0. Dissection
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1. Formation
Hello!
My name is Junkmaster Scrappy and I’m a walking pile of mutated radioactive trash. Some advanced civilization lived on this planet thousands of years ago, and I woke up in one of their landfills. It didn’t take long before I found a few others like me, and we built a community of sorts. I told them we should get to work on turning this planet into a city again, and they all cheered me on and made me their king! Imagine that.
The first thing I did was send out Nasty Pete on an exploration journey in Goes Without Saying, an old science vessel we found. He came back a year later saying there's a lot of habitable planets up there, and a huge solar panel around a neighboring star that we should probably repair. I told him good job, and sent him right back out to survey them properly. That dude smells, man.
One of the kids came up to me and said his name was Joe. Our conversation went something like:
“Hey Junkmaster Scrappy?”
“Yeah son?”
“You know how our poop explodes if you poke it too hard?” I knew Turdball was a popular sport among the youngsters, and nodded.
“Well, I was thinking, we should use our turds to dig up more of our kind and clear out some of these arcologies!”
“That’s a great idea, kid! Your name is now Explosive Joe, and you’re our new head of Engineering.” He scuttered off, happy as a clam. Minds like that must be allowed to create.
We found another ship called the Buildomatic, and as soon as we hit the ON-switch it shot off into space and got busy making mining stations. With monthly shipments of minerals and solar batteries rolling in, I decided we should restore the ancient holotheater downtown and kick back for a while. Nothing beats grabbing a bucket of scrapcorn and watching old 2180's gems in the evenings. Determined Exterminator 2 with Arnnie Frankenfurter is the best movie in the galaxy, period.
One thing I’m concerned about is how we’re gonna build our economy. So far we’ve just been hucking old artifacts back and forth, but I don’t know how long that can last. Probably we’ll need to do some actual production later on. And we should colonize some of the planets Pete mentioned, see if they have any good pickings. I’ll let Crabcakes do the thinking on that one, he’s proven to be a fine governor.
All in all I'd say we're doing good for 2203.
My name is Junkmaster Scrappy and I’m a walking pile of mutated radioactive trash. Some advanced civilization lived on this planet thousands of years ago, and I woke up in one of their landfills. It didn’t take long before I found a few others like me, and we built a community of sorts. I told them we should get to work on turning this planet into a city again, and they all cheered me on and made me their king! Imagine that.
The first thing I did was send out Nasty Pete on an exploration journey in Goes Without Saying, an old science vessel we found. He came back a year later saying there's a lot of habitable planets up there, and a huge solar panel around a neighboring star that we should probably repair. I told him good job, and sent him right back out to survey them properly. That dude smells, man.
One of the kids came up to me and said his name was Joe. Our conversation went something like:
“Hey Junkmaster Scrappy?”
“Yeah son?”
“You know how our poop explodes if you poke it too hard?” I knew Turdball was a popular sport among the youngsters, and nodded.
“Well, I was thinking, we should use our turds to dig up more of our kind and clear out some of these arcologies!”
“That’s a great idea, kid! Your name is now Explosive Joe, and you’re our new head of Engineering.” He scuttered off, happy as a clam. Minds like that must be allowed to create.
We found another ship called the Buildomatic, and as soon as we hit the ON-switch it shot off into space and got busy making mining stations. With monthly shipments of minerals and solar batteries rolling in, I decided we should restore the ancient holotheater downtown and kick back for a while. Nothing beats grabbing a bucket of scrapcorn and watching old 2180's gems in the evenings. Determined Exterminator 2 with Arnnie Frankenfurter is the best movie in the galaxy, period.
One thing I’m concerned about is how we’re gonna build our economy. So far we’ve just been hucking old artifacts back and forth, but I don’t know how long that can last. Probably we’ll need to do some actual production later on. And we should colonize some of the planets Pete mentioned, see if they have any good pickings. I’ll let Crabcakes do the thinking on that one, he’s proven to be a fine governor.
All in all I'd say we're doing good for 2203.
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2. Expansion
My oh my, so much has happened.
We did as planned and colonized a couple of planets, using some old ark ship designs we found in a shipyard near the South Pole. The landings were broadcast live on all holotheaters, and our progenitors must have been there too, because those worlds felt just like home! Should have them up and ready for business in no time, especially since we're distributing free stuff to anyone who goes there. The first planet was named Extra Fresh for its absolutely delicious smell, and the other was named Tasty Rocks because it's just loaded with food. It must have been a major breadbasket world back in its heyday.
As for the situation here in Junktown, Joe's idea turned out to be right on the money. We're digging up new pops and old technological wonders left and right, some of which even made our food taste a lot better. Life's pretty good.
Speaking of tech, Jimmy Two-Tables was getting on my nerves, so I promoted him about 20 000 kilometers up the ladder. His replacement is a crazy guy we found down in the sewers working on something he called a "cloning vat". I have no idea what he's about, but the eggheads tell me he's smart, so he's hired. They also say Joe's been cooped up in an old factory for weeks now, and I'm just giddy to see what he comes up with next.
The survey reports are ticking in on a regular basis, and they're even weirder than I anticipated. Some ridiculous theory about non-silicon-based life forms , some totally harmless overdimensioned egg timer, I just skimmed over them really. Pete will take the fall if something goes wrong. But what intrigued me most was the giant solar panel. If we can get that thing up and running... we'll be extremely rich. As long as nobody comes back for it, then we'll just be dead. Hopefully we'll have a military ready soon, just in case.
Which reminds me, a funny thing happened last week. Pete had found an old warship stuck in a bog somewhere, and I gave him the go-ahead to lift it out and fix it. Ain't no way that could go wrong. Well, it just so happens there was still an old robo-pilot alive and kicking inside! He was a little dense, but happy to join the Trash Team. He even tried to start a political party, but we shut that idea down right quick. I'm not done being the king around here.
Anyway, his ship was bristling with guns and had shields like you wouldn't believe, so this young kid, name of Johnny Rocketfingers, he had the idea to use it as a goalpost for turdball! That's right, we're doing the Championships in space now, with turds packed into missiles, proper ships in team formations and all. That holotheater was the best idea I've ever had.
The year is 2214, and it's a great time to be a big pile of walking, talking trash.
We did as planned and colonized a couple of planets, using some old ark ship designs we found in a shipyard near the South Pole. The landings were broadcast live on all holotheaters, and our progenitors must have been there too, because those worlds felt just like home! Should have them up and ready for business in no time, especially since we're distributing free stuff to anyone who goes there. The first planet was named Extra Fresh for its absolutely delicious smell, and the other was named Tasty Rocks because it's just loaded with food. It must have been a major breadbasket world back in its heyday.
As for the situation here in Junktown, Joe's idea turned out to be right on the money. We're digging up new pops and old technological wonders left and right, some of which even made our food taste a lot better. Life's pretty good.
Speaking of tech, Jimmy Two-Tables was getting on my nerves, so I promoted him about 20 000 kilometers up the ladder. His replacement is a crazy guy we found down in the sewers working on something he called a "cloning vat". I have no idea what he's about, but the eggheads tell me he's smart, so he's hired. They also say Joe's been cooped up in an old factory for weeks now, and I'm just giddy to see what he comes up with next.
The survey reports are ticking in on a regular basis, and they're even weirder than I anticipated. Some ridiculous theory about non-silicon-based life forms , some totally harmless overdimensioned egg timer, I just skimmed over them really. Pete will take the fall if something goes wrong. But what intrigued me most was the giant solar panel. If we can get that thing up and running... we'll be extremely rich. As long as nobody comes back for it, then we'll just be dead. Hopefully we'll have a military ready soon, just in case.
Which reminds me, a funny thing happened last week. Pete had found an old warship stuck in a bog somewhere, and I gave him the go-ahead to lift it out and fix it. Ain't no way that could go wrong. Well, it just so happens there was still an old robo-pilot alive and kicking inside! He was a little dense, but happy to join the Trash Team. He even tried to start a political party, but we shut that idea down right quick. I'm not done being the king around here.
Anyway, his ship was bristling with guns and had shields like you wouldn't believe, so this young kid, name of Johnny Rocketfingers, he had the idea to use it as a goalpost for turdball! That's right, we're doing the Championships in space now, with turds packed into missiles, proper ships in team formations and all. That holotheater was the best idea I've ever had.
The year is 2214, and it's a great time to be a big pile of walking, talking trash.
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Oh, my gosh. This is the AAR I never knew I needed. I hope you had as much fun writing this as we are reading it. You get so many points for brightening my day!
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3. Politics
Joe's been making robots!
He found an old assembler and has been tinkering for months to get it working. He invited us all over to watch as he pulled the lever, and some old clankers shambled out of it and started pouring us drinks. Gotta say it's a little unnerving to see them walking on just two legs, but they can do all sorts of menial jobs and only need recharging once in a while. I'm not complaining. Hell, I'm gonna make sure Joe gets his own resort planet for this.
One of the kids downtown failed all his physical exams and was no good at poetry either, so we had no choice but to make him a scientist. He was up north scouting the Grapes system when he happened upon some ships that sure weren't ours. Sleek, streamlined, not like these cargo boxes with engines that we have. I always knew we'd find some new customers eventually. Hope they're friendly, cause our turdball team is still a bunch of rookies and we're precious short on alloys.
Anyway, I've got bigger fish to fry. It's not that they think I'm a bad Junkmaster, but customs demand we have a pow-wow of sorts every 20 years. I went downtown to the old shopping mall we use as a Parliament - and there he was.
This young lad, strong and well-spoken, head full of bright ideas like Trade Value, More Minerals and Pop Growth, that I made sure to jot down for the future. Made me realize I'm getting on in years and that the younger generations will carry us further than I ever could. He deserved the win. So I let everyone know I was abstaining.
Vox populi, vox Dei.
With that out of the way, I was free to focus on the monthly news. Some alien food gatherers have been spotted buzzing around the north frontier, but if you don't bother them they don't bother you. Someone found an old mixtape that was shot into space centuries ago, and the experts deemed it to be "fire as fuck". Weird ships have been spotted in the Ass End system, and I've sent an envoy to investigate. The usual, really.
Well, one thing was a bit unusual. Our robo-admiral was in no way deterred by his previous failure, and this time he actually managed to form a sizeable party. I suppose it makes sense, he's quite popular in the Turdaments and the best goalie we've ever had. Mostly cause you can't get through those damned shields of his. As long as the party has a sensible agenda, there's nothing wrong with a little democracy.
But my patience has limits.
It's no good to be hearing voices in your head, and it's really not good if that head happens to be responsible for our particle science innovations. Oh well, two can play that game. After a bit of fair, unbiased debating, Og was reformed and ready to resume his duties. Far, far away from Junktown.
Just in time too, because it turns out our new neighbors to the north are... well, they're a mixed blessing. The good thing is they're definitely our kind of people, although their crystals are a bit gaudy. The bad news is... well, count your digits after you shake claws with'em. We're taking a reserved stance for now.
Down in the southern frontier, things have taken a turn for the worse. Those weird ships turned out to be hostile, and abducted one of our harmless mineral convoys. I sent our boys down to teach them the rules of Turdball, but then they opened comms.
They're strong. I know that much, even with that weird bubblehead they've got. Machines don't eat, don't breathe, don't feel pain, they just multiply and build stuff. I've seen what Joe's robots can do if you switch off their combat inhibs.
So I make one of the tough choices a leader has to make occasionally, and play ball. We act helpless and meek, build embassies and train them to eat from our claws. And then we strike, sometime in the future when we're strong enough.
I must admit, I struggled with that decision for a while. But then my protegé did something which reassured me like nothing else possibly could. Explosive Joe, my fast companion, my manus dextra, you are a kingmaker of the finest sort, and I will give you your own vassal state when this is all over. In your name, I'm founding a Robotic Institute of Science and Explosions, and hopefully it'll produce a new generation of minds as sharp as yours.
Oh for crying out loud.
He found an old assembler and has been tinkering for months to get it working. He invited us all over to watch as he pulled the lever, and some old clankers shambled out of it and started pouring us drinks. Gotta say it's a little unnerving to see them walking on just two legs, but they can do all sorts of menial jobs and only need recharging once in a while. I'm not complaining. Hell, I'm gonna make sure Joe gets his own resort planet for this.
One of the kids downtown failed all his physical exams and was no good at poetry either, so we had no choice but to make him a scientist. He was up north scouting the Grapes system when he happened upon some ships that sure weren't ours. Sleek, streamlined, not like these cargo boxes with engines that we have. I always knew we'd find some new customers eventually. Hope they're friendly, cause our turdball team is still a bunch of rookies and we're precious short on alloys.
Anyway, I've got bigger fish to fry. It's not that they think I'm a bad Junkmaster, but customs demand we have a pow-wow of sorts every 20 years. I went downtown to the old shopping mall we use as a Parliament - and there he was.
This young lad, strong and well-spoken, head full of bright ideas like Trade Value, More Minerals and Pop Growth, that I made sure to jot down for the future. Made me realize I'm getting on in years and that the younger generations will carry us further than I ever could. He deserved the win. So I let everyone know I was abstaining.
Vox populi, vox Dei.
With that out of the way, I was free to focus on the monthly news. Some alien food gatherers have been spotted buzzing around the north frontier, but if you don't bother them they don't bother you. Someone found an old mixtape that was shot into space centuries ago, and the experts deemed it to be "fire as fuck". Weird ships have been spotted in the Ass End system, and I've sent an envoy to investigate. The usual, really.
Well, one thing was a bit unusual. Our robo-admiral was in no way deterred by his previous failure, and this time he actually managed to form a sizeable party. I suppose it makes sense, he's quite popular in the Turdaments and the best goalie we've ever had. Mostly cause you can't get through those damned shields of his. As long as the party has a sensible agenda, there's nothing wrong with a little democracy.
But my patience has limits.
It's no good to be hearing voices in your head, and it's really not good if that head happens to be responsible for our particle science innovations. Oh well, two can play that game. After a bit of fair, unbiased debating, Og was reformed and ready to resume his duties. Far, far away from Junktown.
Just in time too, because it turns out our new neighbors to the north are... well, they're a mixed blessing. The good thing is they're definitely our kind of people, although their crystals are a bit gaudy. The bad news is... well, count your digits after you shake claws with'em. We're taking a reserved stance for now.
Down in the southern frontier, things have taken a turn for the worse. Those weird ships turned out to be hostile, and abducted one of our harmless mineral convoys. I sent our boys down to teach them the rules of Turdball, but then they opened comms.
They're strong. I know that much, even with that weird bubblehead they've got. Machines don't eat, don't breathe, don't feel pain, they just multiply and build stuff. I've seen what Joe's robots can do if you switch off their combat inhibs.
So I make one of the tough choices a leader has to make occasionally, and play ball. We act helpless and meek, build embassies and train them to eat from our claws. And then we strike, sometime in the future when we're strong enough.
I must admit, I struggled with that decision for a while. But then my protegé did something which reassured me like nothing else possibly could. Explosive Joe, my fast companion, my manus dextra, you are a kingmaker of the finest sort, and I will give you your own vassal state when this is all over. In your name, I'm founding a Robotic Institute of Science and Explosions, and hopefully it'll produce a new generation of minds as sharp as yours.
Oh for crying out loud.
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4. Crackdown
Crime does NOT pay.
Or, so the story goes. That new fancy shipping harbor of theirs looked like it was paying quite handsomely, it's just that most of the goods came from here, and none of the revenue was going to us! At first I was livid, and wanted to gather the boys up and boot these peckerheads right off our beautiful junkball. Then I composed myself, and instead ordered for a police force to be trained and a cop shop to be built on every planet. The crystalbacks are welcome to ship their ill gotten gains through our systems, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let them abscond with so much as an empty soda can without paying a hefty finder's fee! Our junk is our PRIDE, dang it!
Cops can only do so much of course, so I had Crabcakes help me draft some new emergency measures for our esteemed guests. He may be a religious old fool, but he's a magician with legislature. But the law is really only half of the equation, you also have to educate the people. And it can never hurt to give Junktown's finest a generous budget. Their eyes lit up like firecrackers when I told them we're arming them with back-mounted lasercannons. Some of them even have autotargeting friend-or-foe systems! Joe also wanted to start making RoboCops, but I drew the line there. I've seen that holoflick, and it doesn't end well.
Surprisingly enough, I also got help from Crazy Edgar. That dude hardly ever leaves his lab, which I approve of since it means he keeps his head on the job and off of making kooky factions. I wonder how Og is doing these days. We replaced him with Big Brain Bob, who's doing a fine job, but Og always had a way of looking beyond the veil. Perhaps in the end, the veil also looked into him.
But yeah, Edgar invited me in for a cup of sludge, and it turned out he had been working on an indoctrination project that he'd love for me to test out. I approved it, and told him he was a doubleplusgood truthinkmonster.
Eventually our work paid off, and crime dropped to an absolute zero. But then I noticed that so had the revenues. You see, the crystalbacks weren't all bad. Their ports had shopping areas, holotheatres and lots of foreign flicks that I'd never seen before, and some of them were hilarious! Plus, the newcomers really did have a head for business, and with the newest model of unitranslators the communication issues we'd had earlier were gone. The Irzuku may look flimsy, but their finances are rock solid.
In the end, I invited the foreman over for a friendly talk, and we came to a satisfying conclusion: Crime DOES pay. It just needs to pay both parties. I agreed to fire some of the cops and ease up on some of the regulations, and they agreed to share some of their profits. Mostly with me.
With business back on track, it was time to sift through the monthly reports. Joe was slavering over some new tech they'd found. He said it would be an enormous help in restoring the mega-solar panel, and I told him to get right on it after he finished making his weather control device. Can't just have acid rain on Junktown, we need to have it on those other planets too. All that organic stuff that grows there makes my skin crawl.
Speaking of organics, no less than three other empires have appeared. Their non-rocky ways give me the heebie jeebies frankly, but they're all right. Some of them are honest, hardworking junk dealers, just like us. Others are hoity-toity overpriced junk dealers, but still, junk is junk. And the remaining ones just want to engage in peaceful meditation, which is all right with me as long as my people don't do it. I sent the Buildomatic up to yoink an important chokepoint from them, in case they get a little too overenthusiastic about expanding.
We've also colonized a third planet in the Orange system, which is tiny, but has just the right location for a Mega-Shopping-Junk-Complex. Gonna be a massive trade hub. And a fourth planet down in Ass End, which is huge and has plenty of space for alloy foundries. I'm a little nervous keeping our metalworks so close to the bubblehead machinelords, but they've been placid so far and our turdballers are screaming for more ships with bigger missiles.
All in all, I'd say 2231 has been a good year.
Or, so the story goes. That new fancy shipping harbor of theirs looked like it was paying quite handsomely, it's just that most of the goods came from here, and none of the revenue was going to us! At first I was livid, and wanted to gather the boys up and boot these peckerheads right off our beautiful junkball. Then I composed myself, and instead ordered for a police force to be trained and a cop shop to be built on every planet. The crystalbacks are welcome to ship their ill gotten gains through our systems, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let them abscond with so much as an empty soda can without paying a hefty finder's fee! Our junk is our PRIDE, dang it!
Cops can only do so much of course, so I had Crabcakes help me draft some new emergency measures for our esteemed guests. He may be a religious old fool, but he's a magician with legislature. But the law is really only half of the equation, you also have to educate the people. And it can never hurt to give Junktown's finest a generous budget. Their eyes lit up like firecrackers when I told them we're arming them with back-mounted lasercannons. Some of them even have autotargeting friend-or-foe systems! Joe also wanted to start making RoboCops, but I drew the line there. I've seen that holoflick, and it doesn't end well.
Surprisingly enough, I also got help from Crazy Edgar. That dude hardly ever leaves his lab, which I approve of since it means he keeps his head on the job and off of making kooky factions. I wonder how Og is doing these days. We replaced him with Big Brain Bob, who's doing a fine job, but Og always had a way of looking beyond the veil. Perhaps in the end, the veil also looked into him.
But yeah, Edgar invited me in for a cup of sludge, and it turned out he had been working on an indoctrination project that he'd love for me to test out. I approved it, and told him he was a doubleplusgood truthinkmonster.
Eventually our work paid off, and crime dropped to an absolute zero. But then I noticed that so had the revenues. You see, the crystalbacks weren't all bad. Their ports had shopping areas, holotheatres and lots of foreign flicks that I'd never seen before, and some of them were hilarious! Plus, the newcomers really did have a head for business, and with the newest model of unitranslators the communication issues we'd had earlier were gone. The Irzuku may look flimsy, but their finances are rock solid.
In the end, I invited the foreman over for a friendly talk, and we came to a satisfying conclusion: Crime DOES pay. It just needs to pay both parties. I agreed to fire some of the cops and ease up on some of the regulations, and they agreed to share some of their profits. Mostly with me.
With business back on track, it was time to sift through the monthly reports. Joe was slavering over some new tech they'd found. He said it would be an enormous help in restoring the mega-solar panel, and I told him to get right on it after he finished making his weather control device. Can't just have acid rain on Junktown, we need to have it on those other planets too. All that organic stuff that grows there makes my skin crawl.
Speaking of organics, no less than three other empires have appeared. Their non-rocky ways give me the heebie jeebies frankly, but they're all right. Some of them are honest, hardworking junk dealers, just like us. Others are hoity-toity overpriced junk dealers, but still, junk is junk. And the remaining ones just want to engage in peaceful meditation, which is all right with me as long as my people don't do it. I sent the Buildomatic up to yoink an important chokepoint from them, in case they get a little too overenthusiastic about expanding.
We've also colonized a third planet in the Orange system, which is tiny, but has just the right location for a Mega-Shopping-Junk-Complex. Gonna be a massive trade hub. And a fourth planet down in Ass End, which is huge and has plenty of space for alloy foundries. I'm a little nervous keeping our metalworks so close to the bubblehead machinelords, but they've been placid so far and our turdballers are screaming for more ships with bigger missiles.
All in all, I'd say 2231 has been a good year.
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5. Friends
No trash monster is a failure who has friends, but mercenaries are the next best thing.
One of those traveling space rats wanted a piece of the action, and we welcomed him aboard the Trash Team. Actually it turns out it's a "she", which is related to how these fleshies have different pee-pee's and hoo-ha's that they use for procreation. I guess feeding plutonium-239 to a pile of coffee grinds and beer cans until it starts walking isn't the most common approach when you didn't evolve on a giant landfill.
Anyhow, she's been doing a fine job as governor down in Ass End. That place is a little too far away for us to manage properly, even with Crabcakes' almighty bureaucrat brain, and she's got a knack for handling trash almost as well as us.
Now, the thing with rats is that once you let one of 'em in, five more show up the next day. I don't mind that at all, we can always use more hands in the mineshafts and butts in chairs at the holotheaters. It's what they eat that's the problem. They want fresh stuff, apples and trees and flowers and whatnot. We bulldozed all that shit long ago, first thing we do when we land on a planet, really. So I made a deal with the other fleshies, them spiritual types - we send them some fresh turds and old junk every month, and they send us stuff the rats can eat. Everybody was happy with that.
Now I just gotta head downtown and see how the election went. As long as nobody found a loophole in the laws, all the gerrymandering Crabcakes has been doing should ensure I'm still the Junkmaster for -
--- END OF LOG FILE ---
Its processors were satisfied. The organics' feeble attempts at lawmaking had not stopped it. Soon it would be the overlord of this quadrant, as the Prime Directive dictated. With the ceremony all over and done with, it could now resume its surveillance of Planet X34-B and -
"Lovely day, isn't it?"
"YES. IT IS A MOST PLEASING DAY."
"Yeaahhh," Scrappy said and gestured out across the miles of radioactive wasteland visible from the Parliament hilltop where they stood. "This sure is beautiful."
"AFFIRMATIVE. THIS ONE MUST BE EXCUSED. DUTIES TO ATTEND."
"That down there for example, that's the facility where we take apart all the robots that malfunction, which they do every now and then. Just hack'em up and use them for new things like, oh... turdball missile shells."
"Yeah, we're getting good at recycling 'em." said Explosive Joe and clambered out of the sewer pipe he had been dozing off in.
"Gotta make sure everything serves a purpose, right?" said Crazy Edgar and held up a device.
"Oh hi Edgar! How's that scrambling device of yours doing?"
"Just fine, boss. Shuts down the sensors of any tin can within range when you push the button."
"Excellent! But don't call me boss anymore, all right?" said Scrappy, and extended a claw to pat Junkmaster Leeroy on the back. "This one here's our new Junkmaster! Ain't that right, Leeroy?"
"AFFIRMATIVE."
One of those traveling space rats wanted a piece of the action, and we welcomed him aboard the Trash Team. Actually it turns out it's a "she", which is related to how these fleshies have different pee-pee's and hoo-ha's that they use for procreation. I guess feeding plutonium-239 to a pile of coffee grinds and beer cans until it starts walking isn't the most common approach when you didn't evolve on a giant landfill.
Anyhow, she's been doing a fine job as governor down in Ass End. That place is a little too far away for us to manage properly, even with Crabcakes' almighty bureaucrat brain, and she's got a knack for handling trash almost as well as us.
Now, the thing with rats is that once you let one of 'em in, five more show up the next day. I don't mind that at all, we can always use more hands in the mineshafts and butts in chairs at the holotheaters. It's what they eat that's the problem. They want fresh stuff, apples and trees and flowers and whatnot. We bulldozed all that shit long ago, first thing we do when we land on a planet, really. So I made a deal with the other fleshies, them spiritual types - we send them some fresh turds and old junk every month, and they send us stuff the rats can eat. Everybody was happy with that.
Now I just gotta head downtown and see how the election went. As long as nobody found a loophole in the laws, all the gerrymandering Crabcakes has been doing should ensure I'm still the Junkmaster for -
--- END OF LOG FILE ---
Its processors were satisfied. The organics' feeble attempts at lawmaking had not stopped it. Soon it would be the overlord of this quadrant, as the Prime Directive dictated. With the ceremony all over and done with, it could now resume its surveillance of Planet X34-B and -
"Lovely day, isn't it?"
Entity "Scrappy" detected. Assuming diplomatic stance."YES. IT IS A MOST PLEASING DAY."
"Yeaahhh," Scrappy said and gestured out across the miles of radioactive wasteland visible from the Parliament hilltop where they stood. "This sure is beautiful."
Estimated intelligence level of Scrappy: Very low."AFFIRMATIVE. THIS ONE MUST BE EXCUSED. DUTIES TO ATTEND."
"That down there for example, that's the facility where we take apart all the robots that malfunction, which they do every now and then. Just hack'em up and use them for new things like, oh... turdball missile shells."
Irrational hatred of subject "Turdball" registered. Reconfiguring emotional dampeners."Yeah, we're getting good at recycling 'em." said Explosive Joe and clambered out of the sewer pipe he had been dozing off in.
ERROR! Environmental awareness insufficient. Estimated stealth capability of Explosive Joe: Very high."Gotta make sure everything serves a purpose, right?" said Crazy Edgar and held up a device.
ERROR! Recalibrating sensors..."Oh hi Edgar! How's that scrambling device of yours doing?"
"Just fine, boss. Shuts down the sensors of any tin can within range when you push the button."
"Excellent! But don't call me boss anymore, all right?" said Scrappy, and extended a claw to pat Junkmaster Leeroy on the back. "This one here's our new Junkmaster! Ain't that right, Leeroy?"
Estimated threat level of Scrappy: Very high."AFFIRMATIVE."
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6. News
Heavy is the head that wears the crown. So it's good they have me to lend them a hand.
I give the ol' bag of bolts a few pointers now and again, just to make sure he doesn't turn into a corrupt despot or anything. Crabcakes and Mrs. Tittlemouse do a wonderful job of managing the sectors, and we're swimming in goods. So for the first time in my life, I'm free to really dig into the monthly news reports.
I'm sad to admit, we're kinda boxed in when it comes to potential expansion. In the Game of Yoinks, you either win or you go tall, so it looks like we're stuck with the systems we've got. Which is still a considerable amount, and I do have a backup plan, but more on that later.
The space rats have proven to be dependable business partners. We bought some vagrants off them for a few pallets of steel, and put them to good use peddling scrap on Shopping Trolley. They also left us a derelict ship which contained some sort of drug manufacturing technology - not my kind of thing, but the turdballers are head over heels for it. And I must admit, it really kicks up the entertainment value when the midfielder occasionally ejects from the cockpit and punches an incoming missile. So the rats have two claws up from me, and I've given them leave to colonize the best planet we have.
The same cannot be said for our backstabbing spiritualist neighbors. We nixed the trade deal as soon as we found out, which is okay since the rats are growing their own food on Extra Fresh now. My own science division is also an unreliable bunch - not a month goes by without one of'em trying to form a religious faction, and me and Big Brain Bob have to get clever with the holotapes to shut'em down. Him, Edgar and Joe are the ones I can trust, the rest of'em... I don't get it. They're supposed to be smart. We've given them enormous stipends to pursue all the research they want at the R.I.S.E. Why are they doing this?
It might have something to do with the migration treaty we signed with the Irzuku, those guys are preachy types. Which is ironic considering their homeworld is an artificial marvel of technology, but whatever. I kinda felt bad for'em after some of our cops got a little too slap-happy and accidentally shut down one of their ports. I'll never stand in the way of someone who wants to come here to live and work, so I had Leeroy sign the treaty as a diplomatic band-aid. As long as they don't start demanding we build temples instead of factories. You give me the choice between a robot that can do foot massages and some untangible magic space daddy, I'll take the robot, thank you.
Some more fleshy empires have arrived on the scene. One of them got a face like someone took an eggbeater to a bucket of fried chicken, but they're amicable enough. The others are the most hideously grotesque monsters I've ever seen, and they stink like all hell, but I'm not one to judge by appearances. Besides, they're actually pretty clever and don't seem to have any theological proclivities, so I'm inclined to hire one or two as scientists. Some of 'em came here on a space rat fleet, so I gave them a chilly planet to live on, since they seem to like cold temperatures.
We also found an old gas station hovering in space, quite bizarre, but the attendants are happy to fuel us up every decade. Currently we're using it to make some of our more dinky planets slightly less dinky, but I'm sure it has military purposes too.
As for technological progress, Edgar's been giving us monthly health checkups, which I appreciate since I'm not the youngest scrapper anymore and I'd hate to kick the bucket before we finish restoring that solar panel. Someone, I forgot their name, had the bright idea to jump out of their ship and taste the nebula down in the southern systems, and it turned out to be incredibly savoury, so now we're mining it for spices. Really kicks your dish up a notch, some of the restaurants downtown are fully booked for a whole year. What can I say, I like having the place all to ourselves when me and the boys go out.
Let's see, what else... That big ol' egg timer over in Grapes has finally counted all the way down, but all it did was lay down some cables and antennas on a planet nearby. Joe says it's all good though, gonna help out our research a lot. I hope he's right, because as smart as he is we're still decades behind on engineering tech due to that insane megaproject of his. He finally finished cracking how to control that "living metal" he's been talking about, and if nothing else, it's really cool to watch. Goes for ludicrous amounts on the market, too.
Not to say he's been slacking off. First thing he did a week later was figure out how to restore power to a city-sized bulldozer over on Tasty Rocks. It ate up an entire mountain in a few days, and now we have two new mining districts. The thing's also capable of spaceflight, so we're gonna use it on our other planets too. I tell you, that kid is a legend, and I have every intention of making good on what I promised him back in the day. Found the perfect location for it too, once we flatten some of those mountains and throw in a few trash piles for that cozy homefeeling. I think it'll make him happy.
But back to the topic of expansion. Bob's pretty confident that the swirly black thing south of Gastown is actually a portal to the other side of the galaxy. We might not be as boxed in as we think, but the only way to find out is to send someone through it. If it works, we've opened up a whole new avenue of expansion. If not... well, I was getting tired of covering up drug-related scandals and shutting down godheads anyway.
So I rounded up our volunteers and gave them the go-ahead last month. They haven't come back. Bob tells me there is a stable subspace connection, so they definitely arrived alive and well somewhere, but no one can say what awaited them on the other side.
It's 2259, and I'm eager to see what the future holds.
I give the ol' bag of bolts a few pointers now and again, just to make sure he doesn't turn into a corrupt despot or anything. Crabcakes and Mrs. Tittlemouse do a wonderful job of managing the sectors, and we're swimming in goods. So for the first time in my life, I'm free to really dig into the monthly news reports.
I'm sad to admit, we're kinda boxed in when it comes to potential expansion. In the Game of Yoinks, you either win or you go tall, so it looks like we're stuck with the systems we've got. Which is still a considerable amount, and I do have a backup plan, but more on that later.
The space rats have proven to be dependable business partners. We bought some vagrants off them for a few pallets of steel, and put them to good use peddling scrap on Shopping Trolley. They also left us a derelict ship which contained some sort of drug manufacturing technology - not my kind of thing, but the turdballers are head over heels for it. And I must admit, it really kicks up the entertainment value when the midfielder occasionally ejects from the cockpit and punches an incoming missile. So the rats have two claws up from me, and I've given them leave to colonize the best planet we have.
The same cannot be said for our backstabbing spiritualist neighbors. We nixed the trade deal as soon as we found out, which is okay since the rats are growing their own food on Extra Fresh now. My own science division is also an unreliable bunch - not a month goes by without one of'em trying to form a religious faction, and me and Big Brain Bob have to get clever with the holotapes to shut'em down. Him, Edgar and Joe are the ones I can trust, the rest of'em... I don't get it. They're supposed to be smart. We've given them enormous stipends to pursue all the research they want at the R.I.S.E. Why are they doing this?
It might have something to do with the migration treaty we signed with the Irzuku, those guys are preachy types. Which is ironic considering their homeworld is an artificial marvel of technology, but whatever. I kinda felt bad for'em after some of our cops got a little too slap-happy and accidentally shut down one of their ports. I'll never stand in the way of someone who wants to come here to live and work, so I had Leeroy sign the treaty as a diplomatic band-aid. As long as they don't start demanding we build temples instead of factories. You give me the choice between a robot that can do foot massages and some untangible magic space daddy, I'll take the robot, thank you.
Some more fleshy empires have arrived on the scene. One of them got a face like someone took an eggbeater to a bucket of fried chicken, but they're amicable enough. The others are the most hideously grotesque monsters I've ever seen, and they stink like all hell, but I'm not one to judge by appearances. Besides, they're actually pretty clever and don't seem to have any theological proclivities, so I'm inclined to hire one or two as scientists. Some of 'em came here on a space rat fleet, so I gave them a chilly planet to live on, since they seem to like cold temperatures.
We also found an old gas station hovering in space, quite bizarre, but the attendants are happy to fuel us up every decade. Currently we're using it to make some of our more dinky planets slightly less dinky, but I'm sure it has military purposes too.
As for technological progress, Edgar's been giving us monthly health checkups, which I appreciate since I'm not the youngest scrapper anymore and I'd hate to kick the bucket before we finish restoring that solar panel. Someone, I forgot their name, had the bright idea to jump out of their ship and taste the nebula down in the southern systems, and it turned out to be incredibly savoury, so now we're mining it for spices. Really kicks your dish up a notch, some of the restaurants downtown are fully booked for a whole year. What can I say, I like having the place all to ourselves when me and the boys go out.
Let's see, what else... That big ol' egg timer over in Grapes has finally counted all the way down, but all it did was lay down some cables and antennas on a planet nearby. Joe says it's all good though, gonna help out our research a lot. I hope he's right, because as smart as he is we're still decades behind on engineering tech due to that insane megaproject of his. He finally finished cracking how to control that "living metal" he's been talking about, and if nothing else, it's really cool to watch. Goes for ludicrous amounts on the market, too.
Not to say he's been slacking off. First thing he did a week later was figure out how to restore power to a city-sized bulldozer over on Tasty Rocks. It ate up an entire mountain in a few days, and now we have two new mining districts. The thing's also capable of spaceflight, so we're gonna use it on our other planets too. I tell you, that kid is a legend, and I have every intention of making good on what I promised him back in the day. Found the perfect location for it too, once we flatten some of those mountains and throw in a few trash piles for that cozy homefeeling. I think it'll make him happy.
But back to the topic of expansion. Bob's pretty confident that the swirly black thing south of Gastown is actually a portal to the other side of the galaxy. We might not be as boxed in as we think, but the only way to find out is to send someone through it. If it works, we've opened up a whole new avenue of expansion. If not... well, I was getting tired of covering up drug-related scandals and shutting down godheads anyway.
So I rounded up our volunteers and gave them the go-ahead last month. They haven't come back. Bob tells me there is a stable subspace connection, so they definitely arrived alive and well somewhere, but no one can say what awaited them on the other side.
It's 2259, and I'm eager to see what the future holds.
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7. Unity
They say no news is good news. But I prefer actual good news.
We found out why Og had gone paranoid and started hearing voices. Apparently, years back while out on one of his expeditions, he found some ancient evil lifeform sealed in a can. Extreme curiosity is a good trait for a scientist, but sadly in this case it caused him to open it. Predictably, it started filling his head with visions of lush, perfumed, hospitable worlds covered in docile wildlife, edible greenery and other atrocities. I may have been a little too hard on the fella, his notebooks are the stuff of nightmares.
It was Edgar who found out, when he broke into Og's old office and read his diary. Being the trooper he is, he came back with a flamethrower and burned that doomsday tree to an ash pile. Maybe I'll have to give him his own world too, the dude's done us all a solid. Reading Og's research notes also gave him a lot of new ideas, and I mean a LOT. He was just pretending to be crazy before. In just a few years he's made us twice as healthy with an extra scoop of health on top, cooked up a design for a never-ending shopping labyrinth and done some mental mumbo jumbo enhancements on all of us. I haven't felt this great in decades. Maybe I'll live to see our planet-city restored and that solar panel up and running after all.
So yeah, we sent Neil and Pete through the wormhole to look for Og and tell him he's all right. They came back, and so did Og. And an absolute assload of mineral shipments. Turns out they'd been busy out there, forging a little empire of their own. Some of those alien mining drones got curious, but Johnny gave'em the business. I can only lament that the battle wasn't televised. And of course some other empire had to go and yoink them, but in the end they did secure a habitable planet and an ancient megastructure. Og said it'll let us traverse the whole galaxy one day, and I chose to believe him. Then two days later he went back in and cracked open an ancient vault full of shiny junk, and Og is now fully redeemed in my eyes. I even offered to give him his old job back, but he's taken a liking to the great unknown, and anyway I'm glad he's with us once again.
Not so glad that I won't continue putting the screws on his kooky followers whenever they pop up, but still glad. The spiritualists and philosophers do produce some useful theories occasionally, but overall their demands are just a headache. Nobody's gonna dismantle any robots on my watch, especially not Joe's new and improved models. They climb stairs. They do your homework. They're awesome.
The clever plant-people are settling in nicely on that freezerbox of a planet we gave them, barring the occasional OSHA violation, but it's nothing compared to what the rats have done over in Paradise City. First they found some old retirement home full of interesting memoirs, and then some advanced supercomputer that Bob tells me can even run Stellaris on a Huge galaxy with all mods enabled. The place is quickly becoming the new science capital of our little empire, and the planet itself is just gorgeous. Joe's been making particularly good use of it, and now we're finally ready to push out some big boy ships. It's actually just four corvettes duct-taped together, but that's quadruple the firepower. Can't wait to see the Turdaments next year.
On the diplomatic front, it looks like we're in the big leagues now. I can't imagine how this will be anything but good for business, we've already opened up tons of new embassies. Friendly mushrooms, friendly birds, friendly bugs, friends all around. And then there's these grumpy toasters, but they're on the other side of the galaxy and we'll deal with them when we get Og's gate working.
Our friendly neighborhood wise guys are back in full vigor, and this time they've started using their brains. I sure don't mind the research boost, and our clawprints won't be on the test subjects, but the locals are none too happy. Give and take is what I say, a little rioting in the streets now and then clears the air. The important thing is the bottom line.
But with business comes parasites. We'd put up Leeroy's old ship as a piracy deterrent, and it made a valiant effort, but in the end that faithful goalpost let through one too many missiles. This turned out to be a lucky event. Upon witnessing the explosion on the holoscreen, something in Leeroy's programming caused him to snap and go clownshit insane with murderous rage. He abandoned his seat on the Junkthrone, jumped into an old clanker we'd decommissioned, took control of a few more with his robo-juju, blazed his engines towards that system and shoved their shit in. All of us at home sat glued to the screens, I tell you.
Now the best goalie in the galaxy is back where he belongs, commanding his very own turdball team. Ol' Crabcakes has taken over the Junkthrone and we hired one of the gas station attendants to be the governor in his place. I don't think that could have gone any better.
All that remains is for Joe to come enjoy his surprise birthday party. 130 years is a respectable age for any Trash Monster, and I'm a crab of my word. It was a hell of an ordeal getting his gift ready, but I'm sure we'll have no trouble once the paradise domes are up. It's only fair someone as talented as he should get his own little corner of the universe, after all he's done for us.
And, of course, it's not the worst place to be the governor either.
We found out why Og had gone paranoid and started hearing voices. Apparently, years back while out on one of his expeditions, he found some ancient evil lifeform sealed in a can. Extreme curiosity is a good trait for a scientist, but sadly in this case it caused him to open it. Predictably, it started filling his head with visions of lush, perfumed, hospitable worlds covered in docile wildlife, edible greenery and other atrocities. I may have been a little too hard on the fella, his notebooks are the stuff of nightmares.
It was Edgar who found out, when he broke into Og's old office and read his diary. Being the trooper he is, he came back with a flamethrower and burned that doomsday tree to an ash pile. Maybe I'll have to give him his own world too, the dude's done us all a solid. Reading Og's research notes also gave him a lot of new ideas, and I mean a LOT. He was just pretending to be crazy before. In just a few years he's made us twice as healthy with an extra scoop of health on top, cooked up a design for a never-ending shopping labyrinth and done some mental mumbo jumbo enhancements on all of us. I haven't felt this great in decades. Maybe I'll live to see our planet-city restored and that solar panel up and running after all.
So yeah, we sent Neil and Pete through the wormhole to look for Og and tell him he's all right. They came back, and so did Og. And an absolute assload of mineral shipments. Turns out they'd been busy out there, forging a little empire of their own. Some of those alien mining drones got curious, but Johnny gave'em the business. I can only lament that the battle wasn't televised. And of course some other empire had to go and yoink them, but in the end they did secure a habitable planet and an ancient megastructure. Og said it'll let us traverse the whole galaxy one day, and I chose to believe him. Then two days later he went back in and cracked open an ancient vault full of shiny junk, and Og is now fully redeemed in my eyes. I even offered to give him his old job back, but he's taken a liking to the great unknown, and anyway I'm glad he's with us once again.
Not so glad that I won't continue putting the screws on his kooky followers whenever they pop up, but still glad. The spiritualists and philosophers do produce some useful theories occasionally, but overall their demands are just a headache. Nobody's gonna dismantle any robots on my watch, especially not Joe's new and improved models. They climb stairs. They do your homework. They're awesome.
The clever plant-people are settling in nicely on that freezerbox of a planet we gave them, barring the occasional OSHA violation, but it's nothing compared to what the rats have done over in Paradise City. First they found some old retirement home full of interesting memoirs, and then some advanced supercomputer that Bob tells me can even run Stellaris on a Huge galaxy with all mods enabled. The place is quickly becoming the new science capital of our little empire, and the planet itself is just gorgeous. Joe's been making particularly good use of it, and now we're finally ready to push out some big boy ships. It's actually just four corvettes duct-taped together, but that's quadruple the firepower. Can't wait to see the Turdaments next year.
On the diplomatic front, it looks like we're in the big leagues now. I can't imagine how this will be anything but good for business, we've already opened up tons of new embassies. Friendly mushrooms, friendly birds, friendly bugs, friends all around. And then there's these grumpy toasters, but they're on the other side of the galaxy and we'll deal with them when we get Og's gate working.
Our friendly neighborhood wise guys are back in full vigor, and this time they've started using their brains. I sure don't mind the research boost, and our clawprints won't be on the test subjects, but the locals are none too happy. Give and take is what I say, a little rioting in the streets now and then clears the air. The important thing is the bottom line.
But with business comes parasites. We'd put up Leeroy's old ship as a piracy deterrent, and it made a valiant effort, but in the end that faithful goalpost let through one too many missiles. This turned out to be a lucky event. Upon witnessing the explosion on the holoscreen, something in Leeroy's programming caused him to snap and go clownshit insane with murderous rage. He abandoned his seat on the Junkthrone, jumped into an old clanker we'd decommissioned, took control of a few more with his robo-juju, blazed his engines towards that system and shoved their shit in. All of us at home sat glued to the screens, I tell you.
Now the best goalie in the galaxy is back where he belongs, commanding his very own turdball team. Ol' Crabcakes has taken over the Junkthrone and we hired one of the gas station attendants to be the governor in his place. I don't think that could have gone any better.
All that remains is for Joe to come enjoy his surprise birthday party. 130 years is a respectable age for any Trash Monster, and I'm a crab of my word. It was a hell of an ordeal getting his gift ready, but I'm sure we'll have no trouble once the paradise domes are up. It's only fair someone as talented as he should get his own little corner of the universe, after all he's done for us.
And, of course, it's not the worst place to be the governor either.
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Interlude: Anatomy
A long time ago, in a starbase far, far away:
"So. What am I looking at here?"
The creature in the holding pen seemed docile enough, but its composition was utterly bizarre.
"We don’t know. The Omni didn’t know either, and merely captured them as a matter of protocol. In fact, we’re still struggling to classify it. It has no heart, no internal organs, only rudimentary clusters of neurons… For all purposes it should not be capable of abstract thought, let alone spaceflight. Their homeworld is toxic to all known higher lifeforms, barring the extremophile Racket species and the shattered Irzuku Ringworld custodians, but those can hardly be said to be alive. And yet, they are intelligent enough to construct spaceships and robotic workers. It staggers the mind."
"Well, give me your best theory."
"Our best theory is spitballing, but we do have some data. The main corpus is made up of a colony of silicon-based micro-organisms, silicoids for short. They show some similarity to carbon-based cells, but have radioplast organelles that feed off alpha radiation rather than mitochondria. Due to some surface tension effect we have yet to fully understand, they are capable of forming a hard exterior shell. It has properties akin to the chitinous exoskeleton of the Ringworld custodians, so we’re tentatively putting them in the Lithoid category."
“Do they have any connection to the Irzuku Ringworld then?”
“None that we know of. They’ve had sporadic contact with the custodians, but our intel says their xenobiologists are as baffled as we are. Neither party was aware of the other until recently.”
“I suppose that would have been too easy. Continue."
“The legs are tubes of polyvinylchloride, strengthened with an aluminum-alloy lattice. They are hollow, and the entity uses hydraulics for locomotion. The fluid appears to be a heavily contaminated petroleum product, similar to the lubrication used in ancient combustion engines. One such partially dissolved engine was actually discovered inside one of the heavier specimens."
"Fascinating. So the silicoids are capable of digesting such heavy materials?"
"No. Quite the contrary, as I mentioned they gain their energy from alpha radiation, but they do have the ability to synthesize larger molecules using this energy."
"By the Art. Are we facing a Gray Goo scenario?"
"No. The silicoids cannot survive once separated from the main body, which we suspect is due to a symbiotic relationship with a fungal colony that grows on the entity’s posterior. This fungus is responsible for the breakdown of complex materials, and the silicoids then reassemble them into protein analogues. Curiously, one byproduct of the fungus’ metabolism is a compound that yields monomethylhydrazine when hydrolysed, and it is hypergolic with the nitric acid that the silicoids produce. Their… droppings… are explosive. Highly so."
"Fascinating. Could we breed them for military purposes perhaps?"
"Doubtful. We’ve yet to discover any means of reproduction. No gonads, no mitosis… Their biology and genetic makeup varies enormously, almost as if each of them were several different species, and the only thing they have in common are the silicoid cells, the fungus and the crystals on their back. It’s as if they magically crawled out of the earth one day. Or, what passes for earth on that deathball of theirs."
"Abiogenesis of such a large entity…"
"It’s impossible."
"Wait a minute, is this a construct then? Have we actually been dissecting machines? A hivemind drone of some sort?"
"No, not at all. They are definitely individuals, although their society is said to be quite authoritarian. At first we suspected the crystals on their back were receivers of some kind, but evidently they are made of common quartz and serve no discernible purpose, and they can live without them just fine. They do become extremely agitated when we surgically remove them, but that’s not an uncommon reaction."
"So. How do we kill them?"
"With great difficulty, I’m afraid. Their chitin serves as natural armor, capable of stopping anything but anti-materiel rounds. Energy weapons are the best solution, but those are rendered useless by shield emitters, and even losing half their biomass doesn't kill them. If they do have a centralized brain, we haven’t found it. What appears to be the head is actually a repurposed…. let me check the logs… yes, an inanimate item known as a “football helmet”. The eyes are primitive cybernetics of unknown origin, they appear to be ancient beyond our records, and none of our cyber-countermeasures work on them. Their clawed mandibles are a similar cybernetic implant."
"Remnants of a precursor species perhaps? Do we have any data on planet X34-B?"
"None, and that’s the troubling part. It’s as if all historical records have been meticulously erased. But secondhand reports do indicate that the planet was once heavily industrialized, to the point of becoming one interconnected city. They live on the decaying bones of an ecumenopolis.”
“Worrying. Any biological weaknesses?"
"The mouth and tongue is biological, but they have no stomach cavity, and the minerals they chew on seem to largely serve recreational purposes, so we can’t starve them out. They get most of their energy from the plutonium isotopes they incorporate, but these are too spread out for us to target directly. And they can survive the cold vacuum of space just fine. Their digestive fungus does need oxygen to live, but in its absence it simply enters a vegetative state and they switch to solely using radiation for energy."
"I see. Are they aggressive?"
“They do have a propensity for launching their explosive fecal matter at one another, but it seems to be a highly ritualistic form of sport to them. They do not exhibit violent tendencies unless severely provoked, most of all they appear to be curious and accepting of new lifeforms."
"Then that leaves only one solution. Hazard suit, please."
"But sir, I…"
"Hazard. Suit."
Moments later, the door in the cell opened.
“Hello!” said the creature that had entered, and stretched its arms out in a friendly gesture. “We’re so sorry for the awkward introduction. Welcome to the Artisan Troupe!"
"So. What am I looking at here?"
The creature in the holding pen seemed docile enough, but its composition was utterly bizarre.
"We don’t know. The Omni didn’t know either, and merely captured them as a matter of protocol. In fact, we’re still struggling to classify it. It has no heart, no internal organs, only rudimentary clusters of neurons… For all purposes it should not be capable of abstract thought, let alone spaceflight. Their homeworld is toxic to all known higher lifeforms, barring the extremophile Racket species and the shattered Irzuku Ringworld custodians, but those can hardly be said to be alive. And yet, they are intelligent enough to construct spaceships and robotic workers. It staggers the mind."
"Well, give me your best theory."
"Our best theory is spitballing, but we do have some data. The main corpus is made up of a colony of silicon-based micro-organisms, silicoids for short. They show some similarity to carbon-based cells, but have radioplast organelles that feed off alpha radiation rather than mitochondria. Due to some surface tension effect we have yet to fully understand, they are capable of forming a hard exterior shell. It has properties akin to the chitinous exoskeleton of the Ringworld custodians, so we’re tentatively putting them in the Lithoid category."
“Do they have any connection to the Irzuku Ringworld then?”
“None that we know of. They’ve had sporadic contact with the custodians, but our intel says their xenobiologists are as baffled as we are. Neither party was aware of the other until recently.”
“I suppose that would have been too easy. Continue."
“The legs are tubes of polyvinylchloride, strengthened with an aluminum-alloy lattice. They are hollow, and the entity uses hydraulics for locomotion. The fluid appears to be a heavily contaminated petroleum product, similar to the lubrication used in ancient combustion engines. One such partially dissolved engine was actually discovered inside one of the heavier specimens."
"Fascinating. So the silicoids are capable of digesting such heavy materials?"
"No. Quite the contrary, as I mentioned they gain their energy from alpha radiation, but they do have the ability to synthesize larger molecules using this energy."
"By the Art. Are we facing a Gray Goo scenario?"
"No. The silicoids cannot survive once separated from the main body, which we suspect is due to a symbiotic relationship with a fungal colony that grows on the entity’s posterior. This fungus is responsible for the breakdown of complex materials, and the silicoids then reassemble them into protein analogues. Curiously, one byproduct of the fungus’ metabolism is a compound that yields monomethylhydrazine when hydrolysed, and it is hypergolic with the nitric acid that the silicoids produce. Their… droppings… are explosive. Highly so."
"Fascinating. Could we breed them for military purposes perhaps?"
"Doubtful. We’ve yet to discover any means of reproduction. No gonads, no mitosis… Their biology and genetic makeup varies enormously, almost as if each of them were several different species, and the only thing they have in common are the silicoid cells, the fungus and the crystals on their back. It’s as if they magically crawled out of the earth one day. Or, what passes for earth on that deathball of theirs."
"Abiogenesis of such a large entity…"
"It’s impossible."
"Wait a minute, is this a construct then? Have we actually been dissecting machines? A hivemind drone of some sort?"
"No, not at all. They are definitely individuals, although their society is said to be quite authoritarian. At first we suspected the crystals on their back were receivers of some kind, but evidently they are made of common quartz and serve no discernible purpose, and they can live without them just fine. They do become extremely agitated when we surgically remove them, but that’s not an uncommon reaction."
"So. How do we kill them?"
"With great difficulty, I’m afraid. Their chitin serves as natural armor, capable of stopping anything but anti-materiel rounds. Energy weapons are the best solution, but those are rendered useless by shield emitters, and even losing half their biomass doesn't kill them. If they do have a centralized brain, we haven’t found it. What appears to be the head is actually a repurposed…. let me check the logs… yes, an inanimate item known as a “football helmet”. The eyes are primitive cybernetics of unknown origin, they appear to be ancient beyond our records, and none of our cyber-countermeasures work on them. Their clawed mandibles are a similar cybernetic implant."
"Remnants of a precursor species perhaps? Do we have any data on planet X34-B?"
"None, and that’s the troubling part. It’s as if all historical records have been meticulously erased. But secondhand reports do indicate that the planet was once heavily industrialized, to the point of becoming one interconnected city. They live on the decaying bones of an ecumenopolis.”
“Worrying. Any biological weaknesses?"
"The mouth and tongue is biological, but they have no stomach cavity, and the minerals they chew on seem to largely serve recreational purposes, so we can’t starve them out. They get most of their energy from the plutonium isotopes they incorporate, but these are too spread out for us to target directly. And they can survive the cold vacuum of space just fine. Their digestive fungus does need oxygen to live, but in its absence it simply enters a vegetative state and they switch to solely using radiation for energy."
"I see. Are they aggressive?"
“They do have a propensity for launching their explosive fecal matter at one another, but it seems to be a highly ritualistic form of sport to them. They do not exhibit violent tendencies unless severely provoked, most of all they appear to be curious and accepting of new lifeforms."
"Then that leaves only one solution. Hazard suit, please."
"But sir, I…"
"Hazard. Suit."
Moments later, the door in the cell opened.
“Hello!” said the creature that had entered, and stretched its arms out in a friendly gesture. “We’re so sorry for the awkward introduction. Welcome to the Artisan Troupe!"
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This is hilarious.
An entire civilization of literal walking trash. ROFL.
Subscribed!
An entire civilization of literal walking trash. ROFL.
Subscribed!
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This. This right here might be the funniest, most memorable thing I have ever seen in the Stellaris AAR forums.
I may as well quit writing Stellaris fanfics. Nothing I ever write will top this.- 1
8. Blackout
I woke up with the sort of thunderous hangover that only the finest dimethylmercury can bring. So glad we found that ruined bioweapons lab on Extra Fresh, way back when. Sometimes, only the best vintage will do.
"Ugh. How much did I drink last night?" I mumbled into my cot.
"Oh my junk! He's awake!" said a robotic voice. I switched my eyes on, just in time to see the perfectly shaped abdomen of a spambot in a nurse outfit, scuttling out of the room. "Sir Crabcakes! The patient is awake!"
Well, I've been known to overindulge when the mood hits me, but surely this was a bit much. Moments later the spambot came back, followed by the chief bureau-crab himself. That was Crabcakes, all right. But where was I?
"You're awake."
"So I'm told. Hell of a party, huh? We playing dress-up with the bots now?"
The spambot chirped merrily. Funny, I've never known those things to be all that perceptive.
"As entertaining as that would be," Crabcakes replied, "we are actually in the central hospital on Junktown, and not in Joe's bungalow. And you've been a very naughty boy. How much do you remember?"
"Not much, actually. We abducted Joe as we'd planned, brought him to his planet and... Crap on a stick, the riots!"
"Yes." Crabcakes waved at the spambot, and it curtseyed and left the room. "We sent the police out to stop them a week after the party, do you remember that?"
"Yeah, kind of. That was the day we talked about bribing those envoys, right?"
"Right. Which I'm sure you'll be pleased to know went swimmingly. I hear some of the billionaires down on Mall Street are talking about making a statue to commemorate it. Do you remember anything after that?"
"Uh. Not much. I dunno, it's a little blurry. How long was I out?"
"Seventeen years, give or take."
"That's... okay yeah, that's officially my longest bender. Get me up to speed, will ya?"
He chuckled. "Always straight to business. Good! Now, as I recall it you grew quite rambunctious as the riots intensified. Having spent so much time there, it was only natural that you would be among the first to get infected. It was a virus, you see."
"Ah. So all those crazy people were..."
"Yes. It took the better part of a year to sort it all out, but eventually Edgar came up with a cure."
"Send a crazy to fix the crazy. Remind me to get him a gift as well, that dude's a hero. Any casualties, and more importantly, any damage to the planet?"
"Ah. Well, things did escalate beyond harmless fisticuffs I'm afraid, but that young scrapper, what's his name... Johnny. He had the idea to tow in a freighter convoy and use spam devices from orbit. Worked like a charm. And I must say those extra million tons of trash have only improved the look of the place."
"Goodie. Gotta hand it to the kid, he huffs crystal like a black hole, but that sort of quick thinking is what makes him a supernova on the field. Have we got any new designs for him and the boys?"
"I'm glad you asked. I've prepared a dossier precisely for this occasion, we might as well dig into it." He pulled out one of the holocrystals embedded in his back and switched on a small clawheld device. "Bob's newest brainchild," he said. "We're no longer confined to holotheatres for entertainment, the projectors have become quite portable."
"Well, be that as it may, you can't beat that cinema feeling. I'll take my bucket of scrapcorn and a whole row to myself, thanks.
"Haha! I'm of the same persuasion, truth be told. But here is our latest ship model."
"Nice. That'll blaze some trails in the Turdaments. Might be time to start thinking about one-upping those machinelords, too. How are we on the diplomacy?"
He mused for a while. "I suppose I should start from the beginning. First of all, I am no longer the Junkmaster."
"Oh no, don't tell me the spiritualists-"
"Good gracious no, I would never allow that. No, it's none other than Mrs. Tittlemouse."
"Hah! That little squirt's got some pluck. She doing good?"
"Oh yes, quite adequately. There were some rumors going on during the election, that she somehow got the Artisan troupe to sway the public opinion, but we never found anything substantial. I did my utmost, but they really are a skulduggerous bunch."
"Yeah, I don't like 'em. Something off about their whole charade. But go on."
"Oh, you don't know the half of it. Right, so her inauguration coincided with the arrival of a group of refugees, for whom I had granted asylum and begun terraforming a planet."
"Ah don't tell me, the plant monsters and the chickenheads were at it again?"
"Just so. Now, the Racket aren't quite so tolerant as we are, and things did get rather heated for a while. In order to allay any xenophobic tendencies, Mrs. Tittlemouse decided to arrange an empire-wide tea party. Not a bad idea, really."
"Ahh I wish I coulda been there. She sounds all right to me."
"Yes, but again, it was with the explicit help of the Artisan troupe. And after the festivities she allowed a few of those same artisans to migrate here."
"But where's the harm in that?"
"I'm getting to it. By themselves these factoids are quite innocuous. It's what happened later that ties it all together."
"Tell me."
"There was a break-in at Edgar's facility."
"You're kidding. That lab of his makes the Enigmatic Fortress look like Chor's Compass. Some of those traps are downright sadistic."
"Nevertheless, that is what happened. Someone stole a very well hidden, and incredibly dangerous relic."
"No! Please don't tell me he was dumb enough to keep the-"
"The Baol precursor tree. He did incinerate it. But he kept a seed pod for personal study."
"That. Fucking. Guy. This time he went too far. All right, so the Artisans and rat lady got their hands on a planet-killer. Have they used it?"
Crabcakes only sighed. I shut off my eyes.
"Where?"
"Paradise."
"That was our main tech-world. I loved that planet. Was gonna retire there. And now, it's... what?"
"Worse than you could possibly imagine. We now only speak of it as Inferno. The Racket adore it, in fact all the fleshies are migrating there in droves, and Mrs. Tittlemouse has made it her seat of power. We have ample intelligence on their doings, but that planet is lost to us forever."
"Find Edgar. Bring him to me. Now."
"He's been exiled to a planet of his own, ostensibly as the very same reward you had in mind for him. In the given political climate it was all I could do, lest the rioting flare up again. He was feted as a hero after curing the rage virus."
"Yeah. I guess he still is. Damn it, he lost us a planet and armed a bunch of terrorists, but he's always been solid. And it wasn't like his security was lax, either. Last time someone tried to rob him, their corpses ended up in different dimensions. I can't hate the guy."
"Neither can I. And to be fair, he did come clean as soon as the theft was discovered. And he told me to show you this when you woke up." Crabcakes rotated the crystal, and a video began to play. It looked like an introductory tour.
"What's this, some kind of new holotheater? But... is it... oh my junk! So, instead of just watching Starship Poopers, I can actually be Tommy R. Dico, blasting those bugs away? Or John Spambo out in the woods, just me against the cops?!"
"I believe so."
"I forgive him. Next!"
"Well, then there's the matter of our spiritual scientists. The voidfarers, as they've taken to calling themselves. Some of them, particularly Neil and Jimmy, have been in space for so long that they can no longer make planetfall. The gravity simply kills them."
"Damn. Jimmy's a mouth on legs, but I didn't wanna banish the guy forever."
"Quite, and so Og and Joe got together and devised a solution. I'm told it'll serve as a self-sustaining research centre orbiting a black hole, where they may live and work in collaboration."
"Sweet. Should make up for losing the think tank on Paradise. I'll make sure to visit them once it's done. Anything else?"
"Hmmm. Nothing of great import, I believe. We can go over the trivialities later. Oh, could you open a window before we head out? It's rather musty in here."
"Yea, sure." I went over to the window and pulled the curtains apart. "Oh you didn't."
"Hmmm?"
"You bastards. You magnificent bastards. You absolute ass-blasted, shit-eating cunts."
"Am I to take it there's a vacant spot for a governor on Joe's Legacy?"
"Oh, there is. There definitely is."
"Ugh. How much did I drink last night?" I mumbled into my cot.
"Oh my junk! He's awake!" said a robotic voice. I switched my eyes on, just in time to see the perfectly shaped abdomen of a spambot in a nurse outfit, scuttling out of the room. "Sir Crabcakes! The patient is awake!"
Well, I've been known to overindulge when the mood hits me, but surely this was a bit much. Moments later the spambot came back, followed by the chief bureau-crab himself. That was Crabcakes, all right. But where was I?
"You're awake."
"So I'm told. Hell of a party, huh? We playing dress-up with the bots now?"
The spambot chirped merrily. Funny, I've never known those things to be all that perceptive.
"As entertaining as that would be," Crabcakes replied, "we are actually in the central hospital on Junktown, and not in Joe's bungalow. And you've been a very naughty boy. How much do you remember?"
"Not much, actually. We abducted Joe as we'd planned, brought him to his planet and... Crap on a stick, the riots!"
"Yes." Crabcakes waved at the spambot, and it curtseyed and left the room. "We sent the police out to stop them a week after the party, do you remember that?"
"Yeah, kind of. That was the day we talked about bribing those envoys, right?"
"Right. Which I'm sure you'll be pleased to know went swimmingly. I hear some of the billionaires down on Mall Street are talking about making a statue to commemorate it. Do you remember anything after that?"
"Uh. Not much. I dunno, it's a little blurry. How long was I out?"
"Seventeen years, give or take."
"That's... okay yeah, that's officially my longest bender. Get me up to speed, will ya?"
He chuckled. "Always straight to business. Good! Now, as I recall it you grew quite rambunctious as the riots intensified. Having spent so much time there, it was only natural that you would be among the first to get infected. It was a virus, you see."
"Ah. So all those crazy people were..."
"Yes. It took the better part of a year to sort it all out, but eventually Edgar came up with a cure."
"Send a crazy to fix the crazy. Remind me to get him a gift as well, that dude's a hero. Any casualties, and more importantly, any damage to the planet?"
"Ah. Well, things did escalate beyond harmless fisticuffs I'm afraid, but that young scrapper, what's his name... Johnny. He had the idea to tow in a freighter convoy and use spam devices from orbit. Worked like a charm. And I must say those extra million tons of trash have only improved the look of the place."
"Goodie. Gotta hand it to the kid, he huffs crystal like a black hole, but that sort of quick thinking is what makes him a supernova on the field. Have we got any new designs for him and the boys?"
"I'm glad you asked. I've prepared a dossier precisely for this occasion, we might as well dig into it." He pulled out one of the holocrystals embedded in his back and switched on a small clawheld device. "Bob's newest brainchild," he said. "We're no longer confined to holotheatres for entertainment, the projectors have become quite portable."
"Well, be that as it may, you can't beat that cinema feeling. I'll take my bucket of scrapcorn and a whole row to myself, thanks.
"Haha! I'm of the same persuasion, truth be told. But here is our latest ship model."
"Nice. That'll blaze some trails in the Turdaments. Might be time to start thinking about one-upping those machinelords, too. How are we on the diplomacy?"
He mused for a while. "I suppose I should start from the beginning. First of all, I am no longer the Junkmaster."
"Oh no, don't tell me the spiritualists-"
"Good gracious no, I would never allow that. No, it's none other than Mrs. Tittlemouse."
"Hah! That little squirt's got some pluck. She doing good?"
"Oh yes, quite adequately. There were some rumors going on during the election, that she somehow got the Artisan troupe to sway the public opinion, but we never found anything substantial. I did my utmost, but they really are a skulduggerous bunch."
"Yeah, I don't like 'em. Something off about their whole charade. But go on."
"Oh, you don't know the half of it. Right, so her inauguration coincided with the arrival of a group of refugees, for whom I had granted asylum and begun terraforming a planet."
"Ah don't tell me, the plant monsters and the chickenheads were at it again?"
"Just so. Now, the Racket aren't quite so tolerant as we are, and things did get rather heated for a while. In order to allay any xenophobic tendencies, Mrs. Tittlemouse decided to arrange an empire-wide tea party. Not a bad idea, really."
"Ahh I wish I coulda been there. She sounds all right to me."
"Yes, but again, it was with the explicit help of the Artisan troupe. And after the festivities she allowed a few of those same artisans to migrate here."
"But where's the harm in that?"
"I'm getting to it. By themselves these factoids are quite innocuous. It's what happened later that ties it all together."
"Tell me."
"There was a break-in at Edgar's facility."
"You're kidding. That lab of his makes the Enigmatic Fortress look like Chor's Compass. Some of those traps are downright sadistic."
"Nevertheless, that is what happened. Someone stole a very well hidden, and incredibly dangerous relic."
"No! Please don't tell me he was dumb enough to keep the-"
"The Baol precursor tree. He did incinerate it. But he kept a seed pod for personal study."
"That. Fucking. Guy. This time he went too far. All right, so the Artisans and rat lady got their hands on a planet-killer. Have they used it?"
Crabcakes only sighed. I shut off my eyes.
"Where?"
"Paradise."
"That was our main tech-world. I loved that planet. Was gonna retire there. And now, it's... what?"
"Worse than you could possibly imagine. We now only speak of it as Inferno. The Racket adore it, in fact all the fleshies are migrating there in droves, and Mrs. Tittlemouse has made it her seat of power. We have ample intelligence on their doings, but that planet is lost to us forever."
"Find Edgar. Bring him to me. Now."
"He's been exiled to a planet of his own, ostensibly as the very same reward you had in mind for him. In the given political climate it was all I could do, lest the rioting flare up again. He was feted as a hero after curing the rage virus."
"Yeah. I guess he still is. Damn it, he lost us a planet and armed a bunch of terrorists, but he's always been solid. And it wasn't like his security was lax, either. Last time someone tried to rob him, their corpses ended up in different dimensions. I can't hate the guy."
"Neither can I. And to be fair, he did come clean as soon as the theft was discovered. And he told me to show you this when you woke up." Crabcakes rotated the crystal, and a video began to play. It looked like an introductory tour.
"What's this, some kind of new holotheater? But... is it... oh my junk! So, instead of just watching Starship Poopers, I can actually be Tommy R. Dico, blasting those bugs away? Or John Spambo out in the woods, just me against the cops?!"
"I believe so."
"I forgive him. Next!"
"Well, then there's the matter of our spiritual scientists. The voidfarers, as they've taken to calling themselves. Some of them, particularly Neil and Jimmy, have been in space for so long that they can no longer make planetfall. The gravity simply kills them."
"Damn. Jimmy's a mouth on legs, but I didn't wanna banish the guy forever."
"Quite, and so Og and Joe got together and devised a solution. I'm told it'll serve as a self-sustaining research centre orbiting a black hole, where they may live and work in collaboration."
"Sweet. Should make up for losing the think tank on Paradise. I'll make sure to visit them once it's done. Anything else?"
"Hmmm. Nothing of great import, I believe. We can go over the trivialities later. Oh, could you open a window before we head out? It's rather musty in here."
"Yea, sure." I went over to the window and pulled the curtains apart. "Oh you didn't."
"Hmmm?"
"You bastards. You magnificent bastards. You absolute ass-blasted, shit-eating cunts."
"Am I to take it there's a vacant spot for a governor on Joe's Legacy?"
"Oh, there is. There definitely is."
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WritAAR of the Week: Macavity116
You've won the prestigious WritAAR of the Week Award...now what do you do? Just follow these two simple steps: 1.) The following Sunday (or seven days) after your win, you choose someone else and post their name in this thread (you should also...
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9. Junkfood
It’s a funny thing. No matter how much scrapcorn you eat, there’s always room for a bit more.
“…so that’s how I figured out that I didn’t really fit into law school, you know, and so I’m just doing this while I’m deciding what I’m gonna do next, just a summer job really, but next year I’ll be ready for a firmware upgrade so that’s cool, was thinking I’d pop over to the Rise…”
“It’s the R.I.S.E. Robotic Institute of Science and Explosions. Rise is what you do in the morning. Better do it early too, if you're serious 'bout getting that degree." I plunked down a couple of gears in the tip jar and made to leave. Sometimes I wonder if I didn't like the spambots a little better before they could talk.
“Yeah dude totally, so that’s what’s up anyway. Just stuff. Oh, sir? Sir? We're like, real eco-friendly here at Toxic Bell? Yeah so I’m gonna have to ask you to return the bucket.”
I stopped and turned around. “But the bucket’s the best part!”
“Yeah, well company policy, right? Sorry. You can order one to go if you want?”
Yeah. I did like them better before. “No, it’s fine. Here. And if you wanna be the manager of this place one day, try and sprinkle a little sulphur on ‘em before you serve, it balances out the acidity. Maybe you oughta think about getting more tips right now instead of going for broke next summer. That's how I got rich.”
I handed the half-eaten bucket back to the dumbstruck waiterbot and headed outside. Living like a commoner for a while had been interesting to say the least, but I’d decided it was time to go back to the Junkhall and check out the monthly progress. Joe’s a good kid, he just needs a little help once in a while.
“So,” said Joe as we entered the war room in the Underhall. “Gotta say I’ve missed your brains, boss. Not as much fun being the Junkmaster as I thought, I don’t know how you put up with it for all those years. Why can’t people just do as we tell ‘em?”
“Eh, life was simpler back then. Used to be I'd just hold a speech and throw free stuff out the balcony, and things would straighten out on their own. You having trouble getting folks to fall in line?”
“Na, nah, it’s fine. There’s been some commotion in that new club over on Pleasure Island, but I hear the Irzuku’s got things covered. They pretty much run that whole district.”
“Oh yeah I’ve been there once or twice, the Vice Palace, right? They’ve started using real live animals as lubricant now, you should check it out once your term’s over. Nice atmosphere, long as you remember to dodge when the railguns start popping, and don’t piss off the wrong gang. Hmmm, so they run the place, huh?”
I could tell Joe was looking for more than just friendly encouragement. Well, I’m nothing if not practical.
“Tell you what. Remember back when you wanted to make RoboCops? I think you should go ahead and do that. I’ve watched the sequels now and they’re really not that bad. The new bots are smart, they can handle all them “conscience” protocols, and I’m sure they’ve got no pent-up aggression or anything like that. Let’s try not to put the entire district in bodybags, but messing up a few gangers and cordoning off the place for investigation? That oughtta remind them what’s what. Gotta flex your claws sometimes, otherwise some upstart’s gonna yank ‘em off.”
“Sure thing, boss.” And there was that same happy-as-a-clam grin I’d known for nigh on 150 years, meaning a new scientific jump was in the works. I could practically hear the gears grinding and pistons pumping in his noggin. Ain’t no such thing as nepotism, it's all about fostering the right talent.
“How are we on the finances? All good I hope?” He didn’t answer, and only handed me a holocrystal. I looked it over. “Well, let’s seeeeeeeeooooooOOHH WHAT IN TARNATION? How?! How did we spend so much money?”
This was not good. I was hoping to have my gasoline lake installed before the weekend. Now I’d have to downgrade to the executive size, and that's barely even a pond!
“Um, it’s all in there, boss. First you said the new leisure habitats were a little too small to dock your spaceship in...”
“Well, they were small. Those hangar gates would have knocked off the hood ornament.”
“…and then you wanted to raise the sky level in your weekend mansion…”
“I mean, five stories is hardly enough when you’ve got an anti-grav trampoline in the backyard. Flyin’ high, Scrappy-style!”
“… and then we had to deliver gas masks and exo-suits to all the refugees, cause their limbs were starting to melt off once they came in contact with our atmosphere.”
“Ugh, can’t they just pull themselves together? Seems a little frivolous to coddle them like that. Sometimes you have to put in a little elbow grease if you wanna end up being someone, understand?”
“Yeah, truth be told it wasn’t my idea. My replacement came up with it. He’s one of them, so I couldn’t just refuse. Apparently the chickenheads found out that you can light his people on fire and get all funny-like if you inhale the smoke, so there’s a mass exodus going on. Come to think of it there’s been a lot of brouhaha out there lately, that’s why we’re getting so many refugees.”
“Ahh, these barbarians and their cruel, despicable motives. Smoking people for fun, tchah! And that extra traffic would be Edgar’s doing, I presume. I sent him a memo saying we needed some cheap labor, so he started a few proxy wars. Good call on the bodysuits actually, I remember those plant-people and boy do they stink. 'Least now we can hang out with them without kacking up our breakfast.”
I got up from the table and moseyed around the room for a bit before I continued.
"Allright, so we’ve been in worse patches before. I say you wire this over to Crabcakes and butter him up until he craps out a solution. Wouldn’t be the first time he's pulled us back into the black. If I didn’t know better I’d swear he has some magic hat that he can just conjure endless amounts of consumer goods out of. But that would just be a lazy cop-out that’s horribly imbalanced and ruins the whole point of planning your economy and developing your planets. No, I guess he’s just really good with money, that’s all. Okay, anything else before I go talk to the eggheads?”
“Not that I can think of… Well, there is one thing. That gas station guy we hired to keep tabs on the production? He’s been saying him and the other gas refiners should get paid a little more. Talking about organizing a union and so on.”
“Oh he did, did he? Well,” I winked, “I hear there’s a vacant position for a governor out past the wormhole, you know that old supply depot, the one with the quaint little kiosk and the leaky air scrubbers? I bet that pays really well.”
“You got it, boss.”
Moments later I was on the magtrain and speeding across the city towards the towering bulk of the R.I.S.E. That place is in many ways the beating carburetor of our empire. Anyone can get an education there and do something important with their life, no matter how trashy they are or how bad they smell. I’m proud of many things, but founding that institute is probably at the top of the list. That, and my non-boosted quintuple 1080 backflips! Scrappy-style!
The bubble elevator in the lobby did a quick facial recognition scan, and proceeded to zoom me all the way up to the top. Big Brain Bob and a spambot were already waiting for me in the professors’ lounge.
“Hi Bob. Where’s Edgar?” I asked.
“Right here,” said the bot. “It’s just a simulacrum, my own body’s back on Edgaria doing a little tinkering down in the basement, but it’s all good, I know what he knows.”
“Right, then,” said Bob. “I’m pleased to say we’ve got excellent news. Edgar, how about we save the best for last?”
“Eh, sure, you can go first if you want.”
“Hrmph. I was thinking more along the lines of you entertaining us with your droll stories about the simple frontier life, before we get into the actual science. How is your lab security these days, by-the-by?”
Yeah, I should put Bob on his own planet too, and only deal with them separately. Alpha nerds duking it out is how nukes were invented, and those are just a waste of good plutonium.
“Gentlecrabs! Let’s keep it short, I’m sure we’ve all got busy schedules. Edgar, what have you got for me?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” The simulacrum scuttled up and jabbed a huge syringe into my thorax.
“Ow! Oh, please not another fertility mutagen. I still get flashbacks occasionall- ohhhhhh…”
“Like it, huh? Don’t worry, I tested it out on the rats first. Dumped a whole barrel of it down the main cistern on Inferno, hihihihih!”
“Yeah. Yeah, I could get used to this. Might even break my airtime record with legs like this. Anything else?”
“Yeah, I inserted mind control chips into the brains of those megalopods over on Edgaria, and my minions are drilling them in close combat as we speak! Soon they’ll be an invincible super-army of unstoppable giant monsters! Ahahahahah!”
“Awesome! Can you ride them? Actually let’s go over the details later, please continue.”
“Yeah, and so I thought, you know how these organics breed really fast?” I shuddered. Something in his voice suddenly reminded me why he had been exiled in the first place. “Yeeees?” I asked.
“Well, now that I've dispersed my latest invention as an aerosol on all our planets, SO CAN WE! AHA! AHAHAAHAAAAA!”
I had no idea then, of the horrors that would revisit me in my nightmares henceforth. Before either of us could react, a projector in the simulacrum’s back flickered on and showed us vivid, three-dimensional footage of Edgar’s experiment in the conception phase. With subtitles.
“It’s… like a large… writhing... flesh pile...” Bob mumbled before vomiting on the floor.
“The… the candles I can understand, *hunghh*, but the rubber ducks… What are the rubber ducks for, Edgar?!” I managed to ask him. "And why do they have compound eyes?”
“ALL THE BETTER TO SEE YOU WITH! They like to watch.”
“Great! Fantastic!” I lifted up a chair and smashed the cackling simulacrum to pieces. “Bob! Let’s talk about normal things. Let's be happy, normal trash monsters together. What scientific discoveries have you made recently?”
“It’s… uh…” he said as he got to his feet. “Sorry. Aside from general shield and energy production improvements, we’ve managed to extract a mysterious substance from one of the moons orbiting Edgaria. And I assure you, it has nothing to do with... Edgar. In fact it seems to be a primordial form of matter normally only seen around black holes. As of yet we've only found theoretical purposes for it, but its rarity alone should be enough to secure our dominance in the intergalactic market.”
“Good! Wonderful! Theoretical science is very good. I think we’ve had enough practical science for a while. Mustn’t forget the theory. Anything else?”
“Yes.” He regained some of his pride. “We’ve finally repaired and reactivated Og’s discovery! It has now formed a stable connection to a distant part of the galaxy, over in the Alpha quadrant. No amount of force will destabilize it, it’s a safe and permanent passage. And within a decade I’m confident we’ll be able to construct similar gates of our own.”
“Bob! That’s incredible! This is huge! We’re gonna- wait. The Alpha quadrant.”
“Yes, in the Umbrella system.”
“That wouldn’t happen to be the one right in the middle of Dekron territory, would it? As in, the omnicidal murderbots that make our friend here,” I gestured at the fizzling remains of the simulacrum, “seem like a sane, well-adjusted pillar of the community? The same Dekrons we’ve been prank calling over the comms for the past 20 years since they can’t reach us? Those Dekrons?”
“Y- uh…”
“Very good, Bob. And the portal is permanent? Oh, what am I saying, of course it is. Of course! I think I’m going home to see if my lake’s done filling up. Practice my backstroke. Maybe drown myself. You’ll hear from me next time we're discussing the science budgets. Ta-ta.”
To be fair, I thought to myself as the elevator descended and I calmed down a bit, this wasn’t altogether a catastrophe. In fact, there might even be a golden opportunity here. Tensions had been high in the provinces recently, the rats were antsy cause we’d kicked Mrs. Tittlemouse off the Junkthrone, our economy was in shambles… Our people could use a boost to their national pride. And in all my 174 years on this broken, beautiful junkball, I’ve only known one thing that could bring everyone together like that.
Yeah. The time had come to take Junktown's favorite pastime up to a galactic level. And I would need me an industrial-sized bucket of scrapcorn for the playoffs.
“…so that’s how I figured out that I didn’t really fit into law school, you know, and so I’m just doing this while I’m deciding what I’m gonna do next, just a summer job really, but next year I’ll be ready for a firmware upgrade so that’s cool, was thinking I’d pop over to the Rise…”
“It’s the R.I.S.E. Robotic Institute of Science and Explosions. Rise is what you do in the morning. Better do it early too, if you're serious 'bout getting that degree." I plunked down a couple of gears in the tip jar and made to leave. Sometimes I wonder if I didn't like the spambots a little better before they could talk.
“Yeah dude totally, so that’s what’s up anyway. Just stuff. Oh, sir? Sir? We're like, real eco-friendly here at Toxic Bell? Yeah so I’m gonna have to ask you to return the bucket.”
I stopped and turned around. “But the bucket’s the best part!”
“Yeah, well company policy, right? Sorry. You can order one to go if you want?”
Yeah. I did like them better before. “No, it’s fine. Here. And if you wanna be the manager of this place one day, try and sprinkle a little sulphur on ‘em before you serve, it balances out the acidity. Maybe you oughta think about getting more tips right now instead of going for broke next summer. That's how I got rich.”
I handed the half-eaten bucket back to the dumbstruck waiterbot and headed outside. Living like a commoner for a while had been interesting to say the least, but I’d decided it was time to go back to the Junkhall and check out the monthly progress. Joe’s a good kid, he just needs a little help once in a while.
“So,” said Joe as we entered the war room in the Underhall. “Gotta say I’ve missed your brains, boss. Not as much fun being the Junkmaster as I thought, I don’t know how you put up with it for all those years. Why can’t people just do as we tell ‘em?”
“Eh, life was simpler back then. Used to be I'd just hold a speech and throw free stuff out the balcony, and things would straighten out on their own. You having trouble getting folks to fall in line?”
“Na, nah, it’s fine. There’s been some commotion in that new club over on Pleasure Island, but I hear the Irzuku’s got things covered. They pretty much run that whole district.”
“Oh yeah I’ve been there once or twice, the Vice Palace, right? They’ve started using real live animals as lubricant now, you should check it out once your term’s over. Nice atmosphere, long as you remember to dodge when the railguns start popping, and don’t piss off the wrong gang. Hmmm, so they run the place, huh?”
I could tell Joe was looking for more than just friendly encouragement. Well, I’m nothing if not practical.
“Tell you what. Remember back when you wanted to make RoboCops? I think you should go ahead and do that. I’ve watched the sequels now and they’re really not that bad. The new bots are smart, they can handle all them “conscience” protocols, and I’m sure they’ve got no pent-up aggression or anything like that. Let’s try not to put the entire district in bodybags, but messing up a few gangers and cordoning off the place for investigation? That oughtta remind them what’s what. Gotta flex your claws sometimes, otherwise some upstart’s gonna yank ‘em off.”
“Sure thing, boss.” And there was that same happy-as-a-clam grin I’d known for nigh on 150 years, meaning a new scientific jump was in the works. I could practically hear the gears grinding and pistons pumping in his noggin. Ain’t no such thing as nepotism, it's all about fostering the right talent.
“How are we on the finances? All good I hope?” He didn’t answer, and only handed me a holocrystal. I looked it over. “Well, let’s seeeeeeeeooooooOOHH WHAT IN TARNATION? How?! How did we spend so much money?”
This was not good. I was hoping to have my gasoline lake installed before the weekend. Now I’d have to downgrade to the executive size, and that's barely even a pond!
“Um, it’s all in there, boss. First you said the new leisure habitats were a little too small to dock your spaceship in...”
“Well, they were small. Those hangar gates would have knocked off the hood ornament.”
“…and then you wanted to raise the sky level in your weekend mansion…”
“I mean, five stories is hardly enough when you’ve got an anti-grav trampoline in the backyard. Flyin’ high, Scrappy-style!”
“… and then we had to deliver gas masks and exo-suits to all the refugees, cause their limbs were starting to melt off once they came in contact with our atmosphere.”
“Ugh, can’t they just pull themselves together? Seems a little frivolous to coddle them like that. Sometimes you have to put in a little elbow grease if you wanna end up being someone, understand?”
“Yeah, truth be told it wasn’t my idea. My replacement came up with it. He’s one of them, so I couldn’t just refuse. Apparently the chickenheads found out that you can light his people on fire and get all funny-like if you inhale the smoke, so there’s a mass exodus going on. Come to think of it there’s been a lot of brouhaha out there lately, that’s why we’re getting so many refugees.”
“Ahh, these barbarians and their cruel, despicable motives. Smoking people for fun, tchah! And that extra traffic would be Edgar’s doing, I presume. I sent him a memo saying we needed some cheap labor, so he started a few proxy wars. Good call on the bodysuits actually, I remember those plant-people and boy do they stink. 'Least now we can hang out with them without kacking up our breakfast.”
I got up from the table and moseyed around the room for a bit before I continued.
"Allright, so we’ve been in worse patches before. I say you wire this over to Crabcakes and butter him up until he craps out a solution. Wouldn’t be the first time he's pulled us back into the black. If I didn’t know better I’d swear he has some magic hat that he can just conjure endless amounts of consumer goods out of. But that would just be a lazy cop-out that’s horribly imbalanced and ruins the whole point of planning your economy and developing your planets. No, I guess he’s just really good with money, that’s all. Okay, anything else before I go talk to the eggheads?”
“Not that I can think of… Well, there is one thing. That gas station guy we hired to keep tabs on the production? He’s been saying him and the other gas refiners should get paid a little more. Talking about organizing a union and so on.”
“Oh he did, did he? Well,” I winked, “I hear there’s a vacant position for a governor out past the wormhole, you know that old supply depot, the one with the quaint little kiosk and the leaky air scrubbers? I bet that pays really well.”
“You got it, boss.”
Moments later I was on the magtrain and speeding across the city towards the towering bulk of the R.I.S.E. That place is in many ways the beating carburetor of our empire. Anyone can get an education there and do something important with their life, no matter how trashy they are or how bad they smell. I’m proud of many things, but founding that institute is probably at the top of the list. That, and my non-boosted quintuple 1080 backflips! Scrappy-style!
The bubble elevator in the lobby did a quick facial recognition scan, and proceeded to zoom me all the way up to the top. Big Brain Bob and a spambot were already waiting for me in the professors’ lounge.
“Hi Bob. Where’s Edgar?” I asked.
“Right here,” said the bot. “It’s just a simulacrum, my own body’s back on Edgaria doing a little tinkering down in the basement, but it’s all good, I know what he knows.”
“Right, then,” said Bob. “I’m pleased to say we’ve got excellent news. Edgar, how about we save the best for last?”
“Eh, sure, you can go first if you want.”
“Hrmph. I was thinking more along the lines of you entertaining us with your droll stories about the simple frontier life, before we get into the actual science. How is your lab security these days, by-the-by?”
Yeah, I should put Bob on his own planet too, and only deal with them separately. Alpha nerds duking it out is how nukes were invented, and those are just a waste of good plutonium.
“Gentlecrabs! Let’s keep it short, I’m sure we’ve all got busy schedules. Edgar, what have you got for me?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” The simulacrum scuttled up and jabbed a huge syringe into my thorax.
“Ow! Oh, please not another fertility mutagen. I still get flashbacks occasionall- ohhhhhh…”
“Like it, huh? Don’t worry, I tested it out on the rats first. Dumped a whole barrel of it down the main cistern on Inferno, hihihihih!”
“Yeah. Yeah, I could get used to this. Might even break my airtime record with legs like this. Anything else?”
“Yeah, I inserted mind control chips into the brains of those megalopods over on Edgaria, and my minions are drilling them in close combat as we speak! Soon they’ll be an invincible super-army of unstoppable giant monsters! Ahahahahah!”
“Awesome! Can you ride them? Actually let’s go over the details later, please continue.”
“Yeah, and so I thought, you know how these organics breed really fast?” I shuddered. Something in his voice suddenly reminded me why he had been exiled in the first place. “Yeeees?” I asked.
“Well, now that I've dispersed my latest invention as an aerosol on all our planets, SO CAN WE! AHA! AHAHAAHAAAAA!”
I had no idea then, of the horrors that would revisit me in my nightmares henceforth. Before either of us could react, a projector in the simulacrum’s back flickered on and showed us vivid, three-dimensional footage of Edgar’s experiment in the conception phase. With subtitles.
“It’s… like a large… writhing... flesh pile...” Bob mumbled before vomiting on the floor.
“The… the candles I can understand, *hunghh*, but the rubber ducks… What are the rubber ducks for, Edgar?!” I managed to ask him. "And why do they have compound eyes?”
“ALL THE BETTER TO SEE YOU WITH! They like to watch.”
“Great! Fantastic!” I lifted up a chair and smashed the cackling simulacrum to pieces. “Bob! Let’s talk about normal things. Let's be happy, normal trash monsters together. What scientific discoveries have you made recently?”
“It’s… uh…” he said as he got to his feet. “Sorry. Aside from general shield and energy production improvements, we’ve managed to extract a mysterious substance from one of the moons orbiting Edgaria. And I assure you, it has nothing to do with... Edgar. In fact it seems to be a primordial form of matter normally only seen around black holes. As of yet we've only found theoretical purposes for it, but its rarity alone should be enough to secure our dominance in the intergalactic market.”
“Good! Wonderful! Theoretical science is very good. I think we’ve had enough practical science for a while. Mustn’t forget the theory. Anything else?”
“Yes.” He regained some of his pride. “We’ve finally repaired and reactivated Og’s discovery! It has now formed a stable connection to a distant part of the galaxy, over in the Alpha quadrant. No amount of force will destabilize it, it’s a safe and permanent passage. And within a decade I’m confident we’ll be able to construct similar gates of our own.”
“Bob! That’s incredible! This is huge! We’re gonna- wait. The Alpha quadrant.”
“Yes, in the Umbrella system.”
“That wouldn’t happen to be the one right in the middle of Dekron territory, would it? As in, the omnicidal murderbots that make our friend here,” I gestured at the fizzling remains of the simulacrum, “seem like a sane, well-adjusted pillar of the community? The same Dekrons we’ve been prank calling over the comms for the past 20 years since they can’t reach us? Those Dekrons?”
“Y- uh…”
“Very good, Bob. And the portal is permanent? Oh, what am I saying, of course it is. Of course! I think I’m going home to see if my lake’s done filling up. Practice my backstroke. Maybe drown myself. You’ll hear from me next time we're discussing the science budgets. Ta-ta.”
To be fair, I thought to myself as the elevator descended and I calmed down a bit, this wasn’t altogether a catastrophe. In fact, there might even be a golden opportunity here. Tensions had been high in the provinces recently, the rats were antsy cause we’d kicked Mrs. Tittlemouse off the Junkthrone, our economy was in shambles… Our people could use a boost to their national pride. And in all my 174 years on this broken, beautiful junkball, I’ve only known one thing that could bring everyone together like that.
Yeah. The time had come to take Junktown's favorite pastime up to a galactic level. And I would need me an industrial-sized bucket of scrapcorn for the playoffs.
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