Faster Than Light: A Tale Of Space, Courage And Replicants

Stardate: 20 September

“New crewmate Geryk died almost instantly. He hadn’t made any friends yet.”

That was the latest news bulletin from fellow Faster Than Light commander, Captain Duncan of the SS Olofshjöld over our Gchat comms channel.

We had both been tasked by the game to attempt a journey to the far reaches of the universe to deliver vital information for the war effort. In laptop spaceships equipped with Gchat.

“Yes.”

I acknowledged the loss of life matter of factly enough but couldn’t help being a little concerned at how blasé Duncan had grown about his charges.

“When you clear out his locker you’ll find a letter he was planning on sending to his wife and children about how excited he was to be joining your crew,” I added, probing for traces of humanity.

“:((((((((((((((” came the response.

Still human, then.

“It’s okay,” I said. “You’ll have a drink with Guinan in the ship’s bar and she will be wise at you for a suitable length of time. And then the holodeck will break.”

“Fucking holodeck.”

Stardate: 20 September. And a half.

Having just lost a member of my own crew under circumstances I don’t care to discuss (because such a discussion would feature repeated use of the phrase “gross incompetence”) I decided to head to Guinan’s bar myself. Extensive exploration of the ship (30 seconds of hovering over icons in search of vodka-related alt text) revealed that the SS Pippin was a DRY vessel.

I made a note in the captain’s log to sequester some booze for the captain’s wardrobe at the earliest opportunity. And also to purchase a wardrobe.

Stardate: 20.754 September

Lured in by a distress signal emanating from a nearby planet I decided to overrule my crew’s pleas for caution and try my hand at picking up a hitchhiker.

“At the very least he will have a towel and a universal translator fish swimming in his ear,” I reassured them.

The hitchhiker turned out to be a raving lunatic.

“Bring him back anyway,” I ordered. “I should like to converse with him.”

The lunatic died in suspicious circumstances during the shuttle ride back to the Pippin. The crew were suspiciously vague over the precise turn of events but, after much debating, listed the the cause of death as “misadventure by changing radio stations”.

Stardate: sqrt 20 September

‘Geryk has reported for duty aboard the SS Pippin.’

Wait, what?

“Say, your name sounds mighty familiar, cowboy,” I said. Aloud. In real life. And in a terrible accent which ricocheted between the American Midwest and Grimsby.

“Did you serve on the SS Olofshjöld?”

Geryk looked me straight in the eye.

“You must have me confused with someone else,” he said smoothly.

I let the matter drop but in the captain’s log I worriedly wrote that the invasion of the replicants might have started.

I paused and then underlined that last point.

Twice.

Stardate: -20 September

It occurred to me that I didn’t actually know what a replicant was so there followed a brief break from the mission while the captain did some important Wikipedia reading.

Turned out replicants were far more complicated than I had thought.

I narrowed my eyes and resolved to keep a close eye on Geryk. Especially in the event of him “dying” and then showing up somewhere else.

Stardate: 200 September

Returning to the mission in hand we headed for a neighbouring nebula.

Some idiot must have left the sunroof of the Pippin open because the whole damn ship appeared to have filled with dust and we couldn’t see half the rooms.

I opened one of the airlocks to let out the dust before it occurred to me that this was akin to a passenger aboard the Titanic smashing a porthole to get rid of all that water.

“The nebula blocks your sensors,” offered Captain Duncan.

This struck me as a very basic design flaw in even the lowest grade of starship. I resolved to write a strongly worded letter to someone.

Stardate: Still September

“Bryan died.”

Bryan was a praying space mantis and one of the longest-serving members of the SS Olofshjöld. We had never met but I felt in him a kindred fancy dress aficionado spirit because of his carefully constructed backstory which featured a penchant for flamboyant ruffs, an extensive boot collection and his habit of getting his clothes caught on door handles while gesturing excitedly.

“He suffocated after boarding a vessel with no oxygen on.”

“Did an oxygen mask not go with his outfit?”

“No.”

There was a pause as we both considered a world without Bryan.

“He was part of the family, y’know?”

I did know.

Stardate: 20 September and then some

“So I am currently stuck in the bridge writing sympathy cards to the mother of my latest deceased companion,” I complained to the Olofshjöld.

I had sustained extensive laser injuries to my person during a scuffle with a pirate vessel and was killing time in the bridge until the last remaining member of the Pippin’s crew, Quinns, finished putting out all the fires that stood between myself and the medbay.

The progress of this endeavour was being hampered by the fact that Quinns had not actually attended any of the mandatory firefighter training before we set off and so was frequently catching on fire. As a result he had been forced to perform no fewer than three rounds of DIY reconstructive facial surgery on himself in the med bay and was hideously disfigured.

“You can always suck out the oxygen if you need to put out fires,” was the advice from my sister ship. “But if your life support is low it’s a risky tactic.”

“I don’t think you understand the peril in which I have hitherto placed my crew,” I wailed.

“So do I buy a teleporter?” came the response, ignoring the plight of the Pippin.

Stardate: Twenty Septembers

With Quinns dead, the Pippin was eerily silent.

I decided to take stock of my career as a space captain and curled up in the captain’s chair with the captain’s log and a bottle of the captain’s secret wardrobe home brew.

Skim-reading the first few entries I decided that actually there was no need to revisit that particular collection of mishaps, nonsensical orders and ill-advised purchases and snapped the book shut, preferring instead to focus on the disasters of the here and now.

A quick check of the hull integrity monitor revealed it was on the brink of total collapse. The rest of the ship was on fire or plunged into darkness and I was entirely alone but for the communication channel with the Olofshjöld.

Suddenly a volatile star which had been raging on the visual display for some time burst into life, spewing radiation and space debris into the galaxy at a phenomenal rate.

A final communication from the Olofshjöld echoed round the Pippin as she (and all who sailed in her) perished in the blast.

“Hitting spacebar might be useful.”

Yeah. THANKS.