Badass Space Dragon - Round 6 - A Tiny Problem

Damn it to the sssseventh hell. I am sssswayed.

I don’t trussst Captain Falkayn’sss motivesss any further than I can throw up (these daysss, that’sss a ssscant eighty meters, thanksss to the reflux), sssince they ssseem to be founded on warm, fuzzy, touchy-feely notionsss of camaraderie and the boundlessss optimism of as-yet-unrealized potential. All of which ssstrikess this cold-blooded Reptiloid as dissstassstefully… human. Bleccchh.

But my nesssst-brother Nixon has brought up sssseveral exxxcellent pointss, as has the sssurprisingly clever Ssssubroutine Mulder. (Not bad for ninessscore liness of code, good show!) And when it comes down to it, I shall not give up my principlesss. One day, I shall exact payment from Captain Pedge, but on that day, it will be in the Pit of Reconciliation, we’ll be naked and chained together beneath the all-encompassssing winking ssssphincter of Flatusss, and jusssstice will be ssserved and the tadpolesss quieted. (Or, by then, they will have grown their limbs and gotten the hell out of my hot tub and found gainful employment off my goddamned ship.)

Pedge has sssupporters, ship-captainsss with whom I have no quarrel. I will not fight them. Not out of cowardice (Firepower of 38, HP of 168, Luck of 56? I fly no chicken-coop, my friendsss), but out of an abhorrence for sssenssselesss wassste. I can not bring myssself to fight on behalf of Pedge, that would be perverssse beyond my capacity to ssstomach. Ssso no Mission 1 nor Mission 2 for the Flatulent Deity.

The ssssudden, unforessseen departure of the Outlaw Ssssenessscent Wanderer onto Sssuicide Run #3 ssstartled me. My firssst (and nearly irresissstable) impulsssse was to follow El-Esssk’s battle cry of “L’Eeeeroyyy J’En Kinssss” and drop every joule of dessstructive force the Deity carriesss onto the Sssscylla and its cloud of pet gnatsss, probably resulting in the Deity becoming as formlessss, incandessscent, and sssupernatural as its namesssake before too much (if any) damage was visited upon the Ssscylla. And maybe that wouldn’t be too bad an outcome. We all sssusspect (and sssome professs to know) that the Ssscylla is coming for usss ssooner or later, and it’sss only a matter of time before we have to engage that dread dreadnought. Mayhap the Wanderer and the Deity could sssoften the Ssssscylla flotilla up sssufficiently to make our advance attack worthwhile to the overall effort.

But I don’t think ssso. My closssesst analyssiss of the available intelligence revealss no actual data regarding the Ssscylla herself, her ssstrengthss and weaknesssess, how many Hit Pointss she carriesss, nothing. And the Wanderer and I are Outlawsss, and thusss unable to approach without attracting the attention and ssstingersss of the gnat-cloud. Not to mention the Matter Disssruptor. I fear, even with the Deity and more at her back, the Wanderer will have no real posssitive effect at all. El-Esssk is taking the Wanderer down the privy where I dare not follow, on a not-very-consssequential but probably briefly dazzlingly luminousss journey to oblivion. And I do deplore the wasssste.

Godsss damn it, L’Eeeeroyyy.

Misssionss one through three are thuss eliminated from my consssideration. What remainss is an insssult, an outrage, and an egregiousss misssallocation of resssourcess. A ship ass mighty as the Deity, babysssitting a talent-free “entertainer” while he mugss and fornicatess his way through the ssslummier partss of the galaxy, merely in an attempt to improve his “ssstreet cred”?

It fills me with the urge to defecate!

I had resigned myssself to sssimply ssitting out thisss round in a petulant sssnit disssguised as a principled ssstance, until I remembered the horrific 5 Grit penalty for doing ssso.

And ssso it is that I grit my fangss and drum my clawsss on the dashboard and disssgussstedly commit to Mission #4: Preserve the Ssoft Hide of the Holo-Sssstar.

As long as he claimss to want to “work with the orphans and under-privileged sssandfish gutterss,” I’m putting him to work feeding these goddamned polliwogsss.

Pedge! To you I extend the hand of truce, until sssuch time as we can sssettle our ssscore privately.

Accounting for I.M.V. Flatulent Deity:
Beginning balance: $50,000.
Miner’sss Hard Hat (will it fit atop my bolero?): $10,000
Hull Densssity upgrades (to 168HP): $24,000.
Zot Gunsss: $5,000.
Sssscramblersss: $5,000.
Charitable Contribution to the Sssstarboard Home for Indigent Polliwogsss: $4,000.04 (they pay no interessst, but rather enjoy pulling the damp banknotess over their headsss like blanketss)
Reward paid equally to the sssseven would-be Pete ssssaviors: $1,499.96 (that’s $214.28 paid directly to the Cobra II, Ssssenessscent Wanderer, Pussssillanimous Patty, Muddlin’ Through, DubDub, First Post1, Jewel of the Desert)
Mission 4: $500
Not one thin dime left over.

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Roger Wilco of the Aluminum Mallard

Repairs -$4400
Mission 2 -$500

Revenge is a dish best served in the cold vacuum of space.

Broadcasting

This is Captain Pedge of the Quisquiliae sStruem in docking holding pattern of the ICUP Scylla. I hereby request permission to dock to carry out minor repairs. I hereby transfer the appropriate funds to reserve berth for Quisquiliae sStruem.
End broadcast

Out of character business part of post

I take on mission 3.
I realize that my early departure to the Scylla means I must bypass my previously booked trip to Ella’s Emporium, but as an ICUP citizen I can get up close to the Scylla. Perhaps my recent celebrity will allow me perhaps audience with the higher-ups on the Scylla.

It seems a bit late to get there early, we’ll see what happens :slight_smile:

in b4 the lock

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Jameson has decanted, well poured off into an empty pop bottle, about a litre of Rot gut from the barrel he bought a while back and is sitting in a dark side cave of Pete’s secret base waiting for the work to be finished on The Cobra. He wonders if Ella has got some fancy waiting room now, with a coffee machine, potted plants and magazines on a glass topped coffee table.

He’s shuffled a depression in the sand of the cave floor and made himself comfy in the dark. With only the glow of a cigarette and the occasional light from his terminal screen as he checks the BBS. He stubs out the current cigarette in the sand of the cave floor, shakes the pop bottle to see how much booze is left to hand, then gets to his feet to go and find Pete

Hi Pete,

Nah. I made myself comfy in a side cave. Have you seen this about The Senescent Wanderer?

Yeah, those Android Mind ships have always given me the heeby-jeebies. I never know if I’m dealing with just one schizo, or if there really are a few of them in there. Whatever. He/She/It/They have got balls. I’m tempted to join in, but it looks like a suicide mission. I’d rather wait ‘til we’ve got a bit more intel’ on the Scylla and the other ships in that fleet.

Yeah. I think I grok what He/She/it/they are getting at. Mondo didn’t tell you what to do. He made it possible for you to do things.

Tiny?

Oh I reckon he just wants that damned eye. Probably thinks he can use it to open some retina locked vault that he imagines Mondo left a stash in. Do Space Lizards have retina?

Nah. I was never going to get involved in that Tiny thing. I’m kind of tempted to help El-Esk out, but I’m not at home to Mr Death today, So I’m going to look after that Arse hole Nebula. Seems like a good score and if I survive I’ll know a bit more about the Scylla. Plus if it’s bad news I’ll have a good stash if I want to leave the system.

Oh yeah. Did you get chance to ask about the er. Other thing?


Cobra II

Same stats as before except:
-$500 to sign up for Mission 4.
So $2060 left.

Oh. Hang on. What’s this message?
Cool!
Looks like I’ve got $2,274.28 left.

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Stardate 6
Jewel of the Desert
Accounting Ledger

------------------------------------------------------
Init. Balance					$50000
------------------------------------------------------
Captain Sssskipper's Gift		+$214.28
Falkayn's Mission 1 Incentive		+$4000
					     $54214.28
------------------------------------------------------
Receipt - Scrapyard Pete's
H.D.A.		37 @ $500		$18500	
Zot Guns	3 @ $5000		$15000
Scramblers	2 @ $5000		$10000
Miner's Hat	1 @ $10000		$10000	

Total					$53500

Tadpole Orphans Fund			$14.28
------------------------------------------------------
Mission 1
Various Supplies			$500
------------------------------------------------------
Balance						  $200
------------------------------------------------------

This brings the Jewel of the Desert's stats to:

HP	FP	SH	EN	ST	LK    GRIT
139	41	52	24	28	56     25

Captain's Log

I confess to still scarcely understand the motivations of humans, and even some other androids (Space Lizards seem straightforward enough).

The ship's computer calculated that we should join Mission 1, to defend Captain Pedge. This seems perfectly logical, to unite before the seemingly-impending ICUP invasion. Other captains are acting against all reason and logic - including androids - which places me in a difficult position.

You see, I have a huge crush on Brad Nebula (…as an android, I am inherently genderless). It would give me no greater pleasure than to meet (and... er... "meet") and defend him from Space Scum. Since acquiring the human Organ Replicator, I've been working on changing my outward appearance to simulated human female (Adélie is a type of penguin but also a fairly feminine name for a space captain, anyway). Unfortunately, the cat and the computer have been replicating massive quantities of organs, and some of the ink cartridges ran out - so the color is off. Hopefully Brad Nebula won't notice.

There is of course the rumor that Brad Nebula is being used by the ICUP to essentially round up outlaws (or to gather intelligence on them). I hope that with my newly-sexy appearance I will be able to seduce him (perhaps aboard the TARD-iss after a few drinks) to divulge any such plans.

In any case, though, I have decided not to back out on Mission 1, as that would leave less-powerful ships already signed up to Mission 1 to the space dogs, a potentially-worse outcome than just losing Captain Pedge. 

Captain Pedge has taken the wise move of seeking proximity protection from the ICUP warship, but we aboard the Jewel do still suspect that the ICUP is using Tiny as a tool and it's actually the ICUP attempting to take out Pedge. That said, if Tiny does approach the ICUP warship (thinking himself immune), it's likely the ICUP will take him out themselves - not wanting to give away their subterfuge. 

Since attempts to convince Tiny not to attack have failed, Mission 1 is now an intercept mission - we must reach Tiny well before he reaches Pedge at the ICUP warship.
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Yeah, 8,000 for that thing is a ripoff. I wouldn’t wear it while shooting straight Pissscos in the foredeck porta-potty.

I have a hat that I didn’t pay 10 grand for. It’s a bar napkin folded into a bicorne, and I wrote LiZeRd LoZeR on it, just for you, Nixxxzsssy. Stop in before we get obliterated in the next round, and I’ll make you a baby duck. That’s a real baby duck floating in a concoction of rat blood, bird spit, fermented amniotic fluid and horse bilirubin. It comes in at around 18% alcohol, and is a steal at $7. For a lizard, these things rock! I wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot robotic dildo, personally, but I suspect you may feel differently.

If there were a way to take out BOTH the coalition and the rebs, and form our OWN outlaw nation, I’d gladly do it. I’m tired of flying on the government’s dime, and I don’t trust Mondo, Pete, Tiny and all the rest, either. Seems like a big setup.

BTW, this Tiny isn’t MY Tiny. My Tiny is hard at work rebuilding the pot still in the engine rooms, while overseeing the repairs. She doesn’t give a rat’s ass about any of you. All she likes to do is make stuff that works.

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The new you issss quite becoming, Captain Adélie! I have no doubt that nebula-brained Nebula will fall for you like a ton of ssspace-bricks in a gasss-giant’s gravity well.

“Ohhh… like, wow! Didn’t I see you in that holomovie last year? You’re even hotter in, like, person!”

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Chuck in a couple of ssslicesss of black pudding and headcheessse on the side, and I’ll take two.

I’ll take the hat, too. Doesss it bessstow more Grit?

Bar Bill ($14)

Wrong Leroy, but what the hell. It’s a good tune to lisssten to on the way to your death.

I think Marshal Seldon knows a thing or two about this guy:

Marshall Jim Duncan

As Ironclad Cochrance moves out, I suggest this soundtrack

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_zeiKrRTuk

New dashboard toy?

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More thisss…

Captain Lord Fritz is relaxing on the bridge. Shaped like half of a sphere, the room is an intense, clean white. Behind Fritz are three doors, one to his private quarters, one to the inter-deck transportation tubes, and the other that leads to the rest of deck 3. Two color guards in their red exo-skeletons frame either side off the center door. Situated slightly forward of the center of the ship, the bridge is the most protected area of the Grey Mouser. The walls are devoid of details except for a rotating selection of framed motivational posters. The one with the kitten holding onto a tree limb that says, “Hang on, baby, Friday’s coming!” is Fritz’s favorite. The forward quarter of the sphere houses the huge main holo-screen. While most data is transferred and interacted with via personal HUD screens, the main screen has a very soothing screen saver of butterflies alighting on flowers and is used for Power Point presentations.

Fritz is perched in his captains chair, approximately 3 feet above the floor… On either side of the captain, but at floor level, are two chairs than recess into the floor when not in use. These are used for guests or when a specialized officer, such as science, is requested on deck. In front of him in a semi-circle are the 6 bridge officers: Navigation, Tactical, Weapons, Communications, Engineering, and the First Officer. Each recline in their chairs, legs slightly elevated while strapped into a 5-point harness with their hands neatly folded in their laps. One might think them dead or hibernating, except for the occasional head movement or the hum of an internal micro-servo. At their sides is a cup holder for their rare earth metal infused smoothies (the captain’s chair has two of these).

During normal operations, it is a quite peaceful room. Most work and commands are done silently, nearly automatically as each one is locked into the ship’s network. There is verbal communication, but most of it is casual. Vital commands are all done instantly - silently.

“Hrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmm…”

“Yes, Lt. Marvin?” Lt. Marvin swivels his seat around to address the captain.

“Have you been monitoring the comm chatter, captain?”

“Not in the last few hours, why?” Instantly a small flood of recent messages surge into Fritz’s data steam. A few are flagged and high lighted.

“What, what is this? I don’t even - Have they gone full SpaceRetard?”

“It appears the Senescent Wanderer is planning a full assault on the Scylla.”

“It will be a slaughter!”

“That’s the spirit, captain!”

“No, THEIR slaughter! We don’t have accurate schematics on the Scylla yet, but from the previous class of warship there is no way a ship of that size could hope to make a dent in their shields.”

“Perhaps they’re depress and just want to end it all? I can relate. One time I nursed a baby rabbit back to health and let him go in a field, only to see him snatched by an eagle. It was horrible. I tried to jump off of an 80 ft cliff, but only managed to chip my face plate.”

“Perhaps. Could it be mal-ware? Tainted algorithms? Running on SpaceApple hardware? Didn’t we offer a nanobot scanning and reprogramming kit?”

“That was another android captain.”

“Really? What is up with the substandard logic and behavior routines? Do their makers have no pride?”

“Not everyone is blessed with their maker being the Supreme Intelligence.”

“That is true. Speaking of the Supreme Intelligence, has it responded to our request yet?”

There is a small pause before Marvin replies, “No, sir.”

Fritz stands up, his dark purple exo-skeleton stretches out to his full seven foot height. “Well… I’m sure it’s very… busy.”

“Or perhaps bleeding out some where in a ditch on the side of the road.”

Fritz knew that wasn’t the case. The Supreme Intelligence had no corporeal form, much less blood. “And the Quantum Communications Network is intact?”

“Yes sir, we have full streaming with maximum encryption and no data corruption. I did receive notice that the crew’s backups were up today and on full real time streaming.”

That was good news. The Quantum Communications System is the most advanced in the galaxy. Using quantum entanglement, a network has been set up where data can be transferred instantly across any distance. Whether there is a direct link, or a million jumps through a network, data transfer is instantaneous. Unless a node is compromised, it is impossible to intercept these messages. The Supreme Intelligence has scatter nodes through out the known universe, devouring ever bit of data that is produced, from little Jimmy searching for three breasted lizard on human porn, to the latest Rambo movie, to traffic data on highway 893 on Roc IV. Nothing to mundane or trivial is ignored. Data is data and it must be consumed.

If he had a stomach, Fritz would feel something in the pit of it about now. He wasn’t afraid of destruction. There was a 99% chance that his conscience would be preserved within .001ms of his destruction. A 99.99999% chance that it would be preserved within 30 seconds of his destruction. But the Mouser is his, and he would hate to lose her. Even if he managed to cycle back onto the explorer circuit, there was little chance of him being randomly assigned to captain again.

“So what should we do, captain?”

“Do?” Fritz flops back down into his chair and takes a sip of smoothie (mmm promethium and Strawberry, his favorite). "Well there is little we can do. If we don’t hear back from the Supreme Intelligence soon, we can assume that our request was denied - "

“Or that it’s dead in a ditch.”

“Yes, or that it’s dead in a ditch somewhere. Send a message to the Senescent Wanderer and offer our nanobot scanning and programming kits. I doubt you will hear a reply - or at least one where they accept it.”

“Captain did you also see where Quisquiliae sStruem will attempt to join the Scylla? Potentially having three factions together in the same area.”

“Yes. Similar to my Death Blossom scheme - but more of a cluster fuck if you ask me.”

“What should we do in that contingency?”

“We will continue with the mission. Our ship is mediocre at best. We need upgrades from Pete. I want us to keep our distance from the Scylla, while not looking like we’re keeping our distance, while we run every probe and scan we have. You know, fly casual.”

“And if there is a suicide mission or an attack?”

“Well, we just pull the “Sir Robin” maneuver. I want to stay in and get as much data as possible, but the second we take fire we are out of there. I don’t want us attacking anyone at this point. We can claim a severe weapons malfunction and get the hell out of dodge. The ICUP may end up bitching for abandoning our post, but I’m not getting paid enough to die. Besides, in the chaos I doubt we will be missed.”

“I reasonable plan sure. I’m sure everything will go just great. I will give a complete run down of protocols to the crew. If they have loved ones or unpaid bar tabs I will remind everyone to get their affairs in order.”

“Oh Marvin, cheer up.” Marvin’s head tilts, and one imagines a frown forming on his blank face plate, before turning around and placing his hands in his lap.

“Marvin. Hey Marvin. Maaaarrrrvvviiiinnnn. MARVIN!”

Marvin’s chair whirls around, ,“What?!”

“Hang on, baby, Friday’s coming!”

2 Likes

Actually, I’m smirking, so this is more appropriate

I love this song!

This one is good too.

ETA - as for battle music, we prefer something Harsher, like Grendel.

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Or…

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Your concern for my systems integrity is touching.

I am an sane as I ever have been. As in… not very. You don’t do the things I’ve done and stay sane.

I’m going in, I’m going to get blown to shreds, and you will be able to pick apart my corpse for indications of the capabilities, mindsets, attitudes and expectations lurking deep down in the Scylla’s adamantine guts.

If you’re within splash-distance - say, 1000 klicks - I’d be obliged if you could dust up any elements of lurking Matroyska hardware you find.

Backups, duplicates and all that.