EFFECTAUX
None


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Springer Truck

Ideally suited for longer trips or heavier loads than the Antelope can properly accomodate, the Springer is a flexible light truck. Rugged suspension suits the broken terrain of the Badlands, and the cargo area's variable arrangements (open, softtop, hardtop) ensure that the Springer sees a varriety of applications. The Caravan's Springers feature a roof cupola on the passenger side and a ring mount for an LMG or AGL. As a deterrent for hostile aircraft, a shoulder-fired SAM launcher is stowed behind the bench in the cab.


HEAVY GEAR VEHICLE RECORD SHEET
NAME:VEHICLE SPECIFICATIONS

SIZE:3
MODEL:CREW:1
Springer
BONUS ACTIONS:0
CLASS:MOVEMENT
Light Cargo Vehicle
PRIMARY COMBAT:8

PRIMARY TOP:15
RANGE:
na
MANEUVER:-2
ELECTRONICS
SENSORS:na
COMMUNICATION:-2
FIRE CONTROL:-2
ARMOUR
LIGHT DAMAGE:5
HEAVY DAMAGE:10
OVERKILL:15
WEAPONS
CODE-NAME:RANGEDAMACCRoF/CLIPSpecial
9mm Light Machinegun
100/200/400/800
x30
0
2/50

PERKS
NAME:RATING:GAME EFFECTAUX
Cargo Bay
-10 m3 (2.5x2x2)

Hostile Env. Protection-Desert
Passenger Seating
-2 seats in cab

Pintle Mount
-Can hold 1 inf. weapon

FLAWS
NAME:RATING:GAME EFFECTAUX
No Sensors
-Cannot use active sensors

DEFECTS
NAME:RATING:GAME EFFECTAUX
None


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Updates

Revised caravan assets to take into account Green Gang compound and other loot picked up along the way.

Condensed "game night" label and "session log" label into one.

Revised all labels to be lower case. Query: How are we applying "story" and "vignette"?

CertainBetrayal: Please review vehicle descrips re SOP and advise on changes/amendments.

UPDATE: filled in all the one-horse town entries recently filed. (HJ)

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Schwer Homestead

Maya Schwer is a rancher and waterroot farmer living north-north-west of Baja. Avatanya Brom knew her from before the war when they'd meet at market. Maya is solid and reliable, having helped the Regulators in their fight against the New Baja Gang. Later, she took Kain, the Doc, Sam and Gade in for about two weeks after their quick exit from New Baja.

The Schwer homestead is windswept and worn. It is also very large, with a huge cattle paddock and a half-dozen buildings. The waterroot fields are expansive and well-maintained. The desert is fought here, tooth and nail, on a daily basis.

All told, there are about a dozen or so souls working the homestead.

Timmins

Infamous around the globe for making shoddy knock-offs of anything imaginable, the city state of Timmins is a larger city state on the savannah south of Zagreb. Really, only a small fraction of the city's 270,000 residents find their employment in the copy-cat factories. The rest are employed in highly diversified light industry or agriculture.

Timmins is run by the Communist Party of the Independent City State of Timmins (CPICST), which is notoriously paranoid. Timmins is also a founding member of the Zagreb-plain based Socialist Economic Pact (SEP), a small economic sub-league which includes the UMF city state of Zagreb and a few minor towns in the region. Membership in the Pact makes its members eligible for preferential trading rates and reduced taxes when dealing with other Pact members.

The presence of the SEP has led to a large increase in smuggling from Timmins northward to Zagreb. This has caused no small amount of tension between Timmins and the UMF. The Forzi cartel runs large scale operations in Timmins under the leadership of Eli Brown.

Timmins has a proud history of resistance to the CEF during the War of the Alliance. The communist city was occupied and brutally suppressed. Members of the resistance, like "Brick" Norita and Ben Cantor are well-regarded to this day.

Bezio

Bezio is a tiny independent mining town and caravan supply stop high in the Pacifica Mountain Range, east of Timmins. It is truly a one-horse town, with multiple warehouses for storing caravan supplies and whatever worthwhile ore and minerals are extracted from the surrounding mountains.

In the mountains nearby is a tribe of technologically primitive people called the Araman. They live a semi-nomadic, light agricultural lifestyle. The Araman represent a perfect example of the Terranovan phenomenon of Artificial Prehistory. This is the result of extensive, long-term independent colonization on a planet known for its isolating distances.

The Araman people are proficient in herbal medicine. Their mythology has lately been shaken up with sightings of GRELs two cycles ago (after the War): The 'Godlings' are clearly from the sky, and the Araman must steer clear of them. God abandoned the Araman on Terranova (they call it Neuvelt) and swore never to return for his wayward children. But the Godlings are nothing compared to the appearance of a falling star which streaked across the sky and disappeared in the horizon in the West, sometime in TN1917.

Seminola

Seminola is a small mining town in the western foothills of the Pacifica Mountains, further south of Timmins. Population is roughly 300 people, nearly all miners or farmers. The town consists of a main street cutting through a commercial neighbourhood to the north. To the south is the miner's tent city, which is a much rougher and disorganized place.

The town is currently reeling from the murder of some of its lawmen, the occupation of the town by the MILICIA, and the sudden disappearance of the town mayor, Yonina Kalo.

Notable individuals include Jeremiah Harris, an honest, hardworking, if simple-minded dry goods merchant with a large family, and Dr. Henri Grier, an 83-year old expatriate from the Southern Republic. Grier has been adopted into the Harris family after living quietly in Seminola as a political exile. Grier was a professor to Kain Delacroix and Ben Cantor.

Kolmar Station

Kolmar Station is a medium sized oasis tower on the Peace River-New Baja caravan route and the site of many trading caravan meetings. The station sits atop Kolmar Cliff, which overlooks a collapsed MacAllen Tunnel canyon below. The view is spectacular. The station's design is unique in that it is a normal tapered cylindrical oasis tower, except that the cliff-side facing is flush with the cliff: the station looks like it's been sliced cleanly.

Kolmar Station is run by the Melana Clan, who number about 40 individuals. The station has a bar, a couple of gear and vehicle bays and a large market which serves the various homesteads in the region. There is only one main entrance in and out of the station, rather than two.

Kolmar Station has the following establishments:

The Rock Skag: A larger watering hole near the vehicle decks. It's lived in, grimy, but not particularly horrible. The sun gets reflected down to that level, so it's not too dark. Milton Douek runs the Skag, and at 85 cycles he doesn't tolerate much, usually suggesting that troublemakers leave while he points a shotgun at them.

Klint Kartwright is the owner of the local Hermes72 network uplink franchise, something he's managed to work out with the Melanas.

The Scrapyard: owned and operated by the Rowe family (15 souls). The scrapyard sprawls out along the northern side of the station and runs out along the cliff top. It's getting large enough now that it's been jokingly referred to as the Khayr-ad Din Embassy.

The central plaza is open and there are at least six different inns and hotels. At most times there are 200 people here, all transient, passing through Kolmar Station.

The bottom levels: Dark, dank and dangerous, the Melana clan keeps this area closed off as they work hard to fix the water purifiers, the backup generator and life support, in an effort to bring Kolmar Station up to TNTR standards.

Snowy Hill

Before the War of the Alliance, the town of Snowy Hill was barely more than a homestead county headquarters with a few services. Its population barely topped fifty souls, with another fifty living in the outlying farms. The town was occupied by the CEF for a brief period, but survived relatively unscathed. Snowy Hill is located in the middle of the Western Desert, towards the equator, closer to the Pacifica Mountains.

After the War, a prospector discovered that Snowy Hill was in fact sitting on top of a massive oil field. Northern Petrochemicals, based out of Petropolis, has since set up an extensive operation in Snowy Hill. An oasis tower was built, oil workers were brought in, and derricks, pipelines and storage tanks constructed. Snowy Hill's oil production is shipped northward via large tanker landships owned by the corporation.

The Sheriff of Snowy Hill is a man named Isaac Nessen.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Bored hot, bored cold.

The Terranovan sun had already disappeared beyond the horizon. Major Anatol Medalev shivered, mainly in anticipation of another cold night in the foothills of the Westridge mountain range. It had been brutally hot, despite the locals insisting that it was now winter. Apparently it didn't make much difference in the Badlands. It was either too hot, or too cold. Medalev had heard that the poles would be more to his liking.

Except that this is not Earth, this is Terranova. This whole miserable planet has it in for me.

Sitting in a hill-top dugout, looking out over the darkening dunes of the Barrington Basin, Medalev sighed. He knew, deep down, that his chances of getting off this alien world were slim. It was a daily mental exercise of a supreme order to deny this fact. Still, it had been about a year, give or take, since the fleet left. Medalev knew that the nagging feeling in his gut would have to be addressed sooner, rather than later.

"Sir, cawfee?" the familiar voice of Captain Upton, his aide and constant foil, announced the arrival of refreshments. Upton was always slightly cheerful, and though this endeared him to the men under Medalev's command, it annoyed the major to no end. It didn't help that Upton seemed to have adapted to Terranovan environmental conditions in an almost effortless fashion. The younger officer proffered up a small kettle with a smile as he eased into the dugout.

"No thank you, Upton," Medalev sighed. He could use the perk, but, "the stuff just tastes off, don't you find?"

"A little sir, but I figure, when in Rome," Upton smiled grimly and took a swig from his canteen. Medalev nodded quietly and turned back to look at the sand dunes in the distance. He shivered, this time because it was suddenly quite cold.

"Report, Captain," the major began his twice-daily ritual.

"Sir, we've lost three more GRELs to desertion. Shot two. A Minerva and a Mordred." Upton paused, "That makes fifteen since Commissar Lysanov arrived."

"Continue, Captain," Medalev said after a poignant pause.

"Hover vehicles are still low on fuel. We can't generate enough power on our solar cells alone. Infantry lasers are nearly all inoperable. We've switched to captured weaponry, except for our ammo-fed weapons. Food and water supplies are lasting, and our survey team found a subterranean river. Morale is high, but the men are restless sir."

They're not the only ones, Upton...

"-are wondering why we're holding here in the foothills sir, when we all know that our forces were supposed to rendezvous at WestBase. I estimate that it would take us-"

"That's enough Captain!" Medalev's voice was terse. Upton stopped suddenly. Medalev didn't want to hear about heading into the desert and meeting up with the rest of the stranded Colonial Expeditionary Force on Terranova. He knew that looking at any other die-hards would just make him vomit.

"Captain, our orders come from the Party," Medalev let the hint of dryness enter his tone. As if the Party meant anything here on Terranova anymore. "Captain Lysanov was clear. We are to wait for her orders to move. Until then, keep the men busy, keep them alert, and keep them ready. Is that understood?"

Captain Upton frowned, "Yes sir. Understood."


 
Hermes 72 - Heavy Gear RPG - Most artwork Copyright 2002 Dream Pod 9, Inc.