[Story] Space Opera, reader participation

[Brunhidden]

hello, didn't expect me to have anything worth putting here did you?

well i don't, not really. so far all i have are snatches of a story i had been writing for quite some time, and constantly abandon whenever i get depressed. in an effort to actually improve my tripe i wish to show it to those who may actually take an interest.



some things to keep in mind-

- this is here to pick apart, i want you to say what you like, dislike, hate, really hate, and wish changed or wish to see in the future

- this is NOT a furry story, nor a scaly or whatever the other breeds of furry are.

- the places where i have "***********" are scene changes, a large gap of time or location has passed.

- this is not the whole thing, its being put up in chunks as i revive portions ive already written or put to keyboard bits ive had in my head for years. this thing will change as it goes.

- for no apparent reason some of my main characters do not yet have names, i hope to remedy this soon.





and without further a due, the first chapter of 'space opera'.





Prospective.

A story always intrigues me with the sequence of choices the characters make, I know of no one who would do it the same way.

Why is this?

The wisest man I've ever known of said that there is no beginning or ending really. Any point which might be called a beginning or an ending is really merely a small window on a series of events that stretches on in both directions indefinitely. Before the curtain went up the stage was set and before that the stagehands and actors rehearsed for months, before that the actors and songwriters weren't even born, and their parents grew up in a way that would sculpt their children's lives. Eventually it goes all the way back to where everything was one.

It all goes back to once upon a time.

However the SMARTEST man I've ever known stated that time is an illusion, that in reality the events we remember have no space between them, an observers vision is limited only by their own perspective.

Everything is once upon a time.

***********

Many things start with an explosion, while this is commonly thought to be true about endings it actually seems that more things start with a commotion. Technically this would make them tragedies in the classical sense that it begins in conflict but from time to time it's quite funny. Whether the explosion be large or small, an internal affair of conflicting ideas in a mans mind or leaving gooey chunks of said mind on a wall is purely chance.

This specific beginning happened when a melon sized chunk of wall vaporized in a spray of dust. It took a good chunk of hair with it too seeing as how the chunk was only a touch to the left of a head. The enforcer drone that had fired the shot already hovering away, the lucky individual torn between swearing and breathing a prayer that whoever designed the enforcer drones had programmed them to run after one shot.

This time swearing was chosen, and soon after an expedious retreat was chosen to hide in the alleys while pondering exactly WHY the drone had decided to fire.

***********


"Sir?"

A man in a white coat and battered hat entered the bridge, it was a large room granted, but mostly empty. The main not empty thing about the bridge was the large control chair in the center surrounded by view screens popping up around it.

What is it Nimbley?

The Capitan didn't really need to be here at all, he merely arrived here to wait for people he knew would come looking for him. The reply came not as words but as though words had happened without sound. Nimbley really wished the Capitan would stop doing that, it gave him the jitters and was never really sure if it had happened afterwards.

"Were in range"

Ah, good.

"Uh, your orders Capitan?"

Tell me Nimbley, what is it that were in range to do?

"Err, analysis?"

Right, good man. Get to it then.  The Capitan looked back to the view screens.

"Any special words before we start using the instruments?" Nimbley risked, a pronounced quaver to his voice.

Call them what they are, tools. It's only an instrument if it makes music .

"Well, Johansen plays a pretty mean geoscope" It wasn't his fault, the Capitan had a way of looking at you and actually listening that made you just want to....fill the void in some way to make him happy. It was almost as creepy as the voice.

Really? How fascinating.

"We've got a band and everything....next week were going up against the kitchen crew band....." Nimbley knew he shouldn't, but he was just the kind of person who stood there sheepishly and sweated. To some degree he knew it's why he got the job.

And may I ask what instrument you play?

"Test tubes....." He said with a voice as high as an ants knee "...a well placed 'foomp', 'pow', or 'snap' really adds an exotic texture to a tune, I think." As his voice grew a bit.

I should have known.  You could FEEL the smirk. Just go down and tell the boys its 'jam time' okay? And after a seconds thought Oh, and do send me an invitation or something to the concert, id love to see what my crews been doing on their off time. Maybe I should find more for you to do .

Nimbley nodded and hurried off, the Capitan sat a while. That old fart was far too nervous. If the Capitan were a normal man he'd give out a vacation request and let him unwind. However, it seems that a bit of an adventure would do the trick much better.

***********

Still startled he sat in an alleyway combing his mane, trying fervently to figure it out. Why had a Sentinel drone fired? Taking with it a chunk of his beautiful hair..... No, this isn't the time to obsess with that, it could be his face next time. Or worse, there was always worse. Right now his best chance at going legitimate and making money without theft was for a bordello to see him and offer him 'employment'. It meant being essentially a sex slave and having virtually no freedom- but hey, three meals a day and all the tail he could handle.

For now, survival would include laying low, finding a nice quiet corner to rest for the night, and possibly scrounge something from behind a restaurant. The streets were no safe place for him today.

***********

Your report Nimbley?

Nimbley had just stepped into the bridge, he hadn't spoken a word or made a sound of any kind. Slowly it was dawning on Nimbley that the Capitan purposefully did things like this to make sure people like Nimbley came to him and gave full and unbiased truth, with something bordering on fear but still good natured. It had been dawning on him for some 4 weeks now and didn't show much sign on going anywhere anytime soon.

"Yes sir captain. We've run all the tests on the planet we can from this orbit and we've found out quite a lot"

Good, I always like results. Now, what have you found?  The capitan held his bewilderment, he still remembered a time when scanning the surface of a planet may take hours or days, not forty five minutes plus tea break.

"You know the results well enough Capitan. You know ANYTHING hat happens here, even if it's in a lightless closed room. I wonder why you have me report to you at all."

I like to give things the personal touch? Just humor me and tell me what the boys have found out in your own words.  The Capitan leaned forward and swiveled his chair. Again the intense feeling of a grin filled the room that would have hit you even if you had your eyes closed.

"Well, the planet shows signs that it's inhabitable. From what we know of the 'Gaia' effect and how living things change their environment it's not only inhabited, but inhabited by advanced societies and it has been that way for a long time."

About how long would you guess?

Nimbley flipped through his notes quickly, a bit surprised by this question.

"I'm not entirely an expert but I would guess that it's far longer then Earth was inhabited by intelligent life before we left. Maybe two or three times as long. Shall we attempt to establish contact?"

Whatever you do put a hold on any and all long ranged communication attempts. Were going to need to learn how things happen here- languages, protocol, politics, and physiology of its inhabitants. We don't want to accidentally start a war by making a radio signal or accidentally liquefy the locals by attempting infrared linking.

"So what's our plan of action?"

The smirk atmosphere deepened, almost to the point where it was an oppressive laugh that was silent only in that there was no sound.

"Send in A team, and send in a Ward of SHIELD members with them as an escort. Volunteers only of course, and at lest one with ranger training"

The words came as sound this time, this was big. The Capitan liked to keep his airs around Nimbley, it kept him on his toes. Rarely did the Capitan speak verbally unless it was to his lieutenants, outsiders, the rare close friend, or his two counterparts.

Needless to say Nimbley was in a good deal of shock

"Yes sir captain, they'll be overjoyed"

"Oh, and Nimbley"

"Yes cap'n?"

"You're going with them"

Nimbleys face drained

***********

Yes, he was a thief- for the moment. Most anyone of his race was, other then prostitutes and a handful lucky enough to get into entertainment or become crime bosses (a legitimate business there). But it's not like the enforcers or their drones cared about thieves.

The equivalent of a rat scurried between his feet, unlike a rat however it more slithered along on a centipede-like array of stubby legs and sniffed around to see if the pondering individual decided to become edible anytime soon. Deciding the prospect of food was low it scurried off to inspect another bum in the alley, this one passed out.

No, the Sentinels were not concerned about thieves- in fact they liked to keep it a booming business. it just meant they had to do less work, and whenever they were in threat of being exiled from their position as peace keepers it was easy to bag a really big crook and look good. Those giant lumps of fat never bothered to actually do the job they had become paid to do by pretty much the entire galaxy, but their mere presence ensured that whenever it did happen people did it out of sight, and that was enough.

***********

A team was thrilled to get out, after weeks of staring at stars through a myriad of oh so boring scopes onto the infinite vastness of space, as were the SHIELD members. SHIELD operatives loved the opportunity to go down to new worlds and it was a pity that only 6 of them went. That's how things went though- they only went in twos, called a Buckler, fours called a Round, sixes called a Ward, eight called a Kite, twelve called a Tower, and 24 called a Bulwark. But on a mission like this only escort duty was necessary, anything more then eight would have been classified as a war party, even with scientists.

Gathering all their equipment and piling it into a dropship took only about 40 minutes, almost all the tech needed would fit on the person of the scientist using it, and two of the SHIELD escorts were dumped with the duty of carrying the large boxes containing the rest of the junk.

Sadly, it would take close to 2 hours strapped into uncomfortable seats with Hogart driving through rough turbulence and Nimbley- who very much was not thrilled- wondering exactly how zero-G affected the use of a barf bag if he should need one.

***********

If thievery wasn't it then what? Dress code? While dress code violation did merit a 'warning shot' it usually had special preservations for different races and was carried out with a smaller gun. The sentinels themselves went around naked all the time, partially because the driving force of their evolution was laziness and partially because they were the aesthetic equivalent of a cross between a frog and a slug with one eye and the size of a pig. His own race, the Gunnar, were also given lenient rules. This however is that it's hard to get comfortable clothing for a biped with a tail and a shirt which allowed a full mane along the back. At the moment he was wearing a perfectly acceptable garment which was a form of leather loincloth- the height of fashion and comfort for bipeds with tails, with sleek lines all over- best you could get off the shelf. And it had to be off the shelf, it was a lot harder to shoplift a tailor after getting measured.

***********

While a landing craft floats on failsafe balloons to allow it to gently drift to the surface of a planet like a feather, it makes it somewhat precarious, quite like a cork on water. This mixes badly with stealth technology leaving it completely invisible to local aircraft.

A chorus of swears mix about a suddenly upside down and partially subterranean landing craft, which had just been broadsided by an unidentified speeder of the planet it had just been sent to investigate.

A collection of obviously dazed scientists hung upside down from rather uncomfortable if functional seat straps. A wide range of expressions and low grade moans escaped them while the similarly strapped and armored figures further down the vessel stayed silent.

"We dead yet?"

Another white coated figure turned to look at the one who had asked the question, and abruptly lashed a quick yet mild pop across the temple.

"Ow!"

"Feel that?"

"Yeah"

"Pity, you're still alive"

Another quick lash of the hand landed on the safety buckle, dropping the complaining scientist to the thankfully padded ceiling.

***********

The alley seemed a surprisingly good place to conjugate and otherwise ponder what life was all about and what was going on. The smell of decomposing bums and medical refuse didn't help but otherwise the atmosphere was quite introspective. so not thievery, or dress code, nothing else came to mind that a drone could see about him to fire.....and now he could give a minute or two to give thanks to the sentinels for programming their drones to run after one shot. The publicly accepted reason was that anything capable of dodging or withstanding a blast from the goofy little robot was thought to be capable of destroying it. The real reason being the sentinels wanted a labor saving device that wouldn't actually replace them. It wasn't that hard to dodge anyway, the aim was off and a blast of that force was slow, about as hard to dodge as a thrown tomato except for the area of effect.

The drones reacted to visual stimulus, a law actually being broken in front of the hovering orb with its half dozen optical/grasping tendrils. But the alternative now was that someone had set a condition on the drones. Anyone who was "wanted" was shot on sight. But who would have put a kill condition on a penniless Gunnar?

***********

Elsewhere, not too far from the alley but just far enough that they're still separate scenes, a surprisingly well organized commotion was moving through the everyday crowd of the planet with an awkward gait. Every so often the strange little white garbed creatures would stop waddling and examine a being continuing its business, sometimes they'd actually attempt to touch someone that struck them as particularly interesting but always seemed to back off due to the dirty looks. no one seemed to care that much that the strange white creatures where there unless they were the target of curious prods, lifting of appendages, or the unsettling times when one of them would raise a small box which produced a bright flash and made a whir sound before shooting out a small rectangle. The only ones who seemed to care were the smaller number of other creatures following them, each one had a dark carapace and a heavy load strapped to their backs, and seemed to be mildly annoyed at the small white creatures in general.

Eventually the group stopped waddling, milled around in a huddle, pointed randomly in directions that seemed less crowded, nodded, and then headed out of the commerce square and into a vacant alley.

There is nothing wrong with writing. But do it alone, in a closed room, and wash your hands afterwards

[Tapewolf]

I think it's off to a promising start.  I'm dead curious about the Gunnar... in a way it reminds me of Morrowind, since the Khajiit always seem to end up stealing to make ends meet, or enslaved...

[ITOS]

I find it interesting.
Maybe a few more descriptions of the surroundings (smells, light, etc).

Nice intro too.

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Interesting.

I think you need some work on the grammar, though. It's not.. consistently clear enough, IMHO.

Promises to be an interesting story when it all fits together, and there's enough there to start with to make it worth watching for.

[Brunhidden]

chapter 2 of 'space opera' touched up a bit and ready to heckle. this is the part where some people may assume its some cheesy furry fanfic or something. sadly this is not explained better until much later in the story, but most of the oddities you find are explained as plot devises or freakish coincidences later. Also this is where you see a bit more of my crappy dialog and lopsided logic, feel free to pick it apart- insulting my intelligence is optional but encouraged.



Ahem...



Elsewhere, still on the same planet yet not on the same city, Government happened. On an interstellar trade world with over fifty different sentient races coming to swap goods and services quite a lot of Government can happen. As of yet people still step in it quite often due to the inferior custodial forces for such a large civic system.

"We trust the status report is satisfactory we do?" proclaimed the, for lack of a better translation, DMV manager to the Niddle in charge of monitoring traffic reports.

Before one begins to think this will be a casual conversation some things needed to be pointed out about the laws of chance, diversity, and practicality.  One may ask why almost any work of fiction one sees on TV, movies, or in books does not face the problem of language barriers, and that this would be a huge obstacle for any two or more sapient species that exist due to separate evolution on different planets. The answer is simple- it's a big problem. Many a war has been started due to scouting ships trying to greet natives but having no prepared way of communication, and when you get right down to it why do we assume all species talk? Many of them probably don't have mouths, vocal cords, or ears for that matter. Fortunately nearly every sapient species uses verbal communication due to its efficiency and the difficulty they face trying to continue use of body language once they reach a stage of technology when radio comes into play.

However, Niddles can't talk, they can understand speech but they are one of the handful of races who don't speak. This being because they have only three senses- touch, taste, and a catch all sense that blends light, sound, radio signals, infra red, ultraviolet, magnetic fields, and so on. The Niddles response therefore was a rather interesting display of hand gestures that wove into almost a dance seeing as the DMV manager, being one of the High, couldn't understand the infra red and radio signals Niddles use to communicate.

A human observer would most likely have noted it odd that such an inefficient mode of communication was used, until they realized it was a government agency and accepted that it was probably quicker then the paperwork required otherwise

A human observer would probably have made fun of the High One, due to the way he talked, the cow like look on his face, and his two cubit tall head.

A human observer who had at any time imbibed large amounts of illegal substances would have probably recognized the Niddle from one of their hallucinations- a gangly figure with five thin white arms for legs around its base in a ring, another five arms in another ring around its crown, the space between occupied by a wide lipless smile of needle sharp teeth with not much left over but corpse white skin. Closer observation would have brought up that a Niddle had seven fingers and two thumbs per hand, three elbows per arm, six knuckles per finger, and most likely the viewer's lunch as well.

As readers will be very hard pressed to understand what the Niddle 'said' with its dance suffice to say it was a complaint filed about two things- a personal aircraft had wiped out as though it had struck a solid object in midair, and signal feed from several satellites had stopped. Both problems were mysteries to everyone involved, and the transportation director was just one of many people on its path of scapegoats.

The DMV manager tilted its long head to the side and asked "Is there any reason apparent why the speeder lost control? Our fault it was clearly not that it spun, never have we placed in air hazards... idea merit has but later" Another short dance "well, we cannot be held responsible still- you did mention loss of satellite feed?" the Niddles dance went into a frenzy, flipping from hands to feet halfway through "I see, still we do not know why or how signals from our high orbits have been blocked, still they reactivate signals once clear of a designated area. is it possible that there is object blocking them?" for a moment the Niddle looked confused then made a few brief gestures "Right you are, area in question larger then three city whole, contact repair crews and tell them to inext round nvestigate for malfunction." After that the Niddle rushed off and the manager tilted its head again "Wonder we do why put up with job we must. Too much make no sense"

***********

Back in the alleyway the Gunnar was having a bit of a problem, in addition to being deep in thought he had the sneaking suspicion someone was watching him. Yet every time he turned and looked all he saw were waste disposal units, comatose hobos, and shadows that seemed to be far too populated for their size.

He scratched his head and turned back to thinking for a few moments, but this was getting even more difficult. This time he heard a shuffle and a bump.

"Alright I know someone's there, come out!"

Nothing.

Just thirty feet away a huddle of excited scientists was trying not to let the excitement in their eyes give them away- was it a dragon? It couldn't be, it merely looked like one. It had a tail, was covered in fine scales, it had an elongated head like a cross between an alligator and a horse, it even had a pair of horns sweeping back from its skull and running along its flowing mane, no wings, but it had claws. Perhaps we could learn from him. Perhaps our ancestors were visited by his kind and that's where the legends came from. Perhaps he won't eat us. Perhaps he didn't just scratch his ass, we will forget about it when we write our reports.

After a few moments he gave up and turned around and nearly stumbled over a small creature behind him made mostly of white but at the top of its figure was a fuzzy mane and a large bulbous protrusion that was probably a nose directly beneath what he assumed were eyes. One of the eyes was behind a bit of greenish glass that seemed to wrap around from the side of the creatures head.

Had the Gunnar been familiar with humans he still would have been a bit hard up to figure out what the expression was- surprise, awe, admiration, joy. In reality the expression was identical to the expressions of the other scientists who were now behind the Gunnar and were still spilling out of the shadows. It went along the lines of "ohmigodohmigodnotonlydidwefindandinhabitedplane, tbutatradeworldmeccaohmigodandnowwevefoundsomekindofdragonythinginanalleyw, ayandwecangetsomeobservationsdownandtak ehimbacktotheshipohmigodtehcaptianwillbesopleasedwithus" but to put it into pictures would have been more like a slot machine- jackpot for inhabited world, jackpot for finding what appeared to be a trade world or some form of city where races from multiple planets met, and the third bar was still spinning around with an image of dreams and stories they had all carried from childhood.

The creature with the fuzzy face opened its mouth and let out what was its idea of a greeting to the creature they had come so far to find.

To the Gunnar it sounded exactly like the sound that spurng, a form of giant caterpillar-frog which filled the roll that cows fill on earth, made when being beaten with heavy sticks. But this took second place for now because the little white creatures went into a flurry of activity, setting up all kinds of gizmos and widgets and poking and prodding him as they could.

A pudgy scientist in white extended a fluffy oval object on a stick and held it up to the Gunnars mouth, meanwhile another scientist with hair that looked like it belonged to a toaster repairman set up a lot of what appeared to be windows in the air and started touching them in certain places, making lights on them change. Also six creatures of similar size and shape appeared in dark carapaces, dropped off some boxes, and then set up a loose perimeter around the white creatures.

The Gunnar was becoming quite confused, a little frightened, and fairly curious, started to ask what was going on, and for an answer had a strange hat made of wires and rubber suction cups plopped on his head.

"WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?!?" he roared in surprise, and as he turned to face the fuzzy creature who seemed to be the leader, he bumped his snout on the fuzzy thing on a stick.

When he put his hand up to rub his nose and touch the fuzzy thing the leader waved a bit to the scientist by the computers, who gave him a thumbs up.

"Who are you, what are you doing, and answer me before I get mean."

The leader's only response was to nod vigorously, point to his mouth and make motions with his hands for him to move his mouth.

"What? You want me to keep talking? Fine, you little freakjobs are strange enough without making demands, the only reason I don't call the cops is I think they'd incinerate me for some reason I'm not aware of"

The fuzzy scientist looked puzzled, looked back at the scientist by the computers, and then looked back at the Gunnar.

"What gthlarble think you gthnack make that?"

"Huh? I thought you couldn't speak trade"

"You speak more, plthhhbbbt" said the scientist, throwing in flapping hand motions for extra measure and then pointed to both the microphone and the neural receiver on his head "we reason"

"This is getting weirder by the minute, whatever you have in mind had better be good. paying or feeding me for preference" at the moment this conversation was happening more tests were being attempted, a lot of pictures were being taken, and some of the scientists were getting to be more bold. Specifically one of them had approached with a tweezers and a sample jar in hopes of getting scale samples, and another was lifting the Gunnars tail and dropping it. Of concern to the Gunnar was that two of the scientists had erected something that looked like a couple poles struck together at a right angle and seemed to be getting conformation from the computer scientist and attaching cords together.

"Move back could you? Here stand?"

"No way, how do I know you're not going to drug me or something!" The Gunnar was furious; these little men were beginning to get pushy. However one of the black creatures was now really close and was pointing something that he had no question was a weapon at him. The scientist leader pushed him away and tried to calm the Gunnar.

"Sorry, they a little touchy, you talk more and stand on spot and we make clear okay?"

Grudgingly he complied, and as soon as he stood in the right spot he had to keep himself from jumping back when the pole started to move in a circle around him, emanating a thin sheet of green light.

"BLOODY HELL!"

"Relax, no hurt. look screen" the scientist pointed at the computer screens, where the Gunnar saw an image of himself, another screen beside it displayed what he assumed were his skeletal, nervous, muscle, digestive, and cardiovascular systems. After a little while of being creped out he looked back to the image of himself WITH SKIN.

For the first time he realized that his body was practically a work of art, unlike most of the other races that seemed to be assembled out of what the creator had left over the Gunnar were different. A Gunnar was sleek, functional, durable scales protected most of his body while being soft and supple, his tail had both strength and flexibility, his elongated muzzle did not seem awkward and everything just seemed smooth. It was as though he had been polished by a sculptor rather then evolved.

At this point realization first dawned that he was being studied, by aliens....if such a word can really be applied when you consider there were nearly fifty different races coexisting on the planet at the moment. But the Gunnar had never seen creatures like these, ever. He never saw them on any of the directories for race, planet, or diplomacy that were kept at the municipal buildings, and that was nothing compared to how differently they acted. They were studying him for the sake of studying him- no autopsy, no abductions (yet), they hadn't demanded anything other then for him to speak, only the ones with carapaces seemed hostile or even dangerous at all. On top of all that he had never seen something like the floating windows of images the one scientist had hovering in front of him, and was touching and moving things on them as though they were naught but pebbles.

"Err....what IS that?"

"Why, its you. Or at least an analysis of you. Were learning quite a lot right now, you can take the hat off now if you would- its only so we could cross reference speech with neural patterns until our computers upgraded our translator programs to include your language" the little man gasped after such a long sentence but appeared quite happy with himself.

"I can see it's me, but how is a picture floating in the air? How is he moving it? Who painted it, because I don't see any chemical image tubes?"

"Huh? You don't have holoscreeens on your computers? Nevemind, we will fill you in on the fancy stuff later. Right now we would like to offer you a proposi-....what the TANJ is that?"

At this moment the entourage had been disturbed by a second Enforcer drone. The floating metal orb with its various ports on seemingly random positions of its body drawing quite the attention from both scientists and SHIELD members.

"Permission to fire sir?" buzzed in the earpiece the leader wore, he saw one of the SHIELD operatives glance his way while keeping his weapon trained on the sphere.

"It's an enforcer drone, one of them fired on me about a half hour ago." The Gunnar offered, speculative of which one he would prefer to fire first.

"No corporal, I think ill let Whestly handle it *zzt* Whestly, time to do a field test. See if you can disable it so we can study what it is." the signal switching from the SHIELD corporal to the youngest member of the A-team.

"Sure thing sir!" said the youth, in contrast to the other scientists he was QUITE young. Nearly all the males had scraggly unkempt facial hair, and most of the females were starting to get to the stage in life where they resemble apples left out in the sun. Whestly was a bit of an upstart, being placed in A-team as a means for him to express his extreme interest in taking things apart and analyzing them in a constructive environment rather then his notorious habit of trying to see what made the gravatic distribution network and allgate work.

With a look of deep concentration Whestly advanced in the characteristic waddle that all the scientists seemed to have developed, pulling out a small device resembling a remote control from one of his inner pockets as he approached.

"Easy there little guy, were just going to have a look at ya. A reeeealy good look." However the drone didn't seem to share the sentiment, turning on a central axis side to side in a twitch like fashion to analyze everyone. The drone was quite confused, it had orders to fire on all unattended Gunnar, but this one was attended- however at the same time none of them registered on its data strip as being registered to own a Gunnar. In fact, none of them showed up on the data strip at all. A call for backup was in order to increase its limited processing power, possibly relay observations back to headquarters for analysis.

Just as Whestly came close enough to reach out with the device in his hand a second drone came around the corner, the first one somehow looking confused despite having no face. This happened to be a rather poor timing for Whestly to use the immobilizer, sending a disabling magnetic pulse at the drone.

At this time all hell broke loose.

First the drone affected by the immobilizer had a few twitches, fell to the ground, and exploded in a spray of shrapnel which caught Whestly full in the face.

About three seconds later the second drone let loose an alarm after having assessed the creatures as hostile and fired wildly into the small crowd.

One eighth of a second later the remaining drone was reduced to a rather crunchy crater in the masonry of the wall opposite what turned out to be the most paranoid SHIELD member who was frantically searching for any other drones to fire on.

Time then became slightly unimportant as the scientists and shield members frantically packed up as soon as the Gunnar confirmed that the alarm the drone produced will shortly attract more drones, and the rather 'terminate with extreme prejudice' of the Sentinels themselves. It took only about twenty seconds to get everything packed up, everyone in order to move out, and the Gunnar came with- running along at full speed with the lacerated remains of Whestly.

***********

At this time one must not forget Hogart, as only a true fool would leave his drop ship unattended on a strange planet, and only someone truly unobservant would fail to leave a mechanic with a vehicle which is not only upside down but also slightly subteranian.

Hogart was not a happy man. He didn't even really understand why A-team needed a mechanic/pilot anyways. He wasn't paid enough to work his shaggy butt off on some unknown planet trying to heave a landing vessel by himself with the certain possibility of being mauled by who knows what. Most of all he was frustrated.

In theory a several ton spacecraft could be moved easily by a single overweight man as long as it's baloons were set up properly, making the weight of the vessel completely imaginary and have no trouble being turned upright. The problem seemed to be the bits of geography on top of portions of the vessel, including a quarter ton of topsoil and some rather disconcerting vines which seemed to have a knack for getting tangled in things like landing gears and legs.  Hopefully blasting the debris away with a leftover impact gun the SHIELD guys had onboard should have done the trick.

"Okay, one more time. Roll over baby, roll over for Hogart."

After sending a quick signal to the balloon controls and heaving on one edge of the vessel Hogart was rewarded in seeing the drop ship tip up on it side, gently rolling as though it were just a large balloon, slow down just before reaching the apex at which it would tip back upright, and gently float back to the ground.

"TANJ!" He intoned the old curse of all those who work with tools use to state There Aint No Justice. Hogart was vaguely aware it came from some books the scientists thought drove their creativity, but he never read the books of the old dreamers, only the sports pages.

"Oh well, I guess we will just have to wait until the others get back to help flip ya. But at least all the internal diagnostics say you don't need any repairs." Hogart obviously had the habbit of talking to machinery, he liked machinery and most machines liked him back.

As he sat himself down to take a bit of a rest to await the others, knowing sometimes it took a full day for them to find whatever they were looking for or a lack thereof, he glimpsed an image in the distance which reminded him never to say things like that because someone was always listening, and whoever it was had a bad sense of humor.

Hogart had just noticed the others coming back- at full speed pursued by flying shiny beach balls and in the company of what appeared to be a flesh eating monster carrying the bloody remains of a scientist.

Just peachy.

Albert grunted. "Do you know what happens to lads who ask too many questions?"
    Mort thought for a moment.
    "No," he said eventually, "what?"
    There was silence.
    Then Albert straightened up and said, "Damned if I know. Probably they get answers, and serve 'em right."

[ITOS]

insulting my intelligence is optional but encouraged.

You're an idiot.

Now to read the story.

[EDIT] Heh. It reminds me of the HHGTTG.

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

-Now- it's starting to go places...

[Brunhidden]

insulting my intelligence is optional but encouraged.

You're an idiot.

Now to read the story.

[EDIT] Heh. It reminds me of the HHGTTG.

thank you for being honest, but whats the 'HHGTTG'?

-Now- it's starting to go places...

tell me, what places is it starting to go, and if these are not where you wish them to go where WOULD you like them to go? *takes notes*

The shortest pencil is better then the longest memory

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

thank you for being honest, but whats the 'HHGTTG'?

The Hitch-Hikers Guide To The Galaxy, the most wholly remarkable book to come out of the great publishing houses of Ursa Minor Beta. More popular than the latest issue of PlayBeing, more useful than Oolon Colluphid's latest blockbuster trilogy "Where God Went Wrong", "Some More Of God's Greatest Mistakes", and "Who Is This 'God' Person, Anyway?", and unique in having the words "Don't Panic" printed on the front cover in large, friendly letters.

*cough*

Oh, and the places? I'm thinking it still needs a beta reader, and the first two chapters could do with some polish. However, the polish will vary depending on what happens in chapter 3 and onwards, I guess, so unless you have some good plans, you might want to just make a note of it and come back to it.

You may also wish to talk to me outside here about hosting...

[Brunhidden]

Oh, and the places? I'm thinking it still needs a beta reader, and the first two chapters could do with some polish. However, the polish will vary depending on what happens in chapter 3 and onwards, I guess, so unless you have some good plans, you might want to just make a note of it and come back to it.

Sorry, i didn't recognise it as an acronym, most people just say 'the hitchhikers guide' or 'the hitchhiker trilogy'.



Beta readers? i have been writing this rank pile of excrement for over two and a half years now, and at periodic times i show it to several of my online acquaintances and ask for feedback. Not a one of them gives actual replies i could use, and most don't even read the dang thing... not that i cant blame them.

By far the most confusing is one person who said it had 'too many fart jokes', i spent a month trying to figure out if i even HAD a fart joke in there. The second most confusing was someone from japan who was reading with an online translator told me they liked 'your command of the language', which i have NO clue how to take.

Due to my frustrations as such i had finally decided that people HERE may have enough of a passing interest to read it, say something other then "I like it, is that a lion furrie?" or "I think its great, and funny too." apperantly i have to rethink this decision, and will probably discontinue after i revise the next two chapters unless there seems to be any reason to continue.


i would assume 'hosting' would be for thinks worth saving, and i am astounded i have not set this thing on fire by now, which is the fate of my last three short stories, most of my crude attempts at drawing,  and almost every woodcarving i have ever done. A little less then two years ago i engraved a logo on a domed piece of steel and sent it to an artist i admire, and i currently have a compulsion to either find a way to get to Colorado and destroy it or convince the owner to do so himself... i have no idea why i ever thought it was worth shipping, it was probably the worst metalworking project iv'e done

If the world did not suck so much we would fall off

[Brunhidden]

Part 3, in which there is mostly dialog and you get to hear some alien words that will pop up several times later



   Takeoff had been  a rather hurried event, and anyone who had found the time to blink would have missed the dropship being flipped right side up. The ascent was quite interesting from a chaotic standpoint. The Gunnar was beginning to accept that was the only standpoint to deal with the scientists without yelling. Hogart was in the pilots seat with a speed appropriate for anyone who feels that flying silver bowling balls are not something you wish to know better, and was now wondering why exactly the flesh eating monster carrying a scientist corpse was fastening a seatbelt and not being shot in the forehead. The Gunnar likewise was wondering why the scientists thought it was of high importance to take the corpse to a closet before takeoff, those drones were rather close and this was no time to be tidy, and got his answer in a rather astounding way. Someone pressed a button on the closet door and it burst open, so that what quite resembled a robot squid seized Whestly's body around the face and neck and snatched him inside, and closed the door on itself. One scientist even remained standing while everyone else buckled themselves into their crash seats in order to watch the little screen on the closet, which at first showed a little cartoon of a doctor and a tombstone, and let out a 'bing' sound as a green light came on. The screen now showed a yellow circle with closed eyes and a big toothy grin next to a disembodied 'thumbs up'. Satisfied, the scientist had just enough time to make it halfway to his seat before slamming to the deck as Hogart brought the ship to kiss the clouds while balancing on a column of thin flame.
   A moment and some small swearing later the additional G-force of accelerating dissapeared despite the ship continuing to soar to the heavens, and some degree of normality began to surface. Not much, but some. Questions needed to be asked, and the first one was made in as much of an attempt as not to be rude as possible.
   "Alright, who the blazes are you, who are THEY, whats with the closet that ate the dead guy, and why in the name of Merthon's dagger did you want to abduct me?" demanded the Gunnar, a suspicious talon indicating both the scientists, the armored guards, and the closet containing a lot of blood and a robot squid. Already he was showing the distinctly human ability to be completely calm when confronted by things which could not possibly make sense in his little world, and most likely would not remain calm once they did make sense. And so the scientists tried to be diplomatic, though it was not their strong suit.
   The fuzzy scientist who was apperantly the spokesman stood to attention and seemed to be reading from a teleprompter some distance above and behind the Gunnars head "Dear sir or madam or other, we regret to inconvenience you and apologize for any insults or mistaken advances in our ignorance of your local customs, language, and biological composition. It is our objective to offer you the highly prestigious and lucrative position as ambassador between our people and your civilization or lack thereof. We wish to learn and to establish profitable trade of goods and information, you will be rewarded for helping us and we hope that you will consider our offer kindly. If you choose to accept our chosen representatives will escort you in comfort to our starship where you will meet with the Capitan, who will debrief you further and confirm the agreement." at that his eyes seemed to focus once more and blinked several times. "Sorry, it seems most of that went out the window already hasn't it?"
   "First off I'm definitely a 'Sir', this IS an inconvenience, this escort is NOT comfortable, you ARE ignorant, and what was that about 'Reward'?" The Gunnar grasped the prepared speech fully, even if his vocabulary still had a few fuzzy areas.
   This time a different scientist spoke, she had silver and grey hair, wrinkles like a prune, and roughly seven teeth that weren't gold. "We were sent to find likely candidates to ask about showing us around the planet and giving us a crash course on the sentients around here. It just so happens you were the first we saw that wasn't busy, we could confront, were alone in case you decided to refuse, and we WERE just about to ask politely when we were interrupted."
   "And now?" It was amazing how so alien a being could convey a facial expression of worry and curiosity.
   A lean scientist to his left preened his sparse white goatee in brief thought before saying "We take you to the Capitan of course, then HE will ask nicely, decide how to apologize, and most likely we gas you and start probing while your unconscious." The Gunnar had a look of fear "Don't worry, after we dissect we promise to put everything back and sew you up so's you wont even know we did anything. If you want we can leave you wake up dead drunk in an alley with a hooker so you'll forget this whooole thing" The look of fear intensified, a slight twinge of bile rising to meet it.
   Thankfully the fuzzy leader spoke again, waving in dissaproval at his fellows. "We are known as the 'Dreads', those guys over there are called 'Mercs' and were both of a species called 'Humans' or 'Homo Sapiens' and were thinking of upgrading to 'Homo Astronimus' but were not done deciding. Whestly is not dead, we thank you for helping us get him here in such a hurry otherwise he may have died in a very permanent manner, and that closet is actually a life support system with surgical capabilities. I believe we already answered why we wanted to 'abduct' you, so forget all notions of rape and slavery or of becoming a meal- we don't do that kinda stuff and will probably give you money enough it wouldn't matter anyway."
   Okay, upgrade being abducted by strange aliens to being politely abducted by insane aliens possessing superior technology.
   "Life support system with surgical capabilities? you mean that THING is a doctor and that bloody mess of pulp is alive?"
   "Yup. that glorified toaster can preform brain surgery, heart transplants, coronary bypasses, lasic surgery, the whole works....well, for space reasons we don't have one big enough for childbirth, but we don't allow pregnant women on these ships often. your not pregnant are you? We know so little of anatomy and customs of creatures around here."
   "I would hope not, but after all this I don't know anymore. what i need now is liquor and thrupt moss to calm my nerves."
   "Sorry, all we have is anesthetics at the moment."
   "Too bad, I think I'm starting to come out of shock and will be getting jittery soon."
   "How about this," the fuzzy scientist unbuckled his safety belts, walked across the aisle between the seats, and offered his hand to his guest "my name is Hamish, and i am pleased to meet you. Whats your name?"
   The Gunnar looked at his hand in puzzlement, and gave a somewhat hesitant answer when Hamish finally grabbed his taloned mitt and shook it slowly "Actually, I don't have a name yet. So far I haven't earned one."
   Just as Hamish was beginning to say 'well, were going to have to give you one soon' the other scientists broke out into choruses of 'call him Chuck!', 'he looks like a Bob to me', 'how about Tarzan? what? hes wearing a loincloth for crying out loud!', and so fourth.
   "Quiet the lot of you! It'll be up to the Capitan to pick a good name, one that'll suit him and he will like. seriously, Tarzan? Next you will want to call him Elvis! Oh, to continue our introductions, this fine collection of assorted nuts is called the 'A team'. We are charged with the task of being the first to set foot on new planets and scout around to gather information. Its kind of embarrassing to say it but were the best of the best out of all of the Dreads to get this prestigious job."
   The Gunnar had spent this introduction wondering if the 'elvis' Hamish spoke of was the same legendary Ehlviz who hopped from planet to planet across every known world nearly two centuries ago. Nah, it couldn't be. These goobers didn't seem to have been around these parts before and Ehlviz was almost twice their size. Plus Ehlviz had a penchant for a lot shinier clothes, even if he did share their preference for white.
   "Tell me, what is a Dread? Didn't you call yourselves humans? and what separates you from the 'Mercs' as you call your fellows in the back?"
   Hamish brightened "I'm glad you asked that, it'll be a while until we arrive at the ship so a good long story will help. To avoid detection its in a very high orbit, were still accelerating."
   The brief calming effect of a proper introduction vanished, "Were still accelerating? I don't feel a thing! I don't even hear rockets!" the look on the Gunnars face was quite similar to if you had just hit him with a wet fish "FOOSHWA! Id forgotten! How can we be flying at all if were not accelerating and have no rockets!" He started to panic and struggled against his safety belts, which were actually the belts of two different seats due to his size and posed some mechanical difficulty.
   Hamish chuckled softly, laid his hand on the Gunnars shoulder to calm him, and laughingly said "Calm down, theres no need to panic. Oddly enough the explanation to that is hand in hand with the story I'm about to tell you. Unbuckle yourself and relax a bit while I enlighten you."

[Brunhidden]

Yes, i know, double post. but its been long enough waiting to put up chapter 4, which is where i kind of left off wondering what bits i should fix as afterwards what i have so far will affect large portions of what i have not yet written.

particularly because this is the bit that i feel ive started to dribble on the floor and wear my underpants on my head.

anyways, shortly after this i shall be putting up the edited versions of the chapters, which may or may not make more sense, i dunno.

i give you chapter 4- kind of a flashback, with fun mental images.




   Hamish hated to be too cleche, but it WAS quite a long time ago and it was certanly far far away. He didn't remember exactly how long a time, but how far away is something it would have taken a mathematician and a piece of paper the size of a movie theater screen to display.
   The story began during the end of what is now called the oil age, and is the story of the second Dread. Well, it starts out that way, but theres a lot more to it then that.
   One day at a rather mediocre university in the united states there chanced to be a young student enrolled in a mathematics class geared towards his degree as an electrical engineer. Hundreds and thousands of other students had taken similar classes and never had anything stir in their brains out of the ordinary, and to this day were not sure exactly what happened. But, something did happen so we still wonder what was different, all we know is that it revolved around the concept of 'negative I'. Negative I is a concept used in certain mathematics for purposes like electrical engineering, and is quite frankly a number that does not exist and is one of the few imaginary numbers we know of. A number that does not exist you say? why teach it? well, the number 'I' is the square root of negative one, which does exist, so how can the negative of a real number not exist? If the number is not real or does not exist HOW CAN THE EQUATION WORK? but the equations do work, all the time, without fail and with only minor discrepancies. it seems thats as close as we can guess was the issue, a greater understanding of something which both exists and doesn't exist, that reality might be a value rather then a constant, or some other dramatic epiphany.
   This particular student had something inside their brains go 'ping' and suddenly a whole new way of thinking was born. This way of thinking was contagious and visibly so. This way of thinking also had side effects, like screaming that the value of Pi is exactly 3,  running up and down the hallways wearing your shirt on your bottom half and your pants as a cape, and so fourth. This is why we don't even know WHO the student was, because within three hours the university was sealed up by the police and the few remaining faculty members who hadn't started to chew the furniture. However, this did little, before sundown another five universities across America had also caught the outbreak, and the following week were joined by another six in America, three in England, two in Canada, one in Argentina, nine across continental Europe, and four in Japan. Historians blame the internet for spreading what was then called "the funny fever" and guess it was passed directly from college student to college student on an educational medium.
   Funny fever was an accurate title, everyone exposed to the mad babbling of someone 'infected' either completely failed to grasp what they were saying or started to go bonkers themselves. In one university alone it was recorded that somebody broke into the biology lab and wore the dissection frogs as a hat, another ate a bunson burner, a gang of sophomore students paper mache'd all the maps in the geography rooms into a giant cat, and a flaming piano shot out of the front door to break through the line of police officers outside- the piano was full of vanilla pudding for some reason nobody even wants to know. Likewise, a west coast college had a breakout when a philosophy professor, two history majors, a psychology student, the librarian, three physics majors,  and a janitor strapped a pair of canoes to an old rusty ford with a purple paintjob, attached a sail, some extra wheels, a half dozen oars, and proceeded to use the malformed contraption to terrorize the city. Their reign of terror claimed four donut shops and an electronics superstore before they ran out of coffee on a freeway trying to escape spotted wombats...at least thats what they told the cops when they caught up.
   Less then ten days after 'funny fever' broke out one man proposed to aid the victims. A single building, he said, to quarantine them. These people needed to be studied, to figure out what happened to them. They also need someone to take care of them until they hopefully stopped trying to floss with undergarments. This was in no way an asylum, and as soon as anyone confined to the complex was able to clearly state they wished to leave and felt they could take care of themselves, they were free to leave.
   And so the Institution for Calm and Clear Thought came to be, with a portion of its money donated from private individuals, charity organizations, and a handful of government agencies to assist with the founders limited funds. The first building used to be a car factory, hastily fleshed out with removable walls to provide living spaces quickly before the 'funny fever' spread more. Volunteer psychiatrists and a great many students (unpaid, but they received college credits and it looked terrific on their resumes) flocked to the center to study and assist with what was now the most media friendly epidemic anyone had ever known. People suffering from the less humorous AIDS and malaria  were usually unlikely to do sock puppets, tell a joke about a llama involving a chainsaw, chew their own feet, or declare the television reporter was oppressing and abusing the microphone without its written consent and demanded that such office equipment be allowed to form a union for better working conditions.
   By the time the new buildings were almost complete and people were starting to move into their new quarters something else happened. Twenty of the patients had written out a legally binding offer to the man who founded the institution. The document entrusted all the monetary recourses of the signers to the founder, placed any privately owned property of theirs for sale with the profits going to the institution, and furthermore entrusted the patents and rights to all intellectual property and products produced by the patients to the founder. In exchange the founder agreed to provide certain standards of comfort and provide the patients with certain materials as they wished.
   For a moment, it seemed the funny fever had passed. Babbling like an idiot started to fade, people dressed themselves normally, and obviously some of them had enough withs to put together a legally binding contract. But....over half the patients asked to sign that contract and stay in the institution, and while many left of their own free will there were a large number who didn't sign the contract who stayed anyways. The psychologists were in agreement, these loonies were up to something.
   Into the institute went items both mundane and complex, out came a flood of innovations that sounded like an inventor had overdosed on cough syrup. A handful of the patients were actual scientists, many more were physics students and the like, but most were just people of above average intelligence who had been given the curse of understanding just a bit too much. Now that things made sense, they had given all their worldly possessions to the founder of the institute in exchange for the freedom to bring new ideas to the world.
   And new ideas came to the world, in terrible and horrifying ways, in full view of the media because those loonies earned their name. They became known as the Dreads. The news media is to blame for that though, they even had a song they played when they began the bi-weekly segment entitled "what we dread to hear".
   
   "Have you heard the news today?
   Have you heard what they all say?
   It seems they reinvented the wheel,
   And heavens fire they did steal!
   What they say I really dread,
   I just want to stay in bed!
   I heard about the fruit punch car,
   And the spaceship in a pickle jar!
   I don't know which puzzles me more,
   When behind their own strange door,
   They've trained a disco dancing rat,
   And then a burger flipping cat!
   Just listening hurts my head!
   What more is there to dread?
   How about their two inch pink rubber strap?
   That stretches ten yards and keeps its snap?
   Tell me how they did that freaky stunt,
   With a tree growing out of a camels hump!
   A liar you call me and they?
   Take a look and see what they say!
   With this enough I have been fed,
   For all this madness I do dread!"

   The things that came out of the institution often defied logic, common sense, obvious reason, and sometimes even international law, the news ate it up. But as far fetched as it usually sounded, people watched with hawks eyes with the fear it would soon be their own butts on a plate. And they were right, one of the developments patented by the Dreads included a way to make automobile fuel and plastics from fructose, the sugar found abundantly in most plants, and turned vast mounds of inedible byproducts into cheap renewable fuels and durable goods while bankrupting oil tycoons across the world. Thousands lost their jobs when a Dread wrote a computer program that was partially self aware and able to overview its own coding, thus enabling personal computers to troubleshoot their own problems and fend off viruses without a human even bothering to purchase an antivirus or set up a firewall. Manufacturing all over the world experienced a violent upheaval when a Dread figured out a way to cheaply refine titanium, making it far cheaper then aluminum- both aluminum and most steel products joined tin and lead as mostly outmoded metals while titanium was no longer used chiefly as the white letters on candy coated chocolates or as an ingredient in sunscreen.
   Of course, the majority of the things the Dreads did were just plain weird, and often hurt just to think about them in detail. For instance they really did train a rat to dance on its hind legs, in a leisure suit, to 'Saturday night fever', complete with disco ball and afro wig. Five Dreads, a camera man, and a gardener all lost their lives when a prototype 'super super SUPER ball' went haywire and proved that it could store the kinetic force required to go through two skulls, a pelvis, three larynx's,  a brick wall, a light truck, and was later found embedded in an elderly oak tree half a mile down the road. To prove some obscure point about geometry a crew of seven Dreads built a pyramid of eggs in a 'house of cards' style that towered over twenty seven feet tall and couldn't go any higher because of the ceiling height in the room they built it in. Mostly they proved that Dreads had more free time then they knew what to do with and were putting it to whatever use they could imagine.
   A milestone was when the cash started to flow in, while some of their random tinkering could be marketed they weren't goldmines... that is until they invented something that would change the world. It had begun as some esoteric experiment using a fish tank, spare change, baked brie, and a ham radio, but somehow it veered off course and the dreads brought fourth the very first Induced Buoyancy Generator.
   The IBG was a strange device and the golden child of whatever freakish new understanding of physics and math the dreads had embraced. Imagine a metal sphere the size of a beach ball and covered with lumps of various sizes, bearing a quite improbable promise. At the public unveiling the reporters and cameramen all laughed when they were told this gigantic thing weighing over a quarter ton could be made to float into the air at the turn of a dial, and made of crap they found in some hardware stores. After donning extreme protective clothing and assuming a relatively safe distance of twenty feet behind a low concrete wall, the dread operating it started to turn the dial while the spokesman addressed the camera in a rough explanation of what was going on. What was going on was nothing, after a full minute passed the press laughed, but the dread in front of the camera continued to smile contentedly, and the dread with the remote control continued to spin the dial  wildly. The laughter stopped when the IBG shot off the ground like a bat out of hell, a startling noise filling the rapid vacuum left behind it. At least one reporter absentmindedly admitted to the world that she had just peed herself.  Now, with the demonstration underway the spokesman spoke again, recapping what buoyancy was and how ships float and of a simple experiment children can do where you smash a penny with a hammer to make it float even though the penny is far heavier then water. The IBG was far far FAR heavier then air, but now that it reached the right levels the dread with the remote control gently lowered it to about waist height, and gave it a push to assorted gasps when it drifted gently towards the camera at the same steady height. The spokesman and the dread with the control continued to address the camera while they played 'pong' and mused on the possible useages of this device and how it runs off of a car battery and so on and so fourth. But all people were doing was standing dumbfounded as a pair of scrawny and unkempt ubergeeks were tossing a quarter ton metal sphere between each other as though it were an extremely obedient balloon.
   Immediately dubbed the "Lead Balloon" the IBG revolutionized the automobile industry, electric hovercars could run at a third the cost of any internal combustion vehicle now, airships the size of aircraft carriers docked at every city to distribute the goods of the world with one tenth the shipping costs, elevators were no longer restricted by such things as arcetexture, the elderly terrorized isolated communities on flying easy chairs, the dreads had more money then any two European nations you care to name, outer space came within mans reach once again.
   The fortune of the dreads went into space. The man they had entrusted their estates to paid out unheard of sums of money for things nobody understood. Less then four years after the lead balloon swept the world the next brainchild of the dreads launched itself into the endless skies, a small fleet of goofy looking probes with folded photon sails made to ride the sunlight away from earth and propel itself home using lasers.
   Again, people laughed that such obviously intelligent people were so obviously stupid- what could they gain at all by flinging two dozen metal turkeys into space? It seemed that the dreads merely wanted to spend their money before they thought of something good to use it on, and within a month people nearly forgot about the probes. Just over a year after their launch people regretted laughing and saw why the probes were sent up, for every astronomer and anyone even remotely close to a telescope screamed bloody murder.
   Up in the sparkling darkness of space, a conga line of asteroids swung towards earth in a disconcertingly rhythmic manner. Panic gripped the cities and preachers gripped microphones, law enforcement of every imaginable sort tried to beat down the doors of the Institution with a bloody determination to draw and quarter anyone who even looked like a nerd. A press conference had been set up in emergency speed with emergency precision where a spokesman from the dreads addressed news reporters in an undisclosed warehouse miles from the angry mobs.
   'A single medium sized asteroid' he said 'contains about the amount of metals that the entire earth mines over the course of three years. Everything important we build requires metals and those metals are EXPENSIVE because of how hard they are to wrest from the ground and the very real damage we do to the environment in the act of  taking them. We need metals though, a lot more then we have acess too, because of all the electronics we use, because they're easily recyclable, because they're more durable and versatile then the plastics were going to run out of soon anyways. We can build a better world, live better lives, and let the world live a bit longer too. All we ask is that we be allowed to do our jobs and do things right.'
   Public opinion thought it was a load of monkey spunk, but reluctantly the dreads were allowed to 'play catch'. Money was now an issue though, as rich as the dreads were they only had half the money they needed to erect a space program capable of shuttling men and minerals between the ground and the low orbit the asteroids would enter. Venture capitalists around the world soon decided they would either die in a fiery apocalypse or sleep on big piles of cash, depending on the outcome, so spent every dime they had to spare. Two in particular invested nearly as much as the dreads themselves put fourth, and thus were promised special favors when the time was right.
   With more money then king Midas ever saw, a very small space program sent a handful of people up, and a lot of rock down. This rock was not to be sold or made into trade goods, with the resources at their disposal the dreads had decided a more robust means of harvesting was required. Quickly a hollow mountain close to two miles high was cobbled together out of small chunks of interstellar rocks, rising like the chimney from hells own furnace and punching through the stratosphere. In the end only ten people were needed at the top, living in a small station and depending on life support systems of incredible complexity, to make periodic runs up to the waiting asteroids with the chore of sending them down the chimney. The chimney itself was practically a gun barrel, the descending meteor smelting itself before a safe and controlled impact which would cause no damage to anyone other then a minor earthquake that shook the cupboards of the neighboring town.
   Like demigods the dreads had become, their probes flinging enormous bullets at earth, their chimney spewing fourth a nearly infinite supply of cheap metal, their airships wafting through the skies like luxury cruise clouds.
   The dreads were feared by anyone who fully understood the power they held, which had only just begun to bloom.

***********

   "That still doesn't explain how you were able to turn the G-force of the ships acceleration on and off like you did." The Gunnar had listened patiently, only understanding about half of what he had been told sinse he had no idea what cars and reporters and monkey spunk were.
   "Well, the 'lead balloon' was such a big breakthrough, but it was only half an idea. The other half was a metal alloy that has the incredible property of allowing us to shape gravity, and its so expensive to manufacture that we couldn't do a thing until we had the meteorite fortunes. Both devices are based on a principal we only half understand, that values that are negative or don't exist can still be real, and brings us closer to the ultimate goal of the grand unification theory. This metal we have, called Hevlight, operates by bending gravity. Sinse gravity cannot be unmade, created, or held back we cannot achieve what we know as 'antigravity' which would make things weightless, but by bending gravity we can bring the amount we need to where we need it and away from where we don't want it. All you need is enough Hevlight, a small amount of electricity to control its effects, and a gravity source for it to control."
   Hamish paused, and removed a panel from the floor to expose what appeared to be thin exposed wires laid out in an even grid running below the whole deck. "Space became achievable for us because we could now achieve acceleration over the limit of 3 G's or so without living crewmen becoming Scottish pudding. With this material we were also able to generate electricity by making gravity 'dams' and to establish stable gravity onboard starships during voyages for the comfort of the crew...it also makes it a TANJ sight easier to actually get some work done when your tools don't bounce around in freefall."
   Quick on the uptake, the Gunnar drew a conclusion "Wait, if it can move gravity but not create it, how do you get stable, gravity on a ship if there is no gravity in space?"
   "Oh, thats simple. We've got a black hole on ship to supply all the gravity we would ever need."
   The Gunnar chose this moment to go into shock and curl up into a little ball.

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

*chortle*

"Oh, that's simple" *giggle*

I -like- where you're going with this - but, uh, wouldn't the induced buoyancy generator work on gravity, or with gravity?

There's some details I think you're missing - money isn't a limitation, IQ is. So to speak - the limitation is not money, which is created by thought, but having someone able to think. I'd expect the Dreads to -seriously- take over large areas of the economy simply by being better than anyone else at coming up with neat ideas.... but that's rather more complex an idea to cover in this sort of short story :-)

Still, I'm enjoying it muchly. :-)

[Tapewolf]

Marvellous chapter.   I wish I'd thought of it!

[ITOS]

Imaginary numbers. Love them.

The explanation was "lagom" long and gave intresting information that was totally unnecessary (for the story so far). Even if you could do without it, it's still one of those funny things that can make something worth reading. Good job.

[Zedd]

In the words of chan speak...MOAR!!

[Brunhidden]

Holy fuggnuggets, people actually have comments this time, i am happy.

A bit more like this and i could see this story being just as long as the ones gabi and tape have put up. If at any time you feel like you have a suggestion let it rip

"Oh, that's simple" *giggle*

I -like- where you're going with this - but, uh, wouldn't the induced buoyancy generator work on gravity, or with gravity?

I'd expect the Dreads to -seriously- take over large areas of the economy simply by being better than anyone else at coming up with neat ideas

To Hamish its as simple as figuring out a 5 piece jigsaw puzzle, the man cannot understand there are people in the universe that are unable to solve a rubix cube in less then a half hour.

Technically the Balloons work as long as you have any amount of atmosphere, so its assumed the atmosphere is kept in place by gravity. IBGs are most often employed to make things hover a short distance over the ground, loft massive loads into the lower atmosphere, and to raise and lower items similar to elevators and submarines. IBGs do have limits, a gigantic freighter ship needs hundreds of them to haul cargo across the globe, a land skimmer that normally sits a foot off the ground probably cant get higher then ten feet or so without getting more powerful Balloons, and elevators using a IBG are slower then others... well, if you use them safely they are, otherwise they can descend just as fast as if you let it drop, getting them to stop gently is a tad difficult.

Dreads took over large swaths of the economy, true, but they also destroyed several large industries and never really had the desire to own whatever replaced them. For example when oil and mines became obsolete the Dreads did not rush to buy up every piece of land available to produce fruit to turn into fuel, but they did have patents to a great many genetically modified plants that produced vast amounts of fuel on small amounts of land and collected by selling to the fuel farmers. In all Dreads controlled about 5% or so of the American Gross Domestic Product, Rockefeller controlled 6% when he was alive and i hear theres someone in Mexico who controls more then that. True, they may have been wealthy, but a great portion of the money was spent to buy shiny things, cover medical bills, and used to fund incredibly useless inventions like the diesel powered potato chip bag opener.... which killed four and injured twenty, leading to MUCH medical bills.

Marvellous chapter.   I wish I'd thought of it!

High praise coming from you, i appreciate it greatly

The explanation was "lagom" long and gave intresting information that was totally unnecessary (for the story so far). Even if you could do without it, it's still one of those funny things that can make something worth reading. Good job.

Are there portions which you think should be removed? if so feel free to tell me, at the moment i have a lot of pruning to do before it takes a final shape. It does set the mood for what the Dreads are, and soon i shall have to reveal the OTHER two offshoots that came from humanity which are considered equal to the dreads. Some measure of 'flavor text' is needed for them to feel real, but i am afraid of putting in too much.

In the words of chan speak...MOAR!!

I need a bit of help getting to the next part of the story, theres TONS left for me to say but i need to give it a bit more solid shape first. Anyone you know able to think of some good names and such? otherwise illustrations will help greatly.

[Tapewolf]

With the black hole, is that one permanent hole they're using, or a series of artificially-generated holes a'la James P Hogan?

[Brunhidden]

With the black hole, is that one permanent hole they're using, or a series of artificially-generated holes a'la James P Hogan?

It would have been explained in a later chapter, but essentially they cast a net of Hevlite around a small planet or star (haven't decided which) in the Andromeda galaxy, and crushed it like a grape until it collapsed. later they split it into five, divvying them up between their 3 ships and the other two used to generate electricity on earth.

[Brunhidden]

Yes, another double post.

This time i will be saying that for maybe up to a week i will be netless, moving into a new place and the computer will have to wait to be unpacked for a while.

during that time i would like to show a piece a friend of mine did after reading the first two chapters of my story- its a character design of a Gunnar, and it looks pretty good. a little cartooney, scales aren't quite right, and hes wearing skivvies but i think its rather nice.


http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v519/Brunhidden/1207gunnarsketchaz7.jpg


some other time i will be back to continue, hopefully a few comments pop up in that time to help me continue

[Tapewolf]

I like it.  The skull seems a little small for an intelligent creature, but aside from that, it's well-drawn.

[Brunhidden]

Actually that thing is about 8 feet tall, so theres enough brain space, especially thinking the average human only uses a small fraction of ours so something with a brain the size of a tangerine could easily be of human intelligence.

also consider that the average range of intelligence in Gunnar goes between "elderly mayonnaise" and "Don Corleone". these are the extremes, most Gunnar are somewhere between "hired goon #2" and "back alley con artist"


Yes, i know this is an old dead thread about a story that seriously needs a cigarette lighter, but i now wanted to start 'phase 2' which is audience participation- it seems that my biggest hurdle now is names, many characters coming up have no names or have really stupid names. and as i cannot continue the story leaving some peoples names blank or calling an evil dictator "lord ticklebunny" (ironic i should say this, theres actually a chapter later explaining how extreme coincidences in naming pop up, such as a deadly plague on a random planet being named 'Richard Simmons' or that the name 'frank' appears on every inhabited planet except one where the word means 'to pass your liver through your ear') i need some people to help me a bit as i cannot really think of any good names, as evidenced by some i have named but have not appeared as i am embarrassed by them.

in order to help you need to voulenteer and i will PM some brief information about something that needs a name. whenever possible i will let people choose what kind of thing to name, and i need volunteers and PMs due to much of this being, at this time, spoilers.

yeah, presumptuous of me to think anyone would care about spoilers on this thing, but i am determined to write my FULL story someday, which is actually novel length.