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The future is never as promised. As the dreams of the past are accomplished, their flaws are revealed and humanity is already looking to the next horizon. Your tale begins in the year 2096. It will not remain there for long. The Diaspora Movement is at an all time high among the population of Earth and the corporations are gleefully funding extrasolar colonies as quickly as they can load ships. The Stuttgart drive makes lightspeed travel cheap and efficient. But even at the speed of light, space is vast and the ansible channel is already cluttered with noise. As the cost of data transmission rises and discontinuity creeps between the stars, the truth becomes ever more apparent to investors: the colonies must be self sufficient. They cannot be managed from earth and their technology and cultures cannot be kept homogenous. Into this new Wilderness steps a new class of adventurer, capturing the public imagination beyond even revered colonists: Planetary Governor. You have been approved to this illustrious position! What awai..* “Yada yada.” With a wave you mute the ambient narration. The contract in your hands is a single sheet, but the text scrolls and shrinks, the terms and conditions of your appointment writhing. You scan over the basics one more time. I, [Name] [Visual appearance provided for NonAppellationists], pledge to serve [Corporation name]’s interests in the [System name] system as local arbitrator of all matters of colonial development in [Colony name]. This authority is subject to ov...* “Blah blah, limitations, blah blah, reassignments, termination… yep, standard contract” You thumb accept and feel a slight tingle as tiny osmosis ports collect a dna sample. Your thumbprint practically glows red on the stark white paper. This is it. So it begins. Bear with me as we collect the sundry information at the start here. 1. What is our name? Optionally, what do we look like? 2. What is our former profession? Use your imagination as to what makes sense or ask me about strange future jobs  3. How did we get accepted as planetary governor, merit, money, connections, or dumb luck? And please ask any questions about the setting.
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Jan 9, 2017 19:51
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| # ? Apr 20, 2024 04:31 |
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Dick Buttkerson, a tall, genetically overroided humunculous. Once a star hyperback in the Federated Springball League. When the popularly-titled Humanculous Acts passed, and Dick (and the rest of his teammates) were recognized as actually people with rights and stuff, the league dissolved and the former players were free to legally pursue their dreams. Unfortunately for Dick, the constant cranial trauma he suffered as a hyperback rendered him unfit for higher education, even though he had cash reserves to draw on from his sporting days. As a last gasp chance at something, anything, he signs an endorsement deal with RAW MONSTER energy drinks, who are set and determined to establish an exoterran colony where EDGE IS LAW! as their marketing folks keep claiming, However, they need someone to lead who looks like they slam endless streams of caffeinated chlorazaprine juice, has the jacked body the 18-25 year old male demographic wants, and also is dumb enough to think this will work out in any way
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Jan 10, 2017 04:14
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John Smith, a Universal Basic Income freeloader, got picked out of the "I'm bored, give me a job" hat at random.
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Jan 10, 2017 13:51
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mercenarynuker posted:Dick Buttkerson, a tall, genetically overroided humunculous. Once a star hyperback in the Federated Springball League. When the popularly-titled Humanculous Acts passed, and Dick (and the rest of his teammates) were recognized as actually people with rights and stuff, the league dissolved and the former players were free to legally pursue their dreams. Unfortunately for Dick, the constant cranial trauma he suffered as a hyperback rendered him unfit for higher education, even though he had cash reserves to draw on from his sporting days. As a last gasp chance at something, anything, he signs an endorsement deal with RAW MONSTER energy drinks, who are set and determined to establish an exoterran colony where EDGE IS LAW! as their marketing folks keep claiming, However, they need someone to lead who looks like they slam endless streams of caffeinated chlorazaprine juice, has the jacked body the 18-25 year old male demographic wants, and also is dumb enough to think this will work out in any way Sure, let's replace the hydroponics water with RAW MONSTER and show these nerds how a real man farms Spinich.
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Jan 11, 2017 18:22
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RAW MONSTER has what hydroponic crops crave, chlorazaprine!!
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Jan 11, 2017 19:06
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Sure, this should go well. I'll skip the corp vote as it's clear that RAW MONSTER is the only place for Dick Buttkerson. RAW MONSTER is a subsidiary of the Güünmerch corporation. They've got a wide spread of concerns in the consumer goods and entertainment areas. The assistant takes the contact with an overly bright smile. "Wondermous, Mr. Buttkerson! Ah, there's just one more paper here..." She hands you another paper and you stare at the blank page in confusion for several seconds. Then you understand and flash the woman a trademarked (at one time literally) Humanculous grin. You thumb the sheet and a bright splash of color ripples out into a glossy picture of none other than Dick Buttkerson. You hand her back the now autographed sheet causing her to jump up and down, emitting a high pitch noise. Another happy fan. "Fantabulous, B3thany will be soooo jealous! Now let me just get you the system orientation papers." Still overexcited the assistant tugs too quickly at the folder in her hands, spilling a handful of sheets out onto the floor. Multiple pages interpret this as earnest perusal and begin to play their audio components. The assistant squawks is dismay and hurriedly drops the to the floor to collect the pages. Multiple worlds are spinning and flashing their stats. The chorus of forcefully positive narrators is somehow reassuring to you. It reminds you of the good times back in the league. Back before this troubling independence when the world consisted primarily of shouting men and Playing Ball. "LMNO I'm such a clutzoid. Here it is." Planet vote this time. Here a quick skim of the options: A. Tantamount 3e. 23 ly away. Located on the moon of a gas giant. Cold and tectonically active due to tidal gravity. First wave of permanent settlers sent 3 years ago. B. Goretski 9. 18 ly away. Hot house world due to the thick atmosphere. Oxyturbines sent ahead 20 years ago. Would be sent out with the first wave. C. Auriga 2. 35 ly away. Large earth-like world. Slightly higher than earth norm gravity. First wave sent out 4 years ago. D. Menylop 2. 22 ly away. Large amounts of water. Tidally locked. First wave sent last year. E. Canderous 5. 60 ly away. Rich mineral deposits. First wave sent 3 years ago. F. Petago 4a. 27 ly away. Moon with water ice deposits. First wave sent 2 years ago.
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Jan 12, 2017 10:24
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B
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Jan 12, 2017 10:43
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B Let's get to work.
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Jan 12, 2017 10:44
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Yeah Boy, going out to a hothouse in the first wave! Bodocialous!
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Jan 12, 2017 12:22
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B. Thick atmosphere means more air so more breathing so more sport action! What do you mean, do I understand what atmospheric composition means? Shut up nerd! I hope we have an assistant we can bully.
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Jan 12, 2017 16:31
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B because we can cram some of that extra atmosphere into tall-boys of RAW MONSTER energy drinks and sell them back on Earth! We have lots of atmosphere and Earth only has a little! I'm pretty sure that's how trade works
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Jan 13, 2017 03:06
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You start reading the report on Goretski 9, but the assistant is already ushering you into a side office. A thin, bearded man sits at a retro style data center. The walls shine with multiple data feeds. You get the impression that he has them on for effect since he doesn't seem to be paying any attention to them. The assistant gestures and a chair folds itself up from the floor, shiny foil-like segments bifurcating again and again into a hexagonally patterned surface capable of supporting even your prodigious weight. "Welcome, governor." You start, but realize that the title is accurate now. It's official. The man is looking up at you, expression dubious. He continues, softly clearing his throat repeatedly. "Ahem, this is the office of requisitions. I have taking the, ahem, liberty of dialing up a NZE113 package for you. Ahem. That's a is, a standard near earth colonization package. Self-constructing hab modules, a couple of fusion plants, ahem, level three agricultural systems, level three manufacturing, clothes and five years of food, water, and, ahem, medical supplies for all of your charges. Suitable?" He slides another form forward, awaiting your thumb. Well, are we happy with what we're getting? Any additions?
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Jan 16, 2017 23:22
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Edge is law! Where's the frelllking Stadium?
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Jan 16, 2017 23:36
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AJ_Impy posted:Edge is law! Where's the frelllking Stadium? And an extreme sports centre. And factory additions for jet skis, tiny stunt planes and everything else that will allow us to play standard
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Jan 17, 2017 02:07
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Yes yes, the manufacturing unit is capable of rendering such structures and vehicles from raw materials. Thinking of it as an XTREME 3D printer. The larger structures might take quite of bit of infrastructure before you can set them up. The max size of the printer bay is only 16 meters cubed.
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Jan 17, 2017 03:00
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So we can print the building blocks of the Monsterdome and bench them into place? I don't see the problem here.
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Jan 17, 2017 03:02
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What are the medical facilities like? Are they able to manufacture things like steroids and medicine? Not that we would use steroids, but maybe a kid is underdeveloped or something and might need them. Yeah.
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Jan 17, 2017 03:15
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There is a chemblock with the agriculture unit. It's designed mostly for analysis but it does have the ability to synthesize complex organic compounds. Both functions require a specialist operating it. For larger scale production you'd have to set something up.
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Jan 17, 2017 03:53
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Ok, but how much chlorazaprine juice are we getting, nerdlinger. These guns don't fire themselves you know *begin flexing obnoxiously*
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Jan 17, 2017 05:31
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Make sure we have enough nerds and geeks to keep things running while we focus on more important things. Like extreme sports and working out. We're the face of the planet, we can't be expected to do, you know, other stuff as well.
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Jan 17, 2017 18:40
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"I swear to govern this gently caress out of this piece of poo poo planet!" Get working on the technical poo poo, nerds! I give the orders and you cretins make it happen! I'm delegating some serious power here and I reserve the right, nay, the RESPONSIBILITY to execute each and every one of you for failure as necessary via globally televised kickoff decapitation!
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Jan 17, 2017 21:38
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So I'm reading this as a unanimous "Yeah, loving whatever. I've got beer cans to crush on my head." Correct? Update later tonight then.
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Jan 17, 2017 23:01
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We're not just the Governor, we're also the Mascot! *shreds a tremello guitar solo while guzzing RAW MONSTER from a beer helmet and ramping a hoverboard off the terrified local High School Debate Club*
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Jan 17, 2017 23:37
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"Thanks, man. Glad to have the eggheads plotting these things for us." You smile so he knows egghead is a compliment and thumb the form. You've been doing a lot of that. Awful lot of red tape to simply go forth and be radical. The accountant looks mildly surprised then content. "Ahem, wonderful. I assure you Güünmerch appreciates your cooperation. Ah, and here is your, ahem, branch liaison from Raw Monster." You frown, somehow hearing a distinct lack of capital letters. But you're quickly distracted by strobing lights on the edge of your vision. The RAW MONSTER liaison enters in a storm of Xtreme graphics blaring from his smart clothes. Action shots, first person stunt vids and sports highlights flicker across the slick fabric of a suit that's tailored to suggest sporting equipment. He's wearing googles. You nod; here's somehow who knows what's up. "Dick! Dick, Dick, Dicky! What is up, my main man with the plan. I hope you're done with all this boring drek cause we're hot hot hot. We just got to get some peepers on you. Come on come on." The rep gestures emphatically. You follow him from the office and out of the staid corporate lobby. As you enter the locovator, several camera drones swoop in and begin a slow orbit of you. Old instincts kick in and you smile and stare into the middle distance. You flex occasionally. The platform slides smoothly down in a spiral around a spacious atrium, eventually depositing you on the ground floor. The RAW MONSTER liaison does a back flip off the platform with admirable agility and then starts an official press release. Given the lack of in-body reporters this appears mostly as him shouting into thin air about how awesome you are and occasionally winking at a camera drone as you both leave the building. "... and my main man Dicky here is gonna whip this planet into a shape even its momma won't recognize. Say, Dicky, whatcha gonna name this poor hunka rock that don't know you're coming yet?" What shall we name our
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Jan 18, 2017 05:51
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MONSTER BALL
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Jan 18, 2017 05:55
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New Detroit! Only some crazy rear end extreme mother fucker would move there!
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Jan 18, 2017 05:55
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Outrail posted:MONSTER BALL I was thinking more Monster World, but definitely Monster $roundObject. EDIT: Bonus points if shirtsleeving the atmosphere produces rad lifeforms that are competitive at extreme sports. dont be mean to me fucked around with this message at 06:26 on Jan 18, 2017 |
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Jan 18, 2017 06:15
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Outrail posted:MONSTER BALL Yessssssss Also, the colonists need to be organized into teams with unnecessarily XXXTREME logos and be forced to compete in various events for resources, time off, the glory of RAW MONSTER, and self-respect. Just. Like. We. Were.
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Jan 18, 2017 20:36
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The environment will be incompatible with human life to start with, so I think we should grant positions based on the most extreme candidate for each position. That is: who can last longest outside without any life support. This includes heads of medical, research and development etc.
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Jan 18, 2017 23:29
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"MONSTER BALL!" You roar in your best game voice, raising meaty fists high above your shoulders. Out of the confusing corporate offices you feel more and more confident. Grabbing a camera drone out of the sky with startling speed, you leer into the pickup. "And if you think you're XTREME enough you can come help us beat this planet into submission." You crush the drone and step into the waiting air car. The RAW MONSTER rep cackles and skids over the hood before getting in the other side. He's gushing praise before the autodriver has lifted off the pad. "DICKY! drat champ, that was it. Capital I capital T, IT. And when you crushed the drone? I can't even..." You tune out, already thinking of how you're going to run things on the new colony. Teams and challenges and rewards buzz behind your eyelids as you lean back in the plush seat. And presiding over it all, Governor Dick... no... Coach Governor Dick Buttkerson. - Things move quickly over the coming weeks. The colony roster grows. The first wave overflows with volunteers. The core team of corporate specialists was assured but the public hears the call to MONSTER BALL and fills out the general colonist slots twice over. Supplies have been ferried up to an orbital staging area. The ship that will carry you to the stars is due in a little over a week. They are veterans of two near Sol runs. It hurts your brain to imagine how the captain and crew have experienced things. For them it's been less than half a year and all of that spent loading and unloading. The years and years of travel at the speed of light passed for them as a blink of an eye. Fourteen years out of touch. And they've just done shorter runs! You shake your head. Space travel makes no sense. Alright, y'all get a rare weekend update from me. Don't get used to it. Couple things to decide on here. We have access to a huge pool of volunteers. They've been screened and are basically fit to be colonists. How do we want to prioritize who goes in the first wave? First come first served? Sort them by skills? By physical fitness? By hair color? That's A. The next question is more personal to Dick Buttkerson. What do you want to do on Earth before leaving it for at the very least thirty six years. A. Who's going and why? B. What are we gonna do on our last week on earth? Additionally if someone wants to name the ship and her captain that could be neat. You can even write a little backstory if you like. I'm reserving veto rights though. Can't imagine why. 
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Jan 21, 2017 18:47
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A: Take the strongest, the fittest, the most Extreme! B: Fan signings, last round of meet-and-greets. We're about to deprive the Buttkersonmaniacs their hero for nearly four decades, let's give 'em something to remember! The Ubermegaflyer captained by Kurt von Hardcastle is a corporate-owned colonial seeding skiff belonging to a crowdsourced transport conglomerate. She's done runs out to Barnard's Star and Epsilon Eridani, and is due for a refit in two subjective, 30 actual years, going by her current schedule.
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Jan 21, 2017 20:58
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A We prioritize athletes, both current and former. And none of this "sitting on your rear end playing videogames I'M A PRO-GAMER, DAD" bullshit, either. We want people who trans-dunked in the Jovian Courtball Leagues, atmo-divers who skimmed the flourescent clouds of Neptune, and bowlers! And if we have too many of them, then we take only the most XXXTREME of the crop! No fat chicks! Or dudes! Unless the piloted their RAW MONSTER gyro-vert through a tornado, then they can come. B Truly we should be signing more endorsement deals, because when we come back, we're gonna be HUGE, baby! Besides, always keep your options open, that's what our robo-agent says
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Jan 22, 2017 00:52
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AJ_Impy posted:A: Take the strongest, the fittest, the most Extreme! so the first will be like the olympics mixed with survivor and the second would be something like battlebots. you wouldn't have to go into detail on them if you don't want to
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Jan 22, 2017 01:10
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mercenarynuker posted:A Yeah! But we need nerds to do the, books and stuff. Who's going to make sure the Get in touch with our last
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Jan 22, 2017 01:37
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Yeah, gotta have nerds to do our homework and make the lunch money while we slam dunk this planet through the habitable zone OOOOOOH YEEEEEEAAAAAH
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Jan 22, 2017 02:26
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A, B Does outerspace have it's own Dollop yet? We'll need to make sure there's plenty of stuff for the next incarnation of Dave Anthony and Gary Renolds.
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Jan 24, 2017 04:20
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Tell an underling "I want lots of plots of land that grow things for drugs and booze. I don't care how it's justified in reports. Something something increase terraforming efforts and high-value export crops and artisanal customized whatever. I don't care. I just want lots of booze and drugs to keep people happy." Edit: Our religion should be Secular Dude-bro-ist. RandomPauI fucked around with this message at 04:28 on Jan 24, 2017 |
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Jan 24, 2017 04:25
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mercenarynuker posted:A
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Jan 24, 2017 04:41
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"Let the games begin!" Your amplified voice booms out over the arena. The FlashVert™ Gigadome has adjusted itself into a gauntlet of XTREME challenge zones. Just past the starting line a broad field stretches 300 meters along the curving edge of the stadium. Ripples of the smart material form waist high hurdles gliding slowly across the expanse, changing color as they pass. Then the track rises sharply into a cliff-like climbing wall. Head sized columns piston out at random. At the top there's a wide array of gear spread out on pedestals. Skis, skateboards, jetpacks, gliders, magbikes, crawlsuits and a lonely unicycle. Beyond a sloped landscape that looked like it had been shaped from melted wax, all swooping curves and waves. Projectors lit this terrain and the skies above it with multicolored glowing holo-rings. The downward slope terminates in a shallow pool with narrow curving trails across it. On the other side of the water a building has been erected. Done in a style reminiscent of a meso-american ziggaraut, its walls are plastered with sponsor adverts. Its mazelike interior is filled with nooks containing a wide variety of low power shock weapons. The top tier of the ziggaraut is the finish line. It is from this lofty perch that you are addressing the mass of colonists at the starting line. And an estimated viewership nearing a billion, but they don't matter to you. You were bred to be accustomed to the faceless masses of the public eye. These hopeful colonists though are about to earn the right to live on your planet. You spread your arms wide and a burst of pyrotechnics roars up behind you, signalling the start. The candidates burst into motion, sprinting forward across the wide field. Adjusting your neo-roman style tunic you turn from them to a seat more deserving of the description throne than chair. From there you'll get a better view anyway, personal screens capturing the most radical of tricks and the sickest of wipeouts. Already a few of the latter are cued up, people not quite judging the mobile hurdles timing correctly. You shake your head, tsking. Time was of course important but the radical multipliers and the lame penalties were powerful tools. Slow and spectacular could certainly win the race. The winners of the egghead contest had rigged most of this up and plotted it out, helped out by a few corp men and women with a flair for public relations. Grinning you begin to spectate in earnest, a luxury you are unaccustomed to in arenas like this. --- Launch day arrives. You feel like you should be more nervous but instead feel the blank focus of the pregame descend upon you. One of the flight crew checks the straps on you and the other passengers in the rocket. Technobabble and a slow countdown are background noises. You're focused on the goalposts, your world. Zero. You ride up towards the stars on a column of flame. The g force is almost pleasant to struggle against. You lift your arm from the armrest and thrust a heavy fist forward, saluting the unknown. And then, weightlessness. The flight crew circulates distributing barf bags for the wimps. You unbuckle and try to emulate their graceful flight but your well-toned muscles betray you. Each motion is far too powerful and each sends you spinning off in unwanted directions. The spinning is too much and you find yourself viciously nauseous. Soon you're curled around a barf bag like the others. By the time you start to recover, the launch vehicle is docked. An imperious looking man floats into the cabin effortlessly, his arms crossed behind his back. His clothes seem oddly formal before you realize that they're merely a couple decades out of fashion. "Welcome to the Ubermegaflyer. I'm her captain, Kurt von Hardcastle. I assume you all have had enough speeches about expanding humanity's frontiers and reaching out towards a grand destiny in the stars so I will keep this brief. Follow the green wall chevrons to main cargo bay and your berths. Follow the blue wall chevrons to the bridge if there's something wrong. You won't need any other colors. Acceleration will be proceeded by a ten minute warning. Tie done everything loose when you hear this warning then tie yourselves down and await further messages. Transition time is in sixteen hours and you probably won't notice it if we don't point it out so relax. You'll find a gift basket in the form of several containers of particularly terrible zero gee rations in the main bay. Enjoy." With a couple deft kicks the captain flips a hundred and eighty degrees and glides out of the room, arms still crossed behind his back. You and the colonists flounder your way into the main bays. You're grateful you didn't have to do any of the cargo loading. Moving yourself is problematic enough but as you stare down the rows and rows of huge drop crates currently bolted into place you realize exactly how large scale this operation is. Gazing over the massive investment entrusted to you take a moment to take stock of your future colony. 2,142 colonists 1,885 days of food and water for said colonists 20 containers of clothes, personal effects and medical goods 2 fusion plants with extractors 60 self assembling thirty six occupant hab modules 1 manufacturing module, full and with database of basic designs 1 container of sample tools 1 agricultural package which includes 20 tractors 2 cryobays of sample plant seeds and soil bacteria 1 chemblock 4 condensers and irrigation equipment and drop crates for said material Transition in sixteen hours. I'll pause here and give y'all a chance to randomly do something stupid if you like, otherwise another update in a couple days. Not Alex fucked around with this message at 06:08 on Jan 27, 2017 |
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Jan 27, 2017 06:06
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Offer honorary mayoral status of new steads to those who perform the most sicknasty zero gee stunts on the way to their berths.
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Jan 27, 2017 06:57
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