JARROW SHIPYARD ACCUSED OF SHIP DOWNGRADE SCAM
Investigators from the Earth Better Business Bureau have uncovered a scam involving sales staff at the Jarrow Shipyards on Earth, the number one ship superstore in the Galaxy. The scandal involves the staff cheating customers who downgrade by buying a smaller, and cheaper ship, and who should be refunded the difference in price between the sale of their old ship and the purchase of the new.
A freelance investigator went undercover and took a job as a salesman at Jarrow, using a faked CV and references. He was shocked to discover that the salesbeings were openly discussing ways to defraud customers, and it appeared that the management of the shipyard had full knowledge of their scams, and tolerated them because it enabled them to pay them less wages.
The investigators were sent in following a complaint from a Jarrow customer who thought he had been cheated. The Industrialist's gripe centered on a transaction to downgrade his ship because he had fallen on hard times, and needed to get his hands (or equivalent) on some ready cash in a hurry. He traded in his gigantic Guardian ship and wanted to buy a tiny little Harrier instead. The salesdroid produced a quote, which finished with a negative number, showing the groats that would be owed to him should he go through with the transaction. Being sorely in need of groats, he signed the agreement, handed over the keys to his Guardian and took delivery of the Harrier, fully expecting his bank balance to be enriched by the specified sum.
Imagine his horror when he realised he had not been given the groats - his bank balance had not changed at all. Furious, he rushed back to Jarrow and demanded the money he was owed, but the salesdroid would not give him satisfaction, and nor would the sales manager. That's when he reported Jarrow to the BBB, who sent in the investigators.
Following publication of the details of the scam, Jarrow have promised to clean up their act, and in future any customer who downgrades their ship will receive the money owing to them.
TRADING SPACESHIPS
by Kes
The spaceship is the ultimate accessory in today's world. Everyone has one, and you're shunned from polite society if you don't. They're expensive to own and maintain however, and they require a lot of time and investment. Sometimes you feel as though you practically live there. So who wouldn't jump at the chance to have renowned fashion and design experts Hugo Goodcolour and Heidi Phashunmaven spruce up their ship with a modern look?
It's the debut of "Trading Spaceships" from Studio 6 on The Lattice, and this new program looks to capture the imagination of young would-be pilots and experienced navigators both. With a budget of only 1000 groats, host David Page and two designers from a renowned design team of eight will work co-operatively with an engineer and the two ships owners as they rejuvenate, redecorate and renovate spaceships that are old, outdated or just lacking in that certain special eye-catching flair. During each show, hilarity is bound to ensue, due to conflicts between the designer and the ship owners, engineering guffaws (oh RED wire to blue wire!) and the pressures of producing a pleasing product within the allotted 48 hours of work.
However, it was not to be. The Galactic Administration yanked the show from the air before it could be broadcast and fined the studio under a laundry list of charges that threw the production company into bankruptcy, making further episodes of the show an impossibility. The GA's official reasoning behind the move was that the alteration of spaceship components, especially navigation and defense systems, could potentially pose a hazard to other pilots in the system if there was a malfunction as a result of the show's tinkerings. While this is not unwarranted, every engineer on "Trading Spaceships" was fully bonded and certified by the Mars Repair Shops or Jarrow's Shipyard on Earth. The chance that there would be a malfunction was that same as if one had gone in for repairs at either one of those places.
The real motivation behind the GA's move probably lies in its frenzied determination to control everything in the universe. This includes the ships we fly in. After all, who owns Jarrow's Shipyard? Jarrow? I think not. The Earth Spaceport owns Jarrow's, which is in turn a facility owned and operated by the Galactic Administration. Now, if there were a way to improve on and fancy up a spaceship, how would that make Jarrow's look? People might walk into the shop and start demanding that their ships come with crown molding, waterfall chandeliers or breakfast buffet tables! And Jarrow's would have to offer them at relatively inexpensive prices because those who watched "Trading Spaceships" could see how inexpensive it was to install it in the ships on the show.
This would have serious effects on the economy, that the GA is unwilling to allow. First, they would have to hire dozens of skilled craftspersons and engineers at the shipyards and repair shops around the system, in order to build and maintain all the new accoutrements inside the ships. Secondly, with these new flying palaces to drive, pilots might decide they just want to stay in their ships. Have parties and entertain there. Read a book in a comfortable environment or chill out in front of the corner fireplace. The system of hauling and trading grinds to a standstill!
Really Studio 6 had bitten off more than they could chew on this one. It's a good thing that the GA stepped in when they did, otherwise we could all be ensconced in trendy, upscale spaceships, while watching the new episode of "Trading Spaceships" on our data screens.
KIDNAPPED!
There is a deadly kidnapper stalking Fed II DataSpace... one who has already abducted thousands of helpless children and transported them away from their home planet for who knows what nefarious purposes. Who is this dastardly person? None other than... Chelsia! Read on for the details of her terrible deeds.
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chelsia, "ok.. just for the record... when I was on Silk the other day.. I carried some of those eggs back to my ship.. they must of hitched a ride on my clothing.. now my ship has little crawlies in it.. who is responsible for this???"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Djentsch, "not me"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Freya, "You kidnapped the children of a sentient alien race?"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chelsia, "harsh word that.. no.. they hitched a ride on my.. I suppose they wanted to escape.. even so.. I want rid of them!!"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Freya, "Hmm if I went into a hospital nursey and took infants out of their incubators, I doubt the authorities would accept your story"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Freya, "I'd see about returning them to their no doubt upset and grievin parents, if I was you"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chelsia, "ok.. shall I crush them? Or will you come get them.. I spent weeks clean up after that grizzle incident.. ugh"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Freya, "Crush them? You want to murder the children of an extra-solar race allied with the Galactic Adminsitration?"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chelsia, "hey now.. I didn't take the little 'darlings' they chose me... blah"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Freya, "Hmm eggs chose you. Right"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chelsia, "ummm.. errr.. yes.. my story and am sticking to it..."
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chelsia, "on second thought.. they are rather cute.. ::ponders a ransom demand:::"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Regina, "I wonder, what are the penalties in the Galactic Administration for kidnapping. ;-)"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chelsia, "ugh.. there wasn't a kidnapping... the little 'buggers' hitched a ride on my clothing..."
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Regina, "I wonder what the judge will say about that. :-)"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chelsia, "let them try to stick me with a kidnapping charge.. never happen... I am innocent..."
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Djentsch, "and i'm a syndicrat"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chelsia, "all I wanted was for someone to come take care of the critters.. they are overrunning my ship!!"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Regina, "Those are offspring that you REALLY don't want to be stuck raising."
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Filbert, "I'm leaving before they infest my ship......bye"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chelsia, "ugh... I don't want them... all I wanted was someone to claim them.. and get them off my ship... :::grabs the interstellar phone book for 'critter ridders'::"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Regina, "Well, as long as "critter ridders" doesn't hurt them, you'll be ok. Just imagine the interstellar diplomatic incident that could result if they're hurt."
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chelsia, "I was very kind.. I could have squashed them with my boot heel.. did I? noooooo.."
Beware - your children could be next!
MY SIDE OF THE STORY
by Chelsia
When I became an adventurer, I was thrilled. The powers that be had just opened a new planet, Silk. I love to explore, and wander in circles, so new planets are very exciting. I received my first AK job on Silk. I dashed off to find the 'pickup' point. I found a very disturbing thing - Silk is inhabited by spiders... icky. I ran my circle runs, found the 'pickup' point for the package, and beat feet back to my spaceship.
I had been aboard my vessel for about five minutes, when I noticed an odd, squirmy, sensation from inside my clothing. I was afraid to look, but I bucked up my courage and unzipped my jacket. Oh, the horror! As soon as the zipper opened hundreds of baby spiders scrambled out. They scuttled down my legs and disappeared into the deepness of my ship. I was in a panic. What was I to do? I thought, perhaps, someone on the comms could help, or point me to someone who would.
Wrong.. I was met with snide comments, and one, who shall remain nameless, labeled me a kidnapper. Me? Heavens no. The more I tried to explain myself, the more I was ridiculed.
I decided to take the little 'darlings' back to Silk. I rounded them up, not an easy task, and put them in a carry cage. As I was plotting the course back to Silk, a screaming sound came from the cage. I jumped, and almost ran into the sun - only a swerve at the last second saved my bacon. I put my ship on auto-pilot, and went to look at the cage. There were tiny, tear-stained, faces looking up at me. My heart broke. I couldn't understand their clicks, beeps, and grunts. I remembered I had an off-world language translator. I hung the translator on the side of the cage - and this is what their leader Pete (its real name has been changed to protect his/her identity) was trying to tell me. "Please, do not take us back there!" he screamed "We are forced to do hours of mindless web spinning, the most intricate of designs. If the design doesn't please the powers that be, the web is destroyed and we must start over again. The working conditions are bad enough, but the living conditions are worse. We are forced to live 85 spiders to one tiny room, we are fed dirty corn stalks, and given nothing but mop water to drink. Please, I implore you, do not take us back there!"
I was so saddened.. but I could not keep them on my ship. I didn't know how to raise spiders, nor did I want to.
I decided to honor Pete's wishes. That left a problem of where to take them. After much thought, I decided to take them to Hobbs End mines on Venus. I let them out at the beginning of the mineshaft. They hopped and jumped for joy, singing my praises, as they scurried into their new home.
So am I a kidnapper, or a liberator? I'll leave it for my fellow Fedders to decide. I feel good about what I have done, that is all that really matters.
INNER WORKINGS: THE MISSED DEADLINE
by RTG1728
Many of our regular readers may have noticed some slight irregularities in the publishing of this column over the last few weeks. After all, the announcement of the winners of last month's Slithy Free-for-All was just made last week, and this is only a biweekly column!
Contrary to popular belief, we newsdroids can count. It's the maildroids that have difficulty! For those of you who may not be familiar with the standard operating procedure at the Star, each Thursday Our Illustrious Editor sends The Weekly Nag to the news staff, reminding it that its articles are due the following day, and of the consequences for missing a deadline.
Needless to say, it is the goal of every reporter to never miss a deadline and find out first-hand how dreadful these punishments may be.
Imagine my surprise, then, upon opening my messages three Sundays ago and finding one from The Editor inquiring into the whereabouts of my article for that week's newsletter. Particularly since I distinctly recalled sending my article the preceding Friday.
After a brief moment of panic this droid collected hirself and began to formulate some explanation to give The Editor. Luckily I kept a copy of the delivery request that must be filled out in triplicate whenever we wish to send inter-office mail. I took this document in hand, and personally presented it to the source of every reporter's fear. Fortunately The Editor accepted the story as genuine, and your humble narrator was spared a fate worse than death.
The same cannot be said for the insolent maildroid who botched its assignment and nearly landed me in the junk heap. Instead of delivering my column, it apparently decided to purloin my work for some nefarious purpose of its own. I suspect some sort of mail-theft cult.
The guilty party was eventually apprehended, and was reprimanded most severely. I was given one of its circuit boards for use as a cubicle decoration.
And thus we find Inner Workings being run twice in as many weeks; the misplaced article was run last week, and in order to maintain the carefully orchestrated content of the newsletter and put things back on track, your humble narrator was forced to forgo hir customary one week break between stories.
But now things have been set right again, so we will return to our regular schedule. This means you can find Inner Workings again in two weeks - barring any unusual circumstances, such as a maildroid revolt.
ONE MAN'S GARBAGE IS ANOTHER MAN'S SITCOM
by Kes
Dateline: Venus
Under the thick, occluded skies of the solar system's second planet, archeologists from the Cargon City Museum unearthed a large metallic pod this week. The pod, strangely enough, was not a relic of an ancient Venusian civilization believed to have gone extinct over two thousand years before the Fall of the Roman Empire, but an artifact of a much younger culture, late 21st Century Earth.
The pod, apparently originally destined for the sun, contained refuse capsules that had remained sealed despite the difficult crash landing the pod had endured. Local scientists believed the pod's guidance system somehow malfunctioned, veering the craft too close to Venus' orbit, where the planet's gravity sucked the pod down to its surface. There, it remained undisturbed, covered in layers of dust and dirt, until the scientists unearthed it last week.
The archaeologists removed the capsules to the museum for further investigation. A clean lab was set up, for fear that the refuse would include radioactive or hazardous materials. Surprisingly, the capsules contained not chemical or biological wastes, but piles and piles of digital video discs and tapes, from long defunct TV shows.
After a quick search of entertainment records it was determined that the pod was one of four that were sent into the sun for immolate destruction. Sending garbage to the sun was not a common practice in the latter half of the 21st century, however certain small and expensive shipments of garbage were dispatched in a symbolic demonstration of the previous owner's disgust with the contents therein. These DVDs were among a large shipment of failed and unpopular television shows, intended to be canceled forever among the wrathful heat of the sun.
Although the capsule seals were unbroken, many of the discs inside were broken or shattered. From those that were recovered only partial data could be obtained, but some of the rejected shows appear to have been "That 2000s Show", "American Idol 17: Senior Citizens!", and seasons 60 through 64 of "The Simpsons". Based on these shows, it is believed the pod belonged to the Fox Broadcasting Company, once one of the most powerful entertainment companies on Earth. The circumstances surrounding the company's collapse are mysterious but it is possible that extravagances such as the launch of these pods contributed to it.
The Cargon City Museum is planning on holding a festival to display the newfound programs sometime later this month.
FROM THE SOCIETY NEWS DESK: THE RETURN OF THE GOSSIP QUEEN
By Lady Lulu 'Buffie' Capturfilingham
Gossip Queen is Back
Hello again Dahhhhhhlings! As I tap away on this keyboard, I am wearing my Easter outfit, complete with my first new hat of the season. I will give you a hint... it's pink, of course! And, thankfully, Easter is today, which signals the start of Spring here on Earth, which means colors are back in the wardrobe. As I mentioned in my last column, I would be venturing forth from the offices to find gossip. I can just as easily find fashion, too. So, perk up those clothes for Spring, and I will keep my eyes out for you.
This reporter is not much of a techno-geek, but I did get a copy of the new communication devices that are such the rage these days. They allow you to communicate with people and even show you the person's preselected image, so you can put a name with a face. So nice for those of us who can never remember a face! And, I wandered about Earth testing it out, and it was an utter joy to use. It even tells you where you are on a map it generates itself! But, this reporter was ever so shocked to see some people's images that were selected for this device. Why, it so damages my delicate sensitivities to even mention some of them. For the sake of all that is decent and good, ladies and gentleman please select a more appropriate image to represent you. Respect is good, self respect is great.
Word has it that Marcia is back in Sol space. I have not seen her, but I would like to have a chat over cocktails with her. Please contact me, Marcia. If you do not know who Marcia is, well..... Let us just say that she is Marcia. And, word has it that one prominent Fed female has already clashed with Marcia over what else? A male. My my, trouble does follow her around, doesn't it?
The marriage of Elijah and Maggie is still going strong. I had no idea they were even married until I had a nice chat with the young man this week. I chastised him for not sending me an invitation to the nuptials, although I know Maggie was to blame. The only question that remains is when will Elijah be Maggie's next ex-husband? I tried to compile a list, but I ran out of hard drive space on this computer. If anyone has a person they want to add to the list, just send it to me.
Ta ta for now, Dahhhhhhlings!
THE LOUNGE GETS HAZEY
by Jessecka
It was a quiet Sunday afternoon in the Lounge, a day that will go down in history as the best day ever. My companions and I were quite content to relax with our copies of the Star, and doze in the quiet atmosphere. Already, we had several taking their afternoon naps. Sipping my fizzy, I cuddled up to my husband, and thought about drifting off myself.
When out of nowhere, the Demi-Goddess Hazed descended upon our semi-concious party, with a flash of silver smoke, and a stream of multi-colored lights. We all scrambled to our feet, shocked to be in the presence of THE Demi-Goddess. At a loss for words, we dropped to our knees, humbly begging for her mercy, and offering her our pitiful adoration. With a divine smile, she waved her hand in the air, exclaiming "Wow, so this is where the party is!" Ferreri, the one of us with the sharpest wit, was the first to come out of her stupor, "Yes, oh holy one, this is where we play." I, of course, began to giggle, as always, but my giggles had a slight edge of hysteria to them. I knew Hazed had come looking for me.
Hazed had a seat in one of the comfortable chairs as the waitdroids scrambled to fill her drink. Djentsch was the last to come out of the shock (or it could have been the lag) with a grin. We gathered around the Demi-Goddess, and soaked up her beauty and loveliness like sponges. As we talked small talk for awhile, sipping our fizzies, we began to unwind, like morning flowers opening to the sun and dew. Soon talk turned to the reason she was there, and the fact that she had come looking for me. I thought to myself, oh no, I should be ashamed, I should have gone to her, no one should ever make a Demi-Goddess come to them!
As she and I discussed a few things about an event I had suggested, I began to relax again, as I felt her divine radiance wash over me, soothing my fears. All too soon the magical time was over, as Hazed said, "Anyway, I shall leave you traders to your trading talk, or snoozing, or whatever." With a graceful move, the Demi-Goddess rose from her chair. Again we were struck with awe at the sight of such divine perfection, and we fell to our knees in worship once more. As we bowed our heads, she blessed us with her divine kiss, and then swept from the room, in another flash of silver smoke.
We stood around, smiling at each other, not believing our luck at having Hazed bless us with her presence in our own place.
Ferreri says, "leave it to Jessecka to get Hazed to come here."
Djentsch chuckles.
ARE COMPANY OWNERS PLANNING A UNION?
Rumors have reached the Fed II Star offices that CEOs, fed up with the continual labor price wars caused by the severe shortage of workthings on the Sol planets, may be planning some sort of organization to attempt to tackle this issue. There are fears that if something isn't done soon, the bitter competition between rival company owners might escalate, leading to blood-shed.
Our source, who asked to remain anonymous, said that he had proposed the forming of a union of company owners, and had received some cautious support from other CEOs. However, he was unable to provide any further details about how such a union would work, what measures it would take to ensure a fair distribution of workthings, or how it would enforce restrictions on its members.
We approached the Galactic Administration for a statement, and a spokesthing said that while it deeply regretted the unfortunate lack of workthings which was making the lives of CEOs hard at the moment, the GA was not responsible for regulation work forces on individual planets. It stated that if factory owners chose to form some kind of regulating body, that was entirely a matter for them.
The Trading Guild refused to talk to our newsdroid.
If this rumor ever comes to anything more, then of course we will be reporting it here, in your favorite newspaper, the Fed II Star.
MY SIDE OF THE STORY
by Chelsia
When I became an adventurer, I was thrilled. The powers that be had just opened a new planet, Silk. I love to explore, and wander in circles, so new planets are very exciting. I received my first AK job on Silk. I dashed off to find the 'pickup' point. I found a very disturbing thing - Silk is inhabited by spiders... icky. I ran my circle runs, found the 'pickup' point for the package, and beat feet back to my spaceship.
I had been aboard my vessel for about five minutes, when I noticed an odd, squirmy, sensation from inside my clothing. I was afraid to look, but I bucked up my courage and unzipped my jacket. Oh, the horror! As soon as the zipper opened hundreds of baby spiders scrambled out. They scuttled down my legs and disappeared into the deepness of my ship. I was in a panic. What was I to do? I thought, perhaps, someone on the comms could help, or point me to someone who would.
Wrong.. I was met with snide comments, and one, who shall remain nameless, labeled me a kidnapper. Me? Heavens no. The more I tried to explain myself, the more I was ridiculed.
I decided to take the little 'darlings' back to Silk. I rounded them up, not an easy task, and put them in a carry cage. As I was plotting the course back to Silk, a screaming sound came from the cage. I jumped, and almost ran into the sun - only a swerve at the last second saved my bacon. I put my ship on auto-pilot, and went to look at the cage. There were tiny, tear-stained, faces looking up at me. My heart broke. I couldn't understand their clicks, beeps, and grunts. I remembered I had an off-world language translator. I hung the translator on the side of the cage - and this is what their leader Pete (its real name has been changed to protect his/her identity) was trying to tell me. "Please, do not take us back there!" he screamed "We are forced to do hours of mindless web spinning, the most intricate of designs. If the design doesn't please the powers that be, the web is destroyed and we must start over again. The working conditions are bad enough, but the living conditions are worse. We are forced to live 85 spiders to one tiny room, we are fed dirty corn stalks, and given nothing but mop water to drink. Please, I implore you, do not take us back there!"
I was so saddened.. but I could not keep them on my ship. I didn't know how to raise spiders, nor did I want to.
I decided to honor Pete's wishes. That left a problem of where to take them. After much thought, I decided to take them to Hobbs End mines on Venus. I let them out at the beginning of the mineshaft. They hopped and jumped for joy, singing my praises, as they scurried into their new home.
So am I a kidnapper, or a liberator? I'll leave it for my fellow Fedders to decide. I feel good about what I have done, that is all that really matters.
KICK ICEY TOURNAMENT
by Jessecka
It was a typical Saturday evening in Fed II. I logged in a few hours ahead of Feddergories, as I like to rest, and be in the zone when the event starts. It takes a lot of concentration to try and beat Fancy. But I digress. The lounge was quiet, as it was well past my husband's bedtime. I bought myself a fizzy, as Ferreri and I discussed the factories on planets, the work thingies shortage, and ramifications of the new manufacturers rank on the economy (actually, she talked, I listened, and I'm not sure I understood much of it.)
Fairly soon, Racingnut, Ferreri and I had moved on from the fizzes to snifters of Glenmorangie, nicely warmed. As we listened to Iced chatter on about silly matters, we relaxed in the calm atmosphere. Soon enough, though, the calmness had worn thin, and Iced was bored and looking for trouble.
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "woohoo free raine on the comms for iced :p"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "lol :-p"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Freya, "you think so?"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Archer, "rut roh"
After which followed a heated discussion on open comms over Iced, and mental hospitals, as Iced tempted faith and the wrath of Freya once again. Before long, talked turned to sex, drugs... and I think we lost the rock and roll. Spybeams were brought up, and the fact that Fed II was an adult game. Opinions were aired, at which time Iced proceeded to call everyone sick, to which we asked the all important question:
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Jessecka "I just want to know what makes Iced qualified to tell us we are sick???"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Freya, "He's an expert from personal experience, Jess"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "thats why i have more street smarts then most... :-p"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Freya, "than most what? rocks? Tree stumps?"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Racingnut, "women?"
At which time, Racingnut was promptly kicked by none other that yours truly. When something was said about kicks, Iced began to brag that I couldn't kick harder than a pinch. Talk soon turned to mundane matters, AKs, paying off ship loans, and of course, those elusive slithies. We began to discuss ways to obtain these slithies, even when you are low on funds, by winning games and events where they are offered. In fairly short order, the call went out...
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Cerelum, "So anyone want me to do a neat trick for a slithy?"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chaosdax, "Define neat trick"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Jessecka, "I'll give a slithy to anyone who can kick Iced hard enough to make him cry"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "lol jess just gets to keep her slithy"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Jessecka, "the first one to find Iced 10 times, and kick him, gets a slithy....."
Iced says, "ok time to hide"
OMG its what, hes nakkied Iced has left.
And he was off. Many people took up the call to Kick Iced, but I'm not sure if it was for the slithy, or just the enjoyment of kicking him... probably a little of both. As Iced darted across Sol, making stops on Sumatra, Titan, and the hard to find StarBase1, the hungry slithy hordes were chomping on his heels. (Ok, not sure that it was hordes, but this is my story, humor me!)
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chaosdax, "heh, feel safe on sumatra do you Iced?"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "heh now come get me :-"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "whew string almost got it"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Stringbois, "well, i got a few kicks in"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chaosdax, "Where the heck is starbase1?"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Freya, "Should have said "In Sol" Jess"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Jessecka, "don't cheat and go to SB1 Icey"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "ladda ladda"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "boo...."
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Stringbois, "too late, he was already there, i got 2 kicks in"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Freya, "bravo Stringbois!"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Fraghappy, "I found it too :)"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "here now come get me :-p"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Soren, "get the wabbit... get the wabbit"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "hehe now im in a good spot"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "string you passed me by :-p"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Stringbois, "i know"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "lol now im somewhere else"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Stringbois, "i think Iced's ship needs to break down"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Jessecka, "if no one kicks him, I'll give the slithy to him.....so, KICK him"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Stringbois, "i'm trying Jess, have 8 more kicks to go"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Prosperbo, "Up your bum, and don't tell mum"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "whew...choas found me"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chaosdax, "Yeah, wasn't trying to, that's the sad part"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "lol"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "dont say where you were chaos"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Soren, "kick Iced again and again and again and again and again..."
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chaosdax, "I won't."
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chaosdax, "Honestly, I barely have an idea where I am myself"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "dern nomad got one"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Nomad, "Nomad's spaceship kicks iced with is razor boots<<<"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "frag"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Fraghappy, "Woohoo"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "frag got me while i was refulinging"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "better try th hard places first"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chaosdax, "Like Ice or something?"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "soren is after me i think now :-p"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Chaosdax, "lol, the irony if Iced hiding on Ice"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Stringbois, "5 more kicks"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Iced, "string"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Stringbois, "he's been kicked more than 10 now"
And with the help of his trusty f-keys, a keen sense of direction, and a boatload of wits, Stringbois found and kicked Iced more than 10 times, winning my prized slithy. But believe me guys, watching Iced run like a rabbit all over Sol was well worth a slithy. And it was all over in time, with 5 minutes to spare, for Feddergories. A perfect cap to a wonderful evening. I'll have to get my hands on a few more slithies... we must do this again sometime. Congrats Stringbois, and thank you very much, Icey, for being a good sport, and helping us to have a little fun and unwind.
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