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WEB FED NEWS YEARBOOKS Earthdate April 2000 |
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WEB FED NEWS YEARBOOKS Earthdate April 2000 |
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MORE INSIDE SCOOP |
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DEATH (AND CHEATING) IN FEDERATION Before you ask, the title of this article is not derived from some ancient Earth movie named "Fear And Loathing in Las Vegas." With that said, may I also say that this will be one of the few times I will actually write for the Chronicle because I honestly haven't the time to chastise everything and everyone as I wish. Death and cheating have been linked together like Siamese twins at the heart since Federation came from Bella's loins. There are great examples of this lovely pairing from Aries, GEnie, AOL, and even WebFed. Lately, it seems that this lovely tradition has been passed on to me in some arcane form or another. Before I kill another newbod and am chastised for it by some, I just wanted to take a moment in this public forum and explain my reasoning. Pardon the sometimes-arrogant tone - it just comes so naturally to this persona. There used to be mechanisms in the game that kept cheating to a minimum. Some of these mechanisms were programmed while others were player-based. Most of the programmed blocks have been removed over the years for what I'm sure are good reasons in the view of Ibgames. Snark is a good example. Before Snark, there were the JP and GM puzzles. One was removed for a good while as Federation was ported to the Web. It, Snark, that is, came back for a short while before being turned off when the new Duke Puzzle was put into the game - something I'll talk about some other time. Snark, unlike the Duke Puzzle, was very hard. The latter paled in comparison to the other. Snark was difficult even if someone knew the solution - there was so much to do, so little time to do it in - it was the puzzle to beat. Because of the degree of difficulty of the puzzle, I'm told that AOLFed was full of JPs that were happy to stay there because they had no intention of jacking up insurance rates, etc. Sadly, the land locations for Snark are unreachable, and with Bella working diligently on Age of Adventure, it probably isn't coming back anytime soon. As far as players are concerned, I'm going to go out a bit on a limb. I was never in GEnie nor Aries nor AOLFed. I've read through the archives more than once, however. I consider myself well-versed in Fed history. That being said, as the years have gone by, the player pool has become average. When Fed was first launched, it was on an old Commodore machine that could handle few connections. Everyone in the game knew each other - they were the elites of those on the Internet. There was no readable HELP <command>. There were no navs. There wasn't even a manual. There was a little Rigellian woman who appeared from time to time to be harassed with new bug reports. The original players had to figure everything out for themselves, and I mean everything. There was no helping hand from rich POs who had 2.147 gigs who just had to dump several megs on lower ranking players. It was Federation at its peak. Through the years following, the player base was still pretty good with only a snert or two popping up from time to time - those snerts were promptly removed because they were unwanted. A quick trip to the Martian ruins usually did them in - Sol Maps weren't available on the Ibgames web site. As the years went by, however, and the Internet became easier to access, the level of players dropped. AOL Flat Rate is a good example. Flat rate meant 24/7 free Fed for snerts. Unlike Pay by the Hour AOL when snerts really couldn't afford to be all that annoying, Flat Rate welcomed them with open arms. With this move, Fed had what were formerly called snerts as the major players. You had the lowest common denominator playing Fed ("Brain dead AOLer" - Weird Al). The move to the web didn't help as snerty alts appeared and stayed on forever. Now comes FlatWebFed. A good solution and a nice start to a recovery period for Fed. Snerts are being weeded out but that denominator from AOL is still present. The only thing that keeps Fed from healing completely is the lack of player cooperation with the original intent of the game. The point to the last few paragraphs is that the player mechanism isn't there anymore. A Trader could hop onto channel 9 right now and I guarantee that a planet owner, of his or her own volition, would TB a Trader and offer to give them answers to the Stat puzzles. This is the main problem. Until the current supply of POs either grow up (and some have a few years before they are 18, mentally or physically) or leave Fed, the problem will remain and cheating will continue to be rampant. Think about it. GroundHog Newbod is given exact instructions on how to solve the first puzzle in the game from an official host or navigator. They then get an absurdly huge loan from a rich PO as well as answers to the stat puzzles. Next, they get arts facs on alt planets with markups set at -20. They're soon planet owners, bored, and instantly become snerts waiting to be given the solution to the Duke Puzzle. In place of these missing programmed and player mechanisms, I present myself: A weapon against cheating and stupidity, ready to use death to stop someone from ruining the fiber of the game. A newbod asks me for a GM finder, they'll find themselves chanting final prayers as they squish under the altar or drop the TDX in an attempt to boost their stats. Someone's got to act as Fed's moral fiber. I might not be the best example, but at least I'm trying. I don't think of myself as mean or as some sort of Messiah - just a player trying to get Fed back to the good ole times. To make a long story short, there are no prizes for stupidity in Fed. Cheating is stupid. Derive the rest for yourself.
SCOUNDREL'S
CORNER: THE OFFICIAL PUBLIC HEALTH REPORT, PART I Fellow DataSpacers, I must confess that it was only with the greatest reluctance that I was convinced (forced) to do the public health report interview. Authority in general and myself parted company long ago with irreconcilable differences. When I received the comm from C. Everest Goop, the DataSpace Surgeon General, I did my very best to pass the buck to some other newsdroid. Alas, I was finally informed by the editor that I could either A) take the interview, or B) perform 40 hours public service. No way am I cleaning up zlitherworm droppings. No way. So, with a sense of resignation I returned Doctor Goop's comm and gritted my teeth as he blathered on about the outrage of it all to be a public official serving the people and have to get the run-around like this, yada yada yada. Once the verbal storm had ceased and Dr. Goop got hold of himself, I set up the interview with him in my office. I glanced up from the papers on my table at the appointed time and noticed a bitter little spud of a man standing before my desk. "You are the Surgeon General, Doctor C. Everest Goop, I presume?" I asked. He seemed somewhat irritable and disoriented as he looked around. "I am," he said. "But there must be some sort of mistake here. I was given a teleporter address that brought me here, but I was supposed to be meeting an Olias Focauld to do an interview for the Fed Chronicle on Public Health." "Have a seat, doctor. I am Olias Focauld, this is my office, and you are in the right place." He threw his arms up in disgust and waggled a finger at me. "Your office? This is the Starship Cantina! What is this? Some sort of joke?" For the second time in as many days, I drummed my fingers and waited for this jerk to calm down and get a hold of himself. After much protest and waving of the hands, Dr. Goop finally took a seat and we got on with the interview. "So, doctor," I said as I depressed the RECORD button on my comm unit, "We are all very eager to hear what findings you have for us on the state of public health in Fed DataSpace." I lied. "Must you do that?" He said, ignoring the question and gesturing to the Yak-42 smoldering between my fingers. My lips compressed into a thin line as I crushed out my cigarette. "Public health in Fed DataSpace is abominable, according to our findings." He said it like an accusation and directed it at me. I could feel my thumb absently toying with the safety on the blaster at my hip, then suddenly remembered I was a news guy now and had to be nice to people. "In what ways?" I said through gritted teeth. "For starters, nutritional value is all but completely absent. The major food groups these days are pizza, Jello, whippie cream, Gummy Bears, and ice cream." I was fondly reminded of the extra-cheese and Gummy Bear special I had had for breakfast as he went on. "Additionally, many people aren't even serving this garbage on clean dishes! They are eating it off each other! It's a disgrace, and a potential biohazard! Suppose one of these partygoers arrives at one of these shameful fiestas after having been in the fringe sectors. Say for example Foojaloo-II. He picks up some invasive microbe, then fails to take the time to run through a bio filter. The next thing you know someone is eating it off his arm - or elsewhere - with Jello and contracting some rare disease! "In one duchy alone after a particulary nasty little bash, analyses of left-over whippie cream revealed a high concentration of glue. Glue! There are literally hundreds of thousands of good healthy agricultural products shipped daily, but people are subsisting on trash like that!" I absently scratched behind my ear where my hair had been pasted together, which three weeks of daily showers and nail polish remover had not been able to work loose. "Public facilities are terrible. By my last investigation, there is exactly one restroom facility in the entire sol system, and you have to be an accomplished long-distance hiker to get to it. Furthermore, I have personally observed several people dance right past the doorway of this restroom with their legs crossed and biting their lips because they have no idea what a 'loo' is. I even had one idiot try to buy beer from me, thinking it meant Lou's Bar and Grill!" I remembered that day well. Good thing I keep a flask with me at all times. I was thirsty after that walk. Last time I take lounge tips from the tourist. "Sanitation is awful. Watch this." He reached over, grabbed the ashtray, and dumped it on the floor. The cleaner arrived, rolled right over the cigarette butts and ashes, picked up a wrench someone had left behind, and departed. "You see? These cleaner droids are old and out of date. We checked the programming of one of them. It's programmed to spot and pick up about two dozen sorts of objects. None of which, I might add, are garbage." I had had enough. For the last several weeks I had been patiently trying to explain to the maintenance droid that though I was in a newsdroid position, I was not in fact a droid and would he please stop trying to give me an oil change. Nevertheless, this constant contact with droids has given me a fondness for droids in general, and I just could not endure the insult to Old Ralph, the cantina cleaner. I patiently explained to the good doctor that he could return at a later date to conclude the health report, or that he could shift his health concerns to a more private matter as I inserted my boot into his eye. He chose the former.
SCOUNDREL'S
CORNER: THE OFFICIAL PUBLIC HEALTH REPORT, PART II "Oh no. You again?" With a sigh, I glanced up. Before my desk once again stood C. Everest Goop, The Dataspace Surgeon General. "I specifically requested a different interviewer for the second part of the health report!" He cried. "Don't feel bad, doc. I specifically requested someone else take the interview. Now that we both have established our mutual love for one another, why don't you give it a rest and take a chair." I motioned to the chair opposite and for the second time in two weeks braced myself for the Interview From Hell. (See The Official Public Health Report Part I in last week's Corner.) After indulging in his trademark fussing and whining, the good doctor took a seat, rested his folded hands upon a sizable stack of papers, and glared at me icily. Returning the glare in kind, I reached to my comm unit and depressed the RECORD button. Probably unnecessary, as my comm unit already looked fairly depressed at the prospect of listening to this jerk again. "Okay, doc. Last week you blathered… er… detailed at length the various health risks the general population is currently facing, ranging from poor nutrition to bad sanitation. I was rather hoping that pretty well summed it up. What is so important that you feel you need to waste… er… report further?" I coughed. "I suggest," he began, "you and your readers take the information I've worked so hard to compile a little more seriously. I spoke at length of the dire risks of poor nutrition, and just in a week's time I've read reports of some maniac chef serving up non FDA-approved Bantha Burgers all over the Sol system!" I coughed a bit and 'accidentally' knocked my copy of Mother Focauld's Diabolical Dishes – Or 101 Ways To Baste A Bantha cookbook to the floor. He didn't seem to notice as he really started warming to the topic. "Well, you had better listen, bucko, and listen good. What I am about to tell you makes the health risks I reported last week look like a trip to the local health spa!" Absently chewing on a pencil held in my left hand, I raised my right hand and waggled it around in a yes yes please get on with it I am a busy man I have drinks to buy, contraband to smuggle, and burgers to grill sort of way. "I can sum it all up in three words: teleportation, sex, and time-travel!" I pointed out that though I wasn't exactly sure, I was betting that hyphenated words still counted as separate words and that was actually four words and that I would get back to him when I was sure. He didn't look amused. "People are at an all-time risk of terrible mutations these days due to the increase in teleporter usage. Teleporters basically function by ripping a person apart at the quantum level, flinging the disassociated particles light-years away, and reassembling them at their destination. And with more and more people building their own teleporters without the years and years of training in quantum mechanics simple logic would dictate as a necessity, think of the potential for disaster!" I yawned and was reminded of the old joke: "Hiya Sally! Long time no see! How's that little girl of yours?" "Fred, since you've seen her last, she's grown another foot!" "Wow, Sally, must be hard to buy shoes for her!" "…combined with the increase of sexual activity in Dataspace," he was saying. "Why, people are doing the deed left and right and finding out only afterwards that they are related!" I shuddered and made a mental note to go get that DNA comparison done between myself and a certain fuzzball. "Time-travel. Oh, time travel. How long does it take the average duke, do you suppose, to get bored after vaporizing a bunch of Martians? To begin tinkering with his or her time-machine? Eh? Why, with uncertified time machines available to the average citizen, with sex-change surgeries becoming a routine outpatient procedure, and with the total lack of scruples concerning sex in Dataspace, it is quite possible that you are your own mother!" He had stood up during his tirade, so enraged was he. He had one hand planted on my desk and was leaning forward leveling a finger at my face when suddenly he simply vanished. Poof. Gone. I leaned back in my chair and smiled. I pondered the one crucial error the good doctor had made. One does not have to be a duke or have vaporized any Martians to have become bored with one's time machine and tinkered with it a bit. As my time machine slowly cooled from my recent jump, I pressed my lips together and blew at the wisp of smoke curling up from my blaster barrel. Part III of the Dataspace Health Report is highly unlikely to be forthcoming.
MOURNING
LOSSES AND MOVING ON I was saddened when I entered DataSpace one evening and saw the goodbye post from Crocodyle. It prompted me to take a look around and see what duchies were still in existence. During the free period between pay-to-play and flat rate I would wake and be delighted to see old friends and familiar faces on my who list. I suppose that this spoiled us all, somewhat lulling us into believing that perhaps "old Fed" was back. Reading the boards made me realize otherwise. Deciding to say goodbye once and for all, I braced myself for a di duchies. Some of the names missing struck me personally and made me sad as I remembered. Gone from the list… Atlantis, whose Duke Poseidon was one of the oldest and finest in Fed. Recalling my younger days, I remember Posei, as he came to be known after his name change, was always a source of amusement. He could appear on XT's at any time of the day and suddenly bad fish puns would fly. ("I did it for the halibut!") Duke Posei was also responsible for Stage receiving its TTTT. His and BudWarp's antics concerning who was in control of Atlantis led to a rather lengthy trial. One of the first, and finest trials in the history of Stage I might add! Sleeping soundly, the infamous Duke Shaver of Rainbow. Always proclaiming, loudly I might add, to be Fed's first Duke, he slumbers quietly, awaiting certain death and removal from the rolls of DataSpace. Whenever Duke Shaver was on XTs he demanded to be listened to and woe be to a citizen who wasn't giving their undivided attention! Always argumentative, but knowledgeable nonetheless, Duke Shaver was either loved or hated. A target of many wars, an advisor of newbies (his PO guide is still being circulated), and a living controversy, XTs are much quieter without him. Duke Shaver bullied me at times, but always encouraged me. It was in his brother's duchy, Freedom, that I found my home. In that duchy that I supported FreeRain in the Onyx/Shaver wars, and in that war that I DDed. It was also the duchies of FreeRain that supported me throughout my climb back through the ranks. Even though the loss of Shaver is felt, I look around at all of his "babies" that are now running duchies of their own (you all know who you are!) Neverland and Duke Tbar is also gone from the rosters. I can't remember a time, until his DD, that Duke Tbar wasn't in DataSpace. Neverland had elaborate communication system set up and was a huge promoter of family values. Another name missing is Susan, Duchesse of Treasure. Susan was also always very active in her duchy and hosting Fed Events. She also had a keen interest in training newbies and published many user guides as well. As I recall, Treasure was the only planet to ever receive the Golden Paw award from the Underground for Planet design. What about those who were or were not Dukes/esse but are still missing? Budwarp, TeranSolo, Montag, Crocodyle, Zimaleye, MrFantisy, <insert your friend's name here>, the PO that gave us our first facs, or the first duchy we were in. Some are in deep slumber and we all hold our breath to see if they return, while others have left DataSpace and their friends behind them. There is no way to give homage to everyone that we have lost. At the same time how long should we mourn them? Their legacies will live on through those they trained, their friends and relatives and the stories that continue to be passed down. Visit DataSpace late at night and hear folks reminisce. Remember the Shaver/Onyx wars? What about Kai and his Underground Paper and all of the controversies it created? What about the discussions regarding merits of Genie Fed versus AOL Fed? I was on Channel 9 the other night and someone had found a log of a conversation from long ago. It was quite interesting to me to see who was involved in the log and their level. Surprisingly enough, most of these names are still present in DataSpace. Amazingly enough, some of those are very dynamic Dukes/Duchesses that populate DataSpace. There are scores of us who have watched the changes and are still here. Duchess Phiddie of Maine can still be found in the arenas around the galaxy encouraging participants in duels to make sure they are insured! Known as a skilled fighter and a fair judge, she is also a friend to many. Economics Guru, Onyxgod, Duke of Onyx is still encouraging his followers to get the most out of their game. Trade fairly, trade often and make as much money as you can. Onyxgod is still vilified or romanticised at every turn. He is still and will always be, a controversy. What about Duke Hof of Fizbin? Duke Hof leads his team of warriors against the evil dumpers of Fed. Also dynamic, he is a great leader and duke and his followers look up to him with awe and respect, which is rightfully deserved. Gaminglady, Baroness of Lotus has returned and is still one of the social icons of the Multiverse. Enjoying all aspects of the game, she is the only person I know of that can keep her ASD to zero while hosting a cocktail party in her famed hot tubs! There are other groups that populate DataSpace. The Malcontents are a rag tag band representing different duchies, but enjoy the finer points of Fed. They cause legal woes for Dukes, they preside over their own weddings and they stick together like glue. I have wonderful news for you all: Fed is alive and well. At any given time there are 50, 100, sometimes over 150 creatures who are creating their realities and enjoying themselves. There is a reason why you wake up in the ‘tina and wonder how you got there, why you get a special thrill when that person's voice comes over your comm unit, why you are fiercely loyal to your Duchy, your family and your peers. It's okay to be sad when someone you love or look up to moves on. At the same time, I think it is up to each of us to make Fed what is can be today. Always remember, there are wars to wage, romances to ignite, and new stories to be passed down. Don't forget the past, but don't let the past prevent the future. Remember how it was, but dream of how it can be… and make it what you want it to be.
CAMP
S'MORES STOLEN AGAIN!
I had just settled into my favorite chair in my office when one of my POs came into the office obviously upset and shaking. After several minutes passed this PO, who shall remain nameless for safety and security reasons, began to tell me about the events that had taken place. "I was eating lunch in the Dining Hall," the PO's voice trembled. "When all of a sudden I heard the roar of engines and the sounds of multiple ships landing on the landing pad." The PO was shaking and trying to regain composure as the story continued. "I stood up and walked over to the window to have a look. There were about twenty of them, all dressed in camouflage fatigues and armed with paintball machine guns. They were securing the landing pad. I could see one of them signaling the others towards the Dining Hall. That's when I hid myself behind the jukebox." I listened intently to the series of events as the POs voice quivered. "They entered the Dining Hall and headed straight for the hidden vault." The PO choked and tried to continue." They blew the safe and took all of the s'mores... There was nothing I could have done to stop them." "You did the right thing to hide and save yourself. Did you notice anything that would help us figure out who was behind this?" I asked. The PO swallowed and thought for a moment then said, "After they loaded the s'mores on their ships, I heard several loud hooting sounds, almost like a victory cheer. The next sounds I heard were the roar of their engines as they blasted off. I was so scared that they might return that I stayed hidden until you arrived." I know the PO was telling the truth. It wasn't long ago that Camp's s'mores were stolen in a similar fashion. I promised to get to the bottom of this and praised the PO for the undying loyalty to the Duchy. The PO, feeling assured that everything would be okay, waved and headed home. When the PO left orbit I headed to Camp's surveillance center. Once there, I reviewed the video taken by the s'morescam that was silently hovering on the landing pad as the events took place. It showed clearly that the intruders were a group of Lobbies from the Duchy of Landofboz. I have personally attempted to contact Duke Bozowl daily but have been unsuccessful. Seems that Duke Bozowl is "not available" and Landofboz officials are denying any connection with the s'mores theft. Camp sources reveal that the stolen s'mores have been hidden in a secret location somewhere in Landofboz. Anyone having information of the whereabouts of Camp's s'mores, please contact Duke Bsacarl at bsacarl@aol.com. All information will be kept confidential.
COMMANDER:
TWINK RANK OF YORE, SPEED TYPIST OF PRESENT Twink (v) - Term used in ORPGs (recently popularized by EverQuest) in which one of a high level gives high-level items and massive amounts of money to his alts in order to make the low levels pass faster. Commander used to be the shortest rank in the game. Used to be. Hell, when I DDed, I made merchie in a day! People would proclaim themselves "Promoter of Commanders" and stand on the Earth LP handing out 200,000 IG (well, more than that, since the damn tax ate it up). The very first time I was a commander, I was within maybe 3,000 IG of my loan being paid off, but Superl234 (PO of Stvincent) offered to pay it off if I agreed to haul only in his duchy and mostly for his planet until I was a trader. I, and many others, accepted. I think I was the only one that actually stayed with him until trader. Anyway, enough of my rambling. Here's what happened when I first got on Fed about a week ago now:
So... putting my typing skills to use, I hauled around SOL. And hauled. And hauled. And hauled some more. Many thanks to Phiddie for opening herself to the dreaded PuntMonster and logging on some more commanders to get Transportation Central rolling. Muhahaha... I can haul as fast as the Fed Staff thought 6 could! That feels good. Commander is the first step along the way (wait till you get to trading and find out only the first 10 F Keys are programmable) to become an excellent typist. Comments or complaints go to Gavin_of_Mythose@yahoo.com.
FED VS
REAL LIFE - WHICH IS WHICH? On an average day I get up before the sun rises and prepare to go to work. Once I am at work I slave away at my repetitive tasks and watch the clock. My workplace timepiece is like all of the others out there… big, round and barely moving! Finally I reach the end of the workday and drive home in a huge amount of traffic. If I am lucky enough to make it home without incident, I say my hellos to my family and head for the computer. The stress from the drive home and the reoccurring visions of the day haunt my mind. Booting up the 'puter is done quickly and soon I am basking in the sun and sipping on a liquid s'mores… ahhh… relaxation at last! There is nothing quite like relaxing and seeing your friends, sharing a laugh or two, or maybe just taking a stroll around your planet while it's quiet and you're alone. Total relaxation! Checking on my finances is great too. Much better than it was yesterday. Life is good. But wait! Which is real life and which is Fed? I mean, how often do we forget the real people in our lives? You know, the ones we see everyday. The people that care about us. But wait! There are those in Fed that we see every day too. Good friends that want to see you and care about how your day was also. So much confusion, so little time! Life is real. People with real lives, all striving to provide for themselves and help others around them. But wait! Fed is real too. Just because you can't touch your ship or your planet doesn't mean they aren't really there. You helped to create your universe and have plenty of things to do, places to go and people to see. Seems real to me! After all, we pay good money to keep Fed real. Whoa, I think that is a clue. I am not sure what it is pointing to but I am sure it's a clue. But wait! We pay good money for things in real life too. The nicer the things we obtain the more we pay. Is that a rule or something? Hmm… I think so. Which is real… Fed or real life? Both have many variables. Both reach inside you and hold fast. Each having it's own reason for being. Both with excellent arguments to justify their existence. Which is which?
"Here, doggy doggy. Fetch it! Yummy yummy nice planet for doggy!" Ashkellion was trying to coax this canine back into a good doggy humor with another new planet to munch but I was having none of it. I was sulking. A good "Lay In The Corner And Don't Even Glance At You" sort of sulk. The kind where a half-hearted self-scratching is more interesting than even the squeakiest squeak toy. Hazed put me in the doghouse last week, you see. Mournful eyes didn't faze her. Howling pitifully all night fell on deaf demi-goddess ears. I did all the canine tricks to get a measly pat on the head and my sentence commuted, but she stuck firm to the facts: there was a hole on Venus, a peculiar smell in Slarti's, Diesel's bed sheets had muddy paw prints on them, the globe and spanner were still missing, and I was Bad Dog. "So what?" you may think to yourself. You might point out that most dog sulks last only a few minutes. Most dogs get up the next day eager to lick your hand and chew your slippers. Most dogs will jump at the chance to grin and drool and otherwise look idiotic. Most dogs don't have a surgically implanted enhanced frontal cortex. I figure this gives me roughly the intelligence of a human pre-teen. So with studied analysis, I came to this conclusion: It Is Not My Fault. And being that I am faultless and had to spend a week paying for crimes that were probably committed by some phantom shapeshifting cleaner droid while I innocently slept (certainly not by me!), I was going to sulk about it. Her demi-goddessness finally let me loose to do some planet sniffing. She whapped me on the nose with a note from a PO, asking for a planet review. Feigning disinterest in any assignments, I sulked out the door and into my ship. If you heard me yelp for joy and saw me mark territory at the Sol link, please don't tell Hazed. I was out of the house at last.
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HEALTH REPORT, PART I