Heirs to the Arnor - An Unofficial Gameplay Example

Inspired somewhat by some of the fanfiction posted elsewhere in these forums, I've decided to dust off the Terran Alliance and write an After-Action Report (AAR) on our future history.

The reason this is posted here, and not in the AAR subforum, is because I get the impression that most people don't even know we have subforums, let alone one for AARs.

The Terran Alliance
Morale +10%
Research +20%
Trade +25%
Diplomacy +25%
Hit Points +10%
Trade Routes +1
Courage +25%
Logistics +6

Political Party
Federalists

Galaxy Statistics
Size: Gigantic
Habitable Planets: Uncommon
Planets: Uncommon
Stars: Abundant
Star Density: Loose Clusters
Anomalies: Abundant
Research Speed: Normal

All nine alien races are present, all intelligence levels set to Normal. The Drengin start at war with me, for reasons which will be made clear in the prologue.

My (from my perspective, insane) goal is to get a ten way alliance victory. This means that I will have to keep every major race alive for the duration of the game, and forge an alliance with all of them. Since I'm at war with the Drengin by default, I will likely have to beat at least one alien race into submission, possibly more if the Drengin start looking for allies.

* * *

Prologue
FEBRUARY 25TH, 2224
CHICAGO, EARTH, TERRAN ALLIANCE

There was an aura of anticipation in Parliament Hall. The crowd of Senators and television crews gathered in the Senate didn't know exactly what awaited them in the next few minutes, but they had heard the rumors. They all knew that President Bradley's next State of the Alliance address would not be in the traditional mold. No Presidential speech had caused such excitement since the build-up to Charles Deveraux's revelation of First Contact in 2176.

Along one wall, Doctor Sarah Marshall sat amongst the members of the Cabinet. They knew what was coming, but that didn't stop them from savoring the moment. Up on stage, the Chairman of the Senate was giving his preamble, but even he felt the earnest and anticipation of all in the room, awaiting the speech.

Alan Bradley was waiting in the Communications Chamber, an anteroom just off the back of the Senate. He straightened his tie nervously. He wasn't sure that he was ready for this.

In his hand he held a datakey, containing the schematics for the new device. It had been a long road since they first made contact with the Arcaen Empire, filled with hardships - the time the Xendar had invaded through the Stargate, the battles with the Korx and Drath on behalf of the Altarians. But they were finally here. It was time for humanity to prove their worth to the galaxy.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the Chairman finished, "the President of the Terran Alliance."

The Presidential anthem played as Bradley entered the Senate, datakey in hand. He adjusted the microphone, and looked at the speech he had been given. His speechwriter, an odd fellow from Luna, had insisted on writing the speech on paper, a medium that had been thankfully obsolete for over a century. Sweat from the President's hand had rendered the already terribly handwritten letter completely illegible. Perfect. Just perfect.

"Friends, Terrans, countrymen," he began, on the grounds that if it had worked for Marcus Antonius, it'd probably work for him, "this is a historic moment. For fifty years we have been forced to conduct all interstellar travel through the Stargates, taking ten years simply to travel from Earth to Arcea. However, we have made a momentous discovery."

He paused to wipe some seat from his brow. The crowd leaned in closer.

"By using her recently perfected cold fusion formulas, Doctor Sarah Marshall of Galactic Engineering has been able to successfully redesign the technology used in the Stargates to create a far superior form of faster-than-light travel. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you..."

He plugged the datakey into the lecturn. A hologram sprung to life above it - the schematics of the revolutionary new device.

"...Hyperdrive!"

That was when the first shot fired.

There is a tingling in the air associated with a plasma rifle being primed to fire, which was how the marines serving as honor guards were able to act so quickly. Before the sniper's finger had pulled his trigger, one of the soldiers had already launched himself in front of Bradley, taking the blast meant for the President in the chest.

Before anybody could react, a second sniper had let off a shot, at the Director of Executive Orders's head exploded.

Chaos broke out in the Senate. Nobody was certain how many of the assailants there were. Plasma fire was everywhere, and though it was soon matched with the rattle of Terran assault rifles, the gunfire did little to calm the panic. As mass hysteria consumed the Senate and the press, the President soon found himself seperated from his bodyguards.

As he frantically looked about for the enemy, he spotted a figure making its way rudely through the crowd. A figure in black power armor, with communications antennas on both sides of its helmet.

A soldier of the Drengin Empire.

The President reached for his personal sidearm - a United Munitions X-32 Handgun - and aimed it at the Drengin's head. His first shot missed, but the Drengin barely even noticed, the noise of the shot hidden underneath the sounds of battle.

Before Bradley could adjust his aim, the Drengin had reached the lecturn and grabbed the datakey. Training his gun on the alien again, Bradley was about to fire when he was knocked to the ground by a Senator frantic to escape the deathtrap.

When he recovered, the alien was gone, but Bradley knew where he had disappeared to. Struggling to his feet, he stumbled across the Senate to the entrance to the Communications Chamber.

The Drengin stood in front of him, before the massive Central Hyperwave Transmitter, a large circular console sitting in the center of the room, with a holographic map of the galaxy above it.

"Command confirmed," a feminine, computerized voice announced, "diplomatic transmission to Drengi entered into queue."

"Abort transmission!" Bradley shouted.

The Drengin turned to the source of the sound, plasma rifle drawn.

"Cannot accept command," the computerized voice announced, "transmission is classified as a diplomatic pouch."

"Shit."

Bradley leapt to the right as a plasma bolt struck through the air, then rolled to his feet, X-32 blasting as he charged towards the Drengin. He wouldn't be much in hand-to-hand against power armor, but he wasn't much at long range against a plasma rifle, either, and his only real hope was to keep the alien soldier off his toes.

The Drengin wasn't able to react before Bradley had him pinned to the console, weapons scattered to the floor. He turned his head for just a second, and saw the datakey jacked into the console.

Well, he thought, misery loves company.

"Enter contents of Port 42 into diplomatic broadcast. Set broadcast to all frequencies, all channels."

"Command confirmed," the computer responded.

"What," the Drengin stuttered in heavily accented Terran, "what are you doing?"

"Call off your transmission, and I'll call of mine."

"Nn'gah'trk!" the Drengin shouted.

Bradley didn't have time to figure out what the alien word meant. In that same instance, the Drengin had pushed forward, forcing the President to the floor, and driving his combat knife into Bradley's heart.

The alien didn't have time to celebrate, either. As it withdrew its bloody knife, a hail of gunfire erupted in the chamber, as bullets shredded its helmet, and its head.

Private James Locke, Terran Alliance Marine Corps, grinned as the Drengin assassin collapsed, but it quickly faded as he saw the corpse lying on the Communications Chamber floor. Dropping his rifle, he ran forward, placing two fingers on the President's neck.

No pulse.

"Locke! What's going on here?"

Locke looked up. The company captain had entered the room. He wasn't like going to have to explain this to the officer.

He wasn't going to like what would happen later, either.

* * *

No actual gameplay in this one, but it serves as a backstory for the war with the Drengin which will, hopefully, be a major part of the coming story. Actual updates should follow sometime in the next twenty-four hours. Feel lucky.

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Chapter 1: Meet the New Boss
9:03 AM, JANUARY 1ST, 2225
CHICAGO, EARTH, TERRAN ALLIANCE

Locke shouldered his rifle as he entered Parliament Hall. Another day of tedium and despair.

The government had been paralyzed for almost a year now - most of the elected officials had been killed in the February Disaster. Locke was dimly aware that a new election had been concluded recently, but it didn't really matter anymore. The golden age that had awaited them, the road to the United Galactic Alliance envisioned by President Deveraux, had closed shut.

The aliens had broken hyperwave contact in March. In April, the Stargate shut down of its own accord. No doubt the aliens were converting their own into colony ships. General Nicholas Kuperman, as Provisional Regent, had kicked up Earth's own space program, but it was still too little, too late.

Locke had managed to get himself into a pretty good slump by the time he reached the security desk, so he was even more confused when the Sergeant-at-Arms greeted him with a hearty, "Good morning, Mister President."

The private stared at the security officer. He blinked a few times.

"Very funny, sir. Private Locke, reporting for duty."

"Sir? Well, I'm flattered, Mister President. Really, I should be..."

Locke glared. He didn't have time for this.

"Just let me in, will you?"

"Certainly, Mister President. Congratulations."

The security gate shut down and Locke entered the lobby. It soon became clear that whatever practical joke the Sergeant-at-Arms was playing on him, everyone else was in on, too. As he walked through the lobby, all he heard was a constant stream of "Good morning, Mister President"s.

By the time he reached the elevator, he was thoroughly annoyed. This explained why he nearly strangled the other occupant of the elevator, a well-dressed thirty-something, when he said, quite innocently, "Congratulations on your election victory, President Locke."

After Locke had pressed the man to the side of the elevator by his neck, he managed to gain some control over his motor functions.

"That," he said, "is. Not. Funny."

"It's not meant to... gack! Put me down for a second, will you?"

Locke put the man down.

"You better start explaining."

"Right, my name's Jonathan Ford. Perhaps you've heard of me?"

Locke searched his memory for any mention of a Jonathan Ford. Only one associated with politics came up.

"Jonathan Ford of the Federalist Party? The only man to be banned from every single nightclub on Earth?"

"Er..." Ford muttered, rather deflated, "yeah..."

"Good. You have ten seconds to explain what that has to do with everybody calling me 'Mister President'."

"Right, well, you see, we really wanted to be the party in power, and, since you killed the assassin that nailed the President, you had a heroic air. Perfect for campaigning."

"So..."

"We set up a Presidential campaign for you. And you won."

"But I wasn't running for President! I can't be the President! I can't even make it to corporal!"

Ford grinned.

"The Constitution doesn't say the President has to want that job. He just needs to get elected. Now come on, Mister President. Your office awaits."

Locke stumbled after, still not entirely certain what just happened.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Locke found himself in the Executive Office, with a big window behind him and five people in front of him.

The people in question were Ford, a middle-aged woman in a business suit, a man wearing a blue and silver Alliance Military uniform who Locke, repressing the urge to salute, recognized as General Kuperman, a young woman in glasses and a labcoat, and an old woman who had introduced herself as Ms. Roswell.

"So," Locke said, "who exactly are all you people? Excluding you, Ford, and you, General."

"We," Ford said, "are your cabinet. I'm Director of Executive Orders, Ms. Melissa Kolaz," he indicated the woman in the business suit, "is Director of Foreign Relations, General Kuperman is Director of National Security, and Doctor Marshall is Director of Scientific Research."

"Aren't there nine directorates?"

"Yes, but the other five are under the control of the Senate."

"And Ms. Roswell?"

"Is your secretary."

Locke stood up.

"So... what exactly am I supposed to do as President?"

"Isn't is obvious, son?" Ms. Roswell said, "You lead the Alliance to victory! You make us the greatest civilization in the galaxy! And if any aliens try to stand in your way, you put a missile in their rear!"

Locke stared at Ms. Roswell for a second, not entirely certain if he had heard the grandmotherly old woman right.

"Er... thank you, Ms. Roswell. Perhaps you should go outside and... er... do whatever it is that secretaries do."

"Oh, don't worry. I worked under President Devereaux, you know. I know everything there is about secretarying."

"Now, please, Ms. Roswell."

"Well, there's no need to be rude," she said, as she made her way towards the door, "why, back in my day..."

The door closed behind her. Locke turned back to his Cabinet.

"Now that that's settled, I think I could use a status report."

"Let's start with this," Marshall said, placing a small object on Locke's desk.

"What is it?"

"It's a hyperspace chart. You flick the switch, and a little hologram comes up - see?"

The Sol System, January 1st, 2225

"What are those things next to Earth?"

"Oh, those are the UES Destiny and the UES Mayflower. General Kuperman had them commissioned."

"Why does that one look like the Enter..."

"She doesn't!" Kuperman shouted, "Why does everybody think she looks like the damn Enterprise? I won't have anyone else comparing my flagship to some sci-fi special effect."

"Technically," Marshall pointed out, "It's Admiral Wang's flagship."

Kuperman shrugged.

"Admiral Wang isn't here, now is he?"

Locke shook his head. He was in way over his head.

"Can that thing do anything else?" he asked, pointing at the hyperspace chart.

"Oh, yes," Marshall explained, clearly happy to be showing off her technology, "here, let me show you the zoning image for Earth."

She tapped a few buttons, and the hologram changed.

Earth, January 1st, 2225. I swear, I only Ctrl+Ned to get a capital in the northern hemisphere! Honest!

"Er... what's that little thingy in southeast Europe?"

"Oh, that's to signify that we found rare minerals found almost nowhere else in the galaxy there."

Locke stared at her.

"You found incredibly rare minerals in Europe?"

"Yes."

Locke continued staring, then decided that it was too weird to be made up.

"So, you're Director of Scientific Research, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"So what are you scientifically researching?"

"Actually, we have a few options right now, sir. We've streamlined our projections of future research and put them into a handy tree form for your perusal."

She handed a datapad over to Locke.

"Alright... well, we'll start by researching Xeno Research. Then we'll see where to go from there. Kuperman?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm never going to get used to hearing you call me that. Explain the capabilities of the Destiny and the Mayflower."

"The Destiny is a state of the art survey ship, designed to explore interstellar anomalies. Hence why some genius in the shipyard wanted - but did not succeed! - to make it look like the Enterprise. The Mayflower's a lot older. In fact, some of the technology used to build her is obsolete. She a colony ship, can carry up to a billion people."

"Do we have any form of military to speak of?"

"Other than the marines and the Destiny, no. Our military technology isn't advanced enough to launch a major offworld operation. We still have fully analyzed the data gathered during the Lunar Rebelliion and the Xendar War."

"Right. Have the Mayflower land on Earth and fill up with colonists, then head off to Mars. And have the Destiny do... whatever it is that ship does. Ford, have the techies come up with a new, not as obsolete colony ship, and have one ready within the week."

"We'll have to subcontract to one of the corporations for that, sir."

"Galactic Engineering. I like them - honest and upfront, with no interests. Ms. Kolaz, as we have no foreign nations to have relations with, I'm afraid I'll have to speak to you later. You are all dismissed."

Locke watched as his Cabinet left, and sighed. This was going to be a long Presidency.

* * *

12:03 PM, JANUARY 29TH, 2225
DEEP SPACE, IVEY SYSTEM, TERRAN ALLIANCE

The UES Destiny hurtled through space, her hyperdrive trail flaring out behind her.

"Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Destiny. Her indefinitely long mission: to explore strange new anomalies, to meet new civilizations and botch first contact with them, to boldly go where no man has gone before!"

"Sir," Commander Cain muttered, "stop narrating to yourself. Besides, you've got it all wrong anyways."

Cain stood out on the bridge mainly because, while everybody else was wearing the blue and silver uniform of the Terran Alliance Navy, he wore a gray uniform with the insignia of the Coalition for Lunar Independance. Some people just can't let go.

"Got it wrong?" Captain Jacob Williams asked, "Well, you have to admit, the ship does look an awful lot like the Enterprise."

"That's not the point! I mean, when you think about it, isn't the line "to boldy go where no man has gone before" inherently sexists?"

"Cain, you're male. You have no right being a feminist."

"It's still wrong."

"Fine! Fine! Where no human has gone before. Happy?"

There was a brief pause while Cain passed this through his head.

"Well, what about the Altarians?"

Williams glared.

"They're not humans," he said finally, "they don't come from Earth."

"Human is a genetic term, and they're genetically identical to us."

"Well then, how about where no Terran has gone before."

"But that implies that all of us are Terrans! You people have no respect for Lunar culture or traditions!"

Williams, who was now seriously considering throwing himself out the airlock without a suit, threw up his hands.

"There's just no pleasing you, is there?"

"Sirs?"

A lieutenant floated over to them, probably saving Cain's life in the process. Both Captain and Commander turned.

"WHAT?" they snapped, simultaneously.

"We've picked up something unusual on the sensors. We thought you might want to take a look."

"Very well!" Jacobs said, "Prepare an away team!"

Cain rolled his eyes.

"Let's just get into the spacesuits."

The mysterious anomaly

* * *

10:00 AM, MARCH 1ST, 2225
CHICAGO, EARTH, TERRAN ALLIANCE

"So," Locke said as the Cabinet assembled, what do you have to tell me this time?"

"Sir," Kuperman began, "on January 7th, our first Santa Maria-class colony ship, hull number SM-001, launched from Earth. A week ago they landed on the planet Osiris, the only inhabitable planet in the Theta Iota System. They have informed us that there is a sentient life form in the Stone Age already inhabiting the planet, with the exception of the polar icecaps."

Sentient life on the planet Osiris

"It is, of course, your decision how this situation is to be handled."

Locke looked at the report that he had been given.

"We can't just shove them aside. We should set up shop in the polar icecaps."

"But sir," Ford exclaimed, "that will almost halve the planet's industrial output!"

"I really couldn't care less," Locke said, "there's no point in making the Alliance strong if we betray the values it was built on. Send the order to set up a base in the polar icecaps, and see if these locals can be uplifted enough to join Terran soceity. What about the Mayflower?"

"She reached Mars safely on January 4th, sir. They are hard at work setting up an industrial shipyard on the Martian surface."

"And the Destiny?"

"The anomaly they discovered near Ivey turned out to be nearly empty except for what appears to be an ancient alien artifact worth only a billion credits. Oddly enough, the same thing happened again a few weeks later between the Valerian and Osiris Systems. They haven't found anything else."

"Wait... I thought Osiris was a planet."

"It is, sir. In the Theta Iota System."

"Then why is there an Osiris System?"

"It was discovered about two hours ago. Obviously Captain Williams and the captain of the SM-001 weren't comparing notes."

"Right. And you, Doctor Marshall? Anything to report?"

"Sir," Marshall began, "on January 24th we perfected the Xeno Research techniques you requested. We then moved onto Advanced Propulsion Techniques, which we perfected on February 7th. Just this morning we completed research on Stellar Cartography, a new technology which allows us to pinpoint planets in star systems."

Locke nodded.

"That's great and all - what about the aliens? Any contact with them?"

"No, sir," Ford said, "and frankly, we wouldn't be able to understand a word they said, anyways. Few aliens ever spoke Terran."

"Isn't there some kind of science-fictiony gadget we can use?"

"Oh," Marshall said, "of course there is. There always is. Universal translators, right here."

"Right. Marshall, start your scientists research Universal Translators. Ford, I don't like defecit spending. Talk the Senate into raising taxes to 39% and lowering the spending rate to 45%. We're going to make some money if it kills us. Also, see to setting up industrial infrastructure on Osiris. You are dismissed."

* * *

The Terran Alliance, March 1st, 2225. The Osiris System is due south of the Valerian System. The system haflway between Osiris and Sol is Melanor, and from what we can see it looks promising.

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Why does that one look like the Enter..."

"She doesn't!" Kuperman shouted, "Why does everybody think she looks like the damn Enterprise? I won't have anyone else comparing my flagship to some sci-fi special effect."

LOL

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