Colts, Crinolines, and Conspiracies

Since being given the command of the New Babbage Naval Squadron, I have found that my time has been progressively eaten by administrative tasks. Sadly, even in light of what happened in town with the Obolensky affair, I still am running the squadron with a shoestring staff. I am wearing a lot of hats, to include Chief of Intelligence. There are days when I wish I could spirit the Duchess away from Hotspur, because I could use a second set of eyes when going over all the briefs and notes that come across my desk.

I had just finished my second cup of coffee when I saw the pile of paper neatly dropped from the repeating telegraph in the office. Typically all of the reports from inbound and outbound shipping are sent to me for review, and so I read through them classifying them for possible action, whether it means increasing the coastal patrols, checking on harbor watch or any of the other myriad things that come from 'someone somewhere saw something'. The Caledon air packet made a report into harbor control that they saw an oil slick with debris out by the Vernian Deep marker buoy. I made a note to send someone out to check, and looked at the forwarded port entry/exit log. Debris could mean anything....the log didn't indicate anyone missing, but it could be smugglers or some private craft that failed to check in. I happened to reach for my cup when I saw the byline on the copy of the Primgraph Reporter..."missing correspondent". I grew more concerned as I read the article. I knew Miss Janus had been going on an assignment, that it had been a while since I had seen her in town...

I quickly telegraphed the pier, and told the watch officer to get my Seahawk ready to sail. The Seahawk is small, in comparison to the other gunboats in the squadron, but is fast enough to get me out where I need to be. Once I arrived at the docks, the harbormaster already had the message that Black Queen was outbound for the Vernian. We got underway, and after a short run at speed found the debris field. It wasn't much to see, litter, odd bits of flotsam...and then I saw it. A jacket. I fished it out with a gaffhook, and it didn't take much to know who it belonged to. It was hers. If it was as I thought, she'd have taken the Seahorse out. It was a sturdy sub, but even so didn't have an air supply that would last for this long.

I fired off a telegraph to the harbor office for distribution, warning of a possible navigation hazard. This should give me a little time to reroute shipping, and keep traffic out of the area.

Now to find a submarine...

During my rezday party, I was asked the question I expected to be asked by our DJ, Ms Riel, and I failed to answer. Not because I didn't want to , but because I was still thinking about the answer. As is my norm, I seriously overthought it, and it took me this long to get all my musing together in one place...that and my previously mentioned maladroitness with a keyboard that our own Miss Writer so pointedly makes reference to...

So what have I learned in 2 years of Second Life?

The three rules of Bliss:
Bliss is what you make of it
Bliss is where you find it
Your bliss is your responsibility.

To quote the old outlaw at the end of the Wild Bunch, "It ain't like the old days, but it'll do". Yes, SL may be an imperfect RP environment, it may have its flaws and shortcomings, but it is still a wondrous grid full of amazing things. You are in charge of your own happiness.

There are no NPCs in SL.

Always remember that everyone you meet has a real human behind the screen, full of all of those things that humans bring to the table. There are no AIs guiding their actions, so even when you get frustrated try to think that they may be saying the same things about you.

Pay it forward.

Just remember that the newbie with the bad hair and lots of questions may become your best friend one day. Or you may never see them again. I believe in SL karma.

Finally, as in all things, if you begin to believe your own press, there may be a problem.

So I remain, humbly and in awe of the wonderful people I have met,
Your servant,
Jed

Please pardon me for the delay in writing, as it has been a tumultuous week, and I take pen in hand while in the wilds of Kentucky to set this to (virtual) paper. I would like to thank all of you who had a hand in planning and executing the rezday party for me. There are times when one can take for granted the friendships built here in this aetheric world, or wonder just what part you have in it. This was one of those occasions where I was awed, shocked, and flattered. While I may be remiss in thanking each of you individually, I do want to say that this was one of the most special occasions for me in my entire electronic life.

Your most humble servant,

Jed

The petty officers sat in a huddle in the back of the bar, and I managed to slide into an end chair before of them noticed me, and then noticed who it was. Luckily for all of us I managed to keep them from saluting....

I clustered up, and told them my plan. They had only been leaving a single automaton on the pier after 10 PM, and the alert crews only left one or two men back on board the active watch ships. Each petty officer would lead a section to storm the alert boats simultaneously originating from a different direction. 4 ships, 6 teams. The "Charger", one of the Kotetsus I bought right before the occupation was moored in back, next to the "Stonewall" a Lavanco we traded a rum smuggler a load of machine parts for. The "Tarheel", my Cuthbert ram was next, and a Vanguard that was being used as a harbor boat was at the end of the slip. If we were lucky, the Vanguard would be ready to sail which would allow us to sail her out of the way and hopefully get the rest of the ships moving. If we were really lucky, more than one of them would be under power, and that would let us tow the rest out. Or they could all be cold, or gone. We agreed on the recognition signal (blue rocket followed by a blue light) and that I wanted the guns double-shotted with canister (since I wanted to discourage followers from on-shore). They all looked at each other, comparing notes, asking about hatch combings, doodling on the counter working out figures for gun crews...

"Boys, this is going to be dangerous, and not without some degree of personal risk to you should we fail." I looked at each of them in the eyes as I went around the table, and while I didn't know all of them by name, I knew their faces, and the looks they returned to me made me feel a bit more confident. I picked up a glass, and raised it. "Gentlemen, to you. Fortune favors the bold." I put the glass to my lips, and before I could drink, Tommy Malone, the gun-captain of my #1 guncrew reached over and touched my arm. Tommy was a ruddy faced little Irishman who was possibly the best shot in the fleet. He was another one of those sailors who managed to keep showing up on my roster, commission after commission.
"Lads, to the Rock!" He lifted the glass towards me, and the assembled knot of men responded in kind. I wanted to tell him to stop it, or tell him that was a long time ago, when I was a green Lieutenant Commander with something to prove. I drank my drink, nodded to the boys and headed to my place at the docks.

The park benches at Navy Pier were comfortable, and offered a clear view of the port. I sat down and took a long hard look at the docks, and was slightly surprised at what I found there. The Vanguard was gone, and the other three were preparing to get underway. The only thing that would save us would be if the alert crew had not arrived and only the engineer and stokers were aboard. A group of men in Obolensky's naval uniform walked across to the "Tarheel", and boarded. I could only hope now that the second division would be lucky enough to get to cover or scatter before the cannons opened up. She pulled away, sliding into the darkness when I saw the star and the light. One away, 2 to go. The division slated to take the "Stonewall" crossed the pier from the Arcade, and I could see something being tossed onto the pier as she lept forward into motion. Two away, one to go. A line of men ran out from near Loner Lane, and even in the dimness of the street, I could see the braid on the cuff of the leader. Palmer's division. My men. They should have been on the "Tarheel", and I figured at that moment that I would be curious to inquire once we were underway and not while we were still in town. They swept onto the ship, and for one long moment, all I could hear was the sounds of the town. Then two things became very obvious--that the Smashington at the opposite end of the pier was finally curious as to what was afoot, and the last two divisions would be needing a ride. I kicked out of my skirt to expose my boots and breeches, pulled the holster belt out of my handbag and headed to the pier at a run. I had to stop the "Charger" or I would not be able to carry the remaining men on the gunboat I had hidden in the canals. I crossed the last stack of crates onto the pier proper as the last two groups of sailors emerged from their hiding places and swarmed around me. Once again, luck smiled on our venture, as out of the shadows came the missing Vanguard. I quickly gestured for the men to hide where they were. This would again be another gamble, but I felt as if it would work...

The coxswain of the Vanguard shouted from out of the turret hatch "Ahoy the pier! What's afoot? Where is the fleet?"
He continued on his arc from the Vernian, drawing closer to the end of the pier....I could only hope he wouldn't recognize me in the light of the streetlamp.
"The port's under attack! We need help!"
At this every hatch flew open and most of the crew bounded out onto the deck, agitated but quite unarmed. The Vanguard touched the bumpers of the dock, and there was only one thing left to do. I drew my Colt, screamed "Boarders away!" and leapt onto the deck. The sailors followed, and within a few minutes were able to secure the little ironclad. I sent part of the remaining men to the "Charger" and sent both of them on their way. I crossed back over to Abney Parkway, and made my dash for the canals and the security of the patrol boat. I swept out onto the Vernian at speed, and saw the lights and heard the sirens. We were away, and at least now we could fight on our feet.

I signaled Officer's Call at dawn to assess what we should do next. Since Obolensky had taken the town government, we were technically outlaws by the strict letter of the law. Exiles, with no home. I laughed, so long and so hard that some of the boys got worried. There was only one place for the New Babbage Exiles Fleet to go.

East.

(this should have been done a while ago, but I was stuck with a dose of real life. More follows, so read 'em in sequence)

Captain's personal log
NBS Charger
Location: Open ocean

We've been under way for hours now, and I had to go topside. So here I am, sitting on turret 1 watching the sea roll by and listening to the gun crew working underneath me. Looking aft, the other ships in the line plow ahead, running along into the twilight, towards...an uncertain future.

Earlier today, I woke up to a typical hazy New Babbage morning. Things in town were even more tense than when Doctor Obolensky made his move to take control of the city government. Given the state of relations between his goons and the remnants of the militia, I had been planning a way to move the remaining operational ships out of the harbor.The key was how and when.

The first thing was to secure my effects at the office. I placed the majority of the case files and company information in the safe, and packed the majority of my personal papers in a satchel, and delivered them to my prearranged hiding spot in the coal chute of Peacock Place. I slid the note under the door, and walked back over to the salon for a final cup of coffee.

"Dear Ladies, There is a package that I am entrusting to your safekeeping that is now in your house. If circumstances allow, I will reclaim it from you when I return. If not, I leave it to your discretion to do with as you see fit. As always, I hold you both in the deepest of esteem. Bon chance, Jed"

I changed into a plain working gown, pulled back my hair and donned a blonde wig, and topped it off with a rather austere bonnet. Armed with my shopping basket, I felt I favored one of the domestics that would be out shopping during this time of the day. The streets were largely empty, save for the Doctor's automatons. They were menacing, yet for all their ability, they were not inquisitive.

The docks were active with sailors, most of whom were milling about looking for work. Sadly, the fast packet ships were not operating as they normally did, since the Doctor had rerouted most of the traffic to his fleet of airships. This was most obvious in the market stalls, as the only foodstuffs I found were a few old tins of corned beef, wiggyfish chowder, and a sad lot of rapidly aging bread. I walked across the docks to the outfitting pier, and took a long look at the two flagships of the fleet, the Industry and the Commerce. Work had ground to a near halt since the occupation, and both of them languished there at their moorings. Luckily neither one of them would pose much of a threat as they had not been outfitted, fueled or provisioned.

I walked back towards the quay market, wondering what I would do next. The four operational navy ships were moored on the far end of the prier, under what I had estimated to be a very light guard. Luck was on my side, as the Smashingtons had not been programmed to detain ladies with shopping baskets. Armed with this knowledge, I walked towards the one place I expected to find some help. Sitting in the corner booth at the Gangplank, was a very disconsolate navy officer. Jack Palmer had been a newly promoted Lieutenant in the Wrath fleet when an angry redhead walked into Commodore O'Toole's office with a letter of introduction and a second-hand uniform. We had served together for a long while, and he had followed me to Babbage once he found out about my commission. He refused promotion, content to be my second, and I was very glad to see him at this point.

"Sir, may I have a seat?" I smiled at him, and he looked up from his beer in some degree of surprise.
"Miss? You..I.." He smiled back, and I sat carefully, adjusting the petticoats as I slifd onto the bench across from him. "thank God, Jed. I though you'd be in the jail by now."
"Not yet, bud. What's the word on the ships?"
"Not much. The goons that pass for the constabulary moved off most of the crews, and only left a few of those clanks to keep onlookers off the docks"
Not good, but still hopeful. "How many of the boys can you quietly round up?"
"Most of ours, with a few extra from the other boats."
"Jack, get them ready to move. See if you can find the Greeks, and have the bosuns meet me back here this evening. We're taking the fleet out. Tonight."
He grinned, tipped his cap and walked out into the street.

I returned to the Gangplank later that afternoon, and found that Jackie had managed to get six of the senior crewmen from the fleet together. They sat in the corner, and looked like any group of friends chatting over drinks. The boys knew what was at stake, and didn't make their normal show of jumping to attention when I slid in next to them. I relayed the plan to each of them...they would each take a group of men, secure the ship, make enough steam to get underway, and meet up on the edge of the Vernian once we were out of range of the Observatory. We would use the cover of darkness, and I hoped that the airships used by the pirates under the Doctor's employ could not track us once we were seaborne.

(more once I get some sleep)

Last night's Iron Melee at Port Merrimac featured ship to shore action. While this was one of the most fun evenings we have had in a while (from my perspective, anyways) it was also one of the more challenging and frustrating ones as well. I had been asked to come up with a scenario for use with a shore battery, and the one we used was simple...Red had 2 mortars, and one ship, tasked with defending the port. Blue had the task of knocking out 1 gun and the ironclad.

The boxscore was simple, as Blue took a beating each time. I first fielded a Kotetsu, which gave me just enough elevation to hit the docks, but I found that one of my old favorite axioms from Murphy's Laws of Combat came into play..."if the enemy is in range, so are you". I scored a few hits on the guns, but even with my shoot and scoot strategy, I found myself bracketed by mortar fire tout suite. Our comrade from the Steubings found that their large impressive looking ships make large impressive targets. Commodore O'Toole and I tried several different strategic approaches, but the end result was close to the same. I found that I could get away from the harbor boat, and range the mortar pits, but managing a hit while under fire was daunting at best. I think the best we managed was 30% damage on any one of the guns. At any one point, Blue had 4 ships in the water, and I feel that maybe (and a qualified maybe at that) if we would have had 2 more ships we may have been able to land a few more hits. At one point I was able to get around to a position where the gunners were not focused on me, but the number of hits on the gundeck didn't slow them down enough to keep my bacon out of the fire for very long.

This would have been a perfect scenario for a St. Nazaire raid approach, with either a suicide bomb boat or some sort of landing force. The problem is going to be having enough ships to keep the gunners busy so someone can get a bead on them.

With all of that said, we had a good time, and much was learned for the next scenario. My thanks go out to the hosts, Commodore O'Toole, Lady Bellambi, and to the new faces who decided to crew the artillery.

This is Commodore O'Toole's take on the festivities

I woke up a little bit ago, now the drugs are making me restless. The light from the laptop screen hurts my eyes, and this is the only light in the room.

It started at work, with the same old onset...my hair felt like it was too tight for my scalp.

No. Not now.

The icepicks started at my temples, and walked along until they were running along my eyesockets. I had to focus for the last hour of work, but I knew what was next. The lightshow and nausea waited thankfully until I was driving home. I only had to pull over once, which was a new record.

The lights in the house burned, and the sounds of normal activity rang like hammerfalls. I managed to get the pills down and crawled into bed.

The towel, one of my old brown Army ones cradled my eyes as the drugs slowed took off the edge of the pressure.

In and out of sleep, and I stop to write this.

Location: New Babbage Gasworks, Wheatstone Waterways (Central Western Wheatstone Waterways)

Synopsis: On this date I was contacted by Mr Gatsby Szuster, who said that he has discovered an incendiary device at the gasworks. Mr Szuster had been present at the scene of the last fire at Undertone's Barbershop, and was familiar with the device that had been located in a nearby building at that time.

He said that he located the device while he was going to his office located on the second floor of the structure. He removed the fuse and left it in place prior to my arrival.

Once I arrived on scene I searched the area both inside and outside. No additional devices were located.

The device was identical to the previous located one. I took a sample of the contents for later analysis and disposed of the device in an empty lot nearby.

I was later advised that the suspect has been in contact with Mr Undertone by letter. The suspect is demanding a cash payment from the city, or he stated he will set more fires.

The suspect is a white male, possibly in his mid 20's, average height, slender build, dark hair. Based on his previous actions I feel that he may be disposed of a maniacal disposition, prone to assaultive behaviors.

The investigation is ongoing.

Miss J. Dagger
Terranova Investigative Services
Aether Salon, 2nd Floor
#6 Academy Downs
Babbage Palisades, New Babbage

I decided to start writing again.

The circumstances under which I had stopped writing here are now at an end. So I sit here at my new desk in the confines of my office, and start a new page. Three months ago, the journal was placed in an envelope, along with a few other items so that in the case of my death someone would know what had happened and would have some insight into my past. I had mailed three identical letters containing a sealed note to three of my closest acquaintances here in New Babbage, with a simple set of instructions...if I should be found dead or found to be missing for over a week, open the note. The note simply said “roll top desk, top drawer”.

The file jacket contained my past.
( Read more )

Location: New Babbage Municipal Watertower (Wheatstone Waterways, Northeast corner)

On 22 January I was contacted by Ms Viv Trafalgar. She said that subjects unknown had attacked and destroyed the city water tower in Wheatstone Waterways. She said that she felt there had been an explosion and wanted to retain the agency in an investigative capacity to make inquiries as to what actually happened.

I arrived at the location and found that the tower had been largely destroyed. The roof section and the glass top of the tower was sitting very close to the center of where the tower had been standing. The main body of the town was thrown directly east and now sits on the bottom of the North/south canal that borders Wheatstone and the Canal district. The tower supports were thrown down in a pattern to the south, north, and northeast of where they were originally located. The damage appeared to have been caused by a solid iron projectile approximately 1 meter in diameter, identical to the projectile that struck the Kahruvel Steamworks. The projectile had been covered by some of the wreckage and was discovered after the initial survey of the scene. The projectile was a solid shot, and the on-site analysis did not reveal any explosive content to the shell. Had the shell been explosive in nature the wreckage would have been far more scattered and broken apart than what I observed at the scene. After doing a brief analysis of the damage pattern and the impact crater, it appears that the shell was fired from the Northwest corner of Wheatstone Waterways, and at a much shallower angle than the shell that struck the steamworks. If the projectile was dropped from the air, the carrier craft was moving at a higher rate of speed than the round described previously.

The shell itself was spherical and does not conform to any known projectile due to its size. No known cannon has a bore of that size that I am aware of or under current production. Because my lab is currently not equipped to analyze samples taken at the scene, I have sent the materials I collected to a lab outside of the city.

This is the second attack on the city infrastructure of New Babbage from outside forces who seem intent on causing civil and economic disruptions, and damaging the critical facilities of the city.

Filed by:
Miss J. Dagger
Terranova Investigative Services
Aether Salon, 2nd Floor
#6 Academy Downs
Babbage Palisades, New Babbage