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Source: (consider it)
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Thread: Circus: Mafia 2011: The Penultimate Frontier
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Ariston
Insane Unicorn
# 10894
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Posted
Ouranos Starlines cordially invites you to experience the pinnacle of interstellar slipstream travel on the maiden voyage of our new flagship, HCSS Ariston. Thanks to recent advances in slipstream technology pioneered at the Confederate University at Delos, we are able, at long last, to open a nonstop passenger and trade route between the the heart of the Hellenic Confederacy and the exotic worlds of the Lusitanian Alliance. No longer will the breathtaking Falls of Lamanath remain beyond the reach of our citizens, nor the majestic arcs of Eta Carinae . . .
Archeploiarchos Pelius smirked at the sales brochure the marketing wonks had put together. Not that a word of it was untrue; the Ariston was a marvel of engineering and craft, a wonder of human ingenuity perhaps never surpassed since the early days of the Transsolar Era. She was quite honored, and more than just a little humbled, to be given the chance to command the flagship on her maiden voyage; even if she had spent much of her life piloting and commanding capitol ships of various stripes, none of them compared to the Ariston. Her smooth, flowing lines, glowing brightwork, and positively seductive form—she was not so much a ship as a drive-capable work of art. The final preparations were being made for embarkation; supplies loaded, cargo stored in the vast hold, staterooms furnished and surfaces polished; in only a few short days, the greatest ship ever conceived would be cast free from her moorings at Zea Stardock and begin her first journey to Eta Carinae, a destination no Hellene had seen since before the first signs of the tension that would eventually become the Polarian War . . .
* * *
HELLENIC CONFEDERACY
Homeworld: Euboa
Capitol City: Delos
Government: Parliamentary Democracy . . .
International Relations: Neutral towards both parties in the Polarian Conflict, though recent provocations by Caadran agents have lead to public sentiment generally favoring the Presa Empire. Historically, the Hellenes have enjoyed a close relationship with the Lusitanian Empire; however, as the majority of the transit routes between the two nations pass through territory controlled by the belligerents in the late hostilities, trade and communication between the two has been greatly impeded. Furthermore, the Hellenes have yet to forget the failed attempt at infiltration and subversion by the Nidau several years ago; though relations have improved in recent years, tensions still remain, and should not be discounted.
Demographics . . .
* * *
Welcome to space, ladies and gentlemen! Though much has changed here in the future, the nature of sentient beings remains much the same—including, of course, the intrigue, backstabbing, and lies. Our little corner of the galaxy is currently involved in a bit of political unrest, which means, of course, that there are all sorts of shady (or virtuous) characters everywhere you turn, almost all of whom have a hidden agenda or three. Who's working for whom? How many people have been double-crossed by a three-armed hyperintelligent cactus this week? And what's the latest rumor about the most luxurious, most powerful, and most absolutely stunningly gorgeous starship ever built—the Ariston?
This one could get interesting. I would suggest having a seat at one of the windows and enjoying the view before we leave our parking orbit—unless, of course, you prefer to relax at one of our many remarkable bars. Of course, all this assumes you actually come aboard . . .
Your ticket, please.
*A note for character creation: this is space. If you feel like making whoever's in charge of coming up with alien races for Doctor Who look dull, be my guest. Prefer to stick with humans (generally speaking)? Also more than fine. The galaxy's a big place, after all—and the intrigue is by no means confined to this little corner of it.
[ 07. June 2012, 18:41: Message edited by: Belisarius ]
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“Therefore, let it be explained that nowhere are the proprieties quite so strictly enforced as in men’s colleges that invite young women guests, especially over-night visitors in the fraternity houses.” Emily Post, 1937.
Posts: 6849 | From: The People's Republic of Balcones | Registered: Jan 2006
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Ariston
Insane Unicorn
# 10894
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Posted
Out of World:
For those of you who have never played—or, perhaps, last played a while ago—this here is Mafia, AKA Werewolf, AKA Murder Your Friends for Fun and, Well, Fun. I'm opening the signup period a little earlier than usual; it'll run for at least a week and a half—say, until I've eaten my Valentine's Day Cheapie Chocolates—since, well, the more passengers, crew, and assorted Characters we can get on board, the better. Of course, there are as many ways to play as there are players; some like to play the statistics route and look for irregularities in voting patters, some play the psychic psychologist and analyze motives and statements, some play a character in an unusual setting, and others of us just like to jam up the works and watch as chaos ensues.
Whatever your motive, whatever your ideals, I'd suggest signing up for the journey of a lifetime. Space is limited, and, once our ship has launched, there will be no turning back for stragglers.
Also, for those who like to develop their character before their role has been assigned: please do. You'll find the ship and her staff quite welcoming, I'm sure.
For more information, please see:
Ypres, 1917
Camp Sarastro, Egypt, 192X
Shipbury, the Cotswolds, 2010
Little Florence, Massachusetts, 2009
Cosenza Beach, 2006
(Also, I remember once seeing a Third Crusade setting, but couldn't find it in Limbo—if I hadn't seen it, we'd be in Northern Italy, 1308 right now, but I'm pretty sure this may be far more . . . interesting.)
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“Therefore, let it be explained that nowhere are the proprieties quite so strictly enforced as in men’s colleges that invite young women guests, especially over-night visitors in the fraternity houses.” Emily Post, 1937.
Posts: 6849 | From: The People's Republic of Balcones | Registered: Jan 2006
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Autenrieth Road
Shipmate
# 10509
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Posted
Yo estoy aqui! (=I am here!) Blame the Spanish on listening to tango lyrics late at night while running a FOUR HOUR database upgrade prep routine. Bluuuurgh.
Do you want characters right away, or can we think about it a bit? Or even, as some prefer, to give the character after the role is assigned?
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Truth
Posts: 9559 | From: starlight | Registered: Oct 2005
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Ariston
Insane Unicorn
# 10894
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Posted
Yes.
![[Biased]](wink.gif)
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“Therefore, let it be explained that nowhere are the proprieties quite so strictly enforced as in men’s colleges that invite young women guests, especially over-night visitors in the fraternity houses.” Emily Post, 1937.
Posts: 6849 | From: The People's Republic of Balcones | Registered: Jan 2006
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Banner Lady
Ship's Ensign
# 10505
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Posted
Boa Languina opened both sets of her eliptical eyelids wide. This ship was impressively beautiful. She only hoped its engineering was as good as its aesthetics.
One of the stewards pointed her towards the holographic inform-aton so that she could see for herself how to get to the entertainment crew quarters. The passageways were jammed full of happy and expectant embarkees, jostling for good seats in the Star Lounge and cabins nearest the ship's eatery.
Quickly, she made herself invisible and slithered up the wall and along the ceiling.
"Mmmm," she thought appreciatively, " nice surfacing applications. Fast. Clean. Cool to the scales."
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Women in the church are not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be enjoyed.
Posts: 7080 | From: Canberra Australia | Registered: Oct 2005
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Adam.
Like as the
# 4991
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Posted
Herodartus boarded the ship full of excitement. Every time they turned a corner he double-blinked so as his glasses would take a picture of the fascinating quarters. This was a far cry from Harticanassus, the rather dull Hellene city he'd grown up in.
After having been awarded his research grant to write a new History, the like of which had never been written before, he'd immediately decided that travelling to Lusitanian worlds would be essential (now he had the money to do it in style). His aim was simple: to preserve the memory of the past by putting on record the astonishing achievements both of his own and of other peoples; and more particularly, to show how they came into conflict. How could he do that without write about the Polarian War, the greatest war that other peoples had ever waged on eachother? And, of course, first-hand research (and some excurses about their exotic local customs) would be essential.
Stopping in a nice looking bar, he ordered a drink and sat down to review the work of his predecessor in historical inquiry, the great Android historian 6Ti.S.
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Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Preaching blog
Posts: 8164 | From: Notre Dame, IN | Registered: Sep 2003
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Rev per Minute
Shipmate
# 69
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Posted
It had often been said that amongst the exotic, the ordinary becomes interesting. On that basis, Reverse Minuto should have been the most interesting person on the starship, as he was almost certainly the most ordinary and, well, boring. Human-basic appearance, with no obvious genetic engineering, and no dreams to explore the universe and get close to green-skinned women. By far the most interesting thing about him was his first name - but even that had a mundane explanation.
Still, he boarded the starship without being noticed and made it to his stateroom with the minimum of interaction with his fellow passengers. All he wanted was for the ship to depart, so he could leave everything behind him - good and bad. Perhaps even the name could chasnge once he was far enough from home...
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"Allons-y!" "Geronimo!" "Oh, for God's sake!" The Day of the Doctor
At the end of the day, we face our Maker alongside Jesus. RIP ken
Posts: 2696 | From: my desk (if I can find the keyboard under this mess) | Registered: May 2001
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An die Freude
Shipmate
# 14794
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Posted
I'm in. Who and what I am I have not yet discovered.
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"I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable."
Walt Whitman
Formerly JFH
Posts: 851 | From: Proud Socialist Monarchy of Sweden | Registered: May 2009
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obble
Shipmate
# 10868
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Posted
Obble-42 is a Hospitality Robot, who has already travelled the equivalent of 100 times around the known universe. It has been transferred to the Ariston from another ship which is currently being cut up for scrap due to its age. Physically the robot is approximately six feet tall, and has been programmed to have an intelligence roughly equivalent to that of its builders. It is largely a humanoid form, although it has a great many arms, many fitted with useful tools such as hammers and corkscrews. It also has the ability to fly short distances under its own power despite the ship's artificial gravity field.
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Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana.
Posts: 1700 | From: Some other planet | Registered: Jan 2006
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Ariston
Insane Unicorn
# 10894
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Posted
Nothing escaped the notice of Quartermaster Rhyddwyn as he monitored the loading of the ship; the Ariston was as much a trade ship as she was a passenger liner, carrying goods and data that was much in demand by the Lusitanian Alliance. Like the caravels and schooners of the long-past Age of Sail, the scarcity of ships able to perform like the Ariston necessitated that she be able to take on a multiplicity of roles. Beautiful though she may be, a cargo freighter's a cargo freighter—and likewise with a blockade runner. So long as the only routes between the Confederacy and its Alliance trade and business partners passed through disputed territory, it was simply too much of a risk to travel on any ship that couldn't evade detection, outrun, or outgun the combined fleets of two very well-armed belligerents. An unarmed and fantastically visible vessel really only had one option left to her . . .
Rhyddwyn's link with the ship let him know the location of every bit of data, every loaded parcel, every coded message, every work of art, every single thing that was valuable to someone on some world and on his ship. Thus, he was surprised when a rather well-dressed young woman approached him with a seamless metallic box. She shook his hand; the quartermaster had a flickering impression of the Hellenic Special Projects Division's logo, as well as a quick back-and-forth of neural authentication codes.
"This doesn't exist."
"I'm sure you people could have just put it in a box or something, labeled it 'recreational narcotics—no legitimate medical use,' and not even you would have known about it. It's not like you all don't have the power to hide things from me anyway!"
"The ship would know." Rhyddwyn heard the young woman's voice in his head—or at least the idea of it. She looked him in the eyes, and offered him the box.
"It's yours now. We'll pick it up on the other side."
She shook his hand and left, leaving a roll of bills—real, physical cash—in her wake. He thought about putting the box in the usual "secret" compartment—diplomatic packets, various contraband, illicit love letters from very well-connected people—but decided against it. If even the ship couldn't know about this . . .
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“Therefore, let it be explained that nowhere are the proprieties quite so strictly enforced as in men’s colleges that invite young women guests, especially over-night visitors in the fraternity houses.” Emily Post, 1937.
Posts: 6849 | From: The People's Republic of Balcones | Registered: Jan 2006
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Eliab
Shipmate
# 9153
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Posted
I'm in. Character to follow.
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"Perhaps there is poetic beauty in the abstract ideas of justice or fairness, but I doubt if many lawyers are moved by it"
Richard Dawkins
Posts: 4619 | From: Hampton, Middlesex, UK | Registered: Mar 2005
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Banner Lady
Ship's Ensign
# 10505
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Posted
It didn't take Boa Languina long to settle into her new quarters. Her needs were very simple: a pole to sleep on and a sonar cascade to keep her ambient body temperature right.
She decided to spend the time leading up to departure exploring the ship in detail. She had been ordered to embark early by the shipboard management because she was a licensed practitioner of Polacrity - the art of helping people feel better about themselves and their circumstances. It meant that on her patrols, she would be able to allay any anxieties among the other passengers, simply though her presence, visible or invisible, among them.
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Women in the church are not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be enjoyed.
Posts: 7080 | From: Canberra Australia | Registered: Oct 2005
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la vie en rouge
Parisienne
# 10688
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Posted
Ruby checks her whiskers in the mirror before pushing the scarlet flower back into place above her left ear. She has given up on the stockings, having already put her claws through four consecutive pairs.
Back in the day the Red Cat Goddess was somewhat of a celebrity back on Bast but her career has taken a turn for the worse of late. Which is how she's ended up singing caberet to a rather bored-looking group of miners in the piano bar of the Ariston every night.
She checks her playlist and sighs as the blue lizard-like creature charged with playing the piano appears in the dressing room.
Mrow. It's going to be a long night.
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(I thought about being a super-intelligent shade of the colour red but sadly I don't think I have the writing talent to make it work. Someone more gifted than me is welcome to steal the idea tho )
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Rent my holiday home in the South of France
Posts: 3696 | Registered: Nov 2005
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Rev per Minute
Shipmate
# 69
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Posted
quote:
Originally posted by la vie en rouge:
(I thought about being a super-intelligent shade of the colour red but sadly I don't think I have the writing talent to make it work. Someone more gifted than me is welcome to steal the idea tho )
[OOC]I'm not sure whether Iain M Banks or Douglas Adams will be a better guide to this ship...[/OOC]
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"Allons-y!" "Geronimo!" "Oh, for God's sake!" The Day of the Doctor
At the end of the day, we face our Maker alongside Jesus. RIP ken
Posts: 2696 | From: my desk (if I can find the keyboard under this mess) | Registered: May 2001
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obble
Shipmate
# 10868
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Posted
Obble jumps down a stairwell to the ship's maintenance store, to have a look round.
I can't believe there's no spare diodes in here that would fit my left leg. You just can't get the parts these days. ![[Disappointed]](graemlins/disappointed.gif)
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Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana.
Posts: 1700 | From: Some other planet | Registered: Jan 2006
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Surfing Madness
Shipmate
# 11087
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Posted
Zoink was optimistic this would be the last trip. Soon there must be enough money for him to be free. It wasn't even as if Zoink got to see anything. He was more of a non person. A cleaner, who was hidden away in the bowels of the ship. He didn't even really have a gender. Somedays he choose to think of himself as him, other days as her, not that it really mattered noone seemed to take any notice of her. Humanish in form, but with a few teaks, Zoink as the oldest of 10, when she had last seen "home" had been sold in to slavery at a young age, by parents with no money, but lots of offspring. Zoink wondered how many there were now, and how many had been sold off.
Posts: 1542 | From: searching for the jam | Registered: Feb 2006
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Antisocial Alto
Shipmate
# 13810
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Posted
Astraea Alcyone was filled with pious joy at the opportunity to visit Eta Carinae. The Oracle of Carina had long been cut off from the citizens of the Confederacy by the Polarian War. But the new slipstream technology which allowed the Ariston to evade privateers, belligerents and other assorted opportunists made it safe for her to make a pilgrimage at last. She was eager to visit the holy site and worship in the temple there.
Astraea was the chief priestess of the Euboan fertility cult dedicated to Demeter. The cult worshiped primarily through ritual copulation and human sacrifice; they never had any trouble finding participants for the former, but lately there seemed to be a shortage of volunteers for the latter. Astraea hoped to ask the oracle for guidance about how best to serve Demeter in future, if the supply of sacrifices dried up altogether. And if she happened to find some potential converts on the voyage, so much the better.
She lifted the hem of her peplos and strode up the gangway onto the gorgeous ship. Even the third-class cabin she had reserved with the cult's limited funds was more luxurious than any room she'd ever seen. After hanging her spare tunic and ceremonial headdress in the spacious closet and splashing some purified water on her face and hands, Astraea ventured back out into the sinuous hallways in search of refreshment and conversation. According to the pamphlet she'd seen, the Ariston had a recreation deck that Dionysus himself could only have dreamed of.
Posts: 601 | From: United States | Registered: Jun 2008
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Ariston
Insane Unicorn
# 10894
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Posted
Xhosimina made her way through the ships' communications relays to the bow of the ship, then across a strut to the starboard slipdrive. As the prime monitor of the Ariston's networks—making her the de facto chief of intraship messaging, or the ship's Archangela—she had (in theory) knowledge of every single event that passed through the ship, as well as every single packet of data transmitted through every single channel. The ship's brain was her brain; its central database was her throne, and the lines of communication were her dominion over which she and her cohort exercised what was supposedly unlimited power. In practice, of course, it was a disorderly principality; patience was a virtue, one that even the strongest of Angelai struggled with. The Ariston was an enormous and convoluted mess, with the right hand only barely knowing what the left one, much left the hind foot, was doing; it was enough to tax even a being of indeterminate substance.
She flowed out of the superstructure into the starboard engineering room, the air around her coalescing into her preferred assumed form for working with humans, a tall, rail-thin woman in a rather fetching black gown. Her violet hair flowed behind her in an unfelt wind, and, in a winking reference to the name her race had been given by the humans, a pair of bright green cherub wings appeared to be tattooed on her back, clearly visible through the web of her low-cut dress. She walked up to the engineer making adjustments to the slipstream drive, her skin still seeming to change color (freckles today? Helline olive, or Inismann pale—or would something darker suit my wings?), while her shoes switched between pink hi-top sneakers and many-buckled goth boots.
"Sir."
The junior officer turned around, noticing the now-settled creature before him.
"A few more adjustments for the sake of certainty. Leaving the lower bow decks outside of the gravity well was a prudent design decision after all—otherwise, the flux would have collapsed the drive envelope at that point—but we'll be cutting it close at the rear of the ship. Arche Pelius will probably have a nice view of the envelope a few inches out her back window."
"Exactly why she's asking about it. Private communication, no chance of intercept: what's her clearance back there?"
"Assuming no interaction with the hull? Well . . ." The officer looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"Assuming."
"About three centimeters, maybe a bit more."
". . ."
"We're working on it."
". . ."
"We'll have it done before we enter drive, don't worry."
". . ."
"Before we leave the dock?"
". . ."
"We'll get right on that. Two days, max."
"She likes that answer. If you need any help . . . well, I'll probably already know." Xhosimina sat down in the engineer's chair and rarified herself, merging back with the ship's network.
"New directions from the captain—again!" Now that he was sans seraph, it was back to work . . .
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“Therefore, let it be explained that nowhere are the proprieties quite so strictly enforced as in men’s colleges that invite young women guests, especially over-night visitors in the fraternity houses.” Emily Post, 1937.
Posts: 6849 | From: The People's Republic of Balcones | Registered: Jan 2006
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Ariston
Insane Unicorn
# 10894
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Posted
quote:
Originally posted by Rev per Minute:
quote:
Originally posted by la vie en rouge:
(I thought about being a super-intelligent shade of the colour red but sadly I don't think I have the writing talent to make it work. Someone more gifted than me is welcome to steal the idea tho )
[OOC]I'm not sure whether Iain M Banks or Douglas Adams will be a better guide to this ship...[/OOC]
Douglas Adams. Really. I was hoping there might be a hooloovoo in our cast, but having the RCG make another appearance—well, we can't argue with that one! I may just have to add one to the non-player character list if nothing else . . .
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“Therefore, let it be explained that nowhere are the proprieties quite so strictly enforced as in men’s colleges that invite young women guests, especially over-night visitors in the fraternity houses.” Emily Post, 1937.
Posts: 6849 | From: The People's Republic of Balcones | Registered: Jan 2006
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Imaginary Friend
Real to you
# 186
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Posted
I'm in. How long do I have to sort out my character?
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"We had a good team on paper. Unfortunately, the game was played on grass."
Brian Clough
Posts: 9455 | From: Left a bit... Right a bit... | Registered: May 2001
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Dafyd
Shipmate
# 5549
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Posted
Neversaid A.I. boarded the ship, wearing dark glasses and a trenchcoat. It hoped nobody would recognise it as Captain McKirk, the character it portrayed in the popular long-running sf serial. It wasn't that he was afraid of fans; in fact he looked forward to meeting them. It just wasn't sure of the precise legal status of an android in relation to the network that owned it, and it hadn't checked with them before resigning. But after two thousand three hundred and thirty eight episodes, it had begun to feel that its performance was getting stale. (This was two thousand three hundred and thirty seven episodes after the more discerning critics.) Neversaid was called upon to teach green-skinned alien ladies every week What This Thing Called Love Is, and wanted to finally find out what was supposed to happen after the camera cut away.
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we remain, thanks to original sin, much in love with talking about, rather than with, one another. Rowan Williams
Posts: 10567 | From: Edinburgh | Registered: Feb 2004
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Ariston
Insane Unicorn
# 10894
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Posted
7 Days Remaining Until Departure—Initiating Drive at 0:0:0 Octidi, 28 Pluviôse (Jour Cyclamen)*
Xhosimina exited the network in the bilge of the ship—or, at the very least, where the bilge would normally be. Though she knew all about this place and, while in the network, had watched it come together, it just wasn't the same as actually being there. Plus, having a body, as she was finding out, had some perks . . .
She walked up to the lifeguard on duty. The observation pool was at the bottom of the ship's prow—a design anomaly made purely for the sake of aesthetics that drove the engineers nuts. The grandiose sharp curve at the front of the ship, reminiscent of nothing so much as an old seagoing vessel, continued down even below the main keel, leading to something of a hatchet-shape that, while it looked absolutely stunning (not to mention fast), was a true pain to account for when calculating the effects of gravity on a drive envelope. Simple solution? Allow for this part of the ship to be in zero-g, thus making drive calculations significantly easier. The original plan had been to use that area as a cargo hold, but the ship's designers had far grander ideas . . .
"Will you be needing wings, ma'am?" The Yntross-born hraithe steward flexed his bat-like set, looking over to a set of lockers and bins in the back wall.
Xhosimina pulled her orange aviator sunglasses to the tip of her nose and winked. "I think I'll manage, Mitlcatl." She walked over to the edge and jumped.
Three hundred fifty-nine point five seven meters of pure space.
Twenty meters to accelerate, the rest—exhilaration. The relative smallness of the pool opening, just a way in and out, belied the vast open expanse that the angel was now falling through, its walls (floors? ceilings?) perfectly clear, giving an almost unimpeded view of the ship and the universe beyond. The few silvery struts that ran along the exterior seemed to be more like a spider's web in frost than an industrial edifice, a decoration rather than an enclosure, something graceful rather than an obstacle. The stardock gleamed in the twilight underneath the ship, a multitude of flashing lights revealing the frenzied activity taking place even as the night arrived. Still further lay Euboa; Xhosimina could see the network of cities on Arcadia, the darkness that must have been Ocean, then the "barbarian" country of Piedemonte, the megalopolis of San Angelo brilliant against the coast.
"The bottom's close now. We have to time this just right, use the momentum to our advantage—NOW!"
A pair of brilliant, iridescent wings, flashing greens and reds, materialized from her shoulders. A powerful downbeat, then soaring, her arms stretched first in front of her, then at her sides, taking in the speed, the motion, the thrill. Mitlcatl had never heard any creature make such sounds before in his life; he peered over the edge, then realized that he would be a fool to ask if everything was all right. Better just to take a jump himself and enjoy it as well.
Three minutes later, he discovered that even a lifetime of experience flying in low gravity is worthless in a competition with an angel. He was glad Xhosimina took him back to the pool deck after he crashed and mangled one of his wings—even if she did laugh at him mercilessly. It wasn't until he was walking to dinner and saw the smirks that he realized that the head of shipboard communications might not be whom you would really want to have as a witness to anything embarrassing.
*16 February, EST (GMT-5)
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“Therefore, let it be explained that nowhere are the proprieties quite so strictly enforced as in men’s colleges that invite young women guests, especially over-night visitors in the fraternity houses.” Emily Post, 1937.
Posts: 6849 | From: The People's Republic of Balcones | Registered: Jan 2006
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Ariston
Insane Unicorn
# 10894
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Posted
5 Days Remaining Until Departure
The sights and smells in the aft promenade were overwhelming to the young Astyanax; despite the eternal vigilance of his parents, there's only so much one can do when confronted by a very determined and very curious boy. His mother turned her back on him for one moment to take a peek in one of the many shops selling goods from strange parts of the galaxy—her son came by his curiosity honestly—and, the next thing she knew, the child was nowhere to be seen.
Which was exactly the plan. Whatever was being cooked in the open pit several stalls back smelled absolutely divine; a strange mix of exotic spice, charcoal smoke and foreign savor. Astyanax slipped through the crowd back to the patio of the cafe, standing on his toes to get a better view of the chefs at work around the brazier. One of the tall, stocky creatures caught the boy's eye; he had never seen a Tarakian in the flesh before, nor heard anything of the celebrated culinary traditions stemming from the southern countries of their homeworld. A few minutes later, as he took his first bite of the souvlaki-like dish he had been given, he would never be able to forget either. Whatever it was, it was like nothing else he could have imagined even a day before. The multitude of flavors, most unfamiliar, some comforting, all working together in just the right way . . .
He took another bite, and looked into the crowd. What new wonders were in store here? A strange reptilian creature passed by in front of him, turning her eyes to him—then turned invisible! He could have sworn that she was smiling at him as she disappeared.
"Astyanax! There you are!"
Oh dear. He was in for it now.
"Where did you find that?"
What? No "I was worried sick, you naughty boy?" Things seemed to be going absolutely perfectly today! He pointed to the brazier behind him and the chef who was still tending the grill. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a disembodied but familiar smile . . .
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“Therefore, let it be explained that nowhere are the proprieties quite so strictly enforced as in men’s colleges that invite young women guests, especially over-night visitors in the fraternity houses.” Emily Post, 1937.
Posts: 6849 | From: The People's Republic of Balcones | Registered: Jan 2006
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Autenrieth Road
Shipmate
# 10509
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Posted
Dr. Their Netua walked along the corridors, searching for her cabin. She could hardly believe that she had had the good luck as a fresh-minted Ph.D. in Terpsichorean Studies to land a grant to travel to Eta Carinae and study the indigenous dances. She suspected that the granting authorities had expected the hostilities to last longer and prevent her from getting into the field and racking up expenses, and thereby save them a boatload of money. But within a week of the letter's arrival, the unexpected peace had been announced. So here she was. Wherever "here" was: she seemed to have taken a wrong turn. She stared at the six-way intersection in front of her and wondered which way to go, and whether she could retrace her steps.
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Truth
Posts: 9559 | From: starlight | Registered: Oct 2005
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Rev per Minute
Shipmate
# 69
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Posted
Minuto had decided that he had spent long enough in his cabin, interesting as its five walls were, and began to explore. After all, there were still days left to departure, if he had understood the ship's ante-imperium calendar correctly - this posed a bit of a risk, as he could be seen and messages be sent - and even 7000 free channels lost their allure quickly (no more police and medical shows, please!).
The garden decks were still peaceful, with very few passengers walking/ rolling/ buzzing through the 'fields' of trees and plants from a thousand different planets. This sometimes meant sudden changes in gravity as you walked into a lunar section or towards Jovian snapdragons from gas giants. (The snapdragons had a nasty habit of living up to their name, as well). Signs saying 'Please do not walk on the grass' had to be obeyed, as some of the grasses could be a little difficult to control...
But Minuto still felt followed, even when there was no-one within a kilometre of him. He knew all about micro-bugs, of course, and he could have been swallowing them by the dozen as he walked through a shower of rain. 'Pull yourself together,' he muttered to himself, and headed to the upper decks for some food and some company - hiding in the crowd. Some of this off-world food was said to be amazing.
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"Allons-y!" "Geronimo!" "Oh, for God's sake!" The Day of the Doctor
At the end of the day, we face our Maker alongside Jesus. RIP ken
Posts: 2696 | From: my desk (if I can find the keyboard under this mess) | Registered: May 2001
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Ariston
Insane Unicorn
# 10894
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Posted
24 Pluviôse—3 Days Until Departure
"Attention on the Ship!"
A number of smartly-dressed soldiers snapped to as Archon Aias Aristidies, SAH, and his staff entered the embarkation lobby. Every head turned as he entered; it wasn't every day that one got to rub shoulders with the best-known diplomat of the Hellenic Confederacy. The Archon was an old man, it was true, but neither the Confederacy nor the ambassador had any interest in discussing retirement. In his long and illustrious career, he had negotiated the fundamental peace agreements and alliances that had turned the Hellenes into a unified power to be reckoned with, rather than the ragtag band of colonies and continental powers it once was. Even as a young man, fresh from the Houporg Academy, he found himself in the middle of unexpected challenges that, time and time again, only proved his ingenuity and incomparable talent. What was supposed to be a soft first assignment for a promising junior agent—coordinating a new academic exchange program with the Piedmontese—lead to him making contacts and gathering information that would eventually lead both to the establishment of the Palladian Fellowship and, more importantly, the near-pefect political union of his homeworld. Though the Hellenes and Piedmontese claimed to be independent nations, Arc. Aristides knew, perhaps better than anyone save his good friend and counterpart in the Foreign Ministry, that this may as well be a convenient legal fiction—the two countries were inexorably intertwined at this point, with too much in common to ever allow serious division or discord.
From here, his career only became more remarkable; by common agreement, however, his greatest achievement was the Treaty of Hieronymous, which diffused the volatile situation created with the Nidau in the aftermath of the Chronos Incident. Just as it seemed as if war was inevitable, coming just before the order to engage was to be sent to the fleets, news of the agreement was released and the specter of mass annihilation was lifted for both parties.
As was becoming increasingly clear from the everlasting Polarian Conflict, the costs of war were becoming far too high for civilized societies to bear. Though the flood of refugees to nearby neutral territories had mostly stopped—either because of the blockades or simple annihilation—it was becoming all-too-obvious that these displaced people would never be able to return home. Thus, it was time for the Lusitanians and the Hellenes to come to an understanding, along with the other governments in the Carina Sector. The Conflict was causing problems for the entire region, and it was past time that something be done about it.
"Pardon me, ma'am." The old man turned to one of the stewards at the front desk with a kindly smile. "Would you mind telling me where I might find the library on board? I'm afraid I have some work to finish before we depart."
The steward called up a map of the ship, even as she relayed the information directly to the ambassador. It was strangely comforting to see the old-fashioned holographs in this day and age, what with the near-ubiquity of intraneural relays, but, then again, a touch of anachronism does add a certain air of class, no?
"Thank you kindly." The Archon bowed slightly, then, taking his cane in hand, began to walk to the library, his retinue falling in behind him.
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“Therefore, let it be explained that nowhere are the proprieties quite so strictly enforced as in men’s colleges that invite young women guests, especially over-night visitors in the fraternity houses.” Emily Post, 1937.
Posts: 6849 | From: The People's Republic of Balcones | Registered: Jan 2006
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Imaginary Friend
Real to you
# 186
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Posted
Grstamjuarlt floated its ephemeral way across the boarding dock and onto the Ariston. One of the less conventional lifeforms in the universe, its physical manifestation was tenuous to say the least. It would be incorrect to say that Grstamjuarlt was not there, just as it would be untrue to suggest that it definitely was. When in it's presence one had a strange feeling that one was being watched without quite being aware of the location of the watcher. To some it was disconcerting, to others strangely reassuring. It wasn't that it was pure consciousness because it required certain things in order to survive. Oxygen was one obvious requirement, although nobody could be quite sure exactly what use Grstamjuarlt made of it. It was also true that it functioned rather more smoothly when there was a substantial amount of nervous energy in the atmosphere, but again there was no rational explanation of why. These basic needs served to impart a limited connection between the corporeal existence and whichever plane of reality that Grstamjuarlt existed on most fundamentally.
There was also a certain amount of debate (both amongst university scholars and amongst those more learned folks that prop up bars all over the universe) about how Grstamjuarlt came into being. Nothing was known of its parenthood or reproductive process, and no other being of its type had ever been known. So there was a vigorous argument about whether Grstamjuarlt was a ‘new’ form of life not previously known, a mistake made by beings from another universe who had tried (and failed) to travel the void between, or merely one of those things that appear in the sort of dream you’re glad to wake up from. Grstamjuarlt itself had always been rather coy on that subject, rather like a teenager being asked difficult questions about sex by his parents, and the fact that no definitive answer was forthcoming from the creature itself only fueled the more ludicrous speculators who started talking about experimentation by scientists employed by the Hellenic Confederacy, a top-secret weapon developed by the Alliance which would finally turn the tide in whichever war was currently being fought, and more besides. In ‘reality’, none of these ideas seemed very likely, but the origins of Grstamjuarlt were most definitely a known unknown.
What was undoubtedly true was that when Grstamjuarlt communicated, there was no physical voice that spoke nor any other concrete means by which its meaning was imparted. You just kind-of knew what it wanted you to understand. This had been known to cause some quite acute problems in the past, when powerful people had started believing that God was talking to them directly, when in fact it was Grstamjuarlt politely inquiring whether it might make use of the facilities before continuing its (presumably) everlasting and lonely journey across the universe. There had also been numerous (rather embarrassing) occasions where Grstamjuarlt had been worshiped as God Herself, which was clearly a silly idea but one which nonetheless seemed very appealing to species with lesser technological nous. Grstamjuarlt usually took this as a sign that it should move on.
But what is important for today is that Grstamjuarlt was in its element. The Ariston was a hive of frenetic activity and the expectant hubbub of people loading their possessions, saying goodbye to friends and family, acclimatizing to their luxurious surroundings and wondering whether the lifeform in the cabin up the corridor could be persuaded to have sex before the end of the trip was causing Grstamjuarlt to feel positively perky. It didn't feel emotions exactly, so it is redundant to try and describe them, but it was definitely true that Grstamjuarlt was doing just fine as it boarded the spaceship and hovered expectantly in the main concourse.
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"We had a good team on paper. Unfortunately, the game was played on grass."
Brian Clough
Posts: 9455 | From: Left a bit... Right a bit... | Registered: May 2001
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Surfing Madness
Shipmate
# 11087
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Posted
Zoink knew that in other parts of the craft the guests were being wowed by the ship, but as ever he was stuck where noone would notice him, or care about him, or even notice who he was today. Zoink dreamed of a life where he mattered to someone, and not just when they wanted some thing from him.
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I now blog about all my crafting! http://inspiredbybroadway.blogspot.co.uk
Posts: 1542 | From: searching for the jam | Registered: Feb 2006
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Ariston
Insane Unicorn
# 10894
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Posted
OoW Announcement:
To the 12 of you who are on board, welcome! We'll be beginning shortly.
To those of you reading this, but not signed up: Do It. Trust me; the more people we have on board, the better this'll be—especially since, well, having more people allows for the Power That Is to act on a few of his Ideas . . .
You have two (2) days remaining.
There are a few people who are fixtures in these games that haven't signed up; we'd love to have you with us. And if you've never played, or it's just been a while . . . not a problem.
*Ahem*
/OoW.
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“Therefore, let it be explained that nowhere are the proprieties quite so strictly enforced as in men’s colleges that invite young women guests, especially over-night visitors in the fraternity houses.” Emily Post, 1937.
Posts: 6849 | From: The People's Republic of Balcones | Registered: Jan 2006
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Ariston
Insane Unicorn
# 10894
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Posted
«Something is wrong.
«The ship is saying that everything's going perfectly. This, of course, is proof that something, somewhere, is really and truly fucked ad Gehennem.
«No Melanchthon. There are no other words I can use to describe the situation. Look, you monitor how many conversations among how many species in how many languages? Don't act like you haven't heard worse.
«Every time we've run the ship through trials, something always breaks. Or doesn't work like it should. Or otherwise blows up. Sure, the kinks have been worked out for the most part—but really. Multidimensional slipstream envelope calculations being adjusted at the last moment? The redshirts are adjusting it right now, and everything's going swimmingly. There's something we're not hearing.
«Yes, "not hearing." Yes, I know that's impossible. Yes, I know we hear everything that happens on this ship and see everything else. All I'm saying is that there's something we've missed. The fact that we . . . whatsthat?»
Stopping mid-tirade, Xhosimina didn't notice exactly what she was looking for—or, more precisely, became aware of her not noticing. A subtle wave with her cohort in the same space, a silent communication; there was a gap in their perception. The angels felt one another's mutual shock and dread. The all-seeing eyes of the ship had a crucial blind spot.
"Mycroft!"
The archangel emerged in the library, walking swiftly towards the Lusitanian steward-cum-librarian. If there was anyone who would be able to figure out what was going on, it would be him.
"Is there a problem, madame?"
"In fact, there isn't. That's the problem."
"I beg your pardon?"
"There's absolutely nothing going wrong anywhere on the ship. At all. In any department, any sector, any level. It's all going perfectly, and none of us know why."
"I fail to see the reason for your agitation."
"Mycroft. Really. When has anything gone perfectly on this ship? At best, we've been able to contain the mishaps and cover things up. You know this as well as we do."
"The fact that you tell me everything that goes wrong makes that fact inevitable. Now, if you wouldn't mind, could you please make yourself a bit more subtle? I'm afraid our guests weren't expecting the likes of you."
"First, I enjoy being 207 cm, thank you. Second, just because I'm the only shapeshifting being on board with a sense of aesthetics doesn't let you complain about the odd blue hair or eyebrow piercing. Third, this is serious. There are AI's these days that can handle intraship communications; we're on board to prevent anything from being missed—which is exactly what's happening. What the @#$% is going on?"
A few heads turned at that—most people had never heard a string of symbols pronounced before. Mycroft sighed, and motioned for the angel to follow him.
"I suppose we should sort this out. Come on, to the couch."
The steward was something of a collector of eccentric antiques; Xhosimina wasn't quite sure what the significance of the leather chaise lounge was, but she lay back on it, her Roman-style sandals hanging off the end. Mycroft sat down across the table from her, taking notes on what she said before engaging his relay. He focused intently, ignoring everything the ship saw, focusing only on the negative space, on what was missed . . .
"Inconclusive."
"What?!?!"
"Well, that's something. The fact that we can't tell what's going on is more information than we had before, right?"
"Not really."
"Well, now we know that we don't know why we don't know what we don't know."
". . ."
"Don't do that."
". . ."
"Right. That."
"Look, is there any reason why something could escape our notice? We're pretty good at seeing things, in case you haven't heard."
"Yes, I've read all about your kind. Truly fascinating, you are. Quite frankly, I have no idea what's causing your blind spots—and, to be honest, I don't think we're supposed to. In fact, it's entirely possible you weren't even supposed to notice them in the first place."
"Which means . . ."
"Someone on board knows a thing or two about how to evade notice. Even from you, Xhosimina."
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“Therefore, let it be explained that nowhere are the proprieties quite so strictly enforced as in men’s colleges that invite young women guests, especially over-night visitors in the fraternity houses.” Emily Post, 1937.
Posts: 6849 | From: The People's Republic of Balcones | Registered: Jan 2006
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Banner Lady
Ship's Ensign
# 10505
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Posted
Boa Languina finished her third circuit of the passenger decks noting that there appeared to be few serious anxiety attacks as yet amongst those she passed. She was glad to have prevented an unnecessary chastisement for one hungry and curious boy (a future gourmand, perhaps?) and she sensed a great need for privacy in a trench-coated figure hurrying away down one of the ship's passageways, but she was detecting much higher anxiety levels in some of the starship's staff.
She slithered off invisibly towards the command centre, noting as she went, that many of the grey uniformed cleaners she passed had been mentally hobbled. This was somewhat disturbing, as such practices had been banned under the very first Inter-stellar legal codes. She made a resolution to keep all four of her eyes open at all times...
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Women in the church are not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be enjoyed.
Posts: 7080 | From: Canberra Australia | Registered: Oct 2005
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leonato
Shipmate
# 5124
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Posted
Leoximanios Quintrfdian Tr!nxlin III known to all his fans (for obvious reasons) as Leox stepped through the VIP airlock of the Ariston to an explosion of flashbulbs and screaming, fainting admirers. They had been waiting for several days for his arrival, but any true star is always fashionably late.
Leox was known through half the galaxy as a film-star, singer, military general, international peace-keeper and heartthrob. It was universally agreed that he was the perfect specimen of ... specieshood, and was rumoured to have bedded thousands, of every known gender and species.
He had prepared himself for this entrance, he was being paid handsomely for promoting this ship's maiden voyage. He had spent weeks in the gym and now every one of his seven six-foot long tentacles was honed to perfection and covered with just the right amount of glowing green slime.
He sent his staff of 30 PAs to take his luggage and prepare his suite. Leox then headed straight for the nearest bar.
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leonato... Much Ado
Posts: 892 | From: Stage left | Registered: Oct 2003
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la vie en rouge
Parisienne
# 10688
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Posted
Her evening set over, Ruby ensconces herself in her cabin with a bit of catnip.
Her supply is running rather low and this worries her. She'll never make it through a couple of weeks on this bloody ship without a few narcotics.
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Rent my holiday home in the South of France
Posts: 3696 | Registered: Nov 2005
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Surfing Madness
Shipmate
# 11087
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Posted
*****Real life announcement***** Due to circumstances beyond my control, I will only have random internet access for the next 10 days or so. Should be around enough to keep playing though.
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I now blog about all my crafting! http://inspiredbybroadway.blogspot.co.uk
Posts: 1542 | From: searching for the jam | Registered: Feb 2006
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The Great Gumby
Ship's Brain Surgeon
# 10989
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Posted
Gumblor, a large, carnivorous blancmange from the planet Skyron, squelched aboard. He was travelling light, thanks to what seemed to be an unnecessarily tight luggage allowance, but had nevertheless managed to find space for his tennis racket.
He was hopeful that the artificial gravity would be reliable enough to play a few games on the recreation deck - all being well, he could even arrange a tournament. Before that, though, he needed to do some light recalibration on his nationality beam. The reports of Scots who could play tennis were anomalous, and possibly apocryphal, but he wasn't taking any chances.
Maybe Irish would do the trick.
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The first principle is that you must not fool yourself, and you are the easiest person to fool. - Richard Feynman
A letter to my son about death
Posts: 5382 | From: Home for shot clergy spouses | Registered: Feb 2006
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Sylvander
Shipmate
# 12857
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Posted
Rudi Rattelschneck squeezed on board when nobody was looking or using one of the other sensual devices these guys came with.
When he heard of a ship about to leave he knew he had to go. He was sure there must be nice munchies lying about. And of course there was always the delicious rubber coating of the electric cables to chew through, yum yum.
He was not too fussed where this particular boat was going, he just liked the sound of the rolling sea by night, and no decent ship could do without a wee rat or two.
PS: Currently traveling for another week but should have occasional internet access every few days.
Posts: 1589 | From: Berlin | Registered: Jul 2007
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Smudgie
Ship's Barnacle
# 2716
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Posted
She knew she should have joined the trade union for intergalactic-coffee-caterers. Robotic stewards indeed. Miss Artichoke Smudgeson came from a long long line of coffee shop owners going back through history on earth and no jumped-up tin can was going to take her place on this cruise. Surely there were still people on board who prefered their cakes home-made and hot drinks from a steaming kettle, made in the time-honoured way even her ancestors had used, even if it did mean those cakes were occasionally slightly misshapen and the tea brewed to varying strength.
With a sideways glance at Obble, she made her way on board with her beloved antique tea-trolley and sought out a corner of the ship to establish her heaven-bound coffee shop.
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Miss you, Erin.
Posts: 14382 | From: Under the duvet | Registered: Apr 2002
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Ariston
Insane Unicorn
# 10894
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Posted
Drusilla Melitta was overjoyed. At last, all these blasted passengers were boarding; her duties as DeskBot would soon slacken, letting her go back to sleep without being forcibly awakened. Not that being on duty stopped her from usually doing what she wanted anyway, especially when what she wanted was to make someone go away.
Which, coincidentally, was what she invariably wanted whenever someone else wanted something from her.
One last look at the guest roster before pulling away from the dock--a few names caught her attention for no good reason, which was more reason than Melitta usually had for what she did:
Their Netua-Academic, Hellinic Confederacy
Boa Languina-Exopath (serpentine)
Herodartus-Historian, HC
Reverse Minuto-Human (unremarkable)
"JFH" (unknown)
Obble-42, Hospitality Robot
"Eliab," unknown
Ruby/RCG, Cabaret, Bast
Zoink, (redacted)
Astrea Alcyone, High Priestess, HC
Grstamjuarit, indeterminate?
Neversaid AI, android
Leox...III, Tenticled
Gumblor, Blancmange
Artichoke Smudgeson, Human, Adjunct crew
Rudi Rattelschneck, Rat, Not actually supposed to be on this list
Melitta paused for a moment at the last entry, then decided that doing anything about it would require even thinking about it. Time for the only thing she had been looking forward to for a while: making a Very Important Announcement.
This is the final boarding call for all passengers and crew of the Starship Ariston. We will be departing shortly; if you are not on board before we leave in the next few hours, we will cheerfully leave you behind without a refund.
This is the final boarding call for the Starship Ariston. We will be departing in a matter of hours; if you are not on board by this time, we will cheerfully leave you behind.
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“Therefore, let it be explained that nowhere are the proprieties quite so strictly enforced as in men’s colleges that invite young women guests, especially over-night visitors in the fraternity houses.” Emily Post, 1937.
Posts: 6849 | From: The People's Republic of Balcones | Registered: Jan 2006
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Ariston
Insane Unicorn
# 10894
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Posted
“219-Alpha to the Ariston, we are presently inbound, on initial approach.”
“Understood, Formalhaut. Bridge crew standing by for arrival. Ariston clear.”
The fighter maneuvered itself into a bow-stern overflight approach path relative to the Ariston. Some captains settled for personal yachts, but, like most, Archeploiarchos Pelius kept her personal craft from her fleet service. The bond between a pilot and their craft was near-impossible to describe to most outsiders; it was not like you directed something external so much as you found yourself with new limbs and organs you never knew you possessed. Some people never adapted to living without their craft; even with her inhibitor chip, Pelius sometimes felt a phantom surge in her thrusters or a gimbaling of her cockpit. The Formalhaut was not her ship; it was her.
The Ariston, however . . . that was a different matter. Today was her wedding day, when she would assume her final command, committing to the ship that would define the rest of her life. She could never become one with any vessel as grand as the Ariston, but enter into a near-perfect symbiotic union with it? There was nothing she desired more.
Final approach. She pitched her fighter perpendicular to her direction of travel so she could see her bridegroom the better. The clean lines, the gleaming superstructure—none of the dark and confused mess that characterized most large warships—truly, this was the pinnacle of the shipbuilder’s art. She passed within a few meters of the starwindows of the central promenade; some of the passengers looked up with clearly visible amazement as she passed close overhead. Finally, after the long stretch of her ship, the quarterdeck and the bridge, her domain, the small, round glass bump at the very back of everything . . .
The fighter inverted itself, then applied thrust contrary to its previous direction. Slowly, she approached the back of the ship, then docked her ship in the bridge docking slip next to the escape pods. A short lift trip into the pressurized zone, then in to the bridge. The whole of her command structure was present; even her prime com monitor had materialized (and, more shockingly, had done so in uniform!)
“Sminagos Petra—how long until we’re ready to leave?”
“Bridge and engineering standing at the ready; the ground crew needs a few minutes to clear the area.”
“Thank you, ma’am. What of the Nikesan and Promachos?”
“Arriving presently.”
Even as she spoke, a pair of Hellenic battlecruisers dropped out of drive aft of the Ariston, swiftly decelerating as they fell in next to her, their long, spider-like arms catching the morning sun.
“Xhosimina—what news?”
The angel turned to the much shorter captain. “Ma’am. Quartermaster Rhyddwyn finished his final review of the cargo hold over an hour ago, and assures me all passenger baggage is accounted for. The embarkation lobby staff claims that all passengers are on board; my cohort claims the same for the crew. If the ground crew is ready, we can pull clear of the dock.”
“Very good. Myrrine, the Nikesan please.” A short pause, then a vision of the warship’s bridge appearing.
“Taxiarchos Teucer. We are pleased you were able to be with us as we leave.”
“As are we, Arche, and the whole of the Confederacy. At long last, we can be free of the Polarian blockade; perhaps, when they see how futile it is against us . . .”
“Arche, the dock crew is clear.” Sminagos Petra interrupted the commander. “Ready to leave at your command.”
“Given.”
The ship pulled free from the moorings and began to ease forward, the two cruisers flanking her. Below, the planet watched, some on the broadcast, a lucky few by looking into the pre-dawn twilight, seeing a bright star moving over the horizon.
Pelius took her seat at the back of the bridge. From here, she faced the whole of her ship; nothing that happened would be out of her sight. Behind her, the shining planet filled the window; the pictures of her being sent back to Euboa would quickly become classics, a symbol of the hope the Ariston represented for the Confederacy.
“Arche—“
“Engage drive.”
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“Therefore, let it be explained that nowhere are the proprieties quite so strictly enforced as in men’s colleges that invite young women guests, especially over-night visitors in the fraternity houses.” Emily Post, 1937.
Posts: 6849 | From: The People's Republic of Balcones | Registered: Jan 2006
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Ariston
Insane Unicorn
# 10894
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Posted
OoW: check your PM boxes for nice, shiny roles. If you didn't get one ( ![[Tear]](graemlins/tear.gif) ), then you're a normal "innocent" passenger.
Those of you who have roles—look them over. Remember, no actions are strictly obligatory, though some of you would be remiss not to take advantage of every available opportunity . . .
Ground rules (while OoW):
1. Ghosts are permissible. Strange things happen in the far reaches of interstellar space—who knows, you might even turn into a late-night talk show host! However, the process of dying/annihilation/whatever does rob you of the ability to do anything meaningful in games of Mafia. Even The Power That Is can't overrule that one.
2. Unlike previous games, behind-the-scenes communication, unless otherwise noted, is permissible.
3. Pay attention to time frames! Not all actions or events take place during the night.
4. Talking in public during the night is permissible. Not all species need sleep. However, may She have mercy on your soul if you awaken the Red Cat Goddess during one of her naps.
5. Weird stuff happens. You've been warned.
6. The Power That Is reserves the right to be inscrutable, evasive, or play "unreliable narrator." The ship's crew is pretty knowledgeable, but, as we've seen, they might not know everything. There are reasons why, as much as is possible, I'm going to try to stay in-world. And before you ask, I may have an obvious soft spot for Xhosimina, but she isn't a mouthpiece for TPTI. Neither is Mycroft, or anyone else for that matter.
7. Conflicting actions will be recognized on a "first sent, first done" basis. If you get axed before you can act, sorry. If you can't figure out why something unexplained happened when you tried to act, see #5.
8. Those of you who like the "story/setting" aspects of this game, have fun. I may have a certain idea of what the Ariston and the local (admittedly volatile) political situation is like, but it's not defined by any means. Your characters live there.
I think that pretty much covers everything, no? The mayhem should be starting shortly.
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“Therefore, let it be explained that nowhere are the proprieties quite so strictly enforced as in men’s colleges that invite young women guests, especially over-night visitors in the fraternity houses.” Emily Post, 1937.
Posts: 6849 | From: The People's Republic of Balcones | Registered: Jan 2006
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Ariston
Insane Unicorn
# 10894
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Posted
There are many sounds that nobody ever wants to hear.
The "we've lost a critical component" alarm is one of them.
It's even worse when said component is responsible for safely dropping your ship out of slipstream.
Worst of all, however, is when said alarm follows the sound of massive amounts of energy surging out of control and through the body of the starboard drive engineer.
Everybody on the ship felt the lurch as, for a brief moment, something in the drive nacelle failed; on the bridge, however, the failure itself was felt instantly, the destruction known even as it happened.
"Put all command and engineering sectors on lockdown!" Archeploiarchos Pelius stood up from her chair. "Xhosimina? Block all com channels between the bridge and the rest of the ship. All data passes through you personally." The angel rarified herself, assuming indefinite form once more in the walls and optic lines of the bridge, physically stopping, then retransmitting, every signal. The risks involved in a saboteur gaining access to the quarterdeck and the command network were too high, the slight delay worth the cost.
"One crew member dead, three critically injured, seventeen wounded; slipstream envelope remains metastable, unable to disengage." Even as Sminagos Petra read off the report, Pelius looked out her back window; the shimmer of the envelope had changed from the smooth bubble of normal slipstream travel to a turbulent flux. Though the ship was in no immediate danger, something serious had happened.
"Pouros, ma'am. Able Crewman—Engineering."
"Place security on alert. We all know the drive schematics—for that system to fail, hundreds of others would have needed to go first. There's no way this was an accident."
Day 1—Now accepting nominations
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“Therefore, let it be explained that nowhere are the proprieties quite so strictly enforced as in men’s colleges that invite young women guests, especially over-night visitors in the fraternity houses.” Emily Post, 1937.
Posts: 6849 | From: The People's Republic of Balcones | Registered: Jan 2006
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Ariston
Insane Unicorn
# 10894
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Posted
"Here's what we know, Ambassador: something failed in the starboard drive nacelle. The ship is in no immediate danger, but, as it just so happens, we're stuck."
Ambassador Aristides and Mycroft were meeting in the steward's private office. If any passenger had a right to know what was really going on, it was him—and, as experience had shown, there was usually only one crew member who actually knew what was happening.
"I'd heard rumors of a plot to sabotage the Ariston before I left—we thought we foiled it, but it seems we didn't. An outfit calling itself the Meritorious Association For Intergalactic Action—not affiliated with any one government or another, mind you, just interested in themselves as best we know. Mercenaries, really—highly trained assassins and terrorists available for hire. If anyone could have pulled this off, it would be them. That trick your archangel was describing, with the nothing you aren't even supposed to notice is one of their trademarks. It's a testament to her ability that she even caught that, much less that she told anyone. Most beings think it's just paranoia or a figment of their imagination. What's your security protocol?"
"The usual—uniformed officers, a few plainclothes—as well as some psionically adept agents. Naturally, those are in deep cover and of varying ability and function—I met one the other day who could read my every intention, but couldn't tell you what my position was even from my uniform. Another? The exact opposite. I've heard rumors that one of our passengers is a medium of some sort—able to commune with spirits, that sort of thing—though, quite frankly, that seems rather unlikely. There's also that security officer we recruited; you should have seen the demonstration of the ancient art of close-quarters pen combat I saw! I certainly wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of that one's ledger . . ."
"Good to hear. Our government is rather interested in this ship reaching its final destination; between you and me, there are more than just a few things we're shipping on board even I'm not supposed to know about—and I'm in charge of them! You've heard of the Xhoronos Project, I suppose?"
"That old conspiracy theory? Sir, with all respect, any bioweapon that debilitating would have long since become common knowledge—you surely would have used it by now! You don't mean to tell me . . . on this ship?"
"We tamed it, Mycroft. A lethal weapon is of no interest to us; one that makes death seem like a kindness, however . . . They will beg for death, and will not find it, I believe. Even in its weakest form, its victims are incapacitated for a full day; when activated however, its virulence knows no bounds, and for nearly a week, whole continents can be brought to their knees."
The steward shuddered at the thought.
"Come now. The Conflict has cost too many lives already; the Xhoronos virus could end it, destroying the will of both sides without the loss of life. Plus, it may just be that there are a few test subjects on your ship to demonstrate on—anyone who would seek to join the MAFIA, to say nothing of working in their ranks . . . well. It's an idea."
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“Therefore, let it be explained that nowhere are the proprieties quite so strictly enforced as in men’s colleges that invite young women guests, especially over-night visitors in the fraternity houses.” Emily Post, 1937.
Posts: 6849 | From: The People's Republic of Balcones | Registered: Jan 2006
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Eliab
Shipmate
# 9153
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Posted
Yesterday, just before boarding
The anti-gravity caligae clicked against the floor of the viewing gantry, as Eliabus Dautius Zurcon, tribunus militum of the Twentieth Star Legion (Valeria Victrix) looked admiringly, but disbelievingly, at the HCSS Ariston. Even after two years of the obligatory political assignment with the Lusitanian Empire's embassy on Euboa, he did not understand these Hellenes. To build a ship, such a ship, as this, and fit it as a pleasure cruiser! Gods of the Pack, what possessed them?
Eliabus was no stranger to spacecraft. The Scion, the Legion's fast carrier, had been his home for four years, and he had flown Pilum class medium fighters practically every day, and commanded Scorpio class corvettes in action more than a dozen times. But this was something else. The speed - the size - the sheer power of the craft was breathtaking. Properly fitted, she'd carry at least four, maybe even six, rail-gun launch tubes for fighters, and still have room for enough beam weapons and missiles of her own to challenge a dreadnought. Instead, the Hellenes had built a very fast, very impressive, floating hotel. Why?
But what a way to go home! Back to the Empire, the Legion, and, with luck, back to a proper campaign against one or other or (why not?) both of the belligerents in the Polarian dispute.
There were a few minutes left before boarding. The tribune made final, imperceptible, adjustments to his already immaculate uniform. The gleaming chrome-titanium helmet shines in violent contrast to the dull black bands of the more functional lorica deflector that encircled the torso, while the brilliant crimson of the helmet's crest was a perfect contrast with Eliabus's own thick ruddy-gray hair. From beneath the lorica, a belt supported a decorative cingulum studded with discs of cultured diamond, as well as a vibro-dirk with uni-molecular cutting edges, and a long-barrelled laser pistol, which would, doubtless, need to be placed with the diplomatic baggage, but nonetheless added a pleasing weight and seriousness to the soldier's appearance. He studied the Ariston coolly, with a disinterested, professional eye, mentally placing the particle cannon, sensor arrays, drone bays, and offensive field generators that she would have carried had she been Lusitanian. Which rather spoiled the undoubted effect of Twentieth's full-dress uniform, as the long tunic, split at the back to accommodate Eliabus's tail, shook uncontrollably as that tail began to wag like that of a puppy chasing a ball.
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"Perhaps there is poetic beauty in the abstract ideas of justice or fairness, but I doubt if many lawyers are moved by it"
Richard Dawkins
Posts: 4619 | From: Hampton, Middlesex, UK | Registered: Mar 2005
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Banner Lady
Ship's Ensign
# 10505
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Posted
Boa Languina felt the surge of anxiety from every direction, and knew something was seriously wrong - especially in the command centre. Instinctively she headed for the nearest intersection to it and draped her invisible body around an archway.
She could not deal with hysteria on a mass scale, but anyone who passed within the semi-circle of her serpentine presence would at least shed fear and confusion for a short while. If this was a crisis, then as many as possible needed to be thinking clearly. She closed her bright purple eyes and concentrated on the feelings of those hurrying past below her.
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Women in the church are not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be enjoyed.
Posts: 7080 | From: Canberra Australia | Registered: Oct 2005
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leonato
Shipmate
# 5124
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Posted
On entering the bar Leox was handed his favourite: a Stargian hyper-cocktail. The staff were clearly very well trained. The drink was delightful, but strong. Leox was grateful that his was one of the few species for whom alcohol was a necessary part of the metabolism.
Still, it wouldn't do for him to be seen drunk by his fans. A quick whisper to the barman and he was assured that the corridors back to his suite would all be cleared. Another quick whisper ensured that the barman (good looking, and from Ragire, judging by his tail) would be there waiting for him. Leox felt he might actually enjoy this trip.
But then he felt something. His species were slightly psychic. Someone had died on-board. Leox dismissed the thought, after all, crew members died all the time on these ships, they were notoriously dangerous. He decided to have another drink.
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leonato... Much Ado
Posts: 892 | From: Stage left | Registered: Oct 2003
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la vie en rouge
Parisienne
# 10688
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Posted
Ruby wakes up late and stalks down the corridor to the staff canteen in search of food. Breakfast is long over but they've started serving lunch.
Rrrrr myeow…. Really, this place doesn't cater for carnivores at all. Especially since they started that healthy eating drive and introduced all those revolting salads. A cat could starve to death. Oh, they have roast chicken. That'll do. No, no vegetables thank you. Give them to the pianist if you want, that lizard'll eat anything.
The piano-playing lizard is also annoyingly talkative, but Ruby decides it's probably worth humouring him in the hopes of mooching the bones off his plate at the end. What's he prattling on about now? Oh - the ship's exploded. Ruby didn't hear anything, but then it takes more than the ship blowing up to wake a sleeping kitty, particulary when she's lying in a catnip-induced stupor.
Who's responsible Ruby has no idea. But life-forms are going to have to start talking if there's to be any progress made.
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Rent my holiday home in the South of France
Posts: 3696 | Registered: Nov 2005
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Eliab
Shipmate
# 9153
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Posted
Someone attack ship. Bad. Everyone now say why they innocent. Others smell carefully what they say.
I innocent because ship take back home.
Who next?
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"Perhaps there is poetic beauty in the abstract ideas of justice or fairness, but I doubt if many lawyers are moved by it"
Richard Dawkins
Posts: 4619 | From: Hampton, Middlesex, UK | Registered: Mar 2005
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An die Freude
Shipmate
# 14794
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Posted
From behind a mysterious door marked "GNDN", an undescribable voice was heard, "Doggone it, who cares about real income in China in the 17th century? What? I still need to write an essay about it all night? By that deep Abyss of the Black Hole north of Jupiter, action is necessary! I want to speak! Soon I will raise my voice and they will hear more of me! If only... If only I could get this forced writing behind me!"
[i.e. I will get talkative as soon as this very real, live exam is finished, and maybe after some three hours of sleep tonight, if applicable.]
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"I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable."
Walt Whitman
Formerly JFH
Posts: 851 | From: Proud Socialist Monarchy of Sweden | Registered: May 2009
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Sylvander
Shipmate
# 12857
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Posted
Whoopsi!
This ship launched with somewhat more gusto than Rudi Rattelschneck was used to.
It was fun to be hurled about like this but he began having doubts as to his destination this time. And where was the soothing noise of waves lulling him to sleep? Something felt not quight rite.
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A martyr is someone living with a saint.
2509
Posts: 1589 | From: Berlin | Registered: Jul 2007
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Dafyd
Shipmate
# 5549
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Posted
Neversaid was online checking his reviews in case there was a positive comment in there somewhere that he'd missed. Suddenly he found himself in receipt of a communication for the ship's crew that had apparently been misdirected.
Having read it, he realised that this was not the only thing that was wrong. It was a crisis. Neversaid had no idea what to do in a crisis, but he knew someone who did. What would Captain McChurch do?
Neversaid left his cabin to look for a green-skinned alien woman to snog.
In the meantime Neversaid hoped that there wouldn't be any lynchings. Admittedly, the other way where we randomly lynch innocents and then make inaccurate guesses based on misguided suspicions of other people's behaviour is more fun. But Neversaid hoped that there would be detectives on board, and it was his opinion that our best chance was to do our best not to kill them.
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we remain, thanks to original sin, much in love with talking about, rather than with, one another. Rowan Williams
Posts: 10567 | From: Edinburgh | Registered: Feb 2004
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