We have a Chaos Battleship (test version), maybe five Cylon Battlestars and accompanied resurrection ship (those poor fools), Chaos Space Marines ("Blood for the Blood God!" I feel is soon going to become an 'infamous' line among the Colonials for good reason), Cylon Mooks (I could so see something like this happening), Boarding Craft (on both sides), Foul Sorceries (for fun and profit!), and soon afterwards, Politics.
Yeah, interesting is an understatement.
The Open Door (megacrossover)
Moderator: LadyTevar
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Robo Jesus
- Padawan Learner
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LadyTevar
- White Mage
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Politics?
*Shudders*
*Shudders*
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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holyknight
- Youngling
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- Location: In a dark alley, slaying the Cultists of Wanknfiction
- Contact:
Truly something what Daemons could concoct......along with Tax Pay, of course....LadyTevar wrote:Politics?
*Shudders*
A devoted follower of the Chaos Goddess and her way.....
Buck Murdock: Oh, cut the bleeding heart crap, will ya? We've all got our switches, lights, and knobs to deal with, Striker. I mean, down here there are literally hundreds and thousands of blinking, beeping, and flashing lights, blinking and beeping and flashing - they're *flashing* and they're *beeping*. I can't stand it anymore! They're *blinking* and *beeping* and *flashing*! Why doesn't somebody pull the plug!
Buck Murdock: Oh, cut the bleeding heart crap, will ya? We've all got our switches, lights, and knobs to deal with, Striker. I mean, down here there are literally hundreds and thousands of blinking, beeping, and flashing lights, blinking and beeping and flashing - they're *flashing* and they're *beeping*. I can't stand it anymore! They're *blinking* and *beeping* and *flashing*! Why doesn't somebody pull the plug!
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Academia Nut
- Sith Devotee
- Posts: 2598
- Joined: 2005-08-23 10:44pm
- Location: Edmonton, Alberta
Longish, expository chapter, but we're moving closer to the point in time where everything explodes.
Chapter Twenty-four: Corruption
She sat comfortably in an advanced wheel chair with integrated monitoring equipment and IV lines, wrapped up snugly in warm blankets and a nurse at her side at all times. Under most circumstances this would be considered sumptuous treatment, but a tiny part of her mind noted that this was all to keep her controlled. That the chair was a cage as much as transport, the nurse a jailer as much as healer, and the chemicals in her blood chained her as well as healed her.
Unfortunately that little voice got smaller and smaller each day, not just as the pharmaceuticals wore away her will to resist, but as the desire to resist these people faded with all the things they did for her. They cared for her, honestly and truly, and it was hard to hate someone who did that. And hate was the only emotion she could use in warding against them.
Sure, they had been the ones who had shot her in the first place, but technically she supposed that she and… and… someone… had kind of attacked first. But once they had her in their captivity they had treated her fairly and given her excellent medical treatment, including the replacement of all the organs blown out of her abdomen by the bolter shell. They had explained everything they had done to her, even the psychological tricks they were using to subvert her will.
For example, her ‘nurse’ combined the modern medical term and the original term, a pun that had been somewhat lost on her until it had been explained. They had then explained that aside from the fact that it was fairly standard for female nurses to actually breastfeed patients, the act when combined with some of the pharmaceutical agents in her blood, some of them manufactured within the nurse’s body, they would regress her mind into a more child-like state where it would be easier to shape her opinions.
They were such insidious bastards, but when she was half asleep on hypnotics and had a touch of hallucinogens in her blood and she was being held up against a warm bosom like a babe, it was really hard to think ill about her captors. Or to even feel that what was being done to her was a bad thing.
Or, as her nurse said while Vita was suckling away, “We learned our lessons quite well from those who came before. Machiavelli was wrong, it is better to be loved than feared. It is harder to make someone love you than fear you, but it is also harder to break those bonds. Chaos will shower you in gifts and love, and all we ask is that you love us back.”
And as narcotic laced human milk flowed over her tongue, Vita found it hard to disagree. These Chaos people were sick, twisted psychopaths who got a kick out of dismembering their enemies, but they were also lovely, gentle people towards their friends and family. They were also perverted to the extreme and other such lovely things, but they expressed those sorts of things differently depending on who you were, so that patients got breast fed by large bosomed women and enemies in the midst of battle got… tentacles. That was all they had explained to her, smiling too broadly about it, letting her fill in the blanks.
Somehow, after getting to know them, she actually doubted it was as bad as the let on. They seemed to enjoy letting people think the worst of them so that they could pleasantly surprise them later.
For example, in most cultures, large numbers of heavily armed and armoured soldiers wearing way too many skulls invading a children’s hospital would be cause for concern, but here it was a way to cheer up the patients.
Of course, the patients needed cheering up, considering how many of them were here. A few days ago, if she had counted the rise and fall of the sun properly, there had been a sudden massive influx of wounded and sick children to the hospital, something the nurses had been commenting on. Aside from the noise and crowding level suddenly jumping up, it had also affected Vita’s treatment schedule, meaning that she was significantly more lucid than before.
Then again, they probably wanted her lucid for this demonstration. Those that safely could be moved had all been brought out to the bright, green, well maintained front lawn where a number of terrifying looking soldiers were waiting, along with a strange batch of other people. Set with her wheelchair to one side, Vita was afforded a front row seat and a good view of the crowd of children.
About half to two-thirds of them weren’t actually human, although it was hard to tell with some of them because except for a few cosmetic differences they didn’t look very alien. For some, it was just some pointed ears or funny looking foreheads, although there were also a large number of stranger children. That species seemed like humanoid birds/reptiles, with tough, leathery skin and a crest of feathers on the head instead of hair. They also seemed to be suffering from the most diverse collection of ailments, from broken bones to amputations to nasty looking diseases, where the others seemed to all be suffering from burns for the most part.
Once everyone was there, one of the doctors came forward and said, “Now I know you’re all scared, it has been a trying time for most of you, especially the last few days since you were transferred here. Many of you want to know where your parents are, and we are trying to get into contact with them if possible, but that is rather difficult at the moment. So for today we’ve decided to put on a little show for you to let you all know what you can expect in the future. Call it a ‘career day’ if you will, as some of you are already reaching the age where you will start making decisions about your life.”
Glancing over, the doctor gestured for a semi-familiar face to step forward. It was one of the men often seen patrolling the grounds, a formidable young man with an extensive network of scars across his face, dressed in gear that would be better suited to quelling a riot with extreme prejudice than patrolling the grounds of a children’s hospital, but that was just how Chaos ran: overkill was not just a word, it was a way of life.
“Hey kids! My name is Officer Bradley, and you might have seen me making sure no bad people try and get in here. What you might not know however is that I’m not just a guard here, I’m actually a police officer and in the army reserves. Now, a lot of you are new here, so you might have been hearing all sorts of rumours about the army, and the military in general. Well, I’m here to dispel them and set the record straight. You are not, repeat, not required to join the army. That is volunteer only. As a citizen, what you are required to do is be part of the reserves. Now, some of you might be asking what that means. Being part of the reserves means is that you are taught how to help the regular army if we ever need to defend our homes. Isn’t that great?” Officer Bradley explained to the kids.
It was interesting seeing the reactions among the children. Some responded with fear and trepidation, while others nodded sagely or even looked eager, and it seemed to be mostly divided along species, and thus most likely cultural, lines. One girl held up her hand and asked, “What about girls? I hear that they don’t have to go into the reserves.”
Just by her attitude alone Vita could tell that she was local. Most of the other humans were still cowering from the whole affair.
Chuckling, Officer Bradley replied, “Well little lady, that’s depends on what exactly you want to do with your life. The gods have mandated a large population increase, so any woman who has three or more children by her twentieth birthday can opt not to join the reserves to instead concentrate on raising her kids.”
“Does that make us ‘walking baby making machines beholden to a husband’?” The girl asked, obviously quoting an adult at the end there.
Laughing, Bradley said, “Well now maybe I should pass it over to Sister Roxanne here.”
Taking a step back, Bradley let a woman take centre stage, one who was decked out in a wide degree of religious iconography and carrying a very large sword strapped to her back. Smiling, she said, “As the good officer said, I am Sister Roxanne, a priestess to the Female Trinity, and I was asked to come here to dispel any misgivings the girls in the audience might have about their futures. The gods ask that we be fruitful and multiply, and they back up their request with many tax breaks and social programs for women who have large families, but they do not force pregnancy and marriage upon women. Three of the four gods are female, and they would not tolerate a male dominated society like that. If they so choose, women like me can become leaders, both spiritual and material, or technicians or engineers or soldiers or any of the careers a man can do. Yes, it’s a little bit harder than if you take a more traditional path, but then again, men don’t have to join the reserves either if they wish to pursue a few of the special careers open to both sexes.”
A smallish man with glasses and extensive cybernetic work coughed lightly in the back. Turning, Roxanne offered the stage to him, and he stepped forward. Grinning broadly at the crowd of children, the man said, “I guess this makes it a good time to step in. My name is Dr. Walberg, although I’m not a medical doctor like the fine ladies and gentlemen that are taking care of you here. No children, I’m a researcher who uses knowledge of the universe, either granted directly by the gods or obtained through experimentation, to help create a new and better tomorrow. In the past twenty-five years since Third Impact we have made incredible strides forward in all areas of science and technology. Improvements in surgery and cybernetics are what will make sure that many of you will be able to run and play with your friends instead of being crippled for life. Extensive factory and farm automation is what will allows so many to live lives of luxury, pursuing arts and even greater sciences for the glory of the gods. Of course, getting the doctor title takes a great deal of work, and in their wisdom, the gods grant any who wish to pursue such schooling a reprieve from serving in the reserves or starting a family. Not all people who take up such paths will make it, but they are not punished, just asked to pick a new path for their life.”
One of the alien children finally had the temerity to raise a hand, and Dr. Walberg immediately acknowledged him. Stuttering a bit, the feathered boy asked, “What of us who are new to the might of your gods and magic?”
Grinning, Dr. Walberg said, “You will of course be caught up as best you can, and allowed to choose your path in life as if you were any other citizen. We need all the people we can get, be they human, penguin, or…” Pausing, Dr. Walberg looked over to one of the doctors, who whispered something in his ear. Continuing, the scientist said, “Or Syracusan. Although I should note that most of what we do isn’t magic.”
“That would be where I should step in,” said one of the large, armoured men in the back. Bowing out, Dr. Walberg let the blue and gold giant step forward for his turn.
“Now as I understand it, some of you might have already seen some of my brothers, so I understand if you are scared by my appearance, but you really have nothing to fear. I am a Space Marine, favoured of the gods, and some of their highest, most sacred laws forbid the harming of children. No, you should know that I or any of my brothers, from any of the chapters would gladly die to protect you. That out of the way, I was asked to come here to speak not just for the Heralds of Tzintchi, but for psykers in general. Psychic powers are one of the crown jewels for humanity since the ascension of the gods, and those of you who demonstrate a capacity with such things will be greatly rewarded in whatever career you follow, for while the training to control your powers is more difficult, the benefits speak for themselves,” the marine said before casually flicking out a hand and causing a sword lunge aimed at the back of his head to stop dead. “Precognition and telekinesis are but two of the many benefits. In the case of the Heralds of Tzintchi, our psychic powers grow to the point where… well…”
The Herald then let the telekinesis holding the other Marine back drop, causing the sword to plunge through his helmet, emerging out the other side. There were numerous cries of fear from the assembled children, but the Herald just held up a hand and said, “Don’t worry kids, I’m alright.”
This actually caused a segment of the audience to start crying more.
Sliding his sword out of the Herald’s head, the man who did it said, “Don’t fear children. That was just a show, so you could see what Tzintchi’s might can do. Brother, if you would remove your helmet?”
Removing his helmet, the Herald allowed everyone to see what was beneath his armour. Or rather, what wasn’t. Instead of flesh and blood, there was a collection of faintly glowing sand assembled into a shifting facsimile of a human head. The marine with the sword passed his weapon through the Herald’s head a few times to show that it did no damage.
Sheathing his weapon, the marine said, “That was just a demonstration of some of the things the Heralds of Tzintchi are capable of. Vast psychic power and physical immortality are but a few of the abilities they gain. However, if you are a human male, sorry aliens and girls, it has to do with simple genetics, and you think you are good enough to challenge the entry tests for the Marines, there are other chapters to consider. As a member of the Sons of Kensuke, I represent the ‘armoured fist’ of the marine chapters. Our Primarch has long sought to ensure that we acquire the best equipment, and by far we have the most armoured vehicles around. Tanks, skimmers, gunships, you name it, we’ve got it. Our personal forges were in fact the ones that designed the World Raider assault tank, which I understand saw use by Primarch Kensuke in the Defence of Bloodhaven. So if you are interested in getting to use the best, most powerful tanks available in the service of the gods, the Sons of Kensuke are the ones to talk to.”
Stepping aside, the Son of Kensuke allowed a garishly decorated marine carrying what looked like a cross between a chainsaw and a guitar with enormous amplifiers on his shoulders to step forward. His helmet off, the children could see the broad grin permanently carved into the marine’s face. Looking over the crowd, the marine asked, “How many of you here like to have fun?” The marine waited for a few in the audience to timidly raise their hand before saying, “Well, in the Whips of Mislaato, we have fun all the time. Every day is a party, even when fighting… actually, especially when fighting, because we’ve figured out how to turn music into a weapon, so every fight rocks! Not only that, but how many of you wish you weren’t hurt? A lot I bet. Well, Mislaato teaches us how to turn pain into pleasure. For a Whip of Mislaato, getting scratched is like being tickled! Doesn’t that sound great? Actually, doesn’t this sound great?”
The Whip then began to work on the guitar, producing an impressively fast and complex number that quickly had all of the kids watching in rapt awe as he worked his armoured fingers up and down the massive guitar, producing a song of inhuman power and emotion before he turned to the group behind him and hit a power chord that caused one of the other marines to more or less explode, causing all of the children to squeal in fear.
Picking himself up off the ground, the marine so struck said, “I’m okay! I’m okay!” This time, unlike when the Herald took the sword through the head, there was actually a smattering of applause. The kids were starting to get into the show, starting to understand that no one was going to get hurt.
The marine who was downed by the Whip looked like a complete and utter mess, like he had been shot repeatedly and then left in a septic tank for a month, certainly not the sort of guy to be let near a children’s hospital, but the doctors were utterly unconcerned by his unsanitary appearance. Clearing his throat of some serious phlegm build up, the marine said, “For a Bearer of Reigle, wounds like that don’t hurt at all, and they don’t slow us down. Reigle’s gifts are many, and she above all of the other gods will love you no matter what you do. The world is changing rapidly, as many of you know far too well, and some people can’t keep up with that much change.”
The Herald of Tzintchi coughed smugly.
Making a small, annoyed hum, the Bearer continued, “But if you ever feel like you’re falling behind, don’t fret, for Reigle will be there to catch you when you fall. Not only that, but as a follower of Reigle, especially as a Bearer, you will be helping out everyone on the planet. Reigle controls all of the disease on this world, and so long as she has followers who can serve as repositories of all the sickness in the world, no one else has to get sick. Ever. Isn’t that amazing kids? For those of you born off world, that means that you and those you love will never catch a cold or get cancer or suffer from a plague as long as Reigle is around… unless of course you choose to follow her, in which case you will not suffer or die for all the little things you carry in her name. Their life will become your life, and visa versa. It’s great!”
Another marine shoved a chainsword through the Bearer’s gut and activated it, sending rotting meat flying everywhere, but the Bearer just gave the thumbs up and said, “No pain! Don’t try this at home of course, but if you join the Bearers, or Reigle in general, this sort of thing isn’t even that inconveniencing.”
Taking his sword out the Bearer, the marine flicked it clean before giving the Bearer a high five and taking his turn at centre stage. “Hey kids! I’m a Son of Toji, the do everything chapter. Unlike all of the other chapters, we emphasize elite, physical prowess in all things. So where our fellow First Founding chapter the Sons of Kensuke like to drive around in tanks a lot, we prefer to just run as fast as tanks. We might not be as tough as the Bearers, as psychic as the Heralds, as quick as the Whips, or as ferocious as the Reavers, but we also have none of their weaknesses. We can run, we can jump, we can shoot, and we can most definitely score, where the other chapters might only be able to do one or two of those things really well but not the others very good. For example, the Bearers and the Heralds are both really slow; the Whips are by far the most fragile chapter-”
“Says you,” the representative from the Whips interrupted, sticking out his tongue, which got a few smattered giggles from the kids.
“…And the Reavers are the worst long distance shots in existence,” the Son of Toji finished.
“Who needs long distance accuracy when you can close with the enemy faster than Tzintchi did against Ramiel?” The final marine to speak, decked out in red and bronze armour and wielding a massive chainsaw axe, said. The Son of Toji gestured, and the man shrugged before coming forward.
“I am a Reaver of Asukhon, as some of you who know the chapters might have already guessed. That means that I am very, very angry. All the time. No exceptions. Even now I am furious; although I should note that I am not angry at any of you, so don’t be scared. No, I look out at you, and I see the wounds on you, and I want to fly into frenzy. Kids should not suffer plasma burns. Kids should not be in hospitals. Kids should be out and about playing in the sunshine with their friends and family. When I see you, it makes me want to beg the gods for a chance to go back through the portal and start tearing apart Borg until there are none left. That is what it means to be a Reaver of Asukhon.”
The Whip snorted in disbelief.
“Okay. Being a Reaver also means that we have to get creative with the psychic powers that keep popping up in our ranks despite having very little to do with them. We do things like this,” the Reaver then vanished with the sound of air imploding inward to fill the vacancy left behind before reappearing next to the Whip and punching the marine in the face, then leaping impossibly through the air in defiance of gravity to land next to the Herald and try to head butt the psychic in the face, only to get a wave of telekinesis for his trouble.
Very quickly it all descended into a brawl between the various marines, each apparently trying in earnest to kill the others, but as the children watched it soon became obvious that it was all one big play fight as no one ever got hit by any weapons unless they could take it like the Herald or the Bearer, and even then those two only got hit in non-essential areas.
After a few spectacular minutes of whirring saws, humming blades, teleportation, flipping, jumping, and really good if destructive music that left everyone in awe, all of the marines spontaneously turned such that they were all in a line and bowed, eliciting cheers and applause from the audience.
They had made their sale. Now every little boy would want to be a Space Marine when he grew up, and everyone was now thinking about how they wanted to worship the gods. Tzintchi with his psychic powers, Mislaato with her fun loving attitude, Reigle with her self sacrificing endurance, Asukhon with her righteous wrath, or some mixture of the four.
As Vita was wheeled back to her private room, she could not help but be impressed by how comprehensive their society was. Everyone had their place, had a path to follow, and everything worked. It might be some sort of twisted version of a regular society, but it worked. It might be called Chaos, but while individual members were allowed freedom overall it was very orderly.
“Wasn’t that a nice presentation Vita?” The nurse taking care of her asked.
“Nice,” Vita said groggily, the chemicals in her blood keeping her from saying much else. She then added on rather sadly, “Too bad it doesn’t matter to me.”
“Oh now, just because you opposed us at one point doesn’t mean you can’t become a citizen and enjoy all the rights and benefits as well as bear the responsibilities that come with such a lofty position,” the nurse said reassuringly.
“No. I mean grow up. I’m stuck like this… forever,” Vita said morosely.
“Oh. You mean that weird stasis effect, the one that let you live through getting shot in the gut with a bolter. The gods are suppressing it right now, so you will indeed grow up,” the nurse said happily.
“What?” Vita cried out, trying to stand up but finding that her muscles and bones had not knit enough to allow her such freedom of action.
“You’re going to grow up Vita. I don’t know how long you’ve been in a body that young, but already you’re aging. In a few years you’ll be an adult, able to do all of the things adults do,” the nurse explained.
Vita fainted, partially from shock, but mostly because her system was so doped up she did not have the strength to stay conscious after such a world shaking revelation.
This changed everything.
Chapter Twenty-four: Corruption
She sat comfortably in an advanced wheel chair with integrated monitoring equipment and IV lines, wrapped up snugly in warm blankets and a nurse at her side at all times. Under most circumstances this would be considered sumptuous treatment, but a tiny part of her mind noted that this was all to keep her controlled. That the chair was a cage as much as transport, the nurse a jailer as much as healer, and the chemicals in her blood chained her as well as healed her.
Unfortunately that little voice got smaller and smaller each day, not just as the pharmaceuticals wore away her will to resist, but as the desire to resist these people faded with all the things they did for her. They cared for her, honestly and truly, and it was hard to hate someone who did that. And hate was the only emotion she could use in warding against them.
Sure, they had been the ones who had shot her in the first place, but technically she supposed that she and… and… someone… had kind of attacked first. But once they had her in their captivity they had treated her fairly and given her excellent medical treatment, including the replacement of all the organs blown out of her abdomen by the bolter shell. They had explained everything they had done to her, even the psychological tricks they were using to subvert her will.
For example, her ‘nurse’ combined the modern medical term and the original term, a pun that had been somewhat lost on her until it had been explained. They had then explained that aside from the fact that it was fairly standard for female nurses to actually breastfeed patients, the act when combined with some of the pharmaceutical agents in her blood, some of them manufactured within the nurse’s body, they would regress her mind into a more child-like state where it would be easier to shape her opinions.
They were such insidious bastards, but when she was half asleep on hypnotics and had a touch of hallucinogens in her blood and she was being held up against a warm bosom like a babe, it was really hard to think ill about her captors. Or to even feel that what was being done to her was a bad thing.
Or, as her nurse said while Vita was suckling away, “We learned our lessons quite well from those who came before. Machiavelli was wrong, it is better to be loved than feared. It is harder to make someone love you than fear you, but it is also harder to break those bonds. Chaos will shower you in gifts and love, and all we ask is that you love us back.”
And as narcotic laced human milk flowed over her tongue, Vita found it hard to disagree. These Chaos people were sick, twisted psychopaths who got a kick out of dismembering their enemies, but they were also lovely, gentle people towards their friends and family. They were also perverted to the extreme and other such lovely things, but they expressed those sorts of things differently depending on who you were, so that patients got breast fed by large bosomed women and enemies in the midst of battle got… tentacles. That was all they had explained to her, smiling too broadly about it, letting her fill in the blanks.
Somehow, after getting to know them, she actually doubted it was as bad as the let on. They seemed to enjoy letting people think the worst of them so that they could pleasantly surprise them later.
For example, in most cultures, large numbers of heavily armed and armoured soldiers wearing way too many skulls invading a children’s hospital would be cause for concern, but here it was a way to cheer up the patients.
Of course, the patients needed cheering up, considering how many of them were here. A few days ago, if she had counted the rise and fall of the sun properly, there had been a sudden massive influx of wounded and sick children to the hospital, something the nurses had been commenting on. Aside from the noise and crowding level suddenly jumping up, it had also affected Vita’s treatment schedule, meaning that she was significantly more lucid than before.
Then again, they probably wanted her lucid for this demonstration. Those that safely could be moved had all been brought out to the bright, green, well maintained front lawn where a number of terrifying looking soldiers were waiting, along with a strange batch of other people. Set with her wheelchair to one side, Vita was afforded a front row seat and a good view of the crowd of children.
About half to two-thirds of them weren’t actually human, although it was hard to tell with some of them because except for a few cosmetic differences they didn’t look very alien. For some, it was just some pointed ears or funny looking foreheads, although there were also a large number of stranger children. That species seemed like humanoid birds/reptiles, with tough, leathery skin and a crest of feathers on the head instead of hair. They also seemed to be suffering from the most diverse collection of ailments, from broken bones to amputations to nasty looking diseases, where the others seemed to all be suffering from burns for the most part.
Once everyone was there, one of the doctors came forward and said, “Now I know you’re all scared, it has been a trying time for most of you, especially the last few days since you were transferred here. Many of you want to know where your parents are, and we are trying to get into contact with them if possible, but that is rather difficult at the moment. So for today we’ve decided to put on a little show for you to let you all know what you can expect in the future. Call it a ‘career day’ if you will, as some of you are already reaching the age where you will start making decisions about your life.”
Glancing over, the doctor gestured for a semi-familiar face to step forward. It was one of the men often seen patrolling the grounds, a formidable young man with an extensive network of scars across his face, dressed in gear that would be better suited to quelling a riot with extreme prejudice than patrolling the grounds of a children’s hospital, but that was just how Chaos ran: overkill was not just a word, it was a way of life.
“Hey kids! My name is Officer Bradley, and you might have seen me making sure no bad people try and get in here. What you might not know however is that I’m not just a guard here, I’m actually a police officer and in the army reserves. Now, a lot of you are new here, so you might have been hearing all sorts of rumours about the army, and the military in general. Well, I’m here to dispel them and set the record straight. You are not, repeat, not required to join the army. That is volunteer only. As a citizen, what you are required to do is be part of the reserves. Now, some of you might be asking what that means. Being part of the reserves means is that you are taught how to help the regular army if we ever need to defend our homes. Isn’t that great?” Officer Bradley explained to the kids.
It was interesting seeing the reactions among the children. Some responded with fear and trepidation, while others nodded sagely or even looked eager, and it seemed to be mostly divided along species, and thus most likely cultural, lines. One girl held up her hand and asked, “What about girls? I hear that they don’t have to go into the reserves.”
Just by her attitude alone Vita could tell that she was local. Most of the other humans were still cowering from the whole affair.
Chuckling, Officer Bradley replied, “Well little lady, that’s depends on what exactly you want to do with your life. The gods have mandated a large population increase, so any woman who has three or more children by her twentieth birthday can opt not to join the reserves to instead concentrate on raising her kids.”
“Does that make us ‘walking baby making machines beholden to a husband’?” The girl asked, obviously quoting an adult at the end there.
Laughing, Bradley said, “Well now maybe I should pass it over to Sister Roxanne here.”
Taking a step back, Bradley let a woman take centre stage, one who was decked out in a wide degree of religious iconography and carrying a very large sword strapped to her back. Smiling, she said, “As the good officer said, I am Sister Roxanne, a priestess to the Female Trinity, and I was asked to come here to dispel any misgivings the girls in the audience might have about their futures. The gods ask that we be fruitful and multiply, and they back up their request with many tax breaks and social programs for women who have large families, but they do not force pregnancy and marriage upon women. Three of the four gods are female, and they would not tolerate a male dominated society like that. If they so choose, women like me can become leaders, both spiritual and material, or technicians or engineers or soldiers or any of the careers a man can do. Yes, it’s a little bit harder than if you take a more traditional path, but then again, men don’t have to join the reserves either if they wish to pursue a few of the special careers open to both sexes.”
A smallish man with glasses and extensive cybernetic work coughed lightly in the back. Turning, Roxanne offered the stage to him, and he stepped forward. Grinning broadly at the crowd of children, the man said, “I guess this makes it a good time to step in. My name is Dr. Walberg, although I’m not a medical doctor like the fine ladies and gentlemen that are taking care of you here. No children, I’m a researcher who uses knowledge of the universe, either granted directly by the gods or obtained through experimentation, to help create a new and better tomorrow. In the past twenty-five years since Third Impact we have made incredible strides forward in all areas of science and technology. Improvements in surgery and cybernetics are what will make sure that many of you will be able to run and play with your friends instead of being crippled for life. Extensive factory and farm automation is what will allows so many to live lives of luxury, pursuing arts and even greater sciences for the glory of the gods. Of course, getting the doctor title takes a great deal of work, and in their wisdom, the gods grant any who wish to pursue such schooling a reprieve from serving in the reserves or starting a family. Not all people who take up such paths will make it, but they are not punished, just asked to pick a new path for their life.”
One of the alien children finally had the temerity to raise a hand, and Dr. Walberg immediately acknowledged him. Stuttering a bit, the feathered boy asked, “What of us who are new to the might of your gods and magic?”
Grinning, Dr. Walberg said, “You will of course be caught up as best you can, and allowed to choose your path in life as if you were any other citizen. We need all the people we can get, be they human, penguin, or…” Pausing, Dr. Walberg looked over to one of the doctors, who whispered something in his ear. Continuing, the scientist said, “Or Syracusan. Although I should note that most of what we do isn’t magic.”
“That would be where I should step in,” said one of the large, armoured men in the back. Bowing out, Dr. Walberg let the blue and gold giant step forward for his turn.
“Now as I understand it, some of you might have already seen some of my brothers, so I understand if you are scared by my appearance, but you really have nothing to fear. I am a Space Marine, favoured of the gods, and some of their highest, most sacred laws forbid the harming of children. No, you should know that I or any of my brothers, from any of the chapters would gladly die to protect you. That out of the way, I was asked to come here to speak not just for the Heralds of Tzintchi, but for psykers in general. Psychic powers are one of the crown jewels for humanity since the ascension of the gods, and those of you who demonstrate a capacity with such things will be greatly rewarded in whatever career you follow, for while the training to control your powers is more difficult, the benefits speak for themselves,” the marine said before casually flicking out a hand and causing a sword lunge aimed at the back of his head to stop dead. “Precognition and telekinesis are but two of the many benefits. In the case of the Heralds of Tzintchi, our psychic powers grow to the point where… well…”
The Herald then let the telekinesis holding the other Marine back drop, causing the sword to plunge through his helmet, emerging out the other side. There were numerous cries of fear from the assembled children, but the Herald just held up a hand and said, “Don’t worry kids, I’m alright.”
This actually caused a segment of the audience to start crying more.
Sliding his sword out of the Herald’s head, the man who did it said, “Don’t fear children. That was just a show, so you could see what Tzintchi’s might can do. Brother, if you would remove your helmet?”
Removing his helmet, the Herald allowed everyone to see what was beneath his armour. Or rather, what wasn’t. Instead of flesh and blood, there was a collection of faintly glowing sand assembled into a shifting facsimile of a human head. The marine with the sword passed his weapon through the Herald’s head a few times to show that it did no damage.
Sheathing his weapon, the marine said, “That was just a demonstration of some of the things the Heralds of Tzintchi are capable of. Vast psychic power and physical immortality are but a few of the abilities they gain. However, if you are a human male, sorry aliens and girls, it has to do with simple genetics, and you think you are good enough to challenge the entry tests for the Marines, there are other chapters to consider. As a member of the Sons of Kensuke, I represent the ‘armoured fist’ of the marine chapters. Our Primarch has long sought to ensure that we acquire the best equipment, and by far we have the most armoured vehicles around. Tanks, skimmers, gunships, you name it, we’ve got it. Our personal forges were in fact the ones that designed the World Raider assault tank, which I understand saw use by Primarch Kensuke in the Defence of Bloodhaven. So if you are interested in getting to use the best, most powerful tanks available in the service of the gods, the Sons of Kensuke are the ones to talk to.”
Stepping aside, the Son of Kensuke allowed a garishly decorated marine carrying what looked like a cross between a chainsaw and a guitar with enormous amplifiers on his shoulders to step forward. His helmet off, the children could see the broad grin permanently carved into the marine’s face. Looking over the crowd, the marine asked, “How many of you here like to have fun?” The marine waited for a few in the audience to timidly raise their hand before saying, “Well, in the Whips of Mislaato, we have fun all the time. Every day is a party, even when fighting… actually, especially when fighting, because we’ve figured out how to turn music into a weapon, so every fight rocks! Not only that, but how many of you wish you weren’t hurt? A lot I bet. Well, Mislaato teaches us how to turn pain into pleasure. For a Whip of Mislaato, getting scratched is like being tickled! Doesn’t that sound great? Actually, doesn’t this sound great?”
The Whip then began to work on the guitar, producing an impressively fast and complex number that quickly had all of the kids watching in rapt awe as he worked his armoured fingers up and down the massive guitar, producing a song of inhuman power and emotion before he turned to the group behind him and hit a power chord that caused one of the other marines to more or less explode, causing all of the children to squeal in fear.
Picking himself up off the ground, the marine so struck said, “I’m okay! I’m okay!” This time, unlike when the Herald took the sword through the head, there was actually a smattering of applause. The kids were starting to get into the show, starting to understand that no one was going to get hurt.
The marine who was downed by the Whip looked like a complete and utter mess, like he had been shot repeatedly and then left in a septic tank for a month, certainly not the sort of guy to be let near a children’s hospital, but the doctors were utterly unconcerned by his unsanitary appearance. Clearing his throat of some serious phlegm build up, the marine said, “For a Bearer of Reigle, wounds like that don’t hurt at all, and they don’t slow us down. Reigle’s gifts are many, and she above all of the other gods will love you no matter what you do. The world is changing rapidly, as many of you know far too well, and some people can’t keep up with that much change.”
The Herald of Tzintchi coughed smugly.
Making a small, annoyed hum, the Bearer continued, “But if you ever feel like you’re falling behind, don’t fret, for Reigle will be there to catch you when you fall. Not only that, but as a follower of Reigle, especially as a Bearer, you will be helping out everyone on the planet. Reigle controls all of the disease on this world, and so long as she has followers who can serve as repositories of all the sickness in the world, no one else has to get sick. Ever. Isn’t that amazing kids? For those of you born off world, that means that you and those you love will never catch a cold or get cancer or suffer from a plague as long as Reigle is around… unless of course you choose to follow her, in which case you will not suffer or die for all the little things you carry in her name. Their life will become your life, and visa versa. It’s great!”
Another marine shoved a chainsword through the Bearer’s gut and activated it, sending rotting meat flying everywhere, but the Bearer just gave the thumbs up and said, “No pain! Don’t try this at home of course, but if you join the Bearers, or Reigle in general, this sort of thing isn’t even that inconveniencing.”
Taking his sword out the Bearer, the marine flicked it clean before giving the Bearer a high five and taking his turn at centre stage. “Hey kids! I’m a Son of Toji, the do everything chapter. Unlike all of the other chapters, we emphasize elite, physical prowess in all things. So where our fellow First Founding chapter the Sons of Kensuke like to drive around in tanks a lot, we prefer to just run as fast as tanks. We might not be as tough as the Bearers, as psychic as the Heralds, as quick as the Whips, or as ferocious as the Reavers, but we also have none of their weaknesses. We can run, we can jump, we can shoot, and we can most definitely score, where the other chapters might only be able to do one or two of those things really well but not the others very good. For example, the Bearers and the Heralds are both really slow; the Whips are by far the most fragile chapter-”
“Says you,” the representative from the Whips interrupted, sticking out his tongue, which got a few smattered giggles from the kids.
“…And the Reavers are the worst long distance shots in existence,” the Son of Toji finished.
“Who needs long distance accuracy when you can close with the enemy faster than Tzintchi did against Ramiel?” The final marine to speak, decked out in red and bronze armour and wielding a massive chainsaw axe, said. The Son of Toji gestured, and the man shrugged before coming forward.
“I am a Reaver of Asukhon, as some of you who know the chapters might have already guessed. That means that I am very, very angry. All the time. No exceptions. Even now I am furious; although I should note that I am not angry at any of you, so don’t be scared. No, I look out at you, and I see the wounds on you, and I want to fly into frenzy. Kids should not suffer plasma burns. Kids should not be in hospitals. Kids should be out and about playing in the sunshine with their friends and family. When I see you, it makes me want to beg the gods for a chance to go back through the portal and start tearing apart Borg until there are none left. That is what it means to be a Reaver of Asukhon.”
The Whip snorted in disbelief.
“Okay. Being a Reaver also means that we have to get creative with the psychic powers that keep popping up in our ranks despite having very little to do with them. We do things like this,” the Reaver then vanished with the sound of air imploding inward to fill the vacancy left behind before reappearing next to the Whip and punching the marine in the face, then leaping impossibly through the air in defiance of gravity to land next to the Herald and try to head butt the psychic in the face, only to get a wave of telekinesis for his trouble.
Very quickly it all descended into a brawl between the various marines, each apparently trying in earnest to kill the others, but as the children watched it soon became obvious that it was all one big play fight as no one ever got hit by any weapons unless they could take it like the Herald or the Bearer, and even then those two only got hit in non-essential areas.
After a few spectacular minutes of whirring saws, humming blades, teleportation, flipping, jumping, and really good if destructive music that left everyone in awe, all of the marines spontaneously turned such that they were all in a line and bowed, eliciting cheers and applause from the audience.
They had made their sale. Now every little boy would want to be a Space Marine when he grew up, and everyone was now thinking about how they wanted to worship the gods. Tzintchi with his psychic powers, Mislaato with her fun loving attitude, Reigle with her self sacrificing endurance, Asukhon with her righteous wrath, or some mixture of the four.
As Vita was wheeled back to her private room, she could not help but be impressed by how comprehensive their society was. Everyone had their place, had a path to follow, and everything worked. It might be some sort of twisted version of a regular society, but it worked. It might be called Chaos, but while individual members were allowed freedom overall it was very orderly.
“Wasn’t that a nice presentation Vita?” The nurse taking care of her asked.
“Nice,” Vita said groggily, the chemicals in her blood keeping her from saying much else. She then added on rather sadly, “Too bad it doesn’t matter to me.”
“Oh now, just because you opposed us at one point doesn’t mean you can’t become a citizen and enjoy all the rights and benefits as well as bear the responsibilities that come with such a lofty position,” the nurse said reassuringly.
“No. I mean grow up. I’m stuck like this… forever,” Vita said morosely.
“Oh. You mean that weird stasis effect, the one that let you live through getting shot in the gut with a bolter. The gods are suppressing it right now, so you will indeed grow up,” the nurse said happily.
“What?” Vita cried out, trying to stand up but finding that her muscles and bones had not knit enough to allow her such freedom of action.
“You’re going to grow up Vita. I don’t know how long you’ve been in a body that young, but already you’re aging. In a few years you’ll be an adult, able to do all of the things adults do,” the nurse explained.
Vita fainted, partially from shock, but mostly because her system was so doped up she did not have the strength to stay conscious after such a world shaking revelation.
This changed everything.
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen.
You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
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von Neufeld
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White Haven
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Gweee! It's the Angry Marines! SEMPER IRATUS
Out of Context Theatre, this week starring Darth Nostril.
-'If you really want to fuck with these idiots tell them that there is a vaccine for chemtrails.'
Fiction!: The Final War (Bolo/Lovecraft) (Ch 7 9/15/11), Living (D&D, Complete)
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Singular Quartet
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holyknight
- Youngling
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(bows to AN)
Masterfully crafted without doubt, and very humorous in the execution.
Hmm....given the capacity of the Warp to alter the rate on what the time passes, Vita may fully reach adulthood very soon. Also, her comments and surprise to the fact of be truly well aging....makes me think that she's likely a subject for Mislaato, with a smattering of Asukhon.....She has all the markings for someone what will REALLY get loose as she reaches adulthood.......
And that truly shall be something to contemplate.
And drool like idiots, of course
Masterfully crafted without doubt, and very humorous in the execution.
Hmm....given the capacity of the Warp to alter the rate on what the time passes, Vita may fully reach adulthood very soon. Also, her comments and surprise to the fact of be truly well aging....makes me think that she's likely a subject for Mislaato, with a smattering of Asukhon.....She has all the markings for someone what will REALLY get loose as she reaches adulthood.......
And that truly shall be something to contemplate.
And drool like idiots, of course
A devoted follower of the Chaos Goddess and her way.....
Buck Murdock: Oh, cut the bleeding heart crap, will ya? We've all got our switches, lights, and knobs to deal with, Striker. I mean, down here there are literally hundreds and thousands of blinking, beeping, and flashing lights, blinking and beeping and flashing - they're *flashing* and they're *beeping*. I can't stand it anymore! They're *blinking* and *beeping* and *flashing*! Why doesn't somebody pull the plug!
Buck Murdock: Oh, cut the bleeding heart crap, will ya? We've all got our switches, lights, and knobs to deal with, Striker. I mean, down here there are literally hundreds and thousands of blinking, beeping, and flashing lights, blinking and beeping and flashing - they're *flashing* and they're *beeping*. I can't stand it anymore! They're *blinking* and *beeping* and *flashing*! Why doesn't somebody pull the plug!
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LadyTevar
- White Mage
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The presentation makes me think of the Starship Troopers movie, with its cheesy 'help the war effort' commerical propaganda, or the Fallout series that had the same silly parodies of US Propaganda films from the 1940s and 50s.
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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Academia Nut
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I was wondering if anyone would pick up the Angry Marines reference in there. And yes, the presentation was intentionally the less sophisticated propaganda of yesteryear as while today it seems quite childish in comparison to the slick shit PR departments can put out, well, the fact that they were talking to children keys into it somewhat.
Also, next chapter.
It's got cruise control for awesome.
Chapter Twenty-five: Irritation
Petty Officer First Class Topher Walker of the Stiletto was a simple man of simple tastes. He liked his booze either straight from the bottle, or if he was feeling fancy, straight from the nipple. He enjoyed hot pizza and hotter women. He knew that professional wrestling was “real”. And he felt that devotion to the gods had its place, but that they were probably busy scheming to conquer the cosmos, so they wouldn’t have much time for a guy like him, so he rarely bothered them with prayer.
Today however he was letting loose the kind of invocations to the gods that they were bound to hear. For one, the volume of such was great enough to reach across the void of interdimensional space.
“BY ALL OF THE GODS MOVE YOU PIG-FUCKING SPAWN OF A QUADRUPLE AMPUTEE AND A SYPHILITIC WHORE!” PO Walker screamed while trying to turn a damaged bolt on the casing of one of the ship’s torpedoes. The rest of his work crew stood back in mute terror as their chief looked ready to have a stroke or to begin bashing in the casing of the two gigaton warhead they were trying to disarm.
Glancing back at them, Topher screamed, “WHAT ARE YOU CHUCKLE FUCKS DOING FUCKING ABOUT BACK THERE? COME OVER HERE AND HELP ME WITH THIS BITCH OR BY FUCKING ASUKHON I WILL RIP YOUR FUCKING HEADS OFF, SHIT DOWN YOUR NECKS, AND THEN USE WHAT LITTLE BRAINS YOU HAVE FOR LUBE WHEN I TRACK DOWN AND FUCK YOUR MOTHERS UP THE ASS!”
The entire ship then rocked slightly, causing everyone to sway about. Topher immediately cried out, “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? I SWEAR TO FUCKING TZINTCHI, IF THEY’RE FIRING THE ENGINES WITHOUT TELLING ME I WILL MARCH UP TO THE BRIDGE AND FUCK THEM SIDEWAYS WITH MY SPANNER!”
The ship rocked again in quick succession, causing Topher to point to two of his team and order, “YOU TWO, YEAH, YOU TWO! ONE OF YOU GO UP THERE AND FIGURE OUT WHAT THIS FUCKING TURBULENCE IS, WHILE THE OTHER I WANT TO GET A PLASMA CUTTER. THIS BOLT IS COMING OFF ONE WAY OR ANOTHER! THE REST OF YOU FUCKERS, COME OVER HERE AND HELP ME WITH THIS SHIT FUCKER!”
The two men who got to scurry out of the jammed torpedo tube were just glad that they could get away from the apocalyptic shouting of the pissed off petty officer.
“They’re shooting what at us?” Rong-Arya asked.
“Looks like thermonuclear weapons. We didn’t even notice the first few, they were so low in yield, but once they noticed that they were completely and utterly failing to hurt us they started throwing megaton level ordinance at us,” Ichiro-Faust elaborated.
“Damn it! The Borg already messed up some of the more delicate instruments with that stunt they pulled back at Damocles. I do not need even more paint added to our expense reports. And did the hangar doors at least get closed?” Rong-Arya asked in annoyance.
“That was the first thing we did once we had power there. They should have closed before transit into the Warp, but you know the circumstances of that incident,” Ichiro-Faust groused.
“Yeesh, anything else?” Rong-Arya asked in irritation.
“Uh… well, they tried to hack into our computers, but aside from the fact that the communications gear is physically isolated from the rest of the systems, our reactive firewalls and offensive counter viral system seems to have given them… huh… wow,” O’Hare noted before he shrugged and looked at Ichiro-Faust for confirmation.
“What happened?” Rong-Arya asked with an annoyed tone.
“Uh… one of the enemy ships appears to have detonated all of its nuclear weapons in their tubes, destroying it, while coordination between enemy elements has just dropped by about seventy percent. I guess they were highly networked and not prepared for this level of electronic warfare,” Ichiro-Faust said with a shrug.
Rong-Arya blinked a few times before she said, “This is a frigate! Not an electronic warfare cruiser, we shouldn’t be able to do that!”
Shrugging, O’Hare said, “I don’t know! The comm. gear practically has the word ‘Norton’ on its anti-virus software; it doesn’t even have a single daemon working on it. I mean, yeah, the virus is a polymorphic, adaptive, pseudo-intelligent algorithm, but unless these guys are running the slowest processors I have ever seen for a space-faring race even the Federation with its crappy computer security should be able to simply out process such a simple virus.”
“They are shooting nukes at us,” Ichiro-Faust pointed out.
“Their acceleration profiles suggests minimal to no inertial compensation as well,” Xavier added in.
Holding their forehead in frustration, Rong-Arya said, “So we’re fighting guys who have weapons that have no chance in hell of denting our armour, to say nothing of making our shields flicker once we get them up, and whose computer science is probably a couple of centuries, if not millennia, behind our own admittedly accelerated knowledge. This is worse than fighting the Federation. At least with them we could pretend that they were a threat. Tell me, please, that at least these guys have shields.”
Xavier shook his head sadly.
“For the love of! All right, is there any way they could at all threaten us?” Rong-Arya asked.
Looking over his display, Ichiro-Faust vacillated on saying something for a time before he shrugged and said, “Well… I suppose some of these contacts might be boarding ships, but they can’t actually penetrate our hull, so it’s kind of a moot point.”
Frowning, Rong-Arya finally said, “Oh fuck it. Get the transports into their storm shelters and open the hangar doors. I want to find out if these Cylons have souls.”
Getting up out of their command chair, the daemonhost unsheathed their most prized possession, a daemon weapon capable of ripping the soul out of anyone it ran through. The tortured faces of several Borg drones still swirled about the surface, their essence having yet to be consumed by the creature bound within the surface of the sword.
Today was not a good day to be a Cylon.
The crew of the Galactica looked on in stunned awe as more firepower than had been used in the genocide was hurled at the giant ship… and failed to do anything to it. They kept having to check that their sensors were working properly, because they were seeing megaton level nuclear weapons make hull contact before detonation and the ship was not perturbed in the slightest.
Also, one of the Cylon Basestars had inexplicably exploded, which had left everyone scratching their heads at that.
“Can you still raise them on the radio?” Adama asked in a hushed voice.
“Hailing now,” the communications officer said.
After a slight delay due to the propagation speed of light, a voice over the radio said, “This is communications officer Lieutenant O’Hare of the Stiletto. You are hailing us Galactica?”
“Uh… yes… we just wanted to see if you were still alive over there after all of those fireworks,” Adama admitted.
There was a slight crackle as another city killer weapon went off, to which O’Hare responded, “We’re just fine over here. A little irritated, but otherwise alright.”
“Irritated?” Adama asked in incredulous shock. “You’re getting frakking pummelled with thermonuclear weapons.”
“Yeah, well, the last guys we fought had terawatt lasers, antimatter warheads, atomic breakdown beams, and some weird shit that distorted space and time in a strange manner, and all they managed to was get us lost, so don’t worry about us,” O’Hare said dismissively.
Adama would have called bullshit to anyone else, but considering that he had seen the frakking ship take city killer missiles, he wasn’t about to argue. Instead he asked, “Okay then… incidentally where is your captain, lieutenant?”
“Oh that. We saw a bunch of boarding ships incoming so she decided to open the hangar doors and confront them. I can pass you on to our tactical officer, he’s the current ranking officer on the bridge, or send a message to the captain if you want to speak to her directly,” O’Hare replied.
Adama blinked once. He blinked twice. Then he said, “What?”
“Well, thing is that these Cylons have no actual way to hurt us, and the captain has some frustrations to work out, so she drew her sword and went down there to vent. So do you have a message for her or would you like to just sit here and chat for a while. I really have nothing better to do at the moment so I wouldn’t mind the conversation,” O’Hare said.
“You’re in battle lieutenant,” Adama said, the professional soldier in him disgusted by the casual attitude.
“Actually, we haven’t even sounded general quarters; we’ve just announced radiation warnings and recommended that people stay off the outer hull, so technically we’re not in a battle,” O’Hare replied.
“What is wrong with you people?” Adama asked.
There was a short pause from O’Hare before the lieutenant replied, “Well, depending on how you want to track it, we’re somewhere between tens of thousands to millions of years more advanced than you guys, so your weapons are like popguns to us, thus a certain amount of laxity in the situation is to be expected. I mean, seriously, we don’t even have power to half our main systems and you could shoot at us all day and it wouldn’t matter.”
“That kind of attitude leads to you getting bit in the ass,” Adama growled.
“That statement implies that you have teeth capable of penetrating our ass. This match up is like… like well a sea bass in a poorly constructed wooden barrel versus a main battle tank. The bass isn’t even a threat to the guys inside the tank, let alone the tank itself,” O’Hare said nonchalantly.
“That’s insanely arrogant,” Adama said.
“That’s reality,” O’Hare replied.
“…and that gentlemen, is how you can get a stubborn detonator out of a damaged Mk. VII anti-ship torpedo just using a little spit and elbow grease and a few strikes from a spanner,” PO Walker said, holding up the now badly mangled detonation mechanism to his wide eyed crew.
“Now that the detonator has been safely removed, we can drain the warhead’s fuel tanks without risking initiation, and then break out the meltas and free up the parts fused to the launch tube so we can take this entire bitch out. Shouldn’t take more than half an hour if we put our backs into it,” Topher said with a smile.
Up above a man popped his head into the jammed tube and said, “Hey PO, the LT says that we’ve got power back to the lifts, so if you’ve got your tube cleared, he wants a fresh one in the pipe ASAP.”
“Damn it man, we can get it cleared right quick, but the tube is still damaged,” Topher said.
The messenger just shrugged and said, “Port tube won’t be fixed until we get back to dry dock, and the torpedoes have internal power systems so we can fire them at minimal power.”
Grumbling while his men worked to drain the warhead of its fuel, PO Walker said, “Yeah, well that is what you get when you improperly fuse these things to deal with ships lacking void shields. Disabling the terminal approach of the fuse means that these things are hot the moment they leave the tubes.”
“Incidentally, we’re apparently fighting guys who don’t have shields, period, so we’re going to need the torpedoes fused like the last battle,” the messenger said before ducking out.
“WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST SAY? DID I NOT JUST SAY THAT WE WERE IN THIS FUCKING SITUATION BECAUSE OF THAT SHIT YOU LITTLE FUCKWAD! FUCK!” Topher screamed out while waving his spanner in the general direction of the retreating man.
The Cylons were… confused. They had heard a great warning against a new ship that had appeared, one who’s very presence was offensive to God, and that they needed everything they could to deal with it. Occupation fleets and even defensive fleets for their own worlds had been called away, such that more and more ships were arriving every moment, but so far the blasphemy had yet to respond to their presence in a meaningful way.
Even when they had nuked it.
So far, the only response had been a hacking that had managed to reprogram the nuclear weapons in one of the Basestars into thinking that they had just made contact, causing them to initiate and destroy the ship. But there had been no follow up attempts though, indicating to some that perhaps the attack had been accidental.
Still, for most of the Cylons, they had orders to destroy the strange, gargantuan ship at all costs, even if it meant ignoring the hated Galactica. Only the bio-Cylons had the free will to question such things, and none of them were on the boarding ships that would hopefully do what nuclear weapons had not.
The Centurions aboard the transports had not the initiative to wonder why the hangar doors had opened for them in between launching from their Basestars and their arrival at the ship. Nor did they question why such an obvious weak point was undefended. They simply disembarked, weapons at the ready, while Raiders remained in station keeping formations just outside the hangar doors.
The only thing that could be said to have worried the Centurions was the fact that their tactical subroutines were warning that this had a high probability of being a trap. Still, as their numbers swelled into the thousands and they continued to secure the hangar, they wondered if the trap would ever be sprung.
Then they opened the first door to the inside of the ship.
The air lock was filled with a fluid the colour of rotten bile, and upon contact with the Centurions that had opened the door the unfortunate robots immediately began to run away in fear and pain, two things that had been programmed into them at that moment by the contagions that contacted them. The tiniest droplet that came in contact with their metal frames was enough to cause death as rusting corruption quickly spread, consuming and destroying them.
Of course, by running in a panic they spread the fluid about, causing dozens more Centurions to be infected. As the fiftieth soldier was contaminated, the order was given to execute those already infected before they could spread the metal eating disease further.
The order to cease fire was given a second after the order to fire, for the bullets veered off on impossible vectors, time and space warping within the confines of the hangar bay so that instead of putting down the infected Centurions, they instead returned to the Cylons that had fired, ripping them to shreds.
At about that time the hangar bay doors abruptly slammed shut, sealing several thousand Centurions inside. The Raider immediately opened fire, but their shots just flattened harmlessly or ricocheted dangerously back at them.
Inside the hangar atmosphere was returned and airlocks began to open to release the anti-boarding crews, lead by an extremely annoyed Captain Arya-Rong. The Centurions opened fire, but again space warped to ensure that none of their bullets went where they were supposed to. Some of them noted that this effect was probably why the humans were carrying melee weapons.
And then the repulsion team struck the robots and the metal started flying.
Despite being organics, the humans were unnaturally strong and tough, their mono-edged axes and swords more than capable of cleaving through Centurion armour with contemptible ease. Worse yet, there was one human female that appeared to be on fire with no ill effects who was mowing through Centurions single handed, and worst of all, aboard the Resurrection Ship the memories from those slain by her were refusing to show up. It was as if anyone she killed was simply… erased.
The battle was over far, far too quickly for the Cylons liking, and while things did not entirely go the way of the enemy, full auto fire at ranges of less than a metre could still hit the psychopathic brutes, the fact of the matter was that the Cylons were in over their heads in the worst way possible.
Sitting back down in her chair on the bridge, Rong-Arya brushed a lock of hair out of their face and said cheerfully, “Well that was refreshing. Did anything interesting happen while I was away?”
All the bridge officers shrugged dismissively. Ichiro-Faust said, “The starboard torpedo tube has been cleared and is being readied for firing as we speak.”
“Oh? Excellent. Which ship do you think we should target?” Rong-Arya asked.
“There are three ships hanging well back from the main formation that seem to be major communications hubs for the others, so I would guess that they are command ships,” Lieutenant O’Hare pointed out.
Looking at the data, Ichiro-Faust said, “If we target the central ship we should be able to catch one or both of the other ships in the explosion.”
“Very well then, let’s do that. How long until the rest of our weapons are operational?” Rong-Arya asked.
“We can probably get some of the fusion batteries online in an hour or so,” Ichiro-Faust replied.
“Eh… if they don’t scatter after this I guess we’ll just have to wait an hour to finish them off,” Rong-Arya said with a shrug. “Do we have a targeting solution?”
“We do. This will also please the crew techs down there as an optimal detonation requires the activation of the terminal phase in the torpedo,” Ichiro-Faust reported.
“Good. Also, point of note, we need to work out a way to properly fuse the torpedoes against enemies where the terminal phase is unnecessary,” Rong-Arya said before saying dismissively, “Fire.”
To the Cylon and Colonial sensors, the Stiletto launched a single missile the size of a small office building, and then two of the three Resurrection Ships they had brought along to service the armada of Basestars and Raiders vanished in an impossibly huge ball of white plasma a few seconds later.
This was for the simple fact that their sensors relied upon electromagnetic radiation and assumed that any physical object they encountered would not be moving close to the speed of light. Unfortunately for them, the plasma torpedo accelerated to 0.8c in approximately three seconds, crossing the ten light seconds that separated the Stiletto from its target in approximately fifteen seconds. This meant that for almost the entirety of its flight any signals bounced off the torpedo returned either red or blue shifted, and more significantly, the torpedo passed through sweep regions faster than the sensors could mechanically track.
Only in the last second before the volatile plasma warhead detonated did it slow down to the point where it could be tracked, although this involved firing its engine hard enough that the backwash obliterated the majority of its target so even then the Cylons never really knew what hit them before two gigatons of terrible light and heat swept over their ships, flashing thousands of minds into vapour in an instant.
A single shot had just killed more Cylons than any other event in the war, and it had slipped past a good twenty Basestars to do so.
The ship they faced could shrug off thermonuclear warheads like rain, was filled with organics stronger than Centurions, and could one shot two of their most protected ships with contemptuous ease. This truly was a demon ship.
The Cylons broke and ran. They had nothing that they could throw against this monster right now.
Adama was speechless. He had been moving the Galactica well away from the Stiletto since the Cylons appeared and thanking the gods that they did not seem interested in his people, but then right before he had given the order to jump away from the monster fleet assembling the ship had gone and done something like that.
There was only one thing to do right now.
“Call up the Stiletto again. Let’s see if that offer to follow them is still good,” Adama said, swallowing his pride.
Also, next chapter.
It's got cruise control for awesome.
Chapter Twenty-five: Irritation
Petty Officer First Class Topher Walker of the Stiletto was a simple man of simple tastes. He liked his booze either straight from the bottle, or if he was feeling fancy, straight from the nipple. He enjoyed hot pizza and hotter women. He knew that professional wrestling was “real”. And he felt that devotion to the gods had its place, but that they were probably busy scheming to conquer the cosmos, so they wouldn’t have much time for a guy like him, so he rarely bothered them with prayer.
Today however he was letting loose the kind of invocations to the gods that they were bound to hear. For one, the volume of such was great enough to reach across the void of interdimensional space.
“BY ALL OF THE GODS MOVE YOU PIG-FUCKING SPAWN OF A QUADRUPLE AMPUTEE AND A SYPHILITIC WHORE!” PO Walker screamed while trying to turn a damaged bolt on the casing of one of the ship’s torpedoes. The rest of his work crew stood back in mute terror as their chief looked ready to have a stroke or to begin bashing in the casing of the two gigaton warhead they were trying to disarm.
Glancing back at them, Topher screamed, “WHAT ARE YOU CHUCKLE FUCKS DOING FUCKING ABOUT BACK THERE? COME OVER HERE AND HELP ME WITH THIS BITCH OR BY FUCKING ASUKHON I WILL RIP YOUR FUCKING HEADS OFF, SHIT DOWN YOUR NECKS, AND THEN USE WHAT LITTLE BRAINS YOU HAVE FOR LUBE WHEN I TRACK DOWN AND FUCK YOUR MOTHERS UP THE ASS!”
The entire ship then rocked slightly, causing everyone to sway about. Topher immediately cried out, “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? I SWEAR TO FUCKING TZINTCHI, IF THEY’RE FIRING THE ENGINES WITHOUT TELLING ME I WILL MARCH UP TO THE BRIDGE AND FUCK THEM SIDEWAYS WITH MY SPANNER!”
The ship rocked again in quick succession, causing Topher to point to two of his team and order, “YOU TWO, YEAH, YOU TWO! ONE OF YOU GO UP THERE AND FIGURE OUT WHAT THIS FUCKING TURBULENCE IS, WHILE THE OTHER I WANT TO GET A PLASMA CUTTER. THIS BOLT IS COMING OFF ONE WAY OR ANOTHER! THE REST OF YOU FUCKERS, COME OVER HERE AND HELP ME WITH THIS SHIT FUCKER!”
The two men who got to scurry out of the jammed torpedo tube were just glad that they could get away from the apocalyptic shouting of the pissed off petty officer.
“They’re shooting what at us?” Rong-Arya asked.
“Looks like thermonuclear weapons. We didn’t even notice the first few, they were so low in yield, but once they noticed that they were completely and utterly failing to hurt us they started throwing megaton level ordinance at us,” Ichiro-Faust elaborated.
“Damn it! The Borg already messed up some of the more delicate instruments with that stunt they pulled back at Damocles. I do not need even more paint added to our expense reports. And did the hangar doors at least get closed?” Rong-Arya asked in annoyance.
“That was the first thing we did once we had power there. They should have closed before transit into the Warp, but you know the circumstances of that incident,” Ichiro-Faust groused.
“Yeesh, anything else?” Rong-Arya asked in irritation.
“Uh… well, they tried to hack into our computers, but aside from the fact that the communications gear is physically isolated from the rest of the systems, our reactive firewalls and offensive counter viral system seems to have given them… huh… wow,” O’Hare noted before he shrugged and looked at Ichiro-Faust for confirmation.
“What happened?” Rong-Arya asked with an annoyed tone.
“Uh… one of the enemy ships appears to have detonated all of its nuclear weapons in their tubes, destroying it, while coordination between enemy elements has just dropped by about seventy percent. I guess they were highly networked and not prepared for this level of electronic warfare,” Ichiro-Faust said with a shrug.
Rong-Arya blinked a few times before she said, “This is a frigate! Not an electronic warfare cruiser, we shouldn’t be able to do that!”
Shrugging, O’Hare said, “I don’t know! The comm. gear practically has the word ‘Norton’ on its anti-virus software; it doesn’t even have a single daemon working on it. I mean, yeah, the virus is a polymorphic, adaptive, pseudo-intelligent algorithm, but unless these guys are running the slowest processors I have ever seen for a space-faring race even the Federation with its crappy computer security should be able to simply out process such a simple virus.”
“They are shooting nukes at us,” Ichiro-Faust pointed out.
“Their acceleration profiles suggests minimal to no inertial compensation as well,” Xavier added in.
Holding their forehead in frustration, Rong-Arya said, “So we’re fighting guys who have weapons that have no chance in hell of denting our armour, to say nothing of making our shields flicker once we get them up, and whose computer science is probably a couple of centuries, if not millennia, behind our own admittedly accelerated knowledge. This is worse than fighting the Federation. At least with them we could pretend that they were a threat. Tell me, please, that at least these guys have shields.”
Xavier shook his head sadly.
“For the love of! All right, is there any way they could at all threaten us?” Rong-Arya asked.
Looking over his display, Ichiro-Faust vacillated on saying something for a time before he shrugged and said, “Well… I suppose some of these contacts might be boarding ships, but they can’t actually penetrate our hull, so it’s kind of a moot point.”
Frowning, Rong-Arya finally said, “Oh fuck it. Get the transports into their storm shelters and open the hangar doors. I want to find out if these Cylons have souls.”
Getting up out of their command chair, the daemonhost unsheathed their most prized possession, a daemon weapon capable of ripping the soul out of anyone it ran through. The tortured faces of several Borg drones still swirled about the surface, their essence having yet to be consumed by the creature bound within the surface of the sword.
Today was not a good day to be a Cylon.
The crew of the Galactica looked on in stunned awe as more firepower than had been used in the genocide was hurled at the giant ship… and failed to do anything to it. They kept having to check that their sensors were working properly, because they were seeing megaton level nuclear weapons make hull contact before detonation and the ship was not perturbed in the slightest.
Also, one of the Cylon Basestars had inexplicably exploded, which had left everyone scratching their heads at that.
“Can you still raise them on the radio?” Adama asked in a hushed voice.
“Hailing now,” the communications officer said.
After a slight delay due to the propagation speed of light, a voice over the radio said, “This is communications officer Lieutenant O’Hare of the Stiletto. You are hailing us Galactica?”
“Uh… yes… we just wanted to see if you were still alive over there after all of those fireworks,” Adama admitted.
There was a slight crackle as another city killer weapon went off, to which O’Hare responded, “We’re just fine over here. A little irritated, but otherwise alright.”
“Irritated?” Adama asked in incredulous shock. “You’re getting frakking pummelled with thermonuclear weapons.”
“Yeah, well, the last guys we fought had terawatt lasers, antimatter warheads, atomic breakdown beams, and some weird shit that distorted space and time in a strange manner, and all they managed to was get us lost, so don’t worry about us,” O’Hare said dismissively.
Adama would have called bullshit to anyone else, but considering that he had seen the frakking ship take city killer missiles, he wasn’t about to argue. Instead he asked, “Okay then… incidentally where is your captain, lieutenant?”
“Oh that. We saw a bunch of boarding ships incoming so she decided to open the hangar doors and confront them. I can pass you on to our tactical officer, he’s the current ranking officer on the bridge, or send a message to the captain if you want to speak to her directly,” O’Hare replied.
Adama blinked once. He blinked twice. Then he said, “What?”
“Well, thing is that these Cylons have no actual way to hurt us, and the captain has some frustrations to work out, so she drew her sword and went down there to vent. So do you have a message for her or would you like to just sit here and chat for a while. I really have nothing better to do at the moment so I wouldn’t mind the conversation,” O’Hare said.
“You’re in battle lieutenant,” Adama said, the professional soldier in him disgusted by the casual attitude.
“Actually, we haven’t even sounded general quarters; we’ve just announced radiation warnings and recommended that people stay off the outer hull, so technically we’re not in a battle,” O’Hare replied.
“What is wrong with you people?” Adama asked.
There was a short pause from O’Hare before the lieutenant replied, “Well, depending on how you want to track it, we’re somewhere between tens of thousands to millions of years more advanced than you guys, so your weapons are like popguns to us, thus a certain amount of laxity in the situation is to be expected. I mean, seriously, we don’t even have power to half our main systems and you could shoot at us all day and it wouldn’t matter.”
“That kind of attitude leads to you getting bit in the ass,” Adama growled.
“That statement implies that you have teeth capable of penetrating our ass. This match up is like… like well a sea bass in a poorly constructed wooden barrel versus a main battle tank. The bass isn’t even a threat to the guys inside the tank, let alone the tank itself,” O’Hare said nonchalantly.
“That’s insanely arrogant,” Adama said.
“That’s reality,” O’Hare replied.
“…and that gentlemen, is how you can get a stubborn detonator out of a damaged Mk. VII anti-ship torpedo just using a little spit and elbow grease and a few strikes from a spanner,” PO Walker said, holding up the now badly mangled detonation mechanism to his wide eyed crew.
“Now that the detonator has been safely removed, we can drain the warhead’s fuel tanks without risking initiation, and then break out the meltas and free up the parts fused to the launch tube so we can take this entire bitch out. Shouldn’t take more than half an hour if we put our backs into it,” Topher said with a smile.
Up above a man popped his head into the jammed tube and said, “Hey PO, the LT says that we’ve got power back to the lifts, so if you’ve got your tube cleared, he wants a fresh one in the pipe ASAP.”
“Damn it man, we can get it cleared right quick, but the tube is still damaged,” Topher said.
The messenger just shrugged and said, “Port tube won’t be fixed until we get back to dry dock, and the torpedoes have internal power systems so we can fire them at minimal power.”
Grumbling while his men worked to drain the warhead of its fuel, PO Walker said, “Yeah, well that is what you get when you improperly fuse these things to deal with ships lacking void shields. Disabling the terminal approach of the fuse means that these things are hot the moment they leave the tubes.”
“Incidentally, we’re apparently fighting guys who don’t have shields, period, so we’re going to need the torpedoes fused like the last battle,” the messenger said before ducking out.
“WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST SAY? DID I NOT JUST SAY THAT WE WERE IN THIS FUCKING SITUATION BECAUSE OF THAT SHIT YOU LITTLE FUCKWAD! FUCK!” Topher screamed out while waving his spanner in the general direction of the retreating man.
The Cylons were… confused. They had heard a great warning against a new ship that had appeared, one who’s very presence was offensive to God, and that they needed everything they could to deal with it. Occupation fleets and even defensive fleets for their own worlds had been called away, such that more and more ships were arriving every moment, but so far the blasphemy had yet to respond to their presence in a meaningful way.
Even when they had nuked it.
So far, the only response had been a hacking that had managed to reprogram the nuclear weapons in one of the Basestars into thinking that they had just made contact, causing them to initiate and destroy the ship. But there had been no follow up attempts though, indicating to some that perhaps the attack had been accidental.
Still, for most of the Cylons, they had orders to destroy the strange, gargantuan ship at all costs, even if it meant ignoring the hated Galactica. Only the bio-Cylons had the free will to question such things, and none of them were on the boarding ships that would hopefully do what nuclear weapons had not.
The Centurions aboard the transports had not the initiative to wonder why the hangar doors had opened for them in between launching from their Basestars and their arrival at the ship. Nor did they question why such an obvious weak point was undefended. They simply disembarked, weapons at the ready, while Raiders remained in station keeping formations just outside the hangar doors.
The only thing that could be said to have worried the Centurions was the fact that their tactical subroutines were warning that this had a high probability of being a trap. Still, as their numbers swelled into the thousands and they continued to secure the hangar, they wondered if the trap would ever be sprung.
Then they opened the first door to the inside of the ship.
The air lock was filled with a fluid the colour of rotten bile, and upon contact with the Centurions that had opened the door the unfortunate robots immediately began to run away in fear and pain, two things that had been programmed into them at that moment by the contagions that contacted them. The tiniest droplet that came in contact with their metal frames was enough to cause death as rusting corruption quickly spread, consuming and destroying them.
Of course, by running in a panic they spread the fluid about, causing dozens more Centurions to be infected. As the fiftieth soldier was contaminated, the order was given to execute those already infected before they could spread the metal eating disease further.
The order to cease fire was given a second after the order to fire, for the bullets veered off on impossible vectors, time and space warping within the confines of the hangar bay so that instead of putting down the infected Centurions, they instead returned to the Cylons that had fired, ripping them to shreds.
At about that time the hangar bay doors abruptly slammed shut, sealing several thousand Centurions inside. The Raider immediately opened fire, but their shots just flattened harmlessly or ricocheted dangerously back at them.
Inside the hangar atmosphere was returned and airlocks began to open to release the anti-boarding crews, lead by an extremely annoyed Captain Arya-Rong. The Centurions opened fire, but again space warped to ensure that none of their bullets went where they were supposed to. Some of them noted that this effect was probably why the humans were carrying melee weapons.
And then the repulsion team struck the robots and the metal started flying.
Despite being organics, the humans were unnaturally strong and tough, their mono-edged axes and swords more than capable of cleaving through Centurion armour with contemptible ease. Worse yet, there was one human female that appeared to be on fire with no ill effects who was mowing through Centurions single handed, and worst of all, aboard the Resurrection Ship the memories from those slain by her were refusing to show up. It was as if anyone she killed was simply… erased.
The battle was over far, far too quickly for the Cylons liking, and while things did not entirely go the way of the enemy, full auto fire at ranges of less than a metre could still hit the psychopathic brutes, the fact of the matter was that the Cylons were in over their heads in the worst way possible.
Sitting back down in her chair on the bridge, Rong-Arya brushed a lock of hair out of their face and said cheerfully, “Well that was refreshing. Did anything interesting happen while I was away?”
All the bridge officers shrugged dismissively. Ichiro-Faust said, “The starboard torpedo tube has been cleared and is being readied for firing as we speak.”
“Oh? Excellent. Which ship do you think we should target?” Rong-Arya asked.
“There are three ships hanging well back from the main formation that seem to be major communications hubs for the others, so I would guess that they are command ships,” Lieutenant O’Hare pointed out.
Looking at the data, Ichiro-Faust said, “If we target the central ship we should be able to catch one or both of the other ships in the explosion.”
“Very well then, let’s do that. How long until the rest of our weapons are operational?” Rong-Arya asked.
“We can probably get some of the fusion batteries online in an hour or so,” Ichiro-Faust replied.
“Eh… if they don’t scatter after this I guess we’ll just have to wait an hour to finish them off,” Rong-Arya said with a shrug. “Do we have a targeting solution?”
“We do. This will also please the crew techs down there as an optimal detonation requires the activation of the terminal phase in the torpedo,” Ichiro-Faust reported.
“Good. Also, point of note, we need to work out a way to properly fuse the torpedoes against enemies where the terminal phase is unnecessary,” Rong-Arya said before saying dismissively, “Fire.”
To the Cylon and Colonial sensors, the Stiletto launched a single missile the size of a small office building, and then two of the three Resurrection Ships they had brought along to service the armada of Basestars and Raiders vanished in an impossibly huge ball of white plasma a few seconds later.
This was for the simple fact that their sensors relied upon electromagnetic radiation and assumed that any physical object they encountered would not be moving close to the speed of light. Unfortunately for them, the plasma torpedo accelerated to 0.8c in approximately three seconds, crossing the ten light seconds that separated the Stiletto from its target in approximately fifteen seconds. This meant that for almost the entirety of its flight any signals bounced off the torpedo returned either red or blue shifted, and more significantly, the torpedo passed through sweep regions faster than the sensors could mechanically track.
Only in the last second before the volatile plasma warhead detonated did it slow down to the point where it could be tracked, although this involved firing its engine hard enough that the backwash obliterated the majority of its target so even then the Cylons never really knew what hit them before two gigatons of terrible light and heat swept over their ships, flashing thousands of minds into vapour in an instant.
A single shot had just killed more Cylons than any other event in the war, and it had slipped past a good twenty Basestars to do so.
The ship they faced could shrug off thermonuclear warheads like rain, was filled with organics stronger than Centurions, and could one shot two of their most protected ships with contemptuous ease. This truly was a demon ship.
The Cylons broke and ran. They had nothing that they could throw against this monster right now.
Adama was speechless. He had been moving the Galactica well away from the Stiletto since the Cylons appeared and thanking the gods that they did not seem interested in his people, but then right before he had given the order to jump away from the monster fleet assembling the ship had gone and done something like that.
There was only one thing to do right now.
“Call up the Stiletto again. Let’s see if that offer to follow them is still good,” Adama said, swallowing his pride.
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen.
You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
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Robo Jesus
- Padawan Learner
- Posts: 156
- Joined: 2006-01-05 07:01am
Is it me, or does it sound like these Cylons have a C'tan Overlord or deranged Warp God manipulating them here. Beyond that little observation, this chapter was fucking cool.Academia Nut wrote:They had heard a great warning against a new ship that had appeared, one who’s very presence was offensive to God, and that they needed everything they could to deal with it.
EDIT: Two problems. The first is cultural. How do I put this. Not everyone uses the same name (with the same meaning) for animals like "Bass", "Whale", "Minnow", etc. Considering that these people would not have been able to carry entirely complete ecosystems (especially animal wise) on their ships when they left Kobol, and considering the different languages and cultures involved, most of these creatures and their names should be drawing blank looks and confusion from them.
Secondly, the Colonials don't have Tanks. At least not as we understand tanks. Tanks only came about because of WWI and Trench Warfare. The Colonials don't have any real equivilant of "heavy ground armor". To them, orbital bombardment is the 'be all, end all' of artillery. Factor in the light 'troop' transports these people have, and the Colonials focused almost exclusively on troop movement rather than on heavy armor. Hell, even the Cylons were essentially built around that strategy and lacked the equipment needed to take down something like a tank.
The Colonials aren't stupid, they just followed an entirely different path in regards to warfare (infantry over equipment, with 'heavy' equipment generally being spaceborne in nature leading to an underdevelopment in regards to ground equipment and weapons).
Last edited by Robo Jesus on 2008-08-17 03:41pm, edited 1 time in total.
This is sickening... You sound like chapters from a self-help booklet! Prepare yourselves!
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von Neufeld
- Padawan Learner
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Singular Quartet
- Sith Marauder
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- Location: This is sky. It is made of FUCKING and LIMIT.
Important fucking fact: Nils Olav just became Sir Nils Olav.
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LadyTevar
- White Mage
- Posts: 23827
- Joined: 2003-02-12 10:59pm
I wonder what Head-Six is thinking about all this...?
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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Academia Nut
- Sith Devotee
- Posts: 2598
- Joined: 2005-08-23 10:44pm
- Location: Edmonton, Alberta
1) I'm thinking it will be revealed that Pen-Pen is a direct descendent of Nils motherfucking Olav. They deserve each other in the family tree.
2) I am tempted to add in a bit about Adama wondering what the frak an underwhat speaker and a guy sitting in a storage container has to do with anything.
3) This is post New Caprica. I have no real idea about nBSG so call it a side-universe to explain away any inconsistencies, but when Chaos finds out how the Galactica got some of those burn marks they will immediately offer Adama a job for having balls of solid adamantium.
2) I am tempted to add in a bit about Adama wondering what the frak an underwhat speaker and a guy sitting in a storage container has to do with anything.
3) This is post New Caprica. I have no real idea about nBSG so call it a side-universe to explain away any inconsistencies, but when Chaos finds out how the Galactica got some of those burn marks they will immediately offer Adama a job for having balls of solid adamantium.
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen.
You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
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dragon
- Sith Marauder
- Posts: 4151
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Singular Quartet
- Sith Marauder
- Posts: 3896
- Joined: 2002-07-04 05:33pm
- Location: This is sky. It is made of FUCKING and LIMIT.
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holyknight
- Youngling
- Posts: 112
- Joined: 2005-12-18 11:05pm
- Location: In a dark alley, slaying the Cultists of Wanknfiction
- Contact:
1) Feel free to do so...likely something like that will be mentioned for another penguin, as they write the history of their race from the "Day of Enlightenment", where the Gods blessed the Penguin Race with the gift of intelligent sentience and the Gods's arts, along with the Emperor of the Penguins, and Mislaato's blessed elixir.....Yebisu.....Academia Nut wrote:1) I'm thinking it will be revealed that Pen-Pen is a direct descendent of Nils motherfucking Olav. They deserve each other in the family tree.
2) I am tempted to add in a bit about Adama wondering what the frak an underwhat speaker and a guy sitting in a storage container has to do with anything.
3) This is post New Caprica. I have no real idea about nBSG so call it a side-universe to explain away any inconsistencies, but when Chaos finds out how the Galactica got some of those burn marks they will immediately offer Adama a job for having balls of solid adamantium.
2) Likely that bit, will last, until Rong-Arya or someone else, as the Colonials do visit the Stiletto, shows to Adama a World Raider SHT(Super Heavy Tank), then it's a given that Adama will cringe as he understands the expression finally, specially as he likely met some of the Space Marines beforehand.
3)A Job? heck, it wouldn't startle me one bit if they offer him such job, with the added option of Daemon Princehood for the kicks. However, once they get the full gist of the Cylon's massacre of the 12 Colonies...it wouldn't be strange to me that they decide to rally their followers into a small.....Chaos Crusade....to get more followers.....that, or send to the Colonies their equivalent of the "Dark Apostles" to spread Chaos among the likely ready-to-embrace-anything, survivors of the nuclear holocaust on the Colonies what weren't found for the Cylons or turned into ambient contamination for the Nuke rain.
Hmm...It would be also a good idea, to incorporate a relate or POV from a Syracusan, from the "Holy day where the Gods and their servants did reveal on all their glory to our people" or such rabble, yadda, yadda, yaddah.......
PS: i await to see Adult Vita! on all it's unholy and decadent glory....
PPS: Yeah, i'm a bit of a perv, but who cares??.......
A devoted follower of the Chaos Goddess and her way.....
Buck Murdock: Oh, cut the bleeding heart crap, will ya? We've all got our switches, lights, and knobs to deal with, Striker. I mean, down here there are literally hundreds and thousands of blinking, beeping, and flashing lights, blinking and beeping and flashing - they're *flashing* and they're *beeping*. I can't stand it anymore! They're *blinking* and *beeping* and *flashing*! Why doesn't somebody pull the plug!
Buck Murdock: Oh, cut the bleeding heart crap, will ya? We've all got our switches, lights, and knobs to deal with, Striker. I mean, down here there are literally hundreds and thousands of blinking, beeping, and flashing lights, blinking and beeping and flashing - they're *flashing* and they're *beeping*. I can't stand it anymore! They're *blinking* and *beeping* and *flashing*! Why doesn't somebody pull the plug!
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Setesh
- Jedi Master
- Posts: 1113
- Joined: 2002-07-16 03:27pm
- Location: Maine, land of the Laidback
- Contact:
And yet it has always been thus, at least according to some:
And this offering from the tube a Noisemarine conversion Hellhammer Baneblade
LoudBlade
And this offering from the tube a Noisemarine conversion Hellhammer Baneblade
LoudBlade
"Nobody ever inferred from the multiple infirmities of Windows that Bill Gates was infinitely benevolent, omniscient, and able to fix everything. " Argument against god's perfection.
My Snow's art portfolio.
My Snow's art portfolio.
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Academia Nut
- Sith Devotee
- Posts: 2598
- Joined: 2005-08-23 10:44pm
- Location: Edmonton, Alberta
Good news everyone. I have a sort of map of the multiverse. No, I am not showing you, not yet anyway, as some of the stuff is still in development and it is a crappy two dimensional representation of what really should be a three dimension representation of something along the lines of a six or seven dimensional construct. Done on a white board. And photographed with a cell phone camera. It will also reveal the areas of interest.
Also, one more chapter of fallout and hinting at the scope of the battle before I get back to Star Trek and the lead up to the epicness, so overall probably two or three chapters until you get to see what went down between the Borg and the Stiletto. Then probably a chapter with Haruhi, some follow up with Stargate leading into what the TSAB is up to before finding out what is going down in nBSG world before moving on to what is happening in Sunnydale and 40k and...
Fuck do I have a lot of plot threads going at once. Oh well, at least I'll never have to worry about running out of ideas.
Also, the Slaaneshi Baneblade? Rocks! \m/
Also, one more chapter of fallout and hinting at the scope of the battle before I get back to Star Trek and the lead up to the epicness, so overall probably two or three chapters until you get to see what went down between the Borg and the Stiletto. Then probably a chapter with Haruhi, some follow up with Stargate leading into what the TSAB is up to before finding out what is going down in nBSG world before moving on to what is happening in Sunnydale and 40k and...
Fuck do I have a lot of plot threads going at once. Oh well, at least I'll never have to worry about running out of ideas.
Also, the Slaaneshi Baneblade? Rocks! \m/
I love learning. Teach me. I will listen.
You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
You know, if Christian dogma included a ten-foot tall Jesus walking around in battle armor and smashing retarded cultists with a gaint mace, I might just convert - Noble Ire on Jesus smashing Scientologists
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von Neufeld
- Padawan Learner
- Posts: 188
- Joined: 2003-02-27 03:23pm
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The Grim Squeaker
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 10319
- Joined: 2005-06-01 01:44am
- Location: A different time-space Continuum
- Contact:
The gods ask that we be fruitful and multiply, and they back up their request with many tax breaks and social programs for women who have large families
I mean, yeah, the virus is a polymorphic, adaptive, pseudo-intelligent algorithm, but unless these guys are running the slowest processors I have ever seen for a space-faring race even the Federation with its crappy computer security should be able to simply out process such a simple virus.”
Holding their forehead in frustration, Rong-Arya said, “So we’re fighting guys who have weapons that have no chance in hell of denting our armour, to say nothing of making our shields flicker once we get them up, and whose computer science is probably a couple of centuries, if not millennia, behind our own admittedly accelerated knowledge. This is worse than fighting the Federation. At least with them we could pretend that they were a threat. Tell me, please, that at least these guys have shields.”
“For the love of! All right, is there any way they could at all threaten us?” Rong-Arya asked.
“Well… I suppose some of these contacts might be boarding ships, but they can’t actually penetrate our hull, so it’s kind of a moot point.”
I still have quibbles with your original style differences over 40k, but this fic is highly amusing, I think i'll get back to reading it.
KISS Marines indeed, I guess the tongue would count as a force or sonic weapon?
Photography
Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands and the blood has been cleaned up.
To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.
Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands and the blood has been cleaned up.
To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.
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Setesh
- Jedi Master
- Posts: 1113
- Joined: 2002-07-16 03:27pm
- Location: Maine, land of the Laidback
- Contact:
Its a delivery system for sensory chaos slime.DEATH wrote:
I still have quibbles with your original style differences over 40k, but this fic is highly amusing, I think i'll get back to reading it.
KISS Marines indeed, I guess the tongue would count as a force or sonic weapon?
"Nobody ever inferred from the multiple infirmities of Windows that Bill Gates was infinitely benevolent, omniscient, and able to fix everything. " Argument against god's perfection.
My Snow's art portfolio.
My Snow's art portfolio.
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The Grim Squeaker
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 10319
- Joined: 2005-06-01 01:44am
- Location: A different time-space Continuum
- Contact:
Hmmm, talk about giving pleasure with a tongueSetesh wrote:Its a delivery system for sensory chaos slime.DEATH wrote:
I still have quibbles with your original style differences over 40k, but this fic is highly amusing, I think i'll get back to reading it.
KISS Marines indeed, I guess the tongue would count as a force or sonic weapon?
Photography
Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands and the blood has been cleaned up.
To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.
Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands and the blood has been cleaned up.
To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.
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holyknight
- Youngling
- Posts: 112
- Joined: 2005-12-18 11:05pm
- Location: In a dark alley, slaying the Cultists of Wanknfiction
- Contact:
........I DEFINITIVELY didn't wanted that kind of images on my head, bloody damnit!!DEATH wrote:Hmmm, talk about giving pleasure with a tongueSetesh wrote:Its a delivery system for sensory chaos slime.DEATH wrote:
I still have quibbles with your original style differences over 40k, but this fic is highly amusing, I think i'll get back to reading it.
KISS Marines indeed, I guess the tongue would count as a force or sonic weapon?
A devoted follower of the Chaos Goddess and her way.....
Buck Murdock: Oh, cut the bleeding heart crap, will ya? We've all got our switches, lights, and knobs to deal with, Striker. I mean, down here there are literally hundreds and thousands of blinking, beeping, and flashing lights, blinking and beeping and flashing - they're *flashing* and they're *beeping*. I can't stand it anymore! They're *blinking* and *beeping* and *flashing*! Why doesn't somebody pull the plug!
Buck Murdock: Oh, cut the bleeding heart crap, will ya? We've all got our switches, lights, and knobs to deal with, Striker. I mean, down here there are literally hundreds and thousands of blinking, beeping, and flashing lights, blinking and beeping and flashing - they're *flashing* and they're *beeping*. I can't stand it anymore! They're *blinking* and *beeping* and *flashing*! Why doesn't somebody pull the plug!