It was a dark and stormy night. (Right away you know you're in for it, bubba.) I had just put the finishing touches on the kids' Halloween costumes--an extra row of red sequins for Justin's devil's tail and another bat to hang from Kate's witch's robe. I put the completed outfits away then moved through the quiet house, straightening things, making sure the windows were shut against the howling wind and pitching rain.
I was alone that night; my husband was working overnight and both kids were at my cousin's house. I'm usually not nervous about staying by myself but this night I seemed to be filled.with a sense,of disquiet-- maybe foreboding. Restlessly, I moved about the house, finally stopping to sit at the kitchen table and pick up a banana and begin peeling it. A little sticker on the peel caught my eye: "Healthy Treat". I bet.
And that's when the noise started. At first it was no more than a small, tinny rattling of the kind you hear when the 'first drops of summer rain hit a tin roof. How it managed to be heard over the wind I didn't stop to figure out-- and now I wished I had. I finished my "Healthy Treat", threw the peel away and then moved to the living room, trying to trace down the sound.
The rain seemed to have slacked off a bit, so I raised the front window and peered out-into the damp gloom of the front yard. The noise stopped. And as I was about to turn away, it started again only this time the noise was louder, more insistent in a thudding sound that carried all across the yard, seemed to invade the house and demand attention. I live far from neighbors and the city so that on a rainy evening, the yard about my house is totally black and it was this abysmal darkness that I was trying to pierce with my eyes squinting and searching.
Again the noise escalated, only this time a whining keen was added that made me shiver and draw my arms closer to me as I tried to hug away the goose bumps that sprinkled my arms. I blinked, clearing my vision and peered harder. Yes, there--a gleam, a reddish glow coming from near my mailbox. I stood. watching it for long minutes but the glow never changed-- never intensified nor abated. I knew then that I would have to go out there to see what it was. And I knew I would have to go before my terror caused me to lose my nerve.
I moved quickly, bolting for the door, snatching up my
umbrella, raising it as I dashed out into the rain-lashed dark. Here, a bit
of caution interceded and I slowed down as I approached the bottom of my
driveway. The noise had grown no louder and the closer I got to the reddish,
hellish glow, the more the noise seemed to decrease its level of intensity.
I had been called from the house, summoned by the demonish wail. And as I
moved closer to the glow, I could see that it was
emerging from around the partially opened door of my mailbox. Something was
in my mailbox. I knew that I would have to screw up my courage, open that
box and see what was there.
I moved closer and the box suddenly jerked on its wooden post and rattled viciously. I jumped back, gasping in surprise. Again I worked up my courage and reached for the box, vowing that if it moved again, I would run for it. But the box was still. I slowly and carefully took hold of the metal tab then violently jerked the door downward, leaping out of harm's way. The glow infesting the interior of the box seemed to fill the air about the box. Since I was still intact, I moved forward to peer into the box's brightly lighted interior. And what I saw caused my heart to leap into my throat and thud wildly.
I cried out in surprise, then my legs gave out and I swooned, collapsing into the muddy roadway and feeling tears of sheer joy flowing down my face. For there, THERE in MY mailbox was the long longed for joy of my heart, the key to my salvation, the item I had wai ted and wai ted for--i t was a turn from ABM. Walked right into that one didn't you, bubba? And where the hell have I been, you may well ask. Well, you can ask. Tra la 1a-la-la lo-1o la la la
MORE SECRETS OF THE HORN FAMILY
by Neil Bradley
BIO. POWELL HORN, currently Minister of SMS Pittsburgh. Powell could be described as "Totally Ordinary". There is nothing remarkable about his person. If you passed him on the street, you wouldn't know he was a powerful force in the SMS. Powell has been the Governor of SMS Pittsburgh for almost four years. He took a starved, almost dead class "C" colony and turned it into the third largest colony in the SMS during his tenure. He is known to have a quick temper, as witnessed by his cousin Wild Willy's banishment to Talon. He has, once, made a bad mistake in his attempts to "get even" with someone, but regrets all the trouble this caused.
**********
BIO: WILHELM HORN. (Alias Wild Willy.) Willy was not always "wild". This nickname stems from an unfortunate incident between his twin brother, himself and Powell. The incident brought an unjust banishment of Willy to Talon, and almost three years of hatred between Powell and Willy. This bad blood has now thinned, and Powell had apologized to Willy. They are even considering meeting again face-to-face to mend the fence.
**********
BIOI X.T. HORN, former dockmaster at Pittsbu.rgh, Willy's
twin brother and not his cousin as has been previously reported. Willy will
emphatically deny the relationship but proof is available if needed. X.T.
has caused a lot of problems at Pittsburgh, includirig fouling up the
Pittsburgh's defenses during the battle with the DTN. It was after the battle
that Powell banished X.T. from the Jemian system and his current whereabouts
are unknown. Possibly, he is at CSS Chattanooga.
**********
BIO: J.R. HORN, SMS G.P. #486 leader. J.R. is the illegitimate son of Willy and Ernie May McDuck, Vice Governor of SMS Hydrothora. Willy does not know of this and Powell is finally letting Willy know in hopes of bettering the relationship between them.
**********
BIOI YEMAN ZAP, Lt. IND _______ .He is the half-brother of Willy and X.T. Little is known of this personage, but it is rumored that he assumed command of an IND ship shortly after arriviving in the Periphery. He has sworn that he will "get even" with Willy and X.T. for abandoning him in the Inner Empire.
Whoa:!You
thought I was kidding about the "Healthy Treat" sticker didn't you? yadda
yadda yo. Speaking of strange relationships, I hear that Minister Hyram and
Cass Jemaika have been partying their guts out together. Now, my little babies,
you know I'm not one to start trouble, but do you think they sit around
discussing different ways of preparing Hamburger Help Me? Where is Helova
Yoop when I need her? I need another piece of fudge. Or to fudge another
piece. This hole is getting deeper by the second. Onward--ever ONWARD . .
. .
And, because I hate to start trouble, I will timidly offer the following blurb:
IND GONOOLIN' S HOTEL/RESTAURANT COMPLEX
Welcome to Feanor's Gambit, a quality establishment dedicated to the memory of Gondolin's first governor, Ruler Feanor, and the fiery spirit that he has endowed us with.
A trip through Feanor's Gambit is like a journey through
time, as artifacts and holograms from Gondolin's past greet you at every
turn. Some are undeniably mundane, but others are truly inspiring. Some of
the more interesting exhibits include:
The lobby fountain, which has been constructed from the command section of the USS Zanzibar, which mistakenly entered orbit over Neptula during a period of high tensions. Crimson-dyed water flows up and over the entire fountain, running down over shattered visa-plates and registration numbers, and ignoring the thorlium plating located thereon--much like Gondolin's space defenses did several years ago.
The trophy case which houses the Imperial Standard that Feanor defiantly ordered flown upside down as an example of his indifference to ISP posting in 184, and the well-worn battle ensign from the RIP Exter- minator (given to Feanor by the vessel's CO for "services rendered"). The centerpiece of the case is a handwritten letter from none other than the late Sean O'Brien, welcoming Feanor into the fold as a member of the RIP Shieldwall faction.
One complete wall of the main dining area is occupied by a holographic projection of a Forcidil hunt. Forcidils are giant 300-foot seaworms that once inhabited Neptula but now are believed extinct.
The main conference hall was one of Feanor's proudest creations as he considered it a statement of his philosophies. Along the back wall stretches a 220-foot mural, a life-sized and hand-painted depiction of 200 space fighters making a strafing run on the colony, USS Stoneyman's Farm, formerly located just under 200 miles north-east of Gondolin. It is rumored that the tables and other furnishings in this hall were constructed from colony structures salvaged from the colony after its capture, but this cannot be confirmed.
Of course, not every one visits the Gambit to view Feanor's collection of artifacts--some of you undoubtedly come for "Bed & Breakfast". For those so inclined, the Gambit offers a wide range of accommodations and eating establishments. Cuisine at all meals lean heavily towards seafood for obvious reasons, but standard Inner Empire fare of meat, poultry and vegetables can be prepared upon request. For those a little more daring, feel free to inquire about anyone of several alien entrees our staff is currently learning. (Note I said learning, not learned!!!)
GONDOLIN' S TRAINING COMPLEX
This training facility is operated exclusively for the support of the PGC and the PDC, who may train here at no cost. Non-PDC may train by special arrangement--contact Gondolin for approval. Training available:
SPECIAL-5, SM ARM-5, JUMP-5, COMBINED-5, G/S-4 & WARBOT. OAS-25 soon.
Well, what can I say? Not a damn thing, so I mayas well go get a cup of coffee while you read this.
THE AWAKENING
by Tony Filiato
"Twilight Victor, come in Twilight Victor." Captain Niall Ciaran stirred from his bunk aboard the Vigilot IV. Leave it to The Haldane to use the Standard translation of his name for a code word. But wait a second, he thought--there are still six weeks until the next scheduled check-in date. Ciaran commanded one of the Clan's reserve fleets. A fleet that hadn't done anything more than conduct maintenance on this pitiful rock that was its base AND receive a message from The Haldane every THIRTEEN weeks for nearly two years now. Something must be up, he thought and with that he was suddenly wide awake.
"What's up, Rhys?" he asked as he flipped on the descrambler and the holovision in the same motion. Hmmm, Rhys looks a little frazzled--that's actually a hair out of place there, he thought.
"War, my friend, war. The Emperor's will has been overborne by that mutant scum, Yert. He's allowed the current batch of incompetents and pirates running the Imperial government in the Periphery "to declare war upon the Clan and the Kazereckii Empire." Rhys grimaced as he spoke. "I've been unceremoniously dubbed 'President of the Capellan Periphery Republic' by that nut--or should I say nutless--Boyington."
"Should I bow or something, then?" Ciaran gave a little
mock bow toward Rhys' image, but quickly put on his business
face. "Allies? Enemies? Where's Morgan?" He went straight to the heart of
the matter. If Rhys said that there was war he didn't question the reasons
why because he knew that they must be damn good.
Rhys gave a little smile. "We're coordinating with the KZK and RIP, of course." His smile widened. "And Morgan is out rallying the Company fleets.H Ciaran whistled--so it would be THAT WAR. "What about the SAM, Rhys?" he asked. At that point The Haldane's smile became absolutely fiendish.
In under ten TUs the Vigilot IV warped away from the
tiny rock it had called home for two years. The Talons II, the Chervasien,
the Melenkurion, and the Miles Gloriosus in fleet about it, a virtual SSL
Hall of Fame in and of itself. They
would hook up with the New York's fleet and head for their first target.
* * * * * * * * * *
Rhys left his office quickly and hopped into the Vator
bubble. The trip to the power center was almost instantaneous. He was waved
through by the platoon of Clan mercs guarding the entrance. His head technician
stepped forward: "Lord Commander Haldane, we are ready to begin at your
command."
Damn fools, he thought. Didn't the Imperials know what
they were dealing with? Who they were dealing with? Rhys Haldane, Lord Commander
of GWC Farnham's Kind nodded toward the tech. "The word is given."
Rhys watched in wonder as the techs began rearranging
glowing cubes in the wall full of pigeonholes. A rainbow of colors exploded
from the wall. He sensed the power in their beauty, and also, shockingly,
sentience. He heard a sharp intake of breath behind him, he hadn't noticed
Aeron enter the room. Suddenly, everything around him faded into mere
sketch
pad etchings and a feeling of displacement entered the pit of his stomach,
but then just as suddenly everything was back to normal. The cubes seemed
to flash and playoff each other with childlike laughter and just...perhaps...was
it satisfaction he
was sensing?
"What happened, Rhys?" Aeron gasped while grabbing onto
his arm as if for support, her eyes huge.
"That. little sister, was the beginning of Operation
Daloe." There was no laughter in The Haldane's eyes as he left his
sister still staring in wonder at the living light show. Perhaps, he thought
sadly as he returned to his command center to report his success to Morgan,
perhaps the historians will find his actions in the coming war justified.
At least Morgan's fleets offered a clean death.
@#$%^&*( ( *&^%$#@!( ) !@#$%^&&* yadda
I'm kinda partial to dirty deaths myself. Speaking of which, have you heard about the dirdy mike fan club? Go touch Dave Franze, he'll tell you all about it. doo-dah doo-dah. say, you know, I heard that the COM tried to teleport tons of kudzu (intergalactically known as protopheres) into the command center of Farnham's Kind and missed. Shit kinda gets away from you, hunh guys? I'm not even going to ask why they didn't teleport in something really dangerous like chocolate bunnies. Or, --, there's some really vicious ivy that grows near Hydrothora. I've also known some warmongering geraniums that would really do a job on a command center. Am I telling you more than you want to know? Good. I don't want you to get complacent. And here I am at the end of the page again with too much white space and not a damn thing to say. I would whistle Dixie but my pea got away from me. Say, did you know that the Mars family is the richest family in the world, with 12 and a half billion bones to their collective names? YES, Mars as in chocolate candy. There's a moral to this. But since I'm at the bottom of a page, I won't pursue it. Nyah nyah nyah.
HULLS TO HYPSO: CHAPTER
5
by Steve Jungk
"And that's how I ended up out here," Tobias concluded, tipping his wine glass back. "Have some more?" He offered the bottle to Selene. "You know," he said, looking at the label of Aidan's Varietals. "I knew this old sot would eventually start making his own brew. Heard he fell into a vat and had to drink himself out."
Selene laughed.
"No, I'm serious. Aidan Mac Ric's er, capacity, is legendary.
But I suppose our bucolic tales are scarce amusement for
a galactic sophisticate such as you."
"Aw, don't be sarcastic. Tobias. I never, ever was
patronizing. You were just so gawddam sensitive ya would've taken anything
I said the wrong way. I think ya'll lead a wild crazy wonderful life out
here. When I buyout my contract, I
just might join ya'll. An' don't pay any attention to the Bitch or her kind
either. They're jealous. Really. I mean news from the Periphery is top feed
for the masses. Why do you think Ion-Cannon is out here anyway?"
"Make a film, of course."
"Of course, silly. But why a film about the Periphery? Why? Cause it sells. An' Golem an' Glo'bal need a seller in the worst way. Hell, the only reason they opened the casting for the male lead to starcaptains was for the publicity. I know ya don't believe it, but the Periphery is hot copy back home."
Tobias looked at her sharply. The little red-alert alarm went off in the back of his head. "What are you saying? This is all some kind of stunt?"
"Why not?" she shrugged. "Ya gotta admit it gets a lot of things done. They get some free press, their oh so precious 'realism' and ya get a shot at bein' a star...I thought they told ya...hell, they even dropped ol' Dirk Blackwell for this chance..." Her voice trailed off at the same nagging thought building in the back of her head.
"Why would the studio drop the hottest male lead to jump at the opportunity to sign up a schlub like me?" Tobias voiced their mutual concern.
"An' they had this part cast. But they told us they wanted location shots. Realism, ya' know, no props. So, they went this way."
"Realism only goes so far. You can get footage from tri-d reels of any number of planets and just rent a ship for the rest of the shots."
Her eyes widened. "Why those slimy bastards! Those CHEAP slimy bastards! Ya' know with their string of bad luck..."
"It's just possible that our buddies were looking to work a little scam to pull this picture in under budget. I'll bet ol' Darien is footing the bill for their stay here. Hmm, I'd sure as hell like to know what they're up to..."
She put a reassuring hand on Webster's arm. "Take it easy, Slim. Relax. I'll snoop around. They won't be looking for me for a couple of days when they start the action shots. If I come up with anything, I'll let ya' know. I don't see what the problem is, though. You still get your shot at greatness."
"I...I can't explain, but I...I don't know...maybe it's
the way they're treating their 'next superstar'. I wouldn't treat Rlo Krieger's
tailor as bad as you...er...they've been treating me. Call it instinct or
intuition. I guess space makes you
kinda sensitive, you know."
"Well, if ya' say so. I really don't know that much about
space travel or the frontier. Like, how d'ya'll get to own your ships--not
even Cosima-the-Bitch could even afford an in-system jetty--an' have ya.
ever seen an alien an' ya ever fought
a battle with pirates and'..." It all came out in a rush.
"You want it all before the appetizer or spread out through dessert?"
Selene laughed, a laugh which really warmed Tobia's inside,
momentarily dispelling his apprehension. So he told her about
his travels in the Periphery and how owning a ship wasn't such a big deal
because if you ever went Inner Empire (as it's called out here), you lose
your ship. And most companies and even the Imperials know that every starcaptain
has to work for them sometime, if only for the protection an affiliation
can provide, so they get theirs. Besides, once you take off, you essentially
own the vessel anyway. Who's going to do anything? It takes a lot to get
a ship posted.
"Posted?"
So he told her about bounties and the sordid politics of the Periphery as well as alien races. And, yes, he's met and dined with Morlocks (you bring your own dinner unless you like sewerage) and talked with Quman philosophers (Tobias makes a circular gesture at his forehead), and seen Flagritz, Kazerickii, Gregosians and even a Samillian.
No, he's never fought a battle, a fact he ascribes to
good judgment. Nobody likes to see their crew or their ship blown
to hell. He met a RIP captain in a bar on Azoomink. Real friendly type, but
Tobias scrambled his departure codes and
flight plan on the off chance, you know.
He told her about the SMS, the CSS and being in the right place at the right time, about goats, yellow moons, holographic smiley faces (Selene laughed for five minutes).
"It's still there, Selene. Just wait til next year. Have we got something to top that!" He told her about Addison, Avon, Monroe North, (the Walking Chin, as he is known) and finally about his poor beleagured brother, Conrad. "I suppose I've been a bit of a disappointment for him," he reflected sadly, staring at the reflections of the candlelight in his after-dinner brandy.
"Don't be too hard on yourself, Tobias," she said confortingly. "From what I "gather, Conrad is doing fine for himself."
"It wasn't exactly the life he picked for himself."
"Are the paths our lives take ever chosen by us or by fate and circumstance?"
He shrugged. "I dunno." He downed his brandy. "What about you? You mentioned 'buying your contract'. What's that all about?"
"Not much. My parents are from Kyashi IV. Sold my contract
to a sporting combine on Abalone, who sold it to Miracle Stunts on Luna.
And the rest is history." He could see hard edges like shards of glass form
around her face. There was
much she preferred not to tell.
"Slavery," Tobias spat. "I thought it was illegal in the Inner Empire. They certainly try to make it illegal out here."
"Not slavery. I'm a free citizen. I just cannot engage in this type of work until my contract is complete or I buy it out. And before you say anything, I like what I do. I also honor my debts."
"It's not your debt. It sounds like your parents."
"Well, call it a family debt. I'm sure you--especially you can understand that."
"I suppose."
"An' that's that."
"Check, sir," whispered a voice on the side.
Tobias handed the waiter a credit strip and he unobtrusively disappeared. Several minutes later he returned with the voucher. When Selene saw the amount her eyes nearly fell out. "Don't sweat it, Selene. I pay my crew more than that each time we pay a port a call. Like you say, the money out here's different."
"B-but still..."
"Look, it's no big deal. Around here you want cash quick? Dine with a Morlock and talk about strion."
"What's that?"
"Just another word for cash. Let's go ."
Outside, the air of Utopia at this time of year was getting cool, which means below 25C but above 15C. Consequently, Selene and Tobias walked huddled up against each other along the promenade. "Where to?" asked Webster. "There's a tri-d."
Selene made a face. "That would be like me asking if you wanted to see a row of ships."
"Doesn't bother me. I show you mine, if you'd like."
"That would be nice."
It was a short walk back to Bay 15. Several of Salientia's crew were staggering in or out depending on whether or not their leave was starting or finishing. A few waved to their captain. A few passed money back and forth, a fact which made Selene giggle. Tobias blushed slightly and shrugged. "What can I say?"
"Nothing," she laughed. "Don't even try."
The motto: 'Never Have I Seen a More Wretched Hive of Scum and Villany' still stood emblazoned on the hatchway, surviving Salientia's many facelifts and her upgrade. Selene traced it with her finger and laughed again. "It must be very interesting to serve aboard this ship."
"It has its moments. I think you'll find every galactic reprobate serving aboard this ship. For some reason I attract that kind."
She regarded him curiously. "Just why did ya' answer that stupid ad?"
"Dunno," he shrugged. "Thought it would be fun."
She sighed and stopped him in the entryway, put her arms around him and gave him a kiss that you could write home about. A smattering of applause and more money passed hands.
"I don't get involved in that stuff," Webster swore, indicating the betting.
"Well, ya' should." The tour started with the captain's quarters. Oddly enough, the tour never went any further.
AND WHY NOT??? I mean correct me if I'm wrong. but the man promised her a tour and what happens? They get bogged down in the captain's quarters. I can see it now~ They're probably in there going over his bottle cap collection. Wanna see what else goes on in normal space-time?
Whoa! Jim Buckett produced this jewel. ANNOUNCEMENT ANNOUNCEMENT ANNOUNCEMENT ANNOUNCEMENT ANNOUNCEMENT ANNOUNEMENT ANNOUNCEMENT ANNOUNCEMENT
Richard Jackson is putting together a sort of Intergalactic
travel guide and is asking that everyone send him blurbs to
their colonies. He wants details as to hotel and recreational complexes,
brothels, ski lodges, restaurants, gambling dens, etc. This promises to be
an interesting and beneficial project and I want you all to help out. Otherwise,
I'll have to tell God a bunch of lies about you and get you all in
trouble. Send blurbs to Richard at P.O. Box 558, Bronx, NY 10457. I don't
care if you did go to Sunday School twice in 1957--God will listen to
me.
Ready for another blurb? Why not? Well, actually, I have no idea who wrote this blurb--it miraculously appeared on my desk. Isn't it amazing? Whatever happened to all that Ronco shit?
Say, you know, I ran across a bunch of words and I cannot find them in my dictionary so I was wondering if you guys would help me out by looking them up: paraphiliac, pedophiliac, coprophiliac, scotophiliac, fricatrice, amphierotism, algoagnia and coprophagous. I believe they have sopmething to do with gum disease, I'm not sure. Anyway--onward my little goobers:
FET COLONY FORT PITT - HOTEL/RESTAURANT COMPLEX
The management and staff of FET Fort Pitt welcome you on your visit to our Hotel/Restaurant Complex.' Since Fort Pitt is primarilya military facility, this complex is geared to handle the needs of transient combat personnel and the crews of star- ships visiting our starport. Requests for special considerations during your visit must be processed prior to your arrival.
*WARNING* Due to the ever-present danger of Hulken attack, no visitors will be permitted beyond the Ring 5 defensive peri- meter for any reason.
Our facilities are highlighted by the following establishments.
LODGING: Boomy's Motel: Catering to short-term visitors and others who need a room for a limited time, Boomy's charges reasonable rates by the TU. Rooms are normally booked solidly on weekends but, even when the lines are long, the wait is usually short.
The Pitt Arms Hotel: The Pitt Arms provides the finest accommodations on the planet. All rooms have environmental simulators and a fine view of the lush Percentage jungle. Regular customers are permitted to "customize" a room to suit their lifestyles. These specialized suites are also made available, if unbooked, to other patrons for a slight additional fee. Imperial law is the only limiting factor on room modifications.
DINING AND ENTERTAINMENT: Carl's Bad Tavern : With the sign outside reading "Warm Beer, Lousy Food", Carl won the colony's "Truth in Advertising" award. He proudly displays this plaque in the taproom above his newest sign: "Everything Overpriced". Full-wall videos and sensory music make this a popular place to meet and mingle.
Frank & Wally's: A shot-and-a-beer bar frequented
mainly by colony factory and construction workers. Despite the fact
that no member of the bovine species has ever been seen on Percentage, Frank's
"all-beef burger" is a colony favorite. Dancers nightly.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ say "ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"
O-tay, Buckwheat. You know my ever loyal Ass Ed, Sebastian Sabre, took pictures of the gang at Origins and I intend on printing the entire mess eventually--just as soon as Sabre remantles his darkroom. Until then. I have one picture--it's a picture of Steve Marte:
I had heard that the RIP had a cloaking device. Do you think there's anything to that rumor? Speaking of which - - - - - -
RIP UPDATE
by Karen Finn
Dear Colony Governor: Week 37/188
As you are aware, the RIP have been fighting to preserve the very essence of freedom in the Periphery. There are always those for whom subservience to an outside force comes easy, but for the rest of us, we who value the right to live free of the heavy yoke of Imperial domination, this war has become more than just necessary--it has become positively URGENT! The Emperor, in his overwhelming ignorance, has come directly under the insidious influence or the mutant religious fanatic, Yert. I am certain that you have not forgotten the unnatrual COM ability to sway others to their will (in battle we call it the 'mind blast' and count it as a potent weapon). Already, the alien races are feeling the results of the distortion of the Emperor's will--will the companies be next? Will your already pitiful little freedoms be further curtailed?
We invite you to join the RIP in waging war for our right to freedom.
You can play a vital role in ridding the Periphery of these unwanted fanatics and the Imperial fools who blindly assist them in their conquest of the Periphery.
First and foremost, we need supplies. Can you donate some raw materials or manufactured goods? Bless you! Just SEND US BLUE CARDS!!!(Blank If-possible, no expiration date, and no ship names, of course--we'll take care of that!) Perhaps you'd like to dedicate a 'clean' ship or two to move materials for the RIP in and out of restricted places? Be assured we'll preserve your anonymity, if that is your desire. We'd kill for some special tech --- but we'll make it worth your while to save us the effort by donating/lending us some. We even like stellars-- now there's a nice easy donation.
Information is as vital to us as materials. Send us your ship and player lists (and addresses), information on colonies, maps, ship scans, and general happenings. Seen any Snits lately? We'd love to know:
What other colonies are on your world? What do you know about them? Can you make your colony safe for the RIP to land and get our ship maintenance? (We'll guarantee to leave the local girls alone--and leave quickly:)
Maybe you're just itching for some action, but don't
want to besmirch your good reputation (or maybe you don't care--we'll take
it either way). Talk to us! Tell us who your chosen target is and
we'll help you set up an attack of any size you feel you can handle. The
RIP can givle you guidance in the planning stages (if you want it), help
you get supplies, and
even provide a ship and cadre/GP to take the blame so you can keep your spotless
reputation clean (and still have the chance to hit someone you
hate).
What more can you ask? (We can't think of anything, but if YOU can--Contact us!)
This is a war that is ultimately for the benefit of the
entire Periphery. You KNOW that without the RIP to keep them in check, the
Imperials and their mutant sidekicks, the COM, would run wild!
Help the RIP free the Periphery--it'll feel good, and you'll have a hell of a lot of fun doing it:
Captain Cass Jemaika RIP Solitaire
«««««««««««*»»»»»»»»»»
Well, hoop-de-doo--you Imperials out there better get busy and concoct an answer to this blatant display on the part of the RIP. Rip one off, as it were! The hot question is--once the IMPs are taken down several hundred pegs, who comes in to take their place? Even hotter--do we need something to take their place? Whoa--think about it.
DISEASE OF THE MONTH CLUB
Anatidaephobia: The fear that somewhere, somehow, a duck is watching you.
Wanna Krieger a while?
KRIEGERGRUPPE BRUDERSCHAFT
(*KGB*)
by Wayne Alexander
Das KriegergruppeBruderschaft, GmbH is chartered as a limited private stock partnership, organized under the laws of the planet Kaiser V in the Prussian starcluster of the Inner Empire, pursuant to an Imperial Order of His Most Excellent Majesty, Emperor Justin in the Yr 89.
COMO. DAX KRIEGER (EEM Wolkenkratzer (HF)): He is 6'-4" tall, weighs 2.30 lbs., with blond hair and blue eyes. He is somewhat of a loner, preferring the danger and excitement of space to the dull and boring life of a "grounder". He has a strong sense of honesty, integrityand loyalty, for once a friend is made, Dax would give his life to save that friend. He is fair towards his crew and respectful of his superiors. He hates stupidity and incompetence and will not have a coward in his crew or among his friends and acquaintances. He likes pets and children (if well behaved). He has no plans for marriage in the foreseeable future as he feels that marriage could very possibly ruin an otherwise meaningful and enjoyable relationship with a woman. He is the former FET Information Coordinator, past Wing Commander of the Gank and Galactix RDF/CSG, and the former Vice President-Shipping for the PDC.
CAPT. LEX KRIEGER (EEM Donnerschlag (HF)): He is 5'11" and weighs 175 Ibs., blue eyes and brown hair and medium build. He is science-oriented and thoroughly enjoys the process of finding and knowing new things. While not a loner,' he prefers the brotherhood of fellow scientists to that of others. He is as honest and loyal as any Krieger can be, and has a tendency towards absent-mindedness when involved in his work. He prefers a peaceful solution to any dispute, but will fight if provoked or if he feels that he is being taken advantage of. To Lex, pets and children are nice, but he views them more as a product of, or as a subject of scientific experiment. He likes females, but sees them as either a temporary diversion or as a long-term distraction to his work. He is the former FET Exploration Commander of the Galactix-Tesni Research and Survey Expedition.
CAPT. KAZ KRIEGER (EEM Schwergewicht (HF)): He is 6'-1" tall and weighs 205 Ibs., with dark eyes and hair. He is money-oriented and very materialistic with hopes of one day owning or controlling the Periphery: He is honest and loyal to family and friends, but has no compassion when it comes to business. He will deal with anyone, anywhere, at anytime for anything legal if it means money. Once he has set a goal he will not be diverted or thwarted until it is achieved. He keeps his promises and expects others to do likewise. He is the current senior managing director of the Krieger Freight Company.
LCDR. GNO KRIEGER {EEM Frachtdampfer (HF)): He is 6'-l1" tall and weighs 455 lbs., with white hair and green eyes. Unfortunately, his intelligence does not match his immense size and enormous strength (he can bench press a missle launcher). Anything more involved than simply being a freighter captain would probably be beyond his mental capabilities. He has no concept of respect for most people. regardless of their position or rank. and his normal manner of speaking sometimes borders on being criminally rude. But he is extremely friendly and out-going, and likes people, regardless of whether or not they like him. He is prone to rash outbursts of mental dysfunction, during which times he is completely out of touch with reality. and subject to the whims of his bent imagination. Gno's last trip through The Land of No Brakes found him spending good stellars to buy work slaves, and then emancipating them by depressurizing the Cargo Section, opening the main hatch, and telling them they were free to go--while in deep space.
So, what's your point? JUST KIDDING: Hey. I was standing in the supermarket check-out line and started flipping through "Sun" magazine (if I can use that term) and came across the following story. I laughed so hard that my kids had to take me out to the car in a grocery buggy. See if you don't agree--
Is this priceless or what? Anyway, bubbas and bubbettes, time to
hit the trail. The kids are gone to school so now I can dig out my fudge
stash and get into some serious creative work here Did you know that you
can take a bottle cap, grind up fudge, cook it a little then shoot it up?
Well, you run out and try it then let me know what happens. doo-dah, doo-dah
.
