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

[robkelk]

Mm. Were there any fen (of major importance) over/in the fen!USA when it poofed? Might make for an interesting subplot.

Well, I don't know how important they are, but Artemis Foundation specialists Charles and Minerva Anderson were visiting JPL in Pasadena at the time. (For those who don't have their copy of the scorecard, Charles is Noah's nephew and Minerva is Leda's sister, and by 2016 they're married to each other.) This is one reason why Noah's concentrating on finding Fen|USA, and letting the VVS take the lead in the battle against 191|USA+CSA...
--
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]

Hokay, for purposes of collaboration, I'm making my googledoc of South Is Rising 0.2a available to you here. If you want write permissions & have a Google account, PM or email me and we can work something out.
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[Cobalt Greywalker]

Putting my oar in, I prefer the US-only swap. As has been noted, the completeness may be relevent, specifically how deep the change went. Refreshed oil fields and mines?

[firvulag]

Tom's Little Havana, Kandor City, Luna
19 November 2016, 00:06 LST
At this time in the morning, when the late diner rush was a faint memory and most people were out looking for a more energetic party Tom's had quieted down a great deal.  The crowd had thinned enough that seats were easily available, even given the cramped and tiny nature of the bar and the omnipresent cloud of smoke had also thinned to a faint blue haze that was probably mostly wave free.
Seated in the comfortable chairs tucked into the corner between the bar and kitchen, three heads were bent over their cards.  The table between them covered with empty glasses and the demolished remains of the kitchen's finest appetizers.  Arthur Nkomo, OGJ trouble shooter grade 7 grinned suddenly, white teeth flashing in his dark face.  He drew a six of clubs from his hand and laid it on the table, on top of the four and five of diamonds already there.
"Fifteen for five," he said, reaching for the board and moving a peg forward.
Sitting across from him a large and rather craggy man examined his own hand and sighed.  His stubby, blunt fingers carefully selected a Jack of spades from his own hand and dropped it on the table.  "Twenty-five," Rumble said in a deep, gravely voice.
The third player adjusted his glasses and contemplated the cards.  F was about to play when Arthur's smart phone began to ring, and he sat back to let his boss take the call.
Arthur grumbled and dug his phone out of his pocket, scrolling quickly through his email.  He stopped, suddenly, and blinked in surprise.  A moment later he had re-read the message was already on his feet.  "Sorry, but it looks like we're done for the night," he said.
F and Rumble exchanged a glance and stood themselves, rumble stepping his large and rocky body delicately around the furniture.  "What's up Boss?" asked F.
"Emergency alert from Arisia," Arthur said.  "Do not know what it is yet.  Come on we..."
He was interrupted by every smart phone and email device in the bar going off at that moment.  Rumble was the first to dig his 'waved blackberry out.  He swore loudly at the device and began moving towards the door, bulling his way through the crowd with his bulk.  F and Arthur followed closely in his wake.
"Think the Emergency Convention's related?" F asked.
Arthur merely glared at him.
F shrugged at him as they squeezed through the door.  "Well, at least with Stellvia calling it we know it's not Herself getting all worked up about something."
Ahead of them Rumble snorted.  "Nah, that ain't likely," he said.  "I'll talk to you guys later.  Gotta get to the Watchtower."
F and Arthur waved as he turned off down a side corridor.  They shared a glance and broke in to a run, heading for the Great Justice liaison office.

[M Fnord]

This bit's an incomplete scene, and if you want to watch me not write it, visit the Google Docs link above. --Mal

---

Emerson, Manitoba
19 November 2016, 10:03 CDT (Event T+16 hours)

Constable William MacGregor, RCMP had seen strange days before; living on the American border pretty much guaranteed that. Today was proving to be one of the stranger ones, though. The storm last night - unseasonable weather that, fog and lightning this late in fall? - had cut off communications on the other side of the border, and MacGregor had spent most of the morning reassuring worried locals that something was being done and phones to friends and relations in Minnesota would be restored Real Soon Now.

Privately, he was more worried than he let on. Nobody had said anything officially - yet - but from things he’d heard back at the station the problem wasn’t confined to just the Emerson area. Even CBC was on the case, claiming that strange things were afoot down in Michigan.

He’d asked the superintendent about the reports. “Sir, what’s really going on? Did the Americans blow themselves up? Zombies? I need to tell the people something.”

The superintendent just looked grim. “Keep telling them that the problem will be resolved.” He said it with authority that William suspected was lacking.

“Sir, I don’t think this is a problem we can resolve.”

“The problem will be resolved.” And that was that.

So William was out on Emerson’s main drag, directing traffic and trying to soothe troubled waters, when a convoy of trucks carrying a dozen tanks straight out of a World War Two movie came trundling up the road.

~***~

Captain Jed Eckert for his part was just plain confused. This wasn’t the first time he’d taken a barrel squadron up from the barracks in Grand Forks to reinforce the garrison in Winnipeg. He knew he was running late - the weird weather last night had convinced him not to cross until morning - but with the way the chucklefucks in Winnipeg ran the garrison a couple hours’ delay wouldn’t have meant much.

And then things went straight to a very confusing hell. Just over the line from Dakota, the narrow blacktop road he and his crew had expected vanished, fading away not fifty feet into Canadian territory and replaced by a wide stretch of concrete road. And right in front of that...

~***~

Point of Entry, Manitoba Rt 75

“Morning, Fred.”

“Morning, Wanda.”

“How’re things?”

“It’s been quiet. All that fog last night, I guess nobody wanted to be on the road.”

“I can imagine. But hey, looks like business is picking up, there’s a whole lot of trucks coming up the road.”

“Big suckers, aren’t they? And are those tanks?”

“Doesn’t look like they’re slowing down.... oh shit!”

~***~

“What the hell was that?” Eckert demanded.
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[Dakota]

This is a incomplete rewrite of my post earler, I still need to do the interaction between Sabre and the 191 crew of the Remembrance. That part has my muse stumped at the moment.

20,000 feet over the Atlantic Ocean
18 November 2016, 23:55 LST

The
whale king Tyger Tyger sailed through the clouds on autopilot. With
it’s owner currently down in his workshop. Sabre kicked back in his
telepresence body at the desk in his workshop. Feet set upon the desk
top as he leaned his chair back. Electronically running the last of the
checks on the Shadow Fox zoid he been working on as a personal project
through his head. The fun thing about being a ghost in a machine shell
is that you can do a lot of things from one spot. What he didn’t know
was that a bunch of alien space bastards where about to play a shell
game with reality right in front of his ship as the clock struck the
hour.

Sabre
and his chair crashed over backwards as his head was filled with alerts
from the Tyger. It was as if a curtain had been slammed down across the
path the Tyger was flying. The autopilot reacted to avoid the wall that
the sensors where suddenly reporting. Then everything was normal again.
This left the autopilot confused so it threw the Tyger into a racetrack
holding pattern and hid in a electronic hole gibbering. The sensors
being sensors just reported everything as cheerfully normal again.
Sabre picked himself up off the floor and gave his head a shake as he
accessed the Tyger’s systems. “What the hell was that?”

He
called up the last three minutes of sensor and external camera data.
Watching as a massive wall of clouds formed from horizon to horizon in
front of the Tyger and lasting nearly a minute before disappearing as
suddenly as it formed. He reviewed it a few more times before uploading
it to his youtube.fen account with the comment, “What the hell is
this?” Included is a link to the sensor data at a fen file sharing
site. Before turning his attention to the sensors and scanning the area
as he started the ship creeping towards the US east coast.

10,000 feet over the Atlantic Ocean
19 November 2016, 00:20 LST

The
sensors picked up a weak radar signal coming from the northwest and
moving slowly west. His ears perked at this and a silent command sent
the Tyger heading off towards it. Probing with the sensors to get a
reading, “Er? six surface contacts, radar is coming from the center
one. Maybe they saw something.” A thought activated the comms and set
them to radio. “This is the fen craft Tiger Tiger calling unknown ships
on a northwest heading. Come in, over.”

_______________________________________________________________
Characters
Sabre Fang
Dakota

[Dartz]

Another Ciara post.

In which they figure things out all on their own....

Re-entry passed without incident. The Ciara blazed a trail through the atmosphere, before angling down to an always rough landing in the North Atlantic.

Milly brought the main transceivers back up, re-connecting to the orbital interwave nodes. She expected maybe a few replies to their all-call email to come through. Three seconds after hooking in to the nodes, all three servers had been DDoS'd into the ground. It seemed like the whole of Fenspace was trying to connect right to them, and the servers just couldn't handle the load. The whole lot just came to a grinding halt.

“Fuck,” she swore.

Not even able to use a virtual terminal on the machines, Milly just pulled the network connection and waited for things to settle down. The tech took a deep breath,

Misha looked at her. “This is big,” the catgirl said.

“You don't think,” Milly snarked back. “A terrorist attack on the United States big enough to bring most of their infrastructure down... and we happened to be right above it when it happened,”

“I wish I'd been able to tell the Soviet's more,” Misha said.

“They probably know more than we do at this stage if they were launching those fighters,”

“The Stellvians knew enough to call a Convention after only a few minutes,” a pause to think, “they called it so fast, they've got to know what happened and how serious it was,”

Jackson nodded. “Maybe they caused it? Another kaboomite.”

“Huh?”

“Before your time. A Stellvian researcher mucking around with stuff called Kaboomite caused a lot of damage at Islandcon.”

A pause.

“They can't have blown up an entire continent. We'd’ve seen a blast that big.”

Good point Misha. And probably have been caught in it too. And planet Earth would likely be spinning out of control.

“Okay Misha, it's not an explosion I know. Then what? Let's lay this out. Captain's on the horn with a contact in Seattle. The line dies at exactly midnight. At the same time, I lose my connection to US groundlinks, and we get that massive particle burst. All normal radio traffic from the State's stops, but everything else is OK... it's like the US just isn't there anymore.”

Misha nodded, thinking.

“Now, we come around the block again and we pick up these AM radio transmissions.” She started to chew on a pen. “And only AM radio from CONUS. Nothing else. The radio we're getting, we get a man named Featherston preaching like a Nazi is a president of the Confederate States of America... “ She knew she'd heard the name Featherston before. “And what else we get sounds like it dates back to the 40's”

“Maybe the US got replaced by this Confederate States somehow,” Misha said, simply.

“Yeah, but how the hell could they replace an entire country? It's just not possible,”

“We're on a spaceship made out of a sea-ship, powered by handwavium, that travels through space at a tenth the speed of light. And I'm a catgirl.”

Good point Misha. Again.

“Alright alright... so the US got chopped out somehow. What's replaced it? A Confederate States of America, ruled by some English speaking fascist. An America where the CSA won the Civil War somehow and took over. And if they're at a 1940's level... then that'd explain why we're not getting any internet from them, and why the continent is so dark. They're missing seventy years of urban development,”

Misha nodded, showing she was still listening. Milly was feeling sick to her stomach.

“It sounds like a big version of that interdimensional incident three years ago... only instead of people... a country got sent instead. If one thing's been a constant of Fenspace, if somebody can do something small-scale, you bet someone'll do it ten times bigger just because... and since that started on Stellvia, maybe they figured out how to detect them. We got that particle burst... which our detectors just called a radiation burst, maybe they could see that it was the radiation that comes from one of these dimensional whizz-bangs, and reacted to it.”

“So, The 'danelaw United States got replaced with an alternate universe version where the Confederate States annihilated them a hundred and fifty years ago and took over. And they're seventy years behind us in technology.” Misha summed up.

“And the people who were in the US... probably..” Milly swallowed a lump, “Went wherever they hell this CSA came from, because that’s how these things usually work on TV” a beat. “Makes sense”.

“Yup,” the catgirl nodded.

A silent pause, broken only by the server fans and the clatter of the ship’s engines.

“My family was in Detroit,” Milly whispered.

“Maybe we should tell the Captain,” Misha changed the subject.

“Yeah. I’ll tell him.”

---->>

Garret listened to Milly speak. He took it all in and thought for a moment. Then remembered that he was the Captain of a spaceship powered by dead dinosaurs and miracle goo. And his XO was a catgirl, busy trying to organise a fuel tanker over the radio.

“Makes sense then,” he said. That was the worst part of it. “And I’m sure your parents are okay Milly.” He tried his best to sound reassuring.

“Thanks” the voice on the other end of the link said, “Uh... there’s one more thing. I know I’ve heard the name Featherston before... but I don’t know where. “

“Right. Concentrate on getting our interwave links working again. Chances are a thousand people are out there know, and are just trying to tell us all at once.”

“Aye... I’ll try. “

“Good. Then for God’s sakes get some sleep,”

“Aye,”

Garret heard the yawn before she hung up. He placed the headset back on it’s holder, before staring out at the lights of Cork City and Haulbowline island in front of him. Actually a Naval base, it was one of the few places he knew that could handle the Ciara quickly, that wouldn’t have been swamped by Fendanes diving for ground or be overflowing mundane gawkers wondering if they knew anything.

“Not good news?” Platowski questioned from the pilot’s seat.

“I don’t know,”

“Then what?”

Meg’s voice was tired, with a worried quiver.

“I’m not sure you’ll believe th...” he stopped himself. Anne’s ears pricked up. “Alright,” he reached for the mic again, and keyed it open to the entire ship’s intercom, “This is the Captain.” He still hated these. “You all know that something has happened in the United States, and that an emergency convention has been called. Well, I think we’ve figured this out.... “ a deep breath, “Somehow, the United States has been swapped out for an alternate Confederate States of America, from another universe. One that’s about seventy years behind our tech.”

Meg just gasped.

Anne sighed to herself. “Makes sense nyaa~”

---->>

Micheal Perry stood in the break room looking up at the speaker, before looking down at his ‘Chief Mate’ shoulder patch.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered

Touji, busy trying to fix the cooker, looked up at him. “Wonder what’s on TV about it,”

They turned it on. Nothing over freeview, RTE were on closedown, and only broadcasting music and cheap decade-old programs that weren’t worth watching. Nobody else broadcast over the air.

---->>

The ship slipped into dock. It was just a routine action. Aisha and Orla began to shut down the main engines and switched the generators to match a change in demand.

“Take first watch Aisha,” Ordered Orla,

“I’ll get my Red Bull while I’m at it,” the catgirl smirked, baring her teeth, “That’ll keep me going all night,”

Orla didn’t doubt it. Sometime she was even jealous of the pair. Then she remembered how she got the Chief Engineer’s patch, and hurried out of the compartment.

On the deck, deckhand Keith McSharry was timing his jump across onto the dock to catch the mooring lines. He felt the engines shut down beneath his feet, the ship now coasting into dock. Electric bow thrusters whined, white water bubbling up between grey hull and stone quay.

One. Swallow a lump. Two. Take a deep breath. Three... and Go!

He felt himself hang in the air for a few moments, before landing awkwardly on flaking concrete. He stumbled forward, throwing his arms out to catch himself. Instead, he hit the ground, gravel biting at his knees and elbows.

The deckhand pushed himself to his feet quickly.

“Alright Danjoe, throw the line!” he called back to the ship.

His fellow deckhand tossed a heavy hawser down to him. He caught it, nearly being knocked off his feet for a second time. Quickly, he looped it over a bollard and signalled for the line to be pulled tight with the capstan. Then he ran astern, catching the second line. Loop it, signal for it to be pulled tight, then onto the third. Loop it over a bollard, let it pull tight. Then don’t run into Kev who’s after doing the exact same thing in the other direction.

“Easy as usual,” he said.

“No problemo,” Keith shrugged, showing his skinned elbows.

Ciara’s generators were still running, the ship fully lit up. The apartments at the end of the island were dark, as could be expected at this hour in the morning. Odd, the Naval base was lit up like a Christmas Tree. Ciara’s older sister, L.E. Órla sat opposite her on the other side of the dock, getting ready to get underway.

The whole Navy side of the island was buzzing... if it was possible for the Irish Navy to buzz. Keith saw the BP tanker truck waiting for them. Great. Then the official looking blacked out Honda Accord, from which a man in a grey suit had just gotten out of.

He was carrying a large brown envelope, and was making a beeline right for them.

“Oh,” he said faintly, “That’s never good.”

Well, it was the Captain’s problem. He was glad he was just a deckhand. He heard a clatter from the deck. Anne had jumped down from the bridge, landing cat-like on all fours. The catgirl vaulted the rail, and landed on the dock, startling the suit. Calmly, she started to jog towards the tanker..

“Hey wait!” the suit called after her.

She stopped dead.

“I’m from the Department of Foreign affairs. I need to see the Captain,”

The man was obviously intimidated by her... she could smell it. And she could see him shaking. ‘Danes and biomods. She reached for her walkie-talkie.

“Captain, Captain. We have a problem. There’s someone here from the government to see you, nyaa~”

“Right, Right. I’ll be down to the dockside in a minute. I’ll meet him there,”

She could hear how tired he was,

“Y’know... maybe you might want to get a catgirl mod, you’d be able to handle late nights better,” she chuckled.

“Hah! My wife’d kill me,”

“I’m sure Meg’d go with you.” she purred, “Nyaaa~”

“I’ll be there in a minute. Just get the fuel loaded. And ask Micheal if he can find some food somewhere,”

“Right, alright.” Spoilsport.

----->>

Garret fixed his cap and Captain’s jacket, doing his best to give off the impression of a true Space Captain. He stepped down the gangplank.

“Captain Garret,” the man offered his hand, “We meet again, though I wish it were under better circumstances,”

“Mister Hall,” Garret shook it. “I’m guessing this is over what happened to the States.”

“Yes,” Hall nodded. “You remember what we discussed last year,”

“I do,” Garret fought down a momentary knot of discomfort. “Why?”

“We know the convention’s been called. The Union is already preparing to send a delegation. I want you to be the representative of the Irish Government on that delegation.”

Garret felt like he’d been shot... even though he’d been expecting the bullet.

“What?”

“We need someone who knows Fenspace, who better than someone who lives there?” He offered the Captain the folder. “Your diplomatic credentials, Ambassador.”

Raymond Garret looked at the folder like it contained his death warrant.

“There’s got to be someone better than me for this man...”

Hall shrugged his shoulder. “Like I said, you’re familiar with Fenspace. And Fenspace is reasonably familiar with you. You and your crew might not be famous as such, but you would still be well thought of, especially for your war record.”

Garret groaned. It made sense alright. Maybe it was a better approach than sending a stuffy diplomat who just didn’t get it... who didn’t know the culture and didn’t understand that green foods weren’t to be eaten.

“Alright, I’ll do it

“Good. Now the second matter. You’re ship is the first European fen ship to land after the dropout, and the only one we’re certain is going back up. So, the German, Italian, French, Spanish, Greek, Polish...” he paused to think ...” Belgian and Lithuanian ambassadors making up the EU delegation will be travelling with you,”

“We don’t have the space aboard,”

“They’re travelling light. And naturally, we’ll pay your charter fees, along with a generous bonus for being such a rush job.”

Ever feel like a lamb being herded towards the slaughter?

“I still think you might be better of getting one of the Irish feddies.” he said “They actually do this sort of thing. I think the Captain of the USS O’Brien is from Kilkenny,”

“None of them are down here.” the diplomat stated, “And neither can we contact them quickly. You’re our man,”

Garret felt as uncomfortable with it as he looked. So... essentially, right from being a freighter Captain, to a high-ranking diplomat. Well, if Captain Picard could do it, he sure could do his best to figure out.

“What do I have to do, then?”

“Represent the State’s interests, and negotiate on behalf of the State in accordance with the guidelines in the dossier.”

“Alright, alright. “ He exhaled a long, deep breath. “When are they arriving?”

“When are you departing?”

“Two hours, after we’ve refueled.”

“They’ll be arriving by helicopter before then. Be ready for them. Goodbye and godspeed... Ambassador.”

Ray was just grimly quiet. Sitting right above the US when the dropout happened, and now about to be sitting right in the middle of the political mess that followed.

He wondered which God to curse for this turn of fate.

He made it known to the crew, who were as thrilled as he was. Yes, we’re getting paid quite a bit to do this. Yes, it is unusually fast for an EU mission, but they know how fast Fenspace moves, and the delegation was made up based on what ambassadors where available. No, we do not all get diplomatic immunity. Yes, this does mean we’ll probably get a priority dock.

“God help us, I think we might just have become important in this.”

Anne was right, Garret thought. He’d spent the last six years doing his best to keep from being in the middle of things like this. Notoriety, he’d always felt, was a good way to get people killed. He sighed, looking at that bulkhead in the break room that’d been covered with photographs.

Including one framed, taken on their first arrival into Port Phobos.

Of course, that didn’t stop people getting killed either. Some of the pictures on that bulkhead proved as much.

Feeling achingly tired, he desperately needed some sleep. But the roar of a landing chopper denied him.

---->>

Illuminated only by the glow of their computer screens, Milly and Misha dived through the torrent of information the ship had been flooded with. The felt the engines start up beneath them, the ship shuddering to life once more.

Milly knew she’d seen the name before, but just could not place it.

She checked the clock. The sun was near coming up outside, but still she kept working... having stolen some of Aisha’s Red Bull. The catgirl engineer would be pissed... but needs must, and she needed to stay awake.

Misha was doing her damnedest to keep things from collapsing again. The mundane web was gone... anyone who was awake was scrambling to find information on what had happened in the States. Since most of the major web infrastructure was in the US... even despite the inherent fault tolerance of the whole bloody network, what was left of the web had just gone belly up under the load.

The engines revved up, pushing the ship out to sea at what felt like top speed.

“They’re in a hurry,” Misha commented.

“Trying to get there by midday,” Milly didn’t even look up from her screen.

As if to put a full stop on it, Anne’s voice came over the intercom.

“Rig ship for takeoff. Secure all stations,”

Milly just reached over and pushed the button to signal they were ready. Misha looked perplexed... she hadn’t even checked... but didn’t doubt her. They just kept working, bracing themselves as the engines revved up to full power. The deckplates vibrated under their feet as the ship launched forward in the ocean.

Misha braced herself against the server rack as the ship pitched nose up. Featherston, Featherston... is anybody talking about Featherston. Is anybody talking to us? All the mail was on ‘all-call’... at a guess, maybe a thousand messages a second as everyone trialled their pet theory.

Someone out by Jupiter thought it was the US pulling the plug on the web because they were dicks like that. Some thought he was a dick. Someone else thought it was Al Quaeda. Someone thought he was a cockless moron. Another blamed it all on random chance because, y’know, cockup before conspiracy. Others were pointing to the speed which the Soviets and Stellvians had reacted, and assumed they’d been involved somehow. Screaming tourists, desperate for a way home mingled with people asking questions about loved ones, and wondering just what the hell had happened to the USS Enterprise. Somebody else had mentioned the particle surge... others had also picked up on the radio dropout. Nobody seemed to be mentioning Featherston.

And these messages where hours old, just clearing backlogs.

Maybe their own message had just been swamped in the crowd?

Just one voice in a very loud crowd.

More came in, some messages older, some newer. It was haphazard... almost out of control. The ship’s own servers were doing their damnedest to keep up, only receiving about half of what they were sent. Older unreceived or corrupted stuff would be re-requested, re-sent, then re-lost in the digital blackhole to be requested again.

A hundred times a hundred other ships who’d never bothered to wave their computer systems, were having the exact same problem, dragging everyone else down.

Only use the bare-minimum of handwaving to get things working, that’s how it had been explained to her. It was three years later, and she still didn’t quite get it. It sure hadn’t stopped her from accidentally modding herself to look like Anri from Bubblegum Crisis...thanks to someone putting black handwavium in a coke bottle... so there wasn’t a safety issue to it. Ciara’s crew just didn’t wave things if they could help it.

“We’re not settling into orbit,” Misha commented. “They throttled back, but they’re still pushing it harder than normal. I guess we’re doing about point-one C.”

“You can tell?”

“Yup,” she wiggled her ears.

“Well, that is fast...for..” She just trailed off as her shell script turned up a few matches.

“I know, we’re really motoring now...” a beat. “Find something?”

Milly nodded... she was too busy reading. When she was done, she sat back in the chair and took a long, deep, centring breath, closed her eyes... the read it again. Well, that makes for a nice bit of icing on the cake.

“We’re going to have to talk to the Captain on this one... again.”

---->>

Halfway to Odyssey, and Ray had finally managed to get the other diplomats into his cabin for a friendly chat. They were chafing at the close quarters, being used to travelling in opulent Mercedes limousines, and government jets. But, it was only for a few hours, and if they really didn’t like it, they could get out and push.

“Alright,” he started with his favourite word. “I’ve asked you here because I thought I could fill you all in on what’s actually happening. Now, what do you know so far?”

Georg Lusser, Ambassador for Germany, spoke first.

“We know that all communication has been lost with the United States. Neither civilian, nor military links are operable. Canada and Mexico appear to still be intact,”

“Our embassy in Canada is still responding on shortwave,” Henri Dewoitine, Ambassador of France cut in. “They have no idea what has happened. One moment they were there, one moment not.”

His accent was thick enough that Ray had a hell of a time figuring out what he was saying.

“Same for us,” the Italian Ambassador added in. Her name was, if Garret recalled right, was Marie Morricone.

“The Spanish embassy in Cuba went down at the same time,” Manuel Adaro, said calmly. “Though, it has not spread down to Mexico City. We’ve been trying to get information from them, but most communication links with South America ran through the US. Everything else is overloaded.”

A silence, the other ambassadors looked at each other.

“I think that may be it.” Markas Kalinauskas, of Lithuania, said calmly. “None of us,” he looked at his Belgian, Greek and Polish colleagues, “Can add to this, I do not think.”

Garret nodded. “Well, here’s what we know. We were in orbit at the time of the dropout. I was on the phone with someone in Seattle at the time. We lost our connections, the same as you. FM radio, television, even cellullar. Anyways, we also picked up a radiation burst from the surface at the same time, on these detectors we have to warn us of solar flares. ”

The Ambassadors threw each other unsettled glances. What could cause a burst of radiation, but a nuclear weapon? A high altitude airburst? That theory ignored the fact that the ship they were sitting on, would’ve been incinerated by just such a blast.

“Now, this is where it gets interesting. We looked down, and the normal glow from metropolitan areas was dimmed a great deal, not gone entirely, just dimmed. We’re still picking up some radio transmissions from the United States,” he didn’t say ‘former’, “I think I have one recorded here,” He pushed play on the laptop’s keypad.

"We're on the way! The Freedom Party is on the way, on the way to Richmond. The Confederate States are on the way, on the way back. And the white race is on the way, on the way toward settling accounts with the blacks who stabbed us in the back and prevented us from winning the war. And you all know that -- we should have won the war!"

“Stab in back. We should have won the war.” murmured Georg. “He even sounds like him, if he were from south America,”

Everyone looked at him.

“Well, we think that one’s a broadcasted recording. There’s more like it, but that’s the best one we have, that’s the one that shows what we’re dealing with,”

The French ambassador glared “Is this some Fennish bullshit? Could it be a hoax.”

“If it is, it’s a hoax on us too,” Garret shot back. “We’re only guessing at what happened here, but we have something that fits the facts.”

“Let Mister Garret speak, Mister Dewotine,” the Belgian said quietly. Garret had forgotten her name, but she had really nice brown hair. “I’d like to hear this entirely, before making any judgement”

“Thanks. That’s all that’s coming up from the United States, that we picked up. We also got some music from the same stations. It sounds like something from the 1940’s.”

He played a sample that wasn’t identified, but sounded a little bit like Vera Lynn, if she was from Florida.

“Now we get into a bit of Fenspace history. About three years ago, during the war, there was an incident. Travellers from... well another dimension arrived and they caused something of a fuss. Eventually, they left again, on to another universe. Now, this all started at Stellvia, and they were heavily involved in the whole thing.”

“And it was these Stellvians who called the convention,” Georg finished it.

Garret nodded, a little surprised that nobody questioned the whole travellers from another dimension thing. “It’s a reasonable guess then, that they have some way of detecting these sort of things. They called a Convention when we were still figuring out that something had happened, and we were right above the US when it did.”

“So maybe they caused it?” Marie theorised, “And they’re just calling us up here to make their demands to our face. Bow down before Fenspace, or we knock out your power from orbit.”

Ray wanted to facepalm.

“I don’t mean to impugn your honesty Mister Garret, but maybe the wool’s been pulled over your eyes, too. As I recall, you’re a freighter Captain, one of many, with few if any connections to Fenspace politics. My aide described your reputation in Fenspace as ‘Ciara Who?... Oh, those Irish guys.’ They know the filk about the ambush, more than they know who it’s about.”

“We trade with Stellvians regularly,” he tried to hid his annoyance. “And take charters from them. They wouldn’t do that. It’s bad for business.”

“Yes, but nation...”

“Have you ever actually been to Fenspace?” he snapped her down hard enough to startle the others. Well good, because he was bloody tired, and bloody annoyed. “I’ve lived up here for the last six years, I know who and what I’m talking about”

“Perhaps you should continue,” Georg nudged him back on track. He wanted to hear more.

“Right, Right,” Garret held back on a yawn. “I’m sorry I’m losing my temper, it’s been a long night and I’m tired. Now where was I?” a pause. “Okay, The Stellvians have some way of detecting these interdimensional shifts, and they called this convention very, very quickly. Now we picked up a burst of particle radiation... we can’t tell what kind. I’d bet money the Stellvians can, and that they recognised it as the kind given off by an interdimensional shift,”

He stopped for a second, and let them catch up. Here goes.

“What we think has happened, is that the continental United States has somehow been swapped out with a version where the Confederate States of America won the American Civil War. More specifically, “ he checked his notes, “The version from Harry Turtledove’s Timeline-191 series of novels. The reason for the failure of communications, is because they are about seventy years behind us in technology. That also explains the darker night-view... there’s less industrialisation and urbanisation down there now, along with the changes in radio programming. ”

Silence.

A God awful silence.

“Makes Sense,” Piotrek Juspescyk of Poland, said to himself. Everyone stared at him for a moment. “We’re on a bloody spaceship,” he stated.

“Good point.” Kókkino Poukámiso, of Greece, nodded.

They all had to agree with that.

----->>

________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?

[M Fnord]

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!"

[robkelk]

Whoever set up the SMOFcon holoconference had a sense of humor. Or at least they thought they had a sense of humor.

He thinks he's a wit. He's half-right...

Somewhere in the asteroid belt, the voice behind the monolith watched as his entire communications rig bluescreened.

Never piss off Dee.

A bit more story...

---

The monolith labeled "SMOF 137" spoke up. "I think our first priority is to stay alive. For example, how many of us are still dependent on the Vitamin Men to bring medicines and trace elements up from Earth, and what can we do for these people? After that, there's a sizable force of United States Navy, Army, and Air Force personnel who've just had their supply lines vanish. While the Japanese might keep supplying Okinawa out of the goodness of their hearts..."

"And to make sure the North Koreans don't attack Tokyo," interrupted SMOF 46.

"That, too," SMOF 137 agreed. "While the Japanese might keep resupplying the US forces stationed in Japan, I doubt very much that the Afghans will extend the same courtesy to the US troops in their country. Can we get on their good side by supplying them with food, fuel, and munitions?"

"Why would we even want to give them ammunition?" asked SMOF 01.

"You're the one who mentioned military action," SMOF 36 replied. "That works better if we actually have a military."

Mal shook his head. "We can't just take over the US military. The governors of Alaska and Hawaii are still in charge of what's left of the United States, and they need the troops more than we do right now."

"I thought you said the US was gone," complained SMOF 73.

"No, he said the continental US was gone," SMOF 137 pointed out. "The remaining two states plus the various US territories might be very happy to have us as an ally, especially if we can guarantee the 'high ground' and their food supply."

SMOF 02 (who was flying "Ol' Colorblind" on his monolith) spoke up. "All right, let's say we do or do not send supplies to the US military. What's the next step after that? Do we look for our lost friends and relatives?"

"That's being taken care of by the Mads," SMOF 137 answered.

Mal opened a private channel to SMOF 137. "I thought your voice sounded familiar. Why aren't you helping Noah right now, Yayoi?"

"He wanted somebody to represent Stellvia at the SMOFcon. Let's go back to the main discussion; I don't want to miss anything important. I'll tell you more later." She closed the private channel.

---

And I yield the "floor" to the next writer...
--
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]

He thinks he's a wit. He's half-right...

Sora: "Ne, Mal, why is your avatar wearing a full visor?"

Mal: "Somebody who shall remain nameless - except for being called GLaDOS - thought it'd be cute."

Sora: "Oh."

Mal: /shrug "Bob Dole doesn't have to take this kind of crap! Bob Dole's a cyborg!"

A bit more story...

And added to the doc, which I remind you you *do* have write permissions on, so feel free to add/subtract crap on your own.
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[robkelk]

And added to the doc, which I remind you you *do* have write permissions on, so feel free to add/subtract crap on your own.

Thanks. (I'm a bit busy until Thursday evening, so updates to the doc from me will be rare until then.)
--
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]

More content! This is the complete version of the incomplete "US invades Canada" scene above. --Mal

---

Emerson, Manitoba
19 November 2016, 10:03 CDT (Event T+15 hours)

Constable William MacGregor, RCMP had seen strange days before; living on the American border pretty much guaranteed that. Today was proving to be one of the stranger ones, though. The storm last night - unseasonable weather that, fog and lightning this late in fall? - had cut off communications on the other side of the border, and MacGregor had spent most of the morning reassuring worried locals that something was being done and phones to friends and relations in Minnesota would be restored Real Soon Now.

Privately, he was more worried than he let on. Nobody had said anything officially - yet - but from things he’d heard back at the station the problem wasn’t confined to just the Emerson area. Even CBC was on the case, claiming that strange things were afoot down in Michigan.

He’d asked the superintendent about the reports. “Sir, what’s really going on? Did the Americans blow themselves up? Zombies? I need to tell the people something.”

The superintendent just looked grim. “Keep telling them that the problem will be resolved.” He said it with authority that William suspected was lacking.

“Sir, I don’t think this is a problem we can resolve.”

“The problem will be resolved.” And that was that.

So William was out on Emerson’s main drag, directing traffic and trying to soothe troubled waters, when a convoy of trucks carrying a dozen tanks straight out of a World War Two movie came trundling up the road.

~***~

Captain Jed Eckert for his part was just plain confused. This wasn’t the first time he’d taken a barrel squadron up from the barracks in Grand Forks to reinforce the garrison in Winnipeg. He knew he was running late - the weird weather last night had convinced him not to cross until morning - but with the way the chucklefucks in Winnipeg ran the garrison a couple hours’ delay wouldn’t have meant much.

And then things went straight to a very confusing hell. Just over the line from Dakota, the narrow blacktop road he and his crew had expected vanished, fading away not fifty feet into Canadian territory and replaced by a wide stretch of concrete road. And right in front of that...

~***~

Point of Entry, Manitoba Rt 75

“Morning, Fred.”

“Morning, Wanda.”

“How’re things?”

“It’s been quiet. All that fog last night, I guess nobody wanted to be on the road.”

“I can imagine. But hey, looks like business is picking up, there’s a whole lot of trucks coming up the road.”

“Big suckers, aren’t they? And are those tanks?”

“Doesn’t look like they’re slowing down.... oh shit!”

~***~

“What the hell was that?” Eckert demanded.

“Looked like a toll booth, sir,” his driver replied.

“Who in the hell would put a toll booth on the road into Canada? The Canucks don’t have the money to spend on cars, much less tolls.”

“Well, sir,” said the driver, “I’d guess that they’re the same ones who built the highway.” He pointed towards the road, and Eckert watched a sign reading ‘WELCOME TO THE LORD SELKIRK HIGHWAY’ roll by.

“Let’s get off the road and start figuring things out. Where’s the nearest town?”

“If I’m reading these signs right, we’re just outside Emerson.”

“Emerson?” Now Eckert was even more confused. He’d been through Emerson on his last run to the United States for equipment; the town had been an early casualty in the Great War, and nobody had bothered returning to rebuild. All that was left of Emerson was a few ruins and a signpost.

Still...

“All right, Sergeant, let’s head into Emerson and try to sort this thing out.”

~***~

The convoy - and what else could you call it? - rolled up the town’s main street and stopped, right there in the middle of the road. All over the trucks men in greenish uniforms swarmed, all of them looking puzzled, some of them fingering rifles like they expected to be attacked any second.

William MacGregor noted with relief that the civvies were giving the convoy a wide berth. The combination of military and nervous was never a good thing, and the good citizens of Emerson had picked up on that fact. Still, there were at least twenty people hovering around the edges of the road with cameras and cameraphones.

(...)

“Hello, there. Is there a problem?” MacGregor did his best to remain polite.

The man in the passenger seat - his uniform screamed officer to MacGregor, jumped a little. He blinked rapdily, then focused on the constable as a life preserver in the middle of a storm. “Yes,” he said. “We seem to be... lost. Is this the road to Winnipeg?”

“It sure is,” MacGregor said. “Just on down the highway.” He looked at the collection of men and machines. “You fellows some sort of reenactment group?”

“Reenactment... group?” The officer seemed faint, though MacGregor couldn’t tell why.

“Well, yeah, one of those things where people dress up in uniforms and play-act out battles. Is the Naval Museum doing something?”

~***~

At this point, Jed Eckert was just about to throw down his sidearm and run screaming off into the prairie. Here he was, supposed to bring a barrel platoon up from Grand River to Winnipeg, and now he was in a town that shouldn’t exist, surrounded by strangely-dressed Canucks and cars that looked like somebody left them in the oven too long, while this garrulous policeman flabbled on about people dressing up as soldiers. It was enough to try the patience of the strongest men.

Jed Eckert wasn’t one of the strongest men. “Listen,” he snapped, “I am Captain Jedidiah Eckert of the United States Army, and I want you to tell me straight what the fuck is going on here!”

The policeman looked taken aback. “Captain,” he said slowly, “there’s no need to get rude. All I was wondering was why you were taking a dozen tanks to Winnipeg.”

“To reinforce the troops stationed there.” Eckert said it automatically. The policeman looked even more puzzled.

“Troops? There haven’t been any troops stationed in Winnipeg since the CF base closed in ‘04.”

Jed blinked. “There were US troops in Winnipeg in 1904?”

“1904? The base closed in 2004.”

“What!?” Jed and the poilceman looked at the driver, who had blurted - more squeaked - the word out. Though truth to tell, Jed Eckert could sympathize.

“Ah, officer-”

“Constable.”

“Right, yes, Constable, sorry. Constable... I think we should finish this conversation somewhere else. And get my men off the street before something gets wrong.”

“I, um. Yes. Yes, that’s a very good idea.”

~***~

Within twenty minutes of MacGregor and Eckert’s conversation, a video was posted to youtube.ca titled “US INVADES CANADA!!!”

Predictably, all hell broke loose.

(intro F, GSS and the Canadian response!)
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[Black Aeronaut]

Okay, got an odd question. At the time of the Event would Earth and 36 Atalante in within line-of-sight of each other? If so, then I imagine that the USA would be directly 'visible' at the time of the event. Currently working on a littel bunny involving the observatory on 36 Atalante catching detailed footage and sensor data on the event.

[M Fnord]

*rolls the planetarium* And the answer is... no. Sorry. Atalante would get a very nice view of Australia and East Asia from its position.
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[Black Aeronaut]

Drat. Thanks much, anyhow.

[M Fnord]

BTW, got a gmail? If so, I'll add you to the edit list on the master doc, so's you can add or subtract stuff without needing me to c/p stuff.

EDIT I'm a titanic dumbass for not checking the contact list first. You're on the list for http://tinyurl.com/2bn2oy2]the SIR master doc.
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[Black Aeronaut]

No worries, Mal. I accomplish Titanic Dumbass feats all the time. Just ask people who know me: I'd walk off without my own damn head if I could.

[robkelk]

A question for those who've actually read the TL-191 stories: On which side of the USA/CSA border is Butler, Missouri? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_A._Heinlein]Somebody who's rather inspirational to Fenspace was born there, and was 33 years old in late 1940. From what I know of TL-191, he might still be in the military (medical discharges don't seem to be big on their agenda). Thing is, I don't know which military... so which side of Operation Firefall gets to encounter him?
--
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]

Missouri is Union territory.
''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]

So it's Mal's delegation that gets to encounter a desk-jockey Navy man with a persistent cough... Thanks.
--
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]

If I'm stepping on toes here, let me know. --Mal

---

War Department, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
November 23, 1940 (Event +4 days)

“Lieutenant.”

“Retired, sir.” The ‘lieutenant’ in question was a tall man in his mid thirties, with close-cropped hair and a pencil mustache. In civilian clothes he looked much like an average worker, or perhaps a policeman.

Abell shook his head. “Not any more, Lieutenant Commander.” The now ex-lieutenant’s eyebrows rose at the new rank. “The General Staff has decided to recall you to duty.”

“That’s... swell, sir. But why? Surely there are plenty of lieutenant commanders in the Navy as it is.”

“There are, but that’s not why we’re recalling you.” Abell examined the stack of papers on his desk. “You’re making something of a name for yourself in the pulps these days, aren’t you, Lieutenant Commander?”

“Yes sir. It’s not the most glamorous of work, but it keeps body and soul together.” The light went on in the commander’s eyes. “That’s why you’re recalling me, isn’t it? It’s something to do with this Mysteron flabble. Sir.”

John Abell was not a man given to expressions of approval, but a faint note of satisfaction glimmered in his eyes. “Very good, Lieutenant Commander. The President has agreed to meet with the, ah, new neighbors in two days time. You will be part of the General Staff’s contribution to the meeting.”

“The General Staff thinking I have some sort of insight into the Mysterons that more sober generals and admirals might miss?”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” Abell replied, which was for the commander all but shouting ‘YES!’ to the heavens.

The commander snapped off a perfect parade-ground salute. “Sir! I will do my duty!”

“Very good, Commander Heinlein. Dismissed. Get yourself some new dress blues from Quartermaster; your briefing packet will be delivered to your hotel room.”
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[robkelk]

If I'm stepping on toes here, let me know. --Mal

Not stepping on my toes, and I'm the one who came up with the idea...
--
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

[Bob Schroeck]

The only problem is it's borderline anachronistic unless Heinlein's career started a little earlier than in OTL.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

[M Fnord]

*shrug* Turtledove had Bob Woodward, Carl Bernstein and Richard Nixon show up as bug-sweepers in a later 191 book. I'm only following in the footsteps of giants.
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"

[Bob Schroeck]

Fair enough. I'm not complaining.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.