lancer
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Joined: 10/18/2005
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The Second battle of Pitfall.
Epic.
Nail biting drama for the folks back home. The Empire of Man kicking sand in the face of the hairy apes creatures.
Captain Terminus. Shiny, newly minted, hero. Deliberately warping straight into the maws of doom. Taking on overwhelming odds.
What a bloody wally.
I tell him to head south and join battle with the Icky Apes. Didn’t omit any details. Painted the full, scary picture for him.
Did he complain? Did he suggest alternatives?
Nope. Snapped to attention and told me he’d deal with it. Knew full well that he was going to his death.
Wally.
Wind up, brainless nongs, like Captain Terminus are what keeps the likes of me in power. Here I sit, supported by the countless sacrifices of faceless millions who have all the survival instincts of lemmings mainlining on happy pills.
Every now and then I make one of them a hero. Shine the spotlight in their direction. Hero’s can be tricky though. Tend to get a bit above themselves. Posthumous heroes are the way to go.
But even so, I sometimes wonder about the futility of it all. The unsaid assumption being that I’m only able to remain in power while there are legions of people who are willing to die for me.
Boo hoo. Big deal. Don’t feel sorry for them. Don’t miss their passing. Don’t really appreciate their sacrifice beyond my own personal self-interest in the matter.
What does get me cranky though is the outright inefficiency of it all. The more dead idiots that die on your behalf, the greater the wastage in training and resources. It’s all about turnover. Efficient empires, I beginning to suspect, have less turnover of personnel.
My style of management doesn’t lend itself to being in the pantheon of the ‘ten most effective empires’. I’m more likely to take out the prize for the ‘empire with the biggest mortuary.’
If there is a better way of doing it then it’s lost on me. Not even interested in learning. Stick to what you know. Change your golf swing and before you know you are yesterdays man. A sad, forgotten footnote in history. Remembered only for a failed swing and a sad, crinkled up, willy.
No. Keep on keeping on. Order Captain Terminus to his death. Pat him on the back before he walks out the door. Makes me feel better about the hassle of finding a replacement for him.
Off he goes. Rigidly upright, shoulders squared back. Grim of jaw and stern of visage.
Wally.
Here’s the play as it happened. Captain Terminus stumbles blindly into Pitfall at the head of the Imperial First Fleet.
The impressive title sounding better than the reality of two beaten up old frigates. Nevertheless Captain Terminus duly puts his nose to the grindstone and goes to work.
Confronted by multiple hostile Apes he manages to concentrate fleet weaponry on a hapless Ape Escort which eventually goes bang.
Unfortunately the other two Escorts and a big, nasty Primate Frigate focus their fire upon poor old Captain Terminus hiding within his rusty flagship.
Surrounded, being pounded on all sides, shields down, armour peeling, Captain Terminus is about to meet his maker. Hero about to go under for the last time.
Bye bye ya’ Wally. Have fun in Valhalla.
With myself and the Imperial Third Fleet still firmly plugged into the FredTopia star port refuelling teat, I receive a diplomatic missive from the hairy ones.
Jeee – s*s.
Clearly the Icky Apes aren’t up on current affairs. They just blew Pitfall Star Port to kingdom come and now they are upset that we didn’t say thank you?
Apes are delusional. Lost the plot. Having a bad nose day.
Had a wife like that once. All indignation and moral certitude whenever she was caught out.
Tried to reason with her. Can’t make stuff up like that, said I. Explained that her superhuman leaps of logic don’t make it so.
Wasting my time. Living in fairy land. In the end had to help her on her way.
Still there now. With the fairies.
Trying to tell them that a torso with certain missing parts is a sign of royalty and what the fairies really need right now is a headless queen.
Probably got a dainty pink fairy rosebush sprouting out of her spinal column.
I wish her well.
Timing. It’s all about timing, and mine is off.
Third fleet was supposed to refuel, warp leisurely down to Pitfall and clean up what’s left of the Apes after they had waxed Captain Terminus.
Another minute and he’d have been a goner. When fate kicks you in the b*lls it really does a good job of it.
Here I am, astride the bridge of the mighty ‘Fearsome Verdict’, riding to the rescue and what is the first thing that pops up on the sensors?
Captain Terminus, nearly terminal, extremely pleased to see us.
Wade into the Apes. Blow them all up – except for one lonely Escort that escaped to spread the word…
Emperor Fred is back in town. The Law has arrived. P*ss off Apes, bugs and other creepy crawlies. Big shiny neon sign erected over Pitfall – HUMANS ONLY.
Newly minted hero poncing around before me. Jumping up and down with the excitement of pulling off the impossible. Captain Terminus saves the day.
B*llocks. Pin a medal on the insufferable man of action and let the cameras roll.
Heroes – ones that are still breathing – don’t feature heavily in my universe. Plans are afoot for Terminus.
Message from Chancellor Chuck. The Gloom Meister.
Economy still tanked. Can’t have those Destroyers that I ordered built. Can’t even start rebuilding Pitfall Star Port.
All I get from my Chancellor these days are “No's”. Probably going to ban my bowel movements along with my economy, navy and future. Bowel movements are the only meaningful bodily function left to me given my lack of tackle.
You know that you have reached the nadir of your miserable existence when the only thing left you have to look forward to – body wise – is taking a dump. Depressing.
Why do I perservere in the face of such adversity? Jeez, I don’t know.
Yes I do. ‘Cause I am Emperor Fred. Ruler of the Galaxy and if sitting on the crapper is my sole remaining joy then so be it.
Really need to stop cutting back on my heart pills. Psychological side effects beginning to rear their ugly heads.
Zorg, you b*stard, where is my new supply of medication?
Not as if he can’t afford them – absolutely rolling in credits. Zorg Industries cash flow alone is larger than the entire Imperial budget. A mighty gushing torrent of credits compared to the sporadic dribble that comes my way.
Icky Apes choose this moment to blast into my consciousness with a new diplomatic overture.
As in they are becoming really upset over our alleged aggression. Sensitive souls the Apes. Bet they use a lot of Kleenex. Liable to burst into tears at the slightest provocation.
While my grasp of Exo-Anthropology isn’t as firm as it could be I’d imagine that the evolution of a delusional mental state would go hand in hand with that of an emotional cripple.
Then again the Icky Apes are nothing more than big hairy bugs. Everybody knows that bugs are only half baked in the developmental oven. That’s why they are bugs.
Bugs need to know their place in the galaxy. Underfoot.
Well, lets go razz an Ape.
Big Ape planet across system. Sizeable Ape Star Port. Seething, heaving mass of Ape-dom.
Pass my orders to the Admiral. Imperial Third Fleet on the move.
A short interval while the fleet jumps across system to splat the Apes.
It’s Easter. Muted celebrations throughout the ‘Fearsome Verdict’. I turn a blind eye to boisterous behaviour from the crew.
There are limits to my tolerance. Caught two of them intoxicated, rutting in the corridor, one evening. Who wants to come face to face with basic human urges that apply to everybody except yourself?
Not me. Knifed the pair of them. Orderlies cleaned up the mess. Official announcement over the ship’s intercom – onboard carousing restricted to the Easter Bunny.
Pointless including rabbits as they have no impulse control. Wouldn’t be at all surprised if the Easter Bunny happened to be a member of some crazy bug rabbit race who are locked into a bizarre symbiotic relationship with cocoa leaves and colourful metal foil.
Resolve to do a number on the Chocolate fiend if I meet him. Can’t have rabbit rooting bugs running amok on the flagship. Notify security. Anything on four legs to be blasted on sight, chocolates or no chocolates.
Arrive at Ape central. Same time as a second Ape Fleet warps into Pitfall.
Two rusty, beat up old frigates of First Fleet all that there is left to defend the planet. No matter ‘cause there is a hero present. Odds on the ignorant, nasally-challenged Apes don’t know that Heroes never lose.
Go Captain Terminus. Wipe ‘em all out and die doing it. Good man.
Focus on the job at hand. Big Ape Star port. Scanners indicate that there are five military ships of uncertain size currently under construction within it’s multitude of yards.
No time to waste. ‘Fearsome Verdict’ leads the charge.
Wham, Bam, Boom!
Ape Port physically dominating the entire viewport. If I could do it I’d head butt them into submission.
Lots of little bits flailing away as our ordinance slams into them.
I’m in full warrior mode. Shouting orders. Rallying the troops. Assessing the situation. Dealing with the crises. Showering death and destruction down upon the foe.
I’d still like to head butt them.
Icky Apes belatedly declare war.
Yep, that’s about where we are at.
Tends to happen once you go around blowing up the other persons star ports. Chancellor Chuck still won’t let me build a replacement at Pitfall.
I notice, not for the first time, a particularly effeminate tinge to all the Apes that appear before me on their HoloVid diplomatic missives. Could just be their nose but I wouldn’t be surprised to find that they are a species led by women.
Their Men probably too ashamed to show their face in public. That nose again.
Anyway… Female Apes or Male Apes. Doesn’t matter. They are all bugs and bugs are destined to be squashed.
Enter, stage right, Emperor Fred. Chief Bug Squasher.
We have achieved Space Superiority. Ape Port no more. Ape star ships no more. All for the cost a frigate.
Lots of Ape freighters, constructors and explorers also blown up. Bonfire of the Apes.
Sent a ship around the block to hunt down and destroy any stray Ape tonnage including all miners.
The Ape Moon still looms large before us. Defiant. A green blob in a sea of blue.
Interestingly there are only fourteen million Apes lording over a billion subjugated humans.
Now the big question is if we invade the moon do the humans fight on behalf of their Ape masters or do they hang them out to dry and rise up in revolt?
More a matter of logistics. Number of grunts required. Going to invade regardless. Haven’t got a choice. If I don’t enrol more taxpayers into our happy little Empire sharpish then we’ll be declared bankrupt.
Who does that? Chancellor Chuck unclear on this point. The Intergalactic Bank? Do bugs with green visors suddenly turn up and hammer a ‘For Sale’ sign on all your planets?
Won’t be happening. But it’ll still take a while to get enough grunts in position. Perhaps there’s another option?
Captain Terminus, first class annoyance, holds the line at Pitfall and miraculously survives again. Hero mark two. Graduates to Super Hero status.
Danger man.
Order him back to Fredtopia to refuel. Fire off a fast drone to facilitate a suitable reception for a man of his stature. Could be a little tricky to organise but I thought he might enjoy meeting the Leech.
While he’s refuelling. With his shields powered down.
To be continued...
Lancer
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RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR - 
just look what happens to my eyes 
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