A fight is never a cause for joy. When it comes to war, it means that all logical arguments have failed. It shouldn’t get that far. We didn’t want this fight. But the Praetor Scurra and his armies force us to do so. From Cybernia we lead the resistance against the fighters who keep trying to take the area of Azerim. The fight is far from over. And not all allies are liberated yet. Only then will we be able to act with power. But we won a stage – we struck down one of the bosses.
It’s still incredibly exhausting. We managed to get the CHEZ FRASHOKERETI department up and running again, but not completely. The fight against the enemy is difficult. That wears people down. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle with too many pieces. And then there is always the fear that an action will not work. We don’t know what the enemy is planning next. Will he close our channels again? Stop communication? Recharge the Ift? I dont know. But at least the department is back. Everything else has to be shown.
Report on CANALIS TREMENDUM COLLABORATION, reported by Dozon Rasun
It was exhausting. Hard. But we did it. At this point I can announce that the CANALIS TREMENDUM COLLABORATION is running again. A detailed report will follow. Perhaps. Maybe not. The important thing is: we are back!
Reported by Jena Leyre, Officer of the USS BOURGOGNE
Tired. I am tired. The fight is exhausting and I have no idea whether it’s even worth fighting. The Ift gives us big problems, but now we have also been able to reconnect the artistic department CLEF, PEN AND BRUSH to the communication. What are we actually doing here? The Praetor of Lokubani is getting lost in omnipotence fantasies and the future looks really bleak. Perhaps it is all the more important that art stay alive in these times. And I hope we can do our little bit to help.
Report by Lieutenant Commander Emile Lecreux, Chief Science Officer of the USS BOURGOGNE and Professor Ostap Yefimov, Curator of the ASTROCOHORS ACADEMY
The operations of the ASTROCOHORS Academy were also affected during the attacks by the Foreign Power and the activation of the Ift. Professor Yefimov and I are still trying to make the lesson possible. In the current circumstances, however, that is extremely difficult. Part is already up and running again, we don’t know when we will have finished the task. Until then, the academy continues with reduced capacity.
Reporting: Pierre Bourdain, Head of Diplomatics, USS BOURGOGNE
We had the task of getting the ASTROCOHORS CLUB embassy going again. In the course of the attack by the unknown enemy, various communication channels were affected. I want to make it clear here what part my team had in the whole matter, so that we can now announce that everything is as it was before. The members of my team that I would like to highlight in particular are:
Lieutenant Commander Harry Trost looked around. That had just gone well again. But there would have been a catastrophe by a hair’s breadth. Trost stood on the wreckage of his shuttle. The shuttle should have taken him to a secret meeting. Nothing will come of it now. Well.
He looked strange with the shorts and white shirt. But actually he should have been incognito. The meeting. Yes. That was the mistake the BOURGOGNE officers had made. You shouldn’t have gotten into it. Indeed, after all the difficulties, it sounded like a gift that the crew of a fast cruiser of the Praetor Scurra’s army wanted to defer to ASTROCOHORS. The people at BOURGOGNE accepted it. Harry scratched his head. How did this Latin saying go? “Timeo danae, et dona ferentes”, or something. Beware of the Danaers, even if they bring presents. With these words Laocoon, the high priest of the city of Troy, is said to have warned the Trojans about the wooden horse that the Greeks had left behind after their apparent escape. The Trojans did not listen to him and needed the wooden horse to go to their city. And that night Odysseus and his companions, who had hidden in the horse, came out and Troy was conquered. That was how it was for BOURGOGNE. They wanted success so badly that they became carefree. As a result, they were ambushed by the Lokubami. Trost pulled out his communicator. He heard white noise on the radio. Yes, that’s what he thought. The ift was active again. Communication was disrupted. Although Scurra seemed to be losing the support of his people, he carried out his plan steadfastly. “Lieutenant Commander Trost,” came a voice suddenly over the radio. “Can you hear me?” Trost was excited. “Yes, yes!” He called out loud. “I hear you! BOURGOGNE, are you all right?” “Not everything,” was the answer. “We suffered severe damage. There was a widespread attack, including on ASTROCOHORS’ communications systems. We have to try to fix that. How is your shuttle in condition, Commander?” “Shuttle down,” replied Trost. “I cannot start.” “Got it. Stay where you are, we’ll send someone to pick you up. And then we have to take care of communication.”
They were called the volcano men. An entire tribe that lived on the vast expanses of Mercury, the planet closest to the sun. Due to the proximity to the sun, it was extremely warm there. As if that weren’t enough, there were also vast volcanic landscapes. This tribe of volcano men lived in the volcanic landscape called Dolorem Whenua. They lived in adoration of the great volcano, which they considered to be their ancestor. It was no wonder, because the volcano men’s skin was crusty and wrinkled and the hue of lava that had just come to a standstill. A hue that is difficult to describe, somewhere between brown and black. That they were the descendants of the volcano was, of course, deeply superstitious.
The skin of these beings was not so strange because they were descendants of the volcano, but because they lived so close to the sun. They were adapted for that. Other visitors to the planet have always struggled with the heat. They didn’t. And the heat was particularly bad in the Dolorem Whenua area. The big volcano was actually always active. But something was different, and had been for some time. Now there was something else. The oldest of the volcano men had noticed it first. Then everyone noticed. And they knew that all of this was a great danger. But instead of reacting irrationally, the behavior of these beings was very prudent. If someone had been able to observe it from the outside, it would have been a welcome change from the chaos that was sweeping through the solar system. The effects of this prudence were noticed on the BOURGOGNE when it received a message. It was an image transmission. One saw one of the volcano men who was severely marked by a strange disease. He said the following words: “This is a message to the peoples of the solar system and a warning! We had a visit from a stranger who brought a disease. The disease that is spreading among our people is wiping out one by one. I am the last of my kind and was designed to carry the message outwards. Because the stranger has left again and as we heard there are others who are infected. This disease is dangerous and you have to arm yourself! That’s why we are under stayed with us in order not to spread this virus unnecessarily. We can no longer be helped. But you can help yourself! This is a message to the peoples of the solar system from the volcano men. We bid you goodbye! “ You could see how the man barely had the strength to turn off the transmission. But he did it. On the bridge of the BOURGOGNE, Commander Pellton and Doctor Bonnard had seen the message. Both were shocked. “What do you do with it, Doctor?” Asked Pellton. “Hmm,” Bonnard muttered. “The changes in the skin … the other symptoms I could see … I don’t know if I’m leaning a little far out the window, but this looks like a mutation in the virus that somehow escaped from Earth . “ “I need that a little more precisely,” insisted Pellton. “Just imagine: They could have gone to the next village and spread the disease on Mercury. But they decided to protect the others and not to do that. Even if that meant that their whole tribe would die would.” Pellton shook his head. “They made the ultimate sacrifice. We must honor that. What can we do, Doctor?” “We’d have to go there,” Bonnard replied, “and visit the volcano men’s village with a special team. Take samples. And then see if we can isolate the virus.” “I’ll talk to the captain. But I think we’ll do just that. In the meantime …” “Commander!” Pellton was interrupted. The call came from an officer at the navigation console. “What is it?” Asked the commander. “We have just received another message from Mercury. An emergency team has gone to the village. According to reports, they are on their way without infection control.” “WHAT?” Bonnard got loud. “How can that be?” “I’m only reproducing what I hear here! The team left spontaneously and didn’t discuss anything with anyone.” “Set a course for Mercury,” Pellton ordered. “I think my conversation with Captain Haddock will be rather short. Prepare everything so that we can fly off immediately as soon as the captain is okay with me. Let’s hope that we can get there in time.” “Your word in the ears of the Flying Spaghetti Monster,” said Bonnard.
Captain Haddock stood there trying to grasp things. That wasn’t the real purpose of this stay. But it came to that. The last few days had been a real tour de force. Haddock couldn’t believe what was happening on Lokubani. He was a fan of old movies where there were bad guys doing bad things. And these villains always came up with particularly complicated plans and intrigues to make life difficult for their opponents. That was by no means Praetor Scurra of Lokubani. He had once boasted that he could proclaim the dictatorship in Lokubani, but his supporters would still cheer him. At the time, Haddock had thought that he very much trusted Scurra. But he wouldn’t be able to pull it off, as there were still plenty of sane people among the Lokubani people. Today Haddock was no longer sure. For although the allegations and false accusations that Scurra had spat out in the course of the confrontation became increasingly transparent, his popularity seemed unbroken. His followers did not follow him as one should follow a political figure going through difficult times. His followers were cultists. They had declared him their Savior, blessed by the gods. Scurra would literally be proclaimed Space Emperor, and they would still cheer for that too.
“Captain Haddock, this is the BOURGOGNE. Can you speak freely?” It was Commander Pellton’s voice over the radio. Haddock looked around. He was in a public square, but no one seemed interested in him. Why also? “I think I can talk,” Haddock replied. “What is there?” “A spaceship took off from Lokubani,” Pellton reported. “According to the identification it is the FREEDOM BALLOON, commanded by Iteriú Rangatira, Adjungit Inkibus’ s right hand.” “I understand,” said Haddock. “Do we know the aim and purpose of your mission?” “You remember the strange radar echoes we received? Apparently you want to get to the bottom of it.” “After all, the Balcerpinus used the echoes to interrupt the confrontation. I understand that Inkibus wants it to continue.” “Do you think this is wise?” Asked Pellton. “Scurra is capable of anything. Including having the FREEDOM BALLOON destroyed.” “What do you suggest?” “We could provide rifle assistance. Even if only by following the flight of the FREEDOM BALLOON with the long-range sensors. And in an emergency we could intervene.” “Then we have to leave now, right?” “So right.” Haddock looked around again. “Well,” he muttered so that Pellton couldn’t hear it over the radio. “Was a boring planet anyway!”
The confrontation had stopped. The courts found that the procedure had been disrupted. The reason was unusual radar signals that appeared near Uranus and then disappeared again. Was it alien spaceships? You couldn’t say that. Adjungit Inkibus and his vice Iteriú Rangatira had met in the main animal of the Darctomes to discuss the situation. “We can’t let him get away with that, Senator!” Said Rangatira. Her pulse was racing. She was angry. “Of course this is a diversionary maneuver on the part of Praetor Scurra! He wants the confrontation to end. He’s like a wounded animal that bites.” “My dear friend,” Inkibus said calmly, “of course it is. But what should we do? We have no evidence! If we make accusations that we cannot substantiate, the Senate and the Chamber of Government will stand against us . Then the confrontation is over! “ Rangatira looked at him angrily. “How often has the praetor lied? Blank spread the untruth? While his compliant followers had nothing to do but follow him blindly. Why don’t we do it exactly like that?”
“Because we are not like that!” Contradicted Inkibus. “Right now! Scurra’s actions have shattered enough dishes. We have to think about the future. I think about the future a lot because I think of living in it.” Rangatira nodded. “Right. But then I have the perfect solution.” Inikbus frowned. “What you up to?” Rangatira went to a cupboard that stood in a corner of the room. There she pulled out an ornate sword that was sheathed. “My parents gave this to me when I decided to get into politics,” she said. “I come from a long line of fighters. We don’t give up so easily. But we are also able to adapt to the situation. So if you say we need evidence, I’ll get it. With the will of the ancestors!” Inkibus did not seem happy. “That will be dangerous. Scurra’s friends are capable of anything. They won’t shy away from shooting down your ship, especially if they find out you’re inside.” Rangatira grinned. “I even hope so. Let them come and blow their cover. I’ll be prepared!” With that she stormed out of the room. Inkibus knew he would not be able to change her mind anymore. Asserting herself, that was the story of her life. A fighter. No, thought Inkibus, a warrior.
Commander James Pellton was very tired. He sat in an armchair in his cabin on board the BOURGOGNE and stared into space. It was that moment of tiredness when the mind hovered between reality and a surreal dream world and images that one saw were dragged and distorted into another world. There were people who would hallucinate or hear sounds that didn’t exist. All Pellton felt was an unbearable weight like cotton candy descending on him. He couldn’t and didn’t want to. He had a pad in his hand. But the grip of Pellton’s finger around the pad was no longer so tight. The pad could fall to the ground at any time. But what did that matter? There was a report on the pad that Pellton had received. A disaster. It looked like Praetor Scurra of the Lokubami had deployed a spy on Earth. That one had been infected with a virus that was rampant there. The spy took a particularly aggressive variant of the virus with him. Scurra would have had a chance to stop it all. All he should have done was quarantine the ships that had carried the spy. But a counselor stopped him. He thought that if these ships were to be quarantined, their names would be revealed. This would allow the crews of the ships to know that they had transported a spy and may even be able to identify him. Since he was a very good spy, you shouldn’t take any chances. Scurra did this. The spy died of the infection. And the virus had spread by now. It had come to Uranus through the servants of the Praetorial Fleet. It had spread through dealers. There have now been outbreaks on every planet in the solar system and the number of patients has increased. It was all a man’s fault.
Praetor Scurra had carried out the whole thing, of course. But the adviser who advised him to do so was named Kalgon of Arcadis. Its origins were long in the dark, because that didn’t seem to be its real name. Arcadis hinted at a region of Mars but wasn’t really helpful. Kalgon always hid behind a mask when he appeared in public. But it soon became clear that the man came from Jupiter’s moon Europa. He felt safe behind his mask and acted like a backward-looking reactionary who wished for the good old days that had never really existed. Those who knew him said he had a sense of purist thinking that ignores the complexity of topics.
Yes, he was like that. Everything was easy. Either black or white. No grays. Either you were for or against. Category 1 or Category 2. The advice Kalgon had given to the Praetor could also be explained by this false dichotomous way of thinking. There was interest in the Lokubami government in covering up a spy against the innumerable individuals in the solar system who may have become infected. Kalgon was not interested in these individuals. He was an ardent admirer of Praetor Scurra and would have done anything for him. And when it came to keeping Scurra’s filthy businesses below the surface, that was what you had to do. A question buried itself in Pellton’s mind. The spy! What about that? Why had Scurra put him on Terra, right now? Terra was already isolated from the community of planets of the Sol system.
And since the virus broke out there, quarantine has been tightened for the entire planet. Is it exactly this time that Scurra chooses to send a spy to Terra? What was so important that … “Commander Pellton, here is the bridge!” The radio conversation interrupted his thoughts. “Pellton here, I hear you, Bridge.” “I’ll send you a message on your pad. I think you’ll find it interesting.” “Understood.” Pellton gripped the pad tighter again and picked it up. A message appeared. Pellton’s eyes widened. “Pellton to bridge!” He called excitedly into the radio. “Here is the bridge, continue, Commander.” “The message you just sent … is that certain?” “It just came over the orbital radio from Uranus. Several agencies have confirmed it.” “Thank you! End!” Pellton sank back in the chair. They did it! The Lokubami senators and parliamentarians had rebelled against Scurra and called for his resignation. The time when the inflated self-promoter tormented the Sol system with his terrible tirades seemed to be over. But that had been thought before, when trying to drag Scurra to court for his myriad offenses. Scurra had hidden behind his position of Praetor and got out of it well. He could try that again. That could be a great day. But Pellton also thought of people like Scurras Vice Denarios. Or Kalgon of Aracdis. They wouldn’t go away. The fight had only just begun. But then the melody of a song came to Pellton’s mind. Always forward, step by step, there is no going back …
It had been tiring until now. Hardly any confrontation had lasted that long. That morning the Lokubami people saw the fourth day approaching. And something changed. The senators felt that too. Because in the last few days the praetor had shown his really ugly face again. The ugly face that revealed his ugly character. In fact, it had been seen every day since Scurra took office as praetor, but the past few days had been the melting pot, so to speak.
Deosimilis Denarios, the deputy of Scurra, was concerned. During one of the many pauses the discussion allowed him, the praetor had gone into the ready room to confer with Denarios. “My lord!” Said Denarios. “The senators are starting to turn against us! We might lose the confrontation!” “We won’t lose,” said Scurra. He activated one of the screens in the ready room. The screen showed the Senate. At the moment, it was Scurra’s son, whom he had named after himself with a touch of vanity, speaking at the lectern. It was a fiery speech. “Do you want total war?” He called. “Do you want it – if necessary – more total and radical than we can even imagine today?” The Balcerpinus side seemed to agree. What came in response to the question, however, was not an orderly answer, more a loud murmur. “The Darctomes claim the people have lost their trust in the leader. Do you trust the leader? “ That strange loud murmur again. If you listened carefully, you could hear something like “yes” and “yeah”. The rest was drowned out in a kind of background noise. “Do you vow with a holy oath to the front that the homeland stands behind the front with strong, unshakable morality and will give it everything it needs to win?” The murmur turned into wild screams. Balcerpinus senators bleated like a flock of sheep. Scurra’s son passed it and continued. “Do you want women to step in wherever possible to free men for battle?” The answer was no more. Words, if spoken at all, were drowned out in a crescendo of tones. “Do you approve of the most radical measures against a small group of slackers and pushers? Do you agree that whoever refuses to accept the leader will lose his head? “ Silence. The screaming and bawling died away in a split second. What was that just now? Had the praetor’s son demanded the death penalty for political enemies, and did so in the hallowed halls of the Senate? As strange as that sounds, it was a line he’d better not have crossed. Lokubani policies were corrupt and depraved, but they still had a few tiny, whimsical principles. One of them was never to wish the enemy death in the hallowed halls of the Senate. There was an ancient superstition attached to it that it would bring bad luck or end the world or something. Denarios clasped his hands over his head. What just happened? Scurra’s son had become so furious that he had completely forgotten himself. The demand to kill political opponents was not new to the Balcerpinus camp. But that had a new quality. “He’s got bite!” Said Scurra. “He really shows them.” “But most splendid!” Exclaimed Denarios. “That could finally cost us victory in the confrontation! That is an affront! No one has ever dared to do that! At least he could have waited until the confrontation was over!” “Do you think so?” Asked Scurra. “Indeed!” “I don’t think so. Wait a minute … oh, here it comes! The grand finale!” On the screen, Scurra’s son started talking again. He ignored the embarrassing silence in the Senate and said: “The leader has ordered we will follow him. If we have ever faithfully and inviolably believed in victory, it is in this hour of national reflection and inner alignment. We see victory tangible lie close in front of us. We just have to take hold. We just have to find the strength to subordinate everything to his service. That is the order of the day. And that’s why from now on the slogan is: Well, people, get up, and storm, break loose!”
“Most splendid! Is that a call to revolt?” Asked Denarios. “Is that it?” Replied Scurra. “Of course it is, and the Darctomes will say so, but I can deny anything. As always. And those parts of the stupid people who made the mistake of trusting me will be my compliant henchmen.” “Most splendid, that’s … brilliant!” “Of course. He’s awesome.” Denarios winced. “He”? Who did Scurra mean by “he”? “He will prevail and continue to rule Lokubami as is his right.” The praetor spoke of himself in the third person! “Now it is time,” said the praetor, “that he contacted his allies. His son has declared war, it is the father’s job to implement it. The new kingdom of Lokubami is baptized with fire. The Lokubami will be the new masters of the solar system. “ He activated another screen. A line of soldiers dressed in strange light armor became visible. “All attention!”, Scurra spoke into the radio. “Start Operation 1776!” The soldiers began to move.
It seems silly and stupid, but Praetor Scurra had a spiritual adviser who was even more caught up in religious madness than he was. She loved ceremonies and quoting from the Chronicles of Nab’gen. After the confrontation continued, she felt called to invoke the Great Spirit of Quonzar and …
The universe is full of chaos-driven reactions. Consciousness consists of pulses of quantum energy. “Quantum” means a flowering of the dynamic.
The goal of bio-feedback is to plant the seeds of curiosity rather than discontinuity.
We are at a crossroads of nature and illusion. Who are we? Where on the great story will we be recreated? We are in the midst of a sublime maturing of intention that will align us with the stratosphere itself.
Humankind has nothing to lose. Our conversations with other beings have led to a deepening of ultra-conscious consciousness. Reality has always been radiating travellers whose chakras are opened by self-actualization.
Throughout history, humans have been interacting with the quantum cycle via supercharged electrons. We are being called to explore the cosmos itself as an interface between presence and ecstasy. Shakti will amplify our connection to non-dual power.
Pain is born in the gap where grace has been excluded. It is time to take empathy to the next level. We must strengthen ourselves and ground others. The future will be a spiritual awakening of self-actualization.
The Lokubami were – like all peoples of the solar system – humanoids. Descendants of a tribe that the ACELS had settled in the solar system a long time ago. They had a head (which didn’t have to mean anything), two arms and two legs. The actual body sat in the middle of the extremities. Most of them had fair hair and strange orange skin. Strange because it looked unnatural. The pigment that gave the Lokubami’s skin this unnatural orange was created after the first settlers from Jupiter’s moons arrived on Uranus. And with that the disaster had taken its course. These settlers did not come in peace. They were radical religious humanoids who belonged to the pure church of the great prophet Quonzar. Quonzar had interpreted the books of Nobilius very literally. No word could be changed. Quonzar declared whoever did that as an enemy and fought them, and that’s just funny, because the religious founder Nobilius was known for his extreme pacifism. The people who came from the Jupiter moons brought death and ruin to Uranus and its inhabitants, in the name of a humanoid who kept saying how nice it would be if everyone were nice to each other for a change. The settlers had left Jupiter’s moons because science and research were valued there, something that was rejected on Quonzar’s behalf. Didn’t these scientists say the solar system was somewhere on the edge of a galaxy? One galaxy among many galaxies? No, Quonzar had clearly stated that the humanoids of the solar system were the special chosen, above all others. The solar system was flat and in the center of the galaxy, as befitted the elect! In the name of the pacifist Nobilius, the settlers first slaughtered the inhabitants of Uranus until only a few were left. Then they started a war with the moons of Jupiter and declared themselves the Grand Empire of Lokubami. At some point the “Empire” was lost and they only called themselves the Lokubami people. Another funny story, because Lokuba was the name of the guy who ran the arks that brought the settlers to Uranus. Rumor has it that he spent a lot of time in the bathtub because he wasn’t taking anything very seriously. He wasn’t a very good leader either, but he had a good historian. “Lokuba’mi”, translated “Praise of Lokuba”, was the name of his work about the leader. And that’s what the country was called after all.
But as it is, religion is not a matter of reason and two faiths soon emerged. There were the Darctomes, who realized that blind clinging to a script that had origins more than a thousand years ago wasn’t good in the present. On the other side were the Balcerpinus, who did not want to deviate from the radical line. When it suddenly occurred to the Darctomes after a few decades that it might be a barbaric idea to keep other humanoids as slaves, there was war between the two sides. In the end, a law was enacted that was intentionally complicated to make it difficult for the people to see through. In addition, representatives of the Balcerpinus had managed to accommodate a few privileges of the former slave owners.
Whenever Praetor Scurra spoke of the “good old days”, he meant exactly that. The times were good when there was still oppression and inequality. Not that Lokubami was no longer oppressed or inequality. On the contrary. But that was exactly the crux. That is why representatives of the Darctomes and the Balcerpinus had been implacably opposed to each other in the Senate of the Lokubami for days. Scurra blew speeches outside and the mob gathered outside. The Balcerpinus were known for their high potential for violence. Scurra had sown the seeds. And the seed was ready to grow. Should Scurra’s challenger Inkibus win the Senate, they were ready to strike. Something was brewing …
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