Your Oolite Retirement

[RyanHoots]

What would be your Oolite character's perfect retirement? Would you relax on the local Coriolis, or would you fly your Trident Executive Shuttle across the galaxy? Would you continue fighting to the end?
I'd go for a souped-up Trident, personally. I'd splash anybody foolish enough to attack me.

[Mauiby de Fug]

To have the freedom to wander where'er the will take me, where money is no object and the sights of the eight are mine to behold! And to spend the quiet hours formulating plans on how to make my mark on the galaxies by establishing my own company, constructing ships, stations and equipment at my leisure. Although I retain the right to return to activity at any time!

(Which, in RL-Mode, translates into the fact that now I've reached Elite, I no longer feel the need to be constantly in flight, but it's nice every now and then to just head out a few jumps at a time in whatever direction whenever I have the time to do so. And spend the rest of the time dreaming about the changes to my Ooniverse and oxps that I'd like to write, but don't really have the time or equipment to do so (I'm somewhat between computers at the moment)! But every time a new mission pops up or I have to test something, to get back behind the controls and fly again!)

[Disembodied]

I'd keep flying the Radio Maru but I'd set up a base in a short-period comet around a backwater star: I'd spend most of my time in the peace and quiet, far away and high above the ecliptic, but I'd swing by the inner system every few years to see what was going on.

[CommonSenseOTB]

That's easy. Just turn off the computer. Instant retirement.

[SandJ]

To die peacefully in my sleep, flying full speed on auto-pilot into an asteroid, as my father (a Workers' Commuter Transport Pilot) did.

And not crying and screaming in terror, like his passengers were.

[CommonSenseOTB]

To die peacefully in my sleep, flying full speed on auto-pilot into an asteroid, as my father (a Workers' Commuter Transport Pilot) did.

And not crying and screaming in terror, like his passengers were.

Hehe! I wonder if pilot's licences get suspended above a certain age. This would relegate retirement to the "Old Spacemen's Home". In effect, there is no retirement while you are still an active pilot. Unless you're an offender flying without a valid licence flying from Rock Hermit to Rock Hermit. Looking for trinkets. Now all we need is an oxp to add old pilots to the spacelanes. Cobramk3 at less than 25% max speed shouting messages to "slow down young whippersnapper" and start rambling off some story in many pieces over many minutes about "when I was your age" and mumble some comment when you injector away just to avoid listening to his stories. Python scraping up the nav beacon and docking bay and nearly colliding with nearby ships while attempting to dock, all the while saying"hold your horses, I'm going!"etc. Vipers encountering a ship and convincing him to accompany them to the station, or he witches out and the vipers pursue cursing the old man making them miss lunch, etc. Vipers surrounding a ship, Hognose parked nearby, police message"We got another geriatric collapse over here, send the medics!" and moray medical boats come racing to the scene. Player is warned to clear the area and is made an offender and fined if he doesn't. If he still doesn't clear the area he is warned and then attacked. Adder crashes into a docking Anaconda from behind with a huge spawned explosion and lots of alloys and cargo containers. Message from freighter captain"Mayday! Mayday! We've been holed by an Adder! We have many injuries! Have the emergency crews standing by!" Anaconda continuously dumps cargo and spawns debris as he docks. Patrolling Vipers show up and message"Looks like another geriatric case, better get a salvage crew out here." Out by a rock hermit a cobramk1 is going full speed. many separate timed messages"<pilot name>, what's wrong?" "Oh no, he's dead!" "We're headed for that rock!" "Help me get him out of the seat, the body's jammed in the controls." "He's too heavy." "We're too close!" "<@#%$*&>" The player has just enough time to get to the rock and shoot it. If the player succeeds message"That guy saved us! Bless you sir!........We have to take control...hit the emergency seat release." "Oh thank the maker! Let's get to the station...." The ship docks slowly with the rock hermit. If the player docks immediately after, a mission screen thanks the player and offers over 100kg of precious metals and gems as a reward. If the player refuses, a variable and script is started that will remove up to 20 points from the players' legal status as the player accrues them until the 20 points is used up. Sort of like an enhanced reputation where Galcop just looks the other way because of your heroic deed. Well, another cup of coffee bites the dust.

[SandJ]

Hehe! I wonder if pilot's licences get suspended above a certain age.

Indeed they do. However, it is not based on age as that is lifeformist. For example, Lobsteroids live indefinitely (apparently). Instead there is a regular test done to check if a pilot is fit, alert, responsive to stimuli, aware of their surroundings, and generally well in mind and body. It is not discriminatory in any way other than in capability to fly. Without passing this test, the pilot's licence is revoked permanently. This is a service that is generously provided for free on behalf of the spacefaring community ...




... by the pirates.

[CommonSenseOTB]

Hehe! I wonder if pilot's licences get suspended above a certain age.

Indeed they do. However, it is not based on age as that is lifeformist. For example, Lobsteroids live indefinitely (apparently). Instead there is a regular test done to check if a pilot is fit, alert, responsive to stimuli, aware of their surroundings, and generally well in mind and body. It is not discriminatory in any way other than in capability to fly. Without passing this test, the pilot's licence is revoked permanently. This is a service that is generously provided for free on behalf of the spacefaring community ...

... by the pirates.

Indeed! Must be why pirates are tolerated as they are the unsuspecting instructors at the Darwin Academy for Pilots giving daily refreshers.

[drew]

You'll find out, in time for Christmas.

No, not retiring at the local Coriolis.

Cheers,

Drew.

[ClymAngus]

There are some things in the universe, from the moment of their creation. That every creature they met and/or act upon know. Would never, ever. End peacefully, or well.

Most of us fade, the unlucky burn out, the rare few have no choice but to nova.

[Cmdr. Maegil]

Retirement?!?

From "HPA2 part 9"; by going nova maybe you mean something like this?

This battle sense told him that he had lost the window of opportunity to pull out in time and now it was time to die.
From the moment he engaged the enemy, a gauntlet of four Couriers had been driving him and forcing him ever
further apart from the Spartan fleet while the remaining fighters were all over his ship. And now, two Cougar-X
cruisers were coming his way...
...but that didn't matter at all! If it must be, this was how he had always wanted to go.

"It smells of victory;
Rest, my tired warrior's bones
Over a mountain of bodies."

Declaiming his departing haiku, Maegil added another enemy to his burial mound and twisted the ship to avoid an
attack.
He would almost certainly die in a few moments, but that didn't mean he was just going to cross his arms and let
them get him easily. He kept fighting even as his ship was hit, hit again and yet another time until the explosion
stopped him from fighting any more.

[Cmdr. Maegil]

Most of us fade, the unlucky burn out, the rare few have no choice but to nova.

Since I got started on the HPA2, here's an epic burnout - the kind of PTSD that sends soldiers into catatonia for the rest of their lives:

Even more than the next pilot, Vilan was beyond exhaustion.

But he still fought on.

Master Darren Vilan's mind had pretty much shut down, operating on automatic levels without registering what
happened around him any more. Stress, anxiety, anger, fear, aggression... stark terror... All these emotions took
their turns at gnawing on his spirit again and again until they drove him to the point of numbness. Fuelled and
driven by nothing but the 'juice', sheer instinct and ingrained training told him what to do.
He no longer cared that his Osprey would be scrapped even if he managed to survive the day. The sticky
underwear was as unimportant as what he had eaten for breakfast last Tuesday.
The Master didn't even know to what squadron he was assigned any more; he just followed the Imperial ships
around and shot at the enemy.

As he still fought on.

A green-gray Spartan Courier flew across his HUD. He followed it, scoring a few ineffective shots with his pulse
laser. A red beam shone beside him and he pulled the controls out of a conditioned reflex, oblivious that his port
and bottom thrusters were dead.
Someone chased the attacker away.
An enemy carrier surrounded by a few white Couriers came his way, exchanging shots with an Explorer. Vilain took
no notice.
Someone commed something that he couldn't be bothered to try to decipher.
The Master didn't recall squeezing the trigger, but the Adder he was chasing exploded anyhow.
He turned at the closest enemy - the Spartan Lynx - and shot at the turrets as his drill instructor had taught him. His
fatigued brain registered an explosion, but he felt neither joy nor other emotions.
Someone made a report about something - or maybe it had been a battle order, he didn't know.
Some battle scarred Couriers swished around him strafing the carrier from stern to bow, causing a flight deck
appendage to break off and drift away.
His vacant eyes, staring at the infinity, cared only that they weren't shooting at him.
Not really a pilot any more, Vilain felt like a combat drone.

And this was the condition Master Darren Vilan was in, still fighting on.

What would you call this type of retirement:

"My name is Bob. I am to be your questioner."
"Can I ask a question?" I asked, cautiously.
"By all means."
"Is this real?"
"Yes."
I paused. Well, he would say that. It did seem very real.
"What happened to Kevin and Ezra?"
"They are safe."
"That didn't sound very convincing."
"Kevin is also being questioned. Ezra will be taught basic literacy, given a new ident, and released".
"So you're not the Empire."
"No. You'd be in the Vequess slave mines by now if we were."
"Why am I here?"
"To tell us all you know. Let me tell you what happens next."
"OK". It wasn't that I had much of a choice.
"We believe in using the carrot, not the stick. If you cooperate fully, you get to choose a new face, a new ident, and
the slate gets wiped clean. The rest of the universe goes on thinking you're dead. You, on the other hand, get your
freedom and four million credits worth of cosmetic surgery to make you look completely different. You get a fresh
start."
"And if I don't cooperate?"
"We will use a brain dump to find out what you know. Then you'll be turned over to the Federation, where you will
spend the rest of your life locked up. They won't execute you, because they wouldn't want to endanger the
extradition treaty. I'll also like to point out that the brain dump will give you very severe brain damage. We would
rather not have to do that. Also, your friend Kevin O'Connell will be turned over to the Federation. Given that he's a
Federation citizen, he will probably be executed for his role in helping you out."
"So what do you want me to do?"
Bob sucked the air between his teeth.
(...)"The conditions are this. You get to choose how you look. We will provide you with some additional education so
you can have a worthwhile career. But you will never touch a weapon again. You will never make an act of violence
again. You will not perpetrate any crimes. You will not attempt to make contact with any of your former criminal
associates, including Kevin O'Connell. Twenty years down the line, when you think we've finally forgotten about
you, don't think of welshing on the deal. That natty handgun you've always wanted? Touch it, and we'll know. If you
break the terms, we will take you and turn you over to the Federation."
"So what if I want to go back to trading?"
"Stick to Sol and Barnard's Star. I hear you can do that perfectly safely without weapons".
"What if someone attacks me in a bar?"
"Turn the other cheek"
"So I can't even defend myself?"
"No. I would advise you don't get into situations where there is a risk of getting involved in a fight".
"What kind of a life is that?"
"It's a much better life than being in Federation prison".