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Thread: Serious Bznss -- a Star Control 2 AAR

  1. #1

    Default Serious Bznss -- a Star Control 2 AAR

    1. Notes, comments, etc:

    After not-too-long debate with myself I decided to repost this from another site for the basic purpose of picking it up from where I've left it and trying to, if not finish, at least push it forward as much as possible.

    First and foremost I must acknowledge that the idea behind this story has been haunting me ever since I read the Last Ringbearer (highly recommended stuff). The AAR is based on the Star Control 2 (SC for short) universe.

    If you know the game, ignore the following few paragraph and skip to point 3. If you've never played it, however, I cannot stress enough how good it is. And I must also immediately warn you it's ooooooold, very very old, ancient even so if you are looking for a fancy eye-candy stuff, look away and ignore everything I say It's a scifi rpg/space combat game. The plot, however, ah, the plot is plain and simple fantastic and probably the best I've ever seen in a game. No joke. Here is what wiki has to say about it, which is not much and really does not give due credit

    2. (Abridged) Plot of the Star Control 2 game:

    I'll try to write a very brief chronology here, if reading wiki is not your thing. Don't quote me on precise timing though List of races can be found here

    So sometime in the not-so distant future (2112) we finally manage to establish first contact with the Chenjesu, a highly advanced, hyperspace-traveling silicon-based race. Soon after we find out that space is, surprise, teeming with little green men and before we know it, we got recruited into a large scale, all-out galactic war on the side of the "good guys". You may ask why the hell someone as advanced as them should have a need of someone as primitive as us. Beats me, but after all who doesn't need a bunch of highly aggressive, trigger-happy primates armed with a seemingly unlimited supply of crude but effective nuclear warheads Oh, and guess who recruited us...

    There are many many other, truly ingenious developments both about the very well-thought-out aliens and their histories, interactions, technology, feuds etc and about our own progress as species that you need to play the game to figure out. I don't want to spoil any of the fun

    I any case, before the ink had time to dry under the signatures of the human delegation to the Alliance HQ, we immediately proceed to happily reducing our newly found enemies (the merciless Ur-Quan) into fine radioactive dust for quite some time. However, despite our best efforts and those of our Alliance of Free Stars (put together by guess who), we get the short end of the stick at the end of the day. The "enemy" (the Hierarchy of Battle Thralls, ruled by the Ur-Quan) discovers some ultra-powerful weapons belonging to some long-gone ultra-advanced race and beat us bloody good. Leaving us staring down (up?) along the still smoking barrels of the Ur-Quan dreadnoughs parked in low-Earth orbit, pondering hard whether to join them and their Battle Thralls on their (anti-?) crusade to either eliminate or enslave all sentient life in the universe or to call it a day and become happily grounded for good under an impenetrable shield, away from any harm but also from any fun for eternity.

    Naturally, we bite our collective lip and call it a day.

    Only to have our glorious captain (you) getting back from the dead and kicking the Hierarchy behinds all the way to the edge of the galaxy and beyond and establishing world peace and other such good things. Then we all proceed to live happily ever after.

    3. AAR

    What has always bugged me about the plot is the loose starting position. So I decided to change it and elaborate on what could have happened, what others believed has happened, what was planned to happen and what we were told was happening in that faithful year of 2112. To do this, I'll try to tell the story from the point of view of the other side (the Hierarchy), for the events between the start of the Alliance vs Hierarchy war and somewhere around the time of our involvement. To do this I need to (sometimes significantly) modify certain things from the SC2 universe (and add/remove others), so from the very beginning I plead guilty in front of the hard-core fans of the series for not following the cannon. Be merciful!

    Alright, time to get this thing fired up! Put your seat belts on, bear with me and enjoy the ride! And definitely let me know if I should just give up and shove this up, well, somewhere or other

    The story begins in 2110, the year when supposedly "the Chenjesu-Mrmhmmr defeated an initial assault by the Hierarchy".
    Last edited by Yeepeep; November 20, 2012 at 12:46 AM.
    [CW] Zero Kelvin [in progress]
    [MTW2 SS] Weder heilig noch Römisch [on a ridiculously long hiatus]
    [RTW RS] My dearest Clymene [a single-chapter commemoration]
    [RTW RS] The enemy of my enemy [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Snakes in the sands [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Omnes viae Romam ducunt [suspended]



  2. #2

    Default Re: Serious Bznss -- a Star Control 2 AAR

    2110
    Delta Draconis I


    The bass was so heavy that the floor kept shuddering like an agonizing animal, throwing the Umgah off her chair for the fifth time in a row. Between the deafening noise coming from the club, the Umgah's continuous giggling and the thick smoke screen spreading from the Thraddash, it was impossible to talk about business. Still, the Ur-Quan was radiant. He was the last to sign the agreement and did it in such a pompously flamboyant way that part of his signature continued on the table. The Kohr-Ah bouncers at the door were not impressed but he noticed with certain satisfaction the grunt of annoyance coming from the Thraddash. The brute shifted his massive frame, obviously irritated by the claustrophobic space of the briefing room and roared.

    "Can somebody go tell them to put the damn music down for a minute. I can't think straight when my ears feel like a herd of horny rhinos are galloping through my head!", he glared maliciously at the two Kohr-Ah.

    The Ur-Quan ignored him and continued.

    "…and now allow me to finish this historic meeting by proposing a toast! My stunning Lady", he winked playfully at the Umgah then turned towards the rest of the crown, "gentlemen, please join me in raising a glass in hand, tentacle, claw and, uhm…" he looked perplexed at the Chenjesu, "…energy field (?) and let us drink to the beginning of this new era of carnal pleasure! As my old man was saying - let the fun begin!"

    = = =

    During the party following the trade agreement, the Ur-Quan, quite intoxicated and looking for a place to relieve himself of certain bodily fluids, accidentally stumbled upon the Chenjesu representative in one the more isolated alcoves of the venue.

    "Master Chenjesu! What are you doing here, pal, the party is on the other side of the building? Or is somebody looking for a secluded place to have some, er, private fun without noticing the rest of the gang!?", the Ur-Quan grinned sheepishly.

    "…"

    "You are awfully quiet tonight, you know. And what's with all the dark currents running through your shiny crystals tonight? I think I've never seen anything like that. Then again, I haven't really seen much of you guys anyway. Oh, I got it! Somebody is already buuuuuzzed now, isn't he? That's the spirit, pal!"

    He tried to slap the Chenjesu on the back didn't realizing it didn't have a back. Too intoxicated to notice the shock that ran through his body when his tentacles touched the crystal, the Ur-Quan happily stumbled away, trying to whistle an obscene song he has heard from an old trader a long time ago. The Chenjesu waited for him to disappear behind the nearest corner then resumed it's transmission.
    [CW] Zero Kelvin [in progress]
    [MTW2 SS] Weder heilig noch Römisch [on a ridiculously long hiatus]
    [RTW RS] My dearest Clymene [a single-chapter commemoration]
    [RTW RS] The enemy of my enemy [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Snakes in the sands [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Omnes viae Romam ducunt [suspended]



  3. #3

    Default Re: Serious Bznss -- a Star Control 2 AAR

    2110
    Delta Draconis I


    The shelling has gone for far too long, even for the taste of the Thraddash Commander. He didn't particularly mind the orbital bombardment but it was getting annoying. Worse still, he was running out of cigars and this might turn into a serious problem.

    True, he did enjoy the attack in the beginning as it kept the boys occupied. The sudden appearance of hundreds of HyperSpace bubbles at the outskirts of Delta Draconis was as unexpected and surprising as the unexplained communication blackout from Procyon, mere hours after the prodigious party commemorating the signing of the trade agreement. Initially everyone thought it must have been a ridiculous navigation error. Immediately people started speculating on what the penalties would be for the Chenjesu admiral in charge of the fleet. Some even set bets on the severity of the punishment, the most outrages odds offered by, of course, the Ur-Quan. Knowing the boring rules of the strict Chenjesu society, however, nobody really expected any significant or exciting development for the admiral. Still, the always keen on new business opportunities Umgah representative offered him/her/it? right away comprehensive full-body regenerative treatments at a discount price. How on Delta Draconis was she supposed to deliver the promise, knowing the kind but stiff refusal of the Flying Space Crystals for any "biological contamination on their most pristine bodies", was beyond the Thraddash imagination.

    The excitement from the spreading gambling swiftly turned into a concerned silence when the approaching fleet vaporized the outer system defenses without a warning and beelined for the Thraddash homeworld. While there were a few among the Thraddash who still believed this must be an honest mistake or a questionable joke, the majority of the population took the act of invasion as a sincere insult to their dignity and decided to act accordingly. Namely, they prudently headed in good order for the always available bunkers and trenches strategically distributed around the globe and waited for "them damn space rocksies to come and get it".

    After the initial panic among the non-Thraddash Trade Committee Delegates, those of them who could leave the system in short notice did so. The Umgah excused themselves with "we have some urgent matters to tend to, so farewell to you fellow, er, fun-lovers" and zipped backwards out of the system as soon as the first crystal shards started hitting the Thraddash fortifications in the Kuiper Belt. The Kohr-Ah simply evacuated their personnel from Delta Draconis I and retreated to their massive ships but, curiously enough, did not leave the system. In stead, they coasted to L2 an settled there, announcing neutrality and "keeping an eye on the situation as it develops". Without a doubt, the Thraddash commander attributed the questionable behavior of the Kohr-Ah to their inferior courage. He was virtually certain they did want to leave the system as well but their bulky fleet was too slow to accomplish such a cowardly feat so instead they pretended to be neutral and hoped for the best.

    "How pathetic of them", the Commander thought, "but of course nothing less is expected from a race so sensitive to their, ugh, war ineptness. If only it wasn't for the Chenjesu's favoritism and for those abominable combat augmentations that the damned Mrnmmrhrm sold them, we would have rid the Galaxy of the sorry Kohr-Ah a$$es a long time ago…"

    The reaction of the Ariloulaleelai delegation was even stranger than that of the Kohr-Ah. Nobody was surprised when all the cute little green men teleported out of the surface but quite a few eyebrow-raising-equivalents followed when their puny Skiffs sped towards the approaching Broodhomes. If it wasn't for the very capable communications officer on board one of the Ur-Quan Great Trade Ships, the world would have not known of the shady dealings between the Chenjesu and the Arilou. As it was, the world did find out but it took some time. The officer managed to pick up bits and pieces of their narrow-beam signals, luckily reflected off the great many numbers of dust particles in the outer regions of the stellar system. Lucky or not, the encryption was beyond any of his, or of anybody else on Delta Draconis I, decoding abilities so it took at least 2 weeks before a proper team was assembled to solve this mystery. Even more unlucky for the poor Ur-Quan themselves, they were the only ones who could not evacuate the planet in time and were literally stuck in the mud with the Thraddash.

    At the end of the day, the Broodhome fleet didn't really achieve much with their attack. For a species as stubborn and physically tough as the Thraddash, the pathetic attempt of what the Chenjesu thought to be a proper exercise in orbital artillery preparation was merely a sign of, well, weakness. After all, when you don't even mind blowing a few nukes over your own head, why should you be alarmed of some rocks falling from the skies?

    "Then again", the Commander thought, "such blatant lack of, er, sterile precision from species widely known for their pedantic obsession with perfection is, to put it mildly, perplexing. Why aren't they targeting the major military installations but are instead doing this, what did the sneaky Arilou say these humans call it, carpet bombing? Sure they managed to vaporize a city or two but now what, I'm asking?!"

    Whatever the reasons of the Chenjesu's unorthodox military tactics, he wasn't excessively concerned about the situation anyway. Which was the complete opposite for his comrade-in-trench. The Ur-Quan Trader next to him was visibly agitated and if it was not for the pathetic excuse of armored suit covering the Trader's body, the Thraddash would have seen his companion sweating profusely.

    "Damn them crystal cowards", his train of thought continued with plain irritation, "hiding in their ugly flying pieces of space dirt. If they had real guts instead of whatever they have in their silicon they would have come down and face us one on one."

    He bursted into a long series of grunts, whistles and snorts (what is supposed to be the human version of manic laughter) startling the nearby Ur-Quan Trader.

    "What's so funny, Commander?", the Ur-Quan eyed him suspiciously, "I don't really find anything particularly amusing in our current situation."

    It took several minutes for the Thraddash to calm down, during which his companion was getting even more restless.

    "What's not funny, Trademaster 12? I was just thinking how epicly pathetic it is of the oh-so-great Chenjesu who do not have the courage to come down and express their frustration face to face but instead hover above our homeworld like mosquitoes peppering us with droppings. But then I thought, who does?", the commander bellowed, exceedingly proud of his wit.

    "I appreciate your humor, Commander, but am afraid I can't join in your musings. Let me remind you that we are still in the middle of a vicious and uncalled-for attack by one of our partners! Your people may not find this too disturbing (which I cannot even start to attempt to comprehend) but the rest of us are uncomfortable with such hostility. Not to mention that we are deeply worried about the situation. We stayed behind when all the rest of the delegates turned tail only because we honor our friendship and are morally bound to help you in this troubled hour. You know well, Commander, that our Great Trade Ships are no war vessels but we are determined to use them as best as we could to at least hamper the treacherous attackers. As we speak, my brethren are fighting an uphill battle above our heads, giving their lives to buy time for all those who want to evacuate the system. So please keep your humor, however amusing it is, for better times. If you be so kind."

    The Thraddash remained silent for a few minutes, fumbling around his clothes, obviously looking for something. The Ur-Quan thought he could start seeing the famous signs of the battle fever enveloping the Thraddash when they run out of smoking supplies.

    "Trademaster 12, I did not mean to offend you. We highly appreciate your help and your sacrifice will not be in vain. I've been informed that a detachment of Torches have been dispatched to our location from the HQ with ETA of 10 days. When they arrive, it will be our honor to provide the Chenjesu's answers. But until then, I'm afraid there is little we can do. If they continue the bombardment much longer there will be little left to save here besides finely pulverized radioactive dust. Of course I do not care if we die or not. Many will die but some will live on, well hidden in our deepest shelters. The Trade Agreement will live on and the Thraddash survivors will honor it, do not doubt it Trademaster 12. But truth be told, I don't quite know how to proceed at the moment. And I really need to light one right now."

    "No offense taken, Commander. I've been discussing the situation with the other Trademasters and we may have a suggestion for you. It is somewhat radical but bear with me for a second. A shuttle is ready to take me back to my ship but before I take my leave we must discuss something. This is not a widely advertised information, Commander, but all our cargo shuttles are HyperSpace-capable. Once I'm back on board, we will initiate a suicidal but what our simulations show a moderately successful attack on the Broodhomes by ramming their ships and detonating our fusion reactors. We do not, of course, plan to be on the ships when this happens but will instead try to sneak out in the confusion and leave the system. If most of this works, we have a chance to escape and in the process significantly disrupt the Chenjesu fleet. In the meantime, you guys do what you do best -- let all hell loose and "nuke yourselves back into the stone age". This may convince them that you have once again plunged into chaos, making further bombardment pointless so they will probably stop the attack and leave. Or it may not. This part of the plan is kind of dicey. But if, as you said, the bombs keep falling there are not many choices really. As for us, we may have to keep a low profile for the time being as well, but darn it Commander, we have to come back -- there are no other options, you understand?"

    The nicotine-deprived Thraddash nodded absent-mindedly.
    [CW] Zero Kelvin [in progress]
    [MTW2 SS] Weder heilig noch Römisch [on a ridiculously long hiatus]
    [RTW RS] My dearest Clymene [a single-chapter commemoration]
    [RTW RS] The enemy of my enemy [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Snakes in the sands [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Omnes viae Romam ducunt [suspended]



  4. #4

    Default Re: Serious Bznss -- a Star Control 2 AAR

    2110
    Procyon


    Incoming Transmission…
    Type: Hyperspace, Output, Military, Secure, Narrow-Band, High-Cadence
    Priority Level: 2.11
    Security Protocol: 03.2.61-44
    Frequency Range: (6.6 -- 7.2)e24 Hz
    Authentication Requested…
    Time Lapse: 12.4 ps
    Authentication Verified…Resume Transmission:

    From: Rear Admiral Bznss Zkktk
    Coordinates of Origin: 253.5 : 835.8 (Delta Draconis)
    Subject: Progress Report, Fleet Group North - Coreward (FGN-C)

    Re:

    "Target has neutralized itself. The Thraddash have initiated yet another MAD, falling within the uncertainty of our simulations. We consider any further use of military force on them impractical.

    As predicted, the Arilou have complied with our requests and are now officially compromised. We recommended they retreat from the scene until further notice.

    We have met with a weak resistance, comprised mostly of the local militia and the Ur-Quan Great Trade Ships (GTS). Battle Summary as follows.

    Fleet losses:
    - 14 destroyed
    - 4 badly damaged (Hyperspace core destabilized, deemed unrepairable in the requested time)
    - 11 with medium damage (Hyperspace worthy but with a high probability of drive failure)
    - 8 with superficial damage (minor hull and structure hits)

    Enemy losses:
    - 46 GTS
    - 28 Thraddash Torches
    - 2 Umgah Drones

    Comments:
    The high percent of casualties sustained by our fleet is due to the self-destruction of the GTS. This is not likely to be a common battle tactic as it is highly detrimental to the enemy.

    Misc:
    - The GTS used some of their cargo shuttles as a strike craft. Such a behavior has never been observed before. The attempt was highly ineffective but distracting. We recommend further investigation.
    - The status of the Ur-Quan Delegation is unknown. Some of their cargo shuttles showed Hyperspace signatures before disappearing from the scanners. A search among the debris is under way. Regardless of the outcome, we recommend further investigation.
    - The Kohr-Ah did not join but instead declared neutrality and acted as passive observers. We recommend repercussions.
    - Long-range scanners detect the expected contingent of Torches. Their arrival is irrelevant. The 15 damaged Broodhomes will stay behind and destroy or delay the enemy from pursuit.

    The fleet continues according to the plan.

    Bznss out.
    "

    End of Transmission
    Transmission Scrambling in Progress…
    ###################
    Transmission Scrambled
    Deleting Transmission…
    Transmission Deleted
    [CW] Zero Kelvin [in progress]
    [MTW2 SS] Weder heilig noch Römisch [on a ridiculously long hiatus]
    [RTW RS] My dearest Clymene [a single-chapter commemoration]
    [RTW RS] The enemy of my enemy [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Snakes in the sands [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Omnes viae Romam ducunt [suspended]



  5. #5

    Default Re: Serious Bznss -- a Star Control 2 AAR

    Connection to TOD in progress…
    Connection established
    Verifying user ID…
    User ID verified

    ==== Welcome to the Trade Organization Database, your trusted source of information anywhere anytime ====
    ==== Based on your credentials, your access is restricted to levels 3 through 7 ====
    ==== If you think your ID has been misinterpreted, please contact the local customer support ====
    ==== Our agents can be found in any BOT office ====

    Begin query...

    Category: Galactic Races (present)
    Class: Sentient
    Domain: Organics
    Order: Space-Faring
    Species: Kohr-Ah
    AI Status: DSDD (Demi-Sentient, Developed, Dormant)

    Query type: Indexed, Expandable


    The Kohr-Ah (market index KAH, rating 14.8 (link)) are one of the founding members of the Trade Organization (TO), together with Ur-Quan, Chenjesu, Umgah and Thraddash (see links). As a major stock holder in the Bank of Thraddash (BOT) with 11.4% shares (link here), the Kohr-Ah currently hold three (3) seats on the Trade Committee with the right of veto on non-critical (see reference) matters and seven (7) seats on the Security Council with the right of veto on all matters.

    The Kohr-Ah are responsible for the operation and maintenance of twenty nine (29) Portals along Route 12, together with their infrastructure and personnel. As per Trade Agreement 4-10.8 ratified by a majority vote in 2108, they are also in charge of the ongoing repairs of another 15 Portals in the Crateris Constellaion (update as of Nov 15, 2110: The repairs have so far been on schedule with only minor delays due to negligible incompetence of third-party contractors). For a quantitative summary of the annual operating Portal revenues and traffic flow, click here. For lost benefits due to the non-operating Portals, click here. For business opportunities, participating companies and trade regulations in the Crateris Region, click here.

    The two main business partners of the Kohr-Ah are the Umgah (market index UGH, rating 17.0 (link)) with 5e23 RU/year (0.5% KAH GDP (link)) and the Mrmrmnhmr (market index MMM, rating 12.2 (link)) with 1e24 RU/year (1% KAH GDP). For information on the Umgah partnership, click here (requires security level 4 or higher). For Mrmrmnhmr, click here (requires security level 4 or higher)…click

    ==== Secure Connection, Authentication in Progress… ====
    ==== Authentication Verified ====
    ==== Used ID Confirmed ====

    ==== Subject: KAH -- MMM transactions ====

    As of Nov 15, 2110, the main KAH -- MMM import by both bulk and RU value is combat-oriented full-body augmentations and ground equipment (reference, requires security level 3 or higher). For the past 15 years the Kohr-Ah have been meticulously upgrading and expanding their planetary armed forces, to the outcome that the experts in the field claim (link) they are currently the top-dog in shock-infantry warfare. As this part of the Galaxy has not witnessed a ground-invasion warfare for at least a few millennia (see Battle of the Hades Rock), such "show of arms" is alarming. It is indeed a well-known fact that such military actions, if ever to occur again, are highly ineffective and utterly pointless (reference here) but some people are getting uncomfortable. The TO Security Council has requested explanation from the Kohr-Ah multiple times but has not yet received satisfactory answers (link here). Other than the usual tension between the Thraddash and the Kohr-Ah, everything else seems normal.

    The Chenjesu and Mrmrmnhmr did not participate in the Kohr-Ah hearings, excluding themselves from the investigation committee when their votes were vetoed by the rest of the Council members.

    ==== Disconnected ====
    ==== User ID compromised ====
    ==== Security Breach, Level 3 ====
    ==== Protocol 12 Activated ====
    ==== DEAR USER, A TOD OFFICIAL WILL CONTACT YOU SHORTLY ====
    ==== IF THERE HAS BEEN A MISTAKE YOUR QUERY WILL RESUME ====
    ==== YOUR USER ID HAS BEEN SUSPENDED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE ====
    [CW] Zero Kelvin [in progress]
    [MTW2 SS] Weder heilig noch Römisch [on a ridiculously long hiatus]
    [RTW RS] My dearest Clymene [a single-chapter commemoration]
    [RTW RS] The enemy of my enemy [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Snakes in the sands [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Omnes viae Romam ducunt [suspended]



  6. #6

    Default Re: Serious Bznss -- a Star Control 2 AAR

    2110
    Transfer Station in orbit around Beta Orionis I


    "Traffic control, this is Captain Blubberonius, commander of the Hauler 'Awkward Silence'. Our destination is, hm, where is it, give me a minute here, wait, what is this, I don't remember writing this here! Just a second Traffic Control", he clicked off the communicator and yelled at the top of all his lungs in the in-ship link, "Who the hell wrote this on my Control Panel?! Imbeciles! This is the last time I'm tolerating such behavior! When we get back heads will roll and I will not let you deduct body-repair bills off your paychecks!"

    It was a few minutes before the Umgah could calm down and resume his transmission.

    "Sorry about that, Traffic Control. I'm stuck on a ship crewed by wannabe pranksters who have nothing better to do than aim their blunt tongues at each other, myself including. As I was saying, we are headed towards the lovely Syra and its even lovelier inhabitants! How exciting! I'm happy to report that our cargo hold is brimming with the latest gadgets and pleasure-enhancement drugs marketed by "Sensational Sublime Satisfaction", of course all certified, approved and licensed by the Trade Organization. And of course nothing less is expected from the prudent Captain I am now, isn't it? In fact, regardless of the pathetic discipline on board, I'm in a good mood today so let me tell you a secret, Traffic Control. Smuggling may have its benefits, no matter how questionable they are, but nothing beats good clean trading, my friends. You see, you may run once, hide twice, bribe three times but at the end the all-seeing-eyes of the flying toasters (no offense intended) will get back at'chya. Mark my words and if one fine day you end up as rich and benevolent tycoons because of my little advice, do not hesitate to shower me with gifts of appreciation. But let me tell you, getting the goodies we are hauling today wasn't easy! The bidding was tough as a Thraddash's skull and I may have lost a few hearts during suspense at the end but I firmly believe the profit we expect will be worth the effort. Anyways, where was I? Oh yes -- I wanted to happily report that our boilers are burnin', our gears are churning' and we arrrrrr rrrready to rrrrrrrroll!!"

    "I've always wanted to ask you, Captain, why do you keep doing this?", his Navigator leisurely walked in, "You do know that everything that needs to be taken care of is done so between the ship's AI and those at the Portal Control. There really is no need for us to be on the ship anyway. I'm not complaining, don't get me wrong, I'm actually enjoying the ride and the perks that come with it quite a lot. But I keep wondering -- why do the merchant ships need Umgah crews when they can be perfectly operated by the juicemakers? At no cost to the Guild, mind you."

    "Shush you young pinkie punk! You don't understand. When you grow old and grumpy as myself your options to have fun will be few and far in between. It really makes my day to annoy those damn humorless AIs at the Portal. And I swear, one day I will make them lose patience, mark my words! Now stop this nonsense about ships and captains, I'm trying to have a conversation here."

    "Hauler Class HRR 'Awkward Silence', this is an automatic message from Portal 4 Traffic Control. You have been granted permission to undock 1.6 nanoseconds after the request from your onboard computer. You have 30 seconds to clear ramp 8. In fact, you had 30 seconds at the beginning of this message. Har-har to you, Captain."

    Blubberonius turned a few shades of pink darker but retained his temper. Actually, he redirected it to his subordinates.

    "You heard the microwave oven, you useless bags of ooze!", he roared into the onboard comm, "Get this baby moving before I die of old age here. Hyperspace Drive hot and groovy. Activate in 3, 2, 1…"

    He turned towards his Navigator, grinning triumphantly.

    "You see what they need us for? The damn refrigerator here", he pointed to the console, "does not have the authority to fly. I have the authority."

    He didn't like the expressions on the faces of his Navigator who was staring at the screen (showing the outside of the ship) behind the Captain. Had Blubberonius been a little calmer he would have immediately noticed that the drive did not, in fact, activate regardless of his authorization. The 'Awkward Silence' was still docked.
    [CW] Zero Kelvin [in progress]
    [MTW2 SS] Weder heilig noch Römisch [on a ridiculously long hiatus]
    [RTW RS] My dearest Clymene [a single-chapter commemoration]
    [RTW RS] The enemy of my enemy [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Snakes in the sands [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Omnes viae Romam ducunt [suspended]



  7. #7

    Default Re: Serious Bznss -- a Star Control 2 AAR

    2110
    Transfer Station in orbit around Beta Orionis I
    (Part 2)


    "What do you mean the drive is on?"

    "Uhm?"

    "What's so hard to understand, Navigator?! Why is the xxxxx xxxxxx drive on?!"

    "Uhm, you activated it yourself, Captain…"

    "Look mister, we have all been a little stressed recently with the bidding and all but I'm not asking you to find teradigit prime numbers in your head. The question is simple -- why are we still docked when the HyperSpace drive is already active!??!?"

    "Oh, that!", sheepish smiles appeared on a half of the Navigator's mouths. The other half were too busy being stuffed with the latest hallucinogenic stimulants, courtesy to SSS. The third half were still wide open, gaping at the comm screens. "Funny thing, Captain, though not the har-har type. Now that I think of it it's really not that funny. The drive is on but, how should I put this, the Portal would not let us in?!"

    "What do you mean it does not let us in?! Is this some sort of a pathetic face control joke? If it is, I'm warning you Navigator, this is not a good time for it. The day is already bad enough even without your dimwit comments. Would you care to elaborate before you see my darker shade of pink side?"

    The Navigator was obviously getting uncomfortable, not to a small degree due to his own incompetence on the current problem. The poor chap had a decent understanding of how to get the ship from point A to point B in the least amount of time avoiding traffic (and traffic regulators) but Portal operations was not among his strong assets. In all honesty, he had signed for guilt-free space adventures with mediocre benefits and not for complicated HyperSpace physics riddles. Until now, most of his duties were revolving around yelling at his subordinates and spending as little as time as possible in the company of the grumpy Captain. Until now, he was mildly successful at both and life was good. As it was, he was as confused and alarmed as the mighty Blubberonius himself. He double checked the status report in a hurry, at least to make sure there were no blatant mistakes. Nothing out of the ordinary there -- cargo secured, bay doors locked and latched, intoxicated crew members lying senseless on the hangar floor, life-support system clogged with semi-forbidden drugs, railgun launchpad at maximum thrust, reactor core online, navigation systems online, the next ship in line already getting on the ramp…wait a minute. Railgun pimpin' hot?! Holy Mother of Spathi Macaroni Jelly Poopers! Three of his hearts skipped a few beats and a brain or two went into a full-commando delirium mode. He opened the Portal Control link with trembling fingers.

    "Traffic Control, this is Navigator Second Class Blimpius of the 'Awkward Silence'. We have a major problem here. It looks like the railgun has jammed. Or something. We are stuck! I request an emergency shutdown. Do you copy? I repeat, we request a railgun emergency shutdown, active immediately! Do you copy you damn refrigerators?! The friggin' gun is going to squash us like a bug!"

    The nearly-catatonic Blubberonius had already figured out what was happening and like a good Captain was staring absent-mindedly at the screens, half of his faces convulsed into caricatures depicting an eerie mix of terror and madness. Losing little time, the Navigator pushed him away from the control panel and dug into the already pouring damage reports with savage determination. Almost too afraid to ask, he briefly scanned the ship's integrity status. The on-board AI duly reported damaged hull sections and critical structure failures all across the board. The "time to make a squish" as the computer chimed in joyfully was 0.4925 minutes plus minus 0.18 seconds. "If I get through this in more than a 2-dimensional body", the Navigator thought for a fleeting moment, "I'll never put any har-har routines in the AI again. Ever…" He could already hear the moaning of the bulkheads as the railgun was mercilessly compressing the ship, still trying to clear them off the ramp. The in-ship link was bursting with his crewmates' demands for explanation and threats and yells and screams of panic. He turned it off for a second and tried to clear his thoughts. The situation was, of course, hopeless. Something has gone terribly wrong, something was preventing them from entering the Portal and most of them were going to die. It was impossible to evacuate the ship in time and there was no point to boldly announce this to the crew. They have probably already figured it out by now anyway. He sighed, clicked the detonator switch in the cargo bay and opened the in-ship link.

    "Sweet dreams, fellas…Har-har"

    The entire ship shuddered. The hidden charges would spread the hallucinogens across the crew compartments in mere seconds, giving his comrades enough time to get mildly intoxicated and face the launchpad of doom with smiles and jeering. Incidentally, the shockwave from the explosion would push the railgun back just a tiny bit, giving him enough time to get to the escape pod.

    ...

    It took Navigator Second Class Blimpius 17 seconds to get to the pod, strap himself tight onto the seat and hold fast. In 9 more seconds (during which he was indignantly contemplating the cowardliness of the late Captain to have an escape pod on the bridge) he was accelerating hard away from the ship, all his eyes locked on the 'Awkward Silence' behind. Crushing a half a million tones Hauler like a bug is not a sight you witness every day. The ship held up to the last second, then just disappeared. The railgun has simply vaporized it. He grimly clicked the communicator.

    "Very funny Traffic Control, veeeery funny…Now who's going to pay for all this mess?! The insurance company will go ballistic… Not to mention that there were some good people back there who may not find the prank very amusing in the afterlife. Now if you be so kind, would you please enlighten me what happened?"

    "Unidentified vessel, this is an automatic response from Portal 4 Traffic Control. If you are receiving this message, the Portal AI has been compromised, shut down, or destroyed. Please assess your situation and proceed accordingly. Should you have any question, please refer them to your local TO representative. For a list of agents, follow the attached links. Thank you for your business."

    Compromised? Shut down? Destroyed?

    He didn't like the message and liked even less the weird red glow presently occupying the forward-facing screens of the escape pod. Where there were supposed to be stars and one neat little Portal, there was only this bloody opaque…something? The pod's proximity sensor beeped ominously.
    [CW] Zero Kelvin [in progress]
    [MTW2 SS] Weder heilig noch Römisch [on a ridiculously long hiatus]
    [RTW RS] My dearest Clymene [a single-chapter commemoration]
    [RTW RS] The enemy of my enemy [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Snakes in the sands [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Omnes viae Romam ducunt [suspended]



  8. #8

    Default Re: Serious Bznss -- a Star Control 2 AAR

    212 BC
    Earth, Siege of Syracuse


    "Hurry up, old man, I don't have all day to wait for you. My orders are to take you to the General but they do not specify if you are to be conscious or not. You have 5 minutes to pack your belongings before I knock you cold and drag you senseless out of the room. So, as you see, it's up to you", the Roman soldier winked.

    Archimedes did not reply but kept fumbling around his instruments, trying to put them all together on the blanket spread on the floor. He wasn't nervous and was definitely not afraid of the soldier. He knew he was immensely more valuable alive than dead to both the Greeks and Romans and was virtually certain that no harm will come to him regardless of who won the battle. What really annoyed him was the pushy behavior of the intruder, who was clearly not aware of what it means to prepare sensitive equipment for proper and safe transportation.

    "At least they could have delegated a proper assistant instead of sending this primitive brute", he thought, "How am I supposed to do everything by myself?! I cannot carry the delicate mechanisms as they are too heavy for me and I will most definitely not allow this barbarian to handle them. And what do they want me to take? I should probably ask him to carry the larger things."

    He turned towards the soldier.

    "Listen Roman, we are both sensible men. Give me a hand and we'll be out of here in no time, will you?"

    The soldier looked at him suspiciously, his grip on the sword tightening.

    "You are not trying to trick me, are you? I should warn you that I've seen your lot before. You people think you are so smart and cool and stuff while the rest of us are mindless bloodthirsty pigs. Well let me tell you something, mister. I've done my share of studying and can read both Latin and Greek. By Jupiter's Grace, I can even come up with a decent poem if I put my mind into it! So shove your patronizing behavior somewhere dark and nasty and keep packing. You take your contraptions and I'll carry the papers."

    The Early Trigger (ET) module uF.09 was observing the argument between the two men with what may have passed for a hint of curiosity. In fact, it has cultivated over the years a certain amount of interest in the interactions between human individuals under pressure. Extrapolating from similar situations it has recorded before, the module predicted a 99.5% chance for this particular one to reach a critical point in 62.2 seconds. The outcome was not as clear cut, but there was a 68% chance that it will be fatal for either or both of the participants.

    The Roman went to the pile of books and manuscripts, keeping his eye on Archimedes, and started arranging them on a neat stack on the ground. Archimedes mumbled some sort of agreement and turned towards his instruments. He was carefully pulling the Antikythera mechanism out of its compartment when his eyes landed on the hilt of his dagger, buried under the mound of apple peels on his desk. He froze on the spot and shot a nervous glance at the soldier behind him. The ET sensors picked up a spike in charge built-up in the amygdala of the Greek, intense neuron activity in his visual cortex and involuntary muscle contractions in his left forearm. In a split second, the machine quickly redid the previous simulations and corrected the inflection point to 15.8 seconds.

    Scientist or not, the Greek was as human as all the rest and the moment he saw the weapon his primitive, animal aggressiveness got the best of him. His heart raced and his cheeks reddened. He panicked that the Roman will notice the sweat covering his forehead and decided to act quickly. Blood rushed in his head as he slowly pulled the dagger, trying not to make any noise. The moment the weapon was firmly in his hand he turned swiftly, ready to plunge the steel in the soldier's neck. When he turned, however, his gaze met not the Roman's cloak but his cold blue eyes and ugly grin.

    "Tut tut old man, what do we have here - a warrior scholar! I told you not to do anything stupid so if you be so kind drop your toy on the ground. Now."

    Without thinking, Archimedes plunged forward with a confused cry, not really targeting anything but determined to inflict as much damage as possible. The Roman casually swiveled on one foot and elegantly tripped the Greek with the other. Losing his balance, Archimedes fell face first and hit the ground with a hard thud. The soldier heard a sickening gargle and a moment later blood splashed onto his sandals. Disgusted and knowing what to expect, he turned Archimedes on his back with one foot. The Greek's face was covered with blood and the soldier could barely see the dagger's hilt aimlessly protruding from Archimedes' neck. The Roman sighted.

    "What did I tell you, smartie? You should have sticked to your books and leave the men's business to the real men. You've put me in a lot of trouble now. How am I supposed to explain this to the General? Stupid scientists...", he angrily kicked at the Antikythera mechanism.

    The primitive calculator rolled aimlessly under the bookshelf where it would stay, covered in dust and spider webs, for the next 50 years. The ET stopped recording and withdrew it's eyes and ears from the room, satisfied with the successful prediction of its simulation. It spend the next few days observing the pillaging and looting of the city, paying particular attention to the fate of Archimedes' tools, before it left for Rome.

    = = =

    212 BC
    Procyon


    Incoming Transmission…
    Type: Hyperspace, Output, Intelligence, Secure, Narrow-Band, Low-Cadence
    Priority Level: 8.04
    Security Protocol: 19.44.01-11
    Frequency Range: (1.7 -- 1.9)e22 Hz
    Authentication Requested…
    Time Lapse: 810.6 ps
    Authentication Verified…Resume Transmission:


    From: ET module uF.09
    Coordinates of Origin: 175.2 : 145.0 (Sol)
    Subject: Progress Report, Human Surveillance

    Re:

    "The individual known as 'Archimedes' is dead. We recommend no further inquiry.

    His legacy is intact, with the exception of a few items of little consequence. The record of his work is in the form of a few paper carriers which are closely monitored. The fate of the mechanical artifacts is uncertain. We will provide continuous tracking.

    The ideas of the individual are not well-understood by his peers but are somewhat popular. Extrapolations for the future development of the species are highly speculative and we refrain from any comments. All available data is attached at the end of this message.

    Prudence required the activation of Deterrence, Interference and Prevention (DIP) modules. The locations in planetcentric coordinates with origin 'Londinium' (see provided surface map) are as follows:

    1) 34.0 : 44.0 (central Iraq)
    2) -14.0 : -54.0 (Amazon forest)
    3) -88.0 : 12.0 (Antarctica)
    4) 3.0 : 7.0 (South-Eastern Atlantic)

    Attachments below.
    "

    End of Transmission
    Transmission Scrambling in Progress…
    ###################
    Transmission Scrambled
    Deleting Transmission…
    Transmission Deleted
    [CW] Zero Kelvin [in progress]
    [MTW2 SS] Weder heilig noch Römisch [on a ridiculously long hiatus]
    [RTW RS] My dearest Clymene [a single-chapter commemoration]
    [RTW RS] The enemy of my enemy [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Snakes in the sands [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Omnes viae Romam ducunt [suspended]



  9. #9

    Default Re: Serious Bznss -- a Star Control 2 AAR

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    Begin query...

    Category: Galactic History
    Class: Species Origin
    Species: Chenjesu

    Query type: Archival, Apocryphal, Unreferenced


    Subject: Unconfirmed interview with Prof. Tarantoga at an undisclosed coffee shop somewhere in the outskirts of the capital of Delta Draconis I sometime during the politically quiet 817 B.C.

    "…If you are asking me, the Greater Galaxy has always been a giant cooking pot, mixing and mashing together sentience since time immemorial. The problem is, the chef knows only one recipe and it's a recipe for trouble. You see, countless species have emerged over the aeons, claiming this or that part as rightfully theirs, evolving from the primordial slime to ultra-powerful space empires reigning over thousands and thousands of systems and wielding mind-boggling technologies. Only to disappear into oblivion at the onslaught of the next in line - the less mature, more energetic, possibly easily excited and usually less rational ones. Who, in turn, crumble to dust when their oven timer dings. We live in a busy, noisy and quite unruly and more often than not dangerous marketplace, where shady dealings are the norm and apparently everything is done behind the back of the local officials, if you allow me to use the metaphor. This is, of course, all a pretty standard routine for most of the large, chemically rich spirals like our own. There's plenty of shoulder space for everybody to live in, explore, fight and die about and in general do whatever they fancy about. You have lots of ingredients to cook up the initial organic soup and lots of available energy to keep the fire burning. Honestly, I believe the mess we live in is more of a norm than an exception. Pretty boring in other words.

    I'm sure your listeners are well aware of the general distribution of species in the Galaxy but lets briefly summarize the currently accepted census for completeness sake. Among the Greater Galactic Community, both the current and historic data show that the general trend is for a predominantly organic life forms of up to 70% of all species (which are split into roughly 80% rocky planets inhabitants and 20% gas-giant dwellers), 20% inorganic species and the remaining 10% are evenly distributed between AIs and other odd balls. The longevity distribution of the different species is the other way around - the 30% inorganic life forms manage to survive for what some of my peers believe to be up to 100% of the life of the Galaxy, while the rest of us have a much higher turnout rate - on the order of tens of thousands to a few million years for the most stubborn. There are, of course, large error bars on both sides and the fate of some species is quite uncertain. The most recent example of an extinction of an inorganic life form is the Taalo, but there are some indications of a dirty work there so while they were an outlier, it may be prudent to exclude them from the statistics.

    Organic life is usually very simple to understand -- it is naturally aggressive and expansive as millions of years of evolving and surviving in a brutal world filled with faster, better and stronger predators does not promote peaceful development. And let me remind you that thousands of years of technological progress cannot completely erase the deeply-rooted psychological burden of our ancestors who had to struggle and fight for their lives with teeth and claws. The inorganics are, however, a completely different beast to tackle. From the moment they are born, they have no need to spend time and effort to find food and shelter or to defend their pathetic crop patch from a marauding tribe. When you have no natural enemies and no evolutionary pressure to survive, you generally tend to develop quietly and in harmony with your environment. Even when you meet your hostile organic neighbors you may be annoyed initially but will eventually just suck it up and accept their existence as a necessary evil. Those of the inorganics who were born here with the rest of us of course have to reluctantly deal with our stubborn drive to forever push forward, be it intellectually, economically, politically, call it whatever you like. Eventually they get used to it. Ergo, conflict between the two life forms is in general very rare and large-scale confrontations are unheard of as the inorganics are simply not interested in the perpetual expansion imposed on us by our ancestors. And we are, of course, not terribly excited about their few hostile planets and systems when there are so many other places to spread our greedy appendages in. Again taking the Taalo as an example, it's not hard to notice that they were perfectly happy with their small sphere of influence and we were perfectly happy to let them have it as their planets were simply not suitable for anyone else. And this was not a precedent - there are no historical records of any conflicts between us and them besides the usual tension here and there.

    But let us speculate for a moment, shall we? It is a well known fact that the origin of the Chenjesu is still not quite clear even though they insist they are native to this region of the Galaxy. Now. That's all fine if it was not for a few caveats and one far-fetched idea. For one, there was never any credible and independent archeological or paleontological research carried out on Procyon as they do not let other species roam freely on the planet. Some people ask what's the problem with that - the Chenjesu are an old and very respected species and as such are allowed to have some eccentric behavior. Respected? Sure. Old? Most definitely. And how old really? None of the current civilizations have records dating back to a time when there was no Chenjesu. In fact, it appears they have been around even before the oldest of the gas-giant dwellers. Eccentric behavior? You bet! Or shall we call it a "very energetic" behavior? It's no secret that the Chenjesu are continuously pushing for ever-closer connections with several other species, notably the Arilolaleelai and the Yehat. Even the Kohr-Ah. Connections on many levels, mind you - political, economical, technological. Military?! And what's with all the fuss about the Shofixty?! Why are the omnipotent Chenjesu interested in some semi-barbaric and highly fertile organics? When was the last time an inorganic species was establishing very close ties with organic life forms? When was the last time an inorganic species was interested in Galactic politics? Let me tell you -- never. And don't get me started on the Mrnmrmhrh. An inorganic species developing completely autonomous AI?! Some people say that this is the most natural thing to do, that the two are basically two sides of the same coin. Sure. But why none of their peers have ever done it before? Why were the Taalo happily living on their planets, minding their own business and not dumping billions and billions of machines onto the Galaxy? But my apologies, I got carried away. I'll throw one last far-fetched idea into the cooking pot for the amusement of your listeners and then we can quietly enjoy our lunch.

    Procyon…Such a marvelous star, quite a beauty. Just off the main sequence and getting ready for the last dance of it's life, getting old but determined to end a glorious career in a spectacular show of potency and might before retiring for eternity. Splendid object indeed. But is it a good place for life to emerge? Is it truly the nurturing parent the Chenjesu cherish and respect so much? If it wasn't for it's hellish companion, I would be the first one to say "But of course, it was a stable main sequence star that provided safe heaven for billions of years for life to pop up, develop and thrive." Alas, its sibling may look tiny and insignificant but we all know how unforgiving and, honestly, impossible environment white dwarfs impose on emerging or already existing life. I will not digress again into boring physical arguments but I think we can all agree that a close binary system with a white dwarf is probably not the best place to cook up primordial life, be it organic or not. So let us do now another leap of faith and assume, for argument's sake, that the Chenjesu do not really come from Procyon. Here are some notes that I've meant to write down for quite some time now. Please take a look at them while I pay due respect to this delicious soup which is already getting cold. Garcon…?
    "

    This is the end of the recorded conversation. The interviewer claimed that the Professor scribbled something on a napkin, handed it to him and started an argument with the waiter. The napkin contained the following notes, shown below as a scanned copy.

    "...What would be the story of certain inorganic species that had the bad luck to emerge in a small and chemically poor dwarf galaxy together with a bunch of hairy, stinky and hungry mouths and claws and teeth fighting over the scraps of the few planets available? Would the annoying organics let them be or would they try to conquer even the few inorganics systems in their desperate need for resources. Resources that will be very limited in a stellar population of a few hundred thousands stars perhaps? Would the inorganics just give up and somberly step off the stage or would they fight back? And blimey, if they do fight back, and if they do have the support of their AIs they will win. And how would such inorganic species react when their poor little galaxy gets accreted to a giant spiral, teeming with the same annoying organic life? Would they admit they decimated their former neighbors or would they try to blend in the new environment? And what if something triggers their dormant memory of the good ole' times...?"

    This was the last time the Professor was allegedly seen. He did not show for his lecture on the next day and did not answer any calls or messages. Concerned students called the campus security who checked the Professor's apartment immediately. See unofficial report….click

    "…The rooms are a mess, everything is upside down, furniture and belongings are scattered on the floor, cabinets were clearly forced. The bed wasn't slept in. There are no signs of blood or struggle. Tarantoga is not here…"


    ==== Disconnected ====
    ==== End of Query ====
    ==== Thank you for using TOD, your source of information anywhere anytime ====
    ==== We strive to provide the best service and keep this database free of charge ====
    ==== and accessible to the Galactic Community for the greater good of all. har har ====
    [CW] Zero Kelvin [in progress]
    [MTW2 SS] Weder heilig noch Römisch [on a ridiculously long hiatus]
    [RTW RS] My dearest Clymene [a single-chapter commemoration]
    [RTW RS] The enemy of my enemy [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Snakes in the sands [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Omnes viae Romam ducunt [suspended]



  10. #10

    Default Re: Serious Bznss -- a Star Control 2 AAR

    2110
    HyperSpace


    The past dozen (probably?) days have taken an unexpectedly harsh toll on Trademaster 12. He was visibly agitated, even nervous now. There was no trace of the joyful and easy-going Ur-Quan who signed the Trade Agreement with such pomp and flamboyance not a fortnight ago. "That naive fool died back in the bunkers of Delta Draconis", he thought bitterly, "but I do miss him sometimes. Maybe when this is over, he'll come back. But then, why would he…?" He looked apprehensively at his battered body, as if seeing it for the first time. Two of his lower manipulator tentacles have been partially ripped off and badly healed, making him wince every time he used them. The partial blindness in one (or two?) pair of eyes did not make him a happy camper either. Parts of his upper carapace were deeply charred, the dead skin cracked and oozing blood once in a while. Truth be told, it was a miracle the blast didn't rip apart his abdomen or kill him on the spot. Scarred, temporary crippled but alive. Very much alive and indeed quite angry. Late and night, when insomnia stroke, he kept replaying in his mind the succession of episodes that lead to his current state. Bad memories. Kept him awake at night but alert during the day. Time for another shot?

    = = =

    The evacuation from Delta Draconis did no go as smoothly as planned. He remembered it in more details than he was comfortable with. "Never underestimate the eagerness of the Thraddash to unleash hell on themselves" was a concept nobody ever paid any attention to until it was too late. He had given himself plenty of time to get away from the besieged planet. Do your job right, convince them what they need to do and be on your way. Easy in, easy out. Or at least that's what he thought at the time. When the first shockwaves from the thermonuclear explosions beneath him rocked the cargo shuttle as he was cautiously accelerating away from the doomed planet, trying not to draw too much attention from the attackers, he initially thought it was a stray hit from the Broodhome fleet and panicked. The panic evolved into fear that was in turn swiftly replaced by dread as the outside temperature sensors rocketed to the top of the scale. His mind raced, trying to suppress his primal instincts and focus on the task at hand - get in the combat armor, strap yourself tight into the emergency capsule and hope for the best. The shockwave rushed through the shuttle, damaging the walls of the fuel chamber and effectively shutting down the reactor core. In an instant, the ship turned into a dead weight tumbling through the atmosphere like a wounded bird, still gaining altitude thanks to the shear momentum of the blast. "At least the emergency failsafes are still functioning", was all the Ur-Quan could think before the brunt of the explosion caught up with his craft. The heatwave effortlessly obliterated the thermal shields of the cargo shuttle which were, unfortunately, designed only for planetary reentry and not for the hellish temperatures of a thermonuclear blast. By the time the thermal sensors inside the emergency capsule hit the melting point of molybdenum the Trademaster was almost safely tucked in his suit. Almost...

    "To hell with these darned appendages! This would have been so much easier if I was an Umgah…" were his last thoughts before the searing pain in his back suddenly pierced his brain with such a force that his entire body convulsed in agony. The involuntary contraction slammed him hard against the shell of the armored suit, slicing his lower tentacles across his mandibles. The Trademaster shrieked and lost consciousness.

    = = =

    When he regained his senses the pain was almost gone. Surprisingly, he was still alive. The incinerating heat had fused the skin on his upper carapace to the suit, effectively shielding the rest of his body from the inferno with a thick protective coating of charred tissue and soft pus. The built-in computer diligently poured reports on the status of the ship, the capsule, the suit and himself. The machine had sedated him the moment his brain shut down and was already administering limited regenerative procedures. More importantly, the engines were back online and the capsule was steadily approaching the top of the atmosphere. The worst was over. He ignored the physical panic rising inside him, tried to push himself out of the suit, failed to do so and decided to leave it as it is for the moment. He was stuck in the armor for good but at least it did not limit his mobility. He even contemplated attempting a surgical removal of the burned section of his body but decided against it -- it was probably for the best to keep the suit on all the time anyways so he might as well get used to it. The Trademaster took a few pain-killer shots mixed with metabolism and awareness enhancers, cauterized his bleeding tentacles and set the ventilation system to maximum efficiency -- the stench of roasted flesh filling the suit was unnerving. A glimmer of hope cautiously crawled across his mind as the first stars appeared through the ephemeral stratospheric mists on the capsule's screens.

    "I might be able to get out of this nightmare in one piece after all. Focus on the task at hand, evaluate the situation and take action. There will be time for contemplation and analysis later…"

    The shell barely missed the shuttle, exploding into a myriad shards not ten meters away as the Ur-Quan was making his way to the propulsion section to do hands-on damage assessment. He stopped in his tracks and for a few moments just stood in front of the outside screens, staring at the spreading shrapnels absent-mindedly as if not understanding what was happening. The next shell was on the spot. The explosion rocked the already damaged craft, annihilating the forward third of its hull and turning the navigation systems, life support, astrometric nodes, weapons and communication modules into a brilliant micro-nova. The blast sent his battered body spinning through the Control Room as he desperately tried to brace against the hull. He had enough time only to slam the emergency jump switch with what little remaining strength was still in his limbs before his body was slammed across the entrance to the cargo hold. The impact sent his terrified mind into another spiraling wave of agony as his semi-blinded eyes looked straight out through the giant hole created by the explosion at the…stars outside.

    "…cleared the atmosphere…"

    The Ur-Quan could hear the suit's computer but somehow the words did not mean anything.

    "…ready for jump…"

    The pain was excruciating.

    "…requesting permission…Trademaster…hear me?…"

    His mind entered into a state of delirium, denying him the unbelievable sight of a damaged Ur-Quan combat armor stuck onto the remains of a cargo shuttle entering a HyperSpace portal.

    = = =

    Over the next few days he managed to crawl inside the cargo bay, find an undamaged and air-tight shipping container and lock himself in it. There was plenty of breathable, though a little stale, atmosphere inside the container that he could take parts of the armor off and move freely around. There wasn't much to explore, besides the boxes full of the first test batch of the latest Umgah hallucinogens. In a manic fit of depression he started stuffing himself with the stimulants. Good times commenced immediately to the effect that he was completely unaware of what was going on outside the container. These few days have, in fact, turned into some of the most pleasant days of his life. Time and space have lost all meaning and if it was not for the suit's computer he would have surely died. Probably for the better. The diligent machine, however, received instructions from a nondescript source to keep him alive at all costs. As a result, while the Trademaster was enjoying himself securely locked inside his paradise prison, the damaged shuttle pushed forward through the fabric of HyperSpace following a vague but insistent beacon. Most of the safety valves on the reactor core were at least compromised, if not outright broken but the blind, crippled ship kept accelerating. On the 15th day the artificial babysitter jump-started its drugged inhabitant and brought him out of his coma. The dazed and confused Ur-Quan protested feebly against the revival, pleading and threatening and shouting and crying. To no avail. The servo-armor literally kicked itself out of the container, dragged him through the remains of the shuttle and jettisoned him into a shuttle-synchronous orbit.

    "What is this, suit, I demand an explanation!"

    "…"

    "This is no way to threat ones owner! Have you lost your damn artificial mind?! Bring me back in or I'll make sure you end up…"

    "Shut up, Trademaster"

    "Wha…Wait a minute mister! What is this behavior? A mutiny?! My own damn suit is rebel…"

    "Shut up, Trademaster"

    "I'll show you who will shut up you useless bag of bolts. Mark my words, I'll…"

    "Sigh, we have to do this the hard way…"

    The suit sent a moderately painful and totally paralyzing shot into its inhabitant's back, waited the 0.8 seconds it took for the effect to kick in and turned the armor's visor away from the shuttle. If the petrified Ur-Quan could have gasped, he would have done so, for the sight was…stunning.
    [CW] Zero Kelvin [in progress]
    [MTW2 SS] Weder heilig noch Römisch [on a ridiculously long hiatus]
    [RTW RS] My dearest Clymene [a single-chapter commemoration]
    [RTW RS] The enemy of my enemy [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Snakes in the sands [suspended]
    [MTW2 SS] Omnes viae Romam ducunt [suspended]



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