The New Yorker — Roleplayer Guild

The SS Regenesis settled into a smooth run as it came out of a strong thrust, bringing it in from the inky backdrop. It had a slim design with two small wings jutting from the sides. It’s bulbous bow was a thick black Plexiglas which refracted and reflected light like no other technology ever before. It was designed specifically for this mission, Diego did the interview with the gentleman who did.

He was a polish born astrophysicist from the European Academic Union, a chatty chap. As nice as anyone else from around that area of the world, Diego figured, he smoked like a chimney. He was blonde and had a pin head, about 6’3 in height, skinny as a pool cue. Smart, angled features.

This man was in Diego’s dream, most recently, as he slowly and carefully peeled away the coating of sleep, and discovered consciousness yet again. The almost black metal walls around him formed into a hexagon, he knew because he’d seen the ship design. This room was a partitioned area, it had to be. If the rest of the ship experience cataclysmal failure this portion would eject itself, if it hadn’t been blown up already. It was a menial comfort, but a comfort all the same. Of course, in the distance between Earth and here, where he assumed to be here, if they’d been dejected into space they might just have died anyway, lost at sea. Diego sat from the tablet he’d been laying on, along with the 11 others. They’d been tucked into glass encasements and suspended in plasma in order to interrupt degradation. For this reason everyone was naked, simply a product of necessity. Diego clasped at the oxygen masked attached to his head and pulled it off, a mechanized suction sound happening as he did. He gasped a little bit at the new air, then calmed.

His slimy hand extended toward a little table near the tablet to grab a towel. He dried his top half, then his bottom half. And stood with the towel wrapped around his waist. A salt-and-pepper haired man made his way over from another part of the room. He was already dressed in a white lab coat with a green and yellow cross stitched dress shirt, and mustard corduroys. He held a tablet in one hand and stylus in the other, on his lab coat was a name tag, Dr. Lein. Albert Lein was his name, a graduate of Columbia and NYU. He developed the containment tubes they slept in.

“Heya there, Diego. How do you feel?” Dr. Lein asked.
Diego looked over the the girl he’d just been speaking to only moments before. She seemed a little nervous, but also a little embarrassed. If he had to wager a guess, she was the nurse. “Fine,” Diego said, bringing his hand up to sweep his hair back atop his head, it’d crowded around his forehead as he stood. “These things are something else, Doctor. Almost makes it worth looking at that shirt.” He joked as he passed the doctor by, tapping the man on the chest. Albert snickered a little and wrote down a note as he continued on down the line, asking everyone how they felt.

Diego was the first person in the bathroom, necessarily unisex, and ducked into one of the many enclosed showers. When he came out he headed toward his locker and slid his clothes on, foregoing the toilet as his bladder felt fine. A man with black hair came from the incubation chamber and slid into a shower, he was an engineer. When Diego had his boot’s tied he rushed away from the crowded bathroom. One of the engineers, Susan (A friend of Diego’s from Oxford, actually), began arguing with one of her male counterparts about a bar of soap, and Diego was quite happy with being able to leave there. He came out to the control station with the Captain, Joss, settling into his cockpit. He was a Scot with dirty blonde hair, quick as a whip, and as cocky as any fighter pilot.

“How close are we?” Diego asked as he came up to the dais where the control station was, gleaming at all the monitors and lit buttons. His accent was a strange amalgamation. It was not Latin, not English, and not American, but somewhere at the junction of those.

“Should be docked in about 10 minutes. Go head out on the dock if you want to see.” Joss said.

“I will,” Diego said as he made his way to the steps to the side, leading toward the bow. He came up to an observation deck, and the sight of the red rock looming just beyond, and the space station to his right, gently floating in it’s orbit. It was slim, aside from a slight protrusion from the center. Diego couldn’t make out what it was, but the sight of the little lights in the distance, and Mar’s eclipsing the backdrop, brought a tear to his eye. He never imagined in his wildest dreams that he would witness something like this, yet here he was, reaping it’s benefits directly.

I am very interested. And I think mostly because I want to see if I can convince you of my idea. I'm an advance level player as well, have been for a few years, and I really enjoy character interaction.

I love complex stories and settings with sort of extreme circumstances. Lot's of tension and emotional anxiety. <- if that piqued your interest rather than stiffled it, I think we should do fine.

I have an idea for a 22nd century exploration of a small segment of Mars. It wouldn't be for colonization or anything, but rather to excavate and plot a newly discovered, massive subterranean cavern. Essentially we would play space archaeologists in this sort of low tech sci-fi setting. Imagine, if you can, Indiana Jones meets Aliens

Let me know what you think. I also have other ideas.

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