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the lower georgia united workers' front looks forward to our participation in these proceedings
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Oct 23, 2020 06:13
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Pirate Radar posted:How’s the weather in Tallahassee these days? bad! The Lower Georgia United Workers' Front congratulates the Ministry for Outer Space Affairs on the moon colonization project, and we wish to express solidarity with the brave comrades living and working on the Moon. However, we concur with the delegates of New Afrika and the Kalmar Union, further colonization efforts should wait until we have found more sources of the TNEs that have made all this possible. Additionally, we are concerned about the state of our homeworld. Space colonization is good and boundaries should be expanded, but Earth is the womb of this proposed future spaceman civilization, and we should do our best to look after it. The people of our collective struggle with the effects of radioactive fallout. The destruction of Robins Air Force Base by atomic bomb, followed by the on-site detonation of a warhead at Fort Stewart during an attempted takeover by the Savannah River People's Cooperative, have left our region devastated. The story is the same across the continent near areas of the former empire's military installations. Our people are strong and we believe in the Comintern, but the blight created by the fallout and the radiation sickness not only saps our strength it also drives more and more desperate people into the arms of reactionary forces that threaten us all. To say nothing of the ecological impact this is having on our one naturally-habitable planet. We are not petitioning for relocation, this land is our home and we will not cede it to warlords or the federal "government" as they call themselves. Instead, we are asking that the Comintern devote some resources to investigating the use of TNE-derived technology for radiation cleanup. We are not sure whether this is even feasible, but it would radically change the lives of millions of people across the globe. And we believe that if it can be done, it would greatly improve the Comintern's standing in the minds of the worldwide proletariat.
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Oct 23, 2020 14:48
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The Lower Georgia United Workers' Front enters the following proposals 1) Survey ships should be our priority. If we assume that our solar system is, for the moment, empty of extraterrestrial threats then there is no reason to wait on weapons or more advanced armor. We should build ships capable of surveying our neighboring worlds for TNEs or anything else of scientific interest. 2) Luna should be recognized as a full member state of the Comintern. We see no reason why our Lunar comrades should not be allowed to self-organize. 3) Some scientific resources should be used to explore the use of TNE-derived technologies for radiation cleanup, and should that prove feasible and carried out, propaganda should be deployed that informs the global proletariat that the Comintern is devoted to preserving Earth's ecosystem.
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Oct 24, 2020 02:32
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hey Mister Bates, how do you feel about other people contributing short pieces of in-universe fiction? something in one of the updates really inspired me
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Oct 24, 2020 18:44
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Mister Bates posted:Please do! It is You Play Aurora, after all. hell yeah -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The first time I saw Star Wars, it was a silent film. My friend, Seema was shadowing her father as he unloaded the Lucasfilm Cooperative crate off the Luna. We knew that name, and the name Star Wars, from the radio. People said that it was unlike anything else, that it had to be seen to be believed. As soon as she saw the crate, Seema knew what had to be inside and she sprinted through the corridors to find me. Entertainment was in short supply back then. Mostly what we had were books in a dozen different languages. We had old radio dramas that could easily be transmitted up, and a scant few board games divided amongst us. Learning new languages was a hobby almost everyone took up. Languages were tricky on the moon. My French and Seema’s Urdu were incompatible. We were able to scrape by with English interspersed with pieces of our own tongues and a dozen loan words. A pidgin was developing across Lunagrad, slow and halting at first, but accelerating as the need for cross-cultural exchange deepened. More than that, we weren’t just exchanging, we were building a new and dynamic lunar culture that would be all our own. But when Seema arrived, finding me assisting my mother with electrical repairs, there was no confusion. “Star Wars!” she said to me as she ran up, speaking to my boots, which were the only thing sticking out of the corridor wall. Startled, I bumped my head and dropped my socket wrench onto my chest. “What? What about it?” I asked, rubbing my forehead with one hand. “Here!” She replied. I gave myself a few more bruises as I wriggled out of the access panel, apologized to my mother for leaving her, and then took off with Seema for the spaceport. We found out that ten copies of the filmreels had been delivered, more than enough for the few crude theaters that had been set up in Lunagrad. But that was the problem. There were a million people in Lunagrad and less than ten theaters, none with seating for more than fifty. The demand to see the movie was high. Even as more theaters were hastily assembled, additional reels wouldn’t be coming for some time. Each part of the city had a different system. Some used lotteries, others were first come first serve, and a few went by ordered lists alphabetical and otherwise. If you were selected and weren’t interested, you could give your spot to another, but with the state of communications at the time, this could become chaotic. It was reflective of Lunagrad in those early days, where we still had no governing body and the collectives had to figure things out together. It worked, but messily. Then someone had a bright idea. Most of the habitat sections of Lunagrad were built into caves, the open ends of them sealed off and the interiors pressurized. The mouths of the caves varied in size, but the initial builders had made sure construct an observation area. Enough room for a window looking out onto the surface. There wasn’t much to see other than the Earth, stars, the spaceport and the few pressurized tunnels creating scant connections between habitats. But close by the spaceport there was Mons Solidarity. The name was a joke, as it was nothing more than a glorified hill of moon rocks and dust, but it provided a large blank space that was viewable from all the observation areas. The plan was simple: set up a projector outside and throw the film onto Mons Solidarity. This way, almost a hundred people could see it at once. The audio would be broadcast on the station radio. It was slapdash, ambitious and brilliant. A work request was put in, and eventually someone somewhere signed off on the needed EVA equipment. A porter carrying a ‘borrowed’ film projector from Hab Unit 5, set it up. It took an hour, and after testing it out with some old wartime cartoons the setup was declared a success. When Seema and I sat together, cramped into the observation area with almost two dozen others, and the crawl transitioned to a bare starfield, we were probably less impressed than our Earth comrades. After all, we could see the stars whenever we wanted. But then the spaceship began its slow traversal of the frame, and my breath hitched. It was nothing like the crude design of the Queen Lili’uokalani that brought us here, and far more massive than the tiny Luna we could see high in orbit above. Even for lunar pioneers, living a life that was unthinkable just five years ago, this was a vision of the future like none we had ever seen. A minute into the film we realized there was no dialogue. No music. I was called over to check the intercom system and discovered that it wasn’t working. With no connection to the station radio we were cast back 60 years in film technology. But it didn’t matter, we understood it fine. Heroes and villains, farmboys and princesses, battles between plucky revolutionaries and evil empires. We gasped as the old man was killed, and we cheered when the false moon was destroyed. We experienced it all in cinematic silence, hearing only each other. The next day the sound was repaired, and we saw it again. The voices didn’t change much for us, as it was in English and we caught only every third word. The music, however, was sublime. Eventually I would see Star Wars in one of the hastily-constructed theaters, and I would see it again with French subtitles, and finally with a French dub. It would be a long time before an Urdu version arrived for Seema, but it did. No matter how many times I see Star Wars, I will never forget that first time. Sitting in a cramped, pressurized chamber among so many others, smelling of a day’s work, eating our lunar food, looking out onto the bumpy, pale piece of raised regolith and watching the adventure unfold in perfect silence. Our imaginations filled in the gaps, and we dreamed of bigger adventures that lay before us. -Anton Traverse
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Oct 24, 2020 21:35
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i'm glad y'all liked the story! The Lower Georgia United Workers' Front votes as follows: Luna: ABCD. The right of self-determination and self-organization should be fundamental to the Comintern. If everyone on Luna were a scientist or a soldier it might be different, but refugees and civilians should be allowed representation. Gladio: ACBD. Never let them see you sweat, but if we're going to do something we might as well do it big Survey Ship Design: B Survey Priorities: BCA S-17: Yes F-18: No, with the Kalmar Union's proviso F-19: Yes JR-20: No. As our collective is currently still engaged in sporadic combat with the Federals and the New Christian League, we believe that a purely exploratory approach to space is noble but limiting. Even were it not for the confirmed existence of at least two extraterrestrial species with military capability, the Hawaiians have shown that the forces of reaction are interested in space as well. We do not want to wake up and find that their ships are now in orbit with the only guns in space. A-21: Yes. Our Lunar comrades need a security force S-22: Yes Y-23: No. Languages have developed and evolved just fine for millennia. We should allow this process to continue.
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Oct 26, 2020 14:02
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What reasoning do we have for denying our Lunar comrades the right to self-organization? The arguments thus far seem particularly thin. Suppose we vote down their petition, where does that leave them? Will we send soldiers to Luna to enforce this decision? What if they decide to reject it? Will we have our first interplanetary conflict so early in this new era? We have seen that this Gladio organization, whatever it may be, is present in some form on the moon; this conflict would provide them with plenty of opportunities for further sabotage or even for recruitment. It seems to us that this is a dangerous precedent to set, both morally and strategically.
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Oct 27, 2020 17:14
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welfarestateofmind posted:"Self-organization" is different than "sovereignty", and no more are we denying them the right to self-organize than we would deny miners the right to self-organize. Much like the miners, the workers will be represented, but we need strong central planning for a project of this immense scale, might like the great five year plans of old. And if the Lunars reject our refusal to recognize their right to self-organization? Will we use force in that situation? We are standing at a precipice that could wind up dooming our mission from the outset. It seems to us that the only responsible decision is to acknowledge their rights as soon as possible, as the other options are dangerously limiting or murky.
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Oct 27, 2020 19:38
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We should improve our internal security situation while also being careful of going too far. We are being pulled in many directions at once, but the Lower Georgia United Workers' Front believes that the best way to combat the forces of reaction is to ensure that everything we do is done with the goal of raising up the workers of the world. Of course, the next best method of fighting reactionaries is .30-06 rounds and surplus hand grenades.
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Oct 28, 2020 16:41
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is there any sort of intra-faction fighting modeled into the game? can we get rebels or space pirates or stuff like that naturally? if not, and we're just waiting to make contact with aliens, which seems like a ways off, then we know that at least we haven't hurt ourselves for rp purposes
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Oct 28, 2020 21:25
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well i didn't say no aliens. i said first contact seems a ways off. our current engines aren't ftl capable, so unless they're hiding in our solar system i don't see us getting to them any time soon. and if they come to us, that's pretty much doomsday if they're hostile, right? disclaimer: i know nothing about aurora, just what's come up in this lp so far
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Oct 28, 2020 21:49
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assuming that our survey ships do find tnes out there to grab and that there are techs to unlock that improve the rate at which we can extract them, would it be better to focus on building up earth's industries to extract what we have or build facilities in the solar system? i lean towards the latter because it is a space game after all, just wondering
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Oct 29, 2020 19:41
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i think at some point we'll have to accept that things like lunagrad are done for story purposes. unless someone wants to raise the issue in-character and make a relocation proposal
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Oct 29, 2020 21:18
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Mister Bates posted:With the improved terraforming speed technology you are currently working on, it would take 100 terraformers over 3,000 years to terraform Venus to habitability. could 3000 terraformers get it done in 100 years
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Oct 31, 2020 01:18
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Prefixes: F, E, D, G, A, B, C Research: C, A, B, D Socialist Aid Program: A, B, C I-24, Repeal the No First Strike Doctrine: Yes A-25, Service Medals: Yes K-26, Adoption of a Revolutionary Rank Structure: Yes F-27, Drunken Industrial Bear: Yes F-28, Research Optimization Cleanup: Yes F-29, A Ten-Year Service Medal: Yes L-30, Low-Gravity Infrastructure: No I-31, Five-Year Plans: No H-32, The Mars Program: No N-33, the TNE Reuse, Reduce, and Recycling Act: Yes N-34, the Public Broadcasting Service: Yes S-35, FESTER: ] Yes A-36, Space Autonomy Model: Yes A-37, A Common Language for Space: No
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Nov 4, 2020 01:49
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yeah the united empire is basically "what if we made fascism diverse?"
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Nov 7, 2020 02:52
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Mister Bates posted:The entire run of the original Star Trek was produced before the timelines diverged and exists exactly as it does in our timeline. It's very popular in reruns. we would like to propose the filming of a sequel series that subtly establishes a link between the comintern and the federation. perhaps some sort of... next generation to expand on things
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Nov 7, 2020 19:07
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well, this is pretty huge. can we get down there and take a look at them? e: yes, absolutely! send the lander down and see what's up!
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Nov 7, 2020 23:20
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The Lower Georgia United Workers' Front proposes the following: 1) The Comintern deploys whatever personnel and equipment are necessary to Mars to study the alien ruins. If we're going to be slow, we should be thorough. 2) We attempt to infiltrate Gladio, or at worst task our intelligence agencies with listening in on their transmissions and trying to discover what their plans are. 3) Explore the sea floor. We know more about the solar system at this rate than the oceans on our planet. Perhaps this new generation of submarine, rather than being used for war as they would have in the past, be used to enhance the understanding of our own world. Surely TNE-derived hulls would allow diving to depths never seen before and their scanners could map this great unknown. And who knows, perhaps visitors other than the Roswell ship ended up lost here in the past. The Earth's surface is mostly water, statistically other extraterrestrial wrecks would be found beneath the waves 4) Light investment in Luna's mining capabilities. It doesn't have to be much at the moment given our large reserves earthside, but getting extraction facilities in place sooner rather than later would be a good idea.
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Nov 10, 2020 23:16
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Foxfire_ posted:We don't have an abundance of mining capability on Earth right now. We'd be moving a mine from a high-productivity area to a low-productivity area. Luna is also short on workers right now and any mining would be shortstaffed unless we also brought the ground forces training center back/shut it down fair enough, proposal withdrawn
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Nov 11, 2020 01:08
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The Lower Georgia United Workers' Front votes as follows: SK-38, Expand Interkosmos Academy: YES SK-39, Repeal Five-Year Plans: YES HC-40, Integrate North America: YES S-41, Research and Deploy Spying Technology: NO A-42, Surveil the Mars Ruins: YES JR-43, The Extraplanetary Focus Discovery Act: NO I-44, Administrative Overhaul: YES I-45, Diplomatic Overtures: YES P-46, Venera Initiative 2.0: YES NM-47, the Trans-Newtonian Global Network Project: YES F-48, Organizational Capacity: YES F-49, Long-Term Research Efficiency: YES P-50, X-COM: NO Z-51, IRPA: YES I-52, Armed Spacecraft Development: NO W-53, Lunplan Expansion: NO W-54, Medals: YES W-55, Rename the Comintern: YES H-56, More Medals: YES
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Nov 15, 2020 17:41
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The Lower Georgia United Workers' Front apologizes for our absence from Comintern proceedings. Inclement weather and continuing battles with reactionary forces have disrupted our lines of communication, but we are now in a stable enough position to resume something close to normal operations. We received briefings on the situations with Japan and India, and while the former provoked heated arguments around our campfires and in our aid tents, we have approached the latter with a nearly unanimous consensus. Presented here is a selection of minutes for the meeting of May 16th, 1982 of the Lower Georgia United Workers' Front Committee on International Relations. Objective: Provide a recommendation for our representatives to the Comintern on the Japanese deal Time: 9:37 AM Called by: Delegates Jackson, Rawls and Espinoza Facilitator: Delegate Ames (Ben Hill County) Location: Amphitheater of the former Georgia Southern College, now Statesboro People's School Attendees: Delegate Jackson (Irwin County), Delegate Rawls (Glynn County), Delegate Espinoza (Tattnall County), Delegate Rose (Decatur County), Delegate Torres (Dooly County), and Delegate Mungwena (Bulloch County) Note Taker: Angela Martens [Note: All meetings of the Lower Georgia United Workers' Front take place in public locations, and are open to all. In addition to the listed delegates, 219 observers were gathered in the upper levels of the amphitheater and the area around it] Delegate Ames: There is only one action item on today's agenda, and that is to determine the Workers' Front's response to the deal offered by Japan to engage in limited cooperation and the handover of several nuclear weapons in exchange for spacecraft and access to the stars. Let us begin, Delegate Espinoza, you have been randomly selected to speak first. Delegate Espinoza: Thank you, Ames. Our first and foremost concern in this matter is the nukes. Any deal that is reached must include them being handed over for disposal. The capitalists have enough weapons of mass destruction, any that they are willing to turn over to us without bloodshed is a victory in itself. [Note: Delegate Espinoza is a member of the Technical Union, a syndicate that specializes in electronics and especially on setting up and maintaining the Internetwork within the borders of the Front.] Delegate Rawls: The fact that they're willing to turn over the nukes is disturbing. No one is just going to hand over a loaded gun to their enemy without having some kind of backup plan. [Note: Delegate Rawls represents the Barrier Island Battalion, a group of socialist irregulars who have been engaged in protracted war with scattered reactionary militias. During the Great Revolutionary War they defected from the Coast Guard and suffered heavy losses at the hands of a National Guard unit sent to pacify their area.] [Note: Interrupted by shouts of agreement from the observers. Delegate Ames issues a call to order.] Delegate Rose: I'm not sure why we're even talking about this. The Japanese are capitalist pigs who are throwing up a smokescreen of reform to placate their people and are now extending an open hand to us while their other holds a knife behind their back. Why are we even considering taking this deal? No compromise with the oppressors! [Note: While technically unaligned, Delegate Rose is known to associate with several Maoist militias and worked alongside anarchist freedom fighters during the Great Revolutionary War, sometimes against leftist groups that are now part of the Workers' Front.] [Note: Further interruptions, a mixture of boos and cheers from the crowd.] Delegate Espinoza: Do we really want to risk another nuclear exchange just to spite the Japanese? What they want is short-term gain, like all capitalists. A few spaceships in exchange for continuing peace is a small price to pay. Delegate Torres: Sorry, are you seriously proposing that the Japanese would use nuclear weapons? I knew the former empire's education system was bad, but not this bad. [Note: The oldest person among the delegates, Torres fought in both World Wars and the Great Revolutionary War. He represents the more conservative Altamaha Farming Cooperative and People's Will, the largest militia group in the Front.] Delegate Rose: I'm aware of the history involved, and I'm sure Espinoza is too. But you'd be a fool to put anything past the capitalists. We all know what they're capable of, we shouldn't be cooperating with them. Delegate Mungwena: We already cooperate with the Hawaiians. And that's just the Comintern. How many member nations like ourselves have formal and informal agreements with capitalist powers? On more than one occasion the Front has made trades, for goods and hostages, with our capitalist neighbors. Let's not act like this is some Rubicon we'd be crossing. This would be business as usual, the dirty work of surviving. [Note: The youngest delegate by far at 21 years old, Mungwena was studying abroad in the United States when the Great Revolutionary War occurred, and now represents the Student League, a loose conglomeration of pre-war leftist student groups who now largely control campuses and educational facilities across Georgia, including the People's School.] Delegate Torres: Our young friend here makes a good point. This is nothing new. The Comintern has its ideals, but for people on the ground the reality involves compromise. And let's be honest, the Japanese are hardly a superpower. They themselves realize that the Comintern controls over half the planet and that they would lose a war against us. But I reckon they could hurt us greatly, and even if they would not deploy nukes... I'm less confident that they wouldn't just look the other way while others did. They have ideals that can be compromised too, just like us. Delegate Rose: I'm not proposing that we attack Japan and kick off a fourth world war. I just think we should reject their deal and let them claw their way into space with the Hawaiians. By the time they catch up to us, we will have an insurmountable lead and can dictate terms. Nukes will not reign supreme forever. Delegate Rawls: Try witnessing a mushroom cloud yourself and say that, Rose. I watched Fort Stewart go up, and I drat near didn't survive radiation sickness. A lot of my friends weren't so lucky. I say we take their deal and pack any spaceships we give them as full of surveillance equipment as we can get away with. Its clear they've riddled the Comintern with spies, we should do the same to them. Delegate Jackson: Yeah, that's a great idea. So when they discover our bugs we can look forward to no one ever trusting us again. Can you imagine the propaganda they could spin with that? I'm also in favor of taking the deal, but with a different angle. I have heard from friends of mine that there is a possibility of stipulating our cooperation with involving the Japanese in the Venusian colonization plan. If we could tie them up with that work, we could turn their attention away from Luna and Mars and also benefit from their contribution. Venusian colonization is expensive, but if they shouldered half the burden... it would be a win for us regardless of the outcome. [Note: A trained medical doctor, Delegate Jackson works out of the Satilla River Medical Center, and rose to prominence leading a traveling clinic convoy that saved thousands in the wake of the war.] Delegate Espinoza: I'm uncomfortable with going into any deal acting in bad faith, but if it gets the nukes out of the hands of the American government... Delegate Mungwena: It wouldn't entirely be in bad faith, though right? Colonizing Venus is a worthy goal. You want to talk about propaganda, I think helping the Japanese people into space would be a victory for us on that front. Show them that we are benevolent. Delegate Torres: We have to be careful that our benevolence isn't taken advantage of, though. I've lived through the worst of capitalism, I know how insidious it can be. They will do anything they can to tear us apart, no matter how many smiles they put on, so we should surveil them and infiltrate them. Turnabout is fair play. Delegate Rose: Maybe with proper collaboration we can mend the divide in the Japanese left and turn them into a real revolutionary force. And when they make their move, the Comintern will be waiting... [Note: Interrupted by shouts and jeers from the crowd, aimed at Delegate Rose. An empty glass bottle is thrown from above and shatters on Rose's desk. The delegate sustains mild cuts to the face and hands but declines to pause the proceedings. The attacker is taken away by other observers and then detained by public safety.] The meeting proceeded for another nine hours and sixteen minutes. By the time it was adjourned, the crowd of observers had swelled to over six hundred people and in the end, the following recommendation was voted on and approved by the Committee: 1) Any deal must include the nuclear weapons. Recognition by the UN and unrecogniton of the United States government in exile are unimportant. 2) We should consider including electronic backdoors into any systems on any spacecraft provided to the Japanese government, but they should be explainable as leftover bits of programming cruft, should they be discovered. 3) The Comintern should require that we establish an embassy in Japan, and efforts to collaborate with the Japanese left and place spies among the Japanese government should be initiated. 4) We consider the Venusian colonization offer, requiring that Japan cooperate with our efforts in exchange for spacecraft. ----------- On the issue of the Indian government representative's demand, there is a simple response that we recommend: The Comintern does not control the Naxalites or any other Indian leftist group, and we cannot "call them off" in any event. However, if the Indian government agrees to end the barbarous treatment of the rural Indian people and allows them to self-organize in a free and equitable fashion we will do our best to impress upon our Indian comrades that violence should be set aside in favor of seeing the reforms through. These reforms should be monitored by the Comintern and representatives from the Indian left and rural areas to ensure that they will be carried out in the intended spirit.
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Feb 24, 2021 16:25
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The Lower Georgia United Worker's Front contains several groups that can be considered swamp maoists. They're no fun at parties, but great when you need someone to shoot at reactionary pigs.
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Mar 10, 2021 17:14
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NewMars posted:The UAWR has been in contact with many of our fellow comintern members, including those within the area of the former united states in particular. After long hours of negotiation and discussion, we have the following legislation to propose: NewMars posted:2a: The Global Defence Initiative Foundation Act: As an adjunct to the prior act, this would allow observers, in the event of existing outerspace non-proliferation treaties being voided or rescinded, the ability to build their own military ships, under the condition that they are placed within an integrated command structure. NewMars posted:4: The Indian Negotiation Act: This act will formalize the goals of our negotiations with India: in exchange for the dismantlement of their feudal-throwback caste system and the initiation of continent-wide worker standards, we will begin providing aid and resources, while also opening up discussions with rebels to wind down the current conflict. We will use the provision of aid to start organizing unions and communes, educating and uplifting the workers before they can sway them towards capitalist-sympathetic views and undermine the class struggle. This may include the offering of comintern observer status. NewMars posted:5: The Japanese Negotiation Act: This will formalize our stance on negotiations: their demands are provisional on accepting observer status. In acceptance of this status they will not need to change anything immediately, but will gain access to the benefits of observer status. They shall not be allowed to militarize spaceflight, unless the provisions under the GDIFA act come into play, should it pass. All other details are negotiable, but this is not, should the act pass. NewMars posted:6. The North American Outreach and Reconstruction Act: This act, developed in tandem with many local leaders, particularly the esteemed Comrade McGovern, would instigate a diplomatic and economic blitz on the north American continent in the region of the former United States. Simply put, we will attempt to bring onside every polity that is willing to negotiate with us, while we use economic and political pressure to undermine those that will not. First is a mass deployment of economic, medical and environmental assets to uplift and stabilize the situation across the continent. Those that are willing to work with us will be given access to TNE technology and aid to distribute as they see fit, while those who do not will not be granted this. McGovern's thoughts are that a show of trust is necessary to aid the situation. Nations that show particular vulnerability in the matter are the New England Commonwealth, which is environmentally collapsing, the Reconstruction Authority and the State of Texas, both of whom are willing to negotiate right now and represent the largest blocs that show such openness. The capstone to this will be the cultural outreach. As of right now, many see Socialism as an "unamerican" construct despite it's deep roots in the continent. We must change this perception as we work, drawing on the regional histories of each area to demonstrate that socialism can be an american symbol, too. From the Industrial Workers of the World and their stronghold in chicago to the appalachian miner's strikes, we must change the comintern's perception as an outside force. NewMars posted:6a. The North American Forum Creation Treaty: As an addendum to the prior act, this treaty will formalize the creation of a forum for the former USA plus the former area of Canada, as well as Mexico. Invitation to this forum will be extended to all polities of North America, small and large and it's first order of business will be negotiating the creation of postal and customs unions as well as continental sports leagues. NewMars posted:7. The Bureau of Environmental Protection, Conservation and Restoration Act: Just because the radiation has been cleaned up doesn't mean that the damage is gone. Much of the world's biodiversity has been burned in flame and the knock-on effects may provide complete disaster in the future. In order to forestall this and other threats to the only green world we know, this act would formalize the creation of a comintern body devoted to protecting the wild spaces of the world, as well as working to restore those areas still ruined and to forestall future destruction through research into and implementation of low-impact industry and city design, the creation of international parks and conservation areas and the consolidation of existing efforts internationally. TDS posted:Ascension Accords Act We support this motion as well. Asterite34 posted:VENUSPLAN Getting Japan bogged down in an inner-system boondoggle to colonize Venus seems like the perfect use of our diplomatic power. If they wish to get into space so badly, we can give them the hardest job of them all. Surely they will demonstrate the might of their capitalism and prove themselves superior to our socialist ways. We support this motion.
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Mar 31, 2021 16:49
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Indeed. If the flag to be raised is the American one, then we will vote against this proposal. As a compromise, a simple flag with a black background with an image of the Earth itself could be raised to represent the whole of the human species and our journey into space.
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Apr 1, 2021 14:38
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Blood and Bullets Below the Magic Kingdom Part One: The Cursed Castle By Zanzibar Jones From the Savannah People’s News Collective paper Worker's Special Report “This is a poo poo detail inside of a poo poo mission,” said Wolfman. A hand-rolled cigarette dangled dangerously from his lip, ash almost meeting skin. Chat glanced over at him, adjusting the radio pack and tucking strands of her messy blonde hair behind one ear. “What makes you say that?” “Because it is. They got us marching to Miami in this fuckin’ heat, loaded down with gear. Who the gently caress’s idea was it to leave the fanboat behind and hoof our asses through this muck?” His boots made hollow sucking noises as he lifted them up out of the soft muddy ground. Sweat dripped from his tangled mass of a bushy black beard. The large black machinegun he carried slung over one shoulder couldn’t help either. He'd removed his jacket and wrapped it around his waist, leaving his brown shoulders exposed, though more sweat wringed the neck and arms his tank top. Were I a better man, I would have felt guilty that all I was required to carry were my camera, personal effects and the simple revolver I had been issued by my liaison with the Okefenokee Revolutionary Vanguard. Oh, and a small leather bag containing the finest cocaine you could still get in the collapsed United States. But as you know, dear reader, I am not a better man. “You gotta forget about the fanboat, man,” said Tape from somewhere behind me. I didn't have to look back to know that he was pushing his thrice-broken thick black glasses back up on his nose. “Swamp ain’t that deep out here. We go on foot or we don’t go at all.” The man always took up the rear during marches. He hung back to sneak bits of his rations to the baby alligator he kept in his satchel that he thought we didn’t know about. His fingertips were covered in small bandages that everyone politely ignored. Wolfman shook his head. “I thought we were supposed to be linking up with the Cubans. Why’s Command got us off-road in the middle of the swamp?” Marching at the center of our little formation was the squad’s leader. Wearing a cowboy hat and mirrored aviator sunglasses she looked to Wolfman as if just hearing him for the first time. “That’s need-to-know and you don’t need to know,” Rodeo said. The woman was just a hair over five feet and so skinny that her fatigues draped off her shoulders, but I had seen her cave in a man’s face with the butt of her M14 in the middle of a firefight without flinching. Even Wolfman couldn’t retort to her impassive face and settled on spitting out his cigarette butt with unnecessary enthusiasm. Off to the side I heard a small chuckle. Trudging not far from me was a tall, stocky man wearing ragged fatigues that matched the others, but added a frayed clerical collar to the ensemble. He carried a backpack filled to the brim with grenades and plastic explosives. Reverend, as he called himself, gripped a half-burned Bible in one hand and kept his eyes trained on the horizon. Drifting closer to Wolfman, I put some distance between myself and the grinning preacher. As I walked in my non-military hiking boots I stuck a hand down my pants, adjusting my underwear, which was riding up and soaked through with sweat. The muggy Florida heat was oppressive even on this overcast day and my giblets were braising in my own juices. I had been assigned to observe Rodeo’s squad for the past four months, and their little dynamic never ceased to amuse me. Though they were all avowed Maoists, they struck me as having more in common with anarchists like myself, despite their purported hatred for us. They each resented authority in their own way, but Rodeo maintained discipline through sheer force of will alone. Even I felt chills when she looked at me. The squad was a microcosm of the ORV as a whole. Dysfunctional at the best of times, but united by a shared hatred for the bourgeoisie, the reactionaries and the counterrevolutionaries, the “swamp Maoists” of the Okefenokee fiercely defended their territory. I knew they saw me as a weak-willed traitor and a lifestylist and considered themselves the true radicals. But Rodeo had been ordered to let me be and they would have died at that woman’s command. To that point, I had seen them charge headlong into enemy positions at a nod from her, and in turn watched her take bullets to protect them. Strange though they were, the squad stuck together with a fanatical loyalty. Something rustled in the tall grass to the left and the squad reacted fast. Wolfman brought his weapon to bear, dropping to one knee as Chat pulled her sidearm and Tape leveled his sawed-off shotgun. Reverend fingered one of the grenades dangling from his bandolier and Rodeo placed her hands on the grips of her revolvers, watching. Stepping out of the overgrowth was the other outsider. Extremely tall, towering over Reverend, gaunt and pale-skinned. He wore darker fatigues, in much better condition than the ORV uniforms and carried one of the Kalashnikov rifles favored by foreign fighters. A pair of binoculars dangled from his neck and if he was disturbed by the weapons aimed at him it did not show on his face. “Oh hey Dracula,” said Wolfman as he stood and raised his rifle to the sky. “I have located the target,” Dracula replied. His English was halting as he spoke in a thick Romanian accent. His ghostly appearance and Lugosi-esque manner of speaking had made his particular nickname quite easy to determine. Rodeo didn’t have to speak, she simply motioned in Dracula’s direction and the squad followed him into the thick grass. ============= ============= ============= ============= ============= ============= “Well ain’t that some poo poo?” said Chat. Wolfman whistled and Tape adjusted his glasses. Reverend made the sign of the cross and Rodeo blew a bubble with her gum. Dracula said nothing, merely looking through his binoculars. There was a castle in the fog, jutting out of the swamp as if teleported in from Arthurian legend. Well, it would have been if the Round Table were made of plastic. The massive structure was half-finished, with metal girders and rebar jutting out from unfinished sections where the facade of stone walls had not been attached. It was a ghostly image, a ghoul out of time. It almost felt profane to look at, its skeleton exposed like the rotted corpse of a stillborn baby. “All right folks, that’s our destination. Command wants us to scout the area, look for anything unusual.” Rodeo nodded at Dracula, who dropped the binoculars. They were so heavy and his neck was so thin that I was afraid it would snap. “All jokes aside, ain’t a loving castle in the middle of the swamp unusual?” said Tape. Wolfman was quick to join in. “Yeah what the poo poo is this?” Rodeo shrugged. “Command says this was supposed to be some kinda amusement park. Built by that guy Walt Disney. Didn’t manage to finish the place before the war started.” “Wait, Walt Disney like the movies? Like Snow White?” asked Chat, scurrying to keep up with everyone else, the radio equipment on her back bouncing as she pushed her way through the tall grass. “Yes,” said Reverend. “Also Walt Disney died before the war started.” Everyone looked at him as if expecting an explanation for how he knew this, but he kept his eyes on the castle. The man had a disturbing tendency to know strange things like that and never explain himself. No one knew what he had done before the ORV. “I love that movie!” Chat said as she too looked back at the castle, her eyes growing large. “Pinocchio! Bambi! Mary Poppins! Do you think they’ll have movie stuff inside? I wonder if there’s people in there. I want to meet Julie Andrews!” Tape laughed. “Chat, you’re not gonna meet Julie Andrews. I doubt she’s hiding out in some hosed up swamp castle.” He withdrew a bottle of pills from his medical bag and popped a few in plain view of the rest of the squad. No one reacted. So the doctor liked to get high on his own supply, what's the harm in that? We were only in the middle of a protracted people's war. “You never know. It could happen.” The radio operator kicked at a tuft of swamp grass with a huff. While Chat and Tape argued about the possibility of meeting Hollywood stars inside the castle that should not exist, I kept pace with the squad. I considered doing a bump but reckoned that things were strange enough without getting high. The swamp ended and we found ourselves walking across asphalt, cracked and weed-infested in places. Brown pools of stagnant water swarmed with mosquitos and we gave them a wide berth. Alligators sunned themselves outside of unfinished buildings, and we passed by several abandoned trucks, their tires long since rotted away. Bird calls filled the air and the buzzing of insects was maddening. There were no trees or tall grasses to absorb the noise, it permeated everything. All around us the swamp was reclaiming this place even before it could be finished. What could the point of it have all been? I tried to imagine the place as the builders envisioned it, full of people gawking at statues of cartoon characters and lining up for fried food and soft drinks on their way to a roller coaster. It was an aborted monument to the excess that had almost destroyed the world. The castle itself turned out to be less impressive and more sad up close. From here we could see how truly far it was from being finished. The interior was bare and the walls had huge gaps that showed the cloud-ridden sky overhead. Exposed electrical wiring, unconnected plumbing and rusty discarded tools were all evidence of a massive undertaking that would never be finished. “Looks like there ain’t poo poo here, Rodeo. I walked all around the perimeter and it don’t look like anyone’s been here in years. I guess once the shootin’ started they dropped all their poo poo and never came back,” said Wolfman, leaning against one finished section of wall, obsessively checking over his weapon. Chat knelt next to her oversized radio, tuning the dials as she grabbed the microphone. Suddenly a pale claw covered her hand and she jumped, dropping the metal instrument and scrambling away from Dracula, who had just appeared there. “No,” he said. “No contact.” She looked to Rodeo, who nodded. “We don’t call this in yet.” I found that curious. I knew that ORV Command, such as it was, demanded regular radio checks. Not checking in just wasn’t done. Dracula straightened up and adjusted his uniform. I regarded the man as an oddity, but the way that Rodeo obeyed him when she was known to clash with her superiors, it bothered me. He said he was a Comintern advisor, whatever that meant. The man had a bad habit of never blinking, which I remembered at that moment because I found him looking right back at me. I glanced away. There was something in his unwavering eyes that I just couldn’t meet. “Uh, Rodeo? I think you’re gonna want to see this,” Tape called out from the other side of the large unfinished castle interior. He wasn’t wrong. Behind a service access door he’d found a false wall that had fallen apart. Behind it was a staircase that led down into the dark. At the bottom, lit by our flashlights and a flare held by Reverend, we found a landing that terminated in a large metal door. The sort of door that closed in the middle and was usually found only in military installations. It bore no markings and appeared to be shut tight. Disturbingly, a keypad set into the wall glowed with electric light. Something was supplying it with power. Sweeping past Wolfman and Tape, Dracula approached the keypad and entered a long series of digits in a single smooth motion. From inside the thick doors, something heavy went ka-chunk and they slowly, with a loud grinding noise, pulled open. Stale air washed over us, tinged with antiseptic and rot. Dim lights burned within, illuminating a long hallway that stretched on into the darkness. Rodeo shared a look with Dracula and then she walked through the doors. The squad followed. Wolfman quickly rushed to take point and Tape stuck close to Rodeo while Chat nervously adjusted her backpack straps, looking this way and that. Dracula held his flashlight high and sniffed as he entered. I brought up the rear with Reverend, who again made the sign of the cross but grinned at me with those yellow teeth. When he spoke, it was with that same eerie calm and the crinkled eyes of someone who is in on a joke that you aren’t. “What a peculiar place to have a party.” As the man followed his squadmates I glanced back upwards towards the bit of natural light shining through that passageway above. Feeling like there was a distinct possibility I would never see the sun again, I pulled out a vial of coke and did a bump. My brain burned to life like the booster rockets on those big, beautiful MOSA ships and I eagerly followed the rest of the squad into the unknown.
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Aug 21, 2021 05:59
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Post-Martian bombshell The woman who walks onstage seems too young to be here. Jessie Lin wears civilian clothes, a black t-shirt with an unbuttoned red flannel on top and jeans with work boots. Her attire is rebelliously casual for such a momentous occasion and a direct statement to the world. The Lower Georgia United Workers' Front enforces no dress codes regardless of the event in question. Just offstage her superior officer Hector Torres wears his modified old National Guard uniform in contrast to her. Her clothing sparked a heated confrontation with their Cominterp hosts, but in the end she won the right to wear her everyday clothes, but now in the light of what was just revealed she feels as though maybe she should have worn something a bit nicer. The woman herself is decidedly average. Five and a half feet tall, straight black hair tied up in a simple ponytail and light brown eyes. To her comrades, she has titles like "Valkyrie" or "The Angel of I-95." She technically holds the position of Lieutenant in People's Will, the largest militia in the Front. She was 15 years old when the war broke out and her father, a Teamsters organizer who led a truck drivers' strike in Savannah, was murdered by the Georgia State Patrol. She piled dictionaries in the seat of his truck and tied wooden blocks to the pedals and drove his big rig up and down the coast to deliver food, medicine and arms to the people resisting the federal and state government. She had run roadblocks and engaged in shootouts with Army Reserve forces when she should have been studying math. Her convoy of trucks had saved countless lives with the supplies they delivered and had provided transportation to people fleeing the worst of the civil war. In her truck she'd driven through hurricanes, outrun tornados, dodged artillery fire and braved high radiation levels. After the war she had organized the logistics network that currently supplies the Front and beyond, and been awarded whatever medals the various factions could think to give her. All of that paled in comparison to the task of delivering this speech. She could use a sawed-off shotgun to blow the tires out of a reactionary militiaman's technical while doing 75, but public speaking terrified her. Jessie had never gotten anywhere by running from her fears, so she marches dutifully to the podium, fidgeting with her eyepatch. "Hey there," she said, doing her best to just focus on the bright lights that hid the crowd from her. "Boy I sure wish I'd known that all that spaceman stuff was gonna happen. Kinda a tough act to follow, y'know?" No one had warned her about the Martian reveal, so she decided to go off-script. "If any little green men want to come down to Claxton, Georgia and give me a spaceship I'd sure appreciate it. I could get a lot done with some fancy tech like that." Jessie laughs nervously and looks at the cards in front of her. It all reads like gibberish now. "So, um, what I wanted to say was... Well, I was selected for this duty because I kinda bridge the gap for the Front. Durin' the war I was military, well sorta. I fell into it like lots of folks did. Had to fight back. And then when it was over, I went back to bein' a civilian. Mostly. I think that sometimes people forget that the fightin' ain't done for a lot of folks. I don't go nowhere without my .45 because the pigs is everywhere." A murmur runs through the crowd and she holds up her hands. "Sorry, I don't got it right now because y'all got plenty of guns and plus they told me I couldn't. Sorry, sorry." She smiles as best she can. "Anyways, I finished high school a bit late and then I went to the People's School and got an education. Mostly stuff I'd already picked up runnin' beans and bullets all over the state but with some fancier words. Started a family, didn't get married though on account of I don't have to anymore. I can do what I want, y'know, within reason. "That's what I wanted to talk about y'see. Life's better now than it was before the war. People I know don't worry no more about bills, or how gettin' sick will make 'em go bankrupt. They don't worry about keepin' a roof over their heads or how they're gonna eat. My ma don't have to worry about gettin' discriminated against because there ain't no capitalist pig-dog tellin' people that they got to worry about some Chinese person takin' their job. We are buildin' that better world my daddy, God rest his soul, died for. It was worth gettin' shot at and stabbed and almost blowed to hell over. Some folks'll say that the old ways was broken, but that ain't true. It was bad on purpose! It was bad so that they could make a few extra dollars, drat what that meant for the rest of us. Them people at the top stood on our necks until they was almost broke. Took us goin' drat near to the apocalypse to finally throw 'em off. "And some of them people are still around. They woke up today dreamin' of goin' back to that world, and schemin' about how they're gonna do it!" She bangs one fist on the podium, sending a jolt through the crowd. "They sit there in their mansions and their bunkers and they think of ways to take us down. And to them I say: do your fuckin' worst." She's getting less nervous now, falling into the mode of the fire and brimstone preachers she seeks to emulate. "We shed blood and sweat and tears to get to where we are, and you ain't gonna take it from us without a fight. I'll be a corpse in the ground before you get back what we managed to win. I will not go back to the way things was, and I got millions of comrades who think just the same! "So all y'all capitalists, imperialists, racists, reactionaries and general pieces-of-poo poo better enjoy breathin' while you still can because your days are numbered! And to the bootlickers and cowards that still serve 'em, I say throw down your guns, or turn 'em on your masters! Eat 'em alive, and we'll welcome you with open arms! To all my comrades out there who are still fightin' every day for our better world, I say help is on the way. It's got eighteen wheels, forty tons of metal and it's armed to the teeth and it don't take no poo poo from anyone!" Picking up her cards and neatly shuffling them into a shirt pocket, Jessie turns to walk offstage towards Torres, who stands there slack-jawed. Mid-step she remembers something and hurries back to the podium, interrupting the host as she grabs the microphone. "Oh yeah, I dunno if any of y'all space aliens can understand this, but the same goes for you! But if you're friendly and were just kidnappin' people to save 'em or somethin' I will still take that spaceship." With that she smiles politely to the host and relinquishes the podium, retreating off-stage and brushing past the security officers sent to usher her away.
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Aug 23, 2021 15:28
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Blood and Bullets Below the Magic Kingdom Part Two: Funicular Into Fear The tunnel smelled dank, and dark water stains grew on the walls. Despite being spacious, the fact that half of the lights were burned out made it feel cramped. A short distance inside, we came across another door, this time with a blue sign above it, white letters in a soft font declaring ‘Welcome, friends!’ Wolfman and Tape lined up on either side of the door, while Chat stood beside Rodeo, her Uzi raised. Reverend remained behind with me. With only a slight nod, Rodeo strode forward and planted her boot in the center of the double doors, flinging them open. Wolfman and Tape leaned around the doorframe, sweeping their weapons back and forth. It was a surprisingly well-rehearsed move for the squad and not the first time I’d seen it done. But usually it was followed up with a fusillade and a great deal of screaming. This time, there was only dull silence. I pulled my fingers out of my ears and peeked around the wide figure of Reverend, who had not moved at all. Dracula walked past Rodeo, saying nothing as he looked at the room beyond. It was large and open, broken up by several thick concrete columns. Unlike the bare concrete hallway the floor was plush seafoam carpet that turned to tile in areas where small tables had been set up. Stools surrounded the tables and the walls were lined with white couches and cushioned chairs. I blinked as I took in the odd lounge we had stumbled into, following Reverend and Chat as they entered behind everyone else. “What the gently caress is all this poo poo?” Wolfman asked as he swept his automatic rifle over the long room. Tape pushed his glasses back up on his face and shrugged. “Some kinda underground meeting room? A place for all the Hollywood types to get together and rub elbows?” “No one’s been here in a long time,” said Chat, holding up a fingertip covered in dust taken from one of the couches. “Definitely not since before the war.” “Yeah, but someone lives here,” Rodeo replied. “What makes you say that?” Chat asked. Next to her, Wolfman plopped down into the couch, sending up a plume of dust and she wrinkled her nose, stepping away. Rodeo pointed up to the ceiling, where most of the lights continued to shine. “The lights are still on.” “Wait, that’s actually a good question, how does this place have power?” Said Tape. “We’re in the middle of the loving swamp, not a thing for miles around. I didn’t see any power lines.” “The skeletons have their own fire,” Reverend murmured as he walked away from the entrance, heading towards the back of the room. Ignoring him, Rodeo pointed to the other set of doors on the wall opposite us. “Chat, Tape, go check those doors. Wolfman, get off your rear end and go follow Rev, make sure he doesn’t blow anything up.” Grumbling, Wolfman sneezed and lifted himself off the couch to trod after the mumbling holy man, his green uniform now thoroughly stained with dust. Chat leveled her gun at the indicated door and proceeded, Tape falling in beside her, but not bothering to raise his shotgun. Rodeo approached Dracula and the two of them began to speak quietly next to a filmy framed photograph of a tall man with an odd mustache sitting at a desk with a telephone pressed to his ear. With my coke high wearing off, I was becoming uncomfortably aware of being underground in the middle of the Florida swamp. So I drifted closer to the squad leader and her mysterious advisor. “-consistent with our intelligence.” I caught Dracula saying. Rodeo chewed her gum and just fixed those hidden eyes on him. “You know you never did tell me just what sort of ‘intelligence’ you have.” She maintained her monotone even now, but the twitch of her eyebrow betrayed her growing frustration. Dracula paused. “That is classified.” The answer didn’t satisfy Rodeo, who took a step towards him. If it bothered Dracula, even I couldn’t see it. “I’m getting real tired of your ‘it’s classified’ poo poo man.” He simply shrugged. “You have your orders, and I have mine. I suggest we follow them.” As Dracula turned to walk away, Rodeo placed one hand on the grip of a revolver. Then she noticed me and withdrew her hand and instead pulled her Stetson hat up, running her fingers through her brown hair. Her head had been shaved when we set out from their base in the Okefenokee, but over the course of several months it had grown out and was in dire need of either growing more or being shorn down again. It was a look common to many people in the militias that ended up operating away from home for weeks at a time, and no one wore it well. “Enjoying the show?” she asked. “I haven’t decided yet. It’s certainly not what I expected.” Wolfman’s voice rang out from the far end of the room. “Y’all are gonna want to see this.” He’d found a podium on top of a small raised platform. Inside it were a number of buttons which operated the lights and flipped through a number of banal songs played from speakers discreetly placed on the walls. One, however, was labeled ‘Orientation’ and when Wolfman eagerly pressed it a screen descended from the ceiling behind him. A click could be heard, and a projector lowered from the ceiling, but as light splashed across the screen all we could see were garbled images that flashed by incoherently. “I guess the film reel fell apart,” said Tape as he peered at the projector. “Welcome, friends and thank you for joining us,” a voice suddenly said through the speakers. It was eerily mirthful and obviously a recording. “We here at the Disney Company know that you had your pick of shelters across the continent and beyond, and we are pleased that you chose to spend the next several centuries here in our fine halls. This shelter is equipped with state-of-the-art technology, outfitted with the best in defensive capabilities and supplied with self-sustaining food and water operations. We also offer the best entertainment that you will find in our new, uncertain world. Only here at the Disney Lifestyle Preservation Vault will you be able to see productions starring your favorite movie stars and be treated to new cartoons weekly! None of our competitors offer anything like what we have here in terms of quality of life.” “Holy poo poo, is this some kinda apocalypse bunker?” Wolfman asked as he looked from the mess of broken images to the speakers. Dracula held up a finger, silencing the rifleman. “Once you have finished your refreshments, you will hear a word from our benevolent founder and then proceed through the doors to either side of the stage and the funicular will take you to the habitation block. If you have questions, please-” At that moment there was a loud click, followed by the buzz of microphone feedback. “Hello, visitors,” said a different voice, significantly less cheerful. “We were not expecting outsiders to find this location so soon, nor that you would be able to gain entry without setting off certain alarms that we had set up.” Rodeo adjusted her hat and glanced around. “Who are we talking to right now?” She asked. “Oh, that’s less important than who you are. Your clothing and weapons seem to indicate that you are military. Our projections did not foresee organized militaries surviving World War 3. Care to explain your affiliation?” “The war wasn’t that bad. Some nukes fell, a lot of people died, but we came out the other end alive.” Rodeo replied. “And just who is ‘we’ in this case? Your weapons and uniforms are inconsistent, to say the least.” Dracula opened his mouth, but Rodeo beat him to it. “We’re with the Okefenokee Revolutionary Vanguard, part of the Lower Georgia Worker’s Front and the Communist International.” Dracula sighed and shook his head. “It is the Communist Interplanetary now,” he said. After a long pause, the voice crackled back over the speakers. “I see, so we lost the war and godless foreigners have overrun our borders. In that case, you are not welcome to proceed any further, and we will not be coming out to meet you. The residents of the Vault have no interest in meeting with your sorts and we will take our chances waiting here for the liberation of the country from your hands. Leave, and do not return.” Moments passed as the squad looked between themselves, shifting uncomfortably as they began to realize exactly what lay under their feet. “You know, sergeant, you really should learn to lie,” said Dracula, his normally stoic expression turned into a mask of frustration with his lip curled and his eyes narrowed. “I believe this is a concept Americans are familiar with, yes?” Ignoring him, Rodeo nodded to the doors behind the stage. Wolfman and Chat checked both of them and shook their heads. Locked tight. She then pointed to the set on the right. “Rev, open this jar of pickles for me, would you?” Grinning, the gaunt man walked over to the door and pulled off his backpack. “For the Lord your God is a consuming fire, a jealous God,” he muttered as he rigged the dynamite sticks to the doorhandle. A few moments later, after we had retreated to what the holy man assured us was a safe distance, the room rocked and sound pounded against our ears as the doors were not so much blown open as taken completely off their hinges and mangled. We proceeded towards the smoking hole where the doorway had once been when the speaker crackled on again. “I see you are attempting to gain access to the facility. There is nothing for you here, I suggest you turn around and leave,” the voice said. “Go gently caress yourself," Wolfman replied, scratching at his unkempt beard. “Why are you so eager to throw your lives away? For some book written by a Russian lout who blamed others for his failures?” Chat snorted. “Marx was German, idiot. Shows what you know.” “Fine,” the voice said with an edge of frustration. “Come and meet your death.” Beyond the doors we found a spacious platform with a velvet rope creating a maze of rows that seemed to exist to just slow people down. Wolfman and Tape kicked them over as we walked, and the heavy brass posts thudding against the concrete floor echoed forward. There we proceeded onto a circular floor of metal with guard rails around the far edge. At the center was a raised control panel with a lever. The rest of the space was taken up by rows of metal-backed chairs with dusty, plush seats. Clearly this was meant to take a while, traveling in a modicum of luxury. Rodeo examined the lever and after everyone was aboard she threw it. Suddenly the platform jerked and screeched and then began to lower. I watched as the concrete walls began to move upwards as the funicular descended into the abyss beneath us. Light was scarce, mostly coming from the platform itself and our own flashlights. Progress was slow and steady, the grinding eventually dying away as whatever rust the machines had developed gave way. Chat lounged on one of the seats while Tape busied himself examining the control panel. Wolfman walked the perimeter restlessly and Rev said his quiet prayers. At the center of it all was Rodeo, staring daggers through her sunglasses at Dracula, who was quietly writing in his little notebook. I sidled up to the tall Romanian and he looked up, regarding me with that same expression of bemused dismissal that I got from most people in my life. “Give it to me straight, Drac, what the hell is going on here?” I asked, hoping that my straight-to-business demeanor would surprise him. “That is classified,” he replied, shutting me down. “Come on, we all saw you put in the door code to get us in here. You expected to find this place, right? What are we really here to do?” Dracula merely shrugged. “We are here to protect the interests of the Cominterp, as we always do.” I shook my head. “Listen man, I hate to tell you this, but Cominterp? It ain’t happening. Comintern sounded fine, but the ‘pee’ sound at the end just makes it sound wimpy, you know? I’d suggest sticking with the old name,” I replied, pulling out my coke again and tapping out a bump onto the side of my hand, between my thumb and index knuckle. I raised it up a bit, offering it to him, but he politely declined with a raised hand and I snorted it quickly. The lights flipped on in my head again and the entire room seemed to brighten as I stood up straight and really smelled that dank underground air. I could see the walls more clearly, the grooves behind us for the tracks and the intricate ductwork and electrical wires on the opposite wall. Panels opening and gleaming metal emerging from within. Gun barrels glinting in the darkness. The funicular suddenly ground to a halt and I screamed. “Get down!” as the bullets began to fly. I’d been in a few firefights in my life. Most of the time, bullets just make the one noise as they leave the barrel. Sometimes you’d hear them plough into the dirt or burst through wood. More often there was the soft plop of them entering flesh and the following scream. Maybe a noisy spurt of blood. But here on what was essentially a mobile metal cage bordered by stone, it was cacophony as the bullets slammed into steel and concrete and ricochets zinged by while plumes of concrete dust filled the air. Without ear protection my head felt like it was going to explode like the cushions of the seats I had dove behind, dragging Dracula down with me. I fumbled for the revolver and dropped it onto the metal floor, watching as it slid away from me, out into the open. Still more bullets poured down onto us. Risking a look over the top of the seat I watched Wolfman backing away from the walls, open panels within them now fully revealing the machine gun nests within. He had his rifle raised and fired wildly into the nearest open hole, screaming at the top of his lungs. Inside, something sparked and exploded and the gunfire dropped a bit as the weapon stopped firing. Wolfman turned to fire on the other positions when bullets raked across his body. I watched him twitch and shudder as plumes of red shot out of his back and his uniform was shredded. A round caught him in the eye and his head jerked back as he stumbled. I have no idea how he kept standing, a dead man on two feet, gurgling blood from between clenched teeth. He emptied his magazine into the floor at the same time as he emptied his bowels. The ricochets were almost as deadly as the stink. “Chat! Rev! Grenades!” Rodeo shouted. I could not see the two soldiers, but I could hear the metallic clicks of pins being pulled, followed by grunts of exertion and distant plopping sounds. A pair of explosions ripped through the chamber, echoing out and shattering what was left of my hearing. Amid the smoke and shell casings and the smell of Wolfman’s poo poo and piss I felt a strong hand grab my shoulder. Looking up, I could see Rodeo dragging me along, yelling something that I couldn’t hear as she pointed ahead of us. I stumbled after her, surprised to see us charging the machine gun nest that Wolfman had taken out. She shoved me into the open panel, past the inert gun. I stumbled into a cramped room within, bumping into Tape, who pulled me in deeper, and turned to see Rodeo followed by Reverend. With Dracula and Chat already here I realized that the entire remnant of the squad was within. Outside, the funicular started up again, sliding deeper into the darkness below and leaving us behind. I collapsed into a heap against the farthest wall I could find. My mind was a mess of adrenaline and cocaine, and I barely noticed it as Tape tossed Wolfman’s rifle into my lap. Chat was saying something and Rodeo shook her head as Reverend again made the sign of the cross. From below I could still smell Wolfman as he vanished into that dark hole, conveyed deeper by the bullet-scored platform of doom.
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Sep 19, 2021 06:03
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We live in an age of space magic. Let's go hog wild and turn the psychonauts loose on everything. Give them all the drugs and space rocks they want.
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Oct 4, 2021 15:40
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Yeah, if we can railgun their nukes from orbit and then take them down with conventional warfare we should.
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Dec 7, 2021 20:45
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Telsa Cola posted:Orbital strikes are somewhere between tactical nukes and nukes in terms of civilian casualties. Your going to cause bare minimum hundreds of thousands of casualties assuming they are anywhere near population centers, assuming you actually hit. If they are entrenched, well good luck. We can just use the lowest power setting, it'll be fine.
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Dec 7, 2021 21:21
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Mister Bates posted:this is also true in the mechanics of the game - when conducting orbital bombardment, the collateral damage casualties number in the event tracker is denominated in the millions. Low-power, early-game weapons like this one generally cause very low collateral damage per shot, so it will end up looking something like '0.02 million' or something like that, but it's still anything but surgical. In all seriousness, maybe I misunderstood what the plan was. I thought our railguns were for shooting down nukes before they could detonate.
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Dec 8, 2021 02:57
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Asterite34 posted:Yeah, this is part of why we don't want ORBITAL anti-missile railguns. Yes they'll hit and disable a nuke, but with a ferrous slug being shot at relativistic speeds, it's gonna punch straight through its target and keep going, and if it's going "down," it's gonna hit the surface of the earth with kinetic energy almost on the level of a nuke itself. I see, I phrased it poorly. I thought it would shooting down their missiles while they're in or near orbit. Isn't this the reason for the ground-based railgun network we're gonna build?
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Dec 8, 2021 03:59
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Mister Bates posted:December 12, 1985 Hell yes, good to know Anton found his calling.
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Jun 25, 2022 13:22
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The office was small, far too small for the duties of someone like Hector Torres, newly-promoted to the freshly-designated post of Commander of People's Will and General of the Lower Georgia United Workers' Front military. Fancy titles that came with a lot of headache and more problems than solutions. The paperwork was flowing over his desk, which was too large for the small room. One of the Technical Union kids had lugged in some sort of television monitor hooked up to a metal box with the smallest typewriter Torres had ever seen, and it dominated a corner of the desk. They'd tried to teach him to use the computer, but the older man could not make heads or tails of it. He'd seen action in both World Wars and they'd gotten by just fine with mountains of paperwork then, he reckoned they could still do it today. A part of him thought that perhaps what they said was true. You couldn't teach an old dog new tricks. He felt bad for his adjutants who took his scribbled papers and dutifully entered them into the glowing brick of glass and metal. Something they called the Internetwork. A marvel of science and engineering, or so they told him. Torres didn't have reason to doubt them, but he was entering a time when such wonders escaped him. He glanced at the document that had been delivered to him, the top-secret seal broken now and the papers laid out on the desk amid their unruly cousins. Sighing, he took his cane and stood up. His knees popped and creaked and an ache shot through his left hip. He couldn't blame the years on that one, no this pain came from shrapnel he'd taken during the Great Revolutionary War. Years later a doctor had dug the metal out with some sort of fancy new tool, but the feeling would never go away. Ambling over to the window, Torres looked out at the yard and the airstrip in front of him. This place had no fancy title, simply dubbed Airfield One. It was something of an aspirational name, as there was no Airfield Two yet. Before the War this place had been called the United States Army Flight Training Center, though Torres knew it better as Hunter Army Airfield. He'd been here a few times before the War. And he'd seen it go up in a mushroom cloud when the defenders had set off a nuclear warhead to prevent the Savannah River People's Collective from seizing it. His brow furrowed and he shook his head. Outside it was silent and the moon hung high in the sky. Lights drove back the darkness up and down the asphalt strip and as he looked at one of them he could see that flash of light again. He'd avoided looking at it that day, and been spared having his retinas burned out. But he remembered the all-consuming light. Only by luck had he been so far from the blast, and they all were fortunate that it was detonated on the ground and not in the air as it had been designed. Many people died that day, but many more were spared. That was the war in a nutshell for Torres. A great dark mass of death, but so many lives had been saved by it that even he couldn't hate it. A part of him hated the ugliness and cruelty of war, even the war of liberation, but he could look around and see the results, and was uneasily satisfied with his own part in it. Children lived better lives today, and because of that hell their future looked bright for once. He set aside the thoughts of aliens and the vast reaches of space for the moment and looked only to what he could see around him. Outside a lone sentry smoked a cigarette, leaning against one of the blazing light poles. Out of the shadows near the building a cat oozed into existence and approached. Torres watched as the soldier knelt down and scratched the cat's dark fur and dug around in her pocket for some kind of treat. Of all the wonders that he'd lived to see, Torres knew he was standing amid one of the greatest. After the war ended this whole area had been an irradiated wasteland. A death-choked ruin of blown-down buildings and rubble. Gangs of counterrevolutionaries had used it to hide, and knew only sickness and suffering for it. Then the Front's proposal had been accepted by the Comintern and they had sent their teams with their miraculous devices. Locals worked alongside them and cleaned up the radiation. Torres had led troops into battles with the warlords and they'd pushed them out of the area. Today it was clean, pristine aside from Airfield One. The Front had voted to set the rest of the land aside as a nature preserve, both to be enjoyed and studied by scientists who wanted data on the aftermath of the cleanup process. What once had been a cursed land now burst with life and Torres, never a religious man though he'd been raised Catholic, knew he lived in a world of miracles. Turning back to the desk he let out another sigh and slowly sat back down in the too-soft chair he'd been provided. His adjutants meant well, they probably thought a plush chair was good for his old bones. In truth, he would have preferred something firmer with more support. But he said nothing to them, they were overworked as it was. Torres considered the Front's position in all this. They had spent months mopping up counterrevolutionary elements, and they'd paid the price. They had more soldiers and materiel than ever before, but his troops were tired. Years upon years of low-intensity fighting punctuated here and there with outbursts of furious violence had drained morale and left the militia unable to look beyond the borders of the Front. They had armor and aircraft, but a shortage of tankers and pilots. This base was only just now getting online to train such people for their roles. It would take time, and time seemed to be in short supply. In all respects. Looking back down at the document Torres finally just nodded and picked up his pen, grabbed up a piece of letterhead and began to write his response. quote:TO: Comrades of the Deutsche Volksrepublik After giving the memo a few read-throughs, Hector felt satisfied and pushed it into the outbox for his adjutants to transcribe in the morning. He ran a hand over his face as he began to consider what sort of speech he would have to give to his officers. Turning the militia to exterior conflicts wasn't going to be easy, but few worthwhile endeavors were.
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Jun 29, 2022 13:37
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paragon1 posted:The Soviet Union is willing to commit its Pacific Fleet and associated air forces, as well as the 5th, 6th, 13th, and 15th armies to Operation End of the Line. Jessie Lin shifted uncomfortably in her drab gray uniform. It was one of the new design, totally divorced from the past and bearing no relation to the hodgepodge of surplus United States military uniforms they'd been using. They said the design was to reflect a new era, a new face to present to the world. She still didn't like it. Even on her moderate frame it hugged around the waist and under the arms. It was restrictive. She'd made it through the entire War and the aftermath wearing a t-shirt and jeans, she didn't understand why that had to change now. But she supposed it came with the position. Her shoulder bore a pair of red-and-black stripes. Major in People's Will and Captain in whatever they were going to call the Front's official military. That was still being voted on. The merger between People's Will and the other militias couldn't come soon enough. She wanted to have one rank and one set of nonsense rules to remember rather than two. Sitting across from her was Hector Torres, the man who had picked her out of her convoy unit and brought her into the official command structure. They were outside, sitting at a picnic table set up on the edge of Airfield One. The January air was cold and wet. Georgia winters didn't truly start until later in the year, but things were kicking off somewhat early this time around. She suppressed a shiver and rubbed her hands together. At least it wasn't windy and the sun was high in the cloudless sky. The light provided much-needed warmth on the chilly day. Out on the tarmac a crew of trainees were learning how to operate one of the Soviet-provided helicopters, drilling with the instructor who had a great grasp of English for someone who had only arrived a year ago. The drill seemed to be going well, not that Jessie could tell. Her machines stayed firmly on the ground, just like God had intended. She would leave air support to the crazy and the foolish. Torres grumbled something and Jessie quirked a brow. "What is it old man?" she asked with a grin. He gave her a pointed look. It was the one he gave her a lot these days, one brow slightly raised with his lips pursed just a bit. His mustache, fully silver, was getting unruly. Jessie rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. What is it, sir?" "One of these days you'll get the hang of it." Torres' expression shifted, softening as he set down the paper in front of him. "The Soviets are committing a sizeable force to the operation." They just called it 'the operation' on account of it being top secret. Technically even Jessie wasn't supposed to know, but Torres had told her anyways. There was basically nothing he didn't tell her, and she was making an effort to drill it into her head. Uncomfortable uniform and stuffy protocol aside, she wanted to be here. Wanted to learn. "Well that's great, right? I mean we're gonna need 'em. We're doin' well just to keep things afloat here, ain't we looking for all the help we can get?" She replied, glancing down at the paper and reaching out to slide it over so that she could read it as well. "Sure, it's very good," Torres replied, reaching over and grabbing his cane. He worked the handle in between his fingers, gripping it tightly and making that squeaking noise that wood against skin produced. "You're too young to remember this, but for a good and long time the old empire was gripped by anti-Communist and anti-Soviet paranoia. Fear is a tremendous motivator. Get people scared enough, and you can make them do just about anything. And believe me, we feared the godless Commies." Looking back up, Jessie nodded. "No, I remember learning about this. McCarthyism, the Unamerican Activities Commission, blacklists out in Hollywood and all that. Witch hunts for the spooky Reds." There had been weeks on the topic, learning about all the ways that the American government had stoked the fears of Communism on the homefront. All while covering up their violent suppressions overseas. "It's one thing to learn about it in school, it's another to experience it, Major. Your father would have remembered it, I'm sure your mother does. I was an officer in the Army back when it really got started, just before the Second World War. Nevermind that we held hands with Stalin to defeat the Nazis, that was forgotten as soon as it was convenient." Jessie had learned that Stalin was a bit of a sore subject with Torres. She quite liked the things she'd read about the man, but Torres would rail against him in private. So she held her tongue. "I was never safe to voice my opinions. No one could know that I read Marx and Engels and Kropotkin and others, nor that I did begrudgingly admire our Soviet counterparts. You know I met Soviet soldiers in Germany, before everything fell apart and Berlin was partitioned. They were people, just as good and flawed as the rest of us. I did not fear them." Over at the drill site, someone clearly messed something out and found themselves subject to the large Russian's stony wrath as he loomed over the smaller man, shouting at him about how a mistake in the field would get them all killed. Jessie liked the man's style. Some people chafed under the discipline but she found it effective. Sloppiness got people killed, so you had to be precise, or you'd be dead. This thinking did not apply to dress codes, of course. "Are you still listening, Major?" Torres asked and she snapped her attention back to him. "Yeah- I mean, yes sir." He gave her the same look as before and nodded. "What I'm getting at is that most people who live outside of the Front and New Afrika and Appalachia, as well as our comrade nations to the west, they aren't like me or you." He pointed at the Soviet instructor, who had one meaty hand on the trainee's shoulder and was running him through the proper motions now. "They see that man as the enemy still. A foreigner, come to conquer the land. He wants to burn their homes, take their women and indoctrinate their children. It's not their fault that they think this way, that is the result of decades of propaganda. Untold amounts of money poured into changing how people think. That's hard to break." He leaned against the picnic table and stroked his mustache. "The Soviets' help is much appreciated, and necessary. But we need to be careful. The vanguard of the action must be American. The people, they must see American faces and hear American accents-" "What's an American face?" Jessie interjected. "What's an American accent? My mom doesn't have an American accent. Do you think I have an American face? What, are you saying that we need to make sure all the frontliners are white guys or something?" Torres was not a man who was easily taken aback, but for a moment he looked genuinely off guard. His eyes widened and his hand dropped as he set his jaw and firmly set one fist down on the table. Jessie didn't often get one over on the old man, but she felt somewhat accomplished this time. "You make a good point, comrade. No, I'm not saying we need racially homogenous shock troopers to assuage the masses." He sighed. "What I am saying is that our foreign allies will not be greeted as liberators. They will be seen as invaders. Hell, there's a good chance that we will be seen as invaders too. Those propaganda efforts didn't end with the war, there are still powerful forces out there who are conspiring against the revolution. Disinformation and molding public opinion are just a few of the tools they're going to use against us. Conflict, sabotage, assassinations, these are all inevitable as part of this new war. I don't see how we can avoid them." Feeling a little bad for her sudden jab at Torres, Jessie thumped her knuckles on the paper in front of her. "Well, you're full of ideas on just about everything. What should we do?" "I think that you should be commanding things from the front, while I remain back here to coordinate efforts. I'm not going to be much use out there anyways, and I trust you to carry out the mission in my place." Jessie sat up straighter and felt her cheeks go hot with a nervous reaction. Her stomach knotted, not just with anxiety but also with a small bit of excitement. "Wait a minute, is this all so you can stick me with more work? Are you playing the long game old man?" Instead of giving her the look, Torres simply chuckled softly. "You got me. These old bones are more suited to desk duty than forward action. You're young, smart and motivated, Major. And more than that, you're right. What is an American face or accent? It doesn't matter, America is dead. Those people out there might not know it, they might cling to it. But they can't go back. You should be the face of the new world, their new reality. It won't do to coddle them." He began to gather the paperwork laid out in front of him. "At least with your accent they won't be too unnerved. You sound more Southern than the rest of the command staff put together." The blades on the helicopter began to spin and Torres moved to stand up. "Come on, I can't stand the racket those things make." Jessie stood as well and helped him collect their documents just as the wind began to whip up, sending a crash of cold air over the two of them and whipping her hair into a flurry. Torres walked with his cane in one hand, and his papers under the other arm, while Jessie moved at his side. "Back in my day, aircraft only had spinning rotors on the front. Did I ever tell you about how I jumped into France ahead of the invasion?" His words were lost in the sound of the rotors as the pair of them made for the command building together and Jessie contemplated her future.
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Jul 1, 2022 04:30
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The Lower Georgia United Workers' Front proposes the following legislation First, a top-secret addendum to Operation: End of the Line quote:If we are to truly differentiate ourselves from the empires of old, then we must act with the interests of our fellow workers at the forefront of our minds. War is going to bring a great deal of suffering and hardship, and many people in the territories we will be invading will blame the Comintern for their immiserated state. We must prevent this by extending our efforts to the oppressed masses out there. They have lived so long in invisible chains that most fear a life without them. Bombs and bullets are not going to leave the best first impression of our socialist society. Regrettably the war must happen, and so it is our duty to commit to making the best possible second impression that we can by adhering to the following: Our second proposal comes from some more fringe elements among the Front, but it was voted on and has been elevated appropriately quote:The Xenoecological Preservation Act
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Jul 1, 2022 14:00
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Redeye Flight posted:S-161, the Xenoecological Preservation Act: NO The package that arrived at Fletcher's office was simple and unassuming, brown paper wrapped over a cardboard box and secured with twine. It bore the loving scuffs and small rips that came with a long route over sea and through COMRAIL. The seal on the package was that of the Lower Georgia United Workers' Front: an M14 rifle crossed with a hoe. The postal markings indicated that it originated in Statesboro, Georgia at the People's School, passed through Savannah and the Front's embassy in the Volksrepublik (a generous term, as the embassy was currently operated out of the apartment of Yancy Rivenbark, a former high school teacher with just enough German language skills to qualify for the job as ambassador) before finally arriving at Fletcher's office. Once the twine was cut and the paper pulled away, the box, which was quite heavy for its size, was revealed to contain several books and many stapled sheafs of paper packed in tightly. On further inspection, these documents all pertained to the ecological effects of European colonization of the Americas. They detailed the species that were lost, the invasive species that took their place, and the ways in which this changed the continent forever. Others were about the effects of disease carried by Europeans that resulted in the decimation of the Native Americans. Some of the works were quite recent, a few published as recently as this year using methods that were impossible before TNEs. Atop the stack of documentation was a simple note: quote:Comrade Fletcher,
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Jul 12, 2022 14:22
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The XPA was written specifically with point 4.1 and .2 of the Ascension Accords in mindquote:4.1 Any discovered, extraterrestrial life should be documented and studied as thoroughly as possible and the resulting data made available to the greater scientific community. We needed more specifics on what preservation looks like. The XPA allows for humans to land on planets with an alien biosphere after surveys are conducted from orbit and to establish scientific outposts for their study. I think the Bureau will need to develop guidelines on how to deal with mining on these worlds, since those resources are going to be desired. With our tech it seems like coming up with a way to do minimally-damaging mining operations can be achieved. And I do think that the wording can be amended at some point to allow full human contact with alien biospheres after we have determined to a reasonable certainty that said contact will not bring harm to either humans or the biosphere. I'm unfamiliar with the game mechanics of Aurora and the assumptions it makes. The XPA was written with the assumption that life is exceedingly rare and that most planets we would want to exploit (I hate to say it, but this is the appropriate word. You can dress it up however you like, but 4X games do not support a non-capitalist mindset in their mechanics) will be lifeless rock/dustballs or gas giants. If the galaxy is indeed filled with life-bearing planets, then yeah go ahead and repeal it because no amount of logic or respect is going to stop the colonization boom. Also, if we're concerned that the other members of the Ascension Accords are not bound by the same rules as us, we could amend the Accords with the same rules. Or, and this is the Front's preference, politely remind anyone who gets any funny ideas that we have all the guns. We may not control the land yet, but we do control the skies, and if we say 4.2 means following the XPA's rules, then that's that.
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Jul 25, 2022 13:19
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Asterite34 posted:The fact that mankind has already encountered two seemingly independently evolved alien civilizations just hanging around in the Solar System seems to put the Rare Earth Hypothesis to bed, honestly The question is massively more complicated than that. How compatible are we with their biospheres and vice versa? Do we breath the same atmosphere? Are we based on the same biological processes? Do their planets have lifeforms that are benign to them but are toxic to us? What about the other way around? The entire field of xenobiology is going to have to be developed to understand their existence and things are going to spiral even more depending on how exotic they are compared to us. If we start encountering silicon-based life, for instance, we will have to do a lot of work to understand what contact between our species and their biosphere will entail. For all we know Earths are extremely rare but things they consider to be Earths are super common. We don't know how much we don't know, and caution is to be exercised while we find out. This may not matter in terms of game mechanics, but the LP has fiction to consider too.
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Jul 25, 2022 13:34
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