Embarcadero: Available now on Kickstarter from Renegade Game Studios.

I'm happy to share that my latest game, Embarcadero, co designed with my good friend Ed Marriott is now available on Kickstarter. If you enjoy strategic euros with a strong historical theme, give it a look. I think you will love it.

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/renegadegamestudios/embarcadero

San Francisco, 1850. The Gold Rush is in full swing. Ships stream steadily into San Francisco Bay, brimming with would-be treasure hunters. Anchored off the coast of the boom town lies a flotilla of abandoned vessels, their crews long since taken by gold fever.

A few business moguls stake their claims on these derelict ships, towing them into harbor to house their growing empires. Over time, this wharfside district, known as the embarcadero, would become the very heart of business enterprise in the thriving port city.

In Embarcadero, players step into the shoes of these savvy entrepreneurs. Build San Francisco on the hulls of these abandoned vessels and carve out a foothold in the city council. Do you have what it takes to rule the waterfront?

For more information, head over to https://www.renegadegames.com/embarcadero and sign up for the Renegade Society newsletter https://www.renegadegamestudios.com/renegadesociety to be sure you don't miss any updates.

  

Mutiny Design Diary

I haven’t posted about my game designs lately. Today, I’m going to write about a micro game called Mutiny that I designed recently. Some friends and I are starting a game publishing company called Moon Yeti, and we wanted something we could take to Gen Con this year. Here’s a diary of how the design developed.

The Plan

Mutiny started with a discussion at a Moon Yeti meeting that went something like this:

“Hey, we should get business cards.”

“We’re a game company, we should use playing cards for business cards.”

“Yeah. Maybe we should make a game on the back side of them.”

“Good idea. How about Win, Lose, Banana, Boatswain?”

“Eh...Needs some work.”

From the start, Mutiny was designed as a game that would go on the back side of the Moon Yeti business cards. This presented a few challenges:

1) There are 4 partners in Moon Yeti, so the game must be playable with exactly 4 cards and no additional components.

2) When you hold a card in your hand, other players will be able to see which card you’re holding, since they can see the name on the business card side.

3) Our business cards represent us as a company. Therefore, the game on the business cards needs to be a great game.

The Concept

The idea I had was that we would put players on a ship. Each player would have a role on the ship, but one of the players would be a traitor, planning a mutiny on the ship. Each role would give a player some kind of special ability in the game. Players would ultimately vote one player guilty at the end. If the mutineer survives that vote, he wins, otherwise, everybody else wins.

There are plenty of hidden traitor games already, so I wanted this to be a different in some way. One thing I really wanted was to have a player’s role on the ship be completely unrelated to whether they are the mutineer. Everybody already knows which role you are (because of challenge 2 above), so “mutineer” can’t be one of the roles. 

Each role has actions that they can use during the game to provide more information or exert control over the votes. The actions needed to be designed such that they would help a player whether or not they were the mutineer. For example, if a player can find out if another player is guilty, it could provide some information for the innocent players or provide cover for the mutineer.

So the new challenge was to provide a hidden identity even though everybody knows your role. The solution I came up with was to use the current time to determine who would be the mutineer. Players would have unique numbers printed on their card. At the start of the game, someone looks at the time, announces the minutes portion, and the player with that number on his card is the mutineer.

I outlined an initial set of roles and actions:

Helmsman: Vote counts as 2 votes

Boatswain: Can look at another player's card to determine if he is the mutineer

Navigator: After votes are cast, Navigator can choose to join the mutiny. His fate is shared with the Mutineer.

Engineer: After seeing all votes, and Navigator's decision, Engineer can change his vote.

I made a quick hand-written prototype and brought it to game night with my friends. We played a game and it was… mediocre. It had some good points, but needed some work.

Iteration and Testing

I went back to the design board (AKA spreadsheet and random emails to friends) and tried to figure out how to take it from OK to great. The first thing I needed to do was to get some more information into the game. Players had no idea who to vote for, since the only person who got any actual information was the Boatswain. I also decided that there needed to be a little bit more structure to the game. The best way to do this was to split the game into two rounds with 2 distinct sets of actions.

Round 1 of the game would help provide information to players. At the end of round 1, players would vote one person innocent. That player would be immune from the vote in round 2. If the Mutineer is voted innocent, he immediately wins. This allowed me to add new actions to bring more information into the open. The vote itself provided some information, and narrowed the field for the second round. 

Round 2 would give everybody another action that would affect the vote. The second round would end with a vote for the guilty player.

I changed the roles as well. I ditched the engineer, because it didn’t fit on a sailing ship. I gave the Engineer’s action to the Navigator, and In the place of the engineer, I added the chaplain, which, incidentally, is my favorite role.

So after the changes, the roles and actions looked like this:

Helmsman:

-Round 1- Cast 2 votes

-Round 2- Cast 2 votes

Boatswain:

-Round 1- Look at another player’s card

-Round 2- Wait until all other votes are cast before casting your own.

Navigator:

-Round 1- Change a vote (cannot change it to himself)

-Round 2- Change a vote (cannot change a vote cast against himself)

Chaplain:

-Round 1- Receive a confession (all players close their eyes and the mutineer opens his eyes) But now, the Chaplain only wins if the Mutineer survives

-Round 2- Forgive 1 vote by taking it away from someone and onto yourself.

Ed Marriott did some graphics work at this point and we made a proper prototype with some art. We playtested this version a bunch of times, and the consensus was that the game had gotten a lot better. It was actually really fun. Players were laughing, having a fun time accusing each other. There were some really great moments and well-played strategies. Nobody trusted anybody, so you were constantly trying to decide who was lying and who was telling the truth.  At one point, we played it three times in a row and still had a blast each time. The game finally had the feel I was hoping for.

Balance

After playing through a number of times, there were a few areas of imbalance that became evident. The Chaplain typically chose to do the confession, so they were almost always on the side of the mutineer. If the Helmsman or the Navigator was the mutineer, they were able to effectively cast 2 votes against the chaplain. The chaplain could then take a third vote onto himself, which was enough for the chaplain to be guilty, and the mutineer could essentially guarantee a win.

So I had to take away some of the power away from the actions. More specifically, I had to force players to trust each other by giving up control of their powerful actions. The new (and final) actions look like this:

Helmsman:

-Round 1: Cast 2 votes

-Round 2: Before voting, choose one other player who gets to cast 2 votes

Since the Helmsman can’t have the control in the second round, he needs to decide who he trusts with a second vote. He can’t be sure that his chosen player will vote with him, so he can’t have complete control. Also, if he’s on the side of the Chaplain, the chaplain can’t vote for himself, so that combo is eliminated.

Boatswain:

-Round 1: Look at another player’s card

-Round 2: Cast vote(s) after other votes are revealed.

The boatswain’s first round action is pretty powerful, but the second round action is not as powerful. The boatswain’s strength is in being the only player able to accuse with some degree of authority, and often sets the direction of the discussion. His second round action is less powerful as a result, while still providing some advantage in seeing how others vote before casting his own vote.

Navigator:

-Round 1: Change one vote (Can’t change to himself)

-Round 2: Choose another player (who didn’t vote for the Navigator) that player must change his vote.

The Navigator has some power in the first round, but he can’t use it to make himself innocent. In the second round, the Navigator still affects the vote, but he can’t determine where the vote gets moved. He still can’t use the action to reduce his own vote count, but he can help an ally or hope to split up some votes. However, he might end up receiving the vote when he forces someone to change their vote.

Chaplain:

-Round 1: All players close eyes, Chaplain chooses a player. That player silently indicates whether they are the mutineer. If they ARE the mutineer, the Chaplain shares their fate.

-Round 2: Forgive one vote by taking it upon yourself.

The Chaplain’s first round action changes so that he’s not always on the side of the mutineer. If he does choose the mutineer to give a confession, the Chaplain will still be on that player’s side. However, the other players don’t know whether he chose the mutineer. The chaplain will always want claim he chose an innocent person, so it can be a challenge to convince the other players that you're not lying.

After testing this version a bunch of times, we decided it was great. The actions were still fun, but much better balanced. We finalized the art and sent it off for printing.

Variants, Good and Bad

The final thing I really wanted from the game was a way to make the game playable with a number that isn’t exactly 4.

For 3 players, the variant was to just remove the chaplain from the game and play as usual, but without an innocence vote. We tested this once, and quickly realized that it really didn’t work all that well. The balance that we had in the 4 player game didn’t seem to be there, and it just wasn’t much fun. We scrapped this variant.

The 5 or 6 player variant is very simple. You just add more players to the game, but they don’t have roles. They are a jury of sorts. They can still participate in the discussion, but they don’t have any actions, and can’t be the mutineer. They still vote in both votes. The balance of the game does change a little bit in this version, since there are more votes being cast. It makes it even more important for the mutineer to fool the other players, since the abilities that change votes are less powerful.

The final product

So that’s how Mutiny came to be. I got help from a bunch of people in design and playtesting. My Moon Yeti partners, Ed, Ben, and Jeremy were all really helpful with my endless stream of emailed thoughts and frequent playtests. Matt Loomis provided some early critical feedback that helped make the game much better. All my playtesters are awesome, especially Mark, Mike, David, and Jon. And of course, Ed did a bang up job on the graphic design, making the game look absolutely awesome.

We’re really happy with how the game plays and we are excited to share it with the world at Gen Con. If you’ll be at Gen Con, find us for a free copy. Follow @MoonYeti on twitter; we’ll periodically tweet our location in the convention center so you can get a copy, or tweet at us if you want to know how to find us. You can also head over to Board Game Geek and download a 1-page print ‘n play file if you won’t be at Gen Con or don’t want to wait.

A Most Peculiar Man

This is a short story I wrote for a contest at my office. The guidelines are that the story must be less than 4,000 words, and based on a piece of art somewhere on the company's campus. I've included a photo of the art that inspired my story at the end of this post. My entry into the contest ended up around 3800 words. I hope you enjoy it!

A Most Peculiar Man

By Adam Buckingham

Every now and then, a person comes into your life who is so far out of the ordinary that he changes your perspective. For me, that person was Morton Willoughby. He was a trash collector by trade, and a collector of trash by choice. He was the kind of employee every manager dreams of having on his team. He was always happy, hard-working, and prompt. I’ve managed a lot of satisfied trash collectors, but I’d never known one who truly loved his job—until I met Morton.

In the heat of summer, when trash bags fester on curbs, my guys fight over who has to ride the step on the back of the truck while his partner enjoys the filtered, air-conditioned cabin. Morton never fought about it. He volunteered to ride the step, every day of the summer. He never complained about the smells or the heavy lifting. He was happy to endure whatever he had to for his hobby.

Morton collected things. He kept a bin between the cab and the bed of the truck. Whenever he found an item of interest, he tossed it in his bin. He took all kinds of random junk. Old satellite dishes, twisted pieces of sheet metal, broken electronics. Every day, he’d finish his route and toss the junk into the bed of his rusty old Ford truck.

Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t the first trash collector to grab something off the curb for himself. It was the quantity that was remarkable.  There was never a day went by that he wouldn’t have a bin full of junk. He must have taken dozens of broken chairs, hundreds of discarded satellite dishes, even the occasional toilet or sink.

I approached him one day as he was loading an old tube TV into his truck.

“Can I give you a hand with that?” I shouted from across the parking lot.

He turned to look at me and wiped the sweat off his brow. He spoke with a slow, awkward drawl “I sure would appreciate that. Thanks.”

We struggled against the weight of the monster, but finally got it loaded into the bed of the truck. We both leaned against the truck to catch our breath.

“So Morton, I’m curious. What do you do with all these things you take home?” I asked.

His face dropped into a look of shame. “Oh, I’m sorry boss. I should’ve asked if it were ok. I assure you, I never meant no harm.”

I put a hand on his shoulder, “Sorry. That came out wrong. No harm in diverting trash from the landfill. I’ve got no problem with you taking the stuff. I’m just curious what you do with it, that’s all.”

Morton smiled his customary crooked smile and ran a dirty hand through his thinning hair. His eyes seemed to be focused elsewhere as he replied. “Oh, nothing much. A little bit of this, a little bit of that.”

I’m not one to stick my nose where it’s not wanted, so I left it at that. As far as I was concerned, he could take whatever he wanted off the curb for whatever reason he wanted, so long as he kept doing a good job.

* * *

It’s a difficult thing for a manager to balance personal and work relationships. I genuinely like most of my collectors. I’m fortunate to have a really great group. These guys are basically family to me. But I never found a way to get through to Morton, though not for lack of effort.

That summer was a particularly difficult one. We were in a heat wave for most of it and morale was pretty low with my guys. I arranged for a little end-of-summer party to show the team how much I appreciated their hard work. Everybody was planning to be there. Everybody but Morton.

I saw him walking to his truck with an armload of things, so I ran over to talk. I only wanted to be sure that everything was ok; make sure he knew he was welcome to join us at the party.

“Hey Mort.” I waved as I approached.

Morton tossed his things into his truck and turned to face me. “Howdy Boss.”

“Looks like the clouds are clearing. It should be a nice night.” I said idly.

Morton crossed his arms awkwardly and looked up at the sky. “Boy, you’re not kidding, Boss. It’s a new moon, so the stars are gonna be real pretty.”

It was an opening. “You don’t say. I never knew you were an astronomer.”

 “Oh, I don’t know about that. I just like the stars.” His crooked smile returned and he gazed toward the sky as if he was prepared to sit and wait for night to fall.

“I remember going to a planetarium once when I was a kid…”

I tried to continue the conversation, but it was clear that Morton’s mind was somewhere else. I was about to walk away and leave him to himself, but I wanted to give it one last try.

“Hey Mort—“

He snapped out of his reverie and smiled at me, “Yeah Boss?”

“Hey, you know, the guys and I are getting together for a little end-of-summer thing. I’d really love it if you could make it. It’s not much, but I’d like to show you how much I appreciate all your hard work.”

Morton nervously fidgeted with his keys. “Gee boss. I really appreciate it. But I don’t need a party. I just do my job the best I can.”

“Yeah, I know, Mort. But this is something I’d like to do for you. Besides, it’s a good chance for the whole crew to get to know each other. Maybe you could teach me a thing or two about astronomy.” I felt like I was grasping at straws; anything to get through to him.

If it was at all possible, I could swear that his smile grew even wider at that comment. “Well, that sounds really nice. I’d like that.”

“Great, you know where my house is—“

“But perhaps another time. I’m spending the weekend on Mars, and I shouldn’t delay.”

There are times when a person says something so unexpected that you can’t even manage speechlessness. There’s no response that makes sense, and yet, you respond out of instinct.

“Yes, another time then. Have a nice weekend” was my response.

“See you Monday, Boss.”

Morton climbed into his truck and drove off as if nothing strange had happened. Perhaps in his mind, nothing strange had happened indeed.

* * *

Come Monday, it was back to business as usual. Morton gave no sign of any thought about our conversation from Friday. He went about his day as he always did, in good spirits, working hard, bothering nobody. As usual, he had a bin full of items to take home.

I decided that his comment on Friday was just a strange excuse. Perhaps it was some elaborate inside joke to which only Morton was privy. That being the case, I was inclined to just forget it and move on. I still needed to figure out who Morton was, and what made him tick. It was beginning to consume me.

One of my guys called in sick on Tuesday, so I took the opportunity to work the shift alongside Morton. As usual, he volunteered to ride the step while I drove the truck. The arrangement didn’t leave much time for chatting, just the occasional small talk at large item pickups. But I made sure to buy lunch for Morton.

I sat across from him in the burger joint’s dining room and puzzled over how to start a conversation.

“Is it an interesting time for stargazing right now?” I started.

“Oh sure, Boss. It’s always interesting.” I could see his eyes losing focus as he retreated into his thoughts.

“How about an example.”

“Hmm. Ok.” He stroked his thick beard as he thought. “Well, the Andromeda galaxy is visible right now. It’s one of our closest neighboring galaxies. There are a trillion stars in it, more than double the Milky Way.”

Satisfied that he’d finished sharing a fact, he went back to his burger, content to sit and eat in silence. His eyes continued to stare blankly as if his mind were stuck on some distant world. I wished I could listen in on what he was thinking. I wanted to know what it was like inside his head. In every way possible, he seemed completely normal. Sure, he was shy and introverted, with a curious sense of humor, and a bit of a pack rat, but that didn’t make him strange. And yet, I couldn’t cast away the feeling that there was something more to him than the surface showed. I was overcome by my need to know what it was.

I tried again. “Say, Mort. I’d love to meet up with you some night when the sky’s clear. I’d be interested to have you show me some galaxies or stars, or whatever there is to see.”

“Sure Boss. That would be real nice.” He smiled and took a sip from his drink.

“Well, how about this week? I’m not doing anything. I could bring a six pack to your place. It’d be a blast.”

“Sounds good.” Morton replied with a smile. “Though I don’t think this week will work. I’ve got a lot going on in the evenings. Lots of work to do around the house.”

“Oh, I’d be happy to help.” I felt my chance slipping through my fingers as I grasped for anything to break his shell.

“Thanks Boss. That’s real generous of you. But I’m a little particular. No offense.”

“None taken, Mort. I understand. Doing anything this weekend?”

“Sadly, no. I’ll be gone again this weekend.”

“Headed back to Mars?” If it was truly a joke, I figured this would be where he would laugh.

“Yeah, that’s right. It’s closest to Earth right now, so I hate to miss the opportunity.”

He smiled broadly, but it wasn’t the smile of a man who was kidding. It was at this point that I realized that he didn’t believe himself to be joking. He was actually convinced that he spent his weekends on Mars. Or at least some place he referred to as Mars. Though I’m fairly certain he was referring to THE Mars, the Red Planet and all that. So perhaps he was a little nutty. But at least it made him happy, and who am I to question what a guy does to be happy. If being crazy makes you happy, why not go mad?

“Sounds exciting.” I replied, prepared to join his madness. “How would you like a companion? I’ve never traveled out of the country, but what the heck, I’d love to see Mars.“

“It’s kinda dangerous, you know.”

“I’m game for an adventure.”

Morton sat quietly for a moment, as if seriously considering my proposition. I found myself hoping he might say yes. I was curious what would happen if he did, not entirely certain what to expect.

Would we climb into some kind of scrapyard rocket and pretend to launch into the sky toward destinations unknown? Would we make believe that we’d touched down on an alien landscape before climbing out of the rocket into Morton’s yard, now transformed into the surface of Mars? Or would we experience it all from the safety of our pressurized capsule, watching the celestial worlds through our high-tech video monitors? Maybe it was some kind of drug-induced hallucination from eating just the right kind of mushroom.

“I’m sorry, boss. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I was actually disappointed. It was the last thing I would have expected to feel. I had just asked a potentially crazy person if he would please allow me to go mad with him, and it was a letdown when he refused my insanity. Even then, the emotion gave me serious doubts about whether my sanity indeed remained intact.

Across the table, a look of pain had filled Morton’s face. It was as if saying no to my request was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. It almost looked as if tears were collecting in the corners of his eyes. I couldn’t bear to look at him like that, and yet a part of me was willing to let him suffer until he agreed to take me with him.

“I donno, Boss…Maybe—“

I snapped out of it. “No, don’t worry about it Mort. Forget I asked.”

I glanced at my watch, hoping for an excuse to move on. It was still 20 minutes before the end of our lunch break, but I couldn’t bear to sit there any longer.

“Well, I suppose.” I said, pulling my chair away from the table. “What say we head back out a little early and we can cut out early this afternoon. Give you a little more daylight to get stuff done at home.”

Morton smiled broadly, “Gee, that’s not a bad idea, Boss.”

We finished the shift without another word, and I sent Morton on his way early as promised. I sat in my office after he left, head in my hands, trying to make sense of what had happened. I was ashamed for how I’d dug at Morton’s personal life as if I had some right to know. He deserved his privacy, and I had violated that. No matter how curious I was, I couldn’t ask another question. I had to let it go.

For the rest of the week, I gave Morton his space. None of the rest of the crew had any idea about Morton’s condition. I was now fully convinced that it was a mental illness and nothing more. I was inclined to just forget it altogether, and accept that it was a quirk, just like anybody else on the crew had. Paul chewed tobacco. Steve whistled at pretty girls. Morton dreamed of visiting another planet. It didn’t affect his work; he was the best guy on my crew.

* * *

The following Monday, Morton came to my office. I invited him in and offered him coffee, which he refused graciously as always.

“Boss, I’m real sorry. I don’t know how to say this.” He wrung his hands nervously as he shifted in his seat.

“It’s ok, Mort. You can tell me anything.”

“Well, how it is, you see, is I need to, sorta—“ he swallowed hard “I need to quit the crew, Boss.”

It was as if I’d just been punched in the gut. All the air went out of me and the world was spinning. I had never suspected he was unhappy with his work. There were no warning signs. He was the last guy on the crew I would have expected to ever lose. I pulled myself together enough to respond.

“Aww, I’m really sorry to hear that, Mort. Really sorry.”

“Me too, Boss. You know I love it here, but it’s just how it is, you know?”

I felt angry, like he’d betrayed me. I wanted to lash out at him, tell him how much I had counted on him. I wanted to hurt him for taking my best employee away from me. Indignation faded into shame and I felt like an idiot.

“It’s my fault.” I looked up at him, “It’s my fault, isn’t it Mort. Look, I’m really sorry; I shouldn’t have asked so many questions about what you do outside work. That’s none of my business. I just wanted to get to know you.”

Morton looked regretful. “Oh, Boss.” He shook his head emphatically. “No. No. No. It’s not that at all. Actually, I liked talking to you about Mars and the stars. That was real nice. Nobody really talks to old Morton much. So it was nice to have someone take an interest. I should be thanking you for it.”

Despite his words, I couldn’t help but feel that he was just trying to protect my feelings. He was too kind, too conscientious to allow me to feel responsible for hurting him. It was nice of him, but I didn’t deserve it.

“You don’t have to tell me, Mort. But why?”

He stopped fidgeting and for the first time, he made true eye contact with me. “I’m moving to Mars.”

* * *

There was nothing I could say. I couldn’t question his sanity, or try to convince him that it wasn’t true. I couldn’t do anything to convince him to stay on the crew. I was selfish for wanting to try. I was going to lose the best guy on my crew because of some delusion that he could travel to another planet. The best thing I could do for Morton was to help him feel good about his decision.

“Congratulations, Mort. Good for you.”

Morton finished the week in typical fashion. He worked harder than everybody else, and did it all with a smile. I had tried to convince him to let me throw him a going-away party, but his answer was exactly as expected.

“Gee, Boss. That’s awful nice of you. But I don’t need a party.”

His last day on the job was the first day that he left without taking an armful of junk with him. A few of the other guys said their goodbyes with a handshake or a pat on the back. Mort was all smiles. I approached him as he was about to get into his truck.

“Going home empty handed today, Mort?”

“Yeah Boss. I’ve got everything I need.”

“Hopefully you’ve got space for one more little thing.” I handed him a package wrapped in brown paper. “Consider it a going away present.”

“Aw, Boss. You didn’t have to go to the effort.”

“Nonsense, you’re my best guy. Besides, it wasn’t much effort. I found it on the curb.”

He opened the package and pulled out the small, battered table lamp inside. The shade had star shaped cutouts that would cast shadows on the walls when the light was turned on.

“I thought of you when I saw it.” I said, trying not to get choked up.

“It’s real nice, Boss. I’ve got just the place for it.”

Morton broke into a broad crooked smile and without further fanfare—or even a goodbye—climbed into his truck and drove away.

* * *

A part of me had always hoped that one day I would walk out of the office to see Morton’s rusty old Ford, laden with scraps and junk. I had wished that he would come shuffling quietly into my office and ask for his job back in a way only Morton could do. Beyond all comprehension, despite all his strange quirks and odd mannerisms, I actually missed old Mort. It made me smile to think about how happy he was with such a thankless job. And I always hoped he was well.

A few months after Mort quit, a story buried deep in the newspaper told of options to send people to Mars at some point in the future. I laughed at how difficult the article made the journey sound. Morton Willoughby used to go to Mars for the weekend, and always showed up on time for work on Monday. It got me thinking about Mort and I decided to pay him a visit.

I went to the address we had on file, way out in the country, nearly an hour from the city. The sun was setting as I arrived and I almost missed the driveway: a narrow opening between the trees. Far back, away from the road, the driveway ended in a clearing. Overhead, I watched as the stars began to appear. So many stars; so many more than I could see in the city.

There was a small building that I assumed was Mort’s house. I knocked a few times, but there was no response. I looked in the windows, but there were no signs of life. A path led from the house into the middle of the clearing. The ground rose gently to a monstrous construction of scrap metal and trash.

Every piece of junk, every satellite dish, broken folding chair, and kitchen sink; every piece of trash discarded as worthless had been assembled together into what I suppose you’d refer to as an observatory. A long slender telescope protruded from a small hut at the base. The whole structure was mounted on some kind of wood and scrap metal turntable. Washing machine motors were mounted at the edges to slowly turn the observatory, or tilt the telescope. It was a marvelous sight to see.

I ducked through the small door into the hut, hoping to see Morton, gazing at stars and galaxies. The hut was empty but for an old broken chair at the base of the telescope. Red lights flashed on a wall of circuits and wires. An old tube television flickered between static and images. Page after page of handwritten notes were scattered across the floor. If I spent hours here, I might be able to learn a thing or two about the man who was never quite my friend.

I took a seat in the broken old chair. The flickering monitor read: TRACKING-MARS. A low rumble could be heard as the observatory slowly rotated on its bearings. I leaned in to the eyepiece of the telescope. My entire field of vision was filled with a large reddish disk, slightly flattened on one edge. Mars.

I studied the planet in the telescope. The details were crisp. I made out mountains and ridges. Wide valleys flowed as if cut by great rivers eons ago.  At top and bottom, white ice caps marked the poles. It was remarkable, breathtaking, and far more detailed than I ever would have imagined it could be to see the planet through a telescope. It truly felt as if I were there, as if I were standing on the surface of Mars.

At the flattened edge, I could see a sliver of the planet that was shrouded in night. Perhaps it was a trick of the eye, or a fleck of dust on the lens, I’ll never know for sure. But to this day, I could swear that I saw a faint light coming from the dark, nighttime crescent. Perhaps it was only a glimmer of fantasy, a reflection of hope. Maybe I just allowed myself to get wrapped up in the romantic notion that Morton was out there somewhere.

The man who built this observatory was something special, a true genius trapped inside a reclusive and awkward exterior. I began to doubt everything I thought I knew about how the world worked. What if he really could visit Mars, somehow, some way that I could never understand? I had assumed he was crazy because it was the only explanation that made sense. What if he was telling the truth? I may never really know what happened to Morton, but in that moment, as I tried to focus on the pinpoint of light at the edge of Mars, I was prepared to believe anything.

Then, as suddenly as if it were a table lamp being clicked off, the light was gone.

“Goodnight, Morton.” I whispered into the dark.

Backyard Astronaut: Inspiration and the value of honest playtesters

Recently, Dice Hate Me Games announced that they were holding a contest for 54 card games. I thought it would be fun to design a game for the contest.

The Inspiration
The idea for my game came from my interest in space travel, rocketry, and space in general. More specifically, I have been playing a PC game called Kerbal Space Program where you operate a fictional space program on the planet Kerbin. The Kerbonauts are little green guys who invented the rocket before they invented the wheel. It's a hilarious and fun game.

The other inspiration was a short story I read in the Jan 2013 issue of Asimov's Science Fiction magazine. It was called "The Family Rocket" by James Van Pelt. It's narrated by a man who is bringing his future wife home to meet his family. His family owns a junkyard, and as a kid, his father took them for a vacation in a rocket he built out of parts from the junkyard. In the story, the narrator comes to realize that the entire vacation was faked by his father for the sake of his children.

I thought it would be fun to build a game around this idea of an amateur rocket enthusiast who cobbles together a rocket out of parts from the junkyard. Whether it actually flies is of secondary importance.

The Design

Designing within 54 cards was fun and very limiting. I settled on a system where you would have various parts that could be added to your rocket. Each part could be placed in certain locations on the rocket, depending on the part. In the end, you would score points for the different parts you have on your rocket.

The parts fall into 3 categories:

Propulsion: Fuel tanks and Engines

Science: Scientific instruments

Utility: Parachutes, winglets, solar panels, maneuvering devices.

There were also Friends that you could play to gain some ability in the game. This was intended to increase player interaction. 

The placement of the parts should be logical. I used colored borders to indicate where a part could be placed. A fuel tank can be placed anywhere, and have other parts attached to it, while a solar panel can only be placed on the sides of a rocket and can't have anything attached to it. You can't attach anything on the bottom of an engine, and you must place a standard engine below another part.

Great...You build a rocket. But it's still not a game. Points, that'll fix it. So I came up with a point system.

Propulsion: a factor of number of engines and number of fuel tanks.

Science: Grows exponentially as you add more unique science instruments

Utility: Points based on the dimensions or composition of your rocket.

Finally, I cobbled together a system of drawing and buying cards so you could obtain cards.

With that figured out, I created the cards, printed them out and then subjected my good friends Ed and Jeremy to a test. 

Playtesting

This is the point in the story where a designer has to drop his ego and let others tell him how non-brilliant his idea is. I am blessed with some good Level 1 friends who feel perfectly comfortable dashing my hopes and dreams. I think I take criticism well, so this is a good thing.

Basically, the feedback I got was that there wasn't much in the way of decisions or strategy. The mechanism for getting more parts was convoluted and didn't help the game. The points weren't terribly well balanced. My attempts at introducing player interaction failed completely. The best thing about the game was that it was kinda fun to build and design the rocket. The test went really quickly (too quickly) and ended with Jeremy clobbering us both. Ed and I barely kept our heads above water.

Jeremy suggested adding suits to the cards to add another dimension the game.

Ed suggested adding some public scoring conditions to add variability and interaction

We also decided that a new way to pick up cards would be good, something more thematic.

Overhaul

I took their feedback and ran with it. I added 3 suits (representing brand, or color of the parts). I would use these for additional scoring calculations.

I adjusted the scoring on the parts to try to balance things better

I came up with a junk pile system where you have 4 piles of face-up cards, and players can spend up to 10 points during the game to dig deeper in the piles to get the card they want.

All information in the game would be public information.

I ditched the friend cards in favor of adding public scoring conditions that change with each game. These fall into 3 categories, and during each game, you will have one goal from each category:

Race to the pole: First person to do X gets the points (first with 3 engines, first person to spend all their digging points, etc...)

Most: Points at the end of the game for having the most of something (tallest, widest, most engines, etc...)

Suits: Points at the end of the game based on the suits of your cards.

 

Another Playtest

I tested it again at another game night. Ed was there to test again. I also got my friends Ben and Paul to test it. Ben is a really great playtester who never pulls punches. To my delight, it was much better. 

• The face up junk piles provided a lot of analysis and player interaction. Do you wait for a part to surface? Or do you pay points to dig into the pile to get it before someone else does?
• The public goals provided a good secondary target for players. It wasn't just about optimizing your rocket, you also had to pay attention to the suit of the cards you (and your opponents) were taking. You could alter your strategy to get the first to the pole goal, or you could just ignore it and work on something else.
• Ed was very emphatic that he liked it a lot better. 
• Ben had some good feedback about limitations on part placement.

There were a few balance things to work out, but it was 100x better than the first time around. 

End Result

The resulting game is a public information game. Picture yourself watching over the fence as your neighbors build a rocket.  You race to the junkyard to try to get the parts you want before they do, even willing to spend more than you have to in order to keep the parts away from them. You're trying to build a better rocket than them.

On a turn, players can pick up a part from the junkyard. If it's on top of a pile, it's free. If it's under the top, they have to pay points to get it. They can add it to their rocket, or keep it in reserve. Players can also scrap parts for points by putting them back on top of a pile. There are three public goals that all play differently, giving players something to work toward. And the parts themselves score points based on the other parts you have on your rocket. 

I'm really pleased with the result of this game. In a short time, I was able to put together a game that my friends and I had a lot of fun playing. I am so grateful to have good Level 1 friends who can help make better games. Thanks guys! and thanks Dice Hate Me for running a great contest!

If you're interested in reading the rules, you can find them here: Backyard Astronaut Rules

If you want a PNP, let me know, I can get one to you. 

TCB Part 46: Epilogue (Cont.)

Go to the Beginning of the story

< Part 45

Higgs woke to the sound of the breakfast bell. He stood up from his pallet and stretched like a cat. He hadn’t grown accustomed to the pallet, or the cold gray walls. He’d learned to live with the constantly burning oil lamps that lit his cell day and night. The smell had made him ill at first, now it was just a part of the background noise of the jail where he’d spent the last three months.

No trial had been held. He supposed these sorts of things didn’t require a trial so much anymore. He was fortunate that he hadn’t been sent to a work camp as a Technologist sympathizer. He wasn’t a sympathizer, though the recent events did nothing to endear him to the ruling party. Three months in jail without trial did that to a man. Still, he wasn’t about to press for a speedy trial. He was caught red handed, and there’s no way that a trial would improve his situation.

He stood by his cell door and waited for the jailer to flip the lever that would open the lock. He’d spent a lot of the time thinking about his life and where he went wrong. He’d thought his plan had been perfect. It was the little mistakes that did them in. When Charlotte ended up off the airship, she got the attention of the farmer who drove her to the city. When a hefty reward is offered, a poor farmer takes notice of the suspicious young woman he found near the site of the crime. A taxi driver tends to notice a pretty girl, and he’s quite likely to notice her suspicious behavior even more.

The door opened and Higgs began his habitual walk to the dining hall. Of course, if it was only Charlotte, he wasn’t sure that she would have given up the rest of them. She was a woman of principles, unlike Everton L. Montebanque. Judging by how quickly they were caught, he suspected that Everton had cracked immediately. He may have even run to the investigator on his own. No, Higgs suspected that it was the threat of what would happen to him if they labeled him a Technologist. They’d have had good reason to do so. Higgs couldn’t blame him for wanting to make a deal, but he wished it hadn’t cost so much for everybody else.

Higgs was in line to get his breakfast when a guard called his name from across the room. He approached ominously and grabbed Higgs by the upper arm. He roughly led Higgs into a windowless room with a table and two chairs. He pointed at one of the chairs and told Higgs to sit. He complied and the guard left the room, locking the door behind him. Higgs stared at the two-way mirror in the wall across the room. He wondered who was on the other side. Was this when he would finally be sent to trial? Or worse?

The city’s police chief walked into the room and sat in the chair across from Higgs. He was a short, overweight man, who compensated with bravado and a tough façade. “You’ve got some friends in high places, you know that, Thurmond Higgs?”

Higgs sat silently, not seeing any reason to respond to the clearly rhetorical question. He simply sat, hands folded in front of him at the table. His face showed no emotion as he looked the other man in the eye. He would accept his fate, whatever it was.

“I hate that you’re going to get away with this. You should know that I’ve got my eye on you, Higgs. Every step you take, each conversation you have, every moment of your life, we’ll have people watching you. I suggest you find a new place to call home.”

Higgs didn’t react visibly, but he responded calmly. “I’m afraid I don’t catch your meaning.”

“The charges have been dropped. You’re free to go.” The chief stood and walked toward the door. He stopped when he got to the doorway, then turned around slowly. “Oh, and this was left for you.”

The officer tossed an envelope, which landed on the table across from Higgs. He picked up the envelope and put it in his pocket. It was heavier than he expected. He followed a guard out of the prisoner block and into the police headquarters. He signed a few papers and then walked into the city, a free man again.

He breathed a deep breath, and for the first time in his life, the smell of the city seemed sweet and fragrant. Little had changed in his time in the jail. The abandoned skyscrapers still loomed overhead while plump, white airships carried passengers across the skyline. Smokestacks still pumped endless streams of smoke and steam into the air, keeping the economic engine of the city alive and thriving. He was certain that the city beneath the city functioned the same as always. He knew that he could never re-enter that society, not in this city, perhaps elsewhere.

He remembered the envelope in his pocket. He pulled it out and turned it over. The ornate letter L of the wax seal was not one that he knew offhand. He opened it and pulled out the paper inside. The note was short: Whatever the cost, it was worth it. Thank you, my friend. Box 38

There was a key in the envelope. He examined it, and noticed the Victorian Bank logo engraved on the side. He smiled as he walked across town toward the bank. Perhaps everything would work out for the best in the end.

TCB Part 45: Epilogue (Cont.)

Go to the Beginning of the story

< Part 44

Gentle waves rocked the boat as it drifted lazily through the sapphire and crystal waters. The boat wasn’t heading anywhere, nor was it coming from anywhere. It was simply drifting. Its captain emerged from below decks and squinted in the bright Caribbean morning. He donned a pair of brass-rimmed sunglasses and breathed a deep breath of clean, fresh air. He let it out in a sigh of contentment. Life was good.

He raised the sail and prepared for a day of sailing. He checked his compass and his charts, fairly certain of where he was. Setting the heading for the Northwest, he sailed, toward an island called St. John. He spotted a settlement called John’s Folly that sounded like a good place to spend a few days. He was a man without a schedule, basking in the freedom afforded only to a man who’d died three months prior.

Phineas thought, as he often did, about Anabelle. How badly had he hurt her? Would she ever forgive him? Would it matter if she did? He didn’t plan to go back to the city again, so he doubted very much that he would ever see her again. He didn’t want to hurt her like that, but the only way his plan worked was if everybody believed him dead.

***

He had genuinely hoped they would get away without the ruse. But when he realized that the boat was about to sink, he made sure he was below decks. The commotion of the chase made everything so easy. The boat wasn’t fast enough to outrun the airship, but if he gave up the chase too quickly, they wouldn’t have sunk the boat. So he played around a bit, passing the boat back and forth under the airship. Clearly not giving up, the airship had no choice but to keep shooting, and the commotion kept Anabelle safely above decks.

When the cannonball hit the boiler, he knew it was over. If only Anabelle had listened, she could have made it away. He’d told her time after time that she needed to look out for herself. He supposed it was admirable that she didn’t abandon him. But it was downright foolish of her. He watched her get airlifted off the boat and he went to work.

He pulled the breathing apparatus out of his pocket. He knew it wouldn’t last long, with only a small tank of oxygen. He would need to conserve his energy. He looped his leg under a rail to make sure he sunk with the hull of the boat. As his head dipped under the muddy water, he slipped the device into his mouth and began to breathe very slowly, deliberately.

The boat sank slowly. Bubbles of air began to escape the bullet holes and cracks in the wood of the deck. The boat was carried downstream by the current as it dropped to the bottom. It finally hit bottom with a jolt and embedded itself into the thick mud of the riverbed. The turbulent waters calmed themselves, content with having swallowed the boat. A few remaining pockets of air leaked out slowly, bubbles dancing as they rose to the surface.

He calmed his mind, resisting the instinctive urge to swim to the surface. The world around him was dark and brown, with streams of light cutting through the water from the surface. Ripples within the beams hinted at the turmoil above. Slowly, he breathed, relaxed. He had hoped that Anabelle would be safe. He didn’t want her hurt in any way. He would be doing enough damage with his stunt; he prayed that the authorities didn’t make it worse.

The world beneath the surface of the water was peaceful. Dark water drifted past his face, the cold felt like tiny needles on his skin. A stream of warm would pass as the boiler continued to heat the water as it cooled. Slowly, he breathed, meditating on his freedom. He drifted in and out of a trance, biding his time. Montebanque had told him the cylinder would last 10 minutes, but he stretched it to 15 by keeping himself under control.

The breathing got more difficult as the cylinder emptied. He unhooked his leg, took a handful of gold coins from the sack in the control room, and swam to the surface. He breached the surface and looked around at his surroundings. He allowed the current to carry him downstream as he oriented himself. Upstream, he could see the faint outline of the city skyline. No sign could be seen of the airship that had come for them.

“Goodbye Anabelle. I pray you will be treated well.” He muttered to himself as he swam to the bank of the river. He spotted a farm not far from the bank. He made his way to the barn, hoping to be able to dry off and warm up. The cold water had chilled him to the bone, numbing his feet and hands. But now the sun was warming him as he moved, thawing his sluggish limbs. He would need to lie low for a few days while he developed a plan.

He headed to a small town, not far from the city, where he bought a new tuxedo and hat. He shaved off his characteristic mustache and hair, hoping to eliminate any chance of being spotted. Pulling a pollution mask over his face, he got on a train. It was the very same route as the one they had robbed. The irony was not lost on Phineas as he chuckled to himself in the dining car.

Once in the city, he made quick work of gathering as much of his stashed gold as possible. If they had gotten to Anabelle, he was sure the others wouldn’t be far behind. He purchased a used steam-lorry from the dealership at the edge of town and drove it to the various banks across the city. At each place, he unloaded his stash into the truck. He was thankful for the privacy afforded the banks’ customers, especially in light of the recent events. Nobody asked why he was withdrawing his gold, they all asumed that he was spooked, and no doubt would be back in a few weeks when it blows over. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

Even still, he couldn’t resist asking the question. “I’ve been out of town for a few days. Can you tell me what came of those scoundrels that robbed the Lester train?” He asked the attendant at one of the banks.

The attendant smiled at the masked man, “Yes. The news is that they have all been caught and are being held for trial. Though I believe there was one chap killed in the chase.”

“Serves those cursed fools right, if you ask me.” He couldn’t resist an artistic flourish. He tipped his hat and walked out of the bank. Seated at the driver’s seat of his steamer, he fired up the boiler and drove out of the city, headed for the coast.

***

He steered his sailboat toward John’s Folly, nothing but open water in front of him. This was what true freedom felt like. He would never again worry about money, never need to toil for food. Yet, it was bittersweet for him. He was lonely. He made friends easily at each port. But each time, he moved on to another, never satisfied to sit still. It was as if he was afraid that his history would catch up with him. Every beautiful woman brought him visions of Belle, and each port held reminders of the city he’d left behind. It pained him that he would never see the city he loved again, would never have a chance to hold Belle again. For everything, there is a price to pay. For Phineas, he lost a city and a love. Only time would tell if it was worth the price.

Part 46 >