NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: If you come in, it's either as a single ship, a freighter fleet, or a single character. No OMGZISAVEZTEHDAYSWITMAGICWICHISGUD, here, it'd spoil the RP.

Children cried. With the new regime, many problems were occuring. The installation of lower taxes meant more money to spend, but no free food. Unfortunately, this also meant riots.

Kana, a child of eight, a Cryesslian, a humanoid, blue-skinned, four-armed creature, cried. Her stomach, or, what humans would call a stomach, ached for the lack of food. The crystal-organics that were grown in abundance on Shalla had not been imported for three days, and Crysellains could not go without food for more than a week, or risk almost certain death. A child had perhaps four days, if they were lucky...

Kryndal City Complex TTX09, 12 hours later

The scene, as it was, was a smashed, burning set of, well, they certainly weren't buildings any more. The traders who had not found it profitable to import food were the cause of this, although not the primary one.

Blood trickled out from an alleyway, as a low moan echoed from a dying man, his legs torn off, and simply left there to die. Hundreds of bodies littered the streets, their faces fused into grotesque expressions, by the melterifles, that, under the new regime, had been legalized. Although it was a democratic one, the will of the people was, perhaps, not always the best thing to follow.

Rioters poured out of a nearby building, running towards the Zaeren consulate, waving rifles, energy slings, and old-fashioned kinetic weaponry, among otherrs. Some simply carried sharpened metal poles, and many carried plasma slicers, used for work.

In this, the worst side of Yittik nature came out, for they were ever a warlike people, and even volatile humans could not match their aggresiveness, let alone their chitinous armour plating, along with their deadly speed and claws.

In this dark, well, actually, it was rather sunny, the red sun of Kryndal II shining down strongly on the populace, the DomeFilter keeping out all the nasty radiation, and the extreme heat, but letting in the dull light, which was very dull, even in the noon.

The Vice-Admiral, a military man, having being forcibly taken off duty, in light of his age, had declared martial law. Unfortunately, with a garrison of two hundred soldiers, and seven hundred law enforcement officers, in a city of almost six million, it really didn't do any good. All they'd managed to do is lose half their number, and then retreat, to defend the Crysallar Shipyards HQ, in which they were all currently trapped. With no other option, the VA had decided to let his pride drop, and call for outside help, as the Ruling Council had been sitting in deliberation for almost a week, and it was doubtful that they'd come to a decision anytime soon.

He cleared his throat, then spoke, slowly and clearly, the message he was about to say auto-recording itself into FTL broadcasting, which was somewhat cumbersome, as it took large amounts of energy, but was near-instantaenous, and was easy to pick up.

Greetings, nations of the universe. In light of a recent famine, I humbly request that whatever merchants you may have bring their goods here, as the people are rich, but there is no food, due to the recent damaging of a Truespace lane, and the possible danger of pirates. Indeed, the good people here are willing to pay many times more than what food is worth, for we are all starving [Information of species and food required transmitted], and the dome itself is threatened by howling mobs. Indeed, if you would be willing to bring your goods here, I can ensure safety of a single selling zone, as well as vast profits. I beseech you, bring your merchandise here, so that we may live!

Suddenly, the HMS OMGZISAVEZTEHDAYSWITMAGICWICHISGUD mysteriously arrived near the planet after travelling instantly from one side of the galaxy to the other. It fired off several pods filled with enough food to feed the entire population of the planet for the next three centuries, fired a few shots at some other ships for no apparent reason, and then disappeared once again to mess up a dozen other RPs.

TAG, in other words. :p

Minister of Agriculture Andrew Larkin spent half of his time signing papers and filling out reports in his elegant, mahogany-rich office, overlooking the drab, rainy scene of New London. The other half was spent in parliament, listening to proposed bills, arguing with the Shadow Agriculture Minister who decried bio-domes and genetic foods as ‘evil’ and called for Cambridge to be converted into a giant farm. What little spare time he had was precious to him, and although he typically used it to grab a bite to eat and read a book – his current favourite being ‘Arguments the Cosmos’ by a famous Bretonian author – today, for some reason, he chose to read the newsnets.

Which was an odd choice for someone in a position to actually make the news. He rarely chose to read them. These days the newsnets had become overrun with tabloid networks, focussing on celebrity scandals and trying their hardest to convince people that the naked holographs they had of the ever-lovely Queen Carina were genuine, despite them being proven as fakes. On the odd occasions when they did actually have some genuine news, devoid of lies or bias, it was either unimportant or he missed it. Seeing as he could get his news from official sources rather than relying on this unreliable network, he wondered why he ever looked at the newsnets at all.

Today, however, was somewhat different. Intercepted transmissions from aliens? Food shortages? Pirates? Mobs? Though it sounded like a typical day in the Dublin system, it was infrequent to hear of such things from the outside world. He wondered why nobody had told him…

As though reading his mind, his office’s intercom buzzed and his secretary’s voice announced; “Sir, you are being called into the Commons for an emergency debate.”

Larkin sighed. “Yes, Sharon, thank you.” He stood from his red leather chair and stretched, grabbing his jacket as he paced out of his office. First he had to make sure they had enough food to help, if need be…



“If I were you I would suggest Rochester does some work with that intelligence network of his,” Larkin sneered at the Minister of Defence as he entered the House of Commons to join with a bustling crowd of ministers who looked for their places. “I had to find out about this intercepted alien transmission from the newsnet. I saw three naked women before I noticed this story!”

“Funny,” the Defence Minister snorted, rubbing his belly mockingly. “Try telling that joke to the starving poor people on Leeds, see if it lightens their mood a bit. Take their mind off the fact that we don’t have enough food for them!”

“Well you know as well as I do that we would have fed them long ago if it weren’t for pirates intercepting the relief ships,” Larkin smiled. “It would be nice if someone could do something about those.” The Defence Minister simply glared at him as he sat down a few seats away.

“ORDER! We shall have order in the house!” the speaker called from a raised platform at the end of the chamber. Ministers hurried to find their places in the series of corrugated seats, looking straight at him as they were comfortable. “Prime Minister Jacobi has the stand.”

A young-ish man in an elegant red-and-white suit stood up and bowed his head to the speaker, stepping up to a raised platform between the two rows of seats. One side was home to the ruling party of the time, the other side was home to the main opposition party. Other parties and independents resided in some seats further away, at the far end opposite the speaker’s podium. All faced forward and eyed the Prime Minister cautiously, regardless of affiliation.

“Thank you Mr. Speaker. Some of you may be aware of a developing situation in the Kryndal system,” Jacobi said, pushing aside a strand of black hair that hung over his forehead and tickled his face. “For those that have not yet heard of it, Admiral Rochester will debrief you on what has transpired thus far. Admiral?”

Jacobi looked around as a tall, burly middle-aged man entered the room. He wore a red and white uniform with a tall hat reminiscent of Ancient British ‘woodentop’ police officers, with a small glass visor just covering his eyes. His jacket had large, padded shoulders, glistening golden medals hooked to his left breast, and a golden belt wrapped tightly around is waist.

As he clomped across the wooden floor with his big, heavy leather uniform boots towards the central podium he removed his hat to reveal some black-grey hair, kept as neat as any military officer would expect from the Chief of Strategic Operations for the entire Armed Forces.

“Thank you sir,” the Admiral said to the Prime Minister as he stepped up to the microphone. “At 0219 hours a transmission was intercepted on the far-side end of the Alpha-Epsilon jump gate network – by media monitoring posts. It seems as though they have been scrambling all incoming transmissions so that only they can receive them – it gives them an automatic exclusive to foreign news, and at the same time interferes with our own monitoring capabilities. Rest assured this was done without our knowledge and will be dealt with now that it has been uncovered. This transmission indicated that an emergency situation on Kryndal… 2, I believe it was, has arisen and requires urgent attention. Some sort of riot has caused severe damage and casualties to the population and has lead to a food shortage. Without outside aid it seems likely that the death toll will rise exponentially before a domestic solution can be reached.”

He reached up and touched a panel on the wooden podium. A sheet of glass dropped silently from the roof and came into position just in front of him. He reached up to it and touched the corner, and the sheet illuminated, displaying images of alien species, text descriptions and several paragraphs of similar information. Ah, the miracle of micro-optics.

“As you can see, however, the problem may come from unique food requirements,” Rochester continued. “Although not particularly detailed, the transmission did contain enough information to alert us to the fact that we don’t have what they need – whatever these ‘crystal-organics’ are probably can’t be obtained from any of our farms. From what I can tell, we have three options on this point – find a sample of these crystal organics and take it to Cambridge to see if can be reproduced artificially. Or, find a natural source of these crystal organics and harvest enough to make a difference. Or finally, take them steak and chips and hope they can live off it. We also have synthetic nutrient packs that are used primarily as rations on ships which may be of use, and we have plenty of those.
“More relevant to my role here, I have also set in motion orders to withdraw three battleships from duty ready for deployment to any peacekeeping operations you may feel obliged to assist in. I know how much you politicians enjoy doing things without telling the people responsible for making them happen before it’s too late, so I came prepared.”

“Thank you, Admiral,” the speaker said, irritated. The Admiral nodded and performed a salute to the House, before stepping down and taking a guest seat nearby. The Prime Minister stepped up once again.

“Thank you Admiral Rochester,” Jacobi nodded. “As a government claiming to be one of compassion, and without discrimination or malice, I see no alternative but to assist these people. They may not be Bretonian, but we are in a position to assist those who need help, and we would be cruel not to. Minister Larkin assures me that we will not severely impact our own population by sparing them emergency food supplies, and I would agree with Admiral Rochester when he suggests we should offer martial assistance to try and stabilise the area – otherwise no amount of humanitarian assistance will keep them alive. But this cannot happen without your support – so I ask you to vote in favour of these plans.”

Jacobi nodded his head at various Ministers and stepped down, taking his seat.



The following morning, votes were counted – 270 seats to 30 in favour of offering humanitarian aid to the people of Kryndal, and 187 to 113 in favour of offering martial assistance to try and keep the peace. So it was that the cry for help was answered:



http://photobucket.com/albums/v248/MattLever/Bretonia/th_banner.gif
The Constitutional Monarchy of Bretonia



To the government of the nation of Hyperspace Travel; the Government of the Constitutional Monarchy of Bretonia acknowledges your request for humanitarian assistance and is willing to make the following offers:


Humanitarian aid in the form of natural foodstuffs, fresh drinking water, medicine and basic amenities can and will be made available for your people, and can be transported within the week by civilian merchantmen. Additional resources could be debated on request.
Martial aid in the form of three Bretonian Battleships with full compliments of Commandos and air/space superiority fighters can and will be made available to assist in peacekeeping operations in your time of need. These can also play the part of safe orbital headquarters for officials if necessary.
If Bretonian food cannot be consumed by your species, alternative sources of more appropriate food will be scouted and harvested on your behalf until such time as you can support yourselves. If pure-nutrient ration packs are acceptable these can be provided instead of natural foodstuffs.


Regardless of your acceptance of our offer the Bretonian Government wishes your people luck in their time of need.

Sincerely,

J. Jacobi

Prime Minister John Jacobi
The Constitutional Monarchy of Bretonia

encoded transmition to
Hyperspatial Travel
you have reqeusted aid we can assist you we will be sending 60 titan class transport ships ecorted by 120 rapier class destroyers and 2 battleaxe class warships

<<Open Transmission>>
<<Encryption Level: 2>>
<<To: Kryndal II, Hyperspatial Travel>>
<<RE: Famine>>
In response to the recent transmission regarding the famine on the planet of Kryndal II, the Empire of Yiblon has decided to supply you with:

100,000 Emergency Food Packs (Each provides 3 days of food and water for 1 person)
25,000 cubic metres of water
10,000 SSR-12 Solid Slug Rifles (High-powered, slow-firing rifles) to equip peacekeeping forces
100,000 32-slug Clips of Titanium Slugs (Compatible with SSR-12 Solid Slug Rifles)

Three Hauler-Class Cargo Ships will be sent to Kryndal II to deliver these supplies. They will be escorted by two AC-07 Spearhead-Class Corvettes.
We hope that these supplies will help.

Signed,
Asi Lorenz, Minister of Diplomacy
and
Osino Blinth, Minister of Agriculture
<<End Transmission>>
(OOC: For reference, where exactly is Kryndal?)

I know how much you politicians enjoy doing things without telling the people responsible for making them happen before it’s too late, so I came prepared.”


OOC: Genius, that line. Pure genius.

OOC2: Kryndal is part of the Khazin Galaxy, my own. However, it has an FTL Gate, which is used to speed incoming FTL ships.

IC: The computer, a markedly ancient-looking affair, as the Vice-Admiral, Bronough, had a equally marked loathing for the new AI units that anticipated your every action, and had a thought interface, rather than a manual one. However, this computer was top of the line. Few military ships were given such an AI, and, given fifteen minutes of its own, it could've no doubt solved the problems present on Kryndal, aside from the minor fact that it was restrained. So, it contented itself in broadcasting a transmission in one of those obnoxiously annoying, yet ultracommon calm female voices.

At the same time, this information came up on the screen.

"Incoming Transmission"

"Transmission of unknown origin, identifying.
Possibly sapient in origin, translating.
Translation 63% accuracy predicted.
Reading transmission...."


The computer, now finished with it's minor taunt, continued, this time, in a deep, soothing, pseudomasculine voice, one imitated by the "mist people", who were perhaps the most effective therapists in the universe, as their habit of bringing great peace and calm with their voices was always welcomed.

"It appears a Monarchy, named Brettonia, has offered humanitarian aid. Of further surprise is the fact that they seek to wring no concessions from us. They have offered martial aid, which, as you know, will be relatively useless, considering the state of the mobs out there, and their blind hatred at the moment, however, we do have six of the new TARIH units, which should be easily able to... pacify... the mobs. The food is of more concern, it appears that they offer standard humanoid XVI food, which should concern 67% of the population on the planet, for the most part. Shall I begin composing a return message?"

Bronough frowned, and then replied, slowly, as if his mind was elsewhere. "Of course. Tell them not to bring the craft into orbit, as this would only incite the population more."

"Very well, sirrah. I am stabilising the cryodomes as you speak, and the MTI units are 35% online, so it will take fifty-four seconds to fully transmit the message."

Communique to Bretonia

We are grateful that you would choose to help us, in what may yet be our darkest hour, and will remember this always. However, it would be greatly beneficial for you not to bring the warships within view, as this will only incite the already raging mobs to the point of incineration. However, we are willing to pay for [crystalfood celluar makeup transmitted] as we have no way of feeding Cryesslian people, as we have a mere 12% of required supply.

The city burnt. The dome shone, and the leader of one of the gangs, Kryth, looked up, momentarily. He wasn't suicidal, no, but he had a plan. A good plan.

Twelve minutes later, transmission to Mayor Bronough

"Greetings, revered Mayor. You may call me Lord Kryth. In a matter of minutes, I could destroy the dome that protects us all. I have explosives, men scattered around the city, and a hunger for power. Perhaps you should do the math. Hand over power, as soon as the disaster is averted, or we all. You choose. Will many die, or will few?"

Bronough broke into a cold sweat, nervously scratching his chin, and pacing back and forth. He didn't speak, although his face grew redder, and redder....

http://photobucket.com/albums/v248/MattLever/Bretonia/th_banner.gif
The Constitutional Monarchy of Bretonia



To the government of the nation of Hyperspace Travel; the Government of the Constitutional Monarchy of Bretonia acknowledges acceptance of our offer and we have already set in motion plans to have aid sent to you as soon as possible. Due to the cellular makeup you included with your last transmission our scientific facilities have begun synthesising quantities of the substances your people require, and the first shipment of this substance will be included in our convoy’s inventory.

Please expect five heavy cargo trains within the week. Three battleships will escort them, but as per your request will not follow them in once they reach the system in question.

Sincerely,

J. Jacobi

Prime Minister John Jacobi
The Constitutional Monarchy of Bretonia

A huge metal foot slammed down into the asphalt ground, sending pebbles flying around as it crushed the hard surface beneath its substantial weight. And then another foot slammed just ahead of it, moving the behemoth forwards slowly. It carried a massive cargo container across the open area towards one of dozens of Ripper-class cargo movers. These small, pincer-like craft would grab hold of the containers and then lift them up into space, and finally hook them on to a Mammoth-class cargo train and go back down for another.

The lifter stopped beside one of the giant flying pincers and held up the large cargo container with its powerful metal arms. The pincers whirred as they closed around it, taking hold with a disturbing ‘crunch’ and a grind of metal. As the lifter stepped backwards the Ripper’s engines rotated and began to blast it upward towards the sky. The bipedal cargo lifter turned around slowly and returned for another container.

This thumping sound could be heard from any point in the capital of Cambridge. For such a large city, to see a forest nearby was somewhat unusual, and there didn’t appear to be any high-rise buildings visible aside from the control facilities of the space port. The spaceport was normally quite busy due to Cambridge being one of the main sources of food as well as high-tech equipment in the Bretonian Empire, but today they had broken out reserves of ships and cargo lifters to get the job done. A huge pile of containers sat beside the main terminal, slowly shrinking as the lifters grabbed one after the other and hauled them across the open area.

“How much time?” Jacobi asked, looking over the area from the port’s control tower.

“They should have fully-loaded all five Mammoths before sunset,” the station controller said, pointing at the bright white sun that sat at the pinnacle of the sky. “A few more containers should be arriving on anti-grav juggernoughts within the hour – the university managed to synthesise a whole bunch of that crystal stuff you gave them. We just have to wait for it to arrive. If you could get us some more lifters from Leeds, for example…”

“It’s not going to happen, Smith,” Jacobi shook his head. “Besides, it would take at least three days to get a cargo ship with lifters from Leeds to here, and we don’t want to wait that long.”

“Right, right,” Smith nodded. “Well unless something blows up – again – we should be set for departure tomorrow morning.”

“I’m pretty sure the Mollys won’t bother with this,” Jacobi said, shaking his head.

“It ain’t them I’m worried about,” Smith shook his head. “Corsairs give me the creeps. Mollys are terrorists, sure, but they ain’t monsters. Know what I mean?”

“I wasn’t aware that there was a difference…” Jacobi said, leaning forward and squinting out of the window. One of the lifters had stopped and was tilting precariously forwards. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” Smith shook his head. “Happens all the time. The lifters are too heavy for the tarmac. We really need to get some metal plating for that loading area. You should probably leave us to do our jobs, sir. You’re just going to piss me off if you hang around up here.”

“Please, don’t be tactful on my account,” Jacobi said, wide-eyed.

“Hey, it don’t bother me – besides, I voted for the other guy,” Smith shrugged, sitting back and picking up a doughnut. “You know, the psychopathic one.”

“Oh well, that’s alright then,” Jacobi sighed, standing up. “Well I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Great,” Smith said. “Hey, if you cut H-fuel tax I’ll vote for ya. Costs me a blinding fortune, does that.”

“I’ll see what I can do…” Jacobi frowned, stepping out of the control room. He nodded at the two black-suited Bretonian Security agents who stood on either side of the door and made his way towards the base’s café bar. There he met with Commodore Reginald, who would be overseeing the relief operations once the ships left Bretonian space. He seemed like an ordinary military officer, with his neat uniform, a few medals attached to his uniform (albeit fewer than the ones donned by Admiral Rochester) and well-polished boots. Perhaps, though, it was the fact that Jacobi found him in the station’s bar with his subordinates that distinguished him from the typical officer class. He nearly fell back off his chair when he saw the Prime Minister enter the room with his bodyguards.

“Sir!” Reginald jumped to his feet and saluted. One of his subordinates found the reaction so funny he spilled a mug of ale across the table and slipped under the table, laughing in a drunken stupor.

“Commodore I hope this isn’t an example of normal procedure aboard the HMS Dover,” Jacobi frowned, ducking down to look under the table.

“Of course not sir,” Reginald snapped. “Normally I only drink with officers who can hold their liquor sir!”

“Reassuring,” Jacobi said, still frowning.

“I’m sorry sir, it’s just a bit of relaxation before we depart,” Reginald said. “To keep the morale up? I guarantee you they’ll be sober and… um… dry by the time we depart. There is no alcohol aboard my ship, I guarantee that.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Commodore,” Jacobi said. “As you know, you are to escort the Mammoths as far as the edge of the system in question. After that, your Battleships are to hold position – the foreign government doesn’t want warships near their planet, which I can probably understand. Only fighter escort from then on. These are civilian transports, Commodore, so make sure they don’t get blown up there or here, or it’s me you’ll be answering to.”

“I understand sir,” Reginald nodded. “Admiral Rochester did brief me before. Should all go swimmingly.”

“I know, but this is a delicate diplomatic issue so I wanted to be sure,” Jacobi nodded. “Just… be ready to leave on time.” He glanced back under the table as he heard snoring. “And make sure you don’t crash into anything when you do leave…”

“Sir, that dent was caused while I was parked,” Reginald joked as the Prime Minister turned and left, much to the amusement of his officers. “Now now, come on, we’ve got to get back up and find some black coffee…”



The following morning, all the Rippers securely fixed themselves onto the sides of the five enormous cargo trains and became dormant. The Mammoths had a small habitable rear section, with a long ‘spine’ running forwards. On either side of this spine the cargo containers were attached securely, protected slightly by thin sheets of overhanging armour. They were the largest cargo movers in Bretonia, normally used by monolithic companies like BMM and Aegira Technologies to move their wares around the Empire, but the government had contracted them for this role, as well as their accompanying Rippers.

The five enormous vessels began to push forwards, leaving the planet’s orbit and sluggishly heading towards the nearby tradelane ring. Three large Victoria-class Battleships, in all their bizarre glory, fell into formation with them, along with several fighter squadrons. Ironically, they would need more security within Bretonian space than they would in the lawless expanse between the two nations. They cruised slowly away from the blue-green planet, all alert and constantly scanning all around them. Almost immediately after leaving the planetary defence grid they came under fire from pirates hiding in nearby asteroid fields, who almost always attacked cargo ships entering this tradelane regardless of their protection. The well-used long-range guns of the battleships all turned at once and began firing powerful blasts into the flocks of pirate fighters, dispersing and disorganising them as the military fighters swooped around and gave chase, driving them back with superior firepower. As per usual, one fighter squadron remained behind to occupy the pirates whilst the convoy reformed and suddenly vanished from view, faster-than-light, as it entered the tradelane.

On the far end of the system the convoy came to a sudden stop, and once again came under fire. This time a small, poorly-constructed but formidable light cruiser emerged from cruise mode, along with several fighters. Two Bretonian gunships on guard nearby slowly came about and moved to engage them. Torpedoes were launched by the pirate warship, aimed squarely at the engines of one of the cargo ships, but there was no way they would hit in time – the convoy entered the huge jump gate which would take them past the Great Barrier and into extra-Bretonian space, disappearing from view.

Once they emerged from the jump gate on the opposite side, the HMS Dover sent off a short, to-the-point message towards their destination, before the fighters docked with the battleships and the convoy prepared to leave.


To Kryndal Administration STOP
From HMS Dover, Bretonian Heavy Warship, Convoy Leader STOP
Bretonian Humanitarian Convoy ‘Archangel 1’ has departed STOP
En-route to Kryndal System STOP
See you soon END

OOC: I’m not sure how that gate of yours works, so I’ll leave it to you to figure out. My ships sure can’t get to another galaxy on their own in any reasonable amount of time.

encoded transmition to
Hyperspatial Travel
you have reqeusted aid we can assist you we will be sending 60 titan class transport ships ecorted by 120 rapier class destroyers and 2 battleaxe class warships

.:-=({[tag]})=-:.