Years ago, I was a part of a group of friends I'm pleased to still keep in touch with to this day. We were members of the University of Minnesota Gaming Society and the Fantasy Role Playing Games Association ... or "UMGS" and "FRPGA" for short. We would meet twice weekly to talk, socialize and play games of all types. Then, one day while mowing my mother's lawn, an idea came to me. Actually, it was a sentence ... and it needed fleshing out. But from those few words, "The Mad Penguin sat in the darkened cockpit of the Dreamer's Folly..." sprung an idea that I've adored ever since. I would put forth a story -written by members of UMGS and FRPGA- that starred those self-same members in a semi-alternate-Universe setting of Science Fiction. I began by writing the first installment, followed by other members who quickly warmed to the surreal idea. We ranged from serious SF to pulp fiction to comic books to Anime to comedy and back again. It was a great amount of fun... And, for the first time on the web, here it is...

In The Dreamstate: Part One
by David J Rust

The Mad Penguin sat in the darkened cockpit of the Dreamer's Folly, flickering lights from the myriad control panels dancing on his impassive face. Dozens of smaller sub-systems handled the more routine aspects of the starship's day-to-day functioning, but the operative system on the main viewer was of primary importance. Quietly, he watched the display console and noted the varicolored dots and characters that represented the first-strike ground teams making their way through the hostile environment on the rebellious world below. A smile of satisfaction crossed his lips as he observed with keen interest that his most recently acquired assault team, military coded P.Y.V., had penetrated some ten kilometers farther than any of the other strike teams and had already engaged a guerrilla band of rebels. The military unit was well trained and had the benefit of three experienced officers representing the finest military minds in the Empire... not that this operation had much to do with the government.

Not long ago, when rebellion had seemed likely on the besieged planet below, and near-unanimous vote in the Imperial Conglomerate Senate resulted in a rather timid proposal to the Penguin for the use of his mercenaries in this tender situation. What the precious Senate didn't know was that an old acquaintance in their ranks had other plans...

On the surface, this was an unofficial action by the Empire to crush a colonists' rebellion. In reality, it was the Senate itself that would be the "put down".

Throughout the galaxy, every sentient knew that if you wanted the best -and could afford it- you went to Old Earth and hired the Mad Penguin. People like him (cybernetic scum, as most referred to the heavily-modified half-human/half-machine) were only tolerated by the Empire because they existed outside of the standard bureaucracy and worked under the rule of "might makes right." This condition led to the rise of small mercenary forces under the control of very strong individuals who were then able to sell their services and act without "official" sanctioning and thus bypass interplanetary treaty or law without fear of direct reprisal. They were powerful, loose cannons that were flimsily controlled by the economic powers of the Imperial Conglomerate.

And powerful they had to be to work with the Mad Penguin.

Although there were perhaps a baker's dozen other mercenary teams around the galaxy, the Penguin's were amongst the best. No one had better trained, better armored, or better adapted soldiers in their platoons. This was more due to the Mad Penguin's recruiting techniques than his training methods. Over the years, he had created many enemies in the government with his recruiting drives: "appropriating" some of their best infantry units and stealing them out from the Imperial Army's own pocket. All he had ever had to do was offer the prospective Imperial unit the usual benefits package that they'd gain by joining his corps and they'd rapidly exchange the Imperial blue for Penguin's gold.

More Senators and Generals had threatened him over the years for his practices than he had thought even the Imperial bureaucracy could furnish. But nonetheless, every time he "recruited" another team, some official somewhere would invariably condemn and threaten him. He'd survived all such challenges. Still, despite his prowess, this was the first commission the Penguin had gotten in nearly a year. However, it wasn't due to any threats that he'd been cutting back; more, it was due to the lack of many lucrative mercenary opportunities throughout the Empire. Since he only purchased new troops when he needed them, he didn't expect to have to gather any more for quite a while. In fact, P.Y.V. was the only unit he'd "recruited" from the ranks of the army for at least five years.

The three leaders of P.Y.V. were what drew his attention to the detachment when he was scouting out prospects for the mission. His employers had given him listings of twelve viable units from the standard military as part of payment for the job. However, the only real choice had been P.Y.V. -they were the best and featured the most experienced officers. Each was highly skilled in Stealth Surveillance, Communications, and Bio Warfare ... and they were also trusted friends.

Three good friends were down there -recent converts from General Taylor's division- and he was glad to have them. But all the skill and friendship in the world wouldn't save them if they penetrated much further without backup.

He sighed and shook his black-haired head slowly. He hated interrupting a good counter-strike, but... Careful maneuvers kept them alive and his operation in business. The large mirrored lenses that he wore over his eyes and implanted in his dermal layers emotionlessly surveyed the other units. On his internal lens displays, he called up the specifics on the available units that could back up P.Y.V. Thanks to these lenses that he had grafted into his nervous system, he could mentally access most non-secured computer systems without much effort and direct actions at the speed of thought. It was an advantage that had served him well many times before.

The closest units to P.Y.V. were the F.R.P. and the N.O.6. teams. He considered carefully.

Deciding that F.R.P. was most easily accessible, he extended his poly-metallic claws from their sheathes along his fingernails and, bypassing the complex code sequence with his personal interface, physically plugged himself into the Comm system. Just tell P.Y.V. to hold position until F.R.P. could reach them with reinforcements.

It would also give time to the other units to catch up.

He stabbed the chip-laced claws into the special interface ports again and sent the corresponding commands to F.R.P.

Withdrawing his hand from the main board, he patted the small plush toy hanging from a string to his right. Ancient beyond belief, the mercenary leader's avian mascot hung as an incongruous contrast to the warship and its commander. Absently, the mercenary commander patted the plush toy on its over-sized nose. The rebels would be defeated soon and then the Mad Penguin's real orders could be executed.

Communications Officer Pietro felt like beating his head against one of the near-metallic trees that seemed to grow everywhere on this dismally wet world. The trees were so dense and incorporated so many heavy salts and metals directly from the soil to reinforce their trunks that felling them was nearly impossible. It had taken James, the group's biochemist, to perfect a unique defoliant that caused almost instant oxidization of the tree's metallic bark. The massive plants, thus denied their reinforced support, would splinter and collapse under their own weight. Unfortunately, the chem engineer's day-saving compounds had accidentally gotten into the communications relay equipment and had spent hours damaging the sensitive machinery before the error was discovered.

The main communications bank looked as if it had been dipped in an acid bath. Grumbling through his breathing apparatus and attendant environmental suit, Pietro hammered at the deteriorated access panel to get at the interior. Straining with his wiry frame, the communications officer managed to pry loose the panel. Pietro looked in with dismay. The interior boards and semi-liquid conductor chips were melted and fused.

Great.

He'd need new parts to repair this kind of damage... parts that he didn't have. The entire P.Y.V. unit would be flying blind on secondary suit-communicators until they could meet up with another unit and get spare replacements parts. Closing the panel, Pietro rose and glanced up at the dark blue clouds that seemed to perpetually rain stinging water down across the planet. They boiled in the greenish sky above as if threatening another downpour at any minute. Silently cursing the toxic weather, the Comm Officer started back to command central.

Massive tree branches arched at least two hundred feet above him; long, tendril-like leaves swaying in the winds. Why the constant rain didn't rust the trees to death, Pietro didn't know, but Jim had said it had something to do with the rate at which the large trees absorbed fresh metals from the soil.

His brown hair sweaty against his forehead, Pietro wished that someone would invent more efficient dehydration units for environment suits. The smell of sweat was almost overwhelming. Resigning himself to a long trek to meet another unit at CoMann City, the planet's capital city some thirty kilometers ahead, Pietro mentally pieced together a report on the communications failure for P.Y.V.'s unit commander.

He slogged through the long, black shadows and clinging, grainy mud back to the main base, passing the site where the earlier guerrilla engagement had taken place. Twisted bodies lay about the landscape burned or twisted into unnatural positions. Many had the bizarre skin coloration and leather-hard flesh of the mutant colonists.

The colonists had been genetically re-engineered to be immune to the toxic atmosphere and resistant to the high atmospheric pressure and metal-enriched waters. They were tough, that was for sure, but nothing that a sonic lance couldn't obliterate. Most gene-colonists were modified in minor ways to survive a planet whose environment was only slightly too exotic to be economically terraformed. Unfortunately, it was an expensive process to genetically re-engineer over two thousand colonists. This resulted in an occasional rebellion as when such a colony became bankrupt and it got abandoned by the Empire rather than paying to undo the costly bio-modifications and evacuate the colony. That was the situation on CoMann's world.

Their economy had been worsening despite incredible deposits of iron, copper, silicon, and uranium. The constant difficulties of the weather were far worse than had been projected by the Conglomerate's surveyors and this made mining difficult at best. Since the colony was already over-extended financially, the Imperial Conglomerate Senate was meeting to decide the fate of the surface settlements. Most likely, the order would be given to abandon the colony and resort to the use of the orbital space platforms to handle the crucial trade that went through the system to the outer colonies. These stations had been in place for decades ever since CoMann's world was declared "adequately defensible" by the government. Originally the world, although mineral rich, was viewed as an "unviable financial liability." However, with the recent improvements in genetic re-engineering, planting biologically suitable colonists had improved cost risk. A cost that was, now, looking rather steep.

Pietro trudged past a burned and faded banner of the colonists. It bore twin double helixes flanking a bronze fist. They had thought they could force the Empire to listen. They were wrong.

The Imperial Conglomerate Senate was to decide the fate of the colony within twenty standard days, but the colonists hadn't had much hope of continued support and had openly rebelled. The ambassadors to CoMann's World that had been seized as hostages were expendable, but their Armored Transport Ships were not.

That was P.Y.V.'s immediate goal. It and the other units were supposed to reclaim the ships from the capital city's space pad before the A.T.S.' internal environment systems could be recalibrated for use by the colonists. This would give them the ability and weapons to leave their world and attempt an invasion of the space platforms. Not that the opportunity had been left to them.

The Imperially controlled space stations surrounding CoMann's World were well-defended by trained units under the Mad Penguin's flag. It seemed ironic to Pietro that the governmental agents who had hired the Penguin were paying for the service of using the very same troops that had been initially trained to serve them in the Imperial Army.

The Communications Officer gradually passed the battle site and the dead bodies of the rebels. There had been no prisoners.

The surprise attack on P.Y.V. had come at dawn when the unit had entered a dense area of woodlands -or metallands, as Pietro thought of them- and began defoliation to move the large equipment and troop carriers through. The attack was a rapid quick-strike, but P.Y.V. had prevailed. Only ten mercenaries had perished in the assault and even fewer had been seriously injured.

The guerrilla attackers had been wiped out to the last colonist.

Pietro mounted a small rise and approached the large overland drop vehicle that the unit used as central control on the planet. Once through the airlock and out of his survival gear, the Communications Officer entered the main control center. The seven primary stations were vacant due to the emergency repairs requiring personal supervision of most of their soldiery. The only people in the command center were the two other officers of P.Y.V.

In the middle of the cluttered command room that had become the officer's home in the past twenty planetary hours, stood a broad Vid-board which was currently re-playing the unit's maneuvers during the recent surprise attack. Seated around the glowing holographic recording were Pietro's two peers.

Jim was leaning back in his chair calmly viewing the effects of his chemical weapons on the rebels and taking notes. The holographic images were soundless but the painful cries of the rebels could be felt from their expressions as they asphyxiated in specially designed chemical clouds or dissolved without the protection of environment suits in baths of acidic fumes. The biochemist was a heavy-set, tall man with curling blonde hair and surprisingly friendly blue eyes. His faint tan spoke of his rigorous outdoor training with the unit over the past seven cycles. He was dressed in a pair of faded cloth pants (an old fabric called "denim" that was still produced in some distant parts of the Empire) and a T-shirt bearing a cartoon emblem of the Mad Penguin's mascot.

Pietro felt it hard to believe that such a friendly and carefree face could hide such a terrifying intellect. At the academy, Jim had been called the "Mad Scientist" for various concoctions he'd come up with on paper. Pietro had long thought that it was this morbid fascination with chemicals and their effect on living organisms that led to the army's enlistment of Jim as a chemical warfare expert. Either that, or his numerous cybernetic implants that also made the man a walking arsenal ... and not one of the enhancements visible.

But, whereas the genetic and cybernetic alterations of the bio-chem officer were unnoticeable, the alterations of P.Y.V.'s unit commander were far more obvious.

Commander Steve was of a slender but extremely muscular build, definitely short, but with a bearing and stature that made up for any lack in height. A veritable mane of hair cascaded down past his shoulders in a large pony-tail tucked neatly into a loop of fabric on the back of his tan tunic. His eyes had been genetically altered to be much larger and slightly exotic with an ice blue tone that occasionally darkened when he grew angry. They eyes had a faint oriental cast and this, coupled with his overall build and graceful movements, gave him an elfin quality.

He looked up from the video display to greet Pietro as the Comm Officer entered the messy command center. As the drop vehicle had become their home since planet fall yesterday, it had accumulated a mass of papers, food containers, clothing, and other sundry objects of their forced habitation: guns, ammo, maps, games, books, computer parts, and pieces of ammo littered nearly every surface.

Steve sighed. "If general Taylor could've seen us and our response to the guerrilla attack, she'd have us skinned alive."

"It beats having to do five-hundred push-ups, though," returned Pietro with a smile. He moved over to the hologram and pulled up a chair. "Well, our damages are pretty severe. The communications relay unit is totaled... Jim's oxidizer sure did a number on it. We'll be totally cut off from the ol' Mad Penguin until we can meet up with another unit for spare parts. We can't deliver reports, receive orders... Hell, we can't even tell him if we need emergency pull-out; we're stuck."

Jim spread his arms innocently, "Hey, it's not my fault that some idiot stored the metal defoliant near the Comm relay ... we were under attack!"

Pietro nodded with annoyance. "I know; it's just that we're now down to personal communicators only. We'll be receiving no coordination from the mother ship at all. As a matter of fact, we won't even know that we're near another unit until we actually bump into them. I have a small problem with fighting blind ... it's not much fun."

The commander shook his head. "No chance of cannibalizing parts from command central?"

"Not if you want to retain inter-environment suit communications, Steve. If we want to repair our Comm relay, we'd have to sacrifice personal communications and coordination efforts. Our best bet is to either stay put and wait for someone up in th' Penguin's command to notice we haven't moved or push ahead and try to meet another unit before we reach CoMann Capital."

Steve paused in thought while Jim poured a cup of coffee for himself and Pietro. Steve didn't allow his worry to reach his face. No communications meant no coordination of effort with any other unit. And having to assault even a moderately defended colony city without knowing what the other units were doing could be suicidal. He sighed again as he figured the odds. He knew that his unit was in the lead and probably would reach the city a good twelve to sixteen hours before the other units. But he couldn't be sure.

The others might get further in that time using defoliation tactics or any number of other improvised methods ... and P.Y.V. was crucial to the assault. Not one other unit had full details of the Penguin's plans regarding the capital city. It was imperative that Steve's unit reach CoMann Capital either before or exactly at the same time as the other units.

Rob, the Mad Penguin as he was known to his few friends, was counting on them. They had to get to the city and engage the enemy within a few hours of the other units or all could be lost. Steve considered his options carefully. There didn't seem to be many.

Damning the bind fates that had struck P.Y.V., he resigned himself to his course of action. The unit would just have to fly blind for a while...

...And hope that they didn't arrive too late to be of use to Rob and his governmental employers or arrive too soon and be slaughtered by the sheer numbers of the colonists.

"We have to go in blind, guys - Rob's counting on us."

Jim smiled knowingly. "Improvise?"

"We'll have to."

Setting his coffee cup down on the edge of the Vid-board, Jim canceled the replay of today's battle and punched in his own code. Soon the images were replaced by molecular diagrams and pages of data. "How about a little oxidizer on their food processor units? We can create the threat of a long-term starvation siege; they have no idea that we're not here for an extended campaign."

"No... too risky." Pietro dumped his coffee into the trash. Jim was perhaps the finest biochemist in the Imperial Army, but he couldn't make coffee to save his soul. Sometimes his fellow officers wondered if Jim's coffee was some kind of new chemical weapon, but that theory usually fell through when they observed what a real Jim Felling chemical weapon could do. Pietro ignored the fumes coming out of the trash and returned his gaze to the biochemist. "We can't risk severely damaging any of the base. Once the battle's over and after the Penguin's units settle in, we have to be prepared to hod the city against any threat that the Empire can throw at us. Damaged food processors would be an easy target if we can't repair them by the time Imperial forces get here."

"We should go on with the first plan, then... just speed it up a little." Steve paused and looked at Jim's calculations and formulae on the holographic projection. It had taken two weeks of advance planning during the troop-transfer to CoMann's word to create the oxidizer and another five hours on-planet of actual testing and reworking to implement it. It was a great achievement and had many destructive uses ... unfortunately, all of them too risky.

Then again...

A large, furry canine padded into the room from the adjacent sleeping quarters. Large by any standards, it had been genetically engineered to a size roughly that of a pony. Having been used by the commander during his time with Taylor's animal combat units, Steve had a genuine empathic bond with the wolf. The large canine approached Steve and lay down at his side with a wide yawn.

"Well, Chaser: this is it." Steve scratched behind his canine companion's ears. Turning to the others, he continued, "Jim, can you use the oxidizer on only a portion of a tree ... say the base?"

The chemist thought for a second. "I'd have to work on the bonding agents to prevent it being drawn into the full trunk, but I think so."

"What are you planning, Steve?"

The commander smiled. "A move that our enemies won't expect. Without more units, our armored carriers could be overwhelmed and penetrated by thrown mining charges from the colonists. However, what I'm thinking about is improving our defensive capabilities with a little creative carpentry..."

The wolf looked up, interested.

"That's right, Chaser, a mobile fortress. One that will buy us time if we get there too early and one that will provide us with easily accessible repair materials for fixing the parts of the city that our attack damages." He paused and smiled at his friends. "The Penguin will have his world and a new fortress to boot... right in the middle of the Imperial trade lines to the outer colonies."

The plush offices of the Imperial Conglomerate seemed redolent with implied sarcasm. Deep red office carpeting reflected the color of the opulent furniture throughout each of the large rooms. Patterned after the standard designs of the Imperial Housing and Business Board, the private rooms of the Senators all looked roughly the same. Cool, dry air blew in through environmentally controlled vents with a gentle hum somewhat in time with the soft, staccato sounds of hidden music. The view out of the window was artificial, of course, showing broad vistas of fields, trees, a river, and a distant mountain range. Reddish crystal lamps and other extravagant accessories completed the picture of wanton excess.

To the Senator, it was sickening.

Senator Comeau sat at his crystal-topped desk and reviewed a list of expenditures on his Mitsui Holo9000. Carefully, he examined each line for any obvious fraud.

Nothing.

Six times through the same list and still nothing even slightly provoking.

If there was any embezzlement or misappropriation of credits from the Conglomerate, it was totally untraceable. Paul allowed a feeling of satisfaction flow through him. His tampering was virtually invisible.

Sitting back in his grav-chair, he permitted himself the first feelings of security since this whole operation began. As Senator in the United Conglomerate Empire, it was expected by his peers that some illegality would occasionally arise ... but nothing on this scale. True, each of his economic transgressions had a precedent in recent history, but those instances had been separate and performed by incompetents who thought they knew the system. Bribing military officials, "buying" a private army, embezzling billions from the Imperial treasury, preparing a potentially genocidal military maneuver; all of them had their precedents.

And each one had been unsuccessful.

That's where he made his departures. Other senators in the past had been afraid of the colossal expenditure that it would require to hire the Mad Penguin's mercenaries on a planetary scale. It had been his good fortune to be able to engineer matters on the Senate floor such that he could convince his "peers" that military action would be necessary. And once that had been approved, the Penguin was the logical choice to put down a potentially embarrassing situation on a colony world. The monetary risk alone was colossal.

Of course, he wasn't using his own money...

Things were working according to schedule. Even the unpredictable early revolt on CoMann's world, which had moved up the time table by two cycles, had been dealt with. It was inevitable. Hire only the best, and you get the best results. Even if the colonists had revolted before he could've engineered the vote in the senate to cut them off, he'd have been ready.

And now, there remained very few variables.

The sudden compressed-air hiss of the door opening opened caused him to quickly lean forward out of the chair and order the erasure of the file he'd been scanning.

It wouldn't be good for a prominent foreign relations Senator to be seen checking Imperial treasury records.

Paul looked up.

"Good day, Senator."

The crisp, clear voice came from a slender, short woman with closely cropped brown hair and tanned features. Dressed from head to toe in the standard deep blue uniform of the Imperial Army, she stood in contrast to the monotonous colors of the room. Her passive, unexpressive features dwindled into a broad grin. "How have you been, Paul?"

The Senator breathed a sigh of relief. General Taylor.

Rubbing his blue eyes for a second, he straightened and crossed the room to greet his fellow conspirator. "Fine, of course. How are matters proceeding?"

She smiled. "Excellently." Her face fell and her tone took on tinges of regret. "I wish that I didn't have to lose P.Y.V. to the Mad Penguin, though. Out of all the Imperial Army, that division was the best I'd ever trained. Manipulating the Penguin into taking P.Y.V. may have been a little too obvious."

"I doubt it. Anyway, they're exactly what we needed: a good unit that we can trust to do the job that the Empire hired the Penguin's mercs to do. Besides, we needed a highly recognized army unit to convince the Senate to involve the Penguin's mercenaries for the action on CoMann's World; they'd never have consented to using the Penguin on such a vital outpost unless they had assurances that there would be at least one unit in the Empire's pocket."

"You'd better hope that the Penguin doesn't take offense at our deception. As long as he thinks he's really bought P.Y.V. from the army..."

"He has."

"What?"

"He has bought them. I made sure that there would be no strings at all to the Empire save those that led through the Penguin to me... P.Y.V. has heard nothing of our plot save what the Penguin has told them. They probably don't even know that you are a part of this at all." The Senator paused. "I think it will be quite a shock when they discover that the very General who supervised the training of their unit and from whom they eventually 'escaped', is the same secret employer of the Penguin for whom they are indirectly working."

"But why?"

"The Senate thinks it controls a unit in the Penguin's mercs. That's all fine and good, but our involvement in the real plan with the Penguin could be revealed accidentally by the P.Y.V. unless the P.Y.V. knows only that they have defected from the Empire to serve the Mad Penguin's mercenaries."

A frown crossed Taylor's features. "I don't know, Paul. These kind of elaborate schemes often have one too many twists for them to be accomplished flawlessly."

"Second thoughts?"

Taylor shook her head slowly. "No," she responded tiredly, "it's just that I don't feel in control. The Penguin..."

"Is totally in my pocket," Paul interrupted. "He is thoroughly trustworthy. I've known him for years and he has never double-crossed an employer."

"Always a first time for everything..."

Paul frowned.

"After all I've done, all my preparations, do you really think I'd allow for any improbability to effect the outcome? I've taken measures to ensure that he stays loyal. After all, without my Imperial connections, he couldn't hope to succeed for more than a few cycles."

"Well..."

"And anyway, at the first sign of betrayal, he can be removed, and I can disavow any knowledge of the Penguin's post-authorized activities." Paul paused and turned back towards his desk. "I'd rather have him as an ally, but if things get out of hand, I can do without him."

General Taylor walked up behind the Senator and put a hand on his shoulder. She could feel the tense muscles in his upper back and began to massage the tight knots. "Then CoMann's World will fall?"

After a pause, he responded, "It's already begun."

Senator Comeau turned to embrace the General. He smiled. "Very shortly, we will have a new base of operations separate from the Corporate Empire with a loyal army to use against our enemies."

"And then, Senator," added Taylor with a similar grin, "even the mighty Empire will have no choice but to listen to our demands... or perish."

Continue to Part Two...