RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (Full Version)

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Data -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (2/1/2011 3:09:24 PM)
Lancer, don't want to take advantage of your talent but would you consider making a let's play on youtube? I think you'd rock [&o]

thiosk -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (2/11/2011 12:23:08 AM)
eyyyungh! twitch emperor!

rtrapasso -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (2/12/2011 1:11:36 AM)
[sm=sad-1361.gif]

Data -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (2/12/2011 8:13:22 AM)
someone is feeling lonely? [:)]

thiosk -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (2/12/2011 8:15:13 AM)
seriously this thread is the best thing on earth

lancer -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (2/12/2011 10:44:24 AM)
[image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/chapter_fiftyfour_lady2.jpg[/image] Boredom, endless, mind-numbing boredom, can hammer down on a persons mind-set and crack it like the insignificant walnut that it is. Not mine. ‘Cause I know that life is a zero-sum game. Months of staring at the walls is nothing more than the ticket price for the all the interesting stuff that follows. So much excitement, as it turned out, that my aging organ-pumper of blood revved right up into the red and took up residence. Long forgotten carnal pleasures were nothing compared to this. For the first time in my prolonged, artificially extended, life I was able to stand on the deck of a mighty spaceship and splat bugs. Evil, scummy bugs. I, Emperor Fred, personally rid the galaxy of extraneous trash. No bag and tag here. Crisp ‘em till they crumble. Felt good. Felt bl*dy terrific. I am well and truly Juiced. But I’m getting ahead of myself. With the benefit of several downloaded drones and all-seeing hindsight I’m able to reconstruct events prior to my arrival at the scene of the crime. Been busy compiling it all into a neat little holoVid which will be shown throughout the Empire. All it needs is a catchy title. ‘I’ve met the Law and the Law is E.Fred’. Yeah. A short splice on the end of me scowling, scratching my non-existent blls and spitting into the distance would round it off nicely. Bound to boost morale. ~ ~ ~ First Fleet warped into the Adarluun System well before the arrival of the C.S. “Blind Lady”. Captain Terminus, fully expecting an early, unscheduled appointment with his Maker, was pleasantly surprised to find a solitary Pirate frigate in-system. Wielding the I.N “Excelsior” like an avenging sword of retribution, Captain Terminus proceeded to lay into the infidel with the aid of First Fleet's remaining frigate. Swish, swoosh, smash! Despite the two to one odds Captain Terminus found himself struggling to prevail. While it isn’t noted anywhere in his personnel records that he might be lacking in the sword smith department, something was clearly not going to plan. The drone data-dump contained the Excelsior’s full black-box readouts which I had the relevant flunkies analyse for me. Captain Terminus can rest easy. Technical issues. First combat revealing design faults. [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_excelsior.jpg[/image] Turns out the Excelsior class frigate has four concussion beams as a weapons load out. Burn through a fair amount of power, I’m told. So much so that the good Captain can’t ‘concuss’ the enemy as fast as he would prefer. Distinct lack of concussing going on. Further investigations reveal that the frigate does indeed have sufficient spare energy to concuss the bejsus out of any flaky pirate within cooee of it’s location. Impertinent flunkies pointing out the real problem. The concussion beams can only find it within themselves to lurch out of bed and thump somebody over the head every 1.1 seconds. Poor effort. How is Captain Terminus ever going to blow up Pirates if his beam weaponry is on semi-permanent vacation? Minister for Science. Bldy Frizzball. Researching boxes, storage and fairy festivals, for all I know, instead of decent space-going guns. I make a note to deal with him upon my return. This despite already having three outstanding notes pending, regarding our dismal research performance and lack of progress in all matters science. I do, in fact, expedite the matter up my personal priority list. Give it some lift. Not enough to break cloud cover but sufficient to achieve critical altitude. High enough to be noticed. Watch out Frizzball. Back to Captain Terminus. Slugging it out with knobbled beams. When BAMMO! Suddenly three new Pirate vessels warp in and join the battle, one of them a Destroyer. Terminus and Excelsior going DOWN. Retreat not an option. The “Blind Lady” must get through. It’s all over. Command Log recording Captain Terminus’s penultimate message to his family. Bits of Imperial frigates shredding left and right. “Blind Lady” still en route. Doom and despair. As the final curtain lowers on the Imperial First Fleet and the intrepid Captain Terminus there is the faint, distant sound of trumpets. Well known fact that sound doesn’t carry in space. Expect the clarion call of trumpets. A freak of physics. Captain Terminus prepares to draw his last breath as shields flare out of existence and armour begins to peel. Puzzled frown. He can hear the trumpets getting louder. Trumpets? KAZAM! Into the fracas, riding high in the saddle, comes EMPEROR FRED!!! Thundering down the slot into the very maw of danger and death. Third Fleet charging along behind. Bam, Bang, BOOM! [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_arrival_of_third_fleet.jpg[/image] I stand astride the bridge of the Cruiser “Fearsome Verdict”. Feet akimbo, head held high. Every single vibration from engine and beams transmitting up through the deck via the lighting rod of my metallic skeletal structure. Whomping into my cranium like an out-of-control train wreck. Swirling round and round inside until finally spearing directly into my septum pellucidium. And if you have to ask you don’t need to know. Bggered if I’m going to tell the whole galaxy how to have this much fun. Blew three Pirate ships apart. Great rendering colour splashes of red and orange. Fancied I could see legs and arms flying through the maelstrom but that my just have been wishful thinking. Probably tentacles. Remaining Pirate Destroyer heads for the hills. He knows there is a new sheriff in town. Suffered a moment. Had to be restrained. Sort of. Orders politely ignored. Flushed with the unbridled power of death dealing destruction I yelled to keep shooting. Anything and everything. Ape freighter and an Independent nearby. Not one of my better efforts. Came to my senses. Overlooked the insubordination. Lasered the Freddo stare of doom around the length and breadth of the bridge. Nobody to mention this again. Ever. Captain Terminus and First Fleet live to fight another day. But where, oh, where is the “Blind Lady”? To be continued... Lancer

Galahad78 -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (2/12/2011 12:46:42 PM)
Yeeeeeeeeeeees! [:D] This gets better and better with each chapter [:)]

Data -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (2/12/2011 1:19:36 PM)
ya, only 54 chapters so far [:)]

rtrapasso -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (2/12/2011 6:57:00 PM)
[&o] [&o] [&o]

thiosk -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (2/17/2011 7:26:39 AM)
when thio asks, thio receives. [:'(]

rtrapasso -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (2/18/2011 2:50:05 AM)
quote: ORIGINAL: thiosk when thio asks, thio receives. [:'(] but when? [:'(]

Data -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (2/18/2011 10:12:47 AM)
not soon enough [:)]

thiosk -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (2/20/2011 11:32:57 PM)
Its never soon enough. Never. I'm a huge fan lance-- this thread keeps me coming back to the forum at a time when I don't even have time to be here. DO NOT STOP

lancer -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (2/26/2011 10:27:13 AM)
[image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/chapter_fiftyfive_lady3.jpg[/image] Wars, in my experience, have always been cut and dried affairs. Somebody, usually me, starts one. Kick the opposition all the way down the proverbial street and back again. Then, having had my fun and achieved my objectives, I end it. Very simple and straightforward. As I may have mentioned before keeping it simple is one of my secrets to success. Hang a few complicated diplomatic situations around your neck and before you know it you are tangled up in a spiders web of confusion and contradictions. Have hostilities commenced? Yes, no, maybe, but. All too hard and difficult. You want a war? Go start one. Leave the diplomatic contortions for the cocktail crowd. Diplomacy is nothing more than a job creation program for motor-mouthed limp-wristed wimps sporting purple cravats. While they are busy sipping and talking, talking and sipping, the real men are out there killing people. ‘Cause that’s what wars are about. Killing people and things. Trick is to kill more stuff than the other guy. A head start is a big advantage. That’s why you don’t tell anyone that you are about to start a war. Best to let rip with your biggest, baddest weaponry and let the casualty count tell the story. Smear the blood far and wide. Don’t worry, they’ll figure it out eventually. If you do it right, you’ve killed enough stuff that it’s all over before it began. Which is a shame, really. Happened to me more than once in the early days. Before I learned to pace myself. But that was way back when. I was fighting my fellow humans on Earth. The real Earth. Enough with the reminiscing. Fast forward to the twenty eighth century and I’m about to start my first ‘Bug’ war. Killing humans makes you feel bad. Sort of. Maybe. Only if you’re related. Close family relative. Killing bugs is different. ‘Cause they’re bugs. They don’t count. They shouldn’t be here. It’s unnatural to have creatures that, by rights, should be crawling around the dirt and cow sht, worrying about being trodden on, instead flying space ships. Not right. I’m pretty sure that whoever made the galaxy didn’t plan on the bugs getting this big. Or this smart. Clearly evolution took a tricky turn. Solar radiation probably. Mutated some bug DNA, frothed it up in the genetic thick shake machine and before you know it there are giant bugs with big brains zipping from star to star. That’s why I’m here. Destiny calls. I’m the guy who’s going to clean up the mess. Emperor Fred, Galactic Janitor. I’m probably fated to draw my penultimate breath once I’ve splattted the last remaining bug. Cosmic Karma and all. No biggie. Lotsa bugs. Take a while. Anyways, back to the war. Nothing I’d like better than to start vaporizing the Icky Apes. Fry their hairy heads clean off their hairy, lice-riddled carcasses. Can’t do it. Economy in a hole. Flogging boatloads of government bonds and printing shiny new thousand credit bills as fast as we can. Not working. Still broke. Almost the entire military might of the Empire is with me at present. Powerful as the Third Fleet is it isn’t enough to take on another civilisation. Not even a hirsute simian banana brained one. I need to instigate a crash ship building program to beef up the navy. To do that I need money. Can’t get the stuff until a whole bunch of new taxpayers join our happy throng. Not to mention Zorg and my ever dwindling supply of pills. Frustrating. Very frustrating. [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_apes_1.jpg[/image] In the midst of the writhing turmoil of ships and chaos swirling about the juicy independent human colony, I receive a beamed message from the solitary Ape Escort. Icky Apes upset about my presence. There have been the odd times in the past when certain people have complained about my lack of manners or civility. Certain ex-people. Can’t recall anybody vocalising their opposition to my presence though. Well, here I be. Emperor Fred. Supreme Admiral of the Navy and commander of the mighty destructo Imperial Third Fleet. Currently in the Adarluun system. Not planning on leaving anytime soon. Live with it, Ape man. Not even sure if I’m dealing with a monkey man or woman. That nose. Very off-putting. Instant appetite suppressant. How do they mate? Rub noses? Pretty sure if they accidentally bumped a solid surface they would be stuck fast, nose to the wall. All soft and squishy. Probably secretes superglue. And other stuff. Disgusting. I fight back a sudden urge to fire off a whole bank of Maxos Blasters. There is a time and a place and this isn’t it. Not yet. Ignoring the anatomically challenged ape-thing I focus on the matter at hand. The “Blind Lady”. Overdue in-system. Where the hll is she? Fleet Situation Officer reports the “Blind Lady” has dropped out of hyperspace several light years coreward of the Adarluun system. What happened? Did they deliberately mess with their hyperspacial co-ordinates in an effort to stay clear of the Pirates? Weren’t they aware that Emperor Fred would have it all sorted by the time they arrived? What is more likely is that the Zion Construction yard scrwed up the Braille markings on the navigation computer. Not a lot of demand for command centres adapted for sightless old women. But that’s the quality of personnel you end up with once you make the decision to forcibly shovel conscripted ‘volunteers’ into your gigantic flat-pack emigration horror hulks. Time passes. Third fleet is sweeping up the final piratical crumbs when, lo and behold, the “Blind Lady” staggers into view. Wavering voice of a doddery old captain reporting that they are burning the last remaining Caslon vapours from their depleted fuel tanks. “Don’t wor-ry, son-ny, we’ll make it”, croaks the nonagenarian captain. Go granny, go. ‘Admiral!’ yells the bridge corpsman, “Ape colony vessel approaching target Moon CX668.” What? WHAT!!! [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_ape_2.jpg[/image] “Estimated ETA identical to the Blind Lady, Sir!” “Captain,” I order without hesitation, “Lock on to the Ape ship. Light them up. Request they abort their mission and change course immediately.” “Yes Sir!” “Ape Coloniser refusing to acknowledge our transmission, Sir! No change in course!” Zorg or no Zorg the war is about to begin. No way can I allow the Icky Apes to make a fool of me and steal my beautiful new colony of taxpayers. “Torpedoes. Lock and load! On my mark.” I draw a deep breath. One last try before Armageddon. “Raise the Blind Lady!” Silver haired Captain appears in all her crinkly, wrinkly holoVid glory. “Captain Ethel at your service, Ad-miral.” “I need you to redline your engine,” say I, pausing. “Burn it out.” Is she getting this? Captain Ethel isn’t even looking in my direction. Leaning on her walking stick. Blank expression. I detect the faint whiff of senility. The holoVid antediluvian citizen before me suddenly bursts out in raucous cackles, interspersed with feeble, wracking coughs. “Hey, sonny. You look in worse shape than me. Is it Admiral Fred or Admiral Methuselah?” Captain Ethel cackling up a storm at her own humour. Deathly quiet on the bridge of the “Fearsome Verdict”. Captain Ethel, unaware of her fatal faux pas, peers mole-like from behind her Ray Charles eye furniture. I roll with the punches. Must have the colony. Nothing else matters. Scanners have revealed that within the Adarluun system there are actually two* independent human colonies. The second has already been colonised by the Icky Apes. If they get their hands on this one as well they’ll have a critical mass right on the doorstep of FredTopia. Deep doggy do do. I’ve already been briefed on the override protocols for the HH Coloniser design. “Captain Ethel, there is a big purple button on the right hand side of the Engineers control panel. I need you to release the safety lock and push the button all the way in.” “Love to, son-ny, but my sight implant is on the blink. Can’t guarantee that I’ll push the right but-ton.” “Hold one.” I cut transmission and quiz the resident brain’s trust. What if she pushes every button on the Engineer’s panel? Will the ship blow apart? Apparently not. The engines, the thrusters and the cryogenic refrigeration plant will though. Which means a dead ship, drifting in space full of millions of prematurely defrosted colonists. If the final kick of the engines in their death throes don’t get them to the moon before the Icky Apes then it’s pretty much irrelevant. They can float off into the void cannibalising each other for all I care. Lord of the Flies writ large upon the stars. “Captain Ethel, can you find the Engineer’s Panel?” “Think I can, sonny.” “Good. Push every single button on the panel. Now!” Tense moments as I await the result. Granny power in action. Lots of alarms sounding in the background. Must be pushing something. Finally Captain Ethel shuffles back into view. “Hope you know what you are doing, sonny.” So do I. Fleet Navigational Officer calls it. “Blind Lady’s speed vector increasing! Hyperdrive, manoeuvring and thruster plants all gone. Fire in their engine bay.” Don’t need any of that now. Atmospheric braking and crash landing beckoning. Enough will survive to plant the flag. Captain Ethel peering owlishly at me through swirling tendrils of billowing smoke. At times all I can see off her is the jet black sunglasses. A ghostly, ephemeral apparition. What’s it going to be? Torpedoes and war or Captain Ethel and the “Blind Lady”, blowing smoke out their exhaust and their tails on fire, falling head first onto home base? “Blind Lady, sir, she’ll make it!” As in she’ll beat the Ape ship. Whether anyone survives her arrival is an open question. Ape coloniser, defeated, pulls out wide and sets course back to Ape Land. That’s a whole lot of Apes that very nearly weren’t. [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_ape_3.jpg[/image] Sadly Captain Ethel wasn’t heard of again. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. Enough hardy colonists crawled out of the wreckage to lay claim for their Emperor. Our newest member of the Greatest Empire in the Universe I name “Pitfall”. Beam down a short speech of welcome to the half billion or so humans and jack their taxes sky high. Pull your weight, fellas. Order up a beer. Think I deserve it. Job well done. Kick back for a couple of months and our economy should haul itself back into the black. Build a navy. Start a war. Fry bugs. Life is good. First beer in many a century. Heart not taking it well. Pop a bonus pill. Calm it down. Almost forgot. Zorg and my disappearing pills. Crack a second beer. Sensational. Zorg. Down and dirty brute force could be the answer there. Last time I checked his fleets of freighters weren’t packing Maxos Beams or Epsilon Torpedoes. Zorg Truckers One through Sixty nothing but road bumps to the might of the Imperial Destructo Third Fleet. In a happy haze I contemplate a third beer. Live long and live dangerous. Family motto. [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_ape_4.jpg[/image] To be continued... Lancer

Data -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (2/26/2011 10:38:58 AM)
arghhh, blind lady crashlanded....that was a near one

thiosk -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (2/27/2011 8:54:22 AM)
A contested system! May fred rescue the enslaved humans sooner than later!

Brainsucker -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (3/5/2011 5:24:52 AM)
the story is better and better. I can feel the intense of battle, and I like Captain Terminus and his heroic act too. That's cool.

rtrapasso -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (3/11/2011 10:34:05 PM)
Oh where, oh where has the Emperor gone? Oh where, oh where can he be?

lancer -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (3/13/2011 11:00:54 AM)
[image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/chapter_fiftysix_horizons.jpg[/image] Having flexed my military muscles I feel a sense of loss and deprivation at not being able to continue. The feeling of hovering with a sharp axe poised over the extended limb of the prostrated ape empire won’t leave me. I am, however, a man of steely self discipline. The time is not yet ripe. Still, there is enough to keep me busy and to prevent my mind from straying too close to the addictive excitement of frying bugs from the deck of a mighty star ship. I realise now that I am destined to fill the galaxy with crispy critters. My path in life is to find ‘em and to fry ‘em. Elbow out the multitudinous bugs to create living space for humanity. In every age a man must stride forth to lead our great civilisation forwards. A man of vision and fortitude, a man – Enough! There are limits, even for one with a confirmed reservation in the pantheon of the Gods such as I. Work to be done. Places to go. Bugs to splat. Need to stay sharp. Ordered the immediate construction of a small spaceport at our newest, happiest colony of Pitfall. Chancellor Chuck fired back a message drone full of nonsense, indignation and a sea of red numbers. Space port construction put on hold pending sunshine and roses in the fiscal department. Checked my pills. Running low. Unless I get more soon I’ll be consigned to the musty pages of history. Zorg Trucker’s Twenty Nine and Thirty arrive in-system. Transiting directly to Pitfall, doubtless to wrap Zorg’s mercantile, monopolistic tentacles firmly around their fledgling trading urges. Nothing pleasant about that. I have Third Fleet interdict both freighters. Invite their captains aboard my flagship. Sit them down for a liquor and a cosy chat. Tell me what’s been happening at home? Do the right thing. Wait until they have downed their fine liquor. Then I shoot the one on the left. Laser pistol. Surgical. Doesn’t leave a mess on the carpet. Make a point of carefully cooking one eye. Socket soup. Ask the remaining captain if he would be kind enough to walk with me. To the bridge. Watches while Zorg Trucker Twenty Nine, along with it’s crew and cargo say a big Hollywood hello to several, bang on target, Epsilon Torpedoes. Send him on his way. Back to Zorg. Tactfully suggest that if I don’t get a briefcase full of pills ASAP then my sense of humour, re: all things Zorg, can not be guaranteed. [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_chap56_1.jpg[/image] Apes still not happy. I don’t know. Bunch of chronic complainers. I wouldn’t be happy either if I had a nose like that. Mother Nature has, by the look of that honker, let the riff raff of the universe fend for themselves. What happens when they catch a cold and want to blow their nose? How does that work? What the heck do they use for a handkerchief? Feminine hygiene products? Studiously ignore the Icky Apes and their diplomatic overtures. Turn a blind eye to their ferocious little escorts tearing this way and that, bulldogging their way around Pitfall. Send the Third Fleet, ship at a time, down into low orbit to refuel via shuttle tankers. Takes a while. Badly need a star port. Won’t be able to hold the system without one I suspect. Strategic necessity. Broadcast a message from their Emperor throughout Pitfall. Welcoming them, once more, to the big wide world of their fellow humans. Come in from the dark, so to speak. Mention the benefits of owning a star port. Paint a joyous picture of untold luxuries that will be coming to a corner store near them, just as soon as they build their very own port. Explain that’s the reason I’m having to raise their taxes. Again. [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_chap56_2.jpg[/image] Another missive from the Apes. More strident in tone. Angry even. Do Apes get angry? What does an angry ape look like? Demanding things. Generally not a recommended approach when dealing with Emperors. Tempted to fire a message back telling them to stick their hairy ape index finger fair square up their nose. Bound to hurt. Resist. Opt instead to say nothing. Bet the apes are scratching their hairy foreheads, wondering what to make of that Emperor Fred guy. Doesn’t talk to us. Doesn’t appear that he intends to communicate with us at all. What is he thinking? Is he thinking? An enigma. Probably not. More likely they are suffering from nose envy. Jealous. My honker hasn’t disappeared down its own nostrils only to resurface in other, less savoury, darker places. ~ ~ ~ Out of nowhere James Wong, a.k.a ‘The Blob’, turns up. Hello Blob. Long time no see. The empires pre-eminent super spy has returned to the fold to inform his esteemed leader that, yes, he has indeed stolen an operational map of Ape space. Hoo Harrrr! Pat the Blob on one of his firmer parts. Tell him what a fine job he has done. His Emperor is proud of him. Slap him on the back. Step back smartly before the fat tsunami hits. Wait till the Blob’s hover chair auto stabilises and the Blob ceases to wobble. Inform him that I’m sending him deep undercover into the Ape Empire. Effective immediately. Off you go, Blob. Must have the hang of the Ape Costume by now. Talk to me in a year. If I’m still here. Will Zorg do the right thing, pill-wise, or will I have to obliterate half his merchant fleet before he sees the light? One thing is for certain. I won’t be leaving the confines of the “Fearsome Verdict” anytime soon. Only place I can be reasonably certain that a Zorg assassin can’t reach me. Off which there are bound to be a few. Not a man to take setbacks to his master plan lightly. Nor is he of a forgiving nature. [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_chap56_3.jpg[/image] Urgent message from Chancellor Chuck. He assures me that one way or another he can scrape up enough credits for a small star port. Great news. Order it so. Construction ship beetling towards Pitfall as we speak. The future cometh. Actually the Empires sole constructor, “Bob the Builder” has been lurking in-system for quite a while already. Way out back tucked safely out of sight behind a big frozen gas giant. Waiting for the word. Opening the window, I let rip a huge wolf whistle. My heart might be nothing but a collection of leaky valves and my lungs shredded leather but I can still hit the high notes. Metaphorically speaking. [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_chap56_4.jpg[/image] Order the residing commander of Pitfall to recruit three battalions of the best men on the planet. Give them all the guns, girls and lollies they want. No expense to be spared. Might be needed soon. Intelligence analysts do a big presentation after dinner. Asked Captain Terminus from First Fleet to attend along with all relevant ranking naval heads. Have to state for the records that morale and performance of Third Fleet have improved significantly since my arrival. Admittedly there are a few recently vacated berths in the officers quarters but the remaining high-ranking staff are all infused with an admirable level of enthusiasm and can-do attitude. None of them could tell the time unless I told them what number Mickey’s big hand is on but that’s O.K ‘cause I’m here. I do all the heavy lifting in the thoughts department. Polite coughing from Mr Intelligence. Requesting my full attention. Big holoVid projector fires up everything that the Blob has discovered about Ape Space. Not only is Ape Space shown in all its Icky glory but there are all the systems that the Apes have had contact with as well. Quite a lot. Bet not even Zorg knows all this stuff. The Apes, for all their haphazardly glued-on appendages, have been diligent and industrious in exploring the western spiral arm. [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_chap56_5.jpg[/image] Blob even managed to scam the full system readouts. Planets, resources, the lot. Mr Intelligence having another coughing fit. Waving a laser pointer around. Squinting I frown at what I’m seeing. There is a pink system and a crazy orange coloured one to coreward. How can that be? The Ape systems are all green. “Yes, my Lord,” offers Mr Intelligence. “Foreign life forms.” Bugs! More Bugs! Why wasn’t I told about this before? “Pink, my Lord, appear to be a rodent based race, the ‘Ugnari Authority”. Rats? There are rats in the cellar? “Yellow, my Lord, appear to be an arachnid race, the “Dhayut Territory”. Jsus.* Rats and Spiders! What next? Cockroaches? Who put this galaxy together? Is there a guiding light behind the whole design? What were they thinking? How did it all go down? Where did it go so wrong? I can imagine. First build your galaxy. Yep. Check. Done. Plonk some humans down. The favoured ones. Bless them with your benevolence. Ensure they have a capable leader. Then what? Kick back. Take a breather. To much hard work makes for a dull world. Throw a party for all your fellow, like minded Galactic Creators. Dance, drink and be merry. Make a night of it. End up roaring drunk. Keep drinking until you are comatose, sprawled across the dirt. Anything that creeps, crawls or hops through your slobber and vomit gets an instant field promotion to sentient being. Spray them around your galaxy like a mouthful of distasteful spit. Declare it all done and dusted. Stagger home to sleep off your celestial-scale hangover. One new galaxy. Sorted. Disturbed by the likelihood of my dark vision I belatedly try and focus on what’s in front of me. [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_chap56_6.jpg[/image] The rats. No contact with them to date but the Blob has stolen the Icky Apes diplomatic dossiers. Not much to say. Hairless albino rodents with dubious ethics and a Pinocchio proboscis. Live in ice caves deep underground. Best if they stayed there. Rat burger material. [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_chap56_7.jpg[/image] Spiders. Sizeable, armoured spiders with a nasty red rash and oranges for eyes. Way too big to squash. Likely to be bug spray resistant. Probably squirt acid out their *ss. Apes consider them highly aggressive, back-stabbers and borderline psychotic. Interestingly the Icky Apes appear to have issues with the creepy crawlies. Refer to them as ‘ruthless’. Given that I haven’t found the Apes to be warm, soft and cuddly to date this doesn’t bode well for future human-arachnid relations. Well, gosh. As if we were ever going to be friends. Who in their right mind would want to shake hands/legs with an oversized chigger? Unfortunate preference for the same habitable planet types as we humans. Apes to the West, Toads and Sirens out East. Rats and Spiders to the South. It is, I tell you, a sick, sick world. To be continued... Lancer

thiosk -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (3/13/2011 12:19:47 PM)
Oh my, with the galaxy that large, emperor fred will encounter many more creatures he's none to pleased about.

Shark7 -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (3/17/2011 5:39:38 PM)
quote: ORIGINAL: thiosk Oh my, with the galaxy that large, emperor fred will encounter many more creatures he's none to pleased about. And not just 1 race of cockroaches...THREE OF THEM! [;)]

lancer -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (3/17/2011 11:02:09 PM)
Note from Author Given that the chronicles of Fred have made it this far I need to straighten something out. Fred’s home planet is named Zion. There are many references to Zion, Zionists and the Chosen People throughout. Inferences could easily be drawn that these referred to something closer to home. Connotations of political commentary. Not the case. The name ‘Zion’ was plucked, without much thought, from the movie, “The Matrix”. Perhaps, in retrospect, not an astute decision and one too late to change. For the record, Fred, happy-go-lucky xenophobic psychopath that he is, has no particular views regarding current Middle Eastern Geopolitics one way or another. Fred is doing his bit for world peace and wishes only happiness and harmony for all. Except for Bugs. Cheers, Lancer

thiosk -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (3/18/2011 5:19:39 AM)
As long as fred keeps rolling, lancer, you need not worry about things like opinions. Opinions. Dangerous things. Could get an emperor killed. Can't have that, no sir. Blind faith. Faith in the emperor. Thats whats needed here. Bugs are bad you say? Then I say bugs are bad!

Shark7 -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (3/20/2011 3:46:40 PM)
TBH Lancer, I thought the planet name Zion was actually one of those randomly assigned names from the games map generator and gave it no second thought what-so-ever. People who read geopolitics into something like this are looking to be offended IMO. And for reference, I almost always name my home planet 'Rome'. My reason...the old saying "All roads lead to Rome'. No politics or religion basis for it. So I'm in the same boat as you were I to write an AAR. People can infer anything that they want to if they are determined to be offended.

rtrapasso -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (3/27/2011 1:57:06 PM)
sweating... shaking.... abdominal cramps... must be Emperor Fred withdrawal symptoms...[:(]

rtrapasso -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (4/4/2011 12:48:06 AM)
[:(] [:(] [:(]

lancer -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (4/5/2011 1:09:37 AM)
G'day, Been away. Cheers, Lancer

lancer -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (4/5/2011 1:24:11 AM)
[image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/chapter_fiftyseven_unexpected.jpg[/image] Here I be, doing my level best to stop a war occurring and what happens? Why did I even bother making the effort? Yes it’s true that we are destined to wipe out the Icky Apes but at a time and place of my choosing. In the meantime I have moved heaven and earth to prevent hostilities breaking out, either by accident or otherwise. Well that’s life. You do your best. You try your hardest. What do you get in return? A defecation sandwich and a front row seat at your own demise. Justice, it ain’t. But as I’ve said many a time before, philosophising gets you nowhere. Real man take action. Real men, inevitably, also make mistakes. Sure there are excuses. Somebody else to blame. Factors outside of your control. Always a handy excuse sitting there, bright and shiny, on the shelf. Beckoning. Lots of opportunities but I’ve never been tempted. Always be honest with yourself. Brutally honest. The moment you start running spin on your own headspace is the moment you lose the plot. Peer into the mirror. Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all? “Not you mother f#@$#r ‘cause you got it WRONG.” Yep, that’s about the size of it. I, Emperor Fred, muffed it. ~ ~ ~ Refuelling the fleet at Pitfall taking way too long. I’ll run out of heart pills long before the fleet is gassed and ready to roll. Planetary shuttle tankers a poor substitute for a decent space port. Still under construction. A ways to go. Order the Third Fleet and myself to hightail it back to FredTopia and get the job done properly. So here we are, busy filling bunkers as fast as FredTopia space port can manage with Premium Exxon Caslon when the Apes – out of the blue - make an offer. [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_57_1.jpg[/image] Gas station for a colony? Tough choice. Official answer - no. Icky Apes, having witnessed the destructive power of the Imperial Third Fleet, clearly rattled. Be suing for peace before the year is out. Who knows? Who cares? The Empire’s economy, flush with taxes from our newest citizens, bounces back into the black. I order the Minister for Building things to get cracking on two shiny new Destroyers and a Frigate. Actually ordered three times that. Chancellor Chuck pared back the numbers to provide a better fit with out fiscal situation. So he said. Can’t trust Chuck anymore. In cahoots with the evil Zorg. Zorg still hasn’t sent me the briefcase full of pills. Personal supply getting tight. Once the fleet is refuelled I may well have to splat a few more of his freighters. Slow on the uptake, is Zorg. Excitement amongst the flag staff. An explorer – we have more than one? – sent back a drone with details of a strategically important find. [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_57_2.jpg[/image] An abandoned Pirate star base in the middle of Ape Space. Loaded to the gills with Caslon. In effect a giant refuelling base slurping up the right kind of molecules from a gas giant in the Nobea system. Well if that’s not good news then I don’t know what is? Screaming out for a man of fortitude to race down there with a few hard hitting ships. Tuck themselves safely inside the perimeter of Ape Space and wait for the word. Perfectly positioned to wage guerrilla war on the Apes infrastructure. Need the right man for the job, though. Somebody with a flexibility of thought and fleet of foot. Somebody who can tell the time on their own. Not easy to find such people within the regimented ranks of the navy. Captain Terminus perhaps? Maybe. Maybe not. Besides, I need him at the helm of the Imperial First Fleet. Then who else? A wicked thought worms its way into my head, cloaked in stealth and mischief. An exceedingly wicked thought indeed. Mmmm… Missive from Chancellor Chuck. Our economy has gone straight to hll. My paltry ship building efforts have sent it into a tailspin. Losing altitude rapidly. Ground collision imminent. Chuck at a loss what to do. Made some of-the-record suggestions. Hinted at simmering rebellions throughout the empire if fiscal fun and happiness isn’t restored quickly. Swallowing my pride I ask the Icky Apes for a trade agreement. Refused. Unabashed, I grit my teeth and ask the Mutant Toads way out to the east. “We are”, they explain in their most odious, toadie voice, “too poor and pathetic to have any meaningful dealings with. Maybe when we grow up.” [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_57_3.jpg[/image] I hate Toads. Loathe them with a passion. The shame of it all. Humiliated by a wart-faced Toad. A toad with a father who clearly had a weakness for moonshine swamp slime and carnal knowledge of ducks. Even dead-end toad gene lines don’t have you looking that bad. Nope. Dear old dad got drunk and did it with a duck. Quack quack. Dubious parental lineages aside, both the Apes and the Toads are denying us our Gd given right to make a buck. Don’t they know that our credit is good? We pay our bills. With respectable Empire Treasury Bonds. Lots of Bonds. High yielding Bonds. The type of Bonds that get you through the door at the upmarket nose clinic. Or the Duck House. Bstards. With Third Fleet still in the midst of refuelling disaster strikes. The Icky Apes, trade refuse-nicks that they are, launch a surprise attack on Pitfall space port – currently still under construction and defenceless. All I can say at this point is that if you’re going to make a mistake, don't muck around. Make a proper job of it. [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_57_4.jpg[/image] A surprise attack. What terribly crass manners. Apes. About what you’d expect. Gentlemen don’t do those sort of things. I contact the Ape Ambassador and express my displeasure at their lack of decorum re: all things war. As an afterthought I call the nearest ensign to attend me in my Admiral’s quarters. Order him to stand still while I do my feeble best to kick the crp out of him. Therapy. [image]http://i258.photobucket.com/albums/hh262/plugger_photo/dw_57_5.jpg[/image] The Hairy One too clever by half. Must think I have all the smarts of a lump of concrete. Captain Terminus and First Fleet, once again, rise to the occasion. A hurried emergency scramble and a seat-of-the-pants warp straight down the FredTopia-Pitfall slot faster than a speeding light beam. Captain Terminus. Not at all worried that he has but a two ship fleet. Proven non-performers in mortal combat. Unperturbed. Now there’s a man you can depend on. To be continued... Lancer

thiosk -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (4/5/2011 5:17:01 AM)
Death to the apes! Death to the toads! woo hoo!

Brainsucker -> RE: Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR (4/7/2011 7:11:55 AM)
So... basically Emperor Fred has only 7 ships at his disposal? Poor Captain Terminus, for him to attack a fleet with 2 ships. I wonder if his ship has been refitted by the Imperial now.

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