Post by EmperorMyric on Dec 16, 2017 19:35:21 GMT
General "Buck" Turgidson: Now, truth is not always a pleasant thing. But it is necessary now to make a choice, to choose between two admittedly regrettable, but nevertheless *distinguishable*, postwar environments: one where you got twenty million people killed, and the other where you got a hundred and fifty million people killed.
President Merkin Muffley: You're talking about mass murder, General, not war!
General "Buck" Turgidson: Mr. President, I'm not saying we wouldn't get our hair mussed. But I do say no more than ten to twenty million killed, tops. Uh, depending on the breaks.
--Stanley Kubrick’s “Doctor Strangelove, Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love The Bomb”
(youtu.be/HgyjlqhiTV8?t=1m42s for those who are interested in the scene. Good film.)
--oOo--
“With available forces, we could hit the initial target zone with enough FSEMCEs to wipe out at least a quarter of the stellar formations in the region.” One of the shipmasters said as he highlighted a region just galactic east of the Immortal Empire’s boundary. “As the FSEMCEs absorb all forms of energy, synchronous deep space activations could create a quarantine barrier that will intercept the communications emissions from the so called dirty side of the barrier, preventing communications from transferring over. We can work our way east from there.” The shipmaster paused with his hands behind his back, hesitating briefly before continuing.
“We have never had a situation wherein so many FSEMCEs have been active at one point. The ramifications of hundreds of FSEMCE detonations in such close temporal proximity to each other could potentially cascade-”
“Would this cascade have the potential to spread across the containment line?” Prime Admiral Dorin inquired sharply as she examined the holographic image of the so called initial target zone. It was a vast region of space; perhaps a forth of the so called northern end of the galaxy was encompassed in the target zone. Within its confines were civilizations who did not even suspect the existence of the Ascendancy, or of what was about to come. Innocents, Dorin thought quietly, as the shipmaster answered.
“Not at all Prime Admiral. It would function more akin to an extension of it; the more dead space between the containment line and the border, the less ears will ever come to hear that signal. But that isn’t our primary concern, Prime Admiral. It’s our survival rate in these conditions.” The shipmaster presenting his findings gestured in the air, pulling on unseen elements and modifying the display towards strange and unsettling shades of red and grey.
“Our own ships are hardly immune to FSEMCEs, and we never intended to be in a situation where in system triggers were standard operating protocol. Collateral damage would be…extensive.” The shipmaster gestures to the board as information pertaining to the anticipated Ascendancy losses came forward. “Temporal projections also show an immense spike in Aberration activity immediately prior to this attack, or at least we think it’s Aberration activity based on the casualty information. We’re estimating at least fifty percent casualty losses amongst our own ships.”
The shipmaster did not like saying this, because at some subtle level it suggested that the shipmasters were afraid of death. This was hardly the case, for what would happen if they failed to contain this knowledge on the Ascendancy would be a fate far worse than dying.
“It would be a heavy sacrifice to make…” The Prime Admiral said slowly, as the shipmaster presenting to her interjected another statement. While surprised at the interruption, the comment would stand on its own as evidence of their dedication to the Ascendancy’s traditions.
“The loss of six hundred ships for five hundred solar systems is hardly a poor exchange rate, Prime Admiral.” The shipmaster said with a strangely chipper disposition. It was the best approximation of valour in the face of the unthinkable that anyone could make, yet to anyone outside of that discussion (or more accurately, anyone outside of the Ascendancy) it was not even tantamount to madness. It was well beyond that.
“We never thought this was going to be an easy occupation, Prime Admiral.” Another shipmaster stated, her voice clear and cutting despite the packed nature of the chamber. “If we’d wanted easy lifestyles, I suppose we wouldn‘t be who we are.”
The point of the fact was that they were all lying. They were lying to themselves just as much as they were lying to each other. The casualty counts involved in cleaning out just a quarter of the colonized section of this galaxy were staggering, especially for the Flux. But the situation was unthinkable. Information was infectious, just like any disease, and they know it both in a literal and figurative sense. The subliminal memetic weapons the Flux kept carefully secured in their arsenals were, after all, nine tenths information and one tenth delivery system.
But with this outbreak of the Flux’s name onto the galactic playing field, the situation had changed. Where before the Flux’s existence was known only to a handful of the most powerful men and women in this galaxy, now an entire civilization was privy to it and information spreads like blood on white cloth, and it was not a stain the Ascendancy could risk tolerating.
Thus madness took on appealing hues, and genocide became a negotiable word. It wasn’t really genocide, after all; it was preemptive self defense. The moment anyone becomes privy to our existence, they want to destroy us, the shipmasters would say to each other as they stripped themselves of their consciences and of their common humanity. They threatened us with extinction after all. The universe is not a nice place, and cruel and terrible things sometimes must absolutely be done. Think of how the Nakai treated us when we came out of the shadows for them.
We are not meant for their world, and they’re pulling us into it.
--oOo--
“I can only offer you assurances of my loyalty to your commands, Prime Admiral.” General Pallam’s apparition murmured smoothly. “If you command it, I will follow you to the gates of hell, but I can not in good conscience say this is a cost worth paying.” Pallam communicated softly but earnestly, and as much as it displeased Dorin to hear his words, she listened with rapt attentiveness to them. Pallam was no fool, after all. “The recipients of this message are not at all convinced of its authenticity, and by association it throws the credibility of their evidence for the Altman Incident into dispute as well.”
“They threatened the extinction of our entire race, and then later that day declared war on us. Do you really think they’re going to keep our existence secret Pallam?” Dorin countered evenly. She let the question sit there heavily, and Pallam wavered under its cutting nature.
“No Prime Admiral. No I don’t.” Pallam conceded slowly, and Dorin promptly followed with further arguments for her undertaking.
“The two times our people have tried to come interact with the inhabitants on this galaxy from a level field, the revelation of our very existence provokes them to try and extinguish US!” She emphasis was heavy here, but she spoke softly; she was alone in the room now with Pallam’s ghost, and yelling wouldn’t prove anything to Pallam.
“I know.” Pallam replies evenly. “I was there Prime Admiral. But we can’t afford to lose half the Flux outside the silent bastions for this. When we fought the Nakai, we had our full civilization behind us. We have a fifth of it now, and we’re not as strong as we used to be.”
Dorin’s weathered face flushed with indignation. “We are as strong as ever Pallam!” She spat softly, with equal looks of desperation and insult present on her face and evident in her tone. “When the Tuul Directorate challenged our will, we turned them into beasts of burden for the races they would have subjugated. We might not have been made by gods, but we have been made so terribly strong Pallam. I love this galaxy, I love it Pallam, but if this is allowed to stand we will begin crumbling into nothingness.”
What Pallam did not say was that perhaps it was the time for some things to crumble. It was even then only a tiny whisper in his mind, but he was wise enough to keep it at that level; merely a whisper.
“It would be a major diversion from our operations against the Dark City Imperium and the Temporians-” Pallam began to protest, before Dorin raised a lone finger in protest.
“You saw the report too general; we hit them in the first wave. If we have to come out in the open, we take them out in the first minute.” She smiled weakly, and it disturbed Pallam immensely though his face was not the sort to express it.
“It’s the only reasonable thing to do.” She said it softly, sincerely, and with both terrifying dedication and a terrifying understanding of the words she herself was speaking. She’d never wanted this; the Temporians and the empire that hosted them had always needed to be removed, but to wipe the galaxy clean…
“…it’s only going to get worse if we hesitate now. It’s only going to get harder to maintain our position in this galaxy if knowledge gets out. You and I both know that general.”
“I’m not asking for hesitation, Prime Admiral.” Pallam reaffirmed. “I’ll follow you to hell if you command it, but I ask only that we consider what we’re about to do. We live to cultivate these civilizations, and now we’re about to annihilate them for the offenses of one.”
At some level, Dorin was trying to convince herself, too.
President Merkin Muffley: You're talking about mass murder, General, not war!
General "Buck" Turgidson: Mr. President, I'm not saying we wouldn't get our hair mussed. But I do say no more than ten to twenty million killed, tops. Uh, depending on the breaks.
--Stanley Kubrick’s “Doctor Strangelove, Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love The Bomb”
(youtu.be/HgyjlqhiTV8?t=1m42s for those who are interested in the scene. Good film.)
--oOo--
“With available forces, we could hit the initial target zone with enough FSEMCEs to wipe out at least a quarter of the stellar formations in the region.” One of the shipmasters said as he highlighted a region just galactic east of the Immortal Empire’s boundary. “As the FSEMCEs absorb all forms of energy, synchronous deep space activations could create a quarantine barrier that will intercept the communications emissions from the so called dirty side of the barrier, preventing communications from transferring over. We can work our way east from there.” The shipmaster paused with his hands behind his back, hesitating briefly before continuing.
“We have never had a situation wherein so many FSEMCEs have been active at one point. The ramifications of hundreds of FSEMCE detonations in such close temporal proximity to each other could potentially cascade-”
“Would this cascade have the potential to spread across the containment line?” Prime Admiral Dorin inquired sharply as she examined the holographic image of the so called initial target zone. It was a vast region of space; perhaps a forth of the so called northern end of the galaxy was encompassed in the target zone. Within its confines were civilizations who did not even suspect the existence of the Ascendancy, or of what was about to come. Innocents, Dorin thought quietly, as the shipmaster answered.
“Not at all Prime Admiral. It would function more akin to an extension of it; the more dead space between the containment line and the border, the less ears will ever come to hear that signal. But that isn’t our primary concern, Prime Admiral. It’s our survival rate in these conditions.” The shipmaster presenting his findings gestured in the air, pulling on unseen elements and modifying the display towards strange and unsettling shades of red and grey.
“Our own ships are hardly immune to FSEMCEs, and we never intended to be in a situation where in system triggers were standard operating protocol. Collateral damage would be…extensive.” The shipmaster gestures to the board as information pertaining to the anticipated Ascendancy losses came forward. “Temporal projections also show an immense spike in Aberration activity immediately prior to this attack, or at least we think it’s Aberration activity based on the casualty information. We’re estimating at least fifty percent casualty losses amongst our own ships.”
The shipmaster did not like saying this, because at some subtle level it suggested that the shipmasters were afraid of death. This was hardly the case, for what would happen if they failed to contain this knowledge on the Ascendancy would be a fate far worse than dying.
“It would be a heavy sacrifice to make…” The Prime Admiral said slowly, as the shipmaster presenting to her interjected another statement. While surprised at the interruption, the comment would stand on its own as evidence of their dedication to the Ascendancy’s traditions.
“The loss of six hundred ships for five hundred solar systems is hardly a poor exchange rate, Prime Admiral.” The shipmaster said with a strangely chipper disposition. It was the best approximation of valour in the face of the unthinkable that anyone could make, yet to anyone outside of that discussion (or more accurately, anyone outside of the Ascendancy) it was not even tantamount to madness. It was well beyond that.
“We never thought this was going to be an easy occupation, Prime Admiral.” Another shipmaster stated, her voice clear and cutting despite the packed nature of the chamber. “If we’d wanted easy lifestyles, I suppose we wouldn‘t be who we are.”
The point of the fact was that they were all lying. They were lying to themselves just as much as they were lying to each other. The casualty counts involved in cleaning out just a quarter of the colonized section of this galaxy were staggering, especially for the Flux. But the situation was unthinkable. Information was infectious, just like any disease, and they know it both in a literal and figurative sense. The subliminal memetic weapons the Flux kept carefully secured in their arsenals were, after all, nine tenths information and one tenth delivery system.
But with this outbreak of the Flux’s name onto the galactic playing field, the situation had changed. Where before the Flux’s existence was known only to a handful of the most powerful men and women in this galaxy, now an entire civilization was privy to it and information spreads like blood on white cloth, and it was not a stain the Ascendancy could risk tolerating.
Thus madness took on appealing hues, and genocide became a negotiable word. It wasn’t really genocide, after all; it was preemptive self defense. The moment anyone becomes privy to our existence, they want to destroy us, the shipmasters would say to each other as they stripped themselves of their consciences and of their common humanity. They threatened us with extinction after all. The universe is not a nice place, and cruel and terrible things sometimes must absolutely be done. Think of how the Nakai treated us when we came out of the shadows for them.
We are not meant for their world, and they’re pulling us into it.
--oOo--
“I can only offer you assurances of my loyalty to your commands, Prime Admiral.” General Pallam’s apparition murmured smoothly. “If you command it, I will follow you to the gates of hell, but I can not in good conscience say this is a cost worth paying.” Pallam communicated softly but earnestly, and as much as it displeased Dorin to hear his words, she listened with rapt attentiveness to them. Pallam was no fool, after all. “The recipients of this message are not at all convinced of its authenticity, and by association it throws the credibility of their evidence for the Altman Incident into dispute as well.”
“They threatened the extinction of our entire race, and then later that day declared war on us. Do you really think they’re going to keep our existence secret Pallam?” Dorin countered evenly. She let the question sit there heavily, and Pallam wavered under its cutting nature.
“No Prime Admiral. No I don’t.” Pallam conceded slowly, and Dorin promptly followed with further arguments for her undertaking.
“The two times our people have tried to come interact with the inhabitants on this galaxy from a level field, the revelation of our very existence provokes them to try and extinguish US!” She emphasis was heavy here, but she spoke softly; she was alone in the room now with Pallam’s ghost, and yelling wouldn’t prove anything to Pallam.
“I know.” Pallam replies evenly. “I was there Prime Admiral. But we can’t afford to lose half the Flux outside the silent bastions for this. When we fought the Nakai, we had our full civilization behind us. We have a fifth of it now, and we’re not as strong as we used to be.”
Dorin’s weathered face flushed with indignation. “We are as strong as ever Pallam!” She spat softly, with equal looks of desperation and insult present on her face and evident in her tone. “When the Tuul Directorate challenged our will, we turned them into beasts of burden for the races they would have subjugated. We might not have been made by gods, but we have been made so terribly strong Pallam. I love this galaxy, I love it Pallam, but if this is allowed to stand we will begin crumbling into nothingness.”
What Pallam did not say was that perhaps it was the time for some things to crumble. It was even then only a tiny whisper in his mind, but he was wise enough to keep it at that level; merely a whisper.
“It would be a major diversion from our operations against the Dark City Imperium and the Temporians-” Pallam began to protest, before Dorin raised a lone finger in protest.
“You saw the report too general; we hit them in the first wave. If we have to come out in the open, we take them out in the first minute.” She smiled weakly, and it disturbed Pallam immensely though his face was not the sort to express it.
“It’s the only reasonable thing to do.” She said it softly, sincerely, and with both terrifying dedication and a terrifying understanding of the words she herself was speaking. She’d never wanted this; the Temporians and the empire that hosted them had always needed to be removed, but to wipe the galaxy clean…
“…it’s only going to get worse if we hesitate now. It’s only going to get harder to maintain our position in this galaxy if knowledge gets out. You and I both know that general.”
“I’m not asking for hesitation, Prime Admiral.” Pallam reaffirmed. “I’ll follow you to hell if you command it, but I ask only that we consider what we’re about to do. We live to cultivate these civilizations, and now we’re about to annihilate them for the offenses of one.”
At some level, Dorin was trying to convince herself, too.