A little bit more content. This one will demand some Viewer Input. THe general plan here is to condense, summarize and dispose of most of the email plotting in the first go-around in this scene, so we can get on with the *fun* stuff. Enjoy. --Mal
SMOFCon Holoconference Call
20 November 2016, 09:00 UTC (Event +33 hours)
Whoever set up the SMOFcon holoconference had a sense of humor. Or at least they thought they had a sense of humor. The virtual space containing the holoconference had been set up as a simple auditorium, with the holographic representations of the various SMOFs seated facing a center stage where the unlucky bastard who got to be the briefing officer “stood.” However, since only a fairly small percentage of SMOFs had the necessary equipment to handle holoconferencing, most of the participants used default icons in place of their own selves.
All of this is a bit of a roundabout way of explaining why, when Mal Fnord lit up the Soviet holoconference suite, he was instantly surrounded by a sea of black monoliths inscribed with “SMOF,” a number, and “SOUND ONLY.” Thankfully, this only put Mal off for a second.
“Allright,” he said. “If everybody’s here, then I hereby call this emergency meeting of the Secret Masters of Fandom to order.”
“Where’s Scott?” demanded SMOF 05, from somewhere in the Republic section. “He’s the one who called the SMOFcon, so why isn’t he here?”
“Mr. Scott,” Mal replied, “is currently en route to Odyssey to take charge of the main Convention there. Since he’ll be busy working with his staff there - and since I was the one who insisted on a SMOFcon as well - I get to run the show here.” It was hard to tell if SMOF 05 was satisfied, since monoliths don’t have much in the way of tells, but it didn’t press the issue. “If that’s settled,” Mal continued, “we’ll get on with the briefing.
“As all of you know by now, at zero hundred hours Zulu on the 19th, something extraordinary happened on Earth. As far as we’ve been able to determine, the continental United States of America, as well as the People’s Republic of Cuba and sections of Mexico, were replaced by parties unknown for reasons unknown. They were replaced by two nations, one which resembles the United States as it was before World War Two, and the other a viable Confederate States of America.
“Based on signals intelligence coming from the affected area, we’ve actually been able to determine which Confederacy is down there. It’s the one from these books.” The air behind Mal shimmered, and a set of books with lurid covers stood twenty feet high behind him. “These are the Southern Victory or Timeline-191 books by Dr. Harry Turtledove. They’re an alternate history series based on a pretty simple thesis - what if the Confederacy won the American Civil War. It’s a pretty hefty series of novels, running from the late 1880s all the way to the middle of the 20th Century. We’ve also been able to determine - roughly - the point in the timeline where our wayard nations came from: near the end of this book.” Most of the books vanished, leaving only one titled The Victorious Opposition behind.
“Now, this is important because at the end of this book, the Confederate States declares war on the United States. We’ve got a hard date for that: June 22, 1941. So what we have right now is a situation where two dimensionally displaced mortal enemies have been dropped on our turf, the rest of the world is starting to get squirrelly, and like it or not, we’re going to have to do something.
“So, Secret Masters of Fandom. What should we do?”
An entire room full of inanimate monoliths did a very good impression of uncomfortable, awkward shifting.
“Oh come on. At least one of you has to have an idea.” And one of them does, but best not to try and push it yet, Mal thought.
A loud harrumphing came from SMOF 01, leading the Federation delegation. “I want it known that whatever the decision of this conference,” 01 said, “the United Federation of Planets will back it, up to and including military action.”
“Oh, really,” jeered SMOF 63, near the back of the room. “Wouldn’t that violate your precious Prime Directive?”
“The Prime Directive is more a guideline than a strict rule,” 01 replied primly.
“Uh-huh, sure. Primitive civilization, you’d just love to watch them kill each other, wouldn’t you? All to maintain your non-inteference.”
“That policy never applied to Earth, and it wouldn’t apply now!”
“Tell it to the Boralaans.”
“That didn’t even happen!”
“Hey! HEY!” Mal interrupted. “Now look,” he said sharply. “We don’t need this shit. We’re supposed to be the experts on this sort of thing, and the whole damn world is looking to us for guidance. The least we can do is get along with each other.”
“Federation-loving commie lapdog,” muttered 63. Mal scowled.
“Right, you get a time-out.” SMOF 63’s monolith vanished. Somewhere in the asteroid belt, the voice behind the monolith watched as his entire communications rig bluescreened. “Any further comments from the peanut gallery?”
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery
FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information
"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"
SMOFCon Holoconference Call
20 November 2016, 09:00 UTC (Event +33 hours)
Whoever set up the SMOFcon holoconference had a sense of humor. Or at least they thought they had a sense of humor. The virtual space containing the holoconference had been set up as a simple auditorium, with the holographic representations of the various SMOFs seated facing a center stage where the unlucky bastard who got to be the briefing officer “stood.” However, since only a fairly small percentage of SMOFs had the necessary equipment to handle holoconferencing, most of the participants used default icons in place of their own selves.
All of this is a bit of a roundabout way of explaining why, when Mal Fnord lit up the Soviet holoconference suite, he was instantly surrounded by a sea of black monoliths inscribed with “SMOF,” a number, and “SOUND ONLY.” Thankfully, this only put Mal off for a second.
“Allright,” he said. “If everybody’s here, then I hereby call this emergency meeting of the Secret Masters of Fandom to order.”
“Where’s Scott?” demanded SMOF 05, from somewhere in the Republic section. “He’s the one who called the SMOFcon, so why isn’t he here?”
“Mr. Scott,” Mal replied, “is currently en route to Odyssey to take charge of the main Convention there. Since he’ll be busy working with his staff there - and since I was the one who insisted on a SMOFcon as well - I get to run the show here.” It was hard to tell if SMOF 05 was satisfied, since monoliths don’t have much in the way of tells, but it didn’t press the issue. “If that’s settled,” Mal continued, “we’ll get on with the briefing.
“As all of you know by now, at zero hundred hours Zulu on the 19th, something extraordinary happened on Earth. As far as we’ve been able to determine, the continental United States of America, as well as the People’s Republic of Cuba and sections of Mexico, were replaced by parties unknown for reasons unknown. They were replaced by two nations, one which resembles the United States as it was before World War Two, and the other a viable Confederate States of America.
“Based on signals intelligence coming from the affected area, we’ve actually been able to determine which Confederacy is down there. It’s the one from these books.” The air behind Mal shimmered, and a set of books with lurid covers stood twenty feet high behind him. “These are the Southern Victory or Timeline-191 books by Dr. Harry Turtledove. They’re an alternate history series based on a pretty simple thesis - what if the Confederacy won the American Civil War. It’s a pretty hefty series of novels, running from the late 1880s all the way to the middle of the 20th Century. We’ve also been able to determine - roughly - the point in the timeline where our wayard nations came from: near the end of this book.” Most of the books vanished, leaving only one titled The Victorious Opposition behind.
“Now, this is important because at the end of this book, the Confederate States declares war on the United States. We’ve got a hard date for that: June 22, 1941. So what we have right now is a situation where two dimensionally displaced mortal enemies have been dropped on our turf, the rest of the world is starting to get squirrelly, and like it or not, we’re going to have to do something.
“So, Secret Masters of Fandom. What should we do?”
An entire room full of inanimate monoliths did a very good impression of uncomfortable, awkward shifting.
“Oh come on. At least one of you has to have an idea.” And one of them does, but best not to try and push it yet, Mal thought.
A loud harrumphing came from SMOF 01, leading the Federation delegation. “I want it known that whatever the decision of this conference,” 01 said, “the United Federation of Planets will back it, up to and including military action.”
“Oh, really,” jeered SMOF 63, near the back of the room. “Wouldn’t that violate your precious Prime Directive?”
“The Prime Directive is more a guideline than a strict rule,” 01 replied primly.
“Uh-huh, sure. Primitive civilization, you’d just love to watch them kill each other, wouldn’t you? All to maintain your non-inteference.”
“That policy never applied to Earth, and it wouldn’t apply now!”
“Tell it to the Boralaans.”
“That didn’t even happen!”
“Hey! HEY!” Mal interrupted. “Now look,” he said sharply. “We don’t need this shit. We’re supposed to be the experts on this sort of thing, and the whole damn world is looking to us for guidance. The least we can do is get along with each other.”
“Federation-loving commie lapdog,” muttered 63. Mal scowled.
“Right, you get a time-out.” SMOF 63’s monolith vanished. Somewhere in the asteroid belt, the voice behind the monolith watched as his entire communications rig bluescreened. “Any further comments from the peanut gallery?”
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery
FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information
"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"