What do you wear: a case study

My recent posts have all been of a piece, but I didn't have anything in mind regarding clothing until something crossed my mind. Therefore, I shall be talking about Star Trek.

I came late to Star Trek, and therefore have never quite taken on-board all of the show-specific tropes it invokes. The nature of the original show colours everything else; the odd mix of relatively hard science fiction and woosh-bang-kapow pulp space opera never quite sat right: why have a vessel that is simultaneously a main battleship, floating embassy and exploratory mission - with a large number of civilians into the bargain?  It would almost be like getting Flash Gordon to explore the cylinder from Rendezvous with Rama. Well, it does hark back to Captain Cook and other naval explorers that had to operate without close instruction. But don't tell me Captain James T. Kirk would be out of his element on Barsoom.

Part of my object, I suppose, was the uniforms; tunics or jumpsuits. I rarely recall seeing space suits festoon with oxygen cylinders or body armour for bouts of combat - "Of course this bicoloured jumpsuit is suitable apparel for a commando raid onto a giant spaceship full of deadly cyborgs." (Perhaps body armour is useless against future weaponry  - but the steel helmet of the Second World War was equally useless against a direct hit; it still had a purpose).

But the all these objections aside, there is one thing this does well. It emphasizes the nature of life in the semi-utopia that is the Federation. To whit, the jumpsuits of The Next Generation  lack pockets: clearly not a society that needs pocket handkerchiefs or small change. This is presumably because it has done away with the common cold and money (I'm not sure which of these is more astounding!).

There's an implication in all this: you do not need to carry anything for yourself, except your communications link with a central authority and whatever that authority thinks you will need to carry in this particular scenario. This is undoubtedly in part because Star Trek is about a (semi-) military organisation - or at least one with a hierarchy. It's perhaps another mark of utopianism that Starfleet personnel don't seem to carry sidearms unless they really have to.

The whole post-scarcity thing is centered around replicators - that seem to be the property or responsibility of communities as a whole, rather than individuals. If we conjure up an image of a libertarian United Federation of Planets...

[A notion that is open to ridicule and parody, but is worthy of taking seriously in this moment. Even if one can imagine something in the vein of 'Ayn Rand's Star Trek' being a throw-away gag in an alternate history novel. If necessary, replace the term libertarian with minarchist or individualistic or whatever seems best to you.]

.....with similar levels of technology, if different ways of applying them and at least some measure of Star Trek's virtue and goodwill. Let us say that everyone gets an education, of sorts (little state interference, not a lack of state support); most importantly -for our purposes - in the use of a replicator; to whit, the tool that can make bread out of stones. So every citizen has one of these - sold at very reasonable rates? - and can therefore make themselves food and shelter, possibly even more in the way of life support (synthesize your own penicillin!).

If there is a market, then, it is for ideas and new information and artwork and recipes. One imagines citizens wondering about in clothes with pockets or webbing full of replicator parts or modular add-ons, as well as the obligatory communicator. Because the nature of this society is what it is, you carry a replicator - in order to merely survive, or in order to exhibit your products or art or similar to society. As in Star Trek proper, the impulse to explore and discover would be strong, as means of gaining wealth and status - creating a degree of frontier culture (a lot easier to replicate into existence your dream home on virgin soil).

I've no idea how sound a civilization this is, or how true it is to Star Trek canon. But it feels a little like a combination of Iain M. Banks's Culture series and Joss Whedon's Firefly. Besides, the notion of wealth being determined by new information, ideas or art seems eminently gameable.

Where do you bathe?

Having broached the "Where do you..." topic in an earlier post, I am going to revisit this. The question raised itself, unlike the nagging Skyrim bedrooms debate, in re-reading a few early Tom Clancy thrillers. There seems to be an oddly frequent number of occasions when Soviet officers in Moscow visit the public baths together. A few different critical readings of this could be developed: as a comparison between Russian and American culture or as a deliberate literary device to render alien the Soviet enemy. For my money, this was something that just stuck in Clancy's mind; it is hardly the only cultural difference that is raised, nor is it the only mention of bathing practices - we are asked to consider the difficulties of bathing aboard a submarine.

Now, bathing is something that players in a tabletop RPG are probably going to do less than sleeping. The benefits of sleep and rest are obvious; bathing perhaps less so in character sheet mechanical terms. Insisting on regular bathing in an RPG might well be overdoing it in terms of fine detail; much as noting the lavatory visits of player characters might be a little too much information.

The one time, in fact that I have made use of bathing in-game was concerning a healing spring. There is a definite trade-off. You heal, but slowly - and you wouldn't want to take your chainmail or spellbook into the pool with you.

There are some further uses of in-game bathing and sanitation that I can see - beyond the possibility of killing rodents and/or Harry Lime in the sewers.

Introducing a new culture might make mention of bathhouses; a visit to the mighty metropolis of Urbs Aeneae (or whatever Pseudo-Roman civilization happens to be in your neck of the woods) might well point out the bathhouses on a journey into the city (not that the Romans were the only ones with public bathhouses). I quite like the notion of debate regarding the water supply: the magical lobby maintains water elementals to power the aqueducts against the wishes of the opposition, who regard magic as unreliable and wish to install a purely mechanical system.The question of the gender mix also comes into play, as does if different species bath together. It need not effect a player, but it is a quiet reminder of setting.

Equally, pointing out a lack of bathhouses and the presence of bathing places on the river, along with citizens drawing water from somewhere upstream is instructive: the players know there will be no sewers to kill rodents in!

This is all rather secular; cultural tone might also be well served by purification rituals conducted in places of worship. Characters must cleanse themselves before entering the temple - a time consuming process - or (as cribbed from this post over at Roles, Rules and Rolls) immerse themselves in water to be healed - which may not be terribly efficient in the field. Speaking of purification raises an interesting time-management aspect to a game: the Church will pay you to slay demons or retrieve black magic artifacts - but then enforce several days of purification rites in order to swab any taint from you. All very well if you are being paid by the day, but if not deeply frustrating and restrictive.

Aside from this, the bathhouse might well make for a good setting. Spinning one out into an entire megadungeon is a little much. but as a setting for intrigue or assassination attempts is certainly interesting and forces some restrictions on play, calling for improvisation. Turning full circle back to Russia, I recall this happening in one of Boris Akunin's Erast Fandorin novels. Grappling with lack of weapons or armour or spellbooks is a problem; slippery floors and crowded spaces likewise - and does your assailant have any identifying marks, or are you going to have to threaten every tall blond with a red and white towel until you find them?

This offers a chance for a certain lightness of tone - think of footchases and outraged patrons - visually if nothing else: white marble or terracotta replacing the ten foot dungeon corridor.

Fallout: Home Counties - The Three Sabres Mercenary Company

The Three Sabres Mercenary Company exist as a deliberate reference to the Essex county coat of arms; three sabres on a red field. The sabres are notched, making them technically 'seaxs', for those who wish to know. 

Anyway, these are the brute faction. No great scheme, no great plan; just a relatively organised and coordinated protection racket. Arguably, the most laissez-faire faction of them all, both in terms of how they treat those they have power over and the direction given to regional commanders. 

A few notes I made back in the day read as follows: Ethically, they’re somewhere between Mal and Jayne from Firefly. They look like your usual wasteland lot, though I can’t help thinking red and black tones would be used for their official (I use the term loosely) regalia. There’s a suggestion of a loose, rough and ready democracy to the mercenaries – no one’s going to force them into anything. One imagines a divide between those assigned to cushy posts in the Protectorate interior looking after the villages that support them and the towns that act as their headquarters and offer them the chance for R&R. 

If they have a literary or cultural precedent, it lies in the history of Essex as a relatively militarised region: I call to witness the Colchester garrison and Tilbury Fort (scene of Elizabeth I's "heart and stomach of a king" speech during the Spanish Armada). The late twentieth century notions of the 'Essex man' and 'Essex girl' (if you don't know, count yourself blessed) have little to do with this - though the rural idyll notion runs stronger in Kent or the Cotswalds than it does in Essex, which rather effects the way things ended up. The seaside towns of Essex and the East Coast have a degree of mid-century significance; I quite like the notion of how such places go from holiday grounds to hives of scum and villainy. A bid thudding and obvious, but that's The Three Sabres for you.

At Best, they are Lovable Rogues who'll protect you for a cost and can be negotiated with on easy terms. At Worst, they are racketeers with all the guns and all the cards who'll steal your daughter, kill your dog and eat your baked beans.