NationStates Jolt Archive

"We are as a mewling nation is. Look at us, around this granite table. It is no longer polished, and there's that ugly crack that runs from that end to about the middle, before breaking into a thousand hideous spider webs. That is the state of Cyberutopia. We haven't received or sent a meaningful communication in years! The last thing to come to us was by some nation we haven't heard from in over a century, and even then, the message's contents were roughly equivalent to 'ZOMG!' The message itself is probably radio flotsam anyway, meaning that the nation is very likely no longer in existence."

A voice tried to protest. "But..."

"Shut up. You there, you are the liaison for the Joint Committee of War. The military is another archaic spoke in this wheel that refuses to turn. You are going to inform the Joint Committee that they are all fired. They are to reinstate research and development with one-hundred-and-ten percent funding, and to reopen all of the military academies. As soon as some young, creative military genius is born, put him in one of the vacated positions."

"Just like that? Idiocy!"

"Not idiocy. I've been snowed for years with the claim that Cyberutopia is rife with military genius, so don't step backwards now. Send our prodigies to conquer lands and get some experience. Force them to learn about their strengths and weaknesses and remove the weakest ones. No training exercises -- this is going to be quick, dirty, effective, and real."

"Yes...yes ma'am."

"Then, I want a protocol to refire the Infinity Archive. We've been running on what...fusion power for the past how many decades? I will not be afraid of the tremendous power underneath this god-forsaken island. Once these objectives have been accomplished, we will meet again. And it will be around a new table. Ladies and gentlemen, proud committee members all, we are redefining this nation."

OOC: So, you're basically looking for someone to invade?

The senior technician sipped some more of the rancid, day-old coffee and instantly regretted it. All power in the Redoubt had been rerouted to finishing their project as fast as humanely possible. Unfortunately, hot coffee was not considered a necessity for finishing their first prototype. The technician heartily disagreed.

Redoubt 32 was committed to redesigning the century-old suits of powered armor, and had been given strict guidelines. They were not retrofitting anything, they were told. They were responsible for the creation of an entirely new genre of close infantry support. Their final product was to be between nine and eleven feet tall, weigh no more than three-quarters of a ton, be able to hold its own in ranged and close quarter combat, enhance its user's strength and mobility, withstand significant environmental and hostile damage, be insulated from heat, cold, and NBC, and be fully capable of IFF and neural control. Redoubt 32 had been given the responsibility and the opportunity of a lifetime -- their powered armor would be more than what the Joint Committee of War asked. It would be lithe, kill with grace, a masterpiece of deliberate death dealing.

A surge of excitement roared through the Redoubt as the ancient public announcement system wheezed. The following message was hard to make out, but the meaning was unmistakable. Prototype XPA-01 was operational.

OOC: That's a "yes?"

OOC: Hey Cyber. Its me, well, you might remember this name better. AmandaTheGreat. Hey, what's this all about I would like to join. Let me know what you need. I love rping with you.

*****How about a diplomat from our nation Theodrea. An ambassador, maybe?

The bulky (but supposedly brilliant) professor of archaeology addressed his crack team of graduate students. "We're not looking for the Infinity Archive proper. That would be far too difficult and unnecessary." His eyes momentarily glazed over. "Though I would love to find such a construct..." He cleared his throat and turned as serious gaze he could to his students. "We are going to find the activation matrix for the Archive. We have no idea what this activation matrix looks like or what it does, but it should be peculiar enough to pick out from the surrounding rock. Once the obstacle of finding the activation matrix is cleared--"

"I'll be taking over." The thinner, obviously less bumbling academic behind the professor stepped forwards. "I have my own team of students, and we will then be focusing on how to get the activation matrix to...well...activate. Supposedly, this will awaken an AI dedicated to the Infinity Archive. If the AI's running parameters are still intact over all these years...well...we're all guaranteed a place in the history books."

A rumble of anxious expectations of fame and glory rippled through the assembled students. Meanwhile, the assistant standing further back was just finishing up mentally calling both professors lazy bastards as many times as possible before they finished their speech. The assistant was a graduate student who'd been given a slightly more prestigious position, and an accidental vantage point for formulating a doctrine of bitterness towards his professors.

The two professors smiled at each other, and the archaeological professor turned to the assembly of eager students. "Our week-long time window begins tomorrow at five in the morning. Dinner should be ready by now, so off to the mess hall with you all."

"...blubbering sycophantic fools...irascible slothful imbeciles...a pox upon your sniveling husks of falsified intelligence..."

((HOLY EXCUSE MY LANGUAGE! Hello Amanda! This RP is specially tailored to a friend I've convinced to rejoin NS, but we're both flexible RPers. Being that this thread is a general restarting of my nation, pretty much anything you can come up with could be used. I'm going to be creating lots of characters without names for short term use -- if you want to take control of one or bring in one of your own, you're welcome to. As for the rest of you who are wondering if I'm going to lash out and obliterate some poor youngling nation -- I might, but I have more to do before that question is answered.))

*****How about a diplomat from our nation Theodrea. An ambassador, maybe?
((That'd work for me.))

*tag*

A voice, dulled by travelling through a bulkhead, interrupted a technician's phone call to Anarresa. "Phil! Get off the phone! We're starting energized weapons tests!"

Phil leaned forward to put his hand over the speaker on the comm station before hollering back. "I don't need to be there!"

"Neither do I," the voice responded, "but it's going to be really cool!"

Phil sighed so only he could hear. "Fine, give me a moment!"

Steel-toed footsteps clanked away from the comm room's door, and Phil took his hand off the phone's speaker. Like everything in Redoubt 32, the comm station was ancient. While still having far better range and reception than the phones of a century and a half ago, the most technologically hip of Cyberutopia's populace were now carrying phones this powerful around with neural uplinks, instead of mounting them in their homes. This particular station was too old to have holographic technology implemented, but for once Phil was glad for this -- it meant the liason from Anarresa couldn't see his sleepless face yelling over his shoulder at his irritating co-worker.

"I'm being called away to an observation of a prototype." Phil told the Anarresian. "But I've given you all the information you'll need to send a team of advisors here to assist us with small arms development. Anarresa must know what it's doing, because we never involve outsiders in weapons development otherwise. I'm sure your advisors won't disappoint. Anarresa will, of course, be updated on the small arms development process. I'll leave you to your other duties."

After sitting in the uncomfortable chair for forty-five minutes, Phil needed to stretch. That's exactly what he did, before going to watch the test pilot needlessly chop tank armor to pieces.

Richard McMullen's chair creaked as the 50 year old leaned back and put his feet on his desk, knocking over an empty Chinese food container. Being the Minister of Defense was a joke; he was really nothing more than a sort of advanced lobbyist chosen by the defense industry. However, with Anarresa's current isolationist government, he seldom even lobbied. The military grew at a steady rate and along with it Anarresan military hardware. Everyone was happy, especially Richard.

He found himself disappointed as his blissful daydream was interrupted by a knock on his office door.

"Richard, its Marco. You'd better not be sleeping in there again."

Richard lazily sat up and considered ignoring the Minister of the Interior and continue reading "Free Masons: The Real Enemy of Humanity" but he decided against angering his fellow cabinet members yet again. Dazedly recalling their last threat of taking off his office door completely, Richard stood up and let Minister De Rossi into the room.

"I swear Richard, when was the last time you did anything constructive?" Marco said angrily, "And don't give me that 'my high school history teacher stole my soul' crap either."

"Hey! Its not like I get any work anymore, we haven't been at war for a good 150 years!"

"You could at least come to the cabinet meetings, the only times we ever see is when we storm in here or when we go golfing." Marco replied, visibly annoyed with Richard's ineptitude, "Anyways, the president sent me to get a situation report on your ministry, and I think I have your answer, I'll see ya around then Rich."

The Minister of the Interior began heading towards to open door when Richard exclaimed, "Oh yea! There was that one country that called, what was its name...." he mumbled, "cyker, no......cy, cy, cypertoopia, of course! Cyberutoopia!"

"I'm pretty sure its Cyberutopia Richard"

"Yea whatever, but someone official called me about some sort of help for rifle design or something"

"When was this!?"

"Dunno, probably round noon, I was sleeping so I had Erica handle it"

"You had your assistant handle diplomatic relations with a nation we haven't had contact with in over a century! Are you crazy, she’s there to plan your schedule not run your office!"

"Well I got you an official number to call back. Turns out they're looking for us to send some military advisors and engineers. I did make some arrangements for the team. Hah! I did do something today!"

The Minister of Defense handed Marco a crumpled slip of paper with a sloppily written number and "you will achieve great things in life" printed on it. The dumbfounded Interior minister took the number, gave Richard a perplexed stare and promptly left of office. Feeling rather pleased with himself, Richard sat down in his chair, picked up "Free Masons: The Real Enemy of Humanity," and resumed reading.

The coffee was still bad, and the gathered weapons researchers still groggy, but the tangible sensation of giddy expectation was undeniable. The fifty-plus assembly of technicians, engineers, and scientists were separated from the quarter-mile strip of testing ground by a hardened crystal wall. On the other side, at the far end of the concrete hallway, prowled an anthropomorphic construct reminscient of a hulking, decapitated cougar. The powered suit's silky lines were temporarily ruined by the scattering of "center of gravity" stickers, but were necessary (if only to complete the prototype look).

The short range message to the prototype was broadcast over the public announcement system for the researchers to hear. "Callsign 'Ravager,' do you copy?"

The reply was equally public. "I copy, Control. All systems are green, can I go?"

"You are go, Ravager. Make history."

"Copy that, beginning prepared testing protocol." The transmission ended with a loud clack.

With that, the powered armor arched its back before launching into a full, four-legged sprint down the firing range. After covering approximately half the range, the weaponized construct chopped its speed down and made another broadcast.

"Engaging ranged weapons tests. Autoloaders primed, gyrostabilizers active."

Two panels parallel to the suit's "spine" slid down its back, freeing space for a pair of 20mm smoothbore autocannons to appear and immediately open fire in a long burst. Several of the targets vaporized instantly as the first rounds punched into them, while the rest of the burst walked scorch marks along the wall.

One of the scientists instantly became very excited and began jabbering away about his role in the creation of the ammunition. "We've never tried anything like it before, you see. It's an energy cell that powers a force field, activated upon exiting the barrel. The force field punches through its target, and dissipates with enough force to release the remaining energy in the cell, causing heat intense enough to vaporize carbon and melt through armor."

Another announcement from the test pilot drowned out anything more the scientist might have had to say. "Engaging bipedal mode and entering preliminary anti-armor trials."

The construct reared upwards onto two legs, the autocannons automatically repositioning themselves to shoulder-mounted positions before acquiring a wrecked tank and putting two bursts into the side armor, leaving the side as glowing slag. The construct's powerful legs launched it into the air, and the pilot barely had time to squeeze out that he was beginning close combat trials before the suit had landed on the tank's turret. A three-and-a-half foot blade slipped out of each of the suit's forearms and were engulfed in lances of energy, external manifestations of the power coursing through the blades. The construct sliced the disused barrel off of the tank, simultaneously punching its other arm through the top hatch, mercilessly bisecting the hypothetical tank commander. With unnecessary finesse, the construct flipped off of the tank and powered down.

The test pilot, barely able to keep up with how fast his neural uplink carried him through the trials, reflected the breathless nature of the crowd in his voice. "Woohoo, Control, that was fantastic. Trials completed."

[OOC: TAG of d00m!]

A young woman sat behind a large oak desk starring at the bright screen in front of her on her personal computer.

She tapped her manicured fingertips on the desk.

Tap...tap...tap. The only sound heard in her office room.

Her phone rang and she immediately picked it up. It was her secretary.

The high pitched voice rang out with excitement, "Miss Merritizo. I am excited to tell you that your arrangement with the new government of Cyberutopia will be executed within ten hours,"

"Ten hours! Are you kidding me?"

"Yes, Mam they need our assistance and well the sooner the better."

"For cripes sake that soon. Well, let's get it done. I guess this will be my vacation. I wonder how the weather is there?"

"Everything is taken care of. Your things are packed. Your vehicle will pick you up tonight at eleven and you will fly out then."

"How long is the flight and who am I meeting and where am I staying?"

"Everything is taken care of. Not you to worry."

She calmed down a bit, she normally was this cranky, but she was bored. Maybe now things would change.

She was newly made ambassador to Theodrea and because she was new well, some of the nations would be hesitate to use her yet. But how else would she get experience that she needed.

She was young, a prodigy. She was eighteen years old, but her maturity level was that of a woman in her thirties. However, she looked her age. This would confuse them, but she loved that.

---------------------------Several long hours later----------------
The flight touched down in the land of Cyberutopia. Samantha Merritizo stepped off the plane and took a deep breathe of air.

Her dark chocolate hair flowed in the soft breeze and her green eyes narrowed searching for the person who was to meet her. She had decided to dress a bit formal. She didn't know of their customs or culture and figured it was best to dress professional then not to. She wore an all black fitted two piece suit with a light fuscha colored shirt and same colored pumps.

She called to one of the flight attendants, "Where do I go now?"

Samantha had made major ground with the Cyberutopian government and people the moment she stepped from her plane. Cyberutopians were fond of young, prodigal government officials, having seen many come and go. Most importantly, she wasn't wearing a trench coat, like every other foreigner seemed to insist on doing. This was vocalized to her repeatedly as she was whisked from the airport to Redoubt 32 with great speed and efficiency by a succession of liaisons, all equally generic in appearance and demeanor. It was as if they were all the same person, beating her to every magrail stop before taking her to the next one.

Some, but not all, could be picked out as unarmored Special Operations soldiers, if Samantha knew what to look for. The influence that Special Operations still held over Cyberutopia's day-to-day business was undeniable now; Samantha's first experience with Special Operations was one of the most subdued examples of their meddling. They also watched over all foreigners, both for their safety and to detect spies. Significant numbers of Cyberutopians felt that the greater military presence was just another inquisitorial underline beneath the increasingly autocratic government. But, the regular military and law enforcement couldn't be trusted anymore, so who else was going to step up to the job? Cyberutopia, the fortress island, had always been a bit autocratic, right? What were a few more soldiers?

Samantha reached Redoubt 32 before long -- her diplomatic transportation privileges combined with the already efficient magrail system had practically teleported her here. The Redoubt looked exactly like all the others Samantha had probably glimpsed on her way here -- bristling with weapons to counter any threat, sunken with kinetic field generators, and slathered in armor and reinforced concrete. Since the Redoubt commanded a coastal area, there was a hardened battery of anti-ship coilguns further down the gray, rock-splattered beach to accent the array of smaller bunkers that served as perimeter defense.

A man, probably of scientific disposition judging by the white lab coat currently being savaged by the northern winds, stepped through the foremost gates and smiled at Samantha like she was an old friend. "Miss Merritizo!" He exclaimed.

From his flushed expression, something fantastic had just happened inside, or he was very happy to see her.

Nicole Norton loathed being late. The specialist team had been scheduled for departure a full three days ago. Naturally she had been prepared long before that, being the single most knowledgeable authority on small arms in the Ishukone Corporation, the single most powerful arms manufacturer in Anarresa. Being prompt was part of her job description, if she was being sent anywhere it must be of the utmost importance to the corporation and consequently herself. It was abundantly clear to her that the delays had been caused by the appointment of one man to the R&D team, Richard McMullen. The Minister of Defense had made outlandish transportation requests for the 20 hour trip to Cyberutopia, including, but not limited to: A Jacuzzi onboard the flight, 10 gallons of imported Relic cola with extra THC, accommodations for his 3 Scottish terriers, and 5 fresh meals from the "Rickshaw Corner" Chinese food restaurant 3 blocks from his New Alexandria office. Thanks to the Cabniet's enthusiasm surrounding McMullen's departure, each and every one of his requests were met. From the government's point of view, almost any amount of money would be worth the efficient functioning of the executive branch, if only temporary.

While Nicole could relate to the cabinet's eagerness to kick the Defense Minister out of New Alexandria for a month, she still could not fathom how such a sophomoric, spoiled, and downright stupid man could be given the post of Minister of Defense. As far as she was concerned, McMullen was just a rich gun nut that liked firearms simply for the "blow shit up" factor. He had no appreciation for the dedication, craftsmanship, and precision that went into making a superior firearm. To him, she speculated, guns were simply a way to compensate for his shortcomings, mentally as well as some others. She on the other hand saw firearms for what they really were, works of immense beauty, with value equal to that of the works of the great painters and sculptors of old. Sarah was captivated as much by a Kalashnikov as the Sistine Chapel ceiling.

She tilted her head to the left for a glimpse of Cyberutopia as the pilot announced the final landing cycle. She was 27 years old and stuck in a plane with 24 men, most more than twice her age; what was she doing here? Any further thoughts were quickly erased from her mind as the tires of the aircraft screeched on the Cyberutopian pavement. As the aircraft slowed, Sarah lifted herself up, stretched, and with a long sigh headed towards to door.

"Time to make the men happy" she said silently

Norton and her team were whisked through Cyberutopia's mass transit system, flanked by liasons and SpecOps soldiers. Ambassadors returning from Cyberutopia sometimes complained that it seemed to be a nation of aides, liasons, and bodyguards. The complaint was valid -- diplomatic visitors of note were shuttled to their destination and promptly forgotten about until they wanted to go somewhere else or leave. It was the product of a silent assumption on every Cyberutopian's part that foreigners couldn't handle the law of the streets. The law was simple: so long as you were who you said you were, you were free to do as you pleased.

The Anaressian team were identified and reidentified and rereidentified by their temporary biometric cards, which held all of their genetic, genotypical and phenotypical, information. Along with this, all the members of the team had a tattoo temporarily grafted onto a visible place of their body, which contained code that corresponded to an identical portion of code on their card. It was a simple redundancy system -- the code in the card and tattoo were easy to alter, and there were plenty of tattoo artists that would rewrite the code for a hefty sum. By far the most important information contained on the biometric card was an incredibly specific and discriminating reading of each person's electomagnetic frequency. This reading was the single most important parcel of information checked over and over again by the sensitive scanners positioned at every entrance. No one had yet figured out how to alter a person's electomagnetic field without ruthlessly flaying various important components from the subject's body -- namely skin, muscle, major organs, and bone.

Of course, almost every native Cyberutopian had their card's data transcribed onto a microchip and implanted underneath their skin or attached to a bone, usually close to their tattoo. It was a very cheap and convenient process, though it was not recommended to the Anaressians.

After a neglible amount of travel time, Norton found herself receiving a warm greeting at Redoubt 32, and was quickly assimilated into a mass of researchers and engineers that vehemently shared her love for the art behind weaponry. The Anaressian's first assignment was to introduce themselves to the small arms department and then help however they wished with the production of a new standard infantry rifle. The small arms department of Redoubt 32 was easy to locate, if heavily armored and guarded.