Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
It was 10f for 4e, though you can have up to 30f for no additional charge if you need it.
SYSNES2: On the Lathe of Suns
- Thread starter Disenfrancised
- Start date
For those who are getting ripped off by the Delugers or Standards: Anyone can buy Zeran food at a rate of f^0.7 for the e, rounded down as the baseline. So 50f would be 15e for example. We, of course, are sensitive to your possible needs, and are flexible with payment and costs.
Food that's good for you and cheap!
Food that's good for you and cheap!
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
/me politely points out that 30f for 4e is much cheaper than that.
It's widely known that any dealings with the Standards have their own special and unforeseen costs.
alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
OOC: with shipping the costs would both still be horrendous....
qoou
Emperor
- Joined
- Dec 13, 2007
- Messages
- 1,991
50f for 15e = 50f for 55e. My god shipping costs suck.
In other news, you should cross me off your list of received orders Dis. I need to rework my budget; losing one of the funding sources in my last orderset means that there's a ~220e difference between my spending and my income. And not in the good way.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
Permafrost
So you call yourself a Standard, but you don’t even know about the Antiwar? I was just a kid during the war; I grew up shipborn. But retelling the story’s become a rite of passage for us down here. So have a seat on one of them cozy ice cubes and I’ll skip straight to the end before your ass freezes off.
Elric still thought in those days that documenting atrocities and raising an outcry would save us. The only thing that got us was a well-preserved tragedy. We weren’t really human to them. Datha deserved guilt, introspection. We just deserved to be put out of our misery.
This place here ain’t right for Standards. But we were running and we’d run anywhere. Iris scraped us off of Old Standard with nukes when the war went asymmetric. For every suicide attack on a barracks, every planted homing penetrator that took out a troop-carrier, they nuked something of ours. At first they stuck to military targets, but they had the tech to keep the rad levels down, and didn’t. No surprise when the winds took it across the planet. They wanted to make an example of us.
This was just after Datha, of course. Before, I think they were scared to do it. After, not as much. What’s a backwater colony next to the Thousand Moons? Engineered viruses got loose too; that was when the Fleet started to evacuate those they could. One of our own ships had a breakout, and the Fleet, they turned their guns on their own without hesitation. Commodore Anders and forty thousand people; gone in two seconds of hellfire.
We still don’t know who started the plagues. Maybe those corporate mercs doing tests for their bosses, or even a faction of the Fleet desperate to push back the Iris ground assault. They hung that crime on Elric’s doorstep when they finally caught him, but it wasn’t his style. That was the true injustice of it. Not that they destroyed our world, but that they did it and then blamed its greatest hero for their crimes. But what else is new?
Some say there’re still survivors on Old Standard, crouching in the plagued, irradiated ruins of our cities, killing each other for the smallest scrap of food. The world’s been a derelict under media blackout for almost thirty years, so who knows what fresh hell it turned into?
Living here almost makes a man want to go back. You look fresh off the boat from fighting the Knights, youngster. So let me tell you how it is.
They call it Brumal, SAF10 IV B if you're an a-hole. It must’ve looked better from space when the Css’erians sold it to Rico, ‘cause it’s a godforsaken ball of dirty ice. When we first landed, we saw the gashes in the dome, like someone had taken a giant knife and ripped it wide open. Try not to think too much about who, or what, made those scars. But when you walk the streets of this city, boots crunching on the flash-frozen chunks of old artificial atmosphere, you can’t help but always see it, a gaping black slash in our silver ‘sky’.
That’s another problem, as you’ve noticed. A man’s supposed to breathe the air of the land he walks. Living under a dome’s bad enough on its own, but this one doesn’t even work. Outside of the airtight, pressurized clan compounds and the extraction zones, it’s death in seconds to be out of a suit and a mask. You can get decent money ice mining or running generators, but to buy what? Booze, guns and vat radishes, or save enough to get off this hellhole. There’re a few shops, but Rico Regular and his cronies got all the good booze and guns now. Which leaves radishes.
Not a big fan of law, our fearless leader Rico. After he swaggered off that Css’erian ship with his eyes fixed on the old dome maintenance center, we knew what was coming. He kicked out the Nondescript clan and flash-froze two of their boys what tried to make something of it. Set up checkpoints in front of his little palace and had armed guards in front of the food vats the next day. Then they realized we were crowded as f*ck and started rationing. Yeah, I know you work for the guy, like anyone else smart in this town. But he’s not exactly Elric if you catch my meaning.
Besides that, not much else changed. Clans make do. But it’s bursting at the seams. You’ve got poor folk sleeping in dwellings abandoned to hard vacuum with their suit heaters turned up high, doing unspeakable things to get recharge power from those that have it. You hear about daughters getting sold to pay passage for a family to the Territories…dark stuff. But most clans are either too poor to get out or too stubborn to let go.
Maybe if someone patched the dome up, it’d be livable here. Plant some trees or something. But hell if Rico cares, or has the money. I’d put a bullet in his head for Kia if I thought it’d change anything. But she’s probably forgotten us. Just like everyone else.
So anyhow, welcome. Hope you brought some warm underwear. Heh.
So you call yourself a Standard, but you don’t even know about the Antiwar? I was just a kid during the war; I grew up shipborn. But retelling the story’s become a rite of passage for us down here. So have a seat on one of them cozy ice cubes and I’ll skip straight to the end before your ass freezes off.
Elric still thought in those days that documenting atrocities and raising an outcry would save us. The only thing that got us was a well-preserved tragedy. We weren’t really human to them. Datha deserved guilt, introspection. We just deserved to be put out of our misery.
This place here ain’t right for Standards. But we were running and we’d run anywhere. Iris scraped us off of Old Standard with nukes when the war went asymmetric. For every suicide attack on a barracks, every planted homing penetrator that took out a troop-carrier, they nuked something of ours. At first they stuck to military targets, but they had the tech to keep the rad levels down, and didn’t. No surprise when the winds took it across the planet. They wanted to make an example of us.
This was just after Datha, of course. Before, I think they were scared to do it. After, not as much. What’s a backwater colony next to the Thousand Moons? Engineered viruses got loose too; that was when the Fleet started to evacuate those they could. One of our own ships had a breakout, and the Fleet, they turned their guns on their own without hesitation. Commodore Anders and forty thousand people; gone in two seconds of hellfire.
We still don’t know who started the plagues. Maybe those corporate mercs doing tests for their bosses, or even a faction of the Fleet desperate to push back the Iris ground assault. They hung that crime on Elric’s doorstep when they finally caught him, but it wasn’t his style. That was the true injustice of it. Not that they destroyed our world, but that they did it and then blamed its greatest hero for their crimes. But what else is new?
Some say there’re still survivors on Old Standard, crouching in the plagued, irradiated ruins of our cities, killing each other for the smallest scrap of food. The world’s been a derelict under media blackout for almost thirty years, so who knows what fresh hell it turned into?
Living here almost makes a man want to go back. You look fresh off the boat from fighting the Knights, youngster. So let me tell you how it is.
They call it Brumal, SAF10 IV B if you're an a-hole. It must’ve looked better from space when the Css’erians sold it to Rico, ‘cause it’s a godforsaken ball of dirty ice. When we first landed, we saw the gashes in the dome, like someone had taken a giant knife and ripped it wide open. Try not to think too much about who, or what, made those scars. But when you walk the streets of this city, boots crunching on the flash-frozen chunks of old artificial atmosphere, you can’t help but always see it, a gaping black slash in our silver ‘sky’.
That’s another problem, as you’ve noticed. A man’s supposed to breathe the air of the land he walks. Living under a dome’s bad enough on its own, but this one doesn’t even work. Outside of the airtight, pressurized clan compounds and the extraction zones, it’s death in seconds to be out of a suit and a mask. You can get decent money ice mining or running generators, but to buy what? Booze, guns and vat radishes, or save enough to get off this hellhole. There’re a few shops, but Rico Regular and his cronies got all the good booze and guns now. Which leaves radishes.
Not a big fan of law, our fearless leader Rico. After he swaggered off that Css’erian ship with his eyes fixed on the old dome maintenance center, we knew what was coming. He kicked out the Nondescript clan and flash-froze two of their boys what tried to make something of it. Set up checkpoints in front of his little palace and had armed guards in front of the food vats the next day. Then they realized we were crowded as f*ck and started rationing. Yeah, I know you work for the guy, like anyone else smart in this town. But he’s not exactly Elric if you catch my meaning.
Besides that, not much else changed. Clans make do. But it’s bursting at the seams. You’ve got poor folk sleeping in dwellings abandoned to hard vacuum with their suit heaters turned up high, doing unspeakable things to get recharge power from those that have it. You hear about daughters getting sold to pay passage for a family to the Territories…dark stuff. But most clans are either too poor to get out or too stubborn to let go.
Maybe if someone patched the dome up, it’d be livable here. Plant some trees or something. But hell if Rico cares, or has the money. I’d put a bullet in his head for Kia if I thought it’d change anything. But she’s probably forgotten us. Just like everyone else.
So anyhow, welcome. Hope you brought some warm underwear. Heh.
Symphony D.
Deity
Ambiguous Assertions
[tab]“What a pile of crap,” Jucha found himself muttering.
[tab]“What?” came a response, from across the room, almost sleepily.
[tab]“This Standard Territories brochure material, IA/SA-ST/42751-A, ‘Permafrost’.”
[tab]“Reviewed that an hour ago, seemed like pretty Standard propaganda bull—” there was a forced snort at the pun from someone down the way “—what about it?”
[tab]“This nonsense about nukes,” said Jucha “is the stupidest thing I’ve read this shift. Who would buy into the idea that the Iris, built entirely on antimatter production and export, would use primitive radiological fission weapons on a world on the ugly side of baseline garden standards as part of a pacification campaign? Second Age conventions are pretty clear.” It was left unsaid that fission-driven warheads had been high-end defense products locally merely a decade ago.
[tab]“Have you not been paying attention to the ‘educational’ material they produce or something?”
[tab]“Then they talk about wet nanotech like that’s a thing and then scarcely a breath later go on about plagues like you could even have wet-nano and somehow still be at the mercy of viruses.”
[tab]“Nobody ever said they were the highest wavelength lithographers.”
[tab]“Why do we even read this excrement?”
[tab]“Correlate enough data and patterns emerge.”
[tab]“I don’t think there’s anything new to be learned from this bunch. I’d put better odds on Kompact Kelpburger ads being instructions to Deluger spies.”
[tab]“Oh please, not that again.”
[tab]“Creepy apocalyptic theology means creepy convert cultists.”
[tab]“I’m not listening anymore.”
[tab]“Just you wait.”
***
alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
OOC: I was inspired by Thlayli’s last story; credit must be given where it’s due!
IC:
How I felt?
It was horrible. When I heard we had to leave Oia, it felt like a dream.
The rain fell. By god if it would be the last time I would feel it. On Oia at least.
The Antiwar?
I never knew the Antiwar. Wasn’t born yet and clan wasn’t that high up to know what was going on. Not like you fancy Mern types. Oh I forgot ya’all call it Reliance. Yeah Reliance’s just a dumb name. I loved my farm but I would never call it “hardwork” or some other parable.
The ‘rents barely talked about why we left; horrible days they said, days of folly of a weak people who rode for the wrong man. Should have known then they weren’t real Standards when they said that. Not at all.
Oia?
Oia was the first and only planet I’ve ever known. All the oldies talk about Standard and how great it was but who cares? All I knew is that we came here and took it from the Mernt. Didn’t really know how it all went down until later; my pa was a soft type, always talking about peace and comm’rce. Probably why he and ma took off to Larsilla as soon as they could. They wanted to bring me but I wasn’t going to go.
My family?
I remember him boarding the fancy moonmen shuttle. He looked me in the eye and told me I was a fool, a fool to believe. The moonmen had run an empire when we had squatted on Old Standard. The moonmen would lead the Forest out of the darkness. What do I care about the Forest? Or the gubment? Give me land to farm, a nice wife and children and life will be good.
I saw pa one more time. Right before Janos told us of his plans to move and introduced my ol’e pa as the moonmen’s “honorable representative”. I remember that day. My pa stood there, dressed in all of the moonmen’s finery and spewing fine and classy words here and there. “Greater Standardite-Csser’ian-Mernt cooperation”, “to rise like a phoenix once more” and more mumble jumble.
That was two years ago. Gawd I remembered how much I hate him then. Turning into a moonman and all. Everyone said I did the right thing, sticking to my gumptions, staying a true blooded Standard. The clan struck pa and ma from the clan books. Would be lying if I said I never doubted myself. I miss all the little ones. All the little ones went off with ma and pa to Larsilla. They send me pictures and all but gawd. I don’t recognize them.
They look like moonmen. Their letters all talk about high-flying ideals, ideas in the sky about creating a new city in the dark, a city open to all. Never had much of an education myself. Learned my letters, how to operate a gun and machinery and that was all I ever needed. Don’t understand all that but good for them if they do. Gotta show those bastards we Standardites aren’t stupid.
Why I don’t go to Larsilla?
Hah. Not a choice. Can’t spend the last six years talking down about the moonmen and now going back. What kind of man would I be? Gotta stick to your gumptions. Larsilla ain’t for me. Good ol’ country folk I am. Need real dirt under my feet and real skies. Not some fancy-mancy artificial atmosphere. What would I do there? Live in a little apartment cooped up in the big city? Nah. The land’s for men.
Stay on Oia?
Ya kidding. Never really talked to a Mernt before. But hell if someone came and stole my home I’ll be hella mad too. And if I got the moonmen on my side, I’ll be back and not be forgiving. I guess we reap what we sow. All the moonmen say us Standardites aren’t popular, that everybody hates us. Figure who cares. Let them hate us. The Mernt can’t do two pence about it. Figured we wouldn’t have to leave. Then the damn Commodores decide to fly off to Mern, Janos rises up, Kia gets sent, we ally with the moonmen to survive and here we are.
Words for the folks back on Reliance?
Shaddup. Don’t care about the folks. All bunch of Commodorial pansies. That whole guvment thingamajigy the moonmen love talking about? Bah. Standardites don’t need no guvment. Just land, sky, farm and a wife. Better die free than die under a guvment. Now shove off!
IC:
How I felt?
It was horrible. When I heard we had to leave Oia, it felt like a dream.
The rain fell. By god if it would be the last time I would feel it. On Oia at least.
The Antiwar?
I never knew the Antiwar. Wasn’t born yet and clan wasn’t that high up to know what was going on. Not like you fancy Mern types. Oh I forgot ya’all call it Reliance. Yeah Reliance’s just a dumb name. I loved my farm but I would never call it “hardwork” or some other parable.
The ‘rents barely talked about why we left; horrible days they said, days of folly of a weak people who rode for the wrong man. Should have known then they weren’t real Standards when they said that. Not at all.
Oia?
Oia was the first and only planet I’ve ever known. All the oldies talk about Standard and how great it was but who cares? All I knew is that we came here and took it from the Mernt. Didn’t really know how it all went down until later; my pa was a soft type, always talking about peace and comm’rce. Probably why he and ma took off to Larsilla as soon as they could. They wanted to bring me but I wasn’t going to go.
My family?
I remember him boarding the fancy moonmen shuttle. He looked me in the eye and told me I was a fool, a fool to believe. The moonmen had run an empire when we had squatted on Old Standard. The moonmen would lead the Forest out of the darkness. What do I care about the Forest? Or the gubment? Give me land to farm, a nice wife and children and life will be good.
I saw pa one more time. Right before Janos told us of his plans to move and introduced my ol’e pa as the moonmen’s “honorable representative”. I remember that day. My pa stood there, dressed in all of the moonmen’s finery and spewing fine and classy words here and there. “Greater Standardite-Csser’ian-Mernt cooperation”, “to rise like a phoenix once more” and more mumble jumble.
That was two years ago. Gawd I remembered how much I hate him then. Turning into a moonman and all. Everyone said I did the right thing, sticking to my gumptions, staying a true blooded Standard. The clan struck pa and ma from the clan books. Would be lying if I said I never doubted myself. I miss all the little ones. All the little ones went off with ma and pa to Larsilla. They send me pictures and all but gawd. I don’t recognize them.
They look like moonmen. Their letters all talk about high-flying ideals, ideas in the sky about creating a new city in the dark, a city open to all. Never had much of an education myself. Learned my letters, how to operate a gun and machinery and that was all I ever needed. Don’t understand all that but good for them if they do. Gotta show those bastards we Standardites aren’t stupid.
Why I don’t go to Larsilla?
Hah. Not a choice. Can’t spend the last six years talking down about the moonmen and now going back. What kind of man would I be? Gotta stick to your gumptions. Larsilla ain’t for me. Good ol’ country folk I am. Need real dirt under my feet and real skies. Not some fancy-mancy artificial atmosphere. What would I do there? Live in a little apartment cooped up in the big city? Nah. The land’s for men.
Stay on Oia?
Ya kidding. Never really talked to a Mernt before. But hell if someone came and stole my home I’ll be hella mad too. And if I got the moonmen on my side, I’ll be back and not be forgiving. I guess we reap what we sow. All the moonmen say us Standardites aren’t popular, that everybody hates us. Figure who cares. Let them hate us. The Mernt can’t do two pence about it. Figured we wouldn’t have to leave. Then the damn Commodores decide to fly off to Mern, Janos rises up, Kia gets sent, we ally with the moonmen to survive and here we are.
Words for the folks back on Reliance?
Shaddup. Don’t care about the folks. All bunch of Commodorial pansies. That whole guvment thingamajigy the moonmen love talking about? Bah. Standardites don’t need no guvment. Just land, sky, farm and a wife. Better die free than die under a guvment. Now shove off!
Symphony D.
Deity
The Praxzen Republic and the Lesser Orion Financial Group are pleased to announce a joint development aid partnership in which the latter will reduce loan APR by 0.25 if the loan in question is directed toward the use of the former's services. Please contact both parties for further information.
qoou
Emperor
- Joined
- Dec 13, 2007
- Messages
- 1,991
The Council for the Rebuilding of Yan offers the Hephoi-built bases on Lipsid Gamma VIII and Lipsid Beta I, as well as 52 of Hephoi's purchased merchant shipping, as security for our loan. Rest assured, our government is pledged to repay Yan's debts in full; the need to resort to such securities will not come.
OOC:
Apologies Dis. Orders will be in tomorrow. Or today, whichever this upcoming sunrise is. A bit on the fatigued side currently; should've just sent orders before I went on trips; forethought is 20/20.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
OOC:
A couple things, Symph.
1. Terraforming actions to reduce radiation are available technology, so whether that's possible via nanotechnology or other means, it's available. I realize nanotech is kind of your berserk button, but take a few deep breaths. I'll even edit the sentence 'nanotech to keep the rad levels down' to 'tech to keep the rad levels down' to pacify you.
2. Second Age conventions probably barred incinerating a trillion people with solar flares too. So that's not exactly a compelling argument. And we all know that the war got brutal and desperate. In dis' own description it was described as total war. The *point* of my story was that the Iris could have used higher technology solutions to wipe out the Standards and chose to do it in an uglier fashion, because they wanted to make an example of them to Datha's other allies. To use a similar example: The US didn't nuke Vietnam just because it was the highest-technology option available, they used napalm, because the situation didn't demand the use of nuclear technology.
An extended ground campaign with no end in sight, carried out by hardened soldiers who had already seen (and done) far too much? This was a backwater theatre in the war that demanded a quick and dirty resolution. It wasn't going to demand supply-constrained antimatter resources or the highest technology level. I think a frustrated Apeilic commander could very easily be convinced to nuke the Standards to make a point about resistance. Maybe they had sub-contracted most of the war effort to less scrupulous, less advanced allies? And if you don't agree, it's my background so f-off.
3. Virus bombs are a thing, so clearly the weaponization of plagues is background-based. And if the Iris did have wet nanotech and were immune to viruses, that'd be another incentive for them to try it out on the Standard populace. But let's table that side of the discussion since I removed the nanotechnology reference. However, I specifically said in my story that it wasn't necessarily the Iris that was doing it. Mercenaries, corporations, rogue third parties, there are a lot of options here.
4. The intention of my story was not to be a propaganda brochure, but a personal recollection. You strained the IC/OOC boundary in responding to it in such a fashion. You know, you could have just approached me with your objections personally, and I would have made some edits. But instead you decided to be a dick. Though I suppose that *is* acting in character for the Praxzen, the ultimate arrogant douchebags of the Segmentum.
A couple things, Symph.
1. Terraforming actions to reduce radiation are available technology, so whether that's possible via nanotechnology or other means, it's available. I realize nanotech is kind of your berserk button, but take a few deep breaths. I'll even edit the sentence 'nanotech to keep the rad levels down' to 'tech to keep the rad levels down' to pacify you.
2. Second Age conventions probably barred incinerating a trillion people with solar flares too. So that's not exactly a compelling argument. And we all know that the war got brutal and desperate. In dis' own description it was described as total war. The *point* of my story was that the Iris could have used higher technology solutions to wipe out the Standards and chose to do it in an uglier fashion, because they wanted to make an example of them to Datha's other allies. To use a similar example: The US didn't nuke Vietnam just because it was the highest-technology option available, they used napalm, because the situation didn't demand the use of nuclear technology.
Disenfrancised in the pre-thread said:
An extended ground campaign with no end in sight, carried out by hardened soldiers who had already seen (and done) far too much? This was a backwater theatre in the war that demanded a quick and dirty resolution. It wasn't going to demand supply-constrained antimatter resources or the highest technology level. I think a frustrated Apeilic commander could very easily be convinced to nuke the Standards to make a point about resistance. Maybe they had sub-contracted most of the war effort to less scrupulous, less advanced allies? And if you don't agree, it's my background so f-off.
3. Virus bombs are a thing, so clearly the weaponization of plagues is background-based. And if the Iris did have wet nanotech and were immune to viruses, that'd be another incentive for them to try it out on the Standard populace. But let's table that side of the discussion since I removed the nanotechnology reference. However, I specifically said in my story that it wasn't necessarily the Iris that was doing it. Mercenaries, corporations, rogue third parties, there are a lot of options here.
4. The intention of my story was not to be a propaganda brochure, but a personal recollection. You strained the IC/OOC boundary in responding to it in such a fashion. You know, you could have just approached me with your objections personally, and I would have made some edits. But instead you decided to be a dick. Though I suppose that *is* acting in character for the Praxzen, the ultimate arrogant douchebags of the Segmentum.
Disenfrancised
Beep Beep
No Thlayli, nanotech is my berserk button, and therefore taking its name in vain is much more worrisome for you lot 
(but also 
).
Having wet nanotech doesn't make you immune to viruses any more than having chainsaws makes you immune to stabbing. It's a point in your favour but not an instant win trump.
(but also ).Having wet nanotech doesn't make you immune to viruses any more than having chainsaws makes you immune to stabbing. It's a point in your favour but not an instant win trump.
Symphony D.
Deity
Spoiler A Present! :
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
I didn't really say that the Iris used low-tech fission busters. Maybe they used hydrogen fusion. The point was that they wanted Standard itself ruined *during* the war, perhaps in retaliation for the Apeilics we killed, perhaps so that we wouldn't continue low-level warfare ad nauseam. Consider it a sort of Wreck Biosphere action. After the war, there was a leadership transition, and they were more willing to tolerate the survival of the Standard people as long as they went somewhere irrelevant.
They had to tread a fine line, which is why they used a mid-range weapon like nukes. Cause too much damage (like blowing the planet up with antimatter) and people in civilized space start getting (even more) nervous about atrocities. Cause too little and the Standards will *never* stop fighting, because they're Standards.
The dichotomy between the military hardliners and the pragmatists that dis highlighted in his first story would explain why the Iris would be willing to ruin Standard using relatively crude methods, i.e. an echelon of their military leadership acting outside of strictly official bounds or on their own initiative.
They had to tread a fine line, which is why they used a mid-range weapon like nukes. Cause too much damage (like blowing the planet up with antimatter) and people in civilized space start getting (even more) nervous about atrocities. Cause too little and the Standards will *never* stop fighting, because they're Standards.
The dichotomy between the military hardliners and the pragmatists that dis highlighted in his first story would explain why the Iris would be willing to ruin Standard using relatively crude methods, i.e. an echelon of their military leadership acting outside of strictly official bounds or on their own initiative.
Symphony D.
Deity
Alright, this is where a lack of familiarity with the material is showing through. Long term radiation damage and fallout are specific attributes of fission bombs, because they tend to mostly be composed of weapons material that didn't fission, or the products that did fission. This is why the contaminants tend to be fairly heavy. Fusion weapons and antimatter weapons don't do this. A fusion weapon would generally produce a neutron flux that could make things (depending on what they are) somewhat radioactive for 5-15 years (again, depending). An antimatter weapon would radiate a lot of gammas and kill everything nearby but otherwise not leave much residue, unless you had some photofission induction or something. All of them work primarily on heat and blast, not on radiation; that has always been an after-effect.
tl;dr When you invoke fallout, you are automatically invoking a fission bomb, or a fission-boosted fusion bomb (like the Teller-Ulam devices we use today). Considering the Iris is a power whose entire modus operandi is antimatter, the problem here is obvious. Admittedly, you could have a fusion bomb that was cataylzed by antimatter, or a pure fusion bomb, but those would still not display any of the planet-wrecking symptoms you described.
Antimatter is not a "planet killer" weapon. It is also not inherently a high-end weapon, because the blast you get depends on the amount you use. You could, if you wanted to, use antimatter in place of C4 for minor demolitions. There is absolutely nothing preventing it from being used tactically, especially given intermixing smaller quantities of matter/antimatter for optimal detonation is much easier with a smaller bomb.
Considering it's their main export and quite valuable, even so, throwing it away on murdering a not-very-important thrall of the defeated enemy on a mudball world is kinda wasteful. Employing a mix of special forces, drones, orbital strikes with their ridiculously powerful lasers, and yeah, probably viruses to wipe out scattered enclaves is more efficient and, as you yourself stated, far less flashy and notable to people worried about genocide. You will notice the U.S. is not carpet-nuking the Middle East despite an intractable enemy that will probably never stop fighting.
Ruining people is not the same thing as ruining a planet. People (baselines) are cheap. Decent planets are expensive. Why screw up the real estate when you can just sell it to some poor sap after the war? This, incidentally, is one of the big reasons neutron bombs were pioneered (although they never worked as described, and biowar was always a better method of doing the same thing).
The Iris is not the Cylons or the UNSC or Weyland-Yutani. It is much, much, much more powerful. It wouldn't need to use nukes to clear a planet of people who were probably T3. You blew up a Salamander in a cutscene, sure: outliers happen. See also: U.S.S. Cole. That doesn't mean they had any real problems winning a ground war. In fact, it's indicated that's precisely what happened after their attention was drawn due to that act. Imagine Sealand or Somali Pirates (no, not Al Qaeda: you lacked any means of retaliating against them whatsoever) vs. the United States, and that's about where you are in difference. It's really clear that the Standards are considered a low priority by the Iris. It's not just because they beat you up badly already: it's because you were always a low priority. The idea that Standard was some Vietnam or Afghanistan level drain on their attention requiring special brutality to end is just silly and speaks of boastful hyperbole on the part of the Standards themselves.
Which is exactly the point I was gesturing at in my counter story.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
Edit: In light of dis' background expansion, I'll just go with what he's said and say that my story is just a dimly remembered, slightly exaggerated recollection.
Symphony D.
Deity
A Memo
--------------------------------
Origin: Office of the President
Ref: DOC-DDS/EXCOMM-4978-352
Date: February 1, UC 4978
Class: Unclassified
--------------------------------
[tab][tab]MEMORANDUM FROM THE DIRECTORATE OF DEFENSE AND SECURITY
[tab][tab][tab][tab][tab]EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE
SUBJECT: Policy in an Environment of Existential Threat
[tab]Two possibilities exist: Either we are alone in the
[tab]Universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying.
[tab]—Clarke
[tab]It has been over five millennia since Clarke wrote these words,
and as has been clear for some time, the actuality of the circumstance
is the latter condition. The Human clade is one of many in sequence
to rule this space. It is not the first and unlikely to be the last.
The problem of our place having been established as trivial, it is
possible to address a much more enduring mystery with actual policy
implications: the Fermi Paradox.
[tab]Historically stated, the Fermi Paradox was essentially the
question: “Where is everyone?” As has just been stated, intelligent
life is seemingly ubiquitous. The modern Fermi Paradox, as conveyed
here, is a related but somewhat different question: “Why is everyone
dead or missing?” This is a question of cause, and from our species’
own experience, the nature of the cause is easy to divine: Outside
Context Problems (OCPs).
[tab]Local data on the Ravening and the Tumult may be characterized
as lacking at best. One of the unfortunate aspects of OCPs is that
they are effective at destroying records. Despite this, they may be
broadly characterized: the Ravening was a mass release of weapons of
mass destruction, and the Tumult was a natural (if rare) disaster in
which a gravimetric event interfaced with highly advanced energy
technology in a destructive fashion. The latter is directly at cause
for the existence of this Republic and its exopolitical environs. The
nature of our precursors, of their peers, and of the previous tenants
of what is now regarded as Humanspace are difficult to collate, beyond
the scope of this memorandum, and beside the point: long-term survival
must be predicated on anticipation of the emergence of OCPs and is
commensurate with an ability to identify and navigate them safely.
[tab]For this reason the study of archaeological finds, both Human
and Xeno, is to be regarded as a matter of national and cultural
security in order to better identify the nature of OCPs that pose
a clear and present danger to the continued survival of this nation
and its people. Study of practical methods of surviving, enduring,
or neutralizing known OCPs is also to be afforded high priority,
although ongoing theoretical work in this field is also beyond the
scope of this document. Furthermore, given these OCPs are either
induced or exacerbated by technological progress and the gravity of
the threat they represent to macro-continuity, it is clear that they
must receive due place in national security and foreign policy
considerations.
[tab]In looking forward, three pieces of old wisdom can be applied:
an ancient adage, “It’s not enough to survive. One must be worthy of
survival,” and Clarke’s insight, “Science demands patience.” In order
to survive, patience is critical. Inward impatience is a suicidal
tendency; outward impatience a genocidal one. This is a cultural
assessment, rather than an individual one, although this difference
bears contemplation. That which determines worthiness is also evident:
it is the capacity to induce survival in others through superior
example and superior leadership. This is the mark of excellence. From
this, policy is clear: those incapable of self-restraint must be
restrained; for those who refuse such oversight the appropriate maxim
is: “Get them before they get you.”
Long-term policy must always bear these principles in mind if it
is to survive a sufficient duration to bear the name. To do otherwise
is to lose by embracing extinction, and worse, to fail by not meeting
the standards to which we should hold ourselves.
[tab][tab][tab][tab][tab][tab][tab][tab]R. T. Marius
[tab][tab][tab][tab][tab][tab][tab][tab]President, Praxzen Republic
Disenfrancised
Beep Beep
Battle Events
A) Pirates arrive at...Phaeton, Kal' flips like a scared baby girl and pays their extortion. Rumors of the Segmentum Alnitah having some 'easy marks' start to spread outwards.
B) Going to need Symphony D and a volunteer for a space/ground battle at some point (not tonight though) whenever's good for you guys. Emphasis on the ground section I think.
Story
In those scant long last seconds before the transition Captain Hari Ghase stared at the darkening stars of the viewscreen. Itd take a keen observer to pick up the sigh whispered under his breath at the sight. Hed never admit it openly but he missed the annulus effect the clapped out old Bullfrogs produced for interstellar jumps. It made it seem like the ship was diving through a doorway; a gate of infinite possibility and adventure. The anomaly the new drives on the Porushnik generated wasnt an intrepid leap through a portal of adjusted space time; it was as if the ship was sinking, drowning in the lightless depths of some bleaker universe, descending some other place.
Disquieting aesthetics aside the process itself was as running smooth as silk; with hardly a ripple on the outside view and the phase graphic thrown up on his data panel glimmering a calm eggshell blue of a coherence perfect down to the limits of measurement. Hed affixed his tablet to the connection point and had the two report graphics fill the whole screen. From the similar tone of light being shone into the faces of the rest of the staff on the bridge he didnt need to guess that everyone else was looking at the same thing. Technically only the three most senior officers along with ASTROGATION and DRIVE were in the command chain that signed off on the transcendence being properly formatted, but he understood that every truer spacer would have concerns and curiosities about the first major jump for the freshly constructed ship. Whether concern or curiosity was paramount depended on the individual; Ghase felt split roughly half and half himself. To be truly honest even the senior officers oversight was probably unnecessary considering the seven different control systems performing the checks, in a half century of service and at least a score of jaunts outsystem Ghase couldnt recall a single time a DRIVE officers approval had been overruled.
He wasnt going to break that tradition now; when the phase graph matched the intended parameters he confidently tapped the approval tab the second it appeared, his skin pulsing his authorisation code into the reactive plastic of the tablet. He looked across at the two junior officers and gave them a curt nod whilst waxing confidence in their abilities across his brow. The bridge had twenty rotating acceleration couches arranged in two rows around the central holographic display pit and ceiling screens, and the pair managing the ipsiluminal jump had set up across from the captains chosen seat. The couches and displays filled up the mid-section of the long and low half-cylinder of the bridges space, and none were specialised or distinguished, even the one Captain Ghase currently occupied. Unlike more primitive craft there wasnt any need for the bridge crew to be concentrated in one place; nearly every task could be carried out from anywhere on the ship via tablet and voice link. Ghase himself liked to be constantly moving around and checking up on all aspects of the engineering and holds, perhaps stopping by the bridge only once a shift if that. Most of the rest of the staff followed the captain example, except for those whose tasks focused them on a single area like the reactor control room or the processer core. Today was an exception though; for the first interstellar traverse of the ships maiden voyage every single seat available seat in the bridge room was occupied
There were only three permanent and specialised chairs, positioned down at the far end of the bridge; the two gambled and armatured cages for the pair of pilots to fly the ship from, and the impressive instrument desk where CONTROL monitored, logged, and occasionally denied the commands the rest of the officers were sending in from their scattered positions throughout the ship. Having a gatekeeper between the master computer input and the officers was something the fleet had debated for years. Throughput verses integrity was an argument stretching back to when cavemen Ug had carved the second computer from a rock and wanted to hook it up to the first computer and the Praxzen high command were no closer to a definitive answer then any of a thousand generations of predecessors. The current tilt was towards integrity, hence the oversight of provided by CONTROL. Though perhaps not spoken aloud to the public, the government was keenly aware that they had far from the best communications technology available in the Segmentum or wider sector. The tricks some of the visiting academics and diplomats of foreign powers had been able to engage in were certainly worrying and made all the more so with the seeming cavalier attitude with which they were employed. If a Coran librarian looking for a coffee house can casually hack the capitals security cameras to find one thats open whilst wandering down boulevard, the idea of what a hostile intelligence team could do kept everyone whod been briefed on the incident up at night.
As usual thoughts on other things had stopped him from registering the exact moment of transition, and only when his comm-unit started pulsing a time update into his skin did Ghase let his breath out. The anomaly read outs were banished with a touch and replaced with a schematic of the ship; nothing seemed to be amiss as reported by the control systems, with all sections of the ships broad blade of a spaceframe shown to be clear of fire or damage. The vast jet black switchblades of the wings and outrigger engines were slowly flexing out as he watching, uncoiling from the volume minimising jump configuration. The instant a moment of calm was gained Ghase would have the engineering crew scour every inch of the ship to make sure things were truly clean and clear, you could never be too careful with a maiden jump. But in the meantime congratulations were in order and other matters had to be attended to. He cleared his throat and tabbed up the ship wide intercom.
Good work everyone, we made a cut as clean as could be welcome to SAF2. Stay at readiness stations for the time being, we are now at risk level two until proven otherwise.
Tabbing off the intercom and turning to the packed bridge he continued,
Very nice indeed you two, Im sure the admirality is going to love the readouts on that jump. Now then; ENGINE bring us up to a subcritical burn I want to be able to move at a moment notice. SENSE where are you at?
Sweeps at 45%, integration is a few points behind. Cords are down though trailing the planet by 80 mill and 32 mill in, devee to intercept will be minor
A very nice jump indeed. Get the sweep in the holopit as soon as its done. CONTROL, switch the bridge couches to the axial thrust position.
As the chairs rotated and tilted to face the bow end of the bridge, a shiver of alarm sunk down Ghases spine. As much as romantics might assign it to superlative captaincy instincts, the cause was rather more based in rationality; hed piped the high level error-metafilter from the processor core, through his comm unit into a specialised patch of his skinbrain and then on to his true brains limbic system. The hundreds of times he was woken during his sleep cycle by false flags were going to pay off one day when a subconscious and subvocal knowledge of imminent danger proved useful. The sensation duped a feeling of heat and floating uncertainty, and Ghase turned his head towards the ENGINE officer even before a red readout popped up on his screen.
Problem?
Sorry sir, some of the uh Ressori secondary containment rings were booting out of order. Im damping it and reinitialising. The younger officer stumbled a second when recalling the unfamilar name. That was the problem with using foreign equipment, especially something with tens of thousands of parts like the principle fusion drive; it made it nigh impossible for even the most dedicated officer to truly known the system inside and out. There were always volumes of tacit knowledge that didnt appear in any manual or instructional material. The Fleet had floated the idea of having a Csserian engineering officer to offset this and provide a nice bit of public relations footage, but Ghase and the other senior captains had put their foot down against it. For one thing this was an important mission where the crew need to gel perfectly, not some media project to show diversity, inclusiveness, or how far wed come, for another it meant Praxzen experts would never get round to learning the systems in the stress of actual use like young Bian here was doing.
However no sooner had the engine alert been dispelled than something much bigger arose. Both SIGNAL and SENSE started speaking at once as the main spatial display flickered to life.
Sir, were picking up a max priority message packet from-
Sir, Im detecting over seven hundred and eight vapour streams with a spectral-
Ghase cut them short with a curt gesture and a flash of silence. The thermal spectral scan of the planet told him all he needed to know of the situation in a single image. He spoke quickly, barking out orders.
ENGINE, PILOT, bring us up to a maximum thrust. Now. Set the highest jitter profile the engine can handle. ASTRO, SENSE, set up an orbital insertion thatll end in an aerobrake landing as far away from the impact sites as possible, feed it to PILOT as soon as youre done, dont send it for review.
As the ship leapt forward the acceleration ramped up to 0.9g in just a few seconds. The whole bridge crew started to shudder in their couches as the thrust stuttered up and down by 10% or 20% every few seconds or so. It was an ancient formula for safety - the foe cant hit you if they dont know exactly where you will be, but it was also an ancient formula for anyone but the most hardened military spacer to lose their lunch. The captain continued;
SIGNAL feed full telemetry to the Torpor station, itll be over an hour for the round trip but well need their intel as soon as possible. If we go down in flames the Admiralty will want a full report on how the ship fared. Senior staff get in a closed voice conference, CONTROL patch the General in as soon as you can raise her.
The comm-unit crackled with the General opening a connection even before it had finished white-noising out the sounds of the bridge springing to action. Its pick up would also catch and transmit Ghases and the other senior staffs subvocalisations without spilling potentially sensitive information to those who did not need to know. Her being ready instantly was no surprise of course; the sudden start of acceleration and evasive manoeuvres would clue everyone on the ship into something big happening, from the lowliest grunt on up.
Captain Ghase, I assume there have been problems with our arrival?
We have arrived successfully General, the problem is we are not the only ones.
Who?
90% confidence the munitions profile match known Thunder Chariot kinetics
So youre moving on plan C?
Yes, ready your men for a hot landing
A) Pirates arrive at...Phaeton, Kal' flips like a scared baby girl and pays their extortion. Rumors of the Segmentum Alnitah having some 'easy marks' start to spread outwards
.B) Going to need Symphony D and a volunteer for a space/ground battle at some point (not tonight though) whenever's good for you guys. Emphasis on the ground section I think.
Story
In those scant long last seconds before the transition Captain Hari Ghase stared at the darkening stars of the viewscreen. Itd take a keen observer to pick up the sigh whispered under his breath at the sight. Hed never admit it openly but he missed the annulus effect the clapped out old Bullfrogs produced for interstellar jumps. It made it seem like the ship was diving through a doorway; a gate of infinite possibility and adventure. The anomaly the new drives on the Porushnik generated wasnt an intrepid leap through a portal of adjusted space time; it was as if the ship was sinking, drowning in the lightless depths of some bleaker universe, descending some other place.
Disquieting aesthetics aside the process itself was as running smooth as silk; with hardly a ripple on the outside view and the phase graphic thrown up on his data panel glimmering a calm eggshell blue of a coherence perfect down to the limits of measurement. Hed affixed his tablet to the connection point and had the two report graphics fill the whole screen. From the similar tone of light being shone into the faces of the rest of the staff on the bridge he didnt need to guess that everyone else was looking at the same thing. Technically only the three most senior officers along with ASTROGATION and DRIVE were in the command chain that signed off on the transcendence being properly formatted, but he understood that every truer spacer would have concerns and curiosities about the first major jump for the freshly constructed ship. Whether concern or curiosity was paramount depended on the individual; Ghase felt split roughly half and half himself. To be truly honest even the senior officers oversight was probably unnecessary considering the seven different control systems performing the checks, in a half century of service and at least a score of jaunts outsystem Ghase couldnt recall a single time a DRIVE officers approval had been overruled.
He wasnt going to break that tradition now; when the phase graph matched the intended parameters he confidently tapped the approval tab the second it appeared, his skin pulsing his authorisation code into the reactive plastic of the tablet. He looked across at the two junior officers and gave them a curt nod whilst waxing confidence in their abilities across his brow. The bridge had twenty rotating acceleration couches arranged in two rows around the central holographic display pit and ceiling screens, and the pair managing the ipsiluminal jump had set up across from the captains chosen seat. The couches and displays filled up the mid-section of the long and low half-cylinder of the bridges space, and none were specialised or distinguished, even the one Captain Ghase currently occupied. Unlike more primitive craft there wasnt any need for the bridge crew to be concentrated in one place; nearly every task could be carried out from anywhere on the ship via tablet and voice link. Ghase himself liked to be constantly moving around and checking up on all aspects of the engineering and holds, perhaps stopping by the bridge only once a shift if that. Most of the rest of the staff followed the captain example, except for those whose tasks focused them on a single area like the reactor control room or the processer core. Today was an exception though; for the first interstellar traverse of the ships maiden voyage every single seat available seat in the bridge room was occupied
There were only three permanent and specialised chairs, positioned down at the far end of the bridge; the two gambled and armatured cages for the pair of pilots to fly the ship from, and the impressive instrument desk where CONTROL monitored, logged, and occasionally denied the commands the rest of the officers were sending in from their scattered positions throughout the ship. Having a gatekeeper between the master computer input and the officers was something the fleet had debated for years. Throughput verses integrity was an argument stretching back to when cavemen Ug had carved the second computer from a rock and wanted to hook it up to the first computer and the Praxzen high command were no closer to a definitive answer then any of a thousand generations of predecessors. The current tilt was towards integrity, hence the oversight of provided by CONTROL. Though perhaps not spoken aloud to the public, the government was keenly aware that they had far from the best communications technology available in the Segmentum or wider sector. The tricks some of the visiting academics and diplomats of foreign powers had been able to engage in were certainly worrying and made all the more so with the seeming cavalier attitude with which they were employed. If a Coran librarian looking for a coffee house can casually hack the capitals security cameras to find one thats open whilst wandering down boulevard, the idea of what a hostile intelligence team could do kept everyone whod been briefed on the incident up at night.
As usual thoughts on other things had stopped him from registering the exact moment of transition, and only when his comm-unit started pulsing a time update into his skin did Ghase let his breath out. The anomaly read outs were banished with a touch and replaced with a schematic of the ship; nothing seemed to be amiss as reported by the control systems, with all sections of the ships broad blade of a spaceframe shown to be clear of fire or damage. The vast jet black switchblades of the wings and outrigger engines were slowly flexing out as he watching, uncoiling from the volume minimising jump configuration. The instant a moment of calm was gained Ghase would have the engineering crew scour every inch of the ship to make sure things were truly clean and clear, you could never be too careful with a maiden jump. But in the meantime congratulations were in order and other matters had to be attended to. He cleared his throat and tabbed up the ship wide intercom.
Good work everyone, we made a cut as clean as could be welcome to SAF2. Stay at readiness stations for the time being, we are now at risk level two until proven otherwise.
Tabbing off the intercom and turning to the packed bridge he continued,
Very nice indeed you two, Im sure the admirality is going to love the readouts on that jump. Now then; ENGINE bring us up to a subcritical burn I want to be able to move at a moment notice. SENSE where are you at?
Sweeps at 45%, integration is a few points behind. Cords are down though trailing the planet by 80 mill and 32 mill in, devee to intercept will be minor
A very nice jump indeed. Get the sweep in the holopit as soon as its done. CONTROL, switch the bridge couches to the axial thrust position.
As the chairs rotated and tilted to face the bow end of the bridge, a shiver of alarm sunk down Ghases spine. As much as romantics might assign it to superlative captaincy instincts, the cause was rather more based in rationality; hed piped the high level error-metafilter from the processor core, through his comm unit into a specialised patch of his skinbrain and then on to his true brains limbic system. The hundreds of times he was woken during his sleep cycle by false flags were going to pay off one day when a subconscious and subvocal knowledge of imminent danger proved useful. The sensation duped a feeling of heat and floating uncertainty, and Ghase turned his head towards the ENGINE officer even before a red readout popped up on his screen.
Problem?
Sorry sir, some of the uh Ressori secondary containment rings were booting out of order. Im damping it and reinitialising. The younger officer stumbled a second when recalling the unfamilar name. That was the problem with using foreign equipment, especially something with tens of thousands of parts like the principle fusion drive; it made it nigh impossible for even the most dedicated officer to truly known the system inside and out. There were always volumes of tacit knowledge that didnt appear in any manual or instructional material. The Fleet had floated the idea of having a Csserian engineering officer to offset this and provide a nice bit of public relations footage, but Ghase and the other senior captains had put their foot down against it. For one thing this was an important mission where the crew need to gel perfectly, not some media project to show diversity, inclusiveness, or how far wed come, for another it meant Praxzen experts would never get round to learning the systems in the stress of actual use like young Bian here was doing.
However no sooner had the engine alert been dispelled than something much bigger arose. Both SIGNAL and SENSE started speaking at once as the main spatial display flickered to life.
Sir, were picking up a max priority message packet from-
Sir, Im detecting over seven hundred and eight vapour streams with a spectral-
Ghase cut them short with a curt gesture and a flash of silence. The thermal spectral scan of the planet told him all he needed to know of the situation in a single image. He spoke quickly, barking out orders.
ENGINE, PILOT, bring us up to a maximum thrust. Now. Set the highest jitter profile the engine can handle. ASTRO, SENSE, set up an orbital insertion thatll end in an aerobrake landing as far away from the impact sites as possible, feed it to PILOT as soon as youre done, dont send it for review.
As the ship leapt forward the acceleration ramped up to 0.9g in just a few seconds. The whole bridge crew started to shudder in their couches as the thrust stuttered up and down by 10% or 20% every few seconds or so. It was an ancient formula for safety - the foe cant hit you if they dont know exactly where you will be, but it was also an ancient formula for anyone but the most hardened military spacer to lose their lunch. The captain continued;
SIGNAL feed full telemetry to the Torpor station, itll be over an hour for the round trip but well need their intel as soon as possible. If we go down in flames the Admiralty will want a full report on how the ship fared. Senior staff get in a closed voice conference, CONTROL patch the General in as soon as you can raise her.
The comm-unit crackled with the General opening a connection even before it had finished white-noising out the sounds of the bridge springing to action. Its pick up would also catch and transmit Ghases and the other senior staffs subvocalisations without spilling potentially sensitive information to those who did not need to know. Her being ready instantly was no surprise of course; the sudden start of acceleration and evasive manoeuvres would clue everyone on the ship into something big happening, from the lowliest grunt on up.
Captain Ghase, I assume there have been problems with our arrival?
We have arrived successfully General, the problem is we are not the only ones.
Who?
90% confidence the munitions profile match known Thunder Chariot kinetics
So youre moving on plan C?
Yes, ready your men for a hot landing