
-------- TML Message #414 --------

Archive-Message-Number: 414
Subject: Re: MegaTraveller Errata 
Date: 28 Jun 89 13:53:27 PDT (Wed)
From: jamesp



[Are the TML MT Errata genuine GDW items?]

I believe so, it is from Delphi and was placed there by Group Digest,
which has been ceded ultimate rules control power by GDW, and submitted
to this list by Mike Rossow.  It comes in two sets, dated 4/1/88 and
10/1/88.  Ask me for packages MT1 and MT2 if you want copies of it.
Mac, I'd be happy if you sent me the ones you have, and I'll compare
them to the ones I have, and if they're different I'll post the new
ones to the list.

[MT Aliens Source Book #1 coming this fall from Digest Group]

They're also past due on releasing the World Builder's book and another
which are the successors to Grand Census and Grand Survey.  Also GDW has
a Robots book for MegaTraveller due in November (heard this all at my
gaming shop).

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James T. Perkins		    Traveller Mailing List Administrator
Tektronix Digital Systems Division	     "Load Auto/Evade, Beowulf!"
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-------- TML Message #415 --------

Archive-Message-Number: 415
From: (Steven J Owens) scratch@unix.cis.pittsburgh.edu
Date: Thu, 29 Jun 89 1:20:57 EDT
Subject: Cyberpunk in Traveller 2300 ??


Hello out there in that great electronic sea we call Usenet...

(Melodramatic, but it has a nice ring to it.)
 
I've heard from a few different sources that one of the Traveller 2300
books had some optional rules for Cyberpunk genre roleplaying.

(Just leaping right into it, aren't you?)

I've also heard that these rules, in general, suck.  Unfortunately,
that's ALL I've heard.  How about some input from somebody out there
who has a copy?

(Which means he's too cheap to go out and buy one for himself.)

I'm kind of curious to see how well Traveller and Cyberpunk would
mix.  I've always wanted to do something like this, since the issue
of the TASJ which had computer chip implants in the Ship's Locker.
I've also encouraged my present Cyberpunk GM to adopt a different
set of rules (Traveller, Twilight 2000, or possibly GURPS) for combat,
vehicles, etc., because the Cyberpunk rules are sadly lacking in that
area.  Hopefully he'll make a decision one of these days...
 
(Hopefully you'll stop bugging him one of these days.)
 
Till next time...

(Me too...)


Steven J. Owens  |  Scratch@PITTVMS  |  scratch@unix.cis.pittsburgh.edu

"Okay, Major Jonathan "Wrong-Is" Wright rubs his magic ring of Imperial
 Intervention and twenty stormtroopers wearing battledress and carrying
 gauss rifles pop out of the microwave oven..."
 
	- Sean T. Grape, in a truly bizarre traveller campaign...

The Traveller Mailing List is a courtesy of James Perkins and Tektronix, Inc.
All opinions and material above is the responsibility of the originator.
Send Submissions To: @RELAY.CS.NET:traveller@dadla.LA.TEK.COM,
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-------- TML Message #416 --------

Archive-Message-Number: 416
Date: Thu, 29 Jun 89 13:56 EST
From: METLAY@vms.cis.pittsburgh.edu
Subject: various and sundry items of more or less interest




I'd like to thank everyone for the rousing welcome I've received. I was rather 
hoping to sneak in the back door and just stand quietly for a while, but it 
seems that I'll have no such luck. (Ah, fame.  |-> )

To answer some questions:

1. I have nothing to add to the miniatures discussion; I don't use them, 
myself.

2. When I dash off fast letters on the VMS mail system, the text is written to 
memory one line at a time. If I notice a typo on a previous line, there's no
way to undo the error. For longer messages (like this one), I use a text 
editor like any other normal humanoid.

3. I will naturally inform the List if and when I get my grubby paws on the 
full Imperial Atlas; and yes, I do run the Shattered Imperium stuff for my 
campaign. (I, like just about everyone else, had an IRIS-like organization 
screwing up game balance in my campaign LONG before the CHALLENGE articles.
|-> )

4. On wholesale nuclear devastation: doesn't anyone remember what happened to 
Ganulph?

5. To those of you who saw the Near Miss story on rec.games.frp, hold your 
noses... I'm going to rerun it for the benefit of those who hadn't seen it 
before. It's a trial draft for a book I hope to submit to Digest Group later 
this year. I'm open to suggestions on it; this is a more recent draft than the 
one that ran in the newsgroup, and it'll be revised several more times before
the Digest Group editorial staff sees it.

And now a question to the Group in general: how popular are the alien races 
for PCs in your campaigns, and which ones do people prefer? I'm partial to 
Vargr, myself, and every now and then I get the feeling that I'm the only one 
in the Orion Arm who runs them as anything other than greedy little cowards.
I have a friend who loves Hivers; he took naturally to the idea of 
manipulation. (Heeyucko.) And is anyone running Aslan for anything other than 
swift and merciless death?

hoping to hear from y'all soon....

metlay 		     METLAY@PITTVMS.BITNET or metlay@vms.cis.pittsburgh.edu
				Xpander Users' Group: Email me for details.
Metlay say: "Guebj njnl lbhe qvtvgny flaguf. Ohl Kcnaqref. Qba'g jbefuvc Xngr
	     Ohfu, be nalbar jub ybbxf yvxr ure. GEHFG ZRGYNL!"


The Traveller Mailing List is a courtesy of James Perkins and Tektronix, Inc.
All opinions and material above is the responsibility of the originator.
Send Submissions To: @RELAY.CS.NET:traveller@dadla.LA.TEK.COM,
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List Administrator: traveller-request@dadla.la.tek.com

-------- TML Message #417 --------

Archive-Message-Number: 417
Date: Thu, 29 Jun 89 13:58 EST
From: METLAY@vms.cis.pittsburgh.edu
Subject: Traveller fiction piece: "Meet Near Miss"


(this is the latest draft of the intro piece for the "Near Miss" series of 
 adventures that ran at GenCons from 1984 to 1989. Hope you all like it.)


		MEET NEAR MISS: An introduction of sorts


	From MUSICA GALACTICA, the 104-1113 "Troubadors of Space" issue:

	"[...] Few of the touring music/vid/drama troupes, however, carry
quite the same impact as Near Miss, a band which until recently confined its
touring to the sectors Behind the Claw, but who recently crossed the Corridor
into the Imperium proper in an attempt to reach a wider audience. Near Miss
stands apart from groups like Albino Dream, Corpseshriek, Veedback, and
Orgasmic Plateau in so many ways, it is almost not worthwhile to mention them 
in the same article as the others; but that, being an inexcusable insult in 
the face of their talents, is not permissible either, so we must apologize to 
the Shriekers and Veedheads and step into a cleaner, more polished spotlight 
for a while.
	"Most of the troubador bands have a small, tight lineup, with Albino
Dream's six members considered quite a large number. They stick exclusively 
to a set musical style, and vary from it only slowly and with great care so as 
not to chance losing their vast and potentially fickle audiences. And, due to 
the uniquely human love of such art forms, they tend to be all human in makeup 
and to attract a predominantly human audience. Near Miss violates every one of 
these hard and fast rules in its tenure as a frighteningly eclectic eight-piece 
ensemble of humans and nonhumans alike. Nobody can tell precisely what they'll 
play next, and in their home territory they are as much beloved of Vargr and 
Aslan audiences as they are of human crowds. There are few, if any, automated 
sequences in their music, and they pride themselves on the total spontaneity 
of live performance, succeeding or failing on their own merits from night to 
night and leaving nothing to the cold clutches of the mechanized musician. The 
playlist for a Near Miss concert can range from Vargr moonhowls to Aslan fury
marches to Solomani rock and roll to Vilani shidagga, and all are played with 
an irreverent enthusiasm that's as infectious as it is disarming. While 
they've not yet begun to attract the huge crowds that flock to Veedback shows, 
they nevertheless have a loyal following on many worlds, ranging in age from 
nine to ninety and in musical taste from ancient classical to modern
slashnoise. And perhaps most bizarre of all is their lifestyle: rather than
the usual one-night-to-a-groupie flings, they live sedately in an almost
familial closeness, and each of them is happily married...to another band
member(!). 
	"Clearly, this band stands out as unusual in the troubador genre; 
their music polished, their personal lives quiet, their style truly unique."

*****

>From the private archives of the above article's writer: also dated 104-1113

	"I was lucky enough to secure an interview with the band just after a 
successful series of concerts on Guranthu, while they awaited fueling for 
their tour ship, the Peggisu. They were oddly reticent about some questions, 
effusive about others, and generally seemed willing only to add to the sense 
of mystery that surrounds them. While their real names are a matter of record, 
they prefer their stage nicknames when dealing with the press, so that's what 
I agreed to use here. 
	"Captain Crisis, or CC as he likes to be called, is the band's leader 
and front man, playing keyboards in the old Solomani style and lending the 
band its best-known voice. His wife, known as Windy, plays various wind 
instruments as well as the Terran sixwire ghitar. Although she'd normally be
considered quite old for a rock goddess, she carries herself like a teenager,
acting younger in some ways than Torch, the young vidtech whose light shows
and vids form an integral part of the show. Torch is actually the youngest
member of the band, barely half the age of her husband Docshock, who handles
the live sound for the group's concerts as well as producing their albums. The
other four members of the band are the nonhumans: two Aslan and two Vargr,
both pairs about as uncharacteristic of their races as one could imagine. Hug,
the huge furydrummer, resembles a stuffed tiger toy more than a fierce Aslan
warrior in his demeanor, and his lady Fuse seems to grant him a good deal more
free rein than most Aslan wives. As for the Vargr, well, Tinker and Motormutt
appear to be fighting to some degree or another virtually all the time,
creating a tension that they carry on stage in their fierce duels on badaan
and suerzkfuerrghz. The flareups added to the high sense of nervousness in the
band's demeanor at what would normally be a routine interview.... 

MUSICA GALACTICA: "Thanks very much for granting this interview."

[Various polite noises of assent; Motormutt yawns widely and is cuffed on
the ear by Tinker, who begins to snarl at him in some Vargr dialect, perhaps
Arrghoun or Gvegh. The argument carries on in the background of the first few
minutes of the interview.]

CC: "Don't mind them. Tinker's angry 'cause Motormutt stepped on her solo 
tonight. She's real touchy about that; badaan players don't solo often."

MG: "It seems that you make it a point to give everyone plenty of room...."

CC: "You have to, with this bunch. Have you ever awakened with somebody's 
wounded artistic sensibilities sticking out from between your shoulder bl-- 
OW!" [There is a pause. CC glares at Windy, who glares back.] Sorry. My bad 
knee's acting up. As I was saying, this bunch is too damned dangerous for me 
to stiff out of a solo--OW! DAMN IT!" [Windy's glare is now hot enough to melt 
a jump coil. CC looks at her and continues, a bit more subdued.] Sorry. What I 
mean is..." [he looks at Windy, who now appears to be ignoring him]"...is 
that we have to travel and work together day in and day out, and rarely get a 
vacation from each other's company, so it's important to give anyone plenty of 
room so they don't feel stifled." [a menacing look at Windy] "Wouldn't you 
agree, sweetheart?"

WINDY [sweetly]: "My sentiments exactly, love."

MG: "Are there ever battle lines drawn among the band members? I mean, there 
are an awful lot of ways you all could be polarized over an issue: by race, by 
age, even by sex."

MOTORMUTT: "Nobody fights about sex, young lady. Not in this crowd." [I wince
involuntarily, expecting another blowup from Tinker, but she seems quite
content to gently lick the outside of her mate's ear.] "I've been living among
shavetails long enough to know a pretty one from an ugly one, and our two are
among the prettiest..." [Torch giggles at this, and Windy blows Motormutt a
kiss]"...but shavetail women aren't for me. This one [He flicks an ear at
Tinker] is my only travelling companion and I'm hers, and every gig takes us
further and further away from any choice in the matter. We fight about anything
and everything, including her stupid badaan sol--kyai!" [Tinker has fastened
her teeth into his ear. He winces but continues gamely.] "...stupid badaan
solos, but never about sex...ki...yi..." [I leave him to extricate his ear from
his mate's teeth.] 

MG: "That isn't precisely what I meant...."

WINDY: "Oh, he knows, kid, he's just being difficult. As a matter of fact, we 
tend to polarize along sex lines a lot, but that has more to do with the 
band's lineup than anything else."

MG: "Ah! Because the women always have front stage?"

WINDY: "Mm-hm. It's good staging practice to have all of the melody
instruments out front, and in this band that means the stuff the ladies play. 
Since CC usually only does background stuff, he stays back in the rhythm 
section with Hug and 'Mutt, and we have to be careful not to hog the 
limelight...they're working harder than we are, and don't get any credit."

TINKER: "It's good for them. Keeps them in their place. Behind us, that is."
[Motormutt was able to retrieve his ear at last when she opened her mouth to 
speak; he now keeps his ears folded flat against further attacks.]

MG: "Tinker, why the badaan? That's a human instrument, isn't it?"

TINKER: "Yes, it's of pre-Rule of Man Suerrat extraction. It's normally used
as a drone instrument for string ensembles, but Vargr have always loved its
sound, even alone. It's all the low frequency stuff..." [her ears twitch] "It
seems to work directly on the brain. And when you amplify it, it's just
unbelievable. I originally started out on what the Solomani call a base
ghitar, because it was easier to amplify, but the badaan's range is so much
lower that there just wasn't any comparison." 

MG: "But don't Suerrat classicists consider an amplified badaan, well...?"

TINKER [with a half-barked laugh]: "Heretical? Kfaekh, yes! I've been nearly
lynched a couple of times by mobs after my pelt. They don't scare me, though;
after all I've been through--" [She is interrupted by Motormutt; a loud bark 
in Gvegh(?). She stares at him, then seems to relax, and finishes sheepishly]
"--what with touring for frontier audiences and all, I don't mind a few high-
port critics slinging skymelons at me."

MG: "Hug, you've been awfully quiet all this time. Don't you have anything to 
add?"

HUG: [His brow wrinkles in a very human attitude of deep thought; he tweaks a 
whisker, delicately sticks a finger into an ear to clean it, strokes his chin, 
and answers very quietly:] "Nope."

FUSE: [her voice is startling to the uninitiated, a perfect command of 
Galanglic mixed with a throaty purr] "Leave him be. He and I enjoy our places 
in the band, and the work we do with our friends. We have no interest in 
trying to formulate stimulating answers to your questions."

MG: "Not even how you manage to play a ghitar with your hands shaped like 
that?"

FUSE: "I play barre chords a lot. Now if you don't mind...."

MG: "Where does the nickname Fuse come from?"

[Fuse's ears flatten back against her skull and her eyes narrow to slits]

FUSE: "I have a short temper!"

MG: "Oh. [pause] Um, Torch! Torch, do you ever feel slighted at the lack of 
attention given you as a non-musician member of the band?"

TORCH: [brightly] "Oh, no! Everyone's just so nice to one another, no ego 
problems or star complexes, I never feel bad about being a vidtech. If I did, 
they'd be doing it in the dark a lot more often." [There is a roar of laughter 
from the humans and Vargr, and even Hug and Fuse hiss slightly. Torch turns 
red to the ears and sits a bit closer to Docshock. He speaks, his voice almost
sepulchural in quality.] 

DOCSHOCK: "What she means is that it's hard to be unhappy with your lot when 
you're in control of the entire show. She and I are the puppet masters, pulling 
the strings. No sound, no light, no concert." [a wintry smile] "Besides, we
do get on stage every now and again. About the only one who doesn't is George."

MG: "George? Who's George?"

CC: "He's our head of security and chief bouncer. He keeps us safe from the 
rowdies." [he raises his voice] "Hey, George!"

[The door slides open. I look up, and see no one. Then, looking down at the 
sound of tiny footsteps, I see a Droyne Sport walking in from the bedrooms;
he has a backstage pass around his neck and a belt with a com unit.]

CC: "George, say hello to the nice reporter."

GEORGE: [in a reedy squeak] "Hello to the nice reporter." [We shake hands.]

MG: "George, what do you really do?"

GEORGE: [proudly] "Head of Security Ops. What humans call a 'bouncer'."

MG: "You're kidding! You're the one in charge of protecting...him?" [I point 
at Hug, who grabs my hand and half pulls my arm out of its socket.]

HUG: [dangerously quietly] "George is my friend."

GEORGE: "Let her go, Hug. She's no different than anyone else who sees me for 
the first time. Yes, miss, I am. And I'm good at my job. Have you ever heard of
the band being attacked or harassed in the past three years?"

MG: "Well, no..."

GEORGE: [smugly] "Well, there's my record. I'm krinaytsyuni; nobody can
threaten a Droyne who's already dead." 

MG: "...Dead?"

TORCH: [quickly] "He means, ritually dead. He was suicidal before we convinced 
him to join us. He'd lost his tyafelm, his family group, and was all alone; we 
took him in, and now we're his kroyloss, his fraternity, sorta."

CC: "I wouldn't trade him in for a dozen Imperial Marines in full armor."
[George's tiny chest swells with pride at that.] "He's the best--" [He is 
interrupted by a beep from George's com unit. George tunes in the unit, 
chitters a few words in Oynprith, listens intently, then speaks to CC]

GEORGE: "Sir, Baskerville reports a theft at the theatre. Someone's made off 
with the gate for the concerts!"

[The reaction from the others is startling. Each and every band member is out 
of his or her chair in an instant, heading for the door to the motel suite 
bedrooms. For a brief moment I am reminded of the cool precision of a crack 
military unit. Then, almost at once, they remember me, stumble to a halt at
the doorway, and turn back to look at me. There is a long pause, then---]

CC: "Excuse us. We have to, um, call the police."

TINKER: "And our lawyers."

DOCSHOCK: "The insurance company...."

MOTORMUTT: "Theatre security--just to see what's going on, y'know--"

WINDY: "And our sponsors. Excuse us." [They file out through the door, closing 
it behind them]

	"My experiences from the rest of the evening were quite strange. Not 
having been dismissed, I elected to wait a while and see if they came back. 
After a few minutes of muffled activity from beyond the door, there was 
silence. I waited a few more minutes, then heard movement again beyond the 
door. I knocked, and was greeted by a small utility robot, who told me that 
cleanup of the motel suite was underway, and would I please leave now? I 
glanced beyond the robot; the suites were in a shambles of scattered linens 
and towels, and there was no sign of Near Miss. Or their luggage, for that
matter. Fuming at being abandoned without even a goodbye, I allowed myself to 
be escorted to the door by the cleanup robot. It wasn't until I got to the
elevator that I realized that there was only one exit from the room! I went
back and knocked, first quietly, then loudly. There was no answer. I pounded
the door and called; still nothing. Finally, I went down to the lobby; the
desk clerk informed me tersely that the band had checked out, and returned to
watching the special bulletin playing on the newsvid. My gaze wandered to the
vid, and was caught there. It was a news report of a bloody gunbattle in the
city center between a gang of thieves who'd robbed the theatre not half an
hour before, and an unknown group of mercenaries bent on getting the money
back. Their identity was a mystery; they attacked the barricaded thieves in a
frontal assault via air/raft, and 


	There was the click of a gun's hammer being cocked. I lifted my hands
from the keyboard, slowly turning in my chair. There was the revolver,
pointing straight at my face. And on the other end was Tinker, dressed in a
black coverall with a number of patched bullet holes. After what I'd seen on
the news vid, I wasn't surprised. Not one bit. 
	"We've seen enough, shavetail," Tinker said quietly. "Get out of the 
chair." As I did so, the door to the living room opened, and Fuse's
head peeked in through the crack. "Living room all clear," she whispered.
	"Bedroom's empty too," came another quiet voice. I turned my head 
to look; it was Torch, holding the biggest pistol I'd ever seen in my 
life in one hand... and a pair of men's briefs in the other. Oh God, I thought
sickly. Torch walked up to me and waved the briefs under my nose. "Where is
he?" 
	"He--he's not here tonight, I swear! He just left his dirty laundry,
he stays over once or twice a week, please don't hurt him, please...." My
voice shook, and my knees wobbled; Torch pushed me back into my chair. I
closed my eyes to hold back the tears, and felt rather than saw the weapon's
huge muzzle against my forehead. Torch's voice somehow wasn't cute any more.
	"I said, where is he?"
	"Not here." It was Windy's voice, cool and authoritative. "Open your 
eyes, kid; we're not going to kill you. Not yet. Maybe not at all." The cold
pressure left my forehead. I opened my eyes. Windy was there with Torch, 
Tinker and Fuse; the whole sexy lineup, a ghastly parody in black. There was a 
gun in Windy's hand, a front-loading 9mm Scout survival pistol with a scope 
and shoulder stock attached. As I watched numbly, Windy pulled a small 
silencer from her belt and screwed it onto the barrel. She pointed the gun at 
my sweat-beaded forehead. The others put their weapons away. There was no
longer a need for them, it seemed; the one silent bullet in the scout pistol
was all they needed. 
	I forced composure into my voice. "What do you want?"
	Windy's voice, still cool, held the trace of a smile. "Kill the story.
At least the gnarly parts."
	"Why should I?" I was determined not to die like a coward, if I
had to die at all. "The truth's the truth! Do you know what a story this is?
'ROCK BAND DOUBLES AS MERCENARY UNIT!' It would make my career!"
	"And ruin ours." Fuse's voice was an angry hiss. Her hand slowly 
reached inside her jumpsuit and remained there. "Do you think we want to be
known as 'the band that bathes in blood?' That's why we left the Marches! No
more frontier wars, no more corsairs and petty warlords killing each other for
the scraps the Glorious Imperial Navy and the Zhodani leave behind when the
maps are redrawn...." 
	"No more hordes of morons drooling over the reality simulations," 
Tinker growled in assent. "Utovoghs? Oekhsos? Pfagh!" She spat.
	Torch nodded, her tiny face pale and drawn. "We've come into the main 
body of the Imperium just to leave the fighting behind. So many mercenary 
units pass through Guranthu on the way to Reaver's Deep that the police will 
never catch us."
	"Assuming nobody helps them, that is," Tinker snarled.
	Torch waved her into silence. "Can't you see? If you run that story,
we'll never be able to play another concert. We'll be ruined."
	"Then why'd you agree to the interview in the first place? You must 
have realized the risks...."
	"What risks?" Tinker sneered. "That there'd be action so close to the 
interview? Kfaekh, if that robbery hadn't taken place, you'd have just tossed
us off as another bunch of behind-the-claw weirdos who didn't interview well!"
	"The point is, the damage is done. Or rather, is ready to be done."
Torch looked me in the eyes. "We want you to promise us not to run the story."
	"And if I don't?"
	No one answered that. Windy merely cocked her pistol.
	"And what if I do promise? You'll leave, and ship offworld, and I
could just run it anyway." 
	"You wouldn't do that." Windy shook her head with a smile. "You've got
your reputation as a journalist to protect. Breaking a vow of confidentiality?
It doesn't matter how good the story was; you'd divebomb your own career."
	"Besides," Fuse said mildly, "You'd only prolong your life until the 
news reached us...and next time it might not be as clean as a bullet to the 
head." Almost casually, she pulled her hand from her jumper and opened it 
before my eyes, showing me what she was holding. I couldn't help it-- I
screamed blue murder. Windy's pistol cracked me across the mouth, cutting off
my cries. She stuck the gun under my nose and held my chin still with one
strong hand. I thought I could smell the bullet waiting for me. 
	As long as I live, I will never forget the next words Windy said. She
was as matter-of-fact as if she were discussing whether or not to pursue a 
questionable stock deal, or perhaps to squash a harmless but annoying insect. 
	"We're through asking. You're only getting one chance. Yes or no?" 
	The silence stretched for what seemed like hours. I thought about 
life, death, bloodshed, remembered the horrible scenes on the vid, the thieves
mowed down as they tried to escape, the screams of the crowd-- and then the 
screams changed to something else. Not screams of terror, but screams of joy 
and adulation, the earsplitting shrieks of kids having more fun than Mom and 
Dad would ever allow, if they only knew. The concert! The crowds dancing in 
the aisles, the people clapping their hands and singing along to the parts 
they knew, no harm done, just fun, just music... and the musicians. There they 
were, bathed in the lasers and the spotlights, sweating with the effort, 
driving rhythm and screaming melody in the light, smiles on every face. They 
were free... alone with each other, alone with their fans, free for a while 
from cares, from worries about what lay ahead on the long starlit road, free
from...from what? I'd wondered about that for a long time, watching them up
there. Now I knew, and it made my decision for me. 
	I wasn't ready to die after all. "I...agree. Yes. I'll kill it."
	For a brief moment, I wasn't sure I'd made the right choice. What 
happened next banished my doubts. The tension in the room vanished like smoke 
in the wind. Windy lowered the pistol and dropped the hammer, Fuse's hand 
(don't think about it) went back into her jumper, Tinker released her breath 
in a whoosh as Torch gave me that bright smile again. They trusted me. God 
knows why, but they did. 
	"Thank you. There's been enough killing for one day." Torch's voice 
held none of the bravado of the previous minute. They filed into the dining
room. The dining room? At the door, Windy turned to me and spoke: 
	"Remember to keep your promise." The cold half smile. "We keep ours."
And then she was gone. I was frozen for a long moment. Then I leaped from my 
chair and ran to the dining room.
	Of course! The balcony door was unlocked; after all, who'd come in on
the 300th floor? And there it was: the gleaming black air/raft with the
traditional trimmings of a hearse, Motormutt at the controls, Docshock and Hug
scanning the skies and the street below for pursuit, a black flutter of bionic
wings that had to be George, and at the center of it all, CC lounging in the
passenger seat, gauss pistol in hand and smiling like he hadn't a care in the
world. The last lady climbed aboard, oblivious to the thousand-meter drop
below, and the raft pulled away from the building. CC waved, a light goodbye,
and the raft heeled over and was gone like a wraith in the night. 
	There was someone pounding on the door. "Miss! Miss! I heard a scream! 
Are you all right?"
	"Coming..." I managed. I touched the bruise on my mouth as I walked
to the door. I decided I'd fallen and cracked my chin against the desk. And on
my way there, I stopped to archive and delete the article. After all, a
promise was a promise, and besides, maybe being worthy of Near Miss's trust
wasn't such a bad thing after all. 


- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[this story and all information in it are copyrighted 1984,1989 metlay]


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-------- TML Message #418 --------

Archive-Message-Number: 418
Date: Thu, 29 Jun 89 16:51:53 EDT
From: (Edward J Driscoll) ejd@caen.engin.umich.edu
Subject: Shattered Imperium campaigns



In response to Bob Mahoney's query:
> As an aside, I never received any answers to my earlier question:
> Is anyone else using the GDW "Shattered Imperium" campaign background?

I thought that the "Shattered Imperium" background was THE most
valuable aspect of MegaTraveller.  I used to have a tough time
coming up with plots for my Traveller campaign, but the
Shattered Imperium is just spilling over with them.   My
campaigns tend to be based on roughly equal portions of
military, political, and economic intrigue -- the SI setting
is conducive to all of these things.

I am currently in the process of setting up my first SI
campaign.  The campaign will take place in the Spinward
Marches, where Lucan and Norris are duking it out for 
support of the citizenry.  Lurking in the background, an
alien race with expanionist tendencies has recently entered
through an ancient technological artifact (a jump gate of
sorts -- similar but not identical to the one described
in previous TML articles) and is preparing for a covert
invasion....

The only player (at this point) is a pirate character, and
most of the adentures will be tailored with this in mind.

What follows is a rough, unedited set of notes that I
have been using to flesh out the major players and
plotlines.  It may contain inconsistencies and hazy
areas, and should be treated as raw material.  I offer
it as an example of what a Shattered Imperium campaign
might be like.

One last note:  I strongly recommend "The Rebellion
Sourcebook" supplement for anyone trying to run an SI
campaign.  It contains a wealth of material about who
is doing what to whom in the struggle for inter-galactic
power.  It is virtually free of game mechanics and could
be used in other game systems (old Traveller certainly).

- -----------------------8<----cut here---------------------


Notes on Trav Campaign
- ----------------------

- - The thrust of the campaign is the presence of aliens in the
Spinward Marches.

- - The aliens got there through a jump gate, the location (and
in fact, the very existence) of which is unknown.  The gate
may be a two-way device.  If not, there will exist another gate
which leads to the aliens' home part of the universe.

- - There are several races of aliens which tend to serve very
specialized roles/classes.  There is at least a warrior class,
a worker class, and a leader class.  Each of the classes exceeds
the average human in their particular capacity but are inferior
in other capacities.

- - The aliens are in possession of some extremely advanced
technology (including the jump gates, some starships, weapons,
machinery, etc) -- but they didn't invent it.  They don't
even understand it completely, although there is a scientist-like
class which devotes almost all of its time to discovering the
secrets of the technology.

- - The technology was actually created by yet another highly
advanced race which is for the most part extinct.  The reason
for this extinction is as yet undetermined.

- - The aliens are extremely expansionist and war-like.  They
aren't inherently evil, but for centuries they have been at
odds with each other over various and sundry issues, not the
least of which is the possession of property (or lack thereof).
The discovery of the gate and the human race has given them
a new alien to conquer and a reason to temporarily join forces.
Of course, each race sees itself in the dominant role both during
and after the conquest -- cooperation is still not exactly their
strong suit.

- - No one knows about the aliens yet, but their effects have
been felt and a very few of those in the know are aware that
SOMETHING is out of place.  Particularly, Norris and Lucan have
both lost warships to encounters with the aliens.  Each suspects
that the other is somehow involved.

- - Lucan and Norris are maintaining the outward appearance of
cooperation and negotiation, but it's strictly diplomatic
maneuvers. 

- - What Lucan really wants is for Norris to buckle
under, for Noris's considerable forces to fall in line with 
Lucan, and for Norris himself to be replaced by a loyal Lucan
supporter.  Lucan isn't trying an outright assault because
it would consume a considerable amount of his
resources to engage Norris's forces, and Norris's forces
are too loyal to provide any assistance of their own to Lucan.
Such an assault would have political as well as military costs
because the people of Norris's domain are highly loyal.  Despite 
the fact that Norris professes loyalty to the Empire, Lucan
does not wish to force them to choose between Norris and himself,
for Norris is a more charismatic leader and has greater presence
in their daily lives.  Lucan's plan is to strategically apply 
covert military pressure and try to force Norris to make the
first outwardly aggressive move.  If Norris makes enough visible
moves against Lucan, Lucan can portray him as anti-imperial and
wage a stronger political campaign on those grounds.  One of
Lucan's ploys in this vein is to try and appoint highly charismatic
officials in Norris's arena of control in order to counter
Norris's own charisma.  Of course, they are basically figureheads,
and the real power is in the hands of a small group of Lucan's
real lieutenants who are considerably less charismatic.  This
combination of charismatic figureheads and brutal power holders
tends to severely tax the loyalty of Lucan's forces, which is
yet another reason why an outright military assault would be a
costly move for him.

- - What Norris really wants is for Lucan to give in and leave
him alone.  Norris believes that Strephon is still alive,
and that Lucan is a sorry replacement.  Norris keeps a tight
reign on his political image and power.  He intends that the
citizens should eventually feel more loyal to him personally than
to the empire.  When the time is right, he will transfer this
support to Strephon.  Until then, he wants to keep it out of
Lucan's hands.  When the news of the assassination reached Norris's
domain, it was politically necessary for Norris to claim to
support the empire without claiming support for any particular
claimant of the throne.  If he had done otherwise, it would appear
that he was yet another pretender, and not a strong one at that.
In this way, he was able to hold onto the loyalty of the citizenry
and at the same time gain some real political power of his own.
Norris is now trying to gently transform that loyalty directly
onto himself, but he has not progressed far enough to make an
outward attack on Lucan.  Such an attack would weaken his platform
of support for the Imperium visibly.  Although he would doubtless
maintain many of his supporters, he knows he would lose many to
Lucan's side.  Norris knows that Lucan is trying to provoke him
to make exactly such a mistake, and is carefully guarding his
actions to maintain the outward appearance of cooperation (much
to Lucan's consternation).  Norris takes advantage of any opportunity
to make Lucan look foolish or violent, and there have been many
such opportunities.  To date, Lucan's efforts to weaken Norris's
support have only made it stronger due to Norris's impressive
military and political savvy.  Norris does not want to side with
Strephon until the loyalty of his constituents is unshakable and
Strephon can gather enough military and political support of his
own to appear to be a suitably strong figure.

- - Contrary to the beliefs of Archduke Norris and the guarded hopes
of billions of citizens, Strephon is dead.  Dulinor killed him
on that fateful day in 1116.  The person claiming to be
Strephon is actually an actor who replaced him in routine diplomatic
functions when the need arose.  Secreted away by Strephon's closest
supporters, this actor has undergone surgery to make him as physically
indistinguishable from Strephon as possible and is constantly under the
advisement of the supporters who engineered the masquerade.  This
handful of men desires first that the Imperium be brought back
under control long enough to peacefully hand the reigns of power
down to a capable successor (certainly not Lucan) and second to
avenge the death of Strephon.  The "new" Strephon makes frequent
public appearances to gain support, but his private appearances
are avoided whenever humanly possible to prevent discovery that
he is not the real Strephon.  The engineers know that such a
discovery will irrevocably ruin not only their own lives, but
their hopes of restoring peace to the Imperium.  They guard
the secret with an appropriate amount of vigor.

- ---
Ed Driscoll
The University of Michigan
ejd@caen.engin.umich.edu

The Traveller Mailing List is a courtesy of James Perkins and Tektronix, Inc.
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-------- TML Message #419 --------

Archive-Message-Number: 419
Date: Fri, 30 Jun 89 17:22 EST
From: METLAY@vms.cis.pittsburgh.edu
Subject: Going off the wall with Near Miss (a break from reality |-> )



Some folx have asked me if Near Miss is based on a real party of PCs from an 
old campaign. In fact, they aren't; they were all invented by me for the 
GenCon events, but over the past five years, people who return to play the 
same characters every year have gradually helped me flesh out the people 
behind the character sheets.
One thing that folx may be interested to know, though, is that Near Miss's 
music does in fact exist, and it's performed to an extent by myself and a 
small group of musicians here in Pittsburgh. We use synthesis, voice 
treatment, and sound processing to imitate the use of alien instruments, and 
our early experiments in this stuff aren't really publishable but show 
promise. In the meantime, for those of you in need of a small exercise in 
creative RPG visualization, I recommend the following:

1. Sit down (or stand up, if you're the dancing/air-guitar type) in a darkened 
room with a pair of headphones and a stereo setup.

2. Visualize the following: a large, open stage, almost devoid of clutter and 
tangled wires, in front of a large, raised platform covered with electronic 
junk. On the platform are two drum sets flanking a stack of electronic 
keyboards: one set is spartan and sparse, consisting of six or seven huge 
drums and nothing else, the other is a bewildering array of congas, cymbals, 
electronic pads, wood blocks, and a row of dried-out Vargr skulls arraanged by 
pitch. Behind the simpler drumset, place a seven-foot Aslan male with 
drumsticks the size of billy clubs in his hands; at the percussion array,
place a male Vargr in garish clothing. Place a human male, about 36 years of 
age, behind the keyboards. On the front stage, place three females: an Aslan
wrestling with an electric guitar, a Vargr plying something that looks like a 
fretless bass guitar with an impossibly long neck, and a human woman with an 
electric guitar or a saxophone (depending on your tastes). All are in their 
thirties, but still quite lovely by the standards of their respective races, 
and all are dressed in fashions that may well shock the close-minded. Give 
them all a lot of energy, and put a smile on every face; after all, they're 
playing music, which beats the heck out of merc work for making a living.

3. Put on the album REMAIN IN LIGHT by the Talking Heads (there are some 
better albums for the parallelism, but most are hopelessly obscure), and
drop the needle on the song "The Great Curve."

4. Turn the volume up as loudly as you can bear, start the song, and let your 
imagination go berserk.

Am I crazy? Perhaps. But two or three songs like this and DAMN I'm psyched for 
a good Traveller game! |->

metlay 		     METLAY@PITTVMS.BITNET or metlay@vms.cis.pittsburgh.edu
				Xpander Users' Group: Email me for details.
Metlay say: "Guebj njnl lbhe qvtvgny flaguf. Ohl Kcnaqref. Qba'g jbefuvc Xngr
	     Ohfu, be nalbar jub ybbxf yvxr ure. GEHFG ZRGYNL!"


The Traveller Mailing List is a courtesy of James Perkins and Tektronix, Inc.
All opinions and material above is the responsibility of the originator.
Send Submissions To: @RELAY.CS.NET:traveller@dadla.LA.TEK.COM,
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-------- End of TML Messages --------

