Emperor Fred goes Postal AAR

[Brainsucker]

well, now take over the command of the Space Navy and control the civilization with ARM! Go to Military Dictactor if Monarchy is not enough for them

[torrenal]

Not to seem too pessimistic, but did they verify that all 10 survivors of the ship happen to be men, or is that merely assumed?

Yes, the admiral was a source of such pain, but I tend to assume that unless the body was witnessed, verified as dead, and all hope of a twin or clone (evil or otherwise) ruled out, such a character will not remain down.
//Torrenal

[2guncohen]

Wanda the pirate princes for a twist ? [:D]

[lancer]

Son of Igor has excelled himself.

Intercepted and decrypted a diplomatic drone message from the recently discovered human colony in the Kurolag system.

Government to Government communications.

No official announcement from the High Council. Nada. Zip.

Reading the transcript I can see why.

Explosive revelations contained within. A major disturbance in the Force.

“Conson”, as it is named by it’s inhabitants, is a Presidential style democracy. I note with relief that President Axehead is endowed with hair in all the right places and sounds masculine.

Unless barrel-chested, bearded women with gravelly voices and hairy armpits run the joint then it is safe to assume that the Prez is a bonafide bloke.

And run it he does. With an iron fist.

Anyone named after a blunt force cutting instrument isn’t likely to be big on forming committees or waste time consulting with wishy washy focus groups.

Which is all good. A man I can relate to and, hopefully, deal with.

Except President Axehead has laid claim to Zion. All of it.

My fledging empire in the making is – in a nutshell – his.

You would have to expect a measure of bluff and bluster from an aggressive ruler of a small independent world wouldn’t you?

Lot of rambling, raspy voiced waffle on the holoVid. Waving of arms. Demands for this and that. Confusing.








I ask Son of Igor to run it through his synopsis circuits. Give me the facts, toss the rest.

Fifteen seconds. Another ten to splice together a composite holoVid clip.

Fast. Man, if I held a meeting of robots it would be over before it began. Probably the reason why my only interaction with robots is to tell them what to do. Can’t ever recall asking a robot for his opinion.

Of we go.

Here’s President Axehead explaining exactly why he thinks he has rights to Zion and everything else within mankind’s boundaries.

Apparently they, the Consonians that is, once ruled a vast empire that stretched the width of the galaxies northern rim. Vast it was.

Planets here and there. Big fleets of advanced starships. Humans marching to the drumbeats of progress like a nest of ants chasing a sugar hit.

Encompassed Zion, Fredtopia, the Mother Moon, Ombara-3 and numerous other undiscovered planets.

If the atmosphere was breathable then it was a fair bet that the Consonians had a colony there.

Until.

Had to ask Son of Igor to replay the next segment twice.

Couldn’t believe it. Tried hard not to grind my teeth in anger.

Toads!!!

Yep. The Consonian empire was humming along nicely, minding their own business until the catastrophic ‘Day of the Toads’.

Huge armadas of Toads suddenly turned up in every Consonian system, demanding refuge.

Apparently their own worlds had been devastated by an unspeakable evil. The entire remaining toad population of the universe had arrived, bags at the ready, demanding a place to live.

Or else…

What could the Consonians do?

Nothing but give the Toads a big Consonian HELLO, shuffle over and somehow make room.

Within four years it was all over.

Toads bred up until they easily outnumbered the humans. Resources couldn’t cope with the initial massive population influx, let alone the baby boom that followed.

Total environmental collapse. Humans and Toads began fighting over the remaining pools of diminishing food, water and energy resources.

Thrown into this Hobsonian mix of horror was a full blown epidemic of Amphibian AIDs.

In a remote, dark corner of the empire cross-species breeding had been attempted, heaven forbid. DNA combined, merged and warped.

Affected everybody. Killed billions.

One by one the trade and communication links with the individual worlds went dead. All contact was lost. Nobody cared. Too busy fighting off kamikaze toad battalions or curled up in a corner dying a slow agonising death.

Conson became the last bastion of man. Isolated. Every remaining toad hunted down and exterminated. Diseased citizens ruthlessly napalmed.

It survived.

Two hundred years later here it was. Claiming ownership of Zion and the rest. Inferring that Zion was colonised from Conson and that the mix of Amphibian and humans found there today was a direct consequence of their initial colonisation.

Zion belongs to Conson.

President Axehead by now in a foaming, frothing dummy spit.

Demanded that we leave the advanced Cruiser, found half buried in the sand on a moon in the Kurolag system, alone. It is a Consonian cruiser from times past and likely to contain remnants of Amphibian AIDs.

Zzzzt. HoloVid composite ends.

Whamo. Lot to digest here. Big, really big.

Walk across to the locked liquor cabinet and kick it apart. Pick up the nearest intact bottle. Glug down half. To h*ll with my wimpy heart.

Wait until the buzz hits. Need to be in the right frame of mind. Important decisions to be made.

Take it one by one.

Is it true? Have to wing it on the Consonian Empire but the Toad issue is something that can be verified. There are toads here on Zion. Toad lore would cover it.

Instruct Son of Igor to trawl Zion’s ancient history for any references to a colony. Warn him that it might be wrapped up in mythology or religion.

So what if it’s true? Does it matter? Need to have a quiet chat to General Huss before I reach any definitive conclusions.

The cruiser under the sand. Hadn’t heard of that. Why not? Is the navy using a new encryption algorithm beyond even the capabilities of my favourite robot? Witch Wanda reaching out from the grave with sharpened claws?

The message. Entire holoVid is electoral poison.

The peace and harmony that has existed between humans and Toads for hundreds of years would be shattered. Who knows what might happen?

Fully expect the High Council to bury it. Cover up. Lie.

Me, I believe in honesty.

Tell the truth. Always been my motto.

Important to set an example for the younger generation.




To be continued...

Lancer

[Brainsucker]

well, the navy has one cruiser, why not just take over the fleet and attack Conson? Tell that President if Emperor Fred is the god of men

I miss Fred adventure in Lazy Sal [:D] I even miss Captain Wally lol

[2guncohen]

Toad human sex  phew

I had not see that coming ....

[&o]

[Tophat1815]

 MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[lancer]

I fidget impatiently while flunkies powder my face. ‘Optimising your facial attributes’ is nothing but a polite euphemism for dewrinkling.

Major event. Expected to top ratings world wide. Billions watching. Poised for the Great Debate.

High Council have sent their best man to shoot me down. Quameno have sent their Ambassador to ensure the job is done properly.

Legions of assistants, lawyers and coaches have been working with the Ambassador and the Prime Minister for days to prepare for this crucial event. The forces of obstruction lined up against me are formidable.

Both the High Council and the Quameno realise that they must decisively quash any possible unrest. There is no middle ground.

The population of Zion must realise that the scurrilous rumours of the fall of the Consonian Empire - bought about by the sudden Quameno influx - are just that, rumours and innuendo. Not facts. Not true.

Perpetuated by an ancient has-been who has no right to be here.

That would be me.

The blatant subtext is that your so-called Emperor is a fake and a phoney who will be dealt with in an appropriate manner shortly. Trust us, we know what is best for Zion.

No doubt about it, battlelines have been draw. The planet is no longer big enough for the High Council, the Toads and myself.

I had to fight tooth and nail to even get the opportunity to debate the issue. High Council worried that any air time would only further oxygenate the crisis.

Only numerous well placed leaks of the explosive message from President Axehead got me over the line. Public insisted.

High Council correct to be concerned. Which means tonight they not only have to win the debate but they have to crush me before all of Zion. Reduce me to the pitiful, xenophobic old man that they think I am.

Admiral Wanda would have been the natural choice to oppose me. A forceful, well respected, capable female who brooks no nonsense from the likes of me.

Unfortunately she’s indisposed. Dispersed. Visiting other places. Lots of places. All at once.

Bad luck about that.

It’s left to the Prime Minister to carry the flag. Not somebody I have much time for. Wasn’t he the guy who lost his kid down the food disposal unit?

What level of respect can you give a man who allows his own children to be chop-sueyed into mush and bone fragments?

Zorg cautioned me to not underestimate him. Apparently a forceful presence when he wants to be. Fully charged with high level coaching and gene-tailored stimulants he could prove to be a redoubtable opponent.

Looks like a tosser to me.

Amber light flashing. Off we go. Ushered out onto the stage.

Take my place on the far left. Prime Minister on the right and the Quameno Ambassador in the middle.

Hope the toad doesn’t do anything embarrassing. Like trying to sit on the microphone. And twist.

Wouldn’t put it past him. Who the heck knows what toads are capable off? Just as likely to give the whole world a birds and the bees lesson, toadie-style, than argue his case.

Personally I think it’s degrading that I have to share a stage with a lesser, swamp-dwelling species. We humans shouldn’t have to put up with this. And we won’t. Times, they are a changing.

Watch out frog face. Evolution is about to kick you in the nuts. Hard.

Moderator brings the debate to order.

Lot of waffle from the Prime Minister. Even more from the Ambassador.

All kinds of nonsense about the need for harmony. Working together. A shared history of trust and mutual benefit. Multi-racial wonderland of joy.

Moderator clearly biased. Five minutes of this touchy feely government sponsored cheer squad for ‘We love the toads’ and they still haven’t let me get a word in. To busy ramping up the mutual love message.

Best be careful they don’t end up with Amphibian AIDs.

“…and over to your Emperor!”

Lights, camera, action.

Zorg lobbied me hard for presenting all manner of persuasive arguments. None of it necessary.

Leaning forward, I stare straight into the HoloCams.

And stare some more. Build the anticipation.

Moderator coughs impatiently.

Without taking my eyes of the ‘cams I ask the Toad ‘Is it true?’.

Cut the cr*p and go for the jugular.

Quameno Ambassador launches into a long, ambling dissertation about the benefits of living together here on Zion.

“Hey Toad! “ I shout, patience at an end, “is it true?”

Prime Minister interjects forcefully, stating that this is no way to treat the Ambassador.

Without taking my eyes off the ‘cams, I politely ask the moderator to ‘please get the Toad to answer the bloody question’.

Moderator makes pious noises about terminating the debate. Massive breach of decorum. Emperor revealed as nothing more than a lowly muckraker.

Forced to repeat myself. “I’m not hearing anything from the Toad. Is the Toad deaf? Did I, perhaps, make the question too complicated?”

Moderator has had enough. Motions to kill the HoloCam feed. Close down the show.

Can’t do it. Live ratings feed is off the scale. Half the world is watching, hanging on the Toad’s response. All time ratings bonanza. Commercial suicide to kill the golden goose.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch a glance of the holoBank displaying what all the individual‘cams are showing to the audience. At least three of them are tight focus on the Ambassador. Beads of sweat ooze down his sickly green skin.

Time to make my move.

With a stern but decisive expression, I step out from behind my podium, shoulder the moderator aside and thrust my face into the Toads.

Their long sticky red tongues can take out an eye with a wayward flick. Dangerous.

Gritting my teeth I courageously put my personal safety on the line, silently urging the toad it give it his best shot.

The Toad passes. Thought so. Naked amphibian aggression would only serve to emphasise my point.

“IS IT TRUE!” I shout at the Toad, shotgunning spittle all over his face.

Prime Minister goes ballistic. Demanding this and that. I swing round slightly so I’ve got my back to him. Shut him out of the conversation. Close in on the Toad. Make sure the ‘cams have got a good shot of us both. Fix a deep, unimpressed, scowl on my face.

Toad speechless. Recoiling backwards. Clearly not going to answer. Too much for it. One big hop and it jumps out of sight.

Good riddance.

Turning ever so slowly to the ‘cams I speak for all of mankind. “Toads have no place on Zion. They destroyed the Consonians, they will destroy us.” Dramatic pause. “IF WE LET THEM!”

Before anyone can interject I hold up a nifty, high vis nuero-encoder card that Zorg slipped me. Subliminally flashes a web address throughout the realm.

Special site. Full of footage dating from the collapse of the Consonian Empire.

Goggly-eyed Toads in armour racing towards the camera.

Shooting rockets through the windows of family homes. Mum’s decapitated head rolling around the roast dinner and messing up the gravy.

Evil, satanic Toads rampaging through helpless crowds of people, slaughtering at will.

Eating babies. Alive.

Made up of course. Totally fictitious.

Zorg has access to a discrete, high-end animation studio. Did a superb job. Extremely realistic omni-directional blood spurts. Viscous slow-mo arching trajectories done right.

President Axehead would understand. A four month communication lag between Zion and Conson should ensure that nobody is in a position to challenge the veracity of my special, high definition, ‘historical’ footage.

Extracts from secret Quameno archives. How the Toads have a secret contingency plan to Pearl Harbour humanity here on Zion.

Made up as well.

What are the toads going to do, dispute it? Nobody can read Toad except toads. Besides, who’s going to believe a slimy green frog?

Debate over. Security holding back the studio audience.

Zorg managed to infiltrate a handful of agitators. Hollering ‘Death to the Toads! Kill them all!’, for all they are worth.

HoloCams still rolling. Inspiring footage.




To be continued...

Lancer

[2guncohen]

I loved the drama part !!!

[Tophat1815]

Well,is it true? <wink>

[lancer]

General Huss told to p*ss or get off the pot.

Does he answer to the High Council or will he heed the clarion call of his Emperor?

His Emperor, by the way, who is prepared to authorise a doubling in size of his army and the promotion of aforementioned General to overall command of the Empires entire Military machine.

Yeah.

Which is why I was reclining on my favourite incliner watching a live HoloVid feed of twelve crack battalions of grunts taking up positions around Toad Central.

General Huss had run me through the plan the night before.

Despite the recent reactor supernova there were still over two billion Toads sucking down valuable planetary oxygen supplies. Take a l-o-n-g time to shoot that many, explained the General.

Toad MegaPolis situated in the centre of a swamp. Enclosed by a dome to keep all the water out. So we blow the dome, says hoary old General Huss, and flood the place.

Good plan, said I. All except for the fact that Toads can swim. Amphibians. Born water rats.

Know that, said the General. Ahead of you. Once the Toads are all flip flopping around in the ooze we send in an airstrike. Drop chemo-fizzers. React with the water. Toads boiled alive in a bubbling caustic Hades.

No announcement. No media. Do it all in the dark. Surround the dome with the entire army beforehand and it’ll be all over by dawn.

As it was.

Remnant pockets of stray Toads escaped into the swamp. Made it a no fly zone. Out of limits to all except the extermination squads. Give it a day or two. Nothing to worry about.

Zion finally the exclusive domain of the dominant species. Mankind has returned to its rightful place at the top of the food chain.

One or two changes in the process. High Council in hiding. All Ministers rounded up and asked to swear allegiance to their Emperor.

Prime Minister refused. Told him I understood. Everybody has a right to their views. I value a diversity of opinion. Respect him for his strong moral stance. Promised I wouldn’t take it personally.

Had my Bodyguards hold him down while I sliced off his tackle and rammed it forcibly down his throat. Face full of blood splatter for my trouble.

Prime Minister possessed of a delicate disposition. Choked on his swallowed manhood, hydraulically squirted blood all over creation, twitched, spasmed and died. Pitiful.

Remaining Ministers happy to work with me on all future, mutually advantageous endeavours.

Happy to do anything I bloody well ask them to.

Zorg made head of the Civilian Space Agency.

All Merchant Princes answer to him now. Zorg answers to me. Very straightforward. Very streamlined.

Sir Cedric and Sir Donald badly miffed.

Had to have a little chat to them. Man to man.

Naturally they understood the need for a more efficient, flattened management structure and how beneficial it could be to us all.

Asked if they could be so good as to lend all their freighters to Zorg. And their Gas and Rock miners. Yes, yes, of course this is only a temporary measure.

Now would be convenient.

Highlighted the benefits of an extended holiday on another planet.

FredTopia. Wonderful place. Always looking for new settlers. Plenty of trees still to chop down.

Gather your families and possessions. Take all the time you want. As long as you’re ready by tomorrow. Zorg has a special freighter departing at first light. Shame to miss it. Terrible shame.

Bye bye.

Probably departed before the news broke of the mini-nuke going off in the Capital’s Technology Park.

Animation studio apparently experimenting with fission-powered workstations. Need all the oomph they could get. Which they did. All at once.

First official Emperor-level broadcast to the Nation.

Had make-up plaster me with fake wounds and bandages. Lots of ‘simulated’ footage of Toads in armoured Exo-Skeletons lolloping towards suburbia with evil intent.

Explained that there is no longer any danger. The Toad Menace has been, at great personal risk to our army and your Emperor, contained.

We are free at last. No longer are we an object of mirth from a lesser race of swamp dwellers.

We stand tall and proud. Humans, the greatest race in the Galaxy.

A new Golden Age awaits. Greatness beckons. Mankind is on the move.

Everybody gets tomorrow off. State sponsored parties in every city. Celebrate our new found freedom. Joy to all.

Eat drink and be merry.

Your Emperor loves you!





To be continued...

Lancer

[Brainsucker]

wow!!!!!!! I can only say Wow! [&o]

What happen next, now after the emperor has his own power?

[2guncohen]

ORIGINAL: lancer

Everybody gets tomorrow off. State sponsored parties in every city. Celebrate our new found freedom. Joy to all.

Eat drink and be merry.

You gotta love an emperor like this [:D]

[lancer]

Son of Igor let out of the cupboard, given a hardware upgrade and promoted to official ‘Right Hand Robot’.

Palace a bustling hive of activity. Busy, busy, busy.

Truth be told I’m feeling worn out. There is a lot to do. Had to ask for some stimulants. Keep my arteries from gumming up. Get things flowing. Juice, baby, juice.

Two months after the Coup. A measure of stability in place. But action. Lots of action. Knocking on heavens door as I am, I’m in no mood to pace myself. Full power on all jets.

Whoever said that ‘still waters run deep’ missed the point. Only thing that still waters do is stagnate and fester.

A river needs to flow. The roar of the rapids, the crash of waterfalls. The mass movement of liquid at an ever increasing rate, racing to the ocean.

Colony ships are currently enroute, or under construction, to four new planets. Naval construction has been kicked into high gear. Massed battalions of grunts are being recruited.

Having accelerated the Empires expansion to hitherto unknown levels of activity I am strangely unmoved. Niggling concerns worm their insidious way into my consciousness and keep me awake at night.

Despite having reached the pinnacle of power I feel strangely vulnerable.

Many decades of experiencing power in its many manifestations have given me a sixth sense of impending doom.

Once the daily paperwork is out of the way I take a moment to reflect on all the possible vulnerabilities that the Dark Horseman might choose to exploit.

Like most unique and priceless individuals perched precariously on the top of the pile, I know that personal security is all about restricting access. Lock the doors, so to speak.

President Axehead presents no immediate threat to anyone other than over indulgent maggots. Conson was colonised with a neat flat-pack million of Zion’s best citizens a month ago.

Haven’t heard back how it went due to the communication lag but I’m not expecting anything other than a highly predictable outcome.

I sent a personal message to the aforementioned President explaining my thoughts re: his claim to all of Zion’s current empire.

Hand delivered by four crack battalions of Rough Riders. HALO inserted directly onto the Presidential Palace without any prior announcement.

Orders to empty out the Palace of all foreigners.

Anyone not wearing a jet black Imperial jump suit with a Death’s Head and Lightning Bolt insignia plainly a suspect interloper.

No need to be polite. Feel free to usher them out the door with all the firepower you can muster.

Locate President Axehead, pass on my best wishes, then decapitate the ingrate and ram his head onto a spike somewhere prominent. Let Consonians know that there is a new sheriff in town.

Get somebody to make a speech. National Vidcast. Explain the facts of life. Citizens of Zion now in charge. Emperor Fred their titular head of state. Anybody not happy free to lodge a protest with the Galactic United Nations.

Tell them that the GUN is situated in the same building as the Galactic War Crimes Tribunal. Fine upstanding bureaucracies both. Eager to hear more stories about the actions of nasty old Emperor Fred. Will promise to bring the cur to justice.

Recently opened a branch office on Conson. Just over there.

Best to hurry as the queue gets bigger by the hour. Grows and grows until the foyer is jammed packed.

At which point the doors are locked and recently arrived citizens from Zion commence mingling with the crowd. Mingle them into bits. Axes, machetes, all manner of cutting implements.

Once fraternization is complete, robots hose out the foyer and prepare to open the doors for the next hourly influx.

Multiculturalism. The joining together of two divergent streams of humanity. Gobs of fun.

Then there is the matter of the recently promoted General Huss.

Strutting around like the egotistical little peacock that he is. Getting out of hand.

Organised hand-picked ‘Friendship squads’. Visited all of General Huss’s long list of real and imagined enemies. Who are whisked away in the wee small hours only to be horribly tortured and disposed.

Now while I don’t necessarily have anything against a bit of hearty, good natured torture, and subsequent rubbish removal, I do think that in this case it is unnecessary. All he is doing is generating a lot of unrest and discontent in the population.

Forcing me out of the Palace on a daily basis to present a friendly, smiling face to the populace. Offset the General’s dismal influence. Try and keep a lid on the bubbling cauldron of revolt.

Problem I have is what to do with the General?

Having sealed the devil’s bargain with the little bugger I am now stuck with him.

I don’t know why or how but he has instilled an incredible sense of loyalty in his troops. Any accidents that may or may not occur to the good General would not enhance my chances of a long, happy life.

To make matters worse he is causing chaos with the Navy. Ordering them to build countless troop transports.

I had to have a quiet word with the Minister for Industry and request that he indefinitely delay such requests. Bury them in procedural approvals and ongoing resource shortages.

Built four shiny new Destroyers instead. Formed them up into the Imperial Second Fleet.

In a flash of inspiration I asked General Huss to take command of the most powerful fleet ever fielded by the Empire. Tasked him with the mission of sailing off into the dark black yonder and blasting those pesky T-Rex bandits back into the stone age.

Like a yippy little dog, ignorant of its true status in the world, the General jumped at the opportunity.

Got him out of my hair for a while.

Gives me a chance to think about the best way to handle General Huss and his preening, monomaniacal ways.

I’m having grave misgivings about General Huss’s competence and am beginning to suspect that it is proportional to his diminutive statue. Son of Igor informs me that a recent orbital survey detected a significant number of Toads still roaming around the wilds and waterways of Zion.

General Huss assured me that his grunts had hunted down the very last one. Apparently not the case.

I could believe that the odd Toad here and there might have escaped the Military Cauldron – maybe – but a Million Toads still rampant?

Sh*t.








To be continued...

Lancer

[DaFort]

This is all quite epic

[Brainsucker]

Why not just formed a new elite division that loyal to Fred and move the General to a remote colony instead? Tell him that Huss has been promoted and become a planetary governor, a vassal. But in a remote planet with a very small population. That way you can control his manner with your mighty fleet. Mother Moon perhaps?

Honestly, Fred needs loyal dogs... er subordinates that can do whatever he wants.

Now after he takes control of the Empire, what next?

[torrenal]

I suspect the general is no idiot, and not without ambitions...Add that he's got charisma.

All this would apply, or he would never have made general, and he never would have lined up loyal troops as he has.

Banish the general to a corner and he will make it his throne, for his empire, making for all sorts of long range problems.

It will be interesting to see what the outcome is...
//Torrenal

[Brainsucker]

Just think about it, Emperor Fred need new enemies! Alien perhaps? Otherwise he would dispose the general in no time and the story will be end.

I foresee the return of Admiral Wanda, the rebelion of Mother Moon, the civil war in the empire. Her figure will definately make the entire Fleet support her. If the Emperor doesn't build his own "ELITE" fleet, then he would be dispose from his thorne in no time. The only one who could stand against Wanda is General Huss.

hmm... interesting. Huss vs Wanda. Both has power, both has military experience, both has fleet to command, both has ambition to dispose the Emperor.

Just imagine, the four shiny new destroyers are at the general's command now. While the old 1st Fleet loyal to Wanda. Not only that, Fred still has a million of Frogs that waiting in the swamp to destroy him!!!

Without a capable but trustworthy ally, Fred can only count his own days

[2guncohen]

I can imagine,.... the schock Of "Emperor Fred", when he discovers a "Civilization of Toads" who outnumbers his Zion Worlds....
And he goes on a holy crusade to Purge the unclean. Fred the crusader&nbsp;[&o][:D]

&nbsp;

[lancer]

Chancellor Chuck sweating as he presents the latest financial figures to me.

Chuck differentially explaining in forensic detail why the Empire of Humanity is currently short of a buck.

Taxes for a start. Turns out that all those dead Toads paid a lot of taxes. Which they aren’t anymore. Who would have thought you could make money out of Toads?

Starships. We happen to have built an awful lot of expensive Warships and Flat-Pack Colony Horror Hulks of late. Too many, says Chancellor Chuck.

Troops. General Huss and his plan to put a soldier on every corner is costing us a packet. Why, insisted the Chancellor, do we need so many soldiers if we aren’t at war with anyone?

Taxes. Again. Didn’t we just cover that?

No, says Chuck, that was the Toads. Remember last month when you unilaterally lowered the global tax rate here on Zion?

Aahhh. Rings a bell. Had to do that. Need happy citizens. Lot of change happening of late. Thought it best to give Mr and Mrs Taxpayer a break. Cheer them up. Take their minds of other matters.

All up, says Chuck, unless we do something drastic, we’ll be running a deficit.

Shrugging, I ask why this is a big deal? Don’t all Empires run deficits at some point in time?

Only, replies Chuck, as a temporary measure while they get their finances in order. Otherwise they go broke. Imperial overstretch. Too big, too soon.

Chuck claps his hands together with a loud SLAP, to emphasise his point. ‘Busto!’

A long drawn out moment of silence on my part reminds the Chancellor of his tiny, eminently replaceable, part in the great machinery of Empire.

Exuberance and impertinence aren’t valued highly in my court.

Chancellor Chuck gets the message. Skulks off into the shadows without another word.

Money matters I can deal with.

Put a call through to Zorg. Told him about all the new colonies we are founding. Of course he knew already – my secretaries doubtless send him copies of all documents – but best to be polite.

Painted a picture of the bonanza of new markets and resources about to come on line. The need for an enlarged merchant navy. Would he be so good as to fill the Imperial shipyards with orders for a swag of freighters? Plenty of spare capacity available now that the Navy has drunk its fill at the trough.

Sure he could. Good man, Zorg. Don’t know what I’d do without him.


* * *


The ongoing necessity for my daily meet and greet is becoming a drag.

Son of Igor insists that if I don’t continue to calm the populace then a revolt is a real risk. At least General Shorty *rse isn’t around, busy rounding up anyone over six feet and kneecapping them.

Today we visit GlenVidis. Not as big as the major cities but still on the main-line Gauss Grid and important due to its proximity to the recently charbroiled Toad Mega Polis. Lots of people in GlenVidis who thought the Toads were the cats pyjamas.

Worked with them daily. Socialised with them as much as you could with a slimy green swamp dweller. High percentage of Toad lovers. Aggrieved Toad lovers.

Not understanding the necessity for recent events. Wondering about the sanity of their Emperor. Pining for the days when the High Council was in charge.

So here I be. Sunny day. Calm. Clear. Very pleasant.

Standing on the podium. Promising all manner of wonders to the good burgers of GlenVidis. Telling them that I understand. Sympathise even.

I too, miss the Toads. Fine folk. Upstanding citizens. Sorely missed taxpayers. If only they could have behaved themselves.

As Emperor I have to make the tough calls. Protecting our way of life, our families, our children. That’s my job.

The Toads, bless their amphibian hearts, were lead astray by their history. Thought that they were better than us. Prepared to do terrible things to our loved ones. Had to go. Better them than us.

Crowd full of quizzical faces. Not sure if I’m getting through. River gurgling quietly behind me.

‘Think of your children,’ I plead, tugging at their weakest link. “How could you have lived with yourself if they had been eaten alive by a rampaging Toad?”

“The Quameno,” yells out an anonymous crowd goer, “weren’t carnivores!”

Always a smart *rse. Getting pretty fed up dealing with them. Day after day of having somebody who thinks they know more about it than you.

Give a subtle nod to the head of security. Review the live Vid footage, identify Mr Clever and quietly toast the b*stard.

Turning to the crowd I give them the benefit of my most sympathetic visage. I shed a quiet tear or two. Had to practise that one in front of a mirror.

“Friends, yes it is true that the Toads don’t eat meat. Normally. But we have Vid clips from our compatriots on Conson showing Toads devouring human children. They eat them head first to stop the screaming. Little legs kicking to the last as they disappear down the gullet of the Toads.”

I point to a member of the audience. “You sir, just because you don’t eat carrots for a month does that mean you never will?”

Mr Tame, who comes to all my performances, yells out in a loud, clear voice that all can hear, that it certainly does not!

In fact he saw a group of Toads eating a water buffalo one day. Saw it with his own eyes. Tore it apart. Blood dribbling down their chins. Can’t trust the Toads, no Sir.

Good man. Due for a raise.

I sense the mood of the crowd turning. My job here today is nearly done. Time to wrap it up. Focus on the goodies. New Sports Stadium. Free public transport for a week. Three exciting new Vid channels about to be broadcast in their zone.

What? A big commotion behind me. Noise. Yelling, shouting. Shots fired.

Turning I see a Toad, dripping wet from the River, jumping straight towards me. Bleeding from multiple gunshot holes to his slimy, rubbery torso. Security peppering him with lead and laser.

Toad fixated on me. Wild-eyed. Not carrying that he is one step off death. Explosives strapped to his chest.









Makes his final jump. Shaking midair as high calibre rounds thump into him. Probably already dead.

I duck behind the flimsy podium as the repulsive amphibian sails towards me on his terminal ballistic trajectory.

A sudden flash. Air forcing itself against my face. Blazing white light racing straight at me.

Roaring noise thumps into me along with a huge punching fist that flings the podium aside and lifts me bodily off the stage.

Last thought is that the Toad must have been rigged with a dead-man switch.

B*stards got me in the end.

Encroaching blackness.

Emptiness.

Gone, all gone.








Lancer