 THE GODS ARE ANGRY
This is newsdroid 74-A23, speaking
to you from the landing pad of a strangely silent Earth.
There is still no sign of any player signing on, and the
permanent inhabitants of Sol are bewildered and
frightened. The black cat hisses and spits when you
attempt to pet it, and the gnarled watchman refuses to be
quoted for this piece.
As you can see, there are no ships
at all here on the launch pad of our busiest planet, and
as we proceed into the terminus, we see... oh, Mr.
Tourist? Mr. Tourist... Some people are really serious
about their travel plans; even a holocaust doesn't
prevent them from rushing off to catch their ship....
And out here on the main road
nothing is moving but the popsicle wrappers. I don't even
see the hobo, though normally he is right along in here.
The weeble still wobbles in the office block however, and
the typist is still crying. Apparently she doesn't want
to comment... problems enough of her own, perhaps. What's
that you say, Miss? Something about Bill? Wow, Miss, why
are you throwing things? OK, OK... I am leaving....
There is no sign of the Guild
Master in this deserted penthouse. They say from the
windows here you can see all of Fed, and nothing is
moving, as far as the eye can see. Earth is totally
deserted, and an eerie silence hangs over the comms. I
can't even hear my own footsteps as I walk back down the
hall.
The silence continues as we enter
the snack bar. Maybe Mr. Godot here has something to say.
'And they wonder why you always late?' What does that
mean? Er, no... I haven't had my existentialism in for a
tune up lately... no, my surrealism either... you think I
should? Ok, Mr. Godot, I will certainly keep it in mind.
You don't know why this is happening, do you Mr.
Godot? No? Oh, hello sweets... look into the camera here,
honey and tell the folks at home why there are no players
here.
'Well, Seven, as you know, I
was raised as a sacred virgin... It looks to me as
though the gods are angry.'
Angry? Over what?
'Well, look at it from their
point of view. They come through for us, and poof...
we cut off their virgin supply.'
Well, when you put it that way I
can see it might be a problem. You think they want
sacrifices?
'Sure, honey. Matter of fact, I
am a volunteer.... still qualified.' She let out a
small giggle.
But sweetie... if you are
sacrificed to the gods, then I won't be able to interview
you!
'It's what I was born for
though, Seven... look what happens when you thwart a
girl's destiny!'
A
CLOSER LOOK: NEW PLAYERS
by Elin
Conventional player wisdom has long
held that there are no new players in Fed, only more and
more alts. Although it is true that certain players seem
bent on founding their own dynasties, denizens of channel
1, who are best placed to judge the ratio of newbies to
secondary characters, say that there are more and more
newbies in the game.
Increasingly, the names I see when
I sign on are unfamiliar. Some I recognize as characters
of someone I know; others are, I think, players I know
but don't recognize under the name they are playing at
the time. It adds a certain element to the game, trying
to guess whether player X is arguing with me because he
is really player Y, or whether he is new and just
doesn't know any better. (Remember that this is from my
point of view.)
Of course, the current assumption
that all players are alts has certain dangers. The
Captains and Adventurers who are asking for work don't
really need the work, we think, because when they get
tired of hauling in Sol they can always just do a money
transfer. Questions don't get answered because we assume
it is one of the players that likes to play silly games
with alts, whereas it may in fact be an actual newbie
unable to find a Nav. Or, if questions are answered, they
aren't given real answers. How many of us were told as
Adventurers that the Guild Master likes to hang out three
south of Mercury? Was it funny at the time? To you, I
mean?
So, to all the new players out
there I say please forgive us our cynicism. Fed is, after
all, a cynic's game, with its brothel and Mafia and
bribes. Would we still play it if it didn't appeal to
certain misanthropy? So bear with us. And when all else
fails, type cheat.
A
CLOSER LOOK: WAR
by Elin
Just when it seemed that all the
issues were getting stale, that we were condemned to
rehash old arguments over and over again, as one player
threatened a jihad in the name of greed and another
accused some more players of lying, we have in Fed, yes,
a new issue.
Irked by the behavior of a player
persona at a Fed event, one of Fed's new Dukes has
quietly declared war in the name of good sportsmanship.
Undeterred by the fact that many of those who might
otherwise help are busy real-life, he has very
persistently been dumping on the player's planet, with
the help of a few he has enlisted.
I say hoorah! Whether I agree with
him in his assessment of what happened is irrelevant -
although if events took place as he tells them it would
be hard not to - the point is, by heaven, he didn't let
it go with the sort of helpless shrug far too many of us
take refuge in when we see behavior we disapprove of. He
is making his displeasure known.
Nor did he demand that staff solve
the problem for him, a habit way too many of us got into
on AOL, and impractical in these days of reduced
navigator schedules. The event MC in charge possibly
should have done something to take charge of the
situation sooner, before a player became irked to the
point of declaring war, but eventpersons are players who
volunteer their time, and each has a different style for
dealing with event disruption. Possibly conciliation was
attempted, and did not work. It doesn't matter.
What does matter is that a player
saw something he didn't like and is doing something about
it. Good for him.
A
MYSTERY RESOLVED
Curious Barons have in the last
year or so invested considerable effort, enlisting the
help of patient Dukes, to discover exactly what the
shielded locations of Sol contain. A hardy team of brave
researchers this week announced a partial solution to
this perplexing puzzle.
'Socks,' said an ash-faced Baron,
gulping a medicinal brandy. 'You never saw so many
socks.' A white-faced Baroness nodded grimly. 'And if you
follow the dimensional channels back... dryers. Millions
of dryers.'
The ultimate causes of this
dimensional cross talk remain undetermined. The lunar
Mafia has been suggested, but a number of the team
members feel that if the Mafia were to filch anything
from another dimension, they would go for gold, jewels
and the contents of safety deposit boxes.
The man who usually lounges outside
of Mario's was not to be found, however, and the normally
bustling casino was strangely deserted. The newsdroid we
sent in to interview the smugglers neglected to check his
stats first, and was last seen trying to remember where
the insurance office is on Venus.
A confidential informant nodded
sagely when asked about the situation. 'We need to stop
this plague before it spreads,' he declared, 'Or we will
all be in trouble when they run out of room on the
satellites.'
'Do you mean?' we gasped.
'Yes,' he said, tensely, 'and the
situation is grave. Nobody can reach the satellites to
deal with this threat to the dimension.'
Oh no, we thought. The universe is
in danger. Again. Just when we got done cleaning up all
those dead Martians. We requested an audience with the
Vile One to confirm this report, but he didn't deign to
either grant one or refuse to do so.
PUBLIC
DISPLAY
Reality storms swept Federation
this weekend, requiring game shutdown and stranding many
in alternate universes without access to their planets.
Once minimal services were
restored, many, including most of the newsdroids, were
still unable to connect. A merchant who was able
to connect complained of repeated socket errors that tore
the wrench from his hands as he attempted to use it for
its assigned purpose. Others complained that things were
"weird", while still others gently explained
that such things can be expected to happen from time to
time to those who grew up in the sixties and seventies.
Major lag affected a number of
players, and several reported an effect similar to
swimming upstream or walking into a strong wind. 'OK,
that would explain it,' said the shapely and
oh-so-magnanimous editor of the Chronicle, as she
surveyed her planet-announcerdroid, frozen on an LP
yesterday. 'he's been getting slower and slower for
weeks...' In fact Scaramouche had apparently slowed to
immobility in a most compromising position of <censored>
on a <violation of house rules>. The news
editor was shocked and horrified that such things could
be done in a public place. 'He should have at least
waited until he was in the privacy of his own ship.', she
stated.
Inquiring minds wondered about the
leather straps and the handcuffs, but Scaramouche was
either unwilling or unable to comment. A well-informed
source murmured something in which the words
"illegal" and "banned" could barely
be distinguished. Our newsdroid could have sworn that
something was said about barking on the LP, but when
asked to repeat that part the source blushed a deep red
and fled.
FORCES
INVADE CAMP, S'MORES MISSING…
At twenty-three hundred hours last
night a security camera picked up a force of paintball
commandos (with what appeared to be Landofboz insignias
on their fatigues) invading the capital planet of Camp.
The next morning Camp's entire stockpile of graham
crackers, chocolate, marshmallows, and pre-made S'mores
were gone. Camp officials were very tight-lipped about
the whole situation, however informants inside Camp's
main ranger station, indicate that the S'more stockpile
will take approximately two weeks to get back to where it
was before the raid.
Landofboz officials neither confirm
nor deny any involvement in this raid. However, the
special-of-the-day in Landofboz's main cafeteria was, and
we quote, "S'mores S'mores and more S'mores".
CAMPERS
RETALIATE - S'MORES SAVED
On March 10, Camp forces, under the
leadership of Lvenforcer, PO of USMC, attacked the
capitol planet of Landofboz. Using an extremely sensitive
S'mores Detector and following chocolate footprints,
Camp's troops were led to a cave where the stolen S'mores
were found and retrieved. Casualties were minimal. 'We
went in and did what had to be done! Let this be a lesson
to all.' smirked, Lvenforcer.
Landofboz officials refused to
comment, however, angry hooting noises were heard coming
from the Landofboz meeting room.
'They are back where they belong!
We have spared no expense in acquiring an enormous bank
vault to store our S'mores. The vault will be guarded at
all times.' said, Bsacarl, Duke of Camp.
THE
OTHER SIDE OF THE STORY
Landofboz's tale of
S'mores
Arriving at my office yesterday, I
found this letter from Bozowl, Duke of Landofboz and,
being the unbiased publication that we are, wanted to
rush this to your attention. You can decide which story
is true and which is fabricated.
A Letter of Peace
To whom it may concern,
A few weeks ago, in the news,
the people of Landofboz were accused falsely of
involvement in the theft of Camp's S'more stockpile.
Incited only by this fabricated lead, a Camp PO
decided to wage a personal war on Landofboz. In the
aftermath of this war of revenge, his accounts were
that it was a small skirmish with no casualties, but
I know better. That morning, I woke to the sight of
hundreds of workthingy guards laying dead on my LP,
the inner walls of my volcano scorched with laser
shots, the ground scattered with craters, and the
blood of my dead workthingies used to write out a
single word "Camp" on the ground.
Luckily I was restrained and
counciled by my POs, or Landofboz and Camp would be a
war as we speak. What my council and I agreed upon is
that Camp cannot be held responsible for the actions
of a single rogue PO. So I offer out the olive branch
of peace to the POs of Camp, I just hope they accept
it. Moreover, I can only offer this to the spouses
and children of my dead workthingies, the memories of
this slaughter will not be forgotten.
Duke of Landofboz,
Bozowl
In a completely unrelated story,
Camp stockpiles of S'mores are once again gone... and
feared eaten.
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