lack of updates

Xexo: “um, shouldnt you write something?”

thegreatpl: “do you think i should?”

Entire cast: “YES”

thegreatpl: “meh, im too lazy”

…

thegreatpl:”but since you put it that way, i’ll get something done as soon as possible, now please put those weapons away, please.”

…

“Pretty please?”

just to show that the site isnt dead just yet. i do intend to write something at some point. honest. ive just not been in the mood to write anything. i do this to relax and for fun, and im quite relaxed at the moment, and ive been getting my fun from Space Trek. i dont know what danansans excuse is, or even if he has just given up and moved on. if anyone wants to write their own stories, then send them to me and i will post them, or make u a user to post more if i think its really good.

A Beginning; The Rose Has Thorns

Joseph Nilats looked up as one of his assistants came in and placed a document on the top of his importance pile, before withdrawing. As soon as he finished with the report he was working on (sending several of the guards of Trotsky to a work camp for their incompetence) he picked it up and read it. As soon as he did, he picked up the phone and rang the chief of the Navy.
He said but three words; “The Rose Blossoms”
The man on the other end hesitated only for a second. “Empire?”
“Yes”
“Blossoming” the man said, and then hung up.

Nilats sat back and smiled. He looked down at the report of the Republics civil war. Not quite the way he had planned, but still good.

***

The Dispatch boats left for their respective destinations. A few months later, those destinations would commit themselves to their orders.

***

Admiral Ishikawa Reika rushed onto the flag bridge of her flagship, a battleship by the name of HMS Bloody Big Tiger. (Names like this were not so uncommon as many would think. Even worse was the fact that the Empress, as well as several previous Emperors and Empresses, openly endorsed it).

“Status report” she called out to her flag personnel.
“They definitely are heading towards Rembrandt. And CIC makes it a pair of battleships, three cruisers and six destroyers. Definitely a battlefleet.”

Reika nodded. Battleships only real purpose was to fight other Navies ships; no pirate had anything big enough to justify building a ship that big. The biggest pirates tended to be around the destroyer range, simply because anything bigger would be too expensive to run effectively. Most pirates had corvettes and frigates, and their equivalents in the navies used the same to hunt them down (albeit with Whackers instead of pure cripplers).

“Identification; its the Lizzies” called the sensor tech, Michael Hardvok.

Reika cursed inwardly. There were, really, only two people it could have been; the Republic or New Lisbon. Only the those three great powers had enough money to devote to a reasonable size fleet of battleships, which were expensive when you could devote more money to fixed defenses (in theory at least, fixed defenses may be cheaper and carry more weapons, but had slightly less range due to them firing out of gravity. Not that this mattered with any weapon except missiles, which were expensive, because of the massively short ranges).

The biggest ship in most fleets arsenal was a battlecruiser, which was a lot smaller and mounted less weapons than a battleship.

Of course, not that any of this was any comfort. Reika had one battleship, a heavy cruiser, a pair of destroyers, 4 frigates and 8 corvettes. The Corvettes would not be much use against a battlefleet; they were likely to be blown to pieces in the missile duel, and they couldnt fire missiles on their own (Although they had Whacker turrets, the turrets were simply too small (or short) to fit a missile in. Missiles were the same width as a whacker, which allowed them to use the same launcher, but longer, to fit the bigger engine in). Frigates too would only be able to put a few extra missiles out, and be destroyed on a single hit, although that could be said for all of her ships except the Cruiser and Battleship.

However, the system did have plenty of fixed defenses. Which included missile pods. The pods were simply missile launchers with a small amount of missiles which could be added to the slaughter. They were shorter ranged as well, and not just because of gravity; the missiles had to rely entirely on their own drives, whereas shipboard launched missiles had the extra speed that came from the launchers magnetics.

“Captain Kent wishes to know whether he should start up the Sludgefield” the Communications tech called across.

Reika frowned. The Sludgefield was really a field of controlled gravity. The technology was ancient; dating back to Old Terra, and was one of the things which had cheated MAD. The field controlled physical things that entered it at the will of the operator. The ancient ones, huge things that they were with their own power plants, had been located in huge buildings. The sheer size of them had prevented the 2nd Empire era governments from using them for anything other than city defense, or fixed defenses. And those had been almost always ground based.

The fields themselves were not much; they just allowed the control, to some degree, of items that entered the area it controlled. It had allowed the, relatively, slow nuclear missiles to be stopped in there tracks, and then often crushed (and in at least one case during the indian war, flipped over and sent back the way it came.)

However, this control was limited. Only a small area could be “hardened” at once. For extreme control it was much weaker everywhere else. Not only that, but the bigger the target, and the faster it was going, meant that more power had to be spent on stopping it, or diverting it in a “glancing” blow. Worse, they were power hogs, which ate up power like no tomorrow. It took a lot of power to stop something as big as a missile or Whacker. More, the more power it could handle, the bigger the Sludgeshield generator had to be.

All of this meant that no one put sludgeshields anywhere but on planets and large orbital fortresses which actually had the space, and power, to spare. Except the Empire. The Empire was the most advanced in the area of Sludgeshields, and had managed to build one small enough to justify putting it on a few of their battleships.

Like the Bloody big class. Of course, something else had to go instead, and in this case it had been the boat bay, where smaller pinnaces had traditionally docked. To make up for this, they had added a small tube which a single pinnace could fit, barely, which did not allow any maintenance, and several docking tubes on the external parts of the ship. The downside was that it took away any evacuation potential for most of the crew. (not that evacuating the ship really was much point in most cases. The sheer fury of the weapons often blew huge pieces out of even battleships, if not destroying it completely. And cripplers, the only minor damage weapons used anywhere, could be stopped by Sludgeshields easily)

Most navies, even if they had the technology, did not mount sludgeshields on their ships. The simple reason was that it could only stop cripplers and only divert the bigger Whackers and missiles. They considered it a waste of space to have something that only gave a small advantage.

But the British saw it as any advantage is still an advantage. The british also saw it becoming, in the future once the technology had advanced enough, common to all navies, and wanted to get in the habit of putting them into their ships so that when it did they could refit all their own battleships quickly and easily. In theory anyway.

However, that was the future, and this was today. The enemy ships may not have their own sludgefields, but they could detect the gravitational markings of one. Which would mean they would know they were facing a battleship. That was why it was, by the Book, required for the captain to ask the leader of the battle for permission to bring them online.

“Tell him he can. I see no advantage in showing that we dont have it” Admiral Ishikawa Reika replied.

She then turned back to the monitor screen to consider her tactics for the upcoming battle.

yay, a new story. danansan suddenly going and posting the start of his civil war has messed up all my plans. i had planned on getting the current Harnam story finished first, before the New Lisbon-Empire war begins. however, part of the story now requires me to move. oh well, wasnt too long ago i was saying he should hurry up. and apologies for the last few weeks, i havent had any internet connection/was distracted. also, Ishikawa Reika is japanese, and follows the japanese naming order (surname, then first name).

A Beginning

“And it is with a heavy heart that I declare Admiral Anros and all her supporters outlaws and enemies of the state. We must cut this bud of monarchist and anti-democratic thought before it blooms. Long live the Fletcher Republic. Long live Democracy and Freedom.”
- President Stephan Vuori, 2502, upon the attempted coup by Admiral Anros.

November 17th, 2550

 ”Okay gentlemen, I think you know why we’re here. The time has come. We’re taking control. The coup,” finished Carlos Torres, “Is on.”
“What?” asked one surprised looking staff officer, “Why now?”
“You know project Kinesis?” replied Torres. There were nods around the room, which was brimming with military officers. “Well, our plans have been stolen. We don’t know by who, so we’re attacking everyone to get them back.”
“Surely we could investigate, find out who took them, rather than just launch an all out offensive,” suggested a balding Colonel.
Torres shook his head, “Even a few days with those plans could jeopardise everything.”
“But there must be another way!” exclaimed the same Colonel.
“There may be, but the General has made his decision. Now, if you turn your attention to the screen,” Torres said, indicating the large touch screen on which a map of Emancipation was displayed, with a smaller inset of the rest of Lincon, “We have multiple targets. Colonel Cruickshank will lead the 9th Marine Battalion to attack the RBI’s main base at the Craydon Building. Colonel Brown will take the 7th to the docks. Brown, you’re to seize and search every ship down there. And don’t let anything leave or come in. Colonel Christiano, take the 3rd to the British Embassy. Colonel Viren will assault the Police HQ with the 1st, and I will personally lead the 5th and 2nd to the Samross Army Base. All four other Battalions will stay to hold the Admiralty Base. Unless there are any questions, this meeting is over.”

* * *

“I think we’ve been putting this off for too long.”
Daily considered. “We needed to pay proper respect to David. We both owe him a hell of a lot.”
“You more than me,” replied Homes, leaning back in his chair, “Now, I think we both know what the big issue is going to be here. Which one of us is going to take control of the RBI now that Munro is dead.”
“Yes,” agreed Daily, “Yes, that will be the big issue.” There was a short silence as the two men glared at each other across Holmes’ desk. Behind Holmes a window fluttered, letting a cool breeze into the tense room.
“I’m the acting head. I’m currently in charge,” said Holmes.
Daily nodded. “True. But the only reason he put you in charge is because you’re more experienced. I’m his preferred choice.”
“Maybe,” countered Holmes, “But the man is dead. Fact is, I’m more experienced, more respected and more ambitious. Plus I’m currently in charge, so no transition.”
“You may be more experienced, but you’re probably not more ambitious, and you’re certainly not more respected,” commented Daily.
Holmes leaned forward in his chair and placed his hands on his desk. He fixed his gaze on Daily. “Okay,” he said, “Try this one. You’ll let me be the head, or I’ll have Berlin kill you.”
“You bastard,” snarled Daily, “You had to pull out your trump card didn’t you.”
Holmes smiled, aware that he had won. “Yes. You see Daily…”
Unfortunately for everyone, the world would never know what wisdom Holmes had to impart to Daily, for at that moment, a shell flew through the window. It sailed straight through the room, over the two shocked men, and smashed through the door on the other side of the room. A second later, there was an explosion. The entire contents of the room, all of the paraphernalia with which Holmes stuffed his office, including his desk and his chairs and their occupants, were flung right across it. Fortunately for Daily, the desk was heavy oak, and didn’t go very far. His shoulder shattered as he hit it, but at least he wasn’t like Holmes. Who had gone out the window.

The floor gave way, and Daily, still cushioned against the oak desk, fell down to the next floor. Dust cleared.
“McArthur’s men are attacking!” shouted someone rather needlessly, as the sound of gunfire gradually seeped up from the lower floors, and more shells went off above.
Daily pulled himself up, wincing at the strain on his shoulder.
“Holmes is dead, and I’m in charge now,” he said, looking at the assembled crowd of bewildered RBI agents, “Now, we need to all get down to the lower floors and fight off those troops. Villin, you and Barlow are in charge of that operation. Rufus, can you head around the building and tell all the agents to go down there. Except the sharpshooters. Jennifer, you collect up as many sharpshooters as you can, start sniping them from the high levels. Farrel, go find Berlin. Get her up here. Zaria? Can you fetch me a medic?”

 * * *

Sergeant Macintyre looked out from the bar. Seeing the mass of Marines, he pulled his head back in quickly. He turned to his officer, Lieutenant Milne.
“There’s a couple of thousand Marines out there,” he said, “Admiralty base colours.”
“So McArthur’s finally made his move,” mused Milne, “Have we got any orders from the Son?”
Macintyre shook his head. “They’re jamming us,” he explained.
Milne swore. “Get me Captain Arran.”

“Shall we?” asked Captain Arran, glancing around the bar in which he was seated.
“I think we shall,” confirmed Lieutenant Gurvan, Arran’s second in command.
Arran smiled, then rose to his feet and fired his pistol into the roof. “Everyone get down!” he screamed. The alarmed patrons fell to the floor, leaving only a few people standing in the entire bar. These were Arran’s men, from the Prodigal Son. They quickly removed their long coats, and revealed Marine uniforms with Sigma Fleet colours. Gurvan raised a radio to his mouth.
“Let’s go, boys and girls,” he said into it, before pocketing it, and unhooking the large assault rifle than had been strapped across his back. The other Marines did likewise. The group quickly moved out of the room, leaving the bewildered patrons of the bar to pick themselves up. They were back down on the ground again a moment later, however, once the sounds of gunfire reached them.

* * *

James Anderson of the British Diplomatic Core picked up his rifle, and pointed it nervously out of the window at the approaching Marines. Beside him his twin brother, David Anderson, did likewise, with considerably more confidence.
“Shit,” swore James, “I never thought this would ever actually happen. I mean, we all do the training, but I never thought anyone in the Republic would be stupid enough to do this.”
“Out of practice?” asked his brother wryly, as he checked his sights.
“Of course not!” said James indignantly, “I go down to the shooting range every week, same as everyone else.”
“Quite a difference between a hologram and a real person though,” observed David.
“I suppose you’d know. After all, you’re the one who’s done the killing.”
David closed his eyes. “You would have to bring that up.”
“I’m not the sadist here.”
David’s eyes snapped open. “They’re in range,” he said, “Let’s start.”
Lining up a shot in his sights, he began to fire. After a moment’s hesitation James joined in. All around the Embassy shots began to ring out.

* * *

All the TV networks were down. Thomas McArthur sat in the living room of 134 Allegro Street and stared at the blank screen. Something big was going on here, as if the sounds of gunfire echoing across the streets hadn’t been a big enough clue. Right across the city, people were keeping to their houses, worrying about what the hell was going on, and who was doing the fighting. Of course, most had a damn good idea who was doing the fighting, and where wondering who it was who had kicked it off, and who it was that was going to win.
“Fuck off,” said Thomas quietly, looking down at his mobile. The phones were down too.
And then, quite suddenly, the door opened, and Arthur Vuori stepped through.
“Hello Mr McArthur,” he said grimly, “I believe you happen to have a very interesting folder.”
Thomas looked at the figure of the President, and said in a dazed voice, “Hello Mr President.”

* * *

“What is it you want me to do?”
Luke Daily struggled to keep himself from grinning. This was going surprisingly well. Berlin seemed to be quite friendly, and had taken Holmes death very well. “I want you to kill Francis McArthur. Shoot him, stab him, slit his throat, I don’t care. I want him dead.”
“Okay. Where is he?”
“He’ll be up at the Admiralty Base, probably at his office or in the command centre.”
Berlin nodded, then rose to her feet and walked to the entrance to the secret exit of the Craydon building. She turned. “I’m doing this for the memory of Holmes,” she said, “After this, I’m gone.”

* * *

In the briefing room of the FRS Prodigal Son Jack Harvey surveyed his officers. “There’s fighting going on down there,” he said, “And some of our boys are involved. XO?”
Harvey’s XO, Rayne Avenson, explained further, “From the information we have, McArthur’s made his move to take control.”
“While we’re right here? That’s hardly a great move,” commented tac. officer Ceszar.
Avenson nodded in agreement, “We’re assuming that something galvanised him into launching an all out attack on everything. We also think that he had very poor data on our deployment, as none of his troops seemed aware of our units at the docks. As far as we’re aware, he didn’t know that we’d deployed our 2nd Battalion undercover at the docks, and his troops were only there in an arbitrary attempt to control access to the city. Whatever the case, our boys took them unawares, and slaughtered up to 50% of their strength.”
“What’s the situation now?” asked comm. officer Arika.
Avenson grimaced. “They’ve pinned us down with their Dragons and Wolves.”
Harvey nodded. The Dragon was the Republic’s main Hover Tank class, and the Wolf was its main Altabernus class. “Deploy our own Dragons and Wolves, and our 1st Battalion. Also, prep the Son for combat operations.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” asked Ceszar.
“McArthur’s gone all our,” replied Harvey, “So we might as well do the same.”

 

I’m not particularly happy with this, but I suppose I need to post something to start to get this arc out of the way – Danansan

Harnam the government agent

Harnam sat in the office, twirling the thing he had gotten from the body of Trotsky over in his hands, studying it. It was a blackish golden cylinder, with a circular disk on the top of one end.

It had a sort of button on the handgrip which made up the cylinder, but when pressed nothing happened. Harnam was curious. He knew it was something odd, but not a glimmer of an idea what it was.

“Mr Herman, this way please” the secretary said. Harnam got up and followed her. This time, the passage was much more brighter, still with the dull walls, and some machine guns hanging down from the ceiling tracking them, but that was it for security. They didnt even ask for him to remove his weapons.

They came to the office again, or at least he was sure it was the same office. Somehow an extra two doors were now in evidence, when they hadnt before, but otherwise the office was the same, down to the man behind the table.

“Ah, Harnam, good to see you again. Everything went well then?”
“Yes sir”
The secretary then left the room.
“Good. The money is now in your bank account. However, the way I understand it, work these days is getting a bit thin. Especially after the Thornton incident”
Damn, how did they find out about those things, thought Harnam. Aloud he said “indeed”

“Perhaps then, you would like to come and work for us? I assure you, we are quite legit, and you are, shall we say, better than many of my men”
“How much” Harnam said quickly. It was always good to keep your options open, especially when the work wasnt paying what it used to.

They then got onto haggling. When they were done, the Man noticed the artifact.

“What have we here now? Interesting, I assume you got it from Trotsky?” he said, taking the artifact and twirling it through his hands, studying it.

“Yes” Harnam said hesitantly. The man then pressed the button, frowned when it did not do anything, and opened his draw. He then grabbed two AA batteries and flipped the bottom of the tube open, and inserted them.

“It’s powered by AA batteries?” Harnam asked, staring incredulously.
“Indeed. Even we do not know how it worked” the man replyed, and then he pressed the button.

The blade of what could be only described as light (even though it was black) shot out until it was roughly 25 inches long.

“That is… impressive” Harnam said, then “but what makes it work, and how does that blade glow black?”
“We dont really know. The man who invented didnt. Actually, its a funny story. The man, Michel Dulio, boasted he could make a lightsaber after a few too many. The local Lord of the planet heard about it, and said that if he didnt make a real working one within 6 months he would be killed and executed, and his family with him for good measure. After 5 months and 27 days, and still no success, the man drowned himself in a massive cocktail of drugs and alcohol. After he woke up, this is what he found, or at least, five of them.”

“Did he ever find out how it was done?” asked Harnam, eyeing the sword.
“I dont think so, he died of Liver failure about a month later, and the doctors swore blind that the rest of his body was shutting down as well. A result of the cocktail they said. Still, he left a legacy, until someone chucked one into an alien replicator they were the most sort after weapons you could get”

The man smiled and shut the sword off, and handed it back.
“Now, your first assignment”

***
“And that is my first assignment?” asked Harnam, staring at the large, alien machine in front of him. You got them sometimes; alien hardware from a long ago age. Most didnt work, or worked only in certain conditions. Others were confusing. Harnam had heard of one which, every 10 years, spurted bright green bubbles into the air for some reason.

This one looked to be one of the few things that actually did anything useful, but then again, looks can be deceiving.

“Yes, this is an ancient AD generator” the man said, who now liked to be called X.
“AD?”
“Alternate Dimension”
“So, my job is to travel to an Alternate Dimension, and what? Explore? Bring back tech?”
“Well, That’s the official reason we use to justify it to Parliament”
“And the Real reason?” said Harnam, who often listened carefully.
“The Royal Family and I get bored”
“Ah”

***

Harnam stepped onto the platform, and turned towards the scientists watching him from the consoles. He had had, injected in his shoulder blades, a chip which would relay his every experience (sight, sound and smell, and also sometimes taste. Not feelings or touch, that can be uncomfortable) and been briefed on what to expect (well, it can be anything really. Sometimes technology doesnt work, and others other things do things differently. No I dont know about your sword, but those knives should do nicely, unless plastic and metal cant exist there of course) and been given equipment (this is a nice tool we call a universal translator. It should work, but often waving your arms around helps if it doesnt, plus its also funny).

X called to him “And remember, if you die, make it as entertaining as possible”
“Wait?!? What?!?” Harnam called as a bright light of pure white surrounded him.

***

When the light vanished, he was in a corridor. It was completely metal, like what would be found on a spaceship, except there was gravity. He didnt have long to orient himself, before two red pelted humanoid cats walked around the corner.

who could they be? lol. and so begins a wonderful new storyline featuring our friend Harnam. i dont really like some of the conversation in this one. i dont think it flows naturally. 

The Assassination

Harnam whacks the poor guy over the head. It was a pity, but he needed the clothes to blend in to the massive Premier House, where Trotsky currently resided. Harnam saluted the guy currently lying on the floor before continuing onwards, thankful for the fact that the House employed Valued Workers. 

 

Harnam knew quite a bit about the Valued workers system that his family had barely missed being included in. The massive expansion of New Lisbon had seized his birth world in such a short amount of time after his family had left. 

 

Harnam, in his acquired costume, advanced with his eyes held down to the floor, so as not to attract attention. By now, most of the people working in the building had gotten used to the slaves they did not give him a second glance, even if he was an unfamiliar one. 

 

He walked down corridors, along the red carpet, past the walls of a sort of light yellow, under the bright lights shining from the roof, and occasionally glancing at the white sideboards. Past portraits of, well, he wasnt sure who. Some of them looked rather like the famous portrait of Emperor Roger I by Empress Rin (Empress Rin had been very good at paintings, and the one of Roger was very good. It was just unfortunate that Roger had been dead for 30 years, and that she liked to paint from life).  

 

Harnam turned down an identical corridor, where more paintings hung. Harnam almost looked back at one, and yes, it did seem to be a genuine Empress Rin Painting, or at least a copy. Most likely a copy, although this was quite good. It was one of her Disintegrator series, and this one showed the controls. It wasnt quite s impressive as the one which showed the Barrels. 

 

Harnam continued down the corridor musing this. Even here, in the heart of one of the Nations who despised the Empire, there was influence from it. They seemed to worship the painting. It was even more odd, because the disintegrator was a British Weapon; most others couldnt see the point of having such a monstrosity, and it was a bitch to load as well, even if it did put out over a million rounds a minute on rapid fire. With 8 rotary sets of 5 barrels, you didnt need to worry too much about it overheating (or the enemy, who after a minute is probably composed of a thin red paste).     

 

Finally, Harnam came to a bedroom door, and then passed through it. Inside, the grandiose 4 poster bed kind of showed how hypocritical Trotsky the Communist was. 

 

“Ah, good, I was getting worried. Now, hurry over with the Whisky” commanded the man who stood facing the massive windows which showed across the surrounding gardens. The man held his hand lazily, waiting for the presumed drink to be put in his hand. 

 

Harnam approached, and then withdrew the Icepick, before smashing it into the back of his targets head. It wasnt fair, but you didnt get to where Harnam was now by being fair. 

 

The blood began to stream from the hole in his head. And Trotsky collapsed, his white-grey hair beginning to be dyed red. 

 

Harnam looked down and saw a broach that was on the side of Trotsky’s belt. It was a sort of blackish golden thing, in the shape of a swords hilt almost. He picked it up and put it in his pocket. He didnt really know why. 

 

That was way too easy, thought Harnam. Then the alarms sounded. 

 

Why did I even think that, Harnam thought as he raced and dived out the window. 

yay, new post. sorry for the lack of a post last week, but exams are on for both me and Danansan now, so we havent really got time to write so much. finally, the Harnam story is almost over. i think Rin is pronounced wren, but its been so long since i watched InuYasha  i cannot remember.