An Account of Recent Occurrences by Patrick Steward, Gentleman’s Gentleman (021–063 1106)
On the Subject of Civil Engineering
It has long been my observation that adventuring companies, once they have wearied of the possibilities of sword, pistol, and blaster, invariably develop a sudden and consuming passion for drains. Thus it was that the company resolved to hire a civil engineer specialising in water reclamation. A recruitment process of improbable seriousness produced Pernik Loy, civil engineer, whose idea of wit is a thorough knowledge of water-recycling coefficients. He has been dispatched to Hilfer to look at pipes, where, I am confident, he will be ecstatically happy.
On the Case of Captain Tovrim and Miss Vey
I was not present for this particular melodrama, being occupied elsewhere with the eternal struggle between dockyard upholstery and Sindalian fabrics. Nevertheless, I was given the tale in full upon my return. It appears Captain Tovrim of the Pourne Bureau of Investigation, having imprudently entwined his affections with a lady of the smuggling profession, sought the assistance of our company in saving her from a forthcoming police ambuscade.
The solution, I am told, involved forged prescriptions, staged public ejections, and the surreptitious addition of pharmaceuticals to a variety of cocktails. Several innocent revellers thus found themselves unconscious for a full day. The young lady herself, happily, avoided both incarceration and the gallows, though the bar in question lost its licence. The balance sheet is, I suppose, positive.
On the Return of the Subtlety
By the time of my reunion with the company, the So Much for Subtlety had emerged from her lengthy period of surgical reconstruction. Systems were resplendent, the jump drive purring like a well-fed kitten, while the décor remains a curious blend of Sindalian grandeur and Pourne flat-pack improvisation.
It was also my duty to reintroduce the company to The Manichean – our rather literal-minded sideboard with sidearms, whose social grace extends no further than the query “Friend or shoot?” The creature’s binary outlook continues to provide opportunities for reflection on the human condition.
On Matters Hilferian
We next proceeded to Hilfer, encountering en route the attentions of two mercenary cruisers whose scanning procedures were entirely too familiar. At Hilfer Highport, the company exchanged two Vespexer marines (stout fellows, though inclined toward limited vocabulary) for Sharyl. Some suggested this was a poor trade for the other parties. Sharyl himself accepted the exchange with the air of an Aslan composing an elegy. His reflective silences at least preserve life support resources.
The rendezvous with the Janel Torsk and the Shinkiro was gratifyingly lucrative. Both vessels had been vigorous partakers of the noble profession of piracy and returned with their holds brimming, their crews flushed with success, and their purses noticeably heavier. In addition, they brought with them a collection of reconnaissance notes – sketches of patrol routes, whispers of trade convoys, and the sort of gossip normally only acquired in dockside taverns after judicious rounds of drinks. In short, they provided both profit and intelligence, which, in the world of piracy, is as close to a balanced diet as one ever achieves.
Trading on Hilfer was abandoned due to their fondness for the use of paper transactions. One wonders what they would make of The Manichean.
On Tech World and Other Marvels
Finally, we arrived at Tech World, a place where the population seems largely to have been supplanted by machinery. The streets and halls were thick with drones, droids, and cyborgs, while genuine sophonts were as rare as courtesies from a starport customs officer.
Each of our company was assigned a Guidebot, suspiciously exquisitely programmed to flatter, direct, and occasionally rebuke. Worryingly, it seems that Tech World has, since my creation, poured their resources into further perfecting the art of the Valet. I must await with interest to see if these machines can also cook an omelette without producing an existential crisis.
Deanna’s bot addressed her in hexadecimal, to her evident joy. Timaeus’s bot applauded his every dramatic flourish, which I feel was unwise encouragement. Lady Penelope’s Guidebot continually highlighted profit margins, depreciation schedules, and opportunities for tax efficiency in every purchase, escorting her like a walking balance sheet with impeccable manners, while Cauldron’s robotic minder had the unnerving habit of pointing out “potential sabotage points” in every corridor and junction, as though it were determined to prove itself his apprentice.
As for Sharyl, his bot simply followed him at a respectful distance, like a shadow uncertain whether to apologise, and speaking in the Trokh tongue in improvised Aslan haikus. If it could rid itself of such poetic affectations I would feel a certain kinship with it.
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