Chapter 3 — The Journey towards Marinagua

The Tulsi Das Starport Authority
Flight Services Station — Downport Level

The Flight Services Station sits just off the main concourse, separated from the noise of the downport by a wide glass frontage and a soft environmental seal. The air inside is cooler and drier, carrying the faint scent of recycled air and hot electronics. Overhead, flat-panel displays scroll arrivals, departures, and traffic advisories, the text lagging just a fraction of a second behind real time.

The space is functional rather than welcoming—this is an office built to process, not to host.

A long counter runs the length of the room, broken into three service positions. Behind it, a mix of uniformed staff and contractors work through traffic logs, clearances, and maintenance requests. None of them look rushed, but all of them look busy.

As Bohdie, Wilber, and Virel step inside, a few heads lift—not suspiciously, but with mild curiosity. Offworlders aren’t rare, but unfamiliar faces still register.

They have options.

---

Visible Personnel

An individual at the Center Counter
A mid-career officer in Starport Authority uniform stands at the central terminal, posture straight, expression neutral but attentive. This is clearly the primary public-facing position—the one meant to absorb questions and decide which ones go any further. A traffic slate floats at her shoulder, cycling through clearance codes and time stamps.

She notices the team immediately and gives a small, professional nod.

An Individual at the Rear Workstation
Off to the side, partially shielded by a data partition, a civilian clerk scrolls through historical logs on a large embedded display. His uniform is utilitarian, his posture slightly slouched—the look of someone who deals with old data more than live traffic. He glances up briefly, then returns to his screen.

An individual standing near the wall
Near the far wall stands a security liaison—armband badge visible, posture relaxed but watchful. She isn’t engaged with anyone directly, but her eyes track movement in and out of the office. She represents oversight, not intervention—for now. She doesn’t approach. She observes.

An individual at the side terminal
At a side terminal, a younger tech works through a maintenance queue, muttering softly to himself as he reconciles sensor feeds with docking schedules. He looks over when the door opens, curious, then pointedly pretends not to stare.

The Moment

For a few seconds, no one speaks. The hum of equipment fills the space. A departure chime sounds softly overhead. This is the point where how the team moves matters as much as what they ask.

Actions?

To assist the players here are some skill sets that may come into play

Admin — Identifying the correct authority and framing requests properly
Diplomat / Liaison — Professional tone, cultural awareness, soft influence
Deception — Plausible personal motives without triggering suspicion
Streetwise — Reading who actually controls information versus who appears to
Advocate — Leveraging process, precedent, and "confirmation only" requests
Recon — Noticing who watches, who listens, and who avoids eye contact
Carouse (earlier setup) — Familiarity breeds cooperation
Electronics (Computers) — Understanding what data exists versus what is visible

"Might want to split up for this one. Sounds like the security guard is on 'observe and report' but she might have insights the official channel's won't share. Whichever of you wants to play bodyguards sharing a moment."

Wilbur steps into the port authority office and gives the room a warm nod.
"Good day, folks."

He walks toward the young man at the side terminal, offering a friendly smile — the kind older Scouts use when they want people to relax.
"Afternoon, son. Name’s Wilbur Haines. Used to be with the Scout Service, though these days I mostly wander where the wind takes me."

He chuckles softly, as if amused by his own aimlessness.
"I heard an old friend of mine passed through here not too long ago. Haven’t seen her in years. She’s serving aboard the ISS Harriet now."

He leans in slightly, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial, almost grandfatherly way.
"Figured if I was lucky, I might catch her for a drink before she ships out again. You wouldn’t happen to know when her crew last touched down, would you?"

His tone stays light, almost wistful.

From the ship, following various approaches, Jeem makes a few inquiries of his own about the data lines...

First of all, it is important to understand the processes here, the various people who can make a difference, and the hierarchical relationships. This should make it easier to ask questions, as it will be possible to avoid one or two detours.

Bohdie's experiences so far have led him to place the enquiries within a legal framework that works less with questions and more with assumptions and confirmations.

Wilber — Flight Services Station, Side Terminal

The junior tech at the side terminal looks up as Wilber approaches, curiosity winning out over caution.

At the mention of the Scout Service, his brow furrows—not suspiciously, but in mild confusion.

"Scout Service?" he repeats. "You mean… like Trooles Reconnaissance Command?"

He gives a small, sheepish smile.

"We don’t really have Scouts out here. Closest thing we see is TRC survey craft or system patrols. I mostly know about them from reports—or old tri-vid serial shows."

He chuckles, a little embarrassed.

"You know, the Jelmiri Marches stuff. Before the fall in 1105. Scouts and heroes and all that, fighting the Jaibok Korsumug Empire."

He shrugs.

"So if you’re talking about an IISS ship, I’d have to look it up. We don’t get many of those."

As he turns back to his terminal and begins pulling up historical traffic logs, Wilber notices something important:

From the rear workstation, the older records clerk has looked up. Not alarmed. Not hostile.

Just… interested.

The kind of interest that says someone just touched a real data thread.

The junior tech doesn’t have the answer—but Wilber’s question has quietly signaled to the room that this isn’t idle curiosity..

Parallel Actions — Tulsi Das Starport Authority

JEEM — Aboard the Azure Voyager

From the ship, JEEM works the problem the long way around—not by chasing answers, but by understanding how answers move.

His attempt to map the formal hierarchy of Tulsi Das Starport Authority traffic control turns up frustratingly little. Titles are inconsistent, responsibilities overlap, and authority here is more functional than structural. There is no clean org chart to exploit—no single "right desk" guaranteed to produce results.

That path goes nowhere. GM Comment - results of the bad Admin skill roll

What does click is the legal framing.

JEEM realizes that in this system, information doesn’t move because someone is asked for it—it moves because someone is asked to confirm something that already sounds true.

Flight Services personnel aren’t trained to guard secrets; they’re trained to prevent liability. If an inquiry sounds like it’s part of a routine verification—especially one that assumes proper authority—they are far more likely to validate a fact than to disclose data outright.

GM - Does JEEM sends a message to the away team on this?

NOTE: Anyone on the ship can help. It is assumed that Chaala, Ruiha, And Dr. Shone are also monitoring and sharing informational displays

I know the player (@Packratt66) for Bohdie is dealing with some of the weather, so his responses maybe slow. The same maybe true for (@Dominic : Virel) may also be dealing with the weather so this maybe a bit slower than usual play.

Virel doesn’t approach the counter. He lets Wilbur take the lead, lingering instead near the edge of the room as if giving space rather than seeking it.

To anyone watching, he appears idle, another offworlder waiting his turn. In truth, his attention is everywhere but the terminal. He tracks posture shifts, delayed glances, the way eyes lift and settle when Wilbur mentions the Scout Service.

Who reacts. Who doesn’t. And who reacts a second too late.

Wilbur keeps his expression easy, as if nothing unusual has happened. He gives the young tech a small, apologetic smile.

"Ah — yes, the IISS. Old habits die hard, I suppose. But really, don’t trouble yourself if it’s buried in the logs. I was just hoping to catch up with an old friend if the stars lined up."

He chuckles softly, shaking his head.

"Knowing her, she’s probably already halfway to the next system anyway. So don’t let me pull you off your real work, son."

He stays where he is, relaxed, hands in his pockets, as if he’s simply making conversation and waiting to see whether the young man insists on helping.

Virel — Reading the Room (Streetwise Success)

Virel doesn’t need to step forward to understand what’s happening.

From the edge of the room, he watches the micro-movements—the things people don’t realize they’re doing when they think they’re being professional.

When Wilbur mentions the Scout Service, the junior tech reacts first. Not with alarm, but with confusion. His eyes lift too quickly, searching memory, then drift sideways to his terminal. He’s not hiding anything—he simply doesn’t have it. His knowledge of "Scouts" is secondhand at best, filtered through reports, holos, and old stories. Useful for atmosphere, not for answers.

The records clerk in the rear is more telling.

He doesn’t look up immediately. There’s a delay—just a second too long—then a measured glance over the partition. Not startled. Not suspicious. Curious. The kind of curiosity that comes from recognizing a category, not a name.
IISS traffic.
Rare. Logged differently. Memorable.

That’s the first real signal.

At the center console, the duty flight officer notices the junior tech searching when Wilbur asks his question. Her posture tightens slightly—professional irritation, not hostility. This is her desk, her authority, and someone just bypassed it.

But she doesn’t bristle.

Instead, she looks past Wilbur and sees Bohdie and Virel waiting in line, not crowding, not pushing. That matters here.

The irritation fades. Her expression resets into something warmer, practiced.

She straightens, smiles, and speaks—clear, audible, inviting the proper approach:

"Flight Services. How can I help you?" Directly to Virel and Bohdie

Virel clocks the balance immediately.

The junior tech is noise—friendly, earnest, limited

The records clerk is memory—quiet, procedural, valuable

The duty officer is the gate—annoyed when bypassed, cooperative when respected

And beneath it all, the bigger picture clicks into place.

Tulsi Das doesn’t see Imperial anything. No nobility. No titles. No cultural weight attached to the Imperium.

But an IISS ship?

That’s different.

That’s rare. That’s logged. That’s remembered.

If the Harrier came through this port—and Virel is now certain it did—then there will be a record. Not buried. Not erased. Just waiting behind the right tone, the right framing, and the right desk.

The room isn’t hostile.

It’s simply waiting to be addressed correctly.

Virel lets Wilbur finish, then steps forward towards the duty officer without hurry. His posture is open, hands visible: the manner of someone who understands desks and boundaries.

"Good morning. Apologies, my colleague got ahead of himself, chasing faces before paperwork."

He offers a brief, easy smile.

"We’re passing through on a short turnaround and just tying off a loose end before we move on."

His tone remains professional.

"We’re trying to confirm whether a survey scout vessel cleared this port within the last year or so. Imperial Scout Service registry, Telemon class. We don’t need cargo manifests or crew details. We just confirmation of arrival and departure timestamps, if they exist."GM EDIT and Comment - You forgot about the assistance by Chaala which her DM of +1 negates your EDU negative -1, so the end results = 9 Success!

Bohdie steps up to the counter, smiling in a disarming expression. Reading the room, He decides on a straight on approach. Despite his lumbering frame, Bohdie places his arms lightly on the counter and leans forward, not invading the desk clerk’s space, but providing a more informal stance. "Hi there. I was wondering if you could help me, here. I have an important parcel for a crew member on an IISS ship that, as I understand it, recently passed this way. I was wondering if someone here could tell me how long ago they may have departed here.". It’s not technically a lie and only barely a misdirection. But it’s, perhaps, the best direction. He keeps his eyes soft, searching to build a connection. "I understand there is likely a formal process for moto access this information, but I would prefer to keep this an informal request. I find it’s just more efficient this way."


Deception Roll: +2, INT+2, Chaala’s Help +1
Persuade Roll: +1, EDU+2 , Chaala’s Help +1

Flight Services Station — Confirmation

The duty officer listens without interrupting as Virel speaks. His phrasing lands well—measured, bounded, respectful of the desk and its limits. When he finishes, she gives a small nod. Not approval. Recognition.

Bohdie’s follow-on—parcel, crew member, informal efficiency—doesn’t offend her, but it doesn’t quite persuade either. She straightens slightly, reclaiming the center of the exchange.

"I can’t assist with informal requests," she says calmly. "And I can’t release operational details, crew identities, or destinations."

There’s no reprimand in her tone—just boundary.

But she doesn’t dismiss them.

She glances briefly toward the rear workstation. The records clerk meets her eye and gives a subtle nod of confirmation. Whatever this is, it exists. It’s logged. And it’s routine enough not to require escalation.

She returns her attention to the group.

"What I can do," she continues, "is confirm whether a vessel matching that description was recorded by this port, and when."

Her fingers move across the console. The display scrolls backward—weeks, months—until it stops.

"Yes," she says. "An Imperial Scout Service vessel, registry Harrier, Telemon-class, cleared this port."

She looks up, precise now.

"The ship arrived on Year 1115, Day 276. "A pause. Another flick of her fingers.

"It departed approximately ten hours later, after refueling and routine replenishment of life-support consumables and food stores. No cargo was embarked. No extended layover was requested."

She meets Virel’s eyes, then Bohdie’s.

"That is the extent of what Flight Services can confirm."

Her expression softens—not friendly, but professional.

"If you require anything further, you’ll need to pursue it through formal Tulsi Das Security channels."

She inclines her head slightly.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Jeem radios to the way team a hopefully helpfully message:

"Guys, these are people here like civil servants. You have to argue in such a way that there are no risks for the processors, and ideally that these are even avoided, e.g. liability. A request for verification, in a matter-of-fact manner, as if this were a matter of course, is far more successful here than a simple request for help."

Our intrepid team gets back to the ISS Azure Voyager with thier information;

Departure from Tulsi Das

With confirmation secured, there’s nothing left to linger over.

The ISS Harrier did land here.
It arrived Imperial Year 1115, Day 267, spent ten hours refueling and replenishing life-support consumables, and departed cleanly. No cargo. No extended stay. That answer is enough.

Captain Deyra Halsson acknowledges the report with a brief nod and no wasted words. By the time the team returns aboard, she has already filed the Azure Voyager’s flight plan and queued for departure clearance.

The downport moves quickly.

Thirty minutes after clamps release, the Azure Voyager lifts cleanly from the Tulsi Das starport and settles into orbit. Fifteen minutes after that, traffic control assigns them a departure lane—an orderly vector outward toward the 100-diameter jump point, threading them past merchant traffic and system patrols with practiced efficiency.

Tulsi Das falls away behind them. It is the 128th Day of the 1116th year of the Imperial Calendar.

The stars stretch.

Jump space takes hold.

Aboard the Azure Voyager — Crew Lounge

Once the ship is steady in jump, Captain Halsson calls the team to the lounge.

She waits until everyone is present before speaking, hands wrapped loosely around a mug that has long since gone cold.

"All right," she begins. "We have confirmation. The Harrier was here, briefly, and left with purpose. That narrows our window."

She lets that settle, then shifts the display at the center of the table.

"Our next stop is Touxilay."

The projection resolves into a small, battered-looking system diagram.


"Touxilay is a Tech Level 8 settlement on a tidally locked moon, orbiting its primary. Population’s just over three thousand. No unified government—locals operate in loose groups, clans, and enclaves."

She shakes her head slightly.

"I’ve never been there myself. But Captain Amegía Tourlay passed through about two years ago. Her assessment was… unfavorable."

A pause.

"Rougher than Tulsi Das. Less predictable. Less forgiving."

Halsson’s gaze moves around the table, steady and deliberate.

"She does not recommend any IISS-style port calls there without a full security team, and that’s a recommendation I intend to follow. We will not announce ourselves. No formal Scout contact."

She taps the display again.

"We’ll conduct a wilderness refuel instead. Once we arrive, we’ll spend a full day scanning the system—looking for signs of the Harrier, residual traffic patterns, or anything else that doesn’t belong."

Her tone firms.

"If Dominicus passed through Touxilay, I am beating she did it quietly. That means we do the same."

She leans back slightly.

"I want your thoughts. What do we need to accomplish there? What risks do you see?"

Outside the lounge viewport, jump space flows on—featureless, silent, and full of unanswered questions.

Touxilay is ahead.

And whatever waits there won’t be friendly to mistakes.