Redoubtable Downtown Space Abbey - Final Turn - All Good Things

[Hadley]

Finally the my new product is ready for the mass market. And just in time to save our young sentients headed to the front lines.

Lady Farnsworth’s Reliable Regeneration Ointment

Grow back any lost limb in 24 hours.

(After the war effort we will release version 2.0 so that you can grow new limbs. Always wanted a prehensile tail to go with your lovely lobster claw? Lady Farnsworth’s ointment can make your dreams come true.)

But for now our efforts our focused on using our product to help the troops. I’m off to the front to bring ointment to our injured boys and gals.

Civilians aren’t allowed off planet but I believe commander D @pogo may have a special place on his ship for me. Things always get a bit firey when he’s around. If anyone sees my good for nothing husband @Qaaxtzl. Hand him these papers and remind him that our prenup is on file with my lawyer, who will be insuring that it is enforced while I’m away.

Together For Weatheby !

[David_Falkayn]

The New Prussians don’t have a sufficient industrial base to sustain interstellar invasion fleets on their own, so they buy many of the necessary components. Components from manufacturers who require… financing.

The Mere presence of this message from Britannia Prime tells the lie of the Admiral’s claim. The Court at Weatherby is aware of our situation in detail and is preparing a response.

• Mr Jules Karekin,
  at your service, at the Royal Court on Britannia Prime

[Voice_of_Weatherby]

[At exactly noon, with a burst of static, the neutral-loaded carrier current AM station comes to life across Weatherby City.]

[The voice on the radio is garbled by static and distortion, and its owner’s identity is hard to guess. The voice speaks in a slow, over-enunciated speed to be understandable through the static, has a calm, almost monotonous tone, and the accent is either that of a Weatherbean True Citizen trying to sound like a Citizen-Pretender, or a Sea Pea trying to put on airs and sound like a Tee Sea.]

Friends, this is the Voice of Weatherby, bringing a message of hope.

Do not believe the lies of the so-called “Admiral” Pandora. The Governor, the Ambassador, and others working to preserve your freedom, have received word from Britannia Prime that everyone at Court is aware of and opposed to the invasion. Troops are being rallied to our defense, and Mr. Jules Rothschild Karekin, of the wealthy and influential Rothschild-Landau family, is telling our story far and wide.

To the Tee Seas listening: be leaders in the days ahead. To the Sea Peas: find a Tee Sea that you trust, and join in resisting.

And to those on the fence: listen again to Pandora’s message. His name for troops from Britannia Prime is “rescue.” If his message can be trusted, why do we need to be rescued?

I must go: they’ll be trying to find me, but even if the Voice of Weatherby goes silent, have faith in yourself and those around you, in their loyalty to Her Majesty, and that rescue is on the way.

Keep your ears tuned to this channel every day at noon; I will make contact again as soon as I can.

Long live Weatherby, and long live the Queen!

[With another burst of static, the station goes dead again].

[David_Falkayn]

A Voice worthy of The Man in a High Castle…

[Pogo]

[Tom_Ratchetcrank]

[ghoti]

SPACE HUSSARS…

Whatever “this thing” may be!

[Wisconsin_Platt]

War had come to Weatherby. Although he had had a crisis of conscience early on, Hieron knew the best course of action now.

Heard of a van that is loaded with weapons
Packed up and ready to go
Heard of some grave sites, out by the highway
A place where nobody knows

The thought of getting the family off this rock had also been tempting. But not enough to start over.

The sound of gunfire, off in the distance
I'm getting used to it now
Lived in a brownstone, lived in the ghetto
I've lived all over this town 

The estate was too vast to be guarded safely. Better to keep everyone in one place. There was safety in numbers. The basements in St. Marrowbone were getting a bit crowded as they became bomb shelters.

This ain't no party, this ain't no disco
This ain't no fooling around
No time for dancing, or lovey dovey
I ain't got time for that now

Levithan’s felt tomblike. @Rumpthwaite kept it up - as always - but a pall lay over it. Conversations were terse and guarded if they happened at all

Transmit the message, to the receiver
Hope for an answer some day
I got three passports, a couple of visas
You don't even know my real name

Keep moving, yet keep up appearances. Yet keep up the real work. The legacy that will define Hieroymoose Farnsworth the Third must go on. But so must the other work…

High on a hillside, the trucks are loading
Everything's ready to roll
I sleep in the daytime, I work in the nighttime
I might not ever get home

Poor Liz. He’d scarely seen her. He regretted firing the nanny now. Short sighted. And young Quatro. Growing so fast. Such a regal shade of blue when he was at rest. Which wasn’t often enough now.

This ain't no party, this ain't no disco
This ain't no fooling around
This ain't no Mudd Club, or C.B.G.B
I ain't got time for that now

Too much frivolity. Too much posturing. Weatherby would survive, but it wouldn’t be the same place. “Good.” spat Hieron.

Why stay in college? Why go to night school?
Gonna be different this time
Can't write a letter, can't send a postcard
I can't write nothing at all

Citizen Pretender. Even that title reaked of the arrogance of “True Citizens” Who were the pretenders? The ones who pretended to work. The ones who pretended to matter. There was no bourgeoisie without the proletariat.

Trouble in transit, got through the roadblock
We blended with the crowd
We got computer, we're tapping phone lines
I know that that ain't allowed

Working on his Prototype had given Hieronymoose the freedom to move between the docks and his properties without raising too much suspicion. The New Prussia Drones were ever present though. Better to walk away tonight. What would the end result was of that particular wagon not making it to the Seryl Processing plant? Mused Hiron, before remembering there are things you didn’t think about.

We dress like students, we dress like housewives
Or in a suit and a tie
I changed my hairstyle, so many times now
I don't know what I look like!

Changing out of his boilersuit back into his day clothes had become routine. Pierre would be appalled. Hieron’s chest tightened at the thought. He’d see the notice after the garment district was hit. He’d have had such fun dressing Quatro with his color changing fur. Another employment decision he now regretted.

You make me shiver, I feel so tender
We make a pretty good team
Don't get exhausted, I'll do some driving
You ought to get you some sleep

He was drained. But so was everyone else. This last trip out to the sandfishery almost landed him in the lagoon. Jacque the foreman told him to sleep it off in the pile of nets in the attic. Hieron suspected Jacque was resistance, but of course they wouldn’t speak of such a thing.

Get you instructions, follow directions
Then you should change your address
Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day
Whatever you think is best

Why hadn’t they fled when they could? New Prussia was swarming over the town. How could he have thought to leave his family here?

Burned all my notebooks, what good are
Notebooks? They won't help me survive
My chest is aching, burns like a furnace
The burning keeps me alive

When I realized my original prototype had been stolen and not just destroyed, I need to change things and fast. Prior art be damned, I would make it to market. There was no point to all of this if there was not something to be made after it was over.

Try to stay healthy, physical fitness
Don't want to catch no disease
Try to be careful, don't take no chances
You better watch what you say

One last stop at Levithan’s for MacMackey McMichael. No one else in the place, but @Rumpthwaite. He picks up the near empty bottle. “Last bottle in town by my reckoning. Shall I make it a double and you put it out of it’s loneliness?”

“No. Pour one for me and one for yourself, my friend and let us toast.”

“For Weatherby!”

[Rumpthwaite]

“No. Pour one for me and one for yourself, my friend and let us toast.”

Indeed, sir. Indeed - and by your request.

[The aged alces pours the last remaining measure of MacMackey McMichael equally into two tumblers. He gives the slightly more generous pour to Mr. Farnsworth (@Wisconsin_Platt) and raises his own glass to him in turn.]

“For the effort of the past decades, for the difficult moment at hand, and with hope for the future. For Weatherby!”

[Sharing a knowing glance, they raise their tumblers together and commit the spirit to their bodies. After a moment, Rumpthwaite coughs delightedly before he begins to tidy up once more.]

[MrMonkey]

She’s been wandering the streets of Weatherby for hours, lost in thought, numb to her surroundings, when Jean-Rhys stops short, suddenly recognizing the portico of the Leviathan Club. She is startled, but not surprised, to discover that her peripatetic urges have brought her here, to the place where, in a very real sense, it all began. It’s kismet, as if this was where she had intended to arrive all along, as if there were never anywhere else she might go.

She sweeps past the doorbot and settles in to her usual perch at the far end of the bar. @Rumpthwaite, unbidden, brings her a tumbler of Scooch, neat, and a handwritten menu entitled “Special Reserve” describing the whipweed varietals to be had from the Club’s humidor.

The mood in the common room is mercurial. It’s subdued, as befits the eve of an inevitable orbital bombardment, but punctuated with occasional bursts of somewhat forced jollity and slightly too-loud laughter.

She takes a slug of the Scooch and fingers the whipweed menu while idly toying with the controls of her brain chemistry regulators. Her thoughts are beginning to crystallize, like the precipitate of a particularly volatile solution. She’s finally ready to admit to herself what she’s already known all along.

Despite the tribulations of her early life, Weatherby has been good to her, and she will not – cannot – abandon it in its hour of need.

From a practical standpoint, she’s well placed to just keep her head down and look first to the immediate welfare of her family – little Bean & Sprout, and her dear, dear Mary, deserve no less.

But she can’t.

She won’t retreat to the safety of her family estates, much less seek passage off world, and she’ll be damned before she’ll roll over for the likes of the New Prussians!

Well into her cups, now, she raises her glass and toasts any who might care to listen:

Jean-Rhys would not consent to lick the boot, so to speak, but she would have one last carousal at the Leviathan before the grim realities of their circumstances closed in.

And in the morning she would return to her study, and she would continue to comb through the administrative ledgers and reports she once dreaded in her capacity as Chair of the Weatherby University Research Labs Oversight Committee. She will note certain compounds and resources in the various inventory and procurement reports and nod with satisfaction, but she will not write anything down.

She will peruse with great attention to detail any oddities of architecture found in the collection of campus blueprints she has managed to secure from the offices of the Weatherby Planning Commission. They weren’t easy to obtain, but it was undeniably true that being an Aldersentient could open certain doors in the Weatherbean bureaucracy.

Her preparations, once idle speculations, became reality.

There was much to be done, and too little time to do it.

[Ssskidwish]

Midnight. Castle Ponsfleischmann. Lightning strikes the uppermost tower.

“Carefully, Doctor. Oh, so carefully.”

“I need it to be more potent, Doc @Old. I really need it to be powerful. But too much volume and I fear Stage 2 won’t be a success. Lady Jane @penguinchris has enviable skills, but she’s no miracle worker. And we’ll only get one shot at this.”

Ssskidwish isn’t sure he’s much more help than Igor.

“What do you think, Doc? Have we a chance?”

[Old]

I did lose my magnificent beard and eyebrows in the early planning and testing stages. We are looking for a stronger effect, which I think I have now isolated. The volume required for concealment is much smaller, and the blast would remove more than just facial hair. A lot more.

“What do you think, Doc? Have we a chance?”

I would say our chances are between really outstanding and superlative. I don’t really have any idea, but let’s focus on the positive, and perhaps the fates will too.

[Voice_of_Weatherby]

[At noon, the day after Admiral Pandora’s deadline, any radio tuned to the frequency begins delivering a new message. The cadence and enunciation are the same as before, but the affected accent has changed slightly.]

My good friends, this is the Voice of Weatherby, bringing a message of truth.

I am sure that the lies printed in the latest Sea Teas Flibbertigibbet are just that - lies. Go to the Weatherby Free Public Library, and read the second issue of the paper, where it accuses its own first issue of having been written by a “New Prussian Agent Provocateur.” That must have happened again, since a paper edited by such a prominent officer in Her Majesty’s Royal Space Hussars would never print such treason willingly. Take the words of Ms. Jean-Rhys Rodchaser from that second issue to heart, and view this as New Prussian Agents “swamping the popular media with messages of discord” once again. They seek to divide us; don’t let them succeed.

Now, as Admiral Pandora’s deadline has past, you have probably seen the skies begin to light up with the battle overhead. My friends, we need to prepare two welcome parties: one for the New Prussian troops come to occupy our land, and one for the Queen’s rescue mission, already on its way. For the Prussians and their König, keep your fireworks ready; the party we throw them will be a blast. And, for the Queen’s party, she’ll be heartbroken if we have any fireworks left, so let’s set aside some Champagne for her and for the victory party.

The New Prussians only have the power to harm our bodies; they have no power over our own actions. So, for victory, all we must do is stay strong, stay loyal, and keep hope alive. Britannia Prime will not let us down; we must do the same for them.

Long live Weatherby, and long live the Queen!

[With that, the channel again goes silent]

[ghoti]

[ Rounder enters his apartment, preparing to pack a bag and head for the front with the rest of the Hussars. He finds a small package waiting for him by the front door. He recognizes the handwriting, and hastily opens the wrappings, finding a letter and a small box inside. ]

Well, I’ll be…

So that’s how he did it… Hmmmmm.

[Pogo]

[Pogo]

[Pogo]

[MalevolentPixy]

Liv stares at the mirror. He barely recognises himself, and he’s known this face for decades. Any extra weight and softness he might have put on during his Leviathan days is gone. A Farnsworth or Hartbrooke might have write something poetic, about missing then rediscovering the peace of mind and strength that only hard work could bring. Liv can’t do that. Because it’s pure, refined, bullshit. What he misses is the ability to drift off to sleep in a real bed versus the all-too-familar dropping from sheer exhaustion onto the nearest bed-like surface.

Weatherby is in chaos. It doesn’t make him happy that he predicted this. But we take advantage of what little breaks we get.

He’s also heard of a desperate spinning by someone to discredit certain accusations, seemingly unaware that everyone who’s tried the “fake news” gambit has turned out to ultimately be guilty. That little factoid needs to make it out to the population… And who do you trust more? Some faceless voice on the radio, or Bob down at t’pub, an’ Bob knows people. Y’know, people. And Bob says that it’s true.

And while that’s percolating, he’s got a lot of other things to get organised.

[Nightflyer]

Eudaemonia sits on the edge of her cot, restlessly polishing the already-gleaming stock of her flamethrower. Her nerves wouldn’t let her sleep yet. And she wasn’t alone; many of the other Hussars in the barracks were either engaging in their own equipment maintenance, or tossing and turning in their bunks. Battle with New Prussia’s ground forces could come at any time now. And despite the innumerable drills and training exercises, it was only too easy to feel… unprepared.

But it was not only for herself that she feared. Her husband and children were sheltering in their city apartment, unable to retreat to Bedlam’s Bower. Once the bombardment started, they would be in perhaps worse danger than she was; Eudaemonia could at least attempt to defend herself in the upcoming battle. She sent yet another fervent prayer to whatever gods might listen that her family would survive, even if she did not.

And how many famiies, she mused, were praying the same prayer at that moment? Whether True Citizen or Citizen Pretender, soldier or civilian, everyone in Weatherby was facing the grim specter of war and loss.

But, barring some strange miracle, there was no alternative to it. New Prussia was foolish to think that Weatherby would roll over and surrender. No, they would fight for their pride, their families, their freedom.

She only hopes that victory will not come at too dear a cost.

Enough of that, woman, she chides herself. Be strong and confident. Sides adsit amicum. “Let my propitious star be present.”

Her family motto firmly held to mind, she sets aside her weapons and settles down to rest. The hour of battle would come soon enough; she would be ready for it.