Wowsers, Kids!  Welcome to Issue Number 52. Can ya believe that Summer's been over for nearly two months? And forty-sumptin shopping days until Christmas (this message paid for by your friendly local FET black-market, if you can find one. Heheheh). Of course that means less than two months until the next Bone. No rest at all this year- I barely got in a week of surfing. It almost wasn't worth waxing the board for.

Worth? What does that remind me of? There's something rattling around in my margarita-damaged mind... Oh, yeah- IND Werth. T'was a rumor going around that Werth and its space square would be declared a Neutral Port. Kinda like IND Allipon  in Transholegangland and Kasturia in the TCA. Y'know, a place where you can go in trade prisoners, buy goodies, sell goodies, find seven-foot blue haired twin sisters with an oral fetish... nah, Allipon has the market on those and Ty Meyup has already bought up the supply. What? That was for the "Rumor and Innuendo" section? Whoops. Kinki's gonna be mad at me until Christmas. And I was just getting used to her "family holovideos". Especially the one with the trapeze, the milk bath, and the Naplian midget...

Lesee, what else... The RoC are still fighting rebels out Draconia way. The DDR is backing the rebels and, according to our sources, flew some really heavy artillery into Geeche much to the surprise of the Patriots. Also a few Pocket Battleships. Does the phrase 'mosquitos and windshields' bring anything to mind? Besides the SAM, I mean. Maye the RoCers should use "The Collected Wisdom of William Cody" stapled to their hulls for shielding.

Our belated condolences to the family and friends of famed explorer, Oshkosh B'Gosh. He and his survey-ship the IND Marrakesh Express bought the farm during a one-sided fight with the IND Rage in the Nexus. Yeah, I know it's a bit late, but we only publish four times a year. And wasn't it real nice of the USA to finally acknowledge that something bad might have happened in their section of claimed space? Clear Space, B'Gosh. May you find uncharted planets galore, wherever you are. One more bright shining light has been snuffed out. At least the bastids that did it paid for it.

[OOC: In case you missed the page that was up for the past six weeks, Thad Catone, GM extraordinaire, passed away. The Bone staff offers their condolences to his wife and family].

Other  happenings... RIP King Komehameha is retired. The Ghods have let another into their ranks at Olympus. The KZK are celebrating their victory at Petroom. People are running pell-mell into the Nexus. And where am I? Stuck over some two-bit planet doing surveys. If it wasn't for Dafoe (my cabin 'bot) and his endless supply of margaritas, I'd be a raving lunatic. Remind me to show you a picture of him sometime. Dafoe- not the raving lunatic. You gotta see the hawaiian shirt I got him...

Enough rambling. Onwards and uppiewards, mah little enchiladas. We've an eZine to get through. Yep, we're an "electronic magazine" now. Sez so right at the beginning of the BSE page. Of course it should be "the oldest relatively continuous role-playing rag gone digital", but we'll still call it the Bone.

Rats- I was rambling again. We were gonna do the second part of the Saga of Father Larry here, but it got sucked into a wormhole during transmission and was horribly mangled by a speeding Will Scaflock House O' Lotus commercial. We're told another month or so in intensive care at our Lady of Eternal Agony Hospital and it'll be "healthy as Rlo's libido". Which worries us...

But our next offering is really primo. It's from Lofek Ben, and has been a long time in coming. I've been after this guy for months to send something to the Bone. If you've followed the List within the past year or so, you've seen what he can do:

Petroom Rebuilds--Silver Ponds

Lofek Ben, 126th Press Camp, Kommercia Military Herald, 4/198

[Written in January, some 12 weeks after the Liberation of Liverpool, the following story was carried throughout the Petroom press. It was only recently cleared for off-world distribution.]

It is almost hard to believe that it has been some twelve weeks since the Liberation of Liverpool.

Although scattered fighting has continued on Petroom up until week 48--when some 2261 SAM fighters surrendered to KZK pulsar tanks without firing a shot and were integrated into Petroom's defense forces, for all intents and purposes-- most of Petroom has been at peace for two months now. Petroom is, finally, "SAM-Free."

Reconstruction work continues, although the road to total recovery will be long and arduous. Local officials say that production at both Kommercia and Liverpool have reached pre-Week 21/197 levels, but shortages of food and shelter continue to be a problem. There are reports in Liverpool of families making homes in the fuselages of downed aircraft, and excavating sufficient new housing tunnels at Kommercia may take months.

Today, however, I am writing about perhaps the most tragic aftermath of the fighting on Petroom; the large number of children made orphans during the five months of fighting. The number of orphans is a serious challenge for the leadership of Kommercia. Over 1,300,000 citizens perished in the fighting on Petroom. Over a million children have lost at least one parent. Estimates of total orphans on the planet range as high as 120,000, and thousands more were separated from parents and siblings as refugees fled from Los Angeles, U Dub, and Liverpool. Today I visited "Silver Ponds," one of several orphanages established near Kommercia following the liberation of Liverpool week 43.

Meeting one of the counselors, Miss Jeanne Owens, at the press camp offices, we took a flitter to an orphans home located on the planetary surface among the greenbelt farms surrounding Kommercia. I asked Miss Owens why this orphanage like so many others was located on the surface rather than within the colony itself.

"It's really quite simple," she replied. "It takes fewer resources to establish adequate housing for the children on the surface. It's difficult enough for these children without having to sleep two and three to a room meant for one, as is happening in the colony now."

"Lighting is particularly a problem. Kommercia before the war had a copious quantity of interior lighting, lighting on a scale that helped counter the closed-in feeling many colonists felt living underground. It is an effect similar to Enclosed Colony Syndrome, which, as you know, is similar to Seasonally Affective Disorder which is not all that uncommon in open colonies on planets where sunlight varies based upon the time of year.

"The effects of overcrowding as a result of the war and the large number of refugees is easily predicted. Moving the orphans to the surface helps shield them from that debilitating environment."

I asked Miss Owens about the effects of separating the children from the colony as a whole if it might make them feel alienated from the rest of the population, or if it had the effect of making the problem of orphans invisible to the rest of the population. She said, "We have many priorities we have to juggle, with only limited resources. What would you have us do? What tradeoffs would you suggest we make?"

We soon reached Silver Ponds, a collection of white-washed dormitories arranged around four large hacienda style buildings--according to my escort, each with dining facilities, classrooms, and recreation areas for a different age group. "We have several age groups here," she explained. "Five to seven; eight to ten; eleven to thirteen; and thirteen and older. We do not have many above the age of sixteen and up, and those who are here assist the counselors. Each of the central buildings has facilities for 60 children, and approximately 235 children are currently in residence." Miss Owens told me that there were currently eleven of these complexes on Petroom, with thirty-five scheduled for future construction. We went to the nearest building, for the youngest age group.

I was wearing my militia fatigues--standard attire for those of us in the press camp--and as we entered the orphanage, a five-year old blonde-headed boy immediately disentangled himself from the writhing mass in front of us, flew over, and attached himself to my leg. He looked up, and I saw his smile of recognition change to tears, as he ran crying off into a corner.

"That's Samuel. After four months, he still has trouble believing what's happened. Every time he sees someone in uniform, he thinks it's his father." I asked her what the children are like.

"The children, they were scarecrows when they first arrived. Many are withdrawn. Matthew there"--she points out a small boy of perhaps five, one of the younger ones in the group, eyes fixed on some point far, far away gently rocking himself-- "just sits in the corner. At night he wakes up screaming, every night, always at the same time. It troubles the other children.

"Many fight constantly. One of the counselors says that they are acting out their loss. I think they do it to avoid showing any weakness, as if they refuse to admit that they are vulnerable; they won't back down or compromise, and we have lots of fights as a result. It's even worse with the older children; they're strong enough to really hurt each other.

"Some of them had seen their parents killed, and others have no idea what happened to the mother and father. For those from Kommercia, we have at least been able verify what happened if their parents were in the militia in most cases.

"But for the ones from Gaspree and Athenum, though, it's almost impossible to determine what happened. It was sheer chaos when the Hegemony attacked. Aides at child care facilities trying to move their charges down to the bombardment shelters, and finding them full trying to take them to the city center, away from the fighting, or bringing them to the transport stations.

"Members of the Youth Civil Defense Corps going door to door in the housing complexes, rounding up children who had been left alone in apartments--one parent at the factory, the other in a militia unit in the defense ring. Trying to get them to the RTS stations before the Samillians arrived. The total confusion at the inter-colony transport stations, as the bombardment began--thousands may have perished, all trying to get on the first transport leaving the colony.

"And if one's group made it to the transport stations, what next? Where was there to go to? Many went to U Dub and Liverpool, not knowing that they had already been targeted by the SAM--only a few came here initially. Transports were under fire, and many were halted due to damage. Some where close enough to a colony to make it back, but others....

"Five weeks ago, workers repairing the transport links came across a series of cars that had been halfway between Los Angeles and U Dub when the power was cut. In the middle of the desert, without water. People packed in, over a hundred to a car, and the one car filled with children from a day care center. No water, and everyone afraid to leave the cars, in case the power suddenly started up again and they were left behind....The last note they found was from 13 days after it was stranded.... Excuse me, I find this difficult to talk about."

My mind goes back to Gaspree, after the liberation--the wreckage at one of the transport stations. The hundreds of messages left near that scene of bedlam. A wall covered with writing, notes from refugees to those left behind.

And one message in particular, in a child's scrawl:

"Mama, we have gone to Atheneum. Come find us. Carla."

As I watch these children... I wonder what happened to Carla.

Good reading. I couldn't put the manuscript down; darn near missed the almost-collision between muh myrship and that USS baseship that jumped in front of us. Damn things are getting as numerous as Coast Zone squirrels. And almost as useful.

Well, we were supposed to have an article from RADman here but the RADbaby stood us up. Great sufferin' *BOB*! Do you sense a trend here? I'd call him a "scum sucking weasel", but I reserve that for certain professions. Anyways you get to suffer with:

Letters to the Editor

Editor,

[Regarding the rumor in Issue 51] And just who has the guts to step up to the altar with me?

Larissa

p.s. Poppa says "It's DRAK dammit!!"

Dear 'Rissa: Don't look at me- I just print the stuff. Have you asked Rlo if he's busy? Maybe he's over that last little episode he had with a strong-headed female (and I ain't talking about Mother Bathory...). And pleeze tel Poppa Drax thatt I yam truleee sorri abowt hiz naim. Itz theez lowzee proofreedurs heer at Werth. Butt whut do yew eckspeck for haff a creditt a week an al the Dokter Fuzi's yew can drinkk?

Dear Hedd

In your last issue [Number 51] you mentioned Marid and the Flagritz as related. Marid is a Foelian, not a Flagritz. Other than that, it was a good issue.

A sharp-eyed Reader

Dear Reader: You're right. It should have been Foelian and not Flagritz. You can have my job as Editor, after I apologize to Marid for calling him a Flagritz. Or should I apologize to the Flagritz? Ah, well. At least I don't have to apologize to Nixon. Or the SAM Jihad.

Hedd:

What is it with you and your anti-USS attitude? I thought journalists were supposed to be unbiased. And you always seem to be harping that you're an "Independent" and that you hate despots. So how come you're always are bad mouthing the USS?

They've done nothing but assert their rights under law, something that was denied to them by the Imperium. The same Imperium whose boots you seem to be slavishly licking.

Proud to Support the USS

Dear Proud: Your letter touched me. So much so that I was tempted to break into a song dedicated to you: "I'm a Loser, Baby- So Why Don't You Kill me?"

Dafoe- quick! I feel another spell of "Morgan's Disease" coming on. Another pitcher of margaritas before I start looking for some nuclear weapons! Ah, that sure washed the taste of Impie leather out of my mouth. Tequila sure doesn't go well with the shoe polish tho...

Hedd:

Death to the wImps.

Anonymous

Dear Annie: I kinda like that other clown's term better: chIMPS. It's cute but innaccurate; most chimps I know don't wear jackboots. But they do star in porn movies...

Well, things have been relatively quiet in BSE as of late. Wonderfully boring, in fact.

Has anyone seen The Peace Treaty" Or does it continue to be as elusive as a Feasibility Study result (has anyone gotten any of theirs back yet? Besides the Transholers, I mean.).

Somebody sent me a bootleg copy of the IMPie 'urban renewal' plan for the USS colonies:

Can you say "Smoke City", Kids?....

Okayeee.... Time for the second episode of our fav'rit debt collector:

Rollo McAllister, Agent of the STC

Chapter Two: The Assignment

Synopsis: While on a routine debt collection, Rollo was caught up in the defense and fall of SSL Arkham. After recovering from wounds received as a coerced militia member in Governor Goldfarb's rebelling unit, Rollo becomes acting manager of Arkham's STC branch. He has been called to a short-notice meeting with the Head of the STC's Periphery Office.

Arkham's hotel complex was one of the few places relatively unscathed from the Hegemony attack. I guess the Samillians decided they wanted room service after they took over the colony. Either that or the SAM Vizier wanted to steal the towels.

The STC's Periphery Region Officer was ensconced on the third floor. According to the data I downloaded on the way over, her name was Petra Kornigova. No photograph or bio, of course. It was a tradition that went eons back. Started with the old British Secret Service, I think.  

There were two of her bodyguards at the door of her suite. One of them took my ID while the other frisked me. The second one started to take my Spenser, but I put a hand on it.

"Uh, uh." He gave me a look like a butcher looks at a side of slightly bruised bosseven meat.

"Before you start," I told him, "have your partner read you the pertinent details of my life." I looked over at her. "Tell him who I am, dearie."

"Rollo McAllister." the female goon told him. He paled slightly, moved back half a step, and if the guy stood any taller he'd have knocked himself out on the ceiling light.

While he tried to blend with the wallpaper, his partner gave me a retina scan. Satisfied that I was who I was supposed to be she mouthed into a throat mike and waved me toward the door.  Another of her handlers, this one in a more attractive package, escorted me to the front room and announced me.

"Mister McAllister,"   Kornigova said as she stood up from her settee, "Thank you for coming." As if I had any choice in the matter.

She was a short, scrawny- no, wiry specimen with movements that the uninitiated would describe as gawky. That loosed-limbed shuffle, I knew, came only from hours of workouts and unarmed combat practice. Lots of the Impie ISP black-suits (the real ones, not the Periphery-types) had that sleepy, shambling look. 

"Always willing to help out the Front Office," I replied with a slight smile. Kornigova's lips tensed slightly and she gestured me to a deep, comfortable chair. I chose a straight-backed one near it and sat down. Tensing her lips a bit more, she hitched a leg over the arm of a sofa and gave me the side-of-beef appraisal just like her door-guard had.

"I'm fifty-something debt-collector turned Branch Manager, rather nondescript with no social life, and show signs of being batted about over the years," I volunteered brightly.

"Your record said you had an independent streak," she said without humor, "and a reputation as a wiseass."

"Did it also tell you I'm retiring in six months?"

"Yes.  Do you wish to claim Two-Four now?"

'Two-Four' was a long-standing STC rule going back nearly one-hundred years. Originally, STC Agents who were within 24 weeks of retirement were ineligible for assignment. This was to keep them from turning rogue or "going private". Later it was changed so that an Agent could refuse assignment within that 24-week period. Six months of a desk job, usually, turning out endless reams of reports on credit transfer statistics or working as a towel-boy at the Academy. I had a feeling that any assignment I drew if I'd said 'yes' right now would be a really unpleasant one.

"I haven't decided," I said carefully. Kornigova gave me her quiet-killer's smile.

"I'll be honest,' she said as she shifted her leg (it was a pretty-good looking one), "It's a bitch of a job. I had two agents resign when they were offered it. Adams took it, but he got killed when the USS baseships hit the DN he'd hitched a ride on."

"Chalk one up for private transportation. So why are you picking me?"

"You're a survivor." gave me the quiet smile again, "You've got eighteen years in; three more than the mandatory. You're experienced. Most of all, you're lucky. So far."

"So, I'm lucky- so far. What's the job?"

"ROC Corona."

Wow, we've been deluged with mail from colony governors, touting their abilities and services. Some of it you can see in the 'Ads & Stuff". There are a lot of really neat colonies out there. Especially Allipon. Boy, I'd sure like visit that place. Of course that means I have to transit certain Transhole spaces and last time I checked I hadn't been dropped from anyone's enemy list. And nobody's told me who I can bribe- I mean, appeal to for a visa.

But among all these was this one. And since I have a soft spot for the MYR (I've a whole crew of  'em doncha know), here it is:

A Missive from the Myrrians

Greetings!!!

This message in response to Lord Jacine's decision not to produce the Sloop class ship.

I just wanted to let the galaxy know that us Myrrians are still building and selling Myrships (10-10-10) and Myrchant ships (1-30-2). Both these designs have the 100 mu/hull shift and are Nexus and Draconian Cluster friendly with the Myrchant being unable to fire offensive weapons. The Myrchant ship was honored at last year's Stempy awards with a runner up finish in the best New Tech category.

In addition to Avon shipyards at Redloc we have add some more ship building centres for your convenience. Public shipyards now include:

- Avon shipyards, Redloc, Pisano, St. Gaudens

- Embassy to the Periphery, Fosos, Swarm

- Viking, Kampla, Barque

- Lefter, Qumpus, Barque

- Magnolia, Kampla, Barque

- Baltic Hive

Also, we are interested in setting up a stargate grid connecting our  major public colonies with additional stargates in the Applecore and Dragonne systems. The additional gates should help increase the trade between the ROC and TCA.

We are now accepting bids for the construction of 3-5 stargates (pending IMP approval). We are also accepting bids for the powering of the above stargates (must be dependable). If the plan is deemed feasible we hope to the grid up and running as soon as possible.

In addition to ships we also have licenses available, as well as other items for sale and barter.

I guess I just want to say that the MYR are open for business

signing off

Der Laul

Most cool guy, that Der Laul. Funny how he didn't mention licenses for cinnamon-coated frosted nuts. Those I can find a market for.

Someone sent this this ad from the "Fashion & Lifestyle" section of the Kommercia Thorax- Herald. If you want to look for it so you can tape it to yer refrigerator, you'll have to get your own copy. But it's just under Pouting Bruce Buttkiss' (formerly of THE RAD fame) Fashion Commentary.

By the way, according to Bruce, Shiny Helmets ^tm are passe. Better late than never, what?

I can guess what some of you regular readers are saying now. "Where's the galaxy-famous *#$%@+ Ringbone interview, Hedd?"

Yeah, yeah, yeah. We were supposed to have an interview with a famous celebrity, but guess what? We don't have one. A celebrity, that is. No replies to our requests; stiffed yet again. So we did the next best thing. Or worst thing, however ya wanna look at it.

Yep Kiddies- you get to suffer through another Ad Hoc Interview, done right here on mah ship:

Ringbone Interview:

Smoki Singe, Ship's Cook

[Claiming to be a distant cousin of MYR PD Der Laul, Smoki is the culinary expert aboard Harold Hedd's ship. The Bone's intrepid Editor managed to talk to Smoki in the galley as he was preparing the crew's favorite dish, Goldenut Stew, Pisano Style. His heavyset frame, large even for a Myrrian, nearly filled the tiny space.]

Bone: How did you get to be a ship's cook?

Smoki: My first job out of crew training was working on a merchant ship, the Lucky Tail. One of the jobs of the "pups", as the youngest Myrrian crew members are called, is galley duty. I found out I had a knack for it. And the crew liked my food. That was nearly five years ago.

Bone: Have you had any formal training?

Smoki: A bit. I did a few courses at the Diplomat Staff School. Most of it I've picked up during my travels.

Bone: Which dish is your favorite to make?

Smoki: Brown-nut stew with harras-root, of course. Reminds me of my old home in the northlands. The crew likes it, though not too often. It's a bit rich. A Myrship is a bit tight space-wise to begin with. It'd be worse with a bunch of fat squirrels for a crew. Besides me, I mean. (grins)

Bone: You were involved in a controversy recently. Didn't you claim you invented the frosted nut?

Smoki: Yes! Those research weenies claimed they did first. Maybe the cinnamon one. But I came up with the original frosted nut about three years ago. The real one; the one with confectioner's sugar. But since I didn't do it as a Research Project, it doesn't count. What a bunch of stiff-tails.

Bone: So what are your plans for the future?

Smoki: Well, I plan on staying here for a bit. I'd like to learn how to do some Cajun and Creole cooking. I hear there's a really good Cajun chef somewhere here in the Periphery. After that, maybe open up a place either back on Redloc or at Werth. I hear that Guv'nor Rlo likes to eat. He'd like my brautwurst.

Bone: Any final comments you'd like to add?

Smoki: Yes. You must be awfully desperate for an interview to talk to me.

Desperate, my Aunt Hattie's stern-section! Try absolutely bereft. So unless I start getting some positive replies to my interview requests, you'll get an interview with Rlo's servant Myron in the next issue. Then with Phuzzy, Rlo's incontinent pet skedbe (and you think you've been reading crap now..) . You have been warned...

Rumor & Innuendo

by Kinki DeWins

* The TCA are strengthening their Alliance with a revision of the old TCA Charter. It's due to be ratified by year's end.

* Speaking of alliances- the Grand Alliance has either given old ISP PD von Ludendorf the ol' heave ho, or he resigned for "personal reasons". In any case, LEI is now ex-GA.

* A unified effort is underway to build a major trade colony along the TCA/Periphery border. It'll be a free port which will allow any government and race to visit for trade and commerce.

* Ships in several systems are reporting strange energy bursts.

* In an effort to nail the USS predator fleet, GA forces are hanging around neutral and IND colonies.

* The Republic of Corona is more like a Confederacy, and it's having problems with some of its members.

*The USS firebrand Tsettlamz is spiking his own outposts in the Transhole with ionic acid and trying to frame the        KZK in an effort to get the THC-GAG war going again.

* Word is that two high-ranking IMPies checked themselves into a clinic for 'relaxation'.

Like it or not, that's a wrap, Kiddies. Stay tuned for our holiday issue. We don't know what's gonna be in it, but it'll be boffo. Promise!

Ads and Stuff

Out Transhole Way? Please be sure to visit IND Allipon (1399) in the Limond (94) system. My used ship market can't be beat. You want something built? ASK! I have a fairly modest factory base, so I can produce most common items in a very short time. - Lord Justin Jacine, IND Allipon

Petroom Is Open For Business! Markets are reopened at Kommercia Hive. We're oriented towards entertainment modules and exploration items.Why not stop in and visit a prime example of ongoing economic reconstruction in the Periphery? - D'zk Kal'ita, Governor of Kommercia Hive.

The Bone would like to thank the following :

Lofek Ben                                                                   Speaker Cascade (wherever you are...)

Lord Jacine, IND Allipon                                           The Petroom Chamber of Commerce

Nathaniel Mathias and the rest of the DTR folk        A certain unnamed Sampoon record-keeper

An Anonymous Petroomer                                         Hilltop Diner, Wolcott, CT

Der Laul of the MYR                                                   Raiders of the Imperial Periphery