On Some Backwater Planet TA/SMAC (SI)
- Thread starter bluepencil
- Start date
This is absolutely amazing and I'm so happy it exists.
Pretty sure the story started in the planet rather than on it...
tarrangar
Fat arctic chicken
Okay then we suggest you get a different hobby.But my hobby is pointing out stuff like this.
Extraction [05.01]
After sleeping it off and downing dozens of antacids and aspirin, the constant hiccupping became more annoying than just painful. Idly I perused the Information Networks of the base while Nobel sought to make the new day much more productive than the last.
"Our original plan was to go overland towards the next Morgan base facing the straits of Prometheus and charter a ship heading to Gaia's Landing from there. It's clear now that we can't afford to sail home on a Morgan ship or wait months for a Gaian ship to arrive." Captain Nobel said to everyone gathered. "And by afford, I mean the price is our safety."
"My ship and my unlimited credit line are at your disposal, captain." I said.
He smirked. "Don't you mind then if I take fullest advantage of that." He began separating the fifteen surviving crew (sans himself) into teams.
"Dyer, Chen, Morenly, Galbar– you're on food detail. Buy up as much as you can, at least food and water sufficient for about two hundred people. Don't skimp on the luxury items. We may end up having to accompany the Sea Colony Pod back home, and we could all use the variety in our diet."
As a side-effect, buying up so much foodstock would temporarily inflate the price of food in the colony. It was a good reminder to the Morgans that the reason they could focus on more extravagant food items like meats (such as cattle in factory farm blocks) and seafood from aquafarms was that they imported most of their basic grains and greens from the Gaians.
"Ragman, Vittel, O'Leary – you stay here. You're security detail." A pause. "And you of course, Marsh."
Jennefer Marsh nodded. It was not as easy a job as it first appeared. The paparazzi were all but laying siege to the hotel and were trying all tricks to infiltrate the premises.
"Sevon, Thompson, Alleyne, Dobson – supplies. The Matilda lacks any and all amenities, go buy them."
The Matilda did not have any bathrooms or plumbing whatsoever. During our journey towards Morgan Transport, they crew 'did their business' inside the covered lifeboats, into chemical port-a-pottys; the contents later just tossed off the ship. Bedrolls, clothes, chests, fuel, flares, consumer electronics, books, body armor, flame guns, and like that – we could expect to spend several weeks aboard, might as well make it as comfortable as possible.
"Buford, Wallenstein – you're transport detail. Go find the trucks to haul everything we're buying and then have them wait at the docks until needed."
We had little worry about the Matilda being seized, since she was still floating offshore and even if the Morgans had divers, the ship was completely sealed from top to bottom. All hatches were more than just shut – they were molecularly bonded until I unlocked them. Also, piracy was quite unsubtle – where would they even take the ship?
"Buckley, you're with me. We're going to talk to the administrators of the base and get the word out to our Gaian brethren."
Then Captain Nobel turned to me. As a potential defector, I was nominally under his authority. "Don't torpedo anyone."
"Aye, aye, sir." I saluted. Hic.
So for a whole day, I stayed cooped up in that penthouse suite. I spent most of that doing research on the Morgans, their economy, and their society. It was better and worse than what I was expecting. Morgan Transport, for example, was the fifth settlement in the twenty-four years since Planetfall. Morgan was aggressive in expansion, the better to seize valuable resources.
Staring at the Chiron map, Morgan territory was centered on the twin islands of Ixion; which contained the supervolcano Mount Planet, and the slightly-smaller island-mount of Nephelen to the west. The pod that established Morgan Industries, the capital, landed on the fertile western slopes of mount planet. It was very well-situated for growth, with good fertile soil for hybridized plants, mineral reserves, and the slopes to collect energy via solar and wind collectors. It was just that all other locations in Ixion were mediocre.
Nephelen was a repeat to the conditions around Mount Planet; barren to the east, wet to the west. Morgan placed Morgan Solarflex on top the peak. It was a very inconvenient location for a settlement, but alongside Morgan Mines slightly south of Morgan Industries, Nwabudnike Morgan set up the three most productive cities on Planet.
It was easy to get into the man's mind because his choices were so deeply influenced by geography. Ixion and Nephelen were connected to the bow-shaped continent of Asclepio, the one containing the Gaians and Spartans, via a narrow isthmus called the Pheres Arch. Depending on the tides, ships could cross from one side to the other with ease.
A smaller island chain above it (named the Hydran Narrows) formed the dual-channeled Straits of Prometheus between the Asclepio and Achilles to the north. He put Morgan Robotics at the very northern tip of Ixion where the Pheres Arch connected. Then, Morgan Transport was situated where it started, where he could cut a canal going north and south, directly below the Straits of Prometheus and opening into the Gulf of Phylira.
The continent of Achilles to the north was shared by the University and the Peacekeepers, with the University primarily settled around the Uranium Flats to the north while the Peacekeepers made their settlements around the massive planetoid impact site known as Garland Crater. Lal's people were in particular very competitive to Morgan's, with higher growth rates and good availability of minerals and energy sources.
But that just meant they were a bigger potential export market.
University.
Peacekeepers.
Morganites.
This column of settlements and territories formed what passes for an international economy on Planet. The world map had Achilles as its center the same way Europe tended to divide the Earth between Easte and West.
I could see from the very incomplete Planet maps that they still had to explore the eastern half of Achilles – where they would run into the Manifold Nexus. Likewise, the Gaians had yet to explore their north, mostly likely because it was a pink fungus-filled hellhole. I knew however that if they persisted, they'd find the ring of monoliths they would call The Ruins.
While the Manifold Nexus was the control center for Progenitor engineering efforts and Planetary intelligence, to the point that whoever possessed it was subject to less reaction from native-life forms, I had a strong feeling that the circle of monoliths several hundred kilometers across had more to do with spacetime shenanigans.
What worried me most was the darkness to the east. I knew that Planet's largest continent was there, and there with very advantageous natural features like the Borehole Cluster and the Monsoon Jungle, would be Yang and Miriam's factions. It was big enough that they might not run into each other for decades. Or they might already be at war with each other on a scale we could not even begin to imagine.
But some things... would never change.
A whole day in the War was the difference between one Core Commander and a hundred thousand K-Bots. For Morgan high society gossip, it was an even longer span of time.
I'd smashed my way into their circle of power, showed off how I could buy off half of them and sink the rest, and then gave the highest of insults – totally ignoring them afterwards. The chatboards and talk shows were going crazy.
Half were convinced it was all some elaborate hoax or scam. That ship out there was made of aluminum or something.
The other half were absolutely sure it was a ploy by one of the other factions. After all, the Spartans and Morgans were in open war and the Spartans firing on the neutral Gaians was an open-and-shut case. The rescue was far too convenient. Or, rather, not convenient enough. What the hell was I doing with those submarines? If I liked the Gaians so damn much, why didn't I help them with the Spartans?
That was just so suspicious.
"Why didn't you?" Jennefer asked from over my shoulder as I watched the morning news.
"I didn't have submarines at the area until it was well over. It's not like I expected the Spartans to start shooting."
"That's what we figured." Jenny sat down next to me, half an arm's length away on the couch, and stared forward at the talk show on the big-screen TV.
It was a cathode-ray tube TV, a strange blast from the past in this far future society. Even the laptop computer on the table was just a terminal, connected via a wire to the hotel mainframe. The suite has its own 'micro-computer' system, while others were charged per hour for access to the public Net.
Morgan was the most like pre-apocalpyse Earth. Probably late 70s or 80s Earth, and even as the impending corporate dystopia envisioned by creators in that milleu. Due to the demands of survival and expansion on Planet, there was a need for certain levels of technological regression for the sake of ease of production.
It suddenly occurred to me that there I was… sitting around in the middle of the day in a lavishy furnished room, in sleeping robes, my fluffy slippers, with a pretty woman by my side, and trying to resist the urge to troll people on the message boards. And with every second, I grew ever-more wealthy.
In any other life, I'd have looked forward to spending 40 or so years on the grid, kissing ass and punching the clock day after day, before I'd finally have enough saved up to retire and live a life of ease.
Ease or Adventure? This was the choice that Planet offered.
"May I?" Jennefer asked, holding out her hand. I passed the remote control.
Click. Away from the rubbish pundits and hey – Tom and Jerry! The classic ones from 1940s to 1960s. "This is amazing! That they still have these preserved…!"
"Archival data had little mass constraints and were among of the few cultural artifacts that could be – needed to be – assigned to every landing pod. They're all we have left of Old Earth. Psychological relief is also important for survival" Jennefer winced at a gag that had Tom narrowly avoid having his head chopped off. "But I am not sure about all this… violence. I loved it as a child, but seeing it as an adult…"
"Slapstick is universal." I replied. "I remember how it didn't matter even if the viewer can't understand the language… even behind the Iron Curtain, bootleg American cartoons could send the Reds laughing."
She glanced aside, but said nothing. The next episode was the award-winning "The Cat Concerto." Soon enough she too was howling with laughter as the physical gags, no matter how many times viewed, never failed to prod the funny bone.
Ding. Dong.
Someone was at the door. The smile abruptly disappeared from Jenny's face.
She stood up. "Excuse me."
I turned back to the screen. Suddenly it didn't seem even half as funny anymore. I sighed and slumped down the couch.
"Sir, there are some people from Morgan Central Bank here. Would you like them to bring up the papers and contracts here, or would you prefer to sign them later at their main office?"
Oh. The Bank! I forgot that I called them up to send someone who can set up contracts and form businesses. I grinned. Captain Nobel had his plan, and was most concerned with getting his people safely home. That was to be respected. My plans involving the Morgan faction were more for the long term.
If things proceeded as the familiar patterns showed in the war between the Morgans and Spartans, nothing of great import would happen. An armistice, or a Blood Truce in the local parlance, would be signed eventually. The technological and sociological development of Planet would proceed apace without need for any meddling from me. I could spend my remaining days happily exploring and doing research. I was fairly confident that eventually they would discover FTL akin to the Galactic Gates.
If anything, from what I remembered, their Psi Gate and Bulk Matter Transmitter might even be better.
But be it in seven or seventy years, if aliens arrive, then better to be safe than sorry.
After sleeping it off and downing dozens of antacids and aspirin, the constant hiccupping became more annoying than just painful. Idly I perused the Information Networks of the base while Nobel sought to make the new day much more productive than the last.
"Our original plan was to go overland towards the next Morgan base facing the straits of Prometheus and charter a ship heading to Gaia's Landing from there. It's clear now that we can't afford to sail home on a Morgan ship or wait months for a Gaian ship to arrive." Captain Nobel said to everyone gathered. "And by afford, I mean the price is our safety."
"My ship and my unlimited credit line are at your disposal, captain." I said.
He smirked. "Don't you mind then if I take fullest advantage of that." He began separating the fifteen surviving crew (sans himself) into teams.
"Dyer, Chen, Morenly, Galbar– you're on food detail. Buy up as much as you can, at least food and water sufficient for about two hundred people. Don't skimp on the luxury items. We may end up having to accompany the Sea Colony Pod back home, and we could all use the variety in our diet."
As a side-effect, buying up so much foodstock would temporarily inflate the price of food in the colony. It was a good reminder to the Morgans that the reason they could focus on more extravagant food items like meats (such as cattle in factory farm blocks) and seafood from aquafarms was that they imported most of their basic grains and greens from the Gaians.
"Ragman, Vittel, O'Leary – you stay here. You're security detail." A pause. "And you of course, Marsh."
Jennefer Marsh nodded. It was not as easy a job as it first appeared. The paparazzi were all but laying siege to the hotel and were trying all tricks to infiltrate the premises.
"Sevon, Thompson, Alleyne, Dobson – supplies. The Matilda lacks any and all amenities, go buy them."
The Matilda did not have any bathrooms or plumbing whatsoever. During our journey towards Morgan Transport, they crew 'did their business' inside the covered lifeboats, into chemical port-a-pottys; the contents later just tossed off the ship. Bedrolls, clothes, chests, fuel, flares, consumer electronics, books, body armor, flame guns, and like that – we could expect to spend several weeks aboard, might as well make it as comfortable as possible.
"Buford, Wallenstein – you're transport detail. Go find the trucks to haul everything we're buying and then have them wait at the docks until needed."
We had little worry about the Matilda being seized, since she was still floating offshore and even if the Morgans had divers, the ship was completely sealed from top to bottom. All hatches were more than just shut – they were molecularly bonded until I unlocked them. Also, piracy was quite unsubtle – where would they even take the ship?
"Buckley, you're with me. We're going to talk to the administrators of the base and get the word out to our Gaian brethren."
Then Captain Nobel turned to me. As a potential defector, I was nominally under his authority. "Don't torpedo anyone."
"Aye, aye, sir." I saluted. Hic.
------------
So for a whole day, I stayed cooped up in that penthouse suite. I spent most of that doing research on the Morgans, their economy, and their society. It was better and worse than what I was expecting. Morgan Transport, for example, was the fifth settlement in the twenty-four years since Planetfall. Morgan was aggressive in expansion, the better to seize valuable resources.
Staring at the Chiron map, Morgan territory was centered on the twin islands of Ixion; which contained the supervolcano Mount Planet, and the slightly-smaller island-mount of Nephelen to the west. The pod that established Morgan Industries, the capital, landed on the fertile western slopes of mount planet. It was very well-situated for growth, with good fertile soil for hybridized plants, mineral reserves, and the slopes to collect energy via solar and wind collectors. It was just that all other locations in Ixion were mediocre.
Nephelen was a repeat to the conditions around Mount Planet; barren to the east, wet to the west. Morgan placed Morgan Solarflex on top the peak. It was a very inconvenient location for a settlement, but alongside Morgan Mines slightly south of Morgan Industries, Nwabudnike Morgan set up the three most productive cities on Planet.
It was easy to get into the man's mind because his choices were so deeply influenced by geography. Ixion and Nephelen were connected to the bow-shaped continent of Asclepio, the one containing the Gaians and Spartans, via a narrow isthmus called the Pheres Arch. Depending on the tides, ships could cross from one side to the other with ease.
A smaller island chain above it (named the Hydran Narrows) formed the dual-channeled Straits of Prometheus between the Asclepio and Achilles to the north. He put Morgan Robotics at the very northern tip of Ixion where the Pheres Arch connected. Then, Morgan Transport was situated where it started, where he could cut a canal going north and south, directly below the Straits of Prometheus and opening into the Gulf of Phylira.
The continent of Achilles to the north was shared by the University and the Peacekeepers, with the University primarily settled around the Uranium Flats to the north while the Peacekeepers made their settlements around the massive planetoid impact site known as Garland Crater. Lal's people were in particular very competitive to Morgan's, with higher growth rates and good availability of minerals and energy sources.
But that just meant they were a bigger potential export market.
University.
Peacekeepers.
Morganites.
This column of settlements and territories formed what passes for an international economy on Planet. The world map had Achilles as its center the same way Europe tended to divide the Earth between Easte and West.
I could see from the very incomplete Planet maps that they still had to explore the eastern half of Achilles – where they would run into the Manifold Nexus. Likewise, the Gaians had yet to explore their north, mostly likely because it was a pink fungus-filled hellhole. I knew however that if they persisted, they'd find the ring of monoliths they would call The Ruins.
While the Manifold Nexus was the control center for Progenitor engineering efforts and Planetary intelligence, to the point that whoever possessed it was subject to less reaction from native-life forms, I had a strong feeling that the circle of monoliths several hundred kilometers across had more to do with spacetime shenanigans.
What worried me most was the darkness to the east. I knew that Planet's largest continent was there, and there with very advantageous natural features like the Borehole Cluster and the Monsoon Jungle, would be Yang and Miriam's factions. It was big enough that they might not run into each other for decades. Or they might already be at war with each other on a scale we could not even begin to imagine.
But some things... would never change.
A whole day in the War was the difference between one Core Commander and a hundred thousand K-Bots. For Morgan high society gossip, it was an even longer span of time.
I'd smashed my way into their circle of power, showed off how I could buy off half of them and sink the rest, and then gave the highest of insults – totally ignoring them afterwards. The chatboards and talk shows were going crazy.
Half were convinced it was all some elaborate hoax or scam. That ship out there was made of aluminum or something.
The other half were absolutely sure it was a ploy by one of the other factions. After all, the Spartans and Morgans were in open war and the Spartans firing on the neutral Gaians was an open-and-shut case. The rescue was far too convenient. Or, rather, not convenient enough. What the hell was I doing with those submarines? If I liked the Gaians so damn much, why didn't I help them with the Spartans?
That was just so suspicious.
"Why didn't you?" Jennefer asked from over my shoulder as I watched the morning news.
"I didn't have submarines at the area until it was well over. It's not like I expected the Spartans to start shooting."
"That's what we figured." Jenny sat down next to me, half an arm's length away on the couch, and stared forward at the talk show on the big-screen TV.
It was a cathode-ray tube TV, a strange blast from the past in this far future society. Even the laptop computer on the table was just a terminal, connected via a wire to the hotel mainframe. The suite has its own 'micro-computer' system, while others were charged per hour for access to the public Net.
Morgan was the most like pre-apocalpyse Earth. Probably late 70s or 80s Earth, and even as the impending corporate dystopia envisioned by creators in that milleu. Due to the demands of survival and expansion on Planet, there was a need for certain levels of technological regression for the sake of ease of production.
It suddenly occurred to me that there I was… sitting around in the middle of the day in a lavishy furnished room, in sleeping robes, my fluffy slippers, with a pretty woman by my side, and trying to resist the urge to troll people on the message boards. And with every second, I grew ever-more wealthy.
In any other life, I'd have looked forward to spending 40 or so years on the grid, kissing ass and punching the clock day after day, before I'd finally have enough saved up to retire and live a life of ease.
Ease or Adventure? This was the choice that Planet offered.
"May I?" Jennefer asked, holding out her hand. I passed the remote control.
Click. Away from the rubbish pundits and hey – Tom and Jerry! The classic ones from 1940s to 1960s. "This is amazing! That they still have these preserved…!"
"Archival data had little mass constraints and were among of the few cultural artifacts that could be – needed to be – assigned to every landing pod. They're all we have left of Old Earth. Psychological relief is also important for survival" Jennefer winced at a gag that had Tom narrowly avoid having his head chopped off. "But I am not sure about all this… violence. I loved it as a child, but seeing it as an adult…"
"Slapstick is universal." I replied. "I remember how it didn't matter even if the viewer can't understand the language… even behind the Iron Curtain, bootleg American cartoons could send the Reds laughing."
She glanced aside, but said nothing. The next episode was the award-winning "The Cat Concerto." Soon enough she too was howling with laughter as the physical gags, no matter how many times viewed, never failed to prod the funny bone.
Ding. Dong.
Someone was at the door. The smile abruptly disappeared from Jenny's face.
She stood up. "Excuse me."
I turned back to the screen. Suddenly it didn't seem even half as funny anymore. I sighed and slumped down the couch.
"Sir, there are some people from Morgan Central Bank here. Would you like them to bring up the papers and contracts here, or would you prefer to sign them later at their main office?"
Oh. The Bank! I forgot that I called them up to send someone who can set up contracts and form businesses. I grinned. Captain Nobel had his plan, and was most concerned with getting his people safely home. That was to be respected. My plans involving the Morgan faction were more for the long term.
If things proceeded as the familiar patterns showed in the war between the Morgans and Spartans, nothing of great import would happen. An armistice, or a Blood Truce in the local parlance, would be signed eventually. The technological and sociological development of Planet would proceed apace without need for any meddling from me. I could spend my remaining days happily exploring and doing research. I was fairly confident that eventually they would discover FTL akin to the Galactic Gates.
If anything, from what I remembered, their Psi Gate and Bulk Matter Transmitter might even be better.
But be it in seven or seventy years, if aliens arrive, then better to be safe than sorry.
Additional Data:
Sea routes in white, land trade and roads in orange. Base locations are something I'm moving away from GURPS Alpha Centauri... there are smaller towns and such all over the territories, specially along terraformed farms and mines.
Yes, the Spartans and the Gaians have a road. While technically, like the Romans did, this would make it easier for them to invade Gaian territory, at the time it was considered a very far-fetched notion. The Gaians were no challenge, no threat, and the Spartans still had more room around the Freshwater Sea for new colonies.
As the map may imply, this whole war started because the Spartans tried to extort the Morgans, and the Morgans said "Haha. No." The Spartans responded by claiming the entirety of the Sea of Nessus and performing shore bombardments. It's not piracy if you're at war.
A lot of valuable trade goes through Morgan Transport and the Gulf of Phylira. The Morgans wanted to close the gap, but putting a Sea Colony there would invite attack. Spartan Marines are fucking tough.
If the Gaians succeeded in plonking down a base, they could buy it out later.
If the Spartans shoot the Gaians, the Gaians are drawn into the conflict and the Peacekeepers have a reason to censure the Spartans. More trade, possible military support, or just a stronger alliance.
If the Gaians are forced back, the Morgans lose nothing. The Gaians probably just put down the base on the Geothermal Shallows, the Morganites get easier access to Gaian fish farms.
I will have to revise the first chapter. The Gaians do have a base facing the Sea of Pholus. The Sea Colony Pod was built there, instead of having to go all the up to the Northern Ocean then down through the Mouth of Hercules. The encounter wouldn't have made sense from the Colony Pod going the much shorter, more sensible route through the Howling Straits. Even if the Spartans were preventing anyone from passing through, at least they'd have known there was a legit Gaian Sea Colony Pod in the area.
Anyway, it should also be apparent that by sheer luck of landing, Lal and the Peacekeepers have the potential to be an economic powerhouse and then by access to the Manifold Nexus to the East, possessing the advantage of +1 Planet for free and less mind worm attacks even with normal ecological disruption for the sake of industry.
Unlike in the game, Lal would hardly be so crass as to plonk down a base in the middle of Garland Crater.
[edit]
Guys, I still need suggestions for the names of the three main continents of Planet.
Last edited:
- Location
- Attempting to cast animate object on a black hole.
The one on the left looks like a seahorse, and the one in the middle reminds me of Australia for some reason.
Name the other continent Bob.
Name the other continent Bob.
- Location
- Paradise, Hawaii
Additional Data:
Guys, I still need suggestions for the names of the three main continents of Planet.
One looks like a Longbow.
Middle looks like a Angelfish shape
Last, unsure.
AN: This whole sequence is [REDACTED]. I will replace it later with an Interlude from another character's POV.
Extraction [06] - Nemo
I peeled back the curtains and stared out at the city. It was a metropolitan landscape. I could pretend I was in San Francisco or something. While other colonies sensibly occupied multiple levels in their central arcologies, Morgan cities had blocks, overlapping roads and neighborhoods, buildings connected by catwalks, and raised parks, with cleverly constructed pylons for the walls that evoked a horizon filled with more buildings extending just out of sight. High vaulted ceilings painted blue would dim at night with the glimmer of artificial stars. When colonies needed to grow, they added new streets, new parks, new districts, branching off the main structure like new wings for a museum.
That's what every Morgan city looked like from the outside. Less Metropolis in need of a Superman or Clark Kent, but Gotham white-washed. It was a glamorous place to live in, because glamour was inherently unreal.
It was like the Truman Show on a massive scale. Or a society-wide Live-Action-Roleplay of the heydays of the twenty-first century. It was all so achingly familiar, and yet those few things that betrayed the conventions of the 2100s made it all so disturbingly alien as well.
"Morgan Bank representatives Alesa deVorcelk and Joachim Hasbruck here to see you, sir." Jenny announced.
I took a deep breath. I had changed to a hotel-provided suit. Although it was not a perfect fit, what mattered most in a suit is how you wore it. The frivolity that let me enjoy this new life was put aside, and behind my eyes I replaced the mindset that fought and burned a million worlds, the one that said: I am literally too far beyond caring for any of your bullshit.
I turned around, emotionally prepared, and promptly lost it. "Good day to yo- hellooo, Alice."
The man was as dumpy and nondescript as any banker could be. Accompanying him was a lady in a red dress. Her features were strongly Nordic, with short faintly auburn locks in a windswept hairstyle. Her eyes were the bluest I've ever seen, and her lips, her wide deep red lips, twitched up impishly.
My heart went ba-thump.
"Alesa, not Alice." She moved closer and held out her hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Commander Nemo."
I took her hand gently and raised it to my lips. "Charmed, my dear." From her I looked to her companion. "Mister Hasbruck, good day." We shook hands and then I bid them to have a seat. Wait what the fu- fate, are you fucking with me again?
I felt a tug at the back of my jacket. "Sir, may I speak to you privately for a moment?"
"Um, yes, sure." I raised a finger. "Excuse me for a moment."
Jennefer pulled me to the kitchen area, where our heads would be hidden by the hanging cupboards and pantries. "Sir, with all respect, what are you doing?"
"I… I'm getting to that. I'm sorry if I didn't clear this with your captain, but you know… we're allies, I'm not under his command. I can do what I want with my own money."
Jenny waved aside. "This isn't about that. I saw what you did."
"… I did what now?"
"I know she's beautiful, sir. Heck, even I'm affected. But isn't it obvious this is a plot to distract you? You need to keep focused."
"Uh. Okay. I'm insulted, Jen. Do you really think I'm that shallow? Of course I know. She can't be any more obvious about it. In fact, isn't it too obvious? They have to know that we know that they know this is distracting. Acting like everything's perfectly normal is how they expect us to react. We'd be so focused on pretending that we don't know that they know that we know that -"
"Stop."
"Okay."
"Captain Nobel left me strict instructions… remind him that it's always best to keep his fool mouth shut. Whatever he wants to do, do not let him fuck it up."
I nodded. "That's… sensible." We already spoke about my own… tricks… to disable listening devices. Only someone born on old Earth could be properly paranoid like that. It did not hurt to have a minder, because while I had the broad strokes of their leaders' goals, I knew next to nothing about their actual history. Their people. Their present and evolving culture.
Jennefer sighed. "Just please try not to make your fetishes so apparent next time, please?"
"… Jen, kissing a woman's hand is a perfectly normal greeting." I rubbed my eyebrows. "Right. Right. I keep forgetting. It's 2126 and you were raised in a communal environment."
Jennefer opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. She shook her head. "Sir, the Morgans will keep their deals to the letter, and nothing more. They will offer you anything you may desire. You could live a better life here than anything we may have at Gaia's Landing, and if you take them up on it, we would understand. But they are not worthy of your trust. Whatever they may tempt you with-"
"Check the Datalinks! It's not just a romantic gesture… this was the proper way for gentlemen to greet ladies for centuries! It's a mark of subservience and respect, especially in religious contexts or as mark of fealty and hooboy okay I can see where you may have a problem with that."
Jennefer just stared at me with a very deadpan expression. The facepalm was very heavily implied.
"I already said I don't derive any se- ghick!"
Jennefer poked me in the side, just around the kidneys. Hard. I recoiled, bending nearly in half. Ow. I was ticklish there.
"Oh hell no. What's with this tsundere-like development?"
Yet it was not anger or jealousy I saw in her face. She was on the verge of tears, her cheeks puffed up as she fought to control herself.
"My friends died. My… my brother died. That was just two days ago, you know? It's good to be happy to be alive, but I don't want to have fun at all..."
Oh.
Ohh. I've been having fun lounging around steeped in luxury, I lost sight of the reason why we were in this situation in the first place. Shit.
I forgot that no matter how much one might gain, sometimes it can never really replace what was lost. Things, wealth, reputation, power… they can be lost and regained. People… family… once gone are lost forever.
"I'm sorry…"
"You make it too easy to forget. And that… that's not bad, you know." Jenny stared down and fidgeted.
There was nothing I could say. I stood there feeling like a heel, unable to offer her any comfort, because I was not half as smart as I pretended to be and oh crap oh crap what do I do? (This was hardly the ARM Commander's realm of expertise. He was of no help.)
She reached out and grabbed the sleeves of my jacket. "… it's not that I blame you for anything. Thank you for saving us. Really, thank you so much. Thank you. You've done so much for us, we can't ask for any more. Thank you. I'm so happy. And I'm scared… I'm scared of disappointing you… I'm scared of what you'll do to me if I anger you…"
"I would never-!"
She looked up, and her eyes were wet, and they were aflame all the same. "But I will obey my captain. If you fuck this up, I will slap the shit out of you."
I grinned. Now that's more like it!
Wait. There was that pitying look again. Whaat. What do you really think about me, Jen?
"Ahem. All right then. Let's start."
Rather than sit beside me, Jennefer stood behind the couch at my back and a little off to one side. I knew very little about how social mores have changed in a hundred years, but whatever this implied, Alesa deVorcelk seemed to get it. A very slight smirk graced her features.
It was also the perfect distance to slap me upside the head. I sighed. Memento mori.
There were six important issues I needed to discuss with Morgan Bank's facilitators.
- 1) How deeply had Morgan Bank penetrated into the financial institutions of the other Factions? Could they assist me in setting up a company with branches in all of the other factions, established and protected according to each their respective laws?
- 2) I need readily accessible funds. They were to liquidate half my rare metal deposits at the going market rate.
- 3) What were the laws on artifact ownership and land where alien ruins were found? May a private person or company allowed to own a Terraformer?
- 4) Using my liquid assets, establish a paramilitary company called ARM Explorations that would pioneer and map Planet. Establish a lobbying firm to make sure that I'm allowed to explore on another faction's lands, as long as I willingly surrendered all artifacts found to a neutral scientific committee with oversight from all involved factions and made no claims upon territory.
(Here, I felt the probing touch of fingers against the fine hairs at the nape of my neck. But after a few moments, Jennefer withdrew her hand.)
- 5) Arrange for a discussion with CEO Morgan, at his convenience, but preferably before the Matilda must depart from Morgan Transport.
I expected a lot of hemming and hawing and some negotiation on funding and time limits, but no. Whatever I want, as long as it was possible to achieve, I may have it. The role of a facilitator was to get shit done, no matter what. That was their own pride.
After a while, I paused the discussion with the bankers and pulled Jennefer aside.
"They're being very reasonable. They're… starting to creep me out. Is this normal?" I whispered dazedly.
"I know. It's… exhausting. The Morgans are known for being scrupulously honest in their deals, until the moment they feel they no longer need to." Jenny whispered back. "I don't trust them, yet I don't think they will try to trap you with some some loophole or fine print here."
"Right. That sort of trickery is for amateurs. To really screw over someone in a deal, it's better to allow the other party to self-destruct all on his own terms." I took a deep breath and tried to put myself in their shoes. My money in the bank... that meant nothing. Think long-term. There's more where that came from. Reputation... reliability... now that's priceless.
Just as pacifists could be a complex set of motivations and personalities, greed too was a set of principles that could be positive. I mean, just because greed was Scrooge McDuck's defining character flaw, that did not mean the way he earned his wealth wasn't by a credo of: "Life is filled with tough jobs, and there'll always be sharpies to cheat me ... well, I'll be tougher than the toughies and sharper than the sharpies, and I'll make my money square!"
Nwabudike Morgan himself wrote 'The Ethics of Greed.' I had yet to read the book, but I doubted it was as self-serving as the title make it sound.
"With doppelganger Alice there I'm just wondering how long before zombies come into the picture."
Jenny stared at me blankly for a few moments. She huffed. "Right. I forgot this about you."
"No, let me explain. It's a funny little story. She just reminds me very strongly of this cha-."
Jenny held up her hands and looked away as if pushing an invisible wall between us. "Sir, please don't. Some things, I think, I'm not meant to know."
That was meant as a joke. A sudden, bowel-clenching loneliness gripped me. There was no one alive that would ever get my little injokes and references again. I laughed a little bit too loudly.
We returned to the negotiations, and saw that the two Morgan representatives suddenly stop short from their own whispered discussions over at the far end of the room, near the fireplace.
And 6) Establish an investment trust and charitable foundations on all Morgan Bases.
Jennefer sucked in her breath and turned around. She was fighting, with all her might, not to laugh.
Joachim Hasbruck looked like he'd bitten into a bitter seed but, if anything, Alesa deVorcelk just beamed with awakened enthusiasm. "Of course, sir. There will be no problem. What sort of foundation would you like to establish?"
So they still had those procedures in the books? Super surprising.
She seemed to completely approve of the idea. She was the sort of person who brightened the room with her mere presence. I was utterly lost as to who was more dangerous – her, or the person beside her who was near invisible by comparison.
"Unemployment assistance-"
Hasbruck made a little sound as if someone had punched him in the gut.
"Orphan assistance. And scholarships."
"Very good, sir." deVorcelk replied with a soft tone that seemed to say 'everything makes sense now!'
Whatever epiphany she thought she'd gained, I ignored. There were objections to how a privately-run welfare system may be unsustainable, but it was my money to dispose of as I so desired. I would throw even more money at them if they could get it done quickly.
I should be well-established before I even reach Gaia's Landing.
It was time.
I held the little ring in my hands with all the reverence I could muster. This was a blueprint that only existed in the oldest ARM Commanders. Emergent nanotech-borne viruses could allow both ARM and CORE Commanders to seize control of enemy units and buildings and turn the enemy's strengths against themselves. But this was something they could not – would not – duplicate. This ring was the symbol of authority for ARM… a signature ring, crafted by an ARM Commander's nanolathe, once handed over to mortal hands it represented the return of civilian control to the galaxy.
A simple little thing, but my ability to lathe it at all meant one thing:
My duty to ARM is done. (You are free.)
The war against CORE is over. (It is the time for peace.)
The defeat I faced was total. (Death is repaid with death.)
I serve and protect whoever the hell I want to. (This concept of 'trolling' intrigues us.)
"A chop. Interesting!" said Alesa.
From the deep frown on Jennefer's face, she had difficulty comprehending the ring's existence as either noun or verb.
"A name seal" I replied. "Derived from the Hindi word 'chapa', though name seals are most often used by Far East Asian bureaucracy, like Chinese Emperors and their Heirloom Seal of the Realm."
"I see. Instead of signing your signature, you're going to stamp the forms. That sounds much less tiring. But is that secure?"
"Please. You really think I'm going to use something as easy to duplicate as ink?"
She tilted her head ever-so-slightly, as if to imply that she did not put anything past me at all, no matter how brilliant or fucking stupid it may be. She would not judge. It was nice to be held to such unlimited potential.
Wait. No. It was not.
I slapped my butt down on the couch and fanned out the papers. A scanning green beam went over each page, saving the contents to memory, because of course a post-scarcity society who could build nearly anything would not commit to anything unless it could be verified. The Morganites were hardly surprised. The world had advanced much in the 2060s prior to the Unity Launch, document scanning was pro forma.
Alesa's eyes glittered with concentration as I pressed the seal onto paper.
Onto the signature line, a metallic blue symbol rested.
[=◊=]
It looked like a trivial mark to duplicate. But the ring was a micro-nanolathe. It was not just a symbol pressed onto paper.
Again and again I marked papers that were banded with strips of precious metal for proof of authenticity. I knew and they knew that these forms were all worthless, if we really wanted to break the spirit of our agreements. The only and strongest contract was that of mutual self-interest.
It was done. They gathered up the forms and prepared to leave. Alesa held out her hand again. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Commander."
"No, no, the pleasure was all mine…"
But as I reached for her hand, she instead wrapped her fingers around mine and pulled my hand up to her lips. She did not kiss my fingers, but took a deep sniff as her lower lip nibbled at t thumb.
I shivered.
"I do so hope we would… perform mutually beneficial exchanges with each other again, soon." she crooned as she pulled away.
Okay, to hell with it. I couldn't just leave it like that.
I lunged forward, ignoring how she flinched, and "Miss deVorcelk…" with strange desperation, I whispered. "I would very much appreciate it if you… stayed away from Morgan Metagenics. There's odd coincidences, and then there's tempting fate.
What I've seen may never come to pass, but it would still put me very much at ease if you were not a participant in that clusterfuck."
"I'm afraid I don't follow…?"
"If someone must perform unethical genetic experiments for The Longlevity Vaccine, let Zakharov take the damage."
I pulled away, and I saw in her face only confusion and little bit of fear. I'm sorry, I wanted to say. Please forgive my stupid obsolete pop culture nerdity.
"I… will certainly keep that in mind, Commander Nemo. Thank you?" she murmured. As she stepped back, her demeanor brightened once more. "Yes, this has been a very interesting discussion indeed! Let us speak again. Please call upon me whenever you want. I'm always at your service, Commander."
The Morgan Bankers were done and gone and I collapsed back onto the couch, emotionally drained.
Jennefer stood before me with her arms crossed, a look of intense disapproval on her face.
"For all I know, anything may happen now!" I hurriedly defended myself from her silent accusations. "If the logo for Morgan Metagenics looks anything like an Umbrella, I may have to pre-emptively nuke the place!"
"Morgan Metagenics?" Seemed like she was about to scold me for something else entirely. "What's going to happen at Morgan Metagenics?"
I waved my hands around. "Nothing! Probably nothing! Very much nothing!" I stopped. "… there's a tiny tiny tiny chance there might be zombies."
"Zombies." Jenny said back tonelessly.
"I'm not proud of it."
"You saw the future… and it was zombies."
"No, not the future per se. She's just a dead ringer for Mila Jovovich, Alice, exactly like how she appeared on Resident Evil. If she has someone on staff named Jill Valentine or Albert Wesker, I really don't want to have to clean that up."
"Wait… excuse me, wait please… are you… do you mean…. are you talking about fiction?"
"Um. Yes?"
That sounded really juvenile. I'm sorry.
"This… Oh." She raised her thumb to her lips and began chewing on her thumbnail. "I have no idea what I should do about this. Captain only said to hit you if you fucked it up. But if you're fucking with them, I don't know if I should cheer you on."
I groaned and covered my face with a pillow.
After a long while I spoke "Jen…"
"Yes, sir?"
"I can't... I can't take vengeance for what happened. Only you – only Deirde Skye – only Gaians have the right to assign blame and call for reparations. I'm just here to help you get home."
"I understand. Please excuse my impudence…"
"I'm reserving my A-game for trollery against the Spartans." I continued to speak with my face still hidden under the pillow. "Though the Morgans may have led them to false conclusions… they are the ones who actually took action. To kill. To murder."
There was no response from Jenny. Until, a few minutes later, I felt a weight settle down beside me.
"Why do you care?" she asked softly.
"… I like you guys. And injustice was done to you." I pressed the pillow deeper into my face. "But... you make me feel like I belong."
Twice dead, twice left behind. I was like a man living in a cave, seeing sunlight again for the first time. It was blinding. Painful. And glorious. You treated me kindly and invited me into your home. You made me laugh, and for that, I will destroy all which makes you any fear.
"Nemo… you don't have to buy our friendship."
"I want to help." I snorted. "And we could troll so many people if we were properly equipped."
Jenny's tone turned wistful. "… I looked at the Datalinks. Resident Evil does appear as one of the games under the survival horror genre (in the early 2000s, she murmured). But I do not know what 'trolling' means."
"Deceptive practical jokery. Annoying people. Derived from 'trawling' for reactions or like 'troll under the bridge', being such a magnificent pain in the ass. Very effective against super serious types."
"The Spartans are… quite super-serious."
"Yeah…"
"Nemo?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you again."
"Don't mention it. And thank you."
Then a weight pressed down on the pillow over my face, while soft warmth encircled my waist. I was being hugged. The ARM Commander had ever been hugged, only once, during the handoff of civilian control during the end of the war. He could barely prevent himself from treating it as an attack.
It was a good thing my face was still covered. Quite a bit of a water leak here. Indoors. Should probably complain to the front desk about that. I untangled my arms and -
Suddenly I heard the penthouse main door crack open and a loud voice proclaim "WE ARE BACK! AND OH MY GOD JEN, WHAT IS THIS SHAMELESS AND YET COMPLETELY EXPECTED DEVELOPMENT!"
I felt my heart slam to a stop. Jenny jabbed an accidental Tiger Claw Palm Strike into my solar plexus in in her hurry to get away and off me. "Nobel you total fucktard!" I yelled while throwing the pillow at him. The guards behind him guffawed.
As Jennefer wheezed for breath she said "… this too, it is trolling, yes? Trolling is making someone want to punch you in the face?"
"Exactly."
She let out a strangled little laugh. "The Spartans... troll them until they die."
Extraction [06] - Nemo
----------------------------
I peeled back the curtains and stared out at the city. It was a metropolitan landscape. I could pretend I was in San Francisco or something. While other colonies sensibly occupied multiple levels in their central arcologies, Morgan cities had blocks, overlapping roads and neighborhoods, buildings connected by catwalks, and raised parks, with cleverly constructed pylons for the walls that evoked a horizon filled with more buildings extending just out of sight. High vaulted ceilings painted blue would dim at night with the glimmer of artificial stars. When colonies needed to grow, they added new streets, new parks, new districts, branching off the main structure like new wings for a museum.
That's what every Morgan city looked like from the outside. Less Metropolis in need of a Superman or Clark Kent, but Gotham white-washed. It was a glamorous place to live in, because glamour was inherently unreal.
It was like the Truman Show on a massive scale. Or a society-wide Live-Action-Roleplay of the heydays of the twenty-first century. It was all so achingly familiar, and yet those few things that betrayed the conventions of the 2100s made it all so disturbingly alien as well.
"Morgan Bank representatives Alesa deVorcelk and Joachim Hasbruck here to see you, sir." Jenny announced.
I took a deep breath. I had changed to a hotel-provided suit. Although it was not a perfect fit, what mattered most in a suit is how you wore it. The frivolity that let me enjoy this new life was put aside, and behind my eyes I replaced the mindset that fought and burned a million worlds, the one that said: I am literally too far beyond caring for any of your bullshit.
I turned around, emotionally prepared, and promptly lost it. "Good day to yo- hellooo, Alice."
The man was as dumpy and nondescript as any banker could be. Accompanying him was a lady in a red dress. Her features were strongly Nordic, with short faintly auburn locks in a windswept hairstyle. Her eyes were the bluest I've ever seen, and her lips, her wide deep red lips, twitched up impishly.
My heart went ba-thump.
"Alesa, not Alice." She moved closer and held out her hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Commander Nemo."
I took her hand gently and raised it to my lips. "Charmed, my dear." From her I looked to her companion. "Mister Hasbruck, good day." We shook hands and then I bid them to have a seat. Wait what the fu- fate, are you fucking with me again?
I felt a tug at the back of my jacket. "Sir, may I speak to you privately for a moment?"
"Um, yes, sure." I raised a finger. "Excuse me for a moment."
----------------
Jennefer pulled me to the kitchen area, where our heads would be hidden by the hanging cupboards and pantries. "Sir, with all respect, what are you doing?"
"I… I'm getting to that. I'm sorry if I didn't clear this with your captain, but you know… we're allies, I'm not under his command. I can do what I want with my own money."
Jenny waved aside. "This isn't about that. I saw what you did."
"… I did what now?"
"I know she's beautiful, sir. Heck, even I'm affected. But isn't it obvious this is a plot to distract you? You need to keep focused."
"Uh. Okay. I'm insulted, Jen. Do you really think I'm that shallow? Of course I know. She can't be any more obvious about it. In fact, isn't it too obvious? They have to know that we know that they know this is distracting. Acting like everything's perfectly normal is how they expect us to react. We'd be so focused on pretending that we don't know that they know that we know that -"
"Stop."
"Okay."
"Captain Nobel left me strict instructions… remind him that it's always best to keep his fool mouth shut. Whatever he wants to do, do not let him fuck it up."
I nodded. "That's… sensible." We already spoke about my own… tricks… to disable listening devices. Only someone born on old Earth could be properly paranoid like that. It did not hurt to have a minder, because while I had the broad strokes of their leaders' goals, I knew next to nothing about their actual history. Their people. Their present and evolving culture.
Jennefer sighed. "Just please try not to make your fetishes so apparent next time, please?"
"… Jen, kissing a woman's hand is a perfectly normal greeting." I rubbed my eyebrows. "Right. Right. I keep forgetting. It's 2126 and you were raised in a communal environment."
Jennefer opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. She shook her head. "Sir, the Morgans will keep their deals to the letter, and nothing more. They will offer you anything you may desire. You could live a better life here than anything we may have at Gaia's Landing, and if you take them up on it, we would understand. But they are not worthy of your trust. Whatever they may tempt you with-"
"Check the Datalinks! It's not just a romantic gesture… this was the proper way for gentlemen to greet ladies for centuries! It's a mark of subservience and respect, especially in religious contexts or as mark of fealty and hooboy okay I can see where you may have a problem with that."
Jennefer just stared at me with a very deadpan expression. The facepalm was very heavily implied.
"I already said I don't derive any se- ghick!"
Jennefer poked me in the side, just around the kidneys. Hard. I recoiled, bending nearly in half. Ow. I was ticklish there.
"Oh hell no. What's with this tsundere-like development?"
Yet it was not anger or jealousy I saw in her face. She was on the verge of tears, her cheeks puffed up as she fought to control herself.
"My friends died. My… my brother died. That was just two days ago, you know? It's good to be happy to be alive, but I don't want to have fun at all..."
Oh.
Ohh. I've been having fun lounging around steeped in luxury, I lost sight of the reason why we were in this situation in the first place. Shit.
I forgot that no matter how much one might gain, sometimes it can never really replace what was lost. Things, wealth, reputation, power… they can be lost and regained. People… family… once gone are lost forever.
"I'm sorry…"
"You make it too easy to forget. And that… that's not bad, you know." Jenny stared down and fidgeted.
There was nothing I could say. I stood there feeling like a heel, unable to offer her any comfort, because I was not half as smart as I pretended to be and oh crap oh crap what do I do? (This was hardly the ARM Commander's realm of expertise. He was of no help.)
She reached out and grabbed the sleeves of my jacket. "… it's not that I blame you for anything. Thank you for saving us. Really, thank you so much. Thank you. You've done so much for us, we can't ask for any more. Thank you. I'm so happy. And I'm scared… I'm scared of disappointing you… I'm scared of what you'll do to me if I anger you…"
"I would never-!"
She looked up, and her eyes were wet, and they were aflame all the same. "But I will obey my captain. If you fuck this up, I will slap the shit out of you."
I grinned. Now that's more like it!
Wait. There was that pitying look again. Whaat. What do you really think about me, Jen?
----------------
"Ahem. All right then. Let's start."
Rather than sit beside me, Jennefer stood behind the couch at my back and a little off to one side. I knew very little about how social mores have changed in a hundred years, but whatever this implied, Alesa deVorcelk seemed to get it. A very slight smirk graced her features.
It was also the perfect distance to slap me upside the head. I sighed. Memento mori.
There were six important issues I needed to discuss with Morgan Bank's facilitators.
- 1) How deeply had Morgan Bank penetrated into the financial institutions of the other Factions? Could they assist me in setting up a company with branches in all of the other factions, established and protected according to each their respective laws?
- 2) I need readily accessible funds. They were to liquidate half my rare metal deposits at the going market rate.
- 3) What were the laws on artifact ownership and land where alien ruins were found? May a private person or company allowed to own a Terraformer?
- 4) Using my liquid assets, establish a paramilitary company called ARM Explorations that would pioneer and map Planet. Establish a lobbying firm to make sure that I'm allowed to explore on another faction's lands, as long as I willingly surrendered all artifacts found to a neutral scientific committee with oversight from all involved factions and made no claims upon territory.
(Here, I felt the probing touch of fingers against the fine hairs at the nape of my neck. But after a few moments, Jennefer withdrew her hand.)
- 5) Arrange for a discussion with CEO Morgan, at his convenience, but preferably before the Matilda must depart from Morgan Transport.
----------------
I expected a lot of hemming and hawing and some negotiation on funding and time limits, but no. Whatever I want, as long as it was possible to achieve, I may have it. The role of a facilitator was to get shit done, no matter what. That was their own pride.
After a while, I paused the discussion with the bankers and pulled Jennefer aside.
"They're being very reasonable. They're… starting to creep me out. Is this normal?" I whispered dazedly.
"I know. It's… exhausting. The Morgans are known for being scrupulously honest in their deals, until the moment they feel they no longer need to." Jenny whispered back. "I don't trust them, yet I don't think they will try to trap you with some some loophole or fine print here."
"Right. That sort of trickery is for amateurs. To really screw over someone in a deal, it's better to allow the other party to self-destruct all on his own terms." I took a deep breath and tried to put myself in their shoes. My money in the bank... that meant nothing. Think long-term. There's more where that came from. Reputation... reliability... now that's priceless.
Just as pacifists could be a complex set of motivations and personalities, greed too was a set of principles that could be positive. I mean, just because greed was Scrooge McDuck's defining character flaw, that did not mean the way he earned his wealth wasn't by a credo of: "Life is filled with tough jobs, and there'll always be sharpies to cheat me ... well, I'll be tougher than the toughies and sharper than the sharpies, and I'll make my money square!"
Nwabudike Morgan himself wrote 'The Ethics of Greed.' I had yet to read the book, but I doubted it was as self-serving as the title make it sound.
"With doppelganger Alice there I'm just wondering how long before zombies come into the picture."
Jenny stared at me blankly for a few moments. She huffed. "Right. I forgot this about you."
"No, let me explain. It's a funny little story. She just reminds me very strongly of this cha-."
Jenny held up her hands and looked away as if pushing an invisible wall between us. "Sir, please don't. Some things, I think, I'm not meant to know."
That was meant as a joke. A sudden, bowel-clenching loneliness gripped me. There was no one alive that would ever get my little injokes and references again. I laughed a little bit too loudly.
We returned to the negotiations, and saw that the two Morgan representatives suddenly stop short from their own whispered discussions over at the far end of the room, near the fireplace.
----------------
And 6) Establish an investment trust and charitable foundations on all Morgan Bases.
Jennefer sucked in her breath and turned around. She was fighting, with all her might, not to laugh.
Joachim Hasbruck looked like he'd bitten into a bitter seed but, if anything, Alesa deVorcelk just beamed with awakened enthusiasm. "Of course, sir. There will be no problem. What sort of foundation would you like to establish?"
So they still had those procedures in the books? Super surprising.
She seemed to completely approve of the idea. She was the sort of person who brightened the room with her mere presence. I was utterly lost as to who was more dangerous – her, or the person beside her who was near invisible by comparison.
"Unemployment assistance-"
Hasbruck made a little sound as if someone had punched him in the gut.
"Orphan assistance. And scholarships."
"Very good, sir." deVorcelk replied with a soft tone that seemed to say 'everything makes sense now!'
Whatever epiphany she thought she'd gained, I ignored. There were objections to how a privately-run welfare system may be unsustainable, but it was my money to dispose of as I so desired. I would throw even more money at them if they could get it done quickly.
I should be well-established before I even reach Gaia's Landing.
----------------
It was time.
I held the little ring in my hands with all the reverence I could muster. This was a blueprint that only existed in the oldest ARM Commanders. Emergent nanotech-borne viruses could allow both ARM and CORE Commanders to seize control of enemy units and buildings and turn the enemy's strengths against themselves. But this was something they could not – would not – duplicate. This ring was the symbol of authority for ARM… a signature ring, crafted by an ARM Commander's nanolathe, once handed over to mortal hands it represented the return of civilian control to the galaxy.
A simple little thing, but my ability to lathe it at all meant one thing:
My duty to ARM is done. (You are free.)
The war against CORE is over. (It is the time for peace.)
The defeat I faced was total. (Death is repaid with death.)
I serve and protect whoever the hell I want to. (This concept of 'trolling' intrigues us.)
"A chop. Interesting!" said Alesa.
From the deep frown on Jennefer's face, she had difficulty comprehending the ring's existence as either noun or verb.
"A name seal" I replied. "Derived from the Hindi word 'chapa', though name seals are most often used by Far East Asian bureaucracy, like Chinese Emperors and their Heirloom Seal of the Realm."
"I see. Instead of signing your signature, you're going to stamp the forms. That sounds much less tiring. But is that secure?"
"Please. You really think I'm going to use something as easy to duplicate as ink?"
She tilted her head ever-so-slightly, as if to imply that she did not put anything past me at all, no matter how brilliant or fucking stupid it may be. She would not judge. It was nice to be held to such unlimited potential.
Wait. No. It was not.
I slapped my butt down on the couch and fanned out the papers. A scanning green beam went over each page, saving the contents to memory, because of course a post-scarcity society who could build nearly anything would not commit to anything unless it could be verified. The Morganites were hardly surprised. The world had advanced much in the 2060s prior to the Unity Launch, document scanning was pro forma.
Alesa's eyes glittered with concentration as I pressed the seal onto paper.
Onto the signature line, a metallic blue symbol rested.
[=◊=]
It looked like a trivial mark to duplicate. But the ring was a micro-nanolathe. It was not just a symbol pressed onto paper.
Again and again I marked papers that were banded with strips of precious metal for proof of authenticity. I knew and they knew that these forms were all worthless, if we really wanted to break the spirit of our agreements. The only and strongest contract was that of mutual self-interest.
----------------
It was done. They gathered up the forms and prepared to leave. Alesa held out her hand again. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Commander."
"No, no, the pleasure was all mine…"
But as I reached for her hand, she instead wrapped her fingers around mine and pulled my hand up to her lips. She did not kiss my fingers, but took a deep sniff as her lower lip nibbled at t thumb.
I shivered.
"I do so hope we would… perform mutually beneficial exchanges with each other again, soon." she crooned as she pulled away.
Okay, to hell with it. I couldn't just leave it like that.
I lunged forward, ignoring how she flinched, and "Miss deVorcelk…" with strange desperation, I whispered. "I would very much appreciate it if you… stayed away from Morgan Metagenics. There's odd coincidences, and then there's tempting fate.
What I've seen may never come to pass, but it would still put me very much at ease if you were not a participant in that clusterfuck."
"I'm afraid I don't follow…?"
"If someone must perform unethical genetic experiments for The Longlevity Vaccine, let Zakharov take the damage."
I pulled away, and I saw in her face only confusion and little bit of fear. I'm sorry, I wanted to say. Please forgive my stupid obsolete pop culture nerdity.
"I… will certainly keep that in mind, Commander Nemo. Thank you?" she murmured. As she stepped back, her demeanor brightened once more. "Yes, this has been a very interesting discussion indeed! Let us speak again. Please call upon me whenever you want. I'm always at your service, Commander."
----------------
The Morgan Bankers were done and gone and I collapsed back onto the couch, emotionally drained.
Jennefer stood before me with her arms crossed, a look of intense disapproval on her face.
"For all I know, anything may happen now!" I hurriedly defended myself from her silent accusations. "If the logo for Morgan Metagenics looks anything like an Umbrella, I may have to pre-emptively nuke the place!"
"Morgan Metagenics?" Seemed like she was about to scold me for something else entirely. "What's going to happen at Morgan Metagenics?"
I waved my hands around. "Nothing! Probably nothing! Very much nothing!" I stopped. "… there's a tiny tiny tiny chance there might be zombies."
"Zombies." Jenny said back tonelessly.
"I'm not proud of it."
"You saw the future… and it was zombies."
"No, not the future per se. She's just a dead ringer for Mila Jovovich, Alice, exactly like how she appeared on Resident Evil. If she has someone on staff named Jill Valentine or Albert Wesker, I really don't want to have to clean that up."
"Wait… excuse me, wait please… are you… do you mean…. are you talking about fiction?"
"Um. Yes?"
That sounded really juvenile. I'm sorry.
"This… Oh." She raised her thumb to her lips and began chewing on her thumbnail. "I have no idea what I should do about this. Captain only said to hit you if you fucked it up. But if you're fucking with them, I don't know if I should cheer you on."
I groaned and covered my face with a pillow.
After a long while I spoke "Jen…"
"Yes, sir?"
"I can't... I can't take vengeance for what happened. Only you – only Deirde Skye – only Gaians have the right to assign blame and call for reparations. I'm just here to help you get home."
"I understand. Please excuse my impudence…"
"I'm reserving my A-game for trollery against the Spartans." I continued to speak with my face still hidden under the pillow. "Though the Morgans may have led them to false conclusions… they are the ones who actually took action. To kill. To murder."
There was no response from Jenny. Until, a few minutes later, I felt a weight settle down beside me.
"Why do you care?" she asked softly.
"… I like you guys. And injustice was done to you." I pressed the pillow deeper into my face. "But... you make me feel like I belong."
Twice dead, twice left behind. I was like a man living in a cave, seeing sunlight again for the first time. It was blinding. Painful. And glorious. You treated me kindly and invited me into your home. You made me laugh, and for that, I will destroy all which makes you any fear.
"Nemo… you don't have to buy our friendship."
"I want to help." I snorted. "And we could troll so many people if we were properly equipped."
Jenny's tone turned wistful. "… I looked at the Datalinks. Resident Evil does appear as one of the games under the survival horror genre (in the early 2000s, she murmured). But I do not know what 'trolling' means."
"Deceptive practical jokery. Annoying people. Derived from 'trawling' for reactions or like 'troll under the bridge', being such a magnificent pain in the ass. Very effective against super serious types."
"The Spartans are… quite super-serious."
"Yeah…"
"Nemo?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you again."
"Don't mention it. And thank you."
Then a weight pressed down on the pillow over my face, while soft warmth encircled my waist. I was being hugged. The ARM Commander had ever been hugged, only once, during the handoff of civilian control during the end of the war. He could barely prevent himself from treating it as an attack.
It was a good thing my face was still covered. Quite a bit of a water leak here. Indoors. Should probably complain to the front desk about that. I untangled my arms and -
Suddenly I heard the penthouse main door crack open and a loud voice proclaim "WE ARE BACK! AND OH MY GOD JEN, WHAT IS THIS SHAMELESS AND YET COMPLETELY EXPECTED DEVELOPMENT!"
I felt my heart slam to a stop. Jenny jabbed an accidental Tiger Claw Palm Strike into my solar plexus in in her hurry to get away and off me. "Nobel you total fucktard!" I yelled while throwing the pillow at him. The guards behind him guffawed.
As Jennefer wheezed for breath she said "… this too, it is trolling, yes? Trolling is making someone want to punch you in the face?"
"Exactly."
She let out a strangled little laugh. "The Spartans... troll them until they die."
####
----------------
----------------
Last edited:
- Location
- Arizona
SO, as the poor bastard who hasn't played either Total Annihilation or SMAC, is there anything here that I'm missing? Or was this a case of "Milla Jovavich's face in front of me + there's going to be a case of Zombies in the future = probably should try to avoid the pretty face being messed up/etc."
how bad is this Metagenic company? How bad are the zombies?
how bad is this Metagenic company? How bad are the zombies?
resident evil.
- Location
- Arizona
...unhelpful. Resident Evil is the game, I'm asking specifically about danger level of the Company AND the Zombies in SMAC.
...or, there are no zombies in SMAC, the Commander is just aware of a genetics program that could potentially link/create the zombies, and is connecting the dots because of Alesa's presence? that would make more sense, and explain why I haven't heard of zombies in SMAC...
Robo Jesus
Your Mechanical Messiah
...or the name and looks of that character is an honest coincidence and the SI is making jokes no one will automatically catch offhand without doing some historical research.
- Location
- Arizona
no, what I originally was assuming was that there was some sort of Zombie Plague thing in the the canon of Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri, and thought that that was what the character was referencing to. I was asking for clarification on the threat level on the company mentioned, as well as the (theoretical) zombies, since zombie apocalypses can vary in lethality/infectiousness.
Now, I realize that the character might simply be connecting a random person who looks like a notable fictional character to a (possible) genetic program, who could theoretically make a zombie program.
I have no background in SMAC, so I was asking for background information for something I thought was in canon.
For that matter, if there aren't zombies in SMAC, was the mentioned genetics company canon?
Now, I realize that the character might simply be connecting a random person who looks like a notable fictional character to a (possible) genetic program, who could theoretically make a zombie program.
I have no background in SMAC, so I was asking for background information for something I thought was in canon.
For that matter, if there aren't zombies in SMAC, was the mentioned genetics company canon?
Vorpal
Neither a dandy nor a clown
- Location
- 76 Totter's Lane, Shoreditch, London, EC1 5EG
The idea that bootleg Tom and Jerry sent 'the Reds laughing' seems rather bizarre to me. If you want to say something about universality of slapstick, it would probably make more sense to just reference a 'Red' slapstick cartoon. At least the genre is universal.
By the time Tom and Jerry could even be bootlegged, it was the Glastnost' era (because how are you going to bootleg when VCR don't exist?), generally late 1980s at the earliest (because VCR availability lagged behind compared to the West), which means the Iron Curtain was already well on its way to collapse, and there were official translations for huge chunks of American media anyway. On Soviet TV—not bootlegs.
So at that point, I'm not sure how the point of referencing the Iron Curtain at all. The era of genuinely clandestine bootlegging was much earlier; e.g., at one point, my grandfather had a Beatles LP, and it was like gold, as well as a variety of other ones. But by the time Tom and Jerry could be bootlegged, the Iron Curtain leaked like a sieve and didn't really give a shit whether you had or not, so the efficacy of referencing to make a point is rather dubious.
Additionally, and I'm not saying that my experience is necessarily representative, but I've never met someone from the USSR that liked Tom and Jerry, and out of those that liked some slapstick, the general consensus seemed to be that it's inferior to Just You Wait! (Nu, pogodi!). I don't know whether it's because one series is genuinely better than another or because it's simply more familiar and nostalgic, but for whatever reason, my experience was that Soviet people liked Tom and Jerry a lot less than Soviet-made slapstick. Things may be quite different post-USSR, since the media became rapidly Americanized.
On the other hand, I think the Soviet releases of DuckTales and later, Darkwing Duck, were pretty popular. They're not (entirely) slapstick and didn't need to be bootlegged, though.
Arafell
Verified Cephalon
- Location
- Oregon
I see what you did there.
An excellent and original crossover. I like the background you're writing into the Alpha Centauri world, it really makes things interesting.
I wonder how many metal extractors the commander has built by now. . .
8.1
I should really have gone with the first thought and used Chaplin, but that was 2Godwin4me.
Oh shit she heard me.
Anyway, first part of the chapter reboot.
EXTRACTION [06] - Alesa deVorcelk
I was born to be great. This I do not say out of arrogance, nor to demean others' achievements, but because it is a fact. My parents had spared no expense in tweaking my fetus for the optimal advantages. I was one of those children called "Perfect."
And nothing was spared to make sure my skills and my knowledge matched up to my genes.
It was not a bitter childhood, though. I went to an elite private school because "it is essential for a lady to learn how to socialize", I learned quickly how to speak eleven languages by the time I was nine years from vacationing in the nations having those native languages. My accent had to be perfect. Science and mathematics – I was never bored with them. Great teachers tended to me.
I knew fifty ways to kill a man by the time I was ten. But I was not raised to be an assassin who could blend into any scene. A lady just has to be prudent and able to protect herself, after all. It gives confidence, like nothing else, to know you have the ability to end lives with your bare hands.
By fifteen I knew how that felt. My mother insisted on it.
Perhaps it should be made clear at this point that my mother was
She loved me, and treasured me, and let me know that everything she did was to protect me. Whatever trauma she experienced in her life, she was determined that a piece of her would rise above all that. "Alice… the world is a cruel and ugly place. There are Red Queens who would cut off your head, chop chop, like that. But if people say no, if everybody says no, what power does she really have? What makes her special?"
I sat in my mother's lap, while she rested her chin on my head. An open storybook lay open in front of us. I remember it was a mild sunny day, we were reading in a gazebo.
"What is Wonderland's theme, Alicia?"
"Wonderland was designed to evoke a chess game, mother."
"What was Alice, in the end?"
"Alice was a pawn. But when she reached the end… she was promoted to a Queen?"
I heard the approaching whine of a VTOL craft. The wind whipped at our faces, the storybook flew away as if given wings, and from the black assault craft armed in balaclavas and battle armor approached our gazebo. Their rifles were pointed towards the ground, but they were ready to shoot.
"Lady Oppenheimer. You are under arrest."
My mother carefully picked me up and put me aside. "Don't worry, my precious. I'll be back in while." I wanted to cling to her, and cry. I was frightened by all these strange men. But it would not be proper.
She returned after a week, seemingly none the worse for wear. Her smile was just a little bit more false, her energy just a little bit more sapped than before.
The next time a VTOL arrived, they were there for me. My mother's own handpicked squad, there to teach me how power also pooled in the underside of society. Whatever the situation, I must rise beyond my circumstances.
My father did not know what to do with me at all. I was too mature too early to pamper as his adorable daughter, but at the same time I was too well-behaved to worry about. My mother's control over my life was absolute, she was the goose that laid the golden egg for his business.
I had a younger brother, who would inherit most of the business. Yet, it was obvious he resented my existence. While he would be wealthy and powerful, he just had to wait for it to fall into his hands, I could go anywhere and with my abilities – fit in and do anything. He was no spoiled brat, and if anything what he resented the most was that while I was 'playing around' his time was spent on more important things like learning how to manage the business.
I left that house as soon as I could.
Nwabudike Morgan. I was drawn like a moth to his flame. The "Ethics of Greed" was required reading at my college in almost all courses. He was a genius in his own way, and it was as everything he touched turned to gold. He was brilliant, witty, with a way to make you feel like the closest of friends mere seconds after meeting him.
I was on his security detail.
"You have three different Doctorates, Alicia." he said to me. "One in Philosophy, one of Medicine, and another in History. Why do you choose instead to risk yourself by getting in the way of a bullet?"
"You know my background, sir. Opportunities for those of my genetic background are… limited."
"That sounds like an excuse." he replied with some disappointment.
"The Unity is far too important to all humanity to fail, and you are far too important to lose before we launch. Making sure you survive… is a much more productive use of my time than engaging in wealth-building activities."
I was posing as one of his perennial secretaries. And I'll have you know, I was a very good secretary too. It was surprising how much useful intelligence one could gather when trying to work out scheduling conflicts. A little flirting and flattery hurt no one.
The rumors of being just another one of his trophies was completely unsubstantiated, and a fine cover. I did many… unsightly things… for CEO Morgan, everything except go between his legs. All the rumors about his proclivities was just that, rumors. Never had I seen such a wonderful marriage, the deep faith and affection that Morgan and his wife had for each other. He was wealthy in all the ways that mattered.
"Hmm. Is that your limit, then? Do you dislike being wealthy that much?"
"Wealth on this planet is worthless. What is my value here? I want to discover my value out there. Here, my genes define me. There, the acquisition of wealth may truly become a creative process. You said it: Wealth is potential realized." I smiled. "So why not look after you, sir? Why not protect my investment?"
"And if your life is cut short in the carrying out of your duties?"
"I like my job. No one can make me enjoy anything else that I 'should' be doing."
I was there, standing outside the room, as Morgan stayed with his wife in her final moments. Radiation sickness. He only ever needed her, but not even all his wealth and power could save her. Great men and women, I realized, are great because of how they struggle against their imperfections. Greatness is a power of the mind and of the heart, not of the blood.
After that, there was only the Unity. Humanity's last and best hope for something good out of this benighted planet. Morgan was determined to be a part of it, and yet… it was crushing to learn that he was denied passage. How could they think he was not vital to humankind's new destiny? I wondered if it was last jealous insult thrown in by those who much less accomplished in their own dimming lives.
I was given a ticket. Due to my inherent longlevity, I was one of the crew that would be periodically awakened to perform maintenance through the 40-year journey. I was embedded into the general staff under Pravin Lal's command.
I only returned home once, when I learned that my brother was stonewalling resources needed for the Unity's construction. I had to remind him of his… obligations. As I feared, he was doing it simply because I was affiliated to the project.
Sadly, I had to crush his illusions about power. Wealth alone was a poor shield. Morgan knew that wealth was primarily a tool to acquire other tools, for protection and for reprisal. I never had to use violence in that house.
My mother's eyesight was clouded over back then. She still looked youthful, but I could tell her every movement was already strained. She was having difficulty breathing without an artificial lung. All she asked from me was "You're going on that ship, aren't you, Alice?"
"Yes, mother."
"Good. Good… Find your Wonderland, Alice. Topple the Red Queen where you meet her."
I was twenty-nine when the Unity was launched, and still looked barely out of my teens. Once on the ship, it was a trivial measure to change my name, the name I would earn in that new world. "Why this…?" I was asked by the information specialist on my team. "Why something that sounds like 'divorcelle'?"
"I think it's supposed to be pronounced 'devours elk'" his partner put in.
"Dee- vor- shelk" I replied. "And it means precisely what I want it to."
An emergency from a meteorite strike forced the automatic activation of the command crew. It wiped out two whole cryobay sections and damaged the engines. Unless repaired, the Unity would overshoot Alpha Centauri and die in the cold emptiness of interstellar space.
Yet it was not just them that were roused from coldsleep. A hidden self-executing agent also woke up fifty more cryopods and their leader.
Santiago.
Santiago promptly tried to demand a whole Landing Pod – food, supplies, and tools for a thousand people – just for her and her band of fifty insurgents.
I hate Santiago so very much.
Fighting in the confines of the Unity, with shredder guns that could barely penetrate anything or else we might break something important behind the walls, debilitating psych-whips that were useless when we were the ones closely packed - it was hell. In the dim red lights, it was knife work, and it was hard to tell the level of wounds being taken. The only way to be sure was to go in for the kill, every time, and mutineers that Santiago had gathered around her had far less hesitation compared to the engineers that rallied in support of Captain Garland.
I barely survived our encounter. Fist to knife, and she had me beat. The only reason I didn't end up with my throat slit was that the psych-whips could put me down just as effectively in less time, while the Spartans were engaged on a fighting retreat towards the cryopods. What burned me most of all was that she recognized me.
"Morgan's little play soldier…" she sneered as I screamed in pain until I knew nothing more.
I woke up to learn that Morgan was out of his secret cryopod, hidden in the ship through when the Russian government collapsed and Morgan Industries took over that phase of construction. As I expected, he easily slid into place among the command staff without being officially part of the crew. He was a reasonable man amongst reasonable people, and you would be surprised how many groups are naturally driven to act in a way to make that flattering assertion true.
I laughed to learn that Santiago was captured by Deirde's botanical engineers. Command cut off the air to the hydroponics section, making Santiago believe that they would rather consider the hostages lost than allow her to imperil the ship's repairs any further. Zakharov pulsed the reactor, and in that moment of inattention and changed frame of reference, Santiago was thrown across the Greenhouse and knocked unconscious. No one ever expected the little band of gardeners to fight back.
When the command module blew up from another mysterious saboteur's sonic hammer, so went the hope of keeping the Unity Mission together. Incidentally, the ones we know call the faction leaders were in a meeting to separate into different Landing Ponds and set off into planet independently. That is why they survived, while the rest of the command crew did not.
The engines were wrecked, the ship would soon splinter and burn in the atmosphere. This is why all the cryobays had to be forced open, and dazed people hurriedly funneled into the Landing Pods. There was little time to separate between bays and potential colonists by ideology, it would have to rest upon a number of those like-minded pre-selected ahead of time.
Who killed Captain Garland? No one knew. His last message was to his friend, Pravin Lal, and his last act to release the locks that kept the Landing Pods secured to the Unity.
Explosively our Landing Pod disengaged, and I experienced a feeling of relief overpowering to the point of psychotropic bliss. At that moment, our destinies separated from Earth. Our mother and home. Planet would be whatever we wished it to become.
Twenty-six years since Planetfall.
I was there when something great, and terrible, and truly alien arrived upon Planet.
Oh shit she heard me.
----------------------------------------------
Anyway, first part of the chapter reboot.
EXTRACTION [06] - Alesa deVorcelk
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
People always underestimate wealth as a form of power. Power that derives from the barrel of a gun, the closed fist, or poisoned pen, or the pulpit, all are considered stronger than merely being wealthy. Violence has the potential to claim wealth, while wealth alone is not enough to incite a revolution.
These people believe that wealth is money.
They are also idiots.
And that is why, no matter how much they struggle, they fail to achieve wealth and strain in futility to achieve their goals unless helped by others with more fiscal acumen.
Wealth is not money. Money is an exchange unit. Wealth is access to resources.
These people believe that wealth is money.
They are also idiots.
And that is why, no matter how much they struggle, they fail to achieve wealth and strain in futility to achieve their goals unless helped by others with more fiscal acumen.
Wealth is not money. Money is an exchange unit. Wealth is access to resources.
I was born to be great. This I do not say out of arrogance, nor to demean others' achievements, but because it is a fact. My parents had spared no expense in tweaking my fetus for the optimal advantages. I was one of those children called "Perfect."
And nothing was spared to make sure my skills and my knowledge matched up to my genes.
It was not a bitter childhood, though. I went to an elite private school because "it is essential for a lady to learn how to socialize", I learned quickly how to speak eleven languages by the time I was nine years from vacationing in the nations having those native languages. My accent had to be perfect. Science and mathematics – I was never bored with them. Great teachers tended to me.
I knew fifty ways to kill a man by the time I was ten. But I was not raised to be an assassin who could blend into any scene. A lady just has to be prudent and able to protect herself, after all. It gives confidence, like nothing else, to know you have the ability to end lives with your bare hands.
By fifteen I knew how that felt. My mother insisted on it.
Perhaps it should be made clear at this point that my mother was
a) Trying to live vicariously through her daughter
b) A functional lunatic.
b) A functional lunatic.
She loved me, and treasured me, and let me know that everything she did was to protect me. Whatever trauma she experienced in her life, she was determined that a piece of her would rise above all that. "Alice… the world is a cruel and ugly place. There are Red Queens who would cut off your head, chop chop, like that. But if people say no, if everybody says no, what power does she really have? What makes her special?"
I sat in my mother's lap, while she rested her chin on my head. An open storybook lay open in front of us. I remember it was a mild sunny day, we were reading in a gazebo.
"What is Wonderland's theme, Alicia?"
"Wonderland was designed to evoke a chess game, mother."
"What was Alice, in the end?"
"Alice was a pawn. But when she reached the end… she was promoted to a Queen?"
I heard the approaching whine of a VTOL craft. The wind whipped at our faces, the storybook flew away as if given wings, and from the black assault craft armed in balaclavas and battle armor approached our gazebo. Their rifles were pointed towards the ground, but they were ready to shoot.
"Lady Oppenheimer. You are under arrest."
My mother carefully picked me up and put me aside. "Don't worry, my precious. I'll be back in while." I wanted to cling to her, and cry. I was frightened by all these strange men. But it would not be proper.
She returned after a week, seemingly none the worse for wear. Her smile was just a little bit more false, her energy just a little bit more sapped than before.
The next time a VTOL arrived, they were there for me. My mother's own handpicked squad, there to teach me how power also pooled in the underside of society. Whatever the situation, I must rise beyond my circumstances.
Wealth is the interaction between individuals and the system that allows them to gain what they want. A person that is physically powerful can be wealthy, because his first resource is his body. A person that is mentally gifted can be wealthy, because his first resource his mind. A person who is wealthy with only money is not wealthy in ability, if he does not know how to preserve and expand his reach of influence.
My father did not know what to do with me at all. I was too mature too early to pamper as his adorable daughter, but at the same time I was too well-behaved to worry about. My mother's control over my life was absolute, she was the goose that laid the golden egg for his business.
I had a younger brother, who would inherit most of the business. Yet, it was obvious he resented my existence. While he would be wealthy and powerful, he just had to wait for it to fall into his hands, I could go anywhere and with my abilities – fit in and do anything. He was no spoiled brat, and if anything what he resented the most was that while I was 'playing around' his time was spent on more important things like learning how to manage the business.
I left that house as soon as I could.
Power is the capacity to enact change into the world in the manner in which you desire.
Wealth is also a form of power. It is, in fact, the surest form of power – because if you cannot achieve that change on your own, you can find others with the qualities you lack, and give them what they want in order to create that change. And if you cannot buy, you must make. It is the exchange that powers the engine of progress.
Thus, a rich man is one who is rich in experiences, and rich in ambition, and rich in ability. A rich man is not alone, but is surrounded by others great as he. He is the glue which holds together disparate talents into a greater whole.
There are no barriers to wealth. Is a genius diminished because of wealth? Do muscles shrivel the moment you earn your first million? Does a mother suddenly love her newborn child any less just because there's stocks in the portfolio? Do not dehumanize those who have wealth, all have the right to seek happiness and fulfillment no matter what their circumstances.
Wealth is also a form of power. It is, in fact, the surest form of power – because if you cannot achieve that change on your own, you can find others with the qualities you lack, and give them what they want in order to create that change. And if you cannot buy, you must make. It is the exchange that powers the engine of progress.
Thus, a rich man is one who is rich in experiences, and rich in ambition, and rich in ability. A rich man is not alone, but is surrounded by others great as he. He is the glue which holds together disparate talents into a greater whole.
There are no barriers to wealth. Is a genius diminished because of wealth? Do muscles shrivel the moment you earn your first million? Does a mother suddenly love her newborn child any less just because there's stocks in the portfolio? Do not dehumanize those who have wealth, all have the right to seek happiness and fulfillment no matter what their circumstances.
Nwabudike Morgan. I was drawn like a moth to his flame. The "Ethics of Greed" was required reading at my college in almost all courses. He was a genius in his own way, and it was as everything he touched turned to gold. He was brilliant, witty, with a way to make you feel like the closest of friends mere seconds after meeting him.
I was on his security detail.
"You have three different Doctorates, Alicia." he said to me. "One in Philosophy, one of Medicine, and another in History. Why do you choose instead to risk yourself by getting in the way of a bullet?"
"You know my background, sir. Opportunities for those of my genetic background are… limited."
"That sounds like an excuse." he replied with some disappointment.
"The Unity is far too important to all humanity to fail, and you are far too important to lose before we launch. Making sure you survive… is a much more productive use of my time than engaging in wealth-building activities."
I was posing as one of his perennial secretaries. And I'll have you know, I was a very good secretary too. It was surprising how much useful intelligence one could gather when trying to work out scheduling conflicts. A little flirting and flattery hurt no one.
The rumors of being just another one of his trophies was completely unsubstantiated, and a fine cover. I did many… unsightly things… for CEO Morgan, everything except go between his legs. All the rumors about his proclivities was just that, rumors. Never had I seen such a wonderful marriage, the deep faith and affection that Morgan and his wife had for each other. He was wealthy in all the ways that mattered.
"Hmm. Is that your limit, then? Do you dislike being wealthy that much?"
"Wealth on this planet is worthless. What is my value here? I want to discover my value out there. Here, my genes define me. There, the acquisition of wealth may truly become a creative process. You said it: Wealth is potential realized." I smiled. "So why not look after you, sir? Why not protect my investment?"
"And if your life is cut short in the carrying out of your duties?"
"I like my job. No one can make me enjoy anything else that I 'should' be doing."
I was there, standing outside the room, as Morgan stayed with his wife in her final moments. Radiation sickness. He only ever needed her, but not even all his wealth and power could save her. Great men and women, I realized, are great because of how they struggle against their imperfections. Greatness is a power of the mind and of the heart, not of the blood.
After that, there was only the Unity. Humanity's last and best hope for something good out of this benighted planet. Morgan was determined to be a part of it, and yet… it was crushing to learn that he was denied passage. How could they think he was not vital to humankind's new destiny? I wondered if it was last jealous insult thrown in by those who much less accomplished in their own dimming lives.
I was given a ticket. Due to my inherent longlevity, I was one of the crew that would be periodically awakened to perform maintenance through the 40-year journey. I was embedded into the general staff under Pravin Lal's command.
Wealth is the transformation of capital investure, be it manpower, or ideas, or material goods, into a form that is much more fluid. To be truly rich is to astride the world as a colossus, not to trample it beneath your feet, but to walk towards the sun. There are many who foolishly believe they are the epitome of wealth, but lacking vision they are simply as parasites as those who refuse to work. The truly rich man moves the world, and becomes ever-more-wealthy in his dealings; ever-more with access to resources, allies, and tools. To be truly rich is to challenge society towards progress.
The market is not just a place where goods are traded, after all. It is a place where we prove that human beings have the right to rule the world. The creation of wealth is what sets us apart from mere animals. Our brains, our thumbs, these are but biological advantages. It is the capacity to create from raw materials and assign value that brings us to greatness.
It is the capacity to solve problems that defines us. To value each other, to trade our unique skills, with this we all grow stronger. Our economic systems evolve through competition, and to stifle this is to deny the true nature of mankind.
The market is not just a place where goods are traded, after all. It is a place where we prove that human beings have the right to rule the world. The creation of wealth is what sets us apart from mere animals. Our brains, our thumbs, these are but biological advantages. It is the capacity to create from raw materials and assign value that brings us to greatness.
It is the capacity to solve problems that defines us. To value each other, to trade our unique skills, with this we all grow stronger. Our economic systems evolve through competition, and to stifle this is to deny the true nature of mankind.
I only returned home once, when I learned that my brother was stonewalling resources needed for the Unity's construction. I had to remind him of his… obligations. As I feared, he was doing it simply because I was affiliated to the project.
Sadly, I had to crush his illusions about power. Wealth alone was a poor shield. Morgan knew that wealth was primarily a tool to acquire other tools, for protection and for reprisal. I never had to use violence in that house.
My mother's eyesight was clouded over back then. She still looked youthful, but I could tell her every movement was already strained. She was having difficulty breathing without an artificial lung. All she asked from me was "You're going on that ship, aren't you, Alice?"
"Yes, mother."
"Good. Good… Find your Wonderland, Alice. Topple the Red Queen where you meet her."
Wealth is the language that all human beings can speak, because wealth is the language that answers a need.
You know the old saying; give a man a fish, and you will feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you will feed him for the rest of his life.
The pursuit of power is competition, and far too many believe that it is a zero-sum game. Those who deny wealth believe that by spreading it around, the loss of resources can be minimized. They rob the future to pay the present, and why destroy wealth – resources, talents, ideas! – than employ it? A closed system is not stable, but even more prone to entropic decay. It is the failure of imagination, it is the failure of willpower, and it is the failure of weak men who cannot tolerate that others may become greater than they when given the chance. They seek power in its most naked, and least useful form.
Wealth is the key opens up the world! When you do not have wealth, your options are limited. When you only focus on one type of resource or ability, you can only see goals in the context of your limited means. When you settle for little, you have little. And with that little, you can do little, when others want to take it away.
You know the old saying; give a man a fish, and you will feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you will feed him for the rest of his life.
The pursuit of power is competition, and far too many believe that it is a zero-sum game. Those who deny wealth believe that by spreading it around, the loss of resources can be minimized. They rob the future to pay the present, and why destroy wealth – resources, talents, ideas! – than employ it? A closed system is not stable, but even more prone to entropic decay. It is the failure of imagination, it is the failure of willpower, and it is the failure of weak men who cannot tolerate that others may become greater than they when given the chance. They seek power in its most naked, and least useful form.
Wealth is the key opens up the world! When you do not have wealth, your options are limited. When you only focus on one type of resource or ability, you can only see goals in the context of your limited means. When you settle for little, you have little. And with that little, you can do little, when others want to take it away.
I was twenty-nine when the Unity was launched, and still looked barely out of my teens. Once on the ship, it was a trivial measure to change my name, the name I would earn in that new world. "Why this…?" I was asked by the information specialist on my team. "Why something that sounds like 'divorcelle'?"
"I think it's supposed to be pronounced 'devours elk'" his partner put in.
"Dee- vor- shelk" I replied. "And it means precisely what I want it to."
----
An emergency from a meteorite strike forced the automatic activation of the command crew. It wiped out two whole cryobay sections and damaged the engines. Unless repaired, the Unity would overshoot Alpha Centauri and die in the cold emptiness of interstellar space.
Yet it was not just them that were roused from coldsleep. A hidden self-executing agent also woke up fifty more cryopods and their leader.
Santiago.
Santiago promptly tried to demand a whole Landing Pod – food, supplies, and tools for a thousand people – just for her and her band of fifty insurgents.
I hate Santiago so very much.
Fighting in the confines of the Unity, with shredder guns that could barely penetrate anything or else we might break something important behind the walls, debilitating psych-whips that were useless when we were the ones closely packed - it was hell. In the dim red lights, it was knife work, and it was hard to tell the level of wounds being taken. The only way to be sure was to go in for the kill, every time, and mutineers that Santiago had gathered around her had far less hesitation compared to the engineers that rallied in support of Captain Garland.
I barely survived our encounter. Fist to knife, and she had me beat. The only reason I didn't end up with my throat slit was that the psych-whips could put me down just as effectively in less time, while the Spartans were engaged on a fighting retreat towards the cryopods. What burned me most of all was that she recognized me.
"Morgan's little play soldier…" she sneered as I screamed in pain until I knew nothing more.
----
I woke up to learn that Morgan was out of his secret cryopod, hidden in the ship through when the Russian government collapsed and Morgan Industries took over that phase of construction. As I expected, he easily slid into place among the command staff without being officially part of the crew. He was a reasonable man amongst reasonable people, and you would be surprised how many groups are naturally driven to act in a way to make that flattering assertion true.
I laughed to learn that Santiago was captured by Deirde's botanical engineers. Command cut off the air to the hydroponics section, making Santiago believe that they would rather consider the hostages lost than allow her to imperil the ship's repairs any further. Zakharov pulsed the reactor, and in that moment of inattention and changed frame of reference, Santiago was thrown across the Greenhouse and knocked unconscious. No one ever expected the little band of gardeners to fight back.
When the command module blew up from another mysterious saboteur's sonic hammer, so went the hope of keeping the Unity Mission together. Incidentally, the ones we know call the faction leaders were in a meeting to separate into different Landing Ponds and set off into planet independently. That is why they survived, while the rest of the command crew did not.
The engines were wrecked, the ship would soon splinter and burn in the atmosphere. This is why all the cryobays had to be forced open, and dazed people hurriedly funneled into the Landing Pods. There was little time to separate between bays and potential colonists by ideology, it would have to rest upon a number of those like-minded pre-selected ahead of time.
Who killed Captain Garland? No one knew. His last message was to his friend, Pravin Lal, and his last act to release the locks that kept the Landing Pods secured to the Unity.
Explosively our Landing Pod disengaged, and I experienced a feeling of relief overpowering to the point of psychotropic bliss. At that moment, our destinies separated from Earth. Our mother and home. Planet would be whatever we wished it to become.
Greed has become a pejorative – but since when has it been a sin to try and protect yourself and those you care for? They call it selfishness, when they seek to make the multitude hungry just to feed the few.
The truly wealthy man wants others to be wealthy too. The market benefits from a wider customer base! The miser that does not loose his pockets is wrapped in poverty. The wealthy who do nothing but waste their potential in frivolous pleasures, seeking to deny it from others, are prisoners in their own flesh.
And I say to you, who wonders: How can I be rich, when I am not born to wealthy parents? That you are your own treasure. The world is full of opportunities. You only need to open your eyes and identify the needs that drive those around you.
Must you live in humility for petty praise? Must you stay in one place? The self-made wealthy become so because they do not spend anything in frivolity. Look at your days and hours, ticking away never to be regained. How much of it do you waste on things that will not return your expenditure of energy? How much do you spend just idling around, unwilling to risk your pride?
Be greedy for victory. Be greedy for improvement. Do not be trapped by your doubts. Never stop moving. Never stop hoping. Never stop trying to make your vision come true.
All things derive from one small decision every time you pause, and one step every time towards the realization of your desire; to be better off in all ways tomorrow than you were yesterday.
The truly wealthy man wants others to be wealthy too. The market benefits from a wider customer base! The miser that does not loose his pockets is wrapped in poverty. The wealthy who do nothing but waste their potential in frivolous pleasures, seeking to deny it from others, are prisoners in their own flesh.
And I say to you, who wonders: How can I be rich, when I am not born to wealthy parents? That you are your own treasure. The world is full of opportunities. You only need to open your eyes and identify the needs that drive those around you.
Must you live in humility for petty praise? Must you stay in one place? The self-made wealthy become so because they do not spend anything in frivolity. Look at your days and hours, ticking away never to be regained. How much of it do you waste on things that will not return your expenditure of energy? How much do you spend just idling around, unwilling to risk your pride?
Be greedy for victory. Be greedy for improvement. Do not be trapped by your doubts. Never stop moving. Never stop hoping. Never stop trying to make your vision come true.
All things derive from one small decision every time you pause, and one step every time towards the realization of your desire; to be better off in all ways tomorrow than you were yesterday.
Twenty-six years since Planetfall.
I was there when something great, and terrible, and truly alien arrived upon Planet.
Last edited:
8.2
Morgan Bank Fourth Branch
142 Bluemoon Plaza, First Level
Morgan Transport
A brash, if babbling voice resonated through the dim meeting room. On the overhead projector, we saw the insides of a ship's bridge – one made of bare, faintly greenish metal. Morgan Security Force in full battle armor were pointing guns at unarmed Gaian sailors, and their sergeant had just pistol-whipped someone who owned the largest waterborne craft Planet had ever seen.
That should have been enough clue not to go in trying to close the event before it could embarrass Morgan.
"Wir sind im arsch…" Oh, we're so in the ass. I groaned as I lay my face upon the table. This level of idiocy was painful. They proved why so many equated greed to sheer idiocy, instead of as a perfectly valid motivation for self-improvement. "There is no way to cover this up."
Beside me my partner, Joachim Hasbruck, stared with dry sleepy little eyes at screen. He had the straight-backed lethargy of a man who could kill six people before breakfast and still balance the books by the afternoon. He still looked the very picture of the fat, useless banker. A sumo wrestler or a bear were both deceptively cuddly forms that were nearly all muscle.
He pulled out the photographs from a file folder and laid them onto the table. But it was his keen analytic mind that made him so valuable for my team.
He said: "On a more positive note, only police brutality is the charge that the Gaians may raise against us. There remains no proof that there was a security leak to warn the Spartans about approaching Gaian colonists."
I laughed. "I pity the Governor trying to convince anyone of that. This is a time when any proof at all would be counter-productive to everyone involved."
"Politics is a dirty business. Ours is logistics." There was a shot of the cargo ship named Matilda as approached the port, only for all to realize it was too big to service. He tapped the photo. "And this – this is much more dangerous than the incompetence of the MSF."
"Correct, Little Jim." I pushed off the table and calmed myself. In privacy with Joachim, I could exercise a little loss of propriety. In all my years living (not counting the 40 years spent in coldsleep) I had seen my share of epic stupidity. None of them was to the level of "Let's alienate a potential trade partner and poke a possibly nuclear-armed new faction with a pistol-whipping."
I pointed to the map of the area. The place where the Gulf of Phylira opened out to the Sea of Nessus. My manicured nails stabbed into the paper. "It is too… random? Someone named Nemo appearing out of nowhere to save the Gaians. Exactly after the deed is done for a valid casus belli. It is far too convenient. There is no proof either, but a heavy implication that there is a Spartan or Morgan information leak."
"Do the Gaians even have anything approaching an intelligence service?" Joachim huffed.
I clacked my tongue in response. "Or have we been severely underestimating them all this time? Who is the primary actor in this farce? Three roles – Santiago, Deirde, Morgan, now it is as if member of the audience stepped up as a fourth to turn it avant-garde."
Large cargo ships implied the need to transport massive amounts of goods, resources, or units. Submarines implied nasty things about a complete industrial base, but it remained that the only reason to have a dedicated transport ship is to bring things from one base to another.
Much of the Planet remained unexplored.
Perhaps, instead of Nemo, he should have named himself Prester John.
"This man essentially is holding our entire society hostage. We cannot afford to eliminate him, because we do not know who he represents. Nor can we pursue any more gains from the Gaians, because we do not know how deeply they have allied themselves with such a force." I said while one by one laying out the other photographs.
Like a crime scene profiler, there was a mystery here, which we sought to solve by getting into the mind of the suspect.
Morgan Bank did the usual things banks were meant to do – take deposits, release loans, process statements of ownership, and facilitate sales. The main difference was that ours was still a survival economy. We had to establish an industrial base and an economy out of whole cloth, and much of the 'lending' that Morgan Central Bank did was to transport filled fuel cells, workers, and prefab structures.
CEO Morgan surely did not have a secret police or secret service. That was for more… autocratic governments.
Morgan Bank merely solved problems. Facilitators employed by Morgan Bank had a keen discernment for people's needs and wants, and were dedicated to providing them with the means to achieve their goals. Customers then owed us either a generous schedule of loan payments… or someday, which may never come, we might ask from them a small favor.
Joachim scowled. Behind his eyes, he was starting to build up the picture. "This 'Commander Nemo' asked for representatives from Morgan Central Bank. Specifically, from Morgan Bank, not the government."
"What does he know…?" I murmured. "Nemo" seemed to be a young man with a pleasant yet homogenous face non-indicative of any ancestry. Black wavy hair, strangely sad and watery eyes… like a puppy. Or a psychopath.
Up on the projector, another clip of Nemo's activities showed.
In a tone devoid of all emotion, Joachim said "A secret base. Submarines. Letting himself get beaten up to prove a point. Holy. Shit. This mutterficker is a supervillain."
Penthouse Suite
Morgan-Ritz-Carlton
008 Bond Park, Third Level
Morgan Transport
The two Gaian guards were sailors, men toughened and blasé with death from their constant struggle against Planet and its inimical native life. They were exactly the wrong sort of person to have defending against assassins.
Joachim nervously twiddled his fingers, a gesture that meant 'It's a TRAAAAAP.'
I raised my hand up to flip back my hair. 'Standard Charm and Compromise Ploy Number Seven. Just chill, Little Jim.'
He signed back 'Be careful, Big Alice.'
A mousy little Gaian greeted us. Her eyes were narrowed in a completely ineffectual glare. How cute. I restrained myself from patting her little helmet of a hairstyle, for I had learned my lesson about doing that to skittish Gaians. It would end in tears and people looking at me as if I had done something much worse, or a savage gnawing.
I bowed slightly and introduced ourselves.
"Morgan Bank representatives Alesa deVorcelk." Dee-vor-selk; the girl had excellent auditory recall. "and Joachim Hasbruck here to see you, Commander!" she shouted into the room, without facing away from us. Prudent.
She stepped back and allowed us to enter the room. Always just a few steps ahead, so that if ever we made any sudden motions she could throw her own body into the way. I glanced aside to Joachim, and by his far too bland expression he understood.
We should forget any and all preconceptions against Gaians. We could no longer afford the ego boost of underestimating them. For all we knew, Deirde was now someone's puppet figurehead. Or the opposite; she picked up an attack dog from somewhere.
Nemo stood in a solid parade rest, facing away from us, and looking out at the cityscape through the closed plate glass windows of the veranda. That was… foolish? He was a perfect sniping target.
Then I remembered, who would dare? If he were wounded now, what would hold back the submarines – and whatever else he may have in store – from retaliating? Would it not the height of irony that after a false flag operation to advance our interests, banking on the Spartans to the do something foolish, the Morgans would face subjugation from another false flag operation?
I took a deep breath and placed my most sultry, disarming smile. My fashion for this meeting was that of an intelligent and sexually liberated woman. Let us see how he reacts to that. I was looking forward to a very… interesting… conversation.
He turned around, and I could see a similar pleasant yet utterly false expression on his face. "Good day to yo-" and promptly, his façade cracked. That was recognition, and not a little amount of fear on his eyes.
And he breathed out "… hellooo, Alice."
My smile and apparent delight at meeting him only heightened. Never show surprise, I internalized early on. Always respond to the unexpected by doubling down on your current persona.
Internally, I was screaming "Scheißhaaaauss!"
142 Bluemoon Plaza, First Level
Morgan Transport
>> "… you can see my submarines out there, right? Forget the torpedoes for a moment.
>> They have communication systems. And what they can do is receive everything
>> I'm recording right now."
>> They have communication systems. And what they can do is receive everything
>> I'm recording right now."
A brash, if babbling voice resonated through the dim meeting room. On the overhead projector, we saw the insides of a ship's bridge – one made of bare, faintly greenish metal. Morgan Security Force in full battle armor were pointing guns at unarmed Gaian sailors, and their sergeant had just pistol-whipped someone who owned the largest waterborne craft Planet had ever seen.
That should have been enough clue not to go in trying to close the event before it could embarrass Morgan.
"Wir sind im arsch…" Oh, we're so in the ass. I groaned as I lay my face upon the table. This level of idiocy was painful. They proved why so many equated greed to sheer idiocy, instead of as a perfectly valid motivation for self-improvement. "There is no way to cover this up."
Beside me my partner, Joachim Hasbruck, stared with dry sleepy little eyes at screen. He had the straight-backed lethargy of a man who could kill six people before breakfast and still balance the books by the afternoon. He still looked the very picture of the fat, useless banker. A sumo wrestler or a bear were both deceptively cuddly forms that were nearly all muscle.
He pulled out the photographs from a file folder and laid them onto the table. But it was his keen analytic mind that made him so valuable for my team.
He said: "On a more positive note, only police brutality is the charge that the Gaians may raise against us. There remains no proof that there was a security leak to warn the Spartans about approaching Gaian colonists."
I laughed. "I pity the Governor trying to convince anyone of that. This is a time when any proof at all would be counter-productive to everyone involved."
"Politics is a dirty business. Ours is logistics." There was a shot of the cargo ship named Matilda as approached the port, only for all to realize it was too big to service. He tapped the photo. "And this – this is much more dangerous than the incompetence of the MSF."
"Correct, Little Jim." I pushed off the table and calmed myself. In privacy with Joachim, I could exercise a little loss of propriety. In all my years living (not counting the 40 years spent in coldsleep) I had seen my share of epic stupidity. None of them was to the level of "Let's alienate a potential trade partner and poke a possibly nuclear-armed new faction with a pistol-whipping."
I pointed to the map of the area. The place where the Gulf of Phylira opened out to the Sea of Nessus. My manicured nails stabbed into the paper. "It is too… random? Someone named Nemo appearing out of nowhere to save the Gaians. Exactly after the deed is done for a valid casus belli. It is far too convenient. There is no proof either, but a heavy implication that there is a Spartan or Morgan information leak."
"Do the Gaians even have anything approaching an intelligence service?" Joachim huffed.
I clacked my tongue in response. "Or have we been severely underestimating them all this time? Who is the primary actor in this farce? Three roles – Santiago, Deirde, Morgan, now it is as if member of the audience stepped up as a fourth to turn it avant-garde."
Large cargo ships implied the need to transport massive amounts of goods, resources, or units. Submarines implied nasty things about a complete industrial base, but it remained that the only reason to have a dedicated transport ship is to bring things from one base to another.
Much of the Planet remained unexplored.
Perhaps, instead of Nemo, he should have named himself Prester John.
"This man essentially is holding our entire society hostage. We cannot afford to eliminate him, because we do not know who he represents. Nor can we pursue any more gains from the Gaians, because we do not know how deeply they have allied themselves with such a force." I said while one by one laying out the other photographs.
Like a crime scene profiler, there was a mystery here, which we sought to solve by getting into the mind of the suspect.
Morgan Bank did the usual things banks were meant to do – take deposits, release loans, process statements of ownership, and facilitate sales. The main difference was that ours was still a survival economy. We had to establish an industrial base and an economy out of whole cloth, and much of the 'lending' that Morgan Central Bank did was to transport filled fuel cells, workers, and prefab structures.
CEO Morgan surely did not have a secret police or secret service. That was for more… autocratic governments.
Morgan Bank merely solved problems. Facilitators employed by Morgan Bank had a keen discernment for people's needs and wants, and were dedicated to providing them with the means to achieve their goals. Customers then owed us either a generous schedule of loan payments… or someday, which may never come, we might ask from them a small favor.
Joachim scowled. Behind his eyes, he was starting to build up the picture. "This 'Commander Nemo' asked for representatives from Morgan Central Bank. Specifically, from Morgan Bank, not the government."
"What does he know…?" I murmured. "Nemo" seemed to be a young man with a pleasant yet homogenous face non-indicative of any ancestry. Black wavy hair, strangely sad and watery eyes… like a puppy. Or a psychopath.
Up on the projector, another clip of Nemo's activities showed.
>> "Gentlemen, I would just like you to know –" (Here he spread his arms wide
>> and bared a feral grin.) "that I… am still recording!"
>> and bared a feral grin.) "that I… am still recording!"
In a tone devoid of all emotion, Joachim said "A secret base. Submarines. Letting himself get beaten up to prove a point. Holy. Shit. This mutterficker is a supervillain."
---------------------
Penthouse Suite
Morgan-Ritz-Carlton
008 Bond Park, Third Level
Morgan Transport
The two Gaian guards were sailors, men toughened and blasé with death from their constant struggle against Planet and its inimical native life. They were exactly the wrong sort of person to have defending against assassins.
Joachim nervously twiddled his fingers, a gesture that meant 'It's a TRAAAAAP.'
I raised my hand up to flip back my hair. 'Standard Charm and Compromise Ploy Number Seven. Just chill, Little Jim.'
He signed back 'Be careful, Big Alice.'
A mousy little Gaian greeted us. Her eyes were narrowed in a completely ineffectual glare. How cute. I restrained myself from patting her little helmet of a hairstyle, for I had learned my lesson about doing that to skittish Gaians. It would end in tears and people looking at me as if I had done something much worse, or a savage gnawing.
I bowed slightly and introduced ourselves.
"Morgan Bank representatives Alesa deVorcelk." Dee-vor-selk; the girl had excellent auditory recall. "and Joachim Hasbruck here to see you, Commander!" she shouted into the room, without facing away from us. Prudent.
She stepped back and allowed us to enter the room. Always just a few steps ahead, so that if ever we made any sudden motions she could throw her own body into the way. I glanced aside to Joachim, and by his far too bland expression he understood.
We should forget any and all preconceptions against Gaians. We could no longer afford the ego boost of underestimating them. For all we knew, Deirde was now someone's puppet figurehead. Or the opposite; she picked up an attack dog from somewhere.
Nemo stood in a solid parade rest, facing away from us, and looking out at the cityscape through the closed plate glass windows of the veranda. That was… foolish? He was a perfect sniping target.
Then I remembered, who would dare? If he were wounded now, what would hold back the submarines – and whatever else he may have in store – from retaliating? Would it not the height of irony that after a false flag operation to advance our interests, banking on the Spartans to the do something foolish, the Morgans would face subjugation from another false flag operation?
I took a deep breath and placed my most sultry, disarming smile. My fashion for this meeting was that of an intelligent and sexually liberated woman. Let us see how he reacts to that. I was looking forward to a very… interesting… conversation.
He turned around, and I could see a similar pleasant yet utterly false expression on his face. "Good day to yo-" and promptly, his façade cracked. That was recognition, and not a little amount of fear on his eyes.
And he breathed out "… hellooo, Alice."
My smile and apparent delight at meeting him only heightened. Never show surprise, I internalized early on. Always respond to the unexpected by doubling down on your current persona.
Internally, I was screaming "Scheißhaaaauss!"
Rajvik_wolfboy
Wolf amongst the stars.
- Location
- Florida
Yes Alesa, that is tje appropriate response
Driven by Apathy
Formerly known as Brain_Caster
As fun as that was to read, sadly I will now be forced to put a significant bounty on bluepencil's head for his severe and inhuman crimes against the German language.
I'm sure it won't be long before some enterprising Morganite collects. So chances are there won't be any further updates.
To elaborate, yeah, "mutterficker" is the literal translation for "motherfucker", but it's not a word that actually exists. It's not technically wrong, I guess - at least it conforms to the rules of word formation in German - but it's certainly not something you'd ever hear any native speaker say when cursing or expressing the sentiment the character is trying to express here. And if someone did use it, the connotations would be far more... literal... than the connotations of the English "motherfucker". Best stick with the English term.
As for "Scheißhaus".... same problem. Not actually a word in German. "Scheiße!" would work though, or perhaps "Scheiße,Scheiße,Scheiße!" for extra emphasis. And "Wir sind im Arsch" also sounds strange to my native speaker ears. You could use "Wir sind am Arsch", I guess. Though I'm still not entirely happy with how that sounds here.
I'm sure it won't be long before some enterprising Morganite collects. So chances are there won't be any further updates.
To elaborate, yeah, "mutterficker" is the literal translation for "motherfucker", but it's not a word that actually exists. It's not technically wrong, I guess - at least it conforms to the rules of word formation in German - but it's certainly not something you'd ever hear any native speaker say when cursing or expressing the sentiment the character is trying to express here. And if someone did use it, the connotations would be far more... literal... than the connotations of the English "motherfucker". Best stick with the English term.
As for "Scheißhaus".... same problem. Not actually a word in German. "Scheiße!" would work though, or perhaps "Scheiße,Scheiße,Scheiße!" for extra emphasis. And "Wir sind im Arsch" also sounds strange to my native speaker ears. You could use "Wir sind am Arsch", I guess. Though I'm still not entirely happy with how that sounds here.
Last edited:
- Location
- Arizona
I'm honestly not sure why this story doesn't get more attention. SVers need to give this thing a shot.
Is it because there's nothing in the title to indicate the crossovers? Hmm
EDIT:
also, out of curiosity, what was Alice's last name on Earth? anything we'd recognize?
Is it because there's nothing in the title to indicate the crossovers? Hmm
EDIT:
also, out of curiosity, what was Alice's last name on Earth? anything we'd recognize?
Last edited:
1) That's because TA SMAC, SÍ! is a bit 2lewd4me.
2) Oppenheimer. It's a common enough name. What's big in the 2030s may not be the same as the 2015s.
Vorpal
Neither a dandy nor a clown
- Location
- 76 Totter's Lane, Shoreditch, London, EC1 5EG
Hah, it's not actually important, but IMHO, yeah, your initial thought would have been better, as Charlie Chaplin was rather popular in the USSR. A lot of Western films were*, although the French comedians were more popular than the British: Fernandel, Bourvil, and especially Louis de Funès. De Funès was so popular that my mother's and grandmother's generations quoted lines from and made references to his films frequently. Speaking of supervillainy and false flag operations with a comedic take, the de Funès version of Fantômas would have been appropriate.
*In one of life's little ironies, tons and tons of Western films were shown in the USSR, while the Americans were so uptight about the Reds that even the fact that some of the Tom and Jerry cartoons were produced behind the Iron Curtain was censored until much later.
Anyway, it's way past time to get off that topic, so...
...
I like this view of the Morganites. Although I'm surprised that Joachim Hasbruck's blandness superpower is so strong that Nemo didn't even try to needle him in some way (in the previous version of the chapter, at least). One would think that with Nemo's demonstrated attitude, Joachim sharing the same name as the officer that pistol-whipped him repeatedly would rate at least an attempt, doomed to failure or no.
You consistently spell longevity as longlevity, which is actually hilarious when we're talking about a zombie apocalypse. Also, it's publish or perish, not publish or die. The meaning is the same, but the former is much more common and has some alliterative appeal.