Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

[2guncohen]

[:D] I loved the angle you took.

[lancer]

Goodaye,

Interestingly this (small crews cooped up together for prolonged periods) is a geniune problem confronting NASA as they contemplate sending the first humans to Mars.

I spent some time in Antarctica and NASA had psychologists there studying the effects of isolation on members of the prolonged Lambert Glacier traverses.

Gave each person a laptop and they had to fill in a confidential form each day about their state of mind and how they felt about the others.

Apparently this was one of the few instances available here on earth to study something even remotely close to what is expected on a trip to Mars.

On a side note it's been found that amongst those that over-winter down south the incidence of serious psychological problems is significantly higher than the general population. This being on a fully equipped, large Antarctic base with plenty of company as opposed to a tiny crew capsule.

An Australian philanthropist once funded a handful of people who sailed a steel yacht down to Antarctica and attempted to over-winter in the pack ice. Probably a lot closer to a Mars expedition.

Disastrous outcome with a crew-member having to be evacuated (at great expense) to prevent 'crew harmony' going pear shaped. Person evacuated was the onboard pyschologist! Had to leave for their own safety.

Whether NASA are considering employing EO's is something best answered by themselves.

Cheers,
Lancer

[thiosk]

I for one am in with trip with EOs. EO to crew ratio should be closer to 10 : 1 though, rather than 7:1.

[2guncohen]

Yes but who will entertain he EO's when they got bored ???  [:D]

[lancer]

Thirty six never-ending days after leaving Zion we drop out of hyperspace in the middle of the Dinnascar system.

Excitement and activity at last.

I stare over the shoulder of S.E Spence and his team of techs as they conduct their ‘large body’ sweep. The sensor arrays on the ‘Lazy Sal’ are sophisticated enough to locate any significant objects lurking within the local system.

Forty eight hours and all planetary orbits, moons, asteroids and anomalies have been identified, logged, analysed and displayed.

Amazing. Back in the days of yore, when I was footloose and fancy free, it was only then that the Solar System’s last planet was discovered. Pluto senior as opposed to Pluto junior.

To collate all the data that has taken the ‘Lazy Sal’ a mere two days to collect back then took hundreds of years of painstaking observation and discovery.

“Normally,” said S.E Spence, turning to address me, “…we’d stick around for a couple of months and do a comprehensive geological survey of all the bodies present to determine what exploitable resources are present.”

“Not today,” he continued.

“Captain Wally is under strict orders to do an initial ‘large body’ gravimetric survey and to keep moving if there aren’t any bodies suitable for human habitation.”

So….?

“Nope. Dinniscar is a dry well. See that huge orange blob on the display?” S.E Spence points at the holographic representation of the system in front of him.

“That’s your typical Orange Main Sequence Star. Slightly cooler than a G-class so you’d expect the habitable zone to be sitting just under 1 AU.”

A who?

“Astronomical Unit. The distance from Earth to the Sun.”







S.E Spence was on a roll. No stopping him. Head full of techno-star-crap. “Note that there aren’t any planets until you get at least 3 AU out. Couple of gas giants and this – “
I noticed a blue blob. A water logged planet?

“ – is a frozen gas giant. I bet,” Spence gushed, full of enthusiasm, “you’re wondering why all the rocky terrestrial type planets are found close in by the sun and way out yonder is full of gas bodies?”

No. Not really.

I was especially curious about Earths whereabouts.

S.E Spence wasn’t to be distracted. “When all the space detritus coalesces into a planet over time the lighter elements get burned off if they are too close to their Sun. So rocks are good to go close in and the gas bodies fill up the outfield.”

Earth, son, Earth. Tell me about the Earth.

S.E Spence slows down, draws breath and peers off into the distance. Scrunches up his face.

“Well, historically –“

“Whoop Whoop Whoop!”

The Hyperspace alarm goes off. Departure imminent.

All crew to their crash couches.

Initiating Hyperspace in thirty seconds.

Move!





To be continued...

Lancer

[2guncohen]

We want more , we want more  [:D] !!!

[Tophat1815]

ORIGINAL: 2guncohen

We want more , we want more  [:D] !!!

yea,ashamed to admit i do too...[:D]

[lancer]

Another twenty six days of excruciating cabin fever. Two months into the voyage and I’ve decided that I’ve reached NASA’s hard-wired limit.

Nothing romantic about space travel at all. Nothing but a dreadfully dreary endurance feat.

It became too much.

I cornered S.E Spence in a corridor one morning. Asked him how the ‘Galactic Ganger’ heart pills were doing?

“What a buzz man. Didn’t know that Emperors were so privileged. How does it work, huh? You make Emperor and they hand you the special box full of Gangers along with the crown?”

Not exactly but I happen to have a whole lot spare. Happy to help.

Might need a small favour in return, though.

“Anything you care to mention,” replies S.E Spence, salivating.

Perhaps you could ask your weekly ‘Entertainment officer’ to visit me instead. Gangers and Girls aren’t a good mix.

“Love to man, but, gosh, Naval regulations you know. Can’t do it. I’d be busted out of the navy altogether.”

S.E Spence looked me up and down. “Besides, aren’t you past all that? Looking kind of stale, if you get my drift. Girls might find all that wrinkly grey flesh a bit off-putting”.

Waves of embarrassment tsunami straight over the top of my anger. “Yes, yes, of course. I needed a secretary, that’s all. Emperors have to deal with a lot of paperwork.”

“Secretary? Right. Gotcha. Yeah, I can see that…” S.E Spence didn’t sound convinced.

“Hey, about those pills?”

I’d already left.

Bored, embarrassed, desolate. I kicked nearby furniture until I stubbed my toe. Damn.

Hobbling into my lounge I collapsing into my recliner before yelling orders at the Vid-screen.

Facial Immersion rig wrapped itself around my skull. Niggling pin-pr*cks from the ‘trodes as they lock on.

The ‘Lazy Sal’ came equipped with a full suite of movies. Every movie made since the year 2560. Any language you care to name.

Which would be only one.

The world standardised on English in 2655. Major realignment of linguistic politics.

Caused a minor war. French took offence. Continued doing so right up to the point where Paris was about to be glassed. Turned out they could chew croissants and utter ‘we surrender’, in their most polite English, after all.







Two and half millennium of linguistic diversity evaporated overnight.

World government had reached the point where there were more translators than delegates.

People of Zion needed a common voice.

Didn’t bother on a referendum. No need. Seventy percent English coverage already. A done deal.

Business loved it. So did movie producers and book publishers.

Ethnolinguisticians curled up into a ball and self-immolated. Nobody noticed. Too busy acting as citizens of Zion rather than getting tied up in knots being a Turk or an Ecuadorian.

Hyper drive discovered twenty years later.

People’s perspective suddenly widened. Citizens of Zion, newly cognisant galaxy dwellers.

All those bright dots in the sky took on new meaning. Potential colonies. New worlds. New horizons. New threats.

Lights, action, camera!

I snap back into movie mode.

Three weeks of continuous movies and I feel, truth be told, like a washed out avatar. Limp and flaccid.

Movies aren’t what they used to be. Now you are part of the damn show. Inside it. Given lines. Things to do. Emotions to experience.

Exhausting. Too much of that and you don’t know whether you’re Arthur or Martha.

Frustrated, I rip the rig of my face and hurl it against the wall.

Resolve to stick with reality, stupefyingly dull that it is.




To be continued...

Lancer

[2guncohen]

Ethnolinguisticians curled up into a ball and self-immolated. Nobody noticed.

hahahaha , wow dude you are realy talented [&o]

Ow and what is a rig ? see " I rip the rig of my face " do you mean a wig ?

[thiosk]

ORIGINAL: 2guncohen

Ethnolinguisticians curled up into a ball and self-immolated. Nobody noticed.

hahahaha , wow dude you are realy talented [&o]

Ow and what is a rig ? see " I rip the rig of my face " do you mean a wig ?

I believe it was a sort of viewing screen that one would wear on his or her face.

[Shark7]

ORIGINAL: 2guncohen

Ethnolinguisticians curled up into a ball and self-immolated. Nobody noticed.

hahahaha , wow dude you are realy talented [&o]

Ow and what is a rig ? see " I rip the rig of my face " do you mean a wig ?

By rig he refers to the VR mechanism. Rig is an English speaking slang used to refer to a number of mechanical/electronic items in general.

As if you aren't confused enough, here are a couple of examples of things that can be referred to as a 'rig'.

- computer
- tractor/trailer delivery truck
- oil drilling platform
- headgear of various purposes

etc, etc.

[lancer]

Another star system. Tarsont. A brief 48 hour visit to confirm there are no habitable worlds present.

I make a point of avoiding S.E Spence. Decided I’m all starred out.

Twenty four more days of frustration and pointless dreams of visits from ‘Entertainment’ officers. Eventually arrive at our third mind-numbingly boring destination.

While Spence and his techs conduct their Gravimetric survey, hunched over innumerable consoles, I button-hole Captain Wally and demand to know why I can’t receive any communications from my trusty robot back on Zion.

In fact, I’ve heard no news since we left. Nada. Nothing. Zip.

“Yes Sir, I understand your dilemma. The tyranny of distance. Like Alice disappearing down the Rabbit Hole.”

Captain Wally knew his bed time stories. “Me, I’m just pleased that it’s there. With instant communications I’d be regulated to a glorified office boy. Desk jockeys back on Zion would be telling me do this, do that, do it faster…”

Well it’s not working for me fella so how about explaining why not?

Captain Wally fires up the nearest screen. Taps away rapidly then turns to face me.

“Here's an overview of our communication status.”

All I see are lines and time intervals. Not a postbox in sight.

“Note that we’ve left three CRB’s behind us, one at each system we have visited.”

Crumbs for the Birds? A trail of breadcrumbs?

“Not a bad analogy,” agreed Captain Wally. “Each Communication Relay Buoy has an encrypted message bank. In it we leave the co-ordinates of the next hyperspace jump so that anyone trying to find us can follow the trail of buoys.”

Sharp as I am it still takes me a full minute to find the gaping hole in Captain Wally’s wonder world of connect-the-dots and follow the magic rainbows.

“If Zion wants to contact us they would have to send a ship along the same path that we took, right?”

“Yes, Sir, that’s correct.”

“O.K, but given that the ‘Lazy Sal’ is one of the fastest ships in the fleet how the heck is any ship going to overhaul us if they are already- ,” Mental arithmetic is my strong suite, “ – 88 days behind?”

“Excellent point, Sir,” agreed a jovial Captain Wally. “The answer is that they won’t. Not unless we stop and wait for them.”







“So we power down the reactor, twiddle our thumbs and wait for three months?” G*d almighty. Please not.

“No Sir. The ‘Lazy Sal’ is an explorer. Our job is to explore.”

Jeez. Should have boarded the Frigate.

“Ahh,” interjected Captain Wally, “but I haven’t mentioned the Drone.”

The Drone? Was there a cloned twin of our erudite Captain? Mind boggling. Is Wally hive-minded to his carbon copy drone-self? Is Wally one person or two?

“Not sure I understand, Sir, but rest assured our job is to – “

Yeah, yeah, got that bit. Move it along.

“Yes, Sir! We carry a drone in the cargo bay. It’s an unmanned hyperspace capable ship specifically designed to carry messages back to Zion. Normally I load up our CRB’s with a full encrypted data download of everything we’ve found to date, just in case. The drone is discretionary and dependant on any particularly interesting discoveries we may make.”

I peered at the screen. Forty five days from here to Zion straight down the red line. So even if it was an emergency situation there would be a ninety day wait for help. Great.

How am I going to manage an empire with these kind of communication delays? Isn’t there some kind of whizzy, faster than light communications system? A galactic-wide web?

Captain Wally shook his head. “No, Sir. Nothing but hyper space capable vessels and drones.”

“We can build remotely operated drones but they still have to be large enough to pack in a hyperspace plant, fuel tanks and a reactor. Don’t even bother with impulse engines. On arrival they emit a signal and wait to be picked up.”

A thoughtful expression crossed Captain Wally’s face. “Communications are tricky Sir. Very similar to the Age of Discovery back on earth. Naval Academy uses that as an example.”

Ahhh, the Naval Academy again. A big hit with young Wally. That and the fact that they had beans for dinner every Thursday.

“Wind powered ships,” continued Wally, sailed off over the horizon and it weren’t heard of again for months or years. News travelled only as fast as the wind could blow the ships.”

Captain Gone-with-the-Wind hadn’t finished. “Intra-System communications are a little different. Provided there are enough Comm-Boosters positioned throughout the system then messages can effectively traverse one end to the other with delays measured in mere minutes. Virtually light speed.”

O.K, so in-system comms are fast but system to system comms are limited to the speed of a hyperspace capable drone.

A convincing argument for staying at home. Haul up the drawbridge. Bolt the main gates shut and hibernate. Anytime you feel like some excitement then take the shuttle up to the gas bordellos orbiting Jupiter.

Except Jupiter has mysteriously disappeared along with the rest of the Solar System. If it’s ever found it’ll probably take years to get there.

Who was it that said that space was big?

Really, really BIG.





To be continued...

Lancer

[Tophat1815]

More Emperor FRED!!!!!!

[lancer]

“Anomaly! Life Form!” shrieked the tech, staring at his console, his whole body vibrating harder than a tuning fork.

Captain Wally snapped to attention as if he’d just been cattle prodded. “REPORT!”

Frantic activity. Muttering. Cursing. Arms windmilling. Sharp reminders to maintain discipline.

And a buzz. A growing, decibel-killing buzz. Three months of deep space nothingness and suddenly there was excitement in the air. Things were about to happen. Activity. Action. Danger.

I peer over the shoulder of S.E Spence as he wrestles with screens exploding with cascading data and warnings.

Gravimetric Survey has located a structure well out – at least 10 AU – from the G-class star of Ubrua Scae. Out where the Oort Cloud would normally be.

Unable to provide any more detail the techs try to lock down a more precise answer with the use of the ‘Lazy Sal’s’ Proximity Arrays.

“Captain, structure appears to be artificially constructed. Sensors are picking up a large scale life form nearby within the asteroid field.”

“Tell me,” snaps Captain Wally, still in head up, shoulders back, full-on naval command mode, “about the life form.”

“Almost as large as our ship, Captain. Hard to say but given the readings I’m getting it appears to be biological”.

“Confirm!”

“Unable to do so, Captain. I’m not picking up any emissions typical of either Caslon or Hydrogen powered engines, a negligible heat signal and no scanner emissions.”

Now this is interesting. Current Astrobiological thinking confidently predicates no viable life forms outside of planetary environments. Creatures need an atmosphere to ingest, be it oxygen, sulphur, methane, whatever.

Have to metabolise something. Energy in, energy out. Basic law of the Universe.

I know this ‘cause I’ve read it. Been reading a lot of late.

So what we have here must be a stealthed alien vessel utilising an unknown propulsion system with its sensor suite switched to passive.

Bugs. Sneaky Bugs.

Which is exactly what Captain Wally, standing straight and tall, thought to. “Shields up. Sound battle stations! Engineering prepare to engage hyper drive.”

“Sir! Contact Master One firming up as biological. No indications of any onboard weapons systems.”

Everybody knows that the empty vacuum of space can’t host life ‘cause the only energy available is the solar wind, which 10 AU out from a G-class star, would be weaker than an asthmatic bee trying to blow out the candles.

S.E Spence piped up. “Captain, the structure anomaly warrants our attention. If this turns out to be the remnants of another civilisation then we are duty bound to investigate.”

“Understood!” barks Captain Wally, now so rigid he was suffering metal fatigue, “we’ll jump across to the anomaly but I want the hyper drive to remain on line for a rapid egress if need be.”

Whoop, whoop, whoop! I strapped myself in and hold on tight.







Dropping out of hyper space is a lot more enjoyable than entering it. A gentle swishing motion as if you are being caressed by peacock feathers wielded by a dozen virtuous virgins.

Three months of being surrounded by gorgeous, unattainable ‘entertainment’ officers and all I can think about is virgins. Not a healthy sign. Time for a change of scenery.

I confront Captain Wally and demand to be included in the boarding party.

He doesn’t answer. Other matters intrude.

“Captain! Contact Master One confirmed as a biological entity. Heading our way. Second contact, Master Two, 0.25 AU further out, also biological.”

“Any signs of hostile intent?” Demands Captain Wally, visibly tense.

“Unknown, Sir. Master One anticipated intercept in two hours. Recommend we head south west towards the anomaly.”

Space Critters!

Forty minutes later finds us at the anomaly fast approaching the shuttle deployment envelope.

The boarding team, myself included, a packed into the rear of the shuttle along with a copious amount of equipment.

I had been expecting a lot of nonsense from Captain Wally about the dangers involved but not a whisper. He seemed pleased to have me leave his ship.

My seat comes with a five point seatbelt. For a reason. Nothing smooth or quiet about a red-liner shuttle transfer.

Captain Wally made it clear that if we’re not back within the hour then don’t bother trying. The “Lazy Sal” would proceed on course without slowing. Pick-up point on the far side of the structure.

If we make it.

Pilot took it too heart. Rammed us forcibly across the space gap with both engines on one hundred and twenty percent power. Inertial dampers set to minimum to amplify the swing as we thumped hard up against the berthing buffers.

Pulling heavy G.







My mouth slammed shut and my teeth bit through my tongue. Swallowing blood. Sense the animal within. I unholster my phaser.

Sergeant Troy plants explosives over the external access hatch.

“Fire in the hold!”

Vacuum magnifies the force. Shuttle cabin rocking every which way. Concussion wave pressures up my ears. Hard to hear.

“Go, go, go!”

Frantic rush to the only exit. I get pushed to the rear. No respect for the aged. Burly suited figures thrust through the opening in the hull and disappear.

Pitted metallic surface. Been here for a while.

Dark inside. Banged my knee. Switch on torch. Trail of Lumo markers show where the entry team have gone. Energizer bunnies disappearing down the rabbit hole.

A corridor. Human dimensions. Grey. Gridded walkway. Ancient light fittings. Dust. Lot of dust. Swirling through the torch light. Mask filter working overtime.

Clagging up my face plate. Electrostatically adhering to the carbo-perspex. Constantly wiping it clear.

Everything looks dead and deserted.

Just as well. Couldn’t see a threat if it popped up and punched me on the nose. Ordered to reholster phaser pistols. Risk of friendly fire.

Make it to the bridge. Panting. Expiring. Suit too hot. Can’t find the thermostat controls.

Nobody offers to help.

Flop down into a nearby chair. Clearly made for humans. Need to get my breath back.

Tech’s working hard at downloading the central data core. Wires everywhere.

Digitised 3D wonderland from temporary holo-screen bank as miniaturised spy bots creep and crawl their way throughout the structure.

Feeling hot and old. Ignored by all.

Creaking bones, wrinkly skin and a never-ending tightrope of back to back heart pills is a heavy price to pay for the privilege of being on the cutting edge of exploration.

The dawn of a new era for the human race.

I’ve faced – in my previous life - my share of dawns when I’ve woken with a mouthful of furry mammalian badness and a mirror that confuses me with the recently deceased.

I can handle this one.


* * *


Captain Wally orders the drone to be loaded with the structures data core. Big news. Sending it straight back to Zion.

Initial analysis indicates a small, aging, space port built over one hundred years ago to mine the asteroid field. Recovered records from the core tell a story of initial euphoria followed by despondency as each successive freighter was destroyed by the monsters.

Refers to them as ‘Giant Kaltors’. Space Station had to be abandoned five years after it was built.

Sweepstake amongst the Astrobiologists over whether the Kaltors metabolise dark matter or instead slurp up bosons from deep within the gravity well.

Who exactly, ask I, interrupting, built the station? Humans from Earth?

“That is classified information that I’m not at liberty to divulge,” replies Captain Wally.

But I’m your Emperor! Besides, who am I going to tell? The walls?

“Navy regulations, Sir, forbid ….”

I recognise an immovable object when I see one. Son of Igor can doubtless hack into whatever database at a later point and retrieve the information for me.

If the drone is going back to Zion then it might be time for me to be going with it. Three months of Captain wired-to-the-rule-book Wally is about as much as I can manage.

“Sorry Sir, no can do. The drone has no life support capabilities. Totally automated.”

Oh. Well then we’ll just have to hyper space the ‘Lazy Sal’ back to Zion and drop me off. I have important matters to attend to, planet side.

“Yes of course Sir, we’ll be returning to Zion just as soon as we run low on fuel. We all need to keep uppermost in our minds that we are Explorers and that our job is to Explore!”

As if I’d forgotten. I was trapped on a defenceless ship run by a naval rule zealot.

Doomed to wander the galaxy until the end of time. Exploring.

I returned to my cabin to explore the depths of my despair.

All those glitzy little bottles of liquor that came with my V.I.P cabin package beckon. The very bottles that I’m under strict medical instructions not to touch.

If I crush a few heart pills and mix them all together then perhaps they won’t kill me.

D*mn I’m depressed.





To be continued...

Lancer

[lancer]

Med Techs report most of the entry team back at the structure are suffering hair loss. All over hair loss. Feeling tired and washed out. Anaemic.

Radiation poisoning. Leaky reactor. Damaged containment walls.

Onboard morale dives. Captain Wally orders the EO’s to stand double duty with all entry team members. Remaining crew will have to go cold turkey for a while.

I point out that I was there to. Not that a bit of stray radiation worries my decrepit, decaying body. One currently infusing more alcohol than is healthy.

“Yes?” queries Captain Wally curtly, “yes?”

My attempt to communicate my urgent, purely medicinal, need for a visit from an EO by means of body language and empathetic facial contortions ends up as limp as the rest of my anatomy.

Captain Wally, I’ve decided, doesn’t like me.

Which is strange. Past experience has been that to know me is to love me. Or die in the attempt.

This is of course referring to my very distant past. On Earth. Where ever the h*ll that is.

Gone. Along with everything else that made life good. Like power. Absolute total, nail ‘em to the wall, power.

I need a drink.


* * *


Captain Wally assesses onboard fuel reserves and decides we have more than we know what to do with. Orders us to hyperspace ever deeper into the void.

Another 35 days of staring at the walls. Peering out the viewport at the endless black nothingness of space.

Oh the tedium of it all. The mind-numbingly, blow-your-brains-straight-out-your-nasal-cavity tedium.

I drink all there is left to drink in one almighty binge session. I pine for an EO and forget to take my medicine. I wonder what is happening back on Zion in my absence.

Recurring flashbacks of times past haunt my dreams. I check my grip on sanity and find it firm. There is no need for concern.

But I begin to have thoughts. I see things in a different light. Voices intrude. Whispering, asking, demanding.

The ship’s cat, ‘Pavlov’, pays me a visit one night. Wanders into my stateroom by mistake. Without hesitation I scruff it by the neck and tear it’s head asunder.







Dispose of the body by eating it. Raw.

Fur, ground bones, guts, feline eyeballs. Swallowed the lot.

I feel better. Invigorated.

In a small way I have exercised my power over another, lesser mortal.

As an Emperor it is important to have these little memory joggers once in a while. Remind yourself that you reside at the top of the power hierarchy and that all those below you exist solely at your whim and pleasure.

The elixir of the power of life and death is an invigorating tonic, one I sorely miss. Killing the cat scratched an itch.

The itch festers. Pustulates and cankers.

Days go by. It begins to talk to me. I feel the need to scratch again. It creeps up on me. Amplifies. Grows. Expands. Becomes an overwhelming urge, too powerful to resist.

There is no need to do so. I am Emperor Fred, ruler of the known galaxy. All other living creatures are required to bow down and submit before me.

I carefully cast around for other squeaky, squawky animals to decapitate.

Can’t find any. Ship’s cat was it. Badly missed by the crew. Morale falls further. Captain Wally worried.

I decide that in the absence of available critters I will have to move onto larger, more interesting prey.

Warm-blooded bipeds. Homo Sapiens.

Careful planning required. Disposal is the main hurdle. To big to masticate.

I wander the ship, searching for answers, worrying the problem like an angry terrier until clarity is attained.

Space locks are all alarmed. Garbage disposal system based on incineration but all garbage is auto-scanned and pre-sorted.

Human remains, I’m guessing, would trigger an alert.

Fuel tanks are sealed. Reactor contained. Hyperspace engine plant off-limits.

But not the hydrosphere. Ship’s garden. Recycles oxygen and grows food. Small biosphere full of plants and trees.

And insects. Lots of insects. Gaia theory. Can’t have a green environment without a full complement of the appropriate insect life. Symbiotic relationship.

Insects eat flesh. Decompose and compost. Eventually.

Found a dark corner.

Hide the body under the forest detritus and let the bugs chew it to bits. Over a metre of loose soil under the leaves and moss.

Minimal visual pickup points throughout. Rarely monitored. Easily avoided.

Need to lure a crewmember into the hydrosphere. I’m too weak and it’s too risky to do it elsewhere.

I begin to take an interest in plants. Gardening, I tell all concerned, is my life.

Take careful note of who is there and when. Discern the patterns.

Draw up a list of candidates. Anticipation becomes its own reward. Endorphins pumping through my tired arteries.

For the first time since leaving Zion I feel young and virile. Alive.

Contemplate the possibilities. The potential.

‘Lazy Sal’ has over seventy crew and neat deca of EO’s. Need to be careful there are enough left to run the ship. Luckily Navy not known for its efficiency.

Estimate I can cull out at least a dozen from the herd and still have a vessel functioning well enough to get me safely back to Zion.

I retire to my quarters to sharpen my blade and to contemplate creative dismemberment.

And blood.

My own is so watered down after such prolonged use that my cells have to be reminded if they’re red or white. Excessive corpular mileage does that to you.

An infusion of new blood is badly needed. I winnow from my list all those without a peachy, healthy complexion.

I am Emperor.

I am Predator.

I am God.





To be continued...

Lancer

[Tophat1815]

Best not to tell Emperor fred about the ships auto-piloting controls and automatic critical emergency return program to the home system.

[fvianello]

Nice dark twist in the story!

[2guncohen]

I never saw this coming [:D]

[thiosk]

the emperor killed a kitten

this makes me sad.

but it makes me thirst for blood as well

[fvianello]

ehehe....actually I almost thought that the "Postal" part of the story had been forgotten

ORIGINAL: 2guncohen

I never saw this coming [:D]