You walk into a dingy bar on the outskirts of the Port Rumor spaceport. Your laser pistol is down to half-power and your micro-rifle, as usual, doesn’t work and is just for show. You order a bottle of Scrapper—the only local beer guaranteed not to infest you with fifteen different kinds of poisons. Trouble is, there’s only one cold bottle left. And the ten foot tall Grezmargian—well-armed and whose enviro-suit sports diplomatic immunity badges—ordered the same beer just after you did. The beer’s rightfully yours but…uh-oh. Beady glowing red eyes shift in your direction. Trouble. You:
Offer the Grezmargian Ambassador-Assassin the last cold bottle and take a warm one for yourself, even though you’ll probably get a stomach-ache later from drinking it. However, it gives you a chance to open up a conversation about possible trade contacts with His Deadliness.
Offer to buy the Ambassador-Assassin another drink of his choice but the cold Scapper, dude, is mine. Sorry. You flash a tense smile, adjust the strap on your micro-rifle and pray he can’t see the malfunction light flashing on the rifle’s eye-piece. The Grezmargian might be ten feet tall and lethal as hell, but you’re smaller, quicker, faster… and closer to the door. And that bulky enviro suit will slow him down a bit, won’t it?
Smile calmly at the bartender and lay the whole problem in his lap.
Pretend you didn’t hear His Deadliness claim that last cold bottle, grab it from the bartender, throw your credit chip on the bar and take a seat at a table across the room, facing the door and with your back to the wall. You drink the beer slowly, one hand on your laser pistol.
2. Due to a huge ion storm en route and an even larger hangover in your head, you’re late for an important pick-up at the freight depot in the Baris Quadrant. You:
Say to hell with specs and interstellar traffic regs, and shut down the required flow-rate dampers on your sublights and blast 10-over max through the space lanes to make up time. They’d have to catch you first to slap you with fines…
Contact a low-life friend you have at the depot, promise her some hefty creds if she’ll alter the pick-up schedules so that when you do arrive it’ll appear that you’re two hours early, not twelve hours late.
Send your shipping agent the details on the storm (but not on your late departure, courtesy of that hangover and that bar-fight in Port Rumor…) along with a report of the ‘damage’ (you make something up) sustained by your starfreighter, and ask her to inform the client that, even though you’ll be late for the pick-up, you’ll make up the time on the delivery run (somehow…).
Contact a friend in the business who’s closer to the depot, swap runs with him, even though he’ll be getting the more lucrative run. Better to do that than to lose the client’s business, altogether.
3. Something suspicious is happening in the ranks. You fear some of your officers and crew are planning a surprise birthday party in your honor—which is the last thing you want, right now, with the pressures of command and integration of fleet personnel plaguing you. You:
Take one of your key officers aside, tell them you suspect their plans, thank them for the honor (even though you really don’t mean that) and ask, no, order that the party not take place.
Schedule an all-hands emergency procedures drill for the time/date in question
Show up in the crew lounge at the date/time in question but find yourself called back to your office after five minutes (because you planned it so) due to an important incoming call from another fleet captain.
Show up in the crew lounge at the date/time in question with three anti-grav pallets of (really high quality) booze trailing behind you as your own contribution, and thanks.
4. Customs Inspectors suddenly show up at your airlock, demanding to inspect your ship’s manifests and cargo holds for contraband. You:
Shrug and invite them on board. You have nothing to hide.
Shrug and invite them on board. You have nothing to hide that these lamebrains are capable of finding.
Deny them entry while flashing your (stolen and/or forged) Intergalactic Diplomatic Immunity credentials (remember His Deadliness?)
You know better than to dock where customs inspectors can find you.
5. An emissary of a decidedly unfriendly intergalactic faction approaches you with a request to open peace negotiations, and cease hostilities between your people and hers. Your sources caution you to be careful—this particular species is known for its love of the double-cross. But other sources hint that this faction’s government is on the edge of economic and political collapse. It could be a great coup if you could pull this off—or a disaster if it’s a set-up. You:
Agree to meet the emissary but only on a sanctioned space station of your choosing, under heavy guard. You’re not going to take chances and you want to make sure this enemy faction knows how well prepared you are.
Agree to meet the emissary but withhold the exact location until both the emissary’s ship and yours are in the neutral zone. The emissary and her party must then board your ship and agree to be transported to your government’s governmental home port…or no deal
Delay answering until you can get more intelligence on the situation, which includes your infiltrating some of the enemy faction’s space stations.
Agree to meet with this emissary on a neutral station, but arrange it so that you not only have undercover agents in place but the emissary’s quarters are rigged with hidden transmitters, so that you’ll know what’s really going on.
You and Port Rumor’s favorite starfreighter captain, Trilby Elliot, think a lot alike. You may have been through the Intergalactic School of Hard Knocks but you still know how to have fun—and avoid trouble! You are now promoted to intergalactic starfreighter captain!
You and the cybernetic admiral, Branden Kel-Paten, meet life head-on with a no-nonsense attitude. You take command…and woe be it to the person who tries to take it away from you! You are now promoted to the rank of Fleet Admiral.
You and the reluctantly divine Raheiran sorceress, Captain Gillaine Davre, have a strong streak of dedication, a good dose of common sense… and an escape plan, always at the ready. You are now promoted to the ranks of the Raheiran Special Forces.
You and the charming, enigmatic Gabriel Ross “Sully” Sullivan are survivors…with panache! It’s not just that you thumb your nose at trouble; you’re really good at getting out of tight spots, spotlessly. You are now permitted entry to the inner sanctum of rogues, space pirates and intergalactic mercenaries!
You’re a bit like Captain Trilby Elliot, who keeps her slap-dash freighter in the space lanes with spit and a prayer. But you also have the perseverance required by the Raherian Special Forces. Hmmm. Sounds like you’re going to be a whole lot of fun… and more then a handful of trouble! Welcome on board, captain!
Ah, you have Sully’s deviousness and Trilby’s playfulness! A successful combination for an intergalactic smuggler if there ever was one. Here are the (forged) documents on your current ship, captain. And yes, the hidden star charts are exactly where you think they’ll be.
Wow, are you confused! You have the single-mindedness of Admiral Branden Kel-Paten and the devious, devil-may-care attitude of Gabriel Ross “Sully” Sullivan. Hmmm. I guess that means you not only know all the rules, but every way to break them, too! Definitely, you’re a force to be reckoned with.
You’re a definite mixture of human, alien, cyborg and divinity! You have the ability to dominate in the ready room, clank ale mugs with the locals in the sleaziest spaceport pub and handle a squadron of incoming Irks (or unfriendly Imperials) without breaking a sweat. A true spacer for all occasions!