Pakkrat

Everybody hug Captain Matts Grumpypants with Valentine's Day hug-o-matic device. He needs an entire server's worth. I like emote devices though pets and other satellites would bottleneck the processors a bit. But hugs. He needs 'em. Let him know you care. From the PR Department of NET-7 SOL, this is the Pakkrat.

Tangentially, It may seem in-character, but how about a list of Doctors of the Call Forward? While this sounds initially silly, it might cut down on patients blowing their cover and need for a Call Forward over the chat channels. Some Sha'ha'dem in-character might not like the galaxy to hear them sneaking in the back door of a Sabine Doctor's office when the rest of the universe may or may not despise the process as gene-witching. Make fun all you like, this is both an asset of the Sentinel and to some, a means of income. To the patients, the Call is often a godsend and they may not want to admit to being interpolated by rats, Mimirs, Grannys, and other "Gene-witches", (I'm borrowing Growlz' term by the way). Calibrating his stirrups, this is the Pakkrat.

Gee thanks. Now go read the aircraft carrier. Cryptic catchphrases from his cage, this is the Pakkrat.

[attachment=2478:SiobhanSabura.jpg]Second Chances - An Earth & Beyond Emulator Novel, Prologue by Pakkrat Prologue If it could be termed such, it was midnight in the Ruins of Jove City. The Reclaimer time-marked his entry through a forgotten airlock that was so aged and disused that he had been forced to use a handheld hydraulic spreader to shift open the outer doors after manually releasing the outer lock. Thankfully the airlock had a manual system of actuating the airlock as there was no power flowing to this wing of the Ruins. Just outside the superstructure, quiet amongst other debris, free-floating cable lines and conduits, was his Sentinel ship, the "Apotheosis". All the docking facilities were either destroyed many years ago, were watched by system patrols or guarded by the low-life squatters that had infested the Ruins. The Reclaimer had been forced to pull up to this section and power down his vessel. It was a useful trick of the Sabine Order Sentinels to make use of their Powerdown holographics systems in order to disguise their vessels to appear as a destroyed hulk or floating hunk of debris, anything to feign incapacitation and thus be overlooked by anyone taking interest in a Sentinel's doings. The ship was flat black in color with only the red-tipped vanes and fins. The holgraphics projectors worked on their own power to make the ship look destroyed and long decayed over time. It would take some serious interest in the 'hulk' and a concentrated scan to detect that the derelict was really a powered-down vessel hiding in the wreckage of the Ruins of Jove City. The Sabine Order Reclaimer had exited his craft in a space suit and strung a line from it to the airlock. There he had forced his entry into the Ruins. The superstructures floated in eternal free-fall orbit about Jupiter whose 'eye' storm watched silently over the abandoned city-now-memorial. The local Jenquai authorities and citizenry of Jupiter sector refused to enter their memorial, the Ruins, in respect for the dead of the Gate War. The once-grand and spectacular space station city was eerily silent from the outside as the ancient Earth graveyards where the deceased were laid to rest. The Gate War had been long over, the three races of Jenquai, Progen, and Terran having come to armistice and then peace treaty lest humanity set itself back millennia with mutually assured destruction. Jove City was a reminder now of the horrors of war. Only occasionally did pilots come near to the Ruins to pay their respects and be reminded of sacrifice and atrocity that war brings. The wrecks of huge capital ships, both sleek Jenquai Maru vessels and the bulky, armored hulks of Progen Pax warships lay dark and silent further out from the Ruins of Jove City. The Reclaimer set his forearm vambrace's journal to record his passage into the Ruins. He glossed over his own name on the tiny screen of the device. Tervanus "Wrecks" Rex, First Charge Reclaimer stepped from the second door of the airlock as quietly as he could. He left the inner door open for he planned on only being here for a short while. He knew where he wanted to explore after having clandestinely perused the Jenquai archives at the newer, nearby space station Jove's Fury in the same sector of space. Acting as some Progen explorer historian, Tervanus Rex had asked to contemplate the Ruins by looking into the deck plans of the old City. Not very alerted to a Progen who was respectful and inquisitive, the Jenquai archival staff permitted him to study the pre-Gate War blueprints. Perhaps he was appreciating the beauty and aesthetic of Jove City before the destruction had forever marred it. Thus the Sabine Reclaimer illegally stole into the Ruins with a clear route in mind and guided by his copied deck plans. He did not intend to use it, but his utility belt was home to his impact slug-thrower pistol. There were rumors that the Ruins had become an unauthorized hovel shantytown for Terran vagrants, looters, and squatters. The Ruins were ever-so-slowly being picked clean by the Terran rats looking for anything that would purchase them another meal. If one came too close to the Reclaimer, well he had a silencer attached to the gun barrel to keep such close encounters private. Rex looked about at the avenues, long-dead buildings, shattered superstructures, and wreckage that none had cleaned or repaired in all this time since the Gate War. The Ruins were still ruins even if they were scantily inhabited. He checked his map again as he turned a corner. Still his entry had not been detected. Though darkness reigned here in the Ruins, silence had yet to win over the lamenting creak and scrape of the bulkheads. The Ruins was still singing its woeful death-throes to this day and a metal-on-metal screech like a ghostly wail heralded his view of the Jenquarum Council Chamber building ahead. The sound sent a chilling warning up the Reclaimer's spine as he gazed at the sacrilege inflicted upon the once-holy site. The symbol of the Jenquai race was long blasted by artillery and was in pieces on the steps of the building's entry way. Huge holes penetrated its walls. Not one pane of its crystal windows was intact. Their colors were mere glints of shards on the grounds outside the building. They sparkled feebly at the touch of the Reclaimer's flashlight beam as he panned it about in the dark. Another squeal of metal sung another lament as the Reclaimer entered the destroyed Council Chamber. It was here that the then-Primarch of the Progen Republic had entered after seeing the brutality, savagery, barbarism, and dishonor of the Progen Dog Soldiers, warriors bred for sheer combat, levied against the peaceful citizenry of the City after its siege. The Primarch, leader of the entire Progen race, had entered alone and re-emerged with his ceremonial sword still wet with the blood of his own general still dripping. He had executed his own warlord in disgust for what had happened here. The warlord's head was rumored to be left on a pile of other heads of the Jenquai victims of the occupation. None knew what had transpired between the Primarch Tyr and Dahaka Khan "the Tormentor", warlord general of the siege of Jove City. Tervanus Rex was the first Sabine Sentinel in all that time to enter the shattered Council Chamber. He swung his light about to confirm his solitude there. He was on edge as the Ruins continued to protest with its creaking and scrapings, a noise to set one's nerves to full alert. Hence it was a shock when his beam found the piles of dead and decaying heads and skulls in the dark of the inner chamber. Khan must have decorated his throne room during the occupation. There were too many to count! Truly this was a memorial of horror. The Reclaimer steeled himself from his emotions in the mantle of his duty in the First Charge. The body of the warlord was soon found some distance away from the final resting apex of a mountain of heads of Jenquai heads of men, women, and children. The Dog Soldiers under Khan's command had spared none in their feast upon the City. Rex studied the scene about him. There was some action here. His training as a Reclaimer helped him dismantle and reverse the actions through the room at the last moments before the execution of the Tormentor of Jove City. Primarch Tyr had entered through the front and had barely moved as he spoke to his subordinate general. Words lost to time and in the echoes of the death song of the Ruins, Rex puzzled through the actions. There seemed to have been a duel, a melee, of hand weapons. Tyr had moved very little as the general employed his signature glaive, a wicked and brutal polearm, about the Primarch. Khan had circled the leader and there were blows as the Reclaimer found blade fragments and torn armor and uniform in the immediate area. Near the body was the deadly weapon of the Khan. Irreverently, Rex lifted its heavy shaft and played his flashlight beam over it. The serrated blade was still sharp and every bit deadly. Then he knelt down next to the body, specifically searching for the general's own armored forearm vambrace personal data assistant computer. The battery in it was long dead, so the Reclaimer produced a new one from his utility belt and tool kit. It required an adaptor and some minor adjustments, but the Reclaimer soon had the PDA functional again despite the two wicked blade cuts on its housing. The tiny display soon lit up and rebooted. The general, Rex determined by the vambrace's lack of entries, did not keep good records of his life. There were no log entries other than telemetry codes of actions that the log kept automatically, a daemon program that ran constantly in the background of the unused PDA. In that log, Tervanus Rex saw the code with which his Sabine Order was concerned. It was a confirmation that the Khan's gene-map, a complete copy of the general's genetic code along with his personality and even his memories were perfectly preserved some hours before his execution by the Primarch. The gene-map was then ejected from the armor and set aside, according to the log. Khan had absently followed practiced and ingrained training to the preservation of his gene-map, true to Centuriata mandates. His gene-map was somewhere here in the Ruins! Rex nearly jumped at this realization. Such a find was far more valuable than any Proconsul Warrior he had ever reclaimed in his career. It was also the most volatile artifact in this unholy graveyard. He merely had to find where Khan had ejected it and see if the small cryo-canister had preserved the gene-map's integrity through the years. Rex' cybernetic-enhanced hearing startled him from his revelation. There were sounds of human voices and many footfalls outside the Jenquai Council Chamber and they were approaching slowly. Pilfering Terran looters or perhaps treasure-hunting squatters forced to find something among the Ruins to sell for food, the Reclaimer guessed. He had to search quickly if he wanted out of this place undiscovered. He rose with the dead general's weapon and moved about quietly in the Chambers to search for the ejected cryo-canister. The Ruins once again cried out its metallic screech into the night. It was set behind the chair of the Jenquarum Council chairman. The First Sephira's seat was still draped with the Khan's now-ratty cloak. He seemed to have claimed the furniture as his personal throne as he set his Dog Soldiers upon the citizenry. Just under a fold of the Progen red cloak's material was the hand-sized cryo-canister. Rex lifted it immediately to the protest of the whining cry of the Ruins. Did the squatters here ever have a quiet night here, asked Rex to himself. Turning the canister over, Rex beheld a half-shock. The single, green diode light still slowly blinked though weakly. It meant that the cryogenics in the canister were still preserving the gene-map inside after so many years. Tervanus Rex recalled how the design of the gene-map cryo-canisters were designed to resist the rigors of deep space for many years in hopes of being reclaimed by the Sabine Order. This was so the Reclaimers could return the gene-map to the Sabine Order and have the Warrior re-iterated in hopes the fallen Progen would answer the Call Forward. Then he could be 're-born' with all his memories and personality intact up until the time the gene-map was ejected from the previous iteration's fall in battle. The Call Forward was the process of this re-iteration and gene immortality of the Warrior caste of the Progen race. Traditionally it was reserved for the Centuriata, the Warriors, but technically the secrets of re-iteration were useable on any lifeform, but that was a secret kept by the Sabine Order as a stop-gap and chip to their own rise to power in the Progen Republic. So long as a gene-map was recovered, a Warrior could "answer the Call Forward" and live again to fight. It was the First Charge, the mandate of the Sabine Order to find, return and re-iterate the fallen heroes. It was seen as a scientific and almost religious duty in the Order. Immortality was virtually assured given the gene-map was viable and restored to a new life. Thus, the Reclaimers were charged with this duty. And now Tervanus Rex had reclaimed quite possibly the most dangerous gene-map in recent history. That is, if he could exit the Ruins of Jove City without being discovered by the scavengers outside or any Jenquai authorities patrolling the Ruins' memorial. He quickly tucked the cryo-canister into a pouch for just such a find on his utility belt. Then he made haste for the entrance of Khan's "throne room". Lastly, he drew his pistol in one hand as he hefted the heavy glaive in his other hand. The sounds of the vagrants were coming closer. Though Rex had deactivated his flashlight and tried to be stealthy, his exit was noted as a human voice questioned, "Ay, whooz dat?" It was a male voice and of an accent typical of humans that had been removed from galactic society for too long. Another voice answered immediately, "Look, heez ah Progin. Hay, Progin!" A female continued to ask of her fellows, "Wotz he got der?" Rex tried to ignore the group that had spotted him and increased his pace, walking faster. But he could hear the drawing of makeshift weapons such as knives and sharpened metal shards vaguely resembling swords. "Hay, Progin! Yooz not serpoozed ter be here. Diz our terf. Drop dat shiny and be off." The vagrant scavengers were almost upon him when Rex spun and pointed his pistol at the nearest Terran even as he kept backing away from the group. Though it was a superior weapon to their blades and even the woman's bow and arrows, he did not have enough ammunition to gun down the entire group even if each of his shots were lethal. Even in the dark, Rex could see that these haggard and poorly dressed squatters were cohesive enough to be a serious threat. "Dat sharpie be wort' sumfin', Reez," said the woman who was already drawing an arrow seemingly unafraid of the gun Rex was brandishing. "Aw hell," answered the gang's leader, "His 'hol' rig be worf taxin'." Two large searchlight beams, powerful enough to stun the eyes lit the Reclaimer and spoiled any hope of an accurate shot. Bodies were heard dodging as his first round spat and missed. With a panic in him, Rex ran. The chase went its way over piles of debris and wreckage. The gang's calls tried to herd the Reclaimer, but his superior health and training refused the wolf pack tactics. He was in far better shape due to good genetics and he easily started to out pace and outlast the pursuers. Twice, the woman lithe and nimble, tried a bow shot but missed only a scant foot from his backside. Rex assumed the scavengers did not want to damage any items he carried. In a macabre flash, he feared that the Terrans did not mind selling off organs which at his health would fetch a good price. That was Freespacer thought and the Reclaimer hoped as he ran that these Terrans had not degenerated that far. Through skeletal buildings and under bridges the Ruins gang hounded the Sabine. Aided as he was by his vambrace, Rex made the airlock just as the group gathered outside, trying to decide who was coming in after the Progen first. He kept his gun trained on the bottleneck of the doorway as he tucked the glaive under his free arm to work the manual control. As the door slid halfway open, Rex emptied his silenced pistol in the general direction of the door, even as the burliest of the gang tried to enter it. Impact rounds went wild, but a single shot dropped the Terran purely by luck. Sounds of anger and arguments of tactics came from outside. Rex stepped into the airlock and using the glaive weapon levered the door closed as it tried to jam. Sounds of a gang rush came as he pulled the lever to evacuate the air as he closed his space suit's helmet. Without suits of their own, the gang of squatters dared not open the door to the airlock. Un-pinning the hydraulic spreader, the outer was closed as he pulled his way along the line to the Apotheosis. "Computer, return to full active status," commanded Rex to the ship. The power returned and ship lights lit as the holographic disguise outside was foiled and cut off. Seating in his bridge cockpit, the Reclaimer wheeled the Sentinel ship around and leaned on his impulse drive in a hard burn from the airlock. "By hook or by crook," he said to no one. Warping at this point would alert any nearby ships to his vessel's warp cone and wake. On impulse drive, the Apotheosis made for the Progen capital ship hulk that records named Pax Altrox. At these low speeds, Rex could only pray to Jericho, the "father figure" of the Progen race that he made it to the Pax wreck undiscovered. * * * Her orders were to wait here, her Centuriata vessel concealed -as best as a menacing Warrior ship could be- inside the wreck of the Pax Altrox. It was not illegal in Jenquai space for Warriors to pluck trophy mementos from the huge derelicts, but such was looked down upon by the Centuriata Warriors. Let the Reclaimers do their job, she thought. She was thoroughly bored by the time the Reclaimer's Sentinel ship thrust into scan range of her ship. The reading that Rex' burners were on told her that he was in a hurry. Powering up her ship's engines, the Centuriata courier checked her systems as the Apotheosis approached. The comm system registered a tight beam meant for her and its source. She thumbed a control on her left stick and listened. "Courier, " began Tervanus Rex, the Sabine Sentinel who had hired her, "I have a package of the highest priority. Name your price and take it to the rendezvous point as fast as you can." This alarmed the courier. Her vessel was not the fastest and certainly did not have the cargo capacity as just about every known vessel in the galaxy, so what was so small and yet had the Sabine so nervous as to need her? "I'm sending it over via tractor beam," Rex declared. "Don't lose it, by hook or by crook. Understand?" "Understood," she answered. Then the item, a small cryo-canister arrived and was shunted up to her in the cockpit. "Then go and go fast," Rex commanded. She burned her engine's impulse to make clear of the Pax Altrox. Her Centuriata vessel looked intimidating, but she had stripped it down for speed under the guise of a fully-armed and dangerous Warrior caste. With the star gate to Saturn sector plotted in her navigation console, she gripped the handle to engage her warp drive. As the wings of her craft folded under the hull, her ship, the "Kitten", formed its own warp cone and then shot from the area with a blast of its engines. In her rear monitor, Rex' Apotheosis folded its sails, revved up and made for the Jenquai checkpoint just outside Jove's Fury station. She was to freewarp straight to the gate behind a long stream of low-Jovian orbit gas clouds that concealed her warp cone and wake. His ship quietly rejoined the swarm about the station and back into the busy society of the Crystal Age. The Kitten burst forth from the last gas field's clouds and shot straight at maximum warp for the star gate. With a quick transmission to its rings, it opened and before anyone could notice, hail, or stop her, she was gone from Jupiter sector.

Having such a complete collection could then be made into a key to a mission line or impressing an NPC, thus giving the collection an end-game Content goal. Jus' sayin'. Via satellite, this is the Pakkrat.

Speaking for the Net-7 News team, Welcome back to the Earth & Beyond galaxy, Boxcar. Make yourself at home and see what the Emulator has in store for you. If you press the Upgrade skill button too many times on accident don't worry. There are quite a few Sentinel Doctors about who can perform the Call Forward, some more altruistic than others. Watch the news articles and keep an eye out for hidden clues our N7R Reporter teams leaks out in some newsblurbs in the in-game chat channels. If you're a re-iterated Progen this time around, get ready for some gray hair should you enroll in the Collegia-backed Agrippa Technologies program. Oh, there. I said the A-word. Rats. Anyways, fly safe! Live via satellite, this is the Pakkrat.

The Reclaimers are coming for your machine. Call Forward. Meet your new machine. Via satellite, this is the Pakkrat.

I too noticed that the count resets if the pilot logs out.  It happened to me during a Hull Upgrade mission.  So, yes, watch the system messages.  They will inform you of how many kills you have attained.   Via satellite, this is the Pakkrat.

This topic is why I am looking for some mid-range CL InfinitiCorp to slaughter to lower my Faction with them. Looking at the chart, a pilot can get up to six other factions while suffering only very few hits for taking down IC a peg or three. InfinitiCorp is not liked by the Collegia and subsequently Agrippa Technologies. I found this out by talking at length with the Architechti during my time in the Stages. I have reported in the past the goals of Collegia and AT over the news and it should have been a Clue-by-four to your heads by now. Go and lower your Factions that are hated by the Collegia and Agrippa Technologies, THEN come back to Nostrand Vor and see what the ratio of turn-ins to returns is. Live at Nostrand Vor City, this is the Pakkrat. P.S. Thanks to the "strange Progen female" for the interview wherever you are.

I'd like to add to this given the weird nature of the Net-7 Reporter team. I, the player am not a full member of the EnB Staff, even though it may look like it. I am just a Reporter on the team, just as is Ryle. Our editor, Shaddex however is a full member of the EnB Staff with all that that entails. Us Reporters are kept in removed cages away from the super-secret stuff and not permitted to attend meetings. As such, we Reporters have to take what cheese we're fed from Developers, GMs, and yes even players as we are listening to you as well. So, even though I'm flying my personal toons through the galaxy, I can't be much of help except for my own player attainments and accomplishments. If you ask me (nicely) I can dig up a past report and re-post it as a clue to Content, but unless I've done that mission line myself, then that's your lot for /tell -ing me. StaffLite and from NET-7 SOL, this is the Pakkrat PS 150, Builders Inc, Pakkrat Industries, Doctor of Call Forward, Graduate of Agrippa Tech PP 89, unGuilded TT 41, unGuilded P.S. "Don't say the A-word with in earshot of the Pakkrat."

It would be neat on the Portal to have two numbers of Online: Number of Players and Number of Characters. In that way, we can see a true listing of players online versus number of toons being multiboxed. Then we can see without having to speculate the ratio in chat and then repeatedly drawing lines in the sandbox. In the Citizens Registry of NET-7 SOL, this is the Pakkrat

Payback They say one is not supposed to feel good about getting even. That vengeance is a negative aspect of humanity, needs to be tempered with forgiveness or at least a passionless and logical mind. Fie on that, thought the Privateer Pakkrateus as his ship, The Maze Runner fell out of warp 30 clicks from Arkan in Aragoth Prime. Three days ago, he had been tasked by Anjuren Khan to take out a few misbehaving Wayward Satellites and a Wayward Drone or two. All so the Privateer could be tested for battle readiness and other warlike behaviors. With no warning, the Privateer had, on arrival been swarmed by the rogue and malfunctioning AIs that kept unleashing barrage after barrage of energy attacks upon Pakkrateus' ship. It had caused him to call for a tow...all the way back to Saturn's NET-7 SOL for he had forgotten to mark his passage into Aragoth Prime at Chernovog Station. Thus, after repairs and a few adjustments it had been a long slog back to the Aragoth solar system to finish his appointed task. Now the mission had taken on a life of its own. Rather than just jaunt out to the location near Arkhan, a moon of Aragoth Prime and down a few haywire machines, this was a lesson in payback. The Privateer meant to serve it up in on a cold dish with a side order of plasma. How could anyone fault him for a vengeful streak upon machines? They didn't care that they were being retired. They just followed their semi-autonomous territoriality and attacked any ship coming within their scan range. With not much else to do, the machines needed to be put down anyways. Now, the Maze Runner shadowed by the eclipsing passage of Aragoth Prime before the bright primary of its sun, was hidden by more than its flat black hull as Pakkrateus crept forward at impulse drive. Ahead were the swarming machines that had incapacitated his ship days ago. The tow had been expensive and the Wayward Satellites and Wayward Drones were going to retroactively foot the bill. Rather than rely on the up close and personal Musket projectiles so common to Progen of his license, this hunt was going to be very one-sided and not very sporting at all. This was no sport. This was vengeance that nobody would pat him on the back for. Nor would they condemn the Privateer for such a vengeful streak against such malfunctioning technology. Pakkrateus looked out over his shoulders, through the bridge's view ports at the weapons he had chosen for this hunt. The weapons had been collecting dust and he had long ago discounted the ordinance as something to be mapped and forgotten. Two Blacksun Petit Oguns rode the wings' edges while an Evoco Fist of the Merus Meilia sat nearer to the port side fuselage. The missile launchers were flat black and almost invisible against the starry night of space. Only the glowing purple payloads of plasma betrayed their presence on the wings. The Merus Milia torpedo, fat and packed with explosive retribution awaited the safety release command from the bridge. The Privateer's attention was brought back to the fore by the ringing range confirmation of the ships scanning target scope. And still the Satellites and Drones had not seen his shadowed and black ship. For the aging Progen had also installed another relic that was aging as much as he was in his vault. DiApoggee's protype engines were hungry reactor consumers, but they had one thing Pakkrateus needed. Their low signature exhaust was just the thing he wanted to snipe these machines and get that satisfactory payback he desired. Running silent in the shadows cast by Aragoth Prime, Pakkrateus released the safety. Power flowed again from the reactor to enable the three launchers. Just to make extra sure of himself and to spice things up, Pakkrateus also released the safety on the feedback shield inverters. If by some means the machines came too close, well the Privateer had a little friend waiting in case of close encounters of the Wayward kind. "Welcome to dinner, my friends," Pakkrateus said as his trigger finger pulled with a satisfactory click. The launchers spat their ordinance with gusts of released air as two missiles and a torpedo tore through the night sky towards the first unlucky Satellite needing retirement. The Ogun plasma missiles arced slightly as they homed in on their target while the torpedo zigged and zagged erratically towards the Wayward Satellite. While Terrans might tout the "fire-and-forget" nature of missile weapons and lazily hunt by kiting, the Progen Privateer did no such thing. He wanted his targets to come to him. Rather than just pulling the trigger and waiting, Pakkrateus used his onboard targeting skills to further guide the ordinance to critical structural locations on the first hapless Wayward Satellite. The plasma missiles, sleek and eager struck first as they spilled high energy plasma over the joints and armor of the machine to eat away at the structure. Then the fat torpedo landed squarely in the hole left by the consuming plasma. The explosive charge laid open the Satellite's hull to expose the delicate computer core piloting the machine. The AI registered the attack and spun around to reverse-track the trajectory of the attack to the shadowed area where the Maze Runner was hidden. It thrust in an automated response to threats. Close in and use its energy projector until the threat was nullified. After all, it was never designed for combat. The Maze Runner's launchers hissed again and a second volley of guided missiles and torpedo turned the Wayward Satellite to space slag after a short flight. Pakkrateus smiled as he noted that the fast-moving machines had gratefully put their hulks within the extended range of his tractor beam boosted as it was by the focusing Harpy's Grip device. Thus the looting and payback began earnest. The Roc's Velocity device also lent celerity to the stripping of gear from the Satellite, leaving Pakkrateus the happy activity of finding a new target. The Wayward Satellite had never come close enough to fire upon his ship. Satellites and Drones fell one by one by the sniping actions of the Maze Runner hidden as it was in the eclipse shadow of the planet behind him. Any that were lucky to get close enough to fire their energy projectors were met by the shield inverter which proceeded to rip apart the target even as the AI tried in vain to perform surgery on the Privateer. The retirement and salvaging continued into the night. "Revenge is best served on a cold plate with a side order of plasma," said Pakkrateus to nobody as he continued to snipe the machines one or two at a time. The spare parts would more than pay for the repair bill and tow his ship had endured. It was turning out to be profitable. Pakkrat

Randy, et al, In your absence and many pilots' silence and/or apathy, we have established that both players and staff would like to see the advent of a Roleplaying guild for the further enjoyment of the Earth & Beyond Emulator. We have spoken about the benefits and the hurdles of drumming up interest in roleplaying in a 10-year old game that is packed full of 'grizzled' gamers who as a majority don't care for this level of passionate play. That's fine too. We've covered some of the Getting Started and even put forth a template to sign up and be counted amongst the roleplaying community. Finally, the topic of a central gathering point(s) have been suggested. I heard much about COH's roleplaying community and how there were even bestseller authors deeply involved in it. It reads like you, Randy want to envision the same spirit here in the Emulator. I'd like to hear more about what details you have in mind, what is actually feasible, and what our server's pilots want out of a roleplaying experience set in the world of Earth & Beyond Emulator. Since your initial posting of this thread, I have thrown in as a correspondent for Net-7 News in hopes of both bringing forth Content, gameworld detail and flavor, entertainment, and game clues to more fun. Yet, still we do not have the numbers of interested pilots to go forward. The interested pilots want to hear more before signing on the dotted line and committing their energies. Fence-sitters are considering but want to hear the advantages of a Roleplaying guild and weigh the pros and cons. And the apathetic pilots could care less, so long as their drops drop and they Win The Game nine times over. It seems to this pilot and Reporter that what is needed is more details and vision put on the table. Can we expect a full-immersion Roleplaying guild? An in-and-out style of game? Shall we have communications with the non-Roleplaying guilds as we do share the same server and spacelanes with them? Who shall be the leader of such a Roleplaying guild? Can that leader be strong enough to advocate for growth of the concept of actually portraying the toon of the individual pilot's choice? Will the GMs and Development team reciprocate in response to our passionate attention to the game they have created? Some pilots might ask, "Can I portray more than one toon?" What shall we call this Roleplaying guild? Shall we base it off something in story, e.g. SolSec, so that all may feel welcome regardless of race/class? This and many questions more are eating at the keyboards of interested pilots, yes even the ones in the closet. Since you started this thread, Randy (and anyone else who wants in), can you elaborate on what's to come next? I have contributed a fair amount of suggested actions, places, and given of my time. You game? From the lounge of NET-7 SOL, this is the Pakkrat. PS 150 PP 63 TT 43

Not to be sensationalist (well, maybe just a little as a Reporter), but could the drops that come from hulks become a dividing line between so-called "cherry-pickers/field campers" and the have-nots turn the words 'DiApogee' and 'Prototype' into bad household words with the pilot citizenry? "What? You're using Prototypes?" "Yeah? So?" ".....*mumble mumble* cherry-pickin'......" "But I bought these off the Market." ".....*mumble mumble* cherry-picker supporter." Will this become a dividing line of assumption between the Have Prototypes and Have-Not Prototypes because of the assumed stigma of cherry-picking and field-camping? Will boycotts of DiApogee's products ensue? Stereotypes and labels? Only time and society can tell. Via satellite, this is the Pakkrat

Writer's Block The Progen Privateer, Pakkrateus stood on the hangar deck watching his vessel being towed into the dry dock of NET-7 SOL station. It was going to need repairs and was already behind schedule to be upgraded for that license 50 appointment with Tiberius Shipyards. At this rate, the Privateer ship "Maze Runner", (now where did he come up with that name again?), was going to be nearing its license 75 upgrade if he did not get back to that mission given to him by Warship Genesis' Anjuren Khan. He stroked his already gray, angular, and close-cropped beard and then ran his gauntlet through his brushy, military-cut hair. With little else to do but watch the repair bots go to work on his vessel, Pakkrateus grew bored and sought out the lounge. A stiff drink might help, he decided. As he turned to head inside, the Privateer caught sight of the gleaming white hull of the Sentinel ship "Culler" across the hangar. The presence of the Sentinel who owned and piloted that ship meant that the Reporter was in-station somewhere. Pakkrateus did not really expect to see the fellow Progen that was whispered to be the Privateer's clone brother. But if they ran into each other perhaps it was meant to be. He glossed over the Sentinel ship's folded sails, wings (they had similar wing configuration), and weaponry. Progen often compared their guns as there was not much else to distinguish them that was readily visible. His clone brother, Dr. Pakkratius, Net-7 Reporter and Agrippa Technology graduate had somehow been given a long head start in his career. Someone had to be providing momentum behind his career. Pakkrateus, the Privateer nodded in appreciation of the chemical-based weaponry mounted on the Culler. Then the airlock hissed and he went into the station proper. He too would catch up and even exceed the Sentinel's firepower to be sure. The Privateer ship, Maze Runner's weapon hard points were already begging to be filled. Passing through the media center of NET-7 SOL's lobby, Pakkrateus rubbed his aching neck. That last blast from the Wayward Satellites coupled with the side-swiping weaponry of the Wayward Drones had fully tested the inertial dampener of his ship. Its pilot had been jolted violently back and forth in his helm web harness when his ship went derelict. Now the flashing and streaming monitors threatened to give the Privateer a hammering headache. So much information and not enough action. The objectivity and neutrality of Net-7 News was the galaxy's most vocal news source. But with such assets at their disposal, why did they not do something with them besides report on other governments and Factions, sitting on the sidelines and untouchable? The Collegiate stepped into the lounge which was little more than a smallish bar with a few drab alcoves. This was one area of the station that Net-7 apparently did not fund much. Looking upwards, Pakkrateus could see the upper terrace bare of patrons. Only occasionally was the room punctuated with a young hotshot pilot entering, pilfering as many tasks from the jobs terminal as his ego could handle then bolting off to brown-nose to some Faction or Factions. A shudder up his spine interrupted his neck tension and his budding headache. Vita Theodora was he turning out to be a grumpy old man! And he was even younger than his "clone brother", the Dr. Pakkratius of the Sabine. What anagathics were the Sentinels hiding that he always looked in his prime while the Privateer was already sporting crows feet and a wrinkled forehead? Did he get the good stuff when the two were iterated, he on Olympus Mons and the Doctor on Arx Prima? Perhaps Pakkratius inherited the cleaner of the gestation chambers? But Pakkrateus had read his own medical file. Unbeknownst to all, buried deep in the genetic code of his parent gene-map was an astronomically possible susceptibility to Methuselah's Syndrome. The nasty little trait had reared its ugly little self only in his iteration and not his "older" brother's. Was it some fluke of fate that the Privateer was destined to age faster than the Sentinel? Now that they had been iterated, there was little that could be done about it now. Mild as it was, the Syndrome could not be de-interpolated as no cure had yet been discovered. Not very life threatening, it was easier to be Called Forward than to try and find a cure in the greater chance that the aging trait would not activate in the next iteration. Oh well, so much for his lot in life. The Collegia Privateer stepped up to the bar and slid in his IdentData cube and paid for a long slew of vodka. He could well afford to drown the neck pain and the headache in alcoholic oblivion. He sat down and looked over his shoulder at any other patrons of the bar. He did not truly expect it, but off in one of the alcoves was the Reporter. The Sentinel was seated at a table closest to the Net terminal. Thin docu-tablets were stacked haphazardly upon the table before him. Now he knew why he had a twinge up his spine. Some Terran lore called it "twinness", the unexplained feeling that birth twins felt when near each other. Others chalked the sensation up to an early form of Psi talent. But such traits supposedly had been eradicated from the Progen matrix by the Sabine Order long ago. He looked frustrated and overworked, the Sentinel. Cyber-linked to the terminal with an extension line, Dr. Pakkratius was obviously trying to write another one of his useless articles for the newscorp. Pakkrateus had seen them and found nothing of lasting value in them. His own goals were in line with the Collegia: Progen using the weapons and systems designed by the Forgemasters of the the Collegia, eschewing the likes of InfinitiCorp, GETCo, and the rising Hyperia. Terrans. The Reporter again hit the delete key on the terminal console and went to composing another draft while studying yet another tablet. Pakkrateus slugged down his vodka and chuckled privately to himself as he subtly watched his older "brother" suffer a bout of writer's block. Since the Sentinel had surprised the Sabine Order with a decision to pursue journalism in addition to the genetics medical arts, they had not planned on traits for such to give to the iterated Sentinel. Pakkratius was having to develop by environment rather than pre-destined gene-mapping. Well good, thought the Privateer. He hoped the Doctor's block was as bad as his headache now in full hammering bloom. Just then a station attendant came in and stepped into Pakkratius' alcove and made mention of something the Privateer could not hear from across the bar. A smile crept to his wrinkled face as he watched the Sentinel detach from the terminal, get up in a huff and grab his case from under the table. It seems the Doctor was needed more than the Reporter, Pakkrateus mused. The Sentinel left the bar to go do his Sabine duty to some pilot waiting outside. At least he got paid for it, thought Pakkrateus. Then the bill for his sixth and final helping of vodka printed out next to his inserted IdentCube. It seemed that station dues for non-essentials was again on the rise. He chuckled. "These things are true: Death, Taxes, and Iteration," he said to nobody as he hit the button to eject the small green cube. Then he went to sleep off the experience and near-miss with his older brother. Awaiting new Content, Pakkrat

Don't forget the need for hauling. Perhaps a time-sensitive element of refining after hauling the ores a sector or two away to the nearest station with a refining terminal. In that, one can include the Traders, Privateers, and Seekers. Now a second set of miners would have to be on-station to receive the ores and refine them. Grouping this set with the ore runners would be nice as the Tradesmens' Negotiate group buffs and skills would add to the net outcome and be a goal of the raid. Mine X ores, run them to station Y, refine these specific ores Z1-9, and make a TON of credits for me. Oh, and watch out for the fauna and ore pirates. They've been eyeing the claim and seem ready to fall upon any operation that is not well guarded. IF you can do that, I'll match my corporation's contribution. Now scram. Just an input. Via satellite, this is the Pakkrat.

Gambling at the raceway was another diversion. -P

A blank dossier,(with suggested fillers), exampled below. <Race/Class Dossier header> e.g. Devout Followers of the Sha'ha'dem Name: <toon's real name> or <toon's handle or designation> Class: e.g. Explorer Gender: male/female obviously Homeland: Planetside or station-born, location and sector Education: e.g. general education, specialist schooling, training, masteries, Doctorates, and merits/honors Assigned duty: Where does the toon generally call home during their career? Details: Medical. e.g. A short synopsis of any physical, emotional, mental details discovered as the toon began their career or while in apprenticeship. Write from the viewpoint of the race or class leader, report-style. Personality. e.g. A short synopsis of significant traits that spiked in the toon's past causing the race/class leader to have the toon apprenticed to that career. List both positive and negative traits that stood out. Social. e.g. How did the race/class leader see the toon's attitude with their peoples, class, current affairs, other races and classes? Keep it short and only detail spiking affinities and antipathies. Skillset. e.g. Short and general. What skills did the budding pilot chose? Group role? Affinity for Builds? Hunter? Trader? Doctor? Wormhole Taxi driver? Future pirate? Warrior for the cause? Career. e.g. Did the toon stay in line with what the race/class mandates or did they branch out into freelance/free agent. Are they true to the worldview of their race/class or did they take the education and skills and strike out on their own in disgust? Can the race/class bring the toon back into their fold? Corporation/Affiliation. e.g. How does the race/class rate the toon in terms of their short- and long-term goals? Loyalty. e.g. Is the toon still loyal to their source race and/or class? Can the toon be won back into the fold or are they a lost cause? Gone native? Gone pirate and never looked back? What is the toon's favored Faction that they seem to be maxing out? Secret Details: Include in this section anything that is secret and not publicly known about the toon. Secrets that only the toon knows or does not know about themselves. Hidden traits only spotted by the race/class leader. Intrigues. (Nothing world-breaking or against canon; keep it believable and attached to the overall metaplot.) e.g. "We know this Scout has Psi blood and their abilities as a Psi have yet to bloom. Watch them carefully. They may have to be sent to registry and off to the mines of Aganju." Tips: Remember that your roleplay toon is special. A cut above the rest. That's why they were chosen to represent their race/class. DeWynter doesn't hire AFK-bots or vault mules. Kethrada doesn't want unthinking and unfeeling devotees. Ariad wants the go-getters. Var doesn't tolerate weakness. Vinda despises stupidity. Give the race/class leader something they can grasp onto and think "I can use this one." Conversely, remember the human element. These are not demigods. They are mortal and can be hurt. They are just as vulnerable to the Delete Button. I hope this blank dossier and guide helps those who are fence-sitting, looking inward at us roleplayers. This is for the further enjoyment of the Earth & Beyond Emulator and should be respected as such. Via satellite, game on, and this is the Pakkrat.

Meh on the lot of it all. I stopped mining hulks back around OL25 and haven't looked back. Given the continuance of cherry-picking and the ensuing drama, I don't need it to play the game. Themepark mission lines have been more rewarding than playing the game's system and whining. My Sentinel made it to OL150 in an acceptable time and I enjoyed Content. This new behavior has saved me from respecting those who run around all day going, "Phear mah 133t drop, suckas!" Whatever, dude. Just know that there is a game out there besides standing in what amounts to gasoline station lines waiting your turn. Via satellite, this is the Pakkrat.

Here is another submitted dossier: INFINITICORP - Bringing technology to you! InfinitiCorp Employee Name: 'Pakkrat' (birthname not submitted on hire, investigation pending) Employee Number: TT1298-4576 Position: Trader Gender: Male Homeland: Earth, North America Education: Standard (no meritus, advance placement, acheivements) Current work sector: Merchant Q-ship, location variable Details: Medical. The Pakkrat has recently been revived from a cryostasis coma of extended and estimated duration. Though restored to full health, psych eval has yet to reveal any mental damage. Small, unidentified puncture wound found on upper extremity and intruding to the humerus marrow. Details unknown (see file PA-44, encrypted). Scans cleared him of quarantine and fit for standard employee status. Personality. InfinitCorp standard with marked spikes of survival, greed, resourcefulness, and a blatant disregard for authority and chain of command. Label: Loose cannon. Recommend observation and passive career guidance. Independent and self-sufficient traits. Due to Medical (see above), employee is not recommended for promotion at this time. Presents a corporate security risk and flagged for such. Career. Pre-Gate War employee given standard education and pilot's license. Experienced in pathfinding new trade routes, ship maneuvers, and support skill use. Re-activated for Q-ship duties alongside trade running. Attention: Retirement pension is excessive given the employee's length of cryostasis. Interest accrued may exceed typical employee ranges. (See taxation forms W-2 or 1099 for further details.) Skillset. Though given plenty of opportunity to develop a craft, the Pakkrat has shown only an interest in Engines and excessive speed. His resume includes support skills that may aid in his new vessel's Q-ship transport design. Recommended for observation in groups for support efficiency. Corporation. Under observation by executive order. Permitted 'freelance' license enforced by his lawyer and contractual bylaws. Corp loyalty. Given his late revival from cryostasis, the Pakkrat's loyalty to race and employer is drastically reduced but may rebound with time. Until then, COO DeWynter has designated employee as "a loose cannon". Note: (Encrypted cypher Nidus^4.....decode DeWynter: rat.....Accessing: "I want this rat watched closely. If he even twitches a whisker wrong, the EarthCorps has permission to terminate the employee." -DeWynter )

I'll submit this dossier for an example. Progen Privateer designated Pakkrateus Homeland: Olympus Mons, Mars Education: Arx Bursa, Mars Gamma, (still under construction, see article AB-031) Inception Date: (classified Collegia, under article CO-112) Iteration Tree: third generation Pakkrat Master Genome (classified Sabine, under article SA-Vind) Gender: Male, Alpha caste Current assigned residence: tour of duty based out of NET-7 SOL Special Notes: Medical. Pakkrateus, though his iteration seems stable, suffers from a mild form of Methuselah's syndrome. Though the youngest of the detected (so far) iterations of the Pakkrat Master Genome, this Collegia Privateer appears to have aged faster than the previous iteration and the original Terran, Pakkrat. Career. The Privateer refuses to enlist with Agrippa Technology program early in his career for reasons unknown. Will attempt to recruit him post OL 135. Skill Concentrations: Pakkrateus seems to have inherited more of the economic aggression traits of the Pakkrat Master Genome in that he has, for his own reasons, focused his attentions to haggling through Negotiation. Though his vessel class seems capable, the Privateer refuses to engage in combat unless provoked. His bio suggests a curiosity in crafting system, but no clear concentration detected. Assets: The Privateer's selections of skills suggest he prefers support roles, due to his early selection of support skills. Will conduct tests to see if Pakkrateus favors groups or not. Republic Loyalty Degree: Dutiful citizen, not too given to immediately volunteer for tours in the name of the Republic. Seems equally given to freelance activities across the greater Progen Republic Factions. -For Vinda's Eyes Only - Encrypted with Hex^64 cypher.....decode Vinda-16 Alpha. Accessing: The Sabine Order suggests activating this sleeper mole agent sooner due to the onset of Methuselah's Syndrome. Operative may not be viable beyond a decade or so. Vinda has final authorization to 'awaken' this pawn. See article VA-09 for conditions. Should the Collegia discover Pakkrateus' true function, recommend immediate Reclamation. -End Transmission-

I'll bite. This is a good question. It means you are serious. It means you want to do this. It also means you're considering the How of doing this. You've come to the right place, sir. Suggestions: 1. Pick a single toon. It can be any level, though starting small, say OL50 or less (without some backstory) and adopt a personality behind it. Give us a new dimension to the character other than the number-crunching and the polygons that make up your toon. 2. Log on in-character with the commitment that you will stay in-character when interacting with others who have take up their own role. 3. Develop affinities and antipathies. Does your Jenquai want to uphold the SolSec Treaty for any reason at all? Does he want to stir the pot across the Factions and races? 4. Develop story-based goals and mold your adopted, personalized toon to strike out for them. 5. It's okay to break character with non-Role players as they suck period. Just hop back in when you see another toon that is generally in-character. 6. Group up with other toons that are in-character or maybe sorta fencesitting. Encourage the spirit of the game, not the nuts and bolts. 7. The actor's method: Ask your toon, "What's my motivation?" 8. Learn to enjoy the unfoldment of your toon and enjoy his/her story. 9. Optional: Teamspeak only if you're the same gender as your toon or if you can believably mimic that gender's voice pitch. Just a few suggestions to answer worthy questions. From the upper deck of the lounge at NET-7 SOL, this is the Pakkrat.

Though my forum bio says it all, I'll Call it Forward here. Girlfriend found EA Earth & Beyond and we played from 2002 til 2004 when we learned it was to be shut down. We were on the Orion server in the Knighthawks Guild under the likes of Metamatic 'Meta', Endrin, BigRuss, and others. I was a sought after Engine builder and proficient heals Terran Trader. We then had to migrate to EvE Online where the Knighthawks tried to stay together, but life has that whole entropy thing going. I am so glad to be back and it obviously shows in my work as a Net-7 Reporter. I too got a little choked up the first time the intro cinematic played and I was able to log in to the Emulator. The Emulator has an excellent team that listens, responds, and works their lives into the grave for this game we all love. I heartily encourage those pilots who are interested in the game world, the storyline, and the plot to download the Earth & Beyond Storyline document. It opens with Adobe Reader, Kindle, nook, and the like. Read it and enjoy. You can find it in the Roleplaying sub-forum in the Timeline thread by Mynd. Some of the written trailers and cinematics will jerk your tears too. From the archives at NET-7 SOL, this is the Pakkrat.

Slightly related, I am seeing that Navigate is one of the top three skills being Called Forward by pilots who have the skill. Could they be merely re-distributing dots to reflect device buffs and putting that final dot's skill points somewhere else? Don't answer that. Of course they are. "Are you keeping tally, Pakkrat?" Yes, I am. As pilots begin to find fault with various skills, they are beginning to adjust their skills away from nerf-prone skills. As a Net-7 Reporter, I'm going to watch trends and make my own conclusions about races/classes to play next. From the Doctor's office at NET-7 SOL, this is the Pakkrat. Sabine Sentinel 146 Pakkrat Industries - What can PI do for you? Builders Inc. Net-7 News Doctor of Call Forward and still charging a sliding-scale pittance Graduate of Agrippa Tech, where's my straightjacket?

This is a great idea! I can't wait to report it once it has been pushed. Via satellite, this is the Pakkrat