Tregonsee – HMU (Heavy Moderator Unit)
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How many cargo units can your fleet hold? Is there anything being held by the fleet already?
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The Duchy of Brunswick is human. In 1815, during the Battle of Quatre Bras, part of the Waterloo Campaign, it was thought that the then Duke of Brunswick was killed. This was not entirely correct. A copy of his body was left (dead)by aliens, as well as many others at that battle, both allied and French sides.
The aliens made the Duke the leader of a group of these slave warriors, who were then used to battle other “low tech” races throughout the alien’s portion of the galaxy. A planet was set up for the Duke and his forces in between missions. Genetically compatible females were also found and transplanted to this planet. About 40 years later, the aliens stopped coming to this planet but had left some tech behind. This tech was used to expand over the planet, and finally out into space.
The current Duke, John (the Alchemist), is named after a distant relative. Although the Brunswickers have absolutely no idea where Earth is, they are looking for it.
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If there is a Naplia group, I have not found it. It is possible that the group was deleted.
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Sorry, Starfall was a separate piece of fiction
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The so-called “captured documents” no longer exist in this game. At best, you should continue to read the Rumors forum.
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No. They do not have to be all one planet at once. I typically do all of my POP actions, then Tax actions. I trade next, do other stuff like scans and other ship movement, and recruit MUs at the very end of the turn.
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I am now an owner/administrator of the old Takamo-Tarkia yahoo group. I have cleaned out the spam and banned the spammers.
You may join at https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/Takamo-Tarkia/info
Just click the ‘Join Group’ button.
There is a lot of good info about Takamo from before, as well as colorful ‘smack talk’ between players and/or alliances.
Feel free to post there about the current game and Takamo in general.
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I know that when you build a fleet of ships, then assign an aggression level, and then divide the fleet out into new fleets, that the new fleets will have the same agression level as the original fleet.
Therefore what you are saying makes sense. You have not changed the agression level of the fleet, so it remains 40.
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I know that the load Probe ship AC code uses the special field to determine how many probes to load, so I would assume you can do it that way. Hopefully Thom will chime in and confirm what I said.
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Charon, although you are a cyber, I still try to look for the squishy inside. You asked for it, I found it:
Marooned Part 2
By Roger Buchholz
MAROONED
[part two]
by Pack story teller, Hjrathgar Treekeeper
Leutnant Grauhaar knew he was in big trouble. The drop ship that was sent to get him was atomized in decent by some sort of atmospheric electrofier and all communications, other than his telemetry sender, were useless. Even that was no good if the fleet moved off to subsector space, which he knew was likely if the invasion was scrubbed. The fleet probably hyperjumped back to Wulfhese to avoid being caught in a Bort short for Borthan Empire counterattack. Great, thought Grauhaar, his fighter was toasted by some low tech human fighter jock and he was now stranded on this flat desert world with no way off. Worse, his food was no way near as good as what he knew his pilot buddies were enjoying right now back on the carrier. Maybe, just maybe, they’ll sneak in a Cloakboat and smuggle him out. A slim chance considering what happened to the drop ship just a few minutes ago.
Well, worrying about what he couldn’t control was a waste of energy. He had to find a place to put up for a while and wait for help. “EVAC IMPOSSIBLE. YOUR FAMILY AND GOVERNMENT SALUTES YOU. OVER.” That was the last message that Overflight had sent. “YOUR FAMILY AND GOVERNMENT SALUTES YOU!” His father never wanted him to join the Fighter Corps in the first place but he was the rebel of the litter so he joined. All of his brothers and sisters served in the fleet but he was the only fighter pilot. His dad was going to be pissed. His mom was killed years before he ever became of age in a stupid airpod crash. THE GOVERNMENT! Some Pack bureaucrat right now was probably listing his name in the KIA section of the log and was terminating his pay. His dad would be informed that his last pay was used to perform “administrative duties” and would be pocketed. Everyone knew those bean counters did that but that was big government. After all there were Borts to fight.
He scanned the horizon and didn’t see a thing. Not a thing! Except for that little knob in the distance. He knew he had to get away from here so he gathered his equipment and walked down the ravine a ways looking for shelter. The wind was blowing pretty hard and steady on this slagheap so he knew his tracks wouldn’t last the morning. That was good, but most sensors could detect the ammonia in his body. The way to shield this he knew was his special survival gear that blocked most detectors by ninety-nine percent. Yeah, right.
About a kilometer down the ravine he climbed up the wall to scan the horizon again. He had better keep in the gully so his silhouette wasn’t noticed. Surely by now the Bort knew where he was. His telemetry signal probably gave them a good clue. There was that bump in the distance. But nothing moved. Nothing! He started to think that maybe they, even the Bort didn’t care about him. Why should they, he thought, a week up here and he’d be dead anyway.
The Bort weren’t exactly charitable to the Wulfrace after all. A dead Wulf was a good Wulf. To the Borthan the Wulf were called “growlers” which was not a very flattering term to The Pack people since it was a term referring to their natural language. Before being “humanized”, or genetically altered to appear more like them, they were just a clawage race and this term insulted the Wulf since it suggested they were ignorant dogs. Very few Bort understood Wulf language and if they did they couldn’t speak more than a few words since growling to a human sounded like all growling they associated with their dog pets. Those dogs were so domesticated that even Wulf couldn’t communicate with them. And those dogs hated the Wulf with a passion! Some cousins in the grand scope of things. Stupid dogs, he thought. For sport on Wulfhese the Borts would hunt violent Wulf offenders or revolutionaries with huge dogs called wolfhounds. Massive brutes that knew no fear and could tear a Wulf to shreds.
As far as he was concerned the Bort were the stain upon the galaxy. Four about a thousand years they colonized every planet or moon they could get their hands on. Their desire for more and more doomed their original homeworld and turned it into a ravaged and barren globe. They continued to advance their technology until machines took care of most of their work and other tasks they preferred not to do. Eventually the cyborg races that the galaxy these days were created because of their laziness and stupidity; stupidity for not controlling these metal machines. If there was one thing both Bort and Wulf didn’t like it was cyborgs. After a while the Borgish Stain grew smarter and started producing themselves and making smarter and more deadlier races. After a time even they had wars between one another and then spread to all the galaxy to destroy organic life. Even more reason to hate the human.
There was a sudden flash of light near the knob and Grauhaar ducked immediately out of pure reflexes. He peered again over the crest line of the ravine and stared at he same spot for what appeared to be minutes. Nothing moved. No further light. He figured that it was definitely unfriendly and it was time to get moving. What was the flash though? A hovercraft? Some sort of ground vehicle? If it were ground based it’d take a few hours to reach here and by that time he could be a few more kilometers down the ravine. It probably wasn’t air based because the Bort didn’t want to risk it being shot down. Grauhaar recalled several fantastic shots by star destroyers as they blew fighters out of the sky from hundreds of kilometers away in space. The Bort didn’t want to risk a airship to any Pack ship lurking close by in space. If The Pack fleet was still there that is. He didn’t think it would be. He knew he was alone.
He stumbled a few times over the rocks in the gully as he proceeded further away from his escape pod. It had to be four or five kilometers behind him by now. But the knob seemed to stay with him. That meant it wasn’t a knob at all but a rather large knob that dominated the horizon in the distance. Maybe kilometers across. It did appear to be just a regular shaped hill and nothing man made. Whatever it was he knew there were unfriendlies there and they were looking for him. He had to find some shelter.The sides of the ravines were pretty steep and well cut into the orange dirt. Every once in a while there were a few holes but nothing resembling a deep enough one or a cave to hide in. Plenty of rocks were strewn about the floor of the gully to trip over. It was getting close to dark, Zenjam had twenty hours of light and twenty hours of darkness, he knew he’d have to find something quick. Zenjam was terraformed nicely for the day but the nights were cold. Then he noted a large shadow in the wall which was big enough to hold him and his equipment. He made a scan to see if there were life forms. None present. Gee, he thought, that wasn’t a surprise. He crawled in and drew out his camo-cloak, a nice little sheet of fabric that could take on the characteristics of the surrounding terrain and in addition shielded him from all those nasty sensor devices. He pinned it over the openings and hung it down to cover the hole and crawled in to hide. The hole wasn’t that big but he could move around a little bit and not be too cramped. Grauhaar made himself comfortable and decided he better get some sleep. He thought that he had come full circle in his evolution as a Wulf. Of course he never lived in a cave or den in his life, he grew up in a nice air-conditioned apartment on Wulfhese. The irony.
The night passed long. He’d start to wonder if he had heard things in the darkness outside but his good hearing was playing tricks on him. The wind was still blowing. Did it ever stop? He had woken hours ago. One cannot sleep for twenty hours and this was getting boring. But he figured he was better off in the hole and not up and about moving around. Infrared sensors worked wonders at night with no sun glare interfering with their scans. He decided to have breakfast. Hmmm… a couple of dry nutri\_cakes and some water; water with lots of nutrients added. Very strange water, you could last a long time on just a couple of tablespoons. Unfortunately you never felt quenched even though you were in reality. You just had to control your desire to chug the entire bottle in one gulp. He laughed to himself as he remembered some cadets in survival training doing this and having to pee for hours on end.
He smiled as he thought of those days years ago. He reclined back against the cave wall and listened to the wind rustling the camo-cloak. The fabric was moving to the sound of the wind. Almost mesmerizing. The cloak bulged in as if hit by a huge gust of wind. Only it wasn’t the wind. He found himself looking into the open mouth of a very large and angry dog.
(To be continued)
STARFALL
Silence ruled the landscape. All motion had stopped. The crystalized air echoed the silence. Those remaining above ground at the port waited. They would greet the visitor. Those outside the portal focused on the distance. They stood as rigid as the glacial cliff towering above them. Their gazes fixed upon the approaching phantom. Its arrival would be heralded by an almost imperceptible tone in the black sky. The phantom would announce itself with a calm, serene change but then quickly transforming itself into the violently destructive reds. They waited for the end which would begin a new journey. Overhead was the comfortable black. Then flat black of the sky bled a hue of deep blue. It was here. In an instant all was in motion. Bodies were already being propelled toward the cliff face. The young were frantically collected and carried toward the portals. They were carried because they did not move, could not move. Entranced by the atmospheric change they stood transfixed by confusion, mesmerized by the blue. Their world had changed. The sky had bled.
The motion was behind them now. The hatches would close automatically; timed to the millisecond. Yet the elders waited in the entrances. The honor was theirs. They would be the last to safety. The safety and comfort of the calm dark on the other side. It was here. They must escape it. Yet they desired to embrace it, knowing it would not appear again in their lifetimes. The security of the black depths beckoned them. Hurry. The hue of blue was taking on a hint of purple. Time stood still yet rushed to meet them. They could sense the pressure breaking the crystalized air. Hurry. Then the hatch slid shut and the fiz of the automatic welder glowed the same purple as the sky. Silence rang out once again. It was here.
Star fall broke the horizon. Waves of compressed gases roared towards the cliff face that had been the scene of activity for centuries but was now deserted. A solid wall of gases pushed forward, fueled by a solar storm found only on worlds whose rotation matched their revolution. The super heated front swept across the frozen surface as the orb glinted above the horizon. The orb was about to sweep across the land to rule for the next three centuries. Light was about to engulf half the sphere. Cacophonic storms swept spinward heralding the arrival of solar waves of destructive energy that would transform the upper crust. The land forms would be changed, mountains leveled, frozen seas raised and all constructs and life destroyed. It was the rotation.
By now the last of the those who were privileged to experience the rotation were tens of miles under ground and hundreds of miles towards antistar side of the sphere. They would meet up with those already nearing the virgin lands awaiting their development on the antistar side of the sphere. The elders turned their attention to the programs and organization they would need to begin. When they arrived they would pierce the crust and begin again in the calm of the dark. As it had always been. The privileged young had but one thought remembering the rotation. Hurry.
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