Notes from Small Planets

by Nate Crowley

  Beings of Pure Energy (Energia Etcetera) are repulsively common in SPACE, and come in many varieties, differentiated largely by the colour of the whirly balls of lightning they’re made up of. Everyone gets really excited when they come across their first BPE, until they realise it’s essentially just vermin that looks like a shit special effect, and which is determined to dive into their personal electronics and fuck them up beyond repair.

  People

  Once again, while there’s no hope of introducing the vast range of SPACE’s cultures within the confines of this guide, there are certain groups you’re almost certain to come across.

  The Space Men

  The Space Men are a culture of intense, square-jawed, utterly identical human men.[19] It’s believed they’re all descended from a single ace pilot, although wherever he came from has either vanished or is yet to be discovered. Either way, he was stranded on a tiny asteroid, and injected himself with an untested serum which turned him into a self-replicating organism. His millions of weird identical sons used floating debris to turn that asteroid into the city-sized structure known today as Outpost Bravo, and the rest is history. Although physically strong and mathematically gifted, the Space Men are weirdly helpless, endlessly getting into dire predicaments that they don’t quite have the wits to fix. They’re also extremely anxious about fulfilling the original Space Man’s Mission,[20] although none of them have much of an idea what it was, beyond vague exploration. Professionals to the last, they wear their SPACEsuits at all times, talk using radio slang even in face-to-face conversation, and huff down cigarettes non-stop. Although they’re neither SPACE’s most accomplished inhabitants nor its most popular, they happened to end up building their base in the centre, so now they’re lumbered with running this neutral ground for everyone else.

  Floyd’s Fact

  Since they are all identical, the Space Men decide their ranks purely by how long they have survived in the face of their nightmarishly accident-prone nature. The Captain of Outpost Bravo, the Methuselah of them all, is nearly twenty-three.

  Robots

  The Space Men are assisted in their work by a species of self-aware yet astonishingly primitive robots. These automatons – self-assembling copies of the original Space Man’s mechanical companion – despise the Space Men, and the Space Men harbour a thunderous (and wholly reasonable) collective paranoia over the intentions and integrity of the robots. While grim tradition dictates that every Spaceman works with a lifelong robot partner, these partnerships are almost always dynamos of mutual loathing. Because of this, the two communities stay well away from each other outside of formal Mission time, with the robots of Outpost Bravo living in a greasy, sparking warren of tunnels, as far from the Space Men as possible.

  SPACE Pirates

  Once upon a time, armed seizure of cargo by rogue crews was a major hazard to those travelling in SPACE. But with the abolition of armed conflict across most of the sector at the behest of the Syndicate, most privateers headed to the rowdier environs of the Galaxy for richer pickings. This left something of a vacuum, into which stepped several retired Captains from Spume.[21] They brought with them their philosophy and methodology of piracy, and while it took them a while to master the art of sailing the nearly void, they’ve become rather successful. When a SPACE Pirate vessel threatens a boarding action, most Captains would rather instantly capitulate and pay for them to go away than endure the time-consuming, theatrical nonsense of Spume-style buccaneering.

  SHADOWS IN THE VOID

  Despite the enlightened technological nature of its inhabitants, SPACE is a place that lends itself well to ghost stories. All over the sector, you’ll occasionally hear tales of ships half-glimpsed: phantom vessels cloaked behind shimmering force fields, which project fleeting images and thoughts into the minds of the crews who encounter them before vanishing without a trace. Some say these ships are an alien species yet to be formally encountered, while others argue they are the Forebears themselves, still around after all these years, silently observing their domain. Either way, they’re really creepy.

  Aliens

  There are around seventy known species of sentient alien, with virtually all of them conforming to a fairly standard humanoid configuration:

  The sweating, gargle-voiced Hunglrrrrgh (aka the dogmen)[22] are an honourable people beloved to the Stellar Warriors; their thick coat of reeking fur seems to give them the impression that it’s fine to walk around completely starkers. I suppose it would be fine if the fur at least covered their big grim balls.[23]

  The deathly dull Hephaestans, who co-govern the Syndicate with humans,[24] literally just look like people with a bit of make-up and weird hair. I’m told they’ve got slightly odd necks, but I’m not really seeing it.

  PEW! PEW! WHOOSH! PEW!

  Part of the joy of the Stellar Warriors’ obstinately martial culture is their utter refusal to abandon weapons and tactics that make next to no sense in a high-tech SPACE combat environment. Their greatest heroes, the Sword Monks, insist on fighting with the blades that give them their name, while the outcomes of even the largest fleet engagements, between dozens of mile-long vessels, will always be decided by the actions of squadrons of tiny fighter craft. Everyone wonders why the Warriors maintain this archaic, inefficient means of fighting, until they take a ride in the passenger seat of an Insurrectionist C-7Z and realise it’s the most thrilling thing a person can experience with their trousers on.

  The Olang are the orange-skinned, bat-nosed chief rivals of the Syndicate – a crafty bunch who constantly manage to work around the peacekeeping efforts of their adversaries and cause mischief.[25]

  The Unk are a warrior race[26] of tusked, grey-skinned bruisers who used to be the Syndicate’s main antagonists, forever causing trouble, until war was banned. Now they are under the protection of their former enemies, and have honest jobs as security staff on many Syndicate vessels.[27]

  3. PLANNING YOUR TRIP

  When to Visit

  Given the sheer number of different calendars in play across all of SPACE, there’s no one time it’s best to visit, although there are some local cultural landmarks you simply have to see if you can:

  Punch Moon Destruction

  It’s hard to grasp exactly what the Dictatorship that runs the Galaxy actually stands for, but one thing it loves is building nonsensical superweapons. And the insurrectionists love blowing them up just as much. To ensure cultural continuity, therefore, every five years the Dictatorship begins constructing the Punch Moon, an artificial planetoid armed with a giant extendable boxing glove, with which it threatens to knock a civilian planet’s lights out. The insurrectionists will typically spend most of the half-decade construction period arguing about whether ladies should be seen flying fighter crafts, and then scramble at the last minute to exploit the Punch Moon’s traditional glaring weakness. The Moon’s detonation is an unrivalled fireworks display,[28] and the celebration afterwards lasts for as long as it takes an insurrectionist leader to insist that only men should do the flying next time.

  Hephaestan Shag Week

  Every twelve years, the frighteningly boring Hephaestans undergo a hormonal transformation that means they spend a week desperate to either fight or bang everything around them. In fairness, they’re perfectly respectful of others’ consent, but it’s still extremely irritating when you’re trying to enjoy a nice evening at an Olangian seafood buffet, only to find a half-dozen pinch-faced logicians running a train on the salad bar.[29]

  DON’T MISS: AESCHYLUS ONE

  If you fancy an extremely strange cruise with elements of a giant murder-mystery party, I recommend a trip on the Aeschylus One, a battleship turned refugee vessel from a planet whose human occupants were overthrown by androids who looked exactly like people. The ship now wanders round SPACE in a slow circle, with everyone aboard constantly trying to work out which of their peers is secretly a robot. Of course, the tragedy is that the Aeschylus’ organic crew all died of anxiety decades
ago: everyone who remains is a robot, pretending to be a human, who’s paranoid that everyone else is a robot.[30]

  Getting Around

  Getting to even the furthest reaches of SPACE is a trivial business, with trade routes connecting Outpost Bravo to almost every conceivable destination. From the enormous gleaming vessels of the Syndicate, which stop regularly at Outpost Bravo for trade and resupply, to the million-plus ramshackle private vessels known to the station’s docks, you’ll have no trouble finding a conveyance option to match your budget. Just bear in mind that if you want to go somewhere really dicey, or you’ve got sod all in the way of dosh, you’re going to end up on one of the cantankerous, leaky red rocketships of the Space Men, at which point you’re playing Russian roulette with your life.

  Eating and Drinking

  The restaurants of SPACE between them boast a veritable galaxy of Michelin stars (or at least their cosmic equivalents), meaning a smorgasbord of opportunities for the budding gastronaut. And while shipboard fare can be a little … algal, especially among more austere cultures, you’ll find you’re never more than a few light minutes[31] from a slap-up feed.

  SPACE’S

  BEST BARS and RESTAURANTS

  The Ves Banyopp Taverna – Once renowned as the ultimate hangout for the rowdiest lowlifes in the Galaxy, this legendary dive is now somewhat cleaned up for the tourist crowd, with memorabilia all over the walls and a bar crowded with preening wannabes. You can still get threatened by a geezer with an anus for a face while ordering if you feel you really need to, but it’ll cost you a pretty penny these days.

  Finale – Tacky but moderately amusing chain restaurant claiming to be at the end of time, where you can watch the universe ‘explode’ (actually a clever sound and light show) as you eat. Don’t be fooled into paying through the nose for the meat that supposedly ‘implores you to eat it’ – it’s actually just a waiter under the table, doing a silly voice.

  Hroopenblups – An extravagant alien-friendly cocktail bar in Syndicated SPACE, run by a lady with three nostrils and an otherwise ordinary face. Great spot to drink glowing neon-coloured mixed drinks while checking out the extravagant fashions on display, or watching Syndicate Science Dreadnoughts launching from the nearby drydock.

  The Grand Concourse – Public space on Outpost Bravo, where alien residents hawk their home cuisine. Some foods are genuinely weird – you simply must try the inevitable bowl full of live, glowing tentacles when it’s offered – but many are as disappointingly familiar as the aliens themselves, for example the classic ‘apple with antennae instead of a stalk’.

  Recreation Chamber Thirteen – Austere watering hole where the crew of Outpost Bravo go to drink. At all times of day, you’ll find this cramped, windowless hole rammed with rows of Space Men, cheek to jowl but not talking; just pounding back artificial ethanol and sweating. Just about the only concession to fun is the fact that the music – atonal, psychedelic drone rock – is turned up so high that the patrons can’t hear each other howl to themselves in existential despair.

  Floyd’s Tip

  Space Man cuisine isn’t really much to write home about, having been designed entirely for efficient sustenance over pleasure. The Space Men will take fresh food then grimly hoy it into the hoppers of a giant machine that grinds, blasts, boils, pulps, leaches and presses it, before spitting out a row of tiny pellets. Despite seeming to absolutely shatter the law of conservation of energy, it seems a Space Man can obtain an entire day’s nutrition from just three of these pellets – an orange one, a green one and the unspeakable ‘dinner wafer’.[32] The Space Man regimen can be interesting to try once,[33] but that’s generally where the fun should end.

  Currency

  With only a few minor exceptions, all planets in SPACE accept the universal currency known as Starbucks, which take the form of small golden rectangles. These are minted and regulated by the Egh – an alien species whose defining characteristic is that they are obsessed with money – and come in denominations starting at 14.99 million. Regrettably, you see, the Syndicate’s recent initiative to expand their fleet of Science Dreadnoughts[34] tenfold has necessitated the printing of quite a bit of new money, and inflation has become a bit of an issue.

  DAILY SAMPLE COSTS

  BUDGET: Less than 10 billion Starbucks

  Zero-G bunk in the crew section of Outpost Bravo (smoker’s berth): 5bn SB

  One day’s Space Man Misery Rations: 1.5bn SB

  Ten minutes in the Outpost Bravo Imagination Hole: 2bn SB

  One day’s flight aboard a Space Man rocketship: 7bn SB

  MIDRANGE: Between 10–50 billion Starbucks

  Homestay with a family of Jalllooare Sandranchers: 42bn SB

  Tall glass of premium green SPACEmilk: 14bn SB

  Rental of a co-pilot seat in an insurrectionist fighter craft: 31bn SB

  Passage aboard a supposedly crap freighter that ends up outflying military vessels: 36bn SB

  TOP END: More than 50 billion Starbucks

  Officer’s quarters on a Syndicate Science Dreadnought: 112bn SB

  Exquisite seafood from a planet with loads of consonants in its name: 56bn SB

  Ticket to a Syndicate Captains’ gala dinner (includes tickets to an Unk Fight): 173bn SB

  Single Teleportation: 60bn SB (also technically costs your life as you are broken into your component atoms and then ‘printed’ elsewhere, but … y’know. Don’t think about it too hard)

  DRESS TO FLOURESCE: SPACE FASHION

  When choosing your outfit for day-to-day life among the stars, it’s better to fall on the side of the outré – among aliens in particular, there’s a running joke over which species can wear the most ludicrous costumes and still be taken seriously by humans. Inevitably, this long-running competition has accidentally spawned some genuine fashion miracles, and so alien communities on human stations and vessels tend to be something of a haute couture extravaganza. Here’s how to copy their look:

  In general, silver fabrics are always a good choice, while sequins, headdresses and extravagantly weird make-up are all highly recommended.

  Diaphanous fabrics are almost always a good shout, but shiny plastics can be a hit if you’ve got the confidence to pull them off.

  Glowsticks. Everywhere you can stick them.

  If you’re not dressing to impress, there are practical considerations. Cold is often an issue, especially on poorly insulated Space Man vessels, so a good knitted jumper is advisable at the very least.

  Magnetic boots are also a good call, as, while artificial gravity is de rigueur in most off-planet situations, you don’t want to be left drifting like a poached egg if you find yourself on a ship without it.

  IN SPACE, EVERYONE CAN HEAR YOU SCREAM

  If you’re spending time in the districts where the Space Men sleep, be prepared to endure the constant sound of worried barks and shouts – these poor sods are tormented by nightmares and fitful sleep, and the walls of their bunkhouses are paper-thin. There’s a reason why the cheapest accommodation in the station can be found here.

  Don’t Forget to Pack …

  Translatron

  These superb gizmos, sold at kiosks run by Egh entrepreneurs on Outpost Bravo, allow the wearer to understand any language spoken in SPACE.[35]

  Towel

  One of the SPACE’s local guidebooks claims towels are completely essential packing for any visitor to the region, but I don’t really get the hype. I mean, they’re all right after a shower, or for wiping up sick after you’ve quacked a gutful in zero-G, but that’s about it.

  A beach ball

  On a SPACEship in distress, with just seconds to go until the hull breaches? ‘There’s no need to panic’, as they say! Just inflate this bad boy and keep it with you. Then, even if you do get blasted into the void, you’ll have a good few huffs of air to last until someone can throw you a SPACE Rope and haul you to safety.

  Phillips-head screwdriver

  Funny story, actually: I was on a Sp
ace Man rocketship headed to Syndicated SPACE when I spilled coffee on the controls and they jammed up completely.[36] The bloody vessel started plunging towards the heart of the nearest star, and I must admit I got fairly worried. But then, would you believe it, this fellow just showed up out of nowhere, wearing a ridiculous bow tie and a flappy coat, and waved a screwdriver at the dashboard. Fixed it instantly, then vanished again. No idea who the hell he was or what he did,[37] but I’ve carried a screwdriver with me ever since.

  Manners and Etiquette

  Say how impressive everything is

  Especially among the Space Men, it’s worth downplaying how familiar you are with advanced technology, if only out of politeness. You see, the sheer quaintness of their technology will astound and delight you: it’s all shiny chrome and chunky, colourful buttons, along with green-screen computers, glowing orbs and cream plastic panelling. It might seem pathetic and obsolete, but the Space Men are very proud of their machinery and will be very upset if you laugh at it.

  Shit in secret

  For an unknown reason, Syndicate crewmembers have a mortal terror of being seen going to the loo. For this reason, the toilets on their ships are all hidden, ingeniously disguised as laboratories or store cupboards. This can be maddening at first, but it lends a weird speakeasy mystique to the business of taking a dump, and can be great fun when you get used to it.