Building the Project Arsenal
By Nelson McKeeby
Weapons Were Never Just Combat Rules
When I embarked on writing Negentropy in 1979, weapons were an obvious part of the problem. Role-playing games already treated combat as a place where rules became most apparent. In a swords-and-sorcery game, swords occupy a significant portion of the rules because fighting monsters, bandits, soldiers, and other enemies is a common activity. Knights and wizards belong to a genre where defeating dangerous creatures is often a central element of the story. Guns presented a similar challenge for a game set in a modern world, but I didn’t want them to become an excuse for an extravagant collection of science-fiction weapons.
I envisioned Project personnel possessing advanced equipment. They were supposed to be exceptionally well-prepared, and the Negentropic Cylinders provided me with a reason to preserve tools and weapons from the era when the Project was still active. Simultaneously, I wanted the equipment to remain recognizable enough that its use could be understood. Marc Miller’s Traveller was instrumental in this regard. Traveller successfully incorporated fusion-powered spacecraft into a setting while still providing soldiers with rifles. Space marines didn’t require ray guns simply because the ships that carried them were advanced. This distinction helped me understand how Negentropy could include extraordinary technology without necessitating every ordinary tool to become fantastical.
The most significant constraint came from the Cylinders themselves. A person who entered one couldn’t expect it to be opened every few years for someone to replace an old rifle with the latest model or issue a better radio. The entire point was that the person inside didn’t experience the intervening time. When the Cylinder opened, the traveler had what had been packed with them. If that weapon had been chosen thirty, fifty, or a hundred years earlier, it was still the weapon they knew how to use. Training, spare parts, ammunition, maintenance tools, magazines, holsters, manuals, and handling habits all traveled with the choice. Therefore, I began to view Project equipment as a commitment made before anyone knew what the future would hold outside.
Calypso and the Significance of Useful Equipment
My first strong model for choosing that equipment came from a man connected with Jacques Cousteau’s research vessel, Calypso. My grandfather had taken me to see Calypso when it visited the St. Petersburg area in 1975. I was very young at the time and interviewed one of the men associated with the ship for a second-grade presentation. In 1979, I saw a newspaper notice that the same man was returning to give a talk at Bayboro. I went to hear him and interviewed him again, and he remembered me from our earlier visit.
He had served in the French Navy and shared photographs and stories about the equipment he used during his service and aboard an expedition ship. My notes identified a MAS 1936 rifle and another rifle I recorded as a MAS 1944, along with a Browning 1935 pistol and an Uzi carried for protection in hostile waters. He also spoke about Aqualungs, outboard motors, and the small Hughes helicopter used with the expedition. While I was intrigued by the weapons, the more profound impact came from his general approach to equipment. He treated it with meticulous care. A small number of machines and tools had to remain functional because people depended on them. An outboard motor that failed in the wrong place was not just an inconvenience; it could significantly alter the crew’s capabilities. Diving equipment required thorough inspection and maintenance because a diver’s life depended on it. A firearm carried for protection had to remain functional despite exposure to salt air, handling, travel, and long periods of inactivity.
This attitude became a key element of the first Logi material. I didn’t start by asking which weapons were the most glamorous. Instead, I focused on equipment I had personally observed, equipment described by someone who had used it, and equipment whose purpose made sense in a small expedition. This approach aligned better with the Project’s goals than the idea of an armory stocked with every weapon imaginable. A Troubleshooter team was more akin to an expedition than an army division. It needed to carry enough capability to address a wide range of problems while accepting that every item displaced something else.
The First French Rifles
The French rifles remained because they provided a practical starting point and allowed me to research them thoroughly. I had a copy of “Small Arms of the World” and used it to verify the weapons in my notes and develop game information based on published dimensions, weights, capacities, operating systems, and ammunition. The rifle I had recorded as the MAS 1944 led me to explore the postwar French semiautomatic rifle family, eventually updating my project choice to the MAS 1949/56. I retained the MAS 1936 bolt-action rifle and its CR39 and 1936/51 variants because they represented different forms of the same basic weapon family and served distinct purposes.
The MAS 1936 was particularly valuable in shaping my perspective on Project weapons. It wasn’t a glamorous rifle; it was a robust military bolt-action design built on reliability and straightforward handling. The CR39 offered a compact folding-stock form for troops who required a shorter package, while the 1936/51 introduced the capability to use rifle grenades. The later MAS 1949/56 provided the same broad ammunition system as a semiautomatic service rifle, creating a family of weapons capable of fulfilling various roles without necessitating entirely different cartridges and maintenance cultures for each one.
The allure wasn’t that France had stumbled upon the ultimate rifle. Instead, it was the idea that the Project could acquire, store, maintain, and train with weapons that had already proven their resilience in military service. These rifles were ordinary enough to be comprehended and advanced enough to remain serious firearms in the future setting. They also aligned with the broader concept that the Project would preserve proven equipment rather than placing all its bets on experimental weapons that might become irreparable once the original laboratories and factories were no longer operational.
The Browning, the Revolver, and the Shotgun
I opted for the Browning/FN 1935 as the standard automatic pistol because it possessed the same qualities. It was already widely recognized, mechanically comprehensible, and serious enough for military use without the need for a fictional explanation. It held more ammunition than many earlier service pistols, yet it remained a conventional handgun that an armorer could easily strip, inspect, clean, and teach. I had come across it through the Calypso interview, so it also belonged to the same real equipment tradition that influenced the early Project arsenal.
Additionally, I wanted a revolver. I chose a .357 Magnum handgun based on the Smith & Wesson 1935 pattern, envisioning the Project utilizing a meticulously crafted custom version. The revolver provided a distinct alternative to the automatic pistol without necessitating a new category of futuristic sidearm. It could fire a powerful cartridge, had a straightforward manual of arms, and made sense as an option for individuals whose work or preference favored it. I didn’t require a special Project ray pistol when a powerful conventional revolver already fulfilled a practical purpose.
The shotgun decision was even simpler. Police and security organizations already used 12-gauge pump shotguns, and I saw no need to replace them with something exotic merely because Project Negentropy possessed advanced technology elsewhere. A standard pump shotgun could utilize various types of ammunition, be maintained with ordinary tools, and serve hunting, security, and close-range defensive functions. In the initial equipment logic, ‘good enough’ was a crucial category. If an existing tool already performed the job reliably, the Project had no reason to create an elaborate replacement solely to enhance the equipment list’s futuristic appearance.
Why I Didn’t Choose the Rifle of the Month
As players became involved, weapons sparked similar discussions as in many role-playing groups. People had favorite rifles. The AK-47 and its descendants garnered particularly strong enthusiasm, with some players considering the Kalashnikov system the greatest rifle in the world. While it may have been an excellent choice for many armies and situations, that wasn’t the sole question I was pondering.
The Project was a civilian technical organization making long-term personnel choices for those who might emerge into an uncertain political landscape. During the Cold War, the four dominant service-rifle families—the American M16, the Soviet AKM, the Belgian FAL, and the German G3—were associated with major military blocs and political alignments. While their practical qualities could be discussed independently of these associations, they still held significant weight. A Project intended to operate across borders and withstand the political order that created it had a reason to avoid making its visual identity indistinguishable from one of the great powers.
The Uzi and French rifles felt different to me. They were certainly military weapons with their own national histories, but they didn’t carry the same immediate association with the two superpower blocs. France’s independent military policy after de Gaulle’s withdrawal from NATO’s integrated command further reinforced my belief that French weapons could be used without making the Project appear as an extension of either Washington or Moscow. It’s important to note that this wasn’t a claim that French weapons were politically neutral. It was a deliberate design choice about how the equipment conveyed its message within the setting.
This also safeguarded the game from the “gun of the month” phenomenon. If Project weapons were constantly changing based on the latest trends in magazines, movies, military news, or player conversations, the equipment list would cease to represent a historical organization and instead reflect the current weapon of interest. The Cylinder premise provided a compelling reason to avoid this. The Project had meticulously selected and trained on its equipment before the organization’s closure. While a future discovery might introduce another weapon into a Troubleshooter’s possession, it wouldn’t alter the original equipment that had been prepared.
X-Tech: Advancing What I Could Already See
I still wanted certain aspects of Project technology to be distinctly advanced compared to what I could purchase or witness in 1979. Computers and communications were the obvious areas for this advancement. My school had acquired a TRS-80, which made personal computing a tangible reality, but its limitations were also evident. Florida Power had computer systems communicating with power plants, and I had a basic understanding of programming from my father’s background, which allowed me to recognize COBOL and FORTRAN as serious computing languages. What captivated me was the potential to take capabilities that existed in large institutions and miniaturize them to the point where an individual field team could carry them.
I envisioned radios and computers that could communicate with each other seamlessly. A portable computer could exchange information with another computer, receive data via radio, utilize stored files, and become part of a digital network carried by field personnel. None of this required me to invent a magical talking box with unlimited knowledge. I could already envision the individual components emerging separately. The fictional challenge was to make them smaller, more capable, more integrated, and available in limited quantities to an advanced organization.
I named this X-Tech. The term provided an in-world explanation for equipment that was technologically advanced but still connected to developments I could envision. X-Tech could originate from advanced corporate research, recovered alien knowledge, or a small production capability unavailable to the general market. This allowed me to enhance batteries, computing, sensors, radios, medical systems, and other equipment without assuming that the entire world had already adopted those improvements.
I viewed X-Tech as an extension of capability, not a license to eliminate constraints. For instance, a radio could become smaller and smarter while still requiring power. A computer could communicate with other devices without becoming omniscient. A battery could store more energy without becoming an infinite energy source. A rifle could use better materials or optics without becoming a phaser. This boundary was crucial because it enabled the Project to feel advanced while preserving challenges that players still had to overcome.
Training was an Integral Part of the Equipment
The Cylinder made training inseparable from procurement. If the Project issued a specific rifle, radio, medical kit, computer, or vehicle, personnel had to be proficient in its use before entering the Cylinder. There was no assurance that an instructor, factory representative, updated manual, or replacement part would be available when the door opened. A theoretically superior tool could be a poor choice if no one in the team knew how to operate or repair it.
This perspective transformed my understanding of an arsenal. A weapon was not merely an entry on a table with damage and range. It implied ammunition, magazines, cleaning equipment, spare parts, sighting systems, storage, training time, qualification, and maintenance. Similarly, a vehicle implied tools, tires, motors, batteries, controls, and repair knowledge. A radio implied batteries, frequencies, antennas, protocols, and individuals trained to communicate. The Project had to purchase systems, not isolated objects.
That was one reason I resisted the simple science-fiction solution of providing increasingly impressive equipment. A ray gun that existed solely for its excitement would necessitate an entire invisible technological system to support it. Where did its power originate? How was it repaired? What were the requirements for a damaged emitter? How did personnel diagnose faults? Could anyone manufacture replacement parts in 150 years? If the answer to every question was simply that X-Tech made it work, then the equipment ceased to contribute to the game because the fictional label had replaced the problem.
Conventional weapons avoided much of this complexity. A rifle still required maintenance, but its fundamental operation was comprehensible. Ammunition could potentially be reproduced if enough industry survived. Metal parts could sometimes be machined. Springs, stocks, screws, magazines, and sights belonged to technologies that future societies might be able to repair or replicate. A familiar weapon therefore had a longer useful life in the setting compared to a fictional weapon whose entire support system existed only within the original Project.
The Cylinder as an Inventory Dilemma
The broader question that loomed over all of this was always what I would place in a Cylinder if I knew I couldn’t change my mind later. This made equipment selection a problem of opportunity cost. A rifle occupied space, as did ammunition, a medical kit, books, radios, computers, tools, food, clothing, spare batteries, scientific instruments, and the person who had to use all of them. The Cylinder didn’t care which item was more dramatic; it imposed volume and mass on every choice.
Thinking about the Project in this way resulted in a smaller and more conservative arsenal compared to a purely cinematic version. A limited number of weapon families could be supported with deeper stocks of ammunition, parts, and training. A team could carry useful tools instead of filling its available space with weapons for situations that might never arise. The same principle applied to logistics. I was interested in the essential items an expedition actually needed and how they would behave when one of them broke, ran out, or required local replacement.
This is where the Calypso interview resonated with me the most. An expedition ship could possess advanced equipment, but its operations still depended on ordinary machines that had to function daily. The small helicopter, outboards, diving gear, radios, weapons, pumps, and hand tools all played a role within a functioning system. None of them held value solely because they were futuristic. Their value lay in the fact that someone understood their purpose and knew how to use them effectively.
I wanted Project equipment to embody the same quality. If a Troubleshooter opened a case, the contents should appear as if someone had deliberately selected them. There should be a logical reason for the rifle, pistol, radio, knife, analyzer, battery, and wrench. The equipment should reflect the training and mission assumptions of the individuals who packed it.
Concrete Reality and the Temptation of Superior Weapons
Once regular play commenced, players naturally tested these assumptions. Some desired more powerful weapons, larger Cylinders, greater energy, and equipment that eliminated problems rather than merely managing them. These suggestions were often reasonable from the perspective of a character who anticipated surviving a perilous future. If I were actually packing a Cylinder and had access to an ideal power source, a lighter rifle, an indestructible vehicle, or a weapon that never ran out of ammunition, I would have wanted those things as well.
The issue arose when we provided the characters with certain items that altered the nature of the game we were playing. For instance, a weapon that could resolve every fight, a power source that rendered energy obsolete, or a Cylinder large enough to accommodate every useful machine eliminated choices. The challenge was to generate the situations that required these limitations. Ammunition shortages prompted decisions about when to fire, while battery capacity necessitated careful planning of movement and communication. A rifle that could be maintained with known tools remained valuable because its continued operation was not guaranteed by narrative convenience.
This distinction later became a part of our discussion on cinematic reality and concrete reality. Cinematic reality allows a character to have a weapon because the scene demands it and disregards the logistics until the next scene. On the other hand, concrete reality requires us to consider the origin of the item, the remaining ammunition, who maintained it, whether it survived a river crossing, and the consequences of a spring breaking. While negentropy could accommodate cinematic moments, the equipment system functioned best when the underlying objects adhered to the concrete world.
However, this did not mean that every game session had to become an accounting exercise. I did not want players to count every screw. The objective was to maintain the reality of limitations so that the Game Master and players could recognize when a limitation actually impacted the situation. If ammunition was abundant, we did not need to dwell on it. Conversely, if the team had been isolated for months and had only two magazines left, the same rifle became a different problem.
The reason why the Arsenal remained familiar was that it was designed to reflect the concrete world. By providing the characters with realistic equipment and limitations, we ensured that the game felt authentic and immersive. This approach allowed players to engage with the game on a deeper level and make more meaningful decisions based on the circumstances they faced.
Over time, the Project arsenal expanded with new weapons, variants, optics, ammunition, and specialized equipment, yet the core principle remained intact. The weapons largely retained their recognizable firearm status because such firearms already addressed the problem at hand. They were subject to research, comparison, maintenance, and explanation, making their limitations and advantages comprehensible. Instead of being bestowed upon them by fictional technology labels, their advantages could be earned through training and preparation.
Therefore, the MAS rifles, Browning pistol, .357 Magnum revolver, pump shotgun, and Uzi were never merely a list of preferred guns. They exemplified a method. I selected weapons that existed, assessed the roles the Project truly required, sought to minimize unnecessary variety, and permitted advanced technology where a plausible development path was evident. When a choice gained popularity later, I refrained from automatically replacing what the Project had already embraced. The organization’s history had to constrain the equipment just as the Cylinder constrained the individuals who wielded it.
This approach also prevented Negentropy from drifting into a different science fiction genre. While I enjoyed ray guns, phasers, and fantastical weapons in stories where they belonged, they did not solve the design problem I had set for Project Negentropy. My vision was for a Troubleshooter to carry equipment that appeared advanced due to careful selection, integration, materials, optics, communications, medicine, and computing, while still being recognizably equipment that required understanding and maintenance. The extraordinary aspects of the setting could remain extraordinary because ordinary tools had not been rendered meaningless.
What I Was Truly Choosing
Looking back, the Project arsenal was never primarily about selecting the best rifle. The real question was what an organization would include in a sealed time capsule with a person, knowing that neither the organization nor the person would know when the capsule would open. Every choice had to withstand the loss of the original supply chain. The person might emerge in a place where ammunition was scarce, where the weapon was unfamiliar, where local industry could only repair simple machinery, or where the most advanced equipment in the team became useless due to a battery failure.
This made conservatism advantageous. Proven weapons, familiar tools, common mechanical principles, and equipment that could be taught before departure all had advantages that could not be measured solely by muzzle velocity or magazine capacity. X-Tech belonged where it amplified a capability I could already comprehend, particularly in computers, communications, medicine, sensors, and compact power. It did not need to replace every ordinary object.
The first Logi emerged from this mindset. A French rifle, a Browning pistol, an Uzi, an Aqualung, an outboard motor, and a small helicopter all appeared unrelated on paper, but the man from Calypso had demonstrated their connection. They were tools chosen for specific tasks, maintained by individuals who understood them, and carried because the consequences of failure were tangible. Project equipment developed from the same premise.
The result was an arsenal that sometimes appeared less futuristic than players anticipated. This was intentional. I wanted the future to test the people and equipment sent into it. If every problem could be resolved by opening another case and finding a superior gun, a better battery, or a new machine that had never been mentioned before, then the Cylinder would lose its significance. The Project had to make its choices before the doors closed, and the Troubleshooters had to live with those choices after they opened.