Subset Games Forum

A pirate drops this off chortling.

I hear you used to be one of those Federation Lovers. How much will you give me for this journal by some Feddy dreamer?

The edges are charred, the screen is cracked, and it's clearly been floating in the vacuum of space...that's the only thing that causes blood stains to almost fully lift off it.

You might as well power it on and see what it says

Graduation Day:


A journal…that’s what my parents sent me as my Academy Graduation gift. My parents, like many others, sent what gifts they could probably a year or two ago before going into hiding or fleeing the Rebellion’s boot…or dying.

We’ve been quite sheltered here at the Federation Naval Academy, this branch being on the far eastern arm. When I first enrolled the Rebellion barely got a mention on the newsfeeds. But they grew like a virus. Then when the privatized starship construction docks turned over the first group of new battlecruisers to those fanatics the known universe was changed forever. My parents like so many others were probably caught unprepared. I try not to dwell on it, but I will probably never see them again.

Yet in the face of all that they took the time to engrave Jonathan Hector on a ship’s journal, wrap it up, and send it to me.

I am keeping this journal for them. If I don’t eventually find them, maybe this journal will still work it’s way into their hands somehow.

Day Two:

Unbelievable.

The Commodore skipped all the standard pomp and ceremony and handed us some frank truths. I guess I had no idea how sheltered we were, because I had no idea the Federation had been rocked this far back on its heels. Maybe I’ve been naïve, as half the class dropped out before this final year.

Even if I had known the truth, I’d have stayed.

The Commodore has a plan, but first we are going to get 2 weeks of intensive specialized training. They’ve spend 4 years teaching us the basics of everything; I don’t think this specialized training is going to amount to much in comparison to that. I’ve been chosen for Capitol Artillery, a fancy name for ‘spaceship guns’.

Day Twelve:

That’s been the most intense training in my life.

18 hours a day, meals brought to us in the simulators. No time to write until now. We have 6 free hours before the Missions start. Three ships will be going out, each with a crew of three: the Osprey, the Kestral, and the Sparrowhawk. Doesn’t roll off the tongue like Pinta, Nina, and Santa-Maria, but oh well. We will each be carrying a datapacket to some distant location. They hope that one of us will get through. The Commodore and a few instructors and other volunteers are taking a pair of heavy cruisers to slow any rebellion pursuit. They say these smaller faster vessels will be better for the our mission.

We’ll draw straws for who gets what vessel right before we board. They’ll announce who is to captain each vessel then too. They did tell us our crewmates. I’m with Roper and Elizabeth. Maybe you heard me talk about Roper before. He’s a real ass. Apparently he styles himself after some 19th century farm laborer. Why that is glamorous I have no idea, but to him it is. He even wears a funny hat.

Speaking of glamorous, that’s Elizabeth. She’s the shields specialist on this flight. Legs that go on forever. I asked her out once Sophomore year but she turned me down. Roper says she’s a lesbian, but I think that’s just because she turned down his advances too. Did I mention Roper is an ass? Plus he’s the pilot. It makes sense to make the pilot the captain, but I just don’t see Roper as being up to it.

Day Fifteen:

It’s been 3 days since my last entry, but I feel a year older. We got Kestrel. I was chosen to be captain. I can’t believe I wanted this roll. I am going to make a point to keep up with this journal a lot better from here on out. The three of us just spent the better half of a day fighting fires all around the ship. At one point or another every room was burning. I can’t believe this survived. The screen is a bit charred but I guess this memory core is built to withstand hell. It’s a morbid thought but I guess this thing is built to survive even if I won’t. Oh well, I’m still taking it as a sign that our fortunes are going to start looking up.

Day Sixteen:

I've grown up a lot.

But so has Roper.

Not surprising really, you either grow up or die. He’s still got that boyish charm and can be crazy and a real ass, but he can fight. He says it comes from all the bar brawls he got into during his school days. All I know is that when there is a boarder alerts he jumps from the pilot’s chair and races back to confront them. He’s spent more time I sickbay than Elizabeth and I together.

I've got to keep this bird in the fight, which leaves Elizabeth to do emergency repairs while running the shields. This mission is really hard on her. She has turned into something of an ice-queen. At a trading post she thawed though for a guy named Nathan. I thought he was going to volunteer to join us, but in the end he demanded a salary. All the materials we had went toward repairs and replacement missiles. I thought that Elizabeth might desert to stay with Nathan. Don’t get me wrong, I think we are ALL at the edge of abandoning hope. I sometimes think the only reason we don’t is the fear that when the Rebellion rolls through whatever sector a few days later, the locals will turn us in.

Day Twenty Seven:

I can’t believe it. ..two new crewmembers in two days. We three have been exhausted doing everything ourselves. I honestly expected we’d have run into slavers days if not weeks ago. The trading posts are full of tails about slavers who will offer up a captive if they are the verge of defeat. Apparently the opening sectors next to the old ‘Academy’ are crawling with them. Either that or pick up some crew at a trading station.

I’d almost given up hope for this mission, but they picked my spirits up enough to start writing again. Maybe it’s that I’ve finally been able to get some sleep now that they are on board helping. Lanng (an Engi) was at a Federation base we were given coordinates to. He is an engineer without peer and a true loyalist. He now ‘owns’ the engine room and has decorated it to remind him of his homeworld.

A day later we picked up a distress beacon and got some kid off a backwater planet. I can’t remember his name. It’s something really stupid, so we just call him FNG (Fucking New Guy…sorry Mom). Right now there’s no roll for him so I have him cleaning up the ship. If given a spare moment though, he’ll be in the cockpit listening to Roper’s war stories.

Ship's Janitor.

Day Thirty:

I things have been going strong with our new crew members. I think the FNG has killed as many intruders with his mop as he has with the side-arm I gave him. I feel really guilty about never remembering his name. He just still doesn’t feel like one of the crew though, maybe because he has no dedicated roll and just hangs out between sickbay and weapons, waiting for a breech, invasion, or spilled cup o joe.

Day Thirty Two:

I picked up a Rockman at the local trading station. I was really hoping for a Pegasus Missile Launcher, but they had absolutely nothing I needed. I figure another crewmen could come in handy, especially one that is immune to fire. He’s ungodly slow though.

Day Thirty Seven:

It is with a heavy heart that I report the death of the man who has grown to be my best friend, one of the best human beings I’ve ever known. Today Roper, excuse me, Lt Commander Steven P. Warren, died while fighting off invaders to this ship.

He charged in to battle with little regard for his own safety like he had so many times before. It was clear that the tide of battle was turning, and as the rest of the human crew fled back to medical bay, he stayed behind a second too long. Rockman is really taking this hard, he felt he could have made a difference had he been a little faster. Truth is, we are ALL taking this hard in our own way. Elizabeth, Roper, and I have been through so much in so little time. Even though FNG is probably only a few years younger, Roper had been a real father figure to that kid. Ah Roper, I’m going to miss you man.

This was a final moment of bravery, but bravery was how Roper lived his life. I don’t think I’ll ever see his match, either in strength of character or in piloting skill. If there is any Federation left, they damn well need to erect a statue to you.

Complete with hat.