Incident at Tau Ceti

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Chapter 1: Old Blood and Guts

General George S. Patton, Jr. was not a happy man.

Never one for numbers, the torrent of datapads thrust into his hands by a cavalcade of aides over the past few hours had driven the four-star general to the brink of exasperation.  And to his unending annoyance, every datapad, identical except for the figures displayed on its screen, was borne in the hands of an officer equally identical to the one who had previously interrupted the former Third Army commander.

The only way to tell these xeroxed majors and colonels apart was a string of numbers, unique to each, emblazoned over the left breast.  As noted, however, the general was never one for numbers and so this only compounded his ever-growing frustration.  It was enough to drive a man to drink but, because of Alliance-wide rationing and the confines of space travel, there was precious little hope of that in Patton's near future.

Agitated, his teeth clamped down on an unlit cigar -- the only Henry Clay within a hundred parsecs -- General Patton surveyed the latest colonel who dared intrude into the sanctum sanctorum of his spartanly furnished seventy-five square foot private quarters.  Lean and muscled with closely-cropped black hair, brown eyes and precisely six foot-two, the colonel who now stood before 'Old Blood and Guts' was the mirror image of the all the others who had been bothering him with these infernal datpads since he emerged from cryo-sleep at 1200 Zulu.

It takes a lot of paperwork to wake five billion MechInfantry from the six month slumber that carried them hundreds of light years across the galaxy but enough was getting to be enough.  There was the Drath homeworld to conquer and it wasn't going to yield because Task Force 1631 of the Beta Quadrant Terran Navy flung datapads at the defenders -- even if the datapads were fired through the new graviton drivers (mark III) mounted on their escort ships.  No, Alan Bradley needed boots on the ground and General George S. Patton, Jr. was just the man to do it.  If he could only get rid of these damned datapad-bearing clones and get into his hover-tank.

"Over the past three centuries," Patton muttered to himself, "one would have thought that military science could have developed an alternative to paperwork."

A crisp salute from the colonel-du-jour was returned absentmindedly by the general who also somehow managed to tell the latest interloper to stand "at ease" while he impatiently tapped his foot on the duranthium covered floor.

"Then again, maybe they did invent an alternative to paperwork," Patton returned to his previous thought as he fingered the four star rank insignia clasped securely to his neck, "and it was the datapad."  This was an unpleasant idea.  "What was it that Bonaparte kept saying at Tau Ceti?"  The cigar-chomping World War II veteran thought back five years ago: "'plus ca change, plus ca' SOMETHING..."

"Well, what is it now?" Patton barked emerging from his reverie. "More casualty projections? Another Bayesian tactical analysis?  Or maybe a simple requisition form this time?"

"General," the serial-numbered colonel replied holding (yet another) datapad in his deeply-tanned brown hands, "this message is freshly decoded from subspace transmission source PONTIFF." 

"PONTIFF, eh?"

He had Patton's full attention.  Colonel 1123791.03091 was carrying something much more important than your garden-variety TA-1040 strategy assessment. 

"It's from Admiral Yamamoto sir."

"Well colonel," said General Patton as he extended his hand for the datapad, "let's see what that old bastard Isoroku wants now."

aars
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Reply #1 from GalCiv2 Forums Top
Chapter 2: The Rules of Acquisition
 
Dressed in his nightclothes, Quark looks intently at a lantium bust of a venerable-looking Ferengi ceremoniously set on his table as he begins his prayers: "Blessed Exchequer, whose greed is eternal, whose wealth is as vast as the cosmos, hear this plea from your most devout debtor and continue to bless my bar with a steady stream of thirsty customers whose pockets are lined with lantium and whose skills at dabo are shaky at best..."
 
As the prayer passes through his exquisitely sharp teeth, Quark places slips of paper into the idol's ears perched on either side of the lobed lantium forehead and continues: "And, while you're at it, see if there is anything you can do about Doctor Bashir -- don't hurt him or anything, just get him off Deep Space Nine for a couple of months..."

A klaxon sounds in the background and everything fades to black.
 
"Bankruptcy and loss!" shouts Trader Kris.  "I haven't seen that episode yet!"
 
The pale-skinned Korx moves his eyes from the view-screen to the freighter's scanner feed and surveys the incoming data.  Trader Kris's vessel, the Pride of Rom, was alerting him to the fact that another Korx freighter had just emerged into scanner range and was closing fast.
 
"D'Kora's Profit?" Trader Kris wondered to himself (for Korx Traders usually worked alone to maximize profit).  "My rendezvous with Trader Krang isn't supposed to happen for another six Oxor cycles.  Why he is racing toward Earth at such high speed?"
 
Kris the Korx was deeply puzzled but one thing was clear: "Krang must be up to something for, as the Rules of Acquisition say, 'the riskier the road, the greater the profit.'  I'll have to see what it is."  And he charted a course to intercept the incoming freighter.
 
To the rest of the galaxy, Terra's most well-known export was the hyperdrive.  The Korx, however, were as fond of another human invention as they were of faster-than-light travel: the Ferengi.  By chance, a Korx Trader on Earth purchased a holochip of an ancient human form of entertainment known as "television shows" intending to re-sell copies of it to bored Terran surveyors mapping anomalies near Oxor.  As fate would have it, that holochip turned out to be more valuable than purest lantium.  The human surveyors, as it turned out, were little interested in watching re-runs of TNG and DS9 but Trader Kralax ended up selling so many copies of it to his own people that he was able to purchase a controlling interest in the Dominion and have himself installed as Executive Chairman.
 
The Korx are not by nature a religious race but in the Ferengi they found a mythos that could be embraced wholeheartedly (indeed with all three of the hearts that beat within each Korx's chest).  Soon after Kralax begin distributing his holochips, temples to the Blessed Exchequer begin to appear throughout the various Korx Subsidiaries.  Enterprising Korx, who, of course, paid generous fees for the rights to Kralax, began to publish copies of the Rules of Acquisition for sale throughout the Dominion.  The Korx even began to write their own Rules and, by the time Pride of Rom had begun to dock with D'Kora's Profit near the Terran-Arcean frontier, the New Revised Updated Rules of Acquisition (Third Edition) numbered 10,237 (although only 285 were adjudged to be 'cannon').
 
With the airlock secured between the two vessels, Trader Kris emerged into D'Kora's Profit curious as to why his trading partner was racing so quickly along the trade route between Athol and Sol.  The Arcean-Terran Cold War provided many profitable smuggling routes for enterprising Korx traders and Kris and Krang had long been rendezvousing in the Neutral Zone to swap information as they ferried goods back and forth between the rival homeworlds.  The appearance of D'Kora's Profit on the Terran side of the Neutral Zone meant Krang was far ahead of schedule on his trip to Earth and Kris wanted to know why.
 
The door to Krang's bridge opened and a tri-strontium gauntlet whizzed through the air into the head of the unsuspecting Kris making the distinctive crunching sound that is heard when any kind of metal strikes the flesh of any kind of species.  Before he could swear "by Quark's beard," the Korx Trader slumped to the grated floor and saw a pair of battle-armored Arcean commandos emerge as everything faded to black.
Reply #2 from GalCiv2 Forums Top
Chapter 3: Blood for the Blood God
 
The Overlord descended into the Great Hall.

For as far as his beedy little eyes could see, enormous wooden beams, polished and lacquered for this very occasion by countless slaves, reached high into a vaulted ceiling some twenty-five or thirty feet off the ground.  The whole of his people were assembled, awaiting the appearance of their Glorious Leader.  Some of the lower ranking in attendance, near the edges of the Great Hall, stood uncomfortably on their hind legs in a vain attempt to catch a glimpse of this historic moment.

 
His ancestors, it is said, lived in the trees but the Overlord was not one for posterity.  The Ah'quorn trees of his homeworld had long since become fodder to the engines of industrialization.  "For countless eons," he began in a clear and high-pitched voice, "we have looked upward at the stars..."
 
The Overlord took a dramatic pause.  His cute little cape flapped in the wind that came from strategically placed wind-machines hidden from the sight of the crowd.
 
"... tomorrow those stars will fall to the might of the Snathi!"
 
An excited burst of chattering exploded through the Great Hall.
 
"Ten thousand generations ago, we were made in the image of the Dread Lords.  But even our Creators feared us, for they left us marooned on this planet while other races took to the stars.  From time to time, these other space-faring races would visit Snathi Prime but, in vain, would they leave thinking it uninhabited.  Many brave Snathi commandos gave their lives trying to capture and reverse-engineer Precursor survey vessels so that we could escape this world, but it was all for naught.  In time, even our Creators disappeared..."
 
A hush fell over the crowd.
 
"... but the Snathi endured!  Though we were imprisoned, we survived and we waited.  And we hoped.  And we hated!"
 
A cacophony of angry squeals emerged from the assembly. 
 
"Nine hundred and ninety-nine generations ago, the Blood God came to our people and foretold the Terror that would be wrought across the galaxy at our paws.  He, and He alone, gave our people the power that the Dread Lords denied us.  In His name, and in His name alone, will we take to the stars and sate the anger that has only grown stronger with each passing year..."
 
At the name of the Blood God, the furry crowd drew deathly silent.
 
"... this is the thousandth generation that was foretold by the Blood God.  Slowly we have built the Terror Star, year after year, until it is now a fully ARMED and OPERATIONAL battlestation."
 
As one, the assembled Snathi called out for vengeance and destruction.
 
"My people," the furry little Overlord concluded, "tomorrow we take to the Terror Star and live like conquers.  Tonight we take our last meal on Snathi Prime."
Galactic Civilizations IV
Reply #3 from GalCiv2 Forums Top

hmmmmm.....

Interesting so far. Not sure what to make of WW2 generals serving in the future, though. :borg:

Reply #4 from GalCiv2 Forums Top

Quoting General, reply 3
hmmmmm.....

Interesting so far. Not sure what to make of WW2 generals serving in the future, though.
End of General's quote

You'll have to forgive me, I just finished reading Cryptonomicon so I have WWII generals on the brain.  (PONTIFF and Yamamoto are shout-outs to that book.)  I'll be explaining who or what Patton is in Chapter 4 so stay-tuned...

Thanks for reading!

Reply #5 from GalCiv2 Forums Top

Aren't they clones of military leaders? An excellent read, Cuervojones... Too many good AARs that deserve to be followed are appearing all together...  Not that I'm complaining :P Bravo!

Reply #6 from GalCiv2 Forums Top

Love this one though:

Quoting CuervoJones, reply 2
 
" foretold the Terror that would be wrought across the galaxy at our paws. "
End of CuervoJones's quote
sounds a little incongrous-terror/paws.  Is it just me or are paws a little too cuddly?  That said big cats and bears have them so...

Anyway a great read so far and good scene setting-KUTGW :thumbsup: