Post by Insano-Man on Sept 21, 2018 14:04:21 GMT -5
KEEP A BAD THING GOING
The Flescher IV started out life as a commercial product in around 1126 OSC. It was put onto the market by Izing-Flescher Tactical, a Lebedrovez-based arms dealer doing business on the poor side of the station. The Flescher IV wasn't actually the fourth of its kind - it was just the first prototype model that didn't blow up on the range. It was marketed as "an economical solution to boarder defense for security teams unwilling to invest in high-maintenance directed energy weapons or overpenetrating rifles". They knew exactly what they were selling. The thing was terrible.
At first, the Flescher was damned to die young. Spacers knew better. "High maintenance" was a little extra polish and one extra day of training. "Overpenetration" was what got through pressure suits and powered armor. People didn't bite. Even the bums and squatters on the janitors' side of Lebedrovez weren't interested. It took until about 1128 for someone to finally buy more than just one a month. An old freighter put down a bulk order for its staff. No one remembers the ship's name, but it was the shot in the arm Izing-Flescher needed. They filled the order to specification and prayed.
That same freighter took a dirt dive just a week later. No one's sure why. Legend has it that a Flescher blew up in engineering after pirates came aboard, but solid facts are as slippery as the ship's name. In the end, the ship managed to survive the landing. It put down on Ventannen near a decently-sized town, usually guessed to be around 400 or 500 people. The locals had some kind of salvage industry that dealt expressly in crashed ships, so they went off to strip the freighter as soon as it landed.
Banditry, on the other hand, wasn't their forté. As soon as they found out the ship still had a crew, they eased off. Instead, they started up trade negotiations. They didn't know a thing about how spaceships worked, but they'd seen enough wrecks to know what a freighter looked like. They'd cut into enough in their day to know the fat-bellied ships usually had the best loot. The spacers didn't have the tools or parts to fix their old beast, so they caved in. Barter started up. First on the menu was that homely little suicide implement half the staff was carrying around; the Flescher IV.
The locals didn't know a thing about guns, either. The story changes from time to time, but no one's ever said they had anything better than bolt-action rifles and pointy sticks. To them, the Flescher was the biggest thing since space bread. They bought every single one. They cleared out the freighter's ammo stores. They came back with as many spacecraft parts as they could find. About a year later, the freighter picked itself up, pointed itself skywards, and left. The locals figured they'd gotten a deal from on high.
The spacers, on the other hand, were laughing themselves sick. They'd just pawned off the worst gun they'd ever seen for slack-jawed salvation. The captain wasn't laughing that much - not that much, at least. Instead, he had an idea. He'd just discovered a trade route by pure accident. He took the ship back to Lebedrovez, stocked deep on Fleschers, and went planetside again - this time, under the ship's own power. The locals were happy to see them. Half of the people who'd tried using the things were missing arms and jaws, but, for them, it was a small price to pay for volume of fire.
There was a sort of gold rush after that. Spacers learned about the big firearms shortage planetside. They found out how cheap the Flescher was. Captains started picking out scrapper settlements and junkyards to land in. Ships started gearing up for in-atmosphere travel, plotting courses around bad weather. Even a few Space Loonies saw the opportunity and mingled planetside. Fleschers came down by the thousands. Salvage came up by the tons. Izing-Flescher had a hard time keeping up with demand. They expanded a dozen times over and eventually moved to the rich side. Things were good.
It was around fifty or sixty years before the tap shut off. Spacers had run the planet dry. Junktowns and scrappers ran out of useful salvage to trade. Villages were starting to build their own off hand-drawn blueprints. There were so many Fleschers down on the ground that it was hard just to find someone who didn't already have one. In all that time, Izing-Flescher died off to mismanagement and bad spending. Other companies had bought the rights and taken up the mantle, but demand was gone. Spacers didn't want that awful thing. The dirt-eaters lost their interest, too.
When the bubble finally burst, the stockpiles of trade-stamped Fleschers were disposed of in the only way that seemed logical. They were turned over en masse to the garbage hauler network. Presumably, they'd do something useful with them - or pretend to, at least. Instead, the haulers kept the legend alive. Back in 1132, the Space Loonies kicked their teeth in. They didn't have the fleet to handle all that new garbage. They were so overloaded with junk in orbit that they did what came natural. They sent it planetside, for the processing centers down on the surface to deal with.
About a quarter of the ships with Fleschers ended up bursting when they tried to enter the planet's atmosphere. Another quarter suffered catastrophic engine malfunctions and dropped straight down. It wasn't all that different from usual, but it was something magical for the people on the ground. It was raining guns. Still-blazing reactor cores and hyper-velocity shrapnel, too, but that happened every weekend. Even when haulers made it to the ground and worked as intended, the processing facilities usually didn't do what they were supposed to. Fleschers piled up everywhere. People couldn't believe their luck.
Since then, the Flescher's held on. Towns and nomads have learned to build them. It's gone almost two centuries as Set's favorite piece of trash. It's become an icon of why spacers and Loonies everywhere think the planet's full of idiots. Everywhere you look, that ugly, chunky submachine gun is hanging off a bandit's shoulders or poking out from a town's watch tower. In every armory you can find, there's that same underpowered, badly-loaded 9x15mm round lining the shelves.
Even spacers up in orbit aren't free of the curse. A quarter of all ships in orbit have Fleschers, thanks entirely to how common they are on the ground. Garbage haulers still roam around with guts full of Izing-Flescher's legacy. Derelicts turn up with corpses still clutching Fleschers - half of them split in half from cartridge ruptures. Odds are that the Flescher isn't going anywhere. Odds are that it's not going to get any better, either. You can pick through a million dumpsters and ditches on Set, but you'll find the same, terrible thing everywhere you look.
The Flescher IV started out life as a commercial product in around 1126 OSC. It was put onto the market by Izing-Flescher Tactical, a Lebedrovez-based arms dealer doing business on the poor side of the station. The Flescher IV wasn't actually the fourth of its kind - it was just the first prototype model that didn't blow up on the range. It was marketed as "an economical solution to boarder defense for security teams unwilling to invest in high-maintenance directed energy weapons or overpenetrating rifles". They knew exactly what they were selling. The thing was terrible.
At first, the Flescher was damned to die young. Spacers knew better. "High maintenance" was a little extra polish and one extra day of training. "Overpenetration" was what got through pressure suits and powered armor. People didn't bite. Even the bums and squatters on the janitors' side of Lebedrovez weren't interested. It took until about 1128 for someone to finally buy more than just one a month. An old freighter put down a bulk order for its staff. No one remembers the ship's name, but it was the shot in the arm Izing-Flescher needed. They filled the order to specification and prayed.
That same freighter took a dirt dive just a week later. No one's sure why. Legend has it that a Flescher blew up in engineering after pirates came aboard, but solid facts are as slippery as the ship's name. In the end, the ship managed to survive the landing. It put down on Ventannen near a decently-sized town, usually guessed to be around 400 or 500 people. The locals had some kind of salvage industry that dealt expressly in crashed ships, so they went off to strip the freighter as soon as it landed.
Banditry, on the other hand, wasn't their forté. As soon as they found out the ship still had a crew, they eased off. Instead, they started up trade negotiations. They didn't know a thing about how spaceships worked, but they'd seen enough wrecks to know what a freighter looked like. They'd cut into enough in their day to know the fat-bellied ships usually had the best loot. The spacers didn't have the tools or parts to fix their old beast, so they caved in. Barter started up. First on the menu was that homely little suicide implement half the staff was carrying around; the Flescher IV.
The locals didn't know a thing about guns, either. The story changes from time to time, but no one's ever said they had anything better than bolt-action rifles and pointy sticks. To them, the Flescher was the biggest thing since space bread. They bought every single one. They cleared out the freighter's ammo stores. They came back with as many spacecraft parts as they could find. About a year later, the freighter picked itself up, pointed itself skywards, and left. The locals figured they'd gotten a deal from on high.
The spacers, on the other hand, were laughing themselves sick. They'd just pawned off the worst gun they'd ever seen for slack-jawed salvation. The captain wasn't laughing that much - not that much, at least. Instead, he had an idea. He'd just discovered a trade route by pure accident. He took the ship back to Lebedrovez, stocked deep on Fleschers, and went planetside again - this time, under the ship's own power. The locals were happy to see them. Half of the people who'd tried using the things were missing arms and jaws, but, for them, it was a small price to pay for volume of fire.
There was a sort of gold rush after that. Spacers learned about the big firearms shortage planetside. They found out how cheap the Flescher was. Captains started picking out scrapper settlements and junkyards to land in. Ships started gearing up for in-atmosphere travel, plotting courses around bad weather. Even a few Space Loonies saw the opportunity and mingled planetside. Fleschers came down by the thousands. Salvage came up by the tons. Izing-Flescher had a hard time keeping up with demand. They expanded a dozen times over and eventually moved to the rich side. Things were good.
It was around fifty or sixty years before the tap shut off. Spacers had run the planet dry. Junktowns and scrappers ran out of useful salvage to trade. Villages were starting to build their own off hand-drawn blueprints. There were so many Fleschers down on the ground that it was hard just to find someone who didn't already have one. In all that time, Izing-Flescher died off to mismanagement and bad spending. Other companies had bought the rights and taken up the mantle, but demand was gone. Spacers didn't want that awful thing. The dirt-eaters lost their interest, too.
When the bubble finally burst, the stockpiles of trade-stamped Fleschers were disposed of in the only way that seemed logical. They were turned over en masse to the garbage hauler network. Presumably, they'd do something useful with them - or pretend to, at least. Instead, the haulers kept the legend alive. Back in 1132, the Space Loonies kicked their teeth in. They didn't have the fleet to handle all that new garbage. They were so overloaded with junk in orbit that they did what came natural. They sent it planetside, for the processing centers down on the surface to deal with.
About a quarter of the ships with Fleschers ended up bursting when they tried to enter the planet's atmosphere. Another quarter suffered catastrophic engine malfunctions and dropped straight down. It wasn't all that different from usual, but it was something magical for the people on the ground. It was raining guns. Still-blazing reactor cores and hyper-velocity shrapnel, too, but that happened every weekend. Even when haulers made it to the ground and worked as intended, the processing facilities usually didn't do what they were supposed to. Fleschers piled up everywhere. People couldn't believe their luck.
Since then, the Flescher's held on. Towns and nomads have learned to build them. It's gone almost two centuries as Set's favorite piece of trash. It's become an icon of why spacers and Loonies everywhere think the planet's full of idiots. Everywhere you look, that ugly, chunky submachine gun is hanging off a bandit's shoulders or poking out from a town's watch tower. In every armory you can find, there's that same underpowered, badly-loaded 9x15mm round lining the shelves.
Even spacers up in orbit aren't free of the curse. A quarter of all ships in orbit have Fleschers, thanks entirely to how common they are on the ground. Garbage haulers still roam around with guts full of Izing-Flescher's legacy. Derelicts turn up with corpses still clutching Fleschers - half of them split in half from cartridge ruptures. Odds are that the Flescher isn't going anywhere. Odds are that it's not going to get any better, either. You can pick through a million dumpsters and ditches on Set, but you'll find the same, terrible thing everywhere you look.
