#Office decommissioning

[qualitygroupusa]

The Essential Guide to Smooth Office Decommissioning

Simplify your office decommissioning with our expert tips and strategies. Learn how to streamline the process efficiently.

[thresholdbb]

Holup, they’re all rocking the same inclement weather gear

[liquisdecom]

Is Office Furniture An Asset Or Expense?

Office furniture has significant effects on both the office environment and employee comfort. From ergonomic office chairs to spacious workstations, the right furniture increases productivity and improves the entire workplace atmosphere. However, in accounting, determining whether office furniture or other office equipment is a current asset or an expense can be more complex. In this article, we will look at the financial impacts of office furniture for businesses.

https://liquis.com/blog/office-furniture-asset-or-expense.html/

[liquidationcompanies]

Michael's Global Trading specializes in office furniture decommissioning services, ensuring a smooth transition when retiring or replacing your office furniture. Trust MGT for efficient and sustainable solutions.

[yukipri]

Clone File: Morbs (YukiPri OC)

Basic info:

Name: Morbs Number Designation: CC-4413 Generation: 1 (0.9) Rank/Title: Chief Mortician of the GAR, Kamino Chief Mortuary Trainer (former) GAR Affiliation: Entire GAR, primarily stationed with the 212th Attack Battalion Character status: YukiPri Original Character

Disclaimer: Morbs' story will likely make more sense if you've read The Prime Override, as he's introduced with context in this fic. He will also make more sense if you've read about the other 2 clone medics mentioned in this file, Ashe and Stabber.

Backstory beneath cut!

Overview:

Clone morticians are specialists even among medics. Every clone medic knows the basics of how to care for the deceased, but in war, priority must always go to the living. As such, it is common to find only one clone mortician per star destroyer or permanent GAR base, with greater numbers stationed in Tipoca City or various Republic medical centers.

Morbs, or CC-4413, is considered the Chief of this group of medical specialists. He is the originator of the division, and was assigned to develop both the position and the training curriculum of clone morticians in tandem with Ashe’s primary medical training.

Prior to the start of the Clone Wars and through the early war period, Morbs oversaw the Tipoca City Primary Clone Morgue, which processed all clone bodies. There, he managed biopsies, distribution of cadavers, and the care and processing of all of the bodies of his deceased brothers. He also trained other clone morticians who had completed general medical training prerequisites and were approved by Ashe, as well as future Chief Medical Officers who were required to have completed hands-on training time in the morgue to earn their certifications.

Morbs would have been content to remain in this morgue for life, but as the main body of the GAR prepared for deployment, it became clear that the number of bodies being processed on Kamino would plummet. Morbs was reassigned to the front lines, where his expertise would see more active use, leaving his morgue behind in the hands of his assistants. He primarily travels with the 212th Attack Battalion, but frequently visits medical centers and goes where he is needed.

Background:

Morbs was one of five Generation 0.9 CCs selected by Nala Se to begin the development of the clone medical track. While all subsequent medics are CTs, the Generation 0.9 CCs underwent manual age acceleration, putting them physically ahead of their Generation 1 peers in chronological age. Morbs and his fellow CCs were test subjects used to establish the start of the medical specialization path before their younger brothers were of age to begin that training.

As CCs, they are overqualified for the general medical training that Nala Se is building, and Nala Se quickly turns to using them for other experiments as well. Their unique position as the first experimental medical clones gives Nala Se more oversight over them than any other clones, with far less supervision as well. They are “her” clones to test as she pleases.

In the depths of her labs, Nala Se conducts experiments that she had been banned from conducting on standard troopers by the contract with the Prime Clone, Jango Fett. Morbs later learns that these tests would be considered “torture,” and are illegal in the Republic. He and his brothers are tested for the physical limits that clones can reach, including tolerance for exposure to various stimulants such as heat or chemicals, as well as sensory limits such as their maximum threshold for pain. She also experiments with the potential for building up tolerance and even immunity to various drugs and poisons. She takes all of the data she gains and incorporates them into the medical training for the clones—thus, ensuring that her tests still fall under the scope of “developing medical training.”

Two of the five CCs perish as a result of these experiments. Ashe is ordered to decommission the third when he fails to meet Nala Se’s standards. This leaves Morbs and Ashe as the only survivors of their initial group. They cannot speak of their experiences to anyone else, as Nala Se is the only other witness. Not even Kote knows what they experienced. Between the two of them though, they can never forget that their senior medical positions were earned with blood.

Morbs has always been a quiet but keen observer, and knew from early on that Ashe has reasons for wanting to be in the medical track, and that this is a path that he’s chosen and is motivated to push through. Morbs is brought into the Ghosts’ plans relatively early, and having had the most first-hand experience seeing just what Ashe’s position entails, he wishes he could do more to help his brother. However, Morbs is also realistic, and knows that he doesn’t have the same passion and dedication driving him. He does what he can, but he can’t see himself being the medics’ leader that Ashe is. He feels guilty for not being able to offer to take Ashe’s place, when he’s the only one in a position who could. He tries to make up for it by loyally following him, and doing what he can as a supporter.

In addition to not having the drive, Morbs also feels he is cursed with misfortune. While he excels as a medic and not even Nala Se can find anything lacking in his record, most of the patients that Morbs touches seem to end up dead for reasons unrelated to his skills as a medic.

He’s assigned to oversee a group of cadets, who end up having a fatal genetic mutation that gives them all heart attacks while he’s on observation. The wing with patients that he oversees collapses due to an architectural problem, and they all die. He’s conducting a surgery, when the power goes out, and he’s unable to save his patient with the tools he has available. He tends to some brothers, who leave his exam room fine, but are killed in a training accident a few hours later. He’s assigned to take over a simple check up, and finds his patient already dead before he enters the room.

Every additional incident makes him increasingly uncomfortable with working with living patients. He knows he has the skills, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because most of his patients end up dead anyway. Statistically, it’s not impossible, but after a certain point it’s certainly improbable, and yet it continues to happen. Clones are rarely superstitious, as they have no cultural basis for it, but Morbs feels that there’s something absurdly wrong with the amount of death that seems to follow him everywhere.

He only feels that he’s safe for his brothers when working with those already dead. He can’t kill them if they’re dead before they’re even assigned to him. When Nala Se announces that a new mortuary sub-track will be added to the primary medical track, Morbs dives for it because he can’t think of a better position for himself. If death follows him, he might as well embrace it.

As he and Ashe are given more access to resources including those from outside of Kamino to help them develop their respective training curriculums, Morbs finds himself increasingly interested in not just the practical aspects of death, but also the more cultural and spiritual elements as well. It’s sparked by his own unluckiness and wondering if others have experienced the same, but is fed by his curiosity when he realizes that most nat-born cultures have different ways of processing death and grief that are deeply engrained in how they handle their dead. Nat-born lives are for the most part extremely foreign and utterly irrelevant to anything clones will likely ever experience, but death is almost universal. Morbs finds this fascinating.

The clones are brusquely told that they “march on,” when they die, as Mandalorians do. But why? Where do they march to, with whom? What is waiting there? If that is the inevitable eventual fate of all of them, regardless of Ashe’s or Kote’s efforts, shouldn’t it perhaps be Morbs’ job as the Chief Mortician to at least consider what happens after?

While Morbs has no answers for the afterlife, he certainly has many thoughts, which he shares with the silent cadavers who he works with. It seems like they can hear him, he thinks, for all that none of his words are spoken out loud.

While sitting in on a Ghosts meeting as they develop code words for their growing underground organization, Morbs mentions off-hand that their brothers who are dead, but aren’t, are, “Marching on to join Kote.”

It’s not his fault that their overseers failed to really explain what “marching on” means, nor really instill any true understanding of “glory” either. So if they choose to define it for themselves, with “marching on” meaning to join their other brothers (who may or may not be dead), and “glory” as fighting for their brothers, something tangible that they actually understand and care for…well. They are, after all, supposed to die for the glory of the Republic anyway. No one will question the language.

While most of Morbs’ brothers are exceedingly practical, and must be, Morbs finds his niche in thinking about the not practical. If having ways of respecting and mourning the dead helps all other sentients, why shouldn’t it help them too? Morbs experiments with how he thinks their dead should be treated, and the bodies in his morgue are, as always, his silent audience.

He grows to consider the dead bodies in the morgue “his men” in “his army.” After all, those who are also marked dead, but are actually just with the Ghosts, are also allowed to “consider serving” despite being equally dead on record. And are not the bodies that he repurposes to hide the missing bodies, the dead whose organs and limbs save the lives of their living brothers, not also serving their brothers? Just because they were unlucky, like Morbs, doesn’t mean that they aren’t still being helpful, aren’t still actively saving their brothers. Because that’s all what any of them want to do: help each other.

Morbs assigns himself their Commander, as he is in charge of them, cares for them, and directs their “campaigns.” The rows of cold lockers that house their bodies are “barracks.” He talks to them, praises their missions, and grieves for them when they finally march on to their second deaths via cremation, only after which they are truly gone.

While none of Morbs’ students go to quite the same level as Morbs himself in humanizing their deceased brothers, he makes sure that all of them leave his morgue with a firm understanding that even when dead, their brothers are still their brothers. Pieces of his ideology and treatment of bodies linger in all of the medics who handle their dead.

Morbs treats the dead as his men because he wants them to be able to live on just a bit longer, but admittedly that’s not all. It’s something that also helps with his guilt over not being able to assist Ashe in his decommissionings. He can’t stop those deaths any more than Ashe can, and he can’t even share in the pain of murdering them. But he can promise them, and can promise Ashe, that once their bodies leave Ashe’s blood-stained hands, that Morbs will welcome them gently to his morgue. That they’ll be treated tenderly, with humanity, and that their existences won’t mean nothing. That if they’re capable of it, Morbs will do whatever he can to ensure that they too can serve Kote before their bodies are gone.

Morbs likes to think it offers Ashe some comfort.

General Info:

Most clones have only ever heard of Morbs, who is extremely elusive. Even after deployment, he rarely leaves the morgue wing attached to medical. Whereas Ashe feels a complicated mixture of self-loathing and knowing that he’s unwelcome in other spaces because all other clones loathe him too, Morbs is simple. He likes being with his men, they’re his favorite group of clones. The living get plenty of attention amongst each other. He just is happier with his own men, and prioritizes giving them his own attention.

He’s eccentric and more than a little creepy, but his reputation means that many of his brothers are very curious about him. He has a strict “no one alive past this line” rule at the entrance of the morgue, with very few exceptions, so not even those who try to catch a glimpse of him while visiting medical have much luck. Spotting him outside the morgue is both like an exciting cryptid sighting, but also potentially a bad luck omen. Morbs is oblivious to the excitement his presence causes, as he’s usually just in a rush to get back to the morgue.

Morbs is so mysterious that only a very limited handful of his brothers knows how truly odd his habits are. He has an assigned bunk, but ignores it and sleeps in a specially padded cold locker so that he can “sleep in the barracks with his men.” He calls it his favorite bunk, and tells the other medics he wants to rest there when he one day inevitably dies. He will sometimes forget to take care of himself, ignoring his own living needs to eat, drink, exercise, hygiene, etc. until a medic, usually Stabber, drags him out of the morgue to handle it. Stabber thinks Morbs is an example of how truly unfair their genetic enhancements are, because Morbs somehow maintains his solid CC-class physique with essentially zero effort on his part.

Unlike Ashe, who wants to be out in the field, Morbs never wants to leave his morgue for anything. Once he has been relocated into the morgue on the Negotiator, he only steps out when absolutely necessary. He doesn’t want to see the sights of the outside galaxy, doesn’t want to see the people or try the foods. He thinks all air outside of the morgue that is not optimized for the preservation of clone bodies is distasteful. He especially hates heat, sunlight, and humidity, insisting that it will “cause us to decay faster.”

The one exception to this is if there is a morgue, funeral, cemetery, or something else death-related going on. He learned about other cultures’ death practices, and he’s admittedly still curious about them too, mostly in the context of whether there’s anything else he can do to improve the experience for his men. If the ship is planetside and there’s supposed to be a famous cemetery, he might be seen quickly slinking outside, face completely veiled to avoid exposure to the elements.

Relationships:

Morbs maintains a close relationship with Ashe, though it’s one he’ll rarely show in front of others, always maintaining a professional distance if they have company. But Ashe is the only living person that Morbs will seek out for company, always while Ashe is alone. Morbs is the only one who knows the extent of what Ashe suffered during his early training, and had experienced much of it with him. He is concerned about Ashe, but doesn’t offer medical help, as he feels Stabber does that enough, and he doesn’t trust himself to think of Ashe as a patient; that never ends well. He will instead offer Ashe silent company.

Morbs claims to despise Stabber, especially since he’s the one responsible for taking him away from his morgue on Tipoca City and forcing him onto a star destroyer. Because Stabber is the CMO of the 212th, prior to Ashe joining them, Morbs is forced to interact with him the most. Morbs doesn’t like Stabber because he considers the other medic, “far too alive.” Stabber’s high energy, movement, and noise levels all grate on Morbs’ preference for stillness and darkness. Still, he reluctantly respects Ashe’s former assistant’s skills as a medic, and will follow his orders.

He also won’t admit it, but Stabber was the one who gave him his name. Stabber had a habit of announcing that Ashe’s work buddy “has the morbs,” a phrase he’d picked up from one of Ashe’s training resources that he claims means “has emo vibes.” Stabber liked the sound of the word so much that he began shouting it every time he encountered Morbs, and it ended up sticking. Morbs pretends he doesn’t care, but secretly thinks it’s fitting.

On the other hand, Morbs has a surprisingly amicable relationship with the Jedi he interacts with most frequently, Obi-Wan. He was very leery of letting Obi-Wan come anywhere near the morgue, not trusting an outsider with his delicate men who are unable to defend themselves. However, Obi-Wan found Morbs’ ruminations and philosophies fascinating, and was easily able to bait him into a conversation by expressing interest. Despite being surrounded by war, Morbs often seems strangely detached from it, preferring to speak less about the realities of war and the gears that move it, and more about why various cultures frame death and the afterlife in certain ways. While the conversations are often melancholy in nature, Obi-Wan appreciates the strange normalcy of it, knowing that Morbs would likely have these same questions regardless of whether there was a war. Morbs likewise is invested in hearing about death traditions from an outside perspective.

While the other clones aboard the Negotiator were at first both morbidly fascinated by Morbs, they were discouraged from actually interacting with him because he says things like, “You should not be in here, unless you are dead. Unless you would like to be dead, in which case I can help you,” or, “Oh, well you don’t look like you’re dying. How unfortunate.” However, they gradually realize that Morbs is not as aloof as he first appears.

He isn’t opposed to speaking, as long as it’s about his men. They realize that while Morbs refuses to let any curious bystanders or unqualified personel enter the morgue for no reason, he’s always eager to learn more about those in his care. Clones who have lost brothers can always count on him wanting to hear about the deceased, and if they’re present in his morgue, Morbs may even allow them to visit. When the first clone brings Morbs some flowers, because he saw that some nat-borns planet-side were laying flowers by the graves of their lost loved ones, Morbs is tickled by the action. Clones are not granted proper graves, and those in Morbs’ morgue are still “on duty.” But Morbs creates a little sterilized shrine in a corner of medical close to the morgue, where he collects these offerings and allows his brothers to visit. If the tablet Morbs laid there is turned a certain way, Morbs knows that one of his brothers wishes to speak to him about someone deceased, and he slinks out of the morgue to listen to them.

Because Morbs is the Chief Mortician, he not only processes the bodies that pass in front of his own hands, but he obsessively goes over the reports sent to him by all other clone morticians and standard clone medics, who are in charge of marking all final fatalities. As such, he has the most comprehensive knowledge of all deceased clones. On the rare occasions that they are able to conduct larger, collective remembrances, if Morbs is available, he will often be called to lead them.

Obi-Wan observes that Morbs is acting almost like a priest or other religious leader, but Morbs scoffs at the idea. He has no intention of leading a religion; he just cares about his men.

And all of the clones will join his army, one day.

Appearance:

Morbs wears a modified version of the clone mortician uniform, a black version of the standard softshell white medic uniform. As the Chief Mortician, Morbs wears a longer knee-length version of the uniform, along with a black kama over it to signify his CC status. He also has a rank bar, and red shoulder pieces to show his personal training from Nala Se, like Ashe and Omega. He technically has armor, but he’s never worn most of it since his fitting, and he doesn’t plan on wearing it either. His men serve without wearing armor, so why should he? If the ship is ever boarded, he intends on going down with his men in the morgue, a plan that no one will allow him to follow through on.

The one piece of armor he does occasionally wear is his helmet, which is a black version of Ashe’s. He must occasionally process bodies that have been exposed to hazardous conditions, and in these cases, he’ll don his helmet for its filtration and advanced sensors. He is so utterly uninterested in his own armor that it was left unpainted, and Ashe decided to paint it black for him, so it can match Morbs’ aesthetic preferences. While Morbs never acknowledged the gesture, he shows his appreciation by not protesting when he’s told to wear it.

After leaving Kamino, he grows his hair long and wears it loosely tied back, because as a non-combatant, he isn’t limited to practical hair styles. The exact length changes constantly as he uses his own hair to create wigs and patches for any of his men who may have had their own hair damaged. He refuses to share his hair with anyone who isn’t dead.

He also gets tattooed, two dark lines dripping down his cheeks from his eyes. He saw nat-borns with the look in some funerary documentaries he watched as a cadet. He doesn’t know that what he saw was nat-borns with running makeup, but he likes the look because it looks like a trail of permanent black tears on his face. He takes it to be a metaphor that he is always thinking of his men.

Morbs also has deep permanent bags under his eyes. This is due to a mix of him constantly forgetting that he needs sleep, along with him not wanting to sleep because he has so many thoughts to ponder.

While he usually just wears his uniform, he has a veil that he throws over his head whenever he has to step outside of the ship or Republic medical facility for any length of time. He also has an ornamental headdress he’s fashioned for special occasions, such as when he has to welcome an exceptionally large number of men to his army, is conducting a field cremation, or is leading a remembrance. The headdress is created from shards of plastoid armor he’s had to pull from his men.

Note:

Morbs’ designation, CC-4413, was chosen because the number 4 means “death” in many Asian cultures, due to how it sounds similar to “death” in many Asian languages, including but not limited to my own Japanese/Chinese cultures. Tetraphobia, or the fear of the number 4, is a thing! The number Thirteen is an unlucky number in other cultures. The number “4413” felt fitting for this character who is so immersed in death and bad luck!

~~

Related links:

Clone File on Ashe

Clone File on Stabber

OR

Read them all on AO3

~~

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❀ You can see the rest of my art through the Masterpost pinned to the top of my blog!

[stealthetrees]

Story time!

Fox was having a shity day, and then he was having a great day.

The usual bullshit, politicians, riots, criminal activity, syndicates after his head. He hadn’t slept in 30 hours. He was out of fucks to give.

Palpatine knocked a pen off his desk and asked Fox to pick it up. Fox went blind with rage and shot him on the spot.

Corrie guards standing outside the room poke their heads in, and see what happened. They congratulate Fox and gently chide him for not giving them more advanced notice as they respectfully arrest him.

Fox is in prison for about 27 minutes while they fake his death via stabbing by inmates he had arrested previously. He gets the CT number and armor of an ARC captain and is sent back to work, as per protocol.

Fox decides that this is an excellent time to take a team and go take out the leader of the Black Sun syndicate because they’ve been a pain in the ass for a while now. So he loads up a slug thrower and goes to kill Maul.

Somehow, news of what happened got around rather quickly and many people came to the marshal commanders office demanding an explanation.

Thorn, newly promoted, was not having a good time.

“Fox has been arrested” he explained patiently “he’s dead now tho so don’t worry about it”

“What does our decommissioned batchmate have to do with this?” Cody and Wolffe demand “we’re here about Fletcher”

Thorn forgot about Fletcher.

Well, he didn’t forget. How could anyone forget Marshal Commander CC-1010 Fletcher- oh wait.

Thorn realizes he has Fucked Up. He does not offer further explanation. He just sits down in the shortly little chair behind the shitty little desk in the shitty little office full of generals and commanders staring at him suspiciously and Thorn banged his head on the desk. Maybe if he knocked himself out he wouldn’t have to deal with this.

The universe decides to mock him further. Fives and Dogma, who are supposed to be dead, stick their heads through the door and somehow miss the huge crowd of people.

“Fox just got back and he gave us Maul’s head before heading up to blackmail a senator after dealing with that riot, what do you want us to do with it?”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Today, we have a bunker for sale. It's not as interesting as a decommissioned missile tower. "Originally constructed in the 1960s at a cost of $4.5 million, an equivalent value today exceeding $34 million, this bunker represents the pinnacle of security and resilience." Located in Polo, Missouri, 35 min. from Kansas City, it has 4bds, 2ba, $2M.

The entrance hall has an industrial look, but they tired to make the home look elegant.

It has 2 massive 3,000 pound blast doors, 2.5-foot-thick concrete walls, additional layers of earth & EMP-resistant copper shielding, plus an emergency escape hatch and a towering 177-ft communication tower.

it's roomy- look at the size of the living room. One must wonder why people decorate these with traditional furniture. It needs colorful, modern stuff.

There's a bar for entertaining.

One of the bathrooms.

This is a soundproof room- it's not as if there are any neighbors around, though.

They have a home office here.

Laundry and stuff. The self-sufficient home has a private water well, a pump, and a 10,000-gallon stainless steel water storage tank, all connected to a Water Filtration System.

And, here's your new hobby- it's a glass blowing studio. I wonder if the owner would teach the new owner how to use it.

Looks like a massive air system.

Above the workshop is a large loft area.

There's a family room- notice the windows above, they are for some of the bedrooms. There's also supposed to be a home theater room, but it's not shown.

On the 2nd fl. is the 2nd bath. Not liking the hole in the wall behind the toilet.

This is the kitchen.

This is an odd place to locate the kitchen w/all this other equipment.

Through the kitchen you can see the upstairs living room.

You can see that the kitchen is on the other side.

The bedrooms are off a hall off of the living room.

The bedrooms.

This area serves as a closet.

The plot of land is 10.5 acres and the real estate description suggests that you can built your dream home on it, over the bunker.

[oc-character-development]

Alright so I’ve been mostly quiet about the Ghosts front on here but it’s still my favourite comedy program (other than red dwarf) because I’ve been mourning and obsessing (much to my friends who haven’t seen the show’s annoyance) over the show’s last season and end.

Anyway I was reading the Ghosts companion for the 50th time since October and I realised a few things (sorry for the essay in advance)

1) the Captain’s death day is either the day before, on or just after the day Julian was born (Julian was canonically born the day after VE Day in 1945, The Captain died either on or just after VE Day, the 8th May 1945)

But more importantly,

2) this fucking thing:

So we all know who this is right? Of course we do, it’s Lieutenant/Major Anthony P Havers, the love of The Captain’s life (it’s probably fair to say that isn’t it). Well, look at the description- ‘Photograph of an unknown soldier found in the Commanding Officer’s belongings after Button House was decommissioned at the end of the Second World War. ’ Now there are two things that don’t seem right about the description to me:

1) Havers is referred to as an unknown soldier.

2) Found in the CO’s belongings upon the decommissioning of Button House.

Let’s tackle the first thing first, as it’s pretty easy, there’s a likely chance that it’s been enough years that the people who made the ‘home fires: records from the British front’ records that Alison is printing in the book doesn’t know who Havers was and couldn’t find any information about the person in photo. Perhaps because there weren’t any records and photos beyond that matching Havers or sometimes there just aren’t any records of the soldiers. There is another option, a sadder option is the reason why they couldn’t find information on Havers is because he may have died young. We know he didn’t die in the war but there’s a chance he died soon afterwards, perhaps in a ‘disgraceful’ way, but I guess we’ll never know.

The second thing, the Captain wasn’t there at Button House when it was decommissioned. He was in Weymouth from the end of ‘44, and the next time he was at Button House was the day he died, and he didn’t have a bag on him or anything so….how was this photo from his belongings in Button House after the war?

My theory is that the photo either fell out of The Captain’s pocket when he climbed in through the kitchen window or was found in his personal effects at Weymouth after the war when Button House was decommissioned.

Sorry for this bad unnecessary essay but what I’m trying to say is that I think there definitely was more tragedy surrounding the Captain that he maybe didn’t witness himself after he died beyond Havers grieving for him.

[cc1010fox]

Alpha: These "jokes" about murdering the chancellor that you sent to your commanders are treasonous. You'll be decommissioned.

Fox, leaning back in his chair and opening a line in his comms: Alpha-17, this is Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard. I have an Alpha here threatening to have me decommissioned over my dark sense of humor.

Alpha-17, over the comms: Can he hear me?

Alpha: ...Yes?

Alpha-17: Good. I was part of the decision to assign Commander Fox to the head of the Coruscant Guard. Are you questioning my judgement?

Alpha: N-no? I just--He talks about killing the chancellor--

Alpha-17: Your lack of sense of humor shouldn't threaten the Republic, which it will if you interrupt Commander Fox's work.

Alpha: I--S-sorry...

Alpha-17: Just get your shebs out of his office so he can get back to work. He's the busiest clone in the clone army.

Alpha: Yes, sir!

Fox, after the Alpha leaves: Thank you, buir.

Alpha-17: Any time, ad'ika. If he bothers you again, I'll confirm he was a threat to the Republic if you decide to shoot him.

Fox: You're the best.

[shiroikabocha]

imagine if part of the US government was working on decommissioning all our spy satellites and turning them into deep-space telescopes, and then another part of the government was pissed off that we weren’t using the spy satellites to coordinate drone strikes anymore, so they engineered a complicated plan to shift public opinion back towards drone strikes, but all they managed to do was explode the space shuttle and kill everyone on it, and THEN twenty years later there’s a knock on the door of the Oval Office and it’s the severed actuator arm of the destroyed space shuttle and it’s pointing a gun at the president and it says YOU EXPLODED MY FAVORITE TECHNICIAN YOU BITCH

and that’s Ancillary Justice by Ann Leckie

[qualitygroupusa]

Quality Group: Leading Office Decommissioning Services Provider

With specialized decommissioning services for all industries, Quality Group is your partner in ensuring safe and compliant facility closure.

[oonajaeadira]

A Welcome Home At Resolution Ranch

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle / Jack "Whiskey" Daniels

Pairing: Jack Daniels x reader

Reader: Adult female. Former agent, now the manager at a guest ranch. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T. Fluff.

Warnings: A little bit of angst, but on the edge of healing

Summary: When the news comes through that Jack met his end in Cambodia, you know better.

A/N: Well howdy, friends, and welcome to a good, soft, fix-it fic. What inspired this? @writeforfandoms did when she sent in an ask for a game....

"I wish you would write a fic where Jack is fine and nothing hurts and there are stars in the sky and there is plenty of banter and softness. Maybe horses."

Since her birfday is this week and writing Jack for each other is a love language, this is especially for her. <3

“You sure I’m ready to go on my own?”

Charity is a good girl. A little accident-prone at times, sure, but it’s mainly out of a lack of confidence. She’s got a real knack with the horses though, and you’ve learned to let her be on hand whenever the ranch has new guests check in; that million-watt smile of hers is worth a welcome mat covered in gold. She is Jack’s kin in every way, except he sucked up all the ego in the family and left little over for his niece.

Handing her the roster clipboard, you grant her an approving grin. “You grew up on these trails. You know them better than I ever will. You’re every ounce the guide any of us are. Now you’ve got eight guests riding with you this evening, two of them are about your age, and pretty handsome young gentlemen. You’re about to win the hearts of some suitors with that sweetness of yours…and if not, then for sure their grandparents. Have fun. Oh,” you remember, pointing to a name on the roster, “this lady here is a bit of a tick, but she has it bad for Morgans. Put her on Sasha and she’ll be shining so bright there’s nothing gonna dim her stars.”

“But Sasha’s your horse.”

“She won’t mind. Now get. And remember–”

Charity rolls her eyes. “Don’t let anyone tell me that they know horses better than I do, I know.”

“Good girl. Now you do a good job on your first solo run and I’ll have a big surprise waiting for you when you come back, hear?”

“I’m not a kid. I don’t need a reward.”

Turning the girl around by the shoulders and sending her off in the direction of the stables, you refrain from swatting her playfully, showing her the respect of a coworker. “And I’m not baking you cookies either. I’m not going with you tonight because I have something I gotta do. You’ll get the benefit of that thing whether you do a good job or not. I was trying to be encouraging.”

Her black braid swings down her back as she walks off to her task–both excited and scared, clutching the clipboard with both hands. 

“Oh, and Charry?” She stops to turn and listen. “Don’t put anyone on Whiplash. Leave her in the stable tonight.”

Once she’s given you a nod and marched out of sight, you wander back into the main lodge and relieve everyone for a few hours. You’re ready to take the front desk on your own. No worries, you explain, there’s only one guest booked to come in in the next hour and everyone else is out on the twilight ride. You’ll take it from here.

Once the lobby is quiet, you prop yourself out on the porch in a rocking chair with your boots up on the railing, tip your hat down low, and keep your eyes on the horizon--gradually more pink and gold by the minute--where any cars coming over the mile-long driveway can’t pass your notice.

It’s been six years now since you were secretly decommissioned from Statesman and your agent status revoked. Emotional trauma is a hell of a thing, and some agents take a beating. When head of the organization deems an agent unfit for duty with needs of long-term recovery and care, it’s their call to order it and–with the help of one other top officer–secretly install the probationed agent in a situation where they are anonymous and removed from any society that they could harm or could harm them. The organizational file would relate how the agent was killed in action, with the true story being kept by the two in charge. A total erasure of personage, total disappearance.

If and when the agent passed an evaluation and elected to return, they became extremely valuable as a secret operative, since everyone would assume they were deceased. 

If they decided not to return, the agency made sure they were provided for. For life.

Sometimes they came back; thrill of the hunt, what they know best and all that. But overall, the return rate was low. Something about a slow down calls after a life of deception.

In your case, Jack was chosen as Champ’s second and–having always been one of the only agents that damn cowboy liked working with–suggested you head up his family ranch for your rehab period. Tasked you with making it a nice working vacation ranch for families. Came out and visited you often enough to make sure you were getting on.

And, of course, to make sure you were getting off too. 

There was a lot of hay on property, and Jack was a damn nice rolling partner. Said that he liked that he never had to pretend with you. Not now, not ever.

And you always felt exactly the same.

But the timing was never perfect. And the world had always needed one or the other of you to save it.

Distractions.

After the requisite five year probation, Champ and Jack made the ceremonial trip out and asked if you’d like to be re-evaluated and “reborn”. As much as you’d been itching during the first couple of years to get back in the game, the quiet life had softened your body and won your heart. You’d gained the trust of the employees. Knew all the horses and their idiosyncracies by heart. It had become your home. Walking away to spend days without sleep, lying, taking lives without stopping to think twice….just didn’t appeal anymore.

With Champ’s understanding, you had respectfully retired, and with Jack’s blessing, you’d planted yourself permanently. The ranch was your calling. Your heart. Even with some of Jack’s relatives working and living here it could get lonely at times, but then you’d catch yourself watching the fireflies in the sunset or riding Sasha through a particularly pretty meadow and everything seemed right with the world.

And hells. If the lack of companionship was the only thing you had to complain about, well the universe must have heard. It’s rung the hospitality bell for you.

Taking the letter out of your pocket, you glance over it one more time. An announcement of an agent down. Cambodia. Drug conspiracy. Agents Galahad, Galahad, and Merlin of Kingmen, London. Agent Whiskey showing mental trauma and poor judgment. A violent engagement. A meat grinder. Signed by Head Agent Champagne.

So that’s the story they assigned him, huh. A meat grinder? Really? So stupid. But then, you got to assist in penning your own death, so it makes all the sense in the world that Jack got to have a say in his. Of course he was going to go out in the corniest way possible, of course he was.

Tsk. A meat grinder. Jesus.

Before long, the stars are starting to peek out and there’s a plume of dust on the horizon. Then a black car at the core of it, making its way along the drive. By the time it pulls up in front of the porch, you’ve hidden the letter back in your pocket, stood and made your way to the bottom of the steps. 

Two doors open. From the front a driver emerges, short and sturdy, young and hale, heading for the trunk to retrieve luggage. But when the back door opens, there’s the duo of a boot and a Stetson which emerge together then unfold into a tall, cool drink of Jack Daniels.

It’s a showdown at twilight, but you both keep your hearts in your holster for the time being and instead reach for your sass. “Driver? This here’s a working ranch, so you can just leave the luggage. Guests here are required to haul their own.”

They do as they’re told with a nod, dropping two suitcases and a duffel in the dust. The whole time Jack stands, unmoving, hands on hips, watching with a bemused incredulity as the driver then simply gets back behind the wheel and literally drives off into the sunset, leaving Jack's bags like carrion.

“Well shit. Is that any way to welcome a man home?”

“Maybe I just wanted you all to myself, cowboy. You ever think of that?”

There’s a delicious moment underscored by cricket strings that allows for both of your grins to stretch to full capacity.

But still, he’s a man whose wind has abandoned his sails and you both know why he’s here. It doesn’t mean he’s not still Jack Daniels though. And while he might not come at you with an oppressive swagger, he still comes to you, the cockiness giving way to a genuine fondness.

“Well. Hello, gorgeous.”

“Let me guess,” you tease, opening your arms to guide him to his landing, “You have a pack of cold ones and your roomie’s out so I can scream your name as loud as I want.”

His embrace is more than just happiness to see you. It’s heavy with relief, with longing. He needs it from you as much as you from him, and he hums low into your neck as he lifts you so that your toes just leave the ground before plopping you back down. This is the point where the usual hug might end, but he stays. He stays just a few more breaths and you can tell he’s taking a cure in the moment.

“Come on, cowboy,” you hum into his shoulder. “Let me help you with these bags. I prepared the best room in the house for you.”

Silently, you both heft a suitcase and he takes the extra duffel, and you make it up the stairs of the main house to the biggest bedroom and flip on the light.

“Isn’t this your bedroom, Brandy?”

Throwing a suitcase on the quilted bed you shake a finger at him. “Uh uh uh, that’s not my name anymore, Whiskey.”

He follows suit, unburdening himself. “And that’s not mine. Belongs to Ginger now.”

You can’t--and won't--hide your delight. “Well hot shit. Good for her. She’s always wanted to go out into the field.” But it’s also bittersweet. It's been six years. “How is my girl?” 

“Oh, she’s doing real fine. Took over as Champ’s right hand when I went out and Tequila hopped the pond to work for those Brits.”

“Damn. Well, I’m proud of her. I wish I could tell her. If I could have just had one more agent to keep in touch with….wait.” Something in Jack’s little smile gives you pause. “Waaaaait a minute. Did she–???”

He finishes the thought for you. “With the transfer of title, she also became Champ’s number two. So she’s got access your retirement file. I’m sure she’ll be booking a vacation here soon enough.”

Turning to the window and clamping a hand over your mouth, you hold your own reflection and do your best to keep the tears for later. It’s been six years and your old friend is in Kentucky right now, finding out any day now that you’re not dead after all, that you’re only a plane ride away. A long dreamed-for reunion is coming. Oh god. 

But Jack’s here now, and he’s going to need your support. And of course he’ll demand your attention–”You never answered my question. Where are you sleeping if I’m in here?”

Turning to him, you wink. “Who said I was moving out of this room?” His blush signals that you’ve just out-Jacked Jack Daniels. Stepping in closer, you take his hand. “Hey. I just wanted to give you a view of the stables. If you want me here, I’ll share the room with you. If not, the guest room is free and I’m comfortable sleeping there too. This is your home now, cowboy. I want you to see the sun in the morning. Give you a reason to get up every day.”

“Sunshine’s wherever you are, partner. It’d actually be real nice to have a reason to stay in bed.”

His words spread through you like a good bourbon. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.” It’s a warm moment, new for both of you. Instead of the thrill of the promise of sharing a bed and the obvious adventure that awaits, you have something now that you both never had before–time. Time to hold. Time to breathe. Time to heal and take it soft and slow. “Come on, cowboy. I wanna show you something.”

Picking up his Stetson from the bed, you place it lovingly on his head, your fingertips lingering as they trail down his sideburns. He wears the hat well, and the facial hair. And the deep adoration. Before he gets lost in the moment, you lead him out of the main house and down toward the stables.

“So. A meat grinder.”

He grins as he watches his feet, big hands swinging at his side. “Can’t blame a man for people wanting to remember his demise. That one’ll be talked about.”

“Little over the top, isn’t it?”

“That’s the way I went in, apparently.”

“Stupidest death I’ve ever heard of.”

“But you’ll remember it, won’t you.”

Rolling your eyes, you lead him to one of the front stalls of the stable. “Yeah, but I’d never believe it. Jack Daniels? Taken down by an unarmed, unstable agent and his apprentice? This hulk of a man tossed around and yanked into a grinder as if there’s one big enough to take you?”

“You’re real hung up on the meat grinder part, aren’t you. You do know the target was actually processing people and making them into burgers, right? I don’t see why it’s so unbelievable–” But he stops like stone when you reach your target stall. “Is that…Well slap my chaps. That’s the prettiest mustang I’ve ever seen.”

“You like her?” Clicking your tongue, the lithe and beautiful bay immediately comes to you, tossing her mane, ready for the apple you’ve got on offer. And when you hide it behind your back, she knows to put her nose to yours, to nuzzle you gently. “This is Whiplash. Fast as a shooting star and twice as bright. Picked her out myself. Helped Charity to train her up, which is why she’s also sweet. That girl has the patience of a saint. Must get it from the other side of the family. But this mare was a passion project for both of us. Thought you might like to claim her,” you say, handing the apple over to him and, with it, Whiplash’s attentions. “Anytime you need to clear your head, she’ll run you to the moon and back.”

Jack holds out the apple reverently with one hand, running the other along the mare’s neck. “Always wanted a mustang. Thought I’d have to settle for the automotive variety. They’re not the kind of horse you keep at a pedestrian ranch for just anyone to ride.”

“I know. It was meant to be a surprise for your next visit. But now that you’re here to stay, she’s even more yours than she was before.”

Now it’s Jack’s turn to hold those tears for later, his beautiful brown eyes gathering up all the rising moonlight. Swallowing hard, he gives you a nod, a thanks that he can’t put into words just yet. Instead, he deflects. “Where is my favorite niece?”

“Your only niece is out leading a twilight ride. It’s her first lead. I told her I’d have a reward waiting for her when she got back as long as all the guests are alive and kicking. She doesn’t know you’re coming yet.”

He nods. Goes back to petting Whiplash. The full day and the journey finally come to settle on him and all his thoughts seem to rise to the surface and float in his tired expression.

You reach out. Hook a finger in his belt loop and give it a coy tug. “Hey. Can I ask you...what happened, Jack?”

He has to take a breath. Two. Then he gives Whiplash a final pat and takes your hand, weaving it through the crook of his arm, and you wander out into the darkening pasture together.

The mission was nearly doomed from the start. With Tequila down and Harry still recovering and Eggsy still green, it was just a mess. It didn’t help that his heart wasn’t in it, that he kept thinking about his loss so many years ago, that maybe it was better if all the addicts were just taken down in one fell swoop so they could stop hurting themselves and everyone else. Running the New York branch and distribution on top of fucking saving the world every five minutes–the burnout was getting to him and just made him fixate more. 

Harry saw through him but misinterpreted his reluctance. Harry shot him to take him out of commission, knowing full well that Ginger could fix him. Jack went back into action too soon, too hot. Went straight to Cambodia. Joined in the fray. Ended up taking out his rage on Poppy and brutally jamming a needle in her neck, overdosing and killing her rather than neutralizing her and taking her in as he should have. Harry and Eggsy were kind. Stood up for him with Champ. Helped to corroborate a story so he could step down. Jack let the record show that they were the heroes so they could go back to the Kingsmen in triumph and he could heal in peace.

This is what surprises you the most.

That Jack let himself go down as the bad guy.

“You could have just said you were taken down by one of Poppy’s men and walked away a martyr.”

He simply watches the first fireflies come out in answer to the first stars, squeezes your hand a little tighter, shakes his head. “If I’d had my head in the game, a good agent wouldn’t have died. Merlin. His name was Agent Merlin. Damn fine man. And if Harry and Eggsy hadn’t been the excellent agents they are, my lapse of judgment could have killed a lot more folks. This is my way to atone.”

“And there’s no way in hell you’d let anyone think you got taken down by some nameless thug.”

“Shit. Got me there.”

All you can do is show agreement with a knowing nod. “You know, when I first came out here, I couldn’t wait to leave. But you knew, didn’t you. You knew that I needed this.”

“I did.”

“Cocky bastard,” you mumble in loving admonishment. “Did you understand that you were nearing the end too? That you were sending me out here to give me time to be ready to bring you home?”

“I wasn’t aware of it at the time, probably a little too confident to ever think I should stop.” He turns to you, a sweet little apology in the corner of his smile. “But maybe a little part of me knew.”

“Yeah, that little part of you has gotten me into trouble before.”

He huffs a little laugh, tilts your chin up with a knuckle. Still holding your hand and sliding it inside his jacket against his chest he whispers, “Ain’t the part I was talking about, sweetheart.”

When he kisses you, it’s a different Jack than the one you used to settle for on occasion. This Jack is ready to put down his revolvers and his whip, ready to concentrate on himself, on you, on a life far from trouble. His kiss holds in it the promise of summer sunsets and long trail rides, of barbecues and lemonade and lazy mornings sleeping in. And there will be stars that are brighter...and nights under them for just the two of you. It’s a kiss that leaves no doubt that there will be many more to follow, each one with its own brand of sweetness and a happy ending well-earned.

No more distractions.

Time enough.

_____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

[liquisdecom]

Where To Dispose Of Old Office Furniture

     Sometimes, moving to a new site, decommissioning a facility, or just wishing to update the aesthetics of the work environment require getting rid of old office furniture and merchandise. The success of every business depends on having a nice working environment, which may occasionally be achieved by doing something as easy as changing an outdated desk or chair.

  Here are some things to consider if you decide to get rid of your company's outdated office furniture.

https://liquis.com/blog/disposing-old-office-furniture.html/

[fanfic-obsessed]

Actual Traitors?

Here’s a new what-if for you, be warned for I have no idea where this might take us. Also, as ever, I’ve barely met canon. So please forgive any contradictions to the actual canon. 

It starts with a question: What if Palpatine’s Grand Plan had been ever so slightly different?

Palpatine wanted more than the utter destruction of the Jedi, he wanted more than for Jedi to be forgotten or made myth. He wanted their name to become poison for a thousand years. And yes declaring the Jedi traitors and Order 66 almost gets you there, but there were too many that remembered the Jedi fondly, or at least specific Jedi fondly, for it to have long term lasting power. Plus, with the Jedi dead ‘Forgotten’ happens way easier than ‘betrayer’. 

So Palpatine changes the plan slightly. The clone wars still happen as before. Dooku still  leads the separatist (though he manages to hide his identity as a Sith) and the Jedi and clones are still sent to fight and die by beings who by and large have no vested interest in lessening the loss of life. There is still no coherent, consistent idea of what winning would look like. All to Palpatine’s design. 

But it is not meant to end in Order 66 this time, no the plan is a little different. The war had two main purposes. The first to entrench Palpatine’s power deep enough that, when the time is right, he can take full control. The second was to make the Jedi love the clones, to make them protective, to make them mourn each clone life lost.  To that end Palpatine, to the extent he is able, ensures that the natborn officers stationed with the Jedi are odious and look down on the Clones as less than sentient.  The missions may be framed differently but Palpatine’s goal is to tie the clones and the Jedi together and begin to become insular. 

Three years in, Dooku surrenders and the war is won.  An armistice is signed and just, just as the combined Jedi/Clone forces begin to relax, begin to believe that that the Clones could be folded into the Order and they could move toward the future, Chancellor Palpatine knocks over the last domino. 

One of his lackeys, carefully not connected to him, brings up a motion. It is timed down to the exact moment for maxim effect. This lackey motions in the rotunda that, now that there is no war, there is no need for a standing army. But…the answer is not to give the clones sentience, it is to decommission all of them on the basis that the droid factories had been shut down. The speech was crafted to be as belittling to the clone sentience as possible, each word worse than the one before. There were also other lackeys strategically positioned through the rotunda to make it seem like the motion had much more support than it actually did (Really any support is too much, but it did not have near enough to pass). 

Palpatine felt the spark of fear shoot through the Coruscant Guard and the horror through the Jedi in the room. A heated debate sparks as the clones and the Jedi slip from the room. That the debate ended with the motion being shouted down doesn’t matter. That it was even entertained enough to be debated did the damage that Palpatine wanted.  Damage he furthered by passing on ‘rumors’ he had heard to Anakin Skywalker. Rumors that made it seem as though there were secret deals going on and the next time the motion was brought up it would pass and the clones would be killed. 

It had the effect that Palpatine wanted. The Jedi, fearing for the lives of the clones, drove themselves from the Republic (taking the clones and the ships with them, of course. Also the temple, which is space worthy), even taking Dooku with them (It should be noted that Anakin, well Anakin did abduct his senator wife and her retinue, and he is not letting them leave or contact the senate-Anakin is wanted for questioning by Coruscant's police force). 

Palpatine was able to spin their leaving as gathering their army and leaving, pointing out that this army was ordered FOR the Jedi.  It is not hard to arrange some incidents that make it appear to the Jedi that the Senate/Republic is hunting them and the clones, backing them into a corner where they have to fight back, while making it look like the Jedi and their army are taking the place of the Separatists. Dooku is with the Jedi, and is rapidly able to worm his way into several council member’s good graces, particularly as it seems like he was right all along about the republic. This throws the Republic back into a conflict, where Palpatine can continue to build his empire.

Here’s the part where Palpatine’s plan falls apart. The Jedi taking the place of the Separatist- lashing out because they are not being allowed to leave and being propagandized as the aggressor- only works as long as the Jedi act like the Separatists and keep acting as the aggressor. Except the Jedi do not react like they were supposed- which was to get so fed up that they decide they must strike first, for safety- instead they continue to retreat. Further and further from the core, and then into Wild Space at the edge of the known galaxy.  

To be clear the Jedi did not intend to leave the galaxy to its own mess, but from their perception they needed to protect the clones and they did honestly think they were escaping just ahead of a purge of the clones. Even Jedi like Pong Krell, because Palpatine’s plan required the Jedi to be exposed to the sentience of the clones as often as possible, so the missions tended to emphasize that.   

Here are some notes from the universe:

There are not actually many habitable planets in Wild Space, but the Agricorps was able to get some Hydroponics bays working on some of the ships, also some of the non habitable planets, and also the temple. So there is no worry about food. Also they figure out how to turn the waste into fuel for the ships. So the Jedi and clones are self-sustaining.

Some Jedi are still called to find Force Sensitives in the Galaxy, though the birthrate of Force Sensitives does drop sharply, outside of the procreation of various Jedi and clones (Please note that genetics has little to do with Force sensitivity). 

Obi Wan Kenobi is not the only Jedi to end up with a haram (or as part Cody’s Haram, no one is truly sure who the rotating group of Jedi, clones, and assorted others actually belong to, but everyone seems happy) but they did take the most scientific and enthusiastic view of experimenting with the Force in sexual situations. There are currently a dozen papers written and waiting to be reviewed, and replicated.  There is a lot of partner sharing. It is, however, not the Kenobi/Cody Polycule that needs to explain to the medics how they found out that Fox is somehow allergic to some highly salacious Force abilities (Quinlan Vos and Ventress were both involved. Fox is on record as saying it was worth the hives and the three day med bay stay, but it was not worth the video of him rambling while high that resulted). 

The Combined Jedi/Clones do end up abducting other sentients from formerly Republic Space. Or at least that is what the Empire Propaganda would tell you. It was less an abduction and more asking. Anakin did end up abducting Padme, her 13 body doubles, and 6 other bodyguards during the mad dash to exit the republic (somewhat forcibly). Over the course of 5 years the Jedi quietly collect the family of those 19, and others. 

Palpatine’s Empire lasted a total of three years before he was overthrown and killed. An Empire existed for another 10 years, with a variety of Emperors (none of which lasted even as long as Palpatine). Then the centralized government collapsed into system governments. It would take another 50 years for a Republic to begin to form again, still sans Jedi.

[sapphixxx]

Signalis, Authority, and History

There's a level of nuance to how Signalis presents the violence of the authority of the nation that doesn't call attention to itself but which I really appreciate. Which is basically just, all the officers and cops and spies who make life hell for people like the Gestalt mine workers, Ariane, and the Itou family--we get little glimpses into who they are in Adler and Kolibri's diaries and despite the propaganda and the authoritative tone they take in official communications, for the most part they don't seem to actually be particularly invested in the hard line of national ideology. They uphold it though, viciously, both because things were worse under imperial rule (we don't get hard details on what it was like but it's mentioned in passing enough that I believe it) and because they're scared that if they don't they will be decommissioned and easily replaced. They are literally stamped out of a production line after all. There's a subtext of well, if I don't do it my replacement will anyway and I'm not trying to die so what's the point of rocking the boat?

I think Kolibri stands out to me most clearly on this because in communications from the block warden regarding Ariane there is emphasis put on how it is unacceptable and suspicious that she should be so interested and invested in art and literature that does not serve the purpose of furthering the goals of the nation. But we know that Kolibris themselves are bookworms, Adlers are fiends for stimulating experiences, and both get miserable FAST when deprived of art and puzzles and entertainment and hobbies. Y'know, just like anyone. Far be it from being a paragon of The Nation only interested in productive labor, we are reminded that the block warden, too, hates this shitty town and wants to transfer but is denied. They're hypocrites, but not monsters, nor brainwashed puppets of the state.

The monstrousness at play is not contained within any particular subset of evil individuals, or even an inherent universal force of evil contained in the broad notion of The Nation. There is no cosmic evil force that makes them all do these things to each other. The monstrousness is within the social systems, the mechanisms of how authority perpetuates on a structural procedural level, held in place by fear and tangible threats of violence, each link in the chain restraining the next through those threats out of fear that if they don't, then they'll be next. Regardless how many, if any, of those people in this chain are true dogmatic hardliners, they must act as such because failing to do so opens them up to danger.

Here then I think of the quote that is so prominent, "Great holes secretly are digged where earth’s pores ought to suffice, and things have learnt to walk that ought to crawl", from Lovecraft's The Festival. This is not just a chilling abstract visual that conveniently evokes a mineshaft-- in Lovecraft's story, this line refers to worms which ate the decomposing bodies of wizards whose wretched souls had remained after death, complete with the terrible powers they gained through contracts with demons. Those worms inherited both their power, and also the evil. The Nation, despite having overthrown the Empire, is built on imperial technology, in particular Replikas and bioresonance. So too, then, we can imply that The Nation inherited with those things some of the monstrousness of The Empire as well. There is no end of history, nor clean break with the past, no matter how violently it may seem to be rejected. That which remains from the past--and something inevitably always does--creates the present.

This is a game that is not shy about evoking East Germany. And I think all of this provides a sophisticated picture of repressive authority that we rarely see in fiction of the English speaking world, especially in games. The year the S23 incident takes place is notably 84, but, frankly, I find this to be more compelling and illustrative than 1984 (and I'm a librarian and have taught English classes so I get to say that). Orwell, let's be honest, presents a fairly one dimensional picture of authority, where people seize power and wield it against others out of seeming mustache twirling evil or malice.

Here though we get a more humanistic view. Authority did not come from nowhere and is not wielded arbitrarily out of gleeful cruelty or mindless brainwashed allegiance. People aren't "just following orders". Individuals have rich inner lives. They make decisions, and those decisions are based in the context they're in. Even the decision to carry repressive tools of the past into the present is a decision that was made strategically with the big picture in mind. Nobody woke up and decided to be evil that day. Everyone operates on self interest, and, we must assume, an earnest desire for things to get better. Even the [spoiler] program which served as an inspirational demonstration of The Nation's power, you can imagine the chain of officers and bureaucrats who genuinely wanted the people of the nation to believe in the future, to confidently trust that everyone was working together towards something great and beautiful. And, through a long chain of those people who couldn't say "No" without being decommissioned, we ended up with something unbelievably cruel.

We get to know Adler and Kolibri and the other officers not to say well they're human too, maybe it wasn't so bad that they condemned all those people to agonizing suffering, but to remember that if we keep looking for true monsters we will not find them. There are no monsters and there are no demons. There are only people making decisions. A better world is possible. A better world, where Adler is just a paper pusher who does puzzles after work instead of signing papers to authorize torture, where Kolibris are librarians instead of spies and cops, where EULEs can gossip and play piano and ARARs can do maintenance on facilities that don't contain torture rooms, is one that would not have led to the Ariane and Elster's tragic cycle and ultimate end.

Authority and its attendant cruelty is not contained, radiating forth from The Great Revolutionary and Her Daughter, it is within the social systems of control. When those two women die, that cruelty will continue so long as those social systems continue. Like Lovecraft's worms, no matter how long dead the evil of the past is, so long as it continues to be fed upon, that evil will not only remain, but evolve into something new in the present. A better world can't be achieved through the death of the old world alone, even if violent overthrow is warranted. There is no end of history. There is no clean break from the past.

"Men make their own history, but they do not make it as they please; they do not make it under self-selected circumstances, but under circumstances existing already, given and transmitted from the past. The tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living."

Karl Marx, The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte

[cantsayidont]

While this ranks relatively low on my overall list of complaints about STAR TREK: DISCOVERY and STRANGE NEW WORLDS, something I find annoying about them is that they've really built up the size and strength of Starfleet to something closer to what it is in STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION, which contradicts TOS in ways that have far-reaching story effects.

TOS repeatedly indicates that in that period Starfleet has only a handful of ships in the Enterprise's class, presumably because they're resource-intensive to build and operate. As Kirk and John Christopher discuss in "Tomorrow Is Yesterday":

CHRISTOPHER: Must have taken quite a lot to build a ship like this. KIRK: There are only twelve like it in the fleet.

That plainly doesn't mean that Starfleet has no other ships, but ships of what TOS describes as the "Starship" class ("Constitution-class" is a later coinage) are uniquely capable. As Merik, former commander of the SS Beagle, explains in "Bread and Circuses":

MERIK: He commands not just a spaceship, Proconsul, but a starship. A very special vessel and crew. I tried for such a command.

This special status is a central part of the premise of TOS: It's the reason why the Enterprise is assigned such a diverse array of duties, and why what the Enterprise does is so important to the plot. Even into the TOS cast movie era, we're frequently told that the Enterprise is the only ship in the sector capable of responding to a problem or threat, and the crew is rarely in a position to call for reinforcements even where that would be tactically or strategically advisable.

While that makes duty on one of these ships very risky (as evidenced by the number of the Enterprise's sister ships that are lost with all hands in TOS, including Constellation, Defiant, and Exeter), as Merik's remark indicates, it's also a plum assignment, and one for which there's obviously fierce competition. The TOS bible makes much of the fact that Kirk is the youngest person ever to command one of these starships, and he also appears to be one of the lowest-ranking. (Many of the other starship captains we see are fleet captains or commodores, as well as being older than Kirk.) This comes into play at a variety of points: For instance, it's at the root of Ben Finney's animosity toward Kirk in "Court Martial" (and presumably why Kirk's peers are quick to give him the cold shoulder when he's charged with negligence in Finney's apparent death), and it's part of the tension in "The Doomsday Machine," where Kirk and Spock have to maneuver around the fact that Matt Decker outranks Kirk and is clearly the senior officer.

The limited number of starships also provides a useful Watsonian explanation for the dichotomy of a capital warship (which the Enterprise unequivocally is) being used for scientific research and exploration missions. Although TOS is reluctant to say much about civilian life within the Federation, we can probably assume that such costly starships are the subject of a lot of political wrangling, and the different roles the Enterprise plays probably reflect those tensions: The Enterprise's scientific duties may be a concession to those who (like David Marcus in STAR TREK II) are wary of Starfleet's military role, and perhaps an effort to extract a greater civilian return on the Federation's obviously substantial military investment. It might also be a diplomatic ploy, or an attempt to maneuver around arms control treaties with rival powers like the Klingons and Romulans. (Arms-limitation treaties are probably the most plausible explanation for the Enterprise-A being so hastily decommissioned and its entire class apparently being mothballed shortly after STAR TREK VI.)

DISCOVERY and STRANGE NEW WORLDS pay lip service to the specialness of ships of the Enterprise's class while undermining the point by indicating that Starfleet also has hundreds if not thousands of other, slightly smaller starships with 80 or 90 percent of the Enterprise's capabilities, carrying out a similar range of missions. I can see why they've gone that way, and there's obvious precedent for it in the TOS cast movies, which depict several other classes of Starfleet ships, but interposing that into the TOS era inevitably weakens the premise of the original stories, and renders many of the conceits of TOS unintelligible. (If it were up to me, I would attribute the expanded range of ships to changes between TOS and the era of the movies, which are set years later and have different narrative priorities.)

This retroactive Starfleet expansion also exacerbates the increasingly jingoistic militarism of modern STAR TREK, which is uncomfortably pronounced in both the Abrams films (which got money from the Pentagon for it) and in the recent shows (which I suspect are also getting DOD money, although I haven't seen that specifically confirmed). The large-scale fleet maneuvers of the finale of PICARD, for instance, are frankly terrifying, and would be even without the contrivances of the plot. A Federation that celebrates "Frontier Day" with a massive display of military power within the solar system, obviously aimed at awing and intimidating citizen and adversary alike, seems like a pretty harrowing "post-scarcity socialist utopia," even by the standards of a show that's always been about the crews of a spacegoing navy doing interstellar colonialism.