Space Empires IV Game RP

[brianeyci]

Good luck have fun, RP is not essential or even required, just do it if you feel like it. All posts in here in character please. May be fanfiction, may be actual communications between players, whatever. No discussion of game mechanics except in character please. If there's any problems just pm me or post here. If there's anybody out there who wants to join in RP and isn't in the game, you can do that too .

Star Trek : Where, How and What the Fuck

You're the governor of a plush, out of the way world in your respective empire. All is well, all is good, until one day something wierd happens. You feel tingly all over, as if a transporter beam is beginning to seize you. If you're armed, you draw your weapon before you disappear, knowing that you'll rip someone a new one if they're fucking with you.

You appear in large room full of humanoid looking figures. They're indistinct, varied, many and awesome. You notice beside you other species from all over the galaxy, some you recognize, some you do not. They're all as shocked as you, and one of them is in a rather embarassing position. They stand up, and stare into the bleachers. The room is circular, with many benches for humanoids to sit on. The shadowy figures laugh, proclaim your stupidity. If you're angry you attempt to fire your weapon at them, but your weapon fizzles and doesn't respond. If you're patient you cross your arms, or whatever your tradition is, and wait. If you're going "what the fuck", you scream, but don't really do anything because something seems to be restraining you from hurting or interacting with the others around you.

Then, a luminous light appears off in the distance. A faint bit of laughter, then a voice.



"YOU PATHETIC WEAK CREATURES, YOU WHO DARE DECLARE YOUR SENTIENCE AND PROCLAIM YOUR POWER, YOU WHO DEFY THE SANCTITY OF THE GALAXY BY YOUR VERY EXISTENCE, YOU WILL BOW TO ME."

Then, unwillingly, your knees bend. Struggling makes it more painful. Some try, and scream as they finally fall to the ground, mostly in anger more than in pain.

"NOW, LET THE GAMES... BEGIN!" You disappear in another flash of light, and reappear back in your office, lair or significant other's arms. A beep, flash, signal or whatever your people use to signal an emergency blares, and a slimy toady comes in. "Sir, our entire planet has been teleported to an unknown galaxy and we don't have any fucking condoms left!"

So it begins...

[Faram]

Okay I really want to play Space Empires IV, where can I buy it?

And yes anyone PM or posting illegal D/L links I will make it my mission in life to get that user BANNED! OKAY?

[brianeyci]

Faram, it's gone, they sold out of stock. If you're lucky you'll find it in a bargain bin somewhere, if not SE:V will come next year. I don't have a link I'll look more later when I come back from school maybe I can find a link from chips and bits or something.

===

"Daimon, daimon, daimon!", screamed a toady. Daimon Bartok never liked Slog. Slog was an underling, one of many, and Bartok tolerated him for his skills, but sometimes he wished he could rip Slog's lobes off.

"What is it Slog?"

"Daimon, we've lost contact with the Vulcan Central Bank, the Andorian Federal Bank, the Federation High Bank..." Slog screeched. "...I can't find Ferenginar! Ferenginar is gone! Ferenginar is gone!", screamed Slog. Bartok slapped Slog on the head. "You imbecile, I told you to do sensor diagnostics last week."

"I did them Daimon, I did them, look for yourself it's all gone, even the stars are wrong!"

Bartok looked down at Slog's display. He was right. It was all wrong. Everything was gone. Their persistent connection with the Grand Nagus's office. Their emergency connection with the homeworld, offline. Was it possible that some huge catastrophe hit the entire quadrant all at once?

"Slog, did you try the hu-men subspace network.", said Bartok. Slog punched in a few buttons. "It's not there Daimon. It's all gone, nothing works!" Bartok turned to the helm officer. "Set course for Ferenginar."

"Daimon, the warp drive is offline.", said the helmsman. Bartok went over to the larger lobed helmsman, who he hadn't bothered to learn the name of yet. "Engineering, report."

"Narg here. Warp drive is offline. And I don't know why. It just doesn't work anymore Daimon. Impulse engines are working, but have limited power."

"Weapons, shields..."

"We have full power to those systems Daimon."

Bartok scratched his head. Then he smiled. No Ferenginar meant no debts. No Liquidators. No Grand Nagus. No more hu-mens. No more Klingons. No more do-men-in. It was a whole new galaxy to explore apparently.

A galaxy for the taking.

"Helmsman, are there any planets in range?"

"Yes Daimon, several planets with intelligent life. This is strange... something is wrong..."

"What?"

"It seems we're deep in Romulan space. But there's no Romulans."

Bartok twiggled his lobes. First it was a new galaxy... was it a new galaxy, or an old galaxy with everything out of place... no matter. There was profit to be had.

"Daimon, I'm detecting transwarp conduits forming in the system." Bartok jerked his head. "Borg?"

"No Daimon, they do not match known Borg transwarp signatures." The helmsman turned around. Bartok sat down. With no warp drive, they had no choice.

"Set course for the transwarp conduit."

"Yes, Daimon."

Bartok took a deep breath. First his lobes had been scratched by the new female, and now this. Hopefully he could sell his cargo soon, and get some latinum. "Slog, sit up straight," Slog suddenly smiled. "Yes Daimon." Bartok nearly ran up and hit Slog, but gritted his pincers and crossed his arms. Today was just not a good day.

Brian

[Nephtys]

Okay I really want to play Space Empires IV, where can I buy it?

And yes anyone PM or posting illegal D/L links I will make it my mission in life to get that user BANNED! OKAY?

http://www.shrapnelgames.com/

Now get off of this thread please. There's the other OOC game one.

[Trogdor]

Proconsul Primus was a resentful, bitter Romulan. He'd been sent off to mind one of the most out-of-the-way colonies within the empire, which amounted to the death of his career.

"If only I hadn't thrown my lot in with that idiot Tomolak and that half breed Sela," he mused while sitting in his office.

Primus' support in their attempt at conquering Vulcan some years past was known to almost no one.

Except the Senate, and the Senate was all that mattered.

Primus had had enough contacts to keep himself from being disappeared by the Tal'Shiar and in politics, but not much more than that, as evidensed by his station in this isolated little colony.

Suddenly, his thoughts were interuppted by a massive flash of light. Jolting into awareness, Primus slammed the button on his intercom. "What the hell was that?!" he demanded.

-----

It took several hours to discover what had happened, and several more to confirm it beyond any doubt: they were in another galaxy, an untamed galaxy.

"What are we going to do, Proconsul?" one of his aids asked him.

"We're going to prepare the ceremony," Primus answered, grinning wolfishly.

"Cerimony?" his aid asked dumbly.

Incompetence in his underlings usually angered Primus, but now he just kept smiling. "Yes, the cerimony for my installation to the Praetorship."

-----

"All hail Primus! All hail Primus!"

The new Praetor drank the chanting in like fine wine. This what what he had always desired for as long as he could remember.

Almost. Primus had always pictured himself ruling a larger empire, but the possibility of that was still very open.

He raised his hands for silence, and the huge crowd reluctantly quieted down. "My people," Primus began. "I do not know how or why, but we have been handed a golden opportunity! We are now in a new galaxy, a young galaxy just waiting for the Romulan people to tame it! No longer will we have to endure the interferance of the contemptable Federation and their loathsome Starfleet! No longer will we have to sleep with the fear that the barberous Klingon hordes will murder us in our beds! No longer will we have to fear the clone armies of the Dominion! Nor the cybernetic forces of the Borg! Nor the choking bureaucracy of the Senate! We are free to rule this galaxy as we wish, and we will cover it in the glory of the Romulan people!"

The crowd roared their approval and began to chant again.

"ALL HAIL PRIMUS! ALL HAIL PRIMUS!"

[Dalton]

General Martok could not move. The sneering creature before him mocked him openly, laughing at his struggle. The presence of the other beings beside him did not register: all there was was the berserker rage. The cloud of red fury. His arm twitched, unable to reach the mek'leth on his belt.

Martok bellowed in fury at his unseen chains, the robed captor standing before him saying...something. A game. Martok was insulted. Stolen from his Empire and made to be a pawn in someone's twisted idea of a joke.

With a flash of light, he was returned to solid ground...but something was seriously amiss. Qo'noS this wasn't; an idyllic colony world stretched before his eye. Through the window of some sort of office, millions of Klingons went about their daily business as though nothing had happened.

An insistent beep worked its way into his consciousness; a signal from the comm terminal.

"What is it?" Martok growled, forcing himself not to show his confusion.

"Chancellor!" came the reply. "We have lost contact with the rest of the Empire, the High Council, the Federation..."

Martok swore an oath. He would destroy the petaQ who did it to him, even if he was forced to invent a torpedo that could fire at right angles to reality. "Is there no one out there?" Martok asked. He remembered several others beside him, all of them equally helpless.

"Scanning..." The operator's eyes glanced over unseen status screens. "Chancellor, it appears that we are not alone. I have made contact with four other colonies in the immediate area, two in this system and two more close by. I am also detecting a significant number of spatial anomalies that appear to connect to other star systems."

Martok grunted. "Send a ship to see what's out there."

The operator appeared to steel himself. "Chancellor, we have no ships. In fact, it appears most of our technology has been regressed to a severe degree..."

Chancellor Martok slammed his fist on the desk. "Filthy targh-dropping! I will have my revenge!" he bellowed. The officer on the screen seemed to shrink back. "Sir...what will we do?" he asked.

Martok considered. "We will forge a new Klingon Empire," he decided. "We will rediscover our lost technology, find a way home..." He leaned forward and grinned viciously. "And then we will send the trickster back to Gre'thor! Qapla'!"

[Trogdor]

There was another great flash of light, and Praetor Primus discovered that he was now ruler of five planets rather than three. Also, they seemed to have gone back a short period in time.

"What the fuck just happened?" he asked his aid.

The aid shrugged.

"Whatever," Primus grumbled. "Continue with the colonization programs."

[Nephtys]

Five of Eight, Primary adjunct of Unimatrix 421's eyes snapped to life. A blast of warm air blew into her face, as she stepped in a daze away from her regeneration alcove. Her awkward steps carry her forward, as she looks about her surroundings, face frozen in one of surprise and horror.
Her hands... they were changed. She was changed. With a soft whir, she turns her wrists, touching the black coated fingertips. Automatically, a sensor mounted along side her bald, discolored head came to life, projecting a blue beam to those strange hands.

What had happened? Memories flash before her eyes, of a family, of a promising career... her first position as an engineer aboard a starship. Then... pain fills her mind. She cringes, curling against the black metal wall of the ship. She was attacked. Taken. Then she awoke here. Vague images of a kind of judgement fills her mind, a kind of omnipotent being gazing down distastefully from a raised dias.

As she stood there stunned, Four of Eight disconnected from his station, turning to her. He bore a high brow and pointed ears, Romulan features trapped behind an expressionless mask. "STATE YOUR DESIGNATION. ARE YOU DEFECTIVE?" he asks, with a warped, emotionless tone.

Five stood up slowly, new thoughts entering her mind. Was she damaged somehow? She responded with naturally, trying hard to think. "Five of.. Eight? No. I'm not.."

Four of Eight did not appear impressed, or much of anything. "YOU ARE DEFECTIVE. REPORT TO MAINTENANCE STATION FOUR-TWO." he started to lift his left arm, where a small saw now was. Five reeled back in horror. She looks back upwards, backing off. She replies without a word, in thought only. ~No. I will not. You will move aside and direct me to the command viniculum.~

With a twitch, Four of Eight turned aside. "WE ARE BORG." he says, with an expression that just screams '404 error', leading the way for the newly liberated Drone to follow. Five would have a lot to explore and learn about her setting, what happened... or how she could control the voices in her mind.

Walking through the ordered halls, her head shifts to view those others, dressed as she was in their cybernetic carapaces. She shakes her head, alien bursts of information passing through her mind. The thoughts of those that passed filled her head like a chorus, each mind a voice in their enslaved state. She then spots the green crystal mechanism of the Viniculum, smirking at it as she brushes her guide aside, walking up to it. Her fingers run along the edge of the strange device, feeling it like one would a tender pet.

"My mind is free... the collective no longer's holding my leash..." she pondered aloud, tilting her head as she stroked the device. "...my future is my own again..." she smiles. Her fingers curl to a fist, her nanotubes extending and injecting her own nanites into the Viniculum core.

She felt power and the ability to change things now. They were in a new place, beyond known space. Already responding to her commands, the Viniculum begins to send the combined knowledge of the collective into her mind. Perhaps now she could make a difference in this new galaxy, as a dark smile crosses her lips. She would change things for the better. Explore beyond her wildest dreams. Take her revenge against those who did this to her...

...Five of Eight would have no inkling to the fate that awaited her...

[Uraniun235]

Wilhelm Alshain awoke to the insistent bleating of the wall-mounted viewscreen. Someone wanted to talk to him at this ungodly hour. Probably some Starfleet Academy punk landed in Senator Beasley's pumpkin patch again, thought Alshain, President of what was often referred to as the backwater colonies of the Federation, tucked away in a discreet cluster of star systems where news was slow and where the last heavy cruiser seen in the vicinity was sometime when Kirk was still a Captain.

He rolled over and tapped the remote control, bringing the viewscreen to life, showing a very frantic bureaucrat with an armful of PADDs. Some overpaid, underworked, overimportant, Undersecretary of Overstated Matters or something...

"President Alshain! There's been a catastrophe!"
"Couldn't this have waited until the morning?"
"No, sir! We've lost all contact with the Federation, and scans show that our planets have been moved!"
"...this is why I wanted to restrict the sale of moonshine..."
A tall, lanky, older man with greying hair then appeared next to the Undersecretary.
"I'm afraid it's quite true, Mr. President. All of the major colonies in the Felgercarb star cluster seem to have been transported to a single star system, in an unknown region of space. We are working on charting our position, but given the extraordinary nature of this event, it's possible we may not even be in the Milky Way galaxy any more."

Wilhelm Alshain thought hard for a few moments. The Felgercarb cluster had no Starfleet resources to speak of, and it was a fairly underdeveloped sector of the Federation. They'd be on their own from here on out, and without Earth to send them material or the know-how to make it, they'd have to figure it all out for themselves. Fortunately their textbooks would give them a good direction to look in, so that researching the needed technologies would be merely a matter of years, not decades or centuries. And the more they expanded, the better they'd be able to respond to any problems that could crop up...

"Alright. Schedule a series of meetings to coordinate with the other planets and get a coherent plan together. In the meantime, immediately order the planetary shipyards to start working on constructing colony transports and exploration craft; we need to establish ourselves as an independent force. Also draw up the documents for declaring a state of emergency; I'll need to take a more direct hand in the months to come."
"Yes, Mr. President. Anything else?"
"Yes. Hang up so I can get back to sleep."

Just what I needed...

[brianeyci]

High Daimon Zargat relaxed on his plush, regal throne. The Dominion War had been good to him. Zargat was so rich, he had power over billions. He had made the top five of the Ferenginar Times top one hundred richest Ferengi for the tenth year in a row. He had more wealth than some small star nations. His small star system was practically independent from the Ferengi Alliance in every conceivable way, except for a military force. He always hired mercenaries, Humens, Breen, Klingons, Romulans, even a few Vulcans, to defend him, and kept them paid well. Greed he could trust, and his men would never turn on him as long as he kept them well paid and... entertained.

A girl moved closer to Zargat, smiling. He had bought the technology from a race who had recently come under embargo from the Federation for some scuttle with a famous Captain, and had quickly programmed all his females by enticing them with the game. The girls were at his mercy, the slaves of his men, and would do whatever they wanted, willingly and happily. Nearby, a half dozen slave girls surrounded Zargat's closest lieutenant, a humen called Baxter, who had ties to the Orion Syndicate. Whenever Zargat wanted something... eliminated, Baxter would have it done. Baxter said something, and all six girls giggled and laughed, then one of them sat on Baxter and begun gyrating her hips and moaning. Zargat never understood the human preoccupation with mating. His slave girls were always controlled, never controlling. If a fe-male was giving you too much pleasure, she had you under her spell, thought Zargat as Baxter's slaves began their dance, no doubt strongly suggested by Baxter. Zargat's own female was gently massaging his lobes, not so much as to make him unable to think, but enough to relax him.

Suddenly, everything flashed white...

...when Zargat reappeared, it was as if no time had passed. Baxter was close to climax, screaming at the slave girl to "fuck him harder", whatever that meant. Zargat pushed at his slave girl, throwing her to the floor, and reached for his Klingon disruptor pistol under his pillow. She gave that idiodic smile, and Zargat sneered, about to slap her across the face with the butt of the pistol when the doors to the chamber burst open and Alice strode in. This was the only female Zargat never allowed anyone to touch, under orders of death. She was still naked, but her nakedness was beautiful like a goddess's rather than a dancing girl. Zargat had found her in some Federation backwater, and was immediately enchanted by her strength, her resistance to his offers of wealth for her body, her strong and supple body. But, she wanted out of the Federation, out of Starfleet, and Zargat had taken her. Alice was the only woman who had been -- willing. Zargat had not used the game on her, and never would. If Baxter was his right hand, Alice was his left, and her piercing intellect, wisdom and obedience had helped propel Zargat to the top. The Federation lost, he had won, and Alice had dozens of times helped Zargat outwit the Federation in trade negotiations, not that they were the most competent merchants anyway.

"Lord Zargat, a situation has arisen.", said Alice. "Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah!", screamed Baxter's girl as Baxter began pounding harder and harder. "Quiet!", shouted Zargat. "What is the problem?"

"We have lost contact with Ferenginar, the Ferengi subspace network, and apparently every civilization in the Alpha Quadrant. We are no longer in our galaxy.", said Alice smoothly, as if this was a normal report of greater profit earnings or successful negotiation.

Zargat sat down in his seat, his elbows on his legs and his hands holding up his chin in a position Alice had taught him. So it was not a dream. That being in red, whoever he was, said it was a game. Zargat smiled. It was a game. The people in the chamber... they were his opponents. This was too good to be true. He was free, free of the idiocy of the Federation lapdog of a Grand Nagus who had recently banned "aggressive measures" as a legitimate form of profit gathering. Free from the spectre of having to clothe his slave girls once the new amendment to the Rules of Acquisition had passed. Free from tax.

"Contact the fleet. Have Mr. Nolan meet me in one hour.", said Zargat.

"My Lord, the fleet is gone.", said Alice. "There are no starships in our entire solar system. Our technology as well, seems to have... regressed." Zargat twitched his lobes. At any one time there were hundreds of cargo ships in his solar system, dozens of interstellar corporations who had their head offices on one or more of his planets, and thousands of smaller craft shuttling prospectors and businessmen around.

"Regressed.", pondered Zargat. Just then Baxter grunted, threw down his plaything, who smiled lovingly at Baxter. "Come here.", said Zargat to Baxter. Baxter zipped up his pants, and joined Zargat. He gave Alice a glaring look, but that was all he ever dared. Zargat had threatened Baxter with a most unpleasant death if he even touched Alice, and Baxter had complied. Fear was another thing Zargat could understand, could mold and hone. Fear wasn't as useful as greed, but was greed's close brother. "Baxter, have you been listening?"

"Yeah boss, so what.", said Baxter. Zargat snorted. Only Alice seemed to understand the look on Zargat's face, the look of true greed, ambition, a chance for fresh opportunity, and for the first time in years she smiled. Baxter was startled by this, but quickly composed himself. "What do you want me to do boss?"

Zargat turned to Alice. "Contact all planets in the system, coordinate your efforts. Instruct the shipwrights to meet me in one hour. Declare a state of emergency on all planets." Zargat looked at Baxter. "Go out, instruct the local militias to maintain order. The sheep will be wary, but we must not encourage panic." Baxter nodded, and headed for the exit. Alice followed Baxter, then slowed when she reached the door.

Alice turned around. "My love...", said Alice. Her face was full of desire, pure desire, the kind Zargat hadn't seen in years and years. Zargat grinned. "Close the door." Alice obeyed, then took a few steps, and lept on Zargat. Zargat screeched and tore off his own clothing as Alice grabbed and jerked his lobes repeatedly. They both swum in the estacy for new adventure, new hope, new possibilities.

New possibilities for profit.

Brian

[GuppyShark]

Across this strange galaxy, prompted by events beyond mortal understanding, many similar events occur. Individuals, formerly entrenched in positions of power, seize the opportunity for yet more power as they find themselves unencumbered by rule from above. No longer kowtowing to a central authority, they consolidate their positions and set to expand their reach across the galaxy.

But what of those who seek not power, but control?

What of those who do not elevate the individual, but prefer to measure events in the movements of genetic vectors?

Such a problem confronted Founder Corna. Quite possibly, the last Founder.

Summoned to the court of a solid, along with those loosly deemed his equals, he found himself controlled and debased.

When the monster was through with him, he found he had greater problems than he had first suspected.

Not only was the rest of the Dominion gone, but so were his kin.

The Founders were closer than brothers, engaged in a telepathic communication that had an effect akin to connecting a computer to a subspace network.

The Vorta who rushed into his office, the tall, thin race that served the Dominion as administrators, thinkers, wielders of logic and process, brought Founder Corna a terrifying report, but one he had realised long before their communication networks had come crashing to a halt.

He was suddenly alone. He could not hear the others. So that was to be it, then. The death of his race, exterminated in a heartbeat by a red-robed lunatic.

Grim resolved filled him, and he swelled with rarely-used might.

"Assemble the council. We will crush the solids. And then I will have revenge."

If his hunch was correct, and other rulers had found themselves in a similar plight, then he would show them that conquering distant stars were nothing new to the Dominion.

[brianeyci]

Zargat sat at the end of a long table filled with foods from across the galaxy. To his right sat Baxter. To his left sat Alice. Along the sides were the various businessmen, shipyard constructors, influential peoples and lackeys who oversaw his Empire. They were talking loudly, rudely, amongst each other, Humans, Andorians, other Ferengi, Tellarites, Trills, Bajorans, Betazeds, and so on and so on.

There were nearly a hundred of them.

Zargat banged his gravel. "Order, order, order!" The talking stopped. "As you know, we are now cut off from the Alpha Quadrant." The noise started again, and Zargat had to bang his gravel a few more times before the noise died down. "We can still do business! Subspace scanning has revealed other planets." Zargat's pincers showed through his forced smile. "Now, my friends, drink, eat, enjoy! Tomorrow we discuss business, today we have pleasure!" The golden doors to the feastroom swung open, and in single file naked women strode in, confident, smiling, giggling. They were adorned with jewelery, veils, and each one was a goddess, swinging their hips in a seductive and inviting manner. Each one took their place beside their masters, and swayed their bellies from side to side, their arms spread, their breasts bobbing up and down, their hips gyrating to the music. For the women, manservants appeared, strong and oiled, ready to do the bidding of their ladies.

"What is the meaning of this?", said a Vulcan standing up. "We are here to discuss business, not..." But, his voice was drowned out by the noise of men. Zargat laughed. The aphrodisaic worked. None of the men could hardly contain themselves. The clothed women were a little more reserved, but they too were overcome and eventually tore off their clothes in a pasionate fury, begging their manservants to seed them. Nobody noticed when devices were placed on their temples, reprogramming their brains to obey their new absolute ruler.

Nobody except the Vulcan. He resisted the attempts by an Orion slave girl to seduce him, then put his hand on the girl's shoulder. She went limp. The Vulcan dashed for the exit, and whipped out a communicator. "Now, now, we can't have that.", said Zargat. He pulled his disruptor pistol from his belt. Nobody seemed to pay any attention. They were too busy in their respective mating rituals, and the moans of women and cries of men reaching climax drowned out the wheeze of the disruptor as it powered up, fired, and powered down. The Vulcan was shot in the back, dead center in the chest, and disintegrated.

"What now boss.", said Baxter. Zargat nodded, and Baxter collasped. Behind him was Alice, holding a disruptor pistol. She knelt down and put a game on Baxter's temple. "Excellent." said Zargat. Zargat tuned out what was around him, and focused on Alice. She too wore no clothes. Her hourglass shape and smooth, supple skin were so different from Ferengi women. Unlike most Ferengi, Zargat detested females of his own race, finding them immensely ugly. He loved the way hu-men women were shaped, their pale skin and locks of hair unlike anything he had grown used to on Ferenginar. Hu-men women were exotic and alluring, and Alice the most exotic of all. Zargat put a hand on Alice's shoulder, who was crouching down next to Baxter holding the game in place. "My love.", said Zargat. Alice looked up expectantly, and saw the barrel of a disruptor pointed at her before she was knocked out.

Zargat put the game on Alice. From now on, he would trust nobody. Not even Alice. Zargat's technicians had programmed the game to work even if the player was unconscious. He had programmed Alice's game differently than the others. Her game would intensify her love for him, make her love him over anything else, make her his true slave. It would override her basic instincts. She would do anything for him after this, even kill herself.

When the game was done, Zargat easily picked up Alice's limp body. Baxter had awaken, to be surrounded by three young Betazed females. Zargat left the chamber with Alice. None would have her today, only him. As the door shut behind him, Zargat wondered who would be left by morning. The aphrodisiac was powerful, and one would stay aroused for an entire night. The weak would mate themselves to death, and the strong would remain. He needed strong ones, for his new empire. The screams and cries of women and men echoed through Zargat's palace as he entered his own chamber, waking up his love with a hypospray, who smiled as if she had found true meaning and wrapped her arms around Zargat in longing.

Brian

[Dalton]

Martok glanced over the clutter of padds around his desk. Being Chancellor of a centuries-old empire was one thing, but putting together an entirely new domain was a task far beyond any other challenge he had faced. There were resource reports, construction queues, research priorities and a dozen other things to worry about, and on top of that he had to approve new ship designs on an almost daily basis.

He grunted. All of these proved exceedingly difficult. Production of raw resources was significantly lower than he'd like it to be. Research was slow, difficult and boring for most. Workers preferred to dip into the blood-wine rather than pick up a hydrospanner. Being cut off from the rest of the empire seemed to be hitting the populace hard.

Martok would have to rectify that. Motivation was the key. Already a colony vessel stood in drydock, ready to be loaded and dispatched to a nearby world that seemed rich in natural resources. Soon, the Empire would rise again. Soon.

With a tired sigh, Martok rubbed his good eye, drank deeply from his chalice and went back to reviewing the new weapons and armor kit for the police force.

"Qapla'," he said to himself.

He didn't really feel it.

[Trogdor]

"Are you sure of this?" Primus asked his aid.

"Positive," was the reply.

Despite the fact that the two men were in Primus's office alone, they spoke in hushed tones, so grave was the matters they were discussing.

The aid continued. "We've picked up faint signals from the Klingons, the Ferengi, the Tholians, the Dominion, two Federations--"

"What?!" Primus interrupted. "TWO Federations?"

"Yes," the aid answered. "The one which we are familiar with and one of the past, led by Admiral Kirk."

Primus just managed to resist the urge to swear. It was well known that for all the Federation's power had increased in the recent decades, much of the steel had gone out of Starfleet, with the Dominion War only partially restoring it. But the Federation of the past was different. And with James Kirk leading no less.

Kirk's name was still well known to the Romulan people, even these many decades after his final voyage through the stars, as one of the most dangerous foes the Romulan people had ever encountered.

"Do we know where they are?" Primus demanded.

"Not yet," the aid answered.

"With any luck they'll be far apart from one another and won't ally," Primus said.

"That's not the worst of it, though," the aid said nervously.

"What could possibly be worse than two of that damnable Federation?" Primus asked. "Are there two sets of Klingon Empires here, too?"

The aid's voice grew even softer. "We believe that the Borg are here as well."

Primus was glad that he was sitting down, or else he might have collapsed. "Magnificent."

"Do you wish this information to be suppressed?" the aid asked.

Primus considered, then shook his head. "No. I don't trust the new Tal'Shiar units to do it correctly. They're still green." He rubbed his temples. "Leave me."

The aid was only to happy to do so. Now alone, Primus took a small bottle of the Romulans' famed ale out of his desk draw and took a healthy gulp. He considered draining the entire bottle, but decided against it. A Praetor's work was never done, and he could ill afford to lose hours to drunkeness, especially now.

At least the new Vigilis police units had been trained and dispatched to the streets of his worlds, Primus thought. They should quell any panicked responses to this new information easily. Besides that, they reassured the public, made them feel as if Primus knew exactly he was doing, and productivity had climbed sharply as a result.

The first wave of colony ships would be ready to depart their homeworlds soon. The new Romulan Star Empire had been blessed with an excellent home system, and hopefully the increases in productivity would continue.

Perhaps it was just the ale, but Primus suddenly felt much calmer than he had a moment ago. He would have to devote resources to a military, but he was certain that the spirit of the Romulan people would prevail.

[brianeyci]

Zargat gazed at his new minions. Out of the one hundred and twenty-three of them, nearly forty of them had died from exhaustion. This was better than he expected. Fat businessmen aside, some of the survivors surprised him. Baxter too, unfortunately, survived, no doubt damaging some of the goods (he always treated his love slaves harshly and more than a handful of times women had to be taken to sickbay to be treated).

"Fellow businessmen.", said Zargat. His slaves looked at him and smiled. Alice nodded, and so did Baxter. This was unnerving. There was no chit-chat, no dissenting, no argument. Perhaps he should have left some with their own minds intact for amusement. Ah well, he could acquire new slaves soon enough. "Fellow businessmen. The populace must be enlightened as well." Alice pressed a button. "Police units have already begun distributing the game in general. We estimate total control in less than a month."

"No go! Leave me!", said Zargat suddenly. They all rose without objection and headed to the door. "Except you my love. Stay." Alice stopped midway, and the grand chamber sealed itself. Zargat came closer. "I must know."

"Know what master?"

"Know if you ever loved me."

Tears came to Alice's eyes, and Zargat knew then he had made a mistake. He sighed, and disrobed, letting Alice's hunger take him, and though she was full of passion and desire and did everything Zargat wanted, he felt nothing.

"Daimon, we are approaching the planet.", said the helmsman. "We are being hailed." Bartok was relieved to see a Ferengi face. "Request permission to dock.", said Bartok roughly. The face on the other end looked happy -- too happy. "Permission granted."

"Daimon, ships are coming up from the planet... several shuttles.", said the helmsman again. Something didn't feel right. "Shields now!", said Bartok. A few seconds later, the viewscreen flashed with red as the shuttles fired on his ship.

"What are they doing?"

"Weapons locked Daimon!", said Slog. Bartok held up his hand. "Planetary weapons platforms are powering up.", said the helmsman. Bartok sneered. "Back off, back off!"

The planet gradually grew smaller and smaller, but the shuttles continued circling the ship, appearing and disappearing on their viewscreen. "Slog, do you think you can... nevermind, move out of the way.", said Bartok, pushing Slog out of the chair. Bartok keyed in a sequence of buttons, and brought up a wireframe schematic of one of the shuttles, then hit the engine. Then he hit "fire." The ship's weapons array lit up, following the instructions to disable the enemy's engines with pinpoint accuracy, and suddenly Bartok was glad he had purchased a Federation sensor system on the black market several months before. Bartok got up from the seat. "Tractor the shuttles in. Have fifty men in the shuttlebay, heavily armed." Bartok paused. "On second thought, beam the pilots of the shuttles into sterilite into the isolation ward. Full quarantine measures. Have every shuttle's atmosphere's vented, then tractor them in. Make sure each shuttle is fully sterilized before they enter the ship." A sequence of "Yes Daimon" was followed by frantic orders and communciations to sickbay by half a dozen crewmen.

Whatever made these pilots fire on them, Bartok wanted to know. If it was some new disease or biological weapon... perhaps there was profit to be had.

Brian

[Trogdor]

Primus watched with some amusement as the struggling man was brought into his office by two Vigilis officers.

"Praetor, this is an outrage! I have done nothing to warrent this--"

Primus reached out and grabbed the tip of the man's left ear, then pulled. A part of it came off, revealing a rounded ear of a human. The man immediatly went silent.

"Section 31, I presume?" Primus asked.

"Starfleet Intelligence."

Primus smirked, sure that the man was lying. "If you tell me one thing," he said, reaching into his desk and taking out a hand disruptor, "I'll consider letting you live."

"I'll never talk!"

Primus ignored him. "There's no way you came here after the incident," he said. "You must've arrived when these worlds were still the backwater of the empire. What did you do to be sent here?" he asked, smirking.

The human looked surprised but remained silent.

"Very well, then," Primus said, raising the disruptor.

"You can't do this!" the human shouted, struggling fruitlessly to escape the hold of the Vigilis officers. "It's against the Treaty of--"

He fell silent as Primus shot him in the chest. "Throw him into the dumpster out back."

"Yes, Praetor."

[Alan Bolte]

Predsetadel Quarzon stood in his office, watching the real-time hologram with a mixture of interest and boredom. The tractor-web technology the two short-range craft we demonstrating in orbit was certainly unique, but it took so very long to get anywhere. Surely it would be decades before the technology would advance enough to have any real military use. Decades, though, were not so very long to a middle-aged Tholian such as himself. Of his 341 years, he had led the Assembly for over sixty. Contact with other races had been sparse, and that was just the way he liked it. It was, indeed, the preference of the entire Assembly, but is that not the way of things? Tholian culture is far advanced from that of their chaotic neighbors, though the Vulcans do show some promise.

Quarzon glanced away from the demonstration to one of the numerous reports on his desk. He noted that stores of supplies were greater than ever. Is it not a proud time to be Tholian?

There was a flash, and then it was cold. So very cold.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thankfully, his carapace was intact, and the warmth of the room was beginning to alleviate the stiffness. Quarzon was not at all certain what the robed humanoid had meant in his ranting, nor was he familiar with several of the other species present, all of which were also humanoid. With any luck, he would remain unfamiliar with them, though experience suggested that at least a few would prove to be expansionist.

He could feel a great confusion beginning in the Assembly. Many minds were worried, many shocked. He shut them out as an aide stepped into the room.

"Predsetadel, reports are coming in from all over the Assembly. Most of our orbital facilities disappeared in a flash of radiation. Materials storage, shipyards - even the fleet is gone. Workers and cargo containers are floating in empty space."

"I know something of this. Tell the Assembly to trust in their Predsetadel. We have been manipulated by some foreign power previously unknown to us. Their technology and motivation seem to be beyond our comprehension. We can only rebuild, and save what resources we can. Deploy our ground forces on parade and police duties, we must keep morale high in these troubled times."

"Predsetadel, there is one more thing. The very stars have moved! We have been displaced far enough outside uncharted territory that we cannot identify what part of the galaxy we are in, if we even are in our home galaxy."

"Strange news, Graal, strange indeed. Still, it changes little. Unfortunately, I have little confidence that our position will be any farther from barbarian races than it was before."

[Arthur_Tuxedo]

Things happen quickly in times of crisis. 20 billion people of all member species had suddenly disappeared from worlds all over the Federation and found themselves on accomodating but strange planets. They knew right away that they needed a man of action, a man they could trust, a man named James T. Kirk.

After a swift election, Kirk was granted an emergency position of complete command over military and civilian assets. Realizing almost immediately that they would not be able to construct anything that would have impressed Captain Archer of the NX-01, Kirk rounded up any and all scientists and researchers, and put them to the task of rediscovering technology. With the amazing research labs this "Q" had supplied, researchers predicted that they will have caught up technologically within 2 years, and then will begin to greatly surpass the technology of the Federation they left behind.

The massive and advanced shipyards at each homeworld were put to use constructing colony ships to settle the myriad of nearby colonizable planets, the number of which were simply staggering.

Nobody really understood what had happened here, or what waited for them in this strange new place, but Kirk would be damned if his new Federation would be caught with its pants down.

[Dalton]

"Chancellor Martok?"

Martok awoke reluctantly, yet swiftly, moving from deep sleep and disturbing dreams into full battle readiness in a matter of moments in the tradition of all Klingon warriors. "Yes, what is it?" he replied, turning the monitor towards him.

The aide looked as haggard as Martok felt, but there was a gleam of newfound joy in his eyes. "We have just received a report from one of our colony ships. They have successfully established a colony on this system's third planet. They have begun constructing resource extraction plants."

Martok nodded his approval. "What else?"

"We have received reports of heightened morale on several planets." He tapped a button and video displayed on Martok's terminal: a view of one of the colonies, Klingon warriors marching proudly down the street as civilians looked on, cheering raucously. Martok couldn't be sure but he thought he saw a cask of blood-wine being tapped. The aide's face reappeared. "We are hopeful this will increase resource production."

"It had better," Martok said. "Or I will come down there myself and make them work harder."

"Of course, Chancellor. Ah, yes, there was one other item of business I thought I might bring to your attention. Some of our communications outposts have reported traces of transmissions that are not of Klingon origin."

Martok perked up slightly. He had been expecting this, but didn't know exactly who he had to contend with. An unknown enemy was the most dangerous sort. "Explain," he ordered.

The aide looked down at something offscreen. "From their carrier waves and encryption, we've been able to detect signals from at least seven different powers, possibly more. We are unable to confirm them because of pattern degredation, but we are sure that some of these transmissions are from the Federation. Others are Romulan." He steeled himself. "And some others appear to be Dominion."

Martok swore viciously. "I want ships and I want weapons!" he yelled. "Make the targh scientists work themselves to death if you must! We will wipe them off the face of this galaxy!"

"Yes, Chancellor!"

Martok slammed his fist on the monitor as he got up. Romulans were bad enough, but he'd go to Gre'thor before letting the crushed Dominion rise anew.

[Nephtys]

Only a month had passed and already Five of Eight had made plenty of changes. Technological advances, new industry, and so on. With the strange new structures found on her worlds, she had already claimed one particular structure as her own, a high spire about the central programming, resourcing and reproduction facilities of the star system. Atop it's grand levels surrounded by powerful borg planetary shielding was a moest little room of her own.

Five yawned and twitched her neck, sending a signal through the collective as the equivilent of ringing a tiny bell. A pair of drones rapidly came in, at a slow mechanical pace. Five waited impatiently, before making mental note, her fingers tapping against the black metal of her throne.

Who designed their movement patterns? And those awkward implants? What kind of sick designer came up with this? First order of business: Fix this shambling nonsense.

As the two drones finally walk up, Five yawns and lifts her hand at recognition of one of the drones. An old ex of hers, assimilated long ago into the collective. "e of pi, primary amusement unit. Begin entertainment routine." Five commands with a bored look, leaning onto her elbow while crossing her legs on the massive throne. "And oh. You. Two of Sixteen Thousand." she gestures to the other drone, mindless in his gaze. "Initiate entertainment critic routine. Artistry discriminators set to high."

At her command, the first drone begins to attempt to tapdance, hindered by his awkward cybernetic covering and implants in a terrible impersonation of a jig. The second drone turns to him, a kind of simulated scowl on his face. "DANCING IS IRRELEVANT. YOUR PERFORMANCE RESEMBLES AN UNPLEASANT OLFACTORY EMISSION. YOUR CULTURAL DISTINCTIVENESS NEEDS TO BE REMOVED FROM OUR OWN..." he starts to drone (no pun intended) on and on and on.

Five meanwhile, rubs her head and smirks at the show. It's a hard job being Queen...

[Alan Bolte]

Minos Korva IV

Under a dome, in newly climate-controlled land, the first million colonists walked through the buried city of a long-dead race. The cold rocky world had been known to house ruins since the Tholians had first left their home system for the far more hospitible worlds of Minos Korva. There had never been a need to colonize the world, much as none of the other worlds around the Tholian sun were ever colonized. There was no need: the Tholians did not expand agressively. They wished only for a buffer zone of well-patrolled space between their homeworlds and the barbarians. Having suddenly been transported into uncharted territory and stripped of their fleet, the Predzetadel had ordered a period of expansion, in order to provide the resources needed to rebuild their fleet and reestablish the safety of the Assembly.

Certainly the ruins drew the attention of Tholian scientists, but archeology on a cold world was a difficult task, and the Tholians were not a curious people. Nothing of use had ever been discovered from the ruins, but then, very little of the world was ever explored.

Deep in the city, a group of explorers found that not everything on this world was ruined. Their surprised thoughts drew other explorers, and soon this buried building was brought to life. It was a factory. A weapons factory. A factory that made only one gun, and made it well. It was huge, it was immensely powerful, and it was slow as hell. A few weeks' analysis found its purpose: it could burn out the warp engines of a ship without collateral damage or danger to the warp core.

Scientists swarmed onto the planet, and research began in earnest. Another find in such good condition was unlikely, but even without working examples of unknown technology, there was much to be learned given enough time.

[Trogdor]

Being Praetor was a demanding job, Primus had discovered, especially since the enemy transmissions had been observed. He'd had to order some of his shipyards to begin production of defensive ships and units, rather than having them all working on colony vessels, as he had originally planned.

But Primus could handle the job. Romulans were tough, the toughest race in the galaxy in his opinion. Oh sure, Klingons liked to think themselves the toughest and strongest, but it really all depended upon how one defined toughness. Certainly, Klingons had no problem with rushing to their death and they probably were the best melee fighters in the galaxy (for all the good it did among races who'd invented their first gun centuries ago).

But Primus had always known they were true weaklings beneath their bluster. And indeed, if the garbled transmissions he'd recieved from a Tal'Shiar operative who'd been on one of the unlucky Klingon worlds before the event, the barbarians weren't coping well.

Primus pushed these thoughts from his mind. Until they actually made contact with the Klingons, thinking about their weaknesses was just an indulgance.

He picked up a report about the colonization of their first new world. While it wasn't particularly rich in resources, its air was pure and sweet. Primus didn't mind the lack of resources. Scientific development was the key (and that meant the Klingons were truly doomed, he thought with a smirk), and a world didn't need plentiful resources to host labratory facilities. Also, the new Tal'Shiar units were complaining that they had no facilities of their own. Primus thought, adjusting the build orders.

He just hoped all the progress they were making would be enough when the Borg and the Dominion came knocking.

[brianeyci]

"Daimon Bartok", said the doctor. Bartok nodded in approval. "What have you discovered?", he said, hoping the doctor would tell him something of consequence. Cut off from the Dominion, running on minimal power and no warp drive was bad enough, but not making any money was worse.

"The pilots in the shuttlecraft are Ferengi. But...", the doctor paused, "there's been something done to their mental processes. They are not sound of mind. Brain scans reveal something disturbing."

"Explain."

"Daimon, they are under some form of mind control.", said the doctor. "I am currently working on a way to circumvent the mind control.

Bartok gave his approval, and the doctor left his ready room. There was not much to do now but run on minimal power towards the nearest planet, hoping that the next one wouldn't be so hostile. They only had enough fuel reserves remaining for a few days at low impulse at most, and if they didn't find a friendly port, they would be adrift. Luckily, that idiot Slarg had traced some communications to the third planet of this system, thought Bartok. The crew's morale was low, but Bartok had ordered extra shifts to keep the crew busy.

Bartok wondered whether there were any sane Ferengi left in this galaxy other than he and his crew. If the entire Alliance was gone...

... Bartok smiled. Profit.

"Daimon", rasped a voice. "Subspace communications coming in." Bartok whirled around his his chair and slammed the computer console. At last, something to do besides babysit.



Bartok listened to the man speak. It appeared to be some sort of distress signal. After a while, he got bored, and shut the comm panel off. He pressed a few buttons on the console and the computer made an immediate match. Some obscure species called the Ullians, who were at last record petitioning the Federation for member status. Then Bartok smiled.

They were telepaths.

Perhaps this would unravel the mystery.

"Bartok to bridge. Do we have enough fuel to head to the source of the transmission?"

"Yes Daimon."

"Set course for the source of the transmission, best possible speed." Bartok stopped. "Bartok to Narg."

"Narg here."

"Do you remember the device we picked up on Andoras II..."

"...you want me to ready it?"

"Yes Narg, we may need it." Bartok laid back in his chair. Using the device would break its mint packaging, and depreciate its value by nearly half, but if the galaxy was having as much trouble as he, perhaps he could still sell it second-hand for a great profit margin. Besides, it was an emergency, and keeping the device stored in the cargo bay wouldn't do anybody any good if they were all dead.

Brian

[Arthur_Tuxedo]

Work had been proceeding smoothly. Q's colony ships were capable of settling hostile planets with millions of people at a time. One of the planets even contained an ancient alien factory capable of producing gigantic beam weapons capable of bypassing shields and destroying a target's engines. The weapon was interesting, but took up so much space that it would probably be better just to use phasers and torpedoes. Speaking of which, the researchers told Kirk that they were on the verge of rediscovering primitive phasers to supplant the ancient phase cannons they had been saddled with. Photon torpedoes were still a ways away, but the current warp cores and nacelles were capable of warp 6. There was still a ways to go, but it was much better than engines they had initially possessed. Zephrane Cochrane would have sneered derisively at those warp 2 embarassments.

A scant few weeks after the first planet beyond the home systems had been settled, an alien colony ship was spotted on long range scanners. It identified itself as belonging to the "Dominion Empire". Kirk promptly had the settlement send a message to the ship to relay it to their leader. It was a standard Federation hail for a potentially hostile alien species, informing them of the Federation's peaceful nature and asking their intentions, but doing it in a slightly unfriendly manner so as not to appear weak. Kirk hoped that this "Dominion" would surprise him and turn into a great ally, but with such an unfriendly sounding name, he prepared for the worst, ordering the nearest colonies to construct large quantities of fighters.

[Alan Bolte]

"Predsetadel, we've been intercepting a lot of long-range comm traffic. It would seem that we are not the only ones out of space and time."

"I suspected that we were not alone Graal, but what do you mean, out of time?"

"Most of the transmissions come from civilizations that clearly were once in our future, though we believe that they have been technologically reduced to our level. One item of particular interest are two separate civilizations claiming the same identity, but from different times."

"So we really are pieces in a game then. I suppose we should be grateful that this game has a level playing field."

"Predsetadel?" Chief Aide to the Predsetadel Grall briefly witnessed images of Q, transmitted radiotelepathically by Quarzon.

"We must begin our research into weapons and defense in earnest," said Quarzon. "What are the nearest transmission sources?"

"A group of merchants in one direction, and the Klingons in another." The aide handed Quarzon a datapad displaying a map of nearby systems.

"We must move faster if we are to create a buffer zone around our home systems."