SDNW4 Story Thread 1

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PeZook
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by PeZook »

DRYZDYN'S LIST

Gurgl Dryzdyn And The Halls Of Power


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Mighty Bragule!

Oh how your skies grow black with soot!
How Byzonic are your homes and the glorious works
Of your children

As they toil under the watchful eye of the Comissariat
For the glory of Bragulanity


These prideful words of mighty Bragulan poetry adorned the facade of the central headquarters from which all activities of the People's Comissariat For Maintenance Of Byzonic Ideological Convictions Amongst The Most Loyal Population Of The Bragulan Star Empire were coordinated. The building was the size of a mountain, of course, and the words decorating it could be seen from space - if it wasn't for clouds of soot and smog covering the skies of mighty Bragule.

It wasn't often that a comissar was called into this place, this massive clump of Byzonic justice standing proud and erect amongst the cityscape of Bragule. Gurgl Dryzdyn, People's Comissar-Lieutenant Third Class, couldn't help but feel pride as the shuttle carrying him descended below the cloud cover.

The promotion came as a bit of a surprise for him. It would appear that his work was being carefully watched and monitored, and the tally of dissidents he found was calculated every day and compared against a giant database of all the other Comissars - to be displayed on a gigantic telescreen in a bunker somewhere, like a scoreboard, that kept score and could also be used to judge which areas of the Star Empire were in need of ideological correction.

Anyway, barely two Bragsdays ago, Dryzdyn received notification that he was to report to the Comissariat building at Bragbianka for an official promotion - and reassignment!

Part of him couldn't help but feel nervous, though. Could it be some sort of trick? Perhaps a plot by a rival to get him sideswayspromoted and out of the way? Or maybe his true agenda was discovered, and he'd be arrested! But no, if that was the case, he'd already be in chains. Unless the Comissariat wanted him in a false sense of security so that he'd give up the names of his co-conspirators in a moment of weakness! What if they knew that he knew? They could try to make him think they knew only to make him betray himself and then they'd really know!

As Dryzdyn attempted to doublethink his way out of this conundrum, the shuttle landed heavily in one of the cavernous hangars. As it vented the radioactive coolant directly into the atmosphere, the pilots ran final checks and finally the ship's sole passenger was allowed to leave.

In the hangar, a lone bear awaited him. He wore an indistinct freonic jacket, now covered with frost thanks to the radioactive coolant mist released by the shuttle.

"Do not cross the yellow line", the bear said, without as much as an introduction, "Remove your weapon"

Dryzdyn froze. That was never necessary during his prior visits! Did they know? They wanted him disarmed and vulnerable!

The mysterious official seemed to notice Dryzdyn's hesitation, "Remove your weapon, Comissar. You will be meeting the highest officers of our glorious organization, and while we do not doubt your ideological purity", it was obvious he really did, "A safe bear is a live bear."

With a grunt of dissatisfaction, the comissar removed his pistol belt and beating-stick and handed it over to an assistant that appeared out of nowhere. The nameless bear nodded to himself and muttered something Dryzdyn couldn't quite make out.

The comissar was then led across mile-long Bragsteel corridors, where he was subject to security searches and security search inspections and verifications of security search inspections, in addition to scans and several stops where he had to fill out sixty-page questionairres on a time limit while under cautious watch of huge, blocky CCTV cameras. Autoguns lined the corridor every five metres, which seemed set up specifically for processing new arrivals like him.

Finally, after six hours, he was allowed into a spacious room, occupied only by a chair and a giant telescreen. He sat down and waited, while the telescreen played soothing music and displayed green meadows. After another hour, the comissar began to doze off.

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He was roused to full attention by a booming voice coming from hidden speakers.

"COMRADE COMISSAR! IN THE NAME OF THE PEOPLE'S COMISSARIAT FOR MAINTENANCE OF BYZONIC IDEOLOGICAL CONVICTIONS AMONGST THE MOST LOYAL POPULATION OF THE BRAGULAN STAR EMPIRE, STAND!"

The comissar scrambled to his feet, in his zeal kicking the chair over. The telescreen's calming meadows were replaced by a bombastic image of the Comissar-General.

"COMISSAR DRYZDYN! IN THE NAME OF THE PEOPLE'S COMISSARIAT FOR MAINTENANCE OF BYZONIC IDEOLOGICAL CONVICTIONS AMONGST THE MOST LOYAL POPULATION OF THE BRAGULAN STAR EMPIRE, YOU ARE HEREBY PROMOTED TO THE RANK OF COMISSAR-MAJOR, SECOND CLASS, AS REWARD FOR YOUR MOST VIGILANT DUTY TO THE BRAGULAN PEOPLE!", the telescreen general continued, his voice amplified to ear-rupturing levels by the hidden speakers, "YOUR SCORE TO DATE IS MOST REASSURING! I AM SURE YOU WILL SERVE THE PEOPLE OF SKZCYZEBRYZYSZYN WITH ALL THE DILLIGENCE AND SKILL YOU HAVE DISPLAYED SO FAR!"

Despite the mighty assault of voice and vision after the exhausting seven-hour security checkout, Gurgl Dryzdyn managed to feel pride. Carefully hidden behind layer upon layer of doublethink and Bragskirovka, he couldn't help but also feel glee. Skzcyzebryzyszyn was a planet in the Severnaya sector - there, his operation could really spread its wings.

"HAIL BYZON!", Dryzdyn shouted back at the telescreen - not because he wanted to, but because his eardrums have ruptured some time during the general's speech

"HAIL INDEED! DO NOT FAIL HIM, COMRADE COMISSAR!|

With that, the telescreen shut down.
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JULY 20TH 1969 - The day the entire world was looking up

It suddenly struck me that that tiny pea, pretty and blue, was the Earth. I put up my thumb and shut one eye, and my thumb blotted out the planet Earth. I didn't feel like a giant. I felt very, very small.
- NEIL ARMSTRONG, MISSION COMMANDER, APOLLO 11

Signature dedicated to the greatest achievement of mankind.

MILDLY DERANGED PHYSICIST does not mind BREAKING the SOUND BARRIER, because it is INSURED. - Simon_Jester considering the problems of hypersonic flight for Team L.A.M.E.
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by PeZook »

Somewhere in Wild Space

I am all alone, thought the lone Amplitur. It was a gut-wrenching, terrible realization: for a creature so utterly reliant on the hive-mind, to be suddenly torn apart from it and cast into some unknown and terrifying place, all by itself. When it woke up, the craboid trashed randomly all around the small forest clearing, sending desperate pleas for some - any - members of its own species to come and help. But all it heard in response was...silence. No other of its kind were nearby. Not even the faintest whispers of the hive-mind floated upon the winds of this strange and wonderful world.

It got better, though. It had to accept the fact it was now alone: its tribe gone with the great sky-fire. Was this the afterlife? Did the sky-gods cast it down to hell, sentence it to wander the wilderness forever, alone?

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It was useless to give in to despair, though. As the creature scouted out the immediate area, it realized that this place, whatever it was, was rich and full of life. Even without its tribe and extended family, it would survive. It could feel the minds of creatures scurrying around in the jungle...so many, so delicate...yes. Yes, it would make them work for it. Bring it food. Build it shelter. It would be difficult, but doable. That thought brought hope to its heart. Visions of the future flooded its mind...this place could be made more than a home. With no other tribes to contend with, it could be made...a kingdom!

I need a name, the Amplitur thought. It had to be something grand, something fitting for a ruler of a world.

It decided upon Red
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JULY 20TH 1969 - The day the entire world was looking up

It suddenly struck me that that tiny pea, pretty and blue, was the Earth. I put up my thumb and shut one eye, and my thumb blotted out the planet Earth. I didn't feel like a giant. I felt very, very small.
- NEIL ARMSTRONG, MISSION COMMANDER, APOLLO 11

Signature dedicated to the greatest achievement of mankind.

MILDLY DERANGED PHYSICIST does not mind BREAKING the SOUND BARRIER, because it is INSURED. - Simon_Jester considering the problems of hypersonic flight for Team L.A.M.E.
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by DarthShady »

New Genoa, Sector V-23
Byzantine Protectorate

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"Sir the Station is dust." A somewhat panicked Andrej shouted. The command bunker was a mess, alarms blaring all over the place, desperate men of the Imperial Navy trying to coordinate the planetary defenses, attempting to delay the inevitable. "Sir we have lost all of our space assets, the fighters are gone. Karlack Brood Ships entering the atmosphere."

"Are the planetary guns working?" Major General Dimitriy Volos asked. "We have to hit them with everything we've got."

"Firing at seventy percent capacity Sir. Karlack infiltrators have managed to disable several key installations and power sources." Andrej answered and sighed, a grim expression on his face. "It doesn't matter either way Sir. There is too many of them, our defenses are overwhelmed."

"How the hell did those unholy bastards do this? We took precautions Emperor damn them." Dimitriy was upset. He knew the Karlack had to have planned this for a while, hence the infiltrators success.

"We don't know Sir. It seems our precautions weren't enough." Andrej said. "We underestimated them."

"What of our distress call? Any answer?"

"No Sir. And I'm afraid there probably won't be..." Andrej's face betrayed a sense of dread.

"What do you mean?"

"You know those sensor problems we were having..." Andrej began reluctantly. "I figured out exactly what was causing them. Its the Karlack Sir, their ships are emitting extremely powerful energy and psychic signals. I compared them with some history records, its an effect that goes back to the first Karlack Wars. The so called, shadow in the warp, it effects everything - sensors, communications..."

"Any chance our signal got through? Dimitriy asked. Things seemed to be going from bad to worse and he knew that without outside help, his planet was lost.

"We don't know Sir."

"We should..." An explosion shook the command bunker cutting off Dimitriy mid-sentence.

"Oh Shit!" One of the officers shouted in panic. "Sir! The Karlack have begun launching spores into the atmosphere. The whole planet is being bombarded...Sir they are focusing on the cities."

"Emperor save us." Andrej said. Everyone knew how the spores worked. Soon every unprotected person would begin to change, mutated into an abomination, a monstrosity. The planet itself would be turned into an infested hell hole.

"Brood Ships descending to the surface." Andrej shouted as he watched the latest sensor info on his console. "Sir they are firing on our defenses. We can't hold them!"

Another explosion shook the room.

"Andrej, do what you can here." Dimitriy shouted. "I'm going to organize our ground forces. If we are to die this day, then I intend to take as many of those abominations with me as I can. The Emperor knows, the Emperor is watching, and he will stand with us this day!" With that Dimitriy stormed out of the room.

"Sir, take a look at this. The Mothership..." A sensor officer called out to Andrej. The main display flickered. Andrej froze for a moment, his mouth wide open. "There is only the Emperor..." He mumbled. "...and he is our Shield and Protector."
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by Force Lord »

Supreme Congress of the Centrality, Central City, Centrum
The Center Sector, The Centrality
Early August


The message from Ambassador Thorne came as a pleasant surprise to the Triumvirate, which was still rather tense with the whole business with Shepistan. His claim that a powerful telepath may have been responsible for starting the whole Embassy Incident was taken more seriously than one might expect: the Centralite Embassy at Shepistan was devoid of ESPers and null fields of any type, and some telepath with grievances against the Centrality might have seized advantage of such a vulnerability! The Triumvirs themselves were powerful telepaths, and they knew how easily untrained minds could be controlled. While they still did not take Shepistan's claim of Amplitur culpability seriously, the possibility of other telepaths trying to instigate conflict had crossed their minds. The problem was that, when diplomatic relations with Shepistan were finally agreed upon, the Centrality initially did plan to send a few telepaths to the embassy, but since none were willing to go to Shepistan of all places they had to make do with non-ESPer diplomats, and failed to inform the Shepistanis of this fact, leaving the Embassy with no anti-telepath protection. Gratte's comment about the voice he heard may not have been so simple after all.

Right now, the Triumvirs and the Party Council were having to see the antics of the lesser party members who composed the Party House of District Centralizers. The Party House of Sector Watchmen was the higher house, but it was still at the Council's mercy. The order of the day was what should the Centrality should do next regarding Shepistan, and there was a lot of arguing, though much more polite compared to what the Iduran Congress did.

"We should give Shepistan a taste of our quality! They seem to love war, so let's give it to them!", said Virfus District Centralizer Kirck Po.

"War? When the Tournament is so close? You must be brain-dead!", responded Venron District Centralizer Sporla Kimmi.

"Shepistan's anti-ESPer bigotry is an affront to this nation! We should cleanse their kind, for our safety!", declared Blackagar Sector Watchman Devu Unter.

"You democidal fool! You advocate signing our death sentence as a country!", shouted Hissgerd Sector Watchwoman Pila Sine.

Exchanges such as this were typical of such Congress meetings. And they finally wasted Fredon's pacience.

"Enough of this! We are facing a serious crisis and all you do is call names!", he screamed.

Absolute, terrified silence.

"Thank you. It has been some time since I've raised my voice. Now, you may think that being on Congress makes you important, but you really are insignificant in the grand scale of things. Remember that you are merely here for us to see what the rest of the Party thinks about our actions. The real power has and always belonged to the Council. And the Triumvirate controls everything in the soon-to-be Dictator's stead."

Still only silence. I was perhaps too successful in shutting them up, Fredon thought.

"After prolonged discussion with other Party heads and the Chiefs of Staff, as well as my fellow Triumvirs, I have decided that there will be no war, for now. We will instead resort to every possible diplomatic action without compromising our dignity. Nevertheless, there will be only partial demobilization, for the CIS believes that the Tournament is at risk from terrorists from a foreign power. We don't have to ask ourselves who that might be."

"We must be ready for anything. The next few days will be a rough ride for many of us..."
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by Siege »

Somewhere in the Wild Space outback

"Brigadier, Sensor One. I am picking up a series of unusually strong hyperwave emissions."

"Location?"

"Tracking for Victor 23-584, sir."

"Hmm. Could be the Byzantines testing some new toy they haven't told us about?"

"The point of origin is not in Byzantine space sir -- a colony by the name of Nova Genova. It's an Imperial protectorate under the Protected Planets Treaty."

"Sir, Data One. Spectral analysis of the signal indicates a strong psionic component. Both the carrier wave and the sidebands are a positive match to old Byzantine signature profiles of the Karlack War period; they refer to a 'shadow in the warp' effect that was used to jam Imperial communications and sensors."

"Hmpf. So the Karlacks are trying to eat another world? They've been getting uppity lately. I imagine it's about time someone taught them the error of their ways. All hands prepare for action. Communications, relay our findings to Byzantine high command. Helm, match a track for that signal. Data, inform the squadron to prepare for hyperjump. Weapons, stand-by for a multiple target engagement, I don't want to get swarmed."

"Lets see if we can start evening up the odds a bit. We can't pass up the opportunity to go bug hunting when we have some live bait handy can we?"


New Genoa, Sector V-23
Byzantine Protectorate


The broodships of the Karlack swarm flocked through orbit above New Genoa, a pullulating mass of chitin driven onward by living torrents of Omega energy and the will of the OVERMIND. After the destruction of the orbital defenses its indomitable appetite now dominated all aspects of New Genoa's skies -- and soon it would dominate the planet too, for the rain of spores was coming down to infesterize the hapless humans below. Carving beams lanced down from hive-ships that screamed through the skies, cutting down what remained of the organized resistance. Resistance that, it seemed, was wholly futile.

Seemed.

In a torrent of otherworldly light dozens of ships transitioned from realspace in perfect formation. Rigid steel daggers contrasted vividly with the asymmetrical carapace of the Swarm. Hyperfields formed an interlocking shield against the psionic predations of the OVERMIND. Autolaser turrets swivelled menacingly to face the hiveships; if one looked at the Star Force vessels through exotic hyperspatial frequencies, one could already see the Line Guns at their prows warming up.

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Assuming a tight orbicular formation, the USS Murderous and the rest of the 616th Interplanetary set a course for the gibbering swarms. Today was a memorable day in the history of the galaxy, for today the pertinacious hunger of the OVERMIND would go up against a will that might very well prove equall as formidable.

All over New Genoa what few radios still worked simultaneously began to squeal as a powerful message burned through the haze of Karlack jamming. It was very simple, containing less than a dozen words total. But for the countless masses trapped under the rain of spores and facing hordes of Karlack creatures, imminent infestification, or plain simple digestification by creepy crawly sporecreatures, it was a message of hope.

"Have no fear. Flash Stalin is here."

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SDN World 2: The North Frequesuan Trust
SDN World 3: The Sultanate of Egypt
SDN World 4: The United Solarian Sovereignty
SDN World 5: San Dorado
There'll be a bodycount, we're gonna watch it rise
The folks at CNN, they won't believe their eyes
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by RogueIce »

Midgar, Shinra Republic

"Well, the Shepistanis really kicked up a hornet's nest on this one, didn't they?"

"Yes they did, Mister President. Obliterating a foreign embassy tends to have that effect."

"What should we do?"

"Well, we have only minimal diplomatic relations to begin with. A bare bones consulate, mostly there for those few of our citizens who actually travel to that nation. And of course we already have various travel advisories, mostly concerning the potential treatment of Espers."

"Hmmm. How many visitors tend to head out there?"

"Not many. Most, as I understand, travel more out of curiosity than anything else."

"Well. We don't exactly have a lot of diplomatic relations to sever, do we? I think we should keep our consulate staffed, but issue additional travel warnings. And also prepare a letter of protest and condemnation regarding their government's actions. Amplitur threat or not, levelling the embassy and shooting down that transport was unacceptable. They could have used other means to contain the threat. If there was even a threat to begin with."

Results
Consulate in Shepistan remains open.
Additional warnings against travel to Shepistan issued.
Strongly worded diplomatic note expressing protest and condemnation of "irresponsible actions by the Shepistani government" to be issued.
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"How can I wait unknowing?
This is the price of war,
We rise with noble intentions,
And we risk all that is pure..." - Angela & Jeff van Dyck, Forever (Rome: Total War)

"On and on, through the years,
The war continues on..." - Angela & Jeff van Dyck, We Are All One (Medieval 2: Total War)
"Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear." - Ambrose Redmoon
"You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain." - Harvey Dent, The Dark Knight
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Akhlut
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by Akhlut »

Current Time
The City of Mafeteng, Planet Ezhwaxi, Xostontu System

Pakalitha stood in his luxurious highrise office, overlooking hundreds of kilometers of territory; that stood to reason, the highrise was sitting on the shield of the largest mountain in the Xostontu system. It was the twin of Olympus Mons on human-dominated Mars. Not that the moxi cared about that; no, he was very much more interested in Cycadwood's subsidiary reality show network, Hotchi-Motchi, because had convinced Sheletsa Export Company (which Cycadwood was itself a subsidiary of) to lease part of the data satellite to carry Hotchi-Motchi and sell it to subscribers. Now, he just had to ship the massive, secure computer that held the network and would hold customer information on it to Brennan's World. And, so, he had contacted an old workhorse for carting random and assorted shit to the Umerians: the Sekitimi under Ajaka.

“A visitor, my liege,” the intercom chirped.

I love that synthvoice Pakalitha thought. “Let him in.”

The older moxi slunk into the room.

“I don't see why a face-to-face meeting was necessary for this. A vidconference would have worked just as well and would have saved considerable time on my end. This had better pay well for tromping my tail all the way out to the thrice-damned Xostontu System,” Ajaka said.

“Of course, don't worry about it. Fuel, food, lodging, we'll pay for it all this way and back. It's just that ShelExCo has some concerns that I would like to talk with you directly. That's why we brought you here: no one can hear us or spy on us. No bugs, no ESP, nothing can penetrate this room,” the executive said.

“Whoop-de-shit. Just get on with it.”

“So sorry. Anyway, ShelExCo wants to continue supplying Brennan's World with all it needs and wants, and, well, Brennan's World has a particular want that is not well-received in Umeria, and ShelExCo thinks that it can give certain suppliers for the Umerians' wants.”

“Hey, shitface, cut the fucking secret lawyer agent sauropodshit and just come out and fucking say it. This place is locked up tighter than a kipakt's meat locker, ain't it?” Ajaka asked.

“Ahem. My apologies, Tlaka-acal Ajaka. Anyway, we found that a certain common weed on Tlali, pitsanambe to be exact, has a fruit with some powerful psychotropic effects and is mildly addictive. It produces feelings of euphoria in primates, as well as hallucinations and a profound decrease in appetite. We're planning on selling it as a diet supplement to probe the market. If things get a little dirty, we'll start selling it as a plant food or some such. Anyway, we have a load of 2 tons, which should be equivalent to millions of doses. We have a supplier for you to deliver to. It'll be on the dataslate. We're transferring $2 million omeo to you now, and additional $3 million upon confirmation of delivery. Be prompt, okay?”

“I always am.”
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Re: Battle of Zebes, Chapter Three

Post by Simon_Jester »

Valkyrie-class Battlecruiser SMS Brunhild
Deep Space, Sector H-11
July 1, 3400


Konteradmiral Reinhard von Musel, commander of the Sixth Battlecruiser Division, was in a black mood as he contemplated the disposition of Second Fleet from his own flag bridge displays.

We bring the vaunted 'hundred ship fleet' out here to do... what? If von Mückenberger had half the strength, the supply situation would be favorable, and he would have moved against Zebes with fifty ships two weeks ago- one week ago at the latest. I'm amazed our allies didn't simply ignore Second Fleet and attack the Zebesians without us; their combined strength should be more than sufficient to overwhelm the enemy forces. Instead, they have politely waited for us to get ready, engaging in only minor skirmishes in the outlying systems.

There had been a number of such skirmishes: the Coalition forces had claimed a quite a few pirate ships at the edges of the shoals in the past few weeks. But most of their catches were converted merchantmen. The few true warships they'd encountered were either extremely small or extremely old.

It was obvious to Reinhard that the pirates had divided their forces into two components: one distant deep raiding force, by now operating independently of its bases in H-12 and the adjacent shoal region, and one group of defensive forces pulled in tight around their core bases. Any ships that could be found in H-12 away from those bases would inevitably be the ones considered too weak for either long range raiding or defense of key planets. Therefore, they were poor prizes to the Coalition fleet, and their destruction did not justify the Coalition's decision not to attack Zebes without relying on the Prussians.

Their reasoning must be political- having entrusted the task to us, they have no interest in risking their own fleets just because ours is unready for battle...

A humiliating state of affairs for all involved, but there was nothing to be done for it. The convoys that would finally give Second Fleet's supply depots enough stockpiles for an offensive were already travelling towards H-11. It was a matter of arithmetic when the offensive would take place- fully three weeks after the target date von Mückenberger had set when Second Fleet had set out with such pomp and circumstance back in May.

Reinhard sprawled across his command chair, resting an elbow on the armrest and letting his head bow until his cheek rested on the knuckles of his right hand. Perhaps we can schedule an independent operation of our own before the offensive begins...

It would be good to get the measure of the squadron commanders von Mückenberger had detached to escort Sixth Battlecruisers. The 23rd Frigate and 11th Destroyer Flotillas seemed well-managed, with unusually dynamic squadron commanders- particularly the frigates. But there was only so much he could learn about them in a few days, and he had a feeling that it would be best to get their measure before engaging in major action. Theoretically, Second Fleet was powerful enough to totally overwhelm any plausible opposition at Zebes. In practice...

The difference between theory and practice is that, in theory, there is no difference between theory and practice.

Reinhard was contemplating targets he could hit without eating too far into his fuel budget when his aide entered the bridge. Here to... ah. Yes. Kircheis came up to his side and braced to attention; despite having been Reinhard's closest friend since childhood, the man still insisted on observing the full formalities of an admiral's aide when the two were on duty. For a heartbeat after the salute he said nothing. The two had learned to read each other perfectly years ago. Nothing urgent, not moment by moment in any case... he wants to know what's on my mind.

Given what Kircheis had to be here for, it would be just as well to start on an amusing note- at least to share his good mood while he had it.

As far as Reinhard was concerned, most of the amusement in the past week had come from the internal pageantry of Second Fleet's flag officers: one had to laugh or cry, and Reinhard preferred to laugh. Nodding at the red-haired Korvettenkapitän, Reinhard decided to share the latest mishap of the fleet's senior officers. "Did you hear, Kircheis? It seems that Bödicker and Heussner have quarreled again."

"Again?" The personality clashes between the commanders of von Mückenberger's Second Battle Squadron and Twelfth Cruiser Squadron were infamous already, and a source of concern for the keener minds in the fleet.

"Ja. To make matters worse, they did it in front of the Admiral. I heard they nearly came to blows; von Mückenberger was forced to intervene personally. I wonder what he'd have done if they'd started fighting. It would've been interesting to see how he maintained his famous stoic calm while separating them-" and a quick glance told him there was no one else in earshot- "It would, after all, be something he hadn't planned on ahead of time."

Kircheis shook his head, his eyes dancing with humor. "Sir, you are evil."

"Now don't say that; you'll give the game away. By the way, you had something to tell me?"

"A meeting will be held on the flagship of said Admiral Mückenberger. Please prepare."

As I thought, the meeting. Why did it have to be the meeting?

Reinhard's gaze turned away from his aide, off into the distance. He suddenly felt a chill wash over him- the mental residue of having to take dozens slights and watch scores of incompetent decisions by his nominal superiors. He replied in a flat voice. "Ah. That reminds me."

Kircheis looked worried. "Did you forget about it?"

Reinhard could feel his face settling into a scowl; he just didn't care. "I didn't forget about the meeting itself. I just wanted to forget about my present predicament- that when such people call on me, I still have to go to them."

"Sir..."

He waved his hand. "I will be all right. It's just a stumbling block, one we've seen before. Nothing more."

"But in any case, the meeting is quite soon. Flight ops is already preparing your shuttle, and Kommodore Nolden will be ready shortly." I don't want to go. Even if I'm there, they won't listen, not until ignoring my advice turns around and bites them. But that was childish.

Kircheis deserved a reply, for having made sure his commanding officer didn't make a misstep for want of motivation to listen to time-wasting morons. Reinhard knew he was prone to fits of depression over the state of the Navy. He also knew that any chance of ever being in a position to change matters depended on his own skill at political gamesmanship, and on never making any mistake he could possibly avoid.

"I know; I should have gotten moving five minutes ago- but..." Might as well say it. "...I'm used to alienation and antagonism, but I can't stand spending fruitless time alone. Kircheis, if you were coming with me, that would be a comfort, but the Chief of Staff is accompanying me, so protocol forbids."

Kircheis's jaw flexed and his shoulders lowered a fraction, but he'd heard this from Reinhard before and no doubt would again. In a neutral voice, he asked: "Do you dislike Nolden?"

"It's not a matter of like or dislike. He's useless."

"He's a flag officer at the age of thirty. There could be more to him than you think."

"He gets promoted quickly because he's a walking echo chamber for the Staff tactical manuals. There's nothing else in his head, so he fills it up with them, and promotion boards mistake it for thought. When I see him, I realize that the military is just another bureaucracy. I sense the Reichsmarineamt's malice in assigning such a fool to me."

"I think this can safely be explained by incompetence. But in any case, sir..."

"Yes, yes... heh." Reinhard stood up and said one last aside to Kircheis before leaving the flag bridge. "When I attend, the average age of the participants will get lower. I fear that may be the only contribution I shall be allowed to make."

Kaiser-class Battleship SMS Prinzregent Luitpold

The delay in Reinhard's departure had robbed him of a considerable fraction of his margin of error. He and Nolden boarded von Mückenberger's flagship in something of a rush, and arrived at the meeting only five minutes ahead of the scheduled start- Kircheis had perhaps saved him the humiliation of being late in front of an audience that almost entirely outranked him.

Admiral von Mückenberger, after an exhaustive review of the supply situation, and a review of his planned fleet formation for the attack on Zebes, decided it was time for a speech. He went on at length about the depredations of the Zebesians, the overwhelming force of ships and troops at their disposal, and the fact that they were operating before the eyes of many nations. Finally, he brought it all to a stirring climax:

"Giving no quarter to the pirate scum, we will obliterate them- and make the glory of our League known to all. That is the objective of this expedition!"

Reinhard gritted his teeth.

That hogwash is his idea of an objective? That's not an objective, that's a boast. The League mobilizes a hundred ships, sends scores of thousands of sailors, millions of soldiers to battle. They burn exorbitant amounts of resources and energy... for this? What good does it do to even have meetings at the flag officer level if all they're going to do is stand around and congratulate themselves about how big their fleet is? An admiral should be able to think, should not need this kind of silly game to keep him focused on the mission at hand.

And because they're busy congratulating each other, they divert focus from the fundamentals, limiting themselves to petty tactical matters and combing over them endlessly. All it does is give them a pretense of competence and authority, when they're just playing around at war games and assuming raw mass will take the place of well thought out strategy. These fools are truly suitable opposition for a bunch of pirates.


And yet now that Reinhard had ready access to the Coalition reports from Hawk's Nest, the ambush of the Umerian ship Nantucket, and the other skirmishes fought during the month of June, it was obvious that these were not ordinary pirates. At the very least there was a minor interstellar polity at work here. Possibly a species-wide government of the unknown race the Centrality had labeled "Zebesian." Possibly some kind of interspecies confederation, too, given the role played by the Gron. And if that was all, either the enemy rogue state was very, very well organized and equipped for a shoal nation, or... he still couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the whole thing stank of outside backing.

Regardless, he doubted any ordinary pirates would have been able to mousetrap Nantucket so neatly. Not so much that they wouldn't be able to chase down a lone ship, since that was how they made their livelihood. What was striking was how they'd gauged the Coalition dispositions well enough to catch one ship in a quirk of local shoal geometry like that, isolating it where reinforcements could not arrive in time to save it. That was nothing impossible, of course, but it implied good intelligence analysis and a well-disciplined command structure at the squadron level, at least.

The Zebesians were most certainly raiders, and vicious ones. But were they pirates in the classical sense? Or was he looking at some strange form of national navy? Hard to say...

Admiral von Mückenberger, having finished his speech, had taken a few questions already. Reinhard's unfocused gaze as he attempted to deduce what kind of organization could underlie the kind of pirate activity the Coalition had seen made him stand out- especially among a crowd of other admirals who were all looking squarely at their commanding officer, to create the impression of concentration and alertness.

Von Mückenberger cleared his throat. "Rear Admiral von Musel, did you have something to say?" Suddenly, all eyes turned to him. Fortunately, Reinhard was not caught unprepared.

"Sir, I've been looking over our stockpile figures; there is enough fuel and antiship munitions for raiding over and above the requirements for Zebes. I have prepared a list of targets, and suggest that detached cruiser units be deployed against them during the inevitable delay before the main offensive..."

The senior admiral frowned. "I am averse to endangering battleline cruisers so close to the beginning of operations, especially over minor objectives that will inevitably fall to us or our allies after the fall of Zebes. I will... review your proposed list of targets, but I am inclined against such a plan."

"I see. Then I have one other question, sir."

Von Mückenberger raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Since the enemy will be free to operate from those positions until after the attack on Zebes, which squadrons are being detailed to watch the enemy and cover our rear during the attack on Zebes?"

The room had been quiet; flag officers didn't mumble much. But for a few seconds, you could have heard a pin drop. Then von Mückenberger chuckled.

"Plans are well in hand, young man. I wouldn't worry so much. Staff projections are that Zebes will be the focal point of the enemy defense; we expect the enemy force to concentrate in defense of the planet, allowing us to engage and destroy them in place, as at Volksland."

And I can believe as much of that as I'd like. "No more questions, sir." It would be pointless. He'd been afraid von Mückenberger would answer that way. Not so much because he was worried about enemy flank attacks himself, as because it meant the grizzled old campaigner actually thought that was a valid answer to the question. And that the other admirals mostly agreed... or were reluctant to admit otherwise.

The commander of Second Fleet looked around for other questioners. He found none. Then, with a jovial, beaming smile, he swept an arm to include his audience. "Since it seems there's no other input, we'll open a bottle of champagne to celebrate our victory in advance! Let us toast to the glory of the League and the prosperity of the Prussian people!"

Reinhard closed his eyes and let out a small, unobtrusive sigh. The mindset that assures them of a victory to celebrate, despite the fact that they haven't done any proper work as strategists, is beyond me. We will win, of course- with this much tonnage, how not? But under von Mückenberger's command, the work will be done by the effort of the supply line, not by any real talent among the battlefleets.

The attendants wheeled in the wine, and the toast was given. "For the glory of the League!"

"For the glory of the League!" All the admirals drank to it. Few seriously considered how best to win it.
Last edited by Simon_Jester on 2010-11-28 02:58am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by Shroom Man 777 »

The New Centrality Embassy, Montgomery
Shepistan


They didn't have much time. The interstellar international community had unanimously denounced Shepistan's violent actions, violent but necessary actions done to ensure homeworld security from the Amplitur menace. The Centrality, the nation whose embassy had to be most regrettably destroyed, had made a list of demands and the damn liberal socialist communist psykerist country was gaining the sympathies of its condescending cockamamie co-communoid conspirators in the likes of Anglia, the Shinra Republic, and those damn slimey Ranoideans, just to name a few. There was international pressure, and in that steaming cauldron-boiler room of cosmopolitics, even Shepistan couldn't help but break a sweat.

It was getting hot, but it was a dry heat.

The Shepistani State Department, led by the Shepistani Secretary of State Hillery Clitnone, knew the odds. With the help of defense analrapists (analysts and therapists in one!) like Bart Blade working furiously at hand-cranked Cunta calculators and charting hastily-made graphs with crayolas, they concluded that they had to appease and placate the international community in order to defuse the tensions and decrease the pressure. Even the ruthless genocidal warmongers knew that war was not desirable. For now.

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Force Lord wrote: 1) They will present us with cold, hard proof that an Amplitur, as they claim, was responsible for the whole crisis.
2) They will rebuild our destroyed embassy, with their own resources, and be responsible for the security of the embassy. For their sake, we will not assign any ESP-capable diplomats and staff to the rebuilt embassy.
3) They will make a promise, both by word of mouth and written, that they will never again pull off such a destructive act, not only to our embassy, but also to all others in Shepistan.
4) They will also promise, verbal and written, to let the ESP Tournament proceed without a hitch and drop whatever destructive plans they have against it.
As much as they hated to, they had to meet the Centrality's demands. However, cold hard proof of the Amplitur's culpability was hard to come by because, due to the Centralite's own blundering incompetence, the creature's infiltration left little traces for forensics to sift through in the embassy's rubble. Not to mention, the thing was still on the loose and had yet to be put down. The State Department could not promise, by word of mouth or written, not to pull off any more such destructive acts, for these and the destructive plans Shepistan had towards the ESP Tournament were not in the State Department's purview - but were that of the SIS and the military high command's. They would have to wait for General Sheppard's word for items #3 and #4, and they also had to wait for the military to haul the Amplitur's corpse for demand #1.

That left item #2. Rebuilding the Centrality's ruined embassy was something the State Department could do by itself independently of the military's hunt for the runaway Amplitur or General Sheppard and high command's command (because if General Sheppard didn't want the embassy rebuilt any rebuilt embassy could just be blown up all over again). The only problem was, this would normally take them some time. Rebuilding an embassy was no easy feat. But they didn't have time. They had to act fast.

One of the perks of being the SecState was in having all sorts of interesting friends, and Hillery Clitnone spared no time in speed-dialing the only man in space who could help the Republic of Shepistan.

"Mabuhay," Hillery said to the telephone receiver, speaking in the native barbarian tongue of the despot she was speaking to. She checked the intergalactic time tables to see what time it was over at his hellhole of a planet. It was morning over there. Good. "Magandang umaga... Ferdinand."

So they appeased one of the Centrality's demands, the reconstruction of their embassy. And they did this in record time, for there was only one power in space that could do such a thing with such speed and viciousness unmatched in the galaxy. A day later, the Centralites would see that their embassy once more stood proudly amidst the wreckage of the old blasted building. It was uncanny, as though the building had never been raided, as though the slaughter of all personnel in it had never happened. For this, both Shepistan and the Centrality had Hillery Clitnone to thank.

Image

For she had outsourced the speedy reconstruction of the Centrality embassy to none other than the Feelipeenis!
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by Alyrium Denryle »

Sylvan City, Planet Sylvatica, Ranus Sector.
Capital Dendro-Arcology Complex


Ranoidean arcologies were--barring mechanical components outside what living things could produce--grown, not built. The massive residential and light-industrial spaces were composed of titanic lattice-works of living wood capped with a canopy, and filled in with Epiphytic plants hooked into electrical and water grids. They were naturally humid, and outside extremes of heat and cold weather naturally climate controlled.

Below the arcologies were understories filled with plants and waterways, pedestrian travel moved from massive unnaturally large structures via great buttresses which contained channels filled with water for juveniles and those who became dehydrated, while inside water lifts facilitated the travel of juveniles when not being carried on the backs of their parents. Vehicular traffic was, for the most part, airborne.

http://images2.wikia.nocookie.net/wowwi ... lmovie.jpg
Dont ask me what the structural support would be... I dont know

Near the apex of the largest of these colossal structures was the Executive Council Chamber composed of members from each Federal Committee Cluster

Dr. Alytes Muletensis, Head of the Foreign Affairs committee was there, as was Dr. Verrik Moss, Director of Naval Intelligence.

Dr. Saavik Kransen, Head of the Psionic Affairs and Education Cluster spoke first. He was a T12 telepath, but not really gifted in any other area spoke first.

"Alright, I am going to link our minds and bring this meeting to order" he said to those assembled. They all sat, which was really more of a crouch, and he began by closing his eyes and letting out a loud dirge. When he opened his eyes, his pupils were no longer in their proper round conformation. Instead they were irregularly shaped and glowed--the effect of the form of telepathic hermeticism he practiced.



As one, they all slipped into a trance as they permitted him to gestalt their minds into one entity. Now their conversations could take place at the speed of thought rather than speech, and turn what would be a four hour meeting into a four minute one.

"Alright, we need to prepare a formal response to the Centrality Embassy Incident" thought Dr. Muletensis

"Well Alytes, my thoughts are well known to everyone on the matter. We should jump in, and bombard the site from orbit." thought Dr Kransen "By which I mean all of Shepistan"

At this point, the Head of Ethics Committees, Dr. Nesreae Avivoca made her mental voice known
"Saavik, I am having a hard time justifying that. There is not a coherent ethical system in the Galaxy that would do anything but proscribe that action."

"Look" he replied. "They are an unstable scourge on the galaxy. We would be doing everyone a favor in the long run. How long will it really be before their paranoia and bigotry cause them to go on a war of psion slaying?"

"Look. We understand the desire to ethnically cleanse the Sheppos. No one here talks as cavalierly about commiting democide against the Sheppos as I do, and I know that many of the protests when I do so are a case of--as the humans put it--the lady protesting too much. In fact, I am pretty sure most everyone else in the galaxy secretly wants to do the same. However, as Nesrae just said, that would be horribly horribly wrong. It would also lead to a large number of Ranoidean deaths. That is why we sent Magus to try to avert war. The Sheppos complain, they caterwaul, they protest the existence of psionicists outside their own boarders. They are not stupid. They will not provoke a war of that scale unless they felt that their existence is threatened. A war of Psionicide would be suicide for them and they know it. There is no way we can justify that, and there is no way to win such a war if we are the aggressors. Is this correct Dr. Lancet?"

"Yes" replied Dr. Admiral Serverus Lancet, Chief of Military Operations "We have a superior fleet, and the doctrine to gain orbital superiority and then glass every world in the Shepistani Republic. It would be a hard fought fight though, and it would leave us vulnerable. They would be able to garner allies in support and even with the Centrality as allies, we would be overrun."

"Besides, I have already addressed the member states of the Accords on the matter of casual orbital bombardment, and will soon be leaving for their peace talks. We cannot maintain our diplomatic relations with our neighbors and do such things. It would be... inconsistent."

"Very well Alytes. I will... concede, for the time being."

"Believe me, I understand. They used nuclear weapons on waterfowl for the love of Darobatrachus. Perhaps we will get lucky, and they will destroy themselves eh? I have a draft of our diplomatic communique, and press release on the subject. If you would all look over it, I think we can get this bit of business settled and move on to other items on the agenda."

...

To: All Nations and The Press
From: The Federal Executive Committee of Ranoidea
Subj: Centrality Embassy Incident


We, the people and government of the Technosocialist State of Ranoidea do condemn the actions of the Shepistani Republic in the destruction of the Centrality Embassy and the extra-judicial killing of its support staff. While we acknowledge the distinct possibility that this incident may have been instigated by a powerful Psionic Entity of unknown and possibly Amplitur disposition, the Shepistani Republic and its military acted with flagrant disregard for innocent life.

It was the duty of the Shepistani Government to alert the Centrality Government and the embassy staff to possible Amplitur or other infiltration by hostile psionic beings and then to take appropriate action to protect the lives and sentience of said embassy staff. By failure to state clear intentions--especially in the midst of diplomatic tensions between the two nations--the Shepistanis created a fearful condition that would allow even a human telepath to ride that fear into the minds of the embassy staff and cause them to fire first.

The fault does not however fully lie with the Shepistani Republic. While it is understandable that no Psionicist would want to be stationed in the Republic--we do not maintain a permanent diplomatic presence there and our citizens do not generally set foot there for the same reasons--the failure to have defenses against psionic intrusion in the form of Null Field Generators or Blitzschlag Field Generators was a grievous mistake on the part of the Centrality. Both parties are to blame in this incident. One for acting rashly, the other for not perceiving a readily apparent security weakness. Cooler heads must prevail, as a war between these two states would not only devastate them, but destabilize the entire region. As a result, we are willing to host multiparty talks between these two powers and other regional states in order to normalize relations between the two countries and ensure that this never happens again. We have no intention of altering our diplomatic relations with the two states, and remain otherwise neutral in their disputes. We urge all members of the galactic community to also remain calm and not act rashly or use force in order to punish either party for this incident. It is our hope that regardless of whether or not our offer to host negotiations is acted upon that these two nations may reach a productive and mutually acceptable understanding.
Last edited by Alyrium Denryle on 2010-11-24 03:52pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by PeZook »

Image

Sirta Foundation

Letter of intent

Honored Sentients,

As the new year 3401 approaches, the Sirta Foundation begins planning a new series of projects aimed at preservation of galactic biodiversity and natural habitats.

As you most probably know, our organization is comitted to various ecological endeavours, from ecosystem restoration to salvage of endangered species across the Koprulu Zone. In recent years, an influx of charitable donations allowed us to consider expansion of our activities beyond our previous scope.

Due to these events, I would like to personally relay this letter of intent to the honorable sentients of the Republic Of Ranoidea. We seek permission from your government to preserve samples of your homeworld's native life, to be stored and catalogued in case of calamity, and take measurements and readings suitable for development of holovid simulations, so that people across the galaxy can marvel at the beauty of yet another natural world, made so very scarce by runaway industrial development in most star nations.

We are looking forward to your response,

Signed, Chet Jaskro, CEO, Sirta Foundation
Image
JULY 20TH 1969 - The day the entire world was looking up

It suddenly struck me that that tiny pea, pretty and blue, was the Earth. I put up my thumb and shut one eye, and my thumb blotted out the planet Earth. I didn't feel like a giant. I felt very, very small.
- NEIL ARMSTRONG, MISSION COMMANDER, APOLLO 11

Signature dedicated to the greatest achievement of mankind.

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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by MKSheppard »

Vulture Rock Command Bunker
Shepistani Federation


Image

General Sheppard, now glad to be in the dim lighting of the bunker's military areas looked at the leader of the trio scientists who had come to him.

Image

"So...tell me why I shouldn't use nuclear depth bombs to destroy crab breeding grounds and eliminate a hiding place for the Amplitur?" asked Sheppard.

"You'd be destroying an irreplaceable genetic reservoir in the Shepistani Crab populace."

Sheppard waved his hands. "So? We can replace them with farm raised clones."

Undaunted, the scientist continued. "And our calculations indicate that sufficient use of nuclear depth bombs would send Montgomery's Ozone layer into remission; it barely has recovered from your authorization of unrestricted anti-geese nuclear warfare almost a decade ago."

"So?" replied Sheppard. "People can wear more clothes or put sunblock on. Animals have fur. Oh sure, there might be a slight increase in eye cancer in animals, but they die before they're that old anyway."

"But," shouted the scientist. "What about the Amphibians! The increased UV radiation would wipe out stocks of the world famous Shepistani Red-throated bullfrog! The tadpoles wouldn't be able to survive the UV bombardment in their ponds!"

Sheppard turned and stared. "What," he said. "Makes you think I give a good god-damn about bullfrogs? We can clone them from specimens in zoos and reintroduce them into the wild later. The goddamn Amplitur must die. There are to be no chances taken in this eradication operation."

Sheppard took a drag off his cigar. "Besides, it's not like any of the wildlife you piss and moan about is actually original. We had to reintroduce almost every goddamn thing in the 2990s on Montgomery after the Amplitur war. What, you didn't notice the fucking wasteland outside on your way here?"

"Sir!" pleaded the scientist. "We don't have that kind of technical know-how to do a project of that scope!"

"Well then," replied Sheppard, a sneer on his face. "It's a good thing we know someone nearby who can do that. You might have seen one of their products in the stores; I understand PUPPERs are a smash hit with all ages."

Results:
Crab breeding grounds destroyed by NDBs. Shepistani Amphibian population plunges due to increased UV emissions. Shepistanis issue contract to Umerians for Genetic engineering to replace craboid and amphibianoid population.
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by Force Lord »

Recommended Listening

Black Square, City of Atuvir, Planet Faust
Dovan Sector, The Centrality
15 August 3400


The people of Faust could not remember the last time tanks passed through their streets. While they knew that a curfew was already imposed, they thought that it would mostly be a CSB business. Seeing Army units around did not calm their nerves. Something was up.

All of a sudden, they could hear a loud voice, or more exactly voices, ringing inside their heads.

Citizens of Faust! Today is the day of the glorious parade! Come, all of you, to Black Square at the City of Atuvir! There, you will witness how we honor the ESP Tournament! The Central State insists!

For the citizens of Faust, to defy the State's wishes was unthinkable, for some, literally. Soon huge crowds were hurrying in whatever transportation they could get to reach Atuvir.

In Atuvir itself, at the Black Square, the parade was starting. And what a parade it was.

First came the athletes and actors, showing the entire gamut of ESP abilities. Crowds were awed by the sight of telepaths directing large masses of people, empaths changing the emotions of their charges flawlessly, telekenetics lifting and whirling any objects with precision, electrokinetics performing with arcs of lightning and even powering up a generator (complete with lightbulbs!), pyrokinetics loosening fire from their hands, feet, and even mouths, and those physically augmented by ESP showing off their speed, strength, ect. Precognitives and Perceptives were not present, since their powers weren't so flashy.

And now came the military's turn to parade.

With fighters, gunships, and even atmosphere-capable warships and carriers flying over them, the troops of the Army and the Marines marched first. Tanks, IFVs, powered armor soldiers, self-propelled artillery, LAVs, ground-support aircraft and gunships, missile-armed vehicles for anti-tank or anti-aircraft duty, support and recon vehicles, and other instruments of land warfare also came. Also present were the Black Berets, the Special Force's ESPers, the elite Star Warriors with their Advanced Power Suits, and genetically and cybernetically-enchanced troopers. Last on the line were the battle droids masses, from A-3a Advanced Battle Droids, to A-2c Combat Battle Droids, and finally the common A-1g Regular Battle Droids.

From their vantage point in the balcony of the Governor's Center, the leadership of the Centrality and the Governor of Dovan Sector himself watched the spectacle. They could see the foreign media eagerly looking at the Centrality's parade. And it was good. Let the interstellar community know that the Centrality likes to show off its quality. Build anticipation for the ESP Tournament.

After all, the Tournament was only a day away.
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by Simon_Jester »

MKSheppard wrote:"Well then," replied Sheppard, a sneer on his face. "It's a good thing we know someone nearby who can do that. You might have seen one of their products in the stores; I understand PUPPERs are a smash hit with all ages."

Results:
Crab breeding grounds destroyed by NDBs. Shepistani Amphibian population plunges due to increased UV emissions. Shepistanis issue contract to Umerians for Genetic engineering to replace craboid and amphibianoid population...

Central Administration Complex
Offices of the Ministry of Ecology


"No. Just NO."

The MiniFine representative was taken aback by that "Ah, are you sure about that?"

"NO. They want to live on a hell-world? They want runaway insect populations and oceans full of poisonous jellyfish? Fine. They can have them. Maybe he can nuke those too, and by the time he's done the whole planet will be one nice even billiard ball like he deserves. And then maybe he can watch the atmosphere balance spiral out of control and have his own capital melt in a runaway greenhouse effect. Or maybe go the other way- continental firestorms from oxygen surplus. Either way, I will watch and I will fucking laugh."

"That sounds a little harsh. Besides, you know he'll just contract to someone else."

"Fine. He can go to the Dominion. He can go to the NenAltKik. He can go to Tianguo. Or he can go to Hell. But he can't go here, not on my watch. Not when he's shooting holes in his own feet and then comes crying to us to kiss it and make it better."

"So you're certain about this, ma'am?" For a moment, there was no reply. The Second for Ecology looked away, at something on her desk. A teacup. Which was coming to a very fast boil, come to think of it...

Okay, so her not looking at me is a good thing.

"Yes, Tola, I'm certain. Tell Rafe I'm sorry, but this is a bad idea for so many reasons- trust me, I've seen it before and anyone who gets involved with Shepistan when things are like this is going to end up sorry for it."

"..."

The set of her jaw relaxed, and what was left of the tea stopped boiling. "Tola, I may be mad but I can still think. The bottom line looks good, but it always does. You know how business in Shepistan winds up with unexpected delays, and over budget? Even when it's military hardware, something they're good at? Trust me, if we get sucked into this, any profit they promise us on the deal will vanish, and we'll be left cleaning up the stains on their planet from the last nuke party."

"I still think..."

"I know. How do you think I feel? I grew up on Montgomery. Part of me would like to do it to, just so someone gives a damn about the state of those planets. But... NO. We are not responsible for their Hyperfund sites."

Results:
Under current leadership, it will be a cold day on Mercury before the Ministry of Ecology does the real work to repair self-inflicted nukewounds on Montgomery while the Sheppo military-industrial complex kicks back and pays for it by exporting more nukes or whatever.
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by DarthShady »

New Genoa, Sector V-23
Byzantine Protectorate


The arrival of the USS Murderous and the rest of the 616th Interplanetary force may have been sudden, but the chitinous hordes of the Karlack were quick to adapt to this new threat. The Mothership quickly changed course to face off against this new threat, innumerable Brood Ships moved in concert with the large behemoth and positioned themselves for the coming battle.

The Swarm was determined to win this fight, and nothing, not even the presence of Flash Stalin - would change their minds. Omega energy flowed through the writhing tentacles of the Brood ships as they moved forward, guided by the eternal will of the Hive Mind, their hunger and their murderous instincts were no longer directed at the planet bellow, but at USS Murderous herself and the rest of the Solarians.

Psionic sensors overloaded as a massive psychic roar emanated from the Mothership and a single sentence was transmitted through the blackness of space.

"This place shall become your grave!"
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by Siege »

DarthShady wrote:"This place shall become your grave!"
Image

The reply from the onstorming Star Force warships was as prompt as it was incomprehensible to the many-tendriled OVERMIND. It was a four-word broadcast from Brigadier Stalin himself, who - even as the cloud of broodships threatened to englobe his flotilla - weirdly enough seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

"Ha! Eat knuckle, slimy!"

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SDN World 2: The North Frequesuan Trust
SDN World 3: The Sultanate of Egypt
SDN World 4: The United Solarian Sovereignty
SDN World 5: San Dorado
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by Shroom Man 777 »

MKSheppard wrote:Results:
Crab breeding grounds destroyed by NDBs. Shepistani Amphibian population plunges due to increased UV emissions. Shepistanis issue contract to Umerians for Genetic engineering to replace craboid and amphibianoid population.
Gayte Gulf, Montgomery
Shepistan


5... 4... 3... 2... 1...

Image

The mushroom cloud rose high into the sky, tall and imposing like an engorged nucleonic member. As it was an underwater detonation, the blast cause the very oceans to erupt, spewing white foamy liquids and vaporized steams into the vast firmament above them in an ejaculation of mighty atomic violence. This was one of the crab breeding grounds of Montgomery, favored by the crabbers and fishermengs for the quality of crustaceans harvested there. They had protested this affront, this unnecessary vaporization of their livelihood. For suspected sympathies towards the Amplitur menace, and because their livelihood necessitated them to sail to waters uncovered by BFGs thus making them prime candidates for psychokinetic subversion, they were shot to a man. Other suspected suspects were renditioned, to be either detained in a Shepistani SIS blacksite in the Feelipeenis, or outright handed over to the Bragulans for more thorough 'processing'.

So it was that the once pristine waters of the Gayte gulf became a wretched brisket stew of floating fishies, deadened by the blast overpressure. At the same time, fragments and pieces and chunks of corals and sea creatures began to rain from the heavens. The vaporized water turned into a fine mist, and as the light refracted from the suspended droplets, a beautiful rainbow arced above them all, above even the mighty mushroom cloud. It was... it was beautiful.

"Well... that's a wrap," said a Shepistani officer, marveling at the sight of sheer marine mutilation they had done then and there. To shield his eyes from the harsh sunlight, as well as from the nuclear flashout, he wore Gay-Ban sunglasses. Shepistani Gay-Bands were the most sought after sunglasses in the galaxy, for they were rated to polarize and protect eyes not just from UV radiations, but also the flash of nuclear detonations. All Shepistani military personnel had Gay-Bans. "Crab site secured. That's the last one."

"Damn shame, I liked crab legs. Guess we won't have any of those anymore, since we just killed all the crabs. Am I rite?"

"Shut up, Strak," the officer growled.
***
Guess we won't have any of those anymore, since we just killed all the crabs. Am I rite? that haughty proclamation echoed through the depths of the seas. Guess we won't have any of those anymore, since we just killed all the crabs. Am I rite?

Guess we won't have any of those anymore, since we just killed all the crabs. Am I rite?

A voice growled back from the black abyss of Shepistan, the very ocean's heart of darkness. It pronounced but one word.

Wrong.
***
The Shepistani ship was long, hard and full of seamen. Thus when the long shaft-like vessel went to its home port, it docked with a wide-open circular bay. Then it disgorged its seamen. Inside the bay.

Sergeant Hudson Strak was relishing his shore leave. He planned on getting laid by one of those mail-ordered Feelipeena whores serving in a brothel right outside the base, which was pretty fitting since the place, Gayte Gulf, was also named after some place in the Feelipeenis where the Shepistani Navy destroyed a hueg Japanistani fleet and won the war (and after that, Shepistan would eat up Japanistan and they would both become superbestfriends forever with the Japanistanis providing cheapo electronics and cars).

But first he had to meet his physiologic needs. He was hungry, and it was only fitting for him to go to a seaside restaurant and order some crabs before potentially getting crabs from some Feelipeena hooker. Now that they had extinctified the entire crab population of Shepistan, or were in the process of doing so, eating what could possibly be the last crab on Shepistan was something he had to do. It was one for the history books!

Apparently, everyone else had the same idea as Hudson Strak and everyone else in the restaurant was stuffing their faces with crabs too.

"What a bunch of fatties," Strak said under his breath. He got his order of crabs and began smashing it with a mallet, in order to break the shell and eat the succulent meats inside it. It was strange, using a mallet. Was it a traditional Feelipeeni custom, because this was a traditional Feelipeeni restaurant? Or did they just run out of nutcrackers because all those fatties were also eating crabs? "Fucking fatties."

He was in the process of smashing his crab open with an eating stick when he heard a shrill scream of pure unadulterated horrer. He did a spittake, which was remarkable because he hadn't even gulped any of the ice cold Shroom Miguel Feelipeeni beer yet, which meant that he was doing a spittake with his own saliva coming out of his nose. Oh man!

He bolted out of his table and drew his sidearm while also holding his crab mallet in his other hand, brandishing it like a weapon.

"What's going on?!" he demanded.

"The horrer!" the bestricken woman pointed out to the window. Everyone in the restaurant looked out to the shoreline and saw what she saw. They made a collective gasp of pure unadulterated, "Horrer...!"

There on the shoreline was a red mass. The sands were all covered in wretched chitinous clawed and carapaced crawling creatures creeping up from the waters and to dry land. It was moving towards them.

Sergeant Strak thought quickly and put on his Gay-Bans. Not only could they protect eyes from UV radiation, which was important since Operation Blow Up The Ocean had once again depleted the ozone layers, not only could it polarize and shield the eyes from nuclear flashouts, but it could also zoom in like a macroscope! The more expensive versions even had X-ray vision! So Sergeant Strak zoomed in and intensified the magnifications, and he saw the true form of that crimson tide coming forth towards them.

"No... it can't be."

Image Image

But it was.

Those who were sunbathing by the beach, taking the opportunity ozone layer depletion presented itself to bask in even more UV rays to work up their tan even more despite the carcinogenic nature of sunlight, were the first victims. The crabs came and conquered. They scuttled up towards these people and attacked them viciously, clawing at them with their claws, biting at them with their mandibles, all whilst glaring at them with all the harshness of their inhuman compound eyes. Yes, while one crab was no match for a largish semi-muscular human being, a full ten thousand of them working as one to kill a single man was more than enough. Like army ants disemboweling a felled beast to the bone, so too did these tiny enemy crabs work by clawing off the facial features of the beach goers, these beaches. Men, women, children, all wretched humans. The crabs had been compelled by an irrational force and driven from their normal biological rhythms and patterns, and now they migrated to dry land not to mate or spawn or feed, but to kill. An irrational hatred for human beings had been implanted within their primitive invertebrate brains, and they exacted this command with all the uncompromising willingness of the simple biological killing machines they were.

Image

"They're coming out of the water! They're coming out of the goddamn water!" Sgt. Hudson Strak screamed to his radio. Reinforcements were en route, but most of the troopers had taken their shore leave opportunities to go to the brothels near the base, so mobilization would take some time. Shit. He looked out the window with his Gay-Bans and saw that the humongous craboid mass had surrounded their restaurant. Somehow, someway, while they had been dining on their crabs unaware, the crabs had been crawling closer and closer, fully intent on dining on them. By the time they had noticed the crabs coming, it was too late, they were surrounded. Those who tried to run, who got in their cars, were consumed because the damned things were already there, waiting for them.

"No, these are not Amplitur. At least, not adults. Maybe they're larva. But they look like... they look like normal crabs. And they're attacking us! Fuck!" Strak shouted. A chef ran out of the kitchen, screaming because a crab had latched on to him and was using its pincers to strangle him. Strak ran to the chef and smashed the crab to pieces with his stick. Another saucier ran out, in a similar predicament, but a stupider restaurant patron used a butcher's knife rather than a mallet - and instead of smashing the crab, he missed and his knife went into the saucier's throat instead! Strak cursed and continued barking to his radio. "I repeat! These are not giant enemy crabs! Negatory! These are... tiny enemy crabs!"

The saucier with a slit throat collapsed to the ground, blood gushing from his neck. The crab that was on him, satisfied in a job well done, crawled away to find a new victim. Strak blew it away with his service pistol. Then he grabbed the stupid restaurant patron's knife away and punched him in the face.

Image

"Put pressure on his throat!" Strak said, pointing to the bleeder. Then, he faced the rest of the restaurant patrons, those fatties who had been busy eating crab meat - just like him. "Alright, listen up! I've radioed HQ but reinforcements are still en route. So we have to make a stand, right here and right now. There are too many crabs out there. They've blocked the exits. They're in the cars. So we can't run. We can't hide either, cause they're gonna come in here AND THEY'RE GONNA GET US!"

He capitalized those words to hammer the point through. Now they'd listen to him, they'd have to.

"So we're not going to run, we're not going to hide. We're going to fight!" he said, thrusting his chest forward and raising his chin, while brandishing his sidearm and his mallet for them all to see. "Grab whatever weapons you can find. Improvise. Use knives, sharp sticks. Mallets. Fire extinguishers. Forks. Sporks. Boiling water. Anything."

They prepared for the war. But little did they know that war had come to them.

Hundreds upon hundreds of crabs had gathered. Somehow directed by a malignant alien intelligence, they accumulated to the doorways and vents and other entry areas. There were so many of them that, eventually, through sheer weight the doors broke down and then they scuttled inside the restaurant. But the defenders were ready.

Image

"Here they come!" Hudson Strak yelled. "Kill em! KILL EM ALL!"

The bar patrons all drew forth their weapons. Everyone in the room was armed, even the children. Some had shotguns, some had handguns, some had Ocelot revolvers, a few even had M2411s, and an old geezer had somehow managed to produce a massive Bragnum 44mm. At this sight, the crabs hesitated momentarily, as though collectively gulping upon seeing so many firearms arrayed at them. But then, for these were not creatures of the earth, not of land or of the air, but foul beasts of the deepest depths, they attacked without fear or any other emotion known to both mankind and the denizens of the animal kingdoms' myriad chordatas.

The bullets tore furrows into the red waves of craboids. But for each dozen crabs brought down by Shepistani Special Pistol rounds, two dozen more swarmed forth. The room was filled with the deafening noise of gunfire, sirens and screams. The sound of shells cracking and popping, the rattle of spent casing falling to the floor, emptied magazines discarded, clips shoved back in, slides pulled, safeties deactivated, rounds chambered, and the resumption of the furious fusillade of fire.

Then there was silence. Not because the crabs had stopped, but because there were more crabs than the people had bullets - they had run out of bullets, but the crabs had not run out. Of crabs, which were still aplenty. They again regarded the humans coldly with their compound eyes, as though mocking them and chastising them for their futile resistance. Then, once more did the crimson tide beat against the jagged rocks of human resistance.

The humans resignedly discarded their firearms. But then -

"On my command!" Hudson Strak shouted with all the authority of a Roman general of the Felix Legions. "UNLEASH HELL!"

On cue, old ladies hobbled forth and sprayed the nearest of the craboids with the fire extinguishers. The subzero carbon dioxide, the frigid foam, and the halon gas petrified the cold-blooded crustacean creatures, leaving them open for the men who moved upon them like a phalanx and began smashing the frozen crabs to tiny icy bits. Then they withdrew and the shield bearers, who used the tables to form a barrier, ran up and smashed the crabs aside. Again, the cycle was repeated when the women returned to douse the craboids with liquid nitrogen. Spear-bearers, with knives and forks tied to chair legs, then began stabbing the creatures while mallet-bearers mashed them up. Then the shields came up again, and the attackers withdrew. Waiters and waitresses brought fresh water and foods and wine to them, so they could eat and drink and regain energy before once more returning to the fray.

But what were few dozen men compared to the inexorable might of the craboids, ten hundred thousand million strong? It was good that the restauranteurs had had a hearty breakfast, for tonight they most certainly would dine. In hell.

The makeshift shields finally broke, while the chairleg spears snapped, and the blades grew dull, and the mallets likewise shattered after one too many batterments. After a long and grueling ordeal, the men, women and children had been exhausted - while the crabs were relentless in their lack of relentation. The formation broke, the phalanx dissolved. Some of the older women collapsed, their thigh bones dislocating from their hip replacements, they fell and moaned and groaned and begged for mercy. Some tried to help them, to drag them before they were washed away by the waves of red pincer and claws. But it was for naught. The claws began to tear at their senile skins, clamping on the wrinkles and using the leverage to basically peel the flesh off their old beaten bodies. They howled in pain as the crabs did so, and as the geriatrics thrashed and screamed, the crabs were eerily silent in doing their evil work.

Image

The ground went red. Not only was there blood, but it was filled with innumerable tiny crablings. So many that they carpeted the whole floor, crept up the peoples' legs and dived into their orifices to consume the succulent flesh within their bodies.

As he watched his legion collapse all around him, as he listened to the screams and cries, something inside Sergeant Hudson Strak snapped. He brandished a frying pan and a spatula and began slaying as many of the beasts as he could. Then he screamed, challenging them all in mortal combat.

"Come on! Come on! Come and get it, baby! Come on! I don't got all day! Come on! Come on! Come on you bastard! Come on, you too! Oh, you want some of this? Fuck you!"

He flailed blindly and madly, smashing countless creaturoids in his incomprehensible rage. It was this sensation of human outrage, the sheer emotionality of it, that distinguished man from the soulless craboid beasts that died by the score at Hudson Strak's hands. With each monster destroyed, he shouted for all to hear mighty fighting words dedicated to those who fought with him and who succumbed to the ravagements of the craboids, he dedicated his words to the victorious dead.

"WHO KNEW!" he screamed at the top of his lungs as he stomped a crab and smeared it underfoot.

"AM I RITE?!" he asked the hatchlings as he took a dead woman's hairspray can, and a candle that lit a now-dead couple's dinner date, and fashioned a flamethrower with which to burn the baby craboids. They replied to him by making popping sounds as their entrails erupted within their carapaces.

"I'M A SMARMY ASSHOLE!!!" he roared as he spilled a whole vat of cooking oil on the crabs, who writhed as they were deep fried. In doing so, he had burned his hands while handling the vat. Oil had also spilled on his arms. Hudson Strak screamed as the surviving crabs took this opportunity and ganged him, their pincers clawed at his burned arms and began peeling off the blistered skin. This autoexcruciation was pain unlike any he had ever felt. "FATTY NERDS ARE LAME!"

With his arms crippled, he had no choice but to attack with his face. He confronted a massive spider crab that had traveled all the way from the Laurentian Abyss just to challenge him. He confronted it and headbutted it, slamming his head against its shell again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again. The skin of his forehead was torn, bloodied and bruised, but he prevailed as in the enfuryment of his blows the crab's own shell was smashed into a liquefied pulp.

Lobsters, with their massive claws, clamped hard at Strak's ankles and he fell to the floor. Then the hundreds of crabs descended towards him, intent on finishing it all.

And then everything exploded. Everything, up to and including the crabs all around him.

COMMUNIST THREAT DETECTED! a mechanical voice boomed. BETTER DEAD THAN RED!

Large metal hands plucked the injured Strak off his crucible and placed him on the safety of a steel shoulder.

"What? Strak babbled incoherently.

COMMUNIST THREAT DETECTED! BETTER DEAD THAN RED! the umistakable sound of an atomic deathray could be heard, followed by what could only be the noise of the entire restaurant - and the crabs inside it - exploding in a micro-nuclear explosion. HAIL FREEDOM. HAIL DEMOCRACY. HAIL THE SHEPISTANI REPUBLIC.

Strak opened his eyes and saw his saviors.

Image

The FREEDOM PRIMES had arrived. These were special operations variants, the robots that had more than what met the eye because they could go in disguise. They could reconfigurate themselves into seemingly ordinary vehicles to roll out on wheels that would propel them faster than legs could. Then, upon entering the combat zone, they would transform and maximize, assuming their combat modes.

The FREEDOM PRIMES were hastily deployed. They were easily reprogrammable for this mission. The crabs were all red. Communists were red. One of the pre-programmed FREEDOM PRIME subroutines was to automatically track and destroy anything colored red, because they were programmed to destroy any and all communists - and now crabs were also communists, together with the color red!

Image

COMMUNIST THREAT DETECTED! BETTER DEAD THAN RED! the FREEDOM PRIME declared as it vaporized a whole hive cluster of craboids.

COMMUNIST THREAT DETECTED! BETTER DEAD THAN RED! a second FREEDOM PRIME declared as it vaporized a car that had the color red.

COMMUNIST THREAT DETECTED! BETTER DEAD THAN RED! then it vaporized a house that had been painted red.

An innocent bystander in a red shirt ran screaming from the crabs.

COMMUNIST THREAT DETECTED! BETTER DEAD THAN RED! an atomic beam vaporized the crabs that were chasing him.

COMMUNIST THREAT DETECTED! BETTER DEAD THAN RED! an atomic beam vaporized him too.

Another person, in a red shirt that also had stripes of white and blue - the flag of the Shepistani Republic - was detected.

COMMUNIST THREAT... NOT DETECTED.

"Oh God, I was so scared! Thank you!" the woman cried.

MADAM YOU HAVE SUFFERED AN EMOTIONAL SHOCK I WILL NOTIFY A CRAB CRISIS CENTER

Image
Last edited by Shroom Man 777 on 2010-11-25 06:13am, edited 7 times in total.
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by Akhlut »

Message to General Sheppard

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Remember, at ShelExCo, the customer is our top priority!
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by Tanasinn »

Humanist Union
Sector N5
High Orbit Over New Haven
July 3400



Image
Lily Ryan leaned back in the shuttle's uncomfortable passenger bay bucket seat, trying her best to studiously ignore the man across from her's apparent desire to strike up conversation; space travel gave her headaches. Of course, it was a lot harder to ignore someone when you could at least notionally read their thoughts. Being an psionic wasn't all it was cracked up to be at times like this.

There was a chime, and the shuttle pilot spoke, "Entering atmosphere now, expect a little shake-and-bake back there. If you must vomit, there's bags under the seats," Lily suppressed a smile. Something about small craft pilots - even government ones - they didn't know the meaning of 'professionalism.' It was a nice change from the normal rigidity of the DII. Lily noted that the man across from her looked a little pale; so did the third member of the compartment, a stern-faced, massive Special Operations soldier, but then they always looked unhealthily gray. This particular example was staring a hole in the shuttle bulkhead, hands wrapped carefully around an obnoxiously bulky black rectangular box in his lap and trying not to look annoyed. Nobody liked courier duty, after all.

The other man's thoughts were increasingly turning to his stomach - she thought she'd do the shuttle pilot (and herself) a favor.

"First time making planetfall in one of these buckets?" she asked, ignoring her headache and striking up a friendly tone. The other man seemed slightly relieved that the awkward silence had been broken anyway.

"Yeah," he said, running a hand through his mussed-up hair, "Never been off Elysion before now. Never had a reason. I'm William, by the way. Or Will."

"Lily. And it gets easier."

"What does?"

"Planetfall," the shuttle jumped, as if to express annoyance with William's short attention span. A warning hand shot up to his mouth, "So Will, what does the DII want with a capital planet guy like you?"

William looked unsure whether or not to answer, but replied after a beat, apparently convinced that he wasn't stuck in a shuttle with just anybody, "I'm being reassigned as an intelligence analyst for the local branch. I published some work back on Elysion," he trailed off; Lily knew how to fill in the blanks; the DII was always looking for fresh meat to assign to overworked planets like New Haven. Sticking out in talent usually meant that you'd be gobbled up and thrown at the most unpleasant assignment possible. This, of course, was what the Federal Government assumed those who expressed merit wanted.

"Can't they just get an AI to do that? Hard to out-think a computer," this was an intentional joke, but William seemed to take it seriously.

"There's no replacement for an old-fashioned human brain when you're analyzing human behavior. An AI just can't compete."

"I beg to differ," a haughty voice replied; William and Lily turned to the SO grunt, but he was still staring into space, looking, perhaps, more annoyed than before. The voice was coming from the box in his lap, "We created intelligences can, in fact, compete with you. Can you coordinate a hyperspace drive? Can you process all the critical infrastructural data for an entire city and still have processing to turn to other tasks? I doubt it."

William ignored the reply, "What, an actual artificial intelligence? This job just gets weirder," Lily could sympathize. AI in the Union were heavily restricted - it was a new humanist thing, and one of the bits she actually agreed with. You simply couldn't rely on an alien intelligence always looking out for human interests, and if you placed limits on it, you gimped it by default. That this AI was so...talkative...just made the situation more unusual. She was interested despite herself.

"I'm not 'artificial,'" the AI responded, "I think just as you do. More efficiently, actually. Please - 'created' intelligence."

"You're awful human for a computer," Lily commented.

"Yes, well, it's part of the job description."

"And that is...?"

"Not of interest to you."

Lily shrugged and let it be. She'd gotten used to such responses in the DII since she'd signed on, and it didn't phase her to get it now, even if it was from a talking cat box.

Again a chime, and the pilot's voice, "We're coming in at New Independence City's macroport as I speak. If you'll direct your attention outside," the shuttle's artificial viewports switched on, revealing an impressive early evening vista. They were coming in at the edge of a tremendous city. Even from here, she could see the 'New Haven rot' folks talked about. The planet had sucked in quintillions of U-bills, and still it was a long way from a vacation on New Britain. Nevertheless, you had to admit it was getting better.

"Welcome to New Haven, the most corrupt planet in the Humanist Union," the pilot piped in sardonically, "Population: 5 b's, give or take. Exports include guns, more guns, and raw industrial materials. Imports include everything the honest citizens in the Union make. I recommend the jumping crab, if you're looking for an interesting dish. Five minutes to touchdown in the macroport. I better not have to clean up any puke back there."

"It's no Elysion City," William said skeptically.
Last edited by Tanasinn on 2010-11-27 01:06am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by Alyrium Denryle »

Previously, on Ranoids
The Maculatum's bridge heaved as a bolt from a heavy plasma cannon struck her port shield.

"Shield grid operating at fifty percent"

*BOOM*

"Make that forty five"

"Fuck this" Alrynchus cursed. His ship was taking fire from two light cruisers and a carrier. His shields were heavy enough to avoid major system damage so far, but this needed to end.

"All ships concentrate fire on Light Cruiser one. Time on target"
UNREAL TIME!

"Commander, fleet reports that time-on-target optimization achieved"

"Fire"

...

First the Phaser arrays opened fire. Each emitter was not especially powerful, but when they all concentrated on the same square meter of a shield grid, they were formidable--when a small battlefleet did this to one ship, the shields began bleeding energy like a cup filled with so many holes, concentrating their energy output to compensate, and opening up weaknesses in the rest of the grid. Then the gatling guns opened fire a few seconds later, literally hundreds of those guns pouring relativistic balls of antimatter filled tungsten into the shields. Bleedthrough from gamma radiation, stray mesons as well as a bit of plasma leaked through the shields, causing radiation spikes inside the first armor belt cooking crewmen alive as if they were inside a nuclear microwave. Spalling damage from the meson storm damaged internal components and the heat not absorbed by the shields rendered the outer hull into a glowing mass. Then the missiles fired. The shields finally shattered under the strain, sending out a visible flash of light as they collapsed, allowing anti-ship missiles to scorch the hull like an oxy-acetylene torch. The last weapons to fire were the heavy mass drivers, which dove into the hull. Reactive armor managed to blow the first few salvos back out into space before they detonated, but subsequent shots dove into the hull and detonated inside the ship, causing it to break apart violently as the Maculatum and Dendronastes poured heavy weapon's fire into the now rapidly disintegrating ship.

With this, the second light cruiser and the carrier turned tail and began running up for a hyperspace jump, which the surviving corvettes were just getting up to speed for.

...

"Let them go. We have a space station to deal with" said Commander Alrynchus as he watched the destruction unfold "We can collect their remaining fighters and escape pods when we finish. That may prove... enlightening"

After an hour of long range bombardment, the station's shields finally collapsed and the station rendered into a cloud of ionized gases and debris of various size scales, while escape pods, disabled fighters and ejected pilots were pulled from the debris field by shuttlecraft. That was the benefit of being able to dodge fire from a space station. They did not have the methods for properly targeting a ship at those ranges. It was not shocking, the station and its weapons, while the energy yield was high, was old. The computational AI on the station was probably not sophisticated enough to process all the necessary data, and the rate of fire was not high enough for a Bayesian solution.

The information ripped by telepaths from the minds of those pirates who would not cooperate willingly in an attempt to save their own lives was compiled into a report, even while those same individuals were being shoved one by one--naked--out of airlocks. Those that did cooperate were kept alive of course. No use killing a valuable source of information. Still, the number of defectors was low. Too low. Something--or someone--was scaring these people more than the prospect of being exposed to hard vacuum. But what?

As Alrynchus began going over the reports from the fleet's telepaths he realized something. He had falsely assumed that the place his decoy fighters would be sent to was going to be the actual base. From what the telapaths had gleaned from the minds of his prisoners this was not the case. These guys were sub-contractors. They were hired by someone else. They did not know who, they did not use names. Things started to click into place inside his mind. This station was a refueling station. Goods were traded elsewhere. Sumeria 7. What better way to trade illegally obtained goods but a legitimate looking free port? The station had birthings for much larger ships than light cruisers, so why leave it so woefully unguarded unless it was expendible?... son of a bitch.

He picked up the receiver at his desk and dialed in CIC.

"Comms. This is the commander, send an emergency transmission to the rest of Omega fleet in Bombina Sector, they may have incoming attacks on shipping from pirate heavies"
Last edited by Alyrium Denryle on 2010-11-25 03:40am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by Zor »

Commonwealth Central News

Today, the Commonwealth diet has passed legeslation in responce to the recent embassy bombing. In Response, Tarrifs on all Shepistani goods has increased some 35%. On a similar note various civilian organizations including the Society for Responsible Minded Consumption and the New T'au Conclave of Ethereals have advocated a boycott against Shepistani manufactured products. More information is avaiable with consulation with Professor Fisk of Ny Olso university's faculty of Political science and noted Economist Doctor Alex Mundaliar is available here...

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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by PeZook »

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Somewhere in deep space
Beyond the Wild Space frontier

The swirling vortex that composed the primary thought-space of Legion’s flotilla was awash with activity. Lesser minds - all copies of Legion’s primary personality, adjusted in one way or another for specialized tasks - were performing all the tedious administration and maintenance work that inevitably came with a rapid evacuation of even a semi-permanent facility.

Legion himself, the primary and dominant personality of the flotilla, was reviewing all the reports and making plans. The tiny, insignificant mistake made by one of the secondary planners has cost him a very convenient base of operations: stealthy probes left in-system confirmed the asteroid base had been taken apart. This only proved the risk of operating in civilized systems, of course: Solarian law enforcement was surprisingly efficient for a nation constantly remaining in a state of near-anarchy. At least he left no incriminating information at the asteroid base.

Of course, Legion had plenty of resources left. He spent years building contacts, leaving caches of equipment, reserves of hard currency and people owing him favors all across Wild Space. The hydra of front companies, fake identities, hidden accounts was big enough to be the envy of any organized criminal enterprise. Sometimes, Legion himself thought it was such a waste to use it all for simple mercenary work: but then he reminded himself that survival in the Koprulu Zone had its own rules and its own hefty pricetag.

Another sub-process was analyzing his latest ‘memetic attack’ - really, just a threatening message only upgraded to that lofty status by Von Schrom’s mental state at the moment it reached him. While the sheer ridiculously overblown effect amused Legion to no end, the implications of CEID’s claimed involvement in the matter were...almost worrying.

Sixty, Legion called up one of his subroutines, We will have to shelve the retaliatory operation.

Aye, I concur., the intelligence replied in a horribly fake Scottish accent, We’d expend much resources for little expected gain.

We may try something later. At the moment, we need to write off the Limpkin op as a total loss.

Not all was lost. We recouped some losses by short-selling Schromkorp stock, another of flotilla’s minds butted in

We won’t be able to access those resources for a while, though. It would risk CEID catching a trail. We don’t want that. In fact, I believe it’s time we vacated Wild Space altogether for a while.

There was brief silence in the thought-space. Legion - in all his forms - briefly considered the implications of abandoning the established support network they had going in the untamed frontier of the Koprulu Zone. It would carry great risks, even though some assets could be discreetly channeled out so that the flotilla would still enjoy decent logistical support. Brief seconds passed as the personality amalgam created simulations and scenarios for operations in the Outback, the Badlands, the vast unnamed shoals to galactic west...all very risky, very low-tech.

And challenging, Legion thought with satisfaction.

Before he could organize the move, however, a tiny data packet found its way into his mainframe, relayed through hundreds of subverted low-security systems.

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Greenwood Banks
Solaris Major, USS


Personality adjustment was not exactly pleasant. Despite not involving electroshocks and Pavlovian conditioning - really, quite a barbaric practice in a world of mind-uploading and custom-made brains - it was still a thoroughly invasive procedure that anybody sane would try to avoid if possible. The post-op personality dissonance alone was terrible - arguably worse than any possible headache. It was hard to describe the feeling coming with thinking you’re not quite yourself, and integrating implanted memories and habits into yourself knowing they’re all fake. In Edgar Von Schrom’s case, however, there was little choice. He’d do anything to keep his position - if memetic therapy was needed for that, then so be it.

“Ja, ja”, doctor Blewittberg muttered to himself as he and his assistant CI, the Flayer worked on the immensely complex construct that was Edgar Von Schrom’s brain. They’ve been at it for three days now, working almost non stop, carefully disassembling the delicate network of defences thrown up by the best Solarian specialists. Only recently could they actually start picking Edgar’s personality apart and reconstructing it to get rid of the PTSD-induced phobias, and prevent them from forming in the future.

“Mein Gott, das ist horrible...”, the good doctor commented after reviewing another memory, “...Edgar, mein boy, was did you get yourself into?”, he nodded to himself thoughtfully, examining the memory of CEID agents intruding on Edgar’s bedroom. He’d never reveal that, of course: not only was he a professional of the highest caliber (amply reflected by his absurdly obscene paycheck), he was also a long-time friend of the family.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t file it away, though. Close friends had attempted to betray him before.

He was startled by Brunhilde in the middle of copying the memory to file onto his private well-secured server, Excuse me, doctor Blewittberg . A situation has come up. When can we expect Mr. Von Schrom to be operational again?

Enschuldigung, Brunhilde, aber unsere arbeit ist very delicate. We can nicht give you a precise estimate, he replied quickly, or more precisely his CI did for him - after storing away the incriminating file, the doctor himself began working on a particularly tricky problem that required his full attention.

If Brunhilde could, she’d roll her eyes at the terrible way both the doctor and his CI spoke. It wasn’t born out of a language barrier: Blewittberg was almost certainly adjusting his speech patterns on purpose. Except nobody knew what the purpose was - it couldn’t exactly help him communicate with customers.

Page me as soon as you are done, then

As she closed the connection and turned her attention back to the million and ten matters she supervised during her employer’s leave of absence - from SchromKorp’s gargantuan amount of day-to-day admin work to the massive PR efforts designed to prevent any further investor panic - a brief part of Bruhilde’s mind regarded the matter she needed to consult with Edgar. It was a simple thing, really: but in its simplicity, extremely worrisome. A short message delivered to the CEO’s office of public relations.

Code: Select all

We thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Von Schrom. The Directorate appreciates your full disclosure and has no further matters of mutual interest to discuss with you.
It was unsigned, but no special effort was made to hide its place of origin, a CEID substation on Tannhaus called Vector Black.

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The Datasphere

It was a long shot, everyone involved in the hunt had to admit. The powerful CIs that developed the strategy made several assumptions based on what they now knew about Legion: one of them was that he’d seed programs across the Datasphere to monitor activity at points of interest.

As it turned out, that assumption was correct.

With a howl, a thousand bloodhounds descended upon SchromKorp’s systems, the moment they detected a small and unobtrusive monitoring program sending a tiny data packet out from the megacorp’s Office Of Public Relations. The time it occurred at was too close to the timestamp on CEID’s message to be a coincidence ; The encoding protocols alien enough to raise suspicion.

The swarm of hunting programs followed the data package across hundreds of thousands of systems, through network nodes, subverted servers and personal computers. Users experienced weird and inexplicable slowdowns in their holovids and weird porn streams as the cavalcade rummaged through their machines for any trace of the packet and followed it.

As it turned out, the program was smarter than its dimunitive size would indicate. It detected the chase and took measures, splitting the message into parts, bouncing it across systems and frying computers as it went through. It began to leave false traces, meaningless copies of itself that the bloodhounds found, devoured and spit out as worthless, but which occupied precious processor cycles. It mutated, changed, and sometimes even counterattacked.

The chase was so prolonged, so intense that some of the more powerful CIs began to take notice, but it ended before it could spiral out of control. Repair notices and complaints of users whose systems were destroyed were quickly addressed, security holes were patched and a press release by Olympic downplayed the incident into merely a network hiccup.

Unfortunately, for all their zeal, the bloodhounds lost the chase. They did learn a few interesting things, however.

That was all they needed.

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Somewhere in deep space
Beyond the Wild Space frontier

Hundreds of minds descended upon the data packet. The links grew clogged with a massive cacophony of confused thoughts before being forcibly ceased the overbearing mind of Legion itself. Silence! it commanded, although more than one thought was used.

The networks needs and overhaul, the creature nodded to itself and sicced a smaller analysis subsystem upon the intercepted message. It made observations: worrisome ones.

Code: Select all

///BEGIN SUBROUTINE///
...Engaging analysis subroutine...
...Accessing database...
...Subroutine running.
25%
50%
75%
...Subroutine complete. 166 392 382 passes performed...

...Conclusions follow:
1. Message not encoded. Possible reasons: no decoding protocol in possession by recipient. Lack of importance. Provocation.
2. Message delivered to low-security system. Reinforces possibility of provocation.
3. Message content: indicates important intelligence in possession by CEID decision-makers. Possibility of provocation equally probable with and without actual intelligence present.
4. Tracking programs followed message. Reinforces possibility of provocation.
///END SUBROUTINE///
The subroutine spit out scenarios and possible courses of action - although it was imprecise to speak of it as a truly separate entity - for Legion, it was a process similar to organic decision-making, although more structured. There were plenty of unknowns in the matter, though, which made the following decision a question of an educated guess as much as juggling of probabilities.

It was very probable the message was a provocation, intended to be found. However, that fact alone did not disprove that CEID actually received information from Von Schrom, and were trying to use them to hunt down Legion’s flotilla.

The fractal map of all possible information Von Schrom could possess was immense: depending on assumptions made, he was either without any crucial data at all, or possessed detailed filed on Legion’s assets.

As it sifted through the immensely complex decision matrix, one theme was the most recurring: that of the Escrow account set up in the First Security Bank of Zubrich. Before Von Schrom managed to somehow convince the robot mercenary to not accept payment up front, that was the option to be used for transferring payment for the Limpkin job.

That bank was used extensively for several other financial activities. Although the particular account had been closed down, logs of its existence surely remained buried deep within the bank’s mainframe - and though it was secured very well, maybe even better than many megacorp mainframes in the Sovereignty proper...Legion could not rule out the CEID would attempt to break in regardless. And with the right amount of processing power, they could uncover many sweet details of the merc’s activities and assets across Wild Space. Assets it would need to move its operations to another region. Even if the Solarians never found the flottila, they could cripple its logistical train, which was the same thing as blowing it up.

Legion had to make a call: should it walk into a trap to remove that information, or assume the CEID was just attempting to flush it out of hiding?

The analysis would take eons by the standards of artificial intelligences. By the standards of organics, it took mere hours, but the result was clear. The potential costs were catastrophic. Before leaving Wild Space, Legion would perform one more operation.
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JULY 20TH 1969 - The day the entire world was looking up

It suddenly struck me that that tiny pea, pretty and blue, was the Earth. I put up my thumb and shut one eye, and my thumb blotted out the planet Earth. I didn't feel like a giant. I felt very, very small.
- NEIL ARMSTRONG, MISSION COMMANDER, APOLLO 11

Signature dedicated to the greatest achievement of mankind.

MILDLY DERANGED PHYSICIST does not mind BREAKING the SOUND BARRIER, because it is INSURED. - Simon_Jester considering the problems of hypersonic flight for Team L.A.M.E.
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by Shroom Man 777 »

[I am so sorry Zor I just couldn't resist. :P]
Zor wrote:Commonwealth Central News

In Fashion

Chrome, Visor Eyes and duel thumbed hands are back, a look at Richmond and Jackson's latest line of Bodies.


Schlock & Awe Magazine
11th of July 3400


DUEL THUMBS

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The latest form of Nova Atlantean posthuman consumer organics takes the galaxy by storm, breaking even into the highly competitive Solarian branded organs market by providing a unique product for a unique market of sports-minded thumb-duelers out to get the best sports equipment and sports organs in known space. While Solarian megacorporations like SinTek, SchromKorp and Tyrell are among the galaxy's undisputed manufacturers of custom techno-endrocrines, turbine cardiovasculars and Replicant components, there is one thing in the consumer organics market that they have not yet matched.

The Zorian Duel Thumb, exclusive to Richmond and Jackson!

Image Image
Zorian Duel Thumbs have become the rave, a new consumer organic sport where the demand for high quality tissues is as lucrative as it is competitive.

Originally available in bareback only, Richmond and Jackson has expanded its line to include wrestling-capable duel thumbs clad in customized luchadore masks! These luchadore masks are composed of a nanokev silksteel thermoplastic weave for maximum protectiveness while weighing lighter than a feather. They adhere to the thumb and vacuum seal, providing 100% airtight protection for the thumb no matter where its user might stick it in. The latest Richmond and Jackson duel thumbs are not only programmed for sports applications, but come in a wide variety of functions, up to and including self-defense thumbs capable of eye-gouging, utility thumbs capable of rapid-fire minimicrosecond button-pressing, social thumbs with reflexive thumb-upping autocapabilities, and more! With the Duel Thumbs, your opposable appendages may become opposing appendages.

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To this date, no other product has managed to compete with the Zorian Dueling Thumb. The only thing in the galaxy that has come close is the Finglonger, manufactured by SHEPlanetary Express. But with the tariffs declared by the Zorian government on all Shepistani products, it looks like the Finglonger won't be poking around at the Dueling Thumb's business after all.
Image "DO YOU WORSHIP HOMOSEXUALS?" - Curtis Saxton (source)
shroom is a lovely boy and i wont hear a bad word against him - LUSY-CHAN!
Shit! Man, I didn't think of that! It took Shroom to properly interpret the screams of dying people :D - PeZook
Shroom, I read out the stuff you write about us. You are an endless supply of morale down here. :p - an OWS street medic
Pink Sugar Heart Attack!
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by PeZook »

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Somewhere in Wild Space

Red rose on its rear legs and gazed upon his fiefdom. At the Scurrypods, as it called the small furry humanoids it enslaved to provide itself with food and construct it shelter. At the gently moving Carapacers, with their hard shells, as they mated to provide Red with succulent eggs, and the Cleaners which hunted and consumed all the annoying insects.

Yes, Red thought to itself and clicked its pincers with satisfaction. Its old tribe, back before the fiery sky-gods came, used to employ lesser creatures in the same way, but Red went above and beyond their smallish attempts: whereas his tribe still had to work due to custom, Red simply commanded the creatures to do everything it desired.

The Scurrypods built it a chair and placed it atop a mound of dirt. From this perch, Red could command its minions and observe their activities like a vigilant god. They started a fire to provide warmth and scare away the larger creatures, the ones Red could not control yet. The Amplitur snacked o some Carapacer eggs, thinking of its next move. Yes...it would do no work but think. Focus. Improve in its ability to command those lesser beings. Eventually, it would seize one of the hulking beasts of prey and bring this entire world to heel!

But what then? When I rule this godsforsaken place?, it thought, as loneliness crept into its mind again, Will I ever find a mate? What will remain of me when I pass away and my carapace is left to bake in the sun?

Red lowered its eyestalks in a sullen expression. It doodled something in the dirt with one pincer. Oh, cruel gods! To take the soothing touch of a female mind and the intertwining, simple emanations of the little broodlings they would spawn! Truly, Red must've done something terrible to deserve that, something so vile the gods got angry...well, angrier than most of the time, when they'd contend themselves with sending thunderstorms and predators towards the tribe.

No!, the craboid thought with sudden energy, I shall not despair! This is merely a test! Yes, that's it! I must find out what the gods wanted and earn their favor!

With anger, it focused its mind on a Scurrypod and concentrated, frying the poor creature's mind. As it contemplated the soothing smell of death, it raised an eyestalk and noticed a shooting start...heading east.

Yes! A sign!!!, it cried to itself, and then, with a powerful psionic message to its minions, Go forth! Find the shooting star and BRING IT TO ME!
Image
JULY 20TH 1969 - The day the entire world was looking up

It suddenly struck me that that tiny pea, pretty and blue, was the Earth. I put up my thumb and shut one eye, and my thumb blotted out the planet Earth. I didn't feel like a giant. I felt very, very small.
- NEIL ARMSTRONG, MISSION COMMANDER, APOLLO 11

Signature dedicated to the greatest achievement of mankind.

MILDLY DERANGED PHYSICIST does not mind BREAKING the SOUND BARRIER, because it is INSURED. - Simon_Jester considering the problems of hypersonic flight for Team L.A.M.E.
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 1

Post by MKSheppard »

1100th ESPer Tournament
Opening Night


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With a mighty BOOM, the fireworks went off. The Centrality was sparing no expense for this tournament; since it was THE prestige event for Psykers in the galaxy to show their skills.

Later that night, the first of the planned events began.

Psykokinetic Manipulation, one of the most popular events was first.

But nobody called it that except the ESPerletes. Everyone else called it..

spoonbending

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Rapeweed Rosenberg bent the spoon with her mind.

Her goddamn mind.

Wiping the sweat off her brow after her performance, Rapeweed downed several Mentats, which were scientifically designed to restore the brain's natural balance of chemicals and electrolytes following intense mental activity and watched her teammates compete against the other teams.

This was just an opening demo; hence why she was bending only a spoon. Tomorrow would come the master-class bending contests. The ones done with steel I-Beams. Tonight, it was all silly stuff designed to get the competitive juices flowing.

Later that night, after swinging to a couple of clubs, Rapeweed staggered into the room that had been assigned to her in the Esperlympic Village.

Closing the door and turning on the light, she frowned. A plain brown box was sitting on her bed. Looking at it, she saw that it had been sent from a family friend.

I wonder what Sunset sent me, thought Rapeweed. Sunset was her bestest friend in the galaxy.

Pulling a letter opener out of her pocket, she began to open up the package.

Inside....inside was...

"No...it can't be!" gasped Rapeweed as she stumbled backwards, falling onto the floor.

Inside the box wasn't a cute Wiccan Fertility figure or anything liek that.

No. It was horrible....it was a HORRER on Earth.

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It was the GAYSBRO General Sheppard Action figure...with realistic leather overcoat.

Detecting that it's packaging had been opened, the figure's internal circuitry came to life, activicating it's playtime programming.

It climbed out of the box and stood with it's hands on it's hips like it was surveying the landscape. Which in a way it was. It was storing the play area's dimensions in it's internal files so it could realistically wage toy war.

The action figure's realistically sculpted synth-plastic lips began to move.

"Would you like to play a game?" it said in a reasonable facsmile of General Sheppard's voice.

The Next Morning

When Rapeweed didn't come in for that morning's warm-up excercises, the other members on the team got worried, so they sent one of their bodyguards to check in on her.

Jiggling the knob and knocking on the door calling her voice had no effect, so M.S.c Hammer did what he did best next.

He kicked the door open in one mighty blast of splintering wood while simultaneously shouting his trademark phrase.

"It's Hammertime, baby!"

Inside, the room was a mess. Every bit of furniture that was breakable had been broken. Even the wiring had been pulled out of the walls, along with the data/power receptacles. From the bathroom came the sound of someone sobbing.

Slowly, M.S.c. Hammer edged towards the door, drawing a snub nosed pistol loaded with GAYSLER rounds.

In a burst of energy, he rushed into the bathroom...and found not what he was expecting.

A live Rapeweed Rosenberg was sitting in a bathtub full of now-cold water, rocking back and forth while muttering to herself.

The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future, The way of the future......

On the tile floor of the bathroom, a badly scorched and melted action figure was walking around, shouting nonsensical verbiage in response.

"Commie sons-of-bitches. It'll be a cold day in hell before I let them cross Canada into the mainland..."

"...remember kids, Espers aren't human!"

M.S.c. Hammer stared at the figure for a moment before he shot it in the chest with a GAYSLER round, blowing it in half and ending the HORRER.

CSB Branch HQ, 30 minutes later

Agent Girder of the CSB walked into the headquarters, putting on his sunglasses indoors...because he was that goddamn awesome.

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Agent Girder

"So, what's the take on this goddamn Sheppo plot?" he demanded.

"We've put it under every possible scanner we can think of boss," replied one of the CSB flunkies.

"Red lights, purple lights, blue lights, even......ultraviolet. They all come back with the same result. It's a generic GAYSBRO action figure with absolutely no changes to it's programming. No hidden logic trapdoors. No secret flamethrower. No nothing."

Girder thought for a moment, then put on another pair of sunglasses.

"The Sheppoes are crude. When they do something, they don't do it with finesse. If something needs to be shot twice, they shoot it fifty thousand times. This is just the tip of the iceberg."

The CSB technician stood there, staring back at Girder. "Ah, yes sir. Miss Rosenberg's case isn't the only one. We've discovered no less than fifty three ESPerletes who have been sent these packages; all through seemingly legimitate means."

Girder looked at the technician. "It's a good thing you're just a technician, and not a field agent like I am." To emphasize that point, he put on another pair of sunglasses.

"All of the packages had their addresses disguised, but we were able to see through the forged shipping routes and find where they were originally shipped from. Come with me if you want your career to live."

Unmarked Shipping Company

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Inside were scores of nondescript wooden boxes. Girder wasted no time in pointing to them and motioning with his hand.

Soon, a crack team of agents were prying off the tops, revealing their contents.

....thousands of GAYSBRO Shepistani Action Figures. General Sheppards, Shepistani Power Armor Troopers; fully motorized 1/8 scale models of Vertibirds. Even 1/700 replicas of Battlestars.

"My God!" muttered one of the evidence techs.

Girder turned and stared down the hapless tech, pulling out another pair of sunglasses and putting it on as he did so.

"God has nothing to do with this Mr. Spackatelli. If you investigate the serial numbers on these figures, they are all from last year's GAYSBRO line. The unsold items were becoming an...embarassment to those sub-moronic cretins in Shepistan. Because how dare these glorious pieces of trash and propaganda go unsold, hmm?"

Girder picked up one of the Shepistani figures, examining it for a moment before tossing it to the floor.

"What better way to get rid of unsold inventory than to expend it here?"

The evidence tech frowned. "But...what's the whole point, sir? If they wanted to get rid of unsold inventory; why not just nuke it or toss it into an atomic furnace?"

Girder sighed and put on another pair of sunglasses. "The point...Mister Spackatelli, is that it was a brilliant piece of psychological warfare. Think. If the Shepistanis could get something as...worthless as these action figures into some of the most heavily guarded areas in the Centrality...what is their real plot? Why expend so much time and energy on worthless trinkets, when they could have shipped Mister Toughie killbots in their place?"

"That is what drove Miss Rosenberg to a mental breakdown after tearing her hotel room to pieces looking for the real attack, which certainly was not a six inch figure shouting inanities."

The tech was speechless for a moment as he realized the total bragdickery of the Shepistani scheme.

At that moment, Girder chose to take off his sunglasses. How the man could take off twenty pairs at the same time, nobody knew. But that's what he did.

"As for the trinkets you've discovered here? I think an appropriate use for them would be to use them as targets in the ESPerlympics; so the whole galaxy sees us burning General Sheppard's face off over....and....over....YEAHHHHHHHHHH."

Results: Shepistani scheme throws chaos into opening ceremonies of the ESPerlympics by causing mental traumatization to a not insignificant number of Athletes and making everyone wonder what the REAL scheme is.

Tournament recovers by designating GAYSBRO Shepistani action figures the official mental targets of the ESP Tournament, to much indignation in Shepistan.

CSB begins to track down whoever provided the shipment of GAYSBROS. (NAH OSLO -- to be written by Shroomie).
"If scientists and inventors who develop disease cures and useful technologies don't get lifetime royalties, I'd like to know what fucking rationale you have for some guy getting lifetime royalties for writing an episode of Full House." - Mike Wong

"The present air situation in the Pacific is entirely the result of fighting a fifth rate air power." - U.S. Navy Memo - 24 July 1944
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