The Peeps are here!

Um... if this isn't the place for fanfics or AARs, then by all means, please move this.

Well, if you're a fan of David Weber's books, you probably know everyone's favorite bad guys are the Peeps (People's Repulic of Haven, for the unaware)... and since I'm a Weber nut, I started playing a game (gigantic galaxy, custom race, 9 opponents, all bright) as the Peeps. Managed to colonize about an eighth of the galaxy or so, before my evil leaning and alliances dragged me into a major war with the Torians. What follows is the tale of this war, from the perspective of my favorite character, a certain Tom Theisman.

The game itself is still ongoing. Tiny ships here are referenced as fighters, small ones as frigates or destroyers, and medium ships as cruisers, so on.

I'll update this as I get the time and the urge to do so.

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Citizen Rear Admiral Thomas E. Theisman, People’s Navy, was thankful no one on his staff was in his day cabin. His legs were stretched over the top of the rather mundane wooden conference table, his uniform on only sloppily, and a small glass of pungent gin in his hand. He imagined that he looked more like a pouting schoolboy than the only admiral in the People’s Navy that had been blooded in combat.

Of course, that made no difference under the Pierre administration when the admiral in question blurted out he did not like the new bedfellows of the People’s Republic.

"Damn Drengin turtle-monkeys," Theisman sighed. It was his fault for blurting out his thoughts on the alliance with the militaristic Drengin aliens, and he counted himself lucky that cooler minds in the Pierre administration had managed to hold St. Just and his State Security hounds at bay. As befitting a ‘Hero of the People,’ even if his heroics was only taking a destroyer and swatting several pirate fighters from the sky, Theisman had been bumped several grades, and assigned Task Force 3 of the 3rd Fleet, People’s Navy. The Exile Fleet, he’d noticed, where all the officers the People’s Government wished to shoot but could not found themselves assigned – far away from Haven.

"Yet as soon as something came up, they shuffled me off to nowhere," Theisman mused, his thoughts turning darker still. Just as he’d predicted in his ill-fated comments, the Drengin had rushed off from the signing of the new Havenite-Drengin alliance and started a fight with the Torians – other than the Arceans, the most powerful of the massive galaxy-spanning alien races the Havenites had so far encountered. The tiny race of the Korx, seemingly well insulated from the front by the surrounding embrace of Arcean space, had declared war on the Torians as well, and seized one of the Torian planets in their area.

"The People’s Government wishes 3rd Fleet to secure Korx space and ensure Torian retribution strikes are neutralized," Theisman said aloud, verbatim from the orders that had sent him here, hundreds of light years from either Haven or the combat zone. The place where the exiles could rot away, out of public sight or mind.

The task assigned was more suited for a fleet of fighters or frigates, yet Task Force 3 of 3rd Fleet was neither – Theisman headed the heavy ships of the fleet: 6 light cruisers and 2 destroyers, at the time of its formation, among the heaviest concentrations of firepower in the galaxy.

Now McQueen’s running around with those new battlecruisers, Theisman added sourly, before sipping more of his gin. Esther McQueen, consummate manipulator, was leading the charge into Torian space itself, at the head of the 1st Battlecruiser Squadron. SHE actually had ambitions to take charge of the People’s Republic herself – that was poorly kept secret. Yet the People’s Navy had sent her, the obvious threat, off to gain glory and sent Theisman, the man who wanted nothing to do with politics, off to exile.

The soft chirp of his communications console woke Theisman from his grouchy daydreaming. Hurriedly he ran a hand down his uniform, hastily settling it in place, before he took the call. The viewscreen opened, and he saw the face of Shannon Foraker, the blonde ‘tactical genius’ that unfortunately did not use proper ‘revolutionary terminology’ and thus found herself exiled to be his chief tac officer.

"Yes?" Theisman robbed his eyes slightly. Theisman thought it couldn’t be anything important… nothing important happened out in Korx space except the Korx trying to sell anything and everything…

"Si-, I mean, Citizen Admiral," Foraker corrected herself at Theisman’s glare, "People’s Commissioner Le Pic wanted me to remind you that at 1800 hours shipboard time the High Doge of Macrius I will be paying PNS CAESAR a courtesy visit."

"Has the People’s Commissioner made you my secretary now, Citizen Commander?" Theisman asked wryly. Theisman thought that sounded like Dennis. Despite the fact that his People’s Commissioner was supposed to be watching him like a hawk, carefully cataloguing each of his infractions against the state and revolution, Dennis Le Pic at times acted more like Theisman’s roommate or even marm, carefully reminding him of his duties as a People’s officer, rather than compiling charges then sending them off to Haven.

For her part, Foraker gave a start. Until Theisman spoke, she’d been looking away absent-mindedly. "Always thinking, that one," Theisman said to himself.

"Um… of course not, Citizen Admiral," she sputtered in recovery. "I was on the flag bridge when he came by, that’s all."

Theisman gave a smile, the first since his private brooding had began two hours before. "Very well, tell him that I’ll be ready to greet the Korx magistrate in two hours, and convey to the People’s Commissioner my thanks on his reminder. Anything else?"

"Citizen Commodore Tourville has returned with the frigates of Task Force one, and he wishes to brief you at the earliest possible convenience."

"Did he have any good hunting?" Theisman asked. Lester Tourville was another hothead whose popularity had precluded official punishment. Hard-riding, hard-hitting, he was, in Theisman’s mind, the ideal commander for the light, rapid ships of Task Force 1.

"He says he bagged a few unescorted Torian troopships headed to reinforce their rear garrisons here, but that’s it."

"Very well," Theisman rushed a hand over his uniform one last time, then grabbed his cap. "Tell Lester I’ll talk to him as soon as I’m done with the High Doge, and remember to thank the People’s Commissioner for the reminder."

"And for something to do in this god-forsaken place," Theisman muttered after he’d cut the comm. console.



Citizen Lieutenant Commander Oliver Diamato rose with a start, rubbing his eyes in confusion at the blaring noise assaulting his ears. For a second, he was back on the bridge of the destroyer BASTOGNE, his hands flashing over the tactical controls as her lasers picked pirate frigates from the sky one by one, until his slowly waking brain finally realized the noise was the chirp of his communicator. He growled in annoyance.

"If Kas’tinek is bothering me because he is excited about a new cargo shipment," Diamato hissed, dark ideas coming to his mind about how to deal with the personal assistant assigned to him by the Korx regional government. The young creature, like all the Korx Diamato had met during his brief term as People’s Naval Attache to the Anderson sector of Korx space, was all to excitable about trade, cargo, money… things Diamato personally didn’t care less about.

Unfortunately that happened all too often. Anderson V was one of the chief Korx manufacturing centers, as well as one of the major shipyards producing ships for the growing Korx fleet. Thus freighters were always coming in or leaving, and Kas’tinek felt it his duty to teach Diamato the cargos, trading values, and bartering prices of each. And of course, as his lodgings were aboard one of the numerous stations orbiting the planet, that meant a good portion of the freighters went by in excrutiating detail.

Gingerly, Diamato flipped the communicator on, but only to audio.

"What?" he asked a little to crossly. Normally he would’ve corrected himself, but this time, Diamato was genuinely angry. "It’s 0200 hours, what in God’s name…"

The moment he released the audio key on his side, the communicator erupted into a sea of hisses, shrieks and screams, all the noises of Korx shouting and yelling. Diamato hadn’t been there long enough to fully know Korx behavior, but he swore he could hear fear in their voices.

"They’re here!" he heard Kas’tinek’s familiar communicator twang barely over the tumult. "They’re here!" Diamato realized that what he suspected was fear was decidedly panic. Not good…

"Whose here?" Diamato repeated, now fully awake and out of bed. He was already stuffing his arms down the sleeves of his uniform when Kas’tinek’s panicked voice returned.

"The Torians!"

Diamato froze momentarily. "The Torians? Here? This is a backwater! We’re hundreds of light years from the front! Why are the Torians…" he muttered to himself, before he shook his head, then hurriedly slammed his uniform boots over his feet.

"I’m on my way," he spoke as he grabbed the communicator.

A few minutes later, Diamato arrived on the observation deck of the station. Unfortunately all the viewports, as well as all the viewscreens and dataports were mobbed with panicked Korx, some defense personnel trying to organize themselves, but most were panicked visitors trying to find a way off the station. After a quick search through the crowd, Diamato caught Kas’tinek’s tall, thin figure. He barged his way over, strapping on his own translator as he did so.

"How bad is it?" Diamato asked without introduction. He waited for a moment as the device emitted the requisite hissing, clicks and sighs that was Korx speech. Kas’tinek growled, hissed, and whined, and after a few moments, his translator shot back.

"Very bad! Six Torian cruisers and two heavy fighters arrived in system only hours ago! They destroyed the two frigates we have protecting the planet, and now…"

"Now what?" Diamato asked, annoyed. Kas’tinek merely pulled a personal holorecorder from one of his pockets and turned it on. After a few moments buzzing, the placid, peaceful image of a Torian head shimmered into view. It began to speak, quiet sighs and whistles to Diamato’s ears, but as soon as the translator’s began their work, Diamato’s blood ran cold.

"Inhabitants of the planet Anderson V, in response to the crimes of your government, you are being placed under blockade. None will exit the planet. In two weeks Torian troops will arrive to properly add your planet to New Toria, a sector that we will build on the remnants of your pathetic empire.

We were going to take your planet peacefully, but as your two warships made a futile effort to resist, we will assume all Korx are acting in resistance to the Torian claim on this planet, and we will act accordingly."

"They mean to kill us all!" Kas’tinek howled.