Not even 5 pages, so it's just a beginning, but what the hell. I've been awake for more hours than I have birthdays, and I'm punchy.
See what you think.
Round 1!
Bison
vs.
Sub-Zero!
Fight!
The transmat gate went *ping*, and a man stepped out.
He was a shade over 6 feet tall (or perhaps 185 centimeters, if you prefer), and neither fat nor thin, presenting an aspect of reasonably padded but well-exercised pre-middle age to go along with the lightly weathered Caucasian skin-tone of his clean-shaven face, his neatly pulled back brown hair and his mild, green eyes. Curiously enough, perhaps, his hands did not show a similar skin-tone at all, though they were un-gloved, but instead were apparently composed of some silver-black, almost metallic substance without visible seam or joint.
For the rest, the man was dressed (from bottom to top) in lightly armored sport-utility mid-thigh cyber-boots in black and grey, coupled with dark charcoal grey heavy twill trousers and a dark emerald pseudo-silk shirt, turtlenecked and double-fronted, across both of which a semi-fractal circuit arabesque lightoo played and shimmered in a constantly changing panoply of contrasting colors. This ensemble was topped off with a long, space-black, nano-hide armored duster which swirled with the "whirling galaxy" effect of a formal-mode chameleon field and a sharp, black velvet, snap-brim fedora.
His obi and scarf were pearl-grey nano-silk, with a woven design of moving, almost invisible pearlescent clouds and kittens, his gunbelt was brown, scaled leather with a front buckle of angular, black armored plate, carrying a holstered pistol (commendably worn rosewood grip forward) on his left side, and a pair of smaller, leather cases with snaps on his right, next to a clip holding a 30 inch (75 centimeter), ebony rod, capped with iridium and rubies, and banded with gold and silver in four places.
He wore a twenty carat sunstone in the hollow of his throat, pinning his scarf, and a massive torque of woven iridium and gold wire about an inch thick, which ended in twin finial spheres of faceted diamond, displaying a personal heraldry in their largest facets: a gold circle, super-imposed over a slightly larger platinum triangle, over an iridium square, over an emerald pentagon, over a ruby hexagon, over an amethyst seven pointed star. His buttons (two rows on the shirt, one row on the duster, one per pocket) were, of course, diamond, with his heraldry inset, while his ear-cuffs were platinum, incised with runes and set with emeralds, as was the band that tied back his hair, which reached to the small of the back and was interwoven with fine wires of silver and gold, set with rubies.
His epaulets were armor-grade iridium, set, again, with his heraldry and his aiguillette was a heavy golden chain. His rings were gold and platinum jewel-art, except for the heavy shape of black steel and jade on his right hand. The small tee shape of gold set with a diamond over the junction that armored his nose and both announced and peace-bonded his skull-gun was, perhaps, a trifle formal for the rest of his attire, but somehow it merely blended in with the rest, completing the image of a man aware of fashion and capable of dealing with its whims who, nonetheless possessed the strong personal sense of style and grace that generally only comes from maturity and success.
In short, he hovered just beneath being aggressively normal and unmemorable, and the smallish crowd wandering through, or loitering in, the transit lane saw him and immediately classified him, filed him and forgot him. Which was, of course, most of the point.
Now the customs of that Galaxy-spanning quintillion-being economic market that called itself, with becoming arrogance, to be sure, Civilization were both rococo in their method and quaint in their aim. One of them was to repose all security, not in the strong arms and straight hearts of state, clan or nation, but rather in their manifold and intricately overlapping personal oath-relationships, so that no person might spite another lest, at some far fifth remove, that spite lead him to spite, in the end, himself, thricefold.
Another was to loudly disclaim all laws, and, indeed the Law in general and instead, almost spitefully to lead their lives to the dance of the Methods of Acceptable Behavior, as embodied in the Requests For Comment and the Meditations on Long-Term Morality.
But the greatest and most serene folly that those people promulgated ... nay, _embraced_ ... was to loudly, vociferously and, occasionally violently, claim that they, Civilization self-so-called and the Citizens thereof were, in fact, an Anarchy, and had, therefor, no government.
This was, of course, puerile nonsense. An Anarchy they might have been, though no reputable social scientist, looking at that ramshackle and undignified thing would have honored the claim in print; but even for an Anarchy a Government is not such a thing that you may have, or not have, it is simply a thing that you _do_ have, will-you or nill-you and the Citizens of Civilization knew it, and knew that they knew it, too.
Nonetheless, and despite all proper council they maintained to themselves their own illusions and quietly got on with interacting with the bits and pieces of the government they didn't have. Which bits and pieces then, themselves, equally quietly and efficiently went about their proper business, somewhat more quietly and efficiently than they might have done, had Civilization had such a thing as a government _officially_. Which was a great disgrace to all right-thinking and proper beings, of course. But so it goes.
Nonetheless, regardless of any improvement in quietness, efficiency or effectiveness that there may or may not have been, it is certainly true that in some respects the simple lack of official standing, even for the highest of officials in the most prestigious and powerful of Departments and Bureaus of that non-existent government had caused some necessities and niceties of conduct to develop that might be seen, in other circumstances, as odd, or even shameful.
Let us observe an example.
It cannot be denied, to begin with, that the chain of command, through and within the not-government of Civilization is a baroque and a byzantine thing. Although a Citizen of Civilization would, of course, instantly deny that very undeniable fact, maintaining instead that any chain of command that an outside observer might suppose to see, baroque and byzantine or otherwise, is no more than a figment of an overheated imagination, inasmuch as Civilization, being Free of all things, and _especially_ governments, _has_ no proper commands to make a chain of. But the Citizen is, himself, a baroque and an un-lovely beast, and we will pass him by, unheard.
Instead, we, being wise, will observe that, however baroque or byzantine that web of interlocking oaths and interests becomes, many, many of its links and strands lead inexorably to and through the marbled and sand-stoned, flame-wood paneled walls of that organization most curiously known as the Bureau of Psychological Development. As well, we will observe that the scope of that Bureau is both wide and deep, it mothering those curious organizations known, quietly, merely as Contact and Special Circumstances, as well as that far-reaching and free-wheeling department which is called Galactic Zones.
In fact, it's proper charge is nothing less than the proper mental and social development of Civilization itself, both the whole and all the manifold component parts thereof, and in a just and rational universe /mekt-hakkikt/ Imperator M. Thaniverial Un//!lazmakk!/'a'sho, KCBS, KCGUP, MBOFH, etc., etc., 18/1000, it being the perhaps Director of the aforesaid Bureau (although, given the general lack of attention to the proper complexities of rank and status endemic in Civilization, perhaps also _not_ the Director of the Bureau), _should_ have had to do upon becoming aware of the desirability of having an interview with one Commodore /mek-hakt/ Imperator M. Eric "ShadowLurker" von Traumweltsprecher, DDFS, DSS was to merely crook one eye-stalk; after which the, no doubt desperate criminal would have been dragged, no doubt trembling in chains, before the said Director (or not Director, as the case may be), there to be interrogated at the said Director's utmost leisure.
Alas for propriety and grace that it was not so, and instead M. Thaniverial was forced to take stylus in telekinesor and pen, itself, on its own personal calling card a very pleasant note asking the aforesaid M. von Traumweltsprecher to call upon it, at the soonest possible convenience of the said M. von Traumweltsprecher, upon a matter of some small interest and delicacy whereof M. Thaniverial hoped that the Learned and Honored Mage and Sorcerer would advise itself.
Though it should, perhaps, also be mentioned that upon the receipt of this most polite and civilized card M. Eric did, in fact instantly and immediately make an appointment with M. Thaniverial upon the most immediate instant, adding also how kind and considerate M. Thaniverial was to so provide him with some small matter to be of service in, negligible though as assistance he might offer would undoubtably be, as he, M. Eric had been perishing of boredom and uselessness for a matter of some months now having only a few small, negligible matters to occupy his time, and though he doubted that any problem which might be vexing so great and competent a personage as M. Thaniverial 18/1000, could possibly be resolved by so ordinary a person as his humble self, _nonetheless_ he was in all ways M. Thaniverials most humble and obedient servant, etc. etc., and when did M. Thaniverial's Archon believe it would be propitious to make an appointment?
Nor should this be considered unusual, for howsoever it may be true that Civilization accepts no government and admits of no command, nevertheless it is _also_ true that the Bureau of Psychological Development ranks among the five greatest, most powerful sections of the government that Civilization does not have; and while it may be that M. Thaniverial had no authority to _compel_ M. Eric to attend upon it instantly, it is also the case that the Bureau publishes a regular journal of procedings, which is read and thoroughly studied, it should not need to be said, galaxy-wide, and it was well within M. Thaniverial's power to note, within that Journal, that a matter of import had arisen within the Bureau's purview and that M. Eric had proven uncooperative or even worse, incompetent in the resolution of that matter, the which would put an end to any ambitions M. Eric might previously have had of social or professional advancement, at once, and forever.
Wherefor it was that M. Eric upon the immediate instant applied himself to the task of meeting that appointment, a task which was apparently very difficult, but actually quite simple in practice. Apparently very difficult because a Smokepuff, as the type of system where M. Eric and M. Thaniverial resided was known, is a very big place; and, while M. Eric's domain at Above the River was within the same star system as the massive Island of the BPD, it was also no more than 2000 km from the center of a 100,000 km radius torus of breathable atmosphere which stretched all the way around the G-0 star that warmed and lighted it, and the BPD's Island was not merely orbiting within a Smoke Ring 80 toruses away at its closest and nearly 60 degrees up the plane of the ecliptic from Above the River, but, in addition almost exactly in opposition to it in orbit.
Not to mention the difficulty of navigating within the high-traffic areas of a Smoke Puff, or the sheer, grinding misery of digging a space-capable craft out from beneath 100,000 km of atmospheric muck, gravity or no gravity, and then diving back in again at the other end.
But fortunately, no such trip would be necessary. Instead, M. Eric simply walked.
Via the general Transmat network, to be sure.
Walked, moreover, both cheerfully and pleasantly, and not merely because he was in general of a cheerful and pleasant disposition, although he was. No, M. Eric was cheerful and pleasant because he knew approximately what he was getting into. From this you may conclude that M. Eric was a bit of a nim-nul. Your honorable correspondant would not dream of contradicting you.
There were, you see, at this time considered to be approximately 1.45 quintillion beings known to be a part of Civilization, at least, by its lights; that is, 1.45 x 10^18. Of all that vast array, not more than 993 had ever proven themselves sufficiently honorable, and efficient, and competent, and ruthless and moral and terrible, and glorious to be raised to the ranks of that which Civilization called the Thousand. And of all that select company M. Thaniverial ranked 18th.
It was true that M. Thaniverial could, with one stroke of a stylus, remove M. Eric from the company of competent men. But it was also true that M. Thaniverial was, itself, an enormously competent person, and the likelihood that it had mistaken what M. Eric was capable of was enormously low, and the likelihood that it might have something to gain from _betraying_ M. Eric to a fall could safely be considered non-existent.
There was adventure ahead, and the same stylus that could lower M. Eric to ruin could likewise raise him to glory and fame. And besides, he really _was_ that bored.
Adventure, of course, is defined as being a long way from home, in desperate misery, worry and danger. Oddly enough, in practice most parts of it are quite boring.
Thus it is that, for adventure's sake, we cheerfully walk into the lion's den.
And behind us politely close the door.
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-t-h-e- -s-h-i-n-i-n-g- -s-p-i-r-a-l-:-
-t-e-n- -y-e-a-r-s-
Representing the Stable Universes as a Four-Dimensionally Close Curved Onion
By
Eric Hallstrom
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Hmm. I seem to be feeling 19th century today.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Helped Torque hunt our whack-a-mole. I cannot tell you how much I
want to see this guy hurt. I want to do things to him that would make
Dante, Vlad the Dragon, and a host of Inquisitors wince and then say,
'Wow! Wish *I*'d thought of that!' in awed tones."
-Fimbulvetr, excerpt from 01/28/01 shift report, RCN abuse desk
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1) I would have thought that the references to a quintillion strong Galaxy-wide Anarchy would have more or less proved that it wasn't anywhere around the spiral, ne?
IOW: you're being _Invaded_. ;p
2) Civilization's Transmat nets were borrowed from the wonderful background of the completley crappy game system called Justifiers. They do _not_ work through Hyper of any band. They do not need lotsa energy, either, which is why they can be used to squire around the several billion Citizens in a Smoke Puff. They also don't break you down and beam you over, they just ...
abolish ... the space between _here_ and _there_.
Limitations :
1. there is a _strict_ size limit, based on the fineness of your manufacturing techniques, and not your power source. Civilization is a mature Nanotech culture, and can manage a transmat gate a bit bigger than 30 m x 25 m. Maximum.
2. There is a strict _range_ limit, based on the fineness of your computer tech, at current, for Civilization, about 15 LY.
3. Transmats work to other transmats, or to vacuum. Only.
Beyond that ... well Civilization has the great majority of its people living in small habitats, spaced out around the galaxy, finding things to do, and staying in a grid about 8 -10 LY apart. As a road.
Drive across the galaxy ...
As for the Shining Spiral, my avatar will be dropping by shortly. See, he's about to get the job of civilising the place.
Good thing he's got no worries about time, eh?
phrog: D'you know anything about JavaPerl? As in how they combine
the two?
Colin: Well. Imagine that Java is a dainty, well-dressed Victorian
lady. And Perl is a big, grimy 10th century viking with a hard-on.
JavaPerl is like a small room with a bed.
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I do not fanboi. It is not in my nature. This, however, is quite good.
> In fact, it's proper charge is nothing less than the
> proper mental and social development of Civilization
> itself, both the whole and all the manifold component
> parts thereof, and in a just and rational universe
> /mekt-hakkikt/ Imperator M. Thaniverial Un//!lazmakk!/
> 'a'sho, KCBS, KCGUP, MBOFH, etc., etc., 18/1000, it
> being the perhaps Director of the aforesaid Bureau
> (although, given the general lack of attention to the
> proper complexities of rank and status endemic in
> Civilization, perhaps also _not_ the Director of the
> Bureau), _should_ have had to do upon becoming aware
> of the desirability of having an interview with one
> Commodore /mek-hakt/ Imperator M. Eric "ShadowLurker"
> von Traumweltsprecher, DDFS, DSS was to merely crook
> one eye-stalk; after which the, no doubt desperate
> criminal would have been dragged, no doubt trembling
> in chains, before the said Director (or not Director,
> as the case may be), there to be interrogated at the
> said Director's utmost leisure.
The digression inthe middle of this paragraph, in which you fit in all of M. Thaniverial's titles, a side note, and and a parenthetical aside, is, while amusing, grammatically awkward - in that it is quite possible to forget the beginning of that sentence by the time you have chewed through to the end of it. In particular, I believe that you yourself may have suffered a bit from this, as, unless I am mistaken, proper grammar would request that you put an "all that" in front of the "/mekt-hakkikt/"
> There was adventure ahead, and the same stylus that
> could lower M. Eric to ruin could likewise raise him
> to glory and fame. And besides, he really _was_ that
> bored.
This line is solid gold.
You realize, of course, that if this is to work at all, you're going to have to maintain the authorial voice throughout, yes?
Given the number of different unexplored stars in the Spiral, and the vastly different way in which the Civilization does transport, you actually could have a quintillion-strong Galaxy-wide Anarchy perfectly superimposed on the spiral, not actually known to any of the official inhabitants. The spirallers go where Hyper takes them. the Civilized fit into a loose grid. These do not neccessarily have to overlap much. It's a bit implausible, even so, but not entirely beyond the realm of the believable.
Amusing gambits that your character might try...
- If you've got enough money to pay the dues, the Civilization qualifies for one million votes on the Council.
teleporters don't work through hyper - but I bet they make local hyper look *real* ugly. If the Civ showed up before the Hyperspace races of the Spiral (not implausible, from what I see so far) then that could be a very good explanation for why the two have not interacted.
That is all.
Fibula
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>I do not fanboi. It is not in my nature. This, >however, is quite good.
Why, thank you, sir.
>The digression inthe middle of this paragraph, in which
>you fit in all of M. Thaniverial's titles, a side note, and
>and a parenthetical aside, is, while amusing,
grammatically awkward - in that it is quite possible to
>forget the beginning of that sentence by the time you
>have chewed through to the end of it. In particular, I
>believe that you yourself may have suffered a bit from
>this, as, unless I am mistaken, proper grammar would
>request that you put an "all that" in front of the
"/mekt-hakkikt/"
You are, again, quite correct. It's a wonderful sentence. I love it alot. And I'm going to have to take it out behind the barn and kill it with an axe.
Ce 'la guerre.
>This line is solid gold.
>You realize, of course, that if this is to work at all,
>you're going to have to maintain the authorial voice
>throughout, yes?
Fortunately, I have an exclusive contract with the Narrator's Guild. ;-)
>Given the number of different unexplored stars in the
>Spiral, and the vastly different way in which the
>Civilization does transport, you actually could have a
>quintillion-strong Galaxy-wide Anarchy perfectly
>superimposed on the spiral, not actually known to any
>of the official inhabitants. The spirallers go where Hyper
>takes them. the Civilized fit into a loose grid. These do
>not neccessarily have to overlap much. It's a bit
>implausible, even so, but not entirely beyond the realm
>of the believable.
No, Civilization _does_ use Hyper, I'm afraid. And it lives in a different universe altogether. But it likes to keep tabs on it's nieghbors. Help out a little, now and then. You know. Stuff.
>Amusing gambits that your character might try...
>- If you've got enough money to pay the dues, the
>Civilization qualifies for one million votes on the Council.
What? Join a _goverment_? Officially? I'd get lyched for suggesting it. ;P
Civ would not have a problem conquering the spiral, it would take one battlegroup about a year and a half. Less if the defending fleets didn't scatter. Transmat delivered gigaton range gravity bombs coming out 2 meters above your skin tends to do Bad Things to most targets, and nobody out there has enough stealth to hide. (Locking down the conquest would be more difficult, of course.)
The problem is that conquest, whether the old fashioned kind or the kind where you just out-economic your target tends to cause either great expenditures or else great long term problems, neither of which Civ is interested in. (They _are_ arrogant, but they're not stupid. Or evil, for that matter.)
So, instead, they're going to send someone to ...
give things a few little pushes.
>That is all.
>Fibula
Eric Hallstrom
http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/
--
My friends think that wild catfish is just great. I suppose it is, if
you like the taste of mud. But from eating wild catfish, I now know that
I'd be very reluctant to eat a lawyer if I could avoid doing so.
-Mike Andrews, sdm
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