This is from the current SDN Worlds Version IV running right now in G&C's STGOD subforum.
One of the major metaelements going on so far the is invasion of Pendleton, a NPC controlled nation which is basically Norseman's previous uh, "attempts" at nationbuilding a state.
It's basically a victorian-era like libertopian slave-holding paradise.
Over time in support of this storyline, Shroom and me began to collaborate. It started off fairly slowly, but we rapidly grew in insanity and length of posts until we started basically posting THE WAR ON WHORES II and UNNAMED PORNO FANFIC II.
I think you can tell when we get into our stride. But before you can get to our masterpieces, I have inserted some background posts made by Shroom on his Bragulans.
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BRAGULE, Bragulan Star Empire
Bragule.
Capital of the Bragulan Star Empire. World throne of the Imperator, Darvyl Sagatantron Byzon. Home to billions of Bragulans, the center of an indomitable star nation encompassing countless suns claiming innumerable worlds and moons, all under the protection of the great nuclear fist of its military. The pride of Bragulanity, their true homeworld and cradle of all Bragulan life. Home of their glourious past and bastion of their bright future. Jewel of the Empire.
Glourious Bragule.
A polluted planet blanketed by industrial wastelands, where the dead sky is black from the toxic emissions of towering smokestacks and spewing chimneys, with factory complexes spanning beyond the horizon, covering denuded mountain ranges with steel and smoke and fire, with enormous siphons that drain solid, semi-solid and liquid wastes into poisoned oceans. A world that stands as a testament to the iron will of the Bragulan peoples and their unstoppable march forward, a monument to their enduring and ever-toiling spirit. A brilliant achievement of most patriotic glory to Empire and Imperator, the culmination of centuries' striving for perfection. A perfection achieved.
Mighty Bragule.
Unlike Solaris or Holy Terra or Earth, or any other insignificant human planet, Bragule had no facade. No false pretensions of wonder that only served to hide what was beneath the surface, the true face of their kind. Bragule had none of this, for Bragule was truth. Bragule was the ultimate victory of the Bragulan people, the ultimate victory of the Imperator, and his victory was truth itself. Bragule was thus a sample of Bragulanity in its purest - it's true form.
An ignorant human would question this, an ideologically impure Bragulan may even doubt this. Some would say this was madness. But this was not madness.
This was Bragule.
The rumbling soot-clouds of the Bragulan sky began to rain acid. From the hardened glass and plastic windows of crammed housing complexes and one-room homes, the corrosive raindrops gleamed in the air as beams of light shone through them. Lights from the Patriotic Ministry of the People's Truth and Ideological Purity's holo-projectors, which beamed out from the surface of the planet to project amorphous and ambiguous visages onto the clouds themselves. These massive hologram faces filled the skies, and with garbled omnipresent voices that came from great airship-megaphones, they spoke as one - and all of Bragule listened to them.
The People's Truthful Bi-Daily Ideologically Purified Accurate Information Broadcast to the Proud Patriotic Bragulan Listeners of Planet Bragule begins thusly:
THE HUMBLE PEOPLES OF THE RYGNSKRGNVK SYSTEM RAVAGED BY GREAT VOWEL FAMINE!
RYGNSKRGNVK, Kirensk Sector - The sub-sector system of Rygnskrgnvk faces the worst crisis in decades as an unexpected depletion of vowels occurs ahead of schedule! The Rygnskrgnvk system is known for the unfortunate vowel shortages that occur periodically, however this season the Rygnskrgnvk system has yet to fill its stocks for the vowel reserve and an unexpectedly early vowel depletion has left the system in a very ungood state - the Imperial Ministry of Plentiful Supply and Demand Regulation and Registration reported this week.
Vowels are an important resource to Bragulans throughout the Empire, and systems like Rygnskrgnvk do not have their own vowels and rely on vowel shipments out-of-system to supply their needs. However, this unforeseen shortage presents a great challenge to the Bragulan Star Empire as the present Fifty Year Plan has only allocated limited spare vowels for Rygnskrgnvk, as the vowels have already been evenly redistributed to Bragulan systems throughout the Star Empire. Thus, the Imperial Ministry of Plentiful Supply and Demand Regulation and Registration has gained permission from the Imperator himself to work with the People's Department of Limited Foreign Interaction and Human Affairs to seek supplementary vowel shipments from the nearby Altacar Empire.
Normally, such an interaction with an alien and human polity would be heavily scrutinized and persecuted by the Bragulan Star Empire - but those authorized by the Imperator to interact with the Altacarians are the very same members of the Imperial Ministry of Plentiful Supply and Demand Regulation and Registration whose impudent shortsightedness was responsible for the vowel famine on the Rygnskrgnvk system. After the vowel shipment arrives, these perpetrators will be removed from the Imperial Ministry and sent to one of the Bolshaya Chernovyi sector's numerous correction camps for de-education.
HERO GUARDSMAN RECOVERS FROM INJURIES SUSTAINED FROM HUMAN TREACHERY
GUGEFEZ, Urumansk Sector - The Emerald Guardsman Zhyvel who, with his elite comrades, heroically stormed a human conspirator stronghold, has recovered from the injuries he sustained in glourious combat. Guardsman Zhyvel was incapacitated not by the insufficient and inadequate human weapons and attacks, but by cowardly and sniveling human treachery in the form of a poisoned donut. Sent into a coma by the vile pastry's toxins, Zhyvel nonetheless continued on fighting for his life even when in the hospital bed, struggling with every inch of his Bragulan will to survive the deliciously baked human deprivations!
Guardsman Zhyvel and his team's heroic discovery of the human donut conspiracy in Gugefez has led to a severe crackdown on illegal human trade in the Star Empire, with the Imperial Bureau of Galactic Vigilance reprocessing several individuals suspected to be involved in trafficking donuts in the black market. Likewise the Bragulan Starfleet has destroyed a number of unflagged vessels suspected of carrying poisonous donuts in both Bragulan and Wild Space. The Bragulan authorities have declared that any attempt to sap and impurify the precious bodily fluids of the patriotic Bragulan people will be met with fierce and swift retribution.
The dramatic and speedy recovery of hero Guardsman Zhyvel will be celebrated with parades and an awards ceremony, with Guardsman Zhyvel and his comrades decorated for their valor and heroism in the defense of the Empire, the Bragulan people and the Imperator.
PUNY HUMAN NATIONS WAR AGAINST EACH OTHER IN PETTY SQUABBLE
ALTACAR, Altacar Empire - The emissaries of the People's Department of Limited Foreign Interaction and Human Affairs have received word that the faraway puny human nation of Anglia is moving to wage war against the equally puny human nation of Pendleton over the issue of slavery. On this grave galactic matter, Imperator proclaims the Empire's indifference to the insignificant affairs of these distant polities, and notes that unlike the petty and squabbling humans Bragulan kind has advanced beyond slavery and instead chooses to involuntarily conscript ideologically impure deviants to do glourious patriotic labor for the greater good of all peoples, and for their own good too - a lesson that both the nations of Anglia and Pendleton should strive to learn.
Truly the galaxy would be more harmonious and better off if other star nations opted to emulate the ideologically purified ways of Bragulanity, thus eliminating the need for puny human nations to squabble amongst each other.
This has been a bi-daily broadcast from the People's Truthful News Group with patriotic news of the people from throughout the Bragulan Star Empire, and with selected uninsignificant news from the rest of the galaxy deemed worth consideration.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO LEARN MORE?
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VANAGRADHEIM, Kirensk Mid-Sector, Bragulan Star Empire
MEGALITH 04 - Imperial People's Military Maritime Space Fleet Regional Command Center
The planet Vanagradheim was located within an outlying system of the Kirensk sector. Unlike great and mighty Bragule, the world had not yet been Bragulanized to such an extent that its oceans were filled with acid waste, nor was its surface an urbanized wasteland filled with sprawling block buildings and communal shanty-houses, and only a mere half of the planet's forests had been chopped down to supply paper to the bureaucratic bureaus of the Empire. But the planet Vanagradheim was more than just a world for the Empire to fill with its ever-growing population or some rock with resources to extract, for it served as the Imperial Bragulan Navy's command center for the Kirensk sector, and thus a vital strategic link between mighty Bragule and the fringe worlds. News from the Imperial periphery and beyond tricked down through Vanagradheim, filtered and sifted before being forwarded to Bragule. Then, on the Imperial capital, the Imperator's world throne, decisions would be made and commands issued, transmitted from the core outwards to the mid-sectors, and from Vanagradheim sent outwards to the faraway fringe fleets.
MEGALITH 04 was the Imperial Bragulan Navy's primary headquarters on Vanagradheim. It was a grand bunker that was, in truth, really a hollowed out mountain range, for the ever-practical Bragulan defense planners had calculated that one mere mountain was not enough protection. On top of that, and on top of the range itself, the mountains were armored in Bragulan Steel, and fortified and festooned with defenses - such as great nuclear missiles the size of skyscrapers, disguised to look like statues of the Imperator himself.
On Old Earth, the Megalith would have stretched from Dublin to Reykyavik!
Deep in the Megalith, the Space Marshals of the swift Imperial Navy's home gathered. Arriving by turboliftalators that brought them from the surface and delivered them deep down into the hardened reinforced brag-crete bowels of the bunker, passing by hallways with corners marked by meters-thick blast doors, and finally disrobing their freonic overcoats and settling down into an oval meeting room where the frigid air conditioning allowed the gathered Bragulan officers to shed their chlorofluorocarbon-cooled coats and sit down in relative comfort. Frost began accumulating on the great mustaches of some of the Bragulans assembled, while mist came forth from their nostrils with each exhalation as they greeted each other, some exchanging handshakes while the more familiar commanders gave each other bearhugs.
Drinks were poured, and under the everpresent telescreens and the great portraits depicting the visage of Imperator Darvyl S. Byzon and other pictographs of great scenes from great wars (such as a celebrated scene with Bragulan warships dropping a moon on the Apexai homeworld, a picture one can find everywhere from the classrooms of small schools to the chambers of the secret police), the Space Marshals of the Imperial Navy began their discussion.
"The Space Marshals of the Imperial Navy begins their discussion," declared the most senior of the Space Marshals, Great Admiral Brznvnye Lyeonyd, whose mustache was greatest of the assembled Bragulans. "Space Marshal Krpchnkvy, what news do you bring us from the nine vectors of the known and unknown universe?"
"Most disturbing news, Great Admiral," the youngest of the Space Marshals, and most clean-shaven of the assembled officers, Vigos Krpchnkyv replied. "The humans are on the warpath."
"Which humans?" the Great Admiral raised a great furry eyebrow.
"Many humans!" Krpchnkyv exclaimed. "To the northern vectors, the ones called Anglians begin preparations to invade the slaver Pendletonians."
"Pooh-bah!" the Great Admiral scoffed. "We care not for those far-flung fiends. What of our greatest enemy, the Sovereignty?"
"They too have begun offensive actions in the Wild Space world of Majella," the young officer replied. In response, many of the Space Marshals began harrumphing in disapproval at the Sovereignty. "Under the undoubtedly false pretense of pacifying some disturbance or another."
"Obviously this is a sign of Sovereignty expansion into Wilder Space, unacceptable!" said another mustached Bragulan, a bellicose one with an enormous belly. "They mean to extend their sphere of influence deeper into the neutral zone, to gain an advantage over us! As a means to more rapidly strike into the heart of sacred Bragulan territory and decimate our patriotic brethren, no doubt!"
"Yes, Space Marshal Gralkynvch is most reasonable in his astute observations," Great Admiral Brznvnye Lyeonyd nodded sagely and stroked his mighty mustache. "Marshal Krpchnkyv, please elaborate further on the happenings in Majella."
Marshal Krpchnkyv pressed a button on the wooden table and a great telescreen lowered itself from the ceiling for all of them to see. The cathode ray tube screen began displaying the world Majella in glourious technicolor, and along with it were graphs and charts and diagrams depicting the forces of the Majellan defenders and the Sovereignty invaders arrayed against them.
"The Sovereignty's Star Force has deployed one of their Atrocity-class ships to lead the attack on Majella. Along with it are several of their robotic Gangster cruisers and assault-transportation ships for their ground forces," Krpchnkyv elaborated. "The brave Majellan defenders are outmached, though they are superior in the numerical disposition of their ground forces, they have no space assets to speak of and their defensive and offensive planetary weaponries cannot hope to match the Sovereignty's. Thus, the conventional aspect of combat is already a foregone conclusion. The unconventional aspect, however..."
"Hrm, the Sovereignty's own force disposition is not suggestive of some massive penetrating force to expand into Wild Space, and seems more in keeping with their traditional police actions," another Space Marshal, who only had a trace of stubble on his chin, commented as he examined the gigantic cathode screen hanging from the ceiling.
"But comrade Brachtsknv, that's obviously what those humans want you to think!" guffawed Space Marshal Gralkynvch with his four chins. "Is that not right, Admiral Krznytskhtv?"
"Indeed," the aforementioned admiral agreed. "At first they will start small with this police action to deceive us. Then over time they will increase the forces they send to that world, under guise of counter-insurgency, and eventually they will turn that planet Majella into a forward staging point against our glourious Bragulan worlds, with their ships with names such as Atrocity and Genocide - atrocities and genocides directed against our patriotic Bragulan peoples, our brethrens! We cannot let this stand, the balance of power must not tip against our favor. Bragulanity must prevail!"
"DA!" came the chorus of the other Space Marshals who until then had merely listened. They were roused by Comrade Brachtsknv's screed.
Finally, Great Admiral Brznvnye Lyeonyd spoke: "It seems obvious that this antagonistic act of attack by the Sovereignty, as Marshals Brachtsknv and Gralynvch have so correctly surmised, goes beyond the humans' usual pathetic police patrols. With the information the Imperial Bureau of Galactic Vigilence (IBGV) has provided us, regarding the Sovereignty's covert smuggling of those dreaded donuts to poison our citizenry, and the alarming military postures of many of the human nations and the offensives they are undertaking, the Space Fleet must act decisively to safeguard the safety and security of the Bragulan peoples from further human deprivations."
Then, with a slightly hushed voice: "The Imperator is most displeased by the Sovereignty's latest transgression... how the humans have impurificated the precious bodily fluids of our comrades with those poisons they smuggle, and now this latest affront. Thus, the Imperator has decided that the humans be rebuked and shown the error of their ways."
With that conclusion, the meeting of the Space Marshals went into recess. The midday meal was served, great sausages which the Bragulan officers began to nibble at, and a side-dish of caviar made from Karlack eggs cleansed through nuclear pasteurization - a delicacy, for the atomic sterilization process made the Karlack eggs glow in the dark. As the Space Marshals smeared the Karlack eggs onto the sausages that they ate, they likewise discussed the war plans to be used against the Sovereignty. They talked with their mouths full.
After the recess, the Space Marshals finished their meeting and made their decision.
They would unleash the Bragulan fleet.
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IMPERIAL BRAGULAN EMBASSY, Altacar 3Imperial Bureau of Galactic Vigilance wrote:Agent Spozavik, the Bragulan spy, receives an enconded message from his handler. The message reads: "Comrade, congratulations! Your wife gave birth to octuplets!"
Spozavik resigns himself to melancholy... it's been a long three years since he left Bragule.
The Altacar Empire was one of the few human nations to have relatively cordial relations with the Bragulans. And by cordial relationship, it meant that their communications were terse, abrupt, and strictly to the point, pure business and little else. But the Altacar were very much into business, great space traders as they were, and so they alotted a piece of land for the Bragulans to build an embassy. Unsatisfactorily for the Bragulan planners, the piece of land the Altacarians alotted them was not a fortified mountain range that would've dwarfed the Himalayas of Old Earth, but merely... a simple piece of land. With some trees on it. Nonetheless, the Bragulans made do and it did not take long for a chrome-armored pyramidal fortress to emerge from that plot of land, with a surrounding wall topped by heavy K-bolter turrets, and squadrons of Stalag gunships patrolling the skies around it.
The Bragulan diplomats assigned to Altacar were all members of the Imperial Bureau of Galactic Vigilance, the largest spy agency of the Star Empire. To them, the heavily armed and fortified embassy was a little piece of Bragule, a home away from home.
IBGV Agent Vsvlgyrod Spozavik put on his human-style hat and adjusted his human-style tie with some difficulty, owing to his un-human-style Bragulan paws. Satisfied with how it finally turned out, he put on his jacket - filled with freon cooling, a necessity in these unbragulanly warm human climes - and trousers, and went out of his little apartment room. Quickly, he made his way out of the fortified Bragulan embassy, past the myriad security check points under the overlooking snipers nests and shocktrooper outposts, and soon found himself leaving the meters-thick blast door that was the gate of the diplomatic building.
Once again, he found himself in human territory amidst all the deviants and ideologically impure perverts it entailed, but he did not despair. Agent Spozavik steeled himself, for he knew his many years serving the IGBV on unbragulan human worlds such as Altacar 3 was for the good of all Bragulanity, whose survival he was utterly dedicated to. Thus, for Bragulanity's sake, he adjusted his green hat and boarded his ride that took him to the local Altacarian Trade Ministry building.
"Nick Weiner, at your service," greeted the human he was meeting, a puny human whose head barely managed to reach Spozavik's snout. The human offered his hand, and Spozavik took it and shook it, trying his best not to dislocate it.
"Dryznyl Shpechtkov, diplomatic trade liason for the Imperial Bragulan People's Department of Limited Foreign Interaction and Human Affairs," Spozavik said, giving out his false cover identity to the puny human. "A pleasantly warm uncomfortable human day to you, Mister Weiner."
The human laughed. Spozavik narrowed his eyes at him, and the human stopped laughing. Then the human quietly sat down and offered him a seat, and Spozavik likewise sat down on the seat specially brought for him, one capable of bearing the weight of a Bragulan of medium-build. Spozavik placed his attache case down beside his chair, not far out of reach from his hand.
"So," the human started lamely. "We're here to discuss the Bragulan Star Empire's reciprocation of the recent Altacar vowel shipment to the famine stricken regions of the... Rygnskrgnvk system, yes."
"Yes," Spozavik replied tersely. Now that he was seated, he took his time to examine the human. This Nick Weiner. Could he be a counter-espionage agent from Altacarian intelligence? Or maybe a sleeper from CEID, for the treachery of those humans from the Sovereignty clearly knew no bounds. His name, Weiner, was that not a kind of sausage? Sausages were one of Spozavik's favorite foods. Such a coincidence for a man - a human man - to be named after a kind of sausage. Bragulan spies never ignored coincidence...
"Good, I understand the Bragulans intend to send shipments of raw materials to Altacar as part of the repayment. Minerals and resources not so commonly available in these parts of the galaxy."
"Yes," Spozavik nodded. As part of his cover as a Bragulan diplomat, he was unarmed. But he didn't need a weapon to kill this Mister Weiner, only his bare Bragulan hands to throttle the life out of him and claw his face out. Spozavik considered that as an option, if ever this Weiner turned out to be a CEID spy.
"I see..." Nick Weiner cleared his throat.
"But it has been decided by the new administration of the Imperial Ministry of Plentiful Supply and Demand Regulation and Registration, who replaced the previous members now undergoing de-education, to made additions to our shipment to Altacar as a show of Bragulan gratitude."
"What kind of additions?"
"We will be adding not merely raw materials, but also processed goods and the best in Bragulan consumer products!" Spozavik proudly said, maintaining his persona as a trade liaison person.
"Um..." the Weiner scratched his head. "What process goods and consumer products, exactly?"
"Why, Bragulan transistor-powered electronics, vacuum-tube colored telescreens, even nuclear locomotives!"
"Transistors? Nuclear locomotives? Vacuum tubes?" Weiner's mouth was wide agape.
"Yes, yes. I understand you humans are unused to such superior quality of Bragulan engineering," Spozavik allowed himself to grin, showing his fangs and canines.
"B-b-b-but those kinds of things haven't been used for - for ages! Like, from the middle of the 20th century back on Old Earth!"
Spozavik laughed at the silly human. "No, rest assured that Bragulan transistors and vacuum tubes are far more advanced than anything humanity could've designed in the 20th century, back on your old country. Unlike your miniscule nanotechnologies and quantums and anti-matters, Bragulan machineries are durable, made out of stainless steel! Such samples are so strong, and heavy, that if used in this building they'll break your insufficient flooring, crash through the next floor, and crush unsuspecting bystanders who happen to be below. Yet despite this, it will still function perfectly!"
"I, uh, I don't know what to -"
"Do not worry, I know this comes as a shock to you as your consumer products which also tend to expire within a given time frame, so your capitalist-minded materialist populace will be forced to buy allegedly newer and better products newly released. Why, in the Sovereignty, it is said that their consumer transhuman body systems and organs likewise have to be replaced every few years. Can you imagine that?" Spozavik barked in laughter. "But Bragulan products? They can last for centuries! Some of the vacuum tubes we're using today are the same ones we used back in your 20th century! Just like your toaster's grandmom, as the saying goes."
"Just like your grandmom's toaster..." Weiner repeated blankly.
"But aside from that, we also have consigned a shipment of paper, several metric megatons of paper," Spozavik continued. "I hear paper is a rare commodity in the human worlds. You hardly devastate your forests anymore, with these so-called environmentalist groups calling for their protection. Cutting down entire forests in human worlds is punishable, no? They say in the Sovereignty, trees chop you!"
"Why, yes, actually. We haven't used paper since the 21st century..." Weiner tried to recall. "I think after the Amazon-something got burned down back on Old Earth, or something. Paper's actually quite rare, and of all the... uhh... great commodities you've mentioned, I think the paper will be the most profitable product."
"Indeed?" Spozavik raised an eyebrow.
"Yes. Despite the environmental laws, there are large segments of the population who prefer using paper over the Three Seashells, so there is a high demand for paper even if it's not so available. I think origami also sells for thousands of credits per folded sheet..." Weiner did the mental math, and slowly his distraught face went back into a much more happier - or at least less devastated - look. "Hmm... I think this can work, as an in-demand alternative to the Three Seashells and as high-value origami. Yes."
"It's a deal then!" Spozavik stood up and grabbed Weiner's hand with a massive paw.
"Yes! Yes!" Weiner yelped as his arm was nearly shaken off.
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SOMEWHERE in Altacar 3IBGV wrote:Agent Spozavik, the Bragulan spy, walks into the office of Sidney Hank one day and asks, "Hey Sidney, would you want to work for Bragulan intelligence? They pay pretty well."
Seeing Sidney Hank go purple with shock, he quickly adds: "Hey Sidney, could I borrow a glass of sugar?"
Because Agent Spozavik is smart enough to know that people only remember the ending of a conversation.
'Trade liaison Dryznyl Shpechtkov' finished his meeting with Nick Weiner. The meeting went well. Agent Spozavik didn't even have to tear the puny human's face with his bare bear Bragulan claws. He left the Altacarian government building and went back to his ride, a luxury AltaCorp hoverlimo extensively modified by the IBGV to be extremely well-armored and well-armed, with repeating K-bolters concealed under the headlights, and side-spraying nuclear flamethrowers behind the anti-gravity hubcaps. The hoverlimo sped across the Altacarian cityscape, bypassing traffic and zipping by an oversized MacMillan holo-advert.
In the plasma-proofed vehicle, Spozavik relaxed himself and took comfort in the luxurious space of the vehicle. For humans, five could fit in a single seat of the limo. For the considerably much-broader Bragulans, it could only sit two. But aside from the various IGBV-planted listening devices placed to ensure their own operatives don't defect or utter treasonous things, Spozavik was all alone in the backseat of the limo. He opened a tiny refrigerator and poured himself a drink.
"You shouldn't be drinking on the job, you know," a voice said to him, and Spozavik wondered if it was his shocktrooper-chauffeur, but it wasn't. The voice came from a cathode ray tube telescreen emerging from the seat beside him.
"Gryznk, what a pleasant surprise," Spozavik finally said when the telescreen finished emerging from the seat beside him. Even outside the Bragulan Star Empire, it seemed that the telescreens were still omnipresent. "What news do you bring?"
"That Collector ship has left the system."
"It has?" Spozavik asked, rhetorically.
"It has." Telescreen Gryznk answered, also rhetorically.
"So it has."
"Yes, it has." Telescreen Gryznk sighed and rolled his beady Bragulan eyes at Spozavik. "Our sensor-ships detected it leaving mere minutes ago."
"And where is it heading?" Spozavik gave up stalling and finally asked.
"To Pendleton." Telescreen Gryznk answered. "Our sources heard that the Pendletonians came to the Collectors to ask for aid against the Anglians, and the machines said yes."
"I see," Spozavik's eyebrows rose. "That's not like the machines. Tell me, where did your sources obtain this information? From Wild Space rumors, or the trader grapevine?"
"From insiders in the Pendleton government, and from monitoring the Pendleton slave stocks, the Collector bank accounts and their slush funds."
"I see again," Spozavik muttered. He lowered one of his eyebrows, but kept the other brow raised. Just in case.
"All aspects of Bragulan intelligence, not just the IBGV, are closely watching the Collectors, Spozavik. At least, we're closely watching what we can watch from the Collectors. Their technology is lightyears ahead of everything we've got, and even the Sovereignty and their little pet grey alienoids - those damn Apexai - can't match them. But those Collectors just keep on frolicking about Wild Space, trading information, buying slaves, and whenever we try to grab one of them, they just vaporize our agents. And even when we get them, they even vaporize themselves to prevent capture. Out of spite!" Telescreen Gryznk went on. "But if we ever end up getting our hands on a piece of that Collector tech... those technoarcheologists at Bolshaya Chernovyi will end up eating their own shit, I tell you!"
"So, you want to capture that Collector ship heading to Pendleton?" Spozavik ventured a guess.
"No, of course not!" Telescreen Gryznk laughed, his head bobbing in the telescreen. "We don't have any warships that far out, you should know this."
"Then what?"
"Then you get your butt down over to your shipping associates, and tell them to relay orders to our trader associates in Pendleton," Telescreen Gryznk commanded, pointing at Spozavik in the telescreen. His grubby finger poked at Spozavik, but thanks to the telescreen's screen, he couldn't actually touch Spozavik. If it were a 3D hologram, it might've been different, but this was merely a 2D display without even technicolor. Gryznk was in black and white. "Tell them to watch the Collector ship, watch it good, and relay their recordings through comm-net to our next-nearest outpost so even if they get caught or blown up when the shooting starts, we can still get the data we need. This might be a rare glimpse at a Collector ship in combat, and we need to know as much of it as we can if we're ever gonna grab a piece of their technology. We need to know what it can do, how much damage it can dish out and how much damage it can take so we can figure out just how many nukes we'll need to cram up their mysterious metal mothers-"
"I get the picture," Spozavik responded, cutting Telescreen Gryznk off.
"Good, and you better get it developed." Telescreen Gryznk retorted, and then the telescreen retracted back into the seat cushion.
Agent Spozavik shook his head and rapped the glass separating him from his shocktrooper chauffeur. The glass slid down and the chauffeur leaned back to face him.
"Sir?" the elite Imperial Legion shocktrooper asked.
"Take me to Interstellar Spaceways."
They arrived at the neatly polished slick glass and concrete corporate HQ of the big interstellar shipping company. Interstellar Spaceways, the company that owned the Queen of Space, the vowel-laden cargo vessel bound for the Bragulan Star Empire. Agent Spozavik walked into the edifice of materialic capitalistic humanistic greed and took the turboliftalator to the top floor, and then strode into the main office of one Samuel "Sammy" Isaacson. The CEO of Interstellar Spaceways.
"A pleasantly warm uncomfortable human day to you, Mister Isaacson," Spozavik said with his typical growling guttural Bragulan accent.
Sammy looked up from some holograms on his desk and looked at the Bragulan in surprise. His mouth gaped and he tried to articulate something quite inarticulate. ""Oh... oh.... oh! Mister Shpechtkov, I didn't know we had a meeting scheduled today!"
"We didn't," Spozavik replied bluntly.
"Ah, well, I see. Very good then, no matter, have a seat, Mister Shpechtkov. What brings you here on this most auspicious day?" Sammy regained his composure, and his Altacar politeness, and gestured Spozavik to sit.
"Thank you," Spozavik sat down on one of the chairs. It creaked, and felt like it was about to break under his weight, so he decided to stand up. Seeing this, Sammy also got up, not wanting to be rude to his guest. Not that Spozavik minded, he wasn't going to be long anyway. "I came here to informally thank you for all that you've done for the Bragulan Star Empire, Mister Isaacson. The starving populace of the Rygnskrgnvk, the men, women and small children, are eternally indebted to your diligence and quick action in sending those vowels posthaste. You have our gratitude."
"Oh, you're welcome, of course. More than welcome. Our services will always be open to the good Bragulan people," Samuel Isaacson beamed. To earn the gratitude of the Bragulans, of all people, was very heart-warming. Potentially, it could also be very wallet-filling. "Just give us a call, and we'll be ready to do what we can!"
"Yes, very good. The Imperial Ministry of Plentiful Supply and Demand Regulation and Registration and the People's Department of Limited Foreign Interaction and Human Affairs have decided that approaching Interstellar Spaceways was the right choice," Spozavik said, flattering the company's CEO.
"The company tries its best to not just meet our clients' expectations, but exceed them as well," Isaacson replied, using his best corporate-talk PR jargon. "To go above and beyond the... capabilities of other space trading companies."
"I see," Spozavik smiled, showing his fangs and canines. His mission was to send a message to the IBGV's people in Pendleton, to give instructions regarding the imminent Collector ship. But as a diplomat, it would be unbecoming of him if the transmission to that slaver shithole ended up being traced back to him. He obviously needed proxies to do it for him, associates who he could rely on. The IBGV had plenty of that. But, again, as a diplomat, he couldn't just deal with any Wild Spacer trader, or crusty space gypsy. To maintain his cover, his contacts would have to appear respectable and proper - like the kind of people a diplomat would associate with. Yet these contacts had to be able to do what needed to be done. In this case, deliver a message to a faraway world, indirectly, through a hyperwave node somewhere the Altacarians and Sovvies couldn't eavesdrop on. Thus, his associates in the shipping industry would be perfect. "What other capabilities does Interstellar Spaceways have that these other lesser companies don't?"
"Why, a lot. You name it and we've got it, Mister Bragulan!" Isaacson spread his arms wide.
"Good, good. Because I have been wondering if we could expand the services Interstellar Shipways currently provides the Bragulan Star Empire." Spozavik said slyly. "Does your company deal in, say... intersystem couriers?"
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Eel, Pendleton, Libertia District
Agent Spozavik's message to Pendleton had been delivered via courier, using a relay station in Lochley's Retreat in order to minimize the transmission time through the shoals. The IBGV's people in Pendleton had received it just in time too, as it did not take long for the Collector ship to arrive at Pendleton. By then, the IBGV's people were already preparing for their mission. It was a simple one, merely monitor the Collector ship from afar with passive sensors, as to avoid any unwanted attention, and - if possible - observe the Collector ship in combat against the Anglians.
The Bragulans in the IBGV still found it hard to believe that the Collectors had cast their lot with the Pendletonians. The inscrutable machines, of all people? They weren't even people!
But the IBGV knew better than to take the Collectors' actions at face value, or to presume anything of them. The Collectors were collectors, interested only in collecting things they deemed collectible in whatever crazy collection criteria they had. The unfeeling machines did not have any sympathy for the Pendletonians. For all anyone knew, the Collector ship may not even see any combat against the Anglians. They may just as well abandon the Pendletonians to the Anglians at the very last minute.
So, even if the Collector ship did not engage the Anglians in combat, the IBGV's agents in Pendleton still had to observe them. Even if the vessel did not display its firepower or technological weaponry, even without going into battle against the Anglians (or the Pendletonians), whatever actions it may take would still give the IBGV important information on the Collectors. The IBGV had already collected volumes of important information on the Collectors. The only problem was making sense of it all.
But for the IBGV's people in Pendleton, none of that mattered. The IBGV's operation on the planet was relatively small in scale to the normal activities of the organization. All its Pendleton branch did was purchase predetermined quantities of slaves, human preferably but not necessarily, filling up a quota devised through some obscure mathematical formula conceived by the IBGV's Human Intelligence (HUMINT) division. A handful of humans here and there, a fairly small-scale operation that few would notice amidst a planet full of slavers, traffickers, exploiters and other assorted human cattle ranchers. Then when the time came, they would ship these captives off to the IBGV's Wild Space black sites for 'processing'. They would choose the captives with pertinent information on topics of interest to the IBGV, such as the Sovereignty if the captives were formerly citizens of the USS, or some other subject if the captives were something else - and then, through a variety of methods, the IBGV's technicians would extract this information from them however well they could.
However, there was another facet to the IBGV's HUMINT operations on Pendleton. The vast majority of the slaves would be natives of Pendleton, or fringe world yokels born from the Outback, far from the Sovereignty. These would have no information on the Bragulan Star Empire's enemies. Yet, they would have other uses. Purchased from their Pendletonian slavers, these peasants - particularly the young ones - could be molded to a purpose most suitable for the IBGV's plans. They could be indoctrinated and de-educated, raised and re-educated, Bragulanized into human agents of the IBGV. The galactic position of Pendleton would also be advantageous, for it was so far away from the Korprulu Sector where the Bragulan Star Empire, and its enemies in the Sovereignty and the Imperium, hail from that surely it would be too distant for the eyes and ears of the CEID or the Imperium's Inquisition. For quite some time now, the IBGV has been obtaining its human operatives from Pendleton - and other vile places like it.
Human intelligence took a very literal meaning for the Imperial Bureau of Galactic Vigilance.
But now, HUMINT was not their primary concern. The Collectors had purchased massive quantities of slaves in what was Pendleton's biggest blowout sale ever. There were no more slaves to sell, and what slaves were left were now being hidden or spirited away to distant plantations, faraway homesteads or off-world reservations. So the primary concern of the IBGV's people in Pendleton was now Collector intelligence. COLINT.
The IBGV operated a spy satellite orbiting Pendleton. It was a minor thing, unnoticeable, a little insignificant drone that looked like a weather satellite, or a space monitoring satellite, or some multipurpose sensor sat. Because it was, officially belonging to some minor Pendletonian spaceliner company, one that happened to be a front for the Bragulans operating on the planet. In normal times, the satellite could even relay information to the planetary weather network or space agencies. But these were not normal times, and now the IBGV had programmed the satellite to discreetly, innocuously watch the Collector ship.
Currently, the vessel was on the planet, on a starport at Montalba. The satellite drone watched it from afar and above, not directly overhead, but from an oblique angle. It would orbit regularly, not staying in one place as to avoid suspicion.
But it wasn't the only asset the IBGV had on Pendleton. One of their human agents was working undercover at the spaceport itself, as part of the staff. Meanwhile, one of their ships was also in orbit, rigged with passive sensors, officially serving as part of the Pendleton Picketers - one of a few civilian ships conscripted to aid in the planet's defense, to watch the skies for the coming Anglians. When the shooting would start, though, the IBGV spyship would derelict in its duties and instead record the Collector vessel's activities, and try its best to transmit this information to the nearest IBGV station outside Pendleton.
This was the extent the IBGV's Pendleton station could prepare for its impromptu mission. Pretty good for such short notice, but in any normal operation there were always risks and complications, nothing ever went according to plan. But in a situation like Pendleton's, with wary slavers preparing a last-ditch defense, an enigmatic shipfull of machines of indeterminate purpose, and an impending Anglian invasion force, anything could happen.
So the Bragulans on Pendleton did what they could. They waited.
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Eel, Pendleton, Libertia District
"SHITS!" bellowed Bragga, the IBGV's main operative on Pendleton. He slammed his bare bear paws on the desk and headbutted the cathode ray telescreen in front of him. The screen cracked, but in a testament to superior Bragulan engineering the display still functioned and continued to display the image of the Collector ship. Or, rather, the hyperwake of the Collector ship's drives, as the ship had literally left them to eat its dust.
Bragga growled and cut off the IBGV spy ship's feed.
The Bragulan bear fumed, nostrils flaring wide and fangs bared. He wiped a line of drool that was sliding down the corner of his mouth. He was in a dark, damp room in a hidden basement of one of the IBGV's front company buildings, one that sold expired dog food and carnival meat to slavers too poor to purchase proper people-food for their slave stocks. The only light in the room was from the cracked cathode ray tubescreen in front of Bragga.
But suddenly, another source of light, as a door was opened behind Bragga. From the door came a skinny underfed human in a janitor's outfit, with a patch identifying him as a sanitation officer over at Montalba Spaceport.
"Sir, sir!" the human panted. "The Collector ship, it left!"
"I KNOW!" roared Bragga as he threw his telescreen at the human. The human gave a yelp of horrer and ducked as the telescreen narrowly missed smashing his skull open. The telescreen instead bounced off the wall and crashed onto the floor. Yet, remarkably, it still functioned perfectly despite its cracked screen and dented casing. Bragga growled, angered at the fact that he had missed, that he hadn't smashed the puny human's puny face with the thrown telescreen. "Damn!"
"So... now what do we do?" the human ventured to ask as he cowered, shriveling lowly at the floor.
"I don't know!" Bragga roared again, but instead of throwing something else - like his desk - at the human, he instead slumped on his chair. He fumed and pondered his options. Bragule would not take too lightly at the fact that he had nothing at all to report on the Collector ship, aside from it seemingly leaving the Pendletonians high and dry. That was something, an indicator of Collector behavior, but that something was as good as nothing. The IBGV wanted observations on Collector weapons effectiveness against human vessels, such as those of the Anglians. Now with the Collectors gone, he would have none of that.
Or would he?
Bragga smiled slightly. Even though the Collector ship was gone, still the IBGV would find any information on Anglian - and other human nations' - warship capabilities of some value. So that was still something, a something that was better than nothing. Yes, indeed. An observation on the effectiveness of a multinational coalition, composed of a great many human starfleets operating as one, even against a tiny shitworld like Pendleton would give an insight on the greater capabilities of not just Anglia, but of the other constituent nations' starfleets in the anti-Pendletonian liberation force. They would be coming soon, and Bragga's spy satellite and spyship were already in place to observe how they would rout the Pendletonian defenders and ruin their excrements. The situation could still be salvaged, and Bragga could prove to his masters that he was far from useless (since now the operation on Pendleton was no longer functional, as Pendleton's slave market had just evaporated).
Perhaps with this show of his dedication to duty, even in the face of the Collectors' lack of cooperation in refusing to stay in Pendleton so he could spy on them, Bragga might be able to convince his handlers to let him back into the Bragulan Star Empire and give him a cushy desk job administering the executions of ideological deviants and dissidents.
"Um... sir?" the human ventured to ask again, as for a few minutes Bragga had just been sitting there staring at nothing but air.
"Put the telescreen back on my desk, human," Bragga growled as he got off his chair and went out of the room, leaving the puny janitor human to struggle with carrying the telescreen which weighed like a bag of potatoes that had been filled with stones instead.
Bragga went upstairs. There he told one of his other human agents to continue listening in on Pendletonian government communications to see what had changed in their deal with the Collectors, and ordered another human to relay instructions to the spy satellite and spy ship, to tell them to standby and prepare to monitor the ensuing festivities that would soon grace Pendleton.
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Eel, Pendleton, Libertia DistrictMontalba Spaceport
Berth 43
Jellico was just about ready to pack up when the call came to chase the crew away from the hangar - again. He didn't ask questions, but found it hard to believe that the ship which left so abruptly would return mere hours afterwards - he was convinced Pendleton was betrayed.
This is why he stood there, mouth agape, as the very same ship slid down throug the open hangar door and settled down on the pad, as if nothing happened.
IBGV agent Bragga was doing some much needed exercise. After such a stressful day where his main objective, the Collector ship, had just abandoned not just the planet Pendleton but him as well, a healthy and relaxing bicycling was just what the Imperator ordered.
Bragga peddled his bike furiously. The thought of the Collector ship's abandonment filled him with a brewing Bragulan rage. Rage not just at the damn machines for ditching him and nearly ruining his mission, but also rage at his Imperator-forsaken assignment here in Pendleton, a shitworld full of puny humans who stank of the worst ideologically impure excrement imaginable. So shitful were the humans that the most degenerate of them ended up being enslaved by even worse slave-owning degenerates, in some gross perversion only humans could enact. As the cold late afternoon breeze failed to cool his head, Bragga started imagining that his bike was running over puny human children - which he always did to relax himself in times like these. The imaginary sight of puny human children being squished by his mighty Bragulan bicycle was strangely calming.
But it didn't take long before Bragga began to pant in exhaustion. He wondered if his miserable assignment had cost his health to degrade so poorly, but then he realized that he wasn't the one panting. Someone else was panting, someone else behind him who had been following him for several paragraphs!
Bragga wondered who it was. Did the CEID finally track down their operations in Pendleton or, worse yet, was it his superiors coming to liquidate him for his incompetence? Bragga quivered on his bicycle. Then he looked back and surprisingly saw his puny human subordinate trying to keep up with his Bragulan-built bicycle, panting his puny human lungs as he did so.
"What in the Imperator's boot heel are you doing, puny human?!" Bragga nearly fell off his bike as he roared at the human's impudence, but he managed to steady himself. He stopped his bike and got off.
"Sir.... sir...." the human tried to catch his breath. His Montalba spaceport janitor's uniform was wet with sweat. "The Coll-"
"Do not speak to me while gasping for breath so inadequately!" Bragga roared and slapped the backside of the human's head, sending him staggering and reeling in pain. It was a soft blow, one that would only bruise the man's skull as opposed to breaking it. Bragga hit him again. "Speak, damn it! Stop wasting my time!"
"The... the..." the human winced as Bragga raised his arm for another blow, and then he continued. "The Collector ship just returned to the s-s-starport, sir!"
"WHAT?!" Bragga's fang-filled jaws gaped incredulously.
"The Collector ship just returned to the starport, sir!"
"I KNOW!" Bragga smacked the human again. Slightly harder. "You just said that, you fool!"
The human whimpered and didn't say anything.
"Damn. Damn those metal motherfuckers." Bragga cursed under his breath. "We'll have to redirect the satellite and the spyship back to watching the Collector ship. Tell our other agents to do that, and get someone to figure out just what the Imperator-damned hell is going on in Astaria."
"Yes, sir!" the human saluted and ran off to do what Bragga had just instructed, relieve to be far away from his IBGV handler.
"Hrm..." Bragga muttered as he got back on his bike. "I'll finish a couple more laps before returning back to the basement."
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Shepistani Battlestar Annapolis
"I'm sorry, but you want me to do what?" shouted the commander of Annapolis as he ingested the latest orders from Fleet HQ.
"Yes, you heard it right. Your light battlestar will be chopped over to the Special Ops division of the Fleet; for the duration of the Pendletonian operation; and will be under partial Bragulian control while they extract their men on the ground. I expect you to display full courtesies to the Bragulian representative who will be arriving on your ship shortly."
"You're putting me under the command of a fucking bear?"
"If you have problems with this, Commander, then I can find other suitable replacements.
"Goddamn it. How long will the bastards be on my ship then?"
"Not long. A couple weeks at the most. Commander...look at this as an opportunity to acquire some nice Bragulian spirits for uh, retirement purposes."
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The Ideologically Impeccable Imperial Bragulan Bugle Patriotic Planetary Paper
GREAT PEOPLE'S VICTORY AT MAJELLA!
MAJELLA, Wild Space - The 18th Patriotic Naval Force, under the command of the loyal and triumphant Captain Grydon Feindflug, have won a great victory for the Imperator on the farflung Wilder Space system of Majella! Departing from the swift Imperial Navy's home, the Patriotic Naval Force was quick to vanquish the forces of the metacapitalistic paleocolonialist humans of the Sovereignty - sending the humans fleeing from the Majellan worlds posthaste.
The Imperator's Glourious Boot Stomping on the Face of Humanity orbits Majella after expelling the Sovereignty's forces.
"Today we begin the first steps of Majella's Bragulanization," said Captain Feindflug in a telescreen broadcast from his flagship the aptly-named The Imperator's Glourious Boot Stomping on the Face of Humanity. "This world, and its downtrodden populace so oppressed by the Sovereign tyrants, has now been liberated and its people finally able to taste the sweet honey of Bragulan freedom.
"The state of Majella, as the Sovereignty left it, was most dire with food shortages and the evaporation of basic services. But the Imperial Legions of Liberation have already set forth in claiming the world for the Imperator. As the populace is almost entirely comprised of humans, we have begun deploying humanitarian aid by dropping baskets of foods and supplies and copies of the Imperator's green book to the most stricken areas. Hopefully the humans will pick or nick these baskets in time."
"The process of Bragulanization is a long and arduous one, but in the end it is for the ultimate prosperity of not only the Majellas, but for all patriotic peoples as well."
JEALOUS HUMAN STAR NATION CANTANKEROUSLY COPIES CERTAIN BRAGULAN BATTLESHIP BLUEPRINTS!
A battle group of mighty Chernovyi-class battleships soaring through the skies of Bragule during the last People's Imperial Victory Day Sky Parade. The glouriously original Bragulan design was copied by unimaginative humans in the Grand Dominion.
ANNAPOLIS, Shepistani Republic - Proud Imperial Bragulan diplomats stationed in Shepistan once more patriotically denounce and decry the depravities of the Grand Dominionite fiends whose so-called star dreadnoughts are clearly cheap copy-imitations of the glourious warships of the great Imperial People's Military Maritime Space Fleet - particularly the distinct hammerheaded battleships of the Chernovyi and Imperator's Fist classes. Thus far the ever-pigheaded Dominionites continue their defiance in refusing to overhaul and redesign all the warships in their star dreadnought fleet to make them look dissimilar to the greater Bragulan battleships. But this impudence will not deter the Imperator's humble servants in continuously seeking to right the wrongs impugned by the Dominionite yokels until the 'dominos' rightfully redesign every single one of their ships to look differently.
VOWEL FAMINE ON RYGNSKRGNVK AVERTED!
RYGNSKRGNVK, Kirensk Sector - The Great Famine of Rygnskrgnvk comes to an end with the arrival of imported vowels from the Altacar Empire. Great celebrations were had on the planet Rygnskrgnvk as the populaces rejoiced in the timely arrival of the much-needed vowels. It was estimated that Rygnskrgnvk could not have lasted much longer without the aid shipment.
The Altacarian ship Queen of Space, the vessel bringing the vowels to Rygnskrgnvk.
The people of Rygnskrgnvk have sent their congratulations to the Altacar Empire, and the crewmembers of the Queen of Space were given heroes welcome. In reciprocation of the gracious shipment, the People's Department of Limited Foreign Interaction and Human Affairs has arranged for the Queen of Space to return to Altacar with a vast shipment of Bragulan goods and products as a humble token of Bragulan good will and appreciation. The planet Rygnskrgnvk is home to one of the great Imperial recycling plants that convert spent ammunition casings into vacuum tubes, and bullets into nuts and bolts. A container's worth of several megatons in Bragulan vacuum tubes and bullet bolts have so far been loaded into the Queen of Space.
Meanwhile, with this successful shipment, those in the Imperial Ministry of Plentiful Supply and Demand Regulation and Registration whose grave errors caused the famine in the first place can finally be sent away to the de-education camps.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO LEARN MORE?
"
