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WEB FED NEWS YEARBOOKS Earthdate July 2000 |
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WEB FED NEWS YEARBOOKS Earthdate July 2000 |
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INSIDE SCOOP |
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What was in July 2000's Inside Scoop:
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C.U.J.O., Part III Obligatory recap for... I’m actually not exactly sure who it’s for, but it’s obligatory, so I should just do it anyway and keep my mouth shut: C.U.J.O. made another attack on me and my daring escape landing me on Olias’s planet where we, strangely enough, made a truce. He also gave me an idea... 'Well, Olias, it was nice having this little chat. I guess I’ll be going,' I said as the meal concluded. I stood up and began to leave when Olias interrupted, 'Oh, and Gavin, do you see Farrendahl over there?' I looked over at the looming Kitterian. She smiled at me and I nodded to Olias. 'I realize we have a little truce here, but if you EVER charge things to my Galactic Account again, she’ll come to pay you a visit. Have a nice day,' Olias said and smiled at me, picking his teeth with a toothpick. I swallowed hard when Farrendahl’s smile revealed a wicked set of teeth, and left the restaurant. Once I reached the Landing Pad, I wasn’t sure what to do so I commed Slarti’s to check the status of Mythose. Big mistake. I threw the comm unit at least ten feet away from me and could still clearly hear the vulgarities spewing forth from Slarti’s mouth. The general message (edited for content of course) was, 'MYTHOSE IS NOT FINISHED AND WE’LL TELL YOU WHEN IT IS. THE NEXT TIME YOU ASK, WE WILL MAKE SURE YOU WON’T BE IN ANY SHAPE TO EVEN SEE MYTHOSE!' I retrieved my comm unit, dusted it off, and wondered what to do next. I needed to see C.U.J.O. from the inside. Olias was able to with a membership card he got from Hazed. Hazed! That was the answer! Time to go see my boss. The first place that popped into my mind was two south of Mercury. I quickly purged the thought from my mind and cursed the permanent scarring the snerts of old had left there. Then I thought of more practical locales and decided on the Social Centre of the Galaxy: Chez Diesel. The usual crowd was there (Barb, the Mayor of Mars, and Nightdroid), and, luckily for me, Hazed was in attendance as well. I asked her if I could converse privately with her, and when we sat down in a booth aloof from everyone else, I laid out my plan to her. 'So all I need to do is get you a C.U.J.O. membership card like I did for Olias awhile back?' she asked me. I nodded and hoped she would understand how it would be no hassle at all. She didn’t. 'Let me think about it Gavin... no,' she told me. 'Why not?! Come on! Don’t be a...' I yelled and then realized who I was talking to. 'Err, your demi-goddessness. It really is a very simple request.' 'You wasted two valuable minutes of my semi-divine time, probably kept me away from some good conversation and even better drinks, and you won’t accept my heaven-sent answer?' she asked of me in a dead-serious tone with those piercing eyes of hers. I just slunk back in my chair and watched her go back to all the fun. I guess that plan was failed. How then could I do a reconnaissance mission on C.U.J.O.? Oddly enough, the answer came from the antics of a crazed Adventurer. He had hoarded every last groat he came in contact with until he had 10 megagroats and then purchased a spybeam. Now he had the amazing ability to spy on Groundhogs, Commanders, and Captains... how interesting. His folly became my fortune, however. The idea hit me like a ton of bricks (without the subsequent pain): A spybeam! That’s how I can spy on C.U.J.O.! Absolutely brilliant! I raced to the Comms Shop on Earth (I wasn’t in the mood to deal with a Mythose salesman again) and proudly proclaimed that I wished to purchase a spybeam. '10 megs, guv,' was the flat reply. That’s when my problem set in: I was broke. I began to turn red, stumbled over some words, and made a hasty retreat from the shop. Sitting down on the edge of the road, I wondered who I could cash in a favor on for some money. I soon decided the answer to my monetary troubles: Duke Kingman of Altaria. He and Victoria, Baroness of Tara, were at their usual roost in the Southern Comfort Pub & Diner on Tara. I came up to him with my little puppy-dog, broke Squire eyes. 'King... could I talk to you for a second?' I asked him meekly. I was starting to really get into the act. I began to feel tears well up in my eyes. 'Well sure Gavin, what’s up?' he replied. 'You see, Mythose... kinda, sorta, went broke...' I started, but before I could go further, he ran over to the Galactic Exchanger and began to transfer groats into my account. 'Take as much as you need Gavin! I want to make sure all the Altarian PO’s are happy. Does... 100 megs sound good?' he queried casually. I wished I was at the stage where 100 megs could be talked about casually. Instead, I almost broke into real tears... of joy! This was definitely an unexpected windfall. I stared in disbelief at my account afterwards and thanked Kingman heartily before I left. The next stop was back at the Comms Shop where I proudly proclaimed that I wished to purchase a spybeam AND had the 10 megagroats necessary to do that. The salesman didn’t care. He just called the order up, but before he took my cash, he said, 'Ya don’t have a ship to install it on.' I smacked myself on the forehead, told him I’d be right back, raced to Jarrow’s, dished out close to a meg for yet another ship, ran back toward the comms shop, paused on the way for a rest, and finally made it to my destination, panting and wheezing. 'You should get out more and get some exercise. Now that’ll be 10 megs,' the salesman told me. I gave him my Galactic Account number, he took the necessary cash, called up the order, and then not-so-politely told me to get out. I left, but was happy despite the rudeness that was shown to me since I now had a spybeam. Who, though, was in C.U.J.O. that I could spy on? I had no idea and didn’t exactly know of a C.U.J.O. information kiosk I could find that out from, so I turned to the next best thing: Alsatian. Why Alsatian, one may ask? Simply because of C.U.J.O.’s relation to a former book and movie about dogs and Alsatian’s obvious knowledge of all things canine. I found him out reviewing some planet or another, and although it took a few dog biscuits, I ferreted the answer out of him. One Joe Camber was the President. A quick SPYNET REPORT told me that he was a Journeyman (I then thanked all things holy that he wasn’t any higher, because the thought of an entire planet dedicated to killing journalists sent shivers up and down my spine). After picking up some sandwiches and drinks, I settled down into my ship and turned my spybeam onto him. I found Mr. Camber performing perfunctory tasks of the day. He was hauling inputs and outputs for his factories, grabbing a drink at the local bar, and then finally he put on an extra-rad shield and did the impossible: he flew two south of Mercury! I gasped when he flew into the giant mass of gas and found himself inside a large, gaseous cavern that had 'C.U.J.O.' illuminated in helium. 'So that’s what’s been there all this time!' I yelled aloud to no one but myself. I then stared in rapt attention at the spybeam monitor as many more ships flew into the cavern and assembled for a C.U.J.O. meeting. Most of the meeting was rather boring, but I did take minutes and afterward reviewed the important information I now knew: -C.U.J.O. was responsible for the mysterious disappearance of some former NewsDroids. Most notably: Pugwash, Tickenest, Kintaro 78, and his later reincarnation as Kintaro 79. -C.U.J.O. has upward of 500 members, all of which have been emotionally scarred by what they consider 'bad journalism.' -All 500 members are below the rank of Squire (except for Olias), and they run a multitude of companies that appear legitimate but in reality fund their operations. -Their definition of 'bad journalism' is rather illogical, not very cogent, and at the very least indiscriminate. They considered the great work of Pugwash a travesty, for example. -I am now C.U.J.O. Public Enemy #1, but while many methods of capturing and killing me were discussed, no single one was decided. -They enjoy having fun with their prey which explained the 'Beware of C.U.J.O.' message I received on Delos. -The gas attack was indeed sex change gas, which is only another testament to the last note. NOTE TO SELF: Go pay the Travel Agency on Mercury a visit for a good laugh. Unfortunately, the meeting was abruptly concluded for no apparent reason. It struck me as strange, but then I heard something a security guard told Mr. Camber, and I froze.
FED
OP-ED: WORKTHINGIES After my, er, interesting experience with Sol Mobiles last week, I decided to move onto something less scary. (Or so I thought.) What could be less scary than our hardworking, loyal workthingies? They seemed harmless enough. With that thought in my mind, I headed out to find some to interview. I set my ship to a random planet and landed. Upon getting out, I ran into three people currently occupying the planet. First Person: "Oh, isn’t that Jelly, the duchy poller?" Second Person: "Yes, it is! Have you come to poll us?" Third Person: "How fortunate! I had both my nails and hair done just a few minutes ago. I’m ready for my close up." Me: "Er, I came to poll your workthingies. Have you seen any around?" I took the dazed and frozen expressions on their faces as a sign to start looking for them myself. The longer I searched, the more discouraged I became, UNTIL. Until I came upon a door that had written, in big red letters above the doorway, "DO NOT ENTER". I of course, being the curious NewsDroid I am, read the "DO NOT ENTER" sign as "Come right inside!" I opened the door slowly at first, and much to my delight, I found hundreds of workthingies bustling around, hard at work. Overcome with excitement I rushed in, not realizing that there was a door handle on only ONE side of the door. As I realized this, the door closed with a sickening *THUD*. I was stuck - and hundreds and hundreds of workthingies began to swarm around me. Right now, I am writing this article in hiding behind a few tons of artifacts. I’ll keep you all updated as to my status in here. Maybe later, I’ll get brave and get out to poll some of the workthingies. All I know is, I will have to move from here soon because some workthingies just started loading a ship with my hiding place. (HELP ME!)
FED
OP-ED: WORKTHINGIES, PART II A recap of last week: I decided to poll WTs, went where I shouldn’t have gone, and now am stuck among the WTs. I finally got brave and decided to poll the friendliest-looking WT I could find - well, as friendly as WTs can look. I finally found one off to the side and I approached him (it?!?).
WT: Well, my system is cooling right now so, yes, I do have time. Q: Great! First things first. What is your name - if you have one? WT: Well, my serial number is 235-631-631-755-381-514-423-452… Q: Okay okay okay! I get the point. Let’s see here… ::pulls out her notepad:: Ah, first question. Do you ever feel as if the planet owners have no concern for you personally and only see you as replaceable? WT: No! Never! In fact, I think that the Almighty Planet Owner has. ::slumps suddenly over:: A little robot came over with a cart. It picked up the broken down WT and put it in the cart and pushed it away. Another robot followed and placed a new WT where the other one just was. WT(2): complete respect for us as individuals. Q: Okay then… Are you all as excited as the planet owners are when a build is being completely? The WT(2) stared at me for a second. WT2: Excited? More like scared for our lives. Why would we be excited to receive punishment from the Almighty Planet Owner? Q. I don’t… understand… Suddenly, red lights began flashing. The WT(2) immediately picked me up and started dashing as fast as a WT could dash. An alarm sounded. I was taken to a room one level below the level we were on. WT(2): We are probably safe here… Nearby, a WT was screaming, "IT GOT FRED! IT GOT FRED!" while other WTs attempted to quiet her. Children WTs gathered around an older looking WT who looked about as wise as a WT could look. He whispered, "It’s an energy one… I can feel it. Estimated loss: 70." A nearby WT murmured, "Thank the Planet Owner, it wasn’t a security build, thank the Planet Owner." A crowd was gathered in a far corner around a man yelling, "He hath called an energy build upon us! REPENT AND BE SAVED!" A basket was being passed around the crowd, into which they placed random nuts and bolts. What a strange, strange place! I have so many more questions I want to ask, though I believe I’ll wait for this energy build to end first. And hopefully, I’ll find SOMEWAY out, someday.
FED
OP-ED: WORKTHINGIES, PART III Greetings from the world of WTs. Last time we left off, I spoke with a workthingy for the first time ever. I also experienced my first build on this side of the world. (Eeek!) This week, I conversed with an evangelistic-like WT who I found standing in the corner. I figured he seemed interesting enough. As I was walking over, he yelled, "It can be YOU next education build, if you do not repent!" He looked straight at me and held up a basket, shaking it. I peered in and saw an array of nuts and bolts. "Sorry, fresh out of nuts and bolts, heh, heh." He glared at me for a second and I decided to break the silence with a question. "Actually, I came here wondering if you would like to answer a few questions for a newspaper article." At the sound of "newspaper article," his eyes lit up. "Certainly!" Q. So, basically, what are you doing here? A. Well, you see, as everyone knows, The Planet Owner brings upon us a build when we have done wrong as punishment. Only those who deserve it are taken by the build. (The reason why I am still here.) If everyone repents for all their wrong doings, the Planet Owner will spare everyone. Q. I see, and what does the passing around of the basket for nuts and bolts do? A. Well, my whole life is preaching, so I don’t actually WORK. A workthingy needs nuts and bolts too, you know! Q. Well, it seems like there is an awfully large amount of nuts and bolts in... A. Are you here to interview me or what? Proceed with the interview questions. Q. Riiight. And I was wondering, what would a workthingy do that it would need to repent for? A. Um, eh, er. You ask too many questions. REPENT I TELL YOU! REPENT! I backed away slowly. I almost welcomed the sound of another build, anything to give me a chance to get away from this thing. After I was in hiding, I realized something. I STILL forgot to ask how to get out. Alas, another week in here.
FED
OP-ED: WORKTHINGIES, PART IV Yup, it's me again, here in WT land. Due to an inquiry by Febby I decided to investigate a VERY important subject:
Are the WTs the devious thieves who steal the excess commodities we can't fit in our ships when we accidentally buy too much? Do they swipe the goods we can't fit into our warehouses? Let's find out. I searched all over trying to find some clue that would lead me to the answer. Finally, I came across a trail of cereal. Aha! A clue! After following this trail for hours in circles, I came to a horrifying realization. The cereal was none other than some food I had taken along for the trip which decided to leak out of my backpack. I was back at the start - no clues and no luck. Just when I had finally given up, I tripped and fell on my face. What did I find? A book. "That's funny," I thought to myself, "I didn't bring any books." Suddenly, my eyes lit up. That's it! I soon followed a trail of books which led me... nowhere. In frustration, I stomped my foot. Suddenly, I found myself plummeting down a dark shaft. A 2,000 ton pile of hides broke my fall. "That's funny," I pondered, "What's a 2,000 ton pile of hides doing underneath this... AHA!" I looked around to find a cornucopia of commodities surrounding me. I searched and found a few hundred tons of fruit stamped "PROPERTY OF JELLY." I was immediately suspicious. I looked at more. I saw names such as " Kewlcat", "Nangbok", "Silowetcat", "Jordy", "Hawkwing", and yes, even "Febby". I figured it was too much of a coincidence for so many workthingies to have the same names as people. What would they want with all this stuff? I decided to investigate that too. However, I did not get very far when I bumped into a rather large looking workthingy. I immediately found myself on my bottom, back up above this area. They don't take well to strangers here, do they?
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