I know, but it was a seagull in the story. WOrking with what I have here....
Most people fear the unknown.
Most people haven't met me.
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Freelancer, in the claws of an idiot
Read, add and comment on excellent written stories by fans, set within the Freelancer universe
36 posts
• Page 2 of 3 • 1, 2, 3
Mon Nov 22, 2004 5:41 am
I just had the most incredible thought. We need a Spaceballs mod! Imagine it. Ridiculeously huge capital ships, startrackers that look like Winebagoes (would give a new meaning to "camping" at a base), bar patrons who look like dark helmet or have giant balls on their head. When you go through a jumpgate the wormhole would be plaid. Yougurt merchandise and logos everywhere.
LOL
You know if he doesn't post a new story soon these suggestions are only going to get more outragous.
"Trent and the quest for the Holy Sidewinder Fang" :p
Edited by - vorticaldwarf on 11/22/2004 5:45:08 AM
Edited by - vorticaldwarf on 11/22/2004 5:48:52 AM
LOL
You know if he doesn't post a new story soon these suggestions are only going to get more outragous.
"Trent and the quest for the Holy Sidewinder Fang" :p
Edited by - vorticaldwarf on 11/22/2004 5:45:08 AM
Edited by - vorticaldwarf on 11/22/2004 5:48:52 AM
about the spaceballs mod, go for it... i'd love to see that
Mon Jan 24, 2005 6:14 am
O.K, i know its been so long since my last update of this fic that i'm probably breaking the grave digging rule by doing so. Sorry for the wait, i've had a huge amount of writer's block to contend with.
Anyway, enough of this, thanks to anyone who read and reveiwed this.
Story the third: The Hispania, what really happened.
The hundred-year war was nearing an end, the Alliance’s forces were all but gone, their only remaining outposts were Europa and Pluto, the only thing they had left to hope in were the five colony ships, each of which were, (during the time this chapter is set in), nearing completion.
After a century of mayhem and destruction in which each side fought fiercely for control of the Disney world that had been constructed on the moon, (300 miles from any other colonised Luna areas curiously enough,) the Co-allition bigwigs had finally realised that mass slaughter, although fun to watch, wasn’t going to win them Disney world and the extra revenue from tourism.
Consequently, they resorted to the use of radio messages to distract allied ships and soldiers during engagements. This tactic proved remarkably successful, after all, if you were fighting for your life on the frozen wastelands of the dark side of the moon, with fear and adrenaline fuelling your body, had all sense of reason destroyed by the heat of combat, and all of a sudden all your targets hid and started screaming in unison through your helmet’s communication unit; ‘Whoosh! Boom, twang, pzziow, clink, clink, clinkety, clink, weasel!’ Wouldn’t you be confused?
The allied types certainly were, the resulting confusion allowed the Co-allition soldiers to shoot at the enemy and kill them with contemptuous ease.
The Alliance tried to use this tactic against the enemy, however they had little success seeing as all Co-allition servicemen and women had been trained to resist odd phrases. At random times throughout each day, their ships intercom would burst out with something odd like ‘swing-batabatabata-suhwing-batter!’ and ‘Good God Sir, what happened to your shoulders?’ (That last one wasn’t that good was it?) This helped to protect the Co-allition types against gibberish. Alas it worked to well, and the Co-allition types became immune to all spoken language. Consequently, the co-allition military had to learn to communicate through a series of clicks and hoots.
Anyway, I’m drifting from the title heading. The allied types, as you know from the opening sequence, hastily created five sleeper ships, (I’m working from the final opening sequence, I never actually saw the other one, I don’t have broadband, (starts wailing uncontrollably)).
Um yes well, *sniff* anyway, where was I? Yes, the five sleeper ships were constructed and named after places or things with cool sounding names from their patron nations. These ships were all filled with people and assorted beasties that could be used as livestock or domestic pets. All of which were placed into suspended animation and shot into space in the direction of the Sirius sector.
All was not well onboard the Hispania however, Chief Zachary Blatherspoon, charged with overseeing construction of the Hispania had been suffering from depression and piles in the final days of the war. Consequently he had taken to binge drinking. On one fateful day he uttered to a junior technician,
‘Don’t worry kid, I’ll fasten up the tertiary fusion reactor, you get home.’
Truth be told in his drunken state what he actually said was far less polite, and coherent, it was more like,
‘Ah get out ya cluts, can’t you do anything *belch* what? Go on, scoot.’
With that the frightened technician charged out of the door as Blatherspoon hurled tools at him with surprising precision. He then turned to the reactor, which he then crawled into and slept until the ghastly fumes suffocated him.
Little did he know that his poor choice of where to sleep would have a ghastly effect on the stability of the Sirius sector, and would lead to a particularly nasty war of attrition. Not to mention mass drug abuse.
45 years into the voyage, the tertiary reactor was brought online by the onboard computer when the primary and secondary ones were shut down temporarily for maintenance. The superheated fuel combined with the conveniently placed stick of dynamite that was resting in Blatherspoon’s pocket resulted in widespread fiery nastiness.
After the surviving crew had been revived and had sufficiently recovered from their deep sleep, the fire had consumed half the ship. They lost thirty people trying to put it out, and in reality it was the computer that did most of the work, all the crew thought to do was shriek and throw their helmets at the fire. Some also chose to shout ‘Back!’ menacingly.
It didn’t work.
Anyway, when the fire was put out, some of the crew went to the reactor and found chide Blatherspoon’s charred skeleton. Somehow, the shrapnel that had embedded itself in the wall had been wedged there in such a way that made it look like the following sentence, ‘He’s a liberty saboteur, they want you to fail.’
And the rest you already know.
I’ll try and get a new story up much sooner next time.
Impossible is impossible
Anyway, enough of this, thanks to anyone who read and reveiwed this.
Story the third: The Hispania, what really happened.
The hundred-year war was nearing an end, the Alliance’s forces were all but gone, their only remaining outposts were Europa and Pluto, the only thing they had left to hope in were the five colony ships, each of which were, (during the time this chapter is set in), nearing completion.
After a century of mayhem and destruction in which each side fought fiercely for control of the Disney world that had been constructed on the moon, (300 miles from any other colonised Luna areas curiously enough,) the Co-allition bigwigs had finally realised that mass slaughter, although fun to watch, wasn’t going to win them Disney world and the extra revenue from tourism.
Consequently, they resorted to the use of radio messages to distract allied ships and soldiers during engagements. This tactic proved remarkably successful, after all, if you were fighting for your life on the frozen wastelands of the dark side of the moon, with fear and adrenaline fuelling your body, had all sense of reason destroyed by the heat of combat, and all of a sudden all your targets hid and started screaming in unison through your helmet’s communication unit; ‘Whoosh! Boom, twang, pzziow, clink, clink, clinkety, clink, weasel!’ Wouldn’t you be confused?
The allied types certainly were, the resulting confusion allowed the Co-allition soldiers to shoot at the enemy and kill them with contemptuous ease.
The Alliance tried to use this tactic against the enemy, however they had little success seeing as all Co-allition servicemen and women had been trained to resist odd phrases. At random times throughout each day, their ships intercom would burst out with something odd like ‘swing-batabatabata-suhwing-batter!’ and ‘Good God Sir, what happened to your shoulders?’ (That last one wasn’t that good was it?) This helped to protect the Co-allition types against gibberish. Alas it worked to well, and the Co-allition types became immune to all spoken language. Consequently, the co-allition military had to learn to communicate through a series of clicks and hoots.
Anyway, I’m drifting from the title heading. The allied types, as you know from the opening sequence, hastily created five sleeper ships, (I’m working from the final opening sequence, I never actually saw the other one, I don’t have broadband, (starts wailing uncontrollably)).
Um yes well, *sniff* anyway, where was I? Yes, the five sleeper ships were constructed and named after places or things with cool sounding names from their patron nations. These ships were all filled with people and assorted beasties that could be used as livestock or domestic pets. All of which were placed into suspended animation and shot into space in the direction of the Sirius sector.
All was not well onboard the Hispania however, Chief Zachary Blatherspoon, charged with overseeing construction of the Hispania had been suffering from depression and piles in the final days of the war. Consequently he had taken to binge drinking. On one fateful day he uttered to a junior technician,
‘Don’t worry kid, I’ll fasten up the tertiary fusion reactor, you get home.’
Truth be told in his drunken state what he actually said was far less polite, and coherent, it was more like,
‘Ah get out ya cluts, can’t you do anything *belch* what? Go on, scoot.’
With that the frightened technician charged out of the door as Blatherspoon hurled tools at him with surprising precision. He then turned to the reactor, which he then crawled into and slept until the ghastly fumes suffocated him.
Little did he know that his poor choice of where to sleep would have a ghastly effect on the stability of the Sirius sector, and would lead to a particularly nasty war of attrition. Not to mention mass drug abuse.
45 years into the voyage, the tertiary reactor was brought online by the onboard computer when the primary and secondary ones were shut down temporarily for maintenance. The superheated fuel combined with the conveniently placed stick of dynamite that was resting in Blatherspoon’s pocket resulted in widespread fiery nastiness.
After the surviving crew had been revived and had sufficiently recovered from their deep sleep, the fire had consumed half the ship. They lost thirty people trying to put it out, and in reality it was the computer that did most of the work, all the crew thought to do was shriek and throw their helmets at the fire. Some also chose to shout ‘Back!’ menacingly.
It didn’t work.
Anyway, when the fire was put out, some of the crew went to the reactor and found chide Blatherspoon’s charred skeleton. Somehow, the shrapnel that had embedded itself in the wall had been wedged there in such a way that made it look like the following sentence, ‘He’s a liberty saboteur, they want you to fail.’
And the rest you already know.
I’ll try and get a new story up much sooner next time.
Impossible is impossible
so long since the last post.......... With the sucess of freelancer parody I thought this desevered a bump. Now get off your butt blooddragon and bring us more stories.....
36 posts
• Page 2 of 3 • 1, 2, 3
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