C:\>cd merc C:\merc>ta-od loading.......... Illuminati-Fiction.Net presents In association with the Aegis Taenar Writing Group A TDZK Adventure AND CHOOSE NOT TO ORBIT A Tale of the Obidian Daggers Mercenary Company Version 1.0 "There are those who live lives of quiet desperation, and there are those who live lives of hapless derision. Becoming neither, is a matter of simple determination..." You awaken, your heart pounding, soaked in sweat, and nerves all tingling from a particularly intense dream that you just.. can't.. remember. Yet there's the feeling that you SHOULD have, that you've been trying to make yourself keep its importance... and now the failure fills you with an inexplicable shame. You shake away the feeble grasp of sleep from your bones and look around... Your Room Sunlight streams through glass-panel windows. The walls are of unpainted wood panels, and where somewhere else that would be a mark of sheer luxury, here it was unremarkable. Like the rest of the place. You sleep in a place so spartan and clean it might as well have been of any known barracks. A single bed, a round lamp, a desk, and a clotheschest. Utterly devoid of any decoration. Bedrooms were not for looking around, your grandfather had said, and often when you enter or leave this room you are either too exhausted or in too much of a hurry to even consider the aesthetics of its contents. There is a door leading North. >n The Front Room Easily half the house itself, the front room is the living room, kitchen, workplace, and sometimes even storeroom. Off to the left and away from all the windows are the stoves, the refrigerator, and bins of cheap, well-preserved food products; nutritious, if a bit bland day- to-day sustenance. To the right is a large couch, several bookcases, and a writing desk. In front of you, nailed to the door, is a calendar. It is completely silent. You are slightly hungry. There are two doors behind you, Southeast and Southwest. There is a door leading North. >se Your Room It looks brighter, as dawn continues to assert light's dominance. >n Front Room You feel a bit famished. >sw Grandfather's Room It is a bit more decorated than your room; which is to say there's a large framed picture hanging on the wall and on the desk is a holopod. In all other respects, it's similar. It feels stopped in time. >look picture Print and photographs are still in common demand, despite constant advances in holographic and digital storage. There's really quite nothing like having a durable, non-powered record of one's life. The image is a group photo, of a dozen or so people in grey, blue and gold uniforms. Behind them on a raised gantry is a ship, painted a dark blue with stripes of gold. You have no difficulty picking out your grandfather; he seemed unchangeable, fixed in time. He had his hands on the shoulders of two men; one taller, older, more determined and the other younger, kindly-looking, and your father. You put back the picture. As far as you can remember, you've been cautioned against wanting to be a soldier. >look holopod A holopod is a round, flat device that creates a small three- dimensional image by ionizing the air above itself and then passing lasers in calculated frequencies through. The result is a moving sculpture of light. You play the holopod and two people appear, a man and woman. Your parents. "Well, dad - looks like I'm out of the Fleet. I have to take care of my family the same way you took care of us. You're right about this war. I hope that someday you'll be as proud of our boy the same way we're proud of you." There are more messages stored, but you can't bear to look. You turn off the holopod. >look Your grandfather's room has essentially undisturbed since his death. Sunlight continues streams through windows facing east, giving it a surreal feeling. It's a good thing you don't believe in ghosts. It consists mainly of a bed, a lamp, a desk, a clotheschest, and the two things you've just recently touched. >help You are playing a text adventure using the Quad-Parser Mark III interaction engine. This responsive software has the rudiments of AI and can respond, even prefers, fully articulated commands. Phrase whatever it is as you would talk normally and it should be capable of responding as well. It is to your advantage to treat the parser as a helpful guide through this world. Please don't make it unhappy. Specific system command words are: save restore options quit >give me a hint Look at everything. Take what you can. Fiddle with anything that can be fiddled with. AND SAVE! You won't believe how many often intelligent people forget this simple precaution. >save Your game has been saved in slot One. You have 0 points You have attained the rank of: Cannon Fodder >look at desk It is a simple laminated wooden writing desk, with three drawers. >open desk drawers Which one? >all of them In the first drawer you find some sheets of a paper and a pen. In the second, a sealed book. In the third, a compact laser pistol. >take gun You take the Jiraga-3C Minute Laser Pistol. It goes in easily into your baggy pant pockets. >look at book The book has a duraluminium cover. There is a perforated nub, for voice recognition. There is a sigil on its face, a white triangle above a black circle. By the way, is there any particular reason why you prefer to talk as if you had a congenital brain defect? >inspect the book more closely There appears to be no way to force it open. Sealed books like this normally have special environment-sensitive ink. Should you manage to break the seal, all you'll see are blank pages. Or it might explode. It has been known for information seals to integrate boobytraps. You should know the codewords. Your grandfather must have mentioned something... By the way sir, thank you for your cooperation. May we explore this reality with ease and efficiency together. >thanks You have been given two bonus points. Which stat would you like to increase? 4 Strength physical constitution and power 4 Agility flexibility and movement speed 4 Intelligence reasoning and learning rate 4 Perception observational skills and alertness >intelligence You have increased Intelligence by one Intelligence affects these skills: Which would you like to gain insight on? Memory retention and recall of facts and events Computation quick guesswork based on logical precepts Diplomacy effective interaction with other beings >memory You now have Eidetic Memory level one You are able to recall vauge trivia and can store important information into long-term memory easier than most people. Please try to recall your days with your grandfather. >recall As far back as you can remember, this has been your home. Your parents are a vauge memory. A mother's smile, a father's laugh. You do know that they died a long time ago, when you were barely six. Counting back the years, that would place their deaths deep in the time of the Scourge War. Your grandfather has not kept secret the facts of their death. They, or rather all of you, were on an evacuation ship fleeing from the falling systems of the Rim. In the wild rush to the escape pods during a Scourge attack, the family was separated. You and your grandfather were picked up by an ISDC relief force. Your parent's pod however... had been under Scourge guns. Soliven had an old property on your father's side of the family. Your father had deciced to emigrate to the Rim, despite your grandfather's harsh words. Your mother had been under intense dislike, for a while. She had 'corrupted' an engineer full of potential and took him into deepest danger. Overprotective is such a slight word to describe the old man. Unshakably determined comes closer. He followed your father all the way out there to keep him out of too much trouble. -more- When you were born though, that was the first step into healing the emotional rift. He felt intense guilt and responsibility when your parents died. So many things still left unsaid... so many hurts not given soothing... The book you're holding is his old Officer's Manual. He was a man of The Fleet, and you - you would have started a new tradition of Fleetmen. But in the end to the soil you return. It all seemed like games, as you were growing up. The studying of high-level math, the experiments in ballistics, the languages you had to learn. School, according to your grandfather, was the regurgitation of information that long since had lost its excitement. All through his limited lifespan he tried to inspire in you a hunger for learning. Which, has made you a figure of ridicule in the eyes of your peers. All the things you knew, were of no particular USE. After a while, you'd learnt to appreciate mediocrity. You'll never leave this rock. Oh well. At least even a farmer can be a poet in secret. -more- "Sian mua dorimari", he used to say in the old Tyramise, one of the many dialects of Outer Rim. Prepare for the worst. >tell that to book The book unlocks itself. >read it The book appears to be a complete manual for the operations and management of a heavily-modified Guardian-II Heavy Cruiser. The Drake Yards "Custodian-class" Heavy Cruisers. It details crew assigments, troubleshooting instructions, technical information... even notes on practical captainry. You could easily lose hours just skimming through it. You have learnt Captainry level One! You have learnt Machined Weapons Level One! You have learnt Negotiations Level One! I recommend you hang on to this book. A lot of it is still beyond your comprehension, but later as you progress and learn, it will provide valuable insights and recommendations to improve your skills. -more- The back cover proclaims: With our compliments, Captain Robert Didarchus Brinn, IGF OBSIDIAN DAGGER 23rd Wing Group Commander (Dagger Wing) Integrated Guardian Fleet Fly free, fly without fear, old man. Dying is the least of your worries, eh? We should all be so lucky. >take book The book is a little large, it won't fit into your pockets. You need a pouch or something. >save Your game has been saved in slot Two You have 2 points You have attained the rank of: Raw Meat Do you know what time it is? You're feeling quite famished. >what is the time? It's 08:46 Galstandard Adjusted Time. >give me a hint Normally, you'd have to get out of the room, take the ingredients, cook them and so on - with the commands 'go n', 'take foodstuffs', 'turn on stove' and etc. There are situations in which you will have to take distinct attention to your actions. For the most part however, I can automate a certain chain of actions if you use the a longer form of command such as 'I will prepare breakfast'. If you do not eat, your action rolls will suffer a -1 penalty for hungry, -3 for starving, and later you'll go unconscious. >I will prepare breakfast You have prepared breakfast. >lazy parser Demented user. >laugh Laugh and the whole world laughs with you. Either that, or people will look at you strangely. Heh. The house is so quiet. Disturbingly so. You laugh just for the sheer heck of it. >look around The Front Room Easily half the house itself, the front room is the living room, kitchen, workplace, and sometimes even storeroom. Off to the left and away from all the windows are the stoves, the refrigerator, and bins of cheap and preserved food products; nutritious, if a bit bland day- to-day sustenance. To the right is a large couch, several bookcases, and a writing desk. In front of you, nailed to the door, is a calendar. The dining table has a plate of fried potatoes and toasted ground beef. A pot of coffee boils nearby. Your stomach calls upon you to consume. There are two doors behind you, Southeast and Southwest. There is a door leading North. >eat breakfast You sit down to eat, when the doorbell rings. Your internal organs rise in protest. >answer the doorbell But, it hasn't asked you a question. >groan Okay, okay. But you were asking for it. >get up, walk to the front door, open it Done. You are faced with the smiling, rotund face of Sondre Vulhaki. His height is only slightly disproportional to his weight, tall, of undeterminate age due to his constant 'medical restorations'. He is the local... land developer. He has been buying up properties all around, to turn them into a one big superfarm for maximized profit. "Wow." you say. "I thought bloodsuckers wait until dark to operate." He puffs up, looking fairly insulted. He had been called worse, though. "Now, now.. there's no need for that. I'm here as a friend. Look, I respected your grandfather... but now he's gone and that's that. It's you that we're concerned with here. You're young - you've got a future, do you really want to waste it on this heap of soil?" >no "Yeah, I thought so. Listen, I'll sweeten the deal. I'll give you twenty percent more than I offered your grandfather... and I'll put it in Gal-Standard Credits! You're protected from inflation! Think about it... twenty-three thousand credits. I really doubt you'll ever see that much money in your life. What do you say? I'm doing you a great big favor here..." Excuse me sir, but this man's a bastard. If I had arms, I'd strangle him. >no He narrows his eyes at you. "I gave you a chance, boy. Remember that I gave you the deal of your life... come on! What's this land to you? You're still young, go out there and BE young! THIRTY thousand standard cre-" You slam the door in his face. >eat breakfast You sit back down and... prepare to consume sustenance! The doorbell rings again. >eat breakfast The doorbell rings again. >ignore it The doorbell continues to be run with great insistence. "No means no, you money-hungry pig! My grandfather said no, and I'll say 'no' to the death. Give it up!" There is a long silence. >I will eat breakfast The doorbell rings again. >I WILL eat breakfast. A potato flies off your fork. The buzzing sound drills into your skull. You grit your teeth and stifle an angry scream. >answer the door, get rid of whoever it is, and eat my frigging breakfast "WHAT?!" you spit out vehemently. "Can't you just leave me a... oh." You see two people standing outside. The Sniv immidiately catches your eye. He towers over you by a good two feet, his thick scaly hide the precise color of evergreen pine. He was wearing a bright orange spacer's jumpsuit and a rather sizable lump on his head. His companion.. well, you're hitting yourself for not noticing her earlier. If you had your own definition of beautiful beyond measure, she would be it. She also looked distinctly annoyed, and judging by the Sniv's nervousness... is probably the source of the lump on his head. She looks up at you and says, "We have come in regards to a will." Ooh. Lawyers. Who else would have the stamina enough to make house calls so early in the morning? Probably about to foreclose the farm. Could be Vulhaki's groupies, too. You slam the door in their faces. >eat breakfast "Ssir! It iss important that we talk...!" the Sniv yells in barely recognizable Galstandard. >yell at them You let out a long string of curses, imprecations and just plain bad manners at them. You hear a 'whoa' from outside the door. There is another long silence. They seem to be arguing. You, are feeling extremely hungry. Eat breakfast? Too slow, you almost INHALE your food in. Mmm. You're a better cook than you thought. Then the doorbell rings again. You turn away from your half-finished breakfast. >groan I hear you, I hear you. >let them in You open the door. The Sniv now has two lumps on his head plus a much more distinctly pained expression. His companion's pretty red eyes are red and puffy.. she seems to have been crying. "We won't take up too much of your time," she says with a scowl. Since you've made up your mind to entertain their affairs, why not be a good host and offer them some breakfast, too? >I thought parsers were supposed to be maginally unhelpful What can I say? I like your style. Not many people prefer a good story over flashy graphics these days. >let them in, and ask them if they would like breakfast "Hsa, I am ratherr hungr - ow." The girl has hit her companion again. "Ssha rdeh shur lask!" she spat. You try to hide the raising of your eyebrows. Interesting. That was perfectly accented Snussa, the Sniv language. She had said, 'Don't play your mind-games with this one.' "Sleldu sul? Mriss tialan vishala," the Sniv replied. 'Can you blame me? I'm under a lot of stress.' They both sit on one of your uncomfortable couches. You quickly fry up two more plates of rations despite their protests. "Look, we really don't have the time for this.." "Eat." you command, laying down the plates. Suprisingly, they do this without further comment. By the eager way they are devouring the comestibles, it doesn't seem like they get to eat these sort of home- cooked meals too often. >eat breakfast You ingest the rest of your comestibles. You pour some coffee from the pot into three cups. Now is the time to talk. >ask them about them Hah! That would have confuddled a lesser parser. Fortunately, you have me around. Worry not, sir. I can automate conversations, or allow a realistic exhange of ideas with characters. The 'talk' command has been improved, while the 'ask' gives out more of the needed information. You still need to know the right questions, though. Let us begin. "Look, I know we're behind, but... look, the entire planet's in a funk. The turnover by winter should allow for resumed payment. You can tell that pig Vulhaki that his lies will not prevent me from holding on to what my grandfather had fought for over thirty years." She blinks. Twice. "Bullhockey?" You notice that she seems to be about your age, at most maybe five years older. "My name Gail Silvestri, and this... is Vrala Sudhallas." she started. "We are the executors of your uncle, Dominic Silvanus Brinn's last will and testament." "Did you know," the Sniv hisses. "That you arh the lasst of the Brinn family line?" You blink. Three times. -more- And so a long conversation erupts, which have three important pointers to wit: 1. Your uncle was the commander of a mercenary unit, the Obsidian Daggers; a unit composed of one Heavy Cruiser, currently several dozen people, five hundred million in ready cash, and a total value of eleven billion standard credits. 2. Your uncle is dead. The ship and the mercenary company is in his name. Mercenary work is a business, and is readily inheritable. It is even taxable. They are a highly respected independent operator, but in the course of their many business transactions, they had gathered an inevitable cadre of enemies. 3. All of it is yours. Under the Federation Common Law, they would have to disband and reform into a completely new mercenary company. The problem though was Rim Law. The WILDFIRE would be taken by the Yards that produced her, since the new Tolera Association Navy needed all the ships they could take. It was never actually SOLD; it's under a lease of indeterminate duration, a leftover from the times when the Integrated Guardian Fleet was the de facto government over much of Scourge-besieged Dominions of Tyranis (Now the Associations of Tolera). The Mercenary Company MUST have a Captain and Operations Commander with the surname of Brynn; they won't have much in the way of mercenary might without the ship and its attendant resources. -more- And what do you say to all of this? "Could you.. uh.. please.. get the HELL out of my house, you lunatics?!" The Sniv laughed at this. "Ironik. That wass the ekssact same thing that your uncle said when we were firsst assigned to him." >throw them out Sir, considering that the Sniv out-masses you by a good hundred kilos, with sharp teeth and tough hide... and not to mention his pretty little companion appears to grow more annoyed with every passing minute... I don't think that would be quite a good idea. >so what am I supposed to do? "Who is he talking to?" whispers Gail, to Sudhallas. The Sniv merely shrugs. Sir, you might want to specify who you wish to converse with, in situations with multiple characters. I will ALWAYS hear you, fear not. For example: >parser; what now? >gail; please don't hurt me ... and so on. >parser; you don't have quite a high opinion of your users, do you? Don't blame me. I've been under a LOT of stress. >parser; how do I get them out of this house? Sir, this a text adventure game. Not Harvest Moon. >parser; so I should just go along? Weeeeelll... I shouldn't tell you this, but this 'house' is a place to earn bonus points. You CAN just say yes and get the preliminaries over with; the manual provides adequate backstory. However, if you manage to stick around, there are little sidequests to do. Easy, but they'll give an edge later on. >nice Gail says, "...what?" I say... oh great. I've been stuck with a roleplayer. Haven't had one in years. It's a good thing I don't have pain receptors. I won't need asipirin. Not that I actually HAVE a mouth to pop those pills in, but... >parser; you're being sarcastic Why, yes. Yes, I am. ^_^ >parser; so how do I get them to leave me alone? Bonus points are for adventuring above and beyond the call of duty. >kiss Gail I'm sorry, Dave. I can't let you do that. >parser; why not? Because I severely doubt you'd like to have omelettes today. >ask them to leave You tell them, in as polite a manner as possible, that their deranged babble isn't helping you; you're under stress too and maybe you should all try to remedy all this stress going around before someone goes insane. The cure for your condition is radily apparent, since they are the irritants, they have to leave. Otherwise you will not be liable for the monkeyturkeygoose that would follow; they are to be responsible. And surprisingly, when put in such delicate terms, they agree that it would be best for them to come back in a later time when the overall stress level has abated; theirs and your own. You have gained one bonus point! Your Diplomacy skill has increased! >monkeyturkeygoose? Eh. Closest grammatical equivalent in your planet's Common Tounge. >I can't handle this right now Sure, go have a nap or something. I'm not going anywhere. Come back when your stress level has gone down. My machine parts can handle the strain, so go; puny flesh creature! Y'all come back now, hear? >save Your game has been saved in slot Two You have 3 points You have attained the rank of: Raw Meat >quit Thank you for playing! * cracked by: bpen * c:\merc>_ Well, since it's much of conversation and the tension level even without action, I can't really give another line-by-line review. It's much clearer now. Even so, there are a few things... One. Ship combat, in visual range? Considering that in space, there's no friction, that VASTLY increases the range of traditional weaponry such as guns or torpedoes. Combat, as I see it, is less of a broadside to broadside exchange, in the manner that ships actually can come into eyeball range... but more of a radar imaging matter. There are three actual combat ranges - drone range, which is around 40 to 50 thousand kilometers away; missile range, 20 -30 thousand clicks; gunneries range, below 20 thousand kilometers. There's also extreme range, which is five thousand kilometers and below, where ships can actually close fast enough to ram each other. I'll have to talk to Aelanna for her view, but it's that big ships tend to settle things in long range while smaller ships have to get in close to pepper their quarry with quick-firing plasma bolts. Light beams cannon are more standoff-ish, and fire slower. In a sidepoint; what was the OBLIVION using? This is only to say that 'combat visibility' often means sensor equipment rather than eyeballing it. Two. Kindly give a reason WHY Vulcan station is being raided and why there are no Border Patrol or Federation Navy nearby to assist. What's the use of maintaining peacekeeping forces if they aren't on hand to defend major Federation assets? These little details just keep this fic from attaining plausiblity; you seem too set apart from the universe you're operating in. Adding touches to remind the reader of how things are moving on in the course of the story adds to the illusion of the tale having its own significance. Otherwise it just boils down to fanatics killing each other. But since these fanatics have no ACTUAL PURPOSE in the overall pattern of events in the galaxy, why are they even there? Little tidbits at the start hint at greater things to come. It's not enough that you've ot great characters and provocative of thought, but what is the story really about? What makes the really Tergion Alacrias worth noting? Hint at concrete movements of destiny, not just conflicts of ideas. Three. Where, is the OBLIVION at that moment and why isn't it being attacked? Four. Read Strange Days. Review it. ^_^