Lego Visual-Aid-Enhanced "Story"

(doci7) #1

Encrypted data burst received – Series marker Alpha
Transcript of Coalition Command Briefing 5284.91
Commander Yari Siidim addresses Daiamid Security Council:

‘Hello,’ and many such other niceties from the most excellent and esteemed offices of Siidim command. It’s my understanding that you people have already got a partial briefing on this unlikely bit of intelligence, so let me just make a few things very clear. First off, I know there are a lot of Gritiidim, moral degenerates, pencil-pushers, meat-heads and florists out there who think this is all some kind of a hoax. Ha! As if those carpet-jockey-worshiping, tin-tonsil-gas-mask boneheads we call the Gaalsien could pull one over on us. Or, perhaps it’s to be believed that we, the glorious and dignified Siidim, would cook up a bunch of gobbledygook - like that Manaani crackpot and his ‘Kiith Khaaneph’ nonsense and fairytales - just to get some attention. Don’t flatter yourselves. Remember we used to rule this whole forsaken dustbowl, and then as now, we couldn’t care less what a bunch of upstart, sideshow phonies from their high towers in Tiir think of us, or of anything.

And with that out of the way, I’m prepared now to show you transcripts decoded from Gaalsien communiques… mostly logs from key personnel on the patrol in question. You’ll get the most complete understanding of what we’re uncovering as we go through these logs. I know not everyone in the audience is really all that bright, so I made sure any terms that call for definition are annotated. Here we go…

Yinuel Gaalsien, C.O., Honor Cruiser Hahraa-Zephim, Patrol 84.27, personal log entry 14.1

“Stupidity is the widest road to blasphemy, and the best-trodden”. That’s the proverb of the day… and every day since we set out from the logistics center, in search of heretics. Under the guidance of our chief navigational officer, I can say we’ve found ourselves not just a fair way down what may be referred to allegorically as “the stupid road”, but at the bottom of the deepest ditch along its widest bend. And where he’s led us from there, no prophet can say.

Now here we are, in the midst of this other-worldly desolation. White stuff is everywhere. I don’t believe it’s sand, nor does it seem to be dirt. By Sajuuk’s forge, I have no idea what it is… but it’s not right. The air here isn’t right either. It’s… how do I say? Not hot. Like, if there was a word for the opposite of hot, it would be that. Worst of all… there are absolutely no heretics here to punish. Not one.

If by divine intercession we one day return to our holdings, I shall see our navigations officer discharged sans delay. If he were any more incompetent – truly – I do believe he would guide us straight into the midst of the stars and make heretics of us all. He has no idea where we’re going.

Gylaagan Gaalsien, Chief Nav. Officer, Honor Cruiser Hahraa-Zephim, Patrol 84.27, personal log entry 30.1

I know where we’re going. Granted, I have no idea where we are, but if people would begin to appreciate the not insubstantial difference, it would help my cause tremendously. It’s not like I haven’t heard what they’re all calling me behind my back. “Hollow-helmeted equurin*,” for one. My Gaalsien brethren are being considerably more thankless than is befitting of devout persons. We have discovered a complete functioning ecosystem previously unimaginable in its dynamics, and all they can do is drone on and on about being hopelessly lost.

As chief navigational officer, I do admit to a degree of responsibility in this matter. As it stands we have been away from port for a half-triad to the day. But it was only supposed to be a three-hour patrol. At this point I am praying incessantly that this discrepancy does not become popularly known. And that we get home alive. Angels and ministers of grace defend me from all temptation… but O! what I wouldn’t give right now for GPS…

*A common Gaalsien slur adapted from a disciplinary term. Essentially it means ‘someone who falls asleep during routine military prayer prostration’. Not a very good insult. I don’t use it much.

Data burst terminating. Expect further transmissions.

Complete Fanfiction Collection
Lego Ship Master Thread (Many Pictures!)
(raw_bean) #2

Haha, brilliant. :slight_smile:

(doci7) #3

Encrypted data burst received – Series marker Beta
Transcript of Coalition Command Briefing 5284.91
Commander Yari Siidim addresses Daiamid Security Council (cont’d):

So, a wayward Gaalsien patrol finds itself stranded in an unknown wasteland, seemingly not of this world. A matter of some intrigue, perhaps, to the inquisitive intellectual among us… if there is one. But I know what you’re thinking. When do we get to the “red-tape” substance of all this? Could it be that old Commander Yari is burdening you with superfluous details, and taking the long way around to the juicy classified stuff? Well, it’s precisely that kind of banal impatience that proves you are all inferior to the majestic and impressive Siidim! But don’t imagine that being second-class sentient beings gets you off the hook. In fact, I’ve half a mind to subject you all to another completely unnecessary set of log entries just to spite you. More than half actually, because that’s exactly what I’m going to do now. Just remember that you brought this on yourselves…

Yinuel Gaalsien, C.O., Honor Cruiser Hahraa-Zephim, Patrol 84.27, personal log entry 76.2

As we approach two months upon the accursed snow* (I have taken to calling it snow, based upon the speculation of some crewmen who claim to have studied northern climates from ancient times), I feel compelled to use my log to express great personal dissatisfaction. In this way, today’s entry is unlikely to distinguish itself from the last several.

*A solid, crystalized form of water that can allegedly occur naturally at low temperatures.

Whatever else we may have to go without in our wanderings, there are three particular things that have been most difficult. Firstly, I yearn for dirt. Sand, I have not so much mourned the absence of; but being sundered from dirt is more vexing than one might expect. Moreover, I miss heretics. Every day spent not punishing heretics is a disgraceful waste. But worst is the hunger. For quite mysteriously, it seems that we were only given provisions sufficient for a three-hour absence when we left the logistics center… a fact I have yet to reconcile.

There are some who would consider my speaking of such discomforts as indication of an acute lack of divine gratitude. On the contrary, I believe meditating on my frustrations is a fulfillment of a greater spiritual duty. Recall, if you will, the practical wisdom of the prophetess K’Nora: “The more miserable you are, the less Sajuuk hates you.” The joy that such aphorisms inspire in me is quite without bounds… momentarily that is, until I remember to be miserable.

This is not to say that I don’t entertain the idea of taking decisive action to end our agony. I’ve given substantial thought to reassigning our chief navigational officer to Sandskimmer duty… then using that Sandskimmer as targeting practice for the rail gun. But I will not indulge that notion. I shall remain strong…

Gylaagan Gaalsien, Chief Nav. Officer, Sandskimmer Niiazj, Patrol 84.27, personal log entry 58.1

I’ve been reassigned to Sandskimmer duty. It’s far from glamorous, but to be fair, the craft is quite well outfitted for scouting… and incidentally, trying to find any trace of a way home. It’s not just a matter of the mobility… the sensors suite is remarkably effective considering the teeny, tiny space available here. Still, I haven’t detected anything of note thus far, aside from a curious tendency for the Hahraa-Zephim’s rail gun to spike in power output occasionally… particularly any time I come to a stop, or even start to slow down.

In any case our prospects of returning home do not seem to be improving. These snowy wastes are unfailingly treacherous. Even my total recall of navigational fundamentals seems not to apply here. Cardinal truths such as “three lefts don’t make a right,” and “moss always grows on the north side of the dune,” have availed me not at all. But I continue pressing forward. Something tells me I really, really have to…

Data burst terminating. Expect further transmissions.

Lego Ship Master Thread (Many Pictures!)
(doci7) #4

Encrypted data burst received – Series marker Gamma
Transcript of Coalition Command Briefing 5284.91
Commander Yari Siidim addresses Daiamid Security Council (cont’d):

Breaking news… I’ve been advised by higher offices within the commendable and superlative Siidim Command to accelerate the briefing and keep my personal commentary to a dull roar and a bare minimum. They expressed concern that some of my keen observations could be construed as politically incorrect. I’ve never been accused of being politically incorrect. Not by anyone who was worth the scorched air in their throat anyway. Well, I’m not about to disappoint my superiors, so we’ll skip to the entries from the day this all went from being a boatload of wandering morons to a top-classified security debacle. Besides, I think you’ll find some of my brand of sharp sensibility in the following log anyway…

Yinuel Gaalsien, C.O., Honor Cruiser Hahraa-Zephim, Patrol 84.27, personal log entry 185.1

The days come and go now with no demarcation whatsoever, except by those specially dramatic members of the crew who started making chalk tallies on the walls. However, some of them chose the same wall to make their chalk marks on and the counts have run together… so the entire system is altogether unreliable.

With little else of substance to offer my log I intend to devote this and future entries to chronicling my ongoing spiritual quest to be as miserable as possible. In light of bad times, the only thing I can seem to do to increase my discomfort at the moment is to remember even worse times… moreover, I’m invoking the sacrilegious heralds of the most sour experience of my entire life…

Kiith Manaan. A peerless brand of contemptible characters. That we have been made to share the same divine exile with their lot can only be a test of our patience, or else a redoubling of our punishment.

When I was in the early stages of my military career, I had sole stewardship of a remote watchtower for a time. It was during this assignment that a south-bound nomadic hoard of Manaani wandered into my overlook. When I reported it, I was told only to observe them closely and be sure they did not come any closer to our population center… in spite of my insistence to drive them off with our full military might. For weeks on end they made camp by my watchtower, and every day I found myself in their midst, zealously pleading that they go away and never, ever come back. The unspeakable depths of frivolous behavior I witnessed during that episode still haunt me… still rob me of precious sleep. They sang, they danced, and worst – aye, worst by far – they engaged in the performing arts, demonstrating skills so incredibly useless, it made me physically ill.

One Manaani’s performance, I’m ashamed to admit, I actually watched with great anticipation. His purported venue was to direct trained Skaal-Tels to jump through hoops. Unfortunately he managed precisely that, though I held out hope to the very end that one or more of the Skaal-Tels would turn on him in all of his hubris and eat his face off.

From my vantage, the Kiith Manaan will always remain the most wretched of all heretics. The nauseatingly joyous countenance of them, and all the humiliation and frustration they caused me over those weeks, shall live in infamy for ever and ever. A worse lot was never fit to walk the whipping, boiling sands of the Great Banded Desert, and no kinder word for them shall EVER pass my lips!

Cmd. Yari interjects: It was later that very day that those blasted Gaalsien ran into this:

Gylaagan Gaalsien, Chief Nav. Officer, Sandskimmer Niiazj, Patrol 84.27, personal log entry 98.2

Sajuuk has smiled on me at last! A holy site! I’ve found a holy site!

Our diminished hopes of returning home are all but forgotten in light of today’s discovery. Elder Yinuel was so pleased, he delivered an impromptu 5-hour speech to the entire patrol group, extolling the obvious angelic virtues of these fallen wanderers of the heavens. At least 20 minutes worth of it was truly magnificent.

Preparations are under way to begin exploring these hallowed relics. I can hardly endure the anticipation… O! to see what celestial wisdom shall be uncovered…

Data burst terminating. Expect further transmissions.

(Simon) #5

Totally awesome man!
Just finished the game a week ago, great to see some LEGO builds form it already :smiley:

(doci7) #6

Thank you! There are some other Lego builds made by others in this thread you should definitely check out :

The pictures in THIS story thread are currently as redundant as the narrative itself :smile:. But I’m hoping to expand both in the fairly near future.

(Simon) #7

It’s pretty funny, I actually know most of those LEGO guys that build the big SHIPs :smiley:
Since I’m really more of a LEGO guy now than a gamer guy lol.

(doci7) #8

Prologue type thing: I want to thank @rolsen for allowing me to use the chassis he created for the S’jet Baserunner in order to create the variant you’ll see below. Many many thanks to him indeed! If you haven’t seen his Baserunner I invite you to check it out here:

Now to the story…

Secure correspondence
Office of Security Minister Arduu
To the personal attention of his Eminence the K’Had Sajuuk

Your Grace, a matter of considerable import has arisen. Duty compels me to brief you thoroughly on the matter. But, of course, you are a prophet, and therefore likely knew that this would happen with respectable advance notice, which would seem to negate any purpose in my telling you about it. But you hardly need me to remind you that you’re a prophet either… certainly, your Excellency would not require any amount of foresight to be well aware of that by now. Although if you didn’t have foresight then you wouldn’t be a prophet in the first place. Great Sajuuk! It seems absurd… but the intricacies of addressing your Greatness have escaped me up until this very moment! I’m left not knowing how to react to all this, so I will just proceed as normal and let you decide whether you foreknew what I’m telling you or not.

We have known for some time now that a wayward patrol of ours has discovered a sacred site. More recently, we have learned that the Northern Kiithid intelligence has also intercepted and decrypted the personnel logs chronicling the discovery. But now, unbeknownst to the North, we now know what they are doing in response to knowing what we know. Highly classified mission reports, briefings, and logs have been secured, and will be forwarded to you as part of this correspondence. I know that your deeply discerning mind will divine a way to thwart the heretics’ attempts to find and secure the relic. Please review the data (if you have to) and, when you are ready, advise my office with your enlightened wisdom. May the hems of your holy carpet never fray!

Yari Siidim of Siidim Command, addressing Daiamid Security Council

I think we can all agree that the familiarity in the language used by the Gaalsien to describe this foreign object is distressing. We may as well consider the conclusion that they’ve been sourcing advanced technology from sites like Jaraci in the deep dessert to be confirmed.

Well this is one wreck we have to be sure they don’t get their mitts on. After all, we have the advantage; the Gaalsien command has no idea where the site is located! Although we have no idea where it is either, so it’s not a very good advantage.

Not to worry. Siidim Command has already cooked up a plan of action… simple and elegant. You’re welcome. The plain fact is… Hahraa-Zephim’s patrol found it, and if we mean to do the same, then we need to do what they did. We have to get lost. Yes… very very lost. To that end, we’re already corralling the poorest navigators the Coalition has to offer and sending them out. Any of our joint forces and Kiith militia we can spare should be at the ready. With any good fortune at all, one of our own worst-and-dimmest will stumble onto the crash site and transmit their location. At that point having a satellite network will finally give us the edge we always hoped it would. Triangulating the coordinates of any of our pilots won’t be a problem. Then it’ll just be a matter of sending prompt and overwhelming assistance. In the meantime, we can only hope and pray that these pilots are bad enough at their jobs to accomplish the mission…

Lt. Marvaud Soban, Baserunner SB 3.65192

Qwaar, it’s about time!

Soban… Marvaud Soban here, just recording the first log of the most distinguished command career anyone will ever hear about. A pity it had to begin here, on a humble baserunner, but what can I say? Egg-heads that run the show knew enough to mail-in my assignment… if I’d been in the room, I could’ve just crossed my arms, given them a tough-guy look (not even one of my best), and they would’ve had no choice but to give me the newest and rail-gunniest Command Carrier they’ve got. Why? ‘Cause I’m Soban, that’s why.

I might not’ve been born Soban (naturally), but looking back everyone must’ve known it would come to this. My childhood was a monument to rugged rebellion – a flurry of fearlessly reckless behavior. All those nights I laid awake for minutes on end past my bed time out of pure spite… the years of cracking my knuckles no matter how much they all warned me not to. Yup, I gave off defiance and toughness like a powerful stink; it was enough to suffocate some people. Heck, in all the time I lived at home, no one ever once broke into the house… and I’m way too smart to believe in coincidence.

But there’s no sense in going on and on about my impressiveness, since I pretty much speak for myself. This new job is agreeing with me. Hands on the wheel, petal to the metal, chasing that horizon whichever way I please, and ain’t no one around to slow me down. Some people would be worried about wandering alone in the wilderness, at the mercy of the Gaalsien, with no more protection than a utility vessel can offer. But none of those folks are Soban.

I’m counting the seconds till I get ambushed! I pity the poor unsuspecting suckers that try to pounce this Runner. ‘Cause I got the perfect strategy already worked out. I’ll just turn their little Sandskimmers into speed-bumps, drift by every missile and artillery shell, catch their railgun slugs in my teeth and use my piddly little AA turret to teach them something they never knew about the fear of Sajuuk. That, my friends, is how tactics is done!

But if those Gaalsi have any wits at all, they won’t attack me anyway. Nah, if they know anything, they’ll hire me instead. I’m Soban! My services belong to the highest bidder – my loyalty, to no one. That’s just the way ol’ Red intended it, I’m sure. But their pockets will have to be deep indeed to win me over. By Qwaar, I love my job!

Rec. Arissah Manaan, Light Attack Vehicle C 5.87941

I hate my job. It wasn’t so bad yesterday, but today, it’s terrible. People are too presumptuous sometimes. There they were, rounding up non-comms looking for volunteer pilots… I’d almost made it safely by the huddle, but then what do I hear? ‘Hey, you! You’re Manaani, right? Hop right into this LAV here; got it all gassed up and ready to go for ya.’ They had me clear down the ramp before I could say ‘no’… or even ‘where am I going?’

Turns out they don’t know where I’m going anyway, so it didn’t matter much. My only instructions were to find a Gaalsien squadron “in the snow”, whatever that means. You begin to feel like you’ve got a pretty respectable handle on military jargon, and then they go and hit you with a doozy like that. They were equally uninformative about what to do if I actually found this squadron, being just a lone, lowly LAV. “You’ll think of something, I guess,” they told me… “Just make sure to transmit your coordinates. Really, really make sure to do that.”

But I digress… the presumptuousness. Just because I’m Manaan people expect me to be itching for excitement, adventure, and all that garbage. Well, travel stresses me out, and excitement always seems to impinge on my sedentary persuasion. Most people who bother to get to know me very well don’t even understand why I stayed Manaan. There is one thing that appeals to me about the Manaani way. The money. Lots and lots and lots of money. Well, that was up until recently… when my father sunk the entire family fortune into cryogenics research. Kiith’s blood, I can’t think of a worse investment. We’ll never see a meaningful return on such a useless idea.

Without further benefit of inheritance, I joined the Coalition in the hopes I could make a good living at a nice, stationary base, working on crawlers that other people would then drive around, avoiding any suspense more serious than surprise barracks inspection. But sure enough, first day out of basic training, and they send me driving off to certain doom.

Really, truly, I’m extremely afraid for my life pretty much every second. It’s not so much the Gaalsien. Gaalsien are powerful and scary, it’s true, but we know the Gaalsien. It’s this Kiith Khaaneph that’s got me. Mysterious, mythic even… wild men unencumbered by any sense of social welfare or greater good… somehow possessed of all the most lethal attributes of the modern military industrial complex. It doesn’t even make sense… and that’s why it’s SO SCARY!

The threat of Kiith Khaaneph looms large as we wait for them to reveal themselves and their dastardly plan at last… their phantom menace seems to cast its shadow over everything. I just know they’re on the other side of every dune waiting to kill me. Maybe they won’t today. Maybe not tomorrow or even next week. But before all this business is over, they’ll make their presence known, and no mistake! Whatever it is I’m doing out here, I just hope that it’s important and that I can somehow finish it before my untimely demise.

Correspondence concluded

Lego Ship Master Thread (Many Pictures!)
(Not actually Jesus Christ) #9

Completely. Amazing. :slight_smile:

(raw_bean) #10

Yep, loving these. :slight_smile:

(doci7) #11


Journal of Byjaar
Entry 1: 15 Myr 1108 KDS

This line of work has me rattled, as usual. Captaining an entire cruiser is precarious enough, but now that a whole band of marauders is starting to coalesce around my ship, my primacy could be challenged at any moment. Making choices that don’t include instant gratification is dangerous… or at least I’m afraid it is. I’m afraid of quite a lot, and the impatience of other khaaneph looking to me for direction is certainly not one of my lesser fears.

These are the kinds of concerns that today’s events brought to the forefront. As we meandered about, harbinging death both tither and yon, we had the dubious luck of chancing across a lone northerner vehicle. The rest of the crew had a palpable impulse to kill it immediately. I felt the same, of course, but you don’t generally get to be in charge of stuff if you’re merely a creature of instinct.

If I may digress slightly – and I may, because this is my journal and anyway I answer to no one – my thoughts often stray from the merely instinctual… indeed, far too often. Since these are my private memoirs, I’ll chance to concede to myself that when all is said and done, I’m not a very good khaaneph. The truth of the matter is, every so often, and perhaps against my better judgement, I… kind of… maybe sort of… believe in things… to my great shame.

The lack of belief just doesn’t come simply to me. Do we truly believe in nothing, or is nothing the thing we believe in? If I strictly don’t believe in anything, doesn’t that mean that I believe in not believing in anything?

It’s just so hard to avoid thinking about the really profound questions… the big ones. What is the meaning of life? Does free will determine our future, or is everything predestined? Who is supreme leader snoke?!?

Well, it’s a bad habit anyway, and now I’ve really digressed. The northerner vehicle. Under my orders, we’re tracking its movements covertly, waiting in ambush on the other side of every dune.

As I said, the lesser khaaneph who look to me would prefer to simply dispose of it here and now. But for a lone vessel of its size to have wandered this far, I have to believe it has done so in search of something worthwhile. Something my rag-tag fleet can claim without difficulty, if we merely have the patience to let the northerner lead the way…

Entry resolved

Lego Ship Master Thread (Many Pictures!)
(doci7) #12

Doubling up my entries today, since I prepared two… this one features some vehicles which sadly were not in the game, but which I have seen in some really fantastic concept art and were evidently models in the earlier, non-canon-Homeworld version of the game. So be on the lookout for those special added ships and see if you recognize them! I hope someone will…

Secure correspondence
Office of Security Minister Arduu
To the personal attention of his Eminence the K’Had Sajuuk

Your supreme Excellence, my office wishes to confirm that we have received your instructions. Rest assured that your plan will be executed with all possible expedience. And to momentarily editorialize, I must say that it is a very inspired plan indeed! Of course, you understand that deception is not our forte. Still the ruse is ingeniously simple, and I’ve no doubt that our people can carry it out flawlessly.
We continue to intercept and track the movements of the Northerner scouts, even as their ranks are added to day-by-day. I have included more of their transmissions with this correspondence so that you may remain well-appraised of the situation. May your profoundly meditative posture never cause your legs to cramp!!!

Rec. Arissah Manaan, Light Attack Vehicle C 5.87941

Still wandering; still hopelessly alive somehow. I know meandering is in my blood but I can’t seem to help getting cerebral about it. Do I just turn the wheel whichever way strikes me? Or what if I have some instinctual sense of where I’m going? In that case, if I’m really supposed to get lost, should I be making a conscious effort to steer in exactly the opposite way that I feel like steering? Or is my instinctual navigation smart enough to find the place I’m supposed to go, even if that place is lost? I don’t want to overthink this, but then again, is underthinking really any better? UGH!

About my only relief from these worries and from the constant threat of death is that Command sends me daily issues of “The Inspector”. Current events can often be dull, predictable, and disheartening, but at least it reminds me that there is still a whole civilized world out there where life happens and things make sense.

So let’s see, what did I read about today? That blowhard Jonas Baer promoting another book – the Somtaaw-Sa’s recent summit with K’Had Sajuuk himself, and how it is unlikely to mitigate Gaalsien war-posturing – ongoing Siidim demonstrations at the capital demanding better-than-equal rights.

Such snippets aren’t enough to fill the day though. My only other diversion comes when I find big boulders. When I do find them, I shoot at them. After all, I’d like to have some chance of surviving when I finally get ambushed, so I figure some combat practice is in order.

My figuring is two-fold. Firstly, I never drove one of these things before, so even the most rudimentary experience is probably of some benefit to me at this point. I think I’m a natural, so that’s good. By natural though, I do mean that I have not yet flipped the whole darned thing over yet. But actually, these death traps are much harder to roll than you might think. I may be pretty green, but trust me, I’ve seen things. More than a few times, otherwise perfectly terrestrial Coalition vehicles have found themselves performing some very complicated acrobatics while I’ve been watching. It’s been enough to make me question most of my assumptions about gravity. Somehow they always manage to land right-side-up though.

Anyway, the second reason I practice my attack maneuvers on boulders is that, as you may have figured by now, they sent me out without so much as a gunner. Let me tell you, the logistics of trying to perform high-speed evasive driving while also keeping a steady stream of fire on target (even a stationary target), should be enough to present any one person with a respectable challenge. I did hit a boulder once though, and I now consider that one of my great achievements in life. Probably one of my last, too.

I guess I should really be more positive. Failing that, I should at least resolve to spend less time despairing and more time resenting being sent out here like this in the first place. Surely nobody deserves to be exploited this way!

Armored Infantry Capsule PB 54.10143, Jopech Zyr, vassal 12th class

I don’t deserve to be honored this way!

Imagine! The highly elevated offices of our noble masters the Siidim have seen fit to entrust my most lowly self with the operation of this incredibly advanced vessel. It is unthinkable. I would have questioned their judgment, if not for the well-known fact that their judgment is far beyond question.

When they first approached me, and after I had performed a reasonable amount of groveling, they did reassure me that being a competent vehicle operator was not going to be important at all to my mission. That was of some comfort, but I still tend to prefer not to trust myself with any technology more sophisticated than basic cleaning equipment.

The masters also instructed me to keep an audio log, as this sort of mission is usually recorded for review and analysis. Apparently it is likely to be reviewed not only by the lordly Siidim Command, but also by the other, lesser Kiithid of the Coalition - those unfortunate souls who obviously don’t remember and can’t appreciate the great joy of serving Kiith Siidim; rather sad and ungrateful louts, I daresay. In their defense, I submit that being a 12th class Siidim vassal has some drawbacks, although none that are not entirely reasonable. Sure, they treat us like dirt, but that’s what they said we’re made out of, so it only makes perfect sense.

For the benefit of those Naabal tricksters and the whole sad lot of Kharakians who have scratched out the last few centuries pretending to have capacity for self-actualization, I should probably make some effort to explain what my life (a proper life) is like. My duties have traditionally been here at Firebase Sturgiin, where I am tasked with cleaning the immense concrete sand baffles after each sandstorm. I always say, ‘Here’s your Firebase, where’s your fire?’ I like to think that if I had been born legitimately sentient, I might’ve had a knack for little quips like that. Anyway the work is plentiful as sandstorms rarely strike at a rate of less than one per day, and the pay is very good, often allowing me to afford to eat. And I am granted lodging on the Firebase for free; some nights, I even get to sleep inside the baffle walls!

So let’s see how that compares to the life of a non-vassal Kiith. This should be easy to do as I have already worked out in my mind what the minutia of their lifestyle must surely be. They shuffle around every day, forlorn and downcast, constantly grappling with the question: ‘Am I really a self-aware entity?’ They are afraid to admit that the answer is no, so they keep trying in vain to pretend it is yes. It’s quite piteous to contemplate, and I don’t envy them.

Anyway I hope this simple presentation of the facts has convinced many ‘people’ of the obvious merit of rejoining the ranks of Siidim servants. If so, don’t thank me… I’ve rarely been thanked in my life and certainly have never developed a taste for it.

It seems that I haven’t had much to say that pertains to my mission. As I make my way past the grounds of the Firebase, I’m sure there will be more along those lines. Be assured I will not rest until I have found the snow-bound Gaalsien for the glory of the Siidim!!! This will be an expedient resolution since there doesn’t seem to be room to rest in this vehicle anyway.

Col. Kernelle Paktu, Heavy Attack Foil PHAF 74.14553

It’s a good day to fly! Hopefully tomorrow and all the next several days will be good days to fly too, ‘cause this thing’s got fuel for ages and all kinds of miles to search. Them antsy but otherwise-good-natured folks way up north are wound tighter than usual. Seems some Gaalsien have stumbled on a space ship of sorts and everybody’s convinced it’ll assure their technological supremacy and usher in a 1000-year reign-of-terror or somesuch. Well, maybe it’s ‘cause us Paktu don’t have much for space craft yet, but we don’t tend to pay the Gaalsien so much mind down here as they do up north, and the Gaalsi can usually be relied on to return the favor. Still, if those Kiithfolk think the wreck is so darned important, then we’re glad to lend a hand in the looking for it.

So here I be, trollin’ around in my old Attack Foil. Feels real good to take it up and away again. What with all the new guided missiles and smart munitions out there, they say fixed guns on an airship ain’t much use anymore. But hey, this thing’s got a BIG gun, and those never go out of style!

Anyway it’s a good long-range airship with plenty of use yet for scoutin’. Doesn’t stop them trying to fill it up to the brim with a bunch of useless new sensor gizmos. I’m an old fashioned gal I guess. Don’t care much for new sensor equipment; don’t see the use in it, since I already got the ultimate in detection hardware what was ever made… the genuine-issue Paktu sniffer. That’s right, my nose. I told them young’un technicians, “My ancestor found this here southern harbor with benefit of naught but two instruments… his left and right nostril. ‘I can smell the sea,’ he said!”

“We know,” them young’uns said, “he was our ancestor too. We’re all Paktu. Except that Manaan guy over there.”

But that’s just young folk for you. If there’s one thing they hate, it’s having to listen to wise anecdotes. The joke’s on them though… goin’ through all that trouble to install that new-fangled gobbledygook. ‘Cause the first thing I did after I got to altitude was to toss all that garbage right out the window! Tried to get a good whiff while I had the cockpit open, but you’d be surprised at the difficulties of opening the cabin at 12000 metres. Suffice it to say I didn’t get a very good sniff. Guess I don’t know what Gaalsien smell like anyway. The air did smell cold though, and that’s a good sign; they said wherever them Gaalsi wandered off to is fierce cold. So I s’pose I’ll follow this course for a while; let ya know as soon as I find anything!

Lt. Marvaud Soban, Baserunner SB 3.65192

Marvaud here… proudly putting the “S-O-B” in Soban since 1001 KDS.

Still no sign of the snow, if you were wondering. No crashed green alien space ships or Gaalsien patrols. Not much out here but me. I’m totally uncontested. But then, what else is new?

Been doing a bit of reminiscing out here, time being so plentiful, and diversions so few. Lots and lots of extremely manly adventures to recall in my past - wouldn’t you know – and it don’t much hurt my feelings to record a few of them in this log of mine.

I remember one time when I was young; a hunt I went on in the Seluseera Mountains. True, I might not have actually nabbed anything on the trip, but sometimes merely surviving is plenty tough enough business. I had quite a fall on that mountain trail; twisted my ankle real bad. Might’ve even swollen up a bit, if I recall. And the pain! Kiith’s Blood! The Qwaar-Jet himself couldn’t have dreamt up anything worse. I must’a walked a good hundred meters on it before finally – begrudgingly - heroically consenting to be carried the rest of the way out. Dang, but did I have a great girlfriend! Strong too. I had to let her go, of course… we Sobani don’t do marriage. Too mushy.

And I remember this other time I went to the Shallows. The ground was all covered in kind of this eerie green stuff – sort of like here actually – and… wait, what?! Holy pain and enslavement! Where did the real environment go? I mean, dang… this might not be that snow they were talking about, but it sure is something pretty awful weird! And I found it! Just goes to show what a great job I’m doing. Even better than I thought!

Those Gaalsien had better watch out. Because now I know I’m going to find them. And when I do, I’m going to have a nasty surprise for them. Wait and see!!!

Correspondence concluded