Civ 6 fanfic is the best fanfic
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gridlore shares my love of playing Civilization VI, and of treating it as an excuse for some solo roleplaying. There are almost always events that happen in these games which are wonderfully bizarre if taken at face value. Douglas has written up a few of them as fictional vignettes. Now it's my turn.
Agent Kappa-47 of the Internal Security Directorate waited in a booth at the back of the dimly-lit bar. It was a nondescript place, catering to workers at the nearby aerospace factories. Later, it would be jammed; now, in the late afternoon, only a few diehard drinkers sat at the bar, and none at nearby booths. None of the patrons, nor probably the bartender, had any inkling that this whole building was routinely swept for listening devices, and was currently under intensive surveillance from several nearby buildings and vehicles. This meeting must appear completely casual, and also remain completely private.
Kappa-47 sipped her retsina and glanced toward the door, wondering why Rho-11 was late. And then there he was, silhouetted briefly against the daylight as he entered, then strolling casually over to take the seat opposite her.
There followed a brief but complex series of seemingly disconnected words and gestures, as each verified the others' identity. Then Kappa-47 smiled. "Very nice to meet you, comrade. Your, ah, former coworkers speak well of you. May I buy you a drink?"
Rho-11 nodded, returning the smile. "By all means." He waved over the bartender. "Baltimore Ale, if you please?"
Kappa-47 raised an eyebrow. "An American drink, yes? Not very patriotic of you."
The other shrugged and spread his hands. "The war is over. And I acquired a taste during my previous assignment."
"Ah, yes," she replied. "I don't know the details, of course. But nonetheless, unofficially, and you didn't hear this from me...very impressive."
Rho-11 nodded and smiled as his beer arrived. He lifted his glass. "A toast, then? To the victory of the People's Republic of Macedon over America, and over all our enemies." She lifted her glass to touch his, and they both drank.
"And while we're on the subject, your work here in Brisbane has been most impressive as well. As I understand it, there have been no, ah, incidents since we repaired the captured cosmodrome?"
Rho-11 chuckled. "Oh, there have been incidents, as you say. But nobody has harmed the cosmodrome. A few of those who tried will not have a second opportunity." His face was suddenly stern. "I have done my duty to the People's Republic of Macedon."
Kappa-47 nodded twice. "You have, without a doubt. Thanks to you, the Mars reactor module launched last month, despite all the efforts of the Americans to stop us. Our nation owes you a huge debt of gratitude. But, as usual, what you'll receive instead is more work. The final Mars launch is being prepared at the Pella cosmodrome, and I'm sure you can imagine the unwelcome attention it's getting. You're being reassigned there to take over counterintelligence operations. And promoted in the bargain, so congratulations on that as well." She pushed a plain envelope across the table toward him.
Rho-11 tilted his head, paused, and pushed it back. "I'm sorry, you don't have that authority."
Kappa-47 leaned back, blinked. "I...I'm sorry, what?"
"You don't have the authority to change my assignment. I was placed on station here by a special directive, requiring a unique compartmentalized authorization to revoke. I tested you just now; you don't have it. So I will remain here."
She sputtered. "But- The cosmodrome is being shut down! No further launches will happen here! Comrade, there is nothing to guard here."
He shook his head. "Sensitive technologies-"
She cut him off. "Were removed or destroyed in the first two weeks after the recent launch. Truly, your work is done here. We need you in Pella, comrade."
He pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. "Then have someone with the correct authorization change my orders."
"Well, then, who has the authority?"
Rho-11 shook his head. "You're not authorized to know that."
She stared at him, dumbfounded, and finally sighed. "I'll be back. Same meeting protocol."
He nodded. "I'll be here."
***
Rho-11 carefully examined the sheaf of papers, all so secret that they bore no security markings to flag their significance. Ornate seals and looping signatures appeared here and there, along with blocks of seemingly random letters and digits. He considered each page in turn, carefully stacking them one by one on the table. As he put the last one down, he shook his head. "Still improper."
Kappa-47 struggled to retain her composure. "But these orders come from the head of the Directorate, every relevant department head, and look -- look! -- that's the seal and key showing that the First Citizen himself signed off on this! What in the name of Zeus do you want??"
He remained impassive. "The proper authorization. Which you don't have."
"This is insane. The Brisbane cosmodrome is being torn down as we sit here. It will probably be apartment blocks and playing fields by this time next year. Do you propose to guard those as well?"
He nodded. "If they are on the cosmodrome site, then yes, that is precisely what I will do."
Kappa-47 looked stunned. "By all the gods, you're serious, aren't you? And just how long do you plan to prevent foreign sabotage of our top-secret soccer fields and laundry rooms?"
"Until the term of my assignment is completed."
"And how long is that?"
He tilted his head, finally deciding that he was permitted to answer that question. "Four years and six months. Approximately."
Kappa-47 nodded. In what she hoped was a calm, patient voice, she asked "You do realize that the Pella rocket will launch in three years, right? Assuming it isn't sabotaged?"
Rho-11 nodded. "I do."
She leaned forward. "And...?"
"And I will be doing my duty when it launches, whether that be here or elsewhere. But without the proper authorization-"
Kappa-47 stood up abruptly. "I understand. Enjoy being the most lethal apartment security guard in Brisbane."
***
Like nearly everyone else along the planned ascent path, Rho-11 was outside on that fine autumn morning. He stood in the small park near his home, surrounded by his excited neighbors, all checking their watches and peering southwest. Someone's radio broadcast the countdown; a ragged cheer greeted the word "Liftoff!" A moment later, a bright spark climbed over the horizon, and the cheering swelled into shouts and applause as they watched the Ares III rocket accelerate into space, opening the way to Macedon's triumphant colonization of a new world.
Rho-11 had never been happier, nor more proud of his service to the People's Republic of Macedon. But below that, a sour thought haunted him: I'll bet those bastard American spies in Pella have a better view.
gridlore shares my love of playing Civilization VI, and of treating it as an excuse for some solo roleplaying. There are almost always events that happen in these games which are wonderfully bizarre if taken at face value. Douglas has written up a few of them as fictional vignettes. Now it's my turn.Agent Kappa-47 of the Internal Security Directorate waited in a booth at the back of the dimly-lit bar. It was a nondescript place, catering to workers at the nearby aerospace factories. Later, it would be jammed; now, in the late afternoon, only a few diehard drinkers sat at the bar, and none at nearby booths. None of the patrons, nor probably the bartender, had any inkling that this whole building was routinely swept for listening devices, and was currently under intensive surveillance from several nearby buildings and vehicles. This meeting must appear completely casual, and also remain completely private.
Kappa-47 sipped her retsina and glanced toward the door, wondering why Rho-11 was late. And then there he was, silhouetted briefly against the daylight as he entered, then strolling casually over to take the seat opposite her.
There followed a brief but complex series of seemingly disconnected words and gestures, as each verified the others' identity. Then Kappa-47 smiled. "Very nice to meet you, comrade. Your, ah, former coworkers speak well of you. May I buy you a drink?"
Rho-11 nodded, returning the smile. "By all means." He waved over the bartender. "Baltimore Ale, if you please?"
Kappa-47 raised an eyebrow. "An American drink, yes? Not very patriotic of you."
The other shrugged and spread his hands. "The war is over. And I acquired a taste during my previous assignment."
"Ah, yes," she replied. "I don't know the details, of course. But nonetheless, unofficially, and you didn't hear this from me...very impressive."
Rho-11 nodded and smiled as his beer arrived. He lifted his glass. "A toast, then? To the victory of the People's Republic of Macedon over America, and over all our enemies." She lifted her glass to touch his, and they both drank.
"And while we're on the subject, your work here in Brisbane has been most impressive as well. As I understand it, there have been no, ah, incidents since we repaired the captured cosmodrome?"
Rho-11 chuckled. "Oh, there have been incidents, as you say. But nobody has harmed the cosmodrome. A few of those who tried will not have a second opportunity." His face was suddenly stern. "I have done my duty to the People's Republic of Macedon."
Kappa-47 nodded twice. "You have, without a doubt. Thanks to you, the Mars reactor module launched last month, despite all the efforts of the Americans to stop us. Our nation owes you a huge debt of gratitude. But, as usual, what you'll receive instead is more work. The final Mars launch is being prepared at the Pella cosmodrome, and I'm sure you can imagine the unwelcome attention it's getting. You're being reassigned there to take over counterintelligence operations. And promoted in the bargain, so congratulations on that as well." She pushed a plain envelope across the table toward him.
Rho-11 tilted his head, paused, and pushed it back. "I'm sorry, you don't have that authority."
Kappa-47 leaned back, blinked. "I...I'm sorry, what?"
"You don't have the authority to change my assignment. I was placed on station here by a special directive, requiring a unique compartmentalized authorization to revoke. I tested you just now; you don't have it. So I will remain here."
She sputtered. "But- The cosmodrome is being shut down! No further launches will happen here! Comrade, there is nothing to guard here."
He shook his head. "Sensitive technologies-"
She cut him off. "Were removed or destroyed in the first two weeks after the recent launch. Truly, your work is done here. We need you in Pella, comrade."
He pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. "Then have someone with the correct authorization change my orders."
"Well, then, who has the authority?"
Rho-11 shook his head. "You're not authorized to know that."
She stared at him, dumbfounded, and finally sighed. "I'll be back. Same meeting protocol."
He nodded. "I'll be here."
***
Rho-11 carefully examined the sheaf of papers, all so secret that they bore no security markings to flag their significance. Ornate seals and looping signatures appeared here and there, along with blocks of seemingly random letters and digits. He considered each page in turn, carefully stacking them one by one on the table. As he put the last one down, he shook his head. "Still improper."
Kappa-47 struggled to retain her composure. "But these orders come from the head of the Directorate, every relevant department head, and look -- look! -- that's the seal and key showing that the First Citizen himself signed off on this! What in the name of Zeus do you want??"
He remained impassive. "The proper authorization. Which you don't have."
"This is insane. The Brisbane cosmodrome is being torn down as we sit here. It will probably be apartment blocks and playing fields by this time next year. Do you propose to guard those as well?"
He nodded. "If they are on the cosmodrome site, then yes, that is precisely what I will do."
Kappa-47 looked stunned. "By all the gods, you're serious, aren't you? And just how long do you plan to prevent foreign sabotage of our top-secret soccer fields and laundry rooms?"
"Until the term of my assignment is completed."
"And how long is that?"
He tilted his head, finally deciding that he was permitted to answer that question. "Four years and six months. Approximately."
Kappa-47 nodded. In what she hoped was a calm, patient voice, she asked "You do realize that the Pella rocket will launch in three years, right? Assuming it isn't sabotaged?"
Rho-11 nodded. "I do."
She leaned forward. "And...?"
"And I will be doing my duty when it launches, whether that be here or elsewhere. But without the proper authorization-"
Kappa-47 stood up abruptly. "I understand. Enjoy being the most lethal apartment security guard in Brisbane."
***
Like nearly everyone else along the planned ascent path, Rho-11 was outside on that fine autumn morning. He stood in the small park near his home, surrounded by his excited neighbors, all checking their watches and peering southwest. Someone's radio broadcast the countdown; a ragged cheer greeted the word "Liftoff!" A moment later, a bright spark climbed over the horizon, and the cheering swelled into shouts and applause as they watched the Ares III rocket accelerate into space, opening the way to Macedon's triumphant colonization of a new world.
Rho-11 had never been happier, nor more proud of his service to the People's Republic of Macedon. But below that, a sour thought haunted him: I'll bet those bastard American spies in Pella have a better view.