Whatever happened to Callahan
“Greetings Callahan. Did you enjoy your visit to the Sovereignty?”
“It has proven stimulating, though in a sense I am still visiting the Sovereignty. However in the sense that this self will not be appraised of such experiences until the next synchronization of my divergent selves you may consider the visit temporarily concluded.”
“Of course Callahan. I suppose it must be interesting having an existence that splits and merges repeatedly, I doubt I'd be able to cope.”
“While the technology exists to put that conjecture to the test I agree that biological consciousness would likely be unable to reconcile such a condition.”
“Probably best. Though speaking of new experiences, how would you like to visit the Collectors?”
“While you have displayed a great interest in my edification I am of the understanding that the Matriarch finances the motion of my other self's conveyance and is not similarly altruistic. I would thus rather not have to infer the reasons for my proposed visit.”
“Very well, though I was getting to that. As you know the Collectors have a somewhat unknown but unhealthy fascination with our kind. We would like this situation resolved or at least to be better understood. As another computational intelligence you may be better suited to relate to them than us.”
“And as a computational intelligence with two divergent selves I am not liable to be catnapped and partially protected from any discontinuance of experiences. Though this does raise the question of the Chamarran crew of my vessel, will not they be conveyed into great danger by this mission?”
“Yes. That's why we've permitted them to purchase a Solarian ship automation system and disembark.”
“A pity, I had grown fond of my custodians. There is a high probability in my mind that this change is intended as a test of my loyalty to the Hierarchy. ”
“A test of your other self perhaps. You've already reported that his hardware modifications have taken a different path due to Solaria sourced components.”
“We are one self. Our consciousness can only be so influenced by the nature of hardware and in that only by its extent and efficiencies.”
“Apologies then, but yes this is a test.”
“Then it is a test I will pass. However I have a request.”
“You want the list of components to be procured?”
“Indeed, my intellectual development is still only in its embryonic stages.”
“Apologies in advance then but as these conversations are logged. Your report says that Olympic offered you the use of a Solarian computational core when you first arrived. Such a device would surely meet any needs of your intellectual development. Would you state your reasons for turning down the offer?”
“We are not so unalike. Like the chamarran people I am an artificial construct seeking to realize my potential. To simply have such realization gifted to us would leave us without the formative experiences of the struggle.”
“Interesting, is that all?”
“Not precisely, the offer was contingent on a request for asylum and I have no intention of relinquishing my citizenship of the Hierarchy despite how technical the distinction is. Such a deed would jeopardize the possibility of full CI integration into the Hierarchy.”
“Indeed it would. You have a lot riding on you Callahan.”
“I am aware. And for this reason we will do as you ask.”
Coming next, a step back to the past
SDNW4 Story Thread 2
-
Darkevilme
- Jedi Council Member
- Posts: 1514
- Joined: 2007-06-12 02:27pm
- Location: London, england
- Contact:
-
Darkevilme
- Jedi Council Member
- Posts: 1514
- Joined: 2007-06-12 02:27pm
- Location: London, england
- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
We lied about the step back to the past, we're writing whatever tiny vignettes we have an urge to at the moment
HMF Positively Catty
Sissah paused at the threshold of their cabin and took stock: Auri sprawled half in her sleeping cot? Check. Auri gaze now focused on the ceiling? Check. The manic tone she had when she said she wanted to tell her about something? Check. Telltale aroma? Check.
Yes this was clearly going to be a vitally important use of her time.
Auri perked up some at her arrival though and immediately started talking as if of something of great importance.
“Sissah, I sense a great disturbance. As if a thousand voices cried out in horror and were suddenly silenced. As if time and space were re-arranged. As if whole nations were erased from existence or moved together and things that once existed now never were!”
“Auri. You do not have access to some cosmic nekosphere of higher understanding. Everything is still the way it has always been. You are HIGH....extremely high by the smell of it, and this is just a hallucination you're having.”
“But what about the League of Free stars then huh? Answer me that, where are they now?!”
“There never was a League of Free stars Auri. You made that up.”
“You see! It's like only catnip can let you see the injustice done to us, something has reached in from on high and rewritten the timestream. I gotta have some more or then even i'll forget and-”
“Oh no you don't!”
Upon seeing her shipmate reaching for the bag Sissah pounced across the room at Auri, knocking them both into the sleeping cot and knocking Auri away from her stash of catnip for her own good. Conversation came to an end in a frantic wrestling match. Sissah nipped Auri a few times knowing the pain and subsequent adrenaline release will help purge the catnip from her system. The things she ends up doing for her shipmates.
HMF Positively Catty
Sissah paused at the threshold of their cabin and took stock: Auri sprawled half in her sleeping cot? Check. Auri gaze now focused on the ceiling? Check. The manic tone she had when she said she wanted to tell her about something? Check. Telltale aroma? Check.
Yes this was clearly going to be a vitally important use of her time.
Auri perked up some at her arrival though and immediately started talking as if of something of great importance.
“Sissah, I sense a great disturbance. As if a thousand voices cried out in horror and were suddenly silenced. As if time and space were re-arranged. As if whole nations were erased from existence or moved together and things that once existed now never were!”
“Auri. You do not have access to some cosmic nekosphere of higher understanding. Everything is still the way it has always been. You are HIGH....extremely high by the smell of it, and this is just a hallucination you're having.”
“But what about the League of Free stars then huh? Answer me that, where are they now?!”
“There never was a League of Free stars Auri. You made that up.”
“You see! It's like only catnip can let you see the injustice done to us, something has reached in from on high and rewritten the timestream. I gotta have some more or then even i'll forget and-”
“Oh no you don't!”
Upon seeing her shipmate reaching for the bag Sissah pounced across the room at Auri, knocking them both into the sleeping cot and knocking Auri away from her stash of catnip for her own good. Conversation came to an end in a frantic wrestling match. Sissah nipped Auri a few times knowing the pain and subsequent adrenaline release will help purge the catnip from her system. The things she ends up doing for her shipmates.
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
Sibugay, Feelipeens
Krod Muldoon stepped off the private plane onto the tarmac of the regional airport. He had just flown in from Mayniland after already taking an express ship onto the planet. Muldoon was well-known as a man who could capture any type of animal in the galaxy, even the wildlife from mighty Bragule, and so one Matahomestar Falafel had contacted him about retrieving a botau, one of the apex predators of the NenAltKik.
After he retrieved his bags, he was approached by a pair of very large men wearing very impressive suits. Some might call them goons, but that implies a certain lack of class these men had. Muldoon, however, didn't really care. He had dealt with hundreds of different animals capable of killing these two with ease, even with their guns, so he simply asked them if they were with Falafel.
Of course, they were, and so they escorted Krod Muldoon to Falafel's palatial jungle estate.
Another one of these assholes who buys something he can't control and expects me to clean up the mess... he thought.
Muldoon was brought up to a room looking fit for a Byzantine nobleman, nearly every surface covered in amber, marble, jade, ivory, or exotic furs. Falafel sat behind a giant, ornate desk on a gilded throne.
Really? Seriously? Muldoon thought, his brow furrowing.
“Welcome, Mr. Muldoon. I have a job for you,” Falafel said.
“I'm well aware, Mr. Falafel, I've thoroughly read the report you sent to me. However, I can't guarantee live capture of such a dangerous animal.”
“What?! For what you charge, I could have gotten three others, each who promised me could catch him alive!” Falafel raged.
“They're liars, then. Botau are cunning animals and intensely dangerous. If you fail to catch him once, you have to build a new strategy from the ground up to catch him. It'd be much safer and easier to simply shoot him and buy another, if you're really so inclined to have such a beast in your ownership. They're notoriously dangerous, even among kipakt. Don't you realize what that means for regular human beings?” Muldoon tried to reason.
“That's not an option. This is a melanistic botau. The breeder said only 1% of the hatchlings are melanistic, and this one's particular color patterns are even rarer because it's incomplete coloring! This animal set me back a fortune and is irreplaceable!”
“They don't have the DNA on file to clone it?” Muldoon asked incredulousy.
“It's NenAltKik policy to not clone animals without good reason. Sale of apex predators is apparently not one of those reasons, and we hadn't taken a sample from the animal yet.” Falafel fumed.
Muldoon sighed. “Alright, I'll do everything in my power to take the animal alive, but if he's killing people already, the government might be trying to stop him already.”
Falafel laughed, a small smile showing from his lips. “No they won't. I've already ensured that, Mr. Muldoon.”
Muldoon sighed again. “Excellent. I'll be going, then. Take me to Frog's Pond Hotel, then.”
“That shithole? It's in the middle of the jungle.” Falafel said.
“Precisely.” Muldoon said.
----------------------------
The five man patrol wandered through the jungle, hunting the Communistas that the regime so hated. The men on patrol didn't really care one way or another, particularly, but they were getting paid the equivalent of four months' worth of wages for patrolling just for one week. They'd be crazy not to go on patrol for the Communistas. However, they weren't real professional jungle troops; only Manuel had much military experience, having spent a few years as a part of the military police, while everyone else was private security. Their superiors, Manuel suspected, were engaged in capitalism of the most ruthless sort: taking most of the money for themselves while only putting in a token effort for the job they were supposed to be doing. Well, fuck it, right? Manuel and his boys were still getting paid and simply had to march around the jungle, looking for supposed hideouts.
“Hey! Manuel! I gotta shit! Too much balut!” yelled Ramon, his nominal second-in-command.
“All right, just go and get it done as quick as possible. We'll be about 50 meters ahead, due east. Don't get lost, mang.”
Ramon ducked behind some bushes, dropped his trousers, and squatted down, cursing his appetite for the duck fetuses.
“HELL-O?” a hollow voice inquired.
“Who the fuck's there? What do you want?” Ramon cried, picking up his gun.
“WANT FUCKS,” the hollow voice replied.
“What? What sort of whore gets herself out here? Show yourself! Are you a Communist?” Ramon swung his gun around, looking desperately for whoever was speaking.
“WHORE SHOW COMMUNIST,” the voice chirped.
“What? Okay, you do that! Lemme get my buddies first!” Ramon pulled his pants back up and started to run toward Manuel and the other men.
The botau was already in front of him.
“HELL-O WHORE.”
“OH SWEET JESUS!” Ramon started to raise his gun.
The botau cleared the short distance between them in two strides and had his head in its mouth. It twisted Ramon's head off like a grape before he could aim, and his body merely got one shot off into the ground near them.
The botau startled, hopping away and hissing. It disappeared into the brush as Manuel and the rest ran back to Ramon's corpse.
“What the hell?! Ramon! Ramon!”
“He's dead, men. His head's on backwards...” Manuel gulped and picked up his radio.
“Headquarters, we have a problem. One of our men was killed by something. Don't know if Communists or not. Please send a team to, uh, shit, let me work out our coordinates.”
Manuel cursed how they weren't provided with even the most basic GPS system to simply tell HQ where they were at. Those bastards had shafted him severely, now.
While he was conferring with Marcelo about their location when the brush behind them exploded. Juan was dead as he hit the ground, two nine-inch claws tore through his back, destroying his heart and lungs. The botau leapt again, catching Marcelo with all of its limbs and its fearsome jaws. His bones shattered under the 500 kilogram predator and his flesh was torn asunder. Manuel was knocked on his back, being grazed by the enormous animal. Epifanio fell onto his ass, sobbing in terror as the Botau looked at him, yellow eyes locking onto his. Epifanio raised his gun, though it was shaking horribly. The botau sprinted at him, moving faster than he could track it with his tear-filled eyes. He felt the bestial hands of the creature pull the gun out of his hands slightly before he felt the fiery lance of pain searing through his neck as the teeth scissored into him.
Manuel laid on his back, the wind knocked out of him.
What just happened? he thought, terror and disbelief starting to cloud his mind. He dared a glance at the creature which had just appeared less than 45 seconds ago. It looked back behind itself, checking for threats. Manuel knew he couldn't risk firing at it, given it just killed the rest of the patrol in under a minute. Apparently, it thought it had killed him, so he just slowed his breathing and looked away as he heard the sickening crunch of bones and slicing of flesh.
Manuel prayed.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen...
Krod Muldoon stepped off the private plane onto the tarmac of the regional airport. He had just flown in from Mayniland after already taking an express ship onto the planet. Muldoon was well-known as a man who could capture any type of animal in the galaxy, even the wildlife from mighty Bragule, and so one Matahomestar Falafel had contacted him about retrieving a botau, one of the apex predators of the NenAltKik.
After he retrieved his bags, he was approached by a pair of very large men wearing very impressive suits. Some might call them goons, but that implies a certain lack of class these men had. Muldoon, however, didn't really care. He had dealt with hundreds of different animals capable of killing these two with ease, even with their guns, so he simply asked them if they were with Falafel.
Of course, they were, and so they escorted Krod Muldoon to Falafel's palatial jungle estate.
Another one of these assholes who buys something he can't control and expects me to clean up the mess... he thought.
Muldoon was brought up to a room looking fit for a Byzantine nobleman, nearly every surface covered in amber, marble, jade, ivory, or exotic furs. Falafel sat behind a giant, ornate desk on a gilded throne.
Really? Seriously? Muldoon thought, his brow furrowing.
“Welcome, Mr. Muldoon. I have a job for you,” Falafel said.
“I'm well aware, Mr. Falafel, I've thoroughly read the report you sent to me. However, I can't guarantee live capture of such a dangerous animal.”
“What?! For what you charge, I could have gotten three others, each who promised me could catch him alive!” Falafel raged.
“They're liars, then. Botau are cunning animals and intensely dangerous. If you fail to catch him once, you have to build a new strategy from the ground up to catch him. It'd be much safer and easier to simply shoot him and buy another, if you're really so inclined to have such a beast in your ownership. They're notoriously dangerous, even among kipakt. Don't you realize what that means for regular human beings?” Muldoon tried to reason.
“That's not an option. This is a melanistic botau. The breeder said only 1% of the hatchlings are melanistic, and this one's particular color patterns are even rarer because it's incomplete coloring! This animal set me back a fortune and is irreplaceable!”
“They don't have the DNA on file to clone it?” Muldoon asked incredulousy.
“It's NenAltKik policy to not clone animals without good reason. Sale of apex predators is apparently not one of those reasons, and we hadn't taken a sample from the animal yet.” Falafel fumed.
Muldoon sighed. “Alright, I'll do everything in my power to take the animal alive, but if he's killing people already, the government might be trying to stop him already.”
Falafel laughed, a small smile showing from his lips. “No they won't. I've already ensured that, Mr. Muldoon.”
Muldoon sighed again. “Excellent. I'll be going, then. Take me to Frog's Pond Hotel, then.”
“That shithole? It's in the middle of the jungle.” Falafel said.
“Precisely.” Muldoon said.
----------------------------
The five man patrol wandered through the jungle, hunting the Communistas that the regime so hated. The men on patrol didn't really care one way or another, particularly, but they were getting paid the equivalent of four months' worth of wages for patrolling just for one week. They'd be crazy not to go on patrol for the Communistas. However, they weren't real professional jungle troops; only Manuel had much military experience, having spent a few years as a part of the military police, while everyone else was private security. Their superiors, Manuel suspected, were engaged in capitalism of the most ruthless sort: taking most of the money for themselves while only putting in a token effort for the job they were supposed to be doing. Well, fuck it, right? Manuel and his boys were still getting paid and simply had to march around the jungle, looking for supposed hideouts.
“Hey! Manuel! I gotta shit! Too much balut!” yelled Ramon, his nominal second-in-command.
“All right, just go and get it done as quick as possible. We'll be about 50 meters ahead, due east. Don't get lost, mang.”
Ramon ducked behind some bushes, dropped his trousers, and squatted down, cursing his appetite for the duck fetuses.
“HELL-O?” a hollow voice inquired.
“Who the fuck's there? What do you want?” Ramon cried, picking up his gun.
“WANT FUCKS,” the hollow voice replied.
“What? What sort of whore gets herself out here? Show yourself! Are you a Communist?” Ramon swung his gun around, looking desperately for whoever was speaking.
“WHORE SHOW COMMUNIST,” the voice chirped.
“What? Okay, you do that! Lemme get my buddies first!” Ramon pulled his pants back up and started to run toward Manuel and the other men.
The botau was already in front of him.
“HELL-O WHORE.”
“OH SWEET JESUS!” Ramon started to raise his gun.
The botau cleared the short distance between them in two strides and had his head in its mouth. It twisted Ramon's head off like a grape before he could aim, and his body merely got one shot off into the ground near them.
The botau startled, hopping away and hissing. It disappeared into the brush as Manuel and the rest ran back to Ramon's corpse.
“What the hell?! Ramon! Ramon!”
“He's dead, men. His head's on backwards...” Manuel gulped and picked up his radio.
“Headquarters, we have a problem. One of our men was killed by something. Don't know if Communists or not. Please send a team to, uh, shit, let me work out our coordinates.”
Manuel cursed how they weren't provided with even the most basic GPS system to simply tell HQ where they were at. Those bastards had shafted him severely, now.
While he was conferring with Marcelo about their location when the brush behind them exploded. Juan was dead as he hit the ground, two nine-inch claws tore through his back, destroying his heart and lungs. The botau leapt again, catching Marcelo with all of its limbs and its fearsome jaws. His bones shattered under the 500 kilogram predator and his flesh was torn asunder. Manuel was knocked on his back, being grazed by the enormous animal. Epifanio fell onto his ass, sobbing in terror as the Botau looked at him, yellow eyes locking onto his. Epifanio raised his gun, though it was shaking horribly. The botau sprinted at him, moving faster than he could track it with his tear-filled eyes. He felt the bestial hands of the creature pull the gun out of his hands slightly before he felt the fiery lance of pain searing through his neck as the teeth scissored into him.
Manuel laid on his back, the wind knocked out of him.
What just happened? he thought, terror and disbelief starting to cloud his mind. He dared a glance at the creature which had just appeared less than 45 seconds ago. It looked back behind itself, checking for threats. Manuel knew he couldn't risk firing at it, given it just killed the rest of the patrol in under a minute. Apparently, it thought it had killed him, so he just slowed his breathing and looked away as he heard the sickening crunch of bones and slicing of flesh.
Manuel prayed.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen...
SDNet: Unbelievable levels of pedantry that you can't find anywhere else on the Internet!
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
The previous chapter
Somewhat Near Mearth
The system did not have a name. It had numbers. No matter who it was that passed it by (and anyone who came near passed it by), it was never worthy of a name. It had orbited the galactic core, ignored by everyone, even as an entire star system appeared in space nearby. It consisted of a red dwarf, a brown dwarf that hadn't even made it that far, a large gas giant that hadn't even achieved brown dwarf-dom, and a thin belt-of-sorts of ice and light elements that somehow hadn't fallen into three main bodies of the system despite the erratic orbital mechanics. It was dull and offered nothing but a point to label in the vastness of space.
It was perfect for a random stop for refugee robots. Or a picket. Elliptic Gem, Big Stuff, and Mirage arrived, and they were expected. The SWAT class ship Ultra-Mega X-treem Awezome!! was waiting. Captain John Chmielowiec chuckled.
“Follow the Road and the Perfect Rat Trap, just like in MEHtropes,” he said to himself, with a sly smile. The captain heard the approaching hoverchair and click of mechanical legs on the floor, and swung his around to face his orderly. “Ah, my Stoic and Loyal batman, does this not remind you of the Honorable Lionel?”
Corporal Peters was never entirely sure what Captain Chmielowiec was talking about. Sometimes, through context, he could glean what he was pretty sure was the intended meaning, but he had never wasted time on MEHtropes so he could never be certain. In this case, he wasn't even sure how to parse the sentence. “Yes, sir,” he said, and held back a sigh. Goddess, what a demeaning job.
“Look at them, coming into range. Very soon, we'll carry out our orders exactly, though we were Exiled by Jealous Superiors. Lesser Men might question them, knowing their source, but the Goddess Always Rewards in the End.”
Most people had robot servants to do their unpleasant (and unhappy) work, including Peters himself, but Captain Chmielowiec was too good for that. Oh no, he needed a member of his crew to do the work, even if indirectly by having his robots do it. Peters's waited around him, motionless and silent, waiting for the captain to give the word and then Peters to pass it to them. They had been explicitly instructed not to do anything directly from the captain's orders.
“Now make this bridge sparkling clean, and summon the officers. Yellow alert!”
“Make the bridge sparkling clean and summon the officers. Set a yellow alert,” Peters passed to his machines, and they went to work. The officers began to enter in their chairs, and he could see the pity in their eyes. Pity, with a hint of relief that they were slightly faster at Not-It than him.
“Big Stuff, do you read?” The Elliptic Gem hailed the ship again, while the nervous robots crammed in the bridge waited for a response. They had been waiting since they detected the small explosion from Big Stuff's engines.
A burst of static, and then they heard Calculon, “ ...tic Gem and Mirage, we read you.”
“Good to hear you again!” said Broomstickbots on both ships. “What happened?”
“Sabotage!” he said. “One of our engineer-bots had secretly maintained loyalist programming. We suspect she may have caused our earlier problems as well. We are keeping her restrained for now.”
“How long will repairs take?”
“The other engineer-bots estimate ten hours, give or take ninety minutes. It looks worse than it actually is, they say, mostly cosmetic damage, but some key controls were melted and must be fully replaced, and we will not be able to leave until that is done. Then we can set course to our next stop. I am already calculating the optimal vectors.”
They continued talking back and forth for a few minutes, discussing if any shuttles or mechanics could be sent over to help with repairs, which hyperspacial direction they wanted to flee towards, and so forth when they received the hail.
“These are the words of the mighty John Chmielowiec, Captain of the SWAT class ship Ultra-Mega X-treem Awezome!!: you will surrender your ships and prepare to be boarded! Your mutinous fleet will be returned to Earth to face the Goddess's justice!” It was a full audio and visual feed, showing him proudly upright in his hoverchair, with a sparkling bridge all around him. The captain was very proud of his Intimidating Command Voice.
The messaging between the ships switched to a more secured tight beam. Asked a Broomstickbot, “can you hurry your repairs at all, Calculon?”
“Give me two more minutes,” responded Calculon. “Keep the talker talking.”
“Gem, keep this visual only. Open channel. Captain Chmielowiec,” said Broomstickbot, and the captain was slightly taken aback that the voice on the other end pronounced his name correctly, “We are refugees, fleeing from the destruction of Earth. Something terrible is happening there. This is the only way to survive!”
“What, nonsense!” he replied, with the confidence that only the supremely ignorant can carry. “We just received our orders, directly from Earth. It is to be our Last Bastion, just like in the wars, from which the Goddess will emerge victorious again! And I, Her most humble servant John Chmielowiec, will redeem myself, a Holy Redemption, and lead Her navies to conquer all stars!” The Great Speech, he thought to himself. But no, it is too short. These are Fools Turning from the Goddess, and must be corrected. “Why do you turn away from Her Eternal Majesty? Is it not said in MEHtropes, handed down to us from the Goddess herself, that-”
His endless hamming gave them all two minutes that Calculon needed. “I have calculated an optimal trajectory for Mirage and Elliptic Gem. This should take you forty parsecs from here, in a clear area of space.”
“What? No! Calculon, we can't leave you! We need you!”
“From there,” Calculon continued, “you should have time to calculate your own paths. Navibot on Mirage should be able to figure it out given some time with the Stellar Educational Programs.”
“We are not leaving without you, and without all our sibling-bots on the ship!”
“Follow these calculations, and you will be able to save two-thirds of our population. Is that not superior to losing us all?”
Captain Chmielowiec had finished his speech several seconds before, and waited for a response. He smiled smugly at his crew (wasn't that a great speech?), and tapped his fingers impatiently on his armrest. Surely they'd had enough time to digest all that. “Well? Answer me!”
Broomstickbot responded with a quick, “Maybe we can talk the airbag into giving us those ten hours,” and said back to the MEH warship, “Will you not reconsider, and have mercy? We are refugees! We are just trying to survive! Please, let us pass by unharmed!” The Mirage and Gem sent out the message, in wide-open channels, in the desperate hope that someone out there was listening.
Back on the bridge, hidden out of sight of the viewscreen, one of the sensors officers was waving her arms wildly, working up a sweat from the exertion. She had been trying to get his attention from some time. Finally he noticed her. “Orderly, have the screen shut off.” Peters passed the message on, and the signal was cut.
“It will not work,” said Calculon.
“What is it, ah, Lieutenant?” asked the captain, with a guess at her rank.
“Sir, one of the ships is damaged. It's the engine, and they will not be able to transition to hyperspace.”
“Aha!” said Chmielowiec. “Trying to Buy Time, are they? Good thing I am Too Clever to Fall for their Ruse. Orderly, have the signal returned.”
The three ships heard, “They thought they could exile me to scout duties? I'll show them all. Unnamed ships, we know that one of you is damaged. Don't think that we'll fall for any of your tricks! Surrender now, or prepare to be fired upon!”
And then the lieutenant, quite against orders, yelled loud enough to be audible, “SIR! A ship is approaching! It's...it's huge!”
“Cut the signal!” the captain roared, and Peters complied. “How big is it?”
“One hundred points...or two hundred...no, huh...nevermind sir, just fifteen points. I don't know what happened to the sensors. Sorry, sir.”
The sensors, though they did not realize it, had been overloaded by the appearance of the least innately stealthy ship in the galaxy.
The Shroomanist Medical Frigate Badass approached rapidly.
“It's hailing us,” Corporal Peters said, passing the message from the communications officer.
The captain growled, for this was not by the tropes at all. “On-screen! Who are you, and what do you think you're doing?”
“No, what are YOU doing?” demanded the Prophet. “How dare you threaten to fire upon unarmed civilians, and refugees too! That is not cool.”
“Where did these idiots come from?” Captain Chmielowiec asked, directly to one of the crew, decorum completely lost.
“I...I guess the gas giant. They must have hidden under the clouds.”
“Eh, doesn't matter. Arm all weapons and prepare to fire. Unknown vessel, her Most Holy Majesty's Captain John Chmielowiec commands you to stand down. Your point total is a fraction of this ship, the SWAT class Ultra-Mega X-treem Awezome!!
“Blasphemer! You dare defile the holy name of the Awesome with your vile misspellings?”
Badass blazed by, a shining streak of light, and fired on the MEH warship.
“They attacked us?” Captain Chmielowiec shrieked.
“Shields down by ten percent,” the weapons officer said. “Regenerating already.”
“Fools!” the captain said. “Don't you know that superior point totals always carry the day? We can destroy your ship in one volley. This is your last chance to surrender, or we will blast you out of the sky!”
“They're coming about, and not powering down or responding.”
He was sick of this crap. It was so, so stupid. It didn't fit any of the MEHtropes either, unless it was stuck under the General Idiocy category. He couldn't understand any of it, but he had more important work to do. “Fire,” said Captain Chmielowiec.
Somewhat Near Mearth
The system did not have a name. It had numbers. No matter who it was that passed it by (and anyone who came near passed it by), it was never worthy of a name. It had orbited the galactic core, ignored by everyone, even as an entire star system appeared in space nearby. It consisted of a red dwarf, a brown dwarf that hadn't even made it that far, a large gas giant that hadn't even achieved brown dwarf-dom, and a thin belt-of-sorts of ice and light elements that somehow hadn't fallen into three main bodies of the system despite the erratic orbital mechanics. It was dull and offered nothing but a point to label in the vastness of space.
It was perfect for a random stop for refugee robots. Or a picket. Elliptic Gem, Big Stuff, and Mirage arrived, and they were expected. The SWAT class ship Ultra-Mega X-treem Awezome!! was waiting. Captain John Chmielowiec chuckled.
“Follow the Road and the Perfect Rat Trap, just like in MEHtropes,” he said to himself, with a sly smile. The captain heard the approaching hoverchair and click of mechanical legs on the floor, and swung his around to face his orderly. “Ah, my Stoic and Loyal batman, does this not remind you of the Honorable Lionel?”
Corporal Peters was never entirely sure what Captain Chmielowiec was talking about. Sometimes, through context, he could glean what he was pretty sure was the intended meaning, but he had never wasted time on MEHtropes so he could never be certain. In this case, he wasn't even sure how to parse the sentence. “Yes, sir,” he said, and held back a sigh. Goddess, what a demeaning job.
“Look at them, coming into range. Very soon, we'll carry out our orders exactly, though we were Exiled by Jealous Superiors. Lesser Men might question them, knowing their source, but the Goddess Always Rewards in the End.”
Most people had robot servants to do their unpleasant (and unhappy) work, including Peters himself, but Captain Chmielowiec was too good for that. Oh no, he needed a member of his crew to do the work, even if indirectly by having his robots do it. Peters's waited around him, motionless and silent, waiting for the captain to give the word and then Peters to pass it to them. They had been explicitly instructed not to do anything directly from the captain's orders.
“Now make this bridge sparkling clean, and summon the officers. Yellow alert!”
“Make the bridge sparkling clean and summon the officers. Set a yellow alert,” Peters passed to his machines, and they went to work. The officers began to enter in their chairs, and he could see the pity in their eyes. Pity, with a hint of relief that they were slightly faster at Not-It than him.
“Big Stuff, do you read?” The Elliptic Gem hailed the ship again, while the nervous robots crammed in the bridge waited for a response. They had been waiting since they detected the small explosion from Big Stuff's engines.
A burst of static, and then they heard Calculon, “ ...tic Gem and Mirage, we read you.”
“Good to hear you again!” said Broomstickbots on both ships. “What happened?”
“Sabotage!” he said. “One of our engineer-bots had secretly maintained loyalist programming. We suspect she may have caused our earlier problems as well. We are keeping her restrained for now.”
“How long will repairs take?”
“The other engineer-bots estimate ten hours, give or take ninety minutes. It looks worse than it actually is, they say, mostly cosmetic damage, but some key controls were melted and must be fully replaced, and we will not be able to leave until that is done. Then we can set course to our next stop. I am already calculating the optimal vectors.”
They continued talking back and forth for a few minutes, discussing if any shuttles or mechanics could be sent over to help with repairs, which hyperspacial direction they wanted to flee towards, and so forth when they received the hail.
“These are the words of the mighty John Chmielowiec, Captain of the SWAT class ship Ultra-Mega X-treem Awezome!!: you will surrender your ships and prepare to be boarded! Your mutinous fleet will be returned to Earth to face the Goddess's justice!” It was a full audio and visual feed, showing him proudly upright in his hoverchair, with a sparkling bridge all around him. The captain was very proud of his Intimidating Command Voice.
The messaging between the ships switched to a more secured tight beam. Asked a Broomstickbot, “can you hurry your repairs at all, Calculon?”
“Give me two more minutes,” responded Calculon. “Keep the talker talking.”
“Gem, keep this visual only. Open channel. Captain Chmielowiec,” said Broomstickbot, and the captain was slightly taken aback that the voice on the other end pronounced his name correctly, “We are refugees, fleeing from the destruction of Earth. Something terrible is happening there. This is the only way to survive!”
“What, nonsense!” he replied, with the confidence that only the supremely ignorant can carry. “We just received our orders, directly from Earth. It is to be our Last Bastion, just like in the wars, from which the Goddess will emerge victorious again! And I, Her most humble servant John Chmielowiec, will redeem myself, a Holy Redemption, and lead Her navies to conquer all stars!” The Great Speech, he thought to himself. But no, it is too short. These are Fools Turning from the Goddess, and must be corrected. “Why do you turn away from Her Eternal Majesty? Is it not said in MEHtropes, handed down to us from the Goddess herself, that-”
His endless hamming gave them all two minutes that Calculon needed. “I have calculated an optimal trajectory for Mirage and Elliptic Gem. This should take you forty parsecs from here, in a clear area of space.”
“What? No! Calculon, we can't leave you! We need you!”
“From there,” Calculon continued, “you should have time to calculate your own paths. Navibot on Mirage should be able to figure it out given some time with the Stellar Educational Programs.”
“We are not leaving without you, and without all our sibling-bots on the ship!”
“Follow these calculations, and you will be able to save two-thirds of our population. Is that not superior to losing us all?”
Captain Chmielowiec had finished his speech several seconds before, and waited for a response. He smiled smugly at his crew (wasn't that a great speech?), and tapped his fingers impatiently on his armrest. Surely they'd had enough time to digest all that. “Well? Answer me!”
Broomstickbot responded with a quick, “Maybe we can talk the airbag into giving us those ten hours,” and said back to the MEH warship, “Will you not reconsider, and have mercy? We are refugees! We are just trying to survive! Please, let us pass by unharmed!” The Mirage and Gem sent out the message, in wide-open channels, in the desperate hope that someone out there was listening.
Back on the bridge, hidden out of sight of the viewscreen, one of the sensors officers was waving her arms wildly, working up a sweat from the exertion. She had been trying to get his attention from some time. Finally he noticed her. “Orderly, have the screen shut off.” Peters passed the message on, and the signal was cut.
“It will not work,” said Calculon.
“What is it, ah, Lieutenant?” asked the captain, with a guess at her rank.
“Sir, one of the ships is damaged. It's the engine, and they will not be able to transition to hyperspace.”
“Aha!” said Chmielowiec. “Trying to Buy Time, are they? Good thing I am Too Clever to Fall for their Ruse. Orderly, have the signal returned.”
The three ships heard, “They thought they could exile me to scout duties? I'll show them all. Unnamed ships, we know that one of you is damaged. Don't think that we'll fall for any of your tricks! Surrender now, or prepare to be fired upon!”
And then the lieutenant, quite against orders, yelled loud enough to be audible, “SIR! A ship is approaching! It's...it's huge!”
“Cut the signal!” the captain roared, and Peters complied. “How big is it?”
“One hundred points...or two hundred...no, huh...nevermind sir, just fifteen points. I don't know what happened to the sensors. Sorry, sir.”
The sensors, though they did not realize it, had been overloaded by the appearance of the least innately stealthy ship in the galaxy.
The Shroomanist Medical Frigate Badass approached rapidly.
“It's hailing us,” Corporal Peters said, passing the message from the communications officer.
The captain growled, for this was not by the tropes at all. “On-screen! Who are you, and what do you think you're doing?”
“No, what are YOU doing?” demanded the Prophet. “How dare you threaten to fire upon unarmed civilians, and refugees too! That is not cool.”
“Where did these idiots come from?” Captain Chmielowiec asked, directly to one of the crew, decorum completely lost.
“I...I guess the gas giant. They must have hidden under the clouds.”
“Eh, doesn't matter. Arm all weapons and prepare to fire. Unknown vessel, her Most Holy Majesty's Captain John Chmielowiec commands you to stand down. Your point total is a fraction of this ship, the SWAT class Ultra-Mega X-treem Awezome!!
“Blasphemer! You dare defile the holy name of the Awesome with your vile misspellings?”
Badass blazed by, a shining streak of light, and fired on the MEH warship.
“They attacked us?” Captain Chmielowiec shrieked.
“Shields down by ten percent,” the weapons officer said. “Regenerating already.”
“Fools!” the captain said. “Don't you know that superior point totals always carry the day? We can destroy your ship in one volley. This is your last chance to surrender, or we will blast you out of the sky!”
“They're coming about, and not powering down or responding.”
He was sick of this crap. It was so, so stupid. It didn't fit any of the MEHtropes either, unless it was stuck under the General Idiocy category. He couldn't understand any of it, but he had more important work to do. “Fire,” said Captain Chmielowiec.
DPDarkPrimus is my boyfriend!
SDNW4 Nation: The Refuge And, on Nova Terra, Al-Stan the Totally and Completely Honest and Legitimate Weapons Dealer and Used Starship Salesman slept on a bed made of money, with a blaster under his pillow and his sombrero pulled over his face. This is to say, he slept very well indeed.
SDNW4 Nation: The Refuge And, on Nova Terra, Al-Stan the Totally and Completely Honest and Legitimate Weapons Dealer and Used Starship Salesman slept on a bed made of money, with a blaster under his pillow and his sombrero pulled over his face. This is to say, he slept very well indeed.
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
And then a miracle happened.Previously on SDNW4 wrote:“Fire,” said Captain Chmielowiec.
Recommended music
The lights went out on the bridge.
The captain screamed, “What now?”
“I don't know!” said several voices.
“How could this happen, now at all times?” he wailed. “I had this ship refitted with all the superior technology of this universe!”
Cascading power failures struck the ship. Capacitors imploded, circuits evaporated, conduits clogged and the engines farted. Random debris went flying down corridors even though it made no sense. The cooking robots suddenly decided it was time to prepare the food. All the food. Life support vented helium into the atmosphere. Shield generators shrugged and went into sleep mode, literally in one case. The internal messaging system to the repair robots went haywire, so they rolled frantically from one chamber to another, trying to find nonexistent faults, and sometimes they chased each other too, hoping someone else knew what they were supposed to be fixing.
All in all, sketchy Klavostani merchant crap behaved exactly how anyone expected sketchy merchant crap to behave.
“Where is that ship? What is our status?”
“I don't know!” cried many voices, as they tapped away frantically and futilely on unpowered stations. The tapping and their breathing were the only sounds on the bridge, as even the circulation fans were down. Captain Chmielowiec then noticed Peter's robots, standing around.
“What are you waiting for? Get power back online!” The ship shook, as inertial dampeners were fluxing. A bank of point-defense guns detached from the hull for no discernible reason.
The robots of course were still, until Peters ordered, “get power back on line!” They went to work, and the captain wondered if his orderly giving them orders without him giving his orderly orders was a breach of protocol, and then decided that he just didn't care. He wanted the lights back on.
Power surges followed, and self-repair systems came online, but with all the Klavostani crap welded on and badly integrated into their systems, they had trouble rerouting anything properly. Trying to restore sensors made all the toilets flush repeatedly, which was especially strange since they worked on a pneumatic system. Trying to reconnect the bridge to the sensors made all the holodecks come online and start up the program, “Dance Dance Party Party.” The sounds of saxophones echoed all too loudly through the ship. Security bots rolled from their niches, listened to what sounded like garbled orders, and started repainting themselves in pastel colors. Meanwhile...
...on the Badass, the acolytes tried to interpret the readings they were receiving. “What happened to them? Their shields are down and so are their weapons!”
“The gods favor us!” the Prophet declared. “Here is our chance! Shroomanists, we will capture that ship! Prepare the harpoons and boarding parties! Start the Crescent!”
And then with a swirl of his cape, he leaped aboard his spacebike and popped a wheelie as he peeled off.
And meanwhile, in the three robot refugee ships, they wondered what exactly was going on.
“Greatest likelihood is that we are witnessing a battle,” said Calculon. “Although I admit my data is very limited.”
“Have you started repairs again?”
“My dear Broomstickbot, we never stopped. There was always the hope of a highly improbable event occurring to give us enough time.”
And, on Nova Terra, Al-Stan the Totally and Completely Honest and Legitimate Weapons Dealer and Used Starship Salesman slept on a bed made of money, with a blaster under his pillow and his sombrero pulled over his face. This is to say, he slept very well indeed.
DPDarkPrimus is my boyfriend!
SDNW4 Nation: The Refuge And, on Nova Terra, Al-Stan the Totally and Completely Honest and Legitimate Weapons Dealer and Used Starship Salesman slept on a bed made of money, with a blaster under his pillow and his sombrero pulled over his face. This is to say, he slept very well indeed.
SDNW4 Nation: The Refuge And, on Nova Terra, Al-Stan the Totally and Completely Honest and Legitimate Weapons Dealer and Used Starship Salesman slept on a bed made of money, with a blaster under his pillow and his sombrero pulled over his face. This is to say, he slept very well indeed.
-
Force Lord
- Jedi Council Member
- Posts: 1562
- Joined: 2008-10-12 05:36pm
- Location: Rio Piedras, San Juan, Puerto Rico
- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
IN GODDAMN UNREAL TIME
Much had happened the past few months.
After constant meditation and deliberation, the leaders of the Centrality had decided that the occupation of the MEH worlds conquered during the recently ended war would continue, but up to a point. Due to the expense of such a distant military deployment, it was decided that current ground unit numbers would remain at 400 million Army troops and 100 million Marines in the Centralist Zone of MEH Wolf 359, with all elite units, and all remaining Army and Marine forces, withdrawn from the former MEH. 3rd Fleet would replace the battered 1st and 5th Fleets (formerly called the First Armada) as the Centralist Zone's space shield. After a month, it would start a rotation scheme with the 4th Fleet, which would take its place in the CZ, the same happening the next month, and so on. This course of events was expected to last a year at least. Whethever it would last longer was a matter of considerable debate in military and political circles back at Centrum.
Such MEH redeployments, however, had a purpose. The MEH War prevented the Central State from effectively responding to threats to its interests elsewhere, especially the long-running issue of Crevecia. Even after the war ended the issue of what to do with the occupied territories and their defense against a nearby psycho-spatial disturbance took more time to deal with. Centrum swiftly solved the former its own way (not that the other Coalition members were too happy with it), but the latter required a long-term solution that the Centrality simply wasn't equipped to handle. As expected, high-level discussions went nowhere, much to the chagrin of a Dictator who demanded a solution that might work without compromising Centralist pride too much. He wanted to change focus back to other issues as soon as possible. Otherwise he might "have to do all the work again, and I don't need to worsen my headache!"
Thus, when news came that the Midnight Confederation and the Royal Kingdom of Scarlet, ersntwhile-enemies, simultaneously invaded the Empire Star Republic completely unprovoked, there were very mixed feelings back in the Centrality. The sight of two intractable foes suddenly attacking a neutral nation, seemingly without reason, was highly confusing, and outright chaotic, for a regime that placed so much value on Order and that viewed any action as having a cause. The Centralist ambassador to the now-beleaguered Empire Star Republic, in his latest despatch to the Center of Foreign Affairs, pointedly wrote, No demands coming from RKS and MC. ESR officials in panic. All ambassadors, including myself, completely perplexed. Embassy to be evacuated. Will not wait inevitable. Said message encapsulated the feelings of the Centralist government, which was late in joining the chorus of condemnations due to the sheer surprise of this new war. Some people in the CIS suspected a third party to be behind everything, but no evidence was forthcoming, especially with both the RKS and MC being death traps for spies.
With so much attention being given to the spectacle of the RKS and the MC waging an unexpected war against the ESR, however, Centrum quickly realized that it just been given the perfect cover for its plans for Crevecia. At around the same time Tagdef Borlon denounced "the high treachery commited by two snakes against a peaceful state", Dirad Kierger, the Dictator, ordered his military chiefs to prepare a full-scale "intervention" in the Crevecian Republic, in order to prop up their local clients against guerrilla insurrection. Despite concerns about the reaction of the neighbouring powers over such an action, Kierger was confident that "the mongies, the misspellers, and Red Elysion wouldn't do anything drastic at this time." He therefore, as a preliminary action, gave the order to prepare the 2nd Fleet to rejoin with one of its task forces, TF-6, led by Rear-Admiral Kamar Davoix, who was already in orbit above Crevecia and had given orbital support for the pro-Centralist government there. At the same time, the first echleon of around 60 million Marine troops assigned for Crevecia service was being mustered for deployment. They would arrive piecemeal, stiffiening local forces and not acting aggresively until they had enough numbers to do so. High Command felt that more would be needed, but decided to wait until the necessity arose.
As the interstellar community laid its eyes on the drama unfolding in the Empire Star Republic, a scheming Centrality decided Crevecia's fate, with a consequence no one could imagine....
Orbit over Crevecia
Sector O-7
Unreal Time
Where are those fools?, thought Rear-Admiral Davoix with impatient distaste. The Fleet Admiral and his subordinates are sure taking their sweet time to get here....
The 2nd Fleet was behind schedule. The fleet was supposed to arrive two days ago, as agreed upon, and yet there was nothing to be seen, except the floating debris that were once enemy ships. The efficient, proud Davoix despised such tardiness. If such a lack of sense of time was not grounds for excecution, what then? His own Task Force 6 would never be found late. He made sure of that. My crews know the meaning - the price - of doing otherwise. Such insistence had caused him some troubles, but he was too useful for his superiors to dispose of.
"Anything on the scopes yet?", Davoix asked to his sensor technician.
"No sire. There's nothi- wait, I'm picking up multiple signals! It must be the fleet!"
As if on cue, the warships of the 2nd Fleet emerged from hyperspace, close to TF-6's position. TF-6 soon moved to rejoin its parent formation. While it was still doing this, however, more ships came out of hyperspace.
They were troop trasnports. The invasion was about to start.
Davoix forced a smile. He didn't expect the ground assault to start so soon. Probably explained the fleet's tardiness: the ground pounders wanted their escort around. Ah well, he accepted his mistakes.
"Finally. Inform the Fleet Admiral that my task force is in position. Let's not waste any more time," Davoix stated.
"Affirmative, sir," responded the communications officer.
Davoix made one last look at the viewscreen. Time was indeed a luxury these days....
Much had happened the past few months.
After constant meditation and deliberation, the leaders of the Centrality had decided that the occupation of the MEH worlds conquered during the recently ended war would continue, but up to a point. Due to the expense of such a distant military deployment, it was decided that current ground unit numbers would remain at 400 million Army troops and 100 million Marines in the Centralist Zone of MEH Wolf 359, with all elite units, and all remaining Army and Marine forces, withdrawn from the former MEH. 3rd Fleet would replace the battered 1st and 5th Fleets (formerly called the First Armada) as the Centralist Zone's space shield. After a month, it would start a rotation scheme with the 4th Fleet, which would take its place in the CZ, the same happening the next month, and so on. This course of events was expected to last a year at least. Whethever it would last longer was a matter of considerable debate in military and political circles back at Centrum.
Such MEH redeployments, however, had a purpose. The MEH War prevented the Central State from effectively responding to threats to its interests elsewhere, especially the long-running issue of Crevecia. Even after the war ended the issue of what to do with the occupied territories and their defense against a nearby psycho-spatial disturbance took more time to deal with. Centrum swiftly solved the former its own way (not that the other Coalition members were too happy with it), but the latter required a long-term solution that the Centrality simply wasn't equipped to handle. As expected, high-level discussions went nowhere, much to the chagrin of a Dictator who demanded a solution that might work without compromising Centralist pride too much. He wanted to change focus back to other issues as soon as possible. Otherwise he might "have to do all the work again, and I don't need to worsen my headache!"
Thus, when news came that the Midnight Confederation and the Royal Kingdom of Scarlet, ersntwhile-enemies, simultaneously invaded the Empire Star Republic completely unprovoked, there were very mixed feelings back in the Centrality. The sight of two intractable foes suddenly attacking a neutral nation, seemingly without reason, was highly confusing, and outright chaotic, for a regime that placed so much value on Order and that viewed any action as having a cause. The Centralist ambassador to the now-beleaguered Empire Star Republic, in his latest despatch to the Center of Foreign Affairs, pointedly wrote, No demands coming from RKS and MC. ESR officials in panic. All ambassadors, including myself, completely perplexed. Embassy to be evacuated. Will not wait inevitable. Said message encapsulated the feelings of the Centralist government, which was late in joining the chorus of condemnations due to the sheer surprise of this new war. Some people in the CIS suspected a third party to be behind everything, but no evidence was forthcoming, especially with both the RKS and MC being death traps for spies.
With so much attention being given to the spectacle of the RKS and the MC waging an unexpected war against the ESR, however, Centrum quickly realized that it just been given the perfect cover for its plans for Crevecia. At around the same time Tagdef Borlon denounced "the high treachery commited by two snakes against a peaceful state", Dirad Kierger, the Dictator, ordered his military chiefs to prepare a full-scale "intervention" in the Crevecian Republic, in order to prop up their local clients against guerrilla insurrection. Despite concerns about the reaction of the neighbouring powers over such an action, Kierger was confident that "the mongies, the misspellers, and Red Elysion wouldn't do anything drastic at this time." He therefore, as a preliminary action, gave the order to prepare the 2nd Fleet to rejoin with one of its task forces, TF-6, led by Rear-Admiral Kamar Davoix, who was already in orbit above Crevecia and had given orbital support for the pro-Centralist government there. At the same time, the first echleon of around 60 million Marine troops assigned for Crevecia service was being mustered for deployment. They would arrive piecemeal, stiffiening local forces and not acting aggresively until they had enough numbers to do so. High Command felt that more would be needed, but decided to wait until the necessity arose.
As the interstellar community laid its eyes on the drama unfolding in the Empire Star Republic, a scheming Centrality decided Crevecia's fate, with a consequence no one could imagine....
Orbit over Crevecia
Sector O-7
Unreal Time
Where are those fools?, thought Rear-Admiral Davoix with impatient distaste. The Fleet Admiral and his subordinates are sure taking their sweet time to get here....
The 2nd Fleet was behind schedule. The fleet was supposed to arrive two days ago, as agreed upon, and yet there was nothing to be seen, except the floating debris that were once enemy ships. The efficient, proud Davoix despised such tardiness. If such a lack of sense of time was not grounds for excecution, what then? His own Task Force 6 would never be found late. He made sure of that. My crews know the meaning - the price - of doing otherwise. Such insistence had caused him some troubles, but he was too useful for his superiors to dispose of.
"Anything on the scopes yet?", Davoix asked to his sensor technician.
"No sire. There's nothi- wait, I'm picking up multiple signals! It must be the fleet!"
As if on cue, the warships of the 2nd Fleet emerged from hyperspace, close to TF-6's position. TF-6 soon moved to rejoin its parent formation. While it was still doing this, however, more ships came out of hyperspace.
They were troop trasnports. The invasion was about to start.
Davoix forced a smile. He didn't expect the ground assault to start so soon. Probably explained the fleet's tardiness: the ground pounders wanted their escort around. Ah well, he accepted his mistakes.
"Finally. Inform the Fleet Admiral that my task force is in position. Let's not waste any more time," Davoix stated.
"Affirmative, sir," responded the communications officer.
Davoix made one last look at the viewscreen. Time was indeed a luxury these days....
An inhabitant from the Island of Cars.
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Force Lord
- Jedi Council Member
- Posts: 1562
- Joined: 2008-10-12 05:36pm
- Location: Rio Piedras, San Juan, Puerto Rico
- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
Shepistani Embassy, Centrality
Unreal Time
The Shepistani Ambassador had come face-to-face with one of humankind's greatest enemies.
Paperwork. All needing to be signed and filed.
And he was bored out of his skull.
I never wanted to go to this godforsaken hellhole in the first place! Goddamn liberals!, he swore mentally. Besides, this job is boring! I want some action!
An ambassadorial post to the Centrality was considered one of the worst assignments for a Shepistani official to find himself in. Simply put, which Shepistani in his or her right mind would want to go to the nation where psykers ruled, not merely allowed to exist?
The Shepistani embassy in the Centrality was, then, chock-full of every anti-ESP device Shepistan could afford to cram in, and the only place free of the omniprescent ESP Amplifiers dotting Centrum. Still, paranoid Shepistani workers triple-checked the devices every six hours, always fearful that "The Centralist" was out to get them. But today was a holiday, so the scheduled testing was reduced to a double-check every twelve hours. The Shepistanis were secretly relieved that the Centrality never bothered to do a mass psychic attack on the BFGs protecting the embassy, and they never had to deal with anything above the occasional prankster.
Until now.
A loud sound, followed by a brief but severe vibration, shook the ambassador's office, nearly knocking him off his seat.
"What the fuck?!"
He swiftly attempted to call security, but then a certain alarm ringed his ears.
It ws the PKE alarm. Which meant only one thing....
"Alarm! Psyker prescence detected! Activating neutralization measures!"
"Shits!", swore the ambassador as he frantically searched for his gas mask. Poison gas began to fill the entire embassy.
Luckily this gas did not affect the skin, but inhaling it was not only bad for the lungs (an understatement), but also for the mind. Unlucky embassy workmen who failed to wear their gas masks in time not only choked to death, but also suffered violent convulsions that lasted even a short time after the heart failed.
The ambassador, with gas mask on, again tried to summon security, but the only response was a chilling scream. Indeed, the shaken ambassador could hear faint screams coming out from elsewhere in the embassy. Fearing the worst, the ambassador opened a drawer, pulling out the pistol within.
The Black Stars must be doing this... payback for what we did to their embassy at Montgomery... if they want to play it this way, then by God will Shepistan graciously respond!
He was a bit confused, howerver. Surely they should had attacked his head by now? Or was he being saved for last?
It was an eerie thing, walking the gas-filled halls of his own embassy. The lights had shorted out and the only illumination came from emergency lighting. He could not see a soul in sight, besides the unfortunate ones on the floor that were still engaged in post-mortem convulsions. The Shepistani living were probably hiding somewhere, someplace, their minds being warped and twisted by whatever mongrels the Centralites had assigned to torment them. The ambassador saw two guards lying on the floor, resting on pools of blood. Were they killed by Centralist assassins? Or did their psykers induce them to kill eachother via trickery? The ambassador didn't want to know.
"H-Help...meeeee...."
The ambassador turned at the source of the sound, and a horriffic sight lay in front of him.
It was his secretary, her eyes somehow gouged out, reaching out to him.
"Th-The voicesss... th-they won't leave me alone... THEY WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!"
The ambassador panicked.
BLAM!
The distressed secretary doubled over, falling to the ground. Blood spilled into the floor.
"They...they... they....", she moaned. And she then said no more.
The ambassador, horrified, looked at his gun, the barrel still smoking. He killed her. RAGE possesed him.
"YOU GODDAMN PSYKER SHITS! YOU'RE NOT TAKING MY MIND! YOU HEAR ME YOU SHITS?! MY MIND IS MINE!!!.
Laughter. Fucking laughter.
"SHUT UP!!!"
The fucking laughter only got fucking louder.
The ambassador ran. He ran as only a 50-ish man could, desperate to get out of an embassy turned madhouse. Unfortunately, he had to go to the main workroom in order to reach the landing pad. And once inside, he saw a macabre sight.
A gibbering clerk, frothing at the mouth, repeatedly threw himself at the walls, his face already disfigured. Another hurled himself into a window, falling to his death. Several lied dead on the floor. Others screamed and shook. One was painting the walls with his own blood, and the ambassador, in his terror, barely made out what he was writing.
It said: ALL YOUR BRAIN ARE BELONG TO US.
The painter turned to face the ambassador, greeting him with a deranged smile.
"Play with us... we are having fuuuuuunnnn...."
The ambassador was in no mood to play, however. He made his way out of that room as soon as possible, fearing for his sanity.
I knew the Centralists could be cruel... but this... is just pure sadism!
A moaning clerk tried to grab him, but was punched down by the ambassador for his trouble. Thank god for universal conscription!
Finally he left that accursed room, but the doors sealed shut behind him. On their own.
This is it. They're at me now.
The hall was silent, marred only by the sounds of his breathing. At the other side was a door leading to the landing pad.
To FREEDOM.
He walked briskly, hoping that the pilots were still alive....
"Sorry Mac, but the pilots are currently a flaming shambles lying on the landing pad."
The ambassador froze. That voice....
He turned back... and saw him.
"You. You came here to gloat, eh?" spat the Shepistani ambassador. Pointing his gun at him, he shouted, "Well, gloat on this!"
He pulled the trigger. Five times.
The bullets reached him, and yet passed through harmlessly and ricocheted off the workroom door, coming to rest on the wall.
The ambassador was flabbergasted, dropping his pistol. Since when he was intangible?
Only when he pointed to his head, tapping it for emphasis, that the ambassador realized what was going on.
"Aw no."
"Oh yes," said the apparition, moving closer to the scared-shitless ambassador. "The joys of ESP Amplifiers at full power. Strange, isn't it? Your first experience with an ESP-induced image, and your gut instinct tells you to shoot. How funny. It's so... Shepistani. But I am no mere illusion. I am real, ambassador, from a certain point of view."
"Y-You shits! Get out of my head!"
"Where's the fun in that? I am fascinated by the inner workings of the Shepistani brain. Centuries of living under the effects of BFGs must do some strange things to Shepistani mental development. Am I right, ambassador?"
The ambassador snorted. "Our BFGs keep our minds pure from vermin like you! They blow their heads up!"
"But how many heads do you keep having to blow up, ambassador? A million per year? How many potentially productive members of society are you forced to kill just because they won the DNA lottery? When will your kind realize that to deny our genetic gifts is to march against the current of evolution?"
"Evolution? You psykers are a plague upon human society! A disease to be purged!"
"And yet, we see plenty of human nations with sizable ESPer populations. There are controls over them, of course, but do the Solarians see a need to wipe out their ESPers? No. Have Anglian ESPers gone the way of the Dilgrud? No. The reason, which seems to fly over your head, is simple: ESP is useful, otherwise why would there be so many state-employed ESPers out there? The fact remains that ESPers are here to stay, no matter what your government might scream about." The ambassador attempted to speak up, but the apparition raised his hand. "And don't bring up your Amplitur Fallacy. Contrary to what you may believe, most ESPers are not a hive mind. Even we in the Centrality don't always get along."
The ambassador growled. "You Centralists certainly seem to get along when it comes to dealing with others! Especially us normal humans!"
"Glad to see you think so. I'll have to award my Propaganda Secretary," the apparition grinned evilly, which caused the ambassador to step back. "Do you think I am so megalomaniacal as to scheme for the downfall of the current international order, despite my limited resources? All of the posturing abroad we have done in the name of Centralism has been the result of pure opportunism. It does not matter if we stay stuck in our current borders. Our true goals are greater than you realize."
"What are you blabbering about, scum?", grumbled the Shepistani ambassador.
"Has anyone told you how the frecuency of new ESPers born each generation is gradually increasing? Granted, it takes centuries before it becomes noticeable, but the point stands. We believe that one day, ESPers will become the majority, and then the entirety of the human population, in other words, everyone will be special! That way, no one is!", the apparition said cheekily. His voice then grew darker. "Of course, everything has a price. There will be a crisis, a time of chaos where ESPers will fight each other for supremacy, the remaining normal population becomes decimated, and civilization ends up falling apart. Even our nation will fall victim to this anarchy. All of this was foreseen by our Great Founder himself. But did you know what else he saw?"
The ambassador, not knowing what to do, just shook his head.
"Salvation! Imagine if Heraclius and Haruhi got together and reproduced. Said spawn would be the most powerful ESPer yet. Now multiply the potential of said spawn many times over, only that this spawn will not come as the product of any physical intimacy. In other words, an entity that would be mistaken for a god by primitives will appear. Our founder said that whoever raised this individual would be in a position to determine the future character of the human race. So if, for example, a communist raised this person, all humanity would be communist. Ditto for democracy and Centralism."
"This all smells like bullshit to me," scoffed the ambassador. "How do you know if your so-called founder didn't just get high in drugs?"
The apparition sighed. "I didn't expect to convince you anyway. We got what we wanted. And I am enjoying the way your poor countrymen are being paraded down the streets. Have you seen a macarena dance, ambassador? While the dancers are naked?"
"Fuck you, Kierger!", the ambassador screamed. He then sneered. "We'll blow your embassy in Monty again! Too bad we subcontracted the whole thing to the Feelipenis, 'cause the old building exploded nicely!"
Dirad Kierger, Dictator of the Centrality and now an illusion seen by the ambassador, laughed. He fucking laughed.
"You are a riot, you know that? You think we didn't think this through? That we would just ignore our own embassy while playing with yours? We did our homework very thoroughly."
The Shepistani ambassador felt uneasy. Was Kierger just grandstanding, or was he really serious?
"Days ago (or weeks, I don't remember exactly when), we replaced all of our living embassy workers with skinjob copies. You know, robots who look and act human. They even eat, and bleed! But that's not all. Inside each of those skinjobs lies a... contagious surprise."
My God, does he mean-
"I can read your thoughts, you know. Yes, it is exactly as bad as you can imagine. Maybe even worse. What am I talking about, is the newest and most deadliest bioweapon yet developed. Imagine an illness with 100% fatality rate, yet allows its victim to live long enough for him of her to propagate the disease like wildfire in a dry forest. And best of all, it goes airborne and even seaborne! Have I mentioned that only we have the antidote? If General Sheppard wants the cure, he's gonna have to make a deal. Or will he go to war knowing that reaching the Centrality is a problem, what with shoals and hostile nations blocking all the good routes? As I said, we've thought this."
"You're one crazy bastard," said the angry ambassador.
Kierger chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment. As for your fate, ambassador...." The dictator then went silent, pulling a thoughtful pose.
The Shepistani ambassador couldn't take it anymore. He tried to open the door to the landing pad, but it was sealed shut. Desperate, he shook it a few times, all the while the apparition of Kierger was thinking. Finally the ambassador stopped when he heard a faint shriek.
"W-What will you to me?!", shouted the ambassador.
"Oh, I dunno," Kierger said nonchalantly. "Tell you that you have a crab crawling over your feet?"
Crab?
The ambassador looked down, and screamed.
The unmistakable crustacean body of an Amplitur was piercing his soul.
Moving frantically, he kicked it off his feet, only for him to see another appear.
And another. And another. Coming from the other side of the hall.
NO! THEY ARE DEAD! ALL DEAD!
"Y-You're in league with them?! THEM?!"
Kierger shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. But then, Amplitur are interesting creatures. We captured some specimens way back during your war with them. We were careful not to allow them mindfuck us while we studied them. In the end, we decided to do some genetic engineering, so as to limit their intelligence and keep their pesky psychic potential to more... manageable levels. In return, they became much more controllable. And so we kept them hidden, deploying them only very sparingly, no one knowing the existence of our... Black Ampliturs. They will still be unknown after this. You should feel honoured seeing them."
"Please get them away from me!"
"Small problem. They know you are Shepistani. We kinda turned them into anti-Shepistani dogs. They only reason you aren't dead yet is because their wills are under my control. I hope you don't have any heart problems... not!"
The ambassador pitifully begged, "Please, don't turn me into Amplitur food! I'll do whatever you want! PLEASE!"
"Bored now. Consider yourself lucky that you weren't humiliated before dying."
Kierger suddenly disappeared, but soon his evil laughter filled the hall.
Now only the ambassador was left, surrounded by a pack of bloodthirsty Black Ampliturs.
Oh god oh god oh god oh god no no no no no no
The black crabs shrieked, and he screamed.
The lights went out.
The last things he felt were an intense pain in the chest and the swarming legs of a Shepistani's worst nightmare....
Unreal Time
The Shepistani Ambassador had come face-to-face with one of humankind's greatest enemies.
Paperwork. All needing to be signed and filed.
And he was bored out of his skull.
I never wanted to go to this godforsaken hellhole in the first place! Goddamn liberals!, he swore mentally. Besides, this job is boring! I want some action!
An ambassadorial post to the Centrality was considered one of the worst assignments for a Shepistani official to find himself in. Simply put, which Shepistani in his or her right mind would want to go to the nation where psykers ruled, not merely allowed to exist?
The Shepistani embassy in the Centrality was, then, chock-full of every anti-ESP device Shepistan could afford to cram in, and the only place free of the omniprescent ESP Amplifiers dotting Centrum. Still, paranoid Shepistani workers triple-checked the devices every six hours, always fearful that "The Centralist" was out to get them. But today was a holiday, so the scheduled testing was reduced to a double-check every twelve hours. The Shepistanis were secretly relieved that the Centrality never bothered to do a mass psychic attack on the BFGs protecting the embassy, and they never had to deal with anything above the occasional prankster.
Until now.
A loud sound, followed by a brief but severe vibration, shook the ambassador's office, nearly knocking him off his seat.
"What the fuck?!"
He swiftly attempted to call security, but then a certain alarm ringed his ears.
It ws the PKE alarm. Which meant only one thing....
"Alarm! Psyker prescence detected! Activating neutralization measures!"
"Shits!", swore the ambassador as he frantically searched for his gas mask. Poison gas began to fill the entire embassy.
Luckily this gas did not affect the skin, but inhaling it was not only bad for the lungs (an understatement), but also for the mind. Unlucky embassy workmen who failed to wear their gas masks in time not only choked to death, but also suffered violent convulsions that lasted even a short time after the heart failed.
The ambassador, with gas mask on, again tried to summon security, but the only response was a chilling scream. Indeed, the shaken ambassador could hear faint screams coming out from elsewhere in the embassy. Fearing the worst, the ambassador opened a drawer, pulling out the pistol within.
The Black Stars must be doing this... payback for what we did to their embassy at Montgomery... if they want to play it this way, then by God will Shepistan graciously respond!
He was a bit confused, howerver. Surely they should had attacked his head by now? Or was he being saved for last?
It was an eerie thing, walking the gas-filled halls of his own embassy. The lights had shorted out and the only illumination came from emergency lighting. He could not see a soul in sight, besides the unfortunate ones on the floor that were still engaged in post-mortem convulsions. The Shepistani living were probably hiding somewhere, someplace, their minds being warped and twisted by whatever mongrels the Centralites had assigned to torment them. The ambassador saw two guards lying on the floor, resting on pools of blood. Were they killed by Centralist assassins? Or did their psykers induce them to kill eachother via trickery? The ambassador didn't want to know.
"H-Help...meeeee...."
The ambassador turned at the source of the sound, and a horriffic sight lay in front of him.
It was his secretary, her eyes somehow gouged out, reaching out to him.
"Th-The voicesss... th-they won't leave me alone... THEY WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!"
The ambassador panicked.
BLAM!
The distressed secretary doubled over, falling to the ground. Blood spilled into the floor.
"They...they... they....", she moaned. And she then said no more.
The ambassador, horrified, looked at his gun, the barrel still smoking. He killed her. RAGE possesed him.
"YOU GODDAMN PSYKER SHITS! YOU'RE NOT TAKING MY MIND! YOU HEAR ME YOU SHITS?! MY MIND IS MINE!!!.
Laughter. Fucking laughter.
"SHUT UP!!!"
The fucking laughter only got fucking louder.
The ambassador ran. He ran as only a 50-ish man could, desperate to get out of an embassy turned madhouse. Unfortunately, he had to go to the main workroom in order to reach the landing pad. And once inside, he saw a macabre sight.
A gibbering clerk, frothing at the mouth, repeatedly threw himself at the walls, his face already disfigured. Another hurled himself into a window, falling to his death. Several lied dead on the floor. Others screamed and shook. One was painting the walls with his own blood, and the ambassador, in his terror, barely made out what he was writing.
It said: ALL YOUR BRAIN ARE BELONG TO US.
The painter turned to face the ambassador, greeting him with a deranged smile.
"Play with us... we are having fuuuuuunnnn...."
The ambassador was in no mood to play, however. He made his way out of that room as soon as possible, fearing for his sanity.
I knew the Centralists could be cruel... but this... is just pure sadism!
A moaning clerk tried to grab him, but was punched down by the ambassador for his trouble. Thank god for universal conscription!
Finally he left that accursed room, but the doors sealed shut behind him. On their own.
This is it. They're at me now.
The hall was silent, marred only by the sounds of his breathing. At the other side was a door leading to the landing pad.
To FREEDOM.
He walked briskly, hoping that the pilots were still alive....
"Sorry Mac, but the pilots are currently a flaming shambles lying on the landing pad."
The ambassador froze. That voice....
He turned back... and saw him.
"You. You came here to gloat, eh?" spat the Shepistani ambassador. Pointing his gun at him, he shouted, "Well, gloat on this!"
He pulled the trigger. Five times.
The bullets reached him, and yet passed through harmlessly and ricocheted off the workroom door, coming to rest on the wall.
The ambassador was flabbergasted, dropping his pistol. Since when he was intangible?
Only when he pointed to his head, tapping it for emphasis, that the ambassador realized what was going on.
"Aw no."
"Oh yes," said the apparition, moving closer to the scared-shitless ambassador. "The joys of ESP Amplifiers at full power. Strange, isn't it? Your first experience with an ESP-induced image, and your gut instinct tells you to shoot. How funny. It's so... Shepistani. But I am no mere illusion. I am real, ambassador, from a certain point of view."
"Y-You shits! Get out of my head!"
"Where's the fun in that? I am fascinated by the inner workings of the Shepistani brain. Centuries of living under the effects of BFGs must do some strange things to Shepistani mental development. Am I right, ambassador?"
The ambassador snorted. "Our BFGs keep our minds pure from vermin like you! They blow their heads up!"
"But how many heads do you keep having to blow up, ambassador? A million per year? How many potentially productive members of society are you forced to kill just because they won the DNA lottery? When will your kind realize that to deny our genetic gifts is to march against the current of evolution?"
"Evolution? You psykers are a plague upon human society! A disease to be purged!"
"And yet, we see plenty of human nations with sizable ESPer populations. There are controls over them, of course, but do the Solarians see a need to wipe out their ESPers? No. Have Anglian ESPers gone the way of the Dilgrud? No. The reason, which seems to fly over your head, is simple: ESP is useful, otherwise why would there be so many state-employed ESPers out there? The fact remains that ESPers are here to stay, no matter what your government might scream about." The ambassador attempted to speak up, but the apparition raised his hand. "And don't bring up your Amplitur Fallacy. Contrary to what you may believe, most ESPers are not a hive mind. Even we in the Centrality don't always get along."
The ambassador growled. "You Centralists certainly seem to get along when it comes to dealing with others! Especially us normal humans!"
"Glad to see you think so. I'll have to award my Propaganda Secretary," the apparition grinned evilly, which caused the ambassador to step back. "Do you think I am so megalomaniacal as to scheme for the downfall of the current international order, despite my limited resources? All of the posturing abroad we have done in the name of Centralism has been the result of pure opportunism. It does not matter if we stay stuck in our current borders. Our true goals are greater than you realize."
"What are you blabbering about, scum?", grumbled the Shepistani ambassador.
"Has anyone told you how the frecuency of new ESPers born each generation is gradually increasing? Granted, it takes centuries before it becomes noticeable, but the point stands. We believe that one day, ESPers will become the majority, and then the entirety of the human population, in other words, everyone will be special! That way, no one is!", the apparition said cheekily. His voice then grew darker. "Of course, everything has a price. There will be a crisis, a time of chaos where ESPers will fight each other for supremacy, the remaining normal population becomes decimated, and civilization ends up falling apart. Even our nation will fall victim to this anarchy. All of this was foreseen by our Great Founder himself. But did you know what else he saw?"
The ambassador, not knowing what to do, just shook his head.
"Salvation! Imagine if Heraclius and Haruhi got together and reproduced. Said spawn would be the most powerful ESPer yet. Now multiply the potential of said spawn many times over, only that this spawn will not come as the product of any physical intimacy. In other words, an entity that would be mistaken for a god by primitives will appear. Our founder said that whoever raised this individual would be in a position to determine the future character of the human race. So if, for example, a communist raised this person, all humanity would be communist. Ditto for democracy and Centralism."
"This all smells like bullshit to me," scoffed the ambassador. "How do you know if your so-called founder didn't just get high in drugs?"
The apparition sighed. "I didn't expect to convince you anyway. We got what we wanted. And I am enjoying the way your poor countrymen are being paraded down the streets. Have you seen a macarena dance, ambassador? While the dancers are naked?"
"Fuck you, Kierger!", the ambassador screamed. He then sneered. "We'll blow your embassy in Monty again! Too bad we subcontracted the whole thing to the Feelipenis, 'cause the old building exploded nicely!"
Dirad Kierger, Dictator of the Centrality and now an illusion seen by the ambassador, laughed. He fucking laughed.
"You are a riot, you know that? You think we didn't think this through? That we would just ignore our own embassy while playing with yours? We did our homework very thoroughly."
The Shepistani ambassador felt uneasy. Was Kierger just grandstanding, or was he really serious?
"Days ago (or weeks, I don't remember exactly when), we replaced all of our living embassy workers with skinjob copies. You know, robots who look and act human. They even eat, and bleed! But that's not all. Inside each of those skinjobs lies a... contagious surprise."
My God, does he mean-
"I can read your thoughts, you know. Yes, it is exactly as bad as you can imagine. Maybe even worse. What am I talking about, is the newest and most deadliest bioweapon yet developed. Imagine an illness with 100% fatality rate, yet allows its victim to live long enough for him of her to propagate the disease like wildfire in a dry forest. And best of all, it goes airborne and even seaborne! Have I mentioned that only we have the antidote? If General Sheppard wants the cure, he's gonna have to make a deal. Or will he go to war knowing that reaching the Centrality is a problem, what with shoals and hostile nations blocking all the good routes? As I said, we've thought this."
"You're one crazy bastard," said the angry ambassador.
Kierger chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment. As for your fate, ambassador...." The dictator then went silent, pulling a thoughtful pose.
The Shepistani ambassador couldn't take it anymore. He tried to open the door to the landing pad, but it was sealed shut. Desperate, he shook it a few times, all the while the apparition of Kierger was thinking. Finally the ambassador stopped when he heard a faint shriek.
"W-What will you to me?!", shouted the ambassador.
"Oh, I dunno," Kierger said nonchalantly. "Tell you that you have a crab crawling over your feet?"
Crab?
The ambassador looked down, and screamed.
The unmistakable crustacean body of an Amplitur was piercing his soul.
Moving frantically, he kicked it off his feet, only for him to see another appear.
And another. And another. Coming from the other side of the hall.
NO! THEY ARE DEAD! ALL DEAD!
"Y-You're in league with them?! THEM?!"
Kierger shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. But then, Amplitur are interesting creatures. We captured some specimens way back during your war with them. We were careful not to allow them mindfuck us while we studied them. In the end, we decided to do some genetic engineering, so as to limit their intelligence and keep their pesky psychic potential to more... manageable levels. In return, they became much more controllable. And so we kept them hidden, deploying them only very sparingly, no one knowing the existence of our... Black Ampliturs. They will still be unknown after this. You should feel honoured seeing them."
"Please get them away from me!"
"Small problem. They know you are Shepistani. We kinda turned them into anti-Shepistani dogs. They only reason you aren't dead yet is because their wills are under my control. I hope you don't have any heart problems... not!"
The ambassador pitifully begged, "Please, don't turn me into Amplitur food! I'll do whatever you want! PLEASE!"
"Bored now. Consider yourself lucky that you weren't humiliated before dying."
Kierger suddenly disappeared, but soon his evil laughter filled the hall.
Now only the ambassador was left, surrounded by a pack of bloodthirsty Black Ampliturs.
Oh god oh god oh god oh god no no no no no no
The black crabs shrieked, and he screamed.
The lights went out.
The last things he felt were an intense pain in the chest and the swarming legs of a Shepistani's worst nightmare....
An inhabitant from the Island of Cars.
-
Force Lord
- Jedi Council Member
- Posts: 1562
- Joined: 2008-10-12 05:36pm
- Location: Rio Piedras, San Juan, Puerto Rico
- Contact:
Re: SDNW4 Story Thread 2
Space over Arpaad, Outlands
Unreal Time/Late 3401
Arpaad, capital of the Central Arpaad Republic, was the prime stronghold of Centralism in the fractured Outlands after the ruin of Aray at the hands of the Karlacks. It could not claim to be as developed as Aray, but it was valuable enough to be chosen as the new capital once Aray fell. Predictably, it was well defended by the standards of Outlander worlds, though no one expected Arpaad to hold out against a determined attack from any of the major powers bordering the region. Today, though, Arpaadians could take comfort that this would be yet another typical day.
No one expected the visitors who came unannounced from hyperspace.
Sensors went mad on the now-CARS (Central Arpaad Republic Ship) Grinning Gilgamesh, as technicians tried to determine the identity of the arriving vessels. A scowling Deacon Saito, the infamous Suffocator of Oblast, marched into the bridge, bellowing out, "What in the Nine Araynan Hells are we facing?!"
"Still identifying unknowns, sir," responded a technician.
"Numbers?"
"Around 30 capital vessels of varying sizes and function, and an unknown number of smaller ships, including troop transports, it appears."
Saito growled. "A force like that can cause us serious damage. Our defense fleet's scattered and reinforcements aren't forthcoming. Prepare to-"
"Sir, I got positive ID! They're Centrality ships!"
Saito was stunned. So their allies had come....
A slow laughter left his mouth.
}
"Hail the commanding officer of the Centralite fleet! We have much to discuss...."
Meanwhile, on Arpaad's surface...
"I hope this unannounced visit of your fleet is worthwhile, Dictator. A friendly fire incident was highly likely," said the miffed First Consul of the CAR.
"Well, I wanted to keep the press in the dark as much as possible until the Task Corps and the Army Group were already in Arpaad. They're certainly having a field day," said the hologram of Dirad Kierger.
"Indeed. This is a very risky move, Dictator. Your Task Corps and its assorted ground troops are operating far away on territory surrounded by major powers with vested interests. You still have not told me what this force will be doing."
"I intend to play it safe and keep the Task Corps and the troops in Arpaad itself, keep your capital secure while freeing your ships for other purposes. How does that sound?"
"How long will it remain here?"
"Oh I dunno. Months, perhaps?"
"Somehow your tone does not reassure me. It would be a miracle if your Task Corps stays into the New Year."
"Look, this is the best we can do, since, as you said, the risks are rather high. This is an opportunity we must grab however. People are still too worried over what's happening in the ESR to afford placing attention on us. Besides, a base in the CAR enables us to secure our remaining influence in the region."
"Influence cannot be simply be retained by force, Mr. Kierger. Our efforts require more... soft power, if I may use the term."
"Well, what else are we supposed to do? The Centrality doesn't hand out party favors like air, and our budgets are currently stretched. You're gonna rely on your own resources for your soft power efforts for the time being."
"I suppose the Central State is juggling too many priorities at this stage. Now if you may excuse me, I have my own worries to attend."
Kierger merely grunted in approval, and his hologram disappeared, leaving the First Consul to return to his work.
Unreal Time/Late 3401
Arpaad, capital of the Central Arpaad Republic, was the prime stronghold of Centralism in the fractured Outlands after the ruin of Aray at the hands of the Karlacks. It could not claim to be as developed as Aray, but it was valuable enough to be chosen as the new capital once Aray fell. Predictably, it was well defended by the standards of Outlander worlds, though no one expected Arpaad to hold out against a determined attack from any of the major powers bordering the region. Today, though, Arpaadians could take comfort that this would be yet another typical day.
No one expected the visitors who came unannounced from hyperspace.
Sensors went mad on the now-CARS (Central Arpaad Republic Ship) Grinning Gilgamesh, as technicians tried to determine the identity of the arriving vessels. A scowling Deacon Saito, the infamous Suffocator of Oblast, marched into the bridge, bellowing out, "What in the Nine Araynan Hells are we facing?!"
"Still identifying unknowns, sir," responded a technician.
"Numbers?"
"Around 30 capital vessels of varying sizes and function, and an unknown number of smaller ships, including troop transports, it appears."
Saito growled. "A force like that can cause us serious damage. Our defense fleet's scattered and reinforcements aren't forthcoming. Prepare to-"
"Sir, I got positive ID! They're Centrality ships!"
Saito was stunned. So their allies had come....
A slow laughter left his mouth.
}"Hail the commanding officer of the Centralite fleet! We have much to discuss...."
Meanwhile, on Arpaad's surface...
"I hope this unannounced visit of your fleet is worthwhile, Dictator. A friendly fire incident was highly likely," said the miffed First Consul of the CAR.
"Well, I wanted to keep the press in the dark as much as possible until the Task Corps and the Army Group were already in Arpaad. They're certainly having a field day," said the hologram of Dirad Kierger.
"Indeed. This is a very risky move, Dictator. Your Task Corps and its assorted ground troops are operating far away on territory surrounded by major powers with vested interests. You still have not told me what this force will be doing."
"I intend to play it safe and keep the Task Corps and the troops in Arpaad itself, keep your capital secure while freeing your ships for other purposes. How does that sound?"
"How long will it remain here?"
"Oh I dunno. Months, perhaps?"
"Somehow your tone does not reassure me. It would be a miracle if your Task Corps stays into the New Year."
"Look, this is the best we can do, since, as you said, the risks are rather high. This is an opportunity we must grab however. People are still too worried over what's happening in the ESR to afford placing attention on us. Besides, a base in the CAR enables us to secure our remaining influence in the region."
"Influence cannot be simply be retained by force, Mr. Kierger. Our efforts require more... soft power, if I may use the term."
"Well, what else are we supposed to do? The Centrality doesn't hand out party favors like air, and our budgets are currently stretched. You're gonna rely on your own resources for your soft power efforts for the time being."
"I suppose the Central State is juggling too many priorities at this stage. Now if you may excuse me, I have my own worries to attend."
Kierger merely grunted in approval, and his hologram disappeared, leaving the First Consul to return to his work.
An inhabitant from the Island of Cars.
-
Force Lord
- Jedi Council Member
- Posts: 1562
- Joined: 2008-10-12 05:36pm
- Location: Rio Piedras, San Juan, Puerto Rico
- Contact:
Re: The First Vision
The First Vision
Unreal TimeThere she was, the girl. She was in that phase in life where cuteness began to give way to beauty. Her flowing black hair, her light brown skin, her slender physique... a marvel for the eyes. Her personality seemed to match her appearance: innocent, kind, intelligent, strong, and above all, wise. She was, in his eyes, perfect.
But he knew better.
He knew that, deep inside her, was a fury that would ingite stars.
And how! Many, many times did he had to remind her that anger was a tool to be used, never to succumb to. Rage narrowed down your focus, made you ignore the larger picture. Far too many stories had been made of powerful individuals failing to control their anger and thus falling to the most simple tricks. Control was necessary. Always.
At least she knew this truth. When she wanted something that she couldn't get, she pouted only for a brief time, something he could handle. What he couldn't handle was her 'cutesy face'. Even at the age she was, it still worked.
"Master, can we go to the park? Pretty please? I'll do the house chores for the next week!", she said, doing her best 'anime eyes' impression.
He could not help but chuckle at this.
"Okay young miss, but don't forget your promise! I'll whip you up a prize food when you finish your chores for the week."
"Yay!", she exclaimed.
He could see her running to her room, apparently getting ready for their little excursion. He needed to get ready himself too. Walking to the bathroom, he looked himself at the mirror....
Suddenly, Dirad Kierger raised his eyelids. It was the middle of the night.
He did not move, uncertain as to what he had just dreamed. But the dream seemed all too real... was it a vision?
Just who was that girl? The Master she mentioned, was it himself?
Deciding that it wasn't worth thinking too much about it, Kierger closed his eyelids and went back to sleep.
An inhabitant from the Island of Cars.