Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

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Tophat1815
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by Tophat1815 »

I like it![:D]
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

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Image



One thing you can say about the Palace is that it has plenty of space. Unlike my plasticized hotel horror of a cabin on the ‘Lazy Sal’.

Sixteen months spent wandering aimlessly around space.

Which is, I’ve decided, just like women. Moments of pure excitement sparsely sprinkled within the vast drudgery of co-existence.

There is no ‘Mrs Fred’ for a reason. After your fifth wife you are over it.

None of them could produce a heir. Even lopped a couple of heads off and skewered them on poles in an effort to inspire better performance out of the others.

Didn’t work. Gave up.

There was always the option for a gene-engineered, biolab-derived little fred but how would I know that he was truly mine?

My sorrow at not having a heir is offset by the strong likelihood that any son of mine would likely kill me well before my time was due.

I know this because that’s exactly what I did. Spilt blood stays spilt.

Still, happy, seriously dysfunctional families aside, it’s good be back home.

Son of Igor has a massive amount of reports and intelligence for me.

Told him to thin it out. Critical stuff only.

Sat in my favourite armchair and began to wade through the list. First off was a report about the Quameno.

Ahh. The Toads.

I’d forgotten about them. Given my current exalted status the chances of the High Council impeaching me are negligible. I can afford to cold shoulder the Quameno ambassador.

Despite this it appears that he has requested an audience with me. Strange.

Asking for my help. Desperately needs assistance.

Major Toad catastrophe in my absence.

I quickly scan through the newsfeed extracts.

Apparently there are two main domed Toad Megapolis’s here on Zion. Billions of horny, smelly toads rooting around under each dome.

Cities need power. Big cities, really big cities, need lots of power.

Fast Breeder Fusion Power Complexes. Right next to the domes.

Accident at a reactor. Went critical. Cooked off.

No more domed city. No more swamp. Just a glassy black burn-melt.

Billions of Toads instantly fried to a crisp. Planetary Toad population halved overnight. Toad internal economy in meltdown. Overwhelming grief. Toadie way of life under serious threat.

Well, shucks.

I pen a short note to my secretary – yes, I have an official secretary these days – that I’m happy to help the Toads any way I can.

Please hand the Ambassador a packet of the best biscuits in the palace, compliments of myself.

Then I compose a shorter, more confidential note, to General Huss by way of Son of Igor.

Mention that he may want to look up the word ‘subtle’ in the dictionary.



Image



Whole bunch of reports about Pirates attacking our gas and mining stations on Shudasta.

The Navy has dealt with the situation without raising too much of sweat. Still, the Merchant Princes are getting edgy and have also requested an audience with my good self.

I instruct my secretary that I’d be happy to meet with them before composing a rather curt note telling Admiral Wanda to send an appropriately sized fleet to the Reshe system and wipe out the T-Rex pirate gang forthwith.

That’s right. I tell people to do things these days. I don’t ask or request. I tell ‘em.

The High Council ratified Curben-1 being renamed to FredTopia. Reluctant to do so but overwhelming public support for my small magnanimous gesture eventually pushed them into it.

Won’t last of course. Give it a little time and I’ll be just another Emperor.

Heroes need to keep doing heroic things to maintain their status. Right there is the reason that most heroes tend to have short life spans.

I’m happy to settle on being a temporary hero. Once the gloss wears off I’ll think of something else.

Important thing is to make the most of my power surge while it lasts.





To be continued...

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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by fvianello »

Great :)
Cannot wait for the next chapter!
H. Barca,
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

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Image



Big argument. High Council deadlocked. Guess what? Emperors have the deciding vote.

High Council reluctantly handball it across to me. Probably hoping to terminally sink me into the mire of disagreement and disharmony.

No sweat. I’m a past master at dealing with the curly ones.

Happy to step up to the plate and show the people who’s really in charge on Zion. A man of action and decision, that’s who.

Conference room at the Palace. Minister for Industry, Chancellor, Prime Minister and Admiral Wanda on one side. Merchant Princes on the other.

Crux of the problem being that the Merchant Princes have expanded their mercantile empires far and wide and are demanding Imperial protection.

Other side of the table complaining that civilians shouldn’t be allowed to wander hither and yon without supervision. Protection for such a dispersed spread of interests next to impossible and outside of budgetary constraints.

Lot of hoo-har. Admiral Wanda staring red-shift lasers at me.

I bang the table and called them all to order. Make sure my best profile is showing to the hidden camera.

I ask for a diagram.

Wrapping your head around the geography of the issue I’ve found, from past experience, to be an essential starting point.

Also highlights the importance of the chairperson. Me.

Complicated holo-display pops up. Mr Squiggle on a bender. Can’t make head nor tail of it from my position at the head of the table.

Order the tech to simplify it. Look again.



Image



Mankind has spread it’s wings. Literally. Like a giant space-going condor flying towards the galactic core.

Lots of changes since I left.

A new colony on Camparas-1, our home system. Only 14 million humans but, importantly, it’s racially pure.

Not a Toad is sight. A template for the future.

Fredtopia, positioned on the left wing tip, is scheduled for colonisation. I ask the Angry Ant to confirm the progress of the Colony ship being built her on Zion. Use my most commanding demeanour.

Live Vid-footage streaming to all major news outlets. None of the participants are aware of this except myself and Zorg.

Zorg suggested it. Organised it. Insisted that the people’s Emperor could do a better job of resolving the issue than an out of touch, stuffy old High Council.

Of course he could.

Zorg. Fine man that.

Met him in private yesterday. Very satisfying to find a fellow traveller who understanding of certain important issues transcends even mine.



Image




Felt that we had things in common, could work together.

Zorg assured me that he spoke for the other two Merchant Houses, Hydrus Group and Vulcan Enterprises.

Yes, of course he did.

I cornered both CEO’s as they entered the palace just to make sure.

What do you know? Turns out Zorg is a greedy, egotistical b*stard with nobodies interests at heart but his own. Neither CEO could stand him.

Nice to know that I hadn’t misjudged the man.

Vulcan Enterprises is – according to Son of Igor – the second largest merchant house in the realm.

Run by a stiff.




Image




Hydrus Group is the baby of the three.

Son of Igor assures me that there is no connection between Sir Donald and the reptilian pirate crowd out west. Purely an unfortunate coincidence.

Guy sounds more fun than most but essentially a fairy fluff lightweight.

Interestingly both CEO’s are knights of the realm whereas Zorg is an upstart commoner.

Never did go much on royalty.

The civilian muscle clearly rests with Zorg Industries. Biggest and meanest.




Image




Back to the holo-map. Shudastra system at the tail of the Condor provides many of our strategic resources.

Zorg have a couple of hard rock miners in-system as does Vulcan with a single gas miner. Lot of freighter traffic running between Shudastra and Zion.

The Adarluaan Gangsters, based in Reshe have been consistently hammering Shudastra, targeting Vulcan’s S4 Gas Miner.

Admiral Wanda interjects to assure everybody present that all incursions have been summarily dealt with by patrolling naval frigates.

Yes, thank you Admiral Wanda.

I turn to the camera and raise my eyebrows. Women, huh?

The reptiles on Reshe can be expected to target FredTopia once it is established given their proximity. Obviously priority action needs to be taken here.

Admiral Wanda opens her dainty mouth to speak but I wave her aside. Point to the holo-map. First Fleet, which I specifically ordered to be tasked with removing the Reshe reptile pirate base, appears to have hyper spaced right past and is headed for the Curben system.

Deep frown. Dark face. Ominous music cued by the hidden tech controlling the Vid-feed.

“What on earth is going on here?” I demand, staring pointedly at the Admiral.

Who is wearing a skirt. Who the h*ll ever heard of an Admiral in a skirt?

Wanda witch woman jumps to her feet. Points her ring embellished fingers at poor old Sir Donald. Accuses him of establishing an unauthorised gas mining venture in the Curben system necessitating First Fleets protection.

Didn’t obtain a permit. Didn’t ask the Navy. Just flew off into the wild black yonder without telling anybody and now wants his hand held.

Camera shifts to Sir Donald, CEO of the Hydrus Group, as he rises to his feet and thunders that without the Merchant Houses and their resource development there would be no empire. The Navy, he states, is duty bound to protect us where-ever we choose to go.

Softens his tone, cracks a smile and adds that there will be a cocktail party afterwards and that all present are invited. Aims a lascivious grin at Admiral Wanda.

Zorg and Sir Cedric leap to their feet. Demands protection for their mining interests in the Shudastra system. Apparently all that is left is a lonely wimpy escort. Everybody else has saddled up and ridden out of town.

Perhaps, I suggest, the Navy isn’t pulling its weight here?

Admiral Wanda glares at me, refusing to rise to the bait. Chancellor Chuck steps into the breach.

“Might I say that our Imperial Navy is doing a superb job with the limited resources at its disposal.”

Say what you want, Chuck, it doesn’t change the fact that they have dropped the ball.

Striking a suitably statesmanlike pose for the camera I suggest that the problem here – the proverbial elephant in the room - is management.

“The Navy”, I’m convinced, “is hampered by an inadequate command structure.”

I notice Admiral Wanda rolling her eyes. Hope the camera caught it.

“What is needed,” I continue in a more conciliatory tone, “is a Fleet HQ more attuned to the needs of the private sector. After all, without them we wouldn’t have an economy or a lifestyle, would we?”

“Maybe,” snarled Witch Wanda through gritted teeth, “if we had more frigates we could better pander to the civilians.”

Chancellor Chuck interjected. “That’s an honourable suggestion by the Admiral but unfortunately our economy can’t afford any more. If the civilian sector were put under the authority of Fleet HQ none of these problems would have occurred.”

“What does the Navy know about business?” demanded Zorg. “Would you have us ignore the potential of the Ombara system because the Navy isn’t prepared to send a frigate? Is our fledgling empire doomed to stagnant and suffocate from a lack of resources?”

Stick it to ‘em, Zorg.

But what’s this about the Ombara system?

News to me. I peer at the holo-map again. It’s way out on the right hand wingtip.

There is an explorer lurking nearby. An Imperial explorer.

Here I was thinking that the ‘Lazy Sal’ represented mankind’s sole hope for the future. Apparently not. Must of got tired of waiting. Built another. Sent it eastwards.

Check my ComLog. Recently lobbed its drone back to Zion. News of a habitable planet.

Note attached from the Minister for Industry. Can’t afford a second colony ship at present. Not enough resources. Establishing a foothold on FredTopia remains the main priority.

Just as well.

Almost time for my afternoon nap. I move to wrap it up.

“Well it’s been an invaluable exercise in resolving our differences.”

The heck it has, but who cares? Chin up, shoulders back. Demonstrate a commanding presence for the billions watching.

“I think I can speak for all of us here in saying that having myself provide oversight to Fleet HQ and all construction activity will only serve to benefit the Empire.”

Eyebrows shot up from one end of the table to the other.

Zorg nods approvingly. With my hand concealed by the table edge I signal to the tech to cut the transmission.

The High Council, the Angry Ant and Witch Wanda will just have to wear it.

Emperor Fred, for all intents and purposes, is officially back in town.




To be continued...

Lancer



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2guncohen
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by 2guncohen »

Life of a dictator euh ... I mean emperor is hard  [:D]


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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by lancer »


Image



Here I stand.

Official speech.

Lob the champagne bottle against the side of the ship. Wave to the crowd.

Hoo-rah.

The “Elusive Solace”, mankind’s first interstellar colony ship, is hereby launched.

Massive. Towering over me. Gleaming shiny metallic surface. Sunglasses barely handling the glare factor.

Band strikes up. All done and dusted. Ceremony over, I shuffle off the stage.

“Elusive Solace” my *ss. More like the S.S “IKEA”.

Had a look inside prior to the ceremony.

Ten – count ‘em, TEN, not one - million flat-packed frozen humans crammed into every spare inch of space. Cargo bays full of robots, stores, goods, building materials.

Everything you need – in one neat hyperspacial container – to construct your very own instant colony.

Amazing.

Still can’t get my head around the concept. The sheer scope of it all is beyond my comprehension.

Head full of wild thoughts.


Yes sir, drive to the planet of your choice and ask the wife to help you drag the ‘zippo-instant-colony-in-a-box’ out of the boot. Be very careful you follow the instructions now.

Lots of bits. More bits than you can count.

Once you and Ethel have laid out all the components on the ground – separated of course into neat piles - Machines and robots over here. Stuff there. Squishy grey human popsicles over yonder, then take five.

Have a coffee. Kick back. Peruse the manual.

Colonies are wonderfully complicated, integrated wholes. Everything depends on everything else. Very technical.

That’s why the manual is so big. Give it to Ethel. It’ll keep her occupied.

While she is busy reading the slab of instructions, wander over to the pile of frozen people and zap the nearest dozen with the yellow defroster gun.

Give them all a shovel and tell them to get on with it.

Your job is now done. You have started the process. Order will eventually overcome chaos. Structure will evolve from anarchy.

Locate the fine Scotch whisky. In the container marked “Property of Colony Commander”. Pour both yourself and Ethel a generous tipple.

Set up a chair with a good view of your fledging colony. Arm yourself. Your function at this point in proceedings is to motivate.

Anyone stops digging then shoot them. Shoot the lot. Slackers have no place in your new Utopia.

Defrost another dozen. Ask them to bury the first responders. Motivation in action. Watch those shovels blur.



The really scary part about the whole exercise is how they managed to convince so many idiots to submit to being turned into a grey meat burger and haphazardly stacked on a shelf jammed in amongst all the other clueless frozen idiots.

Reminds me of time I took a chainsaw to an elephant at a zoo – meaningless macho politics of the day - and then tried to put it all back together again. Didn’t work.

Even allowing for the lack of frozen parts and a distinct absence of rigidity I was still p*ssing into the wind. Some things just aren’t meant to happen.

Perhaps they have better quality glue these days but I still can’t see how you can snap freeze ten million bods and expect them to function as a team post restoration.

Especially when they are all first class nongs. You’d have to be to submit yourself to that.

Unlike the inter-system shuttle service to Camparas-1, the voyage time from Zion to FredTopia is three months. Still no necessity for cryogenic treatment but space is the issue.

Give everybody a cabin and some room to roam around and you’d squeeze a thousand, tops, into the ship. Snap freeze them followed by a very aggressive rack and stack and you can, apparently, jam in the full ten million.

Sadly there isn’t room for all the medical niceties that are normally associated with cryogenic status. No monitors, no tubes, no nothing.

Just a really good instant iceblock job that’ll keep them stiff, hopefully, until arrival.

Secret is to turn off the heating while in transit. Saves fuel.

Keep what’s frozen on ice.

Not so much that they’d stop breathing but just enough to flat line their metabolic rate for a while.

Lot of risks involved. Different body types require different temperatures.

Have to go with the mean.

Not everybody is expected to survive the trip. Those that do could experience trauma and major organ failure upon revival.

Luckily there is a lot of redundancy built into the system with such a large number of passengers.

Another reason why there is no food on the ship. Where would you put it? People eat an enormous amount.

Once at FredTopia it is expected that there will be two sources of sustenance available to the colonists. Food which they forage or grow themselves and a lot of surplus frozen dead people.

So go find yourself a tasty flower or chew through some poor b*stard’s rump.


* * *


The Minister for Industry was in charge of procuring the required number of willing colonists.

Given the horrendous conditions and the dubious future that awaits any lucky individual chosen as a pioneering colonist certain adjustments had to be made.

The Angry Ant obtained a dispensation from the High Council in order that he could overlook certain human rights matters in the interests of mankind’s future and the greater good.

High Council piously reassured itself that it was a necessary expedient and that any future colonisation effort would be conducted on a more professional basis.

I could tell that the Angry Ant wasn’t happy with his role. Not at ease. Uncomfortable.

Being asked to do things that no Minister of State should have to. Furtive eyes flickering this way and that. Attempting to dissociate himself from the grubbiness of it all.

There was a selection process.

Only the finest were chosen.

Those with the skills and aptitude required. Those between certain age bands. Those who had particular levels of fitness.

Which meant everybody.

Provided you could breathe and were demonstrably human then you had a guaranteed berth.

Advertisements full of blissful, beautiful colonists residing in luxury staterooms washed through the media of the world.

FredTopia was portrayed as something akin to the Garden of Eden with desirable men and women frolicking through the meadows. Inferences abounded of the untold wealth and leisure time that awaited the chosen few.

Anyone who called the enquiry line was invited to view the colony ship.

A studio mock-up of course. Waltzed through a pre-programmed performance, bombarded with subliminal suggestions and given cocktails heavily laced with happy pills.

Ask to sign an acceptance form. Who wouldn’t?

Immediately whisked away to subterranean holding pens. Never seen again.

Stripped and snap frozen en-masse prior to the day of departure.

Shunted back to the surface. Conveyored onboard. Racked and stacked.

Frozen naked stormtroopers awaiting their chance to push back the frontier.

Mankind’s wobbly, dangly future.

The Angry Ant grudgingly assured me that FredTopia would be colonised on schedule.

But it wasn’t going to be pretty.



Image



To be continued...

Lancer
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thiosk
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by thiosk »

Colonization.

Its a dirty business.

Interesting how fred has seized full control of the government, fleet, expansion, and soon-- research, most likely.
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by 2guncohen »

I loved this last update  +1rep


Tophat1815
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by Tophat1815 »

The man is pure evil genius........or else he's my former boss! That you Fred? whew,glad that boy is off planet for sure.Just don't anyone tell him where earth is! 
lancer
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by lancer »



Image



November, 2755. Fine year. Good harvest. Girls. Lots of girls.

Zorg stepped into the breach and made sure I was accommodated. Steady supply of soft cuddly secretaries. I churn through a lot of paperwork these days.

Admiral Wanda informs the High Council that a drone has returned from the newly refurbished ‘Lazy Sal’ telling of an independent human colony in the newly explored Sapilla system.

Didn’t bother telling me.

By an unfortunate coincidence my name was left of the notification list.

No matter. Son of Igor long ago hacked the Wanda Witch Woman’s computer and I have a direct feed anytime I desire it.

Knew all about it even before the High Council.

Told Zorg. Who told Sir Donald of the Hydrus Group. Immediately fired off a message drone ordering the Hydrus Happy Gas Miner to beeline to Sapilla.

Merchant Princes determined to establish a business foothold in any new system even before the diplomatic niceties have been taken care off.

High Council dragging its feet. Discussing the ramifications of a second human presence in the galaxy.



Image



Very intriguing. Who are these humans? Where did they come from, Earth?

That semi-mythical planet that was then suddenly isn’t?

Surely mankind derived from a single evolutionally seed. Could it be that Earth is only one of many offshoots?

Is mankind a weed that has spread throughout the galaxy, rampant and noxious?

Where does this leave me?

Am I content to be Emperor of only one tribe of humans or should I aspire to lead all of humanity, where ever it may lie?

Interesting questions that deserve serious contemplation.

Something that I won’t be bothering with. I’ve tried meditation and navel gazing. Once. Gave it the full five minutes. Nothing happened. Waste of time.

Figure it out on the day is more my style. Grab the initiative by the short and curlies and run with it. It’s all about momentum.

Drone message texts indicates that we would be well received by the inhabitants of Sapilla. Occupy a desert moon. Estimated to be only 16 million of them.

Well shucks. Why don’t we send of another boat load of Zionists to help them top up their moon?

In fact we could forgo the expensive bait-advertising campaign and instead empty out our prisons. Dump them all on Sapilla.

The locals won’t mind. Probably be happy to see them.

Anybody who has been isolated on a desert moon for eons would surely be pleased to see a new face. Ten million convict colonists would doubtless make their day.

If nothing else it’ll keep them occupied until I, Emperor Fred, am in a position to bring them safely under the protection of my benevolent wing.

I dictate a quick memo to both the Minister for Industry and the High Council.

“In my humble opinion….”

Stress the need to populate or perish. Paint a happy picture of a Zion with the worst criminals and reprobates permanently removed.

Mention that if there is a shortage of resources then Admiral Wanda may have to wait a little longer for her extra frigates.

Tell Son of Igor to give it a day and if there is no positive response then release the memo to the press.

While my political capital slowly fades with the High Council I’m riding high in the saddle with the general public.

The man who discovered FredTopia. The Emperor with the vision and the drive to colonise it. A fresh face – albeit somewhat wrinkly – of decision and action.

High Council aren’t viewed favourably in contrast. To conservative. To stodgy. To boring.

Admiral Wanda still stirring up more trouble than one woman should have a right to.

Attempting to subpoena me. Cranking up a big enquiry. Serial murder investigation. The mystery of the ‘Lazy Sal’.

Made a number of pointed remarks that I was a ‘person of interest’.

Nonsense.

I released a statement emphasising the lack of proper command onboard the explorer. Crewmembers free to do what they want, when they want. Half of them drugged to the eyeballs. Crazy stuff bound to happen.

The Navy, I stated, needed to take a close look at itself. Procedures and doctrines need overhauling.

Carefully drop the suggestion that none of this would have happened if there was a man in charge.

Standards have slipped. Gone all wishy washy. Limp wristed and feminine.

Reminded everybody of my unofficial capacity as a one man Naval Oversight Board. Inferred that there should be changes. High Council resisting.

Called for Joe and Jill public to petition their local representative. If half the population request my esteemed self take over the navy then a referendum must be held.

Current status is unacceptable. Admiral Wanda running amok and taking not a lick of notice of my wise counsel.

A clear imperative for change has arisen.

While fending off Witch Wanda I take every opportunity available to morph the dialogue towards the other main issue of the day.

Don’t bother petitioning if you’re a toad. Strictly human business.

Appeared on numerous vid-casts in front of assorted talking heads. Discussed the Toads.

Expressed my sympathy for the sudden demise of the second toad Megapolis. Shed the odd crocodile tear.

Suggested that perhaps it might be time for the toads to move on. Find their own planet.

Naturally they are welcome to stay but as the human population grows there is less space and a greater demand on available resources.

And who wants to live next to a Toad Megapolis? Not when they have a bad habit of going KABOOM!

As the toad-induced fusion fireball blasts through your front door what are you going to tell the children?

Toads can’t be trusted. Too busy reproducing to bother taking the time to properly understand advanced and dangerous technologies.

Toad copulation is not only disgusting it’s going to get us all killed one day.

Outside the Palace I hear a sizeable crowd gathering.

Rent a crowd actually. Zorg a very resourceful individual.

Stamping of feet. Waving of arms. Chanting. Shouting. Building to a crescendo.

Zion for humans. Zion for HUMANS! ZION FOR HUMANS!!!



Image




To be continued...

Lancer
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by Galahad78 »

Just brilliant!! [:D]

Subscribed!!
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by lancer »



Image



I may have overstepped my authority. Just a tad.

Enthused and empowered by my recent surge in popularity and inferred power I sent a personal, man-to-man, message to the ruler of the Sapilla desert moon.

I may, possibly, have been influenced by Zorgs constant whispering in my ear to stamp my authority over the new domain before the High Council make their ponderous overtures.

Had Son of Igor record a HoloVid of me espousing at length how we fellow rulers need to stick to together. How we men must stand, back to back, in the face of adversity in a hostile galaxy. Intestinal fortitude, backbone and balls is what’s needed.

Mentioned, as an aside, that our navy is run by a woman and what a g*d awful disaster that has been.

Men, real men, are the answer.

Men that know the difference between a human and a dung-eating bug. Men that understand that the path to galactic glory is bound to be a bloody one.

Men prepared to stand straight and true amongst the carnage, a beacon of hope for those around them.

Men that, when the day comes, are willing to answer the call and smite down those in their path.

Men with destiny in their eyes and history in their wake.

After Son of Igor wrapped up the HoloVid I was so juiced that I felt the need to retire to my office and attend to outstanding paperwork.

It’s the little things in life that make a difference. Other men might climb mountains or explore strange worlds. Me, I attend to my administrative duties.

Invigorated that I was after a solid workout with the pen and paper it took a while before the magnitude of my hubris revealed itself.

I had assumed that any race of humans marooned on a remote desert moon must, by dint of their continual existence in such a hostile environment, be a tough, hard and hairy-chested lot led by men of strength and character.

Wrong.

Whole bloody place is run by amazons.

Matriarchal society. Men regulated to mere breeders and servants. All positions of power and influence are held by tall, slender advertisements for L’Oreal.

Don’t even wear skirts. Body suits. Molecular fabric that minimises UV exposure and moisture loss.

Appears that they all have orange hair. My guess is that there’s some whacky trace mineral elements in their drinking water.

Who knows? Important thing is that I didn’t take the time to check who ran the place before establishing contact. Major diplomatic faux pas.

Should have guessed. They call their little inhospitable feminine sand-trap of a moon ‘Mother’.

Here I was thinking it was an abbreviated declaration of their manly rugged indifference to all forms of adversity.

As in, ‘I bow down to no scum-dwelling bug. No sir, for I hail from the planet ‘Motherf**r’.

Wrong again.

Mother as in Mother Nature, the benevolent, all-seeing guiding force of their civilisation. One that harmonises with its environment.

Who in their right mind wants to harmonise with vast acreages of barren desert?

Nothing but snakes, scorpions and wicked-nasty sand storms that flay the very skin off your face.

But, there you go. Put women in charge of an entire world and what do you get? A bunch of leftie, sand-serpent zealots with flat chests. No use to man or beast.

Unfortunately they are refusing to deal with me. Insist on negotiating directly with Witch Wanda.

In a sad twist of fate they have bonded like super glue to Admiral Wanda and treat me like I’m the Anti-Christ.

Jeez.

Women and Toads, the bane of my life.

What to do?




Image




To be continued...

Lancer
Tophat1815
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by Tophat1815 »

You have found your new ambassador to the witch woman moon methinks...........sandblasted death-world and a vacancy at the admiralty.
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by Seraphim_slith »

Hmm, time to send the witch Wanda as a special ambassador to Mother, nuke the capital during her visit and frame the frogs for it. Naturally such an attack on humanity forces you to send the army there to "protect" the women of Mother and gives an excuse to eradicate the second toad city on your own world. Problem solved. *winks*

Great fun reading this AAR lancer.
Brainsucker
Posts: 100
Joined: Mon Aug 02, 2010 8:18 am

RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by Brainsucker »

I read this AAR from the beginning and I like it. This is the reason why I register to this forum [:D]So please write it until the end
lancer
Posts: 2963
Joined: Tue Oct 18, 2005 8:56 am

RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by lancer »



Image





Note from Author: This chapter delves into religion in the context of a space-going civilisation. While there is nothing particularly heretical contained within and a reasonable effort has gone into not causing offence, people with strong views on the subject may want to skip a chapter or two.





The Empire of Man continues to grow.

Sadly I am not the guiding force behind its relentless expansion. My power has waxed and, disconcertingly, waned.

Admiral Wanda and the High Council have succeeded in thwarting my role as an unofficial naval oversight.

The influx of carrot-topped women from the Mother Moon have ensured that my personal star is tarnished.

Imploded. Neutron star like. All the radiance of a black hole in the making.

The entire population of the Mother Moon have their petite noses seriously out of whack over my inspired plan of forcibly injecting our criminal offal into their society in one huge postulating, colonizing climax.

The Toads hate me.

The women of Zion hate me.

My official secretary has been withdrawn. People of power and influence no longer visit the palace. An aura of mould and decay precedes me where ever I go.

I smile. I think positive thoughts. I resolve that tomorrow will be better than today.

To no avail.

I briefly contemplate terminating the multi-generational line of immortal Freds.

Momentarily.

Then dismiss the thought. Emperors don’t lay down and give up. They don’t let others get the better of them. No sir.

Emperors come out punching. Hard. Below the belt.

I put a call through to Zorg.




Image




Ombara-3 has been colonised. Great wealth has, apparently, been discovered in the Kurolag system.

The Chancellor gleefully reports our stupendous financial standing. Admiral Wanda immediately orders the Minister for Industry to commence construction of more warships.

Ape-faced pirates have been detected on the empire’s eastern border. The ‘Sol Bandits’ join the ‘Adarluun Gangsters’ as official threats to the trade routes.

The really big news though, via Son of Igor and his hacked intercepts, is that another human colony has been discovered on a continental planet in the Kurolag system by the explorer ‘Sunny Sue’.



Image



The Prime Minister is beside himself.

Major turmoil erupts in every city on Zion. Riots in the streets.

The religions of the world undergoing a full blown identity crisis.

The general population are left to fend for themselves, spiritually, as the major religions vehemently try to argue themselves out of a nasty corner of their own making.

Religions have come and gone through the ages but a common thread running through them all is that Zion, and its people, is the centre of the known universe.

Mankind has been placed here for a reason.

The discovery of hyper drive and the subsequent exploration of nearby space was accommodated with difficulty. Few, if any, religions had a world view that encompassed the possibility of alien life forms.

Even the presence of the Quameno on Zion was explained away as perverse, but natural, amphibian evolution, certified by whatever god happened to head your particular church.

Religious doctrine had to simultaneously spin and limbo-down to explain away the Mother Moon.

Here was a second, independent colony of humans out there in the wilds of space who had never heard of any of Zion’s mainstream religions.

Even worse was the fact that in addition to not having heard about them, once they did, they loftily pronounced all of Zion religions as ‘man-centric bunkum’.

Zion’s religious hierarchy, by and large, dealt with this heresy by ignoring it.

Inferences were made that the Mother Moon was an offshoot of Zion’s earlier colonisation efforts in days past.

Quite when this happened or how, prior to the invention of hyper drive, was shrouded in the murky mists of theology and never quite explained.

It didn’t matter.

The important thing was that the heathens on the Mother Moon were simply poor misguided souls from an earlier Zion who had lost their way and thus deserved our sympathy.

Unfortunately this leaky edifice of theological theory blew completely apart once the second human colony in the Kurolag system became common knowledge.

People began asking their local religious representatives awkward questions.

Like why are there two other groups of humans in the galaxy who have never heard of our particular god? How can this be if we humans on Zion are the supposed centre of the known universe?

Surely our god must be on talking terms with humans throughout known space? Doesn’t our god know how to use a space ship?

Gradually it dawned on people that their religious gods on Zion weren’t the all encompassing, all powerful beings that they were portrayed as.

Sadly they were revealed as nothing more than local yokel deities ignorant of everything beyond their own limited horizons.

A deep chasm of confidence opened between the religious institutions and their parishioners. Fingers were pointed in all directions. Blame was spread far and wide.

People suddenly didn’t know what to believe.

They were summarily cast adrift without the aid of their customary spiritual compass. Civil unrest boiled up out of the confusion. Religious buildings throughout the land were razed.

The unrest spilled over to other forms of authority. The Political and Legislative classes could provide no answers to a multi-denominational crisis of faith.

Telling people to get over it and move on, fell on angry, deaf ears.

A vacuum developed.

A void.

A vacancy.





To be continued...

Lancer

Brainsucker
Posts: 100
Joined: Mon Aug 02, 2010 8:18 am

RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by Brainsucker »

The problem of Emperor Fred is all because of Wanda. If he could get rid of her, everything will be alright.

maybe he could handle the pirate that the Admiral can't

Edit :
- After a second thought, just kill the Witch Wanda!!!
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2guncohen
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Location: Belguim

RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by 2guncohen »

We want more [:D]
lancer
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by lancer »



Image



Much gnashing of teeth throughout Fleet HQ. Son of Igor is groaning under the weight of intercepts as the naval intranet goes ballistic.

The newly built frigate “Pathfinder” has gone missing. Lost on its maiden shake down cruise, straight out of the yards.

An emergency beacon has been detected, way out the back of the Oort field, but everybody knows that they only hold ten people. Over two hundred on the frigate when she blew.

Terrible news.

As a fellow spacer I feel for those last surviving ten men, floating out there alone in the dark, wondering if they will be rescued before the battery on their beacon dies and their air supply wheezes its last asthmatic breath.

Thinking of their loved ones. Composing deathbed letters. Despairing at a life cut short and those that they will leave behind.

Gasping out their last breath, hoping against hope that there will be a tap on the hull before the blackness finally possesses them.

It’s a grim picture. One that men should not have to endure. But they will, because they are men.

As in, they aren’t women.

Or more precisely they aren’t Admiral Wanda.

Who happened to be onboard the S.S “Pathfinder” on her fateful voyage. And who is – fingers crossed – currently spread throughout vast acreages of space in tiny little atomised bits destined to never meet again.

I know this because a little birdie told me that Admiral Wanda intended supervising the newly minted captain of the “Pathfinder” on its quick swing through the outer reaches of the home system.

The same little birdie that whispered in my ear that the reactor plant on the “Pathfinder” wasn’t quite at peace with the concept of ‘stability’.

Terrible shame.

Dreadful news.

I will, I inform the press, be partaking of a moments silence at an appropriate time in memory of the finest Admiral Zion has produced to date.

Yeah.

Just after I flush the toilet.

That might work.




Image




The Legend of the Seeker.

Never quite fully fleshed out. Plenty of room for tweaking to accommodate changing circumstances.

Like now.

Not so easy though. If I am to become a full blown religious messiah then I need to identify which groups of people to appeal to.

Big problem with women. For the life of me I don’t understand why, but there it is. Women just don’t like me.

Maybe I could change.

Highlight the more feminine aspects of my character. Wear poncy, frilly clothes. Exercise manners in my dealings with the opposite sex. Extend empathy and understanding.

Maybe.

Couldn’t be bothered. Best to be myself. Give them enough time and they’ll come around. Sooner or later they’ll realise that Emperor Fred is one h*ll of a guy

Which leaves me with a decision over how best to spin the Legend of the Seeker tale for maximum advantage.

Make it a full blown religion for men. The exclusive domain of the male. Like just about every other religion that ever there was.

Or perhaps toss the whole concept of religion and turn it into a movement. Like Feng Shui.

Two weeks.

I considered testing the waters for a full month but in the end my impatience got the better of me.

Spouted off on every available media outlet at great length about the Legend of the Seeker and how it was relevant to today’s confusing world.

Let everybody know that I was the person who could blow away their fog of confusion and consternation. Lead them too a new understanding. Provide a shiny new spiritual edifice under which they would be free to worship and prostrate themselves.

Told all and sundry that my view of the universe encompassed ancient wisdom and that all my – soon to be built – temples would be optimally positioned for maximum sunlight and good vibes.

There might, I hinted, even be parties. With naked nuns or ephemeral unclothed elfin angels. Or something.

Lots of beer anyway. All you can drink. Emperor Fred understands your need to express yourself through your digestive system.

Pumped the message hard for the full fortnight. Another week after that to let my thoughts percolate throughout society before I consulted Son of Igor.

Tell me about the latest polling, says I.

Being the super-smart robot that he is he can tap into all recent opinion polls and synthesise the results into meaningful data.




Image




Women across Zion think that I’m the man they need in only 12 percent of cases. And falling.

Son of Igor dutifully spools off a representative sample of comments.

“Horrible little man”, “Disgusting machoistic stone age throwback”, “Hasn’t he been lobotomised?”, “Reminds me of mouldy chips”. “Creepy old –“.

O.K, that’s enough.

Robots aren’t big on empathy.

Men are, surprisingly, ambivalent with a lukewarm 35 percent thumbs up. I was expecting better.

Amongst people of religious belief – and here I have high hopes given my recent foray – I score an appalling 18 percent.

Scanning down the list I find that I’m wildly popular only with the Redneck (87 percent) and Miscellaneous voters (92 percent).

Who the heck are ‘Miscellaneous’?

Son of Igor informs me that they are all the voters that don’t fit into any of the other categories or subgroups. In short, the crazies and oddballs.

Unfortunately neither demographic group is sufficiently large enough for me to command a sizeable support base and allow me to do an end run around the High Council.

Any gathering in my places of worship would likely be nothing more than a cage fight as the rednecks hammer the crazies into the stonework.

My visions of nubile Alter Angels deftly assisting me with my sermons are nothing but a fantasy.

I’d have to make do with tattooed beer-bellied Bruces belching in the aisles and punching the air with fists the size of muscled pumpkins.

Reluctantly I shelve the idea of becoming Zion’s next great Guru.

Cursing, I throw away my colourful robes and giant tubs of rose-scented holy water.

Personally I think that I would have made a great, ball-busting messiah.

Ahead of my time.

Frustrating. That’s what it is, frustrating.

All I can hear these days is ‘tick, tick, tick’.

I feel the Dark Horseman shadowing me, Stygian scythe held high.

The empire grows but without the benefit of my guidance or control.

The levers of power have proved slippery and elusive.

I sense a tipping point approaching.

If I can’t find a means of wresting power from the High Council soon then I fear that I’ll be left to wither away, alone and unappreciated.

Nothing but a sad, pathetic footnote in history.





To be continued...

Lancer



Tophat1815
Posts: 1824
Joined: Mon Jan 16, 2006 4:11 pm

RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

Post by Tophat1815 »


 Look on the bright side of things,you did outlive Wanda.Even if you don't make it past the 1 year anniversary.Remember,keep smiling.
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