Session 2: Arrival at Catalan

After watching the chilling footage of the dead chaperon's last moments, the party finally knew what fate had befallen the children.  They were being taken to the Catalan Markets to be sold into slavery.  It hadn't been an inside job at all, just bad luck that they had been nabbed by desperate raiders and worse luck that they hadn't recognized them as a possible ransom.

During extended FTL trips, exterior views will often be secured to counteract
the psychological stress that extended exposure to the incomprehensible
warping of space-time.

On a least-time course, Catalan was just over 110 light-years from their current position.  Considering that the attack had taken place less than two days ago, it was remotely possible that they might be able to get to Catalan before any sale could be made.  Assuming that the pirate ship was only capable of average speed and the party pushed their vessel into the red line for the entire four-day trip they might still be able to recover the children and complete their mission.

The crew spent a tense few days listening as the hull shuddered and groaned under the strain of the sustained high-speed run, but in the end the old ship didn't fail them and they re-entered the rational universe less than 100,000km from the ancient alien space station called Catalan.

Scan enhancement March 16th 3109,
Orion patrols detect a new Hecatan
destroyer class on shakedown cruise.

After a brief radio call to station control, and a small bribe, they were directed to land at a small out of the way landing pad on the surface of the asteroid, no doubt a calculated insult to the predominately human crew of the Wayward Bastard.  On the approach, Col. Strong noticed an unusual sight; a brand-new Hecatan Taranto-class destroyer.  It was done up in muted colors and bore independent markings, but that made no sense.  The Taranto’s were one of the Hecate’s most modern fleet destroyers, so to find one in the hands of mercenaries would be highly unusual. 

The Wayward Bastard touched down and Captain Saul immediately began making arrangements for some minor but necessary repairs while the party prepared themselves to venture out into the station in search of their quarry.  They would have to be very careful, Catalan was outside old Federation space and humans were less than welcome this far out.

They knew that they only had a limited amount of time before the children were sold and most likely lost forever.  Their only lead was the insignia they had identified aboard the drifting transport. Debarking from their ship they entered into a small transit lounge, little more than a bank of species-neutral chairs and an unmanned security scanner.  Carrying weapons on Catalan was not prohibited, indeed it was almost mandatory, but the powers-that-be did frown on carrying explosives or heavy weapons, simply out of a desire to foster good business.

Despite its remote location, Catalan has long held a fascination with
humanity, this watercolor entitled "Land of the Free" depicts a typical
day at one of the many interior concourses.

Using the small lift in the lounge, the party descended into the nearest concourse of the station, the reeking bustle of Catalan in all its glory was a stark contrast to the somewhat sterile calmness of the point of entry.  The first thing the group decided to do was to make contact with a local and see if they could dig up any information about the whereabouts of the pirate crew, along with details about how the markets worked.  Moving down the massive corridor they noticed that there were very few humans about, and most of those that were seemed to be wearing some kind of tracking collar.

The original purpose of Catalan station was lost to the mists of time, but it had been a waypoint and safe haven for criminals and smugglers when mankind was still riding animals into battle.  The station itself was constantly evolving and changing. Each year new surface installations were being built and others torn down.  Underneath the rocky exterior there were dozens of rings running the entire circumference of the station, each consisting of a single massive thoroughfare with side corridors and compartments spreading out haphazardly.  Occasionally these concourses were interrupted by vast interior chambers, filled with huge buildings hundreds of meters tall, arranged in blocks much like a terrestrial city.  All told the permanent population of Catalan was likely in excess of a million sapients, with several million more transients at any given time.  Through the very center of cylinder-shaped asteroid ran a huge tunnel, almost a kilometer in width that had been given over to a shipyard and space dock for the cartel's larger ships and those regular visitors who showed the most favor, the smaller and less welcome independents relegated to the exterior pads like the one the Bastard occupied.

As the group walked down the concourse, Mr. Forrester spotted a likely source of information; a short, thin human wearing simple clothing, standing in front of a small stand filled with various electronic devices normally used either to spy on people or keep from being spied on. 

As Forrester walked up to engage the street vendor, the Cyborg infiltrator moved casually up to Col. Strong and spoke; "We're being followed."

"What? Who?"

"Back there, they've been tailing us since just after we came in." The Cyborg infiltrator said, nodding inconspicuously back at two humans in non-descript ships dungarees.

Just then, the two seemed to notice the attention and disappeared back into the crowd.

"Follow them; see what they're up to."

"Got it Colonel."

The infiltrator rushed off into the throng, his trained eye easily picking up his quarry while blending seamlessly into the crush of beings.

"Oi!  What the 'ell you lookin' at, huh mate?"

All eyes turned to the source of the outburst.  In the center of the concourse stood Hetzer, staring daggers at a table in a nearby drinking hole filled with aliens, aliens wearing the colors of one of the local cartels. 

"Ui Subage gor riknos" one of the Svesh grumbled back.  Standing up to his full massive height, the grey-skinned alien gangster reared back and flung his half-empty can of beer at the Sgt.  It struck him full in the chest and bounced off, spraying him with reeking alien beer.  The Svesh's three companions stood up when they saw the loud human's companions close ranks with him. 



The victim of a vicious, racially motivated hate crime.

Hetzer stepped forward calmly within a pace of the beer-thrower, glowering up at the snarling alien that towered above him. 

"What the corrin' 'ell djou do that foe'?  He spat, and in one sinuous movement triggered the heavy cosh from its concealed sleeve holster and smashed it into the Svesh's ridged cranium.  Unprepared for such a blatant assault, the alien's eyes rolled back into its head and it dropped to the ground, out cold.

Meanwhile the other two Svesh made to rush Hetzer but Colonel Strong, having anticipated this, reached out and deftly plucked the first one of his feet and performed a textbook hip toss, flipping the large alien over his shoulder and throwing him right into his companion, knocking them both out in the process. 

The last gang member, a scrawny Risanthan, saw this, decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and turned to run.  The Alien Scout saw this and his natural bloodthirsty nature came out, he pulled his pistol and fired several shots at the retreating back of the fleeing Risanthan.

Meanwhile, Tobey deftly tracked the two suspicious humans through the throng of people towards an air cab pad.  He picked up his pace as he saw them board a taxi and take off.  He rushed forward and slipped into the next cab in line, throwing a handful of platinum chips into the front.

“Follow that cab,” he said, having always wanted to say that.

The taxi station lay along the side of the concourse directly at the edge of a massive interior cavern that the signs called the Shubosh District.  The floor of the district was near to the main docks and it appeared to be a sort of warehouse district with some commercial establishments primarily geared towards separating a spacer from his money as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Fusion technology provides sufficient power to make air
travel economical even for very short distances.

Tobey eyed the traffic patterns as his cab closed up on the one carrying his targets. The driver, a middle-aged Nagano with a personal hygiene problem, had made no comment about the request and appeared to have some experience in tailing other cars.  Satisfied that they were not glaringly obvious to the other car, sat back and took in the sights.  The chamber that housed Shubosh was over a kilometer high and four or five across, that entire area was covered in squat ugly buildings in innumerable rows, interspersed with blaring neon holo-signs advertising any kind of vice imaginable, and some that were new to him.

“Bbbrool lap, tugata.”

It hadn’t occurred to Tobey that the driver might not speak Common but a tinny, computerized voice translated the Nagano’s statement.”

“They are landing, what now?”

“Take me to the nearest transfer station.”  Looking down, Tobey made a quick examination of the warehouse they were flying over, it was a non-descript three story affair, much like the hundred others around it.  Many of them had guards loitering around, most of them wearing the colors of one of the big Svesh cartels.  This one stood out in that it appeared to have mercs on the payroll.  Human mercs, and they had a walker out at the main entrance.  Obviously something was going on; he had to report back to the group.  He tagged the warehouse on his computer and waited for the cab to drop him off.

Within an hour, the party managed to regroup on a different concourse, away from the scene of their altercation with the locals.  Tobey reported the warehouse he had tailed the two suspicious humans to.  Forrester had also gotten a call from someone the street vendor had put him into contact with, a local information broker, the broker indicated that he could find out who the pirates were dealing with for a small fee, but it would take him several hours.  Forrester agreed and they made arrangements to meet at a small gambling den earlier the next day.

In the meantime, the party decided that they couldn’t leave the warehouse uninvestigated, Col. Strong didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this might have something to do with the Hecatan warship he had spotted on the way in.

Lacking a true civic government, there is little effort expended
on mundane utilities outside of the Cartel enclaves

Listening to the discussion, he made his decision, “alright then, we go in and check it out. We’ll land a few blocks away and head in on foot.”


Given the report Tobey had given about the warehouses security, the group decided to return to the ship and gear up.  They chartered a cargo hauler to drop them in an alley a few blocks from the warehouse and unpacked and suited up there.

They’d reviewed the location from computer maps and determined that there was very little foot traffic between there starting point and their target.  They made the short trip in tactical formation and as they approached, Tobey and Colonel Strong peeled off to provide overwatch from the roof of a nearby building. 

Hetzer, Doc Merrill, and Fang moved around to the corner of the building and took up position.  Fang peeked around to check the guards, two men in patched clamshell armor and an old Lucifer light walker.  Looking at their posture Fang judged that the guards were not terribly vigilant, and it appeared that the walker was kept inactive to save power.  He repeated his observations to the other two.

“Right, let’s jus' fuckin’ kill ‘em.”

Before anything else could be said, Hetzer was up and around the corner.  Having little choice, the other two got up and followed him.  Almost immediately, a shrill beeping pierced the relative quiet of the street.  Apparently the warehouse entrance had some sort of proximity sensor that was going off.

Catalan has no real law enforcement. Therefore it is common for
most places with anything of value to have at least a small guard.
Some minor players will pay the major cartels to provide someone
as a symbol that they are under their protection.

The two guards turned and saw the three characters and immediately dragged their weapons from their holsters.  They had barely done so when they were forced to dive for cover by a burst of automatic fire coming from above and across the street. 

Fang and Merrill dipped back around the corner and started popping off shots, but Hetzer merely increased his speed, he knew that if they didn’t neutralize the walker before it came online they’d be in a world of pain. 

Ducking as the guards opened fire, he rushed up and took cover at the feet of the walker, he fired a few rounds from his SMG just to keep their heads down.

“Cover me, I’m gonna do sumfin’ stupid.”  He shouted back to his companions.

Having taken all the precaution he was capable of, he stuffed his weapon into the waistband of his fatigues and began to clamber up the walker.  He reached the top just as the reactor finished spooling up.  He could hear the almost imperceptible whine of the plant and smell the first hints of hot exhaust.  With little time left, he pulled out his breach kit and set to cracking the access hatch.  After a tense few seconds the seal broke, but while he was trying to stow the little security comp and bring his SMG back out, the walker pilot slammed open the hatch and brought a heavy pistol to bear.

With no time to draw his gun, Hetzer fell back on his badger-like hatred, he grabbed the pilot’s coveralls with both hands and began smashing his thick skull into the man’s nose over and over again.  Once he felt that there was a sufficient amount of blood, he hauled the pilot’s still twitching body out of the cockpit and tossed it to the ground. Then, rubbing his hands with glee, he dropped down into the cockpit and strapped himself in.

While this was happening, Fang and Doc Merrill were trading fire with the two guards.  The mercs had been taken by surprise by the initial covering fire from Col. Strong and Tobey, but they had managed to pull into the warehouses recessed main entrance so they weren’t exposed.  The group knew that they had to move quickly, as surprise was their most powerful tool at this point, but the guards were well-trained and were forcing them to stay in cover.  All that changed when one of the mercs simply exploded in a spray of gore, the other one dropped to his knees in disbelief.  Looking back he saw the cause of his partner’s spectacular demise; the Lucifer’s anti-personnel cannon.  Still smoking, it smoothly tracked over to him but he made a break for it and managed to get out of the line of fire fast enough to get away.

Unable to see any other immediate threats, the Colonel hurried down to street level.  He figured that with all of the commotion outside anyone inside would be ready for them.  Even with a well-trained tac-team, going into a defended building like this would cause casualties.  They needed a way to get in the building that the defenders wouldn’t be expecting. Suddenly, he had an idea.

He grinned up at the walker, “Sgt Stein, make me a hole.”