Nuclear power and democracy don't mix

Normally I don't post info that is common knowledge, but this just made me mad...and it proves to me that nuclear power corrupts the hell out of democratic governments. The citizen is expected to to keep his mouth shut and to stay calm even if the dear neighbors are sprouting eye-covered abscesses - and to pay his power bill. I dimly remember I was told in school that informed citizens are the cornerstone of our form of government. But that was one tech level ago, we still had black-and-white TV then, and maybe we can do without informed citizens today. Possibly, that was just a superfluous, bolted-on feature to the core function: consuming power and paying for it. Now, that the frills have been pared back, the citizen appears as a much meaner and leaner engine of consumption.

It is a miracle anyone on this wide world still believes Tepco: A sure way to find out if they are lying? Check if their mouths are moving...

So what can be done? Dmitry Orlov has some ideas.

I post this to gain some karma points

Someone reads this and drives a bit slower, survives a close call and goes on to live a good, in fact, an excellent life, being a joy to his contemporaries and an enrichment to the world as whole.

Or maybe I just skewed fate in a way that will keep Little Stalin a while longer among us.

You never know, and I never said I was after good karma points...

The end times are nigh!

As you may have heard, the Rapture is upon us...tomorrow! So there's really no need for finishing that PowerPoint presentation for Monday. Instead you should read this handy FAQ. Rich "Lowtax" Kyanka of SomethingAwful fame crawled from a hole to answer his readers' questions about heaven, getting to heaven and how to behave in heaven. Read it, you sinner!

Biker gangs!

No post-apocalyptic setting is complete without hairy men on greasy bikes, wielding rusty implements of violence! Thus, I present the deathdealers - a dangerous and ancient scourge of the Wastes. An addition to the scorched earth materials.

A requiem to an art form

For years, Tim Kreider's The Pain- When Will It End? was a weekly reminder that there was still hope for the United States, a lonely voice of indecency and uncommon sense in the howling Bushian wilderness. When he retired from cartooning a few years ago, my reaction was Fine! Have it your way. Guess I won't be motivated to kick off a revolution against the capitalist system strangling the world then. I'd loved to see his take on the global financial crisis, vampire squid etc.

Kreider has returned as a writer, and his essay on the state of cartooning in the age of the internet is insightful, funny and bitter.

And another disadvantage...

This is for all you job hunters out there...

Easily Frustrated* (-5 points)
If you don’t at first succeed, try, try, try again…But that’s just not you. You show a marked lack of perseverance, and if you fail to solve a problem at a first attempt, you are apt to say “fuck it” and trot off. In game mechanics: If you fail a skill roll outside combat, the disadvantage may become active. In that case, you are not allowed to make any repeated attempts. No second tries at picking that lock, convincing a merchant to lower his price, finding that elusive fence…Some might think that you miss some stick-to-itiveness, but you just see yourself as a realist.

The relevant document in the scorched earth materials will be updated as well.

Message to a grandkid

via Coilhouse

Isar Smiley

It is summer. Life is good.

The Eye and the box

It takes about a day for the HanHan to return – while Dan Hawking and Zed Memphis spot the warriors approaching the ruins, they lose them as soon as the ferals reach the town. The tall warrior meets them at the crossing, and he brings Ghosteye’s approval to have a talk via radio. He also broaches the subject of the prisoner. The young man is to be handed over, unharmed. The group is to drive towards the junkyard from Bozeman, and they will also wait for four hours, so that the ambassador and his companions can return to Ghosteye beforehand. Benefactor Rod and the others have no problems with these conditions. The watch the HanHan disappear and prepare for the drive to the junkyard.
Its is early afternoon when they reach their destination. The drive towards the junkyard was hard on their backs, basically just a rut between the brushes – even with the Conquistador and Zed’s dirtbike it was a tough ride. At one point the pass a column: three old refrigerators placed upon each other, their doors torn off. As they come closer, the explorers see that the refrigerators have been stacked with skulls. “Just a little reminder,” says Mal “the HanHan are ferales, treacherous and cruel. Expect a backstab any time, keep your guns handy.” The young HanHan, tied up in the backseat, fidgets as they pass the marker. Then, the junkyard rose in front of them: Walls of rusted hulks, a whole football field of smashed cars, vans and trucks, detritus discarded by the Long Ago. There seems to be a two-storied building in the middle of this mess, and a huge construction crane next to it. The grisly markers of the HanHan are everywhere: Skulls on rusty poles, scarecrows from bedsprings, bones and mirror shards. People seem to move on the red walls, Zed makes out some women among them, and a lot of men carrying crossbows and spears, clad in metal armor as red as the wrecks.
The explorers have not much time to take note of the scenery: A group of HanHan rises from cover less than thirty paces from their car. The tall warrior is among them: He seems to have earned the honor to talk to the outsiders. He strides towards the Conquistador, while his group keeps a respectful distance, fingering their cutters and spears. The tall warrior knocks against the car door “Free the prisoner”. Without saying a word, Rupert cuts the young man’s bonds and opens the car door. The young HanHan slinks away, towards the group of warriors. They give him sour looks, and Mal suddenly realizes that the prisoner quite probably will not be feted for his happy return, but that there might be harsh punishments in store for a warrior who allowed himself to be captured. The tall warrior waits until the prisoner has reached the group, then he smiles “Good. Now give me the radio”. He says it like it is some kind of strange animal, thinks Dan. Mal hands over one hand-held two-way radio. “I will return with the radio after the talk is over.” “Tell Ghosteye that we are on channel five.” “Yes. Wait for a few minutes.”
A few minutes pass. Mal grins painfully and is about to say something disparaging about ferals in general, as the radio comes to life. Channel five, damn, they know how to use a radio.
“Who is this?” squawks the box. A male voice, somewhere between thirty and forty, dry, self-assured.
Mal grabs the radio before the others react “This is Mal Porter. I am with Benefactor Rod, and three friends. We asked for a talk, an honest exchange of info.” -click-
“But you do not want to share the hospitality of my tent” -click-
“We think we all are easier where we are right now. Of course we would all be interested in a little honest face-to-face” he grimaces “but I for one would not come unarmed, and neither would you, or your guys, and that’s just a recipe for trouble, wouldn’t you agree. Anyways, we handed over your warrior, and I think we would both profit from sharing some news. Is it true you killed this visitor hand-to-hand?” -click-
A dry chuckle from the box “Not so fast. I also want to ask a question: How do you know that this visitor was so special?” Mal looks at the others. Rod nods. -click-

“We had dealings with men like them before. Good people died.” Rod takes over “I am a benefactor. Men like your visitor basically attacked our homes. We found out where they were headed. That’s why we are in these parts.” -click-

“That is interesting. Where are the others?” -click-

“Not so fast. You owe us answers too. Tell us a bit about your visitor.” -click-

“Very well. He was…one of those men you seem to have met before. A reminder of my past, and so I had to kill him. He seemed to be surprised.” -click-

“Your past?” -click-

“Where are the other men?” -click-

Rod hesitates, but he thinks that arguing in good faith might be the best approach here “Okay. One went to Memphis to do God knows what. Whatever it was: He failed. He is in a morgue in Uptown now. The second is somewhere in Oklahoma. We have no idea why, the only things he could destabilize and assassinate there are dogs and scorpions.” Mal thinks that this is not quite the whole of it, but he keeps his mouth shut. “The third went here. We thought he was after Refugium, because all of their books and their database.” -click-

“That might have been true. Anyway, I buried him and his mission. How did the man im Memphis die?” -click-

“We knew what to look for, and when we found him, we tried to take him out. LAW intervened and caught him. He died in the hospital in Uptown: His own poison tooth killed him.” -click-

A chuckle “That’s a primary design feature.” -click-

“What are you people?” Rod nearly shouts into the mike.

There is a long silence. “I was an infiltrator. I came here to recover a hardened data storage device, to upload it into a SKMR, a Subcompact Keystone Media Reader, which would send the data to Control, then return to Control for debriefing.” That is a lot of gibberish, even to technological guys like Mal and Rod. They take it in stride, and the voice on the box goes on “The data is in Refugium, they were sure about that, but I found no easy way to infiltrate the monks’ fortress on my own. I met the HanHan. End of story.” -click-

“End of story? Infiltrator for whom? Who sends these guys through our villages? Where do they come from? How do we stop them?” -click-

“Benefactor, this is the kind of knowledge that is of no use to you.” The voice sounds sympathetic “I was an infiltrator for Iron Eden. The name will mean nothing to you. They have a large base thirty clicks to the north of the Institute, and they will send infiltrators and soldiers south through your area as they see fit, and there is nothing you can do against it. Their military is very capable and extremely well equipped. And from might comes the right to rulership.” Rod grows pale, as the voice goes on “Don’t think about going to the base like you went to visit me. They kill every person that breaches the base, and they routinely count the field mice crossing the perimeter. My advice: If you want to avoid them, move elsewhere. Pack up and leave.” -click-

Mal senses that the stranger on the other end is in a talking mood and snatches the mike “How did you train to become an infiltrator? How many are there?” and, after a short pause “Why did you give it up?” -click-

“There are some of us…but I will not talk about my childhood and youth. Concerning your other question: There once was this huge empire, in a time before the Long Ago. It dominated three continents. Its capital was the marvel of the world. Rome, you might have heard of it. Once, one of its great generals rode with his companions through a village at the very border of the empire. It was sorry sight, a few hovels and barns, a dirt track instead of a road. The great general took a look around and said: I’d rather rule here than serve in Rome.” -click-

“I do not understand” -click-

“I was not born to serve. I learned that in the junkyard. The HanHan are my people, and I am their leader and protector. I have a wife and she is HanHan – an Iron Eden infiltrator would never marry. My warriors depend on me, and they know I will lead the HanHan to greatness.” -click-

Mal thinks: or maybe you just enjoy being the only dog in a pit full of rats, but he also has another thought “But you know that these Iron Eden folks will send another infiltrator here. They send a second guy, why not send a third, and a fourth…maybe these will be not so careless. Not to sound disrespectful, Ghosteye, but if such a man found out you scrapped your mission so you can rule the HanHan, he might just slip into your tent at night and pop a few bullets in your head.” He pauses to let this sink in “I understand that this…skimmer will read out the data and send them to your home base?” -click-

“Correct.” -click-

“Is there any way to copy the data that are transmitted?” -click-

“The SKMR has readout…so you think I still have this gadget around, for old times sake? You propose to take the SKMR to Refugium and ask the monks nicely for the storage device, uploading it and ending my mission, so that no further infiltrators will come looking for the data…and for me? And you will probably do it for free, because…there is something in it for you?” -click-

Mal grins “Even if they can roll right through the Institute, we are still interested in all scraps of info about Iron Eden. The skimmer might tell us something about their plans or the next target where they are going to strike, or something we could use to start negotiating with them. Anything is of value. And yes, you still have the skimmer. Not for sentimental reasons, I know.
But if you hand over the skimmer, your past will truly be past. No more looking over your shoulder. We’ll be going to Oklahoma next, and your old employers will most likely lose interest in this part of the world. The tale about a new, nearly superhuman leader of the HanHan is already out, but there’s nothing we can do about that, and everybody with half a brain will think that’s just stupid rumors – such tales pop up all the time.” -click-

Rod whispers “Nicely played.” Mal answers “Can’t shake being a trader.” The pause grows longer, then the dry voice returns “Very well. I think I can trust you to do as you have told – Thank god for self-interest.” A sigh. “Time to throw some useless rubbish out.” The is really very easy to use. Self-explanatory. Usability under pressure. A warrior will bring the SKMR and the radio out to your car. It sure was interesting talking to you. I trust we will never speak again.” The radio falls silent, and all attempts to raise Ghosteye fail. Some time later, the tall warrior reappears, alone.
He hands the radio to Mal, and an appliance the size of a lunchbox, blocky, with a small monitor and a key panel. The tall warrior says “Data storage device goes here. Just press Send, here. Ghosteye tells me the machine will do the rest. The data send will appear here.” He points to the monitor. “Ghosteye says you better read fast, or make a photo.” Then he turns and walks away. After a few steps he shouts “And do not come back. You are not welcome.”

Two new disadvantages...

...for GURPS. They are house official - once again, creating some NPCs led to the creation of these hideous beauties. Enjoy.

Blind Spot (-5/ -10/ -15 points)
Denial is a river in Egypt. Certain problems do not appear as problems to you. You share a common conception of reality with the rest of us, but some things which most people would see as quite high on the personal to-do list are just not that important to you – if you notice them at all. Your husband’s drinking, the big lump growing from your neck, that smell coming from the basement – you just act as if that unpleasantness does not exist…or you are very good at rationalizing it away. One could see this as a special kind of delusion, but while a delusion will probably lead to (regrettable) actions, a blind spot never will. Blind spots are mostly linked to other disadvantages or undesirable developments concerning you character. A blind spot for -5 points might concern a lesser problem in your social circle, like an ally with an addiction (“Jack can handle this stuff.”), -10 points deal with something of comparable severity, but now the problem is yours (“I can handle this stuff.”) or a grave threat or harmful development in your life (“Although he is a vampire, he would never attack me – he loves me!”). -15 points blind spots are killers: “I can’t believe the CIA is hunting me – in fact, I won’t.”

Impatient* (-5 points)
You think that everybody is a lame sack of shit. Instead of gawking and dawdling and lollygagging, they should be going on with whatever they are supposed to be doing. You are constantly pushing people to work faster, and your schedules are ambitious, to say the least. Sometimes, your constant niggling “to just get on with it” might lead to some cut corners and thus to tragic results…
You come across as pushy, and thus most people react at -1.

Edit: The list in the Scorched Earth Materials post has been updated.