Two human males in cold weather clothing are seated in the acceleration couches. They look dead, but perfectly composed, and relaxed, as if they'd died in their sleep. Some lights are glowing on the low console between these couches, and on it are an empty pill-bottle and a water bottle of flexible plastic. All the other consoles are apparently dead. Floating near the crewmen in the left-hand couch is a notepad with a pencil attached. Neither man is wearing his headset.

Obviously, if the gravity is turned back on the notepad will fall. It is covered with deliberate calculations in a firm hand, which are clearly estimates of how long the crew can survive under various regimes of emergency measures. Near the bottom, the answer to the final calculation is'20 weeks'; this is underlined several times, heavily. If other pages of the notebook are examined, they contain the identification of the man in the left seat; he is the pilot. Also present are his will, a brief log of the time since they were marooned by drive failure, and instructions for the finder to deliver two letters which are to be found in his pockets. The log is fairly straightforward, and will tell the players little that they don't already know, but near the front in large letters is an announcement that the crew have taken fast drug to eke out their supplies of oxygen and food, and that provided they are found by such-and-such a date (given as 15 weeks after the players started their search) they can be revived. The crew will actually be awake and active for a few hours halfway through the 6th week, but don't let the players find them moving about! The whole log only covers about four days.

The pill-bottle bears numerous formulae, trade names, and so on which will allow any character with Medical skill to deduce that it contained fast drug.

The letters in the pilots pockets are addressed to his girlfriend (content fairly predictable and harrowing) and to the Manager of Transtellar Lines Courier Division. This second letter is a report of circumstances leading up to the crew's death and the cause of the disaster, namely unexpected and irreparable manoeuvre drive failure. Recommendations as to how to prevent the recurrence of the mishap are given, as are details of everything the crew tried to repair the motor.

Characters examining the bodies should realise that something is wrong; they are in no way decomposed, and are even slightly warm. They are the pilot and navigator.

The stateroom contains about what you'd expect; a remote terminal for the ship's computer, a rack of technical manuals describing pilots procedures for the ship, spare uniforms, and an emergency vacc suit on a watt frame in case the ship is decompressed while the occupant is asleep (all staterooms have this). In the desk drawers is a bundle of love-letters from the pilots girlfriend, and a collection of excellent quality tapes for the entertainment system. The hologram is in the form of a cube about 10cm on a side, with a stud near the bottom at the back. If pressed, this causes the image of the girl to go through a short period of movement and action (always the same loop) in which she smiles and says endearing things, obviously meant to cheer the pilot up and assure him of her affection.

The strongbox bears the crest of the Covert Survey Bureau and contains course tapes different from those presented to the players in several major aspects. A character of Electronics-3 or better may attempt to open it; on a roll of 9+ on 2d6 he succeeds, otherwise he fails. If he fails, or anyone else tries to open it without the proper key, acid spills onto the tapes inside, destroying them and causing a foul grey smoke to spurt from the box. If opened, the box's tapes present an opportunity for the referee to continue the scenario into other adventures; they detail the location and characteristics of the unexplored and deserted world where the Bureau's resources are being diverted to manufacturing hyperdexamine (see Module 10) for Yelov Salash, together with reports from his manager at the plant which make it clear what Salash's underhand scheme is. The two CSB agents in the crew are unaware of the contents and have no key to open the strongbox.

An unremarkable stateroom. There is a sealed letter plainly visible on the desk, but all else has been packed away neatly.

The contents of the stateroom are fairly standard except for the letter. It has been hand written, and is addressed to a family which the players will know from their briefing includes the navigator's parents. If opened, ifs contents are again predictable, except for one passage in which the navigator urges his parents not to dig too deeply into the circumstances of his death, for their own good; he advises them patriotically that he died in the service of the Empire, but no-one can ever tell them exactly why for security reasons. He staters that he was aware of the risks, and considered the tasks worthwhile.

This stateroom is the worst pigsty you've ever seen aboard a ship - things are carelessly strewn about, which is rare on a ship, where a sudden acceleration could hurl loose objects dangerously about. There are erotic posters on the watts and numerous empty beer caps dumped hastily on the unmade bed. The desk, as well as the papers on it, are vey' much the worse for wear and covered in hastily-scrawled calculations. Drawers and cupboards hang open revealing clothing carelessly stuffed inside them, and in one corner a mysterious apparatus is half-built, surrounded by tools, parts and bits of what appears to be charcoal, among other things.

The calculations are useless to the players - the engineer has been using his desk as a scratch-pad for years, and the figures refer to everything from his tosses at diamondback to the ship's maximum power output to his beer expenses.

The mysterious apparatus will be recognised as a makeshift air purifier by anyone with Medical-2 or Engineering-2; the CE has been spending his brief periods of activity building it to give the crew a few extra hours when all other sources of oxygen have been exhausted.

A neat and orderly stateroom which has been tidied as if its occupants were leaving it for a long period. There is a dartboard opposite the door at head height, and below it a box of six darts securely fastened in.

There is nothing of special noteworthiness here.

This room can obviously serve as a stateroom or sick bay to taste. At the moment it is set up as a sick bay.

There is only normal medical equipment to be found, though obviously stateroom facilities are present in a stowed form - bed folded up into the watt, and so on.

A deserted common area with all the cooking and recreational facilities stowed away. There are numerous posters of emergency and safety procedures on the watts in prominent places.

A careful search of this room will reveal nothing, except for about two Credits in loose change which have fallen down behind the seat cushions.

A spotlessly clean stateroom with a large rack of journals and text tapes along one watt, and a tape viewer on the desk. Posters cover the far watt, and are concerned with first-aid procedures for the most part, although there are some pictures of high performance small water craft.

The journals and texts are mostly concerned with medicine, but about one-quarter of them have titles such as 'Antarean Power Boat News', or 'Handling Speedboats on Low Gravity Worlds'. It should be obvious that the medic's hobby is power boating. A search of the desk drawers will reveal several certificates attesting to her skill, and membership cards for several boat clubs, some of which could conceivably be used by the players to gain access to the club premises in future adventures. A character collecting and studying the instructional manuals for six months, provided he has some practice as well, will acquire one level of expertise in Small Water Craft skill, provided he saves vs intelligence on 2d6 at the end of that lime. A further attempt is permitted, but the manuals are of a simplified nature, and a character of Small Water Craft-2 or better tan gain no benefit from them.

This is an ordinary airlock, containing safety lines and umbilicals, facilities for their attachment, and other EVA stores such as lights, overshoes, and so on. There are half-a-dozen vacc suits present.

A thorough check of the airlock will reveal that all the air tanks on the vacc suits have been emptied and are exhausted of air. The crew have used them to eke out the shipboard life support by bleeding their contents into the atmosphere aboard.

This room is about half-full of survival stores. There are a few blades and rifles, preserved rations, water cans, life rafts, and similar items.

The referee should feel free to add appropriate items to the above list as the characters search; however, note that all types of filter mask or respirator are missing (the chief engineer has cannibalised them for the mysterious apparatus in A4), as are the suits of cold weather clothing, which the crew are wearing, having turned down the heating to conserve power. Some of the packs of rations have been broken into, and some individuals packets are missing, having been eaten by the crew.

This passage obviously allows access to the drive machinery for repairs. All the internal plates for access to the drives have been removed, and there are clear attempts to jury-rig some kind of emergency system to the drives. An open tool kit is in the crawlway, as are several maintenance manuals and an empty beer can.

All this should be self-evident as to purpose. A character with Engineer skill can determine from a brief inspection that the manoeuvre drives are hopelessly damaged by some sort of infernal explosion, possibly a component failure of an unusual type, and can only be replaced.

This room contains controls for the engines of the skip, and instruments to monitor them. There are iwo couches before the consoles, bot h occupied; the people in them are both human, one mate and one female, and are holding hands across one of the monitors between them. They seem to have died in their sleep, and on the control board before them are a small empty pill-bottle and a flexible plastic water bottle. Pinned against the rear wall by the ship's rotation is one of the scruffiest individuals you have ever seen, with his hands in his pockets and a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. All three are wearing cold weather clothing, and there is a box in one corner of the room. The floor iris valve has been disabled, there are wires protruding from an open panel near it which have clearly been cut.

The people here are in much the same condition as those on the bridge; the same notes apply to it, and to the pill-bottle. The girl is the ship's medic, the seated man its second engineer; the pinned figure is the chief engineer. A check of the controls and instruments by someone with Engineering skill will reveal that the power plant is operating (if less than 15 weeks were required to find the ship, otherwise it is not- and side effects will be that nothing in the ship works and the air is unbreathable.) at the minimum possible level, to conserve fuel, but both it and the jump drive are in perfect condition. If the searchers think to check the fuel gauges, they will see that the tanks are practically dry, with no fuel left for another jump, which can mean one of two things; either the ship jumped a lot further than its flight plan indicates (this is in fact the truth), or it was in a great hurry and had to make two or three jumps without stopping to refuel.

The chief engineer wrecked the iris valve in the floor to seal off the cargo hold. More of this later...

This crawlway allows access to the drives for maintenance. All the inspection panels have been removed, and there are signs of attempts at repairs.

The only thing worthy of note here, which a thorough check against their deck plans and a search will reveal, is that the flight recorder has been disconnected, apparently accidentally and some years ago. This instruments normal purpose is to log the ship's movements and 'vital signs' so that if it crashes, the flight recorder may give some clue as to what went wrong. The Tact that it is disconnected may raise some suspicions.