- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X]- Honestly, you like his spirit. Keep him! But find something for him to do, make him busy and more pissed off at whoever he has to deal with, like a local magnate or something.
HOW TO TURN A PROFIT OUT OF CRISIS: A SF FRONTIER ADMIRAL QUEST
- Thread starter Laplace
- Start date
- Original
Solarshade
Friendly Local Dyson Swarm
[X]- Honestly, you like his spirit. Keep him! But find something for him to do, make him busy and more pissed off at whoever he has to deal with, like a local magnate or something.
It's the funniest possible option! How can I not take it!
It's the funniest possible option! How can I not take it!
- Location
- England
Listen, it's the Starscream concept. You need to keep the guy around to ensure you never get complacent without staying too near a real threat.
[X]- Honestly, you like his spirit. Keep him! But find something for him to do, make him busy and more pissed off at whoever he has to deal with, like a local magnate or something.
[X]- Honestly, you like his spirit. Keep him! But find something for him to do, make him busy and more pissed off at whoever he has to deal with, like a local magnate or something.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
That does sound compelling.
[X]- Honestly, you like his spirit. Keep him! But find something for him to do, make him busy and more pissed off at whoever he has to deal with, like a local magnate or something.
Evaunit02mark1
S-s-smell the Prey, S-s-start the Hunt.
[X]- Honestly, you like his spirit. Keep him! But find something for him to do, make him busy and more pissed off at whoever he has to deal with, like a local magnate or something.
I like his chutzpah.
Also real talk he saw his chance, decided fuck it, and went for it.
He's like us but about a few decades untrained. It'll be like training a protege.
I like his chutzpah.
Also real talk he saw his chance, decided fuck it, and went for it.
He's like us but about a few decades untrained. It'll be like training a protege.
- Location
- USA
[X]- Honestly, you like his spirit. Keep him! But find something for him to do, make him busy and more pissed off at whoever he has to deal with, like a local magnate or something.
We're like a Sith Lord training their apprentice - one to hold the power and one to covet and pursue it at all costs. And just like a Sith Lord training their apprentice this can only end with bloodshed
We're like a Sith Lord training their apprentice - one to hold the power and one to covet and pursue it at all costs. And just like a Sith Lord training their apprentice this can only end with bloodshed
Deadly Snark
Tryhard As Fuck
[X]- Honestly, you like his spirit. Keep him! But find something for him to do, make him busy and more pissed off at whoever he has to deal with, like a local magnate or something.
- Location
- in the trash
[X]- Honestly, you like his spirit. Keep him! But find something for him to do, make him busy and more pissed off at whoever he has to deal with, like a local magnate or something.
Nothing like having a reliably traitorous subordinate to keep us alert and on our toes.
Nothing like having a reliably traitorous subordinate to keep us alert and on our toes.
[X]- Don't give him another chance. Kill him! No one needs to ask. Send him on a suicide mission and scupper his ship.
While I understand it would be pretty funny and in-character to keep him, I never really liked this guy from the start.
While I understand it would be pretty funny and in-character to keep him, I never really liked this guy from the start.
- Location
- an unseen void
- Pronouns
- Any
[X]- Honestly, you like his spirit. Keep him! But find something for him to do, make him busy and more pissed off at whoever he has to deal with, like a local magnate or something.
This also seems like our general style - never be minimalist pragmatic when you can be scheming maximalist pragmatic.
This also seems like our general style - never be minimalist pragmatic when you can be scheming maximalist pragmatic.
- Location
- USA
[x]- Bust him back down to Commadant. Being too close to him is hazardous for your health. And send him to the ass end of nowhere on top of that!
- Location
- New York
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X]- Honestly, you like his spirit. Keep him! But find something for him to do, make him busy and more pissed off at whoever he has to deal with, like a local magnate or something.
Our own starscream. But seriously, he has terrible judgement.
Our own starscream. But seriously, he has terrible judgement.
Kaboomatic
Where the Wild Things Are
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[x]- Honestly, you like his spirit. Keep him! But find something for him to do, make him busy and more pissed off at whoever he has to deal with, like a local magnate or something.
- Location
- boundless optimism
Aight calling it. When you cross rivers don't pick up any scorpions. Update uuuh, friday I think. Maybe the weekend.
- Location
- NYC
what the f does this mean lmao
like i take it the counterpart is the enemy officer we're talking to but what's the 'ENEMY's analogue' then? Also the same officer?
UPDATE TWENTY FOUR: PLANE DEPARTING FROM GATE 14
- Location
- boundless optimism
You have honored Alessandro with a post that he thinks is a death sentence. Honestly, the gall of some people! You've only allowed him to leave the Front with a minima of ships to defend himself in more civilized pastures. The ENEMY even promised to disseminate his IFF amongst her ghost fleets, but he looks like he's, heh, a court functionary exiled to the border. That's irony for you-- the hell of Centre is exile to the borders, but the hell of the borderers is exile to Centre. Because Alessandro now has no access to his fleets, his divisions, all he can do is trust his subordinates to not make a cock out of it.
"I'll miss it here," he announces as the two of you, with all the rest, that is, Luca and Seubi, with the ENEMY lurking behind in a casual amble. "I hate politics."
What a baldfaced lie. "I am sure you will rise to the necessity." The boom's gate irises open. You hold out a hand for him to shake, which he does, with perfectly false sincerity. "You'll do a very good job out there. We will need to develop the interior if we restore the world."
"I'm sure of it," he says. He hesitates before he departs, turning at the threshold of the gate. "Sir… can I tender my apologies for the affair?"
"What is there to apologize for?" You smile. Grovel and scrape, pray and break, you're packing him off because an enemy far away can do a lot of things but he can't stab you in the back. "I'm sending you because you're my best man, fellow. Not because of some power play. Do you think I'm that sort of man?"
Well, yes, everyone does. You can read it on his face and the invisible stares of annoyance from Seubi and Luca, and the silent amusement of the ENEMY. "Go get'em, tiger." Clap on the shoulder and off he trots to exile.
The silence is broken by Luca. "Took you long enough. I thought you were getting soft."
"What?" You turn around. "My hearts are as soft and mushy as military ration paste. You have that little faith in me?"
"You pulled him into the investigation he started," Seubi crosses his arm and leans against the ticketing booth. "That was pretty slick, but then you stopped."
"What can I say? Other, more pressing matters occupied my attention. Like her." The ENEMY makes a bow. "Luca, you fine with this?"
"Sir?"
"Working with the ENEMY and all. This would be a very funny time to turn me into the tribunal for treason."
She pauses. "My neck on the block too, sir. 'Sides, unevovled mongrel that she is, we can put off drubbing her whenever she starts getting ideas."
"It's very likely," the ENEMY agrees. "Every time you get a good head of steam going, something comes up. Marquis-Admiral gets condemned in absentia, find out their gens family is in hot water and they lead an army back and give us breathing room, which we use to regain our losses. In the matters of war, your Empire is a one pump chump. No stamina, no endurance, but like a true early shooter you keep on trying, bless your little moronic hearts."
"This is still about war, right?" Seubi interjects, heh, nervously.
"Sure, whatever you say. Marquis, I'll be leaving, because this sleeve is still earning a paycheck from your little kingdom here and I wouldn't want a bad performance review on my conscience. Please break this into the rest of your army, for I shall be arriving forthwith at the start of the next quarter."
"Certainly," you dismiss her with a gesture, for you can't do that when you meet her face to face. "You will not be blown to bits in-transit owing to a jumpy sensor tech."
She smiles and leaves. You and your aides return to your offices. "Should we give the word?" Seubi jerks his head back. "About colluding."
"Hmm. Start a rumor. Tramonti will bitch but ignore him."
"I'll sort him out," Luca promises.
"He doesn't matter at this stage. He's your's to do as you see fit." You toss a thought around your head. "If you gotta space him, keep it on the down low. I'll get a speech together end of the week."
Both of the snap salutes. "Sir." And then they're gone."
When you were in university, the EMPIRE's officer track emphasized the soft sciences. Most people took economy or military history, and so did you. You particularly enjoyed Professor Ul's lectures on substrate criminal actors, their psychology and their economies. But one semester, you picked a series of dialogues offered by this maverick professor, who after you graduated was summarily executed for taking a bit too far in court. But he was real good, because instead of the normal rhetoric shit, he showed up drunk as two lords and started calling the entire class cucks for paying for university. This continued until someone snapped and called him an old fuck, a moron who didn't understand shit. And then he sobered up, and demanded that the guy elucidate his response in, first, the classical style, the modern style, and then a post-something style. It's been a while and you forgot a lot, but that was the gist of his course-- a florid two way flow of abuse and rhetorical grandstanding, and when the quarter ended he gave grades based on how good you were.
It was heaps of fucking fun. And you like to think that you got pretty good at this speech writing thing, except this one's blocking you. What are you going to say, 'hey, let's go and intervene in a civil war, wouldn't that be fun? By the way, after we do that we are also going to intervene in a succession crisis in the ENEMY's territory, lads.'
First is going to be easy, second one is going to be a mite more difficult. You could… yeah, you could simply say that the ENEMY is coming along to pay tribute to the court, soothe over some of the egos, that would work. All apologies to the ENEMY, of course.
You fiddle around with a text editor and write down your intended outline. Tomorrow you shall crack open some archives and have a long and boring day picking the brains of the greats. Yawn, turn off the terminal, tusk-care, and then to bed.
The halfway state between waking and sleep takes you from one end of memory lane to another. Your family was not a military family, they were, in fact, priests. You'd like to say that you came from nothing, and that your journey was that of a self made one, but they were pretty well off, from that most despicable of classes, upper middle class strivers. If you were poor then your life would be better. Nothing but charity, prayer, and economic anxiety. Except you were born to jealously climb over a pile of applicants to ever higher and higher positions.
And now Archon. That's the thing about the Empire. Anyone can be the Archon. You might not be able to build shipping above a certain tonnage or have to allow Intesec full access to your cranium whenever, but you can be Archon. As long as you play ball. Look at you, Marquis-Admiral. You were once a real firebrand, you professed democratic-bureaucratic ideals. Now you sit in the chair, as oily as a beast as any, apathetic and numb to anything but lucre. You, Marquis-Admiral, you mafioso, you have even sold out your Empire for your career.
Now, when you're in the seat, you ought to chop some heads. You go to sleep making lists in your head. This department, that gens, ho, ho, ho…
"Sir. Wake up."
"Abluh?" You blink, and then someone shoves a piece into your forehead. "Seubi. What?"
"You're out, sir." The light blinks. Alessandro is here, staring down at you with cold eyes. Luca is at the door, back turned towards you. "Get dressed. No uniform."
You slowly sit up on your bed. "Young man," you say with the sloth of glacial ice caps, "explain, now. Whatever scheme you're cooking up, now is as good as a place to break it to me."
He looks at Alessandro. "That's true. Alright. You're not the Marquis-Admiral anymore. We've found damning evidence that you're colluding with the ENEMY. The Tribunal knows. The officers will know."
"Proof?"
"You'll have to trust me."
You start laughing. What a ludicrous, baldfaced thing to say. "Say that I do," you say between giggles, "have you thought this out? All three of you. I'm gone, what happens then? You keep on keeping on? Huh?"
"No, sir. We head right back to Centre and win the civil war." His tone is cold and dispassionate. "Your heart's not in it, sir. Revolution requires sacrifice, it requires more than an eye for the money. You'd get on the seat and sell it out and run the Empire to the ground."
"That may be so," you agree, "I don't know where circumstances will take me." You are aware of the gun pressing on your head, so lightly. "And if I disagree, you cap me, is that it?"
"It's within the cards."
"Okay. I go along with you. What do you want me to do?"
"Resign, sir," Alessandro steps up. "Step off from being the Marquis-Admiral-- the post passes to all three of us jointly." Standard procedure. A post like the Marquis-Admiral can only be appointed by the Archon, but there is no Archon, is there? "You get the proceeds from United and a no-show job there."
"I'm not Chairman then, is that it?" Your words are dead and have no life. You cannot even work up sarcasm. You feel your life, your work, your telos, slipping from you.
"No. It's too tied up with you, sir. We'll drop you on some resort planet that no one knows about and you can sunset your life there, sipping fruity drinks and sunning yourself. Otherwise, well." That's that.
You want to cry. "Let me think it over. But until then, I want to ask you a question. What makes you think that you would do a better job?"
"Sir, we three represent Empire. It is a harsh truth, but we have tradition and prejudice on our side. Luca is famed for being an idiot but is a true daughter of the Empire, and she has the body count to prove it." Luca stands silently, not listening. She must have given the job to Seubi. No sound out of here. "Alessandro is not but he is a tricky dick and will stop any plot in it's tracks. I am an affable sort and will play mediator."
"You thought this through."
"I hope you do, as well."
You close your eyes. No prayer comes to your lips. Then, you say--
[]- "I'd rather you kill me, all told."
[]- "Give me the money, then."
"I'll miss it here," he announces as the two of you, with all the rest, that is, Luca and Seubi, with the ENEMY lurking behind in a casual amble. "I hate politics."
What a baldfaced lie. "I am sure you will rise to the necessity." The boom's gate irises open. You hold out a hand for him to shake, which he does, with perfectly false sincerity. "You'll do a very good job out there. We will need to develop the interior if we restore the world."
"I'm sure of it," he says. He hesitates before he departs, turning at the threshold of the gate. "Sir… can I tender my apologies for the affair?"
"What is there to apologize for?" You smile. Grovel and scrape, pray and break, you're packing him off because an enemy far away can do a lot of things but he can't stab you in the back. "I'm sending you because you're my best man, fellow. Not because of some power play. Do you think I'm that sort of man?"
Well, yes, everyone does. You can read it on his face and the invisible stares of annoyance from Seubi and Luca, and the silent amusement of the ENEMY. "Go get'em, tiger." Clap on the shoulder and off he trots to exile.
The silence is broken by Luca. "Took you long enough. I thought you were getting soft."
"What?" You turn around. "My hearts are as soft and mushy as military ration paste. You have that little faith in me?"
"You pulled him into the investigation he started," Seubi crosses his arm and leans against the ticketing booth. "That was pretty slick, but then you stopped."
"What can I say? Other, more pressing matters occupied my attention. Like her." The ENEMY makes a bow. "Luca, you fine with this?"
"Sir?"
"Working with the ENEMY and all. This would be a very funny time to turn me into the tribunal for treason."
She pauses. "My neck on the block too, sir. 'Sides, unevovled mongrel that she is, we can put off drubbing her whenever she starts getting ideas."
"It's very likely," the ENEMY agrees. "Every time you get a good head of steam going, something comes up. Marquis-Admiral gets condemned in absentia, find out their gens family is in hot water and they lead an army back and give us breathing room, which we use to regain our losses. In the matters of war, your Empire is a one pump chump. No stamina, no endurance, but like a true early shooter you keep on trying, bless your little moronic hearts."
"This is still about war, right?" Seubi interjects, heh, nervously.
"Sure, whatever you say. Marquis, I'll be leaving, because this sleeve is still earning a paycheck from your little kingdom here and I wouldn't want a bad performance review on my conscience. Please break this into the rest of your army, for I shall be arriving forthwith at the start of the next quarter."
"Certainly," you dismiss her with a gesture, for you can't do that when you meet her face to face. "You will not be blown to bits in-transit owing to a jumpy sensor tech."
She smiles and leaves. You and your aides return to your offices. "Should we give the word?" Seubi jerks his head back. "About colluding."
"Hmm. Start a rumor. Tramonti will bitch but ignore him."
"I'll sort him out," Luca promises.
"He doesn't matter at this stage. He's your's to do as you see fit." You toss a thought around your head. "If you gotta space him, keep it on the down low. I'll get a speech together end of the week."
Both of the snap salutes. "Sir." And then they're gone."
When you were in university, the EMPIRE's officer track emphasized the soft sciences. Most people took economy or military history, and so did you. You particularly enjoyed Professor Ul's lectures on substrate criminal actors, their psychology and their economies. But one semester, you picked a series of dialogues offered by this maverick professor, who after you graduated was summarily executed for taking a bit too far in court. But he was real good, because instead of the normal rhetoric shit, he showed up drunk as two lords and started calling the entire class cucks for paying for university. This continued until someone snapped and called him an old fuck, a moron who didn't understand shit. And then he sobered up, and demanded that the guy elucidate his response in, first, the classical style, the modern style, and then a post-something style. It's been a while and you forgot a lot, but that was the gist of his course-- a florid two way flow of abuse and rhetorical grandstanding, and when the quarter ended he gave grades based on how good you were.
It was heaps of fucking fun. And you like to think that you got pretty good at this speech writing thing, except this one's blocking you. What are you going to say, 'hey, let's go and intervene in a civil war, wouldn't that be fun? By the way, after we do that we are also going to intervene in a succession crisis in the ENEMY's territory, lads.'
First is going to be easy, second one is going to be a mite more difficult. You could… yeah, you could simply say that the ENEMY is coming along to pay tribute to the court, soothe over some of the egos, that would work. All apologies to the ENEMY, of course.
You fiddle around with a text editor and write down your intended outline. Tomorrow you shall crack open some archives and have a long and boring day picking the brains of the greats. Yawn, turn off the terminal, tusk-care, and then to bed.
The halfway state between waking and sleep takes you from one end of memory lane to another. Your family was not a military family, they were, in fact, priests. You'd like to say that you came from nothing, and that your journey was that of a self made one, but they were pretty well off, from that most despicable of classes, upper middle class strivers. If you were poor then your life would be better. Nothing but charity, prayer, and economic anxiety. Except you were born to jealously climb over a pile of applicants to ever higher and higher positions.
And now Archon. That's the thing about the Empire. Anyone can be the Archon. You might not be able to build shipping above a certain tonnage or have to allow Intesec full access to your cranium whenever, but you can be Archon. As long as you play ball. Look at you, Marquis-Admiral. You were once a real firebrand, you professed democratic-bureaucratic ideals. Now you sit in the chair, as oily as a beast as any, apathetic and numb to anything but lucre. You, Marquis-Admiral, you mafioso, you have even sold out your Empire for your career.
Now, when you're in the seat, you ought to chop some heads. You go to sleep making lists in your head. This department, that gens, ho, ho, ho…
"Sir. Wake up."
"Abluh?" You blink, and then someone shoves a piece into your forehead. "Seubi. What?"
"You're out, sir." The light blinks. Alessandro is here, staring down at you with cold eyes. Luca is at the door, back turned towards you. "Get dressed. No uniform."
You slowly sit up on your bed. "Young man," you say with the sloth of glacial ice caps, "explain, now. Whatever scheme you're cooking up, now is as good as a place to break it to me."
He looks at Alessandro. "That's true. Alright. You're not the Marquis-Admiral anymore. We've found damning evidence that you're colluding with the ENEMY. The Tribunal knows. The officers will know."
"Proof?"
"You'll have to trust me."
You start laughing. What a ludicrous, baldfaced thing to say. "Say that I do," you say between giggles, "have you thought this out? All three of you. I'm gone, what happens then? You keep on keeping on? Huh?"
"No, sir. We head right back to Centre and win the civil war." His tone is cold and dispassionate. "Your heart's not in it, sir. Revolution requires sacrifice, it requires more than an eye for the money. You'd get on the seat and sell it out and run the Empire to the ground."
"That may be so," you agree, "I don't know where circumstances will take me." You are aware of the gun pressing on your head, so lightly. "And if I disagree, you cap me, is that it?"
"It's within the cards."
"Okay. I go along with you. What do you want me to do?"
"Resign, sir," Alessandro steps up. "Step off from being the Marquis-Admiral-- the post passes to all three of us jointly." Standard procedure. A post like the Marquis-Admiral can only be appointed by the Archon, but there is no Archon, is there? "You get the proceeds from United and a no-show job there."
"I'm not Chairman then, is that it?" Your words are dead and have no life. You cannot even work up sarcasm. You feel your life, your work, your telos, slipping from you.
"No. It's too tied up with you, sir. We'll drop you on some resort planet that no one knows about and you can sunset your life there, sipping fruity drinks and sunning yourself. Otherwise, well." That's that.
You want to cry. "Let me think it over. But until then, I want to ask you a question. What makes you think that you would do a better job?"
"Sir, we three represent Empire. It is a harsh truth, but we have tradition and prejudice on our side. Luca is famed for being an idiot but is a true daughter of the Empire, and she has the body count to prove it." Luca stands silently, not listening. She must have given the job to Seubi. No sound out of here. "Alessandro is not but he is a tricky dick and will stop any plot in it's tracks. I am an affable sort and will play mediator."
"You thought this through."
"I hope you do, as well."
You close your eyes. No prayer comes to your lips. Then, you say--
[]- "I'd rather you kill me, all told."
[]- "Give me the money, then."
- Location
- NYC
[X]- "I'd rather you kill me, all told."
Aww shame they don't have our sense of humor 🙄
Aww shame they don't have our sense of humor 🙄
tankdrop24
Tread First into Hell
- Location
- The Center of the Universe: Toronto, Canada
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[x]- "I'd rather you kill me, all told."
- Location
- England
When we guessed what Suebi was after earlier, we guessed wrong. It's unfortunate, but it happens.
[X]- "Give me the money, then."
Empire would have been nice. But, well, lucre's always a decent consolation prize.
[X]- "Give me the money, then."
Empire would have been nice. But, well, lucre's always a decent consolation prize.
Evaunit02mark1
S-s-smell the Prey, S-s-start the Hunt.
Ah well, balls have apparently hit the wall.
Still this was a fun one while it lasted, have to give you credit @Laplace you made one hell of a jaunt. I shall follow your future endeavors with great interest.
[X]- "I'd rather you kill me, all told."
If we're going to lose then dammit we're going to at least teach them how to clean up after themselves.
Still this was a fun one while it lasted, have to give you credit @Laplace you made one hell of a jaunt. I shall follow your future endeavors with great interest.
[X]- "I'd rather you kill me, all told."
If we're going to lose then dammit we're going to at least teach them how to clean up after themselves.
- Location
- an unseen void
- Pronouns
- Any
[X]- "I'd rather you kill me, all told."
The only way out of this that's a winning move is surprising them and restoring their respect. It's quite clear they've soured on the profit uber alles thing. How convenient! So have we: we want to be king more than we want to profit. We've still got this, sort of, a bit.
The only way out of this that's a winning move is surprising them and restoring their respect. It's quite clear they've soured on the profit uber alles thing. How convenient! So have we: we want to be king more than we want to profit. We've still got this, sort of, a bit.
Kaboomatic
Where the Wild Things Are
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X]- "I'd rather you kill me, all told."
- Location
- USA
[X]- "I'd rather you kill me, all told."
The last, greatest lesson of a Sith Lord to their apprentice - to never leave the job half-finished.
We had a good run, at least.
The last, greatest lesson of a Sith Lord to their apprentice - to never leave the job half-finished.
We had a good run, at least.