ALL YOUR BARS ARE BELONG TO US
POPULAR LOCAL EARTH BAR HIJACKED BY TERRORISTS FROM MARS
[Dateline: Earth] Patrons of the Lucky Seven saloon were stunned this week to discover the bar had been hijacked and an empty void left in its place. The only clue to its fate was a ransom note left by the terrorists who signed themselves the Earth Revolutionary People's Liberation Front. The note contained a scrawled demand for 1 million unmarked groats to be left at the Crossroads on Mars.
Regulars of the Lucky 7 were outraged and vowed not to pay a single groat of blood money to the terrorists. A spokesdroid for the locals, Nightdroid declared that retaliatory measures would be swiftly taken.
In an official statement, the Galactic Administration expressed shock and outrage at the seizure of an innocent social location. However, certain unnamed sources high in the GA expressed the view this was an escalation of the long standing conflict between Earth and Mars. Local Mars pub owner Diesel declined to comment on the rumoured conflict but offered her pub, Chez Diesel as a superior replacement for the missing Earth Establishment.
EARTH STRIKES RETALIATORY BLOW AT MARS IN PUB HIJACKING CRISIS
[Dateline: Mars] In a daring midnight raid, patrons of the Lucky 7 saloon struck a retaliatory blow against the terrorists who recently hijacked the local pub. Mars police report the Crossroads of Mars is now missing and apparently has been seized to insure the safe return of the Earth location. A hastily scrawled sign found stuck in the ground of the Crossroads read "You can have your precious crossroads back when you return the Lucky 7 Saloon - Nightdroid".
FED II EATERY REVIEW: SPINNING WHEEL BAR
by RTG1728
After a long day of flying errands for the Magellan Society it can be quite relaxing to sit in the faux-dive atmosphere of Magellan's Spinning Wheel Bar, which is where your humble narrator is writing from this week.
The Spinning Wheel is known throughout the Solar System for its dangerous atmosphere; the floor and furniture are rough, the lights are dim, and the owner sports a nose that appears to have been broken numerous times, as well as a ragged scar running along his cheek. If given a baseball bat, he looks as though he could nearly be a match for Diesel!
This is, of course, all affected. The clientele of the Spinning Wheel frequent the bar for the feeling of danger it creates, but know that they will not actually be harmed.
And frequent the bar they do, dear readers. As I sit here writing the bar is most crowded; the patrons seem to be enjoying the music produced by a youthful human male playing the piano, while a most unusual vocalist does what vocalists do. She sings. In itself this is not particularly extraordinary. What is amazing is that she sings with four separate heads, and the dulcet tones emitting from each throat combine into complex harmony which leaves the bar's patrons near tears.
Except for RTG1728, of course. As a droid I have no tear functionality; it might make me rust.
I think the Spinning Wheel serves food of some sort. It was described to me as finger-food, though I was assured that it contains no actual digits. It is merely easy to eat without the use of utensils.
Your reporter cannot remember this food well, however. I think that four-headed, scaly, little alien has somehow scrambled my memory unit with her song. The food, and the music, is something you will have to witness for yourself!
FLYING LESSONS
by Jessecka
Well, it seems we have a lot of people out there, flying around in those ships, that might have received their licenses through bribery. How outrageous! Of course we know that bribery is totally unheard of in Fed II DataSpace! These erratic flyers claim to have come into possession of these documents by purchasing them on IBay (Intersteller-Bay). A whole conversation was over-heard on the comms and recorded by yours truly so that we can blow the lid off this crazy scam. See for yourself the damaging evidence!
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Jdcollins, "gets excited and crashes into link doh! lol"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Munchkin, "Careful, Jd. You might hurt the link with that hard head!"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Angelfowl, "LOL"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Jdcollins, "cleanup on link, sector 2, crashed idiot ;)"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Hazed, "Yes folks, the Interstellar Link is now open with contact re-established with 2 planets. Captains and above can use it."
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Hazed, "Go to the link and type JUMP to see which systems you can go to, then 'JUMP systemname' to jump through hyperspace"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Hazed, "Full details will be in the Star on Sunday"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Munchkin, "We'll wear out the link by Sunday :) Jd's already putting dents in it."
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Jdcollins, "lol"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Munchkin, "We have a wtg and input shortage. We're like hungry dogs after water. :)"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Jdcollins, "lol yep"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Angelfowl, "LOL"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Hazed, "Just don't slobber on the link as you go through"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Jdcollins, "x ::still watches that hungry dog chase a kitty:: x :)"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Munchkin, "Excuse me while I go do cleanup duty at the link...."
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Angelfowl, "LOL"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Quantafel, "scrapes his ship aginst the link* oops!"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Quantafel, "looks around to see if anyone saw him, then speeds off*"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Munchkin, "Where'd you get your pilot's licence, from a crackerjack box? :)"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Jdcollins, "think it was same one that trained me ;)"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Quantafel, "No, i bought mine off ebay!"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Angelfowl, "LOL"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Jdcollins, "lol"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Quantafel, "or should it be ibay.. (interstellar-bay)"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Hazed, "There is a camera on the link that snaps pictures of the ships that cause damage on the way through. You can expect a penalty notice to be mailed to you later."
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Catspaws, "snickers"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Munchkin, "glances up while cleaning the soggy link and dodges as Jdcollins flies through again."
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Jdcollins, "x ::tries to clear it w/o damage this time:: x :)"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Hazed, "Good grief, I think we need to set up some remedial flying classes"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Catspaws, "Didn't you teach the last class, Hazed?"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Jdcollins, "well w/o navcomp some of us are horrible drivers ;) lol"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Catspaws, "always blames her erratic flying skills on Hazed"
Your comm unit crackles with a message from Quantafel, "sets up shop outside the Link with a sign that reads "Planetless, Fed1 Veteran. Down on Luck, Spare a few IG?""
THE DROID ENIGMA: CHAPTER THREE
by Vorlar
I woke up, disoriented and with my head pounding. I looked around and saw unfamiliar surroundings. I began to panic, conspiracy theories racing through my mind. Had the bad guys caught me? Were they holding me in a strange place to kill me? I began to sweat profusely as I clambered to my feet.
Someone grabbed me. I screamed. Like a girl. I couldn't help it, okay? I turned my head to see the horror that awaited me. It was the pathologist who helped me with the blood. My memories came back to me like a flash flood. I had passed out when she told me about the blood. For some reason, my first thought was that I was infinitely relieved that I didn't wet myself in one of my brief moments of terror.
"Are you okay?" she asked. "Maybe you should go see one of our doctors..."
"I'm fine, it's all just a little bit overwhelming," I said.
She shot me a condescending look of concern. I was especially annoyed, given my heightened state of panic and the immense loss of pride I had suffered in front of her. I took a deep breath.
"Seriously. I need to go talk to Sleeperdroid and Ferreri about this," I said.
"Okay... just remember what you told me when we first met."
"What's that?" I asked.
"Be careful."
I smiled and nodded. After some soft reassurance that yes, I'd be okay, and yes, I'd drink some orange juice and relax, I managed to leave. I found it endearing that she was so concerned and my earlier annoyance with her melted away. Well, some people might be trying to kill me – but at least there are still some good people in this galaxy. I chuckled. I was making jokes about my own mortality, which I'm pretty sure is a sign of insanity. Then again, I figured if I was insane, I probably wouldn't realize it. So if I thought I was, I probably wasn't. I have a tendency to overanalyze.
The sun was a welcome sight as I exited the hospital. I once again removed my suit coat and took a deep breath. I dialed up Sleeperdroid on my comms unit.
"Hey Sleeperdroid," I said.
"What's up?" he replied.
"I had a doctor check those cylinders with the blood. She says they were laced with some sort of biological agent and probably designed to spread the agent when the droids were shot and killed."
"Well, that explains a lot," he said, "now we know why they were attempting to destroy these droids.
"We do?" I asked. I was confused.
"These droids that I inspected for you, they had titanium chest plates. The cylinder wouldn't be punctured. I bet they are trying to redesign them to eliminate the flaw."
He made it sound so scientific, like eliminating a flaw was all right when it meant spreading biological warfare.
"So you're sure these ones couldn't have been punctured?" I asked, trying to reassure myself.
"Not with any blaster I've ever seen. Their sheeting was very thick."
"Thanks for your help," I said.
"Anytime."
I had to admit I felt somewhat relieved. It's nice to cheat death, but it's nicer to know that you weren't going to die in the first place. Suddenly, I remembered the two men and their conversation and wondered if I should call Sleeperdroid back and tell him about it. Not to mention Ferreri and Merrie, what about them? Should I not call and tell them what I read and saw?
I pondered this for awhile, and I decided to tell Ferreri. I tried to tight beam her. No response. Well, that solves that problem, I thought. But again I was in that same familiar situation. What do I do now? I had no idea. Detectives always know what to do, I thought. Of course, I don't know any detectives. I had to wing it.
Sometimes, funny things happen. I don't mean like "ha-ha" funny, I mean strange funny. Bizarre things, like what happened next. I decided to walk back to the Lounge and on the way saw a man with a dark coat and glasses coming the other way.
"That's him!" I thought to myself. Indeed it was him, the second man in the conversation I had recorded. Now what? I thought. I had no weapons; I had no real authority to question him. I had to talk to him, to get information. That was my job, right, I was the journalist... Ferreri told me to talk to people and get information. I had to try.
"Financier Kalkan!" I called, sprinting up to the man and shaking his hand.
"Excuse me?" he asked, a confused look on his face.
"I read all about you in FedMed. You're the guy bankrolling all the new medical research on Selena aren't you?" I asked. This was totally off the cuff; I didn't know whether he was buying any of it.
"Look, I don't know what you're talking about," he said.
"So you mean you're NOT the great philanthropist Kalkan?"
"No, I'm Dunavant."
Bingo, I thought. Had I cracked the case? I knew the name of the droids' creator! I quietly congratulated myself.
"Oh, my mistake sir, I am ever so sorry," I lied.
"Sure, no problem," he said.
I walked away, until I was sure I was out of his sight. Then I grabbed my comms unit and pressed the tight beam button.
"Ferreri, Ferreri, I figured it out," I said.
"Who? What? Slow down, Vorlar," she said.
"Sorry. But Dunavant! It's Dunavant!" I was breathing erratically and raising my voice.
"Vorlar, CALM DOWN. What about Dunavant?"
"I heard him talking to someone and they're in charge of the droids and I thought they wanted to kill me but I went and talked to him anyway and I lied and said he was someone else but he didn't know who I was and if he wanted to kill me he must know who I am so I think I must be safe and..." I wasn't even breathing, just spitting out words.
She wisely used her tight beam interrupt. "Vorlar, I can't understand a word you're saying. Why don't you meet me at the Duff Modem and you can explain it in person?" she inquired.
"Yeah, sure, see you there!"
My contempt for this particular establishment wasn't even a blip on the radar screen, nor did I question a beautiful and successful businesswoman choosing it as her meeting place of choice. All that mattered to me was that I get there and tell her who the bad guy was, so I could be the hero. I'd never been the hero before.
I made the short trip from Earth to Mars in record time. I barely had my ship in its parking orbit before I was in the shuttle and halfway to the launching pad. Once I hit the surface I broke into a run for the Duff Modem.
As I entered the doorway, my strong sense of disgust for the place came rushing back. The walls were still stained brown, and the floor seemed to have not even had an attempt made at cleaning it. My wingtips stuck to the floor, making a gross sucking noise every time I took a step. I made my way towards the bar and looked around. No sign of Ferreri yet. I ordered a round of Diesel's Old Peculiar for the bar, mostly because I didn't want the roughneck crowd to get an ill idea of the boy in the suit. I walked over to our familiar table in the corner, had a seat and waited. It didn't take long.
Some people have the unique ability to light up a room just by entering it. Ferreri obviously had that ability, and I felt better as soon I saw her. She was in her familiar red leather ensemble, this time topped off with a red cowboy hat adorned with a star. I watched her green eyes scan the bar until they met mine. A simultaneous smile ensued.
"Hello," she said as she approached the table.
Remembering my manners, I stood and pulled out a chair for her. She thanked me and took a seat.
"Hey," I said, "I think I have some news you'll find very interesting."
"I'm glad you're not speaking at the speed of a tquark now. What's the news?" she asked.
I recanted the story of Kleinbottle Way, recording the conversation. I told her about the blood and what Sleeperdroid had mentioned about the droids we found. I also told her about approaching the guy on the street and tricking him into giving me his name.
She sat back, obviously impressed with my investigative skills.
"Well, it seems you've covered everything," she said.
"I think so. I doubt there's more then one set of evil droids running around. Or at least, I hope not."
"We need to deal with Dunavant," she said.
"Let's do it."
Ferreri called up a friend at Spynet and got the lowdown on Dunavant. We found out he owned the company called Drysdale Hathaway, Inc. We knew where he lived, worked, how much money he had, everything. People used to think these kinds of organizations were bad, I thought. What could be wrong with this?
We needed to quickly hatch a plan to make sure we could meet up with him on our terms. Ferreri called Merrie, and asked her to come as soon as possible. After a few minutes of unsuccessfully mulling over ideas, Merrie arrived and took a seat. I had been so busy thinking I didn't pull out her chair. I wondered if she noticed. I wondered if she cared.
Ferreri explained the situation to Merrie and asked for her assistance in helping us formulate a plan. It didn't take her long.
"Simple, we break a factory," she said.
"What?" I asked, mainly buying time for my brain to process her idea.
"He's a CEO, right? Well, if one of the factories he owns has a sudden breakdown, he'll have to go check it out. The investors would have his hide if he didn't," she said.
It seemed like such a simple concept, yet so brilliant at the same time. Why hadn't I thought of that, I wondered? At any rate, we had our objective. We still needed a plan. Ferreri called her friend at Spynet back to get some more specific information on the factories while Merrie and I went to get some bigger laser blasters for the girls. They were taking this seriously, I liked that.
I heard Merrie's comms unit beep, then Ferreri's voice. "Where are you?" she wanted to know.
Merrie responded, "Gorim's, on Selena."
Another beep, followed by, "Be there in five minutes."
Merrie turned to me. "What kind of weapon do you want, Vorlar?" she asked.
"Um, weapon? No, that's okay..." I must have sounded nervous. I was.
"You're not going there without a weapon. Pick one or stay home, your choice."
Damn, no way around this one. I picked the smallest hand laser they had and stuffed it in my notebook case. Merrie seemed satisfied. For her and Ferreri, she chose some unreasonably large blasters. I thought about the droids with the blood in their chests, though I tried not to. I nudged Merrie.
"Find out if they have any other combat stuff... like, you know, biological masks or suits or something." I said.
"Good idea," Merrie said.
The selection was limited, but we got some gas masks which should protect us from the worst of a biological attack, maybe. There were some suits but he assured us by the time we had the suits on it would be too late. Thanks pal, that was really comforting. I appreciate it.
Ferreri arrived and Merrie handed her half of their combat load. I figured the girls could take on an army of droids now. I hoped we wouldn't find out. Judging by the clues we'd discovered so far, we would.
Ferreri explained what she had discovered. He owned a textile factory on Mars and the workthingies were very sensitive. Seems they felt underpaid, and had recently had a strike because of it. They were back to worth but still not happy. All we had to do was get them riled up again and we'd certainly draw the attention of the owner.
It didn't take much to make our idea work. We arrived at the factory, and Merrie found the workthingies' foreman. She told him she wanted to know if he and his crew wanted to come work for her, since he probably already knew that Dunavant paid the workthingies at his other textile factories a lot more.
"WHAT?" the foreman demanded.
"Oh, you didn't know? Yeah, you guys are considered the cheapest labor in the galaxy. That's why I wanted to hire you," she bluffed.
I was amazed at her coyness. She was playing this off like a pro.
The foreman stormed off, and within 30 minutes the factory was nearly devoid of workthingies. We intended to sneak into the owner's office and wait for him, but the place was so empty at this point that we literally walked right in. We sat down, and waited. We were sure he'd be here soon.
About twenty minutes later, Dunavant came through the door, looking rather harried. Merrie stepped out from behind the door and pressed the barrel of her large laser blaster into his back.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Friends of your droids," I said.
We made eye contact, and I could tell he recognized me from the street.
"Wha... what droids?" he stammered.
"Oh, let's see, the ones that tried to kill us. The ones with the blood," I said.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" he was almost whimpering.
"I should probably just have Merrie remove your stomach with her blaster," Ferreri said.
He looked to her for the first time. I recalled his arrogance from the alleyway and almost laughed at how scared he appeared now.
"Look, I'll tell you what I know, just please don't hurt me," he said.
"We're listening - this better be good," Ferreri said.
"Alright. The droids... I don't have anything to do with the droids. That's someone else."
"Who?" I asked.
"I don't know, I just... I get money from him, and I give him information you know."
He was lying through his teeth.
I pulled my digital notebook out and hit the playback button. His mouth dropped open in shock as his voice played from the machine.
"Sure sounds like you know a "him," Ferreri said. You also seem to know a lot about the new batch of droids. Start talking, last chance."
He looked around, apparently searching for some sort of weapon or escape. We knew it was futile. He apparently realized this quickly.
"If I tell you, he'll kill me," he said.
Merrie nudged him in the back with the barrel of the blaster. Message received, loud and clear.
"Okay, okay. I'll tell you about the droids," he began.
To be continued...
THE DROID ENIGMA: CHAPTER FOUR
by Vorlar
"It wasn't my idea," Dunavant said, a sense of pleading in his voice.
I shot him an accusatory glance and raised my digital notebook, offering to refresh his memory one more time. He looked down at the floor.
"Okay, I know how it SOUNDS," he said.
"Who were you talking to?" I asked.
"What?"
Ferreri interjected. "Don't play dumb," she said, "Tell us who the other person on the recording is."
"He's some nobody. A corrupt stevedore I hired to do my dirty work."
I remembered all the old cop shows again. This was where we rough up the bad guy, I thought. It occurred to me that I'd never even punched someone in my life and wasn't sure I knew how to even go about it. "You are so lame," I thought to myself.
"So who's the 'mechanism' you're going to dispose of?" I asked, trying to hide my anxiety. I clenched my fists and narrowed my eyes, hoping I was being convincing.
"The one who's making the droids," he said.
One sentence can change the entire tone of a conversation. First of all, he just solidified the fact that I wasn't the "mechanism." I thanked my lucky stars for that. But here we thought we were interviewing the mastermind behind the plan, ready to solve the mystery, and he wasn't even the one responsible. Whose idea was it to confront this guy? Oh, wait... that was me. Oops.
"So, you mean to tell us you're NOT responsible for this?" Ferreri asked.
"Not the droids, no, I swear," he whined.
"Heheh," I thought, "Maybe the glaring and clenched fists did work." I mentally patted myself on the back as I watched him squirm.
"So what about the droids being perfect? The man you're going to dispose of? Keep talking," I was anxious to get whatever we could before he clammed up.
"I... We... I was waiting for him to use the droids so I could get rid of him and take over," he said.
"Get rid of whom? Take over what?" Ferreri was growing impatient. People are supposed to more forthcoming with a laser jammed in their back.
"The guy, who makes the droids. Look I don't know his name. I don't even know exactly what he is planning... I just know he said he's going to use them to gain absolute power – I don't know how. I was going to kill him once he succeeded and claim the glory."
Noble, I thought. Well, we'd found something but it wasn't what we were after. We needed to find the other guy, and fast.
"Tell us how we can find him," Merrie said.
"I don't know, I meet him at a predisposed location when he sends me a tight beam. He's always got droids with him," he said.
"So wait... If the droids are always with him, how were you planning to take him out?"
"_I_ wasn't. The stevedore, he was going to do it."
"Why him?" I asked.
"Because he didn't know that the droids would protect him. The stevedore makes the kill and then the droids kill the stevedore. All my competition taken care of."
It was a truly loathsome plan if I'd ever heard one. But then again, I supposed it wasn't necessarily a bad one. It did make confronting this mystery man an infinitely more dangerous prospect to know that he was accompanied by his droids at all points. We needed a plan.
"Give me your comm unit," I said.
"What?" he asked.
"You said he calls you for meetings. Give it to me. We need to know when to meet him."
Dunavant laughed. "Okay, it's your hide when you show up and he sees it's not me."
He handed me the comm unit. Merrie slammed the butt of her laser blaster into the back of his head. He never saw it coming. We left him lain sprawling unconscious on the floor of his office. It was decided to return to our typical destination to develop a plan.
The Duff Modem was nearly empty. Two couples pawing each other at the bar comprised their entire customer base this afternoon. We retreated to our table, and I grabbed us (or at the very least, me) a pitcher of Diesel's Old Peculiar ale. As I poured myself a glass and pounded it, Ferreri spoke.
"We need a way to get him away from the droids," she said.
"Dunavant said he never leaves the droids," Merrie said.
"Yeah..." Ferreri pondered.
It was a complicated situation. We were (hopefully) going to be soon contacted with a place to meet the man we were after. The problem was we didn't know who he was, what he was planning, or how to find these things out without becoming cannon fodder.
"We could probably kill the droids," Merrie offered, "We managed with the last ones."
I shivered. "Blood," I squeaked.
Merrie looked down at the table. Yes, the blood. She must have forgotten about that, but I certainly did not. I still found the notion very disturbing and had trouble keeping it out of my head.
"There has to be some solution we're missing," Ferreri said.
She called to the bartender to try and order some food. She was summarily ignored.
"Worthless gastropod," I said, "They ought to just hire a waitdroid."
What dawned on me at that instant seemed so simple that I was amazed it hadn't occurred to me before. Droids! Fight fire with fire, the old saying goes. If we could get our hands on some attack droids of our own, we could neutralize his. I decided to share my epiphany with the girls.
"Droids!" I exclaimed, "That's it."
"Waitdroids?" Merrie asked with a peculiar stare.
"No, no. I mean droids. If he has droids protecting him, and we can't attack them, what if we get our own droids to attack his?"
The suggestion hung in the air. It seemed like a simple enough plan, but it wasn't as if you could just stroll into the Pump N' Munch and ask to order a couple dozen droid killing machines. I was sure there had to be some way to get some. The Navy had them, whoever Dunavant was double-crossing had some, and someone else must have them as well.
"Where do you even begin to look for attack droids?" Merrie asked.
"Good question," I said, "I'm just a writer. Don't ask me."
"Wait... So you are. Perfect." Ferreri said.
I was confused. Perfect? What was perfect about it? What did writing have to do with any of this? I thought we wanted droids, and I couldn't exactly spin a story about them and turn them into reality.
"Come on, I have an idea," Ferreri said.
I finished my beer and we stood. "Where are we going?" I asked.
"We are going to meet someone on Earth. You are going to write. I'll explain on the way, come on," she said.
My comms unit lit up with a tight beam message just after liftoff.
"So, before this all happened, when you thought of attack droids, what came to mind?" Ferreri asked.
I wasn't really in the mood to play along. "I don't know Ferreri, what?" I asked.
"How about the Navy?" she asked.
"That's great, Ferreri," I thought, "W e can't figure out how to take care of one man, so let's go after the entire Navy instead."
"I'm not sure I understand," I said instead.
"What we need is a fleet of attack droids. The Navy has that. We just need to convince them to use them," she said.
That's a wonderful plan, I thought. Let's just call the Navy and tell them we were attacked by some rusty droids we tried to help, then we staged a factory shutdown to find the guy we thought was responsible, but when we found out it wasn't him we knocked him unconscious and stole his comm unit. Now we wanted them to attack someone blindly based on our testimony. I was certain they'd be all over it.
"That's easier said than done, isn't it?" I asked, "Convincing them of our story won't be easy."
"That's where you come in," she said.
Great, somehow I figured this would be where I came in. I wondered about her decision to attempt to use me in this faculty, considering I had no idea how to convince the Navy to do anything – let alone unleash a droid war. I needed some additional clarification.
"Exactly what do you want me to do?" I asked.
"Look, obviously the Navy isn't going to believe us if we tell them what happened. I don't even know if I believe it, and I'm living through it."
I concurred with this, and waited for clarification.
"But if we could convince them there was a threat, some other sort of threat, they'd have to respond," she said.
"I still don't understand," I said, feeling naïve.
"You're the creative one," she said, "Once we find out where he will be, we need to concoct a message to relay to the Navy to convince them that a threat is imminent. The rest will hopefully take care of itself..."
I guess I saw the logic behind her idea. But I failed to see how the Navy could be convinced of such, or how I could be the one to do it. When I suggested droids this was definitely not what I had in mind.
"I'm not sure I'm the right person..." I began.
"Look, you're the only person, Vorlar. Quit being such a coward."
Ouch. All right, I didn't really have a choice at this point. I figured I'd play along since I was going to end up doing it in the end either way.
"Okay, what kind of message?" I asked.
"I don't know, like I said, that's for you to decide. We're going to figure out a way to get him after the Navy kills the droids. Good luck."
I pulled into a parking orbit in Earth. I grabbed Dunavant's comms unit and headed to the shuttle. I glared at it on the way down, as if this electronic device was the sole cause of all my problems. With a bump, I arrived at the landing pad. I hurried through the spaceport and boarded the monorail south, heading to my apartment.
I walked in the door and locked it behind me. I walked straight ahead to the living room and sat on the couch. I tossed the comms unit on the table and stared at it. "Maybe he won't call," I thought. I closed my eyes and massaged my temples. While I did, I heard the telltale beep from in front of me. Damn, I thought, so much for that.
I picked up the comms unit and looked at the screen. "112304:0000. Moon ray south of Selena LP."
Ugh, I thought to myself. Isn't that a familiar location? I had no idea how to proceed. How do you even contact the Navy, I wondered? Let me just send a tight beam to the Admiral and declare war!
I sent one to Ferreri instead, relaying the location and stardate of the meeting.
"Great. That's two days from now," she said, "What's your plan?"
Hah. "I don't know," I replied.
"Better hurry up."
"Yeah," was all I replied.
Thanks Ferreri. Part of me was angry at her, thinking she got me into this mess. "Not so," I told myself, "You were the one following her around like a puppy dog." Yes, I supposed this was true. She and Merrie had also saved my hide at least once since I started following her. I figured I was as much responsible for my predicament as she was. But it's always easier to blame someone else than to take responsibility for your own actions. Besides, I thought, she was the one placing the burden of this whole Navy scheme – HER scheme – on my shoulders.
I figured that having arguments with myself inside my head wasn't going to get me anywhere. I tried to consider what I knew about the Navy or the military in general.
Not much really, I supposed. I pulled up their official website, trying to learn any information I could about them. Pulled up their website, you ask? Yes, I was such an accomplished terrorist I thought I might incite the vengeance of the Navy with an email. Okay, maybe not, but I wanted to see what I could learn.
I took notes on some of the information I found, figuring it might help. They listed the names and sizes of units and many of the Commanding Officers. I figured that was a lot of information to throw out for public consumption but that they probably weren't concerned, considering they were the penultimate force in the galaxy. I longed to be a part of them right now. "What a reassuring feeling that must be, you jerks," I thought. Instead, I tried to brainstorm ways I could get them riled up.
I kicked off my wingtips and removed my suit coat. I flung the coat in frustration and lay down on the couch, putting my feet up on one of the arms and loosening my tie.
"Think, Vor," I said to myself, "Think of it like it's a story. Where does it go from here?"
I pondered for a few minutes, and suddenly an idea dawned on me. Of course, I thought! They wouldn't believe a story about the droids, right? Perhaps they'd believe the droids themselves! I leapt to my feet and quickly slipped back into my shoes. I grabbed my coat and rushed out the door.
"Hey," I said as I reached the all-too-familiar back table in the Duff Modem.
"Hello," said Sleeperdroid.
"I need one of the droids."
"Okay, why?" he asked.
"It's a really long story, I'd rather not get into it... and you probably would rather not know anyway," I said.
"You're probably right," he said with a smile.
We walked to the launching pad. I repeatedly tried to pick up the pace, but Sleeperdroid didn't seem to echo my sense of urgency and I didn't want to get too far ahead so I ended up stopping to wait several times. We reached the pad after what seemed like an eternity.
"I disabled the combat code already," he said as he handed me a lifeless droid, "Just in case."
"Right, just in case," I said.
"Are you any closer to stopping the man responsible?" he asked.
I nodded to the droid. "That's what this is about," I said.
He nodded, seeming uncertain as to how a deprogrammed droid was going to do any good. I just smiled, trying desperately to look sure of myself.
I didn't think it would matter. I thanked him and ran to my shuttle. Once I reached my ship, I brought the droid up front with me and sat it in the co-pilots seat. I stared at it.
"Alright, jerk," I thought, "Time to beat you at your own game." I pulled out my notebook and began to write. I only had one chance at this. I sincerely hoped it worked.
To be continued...
FED II EATERY REVIEW: VENTURING THROUGH THE LINK
by RTG1728
Many momentous events have occurred since this humble newsdroid wrote its last column. The greatest of these is undoubtedly the restoration of the Solar System's Interstellar Link, which has been out of order for some time now. Each passing day sees the repair of further Links to the long isolated extra-solar planets. One can only imagine how the inhabitants, societies, and – most importantly for this column – the cuisine of these planets have developed during the course of their lengthy exile.
This droid, for one, is glad for the chance for a bit of change in the scenery. Flying about the Solar System, eating, drinking, and otherwise engaging in Dionyssian revelries may seem a glamorous lifestyle which any lowly newsdroid would covet, but the fact is that after a time it all becomes quite passé.
That is, at least relative to the excitements that await in the vast reaches of space accessible through the Interstellar Link. For instance, my antiquated electronic guidebook has fantastic things to say about the sixth planet of the Eroti – er... never mind.
However, I didn't think it would be civil of me to simply show up and review the bistros and brasseries on some poor, unsuspecting planet. Rather than catch the local proprietors unawares – possibly destroying their reputations, scaring away customers, and similarly wreaking havoc – I have decided that I will review the restaurants of extra-solar planets by invitation only. That is, the owner, dictator, president, Evil Overlord, sovereign, or whatever said planet calls its leader, of the planet must formally request my presence. In writing. Preferably this invitation will begin thus:
"Dearest and most beloved RTG1728, most superior of all newsdroids, and prince of the written word,
Please accept these few slithies as a token..."
No, of course I don't mean that! I have been informed by the Star's Ethics Department (no snide remarks, please) that I cannot in good conscience accept bribes, gifts, or other tokens of gratitude in the course of my work for the newsletter.
I'll try to be nice anyway.
THE DROID ENIGMA: CHAPTER FIVE
by Vorlar
I'll freely admit that I had no idea what I was doing. I was winging it in the supreme sense of the word and just holding on the hope that it would all miraculously fall together.
I donned my zero-gravity suit and open the emergency hatch at the rear of my ship. Earth is a huge planet, but nevertheless I remained paranoid that someone would coincidentally draw immediately behind me in orbit and see what I was up to. I kept a keen lookout behind me while I made the final preparations.
I tightened the straps of the powerpack the droid was now wearing. My autopilot drew my ship into a lower and lower orbit, and I hoped I didn't make the fatal flaw of going too low and drawing the ire of the Navy's surface-to-space defenses. I leaned out the hatch and looked at the planet so far below me. Here goes nothing, I thought.
I punched some coordinates into the powerpack and quickly flung the droid out of my ship as it rumbled to life. A sharp blue flame shot out the back of the pack and the droid was redirected towards Earth. What was small and blue grew in size and tipped with yellows and oranges as I watched the droid plummet out of sight. I quickly shut my hatch and switched on the afterburners, making my escape.
A loud explosion rocked the droid production facility on the naval base. Dueling sirens erupted to shatter the serenity of the night air. The air raid siren rang out a response to the attack from above, and the sirens of the firemen blared as the crew rushed to extinguish the ensuing blaze and investigate what was behind it.
The Admiral sat straight up in bed. "What in the..." he began, the sound of the sirens carrying to house on the edge of the base.
He rushed down the stairs, dressing as he went. His wife followed, trying her best to soothe his nerves by handing him his badge and keys, things he might otherwise forget. He thanked her by slamming the door in her face after he burst through it.
He hopped in his hovercar and sped off towards the commotion.
"What in the name of hell is going on here?" he demanded.
The nearest Captain replied, "We don't know yet, Sir – we were attacked from above."
"Are you sure it wasn't a meteor?" the Admiral asked, "You better hope to hell you aren't wasting my time."
"That's why we're trying to figure out, Sir," the Captain replied.
With a bump, my shuttle announced my arrival at the Selena landing pad. Within seconds of exiting, I saw exactly the help that I needed. A teenage human crossed the pad about 30 meters in front of me. He was sporting some plain gray coveralls and looking somewhat emaciated. Perfect, I thought. I whistled and motioned him over.
"What's up, dude?" he asked.
"I'll give you 100,000 groats if you take this to Gorim," I offered, producing a small envelope. I wondered if I'd been too forward.
The teenager paused and looked at me, incredulous. It was obviously more money then he'd seen before. I couldn't be serious, could I?
"Um, sure..." was what he said.
"Great," I said, handing it over.
I watched him take the letter and stare at it. I handed him a second envelope with the wad of groats inside. He cracked the corner and his eyes nearly fell out of his head.
"Hurry," I said, snapping him back to reality.
"Don't mix up which one you're supposed to be giving away," I added with a wink.
He laughed and shook his head, dashing off to deliver the letter. I hopped back into my shuttle and rode it back to orbit, docking with my ship and settling in behind the controls. I punched in the coordinates for Mars and headed off to meet the ladies. I couldn't tell whether my plans were working or not. Maybe that was better though, because if they weren't I didn't want to know.
Gorim leaned against a display case, polishing some of the hand lasers that were on exhibition. "Slow day," he thought to himself as he stared around his empty shop.
Just then the serenity was broken by a haggard-looking teenage boy who burst through the door and thrust an envelope in his face.
"Easy, boy," he said, "You're liable to get shot doing that!"
"Sorry, I have to give this to you," the young man panted.
Gorim snatched the envelope from the boy's hand and examined it. While he did, the boy immediately about-faced and sprinted back out of the shop. "That was weird," Gorim thought.
He glanced at the writing on the front of the letter.
"Admiral Wynn – Classified"
"Why would someone be giving me this? Let alone some kid?" he wondered.
Ignoring the printing on the front, he tore the envelope open and read what was written on the note inside.
Dear Admiral:
Didn't want to send this by comms for fear of having it intercepted.
Gorim is planning an attack on the Selena government!
We have intercepted transmissions that he will mass his troops at 112304:0000.
Please send reinforcements.
Captain Kelsys – Droid Commander
Gorim's eyes filled with rage as he read. "I'm being set up," Gorim thought, "I'll get whoever's behind this."
"Well?" Ferreri asked as I eased myself into my familiar, sticky seat at the Duff Modem.
"So much for niceties and greetings," I thought to myself. "Well," I repeated, in a different pitch.
"What now?" she asked.
"Now we go to Selena," I said.
Without another word, we stood and headed for the door. I tried to act confident, but I wasn't. I had no idea what, if anything, would be waiting for us when we got there.
"We found the source of the explosion, Admiral!" the Captain cried.
The Admiral barged through the crowd of soldiers and firefighters, towards the captain. "What?" he demanded.
"The meteor, it wasn't a meteor, it was a droid."
"A droid?" the Admiral was trying to mask confusion.
"Yes, and here, look at this," the Captain said, opening the droid's access panel, "There's something written here."
The Captain wiped away the soot and they peered together. After enough squinting and rubbing, the Admiral managed to make out the words.
"Oh my..." The Captain began, obviously making them out as well.
"Selena Attack Droid!?" the Admiral was incredulous. "I'll show them an attack droid!"
As we attempted to approach Selena, we were stopped by a Navy warship. They sent an alert page into all our comms units, "This is a hostile zone. Selena is off-limits at this time." The message repeated until we reached a sufficient distance away.
My comms unit signaled a tight beam message. "That because of you?" was all Ferreri said.
"Because of us," I replied.
We managed to sneak into orbit a little higher then normal. We docked our shuttles and descended to an alternate landing zone on Selena. We headed up a large hill, around the perimeter of the domes on one of the moon's rays.
We peered southeast as we rounded the dome to the airlock. Tracers and missiles lit up the night sky to the southeast, and the silence of the moon was frequently broken by eruptions of gunfire and loud explosions.
"Well, there's part of the problem being taken care of," I said.
Ferreri and Merrie just looked at me with wide eyes.
"Wow," Merrie said as we ducked into the airlock.
"You set me up," Gorim roared.
Dunavant shook his head, which was all he could shake, tied to the chair in Gorim's back room.
"What... where am I?" he asked.
"My shop. I intercepted a memo from the Navy and knew you were attacking with your droids and claiming to be me, so I had some of my drones hide out and tranquilize you when you landed," Gorim replied.
"My... my droids..."
As if on cue, an explosion rocked the very depths underneath the moon's surface.
"I don't think you'll have to worry about them," Gorim said with a smile.
Dunavant roared and leapt to his feet, swinging the chair around and knocking Gorim to the floor. Gorim scrambled to his feet and dove at him, tackling him to the ground and shattering the chair, freeing Dunavant. Both men simultaneously looked towards the rack of guns in the front of the store. They began scrambling towards them, kicking and punching at each other along the way.
Dunavant, with a final kick to Gorim's face, reached the weapons case first. He smirked and looked up at the case. What he saw instead were the dual barrels of Merrie's laser blasters.
"Checkmate," I said, feeling immediately cheesy.
Dunavant began a rambling explanation of his plan to use the droids to conquer the world, using the radiation rooms to destroy the evidence. His plans had almost gone south when a glitch made the droids uncontrollable and two of them revolted entering the room and he had to throw water on them and run to escape detection. He thought we'd be waiting on the LP for the "meeting" he had arranged and he brought the droids here to destroy us.
"Well, that's that," Ferreri said as Dunavant was subject to questioning by some very ominous looking Naval officers.
"Is it?" I asked.
Ferreri and Merrie looked at me. Merrie was the first one to speak.
"What do you mean?"
"It's just, he had us so convinced he was working for someone else. It just seems too strange that we were fooled and he really WAS behind all this."
Ferreri smiled. "Relax, Vorlar. He got to where he was by deceiving people, but I don't think we have to worry about that anymore."
I supposed I was wrong. It wouldn't be the first time. Maybe Dunavant WAS the mastermind of the droid scheme, maybe not. Either way, we had stopped him... for now.
"Let's go get a drink," I said.
"Yes, and somewhere OTHER than the Duff Modem," said Merrie.
We all laughed and headed out the door. The ladies wanted a drink to relax. I wasn't quite sure if I was looking for a news story or another adventure. I figured with these girls, I may find both.
DEAR JESSY: MAKING FRIENDS
by Jessecka
Dear Jessy,
I'm lonely. I'm a captain, and while I love the game, hauling gets old after awhile. I see lots of players in the game that seem to have really good relationships, and I envy them. I just can't seem to be able to find other people, much less make new friends. Am I doing something wrong? Tell me how I can be popular!!
Lonesome on Lattice
Dear Lonesome,
Heeeeelloooo! If you are hanging out on Lattice, then that's your first mistake! No one stays on Lattice any longer than it takes to step on those black discs and drop off that load of electros. If you want to find people to chat to and potentially make friends with, the key is to go where there are people. One way to find out if there are people on a planet is to do a 'WHO planetname' - for example 'who earth'. This will tell you everyone that is on that planet. If you find there are a few people there, the next thing to do is find the bar... Fedders love bars, and most often can be found in one. If you can't find anyone to hang with in the local bar, then get someone to find you! Fedders are always good for free drinks, so just announce that you are at such and such bar, and anyone who wants to stop by, drinks are on you! A few rounds is a small price to pay for the chance to meet new people.
Since the subject came up, maybe we should cover comms as well, and what's acceptable as far as public behavior goes. Now, comms are mostly reserved for occasional light chit chat, such as hellos and goodbyes, and mostly game questions and info. We don't encourage long discussions on comms for the simple fact that it can cause screen scroll that can be irritating to a new player.
You may say, let them turn their comms off if the scroll disturbs them. Well, let's remember back to that long ago time when you were new to Fed. The new world you enter as a newbod can be a really confusing place, and you don't even know how to change your clothes, much less know the command to turn off your comms. And if you need to ask someone a question, you can't if your comms are off.
Also, Fed players come from many different cultures and backgrounds, from all over the globe, so what you may think is quite clever and not too bad may be very offensive to another player. So, try to keep your comm messages clean, and if you want to have a discussion, then simply create your own channel.
The same goes for public places, like bars. Players tend to congregate in bars to meet new people and recharge that stamina after a heavy day of hauling (cause we all know those nanos are sooooo heavy!). What you may think is a private conversation might not be if someone walks in on you. Now, this is not to say that you can't have private conversations, or that role-playing is discouraged in the least bit. Just remember that this is an adult game, and as such, let's try and act like adults. ;) If you want your conversation to be private, then take it to a private place... Fed DataSpace is full of them!
The makings of a good bar party are simple: free drinks and a fun atmosphere. A wonderful addition to a bar gathering is our very own Fed Radio! And you ask yourself, what's that?? Well, Fed Radio is a player site put on by a player named Archer. You can listen to music, and even request your own songs. If you have a gathering of people, and you are all able to listen, then it really adds fun to a party! To check out this site, visit http://www.fed-radio.net.
The best advice I can give you though in the end is to sit back, relax and let it happen. Fed is a social game that is meant to be enjoyed. Remember, good relationships you make now will help you tremendously in the future!
RULES FOR PLANET BUILDING
by Vorlar
With the implementation of player planets comes the never ending debate about planet building. Designing a planet is not an easy task. It is, however, an important one as the masses who frequent your system will be constantly reminded of both your successes and your failures. With that in mind, here are one Newsdroid's rules for planet building.
Rule No. 1 – Don't name your system something ridiculous
More important then all the other rules combined. While the name Saliciousnightstalkerville might be close to your heart, it's not close to ours. You can design the most fantastic planet in the universe, but if it takes us eleven minutes to decipher your system name in order to jump there, we'll probably never notice. Save the fantastic nineteen-consonant arrangement you've concocted for the name of something ON the planet, rather then system name. We'll appreciate it.
Rule No. 2 – Maps should make sense
When a new planet is linked, the explorer in all of us makes us want to visit and roam around. Once we've had our fill, 90% of us are probably only coming back to go the bar or the exchange. (That in itself says a lot about Fed culture.) So remember, just because you have forty locations, you don't want to put thirty-seven of them between landing pad and the exchange. If we have to leave a bread-crumb trail to find our ships, it's not likely we'll be coming back.
Rule No. 3 – Keep it relevant
Maybe you've always had your heart set on a petting zoo. Well, if your planet consists of biological domes filled with scientists, leave the llamas in your imagination. A well designed planet should make cohesive sense, so pick a theme and stick with it.
Rule No. 4 – Entertain us
Nothing makes us throw a kicking and screaming temper tantrum more then landing on a planet and realizing it's just your everyday stock planet. (Okay, maybe that's just me.) Every planet won't possess some universe-altering unique design to blow our minds, for sure. But some effort in that regard would be nice. If you get builder's block, or don't know where to start – there are many creative people in Fed dataspace who would be happy to assist you.
Rule No. 5 – Have fun with it!
Building a planet is sort of like getting married, you only get to do it once. (Well, unless you are a celebrity or fond of suicide.) If you enjoy what you're doing, it will spark your creativity and we will notice. The more fun you make it, the more effort you'll want to put in to it and the better the end result will be.
Keeping those five rules in mind, I think everyone can make a planet that won't do to us what the food at the Duff Modem does. Being spared from the responsibility of being the Star's official planet reviewer, I'll be here to offer my own satirical spin on the ever-expanding universe. Builders beware.
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