Imperial Chronicles
Somewhere near MEH space
When the word was passed that the Imperium would go to war against the MEH, the Inquisition, Navy and Army intelligence sent 4 Sharpshooter corvettes outfitted for stealth work to the MEH. They followed a long and circuitous route through the Warp before arriving there. Once there, they went to their designated targets and began reconnaissance work. A typical reconnaissance mission would have entailed the vessel emerging from the warp a distance away from the star system just outside the range of enemy sensors. The vessel would then accelerate to maximum velocity and then its engines would be cut off and the ship would enforce stealth discipline with all active sensors and communications equipment switched off and the reactor operated at minimum levels. The vessel's warp engines were however still capable of a quick start up and a jump into the Warp. Passive sensors and telescopes would obtain the required data. Because of the fears that the enemy could possibly have gravitational wave based radar, the ship would do 2 relativistic flybys through the edges of the system, taking as much data as it went. As much as some of this work could be done in the Warp, such a flyby would no doubt reveal more information on the nature of the target star system required.
SDNW4 Story Thread 2
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Fingolfin_Noldor
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11834
- Joined: 2006-05-15 10:36am
- Location: At the Helm of the HAB Star Dreadnaught Star Fist
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
Your spirit, diseased as it is, refuses to allow you to give up, no matter what threats you face... and whatever wreckage you leave behind you.
Kreia
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
The Bragulan Economic Exposition Extravaganza of Friendship (BEEEF)
Vlyadibragstok, Southeastern Severnaya Sector / just beyond Northwestern Lena Sector
Unreal Time / October-December 3400
Part 1:
“Thank you, Shroomanists!” Fulcrum shouted.
“You're awesome!” added Dash.
They beamed at the last complement. “No problemo, giant birdie heroes!”
With the Shroomanist NUERSEs handling the casualties (fortunately not many) the avians could continue their search for the errand guard.
“Dash? Found anything?”
“Buncha wreckage, trail of destruction that might be from Slate, but rampages happen every other day so dunno.” He landed and gasped for breath.
“If he's not already heading for the yacht, he's causing trouble elsewhere and we could use the yacht's communications for handling that. We must hurry, and I know you have your dignity, but sometimes we must swallow our pride for the greater good, so...”
Like this, but instead of Epaulette, it's Dash, and instead of a red-tailed hawk, it's Fulcrum. Incidentally, Epaulette was, for a very short time, a flight instructor, so this may have happened once.
Fulcrum flew as fast as he could, which was quite fast indeed. Not quite as fast as an aircar, perhaps, but he could fit through smaller spaces.
“Dash, hanging on back there?”
“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!”
“Oh good!”
When they arrived at the yacht, it was just starting to power up the main engines. Fulcrum shrieked. “HALT! STOP!”
“Get in here! We're taking off!” yelled someone from inside the hatch.
“NO! You are not taking off!”
“We can't leave without you!”
“Damn right you can't!”
There was a pause, and then, “Fine, we'll leave without you!” The hatch started closing.
“WHAT?” That might not be the worst possible outcome, as he could still have an audience with the Karlacks, but where would he sleep at night? And where could he poop without the fear that someone was collecting his feces for analysis and study? Then he had an idea.
“Dash, off my back and stay here!” He didn't even wait for Dash to let go and the avian tumbled off. He shot towards the hatch, which slowed its closing, and landed – right on the edge, where it would crush him if it closed. It stopped moving.
“What are you doing?” Ah, there was the source of the voice. The other deputy, who'd gotten a bad and unexpected case of agoraphobia after they left the Refuge, so he hadn't left the yacht since. Fulcrum had seen him so little, even with the cramped conditions in the ship, that he couldn't even remember the deputy's name. It was amazing that he (or she?) had even made it past the airlock. “We can't close the hatch!”
“Yes you can,” said Fulcrum, with a squawk. “But that would kill me. Or you could leave the hatch open and the two of us will die as we exit the atmosphere, and the ship might take some damage too. Or maybe we could stay put. What's more important to you, fleeing like a coward, or keeping me alive? The Refuge won't like it if you do the former, and if you don't do the latter, the Bragulans won't be happy, and we could really use an alliance with them right now. Yacht, I know you hear me!”
“What do you want?” the deputy and the yacht both screamed.
“Power down the engines!”
“No! Get off the hatch!”
“I am not moving until the engines are fully powered down.”
“Don't be ridiculous!” the deputy yelled, but the yacht had final decisions on its own engines, so it was already complying.
Then Fulcrum declared, “Also, someone must bring me Dash's medal!”
The entire time Dash had stayed put, more or less, though with the jitteryness that only a bird can have. At first he tried to whistle ditties to himself, mashups of bits of song he'd overheard, but he couldn't concentrate enough on it. He also couldn't hear anything over the engines, but then they shut down and the airlock opened. A Mechanical honor guard (and this was when he noticed that they weren't flanking the hatch as they always had been before) came out, carrying something to Fulcrum; he took it and returned to Dash. It was the Plutonium Badge of the Bragulan Star Empire, last class.
“Dash, hold on to this. It is your ticket to nearly anything at this place.”
“Wh-what-”
“I need you - the Refuge needs you - to stay here for the moment. If the ship takes off, assume that I am dead and you are now the Refuge's ambassador to Bragule. Go talk to Colonel Frygirzy at the central security directorate – wave that badge around if need be to get to him – and tell him that I send my regards. He should be able to fill you in for nearly everything you need to know and can take you to the people who can fill in the rest.”
“But-”
“I know you don't want to do this. I don't want to put this weight on you either. But our duty to the whole is paramount, above any personal loyalties.”
Dash's feathers fluffed a moment as he shivered. “I understand. But if the ship doesn't take off, I'll wait here, as long as it takes.”
“Good bird,” said Fulcrum, and he turned back to the yacht.
As he stepped just onto the edge of the hatch, he informed them of what he had told Dash, “in case any of you are planning some sort of trickery, like keeping me in the airlock while you fly away.”
He stepped through the hatch, and it closed behind him. Then he entered the airlock. The disinfectant cycle started, but not the engines. Then it finished and Fulcum stepped inside.
“Bring me Slate,” he said.
One of many sad sights in the universe is that of a hulking robot super-soldier whimpering in fear. The significantly smaller Fulcrum glared at him. “What did you tell them?”
They waited for forty seconds before Slate blurted, “Gods!”
Fulcrum's insides knotted, just as any Refugee's would at the thought of their presence, but he didn't show anything. One of many advantages of having no facial expressions beyond 'fierce.' “Explain.”
“Shroom! Of the Lost! She's...she's wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“She feels wrong. Like the things that obey and toil for the gods!”
Nothing could be heard but breathing and the background sounds of the yacht's operation, until Fulcrum said, “That's it?”
“What?”
“That's it. She felt wrong. Did you sensors pick up anything? Exotic impossible particles, rents in reality, anything like that?”
“No...”
“Did you even do a scan?”
“...no.”
“Of course not. You were too busy screaming your little head off and running over innocent bystanders to ascertain the true nature of their emissary. Dash and I could have been in extra-mortal danger, and you abandoned us.” In his shame, Slate tried to creep away, but a wall was in the way. “So we don't know. Oh, and how about that hab of ours? The one in orbit passively scanning everything around? Have they picked up anything?” Silence. “Have they?”
“No,” said the yacht.
“So with no evidence, just your own hysterical fears, you were ready to flee like the Hhlixess.” All who heard him winced; it was a low blow, though a deserved one. “Perhaps we are in grave danger. We don't know. Even if we are, we must face it as did those of the Most Noble Sacrifice. Do you remember what my ancestor* the Silver Commodore Pwis-Gredek said? 'No matter how strong, the worries of the individual can never override the well-being of the thousands**.'
“Without even knowing the truth, just based on the rantings of a single deranged and terrible bodyguard, you were willing to abandon your responsibilities, your oaths, your duties to the Refuge. You knew there were dangers if you ventured Outside, but all of you volunteered. You volunteered. Maybe if you were all conscripts, forced into this against your wills, I might understand, but you knew the risks and chose to do this anyway, for the greater good of the Refuge.”
Fulcrum actually understood very well what they were feeling; it was a struggle for him to not befoul the deck right then and there and keep his voice steady. But it had to be done, for all the tens of billions back home. He shrieked and continued, “Before the jump, before our great division, were any of you of the Soaring Plasma fleet?” He waited until everyone had confirmed that they were not before continuing, “my clan was,* and our ship was there when the emissary of the gods flickered through to our space.* I was a juvenile then, barely past my first molt. Out of the corner of one of my eyes I saw it,* what could only have been a planet-long tendril of un-space, impossible geometry, before it flickered away.
“You know what I did not see at the Lost pavilion? Impossible geometry of a planet-long tendril of un-space, or similar Horrors from beyond. You know what I did see? A purple humanoid in a black leather catsuit***.”
He was interrupted by an underling, a communications 'bot. “The hab is ready to leave orbit; they're waiting on our signal. What should I tell them?”
“Tell them to stay in their designated orbit and proceed as normal!” and Fulcrum punctuated it with a squawk. “We will all proceed as normal, or at least make an effort to appear so. Not even an emergency transmission. We will send ours as scheduled, but with the notes on the Lost embedded in the encryption. Tell the hab to make the Lost their top priority for monitoring, but otherwise everything stays the same, prospective shoppers and everything. We must determine if the Lost are a threat. If they are, we will not indicate that we know so, to give us more time to monitor them. If they are not, we will not embarrass ourselves like Melody's team. She's still trying to clean that mess up.”
The communications 'bot interrupted him again. “Excellency, we are receiving an Outside transmission from-”
“I'll take that. Earpiece.” He placed it over his ear hole so the others could only hear his end.
“This is Ambassador Fulcrum of the Refuge...yes...Most sincere apologies. It was a...cultural misunderstanding.* My people misinterpreted something others would consider to be normal and harmless* as a deadly threat. I assure you, I am educating them on that right now. Was anything disrupted by our accident? ...That is fortunate...that would have been most regrettable, yes...indeed...your understanding and magnanimity are an honor to your Imperator and your people...my deepest thanks to you all...I will be there shortly...yes...Fulcrum out.” He set down the earpiece. “It looks like we do have some embarrassment, and I must go Out to clear it*. While I am gone, I encourage all of you to remember your duties and the example of the Most Noble Sacrifice, and don't do anything foolish.”
Dash was still loyally waiting where Fulcrum had left him, whistling a march made from four others and dreaming up schemes to rescue the eagle with a brigade of penal troopers and cubs when he exited the yacht.
“That didn't take long,” Dash said.
“It was nothing,*” Fulcrum replied. “Just a small misunderstanding,* and it's fine now.* I had nothing else planned for today, so I am interested in trying some of that...snow cream...that I have seen.”
“Ooh, that sounds good!”
“For cultural studies*, of course.”
“Right, right, for cultural studies only*. I get ya!”
Then they spent some time figuring out how to bring the plutonium medal with them, in the hopes of getting a freebee.
*This is a lie.
**Fulcrum is misremembering the quote, badly.
***He isn't entirely sure what a catsuit is.
Part 2:
A little bit later...
Part 3:
Fulcrum wielded an aggregate's body in one of his feet. He had been waving it around for many long minutes as he screamed them down, then lectured them again. “That all being said, the next person who tries to start the engines to fly away, and Yacht I mean you too, will find out what happens to your soul when you die! Do we have an understanding?”
“Peep!” said the body, as Fulcrum squeezed a bit too hard.
“And the rest of you?”
“Yes!”
“Good.” He let the body go. It plopped on the ground and then rolled away to join the rest of herself, and then the whole group squirmed away before Fulcrum had another idea. “We were monitoring it, and the hab was monitoring it. Did we get a scan this time?”
“Affirmative!” said the yacht. “Both of us!”
“And what did you find?”
“...nothing.”
“...nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean by nothing?”
“Sensors detected no theologically-unsound anomalies during the weapons test.”
That was still unsettling, but, “Well then, what are we all so panicked about? Ahahah is the hab maintaining orbit as usual?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” I'm glad they didn't lose their heads. “Tell them to continue their monitoring of the Lost. Apparently it's not unsound, but it's still exotic technology. If it really is safe we might want some of it ourselves. At the least we want to know how to counter it, in the event that we have to fight it.” And that was all he had. Fulcrum hadn't expected the answer he'd heard either. Unfortunately, they were all still waiting for him. That made him shriek. “Get back to work!” Everyone, organic or not, scurried away.
Fulcrum sighed.
He'd come to BEEEF expecting...what?
Well, that was what he had hoped for. Also cake. Fish cake. Shaped like fish, even! How decadent!
But no, he had been expecting something terrible.
And that was his mission. The Refuge was threatened by the nearby organic replicators, far too close. He was to...do something about that, to the Refuge's benefit. The Lost were a hypothetical danger. The Karlack Swarm was clear and present. Buy time to get more ships built, fake treaty of nonaggression, real treaty of nonaggression, rips its heart out with his own beak and talons, anything.
He wasn't about to let Panic Node get in his way.
"Communications! In the next regular transmission, tell them to send a ship. Bring in some military! I don't care if they're Contact-affiliated or not. I don't care if they've had any training. I want people made of sterner stuff, who won't panic at the slightest rumor. Anyone who doesn't want to stay here can take that ship out."
...and maybe, just maybe, he'd get a fish-shaped fish cake too.
Vlyadibragstok, Southeastern Severnaya Sector / just beyond Northwestern Lena Sector
Unreal Time / October-December 3400
Part 1:
“Thank you, Shroomanists!” Fulcrum shouted.
“You're awesome!” added Dash.
They beamed at the last complement. “No problemo, giant birdie heroes!”
With the Shroomanist NUERSEs handling the casualties (fortunately not many) the avians could continue their search for the errand guard.
“Buncha wreckage, trail of destruction that might be from Slate, but rampages happen every other day so dunno.” He landed and gasped for breath.
“If he's not already heading for the yacht, he's causing trouble elsewhere and we could use the yacht's communications for handling that. We must hurry, and I know you have your dignity, but sometimes we must swallow our pride for the greater good, so...”
Like this, but instead of Epaulette, it's Dash, and instead of a red-tailed hawk, it's Fulcrum. Incidentally, Epaulette was, for a very short time, a flight instructor, so this may have happened once.
“Dash, hanging on back there?”
“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!”
“Oh good!”
When they arrived at the yacht, it was just starting to power up the main engines. Fulcrum shrieked. “HALT! STOP!”
“Get in here! We're taking off!” yelled someone from inside the hatch.
“NO! You are not taking off!”
“We can't leave without you!”
“Damn right you can't!”
There was a pause, and then, “Fine, we'll leave without you!” The hatch started closing.
“WHAT?” That might not be the worst possible outcome, as he could still have an audience with the Karlacks, but where would he sleep at night? And where could he poop without the fear that someone was collecting his feces for analysis and study? Then he had an idea.
“Dash, off my back and stay here!” He didn't even wait for Dash to let go and the avian tumbled off. He shot towards the hatch, which slowed its closing, and landed – right on the edge, where it would crush him if it closed. It stopped moving.
“What are you doing?” Ah, there was the source of the voice. The other deputy, who'd gotten a bad and unexpected case of agoraphobia after they left the Refuge, so he hadn't left the yacht since. Fulcrum had seen him so little, even with the cramped conditions in the ship, that he couldn't even remember the deputy's name. It was amazing that he (or she?) had even made it past the airlock. “We can't close the hatch!”
“Yes you can,” said Fulcrum, with a squawk. “But that would kill me. Or you could leave the hatch open and the two of us will die as we exit the atmosphere, and the ship might take some damage too. Or maybe we could stay put. What's more important to you, fleeing like a coward, or keeping me alive? The Refuge won't like it if you do the former, and if you don't do the latter, the Bragulans won't be happy, and we could really use an alliance with them right now. Yacht, I know you hear me!”
“What do you want?” the deputy and the yacht both screamed.
“Power down the engines!”
“No! Get off the hatch!”
“I am not moving until the engines are fully powered down.”
“Don't be ridiculous!” the deputy yelled, but the yacht had final decisions on its own engines, so it was already complying.
Then Fulcrum declared, “Also, someone must bring me Dash's medal!”
The entire time Dash had stayed put, more or less, though with the jitteryness that only a bird can have. At first he tried to whistle ditties to himself, mashups of bits of song he'd overheard, but he couldn't concentrate enough on it. He also couldn't hear anything over the engines, but then they shut down and the airlock opened. A Mechanical honor guard (and this was when he noticed that they weren't flanking the hatch as they always had been before) came out, carrying something to Fulcrum; he took it and returned to Dash. It was the Plutonium Badge of the Bragulan Star Empire, last class.
“Dash, hold on to this. It is your ticket to nearly anything at this place.”
“Wh-what-”
“I need you - the Refuge needs you - to stay here for the moment. If the ship takes off, assume that I am dead and you are now the Refuge's ambassador to Bragule. Go talk to Colonel Frygirzy at the central security directorate – wave that badge around if need be to get to him – and tell him that I send my regards. He should be able to fill you in for nearly everything you need to know and can take you to the people who can fill in the rest.”
“But-”
“I know you don't want to do this. I don't want to put this weight on you either. But our duty to the whole is paramount, above any personal loyalties.”
Dash's feathers fluffed a moment as he shivered. “I understand. But if the ship doesn't take off, I'll wait here, as long as it takes.”
“Good bird,” said Fulcrum, and he turned back to the yacht.
As he stepped just onto the edge of the hatch, he informed them of what he had told Dash, “in case any of you are planning some sort of trickery, like keeping me in the airlock while you fly away.”
He stepped through the hatch, and it closed behind him. Then he entered the airlock. The disinfectant cycle started, but not the engines. Then it finished and Fulcum stepped inside.
“Bring me Slate,” he said.
One of many sad sights in the universe is that of a hulking robot super-soldier whimpering in fear. The significantly smaller Fulcrum glared at him. “What did you tell them?”
They waited for forty seconds before Slate blurted, “Gods!”
Fulcrum's insides knotted, just as any Refugee's would at the thought of their presence, but he didn't show anything. One of many advantages of having no facial expressions beyond 'fierce.' “Explain.”
“Shroom! Of the Lost! She's...she's wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“She feels wrong. Like the things that obey and toil for the gods!”
Nothing could be heard but breathing and the background sounds of the yacht's operation, until Fulcrum said, “That's it?”
“What?”
“That's it. She felt wrong. Did you sensors pick up anything? Exotic impossible particles, rents in reality, anything like that?”
“No...”
“Did you even do a scan?”
“...no.”
“Of course not. You were too busy screaming your little head off and running over innocent bystanders to ascertain the true nature of their emissary. Dash and I could have been in extra-mortal danger, and you abandoned us.” In his shame, Slate tried to creep away, but a wall was in the way. “So we don't know. Oh, and how about that hab of ours? The one in orbit passively scanning everything around? Have they picked up anything?” Silence. “Have they?”
“No,” said the yacht.
“So with no evidence, just your own hysterical fears, you were ready to flee like the Hhlixess.” All who heard him winced; it was a low blow, though a deserved one. “Perhaps we are in grave danger. We don't know. Even if we are, we must face it as did those of the Most Noble Sacrifice. Do you remember what my ancestor* the Silver Commodore Pwis-Gredek said? 'No matter how strong, the worries of the individual can never override the well-being of the thousands**.'
“Without even knowing the truth, just based on the rantings of a single deranged and terrible bodyguard, you were willing to abandon your responsibilities, your oaths, your duties to the Refuge. You knew there were dangers if you ventured Outside, but all of you volunteered. You volunteered. Maybe if you were all conscripts, forced into this against your wills, I might understand, but you knew the risks and chose to do this anyway, for the greater good of the Refuge.”
Fulcrum actually understood very well what they were feeling; it was a struggle for him to not befoul the deck right then and there and keep his voice steady. But it had to be done, for all the tens of billions back home. He shrieked and continued, “Before the jump, before our great division, were any of you of the Soaring Plasma fleet?” He waited until everyone had confirmed that they were not before continuing, “my clan was,* and our ship was there when the emissary of the gods flickered through to our space.* I was a juvenile then, barely past my first molt. Out of the corner of one of my eyes I saw it,* what could only have been a planet-long tendril of un-space, impossible geometry, before it flickered away.
“You know what I did not see at the Lost pavilion? Impossible geometry of a planet-long tendril of un-space, or similar Horrors from beyond. You know what I did see? A purple humanoid in a black leather catsuit***.”
He was interrupted by an underling, a communications 'bot. “The hab is ready to leave orbit; they're waiting on our signal. What should I tell them?”
“Tell them to stay in their designated orbit and proceed as normal!” and Fulcrum punctuated it with a squawk. “We will all proceed as normal, or at least make an effort to appear so. Not even an emergency transmission. We will send ours as scheduled, but with the notes on the Lost embedded in the encryption. Tell the hab to make the Lost their top priority for monitoring, but otherwise everything stays the same, prospective shoppers and everything. We must determine if the Lost are a threat. If they are, we will not indicate that we know so, to give us more time to monitor them. If they are not, we will not embarrass ourselves like Melody's team. She's still trying to clean that mess up.”
The communications 'bot interrupted him again. “Excellency, we are receiving an Outside transmission from-”
“I'll take that. Earpiece.” He placed it over his ear hole so the others could only hear his end.
“This is Ambassador Fulcrum of the Refuge...yes...Most sincere apologies. It was a...cultural misunderstanding.* My people misinterpreted something others would consider to be normal and harmless* as a deadly threat. I assure you, I am educating them on that right now. Was anything disrupted by our accident? ...That is fortunate...that would have been most regrettable, yes...indeed...your understanding and magnanimity are an honor to your Imperator and your people...my deepest thanks to you all...I will be there shortly...yes...Fulcrum out.” He set down the earpiece. “It looks like we do have some embarrassment, and I must go Out to clear it*. While I am gone, I encourage all of you to remember your duties and the example of the Most Noble Sacrifice, and don't do anything foolish.”
Dash was still loyally waiting where Fulcrum had left him, whistling a march made from four others and dreaming up schemes to rescue the eagle with a brigade of penal troopers and cubs when he exited the yacht.
“That didn't take long,” Dash said.
“It was nothing,*” Fulcrum replied. “Just a small misunderstanding,* and it's fine now.* I had nothing else planned for today, so I am interested in trying some of that...snow cream...that I have seen.”
“Ooh, that sounds good!”
“For cultural studies*, of course.”
“Right, right, for cultural studies only*. I get ya!”
Then they spent some time figuring out how to bring the plutonium medal with them, in the hopes of getting a freebee.
*This is a lie.
**Fulcrum is misremembering the quote, badly.
***He isn't entirely sure what a catsuit is.
Part 2:
A little bit later...
“...aw crap,” said Fulcrum.Previously in SDNW4 wrote:The dozens of warheads sped closer and closer to their target. The alienoid dignitaries aboard the ships shook their heads sadly, or, perhaps cackled in glee as the vegemite-enhanced bragnukes touched the ship….and flew right through it, continuing on as if nothing had happened. On they flew into deep space as the amazed dignitaries stared at their instruments in shock, refusing to believe their eyes, for the alien ship remained unscathed. So focused they were on what they had seen that they failed to realize that the show was still far from over. No one was sure how it happened, but somehow, the missiles that were one moment heading away from the planet suddenly were headed towards it with the same velocity.
Part 3:
Fulcrum wielded an aggregate's body in one of his feet. He had been waving it around for many long minutes as he screamed them down, then lectured them again. “That all being said, the next person who tries to start the engines to fly away, and Yacht I mean you too, will find out what happens to your soul when you die! Do we have an understanding?”
“Peep!” said the body, as Fulcrum squeezed a bit too hard.
“And the rest of you?”
“Yes!”
“Good.” He let the body go. It plopped on the ground and then rolled away to join the rest of herself, and then the whole group squirmed away before Fulcrum had another idea. “We were monitoring it, and the hab was monitoring it. Did we get a scan this time?”
“Affirmative!” said the yacht. “Both of us!”
“And what did you find?”
“...nothing.”
“...nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean by nothing?”
“Sensors detected no theologically-unsound anomalies during the weapons test.”
That was still unsettling, but, “Well then, what are we all so panicked about? Ahahah is the hab maintaining orbit as usual?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” I'm glad they didn't lose their heads. “Tell them to continue their monitoring of the Lost. Apparently it's not unsound, but it's still exotic technology. If it really is safe we might want some of it ourselves. At the least we want to know how to counter it, in the event that we have to fight it.” And that was all he had. Fulcrum hadn't expected the answer he'd heard either. Unfortunately, they were all still waiting for him. That made him shriek. “Get back to work!” Everyone, organic or not, scurried away.
Fulcrum sighed.
But no, he had been expecting something terrible.
"Communications! In the next regular transmission, tell them to send a ship. Bring in some military! I don't care if they're Contact-affiliated or not. I don't care if they've had any training. I want people made of sterner stuff, who won't panic at the slightest rumor. Anyone who doesn't want to stay here can take that ship out."
...and maybe, just maybe, he'd get a fish-shaped fish cake too.
DPDarkPrimus is my boyfriend!
SDNW4 Nation: The Refuge And, on Nova Terra, Al-Stan the Totally and Completely Honest and Legitimate Weapons Dealer and Used Starship Salesman slept on a bed made of money, with a blaster under his pillow and his sombrero pulled over his face. This is to say, he slept very well indeed.
SDNW4 Nation: The Refuge And, on Nova Terra, Al-Stan the Totally and Completely Honest and Legitimate Weapons Dealer and Used Starship Salesman slept on a bed made of money, with a blaster under his pillow and his sombrero pulled over his face. This is to say, he slept very well indeed.
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
NISA'S SOLARIAN ADVENTURE (Part 2)
It took Nisa a short while to realize she was hopelessly lost.
She’d just been trying to avoid getting wrapped up in the suppression of the club brawl. But she hadn’t been careful where she was walking, and now she found herself surrounded by Humans who appraised her with suspicion as she walked along their streets. The signs were all in different lettering, which she didn’t recognize. When she tried to talk to people they grumbled in another language. Mind-reading she tried to avoid, and even then... most people thought in their own languages, so unless she was fortunate and found someone willing to think in English or in imagery, it wouldn’t do any good.
The buildings in this part of the Sprawl were grouped closer together, and reached higher into the sky, blotting out most of the sun. The lighting seemed more subdued, and the architecture was... Nisa didn’t quite know the word for it, but it just seemed oppressive. It was a far cry from the gaudy neon of the nightclub: brutal angles, lit only by harsh floodlights, the only soft illumination used to cast ominous shadows on stone statues of angry looking men carrying big swords or unfeasibly big guns. SEKTOR HABITATIO XI - IIXX pointed one sign written in stark white capitals. BASILICA MINOR FERRUM ETERNA pointed another with gilded letters. Nisa had no idea what either of them meant, but she didn’t particularly feel like going to any of those places so she kept walking straight ahead, passing row after row of gloomy shops that seemed remarkable only in the absolute lack of the typical glaring Solarian advertisements, being instead marked only with spartan lettering that said thigns like ‘TONSOR’ or ‘SUPRA VENALICIUM’ or ‘ARMAMENTORIUM’. The last one sold the same kind of unreasonably large personal side-arms that all the statues were carrying. Nisa hurried past, coming finally to the only ostentatious sight anywhere in the gray fibcrete jungle -- a large statue almost five stories high, rising up from a reservoir of water and lit by at least half a dozen spotlights.
At the bottom of the statue were heaps of creatures cast in rusting iron, which Nisa believed had to represent various alien species of the galaxy. The artist hadn’t done a very good job on them: the Apexai’s head was far too large; the Pfhor had outrageously large claws and features so twisted they were totally asymmetrical and the Tau, well, the less said about it the better. Looking at the massive statue she for a moment wondered if the aliens were meant to be impressionistic representations - Nisa had picked up the term from a Solarian art program she’d watched one day when her father and Mr. Hank had been busy arguing (again) - but that didn’t make much sense, because the rest of the statue was perfectly anatomically correct. Or at least insofar as she could tell, because the rest of the statue was one giant man done up in crass, jewel-encrusted gold, wearing a massive suit of archaic powered armor. The floodlights were arranged in such a way to create a clumsy halo effect behind his head, and he wielded a sword that was pointed down at the aliens on which he had firmly planted his gold-shod boots (which Nisa thought wasn’t a very nice thing of him to do). When she looked closer, she realized the tip of the sword was actually embedded inside the grossly deformed skull of the Tau.
It totally weirded her out. Who would want such a not-nice statue in their neighborhood? She glanced at the dedication plaque but it was, again, in a language she didn’t understand. It said something about a IMPERATOR PIUS AUGUSTUS HOMINIS who was LAURIFER MAXIMUS SUPER OMNIS ALIENIGENA, whatever that meant...
Unbeknowst even to herself, Nisa wandered deeper and deeper into Little New Holy Terra, the heart of the Byzantine expat community on Solaris. She didn’t feel unsafe though: the people on the street seemed kind of gruff and stand-offish (except when they were making weird bird-shaped signs at any of the countless statues on the buildings, when they suddenly looked hella devout) at least in comparison with the usually boisterous Solarians, but their crusty seriousness kind of reminded Nisa of home amongst the Yildiz of Toutaine. And they seemed mostly focused on going about their own business, not sparing much attention for the lone girl that wandered through their neighborhood.
Nisa’s senses were starting to become alert to something nebulous. She could sense something was wrong, distant thoughts out of focus. Not simply the controlled thoughts of those around her but someone willingly “reserving” their thoughts from psionic detection. A vacuum, in which a glance of her head revealed a male figure in a black suit, his eyes obscured by sunglasses. People were shying away from him; Nisa could sense their growing apprehension.
She quickened her pace, not sure where she was going. But he was there, he was always there. And people were shying away from her too, now, as if they realized she was being hunted.
This was not good.
Nisa fled around a corner, and there he was, suddenly in front of her. “Good afternoon, Miss Nisa Tari,” the man greeted her, his voice completely devoid of inflection. There was something about his attitude, the way he carried himself - an aura of authority quite unlike anything she’d ever encountered before. The third button of his black jacket was made of a strange crystal, pitch-dark and somehow hypnotic to look at. Her hand drifted toward the hilt of her beamsaber. The man smiled, a contortion that looked fake and plastic-y, as if his face hadn’t been designed with that sort of expression in mind. “Oh, I’m positive there’s no need for that.”
There was something very wrong going on here, and Nisa began to wonder - and not for the first time - if she had made a mistake coming down to the surface. “How do you know my name? Why are you following me?”
The man reached inside his jacket and produced a purse of black leather. He folded it open, and holographic credentials flickered into existence. There was at least some memetic component to the hologram, because even though she did not recognize the all-seeing-eye, she was instantly aware that this was an agent of CEID, the dreaded Solarian intelligence directorate. That explained at least the sunglasses and the suit - they looked just like in the movies. “We know your name because we have an interest in you. And I am following you because I would like to ask you a few questions.” He wasn’t asking, not really - Nisa could tell that much.
A name slipped in his thoughts, whether intentionally or from an actual moment of unguarded thought Nisa couldn’t tell. “You’re following me because of Mr. Hank?”
A shadow of irritation fluttered across the man’s features. “Amongst other things. Why are you staying at his villa?”
Nisa was, for the most part, unfamiliar with the underlying tensions between Sidney and his own government, especially its secretive, heavy-handed intelligence service. She had no concept of hiding what appeared to be “harmless” information from people who could take even the smallest thing and make a weapon out of it. Therefore she did answer directly and plainly. “He is a friend of my father’s and we have no where else to go at this time. Why do you care?”
The agent’s face settled into a mask of careful neutrality. “Because Mr. Hank is a very difficult man to get a handle on.” His mind was a hardened barrier of blackest obsidian and her mental probes skittered off it. It made Nisa suspect the earlier flutter of surface thoughts had been precisely arranged to expedite their conversation. The agent changed the subject as if he didn’t even notice her telepathic attacks. “Who is your father?”
“Nobody of importance,” she answered, feeling flustered and irritated. “What have we done that you feel the need to question me about us? Father and I are just visitors to Mr. Hank’s home, that is all.”
“Information is power, Miss Nisa Tari,” the man said as if it was obvious. “And power is our profession. Mr. Hank does not entertain ‘just visitors’. We know for a fact that he has not had any for as long as he has lived in the villa, which is longer than this Sovereignty has existed. This makes the two of you special. We want to know why. According to our psychological profile he is unlikely to be attracted to you so it must have been to do with your father. Therefore, he cannot be ‘nobody of importance’. What is his relation with Mr. Hank?”
“They are old friends,” Nisa answered, after which she tried to step around the CEID man.
He moved to block her way. “Old friends since when?”
“Since before I was born. Now, I would like to continue with my visit to your planet. Among my people guests receive better respect than any you have given me,” Nisa said testily before trying to sidestep him again. She felt an impulse to force him out of the way, but held back. She was not sure why she was reacting restrained around him, but she felt that such was the only way to be safe.
“You are not being cooperative, Miss Nisa Tari.” A trace of acrimony had crept into his voice as he moved yet again to block her way. The psychic void that was the man’s mind deepened, and with it the hypnotic properties of the black crystal thickened to the point where Nisa had difficulty turning her eyes away from the stygian crystal. He spoke with an almost narcotic cadence now. “I suppose that is something you have in common with Mr. Hank. But don’t worry, we have ways of-”
“Ways of doing what, G-man?” a rasping voice challenged. The vanishing of the psychic numbness from Nisa’s mind was as sudden as if someone had pulled a sack from over her head. She gasped for breath, startled - but not as startled as the agent himself, who jerked around to face two new arrivals in the alley.
Nisa had seen Zigonians before, though she wasn’t sure what they were here to do. They were big though, much bigger than she or even the agent - mountains of scaled muscle covered in flexible tunics and ridged with bright multi-colored feathers, with beady reptilian eyes that looked at the man in the black suit with unrestrained suspicion and quite a big of anger. Their minds were very alien and hard to feel. What she did sense, however, was quite a bit of hostility, and not toward her. The two aliens stomped into the alley, forked tongues flicking bellicosely. Nisa didn’t know quite how she knew it, but she suddenly realized the two Zigonians were doing their species’ equivalent of flipping the CEID agent the bird. The biggest of the two aliens plodded over to Nisa, his footsteps heavy enough to shake the earth a little. “Is this man harassing you, miss?” He drew out each ‘s’ in a typically reptilian way.
“You are interfering with an-” the agent began, his voice now clearly annoyed, but the other Zigonian, his chameleonic scales turning a hostile yellow, cut him off. “Yes, yes, ‘police business’, ‘national security’, yada yada. We know all about your buzzwords, G-man, and because you like them so much I have two for you too.” He reached inside his tunic and produced a badge not entirely unlike the one the agent had flashed earlier, although this one was bound in white leather instead. Deftly manipulating the badge, which looked positively tiny in his gnarled Zigonian claws, the alien projected a complex web of holographic lines into the air, which slowly resolved into an elaborate cross. “Diplomatic immunity. We are sanctified agents of His Holiness Crocodilus Pontifex, the Pope of Space, Primate of the Zigonian Catholic Church, here on a mission from God.”
As if to illustrate his fellow alien’s words, the Zigonian nearest to Nisa put a protective claw on her shoulder. The agent glared at him, then at the one who had produced the credentials. “This is nonsense. The Holy See has no business with this girl!”
The nearest Zigonian let out a fit of hissing reptilian laughter. “The Chuch has business with every living soul, G-Man. She is under pontifical protection, and if you have an issue with that you can take it up with your government. They can protest with the Cardinal Secretary of State, who I’m sure will be happy to explain our actions of blessed benevolence in terms your infidelic mind can comprehend. If you’re quick you may even get an answer in under ten years!” He made a little wave. “Now shoo! Move along, or you’ll have a diplomatic incident on your hands.”
The CEID agent looked positively livid now. He glared at the Zigonians, then at Nisa. “We’ll be seeing each other, Miss Nisa Tari,” he growled, then backed away into a patch of shadows and disappeared.
The Zigonian who had put a claw around Nisa patted her on the back. “But not any time soon.” The alien priest’s voice was full of amusement. He pointed at his companion, whose scales were now returning to their normal rusty-green pattern. “Miss Tari, this is Bishop Gavialis Episkopoi, head of the local bishopric of the Zigonian Catholic Church.” He pointed the claw at himself. “I am Petrosaur Sacerdotium. It is an honour to meet you.”
She bowed her head respectfully. And while the Humans around her might consider the Zigonians to be followers of a debased form of Human Catholicism, to her Yildiz sensibilities the Zigonians were perfectly acceptable co-religionists, fellow followers of the Almighty God; all that really mattered to Yildiz is that one be a monotheist. “I am honored, good sirs,” she said. “I was unsure of what that... person was going to do with me. That crystal of his affected my thinking.”
The Zigonian Bishop looked a bit miffed. “It is a Thinking Crystal, an old Apexai technology. It dulls the mind and the spirit, makes men into sheep. A thing most foul.”
“If I may ask, how is it that I have also come to the attention of your Church and its leadership?”
Gavialis Episkopoi made a gesture indicating the city around them. “We are always looking out for those who are lost,” he said. Nisa got the idea that though he was speaking the truth, it wasn’t quite the whole truth. “But this is not a place for conversations,” the Bishop continued. “Let us go to our Church. It is just around the corner, and they throw the rightiest of parties.”
A look of confusion came to Nisa. “Parties?”
The Cathedral of Saint Saurus the Sinless was a little farther away than ‘around the corner’, but not much. Built on a hilltop just beyond the edge of Little New Holy Terra, its jade spires rose up far above even the Byzantine basilicas, which no doubt annoyed the expatriate Emperor-worshippers immensely. Huge multi-colored spotlights threw whirling patterns of illumination across the facade of the massive church, most of the front of which was decorated with elaborate platinum mosaics portraying the Zigonian version of the stages of the cross -- religious sculptures which glittered as disco balls whenever the lights touched them. Music echoed out of the Cathedral, patterns of slapping strings and analog organs. ”Gimme Jesus in the mooorning” Nisa could hear a Zigonian baritone sing.
”Doo-be-doo-be-doo!” sang a choir of sopranos.
”Gimme Jesus in the eeveniiing,” the baritone sang.
“Shoop-shoo-waaaah!”
“It’s your divine right to rock-on-out!” the baritone commanded.
”Amen!” sang the choir. After that the singing devolved in a crescendo of hooping and hollering Zigonian voices. As the two Zigonian priests and Nisa reached the doors to the Cathedral she could see its interior was the scene of one of the wildest lizard parties she’d ever seen. Nisa hadn’t had the fortune of watching a Zigonian rave-celebration before, but she was pretty sure this was the weirdest religious ceremony she’d ever witnessed. There were lizardoids everywhere, swaying to the music produced by a band of alien priests in the same white tunics Bishop Gavialis was wearing. Silver carafes full of red wine were passed from Zigonian to Zigonian, and a thick fog of incense permeated the marble-clad interior of the cathedral, the ground of which was for some reason mostly covered with white fine-grain sand.
This looked to be more like the kind of festivals that Yamia had told her that her nation’s majority celebrated on Doreia, and they were majority polytheists. Everything here seemed more akin to the Yildiz perception of how debased polytheists practiced religion as opposed to the more orderly rituals of prayer that she was familiar with. But while it was disconcerting, she found it intriguing as well, and remembered well her biological father’s words that “there are many ways to worship”. And in this moment she was reminded of how Sadik’s uncle would sometimes visit the homestead and tell her, as a child not yet ten years old, of times when holy men did, actually, sing and shout praises such as this, overcome by their joy in feeling a connection to the Almighty.
“This is our church,” said Bishop Gavialis. From the recesses of his robe he had produced a small microphone that amplified his voice and sent it ringing through even the deepest recesses of the giant cathedral. “This is where we heal our hurts.”*
The crowd, and somehow the Cathedral itself responded to the words of their celebrant. Thick electronic beats rumbled through the crowd. “All the subtle flavors of our lives are become bitter seeds and poisoned leaves without Him,” the Bishop continued. “He represents what’s true. The power to begin again. From right now, in Him. We come one.”**
The Zigonians went berserk. The party kicked into overdrive.
Nisa found herself dancing slightly with the beat, despite herself. Her mind slowed and became fuzzy while the music slipped into her head, something that took a life of its own.
The party became a blur, but even as it went on she realized something was off. Her mind wasn’t working right. Her reserve was failing and her senses began to play tricks on her. She thought she recognized the sensation to an extent, remembering the smoke from the meeting house in Jeziri when Sadik would bring her with him into town. But this effect was more concentrated than that, stronger...
A part of her wanted to stay, to enjoy this form of worship, but a greater part of her felt wrong about how it effected her mind. She gradually drifted toward the door, unnoticed by those who had offered their protection, as caught up as they were in their celebration. Her ears rang uncomfortably even after she stumbled out of the door and, half-stoned out of her mind, began walking down a street, not heeding or even thinking of where she was going.
End Part 2
* From Faithless - God is a DJ
** From Faithless - We Come One
It took Nisa a short while to realize she was hopelessly lost.
She’d just been trying to avoid getting wrapped up in the suppression of the club brawl. But she hadn’t been careful where she was walking, and now she found herself surrounded by Humans who appraised her with suspicion as she walked along their streets. The signs were all in different lettering, which she didn’t recognize. When she tried to talk to people they grumbled in another language. Mind-reading she tried to avoid, and even then... most people thought in their own languages, so unless she was fortunate and found someone willing to think in English or in imagery, it wouldn’t do any good.
The buildings in this part of the Sprawl were grouped closer together, and reached higher into the sky, blotting out most of the sun. The lighting seemed more subdued, and the architecture was... Nisa didn’t quite know the word for it, but it just seemed oppressive. It was a far cry from the gaudy neon of the nightclub: brutal angles, lit only by harsh floodlights, the only soft illumination used to cast ominous shadows on stone statues of angry looking men carrying big swords or unfeasibly big guns. SEKTOR HABITATIO XI - IIXX pointed one sign written in stark white capitals. BASILICA MINOR FERRUM ETERNA pointed another with gilded letters. Nisa had no idea what either of them meant, but she didn’t particularly feel like going to any of those places so she kept walking straight ahead, passing row after row of gloomy shops that seemed remarkable only in the absolute lack of the typical glaring Solarian advertisements, being instead marked only with spartan lettering that said thigns like ‘TONSOR’ or ‘SUPRA VENALICIUM’ or ‘ARMAMENTORIUM’. The last one sold the same kind of unreasonably large personal side-arms that all the statues were carrying. Nisa hurried past, coming finally to the only ostentatious sight anywhere in the gray fibcrete jungle -- a large statue almost five stories high, rising up from a reservoir of water and lit by at least half a dozen spotlights.
At the bottom of the statue were heaps of creatures cast in rusting iron, which Nisa believed had to represent various alien species of the galaxy. The artist hadn’t done a very good job on them: the Apexai’s head was far too large; the Pfhor had outrageously large claws and features so twisted they were totally asymmetrical and the Tau, well, the less said about it the better. Looking at the massive statue she for a moment wondered if the aliens were meant to be impressionistic representations - Nisa had picked up the term from a Solarian art program she’d watched one day when her father and Mr. Hank had been busy arguing (again) - but that didn’t make much sense, because the rest of the statue was perfectly anatomically correct. Or at least insofar as she could tell, because the rest of the statue was one giant man done up in crass, jewel-encrusted gold, wearing a massive suit of archaic powered armor. The floodlights were arranged in such a way to create a clumsy halo effect behind his head, and he wielded a sword that was pointed down at the aliens on which he had firmly planted his gold-shod boots (which Nisa thought wasn’t a very nice thing of him to do). When she looked closer, she realized the tip of the sword was actually embedded inside the grossly deformed skull of the Tau.
It totally weirded her out. Who would want such a not-nice statue in their neighborhood? She glanced at the dedication plaque but it was, again, in a language she didn’t understand. It said something about a IMPERATOR PIUS AUGUSTUS HOMINIS who was LAURIFER MAXIMUS SUPER OMNIS ALIENIGENA, whatever that meant...
Unbeknowst even to herself, Nisa wandered deeper and deeper into Little New Holy Terra, the heart of the Byzantine expat community on Solaris. She didn’t feel unsafe though: the people on the street seemed kind of gruff and stand-offish (except when they were making weird bird-shaped signs at any of the countless statues on the buildings, when they suddenly looked hella devout) at least in comparison with the usually boisterous Solarians, but their crusty seriousness kind of reminded Nisa of home amongst the Yildiz of Toutaine. And they seemed mostly focused on going about their own business, not sparing much attention for the lone girl that wandered through their neighborhood.
Nisa’s senses were starting to become alert to something nebulous. She could sense something was wrong, distant thoughts out of focus. Not simply the controlled thoughts of those around her but someone willingly “reserving” their thoughts from psionic detection. A vacuum, in which a glance of her head revealed a male figure in a black suit, his eyes obscured by sunglasses. People were shying away from him; Nisa could sense their growing apprehension.
She quickened her pace, not sure where she was going. But he was there, he was always there. And people were shying away from her too, now, as if they realized she was being hunted.
This was not good.
Nisa fled around a corner, and there he was, suddenly in front of her. “Good afternoon, Miss Nisa Tari,” the man greeted her, his voice completely devoid of inflection. There was something about his attitude, the way he carried himself - an aura of authority quite unlike anything she’d ever encountered before. The third button of his black jacket was made of a strange crystal, pitch-dark and somehow hypnotic to look at. Her hand drifted toward the hilt of her beamsaber. The man smiled, a contortion that looked fake and plastic-y, as if his face hadn’t been designed with that sort of expression in mind. “Oh, I’m positive there’s no need for that.”
There was something very wrong going on here, and Nisa began to wonder - and not for the first time - if she had made a mistake coming down to the surface. “How do you know my name? Why are you following me?”
The man reached inside his jacket and produced a purse of black leather. He folded it open, and holographic credentials flickered into existence. There was at least some memetic component to the hologram, because even though she did not recognize the all-seeing-eye, she was instantly aware that this was an agent of CEID, the dreaded Solarian intelligence directorate. That explained at least the sunglasses and the suit - they looked just like in the movies. “We know your name because we have an interest in you. And I am following you because I would like to ask you a few questions.” He wasn’t asking, not really - Nisa could tell that much.
A name slipped in his thoughts, whether intentionally or from an actual moment of unguarded thought Nisa couldn’t tell. “You’re following me because of Mr. Hank?”
A shadow of irritation fluttered across the man’s features. “Amongst other things. Why are you staying at his villa?”
Nisa was, for the most part, unfamiliar with the underlying tensions between Sidney and his own government, especially its secretive, heavy-handed intelligence service. She had no concept of hiding what appeared to be “harmless” information from people who could take even the smallest thing and make a weapon out of it. Therefore she did answer directly and plainly. “He is a friend of my father’s and we have no where else to go at this time. Why do you care?”
The agent’s face settled into a mask of careful neutrality. “Because Mr. Hank is a very difficult man to get a handle on.” His mind was a hardened barrier of blackest obsidian and her mental probes skittered off it. It made Nisa suspect the earlier flutter of surface thoughts had been precisely arranged to expedite their conversation. The agent changed the subject as if he didn’t even notice her telepathic attacks. “Who is your father?”
“Nobody of importance,” she answered, feeling flustered and irritated. “What have we done that you feel the need to question me about us? Father and I are just visitors to Mr. Hank’s home, that is all.”
“Information is power, Miss Nisa Tari,” the man said as if it was obvious. “And power is our profession. Mr. Hank does not entertain ‘just visitors’. We know for a fact that he has not had any for as long as he has lived in the villa, which is longer than this Sovereignty has existed. This makes the two of you special. We want to know why. According to our psychological profile he is unlikely to be attracted to you so it must have been to do with your father. Therefore, he cannot be ‘nobody of importance’. What is his relation with Mr. Hank?”
“They are old friends,” Nisa answered, after which she tried to step around the CEID man.
He moved to block her way. “Old friends since when?”
“Since before I was born. Now, I would like to continue with my visit to your planet. Among my people guests receive better respect than any you have given me,” Nisa said testily before trying to sidestep him again. She felt an impulse to force him out of the way, but held back. She was not sure why she was reacting restrained around him, but she felt that such was the only way to be safe.
“You are not being cooperative, Miss Nisa Tari.” A trace of acrimony had crept into his voice as he moved yet again to block her way. The psychic void that was the man’s mind deepened, and with it the hypnotic properties of the black crystal thickened to the point where Nisa had difficulty turning her eyes away from the stygian crystal. He spoke with an almost narcotic cadence now. “I suppose that is something you have in common with Mr. Hank. But don’t worry, we have ways of-”
“Ways of doing what, G-man?” a rasping voice challenged. The vanishing of the psychic numbness from Nisa’s mind was as sudden as if someone had pulled a sack from over her head. She gasped for breath, startled - but not as startled as the agent himself, who jerked around to face two new arrivals in the alley.
Nisa had seen Zigonians before, though she wasn’t sure what they were here to do. They were big though, much bigger than she or even the agent - mountains of scaled muscle covered in flexible tunics and ridged with bright multi-colored feathers, with beady reptilian eyes that looked at the man in the black suit with unrestrained suspicion and quite a big of anger. Their minds were very alien and hard to feel. What she did sense, however, was quite a bit of hostility, and not toward her. The two aliens stomped into the alley, forked tongues flicking bellicosely. Nisa didn’t know quite how she knew it, but she suddenly realized the two Zigonians were doing their species’ equivalent of flipping the CEID agent the bird. The biggest of the two aliens plodded over to Nisa, his footsteps heavy enough to shake the earth a little. “Is this man harassing you, miss?” He drew out each ‘s’ in a typically reptilian way.
“You are interfering with an-” the agent began, his voice now clearly annoyed, but the other Zigonian, his chameleonic scales turning a hostile yellow, cut him off. “Yes, yes, ‘police business’, ‘national security’, yada yada. We know all about your buzzwords, G-man, and because you like them so much I have two for you too.” He reached inside his tunic and produced a badge not entirely unlike the one the agent had flashed earlier, although this one was bound in white leather instead. Deftly manipulating the badge, which looked positively tiny in his gnarled Zigonian claws, the alien projected a complex web of holographic lines into the air, which slowly resolved into an elaborate cross. “Diplomatic immunity. We are sanctified agents of His Holiness Crocodilus Pontifex, the Pope of Space, Primate of the Zigonian Catholic Church, here on a mission from God.”
As if to illustrate his fellow alien’s words, the Zigonian nearest to Nisa put a protective claw on her shoulder. The agent glared at him, then at the one who had produced the credentials. “This is nonsense. The Holy See has no business with this girl!”
The nearest Zigonian let out a fit of hissing reptilian laughter. “The Chuch has business with every living soul, G-Man. She is under pontifical protection, and if you have an issue with that you can take it up with your government. They can protest with the Cardinal Secretary of State, who I’m sure will be happy to explain our actions of blessed benevolence in terms your infidelic mind can comprehend. If you’re quick you may even get an answer in under ten years!” He made a little wave. “Now shoo! Move along, or you’ll have a diplomatic incident on your hands.”
The CEID agent looked positively livid now. He glared at the Zigonians, then at Nisa. “We’ll be seeing each other, Miss Nisa Tari,” he growled, then backed away into a patch of shadows and disappeared.
The Zigonian who had put a claw around Nisa patted her on the back. “But not any time soon.” The alien priest’s voice was full of amusement. He pointed at his companion, whose scales were now returning to their normal rusty-green pattern. “Miss Tari, this is Bishop Gavialis Episkopoi, head of the local bishopric of the Zigonian Catholic Church.” He pointed the claw at himself. “I am Petrosaur Sacerdotium. It is an honour to meet you.”
She bowed her head respectfully. And while the Humans around her might consider the Zigonians to be followers of a debased form of Human Catholicism, to her Yildiz sensibilities the Zigonians were perfectly acceptable co-religionists, fellow followers of the Almighty God; all that really mattered to Yildiz is that one be a monotheist. “I am honored, good sirs,” she said. “I was unsure of what that... person was going to do with me. That crystal of his affected my thinking.”
The Zigonian Bishop looked a bit miffed. “It is a Thinking Crystal, an old Apexai technology. It dulls the mind and the spirit, makes men into sheep. A thing most foul.”
“If I may ask, how is it that I have also come to the attention of your Church and its leadership?”
Gavialis Episkopoi made a gesture indicating the city around them. “We are always looking out for those who are lost,” he said. Nisa got the idea that though he was speaking the truth, it wasn’t quite the whole truth. “But this is not a place for conversations,” the Bishop continued. “Let us go to our Church. It is just around the corner, and they throw the rightiest of parties.”
A look of confusion came to Nisa. “Parties?”
The Cathedral of Saint Saurus the Sinless was a little farther away than ‘around the corner’, but not much. Built on a hilltop just beyond the edge of Little New Holy Terra, its jade spires rose up far above even the Byzantine basilicas, which no doubt annoyed the expatriate Emperor-worshippers immensely. Huge multi-colored spotlights threw whirling patterns of illumination across the facade of the massive church, most of the front of which was decorated with elaborate platinum mosaics portraying the Zigonian version of the stages of the cross -- religious sculptures which glittered as disco balls whenever the lights touched them. Music echoed out of the Cathedral, patterns of slapping strings and analog organs. ”Gimme Jesus in the mooorning” Nisa could hear a Zigonian baritone sing.
”Doo-be-doo-be-doo!” sang a choir of sopranos.
”Gimme Jesus in the eeveniiing,” the baritone sang.
“Shoop-shoo-waaaah!”
“It’s your divine right to rock-on-out!” the baritone commanded.
”Amen!” sang the choir. After that the singing devolved in a crescendo of hooping and hollering Zigonian voices. As the two Zigonian priests and Nisa reached the doors to the Cathedral she could see its interior was the scene of one of the wildest lizard parties she’d ever seen. Nisa hadn’t had the fortune of watching a Zigonian rave-celebration before, but she was pretty sure this was the weirdest religious ceremony she’d ever witnessed. There were lizardoids everywhere, swaying to the music produced by a band of alien priests in the same white tunics Bishop Gavialis was wearing. Silver carafes full of red wine were passed from Zigonian to Zigonian, and a thick fog of incense permeated the marble-clad interior of the cathedral, the ground of which was for some reason mostly covered with white fine-grain sand.
This looked to be more like the kind of festivals that Yamia had told her that her nation’s majority celebrated on Doreia, and they were majority polytheists. Everything here seemed more akin to the Yildiz perception of how debased polytheists practiced religion as opposed to the more orderly rituals of prayer that she was familiar with. But while it was disconcerting, she found it intriguing as well, and remembered well her biological father’s words that “there are many ways to worship”. And in this moment she was reminded of how Sadik’s uncle would sometimes visit the homestead and tell her, as a child not yet ten years old, of times when holy men did, actually, sing and shout praises such as this, overcome by their joy in feeling a connection to the Almighty.
“This is our church,” said Bishop Gavialis. From the recesses of his robe he had produced a small microphone that amplified his voice and sent it ringing through even the deepest recesses of the giant cathedral. “This is where we heal our hurts.”*
The crowd, and somehow the Cathedral itself responded to the words of their celebrant. Thick electronic beats rumbled through the crowd. “All the subtle flavors of our lives are become bitter seeds and poisoned leaves without Him,” the Bishop continued. “He represents what’s true. The power to begin again. From right now, in Him. We come one.”**
The Zigonians went berserk. The party kicked into overdrive.
Nisa found herself dancing slightly with the beat, despite herself. Her mind slowed and became fuzzy while the music slipped into her head, something that took a life of its own.
The party became a blur, but even as it went on she realized something was off. Her mind wasn’t working right. Her reserve was failing and her senses began to play tricks on her. She thought she recognized the sensation to an extent, remembering the smoke from the meeting house in Jeziri when Sadik would bring her with him into town. But this effect was more concentrated than that, stronger...
A part of her wanted to stay, to enjoy this form of worship, but a greater part of her felt wrong about how it effected her mind. She gradually drifted toward the door, unnoticed by those who had offered their protection, as caught up as they were in their celebration. Her ears rang uncomfortably even after she stumbled out of the door and, half-stoned out of her mind, began walking down a street, not heeding or even thinking of where she was going.
End Part 2
* From Faithless - God is a DJ
** From Faithless - We Come One
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt
"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia
American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.
DONALD J. TRUMP IS A SEDITIOUS TRAITOR AND MUST BE IMPEACHED
"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia
American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.
DONALD J. TRUMP IS A SEDITIOUS TRAITOR AND MUST BE IMPEACHED
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Force Lord
- Jedi Council Member
- Posts: 1562
- Joined: 2008-10-12 05:36pm
- Location: Rio Piedras, San Juan, Puerto Rico
- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
The Central Times
President Kierger announces date for CENINTERN conference
As one of his first acts as leader of the Centrality, Dirad Kierger announced that in January 14 a CENINERN conference would start, and invited "all leaders of Centralist parties from around the interstellar community". The conference will be hosted on Centrum.
CENINTERN was founded in the early 24th century by a faction of Centralists who were frustrated by the Centrality's isolationist policy and wanted a more active expansion of Centralism abroad. They gave structure to foreign Centralist Parties and decided policy on their home nations. The Centrality's attempts to rein in CENINTERN paradoxically gave foreign Centralists more autonomy, and so less amenable to listen to Centrum's directives. Only recently did the Centrality attempt a reconciliation, which though sucessful did not give it any more control over CENINTERN's activities. The January 7 conference may be Centrum's attempt to gain greater influence in CENINTERN.
Centralist Parties from the following states have already announced their participation:
-Aurore
-Belkan Empire
-Estella Real de España
-The Feelipeens
-Emirate of Qumar
-New Aden
-Orange Free System
-Sultanate of el-Janari
-Valkyrate Matriarchy
-Kingdom of Cornelia
Parties from other nations have not yet said if they will send a representative, though there is no reason for them not to do so.
Article written in January 9, 3401.
President Kierger announces date for CENINTERN conference
As one of his first acts as leader of the Centrality, Dirad Kierger announced that in January 14 a CENINERN conference would start, and invited "all leaders of Centralist parties from around the interstellar community". The conference will be hosted on Centrum.
CENINTERN was founded in the early 24th century by a faction of Centralists who were frustrated by the Centrality's isolationist policy and wanted a more active expansion of Centralism abroad. They gave structure to foreign Centralist Parties and decided policy on their home nations. The Centrality's attempts to rein in CENINTERN paradoxically gave foreign Centralists more autonomy, and so less amenable to listen to Centrum's directives. Only recently did the Centrality attempt a reconciliation, which though sucessful did not give it any more control over CENINTERN's activities. The January 7 conference may be Centrum's attempt to gain greater influence in CENINTERN.
Centralist Parties from the following states have already announced their participation:
-Aurore
-Belkan Empire
-Estella Real de España
-The Feelipeens
-Emirate of Qumar
-New Aden
-Orange Free System
-Sultanate of el-Janari
-Valkyrate Matriarchy
-Kingdom of Cornelia
Parties from other nations have not yet said if they will send a representative, though there is no reason for them not to do so.
Article written in January 9, 3401.
An inhabitant from the Island of Cars.
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
The Bragulan Economic Exposition Extravaganza of Friendship (BEEEF)
Vlyadibragstok, Southeastern Severnaya Sector / just beyond Northwestern Lena Sector
Unreal Time / October-December 3400
No matter how corpulent, how fat, any market can become saturated, so clogged with gunk that blood, er, money cannot flow. After every unscrupulous Klavostani businessman (for certain definitions of business) dumped megatons of crap on the MEHites and ran off with multi-megatons of loot, the Happy-Happy Empire's stashes of tradables ran low and anyway the military would already need months to haphazardly weld what they had onto their ships. Slightly more legitimate but slightly slower merchants couldn't even sell their slightly less crappy goods. Meanwhile, the second wave of shady profiteering had begun.
The cries were going out over many sectors, in a wide variety of capitalistic milieu. This one just happened to be by an impromptu stand in a miscellanies section of BEEEF, three lots down from a snow cream cart and four corridors away from the start of the Small Nations pavilions.
“COME ONE, COME ALL! Behold the treasures of the Multiversal Empire of Happiness, spirited from that strange and mysterious place by intrepid Klavostani merchants, and now brought to you for your perusal and ownership!” The lines were different but the intent was the same: to attract people to buy their bits of garbage that were supposedly from the MEH. Who knows? Perhaps a few of those chunks of metal and ceramic in the display cases actually did come from there; someone could do a study of them, and determine that the MEH used metals and ceramics.
And then another couple of lots down, another merchant cried out, “Do not settle for mere items, for I have, in my Tunnel of Mystery,” and he gestured at something that could charitably be called a tunnel, made by throwing a black tarp over a frame, “holos taken in the Multiversal Empire of Happiness! Behold their bizarre and decadent ways!”
On cue one of his employees stepped out and said, all too loudly and with a minimum of acting talent, “They are so fat!”
As people entered the line to walk through the tunnel (which conveniently ended by a display of questionably-of-MEH-origin items for sale) the first merchant screamed, “Akmed, you defiler of virgin pigs! You thief! You are the one who stole my holo displays!”
“You are a liar, Zuehb! I stole no such thing! And you should have kept backups anyway!”
And so Zuehb in his rage grabbed the first thing within his reach, which was a slightly twisted rod that he had been trying to sell for a low, low price, and charged at his rival, ululating. Akmed grabbed the nearest thing within his reach, a giant blaster, and used it as a club to defend himself, as the blaster was broken beyond repair. The two flailed at each other. They were watched by gawkers, attracted by the sound and eating snow cream (indeed, the snow cream seller did her best business when others were fighting) and laughing Bragulans, merry from the scene of humans beating each other up.
Result: Pretty much nothing, as everyone who needs to know already knows that the Klavostani government bought up all the best and most interesting pieces from MEH.
Vlyadibragstok, Southeastern Severnaya Sector / just beyond Northwestern Lena Sector
Unreal Time / October-December 3400
No matter how corpulent, how fat, any market can become saturated, so clogged with gunk that blood, er, money cannot flow. After every unscrupulous Klavostani businessman (for certain definitions of business) dumped megatons of crap on the MEHites and ran off with multi-megatons of loot, the Happy-Happy Empire's stashes of tradables ran low and anyway the military would already need months to haphazardly weld what they had onto their ships. Slightly more legitimate but slightly slower merchants couldn't even sell their slightly less crappy goods. Meanwhile, the second wave of shady profiteering had begun.
The cries were going out over many sectors, in a wide variety of capitalistic milieu. This one just happened to be by an impromptu stand in a miscellanies section of BEEEF, three lots down from a snow cream cart and four corridors away from the start of the Small Nations pavilions.
“COME ONE, COME ALL! Behold the treasures of the Multiversal Empire of Happiness, spirited from that strange and mysterious place by intrepid Klavostani merchants, and now brought to you for your perusal and ownership!” The lines were different but the intent was the same: to attract people to buy their bits of garbage that were supposedly from the MEH. Who knows? Perhaps a few of those chunks of metal and ceramic in the display cases actually did come from there; someone could do a study of them, and determine that the MEH used metals and ceramics.
And then another couple of lots down, another merchant cried out, “Do not settle for mere items, for I have, in my Tunnel of Mystery,” and he gestured at something that could charitably be called a tunnel, made by throwing a black tarp over a frame, “holos taken in the Multiversal Empire of Happiness! Behold their bizarre and decadent ways!”
On cue one of his employees stepped out and said, all too loudly and with a minimum of acting talent, “They are so fat!”
As people entered the line to walk through the tunnel (which conveniently ended by a display of questionably-of-MEH-origin items for sale) the first merchant screamed, “Akmed, you defiler of virgin pigs! You thief! You are the one who stole my holo displays!”
“You are a liar, Zuehb! I stole no such thing! And you should have kept backups anyway!”
And so Zuehb in his rage grabbed the first thing within his reach, which was a slightly twisted rod that he had been trying to sell for a low, low price, and charged at his rival, ululating. Akmed grabbed the nearest thing within his reach, a giant blaster, and used it as a club to defend himself, as the blaster was broken beyond repair. The two flailed at each other. They were watched by gawkers, attracted by the sound and eating snow cream (indeed, the snow cream seller did her best business when others were fighting) and laughing Bragulans, merry from the scene of humans beating each other up.
Result: Pretty much nothing, as everyone who needs to know already knows that the Klavostani government bought up all the best and most interesting pieces from MEH.
DPDarkPrimus is my boyfriend!
SDNW4 Nation: The Refuge And, on Nova Terra, Al-Stan the Totally and Completely Honest and Legitimate Weapons Dealer and Used Starship Salesman slept on a bed made of money, with a blaster under his pillow and his sombrero pulled over his face. This is to say, he slept very well indeed.
SDNW4 Nation: The Refuge And, on Nova Terra, Al-Stan the Totally and Completely Honest and Legitimate Weapons Dealer and Used Starship Salesman slept on a bed made of money, with a blaster under his pillow and his sombrero pulled over his face. This is to say, he slept very well indeed.
-
fgalkin
- Carvin' Marvin
- Posts: 14557
- Joined: 2002-07-03 11:51pm
- Location: Land of the Mountain Fascists
- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
Wordsworth's Journal: Entry Three
"Wordsworth" the imp
So, at last we got to this BEEEF thing, with all our horrible beefs and I finally got to go to a planet, after all, and not the nice one we built up, either, but a creepy alien one instead. It all started one day, when the Lesser soldiers came in and started moving the beef aliens onto a truck, and then loaded the truck onto a shuttle. That was all nice and well, and I told the beefs all that I thought of them as they were leaving, thinking I would never see them again. If only! The next thing I know, the Lessers come and load me up with the beefs too!
That was a problem, of course. Not only was I locked up with a bunch of angry, stinking beefs, but I was going to the planet! Without a space suit, or any kind of protection! I told the Lessers, oh how I did. I screamed and protested that I’m not vacuum-rated like they are and that I shouldn’t be going, but did they listen? They’re Lessers, of course they didn’t listen, and just closed the hatch and left me in the dark with the beefs.
Well, that’s when I thought I was all done for, and that my eyes would pop out and my blood will boil and all those things they said happens when you go outside. And then the beefs would eat me, of course, because they are evil gluttonous beasts and will eat anything they set their greedy little eyes on. And those snouts, Eternal Fires, those snouts! Never have I seen a more vile and disgusting thing. Truly, it is a thing of the Enemy. Ugh. Just ugh.
So, there I was, punching the beefs in their horrible snouts and avoiding being stepped on or eaten by the giant hairy monsters when I noticed the shuttle doors opening. We had arrived! This was it, I realized, I was about to be vented out into the vacuum of the planet’s surface. The beefs did not seem concerned, but they were dumb monsters, and, perhaps, vacuum-adapted. I gave one of them a parting punch and then closed my eyes, preparing to die….and then I didn’t. There was more light, yes, as the shuttle doors opened, and instead of the terrible embrace of death, I could see a purple-skinned figure wearing some kind of very flimsy-looking clothing, flanked by two Lessers. This was the Boss, of course, but I didn’t know that then. I knew, however, that she was important, so I stayed put and tried not to attract attention to myself. Then, the Boss got into the truck and we started moving.
That’s how I set foot on my very first (and only!) planet, in the back of a giant beef truck driven by a scantily-clad daemonette. I found it all very strange and frightening, the giant swirly dome overhead, the pointlessly frozen condensate on the ground (I still don’t understand it, why don’t they just raise the ambient air temperature a bit or lower the humidity?), but most importantly, the random air movements! Oh Eternal Fires, why do they have random air movements?! Why do they have air at all? HOW do they have air on the surface of a planet that is open to space? The aliens must be very powerful indeed if they somehow managed such a trick, because we still can’t do it. But, if they were that powerful, would it pain them to fix their planets’ ventilation systems so that it doesn’t look like they’ve sprung a leak and are venting air to space? If any aliens are reading this, could you pretty please fix your planets? It’s very unnerving. Unless there IS a leak on your planets and you’re simply pumping in new air to replace one that is lost.
Wait. It’s true, isn’t it? That’s how planets work, right? That’s why they have this irregular air movements. It has to be. The Demogorgon preserve me, I hate planets so much, evil godly things that they are. Ugh!
Okay, I think I am better now. Being in a nice enclosed space helps, even if it is filled with scary aliens. Especially since it’s built by Bragulans, and they’re almost like us Lost, except they have their Duty to this Byzon creature instead of the Giver of Purpose, so it can’t be as important as our Duty. But, I’m skipping ahead, so I have to go back to the horrible beef truck and tell you what happened then. Because that’s how a Wordsworth is supposed to be written, and it’s my Duty not to break the rules and write it like it’s supposed to be written. Except I don’t have a “brother” and my birthmate is a Living Brick, so I can’t write about that. But other than that, I have to follow the rules. So, yes, back to the beefs now.
So, there I was in the beef truck, when suddenly there was a big crash and these OTHER aliens, who are green-skinned and not like the Bragulans at all start screaming and shooting at us. I still don’t really understand what we did to upset them so, but they were shooting at our truck the most, so I guess they really didn’t like the beefs. I really don’t like the beefs, too, so I understand where they’re coming from. In fact, I understood them so much, I started shoving the beefs to the outer walls of the cages, where they would be hit by the alien gunfire. The beefs were unhappy with the arrangement and oinked in protest, and even tried to step on me and crush me, but during my voyage to this BEEEF thing, I have improvised an electric prod thingy, so I ignored their protests and merely zapped them with electricities.
“I am sorry,” I said to them. “I speaking galstandard English only, not crazy beef language. I not understand your speakings, yes. What is this you’re saying? Oink? Squeeeee? What is “sqeeeeee”? Is it “please zap me in the eye so I will go that way?” Yes, of course I can do that!”
The Lessers of course started shooting back and killed most of the greenskin aliens, but surprisingly they kept it up and continued shooting. I was told that the aliens are weak-willed and Dutyless, but all the aliens that I have seen so far seemed quite persistent in what they were doing, whether it be this strange Byzonism thing (Bragulans), shooting at things (greenskins), or making my life miserable (beefs).
Well, so it went on for a while. Quite a few of the beefs were shot by the alienoids, which made me very happy and I even began to hum an ancient imp tune, when there was an even bigger crash and suddenly everything started spinning. A giant beef fell on me, and I must have passed out for a few moments, because that thing was several tons at least.
The next thing I know, I am looking at the horrible alienoid blue ceiling-thingy and there are beefs running all around me. The truck was lying on its side, all dented by something very big and scary. Well, I wouldn’t want to be around when there is something big and scary nearby, so I immediately started looking for a place to hide. Instead, I saw something else entirely. I saw the purple-skinned succubus in those flimsy clothes (except they were so flimsy they did not survive the impact, and so there actually was very little clothes), about to be charged by a giant beef! And not just any beef, I realized. I would recognize that monster anywhere, for that was the evil beef who ate my Wordsworth and stepped on me! Now, it was about to charge someone important!
“NO!” I said. “You cannot charge important daemons!” I looked around and saw that the Lesser guards on the truck were crushed by the truck when it fell on them and were still trying to dig themselves out. The other trucks were a long way off, and would not arrive in time. Fortunately, there was something else- a flattened crushed thingy. I think it was a greenskin alien who got run over or something. I don’t particularly care about crushed alienoids, of course, but next to it was a big functional gun, and THAT I cared about, oh yes!
So, I quickly scrambled for the gun, and then grabbed on to the beef’s fur as it charged. It wasn’t particularly hard, because beefs are big and stupid and have long fur and we imps are strong, almost strong as daemons of our size (if there were any, that is) and have a good natural sense of balance.
We also have a good sense of where things are going when they start moving, so I realized I couldn’t just shoot the big dumb thing in the head or it would continue moving and crush the succubus. Which would probably won’t do it any harm, because it’s a Greater and thus built like a spherical mass of iron. Hmmm, I have no idea why I compared a Greater to a spherical mass of iron. In fact, I don’t even know what this “iron” thing is. But, anyway, I did it for some reason, and so it will stay, because I am too lazy to correct it. So, there.
But, anyways, Greaters are tough, so I wasn’t worried about it. But it meant that I had some time before I could shoot it. I lost my electric prod thingy when the truck crashed so instead I kicked the dumb thing in the head.
“This is for the shits which I had to clean up,” The dumb thing ignored me and continued on. “This is for refusing to learn fucking-of-mothers English. And this, this is fo…..AAAARGH!”
And that’s when I lost my balance and almost fell off the beef. So, I decided not to wait any longer, the Greater be damned and shouted “THIS IS FOR MY WORDSWORTH!” and shot the beef. The giant thing slid right past the Greater, so it was just at the right time, too!
Then I saw something much worse. A giant furry thing, as big as a Lord was trying to grab the succubus! Well, I figured that if a Lord wants her, there is nothing I or a Greater could do about it, so I just sat back and watched as she tried to attack the huge alien. The alien Lord barely paid attention to it, merely grabbed her in its giant furry fist and ran off. Then, the Lesser guards finally arrived and I learned that the kidnapped Greater was none other than the Boss, Emissary Shroom herself. Well, crap. Maybe I should have done something, after all.
Well, some of the Lessers started chasing after the Lord, others tried to round up the escaping beefs, and no one paid any attention to me. Which was just as well, because I needed to sit down and think. So, I sat down on the beef that I killed and thought.
I realized that I couldn’t do much good in the chase for the Lord, and I certainly did not want to round up the beefs, the less of those monsters the better. So, it appeared that I would have nothing to do, which was bad because it would mean I did nothing to help the Boss, and thus failed in my Duty and they would turn me into a Living Brick or something. I already began imagining what I’d say to my birthmate when I met it at last (probably “haha, you’re a Brick…wait, so am I!”). Then, I remembered that this was the Emissary, which meant that if she ever got away from the Lord, she would still have to meet with all those aliens, while wearing nothing but the remains of her very flimsy clothing. I sort of remembered that the aliens generally looked down on that kind of thing because the Wordsworth, the original one, that is, kept going on and on and on about it. So, I thought, maybe there is something I could do after all.
Now, there were no clothes in the trucks, and the clothes of the green aliens wouldn’t fit, not to mention they were all torn and stained and there was not much of them left, either. So, that left the giant alien complex we were headed towards before we were so rudely attacked by an alien Lord and his greenskin minions (or maybe they weren’t minions, I don’t know. Does it even matter?).
So, I headed there, as fast as I could, hoping that they would have some clothes for the Boss. I mean, they were aliens and aliens wore clothes and wrote about it all in their Wordsworths (except for the beefs who were very wrong aliens). So, it seemed like a very logical thing to do.
So, I came up to the “bragbunker” where they were holding this BEEEF thingy and that’s when I saw a Bragulan for the first time. He was very big and furry, and was wearing some kind of combat armor.
“Halt!” he said. “In the name of the Glorious Imperator!”
This was the first time I have heard of the Bragulans, so of course I was not going to stop in the name of a Glorious Imperator, whatever that was. I had to get clothes for the Boss, after all.
“Halt!” the Bragulan repeated. “Or I will shoot.” That made a lot more sense. I didn’t know what Bragulan guns shot, but that alien looked like he meant business and I was pretty sure it was very nasty, whatever it was.
“Oh, why did you not saying this in the first place?” I told him. And then I told him that I have to go inside to get clothes for my Boss, who was kidnapped by an alien Lord.
The Bragulan scratched its head, then its chin and generally looked very confused. He kept doing that for a few minutes, then he called another bear, this one wearing some sort of black leather coat thingy and wielding a really big stick. Then, they both looked confused at the same time. I don’t think these aliens are particularly smart, but at least they spoke English, unlike the beefs.
“Do you have an invitation?” the stick-wielding one asked at last. Now it was my turn to be confused, because I had no idea what he was talking about.
“I needing clothes, yes?” I told the alienoid. “For the Boss. Who be taken by big furry Lord!”
“But do you have invitation to the BEEEF?” the bear asked. I still had no idea what he was talking about. “I do not knowings!” I told him. “We come to BEEEF. We bring beefs! Horrible beefs. Then, alien Lord and greenskin minions attack and take Emissary! I need clothes for Emissary! You get?”
“Ah!” the big bear nodded. “Yes! Of course!” and then “He is a sid spy! Or just really fucking annoying. Shoot him!” I don’t know what a sid spy was, but I was pretty sure I was not it. Plus, I didn’t want to be shot. These Bragulans were even dumber than the beefs, and better armed, too! “Stupid alienoid! I am not spy!” I told them. “I am imp!”
“You are…” the Bragulan thought for a moment, “Yes! A dorky Apexainoid ! Surrender, Apexainoid, or this here k-bolt will crash into your head like the moon into Bolshaya Chernovyi! Haha! ” And then he laughed. He fucking laughed!
I still have no idea what that Bragulan had been talking about, he must have been one very stupid and confused bear. Then, he reached for and tried to remove my hood. No one removes my hood, and I told the bear so. He just fucking laughed again and raised his big stick. Other bears arrived, too, and all started pointing their big guns at me.
I thought this was the end, again. I already thought that earlier, when I was in the shuttle, and I supposed that as far as deaths went, this one was better than suffocating in vacuum and being eaten by beefs. Then, something really unexpected happened.
The beefs, those horrible alien monstrosities made their way through the minefields (because they were dumb aliens, I took the road and missed them entirely) and were now charging into the bunker! The Bragulans tried to shoot back, but they were all overwhelmed by the horde of angry beefs and trampled underfoot. Of course, I did the first thing I do whenever something like that happens and ran for the nearest hiding place, while the bears were all turned into something resembling that other squashed greenskin I saw earlier. The beefs started charging down the aisles, trampling the many alienoids inside. Me, I ran for it, while they were distracted and too busy dying and soon, I found myself inside the bunker. Then, I ran into the first place that had clothes (the Wordsworth was right, the aliens DID have clothes!) and grabbed a bunch of them that looked kinda like the ones worn by the stick-wielding alien. Then, I ran back out of the bunker, and met up with the Lesser guards, still catching the beefs. I must say, I never thought I would have to say "thank you" to the beefs (and I won't because I hate them!), but I was pretty grateful to them for saving me, even if, I'm pretty sure, they did it unintentionally.
Now, these Bragulans, they did not make a particularly great first impression, but they picked up the slack afterwards. As soon as I got there, a bunch of them came over and told us how they were going to rescue the Boss from the alien Lord. They were going to blow it up with nuclear artillery! I was not too hot on the idea myself, but of course, no one ever listens to me. But, somehow, they’ve managed to pull it off. This “Byzon” thing they always talk about must be really helping them, for them to destroy a Lord with something as puny as nuclear artillery, while at the same time not hitting the Boss (who IS easy to destroy with nuclear artillery). So, these bears at the entrance to the bunker must have been their equivalents of stupid Lessers, I guess.
So, they tracked down the Boss, and we all drove up to her, and the Bragulans all started giving her funny looks because they’re aliens, and aliens generally don’t like people not wearing clothes (my Wordsworth says that, and so far it has not been wrong!). So I came over and gave the Boss the clothes I got from the bunker. And then the boss smiled (we were all taught to recognize a smile and were told it was a Good Thing) and told me I did well and asked me for my name. I told her of course, and she asked why she had not seen me.
“Because you’re a greater and I’m an imp!” I wanted to tell the silly succubus, but of course I couldn’t do that. So I told her that I was assigned to take care of the beefs. She smiled even more and thanked me for saving her, which was a very nice thing of her to do. And then she licked me! She licked me!
That’s when I remembered the other Boss I had, Energizing-something (I am not good at names, I told you), who licked me and then promoted me when I have her the Wordsworth. Except now she looked really different and was called Emissary Shroom, so I guess I shouldn’t be complaining about anything because they REALLY changed her after that whole Animal House thing, and she had it even worse than I did.
But now, she licked me again, and promoted me, so that I was the senior imp of the expedition and her “personal assistant,” whatever that meant. I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do, because she forgot all about me almost immediately afterward and hasn’t told me. But I’m happy because when she remembers and will tell me, it probably won’t be as bad as those horrible horrible beefs, right? Right?
-------------------------------------------------
Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin
"Wordsworth" the imp
So, at last we got to this BEEEF thing, with all our horrible beefs and I finally got to go to a planet, after all, and not the nice one we built up, either, but a creepy alien one instead. It all started one day, when the Lesser soldiers came in and started moving the beef aliens onto a truck, and then loaded the truck onto a shuttle. That was all nice and well, and I told the beefs all that I thought of them as they were leaving, thinking I would never see them again. If only! The next thing I know, the Lessers come and load me up with the beefs too!
That was a problem, of course. Not only was I locked up with a bunch of angry, stinking beefs, but I was going to the planet! Without a space suit, or any kind of protection! I told the Lessers, oh how I did. I screamed and protested that I’m not vacuum-rated like they are and that I shouldn’t be going, but did they listen? They’re Lessers, of course they didn’t listen, and just closed the hatch and left me in the dark with the beefs.
Well, that’s when I thought I was all done for, and that my eyes would pop out and my blood will boil and all those things they said happens when you go outside. And then the beefs would eat me, of course, because they are evil gluttonous beasts and will eat anything they set their greedy little eyes on. And those snouts, Eternal Fires, those snouts! Never have I seen a more vile and disgusting thing. Truly, it is a thing of the Enemy. Ugh. Just ugh.
So, there I was, punching the beefs in their horrible snouts and avoiding being stepped on or eaten by the giant hairy monsters when I noticed the shuttle doors opening. We had arrived! This was it, I realized, I was about to be vented out into the vacuum of the planet’s surface. The beefs did not seem concerned, but they were dumb monsters, and, perhaps, vacuum-adapted. I gave one of them a parting punch and then closed my eyes, preparing to die….and then I didn’t. There was more light, yes, as the shuttle doors opened, and instead of the terrible embrace of death, I could see a purple-skinned figure wearing some kind of very flimsy-looking clothing, flanked by two Lessers. This was the Boss, of course, but I didn’t know that then. I knew, however, that she was important, so I stayed put and tried not to attract attention to myself. Then, the Boss got into the truck and we started moving.
That’s how I set foot on my very first (and only!) planet, in the back of a giant beef truck driven by a scantily-clad daemonette. I found it all very strange and frightening, the giant swirly dome overhead, the pointlessly frozen condensate on the ground (I still don’t understand it, why don’t they just raise the ambient air temperature a bit or lower the humidity?), but most importantly, the random air movements! Oh Eternal Fires, why do they have random air movements?! Why do they have air at all? HOW do they have air on the surface of a planet that is open to space? The aliens must be very powerful indeed if they somehow managed such a trick, because we still can’t do it. But, if they were that powerful, would it pain them to fix their planets’ ventilation systems so that it doesn’t look like they’ve sprung a leak and are venting air to space? If any aliens are reading this, could you pretty please fix your planets? It’s very unnerving. Unless there IS a leak on your planets and you’re simply pumping in new air to replace one that is lost.
Wait. It’s true, isn’t it? That’s how planets work, right? That’s why they have this irregular air movements. It has to be. The Demogorgon preserve me, I hate planets so much, evil godly things that they are. Ugh!
Okay, I think I am better now. Being in a nice enclosed space helps, even if it is filled with scary aliens. Especially since it’s built by Bragulans, and they’re almost like us Lost, except they have their Duty to this Byzon creature instead of the Giver of Purpose, so it can’t be as important as our Duty. But, I’m skipping ahead, so I have to go back to the horrible beef truck and tell you what happened then. Because that’s how a Wordsworth is supposed to be written, and it’s my Duty not to break the rules and write it like it’s supposed to be written. Except I don’t have a “brother” and my birthmate is a Living Brick, so I can’t write about that. But other than that, I have to follow the rules. So, yes, back to the beefs now.
So, there I was in the beef truck, when suddenly there was a big crash and these OTHER aliens, who are green-skinned and not like the Bragulans at all start screaming and shooting at us. I still don’t really understand what we did to upset them so, but they were shooting at our truck the most, so I guess they really didn’t like the beefs. I really don’t like the beefs, too, so I understand where they’re coming from. In fact, I understood them so much, I started shoving the beefs to the outer walls of the cages, where they would be hit by the alien gunfire. The beefs were unhappy with the arrangement and oinked in protest, and even tried to step on me and crush me, but during my voyage to this BEEEF thing, I have improvised an electric prod thingy, so I ignored their protests and merely zapped them with electricities.
“I am sorry,” I said to them. “I speaking galstandard English only, not crazy beef language. I not understand your speakings, yes. What is this you’re saying? Oink? Squeeeee? What is “sqeeeeee”? Is it “please zap me in the eye so I will go that way?” Yes, of course I can do that!”
The Lessers of course started shooting back and killed most of the greenskin aliens, but surprisingly they kept it up and continued shooting. I was told that the aliens are weak-willed and Dutyless, but all the aliens that I have seen so far seemed quite persistent in what they were doing, whether it be this strange Byzonism thing (Bragulans), shooting at things (greenskins), or making my life miserable (beefs).
Well, so it went on for a while. Quite a few of the beefs were shot by the alienoids, which made me very happy and I even began to hum an ancient imp tune, when there was an even bigger crash and suddenly everything started spinning. A giant beef fell on me, and I must have passed out for a few moments, because that thing was several tons at least.
The next thing I know, I am looking at the horrible alienoid blue ceiling-thingy and there are beefs running all around me. The truck was lying on its side, all dented by something very big and scary. Well, I wouldn’t want to be around when there is something big and scary nearby, so I immediately started looking for a place to hide. Instead, I saw something else entirely. I saw the purple-skinned succubus in those flimsy clothes (except they were so flimsy they did not survive the impact, and so there actually was very little clothes), about to be charged by a giant beef! And not just any beef, I realized. I would recognize that monster anywhere, for that was the evil beef who ate my Wordsworth and stepped on me! Now, it was about to charge someone important!
“NO!” I said. “You cannot charge important daemons!” I looked around and saw that the Lesser guards on the truck were crushed by the truck when it fell on them and were still trying to dig themselves out. The other trucks were a long way off, and would not arrive in time. Fortunately, there was something else- a flattened crushed thingy. I think it was a greenskin alien who got run over or something. I don’t particularly care about crushed alienoids, of course, but next to it was a big functional gun, and THAT I cared about, oh yes!
So, I quickly scrambled for the gun, and then grabbed on to the beef’s fur as it charged. It wasn’t particularly hard, because beefs are big and stupid and have long fur and we imps are strong, almost strong as daemons of our size (if there were any, that is) and have a good natural sense of balance.
We also have a good sense of where things are going when they start moving, so I realized I couldn’t just shoot the big dumb thing in the head or it would continue moving and crush the succubus. Which would probably won’t do it any harm, because it’s a Greater and thus built like a spherical mass of iron. Hmmm, I have no idea why I compared a Greater to a spherical mass of iron. In fact, I don’t even know what this “iron” thing is. But, anyway, I did it for some reason, and so it will stay, because I am too lazy to correct it. So, there.
But, anyways, Greaters are tough, so I wasn’t worried about it. But it meant that I had some time before I could shoot it. I lost my electric prod thingy when the truck crashed so instead I kicked the dumb thing in the head.
“This is for the shits which I had to clean up,” The dumb thing ignored me and continued on. “This is for refusing to learn fucking-of-mothers English. And this, this is fo…..AAAARGH!”
And that’s when I lost my balance and almost fell off the beef. So, I decided not to wait any longer, the Greater be damned and shouted “THIS IS FOR MY WORDSWORTH!” and shot the beef. The giant thing slid right past the Greater, so it was just at the right time, too!
Then I saw something much worse. A giant furry thing, as big as a Lord was trying to grab the succubus! Well, I figured that if a Lord wants her, there is nothing I or a Greater could do about it, so I just sat back and watched as she tried to attack the huge alien. The alien Lord barely paid attention to it, merely grabbed her in its giant furry fist and ran off. Then, the Lesser guards finally arrived and I learned that the kidnapped Greater was none other than the Boss, Emissary Shroom herself. Well, crap. Maybe I should have done something, after all.
Well, some of the Lessers started chasing after the Lord, others tried to round up the escaping beefs, and no one paid any attention to me. Which was just as well, because I needed to sit down and think. So, I sat down on the beef that I killed and thought.
I realized that I couldn’t do much good in the chase for the Lord, and I certainly did not want to round up the beefs, the less of those monsters the better. So, it appeared that I would have nothing to do, which was bad because it would mean I did nothing to help the Boss, and thus failed in my Duty and they would turn me into a Living Brick or something. I already began imagining what I’d say to my birthmate when I met it at last (probably “haha, you’re a Brick…wait, so am I!”). Then, I remembered that this was the Emissary, which meant that if she ever got away from the Lord, she would still have to meet with all those aliens, while wearing nothing but the remains of her very flimsy clothing. I sort of remembered that the aliens generally looked down on that kind of thing because the Wordsworth, the original one, that is, kept going on and on and on about it. So, I thought, maybe there is something I could do after all.
Now, there were no clothes in the trucks, and the clothes of the green aliens wouldn’t fit, not to mention they were all torn and stained and there was not much of them left, either. So, that left the giant alien complex we were headed towards before we were so rudely attacked by an alien Lord and his greenskin minions (or maybe they weren’t minions, I don’t know. Does it even matter?).
So, I headed there, as fast as I could, hoping that they would have some clothes for the Boss. I mean, they were aliens and aliens wore clothes and wrote about it all in their Wordsworths (except for the beefs who were very wrong aliens). So, it seemed like a very logical thing to do.
So, I came up to the “bragbunker” where they were holding this BEEEF thingy and that’s when I saw a Bragulan for the first time. He was very big and furry, and was wearing some kind of combat armor.
“Halt!” he said. “In the name of the Glorious Imperator!”
This was the first time I have heard of the Bragulans, so of course I was not going to stop in the name of a Glorious Imperator, whatever that was. I had to get clothes for the Boss, after all.
“Halt!” the Bragulan repeated. “Or I will shoot.” That made a lot more sense. I didn’t know what Bragulan guns shot, but that alien looked like he meant business and I was pretty sure it was very nasty, whatever it was.
“Oh, why did you not saying this in the first place?” I told him. And then I told him that I have to go inside to get clothes for my Boss, who was kidnapped by an alien Lord.
The Bragulan scratched its head, then its chin and generally looked very confused. He kept doing that for a few minutes, then he called another bear, this one wearing some sort of black leather coat thingy and wielding a really big stick. Then, they both looked confused at the same time. I don’t think these aliens are particularly smart, but at least they spoke English, unlike the beefs.
“Do you have an invitation?” the stick-wielding one asked at last. Now it was my turn to be confused, because I had no idea what he was talking about.
“I needing clothes, yes?” I told the alienoid. “For the Boss. Who be taken by big furry Lord!”
“But do you have invitation to the BEEEF?” the bear asked. I still had no idea what he was talking about. “I do not knowings!” I told him. “We come to BEEEF. We bring beefs! Horrible beefs. Then, alien Lord and greenskin minions attack and take Emissary! I need clothes for Emissary! You get?”
“Ah!” the big bear nodded. “Yes! Of course!” and then “He is a sid spy! Or just really fucking annoying. Shoot him!” I don’t know what a sid spy was, but I was pretty sure I was not it. Plus, I didn’t want to be shot. These Bragulans were even dumber than the beefs, and better armed, too! “Stupid alienoid! I am not spy!” I told them. “I am imp!”
“You are…” the Bragulan thought for a moment, “Yes! A dorky Apexainoid ! Surrender, Apexainoid, or this here k-bolt will crash into your head like the moon into Bolshaya Chernovyi! Haha! ” And then he laughed. He fucking laughed!
I still have no idea what that Bragulan had been talking about, he must have been one very stupid and confused bear. Then, he reached for and tried to remove my hood. No one removes my hood, and I told the bear so. He just fucking laughed again and raised his big stick. Other bears arrived, too, and all started pointing their big guns at me.
I thought this was the end, again. I already thought that earlier, when I was in the shuttle, and I supposed that as far as deaths went, this one was better than suffocating in vacuum and being eaten by beefs. Then, something really unexpected happened.
The beefs, those horrible alien monstrosities made their way through the minefields (because they were dumb aliens, I took the road and missed them entirely) and were now charging into the bunker! The Bragulans tried to shoot back, but they were all overwhelmed by the horde of angry beefs and trampled underfoot. Of course, I did the first thing I do whenever something like that happens and ran for the nearest hiding place, while the bears were all turned into something resembling that other squashed greenskin I saw earlier. The beefs started charging down the aisles, trampling the many alienoids inside. Me, I ran for it, while they were distracted and too busy dying and soon, I found myself inside the bunker. Then, I ran into the first place that had clothes (the Wordsworth was right, the aliens DID have clothes!) and grabbed a bunch of them that looked kinda like the ones worn by the stick-wielding alien. Then, I ran back out of the bunker, and met up with the Lesser guards, still catching the beefs. I must say, I never thought I would have to say "thank you" to the beefs (and I won't because I hate them!), but I was pretty grateful to them for saving me, even if, I'm pretty sure, they did it unintentionally.
Now, these Bragulans, they did not make a particularly great first impression, but they picked up the slack afterwards. As soon as I got there, a bunch of them came over and told us how they were going to rescue the Boss from the alien Lord. They were going to blow it up with nuclear artillery! I was not too hot on the idea myself, but of course, no one ever listens to me. But, somehow, they’ve managed to pull it off. This “Byzon” thing they always talk about must be really helping them, for them to destroy a Lord with something as puny as nuclear artillery, while at the same time not hitting the Boss (who IS easy to destroy with nuclear artillery). So, these bears at the entrance to the bunker must have been their equivalents of stupid Lessers, I guess.
So, they tracked down the Boss, and we all drove up to her, and the Bragulans all started giving her funny looks because they’re aliens, and aliens generally don’t like people not wearing clothes (my Wordsworth says that, and so far it has not been wrong!). So I came over and gave the Boss the clothes I got from the bunker. And then the boss smiled (we were all taught to recognize a smile and were told it was a Good Thing) and told me I did well and asked me for my name. I told her of course, and she asked why she had not seen me.
“Because you’re a greater and I’m an imp!” I wanted to tell the silly succubus, but of course I couldn’t do that. So I told her that I was assigned to take care of the beefs. She smiled even more and thanked me for saving her, which was a very nice thing of her to do. And then she licked me! She licked me!
That’s when I remembered the other Boss I had, Energizing-something (I am not good at names, I told you), who licked me and then promoted me when I have her the Wordsworth. Except now she looked really different and was called Emissary Shroom, so I guess I shouldn’t be complaining about anything because they REALLY changed her after that whole Animal House thing, and she had it even worse than I did.
But now, she licked me again, and promoted me, so that I was the senior imp of the expedition and her “personal assistant,” whatever that meant. I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do, because she forgot all about me almost immediately afterward and hasn’t told me. But I’m happy because when she remembers and will tell me, it probably won’t be as bad as those horrible horrible beefs, right? Right?
-------------------------------------------------
Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin
-
Darkevilme
- Jedi Council Member
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- Joined: 2007-06-12 02:27pm
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
MEHN Starwrath, Vindicator class megacruiser. MEH space
“Grand captain on the bridge!” bellowed the power armoured marine to his right as grand captain David Cortez glided in on his hover chair. David for a moment noticing the more than usual aggression in the marine's power amplified voice and making a note to consider having him relieved in a bit. Then David had his attention grabbed by the sight of all the bridge crew lumbering to attention and saluting him. Such deference and respect was something he never tired of but alas he could not let them hold the pose till the brownian motion ceased with pressing matters to attend to.
“At ease. Situation report.” David ordered as his hover chair settled on its cradle in the center of the bridge. With one exception the crew returned to their stations, showing relief as smart-contours once again cradled their excessive masses against the pull of gravity.
“Grand captain, at 1120 hyper high command's far reaching sensors detected the approach of three vessels believed to weigh in at 100 on the puny-ness of inferior non MEH vessels scale. Super computational analysis indicates a strong probability of the vessels being of ork origin. Hyper High command predicts that they will emerge into this system within 1 hour. We have been ordered to singly engage them and annihilate them utterly.” the large leightenant explained to David, who smiled.
It had been over a month of orkish attacks on MEH ships. And despite the undeniable might of the MEH hyper high command had chosen to disallow hyperlane traffic and limit out of system forays for military crafts. No explaination had been given but rumour had it that it was a command passed down from the almighty goddess and that it was to lul the orks into a false sense of victory and set them up for destruction. Still it had chafed to watch those orks make off with insignificant fractions of their populace and be unable to swat them, especially when collision with that moonlet had caused his chairs smart contours to malfunction. Still, perhaps the idea had worked as now the orks were coming here and attacking the strongest part of their univocally strong and mighty nation instead of striking against the equally impregnable yet weaker portions.
“Excellent, prepare the ship for combat and ready an intercept course. It is time for the orks to face the infinite and invincible might of the MEHN navy!” David declared, momentarily rising from his chair in the heat of the moment before gravity and adipose tissue pulled him back down into the soft contours of his chair.
“Oh and cycle our guards, that one is getting twitchy.” he said as he recollects a thought from earlier, the power armoured marines stomping out of the bridge to be replaced ones with less blood saturation of stimulants and painkillers. To pass the time David got out a writing pad from the side of his hover chair and started composing a speech.
One hour later
“Ork vessels translated to realspace grand captain! Now on scope.”
“Excellent. Prepare firing solutions, raise our barriers of invulnerability and open a communications channel.”
David had been waiting for this moment, both for an hour and for a month depending on the perspective.
“Channel open grand captain.”
“Ork vessels now on interception course at maximum thrust grand captain.”
David groaned and did his best to rise from his chair into an imperious posture “Hold position, wait till I give the word to fire. Enable voice communication.” He said and got out the writing pad
“Orks. For too long already you have been a green skin plague on the mighty and brilliant jewel of this galaxy which is our Multiversal Empire of Happyness. For too long have you futilely pestered our infinite powers and worn away at our magnanimous patience. We have permitted your depredations, but only in the manner of a parent permitting the wrongdoings of a wayward child in the hopes that without admonishment they may see sense and return to right and happy inducing ways of being.”
“But our patience has run out with you orks, we can no longer permi-” David was just getting into his stride when the orks decided to interrupt.
“Fah BADSPORK! WAAAGH!”
David frowned and tried to find where he was up to on the pad “-As I was saying. Our patience has run out with you orks, we can no longer permit your acts of piracy against our people. Your attempts to induce unhappy will come to an end and so shall you. I wish you to contemplate this in your reptiloid minds along with your impending destruction.”
The ship shook slightly “Ork vessels have opened fire grand captain, orders?” one of the crewmen stated glancing to the grand captain's sweating form worriedly. David was starting to feel the exertion from standing up so long but continued.
“Let me finish. As I was saying orks, contemplate your impending destruction and the destruction of your entire species. For you have roused the vast sleeping giant of the MEH with your shrill buzzing and like the feeble insect you are we shall swat you and crush you utterly! We shall drive you from the galaxy with our ir-resistable power. Your inability to harm even this single megacruiser of our mighty navy should show you the futility of resisting your demise!” David said and wiped the sweat from his brow just as the continous low shaking of the ship was punctuated by a louder note.
“Barriers of invulnerability violated in port segment grand captain, hull breaches on four decks.” another crewman announced yet David continued.
“And so before I unleash the torrents of firepower that will cleanse you from the blessed sky of our systems, I give you a moment to mourn for the imminent passing of your race and contemplate the foolishness that brought it about!”
David collapsed into a sweating heap in his hover chair and pushed the button to close the communications channel.
“Open fire.”
And the megacruiser shook with the thunderous recoil from dozens of turbolaser cannons as they filled the sky ahead with a storm of deadly fire.
“Grand captain on the bridge!” bellowed the power armoured marine to his right as grand captain David Cortez glided in on his hover chair. David for a moment noticing the more than usual aggression in the marine's power amplified voice and making a note to consider having him relieved in a bit. Then David had his attention grabbed by the sight of all the bridge crew lumbering to attention and saluting him. Such deference and respect was something he never tired of but alas he could not let them hold the pose till the brownian motion ceased with pressing matters to attend to.
“At ease. Situation report.” David ordered as his hover chair settled on its cradle in the center of the bridge. With one exception the crew returned to their stations, showing relief as smart-contours once again cradled their excessive masses against the pull of gravity.
“Grand captain, at 1120 hyper high command's far reaching sensors detected the approach of three vessels believed to weigh in at 100 on the puny-ness of inferior non MEH vessels scale. Super computational analysis indicates a strong probability of the vessels being of ork origin. Hyper High command predicts that they will emerge into this system within 1 hour. We have been ordered to singly engage them and annihilate them utterly.” the large leightenant explained to David, who smiled.
It had been over a month of orkish attacks on MEH ships. And despite the undeniable might of the MEH hyper high command had chosen to disallow hyperlane traffic and limit out of system forays for military crafts. No explaination had been given but rumour had it that it was a command passed down from the almighty goddess and that it was to lul the orks into a false sense of victory and set them up for destruction. Still it had chafed to watch those orks make off with insignificant fractions of their populace and be unable to swat them, especially when collision with that moonlet had caused his chairs smart contours to malfunction. Still, perhaps the idea had worked as now the orks were coming here and attacking the strongest part of their univocally strong and mighty nation instead of striking against the equally impregnable yet weaker portions.
“Excellent, prepare the ship for combat and ready an intercept course. It is time for the orks to face the infinite and invincible might of the MEHN navy!” David declared, momentarily rising from his chair in the heat of the moment before gravity and adipose tissue pulled him back down into the soft contours of his chair.
“Oh and cycle our guards, that one is getting twitchy.” he said as he recollects a thought from earlier, the power armoured marines stomping out of the bridge to be replaced ones with less blood saturation of stimulants and painkillers. To pass the time David got out a writing pad from the side of his hover chair and started composing a speech.
One hour later
“Ork vessels translated to realspace grand captain! Now on scope.”
“Excellent. Prepare firing solutions, raise our barriers of invulnerability and open a communications channel.”
David had been waiting for this moment, both for an hour and for a month depending on the perspective.
“Channel open grand captain.”
“Ork vessels now on interception course at maximum thrust grand captain.”
David groaned and did his best to rise from his chair into an imperious posture “Hold position, wait till I give the word to fire. Enable voice communication.” He said and got out the writing pad
“Orks. For too long already you have been a green skin plague on the mighty and brilliant jewel of this galaxy which is our Multiversal Empire of Happyness. For too long have you futilely pestered our infinite powers and worn away at our magnanimous patience. We have permitted your depredations, but only in the manner of a parent permitting the wrongdoings of a wayward child in the hopes that without admonishment they may see sense and return to right and happy inducing ways of being.”
“But our patience has run out with you orks, we can no longer permi-” David was just getting into his stride when the orks decided to interrupt.
“Fah BADSPORK! WAAAGH!”
David frowned and tried to find where he was up to on the pad “-As I was saying. Our patience has run out with you orks, we can no longer permit your acts of piracy against our people. Your attempts to induce unhappy will come to an end and so shall you. I wish you to contemplate this in your reptiloid minds along with your impending destruction.”
The ship shook slightly “Ork vessels have opened fire grand captain, orders?” one of the crewmen stated glancing to the grand captain's sweating form worriedly. David was starting to feel the exertion from standing up so long but continued.
“Let me finish. As I was saying orks, contemplate your impending destruction and the destruction of your entire species. For you have roused the vast sleeping giant of the MEH with your shrill buzzing and like the feeble insect you are we shall swat you and crush you utterly! We shall drive you from the galaxy with our ir-resistable power. Your inability to harm even this single megacruiser of our mighty navy should show you the futility of resisting your demise!” David said and wiped the sweat from his brow just as the continous low shaking of the ship was punctuated by a louder note.
“Barriers of invulnerability violated in port segment grand captain, hull breaches on four decks.” another crewman announced yet David continued.
“And so before I unleash the torrents of firepower that will cleanse you from the blessed sky of our systems, I give you a moment to mourn for the imminent passing of your race and contemplate the foolishness that brought it about!”
David collapsed into a sweating heap in his hover chair and pushed the button to close the communications channel.
“Open fire.”
And the megacruiser shook with the thunderous recoil from dozens of turbolaser cannons as they filled the sky ahead with a storm of deadly fire.
-
Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
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- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
The Feelipeens
The three of them walked on a field of green grass. The sun was high in the sky, bright and blazing. The air was humid, befitting the tropic climes of the planet Luz. The heat and humidity was alleviated, somewhat, by the cool breeze. Around them, leaves and branches swayed in the wind."This used to be the town of Farmville, but then the communistas came and polluted the minds of the people with their filth," Shroomarcos said sadly. "But thanks to Shepistanimerican subsidies and support, we were able to have the weapons we needed to kill them all."
"I'm glad our nation could've been of service," replied Reagan, governator of the Shepistani Republic world-state of Caapricalifornication. Ronald von Reagan. "The Shepistani Republic applauds the Feelipeens' commitment to democracy and will help the Shroomarcos administration in the further freedomization of its people."
"That's so sweet of you, Ronnie dear," Imelda flirted with the Shepistani statesman, running her finger up his arm. She puckered her lips at him as he looked at her speculatively. "Give us some more of your rayguns, Ronnie, dear."
That fat bitch, Shroomarcos thought bitterly. Imelda had expanded her shoe collection now, to include the shoes of the other men she brought with her to bed (and who Shroomarcos promptly had disappeared and killed in ditches, leaving behind nothing but their shoes for Imelda to collect and stuff in her showcase). If she did it with this guy von Reagan... Fuck.
"Oh, you betcha I will," Reagan laughed and smiled.
Fucking senile bastard... Shroomarcos knew if Imelda did it with him, there was nothing he could do about it. Killing off some local shitpiece for porking his wife was one thing, but a Shepistani governor? Shit.
"Ron, I wonder, how did your government deal with that crab battle thing?" Shroomarcos asked, trying to shift the topic away from his wife's blatant flirtations.
"We destroyed it. The Amplitur organism was terminated in Operation Blow Up The Ocean. Our scientists have confirmed that the countless craboid creatures that gripped Gayte Gulf were composed of native Shepistani craboids, a mass migration triggered prematurely by both Operation Blow Up The Ocean and the massive psionic shock that came with the Amplitur organism's death throes. Yes." Reagan lied. The old bastard was so transparent. Shroomarcos could see it in the way his shit-eating rictus grin widened unnaturally. Von Reagan was a shitty actor, and Shroomarcos could read him after having that movie marathon with General Sheppard and seeing so many of Reagan's equally-shitty movies.
"And the PUPPERS incident?" Shroomarcos pressed on.
"Entirely unrelated, resulting from the inaccuracies of Umerian graphs compared to superior Shepistani statistics." Reagan beamed. There it was, that rictus. Shroomarcos suspected that it was a nervous tic, perhaps brought about by the senility of his old age and whatever disease ravaged his brain, combining with the plastic surgerizations the vain superficial old bastard had undertaken. Fucking Shepistanimericans. Shroomarocs knew this because his wife went to the same surgerizer as Von Reagan, and he knew every inch of his wife's body and how it quivered whenever she lied with him. "We have exterminated the rest of the defective PUPPERS too, if you're wondering."
"Excellent. You Shepistanis, so good with killing things with nuclear weapons," Shroomarcos laughed a fake laugh. But unlike the shitty acting of Reagan, Shroomarcos' laugh looked real. He did it by imagining something. Like, by visualizing the old Von Reagan dying of old age, infirm and alone, his withered geriatric body wracked by disease along with his mind. Shroomarcos laughed even more. "But we Feelipeenis, we are good with killing things, though we don't have nuclear weapons. The people of this place, this Farmville, were communistas and we killed them all too."
"Doing your patriotic duty," Reagan saluted.
"Yes, and now this land, it's vacant. It's a fine and fertile land, and we will call it... this land." Shroomarcos stuttered. At the moment, he couldn't make up a new name for Farmville now that it had been depopulated of all its population, who were all communistas who totally deserved it. "Anyway, this land can be leased to Shepistanimerican corporations free of tax. To promote economic development in the region. I take it that several of your Capricalifornicationian companies are already interested, like... Del Shroomonte?"
"Yes. I say, you killed a village full of commie scum so we can go in and plant some pineapples and make a profit, while your people get much needed jobs picking fruits, making your employment levels go up, and making you look good internationally, opening the doors for new investments. Sounds like a plan." Reagan concluded. He slapped Shroomarcos in the back, hard. The President of the Feelipeeni's well-trained goon squad were on the verge of drawing their machetes to hack the filthy foreigner's offending hand off, but a quick glance from Shroomarcos told them to stay at ease. Oblivious to his brush with unilateral disarmament, Reagan chuckled. "Goddamn it, Ferdi, if only the rest of the galaxy had more patriotic anti-commie heroes like you, the universe would be a safer and better place. You're what makes democracy worthwhile, Ferdi. Freedom doesn't mean a thing if a country ain't with Shepistanimerica, because we're all about freedom. You, you understand freedom, and under your brown skin, you're a true blue Shepistanimerican just trying to come out. That's why we love you, and that's why we love the Feelipeens, Ferdi. You are god's most beautiful creation. Don't you ever forget that."
With that, an overjoyed Ronald von Reagan patronizingly pinched Ferdinand Shroomarcos in the cheek.
Shroomarcos merely looked at Von Reagan while the senile Shepistanimerican grinned on. For a moment, he considered nodding at his goon squad, a signal to shoot the old shit in the back of the head and dump his body in some ditch in the provinces. But instead, he merely settled with nodding at Reagan and simply saying, "....thanks, Ron."
***
Force Lord wrote:CNN BREAKING NEWS REPORT!
This is CNN!
The Government has announced that it has signed a non-aggression treaty with the Humanist Union. Details are not yet known. Officials were not available for comment.
"WHAT?!" Shroomarcos sputtered. Coconut juice went out of his nose and spewed over Imelda's face, melting the makeup off her face and revealing the old pocked and stretched skin that was the product of countless rejuvenat treatments. In essence, he saw her true form, and would have been horrified had his outrage not surpassed his disgust. But his outrage did surpass his disgust. "Madre dios!"Force Lord wrote:The Central Times
President Kierger announces date for CENINTERN conference
As one of his first acts as leader of the Centrality, Dirad Kierger announced that in January 14 a CENINERN conference would start, and invited "all leaders of Centralist parties from around the interstellar community". The conference will be hosted on Centrum.
CENINTERN was founded in the early 24th century by a faction of Centralists who were frustrated by the Centrality's isolationist policy and wanted a more active expansion of Centralism abroad. They gave structure to foreign Centralist Parties and decided policy on their home nations. The Centrality's attempts to rein in CENINTERN paradoxically gave foreign Centralists more autonomy, and so less amenable to listen to Centrum's directives. Only recently did the Centrality attempt a reconciliation, which though sucessful did not give it any more control over CENINTERN's activities. The January 7 conference may be Centrum's attempt to gain greater influence in CENINTERN.
Centralist Parties from the following states have already announced their participation:
-Aurore
-Belkan Empire
-Estella Real de España
-The Feelipeens
-Emirate of Qumar
-New Aden
-Orange Free System
-Sultanate of el-Janari
-Valkyrate Matriarchy
-Kingdom of Cornelia
Parties from other nations have not yet said if they will send a representative, though there is no reason for them not to do so.
Article written in January 9, 3401.
He made the sign of the cross.
"This can't be!" he continued cursing. He kicked a coconut shell in rage. It flew into the air, sailing high and smashing into the glass case that contained some of Imelda's innumerable shoe collections. The glass shattered into a thousand fragments, the coconut flattened the shoes inside. Imelda shrieked in horror. Shroomarcos snapped at her in rage. "SHUT UP YOU WHORE!"
She sobbed and ran back into her room.
"Fucking hell..." he massaged his temples and mulled over what to do.
***
People of the Feelipeens. I come to you with grave and disturbing news. It has been made apparent to me that agents of a foreign, freedom-hating, dictatorial nation have made an attempt to co-opt and subvert our country. It was bad enough that the communistas, under the behest of the international communist conspiracy, have tried to do this repeatedly - only to be stamped out by our proud armed forces whenever they reared their ugly red heads, but now we face a new and more sinister threat. The recent alliance between the authoritarian regime of the Centrality, and the communistas of the Humanist Union, mark the beginning of the emergence of a new form of tyranny. It is no longer just communism. It is no longer just fascism. Like a sin against nature, it has mutated into commu-fascism, the worst enemy the freedom-loving democracy of our country has yet encountered.To make matters worse, the fascist Centralites have made a brazen pronouncement of their intention to bring their poisonous ideology to the Feelipeens. This CENTINTERN, or CENINTERN, or whatever. They have recruited to their fold Feelipeenis, who even as we speak go now to the Centrality, intending to return and poison the minds of our children and our families with their ungodly ways.
Thus I declare that all the Feelipeeni citizens who dared go to this CENTINTERN are traitors of the highest order, persona non grata, and if they should ever return to our country to subvert and impurify our precious Feelipeeni fluids, then I authorize the constabulary, the military, and even the citizenry with the power to shoot them on sight. Anyone caught affiliating with the ideology of Centralism, as well as communism or fascism, will be prosecuted beyond the full extent of the law - and for added safety, I am suspending the writ of habeas corpus for cases of suspected Centralism. Feelipeeni or foreigner, no exceptions.
Any citizen of the Feelipeens who does his patriotic duty and help the government catch these villains will be rewarded substantially, too.
My people, we have faced the greatest threat in our nation's history and we must answer in force. We must stand up to defend our homes, our families, our loved ones from the scourge of Centralism. So that the people can join in the defense, volunteer paramilitary groups will be created in the provinces, under the command of the governors and mayors, to see to it that Centralites and other wrongdoers are dealt with as they see fit...
"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
- PeZookShroom, 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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Force Lord
- Jedi Council Member
- Posts: 1562
- Joined: 2008-10-12 05:36pm
- Location: Rio Piedras, San Juan, Puerto Rico
- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
Presidential Center, Centrum
The Center Sector, The Centrality
January 9, 3401
Kierger fumed as he was told about Shroomarcos's response to the planned CENINTERN meeting. Fucking cunt. If I could only throttle him with my bare hands...
"We have to do something. Anything. Shut up that Feelipeeni hurensohn."
"I've heard," the messenger said, "that the CIS sent agents to the Feelipeens several months ago. It was for information-gathering, or so I've heard."
"Gates's pet project? Well, let's make it more useful then. Is that mission still ongoing?"
"Yes sir."
"Tell Gates to add a new...objective."
"Uh, which, sir?"
"Take a wild guess."
Centrality Embassy
Luz, Feelipeens
January 9, 3401
"You're shitting us, complained a CIS agent.
"I'm not. Sorry gentlemen, but this is genuine," said the ambassador, holding the paper that said, SCARE SHROOMARCOS. It was presented to him by a CIS agent that returned from convalescence in the Centrality in great secrecy.
The CIS agents muttered to each other. It was clear this was a job none of them relished.
"Look at the bright side, you have full freedom to choose how to scare him. IEDs, sniper shots, infiltration, even people's revolt, all that stuff. Your only requirement is to make it seem to the locals that someone else did it, be it commies, fundamentalists, or even Shepistanis. Wouldn't want to see the Shep Solution applied to this embassy."
And so the ambassador went to his office, leaving the agents to discuss how to scare Shroomarcos...whatever that meant.
The Center Sector, The Centrality
January 9, 3401
Kierger fumed as he was told about Shroomarcos's response to the planned CENINTERN meeting. Fucking cunt. If I could only throttle him with my bare hands...
"We have to do something. Anything. Shut up that Feelipeeni hurensohn."
"I've heard," the messenger said, "that the CIS sent agents to the Feelipeens several months ago. It was for information-gathering, or so I've heard."
"Gates's pet project? Well, let's make it more useful then. Is that mission still ongoing?"
"Yes sir."
"Tell Gates to add a new...objective."
"Uh, which, sir?"
"Take a wild guess."
Centrality Embassy
Luz, Feelipeens
January 9, 3401
"You're shitting us, complained a CIS agent.
"I'm not. Sorry gentlemen, but this is genuine," said the ambassador, holding the paper that said, SCARE SHROOMARCOS. It was presented to him by a CIS agent that returned from convalescence in the Centrality in great secrecy.
The CIS agents muttered to each other. It was clear this was a job none of them relished.
"Look at the bright side, you have full freedom to choose how to scare him. IEDs, sniper shots, infiltration, even people's revolt, all that stuff. Your only requirement is to make it seem to the locals that someone else did it, be it commies, fundamentalists, or even Shepistanis. Wouldn't want to see the Shep Solution applied to this embassy."
And so the ambassador went to his office, leaving the agents to discuss how to scare Shroomarcos...whatever that meant.
An inhabitant from the Island of Cars.
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Simon_Jester
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 30165
- Joined: 2009-05-23 07:29pm
Battle of Zebes, Chapter Twenty-Nine Part One
Recommended Listening
Command Bridge
2038 Hours Fleet Standard Time
"Sir, battlecruiser Trogdor* reports that they've got their hyperdrive back online!"
"Understood." He'd been half expecting this, and switched his intercom to the ship's security detachment. "Major Strakanoff!"
"Yes, sir?"
"Trogdor has completed repairs. Execute as ordered."
"Anyone in particular you want shot?" Stack's first thought at that was let me write you a list, but no, one at a time was the way to go.
"No. Pick one at random, as I said."
*The entity 'Trogdor' is one of the deities of the dominant Gron religion, known for his immense brawn and power for devastation. He holds a role in their mythology broadly comparable to that of Thor in the Norse mythos of old Earth. The precise details of how a Centrality battlecruiser wound up named after a Gron deity are somewhat unclear.
CNS Frod
Engine Room Six
2040 Hours
Spaceman Walbic Venuti, Ion Cannon Specialization, hummed under his breath- almost finished! He jerked in alarm as a pair of gauntleted hands seized his shoulders and dragged him back from the panel he was closing up, spinning him round to face a third armored assault trooper. The trooper raised his carbine.
"Wait? What? What are you doing? Aaa-"
BLAM!
His commanding officer, Ensign Heaviside, stared in horror as Walbic's body collapsed to the floor, his uniform tunic smoking and shriveling away from the narrow hole where the autoblaster shot had punched into his body, high on the breastbone. Silently, the three guards pulled open a large plastic bag and began stuffing the rating's body into it, zipping it shut.
Other troopers had filed into the compartment- how could they be so quiet in all that armor? A faceless mask stared at him; the part of the ensign's brain that was still engaged with reality noted a lieutenant's rank tabs mag-patched onto shoulder of the masked man.
The Marine officer looked to his men. "Take the body to the waste disposer and liquidate him." Then he turned to Heaviside, and growled. "What has been done, has been done for the good of the State. Get back to work!"
Regardless of any questions of relative rank or authority, there was only one possible answer to that. "Sir, yes, sir!" Glancing around the compartment to see what remained to be done, Heaviside saw his technicians scrambling to finish their tasks, mostly minor ones. They'd been almost finished...
Quivering slightly, Heaviside bent down and picked up the screwdriver Wally had been using to reattach the access panel after replacing a Type 78c circuit breaker- the one that had fallen out of his hand as the troopers hauled him back. He began tightening bolts. Then the ship's intercom came alive, black screens on the displays but a very recognizable voice on the speakers: Captain Stack.
"All hands, this is your captain speaking. The battlecruiser Trogdor has completed repairs to its hyperdrive before us. As per my earlier orders, Ion Cannon Specialist Spaceman-" there was a pause, as if he was consulting a document- "Walbic Venuti has been summarily executed. He was chosen at random from the Cannon specialists aboard this ship; all other specializations are perfectly safe. The lesson to the Cannon engineers is simple: repair the hyperdrive or I will execute one hostage every two minutes. The hostages in question are you. Captain out."
'He's gone mad!' warred with 'AAAAH! Hurry!' in the ensign's mind. Two minutes later, a faint, echoing BLAM! echoed through the corridors from elsewhere in the ship...
CNS Frod
Command Bridge
2045 Hours
Seven minutes and three executions after Trogdor claimed success on their drive repairs, Captain Stack's chief engineer appeared on his command console.
"Sir, we're ready to run full-power tests- job's done and could you please call off the Marines? I'm cleaning blood off one of the readout monitors down here."
"Proceed with the tests." Stack split the screen. "Major Strakanoff?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Job done, call off the fourth execution."
"On it."
There was a pause; the major, too, passed his orders to his men on a separate channel. "Anything else, sir?"
"Find out who was responsible for the execution in Cheng's presence. They are to be punished appropriately for their sloppiness."
"Yes, captain." Stack cut the line.
As time ticked by, Stack watched Commander Cheng's work with interest. One green light after another bloomed as hyperdrive nodes and busbars were tested... and not found wanting. Word from the flagship was that one of the Prussian cruiser squadrons was attacking the interdictor from behind- maybe they'd get to fight after all!
Stack thought to himself. I feel better. Not a lot better, but better.
Modified Disruptor-class Battleship CNS FrodTwo Hours Ago:
I hate my life.
Captain Stack shook his head, quietly despairing while the engineers scrambled to assess the damage.
It was bad that his ship had suffered the brutal amputation of much of her main armament to make room for the damned Ion Cannon.
It was worse that the twice-damned Cannon brought with it a swarm of specialist technicians, whose constant calls to change anything and everything else on the ship to better serve the Cannon forced him to spend two hours a day simply refusing their requests.
It was still worse that the ten-times-damned Cannon was a dangerously unstable, shoddily designed, and inadequately prototyped weapon: one that convinced every particle gun specialist other than the insane clowns running the thing that his ship was a flying bomb.
It was beyond 'worse,' deep into 'fucking horrible' territory, that the thousand-times-damned Cannon had thus crippled his beloved battleship just before she went into action for the first time in years.
And there were no words at all, in any language Stack knew or wanted to learn, for how frustrating, how pathetic, how enraging it was that he couldn't even take his crippled ship into action, because the never-to-be-sufficiently-damned Zebesians had blown out half of Frod's hyperdrive!
Command Bridge
2038 Hours Fleet Standard Time
"Sir, battlecruiser Trogdor* reports that they've got their hyperdrive back online!"
"Understood." He'd been half expecting this, and switched his intercom to the ship's security detachment. "Major Strakanoff!"
"Yes, sir?"
"Trogdor has completed repairs. Execute as ordered."
"Anyone in particular you want shot?" Stack's first thought at that was let me write you a list, but no, one at a time was the way to go.
"No. Pick one at random, as I said."
*The entity 'Trogdor' is one of the deities of the dominant Gron religion, known for his immense brawn and power for devastation. He holds a role in their mythology broadly comparable to that of Thor in the Norse mythos of old Earth. The precise details of how a Centrality battlecruiser wound up named after a Gron deity are somewhat unclear.
CNS Frod
Engine Room Six
2040 Hours
Spaceman Walbic Venuti, Ion Cannon Specialization, hummed under his breath- almost finished! He jerked in alarm as a pair of gauntleted hands seized his shoulders and dragged him back from the panel he was closing up, spinning him round to face a third armored assault trooper. The trooper raised his carbine.
"Wait? What? What are you doing? Aaa-"
BLAM!
His commanding officer, Ensign Heaviside, stared in horror as Walbic's body collapsed to the floor, his uniform tunic smoking and shriveling away from the narrow hole where the autoblaster shot had punched into his body, high on the breastbone. Silently, the three guards pulled open a large plastic bag and began stuffing the rating's body into it, zipping it shut.
Other troopers had filed into the compartment- how could they be so quiet in all that armor? A faceless mask stared at him; the part of the ensign's brain that was still engaged with reality noted a lieutenant's rank tabs mag-patched onto shoulder of the masked man.
The Marine officer looked to his men. "Take the body to the waste disposer and liquidate him." Then he turned to Heaviside, and growled. "What has been done, has been done for the good of the State. Get back to work!"
Regardless of any questions of relative rank or authority, there was only one possible answer to that. "Sir, yes, sir!" Glancing around the compartment to see what remained to be done, Heaviside saw his technicians scrambling to finish their tasks, mostly minor ones. They'd been almost finished...
Quivering slightly, Heaviside bent down and picked up the screwdriver Wally had been using to reattach the access panel after replacing a Type 78c circuit breaker- the one that had fallen out of his hand as the troopers hauled him back. He began tightening bolts. Then the ship's intercom came alive, black screens on the displays but a very recognizable voice on the speakers: Captain Stack.
"All hands, this is your captain speaking. The battlecruiser Trogdor has completed repairs to its hyperdrive before us. As per my earlier orders, Ion Cannon Specialist Spaceman-" there was a pause, as if he was consulting a document- "Walbic Venuti has been summarily executed. He was chosen at random from the Cannon specialists aboard this ship; all other specializations are perfectly safe. The lesson to the Cannon engineers is simple: repair the hyperdrive or I will execute one hostage every two minutes. The hostages in question are you. Captain out."
'He's gone mad!' warred with 'AAAAH! Hurry!' in the ensign's mind. Two minutes later, a faint, echoing BLAM! echoed through the corridors from elsewhere in the ship...
CNS Frod
Command Bridge
2045 Hours
Seven minutes and three executions after Trogdor claimed success on their drive repairs, Captain Stack's chief engineer appeared on his command console.
"Sir, we're ready to run full-power tests- job's done and could you please call off the Marines? I'm cleaning blood off one of the readout monitors down here."
"Proceed with the tests." Stack split the screen. "Major Strakanoff?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Job done, call off the fourth execution."
"On it."
There was a pause; the major, too, passed his orders to his men on a separate channel. "Anything else, sir?"
"Find out who was responsible for the execution in Cheng's presence. They are to be punished appropriately for their sloppiness."
"Yes, captain." Stack cut the line.
As time ticked by, Stack watched Commander Cheng's work with interest. One green light after another bloomed as hyperdrive nodes and busbars were tested... and not found wanting. Word from the flagship was that one of the Prussian cruiser squadrons was attacking the interdictor from behind- maybe they'd get to fight after all!
Stack thought to himself. I feel better. Not a lot better, but better.
This space dedicated to Vasily Arkhipov
-
Force Lord
- Jedi Council Member
- Posts: 1562
- Joined: 2008-10-12 05:36pm
- Location: Rio Piedras, San Juan, Puerto Rico
- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
Central City, Centrum
The Centrality
10 Jaunary 3401
Party Supervisor Filex Pascom was busy welcoming some Centralist representatives from the Republic of Cornelia when he happened to spy the secretive and often reserved Director of the CSB, Natre Layu, passing by. Since the job of a Party Supervisor is to make sure everything went smoothly and securely, Pascom could not resist stopping the Director and ask, "Mr. Layu, I presume you find the security preparations sound?"
Layu nodded. "After cleaning up your house, I expect no less."
Pascom chuckled nervously, remembering the CSB's anti-corruption purge of the Party Supervisors. "Have you found any problems in particular? I can-"
"Mr. Pascom, the problems I've found are not your own, but rather because the local CSB chief cannot tell his arse from his elbow. That is the reason why I'm here, incidentally. Can't have my goons complacent, or they miss crucial details."
"Ah, so what do you plan to do with that chief?"
"Reassign him somewhere where his..."abilities", are needed. I might even demote him. While I am usually ruthless with incompentents I prefer to humiliate them rather than kill them. After all, they might redeem themselves. Or not."
"Heheh, well, looks like you have it under control then, sir. Now if you excuse me..."
Pascom left Layu to his own devices, and the latter went to the business of observing the preparations for the CENINTERN conference. While doing so he happened to see the Secretary of Internal Security Hokay Zatan, his boss, and Gates talking with each other, which piqued his curiosity. He decided to hear them out.
"...kriffin' idiots at Eschate are useless! How did they permit that prison break in the first place! Letting those CEID punks escape is unforgivable! How hard is finding competent guards these days!?", Zatan said in fury.
"I told you, Secretary, that the CEID agents were not going to sit on their hands and rot in our prisons. At least most of them got killed before they could escape the country..."
"It seems I interrupted something important, have I?" Layu's prescence startled both men, and both frowned.
"Out of your shell Nat? What brings you here?", asked Gates.
"CSB business, Gates. And I should ask the same of you."
"Sorry my friend, you know the drill. CIS business."
"Look you two. Leave the interservice rivalry for later, okay?", said Zatan. "You two have tough jobs ahead of you, and damn it all if you start your games in public, for crying out loud!"
"Never saw you as a diplomat, Zatan," said Falko Tredell, who seemingly came out of nowhere. He then looked at Layu and Gates. "But he's right. Be nice and I may not convince the Dictator to sack you. All in the name of State harmony, of course."
"Yes sir," both men said.
"Very well then. Carry on."
Presidential Center, Central City
Centrum, The Centrality
"The Feelipeenis are rather angry with us, Mr. President," said Tagdef Borlon, who addressed Kierger through his title as President of the Centralist Party. "They've threatened to recall their ambassador and expell our own. The news of this conference is stirring not only them, but others as well, to monitor or even repress Centralist parties everywhere."
"Shroomarcos can stow it. But that's my gut instinct. We can't risk CENINTERN losing it's influence, but we can't afford to lose its trust. Tell Nostrum to try and keep Shroomarcos from crossing the line. We condemm him in public, try to calm him down in private."
"I doubt Shroomarcos might accept an olive branch from us. He's already cracking down on Centralists and Communists alike."
"Then we give him a parting gift and burn his bank accounts. Indirectly, of course."
"You're suggesting something risky, sir. We don't need to waste time on a tinpot dictator."
"I just don't want him to get away with flinging shit at CENINTERN. We're not preserving Dovan's legacy for nothing!"
"Let the Feelipeeni Centralists deal with him. I'm sure Shroomarcos is not aware that the more he mismanages his country, the more people will turn against him. Like Dovan said, a hijacked State is no State."
"Hijacked?"
"It means that the State is taken over by people that are only interested in lining their own pockets. A State in such a state, pardon the pun, needs to be purified, and it's hijackers thrown out of power by a Centralist Party. Only when a Centralist Party has the reins of power can it then focus on giving the people Peace, Stability, Order, and Prosperity."
"And if the Party itself is hijacked?"
"Then it must be purged of all corruption, even if it means a Centralist Party from elsewhere has to do the job. You may know this has not happened."
"Yes, because most Centralist Parties in existence haven't taken over the State in their nations, and those that do have either not needed our help or have been overthrown. You told me several times already."
"Well, at least you remember your teachings."
"Yeah, yeah. I pity those Centralists that have to worry about the State hunting them down."
"We can only hope that such an experience will let them see what the State can do, and so rule wisely once they control it."
"Not that others will see it that way."
"Let them say what they will say. It won't change history."
The Centrality
10 Jaunary 3401
Party Supervisor Filex Pascom was busy welcoming some Centralist representatives from the Republic of Cornelia when he happened to spy the secretive and often reserved Director of the CSB, Natre Layu, passing by. Since the job of a Party Supervisor is to make sure everything went smoothly and securely, Pascom could not resist stopping the Director and ask, "Mr. Layu, I presume you find the security preparations sound?"
Layu nodded. "After cleaning up your house, I expect no less."
Pascom chuckled nervously, remembering the CSB's anti-corruption purge of the Party Supervisors. "Have you found any problems in particular? I can-"
"Mr. Pascom, the problems I've found are not your own, but rather because the local CSB chief cannot tell his arse from his elbow. That is the reason why I'm here, incidentally. Can't have my goons complacent, or they miss crucial details."
"Ah, so what do you plan to do with that chief?"
"Reassign him somewhere where his..."abilities", are needed. I might even demote him. While I am usually ruthless with incompentents I prefer to humiliate them rather than kill them. After all, they might redeem themselves. Or not."
"Heheh, well, looks like you have it under control then, sir. Now if you excuse me..."
Pascom left Layu to his own devices, and the latter went to the business of observing the preparations for the CENINTERN conference. While doing so he happened to see the Secretary of Internal Security Hokay Zatan, his boss, and Gates talking with each other, which piqued his curiosity. He decided to hear them out.
"...kriffin' idiots at Eschate are useless! How did they permit that prison break in the first place! Letting those CEID punks escape is unforgivable! How hard is finding competent guards these days!?", Zatan said in fury.
"I told you, Secretary, that the CEID agents were not going to sit on their hands and rot in our prisons. At least most of them got killed before they could escape the country..."
"It seems I interrupted something important, have I?" Layu's prescence startled both men, and both frowned.
"Out of your shell Nat? What brings you here?", asked Gates.
"CSB business, Gates. And I should ask the same of you."
"Sorry my friend, you know the drill. CIS business."
"Look you two. Leave the interservice rivalry for later, okay?", said Zatan. "You two have tough jobs ahead of you, and damn it all if you start your games in public, for crying out loud!"
"Never saw you as a diplomat, Zatan," said Falko Tredell, who seemingly came out of nowhere. He then looked at Layu and Gates. "But he's right. Be nice and I may not convince the Dictator to sack you. All in the name of State harmony, of course."
"Yes sir," both men said.
"Very well then. Carry on."
Presidential Center, Central City
Centrum, The Centrality
"The Feelipeenis are rather angry with us, Mr. President," said Tagdef Borlon, who addressed Kierger through his title as President of the Centralist Party. "They've threatened to recall their ambassador and expell our own. The news of this conference is stirring not only them, but others as well, to monitor or even repress Centralist parties everywhere."
"Shroomarcos can stow it. But that's my gut instinct. We can't risk CENINTERN losing it's influence, but we can't afford to lose its trust. Tell Nostrum to try and keep Shroomarcos from crossing the line. We condemm him in public, try to calm him down in private."
"I doubt Shroomarcos might accept an olive branch from us. He's already cracking down on Centralists and Communists alike."
"Then we give him a parting gift and burn his bank accounts. Indirectly, of course."
"You're suggesting something risky, sir. We don't need to waste time on a tinpot dictator."
"I just don't want him to get away with flinging shit at CENINTERN. We're not preserving Dovan's legacy for nothing!"
"Let the Feelipeeni Centralists deal with him. I'm sure Shroomarcos is not aware that the more he mismanages his country, the more people will turn against him. Like Dovan said, a hijacked State is no State."
"Hijacked?"
"It means that the State is taken over by people that are only interested in lining their own pockets. A State in such a state, pardon the pun, needs to be purified, and it's hijackers thrown out of power by a Centralist Party. Only when a Centralist Party has the reins of power can it then focus on giving the people Peace, Stability, Order, and Prosperity."
"And if the Party itself is hijacked?"
"Then it must be purged of all corruption, even if it means a Centralist Party from elsewhere has to do the job. You may know this has not happened."
"Yes, because most Centralist Parties in existence haven't taken over the State in their nations, and those that do have either not needed our help or have been overthrown. You told me several times already."
"Well, at least you remember your teachings."
"Yeah, yeah. I pity those Centralists that have to worry about the State hunting them down."
"We can only hope that such an experience will let them see what the State can do, and so rule wisely once they control it."
"Not that others will see it that way."
"Let them say what they will say. It won't change history."
An inhabitant from the Island of Cars.
-
fgalkin
- Carvin' Marvin
- Posts: 14557
- Joined: 2002-07-03 11:51pm
- Location: Land of the Mountain Fascists
- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
Sensor Platform XB-345865
Unnamed System, Sector B-25
Unreal Time//Summer of 3400
The sensor station floated in the darkness of deep space as it had for centuries. Far away from everything, its purpose was not to monitor signals or movement, but something far more important. XB-345865 monitored the very fabric of reality itself.
There was a ripple, which grew larger and larger until it turned into an all-encompassing torrent. The very fabric of hyperspace twisted and churned and changed, causing huge shockwaves destroying dozens of ships and stranding countless others. Brilliant energies of every color flashed through the galactic void. The MEH had arrived.
Sensor Platform XB-345865 had been put in place just for such an eventuality, and it had done its job perfectly, sending out a short hyperwave signal to a point listed in its memory bank. Its Duty done, the platform went back into dormancy, awaiting the next time it would be needed….
Deep Space, Sector F-23
Unreal Time//Summer of 3400
Listener In The Darkness dreamt of home, the endless maelstroms of fluorescent energy, constantly swirling and churning, the great universe-consuming tides, the hidden Fires in the places between realities under the burning gaze of the Eye, and much more. It dreamt of hunting Lessers, scared puny things seeking refuge inside the giant torrents. It dreamt of their pleas as it dominated them, toyed with them and then consumed them. For a short time, it was happy, content.
Suddenly, there was a change as ancient mechanisms activated, awakening the Greater Daemon from its slumber. Listener In The Darkness spent the next few moments confused and disoriented as the reality of its dreams was replaced by the far harsher reality of the material universe it was in. Gone was its careless existence in the place between, replaced by the memories of terrible war and the cold pressure of the wards against its consciousness.
“Maggot! Worm!* Why have you woken me?” Listener In The Darkness snarled, calling out its subordinates Names, sending them screaming in agony. It reconsidered its decision almost immediately. The two Lessers had been on the ship along with it for centuries, long enough for them to discover how much it hated being awoken. That meant that there had to be a reason for them to wake it and risk its wrath.
“What is it?” it asked, stopping the pain long enough for the Lessers to answer.
“Master! A signal from Devourer Of Worlds, Slayer of Suns!” the one known as Maggot screamed out.
“There is a Class I situation! We are to investigate immediately!” its companion, the Lesser known as Worm joined it.
Listener In The Darkness examined the message and considered the situation. On one hand, it had hated its current predicament, being stuck on a Stealth ship hundreds of lightyears away from Lost space on a patrol nearly a millennium long, with only its two subordinates and the ship’s spy probes for company. On the other….. a Class I situation meant a massive disruption in the very fabric of spacetime and that always meant trouble. Listener In The Darkness remembered the War To End All Wars and felt a stab of fear. Immediately, it lashed out against its subordinates, making them feel the same terrible fear, amplifying and magnifying it until it overwhelmed their pathetic consciousness. It sniggered in amusement. Come to think of it, anything, even a Class I situation would be a diversion of the endless tedium of proceeding from one sensor platform to another, doing routine maintenance while hiding from everybody.
“Maggot, Worm, ready yourselves. We’re going to investigate,” it said, as its subordinates screamed out in fear. Silently, The Type-I stealth ship powered up its systems and activated its stealth fields before slipping into hyperspace, heading for the source of the disturbance.
*Note: "Maggot" and "Worm" are rough approximations of the actual derogatory names used by Listener In The Darkness
------------------------
Result: the Lost join the party going on in MEH space.
Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin
Unnamed System, Sector B-25
Unreal Time//Summer of 3400
The sensor station floated in the darkness of deep space as it had for centuries. Far away from everything, its purpose was not to monitor signals or movement, but something far more important. XB-345865 monitored the very fabric of reality itself.
There was a ripple, which grew larger and larger until it turned into an all-encompassing torrent. The very fabric of hyperspace twisted and churned and changed, causing huge shockwaves destroying dozens of ships and stranding countless others. Brilliant energies of every color flashed through the galactic void. The MEH had arrived.
Sensor Platform XB-345865 had been put in place just for such an eventuality, and it had done its job perfectly, sending out a short hyperwave signal to a point listed in its memory bank. Its Duty done, the platform went back into dormancy, awaiting the next time it would be needed….
Deep Space, Sector F-23
Unreal Time//Summer of 3400
Listener In The Darkness dreamt of home, the endless maelstroms of fluorescent energy, constantly swirling and churning, the great universe-consuming tides, the hidden Fires in the places between realities under the burning gaze of the Eye, and much more. It dreamt of hunting Lessers, scared puny things seeking refuge inside the giant torrents. It dreamt of their pleas as it dominated them, toyed with them and then consumed them. For a short time, it was happy, content.
Suddenly, there was a change as ancient mechanisms activated, awakening the Greater Daemon from its slumber. Listener In The Darkness spent the next few moments confused and disoriented as the reality of its dreams was replaced by the far harsher reality of the material universe it was in. Gone was its careless existence in the place between, replaced by the memories of terrible war and the cold pressure of the wards against its consciousness.
“Maggot! Worm!* Why have you woken me?” Listener In The Darkness snarled, calling out its subordinates Names, sending them screaming in agony. It reconsidered its decision almost immediately. The two Lessers had been on the ship along with it for centuries, long enough for them to discover how much it hated being awoken. That meant that there had to be a reason for them to wake it and risk its wrath.
“What is it?” it asked, stopping the pain long enough for the Lessers to answer.
“Master! A signal from Devourer Of Worlds, Slayer of Suns!” the one known as Maggot screamed out.
“There is a Class I situation! We are to investigate immediately!” its companion, the Lesser known as Worm joined it.
Listener In The Darkness examined the message and considered the situation. On one hand, it had hated its current predicament, being stuck on a Stealth ship hundreds of lightyears away from Lost space on a patrol nearly a millennium long, with only its two subordinates and the ship’s spy probes for company. On the other….. a Class I situation meant a massive disruption in the very fabric of spacetime and that always meant trouble. Listener In The Darkness remembered the War To End All Wars and felt a stab of fear. Immediately, it lashed out against its subordinates, making them feel the same terrible fear, amplifying and magnifying it until it overwhelmed their pathetic consciousness. It sniggered in amusement. Come to think of it, anything, even a Class I situation would be a diversion of the endless tedium of proceeding from one sensor platform to another, doing routine maintenance while hiding from everybody.
“Maggot, Worm, ready yourselves. We’re going to investigate,” it said, as its subordinates screamed out in fear. Silently, The Type-I stealth ship powered up its systems and activated its stealth fields before slipping into hyperspace, heading for the source of the disturbance.
*Note: "Maggot" and "Worm" are rough approximations of the actual derogatory names used by Listener In The Darkness
------------------------
Result: the Lost join the party going on in MEH space.
Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin
-
Force Lord
- Jedi Council Member
- Posts: 1562
- Joined: 2008-10-12 05:36pm
- Location: Rio Piedras, San Juan, Puerto Rico
- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
CNS Count Dracula
Near MEH Space, Deep Space
Unreal Time
The MEH's conduct was fast becoming infamous, and the Centrality decided that it may be wise to monitor them. After all, they did want to buy a lot of their ships, only to withdraw its offer suddenly. Perhaps the MEH's so-called Leader had decided that enough attention had been drawn. It was a classic case of too little, too late, though, as the arrival of the Dracula and four other ships attested. Indeed, the CIS had heard sketchy rumors that other nations were planning to do something big to the MEH, but it lacked enough info to confirm those rumors. The ships' main mission was to confirm if the rumors were true.
The stealth ship Dracula was a different class from the Datton, as it was based off the hull of a Thesus-class Cruiser. This made it larger and more capable than ships of the Datton's class, but also rarer. Of course, it wasn't alone: it was accompanied by four smaller stealth ships that used the same basic hull of a Blitz-class frigvette. Normally there would be two destroyer-type stealth ships as well, but many ships of the Datton's class were still testing their new equipment, after the debacle at Pendleton forced a refit. It was hoped these could be finished in time for service entry, and so sent for active duty near MEH territory. Of course, there was also a cloaked supply vessel for logistic purposes.
For now, the five stealth ships did nothing more than to stay put and out of detection. Commanded by Commodore Samul Mobudu, of African descent, they waited.
Near MEH Space, Deep Space
Unreal Time
The MEH's conduct was fast becoming infamous, and the Centrality decided that it may be wise to monitor them. After all, they did want to buy a lot of their ships, only to withdraw its offer suddenly. Perhaps the MEH's so-called Leader had decided that enough attention had been drawn. It was a classic case of too little, too late, though, as the arrival of the Dracula and four other ships attested. Indeed, the CIS had heard sketchy rumors that other nations were planning to do something big to the MEH, but it lacked enough info to confirm those rumors. The ships' main mission was to confirm if the rumors were true.
The stealth ship Dracula was a different class from the Datton, as it was based off the hull of a Thesus-class Cruiser. This made it larger and more capable than ships of the Datton's class, but also rarer. Of course, it wasn't alone: it was accompanied by four smaller stealth ships that used the same basic hull of a Blitz-class frigvette. Normally there would be two destroyer-type stealth ships as well, but many ships of the Datton's class were still testing their new equipment, after the debacle at Pendleton forced a refit. It was hoped these could be finished in time for service entry, and so sent for active duty near MEH territory. Of course, there was also a cloaked supply vessel for logistic purposes.
For now, the five stealth ships did nothing more than to stay put and out of detection. Commanded by Commodore Samul Mobudu, of African descent, they waited.
Last edited by Force Lord on 2011-04-21 03:39pm, edited 1 time in total.
An inhabitant from the Island of Cars.
-
Darkevilme
- Jedi Council Member
- Posts: 1514
- Joined: 2007-06-12 02:27pm
- Location: London, england
- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
HSF Kitty Surprise, MEH space
The reason for the orkish suicide attack continued to elude the watching felines, but it had meant that finally something had actually happened. Even if the event had been over comparatively quickly leaving them once again stalking silently through the outer edges of MEH systems and collating the massive amounts of information pouring from the stealth probes now infesting the MEHnite sectors like a disasterous case of fleas. The main trouble with that information was that there was till recently hardly anything actually NEW about what they were seeing.
“Onnai Charam, have you completed your report on the incident with the MEH battleship?”
Packleader Talia wouldn't normally have granted Charam's request to talk at this hour, but there was honestly so little to do that it was this or trying to beat her highscore on Mousehunt yet again. It was thus that the conversation was occuring with both kitties in Talia's shipmistress quarters, which although quite a lot smaller than the ones on non Blade vessels were at least only expected to accommodate a single chamarran.
“Yes Shipmistress, firepower and shield estimates based on MEHN ship performance fall between initial expectations and the exaggerated reports from personnel sources.” Charam explains and nods towards the console “I've sent the analysis already. It will provide a rough guideline for the strength of other vessels in the MEHN but without further data points I would not call it an entirely reliable basis for force appraisal.”
“I am aware of the limitations Charam, unfortunately we can hardly expect the orks to oblige us with more spectacles of MEHN vessels in combat just because the first was found wanting can we? ” Talia smiles then cants your head “This is a fairly routine report though, what made you bring it to me personally? Holocommunications would of sufficed.”
“It was not my intention shipmistress. I had something more significant to bring to your attention, albeit less concrete nature. If I may?” Charam replied and gestured to the console, gaining a nod from Talia she stepped to the console and plugged her pad in to bring up some information on it.
“We've gotten a good baseline for the bloater ship activity in their own space, we've even got a bit of information on their stealth vessels by camping out their anchorages. Hell we've even got a good picture for the weather in hyperspace here.” Charam said, if anything understating the case. With so many Blades operating in the sectors for several weeks they'd rapidly expanded their intelligence gathering operations until they were scanning the MEH sector for pretty much absolutely everything. With such a disproportionate deployment of assets the effect would probably have best been described as a feeding frenzy. All this Talia knew though so Charam added “But recently we've been picking up a few anomalies on the subspace scanners. I've been trying to correlate them.”
“And what have you found?” Talia asked, it sounded fairly inconsequential but at least it was SOMETHING rather than nothing.
“Hyperspace emergence points, stealthed ones. They're only momentary and we can't lock them down or see where the vessels go once they've arrived but I'm pretty sure they're there.”
“And you're SURE they're not MEH vessels?”
“In honesty no, we've seemingly accounted for all MEH vessels, there's been no anomalous anchorage activity coincides with the arrival of these vessels and we have a moderately good idea of what a MEHN stealth ship signature looks like but I cannot rule out that it is some even more secret MEHN class of ship. Something that's a better kept secret than the ones we've seen so far.”
Talia smiled “Good of you not to jump to conclusions. But if it isn't MEHN craft creating these signatures what's your theory as to what's going on?”
“Well, unless it's just some new form of hyperspace weather phenomena I'd say we're no longer the only people snooping around here.”
“Very well, at least we'll have someone else to spy on, focus your attentions on isolating these signals. I'll inform the other packs in due time. We may as well amuse ourselves with trying to discover who else is taking a deep and scrutinizing interest in the MEH.”
RESULT: The Chamarrans turn their attentions from the exhaustively over completed task of spying on the MEH to attempting to spy on those who are spying on the MEH.
The reason for the orkish suicide attack continued to elude the watching felines, but it had meant that finally something had actually happened. Even if the event had been over comparatively quickly leaving them once again stalking silently through the outer edges of MEH systems and collating the massive amounts of information pouring from the stealth probes now infesting the MEHnite sectors like a disasterous case of fleas. The main trouble with that information was that there was till recently hardly anything actually NEW about what they were seeing.
“Onnai Charam, have you completed your report on the incident with the MEH battleship?”
Packleader Talia wouldn't normally have granted Charam's request to talk at this hour, but there was honestly so little to do that it was this or trying to beat her highscore on Mousehunt yet again. It was thus that the conversation was occuring with both kitties in Talia's shipmistress quarters, which although quite a lot smaller than the ones on non Blade vessels were at least only expected to accommodate a single chamarran.
“Yes Shipmistress, firepower and shield estimates based on MEHN ship performance fall between initial expectations and the exaggerated reports from personnel sources.” Charam explains and nods towards the console “I've sent the analysis already. It will provide a rough guideline for the strength of other vessels in the MEHN but without further data points I would not call it an entirely reliable basis for force appraisal.”
“I am aware of the limitations Charam, unfortunately we can hardly expect the orks to oblige us with more spectacles of MEHN vessels in combat just because the first was found wanting can we? ” Talia smiles then cants your head “This is a fairly routine report though, what made you bring it to me personally? Holocommunications would of sufficed.”
“It was not my intention shipmistress. I had something more significant to bring to your attention, albeit less concrete nature. If I may?” Charam replied and gestured to the console, gaining a nod from Talia she stepped to the console and plugged her pad in to bring up some information on it.
“We've gotten a good baseline for the bloater ship activity in their own space, we've even got a bit of information on their stealth vessels by camping out their anchorages. Hell we've even got a good picture for the weather in hyperspace here.” Charam said, if anything understating the case. With so many Blades operating in the sectors for several weeks they'd rapidly expanded their intelligence gathering operations until they were scanning the MEH sector for pretty much absolutely everything. With such a disproportionate deployment of assets the effect would probably have best been described as a feeding frenzy. All this Talia knew though so Charam added “But recently we've been picking up a few anomalies on the subspace scanners. I've been trying to correlate them.”
“And what have you found?” Talia asked, it sounded fairly inconsequential but at least it was SOMETHING rather than nothing.
“Hyperspace emergence points, stealthed ones. They're only momentary and we can't lock them down or see where the vessels go once they've arrived but I'm pretty sure they're there.”
“And you're SURE they're not MEH vessels?”
“In honesty no, we've seemingly accounted for all MEH vessels, there's been no anomalous anchorage activity coincides with the arrival of these vessels and we have a moderately good idea of what a MEHN stealth ship signature looks like but I cannot rule out that it is some even more secret MEHN class of ship. Something that's a better kept secret than the ones we've seen so far.”
Talia smiled “Good of you not to jump to conclusions. But if it isn't MEHN craft creating these signatures what's your theory as to what's going on?”
“Well, unless it's just some new form of hyperspace weather phenomena I'd say we're no longer the only people snooping around here.”
“Very well, at least we'll have someone else to spy on, focus your attentions on isolating these signals. I'll inform the other packs in due time. We may as well amuse ourselves with trying to discover who else is taking a deep and scrutinizing interest in the MEH.”
RESULT: The Chamarrans turn their attentions from the exhaustively over completed task of spying on the MEH to attempting to spy on those who are spying on the MEH.
-
Force Lord
- Jedi Council Member
- Posts: 1562
- Joined: 2008-10-12 05:36pm
- Location: Rio Piedras, San Juan, Puerto Rico
- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
Center of Foreign Affairs, Centrum
The Centrality
Mid-August 3400
The Centrality
Mid-August 3400
Ravin Nostrum scratched his head. This was a lot to process, and it would take him days to respond to all of the Lost's inquiries, even if he used Centernet. He would have to start with the easiest parts. He went down to work.Widebeam hyperwave transmission from Sector C6
Greetings, fellow sapients of the galaxy.
We sincerely thank you for the time and effort you have taken to answer our questionnaire. As our knowledge of the galaxy at large is rather limited, your answers will help us greatly in understanding your civilization.
In regards to your own questions, we hope that the information below will be helpful to you:
Our civilization is called the Lost, although you may choose to refer to it by any name that is convenient to you. There are several reasons why we have chosen that name for our civilization, the most obvious one being that until recently we were “lost” to the galaxy by virtue of being completely unknown despite being a spacefaring civilization for over seven thousand standard human years. Now that we are ending our period of isolation, it is possible we may well have to change that name to “the Found” in the near future.
Our civilization is comprised of two member species. The primary and most numerous consists of, in simplest terms, a sapient collection of exotic energies inhabiting a material host, usually an artificially constructed organic or mechanical body. The secondary member species is represented by organic hermaphroditic humanoids of the following dimensions [ht: 120-150 cm, wt 40-60 kg]. In addition, we make use of numerous species of non-sapient organic and computational beings, including several common and widely distributed species of galactic megafauna. However, they are not considered to be full members of our civilization due to their inability to fully participate in its activities.
While we do not believe that the internal workings of our civilization are particularly relevant to any diplomatic or mercantile exchange, we are willing to share the following information:
1) Our civilization believes that large-scale long-term projects that benefit the civilization as a whole take precedence over short-term temporary gains.
2) Industrial output and the allocation of resources are determined by our primary decision-making construct based on the criterion listed above.
3) The above policies are made and carried out with the full consent of the individuals who comprise our civilization.
We do not believe that any meaningful sort of “cultural exchange” is possible between our peoples due to the great differences between the individuals who comprise our civilization and those of the species that make up the galactic powers. Many of our cultural practices would be impossible to perform by a being comprised solely of matter.
However, we are very interested in the exchange of goods and information between our peoples. In particular, we are interested in obtaining the following items:
1) Information pertaining to the causes, methodology and motivation of the arrival of the Central Alliance.
2) Information pertaining to the causes, methodology and motivation of the arrival of the Multiversal Empire of Happiness.
3) Information pertaining to the causes, methodology and motivation of the arrival of the Refuge.
4) Information pertaining to the origins of the Chamarran species.
5) Information pertaining to the origins of the Human species on the planets Earth and Nova Terra.
6) Information pertaining to the activity of “godlike” beings and entities.
7) Information and technologies pertaining to the travel between universes.
8 ) Information pertaining to the interaction of energy entities derived from sapient material beings (“souls”) with the material universe.
9) Information and technologies pertaining to communication with extradimensional entities.
10) A detailed explanation of the cultural entity known as “Animal House.”
11) Items of high utility function for the facilitation of the acquisition of the above.
We are offering the following items in exchange:
1) Information pertaining to the activity of “godlike” beings and entities on a universal and multiversal scale during the period of 15 billion to one million standard human years ago, and our extrapolations based on that data.
2) Information pertaining to the interaction of energy entities with the material universe.
3) Technologies pertaining to the manipulation of the fabric of spacetime on a small-to-moderate scale.
4) Technologies pertaining to the construction of large-scale space habitats.
5) Technologies pertaining to dramatically increasing the output of existing power sources.
6) Technologies pertaining to instantaneous transit between distant locations (up to and including adjacent superclusters) (NOTE: According to our estimations, none of the civilizations in the galaxy have the level of technology or the industrial base necessary for the practical implementation of these technologies)
7) Technologies pertaining to inertial and gravitational manipulation.
8 ) Technologies pertaining to the safe and efficient operation of hyperdrives in shoal regions.
9) Technologies pertaining to large-scale extraplanetary resource extraction, including but not limited to, the safe use of swarms of self-replicating machines.
10) Technologies and methodology pertaining to the domestication of several species of galactic megafauna.
11) Items created with the implementation of the above technologies, including assorted weaponry.
12) Assorted exotic raw materials, including but not limited to large quantities of the substance known to the galaxy as tiberium/rubiconium/vegemite and its derivatives, as well as small quantities of assorted psychically-resistant substances.
Unfortunately, for security reasons, we are unable to disclose the location of our primary population centers. We are, however, able and willing to accommodate the representatives of governments and individuals interested in trade and communication at our newly constructed diplomatic facilities. The location of these facilities will be disclosed to you in a subsequent communique.
We thank you for your cooperation and understanding and wish that our relations will be friendly and mutually beneficial.
From: Ravin Nostrum, Foreign Secretary of the Centrality
To: The Lost
Sirs,
Some of your interests are unanswerable by us at this time. We are still working on acquiring proper information on all except items 5 and 10, and the former is largely theory. I'm sure you would understand.
We are very interested in what you offer. However, is that dependent on what information we can give to you? If so, that is unfortunate. We cannot gurantee having all the answers you desire.
We are open to dialogue, and await the moment you will inform us about the location of your diplomatic facilities.
My regards,
Ravin Nostrum, Foreign Secretary of the Centrality
An inhabitant from the Island of Cars.
-
DarthShady
- Jedi Council Member
- Posts: 1872
- Joined: 2007-09-15 10:46am
- Location: Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina
- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
Somewhere in the K-Zone
Darkness.
Nothing but darkness.
No sound, no light, nothing.
Athos Zaloumi had been awake in this strange place for hours. At least he thought he was awake and that it was hours, it was hard to tell. The room, at least he thought it was a room, was pitch black and he couldn't see a thing. There were no sounds, except the ones he himself made. He had tried feeling his way out, but whatever direction he walked in, he came upon a cold smooth surface. There were no exits from this strange place, and his head hurt, he tried to remember how he got there - but failed.
The last couple of hours or minutes, he couldn't tell, had been quite disorienting. The last memory he had was of captaining his merchant ship through the K-Zone. He was making one of his regular deliveries of food and supplies to one of the many Byzantine protectorates, or shitholes as he liked to call them, spread out between the Imperium and the Karlack Zone. Were we attacked? Was the first question that came to mind. But then, if they were attacked, they would be dead. He would be dead. But he wasn't. Or was he?
It was real clear to Athos that he was having a really bad day.
Suddenly a gust of air flowed across his face, the air was warm and smelled rather strange. He tried to find the source, perhaps it was a ventilation shaft, or an exit. Barely had he taken two steps, when the ground beneath him opened up and swallowed him whole. He was falling, or to be more precise, he was sliding - down a tube of somekind. It took almost a minute for him to reach his destination. Another room. This one was well lit up, so much so that his eyes hurt, and it took him a while to adjust.
After a brief moment of pain in his eyes, he realized he wasn't alone. There were others there, his crew members and from what he could tell, more humans from the Imperium. A lot more. After a quick look around, he realized that this new room was gigantic, if it could be called a room. Much to his utter horror and disgust the walls and floors of this room seemed to be organic. And that could only mean one thing. Karlacks. One side of this new place was open to space, closed of by some kind of slimy see-through membrane. Athos didn't really know what it was, but he could see through it, and much to his surprise - there were no Karlack Brood ships out there. Instead a group of Imperium merchant ships drifted lazily by the large membrane. It was then that Athos realized that he was on some kind of space station.
But then a far more terrifying revelation struck him. He was a prisoner of The Swarm. He felt fear, and a cold chill went down his spine. He could already imagine his own death, as dinner for the bugs. He got up and began to run, desperate to find a way out, he stumbled across many of his fellow servants of the God Emperor - until eventually he fell down on his knees and realized that there was no point in running. Escape was impossible. Despair overwhelmed him and he found himself capable of only one thing. Prayer. He would pray to the God Emperor for salvation.
Seconds later his prayers were interrupted by a voice that seemed to come from the living walls of this horrid place.
"Your God cannot help you." The voice said and laughed. This caused many of the people there to shout out of fear, or anger, or shear panic.
The voice spoke again, this time it was in Athos's head, and not just his but also in the minds of all the other prisoners.
"Your minds and your bodies now belong to us. You will no longer serve your false God. From this moment on, you exist to serve The Swarm!"
Athos could feel pain surging through his body. His head felt like it was about to explode. The world around him disappeared in a flurry of images and sounds. His mind felt like it was being ripped apart, consumed. And then, as suddenly as it came, the pain went away - and it was dark again.
Darkness.
Nothing but darkness.
No sound, no light, nothing.
Athos Zaloumi had been awake in this strange place for hours. At least he thought he was awake and that it was hours, it was hard to tell. The room, at least he thought it was a room, was pitch black and he couldn't see a thing. There were no sounds, except the ones he himself made. He had tried feeling his way out, but whatever direction he walked in, he came upon a cold smooth surface. There were no exits from this strange place, and his head hurt, he tried to remember how he got there - but failed.
The last couple of hours or minutes, he couldn't tell, had been quite disorienting. The last memory he had was of captaining his merchant ship through the K-Zone. He was making one of his regular deliveries of food and supplies to one of the many Byzantine protectorates, or shitholes as he liked to call them, spread out between the Imperium and the Karlack Zone. Were we attacked? Was the first question that came to mind. But then, if they were attacked, they would be dead. He would be dead. But he wasn't. Or was he?
It was real clear to Athos that he was having a really bad day.
Suddenly a gust of air flowed across his face, the air was warm and smelled rather strange. He tried to find the source, perhaps it was a ventilation shaft, or an exit. Barely had he taken two steps, when the ground beneath him opened up and swallowed him whole. He was falling, or to be more precise, he was sliding - down a tube of somekind. It took almost a minute for him to reach his destination. Another room. This one was well lit up, so much so that his eyes hurt, and it took him a while to adjust.
After a brief moment of pain in his eyes, he realized he wasn't alone. There were others there, his crew members and from what he could tell, more humans from the Imperium. A lot more. After a quick look around, he realized that this new room was gigantic, if it could be called a room. Much to his utter horror and disgust the walls and floors of this room seemed to be organic. And that could only mean one thing. Karlacks. One side of this new place was open to space, closed of by some kind of slimy see-through membrane. Athos didn't really know what it was, but he could see through it, and much to his surprise - there were no Karlack Brood ships out there. Instead a group of Imperium merchant ships drifted lazily by the large membrane. It was then that Athos realized that he was on some kind of space station.
But then a far more terrifying revelation struck him. He was a prisoner of The Swarm. He felt fear, and a cold chill went down his spine. He could already imagine his own death, as dinner for the bugs. He got up and began to run, desperate to find a way out, he stumbled across many of his fellow servants of the God Emperor - until eventually he fell down on his knees and realized that there was no point in running. Escape was impossible. Despair overwhelmed him and he found himself capable of only one thing. Prayer. He would pray to the God Emperor for salvation.
Seconds later his prayers were interrupted by a voice that seemed to come from the living walls of this horrid place.
"Your God cannot help you." The voice said and laughed. This caused many of the people there to shout out of fear, or anger, or shear panic.
The voice spoke again, this time it was in Athos's head, and not just his but also in the minds of all the other prisoners.
"Your minds and your bodies now belong to us. You will no longer serve your false God. From this moment on, you exist to serve The Swarm!"
Athos could feel pain surging through his body. His head felt like it was about to explode. The world around him disappeared in a flurry of images and sounds. His mind felt like it was being ripped apart, consumed. And then, as suddenly as it came, the pain went away - and it was dark again.
-
fgalkin
- Carvin' Marvin
- Posts: 14557
- Joined: 2002-07-03 11:51pm
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- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
The Bragulan Economic Exposition Extravaganza of Friendship (BEEEF)
Vlyadibragstok, Southeastern Severnaya Sector / just beyond Northwestern Lena Sector
Unreal Time / October-December 3400
“Hmmm….” Shroom said. The tsvagna, that delightful nectar, was beginning to affect her, too. She could feel a pleasant warmth spread through her body. There was a slight buzzing in her head, too, which was quickly replaced by a sense of…rightness. She knew then and there that everything was right with the universe, that these negotiations would be successful, that the Lost would be able to carry out their mission and escape the Enemy. She could see the world more sharply and clearly. “Hmmmm….” she repeated and stretched, immediately drawing the eyes of the bear sitting across from her.
“But comrade Zygrv!” she said. “I understand that the silo itself is a glorious monument to Byzon and Bragulanity, but it is a monument that is here, rather than where it needs to be, which is on our Homeships, where it can be studied by us, so we can partake in Byzon’s wisdom. This is a problem, da, unless…” her tsvagna-boosted mind raced to find a solution. “Da! Unless we move the whole thing. We can cut it out from the planet with hellbeams, yes, and then tractor it up into orbit, where we can load it onto one of our freighters and take it with us. Then, we can examine it with shovels and read the Byzonist materials within! That is a good solution, da?” she poured herself another glass of tsvagna and offered one to the bear. Zygrv gave her a look of utter misery but took the glass and drank from it. He emitted a slight groan.
Oh dear, I hope I didn’t offend him in some way, Shroom thought. He is such a nice bear.
“Yes, we are interested in information about the Refuge and this “Multiversal Empire of Happiness,” she said quickly. “They are very strange lot, and quite perplexing. But then again, everybody in the galaxy is very confusing and perplexing to us, so I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising. ” she sighed. “Still, these MEH are very confusing, even by the standards of the galaxy. Did you know that they have invited our ambassador to come over, and then kept him waiting for weeks in orbit? How very strange.” Shroom looked perplexed
“But yes, we are interested in anything you can tell us about them. We are especially interested in their technologies for the travel between universes. For those, we will pay well, indeed,” she smiled. “Also, we have examined the glorious selection of goods offered by your Empire and were impressed. Truly, your people have achieved a mastery of the element of vegemite that is second to none. Even we, who have spent millennia refining this art have things to learn from you. We will be buying some of your vegemite derivatives that we find interesting, yes. Oh, and I almost forgot!” she slapped her forehead. “I have request from our military. They were very impressed with your Dredka tanks, da. We have a proposal for you. You see, we can give you advanced polyalloy armors for your tanks and power armors, stronger and lighter than bragsteel and bragcrete, so you can put more armor on them and have greater protection. That is good, yes? We will give you the technology and help you set up production, and we will even buy the finished products from you for our own military. What do you say, comrade Zygrv? Comrade Zygrv?!” she cried out as the diplomatic and trade liaison tried to shift in his chair, when his legs seized out and he fell out of it.
“Comrade Zygrv! Are you alright?!” her own tsvagna-boosted reflexes reacted in an instant, and she found herself flying through the air as she somersaulted over the desk and landed on the floor next to him. She grunted as the warm furry bulk of the alien diplomat slammed into her, but her ectoplasm-infused muscles held and she could easily support the much larger Bragulan.
“Comrade Zygrv?!”
-----------
Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin
Vlyadibragstok, Southeastern Severnaya Sector / just beyond Northwestern Lena Sector
Unreal Time / October-December 3400
Previously on SDNW4 wrote: "Now that we have discussed even more technological transferations in exchange of informations, you say? In that case, to acquire that which you offer, Bragule would be more than happy to provide you with whatever information it has to give in regarding the topics of interest you have mentioned," Zygrv was being careful now. Despite his inebriation his mind was still capable of double-thinking. Drunken double-thinking, yes. Something the Arbitrators could arrest citizens for, if they were engaging in DUIs, double-thinking under the influence (what influence, be it intoxicating amounts of alcohol, Solarian corruption, or plain old counterantidisestablishmentarianism, who knew), but IBGV agents were above the law for they were the law, and were trained to be able to do feats of double-thinking that would make the most militant Byzonist Bragulan blush bashfully. "We can give you detailed first-hand accounts of the MEH and its leader*, and informations on the Refuge**, da. However, information on the Central Alliance is something we have little of, and even they themselves are vexed as to the nature of their translocation. Aside from these informations, if you are willing to do trade the old fashion way, Bragule is more willing to pay in rubles, or Altacarian Pounds, Umerian currencies and Shepistani starbucks, as well as in vespene gas, minerals, hardware, and whatever you may need."
“Hmmm….” Shroom said. The tsvagna, that delightful nectar, was beginning to affect her, too. She could feel a pleasant warmth spread through her body. There was a slight buzzing in her head, too, which was quickly replaced by a sense of…rightness. She knew then and there that everything was right with the universe, that these negotiations would be successful, that the Lost would be able to carry out their mission and escape the Enemy. She could see the world more sharply and clearly. “Hmmmm….” she repeated and stretched, immediately drawing the eyes of the bear sitting across from her.
“But comrade Zygrv!” she said. “I understand that the silo itself is a glorious monument to Byzon and Bragulanity, but it is a monument that is here, rather than where it needs to be, which is on our Homeships, where it can be studied by us, so we can partake in Byzon’s wisdom. This is a problem, da, unless…” her tsvagna-boosted mind raced to find a solution. “Da! Unless we move the whole thing. We can cut it out from the planet with hellbeams, yes, and then tractor it up into orbit, where we can load it onto one of our freighters and take it with us. Then, we can examine it with shovels and read the Byzonist materials within! That is a good solution, da?” she poured herself another glass of tsvagna and offered one to the bear. Zygrv gave her a look of utter misery but took the glass and drank from it. He emitted a slight groan.
Oh dear, I hope I didn’t offend him in some way, Shroom thought. He is such a nice bear.
“Yes, we are interested in information about the Refuge and this “Multiversal Empire of Happiness,” she said quickly. “They are very strange lot, and quite perplexing. But then again, everybody in the galaxy is very confusing and perplexing to us, so I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising. ” she sighed. “Still, these MEH are very confusing, even by the standards of the galaxy. Did you know that they have invited our ambassador to come over, and then kept him waiting for weeks in orbit? How very strange.” Shroom looked perplexed
“But yes, we are interested in anything you can tell us about them. We are especially interested in their technologies for the travel between universes. For those, we will pay well, indeed,” she smiled. “Also, we have examined the glorious selection of goods offered by your Empire and were impressed. Truly, your people have achieved a mastery of the element of vegemite that is second to none. Even we, who have spent millennia refining this art have things to learn from you. We will be buying some of your vegemite derivatives that we find interesting, yes. Oh, and I almost forgot!” she slapped her forehead. “I have request from our military. They were very impressed with your Dredka tanks, da. We have a proposal for you. You see, we can give you advanced polyalloy armors for your tanks and power armors, stronger and lighter than bragsteel and bragcrete, so you can put more armor on them and have greater protection. That is good, yes? We will give you the technology and help you set up production, and we will even buy the finished products from you for our own military. What do you say, comrade Zygrv? Comrade Zygrv?!” she cried out as the diplomatic and trade liaison tried to shift in his chair, when his legs seized out and he fell out of it.
“Comrade Zygrv! Are you alright?!” her own tsvagna-boosted reflexes reacted in an instant, and she found herself flying through the air as she somersaulted over the desk and landed on the floor next to him. She grunted as the warm furry bulk of the alien diplomat slammed into her, but her ectoplasm-infused muscles held and she could easily support the much larger Bragulan.
“Comrade Zygrv?!”
-----------
Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin
-
Agent Sorchus
- Jedi Master
- Posts: 1143
- Joined: 2008-08-16 09:01pm
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
~Sometime September, 3400
EIDOLON
(Eoghan InDependent OnLine Organized News)
An Unknown and unidentifiable Vessel was sighted over Cinnabar Space, with a constant stream of Traffic Control Overrides keeping space around it clear and making each and every small craft it launched gain priority Landing. No statement has been officially made, but initial reports mentioned an increased naval presence in-system.
ooc> refresh if pic is broken, also a prelude/ after word to the Lost initial contact with the Eoghan.
EIDOLON
(Eoghan InDependent OnLine Organized News)
An Unknown and unidentifiable Vessel was sighted over Cinnabar Space, with a constant stream of Traffic Control Overrides keeping space around it clear and making each and every small craft it launched gain priority Landing. No statement has been officially made, but initial reports mentioned an increased naval presence in-system.
ooc> refresh if pic is broken, also a prelude/ after word to the Lost initial contact with the Eoghan.
the engines cannae take any more cap'n
warp 9 to shroomland ~Dalton
warp 9 to shroomland ~Dalton
-
Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
- Location: Bleeding breasts and stabbing dicks since 2003
- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
The Bragulan Economic Exposition Extravaganza of Friendship (BEEEF)
Vlyadibragstok, Southeastern Severnaya Sector / just beyond Northwestern Lena Sector
Unreal Time / October-December 3400
He groaned as he resumed his labored breathing.
"We can... arrange... for silo to be excavated by manual labor... and put on massive missile truck to bring to your ship... da." Zygrv slurred. "No need for... space-hells..."
The Emissary giggled and shrugged, which did interesting things to her mammaries. Da. Then she continued, oblivious to what Zygrv had said - if he had even managed to actually say it.
"Da... have detailed interview... interesting conversation with MEH having... such fatties..." he managed to utter. "But haven't beaten hardware specs from them... yet"
The Emissary leaned forward and struck a coquettish pose as Zygrv eyed her up. But in actuality, one of his eyes was panickedly darting around while his other eye wasn't even moving at all because he had lost motor control of half his face. The tsvagna had crossed Zygrv's blood-brain barrier and was now foaming in one of his brain's hemispheres. He tried to utter a cry of help, but couldn't.
The Emissary said something sweet, but Zygrv was losing his sense of hearing. He tried to focus on her mammaries, but even his vision was blurring too. He tried to reach forward towards her chest, desperate to hold on to something to steady himself as he toppled over, but he couldn't...
The Emissary caught him just in time. She held his fuzzy form tight and he leaned on her for support, holding on to her for dear life. His mighty bear arms were wrapped around her and his paws squeezed on something, round somethings, as he tried to cling on.
"Oooohh Comrade Zygrv!" the Emissary giggled naughtily. He felt her body vibrate against his. He placed his tired head on her shoulder, having lost control of his neck muscles earlier. His body sagged and relaxed on her supple form. He sighed in the daemonette's embrace. "You're such a warm bear."
"Da," Zygrv mewled as he nuzzled her with his snout. "Tucking in time... bedtime nows..."
"Awww..." the Emissary cooed as she cradled him and hauled him off to somewhere else more private. "Comrade Zygrv, why don't you tell me more about yourself?"
Drowsily he started talking about his time in Jenova, muttering incomprehensible somethings about albinos and geostigmas and lifestreams.
"Shinrans have the biggest bikes in galaxy!" he went on. "Big enough for posteriors of mighty Bragulans. Their swords too... are also huge!"
"Tee-hee!" the Emissary laughed. As she had no idea what inebriation was, she found the strange antics of the drunken bear very amusing and adorable. "Tell me more!"
"The geostigmas!" Zygrv went on. Part of his brain, the part not clogged up with tsvagna bubbles, was trying to make sure he gave no useful informations. "Disease ridden albino androgynes... in tight leather! Most perfidious!"
"Da!" Shroom laughed some more. The bear was making no sense. Was the tsvagna chemicals adversely affecting his brain? She wondered if organics could properly consume such things such as rocket fuel and battery acid. To her surprise, she belatedly realized that they couldn't. Or, at least, they could tolerate small amounts but if they drank too much... "Oh no... Zygrv!"
"The most Byzonist proletariats shall prevail in stick-beating the albino scum of Shinran descent! The evidences of their treachery is bared forth for all of us to see, the seed of the albino androgyne evident throughout the history of Shinra!" Zygrv thumped his chest at this mighty proclamation. Then he turned to look at the Emissary, whose cries he couldn't hear over his ranting. "Da?"
"I made you drink too much! Noo!" in her panic, she picked Zygrv up one-handedly and brought him to a medical facility. There she administered detoxification to the ailing Bragulan.
By licking him.
She placed the detox nanite-powders on her tongue, allowing them to mix with her salivary enzymes, before administering it topically by giving him a big wet lick. The medicine would work quick and within seconds, Zygrv would be back to his old self, healthy, wealthy and wise.
"Da! The albinos brandish their ridiculous swords at us, but we showing them, da? Da! We bring our own big swords and breaking the limits we do, and giving them the omnislash of faceboot-stomping in form of dolphinoid kicking!" Zygrv laughed. He fucking laughed. "By the way you remind me of nice Jenovan girl with long black hair, tight white tank top and short black skirt, haha!"
Oh no, it was too late. His organ systems were failing, along with his brains.
She had to take drastic measures.
She took off the wards on her, but couldn't remove the wards implanted inside of her, nor the wards in the walls of the pavilion - all laced with orichalcum. Nonetheless, she climbed on Zygrv and took off her clothes, which were also warded and orichalcum-laced. Then she held him tightly and licked him again. Yes, with all her might she licked him and began to transfer orgone energy to his body in an attempt to restart his failing organs. Despite the wards in and around her, a tiny fraction of orgone energy was imparted in Zygrv's poisoned form, resuscitating him. His eyes widened as life-energy, essence, bodily fluids, were re-circulated into his form.
At that same time, Emissary Shroom collapsed from the strain of overexertion, her naked and unconscious form huddled on top of Zygrv's body.
Now awakened, Zygrv looked around him and saw the sleeping daemonette on top of him. She was naked! And they were both drenched in ectoplasmic fluid!
As he watched her chest move up and down with each breath, realization suddenly struck him like a beating-stick to the face.
"Oh my." Zygrv gasped.
Lacking for a better thing to do, he decided on one course of action. He took out a vodka cigarette, lit it and took a long drag.
The Next Day
The massive tractor erector launcher thundered towards the Lost pavilion. Inside the massive bragsteel cylinder was a whole silo composed of Byzonist literatures filled with even more Byzonist literatures.
"Da, it is as I said, big truck." Zygrv said lamely as he and Emissary Shroom emerged from the pavilion's portal. He was walking slowly as his whole body was sore. While he believed this was because he had done it with the daemonette, it was actually because she had narrowly rescued him from systemic organ failure by transplanting orgone energy to his ailing body.
"Mmmm..." Emissary Shroom nodded. She was still tired from the escapade and also very drowsy, not to mention mildly dehydrated from the fluid exchange. She leaned on Zygrv's huge furry form for support. "Big truck, da."
"These negotiations..." Zygrv began, trying to think of something to say. It was awkward. "Were quite something else. I enjoyed our time... doing the business together."
Emissary Shroom smiled wanly at him. She had saved his life, after all, so it was expected that he would be a little bit thankful for that. She had no idea what Zygrv was actually thinking. He didn't know that as a daemonette, she was designed to do fluid transfers and orgone energy exchanges in a failed attempt at engineering daemonic reproduction.
"Yes, it was quite rough." Shroom replied. "I'm just glad we both came through."
"Ehehehehe..." Zygrv stammered. "Da. Until next time, Emissary."
He leaned towards her and gave her a light lick.
Vlyadibragstok, Southeastern Severnaya Sector / just beyond Northwestern Lena Sector
Unreal Time / October-December 3400
Imperator why...?! Zygrv thought as he downed another glass of tsvagna. With shaking paws he took it and swallowed all of it in one gulp, just to get it over with. The foul smelling ichor of the beverage spilled out of the sides of Zygrv's mouth and flowed into the wrong tubules of his trachea, causing him to gag. Normally this would never have happened, for the entrance to Bragulan windpipes had a membrane that could close, an evolutionary holdout from the days when Bragulan ancestors were semi-aquatic bears that hid in the water and ambushed prey that ventured to the riverbanks to drink. However, the tsvagna had killed off the nerves in Zygrv's throat and even the involuntary muscle reflex of the throat-membrane was no longer involuntary. Zygrv willed every last fiber of his Byzonically-correct nervous system to close the sphincter of his airway, and eventually he was able to prevent himself from drowning in the battery acid cocktail.fgalkin wrote: “But comrade Zygrv!” she said. “I understand that the silo itself is a glorious monument to Byzon and Bragulanity, but it is a monument that is here, rather than where it needs to be, which is on our Homeships, where it can be studied by us, so we can partake in Byzon’s wisdom. This is a problem, da, unless…” her tsvagna-boosted mind raced to find a solution. “Da! Unless we move the whole thing. We can cut it out from the planet with hellbeams, yes, and then tractor it up into orbit, where we can load it onto one of our freighters and take it with us. Then, we can examine it with shovels and read the Byzonist materials within! That is a good solution, da?” she poured herself another glass of tsvagna and offered one to the bear. Zygrv gave her a look of utter misery but took the glass and drank from it. He emitted a slight groan.
Oh dear, I hope I didn’t offend him in some way, Shroom thought. He is such a nice bear.
He groaned as he resumed his labored breathing.
"We can... arrange... for silo to be excavated by manual labor... and put on massive missile truck to bring to your ship... da." Zygrv slurred. "No need for... space-hells..."
The Emissary giggled and shrugged, which did interesting things to her mammaries. Da. Then she continued, oblivious to what Zygrv had said - if he had even managed to actually say it.
Drool started to slide from the side of Zygrv's mouth. Possibly because of his lechery, or because he had lost his gag reflex and was unable to swallow his own saliva.“Yes, we are interested in information about the Refuge and this “Multiversal Empire of Happiness,” she said quickly. “They are very strange lot, and quite perplexing. But then again, everybody in the galaxy is very confusing and perplexing to us, so I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising. ” she sighed. “Still, these MEH are very confusing, even by the standards of the galaxy. Did you know that they have invited our ambassador to come over, and then kept him waiting for weeks in orbit? How very strange.” Shroom looked perplexed
“But yes, we are interested in anything you can tell us about them. We are especially interested in their technologies for the travel between universes. For those, we will pay well, indeed,” she smiled.
"Da... have detailed interview... interesting conversation with MEH having... such fatties..." he managed to utter. "But haven't beaten hardware specs from them... yet"
The Emissary leaned forward and struck a coquettish pose as Zygrv eyed her up. But in actuality, one of his eyes was panickedly darting around while his other eye wasn't even moving at all because he had lost motor control of half his face. The tsvagna had crossed Zygrv's blood-brain barrier and was now foaming in one of his brain's hemispheres. He tried to utter a cry of help, but couldn't.
The Emissary said something sweet, but Zygrv was losing his sense of hearing. He tried to focus on her mammaries, but even his vision was blurring too. He tried to reach forward towards her chest, desperate to hold on to something to steady himself as he toppled over, but he couldn't...
Zygrv fell off his chair and was down for the count.“Also, we have examined the glorious selection of goods offered by your Empire and were impressed. Truly, your people have achieved a mastery of the element of vegemite that is second to none. Even we, who have spent millennia refining this art have things to learn from you. We will be buying some of your vegemite derivatives that we find interesting, yes. Oh, and I almost forgot!” she slapped her forehead. “I have request from our military. They were very impressed with your Dredka tanks, da. We have a proposal for you. You see, we can give you advanced polyalloy armors for your tanks and power armors, stronger and lighter than bragsteel and bragcrete, so you can put more armor on them and have greater protection. That is good, yes? We will give you the technology and help you set up production, and we will even buy the finished products from you for our own military. What do you say, comrade Zygrv? Comrade Zygrv?!” she cried out as the diplomatic and trade liaison tried to shift in his chair, when his legs seized out and he fell out of it.
“Comrade Zygrv! Are you alright?!” her own tsvagna-boosted reflexes reacted in an instant, and she found herself flying through the air as she somersaulted over the desk and landed on the floor next to him. She grunted as the warm furry bulk of the alien diplomat slammed into her, but her ectoplasm-infused muscles held and she could easily support the much larger Bragulan.
“Comrade Zygrv?!”
The Emissary caught him just in time. She held his fuzzy form tight and he leaned on her for support, holding on to her for dear life. His mighty bear arms were wrapped around her and his paws squeezed on something, round somethings, as he tried to cling on.
"Oooohh Comrade Zygrv!" the Emissary giggled naughtily. He felt her body vibrate against his. He placed his tired head on her shoulder, having lost control of his neck muscles earlier. His body sagged and relaxed on her supple form. He sighed in the daemonette's embrace. "You're such a warm bear."
"Da," Zygrv mewled as he nuzzled her with his snout. "Tucking in time... bedtime nows..."
"Awww..." the Emissary cooed as she cradled him and hauled him off to somewhere else more private. "Comrade Zygrv, why don't you tell me more about yourself?"
Drowsily he started talking about his time in Jenova, muttering incomprehensible somethings about albinos and geostigmas and lifestreams.
"Shinrans have the biggest bikes in galaxy!" he went on. "Big enough for posteriors of mighty Bragulans. Their swords too... are also huge!"
"Tee-hee!" the Emissary laughed. As she had no idea what inebriation was, she found the strange antics of the drunken bear very amusing and adorable. "Tell me more!"
"The geostigmas!" Zygrv went on. Part of his brain, the part not clogged up with tsvagna bubbles, was trying to make sure he gave no useful informations. "Disease ridden albino androgynes... in tight leather! Most perfidious!"
"Da!" Shroom laughed some more. The bear was making no sense. Was the tsvagna chemicals adversely affecting his brain? She wondered if organics could properly consume such things such as rocket fuel and battery acid. To her surprise, she belatedly realized that they couldn't. Or, at least, they could tolerate small amounts but if they drank too much... "Oh no... Zygrv!"
"The most Byzonist proletariats shall prevail in stick-beating the albino scum of Shinran descent! The evidences of their treachery is bared forth for all of us to see, the seed of the albino androgyne evident throughout the history of Shinra!" Zygrv thumped his chest at this mighty proclamation. Then he turned to look at the Emissary, whose cries he couldn't hear over his ranting. "Da?"
"I made you drink too much! Noo!" in her panic, she picked Zygrv up one-handedly and brought him to a medical facility. There she administered detoxification to the ailing Bragulan.
By licking him.
She placed the detox nanite-powders on her tongue, allowing them to mix with her salivary enzymes, before administering it topically by giving him a big wet lick. The medicine would work quick and within seconds, Zygrv would be back to his old self, healthy, wealthy and wise.
"Da! The albinos brandish their ridiculous swords at us, but we showing them, da? Da! We bring our own big swords and breaking the limits we do, and giving them the omnislash of faceboot-stomping in form of dolphinoid kicking!" Zygrv laughed. He fucking laughed. "By the way you remind me of nice Jenovan girl with long black hair, tight white tank top and short black skirt, haha!"
Oh no, it was too late. His organ systems were failing, along with his brains.
She had to take drastic measures.
She took off the wards on her, but couldn't remove the wards implanted inside of her, nor the wards in the walls of the pavilion - all laced with orichalcum. Nonetheless, she climbed on Zygrv and took off her clothes, which were also warded and orichalcum-laced. Then she held him tightly and licked him again. Yes, with all her might she licked him and began to transfer orgone energy to his body in an attempt to restart his failing organs. Despite the wards in and around her, a tiny fraction of orgone energy was imparted in Zygrv's poisoned form, resuscitating him. His eyes widened as life-energy, essence, bodily fluids, were re-circulated into his form.
At that same time, Emissary Shroom collapsed from the strain of overexertion, her naked and unconscious form huddled on top of Zygrv's body.
Now awakened, Zygrv looked around him and saw the sleeping daemonette on top of him. She was naked! And they were both drenched in ectoplasmic fluid!
As he watched her chest move up and down with each breath, realization suddenly struck him like a beating-stick to the face.
"Oh my." Zygrv gasped.
Lacking for a better thing to do, he decided on one course of action. He took out a vodka cigarette, lit it and took a long drag.
The Next Day
The massive tractor erector launcher thundered towards the Lost pavilion. Inside the massive bragsteel cylinder was a whole silo composed of Byzonist literatures filled with even more Byzonist literatures.
"Da, it is as I said, big truck." Zygrv said lamely as he and Emissary Shroom emerged from the pavilion's portal. He was walking slowly as his whole body was sore. While he believed this was because he had done it with the daemonette, it was actually because she had narrowly rescued him from systemic organ failure by transplanting orgone energy to his ailing body.
"Mmmm..." Emissary Shroom nodded. She was still tired from the escapade and also very drowsy, not to mention mildly dehydrated from the fluid exchange. She leaned on Zygrv's huge furry form for support. "Big truck, da."
"These negotiations..." Zygrv began, trying to think of something to say. It was awkward. "Were quite something else. I enjoyed our time... doing the business together."
Emissary Shroom smiled wanly at him. She had saved his life, after all, so it was expected that he would be a little bit thankful for that. She had no idea what Zygrv was actually thinking. He didn't know that as a daemonette, she was designed to do fluid transfers and orgone energy exchanges in a failed attempt at engineering daemonic reproduction.
"Yes, it was quite rough." Shroom replied. "I'm just glad we both came through."
"Ehehehehe..." Zygrv stammered. "Da. Until next time, Emissary."
He leaned towards her and gave her a light lick.
"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
- PeZookShroom, 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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Force Lord
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Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
CENINTERN Conference, Central City
Centrum, The Center Sector, The Centrality
14 January 3401
The conference was about to start, and in true Centralist fashion, began with a fireworks display.
There was also the military parade:
Inside the building, and around it, security was tight, with CSB and CIS agents, undercover or otherwise, everywhere. In a conference such as this, foreign agents would not resist spying on the event, and thus the security measures were understandibly great.
The conference room was full of foreign Centralists, from varied nations and cultures:
Everyone was waiting for the Centrality's leader to arrive. Said leader was currently talking with Lord Redav.
"If someone asks you who you are, make up the most believable lie you can think of. Perhaps say you are my bodyguard," said Dirad Kierger.
"There is our excuse already, Dictator. Now let us go. We do not want to keep our friends waiting," responded Lord Redav.
Centrum, The Center Sector, The Centrality
14 January 3401
The conference was about to start, and in true Centralist fashion, began with a fireworks display.
There was also the military parade:
Inside the building, and around it, security was tight, with CSB and CIS agents, undercover or otherwise, everywhere. In a conference such as this, foreign agents would not resist spying on the event, and thus the security measures were understandibly great.
The conference room was full of foreign Centralists, from varied nations and cultures:
Everyone was waiting for the Centrality's leader to arrive. Said leader was currently talking with Lord Redav.
"If someone asks you who you are, make up the most believable lie you can think of. Perhaps say you are my bodyguard," said Dirad Kierger.
"There is our excuse already, Dictator. Now let us go. We do not want to keep our friends waiting," responded Lord Redav.
An inhabitant from the Island of Cars.
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Shroom Man 777
- FUCKING DICK-STABBER!
- Posts: 21222
- Joined: 2003-05-11 08:39am
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- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
Dakkamera Flash Gitz
The enormity of the event sent shockwaves throughout the nine vectors of space, permeating through the Trans-Yuggothian expanses of the galaxy like a pebble stone striking the surface of a glass pond - causing its fragile surface to both ripple and crack at once, like a distorted spiderweb crack marring a pool of shattered water.
In the epicenter of that great fissure, the broken shards of space and time had been powderized into a cloud of diamond dust. Crushed like granules of rock salt in a mortar hammered by an immense pestle coming from another place, from another time, from another universe. That enormous weight was the MEH, and the impact of its entrance into this universe was made thrice-fold by the sheer mass of the things that came within its confines - whole worlds, suns and moons, stars and planetoids, great ships and enormous space constructs, and the billions of massive people of an accumulated tonnage unlike any other in this or any other reality save theirs.
The aftershock not only stops and disables space travelers in and around the area, no. The unfathomable power of this Trans-Yuggothian translocation and tranposition was felt most harshly by those nearest to the arriving MEH...
Ork Space
The space around Ork space was dotted with a network of decrepit satellites. Aged astronomic antennae of either Klavostani or Chamarran designs, placed in and around Ork territories in an attempt to placate the savage brutes. The periodic WAAAAAGHs launched by the greenskins, and endless raids as well, were thought to be due in part to the natural aggressive tendencies of the Orkoid race, and to try and appease these proclivities towards violence, both the Klavostanis and Chamarrans had come to a common conclusion - either through collaboration, or independently of each other, it didn't matter. What mattered was the end result, and that was a network of satellite TV satellites that beamed transmissions to the Orks. The contents of these transmissions being pure unadulterated violence aimed at satiating the Orkoid urges - from the ritualistic beheadings filmed in the more savage regions of Klavostani space, to historical reels of Chamarran Juggernauts rampaging across human space, to the most outrageous onslaught-omnibuses of the collected films of Wesley Prefect Birkin's worst affronts to cinema, and even the official pay-per-view broadcasts from the Shepistani Justice Department's Entertainment Division and its Bragulan equivalents, nothing was spared.
According to the Klavostani graphs, it actually worked. By bringing moving pictures of carnage and destruction to the Orks, it actually stopped the Orks from going somewhere else to make their own violence. Meks would build tellyvishuns and Orks could sit down and laugh at the death and devastation on TV, live or dead, creating a new kultural phenomenon amongst the Orks - that of the kouch squigtato. While television could never, ever stop Orks from going out and looking for a good fight, it actually decreased the frequency of their attacks. So the Klavostanis and Chamarrans kept beaming the endless streams of TV shows to the Orks endlessly and without end.
But something went wrong.
It ended.
The satellite constellation was poorly maintained as it was, composed of second hand satellites and with Chamarrans and Klavostanis not willing to venture near Ork space to do any fixing. Sometimes, the Orks managed themselves, with Kable Meks doing repairs to stations so the Nobs and Bosses could have their programs. But these repairs were ramshackle and prone to failure. It was a miracle that the constellation lasted as long.
Then the MEH warped into the galaxy and the massive interdimensional shockwave of their arrival caused all the satellites to break apart in one single moment.
All throughout Ork space, all the Ork TVs went blank simultaneously.
Now
MEH Space
But wen all wuz seemingkly losts der wuz a noo' hope fer orky tellyvishun. Der wuz un intrepid krew o' Flash Gitz. Nut juz any udder Flash Gitz, but deez 'ere speshul orks. Ery ork wuz speshul in sum way, but deez wer super speshul. Dey wer nut juz Flash Gitz, but dey were jorknalists, so dey wer Kamera Flash Gitz! It wuz der sole respunsibility to orkly go wer no ork 'ad gun bepfhor an' x-plor mangy noo wurldz an' sick out noo lief an' civikillyzations 'an meat inerestink peeple an' kill 'em.
Den deir killingings wud be transmitted bak to da ork space in da tellyvishuns an' da udder boyz wud get a kick outta watchin' der misadventures an' such. Sum Nob kalled it "realty tellyvishun". Deez Kamera Flash Gitz jus' thot dey wuz takin' pretty piktures of da gitz dey shot up wid der Big Shoota. Best part wuz dat da muzzle flashes kud also be used fer kamera flashes too!
Dey wer greener than green. They wuz supergreen!
Now deez Kamera Flash Gitz wer alwayz lookin' fer a good fight leik any udder ork, kuz dey all luved gettin' inta a gud scrap. Xcept dey'd take piktures wid 'er dakkameras an' if dey got gud shots, den dey'd 'ave bigga ratings an' if moar boyz got subscripshuns on der channel - da only channel still workin' in Ork TV - den they'd be gettin' moar teef too! Dey'd 'ave enuff teef to buy even bigga Big Shootas dat'd make bigga flashes fer der dakkameras.
Wen dey erd dat da boss Badspork got gorked by dem fatty humies in da MEH, an' dat 'is boys 'ere goin' back der fer some moar, dey kudn't resist an' joined in kuz da MEH wuz da final fattest frontier. Dey'd get a killin' outta der ratings, an' kill a whole buncha fatties in da process.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!" skreamed da krews of da sekund Ork ship.
Meanwhiel, on da turd Ork ship, da Daynga-Klose, da Dakkamera Flash Gitz wer lookin on.
"GIT ME SUM BETTA ANGLES ON DAT SHOT!" roared da chief boss nob of da gitz, a jorknalist named J. Jorknah Jaggason. "GIT DA SHIP KLOSER! IT AIN'T KALLED DAYNGA-KLOSE FER NUFINK!"
It wuz troo, da slabs of mega armor on der hull wuz takin' a good beatin' an wuz goin' on. Da fatty fat-ship of da humies wuz gettin' skrapped a bit, but dat wuz becoz da fatty humie ship wuz lazy an' was sittin' der lettin' da Gargantatives wail on it fer a long time befor finally shootin' back. Now da Gargantative Nufkink wuz in troublez.
It wuz lookin' leik a good fight an' da ratings dey wer gettin, transmittin' da feed back to Ork space, wuz probably gettin' dem many many teefs. Dey wud be da top jorknalistic network of all da Orkz now, since dey were da only jorknalistic network left - coz all da udder tellyvishun channels wer busted.
"I NOT GETTIN' ENUF LIGHT!" J. Jorknah Jaggason skreamed. Da spess around dem wuz black an da only lites dey 'ad in spess wer deez dotty white thinggies kalled 'stars'. It wuz not gud litening, an' so dey needed moar flash. "MORE DAKKAMERA FLASH!"
Da fire from da Daynga-Klose inkreased. To get moar lite, dey needed moar muzzle flashes, so da dakkameras fired moar and moar at da fatty MEH ship.
"DATS GOOD! DATS BOOTIFUL!" J. Jorknah Jaggason laffed. "Gib us anudder angle on dat shots!"
Da Daynga-Klose went kloser an' kloser. Beside dem, da Gargantative Nufkink exploderized inta bitz.
"OH ZOG ME!" J. Jorknah Jaggason realized dat he wuz gonna be a war korrespondent now. "Alrite boyz, lets do our jorknalistic duty an' give deez fatties a right good klose up!"
Da Daynga-Klose rokkited toward da fatty ship, all gunz blazin' an' makin' much dakka wid der dakkameras.
"EY YA FAT GITZ! I 'ERD YA LEIK TA EAT DAIRY PRODUKTS" J. Jorknah Jaggason shouted at da humie fatty MEH kaptain. It wuz a witty komment since J. Jorknah Jaggason wuz an ork of da galaxy. "SO SAYZ CHEEZ!"
Da last shots of da Daynga-Klose wer spektakles of photojorknalism an' later on J. Jorknah Jaggason an' 'is krew wud be awarded da Porklitzer Prize. It wuz a feat of dakkamera dakka unleik any udder, an' da komposishun of da shots an da lightin' from da muzzel flashes of da ship's Big Shootas wud be taught in jorknalism skulls throughout Ork spess as lessons on how ta riddle fatties full o' holes while takin' pretty piktures wid a dakkamera on full auto.
In dat last sekond before da Daynga-Klose exploderized on da fatty ships' hull, J. Jorknah Jaggason an' 'is band o' jorknalist disproved e'ry wun of da MEH fatties an' humies 'urtful stereotypes of da boyz an' Ork kulture. 'course no humie wud ever see it, but to da many orkz watchin' da tellyvishun at dat time an' seein' da last moments of da jorknalists an' da flash of der dakkameras, it wuz troo. It wuz... it wuz bootiful.
Ork Space
"WOT DA?!" Warboss Shroombad Mad Uruk Dakka skreamed in raeg, along wid 'is boyz. Dey wuz angries. Da tellyvishun channel - da only tellyvishun channel left in Ork spess - went all ded and fuzzy in da middel of a great orumentary by da bestest jorknalist J. Jorknah Jaggason, Shroombad's favorite tellyvishun persorknality. Shroombad swung 'is powerklaw 'round an' axidentally kleaved a nob inta half. Shroombad laffed, it wuzn't an axident, but den got angries agains and kleaved anudder nob inta too. "WHO KUT OUR KABLE SUBSKRIPSHUN?!"
"Dunno boss! Maybe it wuz da kitties?" sed a nob.
"Nah! Kan't be! Dey PAID fer our subskriptshun da last tiem!" Shroombad roared an' ripped off da nob's foot. Da nob skreamed, but der wuz many spare parts fer da mad dok to stitch back to da nob. "QUIT YER WHININ'! SHUT YER TRAP!"
"How 'bout da humies, boss?" anudder suggested.
"WHICH HUMIES?!" Shroombad smakked 'im wid 'is arm-dakkas.
"Da fatties, boss! Dey's da wuns who shot up J. Jorknah Jaggason's ship!" da disarmed nob sed as 'e looked fer 'is own arm in da big pile of udder orks' body parts.
"Dey's da wuns who zogged da satellites too!" anudder sed.
"ZOGGIN' FATTIES!" Shroombad roared. 'E had bin mullin' over who ta scrap up wid 'is new Deff Stah, now dat he wuz ready fer a big wun. Now 'e got 'is answer. "I 'AD JUS 'BOUT ENUFF OF DEM FATTIES! FIRST DEY RUIN OUR SATELLITES WEN I WUZ IN DA MIDDEL OF WATCHIN' DA WUN KALLED MCNEAL IN SINGEL FEMALE LAWYER, AN' NOW DEY FRAG SHROOMBAD'S GUD FREND J. JORKNAH JAGGASON! WHY I OUGHTA..."
Fer a while Shroombad wuz so whelmed by grief. Not o'erwhelmed or unnerwhelmed, jus whelmed.
"I OUGHTA..."
He wuz havingk 'ard time findin' words cuz he didn' know a lotta words.
"I OUGHTTA..."
Ventually, he jus stopped tryin'.
"I OUGHTTA... zog dis! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
In Goddamn Unreal TimePreviously on SDNW4 wrote:Deep Space: Sectors 25 A - 26 B
A light show illuminates the Galactic Void. Lights of every color blink in and out of existence with intensities from as bright as a light bulb to as bright as a supernova. Space bends and twists, sending huge waves through hyperspace that stop and disable travelers as far away as The Imperium of Man.
3 days later, the light show suddenly stops, they are replaced with station and planets. MEH has arrived.
The enormity of the event sent shockwaves throughout the nine vectors of space, permeating through the Trans-Yuggothian expanses of the galaxy like a pebble stone striking the surface of a glass pond - causing its fragile surface to both ripple and crack at once, like a distorted spiderweb crack marring a pool of shattered water.
In the epicenter of that great fissure, the broken shards of space and time had been powderized into a cloud of diamond dust. Crushed like granules of rock salt in a mortar hammered by an immense pestle coming from another place, from another time, from another universe. That enormous weight was the MEH, and the impact of its entrance into this universe was made thrice-fold by the sheer mass of the things that came within its confines - whole worlds, suns and moons, stars and planetoids, great ships and enormous space constructs, and the billions of massive people of an accumulated tonnage unlike any other in this or any other reality save theirs.
The aftershock not only stops and disables space travelers in and around the area, no. The unfathomable power of this Trans-Yuggothian translocation and tranposition was felt most harshly by those nearest to the arriving MEH...
Ork Space
The space around Ork space was dotted with a network of decrepit satellites. Aged astronomic antennae of either Klavostani or Chamarran designs, placed in and around Ork territories in an attempt to placate the savage brutes. The periodic WAAAAAGHs launched by the greenskins, and endless raids as well, were thought to be due in part to the natural aggressive tendencies of the Orkoid race, and to try and appease these proclivities towards violence, both the Klavostanis and Chamarrans had come to a common conclusion - either through collaboration, or independently of each other, it didn't matter. What mattered was the end result, and that was a network of satellite TV satellites that beamed transmissions to the Orks. The contents of these transmissions being pure unadulterated violence aimed at satiating the Orkoid urges - from the ritualistic beheadings filmed in the more savage regions of Klavostani space, to historical reels of Chamarran Juggernauts rampaging across human space, to the most outrageous onslaught-omnibuses of the collected films of Wesley Prefect Birkin's worst affronts to cinema, and even the official pay-per-view broadcasts from the Shepistani Justice Department's Entertainment Division and its Bragulan equivalents, nothing was spared.
According to the Klavostani graphs, it actually worked. By bringing moving pictures of carnage and destruction to the Orks, it actually stopped the Orks from going somewhere else to make their own violence. Meks would build tellyvishuns and Orks could sit down and laugh at the death and devastation on TV, live or dead, creating a new kultural phenomenon amongst the Orks - that of the kouch squigtato. While television could never, ever stop Orks from going out and looking for a good fight, it actually decreased the frequency of their attacks. So the Klavostanis and Chamarrans kept beaming the endless streams of TV shows to the Orks endlessly and without end.
But something went wrong.
It ended.
The satellite constellation was poorly maintained as it was, composed of second hand satellites and with Chamarrans and Klavostanis not willing to venture near Ork space to do any fixing. Sometimes, the Orks managed themselves, with Kable Meks doing repairs to stations so the Nobs and Bosses could have their programs. But these repairs were ramshackle and prone to failure. It was a miracle that the constellation lasted as long.
Then the MEH warped into the galaxy and the massive interdimensional shockwave of their arrival caused all the satellites to break apart in one single moment.
All throughout Ork space, all the Ork TVs went blank simultaneously.
Now
MEH Space
But wen all wuz seemingkly losts der wuz a noo' hope fer orky tellyvishun. Der wuz un intrepid krew o' Flash Gitz. Nut juz any udder Flash Gitz, but deez 'ere speshul orks. Ery ork wuz speshul in sum way, but deez wer super speshul. Dey wer nut juz Flash Gitz, but dey were jorknalists, so dey wer Kamera Flash Gitz! It wuz der sole respunsibility to orkly go wer no ork 'ad gun bepfhor an' x-plor mangy noo wurldz an' sick out noo lief an' civikillyzations 'an meat inerestink peeple an' kill 'em.
Den deir killingings wud be transmitted bak to da ork space in da tellyvishuns an' da udder boyz wud get a kick outta watchin' der misadventures an' such. Sum Nob kalled it "realty tellyvishun". Deez Kamera Flash Gitz jus' thot dey wuz takin' pretty piktures of da gitz dey shot up wid der Big Shoota. Best part wuz dat da muzzle flashes kud also be used fer kamera flashes too!
Dey wer greener than green. They wuz supergreen!
Now deez Kamera Flash Gitz wer alwayz lookin' fer a good fight leik any udder ork, kuz dey all luved gettin' inta a gud scrap. Xcept dey'd take piktures wid 'er dakkameras an' if dey got gud shots, den dey'd 'ave bigga ratings an' if moar boyz got subscripshuns on der channel - da only channel still workin' in Ork TV - den they'd be gettin' moar teef too! Dey'd 'ave enuff teef to buy even bigga Big Shootas dat'd make bigga flashes fer der dakkameras.
Wen dey erd dat da boss Badspork got gorked by dem fatty humies in da MEH, an' dat 'is boys 'ere goin' back der fer some moar, dey kudn't resist an' joined in kuz da MEH wuz da final fattest frontier. Dey'd get a killin' outta der ratings, an' kill a whole buncha fatties in da process.
Da Gargantative Too went kablooey wen da fatty fat-ship sent its pew-pews dattaways. Da Gargantative Nufink went in kloser to ram da fatty fat-ship.Previously on SDNW4 wrote: MEHN Starwrath, Vindicator class megacruiser. MEH space
One hour later
“Ork vessels translated to realspace grand captain! Now on scope.”
“Excellent. Prepare firing solutions, raise our barriers of invulnerability and open a communications channel.”
David had been waiting for this moment, both for an hour and for a month depending on the perspective.
“Channel open grand captain.”
“Ork vessels now on interception course at maximum thrust grand captain.”
David groaned and did his best to rise from his chair into an imperious posture “Hold position, wait till I give the word to fire. Enable voice communication.” He said and got out the writing pad
“Orks. For too long already you have been a green skin plague on the mighty and brilliant jewel of this galaxy which is our Multiversal Empire of Happyness. For too long have you futilely pestered our infinite powers and worn away at our magnanimous patience. We have permitted your depredations, but only in the manner of a parent permitting the wrongdoings of a wayward child in the hopes that without admonishment they may see sense and return to right and happy inducing ways of being.”
“But our patience has run out with you orks, we can no longer permi-” David was just getting into his stride when the orks decided to interrupt.
“Fah BADSPORK! WAAAGH!”
David frowned and tried to find where he was up to on the pad “-As I was saying. Our patience has run out with you orks, we can no longer permit your acts of piracy against our people. Your attempts to induce unhappy will come to an end and so shall you. I wish you to contemplate this in your reptiloid minds along with your impending destruction.”
The ship shook slightly “Ork vessels have opened fire grand captain, orders?” one of the crewmen stated glancing to the grand captain's sweating form worriedly. David was starting to feel the exertion from standing up so long but continued.
“Let me finish. As I was saying orks, contemplate your impending destruction and the destruction of your entire species. For you have roused the vast sleeping giant of the MEH with your shrill buzzing and like the feeble insect you are we shall swat you and crush you utterly! We shall drive you from the galaxy with our ir-resistable power. Your inability to harm even this single megacruiser of our mighty navy should show you the futility of resisting your demise!” David said and wiped the sweat from his brow just as the continous low shaking of the ship was punctuated by a louder note.
“Barriers of invulnerability violated in port segment grand captain, hull breaches on four decks.” another crewman announced yet David continued.
“And so before I unleash the torrents of firepower that will cleanse you from the blessed sky of our systems, I give you a moment to mourn for the imminent passing of your race and contemplate the foolishness that brought it about!”
David collapsed into a sweating heap in his hover chair and pushed the button to close the communications channel.
“Open fire.”
And the megacruiser shook with the thunderous recoil from dozens of turbolaser cannons as they filled the sky ahead with a storm of deadly fire.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!" skreamed da krews of da sekund Ork ship.
Meanwhiel, on da turd Ork ship, da Daynga-Klose, da Dakkamera Flash Gitz wer lookin on.
"GIT ME SUM BETTA ANGLES ON DAT SHOT!" roared da chief boss nob of da gitz, a jorknalist named J. Jorknah Jaggason. "GIT DA SHIP KLOSER! IT AIN'T KALLED DAYNGA-KLOSE FER NUFINK!"
It wuz troo, da slabs of mega armor on der hull wuz takin' a good beatin' an wuz goin' on. Da fatty fat-ship of da humies wuz gettin' skrapped a bit, but dat wuz becoz da fatty humie ship wuz lazy an' was sittin' der lettin' da Gargantatives wail on it fer a long time befor finally shootin' back. Now da Gargantative Nufkink wuz in troublez.
It wuz lookin' leik a good fight an' da ratings dey wer gettin, transmittin' da feed back to Ork space, wuz probably gettin' dem many many teefs. Dey wud be da top jorknalistic network of all da Orkz now, since dey were da only jorknalistic network left - coz all da udder tellyvishun channels wer busted.
"I NOT GETTIN' ENUF LIGHT!" J. Jorknah Jaggason skreamed. Da spess around dem wuz black an da only lites dey 'ad in spess wer deez dotty white thinggies kalled 'stars'. It wuz not gud litening, an' so dey needed moar flash. "MORE DAKKAMERA FLASH!"
Da fire from da Daynga-Klose inkreased. To get moar lite, dey needed moar muzzle flashes, so da dakkameras fired moar and moar at da fatty MEH ship.
"DATS GOOD! DATS BOOTIFUL!" J. Jorknah Jaggason laffed. "Gib us anudder angle on dat shots!"
Da Daynga-Klose went kloser an' kloser. Beside dem, da Gargantative Nufkink exploderized inta bitz.
"OH ZOG ME!" J. Jorknah Jaggason realized dat he wuz gonna be a war korrespondent now. "Alrite boyz, lets do our jorknalistic duty an' give deez fatties a right good klose up!"
Da Daynga-Klose rokkited toward da fatty ship, all gunz blazin' an' makin' much dakka wid der dakkameras.
"EY YA FAT GITZ! I 'ERD YA LEIK TA EAT DAIRY PRODUKTS" J. Jorknah Jaggason shouted at da humie fatty MEH kaptain. It wuz a witty komment since J. Jorknah Jaggason wuz an ork of da galaxy. "SO SAYZ CHEEZ!"
Da last shots of da Daynga-Klose wer spektakles of photojorknalism an' later on J. Jorknah Jaggason an' 'is krew wud be awarded da Porklitzer Prize. It wuz a feat of dakkamera dakka unleik any udder, an' da komposishun of da shots an da lightin' from da muzzel flashes of da ship's Big Shootas wud be taught in jorknalism skulls throughout Ork spess as lessons on how ta riddle fatties full o' holes while takin' pretty piktures wid a dakkamera on full auto.
In dat last sekond before da Daynga-Klose exploderized on da fatty ships' hull, J. Jorknah Jaggason an' 'is band o' jorknalist disproved e'ry wun of da MEH fatties an' humies 'urtful stereotypes of da boyz an' Ork kulture. 'course no humie wud ever see it, but to da many orkz watchin' da tellyvishun at dat time an' seein' da last moments of da jorknalists an' da flash of der dakkameras, it wuz troo. It wuz... it wuz bootiful.
Ork Space
"WOT DA?!" Warboss Shroombad Mad Uruk Dakka skreamed in raeg, along wid 'is boyz. Dey wuz angries. Da tellyvishun channel - da only tellyvishun channel left in Ork spess - went all ded and fuzzy in da middel of a great orumentary by da bestest jorknalist J. Jorknah Jaggason, Shroombad's favorite tellyvishun persorknality. Shroombad swung 'is powerklaw 'round an' axidentally kleaved a nob inta half. Shroombad laffed, it wuzn't an axident, but den got angries agains and kleaved anudder nob inta too. "WHO KUT OUR KABLE SUBSKRIPSHUN?!"
"Dunno boss! Maybe it wuz da kitties?" sed a nob.
"Nah! Kan't be! Dey PAID fer our subskriptshun da last tiem!" Shroombad roared an' ripped off da nob's foot. Da nob skreamed, but der wuz many spare parts fer da mad dok to stitch back to da nob. "QUIT YER WHININ'! SHUT YER TRAP!"
"How 'bout da humies, boss?" anudder suggested.
"WHICH HUMIES?!" Shroombad smakked 'im wid 'is arm-dakkas.
"Da fatties, boss! Dey's da wuns who shot up J. Jorknah Jaggason's ship!" da disarmed nob sed as 'e looked fer 'is own arm in da big pile of udder orks' body parts.
"Dey's da wuns who zogged da satellites too!" anudder sed.
"ZOGGIN' FATTIES!" Shroombad roared. 'E had bin mullin' over who ta scrap up wid 'is new Deff Stah, now dat he wuz ready fer a big wun. Now 'e got 'is answer. "I 'AD JUS 'BOUT ENUFF OF DEM FATTIES! FIRST DEY RUIN OUR SATELLITES WEN I WUZ IN DA MIDDEL OF WATCHIN' DA WUN KALLED MCNEAL IN SINGEL FEMALE LAWYER, AN' NOW DEY FRAG SHROOMBAD'S GUD FREND J. JORKNAH JAGGASON! WHY I OUGHTA..."
Fer a while Shroombad wuz so whelmed by grief. Not o'erwhelmed or unnerwhelmed, jus whelmed.
"I OUGHTA..."
He wuz havingk 'ard time findin' words cuz he didn' know a lotta words.
"I OUGHTTA..."
Ventually, he jus stopped tryin'.
"I OUGHTTA... zog dis! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"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
- PeZookShroom, 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!
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
Solarian Consulate
Conch Key, Chimera Subsector (U-29)
On most days, Ambassador Cindy Mayweather liked her posting on rustic, sedate Conch Key about as much as she liked pomegranate juice. And she liked pomegranate juice a lot. The locals were fun and easygoing, almost like Zigonians but without the scales and feathers; the weather was in a word excellent, and most of all she was a safe distance away from the chaos and the shooting of the Koprulu Zone. Because Cindy Mayweather hated violence. It was why she’d joined the diplomatic corps, and the habit of the K-Zone powers-that-be to resort to violence as the first and best solution to any problem really pissed her off. Eventually, after fifteen years of trying to change the system from within, she’d pretty much given up and jumped on the opportunity to get as far away from the ridiculous destructivity of the Zone as possible.
Of course, she figured and massaged her temples, trying to repress an oncoming headache, that didn’t mean the destructivity of the Zone couldn’t follow her here. Mayweather sighed and went over the communique once more.
And yet, here it was.
Mayweather looked over the message one more time, and realized something. The Bragulans were trying to tell her something. The first clue was in the sheer scale of the mobilization: half a billion soldiers? Cindy Mayweather was a consul, not a military expert, but she doubted the Brags had deployed that many troops outside of the Star Empire since, well, the First Bragulan War. And all this for a training exercise?
Yeah, right.
Then there was the target of these ‘joint Bragulan-Chamarran combined operations’. Mayweather caught herself and made a mental note: ‘operations’. Not ‘exercise’. Bragulan propaganda was very frank and outspoken about its enemies, and they never cloaked their intentions in layers of obfuscation. The Imperator liked to talk - at length - about destroying the Sovereignty, the Imperium, or all humans period. To speak about some vague ‘mysterious enemy from the anti-spinward’... was very UnBragulan.
If the Bragulans wanted to exercise with the Hierarchy in jointly crushing the Sovereignty, Mayweather reasoned, they would in all likelihood just have come out and said as much. The fact that they hadn’t, combined with the fact that they had made an announcement at all... Was probably an indication that the Sovereignty was not the intended target. Some other power had managed to raise the ire of the Brags and the Kitties equally, and the Brags were - in their own special manner - going out of their way to make sure the Sovereignty knew they weren’t the ones the Imperator had sighted his crosshairs on.
So who, then?
Her eyes slid over to the galactic map that was mounted on the wall of her office. Conch Key was marked with a little Sovereign Flag. Further anti-spinward was the Ascendancy, then the Pfhor Empire, the Argenti Federation and the Hierarchy, and then...
Oh.
That certainly fit with all the puzzle pieces. A Bragulan communique practically imploring the Sovereignty to lay off its fleet-in-transit; a cooperation with the Chamarrans; a ‘mysterious enemy from the anti-spinward’...
Mayweather stood up. She’d better get in touch with the Spire.
Conch Key, Chimera Subsector (U-29)
On most days, Ambassador Cindy Mayweather liked her posting on rustic, sedate Conch Key about as much as she liked pomegranate juice. And she liked pomegranate juice a lot. The locals were fun and easygoing, almost like Zigonians but without the scales and feathers; the weather was in a word excellent, and most of all she was a safe distance away from the chaos and the shooting of the Koprulu Zone. Because Cindy Mayweather hated violence. It was why she’d joined the diplomatic corps, and the habit of the K-Zone powers-that-be to resort to violence as the first and best solution to any problem really pissed her off. Eventually, after fifteen years of trying to change the system from within, she’d pretty much given up and jumped on the opportunity to get as far away from the ridiculous destructivity of the Zone as possible.
Of course, she figured and massaged her temples, trying to repress an oncoming headache, that didn’t mean the destructivity of the Zone couldn’t follow her here. Mayweather sighed and went over the communique once more.
The message was unusual in that there was a message at all. As a rule, Bragulans and Solarians didn’t communicate, period. If the Brags wanted to go somewhere, they went: they certainly didn’t deign to inform Star Force about it beforehand.Neighbors of Bragule Be Advised!
The most imperious military forces of the mighty Star Empire of Bragule will be deploying to the Chamarran Hierarchy to conduct large-scale exercises with their Chamarran comrades. Included in the Bragulan mobilization will be one and a half Space Guards Fleets and approximately half a billion soldiers from the Legions of Liberation - to be deployed incrementally from the end of the year 3400 to the beginning of year 3401.
The purpose of these exercises include the peaceful cooperation of the defense forces of Bragulan and Chamarran allies, and simulated joint Bragulan-Chamarran combined operations against a 'mysterious enemy from the anti-spinward'.
Any attempt at hampering the movement of peaceful Bragulan military forces to and from their point of origin and destination will be considered a hostile act and dealt with accordingly. Any vessel coming within the Bragulan Exclusion Zone will be treated as hostile and destroyed with extreme prejudice. Any protestations against these maneuvers will be assumed to be hostile responses.
The Imperial People's Military Maritime Space Fleet wishes to inform all peoples of this, so that they may behold the glouries and majesty of the Imperator’s mighty armadas and endless armies - and eventually bear witness to the ultimate culmination of this great operation.
And yet, here it was.
Mayweather looked over the message one more time, and realized something. The Bragulans were trying to tell her something. The first clue was in the sheer scale of the mobilization: half a billion soldiers? Cindy Mayweather was a consul, not a military expert, but she doubted the Brags had deployed that many troops outside of the Star Empire since, well, the First Bragulan War. And all this for a training exercise?
Yeah, right.
Then there was the target of these ‘joint Bragulan-Chamarran combined operations’. Mayweather caught herself and made a mental note: ‘operations’. Not ‘exercise’. Bragulan propaganda was very frank and outspoken about its enemies, and they never cloaked their intentions in layers of obfuscation. The Imperator liked to talk - at length - about destroying the Sovereignty, the Imperium, or all humans period. To speak about some vague ‘mysterious enemy from the anti-spinward’... was very UnBragulan.
If the Bragulans wanted to exercise with the Hierarchy in jointly crushing the Sovereignty, Mayweather reasoned, they would in all likelihood just have come out and said as much. The fact that they hadn’t, combined with the fact that they had made an announcement at all... Was probably an indication that the Sovereignty was not the intended target. Some other power had managed to raise the ire of the Brags and the Kitties equally, and the Brags were - in their own special manner - going out of their way to make sure the Sovereignty knew they weren’t the ones the Imperator had sighted his crosshairs on.
So who, then?
Her eyes slid over to the galactic map that was mounted on the wall of her office. Conch Key was marked with a little Sovereign Flag. Further anti-spinward was the Ascendancy, then the Pfhor Empire, the Argenti Federation and the Hierarchy, and then...
Oh.
That certainly fit with all the puzzle pieces. A Bragulan communique practically imploring the Sovereignty to lay off its fleet-in-transit; a cooperation with the Chamarrans; a ‘mysterious enemy from the anti-spinward’...
Mayweather stood up. She’d better get in touch with the Spire.
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
-
fgalkin
- Carvin' Marvin
- Posts: 14557
- Joined: 2002-07-03 11:51pm
- Location: Land of the Mountain Fascists
- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
Wolf 359 System
Sector B-25
Multiversal Empire of Happiness
Unreal Time
Spy Probe #234 had spent the past six months latched on to a smallish comet and powered down, drifting through the system. In that time, it had pinpointed the locations of the major facilities, the fleet bases and anchorages of the MEHN, monitored the comings and goings of the ships and the activations of the warp gates. With time, it had even learned to distinguish between the drive signatures of the ships stationed in the system, making reports on individual ships. It even intercepted some of the MEH’s communications and forwarded them on for analysis. An organic being would have found the task terribly boring, its attentions inevitably distracted and its efficiency decreasing as time went on, but the imp possessing #234 had been specially modified for the task and derived the highest pleasure from the completion of its Duty.
Still, even it found excitement whenever something new and unexpected happened, even if it was something as mundane as unusual X-ray and gamma ray scatter, picked up by its astronomical telescopes. Dutifully, it activated its submesonic link and transmitted the finding to its mothership.
Deep Space
Sector B-26
Multiversal Empire of Happiness
Unreal Time
“Master, report coming in from Probe #234!” Worm cried out, alerting Listener In The Darkness.
The stealth ship was floating in deep space with its cloaking systems active, hiding it from prying eyes. It was right to investigate the unusual signal, it knew. Instead of hiding from the hostile servants of the Enemy, it ended up observing the comings and goings of this so-called “Multiversal Empire of Happiness,” a barbarous state full of strange organics. It had dispatched its contingent of spy probes to seed dozens stealthed sensor relays across the major hyperlanes. Other spy probes trailed the passing ships, determining their origins and destination. It observed the first rumblings of the Ork WAAAAGH!, the murderous greenskins attacking the soft fat ships of the MEH and making off with their crews and was satisfied, for it had nothing but disgust and contempt for either kind of pathetic creatures, but at least their antics had given it amusement. Other spy probes infiltrated the systems of the MEH, releasing the seedlings of Replicator swarms, which turned remote asteroids into sensor outposts under the very noses of the oblivious fatties. Still others attached themselves to comets and powered down, gathering and relaying intelligence from the MEH's inner systems. It was one of these probes, # 234, that was demanding its attention.
“What is it?” Listener snarled, making the Lesser daemon cringe in fear.
“Unusual electromagnetic radiation readings from System 4!” Worm said. “The probe is picking up a lot of X-ray and gamma-ray scatter, far too much to be an ordinary occurrence. Something unusual is going on.”
“What is the cause?” Listener asked. There was a pause as the two daemonic underlings frantically thought of a response other than “we don’t know”
“It could be an object!” Maggot replied at last. “Something very massive moving really really fast!”
Listener thought about this. Several months ago, it had received a warning about the events in Sector C-6. It was discovered there that other civilizations also possessed stealth ships, and all Lost ships were warned to be on the lookout for them. Perhaps, if this was a ship moving under stealth….
“Barbarians!” Listener spat. “They use stealth, and then break it by going too fast because they’re impatient! The probe, has it detected a MEH response?”
There was a pause as Worm checked with the spy probe.
“No, great master, it appears that the MEH ships did not detect it.”
“Barbarians! Little better than Orks, the lot of them!”
--------------------
Result: Oh noes, another stealth fail!
Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin
Sector B-25
Multiversal Empire of Happiness
Unreal Time
Spy Probe #234 had spent the past six months latched on to a smallish comet and powered down, drifting through the system. In that time, it had pinpointed the locations of the major facilities, the fleet bases and anchorages of the MEHN, monitored the comings and goings of the ships and the activations of the warp gates. With time, it had even learned to distinguish between the drive signatures of the ships stationed in the system, making reports on individual ships. It even intercepted some of the MEH’s communications and forwarded them on for analysis. An organic being would have found the task terribly boring, its attentions inevitably distracted and its efficiency decreasing as time went on, but the imp possessing #234 had been specially modified for the task and derived the highest pleasure from the completion of its Duty.
Still, even it found excitement whenever something new and unexpected happened, even if it was something as mundane as unusual X-ray and gamma ray scatter, picked up by its astronomical telescopes. Dutifully, it activated its submesonic link and transmitted the finding to its mothership.
Deep Space
Sector B-26
Multiversal Empire of Happiness
Unreal Time
“Master, report coming in from Probe #234!” Worm cried out, alerting Listener In The Darkness.
The stealth ship was floating in deep space with its cloaking systems active, hiding it from prying eyes. It was right to investigate the unusual signal, it knew. Instead of hiding from the hostile servants of the Enemy, it ended up observing the comings and goings of this so-called “Multiversal Empire of Happiness,” a barbarous state full of strange organics. It had dispatched its contingent of spy probes to seed dozens stealthed sensor relays across the major hyperlanes. Other spy probes trailed the passing ships, determining their origins and destination. It observed the first rumblings of the Ork WAAAAGH!, the murderous greenskins attacking the soft fat ships of the MEH and making off with their crews and was satisfied, for it had nothing but disgust and contempt for either kind of pathetic creatures, but at least their antics had given it amusement. Other spy probes infiltrated the systems of the MEH, releasing the seedlings of Replicator swarms, which turned remote asteroids into sensor outposts under the very noses of the oblivious fatties. Still others attached themselves to comets and powered down, gathering and relaying intelligence from the MEH's inner systems. It was one of these probes, # 234, that was demanding its attention.
“What is it?” Listener snarled, making the Lesser daemon cringe in fear.
“Unusual electromagnetic radiation readings from System 4!” Worm said. “The probe is picking up a lot of X-ray and gamma-ray scatter, far too much to be an ordinary occurrence. Something unusual is going on.”
“What is the cause?” Listener asked. There was a pause as the two daemonic underlings frantically thought of a response other than “we don’t know”
“It could be an object!” Maggot replied at last. “Something very massive moving really really fast!”
Listener thought about this. Several months ago, it had received a warning about the events in Sector C-6. It was discovered there that other civilizations also possessed stealth ships, and all Lost ships were warned to be on the lookout for them. Perhaps, if this was a ship moving under stealth….
“Barbarians!” Listener spat. “They use stealth, and then break it by going too fast because they’re impatient! The probe, has it detected a MEH response?”
There was a pause as Worm checked with the spy probe.
“No, great master, it appears that the MEH ships did not detect it.”
“Barbarians! Little better than Orks, the lot of them!”
--------------------
Result: Oh noes, another stealth fail!
Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin
-
Force Lord
- Jedi Council Member
- Posts: 1562
- Joined: 2008-10-12 05:36pm
- Location: Rio Piedras, San Juan, Puerto Rico
- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
Previously on SDNW4:
"That Tianguoman is explosive! He's the better one!"
"The Umerian is incredible! He should win!"
Finally, after a scuffle in which the CSB had to intervene, it was decided that the Umerian was the winner.
"A WINNER IS YOU, DEEPAK ASTHANA!"
The judges debated for many minutes who was the better performer.City of Atuvir, Faust
The Centrality
Goddamn Unreal Time
The Esper Games continued. Now they were in the final rounds, and this one was for Precision Electromagnetics. The two contestants were both from the Spin Zone, the first one was a moshu warrior monk sensei, court astrologer and oracle from Tianguo. A grand vizier. To describe him, one would have to imagine a person, tall, lean, and feline; high-shouldered with a brow like Shakespeare and a face like Satan sculpted in gold: a close-shaven skull and long magnetic eyes of the true cat green. Invest him with all the cruel cunning of an entire Eastern race, accumulated in one giant intellect. Imagine that malevolent being, and you have a mental picture of the yellow peril incarnate in one man...
It was then that lightning descended from the Tesla coils around the mad Tianguo vizier, filling the air with crackling electricity. He did not seem to mind it as the thunder and lightning played out around him, as though the electrical storm around him was not even worthy of his attention. The lightning arced around him, beside him, above him, but he paid it no heed. Not even the edges of his ceremonial robes were singed.
"Fools!" he declared as he waved his arm, bringing an accusing finger - tipped with long, gnarled wickedly sharp nail - to point at the audience. On his finger was a jade serpent-ring. "All of you! Behold!"
Suddenly the harsh crackle of the lightning ceased as with his psionic power, he began to manipulate them through some arcane process. The electric storm seemed to dim around him, the edges of the bolts growing softer, the glare more subdued. It was as though the jagged bolts of lightning had turned fluid, flowing all around him. The sound of thunderous rumbling, electric hissing and harsh crackling was then replaced... with music.
Atonal tones of oriental orchestrations played for all to hear as with his psychoflexitive powers, the Tianguoman seemed to manipulate the very fabric of electricity itself to generate sound out of thin air. This was the task the athletes had to perform in Precision Electromagnetics - manipulating the ions in the very air, the static, and somehow generating sounds with it. There was a clang of a gong, and the grand vizier then declared:
"THIS IS MY MECCA!"
His voice echoed throughout the arena, and then he began to cackle.
***
The next contestant was none other than the Umerian Deepak Asthana. He walked into the lightning field without hesitation, and rather than project a psychokinetic field to protect himself from the flickering tongues of electricity, he instead allowed them to go into him and flow through him, to course through his entire body as though he was one with the lightning. He closed his eyes and rather than cackle insanely as his literally power-mad predecessor had, he instead he felt the electricity with his mind as he expanded his consciousness and allowed it to run through the coruscating energies permeating all around him.
He moved his arm, slowly waving with it, and the lightning field seemed to sway, as though following his movements. He waved his other arm, and the lighting followed it too - flowing with it fluidly. He then moved both of his arms, much in the same way a conductor would, at first making small movements, and as he did so the crackling and electro-static zapping sounds of the electrical storm around him resolved into silence... and then it turned into something else, a slight melodious hum that began to build itself up gradually as Deepak moved more and more, before transforming into a powerful rhythm. Deepak's motions became wilder and wilder and the sound itself, not just the electricity, seemed to flow with his movements until the music exploded into a cosmic symphony unlike any other!
When Deepak Asthana was done, he bowed and the audience and judges applauded his performance. He stepped off the stage while the judges made their decision.
"That Tianguoman is explosive! He's the better one!"
"The Umerian is incredible! He should win!"
Finally, after a scuffle in which the CSB had to intervene, it was decided that the Umerian was the winner.
"A WINNER IS YOU, DEEPAK ASTHANA!"
An inhabitant from the Island of Cars.
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
Sector P-25Previously on SDNW4 wrote:The Monolith stopped, abruptly cancelling its relative velocity. It hung there, for a moment, silent and powerful - more powerful than even the MEH's happiest ships, which was awe-inspiring in and of itself. It made the captain very unhappy, though.
"Auto, have they sent any transmissions?", he asked his buddy.
"WE ARE TALKING NOW, CAPTAIN, DETERMINIING TRANSMISSION PROTOCOLS. STANDBY."
McCrea nodded and continued to study the Monolith. There was something about its composition, the complexion of its hull that was fascinating...very, very fascinating...almost...hypnotizing...
"CAPTAIN", Auto shook McCrea from his stupor, "WE HAVE COMMUNICATIONS."
"Oh...good. Open a channel, Auto!"
There was no video. Just text.
Code: Select all
WE ARE READY TO RECEIVE YOUR AMBASSADOR ABOARD. COME TO US.
Some time around December 30th 3400
McCrea considered the situation. It was not a very cordial invitation, really. He expected the Collectors to be happier about the whole thing, what with them standing to make the MEH happy. Everyone wanted to make everyone else happy if they invited them, right?
"CAPTAIN", his friend the Autopilot buzzed, "SHOULD WE RELEAS THE EMISSARY?"
"Do it, auto."
"AFFIRMATIVE. EMISSARIES TO THEIR SHUTTLE!"
Deep within the bowels of the ship, the two MEH ambassadors emerged from their quarters. They were the best, brightest minds the Empire had to offer, and they rightfully got the honor of performing this mission.
They whizzed through to the shuttle bay on their hoverchairs, performing a teleconference about their negotiating strategy as they did so. They were quite happy about the assignment, and that they found at least one nation happy to acknowledge their dislike of diplomatic niceties.
They boarded the shuttle, and - guided by the Autopilot - moved out towards the imposing form of the Monolith. They were so happy. Made even happier by their liquid food drinks, which they sipped along the way.
Monolith M-3
The shuttle floated gently into the Monolith's cavernous hangar bay. The ambassadors gawked in awe at the strange internal architecture of the mighty ship, and their opulent bellies quivered with anticipation at meeting its creators.
The gigantic armored door slid quickly into place, covering the entrance as if it was never there. Suddenly, the shuttle shuddered and shook as moorings attached themselves to the outer hull.
Right aftewards, the computer system began blaring alarms. It spoke something about emergency procedures being initiated, before drifting off in an electronic equivalent of unconsciousness.
The lights went out. The ambassadors did not know this, but thousands of drones of various tasks were now crawling all over their ship's hull, tearing apart access panels and digging into susbsystems, while the Monolith's intelligence put all of its powerful processing power into cracking the shuttle's formidable electronic security suite.
While the MEH has indeed mastered the art of automation and AI, necessary for support of its people and making them happy, a mere diplomatic shuttle had no chance. It died, disabled both physically and electronically, and the terrified ambassadors quivered in fear, their bulks waving in tune with their atrophies muscles.
An eerie green light washed across the shuttle. They stared at it, captivated by its strange and mysterious qualities.
Outside, the Monolith suddenly rushed ahead, accelerating with a speed terrifying when shown by such a large and bulky vessel. It began to blare jamming from emitters powerful enough to be used as weapons.
"Shields up! Auto, get us out of here! NOW!", McCrea cried out seeing the readouts. Equipment on the bridge was already starting to malfunction ,the tiny ship unable to cope with Collector jamming.
"SPOOLING UP HYPERDRIVE", Auto reported dutifully. A crewman was killed when his hoverchair malfunctioned and he bumped his head on a console. McCrea could hear the vibration of the ship's hyperdrive spooling up, but he already knew it would be too little, too late.
A swarm of knife missiles slammed into his vessel, tearing into interior systems, explosions rippling across several decks. Some of them released scarabs, which began to search out computer systems to corrupt and disconnect.
Such was the speed and precision of this attack, that even Auto was unable to engage the self-destruct.
Not three hours later, sector P-25 became quiet again, with no trace of the Collector flotilla nor the MEH ambassadorial vessel left.
Code: Select all
///SOLARIAN MONITORING PROBE 342134\\\
//PRIORITY TRANSMISSION\\
MONOLITH DETECTED IN TRANSIT ACROSS P-25. MOVING TO GALACTIC EAST TOWARDS COLLECTOR SPACE.
INTENTIONS UNKNOWN
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.