 CEN: GAY?
by Danny
It's a well-known fact that I run
the Sons of Apathy, an organization dedicated to bringing
down the regime of the Emperor Cen. But recently,
something made me decide to temporarily put aside our
differences. I heard a vicious and unfounded rumor that
the Emperor Cen... is gay. I couldn't let that stand, so
I tracked down Cen and interviewed him, to give him a
chance to clear everything up. What follows is the
unedited transcript from that interview. I'll let you
decide for yourself if you want to believe the rumors.
Danny: So Cen, I'll get right down
to the point. Rumor has it you're... a homosexual.
Cen: Rumor also has it that I'm married to Tom Cruise.
But I'm not.
Danny: So are you gay? I'll save the Tom Cruise thing for
later.
Cen: I'm very happy. I mean who wouldn't be happy when
you spend half your day ogling guys' butts?
Danny: How exactly do you think the rumors of your
homosexuality started?
Cen: I'm not too sure. I mean it couldn't possibly have
been my marriage to Andy, or my constant staring at
Arro's behind... it must be something more obvious.
Danny: Yes, marrying a man is almost sure to start those
sorts of rumors in most parts of the universe. What do
you think of the rumors?
Cen: Well, they're okay I guess. My only issue is with
the one rumor that totally misinterprets the size of my
reproductive organ. I mean, Andy would not have stayed
with me so long if that were true!
Danny: That one I won't come back to. One last question.
How do you respond to the rumors I just started about
your marriage to Tom Cruise?
Cen: Totally flattering, but it wont stop me in my
attempts to turn you into a member of Big Gay Al's Big
Gay Animal Shelter.
Danny: Thank you for your time.
THIS IS THE LIFE?
by Chewbacon - the big fur, the big teeth, the big feet -
It's all in style!
Ah, PO-hood. Freedom, money, slaves
(work thingies), and routines. It just so happens that I
don't like routines. Every day I wake up, shower, spend
half of the morning drying my fur, grab my favorite whip
to slave-drive the Work Thingies and then settle down to
a cup of coffee. The day continues on, I sit around and
look like I'm busy to keep Hazed from giving me work to
do; it is my philosophy I learned from Dilbert,
"Your job is to look busy until someone comes along
and gives you a meaningful assignment." The next
day, I wake up and do the same thing all over again.
It has time for me to introduce a
new power into my planet. Instead of following the same
routine, this lovely gadget will decide what I should do
all day. With just one touch of a button, I won't have to
commit to a routine; it is so wonderful!
My first task is to... drum roll
please... "fill your deficits." Let's try that
again... "build the rest of your baron builds."
No, I don't like that one either. "Duke." I
don't think so... "give your WTs more social
security."
Evidently my invention has many
bugs. Doing a routine is one thing; doing work is
completely different. Back to the drawing board!
FED OP-ED: BARONS AND BARONESSES
by Jelly
I decided that Barons and
Baronesses are misunderstood by the rest of Fed. Sure, we
live in the lap of luxury, but that does not mean our
days are carefree! I decided to speak to some fellow
baron/esses to prove that being one is tough work too!
"It seems that Fed has us
baronesses misunderstood", Jelly says.
"They think that we have the
life... unending money pouring into our treasuries...
getting whatever we want...", Jelly says.
Jelly asks, "What for you is
the hardest part about being a baroness?"
Michelle grins evilly
"setting up trading
alliances", says Michelle.
Then I decided to bother Jordy for an interview.
>xt Jordy, would you like to be
interviewed in a few minutes?
>xt I'm hunting barons and
baronesses
Your comm unit relays a message
from Jordy, "why? what did I do?"
Your comm unit relays a message
from Jordy, "Hunting? That sounds kinda painful,
Jelly ;)"
>xt Hehe
>xt The topic of this weeks poll
are the pains of being a baron and baroness, what the
lower ranks dont realize
>xt they think all we need to do
is live in the lap of luxury, and stuff
>xt And that's not true! I had
to... um... move from one room to another once!
Your comm unit relays a message
from Jordy, "::giggles:: Isn't that correct tho?
;)"
Your comm unit relays a message
from Kotetsu, "Barons also have problems finding
things to do."
And… my conversation with
Jordy:
"I'm trying to prove to the
world that baronesses dont have it as easy as people
think we do", Jelly says.
"What for you is the hardest
part about being a baroness?", Jelly asks.
"Wow... Let me think about
that for a second", says Jordy.
"I think the hardest part
about being a Baroness would have to be... having more
money than what I know to do with it", smiles Jordy.
Jordy smiles, "Yep, that's
definitely one problem I have"
"I mean, there's only so many
auctions one can go to", says Jordy.
"I know exactly what you
mean", Jelly says.
"Squires know to put their
money towards their planet...", Jelly says.
Jelly says, "But I've found
groats just piling up all over"
Jordy nods at you. "Exactly!
You know, I've actually lost groats before, since my
pockets are full and treasury is full, the groats have
nowhere to go."
Jordy says, "So they just
*POOF* disappear into space... that's such a waste"
"Exactly", Jelly says.
"Is there anything about a
rank below you that you envy at all?", Jelly asks.
Jordy says, "Ummmm, I would
have to say Groundhogs"
"What is it that you
envy?", Jelly asks.
"Well, Groundhogs remind me of
being a kid. You know, no money worries, no bills to pay,
no payments on a ship, etc... once you decide to go the
next step - ie, growing up - bad things happen",
smiles Jordy.
Jelly nods
Jelly asks, "Lastly, is there
anything you would like to say to Fed about being a
baroness?"
Jordy smiles, "Yes, if you are
having parties, events, etc please don't invite me if the
location is shielded... I'm a Baroness... I no longer
remember how to or even desire to walk. Thank you"
Jelly winks and say, "Thanks
for your time, I know how busy baronesses can be"
"Yes, always on the go",
says Jordy with a wink.
And some humor when I went searching for barons and
baronesses…
Your comm unit relays a message
from Ruy, "Sorry Just a lowly Squire."
>xt Pfft... a squire? Why would
I talk to a squire?
>xt Just kidding, though, next
week I'm interviewing squires ;)
Your comm unit relays a message
from Ruy, "when are you interviewing former Dukes?
:)"
>xt Former dukes?
>xt ha!
Your comm unit relays a message
from Ruy, "Better a former duke than to still be
stuck there."
ALSATIAN'S NEW GAME
This prolonged winter season wasn't
the result of a GroundHog getting scared by his shadow
last month. I have to admit; for an entire month there
wasn't a GroundHog in Fed long enough to even see his
shadow.
My new game seemed to have gotten
rid of them all.
Poised at the hole in the Meeting
Place where new GroundHogs appear, I waited anxiously for
each and every one. As soon as they made their
appearance, even before they could read the text telling
them to type ‘Help Start', they were greeted by the
vision of my slavering maw, a woof in the ear, and a huge
lick up the side of the head. Most of them disconnected
without even taking time to type in ‘quit'.
Hazed says I have to stop that and
get back to work. In her view work doesn't mean licking
GroundHogs, digging new mines in Venus, or chasing the
black cat through the ruins. She means planet reviews,
and to do planet reviews I need planet review requests.
Help me out here folks, if some don't start rolling in
Hazed is going to make me take on the dishwashing at CDs.
I wouldn't mind licking the plates so much if the food
were just a little better!
THE PRICE OF PAINT
by Horatio
Ladies and gentlemen, I'm proud to
say I think I've finally figured out one of the mysteries
of the universe. A question we all ponder and agonize
over. A question that, up until now, had no concrete
theories to answer it. A question I'm addressing because
I can't think of anything better to write about this
week.
I believe I've finally figured out
how a collection of loonies (like us) managed to be put
in control of galactic commerce and planets in Fed. Being
positions of extreme power, it bears thought as to how
and why we crazy people are in control. The answer?
They got rid of all the lunatic
asylums - our former homes. How did I arrive at this
conclusion, you may ask? Well, for starters, you can just
look around at your friends and neighbors. Mine certainly
bear my theory out. But more to the "hard
evidence" facts, I direct your attention to our
ships, nearly all of which are slathered, inside and out,
in manky, institutional paint. There must be a reason as
to why there's enough paint to handle the multitudes of
ships in Fed. Logic suggests that reason to be that there
are no more institutions.
Of course, we in Fed are not
completely institution-less. After all, we still pay
taxes. And there's the loo on Earth - that needs painting
from time to time. (I believe its last refurbishment was
somewhere during the Truman administration... at least
for the men's side it was. I don't know about you
ladies.) However, there isn't one governmentally-run
loony lockup anywhere. Which leads me to believe they let
us out so they could paint the ships. A side effect of
this, though, is that common crazies (like us) are now
running the show.
So far, the system seems to be
working, though. We've been in control of commerce for
awhile now, and the universe is still alive, which is
testament to the self-correcting economic system we
enjoy. Sure, most of us spend our time lounging around,
chatting, and eating tons of food which is later billed
to our constituents, but that only means that most of us
are suited for high official office.
What's the down side, then? Well,
we are clogging the Galactic Radio Channels with tons of
meaningless drivel, but if we didn't do it, somebody
would. And we are forming large, inert lumps in many bars
of the galaxy, like some bizarre form of pub cholesterol,
but we Irish have been doing that at St. Patrick's Day
parties for ages (ah, my proud cultural heritage... pass
the Guinness). So let us sit back for a moment, be
thankful for what the world has made us, and take a long
appreciative look at the artful paint jobs most of our
ships sport. While the colors may vary, it all follows
the same general theme: a high-tech space transport...
...that an elephant was standing
next to when it got violently ill.
JELLY AND THE SQUIRE
This week, I went the complete
opposite route from interviewing baronesses and decided
to interview squires… that is, I tried!
I started with a squire I found in
Chez Ds.
Jelly asks, "How long have you
been a squire?"
Xyli says, "3 years"
Jelly stares
"Three years?", Jelly
asks.
"Yup", smiles Xyli.
"Danny's been one longer than
me", says Xyli.
"Why haven't you promoted
yet?", Jelly asks.
Xyli says, "I haul out but I
won't haul in commods"
"I see... is there some
benefit to being a squire?", Jelly asks.
Xyli says, "Nope, just like
being lazy"
Xyli says, "Oh but I am
Empress as well as a squire"
Jelly asks, "But don't you
want to live in the lap of luxury like baronesses?"
Xyli says, "Nah"
Jelly stares in disbelief
"I either stay at CDs or in my
ship", says Xyli.
"But... doesn't everyone want
to be like us?", Jelly asks.
"Er... I mean,
baronesses", Jelly says.
Jelly looks innocent
Xyli says, "Nope"
But… but… I thought all
squires aspired to be barons/baronesses!
I couldn’t continue on…
how could someone want to remain a squire?!
Sheesh!
Next week I’m searching out
Dukes and Duchesses, so be warned!
(Disclaimer: Jelly has nothing
against squires, a few of her friends are squires…
unfor… er… fortunately.)
RAMBLER
by Chewbacon - the big
fur, the big teeth, the big feet - It's all in style!
Last week I started writing a new
planet with Genesis. I like Genesis since I can write a
little bit at a time and, unlike using the work bench, I
don't have to upload the planet until I've finished the
planet. All is going well, I've written a few locations
(all I can stand to do at a time without getting bored
with it) and now it is time to save it. I click the SAVE
AS button, type in a short and sweet, eight-character
filename and hit enter. What's this? An error? I try
again and get the same error. Needless to say: Genesis
wouldn't save my planet. Outraged by this, I pushed aside
the easy-to-use application and go straight into the work
bench. It is a quick transition I make from time to time
in life: ease of use and convenience to functionality. A
car with air conditioning, to a truck without it but with
better mileage; crashing Microsoft Windows to
hair-splitting yet efficient Linux.
Why am I talking about this? I have
no idea; I must be rambling. And speaking of rambling, it
is something I've been doing quite a bit lately on 9.
Even though rambling usually consists of inane
conversation, I was surprised to get some knowledge out
of it - I learned what hotdogs are made from!
Why ramble? Why read this article??
Why am I writing this article??? All those questions can
be answered by rambling about them. Maybe the first one
can't be answered while rambling; you may be asked why
you are rambling and so goes an endless loop.
ALSATIAN AND THE HUNTING SEASON
Overpopulation and species balance
has once again become a problem in Fed, and hunting
season has, by Imperial Edict, once again opened. Bounty
hunters move stealthily in the spaceways, tracking down
their prey (and occasionally taking out a legitimate
hauler in the process), hoping to bring home a set of
ears mounted on a funeral wreath from their targets.
No, I don’t mean we are
congested with too many Dukes and Duchesses, barons or
Baronesses, or even the weekend influx of GroundHog alts.
I’m talking about wolves.
Just survey the player list; you
have the basic Wolf, Wolfie, Wolfy, Wolff, Wolfyn,
Wolfman, Wolfboy and Wolfish. There’s the colored
varieties: Blackwolf, Silverwolf, Redwolf, Greywolf,
Whitewolf, Greywolfie, and the orbital Greyspacewolf.
There’s the pack faction: Wolfpack, Wolfgang, and
the solitary Lonewolf. There’s even a Nightwolf,
Daywolf, Wolfkill, a Wolfbane, and a bright Starwolf in
the sky. If that’s not enough you can even catch
occasional glimpses of the more exotic wolves: Lobo,
Lupus, and Lupine. And of course there are always the
wolf parts: Wolftail, Wolfpaw, Wolfleg, and founder of
that exotic delicacy served in the snack bar on Earth
– Wolffries.
This influx of Canis Lupus began
several years ago with Imperial Edict #428/W/05 adding
wolves to the list of endangered species in DataSpace and
protecting them from capture or kill. This was partly in
response to the repeated DDs of one of a trio of wolf
player characters at that time, Wolfman. Evidence has
recently been uncovered that the edict was also motivated
by Emperor Ming’s fears that Wabbit clones might
soon take over Federation if natural population controls
were not protected. Sources quote him as saying,
"The wolf is, at base, a cautious, indeed cowardly
killing machine. That is precisely why they are valuable
additions to ecosystems like Data Space that are
threatened by over browsing of natural vegetable
commodities."
Intervention by Imperial government
has led to recent explosions in the wolf population. Bays
of stock are in high demand among thieving stevedores
channeling their wares to the black market. Marsrat pizza
is becoming a scarce food staple at CDs as hungry
predators begin stalking prey in the Mars ruins. Fur
prices are predicted to plunge in the summer months as an
over-supply of shed hair hits the exchanges.
Newcomers to the Fed and urbanites
insulated from space trade traditions see the wolves as
displaced natives who must be returned to the ecosystem.
Conversely, many native Fedizens view wolf reintroduction
as the imposition of an alien culture. To them, the wolf
causes a whimsical waste of resources that threatens
agricultural developments and the traditional culture.
Wolves have evolved as careful
killers. However, we want them to be discriminating in
their predation. This requires that we permit hunters to
shoot wolves that kill livestock and marsrats. As wolf
numbers increase, so will this problem. It is
irresponsible to pretend otherwise.
The galactic downlisting process to
reduce wolves from endangered to threatened will be
initiated this month. Delisting from both the endangered
and threatened lists should begin by year-end and be
completed within two years. Because the wolf population
has recovered from an endangered status, guidelines have
been developed for managing wolves as a threatened
species and eventually as a nonlisted species. These
guidelines provide a conservation strategy for
maintaining a healthy viable population of wolves in Data
Space, and contribute toward recovery, while addressing
problems that may occur with wolf depredation on
livestock or pets.
1. Planet owners will be
allowed to protect their families, pets and livestock
under guidelines to be adopted;
2. Fair compensation will be
given according to market value of animals lost,
whether livestock or pets;
3. Trapping and/or hunting by
qualified or certified trappers/hunters (who have
attended an education/orientation seminar before
licenses will be issued) will be implemented.
It would be a shame for management
to be left up to Mother Nature to eliminate the
over-abundance of wolves through over-population disease
and DD when Fedizen control can keep the wolf population
under Mother Nature's allotted population size.
And besides, the next wolf that
raids my kibble stash is going to become a throw rug in
front of my fireplace!
TURN-AROUND
by Horatio
Well, it looks like the weather
here is finally starting to turn around. We're going from
the normal mountain-winter yuck we've been stuck with to
the well-received normal mountain-spring yuck we've been
longing for lo these many months.
Don't ask me why.
The days here have been jumping
back and forth between gorgeously warm temperatures and
the disgusting type of rain. We all know this type of
rain: it's more than drizzle, but doesn't have the
ambition to really become rain, so all it does is get
everything damp and humid. Still, since winter often
brings heavy snowfall here (which disappointed me by not
coming this year), many people are welcoming the change
of precipitation to a form that usually just goes away.
Unless, of course, the river is flooding, but that's
another issue entirely.
I'm one of those strange people who
likes snow. When there's a blizzard raging outside, I'm a
happy guy, until it comes time to shovel Mr. Driveway,
then I become Mr. Icicle while trying to pull-start the
paperweight I call Mr. Snowblower. It's at times like
that when you begin to understand why that
engine-starting feature is called "choke"...
that's precisely what you want to do to the bozo who
designed the two-cycle engine.
However, a snowblower is of minimal
use in our present weather. It's far too small to shelter
under from the rain, and it doesn't really dry off the
ground too well if you run it. So, I've been staying
inside a lot lately, running around in Fed. And this is
what brings me to the gist of this week's article, which
is...
I hate all of you beach planet
owners.
Well, not seriously. But it's
somewhat frustrating when your real-world environment is
sodden to the core and someone else is enjoying a planet
that evidently doesn't have the word "rain" in
its collective vocabulary. I will, however, state that
those wonderful beach planets are a great place to
distract yourself when your car is floating out of the
parking lot, but once again, that's another issue
entirely.
So, as a result, I've been hatching
plans for the drying out of my living environment. So
far, the only plan I've come up with is moving the Earth
a little closer to the sun to dry things out a bit, but,
as all my veteran readers well know (say it with me,
kids!), sun bad.
In the end, then, I will find
myself a cozy beach planet to sit on until the rain sees
fit to stop. I will sit there on the white sand beach
with an umbrella drink (although in my present state of
mind, I'm going to be drinking an entire patio set before
I'm mellowed out) and wait for the rain to stop. And, as
an added benefit, I know from personal experience that my
snowblower won't mind, as I know it works well with sand.
That is a story I don't want to discuss and I thank you
for not asking about it.
Let's just say I've been banned
from Atlantis.
HOSTILITY AND YOU: AN OWNER'S
MANUAL
by Danny
I've noticed recently that more and
more people are becoming more and more hostile. There's
nothing wrong with this of course, but hostility in the
hands of a moron is a dangerous thing. It may irritate
me, for instance. So, I decided to do a service to
DataSpace and myself, mostly myself, and draw on my vast
hostility experience to write up a simple how-to,
summarized in some easy to understand "Dos" and
"Don'ts".
Do: Target your hostility at those
deserving of it.
Before unleashing your wrath, wait until you find a
worthy target. Wait for someone to beg for money or
puzzle answers, maybe a cheater macro program. And make
the hostility applicable to the offense.
Don't: Target your hostility
randomly.
Definitely do not unleash fury on people for what they've
done in the past, unless it relates to something very
recent, as in under two minutes prior to the fury. Also,
do not attack based on assumptions or the word of others.
Very bad form, and will accomplish nothing.
Do: Be coherent.
The assumption that everyone knows what you mean is
dangerous. Be sure to at least attempt to use some
language fluently, so as not to lose the potential
target. For instance, "Earn your own money and don't
bother me" is an effective reply to a beggar. Simple
and to the point.
Don't: Be a moron.
Extremely general insults are bad. And remember, sarcasm
doesn't carry well in text. Also, if you sigh and remark
that you already said that, be sure you actually said
that. "Oh, that is so like you" is a prime
example of what to avoid.
Do: Remember to incorporate the
idea of apathy.
Apathy is key. Apathy is The Way. You're hostile, yes,
but you don't care. If you care, suddenly you have a
purpose, and you're not just hostile anymore. Defeats the
whole idea, really.
Don't: Bother me.
One last thing. Whatever you do, leave me alone. I don't
care. Really, I don't. Your insults are lame, your point
is vague, and you give me a headache.
So there you have it, the basics of
hostility. If you have any questions, don't ask me
because I don't want to talk to you. Go away.
A SAINT PATRICK NIGHTMARE
by Chewbacon - the big
fur, the big teeth, the big feet - It's all in style!
Saint Patrick's Day is another one
of those nightmare days I mentioned at the beginning of
the year. I am constantly bombarded by people checking to
see if I'm wearing something green and being pinched by
the idiots who don't notice my green item of clothing. It
is very similar in DataSpace; someone shimmers in on you,
examines you, and if you are not wearing something green,
you are pinched!
The next thing that bothers me is
what to wear. My usual attire is jeans and a white
t-shirt. I don't like to wear green. This means I have to
pay the arm and the leg to buy fuel for my ship and goto
Tux Deluxe and buy something suitable.
This next problem isn't doesn't
effect me, but I'd like to point it out. For those of you
who cannot buy alcohol before 1.00pm on a Sunday: it
sucks to be you. And here is something that applies to
most of the working folks: you have to work the next day.
We all feel bad enough on Mondays and it doesn't help
one's morale to be hugging the porcelain throne.
Saint Patrick's Day, I have one
thing to do: sit in my ship out of shimmerer's reach.
LIFE: MISFILED
by Horatio
Recently, as I was being
reincarnated at one of the many helpful health care
centers in Fed, I was miffed at myself for wandering
merrily into a deathtrap. I knew where the silly thing
was, and like the bozo I can sometimes be, I just stepped
right into it. Stupid. However, I wasn't mad at myself
for long, because my anger quickly turned to confusion
when I re-insured myself. The insurance clerk, after
lightening my wallet considerably, told me that I now had
cells on-file, ready to bring me back the next time I
idiotically killed myself (he didn't use those exact
words). And it was at that moment a realization struck
me.
While our numbers have dwindled
from previous years, there are still a significant number
of people living in Fed. And out of all of us, I'd say
that 99% of us are insured, if not all of us. This means
that there are cells on file for all of us, so that we
can be reincarnated quickly and conveniently the next
time we forget we can't breathe underwater. So this means
that the hospital must be able to quickly identify our
remains (sometimes not an easy task...SUN BAD!), find our
personal cells in the cell bank, retreive said cells,
clone us, and upload our memories into our new body
quickly enough that we don't really notice much of a
delay. Frankly I find all of that perfectly believable.
Except for the filing part.
In the times I've been to a doctor
or hospital, it seems as though they have continually
suffered filing problems. Sometimes they can't find my
records. Sometimes they find them, but can't find what
they're looking for IN them (which usually results in
them drawing more blood - something I enjoy so much, let
me tell you). Recently, a hospital had to request my
patient records from my normal doctor, who promptly faxed
the records over. However, there was some kind of mix-up,
the end result of which was that while my vital stats
sheet was on top, someone else's records were underneath,
which led to a doctor asking me, a guy, exactly how long
ago I was six months pregnant.
So this begs the question: how does
the hospital keep all of our cells straight? Don't tell
me computers; my doctor's office has computers and they
only make things worse. Can you imagine how awful a
mix-up would be? It would be far more embarassing than
being asked personal questions about someone else's
person. I like my friend Fahfard, but I don't want to be
occupying his personal personage.
So far, though, I haven't run into
such a terrible mistake. I'm not sure how they're
managing their filing system, but they seem to be
handling it well enough that we're all still around in
our proper forms, even if we are sometimes cursed with
draft-prone clothing. However, I did have an unfortunate
order mixup when I went in for a strength increase.
I guess because
"strength" and "switch" both start
with S.
TALENT AND INSPIRATION
by Chewbacon - the big
fur, the big teeth, the big feet - It's all in style!
Thursday night, my Student
Government Association (another name for popularity
contest) at my school held a talent show. I wasn't
planning on going to it, but some people I know asked me
to come see their bands perform. The first band on the
roster of those expressing their talent was a grunge
band. I never heard any of their songs, but read some of
the lyrics, which were far (put extreme emphasis
on "far") from tasteful. The song they played
started with a good beat and when the first verse
started, I was immediately disappointed; the guy really
didn't sing, he yelled and distorted his voice to the a
point where you couldn't understand a word he was saying.
The audience broke into laughter and I just looked down
and shook my head. I even read the lyrics to three of
their songs and I couldn't make out if it was one of
them!
Next band played pretty well beside
their microphone amp not working correctly. You couldn't
hear their voices too well, but the music itself was
good. Last band played an excellent tune and you could
actually hear them. So two out of the ten acts I saw had
some real talent – other than that, I left
disappointed, my wallet three-dollars lighter (could've
saw both of the could bands for free elsewhere), and the
thought that my school is nearly without talent.
As the initial band with an inane
purpose played… or whatever you call it… I
decided to take the time to figure out what I would write
about. I couldn't think of anything, so I looked through
the lineup for the show to see what was next: a
free-verse poem! Who could not like free-verse? It has a
flow, doesn't necessarily rhyme.
It reminded me of Prufrock Poetry
corner. Entertaining to see people type out their songs,
poems, short stories, etc. and express good talent and
some not-so-good talent. Sadly, it is no more.
Then it hit me that I found
something to write about. That's a wrap, have a good
week, folks!
ALSATIAN ACTUALLY REVIEWS A
PLANET!
The only mail I received this week
was a rambling letter from Wolfkill. He complained that
depleting the wolf population would lead to the citizens
of DataSpace turning into a nasty, rambunctious, trashy
group of coyotes prone to uncontrolled breeding.
Sorry Wolfkill, it's way too late
already.
Nowhere in his letter did I spot a
request for a planet review, and the only other habitants
of my mailbox were a few stray interstellar dust motes.
Hazed has become more and more sarcastic (my term for
whapping me on the snout) as week after week I submitted
useless non-review articles for the Chronicle. Every once
in a while I'd break up the routine with a lame excuse
for why I didn't send in anything, but I do believe she's
grown weary of that brand of creativity.
So this week I decided to take the
Icedrake-gobbling-planets approach to reviewing. I'd just
pick one poor unlucky soul at random and review his or
her rock no matter what state of development it was in!
Sitting at the Sol link I closed my eyes and typed
>Display Routes into my nav computer, and headed for
the first planet that appeared on my display.
Arena (Starbase1), Duchy of Sol - Overlord Ming the
Merciless
WHAM!
Now that was quite a clever use of
events by Mr. Ming – the first time I've ever
approached the link to a system and immediately been
transported out of my ship, thrown groundside, and had my
clothes ripped off before I could even bat an eye or
scratch a flea. Not too bad, I thought. This might prove
to be an interesting system, full of surprises and mazes
and all kinds of neat things to explore and events to
trigger. The landing pad did look a little like a
hospital, but I seemed dressed for the occasion in my
flap-back gown. The toe tag was a little annoying but I
found eventually I could make it flap on the tile floor
in time with the clickity-click of my toenails.
I made my way out of that location
to what appeared to be the hub of a space station where
the most outstanding feature (Okay, let's be honest. The
only feature.) was a black monolith that did nothing. It
was a very nicely proportioned monolith, but the only
sense I could make of it was it had to be a stylized
version of a fire hydrant. I used it accordingly. In
one-movement locations from the monolith I found tersely
described shipyards, repair shop, exchange, electronics
store, weapons shop, hospital, insurance office,
engineering office, and a very small (at least in terms
of descriptive text) bar.
And that was all I found. Surely
this must be a work in progress, because what was there
wasn't much. Why, there wasn't even anyplace to replace
my clothes! Figuring all the other locations must be
hidden ones I wasn't going to find, I crawled back into
my ship to head for home.
That was easier said than done. I
found many more locations in space than I did on the base
itself. There was empty space, lonely space, space above
the plane of the ecliptic, space below the plane of the
ecliptic, space near the edge of nowhere, space at the
edge of nowhere, and space beyond the edge of nowhere.
There was deep space, grim space, and space a long way
from home. Every once in a while I'd try to hail one of
the mobiles that passed by me but they were completely
unresponsive to my pleas for help. I was lost. The orbit
of Starbase1 had disappeared. The link was not to by
found by this hound.
Frustration seized me as I tried
unsuccessfully to hail another passing cruiser. When it
didn't respond I banged my paws on the weapons console,
accidentally unleashing a small burst from my decorative
mag guns at the passing ship.
WHAM!
There went that event again, and I
was standing once more in the hospital location with a
fresh gown. I'd had enough of this planet, and sold my
ship and traveled back to my doghouse this time. If you
ever plan on visiting Arena space or Starbase1, don't
count on a lot of script to entertain you. Do count on
leaving in a hospital gown! This is one spot I'd mark off
my list of fun weekend afternoon explorations!
(If you start wondering about the
places and items in the text of Starbase1, check out
prior issues of the Chronicle for explanations!)
DANNY STRONGLY CONSIDERS THIRD
ANNUAL BUILD
Mars, Sol - Danny, Savior of the
First Dannitarian Church, President of the DataSpace Bar
Association, and generally evil jerk, has decided to
consider finally doing his Third Annual Build.
"Well, yeah, I guess it has
been a year..." said Danny at a press conference.
"And 'annual' kinda implies I have to do one yearly.
But I don't want to. Say, anyone wanna haul some
stuff?"
When one reporter pointed out the
difficulty of hauling things to a planet in a closed
duchy with only one other open planet, he was immediately
imprisoned for heresy.
The call has been placed for
commodities related to an Energy build, and Danny has
finally accepted the problem, though he has a solution.
"If that Prophet [Cen] would finally get to work and
become a Duke this would all be much easier. Why isn't he
a Duke, anyway?"
Further developments will be
reported on as they arise.
AN ONLY PO
by Chewbacon - the big fur, the big teeth, the big
feet - It's all in style!
This has been a good week for me.
My dad returned to the US to visit the family after
working nearly three months in Mitrovica, Kosovo. I have
a rare feeling of optimism; nothing stands in the way of
me. Oh, there it is: the feeling of being in a place of
infinite possibilities and the chances of absolutes are
zero (zeeeeroooo) just returned to me.
How many of my valued readers like
being in an active duchy? I think everyone does; you
don’t have to go anywhere to talk someone. As your
influencing Newsdroid, I say: Down with active duchies! I
like being an only PO in a duchy – I pretty much own
the place. In a democracy of one, you get what you want.
There aren’t multiple political parties to throw
idle insults at each other, no votes to decide what goes
because what I say goes! A pretty good life, isn’t
it?
Ming forbid that someone moves in
with me and puts the voting article of Antigo’s
constitution into effect. However, if I’m the
Duchess’ Right Hand, I could still call the shots,
couldn’t I? Just cut a few lines of the Constitution
and add them back later? Some of you may think it
doesn’t sound fair; I was in this duchy first!
Before I close, all rabbit-like
entities should probably steer clear of me. I’m
hunting wabbits for my excellent Wabbit-Carrot stew I
make on Easter Sunday. Armor, shields, and keeping your
battle computer on automatic would be a good idea.
QUIZZING THE INDUSTRIALISTS
by Jelly
This week, instead of interviewing
Dukes and Duchesses, I decided to talk to Industrialists.
(Don’t worry Dukes/Duchesses, that’s next
week!) Let’s see what they had to say.
Jelly says, "Many of the ranks
have a new experience associated with them - squires have
a new planet to manage, barons get to teleport, and dukes
have a whole bunch of planets to govern."
"Do you feel 'left out' as an industrialist?",
Jelly asks.
Genike smiles, "No, I don't
feel left out because although we don't have anything
"New" Indy's generally have the best EX's so it
evens it out"
Alexy says, "I don't, I've
been gone from Fed for a while so I will be getting
reacquainted with Fed."
Jelly asks, "What rank do you
think you will stop promoting at, and why?"
"Baroness so I can have the
porter", smiles Again.
Genike smiles, "I will stall
at Baron for a bit to promo my alt to baron and then
promo to duke"
"For me, I said I would stop
at Thane because of the exchange I had, but starting up
again, I want to make Baroness. Also for the
porter", says Alexy with a wink.
Genike exclaims, "Thane!"
"Do you wanna know why?", asks Genike.
Jelly says, "sure"
Again exclaims, "Cuz that's
when he met me!"
"lol", says Again.
Again has given Genike a hot tickle!
"LOL Umm yeah that too",
says Genike with a wink.
Genike says, "My ex was AWESOME at thane, I only had
3 defs :( I should have filled up my accounts"
Alexy winks and says, "gosh, I
want to say Merchant because of the time period, 4 years
ago, but I'll say Thane for the Ex"
That’s it for this week. Dukes and Duchess watch out
during this week for Jelly coming by with her questions.
ALSATIAN ON THE RUN
- Message Starts -
From: Directorate of Naval
Intelligence, Operations Section
Recent intelligence has established
a containment breach and possible health hazard within
the Sol system. DNI scientists are working on positive
identification of various mounds of unknown substance
found early this morning throughout the system. Primary
analysis suggests the material may have originated from
some region outside of DataSpace, thus posing a
significant risk of widespread infection of the Fed
populace and suggesting that other sentient beings may
have found a way to breach the protective barrier between
Federation DataSpace and that largely unexplored and
hazardous territory known as Real Life.
Other anomalies noted in Sol
include sightings of rare white bunnies. These creatures
have heretofore been confined to remote areas of the
Martian ruins, and are often connected to ghosts of lost
adventurers never returning from exploring the twisty
alleys of Mars. In an unrelated incident, screeches of
outrage were heard over the comms as the Demi-Goddess
Hazed reported her secret stash of solid chocolate Easter
Eggs uncovered and pilfered.
Additional unconfirmed rumors have
surfaced concerning the canine planet reviewer for the
Chronicle, the Dishonorable Senator Alsatian. Various
mobiles reported seeing the hound fleeing through Sol,
occasionally stopping in locations where the previously
mentioned mounds of unknown substance were later
discovered. Any connection between the bunnies, the
Senator, the chocolate, and the mounds has yet to be
uncovered.
DNI scientists are working on
implementing a hazard containment and identification
plan, code-named Operation SCOOP, and are optimistic they
will have all foreign substances retrieved and safely
stored in the hazardous waste area formerly know as
Hilbert space.
- Message Ends -
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