Happy Autumn, Kiddies! Hope you survived the summer. Has it been mucho weird lately? I mean, aside from the usual weirdness.
First, there's the Gateway Nebula fiasco. Not that it happened first, but it was the biggest thing going for a while. Does Morgan know how to stir up a hornet's nest or what? Jam that ol' stick between the bars, laddie, and watch them T4-types growl and foam at the mouth.
But the Ghods headed that brouhaha off at the pass muy pronto, hombre. Lord Jacine moved Allipon and his Battle Stars out there, declared it home space and offered to fry, free of charge, anyone who offered trouble. Wonder if Chuck U. Farley's gonna have problems submitting stuff now? He was nice enough to man our Press booth at Jacine's announcement. Chuck was even sober- I mean at least he was sitting up. Will wonders ever cease?
I tried to make the Kastorian elections, but I couldn't get the ship away from the survey work. My crew generously pointed out that while attending the election event would be interesting, the survey work was paying the bills. Don't practical people just annoy you?
Let's see...guess I can cancel the Bone's plans for a RIP-A-Thon. First the USA goes after the RIP, then the Transhole Gang decides beat up on what's left of the pirates as a "public service". If anyone can remember what's Latin for "kick 'em while they're down", do me a favor and send it to the T4. they can use it as a motto on their seal. Y'know- the one with the hand holding the knife sticking out of someone's back.
RAIDERS OF THE IMPERIAL PERIPHERY, R.I.P. 200
By Lord Nathaniel Mathias, DTR Speaker of the House
The end of the RIP and loss of their home systems come as no surprise to me. My brothers of the rebellion lost sight of their cause long ago, allowing greed and personal wealth corrupt their souls. They alienated many that would have provided them the materials and support that they so crucially needed to survive and became just another puppet to the few that enticed them with the "big" ships and "big" guns. They allowed themselves to become too deeply entrenched in the politics of those that supplied them with ships and weapons, instead of remaining a neutral observer.
How I weep for the needless loss of my brothers and sisters that strayed from the path of the righteous! Long gone are the glory days of intercepting yet another merchant ship, stripping it of it's goods and making the Imperials look foolish once again as they were unable to stop the unpredictable hit and run tactics once employed by RIP star captains. For years you survived by scouting out potential targets, those star captains that foolishly used the same trade routes. Hit and run. That was the way to get what was needed and to survive. Why did you stray my brothers? Why! What fools were they who thought taking on the IMP war fleet was the way to glory and victory.
Of course life as a RIPper was difficult at best, but then one day a boon was granted upon you. A key was given that would allow entry into two previously unknown systems, a place to safely build homes for your families. A place that could make the hit and run tactics even more effective, allowing you to seemingly enter various regions of space from nowhere and disappear in the much the same way. For years you thrived in the safety of your hidden nest, building and raiding. But as leadership changed hands time and time again, you strayed from the path and your tactics and politics changed. Instead of being content with making the Imperial Fleets futilely chase you, you dreamed of conquest. Poor pathetic lost sheep, you stood not a chance of defeating the Imperial Fleets in a head on battle.
Now your arrogance has cost you dearly. Family and friends are now lost to you as other races and governments battle for control of your homes, stripping them of resources and doing who knows what with your people. The shadow of death looms even nearer as others learn of your impending doom, hovering like vultures, swooping down to strip your dying carcass of what little remains.
Perhaps others may benefit and learn a lesson from your passing, perhaps not. My only hope is that a glimmer of life remains within you, and if so that you are now wise enough to bide your time and allow your wounds to heal.
Fare well my brothers. May you R.I.P.
Lord Nathanial Mathias
DTR Speaker of the House
Clan Leader Birds of Prey
Yep, I bet O'Brien
is rolling in his grave. That is, if he has one. Remind me to dig up a few
of the old RIP stories from the back issues I haven't put in the archives
(yet). Maybe somebody will finally get an idea what the RIP were really like.
Speaking of the RIP, I got this one in at the last minute. I also received a cruder version of the cartoon, but I decided not to use it. Somebody's fourteen year old dotter might stray from her favorite teen-slut-singer's "watch me strip as I sing" site, find this page, and get offended at the RIP really getting screwed in a cartoon as well as in the Transhole. I just couldn't live with the irony (OOC: and potential lawsuits, my reputation getting dragged all over the BSE List again, getting booted from my ISP...).
We also got this announcement from Lord Mathias' staff:
DTR Announcement:
Due to a declining state of physical and mental health, I will be stepping down as Speaker of the House for the esteemed Detinas Republic at the end of this stellar year. Candidates from with the DTR will be added to the ballots for this coming November election. Any parties with outstanding business with the current DTR leadership are advised to contact me immediately for closure of these issues.
Lord Nathanial Mathias, DTR Speaker of the House
Best of luck to you, Lord Mathias. I'd retire too, but there's too many people out there to annoy.
One thing you can always count on in BSE are the changes. Just got told by my survey officer that we're gonna be out here in TCA space through the holidays in order to complete this GPI assignment. And I only laid in a month's supply of limes. I keep telling myself that I'm not cut out for this survey and exploration work. Then along comes something inspiring, like this:
Comet in Adamski System
by Vice Admiral Slad-4, ROC Space Force
Science and Technology are the Property of the People!
Reports of 'screen flicker' phenomena in the Adamski System (150) had been received and ROC Bandit One was assigned to investigate.
Immediately after jumping into the Adamski System (150) the K-band radar screen did flicker slightly, the phenomena was brief and only persisted for a few seconds after jump stabilization.
We were unable to localize the source of the flicker phenomena with standard ships sensors, but a System Probe revealed the presence of an Comet at SSQ 831 (Week 34/200), which I named 'Traveler'.
Orbital studies showed Traveler to be 1 sq x 1 sq, with a surface consisting primarily of craters, broken crust and crevasses, with the major terrain type being craters, several of which were of ancient origin.
Traveler was too small to retain an atmosphere, had a temperature rating of 1.0 and supported no indigenous life. A GPI indicated a high metals content, and the almost certain possibility a metals/non-metals deposit on Traveler. Overall however, Traveler could accurately be described as a "moving hunk of rock in space."
Taking Bandit One in closer, I landed the vessel on Traveler and sent a shore party to investigate further. The surface of the comet was compose primarily of ice and rock, no life or anything else of interest was found.
Spectrographic analysis of dust samples allowed us to conclude that dire consequences could result to anything left on Traveler when it exits Adamski System (150). I recommend that any outpost, colony or ship remaining on Traveler when it exits Adamski System (150) be considered 'disposable'.
Although stable enough to support our ship landing, seismographic surveys revealed Traveler to be criss-crossed with cracks and faults, we believe that any external shock, even as slight as the impulse from tractor beams could result in the breakup and destruction of the Comet.
At week 41/200 Traveler was located in SSQ 833 of Adamski System (150), indicating that it is travelling with a base speed of 280.
Was that just too cool for words, or what? I just love that exploration stuff. Sure beats the bosseven-poop out of battle-reports.
Time for a small amount of humor. Somebody sent this to us and asked that we not identify him / her / it:
An Odd Story
A grizzled starcaptain was walking along the edge of a starport, deep in thought. Suddenly he said out loud, "Ghod, grant me one wish." Suddenly the sky clouded above his head and a booming voice spoke
"This is your Ghod. Because you have been so good and so loyal these many years, I will grant you one wish"
The starcaptain said, "Boot Morgan out of Known Space. Put him in a place so far away, he won't bother anyone for years. Oh, and turn him into a pirate's parrot."
But Ghod said, "Why such a vindictive request, when you could ask for greater things? Think of another wish, a wish that would benefit others more than yourself." The starcaptain thought about it for a long time. Finally he spoke.
"Ghod, I have many female friends and lovers over the years. All of them have said that I'm uncaring and insensitive. I wish to understand women. I want to know how they feel, why they are giving me the silent treatment when they do, why they cry, and what they mean when they reply "nothing" when I ask them what's wrong. I want to know how to make a woman truly happy"
There was a few minutes of silence. Then Ghod spoke.
"What color feathers do you want him to have?"
We got quite a reaction from our USS joke last issue. I mean, aside from the death threats and the attempt to burn down our office. Here's this submission by one of our readers:
USS Story #2
... Of course, who can forget the story of the USS Ensign and USS Admiral on leave, hiking through through the Jax hinterland. They came across a sheep with its head stuck in a fence.
The USS Admiral immediately opened his fly, walked up to the sheep, and started humping it very vigorously.When he was done he turned to the Ensign and said "do you want some?"
"Sure thing," said the USS Ensign as he stuck his head in the fence and pulled his pants down.
Maybe we ought to have a BSE Amateur Comedy Night. Yeah, I know we have one called the BSE List, but this is for people who want to be intentionally funny. Duckbutt, make a note of it. Maybe we can convince Hizzoner to spring for the stimbrew, or something...
Letters To The Editor
Dear Editor Hedd,
Did you really say "DEMONS HAVE VIRTUES"? And are you an addled sop like William Cody says?
Jess Curious
'No' to the first question, Jess. Demons always had virtues, it's just theirs aren't like anyone else's. And as for your second question: it's all a matter of perspective. One being's hard-drinking and hard-nosed paragon of journalistic virtue is another's addled sop. It's just that the latter opinion is held by a fanatical revolutionary whose grip on reality is as firm as a handful of star-dust. Of course, he'll get my vote in November...
Hedd:
Any chance of you interviewing the new Ghods for an upcoming Bone?
Bone 60 Reader
Some people say I already talk to the Ghods. But those are the same ones that call me an addled sop. Seriously, I'm inclined to say "no". First, I always thought the Ringbone Gazette should be for, about, and by the residents of Known Space. The Ghods have their own channels for communication. Of course, we've also seen what happens to them and the previous regime when feedback is available.
Hedd-
[regarding Issue 60] Short, but brief
SADM Addison
PS: I"ll cover Chuck's next expense tab for another story like that one.
Yeah, I wasn't happy with Issue 60 being so short and brief either. And thanks for providing a great segue to our next article.
Another Conversation at Allipon (part 2)
according to Chuck U. Farley, Bone Transhole Correspondent
In the last installment, Chuck is his usual spot at the Dwarf Star bar and once again meets Jason Prince, a scruffy crew member. The conversation gradually drifts to the "Fish", an alien race the reportedly overran much of the Stellar Empire. The pair decide to go out into the starport and sample the nightlife...
It was mid-evening when we walked out of the Dwarf Star and out into Allipon's starport. Off to my right, I could see the humped shapes of the few visiting starships landed here, their hulls highlighted by the tarmac security lights. The deserter- ships were over on the far side of the port, behind security fencing. It seemed that there were always more of the latter than the former, and the numbers were growing.
"Is he still thinking of moving this thing?" Jason Prince's voice broke into my reverie.
"Lord Justin?' I replied, "Maybe. There's been talk. The WCE hasn't made noise about taking out this place for a year or so. Guess they've got other problems." Prince snorted.
"A few. But don't think they've forgotten Allipon. Retief may have been a fuck-up during the CPR rebellion, but he's learned a few things in the fifteen or so years since then. Justin had better think of something a little more potent than his battle platforms."
We walked through the evening crowds. Most were off-duty colonists with star-sailors and a few aliens peppered among them. We moved aside as a Kazerickii warrior swaggered by us, leaving a mixture of sampoon-vapor and pheromes in his wake. Two of Allipon's Security troops followed at at a respectful distance.
"Looks like someone's looking for a fight," my companion observed wryly.
"Probably," I shook my head, "Guess there'll be one battle-bug in a cell tomorrow morning."
The "Blast Doors" club was located on a relatively quiet side alley. At the entrance, Jason motioned me to put my bank-chip away and passed a small wad of stellars to the human light-tank masquerading as the maitre d' at the podium.
"A table near the wall, please," Prince told the well-dressed goon, "Close enough to see the action, but not so we're deafened by the music.My friend and I are going to have a little talk" The man looked down at the money in his paw and gave a lop-sided grin.
"Privacy, huh?"
"Something like that," Prince replied, matching his grin. Soon we seated with drinks on the highly polished table-top, watching a Myrrian female doing a pretty little dance on the stage. It was erotic and innocent at the same time. Soon the music ended and she tip-tapped off the stage to applause.
"That's just the warm-up," I told him, "Supposedly it gets better later in the evening. Not that I get here much. Not on the what the Bone pays me."
"They should be paying you more,' Prince said as he picked up his glass, 'things are going to get real interesting around here. You're gonna be busy."
I was getting ready to ask him just what he meant by that, when a new dancer appeared on stage and the music started up. When she was done, Prince signaled for another round.
"You wanted to know about the Fish," he said in a low voice as another dancer, this one a seven-foot tall Ghettian, took the stage.
"Yeah, but only if you want to tell me," I said, "It sounded like you have first-hand experience."
"Only in a limited way," Prince replied. " I can tell you from first hand experience that the Stellar Empire got caught with its pants down and its ass hanging out.
"There were warnings as far back as '97. Stories of strange energy waves and signals that worked their way across the Empire. The authorities discounted them as 'natural phenomena'. There were reports of odd-looking probes flitting through systems. Nothing could be proven and nothing showed up on the system arrays, so they too were discounted.
"Then came refugees from the outer edges, a few survivors babbling about whole planets wiped clean of life. Thousands of beings dead. Weapons and colony defenses virtually useless against an unknown and unresponsive force. Defending ships vaporised. For some reason, the Emperor's office blew off their stories. They weren't from the 'civilized part of the Empire'. Just a bunch of rubes who probably suffered a natural disaster and made up the stuff in order to get a handout.
"That was in early 198. The shit hit the fan a few months later." Jason went quiet and stared blankly into space, not even noticing the buxom dancer on stage who was giving a new meaning to the word 'flexible'. I never knew a pole could be wrapped around so many times, or in so many ways.
"So what happened?" I prompted.
"It was like a wave," he replied, still staring out into the air, "There must've been thousands of Fish ships. They knew where to go; wiping clean any planet with more than oh, forty-percent water. Then they'd - restock it. I can't use any better word.
"This may sound cliche, but it was the alieness that was the striking thing about it all. No communication from the Fish, barely an acknowledgement of our existence. Even the Empire's more esoteric races couldn't talk them.
"Ever see holos of a school of tropical fish? It's like they're moving as one organism. They moved fast too. Within two months, they'd taken a quarter of the Empire. Whole populations wiped clean. The only reason anyone survived was because they either lived on a desert planet or an airless rock. Three of the ISP's seven major bases were gone - poof. Then the ISP's elite "Death's Head" fleet took 'em on at Ceta III." He shook his head.
"Two hundred ships, commanded by Star Admiral Sergei Mikhail Romanov. The prime specimens of Imperial might. They all were nothing more than floating scrap after three TUs," Prince sighed deeply, "The Fish sliced them to bits, then toasted the fragments. We got bits of data here and there from what black-boxes were left. No survivors. Those alien bastards never even got a scratch on their hulls."
The emcee came on stage an announced a brief intermission. We turned down a few offers for lap dances (with sizable stellar amounts as compensation to the dancers). Eventually they got the hint and we were left alone.
"You know, we don't have to talk about this if you don't want to," I offered.
"Burying your instincts for the story?' Prince smiled grimly, "that doesn't sound like the Charles Ulysses Farley I used to see on the holo-news every night when I was a kid. Best damned journalist I ever saw."
"That was years ago," I replied tightly, "that Charles Farley is gone. He died along with the his news story about the Community subverting the Imperial throne. The network decided not to air it and fired me when I protested."
"Sorry, Chuck," Prince sighed, "I never knew what really happened."
"Two of the 'COMmies' came for me the day after those eunuch bastards killed Admiral Zig-Zag Krieger and the other Imperial officers, " I clutched my glass, "They had the wrong address and got my assistant instead. Blew his head clean off. I didn't stay around to tell them that they'd screwed up and got the wrong guy. Hector had been my right hand man for years. Nice guy. He didn't deserve what he got."
"The 'guilts'," Prince mumbled, "they'll get you every time." He gave me a small, tight smile. "So, do you want to hear the rest of the story, or what?"
"Yeah," I replied, "So what else happened?"
To be continued...
Tell me-
are my friends lyin', when they say you're double timin'... I wonder
if Chuck's gonna ask for travel expenses, now that Allipon has moved to the
Gateway Nebula? Probably going to have to change his job title in any case.
Speaking of Chuck U. Farley - we did pay him, right Duckbutt? Oh, good- I
thought I was losing more of my mind.
Got this one just before we went to press Yes, it's political. Yes, it's not the usual Bone hilarity and mayhem. But then again, nobody's ever accused us of being conventional.
Found on a Leaflet in Allipon
Comrades Stalin, Khrushchev, and Retief, off on holiday, are in a compartment in a train crossing the plains of a planet in the WCE. All is going well for awhile, and then the suddenly train stops. The head of the security detail bursts into the compartment holding the three communists and asks: "Comrades! The train has stopped! What shall we do?"
Immediately Comrade Stalin jumps up as says, "Simple! Shoot the Engineer, and send the Assistant Engineer to the Gulag! Those who are left shall get the train moving again."
The Chekist departs. A shot is heard. Soon the train starts moving again, and all seems to be well.
After a while, the train again stops. The head of the security detail runs back to the compartment, bursts in, and says: "Comrades! The train has stopped! What shall we do?"
This time, Comrade Khrushchev stands up. Instead of giving instructions, however, he first asks a question: "Is the Assistant Engineer still alive in the Gulag?"
"Yes he is, Comrade Khrushchev," is the conductor's reply.
"Good. It is simple. Pardon the Assistant Engineer, promote him to full Engineer, release him, and put him in charge of the train. He shall know how to get the train moving again."
The security officer departs. After some delay the train starts moving again, and again all seems to be well.
After a while, the train stops again. The head of the security detail runs back to the compartment a third time, bursts in, and says: "Comrades! The train has stopped! What shall we do?"
This time, both Stalin and Khrushchev look to Comrade Retief. Retief stands up, thinks for a bit, and then provides his solution.
"It is simple. We pull down the shades in all the compartments, and sit and pretend that the train is still moving."
Friends, thus it is with the klepto-maniacal New Class of the WCE. They care not for real progress for the masses - only for the illusion of progress! They are satisfied to fill the minds of the workers with a false consciousness as long s they can sit snug in their luxury-filled apartments, enjoying that which they deny the workers!
Comrade Retief and the other parasitical bureaucrats of the WCE dictatorship may pretend that the train is moving - but we know that it is not. We see a government whose performance since the ouster of General Secretary Treydr can be summed up in two words: "Missed Opportunities."
Rather than working to improve the lot of the masses, the corrupt leadership instead focuses on creating a new Cult of Personality centered around Comrade Retief.
And just as the WCE kleptocracy has acted to purge dissenting views among the regimes of the T4- stamping out sovereign, elected governments that try to apply 'new thinking' to the situation facing us on the astro-political stage - the WCE applies this purge mentality against free-thinkers within, applying a new Terror to those oppressed under Retief's "dictatorship of the proletariat.".
Let us look at the list of victims of this terror: General Secretary Treyder, in internal exile, with members of his family, publicly shot without even the slightest pretense of an open trial. The Mercantur clan, attacked by forces answerable only to the General Secretary and driven into exile. Even the Deslock Clan, long a defensive rampart of the WCE, now feels safer serving the alien Flagritz than in the WCE surrounded by his own kind. Look at those fleeing the WCE and those who have been murdered - we are seeing a new Cult of Personality within the Whitehole Colonial Empire, in which all those who think free and independent thoughts must cower in fear.
Such is the atmosphere of terror brought about by Retief and his New Class. Better to draw the shades, to purge the most trusted members of Treyder's former inner circle, than to allow any to ask: "Why has the train stopped moving?"
Who will be the next Trotsky, forced into exile, eventually to feel the blade of the ice pick at the base of his skull? Who shall be the next Bukharin, arrested and executed for merely discussing the possibility of reform? Who shall be the next Frunze or Orzhonikidze, dying of mysterious causes?
It is time to end the tyranny within the WCE! Workers, cast off your chains! Rise up, and free yourself from the slavery enforced by the kleptomaniacal petty bureaucrats! End the Cult of Personality instituted by the so-called "Comrade" Retief! End the Purges! Stop the Terror!
Co-signed:
TAMaLe (Transhole Anti-Marxist League)
SoWR (Supporters of Whitehole Revolution)
Just to set the record
straight, Chuck didn't find that leaflet. It got sent to us, in a battered
manila envelope (didn't know they still made 'em), with no return address.
Guess I better call Hizzoner "Big Ed" and tell him to have the firefighters ready. Any bets on how many Molotovs we're gonna catch over that one? Hey, you send it, and we might print it. Even if it is... so-so. Do you know how many times I had to visit the blender while going over the "McGregor Romance"? Still, I think Maddie would be proud of me. The spirit of the Bone lives!!!!
What's the picture for? I dunno. I just like it. It makes me smile when I catch crap from readers. And no - it doesn't represent any particular critic. Though it does remind me of a long-gone ISP PD...
Anyway, it's now time for one of my favorite parts - the thigh! No... it's time for:
Rumour and Innuendo
by Kinki DeWins
* Rumors are trickling out that yet two other alien races may be undergoing a change in leadership.
* Two unidentified sources independently said that the T4 "ain't what it used to be"; it now essentially consists of two of the four residential governments.
* Another ship has mysteriously disappeared in a Nexus system.
* The so-called Alien Plague is a 'lubricant' that facilitates hyperspace travel.
* Somebody want to ask Da King what his retirement package looks like?
* Speaking of "somebody": somebody is hiring mercenaries for what can be described as long-standing "get-even" job.
* Written in a starport alley: Jaime, watch your stern.
* It may be near Halloween, but several people have claimed to have seen the ghost of a famous starcaptain at several starports in the Periphery. There have also been rumours of a ship showing up at colonies, and then disappearing without a trace.
Time for "Saranara", Kiddies - we're calling it a wrap (See Duckbutt, I tried your joke. And look what happened - they're throwing up). Uncle Harold has to get to work finishing his part of the CPT, that is, when he isn't mapping planets. No newsletter, no dinero, accord to ol' Art at the Krieger Press. I'd say we never got paid in the first place, but that'd be a lie. Attention counts for sumptin' doesn't it?
We promise a real good Holiday Issue next time around. Who know- maybe we'll even finish the "Rollo McAllister" saga. That is, if Father Larry doesn't douse the printer again with cold coffee. Adios, mah little enchiladas!
Ads & Stuff
Additions and updates, e-mail [email protected]. Put it to Father Larry's attention (we're trying to keep him busy).
New for 2000! The Jumbo-Size RPS (tm). Features a fully-adjustable entry portal, with backwash lockouts and new rubberized VibraFoam tunnel resleevers. The size of the orfices can now be customized by the customer- all you need is a #2 Phillips screwdriver! Get yours today! -Hugh G. Rection, Manager, New Product Marketing, ROBOTIC PLEASURE SHEEP MFG. CO.
Looking for the RIP/IND ship Graf Zepplin (1907). A cargo ship, no weapons. Very interested in its intact capture/delivery to me.Sizeable reward offered. I really, really do not want this ship destroyed - Lady Yves Latone Thunder, KZK Thunder Hive
SMS New Comte(1620) is on Dogleg, the center of it all. If there is something you want that is not on the market let me know, maybe I can get it for you, maybe not. LBCMs will be added soon. Low on stellars? Barter is available. Do NOT land without permission. Use Highport for market transactions. - Lord Tiberius Croft
Merchant E is now available at AFT Benden Weyr (3686) on moon Pikoil , space square 1548 in Adamon (42) system in the Capellan Periphery. Contact this office [shazzola at juno.com] for fees, PA's and other arrangements. Desired items for exchange are: Fissionables (reg & cond), Fossil Fuels (reg & cond), Korondite, Stellars and morale boosting materials in no particular order of importance.In the event the prophecies bear reality, best to get your upgrade today to get the max benefit from the upgrade. - Trader Jess Wong
We Want You! We Really, Really Want You! Due to a lack of qualified star captains, we are now accepting any captain with flight certifications as member traders. This now includes all alien races, plant, and sea lifeforms. We may be desperate enough to include small animals or nanites. Any and all interested parties reply at your local AFT recruitment center.
New Location, Same Great Service! Please be sure to visit IND Allipon (1399) in the Gateway Nebula. Used ship market being updated, but ask us anyway. Entry and exit keys available - Lord Justin Jacine, IND Allipon
IND Werth is the best Free and Open port in BSE. Shop 'till you drop. Party 'till you drop! Sleep it off in any of our thousands of hotel rooms. Werth is the playground of the filthy rich and infamous. And never, ever a cover charge.
The MYR Want Your Business!! Myrrians are still building and selling Myrships (10-10-10) and Myrchant ships (1-30-2). Both these designs have the 100 mu/hull shift and are Nexus and Draconian Cluster friendly. Licenses available, as well as other items for sale and barter. - Der Laul, for the MYR.
BSE Web Sites
The following are affiliation and special-interest sites for BSE. Additions and updates, e-mail [email protected]. Put it to Father Larry's attention (it gives him something to do).
ZCS: http://members.aol.com/dsoccio/index.html
BSE Fiction: http://www.fortunecity.net/tattooine/shirley/262
[OOC: This is an interesting page I found. Great support for those players who think aliens should not merely be humans in funny costumes: How To Design An Alien ]
An OOC Retraction and A Final Word
I always knew there was a danger in making an out-of-character editorial attached to (but not part of) the Ringbone Gazette. But I felt that saying something about the then-current condition of BSE and why it was on the downhill slide was worth the slings and arrows.
Boy, was I wrong.
Back in Issue 59 (the Spring Issue), I said in one paragraph regarding BSE ownership:
... running BSE is more than just keeping a former BSE player on the GM payroll as a de rigeur. And 'non-interference' doesn't mean "sit there and watch the machine spin itself to pieces". Take the recent so-called Great War. Had the gamemasters had followed and stuck to a certain SAM instigator's affiliation profile, the War and the events in its aftermath should never have happened. I wonder if the turn fees generated from the "Great War" compensated for the loss of business afterwards as player quit for various reasons related to it.
Well, after an interval of four months, a former SAM player read the editorial, took offense at the portion in italics, and responded to it on the BSE List:
... While the prime mover behind the war was [name deleted], you can't say he dragged the rest of the SAM kicking and screaming behind him by *any* means. The entire SAM agreed on our course of action.
It's patently ridiculous to say that [names deleted] didn't know how to roleplay the SAM. They invented the freaking race for crying out loud. We understood our roleplay and were within the boundaries. It's not rare for people to scream "bad roleplay" when someone does something that is disliked. Frankly, it's sad. If everyone would worry more about improving their own roleplay, rather than trying to be roleplay cops for everyone else (especially when talking about alien races they know little/nothing about) then everyone would probably be alot happier....
Aside from (in my opinion) a lack of courtesy in choosing where to make the response to me regarding my editorial, the reader did correct a point where I was wrong. The Samillian Hegemony were not "dragged" into the Great War by the above-mentioned instigator, as I had implied. They unanimously choose to march into perdition.
During the interval since I printed that editorial and his response, the same reader and I discussed the events leading up to and somewhat after the war. I learned some things about the Great War from the SAM side. But based on conversations with others in the game and my personal observations, I still stand by my other comments.
I apologize to the List readers for having to put up with me repeatedly defending myself, my editorial, my reputation, and the idea that I might have the slightest clue to what roleplaying is. I also apologize for contributing to the impression that the BSE List is a "d--khead convention" out of necessity during the process.
To the former SAM player who chose the venue with which to disagree with me: thanks for the experience, sir.
And to you readers, I apologize for this editorial. It won't happen again. I will write no more OOC editorials.
P.A.B.
The Bone would like to thank:
Mystic Pizza II, North Stonington, CT
Lord Nathanial Mathias, DTR
The Government of the Republic of Corona
A certain ROC Citizen who wishes to be Anonymous
A 2-liter box of budget (but decent) Merlot
The Slow Motion Games staff
K.E. Largo, Commissioner for Reconstruction Assistance, Kommercia Hive