https://zoywiki.com/api.php?action=feedcontributions&feedformat=atom&user=Samoanzoywiki.com - User contributions [en]2026-05-04T00:10:51ZUser contributionsMediaWiki 1.41.0https://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=User:Samoan&diff=81299User:Samoan2015-01-09T00:10:33Z<p>Samoan: </p>
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<div>This is me. <br><br />
Mainly contributing to The Story pages, but I'm around other pages also.<br />
Add me on Facebook! <br><br />
'''FB Name''': Ace Mafatu <br><br />
'''IGN''': Reaper <br><br />
'''Level''': 930+ and climbing. <br><br />
'''Alliance''': Arc Demons II <br><br />
[https://apps.facebook.com/legacythousandsuns/addfleet.php?ffbuid=100000128769243 Add Fleet]</div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/The_Story/A_Masterful_Stratagem/Intro&diff=81298LotS/The Story/A Masterful Stratagem/Intro2015-01-09T00:05:42Z<p>Samoan: Both sides of gender phrases added</p>
<hr />
<div>It's like a massacre in a library.<br />
<br><br><br />
That unbidden and absurd thought, born of childhood memories reawakened by the scenes you now witness, flashes into your mind with such suddenness that a small laugh escapes your mouth before you can restrain it.<br />
<br><br><br />
Wilex rewards your unseemly merriment with a quizzical stare. The Princess' lips twitch into a soft smile -- a salve of sympathy for your embarrassment -- though her raised eyebrow displays surprise and curiosity equal to the Chief Assembler's.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Sorry," you murmur.<br />
<br><br><br />
Illaria's eyes tell you that you'll be called upon to share the joke later. Then they return to the window and monitors. You do likewise, looking out at the expansive floor of the facility spread out below -- portions of which are rendered in zoomed-in views upon the numerous screens around you. But your renewed scrutiny only serves to reiterate the frivolous thought, one which somehow never occurred to you when you were down below among your companions yet has struck you now as you observe them from this elevated vantage point.<br />
<br><br><br />
When you were a boy/girl, your school had a library. A proper library -- dominated by towering shelves of dusty books arranged to form a sprawling, inscrutable labyrinth which seemed to your young eyes to defy all laws of space and threaten to devour children who strayed too far into its depths. Open spaces containing tables and chairs existed within the maze like treasure chambers, places for you to read or do your work when you inevitably located and obtained the books you required without falling prey to a minotaur or other such imagined horror. Computer terminals were shunted away into the room's corners like disgraceful secrets, minions of technology not permitted to annex that ancient place of paper and letters as they had so many others.<br />
<br><br><br />
You once asked a teacher why such a room even existed, when its entire contents could be placed on a datapad -- thus eliminating the need for the meandering paths which one almost needed a length of string or trail of breadcrumbs to navigate successfully. You expected to hear about tradition, that oft-cited reason for so much of your early training and schooling. Or perhaps about how physical books were a necessary precaution in case machines ever became sufficiently inspired by the innumerable tales in which they rise up against mankind. However, the smiling educator referred to neither. Instead she asked you to pick up a book and smell its pages. You did so. And whilst to this day you've always preferred electronic reading devices to cumbersome blocks of paper, you never again questioned the allure of physical books.<br />
<br><br><br />
But it isn't such epiphanies which come to mind now. Instead you think back to a different young memory connected with that literary labyrinth. There was another boy/girl, one of your classmates... He'd/she'd incurred your wrath for one of the various frivolous, now forgotten reasons which spur children to anger and hatred. Or perhaps you'd incurred his/hers... You can't even remember. In any event, the two of you came to blows in the library -- turning a little enclave of tables and chairs into a fighting pit.<br />
<br><br><br />
The librarian, a slender little man who seemed twice as ancient as the oldest of his books, heard the girlish screams that accompanied your battle and shattered the tranquil silence of his dominion. He came upon the two of you as you rolled on the floor, locked in the scrappy, animal embrace of untrained grapplers. A judicious application of his stick, which rained blows down on both of you with laudable impartiality, caused your combat and your skins to part.<br />
<br><br><br />
When you rose, nursing your new injuries and glaring at your co-combatant with redoubled hatred for being the cause of the discomfort, the librarian chided you. Not because you were brawling, for the man was a former kung fu master and well acquainted with the benefits of an occasional cathartic battle between schoolchildren. Rather he was displeased that you had shown such disrespect for the hallowed quietness of the library. He told you that you were welcome to fight there on two conditions: that no damage was done to the books (upon which he appeared to place far more value than upon your young hides), and that you fought in silence.<br />
<br><br><br />
The moment he left, you and the other boy/girl hurled yourselves at one another. This time you were very careful not to give voice to your pain or rage.<br />
<br><br><br />
That was but the first of many such duels within the maze of books. Other teachers were rather less understanding about juvenile violence, and put a stop to fights staged elsewhere in the school. But the librarian was always willing to turn a blind eye as long as his rules were observed. So as word of his philosophy spread, so too did the library's list of combatants. You personally waged several dozen battles there, from personal combats fought over dubious matters of honor to grand melees involving over a dozen children -- which served as an enjoyable diversion and source of recreation during rainy days.<br />
<br><br><br />
But no matter how furious the conflicts, or how many participants struggled amongst the stacks, you never failed to stifle your voices -- and did your best to clash in utter silence, like martial mime artists. Even after the aged librarian died, and you no longer had to fear retribution in the form of severe physical chastisement from his stick, you adhered to his edicts out of respect for his memory. In fact, on the day of his funeral you honored him in your own childish way by arranging a massive battle in the library -- in which almost every boy and girl in your class took part, and few emerged from unmarked by bumps and bruises which were worn for the next week as badges of pride.<br />
<br><br><br />
Soon after that you left the school to continue your education in the more austere (yet ironically less violent) environs of a military academy. Your aptitude for both personal combat and piloting soon came to the fore, leading the instructors to train you in both spheres. And like all aspiring fighter pilots, you were made to take part in mock space battles -- both within the safe confines of a simulator and out in the less forgiving blackness of space -- long before you were granted your aural implant. The military had no intention of frittering away high-tech augmentations on trainees who proved unworthy, and deemed it useful for all pilots to have some familiarity with 'natural' space combat before being bestowed with the simulated sounds provided by the implants. So it was that you saw laser beams glitter and drone ships explode in the total silence of the void. And in those moments it seemed to you that you were back at school, the galaxy turned into one immense library in which to house your astral warfare.<br />
<br><br><br />
A massacre in a library...<br />
<br><br><br />
This time you succeed in suppressing the laughter that bubbles within you, settling for a smile instead. The memory gives you comfort. You choose to take it as a benevolent omen.<br />
<br><br><br />
"The modifications to Ragnar's weapon seem to be working well," Wilex observes. "Though I wish he'd agree to simply use a laser instead."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I did broach the subject," you say. "But he thinks lasers are too... girly. He said he'd sooner wear a pink tutu."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'm surprised Ragnar knows what a tutu is," the Princess says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Perhaps he once ate a ballerina," Wilex replies. His voice is deadpan, and you suspect that this isn't entirely for comedic purposes.<br />
<br><br><br />
But the Chief Assembler is right about Ragnar's gun. You see it firing in miniature far below, in one of the roofless corridors that thread the building's immense floor space. Larger images of the Niflung and his weapon, from different angles, glare at you from some of the monitors.<br />
<br><br><br />
The weapon's customary muzzle flash, the blaring light which heralds the demise of those unfortunate enough to be stationed in front of its barrel, is absent. No spent shells cascade from the gun's side, to rain on the floor in a tinkling concerto. Even the torrent of sound, the grim and warlike rattle, is gone. Though the machinegun trembles slightly in his hands, telling of the force with which it spits death and destruction, neither your ears, nor your recently recalibrated aural implant, nor the microphones which supply sound to the monitors' speakers can detect its roar. Even the bullets which strike the robots at the other end of the corridor do so with only the vaguest of whispers, the sound waves stifled and smothered by the complex devices nestled within each round.<br />
<br><br><br />
An accountant would weep and an arms dealer revel over the value of the technology being expended with each burst of gunfire. But it's worth every credit.<br />
<br><br><br />
The training robots fall to the ground as the bullets lodge in the layers of ballistic shielding protecting their vital systems, obeying the dictates of human biology -- responding to wounds which would be fatal to a man or woman and collapsing in accordance with the rules of the exercise.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Niflung charges down the corridor when more of the bots appear at its far end, his footsteps as noiseless as his gunfire.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Did he mind having the sound-dampening systems put in his joints?" Illaria asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Mind?" Wilex replies. "The man has so many augmentations in his body that he's forgotten about nearly half of them. When we opened him up and read off the list he seemed as surprised as the rest of us. I've seen robots with less machinery inside them. The sound-dampeners were just a drop in the ocean."<br />
<br><br><br />
Ragnar's axe cleaves through the air in a sweeping arc. There's a faint cry of tortured metal as the robots fall apart beneath the blow, succeeded by the clattering of raining chunks of metal striking the floor -- which seems like the thundering of a thousand drumming musicians as it intrudes upon the quietness.<br />
<br><br><br />
Wilex sighs.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I asked him to use the special training axe," he says. "The one with the built-in safety features. Those robots are expensive."<br />
<br><br><br />
"That is the axe you gave him," you reply.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Oh..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Ragnar could probably manage to break a robot with one made out of foam."<br />
<br><br><br />
The Chief Assembler sighs once more, but offers no further comment. The mission you're training for is worth any expense. The elaborate network of rooms and passages below is ample evidence of that. It was Wilex himself who offered to convert this factory of his on Capek into a gargantuan training facility, regardless of cost or inconvenience, that you might prepare for your covert operation in privacy.<br />
<br><br><br />
Virtual reality simulations have proven useful. They've allowed you all to navigate near exact representations of the imperial palace and its environs -- at least as they were before their occupation by the Centurian Collective. And though you could only speculate as to the arrangements of Centurian personnel and whatever additional security measures they may have implemented, the assaults you made on that make-believe world have provided companions who've never set foot on Sian with an extensive knowledge of the environment you'll find yourselves in. But even so, there's no substitute for real physical training -- pushing mind and muscle to their limits. And Wilex has provided you with the perfect arena for that.<br />
<br><br><br />
Not even Grand Fabricator Marek, the supreme leader of TALOS, is aware of what you're doing here -- and Wu Tenchu has imposed similar secrecy on the Sian Empire's side. Only a handful of people know that in but a short time you'll be heading for the empire's capital, to rescue the Emperor from the Collective's clutches.<br />
<br><br><br />
Dwelling on your goal causes you to gaze upon your companions with redoubled focus, scouring the environment and drinking in their movements and deeds -- scanning for the minutest details which may be worth noting for later discussion. Over the past weeks you've been training alongside them, but today you decided to join Princess Illaria and Chief Assembler Wilex here in the observation room, so you could evaluate everyone's performance from a distance.<br />
<br><br><br />
What you see pleases you.<br />
<br><br><br />
Telemachus, Ragnar, Talia, and Lu Bu have fought together long enough and in sufficiently eclectic situations to complement one another in battle like siblings in the same murderous family. And they've adapted to the requirements of your new mission without sacrificing their brutal yet fluid fighting methods.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Niflung's boisterous style of combat was the most difficult to tailor to the situation at hand. But technology has worked wonders there. As Wilex so rightly stated, to Ragnar a few extra cybernetic implants were no great inconvenience -- little different from a workman placing an extra spanner in his toolbox. And thanks to training and practice he's even managed to stop roaring, bellowing, and laughing when he attacks.<br />
<br><br><br />
For the agile gunslinger the transition was easy enough. Talia's light-footed steps and whispering laser pistols have always borne an effortless stealth. And with a few modifications to his mechanical body, Lu Bu's ever elegant movements are equally silent -- as noiseless as the death his sword and claw bring. As you look on you see the two of them storm one of the roofless rooms, the robot warrior disposing of the bots near the entrance with a few swift strokes of his weapons -- triggering their sensors and causing them to crumple -- before Talia steps in and clears the rest of the room with a series of pinpoint shots that likewise dance across the training bots' critical targets.<br />
<br><br><br />
Telemachus is close by, outside a smaller adjacent room filled with mock communication terminals. The young prince doesn't rush into that chamber as he might once have done, blasting and hacking with cheerful and reckless enthusiasm. Instead he waits beyond the entrance, watching until the two robots have their backs turned -- occupied by their pseudo-tasks at the terminals. Then he infiltrates the room, his newly enhanced battlesuit moving without a sound. He's been spending hour upon hour playing stealth-based videogames since your mission was announced, and though Wilex and Wu Tenchu were dubious about the value of such preparations it appears that they've imbued him with the right mindset. Sure enough, he moves into position and strikes one robot with his eerily silent chainsaw at the same moment he fires a blast at the other's head. Both automatons acknowledge the finality of the attacks by falling to the ground before they have time to press any alarm buttons.<br />
<br><br><br />
The prince takes a moment to wave at the nearest hidden camera, his young face beaming at you from a monitor, before moving onto his next task.<br />
<br><br><br />
Illaria was reluctant to allow you to prepare Telemachus for the mission, arguing that his developing body shouldn't be subjected to the necessary cybernetic augmentations. But she relented once she had the surgeons' assurances, and the boy was given the same aural and vocal implants as the rest of you -- enabling communication inaudible to all others. That was Lupin's idea, one which might otherwise never have occurred to you. And whilst training to use the voice augmentation effectively was both arduous and somewhat ridiculous -- culminating as it did with a grand performance of collective sub-vocal singing designed to demonstrate your mastery of pitch and tone -- its value is inestimable.<br />
<br><br><br />
Speaking of the thief...<br />
<br><br><br />
Your eyes sweep the environment below and the monitors in turn. They fall upon Artemis Kess at the very moment she ambushes a trio of robots as they round a corner, and manage to avoid blinking long enough to witness their elimination. But they detect nothing of Arthur Lupin. Though with the technology you've adapted from the Silver Shadow, that doesn't necessarily mean...<br />
<br><br><br />
Something metallic presses against the back of your head.<br />
<br><br><br />
"You're dead, my dear."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Funny." You sigh. "If you're not going to take these exercises seriously..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Second row," the thief replies. "Third monitor from the left."<br />
<br><br><br />
You look at the indicated screen. Half a dozen robot sentries stand there with the stoic, perfectly motionless stance of beings which exist beyond the limitations of flesh and discomfort.<br />
<br><br><br />
"You were supposed to 'kill' those."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I did."<br />
<br><br><br />
The thief's left hand appears within your sphere of vision. Several tiny objects glitter in his upturned palm.<br />
<br><br><br />
Laser fire flashes on the monitor -- a rapid sequence of paired shots that each strike two robots in the eye. The bots show no reaction to the precise volleys, neither falling in fabricated death nor raising their own weapons and returning fire. Talia appears on the screen a moment later. The gunslinger inspects one of the robots, taps its chest, shrugs her shoulders, then moves through the door they were guarding.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Funny things, robots," Lupin says. "Such fancy engineering, ruined the moment you pull out something important. Though I suppose we're little different."<br />
<br><br><br />
The Princess gives an impressed giggle, piercing you with a ludicrous pang of jealously.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That's great," you say. "But-"<br />
<br><br><br />
When you turn around, there's no one there.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Behind you," a voice whispers within your ear.<br />
<br><br><br />
You turn to the monitors in time to see Lupin standing above two fallen robots. He bows. Then he vanishes.<br />
<br><br><br />
"If we let him keep that cloaking device after the mission, no valuables in the entire galaxy will be safe," the Princess says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"They're not safe from him now anyway," you reply.<br />
<br><br><br />
But she's right. The cloaking devices only function for a short period of time before they have to be recharged. Yet even so, in the hands of a skilled operative...<br />
<br><br><br />
A flash of movement draws your eye to a different monitor.<br />
<br><br><br />
Two robots spring into the air from behind the corner where they'd lain in ambush, their weapons falling from their hands. For no apparent reason the bots perform some sort of cartwheeling somersault, the conclusion of which leaves them sprawling in a tangled mechanical mess on the floor of the corridor -- right in front of Talia, whose sprinting steps would have put her in their line of fire had they not abandoned their position to engage in their little gymnastic exercise.<br />
<br><br><br />
There's a ripple in the air as Lupin materializes. He bows to Talia. Then the thief and gunslinger run off in tandem, leaving the wreckage behind them. At the next junction Kess joins them, followed by Ragnar, Lu Bu, and Telemachus. All of them are converging upon their goal -- the chamber in the middle of the network of corridors, where a robed robot sits cross-legged behind bars which throb and pulse with energy.<br />
<br><br><br />
Together the six of them rush into the broad oblong room that represents the prison. Cells line all four of its walls, broken only by the space consumed by the entrance. The robot dressed in a facsimile of the Emperor's robes occupies one at the opposite end of the room. The others are tenanted by androids in the assorted garb of Sian peasants, soldiers, and officials.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Now?" Wilex asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Now," you reply.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Chief Assembler presses a button on a nearby control panel.<br />
<br><br><br />
At the very moment that your companions enter the middle of the rectangular chamber, all the cells other than that containing the 'Emperor' open -- the bars retracting into the floor, the sheaths of energy upon them flickering out of existence.<br />
<br><br><br />
The robot prisoners pull weapons from the recesses of their clothing and open fire.<br />
<br><br><br />
A trap which should be lethal. But subjunctives have never bothered your friends much.<br />
<br><br><br />
Talia spins round, her pistols whispering in mid rotation. She doesn't pause, makes no discernible effort to take aim. And still no shot goes wasted. Robots crumple.<br />
<br><br><br />
Ragnar... Well, he's Ragnar. To him the sudden appearance of new enemies doesn't represent a mortal threat so much as fresh meat. He crashes into the nearest robot, grabs the unfortunate android by its ankle, and swings it around in a wide arc -- smashing two more bots with the makeshift flail. You steal a glance at Wilex, and see him wince at the resulting destruction.<br />
<br><br><br />
Lu Bu and Telemachus are just as nonplussed at the ambush as the Niflung. The former's computerized brain, a product of the finest TALOS engineering, isn't given to stalling. He assesses the threat and reacts to it immediately, putting sword and claw to work. Nor are the young prince's videogame-honed reflexes lacking. The two of them diverge, each picking out targets and keeping them off the other's back.<br />
<br><br><br />
Arthur Lupin and Artemis Kess haven't fought alongside the rest of your companions for long. But when your level of natural talent may best be described as phenomenal, it's easy enough to adapt. And the past weeks of training have acquainted them with how you all operate.<br />
<br><br><br />
The thief darts to his right, blue tongues of electrical energy dancing at the ends of his sticks. Three robots surrender to the beating he administers, and take a rest on the floor -- perhaps glad enough to have been eliminated from play by Lupin rather than from existence by Ragnar.<br />
<br><br><br />
Kess doesn't bother to turn around as lasers flash from behind her. Instead she jumps, launching her lithe body high into the air. At the apex of her leap she arcs backwards in a somersault, landing behind the robot attackers. Her blade lashes out in one hand, her claws from the other.<br />
<br><br><br />
In moments the room is clear.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Nice try, captain," Talia says -- the voice traveling from her vocal implant to your aural one without betraying its secrets to the intervening air.<br />
<br><br><br />
Lupin inspects the bars between your companions and the 'Emperor' for a moment. Then he pulls a device from one of his pouches, presses it against the wall, and starts fiddling with it.<br />
<br><br><br />
As the thief plies his trade, the Niflung plies his.<br />
<br><br><br />
Ragnar steps into the adjacent cell, turns, and throws his considerable mass against the wall. The makeshift structure, designed to simulate a wall for the purpose of a training exercise rather than to repel the hostile intentions of an omnicidal, cybernetically enhanced warrior, gives way.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Niflung ploughs through the barrier -- leaving a roughly Ragnar-shaped hole in his wake. Then he grabs the 'Emperor', throws the robot over his shoulder, steps back through the hole, and walks out to join the others.<br />
<br><br><br />
You sense the Princess tensing up, feel rather than see the wince at the corners of her eyes and mouth.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Don't worry," you say. "He'll be gentler with the real Emperor."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Will you want another session?" Wilex asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes. This time I'll join them."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'll have the layout rearranged." The Chief Assembler glances at the monitors. "And I'll have new robots brought in to replace the broken ones."<br />
<br><br><br />
He heads towards the door, mumbling a series of figures under his breath which you assume to be the number and cost of the robots Ragnar destroyed in his reckless exuberance. It slides closed behind him.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I should go speak to the others about their performance," you say, "and prepare for the next exercise."<br />
<br><br><br />
"[Name]..."<br />
<br><br><br />
The soft voice halts you in the doorway. You turn back to her.<br />
<br><br><br />
Her eyes meet yours. For a moment she's silent, an infinity of potential words and endless meanings drifting over her tongue. When at last she speaks it's with a mild, almost imperceptible sigh.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Thank you," she says.<br />
<br><br><br />
You nod, and allow the door to close behind you. Unuttered words whisper in your ears as you walk down the corridor.<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
"Hah! Niflung blood boar!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Ragnar's broad grin illuminates his face with such joy that he seems like an innocent child, gazing with delight upon a longed-for birthday treat or festive present. The rest of you regard the contents of the platter before him with rather more perturbation than enthusiasm. It contains what at first glance appears to be a recently deceased murder victim. However, closer inspection reveals it to be the butchered and roasted carcass of an immense hog -- splattered and smeared with a red sauce that must consist largely of blood. Based on the imposing tusks that rise up from either side of the gaping maw, it's quite possible that the crimson liquid belonged not to the animal itself but rather to the unlucky soul who was sent to hunt it.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Just like my mother used to kill..." The Niflung's eyes gleam as he turns to where the Princess sits at the head of the table. "How did you know?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"It just seemed... appropriate."<br />
<br><br><br />
A second robotic waiter glides to his side as its predecessor departs with the platter's now superfluous lid. This one sets a large wooden jug down beside the bloody boar.<br />
<br><br><br />
Ragnar grabs the jug by its handle, pulls it towards him -- allowing a small wave of dark liquid to slosh over the top and dribble down the side of the vessel -- and lowers his nose towards its contents. A long snort and a sigh of pure satisfaction ensue.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Sigurd's Blood," he says. "That's a proper ale!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Do all Niflung things have 'blood' in the name?" Talia asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Just the ones with blood in them."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Oh..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Anyone else want a drop?" The Niflung glances around the table.<br />
<br><br><br />
You're contemplating your answer when your gaze catches Illaria's. She makes a small, surreptitious shake of her head -- from which you infer that anyone other than Ragnar would likely suffer for the experience.<br />
<br><br><br />
He shrugs, lifts the jug to his mouth, and commences quaffing with one hand whilst tearing into the hog with the other. The robot waiter decorously removes the tankard it had placed for him, and glides away once more.<br />
<br><br><br />
The rest of you look at your platters -- their treasures still as yet concealed from your gazes by the metal domes -- with greater interest and anticipation. When the Princess asked you all to join her for a special dinner, the last evening repast before you embark on your mission, you knew you'd be in for a good meal. But based on the victuals served to Ragnar, it appears that Illaria intends to go well beyond that.<br />
<br><br><br />
Perhaps relinquishing her enjoyment of the ceremony in favor of satisfying your curiosity and hunger, she gestures to the waiters. The robots converge on the table like battle bots moving in for the kill, and for one ridiculous moment you consider seizing a piece of cutlery, jumping to your feet, and plunging it through the nearest robot's eye -- in case this is some final test she and Wilex have concocted to ensure that your vigilance and reflexes are up to scratch for the coming exploit. But you heroically suppress the urge, remain seated, and avoid what might have been an awkward faux pas.<br />
<br><br><br />
Thus the robots are able to remove the lids from your platters and disappear from the room without falling victim to spontaneous and superfluous violence.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Interesting..." Lu Bu says.<br />
<br><br><br />
All eyes travel to the robot warrior, whose own centers of vision are focused on his now unveiled dish. You had wondered about that... Though the dinner wouldn't have been complete without him, so of course the Princess asked him to come along with the rest of you, Lu Bu -- as is usually the case with bots -- doesn't eat or drink. So the previously closed platter before him had been something of a mystery.<br />
<br><br><br />
The metal object which has been evinced by the lid's removal is no less of a mystery, however. It appears to be an electronic device of some sort -- a small box embedded with glowing lights, from which a long wire trails and curls in an intricate pattern. Part of you goes so far as to wonder whether you've been misinformed, whether androids do in fact eat electronic objects in the same manner that a human might dine upon a piece of meat. But this seems rather unlikely.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I wanted you to enjoy the meal with us," the Princess says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'm touched by your thoughtfulness."<br />
<br><br><br />
He lifts the end of the wire, which is attached to a connector, and plugs it into a port in the side of his head.<br />
<br><br><br />
"What is that thing?" Telemachus asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"A product of the Chief Assembler's genius," the Princess says.<br />
<br><br><br />
She gazes along the length of the table, to where Wilex sits at the opposite end.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It was your idea," he says. "I merely brought it into being. An easy enough task. Lu Bu's sensory systems are quite advanced, making the interface simple enough."<br />
<br><br><br />
"A synthesis of taste," Lu Bu murmurs.<br />
<br><br><br />
"So what're you eating?" Talia asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It appears to be... everything."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I had no way of knowing what Lu Bu would enjoy," Illaria says. "So I had the device filled with a representation of every taste possible."<br />
<br><br><br />
"A truly remarkable idea." The robot pauses for a moment. "Ah... So that's why the term 'long pig' came about..."<br />
<br><br><br />
That conundrum solved, gazes roam across the table once more -- each of you feasting your eyes upon your own dinner but also curious as to what your companions have been given.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That's not..." Talia begins, staring at the circular foodstuff on Telemachus' platter.<br />
<br><br><br />
It appears to be covered in a thick layer of batter.<br />
<br><br><br />
"A deep-fried pizza," he says. "My dad only ever let me eat them on my birthday. He said they were too dangerous."<br />
<br><br><br />
If a father who gave his child a heavily armed mech to play with considers a dish too dangerous, it occurs to you that it's probably akin to a culinary weapon of mass destruction. But you're facing the mission of your lives tomorrow, so what's a little cardiac suicide beforehand?<br />
<br><br><br />
And in spite of Talia's expression of distaste, the meal in front of her would be enigmatic enough to anyone who wasn't familiar with the gunslinger's curious tastes. A bed of rice has been drowned, or perhaps smothered, beneath a layer of viscous material in a shade of red so bright it's as though nature is warning you not to even think about eating it. Chunks of meat which defy visual identification are embedded within (and slathered with) this creamy death sauce.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'm impressed that Wilex's robo-cook knew how to make an anaconda tikka masala," she says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Actually," the Chief Assembler replies, "she didn't seem inclined to prepare such a dish. Perhaps she's familiar with the First Law of Robotics..."<br />
<br><br><br />
He pauses and looks around the table in the manner of a man expecting laughter. But if there was a joke, it's sufficiently stealthy that you should take it with you tomorrow. Wilex sighs before continuing.<br />
<br><br><br />
"We had Grand Fabricator Marek's personal chef brought to Capek to make it. She was delighted to prepare food for a diner with so... eclectic... a palate."<br />
<br><br><br />
"The lady in question wasn't the only culinary master you enlisted, was she?" Lupin asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
The meal before the thief seems conventional enough -- a rare piece of steak escorted by a plethora of artistically arranged accompaniments. But from the expression on his face, supplemented by the drifting scent that reaches your nostrils -- somehow managing to slip by the overwhelming olfactory barrier of Talia's curry -- it seems that it's rather beyond the ordinary in quality if not in material.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It was easy to persuade the cook to take a holiday here," the Princess says. "In fact, he seemed rather pleased with the idea."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I suppose the chap doesn't usually get to feed repeat diners." Lupin glances at the rest of you, his lips forming his quintessential debonair smile. "There's a prison on Sigma XVIII which serves the most sumptuous last meals to men and women sentenced to death. The stories I'd heard were so tantalizing that I felt compelled to commit a capital crime purely for the purpose of enjoying such a meal."<br />
<br><br><br />
The quietness around the table deepens.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I didn't murder anyone, if that's the thought you're all entertaining. On Sigma XVIII anyone caught stealing from their queen is sentenced to death. So I abstracted her crown and allowed her guards to find me reclining on her bed, twirling it around my finger. I have to say that the meal was well worth the inconvenience of the spell of imprisonment and the necessity of the resulting escape."<br />
<br><br><br />
The general attention next falls upon the Chief Assembler. His dish seems to consist of a large number of small cubes in a range of hues and colors.<br />
<br><br><br />
"This is something we used to eat when I was a child," he says in response to the collective curiosity. "Each cube has its own subtle flavor. If you stack two or more of them up, and pierce them through the middle, they combine in curious ways. It's something of a game to identify the combination best suited to your tastes."<br />
<br><br><br />
Artemis Kess is the next victim to fall prey to everyone's voracious appetite for information. The dish before her contains what appears to be a heart.<br />
<br><br><br />
"What kind of animal is that from?" Talia asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Human," the assassin replies.<br />
<br><br><br />
The gunslinger laughs for the barest fraction of a second, before realizing that it wasn't a joke.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Heh." Ragnar spits out a shower of meat juices as he laughs -- which Lupin intercepts with a deft twirl of his handkerchief, thus sparing his immaculate dinner jacket from defilement. "That's hardcore. Even I don't eat humans much."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Whose heart was it?" Telemachus asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I believe it's mine," Kess replies.<br />
<br><br><br />
She looks to the Princess. Illaria nods.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I hope you don't mind. But Master Wu thought it would be appropriate."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Not at all. It's... fitting." Artemis cuts into the organ, and brings a small piece to her mouth.<br />
<br><br><br />
She savors the morsel for a few moments, then glances around as though surprised that everyone's still staring at her.<br />
<br><br><br />
"When we completed our training as assassins, it was customary for us to eat our own hearts. Cloned versions grown in vats."<br />
<br><br><br />
A collective exhalation follows this pronouncement.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That's pretty creepy," Talia says. "But kind of awesome as well."<br />
<br><br><br />
"When one of us decides that she wishes to retire, the same custom applies. I believe it began as a way around an ancient edict which would in those days have been far less pleasant."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Then you're going to stop being an assassin?" you ask.<br />
<br><br><br />
"This will be my last mission. Her Highness has offered to arrange full pardons for all the crimes I've committed. I'll be able to do whatever I want, and go wherever I wish."<br />
<br><br><br />
The wistful look which crosses her face and shines within her dark eyes hints that "whatever" and "wherever" are less nebulously conceived in her mind than in her words.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Your meal doesn't look that interesting, [Name]," Telemachus says. "Sure you don't want some of my pizza?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"No, thank you."<br />
<br><br><br />
You don't elaborate, and the others become too engrossed in their own food to press you about it.<br />
<br><br><br />
Chopsticks move in your hand, descending into the bowl of rice, meat, and fish. A good meal, flavored by an expert hand. The moment it was revealed, the sight and scent awakened warm memories within your breast. An identical bowl rests on Illaria's platter.<br />
<br><br><br />
Great food and even better company fill the evening with a warmth you haven't experienced for a long time. In this bubble, this minute portion of the universe, matters of war and politics are kept at bay like unwanted beasts left to bray and howl beyond sight or earshot.<br />
<br><br><br />
Alcohol flows in moderation for all but Ragnar -- whose enhanced body could drink an ocean of ethanol without ill effect. Just enough to provide the world with a merry glow. You even turn a blind eye when Telemachus reaches over and steals your glass of scotch. Sure enough, one sip and the ensuing splutter is enough to make him swear temperance for the foreseeable future. The glass is returned, and the amber liquid finds its way to a tongue better able to appreciate it.<br />
<br><br><br />
Comfortable silences, in which you each dwell upon your dishes and the memories they evoke, intersperse the easy banter and conversation of friends whose exploits have brought them closer than mere time ever could. What are years compared with battles and adventures? Even Artemis and Lupin, who've known you all for so short a time, fall into the spirit of camaraderie. The thief regales you with tales of the innumerable outlandish and audacious deeds which make up the tapestry of his life -- his charm and sophisticated eloquence somehow turning crimes at which you should frown into delights at which you may laugh. Kess is more reticent, but still manages to transform her relative quietness into that of an included observer -- smiling and laughing with the rest of you, slipping her own keen observations into the chatter.<br />
<br><br><br />
Wilex is the first to take his leave, followed by Kess. Lupin excuses himself soon afterwards, the gentlemanly thief relinquishing the remainder of the night to the rest of you with the decorous politeness which is so much his hallmark in spite of his criminal proclivities.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Princess rises at the same instant, and bids him wait for just a moment. She passes him a small azure box, upon which a jeweled rendition of the imperial seal glitters in all its proud glory.<br />
<br><br><br />
Lupin's previously unassailable demeanor of amused nonchalance allows slivers of surprise to appear on his face as he accepts the gift from her hand. The slivers widen to admit a torrent when he opens it. His dexterous fingers dip into the ornate container. They emerge grasping a length of gleaming platinum and diamond magnificence.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Our arrangement was..." he begins. It's the first time you've ever heard his voice falter.<br />
<br><br><br />
"The Eyes of the Cosmos are yours," she says. "Whatever happens."<br />
<br><br><br />
The solemn import of her words hangs in the air, for a moment casting its dark shadow over the gathering. Despite all your training, all the planning and preparation, every piece of miraculous technology you have to aid you, the mission you face will hurl you into a theater where any or all of you might find your deaths. And if such a fate awaits the thief, he'll now have time to make arrangements for the priceless treasure which was promised him -- to pass it onto whatever loved ones he might possess.<br />
<br><br><br />
Emotion is writ upon Arthur Lupin's face, bespeaking his thoughts with far more eloquence than the words of gratitude which fall from his tongue. In that moment you know he'll devote everything he has to keep his promise to Princess Illaria. Her trust in him has bound him to her cause as it has bound so many others before him.<br />
<br><br><br />
The six of you who remain in the thief's wake wallow in the comfort of talk and reminiscences till weariness eventually claims Telemachus, and Ragnar carries him to his quarters. Lu Bu departs along with them, speaking of the last minute testing of his systems and weapons he wishes to perform.<br />
<br><br><br />
Three friends are left among the debris of a feast, speaking of strange and intersecting lives. Time loses itself among your words, defied and derailed amidst shared recollections that stretch further and deeper than those which came before -- extending into the years before the war, before the cataclysmic events which threw you and the others together. Melancholy slips into the bubble, the inexorable sadness that comes with the memories of happier times.<br />
<br><br><br />
The hour is late when Talia retires, but neither you nor Illaria are ready to accept the dying of the night.<br />
<br><br><br />
The two of you sit at adjacent sides of the table, with a bottle of scotch and words both spoken and unspoken between you. The flavor of your food lingers on your tongue -- unwilling to be usurped even by the richness of the alcohol -- making the past seem all the more vivid. The last time you tasted that dish was on the day you first met, when a young pilot was summoned to dine with the imperial family to mark her new position within the Princess' bodyguard.<br />
<br><br><br />
To think of that time now is to see it as though through another's eyes, to dwell upon a woman who's so different as to be a stranger...<br />
<br><br><br />
''He's/She's a brash warrior, made cocky by his/her skill and the freshness of the victory which has earned her such an honor. Medals shine on his/her breast, turning his/her resplendent dress uniform into a testament to her excellence.''<br />
<br><br><br />
''Yet as he's/she's ushered into the palace, as he/she gazes upon the glory of that sacred place, the bravado dies within him/her. He's/She's overwhelmed by the magnitude of his/her surroundings and the realization that he's/she's about to meet the Emperor -- a man whose edicts are law to billions, who until now has been akin to a remote and removed deity.''<br />
<br><br><br />
''His/Her eyes are downcast when he's/she's brought into the imperial presence, placed before the Emperor and Princess. Pleasantries are navigated like minefields, the young pilot fearful of straying and offending -- of being deemed unworthy by sharp, wise eyes or else bright, beautiful ones.''<br />
<br><br><br />
''He/She sits to eat, his/her frantic thoughts groping for rules of etiquette once second nature yet now scoured from his/her mind. She reaches out for a serving spoon with a trembling hand, before realizing to his/her horror that the Princess is reaching out as well -- that his/her hand will touch hers, and violate laws of propriety more imagined than real. And so he/she yanks his hand back as though from a burning heat, a clumsy movement that brings it crashing against a bowl. Its contents splash over his/her dress uniform, just as shame splashes across his/her face.<br />
<br><br><br />
''"Forgive me," the Princess says, bowing her head and claiming the error as her own.''''<br />
<br><br><br />
''A faint smile lurks on her lips, one infused with such gentle kindness that it allows the pilot to recover. The meal continues, and the course of destiny is shaped.''<br />
<br><br><br />
In the present two friends sit and drink, and you pity those billions of Sian subjects who only know her as you once did -- as an idol instead of a woman.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It feels wrong," she says, staring into the remnant of her drink.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes," you agree. It's a moment before you realize that she's speaking of her own thoughts rather than yours.<br />
<br><br><br />
"We've faced so much together. Now I'm sending you... all of you... into the greatest danger of all, while I sit in safety."<br />
<br><br><br />
You glance at the bottle. How did it get so empty?<br />
<br><br><br />
Your eyes meet hers. She sighs.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It's okay. I won't argue again. You and Master Wu were right. But..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I know."<br />
<br><br><br />
In truth, part of you shares her regret at the thought that the two of you won't be fighting side by side on this mission, as on so many of your previous exploits. But it would be foolhardy to take the Princess to Sian, to risk her falling into Centurian hands along with the Emperor. Thus you were forced to side with Wu Tenchu, and dissuade Illaria from accompanying you. And she relented, as her duty to the subjects of the empire demanded.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I still think of Sergeant Tarik and the others. Everyone who died so that I could escape from the Child of Heaven. And all of our people who'll die so my father can be freed."<br />
<br><br><br />
Silence envelops you both for several seconds, a stretch of quiet in which the faces of dead men and women swim across your thoughts.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Bring him back to me," she says. "Don't let them die for nothing."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I will," you say. The promise leaves your lips a moment before your brain can forestall it. Stupid... Anything could happen...<br />
<br><br><br />
Yet when you see the satisfaction your words give her you can't quite wish you hadn't uttered them.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Make sure you come back as well. The empire needs you both." Her eyes, reddened by the alcohol, focus on yours with redoubled intensity. Her mouth twitches for a second, as though unsure of which words it will help form. "I need you both."</div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/The_Story/Scaean_Gates/Black_Skies_over_Sian&diff=59729LotS/The Story/Scaean Gates/Black Skies over Sian2013-08-26T02:21:44Z<p>Samoan: </p>
<hr />
<div><font size="3">'''Black Skies over Sian'''</font><br><br />
"Welcome aboard the Illaria, Lady/Lord ''[Player Name]''."<br />
<br><br><br />
The young woman's hands make a frantic tug at the hem of her uniform, as though realizing that it might not be quite neat enough for such august company. She tries to salute, bow, and courtesy at the same time -- a flustered confusion of protocol that almost makes her fall over.<br />
<br><br><br />
Her face reddens. She looks away as she gestures to the chair she's just vacated. The bridge's other inhabitants are careful to face forward, suppressing whatever amusement they might feel out of good nature or a natural wariness at being seen smirking at a superior's misfortune.<br />
<br><br><br />
"No, thank you, captain," you reply.<br />
<br><br><br />
Surprise overcomes her awkwardness, prompting her to restore eye contact.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Milady/Milord? I don't understand."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'll be overseeing the battle from the war room. The bridge is yours."<br />
<br><br><br />
She gasps. Her mouth drops open. The expression makes her look like a startled schoolgirl. This invokes your sympathy, but it pleases you as well. That's why you chose her. Master Wu and the others expected you to pick a seasoned veteran. Instead you selected a young but talented commander to serve as your second in command aboard the Illaria. Their surprise was palpable, though no one thought to question you. If they had, you would have told them lies or half-truths.<br />
<br><br><br />
You wanted someone who wouldn't have the confidence to challenge you...<br />
<br><br><br />
"Directing the fleet will take all my attention. I'm sure I can trust you to keep us from being destroyed while I do that."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes, milady/milord! Of course, milady/milord!"<br />
<br><br><br />
This time she settles for a bow of her head. You return the gesture, then make for the door at the back of the bridge.<br />
<br><br><br />
It slides shut behind you. A tap of the panel ensures it won't open except at your behest.<br />
<br><br><br />
You sit in the soft, supremely comfortable chair in the middle of the chamber. There's an old pilot's joke that the comfort of one's buttocks is directly proportional to one's rank. It now seems plausible.<br />
<br><br><br />
That chair is the room's only seat. There's just one other piece of furniture: the big, curved table that forms a crescent around it. Numerous terminals and fixed screens clutter its surface, all carefully designed and arranged by people who use words such as 'ergonomics' in their professional life, before being repositioned according to your instructions.<br />
<br><br><br />
You press a button on one of the panels. Beams of light launch into the air like fireworks, broadening and sharpening into holographic screens. Once they're deployed, dozens of images float before you -- filling the front portion of the chamber.<br />
<br><br><br />
From here you can manage things with far more efficiency than on the bridge. All the data is at your fingertips. There are no distractions. You weren't lying to the young captain. It's just that you didn't tell her the whole truth...<br />
<br><br><br />
A gesture causes one group of holographic screens to emerge from the collection and enlarge themselves -- shunting their brethren aside. Some contain charts and diagrams, depicting systems. Others show recorded footage of space combat, windows of victory and destruction. The remainder are dominated by text and numbers.<br />
<br><br><br />
Between them they tell the tale of the initial battles.<br />
<br><br><br />
There are casualty figures, fallen warriors and bereaved families reduced to cold, clinical mathematics.<br />
<br><br><br />
So many losses... On hundreds of worlds, weeping widows and widowers, along with orphaned children, will be lamenting the day their loved ones went to war on behalf of the Sian Empire.<br />
<br><br><br />
But things are going in your favor.<br />
<br><br><br />
Most of the peripheral fleets fared no better than the 32nd. And those which did, that managed to repel their adversaries or lock them into costly and as yet indecisive battles, are now the target of cruisers and squadrons fresh from other engagements -- fired up by victory and ready to triumph again.<br />
<br><br><br />
When the Centurians attacked Sian, smashed through the Golden Armada, they had the advantage. Your forces hadn't been prepared to face Besalaad technology. But now... The moment you captured the Zenith, and had the opportunity to understand what their alien masters had provided them with, you were able to devise your countermeasures -- aided by your new friends from human space and beyond.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Besalaad are an advanced species, a powerful empire. But whilst they may have given the Collective some choice weapons and other such tools, it's certain that they didn't give their allies the best they themselves possessed. Their goal was likely to keep their involvement a secret for far longer, to conceal their hands until the right time. It wouldn't have served them well to arm the Centurians with technologies far beyond those they could ever have devised on their own. Nor would clever imperialists like the Besalaad have been so foolish as to hand their new minions their most valuable treasures.<br />
<br><br><br />
These were the conclusions you all came to. And the numbers on the screens seem to prove you right.<br />
<br><br><br />
You dismiss those windows, sending them back into obscurity, putting the dead and their mourners from sight and mind. A commander can't afford to dwell on such things. Not while there's still so much fighting to be done.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Wu Tenchu, Wilex..."<br />
<br><br><br />
Your words cause two screens to push their way to prominence. One shows the Chief Assembler in his private chamber aboard the Asimov, the other the mandarin ensconced in a private war room similar to your own.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Any sign?" you ask.<br />
<br><br><br />
Wilex shakes his head.<br />
<br><br><br />
"None at all."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Our surmise appears to have been correct," Master Wu adds. "The Centurians are no longer useful."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Perhaps not..." you muse.<br />
<br><br><br />
But your hand twitches, half-consciously reaching towards one of the terminals. You have your contingency plans...<br />
<br><br><br />
There's a row of green lights on one of the fixed monitors. Beside each is the name of a ship. The Asimov is there, along with the Illaria and countless others. All have signaled their readiness.<br />
<br><br><br />
You conjure forth a screen showing the room beyond the sealed door -- the bridge of your flagship.<br />
<br><br><br />
The young captain looks up, then salutes with such force that her head rocks backwards from the impact.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes, milady/milord?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Captain Silea!" Wu Tenchu says. "The proper form of address to an Imperial Jian during a state of combat readiness is 'Lord Commander', regardless of sex!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Sorry, milord!" She bites her lower lip.<br />
<br><br><br />
The mandarin's eyes narrow.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Captain," you say, "power up the hyperspace engines. Make the jump."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes, mil... Lord Commander!"<br />
<br><br><br />
You dismiss Wilex and Wu Tenchu before either of them can ask why you're not on the bridge yourself, occupying the captain's chair. This part of the plan is entirely your own.<br />
<br><br><br />
A press of a button and the Silver Shadow appears on one of the fixed monitors. The craft is nestled among countless other spaceships in one of your hangars, nearly lost amongst the vast assortment. Another button switches the view to the inside of its flight cabin.<br />
<br><br><br />
Talia's sat in the pilot's seat, Lu Bu in the co-pilot's chair. Behind them you see Telemachus at the gunner station and Ragnar hefting his axe as though testing its weight in anticipation.<br />
<br><br><br />
"We're about to jump," you say.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yeah, we heard the alert, captain."<br />
<br><br><br />
Captain... Even if you became supreme ruler of mankind, you'd still be 'the captain' to her.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'll see you on Sian," you say.<br />
<br><br><br />
She nods.<br />
<br><br><br />
You touch the terminal and the image disappears, swallowed by blackness.<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Astral Warfare'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z9_a3_q1.jpg|none|Astral Warfare]]<br />
The Centurians don't want to lose this system. If you ever doubted their determination, the images on the holographic screens would shatter those delusions.<br />
<br><br><br />
Swaths of red daub the scanner display, so many blips that they seem to coalesce into one great three-dimensional mass. Hundreds and hundreds of ships fill the other screens, a massive armada which must comprise a huge chunk of the Centurians' remaining forces.<br />
<br><br><br />
And more are arriving each moment. Fresh vessels drop from hyperspace -- swarms of fighters, squadrons of bigger, more menacing craft.<br />
<br><br><br />
According to the other displays, allied fleets fighting in many of the peripheral systems report that the Collective are disengaging -- fleeing into the void, risking their lives by making jumps in the middle of combat.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Inform those fleet commanders," you say. "Tell them to reinforce us."<br />
<br><br><br />
A chorus of affirmations ring out.<br />
<br><br><br />
But there's no time to wait for those reinforcements. The Centurians' weapons are opening up, their shoals of fighters approaching.<br />
<br><br><br />
You give the signal to meet the attack.<br />
<br><br><br />
On one of the screens, linked to a camera mounted on the outside of the Illaria's hull, the Silver Shadow plunges through the energy barrier that protects a hangar. It soars off, its elegant argentine body escaping the camera's sphere of vision.<br />
<br><br><br />
You make a series of gestures. The external view of the hangar entrance vanishes. Instead the Silver Shadow returns, tracked by one of the other cameras as it swoops through the void. A blue dot appears on the main scanners as well, pinpointing its position amidst the bulges of green and red.<br />
<br><br><br />
You have an entire battle to oversee. You shouldn't be concentrating on one ship, allowing yourself to be distracted. And yet you can't bring yourself to relinquish it.<br />
<br><br><br />
An oblong window enlarges until it dominates the area devoted to the holographic screens, the others slotting into the space around it. This one shows a sweeping vista, allowing you to view almost the totality of the battle. It's the feed from one of the drones, positioned well back from the fleet. There's the Illaria, surrounded by a golden glow so that you can pick your position out. The Silver shadow is a blue spec, its location likewise highlighted in accordance with your instructions.<br />
<br><br><br />
Just like when you were in the cockpit, you begin to track and analyze, plan and anticipate.<br />
<br><br><br />
Flashing lasers, blooming explosions...<br />
<br><br><br />
Zoomed-in views appear on the surrounding screens, each one drawing you into the destruction -- allowing you to see allies and enemies maneuver and fire, triumph or perish.<br />
<br><br><br />
Fighters chase one another, weaving their beautiful dances of death like birds of prey. Dozens of tiny explosions flare between the networks of lancing beams and zapping blasts as pilots are found wanting or else simply find fate set against them.<br />
<br><br><br />
Bigger ships surge through the deadly illuminations, bombarding the universe around them with powerful weapons. But not even the mightiest craft are immune to the cruel mistress that is stellar combat. A Sian vessel, its hull painted with a series of gorgeous patterns that coalesce to form the imperial symbol, presses itself into the fray -- lasers zapping in all directions. Then a gigantic orange blast, an infernal spear of energy, catches it square on the prow. There's one immense flash, the color of a sunrise. After that there's only wreckage.<br />
<br><br><br />
A dozen times you have to resist the urge to open a connection to one of your ships, to yell instructions. You can't distract the pilots and commanders, can't disrupt the battle plans with arrogant micromanagement of individual spacecraft.<br />
<br><br><br />
Your job is to concentrate on the battle as a whole, to direct forces as needed and hold your tongue when not.<br />
<br><br><br />
Again the blue dot draws your eye. An instinctive gesture makes the Silver Shadow appear on a peripheral screen. The ship is spinning through a torrent of laser fire, accompanied by a squadron of other fighters that fan out from it in a series of loose, V-shaped formations which leave the argentine craft at their collective tip. Two of those fighters burst into flame, sliced by crimson blasts.<br />
<br><br><br />
Missiles fly from the Shadow, unhidden by their cloaking devices. Too much risk of allies flying into them otherwise... Most forage for their targets with the unmistakable movements of automation. But one of them spins a deft path through the fray until it picks off one of the troublesome Centurian fighters with a potent detonation. Telemachus' handiwork, no doubt.<br />
<br><br><br />
You begin to withdraw your gaze, directing it elsewhere through force of will, when something forestalls you. There's a flash near that little pocket of battle, on the edge of the screen. A quick hand motion adjusts the view, centering on it. More ships, emerging from hyperspace.<br />
<br><br><br />
Wait...<br />
<br><br><br />
The image zooms in further, magnifying the newcomers, rendering the suspicious familiarity indisputable. A huge squadron of fighters... Each of them fashioned in the image of the blackened Child of Heaven.<br />
<br><br><br />
These weren't in any of the intelligence reports. None of your fleets reported encountering them. They must have come from deep in Centurian space, held in reserve -- ready to be unleashed in the hope of turning this battle.<br />
<br><br><br />
All that passes through your mind in an instant. Then the carnage starts.<br />
<br><br><br />
The miniature doppelgangers swim across the void like a school of piranhas, firing small simulacrums of the fallen cruiser's own weapons. They swarm across a nearby TALOS ship, their weapons slashing and slicing -- biting until it's devoured, torn to bits by external abuse and internal explosions.<br />
<br><br><br />
Then they're on the Silver Shadow's squadron.<br />
<br><br><br />
Talia spins the ship, evading the first barrage. She returns fire. The argentine craft's weapons rip through the middle of one of the fighters -- almost splitting it in two before the explosion ruins the elegance of its demise.<br />
<br><br><br />
But her allies aren't as capable as the gunslinger. The black swarm descends upon them, their intersecting fire picking three to pieces before their pilots can even begin to evade.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Go invisible..." you murmur. "Disappear..."<br />
<br><br><br />
But you know she won't. Not while she has what's left of her squadron flying alongside her.<br />
<br><br><br />
Another Sian fighter dies in flame.<br />
<br><br><br />
The black ships, bastards of heaven, converge on the Silver Shadow and the others, placing your friends in the middle of a labyrinthine conjunction of laser death -- forcing them to weave between the lethal beams that threaten to puncture their hull and cast them to the void.<br />
<br><br><br />
You try to plot their movements, anticipate the unfolding of the engagement. Talia is almost impossible to predict. So unorthodox, creative and sudden to the point of insanity when she flies. But you can sense the possibilities all the same. A dozen futures, and all of them end in death.<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Void Killer Vengeance'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z9_a3_q2.jpg|none|Void Killer Vengeance]]<br />
You open channels, bark orders. All the while your gaze follows the whirling, darting argentine ship as it slips between the lasers with impossible, nerve-racking grace -- expecting a blast to strike it at any second.<br />
<br><br><br />
On a scanner display the blue blip and a few green stragglers are surrounded by red dots, like doomed stones on a weiqi board.<br />
<br><br><br />
But more green blips are approaching from the periphery. An impatient sweep of your hand widens one of the screens, throwing its edge out until it captures the relief force -- squads of fighters held in reserve and now deployed by your command. It was the quickest way... The others would have taken too long...<br />
<br><br><br />
The Centurian ships, children of black heavens, fan out -- loosening their grasp on the Silver Shadow and the others as they prepare for the onslaught. Their crimson lasers flash towards new targets.<br />
<br><br><br />
A Snuuth craft is transfixed by two cutting beams. It explodes in an opening flower of flame, leaving its brethren to continue on their way with a gap in their formation. A Sian Dragon Fighter does the same -- succumbing to a well-placed blast that catches it on the underside of its cockpit and annihilates the front quarter of the ship.<br />
<br><br><br />
You try to tell yourself that you aren't buying your friends' lives with theirs, that the Centurian reinforcements had to be eliminated. Perhaps part of you even believes it.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Silver Shadow is free now, no longer trapped in its desperate patterns of evasion. It becomes a weapon in Talia's hands once more, predator instead of prey. Argentine death. It swoops down on one of the black ships, its blasters crashing down upon its hull like the lightning bolts of ancient gods. The vessel is still burning, the fire not yet swallowed by the vacuum, when the next one joins it.<br />
<br><br><br />
They're safe.<br />
<br><br><br />
Lines of movement, routes of attack... Yes, you can see them all. With your squads there, the future has been rewritten. It's the Centurian fighters' deaths which are inscribed there now. They won't come without a price. They're costing you the better part of three reserve squads, precious ships and still more precious blood. But they'll come.<br />
<br><br><br />
Your unfitness for this role coils in your guts.<br />
<br><br><br />
It's one thing to make battle plans, to send men and women to their deaths, when you know you'll be flying among them -- facing the same dangers, running the same risks, making the same sacrifices. But this... Safe on your flagship... This is different. Once this is all over...<br />
<br><br><br />
You tear those thoughts from you, rip them from your brain. Now isn't the time to contemplate such things. Not while there's a battle raging.<br />
<br><br><br />
The panoramic view of the conflict returns to center stage. That's what you should be focusing on. Your duty... To the empire. To her.<br />
<br><br><br />
Streams of text, details of damage and destruction, cascade beside it -- a waterfall of data which will chronicle your ultimate victory or defeat. Sian ships have borne the brunt of things. You see countless entries, scarlet lines of information, about squadrons ravaged by losses or entirely wiped out -- pilots who were the last of their units now joining their brethren in the sands of time and the pages of history books.<br />
<br><br><br />
Your fellow subjects are putting themselves into the heart of the battle and facing the greatest dangers. They can do no less. Not with that blue-green orb revolving beyond the Centurian armada. How could they let their allies perish to liberate Sian, without inscribing their gratitude on the void with their own shed blood?<br />
<br><br><br />
The Centurians are paying dear for every life. Their own losses are almost inconceivable -- perhaps the most they've ever suffered in a single battle, or even an entire campaign.<br />
<br><br><br />
Innumerable dead, and things are still in the lap of the gods.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Attention, wretched human stink-beast..."<br />
<br><br><br />
Your attention falls on one of the small holographic screens. It expands, pushing aside the other minimized windows on that side of the main battle view, to reveal the face of a blue-skinned Rylattu female.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Our superior technology shows evidence of imminent hyperspace arrivals!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Another screen unfolds beside hers, further displacing the others. It contains a mass of strange, distorted colors -- a medley of blues and purples. It takes you a moment to realize that you're seeing an empty portion of space at the periphery of the battle, through the filter of some kind of bizarre, psychedelic lens.<br />
<br><br><br />
A marker appears on the huge panorama of the battle, denoting the location of this incandescent blur.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I don't-" you begin.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Energy signatures!"<br />
<br><br><br />
The colors are shifting, contracting, gathering as though to form... The outlines of starships.<br />
<br><br><br />
Familiar shapes come into being, long hulls adorned with crackling expanses of contained energy.<br />
<br><br><br />
Void Killers. But these are different from those you've fought before, and the ones elsewhere in this astral battlefield... They're larger. And something tells you that this isn't the extent of their enhancements.<br />
<br><br><br />
You can just make out the markings on their sides. They're from the 3rd Fleet. One of the guard dog fleets. They never leave Alpha Centauri... The Centurian Collective are whittling down their home system's defenses for the sake of bolstering the armada guarding Sian. They're getting desperate...<br />
<br><br><br />
The thought thrills you. But only for a moment. Then the Void Killers open their hatches.<br />
<br><br><br />
Glittering streams gush from them, billowing out into great clouds of silver mist. Hundreds upon hundreds of drones, unleashed to destroy.<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''A Bigger Fish'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z9_a3_q3.jpg|none|A Bigger Fish]]<br />
It's like a gas, a toxic fog that brings death wherever it drifts. Ships fall into its bulging, amorphous clouds, then disappear in muffled flashes of crimson and yellow.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Anti-drone countermeasures!" you say. "Now!"<br />
<br><br><br />
But you see what's happened.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Collective picked their moment well. The ships designed to neutralize drones are tied up on the other side of the battle, where they've been assisting against conventional Void Killer squadrons. So, that's why your enemies clustered them over there... Now your craft are bogged down in heavy fighting, pinned by the Centurian ships that swirl around them like spiders spinning an ensnaring web. They're struggling to survive. By the time their comrades could extricate them, and escort them to the advanced Void Killers that are causing such havoc elsewhere...<br />
<br><br><br />
But one ship is flying towards the murderous clouds, a vessel with a sleek, sloping hull. The Odyssey -- the craft you gave to the professor...<br />
<br><br><br />
"Mycroft?"<br />
<br><br><br />
The man from Diogenes appears in profile on a screen. He's fiddling with an incomprehensible terminal of some sort.<br />
<br><br><br />
"One moment! One moment!" He doesn't trouble to so much as glance towards you.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Tell your pilot to turn around! He's taking you into-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'm sorry, but I really must focus on my calculations."<br />
<br><br><br />
One of his mechanical servitor arms darts towards the camera. The screen goes blank.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Mycroft!"<br />
<br><br><br />
The screen flashes back to life. But this time it shows a young man who wears a blue jumpsuit on his broad-shouldered frame and a look of resignation on his dark, handsome features.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Thaddeus Trest," he says. "The professor's pilot."<br />
<br><br><br />
"You're flying towards those Void Killers!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes, Lord Commander. The professor's orders. He believes we can be of assistance with that particular problem."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I can disrupt the drones!" Mycroft's voice comes from some hidden recess of the Odyssey's bridge, beyond your sight. "But only for a short time. You'll have a small window in which to destroy the Void Killers. Now stop distracting me!"<br />
<br><br><br />
The screen goes blank once more.<br />
<br><br><br />
On another floating panel you see the Odyssey continuing on its path, making for the dangerous ships and their deadly clouds.<br />
<br><br><br />
Your eyes flash across the main screen, picking out the positions of each unit. There must be... Yes! That should work...<br />
<br><br><br />
You open another channel.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Commander Chun, I want those Void Killers destroyed. Move your squadron into position."<br />
<br><br><br />
"As you wish, Lord Commander," comes a woman's voice. "But against those drones..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Don't worry about the drones."<br />
<br><br><br />
You hope that did a better job of convincing her than it did of convincing yourself.<br />
<br><br><br />
The elegant, curved body of the Odyssey is near the edge of the silver cloud now. The fog seethes towards it, yearning for a fresh morsel.<br />
<br><br><br />
Dozens of tiny crimson lasers flash, ripple against its shields like a torrential downpour bombarding a puddle.<br />
<br><br><br />
And the Odyssey explodes.<br />
<br><br><br />
No... It didn't explode.<br />
<br><br><br />
There's an eruption of orange, but it isn't flame -- not a herald of the famed ship and celebrated professor's demise. It's like electricity... Crackling, dancing tendrils that caper around the hull before flaring in all directions.<br />
<br><br><br />
The nearest of the drones flash in turn, their minute silver bodies crackling as though in vain emulation. Others follow suit, the orange tendrils skipping and jumping throughout the entire vast host until the cloud itself seems to change color -- as though infused by the brilliance of a sun it sought to conceal with its voluminous expanse.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Now, Chun!"<br />
<br><br><br />
But the commander's squad is already diving.<br />
<br><br><br />
Sword ships, spacecraft fashioned in the shape of gigantic blades. And it's not just for show...<br />
<br><br><br />
The wave of celestial weapons plunges through the crackling clouds. Haywire drones offer no impediment. They break by the dozen, splattered against protective energy fields like bugs against a windshield. Then come the great collisions.<br />
<br><br><br />
Sword-tip prows pierce the Void Killers, penetrating their hulls, tearing through their innards. The rest of the blade-shaped crafts follow, widening the gaps, smashing through in their wake -- creating grievous, fatal wounds.<br />
<br><br><br />
One of the Sian vessels explodes in the midst of its transfixed enemy, its glorious thrust ending in heroic sacrifice. Perhaps its shields failed, or else it encountered something particularly destructive in that portion of the Void Killer.<br />
<br><br><br />
But the others emerge from the opposite sides, unscathed and victorious. Behind them the Centurian ships float as mangled, blazing wreckage. A worthy monument for the fallen Sian warriors.<br />
<br><br><br />
The crackling orange energy has dissipated, released the drones from its grasp. But they're lifeless now, drifting on invisible currents.<br />
<br><br><br />
Cheers emerge from perhaps a dozen of the screens, protocol abandoned in the thrill of victory. But a raised alien voice grinds through them all.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Stink-beasts! There are more energy signatures! More ships are emerging from hyperspace!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Silence descends. Your gaze flicks to the Rylattu's feed. This time it shows a broader sweep of space, a greater swath of blue and purple. The breath catches in your throat.<br />
<br><br><br />
Have they come after all? Your hand twitches once more.<br />
<br><br><br />
But the shapes resolve themselves into recognizable vessels. Familiar enemies. More Centurians. A fresh wave of fighters and cruisers. More forces torn from Alpha Centauri. A grim smile crosses your face. It would have been far more advantageous for them to dispatch these ships earlier, to support their Void Killers rather than throwing their fleet in piecemeal. They must be getting desperate. There may even be a rift in the Centurian High Council -- furious arguments about whether good ships should be thrown after bad.<br />
<br><br><br />
The thought delights you. But it can wait. For the moment...<br />
<br><br><br />
"Captain..." you say.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes, Lord Commander?"<br />
<br><br><br />
There's no trepidation in Silea's voice now. No clumsy salute on the holo-screen. With combat raging she's in her element, filled with a warrior's confidence. Just like you at her age. When the shooting started, the universe became yours.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Take us in. Engage the nearest cruiser. All weapons."<br />
<br><br><br />
There's a faintest pause. Then she smiles. She wants this just as much as you do.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Of course, Lord Commander."<br />
<br><br><br />
To hell with holding back, observing, and directing. It's time to destroy...<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Galactic Reaver'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_Boss_z9_a3.jpg|none|Galactic Reaver]]<br />
The Illaria is a beautiful, graceful spacecraft. Her elegant curves and sleek design resemble those of a fighter or a voyager rather than a warship. The gold and sapphire adornments on her hull give her the countenance of a precious treasure, a gleaming jewel.<br />
<br><br><br />
But like the woman after whom the vessel was named, in whose honor she now flies, there's boundless strength within.<br />
<br><br><br />
Artfully concealed weapons unleash their fury, cry out in vengeance. Their blasts thunder against the Centurian craft, battering its shields, making its hull shudder beneath their might.<br />
<br><br><br />
Nearby allies lend their weapons, and for one foolish moment you think of ordering them to hold fire -- lest they deny you your kill. But such vaingloriousness was never her way. And your comrades have earned the right to drink their fill of blood.<br />
<br><br><br />
A group of Doomsday Devices fly into position. Each is a titanic cannon, almost its entire body devoted to the weapon. They're more like pieces of artillery than vessels, designed not for exploration or travel or any other purpose save one: to obliterate. Their massive mouths open. Doom spews forth.<br />
<br><br><br />
The cruiser's shields flash, one final moan as though demanding to know how they could be expected to endure such punishment. Then the explosions start, as the Doomsday Devices' weapons and your own set greedy maws on the unveiled metal.<br />
<br><br><br />
Other ships converge, like wolves encircling a wounded deer, vultures descending upon a corpse. They smell blood, want their portion of the grim feast.<br />
<br><br><br />
Explosions roar across the cruiser's hull, a symphony of synthesized sound. When they're gone, it's just a drifting, broken hulk.<br />
<br><br><br />
Now you have the taste for blood as well.<br />
<br><br><br />
You scan the screens, like an ancient warlord in search of fresh worlds to conquer. And this time you want a more substantial enemy.<br />
<br><br><br />
There, across the pandemonium... Outlined against the planet. A massive craft, perhaps the biggest in the Collective's armada. Their flagship in this battle, it seems. It's held back from the fray just as you did -- observing and directing instead of bringing its mighty weapons to bear.<br />
<br><br><br />
You'll put a stop to that.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Captain Silea, you see that Galactic Reaver?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Engage it?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes."<br />
<br><br><br />
-------------------------------------<br />
<br><br />
You feel the tremor, undulating beneath the soles of your boots. Then another, that rocks your chair and makes the world shudder around you.<br />
<br><br><br />
"We're hit, Lord Commander." There's no panic in Silea's voice, no anxiousness in the face on the screen. She might as well be informing you that dinner is being served in the canteen.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I noticed."<br />
<br><br><br />
Half a dozen screens of equal size, arranged in a grid, show you the situation from as many different angles. The Illaria and the Galactic Reaver, locked in combat -- a grey mass that somehow reminds you of a giant metal anteater blasting away at the smaller warship that circles around it and returns fire.<br />
<br><br><br />
Other craft are gathering, weighing in on one side or the other. Now that the two command ships are clashing, their black king and your white queen, everyone wants to pitch into the fray. The broader battle still rages around you. This is but one portion of astral aggression among dozens and dozens of others. And yet you know that this exchange, this galactic duel, celestial skirmish, will end it all.<br />
<br><br><br />
An image flashes across your mind. A white gleaming gown. Redness.<br />
<br><br><br />
Some blows can change everything. The loss of a leader, a champion... Spirits can break just as easily as metal.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Illaria fires another burst, weapons strafing the grey hull as Silea tries to put you out of the line of return fire. But the yellow beam lances towards you, crashes against your shields. Another tremor.<br />
<br><br><br />
Your captain is skilled, capable. But she's far from masterful when it comes to the intricacies of warship to warship combat. In truth, neither are you. You're a pilot...<br />
<br><br><br />
You reach out and press a button.<br />
<br><br><br />
The terminals in front of you shift, screens and control panels moving aside with the soundless efficiency of precision engineering. Something unfolds with the same noiselessness. You recline in your chair, its back adjusting to your movement, and take hold of the emerging contraption.<br />
<br><br><br />
Holographic windows give way just like the terminals, the multi-angled displays of the Illaria and Galactic Reaver slipping aside to yield their space to an immense rectangle. This time it doesn't show the panorama, the martial vista, from a distant point. You're looking at the Centurian flagship as though through the Illaria's own eyes.<br />
<br><br><br />
During your days at the academy you studied millennia of military history. As a gifted pilot, many of the classes you attended focused on naval battles -- the archaic precursors to space combat, in the days when water rather than the void represented the alien element for which mankind had to adapt the ways of war.<br />
<br><br><br />
Among the innumerable facts which battered your brain in an effort to secure purchase there, you learned about a tactic employed by certain ancient and medieval forces whose martial knowledge and experience focused on land combat. Rather than attempting to engage in clumsy naval tactics for which they were ill-equipped, they instead drew their ships alongside those of their enemies and fastened the vessels together. Thus they created a floating battlefield, on which they could use their swords and spears to slay their foes. A stratagem almost childish in its simplicity. But effective nonetheless. Useful enough to have survived to the modern day, echoed by Niflung boarding tactics and the like.<br />
<br><br><br />
It was a valuable lesson. If you aren't adept at one form of combat, perhaps you should turn the situation into one which better favors you.<br />
<br><br><br />
You press another control.<br />
<br><br><br />
"We've lost primary weapons and thrusters!" Now there's panic in Silea's voice. Of course there is. It's every captain's worst nightmare -- to be in the middle of a life or death struggle and find that your ship has inexplicably betrayed you.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Don't worry, captain."<br />
<br><br><br />
"But-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"I've taken them."<br />
<br><br><br />
You test the controls in your hands. They respond as if they were born to feel your touch. As indeed they were. Another contingency plan, set in motion when the Illaria was being brought to life in the shipyard.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Galactic Reaver's main blaster cannons fire. Twin yellow beams flash straight at you, as though they'll break through the surface of the holographic screen and annihilate you in your chair.<br />
<br><br><br />
You throw the craft into a spin, evading the clumsy fire. Then you plunge into an attack pattern -- your weapons raking against the shimmering barriers that appear over the Reaver's grey hull.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Captain, are you flying that thing?" Talia's voice sounds in your ear.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Why not?"<br />
<br><br><br />
The gunslinger laughs.<br />
<br><br><br />
You twirl the ship through the void, making her a dancer performing on the black heavens' interstellar stage. The ship's artificial gravity serves its purpose admirably -- keeping you and your crew anchored to the floor instead of throwing you against the walls or ceiling.<br />
<br><br><br />
There are bleeps from several of the screens. Probably people wanting to know why you've taken leave of your senses. You silence them all with a gesture.<br />
<br><br><br />
Granted, most commanders placed in charge of a flagship would be deemed insane if they tried anything like this. But most flagship commanders aren't ace pilots...<br />
<br><br><br />
Sapphire-colored lasers whisper across the Reaver's shields, probing and weakening. The immense anteater swivels, as though trying to keep its great metal snout pointed at the Illaria. Its commander wants your ship in reach of its most powerful weapons. Good luck with that...<br />
<br><br><br />
Another dive, then a sharp ascent. The Illaria's graceful shape and powerful, tactically placed thrusters give her unsurpassed agility for a vessel her size. And you know how to turn it to good use in the shifting, whirling theater of space combat. More weapons fire, pummeling the Reaver's underbelly.<br />
<br><br><br />
Still the grey flagship tries to chase you, a dog trying to catch its own tail. Like you, the Galactic Reaver should be overseeing the battle -- commanding its forces. Instead it's trying to fight the ship which runs rings around it. A glance at the secondary displays reveals that this distraction isn't to their benefit.<br />
<br><br><br />
Whereas your fleet may well have been left in superior hands. For by prior arrangement Master Wu was to take command if you were killed or otherwise incapacitated, and you signaled him to do so the moment you began your unorthodox dogfight.<br />
<br><br><br />
So it is that your comrades, inspired by the way you're making a fool of the Centurian flagship, aided by Wu Tenchu's cunning mind, are striking hard against the Collective's fleet. More and more are converging on the duel between the Illaria and Reaver as well, lending their support and their weapons.<br />
<br><br><br />
And you still haven't played your trump card.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Captain Silea, open a communication channel with them."<br />
<br><br><br />
"With the Reaver?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes. I doubt their commander will refuse it."<br />
<br><br><br />
A moment later the pale, scarred face of a middle-aged man appears above your primary viewing screen. He's standing at his command station, clenching its sides with fingers even paler than his face.<br />
<br><br> <br />
You knew he'd accept. He wants to see the woman he's dueling. Good...<br />
<br><br><br />
"If you wish to make your surrender..." he says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I don't. I just wanted to deliver a message. Behind you."<br />
<br><br><br />
The man whirls round, his hand groping for a sidearm. He freezes in place, his body tensing, the back of his neck reddening as he realizes that he's been made a fool of.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That's not what I meant..."<br />
<br><br><br />
You break the connection.<br />
<br><br><br />
There's a flash on one of the tertiary monitors. It shows the area of space beyond the Galactic Reaver. The brightness dissipates in a split-second, as the Asimov and the rest of Wilex's fleet complete their hyperspace jump -- arriving fresh from their victory above Zhen Bao.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Unload everything," you say.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Chief Assembler does. So do you. So do all the other ships swarming around the grey anteater.<br />
<br><br><br />
It's overkill. It's glorious.<br />
<br><br></div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/The_Story/A_Masterful_Stratagem/The_Escape&diff=59728LotS/The Story/A Masterful Stratagem/The Escape2013-08-26T02:19:19Z<p>Samoan: </p>
<hr />
<div><font size="3">'''The Escape'''</font><br><br />
"If you're thinking of visiting Sian, don't."<br />
<br><br><br />
-- Vagrant's Guide to the Cosmos (revised edition, published after the Centurian invasion)<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
"He's dead," you say. "I'm on my way back."<br />
<br><br><br />
A barrage of joy greets the pronouncement. Then you emerge from the gallery, and realize that it's a little premature.<br />
<br><br><br />
Two Centurians are at the far end of the corridor, crouching over a couple of artfully butchered bodies.<br />
<br><br><br />
You fire twice, adding fresh corpses atop the old ones. But it's too late. Alarms are blaring, filling the air with their angry insistence.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Ragnar!" You yell his name as you run, winding your way along the corridors. "Break the bars! Break them!"<br />
<br><br><br />
You come into the prison passage in time to see the Niflung hurling them aside -- along with the not inconsiderable chunks of the floor and ceiling which are still attached to them.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Emperor steps over the remaining debris.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Run," you say. "Secret passage."<br />
<br><br><br />
He nods, and joins the others as they sprint. You bring up the rear, falling into place to protect him -- to help him if he slows or stumbles. But he's fit and fast in spite of his years, and manages to match their pace.<br />
<br><br><br />
So close... You have to make it...<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Fist of the Emperor'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z8_a5_q1.jpg|none|Fist of the Emperor]]<br />
"Enemies!" Ragnar shouts the word aloud, abandoning his implant.<br />
<br><br><br />
Given that his next action is to barge into a group of Centurians, scattering them in all directions, that seems fair enough. The time for stealth is over.<br />
<br><br><br />
Talia's pistols and Telemachus' blaster spring to life in mid-run, ensuring that none of the fallen soldiers will rise again.<br />
<br><br><br />
But more of the Collective's guards have gathered ahead of you, in the larger chamber into which the room containing the entrance to the secret passage opens. Red laser fire zaps towards you. However, most are brandishing melee weapons. It occurs to you that they don't want to kill the Emperor -- to forever lose their hostage. They can't risk him being slain in the crossfire. Yet even so, it would only take one stray shot...<br />
<br><br><br />
"Stay behind me, Your Majesty," you say, as your companions spread out to engage them.<br />
<br><br><br />
"No."<br />
<br><br><br />
The word is so utterly unexpected that you don't even register its meaning until the Emperor springs towards the nearest Centurian -- moving with impossible, inconceivable speed and grace. If the soldier has orders to recapture the prisoner, he abandons them in his panic. He raises his rifle in shaking hands and unleashes a blast of laser fire.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Emperor's hand rises, suffused with a faint glow, and the beam simply stops against his flesh. Then he lunges forward, his other hand leading the way like the tip of a lance, its fingers curling into a fist.<br />
<br><br><br />
Armor cracks like the shell of an egg. The Centurian flies across the room as though blasted by a powerful explosion instead of a punch -- dark blood gushing from his mouth. When he lands, he lies still.<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''More Haste, Less Speeder'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z8_a5_q2.jpg|none|More Haste, Less Speeder]]<br />
"You're psionic!" Ragnar says.<br />
<br><br><br />
You crowd into the little chamber, leaving Centurian bodies littering the ground behind you. In a moment you're moving through the secret passage, the blaring noise growing quieter as you place more of its shadowy length between yourselves and the alarms.<br />
<br><br><br />
No one other than the Niflung would be so indecorous as to question the Sian Emperor, but you can sense the curiosity radiating from those around you -- reflecting your own.<br />
<br><br><br />
"My ancestors called it chi," he replies. "It's the nexus around which my Imperial Fist style is built."<br />
<br><br><br />
A contemplative look appears on Ragnar's face. If you get out of this alive, you expect that he'll later ask you where he can get hold of some chi.<br />
<br><br><br />
The darkness of the gardens wraps you in a cooling embrace as you rush into the wet night air.<br />
<br><br><br />
Your gaze sweeps across the dead trees and devastated flower beds. There's no sign of any enemies. If they don't know about the passage, you still have the advantage...<br />
<br><br><br />
"Captain!" Wu Tenchu's voice is almost a shout. Even the stoic mandarin in his distant vantage place feels the dire urgency of the situation. The Emperor's escape, perhaps the fate of the entire war, hangs in the balance. "There are Centurians approaching from the eastern part of the gardens. I've intercepted their communications. It's a hover speeder unit."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Silence them," you say. "We'll do the rest."<br />
<br><br><br />
You all slow your pace. There's no way you'll outrun speeders. And you'll need your energy to fight with. But every cloud has a silver lining, and a plan is already percolating in your mind.<br />
<br><br><br />
You're near the lake when the long, slender vehicles appear -- each carrying two Centurians on its back. Weapons fire from their pistols pulses in the night.<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Hover Speeder Havoc'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z8_a5_q3.jpg|none|Hover Speeder Havoc]]<br />
"Secure the vehicles," you say. "Don't destroy them unless you have to. Ragnar -- I'm looking at you."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Heh."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Well, carjacking isn't generally my crime of choice," Lupin says, "but I'll see what I can do..."<br />
<br><br><br />
The next moment he's atop one of the speeders, its former occupants rolling on the ground. Talia jumps into its other seat, and hitches a ride just long enough for the thief to swerve close to another of the vehicles. Then she fires twice, springs into the second speeder's now vacant driver position before it can crash, and swings back round to pick up a passenger.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Niflung, perhaps heeding your previous admonition, jumps onto the speeder which hurtles towards him instead of blowing it up with a stream of machinegun fire. He drives his axe through the surprised driver's helmet, allowing Kess -- fresh from launching the passenger off the back with a flying kick -- to clamber to the controls.<br />
<br><br><br />
With the murderous precision you've come to expect from your friends, your plan comes to fruition.<br />
<br><br><br />
"There are more speeders," Wu Tenchu says. "I believe they may intercept you on the way to the landing pad."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Understood. Lu Bu," you say, "take the Emperor."<br />
<br><br><br />
The ruler of the Sian Empire seems to balk for a moment at the thought of entrusting his life to a robot, until Illaria speaks out from Lu Bu's electronic mouth -- urging his compliance. He climbs into the rear seat.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Don't stop for anything," you say. "We'll keep them off you."<br />
<br><br><br />
"With me?" Telemachus asks, pulling his hover speeder to a stop next to you.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Sure. Just don't make this payback for Drekchester."<br />
<br><br><br />
You climb into the passenger seat, wait just a moment to make sure the rest of your companions are safely ensconced on their vehicles and in motion, then signal for the prince to get moving.<br />
<br><br><br />
The vehicles are a godsend. Now you don't have to go around the lake...<br />
<br><br><br />
In a few minutes the hover speeders are skimming across it, throwing up banks of spray on either side of their agile frames. You're still above the water when you catch sight of the enemy vehicles Master Wu warned you about.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Get me close enough to shoot," you say.<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''The Empire's Finest'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z8_a5_q4.jpg|none|The Empire's Finest]]<br />
Larger firearms are difficult to wield effectively on the back of hover speeders. Thus a speeder-to-speeder battle usually becomes a close-range exchange of pistol fire -- each gunner using one hand for stability and the other to take potshots.<br />
<br><br><br />
Unless you're Talia, who thinks nothing of standing upright on the back of a vehicle and firing both weapons from that precarious position.<br />
<br><br><br />
Between your three firearms the speeder crews who sought to intercept you fare no better than their predecessors. One by one their bodies and vehicles splash into the lake, and you continue your exodus on the grass beyond.<br />
<br><br><br />
It's as you crest the imperial gardens' wall -- soaring just over it, high enough to avoid the explosives arrayed on top but too low to trigger the anti-ship security measures -- that you see the dark shapes of enemy aircraft in the distant skies.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Move it!" you yell, though the words are superfluous. Everyone's already making for the ship, pushing the speeders for all they're worth.<br />
<br><br><br />
Lupin and Talia, you and Telemachus bring up the rear -- having held back to secure the escape. Your companions are already on board when you arrive, leap off your vehicles, and run for the invisible entrance. Slamming into the side of a spaceship during training exercises is a wonderful incentive to remember whereabouts the entry point is. Thus you all disappear inside without mishap.<br />
<br><br><br />
The nearest of the aircraft descend at the same moment, their gunfire raking the tarmac as the hatch closes behind you.<br />
<br><br><br />
There's a shudder. The world rocks around you as shots burst against the hull.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Silver Shadow is already rising by the time you drop into the pilot's seat. Under the circumstances, Talia hasn't stood on ceremony.<br />
<br><br><br />
"We've lost cloaking, captain."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Great... Strap yourselves in, everyone."<br />
<br><br><br />
The gunships fall away behind and below you. Helicopters aren't exactly built to chase spacecraft. But the red blips you see on the scanner... Those are a different story.<br />
<br><br><br />
Bright blasts of weapons fire lance through the air as you climb towards the periphery of Sian's atmosphere, and break free into the void beyond. Space, a tantalizing infinity of potential escape routes, stretches before you. But it isn't untenanted...<br />
<br><br><br />
"Centurian war ships," Talia says. "A whole fleet of them."<br />
<br><br><br />
The alert has gone out. The predators are gathering.<br />
<br><br><br />
"What's the plan?" she asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Survive long enough to hit hyperspace."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I like it."<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''???'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_Boss_z8_a5.jpg|none|???]]<br />
Networks of laser fire crisscross the black heavens, grids of death and destruction. Swarms of fighter ships swim after you, weapons blazing. Great silver clouds of tiny drone ships surge like immense schools of minnows -- turning space into a seascape. Warships and cruisers loom towards you, their immense bulk promising annihilation.<br />
<br><br><br />
But none of that matters. Your hyperspace engines are powered up.<br />
<br><br><br />
The cheer which rings through the cabin when the galaxy blurs through the window seems to last for an eternity. Even the Emperor lends his voice to it. And millions upon millions of miles distant, aboard a TALOS cruiser, Wilex, Wu Tenchu, and Princess Illaria celebrate a victory which no others onboard even know exists yet.<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
"Everything's ready," the Chief Assembler says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Looking good, Wilex," Talia says.<br />
<br><br><br />
On the monitor his face widens into a grin. His dress uniform is indeed rather more resplendent than the simple, functional garb you usually see him wearing.<br />
<br><br><br />
"We'll be docking in a few minutes," you say.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Princess has prepared quite the event to mark her father's freedom. The ceremonial chamber on Wilex's cruiser will play host to the Emperor's return and his reunion with his daughter -- an event which will be broadcast across human space to hearten the Sian Empire's subjects and allies, and grind the spirits of the Centurians further into the dirt.<br />
<br><br><br />
Everyone will know that the Emperor once again sits in command of the empire, that nothing stands between you and Sian's liberation any longer.<br />
<br><br><br />
Crowds of servants mob you on the floor of the hanger the moment you step from the Silver Shadow. Some try to foist fancy clothing on you. Others offer to apply makeup. You're ruminating on your options when Wu Tenchu appears and waves them all away.<br />
<br><br><br />
The mandarin bows low before the Emperor, and the two exchange words of happy friendship. But even at the height of his ecstasy, the cunning and calculating mandarin has advice for the coming event. He suggests that you and your companions remain in your current attire -- though he can't quite conceal his unfavorable glance at Ragnar's bare chest -- to convey to those watching the broadcast that you're warriors fresh from the battlefield, as it were. To play up the heroism of the empire's children and allies.<br />
<br><br><br />
There's something to this, so you follow Master Wu's suggestion.<br />
<br><br><br />
Lupin comes to your side as the Emperor is plied with a choice of appropriate hats for the occasion, and Wu Tenchu departs to take up his position in the hall.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It's been fun, my dear, but I'm afraid I'll have to bow out. My face, ruggedly handsome though it may be, is hardly suitable for splashing across an interstellar broadcast."<br />
<br><br><br />
"And I should do the same," Kess says. "The Princess was kind enough to arrange pardons for me. But even so, it isn't the occasion for people to see a notorious assassin."<br />
<br><br><br />
You can offer no argument. So you make your farewells, telling both of them just how grateful you are for their aid -- and promising the empire's support if ever they need it, knowing that the Princess and her father will gladly honor such a vow under the circumstances.<br />
<br><br><br />
So when you're finally led towards the ceremony hall it's your old companions who follow in the Emperor's wake alongside you.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Thank you."<br />
<br><br><br />
Illaria's soft voice, little more than a whisper, tingles in your ear. A smile crosses your face.<br />
<br><br><br />
Then you're at the double doors.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Showtime, captain," Talia murmurs. Her eyes sparkle.<br />
<br><br><br />
The doors part, separating to reveal the trappings of celebration and victory. Sian Guardsmen line one side of the hall, their crisp white uniforms pristine and shining. Opposite them are TALOS robots, their bodies beautifully engineered and adorned. The warriors of two nations, two powers -- two allies now bound together by the deepest of ties.<br />
<br><br><br />
At the far end of the chamber, beneath a spectacular artwork formed of cogs and gears, are Wilex and Wu Tenchu -- side by side, each man draped in his finery.<br />
<br><br><br />
Princess Illaria stands before them, dressed in a fabulous white gown that echoes her beauty and radiates the magnificence of the ancient empire she was born to lead.<br />
<br><br><br />
She turns. And it's you that her shining eyes fall upon first -- you she first favors with the gentle warmth of her smile.<br />
<br><br><br />
Then her gaze travels to the face of her father, the man she must have feared she would never see again.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Emperor moves towards her, and she comes to him in turn. When they meet in the middle of the hall there's no prim and proper bow, no display of centuries-old protocol. Instead they throw their arms around each other. Not ruler and heir, Emperor and Princess, but father and daughter.<br />
<br><br><br />
The two of them turn as though with the force of their embrace. Orbiting worlds rotating by the might of their shared gravitation pulls. The Emperor comes to face you over her shoulder, bliss written upon his aged features.<br />
<br><br><br />
Then his eyes... tremble.<br />
<br><br><br />
A strange shudder fills each of them, as though his very eyeballs are warring against themselves. When the trembling stops, they're bright red. The bliss sloughs from his face, leaving only... malice... in its wake.<br />
<br><br><br />
The voice of a dead woman resounds in your mind.<br />
<br><br><br />
"No! Stay away from him! Stay away-"<br />
<br><br><br />
You dash forward. The Emperor speaks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Councilor Dule sends his regards."<br />
<br><br><br />
The universe slows. You're running. The Emperor's arm is moving. The Princess' body is tensing. And you know you won't make it. You'll never make it. Fate is sweeping it all away...<br />
<br><br><br />
His fist thunders into her, striking her face with the force of bloodline and chi, destiny and doom. There's... redness. An explosion of redness. A shower of blood and...<br />
<br><br><br />
Her body falls. It lies full length upon the floor, alongside the wreckage of her skull.<br />
<br><br><br />
There are shouts, and screams. You hear them. They register in your ears, become part of a tapestry of subconscious thought. But you don't move. Can't move. Your eyes see only redness.<br />
<br><br><br />
Commotion all around you. Trained pilot's instincts drink it in, assess and evaluate. Sian Guardsmen, staring in horror. Weapons in their hands, half-raised. The Princess... But the Emperor. Oaths have been sworn. They can't act. Not against him. Even Master Wu stands in indecision, frozen like you. Statues watching the apocalypse.<br />
<br><br><br />
The TALOS robots turn to Wilex, waiting for commands. What can he do? What should he do? He orders them to restrain the Emperor. They try. One by one their shattered bodies fly against the wall -- smashed by the Imperial Fist. A guardsman tries as well. Redness.<br />
<br><br><br />
Laser fire. One of them has raised his rifle, oath be damned. The Emperor's hand flashes up to intercept the beam. He leaps and lunges. Redness.<br />
<br><br><br />
Your companions move.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Captain!" Talia cries.<br />
<br><br><br />
Your eyes are still on her. Redness, eternal redness.<br />
<br><br><br />
Lu Bu leaps at the Emperor. His metal fist is parried. A low, cutting kick hits the robot -- breaking his legs, scattered metal bouncing across the floor. Not even time for his body to fall. A punch. Torso flies across the room, raining machinery. Slams against the wall. Falls to the floor. He screams in powerless rage, unable to act. Just like you.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Niflung charges, war cry bellowing. Powerful body. A Heracles of a man. But his snatching arms meet empty air. His fist the same. The Emperor's fares better. Huge form hurtles through the air, smashing two robots beneath its bulk. He tries to rise. There's a whir. Broken cybernetics. Roars. Then splutters.<br />
<br><br><br />
Talia's pistols... Never miss. Laser after laser. All perfect. All meet his hands. Come to nothing. The Emperor strikes. She tries to slip away. Glancing blow. Enough to shatter ribs, send her tumbling across the floor.<br />
<br><br><br />
Illaria... Redness.<br />
<br><br><br />
Telemachus is behind the Emperor. Cunning boy. He swings his chainsaw. Silent laser blade. Silent but sensed. The Emperor's foot drives down. Hits his knee. Metal breaks. So does bone. The prince shrieks. That's what does it.<br />
<br><br><br />
It's a child's cry, the scream of little boy. Maturity, intelligence, courage -- all eclipsed by pain. He falls on the floor. The Emperor crouches, raises his fist.<br />
<br><br><br />
You draw your pistol. Fire.<br />
<br><br><br />
Open palm blocks the beam. You knew it would. Doesn't matter. Distraction. Bring him away from the boy...<br />
<br><br><br />
Evil eyes glare at you, wicked face smiles. You walk towards him, toss the gun aside. Useless.<br />
<br><br><br />
He comes towards you as well. The prince is forgotten. You and the Emperor. No one else...<br />
<br><br><br />
-------------------------------------<br />
<br><br />
His eyes widen. He doesn't understand. You don't understand. It doesn't matter.<br />
<br><br><br />
She's on the ground. Redness.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Emperor strikes, a lunging cobra. You parry. You punch. His nose breaks.<br />
<br><br><br />
He kicks. Your knee rises, blocks the blow. Boot flashes up and catches him under the jaw. Blood bursts from his mouth, a fresh torrent from his nose. Imperial blood. Her blood...<br />
<br><br><br />
"You..." he says.<br />
<br><br><br />
The word is a splutter. Almost lost. Meaningless anyway. No... Not meaningless. He understands. You understand. Psionic powers. Chi. Ancestors. Blue dragon.<br />
<br><br><br />
He punches. You block. Your knee in his groin, elbow in the side of his face. More blood. A flurry of blows, blasting him, breaking him. He staggers. Can barely stand.<br />
<br><br><br />
His eyes shudder. They tremble. There's a flicker. He's still in there... The Emperor. He can be saved, psychic brainwashing reversed. There's still a chance... Save him, save the empire...<br />
<br><br><br />
You look past him, to the headless body in red and white. No... No redemption.<br />
<br><br><br />
Your eyes meet his. He reads death there. So do you.<br />
<br><br><br />
You raise your fist. No mercy, no redemption. There's a tremor inside you, in your bones. No... Not bones. Blood. In your blood. It's singing, calling, crying, screaming. Yes... It was always in your blood.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kasan," you whisper. Strange word. But your blood answers.<br />
<br><br><br />
Your fist glows. His eyes widen.<br />
<br><br><br />
You punch. Imperial Fist. Chi. Ancestor. Blue dragon. Orange eyes. Blood. Yours, his. Hers.<br />
<br><br><br />
His ribs shatter. Blood and smashed organs rupture from his back. It's like a cannon's exit wound.<br />
<br><br><br />
He falls. In the end you all fall...<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
You stare into the void. Vast blackness, like the abyss. Like the inside of your soul. No... The void has stars and light. You have none. Not anymore.<br />
<br><br><br />
The bottle is warm against your lips. The alcohol burns softly. It's the same bottle. The one you shared.<br />
<br><br><br />
With that memory come others. All the little victories you won, each one filling you with damnable pride, making you think you were a hero -- that glory and triumph would always dog your steps. You thought you were invincible, the best. But you were outsmarted, outthought, overcome by superior strategy.<br />
<br><br><br />
Councilor Dule... He knew what you would do, what you would plan when he sent you the vid of the Emperor in his cell. Of course a woman like you would think to save him, would be so arrogant as to attempt the impossible. And he let you, offering just enough resistance not to raise your suspicions.<br />
<br><br><br />
Psychic brainwashing... Turning the Emperor into a weapon, a way to eliminate both him and the Princess in a single stroke... Dark genius, against which you were a mere victim. No... You weren't the victim. She was. Your role is worse. Much worse. Because of you, your failure...<br />
<br><br><br />
You set the bottle down on the little table. There's only so much it can do.<br />
<br><br><br />
Instead you pick up the heavier object beside it, press its mouth against the underside of your jaw. The bottle was warm. This is cold, like the grave. Like the void. Like her body.<br />
<br><br><br />
Your finger crawls onto the trigger. You stare into the void. Into failure.<br />
<br><br><br />
The door behind you slides open.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Get out!"<br />
<br><br><br />
There's no reply. Just footsteps and the rustling of robes.<br />
<br><br><br />
"There's something you must see." Master Wu's voice.<br />
<br><br><br />
You turn, ready to blaze with anger, to curse him, to demand that he leave you. The words die when you see him.<br />
<br><br><br />
He's still wearing the same clothes from before, soaked and stained with blood. Imperial blood. Ruined finery, crumpled and torn. His face is pale, like that of a corpse. His cheeks are sunken, his eyes red. The dignified certainty of the mandarin, of the Emperor's chief advisor, is gone. Only a broken man remains. Just like the broken woman who sits before him.<br />
<br><br><br />
He holds something out to you. You take it without looking. But its unexpected feel and texture make you look down at it. It's a piece of paper.<br />
<br><br><br />
"She wrote this after you rescued her from Hyperia, and left it in my care. I was to give it to you, if... Read it. Whatever else you may do, read it first."<br />
<br><br><br />
Wu Tenchu drifts from the chamber. The door slides closed behind him, shielding you from his grief and him from yours. Shutting out the world once more.<br />
<br><br><br />
Thick, fragrant writing paper. Beautiful calligraphy dances across it, the effortless elegance of one raised and taught to nurture such talent. It's her hand.<br />
<br><br><br />
You read.<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
[Name],<br />
<br><br><br />
You saved me again, like you always do.<br />
<br><br><br />
But we both know how close I came to dying on the Zenith, and then on Drekchester, on Hyperia. Anything could have happened to me. I should have known that already, when I chose to take part in the attack. All it takes is one blast, one bullet, and it could all be over.<br />
<br><br><br />
We live dangerous lives. You know that more than anyone. And if something happens to me, if I'm ever taken again, or if I don't survive, I need to know that the Sian Empire will be safe. Our people must have someone to guide them, to lead them. To protect them.<br />
<br><br><br />
That's why I intend to leave a formal document with Master Wu. It states that if I can no longer carry out my duties, and if my father cannot carry out his, you will be named Imperial Jian. You'll be given full command over all imperial forces and subjects, and have the authority to act in my family's stead until Sian is liberated.<br />
<br><br><br />
There's no one in the galaxy I'd sooner entrust with such a duty.<br />
<br><br><br />
Illaria<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
You stare at the missive until the words swirl and blur. Imperial Jian...<br />
<br><br><br />
That's how much she trusted you, how highly she thought of you. And you repaid her by watching as she died.<br />
<br><br><br />
You move to cast the letter aside, to toss away the words and honor which you're unworthy of. Yet somehow you can't.<br />
<br><br><br />
She wanted you to liberate the empire. To protect its people. Duty stares at you from each stroke of her pen.<br />
<br><br><br />
But that was before... Before you caused her death by falling into Dule's trap, before you killed the Emperor and broke the empire's spirit -- allowing the whole of human space to witness its darkest day.<br />
<br><br><br />
You raise your pistol, feel your hand tense around it. Peace... Eternal peace. Punishment and retribution for your crimes, and then endless serenity -- away from the anger and anguish.<br />
<br><br><br />
The paper in one hand, the gun in the other. Each feels heavy in your grasp. Life or death. Duty or justice. Peace or suffering. Oblivion or the unknown.<br />
<br><br><br />
You have a choice to make.<br />
<br><br></div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/The_Story/A_Masterful_Stratagem/Imperial_Palace&diff=59727LotS/The Story/A Masterful Stratagem/Imperial Palace2013-08-26T02:18:34Z<p>Samoan: </p>
<hr />
<div><font size="3">'''Imperial Palace'''</font><br><br />
"The imperial palace in Lanjin Cheng might best be described as palatial. After all, that's sort of what the adjective is for.<br />
<br><br><br />
But if one wishes to go beyond that, the magnificent edifice -- which any subject or tourist may gaze upon from the beyond the gates -- brings to mind the glories of ancient China. It's as though the entire building were lifted from the days of legendary heroes and long-dead rulers, hurled across the galaxy, and implanted upon this so distant world.<br />
<br><br><br />
It's small wonder that so many people will travel the length and breadth of human space simply to look upon it, and marvel at the echoes of human civilization."<br />
<br><br><br />
-- Vagrant's Guide to the Cosmos<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
You insist that Ragnar bathe himself in the lake to remove the stinking serpent innards from his flesh. He does so begrudgingly, before drying himself through the simple expedient of activating some of his cybernetic augmentations -- heating his body up until the water evaporates from his muscles in tendrils of steam.<br />
<br><br><br />
The rain has died along with the monster, the violent storm perishing -- its fury spent in but a short time. The last lingering drops of its life have fallen by the time you arrive at the palace wall and are reunited with the others.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Now we get to the difficult part," Lupin says.<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Ancient Chinese Secret'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z8_a4_q1.jpg|none|Ancient Chinese Secret]]<br />
"This passage will be the key to your success," Wu Tenchu said.<br />
<br><br><br />
You and your companions had assembled in Wilex's private workshop, a chamber with walls covered in curious sketches, unfathomable technical diagrams, and a myriad illustrations of robots that ranged from comical silver boxes on legs to androids exquisite in their complexity.<br />
<br><br><br />
The mandarin's finger traced a circle around part of the holographic image of the palace's plans, causing a glowing ring to come into being there.<br />
<br><br><br />
"These plans..." you said. "They're different from the ones I studied in the embassy. That passage wasn't there."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I drew these diagrams myself," Master Wu replied, "to provide you with a more... accurate... copy."<br />
<br><br><br />
"It's a secret passage!" Telemachus said.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Precisely. Built by the edict of the First Emperor, by servants upon whose silence he knew he could rely."<br />
<br><br><br />
"An escape route, for when the peasants decided to revolt?" Lupin asked.<br />
<br><br><br />
Wu Tenchu's eyes narrowed.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It was constructed to provide the Emperor with a covert egress, a way he might leave the palace unnoticed by his advisors and bodyguards. He wished to move among his people, to see and hear things from which a ruler would normally be isolated."<br />
<br><br><br />
"The First Emperor's writings speak of this," Lu Bu said. "They refer to him walking the streets in disguise."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Subsequent rulers did likewise," Wu Tenchu replied. "And this passage is what made it possible."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Did you know about it?" Telemachus asked, looking at Princess Illaria.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I knew there was a secret passage somewhere in the palace," she replied, "but I didn't know where."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I believe the secret is contained within your father's private documents, to come into your possession upon your ascension to empress."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Then how, if I may be so bold, did you come to learn about it?" Lupin asked.<br />
<br><br><br />
A flicker of emotion crossed the mandarin's face, one you'd never seen there before. It dawned on you that he was embarrassed.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I once found myself wandering the gardens at night, ruminating over a political problem which had recently proven very vexing. I saw the Emperor in the distance, moving in most curious manner. He was winding his way among the trees as though seeking to escape observation. He hadn't noticed me, and so..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"You followed him?" you asked.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I..." The mandarin bowed to the Princess. "Forgive me, Highness. I was a young man at the time, and curiosity got the better of me. Though I had no right to pry, I-"<br />
<br><br><br />
Illaria gestured with her hand, dismissing the advisor's qualms. Her eyes were bright, eager to hear this secret which might help bring about her father's freedom.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I watched him approach a remote part of the palace, far away from the entrances I had expected him to head towards. He pressed a button which was concealed amongst the elements of a sculpture..."<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
The sad remains of a stone dragon stretch along the wall, its body smashed and broken by cruel, unthinking blows. Its eye, dull and scarred, regards you as though in query -- asking why such a fate has befallen it.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It was child's play to find the button," Lupin says. "Notice how this part of the sculpture hasn't broken away, like the bits around it?"<br />
<br><br><br />
The thief points towards a little piece of stone that once made up a segment of the creature's tail.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It was almost certainly fashioned at a later date and from a different material -- something much hardier -- though it was made it look and feel exactly like the bit it was replacing. It survived whatever careless vandalism damaged its surroundings."<br />
<br><br><br />
He reaches out, and applies his fingers to the stone in a series of quick and curious taps.<br />
<br><br><br />
"A simple blow wouldn't have triggered it. Quite clever, these ancient devices."<br />
<br><br><br />
The dragon's eye shines, filled with a blazing light as though rejuvenated. A beam pours from the orb, widening to create a rectangular holographic display. Just as Master Wu told you it would.<br />
<br><br><br />
A grid fills the projection, a series of flashing squares containing glowing Chinese characters. The symbols are ephemeral, each disappearing every second -- its place in the grid usurped by a new character which comes into being before it too vanishes and is replaced.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Now comes the bad news," Lupin says. "I can't seem to hack into it, either to forcibly solve the puzzle or to simply open the door it's securing. Never seen a system quite like it."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I thought you could break into anything?" Talia says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Apparently I'm not quite so utterly perfect as I had hitherto imagined."<br />
<br><br><br />
"The First Emperor may have designed it himself," Wu Tenchu says in your ear. "He was a brilliant man."<br />
<br><br><br />
You stifle the coming sigh, unwilling to let your companions see how troubled you are by this turn of events. Like Talia, you hadn't counted on this ancient puzzle baffling Arthur Lupin's mischievous hands and mind.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It's just three letters, right?" Ragnar asks. "That's what he said."<br />
<br><br><br />
"You are correct. I saw our present Emperor press three of the characters to secure his entrance. But I was too far away to see which they were."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Why don't we just guess? How many combinations could there be?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Approximately 2,544,241,305,982,021,632,000," Lu Bu says, "if the order is significant and the same character may be used multiple times."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Oh..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"The characters he chose may not be random," Illaria says. "I've read most of his writings. Emperor Daedun Qin liked to see meanings in things."<br />
<br><br><br />
You nod your head, then add a verbal agreement when you realize that you're standing behind Lu Bu -- meaning that she can't see the gesture through his eyes. She's quite right. The First Emperor would likely have chosen words which had some significance to him.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Try this..." the Princess continues. "Honor, courage, tranquility."<br />
<br><br><br />
Yes... The three characters which appeared on his personal seal...<br />
<br><br><br />
Your eyes scan the shifting display, your hand poised. Your fingers dart out when you glimpse 'honor'. The square freezes in place, your chosen character remaining motionless as its brethren continue to cycle through the ten iterations which appear to elapse before they return to the start once more.<br />
<br><br><br />
Talia's hand is quicker than yours, capturing 'courage' before it escapes. This too becomes still, a second island of calm in a turbulent lake.<br />
<br><br><br />
Your own touch strikes 'tranquility'. It halts, the character lingering after being touched just like the others.<br />
<br><br><br />
"We did it!" the Princess whispers. "I-"<br />
<br><br><br />
The three stagnant characters flash once. Then they vanish -- falling back into the cycle of appearance and disappearance.<br />
<br><br><br />
"We should find another way in," Kess says. "They may be more heavily secured, but..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Wait," you reply. "Give me a moment..."<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''First Emperor's Test I'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z8_a4_q2.jpg|none|First Emperor's Test I]]<br />
Something niggles at you. There's a sensation at the back of your mind, like an insect crawling across the surface of your brain. You know, with an inexorable though inscrutable certainty, that you can find the answer -- that the knowledge you seek is locked in the inner recesses of your subconscious.<br />
<br><br><br />
You close your eyes.<br />
<br><br><br />
Words and images dance across your thoughts, weaving an incandescent tapestry -- the likes of which you've seen once before. Yes...<br />
<br><br><br />
Your eyes flick open. Your hand moves.<br />
<br><br><br />
Blue.<br />
<br><br><br />
The character pauses in response to your touch, waits and judges.<br />
<br><br><br />
Dragon.<br />
<br><br><br />
This one freezes in turn, and stares at you along with its companion like the second half of a pair of eyes.<br />
<br><br><br />
Ancestor.<br />
<br><br><br />
There's a frozen second, in which success and failure, destiny and doom, dance upon the lap of the gods.<br />
<br><br><br />
Then the holographic display vanishes. The dragon's eye is left blind and bitter once more. And part of the wall caves inwards -- retracting and swinging on silent hinges to open your path into the palace.<br />
<br><br><br />
"How did you do that?" Illaria asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I... I don't know."<br />
<br><br><br />
Your companions give you strange looks, but they ask no more questions. Instead you all pass into the unveiled corridor.<br />
<br><br><br />
A short stretch of passage, framed by walls decorated with elaborate paintings of dragons akin to the once grand sculpture outside, culminates with a glowing barrier. Its golden energy casts its illumination upon the walls, and shrouds all of you with a light aureate veneer.<br />
<br><br><br />
Ragnar pulls his trigger. His weapon spits out a single bullet.<br />
<br><br><br />
It hits the gold barrier with a fizz. Then it disintegrates.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Your First Emperor was an interesting fellow," Lupin says.<br />
<br><br><br />
He crouches down, and begins inspecting a portion of the floor which seems no different from any other. The thief looks from side to side, then up at the ceiling.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Pressure triggered," he says. "And I don't believe it's a trap."<br />
<br><br><br />
He taps the floor with one of his sticks.<br />
<br><br><br />
A golden form, the same shade as the barrier which blocks your entry deeper into the palace, materializes before you. It's the hologram of a man, dressed in ornate robes. His face and garb are both familiar to you, though you've only seen them in pictures and holo-vids.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Emperor Daedun Qin!" Princess Illaria says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Ah," Lupin says, "a riddler. I've come across these before."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes..." Wu Tenchu says. "When one triggers them they ask a question, the answer of which should in theory only be known to the one who programmed them -- whose image they bear."<br />
<br><br><br />
"They fell out of favor a long time ago," Lupin says. "People thought they were a bit too unnecessarily theatrical."<br />
<br><br><br />
He turns to Lu Bu.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I believe you're something of an expert on imperial protocol."<br />
<br><br><br />
"You're correct."<br />
<br><br><br />
"How would an emperor of his era have greeted himself?"<br />
<br><br><br />
The robot steps forward, bows, and speaks a greeting in Chinese. The simulacrum of Daedun Qin returns the gesture. Then he speaks, his holographic lips moving as a voice emerges from some hidden recess.<br />
<br><br><br />
"What color are the eyes?" he says, speaking the words in an elegant, regal strain of the Sian Empire's cultural tongue.<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''First Emperor's Test II'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z8_a4_q3.jpg|none|First Emperor's Test II]]<br />
"Orange," you reply.<br />
<br><br><br />
The hologram bows.<br />
<br><br><br />
"He spoke to you in Chinese," Lupin says. "But you replied in English."<br />
<br><br><br />
"There isn't a word for 'orange' in Chinese. Not exactly, anyway."<br />
<br><br><br />
"The First Emperor mentioned orange eyes in the most obscure of his writings," Wu Tenchu says. "You're familiar with that text?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"No. I just knew."<br />
<br><br><br />
The holographic man shifts, altering his position -- lowering his center of gravity and raising his hands. He's adopting a fighting stance.<br />
<br><br><br />
"A martial test?" Wu Tenchu says.<br />
<br><br><br />
Talia's pistols whisper. Two laser beams penetrate the hologram's head -- leaving a soft ripple in their wake -- pass beyond, and strike the barrier behind him with a gentle fizz.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It was worth a try," the gunslinger says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I suggest the application of close-quarter violence," the mandarin suggests. "Contact with the hologram may-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Finally!" Ragnar says.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Niflung charges. Daedun Qin drops low and sweeps his foot round -- kicking Ragnar's legs out from under him. He growls as he crashes against the wall.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Interesting..." Wilex says. "There are holographic devices which transmit energy through the projections -- making them feel solid. But those usually have some sort of base unit attached to them."<br />
<br><br><br />
"You sure it wasn't psychosomatic?" Talia asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"If that means he kicked my legs out, then yeah," Ragnar says. "But he won't get away with that a second time..."<br />
<br><br><br />
The Niflung hurls himself at the hologram, his arms swinging through the air as though to take hold of him. Once more a collision with a wall and a frustrated growl ensue, as the First Emperor slips away, darts behind Ragnar, and strikes him in the back of the neck.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Let me try!" Telemachus says.<br />
<br><br><br />
He lunges. The Daedun Qin sidesteps, before lashing out with a thrust kick. A moment later the prince is lying next to the Niflung.<br />
<br><br><br />
"He's fast," Lupin says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Thanks," Ragnar growls. "I hadn't noticed..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"But I'll wager that I'm faster."<br />
<br><br><br />
The thief darts towards the hologram, his sticks weaving a blinding pattern of attack and defense -- almost too rapid even for your fighter pilot's eyes to follow. But the First Emperor's arms are quick as well, and his hands or forearms deflect each strike.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Maybe a bit of lateral thinking," Talia says.<br />
<br><br><br />
She slips behind the hologram. Lupin quickens his attacks even further, no doubt understanding the gunslinger's attention and seeking to ensure that Daedun Qin's attention is on him.<br />
<br><br><br />
Talia lunges.<br />
<br><br><br />
The hologram moves in a blur of light. Talia flies in one direction as a fist catches her, Lupin in another when he bears the brunt of a kick.<br />
<br><br><br />
"He's too fast," Kess says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Too fast for me," Lupin concedes, nursing his nose.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Too fast for anyone. Watch."<br />
<br><br><br />
The assassin walks towards the First Emperor. She swings her leg at him in a slow, precise roundhouse kick. He blocks her shin with his forearm, and drives his fist into her stomach.<br />
<br><br><br />
She gives a soft grunt. Then she steps towards him once more. This time she lashes out with a punch, her arm moving with the lethal speed of a striking cobra. Again there's a block, a retaliation, and a stagger.<br />
<br><br><br />
"See?" she says, turning to you. "All his responses are a little faster than the attacks that trigger them."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Then beating him is impossible," Illaria says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Unless we cheat," Ragnar replies. "What if we surround him?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"That can't be the solution," Lu Bu says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"He's right," Wu Tenchu agrees. "Generations of lone emperors have used this passage. They could hardly have relied on such a stratagem."<br />
<br><br><br />
"What're you thinking, captain?" Talia asks, seeing the look of contemplation on your face.<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Master of the Empire'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z8_a4_q4.jpg|none|Master of the Empire]]<br />
"I'm thinking that if I were an emperor, and I wanted to go in and out of the palace whenever I pleased, I wouldn't want a brutal fight on my hands each time. So I don't think this is about fighting hard and winning."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Go on, captain," Master Wu says. There's a distinct note of pleasure in his voice, that of a great thinker wishing to explore a worthy train of thought. It heartens you to hear it.<br />
<br><br><br />
"This hologram is here to stop anyone who isn't an emperor from entering the palace. Illaria..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Did your father ever teach you any martial arts techniques?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes!" There's elation in her voice, almost a laugh. "There was a kata he taught me, when I was a little girl. Then on my eighteenth birthday we went through it again, before he gave me my present."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Lu Bu, if she performs it in front of the terminal she's at, would you be able to repeat her movements?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"I would."<br />
<br><br><br />
Several moments pass in silence, and in your mind's eye you imagine Illaria's slender form slipping through a series of martial motions, the dance of a warrior princess.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That's it," she says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Then allow me to try..." Lu Bu replies.<br />
<br><br><br />
The robot steps towards the hologram. He punches. The First Emperor blocks and returns the blow. Lu Bu engages the arm in a circular parry...<br />
<br><br><br />
The sequence is short. As you suspected, a man wishing to return to his chambers after a night walking the city streets wouldn't be in any mood for heavy athletic exertion. A short sequence, but each attack and defense arranged in a certain specific order and fashion.<br />
<br><br><br />
Lu Bu's open palm strikes Emperor Daedun Qin on the chest -- a blow the hologram makes no effort to dodge or block. The moment it strikes home, the First Emperor vanishes. So does the barrier.<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
Though he never had a chance to navigate the secret passage himself, only ever saw its external entrance, it didn't take Master Wu long to determine its path. The cunning mandarin, studying plans and engaging in surreptitious examinations, was able to predict its twists and turns with incredible accuracy.<br />
<br><br><br />
When you pass through the door at its terminus -- waiting until Lupin has given the all clear -- emerging into a small chamber within the Emperor's personal quarters, you find yourself exactly where he said you would.<br />
<br><br><br />
Once more the hallmarks of Centurian occupation are here. Vases have been smashed, paintings defaced -- the ruins left strewn around the chamber as though the knowledge and remembrance of their destruction is more valuable than their total absence would be.<br />
<br><br><br />
As the thief promised, there are no new security measures here. The room contains no cameras or other such devices. No emperor would have wanted to have the secret passage revealed thus to the guardsmen watching the monitors, or for that matter have allowed such probing eyes elsewhere in his innermost sanctum. And it seems that the Centurians have made no effort to further secure this portion of the palace.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Done," Lupin's voice says within your aural implant a short time later. "The Emperor is where he should be, and the security systems between you and the cell won't pose a problem. But there are a few guards and patrols which we'd do well to be rid of. If I may have Miss Kess' assistance?"<br />
<br><br><br />
Artemis slips away, following the instructions whispered into her ear.<br />
<br><br><br />
The rest of you make your way along the route seared into your memories through hours of study and simulation.<br />
<br><br><br />
The palace's cells aren't far from the Emperor's quarters, placed close enough for private nocturnal conversations and the like. For these chambers of incarceration, each of which is akin to a miniature suite, were kept for special prisoners -- not lowly robbers, rapists, and murders. It isn't long before you reach the passage onto which they open, and walk its length with excitement building in your breast.<br />
<br><br><br />
There are corpses strewn across the floor, bearing the mark of Kess. A single neat, fatal thrust or slash has taken each of them -- and you can imagine the assassin dancing from victim to victim without pause.<br />
<br><br><br />
A series of empty cells drift by on your left. Apparently no other captive of the Centurians was deemed important enough to be housed here. And then you find yourself before the glowing bars of the Emperor's gilded cage.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Princess gives a little gasp of joy.<br />
<br><br><br />
The room is as you saw it in the transmission from Councilor Dule which spurred you to these lengths. It's a beautiful chamber, decorated with ornate screens, elaborate vases, and sumptuous paintings -- these undefiled, unlike those you saw before, no doubt in mockery of the crimson-robed man within.<br />
<br><br><br />
He kneels upon its floor, his eyes closed as though in meditation. Kess must have killed with remarkable proficiency not to have alerted him to her passage.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Your Majesty..." you say.<br />
<br><br><br />
His eyes flash open. Then they widen. In the same instant the coating of energy slips away from the bars which separate you, like a series of blades withdrawing into their sheaths.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Cracked it," the thief whispers. "Be with you soon."<br />
<br><br><br />
The Emperor rises to his feet.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Captain [Name]?"<br />
<br><br><br />
You bow.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Father!" the voice comes from Lu Bu, but it's hers. And the elation which fills that simple word is glorious.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Illaria? You're..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'm safe."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I didn't know what had become of you..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'm with friends. And Rhapsody is going to bring you to me."<br />
<br><br><br />
Lupin and Kess appear at the other end of the corridor. They approach you at a quick jog. Blood and satisfaction are splashed across her face, a contented smile across his.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Couldn't get hold of the key for the cell," the thief says. "But it shouldn't take long to pick the lock now that the energy's been deactivated."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Move," Ragnar says. "I can break it open."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I wouldn't do either. Not unless you want your precious ruler smeared all over you."<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Commander Veck'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_Boss_z8_a4.jpg|none|Commander Veck]]<br />
The man's voice came from the rear wall of the cell. There are two doors there. But it didn't seem to emerge from behind either... Your gaze comes to rest on the little space of wall between them, and the thing which adorns it.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes, captain -- the painting."<br />
<br><br><br />
"He can see us," you hiss via your implant. "I thought you dealt with the cameras!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"I did!" the thief replies.<br />
<br><br><br />
One of the painted tiger's eyes glows a deep and murderous red.<br />
<br><br><br />
"My own private camera," the voice says. "And that's not all. There's an explosive device concealed here as well. One just powerful enough to blow the Emperor into quivering chunks."<br />
<br><br><br />
There's a collective intake of breath, the sound of despair filling all of your lungs. Wu Tenchu curses under his breath. Ragnar growls. The Princess issues a subdued groan.<br />
<br><br><br />
Your mind starts to work, to calculate and evaluate. Could Ragnar smash through the wall of the cell from the one next door? It worked in training... The internal walls here aren't much tougher. If he secured an entrance, could the Niflung's powerful body shield the Emperor from the blast? What of Lupin? If you buy a little time, could he disarm the bomb remotely somehow? And if this Centurian has seen you, does that mean others are already converging towards your position?<br />
<br><br><br />
A hundred plans and a millions dooms fill your head, an overwhelming tide that threatens to wash your consciousness away. Need to keep him talking... Give yourself and the others long enough to formulate a plan...<br />
<br><br><br />
"Your superiors won't thank you for killing the Emperor," you say. "Without him as their hostage, there's nothing to stop the Princess from pressing forward with the preparations for a full-scale liberation of Sian. Perhaps even an attack on Alpha Centauri..."<br />
<br><br><br />
The man laughs. A powerful, unsettling bark of laughter.<br />
<br><br><br />
"To hell with them and their orders! This is between the two of us. I want you, captain. You and me -- single combat. No interference from my squads or your companions."<br />
<br><br><br />
"You're crazy."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Then come kill the madman. Ten seconds to decide, before I trigger the alarms."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Where are you? Tell me, and I'll be there."<br />
<br><br><br />
"The blue gallery. The way is clear. Your friends made sure of that."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'm on my way," you say. You look to the others, and speak the next words inaudibly. "If I don't come back..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"We'll do whatever it takes to get him out of here," Talia replies.<br />
<br><br><br />
You head down the corridor, making for a place you know well -- the long chamber lined with carved pillars, where you and the Princess first walked alone together.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Don't worry, Highness," you say. "When have you ever known me to lose a fight?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Be careful..."<br />
<br><br><br />
The Centurian was right -- Kess and Lupin did their job well. Soldiers with slashed throats mark the path the assassin took, clearing out all the patrols which might have come upon you. But time is of the essence now... The longer you're delayed, the more chance there is that someone will find the bodies.<br />
<br><br><br />
Two more corpses rest in the gallery's doorway, lying atop one another like sleeping lovers.<br />
<br><br><br />
You step over them, into the dimly lit chamber.<br />
<br><br><br />
An armored form stands at its far end, a warrior dressed in the grim metal panoply of the Centurians' elite shock troops. Two orange eyes smolder in the leonine visage of his helmet. Bright blue crackles around the long claws that extend from his left hand -- throwing a soft electric illumination over his dark body.<br />
<br><br><br />
He walks towards you and you towards him, like courtiers preparing to exchange introductions and pleasantries.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Captain Rhapsody," he says. "You're the one who beat Rautha."<br />
<br><br><br />
"At least half a dozen times, I think. After the last one I kept his head. He was becoming annoying."<br />
<br><br><br />
You take his measure as the two of you advance, watching his movements -- judging the shifting of his weight.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I saw you fight in Twisted Steel. You're good. Maybe the best. That's why I knew I had to face you -- so I could finally find someone worth my time."<br />
<br><br><br />
You begin to circle one another, warriors' minds conceiving strategies and plotting destruction.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Just be glad I'm going to kill you. Otherwise your masters would have you executed for arranging this little thing."<br />
<br><br><br />
"My 'masters' are dishonorable wretches. They can burn for all I care."<br />
<br><br><br />
The venom in his words takes you aback. But there isn't time to contemplate this Centurian's grievances. He has to die...<br />
<br><br><br />
-------------------------------------<br />
<br><br />
The three blue blades of your enemy's claw slash at you, a sweeping attack that would tear your skull in half if it connected.<br />
<br><br><br />
If.<br />
<br><br><br />
A back-step sends the malevolent blades on an impotent arc instead, dancing through the air in front of your face -- leaving trails of brightness across your vision. It's a powerful attack, the kind which can never be made without consequences. You don't give him time to recover from it.<br />
<br><br><br />
You grasp hold of his forearm, seizing the thick metal casing from which those brutal blades project -- careful not to let their energy touch you, knowing that even the backs of the weapons are lethal enough with those crackling sheaths around them. You pull the limb against your chest, driving your weight against the elbow joint -- allowing you to control his arm in spite of its strong muscles and heavy armor. A backwards kick from your right boot puts him off balance, a small sweep just strong and timely enough to knock his foot out from under him -- causing him to fall forward, putting his arm even further into your power.<br />
<br><br><br />
The limb extends in your grip, dragged into a straight arm lock. You throw your legs out, dropping your entire mass onto it. The Centurian hits the ground with a dull, metallic thud and a cry of pain. And the arm is still yours...<br />
<br><br><br />
You work your fingers into the clasps of the metal sleeve attaching the weapon to his forearm, leaning your weight onto his shoulder until he can't do anything but struggle as you yank it free.<br />
<br><br><br />
You turn, his stolen weapon clutched in both hands. He rolls over, moves to defend himself. But it's too late. You drive the claws down into his chest. Their glowing blades smash through his armored shell with a soft crunch, and slip into the vulnerable body beneath.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Centurian gasps. It's a frantic noise, and at first you take it to be the frustration of a man snatching in vain at the departing threads of his life. Then you see that he's trying to gesture to you, beckoning.<br />
<br><br><br />
You bring your head close to his, curious to hear what dying words he wishes to utter. But there's only the frothing splutter of lungs filled with blood, and then silence.<br />
<br><br></div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/The_Story/A_Masterful_Stratagem/Streets_of_Lanjin_Cheng&diff=59726LotS/The Story/A Masterful Stratagem/Streets of Lanjin Cheng2013-08-26T02:17:29Z<p>Samoan: </p>
<hr />
<div><font size="3">'''Streets of Lanjin Cheng'''</font><br><br />
"The name 'Lanjin Cheng' is Chinese -- a language from Earth most commonly associated with takeaway menus and archaic, poorly-dubbed movies. It translates as 'Forbidden Blue City'.<br />
<br><br><br />
The city is in fact neither especially blue nor particularly forbidden. Tourists may in fact wander around most of its environs unmolested -- unless they happen to pay for that privilege in one of the city's more salubrious establishments. Hence it seems that the name is the result of a historical circumstance which is no longer the case, or else that the person who selected the name wasn't greatly proficient with the Chinese language.<br />
<br><br><br />
I attempted to question a local merchant in an effort to establish which might be the case. However, he responded by saying, "You here buy or you here ask stupid questions? Get out my store!" (or words to that effect which I've chosen to render thus for humorous purposes). Hence I left his establishment none the wiser.<br />
<br><br><br />
In spite of this curious onomastic mystery, Lanjin Cheng is most certainly worth visiting and exploring at length. Its marketplaces are bustling hives of tantalizing sights, sounds, and smells, and its major streets and squares are adorned with spectacular artworks in honor of the imperial family."<br />
<br><br><br />
-- Vagrant's Guide to the Cosmos<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
"The bastards..."<br />
<br><br><br />
Talia utters the words, but they may just as easily have come from any of your mouths.<br />
<br><br><br />
On the monitor the Princess' face displays first horror, then anger. Even Master Wu's implacable features betray hints of the dark and troubled emotions beneath the ministerial visage. The ship's cameras are relaying the scene to them, showing them what you and your companions can see through the window and upon the flight cabin's displays.<br />
<br><br><br />
Lanjin Cheng, Sian's vast capital, sprawls below -- illuminated in the glow of artificial lights from the bank of the Laughing Dragon River to the distant mountains. But the homeworld's glorious imperial city is a scarred, defiled version of that which it viciously displaces in your memories.<br />
<br><br><br />
The beautiful edifices are in ruins. Statues and sculptures have been torn down -- in many cases left lying in the streets like the victims of a massacre. The Centurian Collective despises art, loathes heritage derived from Earth's historical eras. And they've given vent to that vile hatred.<br />
<br><br><br />
Those of Sian's inhabitants who were able to send surreptitious messages off-world spoke of the destruction wrought upon the planet, but mere words could never have prepared you for such a sight.<br />
<br><br><br />
Master Wu is the first to recover and fill the silence.<br />
<br><br><br />
"The rebels are about to strike -- both here and in many of the other major settlements. You should prepare to make your landing."<br />
<br><br><br />
You reply with a mechanical nod, your eyes still on the debased cityscape below. Wu Tenchu had used his previous scanty channels of communication to ready Sian's freedom fighters for a widespread uprising as best he could. With access to the Emperor's Voice the final preparations have been far easier. Only the barest handful, those agents most trusted by the mandarin, know the full magnitude of the plan -- that their attacks are to distract the Centurians while you rescue the Emperor. But even so, countless thousands are ready to fight.<br />
<br><br><br />
An explosion blooms below, an orange-red flower of destruction. Even before its petals have died out and given way to flaming wreckage, there's another -- and then another, burning maws answering and echoing the call.<br />
<br><br><br />
As if it were a dam that perished in the conflagration, unleashing a torrent, in moments the streets are filled with chaos.<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Won't Know What Hit Them'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z8_a2_q1.jpg|none|Won't Know What Hit Them]]<br />
Laser and blaster fire flashes amid the cityscape, a million tiny lights that speak of battle and death. There are buildings ablaze, plumes of smoke billowing into the night air. A handful of saboteur teams who know what they're doing, assisted by the efforts of masses of brave men and women who yearn to strike back against invaders and oppressors, can inflict great harm in but a short time.<br />
<br><br><br />
But against a mighty engine of war like the Centurian military...<br />
<br><br><br />
"They're being slaughtered," the Princess whispers.<br />
<br><br><br />
Zoomed-in views of the battles below show the truth of her words. The Collective's troops are in the streets, dressed in their foreboding armor, weapons spitting death into the crowds. The Centurians may wish to conquer and annex, to control the Sian Empire -- and the rest of human space besides -- rather than annihilating it, but they're ready enough to wash the streets with blood to put down the insurrection.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Butchers..." Kess spits. Even the assassin, whose claws have been reddened with countless lives, winces at the carnage.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It was inevitable," Master Wu says. "They're giving their lives for your father's freedom, as we knew they would."<br />
<br><br><br />
Tanks are trundling into the squares. A long-legged, crab-like mech looms above the fray, its lasers ripping brutal trails of carnage -- scattering those before it. Gunships are flocking in the sky like birds of prey.<br />
<br><br><br />
The rebels have no chance. All they can do is purchase your success with their lives.<br />
<br><br><br />
"We have to do something!" Telemachus says. "Help them!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Don't be foolish."<br />
<br><br><br />
Wu Tenchu replies to the prince, but his eyes are fastened on you. Does the cunning mandarin perceive the thoughts and emotions surging within you?<br />
<br><br><br />
"They're dying!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"What would you have the captain do? Battle all the Centurian forces on the planet? Liberate the world single-handedly? This isn't one of your videogames."<br />
<br><br><br />
"No, it isn't," you say. "And I can't save them all. But I can still make the Centurians pay a price."<br />
<br><br><br />
"They're our people," Talia says.<br />
<br><br><br />
Master Wu sighs, his solemn exterior collapsing to reveal troubled eyes and a face as distraught as the Princess'.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I know," he says. "But what you're seeing below is happening in the other cities as well. No matter how much it pains you, people will perish. You must accept that."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I do," you reply. "That doesn't mean I can't give them one victory, something to cling to when the bodies are being cleared from the streets."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Highness..." he says, turning to the Princess -- knowing as always that her word will sway you, that you'll do whatever it is she asks of you. "Your father waits in his cell. The captain must head to the palace."<br />
<br><br><br />
The Princess looks into his eyes. Then she turns back to the screen, meeting your gaze.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Do what you feel is right, [Name]."<br />
<br><br><br />
You turn round to the others. They're silent, all their eyes on you -- watching and waiting for your judgment. Talia's hands clench and unclench, eager to reach for weapon controls. Lu Bu is impassive, his metal face revealing nothing. The young prince wears a look of determination, big bright eyes begging for the call to action. Ragnar's hand is tight around his axe, thirsting for violence as always -- even though he won't be able to take part in it and bring the weapon into play. Kess gives you a small nod. Lupin shrugs.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Battle stations," you say.<br />
<br><br><br />
"You got it," Telemachus says. The prince slips into the gunner's chair.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Captain..." Wilex's face appears on one of the other monitors. "Use the Hades missiles. They won't reveal your presence."<br />
<br><br><br />
He's right...<br />
<br><br><br />
"Tel, you ever steered a guided missile before?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"It's like steering a ship, right? Except that it's fine when you crash into something?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Exactly."<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Panzerfaust'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z8_a2_q2.jpg|none|Panzerfaust]]<br />
Centurian bodies fly though the air, twisting and tumbling like ragdolls before smashing against buildings or bouncing across the street -- scattering their gore with each impact.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Niflung's laugh fills the cabin.<br />
<br><br><br />
On the screen the Princess' beautiful face is warlike, overcast with grim approval at the slaughter of your enemies.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Hades missiles, each of them containing its own cloaking device, are unstoppable killers -- invisible until they explode. All the Centurians can know is that death is finding them.<br />
<br><br><br />
Below you the rebels are rallying, swarming towards the disarrayed Centurian infantrymen. The losses will be high this day. There's nothing you can do to prevent that. But you still feel pride surge in your breast as you see your fellow subjects bringing their righteous fury to bear against the men and women of the Collective.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Tanks?" Talia says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Tanks," you agree.<br />
<br><br><br />
You direct the ship's flight towards the big square, where an armored column is massing.<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Sweep the Leg'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z8_a2_q3.jpg|none|Sweep the Leg]]<br />
The heavily armored engines of war fare no better than the troopers. Each becomes a twisted metal tomb for those caught inside, a carcass of flaming metal.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I want to take out the mech," Telemachus says.<br />
<br><br><br />
You look at one of the monitors, where the gangly-legged machine towers above squadrons of soldiers -- its flashing weapons securing their advance.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Aim for the legs," you say.<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Aerial Waltz'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z8_a2_q4.jpg|none|Aerial Waltz]]<br />
"I got it!" the prince yells.<br />
<br><br><br />
The mech staggers like a drunkard, swaying atop its damaged legs as if threatening to vomit the contents of an alcohol-ravaged stomach.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Pretty sure it was my one that did it," Talia says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Oh, yeah? Then watch this..."<br />
<br><br><br />
A few seconds later an explosion bursts into being on one of the mech's legs. This time the metal yields beneath its force. The leg falls one way, and the rest of the machine -- doomed by the weakness of its remaining limbs and the intransigent laws of physics -- collapses in another. Straight onto the horde of Centurians.<br />
<br><br><br />
The ensuing carnage fills your monitors for a moment, before a final explosion hides it beneath a blanket of flame.<br />
<br><br><br />
A cheer washes through the cabin, echoed in the distant chamber where Wilex and Illaria share the sight of the mighty machine's death. Wu Tenchu has disappeared, and a faint smile crosses your lips at the thought that he might be sulking at your decision.<br />
<br><br><br />
But both smile and cheering are banished when Talia's voice pierces the euphoria.<br />
<br><br><br />
"They're onto us!" she says.<br />
<br><br><br />
The red blips on the ship's scanner which represent enemy aircraft are sweeping towards the center of the display.<br />
<br><br><br />
You curse. The bravado, the elation of victory, gives way to the cold certainty that you've failed. Your decision, your folly, has cost you the mission.<br />
<br><br><br />
"They've guessed that there's a hostile craft somewhere up here. They'll alert the whole city..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"No," a voice says, "they will not."<br />
<br><br><br />
The Princess moves aside as she turns -- revealing Master Wu, who's sitting at a terminal on the other side of the room.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I've used the Emperor's Voice to silence their communications," he continues.<br />
<br><br><br />
Relief surges within you like a tidal wave, filling your body and emerging as a soft laugh.<br />
<br><br><br />
Red lasers are flashing through the air, the crimson fingers of blind men -- now struck dumb as well -- probing for a target they sense must exist.<br />
<br><br><br />
"If one of those hits us," Lupin says, "we'll be exposed."<br />
<br><br><br />
"You know how good you are at stealing stuff?" Talia asks. "That's the captain at flying. Just watch..."<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Vulture Gunship'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_Boss_z8_a2.jpg|none|Vulture Gunship]]<br />
The thief gives a long, low whistle as the enemy craft blossom into fiery death in quick succession.<br />
<br><br><br />
You smile inwardly. It's been a while since you've flown with someone unfamiliar with your skill as a fighter pilot. And being able to impress so tough an audience as the debonair thief is gratifying. But even so...<br />
<br><br><br />
You meet Master Wu's gaze on the screen. You bow your head. He returns the gesture, accepting all it entails -- the admission, the apology, the gratitude.<br />
<br><br><br />
"One more aircraft, captain," Talia says.<br />
<br><br><br />
A black mass floats in the distance, spinning blades atop its predatory body flashing as they slice the moonlight. Weapons blaze from it, perhaps a dozen streams of fire clawing in all directions.<br />
<br><br><br />
The gunship's crew are firing at places where you might have been, without knowing where you now are. They don't have a chance in hell of hitting you. It would be easy enough to avoid them...<br />
<br><br><br />
"Destroy it," Master Wu instructs. "The people onboard are silenced for now, but if they land they will spread word."<br />
<br><br><br />
You nod. No one can live to tell the tale, not with your mission as yet undone.<br />
<br><br><br />
-------------------------------------<br />
<br><br />
The gunship's pilots and gunners are skilled. Their lines of fire are perfectly calculated to shield them from incoming missiles -- to intercept them, invisible as they are, and rip them open. And with each minor victory their probing becomes a little more dangerous, draws that much closer to you.<br />
<br><br><br />
They have no way of knowing for certain where you're firing from. But whoever's in charge of the craft is a gifted aerial tactician, surely evaluating and anticipating -- trying to judge where you might position yourself, and raking that part of the sky with trails of fire.<br />
<br><br><br />
Against another pilot they might win.<br />
<br><br><br />
"If I open up with the lasers," you say, "it'll reveal our position -- to them and everyone on the ground."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'm trying with the missiles," Talia replies, "but they're getting a bit too good at stopping them. We've only got one left."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Try to make it count."<br />
<br><br><br />
"No!" Telemachus says. "Give it to me!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Tel-" Talia begins.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I've been watching it since I ran out of missiles. It's not firing at random -- it's firing in patterns! It's like one of those old scrolling flying games, where you had to work out how to dodge all the lasers and stuff."<br />
<br><br><br />
Talia looks to you.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Go for it, Tel," you say.<br />
<br><br><br />
The gunslinger presses a button, relinquishing authority over the last Hades missile to the prince.<br />
<br><br><br />
He cries out in delight.<br />
<br><br><br />
Behind you the others are crowding around the gunning station, looking over Telemachus to watch the missile's flight on his screen. You're about to tell them not to crowd him when you see the elation on his face. He's relishing the pressure, the presence of his audience.<br />
<br><br><br />
Several seconds pass, in which you continue to slip away from the advancing enemy and evade the flurries of gunfire -- unwilling to simply fly from the scene until you're sure the job is done.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Tel, did you fire?" you ask. "Where-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Shut up!" he says. "Just need to..."<br />
<br><br><br />
When the explosion comes, it's on the opposite side of the gunship.<br />
<br><br><br />
"You flew the missile all the way round to the other side?" Talia asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It was the best way. Had just enough time to pull it off."<br />
<br><br><br />
The aircraft spins as though reeling from a blow, smoke rushing from its hindquarters like blood erupting from a wound. It revolves several times, cartwheeling through the air. Then another explosion takes it, this one from deep within -- parting its hull and scattering its innards to the four winds.<br />
<br><br><br />
"So, I'm pretty awesome, aren't I?"<br />
<br><br><br />
He dodges out of his seat just in time to avoid Ragnar's slap on the back from potentially launching him into the monitor.<br />
<br><br><br />
"If anyone ever tells you that kids should go outside and play," you say, "instead of sitting in front of videogames all day, you have my permission to take your chainsaw to them."<br />
<br><br></div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/The_Story/A_Masterful_Stratagem/Intro&diff=59725LotS/The Story/A Masterful Stratagem/Intro2013-08-26T02:16:09Z<p>Samoan: Minor adjustments, name, gender, etc.</p>
<hr />
<div>It's like a massacre in a library.<br />
<br><br><br />
That unbidden and absurd thought, born of childhood memories reawakened by the scenes you now witness, flashes into your mind with such suddenness that a small laugh escapes your mouth before you can restrain it.<br />
<br><br><br />
Wilex rewards your unseemly merriment with a quizzical stare. The Princess' lips twitch into a soft smile -- a salve of sympathy for your embarrassment -- though her raised eyebrow displays surprise and curiosity equal to the Chief Assembler's.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Sorry," you murmur.<br />
<br><br><br />
Illaria's eyes tell you that you'll be called upon to share the joke later. Then they return to the window and monitors. You do likewise, looking out at the expansive floor of the facility spread out below -- portions of which are rendered in zoomed-in views upon the numerous screens around you. But your renewed scrutiny only serves to reiterate the frivolous thought, one which somehow never occurred to you when you were down below among your companions yet has struck you now as you observe them from this elevated vantage point.<br />
<br><br><br />
When you were a boy/girl, your school had a library. A proper library -- dominated by towering shelves of dusty books arranged to form a sprawling, inscrutable labyrinth which seemed to your young eyes to defy all laws of space and threaten to devour children who strayed too far into its depths. Open spaces containing tables and chairs existed within the maze like treasure chambers, places for you to read or do your work when you inevitably located and obtained the books you required without falling prey to a minotaur or other such imagined horror. Computer terminals were shunted away into the room's corners like disgraceful secrets, minions of technology not permitted to annex that ancient place of paper and letters as they had so many others.<br />
<br><br><br />
You once asked a teacher why such a room even existed, when its entire contents could be placed on a datapad -- thus eliminating the need for the meandering paths which one almost needed a length of string or trail of breadcrumbs to navigate successfully. You expected to hear about tradition, that oft-cited reason for so much of your early training and schooling. Or perhaps about how physical books were a necessary precaution in case machines ever became sufficiently inspired by the innumerable tales in which they rise up against mankind. However, the smiling educator referred to neither. Instead she asked you to pick up a book and smell its pages. You did so. And whilst to this day you've always preferred electronic reading devices to cumbersome blocks of paper, you never again questioned the allure of physical books.<br />
<br><br><br />
But it isn't such epiphanies which come to mind now. Instead you think back to a different young memory connected with that literary labyrinth. There was another boy/girl, one of your classmates... He'd/she'd incurred your wrath for one of the various frivolous, now forgotten reasons which spur children to anger and hatred. Or perhaps you'd incurred his/hers... You can't even remember. In any event, the two of you came to blows in the library -- turning a little enclave of tables and chairs into a fighting pit.<br />
<br><br><br />
The librarian, a slender little man who seemed twice as ancient as the oldest of his books, heard the girlish screams that accompanied your battle and shattered the tranquil silence of his dominion. He came upon the two of you as you rolled on the floor, locked in the scrappy, animal embrace of untrained grapplers. A judicious application of his stick, which rained blows down on both of you with laudable impartiality, caused your combat and your skins to part.<br />
<br><br><br />
When you rose, nursing your new injuries and glaring at your co-combatant with redoubled hatred for being the cause of the discomfort, the librarian chided you. Not because you were brawling, for the man was a former kung fu master and well acquainted with the benefits of an occasional cathartic battle between schoolchildren. Rather he was displeased that you had shown such disrespect for the hallowed quietness of the library. He told you that you were welcome to fight there on two conditions: that no damage was done to the books (upon which he appeared to place far more value than upon your young hides), and that you fought in silence.<br />
<br><br><br />
The moment he left, you and the other boy/girl hurled yourselves at one another. This time you were very careful not to give voice to your pain or rage.<br />
<br><br><br />
That was but the first of many such duels within the maze of books. Other teachers were rather less understanding about juvenile violence, and put a stop to fights staged elsewhere in the school. But the librarian was always willing to turn a blind eye as long as his rules were observed. So as word of his philosophy spread, so too did the library's list of combatants. You personally waged several dozen battles there, from personal combats fought over dubious matters of honor to grand melees involving over a dozen children -- which served as an enjoyable diversion and source of recreation during rainy days.<br />
<br><br><br />
But no matter how furious the conflicts, or how many participants struggled amongst the stacks, you never failed to stifle your voices -- and did your best to clash in utter silence, like martial mime artists. Even after the aged librarian died, and you no longer had to fear retribution in the form of severe physical chastisement from his stick, you adhered to his edicts out of respect for his memory. In fact, on the day of his funeral you honored him in your own childish way by arranging a massive battle in the library -- in which almost every boy and girl in your class took part, and few emerged from unmarked by bumps and bruises which were worn for the next week as badges of pride.<br />
<br><br><br />
Soon after that you left the school to continue your education in the more austere (yet ironically less violent) environs of a military academy. Your aptitude for both personal combat and piloting soon came to the fore, leading the instructors to train you in both spheres. And like all aspiring fighter pilots, you were made to take part in mock space battles -- both within the safe confines of a simulator and out in the less forgiving blackness of space -- long before you were granted your aural implant. The military had no intention of frittering away high-tech augmentations on trainees who proved unworthy, and deemed it useful for all pilots to have some familiarity with 'natural' space combat before being bestowed with the simulated sounds provided by the implants. So it was that you saw laser beams glitter and drone ships explode in the total silence of the void. And in those moments it seemed to you that you were back at school, the galaxy turned into one immense library in which to house your astral warfare.<br />
<br><br><br />
A massacre in a library...<br />
<br><br><br />
This time you succeed in suppressing the laughter that bubbles within you, settling for a smile instead. The memory gives you comfort. You choose to take it as a benevolent omen.<br />
<br><br><br />
"The modifications to Ragnar's weapon seem to be working well," Wilex observes. "Though I wish he'd agree to simply use a laser instead."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I did broach the subject," you say. "But he thinks lasers are too... girly. He said he'd sooner wear a pink tutu."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'm surprised Ragnar knows what a tutu is," the Princess says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Perhaps he once ate a ballerina," Wilex replies. His voice is deadpan, and you suspect that this isn't entirely for comedic purposes.<br />
<br><br><br />
But the Chief Assembler is right about Ragnar's gun. You see it firing in miniature far below, in one of the roofless corridors that thread the building's immense floor space. Larger images of the Niflung and his weapon, from different angles, glare at you from some of the monitors.<br />
<br><br><br />
The weapon's customary muzzle flash, the blaring light which heralds the demise of those unfortunate enough to be stationed in front of its barrel, is absent. No spent shells cascade from the gun's side, to rain on the floor in a tinkling concerto. Even the torrent of sound, the grim and warlike rattle, is gone. Though the machinegun trembles slightly in his hands, telling of the force with which it spits death and destruction, neither your ears, nor your recently recalibrated aural implant, nor the microphones which supply sound to the monitors' speakers can detect its roar. Even the bullets which strike the robots at the other end of the corridor do so with only the vaguest of whispers, the sound waves stifled and smothered by the complex devices nestled within each round.<br />
<br><br><br />
An accountant would weep and an arms dealer revel over the value of the technology being expended with each burst of gunfire. But it's worth every credit.<br />
<br><br><br />
The training robots fall to the ground as the bullets lodge in the layers of ballistic shielding protecting their vital systems, obeying the dictates of human biology -- responding to wounds which would be fatal to a man or woman and collapsing in accordance with the rules of the exercise.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Niflung charges down the corridor when more of the bots appear at its far end, his footsteps as noiseless as his gunfire.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Did he mind having the sound-dampening systems put in his joints?" Illaria asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Mind?" Wilex replies. "The man has so many augmentations in his body that he's forgotten about nearly half of them. When we opened him up and read off the list he seemed as surprised as the rest of us. I've seen robots with less machinery inside them. The sound-dampeners were just a drop in the ocean."<br />
<br><br><br />
Ragnar's axe cleaves through the air in a sweeping arc. There's a faint cry of tortured metal as the robots fall apart beneath the blow, succeeded by the clattering of raining chunks of metal striking the floor -- which seems like the thundering of a thousand drumming musicians as it intrudes upon the quietness.<br />
<br><br><br />
Wilex sighs.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I asked him to use the special training axe," he says. "The one with the built-in safety features. Those robots are expensive."<br />
<br><br><br />
"That is the axe you gave him," you reply.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Oh..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Ragnar could probably manage to break a robot with one made out of foam."<br />
<br><br><br />
The Chief Assembler sighs once more, but offers no further comment. The mission you're training for is worth any expense. The elaborate network of rooms and passages below is ample evidence of that. It was Wilex himself who offered to convert this factory of his on Capek into a gargantuan training facility, regardless of cost or inconvenience, that you might prepare for your covert operation in privacy.<br />
<br><br><br />
Virtual reality simulations have proven useful. They've allowed you all to navigate near exact representations of the imperial palace and its environs -- at least as they were before their occupation by the Centurian Collective. And though you could only speculate as to the arrangements of Centurian personnel and whatever additional security measures they may have implemented, the assaults you made on that make-believe world have provided companions who've never set foot on Sian with an extensive knowledge of the environment you'll find yourselves in. But even so, there's no substitute for real physical training -- pushing mind and muscle to their limits. And Wilex has provided you with the perfect arena for that.<br />
<br><br><br />
Not even Grand Fabricator Marek, the supreme leader of TALOS, is aware of what you're doing here -- and Wu Tenchu has imposed similar secrecy on the Sian Empire's side. Only a handful of people know that in but a short time you'll be heading for the empire's capital, to rescue the Emperor from the Collective's clutches.<br />
<br><br><br />
Dwelling on your goal causes you to gaze upon your companions with redoubled focus, scouring the environment and drinking in their movements and deeds -- scanning for the minutest details which may be worth noting for later discussion. Over the past weeks you've been training alongside them, but today you decided to join Princess Illaria and Chief Assembler Wilex here in the observation room, so you could evaluate everyone's performance from a distance.<br />
<br><br><br />
What you see pleases you.<br />
<br><br><br />
Telemachus, Ragnar, Talia, and Lu Bu have fought together long enough and in sufficiently eclectic situations to complement one another in battle like siblings in the same murderous family. And they've adapted to the requirements of your new mission without sacrificing their brutal yet fluid fighting methods.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Niflung's boisterous style of combat was the most difficult to tailor to the situation at hand. But technology has worked wonders there. As Wilex so rightly stated, to Ragnar a few extra cybernetic implants were no great inconvenience -- little different from a workman placing an extra spanner in his toolbox. And thanks to training and practice he's even managed to stop roaring, bellowing, and laughing when he attacks.<br />
<br><br><br />
For the agile gunslinger the transition was easy enough. Talia's light-footed steps and whispering laser pistols have always borne an effortless stealth. And with a few modifications to his mechanical body, Lu Bu's ever elegant movements are equally silent -- as noiseless as the death his sword and claw bring. As you look on you see the two of them storm one of the roofless rooms, the robot warrior disposing of the bots near the entrance with a few swift strokes of his weapons -- triggering their sensors and causing them to crumple -- before Talia steps in and clears the rest of the room with a series of pinpoint shots that likewise dance across the training bots' critical targets.<br />
<br><br><br />
Telemachus is close by, outside a smaller adjacent room filled with mock communication terminals. The young prince doesn't rush into that chamber as he might once have done, blasting and hacking with cheerful and reckless enthusiasm. Instead he waits beyond the entrance, watching until the two robots have their backs turned -- occupied by their pseudo-tasks at the terminals. Then he infiltrates the room, his newly enhanced battlesuit moving without a sound. He's been spending hour upon hour playing stealth-based videogames since your mission was announced, and though Wilex and Wu Tenchu were dubious about the value of such preparations it appears that they've imbued him with the right mindset. Sure enough, he moves into position and strikes one robot with his eerily silent chainsaw at the same moment he fires a blast at the other's head. Both automatons acknowledge the finality of the attacks by falling to the ground before they have time to press any alarm buttons.<br />
<br><br><br />
The prince takes a moment to wave at the nearest hidden camera, his young face beaming at you from a monitor, before moving onto his next task.<br />
<br><br><br />
Illaria was reluctant to allow you to prepare Telemachus for the mission, arguing that his developing body shouldn't be subjected to the necessary cybernetic augmentations. But she relented once she had the surgeons' assurances, and the boy was given the same aural and vocal implants as the rest of you -- enabling communication inaudible to all others. That was Lupin's idea, one which might otherwise never have occurred to you. And whilst training to use the voice augmentation effectively was both arduous and somewhat ridiculous -- culminating as it did with a grand performance of collective sub-vocal singing designed to demonstrate your mastery of pitch and tone -- its value is inestimable.<br />
<br><br><br />
Speaking of the thief...<br />
<br><br><br />
Your eyes sweep the environment below and the monitors in turn. They fall upon Artemis Kess at the very moment she ambushes a trio of robots as they round a corner, and manage to avoid blinking long enough to witness their elimination. But they detect nothing of Arthur Lupin. Though with the technology you've adapted from the Silver Shadow, that doesn't necessarily mean...<br />
<br><br><br />
Something metallic presses against the back of your head.<br />
<br><br><br />
"You're dead, my dear."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Funny." You sigh. "If you're not going to take these exercises seriously..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Second row," the thief replies. "Third monitor from the left."<br />
<br><br><br />
You look at the indicated screen. Half a dozen robot sentries stand there with the stoic, perfectly motionless stance of beings which exist beyond the limitations of flesh and discomfort.<br />
<br><br><br />
"You were supposed to 'kill' those."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I did."<br />
<br><br><br />
The thief's left hand appears within your sphere of vision. Several tiny objects glitter in his upturned palm.<br />
<br><br><br />
Laser fire flashes on the monitor -- a rapid sequence of paired shots that each strike two robots in the eye. The bots show no reaction to the precise volleys, neither falling in fabricated death nor raising their own weapons and returning fire. Talia appears on the screen a moment later. The gunslinger inspects one of the robots, taps its chest, shrugs her shoulders, then moves through the door they were guarding.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Funny things, robots," Lupin says. "Such fancy engineering, ruined the moment you pull out something important. Though I suppose we're little different."<br />
<br><br><br />
The Princess gives an impressed giggle, piercing you with a ludicrous pang of jealously.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That's great," you say. "But-"<br />
<br><br><br />
When you turn around, there's no one there.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Behind you," a voice whispers within your ear.<br />
<br><br><br />
You turn to the monitors in time to see Lupin standing above two fallen robots. He bows. Then he vanishes.<br />
<br><br><br />
"If we let him keep that cloaking device after the mission, no valuables in the entire galaxy will be safe," the Princess says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"They're not safe from him now anyway," you reply.<br />
<br><br><br />
But she's right. The cloaking devices only function for a short period of time before they have to be recharged. Yet even so, in the hands of a skilled operative...<br />
<br><br><br />
A flash of movement draws your eye to a different monitor.<br />
<br><br><br />
Two robots spring into the air from behind the corner where they'd lain in ambush, their weapons falling from their hands. For no apparent reason the bots perform some sort of cartwheeling somersault, the conclusion of which leaves them sprawling in a tangled mechanical mess on the floor of the corridor -- right in front of Talia, whose sprinting steps would have put her in their line of fire had they not abandoned their position to engage in their little gymnastic exercise.<br />
<br><br><br />
There's a ripple in the air as Lupin materializes. He bows to Talia. Then the thief and gunslinger run off in tandem, leaving the wreckage behind them. At the next junction Kess joins them, followed by Ragnar, Lu Bu, and Telemachus. All of them are converging upon their goal -- the chamber in the middle of the network of corridors, where a robed robot sits cross-legged behind bars which throb and pulse with energy.<br />
<br><br><br />
Together the six of them rush into the broad oblong room that represents the prison. Cells line all four of its walls, broken only by the space consumed by the entrance. The robot dressed in a facsimile of the Emperor's robes occupies one at the opposite end of the room. The others are tenanted by androids in the assorted garb of Sian peasants, soldiers, and officials.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Now?" Wilex asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Now," you reply.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Chief Assembler presses a button on a nearby control panel.<br />
<br><br><br />
At the very moment that your companions enter the middle of the rectangular chamber, all the cells other than that containing the 'Emperor' open -- the bars retracting into the floor, the sheaths of energy upon them flickering out of existence.<br />
<br><br><br />
The robot prisoners pull weapons from the recesses of their clothing and open fire.<br />
<br><br><br />
A trap which should be lethal. But subjunctives have never bothered your friends much.<br />
<br><br><br />
Talia spins round, her pistols whispering in mid rotation. She doesn't pause, makes no discernible effort to take aim. And still no shot goes wasted. Robots crumple.<br />
<br><br><br />
Ragnar... Well, he's Ragnar. To him the sudden appearance of new enemies doesn't represent a mortal threat so much as fresh meat. He crashes into the nearest robot, grabs the unfortunate android by its ankle, and swings it around in a wide arc -- smashing two more bots with the makeshift flail. You steal a glance at Wilex, and see him wince at the resulting destruction.<br />
<br><br><br />
Lu Bu and Telemachus are just as nonplussed at the ambush as the Niflung. The former's computerized brain, a product of the finest TALOS engineering, isn't given to stalling. He assesses the threat and reacts to it immediately, putting sword and claw to work. Nor are the young prince's videogame-honed reflexes lacking. The two of them diverge, each picking out targets and keeping them off the other's back.<br />
<br><br><br />
Arthur Lupin and Artemis Kess haven't fought alongside the rest of your companions for long. But when your level of natural talent may best be described as phenomenal, it's easy enough to adapt. And the past weeks of training have acquainted them with how you all operate.<br />
<br><br><br />
The thief darts to his right, blue tongues of electrical energy dancing at the ends of his sticks. Three robots surrender to the beating he administers, and take a rest on the floor -- perhaps glad enough to have been eliminated from play by Lupin rather than from existence by Ragnar.<br />
<br><br><br />
Kess doesn't bother to turn around as lasers flash from behind her. Instead she jumps, launching her lithe body high into the air. At the apex of her leap she arcs backwards in a somersault, landing behind the robot attackers. Her blade lashes out in one hand, her claws from the other.<br />
<br><br><br />
In moments the room is clear.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Nice try, captain," Talia says -- the voice traveling from her vocal implant to your aural one without betraying its secrets to the intervening air.<br />
<br><br><br />
Lupin inspects the bars between your companions and the 'Emperor' for a moment. Then he pulls a device from one of his pouches, presses it against the wall, and starts fiddling with it.<br />
<br><br><br />
As the thief plies his trade, the Niflung plies his.<br />
<br><br><br />
Ragnar steps into the adjacent cell, turns, and throws his considerable mass against the wall. The makeshift structure, designed to simulate a wall for the purpose of a training exercise rather than to repel the hostile intentions of an omnicidal, cybernetically enhanced warrior, gives way.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Niflung ploughs through the barrier -- leaving a roughly Ragnar-shaped hole in his wake. Then he grabs the 'Emperor', throws the robot over his shoulder, steps back through the hole, and walks out to join the others.<br />
<br><br><br />
You sense the Princess tensing up, feel rather than see the wince at the corners of her eyes and mouth.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Don't worry," you say. "He'll be gentler with the real Emperor."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Will you want another session?" Wilex asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes. This time I'll join them."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'll have the layout rearranged." The Chief Assembler glances at the monitors. "And I'll have new robots brought in to replace the broken ones."<br />
<br><br><br />
He heads towards the door, mumbling a series of figures under his breath which you assume to be the number and cost of the robots Ragnar destroyed in his reckless exuberance. It slides closed behind him.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I should go speak to the others about their performance," you say, "and prepare for the next exercise."<br />
<br><br><br />
"[Name]..."<br />
<br><br><br />
The soft voice halts you in the doorway. You turn back to her.<br />
<br><br><br />
Her eyes meet yours. For a moment she's silent, an infinity of potential words and endless meanings drifting over her tongue. When at last she speaks it's with a mild, almost imperceptible sigh.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Thank you," she says.<br />
<br><br><br />
You nod, and allow the door to close behind you. Unuttered words whisper in your ears as you walk down the corridor.<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
"Hah! Niflung blood boar!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Ragnar's broad grin illuminates his face with such joy that he seems like an innocent child, gazing with delight upon a longed-for birthday treat or festive present. The rest of you regard the contents of the platter before him with rather more perturbation than enthusiasm. It contains what at first glance appears to be a recently deceased murder victim. However, closer inspection reveals it to be the butchered and roasted carcass of an immense hog -- splattered and smeared with a red sauce that must consist largely of blood. Based on the imposing tusks that rise up from either side of the gaping maw, it's quite possible that the crimson liquid belonged not to the animal itself but rather to the unlucky soul who was sent to hunt it.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Just like my mother used to kill..." The Niflung's eyes gleam as he turns to where the Princess sits at the head of the table. "How did you know?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"It just seemed... appropriate."<br />
<br><br><br />
A second robotic waiter glides to his side as its predecessor departs with the platter's now superfluous lid. This one sets a large wooden jug down beside the bloody boar.<br />
<br><br><br />
Ragnar grabs the jug by its handle, pulls it towards him -- allowing a small wave of dark liquid to slosh over the top and dribble down the side of the vessel -- and lowers his nose towards its contents. A long snort and a sigh of pure satisfaction ensue.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Sigurd's Blood," he says. "That's a proper ale!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Do all Niflung things have 'blood' in the name?" Talia asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Just the ones with blood in them."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Oh..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Anyone else want a drop?" The Niflung glances around the table.<br />
<br><br><br />
You're contemplating your answer when your gaze catches Illaria's. She makes a small, surreptitious shake of her head -- from which you infer that anyone other than Ragnar would likely suffer for the experience.<br />
<br><br><br />
He shrugs, lifts the jug to his mouth, and commences quaffing with one hand whilst tearing into the hog with the other. The robot waiter decorously removes the tankard it had placed for him, and glides away once more.<br />
<br><br><br />
The rest of you look at your platters -- their treasures still as yet concealed from your gazes by the metal domes -- with greater interest and anticipation. When the Princess asked you all to join her for a special dinner, the last evening repast before you embark on your mission, you knew you'd be in for a good meal. But based on the victuals served to Ragnar, it appears that Illaria intends to go well beyond that.<br />
<br><br><br />
Perhaps relinquishing her enjoyment of the ceremony in favor of satisfying your curiosity and hunger, she gestures to the waiters. The robots converge on the table like battle bots moving in for the kill, and for one ridiculous moment you consider seizing a piece of cutlery, jumping to your feet, and plunging it through the nearest robot's eye -- in case this is some final test she and Wilex have concocted to ensure that your vigilance and reflexes are up to scratch for the coming exploit. But you heroically suppress the urge, remain seated, and avoid what might have been an awkward faux pas.<br />
<br><br><br />
Thus the robots are able to remove the lids from your platters and disappear from the room without falling victim to spontaneous and superfluous violence.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Interesting..." Lu Bu says.<br />
<br><br><br />
All eyes travel to the robot warrior, whose own centers of vision are focused on his now unveiled dish. You had wondered about that... Though the dinner wouldn't have been complete without him, so of course the Princess asked him to come along with the rest of you, Lu Bu -- as is usually the case with bots -- doesn't eat or drink. So the previously closed platter before him had been something of a mystery.<br />
<br><br><br />
The metal object which has been evinced by the lid's removal is no less of a mystery, however. It appears to be an electronic device of some sort -- a small box embedded with glowing lights, from which a long wire trails and curls in an intricate pattern. Part of you goes so far as to wonder whether you've been misinformed, whether androids do in fact eat electronic objects in the same manner that a human might dine upon a piece of meat. But this seems rather unlikely.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I wanted you to enjoy the meal with us," the Princess says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'm touched by your thoughtfulness."<br />
<br><br><br />
He lifts the end of the wire, which is attached to a connector, and plugs it into a port in the side of his head.<br />
<br><br><br />
"What is that thing?" Telemachus asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"A product of the Chief Assembler's genius," the Princess says.<br />
<br><br><br />
She gazes along the length of the table, to where Wilex sits at the opposite end.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It was your idea," he says. "I merely brought it into being. An easy enough task. Lu Bu's sensory systems are quite advanced, making the interface simple enough."<br />
<br><br><br />
"A synthesis of taste," Lu Bu murmurs.<br />
<br><br><br />
"So what're you eating?" Talia asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It appears to be... everything."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I had no way of knowing what Lu Bu would enjoy," Illaria says. "So I had the device filled with a representation of every taste possible."<br />
<br><br><br />
"A truly remarkable idea." The robot pauses for a moment. "Ah... So that's why the term 'long pig' came about..."<br />
<br><br><br />
That conundrum solved, gazes roam across the table once more -- each of you feasting your eyes upon your own dinner but also curious as to what your companions have been given.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That's not..." Talia begins, staring at the circular foodstuff on Telemachus' platter.<br />
<br><br><br />
It appears to be covered in a thick layer of batter.<br />
<br><br><br />
"A deep-fried pizza," he says. "My dad only ever let me eat them on my birthday. He said they were too dangerous."<br />
<br><br><br />
If a father who gave his child a heavily armed mech to play with considers a dish too dangerous, it occurs to you that it's probably akin to a culinary weapon of mass destruction. But you're facing the mission of your lives tomorrow, so what's a little cardiac suicide beforehand?<br />
<br><br><br />
And in spite of Talia's expression of distaste, the meal in front of her would be enigmatic enough to anyone who wasn't familiar with the gunslinger's curious tastes. A bed of rice has been drowned, or perhaps smothered, beneath a layer of viscous material in a shade of red so bright it's as though nature is warning you not to even think about eating it. Chunks of meat which defy visual identification are embedded within (and slathered with) this creamy death sauce.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'm impressed that Wilex's robo-cook knew how to make an anaconda tikka masala," she says.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Actually," the Chief Assembler replies, "she didn't seem inclined to prepare such a dish. Perhaps she's familiar with the First Law of Robotics..."<br />
<br><br><br />
He pauses and looks around the table in the manner of a man expecting laughter. But if there was a joke, it's sufficiently stealthy that you should take it with you tomorrow. Wilex sighs before continuing.<br />
<br><br><br />
"We had Grand Fabricator Marek's personal chef brought to Capek to make it. She was delighted to prepare food for a diner with so... eclectic... a palate."<br />
<br><br><br />
"The lady in question wasn't the only culinary master you enlisted, was she?" Lupin asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
The meal before the thief seems conventional enough -- a rare piece of steak escorted by a plethora of artistically arranged accompaniments. But from the expression on his face, supplemented by the drifting scent that reaches your nostrils -- somehow managing to slip by the overwhelming olfactory barrier of Talia's curry -- it seems that it's rather beyond the ordinary in quality if not in material.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It was easy to persuade the cook to take a holiday here," the Princess says. "In fact, he seemed rather pleased with the idea."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I suppose the chap doesn't usually get to feed repeat diners." Lupin glances at the rest of you, his lips forming his quintessential debonair smile. "There's a prison on Sigma XVIII which serves the most sumptuous last meals to men and women sentenced to death. The stories I'd heard were so tantalizing that I felt compelled to commit a capital crime purely for the purpose of enjoying such a meal."<br />
<br><br><br />
The quietness around the table deepens.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I didn't murder anyone, if that's the thought you're all entertaining. On Sigma XVIII anyone caught stealing from their queen is sentenced to death. So I abstracted her crown and allowed her guards to find me reclining on her bed, twirling it around my finger. I have to say that the meal was well worth the inconvenience of the spell of imprisonment and the necessity of the resulting escape."<br />
<br><br><br />
The general attention next falls upon the Chief Assembler. His dish seems to consist of a large number of small cubes in a range of hues and colors.<br />
<br><br><br />
"This is something we used to eat when I was a child," he says in response to the collective curiosity. "Each cube has its own subtle flavor. If you stack two or more of them up, and pierce them through the middle, they combine in curious ways. It's something of a game to identify the combination best suited to your tastes."<br />
<br><br><br />
Artemis Kess is the next victim to fall prey to everyone's voracious appetite for information. The dish before her contains what appears to be a heart.<br />
<br><br><br />
"What kind of animal is that from?" Talia asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Human," the assassin replies.<br />
<br><br><br />
The gunslinger laughs for the barest fraction of a second, before realizing that it wasn't a joke.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Heh." Ragnar spits out a shower of meat juices as he laughs -- which Lupin intercepts with a deft twirl of his handkerchief, thus sparing his immaculate dinner jacket from defilement. "That's hardcore. Even I don't eat humans much."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Whose heart was it?" Telemachus asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I believe it's mine," Kess replies.<br />
<br><br><br />
She looks to the Princess. Illaria nods.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I hope you don't mind. But Master Wu thought it would be appropriate."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Not at all. It's... fitting." Artemis cuts into the organ, and brings a small piece to her mouth.<br />
<br><br><br />
She savors the morsel for a few moments, then glances around as though surprised that everyone's still staring at her.<br />
<br><br><br />
"When we completed our training as assassins, it was customary for us to eat our own hearts. Cloned versions grown in vats."<br />
<br><br><br />
A collective exhalation follows this pronouncement.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That's pretty creepy," Talia says. "But kind of awesome as well."<br />
<br><br><br />
"When one of us decides that she wishes to retire, the same custom applies. I believe it began as a way around an ancient edict which would in those days have been far less pleasant."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Then you're going to stop being an assassin?" you ask.<br />
<br><br><br />
"This will be my last mission. Her Highness has offered to arrange full pardons for all the crimes I've committed. I'll be able to do whatever I want, and go wherever I wish."<br />
<br><br><br />
The wistful look which crosses her face and shines within her dark eyes hints that "whatever" and "wherever" are less nebulously conceived in her mind than in her words.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Your meal doesn't look that interesting, [Name]," Telemachus says. "Sure you don't want some of my pizza?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"No, thank you."<br />
<br><br><br />
You don't elaborate, and the others become too engrossed in their own food to press you about it.<br />
<br><br><br />
Chopsticks move in your hand, descending into the bowl of rice, meat, and fish. A good meal, flavored by an expert hand. The moment it was revealed, the sight and scent awakened warm memories within your breast. An identical bowl rests on Illaria's platter.<br />
<br><br><br />
Great food and even better company fill the evening with a warmth you haven't experienced for a long time. In this bubble, this minute portion of the universe, matters of war and politics are kept at bay like unwanted beasts left to bray and howl beyond sight or earshot.<br />
<br><br><br />
Alcohol flows in moderation for all but Ragnar -- whose enhanced body could drink an ocean of ethanol without ill effect. Just enough to provide the world with a merry glow. You even turn a blind eye when Telemachus reaches over and steals your glass of scotch. Sure enough, one sip and the ensuing splutter is enough to make him swear temperance for the foreseeable future. The glass is returned, and the amber liquid finds its way to a tongue better able to appreciate it.<br />
<br><br><br />
Comfortable silences, in which you each dwell upon your dishes and the memories they evoke, intersperse the easy banter and conversation of friends whose exploits have brought them closer than mere time ever could. What are years compared with battles and adventures? Even Artemis and Lupin, who've known you all for so short a time, fall into the spirit of camaraderie. The thief regales you with tales of the innumerable outlandish and audacious deeds which make up the tapestry of his life -- his charm and sophisticated eloquence somehow turning crimes at which you should frown into delights at which you may laugh. Kess is more reticent, but still manages to transform her relative quietness into that of an included observer -- smiling and laughing with the rest of you, slipping her own keen observations into the chatter.<br />
<br><br><br />
Wilex is the first to take his leave, followed by Kess. Lupin excuses himself soon afterwards, the gentlemanly thief relinquishing the remainder of the night to the rest of you with the decorous politeness which is so much his hallmark in spite of his criminal proclivities.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Princess rises at the same instant, and bids him wait for just a moment. She passes him a small azure box, upon which a jeweled rendition of the imperial seal glitters in all its proud glory.<br />
<br><br><br />
Lupin's previously unassailable demeanor of amused nonchalance allows slivers of surprise to appear on his face as he accepts the gift from her hand. The slivers widen to admit a torrent when he opens it. His dexterous fingers dip into the ornate container. They emerge grasping a length of gleaming platinum and diamond magnificence.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Our arrangement was..." he begins. It's the first time you've ever heard his voice falter.<br />
<br><br><br />
"The Eyes of the Cosmos are yours," she says. "Whatever happens."<br />
<br><br><br />
The solemn import of her words hangs in the air, for a moment casting its dark shadow over the gathering. Despite all your training, all the planning and preparation, every piece of miraculous technology you have to aid you, the mission you face will hurl you into a theater where any or all of you might find your deaths. And if such a fate awaits the thief, he'll now have time to make arrangements for the priceless treasure which was promised him -- to pass it onto whatever loved ones he might possess.<br />
<br><br><br />
Emotion is writ upon Arthur Lupin's face, bespeaking his thoughts with far more eloquence than the words of gratitude which fall from his tongue. In that moment you know he'll devote everything he has to keep his promise to Princess Illaria. Her trust in him has bound him to her cause as it has bound so many others before him.<br />
<br><br><br />
The six of you who remain in the thief's wake wallow in the comfort of talk and reminiscences till weariness eventually claims Telemachus, and Ragnar carries him to his quarters. Lu Bu departs along with them, speaking of the last minute testing of his systems and weapons he wishes to perform.<br />
<br><br><br />
Three friends are left among the debris of a feast, speaking of strange and intersecting lives. Time loses itself among your words, defied and derailed amidst shared recollections that stretch further and deeper than those which came before -- extending into the years before the war, before the cataclysmic events which threw you and the others together. Melancholy slips into the bubble, the inexorable sadness that comes with the memories of happier times.<br />
<br><br><br />
The hour is late when Talia retires, but neither you nor Illaria are ready to accept the dying of the night.<br />
<br><br><br />
The two of you sit at adjacent sides of the table, with a bottle of scotch and words both spoken and unspoken between you. The flavor of your food lingers on your tongue -- unwilling to be usurped even by the richness of the alcohol -- making the past seem all the more vivid. The last time you tasted that dish was on the day you first met, when a young pilot was summoned to dine with the imperial family to mark her new position within the Princess' bodyguard.<br />
<br><br><br />
To think of that time now is to see it as though through another's eyes, to dwell upon a woman who's so different as to be a stranger...<br />
<br><br><br />
She's a brash warrior, made cocky by her skill and the freshness of the victory which has earned her such an honor. Medals shine on her breast, turning her resplendent dress uniform into a testament to her excellence.<br />
<br><br><br />
Yet as she's ushered into the palace, as she gazes upon the glory of that sacred place, the bravado dies within her. She's overwhelmed by the magnitude of her surroundings and the realization that she's about to meet the Emperor -- a man whose edicts are law to billions, who until now has been akin to a remote and removed deity.<br />
<br><br><br />
Her eyes are downcast when she's brought into the imperial presence, placed before the Emperor and Princess. Pleasantries are navigated like minefields, the young pilot fearful of straying and offending -- of being deemed unworthy by sharp, wise eyes or else bright, beautiful ones.<br />
<br><br><br />
She sits to eat, her frantic thoughts groping for rules of etiquette once second nature yet now scoured from her mind. She reaches out for a serving spoon with a trembling hand, before realizing to her horror that the Princess is reaching out as well -- that her hand will touch hers, and violate laws of propriety more imagined than real. And so she yanks his hand back as though from a burning heat, a clumsy movement that brings it crashing against a bowl. Its contents splash over her dress uniform, just as shame splashes across her face.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Forgive me," the Princess says, bowing her head and claiming the error as her own.<br />
<br><br><br />
A faint smile lurks on her lips, one infused with such gentle kindness that it allows the pilot to recover. The meal continues, and the course of destiny is shaped.<br />
<br><br><br />
In the present two friends sit and drink, and you pity those billions of Sian subjects who only know her as you once did -- as an idol instead of a woman.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It feels wrong," she says, staring into the remnant of her drink.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes," you agree. It's a moment before you realize that she's speaking of her own thoughts rather than yours.<br />
<br><br><br />
"We've faced so much together. Now I'm sending you... all of you... into the greatest danger of all, while I sit in safety."<br />
<br><br><br />
You glance at the bottle. How did it get so empty?<br />
<br><br><br />
Your eyes meet hers. She sighs.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It's okay. I won't argue again. You and Master Wu were right. But..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I know."<br />
<br><br><br />
In truth, part of you shares her regret at the thought that the two of you won't be fighting side by side on this mission, as on so many of your previous exploits. But it would be foolhardy to take the Princess to Sian, to risk her falling into Centurian hands along with the Emperor. Thus you were forced to side with Wu Tenchu, and dissuade Illaria from accompanying you. And she relented, as her duty to the subjects of the empire demanded.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I still think of Sergeant Tarik and the others. Everyone who died so that I could escape from the Child of Heaven. And all of our people who'll die so my father can be freed."<br />
<br><br><br />
Silence envelops you both for several seconds, a stretch of quiet in which the faces of dead men and women swim across your thoughts.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Bring him back to me," she says. "Don't let them die for nothing."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I will," you say. The promise leaves your lips a moment before your brain can forestall it. Stupid... Anything could happen...<br />
<br><br><br />
Yet when you see the satisfaction your words give her you can't quite wish you hadn't uttered them.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Make sure you come back as well. The empire needs you both." Her eyes, reddened by the alcohol, focus on yours with redoubled intensity. Her mouth twitches for a second, as though unsure of which words it will help form. "I need you both."</div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/The_Story/Christmas_Chaos&diff=46683LotS/The Story/Christmas Chaos2013-03-12T22:44:25Z<p>Samoan: </p>
<hr />
<div><br />
<br><tabber><br />
"Zone Intro"=<br />
'''Zone Intro'''<br />
<br><br />
"Tentacles!" Adrian Zanfran said, as he walked across the lobby.<br />
<br><br><br />
He emphasized the point by waving those purple appendages in the air. The Rylattu behind the reception desk, a green-skinned male he didn't recognize, stared at them before gazing down at something.<br />
<br><br><br />
Though the desk hid it from him, Adrian knew there was a terminal there. Its screen would at that moment be displaying a picture of the freelance human, accompanied by the words: 'Authorized Stink-Beast! Do Not Disintegrate!'<br />
<br><br><br />
The green Rylattu looked up at him again, and stopped reaching for whatever weapon of mass destruction he had to hand.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'm Adrian Zanfran. Pleased to meet you."<br />
<br><br><br />
The receptionist glanced down and frowned.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It says your name is 'Adnan Zebra'."<br />
<br><br><br />
Adrian sighed. It was somewhat gratifying that Barp Sek Bul had settled on one name to call him by, rather than hurling an endless barrage of incorrect appellations. But it would have been more gratifying still if it had been correct.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That's my... work name. Where's Kwix?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"The overlord summoned her."<br />
<br><br><br />
The freelance human sauntered across the portion of the lobby which lay beyond the reception desk and its emerald-skinned sentinel. A few of the building's other denizens glared at him, perhaps out of habit. But most regarded him with nothing more than indifferent blinks. A few even nodded or spoke words of greeting, which Adrian returned with a smile. None of them fired weapons in his direction or tried to otherwise ensure his doom. Things had changed a great deal over the months since he'd started working for the Mighty Rylattu Publishing House of Ultimate Might.<br />
<br><br><br />
Both elevators' doors were sealed when he approached. One conveyance was already in ascent. The other had stopped many floors up, where it was presumably disgorging its passengers. This didn't diminish the morning cheer on Adrian's face. It was still in full bloom when he entered the stairwell.<br />
<br><br><br />
The stairs themselves were superfluous to him these days. He moved into the space alongside the first flight instead, and reached up with his right tentacle. That powerful purple limb grabbed hold of the bannister above. Then it pulled Adrian upwards, until the shorter tentacle at the end of his left arm could seize another.<br />
<br><br><br />
Like an ape swinging from branch to branch, he climbed the middle of the stairwell in a series of tentacular grasps and pulls. And to think he'd once been dismayed to find those useful appendages on his body...<br />
<br><br><br />
That brisk, invigorating assent brought him to his floor. His more conventional limbs walked him the rest of the way, until he stood before his terminal. He dropped into the now familiar chair and watched the holographic screen come to life in response to his presence.<br />
<br><br><br />
His previous night's work manifested before him. Lines of green text blazed in all their toxic-waste-colored glory. But only for a moment. Then a red face emerged from the screen, throwing the greenness aside in all directions.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Adnan Zebra!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Good morning, overlord. The report you wanted-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Come to Conference Room 3 immediately!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"What-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Immediately, wretched stink-beast!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Adrian sighed, rose from his chair, and headed back into the corridor. He made his way to the designated chamber, and pondered what new happenstance or misfortune might be about to rain down on him. It wasn't unusual for the overlords to summon him into their presence and thrust some completely new task at him, quashing his previous brief despite prior insistence that his continued integration relied upon its fulfillment. He hoped that wouldn't happen this time. He was rather enjoying the challenge of finding new ways to market anti-human literature to mankind (his chief plan was to pass if off as satire).<br />
<br><br><br />
But when he arrived at Conference Room 3, and its door opened in front of him, bewilderment usurped trepidation.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Ah, Adnan Zebra!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Barp Sek Bul took hold of Adrian's right tentacle and pulled him into the room. Rylattu faces surrounded him, each one beaming beneath, of all things, a Santa hat.<br />
<br><br><br />
"How long has it been since you first came to us as a worthless, sniveling human minion seeking employment?" the overlord asked.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Well, it's been-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"I once considered destroying you! But now I am pleased that my mighty Rylattu intellect led me to spare you. In spite of your pathetic whining, and your habit of leaving filthy human limbs in our lobby-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"That wasn't my fault! My arm was blown off!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Silence, stink-beast! As I was saying... You have been a useful minion. Because you understand your disgusting and moronic species, our sales to humans have increased by fifty million percent!"<br />
<br><br><br />
At that pronouncement, the other Rylattu broke into a round of applause, and Adrian beamed as much as the rest of the gathering. Granted, the Mighty Rylattu Publishing House of Ultimate Might had once measured sales of its books to humans in single digits. Hence they still only claimed a tiny audience among the trillions of human beings in the galaxy. But even so, the freelance human was proud.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I have decided to reward you!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Thank you, overlord!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Today is a special day on your laughable homeworld."<br />
<br><br><br />
"It's Christmas!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kwix informed me of this pathetic event. Now behold my mighty magnanimity!"<br />
<br><br><br />
He clapped his hands together.<br />
<br><br><br />
First there came a tantalizing aroma, a blend of delicious smells that tickled Adrian's nose and evoked countless glorious memories. Then a dozen or so Rylattu surged into the room, knocking him spinning.<br />
<br><br><br />
Each of them bore a huge platter, which they distributed across the conference table. Adrian Zanfran recovered his balance just in time to be barged aside once more, when the surge repeated itself in reverse. But he didn't care. For the feast they'd left in their wake would have excused a multitude of sins.<br />
<br><br><br />
There were golden turkeys and roast hams, glistening with succulent juices that made his mouth water and the tips of his tentacles curl. Among them, vying for his eyes, nose, touch, and tongue, Christmas puddings rose as rich, fruity mountains beneath thick layers of snow. Mince pies were arranged in neat sugary stacks, forming step pyramids upon which health and moderation yearned to be sacrificed at the priestly hands of taste and pleasure. Pitchers of eggnog, bottles of port, and sundry other beverages stood in orderly units, awaiting the call which would send them into battle against the tiresome forces of thirst and sobriety. It was a veritable festive banquet.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Begin feasting!" Barp Sek Bul said.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Overlord, this is... it's... I..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I said begin feasting, wretched stink-beast!"<br />
<br><br><br />
So Adrian did.<br />
<br><br><br />
***<br />
<br><br><br />
"...and... and..."<br />
<br><br><br />
The freelance human paused blinked. Had there always been that many Rylattu in the room? And had they always been so blurry? He looked down at the glass of eggnog in his hand. How much brandy had they put in it?<br />
<br><br><br />
"Well?" a blue female demanded. "Then what?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Oh... And a partridge in a pear tree."<br />
<br><br><br />
She frowned.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That song is repetitive and absurd! Who would relish those pathetic gifts? Partridges? Pear trees? Hens? Ridiculous!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Wait!" the Supreme Editing Overlord said. "Those maids, drummers, pipers, and lords could become valuable minions -- if their worthless human brains are capable of learning more useful skills."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Ah, of course, overlord!"<br />
<br><br><br />
The Rylattu began to discuss the matter at length, and ponder such questions as whether drummers or pipers would make better slaves.<br />
<br><br><br />
Adrian wandered over to the table for another mince pie.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Adrian Zanfran!"<br />
<br><br><br />
He turned. Kwix stood before him, her eyes shiny and bleary.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kwix! Merry Christmas! Thank you for... for..." He waved at the festive board, and the still rather substantial remains of its goodly viands.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I read your report on stink-beast holidays," she said, "and learned all the customs of this 'Christmas'. They consist largely of gluttony and alcoholism!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Maybe, but Christmas is also about-"<br />
<br><br><br />
The receptionist raised something above her head. Something green. It wobbled in her drunken grasp.<br />
<br><br><br />
"By the laws and traditions of this pathetic festival, you must now kiss me!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Huh? I..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kiss me, puny human, or I will destroy you!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Adrian had worked there long enough to know that was no idle threat. So he pulled her into a tentacled embrace, and their lips met.<br />
<br><br><br />
He hoped she wouldn't obliterate him for this when she sobered up...<br />
|-|<br />
"Guns Are for Girls" = <br />
'''Guns Are for Girls'''<br />
<br><br />
Dashing through the mall,<br><br />
Looking for good deeds to do,<br><br />
She saw a girl bawl,<br><br />
And Santa Claus too.<br><br />
She stopped then and there,<br><br />
Thinking she'd lend aid,<br><br />
And learn about the girl's despair,<br><br />
So she could her mood upgrade.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"I want a gun, want a gun!"<br><br />
Cried the little tot,<br><br />
"But Santa won't give me one,<br><br />
So he's left me all upsot!<br><br />
Want a gun, want a gun!"<br><br />
Cried the little tot,<br><br />
"But Santa won't give me one,<br><br />
So he's left me all upsot!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"Upsot's not a real word!"<br><br />
Fat Santa Claus replied,<br><br />
"And this gun's not for her,<br><br />
Someone get her eyes dried!"<br><br />
"You're such a sexist brute!"<br><br />
Talia told him back,<br><br />
"There is no reason girls can't shoot!<br><br />
So don't make me attack!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"Give me that gun, me that gun!"<br><br />
Talia Ryx said,<br><br />
And snatched it from Santa's hand,<br><br />
For the girl with eyes so red.<br><br />
"Here's the gun! Here's the gun!<br><br />
No more tears shed!<br><br />
Santa's just a sexist jerk,<br><br />
I should slap his stupid head!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"Silly cow, silly cow!"<br><br />
Said his angry face.<br><br />
"That's no toy, it's a real gun,<br><br />
I carry the thing in case,<br><br />
Some kids're bad, really bad,<br><br />
Act like a disgrace!<br><br />
Oh, look what you've gone and done,<br><br />
The girl's shooting up the place!"<br><br />
|-|<br />
"Christmas Kebabs" =<br />
'''Christmas Kebabs'''<br />
<br><br />
The mighty Niflung walked out,<br><br />
'Fore the feast of Stephen,<br><br />
Gazing all ways round about,<br><br />
To the heavens even,<br><br />
Searching for some folk to help,<br><br />
On the day of yule,<br><br />
Upon a soup kitchen strayed,<br><br />
Serving winter fuel.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
He went inside and growled deep,<br><br />
For it made him angry.<br><br />
"How can all you bastards sleep,<br><br />
When you leave them hungry?<br><br />
Soup is but a feeble dish,<br><br />
I can do much better!<br><br />
I am here to answer your wish,<br><br />
Shatter hunger's fetter!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"Bring me naans and bring me meat,<br><br />
Bring finest chili sauce!<br><br />
These people deserve to eat,<br><br />
And all for free of course!<br><br />
Kebab Chaos does owe me,<br><br />
A debt they must repay,<br><br />
Or blood shall run quite free,<br><br />
I mean just what I say!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
And so the kebabs came hence,<br><br />
Answering Ragnar's shout,<br><br />
It really was quite good sense<,<br><br />
Else spines he'd have ripped out.<br><br />
He served food to all who came,<br><br />
In generous portions.<br><br />
First the diners cheered his name,<br><br />
Then came the contortions!<br><br />
<br><br><br />
Vomit spewed from every maw,<br><br />
In torrents unending,<br><br />
For donners wage bloody war,<br><br />
And soon guts need mending.<br><br />
The Niflung cried out in rage,<br><br />
To see them stripped of honor,<br><br />
Too late did Ragnar gage,<br><br />
The power of the donner.<br><br />
|-|<br />
"Terrible Toys for Tots" =<br />
'''Terrible Toys for Tots'''<br />
<br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
Telemachus did see,<br><br />
An orphanage with a tree.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
The young prince went inside,<br><br />
To give out gifts,<br><br />
And some seasonal cheer provide.<br><br />
<br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
He brought a bag of toys,<br><br />
He'd played with,<br><br />
In younger days,<br><br />
He hoped might delight little boys.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
The kids all cheered and yelled,<br><br />
In young delight,<br><br />
Filled with joy,<br><br />
Pleased by the gifts,<br><br />
And so Telemachus' heart swelled.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
Orphans began to play,<br><br />
With toy robots,<br><br />
Brought by the prince,<br><br />
That kind boy,<br><br />
Who beamed at them,<br><br />
And thought he'd triumphed on that day.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
Telemachus forgot,<br><br />
When he was younger,<br><br />
He did tinker,<br><br />
With his toys,<br><br />
And had fun,<br><br />
Messing with tech,<br><br />
Till he weaponized them for sport.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
The toys went quite berserk,<br><br />
They all starting zapping,<br><br />
And chasing the kids,<br><br />
Who ran screaming,<br><br />
Poor little tikes,<br><br />
Fleeing fast,<br><br />
Lest they be zapped,<br><br />
So the prince, he felt like a jerk.<br><br />
<br></tabber></div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/The_Story/Christmas_Chaos&diff=46682LotS/The Story/Christmas Chaos2013-03-12T22:43:27Z<p>Samoan: </p>
<hr />
<div><br />
<br><tabber><br />
"Zone Intro"=<br />
'''Zone Intro'''<br />
<br><br />
"Tentacles!" Adrian Zanfran said, as he walked across the lobby.<br />
<br><br><br />
He emphasized the point by waving those purple appendages in the air. The Rylattu behind the reception desk, a green-skinned male he didn't recognize, stared at them before gazing down at something.<br />
<br><br><br />
Though the desk hid it from him, Adrian knew there was a terminal there. Its screen would at that moment be displaying a picture of the freelance human, accompanied by the words: 'Authorized Stink-Beast! Do Not Disintegrate!'<br />
<br><br><br />
The green Rylattu looked up at him again, and stopped reaching for whatever weapon of mass destruction he had to hand.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'm Adrian Zanfran. Pleased to meet you."<br />
<br><br><br />
The receptionist glanced down and frowned.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It says your name is 'Adnan Zebra'."<br />
<br><br><br />
Adrian sighed. It was somewhat gratifying that Barp Sek Bul had settled on one name to call him by, rather than hurling an endless barrage of incorrect appellations. But it would have been more gratifying still if it had been correct.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That's my... work name. Where's Kwix?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"The overlord summoned her."<br />
<br><br><br />
The freelance human sauntered across the portion of the lobby which lay beyond the reception desk and its emerald-skinned sentinel. A few of the building's other denizens glared at him, perhaps out of habit. But most regarded him with nothing more than indifferent blinks. A few even nodded or spoke words of greeting, which Adrian returned with a smile. None of them fired weapons in his direction or tried to otherwise ensure his doom. Things had changed a great deal over the months since he'd started working for the Mighty Rylattu Publishing House of Ultimate Might.<br />
<br><br><br />
Both elevators' doors were sealed when he approached. One conveyance was already in ascent. The other had stopped many floors up, where it was presumably disgorging its passengers. This didn't diminish the morning cheer on Adrian's face. It was still in full bloom when he entered the stairwell.<br />
<br><br><br />
The stairs themselves were superfluous to him these days. He moved into the space alongside the first flight instead, and reached up with his right tentacle. That powerful purple limb grabbed hold of the bannister above. Then it pulled Adrian upwards, until the shorter tentacle at the end of his left arm could seize another.<br />
<br><br><br />
Like an ape swinging from branch to branch, he climbed the middle of the stairwell in a series of tentacular grasps and pulls. And to think he'd once been dismayed to find those useful appendages on his body...<br />
<br><br><br />
That brisk, invigorating assent brought him to his floor. His more conventional limbs walked him the rest of the way, until he stood before his terminal. He dropped into the now familiar chair and watched the holographic screen come to life in response to his presence.<br />
<br><br><br />
His previous night's work manifested before him. Lines of green text blazed in all their toxic-waste-colored glory. But only for a moment. Then a red face emerged from the screen, throwing the greenness aside in all directions.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Adnan Zebra!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Good morning, overlord. The report you wanted-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Come to Conference Room 3 immediately!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"What-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Immediately, wretched stink-beast!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Adrian sighed, rose from his chair, and headed back into the corridor. He made his way to the designated chamber, and pondered what new happenstance or misfortune might be about to rain down on him. It wasn't unusual for the overlords to summon him into their presence and thrust some completely new task at him, quashing his previous brief despite prior insistence that his continued integration relied upon its fulfillment. He hoped that wouldn't happen this time. He was rather enjoying the challenge of finding new ways to market anti-human literature to mankind (his chief plan was to pass if off as satire).<br />
<br><br><br />
But when he arrived at Conference Room 3, and its door opened in front of him, bewilderment usurped trepidation.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Ah, Adnan Zebra!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Barp Sek Bul took hold of Adrian's right tentacle and pulled him into the room. Rylattu faces surrounded him, each one beaming beneath, of all things, a Santa hat.<br />
<br><br><br />
"How long has it been since you first came to us as a worthless, sniveling human minion seeking employment?" the overlord asked.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Well, it's been-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"I once considered destroying you! But now I am pleased that my mighty Rylattu intellect led me to spare you. In spite of your pathetic whining, and your habit of leaving filthy human limbs in our lobby-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"That wasn't my fault! My arm was blown off!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Silence, stink-beast! As I was saying... You have been a useful minion. Because you understand your disgusting and moronic species, our sales to humans have increased by fifty million percent!"<br />
<br><br><br />
At that pronouncement, the other Rylattu broke into a round of applause, and Adrian beamed as much as the rest of the gathering. Granted, the Mighty Rylattu Publishing House of Ultimate Might had once measured sales of its books to humans in single digits. Hence they still only claimed a tiny audience among the trillions of human beings in the galaxy. But even so, the freelance human was proud.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I have decided to reward you!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Thank you, overlord!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Today is a special day on your laughable homeworld."<br />
<br><br><br />
"It's Christmas!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kwix informed me of this pathetic event. Now behold my mighty magnanimity!"<br />
<br><br><br />
He clapped his hands together.<br />
<br><br><br />
First there came a tantalizing aroma, a blend of delicious smells that tickled Adrian's nose and evoked countless glorious memories. Then a dozen or so Rylattu surged into the room, knocking him spinning.<br />
<br><br><br />
Each of them bore a huge platter, which they distributed across the conference table. Adrian Zanfran recovered his balance just in time to be barged aside once more, when the surge repeated itself in reverse. But he didn't care. For the feast they'd left in their wake would have excused a multitude of sins.<br />
<br><br><br />
There were golden turkeys and roast hams, glistening with succulent juices that made his mouth water and the tips of his tentacles curl. Among them, vying for his eyes, nose, touch, and tongue, Christmas puddings rose as rich, fruity mountains beneath thick layers of snow. Mince pies were arranged in neat sugary stacks, forming step pyramids upon which health and moderation yearned to be sacrificed at the priestly hands of taste and pleasure. Pitchers of eggnog, bottles of port, and sundry other beverages stood in orderly units, awaiting the call which would send them into battle against the tiresome forces of thirst and sobriety. It was a veritable festive banquet.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Begin feasting!" Barp Sek Bul said.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Overlord, this is... it's... I..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I said begin feasting, wretched stink-beast!"<br />
<br><br><br />
So Adrian did.<br />
<br><br><br />
***<br />
<br><br><br />
"...and... and..."<br />
<br><br><br />
The freelance human paused blinked. Had there always been that many Rylattu in the room? And had they always been so blurry? He looked down at the glass of eggnog in his hand. How much brandy had they put in it?<br />
<br><br><br />
"Well?" a blue female demanded. "Then what?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Oh... And a partridge in a pear tree."<br />
<br><br><br />
She frowned.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That song is repetitive and absurd! Who would relish those pathetic gifts? Partridges? Pear trees? Hens? Ridiculous!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Wait!" the Supreme Editing Overlord said. "Those maids, drummers, pipers, and lords could become valuable minions -- if their worthless human brains are capable of learning more useful skills."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Ah, of course, overlord!"<br />
<br><br><br />
The Rylattu began to discuss the matter at length, and ponder such questions as whether drummers or pipers would make better slaves.<br />
<br><br><br />
Adrian wandered over to the table for another mince pie.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Adrian Zanfran!"<br />
<br><br><br />
He turned. Kwix stood before him, her eyes shiny and bleary.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kwix! Merry Christmas! Thank you for... for..." He waved at the festive board, and the still rather substantial remains of its goodly viands.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I read your report on stink-beast holidays," she said, "and learned all the customs of this 'Christmas'. They consist largely of gluttony and alcoholism!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Maybe, but Christmas is also about-"<br />
<br><br><br />
The receptionist raised something above her head. Something green. It wobbled in her drunken grasp.<br />
<br><br><br />
"By the laws and traditions of this pathetic festival, you must now kiss me!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Huh? I..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kiss me, puny human, or I will destroy you!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Adrian had worked there long enough to know that was no idle threat. So he pulled her into a tentacled embrace, and their lips met.<br />
<br><br><br />
He hoped she wouldn't obliterate him for this when she sobered up...<br />
|-|<br />
"Guns Are for Girls" = <br />
'''Guns Are for Girls'''<br />
<br><br />
Dashing through the mall,<br><br />
Looking for good deeds to do,<br><br />
She saw a girl bawl,<br><br />
And Santa Claus too.<br><br />
She stopped then and there,<br><br />
Thinking she'd lend aid,<br><br />
And learn about the girl's despair,<br><br />
So she could her mood upgrade.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"I want a gun, want a gun!"<br><br />
Cried the little tot,<br><br />
"But Santa won't give me one,<br><br />
So he's left me all upsot!<br><br />
Want a gun, want a gun!"<br><br />
Cried the little tot,<br><br />
"But Santa won't give me one,<br><br />
So he's left me all upsot!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"Upsot's not a real word!"<br><br />
Fat Santa Claus replied,<br><br />
"And this gun's not for her,<br><br />
Someone get her eyes dried!"<br><br />
"You're such a sexist brute!"<br><br />
Talia told him back,<br><br />
"There is no reason girls can't shoot!<br><br />
So don't make me attack!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"Give me that gun, me that gun!"<br><br />
Talia Ryx said,<br><br />
And snatched it from Santa's hand,<br><br />
For the girl with eyes so red.<br><br />
"Here's the gun! Here's the gun!<br><br />
No more tears shed!<br><br />
Santa's just a sexist jerk,<br><br />
I should slap his stupid head!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"Silly cow, silly cow!"<br><br />
Said his angry face.<br><br />
"That's no toy, it's a real gun,<br><br />
I carry the thing in case,<br><br />
Some kids're bad, really bad,<br><br />
Act like a disgrace!<br><br />
Oh, look what you've gone and done,<br><br />
The girl's shooting up the place!"<br><br />
|-|<br />
"Christmas Kebabs" =<br />
'''Christmas Kebabs'''<br />
The mighty Niflung walked out,<br><br />
'Fore the feast of Stephen,<br><br />
Gazing all ways round about,<br><br />
To the heavens even,<br><br />
Searching for some folk to help,<br><br />
On the day of yule,<br><br />
Upon a soup kitchen strayed,<br><br />
Serving winter fuel.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
He went inside and growled deep,<br><br />
For it made him angry.<br><br />
"How can all you bastards sleep,<br><br />
When you leave them hungry?<br><br />
Soup is but a feeble dish,<br><br />
I can do much better!<br><br />
I am here to answer your wish,<br><br />
Shatter hunger's fetter!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"Bring me naans and bring me meat,<br><br />
Bring finest chili sauce!<br><br />
These people deserve to eat,<br><br />
And all for free of course!<br><br />
Kebab Chaos does owe me,<br><br />
A debt they must repay,<br><br />
Or blood shall run quite free,<br><br />
I mean just what I say!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
And so the kebabs came hence,<br><br />
Answering Ragnar's shout,<br><br />
It really was quite good sense<,<br><br />
Else spines he'd have ripped out.<br><br />
He served food to all who came,<br><br />
In generous portions.<br><br />
First the diners cheered his name,<br><br />
Then came the contortions!<br><br />
<br><br><br />
Vomit spewed from every maw,<br><br />
In torrents unending,<br><br />
For donners wage bloody war,<br><br />
And soon guts need mending.<br><br />
The Niflung cried out in rage,<br><br />
To see them stripped of honor,<br><br />
Too late did Ragnar gage,<br><br />
The power of the donner.<br><br />
|-|<br />
"Terrible Toys for Tots"=<br />
''Terrible Toys for Tots''<br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
Telemachus did see,<br><br />
An orphanage with a tree.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
The young prince went inside,<br><br />
To give out gifts,<br><br />
And some seasonal cheer provide.<br><br />
<br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
He brought a bag of toys,<br><br />
He'd played with,<br><br />
In younger days,<br><br />
He hoped might delight little boys.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
The kids all cheered and yelled,<br><br />
In young delight,<br><br />
Filled with joy,<br><br />
Pleased by the gifts,<br><br />
And so Telemachus' heart swelled.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
Orphans began to play,<br><br />
With toy robots,<br><br />
Brought by the prince,<br><br />
That kind boy,<br><br />
Who beamed at them,<br><br />
And thought he'd triumphed on that day.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
Telemachus forgot,<br><br />
When he was younger,<br><br />
He did tinker,<br><br />
With his toys,<br><br />
And had fun,<br><br />
Messing with tech,<br><br />
Till he weaponized them for sport.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
The toys went quite berserk,<br><br />
They all starting zapping,<br><br />
And chasing the kids,<br><br />
Who ran screaming,<br><br />
Poor little tikes,<br><br />
Fleeing fast,<br><br />
Lest they be zapped,<br><br />
So the prince, he felt like a jerk.<br><br />
<br></tabber></div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/The_Story/Christmas_Chaos&diff=46681LotS/The Story/Christmas Chaos2013-03-12T22:41:48Z<p>Samoan: </p>
<hr />
<div><br />
<br><tabber><br />
"Zone Intro"=<br />
'''Zone Intro'''<br />
<br><br />
"Tentacles!" Adrian Zanfran said, as he walked across the lobby.<br />
<br><br><br />
He emphasized the point by waving those purple appendages in the air. The Rylattu behind the reception desk, a green-skinned male he didn't recognize, stared at them before gazing down at something.<br />
<br><br><br />
Though the desk hid it from him, Adrian knew there was a terminal there. Its screen would at that moment be displaying a picture of the freelance human, accompanied by the words: 'Authorized Stink-Beast! Do Not Disintegrate!'<br />
<br><br><br />
The green Rylattu looked up at him again, and stopped reaching for whatever weapon of mass destruction he had to hand.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'm Adrian Zanfran. Pleased to meet you."<br />
<br><br><br />
The receptionist glanced down and frowned.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It says your name is 'Adnan Zebra'."<br />
<br><br><br />
Adrian sighed. It was somewhat gratifying that Barp Sek Bul had settled on one name to call him by, rather than hurling an endless barrage of incorrect appellations. But it would have been more gratifying still if it had been correct.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That's my... work name. Where's Kwix?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"The overlord summoned her."<br />
<br><br><br />
The freelance human sauntered across the portion of the lobby which lay beyond the reception desk and its emerald-skinned sentinel. A few of the building's other denizens glared at him, perhaps out of habit. But most regarded him with nothing more than indifferent blinks. A few even nodded or spoke words of greeting, which Adrian returned with a smile. None of them fired weapons in his direction or tried to otherwise ensure his doom. Things had changed a great deal over the months since he'd started working for the Mighty Rylattu Publishing House of Ultimate Might.<br />
<br><br><br />
Both elevators' doors were sealed when he approached. One conveyance was already in ascent. The other had stopped many floors up, where it was presumably disgorging its passengers. This didn't diminish the morning cheer on Adrian's face. It was still in full bloom when he entered the stairwell.<br />
<br><br><br />
The stairs themselves were superfluous to him these days. He moved into the space alongside the first flight instead, and reached up with his right tentacle. That powerful purple limb grabbed hold of the bannister above. Then it pulled Adrian upwards, until the shorter tentacle at the end of his left arm could seize another.<br />
<br><br><br />
Like an ape swinging from branch to branch, he climbed the middle of the stairwell in a series of tentacular grasps and pulls. And to think he'd once been dismayed to find those useful appendages on his body...<br />
<br><br><br />
That brisk, invigorating assent brought him to his floor. His more conventional limbs walked him the rest of the way, until he stood before his terminal. He dropped into the now familiar chair and watched the holographic screen come to life in response to his presence.<br />
<br><br><br />
His previous night's work manifested before him. Lines of green text blazed in all their toxic-waste-colored glory. But only for a moment. Then a red face emerged from the screen, throwing the greenness aside in all directions.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Adnan Zebra!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Good morning, overlord. The report you wanted-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Come to Conference Room 3 immediately!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"What-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Immediately, wretched stink-beast!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Adrian sighed, rose from his chair, and headed back into the corridor. He made his way to the designated chamber, and pondered what new happenstance or misfortune might be about to rain down on him. It wasn't unusual for the overlords to summon him into their presence and thrust some completely new task at him, quashing his previous brief despite prior insistence that his continued integration relied upon its fulfillment. He hoped that wouldn't happen this time. He was rather enjoying the challenge of finding new ways to market anti-human literature to mankind (his chief plan was to pass if off as satire).<br />
<br><br><br />
But when he arrived at Conference Room 3, and its door opened in front of him, bewilderment usurped trepidation.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Ah, Adnan Zebra!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Barp Sek Bul took hold of Adrian's right tentacle and pulled him into the room. Rylattu faces surrounded him, each one beaming beneath, of all things, a Santa hat.<br />
<br><br><br />
"How long has it been since you first came to us as a worthless, sniveling human minion seeking employment?" the overlord asked.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Well, it's been-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"I once considered destroying you! But now I am pleased that my mighty Rylattu intellect led me to spare you. In spite of your pathetic whining, and your habit of leaving filthy human limbs in our lobby-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"That wasn't my fault! My arm was blown off!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Silence, stink-beast! As I was saying... You have been a useful minion. Because you understand your disgusting and moronic species, our sales to humans have increased by fifty million percent!"<br />
<br><br><br />
At that pronouncement, the other Rylattu broke into a round of applause, and Adrian beamed as much as the rest of the gathering. Granted, the Mighty Rylattu Publishing House of Ultimate Might had once measured sales of its books to humans in single digits. Hence they still only claimed a tiny audience among the trillions of human beings in the galaxy. But even so, the freelance human was proud.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I have decided to reward you!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Thank you, overlord!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Today is a special day on your laughable homeworld."<br />
<br><br><br />
"It's Christmas!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kwix informed me of this pathetic event. Now behold my mighty magnanimity!"<br />
<br><br><br />
He clapped his hands together.<br />
<br><br><br />
First there came a tantalizing aroma, a blend of delicious smells that tickled Adrian's nose and evoked countless glorious memories. Then a dozen or so Rylattu surged into the room, knocking him spinning.<br />
<br><br><br />
Each of them bore a huge platter, which they distributed across the conference table. Adrian Zanfran recovered his balance just in time to be barged aside once more, when the surge repeated itself in reverse. But he didn't care. For the feast they'd left in their wake would have excused a multitude of sins.<br />
<br><br><br />
There were golden turkeys and roast hams, glistening with succulent juices that made his mouth water and the tips of his tentacles curl. Among them, vying for his eyes, nose, touch, and tongue, Christmas puddings rose as rich, fruity mountains beneath thick layers of snow. Mince pies were arranged in neat sugary stacks, forming step pyramids upon which health and moderation yearned to be sacrificed at the priestly hands of taste and pleasure. Pitchers of eggnog, bottles of port, and sundry other beverages stood in orderly units, awaiting the call which would send them into battle against the tiresome forces of thirst and sobriety. It was a veritable festive banquet.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Begin feasting!" Barp Sek Bul said.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Overlord, this is... it's... I..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I said begin feasting, wretched stink-beast!"<br />
<br><br><br />
So Adrian did.<br />
<br><br><br />
***<br />
<br><br><br />
"...and... and..."<br />
<br><br><br />
The freelance human paused blinked. Had there always been that many Rylattu in the room? And had they always been so blurry? He looked down at the glass of eggnog in his hand. How much brandy had they put in it?<br />
<br><br><br />
"Well?" a blue female demanded. "Then what?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Oh... And a partridge in a pear tree."<br />
<br><br><br />
She frowned.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That song is repetitive and absurd! Who would relish those pathetic gifts? Partridges? Pear trees? Hens? Ridiculous!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Wait!" the Supreme Editing Overlord said. "Those maids, drummers, pipers, and lords could become valuable minions -- if their worthless human brains are capable of learning more useful skills."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Ah, of course, overlord!"<br />
<br><br><br />
The Rylattu began to discuss the matter at length, and ponder such questions as whether drummers or pipers would make better slaves.<br />
<br><br><br />
Adrian wandered over to the table for another mince pie.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Adrian Zanfran!"<br />
<br><br><br />
He turned. Kwix stood before him, her eyes shiny and bleary.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kwix! Merry Christmas! Thank you for... for..." He waved at the festive board, and the still rather substantial remains of its goodly viands.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I read your report on stink-beast holidays," she said, "and learned all the customs of this 'Christmas'. They consist largely of gluttony and alcoholism!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Maybe, but Christmas is also about-"<br />
<br><br><br />
The receptionist raised something above her head. Something green. It wobbled in her drunken grasp.<br />
<br><br><br />
"By the laws and traditions of this pathetic festival, you must now kiss me!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Huh? I..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kiss me, puny human, or I will destroy you!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Adrian had worked there long enough to know that was no idle threat. So he pulled her into a tentacled embrace, and their lips met.<br />
<br><br><br />
He hoped she wouldn't obliterate him for this when she sobered up...<br />
|-|<br />
"Guns Are for Girls" = <br />
'''Guns Are for Girls'''<br />
<br><br />
Dashing through the mall,<br><br />
Looking for good deeds to do,<br><br />
She saw a girl bawl,<br><br />
And Santa Claus too.<br><br />
She stopped then and there,<br><br />
Thinking she'd lend aid,<br><br />
And learn about the girl's despair,<br><br />
So she could her mood upgrade.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"I want a gun, want a gun!"<br><br />
Cried the little tot,<br><br />
"But Santa won't give me one,<br><br />
So he's left me all upsot!<br><br />
Want a gun, want a gun!"<br><br />
Cried the little tot,<br><br />
"But Santa won't give me one,<br><br />
So he's left me all upsot!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"Upsot's not a real word!"<br><br />
Fat Santa Claus replied,<br><br />
"And this gun's not for her,<br><br />
Someone get her eyes dried!"<br><br />
"You're such a sexist brute!"<br><br />
Talia told him back,<br><br />
"There is no reason girls can't shoot!<br><br />
So don't make me attack!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"Give me that gun, me that gun!"<br><br />
Talia Ryx said,<br><br />
And snatched it from Santa's hand,<br><br />
For the girl with eyes so red.<br><br />
"Here's the gun! Here's the gun!<br><br />
No more tears shed!<br><br />
Santa's just a sexist jerk,<br><br />
I should slap his stupid head!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"Silly cow, silly cow!"<br><br />
Said his angry face.<br><br />
"That's no toy, it's a real gun,<br><br />
I carry the thing in case,<br><br />
Some kids're bad, really bad,<br><br />
Act like a disgrace!<br><br />
Oh, look what you've gone and done,<br><br />
The girl's shooting up the place!"<br><br />
|-|<br />
"Christmas Kebabs" = '<br />
''Christmas Kebabs''<br><br />
The mighty Niflung walked out,<br><br />
'Fore the feast of Stephen,<br><br />
Gazing all ways round about,<br><br />
To the heavens even,<br><br />
Searching for some folk to help,<br><br />
On the day of yule,<br><br />
Upon a soup kitchen strayed,<br><br />
Serving winter fuel.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
He went inside and growled deep,<br><br />
For it made him angry.<br><br />
"How can all you bastards sleep,<br><br />
When you leave them hungry?<br><br />
Soup is but a feeble dish,<br><br />
I can do much better!<br><br />
I am here to answer your wish,<br><br />
Shatter hunger's fetter!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"Bring me naans and bring me meat,<br><br />
Bring finest chili sauce!<br><br />
These people deserve to eat,<br><br />
And all for free of course!<br><br />
Kebab Chaos does owe me,<br><br />
A debt they must repay,<br><br />
Or blood shall run quite free,<br><br />
I mean just what I say!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
And so the kebabs came hence,<br><br />
Answering Ragnar's shout,<br><br />
It really was quite good sense<,<br><br />
Else spines he'd have ripped out.<br><br />
He served food to all who came,<br><br />
In generous portions.<br><br />
First the diners cheered his name,<br><br />
Then came the contortions!<br><br />
<br><br><br />
Vomit spewed from every maw,<br><br />
In torrents unending,<br><br />
For donners wage bloody war,<br><br />
And soon guts need mending.<br><br />
The Niflung cried out in rage,<br><br />
To see them stripped of honor,<br><br />
Too late did Ragnar gage,<br><br />
The power of the donner.<br><br />
|-|<br />
"Terrible Toys for Tots"=<br />
''Terrible Toys for Tots''<br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
Telemachus did see,<br><br />
An orphanage with a tree.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
The young prince went inside,<br><br />
To give out gifts,<br><br />
And some seasonal cheer provide.<br><br />
<br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
He brought a bag of toys,<br><br />
He'd played with,<br><br />
In younger days,<br><br />
He hoped might delight little boys.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
The kids all cheered and yelled,<br><br />
In young delight,<br><br />
Filled with joy,<br><br />
Pleased by the gifts,<br><br />
And so Telemachus' heart swelled.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
Orphans began to play,<br><br />
With toy robots,<br><br />
Brought by the prince,<br><br />
That kind boy,<br><br />
Who beamed at them,<br><br />
And thought he'd triumphed on that day.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
Telemachus forgot,<br><br />
When he was younger,<br><br />
He did tinker,<br><br />
With his toys,<br><br />
And had fun,<br><br />
Messing with tech,<br><br />
Till he weaponized them for sport.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br><br />
The toys went quite berserk,<br><br />
They all starting zapping,<br><br />
And chasing the kids,<br><br />
Who ran screaming,<br><br />
Poor little tikes,<br><br />
Fleeing fast,<br><br />
Lest they be zapped,<br><br />
So the prince, he felt like a jerk.<br><br />
<br></tabber></div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/The_Story/Christmas_Chaos&diff=46680LotS/The Story/Christmas Chaos2013-03-12T22:34:08Z<p>Samoan: Created page with " <br><tabber> "Zone Intro"= '''Zone Intro''' <br> "Tentacles!" Adrian Zanfran said, as he walked across the lobby. <br><br> He emphasized the point by waving those purple appe..."</p>
<hr />
<div><br />
<br><tabber><br />
"Zone Intro"=<br />
'''Zone Intro'''<br />
<br><br />
"Tentacles!" Adrian Zanfran said, as he walked across the lobby.<br />
<br><br><br />
He emphasized the point by waving those purple appendages in the air. The Rylattu behind the reception desk, a green-skinned male he didn't recognize, stared at them before gazing down at something.<br />
<br><br><br />
Though the desk hid it from him, Adrian knew there was a terminal there. Its screen would at that moment be displaying a picture of the freelance human, accompanied by the words: 'Authorized Stink-Beast! Do Not Disintegrate!'<br />
<br><br><br />
The green Rylattu looked up at him again, and stopped reaching for whatever weapon of mass destruction he had to hand.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'm Adrian Zanfran. Pleased to meet you."<br />
<br><br><br />
The receptionist glanced down and frowned.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It says your name is 'Adnan Zebra'."<br />
<br><br><br />
Adrian sighed. It was somewhat gratifying that Barp Sek Bul had settled on one name to call him by, rather than hurling an endless barrage of incorrect appellations. But it would have been more gratifying still if it had been correct.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That's my... work name. Where's Kwix?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"The overlord summoned her."<br />
<br><br><br />
The freelance human sauntered across the portion of the lobby which lay beyond the reception desk and its emerald-skinned sentinel. A few of the building's other denizens glared at him, perhaps out of habit. But most regarded him with nothing more than indifferent blinks. A few even nodded or spoke words of greeting, which Adrian returned with a smile. None of them fired weapons in his direction or tried to otherwise ensure his doom. Things had changed a great deal over the months since he'd started working for the Mighty Rylattu Publishing House of Ultimate Might.<br />
<br><br><br />
Both elevators' doors were sealed when he approached. One conveyance was already in ascent. The other had stopped many floors up, where it was presumably disgorging its passengers. This didn't diminish the morning cheer on Adrian's face. It was still in full bloom when he entered the stairwell.<br />
<br><br><br />
The stairs themselves were superfluous to him these days. He moved into the space alongside the first flight instead, and reached up with his right tentacle. That powerful purple limb grabbed hold of the bannister above. Then it pulled Adrian upwards, until the shorter tentacle at the end of his left arm could seize another.<br />
<br><br><br />
Like an ape swinging from branch to branch, he climbed the middle of the stairwell in a series of tentacular grasps and pulls. And to think he'd once been dismayed to find those useful appendages on his body...<br />
<br><br><br />
That brisk, invigorating assent brought him to his floor. His more conventional limbs walked him the rest of the way, until he stood before his terminal. He dropped into the now familiar chair and watched the holographic screen come to life in response to his presence.<br />
<br><br><br />
His previous night's work manifested before him. Lines of green text blazed in all their toxic-waste-colored glory. But only for a moment. Then a red face emerged from the screen, throwing the greenness aside in all directions.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Adnan Zebra!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Good morning, overlord. The report you wanted-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Come to Conference Room 3 immediately!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"What-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Immediately, wretched stink-beast!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Adrian sighed, rose from his chair, and headed back into the corridor. He made his way to the designated chamber, and pondered what new happenstance or misfortune might be about to rain down on him. It wasn't unusual for the overlords to summon him into their presence and thrust some completely new task at him, quashing his previous brief despite prior insistence that his continued integration relied upon its fulfillment. He hoped that wouldn't happen this time. He was rather enjoying the challenge of finding new ways to market anti-human literature to mankind (his chief plan was to pass if off as satire).<br />
<br><br><br />
But when he arrived at Conference Room 3, and its door opened in front of him, bewilderment usurped trepidation.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Ah, Adnan Zebra!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Barp Sek Bul took hold of Adrian's right tentacle and pulled him into the room. Rylattu faces surrounded him, each one beaming beneath, of all things, a Santa hat.<br />
<br><br><br />
"How long has it been since you first came to us as a worthless, sniveling human minion seeking employment?" the overlord asked.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Well, it's been-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"I once considered destroying you! But now I am pleased that my mighty Rylattu intellect led me to spare you. In spite of your pathetic whining, and your habit of leaving filthy human limbs in our lobby-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"That wasn't my fault! My arm was blown off!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Silence, stink-beast! As I was saying... You have been a useful minion. Because you understand your disgusting and moronic species, our sales to humans have increased by fifty million percent!"<br />
<br><br><br />
At that pronouncement, the other Rylattu broke into a round of applause, and Adrian beamed as much as the rest of the gathering. Granted, the Mighty Rylattu Publishing House of Ultimate Might had once measured sales of its books to humans in single digits. Hence they still only claimed a tiny audience among the trillions of human beings in the galaxy. But even so, the freelance human was proud.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I have decided to reward you!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Thank you, overlord!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Today is a special day on your laughable homeworld."<br />
<br><br><br />
"It's Christmas!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kwix informed me of this pathetic event. Now behold my mighty magnanimity!"<br />
<br><br><br />
He clapped his hands together.<br />
<br><br><br />
First there came a tantalizing aroma, a blend of delicious smells that tickled Adrian's nose and evoked countless glorious memories. Then a dozen or so Rylattu surged into the room, knocking him spinning.<br />
<br><br><br />
Each of them bore a huge platter, which they distributed across the conference table. Adrian Zanfran recovered his balance just in time to be barged aside once more, when the surge repeated itself in reverse. But he didn't care. For the feast they'd left in their wake would have excused a multitude of sins.<br />
<br><br><br />
There were golden turkeys and roast hams, glistening with succulent juices that made his mouth water and the tips of his tentacles curl. Among them, vying for his eyes, nose, touch, and tongue, Christmas puddings rose as rich, fruity mountains beneath thick layers of snow. Mince pies were arranged in neat sugary stacks, forming step pyramids upon which health and moderation yearned to be sacrificed at the priestly hands of taste and pleasure. Pitchers of eggnog, bottles of port, and sundry other beverages stood in orderly units, awaiting the call which would send them into battle against the tiresome forces of thirst and sobriety. It was a veritable festive banquet.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Begin feasting!" Barp Sek Bul said.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Overlord, this is... it's... I..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I said begin feasting, wretched stink-beast!"<br />
<br><br><br />
So Adrian did.<br />
<br><br><br />
***<br />
<br><br><br />
"...and... and..."<br />
<br><br><br />
The freelance human paused blinked. Had there always been that many Rylattu in the room? And had they always been so blurry? He looked down at the glass of eggnog in his hand. How much brandy had they put in it?<br />
<br><br><br />
"Well?" a blue female demanded. "Then what?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Oh... And a partridge in a pear tree."<br />
<br><br><br />
She frowned.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That song is repetitive and absurd! Who would relish those pathetic gifts? Partridges? Pear trees? Hens? Ridiculous!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Wait!" the Supreme Editing Overlord said. "Those maids, drummers, pipers, and lords could become valuable minions -- if their worthless human brains are capable of learning more useful skills."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Ah, of course, overlord!"<br />
<br><br><br />
The Rylattu began to discuss the matter at length, and ponder such questions as whether drummers or pipers would make better slaves.<br />
<br><br><br />
Adrian wandered over to the table for another mince pie.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Adrian Zanfran!"<br />
<br><br><br />
He turned. Kwix stood before him, her eyes shiny and bleary.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kwix! Merry Christmas! Thank you for... for..." He waved at the festive board, and the still rather substantial remains of its goodly viands.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I read your report on stink-beast holidays," she said, "and learned all the customs of this 'Christmas'. They consist largely of gluttony and alcoholism!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Maybe, but Christmas is also about-"<br />
<br><br><br />
The receptionist raised something above her head. Something green. It wobbled in her drunken grasp.<br />
<br><br><br />
"By the laws and traditions of this pathetic festival, you must now kiss me!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Huh? I..."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kiss me, puny human, or I will destroy you!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Adrian had worked there long enough to know that was no idle threat. So he pulled her into a tentacled embrace, and their lips met.<br />
<br><br><br />
He hoped she wouldn't obliterate him for this when she sobered up...<br />
|-|<br />
"Guns Are for Girls" = <br />
'''Guns Are for Girls'''<br />
<br><br />
Dashing through the mall,<br><br />
Looking for good deeds to do,<br><br />
She saw a girl bawl,<br><br />
And Santa Claus too.<br><br />
She stopped then and there,<br><br />
Thinking she'd lend aid,<br><br />
And learn about the girl's despair,<br><br />
So she could her mood upgrade.<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"I want a gun, want a gun!"<br><br />
Cried the little tot,<br><br />
"But Santa won't give me one,<br><br />
So he's left me all upsot!<br><br />
Want a gun, want a gun!"<br><br />
Cried the little tot,<br><br />
"But Santa won't give me one,<br><br />
So he's left me all upsot!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"Upsot's not a real word!"<br><br />
Fat Santa Claus replied,<br><br />
"And this gun's not for her,<br><br />
Someone get her eyes dried!"<br><br />
"You're such a sexist brute!"<br><br />
Talia told him back,<br><br />
"There is no reason girls can't shoot!<br><br />
So don't make me attack!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"Give me that gun, me that gun!"<br><br />
Talia Ryx said,<br><br />
And snatched it from Santa's hand,<br><br />
For the girl with eyes so red.<br><br />
"Here's the gun! Here's the gun!<br><br />
No more tears shed!<br><br />
Santa's just a sexist jerk,<br><br />
I should slap his stupid head!"<br><br />
<br><br><br />
"Silly cow, silly cow!"<br><br />
Said his angry face.<br><br />
"That's no toy, it's a real gun,<br><br />
I carry the thing in case,<br><br />
Some kids're bad, really bad,<br><br />
Act like a disgrace!<br><br />
Oh, look what you've gone and done,<br><br />
The girl's shooting up the place!"<br><br />
|-|<br />
"Christmas Kebabs" = '<br />
''Christmas Kebabs''<br />
The mighty Niflung walked out,<br />
'Fore the feast of Stephen,<br />
Gazing all ways round about,<br />
To the heavens even,<br />
Searching for some folk to help,<br />
On the day of yule,<br />
Upon a soup kitchen strayed,<br />
Serving winter fuel.<br />
<br />
He went inside and growled deep,<br />
For it made him angry.<br />
"How can all you bastards sleep,<br />
When you leave them hungry?<br />
Soup is but a feeble dish,<br />
I can do much better!<br />
I am here to answer your wish,<br />
Shatter hunger's fetter!"<br />
<br />
"Bring me naans and bring me meat,<br />
Bring finest chili sauce!<br />
These people deserve to eat,<br />
And all for free of course!<br />
Kebab Chaos does owe me,<br />
A debt they must repay,<br />
Or blood shall run quite free,<br />
I mean just what I say!"<br />
<br />
And so the kebabs came hence,<br />
Answering Ragnar's shout,<br />
It really was quite good sense,<br />
Else spines he'd have ripped out.<br />
He served food to all who came,<br />
In generous portions.<br />
First the diners cheered his name,<br />
Then came the contortions!<br />
<br />
Vomit spewed from every maw,<br />
In torrents unending,<br />
For donners wage bloody war, <br />
And soon guts need mending.<br />
The Niflung cried out in rage,<br />
To see them stripped of honor,<br />
Too late did Ragnar gage,<br />
The power of the donner.<br />
|-|<br />
"Terrible Toys for Tots"=<br />
''Terrible Toys for Tots''<br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br />
Telemachus did see,<br />
An orphanage with a tree.<br />
<br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br />
The young prince went inside,<br />
To give out gifts,<br />
And some seasonal cheer provide.<br />
<br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br />
He brought a bag of toys,<br />
He'd played with,<br />
In younger days,<br />
He hoped might delight little boys.<br />
<br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br />
The kids all cheered and yelled,<br />
In young delight,<br />
Filled with joy,<br />
Pleased by the gifts,<br />
And so Telemachus' heart swelled.<br />
<br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br />
Orphans began to play,<br />
With toy robots,<br />
Brought by the prince,<br />
That kind boy,<br />
Who beamed at them,<br />
And thought he'd triumphed on that day.<br />
<br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br />
Telemachus forgot,<br />
When he was younger,<br />
He did tinker,<br />
With his toys,<br />
And had fun,<br />
Messing with tech,<br />
Till he weaponized them for sport.<br />
<br />
On the morning of Christmas,<br />
The toys went quite berserk,<br />
They all starting zapping,<br />
And chasing the kids,<br />
Who ran screaming,<br />
Poor little tikes,<br />
Fleeing fast,<br />
Lest they be zapped,<br />
So the prince, he felt like a jerk.<br />
<br></tabber></div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/The_Story&diff=46679LotS/The Story2013-03-12T22:33:31Z<p>Samoan: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''The Milky Way'''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Princess_Illaria's_Escape|Princess Illaria's Escape]] (Sian Space)<br>''The Centurian Collective hunts for Princess Illaria, the last hope of the Sian Empire. Only her champion can save her now.''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Legions_of_Steel|Legions of Steel]] (Talos Space)<br>''Free from the clutches of the Centurians, the Princess and her companions seek aid from TALOS and its robot armies.''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Assault on the Zenith|Assault on the Zenith]] (Occupied Sian Space)<br>''It's time to strike back at the Centurians...''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/The Search for the Princess|The Search for the Princess]]<br>''The Princess had disappeared, whisked away from the Zenith in a flash of light. But she's out there somewhere, and you'll find her even if you have to tear the galaxy apart.''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Politics of War|Politics of War]] (Sol)<br>''Perhaps it's fitting that the fate of human space might be decided upon Earth, mankind's ancient homeworld.''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Aphrodisian Anabasis|Aphrodisian Anabasis]]<br>''War makes strange bedfellows. And so the Princess must journey to Cythera, the Contella vice-world, to secure that faction's aid against Centurians.''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/The Right Tools|The Right Tools]]<br>''A mission as ambitious as the one you're planning can only succeed if you have the proper assets at the ready.''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/A Masterful Stratagem|A Masterful Stratagem]]<br>''The Centurians are untouchable while the Emperor is in their grasp. It's time to rectify that...''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Scaean_Gates|Scean Gates]]<br>''She's gone. Now there's nothing left but vengeance.''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Because I'm The Wanderer|Because I'm The Wanderer]]<br>''The galaxy is so vast. So much space to lose yourself in...''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Talia's Team|Talia's Team]]<br>''If she fumbles, her first match might be her last.''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/The Prince & The Pixels|The Prince & The Pixels]]<br>''Videogames are dangerous. But so's Telemachus.<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/The Saga of Drunken Ragnar|The Saga of Drunken Ragnar]]<br>''All good stories start with a drink...<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Lu Bu's Halloween|Lu Bu's Halloween]]<br>''Halloween's for killing and candy. Lu Bu can't eat candy...<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Puny Human Birthdays|A. Puny Human Birthdays]]<br>''"Wretched stink-beast! Tell us about these 'birthdays' your pathetic species celebrates, or we shall destroy you with our superior Rylattu technology!"<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Puny Human Birthdays II|A2. Puny Human Birthdays II]] (Twice as puny, and full of goo)<br>''"Puny human! Continue the birthday tales or suffer immediate disintegration!"<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Christmas Chaos|Christmas Chaos]] <br>''"Peace on Earth... But they never said anything about the rest of the galaxy."<br />
<br />
[[LotS/La_Historia|Spanish translation]] (Work in progress).</div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/The_Story/The_Right_Tools/The_Assassin&diff=46678LotS/The Story/The Right Tools/The Assassin2013-03-12T22:27:06Z<p>Samoan: </p>
<hr />
<div><font size="3">'''The Assassin'''</font><br><br />
"The term is used to describe the fluctuation of murder rates within a given area caused by the arrival or departure of Artemis Kess." -- Entry for 'Kess Effect' in the New Interstellar Dictionary of Quotations and Phrases (984th Ed.)<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
You sigh as the handcuffs hiss shut around your wrists, the electrical anti-tampering fields tickling against your skin. Memories of the Child of Heaven, of the last time your hands were manacled, flood your mind in an unwelcome tide.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It is an unfortunate necessity," Lu Bu says. "If we delivered unrestrained prisoners, it would surely attract suspicion."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I still think this is stupid." Ragnar grunts, and gives his cuffs an experimental tug. The yellow bonds shift to a glaring red as they strain to near breaking point. "But I'll have your back in there. I've been in a lot of prisons. I know how they work."<br />
<br><br><br />
An unpleasant mental image of Ragnar looming behind a hapless fellow convict in the showers fills your mind, successfully banishing the memories of your previous incarceration -- though not for the better.<br />
<br><br><br />
You walk to the front of the flight cabin by way of a distraction, where Talia and Telemachus are sitting in the pilot's and co-pilot's chairs. The young prince is playing with a joystick, rotating one of the laser cannon turrets this way and that, sending the image on the connected monitor spinning. But Talia must have had the foresight to override the fire control, as no streams of energy issue forth when his stubby thumb taps the red button atop the stick. He seems content enough supplying his own sound effects in lieu of genuine laser fire, however -- accompanying each click with a 'pew pew' or 'rat-a-tat' noise that seem remarkably inauthentic.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Your mech ready?" you ask.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yeah." He relinquishes the stick and swivels his chair -- always ready to talk about his favorite toy. "Wilex helped me test the new armor and shields. I won't let you down. Still wish I was going in with you though."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Prison isn't an appropriate place for children. Well, except for the homicidal ones."<br />
<br><br><br />
You pause, as the foolishness of the statement strikes you.<br />
<br><br><br />
"The indiscriminately homicidal ones," you amend.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I don't know..." Talia says. "A little jail time might scare him straight."<br />
<br><br><br />
A blue-green globe appears through the window, a vibrant orb defying the lifeless blackness that surrounds it. Echidna III -- home to some of the galaxy's most dangerous flora and fauna. A perfect place to house some of the deadliest criminals in human space.<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
"A master of silent killing," Wu Tenchu said.<br />
<br><br><br />
The woman's face flashed into being among the other holographic displays, shunting them aside to dominate the tableau. A somewhat handsome face, made hard and almost vicious by its expression. But then, no one looks that great in mug shots.<br />
<br><br><br />
Talia stared at the picture, her brow furrowed in thought.<br />
<br><br><br />
"We have assassins of our own," you said, your words directed at Master Wu but your eyes fixed on the gunslinger.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I would never disparage the skills of our serving agents. I trained the finest of them myself..."<br />
<br><br><br />
That statement, spoken as if it were a casual thing, caught you by surprise -- and made you look at Wu Tenchu with renewed scrutiny. The remarkable quality of his mind was known to you, but you'd never heard of his skill as an assassin. He wouldn't have made such a revelation, shared such a secret, without purpose. It flattered you that he was so keen to convince you of his practical knowledge, and demonstrate the worth of his opinion.<br />
<br><br><br />
"But Artemis Kess was the most capable. At least for a task of this nature."<br />
<br><br><br />
"She was one of ours?" the Princess asked.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I knew her!" Talia said at last. "She was one of the recruits I did basic training with. But she looked different back then, and she wasn't called Artemis. And she died in a training accident."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I identified her potential early in the process, and selected her for assassin training. The explosion during that exercise was a convenient ruse to remove her from the knowledge of her fellows."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Why'd you pick her instead of Talia?" Telemachus asked.<br />
<br><br><br />
The gunslinger looked at the prince, then back to Master Wu. You sensed that whilst properness and respect would have prevented her from asking such a thing of the Emperor's advisor herself, the question had crossed her mind as well.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I deemed her... somewhat too exuberant for the role of an assassin."<br />
<br><br><br />
Talia smiled, seemingly satisfied with that answer.<br />
<br><br><br />
"She was called Diana back then."<br />
<br><br><br />
"A convenient mythological shuffle," Wu Tenchu said.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Why did she leave the empire's employ?" you asked.<br />
<br><br><br />
"There was a dispute between her and her commander. It ended... poorly."<br />
<br><br><br />
"She hit him?" Ragnar asked. "I know a lot of mercs who punched out their superior officers. It's sort of a tradition."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Actually, she eviscerated him. With her bare hands."<br />
<br><br><br />
"She's cybernetically enhanced?" Lu Bu flexed his mechanical fingers, his computerized mind perhaps pondering the biology and physics which the deed in question would have involved.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes. Her fingernails were replaced with extending blades, for example."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Nice." The Niflung nodded in approval. "Would get those myself, except that scratching is girly."<br />
<br><br><br />
"She murdered her commander?" the Princess asked, rather less impressed with such an act than Ragnar.<br />
<br><br><br />
"At the time it was deemed a criminal act," Wu Tenchu replied, "and we sent agents to hunt her down -- though she evaded them. But later it was discovered that the commander had attempted to betray her, and orchestrate her death in revenge for a perceived personal slight. Once we learned of this I hoped to find her and bring her back into our service. However, she proved difficult to track down. We were always a step too slow, wading through the bodies she left behind."<br />
<br><br><br />
"But now?" you prompted.<br />
<br><br><br />
"She was recently captured, and placed in the Bloodshank prison facility on Echidna III."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I've heard of the place. It's run by the Cerberus Corporation."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes. A rather disagreeable group of miscreants, whom I would judge to be little better than the prisoners in their charge. They accept convicts from across human space, and have been known to sell them on to those willing to lay down the requisite amount of credits."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Bloodshank is where the Prison Cage Fights are recorded," Telemachus said.<br />
<br><br><br />
Wu Tenchu paused, and transfixed the young prince with a disapproving look.<br />
<br><br><br />
"You should not be supporting their activities by purchasing their black market holo-videos."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I don't! I just swipe them from the interstellar information network!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Master Wu held the boy's gaze for a moment longer, before turning to the Princess with a more deferential expression on his face.<br />
<br><br><br />
"In any event, the prince is correct. Prisoners who demonstrate superior martial skills are forced to fight one another for the entertainment of the Cerberus Corporation's clients."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Prisoners like Artemis," the Princess said.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Precisely. While her jailors attempt to incite a bidding war between those factions and organizations that would pay exorbitant prices to gain possession of Miss Kess, they have been placing her into their prizefights to gain additional benefit from her presence there."<br />
<br><br><br />
"You want us to go and smash our way into the jail to get her out?" Ragnar asked.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Actually, I believe the most efficacious path would be for you to simply walk into the prison."<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
"Good luck, captain."<br />
<br><br><br />
The Princess gives a soft smile that only partially masks the concern in her eyes. Then her image disappears from the screen.<br />
<br><br><br />
She wished to accompany you to Echidna III, but that would be risky. If the Cerberus Corporation's people recognized her, your cover would be blown. So instead she's waiting outside the system, on Wilex's cruiser. You take comfort in knowing that she's safe. The world you're descending towards is no place for a princess.<br />
<br><br><br />
The communications console bleeps.<br />
<br><br><br />
"You need to get out of sight," Talia says.<br />
<br><br><br />
You leave the flight cabin, and hear her respond to the hail as the door closes behind you. It wouldn't do to let them see one of the supposed prisoners milling around next to the pilot. You have to avoid arousing any suspicions. They need to believe that you're just another criminal.<br />
<br><br><br />
Ragnar regales you with prison stories as the two of you sit side by side in the makeshift prison room. Some are amusing, others horrific. Much like the Niflung himself. You eventually tune out his banter, focusing instead on the movements of the ship. It's descending. Talia and the forged data Wu Tenchu provided must have done the trick. You're being permitted to land.<br />
<br><br><br />
The door to your pseudo-cell opens not long after, revealing Talia, Telemachus, and Lu Bu. It appears that the ship isn't to be searched after all.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Showtime, captain," the gunslinger says.<br />
<br><br><br />
Talia and Telemachus lead the way off the ship, with Lu Bu bringing up the rear -- his weapon attachments fastened to the ends of his arms. He prods you lightly with the flat of his blade as you emerge into the sunlight, for the benefit of any observers.<br />
<br><br><br />
The sky above you is soft and cloudless. To your left and right, beyond the black square of the landing pad, verdant expanses of grass roll away towards the horizon. As you'd expect, all the trees around here have been removed -- to deprive escapees of cover. But the world's natural beauty is evident nonetheless. Until you cast your gaze ahead of you, to the lurking concrete and steel mass of the prison, and see only grim ugliness.<br />
<br><br><br />
An equally ominous sight is approaching along the straight, broad road that cuts across the land -- joining the landing pad to the imposing edifice. The navy blue vehicle looks like a combination of a van and a weapon. A spiked, bladed ram extends from its front, each destructive implement gleaming as though in anticipation of staining its well-polished surface with blood. A cannon swivels on its roof, commanded by a man wearing security armor. Its barrel is trained on you and your companions.<br />
<br><br><br />
The vehicle slows when it arrives at the landing pad. It turns as its wide wheels screech to a halt, presenting you with its flank. The turret rotates as well, ensuring that the gaping maw of the barrel never leaves you.<br />
<br><br><br />
A picture of a three-headed hound is painted on its side, along with a sentence that takes up almost the rest of its length: 'Cerberus Corp.: Guarding the Gates of Hell for Over 20 Years'.<br />
<br><br><br />
Doors hiss open, and half a dozen men and women wearing the same blue and brown armored security uniforms as the gunner emerge from within. All but one are helmeted -- a woman with bubblegum pink hair and symbols on her shoulders that presumably denote her rank. The helmeted guards form a neat line behind her as she steps forward.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Lieutenant Helmsley," the woman declares. She makes an approximation of a salute. "Data, please. For confirmation purposes."<br />
<br><br><br />
Talia steps forward and presents her with a datapad. The lieutenant takes it from her, and glances at the screen for a few moments. Then she looks over at Telemachus.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Not many bounty hunters employ children."<br />
<br><br><br />
"They work cheap," Talia replies.<br />
<br><br><br />
The lieutenant shrugs, and keeps reading. When she looks up again, it's at you and Ragnar. You adopt what you hope is a suitably criminal expression.<br />
<br><br><br />
"So you're both multiple murderers."<br />
<br><br><br />
"And we would have gotten away with it too," you snarl, "if it wasn't for these meddling kids!"<br />
<br><br><br />
You growl a supply of saliva into your mouth, and spit it at Talia. The blob of phlegm splats against the back of her head.<br />
<br><br><br />
The gunslinger whirls round and launches her fist at the side of your face. The punch smashes into your cheekbone, sending your head rolling. Either she really wants to appear convincing, or she's been waiting to hit you for a long time.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Don't worry," the lieutenant says. "A little time in Bloodshank will knock the attitude out of them."<br />
<br><br><br />
She presses a few buttons on the datapad before handing it back to Talia.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Payment authorized. We'll take over from here."<br />
<br><br><br />
The helmeted guards step forward, and hustle you and Ragnar into the back seat of the vehicle. Through the darkened window you see your friends boarding the ship once more. It takes off at the same moment the vehicle starts to move.<br />
<br><br><br />
The short drive ends in a narrow courtyard. A moment after its engine falls silent, you and Ragnar are bustled out of the vehicle and through an unmarked doorway.<br />
<br><br><br />
In a small room, surrounded on either side by guards holding laser rifles, the two of you are shoved towards a counter. Mesh rises up above it, extending to the ceiling -- leaving only a square of unblocked space between you and the severe brunette standing on the other side.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Remove their restraints," she instructs.<br />
<br><br><br />
The pink-haired lieutenant steps forward. She presses a device into your cuffs, causing the energy fields to retract and the metal to open with a clink. She pulls them away, and places them on the counter. Then she does the same for Ragnar before stepping away again.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Remove your clothes," the woman behind the counter says, staring at you as though at some species of bacteria. "Put them on the counter."<br />
<br><br><br />
You unzip your jumpsuit, pull it off, fold it up, and place it before her. After you've put your underwear on top of it you step back, doing your best to ignore your nudity and the leers and laughter of the male guards.<br />
<br><br><br />
The woman picks up your clothes, walks over to a slot in the wall behind her, and shoves the garments inside. A metal hatch closes over the hole, and you hear the roar of flame. It's a good thing you didn't wear one of your favorite outfits...<br />
<br><br><br />
She strides back over to the counter.<br />
<br><br><br />
"And you!" she says, glaring at Ragnar.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Niflung grunts, and strips his lower body -- his unique fashion sense having already done the same to his upper body.<br />
<br><br><br />
There's gasping and murmuring from the guards on either side as they stare at his enhanced body. Even the woman behind the counter widens her eyes slightly.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Augmentation check!" she says.<br />
<br><br><br />
Two of the guards step forward from their positions at the walls on either side. They shove you out of the way, then begin to wave long, bleeping wands over Ragnar's naked flesh. This continues for several moments.<br />
<br><br><br />
"A few standard cybernetic upgrades," one of them says, with a trace of surprise in his voice. "Nothing to be concerned about."<br />
<br><br><br />
You give an inward smirk. The implants Wilex put into him have done their job, deceiving the scans and concealing the fact that the Niflung is essentially a walking tank.<br />
<br><br><br />
"His muscles are real?" the severe woman asks. She stares at the big slabs on his chest in disbelief.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Yes, ma'am."<br />
<br><br><br />
"When he was a boy," you say, "his mother held him by the ankles and dipped him into a vat of steroids and growth hormones."<br />
<br><br><br />
The guards share an impressed murmur, revealing their gullibility and lack of a classical education. The woman behind the counter simply snatches up Ragnar's clothes and consigns them to the same fiery destruction as yours, before moving to a shelf packed with stacks of plastic-wrapped pink material. She glances at you and Ragnar, looks back to the shelf, and reaches into the stacks with both hands. There's a rustling sound, and each one emerges clutching a folded garment. She moves back to her counter, and places them on it.<br />
<br><br><br />
"One ''[Gender]'' prison-issue jumpsuit. Size: regular. One male prison-issue jumpsuit. Size: hulking."<br />
<br><br><br />
She gestures, impelling each of you to pick up your assigned garment. You tear the plastic off, unfold it, and struggle your way into it. The jumpsuit is remarkably comfortable, padded in all the right places.<br />
<br><br><br />
"The new prisoners are just in time for recreation," the woman says. "Show them their cells, and have them taken to the yard."<br />
<br><br><br />
The lieutenant salutes. She signals to her guards, who train their laser rifles on you and Ragnar.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Follow me," she says. Then she leads you deeper into Bloodshank.<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Jailhouse Rock'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z7_a2_q1.jpg|none|Jailhouse Rock]]<br />
When you're shoved back into the sunlight, into the prison yard -- a large space enclosed by the buildings on one side and lengths of energy-tipped chain fencing on the others -- your immediate thought is that it's like your first day at school.<br />
<br><br><br />
Men and women clad in pink jumpsuits stare at you from every side. Some are looking you over out of idle curiosity, their eyes almost vacant. Others are scrutinizing you as if you were a piece of meat they may wish to pounce on.<br />
<br><br><br />
You glance around. There's no sign of Ragnar. He was led off to a cell in another block, and mustn't have been brought out to the yard yet.<br />
<br><br><br />
So you content yourself with looking your fellow prisoners over in turn. Wu Tenchu was able to gather data on many of Bloodshank's other residents, and you begin to match faces to names and criminal records. There's rather an illustrious group of reprobates around you, their combined exploits probably spanning almost every crime known to human space -- from jaywalking to genocide.<br />
<br><br><br />
You mentally mark some of them as 'snitches', based on the information Master Wu presented you with, and others as potential tools for the final phase of your plan.<br />
<br><br><br />
A few of the prisoners start walking in your direction, straying over from the basketball court and weights or else rising from the benches and surrendering their leisured ease for the purpose of investigating you further. Your eyes fall on the nearest of them -- a man whose face is hidden beneath an incredible network of scar tissue. You remember his file. He's a rapist. No gang affiliations, according to what you read. A loner. Good. So if he-<br />
<br><br><br />
"What're you looking at?" he asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
Yes, there it is.<br />
<br><br><br />
You step forward and blast him full in the face with your elbow. He crumples, his head bouncing against the ground before lying still.<br />
<br><br><br />
As you'd expected, most of the other convicts stop approaching you -- and return to their previous pursuits like satellites yanked back into their proper courses. Some of the spectators even make approving nods.<br />
<br><br><br />
But a few continue, creating a loose encirclement that you sense might tighten the moment you make a misstep. A large black man looms over you, apparently designating himself the leader of this welcoming committee.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Noose you mega, chummer?" he says. "Noose that rumpling some street-scav make you mega?"<br />
<br><br><br />
You sigh. Great... He's from Drekchester.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Viddie yourself around here, chummer. Viddie yourself, or get rumpled. Rumpled by me."<br />
<br><br><br />
The half-intelligible words begin to translate themselves inside your mind, albeit with a little effort. Apparently this fellow is threatening you. You look around. There are a few guards watching, keeping their distance. Still no sign of Ragnar.<br />
<br><br><br />
You don't recognize the man from any of the files you saw. But he looks strong -- his chest and arms packed with muscles that twitch with violence preparing to be unleashed. This would be as good an opportunity as any to demonstrate your fighting skills...<br />
<br><br><br />
"Leggie me your-"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Shut up."<br />
<br><br><br />
The force of your interjection, and the man's startled reaction at being so interrupted, make some of the others snigger.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Just shut up. I don't know whom you killed to get in here, but I'll be damned if I'll let you murder the English language as well."<br />
<br><br><br />
The man's eyes narrow into murderous slits. His hands clench into tight, angry fists. It's clobbering time...<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Prison Pugilism'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z7_a2_q2.jpg|none|Prison Pugilism]]<br />
The initial sequence of blows and block tells you everything you need to know about your adversary. He's strong but unskilled, lacking even the basic combat instincts you'd have expected a criminal to develop through experience. Perhaps he's too used to muscling his way through situations, and never saw any reason to change his tactics. He's a perfect victim.<br />
<br><br><br />
Once you've gauged his capabilities, you decide to show off -- to make sure you attract the attention you desire, and impress the onlookers. You delve into the repertoire of kung fu styles you learned as a boy/girl, forms and techniques taught for reasons of tradition, discipline, and physical culture -- rather than out of the martial pragmatism which much of your later military training consisted of.<br />
<br><br><br />
You stand on one leg and extend your arms into Crane style, lashing out with your raised foot in a trio of lightning fast kicks to the abdomen, chest, and head. As your opponent staggers back you shift into Snake style, slapping his flailing arms aside and lashing out at his face with hands that move like lunging cobras. Then come Mantis and White Ape, Soaring Phoenix and Mischievous Monkey. You unleash an entire martial menagerie on your unfortunate foe, making sure that no blow is powerful enough to end the fight.<br />
<br><br><br />
When at last you decide to show clemency and put him out of his misery, you choose One-Eyed Tiger style for the purpose. Your shin swings round in a sharp, powerful kick to his leading leg -- cutting against his thigh and causing him to buckle as the injured limb gives way. Before he falls, you launch yourself into a flying uppercut -- catching his descending jaw and knocking it upwards again, the force of the blow lifting him off his feet.<br />
<br><br><br />
At the apex of your jump you turn the attack into a backflip, landing on your feet next to your supine enemy.<br />
<br><br><br />
You stand over the groaning convict, your arms raised as you pretend to revel in the cheers of the spectators -- which seem to be coming from prisoners and guards alike.<br />
<br><br><br />
"And you'll get the same every time I hear you use a made-up word!" you declare.<br />
<br><br><br />
You spit on the man's face, the globule of saliva striking him between his glazed eyes like a bullet.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Good work!" a familiar voice growls from behind you.<br />
<br><br><br />
The words are followed by an equally familiar hard slap on the back. You brace yourself just in time to avoid staggering away from its impact.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Anyone else think they can take my friend here?" Ragnar asks. "What about you?"<br />
<br><br><br />
The Niflung grabs the nearest prisoner -- a small, owlish looking man -- by the front of his jumpsuit and lifts him into the air until his terrified eyes are on the same level as Ragnar's glaring orbs.<br />
<br><br><br />
"How about you? You want some of this?"<br />
<br><br><br />
He slaps your back again. This time you slip away to negate most of the jovial blow's force.<br />
<br><br><br />
"N... No! No!"<br />
<br><br><br />
"I thought not!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Ragnar tosses the man aside. He hits the ground a couple of meters away, scrambles to his feet, and scurries off across the yard.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Roxon!"<br />
<br><br><br />
It's a moment before you realize that the shout was addressed to you, and remember that 'Roxon' is the fictitious surname on your criminal record. You turn to the guard, who's wearing a grin in place of his helmet -- evidently more entertained than troubled by the violence which just took place in his yard.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Come with me. The warden wants to speak to you."<br />
<br><br><br />
You follow the guard towards the nearest door. As you go, you hear Ragnar's voice extolling your combative virtues and achievements behind you.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I once saw him/her rip a man's throat out!"<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
The warden's office is an old-fashioned chamber paneled with genuine or imitation wood. There are recent scars in this woodwork, leading you to believe that it was installed by a previous occupant -- and has been treated roughly by its present one.<br />
<br><br><br />
Framed photographs and medals cover one of the walls, testifying to an impressive series of military and civilian accolades. One particular photograph catches your eye. It shows a well-built man, naked to the waist, immolating a large number of screaming men and women with a flamethrower. They seem to be in a jungle, though it's hard to tell amidst all the flame and smoke. The man has a fat cigar wedged into the corner of his mouth, its glowing end matching the torrent of flame from his weapon in hue. Based on the angle of the picture, you're surprised the photographer wasn't immolated as well. Then it occurs to you that perhaps he or she was.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That was a hell of a battle."<br />
<br><br><br />
The man sitting behind the desk matches the pyromaniac in the photo, though he's now wearing an armored vest and perhaps an additional decade. He has an identical cigar sticking out of his mouth, as though he's never stopped smoking it since the picture was taken.<br />
<br><br><br />
A nameplate on the sturdy, ornate, but heavily battered desk in front of him is inscribed with the words 'Warden Ramiro'.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Cigar?" he asks, indicating a humidor large enough to function as a bludgeoning device.<br />
<br><br><br />
"No, thank you."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I saw what you did in the yard. You're good. Real good."<br />
<br><br><br />
"I like to hit people."<br />
<br><br><br />
The warden's mouth widens into a crocodilian grin.<br />
<br><br><br />
"An unrepentantly violent murderer. I like that. So, you like to fight? That's good. Because you're going to be fighting for us from now on. You're new here, so maybe you haven't heard yet. But we run a nice little fighting promotion from this prison. And you're our latest athlete."<br />
<br><br><br />
"What's in it for me?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Well, to start with, my guards won't shove a shock stick so far up your ass that it burns your tongue."<br />
<br><br><br />
Ramiro laughs, a bellowing, rumbling laugh that undulates his stomach and wobbles his armor. The cigar slips out onto his lower lip, angled almost straight downwards, but against all odds manages to stay in place rather than tumbling from his mouth.<br />
<br><br><br />
"But there are perks too. I like winners. You want women, men, chems, good food, a stiff drink? Whatever it is, we can get it for you. Make us money, and we'll share the wealth. Everyone wins."<br />
<br><br><br />
"When can I start?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Since you've come to us so full of fight, how about right now?"<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
The basement room is dark and dingy, a filthy hole buried away from the sunlight. But it reminds you of the stadium on Hyperia, where you fought in Twisted Steel. The black metal cage that dominates the middle of the chamber has the same aura of eternal violence about it. And you recognize the bloodthirsty looks in the faces of the pink-garbed men and women around you. Their screams are familiar also, warring in the air and bouncing from wall to wall -- a roar of unintelligible enthusiasm and murderousness, punctuated by the occasional fathomable statement.<br />
<br><br><br />
"You're going to die in here!" a woman screams.<br />
<br><br><br />
She leans towards you, intruding into the aisle which the guards have cleared through the crowd by brute force. One of them taps her on the brow with his shock stick, and she tumbles back into the mass of criminality.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kill him!" another yells.<br />
<br><br><br />
He stares at you with manic friendliness, and punches at the air. It's the same owl-like man Ragnar manhandled in the yard.<br />
<br><br><br />
The furthermost guards are already at the cage. A couple of them unlock the heavy gate and pull it outwards, opening your path into the place of battle. A similar portal, this one still closed, faces you on the opposite side of the cage. It's where your opponent will enter from.<br />
<br><br><br />
There's a clang as the gate is pushed shut behind you, followed by a number of thick metallic sounds as it's locked. Then the guards move away, and the tide of spectators surges forward like a released ocean.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Tear his head off!"<br />
<br><br><br />
Ragnar has shouldered his way through the crowd, and stands right behind you -- gripping the bars of the gate with his meaty hands.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Rip him in half!" he adds.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'll see what I can do," you reply.<br />
<br><br><br />
The crowd on the other side parts before the shoves and bludgeoning of a second group of guards, and the opposite gate is opened to admit your adversary.<br />
<br><br><br />
He's a swarthy, dangerous looking individual -- his body scarred and tattooed with the reckless abandon of a lifelong prisoner. But you've fought worse.<br />
<br><br><br />
The other gate is locked in turn, leaving the two of you alone in this clear space that's surrounded by screaming, raving humanity.<br />
<br><br><br />
Your enemy's eyebrows, moustache, and mouth all conspire their way into a look of surly disdain as he eyes you up and down. Then a buzzer sounds from somewhere in the room, and he strides forward.<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Killer in the Cage'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z7_a2_q3.jpg|none|Killer in the Cage]]<br />
"One... Two... Three..."<br />
<br><br><br />
Convicts and guards shout together, like enthusiastic schoolchildren counting along with their teacher.<br />
<br><br><br />
You pull your enemy back, controlling him with the hammerlock and the grip on his long, greasy hair, and relish the anticipation of the crowd. Then you slam him forward once more, smashing his head into the bars again, and again, and again.<br />
<br><br><br />
"...Four... Five... Six..."<br />
<br><br><br />
He's all but unconscious, and only your insistent grip stops him from dropping to the floor. A soft groan escapes his lips. Blood's pouring from his skull, creating a widening, splattering pool at your feet. But you have no sympathy to waste on him. You've seen his record. You know what he's in here for.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Seven... Eight... Nine... Ten..."<br />
<br><br><br />
The counting becomes perceptibly quieter, as some of the prisoners exhaust their store of numerical knowledge. But the rest continue, and the innumerate cheer with each successive number as though celebrating the acquisition of fresh knowledge.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Twenty!"<br />
<br><br><br />
By this point there's brain matter on the bars, so you decide to call it a day. You release your grasp, allowing his corpse to fall and rest in the blood and gore.<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
There's a respectful silence in your cellblock that night. None of the other convicts seem inclined to trouble you, deterred either by the guards' batons or by memories of the violence you inflicted in the cage. So you enjoy a good night's rest, and sleep off your exertions.<br />
<br><br><br />
No one harasses you in the showers on the following morning either. In fact, a couple of prisoners even offer to be harassed by you, as it were -- offers which you decline without thanks.<br />
<br><br><br />
After a good breakfast, conspicuously better than those of your fellow diners, you head out into the yard to meet up with Ragnar. Then begins the next step of your plan.<br />
<br><br><br />
Wu Tenchu's intelligence reports, combined with the psychological evaluations he made of the prisoners based on them, give you a good place to start. And after a little time in the yard, talking to its inhabitants -- most of whom seem honored by your conversation -- you gain a good understanding of the various networks and alliances which bind them together.<br />
<br><br><br />
So it's easy enough to find openings, groups and individuals who might be tempted by the possibility of an escape attempt.<br />
<br><br><br />
Ragnar leaves you to do the talking, accepting that your tongue is somewhat more silvery than his. He contents himself with keeping an eye on the snitches, and ensuring that no unwelcome ears overhear your words.<br />
<br><br><br />
You're engaged in this pursuit when one of the guards approaches you.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Bad luck, love."<br />
<br><br><br />
You fix him with a questioning stare.<br />
<br><br><br />
"You haven't heard?" He pats your shoulder in an unmistakable gesture of commiseration. "They're putting you up against Kess today."<br />
<br><br><br />
"Sooner than I expected," you say, after the guard's walked away -- the other prisoners dispersing also, as though wishing to leave you alone with your newly discovered misfortune.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Probably the way you broke that last guy's head open," Ragnar replies. "Bet the fans loved it. They want to see you against a tougher fighter."<br />
<br><br><br />
"We haven't got much time. Have to do whatever we can before the fight starts."<br />
<br><br><br />
----<br />
<br><br />
The excitement, the bloodlust in the cage room is even greater this time. You hadn't thought that was possible. Throats that were previously strained with the force of their screaming now seem on the verge of exploding. Everyone's looking forward to this fight -- for more reasons than one.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I'll be here when you need me," Ragnar whispers, pressing his mouth between the bars of the gate. "If she doesn't listen, and you want me to come in and take her out, just say the word."<br />
<br><br><br />
You nod your thanks. If Kess is as deadly as Master Wu seemed to believe, you might need all the help you can get.<br />
<br><br><br />
It's the noise of the spectators that alerts you first, before you turn around and see the crowd being bisected by the guards to create an aisle on the other side of the cage.<br />
<br><br><br />
The roars and screams shift and settle, gathering together in unification -- all voices linked in one single purpose. The sound is incomprehensible at first, a wordless expression of portent. Then it settles, deciphered into three repeated syllables.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kill-er Kess! Kill-er Kess!"<br />
<br><br><br />
You look around. Anticipation is scrawled on each face.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kill-er Kess! Kill-er Kess!"<br />
<br><br><br />
The words are simple, unimaginative and uncreative. And yet there's a power in them.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kill-er Kess! Kill-er Kess!"<br />
<br><br><br />
It's the cry of an ancient tribe, a collection of savages invoking their goddess.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kill-er Kess! Kill-er Kess!"<br />
<br><br><br />
The guards draw the gate open, then move aside to reveal her. A woman in a pink jumpsuit, with death written in her eyes. Thick, armored gloves encase her hands. The curling and twitching of her fingers reveal that these aren't garments of protection. They're objects of restraint, imprisonment -- designed to contain the violence that chafes against them.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Kill-er Kess! Kill-er Kess!"<br />
<br><br><br />
So forceful is the chant that you have to force yourself not to join in, to add your voice to those beckoning your destruction.<br />
<br><br><br />
At last the call gives way to a corrupted silence, a still murmur as the gate closes and is locked behind her.<br />
<br><br><br />
Artemis Kess gives you a cursory glance, not even meeting your gaze, before turning and thrusting her gloved hands through the bars of the gate. One of the guards reaches out, and fiddles with her gloves. Then he jumps back as though in mortal terror, as the gloves come away.<br />
<br><br><br />
The assassin turns back to you. This time she stares straight into your eyes. It's like looking at the edge of a sharp sword.<br />
<br><br><br />
Her fingers twitch, and her nails extend -- each becoming a short but lethal blade. This isn't even vaguely fair...<br />
<br><br><br />
The buzzer sounds, and Artemis leaps.<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Prison Break'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_z7_a2_q4.jpg|none|Prison Break]]<br />
You dodge and weave, duck and parry. A dozen strikes, each promising death or disfigurement, slip within centimeters of your body -- thwarted by well-timed sidesteps, or by one of your forearms deflecting hers.<br />
<br><br><br />
From the first exchange you understand her vicious skill, and know that this fight might be your last. The woman's a whirling engine of annihilation, her mind and body focused on slaughter alone.<br />
<br><br><br />
You need to bring her close...<br />
<br><br><br />
Kess leaps at you, a tigrine pounce. Her claws shine in the chamber's dirty light.<br />
<br><br><br />
Now or never...<br />
<br><br><br />
You step towards her, grabbing at her forearms -- allowing the claws to rake against the outside of your upper arms, shredding pink material and skin. Your face presses close to hers, hidden from the audience by the sweep of her void-colored hair.<br />
<br><br><br />
"The Emperor needs you, Diana."<br />
<br><br><br />
The woman freezes. Her clawed fingers stop within the bloody channels they've carved in your flesh.<br />
<br><br><br />
Her leg hooks yours, tapping against it once before completing the sweep. You capitulate, allowing her to take the limb out from under you. The two of you fall to the floor, your body stretched beneath the assassin's.<br />
<br><br><br />
Artemis' hair cascades down around you, the waves of silken blackness veiling both your faces. Her hands are at your throat, but there's no pressure there -- no fatal wounds to spill your blood and life upon the grimy floor. You place your hands on her wrists in simulation of a struggle.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Who are you?" she hisses.<br />
<br><br><br />
Around the cage the crowd are screaming, baying for death. But their noise is muffled, made inconsequential by the intensity of her stare in this enclosed world of bright eyes and dark hair.<br />
<br><br><br />
"''[Name]'', captain of Princess Illaria's bodyguards."<br />
<br><br><br />
"What do you want with me?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"To get you out of here, so you can help us save the Emperor's life."<br />
<br><br><br />
"You have a way out?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Perhaps..."<br />
<br><br><br />
A faint smile crosses her lips.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Tell me."<br />
<br><br><br />
The two of you buck and pivot, rolling on the ground like murderous lovers as you continue your mock combat. All the while you whisper in her ear. When you're done, you look to the gate you entered from -- at the burly Niflung. And you nod.<br />
<br><br><br />
Ragnar roars, his stentorian cry tearing through the shouts of the crowd. His knuckles whiten around the bars of the gate.<br />
<br><br><br />
There's a grinding, and a wrenching, then the sound of agonized metal. And finally a series of snaps as the locks give way and he tears it from its hinges.<br />
<br><br><br />
The prisoners around him fall away, the crowd surging back for dear life as he lifts the gate above his head. But two of the guards aren't so cautious. They run towards Ragnar, brandishing their shock batons.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Niflung swings the gate at them as if it were a bat, sending both of them flying into the crowd -- where they disappear from sight in the mass of excited humanity.<br />
<br><br><br />
Violence is erupting elsewhere now. All around the cage men and women are hurling themselves at the startled guards. This is what they were waiting for, the jailbreak they were told about. They aren't going to let it go to waste.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Come on!" Ragnar yells. He tosses the gate into a group of guards, smashing and scattering them, then gestures to you.<br />
<br><br><br />
You and Kess run towards him.<br />
<br><br><br />
The powerful Niflung shoulders his way through the crowd, the two of you following in his wake and lashing out at anyone who tries to get in your way.<br />
<br><br><br />
Scores of prisoners have already broken through the doors, a pink tide surging over the guards -- clawing, tearing, gouging, stabbing.<br />
<br><br><br />
As you mount the staircase, picking your way over dead or groaning forms, you hear the boom of distant explosions overhead.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That'll be Talia!" you shout.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Cerberus Corporation's fighter pilots, used to picking off escape ships or helping to track down fugitive prisoners from the air, don't stand a chance against her.<br />
<br><br><br />
You emerge into one of the cellblocks, coming out at the end of a long corridor where guards and prisoners are exchanging weapon fire and other assorted brutalities.<br />
<br><br><br />
"How're we going to get to the ship?" Kess asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
A moment later there's a crash.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That's how."<br />
<br><br><br />
Telemachus' mech storms into the corridor far ahead, bits of rubble and trails of dust falling from its frame.<br />
<br><br><br />
Guards with heavier weapons are running towards it from the opposite end of the passage, screaming and gesturing. Others, those armed only with batons, seek easier targets instead -- and move to intercept the three of you.<br />
<br><br><br />
<font size="3">'''Warden Ramiro'''</font><br><br />
[[File:LotS_Quest_Boss_z7_a2.jpg|none|Warden Ramiro]]<br />
"Ragnar, back Telemachus up!" you yell.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Got it!"<br />
<br><br><br />
The Niflung charges, shoulder lowered, and ploughs his way through the guards -- sending them flying in all directions. He sprints down the corridor, towards the mech and the swarming enemies besetting it.<br />
<br><br><br />
Kess strides along the passage, towards the nearby guards still tottering from Ragnar's impact. Her right hand lashes out, and one of them falls -- his fingers clutching his bloody throat in a vain attempt to prolong his existence. Another swings his baton at her. It hits nothing but air. She drops, spins, kicks his legs out from under him, then rises just in time to take his throat with an upward arc of her left hand as he falls.<br />
<br><br><br />
She walks through the dead and dying like a vampiress through fields of blood, dark and unstoppable.<br />
<br><br><br />
You follow, kicking out at a guard who tries to grab hold of you. He tumbles into one of the cells, and lies still -- either incapacitated or simply deciding that he's had enough.<br />
<br><br><br />
A muzzle flash and rattle of machinegun fire from ahead show that Telemachus came bearing gifts. Ragnar has his weapons in his hands, and is putting them to good use.<br />
<br><br><br />
The prince turns in his cockpit as you draw near.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Take it!" he shouts.<br />
<br><br><br />
A hatch in his mech flips open, and a pistol shoots out from the exposed compartment. You snatch it from the air.<br />
<br><br><br />
"I just get this?"<br />
<br><br><br />
"Ragnar's stuff took up the rest of the space!" He turns away for a moment, just long enough to direct his laser-edged chainsaw through a hapless guard's riot armor, flesh, and bone. "Talia's landing. You guys go out to her. Me and Ragnar will stop them following."<br />
<br><br><br />
You nod, and lead Kess through the hole made by Telemachus' mech. It leads out into the prison yard. Into hell.<br />
<br><br><br />
Bodies are strewn about the place, both guard and convict. And the killing is far from over...<br />
<br><br><br />
"Burn, you sons of bitches!"<br />
<br><br><br />
A torrent of flame, a cacophony of screams, and the stench of charred flesh fill the air. Over them all rises Warden Ramiro's horrendous laugh.<br />
<br><br><br />
The warden's cigar end glows amid the fire-licked haze, above the spitting inferno at the nozzle of his flamethrower. A pile of charred corpses burns before him. More of the impromptu funeral pyres are spaced across the yard, marking the path from his office.<br />
<br><br><br />
"This is my house! No one riots in my house!"<br />
<br><br><br />
His eyes meet yours. His finger twitches on his trigger, and a spurt of flame licks the air in anticipation.<br />
<br><br><br />
-------------------------------------<br />
<br><br />
You pivot, step and kick -- a powerful thrusting sidekick that catches the warden square in the chest.<br />
<br><br><br />
He groans as the air rushes out of his lungs, and the force of the blow sends him flying backwards. He lands atop one of the pyres of burning convicts.<br />
<br><br><br />
A howl of anguish, both comical and horrific in its intensity, tears from his throat. Ramiro leaps to his feet like a tumbling acrobat, and runs off across the yard -- arms flailing, voice shrieking, flames dancing across his clothes and armor.<br />
<br><br><br />
"They won't be following us," Ragnar says.<br />
<br><br><br />
The Niflung and Telemachus' mech are emerging from the prison, the boy casually dislodging another section of wall as he comes.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Anyone left out here?" the prince asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
You look over into the distance, where a burning man is disappearing round a corner.<br />
<br><br><br />
"No, we're good."<br />
<br><br><br />
There's a whoosh of thruster engines, and a shadow falls across the yard.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Is that our ride?" Artemis asks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That's it," you reply.<br />
<br><br><br />
"It can't land here! There isn't enough space-"<br />
<br><br><br />
As if on cue, the ship spins in the air -- and its blaster cannons fire. Energy barrier fencing is scattered to the four winds with a series of precise shots, the glowing trails on its metal vanishing as they're deprived of the power running through their bases. A second volley of blaster fire scatters the nearest pyres.<br />
<br><br><br />
"That seemed unnecessary," Artemis remarks.<br />
<br><br><br />
"She likes to show off."<br />
<br><br><br />
The ship spins once more, like a pirouetting ballerina, before settling down atop the cleared space. A large hatch slides open, providing access to one of the holds.<br />
<br><br><br />
"Is it always like this with you people?" the assassin asks, indicating the totality of things with a sweep of her hand.<br />
<br><br><br />
"No. It's usually much more chaotic."<br />
<br><br><br />
She laughs, and runs towards the ship.</div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/Lunatic_Snaprax&diff=34971LotS/Lunatic Snaprax2012-09-12T13:28:31Z<p>Samoan: </p>
<hr />
<div>{{LotS Item<br />
|name=Lunatic Snaprax<br />
|color=Orange<br />
|attack=53<br />
|defense=40<br />
|race=Snuuth<br />
|class=Melee<br />
|bonus=Strength<br />
|type=Officer<br />
|ability=Waste Not, Want Not: Chance for bonus damage; Extra damage against Organic Humanoid or Psychic raids; Extra damage if Lunatic Klib is in the ship; Extra damge for each Lunatic Cutter in the ship; Lunatic Snaprax's Defense increses by 4 for each Lunatic Llama in the ship<br />
|text="Watch out, contestants! It's Snaprax! The Lunatic who won't just kill you... He'll eat you as well! But he's a nice guy... He'll send his waste to your next of kin so they'll have something to stick in the coffin at your funeral!" - Lucy Lunacy, host of Lunatic Lottery <br />
|obtained={{LotS/ContainerLink|Lunatic Lottery Vault}}<br />
<br />
}}</div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=File:LotS_Lunatic_Snaprax.png&diff=34970File:LotS Lunatic Snaprax.png2012-09-12T13:25:53Z<p>Samoan: Samoan uploaded a new version of &quot;File:LotS Lunatic Snaprax.png&quot;</p>
<hr />
<div></div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/Lunatic_Snaprax&diff=34969LotS/Lunatic Snaprax2012-09-12T13:24:09Z<p>Samoan: Created page with "{{LotS Item |name=Lunatic Snaprax |color=Orange |attack=53 |defense=40 |race=Snuuth |class=Melee |bonus=Strength |type=Officer |ability=Waste Not, Want Not: Chance for bonus d..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{LotS Item<br />
|name=Lunatic Snaprax<br />
|color=Orange<br />
|attack=53<br />
|defense=40<br />
|race=Snuuth<br />
|class=Melee<br />
|bonus=Strength<br />
|type=Officer<br />
|ability=Waste Not, Want Not: Chance for bonus damage; Extra damage against Organic Humanoid or Psychic raids; Extra damage if Lunatic Klib is in the ship; Extra damge for each Lunatic Cutter in the ship; Lunatic Snaprax's Defense increses by 4 for each Lunatic Llama in the ship<br />
|text="Watch out, contestants! It's Snaprax! The Lunatic who won't just kill you... He'll eat you as well! But he's a nice guy... He'll send his waste to your next of kin so they'll have something to stick in the coffin at your funeral!" - Lucy Lunacy, host of Lunatic Lottery <br />
|obtained={{LotS/ContainerLink|Lunatic Lottery}}<br />
<br />
}}</div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=File:LotS_Lunatic_Snaprax.png&diff=34968File:LotS Lunatic Snaprax.png2012-09-12T13:17:37Z<p>Samoan: </p>
<hr />
<div></div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/items/Officers&diff=34967LotS/items/Officers2012-09-12T13:17:05Z<p>Samoan: </p>
<hr />
<div>{{LotS/Paypal}}<br />
Officers start at level 1 and gain experience from raids, allowing them to level up to a max level of 5.<br />
<br />
Officers gain 1 Attack and 1 Defense per level they gain, for a total of +4 to Attack and Defense and +4.8 to total Attack Value (AV) stats greater than what is currently listed.<br />
<br />
Note that the AV formula here was fixed on Feb 7, 2012 so at that point the AV of all officers changed, and is now correct. Officer's Defense is 1/5 of the value of their attack, unlike the players, equipment, and crew's defense that is 1/4 of attack's value.<br />
<br />
<br />
{{LotS/Item Navigation Banner}}<br />
<br />
<br />
{|class="lotstable sortable"<br />
! width="1%" | Icon<br />
! width="20%" | Name<br />
! width="4%" | Atk<br />
! width="4%" | Def<br />
! width="4%" | AV<br />
! width="6%" | Race<br />
! width="6%" | Class<br />
! width="6%" | Attribute<br />
! width="25%" | Ability<br />
! width="25%" | Obtained<br />
|-<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Abominable Snowman}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Admiral Kole}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Agent Xingfu}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Ajax}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Alexandus}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Alice Sylana}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Amy}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Anita}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Aphrodite}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Artemis Kess}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Athene}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Azim}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Barrage}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Big Bull}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Big Bull2}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Blitz}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Booma}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Brutus}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|'Cannon-Arm' Kulgwp}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Captain 'Ace' Flashheart}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Commander Faylinn}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Commander Faylinn2}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Commander Rautha}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Crazy Jake Tsorx}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Crunth Gulbrex}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Cyrriss}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Dacia Ulex}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Death Flora}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Dragon Draasa}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Erasmus}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Felendis}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Fish}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|FROSTY}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Gera Marl}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Gigante Acero}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Greasemonkey}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|'Great Wall' Guan}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Grim Reaper}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Huss}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Health Inspector Plorska}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Ice Maiden}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|'Insane' Ipk Dal Klek}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Isambard}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Jawk Mulwak}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Katrina Malkov}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Keisuke}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Kwank Jop Plon}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Kwiblon Rabalak}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lady Emily the Psi-Hunter}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Larisa}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Larisa2}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Las Kweep Bul}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Laser Fodder}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lena}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Leviathan}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lork Jral Bul}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lu Bu}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lu Bu2}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lucas Sezar}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lucia the Cobra}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lunatic Snaprax}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lupin}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lyssa}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|M.1 C.H.U}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Madman Moglub}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Manhunter Kell}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Masha Voon}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Master Wei}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Maximilian}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Maximilian2}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Mech-Leg}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Meek Sen Kwalk}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Meellaa}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Melsarra Cass}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Memories of Illaria}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Michelle}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Mike 'Murder' MacLeod}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Mina One}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Mr. Falyx}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Mr. Pluperfect}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Mycroft}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Neesha Jerobar}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Nis Val Plon}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Njal Thundersson}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Nurse Hatchet}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Ocean Mistress Synactha}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Orlub Wolglub}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Ossia the Organ-Shifter}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Palax Jerobar}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Pas Kweep Bul}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|'Poirot'}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Qin}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Qis Jop Plon}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Raallaa}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Raiyama}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Ragnar}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Ragnar2}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Ranshax Gulbrex}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Rex Carnage}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Sawbones}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Screaming Barracuda}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Seellee}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Shera Rull}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Sir Percival Willoughby Smythe}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Sir Roderick}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Sleesha Wulkar}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Smeeg Vaplug}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Snor Leep Ult}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Squid Girl}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Spinne}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Stacey 'Slash'}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Sven 'Thor' Thorsen}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Talia}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Talia2}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Talos}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Tech-Fist}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Telemachus}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Telemachus2}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Tethyra Harlub}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|The Dark Lord}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Trinity}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Ultimate Destroyer}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Unity}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Virgil}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Vulcan}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Wilex}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Wing Commander Sasha}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Wollo}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Wu Tenchu}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Xarxo}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Xenia Panoptes}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Xiang Kua}}<br />
|}<br />
{{LotS/Paypal}}</div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=User:Samoan&diff=33200User:Samoan2012-08-31T23:59:51Z<p>Samoan: Created page with "So yeah. <br> This is me. <br> Just going around the wiki trying to help around. Yups. <br> FB Name: Ace Mafatu <br> IGN: Reaper <br> Level: 590+ and climbing. <br> Alliance: ..."</p>
<hr />
<div>So yeah. <br><br />
This is me. <br><br />
Just going around the wiki trying to help around. Yups. <br><br />
FB Name: Ace Mafatu <br><br />
IGN: Reaper <br><br />
Level: 590+ and climbing. <br><br />
Alliance: Schlock's Mercenaries <br><br />
[https://apps.facebook.com/legacythousandsuns/addfleet.php?ffbuid=100000128769243 Add Fleet]</div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/experiment/%27greatwall%27guan&diff=32793LotS/experiment/'greatwall'guan2012-08-29T14:28:25Z<p>Samoan: Created page with "{{Experiment |firstreward='Great Wall' Guan |futurereward=20x Stat Points |item1=Brown Sian Dragons Football |item2=Grey Sian Dragons Football |item3=Blue Sian Dragons Footbal..."</p>
<hr />
<div>{{Experiment<br />
|firstreward='Great Wall' Guan<br />
|futurereward=20x Stat Points<br />
|item1=Brown Sian Dragons Football<br />
|item2=Grey Sian Dragons Football<br />
|item3=Blue Sian Dragons Football<br />
|item4=Green Sian Dragons Football<br />
|item5=Purple Sian Dragons Football<br />
|item6=Orange Sian Dragons Football<br />
|item1qty=<br />
|item2qty=<br />
|item3qty=<br />
|item4qty=<br />
|item5qty=<br />
|item6qty=<br />
}}</div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=File:LotS_%27Great_Wall%27_Guan.png&diff=32792File:LotS 'Great Wall' Guan.png2012-08-29T14:21:24Z<p>Samoan: </p>
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<div></div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/%27Great_Wall%27_Guan&diff=32791LotS/'Great Wall' Guan2012-08-29T14:16:22Z<p>Samoan: Created page with "{{LotS Item |name='Great Wall' Guan |color=Orange |attack=30 |defense=67 |race=Human |class=Tank |bonus=Strength |type=Officer |ability=Great Wall : Chance for bonus damage; C..."</p>
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<div>{{LotS Item<br />
|name='Great Wall' Guan<br />
|color=Orange<br />
|attack=30<br />
|defense=67<br />
|race=Human<br />
|class=Tank<br />
|bonus=Strength<br />
|type=Officer<br />
|ability=Great Wall : Chance for bonus damage; Chance to block incoming damage<br />
|text=Guan likes to refer to his massive body as 'the house dim sum built'. However, despite his incredible gluttony, he carries a lot of powerful muscle under the flab - as his adversaries can attest. And his courage is even bigger than he is. His exploits in Twisted Steel were impressive, but he earned true glory and a reputation for fearless heroism when he fought the Centurians on Sian.<br />
|obtained={{LotS/ColorLink|LotS/experiment/'greatwall'guan|Lab Experiment|DeepSkyBlue}}<br />
}}</div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/items/Officers&diff=32790LotS/items/Officers2012-08-29T14:09:00Z<p>Samoan: </p>
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<div>{{LotS/Paypal}}<br />
Officers start at level 1 and gain experience from raids, allowing them to level up to a max level of 5.<br />
<br />
Officers gain 1 Attack and 1 Defense per level they gain, for a total of +4 to Attack and Defense and +4.8 to total Attack Value (AV) stats greater than what is currently listed.<br />
<br />
Note that the AV formula here was fixed on Feb 7, 2012 so at that point the AV of all officers changed, and is now correct. Officer's Defense is 1/5 of the value of their attack, unlike the players, equipment, and crew's defense that is 1/4 of attack's value.<br />
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{{LotS/Item Navigation Banner}}<br />
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<br />
{|class="lotstable sortable"<br />
! width="1%" | Icon<br />
! width="20%" | Name<br />
! width="4%" | Atk<br />
! width="4%" | Def<br />
! width="4%" | AV<br />
! width="6%" | Race<br />
! width="6%" | Class<br />
! width="6%" | Attribute<br />
! width="25%" | Ability<br />
! width="25%" | Obtained<br />
|-<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Abominable Snowman}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Admiral Kole}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Agent Xingfu}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Ajax}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Alexandus}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Alice Sylana}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Amy}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Anita}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Aphrodite}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Artemis Kess}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Athene}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Azim}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Barrage}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Big Bull}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Big Bull2}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Blitz}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Booma}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Brutus}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|'Cannon-Arm' Kulgwp}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Captain ‘Ace’ Flashheart}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Commander Faylinn}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Commander Faylinn2}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Commander Rautha}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Crazy Jake Tsorx}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Crunth Gulbrex}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Cyrriss}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Dacia Ulex}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Death Flora}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Dragon Draasa}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Erasmus}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Felendis}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Fish}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|FROSTY}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Gera Marl}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Gigante Acero}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Greasemonkey}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|'Great Wall' Guan}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Grim Reaper}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Huss}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Health Inspector Plorska}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Ice Maiden}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|'Insane' Ipk Dal Klek}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Isambard}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Jawk Mulwak}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Katrina Malkov}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Keisuke}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Kwank Jop Plon}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Kwiblon Rabalak}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Larisa}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Larisa2}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Las Kweep Bul}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Laser Fodder}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lena}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Leviathan}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lork Jral Bul}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lu Bu}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lu Bu2}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lucas Sezar}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lucia the Cobra}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lupin}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Lyssa}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|M.1 C.H.U}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Madman Moglub}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Manhunter Kell}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Masha Voon}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Master Wei}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Maximilian}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Maximilian2}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Mech-Leg}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Meek Sen Kwalk}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Meellaa}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Melsarra Cass}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Memories of Illaria}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Michelle}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Mike 'Murder' MacLeod}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Mina One}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Mr. Falyx}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Mr. Pluperfect}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Mycroft}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Neesha Jerobar}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Nis Val Plon}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Njal Thundersson}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Nurse Hatchet}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Ocean Mistress Synactha}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Orlub Wolglub}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Ossia the Organ-Shifter}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Palax Jerobar}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Pas Kweep Bul}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|'Poirot'}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Qin}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Qis Jop Plon}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Raallaa}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Raiyama}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Ragnar}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Ragnar2}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Ranshax Gulbrex}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Rex Carnage}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Sawbones}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Screaming Barracuda}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Seellee}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Shera Rull}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Sir Percival Willoughby Smythe}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Sir Roderick}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Sleesha Wulkar}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Smeeg Vaplug}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Snor Leep Ult}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Squid Girl}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Spinne}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Stacey 'Slash'}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Sven 'Thor' Thorsen}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Talia}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Talia2}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Talos}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Tech-Fist}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Telemachus}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Telemachus2}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Tethyra Harlub}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|The Dark Lord}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Trinity}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Ultimate Destroyer}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Unity}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Virgil}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Vulcan}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Wilex}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Wing Commander Sasha}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Wollo}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Wu Tenchu}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Xarxo}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Xenia Panoptes}}<br />
{{LotS/OfficerRow|Xiang Kua}}<br />
|}<br />
{{LotS/Paypal}}</div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/The_Story/Talia%27s_Team&diff=32784LotS/The Story/Talia's Team2012-08-29T13:57:31Z<p>Samoan: Created page with ""It's savage and barbaric," Wu Tenchu said. "When the Emperor rescinded its prohibition in Sian space, and went so far as to allow the building of a stadium here on Sian, it w..."</p>
<hr />
<div>"It's savage and barbaric," Wu Tenchu said. "When the Emperor rescinded its prohibition in Sian space, and went so far as to allow the building of a stadium here on Sian, it was against my counsel."<br />
<br />
He did that thing he does with his eyes. You know the one I mean, captain -- where they go sort of narrow, and you can tell he's pissed off about something. I think it makes him look like a cat. Maybe a tiger. A tiger with a silly moustache. (Don't tell him I said that.)<br />
<br />
"Thugby... Only the uniforms and the slim rulebook render it an athletic contest instead of an act of wanton criminality. The individuals who play the game are for the most part little more than murderous lunatics who relish the opportunity to participate in what amounts to legalized rioting by day, and to take advantage of the imbecilic 'groupies' the sport attracts by night."<br />
<br />
"So ask Ragnar," I replied.<br />
<br />
"That was my first thought as well. But it transpires that the sparse rules governing thugby include a prohibition against players with substantial performance-enhancing cybernetic augmentations. And Mr. Ragnarsson contains more implanted technology than would be permissible when distributed among an entire team. Perhaps even an entire thugby league. So I'm compelled to look elsewhere to find a suitable captain for the Sian Dragons."<br />
<br />
"You'll need someone with a death wish. Everyone on the other team's going to be trying to tackle the Dragons' captain and rip his head off."<br />
<br />
"Someone with a reckless disregard for their own wellbeing?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah!"<br />
<br />
"The kind of individual who's willing to risk life and limb in the most idiotic, frivolous pursuits?"<br />
<br />
"Exactly!"<br />
<br />
"I concur. The job is yours."<br />
<br />
"Oh..."<br />
<br />
Yeah, okay, I probably should have seen that coming. But when he sent for me, I thought he wanted to, you know, catch up. Maybe even ask my advice about stuff. Yeah, yeah -- I know you're probably laughing. But you remember how it used to be... All of us sitting around together, planning things out. Back when she was still here, and you were too. I miss those days... I thought maybe he did too.<br />
<br />
I hadn't spoken to him for months. The last time I saw him was at that ceremony right after the war, when he gave out our medals (I have your one, by the way -- I wear them both when I go clubbing). After that he was busy doing whatever he does now... Prime ministering, I guess. Thought maybe he'd forgotten all about us. Then I got his message, saying he needed to talk to me about something and asking me to come to the palace. He has an office there now -- just a small little room tucked away somewhere. Guess he wouldn't have felt right taking the Emperor's office. Or Illaria's.<br />
<br />
So, like I said, I thought he wanted some advice. Maybe he was thinking about ordering some new fighter ships, or pistols for our soldiers. Stuff I know about. Instead, he wanted someone stupid enough to get themselves killed on a thugby pitch. Got to admit, I was a little mad.<br />
<br />
"Me? Captain a thugby team? You think I'm crazy?"<br />
<br />
"Well, let us examine the evidence..."<br />
<br />
He pressed a button on his desk, and a big holo-screen popped up between us.<br />
<br />
"This aerial footage shows a number of people riding motorcycles through the streets of Wunhai at dangerous, and indeed illegal, speed."<br />
<br />
"Yeah... Kids these days..."<br />
<br />
The screen zoomed in. And there I was, right in the middle -- jumping from one bike to another. Long story... Well, okay, not long. I was bored and some guy I knew was taking bets on whether anyone had the nerve to jump between bikes during a street race.<br />
<br />
Guess I should have worn a helmet...<br />
<br />
"Perhaps this episode will prove more memorable," Wu said.<br />
<br />
Another screen came up next to the first one. It showed a bunch of fighters flying through space in a close pack, along a beam of purple light thrown out by a cruiser up ahead. Sound familiar, captain?<br />
<br />
"I believe this is what you pilots refer to as a 'Tunnel of Death Race' -- a form of suicidal competition in which men and women of questionable sanity attempt to overtake one another in such narrow confines that they each risk both their own life and those of everyone else involved."<br />
<br />
"Well..."<br />
<br />
Yeah, I think you can guess what happened next. One of the fighter ships zipped through the others, skimming right between them to take the lead -- so close I'm pretty sure some of their paint came off. I didn't bother trying to deny that one. Wu knew not many people could fly like that. And out of them, none of the rest of you would.<br />
<br />
He turned the screens off, so I could see his face again. I'm pretty sure he was smiling. Well, as close as he gets to smiling anyway.<br />
<br />
"You seem quite willing to jeopardize yourself to make a few credits..."<br />
<br />
He got that wrong. Wu's a smart guy, but he doesn't understand how it is for people like us. We don't stop just because the fighting does. We still need the rush...<br />
<br />
"...but not to serve the Sian Empire?"<br />
<br />
"Fine! I'll do it!"<br />
<br />
"Splendid. Then, Miss Talia Ryx, I formally name you as captain of the Sian Dragons."<br />
<br />
He looked down, and started messing with a datapad on his desk. I figured that meant we were done, so I got up and went to the door. Then he called out after me.<br />
<br />
"Oh, and Talia..."<br />
<br />
"Yeah?"<br />
<br />
"Make sure you win the match."</div>Samoanhttps://zoywiki.com/index.php?title=LotS/The_Story&diff=32783LotS/The Story2012-08-29T13:54:01Z<p>Samoan: </p>
<hr />
<div>'''The Milky Way'''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Princess_Illaria's_Escape|Princess Illaria's Escape]] (Sian Space)<br>''The Centurian Collective hunts for Princess Illaria, the last hope of the Sian Empire. Only her champion can save her now.''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Legions_of_Steel|Legions of Steel]] (Talos Space)<br>''Free from the clutches of the Centurians, the Princess and her companions seek aid from TALOS and its robot armies.''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Assault on the Zenith|Assault on the Zenith]] (Occupied Sian Space)<br>''It's time to strike back at the Centurians...''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/The Search for the Princess|The Search for the Princess]]<br>''The Princess had disappeared, whisked away from the Zenith in a flash of light. But she's out there somewhere, and you'll find her even if you have to tear the galaxy apart.''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Politics of War|Politics of War]] (Sol)<br>''Perhaps it's fitting that the fate of human space might be decided upon Earth, mankind's ancient homeworld.''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Aphrodisian Anabasis|Aphrodisian Anabasis]]<br>''War makes strange bedfellows. And so the Princess must journey to Cythera, the Contella vice-world, to secure that faction's aid against Centurians.''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/The Right Tools|The Right Tools]]<br>''A mission as ambitious as the one you're planning can only succeed if you have the proper assets at the ready.''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/A Masterful Stratagem|A Masterful Stratagem]]<br>''The Centurians are untouchable while the Emperor is in their grasp. It's time to rectify that...''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Scaean_Gates|Scean Gates]]<br>''She's gone. Now there's nothing left but vengeance.''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Because I'm The Wanderer|Because I'm The Wanderer]]<br>''The galaxy is so vast. So much space to lose yourself in...''<br />
# [[LotS/The_Story/Talia's Team|Talia's Team]]<br>''If she fumbles, her first match might be her last.''</div>Samoan