Hyperspace

Hyperspace

An Asymmetric Game of Interstellar Conquest

Sandy made his reputation designing asymmetric multiplayer strategic games – while still in the digital field, he worked on Civilization, Lightspeed, the Age of Empires series, and Halo Wars. More recently, he created Cthulhu Wars and the Gods War. Now we introduce Hyperspace, an asymmetric game of interstellar conquest!

Hyperspace is a fast-moving 2-4 player asymmetric strategy game about interstellar expansion. In it, you take the part of an interstellar civilization competing to control a newly-discovered star cluster! Construct your empire, fight for resources, and research technology.

Each alien species has its own unique flaws and advantages, and victory lies in recognizing this. The game is physically attractive, and includes well over one hundred figures of spaceships, starbases, colonies, alien citizens, and so forth. It takes place in a star cluster built up of individual pieces that changes every time you play.

Let’s talk about some of its unusual features.

What Makes Hyperspace So Unique?

One of the common “features” of space empire games is that they take a looong time to play. Hyperspace breaks that mold – it usually takes less than 2 hours to play through a 4 player game. We often play it twice in an evening.

No upkeep phase

Most strategy games have upkeep phases, to gather resources, refresh units, and similar functions. The Game of Thrones boardgame has the Planning phase; Twilight Imperium has three such phases – Strategy, Status, and Agenda. Even Cthulhu Wars has the Doom phase. While these serve useful functions, they also bring play to a dead stop.

Hyperspace has no such “upkeep”. Instead, after a player takes his turn, it passes to the next player, and so around and around until the game’s end. You never get to catch your breath! BUT … neither do your opponents.

TL; DR

  • Sandy Petersen’s super-asymmetric game of space conquest!
  • Short play time!
  • 20 different civs!
  • No “upkeep” phase. Play never stops!
  • Includes Lovecraftian races!

Game Info

Coming to Kickstarter January 2019


Hyperspace
News & Updates

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Game Stats


Game Design

Sandy Petersen


Artists

Kent Hamilton


As you may know, Sandy studied zoology in college (specializing in arthropods). One of the things he learned is that humanoids are vanishingly rare. Earth has only one! So even as a kid I thought humanoid aliens were somewhat bogus. As a result, the aliens of Hyperspace are … alien. We launch with 20 different civs, and more are planned for the crowdfunding campaign. We have more civs in Hyperspace than all the factions in Cthulhu Wars and Gods War combined. That was a lot of playtest time!

Choose a portrait to the left to see the Alien Civilization Profile in full

Automata

Broodmaster


Starport Lavash teems with habitats, constructed for all the varied entities that wish to visit, live, or trade here. This port is ruled by the Broodmasters, and by Broodmaster law, such as it is. I have stayed here for two years and have never seen a real Broodmaster.

Oh, I see plenty of the small tick-like spawn everywhere. In common parlance, most human residents of Starport Lavash term these “Broodmasters” though I suppose they are really only “broodlings” – non-breeding creations of the main body. These broodlings lack speech apparatus of their own, but hear, understand, and respond to human speech. Most broodlings are small, with carapaces only 5-10 cm across. All the vehicles and work machines at Starport Lavash are operated by broodlings, nestled inside tiny control compartments. I am staying at the Friend Human Hotel, where the concierge is a large broodling with a 50 cm carapace. I suspect my concierge was grown to such size so it would be safe from being stepped on or injured by a drunken guest.

My broodling concierge is the fastest typist I’ve ever seen – in human languages yet. Sometimes I test it, asking for help in translating a document into Tagalog, Thai, or Mixe-Zoquean. It has never hesitated and simply taps it out in a minute or two. It does expect a tip for this service, though I’m not sure why it wants money. I never see it go anywhere – it’s always at its desk.

Occasionally a giant armored vehicle with a huge cabin grinds slowly through town. I suspect these vehicles transport an actual Broodmaster. Normally the Broodmasters reside in massive armored bunkers, to which all entrance is forbidden.

In olden times, humans dreamed of the ability to read minds. The Broodmaster developed this faculty to its logical extreme. Now we see the terrible result. A master telepath has no need for eyes, ears, or any other senses. It has no need to move on its own. It sees and hears through its brood, and travels through its brood. It is a huge repulsive immobile insensate blob – a thing of pure mind.

Dealing with a Broodmaster is exhausting. Though their intellects are vast, their desires are crass and shallow. Every contact I have with the Human Friend Hotel’s owner (through my concierge) is a struggle to keep from being tricked, as the creature seeks to twist every statement I make to its selfish advantage. The Broodmasters have no loyalty even to their own kind. Once my concierge tried to hire me to plant stink-bombs in a rival hotel’s foyer as a minor financial ploy to force some conventioneers to switch quarters to his own hotel.

I loathe the Broodmasters, though I have never seen them. I fear their intellect, their monstrous egotism. But I also pity them.

–Aurora Ultraviolet

The Broodmaster Monitor

The Monitor is designed to carry an old and powerful Broodmaster into battle. The ship is unarmed! Its defense is the Broodmaster’s own powers of mental control. The central cabin holds the Broodmaster itself, while the large enclosing ring has electronics and devices to power-up and amplify his mental energy. The interior of the ship swarms with tiny broodlings, performing maintenance and upkeep and of course also tending their vile master.

Game Rules

The Broodmasters are cunning and subtle. They can bribe other player’s units to become their mercenaries, swap bases with unwilling rivals, and suppress a foe’s attacks in battle. They even corrupt the deck of secrets for their own self-serving purposes!

Turntables

Collector

Daldath


In better times, this world was a joint colony of humans and Zepzeg. A shining example of cooperation. How, I heard the shrieks of men and women, the wailing of children, and the hissing ululations of frightened Zepzeg. Some called for their children or spouses, or on God. Some prayed for death in their terror of dying. Some called on God, but others shouted no Gods were left alive. The universe was plunged into eternal darkness forevermore.

A gleam of light returned in the sky, but we took this to be a warning of approaching flames, rather than daylight. The flames, if such they were, remained some distance off; then darkness came on once more and ashes began to fall, in heavy showers. About a hundred of us clambered through piles of the falling ash; otherwise we should have been buried, crushed beneath their weight. Over the course of an hour, my group attracted more forlorn survivors, and I seemed to be leader of the group, perhaps because no cry of fear escaped me. I admit I derived some poor consolation in my mortal lot from my belief that the whole world was dying with me and I with it.

Finally, we reached my ship after struggling ponderously through the ash. I wasn’t sure we could launch through the dust, but we had no choice. Success! Below us, cracks became visible in the planet’s crust. It seemed likely we had escaped just in time. But even so, my ship seemed doomed. It was pitted and damaged while taking off through the storms and swirling cinders and was unable to transition to hyperspace. We could not leave this ruined system. We drifted uselessly for weeks, eating stored supplies, and growing more frantic as time wore on. One day, my sensors detected a Daldath platform floating in synchronous orbit around our asteroid field, once a fertile world. Was it an observer, to record the havoc its nation had wrought?

I sent messages to the Daldath platform, asking for permission to dock, and its airlock opened. My ragtag band of survivors were too frightened to enter the Daldath construction, but I took courage and crossed the threshold.

The platform was small. The airlock opened directly onto the control room, where a repulsize being floated, mechanically-enhanced eyes glowing venomously. It had a dozen pipes, tentacles, or hoses dangling from it, each with some different purpose. Some hoses were attached physically to the ship’s wall.

I questioned it, “Why destroy this world? Why not at least wait until we could evacuate? You have made enemies of both humans and Zepzeg.”

The Daldath’s computer-enhanced response was immediate. “My analysis: your ship is damaged. I must retrieve useful elements here. Assist me. I repay you with access to repair machines.”

Was … was it offering me a job? Alone on its platform, tasked with harvesting supplies from the world’s wreck, my ship seemed just a tool to the thing. I should have refused support to this genocidal beast, save for one factor – the men, women, children, and Zepzeg evacuees aboard my ship. I am not proud of the days that followed, but the Daldath kept its word, even handing out large credit bonuses. My survivors were able to set up new lives elsewhere with this cash. Some went so far as to thank the Daldath for its “help”, forgetting that its platform had wiped out their homes, their friends, and their whole previous existence.

As for me, I shall neither forget nor forgive. Death to the Daldath.

–Aurora Ultraviolet

The Daldath Planet Smasher

The Daldath can create gigantic biomechanical structures, deeply rooted in a planet, and powered by energy from its core. These structures are able to project destructive energy across the light-years of space and destroy entire worlds. Their planet smashers can be destroyed, though it is difficult and they are the core of Daldath power.

Game Rules

The Daldath are a terrifying civilization which can change and desolate an entire star cluster.  They leave hollow spots in their swath, from which they can later harvest precious supplies. The destruction is expensive, however, and other civilizations can often profit through this same destruction.

Turntables

Fungi


The cylinder spoke: “Sometimes the ignorant call them Yuggothans, because they were once known as the Fungi from Yuggoth. But Yuggoth is just Pluto – an old forward base for the fungal scouts. The Outer Beings – which we Terrans know as Fungi, are the most marvellous organic things in all space and time – a cosmos-wide race of  which all other life-forms are merely degenerate variants. The Outer Beings are more vegetable than animal, if these terms can be applied to the sort of matter composing them, and have a fungoid structure; though the presence of a photosynthetic pigment and its unusual nutritive system differentiate them from true fungi. Indeed, they are composed of a form of matter alien to this part of space.”

It continued its lecture, droning on as I looked surreptitiously at my timepiece. “Only a few species of the Fungi have the ether-resisting wings enabling them to fly through space, and these are by no means the most highly developed. They dwell in mighty cities – great tiers of terraced towers build of black stone. The fungus-beings need no light – they have other, subtler senses. Their prodigious surgical, biological, chemical, and mechanical skills enable them to modify their own forms, growing or carving them into useful functions, or attaching devices.”

Growing bored, I walked up and switched off the speech machine. What was the point? The brain, trapped in its glass cylinder, would just continue to propagandize about its masters. A panel opened in the ceiling and a pinkish monster dropped into the room. It scuttled on crab-like legs. It was repulsive, resembling a large crustacean infected by some terminal fungus illness. Spore bodies sprouted from its carapace, and its head was simply a mass of diseased-looking filaments. Machines of unclear purpose were cemented into its body. I watched cautiously, one hand on a hidden weapon.

The creature scuttled to the table and plugged the speech machine into a port on its own body. It itself began to speak through the machine, in a buzzing voice. “The human brain has failed. We have come down from the Seven Suns to seek a human agent. You shall be rewarded for guiding our messenger among mankind. He shall put on the semblance of man, the mask and robe that hides. Guide him.”

I backed away. It waved its limbs in a ritual pattern, entranced by its own rhetoric. “You must comprehend. Come with us. Live forever among us. We will use your brain and body.” I was puzzled. What did it want? Why did it separate the terms “brain” and “body”? That seemed ominous.

More portals opened, and other Fungi-beings scurried into the room, clutching surgical instruments. The original entity exulted, its voice rising feverishly “You are untrained in our ways. The solution is simple! We shall remove your brain and preserve alive it for later use. You will feel no pain. This shall be your reward. Your body shall also be our human messenger – we shall put a new, loyal brain into your form and it shall go forth in your façade to communicate and guide our messenger from the Seven Suns. The humans shall be mocked and fooled … “

As I realized their awful plot, I turned and ran for the door, as it started to iris shut. I jumped, hoping to roll through the diminishing aperture, to escape the horror of these detestable beings.

–Aurora Ultraviolet

The Fungi BatRatSpider

The Fungi are able to easily attach mechanical and electronic devices to their bodies, and their surgical skill, combined with their fungoid nature, lets them modify one another easily. They can graft parts together, grow larger, or bloat organs or body parts that they wish to emphasize.

The Batratspider is the result of the Fungi’s desire to create a dangerous war machine. It is composed partly of a native animal found on their homeworld, with fungoid brain attachments and controllers, along with cybernetic weapon and shield enhancements. The end product is a deadly bio-mechanical war machine, immune to any but the most devastating attack.

Game Rules

The Fungi are a fearsome enemy. They are subdivided into castes which they can apply to dominate the map – using the Drone Caste to accelerate victory, the Flight Caste to move citizens through space, and their Batratspiders to dominate combat. But their mightiest power is doubtless their Brain Caste, which they can use to customize and synergize technology in a manner unknown to any other civilization.

Turntables

Glazaqtoq


No one likes the Glazqaqtoq. All of us know they are toadying, lying, cheating cowards. To make matters worse, the Glazaqtoq are notoriously abusive and arrogant. But they did once rule vast tracts of the galaxy. Their ruins and abandoned colonies speckle the universe. Unfortunately for me, I had been sent to one of those colonies to make contact and see if a trade agreement could be worked between the Glazaqtoq and my corporate bosses.

When my ship landed, I saw at once that the Glazaqtoq starport was a mess. Garbage and abandoned ship parts, even decaying food, lay about the field. No one was there to meet me. I hiked into town. A few Glazaqtoq were parading up and down the road, dressed in ragged splendor. I stopped by one to ask directions to the palace, but it spoke first. “You are a human, correct?” it asked in perfect Terran.

“Yes indeed,” I replied.

“Excellent.” It said. “Please sweep the walkway on this block. You will find tools and cleaning agent in the red-painted shed. When you are finished, you may take a ten-minute rest period.” It whirled and stalked off. I was flabbergasted, and more than a little offended.

Ignoring my “orders”, I continued in the direction I believed the palace lay. Soon I saw its tarnished towers rising above the city slums. Slums I call them, because they seemed poor and run-down, and stank of organic filth. But these slum buildings were also decorated with brightly-colored finery – cracked plastic domes adorned rooftops, peeling veneers made to imitate gold and palladium coatings covered doors and window frames. Even the lowliest Glazaqtoq clearly felt he was a high aristocrat, deserving of the outward appearance of rulership.

Perhaps that was why their city was so filthy – not a single Glazaqtoq was willing to lift a finger to perform such a low task as cleaning the streets. What indolent, useless beings! I tried to rid my mind of my new-found contempt. It wouldn’t do to have the Glazaqtoq lord sense that I felt he was anything other than impressive.

I finally walked up to the palace. Glazaqtoq troops lined the walkway, and a fanfare of trumpets announced me. I checked my wristphone network for images of Glazaqtoq uniforms and insignia and realized, to my amusement, that every single soldier on the walkway was labeled as a “General” or “Field Marshal”. As I stepped carefully over a piece of rotten fruit, I entered the grand hall. On a floating throne, at the far end of the hall, sat an elderly Glazaqtoq, evidently the city’s lord. I waited till I was summoned forth to address the lord.

It spoke. “You are the Terran envoy.”

“I am the Terran envoy,” I confirmed.

“We deign to re-impose our will upon the Terran subject species, and accept you as our personal maid.”

Um. Sure. Whatever. I winced. “What about the trade deal my corporation is interested in making with your world?”

“Commercial intrigues are beneath my grand notice. Carry out whatever plans you wish. Just ensure that the proper tribute is paid on a quarterly basis.” A splendidly-seedy official handed me a scroll, already signed, and ready for my superiors. I looked it over. It seemed to have all the points covered. Suddenly I realized that the scroll was made from tanned human skin and shuddered. No doubt the Glazaqtoq had no idea of the effect that had on me. Nor did they care.

I had what I wanted, but I still had questions. “Great Lord Emperor, can I ask you something,” I begged?

“You may request one single answer from me, Terran envoy. Then I must depart to address galaxy-wide concerns.”

My mind swarmed with questions. I fixated on one. “Great Lord Emperor. Why are all your soldiers high officers? What is the point of officers with no troops to command?”

“Foolish Terran. Do you not know that sergeants are more valuable than privates? Officers more valuable than sergeants? And generals the most valuable of all. By our great wisdom in promoting ALL our warriors to the highest ranks, we ensure that every soldier is the mightiest and most valuable.”

The Glazaqtoq closed-minded idiot logic stunned me and I backed out of its presence without further comment. Despite its claim that I was now its private maid, I wasn’t stopped or molested as I made my way back to the starport. I wish my corporate contractors luck in dealing with these abusive, foolish Glazaqtoq. I would be happy never to see another.

–Aurora Ultraviolet

The Glazaqtoq Exprimis

The Glazaqtoq ship was once the most powerful vessel in the universe and enforced their will on hapless minions. Now these ships are obsolescent, though still striking in appearance. The Glazaqtoq still put great faith in them however.

Game Rules

The Glazaqtoq start with an extra homeworld, which is their major advantage. Their sloth and laziness means they can’t benefit from salvaged items on newly-colonized worlds, but this also acts as a sort of protection, since they are less likely to be on an interesting continent. Their high-handed approach to secrets lets them manipulate the other civs to an amazing degree, and try to maintain their ancient hegemony.

Turntables

Mendeku


How does a group of beings with no leader, no plan, create complex structures, and carry out organized operations? What are their rules? How do they execute them? The best-known fact about the Mendeku is that the individuals are unintelligent – less intelligent than monkeys. Some observers posit the existence of a “noble caste” which controls the rest. But no evidence of these “nobles” has ever surfaced. When a Mendeku ship, destroyed in battle, is salvaged, we find dead Mendeku gunners, pilots, engineers, and so forth. But no “nobles”, no “commanders”.

I dared not risk a visit to a Mendeku world – while individual Mendeku behavior is predictable, as a group they are dangerous. If something I did prompted a defensive response by a warrior, I’d certainly be killed. The Mendeku have no legal system, no resource. Should you trigger an attack, it’s all over. The warriors never miss a shot, are not subject to argument, and completely relentless. So, to study them, I sent a drone, armed with sensors, down from orbit. Even this was hazardous – I was in orbit after all and if a Mendeku corvette decided my ship was a threat, I’d be attacked. I would have to depend on my shields and engines to escape. My dog whined, sensing I was nervous.

My drone flew over the surface, observing the Mendeku swarming like minnows. They built structures, fed one another, and (rarely) rested. One huge building was apparently the chrysalis tower. I did not let my drone approach closely, lest this be deemed a menace, but I used telescopic sensors to view it. New Mendeku were brought outside, cocooned in white mummy paste. Their wrappings were cut off by nursemaid Mendeku, and the new members of society immediately crawled onto transports and were trolleyed to hospital-like buildings, where they were surgically outfitted with tools, cameras, weapons, or what-have-you, to suit their permanent task. I saw no evaluations of any individual proclivities;  apparently any Mendeku can be programmed for any task.

My observations were clear; the Mendeku have no “noble” or “brain” caste. They are a social, cooperative, seamless organism, different from we think of as an individual only in that they do not physically adhere to one another. They are a super-organism, like an ant colony, except immeasurably more highly evolved.

The Mendeku doubtless have instinctive rules that guide interactions between the individuals. We know they are highly imitative. They won’t trade until they have seen someone else trade. They won’t attack until they have been attacked or seen a battle.

So we have the Mendeku paradox. A space-faring species with advanced technology, which colonizes planets, and even uses cyborg enhancements, yet is non-intelligent. The superorganism – the group – can learn and react in a way that the individuals cannot. You can’t negotiate with a non-sentient animal. You can’t explain your position nor make friends. You can only try to predict their behavior.

–Aurora Ultraviolet

The Mendeku Dromon

The Dromon is the apex of the Mendeku war machine. These vessels are partly organic, produced from a giant Mendeku caste hatched for this purpose. The huge creatures are not whole, however, until they are attached to faster-than-light engines and an enormous railgun, firing straight down the being’s body, and aimed by its inerring instincts.

Game Rules

Deadly in battle, with powerful ever-growing economies, the Mendeku have the rather interesting weakness that they cannot take any action they have not seen another player perform. Over time this becomes a real burden. They think, “I want to attack, but if I do, the Mendeku will learn how to battle.” But eventually the balloon goes up and the Mendeku horde is unleashed in all its fury.

Turntables

Salp


My ship lowered softly onto the Salp landing pad. I left my dog aboard – the Salps are a small species, and I was unsure how he might react to them. Most of the Salp “buildings” were just underground cut-outs. Vents and conduits projected through the concrete. At first it looked like the rather crude facilities were infested with vermin. On closer examination these “vermin” were the Salps themselves. They were far smaller than I’d imagined, only 10-40 cm long. As I watched, a Salp split across its back and shed its cuticle. As it crawled out, some smaller Salps descended on the discarded husk and devoured it. Nothing goes to waste I guess. The newly-molted Salp puffed itself up, frantically increasing its size while its external skin hardened.

Though the Salps flew slowly and erratically, they did not have wings. I could not tell if they were powered with individual generators, inflated with gas, or used some kind of mental energy to maintain altitude. As I pondered these odd creatures, one Salp, crawling feebly across the ceiling, suddenly fell to the floor, stone dead. As with the shed cuticle, other Salps began to devour the corpse.

I made my way to my hotel, taking care not to step on the small creatures, and spoke to the Salp behind the desk. Its terminal had a nameplate, stating it was ADC-4336-1577-QQ. I greeted it by “name” as best I could, and it seemed pleased. I hired a chamber and transferred the funds.  After a short nap, I returned to the desk, hoping to enquire about restaurants. The Salp behind the desk was different, and had a new nameplate. I asked when ADC-4336-1577-QQ would be back. It said, “Never. ADC-4336-1577-QQ is dead.”

I was shocked. “What happened?”

The response amazed me, “It was a natural death. She was extremely elderly – more than 6 terran hours old.”

“Six hours? Is that a Salp’s lifespan?” I asked in wonderment.

“No indeed, few are that long-lived.”

“Yet you spend your entire existence behind a desk at a hotel?”

“No,” it replied patiently. “I have occasional other tasks. I spent several minutes learning my duties and how to use the translator.”

What an existence – a race of ephemerae! Most Salps can never see a sunset or sunrise – none ever see both. They must rely on ancestral memory to maintain their purposes. Who or what taught the new Salp how to run a hotel? Institutional memory may be all these strange organisms possess!

Outside a Salp plastered a building wall with a million tiny eggs.

–Aurora Ultraviolet

The Salp Arcology

Salps are mainly oriented towards reproduction and dispersal, so of course their super-unit is not a ship, but a gigantic colony, designed to host billions or even trillions of salps. It is mechanized to provide food, housing, and even funeral services (such as they are). It is armed as well, for such a large concentration of the salp race may need protection from the many predators and enemies they can face.

Game Rules

The Salps are cheap and cheerful. They spread like wildfire, and soon thrive throughout the star cluster, but their feeble ships are not difficult to destroy. Their bases and colonies are another matter entirely.

Turntables

Skith


“I see so many Skith.” I hear you cry. “The sky teems. There is no end to them.”

No, I say. Exactly one Skith exists in all the universe. Perhaps it has always existed. More likely it is just impossible to tell when it came into being. Those trillions of seemingly separate entities? All are the same individual. Spray paint a Skith – tomorrow you’ll see a million wearing the same patch of paint. You see, the Skith moves physically through time. The Skith just goes back in time a day, a week, or an hour to visit itself. Now two Skith exist at that point in time. Now imagine this process repeated a billion times – we end up with a billion Skith, all are the same entity, repeating itself as a fugue.

“If I kill one Skith, do I kill them all?”

Alas, no. Any remaining versions can just fugue a few million times, so killing a single “copy” does little. Always a plenitude is left over. Of course this leads to time paradoxes. How can the Skith “remember” it needed help to build a spacecraft – after all it never needed any help, because its replicated versions showed up. Unfortunately, the Skith can never tell us. The Skith is completely solipsistic – it has means of writing or recording its thoughts. It has no understanding of history. To it all time is the same. When the Skith learns a task or a skill or a fragment of knowledge, all Skith flowing from that moment both past and future also learn this.

“Why does it never communicate?”

It cannot. Its understanding of others is extremely limited. Since it’s all the same individual, it knows what it wants to do. Why communicate to yourself? I am sure it has no concept of messaging.

“Yet what if the Skith encounters something novel, like a threat. How does it tell its other copies if it can’t speak?”

The answer is terrifyingly simple. It does not inform them. Instead, a Skith which finds out about the problem replicates, fuguing a million times or more. Now it has a million allies, all of which know about the threat. Of course, the threat then kills all the “old” Skith who didn’t know and weren’t. Who cares? Not the Skith.

“Does it have no sense of self-preservation?”

Most Skith run out of energy in only a few days, starving to death. A handful of Skith keep themselves fed, so when these time loop, all their duplicates begin their existence ready to take action.

“This is why it is so cruel.”

Yes. It can’t know or learn that other beings are not like itself. So the Skith loots worlds, kills other species, cares nothing for its brutality. It is callous about its own millionfold deaths. The Skith is harsher to itself than we could ever be, so it is useless to punish it for its misdeeds.

For the Skith, there is no future nor past. Only the eternal now.

–Aurora Ultraviolet

The Skith Marauder

Game Rules

The Skith are solipsistic time travelers and raiders. They can break the rules, build fleets in alternate realities then gate them into our dimension, and get second chances unavailable to other beings. 

Turntables

Venge

Thoth


The Thing was shimmery, vaporous. Was it a projection? A ghost? It murmured, “Meriptah is my name, Tamshas my mother’s name, Wosret my grandmother’s. ….” It seemed willing to go on interminably. I interrupted, and told it I sought an audience. It responded glumly, “Shall a sepulcher be prepared for me? Shall I have a coffin of gold and zyziphus-wood? I may rest therein.”

I said I would commission whatever was needed.

This was not what I had expected. I’d traveled to the Thoth starbase, equipped with the sigil of the official Terran consul to open trade negotiations. I had been chosen by the ambassador because of my travels – he hoped that I would be able to break through the fabled Thoth reticence. When my ship arrived at the station, I pinged the stationmaster, but got no response. The base did not fire on me, so I took the initiative to dock, using my ship’s computers. No magnetic support seemed forthcoming from the dark base.

Everything seemed totally dead.

When I emerged from the airlock, the hallways were silent and airless. My oxygen filter hissed as I crept cautiously. The only illumination came from my helmet’s own light – the halls seemed to lack light fixtures whatsoever. When I reached the control chamber, after traveling for kilometers of twisted cramped passageways, I found only this misty Thing – a mental image? A hologram?

I tried communicating again. I assured it the Terran consortium could be relied upon to fulfill any promises. I displayed my sigil proudly.

The Thing muttered, as though to itself, “What use are these? Unless a tree is exposed to sunlight, it sprouts no leaves. Stone never ages – it merely crumbles.”

This seemed like a non-sequitur. What was it trying to do? I contacted the Terran chief through my ship’s relay. He did a quick data search. “Zyziphus-wood is an old commercial name for an organo-plastic found naturally on HD 22781. We have a station there.” I told Meriptah that we could indeed built a sepulcher on HD 22781, and showed it the coordinates. Zyziphus wood was forthcoming.

It seemed mollified and became more solid. “Perhaps my name shall endure after all. Long have I sought those to find the world of my childhood. I rejoice.” It suddenly flickered out of view. But the control room filled with light, as did all the hallways and passages. The starbase came alive; automatic controls and viewing screens powering up. Small statue-like automatons emerged from hidden doors and began to move purposefully down the halls. A weird wailing chant filled the station.

I looked at my sigil, only to see that a banner was now attached to it, etched in odd pictoglyphs. Perhaps the desired trade agreement? I never saw it attach. When did that happen? Chills ran down my spine. Still no living thing was visible. I ran down the halls towards my ship, eager to leave this place of death.

–Aurora Ultraviolet

Concept Art

The Sphinx Supership

Turntables

Zevolt


The Zevolt! A name at the center of galactic events. These beings came seemingly out of nowhere, but in only a few Terran years, the Zevolt rose from one success to another, becoming a cosmic threat. Other races first mocked them, then sought to defy them. According to their enemies, the Zevolt were true devils, the embodiment of all evil.

I had come here, to a starbase conquered by the Zevolt, to find the truth. Few humans would venture here.

I knew the Zevolt were dragon-like in nature, but I had no realized how large some of them were. The starbase was huge, and they kept the gravity inactive, so I had to rely on magnetic shoes to move around. The Zevolt themselves wriggled through the air, leathery wings beating. I wondered how they managed to stay aloft in a planet’s gravity. Perhaps they didn’t visit planet surfaces? Or they used grav-nullifiers.

Or, most likely, only the smaller Zevolt traveled into a planet’s atmosphere. The creatures ranged in size from only a few centimeters long to 20 meters or more.  The small ones didn’t seem to be hatchlings, but fully-grown miniatures of the larger dragons. No doubt they had some technique to control adult size – hormones, diet, or genetic engineering.

I passed by a floating grid on which many Zevolt seemed to be singing a hymn or prayer. A booming hiss (translated by my wristpiece) proclaimed “The kings, generals, leading minds and heroes of the past were the tools of Providence in building our nation. As we thank them for our great Empire, we accept the splendid riches of our history. We thank Almighty Archion that he has blessed us with this privilege.” Were the dragon folk religious in nature? Odd.

I was led by a tiny dragonet to a room full of knobbed pillars. Zevolt twisted around the pillars, which seemed to be what they used instead of chairs or couches. It made sense for a being with such a snake-like body. One of the Zevolt was bright-green, and it spoke to me, using telepathy rather than mere speech. “Humans fear us. But if we really wanted a war of conquest, we would have concealed our strong fleet. We are entirely open about it. Our intention is not to wage war, but to build a new state with the highest level of culture.”

Yes I thought to myself, but as you expand your theocracy, what happens to “uncultured” species such as the Zepzeg, Glazaqtoq, or we humans?

“You doubt,” sang the green Zevolt. The smallest hatchlings open their hearts to him. The growing youths listen to him. The entire Zevolt nation serves him. The future belongs to him whom the youth obey. We are stronger than all other nations, because Archion is the best leader.”

Archion? I must have seemed inquisitive. The Zevolt gestured straight up with its tail. I looked at the armor-glass dome. Outside the starbase, in space, filling the entire sky, floated an unthinkably vast horror – a colossal multi-headed monster with swarms of wingless or partly-winged Zevolt crawling over its flesh. As I shrank in terror, my mind could not grasp the awful Thing, though one part of my brain realized wildly, “It is shaped a little like a dragon.” I couldn’t stand it. I screamed and tried to flee from the appalling sight. I ran to my spaceship and threw it into hyperdrive as quickly as possible, wildly gibbering in terror while my dog barked.

That frightful Thing must have been their god and king, Archion. As rationality returned, I realized that the herds of smaller Zevolt on it must have been the Zevolt young. No doubt enzymes produced by their dread master controlled their size and caste as they fed on its secretions. It was literally the step-parent to all the Zevolt, at least in that star system.

Were there more than one of these God-Dragons? I hoped and prayed not, though in my heart I fear otherwise.

–Aurora Ultraviolet

The Zevolt Dragonship

One of the most dreaded ships in Hyperspace – it has a first strike capability that removes enemy units before they can even focus their cannons. Its one weakness is that because it cannot attack in concert with its other ships, they tend to damage enemies more than destroy them, and they are actually weaker against space monsters.

Game Rules

Every rival hates their ability to strip away useful techs, which not only boosts the Zevolt but weakens their victims. And the fact that you cannot wreak vengeance with your secrets adds insult to injury.

Turntables

ZepZeg

Azota

Yaddith


It started with a nightmare. A voice, like a cracked recording, repeating again and again. “Get up and get into the crate … crate … crate. If you don’t you won’t ever rest … rest … rest.” I awoke, glistening with sweat. I knew what crate the squeaking nightmare voice spoke of. A large box had arrived by special courier the day before. I had ordered nothing, but my name and address was clear. I had opened the box. It was a solid plasteen, clean and empty. Nothing inside at all.

“Big enough for me to fit inside.” I’d thought, morbidly. Then I determined to dispose of it tomorrow. But that night the voice …. I rolled over and went back to sleep. As soon as I’d dozed off, the voice began again. “Get up … up … up.”

What WAS it? Just a nightmare? Or a potential threat. I clambered out of bed; pulled on some sweatpants and tank top.  Even this simple action seemed hard, as though I was in slow motion, or underwater. I wobbled into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I wasn’t there.

Instead, Something Else had taken my reflection. A hideous countenance, snouted and tusked, beady yellow eyes stared grimly back. It wasn’t human in the slightest. My gorge rose. It was costumed, with a complex headpiece that concealed part of the Something Else’s malformed head. As I stared aghast, a repulsive claw reached up and scratched its neck. So it wasn’t just a reflection – I had not moved a muscle. Was I seeing into another realm? The Something Else opened its black maw and I heard the cracked voice again. “You are up … up … up. Get into the crate … crate … crate.”

I reeled back in horror. As I turned around, my bedroom wavered in my vision, it filled with twisting colors and fumes. Something was seriously wrong. I stumbled to my apartment door and fell out into the corridor. I blacked out.

Someone shook me awake – it was my fiancé, Lockhart! He was worried. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

“I don’t think so … not physically.”

“You have a nosebleed,” he said, pressing a tissue to my face.

“Wait,” I interrupted, pushing the tissue away. “What are you doing here? You were at the Hall last night.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said comfortingly. “I’m here now.”

I wasn’t comforted. Ultraviolet Hall was on a moon of Fomalhaut, more than ten light-years away. The fastest ship would take weeks to get here. He brought up the tissue again. I smelled a chemical agent. I crawled backwards frantically. The Lockhart-thing lurched forward, its bones bending the wrong direction, grin askew. Its torso was too thick to be Lockhart. What WAS this thing? I shoved at it, and its mask fell off. A prehensile snout twitched around fangs and tusks. Black chitin glistened on its surface. “Come with me … me … me.” it warbled.

I screamed and ran to the stairs, falling and rolling down them to the landing below. I felt my ankle snap and screamed again in pain. The Lockhart-Thing rocked to and fro as it waddled towards me, trying to re-affix its mask.

That was my first encounter with the sorcerers from Yaddith. I wish to God it had been my last.

–Aurora Ultraviolet

Concept Art

Turntables

The Stingship

Turntables

XK-13


A rusty colossus, the sphere drifted in space. Nestled inside its hollow interior was another, smaller sphere, a red sensor cluster glowing brightly. My ship, far smaller, floated before it. I knew weapons of appalling power were trained on me. I had seen their catastrophic effect.

I spoke to the sphere via microwave radiation, as I sat uneasily in my ship’s bridge. Would it listen? Would it reply with words, or with an annihilating wave of energy?

I had been appointed ambassador to the Xk-13 by the Vorck High Overseer, mainly because of my experience in dealing with other aliens. The Vorck were friends, of a sort, and I saw no reason why their colony world should be destroyed and replaced by the Xk-13’s war factories. I had agreed to the mission but had not promised for success. Behind me, Vorck transports flocked, desperately trying to evacuate as many citizens as possible lest the Xk-13 bombard the planet.

The Xk-13’s lights blinked on and off. The entity was not actually electronic –at its core was a living, organic being. Could it understand? It had allowed me to approach, at least. A buzzing noise filled my bridge. As the buzz became almost unbearable, suddenly my translator kicked in – the Xk-13 was trying to speak, clumsily. No doubt, it normally communicated only among its own kind. Perhaps its connectors were damaged through disuse. What it said made no sense.

“We have received training and direction. We fight against a cunning and cruel foe. Our enemy shall be defeated! No quarter will be given! Prisoners will not be taken! Whosoever falls into our clutches is forfeited. A thousand years ago, the Xk-13 made a name for ourselves, one that even today is mighty in legend. Now we shall re-affirm by us in such a way that for the next thousand years no Vorck shall dare to lift its eyes to the Xk-13. The universe’s blessing is on us! Beware lest you share their fate.”

More orbs, and vessels of war, were moving into position. I cried out in passion, “The Vorck have done nothing to offend you! You attack purely on whim. Behold an entire planet before you. The Vorck are only on the northern continent. Surely you can share the world’s wealth!”

“It is not wealth we seek, but glory. Stand aside.”

Crying tears of rage and helplessness, I withdrew my ship. I messaged the Vorck High Chair, telling him of my mission’s failure. The Vorck were not completely unprepared – counter-fires lanced up from the planet’s surface and ships of war flashed in from hyperspace. Vorck ships and Xk-13 globes shattered in atomic fire. The Vorck transmissions were frantic as they urgently coordinated their counterattacks.

The Xk-13, too, filled the vacuum with messages, but of a different nature. “I die resplendently, brothers. Join me!” “I seek superb oblivion!” “Eat blaster, Vorck filth!”

Sick at heart and seeing that the environment was becoming dangerous, I transitioned to hyperspace, and never saw the battle’s end. I hope the Vorck won, or at least were able to evacuate most of their people.

–Aurora Ultraviolet

Concept Art

The Xk-12 is an earlier model of the Xk-13 war android, less sophisticated, less intelligent, but more powerful. It broadcasts a suppressive effect throughout its system preventing other civs from building or even salvaging in the area, and in battle can convert its own ships into bolts of energy to wipe out the foe.

Game Rules

The Xk-13 are obsessed with war, as befits their ancestry as war machines. The more they fight, the more they benefit from fighting. They have few material advantages, but such as they have parlay easily into their deadly nature.

Turntables

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