Or, The Diverse Experiences and Tribulations of a Group of Motley
Adventurers on the Planet Known as Chiron, During Which They
Encountered Many Strange Beings and Many Equally Curious
People. And Then Shot Them.
The world is quite simple.
Some people are Talents. They have educations, they have connections, they have money. They have all the little things that make life easier, and quite a few of the bigger things as well. Be a Talent, and you’re good – As long as you can stay that way.
Others are Drones. Of those, there are many, especially in the new hab complexes; those large pyramidic gargantuans full of starving, sleepless hordes who have never seen the light of day. Drones have nothing, or close thereto. They wake up, go to work, and if they’re lucky, they manage to go home again afterwards, eat whatever scraps they can find, and get a few hours of rest, all while they’re bottle-fed with propaganda, mass media, and whatever else it takes to keep them sedated. Staying a Drone is not hard.
And then, of course, there are the citizens. Because of course the world isn’t simple, of course it is complex, and of course human nature never changes. Humans crave variety and change, and humans get what they crave. From the mid-level clerk to the power-cell vendor to the industrial programmer – even to the terraformer crew, spending their only week in town all year wasting their money in the bars – there are people who are undefinable. They’re not valuable assets, nor are they trod-down slaves. They’re simply people, out to make their way in the world, whatever it takes. And sometimes, it takes a lot.
You, too, have had your ups and down, here in New Tangier, the metropolis still known to a few locals as Duck’s Gully. Like the city itself, you have a history of doing things, whether fixing trouble or just getting into it. Along the way, trouble has brought you into the company of others, and as you all realized that it didn’t seem to be getting rid of itself, you decided to make a living out of it. There’s money to be had, after all, in taking care of others’ problems, and oftentimes, one might find one’s personal ideology – if one has one such, beyond that of hard cash and fresh vegetables – best served in the thick of things.
This time, you’ve been contacted by the trouble, in the form of a known broker. She’s an agent of the Golden Links agency, a low-level subsidiary of the MorganCorp Conglomeration known primarily for providing skilled personnel for tenser, low-profile jobs – Clean-up teams for wrecked worm containment facilities, retrieval of stolen goods, and other miscellaneous tasks that are questionably legal and unquestionably distasteful. She has been stingy with information, but from what you gather, she’s got an employer willing to pay well for an out-of-base job, no legal problems, payment guaranteed, “some risk involved”, and you apparently fit the sought profile. She has asked to set up a meeting, to discuss the terms, and noted that you might wish to prepare. Apparently, time is an issue, and the sooner this gets done, the better you get paid.