Web Fed News Yearbooks - February 2000

HEALTH (I DON'T) CARE
by Horatio

Has anyone yet noticed that health care in Fed is not exactly - oh how to put this - health care, per se? One of the bigger hurdles I've seen my friends cope with in planet builds is population; they keep running out of workers. Now, I can hear all you veteran players out there chortling good-naturedly (not that I didn't) at their misfortune. However, there is something fishy going on in the whole construction business in Fed.

Not so many years ago, a new power plant was built a couple counties away from me. It's a nice, normal nuclear power plant complete with three-eyed fish and glowing employees. As far as I know, the only physical harm to befall the builders was a broken leg courtesy of a rather heavy concrete slab. In Fed, builders refer to that as "getting off lucky." One power plant in Fed will bring about the unfortunate demise of seventy poor souls who, until that point, were happily whiling away their lives working in a Univators sweatshop - err - factory.

However, we can mitigate this little misfortune by building (ominous music starts here) health care facilities! The thing most people don't know, or don't want to even ask about, is that these "health care facilities" don't actually heal anybody, they just make more anybodys, who are then sent off to be built into another power plant. I don't know about any of you, but I don't really want to know where all those seventy workthingies go in that plant, but I can't imagine it being someplace nice.

Of course, some of you happier people are probably saying, "Well, they're the staff of the new plant." Ladies and gents, let's please stick to reality. This is the future. There is no staff. Everything's run by belligerent computers that operate on "Windows 5,000,000" or some such number. That would explain the exchange system, wouldn't it?

However, we of the trading and ruling sort have a slightly better gig. We get the benefit of being cloned, big improvment that that is. I suppose, with a few little alterations, that part of the system could be okay. For starters, no more hospital gowns. If they can get a cell sample, clone it, bring the clone to life with all the memories it had up to the moment of death, would a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans be that difficult? Furthermore, if I'm going to be cloned, I'd like to make the process cheaper in terms of materiel by leaving off a couple dozen pounds. I'm not vain, I'm practical.

The moral of the story is that it's always better on top. It may be lonelier, but at least you have the benefit of returning to the world that you may be actively trying to leave. It's all part of the perks you get for riding around the galaxy.

That and discovering new forms of food poisoning on every planet you visit.

We hope you've enjoyed this weekly brain meltdown and invite you to join us again next week. As always, if you have any information you would like to impart upon my person, the address is Horatio_TheWriter@excite.com. Have a great week, everyone!

SCOUNDREL'S CORNER: ROLE-PLAY OR DIE
by Olias, Baron of Emancipation, Emissary to Foojaloo-II, Tuba Virtuoso, Scoundrel, Person Totally Unsuited To Writing Stuff Like This

Once upon a time, in a far away land, a young lad was born to a poor couple living in a grass hut. Farmers they were, accustomed to creating life from lifelessness, reaping the gifts of the land. Their symbiotic relationship with the Earth in no way was able to prepare them for the birth of their child, and they beamed with a radiance reserved only for the gift of life at hearing their child's first cry as he emerged into the light.

This beautiful baby grew into a strapping young lad, strong in arm and character. As he grew into manhood, he knew he was destined to greater glory than the simple lot of the farmer. He would right wrongs. He would save damsels in distress. He would be a Knight.

So he bid his parents farewell, and roved out to meet his fate. A knight he did become, and his great quests became the stuff of legend, songs sung by the minstrels of the land.

One day, after besting the Great And Nasty Slavering Horrid Orc Thing in a mortal struggle, he turned to his fellow man-at-arms. 'How fares thy wife and child, Faraquodzim?' said he. 'Passing well, thank thee,' answers he. 'How art thou?'

'Well, my hard drive crashed yesterday and it took three hours to fix it.'

There was a mighty clap of thunder and the voice of the Creator sounded from On High.

'I am sorry, that conversation is OOC, and you forgot to use the OOC command to say it. We must therefore terminate your account, destroy your character, and wipe your memory from the annals of DragonPlace history. We have also sent a magnetic pulse through the phone lines to burn out your modem. Have a nice day.'

The pile of ash that was once the Great Knight packed his ashen bag and landed in Sol. He makes Bantha Burgers now, plays a little comm tuba, and invites Great And Nasty Slavering Horrid Orc Things to mingle with himself and the other Great And Nasty Slavering Horrid Cantina patrons.

I suppose it is human (humanoid, bloboid, free-floating-ether-being-oid) nature for a person (thing) to take for granted what he (she, it) has, but certainly the very backbone (no offense to invertebrates) of Fed has got to be the easy, comfortable atmosphere that we all are accustomed to, our community. Short of vile vulgarity and harassment, a DataSpace citizen (consciousness, hive-mind) is certainly given a wide berth as to the style of play he (enough with the politically correct stuff already) desires. One certainly should never take for granted the simple joy of being able to tell your Fed-playing neighbor from three doors down exactly what emotions you experience when his Pug dog visits your front lawn bearing gifts. All right there in the Cantina.

I love a good role-playing session as much as the next guy, probably more. Fed is certainly ideally suited for role-play and it would be a shame not to make use of it. There are days, however, where I just want to have a laugh or two with my friends. My OOC friends. OOC laughs.

I'm allowed.

That's what makes it feel like home.

If you liked this article, feel free to heap compliments on me at Olias7@aol.com. If you didn't like this article, feel free to heap compliments on me at Olias7@aol.com.

ROMANCE IS ALIVE IN FED!
by Cressida, Duchesse of Stage

February is the month of Romance! Keeping this in mind, I held a round table discussion on Stage regarding that very subject. On hand to give their opinions were, Peggysus, Baroness of Bite, Geiiga, Baron of Lunacy, BuddyKarl, Duke of Parkland, Filbert, Baron of Monarchy and Blackadder, Squire of LonelyMountian.

Cressida smiles, 'Welcome to Stage, and thank you for attending my roundtable discussion regarding romance in Fed. Feel free to speak your mind!'
Blackadder smiles, 'I have some less than flattering things to say about fed romance' Buddykarl says, 'depends on if you are in it or just on the sidelines that affects your views of it'
Blackadder says, 'I've never had a fed romance'
'Which is why I'm perfect to talk about it', smiles Blackadder.
'if you are watching it from the sidelines the sheer syrupiness of it can cause a rise in one's throat', says Buddykarl.
'One of the great things about romance in Fed is that there are no laws against polygamy...', says Geiiga.
Cressida smiles
Filbert has a number of amusing ventures into the land of Fed romance
Blackadder says, 'Bliss? I find it rather pathetic personally'
Peggysus says, 'Things can be perfect if you click well with someone.'
'Well it can get quite thick', says Buddykarl.

Apparently everyone has an opinion on the subject! Longing to get down to the matter, I continued to guide the conversation with the next question.

'Have any of you been Fed Married?', you ask.
Geiiga says, 'Twice.'
'Nope, and I never will be', says Blackadder.
Filbert has
'yes, I have been fed married 3 times', says Buddykarl.
'I've been fed married 4 times, once to all of Fed at once', exclaims Peggysus.

Getting more focus into the discussion, I wanted to know why the Fedders I was polling were so adamantly for or against FedRomance.

'Okay... lets go around the room...Blackadder, why are you opposed to FedRomance?', Cressida asks.
Blackadder says, 'I find it rather pathetic personally. Love through a keyboard just seems rather bizarre and I put it one step above cybersex'
Cressida asks, 'Buddy? Your views?', you ask.
Buddykarl says, 'cyber is just a byproduct of romance......but cyber in itself can be addictive too'
Buddykarl says, 'you can have the cyber without the romance and vice versa'
'Buddy, you've been married three times. Correct? Best and Worst please.', says Cressida
'Best, I would say that has yet to come since I am not married right now, worst is that I've had two spouses die. They just decided Fed was no longer for them and just dd'ed and never came back', says Buddykarl.
Cressida frowns and then give Buddykarl a warm hug.
Blackadder says, 'Exactly my point. 3 times? That's a worse divorce rate than the real world'

At this point, it seemed that the OOC/IC line had been crossed and required addressing by those present.

'Black, you should understand that romance 'through a keyboard' is not that, by definition – the person behind the keyboard doesn't reflect Filbert AT ALL', says Filbert.
Filbert says, 'All of my expeditions into the world of Fed romance have been strictly IC'
Cressida turns her attention to Filbert, 'You feel that folks can keep their IC and OOC lives separate?'
'Buddy, you've been married three times, did you find the separation possible?', asks Cressida.
Buddykarl says, 'it gets hard walking that tightrope but you do need to keep it separate or else RL can get burned'
'One more thing about Fed', says Blackadder 'In my opinion, it's impossible to love a real person in this game. It's more like falling in love with an ideal. A character in a novel for example.'
Filbert asks, 'But what if you're another character in that novel, Black?'
Buddykarl says, 'yes but that love of an ideal is still a form of love'
Filbert says, 'I've only cybered once... and while my mate was extremely good, the foreplay turned me on much more than the actual description of sex.'
'Having love in Fed is like loving someone without having any negative consequences. Real 'love' has consequences. Problems. If there are serious problems in a fed 'romance' one can just leave and not suffer any negative consequences', says Blackadder.
'That's untrue. Sometimes it's impossible to leave. You love Fed too much to leave', says Peggysus with a frown.
Buddykarl says, 'In my experience with Fedlove though, no matter how I try to keep it separate, some real feelings tend to bleed in'
'I agree with that, if you are serious about a fedromance and have problems, it's not so easy to let go', you say.
'and when the relationship ends, it hurts just as in RL', says Buddykarl.
Blackadder says, 'People that blend in too much real feeling are living in a fantasy world. Fed is a fantasy world, totally separate from Real Life. And I keep it that way'
Peggysus says, 'There is that place when you don't know if it's RL of Fed anymore ... when you get confused ... or you think of them a lot IRL.'
Peggysus says, 'My opinion on Fed romance, however, varies between loving it and hating it. I get attached IRL to someone, even tho I am playing a character. Some people DON'T RP, however, and that changes things also. I like to get to know someone IC and OOC to really respect them and usually I can, but sometimes I hate the character, or have IC problems with them while talking to them in IM's, which makes things interesting.'

Wanting to end the roundtable on a more romantic note, I wanted to know of the best 'date' places to attend in the Multiverse.

Geiiga smiles, 'Lunacy 42, of course'
Filbert remembers Sunset's infamous balloon ride, where he proposed to his first FedWife.

The burning question of the evening was this…

'So despite all of the odds and the trials... do you believe in FedRomance?' asks Cressida
Filbert nods
'yes, definitely', says Buddykarl.
Filbert says, 'Just as I believe in Fed war and Fed hate... on an RP level, there exists a level of love'
Buddykarl says, 'I get to thinking why do I do it......and then when I am in it I say, oh, yeah, that's why'
'And what is the why?', asks Cressida.
Buddykarl says, 'because of the escapism.....the way you can get lost in it sometimes, the way you can forget even for a moment what is troubling you in RL'
Peggysus thinks Buddykarl is a genius!
Cressida nods thoughtfully...
Geiiga says, 'I believe in FedRomance, for sure...'
Buddykarl says, 'even wrote a song about it one time'
Cressida waits for the song ;)
Buddykarl has given Geiiga a nice tickle!
Filbert hands Buddy a banjo and instructs him to sing.
'I wrote it actually for Valentine's Day 1998', says Buddykarl.
A classic, then.', says Geiiga.
Buddykarl says, 'all words copyrighted 1998, Buddykarl'
Buddykarl says, 'You always greet me in the morning, with a smile and I don't have to feel so lonely, just for a while. You always make me feel, like I am, yours for real with a smile'
Buddykarl says, 'and that is all yer gonna hear cause I have a sore throat'
Buddykarl chorckles

Cressida frowns... 'It was going to be the perfect ending!'

So much for perfect endings! I learned a lot from the roundtable discussion. FedRomance is alive and well. If you doubt it, count the declarations of love on the Bar Boards!

THE DUCAL RACE - WHO WINS?
by Bsacarl, Duke of Camp, Federation's Campinest Camper, Keeper of the S'mores

As newbods we all learned to type "ranks". For many of us this became the obsession, the addiction. Progression through the ranks was a race against time. Fighting ferociously for every rank advancement and pushing our hauling ships to the limit gave us all great satisfaction. Climbing and clawing our way to the peak of the mountain... to own a leisure planet!

But what happens to a PO that has completed all of their builds? There they sit at the top of their mountain, contemplating the future. Do they dare try it? The rank of Duke/Duchess is before them. A rank in itself filled with intrigue and power. Once the decision to proceed has been decided, the race begins again. No one is challenging you except yourself. Do you have what it takes to win the race?

If you are successful in your attempt to defeat the devilish "Duke Puzzle" you will obtain Federation's highest rank. As you type out "ranks" you see that you have won the race... but what is next? As you sit on your Ducal throne, gazing out into DataSpace, you may see the answer to your question. There are many others, just as you were, scrambling and hauling their way to the top... in a race of their own.

The race continues, but this time your purpose is a greater one. You are needed to help and guide others on their climb through their ranks, as others have helped you in the past through your own journey.

The Ducal race... who wins? Is it you for having reached your plateau? Or is it the ones that need you now, as they climb their own mountain?

PARTS, PAINT AND PONDERING
by Horatio

Someone recently called my attention to a grave oversight in Federation. How we could have overlooked this massive economic problem is mindboggling if you forget that there are more bars than economic think tanks in Fed. How, in all our years of playing, have we never had a rate war between shipbuilders? Think back: the prices for ship parts, no matter where in the universe you are, are always constant! How could this be?

One answer people are happy to jump on is that the shipyards have been nationalized. This does make sense when you consider the amazingly inspired paint jobs (courtesy of finer mental institutions galaxy-wide). Furthermore, the abundance of spare parts leads us to believe there's only one manufacturer in business, which is a little scary when you get right down to it. My Buick is a good car, but if you try to wedge a Honda part in it, you end up with a Buick paperweight. But you'll note that you can take your battered ship to any shipwright and they'll automatically have the right part to undo the bad-piloting related damage. You'd think with a parts distribution system like that they'd be able to drum up some more imaginative paint colors.

Deciding to actually do some reporting, I wandered on down to Jarrow's Starships on Earth and spoke to the Under-Sub-Manager in Charge of Something. According to the helpful fellow (I think it was a he), shipbuilders aren't nationalized, and are in fact free to conduct business as they choose. When I pressed the point about the paint, he offered a free repaint and overhaul of my ship in return for my silence. After pointing out I don't actually have a ship, I was "escorted" from the establishment by a pair of gentlemen who obviously like small string instruments.

Since it's been my experience that workers are the most knowledgeable (and bribable) people in existence, I decided to head to the repair shop by the Cantina. However, on my way there, someone clubbed me over the head with a can of paint ("Manky Gray") and stuffed me in a shipping box.

So it would appear that my investigative journalism is, for this week, over. However, I intend to stay on this story for as long as I must to uncover the truth! I must know what is really going on.

I also need to know if anybody out there knows of a planet with purple trees; that's where they shipped me.

As always, my dear readers (all three of you), if you have anything you'd like to tell me about, feel free to email me at Horatio_TheWriter@excite.com. Assuming I find my way off the Planet of the Purple Trees, I'll get right back to you!

FLAT-RATE FED
Good Thing or Evil Plague Brought About by the Devil Himself?
by Danny

For those of you living in a cave, and I'm sure there are some of you out there, you are no longer paying hourly for Federation. This may seem great for you, but it's not great. It's bad. That's right. So I decided, being the kind person I am, to write this column for you about why exactly it's bad. Well, OK so I wrote this because you haven't heard my opinions in a while... unless you've tuned to 9 at all. But as I was saying, it's time for me to kill your joy with the following reasons Flat Rate Fed is a bad thing...

AFK Macros: Remember those? No, not from yesterday afternoon - from AOL Fed. Remember how they sucked up resources and allowed people to cheat on the TTTT and bothered people with their constant "I am AFK" messages at regular intervals? Well, they're back. And they're bothering people again. But since I'm on the topic of AOL Fed...

AOL Fed Players Who Just Started After AOL Went Flat Rate: In case you haven't noticed, I wasn't the biggest fan of Fed on AOL once it went unlimited. Well, some of the people who only knew that dark time are back... and trying to recreate that dark time. A time of rampant stupidity, untamed snertishness, and blatant guilds. That reminds me...

Guilds: Don't even get me started. And before you give me an argument about how guilds have always been around, let me clarify that I'm talking about "guilds," as in organizations that have that name. All the old guild leaders who loved the game until they had to pay hourly for it are coming back and trying to resurrect their guilds. I personally have been approached by two former guild leaders who say I was in their guild back in AOL days. Right. Sure. But speaking of uninvited conversation...

Random People Who TB You Asking For Money, Jobs, or Puzzle Answers: Need I say more? And if you haven't had this happen to you that means you're either one of them, friends with one of them, or an alt of one of them. Shame! And finally, on the topic of shame...

Snerts: They're baaaaaack. And not trickling in either. In droves. Like locusts. I know this is a generic category, but this is for any annoying person who doesn't fit in categories two (2)* or four (4)*. And if you say you haven't noticed snerts since you've been back, congratulations, this segment of this column is for you.

So there you have it. My first complaint of the new millennium! (Momentous occasion, huh?) (Math geeks: please don't remind me of year 0). Next week I may write a column of good things about Flat Rate - other than the destruction of mass quantities of alts and the fact that, well, it's flat rate. If I can think of anything. Don't hold your breath.

* Numerical digits added for the benefits of snerts reading this.

SCOUNDREL'S CORNER: THE LOST ART OF SHIP-PAINTING
by Olias, Baron of Emancipation, Emissary to Foojaloo-II, Tuba Virtuoso, Scoundrel, Person Totally Unsuited To Writing Stuff Like This

My friends, first of all I must apologize. I know, based on your overwhelming feedback, that many of you were eagerly anticipating the essay of the digestive tract of the typical adult male Zlitherworm. I was just about to send it to the printing department when a report came across my desk that shocked me so much I felt it necessary to relay it to all of you. It may save your life. The report follows:

"Spaceliner Lost, Thousands Presumed To Have Suffered Horrible Cold Awful Death
FOOJALOO-II, February 7 (AP)

All transmissions with the deep-space passenger liner Merriweather were lost today at approximately 2:51 PM Galactic Mean Time. The Merriweather, operated by Deltan Spacelines, made her departure on-time from Titan in the Sol system and entered hyperspace from the interstellar link at approximately 6:02 AM GMT. The Merriweather was carrying 2,236 passengers and had a regular crew of 39, sources said.

An automated subspace mayday call was received from the Merriweather as it passed near the spinward system Foojaloo-II at 7:39 GMT. Seven minutes later, all telemetry signals from the Merriweather also ceased. Calculation of signal lag from her last known position tentatively places her demise at or about 2:51 PM, GMT.

No further transmissions were received. Several rescue ships have been dispatched, but as yet have no findings to report.

Copyright © The Assorted Press"

Sad news indeed. I decided to investigate the matter further. I was headed out that way to trade some sensamps that I had creatively obtained (okay, stolen) with the Foojaani anyway, so it was on my way.

My ship, The Wild Rover, may be junk, but it's fast junk. As I expected, I easily beat the rescue ships to the scene, glorified garbage scows that they are.

A quick sweep of the area near Foojaloo-II revealed ship debris, a lot of it. Through the viewport glass I could see all manner of bulkheads, hull plating, exhaust nozzles, and wing surfaces, all horrifically mangled. To my revulsion, the nondescript wreckage was painted a manky shade of institutional grey. I did a short scan and found the black box flight recorder. A transcript of its log follows.

Co-pilot Sam Anderson: "Best make the speech, Floyd."
A click, presumably the intercom.
Captain Floyd Peterson: "Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Floyd Peterson. On behalf of the entire crew of this Deltan Spaceliner I bid you welcome aboard and hope your flight is a pleasant one. Please observe the ‘fasten safety harness' holo and the ‘no-smoking' holo. Those of you from the lava planet Firgavi, please no self-immolation or fire-breathing for the duration of the flight. Thank you."
Scanning Officer Bob Fredericks: "Guys, I've got some strange readings here on the scopes."
Peterson: "Like what?"
Fredericks: "If I didn't know better, I'd say it was a Biological."
Anderson: "Bah. A Biological? Here? In space? Your equipment must be on the fritz again."
Engineer John Fritz: "Huh? Me?"
Anderson: "Never mind."
Fredericks, panicking: "No, really! Oh God! No! Oh sweet Lord no! It's a Gronthrarax!"
Peterson, nervous: "A what?"
Fredericks, hysterical: "Only the most feared predator in known space! Big as a moon! Fast as lightening! Breathes vacuum! Eats anything it sees!"
Anderson: "But I thought a Gronthrarax was entirely color blind?"
Peterson, stricken with realization: "They are…but…OUR SHIP IS A MANKY SHADE OF INSTITUTIONAL GREY!"
A loud crunching noise begins, followed by the terrible screeching of rent metal.
A cacophony of screams.
Anderson, fading into static: "Floyd, you idiot, you left the intercom on…"

Don't let this happen to you.

If you liked this article, feel free to heap compliments on me at Olias@aol.com. If you didn't like this article, feel free to heap compliments on me at the same address.

A COMMENTARY ON CLOTHES IN FED
by Cressida, Duchesse of Stage

Clothes… My mother always said that clothes can make or break a person. I've found in FED that this is true as well. I remember when I first found FED, clothes seemed to be the most important part of the entire ritual. That was, of course, before I onlined my planet! I had clothes in my closet on Solace for every occasion. Exploration clothes, sexy clothes, clothes for hanging out with my friends, clothes for hottubbing, clothes for every occasion.

The outfits hung in my closet with care and as I look back on them and my time in FED, I can remember what I was wearing when I jumped off the bridge in FilmNoir, and what I was wearing when I was first Fedengaged. I have boxes of cheap sunglasses and solar blasters, which seemed to be required for life on Solace!

Attending social functions took on a whole new meaning. I had the opportunity to see what other Fedders were wearing. What I found most interesting is how certain Fedizens had a trademark about their look. For example, did you ever see Zimaleye without her thigh high boots? Or TeranSolo NOT in a trench coat and a smile that made you wonder what he was thinking? When anything "innocent" is mentioned, who other than GamingLady comes to mind? What about VEN in his silk boxers and bowtie?

I was curious about this new Fed that we now live in. We've lost some of the "old Fedders" but some are still around and carrying on the tradition. I decided to take a look around Fed to see what fedizens were wearing and what their clothes said about them.

Like any good Duchesse, I started in the Duchy of Stage. Per normal, there seemed to be quite a gathering of the Malcontents on Lunacy so I ported over to see who was wearing what.

>ex geiiga
You see a very pale person, looking quite literally like death warmed up, wearing an uncomfortable hospital gown. The wide gap up the back allows a draft into the most intimate places. An identity tag attached to one toe makes it very difficult to walk.

Geiiga was my first victim. My examining him prompted him to tell me about how exactly he came about to be wearing the toe tag. He had quite a convincing story about getting shot down while trading earlier in the day. Knowing that Geiiga is usually dressed to a "T", I found it most amusing that I caught him in such a state. And without his wedding ring! Perhaps there was one other reason for that toe tag?

Speaking of wedding rings and Geiiga, I next had a look at Peggysus…

>ex peggysus
Wedding ring sparkling, Peggy wears a short black shining dress. Her eyes shimmer green... bright green... every color of green possible ...

Peggy just sparkles, much like her lively personality. Everything shines from her wedding ring, to her dress, to her eyes. And this look fits Peggy so well. She is extremely gregarious on the comms and in the Duchy. As more than one have told me on many occasions, "Peggy just makes me smile!"

Filbert was also in attendance at the bar on Lunacy.

>ex filbert
The lawyer is wearing a long black trenchcoat. Barely visible under the trenchcoat is a menacing black suit and a fashionable blue tie.

Filbert always carries about him an aura of mystery and complete control. Much like a lawyer… for the Mafioso!

I next ported over to see an old friend and player who never disappointed me in her dress regardless of the occasion.

>ex gaminglady
Dressed in a wisp of black silk, sparkling in the moonlight, sexy mischief twinkles in her eyes, curves displayed with a hint of promise.

GamingLady is the consummate flirt and socialite. Always the perfect picture of any mood she wishes to portray. A fine example of clothing oneself to paint the most exotic picture.

I then ported to the Cantina and found the following folks in residence and in various state of dress. You have a go at this… what does their clothes tell you about them?

>ex anyion
He wears an exquisite top hat, a silk tailored Armani fig leaf, and a smile that makes you warm with anticipation.

>ex sirbuck
He strips off all his clothes almost. He is left with a white thong on. And he is looking for you to put groats in his underwear.

>ex parayorp
The Rain Goddess.

>ex caribbean
You see a tall, dark-haired pirate in an open-chested white shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbow tucked into a pair of loose trousers.

>ex avenger
a handsome man in a long leather duster with grey eyes and dark hair wearing two klingon disruptor pistols in side holsters

>ex deathiscome
Here to kill you, errrr help, yeah help ya that's it

Now, take a look at what you're wearing. Does it tell people what you want them to know about you? Have you changed your outfit in the last century??

And what am I wearing?

>ex me
You examine your image in your personal viewer:

You see a dark eyed brunette in a navy dress that swirls around blue toenails. One toe sports three toe rings. An Onyx pendant dangles from an anklet.

KEEPING YOUR SANITY AS A SQUIRE
by Bsacarl, Duke of Camp, Federation's Campinest Camper, Keeper of the S'mores

Ok... I got my planet... now what? These are the thoughts of many new planet owners. Gazing hopelessly down upon their new exchanges, trying to decipher the digests one by one. Without a properly set exchange your planet will die a slow, painful death.

The Agri exchange is probably the hardest exchange you will have in your Fed life. Set all of your commodities to +20, walk up your exchange and relax. Doing builds will help your exchange produce more efficiently, but you will need to get someone to haul out your overstock or (gasp) do it yourself.

Nothing is harder on the Squire than having to haul everything out just to make a groat or two. This has to be done for your planet to grow. Try not to be consumed by the ever-growing need for groats! Instead plan to take some quality time for yourself. Here are a few ideas to help you keep your sanity:

Throw a party on your planet! Nothing soothes the soul better than a good party. Don't forget the jello tub!
Visit the Cantina on Earth. Visiting with friends or making new ones is always a great time.
Go to the Casino on the Moon and do a little gambling. Careful not to wager your planet, hehehe.
Attend some of the games and events that are available each night. Check the website for game dates and times - http://www.ibgames.net/federation/events/index.html.

Explore new worlds. This is still a favorite of mine.

Keeping your sanity as a Squire will help you to :::cough::: enjoy :::cough::: your rank and prepare you for what lies ahead... another exchange.

ALSATIAN IS MORE THAN A HOUND NOW

One of the greatest oddities of Fed DataSpace was the much-feared creature known only as Icedrake. Very little information has survived to this day about this enigmatic creature, but it is a fact that the mere mention of his name still can inspire fear in Squires and Dukes alike.

Handed down throughout the generations by word-of-mouth, the old tales seem to depict a nightmarish fiend of mammoth proportions, with an insatiable appetite for planetary bodies. It is rumored that this leather-winged demon could completely digest an average M-class planet and all its inhabitants in less than a week.

After scores of planets had been happily devoured by this villain, the terror suddenly stopped with his utter disappearance. The galaxy breathed a collective sigh of relief. Fleets of colony ships once again probed the distant reaches of space, colonists content in the knowledge that the planets they were terraforming were not going to end up as some insane alien's main dish.

Strange circumstances surrounded the sudden disappearance of this Icedrake. The spanner, a multipurpose tool commonly used by Venusian miners, was reported missing, having been replaced by a cheap crescent wrench. In the backyard of the mansion in Spaceport City on Earth, the stately Alsatian no longer stalks the grounds. A mangy old mutt guards the yard now.

No one seems to know where this Icedrake came from, or where he went. No one seems to know whether the old tales are true. No one seems to know if the disappearances have any bearing on this whole matter or are mere coincidence.

I know.

I am the Alsatian, you see.

I had been happily trotting around the backyard, contemplating a nice nap and making some style adjustments to my master's slipper when a stranger seem to appear out of the air.

"Hiya," he said, tipping his hat.

"Woof," said I, and sniffed cautiously.

He lured me a little closer with the promise of a biscuit, and the last thing I remember was a glimpse of a hypodermic needle that had been hidden in his other hand. I slept for a long time, and when I awoke, everything was different. I knew stuff. I knew that the white cudgel master always smacked me with was called a newspaper. I knew that master never appreciated my style adjustments to his slippers. I knew that the crud master called dog food was of much lower quality than the fine cuisine master himself ate. I suddenly didn't feel like master was my best friend anymore.

"My name is Icedrake," said the stranger then. "I am sick of my job and need a replacement. You're it. Always liked dogs better than people, and you seemed bored, so I've surgically added a frontal cortex to your brain. You'll need it for your new job." He tapped his chin a moment and added, "Or maybe you won't."

He set about adjusting a thing I now knew was called a machine with a thing that I now knew was called a spanner. "This equipment is an atom reducer. It mounts on your ship. Just aim, fire, and pow! - the planet becomes the size of a marble. Pop it in your mouth and write a report on how it tastes."

I cast my eyes on the nearest thing that I now knew was called a candy mini-planet and drooled.

He waggled a thing I now knew was called a finger at me. "Now look here, you only munch planets that you are invited to. No sneaking into Slarti's and chewing on his stock. And no ‘drop it doggie' if you swallow one that's not quite finished yet. The atom reducer works only once on any planet – so it's up to the overlord to make sure everything is in order before you come around and mark territory. If grammar and spelling errors start to upset your tummy, just chew on the owner."

Strapping a bag of things that I now knew were called Walrus of Merit and Carpenter Awards across my shoulders, he continued; "If you come across a planet that's especially tasty, Porterhouse steak variety, leave a Walrus behind. If it's not in the best-of-the-best category but is still pretty good and worth checking out, drop a Carpenter on it as you leave. Use them sparingly, there's a lot of planets to sample out there. Got it? Good."

He waved and shimmered away on a thing I now knew was called a teleporter.

So I guess I am the thing I now know is called a planet reviewer.

To submit your planet for review, email SavageAlsatian@aol.com.