Issue #84
The Tribune Staff apologizes for the delay in publication. Recent events saw us traveling far from our publication houses and our communication system was on the fritz. We are back however, and present to you this issue of the Tiacken Tribune.
Environmental Catastrophy
Environmental scientists from the Imperial University were shocked this week while on a routine inspection of the local fauna. Ziggy, a Medusa who had been inhabitting the Emperor’s Zoo for the past 3 weeks, suddenly began looking a bit ill. Veterenarians, zoologists, and psychics were all called in to determine the cause of Ziggy’s illness, but to no avail. Ziggy died while being examined by Dr. Florian Hoffenstein, the Emperor’s personal physician. Word spread to surrounding systems of a potential Medusa plague. Children were encouraged to keep their pet swarmlings indoors, lest they catch ill and perish. 
A few days later the first rumors began to trickle in. It wasn’t just Medusae. The Z creatures, Euryale, Stheno, Medusa, and all manner of long-living creatures in the Universe were suddenly stricken, their life spans quartered. The Tribune traced the origin of this vile disease to the Union, where scientists claimed that they “didn’t see nothin’”, and they “didn’t know nothin’ either.” Apparently, the story the Union is trying to forcefeed us involves divine intervention. Certainly, the galactic gods wouldn’t see their own creations harmed in such a manner, however. We aren’t buying it.
Still, after weeks of research (which handily explains why the Tribune didn’t appear last week) we discovered that the Don has long harbored a deep jealousy towards the federal and imperial navies. Not content with them blowing each other to small pieces over Usube, he ordered his personal team of scientists to find a way of reducing the life spans of the creatures requiring more skill to fight. Unfortunately for the Don, his cousin’s construction company cut some corners while they were building the labs, and the plague leaked. Tribune reporters are told that this plague is harmless to Humans, Rashkir, Keldons, and Ska’ari, but have not decided if we believe our source. Also, the plague has caused some aberations in the long studied behavioral patterns of said creatures. Instead of attacking on set times of the day, the animals appear to be becoming a bid more rabidly fierce, and are capable of attacking at any time. We counsel extreme caution should any of these creatures cross your path.
Thanks Union. You did us all a real favor here.
New Missile Released!
On a more positive scientific note, neutral scientists this week unveiled the fruits of months of labor, the NN550 Fleet Missile. This missile is reported to have a slightly higher intelligence than the standard fleet missiles, but will cost you 32,000 credits. In related news, a brain fever in the Empire crippled their robotics crews, who mistakenly programmed the missile assembly plants to require insane amounts of materials to produce the dreaded Mk. I and Mk. II missiles. The vast increase of price here will almost certainly lead to fewer of those puppies being loosed at unsuspecting targets during ambush.
While this news certainly has an impact on the current conflict, the Tribune can’t help but wonder what effect it will have should Union pilots with their superior ECCM technology get involved. Surely, that day will be a dark one for us all.
The Ballad Of Walkingrazor(Lord Razor)
Chapter 3 – Making a Play
I awoke to the sound of a ship door whispering shut on its magnetic rails. I opened the eye that seemed to be the only one of the pair that wanted to work and hissed at the light pouring onto the floor of the room. Bad idea. What I thought was a bad headache before was just a little Usube red-worm compared to the giant space worm of his newest cousin. That nasty taste in my mouth was certainly my own blood, coppery and slick.
I decided it was time to move the eye. Struggling to get my vision to focus, I finally was able to make some sense out of the first couple inches of space between my head and the red-coated floor.
A choked cough came from the pit of my stomach, causing some serious agony in my tender head, and I spit a stream of blood from my lips. My tongue had definitely been bitten hard and both my lips had split. “Mr. Face meet Mr. Bulkhead,” I thought crazily, just in time to hear a sharp voice comment: “Have you found anything in his file, Sgt. Major?”
Turning my head slightly, I was able to swivel the eye that hadn’t swollen to survey the room. I appeared to be a in small stateroom of some type that looked like a cross between a conference room and a holding cell. An a-grav table and three chairs floated in the center of the room, and with a squint, I noticed that all three and the wall behind it were emblazoned with the unmistakable emblem of the Federation. “Fuck.” I thought to myself, “this is not turning out how I’d envisioned.”
“No, sir. No file was available” the other, harder voice replied.
“Very curious, very curious indeed. Well, we’ll just have to see if there’s anything our friend would like to say to us. Wouldn’t you say, Sergeant? Grab him and let’s get him up and around to have a little chat”
I felt a strong pair of hands with huge claws grasp me by the upper arms and literally rip my aching body from the floor. I decided I liked the floor better, it seemed like a paradise of cool, soothing comfort compared to being moved by one of the biggest Rashkir I had ever seen. One that had been tortured by his mother and never known the words “nurture’ or “gentle,” apparently.
My eye rolled around frantically, trying to orient myself to the changing position, but mid-trip, I gave up and just closed it. A minute later, I felt my butt unceremoniously dumped into one of the a-grav chairs and the Rashkir let go and retreated to somewhere else in the room. I gave myself a minute and just rested while I listened to the sounds of key-input and soft sub-vocal commands into a sens/vid machine.
The eye decided it was safe to open. Across the table, in full Federation battle fatigues was an officer in the livery of a Commodore. I groaned inwardly. If life slipping through the cracks on Usube had taught me anything, it was that attention from any sort of high-ranking official was hazardous to your health. Now I was in a strange ship, in an unknown location, and this Fed officer was the arbiter of my life and death. I wanted to sigh deeply, but all I could manage was a faint wheeze.
“Perhaps some medical attention is in order for our guest, Sergeant,” the Commander said.
A moment later I felt two worm-like segments placed on my head. These “flesh-zips” as they were called, were organic, bio-engineered organisms that extended hooks from their length to seal wounds and subsisted on bacteria, keeping the nicely zipped wounds clean and infection free. As a bonus, they were also covered in a local anesthetic and almost as soon as they’d finished their zipping procedure, the jack-hammer team in my head had moved down the street a block or so.
“Water,” I croaked.
The officer nodded and a steri-pak of farm water, “Galactic Valley Ranch” in this case, appeared on the table. I began to reach for it, and watched the big Rashkir tense and step forward with the movement. The Commodore noticed this and looked up from the sens/vid terminal. With a flick of his eyes in the direction of the Rashkir, he said softly, “At Ease, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir,” the big sergeant said, able to be perfectly respectful and grumble at the same time. “Sorry, sir. You know I’m a bit on edge since we lost 3 squads of the boarding team. And we didn’t capture the commander of the Intel detachment.”
“You are dismissed, Sergeant!” the Commodore said in what was clearly a moment of difficultly containing his fury. “Restrain the prisoner before you leave, and report to take charge of your squad. I expect everything prepped for the journey from Begreze to Tau Ceti and for you to be available to carry out my orders to the very letter! I will call you when I need you.”
I took a drink through the straw of the steri-pak and worked really hard on not cracking a smile. Obviously physical strength was one of big green guy’s strong suits, but brains might be another matter. I began to ponder while the Rashkir produced some bio-form restraints, cuffed my right arm to the a-grav chair, and coded the chair for stationary placement. Obviously the Commodore’s anger was due to the fact that big old green pants had let slip our location and the outcome of the raid to me, their prisoner.
The Commodore’s cold eyes followed the Sergeant as he left the room and the door whispered shut though the air of the ship again. As it closed, he turned to face me, and hit the record button for video on the sens/vid.
“Now, where were we?” he said.
I assumed this question was rhetorical so I didn’t answer, fighting down a sarcastic remark that sprung to my lips.
“How about we start with name, rank, and identity number?”
“My name is Walking Razor. I am a neutral pilot of competency board rating 3. I’m sorry but I don’t remember my identity number, sir.”
“Well, Mr. Razor, that puzzles me, quite honestly, he began. First off, what sort of a name is “Walking Razor,” anyway? Second of all, I think your leading me on about your identity number. We’ve checked your pilot’s license and what you say about your rating is true. What I don’t understand, and trust me, my new friend, we’ve already run your genetic code through the Sol databanks for an identity number…” He gestured over to the pool of blood on the floor in the corner. “… is why you don’t have a match there. Even all neutral human births are supposed to be recorded.”
I didn’t think a dose of the truth would hurt too much here. I didn’t know why I had no data in the banks, so it’s not something they could drag out of me.
“Honestly, I don’t know, sir, I began. “When I was young I was found an orphan. I grew up without a proper name and I had no identity data. They called me Walking Razor, because they thought I was “sharp.” According to my caretakers, it was the look in my eyes, like they could cut… I always thought it was a little strange, but that’s how I’ve been known for all my life.”
While I was explaining this, the Commodore’s gaze bore into my eyes, seemingly searching for any hint of anything but the truth. I stared back as frankly and matter-of-factly as I could. The discomfort of the wounds had retreated, but I was beginning to get more than uneasy. What would happen when I couldn’t answer questions to his satisfaction? Normally the Federation doesn’t advocate torture, but when you’re an unidentified person that was being shipped as cargo in an Imperial spy ship, some of those “rules” were easily bent or broken. I was sincerely hoping that wouldn’t happen to me!
The Commodore tapped some data into his sens/vid terminal and continued. “Tell me how you came to find yourself on board the Cornelia Marie,” he said almost lazily.
This was kind of out of character for this stern, hawk-like man and instantly I knew I was treading on thin ice. I’d have to think fast. I quickly decided my best bet was an altered version of the truth.
“I can’t quite answer that, sir,” I said. “But I’ll tell you what I do know up to my appearing on that ship.”
I went through an altered version of what really happened, omitting my discovery in the hold of the Garvey, but telling the truth about stowing away in the crate and most of my reason for doing so. I made up a version about catching a free ride to find temporary work on a Federation Trade Outpost run by Lt. Commander Mortimer in the Usube sector. I had worked there as transient labor for the preserve on an exchange program, so I knew I could answer basic questions about the TO, if pressed. I further explained that though I had embarked on the Garvey, I had no memory of being transferred to the ship where they found me. The rest of the story ran as it had happened with my stay in the holding cell and the accident during the raid.
As I told my story, the Commodore began to look more and more disinterested. As I finished my tale, he became more and more absorbed by quick, flashing data on the sens/vid. He pressed a small comm. tag on the lapel of his uniform and a moment later, the Rashkirian Sgt. Major entered the cabin.
“I think that concludes our interview for now, Mr. Razor,” he said. “I have other business to attend to. Obviously you aren’t willing to cooperate, so we’ll just have to turn you over to the Federation Special Branch upon our arrival to Tau Ceti. The station manager, who I assure you is one of the best in his field, will take care of you.”
My heart sank as he flashed me the most evil smile I had ever seen on a human. The Special Branch, as they were known, was a group of human technicians that served the intelligence services of the Federation. They had a reputation of being able to extract information from even the most guarded minds… at a price. Most of their “patients,” as they were known in agency speak, ended up as mere vegetables, drooling on mental hospital pillows for the rest of their living days. I decided I would rather die an honorable death rather than face this fate. “Honorable, hell, I mused to myself. I’d rather die a horrible death than get brain cleaned by a bunch of jack-booted doctors.”
“Sergeant, the Commodore said. Take him to deck C and stow him please.”
The Rashkir went around to the back of the a-grav chair and un-cuffed me. As he grabbed me and prepared to leave, a red light began flashing on the table. The Commodore looked at it in disbelief.
“They said this sector was clear,” he shouted. “Sergeant, take this prisoner to the med lab, derm him under, and execute protocol A. We have a serious FP incursion!”
Again I was lifted up and out of the chair. Like a rag doll under the arm of an intensely large and ill-tempered child, I flew through the door carried by the Sergeant. He ran swiftly through the twisting hallways, down two decks, and into the crew service area of the ship. I knew now that I’d been inside a Babel transporter, and if FP meant what I thought it did, we’d be a big fat sitting duck.
Just as we entered the lab, I heard the unmistakable and terrible sound of the hiss of armor being eaten by bio spores. An impact of some sort shuddered the ship far to the rear. The Rashkir paused to listen and muttered, “Where are those derm rolls? … the white one on the end…” As he swung about, my good eye saw five rolls of derms on a rod. I couldn’t make out the first three but I could read the last two. Dermbien said the one on the end, and the one next to it said Adrenalderm. As he swung me past the rod, I reached out and snagged the roll of Dermbien. He grabbed the roll of Adrenalderm and slapped three derms on my exposed lower leg.
The ship shuddered again and I took the opportunity to toss the roll of Dermbien under one of the med lab bunks. The Rashkir swung into action again and ran back up the stairs.
By the time we’d reached the top, my whole body was thrumming with the effect of the Adrenalderm. I could feel the pain subsumed, beaten down by a burst of the purest animal energy. Various muscle groups tensed involuntarily and my brain cells began singing like a choir of Valkryies. With one of the greatest efforts of my life, I managed to still my body and keep the rush of laughter inside that threatened to escape in a wild, uncontrolled rush.
The Rashkir ran down the deck ramps into deck B. He swiftly looked back and forth and proceeded through the hold. As we came to the bulkhead separating deck B from the secure hold in deck C, I saw them. Six doors leading to a half-dozen escape pods, glimmering there in my crazy drug rush.
Just then the Rashkir set me on my feet and reached his right hand towards the palm reader on the door. It was time to make my play.
I let it all go… …just gave in to the wave of strength and insanity that was bigger than self, bigger than anything I had ever been. I felt a scream of anger, a true monster of horrible and gigantic proportions build from the center of my chest… And then my body began to move. I lifted my right leg and stamped on the instep of the Rashkir’s soft space boots with all my strength. I could feel the bone structure flatten, and I looked gleefully at his face as it registered the first effects of the pain. As he turned, I quickly pinned his left arm and those dangerous claws to the bulkhead, and turned to my right. I was unbeatable. I was a million credit prize fighter. I wasn’t even human any more.
I twisted my body with all my strength and sent my elbow flying toward his face like an insane drunken Dutchman on independence day. As it impacted, the point of my bone sunk deep into his features, cracking the cheekbones and deforming his face. He screamed with pain and held his eye that had been punctured by bone fragments. I pushed him away, still screaming that maniacal scream.
I still wanted to revel in that smashing, out of my mind on the overdose of Adrenalderm, but the awful hiss of bio spores eating hull brought me around. I sprinted for the escape pods, palmed the door lock, and punched. As the retro-jets fired, sending the pod screaming from the ship and the cold-storage system came to life, I watched another Fed Babel rain the skies of the neutral zone like a shower of shooting stars. Then the cold took me down and all was black.
New Scorpion Lord
The Tribune would like to extend warmest congratulations to Hustler One and Lord Razor on the new leadership of the Scorpion Guard. Running an alliance is very hard work. Running a successful alliance is even harder. Congratulations to Hustler One, who did just that, and to Lord Razor, who has earned the title of Scorpion Lord. You have some very very large footsteps to follow in.
Announcements
Lottery
Bryan, GUA member and chief of The Cosmic Explorer is holding a raffle wherein he will auction off 4 million credits to the first place winner. Second and Third places also receive some money. Tickets are available for 20,000 credits each. He can be contacted via standard Pardus messaging system for further details.
Tribune Shares
There are still a limited number of Tribune shares remaining. They cost 1 million credits a piece, and are a chance for you to show your support to the Tribune and allow us to sponsor future events in the Pardus Universe. Buy yours today!