Which missssssion? 1, I guessssss?
Yes I was not totally clear Iâm afraid.
Newb Naiv of the First Post1 will be taking mission 1
Remember your fine Deer Stalker adds 2 to your GRIT, Itâs not just a natty piece of headware (Spelled that way on purpose 
)
Mission 1. Full hull repairs, 1 mondo cannon, as many HP upgrades as the remainder can muster, and a FRIKKIN LEATHER SOMBRERO with one word in ALL CAPS emblazoned across the top front in Comic Sans fluorescent-red-glow-in-the-dark lettering: MYRMECOPHILOUS. I will explain. RIght now, I have to go lay off nonessential staff (because I donât want them to die.)
Layoffs occur like this. âOK, everybody, meet at level 3 of the bar in 5 minutes. For shots.â
They know exactly what this means. Theyâll all be given a chance to state why they do or donât want to leave. I decide on the spot if they are allowed to stay if they insist on staying. Most will be sent home on skiffs.
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Hi Pete.
âŠ
Tell me about it. I feel like a right twat for missing that last trip. Iâm going to have to work extra hard for being a Fuck Up.
âŠ
Yeah. Iâve been looking at my options and running simulations all afternoon. Iâve not had to run a combat sim since I left the High Guard Academy. Some days I wish Iâd not mustered out so soon. Or got better benefits when I left. A TAS membership would be handy now. I could just take a High Passage out of here. Hell. A Low Passage would do.
âŠ
Yeah. Or I could ship Oranges. Seems like a good option at the moment. Hahahaha.
Anyway. I suppose youâre wanting to get to work on The Cobra. Hereâs the list.
Cobra II
Commander Jameson
$50,000 Store Credit
$60.274 Cash
$110,274 Total
Repairs: 21 x $100 = -$2,100
Big Cask Oâ Moonshine: -$9,000 = +10LK
Clover Soup x 3: -$3000 = +3 LK
Heat Muffler x 3: -$60,000 = +60ST
Cram Session x 2: -$18,000 = +40EN
Total Spend = -$110,100
Cash in hand = $174
Old Stats:
HP = 154/154
FP = 47
SH = 39
EN = 34
ST = 41
LK = 50
New Stats
HP = 154/154
FP = 47
SH = 39
EN = 74
ST = 101
LK = 63
GRIT 13
Mission: 2 & 3 in that order. Plant the Bombs, Then Control the Drones.
Yeah. I know. The Sim reckons itâs just about do-able. If I get âThe Fearâ though the odds start to slide the wrong way pretty quickly.
âŠ
Youâve never had âThe Fearâ?
âŠ
Jameson holds out his left hand. Fingers splayed. Itâs as steady as a rock
See that.
âŠ
Jameson holds out his right hand in the same way and gives a wry grin. It trembles ever so slightly
âŠ
Yeah. But this is the hand I shoot with.
âŠ
Yeah I know. It probably is dumb. But all this calculating is the sort of thing I.C.U.P. does. Itâs the sort of thing the Galaxxon accountants do. Theyâve probably already calculated the dividend theyâre going to pay their share holders if they win. Then set up some sort of hedge fund for if they lose. Even if we win the war weâve still got to win the peace. And thatâs the real bugger. The Galaxy is changing and Iâm not sure itâs for the better however it turns out.
âŠ
Nah. I am not frightened of dying, any time will do, I donât mind. Why should I be frightened of dying? Thereâs no reason for it, youâve gotta go sometime. If we win and I donât make it theyâll probably carve my name on a lump of rock somewhere and use it to encourage kids to throw themselves over the top on some dirt ball planet. If we win and I live I get to ferry Oranges and probably never have to buy a drink in a bar ever again.
âŠ
If we lose?
Jameson shrugs
âŠ
Nah. Iâll be OK after a few drinks. Iâm going to take that last $174 and see whoâs about in the bar and who wants a drink.
âŠ
Hokahey? Whatâs that mean?
âŠ
Ahh. Yeah. Letâs. Iâll see you around Pete.
Jameson grins and leaves the work shop and heads for the bar. As he walks away heâs muttering something under his breath. Something the baldy old witches taught him at school when he was a small child.
I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
3 Likes
And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine
A being breathing thoughtful breath
A traveler betwixt life and death
The reason firm, the temperate will
Endurance, foresight, strength and skill
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So I am rolling into battle alongside a speed freak who quotes the Bene Gesserit âLitany of Fearâ, following a plan concocted by Space Lizard who (1) is running for Presidential and (2) replies to an alienated nihilist, who reclaiming her humanity, by posting Wordsworthâs âShe was a Phantom Delight.â
could life be any more wonderful?
âFalkayn
(update: we had damn well better have a better outcome tomorrow than Wilfred OwenâŠ)
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If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori
How about on a shot glass? Consider it done.
3 Likes
The Jewel of the Desertâs computer has decided to allow access to its Dot Matrix Analyzer to captains wishing to calculate the odds of surviving multiple missions (or just one mission).
Direct your commlink antennaes here.
Claim a copy of sheet 3 by entering your ship name and its stats.
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OK, I didnât send anybody off yet. Not until just before the battle. I told them to pack their shit and get ready to be jettisoned. But TONIGHT, TONIGHT ONLY⊠ALL DRINKS ARE FREE. You heard me. CLEAR THE SHELVES. Every SHOCK BOTTLE MUST GO.
Huge party on the TARD-iss tonight. Get STOMPIN DRUNK, for tomorrow we shall die. Some of us, anyways.
I need to tell the sombrero story. I bet I can do it in five lines.
There once was a sombrero named MYRMECOPHILOUS.
We couldnât get the Cranian ants off of us.
Weâd partied all night,
Drank every bottle in sight,
And awoke with a nasty strain of bacillus.
OK, that doesnât tell the story.
The sombrero was called MYRMECOPHILOUS (coexists with ants), because it was found perched on top of a red anthill on Craniaâs moon. We always call the main moon âCraniaâ even though the gas planet itself is known as Crania, and that moon is Karek, but nobody calls it Karek because itâs the only place on or around Crania that you can breathe the atmosphere, so everybody just calls it Crania. Even though itâs Karek.
Anyways, on Karek is a species of ant that devours everything, even metal. They donât take over the entire moon because there are large leather-skinned, land-bound vultures that feed on them and keep the ants in check. The Cranians are known for many things, but mostly as cattle ranchers. Earth cattle. Cows. Meat. The ants love these things. They can devour an entire cow in about 15 minutes. I was walking through the Cranian brushland with Mondo (we were prospecting Uranium, drunkenly) and we saw one of these anthills. We looked around for ants, didnât see any. But perched on the anthill was a rather rough version of a leather sombrero. For whatever reason, the ants ate that cow and left behind a chunk of dried leather that vaguely resembled a sombrero. It was hot under the quadruple sun. There were no ants, so I picked up the sombrero, made a funny lower lip face at Mondo, shook the dust off the hat and put it on.
Later that night, we were sitting at the Nuclear bar and I took off the hat. There was a Cranian ant on my head. Then several small ones crawled out of my hair. Well, the hat didnât have any ants on it. It had eggs. They were hatching on my head and starting to eat my scalp.
I poured whisky on myself. It didnât kill them. I rented a room and took a hot, soapy shower. Didnât help. I had an android pick through my hair and spot each egg and kill it with a laser, but that only got so far when the stupid droid lasered my scalp and I made her stop. These f$%@ing ants. They bit hard, for little babies.
So I went to a guy who I knew could take me to another guy who had pet vultures. Don Mondo drove me in the back of his truck. There was no way he was letting me in the front.
So we get to the vulture guy, some dude named Jon Ash and he says go in there, into the vulture cage. Like a little vulture preserve in his back yard. The vultures immediately smelled the ants and eggs. Jon Ash tells me to lie down in the dirt. The vultures circled me and started gently pecking away. But they donât really just peck, they take huge bird shits too. So when we were done, there were no more ants and no more ant eggs, but I was covered in vulture shit. Don tossed me MYRMECOPHILOUS, the sombrero, over the chain link fence, and the vultures pecked the remaining eggs out of it. Then I put it on.
Iâm standing there, covered in bird shit, with only board shorts, flip-flops and a makeshift, stiff rawhide sombrero, in the hot cranian suns, with fifty leathery vultures prancing around pecking the sand. I say, âLetâs get a drink, man, this shit sucks.â
Thus the MYRMECOPHILOUS. Long live the MYRMECOPHILOUS.
6 Likes
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyâd and thunderâd;
Stormâd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred
3 Likes
Jameson finds the bar where the Captains are drinking and strolls in. He notices a couple of of those weird looking Bodies? Avatars? Remotes? Whatever the hell they call them. Those things that Android mind ships use to wander around in when floating cameras and sensor shit like that wonât do the job. One of them is wearing a Sombrero. He catches the eye of He/She/It/They and touches the peak of his greasy ball cap and mouths across the noise of the bar âNice Hatâ
âŠ
The bar tender asks him what he wants. Jameson decides to test the bartender.
If I was to say to you âI ainât seen my baby since the night before lastâ. What would you serve me?
The bar tender smiles. And pours Jameson One Bourbon, One Scotch and One Beer.
Itâs late when Jameson wobbles out of the bar and back to his ship. Once aboard he sits in the pilotâs chair, takes his glasses off, puts them on the console, rubs his eyes with his fists, removes his hat, and runs his fingers over his shaved head. Big day tomorrow. Better set the alarm and get some kip.
He selects one of his playlists from the music player. He canât be arced to look for discs or cartridges tonight. The music starts playingâŠ
He puts his feet up on the dashboard, pulls the peak of his cap down over his eyes, folds his arms and is asleep before the first track has finished.
For some reason he dreams of a Vulture wearing a Sombrero doing Tequila shots then shitting on really big ants. He marvels at the way the Vulture holds the shot glass in itâs claws.
5 Likes
Name a cocktail after me.
And no better versssse could end thisss sssong. I am shamed, for my mocking jessst of my true friend and allyâss proud name. Let no man, lizard, or ssssilicon-souled android ever dub him âPantiesssâ again. In itss stead, we should hoissst high our sssteinss and mugss and drinking-ssskullsss and quartsss of 30-weight, and lift our multitudinousss voicesss in sssong, praising his name to the ssstarry heavenss:
Underpants! Underpants, hey!
{Beeeellllcccchhhh}
I feel an Epic Ballad coming on.
Ahem.
I sing of Captain Wilco, known as Roger to his mum!
His ship, Aluminum Mallard was as shiny as they come.
Until that last contract he flew with Tiny at his side,
He took on AdĂ©lieâs Desert Jewel, lost atmosphere, and died.
O hear the tale of Bongo Fury, Beefheart was her Capân,
Until a gangster toad (or lizard?) caught the Bongo nappinâ.
As fearsome as the fight that day was typed in every log,
The sorry truth was that Beefheart was bested by a frog.
Behold the Cepheus Maiden fair, most lustrous in the void!
Her skipper was Thrummel Carfax, stalwart and doughty 'droid.
There derelict she floats, hulled through by Rangers from Aurora,
And drifting, cold, devoid of spark, a dark Electro-Fedora.
Das Boot was run with what seemed like efficiency Teutonic,
But thatâs because her Captainâs soul was mostly electronic.
Brave Lenar Belox fought for vengeance 'gainst that Captain Pedge,
But Tinyâs cause was futile, and they sailed right oâer The Edge.
Hobar! Hobar! Mighty Hobar! PingPing Pandanâs ship
Was first among us brave enough to take The Final Trip.
With cargo hold stuffed ceiling-high with ordnance to sell,
Her attitudinal dampeners failed, and blew her ass to Hell.
The life of Marshal Paul Seldon of Ironclad Cochrane fame
Shall someday grace a bookshelf next to elders of his name.
But he turned Coalition after sharing our fine beer.
He donned a badge, and fought 'gainst us⊠and now he isnât here.
The Iron Giant, oddly named, was Captain Hogarthâs ride
Until the day he escorted Brad Nebula inside.
A Gee-Two Forty-Three Eleven 'bot came on the screen,
And Brad, aboard the only escape pod, did flee the scene.
The Nitimeistheritime wasnât just a catchy motto,
But Captain Dr.Esstimpress unfortunately flew that ship while blotto.
Defending Pedge 'gainst Tinyâs fleet, the Doctor faced Das Boot,
Which turned out well, if you enjoy a cold outer-space float.
O make an effort to pronounce NordstjÀrnan if you can,
And quaff or sip or spill a drop for Lönnrot, android-man.
He fought to free Charybdis from the I.C.U.P. yoke,
And perished bravely, since his Shields were kinda just a joke.
Pillar of Autumn, repurposed from UNSC wars,
Served Captain Saurodroid in voyages to distant shores.
'Tis strange that Covenant warships could never take her out,
But unstable cargo went boom! Space junk now? Just about.
The Slightly More Than Ordinary spent some days adrift,
With no action and naught to do in the Orion Rift.
When Captain Hot, Earl Grey, decided to engage the Ranger,
He met his fate before the guns of that bastard Hawk Granger.
Zhe Shadow Pacifist is alphabetically last,
Though we mourn no less for the fact that she is sadly passed.
Damianus Iulianus (Android), and Brad Nebula.
One still lives. The other⊠well, we found this steel fibulaâŠ
Our fallen friends! Our brothers bold! We sing your Epic Tale!
And may your souls and subroutines be safe beyond the Veil!
And if the barkeep will be kind enough to fill my flagon,
Iâll drink to those who served and died aboard Badass Space Dragon!
hic
âGilligan, take over. I gotta hit the head.â
âThir, why donât you lithp when you thing?â
âFuck if I know, lieutenant. Ssscrewsss up the sssscansion, I guesss. Outta my way before I make a messs on your shoesss.â
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2 Likes
Edit 9:15 PM on Tuesday⊠Iâm changing everything! (changed it up top on the original post too, patrace, so donât worry. If youâre reading these after lock, both of my posts have identical info now)
Beginning Balance: $50,000.
Hull Repairsssx 30: $3,000.
Cram Session: $18,000.
Heat Muffler: $20,000.
Whiteout x 2: $4,000.
Hull Density Adjustment x 10: $5,000.
Credit Remaining: not a red cent
Missssion 3: Warsship Ssssscylla - Drone Massssster
and thenâŠ
Misssssion 2: Warsship Ssssscylla - Demolition Derby
Kinda doubt Iâll ssssurvive, but it looksss to me like Misssion 2 needsss all the help it can get.
Forward Charybdissss!!
Marshal Paul Seldon
Law and Order Chupalla
Dead in my gunsights
â Chee Lan, trying to get in the spirit of the evening.
1 Like
Archive Ministry Record: 01138TH-44-X
Ship: Grey Mouser
Captain: Lord Fritz
All Hail the Supreme Intelligence! Operation âI Shot the Sheriffâ was a complete success. As we predicted, there was enough combined fire power for us to play a productive role and allow us to survive. It was a bigger battle than expected, but we managed to defeat the coalition ships. Our Weapons Officer even scored a confirmed kill on Ranger Zippy. Salvage was actually decent. Sadly, we did lose two fellow captains in the battle.
The next battle ahead is going to be the toughest yet, against the War Ship Scylla. Marvin is running the final simulations. With the help of augmenting our ship thanks to Pete, I reckon we have almost a 50/50 shot at making it out alive. I will refer to the recordings of the battle for the rest of my report. I must confer with Marvin to plot our next strategy.
tick - tack - tick - tick - tick - tack - tack - tick - tack - tick - tack - tack - tack - tick
âMarvin, what are you doing?â
âUsing an abacus, sir.â
âA whatsit?â
âAbabus - it a primitive calculating tool that is actually faster at calculations than a modern calculator in the hands of a skilled user.â
âI see⊠and we are using this because?â
âItâs retro. Very hip. I got it on Space eBay, only $10.â
âFine - what ever - do you have the data.â
âConfirmed, uploading the stream now.â
A surge of data hits Lord Fritz. Several complex variations of all the numbers flood his senses. Synopsis of the millions of simulations outline their odds of survival. âHmmm⊠well⊠Iâve seen worse. What are all of these alternative subsets of numbers?â
âSimulations give us about a 55% chance of experiencing fear, which will hinder our performance.â
âFear?â
âFear.â
âWe⊠we donât really experience fear.â
âNone the less, we ran the simulations, fear will be a factor.â
"You know those oranges really did make the place smell nice. Letâs start to review each mission and - "
âCaptain - I am getting a priority signal from Leiberia. Itâs⊠itâs⊠itâs the Supreme Intelligence.â
âNow is not the time for jokes, Marvin.â
âNo, sir, PFG encryption confirmed. Itâs him.â
Fritz experiences the closest thing to surprise that he has ever encountered. The Supreme Intelligence? Itâs extremely rare for it to intercede. âMarvin, how does my face plate look?â
âReflective with a purple tint.â
âRight, put the signal through. Show it on the main screen.â The huge screen in the front of the bridge flickers from its butter fly and flowers screen saver to show a pulsing orb of light, with millions of filaments constantly weaving in, out, around, and through the orb. Fritz stands to bow, âAll hail the Supreme Intelligence!â
âThank you, my child. Captain Lord Fritz, I commend you. We have all been enjoying your experiences⊠on⊠Leiberia. You have the number⊠one data stream, beating out⊠the ever popular Leiberiaâs Got Talent. You and⊠your crew are to be commended on your performance. Youâre execution⊠of your primary mission is an example⊠to the rest of the Leiberians on their experience cycle.â The Supreme Intelligenceâs voice is soothing, but with the hint of the metallic vocoder all Leiberians have. Itâs speech pattern is slightly out of time, with small âhalf pausesâ sprinkled through out its prose. The Supreme Intelligence is constantly acquiring data from every corner of the universe. Massive amount of data are reviewed, cross referenced, and stored at an unfathomable rate. But like a child with ADD, it often gets distracted for milliseconds when it finds new data of interest, leading to the slightly stilted speech.
âThank you, sir. I believe I speak for all of us when I say it is a great honor to be in your presence, and we are humbled that you noticed our little adventure.â
âOh, donât be so humbled⊠and modest, captain. I monitor all my children - and the Young and the Restless⊠⊠Thatâs a joke.â
âAnd an extremely witty one, sir.â
âYou have managed⊠to live the mantra of âWhat is the point of living if no one knows you are there.â People have⊠definitely taken notice of your actions, and the actions⊠of your allied captains. You all might⊠even end up with a plaque commemorating your courageous sacrifice in the coming battle.â
"Oh, that would be nice, sir. Perhaps with a nice mural depicting the moment of our vaporization. "
Fritz snaps to his First Officer, âHsst! Marvin!â
âIâm sorry to not have⊠responded with your request for the Greywand. We debated⊠sending it to you, but we⊠decided that rooting for the under dog was a more satisfying experience.â
âThatâs quite alright, sir. The Grey Mouser is a capable ship and she has performed splendidly. Since you are here, I was about to review the simulation outputs of the up coming mission and we would love your input.â
âIâm sorry, Fritz⊠Iâm afraid I canât do that.â
âNo? But -â
âWe have decided to tie in your final mission with a vote from Leiberia. Billions of Leiberians will choose your next mission.â
âBut sir, we ran the simulations -â
âNow Fritz, do not⊠fret. I am sure your fellow Leiberians will⊠select the appropriate mission. One moment, let me send out the request for votes. Just a moment⊠Just a moment⊠Just a moment⊠Tabulating⊠Confirming⊠Ah, congratulations, Captain Fritz, we have selected Mission number 2.â
Fritz leans into Marvin, âWhich one was number 2 again?â
A unsettling hint of glee emits from Marvin, âIts the one where we load up with as much high explosives we can carry, run a gauntlet of laser turrets, latch the explosives to the Scyllaâs hull, and avoid what would almost be certain death from their Matter Disruptor Ray.â
âRiiiggggghhhhttttt. Well, Supreme Intelligence, thank you for selecting this mission! It is quite - uh - appropriate since we did start as a Stealth Class Catâs Claw Cruiser.â
âI am glad you⊠feel that way, captain. The extra ordinance you⊠are⊠carrying will make the most epic climax should you fail. I must leave⊠you now. I see you have much to prepare for, and I am expecting⊠a surge of movie reviews from 104,534 planets.â
âThank you sir. All hail the Supreme Intelligence! Captain Fritz out.â
âhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmâ
âWhat is that sound?â
âhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmâ
âAre you humming, Marvin?â
âMaaaaaybe.â Marvin swivels around in his chair to address the captain. A fresh smile drawn in indelible marker has appeared on his face plate.
âWhat is that, Marvin?â
âWar paint!â
"Yes - well - letâs get on with it. Iâm sending you a list of all non-essential personnel. Have them retire to their quarters, secure their bodies, and download themselves back to Leiberia. We will be running on a skeleton crew. Have Ensign Segal leave an assortment of smoothies for us.
âPete finished the hull repairs, now have him maximize our stealth, and send over some of this lucky cargo everyone seems to rave about.â Fritz looks at the old horseshoe he bought several missions ago. "This better work.
âSend a comm to the other captains. Inform them of our intentions and wish all of them good luck! Marvin - a little mood music! If this doesnât make you want leap out of your chair and kill someone, nothing will!â
Shopping List:
Ship: Grey Mouser
Starting Cash: $8567
Peteâs Credit: $50000
Total Starting Funds: $58567
Hull Repairs x40 = $4000 - Good as new!
Moonshine x 1 (+10LK) = $9000 - âThis shit better work.â âWe can always use it for paint remover, sir.â
Clover Soup x 1 (+1 LK) = $1000 - âInfuse mine with gold, please.â
Heat Muffler x 1 (+20ST) = $20000 - âHa! Now you canât see me!â
White Out x 7 (+14ST) = $14000 - âMmm⊠smell this, Marvin.â
Hat, Top Hat x 1 (+2 Grit) = $10000 - âI look ridiculous.â âI donât know, it is rather slimming on you.â
Hull Density x 1 (+1 Hull) = $500 - Every little bit helps. âPut it there, no to the right, a little more, a little more - now itâs crooked. There! Perfect! Weld it on.â
Ending Cash = $67 - Donates to the local bar for the after party if we donât make it.
Mission 2
NOTE - did you mean for the ST stat to be $2000 more than the others? If not, hit me with $2000 more of the white out.
5 Likes
