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The station guards outside Geira Watch hovered over the dark green Orion Hornet, wary of the UIT pilot.
"State your business, UIT."
The pilot replied, "This is Lieutenant Screwball of The Guild of Free Traders. I'm here on business. Request permission to dock."
After a minute the reply came back, "Permission granted. Use the lower docking bay and don't leave your ship until an escort arrives."
"Roger, docking now."
Being on the front lines of the war, station security was especially tight. Screwball was relieved that there was no fighting going on in the sector. As he sat in his ship, waiting for the escorts to make their way across the docking bay, he smiled to himself. He had a new customer.
"ID chip verified, no weapons detected. Follow me, sir!", said the station escort. A few minutes later, Screwball was seated in a booth in the station bar, awaiting the arrival of his customer. His dark green outfit stood out in the sea of Red uniforms around him and he got the occasional suspicious look.
He was sipping a drink and reviewing a technical manual when a shadow fell over the table. He looked up to see a commanding figure in a red uniform looking down at him. Screwball quickly stood up and stuck out his hand. "Commander Sarken, I presume..."
Rather than seeing an extended hand, Screwball was greeted with the barrels of two guns, one from each of the guises that flanked the man who's hand he had, moments before, been trying to shake. "At ease, I asked him to meet me here," said the Commander to his guards. They slowly put their guns back in their holsters. "I apologize, Lt. Screwball, they are trained to protect me and your sudden movement startled them. It was good of you to freeze when you did. Otherwise, your guild might be looking for a new Lieutenant. Let's sit, shall we?"
Screwball looked at the guises, then back at the Commander, and slowly sat down. He finished the remainder of his drink in one gulp, pushed the manual to the side, and, as he calmed down, began to speak. "Th-thank you for your interest in advertising on Radio TGFT. I have confirmed that the piece you submitted meets the format requirements and we can begin broadcasting as soon as payment is received."
"Excellent." The ST6 Commander pulled out a credit pad and, after typing in the amount and authenticating the transaction, pressed the transmit button. A few moments later, a corresponding deposit appeared on Screwball's credit pad.
Screwball then typed in a few commands and looked up. "It should be on the air within the hour. Thank you for your business. By the way, how is the food here? I'm famished after flying here non-stop from Corvus Hold after the race."
"You know, I don't think I've remembered to eat today either, what with all the action next door in Deneb. Waiter! Bring us some vulture wings and pitcher of Rutilus Red Ale! So, how are things back in gray space these days? ..."
An hour and several stories later, there was a pile of small greasy bones, dirty napkins, and several empty drinks cluttering the table. As they rose to get up, Screwball thanked the Commander for his hospitality and headed back to his ship with a full belly.
As he launched from the station, Screwball smiled and thought to himself, "Well that went well. I wonder how long it will take the Itani to respond with a counter-advertisement."
(to be continued...)
"State your business, UIT."
The pilot replied, "This is Lieutenant Screwball of The Guild of Free Traders. I'm here on business. Request permission to dock."
After a minute the reply came back, "Permission granted. Use the lower docking bay and don't leave your ship until an escort arrives."
"Roger, docking now."
Being on the front lines of the war, station security was especially tight. Screwball was relieved that there was no fighting going on in the sector. As he sat in his ship, waiting for the escorts to make their way across the docking bay, he smiled to himself. He had a new customer.
"ID chip verified, no weapons detected. Follow me, sir!", said the station escort. A few minutes later, Screwball was seated in a booth in the station bar, awaiting the arrival of his customer. His dark green outfit stood out in the sea of Red uniforms around him and he got the occasional suspicious look.
He was sipping a drink and reviewing a technical manual when a shadow fell over the table. He looked up to see a commanding figure in a red uniform looking down at him. Screwball quickly stood up and stuck out his hand. "Commander Sarken, I presume..."
Rather than seeing an extended hand, Screwball was greeted with the barrels of two guns, one from each of the guises that flanked the man who's hand he had, moments before, been trying to shake. "At ease, I asked him to meet me here," said the Commander to his guards. They slowly put their guns back in their holsters. "I apologize, Lt. Screwball, they are trained to protect me and your sudden movement startled them. It was good of you to freeze when you did. Otherwise, your guild might be looking for a new Lieutenant. Let's sit, shall we?"
Screwball looked at the guises, then back at the Commander, and slowly sat down. He finished the remainder of his drink in one gulp, pushed the manual to the side, and, as he calmed down, began to speak. "Th-thank you for your interest in advertising on Radio TGFT. I have confirmed that the piece you submitted meets the format requirements and we can begin broadcasting as soon as payment is received."
"Excellent." The ST6 Commander pulled out a credit pad and, after typing in the amount and authenticating the transaction, pressed the transmit button. A few moments later, a corresponding deposit appeared on Screwball's credit pad.
Screwball then typed in a few commands and looked up. "It should be on the air within the hour. Thank you for your business. By the way, how is the food here? I'm famished after flying here non-stop from Corvus Hold after the race."
"You know, I don't think I've remembered to eat today either, what with all the action next door in Deneb. Waiter! Bring us some vulture wings and pitcher of Rutilus Red Ale! So, how are things back in gray space these days? ..."
An hour and several stories later, there was a pile of small greasy bones, dirty napkins, and several empty drinks cluttering the table. As they rose to get up, Screwball thanked the Commander for his hospitality and headed back to his ship with a full belly.
As he launched from the station, Screwball smiled and thought to himself, "Well that went well. I wonder how long it will take the Itani to respond with a counter-advertisement."
(to be continued...)
I wondered if the trader saw my eyes roll ever so slightly as the two guises pulled their government issue Ion Blasters out. Now mind you I don't have a problem with guises, for the most I like them, but at times they can be some what excessive. Effective, but excessive. Besides the whole point was to impress the UiT not scare him to death.
I've never really been one for extravagance, but at the same time I do realize the importance of it in some situations. Maybe this was not that situation but I thought it warranted a full cute tailored ST6 dress uniform with all my fancy little meaningless metals, the funny looking none functional hat and the two security guises.
So there I stood all 5'8 of me in my black ST6 uniform with it's red trim and the gold fist and sword, a Serco symbol of my command. The guises on either side of my wore a similar uniform, with a large holster on either hip for their weapons.
My intention as I said was to impress. This guy was first a rich trader, but secondly he worked with a new media that was forming. Some thing more universal then any thing that had ever been seen before. Warfare 101 says he who controls the minds of the people controls their hearts. And it's been long proven that the media is an effective way of controlling minds. For this reason he was here.
"At ease, he's support to be here." I growled at the guises. As I took the Traders hand and apologized for the security as we both took a seat.
"So how much will this advertisement cost again?" I already well knew the price, and it was little to pay for being the first one with a face on this new media station, but at the same time I wanted him to feel a small margin of power so he would still be moldable.
"Uh, well it's 500k a week, but I know you want a month and you get a 25% discount for that so um, 1.5mil." I stared at him for a second trying not to seem to eager, I think he took it as displeasure for he quickly said.
"I'm uh just sort of making this up as I go, I'm uh really new to this whole thing it's just that..." I quickly cut him off before he embarrassed him self.
"That will be more then fine. It sounds like a very fair price to me." This made him smile. A smile that only grew bigger as I quickly gave him the money with out delay. Now don't get me wrong I don't think all UiT are greedy, just most of them. And some how I could not help but feel this UiT was most of them.
He looked up after starring at his account for a few seconds and said, "It should be on the air within the hour. Thank you for your business. By the way, how is the food here? I'm famished after flying here non-stop from Corvus Hold after the race."
I grinned and tried to think if I had ever even eaten at this station before. I mattered little this was a barracks station and they all served the same kinds of crap disguised as food. Thinking fast I quickly said, "You know, I don't think I've remembered to eat today either, what with all the action next door in Deneb. Waiter! Bring us some vulture wings and pitcher of Rutilus Red Ale! So, how are things back in gray space these days?"
That started off an ok meal and a good conversation leading up to me offering to help if he ever needed another face for his news. As we finished and I picked up the tab, I couldn't help but grin as I thought of LeberMac scrambling to make up an ad after Smittens ate him out for Borb having once again done some thing cooler then him.
The UiT may not be good for to much in the war, but what they are good for, they are good at.
I've never really been one for extravagance, but at the same time I do realize the importance of it in some situations. Maybe this was not that situation but I thought it warranted a full cute tailored ST6 dress uniform with all my fancy little meaningless metals, the funny looking none functional hat and the two security guises.
So there I stood all 5'8 of me in my black ST6 uniform with it's red trim and the gold fist and sword, a Serco symbol of my command. The guises on either side of my wore a similar uniform, with a large holster on either hip for their weapons.
My intention as I said was to impress. This guy was first a rich trader, but secondly he worked with a new media that was forming. Some thing more universal then any thing that had ever been seen before. Warfare 101 says he who controls the minds of the people controls their hearts. And it's been long proven that the media is an effective way of controlling minds. For this reason he was here.
"At ease, he's support to be here." I growled at the guises. As I took the Traders hand and apologized for the security as we both took a seat.
"So how much will this advertisement cost again?" I already well knew the price, and it was little to pay for being the first one with a face on this new media station, but at the same time I wanted him to feel a small margin of power so he would still be moldable.
"Uh, well it's 500k a week, but I know you want a month and you get a 25% discount for that so um, 1.5mil." I stared at him for a second trying not to seem to eager, I think he took it as displeasure for he quickly said.
"I'm uh just sort of making this up as I go, I'm uh really new to this whole thing it's just that..." I quickly cut him off before he embarrassed him self.
"That will be more then fine. It sounds like a very fair price to me." This made him smile. A smile that only grew bigger as I quickly gave him the money with out delay. Now don't get me wrong I don't think all UiT are greedy, just most of them. And some how I could not help but feel this UiT was most of them.
He looked up after starring at his account for a few seconds and said, "It should be on the air within the hour. Thank you for your business. By the way, how is the food here? I'm famished after flying here non-stop from Corvus Hold after the race."
I grinned and tried to think if I had ever even eaten at this station before. I mattered little this was a barracks station and they all served the same kinds of crap disguised as food. Thinking fast I quickly said, "You know, I don't think I've remembered to eat today either, what with all the action next door in Deneb. Waiter! Bring us some vulture wings and pitcher of Rutilus Red Ale! So, how are things back in gray space these days?"
That started off an ok meal and a good conversation leading up to me offering to help if he ever needed another face for his news. As we finished and I picked up the tab, I couldn't help but grin as I thought of LeberMac scrambling to make up an ad after Smittens ate him out for Borb having once again done some thing cooler then him.
The UiT may not be good for to much in the war, but what they are good for, they are good at.
"after Smittens ate him out"
Chewed him out, Borby! CHEWED him out... Jesus.
Chewed him out, Borby! CHEWED him out... Jesus.
Ain't how we say it down here yanky boy.
That's uh... yeah. Nevermind. Ya'll say it how you want; I just never knew Texas was, uh, like that.
P.S. Virginia ain't no yankee state.
P.S. Virginia ain't no yankee state.
Yeah but your still kinda up north. ;) Besides you know that's what smitty does behind closed doors.
Erm, Borb, you REALLY should rephrase that. Make sure you're playing for the right team and all...
Yeah, we really need to respect (read: don't want to know) what goes on between two condescending adults in the privacy of...wherever. Especially if it's Leber & Smitty.
(man, did this thread go south quick. do i hear... penguins?)
(man, did this thread go south quick. do i hear... penguins?)
condescending adults? Well, Itani are rather condescending, but /me thinks you mean "consenting."
Lol. I can see Dr. Lecter teaching high school English. All the students would be afraid to give a wrong answer.
Um, Borb, there's a math error in your post. It's 500k per week before the discount, not 250k.
I guess I should teach math... :)
Now back to the subject, please.
Um, Borb, there's a math error in your post. It's 500k per week before the discount, not 250k.
I guess I should teach math... :)
Now back to the subject, please.
You know and the funny thing is I remember doing all the math in my head and telling my self 500k... Any way yeah 6 hours of sleep and up all night with tornados sucks for RP.
Must... get... the image of condescending adults eating each other out... out of my head! AAAARRRGGGHHHH!
What is the text of ad anyway? I can't understand words in the end of it -- too much echo
This is my ship. There are many like it, but this one is mine.
My ship is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.
My ship, without me, is useless. Without my ship, I am useless. I must fly my ship true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will.
My ship and myself know that what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit.
My ship is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its engine and its HUD. I will ever guard it against the ravages of weather and damage as I will ever guard my legs, my arms, my eyes and my heart against damage. I will keep my ship clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will.
Before God, I swear this creed. My ship and myself are the defenders of my nation. We are the saviors of my life.
So be it, until victory is ours and there is no enemy, but peace. For I am Serco Team six.
Adapted largely from a few versions of the Creed Of The US Marine, due to lack of inspiration at the time, and because the US Rangers one was to long...
My ship is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.
My ship, without me, is useless. Without my ship, I am useless. I must fly my ship true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will.
My ship and myself know that what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit.
My ship is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its engine and its HUD. I will ever guard it against the ravages of weather and damage as I will ever guard my legs, my arms, my eyes and my heart against damage. I will keep my ship clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will.
Before God, I swear this creed. My ship and myself are the defenders of my nation. We are the saviors of my life.
So be it, until victory is ours and there is no enemy, but peace. For I am Serco Team six.
Adapted largely from a few versions of the Creed Of The US Marine, due to lack of inspiration at the time, and because the US Rangers one was to long...
I don't know what is the Creed Of The US Marine, but this text is cool. Though I'd advice that ad me more legible in the second half
Same 'ol Borb...
Ooh-ra!
As for legibility, it's more of a test ad then any thing else, I wanted to make sure I had it right, that my recording equipment would sound ok on the net, and how clear any special effects would come though. Once I get more time I plan a total rehaul of the ad any way but for now I do like what's there, but then I like the sound of my own voice.
As for legibility, it's more of a test ad then any thing else, I wanted to make sure I had it right, that my recording equipment would sound ok on the net, and how clear any special effects would come though. Once I get more time I plan a total rehaul of the ad any way but for now I do like what's there, but then I like the sound of my own voice.
Borb, you're a Marine? I think we need to talk sometime.
Haha not yet, I'm slated to join outta collage in winter of 09. I don't think it will be that hard I can already meet most of the PT requirements shoot a gun and I live with a 8 member family so I think I can take any mind games they can chuck at me, you know it's one of those life long dream thinggys so I'm kinda ready for it. But yeah I wouldn't mind chatting with an active Marine even if he is blue. ;)
Continuing with the story...
Screwball was halfway through Betheshee on his way back to UIT space when his ship's communications panel lit up. He pressed a key and soon heard a familiar voice.
"Lieutenant Screwball, this is Grand Supreme Commander Of Serco Team Six, Borb Sarken The Second, Count Of Betheshee. You seem to have forgotten something."
"Really? Let's see, we completed the transaction, I said thanks, I even remembered to give you one of our shiny new TGFT synthpaperweights, and I've got my credit pad with me. What did I forget?" He paused, then continued, "Wait, I didn't walk out with a napkin still tucked into my shirt did I? I hate when I do that."
Screwball thought he heard a chuckle on the other end. The ST6 Commander replied, "No. The waitstaff found a manual on the table under the remains of our meal. I believe it's yours. The title on it is Trading 101, it seems to have a TGFT logo on the cover, and it's printed on old fashioned synthpaper."
"Oh... Oh that. I apologize for the litter, sir. I was reviewing one of our training manuals for new recruits at the table while you were returning from Deneb. I must have forgotten it after the meal. I can print another one when I get home, so just keep it. I'm sure you'll find it useful some night when you're having trouble sleeping." After a having a few seconds to think about it, the trader's sales instincts kicked in and he added, "Plus, now you have something for the synthpaperweight to go with." He hoped the Commander had a sense of humor.
"Very well. I'm sure it will make a great sleep aid. Answer me this, though. Why does a modern trader use such an old fashioned 'book'. I thought you were all about electronic gadgets and up to the minute stock prices and all that."
"Oh, that's easy. You never have to worry about the battery dying while you read it, it can't catch a virus, and your competitor can't download it from outside your ship. Plus, I just like to be able to focus on what I'm reading once in a while without the distractions of incoming messages, stock updates, and so on. And, of course..." Screwball paused for a second, then continued in a more hushed voice, "if you've ever had to answer the call of duty in a station where they forgot the paperwork, you'll never leave home without a good synthpaper manual again." Now he really hoped the Commander had a good sense of humor.
The ST6 Commander wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so he simply repled, "I see. Good luck on your voyage. I look forward to hearing that ad on the air. Commander Sarken out."
Later that night, as Borb relaxed in his den, he found himself fiddling with a small but curiously heavy disc-shaped synthpaperweight. The trader had explained that it was made of samoflange, which was still something of a novelty given that everyone in the universe was still trying to figure out what samoflange was good for. As he flipped the token in the air, Borb could see the light from the room refracted through the transparent green letters T-G-F-T that passed through the middle of the token. On a whim, he held the token up to his eye and looked through the letters.
He could see his bank of computer monitors, though it was now a bit hard to read since everything was filtered through a green tint. The normally red trim around the room looked green-gray. The white lights on the ceiling appeared bright green. The green cover of the manual that the absent-minded trader had forgotten revealed the previously concealed words: "A credit for your thoughts."
(to be continued)
Screwball was halfway through Betheshee on his way back to UIT space when his ship's communications panel lit up. He pressed a key and soon heard a familiar voice.
"Lieutenant Screwball, this is Grand Supreme Commander Of Serco Team Six, Borb Sarken The Second, Count Of Betheshee. You seem to have forgotten something."
"Really? Let's see, we completed the transaction, I said thanks, I even remembered to give you one of our shiny new TGFT synthpaperweights, and I've got my credit pad with me. What did I forget?" He paused, then continued, "Wait, I didn't walk out with a napkin still tucked into my shirt did I? I hate when I do that."
Screwball thought he heard a chuckle on the other end. The ST6 Commander replied, "No. The waitstaff found a manual on the table under the remains of our meal. I believe it's yours. The title on it is Trading 101, it seems to have a TGFT logo on the cover, and it's printed on old fashioned synthpaper."
"Oh... Oh that. I apologize for the litter, sir. I was reviewing one of our training manuals for new recruits at the table while you were returning from Deneb. I must have forgotten it after the meal. I can print another one when I get home, so just keep it. I'm sure you'll find it useful some night when you're having trouble sleeping." After a having a few seconds to think about it, the trader's sales instincts kicked in and he added, "Plus, now you have something for the synthpaperweight to go with." He hoped the Commander had a sense of humor.
"Very well. I'm sure it will make a great sleep aid. Answer me this, though. Why does a modern trader use such an old fashioned 'book'. I thought you were all about electronic gadgets and up to the minute stock prices and all that."
"Oh, that's easy. You never have to worry about the battery dying while you read it, it can't catch a virus, and your competitor can't download it from outside your ship. Plus, I just like to be able to focus on what I'm reading once in a while without the distractions of incoming messages, stock updates, and so on. And, of course..." Screwball paused for a second, then continued in a more hushed voice, "if you've ever had to answer the call of duty in a station where they forgot the paperwork, you'll never leave home without a good synthpaper manual again." Now he really hoped the Commander had a good sense of humor.
The ST6 Commander wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so he simply repled, "I see. Good luck on your voyage. I look forward to hearing that ad on the air. Commander Sarken out."
Later that night, as Borb relaxed in his den, he found himself fiddling with a small but curiously heavy disc-shaped synthpaperweight. The trader had explained that it was made of samoflange, which was still something of a novelty given that everyone in the universe was still trying to figure out what samoflange was good for. As he flipped the token in the air, Borb could see the light from the room refracted through the transparent green letters T-G-F-T that passed through the middle of the token. On a whim, he held the token up to his eye and looked through the letters.
He could see his bank of computer monitors, though it was now a bit hard to read since everything was filtered through a green tint. The normally red trim around the room looked green-gray. The white lights on the ceiling appeared bright green. The green cover of the manual that the absent-minded trader had forgotten revealed the previously concealed words: "A credit for your thoughts."
(to be continued)