Lo/oper SoloRPG: Sunbeam
Oct. 5th, 2024 07:00 pmI skipped the next few games, for several reasons:
- I'm still playing Apothecaria and do not desperately need a new soloRPG to immerse myself in
- The games selected didn't especially appeal to me.
- Grief makes everything harder, even things that ought to be fun, and especially things that take energy/effort
- I've bought a few game bundles on itch.io, with the result that I already own hundreds if not thousands of solo RPGs. I don't really want an excuse to get MORE solo RPGs. I want an excuse to play some of the solo RPGs I already owned.
So during the nominations period for the latest game, I looked over the solo RPGs I already owned until I found one that looked interesting, and then nominated it.
I was traveling on the day the poll was posted and didn't even realize it had already gone up. On 9/15, I searched the hashtag for it, and discovered it was over already. But Lo/oper, the game I'd nominated, had won! \o/
This is the first three days of my journal for the game. I’ll post the next few days soon, probably tomorrow. I do not guarantee that I will play this journaling game to completion: we'll see.
Loop Zero, Day One
I started today using my table to check over the cargo. Our ship, Mote of Dust Caught in a Sunbeam, is bringing modern terraforming equipment to Corsair-V. It'll solve the colony's agricultural problem and alleviate their dependence on imported food. Lance and I are the mechanical experts: it's our job to make sure everything works and to fix it on-site if it doesn't. The terraforming equipment itself takes up less space than all the machines for printing replacement parts for it. Almost everything can be rebuilt if we have to. The power cores and the computer chips are the only parts we can't manufacture, so we've got multiple spares for all of those.
I couldn't think of anything that might go wrong in transit, but verifying is my job and there isn't much else to do on ship, so I did it anyway. Nothing would be worse than getting to Corsair-V empty-handed.
And it was a good thing I checked! The cargo area was running too hot. Hot enough that the chips would've been damaged if I hadn't done anything. There was a shielding problem in the cargo bay.
I had drones move the chips and power cores into the passenger compartment, where the climate control systems are more aggressive. There's plenty of space in here for parts as small as those. I set up the printers to make additional shielding but the rest of the equipment should be fine -- they're not gonna fry.
Loop Zero, Day Two
Sunbeam doesn't have a crew. We're on an interstellar mission, and me and my team are supposed to be in stasis until arrival. We're basically cargo, like the terraforming and manufacturing equipment. But Sunbeam can be used for in-system hops between planets: journeys of days instead of years, where there's no need for stasis. That's why it has a passenger compartment and not just stasis pods. There's a rec lounge, a mess, and sleep bunks.
Even though we're supposed to spend the whole trip in stasis, the mess has freeze-dried and other preserved goods to feed all of us for years, plus plenty of water and other drinks. Just in case something goes wrong with the stasis. Good thing for me, or I'd be awfully hungry and thirsty by now. The ship doesn't have the equipment to put someone back in stasis once they wake up.
I'm worried about the cargo bay. It's still getting hotter in there. If it gets much worse, it won't be safe even for drones. Also, I moved the spare chips and the chips from the terraforming machines into the passenger compartment, but I completely spaced that the manufacturing printers also have integral chips. Those are fried now. ARGH.
The passenger compartment doesn't have enough room for me to move all of the equipment in here. I thought yesterday that it'd be fine and yes--other than the computers built into the printers--they'll be fine if the range stays under any reasonable level. 300 Celsius? Not a problem.
But it's over 100 C in there today.
Why is it so hot? I thought it was a shielding problem with heat leaking in from the fusion drives, but more shielding isn't helping. I looked up the specs and the cargo bay is supposed to run colder than the passenger compartment. The passenger compartment's additional climate control is mostly to keep it warm in here.
I asked the ship's main computer why the cargo bay was overheating, but it didn't respond. I must not have the right access for it.
Loop Zero, Day Three
Today, it's too warm in the passenger compartment, too. Not dangerously hot. Yet. But uncomfortably hot.
It doesn't make sense. We're in the interstellar void, right? Getting rid of heat should be easy. Out here, the shielding is supposed to protect the ship from radiation, not heat. The heat shielding is only for re-entry. We can't possibly be undergoing re-entry; re-entry lasts minutes, not days.
Wasted today trying to get the ship's computer to answer any question about anything. It doesn't respond to voice at all. Weirdly, my tablet isn't responding to voice, either. I hadn't noticed because I prefer using the touch or keyboard interfaces for it anyway. But I didn't know where the ship's physical interface was because I was supposed to be in stasis for this trip so why would I need to know?
There's a computer in the rec room but I can only get it to run recreational programs. It won't even tell me where we are. I feel like "my relative location in the universe" didn't need to be restricted information but here we are. Maybe the ship's computer won't talk to it, either.
I went through every cabinet in the bunk room and discovered that one cabinet folds out into a chair. The one next to it unfolds into a computer console. It said "fingerprint not recognized, please enter user login credentials". My user credentials with Interstellar Home Inc. don't work. I'm so tired. I don't want to die out here.
I can't think like that. I'm not gonna die out here. When I was a kid, I had leukemia. I remember being in the hospital, again and again. Each time thinking, "This is it. I won't survive this." And Dad at my bedside, telling jokes and promising me it'd all be okay.
And it was okay. Leukemia couldn't kill me. An overengineered, thoroughly-tested spaceship stuffed with tried-and-true technology sure won't. Some automated system I don't even know about will kick in and fix this. Or I'll figure it out. I'll be fine. We'll all be fine.