[story][Fenspace Alternates] The South Is Rising, Someone Get A Hammer

[M Fnord]

In today's tidbit, cats are let out of the bag and wider philosphical issues are posed, all because Mal was clever at the wrong time. There are no plot holes, only plot hooks in The South Is Rising!

---

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
November 26, 1940 (Event + 6 days)

Something was wrong. The thought had been nagging Flora Blackford all through the ride back to Powel House. She couldn’t figure out why, though: the two Fen envoys had been nothing but gracious during the trip. Their aides had been somewhat less so, but then that was expected of aides, really; theirs was to be neither seen nor heard.

Still, the nagging sensation remained, worrying at her like a dog with a bone. It wasn’t until they’d reached the presidential residence that it struck her like a thunderbolt.

He had known her name.

By all the information that they’d had, from the other-US and from the other-US’s allies, this was a completely different world, one where the War of Secession had turned out differently. So how, in the name of all that was holy, did General Fnord know her name? The realization stopped her cold in the doorway, long enough for the general’s aide to run right into her.

Flora stumbled, and almost made an inglorious landing on Powel House’s front stoop when her descent was stopped. “Thank you, Captain…?” she trailed off, having forgotten the woman’s name in her moment of epiphany.

“Weatheral, ma’am, Athene Weatheral, but most folks call me Tina.” Weatheral’s voice was soft, with a strong English accent. “Are you sure you’re all right, ma’am?”

“Yes, yes,” Flora said. “I was… distracted. It occurred to me that I hadn’t been introduced to General Fnord, yet he knew my name.”

Weatheral looked pained. “The cheeky bastard overplayed his hand,” she muttered, then mustered a slight smile. “Don’t worry about it, ma’am, Mal and Mr. Marsden will explain everything.”

“’Mal,’” Flora echoed. “That’s an awfully informal way for a subordinate to talk about her, er, commander.”

Weatheral shrugged. “Us Reds, we’re a pretty informal group in a lot of ways, dictatorship of the proletariat and all that, you know?”

That was a tidbit Flora hadn’t heard from the briefing. “Reds? You’re Reds?”

“Well, we’re Reds. Kind of, anyway, we’re sort of a mix of Goldman syndicalists, social democrats and anarcho-transhumanists. Not that that means a whole lot to you,” Tina added. “We like to call ourselves Reds, though; especially since it gets the wind up guys like Marsden,” She finished the sentence with an impish smile, and Flora couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“All right, Captain,” she said, chuckling. “I’ll let your boss explain things.”

~***~

“The ambassador from the Sandwich Is - excuse me, Hawaii – was very informative about the world outside our borders, but he danced around a few things. At the same time, you tipped off Congresswoman Blackford” Mal suppressed a wince “that there was something unusual going on. Now, gentlemen, before we discuss anything further I think it’s time you put that card on the table.” Smith leaned back and gave the two envoys a steady look.

Mal looked at Chris. “Well,” he said, “should we do the world-shattering revelation?”

“I don’t see how we’ve got much choice here,” Chris replied.

“Hm. Well then.” Mal reached down and, after a moment of rummaging, pulled a thick paperback book out and handed it to the President. “Everything we know, we know because of these.”

Smith looked at the cover. On it, three indistinct figures stood on a street covered with Freedom Party banners. The title read The Victorious Opposition. Brows lifted, he turned to the back cover.

Harry Turtledove’s acclaimed alternate history series began with a single question: What if the South had won the Civil War? Now, seventy years have passed since the first War Between the States. The North American continent is locked in a battle of politics, economies, and moralities. In a world that has already felt the soul-shattering blow of the Great War, North America is the powder keg that could ignite another global conflict—complete with a new generation of killing machines.

Al Smith felt his mouth go dry as he looked at the story synopsis on the back of the book. “This is impossible,” he said. “Impossible,” he repeated, his voice gaining strength.

“I know,” replied Mal. “I don’t blame you if you don’t believe it. I’m not sure I believe it most days.” He shrugged. “But as Galileo would say, eppur si muove.”

“It’s just…” Smith shook his head. “It’s our lives, laid out here for other people’s amusement…”

“Think of it this way, Mr. President,” Rei Ayanami cut into the conversation. “What you’re reading is history, and what’s past is past. You can learn from it, but you shouldn’t dwell on it.”

Smith peered at the tiny woman. “That’s oddly perceptive from someone so young, miss.” Rei favored him with a tiny smile.

“It’s something I’ve had to deal with,” she said.

“History, eh?” Smith said, looking at the book with a little awe. “It’s one thing to wonder about how history will judge a man, but to read that judgment yourself... well.” He turned his gaze from the book to Mal. “There are more of these?”

Mal nodded. “Quite a few.” This time he pulled a thin metal object out his case. Smith blinked at the appearance of the gadget, all chrome and white Bakelite. Mal placed the pad on his desk. “This has all the books pre-loaded on it. The controls are pretty easy to figure out, and it has a charge that should last a month or so.”

Smith eyed the pad a little warily. “And this covers?” he asked.

“The entire series covers the Second Mexican War, the Great War, the interwar period and the Second Great War,” Mal said. A pause. “If we were to use the books as a history, then we’d be in the last chapters of the first book I handed you. Everything after that… doesn’t really matter.”

Flora could no longer contain her curiosity. “Why not?”

“You’re here,” Chris said. “If you were where you belong, then those books would still apply. But since you and the CSA are in our world now, what happens in those books won’t happen.”

“Or at least,” Mal chimed in, “we’re going to do out damnedest to keep those events from happening.”
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[ECSNorway]

cCommodore Elza Newman was already having a bad day when she received the electronic memo from her boss. It had arrived by the usual secure communications channel, and the format was correct. The authorization code was clearly forged, however, as it consisted of nothing but a certain Anglo-Saxon obscenity repeated several times.
The actual orders themselves were completely out of bounds.
Given the most recent news from Earth, however, and the results of her own hasty literature search, however, they were clearly going to have to act in some manner, and quickly.
Elza knew her employer's mind quite well, as they had worked together for more than seven years by this point in time. She was quite familiar with his political leanings, even if she might not fully agree with them.  She fully agreed that what was happening down below was unacceptable. It was possible, she considered, that as an android based on a fictional character, she might not have the emotional depth to fully appreciate the nature of her employer's reaction.
It was also entirely possible, she reminded herself as she paused outside of the office's entryway and heard the sound of wordless screams, falling objects, and crashing glass from within, that her employer was quite simply unstable.
Christopher Marsden -- CEO of Greenwood Inc., the parent company of her own Greenwood Security Services -- was clearly not dealing well with the current situation.
"Ayanami-san," Elza asked as she opened the door, "Is this a bad time? I need to get clarification on the orders I just received."
The aqua-tressed girl sitting, for the moment, at the secretary's desk, took one look at the memo form Elza passed her and nodded. "You may consider the orders rescinded, Commodore," Rei said, quietly. A gesture deposited the order for the nuclear bombardment of Richmond, Virginia, Confderate States of America, in the shredder, and the now-empty hand reached for the intercom link. "Medical? The Commander is in dire need of a sedative." After a moment's pause, she added, "And I believe Commodore Newman could use a stiff drink."
--
Sucrose Octanitrate.
Proof positive that with sufficient motivation, you can make anything explode.

[ECSNorway]

“You’re here,” Chris said. “If you were where you belong, then those books would still apply. But since you and the CSA are in our world now, what happens in those books won’t happen.”

“Or at least,” Mal chimed in, “we’re going to do out damnedest to keep those events from happening.”

Marsden's face clouded. "As some very dear friends of mine put it... L'olam lo suv. Never. Again."
--
Sucrose Octanitrate.
Proof positive that with sufficient motivation, you can make anything explode.

[Bob Schroeck]

f you guys want to scratch out notes or work out a scene between a couple of people, you're going to want to go here: South Is Rising scratchpad and conversation.

Can I have edit permission please, so that I can query and contribute? My Google login is my usual email address.

In the mean time, is the Corners still carrying the (ahem) diplomatic staff it was going to in the first incarnation? (I.e., Ben Rhodes and a vast amount of firepower, IIRC.)
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

[robkelk]

Meta: Considering the story GoogleDoc is now over 120 pages, and thus crashing my copy of OpenOffice when I close the downloaded file, can we split off the pre-OdysseyCon (or pre-Shift, if that's too much) part of the story into a separate doc? That text appears to be almost complete...
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

[robkelk]

Can I have edit permission please, so that I can query and contribute? My Google login is my usual email address.

Mal should be able to help you out here.

In the mean time, is the Corners still carrying the (ahem) diplomatic staff it was going to in the first incarnation? (I.e., Ben Rhodes and a vast amount of firepower, IIRC.)

Yes. And with me "inheriting" Ben and Gina while BA's on sabbatical, I was going to ask you (closer to the end of the month) whether you had any ideas for how to write the scene... but those ideas can be added straight into the GoogleDoc instead.

(And why the throat-clearing before the word "diplomatic"? In this particular case, the definition of diplomacy as "saying 'nice doggy' while looking for a rock" definitely applies...)
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

[M Fnord]

Can I have edit permission please, so that I can query and contribute? My Google login is my usual email address.

You're up, on both docs.

Considering the story GoogleDoc is now over 120 pages, and thus crashing my copy of OpenOffice when I close the downloaded file, can we split off the pre-OdysseyCon (or pre-Shift, if that's too much) part of the story into a separate doc? That text appears to be almost complete...

Um, let me look at it at work. I know we've been having trouble with loading the doc, but I don't know if splitting it will help. It's all the color-coding, I think, blimps up the file size.
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[robkelk]

Considering the story GoogleDoc is now over 120 pages, and thus crashing my copy of OpenOffice when I close the downloaded file, can we split off the pre-OdysseyCon (or pre-Shift, if that's too much) part of the story into a separate doc? That text appears to be almost complete...

Um, let me look at it at work. I know we've been having trouble with loading the doc, but I don't know if splitting it will help. It's all the color-coding, I think, blimps up the file size.

OpenOffice can save the doc, still color-coded, at 1/4 - 1/5 the size of the Google ODT file. The file's being inflated some other way... which seems to create some conflicts with at least one offline editor.

But file size has something to do with the issue - the dev doc doesn't crash my copy of OO.O when I close it, and it's 1/5 the size of the story doc.
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

[M Fnord]

This was something that caught in my head. It may go into the main doc eventually, it may not. But here it is anyway.

---

FNS Newsblog, April 17, 2017:

A CELLPHONE IN EVERY POT: DESPITE RUMORS OF WAR, MODERNIZATION GOES ON

Jacob Sisko, Federation News Service

PHILADELPHIA – The Twenty-First Century is starting to creep into the United States. Everywhere in the nation’s capital city, communications towers are going up, and despite the constant talk of armed conflict between the United and Confederate States, the Federation Modernization Program is keeping on with the job.

The program, started as part of the general agreement between the United States and the Fenspace Convention last Christmas, intends to “re-wire” the areas of North America that lost international communications during the dimensional transfer event in November. The FMP hailed its first major success on March 18, when US President Al Smith made the first cellular telephone call from Philadelphia to Los Angeles, the first two cities to be connected under the FMP.

“The modernization program has made great strides,” said program press secretary Milo Walkerson. “In the last three weeks we’ve distributed seventy thousand phones and chargers. We’ve upgraded the switching gear in ten major US cities, and we’re looking to bring higher-bandwidth communications in towards the summer.” According to Mr. Walkerson, if the FMP has its way the United States will be fully connected to the global network by the summer of 2019 “at the latest.”

Some observers aren’t as sanguine about the prospects. Many individuals in the transferred United States are worried about what the free access of information many people in the rest of the world take for granted will do to their culture. One man in Philadelphia whom this reporter talked to on conditions of anonymity said “This whole giving telephones away, it seems like Red nonsense to me. What’s next, free beer every Friday?”

And of course, there are the threats of war. Relations between the US and the Confederate States of America have deteriorated from the immediate post-transfer rush, and fighting between the two nations is likely to begin sometime soon. Should war break out, the communications gear set up by the FMP will be both major target and collateral damage for acts of sabotage and bombing.

Mr. Walkerson isn’t concerned. “If we lose a tower, they’re easy to replace,” he said. “In the event of war, our hope is that enough people with phones will be able to help with rescue efforts, finding people in buildings or calling for help.”
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[M Fnord]

More story, this time about runaway Mormons:

---

Salt Lake City, Utah
15 March 2017

The Quorum had sent forth the word, and the faithful gathered. Some four hundred and fifty thousand Mormons left their homes, taking only a handful of prized possessions and the clothes on their backs, and they gathered in houses, warehouses, temples, churches, government buildings and even barns in and around the cities of Salt Lake and Provo. The handful of American soldiers still in the state watched all this activity with a nervous eye, expecting another rising.

At the heart of this activity, in the rebuilt Temple Square in Salt Lake, a dozen elders of the Latter-Day Saints stood around a large and unattractive lump of machinery placed right in the center of the square. Pipes and wires looped around the heart of the device, while metal blocks of unknown origin jutted out at odd angles. The whole thing was anchored to the ground by five clawlike appendages that grasped the earth like a raptor’s talons. Several men in futuristic jumpsuits climbed around the device, tightening bolts and checking connections. Electric lights had been placed around the square, so as to provide proper illumination for the men working on the device.

Time passed, and the elders were joined by more people; first the governor and other members of the State House, then a reporter from the local newspaper, then finally a crowd of curious onlookers thronged around Temple Square. Everyone except the technicians gave the device a wide berth. Evening passed into night, and in the wee hours the technicians finally climbed down and gave the elders a satisfied nod.

“Everything’s ready to go, Mr. President,” said the lead tech, the gold delta badge of office glinting in the sunlight. “We can start when you’re ready.”

The tall, gaunt man who claimed leadership over the Mormon church gave the device a dubious eye. “And you’re sure this ‘spindizzy’ contraption will work?” he asked.

The engineer nodded. “We tested it out in Australia a couple weeks back,” he said. “It worked like a charm. What we’re moving now is a bit bigger, sure, but the principle remains the same.”

The president nodded, more in line with the engineer’s optimism than in any understanding of what the man had said. He turned to the man standing next to him. “You’re always welcome to come with us, Heber,” he said.

Heber Young, the president of the Church during the underground years and current governor of Utah, gave the president a sad smile. “I can’t go, Orson,” he said. “I’ve made oaths that I shouldn’t break. Besides, somebody has to stay behind, maybe show the Americans we’re not all bad. I’d like to think you’ll be coming home sometime before I die.”

Orson gave Heber’s hand a good hard shake. “Put your faith in God, my friend, and anything’s possible. Good luck.” Heber’s smile lost some of it’s sadness, and he left Temple Square, the people clearing a path around him. A handful of people left with him, mostly other government men.

The president watched Young go, then turned to the Federation engineer. “Let’s give him enough time to get clear, then we’ll go. Before anybody else changes their mind,” he half-joked.

~***~

An hour later, all over Salt Lake and Provo, wireless stations that had been broadcasting devotional music all night, switched over to a hissing sound, then through the scratchy microphone, they heard the voice of President Orson Hinckley coming into their homes and businesses.

{speech goes here}

As Hinckley finished his speech, the team of Federation engineers switched on the giant spindizzy in the center of Temple Square. In Provo, another team of engineers did the same to another spindizzy.

The people outside the city saw a tall bubble, not unlike thin glass, appear over the city. The bubble faintly reflected the early light. For a minute, the bubble held steady. Then it began to move.

With incredible slowness, Salt Lake City began to rise. The city within the bubble shook free of the ground with a tremendous roar of displaced air and floated upward at a leisurely three miles an hour. Soldiers and gentiles alike, awoken by the noise of takeoff, rushed out of their homes and watched the city fly upwards.

A few minutes later, Provo tore free and followed Salt Lake. The forcefield bubbles surrounding the two cities caught the sun’s light and glowed in the early morning gloom.

Like leaves in an updraft, the Mormons rose to greet the dawn.

~***~

Bellevue-Stratford Hotel, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
16 March 2017, 9:45 AM (EST)

Ever since the first contact meeting in November, the Fenspace delegation had made it a point to use the Bellevue-Stratford as their designated embassy. It was close enough to the seats of power, plus it had some of the better accommodations available in the city.

Today, the embassy was occupied by General Mal Fnord and his aide-de-camp Tina Weatheral, who were enjoying a late breakfast and going over the day’s briefing when Mal’s phone began beeping. Curious, he pulled it out and saw a text message:

MORONI HAS WINGS – SEE YOU ON CAPRI MENSAE

Mal smiled. “Well, that takes care of one problem,” he said. Tina gave him a curious look, but before she could say anything, a State Department official came into the room.

“General, the President would like to speak with you,” he said.

“Oh, I’ll bet he does,” Mal replied.
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[M Fnord]

I was inspired when I probably should've been doing something else. Here's the final version of the Draka intro.

In an incongrious move, I dedicate this snippet to my dad, since it's his birthday today. --Mal

---

Drake’s Rock, Sol-Neptune L5
November 28, 2016

Wilf Ingolfsson hung up and looked thoughtfully at the mural covering the habitat wall. Like most of the murals in Drake’s Rock, it showed a pleasant pastoral scene of servus happily toiling away in the fields while drakensis went about their daily routines. A scene to soothe the soul and serve as a motivator for any proper servant of the Archon.

The door chimed. “Come in,” Ingolfsson said. In walked Thomas von Schrakenberg, Ingolfsson’s relief for the contact project. Like Ingolfsson, von Schrackenberg had biomodded to get as close to the drakensis genotype as possible; tall, blonde and athletic, possessed of greater than normal strength and intelligence.

“How’d it go?” asked von Schrakenberg.

“We finally got a hit,” Wilf said, “but it wasn’t Featherston. It was his lackey, the one from the books that kept trying to kill him but was too useful to dispose of. Still, as lackeys go this one’s pretty important. I figure we’ll be in contact with Featherston in a week, two tops.”

“That’s great news!” von Schrakenberg exclaimed. “Have you informed the Archon?”

“I only just got off the phone,” Wilf protested. “And you need to take over in case they call back.” He got up and von Schrakenberg took his place.

Wilf exited the contact room and moved down the corridor towards the lift to the Archon’s chamber. Around him swirled the nucleus of the Final Society, other drakensis biomods combined with the lesser forms of feral Turnerites and other like-minded “refugees” brought into the Rock to build the Domination’s numbers. Ingolfsson viewed these ferals with no small distaste; many of the Turnerites in particular were below the Draka’s high standards for servus, let alone Janissaries or drakensis. Still, with only a small core of true Draka at hand, the Archon insisted on having soil with which to grow the Final Society.

He made his way through the mass of humanity without major incident and entered the lift. The doors snapped shut and Wilf felt himself plunge down into the heart of Drake’s Rock. The Archon’s chamber was the largest opening they’d carved into nameless Trojan asteroid, an extravagance but one worthy of both the Archon and the Domination. It was also the safest place in the Rock, under seventy kilometers of rock and ice harder than concrete. From here the Archon and his chosen Strategos commanded the forces of the Domination.

The lift door opened and Wilf stepped out into the chamber. As befit the Draka warrior ethos, the chamber was decorated spartanly, with only a few tapestries and war trophies lining the walls. At the far end of the chamber the Archon sat on his high chair in front of a massive desk, both items made of precious, hard-won Earth hardwood. Wilf marched straight up to the desk, saluted and bowed. “Service to the State,” he said.

“Glory to the Race,” responded the Archon. “What news have you to report?”

“Suh,” Wilf said, “We’ve had a breakthrough in Project Contact. One of the phones finally reached a man of influence in the Confederate government.” He paused. “The gentleman’s name is Clarence Potter, and suh, he’s a Named Character.”

“Tyr’s balls!” The Archon’s exclamation echoed in the chamber. “That is good news, Citizen. A Named Character on the third try. Very well done. Now, how long before we’re talking to Featherston?”

“I would estimate no less than two weeks, perhaps less. Potter’s a suspicious man, but we’ve got plenty to tempt him with. Suh.”

“Temptation,” said a low voice behind the Archon, “is our best weapon. Though I’ve got others.” From behind the chair slinked a buxom blonde woman, who then proceeded to perch on the armrest. Ingolfsson did his best to restrain his disgust at the display. The woman – and he used the term loosely – who had the Archon’s ear wasn’t drakensis, nor was she Draka. Rumors going around the station suggested that the mysterious Citizen Agatha Clay wasn’t even human, but instead some sort of alien or Yankee robot. The idea of the Archon… consorting with a Yankee machine was almost too much for Ingolfsson to bear.

Clay seemed to pick up on Ingolfsson’s issues. She gave the drakensis a hard look, eyes narrowed. “You don’t agree?” she asked, voice sweet. Wilf sweated; while as a drakensis he could take her apart in a fair fight, Clay wasn’t known to fight fair. Worse, if she took a dislike to him, and put it in the Archon’s ear that Wilfred Ingolfsson was a traitor to the Race, his life would be short and full of torment. If he was lucky.

Knowing all this, Ingolfsson replied the only way he could. “Ma’am,” he said, “I agree wholeheartedly.” Clay’s eyes stayed narrow, but she gave an approving nod. The Archon, who had been watching this little drama with a smirk, waved Ingolfsson off. Wilf took the hint, saluted once more and ducked out of the chamber as fast as he could move.

The Archon watched him leave. “You know,” he said once the lift doors closed again, “that he’ll just spread more rumors.”

“Who cares?” Clay said with a dismissive sniff. “You’re the Archon of the Domination. All your loyal followers,” she added extra emphasis on the word, “would die for you a hundred times. And even if dissent spreads, who’s going to move against you, your Strategos and the Janissaries? Nobody else on this rock has the balls to try and depose you.”

“Still,” the Archon mused, “this dissent isn’t good for the Domination or the Race.”

“It’ll go away once they’ve got something to do other than hide out on this rock,” Clay said. “You said it yourself, Eric: the Draka must conquer or die. Coming out here to the Rock was wise when there weren’t many Draka, but now it’s time to conquer.” She leaned in close, putting her hands on the Archon’s shoulders. “And with my genius coupled with your… innate… superiority, you’ll get your prize.”

“Oh, I will, will I?”

“A year from now you’ll own the Confederate States and start turning it into a real nation, not this half-assed murder machine Featherston’s got now.” Clay leaned in even closer, her face almost touching the Archon. “After that,” she whispered, “the world, the Convention, everything will fall under your Yoke, and there’s nothing dear daddy or his bourgeois buddies can do to stop it. It’s history, Eric.”

“And you can’t fight history,” Archon Eric von Shrackenburg finished. Clay smiled, and kissed him.
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[Foxboy]

Whoa.
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''

-- James Nicoll

[robkelk]

Yeah.

The way we've been writing Agatha, I sometimes wonder whether she's forgotten to wear her locket and is actually "The Other"... then I remember that she's never been "infected by The Other." Any Lucretia/Other personality traits being exhibited are part of Agatha's actual personality.

She's a manipulative bitch, isn't she?
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

[M Fnord]

I like to think of it as Agatha embracing her Spark heritage to it's fullest extent. Remember that before the Heterodyne Boys and the Baron, most high-grade Sparks were really nasty pieces of work.
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[Proginoskes]

I suddenly had the image of R. Agatha Clay trying to pull an 'Other' on H. Agatha Heterodyne. Very, very frightening if Clay has any degree of success.

[robkelk]

Since it looks like these folks might be important to the story, I've spent a couple of minutes coming up with a few ideas (Edit: and have added other people's ideas) for...

[size=larger]The Fen Consulate to Canada[/size]

Lieutenant Nyota Nicholls, the ranking local representative of the United Federation of Planets, looked out the window quickly and wondered once again whose bright idea it was to set up the Fen's consulate in Canada right across the street from the Czech Embassy. Then she shook her head to clear it; this wasn't the time for idle thoughts.

Mr. Keffer wanted to see all the senior staff in his office - a troubleshooter from Great Justice had just arrived.

Location:

A decent-size house at 250 Cooper St., Ottawa, Ontario. (I'll go take a photo later, if I remember when I'm not busy.)

As mentioned in the short vignette, it's across the street from the Embassy of the Czech Republic to Canada. It's downtown, but not in the really expensive part of downtown, and the RCMP are already keeping a discreet watch on the area.

Important People

In order of rank in the Consulate:

Marcus Keffer: Head of Mission. Like so many of Fenspace's diplomats, he's from the Interstellar Alliance. Mr. Keffer is the sole official Fiver representative to Canada.

Lt. Nyota Nicholls: Deputy Chief of Mission. Senior Trekkie representative. Nyota Nicholls is very obviously an Uhura fan, and she ROCKS the TOS Minidress. She herself is currently unmodded and only really looks like either of the character's actresses in that she's an attractive black woman in a TOS Minidress. She's from an upper-middle class family from a suburb of Philadelphia. Her parents are actually retired SMOFs from before the wave who are at Utopia Planitia because they were about to take the Trek Biomod plunge to overcome some medical difficulties.

Jedi Knight Lou Chadwick: Military attaché. Warsie representative.

Tara Gale: Legal attaché. Senshi representative. Originally from Coventry, England; still has the accent. (There's more to the Crystal Millennium than just the magical girls, remember? Ms. Gale wears a catsuit to combat, not a fuku.)

Marie-Louise Garneau: Commercial attaché; coordinates joint Fen/Canadian economic-development and humanitarian-relief efforts with http://www.acdi-cida.gc.ca/home]CIDA and http://www.dfait-maeci.gc.ca/international/index.aspx]DFAIT, respectively. Bilingual, fluent in both French and English. Blue Blazer Irregular #841, otherwise a Generalist.

{foo}: Scientific attaché. Junior Trekkie representative.

{bar}: Agricultural attaché. Independent Faction representative.

{baz}: Press attaché. Generalist.

(Yes, I still need a few names. Fleshing out these people's personalities might be a good idea, too. Edit: At least two of those three without names should be males; there are already three females listed in the eight senior staff. I'm also thinking that obvious biomods are off-limits; while Canadians tend to be accepting of multicultural differences, any Native could tell you that there are limits to our acceptance... )
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

[Foxboy]

Nyota Nicholls is very obviously an Uhura fan, and she ROCKS the TOS Minidress. She herself is currently unmodded and only really looks like either of the character's actresses in that she's an attractive black woman in a TOS Minidress. She's from an upper-middle class family from a suburb of Philadelphia. Her parents are actually retired SMOFs from before the wave who are at Utopia Planitia because they were about to take the Trek Biomod plunge to overcome some medical difficulties.
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''

-- James Nicoll

[robkelk]

Thanks, Foxboy! I've copied that into the writeup so I don't forget it when it comes time to make a FenWiki page for the consulate...
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

[Ebony]

Mme. Garneau has quite a reputation among the Canadian Blue Blazers. While being knowledgeable in economic theory and market forces, many of her commercial evaluations seem to draw upon factors that have no historical or factual bearing on the market. Oftentimes, she will base economic predictions based upon esoteric data points, including the extended meteorological forecast of the region that a market is centered on, the demographic percentages of populace hair or eye color (for products having nothing to do with personal hygiene or beauty supplies; in such cases, she dismisses this information as "irrelevant"); and even the Body Mass Index of the head of the Treasury or Exchequer department. Observers educated in financial and economic theory observing her can draw no easy ties between these data points and her conclusions on a market, leading them to refer to her as the "Voodoo Economist," and even to go so far as to claim that it is an elaborate smokescreen disguising her less-than-optimum ability as an economist. (The fact that Mme. Garneau is one-quarter Haitian whose great grandmother was a practicing voudoun mambo until her death contribute to these allegations.) Mme. Garneau takes these claims in stride, cheerfully inviting her critics to "Embrasse mon cul en métal brillant!" and lets her record speak for itself.
Ebony the Black Dragon
http://ebony14.livejournal.com

"Good night, and may the Good Lord take a Viking to you."

[Proginoskes]

I don't consider this a particularly clever suggestion, so feel free to ignore it:

The press attaché is a member of the Hacker Underspace called John R. Ericson, a man so adept at fading into the background that even his friends and co-workers sometimes call him J. Random Hacker. (His first two initials certainly don't help.)

[Bob Schroeck]

"Embrasse mon cul en métal brillant!"

ROFL.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

[Foxboy]

I thought no obvious biomods, but shiny chrome robots are okay?
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''

-- James Nicoll

[Dartz]

Trekkie Science division has got to be Aoi Shatsu, a scientist within the Daystrom Institute, from Kyoto, who tries his best not to rock the boat when it comes to things. He could do a lot better, but prefers not to stand out, instead diligently performing his duty. The nail that sticks up, gets hammered is his motto for life. He used to be something of a cocky ass in college ... which changed after breaking his jaw in a bar fight. He holds a degree in metaphysical biology.... a field very few if any have even heard of.... and is generally regarded as a competent researcher. He came to Fenspace at the suggestion of his brother Akai, who had already joined Starfleet's security division. His most noted research achievement with the Daystrom Institute was entitled "Influences of a subject's consciousness on the effects of biomodification strain handwavium."

(Yes, that's an EVA reference. And Yes, I put that through Google translate)...
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?

[Ebony]

Foxboy wrote:

---

I thought no obvious biomods, but shiny chrome robots are okay?

What, a Quebecois can't be a Futurama fan? Although, I suppose she could have a nicely polished statue of a Equs africanis. Given that it's Fenspace, I suppose that her saying that in a public enough forum could make for some interesting Internet rumors that she's actually an android.
  
Ebony the Black Dragon
http://ebony14.livejournal.com

"Good night, and may the Good Lord take a Viking to you."

[Foxboy]

Hm.

Brooke Derby is the agricultural attaché. She is particularly interested in rescuing heritage seed strains from the transplanted areas. She's an attractive woman of Celtic origin with something of a reputation for wearing denim in all possible forms. She still has a denim furisode kimono in her closet from an event at the Japanese embassy, artfully bleached to form cloud patterns.

Admittedly, that's VERY FINE, very EXPENSVE denim, but still...

There are a few rumors that Brooke was the recipient of a Senshi emergency biomod during the Boskone War. But the Embassy Guard Sammies are close-lipped about it.
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''

-- James Nicoll