Issue #54
Monday, February 13th, 2006
This week was a great week for me…mostly. It found me flying around the universe in a brand new Hawk, The Lash. As such, I found myself in many strange sectors, having a beer with many strange pilots, and seeing many strange sights. Among the first pilots I ran into on my sojourn into the great unknown was named Reed. Oddly enough, I once new a man named Reed on Zirr who tried to involve himself in an illicit relationship with one of the slaves. It got pretty nasty later on. Anyhow, I sat with Reed for a few moments as I passed through the Federation Core, and bought him a few rounds. I don’t know why I always stop in the seediest bars I can find…must be some of the old school Tribune training that Brackard made me go through. After several rounds, Reed’s tongue became looser, and he regaled me with this story. Enjoy.
The time display showed it was just after midday back on Sol. Too bad I wasn’t in Sol. There’s a great coffee shop just outside the spaceport in Old York. It serves the best Peruvian mocha I’ve ever had. Aaahh yes . . . but I digress.
I noticed a message coming in and reached up to the nav screen to open it, when suddenly I didn’t have a nav screen. What the heck? Careful what you wish for. My location tracker was showing me that I was in Sol, at the Old York spaceport, and a few credits poorer after a sudden escape pod trip from Olphize. That didn’t make sense. I was just doing an Energy run in Olphize, trying to save up a little cash to buy a neural stimulator for firewall upgrades. It was the same run I’d been doing for almost a week. I mean, it’s not like I was in the middle of some massive space battle over the prices of slaves in Tiacken or something. Just little ol’ me, cruising my Babel through some nebula gas on the way to find energy.
Then a second message comes in. “You have been killed by Dan King”. Oh great. I hate Mooninites! Kind of like the way you hate that annoying guy at the spaceport cargo loading area who wants to talk to you all day long about clod-piles or Space Maggots when you’re just trying to take care of your business, get your cargo onboard, and get off-planet. Or that idiot that takes the urinal next to you in the men’s room and wants to discuss how his relationship is going with his “significant other” who is “so special” and “one of a kind”. Okay, if she’s so special then what was she doing dancing in the window of that bar in the red light district when you met her? And don’t you know that inter-species relationships lead to infectious diseases, counseling, and really bad rashes?
Anyway, here’s the part I don’t understand. I was on an energy run feeding Olphinze. Olphinze is a class M planet just outside of Beethi. Beethi is the home sector of the Mooninites. You’d think Mr. King would say thank you for helping out in his home area. Maybe a little safe passage for traders who make food prices go down. But no, it’s almost like he really doesn’t want the local area to grow. If you read the “manifesto” that the Mooninites post in their Diplomacy propaganda then you might almost believe they want to do good things in their own local area. But if that’s the case then why kill a guy flying a Babel back and forth between Olphinze and HO 2-296? Unless they want to close off the area because there’s a known neural stimulator factory there. Or maybe they truly don’t want to increase the business of their home sector and, instead, would prefer to keep the entire area to themselves. Or, and here’s my thought, it’s all completely random but the Mooninites would like you to believe there’s some master plan that only they can fathom.
I grumbled about the Moonies all the way through my coffee and halfway to Epsilon Eridani to drop a load of packages at Cookie’s place up north. I was flying my shining, new, insurance-provided Babel just west of Epsilon Eridani (the planet) when BOOM! Suddenly I’m back on Sol. Again. Without the benefit of an escape pod trip because they were all sold out in Sol. Nice. Then comes the message. “You have been killed by mats”. That would be mats of the Mooninite Alliance. Deja-vu.
Moments later a message flashed onto my data-pad. It was from mats saying it was nothing personal and asking me if I want to join the Mooninites. Um, no thank you mats. I prefer to be alone at the urinal. Why don’t you just go into the stalls like the ladies and let the men take care of business?
Reed hiccupped and slouched over the table. A few moments later his snores told me that he was fast asleep. I scribbled something illegible on the tab (and hoped that management couldn’t figure out who to bill it to), and left the bar, and, with a fond glance towards Sol, my birth world, the Fed Core.
What Happened to Gammer (Gammer)
Gammer arrived in the empire with several X993’s Battlecruisers chasing him (for some reason he had a knack for attracting x993’s). He checked his local radar and saw that there was an I Class Plant close by. “Meh,” he thought, “why not. Anything’s better than these blasted 993’s.” He entered the coordinates into the autopilot, veered left and right in an attempt to avoid the laser blasts, and revved his engines. The engines roared to life and then, BOOM! Direct hit. The engines died.
That was it, the end. Gammer readied himself for the escape pod trip. It never came. The 993’s, responding to some signal that only they could read, retreated quickly in the direction whence they came. Gammer was forced to engage his emergency drive, and set a course for Iceo. The landing was a bit touchy. The emergency drive wasn’t meant to be used like this, and Gammer’s co-pilot, Sah’kir, had to endeavor to keep the ship from being crumpled like a can of dried keldon brains. Onlookers on the giant ships that floated upon Iceo’s surface claim that his ship looked like a comet as it passed though the atmosphere.
A few seconds later, the ship discovered that Class I planets are not all water. Some, indeed, have giant ranges of glacial ice. Gammer discovered this the hard way – by crashing headlong into Iceo’s largest ice mountain. Six hours later, Gammer awoke in his ship’s med bay, with the Medi bots probing him. He blinked. A vague shape that looked eerily like Sah’kir seemed to be trying to tell him something. Gammer blinked again, harder. The shapes that might be Sah’kir were gesticulating wildly at him. Gammer needed to concentrate. He tried extremely hard to focus and blacked out. When he came to, his vision was better, and Sah’kir told him that over half of the crew was dead. This estimate included all of the engineering crew, who were vaporized in the last volley from the BattleCruisers. Gammer blacked out again. Several days later, a rescue crew managed to haul Gammer and his ship to Ska for repairs. Unfortunately, the Naggarok is grounded until replacements can be found in the engineering department.
Currently, there are openings for a keldon engineering crew, a rashkir tactical officer, some security personal, and 3 stewards aboard the Naggarok.
Apply at your local Shipyard for details.
The New Bad Boy
Another day, another several thousand XP. That was the life of Atrellium, Federation Admiral, and most experienced pilot in the universe. Dark rumors had leaked from spies within the Federation involving a secret plot by high ranking Feds to develop the feared Z-14 and Z-15 ships that had been terrorizing the Neutral Zone. Atrellium didn’t much care. He was beyond those petty beasts. He had an alliance to run.
A message bleeped into the Admiral’s quarters in the Doomstar. This was odd. Only the highest ranking pilots had the access codes required to activate the personal messenger within the Admiral’s quarters. His curiosity aroused, Atrellium checked the source of the message. “Source – unknown,” read the screen. This was doubly odd. Any pilot who had those access codes, Atrellium knew. He hadn’t seen an unknown source for years. He opened the message, wary for any disabling virus that it might contain.
“Admiral Atrellium,” the message began, “we would like to congratulate you on your success as leader of the Triad, and as the most experience pilot in the universe. However, we have made a slight…miscalculation and require your assistance. The rumors, you see, are true. We developed a top-secret series of ships, known as the Z-series, to infiltrate and test Imperial pilots, and then to transfer their ship types, weapon series, and a great many other details back to us. This information would be invaluable in the case of galactic war. Further, several drones were developed for Federation training purposes. Obviously, the Z-14 and Z-15 release did not go as planned. Even more worrisome, the machines seem to be learning. We have received several unsubstantiated reports that they are actively attacking passing pilots. In an effort to mitigate the damages, we released the test model of our newest creation, the Z-16 series, in an attempt to locate and retrieve the lost models. Unfortunately, this release did not go as planned either, and the AI system in the Z-16 drone soon refused to take orders from us. We have contacted several other experience pilots from around the universe. What we need from you is simple. Seek and destroy the z-16 drones. Quickly. Otherwise, they will begin construction of our ultimate creation, the z-16 fighter. These fighters are not to be taken lightly. They are highly intelligent, and well-armed. Good luck Admiral. You’ll need it.”
The message blinked off, and Atrellium blinked at the blank screen. A Z-16? Had he read that correctly? Oh well. The Federation needed his assistance. Atrellium rounded up his crew and headed East, to the West Pardus Rim, where one of the drones had been sighted. “This shouldn’t be any trouble whatsoever,” the Admiral thought. He was wrong.
Announcements:
Tread lightly, we entreat you, for if you don’t, be sure, they’ll beat you! This is the caveat read to all travelers seen entering the neutral zone, a place that has always been associated with danger and piracy. Now, in a move attributed to the Z-series creatures, formerly stupid and lazy creatures have become far more vicious and cunning. Oftentimes, experienced fighters and freighters have discovered that they have run into an enemy, and cannot get away. Travelers in the NZ are reminded to take extra care if they should come across an enemy.
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