NationStates Jolt Archive

Chief-Minion scrambles up the huge nave of the gothic Throne Hall, the vaulted ceilings disappearing in the shadows whilst huge dimly glowing arched light-panels throw a dark, moody light into the metal and plastic room. He scrambles up the central nave carpet on hands and knees as tradition and decree demands, wading deep in the thick burgundy shag bordered on each side by flourescent track lighting, pulsating like landing lights on a runway up towards the dark figure seated on a throne of shadow. The darkness surrounding the figure engulfs Chief-Minion in a miasma of shadow, a dark aura cunningly contrived by the lighting in the room. The arcane entwined dragons that decorate the columns and cornices of this dark secular cathedral meld into the darkness and become no more until Chief-Minion is alone, in the dark, the world he knew left behind him in the barely lit opposite end of the nave, a sort of faint light in an eldritch tunnel.

"Speak." The voice feared across the Confederacy rumbles from the throne, sound-sensitive spot and area lighting barely dumping a few additional lumens in the red end of the spectrum to form a sepulchural glow centered around the seated speaker, something more subvonsciously noted and felt than actually seen.

"Oh most honored and feared leader, Elected Ruler of the Galactic Confederacy, Supreme Magnate and sole survivor of the Arslychus, inventor of Mass, Grand Admiral of the Pentultimately Powerful Warfleet of the Galactic Confederacy, Grand Marshal of the Infinite Strategic Arsenal of the Galactic Confederacy, annihilator of the Helatrobus, inventor of the R6 Implant, inventor of the electronic ribbon standing-wave field, inventor of the three-D super colossal motion picture, discoverer of the vacuum zones of Teegeeack, my most magnificent and revered Lord Xemu..." The minion pauses to lap some water from the complimentary troph beside the Lord's feet, parched half from the long list of titles and half from the abject terror of kneeling prostrate before one whose word held ultimate sway over the trillions of the Galactic Confederacy.

Only Lord Xemu could possibly invent the concept of 'God,' and he waits politely as his chief minion wets his dry mouth before continuing his report: "Your plan was a success. Operation Incident II was completely successful."

The shade of Lord Xemu leans forward in his throne, fingers shod with metal talons gripping the armrests, greater urgency in his voice; that urgency detected, the lighting system changes the aura to the bright blue of incandescent lightning, flashing in time with the supreme overlord's diction. Each bright burst of light reveals a little more of the great dictator, burning an image onto the retina, giving an impression of what one could call a Pharoic influence before fading into fuzzy indistinctness. "A success? The excess population transported?"

Chief-Minion cowers under the slowly growing storm of light. "Yes, my Lord, on your civilian spaceplanes."

"The bombs lowered?" A little faster, a little brighter.

"And detonated, my Lord. We estimate ninety-eight percent vaporization--"

"The souls? Captured in my electron ribbons? Stored in the vacuum zones?" Talons gripping tighter, the lightstorm strengthening in a rolling crescendo.

"Indeed, my Lord, and they have been successfully imprinted with the R6 Implant in the three-D super colossal motion picture cinemas that you in your infinite wisdom had built for the purpose. The body thetans are ours."

"Outstanding!" A burst of brilliant blue light, illuminating the now-standing Lord Xemu in full--tall, wearing brilliant white robes with gold, red, and blue trim, glittering patterns in the light; a dark, cruel mask of a face hidden in perpetual shadow under an imperial headdress of silver-yellow electrum and brilliant blue lapis lazuli, an angular, massive crown appropriate for such a king. "The Loyal Officers defeated, my opponents destroyed and scattered to the winds..."--his voice sinks to a low, throaty hiss--"the Confederacy is now truly miiiine"

http://img198.echo.cx/img198/6643/img00351td.jpg

The jagged cut through the darkness that serves Lord Xemu as a mouth curls up into a cruel smirk as he sinks back down to his throne, now lit in positively normal soft white office lighting. "Good, good. Arise, my chief minion among sniveling minions. Tell me, what does the instacensus report of my Confederacy now that we have purged the taint of the Loyal Officers and their supporters?"

"Well, my Lord..." Chief-Minion stands up and steps back one pace. "The instacensus reports that, after ensuring that only those who are completely loyal to you escaped the purges on Teegeeack, your most glorious Confederacy now has..." He pauses momentarily, coughing. "Five million citizens."

Xemu's dark, cruel eyes blink. "Five billion, you say?"

"Five million, my Lord."

The undisputed ruler of the Confederacy blinks again, making a soft 'huh' noise as his eyes glance up, running numbers in his head. "Five million. How many people did we kill in Operation Incident II?"

"Approximately thirteen trillion, my Lord."

"Huh." Another blink. "What does this mean for my taxes?"

"Tanked, my Lord." Chief-Minion glances away and quickly makes peace within his thetan, awaiting the wrath of his liege-lord.

Lord Xemu ponders this, lets himself understand it slowly, and sits silently for a moment, taloned hands folded, ghostly, ethereal chin resting on his gloved knuckles. "Right then. Take the thetans we collected in my electronic ribbons and put them into our citizens, a million per citizen. Then charge them taxes on each one."

With gladness in his heart, Chief-Minion falls to his knees as the spectre of his lord's wrath passes over him like a fleeting cloud. "At once, my Lord!"

"Also, Chief-Minion, I am instituting a tax on all foreigners living abroad. Inform all nations to submit tax returns unto me so my auditors can determine their future profitability for when my expanding Confederacy inevitably engulfs them. Go now and fulfill my bidding!"

"At once, my Lord! At once, my Lord!" Chief-Minion replies as he bows and scrapes backwards along the burgundy carpet, leaving the infinitely powerful Lord Xemu to his musings.

This bodes poorly for our recruitment figures. "Chief-Minion, send in the Captain of the Guard on your way out!"

"At once, my Lord!" The minion disappears through the door at the opposite end and is gone.

I'll tell you what you can do with your taxes, *the message then goes into some detail, listing things that are physichally improbable, and athletically difficult, involving Xemus mother, a few household implements, and a dead fish, then it goes down hill from there* understand?

I have a better idea--I will extract them from the powdered bones of your children as I suck their very thetans from their dying carcasses and use them for... ah... something. In time, you too will fall to the might of the Confederacy... eventually... at some point... unless you join me now. With me as liege-lord and you as sniveling slave, I can unlock in you your potential super powers of infinity for the relatively miniscule cost of absolute allegiance and a pittance of a tax (if you are rich). The mystery and glory of my dianetics is not for the feeble of mind or the light of wallet.

~Lord Xemu

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"So we have a billion passenger spaceplanes with no pilots?" Lord Xemu frowns.

Guard-Captain nods fearfully. "Yes, my Lord."

"Are you a qualified spaceplane pilot?" A voice as hard and sharp as slivers of ice.

The Captain of the Guard of the Confederacy flips through his list of credentials. He has lived long and served well, and has done many things in his time. "Yes, sir."

"Bah. Then you live. How about our military spaceplanes?"

"The military was almost completely controlled by the Loyal Guard, my Lord. Only their trust of psychiatrists and their duty to paying the Confederacy's income tax was greater than their loyalty to the precepts of the democratic"--the word comes as a sneer, as it always should in Xemu's presence--"Loyal Guard."

"Hm. I command your silence on this matter, minion." Xemu folds his arms and leans back into his throne. "The unstoppable might of the Confederacy, my Confederacy, will certainly bring entire universes under my sway given time, even if I do not willfully choose that time to be now. That is the word, the will, of your Lord Xemu."

"At once, my Lord!"

OOC: If no one got this, this is a reference to Scientology, Tom Cruise and John Travolta are Scientologists. (*cough*NUTCASES!*cough*)

I have a better idea--I will extract them from the powdered bones of your children as I suck their very thetans from their dying carcasses and use them for... ah... something. In time, you too will fall to the might of the Confederacy... eventually... at some point... unless you join me now. With me as liege-lord and you as sniveling slave, I can unlock in you your potential super powers of infinity for the relatively miniscule cost of absolute allegiance and a pittance of a tax (if you are rich). The mystery and glory of my dianetics is not for the feeble of mind or the light of wallet.

~Lord Xemu

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"So we have a billion passenger spaceplanes with no pilots?" Lord Xemu frowns.

Guard-Captain nods fearfully. "Yes, my Lord."

"Are you a qualified spaceplane pilot?" A voice as hard and sharp as slivers of ice.

The Captain of the Guard of the Confederacy flips through his list of credentials. He has lived long and served well, and has done many things in his time. "Yes, sir."

"Bah. Then you live. How about our military spaceplanes?"

"The military was almost completely controlled by the Loyal Guard, my Lord. Only their trust of psychiatrists and their duty to paying the Confederacy's income tax was greater than their loyalty to the precepts of the democratic"--the word comes as a sneer, as it always should in Xemu's presence--"Loyal Guard."

"Hm. I command your silence on this matter, minion." Xemu folds his arms and leans back into his throne. "The unstoppable might of the Confederacy, my Confederacy, will certainly bring entire universes under my sway given time, even if I do not willfully choose that time to be now. That is the word, the will, of your Lord Xemu."

"At once, my Lord!"

OOC: I like you kid, but I'm going to have to deal with you in a less than friendly manner, you got guts, and you write well, goo for you.

IC:

I think that the Dominion shall remain autonomous, thank you.

OOC: If no one got this, this is a reference to Scientology, Tom Cruise and John Travolta are Scientologists. (*cough*NUTCASES!*cough*)

OOC: I got it(the scientology part), but it was too choice to pass up the opportunity to uase my "household implements and a dead fish" line, I've been waiting a week to use that.

OOC: I like you kid, but I'm going to have to deal with you in a less than friendly manner, you got guts, and you write well, goo for you.

IC:

I think that the Dominion shall remain autonomous, thank you.
For now, because I will you to be. Later, however... well, there are those who say that the ineffable will of Lord Xemu is fickle. I then have these people brutally murdered and use the petulant, hideous wails of their thetans--perhaps 'souls' is more commonly known to you?--to sing me to sleep. Suffice to say that my will is indeed infinite and uncomprehendable by mere mortals and that I grant you reprieve from my wrath for the time being, pending a time in my plan where said reprieve can be retracted without warning nor reason given.

~Lord Xemu

OOC: Aww, that's nice o' ya. ^_^

For now, because I will you to be. Later, however... well, there are those who say that the ineffable will of Lord Xemu is fickle. I then have these people brutally murdered and use the petulant, hideous wails of their thetans--perhaps 'souls' is more commonly known to you?--to sing me to sleep. Suffice to say that my will is indeed infinite and uncomprehendable by mere mortals and that I grant you reprieve from my wrath for the time being, pending a time in my plan where said reprieve can be retracted without warning nor reason given.

~Lord Xemu

OOC: Aww, that's nice o' ya. ^_^

Beware the call of Chaos Xemu, we are more than you can possibly comprehend, you have been warned.

OOC: I'm formally inviting you to join the AoN in FT RPing, you can even move into our "Land of Chill" Region, you're crazy enough that you'll fit right in.

The message from the great and glorious Lord Xemu was processed in the customary fashion.

First it was translated into Hieroglyphics, then into several seemingly pointless ‘goa’uld dialects’ as it passed through the offices of numerous nomarchs, Overseers, and to the office of the distinguished personage of Viceroy the Divine Overseer and Director of Holy Communications with Lesser and Heathen Realms Gapn. He finally read the message, and considered the merits of personally presenting it to the Great Creator of All Things himself.

The message was shuffled down again, through the ranks of Overseers and Nomarchs, and from there into the clergy. The clergy were good for this sort of thing.

----

The Grand Holy Balcony of Lord Atum’s vast and unsafe palace was as ever, open to the world, and from it, the Creator of All Things could see the procession of priests being let through the lowest of the Seven Tiers of Holy Steps leading to the palace. This he had come to learn, was how his inept and cowardly minions reported bad news. They sent delegations of expendables.

Clouds of incense covered the delegation as they sang hymns of holy praise upon entering the most holy of holy palaces. The journey up the many fold stairways was long and arduous, and they passed many slaves who toiled in the burning midday sun of Mnewer to keep the lawn and gardens of the palace watered, at, of course, the points of the fearsome blast staves of the golden armoured palace guard.

Such shows of suffering were pleasing to the more sadistic side of Atum’s being, and he continued to watch the procession as one by one, its lesser members fell by the wayside on the steps of the Great and Holy Palace and were left behind to suffer from heatstroke and dehydration.

Many hours later, in the Divine Court of Atum and his Servants, the remaining priests prostrated themselves on the floor before the golden throne occupied by the black-cloaked being.

“Oh Mighty and Glorious Creator God of Memphis and Mnewer, we humbly beseech You in Your Noble Wisdom to hear our prayer and receive our offerings.”

One of their number slid a golden casket filled with diamonds forwards, and Atum waved a hand dismissively, resulting in its expedient removal by the Palace Guard.

“Oh Mighy and Glorious Creator of All Things, we pray that You look kindly upon us as we deliver to You the message we were instructed to bear unto You from Your Divine Servants.”

He made, as ever, no promises to his worshippers. “Speak!” he commanded.

The shaven headed priest who had drawn the short straw stood, legs trembling beneath his cassock, as he held out and unwound a scroll, “Oh Mighty God, we are commanded to bring to Your attention the following message from the barbaric Lord of Heathens, Xemu:

“The Infidel Lord Xemu defiantly commands that You submit unto him some piece of documentation that is known as a return, upon tax,” the blood slowly drained from the priest’s face as he continued reading from the document, “he demands this in order that he may assess Your Divine Domain for the time when he insolently claims that he will triumph over You…”

The priest collapsed to the floor, “Forgive me! The sin is not mine but that of this Xemu…”

Atum leaned forwards in his throne, and made a noise that sounded like shattered fragments of limestone being ground in a leather bag. It took a few moments for the terrified priests to realise that their God was in fact, laughing.

“Record,” Atum said, “the following.”

“By the Word of Lord Atum, Creator of All Things, God of Memphis and Mnewer, Supreme Divinity over lesser divinities, Rightful ruler of the Cosmos, Lord of one hundred worlds and sovereign owner of all whose ears this message falls upon.

“Cease this insolence and refrain from further brazenness, and you may be permitted to remain as an existing being, continue this insubordination and impudence and you will imperil yourself.

“This is the Will of Atum, Thy One, True God.”

Due to the unfortunate (to put it obscenely mildly) staffing difficulties of the Confederacy at the moment, Lord Xemu himself is taking his own calls. Now that the average population of the seventy-odd planets of the Confederacy has dropped precipitously from 160 billion to around seventy thousand, one could not exactly say that the thirty-star spanning Galactic Confederacy has anything near a labor glut.

If nothing else, Lord Xemu muses to himself, I finally fixed the unemployment problem. Take that, "Hector Xeblapheron's Economics Hour." Didn't like my economic plan... who's a body thetan now, huh? Creep. Going through the displayed results of his electronic correspondence on a system that looks remarkably like a 1960s beige dumb-terminal hooked to an equally 1960s computer mainframe, albeit ludicrously more powerful than any of those pitiful toys that no more deserve to be called 'computers' than peashooters should be called artillery pieces, he comes to Lord Atum's response to his call for taxing all foreigners living abroad.

For the first time in his infinity, he gets an odd sense of kinship. Still, calling him, the great and powerful Lord Xemu insolent was but the highest order of insolence, which demands immediate and swift retribution from the skies just like that 'God' thing that Xemu invented... wait... God... aha, one who has already been implanted with erroneous data! This indeed would be a boon, for Lord Xemu needs... time, and it is with this in mind that he taps out a response on his beige keyboard with off-white keys.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The Elected Ruler of the Galactic Confederacy, Supreme Magnate and sole survivor of the Arslychus, inventor of Mass, Grand Admiral of the Pentultimately Powerful Warfleet of the Galactic Confederacy, Grand Marshal of the Infinite Strategic Arsenal of the Galactic Confederacy, annihilator of the Helatrobus, inventor of the R6 Implant, inventor of the electronic ribbon standing-wave field, inventor of the three-D super colossal motion picture, inventor of the very concept of God, discoverer of the vacuum zones of Teegeeack, the most magnificent and revered Lord Xemu delivers forth his decree unto you:

Luckily for me, Lord Atum, I read your message rather than heard it--for it truly would be an assault upon nature itself--the very nature I created--for such a one as I, the great Lord Xemu, to be held in bondage to one even as worthy as yourself, Lord Atum. Still, I speak naught but truth: there is no resistance to the will of Xemu. It is by my word that trillions have died, and it is by my decree that trillions more shall live. I am feeling particularly magnanamous and thus will allow you your harmless title of 'God' and 'Divinity' and such, for it was I who invented and implanted the very concept of this 'God' thing into the boundless thetans of this universe. You too show signs of my dominance by this; still, your spirit impresses me and I therefore decree that you are, for now, exempt from taxation. Someday, however, when my Confederacy inevitably takes you and yours into its protective embrace through the supreme power of its feats of arms, I will personally remove the body thetans from you and, purified as you will become, teach you the superpowers of infinity inherent within your own pure theta.

Until that day, I am now and forever shall be,

~Lord Xemu

OOC:

Thanks Mini; I may take you up on that.

Due to the unfortunate (to put it obscenely mildly) staffing difficulties of the Confederacy at the moment, Lord Xemu himself is taking his own calls. Now that the average population of the seventy-odd planets of the Confederacy has dropped precipitously from 160 billion to around seventy thousand, one could not exactly say that the thirty-star spanning Galactic Confederacy has anything near a labor glut.

If nothing else, Lord Xemu muses to himself, I finally fixed the unemployment problem. Take that, "Hector Xeblapheron's Economics Hour." Didn't like my economic plan... who's a body thetan now, huh? Creep. Going through the displayed results of his electronic correspondence on a system that looks remarkably like a 1960s beige dumb-terminal hooked to an equally 1960s computer mainframe, albeit ludicrously more powerful than any of those pitiful toys that no more deserve to be called 'computers' than peashooters should be called artillery pieces, he comes to Lord Atum's response to his call for taxing all foreigners living abroad.

For the first time in his infinity, he gets an odd sense of kinship. Still, calling him, the great and powerful Lord Xemu insolent was but the highest order of insolence, which demands immediate and swift retribution from the skies just like that 'God' thing that Xemu invented... wait... God... aha, one who has already been implanted with erroneous data! This indeed would be a boon, for Lord Xemu needs... time, and it is with this in mind that he taps out a response on his beige keyboard with off-white keys.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The Elected Ruler of the Galactic Confederacy, Supreme Magnate and sole survivor of the Arslychus, inventor of Mass, Grand Admiral of the Pentultimately Powerful Warfleet of the Galactic Confederacy, Grand Marshal of the Infinite Strategic Arsenal of the Galactic Confederacy, annihilator of the Helatrobus, inventor of the R6 Implant, inventor of the electronic ribbon standing-wave field, inventor of the three-D super colossal motion picture, inventor of the very concept of God, discoverer of the vacuum zones of Teegeeack, the most magnificent and revered Lord Xemu delivers forth his decree unto you:

Luckily for me, Lord Atum, I read your message rather than heard it--for it truly would be an assault upon nature itself--the very nature I created--for such a one as I, the great Lord Xemu, to be held in bondage to one even as worthy as yourself, Lord Atum. Still, I speak naught but truth: there is no resistance to the will of Xemu. It is by my word that trillions have died, and it is by my decree that trillions more shall live. I am feeling particularly magnanamous and thus will allow you your harmless title of 'God' and 'Divinity' and such, for it was I who invented and implanted the very concept of this 'God' thing into the boundless thetans of this universe. You too show signs of my dominance by this; still, your spirit impresses me and I therefore decree that you are, for now, exempt from taxation. Someday, however, when my Confederacy inevitably takes you and yours into its protective embrace through the supreme power of its feats of arms, I will personally remove the body thetans from you and, purified as you will become, teach you the superpowers of infinity inherent within your own pure theta.

Until that day, I am now and forever shall be,

~Lord Xemu

OOC:

Thanks Mini; I may take you up on that.


OOC: I think you'll fit right in here, you have a certain quality of humor about your writing that will make you get along here just fine.

Mr. Xemu,

Your request for financial aid has been processed. The following funds have been allocated to you and are being sent by robot courier in cash:

16 Allanean Dollars
750 World Dollars
One Ephebian Half-Dong

May you have as much luck finding a use for it as we have.

Fenrir Giffaraderson
Minion Third Class, Department Of Finance, Production Directorate
Imperial Union of Cetaganda

We are sorry but your request to control the Shadow Realm of Phalanix has been denied. If you hae any problems please take a number, go to hell, and talk to customer service.
Thank you.

Mr. Xemu,

Your request for financial aid has been processed. The following funds have been allocated to you and are being sent by robot courier in cash:

16 Allanean Dollars
750 World Dollars
One Ephebian Half-Dong

May you have as much luck finding a use for it as we have.

Fenrir Giffaraderson
Minion Third Class, Department Of Finance, Production Directorate
Imperial Union of CetagandaYour loyalty to the Confederacy will not be forgotten. Yours will not be among the thetans untimely ripped from their weak meaty corporeality and made to sing me my bedtime stories... the time for which draws near. I hope they sing lays about my victories over the Helatrobus... either that or generic screaming in pain and misery. I am not a picky ruler.

~Lord Xemu, with the appropriately dignified love of a master to his complete and utter subject

We are sorry but your request to control the Shadow Realm of Phalanix has been denied. If you hae any problems please take a number, go to hell, and talk to customer service.
Thank you.Y'kno, one coul' as leas' hope 'hat all y'all coul' be a'leas' a bi' more... cree-ative in yer rejecshuns of tha' grea'a'powful Lor' Xemu. We'll a-steamrow ya an' all such stuff with owa ahmies and whano' once we ge'a-ken to.

~Negative-Responder, Eleventh Class Sniveling Minion, delegated as Responder to Messages Not Important Enough to Demand Lord Xemu's Own Response by Lord Xemu himself

Otagia has decided to generously contribute one Otagian ha'penny to Lord Xemu for the development of his war campaign.

Otagia has decided to generously contribute one Otagian ha'penny to Lord Xemu for the development of his war campaign.Your acknowledgement of my greater-than-divine will is noted and will be someday paid back fully one-hundred-fold, at an unspecified point in the future that I will my great Galactic Confederacy fully willing and able to reward you for your noble duty to the ultimate Order of the Cosmos.

~Lord Xemu

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"My Lord, the seals on the cloning technologies forbidden by the Loyal Guard have been broken and our scientist is currently investigating how best to implement it on a greater scale."

Lord Xemu nods, the long flaps of segmented electrum and lapis lazuli on his headdress bending slightly with the movement, then thinks for a moment, tapping one electrum claw on one leather-gloved finger idly on the burnished steel of his throne. Tick tick tick tick. "You do mean scientists, plural, yes, my chief minion?"

Chief-Minion backs away another step, cringing appropriately as is standard for denying a correction by the great and all-powerful Lord Xemu. "No, my infinite Lord... it is unfortunate and I am unworthy to bring you such ill tidings as that when I say that I indeed mean 'scientist' in the form of singular, that is to say that the great Confederacy currently has one dedicated scientist that truly lives up to all the good and noble connotations that our language has assigned to that name."

Xemu continues to tap his talon against the end of the armrest. Tick tick tick tick tick.

"You inevitably see and so I only repeat for clarity in my own mind, that your unworthy subject may believe himself slightly understanding of the situation, that most of the purported intelligentsia of the Confederacy--if it could indeed be called that, for their so-called intelligence must have been small indeed if they could not see the glorious benefits of living under your reign--were supporters of the Local Guard and thus liquidated in your infinite omniscience in Operation Incident II."

"Right. Yes." Tick tick tick tick tick. "Tell me once he gets it running, minion. Now go."

"At once, my Lord!"

Watching Chief-Minion waddle out quickly, Lord Xemu sighs internally. Right. We'll have to clone and hypnotrain more scientists, then.

This is... inconvenient. Lord Xemu suppresses both a sigh and the urge to rub his shadowy, ethereal dark face with one gloved hand. "Your Lord Xemu demands you repeat yourself, my sniveling minion."

Thirtieth-class Sniveling Minion Mort Hackenback--so nameless in his duties he actually has a birth name in Lord Xemu's Glorious New Position-Based Naming Scheme for the Great Order--cowers just a little bit more, twisting the brim of his battered felt hat in his clenched fists. "Well... ah... my great and allmighty Lord Xemu, me and some of the other... guy... at the office were around the water cooler and we thought that maybe it'd be nice if... well..."

Lord Xemu attempts a commanding bellow, complete with a shock of sudden blue lighting... "Get on with it." All that comes out is a disgruntled mutter and a sort of soft green pallor added, which in hindsight works too.

"Now that there's less people and all... well... our votes would count more..."

This is sufficiently irking to goad Xemu into a proper authoritarian howl. "VOTES?!" Flash of electric blue brilliance, leaving a ghostly phosphorescence on the back of Mort's retinas.

The sniveling minion ducks at the light and sound, trying to cower within himself, his voice barely a whisper. "Err... yes, my Lord Xemu sir. Voting in the Confederacy used to be a joke... what's my vote in thirteen trillion... but now it'd actually almost mean something. If you let it. My Lord."

Lord Xemu slumps back onto his steel throne, defeated again with the sheer... inconvenient unpleasantness of this situation. "Could you be convinced to change your mind, as my omnipotent will dictates that you be offered the chance before I decide with my omniscient wisdom on whether it is worth convincing you otherwise with the boundless force my word doth command?"

Hackenback parses for a moment, then shakes his head jerkily as he stammers: "N-n-n-no, my Lord."

Lord Xemu stands suddenly again, stomping the marble dais his throne is elevated upon with a thick boot. "CHIEF-MINION, TAKE THIS SNIVELLING WRETCH AWAY TO BE REPROGRAMMED!"

From the opposite end of the cavernous nave, the portly and pale Chief-Minion calls back, hands cupped to mouth: "My most humble apologies, my infinite Lord Xemu, but whilst we have many psychiatrists with the talent I must say that in your infinite and glorious omniscience we, your humble slaves, expended all of our psychotropic drugs in Operation Incident II. All the truth serum, all the stimulants, depressants, all the hallucinogens, and all the alcohol, my great Lord Xemu."

"All the alcohol?!" Shock replaced with more heroic command: "IT IS AS I WILLED. SEE, SNIVELING RAT, HOW YOUR LAST HOPE FOR SURVIVAL WAS CRUSHED. CHIEF-MINION," Xemu says with a cruel sneer, but an arm raised only half-heartedly "FETCH... The... executioner." Damn it, the last thing I need to do is kill more people.

Echoing from afar comes the response: "Purged, my Lord!"

The great Lord of the Confederacy collapses back into his throne, arms crossed, head bowed in thought. "Right. Get me the axe."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

GALACTIC CONFEDERACY NEWS - ALL HAIL LORD XEMU

The rather '60s anchorman, suit with a tie a smidgen too wide yet an aged face that exudes confidence, reads inflectionlessly from his bulletin sheet. "Lord Xemu announced earlier today that he will be personally demonstrating his infinite strength with the execution of one Thirtieth-Class Sniveling Minion Mort Hackenback in public today by beheading. This should happen later today, at around fifteen-hundred..."--he checks his watch--"and so GCN will have a reporter on the scene if I leave right now. That was the noon edition of the news; we will be back again live at fifteen-hundred for exclusive coverage of the execution. All hail Lord Xemu."

Nodding, he stands up, arranges the sheets of paper on his desk just so, adjusts his tie, and doesn't quite run off-camera. "Hey," the boom mike picks up, adding a hollow sound of distance, "call down to the garage and tell him to have the van started! We can go ten trillion light years a day but the delays at the spaceports are horrid!" The camera shakes and pans off-target, probably from the cameraman hopping off his dolly and going off to do as he was told.

GALACTIC CONFEDERACY NEWS - ALL HAIL LORD XEMU

The confident-looking older anchorman adjusts his tie under his blue sports coat, appropriate professional attire for the summer mid-afternoon heat. "This is Tenth-Class Sniveling Minion News-Anchorman reporting from just outside the Citadel of Lords, in Capital City on Capital World of the Confederacy. As you can see behind me," he says into the camera, drawing attention to the easily two-meter-plus tall Lord Xemu, long white, red, and gold robes flapping in the breeze, "Lord Xemu is preparing to execute the traitorous Thirtieth-Class Sniveling Minion Mort Hackenback."

Chief-Minion staggers up to Lord Xemu's side; he can just barely be heard to say, through the rush of wind on the microphone, that he has delivered as per Lord Xemu's infinitely wise orders the heaviest axe in the Confederacy. Snarling, Lord Xemu sweeps his arm to swipe the axe away from his head sycophant, then jerks himself around as the axe's inertia exceeds his expectations. "I WILL," Lord Xemu says in a clear, booming voice, "THAT THIS AXE IS TOO HEAVY FOR SUCH A CRETIN. HE IS NOT WORTHY TO BE KILLED BY AN AXE SO HEAVY. SO SAY I."

The portly man nods, seems to stifle a sigh, and slowly drags the axe away, stopped halfway in his effort by a quietly whispered command from Lord Xemu. Nodding again, he staggers offscreen. Seeing the camera for the first time, the Lord of the Galactic Confederacy seems to start for a moment, then looks around slowly, imperiously. "BRING ME THE EXECUTIONEE."

Chief-Minion waddles back across the screen for an instant, then slowly pushes forward a squeaking wooden cart with Mort trussed up in its bed looking distinctly uncomfortable but apparently taking it well, bound and gagged. Pausing a moment to pant in his own heavy, hot robes, Chief-Minion works out his arms and waddles back from whence he came while Lord Xemu steps forward to loom over his victim. "THIS LITTLE WRETCH OF A SUBHUMAN DARED TO OPPOSE MY HEGEMONY. HE WILL SUFFER MY ETERNAL AND INEFFABLE WRATH, AND EVERY ATOM OF HIS BEING WILL BE CRUSHED UNDER MY UNENDING WILL."

Returning with a smaller axe about half the volume of the previous one, Chief-Minion more-or-less presents it to Lord Xemu with additional apparent cowering due to his fatigue while the Lord takes up the axe and hefts it experimentally.

"This is it," the reporter says, turning from the scene back to the camera, "the moment that our great Lord Xemu wished you all to see so you could..." He squints, lips gently mouthing words as his eyes flick from right to left. "...fear... his inevitable... wrath to... cowards and... traitors."

Mort, unable to see anything of what Lord Xemu is doing, wiggles his eyebrows at the camera good-naturedly in one last act of defiance as the infinite supreme confederate Lord hefts the axe and swings it down in one heavy blow, the wood of the cart splintering with finality as the heavy steel tool slams down...

...into his shoulder. Eyes going wide, Mort bites through the rope binding his mouth with an animal yell.

"Shit," Lord Xemu hisses under his breath as he heaves to pull the axe back up, wiggling it to unembed it from the cart and what's left of Mort's clavicle. "Err... LORD XEMU WILLS YOU SUFFER MORE, CRETIN!" He brings the axe down again in a slightly less mighty smash, this time cleanly missing Mort's writhing body by overextending and bringing the head down in front of Mort's neck. "FEAR FOR YOUR LIFE!" Bringing the axe back up and letting it come down again almost weakly, he manages to get his victim's neck this time but certainly doesn't make it through. "BLEED FOR YOUR CRIMES AGAINST THE CONFEDERACY!"

News-Anchorman turns back to the camera. "Stay tuned, folks... this may take a while..."