conversations.from: system
conversations.value: Signal GK
  
  Abbreviation for Gashimeku Kaalariin, Vilani for "vessel in distress".
  
  The code 'Signal GK' originated on Vland, home world of the Vilani, the first of the Human diaspora to acchieve independent interstellar travel over ten thousand years ago. It started, like so many other space faring traditions, as a distress signal in maritime and aviation activity. It was one of the standard communication codes of the first Interstellar Impirium, the Vilani Imperium known to history as the Ziru Sirka. In the Second Imperium, the Rule of Man as it was made known by the Terran conquerers who forged it, signal GK was retained as a distress code co-equal with the Terran SOS and Mayday signals.
  
  After the Rule of Man collapsed under the weight of it's arrogance it threw the human diaspora, humanitie, into a dark age. As part of humanities effort to claw itself out of this apocalyptic abyss the 3rd Imperium drafted The Imperial Navigation Act of 103. Among other things it requires all vessels, whether military or civilian, to respond to the GK, SOS , or Mayday signals, provided such response does not endanger the ship and crew of the responding vessel, and render whatever help needed to insure the survival of the signaler.
  
  ***
  
  There we were, minding our own and half way through a milk run delivering water ice to the Belter's of Koieng's Rock. The call came out of the cold black. It was weak and originated from well out of our way, deep in the carbonaceous wastes of the Bowman Belt. Our Comms team needed to do some magic for it to be understandable, here's me wishing that, just this once, they weren't so on the ball. 
  
  This is what they managed to get before the signal died out:
  
  "Mayday, Maday...
  
  This is Signal GK... an SOS...
  
  We are under attack...
  
  Main drive is gone...
  
  Turret number one is not responding...
  
  Signal GK...
  
  They've holed the...
  
  ...Losing cabin pressure fast...
  
  SOS... Calling anyone... Please.
  
  This is free trader Beowulf... Mayday...."
  
  The Capatain wanted nothing to do with it of course. "Focus on delivering ice to the Belter's of Koieng's Rock. Leave the hero work to the Imp Cruiser whats on patrol." 
  
  Damnitall, why did I have to convince him otherwise.
  
  "We are closest." I said. "It's the law Sir." It was my 
  weakest argument and I new it. That's why I led with it. My shot across his bow so to speak.
  
  A renowned scofflaw, the Captain did just that. We took a moment to share a laugh over the absurdity of enforcing the Signal GK law out here in the frontier well beyond the Imperium's borders. I was determined though. Maybe it was the cabin fever. Maybe I was looking for a chance to prove my mettle as the newly promoted XO. Either way, I knew if I was convincing the Captain would send me and a small team in the skiff to investigate. More the fool I but I wanted that assignment.
  
  I poured the Captain another jigger of the hydroponic rye from the moons of Bowman Prime. I picked it up off one of the Moony roustabouts there as they were weighing The Cantos' hold full of ice to insure the Comptroller got his due. The Captain was a might more malleable after a dram or three of whisky. 
  
  "Some of the crew will grumble about cowardice." This was a range finding salvo and I knew it. I had a better argument but I needed to soften the Captain up a bit first. 
  
  As expected the Captain looked me in the eye and countered with. "Only the green horns and those that cling to the Swordie's Aesir. Any spacer worth his salts knows chasing distress calls is work that'll have you sending out a Gk signal of your own more often than not." 
  
  Though the wisdom was sound I can tell my warning about being called a coward had its intended effect. The Captain may not hold to the local Aesir superstitions about heroic death but he was a former Navy man and touchy about how the crew viewed him. 
  
  The Captain's stare wavered. His eyes drifted to his empty cup again as if unsure if I was going to refill it. I obliged and readied to cross his T with the argument I new he couldn't just brush off.
  
  "The Comms boys referenced the Beowulf's transponder signal. It comes back as an Imp Jump Trader On its way to Glisten from the Five Sisters. with a hold full of rare earths. " I informed the Captain off handedly. He paused then, his cup half way to his lips, it was then that his eyes began to twinkle with a speculative light. I knew I had him. All I needed to do was hole him just right now. 
  
  "With it's maneuver drives and turrets down I doubt they lasted long against any sort of determined raider." I continued conversationally. "The attackers had to know the Beowulf GK signal got out so they most likely cleared the Beowulf's hold, dealt with the witnesses and made best speed far and away..."
  
  "...which leaves a jump capable, crewless hulk in need of a tow to the salvage yards of Koeing's rock." The old man finished for me before draining his cup in a gulp. "It could be our ticket off of this system bound, ice scow and out of Bowman for good." I agree and offer another re-full.
  
  "Right." Says the Captain as if coming to a decision of his own accord. "You have a team on the ready?" It wasn't really a question. I offer my handheld with the profiles of the crew members I picked a Tech, Comms Jockey, Corpsman and former Marine. He waves it away.
  
  "Have the helm set course for the Beowulf's last know vector and begin our deceleration to hove alongside her. Tell Comms to start trying to raise any survivors. Liaison needs to file our salvage claim with both the Belter Trust on Koieng's Rock AND the Imperium Comptroller back on Alpha, Prime."  As the the old man rattled off these orders and several others to support it he turned to take a long look out the forward portscreen. 
  
  His off hand came to rest on the small of his back and his shoulders rolled back. For a moment the Naval officer he was back in the fourth frontier war stood, aloof before me. He looking purposefully into a future that suddenly promised more that this broke back scow and the dusty frontier Belter system it'll never leave. As I relayed his orders via my handheld his reflection smiled into the middle distance. 
  
  Poor bastard, I had given him hope. When the last of the acknowledgments came back he turned back to me and quipped "If this gets us all killed I am going to hold you personally responsible."
  
  I laughed then at his gallows humor. More the fool I.
  
  ***
  
  This is the tragic short story of a gritty troupe of frontier belters looking to profit off of the misfortune of others and being served their just deserts. This is a tragedy, make no mistake. I hope to have at least half of you write your character's death before we are through.
  
  ***
  
  This is my Storium adaption of  Classic Traveller material. You do not need to know any of the traveller rules or setting to enjoy this game. Familiarity with the Traveller Universe is a plus but also not necessary to enjoy this gritty space opera romp. If you have questions about the limits and use of Traveller's various handwavium fueled Deus Ex Machina please ask. Please remember though we are writing a tragedy here so whatever tech miracles we end up pulling out of our collective arse to deal with the troubles, in the end, it will fall short of their needs. All rights on this material is of course reserved by Game Designers’ Workshop & Far Future Enterprises.
  
  The backdrop of the story is that you are all members of the Bowman System's Lower Technical Class. You are Belters who have lived in ships and habitats for your entire life but have never amassed the wealth needed to leave the star system you were born in. Your skills are the result of an entrenched nepotism called an apprentice program. This makes your character's skill base somewhat narrower than that of a spacer who received technical schooling in the bright center of things. It also instilled in you a reverence for your and other's 'work'. Its a bias towards not taking another's work or allowing yours to be taken from you. You don't have a job. Your work is literally your life. 
  
  The cultural overlay comes from a near by Interstellar Polity Called the Sword worlders. The Swordies, a space viking, Aesirist culture, oppose the 3rd Imperium that claims the Bowman System. Periodically (every couple of decades or so it seems) the Sword worlders attempt to sweep through and take the Bowman System from the Imperium. Every time they have failed. The hundreds of Sword worlder crew that manage to survive each failed raiding attempt join the Belters of Bowman. Where they resentfully scrape a meager livelihood out of the immense asteroid belt there. 
  
  Exit Strategy:
  
  When it comes time for your character to shake of their mortal coil please follow these directions and the separation will remain dignified and friendly. Space and space travel is harsh and unforgiving. Those who adventure there know that when the time comes it’ll be quick and merciless. Further more the local superstition skews towards a Norse sense of accepting death and facing it's means bravely in order to enter the Valiant Hall of the Ancestors. You can play a coward or an atheist of course but even they will default to the ritual knowledge they were born to. When the time comes simply write into your next move your character’s sudden and tragic death. Once your swan song is published please take a day to say your goodbyes in the sidebar and then I will retire your character. As simple as that. No explanations needed. No exit surveys required. The other players might ask for more but don’t feel compelled to give it. The dead need not worry about the plight of those left behind.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Think of it more as a village of 50 or so H2O professionals providing a much needed resource to the dry and dusty wastes of the Bowman Belt.
  
  There are worse boats to fly here in Bowman but you'd have to work to find them.
  
  Most folks spend a score or four of their solar returns at this sort of work before returning to the gritty rock habs that spawned them but generally not before the dangerous work here claims life or limb.
conversations.prefix: The New Cantos:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: You are a natural talent at knowing how ship systems come together. More importantly you can keep it all purring on a shoe string budget and get the ship back on its feet in the nick of time. Maintenance, adhoc repairs, and patching the holes long enough to get your ship back to the engineers in dry doc is your stock and trade. All of your problems are best solved by sinking into the nuts and bolts of things.
  
conversations.prefix: The Tech (hardware):
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Ascension! It's damn near enough anyway. When you are plugged into your beautiful transcendent worlds of data and communications the grit, the ice and the mouldering sock smell of the overtaxed ventilation all fade away. 
  
  You have the passion for the algorithm. You are the reason the signal can't be stopped. You are under appreciated and surrounded by meat popsicles.
  
  All your problems are best approached with a hack of the onboard communication and control systems.  
conversations.prefix: Comms Cowboy (software):
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Like the Captain you were born in some alien gravity well, on far away world. A world with an ocean and a sky you could enjoy without a vac suit. Like him you even did some time in the navy, fired a turret or two in anger and brought a ragtag crew out of a tight spot. 
  
  Unlike the Captain when you mustered out in this spinward frontier  you lacked the funds or backing for a ship of your own. 
  
  So, here you are amongst the stink and the grind of the Cantos'. You are large and in charge, an outlander amongst the salt of the Belt. 
  
  You are in desperate need of proving yourself to these belters. This whole damn mission is your idea. Aesir help you.
  
  All your problems are best approached with delegation and discussion.
conversations.prefix: The XO:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: The harvesting and shipping of free floating icebergs is unforgiving work costing many of your crew an arm or a leg before they give up the ghost to it entirely. Its hard to get Doctors to join crews like this. You are the next best thing. 
  
  Somewhere between an Autodoc technician and a trauma nurse, your workaday tasks are the installation and maintenance of off brand cybernetic replacement limbs. 
  
  All your problems are best addressed by treating traumatized wetware with medical inventory.
  
  
conversations.prefix: The Corpseman (Wetware):
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: If this were a legit naval vessel they'd call you a Marine. No such airs amongst this lot though. Most of the time you are a roustabout, maybe even a teamster. Letting the ice slowly grind life and limb away so that some rock jockey can wet his whistle. 
  
  When push comes to shove though everyone onboard the Cantos knows to give you a gun and get out of your way.
  
  All your problems are best addressed with Action and Violence.
conversations.prefix: The Security Specialist :
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Even if you have no idea what to do, perhaps particularly when you have no idea what to do, you can make a decision and direct those about you with convincing confidence. 
  
  
conversations.prefix: Confidence of Command :
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Unless it personally motivates you, you have trouble mustering the wherewithal to initiate creatively. In these instances you prefer instead to delay, defer or delegate the responsibility.
conversations.prefix: Lack of Initiative :
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Perhaps you are depressed and apathetic, you prefer faith over reason, you are easily distracted from the important details or you are just inexperienced. Whatever the reason, when the chips are down, you have a tendency to make unwise or self destructive choices.
conversations.prefix: Bad Judgement :
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Having always worked for one Captain or another has gotten you this far. Imagine what it'd be like if you had a ship of your own though. Freedom. That is what it be like. Freedom
conversations.prefix: A Ship Of My Own:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: You've been called a mad poet, touched by the gods and much worse by your more secular brethren.
  
  You know the gods are real breathing, bleeding, judging and amongst us. You can never be sure that it isn't one of the Aesir seeing you through the eyes of a leader, enemy or lover. 
  
  They, the poor blind mortals all about you, cannot be so you must be ever vigilant and a constant reminder of what the gods expect in any given circumstance.
  
  Low be onto them that ignorantly choose to not heed your warnings.
conversations.prefix: Glory to the Aesir :
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Word gets out quick that you are part of the away team responding to the Signal GK. Amongst the crew feelings about the expedition and the reasons for it are mixed. The devout are convinced of the righteousness of the risk and the pragmatists among the crew decry its foolishness. As you go about your shift of rest and gathering kit: where do you and yours fall on the spectrum? How hard or easy does it make your preparations?
conversations.prefix: 40 K-seconds, and Counting.:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Otherwise known as 'I screwed up and maimed myself and the company replaced the damaged bits with this clanking piece of crap.' 
  
  Its off brand, hard to maintain, and ugly as a cowardly afterlife. It comes with a good story and an interesting feature or two that'll come in handy right about now.
conversations.prefix: Cybernetics:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Otherwise known as 'I screwed up and maimed myself and the company replaced the damaged bits with this clanking piece of crap.' 
  
  Its off brand, hard to maintain, and ugly as a cowardly afterlife. It comes with an embarrassing story and a dangerous bug or two that always seem to make themselves known at the worst possible juncture.
conversations.prefix: Cybernetics:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Moving a ship through space is a passion, an obsession, of yours. The thrum of massive drives leaping you and your machine through vast interplanetary and interstellar space  resonates within your core. 
  
  Those bright, razor sharp, moments when it is only your 'twitch' standing between flying home and your crew’s violent, airless death. Well thats when your heart and mind really sing.
conversations.prefix: The Pilot :
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: A Cybernetic quadraped security unit build out from a canine biological substrate and maintaining its significant external features such as fur, tail and facial expressiveness. 
  
  It is, in actuality, a semi autonomous security drone  capable of zero-g and vacuum maneuvering while packing a small armory of non-lethal security enforcement hard/soft ware.
  
  Then there is that small personal modification no one in the know talks about. After all, the Imps are serious about the illegality of ANY level of  autonomy in combat capable robots.
conversations.prefix:  K9-U4 'Cruiser':
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: A Scrambler Class, 20 displacement ton, Ship's Boat that has been a member of the New Cantos' crew for just about as long as Uller has.
  
  Spartan is a good word for it. Its a sound and serviceable boat and has everything an away team needs. It's just a touch slower, smaller, has fewer crash couches, a smaller galley, smaller 'fresher unit' (read bathroom) sickbay and boat's locker than is actually  comfortable. 
  
conversations.prefix: The Cognate Nomad:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: A Scrambler Class, 20 displacement ton, Ship’s Boat that has been a member of the New Cantos’ crew for just about as long as Uller has.
  
  Spartan is a good word for it. Its a sound and serviceable boat and has everything an away team needs. It’s just a touch slower, smaller, has fewer crash couches, a smaller galley, smaller ‘fresher unit’ (read bathroom) sickbay and boat’s locker than is actually comfortable.
conversations.prefix: The Cognate Nomad:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Play this in moves designed to pull upon the bonds  that tie your characters to one another as crew-mates. This card allows you to write from your character’s crew-mate’s strengths and weaknesses, allowing them to be mighty for you when your character is in dire need or fail your character spectacularly for the sake of producing grist for the communal storytelling mill. (It’s strongly recommended that you talk over your intentions with the players directly effected in you writing BEFORE you publish. Please & thank you.)
conversations.prefix: My Crew, My Village, My Life :
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Each of you has a poignant personal relationship with at least one other member of the away team. Be they good times or bad, what does this history mean to the coherence and camaraderie of the 'team’ as it comes together. 
  
conversations.prefix: 20 K-seconds and counting.:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Something or someone will miss you. Do they they cling to you and gnash their teeth? Or do they sigh in resignation and bless you with "For the Love of Destiny." (A ritualized raiders prayer for a quick return or a good death trying.) Perhaps, instead, you maintain a shrine or run a personal project in a tucked away nook of the ship. 'Where' is just as important as the 'who' or 'what'. Please describe the location of the ship this drama takes place in. help us see it. :)
conversations.prefix: You will be missed. (5 k-secs till lift off):
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: The New Cantos' closest approach with the distressed Beowulf is only K-seconds away. 
  
  You walk into the Ready room with your vac-suits on and your specialty gear in tow. You are each expected to report on your expectations for the mission and how you've prepared for the worst.
  
  <Alternately, if reporting isn't a muse stirring schtick, hotshot shit shooting in the seats can be amusing. As can missing the meeting altogether.>
conversations.prefix: Pre-flight inspection.:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: A set of interconnected and fine tuned grav belts. One on each upper arm, lower arm, upper leg, lower leg, waist, stylish neck choker and head band. It basically fine tunes the acceleration frame for each extremity based on a biofeedback from joint and muscle pain. Its designed to allow Jao to wring every ounce of actual exercise ze can out of her own movement while minimizing the pain with weight bearing assistance. The mechanical energetics are simple enough but the software is off brand and shoddy needing regular attention to work as well as ze would like.
conversations.prefix: Jao's Grav Harness.:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: To this day nothing beats a good ol'fashioned chem discharged projectile. Not in Mack's estimation anyway. At least not when you have gravity. 
  
  This little pistol actually belongs to the *New Cantos* armory but Mack can't remember the last time he checked the pistol out or even who is charge of the armory anymore.
  
  Anyway its a voice activated dual munition fire arm. It's default is gel stun rounds of which it packs five. With a verbal command Mack can switch to lead kill rounds of which the pistol carries three.
conversations.prefix: Mack's Auto Pistol:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Wurfle handed it to Jao upon his late arrival to the meeting in the ready room. In his typical enigmatic manner he handed it off as it was some sort of holy relic. Solemnly pronouncing it capable of relieving her pain right there in front of the away team.
  
  What does he know of pain!? 
  
  Of course as Chief Medical officer on the Cantos he has access to Jao's treatment schedules and is just demonstrating his plan for the unfortunate contingency of Jao being struck with a kidney stone while responding to the distress signal.  
  
  The pious delivery was just too much though. 
conversations.prefix: “ANT-7-29-four”:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: It’s obvious the parts had been assembled to try and patch up the scrambler's out of date control surfaces and heat sink arrays.
  
  Wasn’t there some scuttlebutt about Uller being denied upgrades. Maybe this was Bexsa’s way of addressing the need. While not cleared to purchase new parts or dedicate hours to the job, these parts look refurbished, probably by Bexsa and no one will expect a K-sec by K-sec time sheet on what Kyu-won does once the boat is away. These repairs can be done mid-flight, as long as Uller didn’t mind Kyu-won’s face a few inches from his feet the whole time.
  
conversations.prefix: conspicuous pile of Scrambler parts:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: "Watch how you soar"
  
  It's all about the orbital insertion. The vector maneuvering at high thrust is fun. No doubt about it.Those poor skinnies (a racial slur for those born in the low g environs of the Belt) in the back are in for the flight of their life as it is. If you don't get the initial insertion just right the maneuvers won't feed into one another correctly and the ride to follow gets bumpy. Dislocating ribs and bruising kidneys bumpy. 
conversations.prefix: Leaf on the wind..:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Security response is only as good as its gear.
  
  You've got time to go through the hurt locker in detail. When is the last time any of those acceleration rifles were broken down and cleaned? What sort of munitions are you packing? Who onboard doesn't know how to use an acceleration rifle? (Your fellow players may like an entertaining explanation of the tech as well) http://wiki.travellerrpg.com/Accelerator_Rifle
conversations.prefix: Hurt Locker.:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: The Nomad's communications array is a hardened mess of capabilities. Whoever designed the architecture wanted to make sure it could do it all and do so while an EMP grenade goes off on the engineering deck. The end result is a suite that can damn well perform any communications task, poorly. 
  
  You have a shift to work with. It won't be hard to optimize it for one form of communications or another while maintaining it's shielded integrity.
conversations.prefix: Comms Jocky-ing :
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: It's in a terribly inconvenient loction. I mean, who wants to be under the command console's bonnet while the XO and Wurfle fight over Uller's orders. It is where the you'll the most bang for your OT though. Bexsa is always looking out. Denying Uller his upgrades and yet carelessly leaving the hand refurbished parts where you'd find them. Leaving the expense account and the time sheets clean. No wonder the Captain thinks she is a miracle worker.
conversations.prefix: Upgrades Underfoot :
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Grammatical acrobatics aside. Loki's time is neigh in Bowman. The greatest sacrifice Würfle can offer must be made.  For the Aesir's favored people, the Svardken, will come howling through here drunk on the promised fat of a decadent empire. For all intents and purposes Ragnarök is come!  Heimdallr MUST blow his Gjallarhorn after the sacrifice has been made to sanctify it. Winsome has been told of his part. Now the heathen Jao must be convinced to make the horn ready.
conversations.prefix: Whose Counting Coup?:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Orbit & Rockfall! 
  
  "Why can't anything go smooth? Just Once I'd like for something to go smooth." ~anonymous tramp traders every where.
  
  K-seconds of high G maneuverings  followed by dire warnings from the mother ship and now a popped heatsink threatening to kill us all. Sounds like a day in the life of the *Cognate Nomad*'s crew
conversations.prefix: Landing on the Rock :
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Rockfall is a non trivial  feat. Two sets of triple axis spin to match & all at a ridiculous delta-v. Of course that is why you are here. Glory or death in pursuit.
  
  On way or another it'll be over soon. Question is, will it end in a gentle bounce or a smear of burning carbon across the rock face?
conversations.prefix: Stick the Landing :
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: This problem would have been so much easier to prevent then it is to fix. It's not even the fixing of the problem. Its more the "Oh, Gods, oh, Gods, we're all gonna die!" feeling and the four worlds of pressure on your shoulders too boot. Add to that a ticking clock and any sense of creative liberty just flies out the airlock.
  
  The wake up juice has your blood singing, the brutal acceleration has your spine bent and your joints aching. Tick.. tick... tick...
conversations.prefix: Blown Heatsink :
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Comms and sensors, Sensors and comms.  So much to do and the pressure is killing you. Literally, you can barely take a breath through the pain, the Gs and the creeping chem overload being forced upon you by the jerks running your crash couch.
  
  Can you work both solutions? Find the bogeys AND regain contact with the Cant? Which do you prioritize if not? Your resources are limited but your genius is not and you have some wicked tools at your disposal.
  
conversations.prefix: Contact!?:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: There is nothing quite like the feeling of absolute faith amidst harrowing circumstances. The body can't help but thrill but the spirit floats serene in the knowledge that all has been ordained and you are following the god's blessed path. 
conversations.prefix: ...for the Love of Destiny.:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: At one point this was a sturdy trading vessel. Some time ago it got the worst of a ship to ship confrontation. It was then stripped of anything of use and dumped on this nameless rock to serve as bait for hapless belter do-gooders.
  
  All that is contained in this shell of a ship is an adhoc, military grade beacon. Endlessly repeating the lure that brought our hero's to this ignoble fate.
conversations.prefix: The Derelict Beowulf:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: The Colonial Cruiser is just that a long-range patrol ship designed for force projection into the frontier space of the 3rd Imperium.
  
  The Apishal is commanded by Captian Rreturu, a vargr alpha. His XO, Adjudunct Croft, is a mature human woman of Solmani stock.
  
  They are convinced that the survivors of The Cant are somehow complicit in the ice scow's destruction. 
conversations.prefix: Aboard The Apishal :
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: The Cant has been destroyed and Jao is responsible. At least that is the confession Captain Rreturu is here to extract. He has a crude understanding of Jao’s secrets. He knows of her illicit information brokering and is convinced ze is responsible because of it.  He is not above using intimidation, torture, and the promise of his military grade medical facilities to aid in the extraction.
  
conversations.prefix: Rreturu’s Enhanced Interrogation:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: When presented with a group of prisoners suspected of withholding information it is often more efficacious to turn their suspicions on one another rather than performing countless interrogation sessions tailored to each individual.
  
conversations.prefix: "We are being fucked with aren't we?":
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: TL-13 is a designation in reference to the standardized level of manufacturing used to build a piece of technology. Specifically this means these battle dress survival kits are man portable, fusion powered, morphodynamic systems Capable of resisting indirect hits from most TL-13 armaments while serving as broad spectrum hostile environment suits including prolonged exposure to vacuum and interplanetary radiation. They also utilize sophisticated ElectroMagnetic and Gravatic mobility assists allowing a trained user to maneuver confidently with little regard to fluctuating gravities.
conversations.prefix: TL-13 naval issued Battle Dress:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: A crash landing of the *Cognate Nomad*, the destruction of the *New Cantos*, the derelict of *The Beowulf* and now the boarding of *The Apishal*...
  
  Prisoners now, the three surviving crew members of the *Cant* are being chain ganged about the contested innards of the Imperium Colonial Cruiser. There is a light at the end of the tunnel though. As valued material witnesses the marines are trying to lead them all to an Armored Personnel carrier and escape.
conversations.prefix: Down with the ships.:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Shipboard QCB often turns less experienced combatants into so much meat for the hungry machine. More so when the hostiles hold the place everyone needs to be. The hanger is held by an unknown number of combatants. The APC is surprisingly close but getting there will put the hopeful in an extremely vulnerable position. Not making the relative safety of the APC may be worse yet though. You don't want to be aboard the Apishal when the rest of the hostiles take the ship's  bridge.
conversations.prefix: The Shooting Gallery  :
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: As the security detail rushes their prisoners from mechanical compartment maintenance corridor resistance is encountered. Curiously though it is only token resistance, as the boarders seem to be just as intent on getting elsewhere rather than fighting for any length of time. Questions burn in your mind. "What has just kicked this anthill and sent all it's combatants scurrying from their fight?" and "How do I get out of this alive" not least among them. 
conversations.prefix: Suddenly things became rather urgent...:
conversations.from: human
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: When you get in the zone, nothing can distract or rattle you.
conversations.prefix: Focus:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: The mind is powerful but the flesh is weak.
conversations.prefix: Frail:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: There are promising new treatments, if you could just get the money to pay for them.
conversations.prefix: Get Well:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Within your profession, you have an almost supernatural skill level.  There are few, (if any) things you don't know about medical practice, the technology, and keeping it all working.  Your peers may not like you, your methods, or your attitude but no one will deny that you are the best at what you do.
conversations.prefix: Savant:
conversations.from: human
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: *When you look at human beings, they're capable of very decent things: love, loyalty. When time is running out, they don't care about possessions or status. They want to put things right if they've done wrong.* - Kazuo Ishiguro
  
  You've made mistakes, but deep down, you are devoted and dedicated to the people around you.
conversations.prefix: Stalwart:
conversations.from: human
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: *The most violent element in society is ignorance.*- Emma Goldman
  
  Where you're from, there's one kind of person. You've never really gone out of your way to discover anything beyond your own experience and when you come across it, you often have no idea how to handle it. 
conversations.prefix: Ignorant:
conversations.from: human
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: There are things in the past that haunt you, even if you wouldn't ever admit it. *Something* in your life needs to have meaning... even if it's death. There has to be a way to leave behind a reputation, a moment of greatness, a purpose... You seek that, as a final way to redeem the tatters of your life and prove to Odin where you belong.
conversations.prefix: Meaningful End:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Sure, the best thing is to have the best parts and know how to use them, but who can afford that? Your systems might not look nice, but the run as well as any other, and for half the price. And what if they need a little more hands on care, that's just more time you get to tinker with your work. 
conversations.prefix: Ingenious:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Outside your work, you care about very little. You keep up the contacts you need to do your work, but people are a means to an end for you, just more parts of the ship. 
conversations.prefix: Selfish:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: You don't have one dream project, more like a dozen, interconnected projects, all that you need are the parts to get started. 
  
  If you keep your eyes out on missions, you might just spot something worth taking home. 
conversations.prefix: Parts for something worth building:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Years of piloting would do wonders for anyone's reflexes. But *yours* are unusual even for the industry. 
  
  Time appears to travel about 25% slower for you. Or you're just 25% faster than time. Or maybe it's all an exaggeration by those who talk behind your back. 
  
  But what is true is that whether it's hurtling asteroids or incoming fists, nobody reacts faster than you.
conversations.prefix: Sharp Reflexes:
conversations.from: human
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: The "survival of the fittest" mentality is strong with you. You won't go out of your way for people. You won't attempt to help them if trouble lurks on their doorstep. If they die, then obviously they were *weak*.
  
  You aren't exactly cruel, since your self-centered nature manifests more in apathy than in antagonism. Nonetheless, you only act in someone's favor when your own agenda requires it.
conversations.prefix: Self-Centered:
conversations.from: human
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: You live and breathe danger. That's why you're a pilot in the first place. But you've been doing this so long, the average challenges of piloting no longer get your blood pumping. 
  
  You want something *new*. Something *different*. Something to get your heart racing one more time.
conversations.prefix: A Challenge:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: The magnitude of your passion for the gods and their service is matched only by its intensity.  You live, eat, sleep and even breathe your religion.  Sometimes this causes you to be wildly inappropriate; injecting your belief into situations in which it is not helpful, even harmful at times.  
conversations.prefix: Zealot:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: The day to day will sort its self out. Some times the crew needs reminded of who is the right person to blame. For the most part Though they know their jobs and they don't need command poking it's collective nose where it don't belong.
conversations.prefix: Dodge and Delegate :
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: You know your own mind and don't feel the need to justify your decisions to anyone else.
conversations.prefix: Headstrong:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: You're surprisingly good at saying what you need to, in order to get where you want to be. Unfortunately, being convincing tends to leave people with a *slight* feeling of betrayal when it ends. 
conversations.prefix: Heartbreaker:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Feeling like shit all the time tends to leave you with a short fuse and a very low bullshit threshold.
conversations.prefix: Ill-Tempered:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: You don't survive the black for this long without picking up on *things*.
  
  Things like the mood of the room, the feeling of the ship's engines, the push and pull of the various forces around the ship - physical and political/interpersonal.
  
  After this long in space, on this boat, it's hard to get something past you.
conversations.prefix: Been around the block:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: There are many benefits gained from being raised in the low-G environs of Belter life. Latent capabilities from our specie's time spent in the three dimensional environments of an arboreal past make the low to no G context of Belter ships and habs a blissful way to live. Unfortunately there is no real replacement to living at the bottom of a gravity well for toughening up a human's soft tissues. In high Gs Belter joints ache to bursting, membranes split and organs go into traumatic shock well before a worlder's would. Much of this can be mitigated with drugs but it is no replacement to being born to dirt and sky.
conversations.prefix: Belter-Born :
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: The former virus known as Lass is knows how to make herself useful, given the proper direction.
conversations.prefix: Code Critter:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: The Imperial Marines are the armed fighting forces carried aboard starships. Marines deal with piracy and boarding actions in space, defend the starports and bases belonging to the navy, and supplement other ground forces such as the army.
  
  By reputation, the Imperial Marines are sent in when something or someone presents a serious threat to the well-being of the Imperium and its member worlds. They are never used lightly, and once committed, they never leave a job half-done.
  
  Your problems have always been best addressed by action and violence.
conversations.prefix: Imperium Marine :
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Grit in psychology is a positive, non-cognitive trait based on an individual's passion for a particular long-term goal or end state, coupled with a powerful motivation to achieve their respective objective.
conversations.prefix: Grit :
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Objectives rate over personal safety... Sacrifice the body for achieved goals... Modern battle dress first aid capabilities when combined with the near miraculous, after extraction autodocs of the third Imperium make concern for the flesh secondary to just about all else. This can lead to a counter productive 'Do or Die' attitude amongst the Gyrenes.
conversations.prefix: Shock-Troop Trained :
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: "With Courage" 
  
  “Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete? Proving nature's laws wrong, it learned to walk without having feet. Funny, it seems to by keeping it's dreams; it learned to breathe fresh air. Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else even cared.” 
  ― Ancient earth poet, The Rose That Grew from Concrete
  
  
conversations.prefix: Fortitūdine:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: LSgt Lopez has been given root access to Apishal's  hanger support systems. Among other things he can open and close doors, and adjust evironmentals like gravitics and lights.
conversations.prefix: Superuser Access over the Hanger's Environmentals:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: “At least I have Chiken” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-N6sqdrJzVo
  
conversations.prefix: Leroy Jenkin’s: