Sunday, March 31, 2024
Thursday, March 28, 2024
Monday, March 25, 2024
Sunday, March 24, 2024
Breaking Away from the Breakaway:
Retro-Posterity and Faraway Faces
The forward-thinking Orville Corporation had already foreseen this and planned accordingly, settling covert colonies within the United Planets aegis, as well as making footholds in Dementias IV and VII. Ostensibly, these efforts would bypass interference by Wardens, Solar or otherwise.
The Pan-Martian Consortium, conceptualised in Stratum X, was one such effort, albeit closer to a ‘layaway civilisation’ idea in terms of world-building, both societal and terraformational.
Captain Intrepid, initially an Orville delegate to the Consortium, soon took the reins of power with the help of Ugandoid Autonomous Prefecture exiles. Informal diplomatic relations were formed with the Martian natives, who maintained sovereignty over their subterranean plasmic freeholds.
Without Orville oversight, the Pan-Martian Consortium had gone ‘rogue’, ignoring Prime Directive protocols regarding cultural contamination.
At the risk of sounding meta, this was Captain Intrepid’s plan all along: to break away from a breakaway civilisation. He foresaw man’s Path to Dust, and with the help of ‘borrowed’ tech from Project: Horloge, he turned back the clock several centuries.
Intrepid, being the savvy sort, exploited the Martian fascination with his Ugandoid cohorts into a social management mechanism whilst ensconcing himself as the Red Planet’s First Curate.
A new civilisation was founded on Mars in Stratum -DLXXV.
First Curate Intrepid’s High Council was made up of Colonel O’Bannion, Dr Irish, and Captain Lefkon. Upper echelon Ugandoids aided in planetary development symbiotically with the Martian natives.
The Martians, whilst grateful, condoled with the homesick Ugandoids. A monument thus was constructed: The Spirit of Fuju, the master Ugandoid archtype, gazes heavenward to his ancestral prefecture on Earth.
Over the centuries all were content yet maintained their spirit to strive.
By the time the ‘present’ rolled back around (Stratum X again, in a new Time Fork), a dynasty had spawned from a one-time consortium delegate to the current Grand Curate Hightower XXIV Intrepid of Mars.
And in this chronology divergence, eyes again gaze from afar to that face on Mars, and reach out.
A young Captain Intrepid is about to meet his 20-x great-grandson.
Saturday, March 23, 2024
Wednesday, March 20, 2024
Friday, March 15, 2024
Thursday, March 14, 2024
Winter Waggery in Wicewudu
The pair eyed Batya Belef toiling beneath his mashina. Of course, the mischievous spunk activated Gass-Boy to action: He scooped up a handful of wet snow and quickly packed it into a ball in the palms of his dirty gloves. Malinconico’s eyes darted from Gass-Boy’s hands to the supine gentleman, putting together what was about to take place and took a few steps backward.
Gass-Boy launched the snowball in a long arc. The projectile splatted on the asphalt inches from Belef’s head. Eyes locked and the flight response kicked in.
Gass-Boy and Malinconico fled from the Nottingham Weg as fast as the thick snowfall would allow. Through the Olkiewicz marshes and Condemnation Alley they pushed onward. A backwards glance showed Belef slipping on the slick ground even as he was gaining in pursuit.
Teary panic set in as the furley youth reached the Sheffield verandah with the man on their heels.
The young men slid to a stop in front of Courier One, his arms folded. They spun around to see Batya Belef standing there, arms also folded.
Silent disapproval often seems the loudest.
As often realised in hindsight, our proximity to trickster archetypes acts as cautionary tales to guide our witnesses down the road.
Sunday, March 10, 2024
Wednesday, March 06, 2024
Monday, March 04, 2024
Friday, March 01, 2024
OptiGrids, et alia: Usilitel’ Dukha
The Opti-Proxy of one Taoja stood in the communal chamber making small talk with visitants and thru-passers.
“Lookit the bugatty moodge,” shot one snide malapert.
“Such dorogoy platties,” smirked another.
Though Avatar Vitiation was a valid concern, skitebirds on hand wasted no time with hasty judgements based on mere appearances.
“I got little deng,” explained Taoja. “My blazer is from the charity shoppe. My shirt and trou are cast-offs. Even my avatar construct is a favour from a tog.”
“You smot that sophistos look, aincher?”
“Bezoomny, the lotta ya,” Taoja shook his head.
There are no tall poppies in Tucland, and all of their crabs writhe at the bottom of the proverbial bucket.
But Taoja was neither. Even had Validity Projection not failed, knee-jerk biteback would always be there.
Worse than hatred of success, this was hatred of perceived success. Contact Slough is the only recourse for those who cannot stomach such a scabrous standpoint.
’Twas ever thus, the Spirit of Cain.