FED II EATERY REVIEW: RAMA BAR
by RTG1728
The Star is finally back this week after a glorious vacation. Who ever said The Editor was a tyrannical entity was clearly mistaken.
Due to the events which transpired during this holiday, the particulars of which I won't bore you with, this week finds us in an out of the way corner of the Solar System. Hidden deep in Arena space is the small station of Starbase1. The station has all of the customary amenities, including the Rama Bar!
Actually, the Rama Bar contains three bars, and behind each stands a bartender with three arms. One arm holds the glass, one pours the drink, and the third collects an exhorbitant fee for the beverage. This is no doubt a result of the difficulty in shipping supplies to such a remote area.
The Rama Bar is well worth its cost, however. It is the only location in the galaxy where Gordon's cheese triangles are served. These delicacies are made by deep-frying triangular pieces of camembert, and are quite delicious. I highly recommend them.
Apart from the steep price of drinks, there is only one other annoyance to be had at the Rama Bar. Within the establishment a young man plays a video game for hours on end. He's nearly as pallid as the youth in Lucky 7. I'm convinced he never stops. The incessant buzzes, beeps, and other sound effects generated by the game are enough to drive a droid to distraction!
The cheese triangles more than make up for this, however.
So, dear readers, if some day you are feeling adventurous, I suggest that you attempt to find the Rama Bar. I guarantee that it will be a singular experience.
DON'T BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU HEAR
by Vorlar
From the moment your Groundhog mind tunes into your comms unit and begins to explore the Galaxy, you start to hear whispers. You may hear a mumble here, a snide comment there. What are the whispers about? They're about ranks – more specifically the ranks people don't like. I'm here to discount the whispers.
First of all, let's establish what we're talking about. We're talking about Adventurers and Traders. I've witnessed the notion of running a plethora of Akaturi jobs and staring blankly at exchange prices literally drive new players off. Well, it's not as bad as it's made out to be. In fact, if you discount the rumors and take things at face value – it can be fun.
We'll start with Adventurers, merely because it comes first on the proverbial ladder of ranks.
To say that Akaturi jobs are less than glamorous would be one of the more obvious statements one could make. The simple act of picking up a package from one place and dropping it in another seems mundane, and in truth it probably is. But that simple act is not what being an Adventurer is about.
As a Captain, I could generally give you the locations of all the planets, and walk you straight to the Armstrong Cuthbert office on each one. Aside from a jaunt to get my ship permit on Earth, that about comprised my knowledge of the galaxy. For Captains, this is not terribly uncommon.
Several Akaturi jobs later, I knew exactly where each planet was. I could find remote places on them with my eyes closed. I had a map of each one which I developed looking for the places, and it gave me a good working knowledge of my way around. I had seen, and at least familiarized myself with probably 80% of the galaxy.
Now, this probably seems unimportant. But personal geek fulfillment aside, there's a myriad of reasons you'll encounter later in life why you'll want to know your way around. Be it to bars, exchanges, quests, or games – where completing the Adventurer rank (and paying attention doing it) may mean the difference between winning a slithy or not.
In addition to the benefits, the mere fact that the advancement requirements were lowered should prevent you from being deterred. The old timers had to complete nearly double today's requirement. And once you've explored, mapped, and familiarized yourself as I described – the jobs take literally a matter of a minute or two to complete.
Now we move on to the big one. Trader. Cue the ominous music, sound the alarms, ring the warning bells. This is the doom and gloom rank. I disagree. In fact, I'll offer the polar opposite perspective.
Being a Trader is a tricky business. Learning the futures markets on your own is a daunting task, and this writer is impressed with the first batch of Traders to wade through the labyrinth unguided. But today, that's far from the case.
The moment you reach the rank of Trader, offers of assistance start to pour in. You are given free classes from people like Djentsch, Jessecka, Sleeperdroid, and others who have mastered the art of futures. You study an excellent tutorial assembled in the Idiot's guide, read the Trader Tips which supplement it, and stack your class on top of it. The rank is hard because you have to learn? I didn't get this much help learning in College.
So, you've got a base of knowledge. Traders and Financiers will share information about potential good deals, and explain why they are. Most are willing to accompany you to an exchange and help you pick them out, and again offer an explanation of why your choices will or won't work, and how to improve.
Once this whole process completes, an amazing thing happens. You use your brain. I know this is a far-fetched concept in a hack-n-slash world, but it's true. It's an infinitely enjoyable feeling.
Stock broking in itself provides a thrill. Hauling is a lightly adapted version of it – it's not hard to buy low and sell high. Futures get you deeper into the system. You consider the effects of events and changing stockpiles. You watch the bottom line carefully, and devise strategies on how to manage it. Whether you realize it or not, you're thinking, anticipating, and when you're the first person to hit a 200 point spread the adrenaline rush is undeniable.
Is it different? Yes. I thought Adventurer was fun. But I wouldn't trade Trader for any rank I've held so far. So before you believe the whispers, consider the alternative. One man's trash is another man's treasure, and if you stick it out – you may just find these ranks to be your favorite as well.
THE GREAT DEBATE
by Vorlar
The comms present an interesting dilemma in our society. The comms have long functioned as the main method of communication between residents of Fed DataSpace. The problem arose when an overabundance of conversation leads to new players being unable to break the conversation to obtain help, or worse yet being subjected to arguments on the channel they should be using for assistance. This led to a request for the comms to stay generally reserved for helping new players, and for messages that need to be presented galaxy-wide. A reasonable request for sure, and one easily maintained when the staff are present to ensure that the comms are used properly. The problem develops when no staff are around, and players have to decide amongst themselves what level of conversation is appropriate.
A heated discussion on this topic erupted onto the comms recently. The gentle request to reserve the comms for their intended purpose has polarized certain sectors of the population. Some wish to follow the guidelines put forth, or even take a more stringent approach and limit comms more severely – whether staff are present are not. Some believe the guidelines are being over interpreted, and that comm usage should remain free. When the admin aren't around, the two sides butt heads.
Herein lays our dilemma. We know that the guidelines set forth are not suggestions, but rules to be followed. In the absence of staff, the arguments develop from the interpretation of the rules. How much is too much? What if the conversation is limited and it is a down time as stated in the memo? Limited conversation is permitted in this instance – but what if the conversation offends others on the comms?
A recent situation occurred where two players insisted on carrying on a conversation on the comms despite others asking them to stop. Perhaps the issue at hand wasn't the new comm guidelines in the first place? Loose interpretation of the rules is a commonality. But when using that interpretation to justify offensive behavior, have you not committed a greater disservice than merely breaking the rules in the first place?
I'd like to know what you think. I'd like to hear from both sides of this debate – I'll attempt to interview people in the game and you are welcome to email me on cconnors23@yahoo.com or seek me out in the game with your comments. A follow-up piece based on the feedback will hopefully allow us to see both sides of the debate when our blood pressure is normal. It would be nice to see a harmonious comms, whether the staff are present or not.
DEAR JESSY: IN LOVE
written by Jessecka
Dear Jessy
I'm in LOVE! I can't help it, she is an unbelievable FedPerson, so caring and nice, with a slight little edge. But because of our differences, she hasn't seemed to notice me yet. I have a great fear of rejection, so I won't approach her for that fear. What should I do??
Phearful on Phobos
Dear Phearful
Well, I guess a lot of what you do depends on what kind of differences we are talking about. Some inter-species relationships do work out, but I think a lot of that has to do with just what kind of physical differences we are talking about. I mean, if you walk on land, and your cutey can only survive under water, that would kinda put a damper on the honeymoon!
That aside, sometimes you have to think of the social ramifications. Take the great romance between this firemonkey I know, and another friend's leg. They were truly in love, but the owner of the leg disapproved and in the end, drove them apart.
If you can get past the physical differences and the social difficulties, then you have two options:
- Option one: Go on like you are doing, and maybe sometime in the next 50 years or so she might notice you. I mean, if you never offer, you won't get the chance to be rejected, right??
- Option two: Stand up and be noticed. Start in little ways like sending her remote smiles and hugs. Give her a spacebloom from Silk, those are nice. Do little things to let her know you are around.
The thing to remember is this... don't stalk her. That is a big turn-off for a gal, to have a stalker. Be sure you review the rules, and know what the policies against harassment are!
Dear Jessy
I'm working on building up my company, and still have a few factories to buy. I was wondering if you had any advice on what a good factory would be and where. Thanks!
Clueless on Castillo
Dear Clueless
This is a common question asked of me, and the answer isn't a simple one. I think each factory should be chosen by the player because each company has its own needs and the players themselves have their own likes and dislikes when it comes to commodities. But I do have a few words of advice for anyone looking to build a factory. I learned all these lessons the hard way!
First, take into consideration how much time you might have to clear depots and buy inputs. You can make more money by buying your own inputs at the cheapest prices, and selling output on your own because you can control the price, but you might not have the time to do that, or you might not want to put that much effort into it.
Second, make sure you are not placing a factory on a planet that is already full. Sometimes at first look, a planet might seem like it has a lot of workers, but this can be deceiving. If a factory is just rehiring, or if someone has a factory shut down for the time being, then it might seem that there are more workers than there actually are. One good way to tell is to list what factories there are, add up what each one uses in WTs (you can get those figures from the factory list in the guide) and see how close to 1,000 the answer is. The problem with building on a planet that doesn't have enough WTs available is this - once factory owners see that their factories are not working, they raise the wages. Each one raises them a little more, trying to compete with each other over the available workers. This is what we call a wage war. Now, if you have the money to invest in larger salaries, then go for it! But most beginning company owners do not have the funds to do this.
Either way, you will do fine picking out your next few factories. And if you make a mistake, then don't sweat it, I'm not even going to tell you how many times I changed my factories around!
SHARE AND SHARE ALIKE
by Jessecka
There seems to be a bit of confusion over shares, and just how much a Financier can affect a player's company. A lot of players have accused others of foul play, and some have been accused themselves. I'm sad to say that while some of the accusations are true, nevertheless, a lot of them are not, and are due to ignorance of the nature of buying and selling shares. I did some experimenting this week with my own company, to learn just how the buying and selling of shares can affect us, and I wanted to share some of this with you, so you can understand the process a little better.
Accusation 1: As soon as I started my company, all my shares were bought up, leaving me unable to purchase any of them, and driving my share price up so high I could not afford them anyway!
Fed II is as much a social game as it is a trading game. As you get higher in the ranks, relationships between you and other players become more important. Sure, Financiers can buy into your company before you can, and yes, as each share is purchased, your share price increases. But, if you will refer back to the Idiot's Guide, and read up on starting your company, you will see that it warns against issuing an IPO that is too high, so it is a balancing act, issuing one that is low enough so it can be affordable when it comes time for you to buy your own shares, and yet high enough so that you can have enough money to start your company. Also, you need to begin at this rank forming those bonds between players that you will need to make you, your company, and eventually your planet successful. By making sure that you have people buy into your company that you trust, then you can be assured that once you reach a point where you can purchase your own shares in your company, you will have someone willing to sell off some shares so you can buy in. Now, as someone sells off your shares in your company, it also drives down the share price, which allows you to buy them back at a lower price. So, no harm done to you or your company.
Accusation 2: Someone bought into my company, and ruined it by buying and selling those shares over and over again!
This may be the case of someone over-reacting, or it may just be the case of someone trying to start trouble. Either way, if this happens, then it cannot create the trouble that it has been claimed to cause. I tested this theory this week, and will be more than happy to share with anyone who wants the logs of that test. Let's go through this step by step, first explaining what the accusation actually means.
This person claimed that a Financier bought shares in her company. Then she claimed that this Financier maliciously sold and bought those shares back, over and over again, causing her disaffection to rise up and making her pay out high dividends to keep from having a shareholders revolt. Now, I immediately saw a problem with this accusation.
When someone buys shares in your company, it makes your share price increase, and your disaffection go down. When someone sells shares in your company, the opposite happens, your share price drops, and your disaffection goes up. Now, in theory, if someone bought up a 1,000 of your company shares, and began selling, and buying them back, then it would all equal out. As the person bought the shares, disaffection would go down, and share value up. As they sold, disaffection would go up, and share value down. If they bought those shares back, then disaffection would go BACK down, and share value go BACK up, evening out. Of course, like I said, this was a theory, and I decided to check it out and see if the rumors were true, or if it was just a bunch of crap.
I asked Bourbon, one of my existing shareholders, to help me in my experiment. I made a log of the incident as well. I checked on my company, making a note of where my share value and disaffection was to begin with. I then asked Bourbon to sell off all 1,000 shares he owned in my company. Keeping a close eye on my share value and disaffection, I notice that disaffection rose 21%, while my share value dropped 30 points. Bourbon then bought back all 1000 shares, after which I noted that my disaffection dropped back down to 0, and my share value rose back up 17 points. That left me with no disaffection and only a share value decrease of 13ig per share. Now, if you take into consideration that when he initially bought those shares last week, my share value rose, then a decrease of 13ig per share is not as bad as it seems.
I fail to see how someone can buy shares in someone's company and then ruin it by selling and buying over and over. The most that might happen is a slight decrease in share value. And, of course, it would cost the Financier money because brokers fees are payable each time.
A lot of time, especially with a new rank, things can be distorted when you don't fully understand how it works. I hope this helps everyone, teaching some more about shares, and relieving a few fears about the Financier rank. Happy Fedding!
THE DROID ENIGMA: CHAPTER ONE
by Vorlar
I stumbled into Knobs and Knockers, not quite sure if I was looking for a news story or an adventure. Turns out I found both. What follows is a recantation of an interesting series of events, which took place recently.
A crowd had gathered here, apparently searching for drinks and company. I was happy to stumble into them. A long day playing the futures market left me in the mood for a cold drink and good company to serve as relaxation after the long day. The journalist in me hoped to meet someone rare or exciting who might inspire the next big story. I approached the bar and ordered a round of Diesel's Old Peculiar for everyone in the bar.
"Thanks," said the striking woman to my left.
"You're welcome," I bumbled, trying to maintain eye contact.
Now, without getting too deep into the personal life, let's just say that ladies in general aren't my thing. If you ask me, I'll be happy to weave a fanciful tale about how much trouble they are and relate relevant examples. Of course, this will probably all be fiction as I'm a storyteller by trade, but I digress.
But this woman caught my attention. Clad in a red leather jumpsuit and five-inch heels, with piercing green eyes and short red hair which left the soft skin of her neck exposed to my view.
Now, this would be the time where the smooth talker woos the girl and they live happily ever after, right? I'm a storyteller, so talking should be my forte, right? Generally speaking this is true. But I do suffer that one fatal flaw, in that like many men I clam up around pretty girls. So I failed to captivate her, though I can't say the same from the opposite perspective.
With a soft smile, she turned and headed to the table. My eyes followed. She smoothly drew her laser lighter from her keychain and began burning something into the table. Was she drawing a message? Or perhaps she was creating a drawing? I didn't know, but I wanted to. I moved towards the table.
Now, I haven't identified this mystery woman. The truth is I didn't know her. She was familiar, no doubt. I knew she frequented the members' lounge in the Trading Guild. I'd seen her there, chatting with her friends and fellow factory owners.
But to me, the lounge almost oozed work. A constant undercurrent of trade talk and tips overwhelmed it. I couldn't focus.
Now, there's a thing about walking. It's a simple task. So simple, in fact, that we generally tend to do it subconsciously. The problem in this case was that my eyes were fixed on something and I was partaking in the subconscious walking without being even remotely aware of my surroundings.
"Hey!"
"Oops, err, I'm sorry..." I was bumbling again. I'm smooth.
We made eye contact. This girl, Merrie, I knew. I'd run into her a few times around the galaxy, outside exchanges or in the random bar... maybe in the members' lounge. We were familiar. I felt more comfortable.
I nodded in the direction of the woman I was well, stalking, sort of.
"You know her?"
"Know who, Ferreri? Of course I know her, I thought everyone did. She hangs out in the lounge quite a bit," she said.
My demeanor, probably that of a puppy dog, must have been apparent because Merrie got the clue instantly.
"She's married... To Bourbon," she said.
A deep crimson filled my cheeks. My eyes made direct contact with my wingtips.
"I, uhh... Yeah I knew that." I muttered.
As I came to grips with this new realization, I realized the bar had gone totally silent. For a moment, I considered the fact that my face, bearing the appearance of someone with an overabundance of rouge was the cause.
I looked up, and sensed that was not the case. All eyes in the bar lay fixed on the doorway, where a rusty droid with a laser blaster at his side teetered uneasily.
The droid seemed to be looking at Ferreri. Primal instincts kicked in. I leapt over the table and tore a doorknob off the wall, cocking my arm to throw it at the droid. The droid turned its head towards me, and there was an almost palpable emptiness about it.
I'd like to tell you a heroic tale of me conquering the droid. But alas, it turned out that it would not be that kind of confrontation. This turned out to not be that kind of droid. Its laser blaster dropped to the ground, and it collapsed. An uneasy look passed amongst the crowd as a simultaneous contemplation of how to move forward passed over us.
Ferreri headed to the droid. I followed, like a sheep.
"Help, no hurt," it said.
"Help how? What do you need?" Ferreri asked.
"Rusted us. Need oil..." he murmured.
"Get some oil!" Ferreri exclaimed.
I grabbed Merrie by the hand and we dashed out the door. I didn't know where I was going, but I felt an insatiable urge to satisfy this request.
Once out the door, I paused to gather myself. Merrie cast a strange glance in my direction. Now, referencing my previous comments about women, I decided not to wait and see what she wanted. I grabbed her hand and we dashed down the walkway. She didn't complain.
The Pump N' Munch sign appeared on the right like a beacon from the heavens. I took a hard right into the store, nearly yanking Merrie right into the door frame.
"We need oil!" I cried.
"What kind of oil? We have GD40, GDX40, GDX44, GD..." the gastropod behind the counter drawled.
Now remember, two factors were at work here. First, I had the incessant urge of a male trying to satisfy a pretty female. Second, we had a rusted droid murmuring conspiracy theories and the journalist in me was desperate to investigate.
Gastropods aren't the quickest creatures. At any rate, this one wasn't. I cleared the counter in a single leap and took off down the row of shelves; grabbing a jug of WD40 and making a hard one-eighty back towards the exit.
"Hey!" the clerk shouted, too aghast to offer much of a response to my actions.
I threw a handful of groats at him and leapt back over the counter. This time, Merrie grabbed my hand and took off for the door – probably not wanting to be involved with whatever retaliation the gastropod had in mind when he recovered his senses.
We arrived back to the rusted droid, the patrons of the bar now forming a concerned circle around it.
"Here you go," I said.
"That was fast," Ferreri said.
Flushed and panting, I glanced to Merrie. She was in a similar state; saving me a fraction of the embarrassment I may be feeling right now.
Ferreri applied the oil liberally to the droid's joints. After several minutes of scrubbing at the rust and oiling feverishly, it was back on his feet and regaining its functionality.
"Thank you," it said.
"What happened?" Ferreri inquired, genuine concern evident in her voice.
"The man, he tried to destroy us..." it said.
"What man?" she asked.
"I... I can show you. If you take me," it said.
"Come," was all she said, guiding the droid out of the room. Merrie and I followed, anxious to see where this was going.
Ferreri helped the droid into her shuttle. I opened my door and offered the same courtesy to Merrie. She accepted the invitation and stepped into my shuttle. I closed the door and settled into the pilot's seat. "Let's go," I told the computer. After a short pause, we accelerated and with a dull clunk, docked with my ship.
I sent a tight beam message to Ferreri.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Titan," she replied.
I navigated the ship to Titan at full throttle, thankful more then ever for my customs exemption certificate. I eased the ship into a parking orbit, and we boarded the shuttle and descended. A soft bump signaled our arrival at the landing pad, and we stepped out. Our associates had already arrived.
"Inside," it said.
We quickly traversed the path to the airlock, the droid leading the way. It was obviously moving much better now, and for some reason it occurred to me that I was glad it seemed to be all right.
A quickly moving Angelfowl approached us from the other direction, in as much of a rush as we were.
"Oh, hey," she said, eyeing the droid curiously.
"We're helping it stop the man who tried to kill it... want to help?" Ferreri asked.
"Oh, I'd love to... But I have this Hamsters concert to go to and I have been waiting forever. Sorry!" she said.
"It's okay," Ferreri said.
We rushed into the dome as Angelfowl headed off to her concert.
He led us past the bustling exchange, through the park and into the corridor linking the main dome and south dome together.
"Whoa," I said, well aware of what this dome contained.
"Please," was all it said as it continued walking south.
Some form of morbid curiosity and a propensity to help drove us on, and we followed the droid into the small lobby. Immediately, it became that its intentions were far from malevolent. Another droid, identical to the one we were helping lay rusted and motionless on the floor of the lobby.
Ferreri quickly went to work, performing the same recovery procedures she performed on the other droid in the bar. Within minutes, it was back to its feet and mobile.
"Thank you," it said.
"What happened?" I asked.
"He tried to send us into the rooms, to destroy us," the first droid said.
"But we fought back, and he sprayed us with water," the other one said, without missing a beat.
"Who?" we all asked in unison.
"We'll show you, follow..." said one of the droids.
They led us back out to the north and into the main dome. A sense of relief passed over me as we moved further away from the radiation and towards safer ground. They guided out the airlock and back to the landing pad.
"What now?" I asked.
"He is on Selena," the droid said.
I was starting to get aggravated, partly because I'm generally short-tempered and partly because I felt we were being taken on a wild goose chase. But Ferreri seemed sympathetic to their cause and led them to her shuttle without hesitation. I kept my second thoughts to myself and led Merrie to mine.
We flew to Selena, with less urgency than we had displayed on the journey to Titan. Without knowing, I sensed Ferreri was having second thoughts too. I decided to investigate.
"This seems weird, doesn't it?" I asked her in a tight beam message.
"I was just thinking that," she said, "it's very convenient how he knows exactly where to go."
"What do you want to do?" I asked.
"We'll see where it takes us; I'm sure Merrie and I can take care of the droids if need be," she said.
Wow, I thought. If it was an adventure I was seeking, I'd definitely come to the right place and met the right pair of women. Armed with laser blasters and supreme confidence, they left me feeling reassured. My arsenal consists of a personal data recorder and a digital notebook. I decided not to wander too far from the ladies.
I maneuver into a parking orbit behind Ferreri and we all descended to the surface. Without missing a beat, the droids headed off down a moon ray to the south. A pensive glance was shared by the three of us as we followed suit.
We maneuvered our way down the ray, reaching the point where the surface becomes too broken to safely move around on. Ferreri began to open her mouth to speak, when we saw movement from the second droid.
I felt a surge as Ferreri tackled me. The laser beam from the droid's blaster narrowly cleared our bodies as we fell. The instant we hit the ground, Ferreri was bouncing back to her feet and drawing her own blasters.
Merrie's were already drawn, and she and Ferreri returned fire. Meanwhile I crawled up the ray, seeking safety like any man who has brought a notebook to a gun fight. The incessant fire of the blasters behind me was disconcerting, and my worry for the safety of my new friends weighed on me. I raised myself to a crouch and slowly worked my way back towards the girls.
We've reached another point in the story where the embellisher inside me would love to tell a fanciful tale of my heroics. Truth is, when I returned the droids were incapacitated and the girls giving me the condescending look you give any man whose battle plan consists solely of escape and evasion. The redness my face bore back in the bar returned.
"What was that all about?" Ferreri asked.
"I was, uh... I..." I stumbled.
"Not you, the droids," she said.
"Oh," I said, my embarrassment growing by the minute. Part of me wished the droid hadn't missed.
"Why would they want to attack us, what do you suppose they were after?" she asked.
"It doesn't make any sense. Who do you suppose programmed them?" Merrie asked.
We passed a disconcerted glance amongst ourselves. Truth is, none of had any answers. We investigated the droids for any clues that might lead us to who had created them, programmed them, or attempted to destroy them. We failed to obtain any information. Whoever had created them had done a good job of staying anonymous.
"Carry them back to my ship, maybe we can find someone who can identify them?" Ferreri asked.
We loaded them in her shuttle. I grabbed my notebook and began recording the events, hoping it would be of some use later.
"I'm going to find some droid experts and see what I can learn," Ferreri said, "You go talk to people, be a journalist, see what you can learn."
"Okay," I said, "Keep me updated."
"You too," she said.
Ferreri and Merrie headed off with the droids to try to find someone who could identify the bodies. I went out to try and glean some information from the rumor mill and question the people who might know something. I had to find someone with inside information on the droid industry or these particular droids, and soon.
To be continued...
HAULING DAZE
by Jessecka
These days, as we gain more and more new players, we often hear questions from Commanders about ways to make more groats faster. Ah, the age old question, how can I make a load of groats with little time and less effort? The answer is one that many new players don't like to hear, especially if they are returning players from the Classic version of Fed.
Hauling jobs are the only way to pay off your ship loan and promote in a reasonable amount of time. You could get another player to give you money, but you are only allowed to receive up to 1000 ig a day from another player, so using this method might save you some typing, but would definitely take a good bit of time. You can make use of the 'REPAY' command as well. This allows you to repay additional amounts of groats on the loan. An example would be 'REPAY 100'. Of course, you must remember to leave yourself enough money to buy gas for your hauls. It helps to keep in mind as well that while you are paying off your loan, you are also accumulating hauling credits, which you will need to promote from Captain to Adventurer, so the hauling you do to pay off your loan is also helping you get a head start on the next rank.
Many people wonder why the lower ranks are so tedious, and why it takes so long to work through them, especially when they get to AK jobs. Well, to begin with, how much fun would a game be that you could complete in one week? Also, think about it like this. One of the best ways to learn something is by repetition. The lower ranks help new players learn the different commands in the game, as well as making them explore to a small extent. Once they get to Adventurer, they get to really explore. Ak jobs help teach players to look at room descriptions and pay attention. They also help you learn different planet styles, which will help once you build your own planet.
Now, I'm not saying I ENJOYED my long stay at the lower ranks. As anyone who knows me well knows, I don't like to do any more work than absolutely necessary! But the fact of the matter is, looking back, some of my best memories were at those ranks. I met my Fed II husband, Djentsch, back then, and we crossed the galaxy hauling loads, chatting on comms, and meeting for drinks. The thrill of discovering a new location, like when I discovered the Minis on Magrathea, and wondered if I was the only one who knew of them.
Anything worth having comes with a price, and the higher ranks in the game are awesome. So the next time you wonder if you can possible carry that next load to Pearl or deliver that package to Hobbe's End, just remember that the lower ranks only last for a short time when you compare them to the rest of the game!
THE DROID ENIGMA: CHAPTER TWO
by Vorlar
It weighed on my mind, unnerved me. Ferreri and Merrie stopped the droids, so it should be over, right? If it only it were that simple. The mystery consumed me, consumed us. Who or what was behind the droids, and why? We searched for answers.
Ferreri decided that the first course of action was to requisition the aid of a droid expert. We needed someone who could possibly offer us any clues into the origin of these droids and their components. The logical choice, of course, was Sleeperdroid. I contacted him to see if he would assist us in our mystery. Expressing some concern over yet another batch of negative publicity foisted upon droids, he consented. We had our expert, and the first pieces of the puzzle would hopefully soon be merged.
Several days later, I received a message from Sleeperdroid announcing that he was prepared to share his findings with us. I notified Ferreri and Merrie and we headed to the appointed meeting place, The Duff Modem on Mars.
I was the last to arrive, and I spotted them at a table in the far corner of the seedy establishment. In my mind, there were lots of questions about Sleeperdroid's rendezvous point, but I tactfully kept them inside. Tobacco spit stained the walls and presumably the floors as well, though that was hard to discern given the coating of spilt beer and other fluids. I worked my way through the small, fetid crowd and towards my friends.
The three of them stared at me as I approached. I presumed this to be a sign of one of three things. Perhaps it was a display of displeasure at my slight tardiness. Alternatively, the news may be quite troubling and the girls may already be cognizant of it. Otherwise, it must be the horrified look on my face as I walked past the regulars. At any rate, I figured it probably wasn't a good thing.
Ferreri offered a weak smile as I approached.
"Welcome, Vorlar," she said, "Please, sit down."
I eased into my chair and pulled out my digital notebook. I wasn't a detective, and I certainly didn't have the memory or keen intuition of one. I figured recording everything was a better idea, in case something jumped out at me later.
"Sorry I'm late," I said.
"You're not, we're early. Sleeperdroid, can we begin?" Ferreri asked.
"Whoever designed these droids obviously went to a lot of trouble to maintain their anonymity," he said, "The parts appear to have been obtained from a myriad of sources, most of them probably junk heaps. The ones that did have serial numbers had them removed."
"Were any of them..." I began.
Sleeperdroid held up a hand to stop me.
"I did manage to trace a few of the parts. The bolts mounting the circuit boards inside were most definitely from Pump N' Munch. The circuit boards themselves are from one of the factories on Titan, though they're all so similar I can't tell which one," he said.
"Anything else?" Ferreri asked.
"Just one thing. There appears to be a strange substance inside of the droids' body cavities..." he said.
"Which is?"
"Well, I know this is going to sound odd, but... I think it's blood."
The table fell silent for a moment, each of us looking at the others. We all shared the same level of confusion. Who would put blood inside a droid, and why?
"Were there... organs?" I asked, hoping I wasn't the only one with weird questions circling inside my mind.
"No, the circuitry and other contents were not atypical. But there was a sealed cylinder in each, containing blood. Frankly, I don't see the purpose it served."
I nodded, glad that my question apparently didn't come across as outlandish as it sounded in my mind. This definitely added another layer to the mystery. We now knew that whoever created these droids had been meticulous so as to avoid being identified. In addition, he or she had included a bizarre container of blood which seemed to serve little purpose.
"Your help is much appreciated, Sleeperdroid," Ferreri said.
"Yes, very much," I said, "Do you think I could have some of that blood so that I may try and identify it?"
"You can have all of it. To tell you the truth, it kind of creeps me out," he said.
"Hey Sleeperdroid... One more thing. The droids, did they seem to be well-constructed? Like the creator knew what he or she was doing?" I asked.
"Well, consider the fact that they avoided conventional droid building techniques and built one this sophisticated from essentially scrap. I'd say they're very knowledgeable."
We all rose from the table, and thanked him again for his assistance. I followed him to his spaceship to retrieve the cylinders of blood.
"I hope you find whoever's responsible," he said.
"Me too," I said.
"These things are dangerous. People will be hurt, and it's going to invoke some sort of droid genocide."
He handed me the cylinders as I pondered his words. The droid expert is scared, I thought. That's great. I could give up any hopes that this problem would take care of itself. We were committed now, and there could be serious consequences if we failed.
Now I had the question of where to take the cylinders for further examination. First of all, who might be able to shed some light on the contents? Was it actually blood? If so, what kind? From where? Additionally, I had to consider how many people I actually wanted to know about this. Too many people finding out could cause a panic, or get word back to the creator who may choose to single us out. Neither seemed a delightful prospect. But I had to get some answers.
I decided to head to the Hospital near the Trading Guild and speak with the pathologist. First, I'd learned from downloading reruns of archaic cop shows to my comm unit that pathologists always seemed to be very knowledgeable. Besides, I figured, who would they tell? They hang out with dead things all day long. It was worth a shot.
I'm not sure what I had in my head as far as the appearance of your typical pathologist, but this certainly wasn't it. She was a tall, thin human with long blonde hair and deep brown eyes. Thick-framed glasses sat atop her high cheekbones. She wore the traditional white lab coat of a doctor and beige pants. She flashed me a soft smile as I approached.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"I hope so. I have this really weird situation which I need some... medical assistance with."
I hoped I didn't sound like an idiot. I didn't want to make the awkward explanation last any longer than it had to so I blurted out the story, from beginning to end as quickly as possible. When I finished, I looked at her to gauge her reaction.
"That's... quite a story," she said.
What? Quite a story? What, did she think I was making this whole thing up? I became mildly agitated.
"Yeah. So can you help?"
She obviously sensed I was growing perturbed. "I'm sorry, it's just a lot to take in all at once. I'm not saying that I don't believe you."
"Well, can you help?"
"Sure. Give me one of the cylinders and I'll test the blood."
"Thanks," I said.
I turned to leave, then stopped.
"Just one more thing..." I said.
"What's that?"
"The droids, well, like I said, they tried to kill us..."
"Yes?"
"Well, just be careful, okay?"
"Will do," she said, flashing a smile.
I headed out, once again considering the possibility of the droids' creator finding out what we were up to. I shivered. I sent a tight beam message to Ferreri, to make sure they were all right.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey," came the reply from my comms unit.
"I found someone to test the blood for us. So hopefully we'll have some answers on that soon."
A few moments passed. "Okay, good. Who's doing the testing?" she asked.
I told her about the pathologist and explained my reasoning. It seemed good enough for her, so I was satisfied. We said our goodbyes and I made sure she kept up with Merrie.
So what now? That was the ultimate question, wasn't it? Again, I found myself longing for some cranial implant which would give me the skills of a detective. I should be out there investigating, figuring stuff out. I had no idea where to begin. I decided to go have a drink, instead.
"Double," I called to the bartender as I approached the bar. Ah, Knobs and Knockers, the place that started it all. That didn't concern me though. What concerned me was getting some alcohol to soothe my nerves. I'm not a big drinker, but I hadn't been able to relax since that first night with the droids and I figured some drinking induced sedation may do me good.
I spent most of the evening at the bar, alone. Everything churned over and over in my head, no matter how hard I tried to avoid it. I was so stressed out it almost negated the effects of the alcohol. I decided to head back to Earth and try to get some sleep.
I woke up to the sound of my comms unit buzzing. I guess all the effects of the alcohol had not been negated, because there was a large portion of the night between my deciding to leave the bar and my recent awakening that I failed to remember. Let's not do that again, my pounding head told me. I concurred.
I replied to the incoming message without checking who to see who sent it.
"Hello?" I asked, weakly.
"Hey, what's wrong with you? I've been trying to reach you since last night."
It was Ferreri. She sounded concerned.
"Umm... nothing?" I lied, unconvincingly.
"Vorlar, you called me last night sobbing and telling me someone was after you."
I tried to formulate a response. Yeah, my drinking days were over. Had she known I'd been drinking? Stop asking yourself stupid questions, I thought. Of course she knew you were drinking. Sober guys probably don't call her up in the middle of the night in tears.
I tried anyway.
"Listen, I'm sorry, I..." I began. I took my finger off the send button. Sorry for what?
"Don't worry about it, we're all stressed out over this. Have you heard from the pathologist?" she asked.
"No, I'll go check with her now. Talk to you later."
I hated to cut her off, but I was far too ashamed and hung over to try and continue with that conversation. I hoped it would blow over. She didn't seem anything other then concerned, so I hoped it might.
I took the monorail down to the Trading Guild and stopped into the lounge for some breakfast. It was fairly empty, which I appreciated, given the pounding inside my head. Ferreri, Merrie, and Catspaws were in one corner having a conversation. Lorzec sat on one of the overstuffed couches, going over the reports from his factories.
I nodded to the ladies as I entered. Ferreri ordered me a coffee and one of her famous snack trays, obviously aware that whatever I ate would be sparing. I thanked her and sat next to Lorzec on the couch, waiting for the waitdroid to bring me my food.
"Rough night?" he asked.
"Yeah," was all I could muster, massaging my temples with my fingers.
Lorzec smiled as the waitdroid arrived with the coffee and snacks. I nibbled on some cheese and cracker and pretzels, and drank the coffee. It wasn't the miracle cure I was hoping for but it helped a bit. I rose and signaled for a bottle of water.
"Leaving so soon?" Lorzec asked.
"Yeah, I've got some stuff to do," I said.
"Have fun," he said.
I nodded. I waved to the three ladies and headed out the door. It was a warm day, so I took my suit coat off and slung it over my shoulder. I began the short walk down the road to the hospital.
I took a shortcut down Kleinbottle way, and saw two men huddled in a dark corner having a conversation. For whatever reason, I stopped and ducked in the shadows. What was I doing, playing espionage? I turned up the voice recorder on my digital notebook and aimed it at the two men.
I wasn't reading while it recorded, I was trying to justify my actions to myself. Let's see... I was hiding an alleyway recording someone else's conversation because I was afraid they were involved in an evil droid scheme. What happened to my quaint little life? I was supposed to be writing mundane news articles for the Star and playing the futures market. I wasn't cut out to be a secret agent.
The men broke the conversation off abruptly and hurried off in separate directions. Had they seen me? I glanced at the last few lines of the notebook. Didn't seem so. I read the whole transcription to see if my instincts were correct.
"How are our plans progressing?" asked the first man.
"Everything's falling into place. The new batch of droids are perfect," said the second.
Holy Sumatra! I couldn't believe it. I kept reading.
"What about him?" asked the first man.
"He's nothing more then a mechanism to spread the word, know what I mean? We can dispose of him soon," the other replied.
Mechanism to spread the word? That sounds like the expression you'd use to describe... a journalist? I felt my legs go weak, and I blanched. I struggled to regain composure yet failed, and fell to my knees. "Get a hold of yourself, man!" I screamed inside my head. No, no, they knew who I was. They were going to kill me. I vomited. I knelt for a few minutes, motionless, staring at the mess I made through tear-filled eyes. I really am too young to die, I thought.
I tried to accept my fate. Well, I'm doomed, might as well throw caution to the wind and try to save the galaxy. I struggled to my feet. Alright, I thought, compose yourself. I walked down Kleinbottle to the hospital. I stopped in the bathroom and washed my face and rinsed my mouth out. I put my suit coat back on, and straightened my tie. With a deep exhale, I swung open the bathroom door and headed down the hallway towards the pathologists.
"Glad you're here," she said as soon I came through the door.
So much for greetings, I thought. "What's up?"
"I tested the blood in the cylinders. It's human," she said.
"Ugh... not good." I'm so poetic.
"That's not all," she continued, "It's laced with some sort of biological agent. A virus of some sort. My guess is that it was placed there so that if the droids were shot and destroyed, they'd still kill whoever shot them."
I felt my knees going weak again. Shot at them? Like Ferreri and Merrie and I?
The pathologist tried her best to catch me as I passed out.
To be continued...
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