Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post descriptions of your brilliant victories and unfortunate defeats here.

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lancer
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by lancer »



Image



Drop out of hyperspace into the Reshe system. S.E Spence and his team busily scan for planetary bodies.

Another lifeless rat hole.

Except for the incoming message on the broad band receiver that the Comms Officer is desperately trying to decipher.

Big screen of jumbled static flickering crazily.

Captain Wally orders the gravimetric survey shut down, pronto.

Scan for neutrino emissions. Find those, find the life forms. Somebody in the system is trying to talk to us.

Twenty minutes later and S.E Spence has got a lock. Empty looking system, not that many places to search.

Reshe 1, a blue gas giant on a 3 AU orbital slot from the G-class sun has an artificial base in close orbit. Signs of activity. Definitely not abandoned.

Comms Officer cracks the code. Message replayed in passable English.



Image



Alien life forms make first contact. Another milestone for humanity.

A potentially curly moment over who gets to handle diplomatic relations is easily side-stepped. I offer to assume the burden and Captain Wally distractedly agrees.

Apparently, so I’ve heard, a crew member is unaccounted for. Ensign Oates. Missing. Probably stepped out for a while. “I may be some time,” mutters he.

Regardless, it’s none of my business. Let Captain Wally sweat the search. In the meantime I’ll deal with the bugs.

Bugs with big teeth. Very big indeed.

Scaly reptile bugs.

T-Rex bugs.

Dinosaurs existed for eons on earth up until the point where they suddenly died out.

Palaeontologists clearly got that story wrong.

Always had me suspicious.

Humans have only been around for a hop skip and a jump. It didn’t take us long to evolve to the point of space travel. Dinosaurs clocked up an almighty 160 million years of evolution.

You could – if you had a mind to - do a lot more in that time than run around leaving fossilised footprints and piles of poop.

You could, for example, invent hamburgers. Plasma t.v’s. “I love Lucy”.

But why bother once you had figured out Space Ships? Very large space ships. Ones with strengthened decks and enough head room for a towering T-Rex crew.

So much for all those animated reconstructions of late Triassic life.

Dinosaurs running hither and yon, naked, hungry and aggro. Biting chunks out of anything that came within reach. Huge beasts with tiny reptilian brains full of nothing more than primeval instincts.

Supposedly an asteroid took out the lot of them. Changed the climate. A planetary-wide biological failure to adapt.

Might have been the case for a few of them. The dumb ones down the back of the class. The ones who slept through Evolution 101.

The smart ones had left already. Shot through to the stars. Lurking out there in space. Waiting for the hairless mammals to finally get their act together and stumble into the arena.

At which point they rob them.

Pirates.

Isn’t evolution grand? Millions of years spent evolving Tyrannosaurus Rex into an advanced space-faring civilisation and the best they can do is become glorified muggers.

Probably an inbuilt limitation of the reptilian mindset. A Universal Peter Principle in action.

I peer at the crackly image on the main communications portal. Bits of the vid feed keep dropping out but there’s enough there to form an impression. Audio is all computer generated. Converts the bug babble into recognisable sounds.

Dinosaur says he is of the Naxxilian race. Never heard of them.

How the heck do they manage to form words?

Look at the size of that jaw. I bet it has all the flexibility of a block of concrete. Teeth the size of swords. Enunciate the letter ‘s’ and there’d be blood gushing in all directions.

Little gadget beneath their aural orifice must serve as a ‘grunt converter’.

Introduces itself as the representative of the ‘Adarluun Gangsters’. Running a protection racket. Wants payola.

It’s a bit of a mental leap but I understand gangsters and can relate to a predatory, reptilian carnivore.

Captain Wally, unfortunately, stumbles.

“Battle stations! All hands on deck!”

I remind him that his ship has no weapons. Worry about your missing crew member, I reassure him. I’ll take care of the meat eating thugs.

“No, no,” insists Captain Wally. “This is a matter for the High Council. Only they can decide on such matters of interstellar diplomacy”.

That so? And they are here with us to make a decision are they? Perhaps we can tell the angry looking T-Rex on the screen to sit tight for the next one hundred and twenty days while we hyperspace back to Zion, sort it out, and return with an answer.

Or would you, perhaps, like to assume the burden of responsibility and act on their behalf?

Captain Wally, as I suspected, turns out to have the constitution of soggy pasta once the going gets tough. Muttering nonsense about the ‘rules’ and ‘proper procedure’ he slinks back to his command chair and resumes pulling out his hair.



Image



Maintaining the initiative I inform the Naxxilian that, as much as we’d like to hand over lots of credits, unfortunately we can do without their protection.

Ask if there is anything else they would like to discuss?

Sure there is. Thought as much.

Gangsters are business-beings. Won’t attack you while there is a chance they can make a buck first.



Image



Keep your discoveries and colonies, I tell him. I’m on an Explorer.

Zzzzzzttt! The communications link goes dead.

S.E Spence reports inbound ship from the location of pirate base. Destination us.

It might, I suggest to Captain Wally, be an opportune moment to depart.

I experience a newfound enthusiasm for exploration.

A rare moment of minds, both great and diminutive, thinking alike.




To be continued...

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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by 2guncohen »

Wanda where are thou ?  [:D]
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by lwarmonger »

Fantastic!  Hilarious AAR.
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by lancer »



Image




I’m squinting. It’s bright. Blazingly bright.

There’s an enormous fiery sun shining through the viewport.

Right next to us. I feel hot just looking at it.

I ask S.E Spence why, oh why, when we drop out of hyperspace, are we always sitting on top of a boiling, throiling ball of nuclear powered gas?

“Need an aiming point”, mutters S.E Spence, distracted by a nearby screen of jumbled numbers. “Pop out anywhere else within the system and there’s a chance we slam into a planetary body.”

I can see that this wouldn’t enhance my already dim prospects of propagating a future line of Emperor Freds.

“Point at the star and we can be confident that there won’t be any bodies that close in.”

Only a star. The largest, meanest object in the system. What about the star?

“Crash into a star?” scoffs S.E Spence. “Never happen.”

Spence taps the screen full of tumbling numbers. “See that? Calculations. I calculate it out. Make sure we come in close but not too close. The fine and noble art of astronavigation.”

Such as it is.



Image



Captain Wally has me worried.

He is not the man he used to be.

His jet black bouffant of luxurious hair is turning grey. Patches of raw scalp shine through here and there through the mange. I sense stress.

Problem is the paperwork.

The S.S “Lazy Sal” is missing three crew members. As in lost.

Captain Wally – being commander of aforementioned voyager of the stars – is required to account for all his crew. The fact that a number of them aren’t turning up for breakfast isn’t of any great concern. Plenty of others to take their place.

However there are forms that are required to be filled out in event of an unexpected decrease in staffing levels. Naval forms that have a large blank space explicitly provided to allow Captain Wally to explain precisely why his crew members have gone AWOL.

Official Naval Regulations are quite specific as to the allowable excuses that can be used to occupy the blank space.

‘Accidental Death’ for instance is a perfectly acceptable entry as is ‘Died due to sickness’.

‘Haven’t got a bloody clue’ or ‘don’t know where the h*ll they are’ aren’t valid reasons.

Fifteen times has Captain Wally ordered the ship to be searched. Top to bottom. Inside out. All that was found was the personal effects of the men, tousled and in recent use, lying there ‘Mary Celeste’ like.

A mystery. In deep space anything is liable to happen. Who knows what?

Captain Wally’s private quarters are near mine. Lot of swearing going on. Talking to himself.

Felt obliged to speak to the ship’s Medic. Mentioned I was worried about Captain Wally’s mental state. Suggested that procedures may have to be implemented if things worsen.

Told S.E Spence – during our last drug transaction – that I’d heard Captain Wally mentioning an ‘Alien presence’ onboard.

Spence, wolfing down his heart tablets, stared at me wide-eyed.

I nod. Assured him that I was worried too. Locked my door at night. Slept with the lights on. Asked him if he had any spare weapons?

S.E Spence scuttles away to tell anyone who would listen.

Morale plummets.

Time to go home, I whisper to Captain Wally. We’ve done our bit for the empire. You’ll return a hero.

That is, of course, provided your paperwork is in order. Found those missing crew members yet?

Captain Wally lets out a demented howl.

Confides that the forms are haunting his dreams. He is a Naval Officer. These are Naval Forms. They require a correct Naval response. One that he, Captain Wally, is unable to articulate.

The key, says Captain Wally in his hoarsest voice, to command is information. The man at the top must know what is going on in his space ship. You cannot make effective decisions if you don’t know.

I pat Captain Stresso on the back to signify a sympathetic manly response.

Three men, continues Wally, are gone. Are they dead? Missing? Lost? Vaporised?

Captain Wally suddenly lunges for my shirt front and pulls me close. Phew! Instant halitosis overdose.

“What do I put on the forms? I can’t lie. I can’t say nothing. I need a reason.”

Disentangling myself from the worried one I take my leave but not before giving him a big thumbs up.

As in ‘I’m with you Wally’ or ‘hang in there buddy’.

We men have to stick together.

Even though I may not have a full crop of man-plums I’m still at one with the brotherhood.

I feel his pain.




To be continued...

Lancer
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by Shark7 »

Evil, demented...ingenious!
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2guncohen
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by 2guncohen »

So did the emperor killed those guys or is there realy something strange happening ? [:D]
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by tornnight »

He ate them!
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by Tophat1815 »

ORIGINAL: 2guncohen

So did the emperor killed those guys or is there realy something strange happening ? [:D]


Well before the alien entity took over the emperor it was just talk,now all bets are off........[:D] Or is it?[;)]
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by 06 Maestro »

Fred! Fred! Fred! Fred! Stomp the bugs!-take the planets! We are with you! Go Fred!

(something really should be done about that Admiral.
Banking establishments are more dangerous than standing armies.

Thomas Jefferson

lancer
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by lancer »



Image



Big news. Found a planet. Human friendly planet.

Three star systems later, mind you.

Need to tell Zion. Can’t send the drone as it’s already gone. ‘Lazy Sal’ will have to hyper space back itself. Whoopee!

Morale rockets sky-high. The five missing crew members, the fights and arguments are all forgotten. We’re going home!



Image



Image



Yes we are, says Captain Wally. Just as soon as we conduct a comprehensive survey of the system.

What? Howls of protest throughout the ship. Captain Wally impervious to the onslaught. Insists we have a duty to present Zion with a fully formed picture of the system.

I have my doubts. Captain Wally is simply putting off his day of reckoning.

I can imagine his reception back at Fleet Headquarters.

“Five crewmembers missing? My G*d, man. Call yourself a captain? What did you do with them, flush them down the toilet? Lend them to the fairies?”

Frosty. Very frosty.

So a full geophysical surveying we shall go.

Six long months of visiting every speck of rock or ice within the system. Nothing even remotely interesting. Just six tedious, mind-numbing months of doing SFA because poor old Captain Wally isn’t prepared to face the music.

Morale, tenuous at best, evaporates. Entertainment Officers join with the crew in not caring any more.

Hair styles turn lank and greasy. Beards sprout all over as men neglect their morning shave. Body odour makes a comeback. Certain EO’s sprout alarming amounts of body hair. Gorillas in the mist.

Day to day grooming and concerns fall by the wayside. People focus on the important matters. Like staying alive.

For evil prowls the corridors at night.

People wander down to the mess hall for a late night snack and are never seen again. Off watch personnel travel in pairs. Doors are bolted shut while occupants sleep. Ancient Hitchcock movies have made showering a hazardous activity.

People speak in whispers, crouched in corners. Backs to the wall. Furtive glances in all directions.

Preventative maintenance has long gone. Essential maintenance in hot pursuit.

The ‘Lazy Sal’ rattles and shakes. Lights flicker on and off. Power surges fry so many screens that the ship’s computer has to ration its interface links with the crew.

Most of the good, healthy food is eaten. A faulty refrigeration plant turns the rest into mouldy pulp. Nothing left but emergency goop.

Diarrhoea breaks out and spreads like a spilt bowl of sickly brown broth throughout the remaining crew. Waste disposal system overloads and backs up.

Lower decks forced to cr*p in plastic bags. Rounded up by the med-tech and ejected into space. ‘Lazy Sal’ leaving a trail of oversized doggie bags behind it as it traverses this way and that.

Med tech declares the ship infectious. A danger to all native life-forms. Spreading germs far and wide.

Nobody cares. Captain Wally wandering the bridge in his dirty underpants. Muttering curses. Red eyed.

Agonisingly later, finally – the survey complete - he gives the order to engage the hyper space drive and set a direct course back to Zion.

S.E Spence calculates a ninety day transit.

No applause. No joy. No happy faces. Morale in terminal freefall.

‘Lazy Sal’ blammo’s into the ether and begins its long trek back home.

Chief Engineer uncertain whether the ship will hold together long enough. Certain areas declared unsafe. Off-limits. All but essential cargo jettisoned.

Two weeks later another crew member goes missing. Ship’s Chaplain.

Delegation to Captain Wally. Ship must have an exorcism before it’s too late. Demand that Captain Wally initiates procedures forthwith.

Captain Wally refuses. Exorcism isn’t in the Naval regulations. Besides, the missing crew members will probably turn up soon. Nothing to worry about. Sickly grin.

Mutiny!

One third of the remaining crew refuse to turn-to for their duty rosters. EO’s conscripted to fill the gaps. Ship’s central data core dying a slow death. Nobody capable of fixing it.

Chief Engineer admits that ‘Lazy Sal’ is effectively on autopilot. Will continue on course until it drops out of hyper space. Human intervention not required.

Revolt spreads. More crew confine themselves to quarters.

Captain Wally knocks on my cabin door one evening. Asks that I write a special report exonerating him from any misconduct. How, he pleads, can he be held responsible for everybody that gets lost or goes missing?

Man is clearly at his wits end. Caught in a dreadful bind. Between a rock and a hard place.

I insist that I will do whatever I can.

Within reason.

A Captain should be held accountable for his crew. That’s what Captains are for, isn’t it?

Desperate, imploring eyes. Deer caught in the headlights moments before impact.

Tell him that I’ll highlight his unswerving dedication to naval duty.

Strongly suggest that he pulls himself together. Confront his personal demons.

Mention the biosphere.

Peace and solitude amongst nature.

Ideal place to gain some perspective and renew your energy levels.

I go there often.





To be continued...

Lancer
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by Igard »

This is enthralling stuff!! Hilarious, lancer.
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by lancer »


Image



Zion!

The ‘Lazy Sal’ is a sorry sight to behold. But she has been away for an incredible sixteen months, an all-time deep space deployment record.

There is the small matter of the missing crewmembers.

Ten. Whereabouts unknown.

I am convinced that the navy would have treated such an obscene dereliction of duty in an appropriately penal manner. Unfortunately it is now a moot point as the ‘Lazy Sal’s’ grungy, deranged, regulations-obsessed captain is amongst the missing.

R.I.P Captain Wally.

Without an officially designated Captain I was forced to take command of the ‘Lazy Sal’ myself and do what was needed to return her and her remaining crew to safety.

I am, of course, a hero. A bonafide, larger than life, HERO of epic proportions.

A national figure of renown. The Emperor who stepped in when the chips were down. The man who saved the famous gypsy star ship, the ‘Lazy Sal’.

News of a bountiful planet discovered in the distant realms of the darkness of space only add to my achievements.

I am Emperor. The saver of lost crew, the finder of rare planets. A figure of great renown and stature. A beacon for our civilisation.

Admiral Wanda meet us at Zion spaceport. Frowning. Suspicious. Hostile.

I had to remind her that Hero’s require respect and grovelling. Lots of grovelling.

Wanda Witch Woman forced to pin a medal on my chest.

When the pin stabbed viciously into my flesh I made a point of smiling. Truth be told I may have winked as well.

Drove the poor Admiral into an immediate hissy fit. Had to leave the presentation. Visit the powder room. Kick the walls. Knickers in a knot.

Adulation is something that I have experience with.

I handle it well. I know how to work it to my advantage. Milk it to the max.

It was a full week before Admiral Wanda was able to initiate an investigation into the mysterious missing crew members.

Found it difficult. The ships data core had decayed past the point of recovery.

Apparently some b*stard had deliberately shorted the power supply. Probably a rebellious crew member.

My personal recommendation is that examples should be made.

Senior Ensign Spence. There's a trouble maker if I ever saw one.

Luckily I had the foresight to make the only known copy of the core before it died.

Admiral Wanda cautiously grateful for my benevolence. Came back to see me a day latter. Very edgy. Upset.

“Yes, yes”, I told her. “Of course there are bits missing.”

“Bits? BITS!!” she shouts. “Entire days have been deleted!”

Yelling, screaming and general all-round squawking I find particularly unattractive in women.

Decide not to mention it to Wanda. You don’t prod an angry viper.

Pacification is in order. Calm the troubled waters.

“I was forced to edit certain sections in order to protect the good name of the Navy. Sadly Captain Wally was a sorry state towards the end and if word leaks out that Captain Underpants was in command then it would reflect badly on the peoples perception of Naval Standards.”

Narrow, bunker-slit eyes. Coiled hostility itching to strike. Staggers off in high heels.

Orders the ‘Lazy Sal’ to be taken apart. Literally.

Several days later bodies are found. Rotting. Decomposing. Dismembered. Oozing putrid bodily fluids. Disgusting.

Terrible news. I must have conducted a dozen interviews that day.

A visage of distressed anguish. To think that there was a murderer onboard? One still alive this very day. Slowly slaughtering the brave souls that explored so hard for so long.

It was only by the grace of God that I was able to save as many as I did.

Inevitably I was queried as to who the murdering heathen might be?

Naturally, I said in all innocence, the Entertainment Officers could be discounted.

Women aren’t mass murderers.

Pause.

Quizzical expression.

That’s right, isn’t it?





To be continued...

Lancer
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by Tophat1815 »

You are good sir.[:D]
Yarasala
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by Yarasala »

Somebody made part 21 disappear [&:]

Very strange, that is [:D]
lancer
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by lancer »

Somebody made part 21 disappear [&:]

Very strange, that is [:D]

Fixed. I inadvertently mixed up my chapter headings. Had to post in a hurry. Kids were fighting with the kangaroo.

Cheers,
Lancer
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by Gommer »

lancer

<snip>Kids were fighting with the kangaroo.

Cheers,
Lancer

[&:] seriously? Let it kick them once, that'll usually drive the point home. Down-side, it's a lot of wear and tear on the offspring...
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by thiosk »

you are my hero
lancer
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by lancer »



Image



The Angry Ant – Minister for Building Things – turns up and proudly announces that the keel for mankind’s first colony ship has been laid down at the Zion Planetary Shipyards.

Sturdy intrepid pioneers will journey to Curben-1 once everything is ready.

How many people, I ask the Ant, does it take to establish a colony? I recall that Mars was colonised initially by only a few score people.

“Interesting question”, replies the Minister. “Very interesting.”

I agree that it was indeed of interest.

“Mmmmm”, said the Minister. “Mmmmm.”

I slap the Ant hard.

The Ant’s sole redeeming feature is that he is shorter than me.

Ant recoils. Swears. Threatens.

Waving all the theatrics aside I ask again how many people is the colony ship designed for?

“A sufficient number”, states the Ant, hackles up, all hot air and belligerence.

I point at the blueprint under his arm. Reluctantly it is rolled out on the table and the Ant grudgingly talks me through the design.

Not being a naval architect I nevertheless have a rough understanding of ship construction. Colony ships, I reason, are just bigger versions of Explorers.

The main design criteria would be lots of hold storage for equipment and plenty of habitation modules for the people.

Peering closely I find only a single small hab-module. Perhaps colonisation is a fully automated, robotic endeavour in this day and age?

“No,” replies the Ant, now recovered sufficiently to be taken seriously as a Minister once more. “Lots of people are required. Quite a few actually.”

Right…. So where do all these people live?

The Minister stabs the plans. “Here, here and here.”

But those are…

“Yes, yes. They are Cryogenic Freezer modules.”

Everybody is frozen? But it’s only a three month voyage. Surely they can occupy themselves gainfully in that time?

“Quite,” says the Minister in his most officious tone. “Unfortunately there are a lot of them. More than can be accommodated in the hab-modules.”

How many?

“…million,” mutters the Minister.

Holy smoke! One million colonists. All squeezed into a single ship.

Turns out that the Ant’s Colony Ship is nothing more than a giant fridge/freezer. Bodies are cryogenically snap frozen and stacked on shelves.

According to the impressive looking plans they are carefully positioned with due regard to personal space and proper medical care.

Squinting carefully at the small print I noticed that the blueprints only allow for a frozen human cargo capacity of around one hundred thousand souls.

Extrapolating forwards to the Great Big Number of folk that the Ant is talking about I experience a cataclysmic failure of comprehension.

I’d seen pictures of ancient sail powered slave ships that provided more space for their shackled cargo than the flying fridge. That’s assuming I double the blueprints estimations, let alone times by ten.

Who would have thought that colonisation is such a people intensive process? Why the heck do they need so many?

The mind boggles at the thought of the giant fridge turning up at Curben-1.

It would be physically impossible to defrost everybody at once. Only space for a fraction of the people popsicles to come to life at any one time.

And what would happen then? The first group to defrost would likely take one look at the tightly packed endless rows of human meat burgers and recoil in shock.

Frantically look for an exit and run like hell.

And why would you bother to go to all the trouble to defrost a million gray slabs of meat in order to create an instant population explosion? On a new planet with zero facilities or capacity to handle such a massive instant influx.

Imagine a million people all milling around. Impatiently waiting for their turn at the toilet. Arguing about who is in charge. Trying to find something to eat and drink.

What a nightmare.

I valiantly try once more to visualise the logistical horror of it all but fall short as my mind shunts itself into lockdown in the face of imminent neural overload. It’s too much.

I’m interrupted by the Angry Ant clearing his throat, stamping his feet and generally behaving like the aggressive little bugger that he is.

“The – um – High Council – have – um –“

It appeared that he was experiencing difficulty in vocalising the intended message.

“- asked that you – um – name the Colony ship.” The Angry Ant didn’t quite spit on the ground in disgust at the thought but he came close.

Well, gosh, what an honour. Unfortunately I won’t be able to accept.

The Ant perked up immediately. Admiral Wanda, I’m told, names all the naval vessels. The Merchant Princes name all the civilian ones. Colony ships – of which this was the first – were apparently the exclusive domain of the Ant, Minister for Industry.

But I wasn’t finished. Emperors, especially heroic, man of the moment, Emperors, gain certain privileges. Naming rights for flying fridges doesn’t come close to the required degree of honour.

“Yes”, I told the Ant. “I think that you should name the empires first mighty Colony Ship.” I resist the urge to pat him on the head. “While you’re at it could you also inform the High Council that I have unilaterally renamed Curben-1, which I personally discovered, to – “.

Dramatic pause…

“- FredTopia.”

The Ant spluttered. Short coughing fit. Run out of air. Huge deep breaths. Choking on his tongue.

I waved regally. “Make it so Minister, make it so.”

A turn of the head. A toss of the hair. Important to get it right.

“Dismissed!”



Image





To be continued...
Lancer
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2guncohen
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by 2guncohen »

Fredtopians ... Poor people :p
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by Shark7 »

OK, that one left me rolling in the floor. LOL

[&o][&o][&o][&o][&o]
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