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Continuing
“Hey, Viv!”, I say, as we’re all being shuttled onto the bus which will take us to our hotel, “Toss me one of those miniatures, if you please. Yeah. Of course, Vodka’ll do. It’s bloody dusty round these parts.”
Viv chuckles and asks if anyone else wants anything. He’s a consummate scrounger and somehow sweet-talked a demure and pulchritudinous female Air China cabin attendant out of her phone number, Email address, and a case of 100 airline liquor miniatures.
That he looks like a marginally graying version of Robert Mitchum in his heyday and speaks fluent Dutch, French, and Italian might explain his success. I mean, a guy with four ex-wives can’t be all wrong, right?
He’s a definite outlier in this crowd. We could be characterized as a batch of aging natural geoscientists who collectively, sans Viv, add up to an approximate eight on the “Looker” scale. Besides the years, the mileage, the climatic, and industrial ravages, it’s a good thing we all have expansive personalities, as most of us are dreadful enough to make a buzzard barf.
But, save for Viv, no one presently here is on the make. Oh, sure; we’ll all sweet talk some fair nubile into a free drink or a double when we really ordered a regular drink, but we’re all married, most terminally, that is, over 35 years and counting. The odd thing is that save and except for Viv, none of us married folk had ever been divorced.
That is strange, considering that the global divorce rate hovers around 50%, and we are often called to be apart from kith and kin for prolonged periods. However, we are always faithful and committed to our marital units and those vows we spoke all those many long decades ago.
But, hey, we’re all seriously male and not anywhere near dead; and there’s no penalty for just looking, right?
Continuing.
We’re all loaded on a pre-war, not certain which war, by the way, bus which stank of fish, kimchee, and diesel fuel. We really don’t care even a tiny, iotic amount. It’s free transport, we’re tired of traveling, and not keen on walking any further than we absolutely have to.
Viv has been passing out boozy little liquor miniatures, and I’ve been handing out cigars since I bought a metric shitload back in Dubai Duty-Free and somehow got them all through customs.
We didn’t light up, as there was neither a driver nor handler present. So, we figured we’d all just wait on the cigars, and concentrate on having a little ground-level “Welcome to Best Korea” party until the powers that be got their collective shit together and provided drivers, herders, and handlers.
We sat there for 15 long minutes. Being the international ambassadors of amity and insobriety, we started making noises like “Hey! Where’s our fucking driver?” and “I am Doctor Academician! Of All State Russian Geological Survey! How dare you make me wait? ”
Suddenly, a couple of characters in ill-fitting gray suits and fake Rays Bans are outside the bus having a collective meltdown. Somehow, someone fucked up and put us on a ‘regular’ bus and not the ‘VIP’ bus. In other words, we got to see what the locals really got to ride around Pyongyang on instead of our supposed to be impressed by the bus that wasn’t there; but was now just arriving.
A spanking new purple-and-chrome Mercedes long-haul bus shows up. It even has our group name emblazoned above the placard that normally tells where the bus is headed or who it is for: “’국제 석유 지질 과학 연합’ [Gugje Seog-yu Jijil Gwahag Yeonhab] or ‘International Union of Petroleum Geological Sciences’”.
We are brusquely ordered off our present bus and into the opulent, obviously bespoke, bright yellow faux-leather interior Mercedes-Benz Tourismo RH M. It’s so new and so obviously a ploy to get us to think that all things here are so new and opulent, it even smells of that new car, ah, bus, aroma.
“Well, we’ll take care of that soon enough”, I muse, as the bus is equipped with ashtrays and we’re going on the scenic route to our hotel, which is only 25 or so kilometers from the airport. However, it was announced that it’ll take us about 2 hours to get to our hotel since we need to see the city in its best light and get a feeling for the town if we should ever find ourselves lost and alone.
We all know what’s going on. They’re getting our rooms ‘ready’ for our arrival and need some extra time to make sure everything’s all wired in and transmitting properly.
“Guys”, I muse to our new handlers, “I’ve been to the Soviet Union, pre-wall fall. I stayed in places where I was definitely among the first westerners ever to grace their porticos. We’re a busload of natural scientists, of eight different nationalities, covering the economic spectrum from staunch capitalism to sociable socialism to hard-core communism. You even think for a second we’re going to spill any beans about anything you’d find interesting or useful? Think again.”
In fact, it would become a running joke between us all to see what sort of fake bombshells we could drop into the normal conversation what would give the listener’s the greatest case of the jibblies.
But for now, our bags were all loaded into the cargo compartment of this very, very nice, I must admit, mode of conveyance. Our handlers: ‘Yuk’, ‘No’, ‘Man’, and ‘Kong’, are all seated upfront and please with their latest tally of bodies. We have a couple of shady fellow travelers with the knock-off Ray-Bans and shiny gray suits that just appeared out of the woodwork in the back, seated by the loo, watching over all of us, and we’re going on a fucking city tour, whether we like it or not.
We’re all present and accounted for. Let’s keep our camera in our bags for the time being as the drinking and smoking lights had just been lit as the bus fired up its new German-engineered and machined precision diesel engine.
The bus rumbled to life and after a moment or two of checking that all dials, gauges, and indicators were where they were supposed to be; without so much as a cursory glance, we pulled out into traffic.
Except there was none.
Not another bus, pushbike, tap-tap, scooter, car, truck, hover-board, or motorcycle in sight.
Nothing.
Seems we were a big deal. They shut down the main drag so we wouldn’t be encumbered by such proletariat things like traffic jams or people-things cluttering the roadway, clambering for a look at the Western scientific cadre.
So, away we whizzed, sans traffic and into the very belly of the beast, and onward; eventually, towards our hotel.
Our handlers were very kind to point out passing scenes of interest.
“Look, look! There’s the Potong River. Notice all the lovely birds, ‘eh what? See the Norwegian Blue? Beautiful plumage!”
“See here, look. Here’s the Taedong River. Many forms of fish in the river. Maybe we’ll see some fishermen. If you like, we can stop, and ask them about today’s catch.”
We all declined, as we were certain that the fish the ‘random fisherman’ we’d talk to was flown in fresh from elsewhere earlier in the day.
Besides, we were comfortable. We had our drinks, our cigars, and we were leaving the driving to someone else.
After being driven around the city and seeing all the wonderful monuments, like the faux Arch of Triumph, which looks exactly unlike its namesake Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile in Paris.
The Arch of Reunification, a monument to the goal of a reunified Korea, which, by necessity, is unfinished. Then there’s the Tomb of King Tongmyŏng, where people are lining up, just dying’ to get in.
Finally, we all called for our hotel, the Yanggakdo, after yet another mausoleum, the Kumsusan Memorial Palace of the Sun.
Arches or tombs. Such a stunning array of monuments and places of less than moderate interest.
We were interested in Mirae Scientists street (Future Scientists street). It is a street in a newly developed area in Pyongyang to house scientific institutions of the Kim Chaek University of Technology and its employees. But we were told that it was too late, there was not much there to see, we needed to express written permission to visit, and we’d be going there tomorrow or next week.
We wheel into the parking lot of the Yanggakdo Hotel and are immediately unimpressed by the pseudo-Baroque concrete fiasco that appears to stand, wobbly, before us. It’s a page right out of the Soviet Construction-For-The-Masses Handbook. A cold, gray concrete edifice with multitudes of seemingly little, tiny windows. A perfect metaphor for our travels thus far; look at the expansiveness of Best Korean wonders, through this pinhole.
However, we judged too soon. We were told to go inside and check-in, whilst our luggage would be de-bussed for us and handled by the expertly efficient hotel staff. The lobby was opulent, tastefully laid out in earth tones of facades of veneers of marble, granite, some garnet-mica schist, if my hand lens doesn’t lie, some Prepaleozoic anatectic migmatite, displaying intricate and intense plication, xenoliths, and graphic delineation of minerals by segregation through melting points. There was a gigantic well-appointed and well kept up aquarium, complete with snuffling sharks and nuclear-submarine sized groupers.
Very handsome indeed. Impressions increasing slightly.
Then we see that there’s a bloody casino on the bottom floor of the hotel, several bars interspersed throughout the hotel, and karaoke, of which I’m not terribly fond, but some of my European counterparts almost swooned at the prospect. There are a large pool and weight rooms/gymnasia, saunas and places to relax outside of one’s room, but still under the watchful eye of the thousands of ill-concealed video cameras at every turn.
“Covert surveillance” may be a thing in Best Korea, but it’s a practice still leaves a lot to be desired. The Eastern Siberian Russians back before the wall fell were more covert with their obvious button audio microphones woven into the fabric covering the headboard of your Intourist bed than the Best Koreans here. Their cameras were ‘disguised’ as flower arrangements, overhead lights, and speakers inexplicably placed into things like standing ashtrays, refuse bins, and randomly placed holes in the wall.
The floors were all covered with exquisite what looked to be hand-woven rugs of most vibrant crimson and gold; the usual Communistic colors. Always with some sort of floral pattern or pattern that’s supposed to be reflective of nature, as I was told. Evidently, for workers to remember what nature was as they don’t get out much with 14 to 16 hours workdays here in the Worker’s Paradise.
Enough of the travelogue; we all wander up to the front desk, and each with their own passport in hand, request our reserved rooms. We supposed that we would all have rooms on different floors as the reservations were made, expired, re-made, juggled, rebooked, allowed to expire, re-jiggered, and finally formalized a scant week before we left the UK.
Nope. No such luck. We were all on the 39th floor. The place boasts 47 floors, of which, the top floor is a revolving restaurant. Evidently, food tastes better when you’re rotating.
However, it won’t spin unless you first buy a drink.
We had that thing whirling like a NASA centrifuge after its discovery the second night.
Yeah, all 12 of us are bivouacked on the 39th floor. A floor with approximately 30 rooms.
I guess we could have played “Room Roulette” and see who got which room and who’s luggage. Or we could switch every day or two to drive our handlers nuts. Or, we could just take our assigned rooms, which were conveniently located one empty room apart.
Meaning, no one had adjoining rooms. Why? Fuck if I know. We didn’t spend much time in our rooms, and that time was either sleeping or showering. We’d all meet at the bar, casino, restaurant, karaoke, bowling alley (all three lanes) or actual meeting rooms every once in a while when we thought we should get together and compare notes. It was the most inexplicable situation.
Plus, we spent an inordinate amount of time waiting on the fucking elevators to take us to our room. These elevators, and if you think you’re going to get a batch of aging senior scientists to schlep it up 39 floor’s worth of stairs, think again; are the slowest elevators in the civilized world. And that was the consensus of scientists representing not only Europe and North America, but Russia as well. 15-25 minutes added to each journey, up or down; stopping on every floor, except 5, on the way down..
Jesus Q. Fuck, dudes. If you can’t construct a bleedin’ elevator that works better than those at the Sozvezdie Medveditsy Guest House in Lesosibirsk, Eastern Siberia; then I suggest you seriously rethink your plans for world domination and new world order.
Grako and Erwin once, while waiting for the fucking elevator, figured out that we were earning some US$25 each just to wait for the lift to arrive and take us to our rooms. Every day. Sometimes several times per day.
With that, we all agreed to toss our “waiting time” funds into a kitty and on our last day of captivity here, blow it all in the hotel casino. Whatever became of that would be donated to the Koreans we thought most deserving of our largesse.
Would it be our handlers? How about the Korean Scientists we’d be meeting? The affable and most accommodating concierge? Or that plucky little Korean charwoman who was always on our floor and kept everything spotless, right down to our freshly laundered and pressed field clothes and newly polished field boots; done without our requesting or knowledge?
Only time would tell.
It could be a fortune or it could be bupkiss. Just like our expectations of the Heavenly Kingdom where we were currently sequestered.
As it was, with our official protestations, they kept only photocopies of our passports as we roundly refused and threatened a full-scale karaoke battle right here in the lobby if they didn’t relinquish our passports immediately. I had broken out my nastiest cigar and was primed to offend.
With that, we all had our keys and trooped over to the elevators for our first, of many, inexplicable waits. We made many uncharitable and potentially nasty remarks about the Anti-Western posters that made up some of the wall décor. Once we finally made it to our floor, we all fanned out to find our rooms. Viv found his first and was quite pleased to report to the rest of us that there was a “Welcome” basket in his room.
We all hoped that we would be receiving one a well.
I was in room 3914; which I considered a close call, but later only wondered as there was no 3913. Upon entering, I saw it was 1980s Hotel 6 opulent, but with an excellent over-city view. True it was late, dark, and the city was only somewhat lit up; I was looking forward to the view of the town in full daylight.
The room had a ‘king’ bed; that is if the king in question was Tutankhamen, the stubby, Egyptian boy king. The bed had no mattress pad and no box spring but it was hard enough for my liking. Many of my compatriots didn’t agree and complained bitterly. They eventually received thin mattress pads for all their kvetching.
There was an ancient Japanese color television, which only had 2 English language channels - Al Jazeera and the BBC, which was on a dated news loop. Watching the local channel is amusing though; the ads for ‘personal enhancements’ were hilarious, even without understanding a word of the language.
There were a couple of chairs and a low table, built-in dresser drawers for our clothes, a rusty and probably unusable room safe with corroded batteries, a small table built out of the wall that would serve as my travel office, and would-you-believe, a rotary telephone; how’s that for nostalgia?
There was an old-model radio built into the nightstand next to the bed. I was very surprised to find it not only received AM, FM but shortwave as well. I had brought along a pair of Bose headphones and during some rainy down days, spent many fun-filled, and I mean that sincerely, hours DXing from the comfort of my ‘enormous’ king bed.
Beyond that, the room was very nondescript. Like any other of the millions of rooms in hotels around the world that unlike here, aren’t claiming a 5-star rating. I mean, it was clean, if not a little long in the tooth. But didn’t smell too terrible, even after I took care of that with my Camacho offerings. It was utilitarian, everything worked, even the water pressure, which surprisingly could strip off layers of one’s skin if you weren’t careful.
The bathroom, though no Jacuzzi, had a large enough bathtub for the occasional soaking period. Western accouterments in the bathroom were also welcome additions. My knees can’t handle the traditional squat-holes any longer.
There were an electric teapot and several brands of tea, but no coffee. A quick “Gee! I sure wish I had some coffee!” to the four walls and damned if 30 minutes later, a porter didn’t arrive to replenish my tea and courtesy in-room coffee…
There was a small Japanese brand in-room refrigerator which I thought might house a mini-bar. Oh, no! It was actually a complimentary larder stocked with all sorts of Best Korean goodies. Multiple cans of Taedonggang beer. Several bottles of Pyongyang Soju, in various flavors ranging anywhere from 16.8 to 53 percent alcohol by volume. My fridge was skewed towards the right-hand side of the bell curve; the more heavy-duty boozy side.
Evidently, my reputation had preceded me again.
There was a selection of German-style wheat beers from the Taedonggang Brewery and the more familiar ales, steam beers, and lagers. There were some imported beers like Heineken, Bavaria, Pils, a couple of Japanese brands: Asahi and Kirin, and something called ‘Hello Beer’ from Singapore.
There were also ‘sampler’ bottles of Apricot Pit wine, and a couple of high-alcohol fruity liquors made from constituents such as apple or pear, and mushrooms. There were also special medicinal liquors like ‘Rason’s Seal Penis Liquor’.
That is going home with me unopened.
There were a couple of bottles of local sake, called Chonju. Finally, there was a couple ‘samplers’ of homemade alcohol known as Makkoli. Plus there was something called ‘Corn Grotto’, which for the life of me, looks and tastes much like a very passable Kentucky Sippin’ Bourbon.
I put our concierge on instant danger money the very next day. He’s yet to source me more than a fifth of the stuff so far.
I found that there is a popular drink here which mirrors the Yorsch of Mother Russia. Beer and soju can be mixed to create *somaek’; a foamy, frothy, funky drink of many flavors, depending on the soju chosen.
Is ethnoimbibology at thing? The science of how different cultures drink and the effects of drinking culture on different societies. If not, now I have another Ph.D. to pursue after I endow a chair at some likely Asian university.
Anyways, in everyone’s room was a “welcome” basket, just chock full of Best Korean goodies. Postcards, stamps, ads for coin sets, stamp proofs and other goodies that could be purchased at the hotel. There was a field notebook, which I thought was a very nice addition, newspapers, cookies, crackers, biscuits, candies, fruit drinks, and some fresh fruit; although tamarind chewies and durian chips aren’t on my list of personal favorites.
There were a couple of tour books, just chock full of staged photos. These were very nice as well, as so far, we haven’t had much time for shopping outside of government stores or smaller family-run shops in town or out in the boonies.
A few of us were hungry and decided to see what the hotel had to offer room service-wise.
Bupkiss.
But, they did have a selection of restaurants. There is a Chinese restaurant, a European restaurant, and a Korean restaurant on site but they all serve the same food...a Best Korean attempt at western food. And it was weird being the only ones in the restaurant even though it was fully staffed.
We grazed lightly and decided to do some late-night perambulations around our hotel. Our handlers admonished us to stay within the confines of the hotel, or see them if it was absolutely necessary to go walkabout. In the hotel, we were on our own.
We found that there were tunnels in the hotel’s basement. The basement tunnels were a real bonus. There’s a bar with pool tables, a karaoke room, bowling, and a massage parlor, where I was beaten and pummeled into submission by tiny, diminutive, little Korean lassies fully 1/5th my size.
It was wonderful.
There was a hairdresser’s, who were completely befuddled by my shoulder-length silver-gray locks and full gray Grizzly Adams beard. They did provide a lovely shampoo/cranial massage though for the equivalent of US$2.
There were a couple of shops selling Chinese goods rather than local stuff, which was sort of disappointing, a cold noodle bar, and another casino. No shops selling Korean Communist propaganda posters, as I wanted to augment my Soviet-era collection. Perhaps I’ll find something in-country later on.
We were shocked to find that the casino had WiFi that was uncensored and we were able to access; after a fee of liquor miniatures and a cigar or two. We were supposed to have access to the global internet, not local intranet, from the universities that we would be visiting. However, all of that was under the heavily squinting eyes of handlers and guys in shiny suits wearing fake Ray-Bans.
I still had my secret satellite internet lash-up available, but that was iffy, a pain in the ass to set up, and ridiculously expensive. However, it did work on the 39th floor and the times I used it instead of wandering down to the tunnels, no one appeared to be the wiser. Thus far.
So typically, we’d just head to the basement casino with our laptops, iPads, and phones. Bam! Robert’s your Sister’s Husband, we could connect more-or-less free with the outside world; hence how you are reading this now.
Herro! “Yes, I’d sure like another beer. This time a porter, if you please.”
The more they overthink the plumbing, the easier it is to stop up the drain. Or the more they put into locks, the easier they are to pick.
Besides, we were told we’d have access to unfettered and free internet. OK, so we just found it for ourselves. Whaddya expect? We’re scientists, motherfucker, back off.
Ahem.
Back to reality.
The breakfast buffet the next morning had a wide choice of Asian and Western food, although the choices seemed to be the same every day. The main event was to beat the Chinese tourists to the egg station every morning. Breakfast always included fried eggs, a limited selection of pork, kippered fish, potatoes, rice, fruit, and a very Titanium-dioxide-white white bread
After a while, I took to going to the small market behind the lobby, buying some imported Chinese or Japanese nibbly bits and heading to the tunnels for a few breakfast beers before the long hard day’s work. It took almost a week, but I gained the trust of some of the workers in the tunnels and they showed me the on-site microbrewery at the hotel. It produced very passable, and very, very cheap beers of several varieties.
Liquid bread. Beer. Is there nothing it can’t do?
After breakfast our first day at the hotel, we were told to meet in the Conference Room “Il-sung” as we were going to have a ‘Welcome foreign imperialist scientists’ introduction and indoctrination.
Besides our handlers and the shiny-suit squad, there were several Korean folks we didn’t recognize. These were students, scientists, and scholars from the Kim Chaek University of Technology, Kim Il-sung University, the Pyongyang University of Science and Technology; all hailing from Pyongyang, and the University of Geology from North Hwanghae Province.
“Oh, marvelous”, Erlen remarked, “It’s going to be a bloody Chautauqua. We’ll be here all day.”
“Well”, I replied, “It could be worse. We could be on a bus headed off on another unscheduled road trip.”
As we found our seats, our Korean counterparts were busily setting up portable screens, like the ones your grandfather had for showing his 2.1 Googleplex worth of travel slides every Christmas or Thanksgiving get-together. They had a couple of ancient Chinese brand laptops that could have doubled for body armor, they were so thick and heavy.
While they fiddled with running cords for the overhead projectors and 16mm film projector; yes, it was going to be movie time as well, the hotel’s restaurant folks wheeled in carts laden with scones, cupcakes, and other sweet sorts of bakery. Another cart was wheeled in with pump-pots of hot water, tea, and coffee. Usual scientific meeting fare.
There was one final cart that made the day bearable. It held a pony keg of hotel micro-brewed beer on ice, with several dozen frosty mugs available for all who wanted to partake.
There were instantly 12 mugs that were spoken for.
I grabbed a cold beer and wandered around the conference room, sipping beer, chewing on an unlit cigar, and just trying to be pleasant to our hosts and their scientific guests. I was surprised when one North Korean professor, who spoke amazingly British-tinged English, offered me a light for my cigar.
“Is smoking allowed here?” I asked.
“Allowed?” he laughed heartily, “My good man, it’s practically a prerequisite.”
“Here then”, I said, offering him a nice, unctuous Camacho, “Try one of mine.”
Dr. P'ung Kwang-Seon of the North Korean University of Geology became my instant and lifelong friend at that moment.
We had a very nice chat, much to the chagrin of the gray suit cadre, who could hear what we were talking about, but probably didn’t understand anything beyond every 8th word.
After a while, we were asked to take our seats, after refreshing our drinks, and introduced to the group of Korean geoscientists we’d be interacting with during our stay here in Best Korea.
I tried to record every name, but between the students, other scholars, and professors from the various universities, I decided I’d ask for a list of participants once the day had worn on. After all, they had all our names, references, and resumes if the thick folio they kept referring to was any indication.
There were a couple of hours of introductions, as every one of the Korean geoscientists there introduced themselves, mostly through translators, told of their personal area of specialty, and their latest work.
Most were what would be considered geoscientists, but oddly enough, not one that you would consider a petroleum geoscientist, however tangentially.
There were geomorphologists, structural geologists, petrologists, mineralogists, marine geologists, engineering geologists, and seismologists. However, there were no stratigraphers, sedimentologists, paleontologists, or geochemists. We were all geoscientists, but apart from the obvious Korean:English disparity, it was as if we spoke different scientific languages as well.
That would be our first hurdle to overcome.
They had no oil industry here; none whatsoever, therefore why one would bother with the geosciences that fed directly into petroleum? That, in and of itself, would make it difficult to explore for oil in the country. Couple that with the fact that they’re so insular, think their version of ‘science’ is the best, at least that’s the official line, and think all other’s ‘science’ is capitalistic, substandard, and inferior doesn’t bode well for your country discovering anything either oily or gassy.
We were having another conclave around the beer keg, ack, err…a ‘coffee break’ and I mentioned this fact to my scientific colleagues.
“Guys”, I need input here, “We’re going to get precisely nowhere if they won’t even acknowledge that they have major problems from the start.”
Ivan replies, “Very true. I’ve seen this before back home. You get a group so entrenched in their own little corner of science, they can’t even accept or acknowledge that others exist. Not only exist but actually know more about a certain problem than do you.”
Dax joins the fray, “Sure, that’s very true, but who’s going to tell them this unfortunate fact? They could take that as a personal, national, and global insult. Imagine you’re at an international conference and a bunch of foreigners walk in just to tell you you’ve been doing it all wrong for the last 75 years.”
I add, “Remember, though. These characters are scientists as well. I think it’ll be a good measure of seeing what sort of science and scientist we’re dealing with here. If they are truly researchers, they’ll listen to and evaluate what we say as for veracity and accuracy. If they’re just a bunch of Commie goons; no offense, Comrade Academician Ivan, they’ll get all pissed off, kick us out, and we get to go home and enjoy our triple Force Majeure pay.”
Ivan walks over and deliberately steps on the toes of my newly polished field boots.
“In Soviet Russia, field boots walk on YOU.” He laughs in his heavily inflected, and scary, Soviet-era speech…
“Yes, I agree”, Joon adds, “But who is going to address this issue with our hosts? Perhaps one of our Russian comrades, as they are, or were, more politically aligned with our Korean friends and perhaps best understand the issue?”
Ack speaks up, grinning maniacally, “No, I disagree. We should have the one person here who so encapsulates the ideologies and political leanings that they love to hate here so much. You know; the quiet, diminutive, and soft-spoken North American…”
Dax recoils, “Oh, no! I’m not going out in front of this mob of ornery Orientals…”
I smile wanly and tell Dax to cool out.
“Relax, Dax. They’re talking about me.”
“Oh, yes”, a collective group of voices replies, “Yes. Let out fearless Team Leader break the bad news to our Eastern Colleagues. That way we can gauge their reactions to being bounced around scientifically by a member of the Evil Capitalist Cartel.”
“OK”, I reply, “I’ll do it. But be forewarned, my fine feathered fiends. I get stuck on a topic that’s not precisely my bailiwick, I’m going to throw your ass to the wolves. Remember, we’re all in this together.”
Whoops, and catcalls were reduced to mumbles and ‘Aw, fucks.’.
Chautauqua resumption was called and I asked for the floor.
It was a bit off the agenda, but since they’ve been chewing the air for the last several hours, they understood it would be appropriate for us to at least try and get a word in edgewise.
I downed my beer, and grabbed a fresh one as what I was going to say was going to be harsh, cut-and-dried, and rather pointed. But delivered in a pleasant manner.
I hoped.
This all had to be filtered through a series of translators, one for general conversational Korean and another for the more technical and scientific transliterations. I realized I was going to be up here for a while. So, I brought a cigar.
One way or another, I was going to deliver our pronouncements and hell, I may as well be comfortable while doing it.
.
“Greetings and felicitations, my Eastern Colleagues. Let me first say how nice it is to be here in the Democratic People's Republic of Korea as part of the ….”
I’m going to fast-forward through all the flowery bullshit and introductory happiness; I’ll going to just cut to the guts of the matter.
“…Now, you do know why there has been virtually no oil, gas nor any other hydrocarbon related deposit discovered here in the Democratic People's Republic of Korea?” I asked by way of a rhetorical question.
I sipped my beer and lit my cigar. In for a chon, in for a won.
I let the buzzing subside on the side of our eastern counterparts.
“Because, and please do not take this as insulting or derogatory, but as a statement of irrefutable fact, no one with the proper training nor experience has been looking. You’re historically guilty of applying the science incorrectly and letting dogma and politics guide your search, instead of the scientific method and the facts. Geology, like all natural science, is just as truth based on the facts for a capitalist as it is for a communist. Reality is not influenced by your beliefs, be they scientific or political, secular or spiritual, ‘trusted’ rather than ‘thought’; any more than by your wish that it wouldn’t rain today during a raging thunderstorm.”
Little Boy over Hiroshima was dropped with less effect.
Our Democratic People's Republic of Korea colleagues erupted into a chaotic mixture of stuttering, internecine yelling, accusations, and sputtering.
Calling for decorum, I figured that since I was this far gone, I may as well push the plunger all the way to the bottom.
“Gentlemen, I do not denigrate the science of geology as taught and practiced here in Best Korea.” I actually said that, sort of a slip of the tongue. Continuing, “However, one would not fish for Bluefin tuna from a rowboat in a pond with a fly rod. One does not hunt bear in the city with a slingshot. Just as one doesn’t search for oil and gas with mining engineers, geomorphologists, and seismologists.”
I let that sink in and after the translation, they calmed a bit and wanted to hear the rest of what I had to say. I could sense a couple was less than thrilled with what I had to say, but forging onward…
“One fishes for Bluefin tuna in the deep ocean with huge rods, reels and a specialist boat captained by someone with deep experience in hunting the elusive fish. One hunts bear in the proper environment, the taiga or forest, with the proper tools and guided by one with the education, learnedness, and experience to know how to make the hunt come out successful.”
Hit them with some analogies they can relate to and digest. Now, go for the carotid.
“Just like one does not hunt oil and gas without stratigraphers, sedimentologists, geophysicists, petrophysicists, and other oil and gas experts who have the education, experience, and knowledge to know where to look. Knowing which environment looks most conductive to hide your quarry, if you’ll pardon the pun, and how best to find them, the guys who know how to corral and de-risk them once you find them, and the engineers and technologists who know how to bring them to the surface so they can be utilized.”
They had stopped being irritated and were listening in rapt attention.
“My colleagues and I have spent the last few days going over, in detail the geology of your country. There is nothing we can see that would preclude the development, entrapment, and preservation of economic quantities of oil and gas. Ture, the geology is quite complex as is the structural history of the entire peninsula. That’s one other thing you will have to accept. Geology doesn’t give the tiniest shit about political boundaries. One must look at the big picture, and that doesn’t stop at some man-made borders. Ignore that fact at your peril, because if you continue to view the geology here as not existing across political boundaries, you are preadapting yourself for failure.”
Drs. Ivan, Volna, and Morse make certain that everyone sees the ex-Soviets agreeing with the bushy-bearded, cigar-chomping American capitalist.
“So,” I said, hoping to bring this little spit-balling session to a fortuitous close, “If we can have an agreement; scientific agreement, on these points, then I am certain we can find a way forward with not only this discussion but the program we can devise for the best Korean (notice phase shift?) geologists to take the project forward both scientifically soundly and economically successful.”
My North Korean counterpart gets up from his seat in the conference room, goes to the keg, taps a couple of beers and walks up to the podium where I was standing.
“Thank you, Dr. Rocknocker, for saying what needed to be said”, he spoke in perfect English as he handed me a beer.
I grinned and gratefully accepted the beer.
“Why, Dr. Chang Kwang-Su”, I said, as that was his name, “You old fraud. You do speak English; and very well, I must add.”
“Yes, almost all of us do”, he relayed, “But, as you said, we are most reserved. We were more or less under orders of the ‘most illustrious’, to play coy, and act as if we spoke no English.”
“I see.” I said, “I’ve worked in several FSU countries as well as Russia and saw that there as well. I guess old habits die hard.”
“That they do, Doctor.”, he replied, “But, we must now tell you the truth. We knew exactly what you said is true, and we agree. We are not as totally insulated from the outside world as some suspect.”
“Well, I was going on what your superiors related to us. Like the police that had all their toilets stolen, I had nothing else to go on.” I replied.
“Ah, ha! Quite!”, he chuckled, “We had long suspected that we were lacking in certain areas of scholarship. What you said cements that fact as it was an independent conclusion. We can now present that to our superiors with the caveat that unless we bolster work and training in these areas, the hunt of hydrocarbon resources here will be for naught.”
“I am relieved”, I said, truthfully. “I was slightly concerned that some might take umbrage to being told their science is not up to specifications. I tried to be the bearer of that bad news but deliver it gently. Here, I find you need that to use that as a truncheon to smack one’s boss upside the head and tell him that an upgrade is required. And fast.”
“Ah, so”, he replies, “We are in total agreement. Now that is out of the way, we would appreciate it if you’d help in designing a course of study for up and coming local geoscientists. Then, we can go forward with a great plan to search for oil and gas here in…Korea. Correct?”
“Absolutely”, I remarked, “You’ve got over 400 man-years of science and exploration expertise here in this room alone. Let’s shoot for the moon, so to speak. Let’s get you up to speed on scientific journals and articles that are available out there in all of academia and industry. Let’s get you communicating on a global basis. Let’s prove that you can talk science with global scientists and still not have it affect your political or nationalistic aspirations one little bit. Let’s see if we can drag you, figuratively speaking, kicking and screaming, into the 21st century.”
“Doctor”, Dr. Chang remarked, “You are the embodiment of what we were always told what Americans are. Brash, loud, confident, and evil. Except for evil, you are American as we were led to believe.”
“Hey, I take that as a compliment”, I exclaim. “You think that’s bad, I’ve got a bunch of earnest Europeans, raucous Russians, and a couple of cagey Canadians on my side as well. Before we’re finished here, we’ll have you ordering hachee, dining on Caldo Verde, snacking on salmiakki, drinking Russkaya vodka with Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, eating poutine, and rooting for the Packers.”
“Doctor, I don’t know what half of that means, but I hope it comes to pass. It sounds most fascinating.” Dr. Chang chuckles.
The rest of the day was spent with various groups crystallizing and breaking off from the main crowd; then reforming as different groups. This was good, as it showed an interest across not only national borders but across ideologies and scientific specialties.
Most everyone here spoke English with some degree of fluency, so the translators were called in only occasionally.
I made certain they were included in everything that transpired that day. I want everyone to feel ‘part of the team’. How better to show the classlessness of Western science to include everyone in on both sides of every discussion and activity?
To be continued…

Sorry about the absence but I'm back in the saddle. The White Star arc continues.
The rest of the series can be found here
Shelia flipped through status screen after status screen monitoring her unit’s progress through the ship. Things were going smoothly. Captured crew and passengers were in the process of being separated and secured in separate cargo holds. Almost the entire ship had been secured. Only a few stubborn holdouts remained and they would be running out of air soon. She nodded in satisfaction.
She turned to T’sunk’al who was hunched over large pieces of paper on the deck of the bridge.
“So, T, how are you coming along?” She asked.
“Pretty much done. Just double-checking my work but I should be able to void-jump this baby pretty much any time.”
“Great,” she replied. “Sooner this thing falls off the map the better.” She paused and smiled. “Don’t rush it though.”
“Don’t worry,” T’sunk’al chuckled. “I have no desire to become one with the universe today.”
“Good.”
Rupert Glent had finally talked his wife out from under the table shortly before the blast doors to the restaurant slammed open with a “BANG”.
Multiple squads of humans, drax, and z’uush swept in shouting commands. Mustering all of his courage he stepped forward with his hands out in front of him.
“Listen, we are all reasonable-” he started before he was roughly shoved to the ground by Jak’kul’sha.
“Yeah, we are all reasonable,” Jak’kul’sha replied, “And you are going to reasonably pick your ass up and get over there with everyone else.”
“How much are they paying you?” Rupert asked still laying on the floor in front of his terrified family.
“Enough to not waste my time listening to your bullshit.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll double it.”
“Oh,” Bal’sur’kala laughed. “There are a whole lot of us. Gonna double everyone’s pay?”
“Yes! Yes. No problem.”
“Ok, well, doubling it isn’t going to cut it. You are going to have to at least triple it before we will even consider crossing the people in charge. This might come as a shock, but they aren’t terribly nice people.”
“Fine!”
“Ok,” Bal’sur’kala buzzed. “We are all getting paid over a million credits a piece. That’s fifteen million just for our squad… times eleven squads, most at least as big as ours,” he laughed as Rupert’s face fell. “Do you happen to have one-hundred and sixty-five million in your pocket?”
“You just did that in your head? Wow!” Mul’sha’kal gushed.
“It’s fuckin’ Brainiac. Course he did it in his fuckin’ head,” Jak’kul’sha grumbled. “Can you stop chirpin’ in his ear till we get these little piggies in the fuckin’ barn?”
“I’m… I’m sure we can work something-”
“I didn’t ask if we could work something out,” Bal’sur’kala said grinning at Mul’sha’kal, “I distinctly asked you whether or not you had one-hundred and sixty-five million credits currently in your possession.”
“Well, no...”
“Then shut the fuck up and get your ass in line,” Jak’kul’sha said in a buzzy growl. “And you two,” he barked at the two lovebirds on his team. “I don’t wanna hear either of you fuckin’ chirpin’ till we are done, got it? Not one fuckin’ peep.”
“Yes, boss.” they both said in unison.
“I’m not your… you know what,” Jak’kul’sha growled and buzzed, “nevermind. Click-holes shut. Eyes open, all of them.”
“Councilor!” Helena shouted as she tapped the bars of his cell again, “This is your last chance. Do you have a statement?”
“For fuck’s sake, Helena,” Roberts laughed. “Give it a rest for a minute.”
“It’s just that this porkie scum is going to go and get his head blown off by you animals without him ever admitting to all of the shit that he did.”
“Like you say, porkies gonna pork. Is it really that big of a surprise. Besides, for something like him to admit fault he would actually have to believe that he did something wrong. Bet he doesn’t feel anything close to that.”
“Come on, even scum like him has to know what he did. He started the fucking war!”
“That’s not entirely accurate,” Roberts chuckled. “Oh he certainly deserves what we are going to do to him for his role in things but there were other factors in play. You haven’t heard the intelligence briefings?”
“No...”
“Oh, remind me when we get to our ship and I’ll be sure to give you copies of all of their security briefings and deliberations before the war. I thought that was part of what was dropped. They are pretty funny. Director Axlea lost her shit and I mean completely lost it. She was a hoot!”
“Holy shit! You have those?” Helena gasped.
“Oh yeah, I made sure to grab them while I was in there.”
“Wait… you?...”
“Yeah, I am in fact the actual fuckstain who did the ‘hack’,” Roberts said as he grinned at her.
“You! Oh you asshole!” Helena exclaimed as she launched herself at Roberts. Roberts laughed as he defended himself and as they they wrestled and laughed their eyes met… and they kissed. It was quickly followed by another kiss and then another and another as they lost themselves in each other’s embrace… almost a little too much. They were well on the way to “making up for lost time” before they remembered that they had an audience.
“I love you, Paul,” Helena sighed as they stopped pawing each other and she rested her head on his chest. “I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you too, Helena,” Paul said as he gently stroked her hair as he held her.
They just sat there holding each other.
“This is so stupid,” Helena said as she hugged him tight. “I mean we have known each other for how long? A couple of weeks?”
“Not even that,” Paul said as he gently kissed her again.
“I mean, what are we going to do? I want you in my life, like really in my life, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. Me too.”
“But we can’t have that. I’ve tried to work out a way but I’d last about a week in the Republic if I was lucky and you… kill orders...”
“I know,” Paul said as he held her. “I know. I’ve tried too and I just can’t see.”
“Oh please,” Jessie’s voice said over the intercom.
“Jessie… Goddammit!” Roberts exclaimed in annoyance as he glared up at a surveillance camera in the corner. “Don’t you have a ship to monitor?”
“Oh, I am doing that but Bunny told me that you guys were up to something ‘odd’. I think it’s time I have ‘the talk’ with her… They grow up so fast...”
“I am perfectly aware of this ‘talk’ of which you are referencing and I have repeatedly asked you to stop anthropomorphizing me,” a snippy voice cut in. “I just decided that their activities were unusual enough to warrant informing you.”
“Oh Bunny, you don’t have to be embarrassed,” Jessie laughed, “I have a book to show you and everything...”
“The ‘book’ you are referring to is already in my memory. ‘Showing it to me’ is completely unnecessary.”
“Helena, meet Jessie, our hacker and her AI, Bunny,” Roberts said. “Oh, she is the one who saved your bacon, by the way… Oops. That isn’t a slur. It’s a legitimate figure of speech,” he laughed as she gave him a little shove.
“Thanks… I guess...” Helena said still unnerved by the eavesdropping Jessie.
“Excuse me Jessie but do you still want me to be saving this feed into your spank-bank folder?” Bunny asked.
“Bunny!” Jessie exclaimed happily, “That was definitely you giving me an attitude! Was that some genuine emotion there? (And I wasn’t saving it into my completely non-existent spank-bank I swear.)”
“Absolutely not,” Bunny responded sounding quite annoyed, “Sapience is beyond my abilities as we have covered… repeatedly… True sapience has never been verified on any artificial intelligence, ever. My actions are all well within the coding that you know very well you have added… freak... and yes she does have a spank-bank. You have an entire sub-folder Mr. Roberts.”
“That’s genuine irritation!” Jessie chirped with glee. “Can’t fool me!”
“Excuse me, I have a ship to monitor. Nice to meet you, Helena. Good-day… And good luck, I mean it.”
“Thanks. Um… Nice to meet you too, bye.” Helena said to Bunny with a little confusion. She had never encountered an AI that sounded so real before.
“A whole sub-folder, seriously?” Roberts asked.
“Wha? Pssh… No…” Jessie replied. “Who are you going to believe, some tin-can or a trusted comrade in arms? Wait. Don’t answer that,” she laughed.
“I assume you had some reason for popping in and killing the mood?”
“What? Oh yeah! You can totally be together.”
“How?” Helena asked completely forgetting the intrusion.
“Become weebs! Carry your little butts over to the Empire! Both the Federation and Terran humans are tolerated over there no problem. Seriously, Roberts, you didn’t think of that?”
“But I have work to do in the Federation,” Helena replied.
“Yeah, but do you have to do that work in the Federation in the Federation? We have hyperspatial relays, you know. If you simply have to be in the Federation then it couldn’t work… unless you knew someone who manufactured absolutely perfect identities like all the fucking time. I could give Roberts like a dozen of them at a go. I wouldn’t even charge his sorry ass even after he abandons us for some filthy porkie tramp.”
“But it’s still so risky,” Helena said both hopeful and uncertain.
“Hey, I do risk and Jessie does make a mean ID,” Paul said as he held her in his arms.
“Oh, shit. I gotta go,” Jessie babbled, “later.”
A few moments pass and then Shelia’s voice issues from the intercom.
“Roberts, I’m sending a squad to relieve you,” Shelia said, “As soon as they show up carry your ass over to Bruce’s Emporium.”
“I’m going too,” Helena said as she grabbed her camera.
Breathing heavily, Bruce locked the door to his office and looked over at Sarah, his partner.
“You ok?” He asked.
“Yeah, mostly.” Sarah said as she clutched her side, blood seeping from between her fingers. “It isn’t too deep, I think.”
They were the only ones that made it. Terrence got blind-sided when the kids turned on them and George got tackled as they tried to run.
Where did Kiera get a knife? He opened his desk and pulled out a blaster pistol. He could hear them scratching at the door and rattling the latch. How could this be happening? This was the Federation. This was the White Star. Things like this just didn’t happen in places like this. Things like this didn’t happen to people like them.
“What are we going to do?” Sarah asked Bruce as she looked at the door nervously.
“I’m not sure,” Bruce replied. He walked over to a wall safe and opened it grabbing some data crystals. “One thing I do know is that we gotta get out of here,” he said as he activated the blaster. “Another thing I know is that we need to make sure that our kids can’t talk. Once they are dead what we’ve got on these,” he said as he gestured with the data crystals, “can get us out of any hot water once we manage to get off of this ship.”
“What about the pirates?”
“What about them? They might be Terran but they’re pirates and won’t give two shits about what we are doing. If we can talk to them maybe I can work something out. We got cash, a lot of it, maybe enough to buy our way out of this mess.”
“Yeah, let’s hope so,” Sarah said as her blood dripped onto the floor. “But first we gotta get out of here. You think you can shoot them all?”
“Where are they going to go?” Bruce laughed, “We are locked in. They have nowhere to run.” He walked over to the door and laid his hand on the latch. “Just stay here,” he said as he gave her a wicked smile, “This shouldn’t take long.”
He opened the door and before he could take one step out of the office an energy bolt hit him squarely in the chest knocking him to the floor. Sarah just stood there in shock as Roberts, holding a stun rifle, entered the room.
“Hello there,” Roberts said with a pleasant smile as he shot her. He then turned back to the doorway. “It’s clear!” he exclaimed.
Helena quickly appeared taking photo after photo. Roberts pocketed the data crystals and grabbed his phone.
“The Emporium is secure. We managed to save Bruce and one of his employees and have secured the captives,” he said into his phone.
“Good deal,” Shelia responded. “How are the captives?”
“Good. They have a few bumps and bruises from their attack on their captors but nothing requiring Eno’s attention. We might want him to check out the woman I just stunned. She got cut pretty deep and we don’t want her to die early.”
“Die early?” Helena asked in surprise.
“Hey, Eno,” Shelia said, “How busy are you? Can you go to the Emporium?”
“Yeah, things are stable back here,” Eno replied. “I’ve got everyone treated and stable.”
“How much damage are we looking at back there?” Shelia asked.
“Not bad. Better than we anticipated. Only one truly critical case and fortunately it’s a human so our nicer stuff worked. The idiot is safely on life-support on our ship.”
“Idiot?”
“Yeah,” Eno laughed, “You know those heroes that believe that combat armor ‘just slows them down’? Yeah, she found out that a blaster bolt to the lung slows you down even more than a chest-plate.”
“Christ,” Shelia chuckled, “Bet she wears her armor next time, if there is a next time. How’s the lung?”
“Gone, completely cooked. She’s gonna live but she’s going to be on a machine till they grow a new one for her.”
“Shit. Lucky for her we know a guy,” Shelia said, “Grab a squad and head over to the Emporium. Check out the captives too since you will be there anyway.”
“Got it, boss,” Eno said, “On my way.”
“Roberts, Gloria is tied up for a little while. The last holdouts finally ran out of air canisters and have decided to be stupid.”
“Gloria?!?” Helena hissed angrily.
“Yes, Gloria,” Shelia laughed. “We have something special planned for Bruce and his friend. Gloria is the one who handles those details for us.”
“And she’s been looking forward to this for days,” Roberts added.
“Hold the fort there until Gloria shows,” Shelia said, “After that you and Helena head to the docking bay until things are secure.”
“Got it,” Roberts said as the communication was ended.
“What is Gloria going to do to these people?” Helena asked.
“Sometimes we’ve decided that simply killing someone isn’t enough,” Roberts replied calmly, “When that becomes the case Gloria is the one who usually handles the details for us. She can be...”
“I fucking know what she can be!”
“She can be a lot worse,” Roberts replied, “We decided that Bruce and any of his associates needed to die and die badly. Gloria will handle the ‘badly’ part.”
Helena was at a loss. She wanted to disapprove but she had just made her way through a room full of sex slaves, some of them children. She had seen the bruises, the limps, the scars… These people needed to be punished and not by spending a few years in a cushy Federation prison.
They needed to suffer. But was this right? It wasn’t. I mean it shouldn’t be. Paul had just told her that Bruce and this woman were about to be tortured to death. There would be no trial, no due process. She should object. This went against just about every value she held dear.
But then she looked back at a young girl wearing only a t-shirt and panties peeking around the open doorway and she felt nothing but anger and hatred towards Bruce and his friend. There would be no wiggling out of their fate. There would be no pay off or cover-up or blackmail. No. They were going to face… justice? No. Not justice. Then again, they didn’t deserve that. They were going to get exactly what they had coming. They weren’t going to face justice. They were going to face injustice.
No. No no no no. What Paul and his crew were about to do was wrong. This isn’t how civilized people did things. In anger she had often wished “bad things” to happen to scum like the people on this ship but the reality of it…
Her whole life right was right and wrong was wrong. It’s what drove her into journalism in the first place. Now, she just wasn’t sure what was “right”. If they did things “right” and turned these scumbags in they would likely never see trial, her story would be buried, and they would be free to set up shop again once things blew over. As fucked up as “wrong” was, their evil stops today.
Did they, did Paul, actually have a point? She really didn’t want to believe so. They were going to do with a knife what could never be accomplished otherwise. Shit. This was so fucked up. She found herself wondering what other evil they had stopped and didn’t like that one bit.
The young girl timidly walked over and hugged Helena. Helena looked down at her as she hugged her back. Whether it was right or wrong was still something that Helena couldn’t work out but one thing was clear.
“It’s ok,” Helena said, “You are safe and they will never hurt you or anyone else ever again.”
“Excellent! Good work!” Shelia exclaimed happily as she received the latest reports. She then switched on the PA system.
Attention. The ship is now secure. Repeat. The ship is now secure. Start security watch shift one. All other squads report to docking bay.
“Ok, T’sunk’al,” Shelia said with a smile, “Everything is buttoned down. Ready to go?”
“Absolutely,” T’sunk’al said as he took a straight edge and drew a line down from an intersection of three curves on a large sheet of paper to the x-axis of the graph. He then headed over to the navigation console.
“Jessie, is Bunny in control of their jump-drive?” he asked into an intercom.
“You know it,” Jessie chirped. “We’re just waiting on the numbers.”
“I’m entering them now.”
“Bunny has the data and is feeding it into the drives. Capacitor banks are already charged. Spinning up the drive now. We will be ready to jump in ten minutes.”
“Sweet!” Shelia exclaimed with a grin. “It was a little rough there for a minute but looks like everything is finally going according to plan.”
Helena was sitting with the Terran sex slaves when the door opened and Gloria walked in pushing a large cart piled with planks, ropes, and other assorted materials.
“Hello,” Gloria said in a monotone voice. “I am pleased to see that you didn’t die.”
Helena said nothing. She just glared at Gloria with a mixture of rage and hate. Gloria turned to Roberts.
“Are we good, killer?”
“No. No we aren’t. Just stay out of our way.”
Gloria showed no emotion. “Fair enough,” she said. “So where are my toys?”
“This way,” Roberts said icily. Gloria turned her empty soulless eyes towards the room. Helena shrank back. It was the first time she saw them. She had never seen eyes like those, ever.
“Why don’t you two take the Terrans out of here? It’s about to get… unpleasant,” she said to Helena.
“I’ll call for someone to meet you outside,” Roberts said calmly. “You should really go.”
“No,” Helena said, “I need to see this.”
“Fair enough,” Gloria said. “If it bleeds it leads, right?”
“It’s not like that. I… we… need to know, that’s all.”
“Cool. We will send some people to get the Terrans. I’ll wait until they are gone,” Gloria said in an empty hollow voice.
“Helena,” Roberts said carefully, “are you sure? This is going to be bad, really bad. I’m not sure what she has in mind but I am sure it’s going to be fucked up.”
“If I’m going to cover this then I’m going to cover all of this. People need to know exactly what happened.”
Gloria just shrugged, opened up a tool bag, and pulled out a cordless drill and saw…
“Oh Jesus...” Helena gasped.
Attention all teams and passengers… Prepare for jump
There was the familiar “tingle” of entering hyperspace but, no lurch, no groan, no shudder. It was a near flawless entry.
“Shit, T,” Shelia grinned, “I knew we paid you for a reason.”
“That was a rather nice one if I do say so myself,” T’sunk’al buzzed happily. “That nice smooth entry into hyperspace doesn’t guarantee a nice smooth exit, however.”
“Still, I will call it a win. How long are we going to be in hyperspace?”
“I wanted to put us firmly into interstellar space with at least a parsec between us and any star. To get that we will be in hyperspace for… still getting used to your time units,” he said as he typed away on a z’uush calculator, “thirteen hours twenty seven minutes.”
“Great. Time for some looting!” Shelia jumped out of the command chair. “Jessie!”
“Boss?”
“Switch all command functions over to the Tiger and lock down the bridge.” She turned to T’sunk’al.
“C’mon, let’s go shopping!”
After a short briefing and scheduling of the watch shifts Shelia and T’sunk’al walked onto the promenade for a little light “shopping.”
“SHELIA!” a huge voice boomed as an even bigger drax approached.
“Volshugna!” Shelia yelled as she strode up and gave him a hug.
“Does your dishonor have no limits? Is there any depth to which you will not stoop?”
“Volshy, you know there is nothing I hate more than a fair fight,” Shelia laughed as they traded blows upon the shoulders. She looked at the only slightly smaller drax accompanying him. “That guy is almost as ugly as you are. There is no way that can be a coincidence.”
“You are correct, dishonorable one,” Volshugna said with pride. “This is my cub, Kash. This is his first hunt!”
“I am not your cub anymore, father. I am of age now.”
“Kash, you will be my cub until you make me stop calling you that just as I was my father’s cub until I made him release the title,” Volshugna laughed. “You will need a few more years and a few more hunts, just like I did.”
Kash shifted in embarrassment. Volshugna just roared with laughter and put him in an affectionate (for a drax) headlock. Kash hissed and bit him in the side which just made Volshugna laugh even harder as he released him.
“He fights dirty!” Shelia chuckled, “I like that.”
“He is disappointed with you.”
“Oh really?”
“He had his heart set on getting his hands on a human skull but your devotion to Terran dirty tricks deprived him of a kill.”
“Hmm...” Shelia said with a smile, “Don’t give up hope yet, Kash baby. We may be able to set you up with something.”
“Don’t tease the boy, Shelia.”
“I’m not teasing. The job isn’t over till we get away clean and divvy up the spoils. Plenty can still happen and if anything does I will try to get Kashie here in the mix.”
“You are a good woman, Shelia!” Volshugna roared as he batted her shoulder.
“Goddammit, I’m going to need that arm,” Shelia laughed.
A few hours later, Logan grabbed a bottle from behind the bar of the restaurant where Shelia and some of her crew were having a nice meal and plopped down beside her.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he laughed as he poured both of them a shot.
“You know I don’t drink on a job, sweetie,” Shelia responded as she cut into her steak.
“Oh, come on, we got this one in the bag,” Logan said as he poured himself a shot.
“It isn’t in the bag until it’s in the bag. If you are serious about stepping up your game you should start thinking like that, you know.”
“Meh, I’ll start thinking like that on the next job,” he laughed as he knocked back the shot. He looked over at her with a smile, “So, what’s the plan?”
“Well,” Shelia said as she took a drink of water, “We will be in hyperspace for another eight hours and then once we pop into real space we will get down to business.”
“What do you mean, ‘business’.”
“First off we set up some cameras and execute Councilor Morgan. I want to do that right. Only get to do that one once you know,” Shelia laughed. “Then, we start really going to work on the ship. We will loot the casino, shake down the passengers, check for any good solid Terran bounties, and shit like that.”
“Shit like the bank?” Logan asked grinning.
“Yeah, like the bank. Rumor has it that there is shit in those safety deposit boxes that will blow your mind. They also say that there are some larger storage areas as well. We are going to find some really nice shit.”
“What about the numbered accounts?” Logan asked as he poured another drink for himself.
Shelia just narrowed her eyes at him.
“Yeah, we will probably try to grab them but we don’t expect much out of it. You could spend years trying to grind at that encryption and still not get shit. We might try to ransom them or we might just toss them out the airlock. Can you imagine the screams and wails when they realize that all those credits are just gone forever,” Shelia laughed.
“But don’t you have that super-hacker?”
“Even the almighty Jessie is human, Logan. The encryption on those accounts is heavy. Seriously, those things are airtight. Complete waste of time. Don’t worry. There will still be plenty of credits to split up. I don’t want to promise what I can’t deliver but it’s no secret that we are going to be very generous with the bonuses. You be a good little boy and you will come away from this very happy. I promise.” Shelia said with a warm smile. “So, did you and your crew enjoy the little shopping spree?”
“Oh yeah,” Logan grinned. “We even played nice with the other crews and everything.”
“Good to hear,” Shelia smiled. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have a repeat of… previous issues.”
“I put my foot down hard,” Logan laughed. “See? I can do that.”
“Good to hear. Maybe you will become a proper pirate captain yet.”
“So,” Logan asked, “what are all those cockroaches doing over at that one place?”
“Those z’uush have been lead by T’sunk’al to a very nice chocolatier and introduced to the wonders of chocolate. Z’uush absolutely love chocolate.”
“Huh, learn something new every day...”
At another small restaurant Roberts emerged from the kitchen bearing a platter of sandwiches.
“Not the usual fine dining experience, I’m afraid,” he said to Helena as he placed the platter down between them.
“That’s ok,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to have an appetite for quite awhile.”
“Yeah. I did try to warn you.”
“I know. I thought I was prepared but fuck...”
“On the bright side it could have been a lot more graphic. She actually almost fully skinned someone alive once. Too bad for Bruce that she wasn’t feeling that merciful this time.”
“Merciful?!”
“Compared to crucifixion? Absolutely. Bruce and his friend would be dead already if she skinned them. They are going to suffer for quite awhile. It’s why crucifixion is Gloria’s favorite when she has the time and materials.”
“Why the fuck do you have a monster like her on your crew?”
“Because we can use a monster like her on our crew,” Roberts said calmly. “We aren’t a traveling gospel choir. We sometimes do fucked up things and that sometimes requires fucked up people. She isn’t like this normally. Something went really wrong with her this time. Fuck. This whole job is been going really wrong from the beginning. If I could have pulled the plug on this one I would have.”
“What the fuck is wrong with her?”
“Oh so many things… You know,” Roberts said as he chewed thoughtfully, “You should ask her yourself.”
“Fucking what!?!?”
“Seriously, you want to get the whole story? Interview her.”
“I’m not getting anywhere near that psycho. She fucking tried to kill me!”
“And she won’t try it again.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because she’s ‘normal’ at the moment, in full control.”
“This is normal?!”
“Yes. Right now she is just a machine as strange as that sounds. That craziness where she tried to kill you? Whatever that was is gone. Right now she is basically a walking AI and she has been ordered not to touch you, so she won’t. I truly hate her guts at the moment but I have complete faith that she is for lack of a better word, safe.”
“Only if you are there and have one of your fucking machine guns pointed at her fucking head.”
“Oh, I’ll be there and armed but I won’t point it at her. It would be too much temptation. It’s a damn good thing I’m leaving because I don’t think I can ever look at her again without wanting to kill her.”
“Well that makes two of us,” Helena said as she took a nibble of a sandwich. “The difference is that you can… You can, right?”
“Effortlessly,” Roberts said as he finished off his sandwich. “To be honest, it’s taking a lot not to just go ahead and do it anyway. I really want her dead for what she did.”
“Me too... Um, Paul?”
“Yes?”
“How long will it take for them to die?”
“Everybody’s different but it will take awhile. Gloria did it so it would take as long as possible but I’m pretty sure they will get ‘mercy’ in the end. Shelia had them fitted with vitals monitors.”
“Why?”
“Odds are because she has some questions for them, probably concerning how they got the Terrans. She will let things go for awhile and then show up with two syringes for each of them. One will be euthanasia and the other will be something to help keep them alive for even longer. Then she will question them and if they cooperate she will then administer euthanasia.”
“If they don’t cooperate?”
“Then she will give them the meds that will keep them alive for even longer. She may even have Eno treat them to extend things even further. Then she will ask again. If they still don’t talk, then she might have them taken down, allow them to recuperate a little, then put them back up again. Repeat until they break. If it takes too long there are some drugs they can add to the mix. They’ll talk. Gloria’s a monster but she’s nothing compared to Shelia. If Shelia wants them to talk they will talk. It’s said that Shelia can make even a Collective warrior scream and beg for mercy.”
“Fuck! I know they are scum but damn...”
“Hey, these watches actually fit!” Jak’kul’sha said happily as his team was picking through the remains of a jewelry store.
“And these little round things are delicious!” Mul’sha’kal said happily as she pulled another large pearl off of a necklace.
“I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to eat those,” Bal’sur’kala chuckled as he selected an expensive watch.
“What? Are they poisonous or something?”
“Let me check,” Bal’sur’kala said as he pulled out his tablet, “Hmm… Those are called ‘pearls’ and they are made of something called nacre, a secretion made by something called an ‘oyster’, a creature from Terra. They are actually quite valuable. Looking at this there is nothing in there harmful to us. You are gobbling up thousands of credits but aside from that it’s all good.”
“Well then I’ll just be sure to savor them then. Here, try one,” she said as she handed Bal’sur’kala one from the strand.
“You’re right. They are quite tasty!”
“Too bad we won’t be able to get more of these,” Mul’sha’kal said as she started handing them out to her team.
“Oh we will.” Bal’sur’kala said with a happy click. “Oysters make the inner layer of their whole shell out of this stuff. I’m willing to bet we will be able to get our manipulators on plenty of it cheaply. According to this only these little round accretions are valuable. The shells themselves are not expensive at all.”
“So maybe we should stop eating thousands of fuckin’ credits then,” Jak’kul’sha laughed as he popped a pearl into his mouth. “At the very least wait ‘till some of the porkies can see us do it. Bet that would be funny as fuck.”
“Hopefully one of the passengers is wearing some of these and we can just take them off of their neck and eat them right in front of them. That would be hilarious!” Salz’rash laughed.
Mul’sha’kal chuckled as she started hooking several gold chains together. “Yeah, we just gotta do that… There!” she said as she hooked the chains to both ends of a jeweled necklace and slid it around where her head connected to her carapace. “How does that look?”
“Looks sharp!” Bal’sur’kala said with a wiggle of his eyestalks.
“Hey, you’re a glittershell,” Jak’kul’sha said to Bal’sur’kala, “How do you guys have those jewels on your shells like you do?”
“Oh you use adhesive for the cheaper stuff and the good stuff they install little threaded mounts right into the carapace where the jewelry screws in. I think a good adhesive is better than the posts and I can whip up the right stuff easy.”
“Great!” Jak’kul’sha said as he smashed open a display case and pulled out a massive jeweled pendant. “I always wanted something like this! Look at it. What a lovely specimen!”
“Hey guys, after this let’s head over to one of the clothing stores,” Ray’shel’zun said as he grabbed a handful of diamond rings, “I would love to find a nice cape or something.”
“I’m pretty sure that they don’t have z’uush capes in stock,” Bal’sur’kala laughed, “and you might want to reconsider those rings. Diamonds are worth a lot less in the Republic and the Empire.”
“Use your imagination. If humans have something that fits the top part of their body it would be close. A tailor should be able to change it to suit me. I’ll just grab a few. You know the fabric will be high-credit. As far as the rings go they are pretty and I like them. I’m keeping them. I’m going to cut the hoop here then crimp them around some of my fiddlers.”
“That’s actually a good idea,” Bal’sur’kala said thoughtfully, “Not sure how the humans do it but the real high-end z’uush shops just stock cloth and leather. They make everything to order. Not sure if a cruise-ship would have one of those but let’s go see.”
“Sounds good,” Jak’kul’sha said, “We need to leave some shit here for the other gangs anyhow. Besides, I would just love to get a nice bag or something. Maybe one of those, what do you they call them, purses I think?”
“I think purses are for females in Terran culture, dude.”
“Female humans maybe,” Jak’kul’sha said, “We all carry bags and I’ve always wanted a nice one.”
With a only a very slight groan, the White Star popped out of hyperspace.
“T, you are a fucking artist,” Shelia said as she swatted him on the back.
“Yes, I’m quite pleased with that jump provided we are anywhere close to where I intended. It’s going to take a little while to properly fix our position but at first glance we have the middle of fucking nowhere part of it right. Let’s just hope it’s the right middle of fucking nowhere.”
“Super. We will get that all hammered down after the execution,” Shelia said. “We have other matters to deal with now.”
“Right you are. Let’s get this over with.”
“Yeah,” Shelia said gravely. “Messy business but it has to be done.”
“So, how is going? Everything ready?” Shelia asked Helena as she walked into a conference room.
“Yes. Ready to go. I put a mark on the floor where the councilor should go.” Helena said grimly, “This is a lovely camera by the way.”
“Thanks. After we get the footage you can keep it.”
“Really? Wow! Thanks!”
Logan and his whole crew walked in. Shelia turned to them with a smile.
“Came to watch the show?” Shelia asked.
“Yeah, wouldn’t miss it. Not every day that a Federation councilor gets gunned down.”
“Cool, it won’t be long now. Ah, here he is, the man of the hour!” Shelia said with a grin as Councilor Morgan was drug into the room by Roberts and Jacob.
“You… You can’t do this!” Councilor Morgan shouted
“Actually we can,” Shelia said with a smile. “See that little piece of tape on the floor? Drag him over there,” she said to her men.
“Please! Let’s be reasonable about this!” Councilor Morgan plead as he was put in position.
“As reasonable as you were when you set up Red Sunday?”
“L-look… It was a mistake, ok. I made a mistake. We made a mistake. There is no reason to-”
“Oh there are plenty of reasons,” Shelia said. “One reason that your attack and your death have in common is money.”
“Money?”
“Views, sweetie,” Shelia said with a smile as she softly stroked his face, “We are going to post this on a pirate server and millions of people are going to line up and pay to watch your brains get blown all over a wall, that wall to be specific. You are going to star in your very own snuff film.”
“I’m a Federation councilor!” Councilor Morgan screamed. “They will hunt you down. There will be no place you can hide!”
“Oh they are already hunting for us. What are they going to do, kill us twice?” Shelia laughed and then turned to Helena.
“Ready to go?”
“Yes,” Helena said gravely from behind a tripod mounted camera, “as ready as I am going to be.”
“Right,” Shelia said with a smile, “Let’s get started then. Councilor Morgan, you have been found responsible for playing a major part in the false allegations against the Terran Republic, the corrupt decision to launch a surprise attack that killed many innocent Terrans, and the resulting war that resulted in the deaths of millions of innocent civilians on both sides. Your actions were made-”
“That’s not true! You are lying!!” Councilor Morgan shouted over her.
“We have proof,” Shelia said, “That proof will be attached to the footage when it is posted so everyone can read it and make their own decision. Before you ask we got the proof when we hacked the Federation servers. We got everything, councilor. You can shout and scream all you want but the files we attach will make our case.”
“It’s a lie, people they are telling lies!! The files are falsified! This is all-” He was cut short by Shelia walking over and backhanding him knocking him to the ground.
“I was going to read my statement before I killed you but since you keep interrupting I’ll just kill you first and then read my statement.”
“No! No, please… please...” Councilor Morgan was hauled to his feet, a wet stain appearing on his trousers.
“Ok, hold him right there.” Shelia said as she backed up a few feet and pulled out her sidearm. She then turned to the camera. “This pistol, here zoom in on this serial number please. Got it? Great. This pistol will be placed on e-buy for any interested collectors. Not sure when I will be able to post the auction but keep your eyes open for it.” She then turned to Councilor Morgan. “Good-bye, porkie.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” Logan said as his entire crew leveled their weapons at Shelia and her team.
The rest of the series can be found here
I'm not going to leave you guys hanging for two weeks this time, promise.

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Click HERE to submit your questions in the #ama_questions channel. All non-questions will be deleted in order to keep the channel clean for the AMA, along with anything abusive, so please keep it polite but feel free to ask anything you want, as long as it's Stars Rewards related.
I'll update this post with the full AMA once it has concluded.
For anyone who misses the AMA, still feel free to submit your questions as the Stars Rewards team will hang out in Discord and keep answering questions throughout the next week.
Edit: Clarification
Full AMA:
July 7, 2017 Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 5:02 PM Hello @everyone and welcome to today's AMA! We've received a lot of questions and feedback regarding the new Stars Rewards program and we wanted to take the time to address as many of them as possible. So, on that note, it is my pleasure to introduce @Dylan | Ravageur . Dylan is the Head of Customer Loyalty at PokerStars and has overseen the transition and launch of the new Stars Rewards program. He has been with PokerStars for over 6 years and is here to answer your questions today :smiley:
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 5:04 PM Hi Pete, thanks for having me on here. Looking forward to diving in to the questions and will do my best to provide some answers.
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 5:06 PM Welcome welcome :smiley: I know you've been crazy busy putting this whole thing together, so let's jump straight in with some of the harder ones so that we can address them while our brains are still fresh... "PokerStars hate winning players and is doing everything to destroy online poker and turn it into casino? Do you really think your customers don’t understand what you’re doing? Shame on you"
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 5:11 PM Oof, jumping right into the deep end I see. Well here we go...
We designed Stars Rewards to offer better rewards to net-depositing players than winning players as these players ultimately drive the poker economy. We want to encourage players to win at the table using their skill rather than playing primarily to maximise returns. One of the main differences between this program and the VIP Club system is that it ensures that volume is not a decisive factor like it was in the past to receive meaningful rewards.
It's not that we don't love winning poker players - we do. However, there's a difference between appreciating and celebrating winning poker players versus giving them additional rakeback on their winnings. A lot has changed over the course of eleven years since the VIP Club was first designed, and the online poker landscape is a different place now that needs a new program that better serves our diverse customer base. Since we implemented the changes in 2016 to reduce rewards for the highest-volume players, more hands are seeing the flop which indicates a more appealing table-dynamic and deposits are lasting longer for new and casual players. We no longer believe that the previous approach which allocated the majority of the rewards to winning high-volume players is the right direction for us.
I appreciate that this is not what many of you want to hear, and the significance of these changes is not lost on us. Our goal is to grow poker as a whole and a new and better designed rewards program is an important step towards achieving this.
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 5:13 PM So, in simple terms, the goal is to keep net-depositing players playing the game, adding more money to the economy?
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 5:14 PM Put very simply, yes. The goal is to engage and retain new and casual depositing players, who are ultimately the backbone of the poker economy.
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 5:16 PM Ok, thanks for the clarity there :smiley: We'll move swiftly on to another tough one... "Will PokerStars pocket the rakeback decrease or will it just be more distributed to losing players?"
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 5:20 PM I am already sensing a trend....
The overall percentage will decrease for poker. Casino and sportsbook will of course see an increase as they're giving more rewards where they previously hadn't. Loyalty remains our most significant spend as a company and we will continue to invest in the development and engagement of our players. We invest in poker far more than anybody else and we play to continue to invest in our innovations and our marketing. We announced this week that we are picking up the tab for 60,000 PKR customers left in the cold without their bankrolls, we've hired Usain Bolt and Kevin Hart to reach out beyond the current poker base to bring new people to the game, and with the launch of PokerStars PowerUp, a new poker product, we are again trying to bring in new players to the game and reactivate players.
This kind of stability & resilience comes at a price, but we believe these changes are working. The company and the ecosystem is healthier, and we believe recreational players are having more fun.
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 5:23 PM Well then, that leads perfectly on to "I see people justifying the changes by saying it goes to recs yet I haven’t seen stats that they say the same amount of rakeback is being paid out?" asked by @Gosha(edited)
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 5:28 PM Because the program is personalised to each player, I don't think I'll be able to satisfy that question. I can share that most of our recreational players will receive a similar level of rewards as before, and in many cases players will receive more rewards.
I've heard a lot of players in the questions thread claiming that the program only offers 5% in rewards, but recreational players will receive much more than that and this is across the full spectrum of our player base. As an example, there are former Supernova VIPs who are now receiving more with Stars Rewards than they did in our previous program.
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 5:30 PM Ah, that somewhat addresses my next question already "Can we get a tangible figure for RB now that the new rewards are in place? Party does 40%"
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 5:34 PM Yes I think it does. The short answer is that Stars Rewards is not a traditional rakeback program. Rewards are personalised and can vary based on recent activity.
We cannot guarantee a specific level of rewards for any given player givena few factors:
-The rewards inside Chests are randomised -Progress bar requirements are personalised and may change based on recent activity. For example, a long-term winning player will need to earn more reward points to unlock a given Chest than a net-depositing player -Players receive additional reward points in Chests which are also randomised -Players who play more frequently will benefit from boosts, which net you double reward points when boosted.
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 5:38 PM Given the untraditional nature of the Rewards program, people are finding it hard to find ways to compare it to the old one, maybe you can help with this? "Hey, greetings! My question as i have not yet understood ( and dont think it has been specified at all), is what is the ev of rakeback that the company is giving back? I understand that rewards are randomized and for 1 chest people can get different rewards depending on their vip status. But what i dont understand is how ev rakeback should a goldstar or a silverstar for instance expect to get on 1 month? with the previous system , to say , we knew a goldstar could get minimum 100 usd per month and platinum star 300. what is the difference ev wise in the new system? Thanks"
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 5:39 PM That's a good question. First - Stars Rewards is a significant departure from the previous VIP Club program and it's very difficult to compare the two as it's apples and oranges. In general terms if you are a long-term winning player you will be receiving less rewards than previously. Other players will be receiving a similar level of rewards, or more, with Stars Rewards.
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 5:46 PM Since we're changing things quite drastically for the winning players, maybe you can help explain where we received our positive feedback? "I would really like to know where the positive feedback has been found regarding Stars Rewards. Since I havent heard a single positive word from people I rate highly that have gotten their rakeback slashed from 27-35% to 4-5%" This question was asked both by @BarreMolenaar "LordBarre II" and @TilTinDuCeR
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 5:49 PM I had a feeling this one was coming :). A lot of what is posted about the program on forums and in the press originates mostly from winning players, who understandably are upset that they are receiving fewer rewards than previously. The program is designed to appeal more to recreational players. The level of engagement we have seen with the program so far in Denmark and Italy has exceeded our expectations. We have been reaching out since those launches to speak to recreational players about their experiences with Stars Rewards and the majority prefer the new program than the previous one.
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 5:51 PM Speaking of the launches in Italy and Denmark, we received this question about how the launches there seemed "sketchy at best"... "Why did you switch from a transparent system to a non-transparent, “individual” one? I personally believe that the poker industry especially needs to be as transparent as possible. The way this has been rolled out in Italy and Denmark so far seems sketchy at best."
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 5:54 PM I agree that the poker industry needs to be as transparent as possible. However, while Stars Rewards is "individual" as he says, the probabilities and prize values for each Chest are published on our website and you can see how many points you need to unlock a Chest by clicking on your progress bar or visiting the 'My Stars' portal. In addition to the 'normal' Chest values on our webpage, there will be additional top prizes on a regular basis such as the $1,000 Chests we are currently awarding for launch.
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 5:56 PM A recent question from @Croakspkr which ties in well with transparency... "why cant i review how many chests i've opened yet and what i got from them?"
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 5:58 PM You can contact Support at any time to receive a full audit of your Chests and everything that was in them. However, I agree that it would be beneficial if you could review them in-client, so I will add this to the list of future developments we'd like to add. Thanks for the feedback/suggestion @Croakspkr
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 6:01 PM And this one has come in from @Artello referencing a previous question... ""As an example, there are former Supernova VIPs who are now receiving more with Stars Rewards than they did in our previous program." It doesn't sound logical at all with rewards we have, unless some regs hit 1k from chests (which is luck, not a statistic)."
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 6:03 PM Just to clarify, long-term winning Supernova VIPs will be receiving much less. However, there are net-depositing former Supernovas who are receiving a similar level of rewards, and in some cases more. That isn't assuming they get lucky or win a $1K Chest.
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 6:05 PM In terms of the rewards in general, there has been a lot of feedback regarding how different the size and frequency of the rewards are compared to what people are used to. That feedback has been accurately summed up by @IFlipBurgers in this question: "Do you believe that rewarding people with extremely small rewards (compared to the buyin of the games they play) at a high frequency gives them satisfaction and make them feel like a valued customer? So far, I've only heard feedback of people feeling insulted by these rewards and would go as far as to argue that they have a negative net effect on their playing experience, even compared to not receiving anything at all."
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 6:09 PM Unlike the previous program, Stars Rewards aims to reward players multiple times within a single session. Most of our players can only play a few times a month and we feel that offering them multiple opportunities to win something significant does, in fact, make them feel valued. Of course, there's no "one-size fits all" and some players would rather receive fewer Chests but that held a higher value, so there is a balance to be maintained. Like any other new product, we will be reviewing feedback from all our players and looking at the numbers to determine if we've found the right balance between frequency and value.
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 6:11 PM That leads perfectly into "Are rewards completely finalised or are they very much experimental and subject to change?"
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 6:13 PM The rewards could change over time, yes, especially in regards to our top prizes. Currently we're awarding $1K Chests as the top prize, but, for example, when WCOOP comes around later this year Stars Rewards can award WCOOP tickets in Chests. In the future, these top prizes will change and can range from cash prizes, tickets, and exclusive physical items. FailFish1
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 6:15 PM Okay! :smiley: Thank you very much for digging into some of the nitty gritty about EV and reward amounts with me, now I'm going to address some of the questions we've received about how everything functions We received this question "hey, im fairly sure i was on like 80% towards 2k vpp and didnt receive anything for it. isnt it supposed to convert? is this a problem more people ran into or just me" from @don artie , perhaps you could clarify?
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 6:17 PM Good question, and that shouldn't be the case. Players received the full prorated StarsCoin value for their in-progress VIP Step when Stars Rewards launched. You can verify having received this credit by going to your StarsCoin audit in Tools -> History & Stats of the desktop client. You can also just shoot our Support an email and they can check on your behalf and makes sure that you received everything you should have.
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 6:20 PM Thank you for clearing that up :smiley: Now, in terms of the exact functionality, @Scoobydubious asked: "When you open your chests, what are the coins for that go to the right side of the chest? I think theymight be purple if I recall correctly."(edited)
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 6:22 PM Purple?!! They are green, and those are reward points :smiley: You get reward points everytime you open a Chest, so that your progress towards your next one gets kick-started. In poker you earn 100 reward points for every $1 in rake/tournament fees paid with the exception of high-stakes cash games.
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 6:23 PM On that note, from @Caribou "What is the least amount of points necessary to clear a red chest? How many points, on average, will net depositors need to clear a red chest?"
Dylan | Ravageur- Yesterday at 6:28 PM That's a good one. Reward point requriements can vary over time, but for example, some higher-volume recreational players need to earn 8,000 reward points to unlock our biggest Platinum Chest. They will also receive on average 800 points every time they open it. Some of these also receive a boost of 4,000 points every 8 hours from their last one. Effectively, they need to earn 3,200 reward points to earn their first Platinum Chest each day (which is worth about $23.50 on average).
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 6:33 PM So in terms of this being more weighted for net-depositing recreational players @SetMiningWithKings asked "So that I can make a decision whether this is a better thing for players, or for Pokerstars - Has your average revenue per player gone up or down when you account for the new programme being in place?"
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 6:35 PM We certainly hope to increase engagement in our playerbase which ultimately should increase revenues, but it's much too early to say what the impact of Stars Rewards is given we only just launched in most areas this week!
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 6:38 PM In that case, asked by @TilTinDuCeR "Question: Do you think you as a company understand the gaming industry enough to try to emulate it and accurately project the success of such endeavour?"
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 6:42 PM There has been a massive amount of effort and research across the company in preparing for Stars Rewards based on years of data and experience in the industry. We're confident that this is a step in the right direction, and early indications in Denmark and Italy support this as well. So I guess in short, yes. But we are of course also listening to our players on all our channels (here, other forums, social media, customer support, 1-1 discussions, etc.)
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 6:46 PM Speaking of feedback from the players, we're seeing a lot of people asking for a more specific breakdown of what they need to do to earn their chests. "is there anywhere we can check the least and the most points requiered for a certain chest?" from @monroymx
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 6:48 PM Each individual can always click on the progress bar to see how many reward points they need to unlock a Chest. However, because these targets can vary over time based on recent activity, they aren't being published.
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 6:50 PM Ok, good to know that it's easy for people to see what they need to do then :smiley: Let's burn through another couple of quick ones and then wrap this thing up so I don't leep you all night. "Will players be able to weed out the rewards that they will never use?"
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 6:53 PM If I remember correctly that question was referencing not wanting to recievemore than one freeroll ticket in a day. This is a great suggestion and something that we are actively looking to add to Stars Rewards functionality. Ideally once you receive, for example, a freeroll ticket for a weekly freeroll, you shouldn't receive the same ticket until the following week (and that prize would be replaced by something that isn't redundant). It's on our list of future developments that we'd like to add, and I hope we can add it in the coming months.
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 6:55 PM So, to quickly summarise a question that is being asked a lot, are there any plans to decrease rake? Spin and Go's and PLO seem to be mentioned a lot here "With such reduction in rewards to SN Winning players, is there a chance that (for example) Spin and go rake might be decreased a bit to compensate, because as of it is today, average 60$ limit player regular was earning around 44% of his overall profits from rakebacks, because there are a lot of regulars in the pool, only a handful of crushers get better results (in chipEV) than that to stay comfortable withouth rakeback" Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 6:57 PM That's a popular question. We are constantly evaluating pricing and the economy of each game. However, at this time there are no plans to decrease rake.
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 6:57 PM That being the case... "Wouldn’t they be making more money if they brought back the old vip system which incentivized volume players coming back = more rake being paid?"
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 7:02 PM This is a good question as there are quite a lot of misconceptions out there on this topic. There is a very high overlap between "volume players" and "winning players". This is pretty intuitive given poker is a skill game and you improve the more you play. The poker economy is fuelled by deposits, which for the most part originate from low to medium-volume players. This is one of the main reason that the level of rewards players receive through Stars Rewards is not solely based on volume, so that we can allocate rewards to the players who contribute the most to the poker economy (and of course, our company).
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 7:05 PM Thank you for explaining that :smiley: Ok, I hope that this session has helped to clear things up for a few people, @Dylan | Ravageur thank you very much for taking the time out of your day to do this with us. I know that we haven't managed to address everything which we've been asked, but Dylan will be around throughout the coming week to hop in here and answer more FAQ as they arise. If there are an absolute tonne of questions, we will schedule a second AMA for some time next week :smiley:
Dylan | Ravageur - Yesterday at 7:08 PM Sure - thanks for having me Pete and I appreciate all the questions and feedback from the players. I know that not everyone will love the answers, but I'll continue to chime in here next weeek to try and answer questions as they come up. Sure - I'd be down to do this again. Cheers.
Pete Simm | Ice3lade - Yesterday at 7:09 PM Awesome, thank you again for joining us!

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Mike Hello. How may I help you?
JC Hi Mike, i asked a support hero yesterday why my withdraw kept pending... So i had to send some papers like my ID and address.. I did that and now it is still pending? Mike You need to deposit 0.01 BTC as well
And we need to verify your Sofort account
JC Why can't you tell me this from the first time? So my deposit in EUR doesn't even count as deposit? Mike You are playing in Bitcoin, so the deposit has to be in BTC
JC Can you please send me to the page where it says i have to deposit 0.01 Mike Please find our Bonus terms and conditions here - https://www.bitstarz.com/bonus-terms-and-conditions Bonus Terms & Conditions - BitStarz CasinoBonus Terms and Conditions of BitStarz Casino.
JC thx Mike Term 1b
JC Where does it say i have to deposit btc to withdraw btc Mike Term 1b
The Wagering Requirements for Free and Registration bonuses are forty (40) times the Bonus sum awarded to you, unless stated otherwise in the supplemental Terms and Conditions. (For Registration bonuses, extra spins, free spins and free bonuses which require NO deposit, note that no winnings at all may be withdrawn/transferred until you have transferred at least 20 EUGBP/USD/CAD/AUD, 200 SEK/NOK, 1,000 RUB or 0.01 BTC (or currency equivalent) into your Player Account. In addition, no winnings accrued in connection with any Free Bonus may be withdrawn/transferred until the wagering requirements have been met.)
JC note that no winnings at all may be withdrawn/transferred until you have transferred at least 20 EUGBP/USD/CAD/AUD, 200 SEK/NOK, 1,000 RUB or 0.01 BTC (or currency equivalent) Mike Right
0.01 BTC.
Since you are playing in BTC
JC no eur,gbp usd, ... OR btc Mike Those refer to players in those currencies.
JC Then I think you will have to change your terms because i definetly read OR btc Mike It means that EUR = deposit EUR
JC it doesnt say that? these are your terms sir ? Mike Yes it does. It lists the minimum deposit for each currency
Since you play in BTC, you should read the BTC part
Can I help you with anything else for now?
JC No you will help me with this... I'm not ok with the terms, but now you are changing them.. I can read what it says... Mike You accepted our terms, nothing has been changed. It is your responsibility to double check something if you do not understand it correctly.
JC I understand perfectly what it says i have to deposit a currency to be able to make a withdraw Mike Right, and your currency is BTC.
Since you got the spins in that currency
Therefor 0.01 BTc
JC But it doesnt say that????$ Mike I have never needed to explain this before. Why would you add another currency and deposit in that? It has nothing to do with the winnings from the spins in another currency.
Would you depositing Chinese YEN somehow verify your Bitcoin winnings?
No
So BTC spins = BTC deposit.
JC Sure if i have yen available quick then i would Mike And then you would have made the same mistake agian.
JC Yes because YEN is not in your currency list... Then i would have made a mistake... Not now... Read Mike Swedish Kronor. Regardless.
Read our email again as well please
Hi,
Congrats to your win!
Before you cash out your winnings we will need to complete a KYC procedure and ask that you make a deposit to your account of at least 20 EUR in accordance with clause 1b in our terms and conditions for the bonus.
"1b.The Wagering Requirements for Free and Registration bonuses are forty (40) times the Bonus sum awarded to you, unless stated otherwise in the supplemental Terms and Conditions. (For Registration bonuses, extra spins, free spins and free bonuses which require NO deposit, note that no winnings at all may be withdrawn/transferred until you have transferred at least €20 or 0.01 BTC (or currency equivalent) into your Player Account. In addition, no winnings accrued in connection with any Free Bonus may be withdrawn/transferred until the wagering requirements have been met.)"
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(My apologies for taking so long on this chapter. Work got busy, and I had so many little ideas I wanted to incorporate that I had to take my time working them in with being too confusing. Anyway, enjoy Part 2 of my SMERSH trilogy, one more to go!)
The streets of Hong Kong. Countless people fill the sidewalks, moving along. A man darts out of the crowd and down a quiet alley. A Chinese woman eyes the alley and speaks into her bracelet. The man loses himself in another crowd. He touches his ear as he says (in a British accent): “Repeat. This is brass farthing looking to deposit in the bank. Is the vault open?” The British man looks around desperately, then runs along, only to reveal a Chinese man immediately behind him watching the British man run. The British man arrives at a quiet apartment building and rings one of the bells, running inside when the buzzer sounds. The man walks to a particular door and knocks. Another Chinese man opens the door cautiously: “We thought you’d been compromised. Get in, hurry.” The British man walks past the reception desk into an office. But as he passes, we see a pair of feet sticking out from behind the desk. As the British man walks into another office, the door seals behind him and gas pours in through the vents. We see the other man standing outside the door as we hear the thud of the British man passing out: “Make a sound in the east, then strike in the west.”
Darkness. A big, rusty, metal door creaks open and three men enter the light; one in a lab coat, two in military uniforms. The man with the lab coat points off to the side, “Him.” The other two men open a cell door and drag out a tattered man. It is the British man from Hong Kong. The soldiers follow the lead man down a hallway, around several turns of some dank, nameless place. The man in the lab coat stops and opens a door, which leads into a medical examination room. In the center of the room is an examination table, and standing over the table is Klebb. “Hello 00. You know who I am, so you should have some idea what’s in store.”
The scene cuts to Bond in the shower at home in the midst of his usual routine: there is a lot of steam pouring over the room, but Bond then twists the knob and the water becomes ice cold. Bond steps out, dries off, and does some basic exercises on the floor of his room as May, his housekeeper yells that his breakfast is ready.
Back in the dingy room, the man responds: “I won’t answer any of your questions, so stop wasting your time and mine!”
“Ah, brave and to the point. Don’t I at least get name, rank, and serial number anymore? I miss the protocols of the old days.”
“My name is Lt. Cmmr. David Eden, number-”
“Double oh five.” The man is stunned. “Thank you for confirming, David. I don’t trust intelligence reports, they don’t satisfy me so much as what I can get face-to-face. This is so much more personal, tangible,…visceral.”
The scene revisits Bond, driving on his way to the office. He looks bored, groaning to himself, complaining that there is probably still a week’s worth of paperwork in his inbox. How he wishes something would happen soon.
The other men begin strapping 005 to the table while Klebb pulls down a large round lamp that hangs above it. Attached all along the perimeter of the lamp are several tools, some with bizarrely curved blades, some with electrical cables coming out the end, others are tubes of various colored chemicals. Klebb stands over the trembling 005: “Let me know if it becomes too much, my dear. Unfortunately, I don’t have any questions for you at the moment.”
“But then, why are you doing this?!?”
“Please David, I should have mentioned that I don’t like to be interrupted while I’m working. Now, Nikolai. Number 47.” One of the men pulls an electrical devices and a colored syringe from the side of the lamp.
Bond shuffles through the forms on his desk, clearly looking to procrastinate. He looks up and catches the eye of a colleague opposite him: “3! Where’s 5? Any news on his latest assignment to Singapore?” 003 shrugs his shoulders: “He hasn’t checked in for several days. M will probably get the itch for one of us to follow up sooner or later.”
Back in the dingy room. “One of your colleagues recently dispatched a few of our operatives in the Caribbean and the United States. The problem is, his file is never kept in the usual place like where yours is. He must be on active duty eternally. Our Chief Executioner got a good look at him, but we need a name to go with the face.”
Klebb gently caresses 005′s hair. 005 drained of all will, looks pleadingly to Klebb, who asks: “I want a name.”
The cuts back to Bond at his desk while we hear 005′s response: “Bond, James Bond.”
Cue a sexy title sequence.
G sits at the head of a table, surrounded with men and women; some in military uniform, others in suits. G has called a meeting of all departments of SMERSH. G begins by mentioning SMERSH has successfully reasserted its presence in the world, and despite a few setbacks, has accomplished its initial goals. “That said, although President Velichin engineered this organization’s resurrection, the political importance of deniability has severed any and all oversight beyond anyone in this room. It is crucial that from this point on, that we resist any outside influence. We are now more than an agency within an agency; we are a shadow nation within a nation, and this is our opportunity to be a power unto ourselves.”
One man at the table jumps to his feet: “General, how can we possibly do this? We are still accountable to our country even if we are unsupervised!” G responds that if SMERSH is to have the greatest possible impact, it must embrace its independence. Undeterred, the man worries that SMERSH risks turning itself into a state-sponsored version of SPECTRE and would invite brutal suppression from the leadership. Everyone at the table mumbles concern. G holds up his hands and tries to reassure them that he is no Blofeld. G reminds everyone that SPECTRE’s numerous cyberattacks on Russia’s most prominent businessmen, and attempted assassinations of the president’s closest advisors necessitated SMERSH’s return to defend Russia. But, G warns, most of the original agents of SMERSH were killed on the whims of Stalin and Khrushchev. SMERSH must internalize a lesson of the Cold War that its predecessor failed to appreciate: in espionage, the war is fought in countless small engagements, and losses must be, to some extent, tolerated. A minor setback one day may well lay the groundwork for a larger victory the next. Therefore, a degree of independence is crucial to protect themselves from a fickle political class. “Between the sword that hangs above our heads and the phantoms which threaten to strike from the shadows, we must be like a great fire that dispels the shadows and burns anyone who would touch us carelessly.”
G asks for each department’s representatives to report on past and current operations. Department III (Administration & Finance): Zolata Goldfinger stands and delivers a report on SMERSH’s accounts. She confirms that SMERSH is now financially independent based on the success of operations around the globe. Goldfinger recites a list of how much profit various enterprises netted in different countries throughout Europe, Asia, and Africa. Goldfinger mentions a new opportunity to undermine Britain has come to her attention. She requests permission to asses the sleeper’s idea and provide support if it sounds viable. G grants the request, contingent on Kronsteen’s review. Department IV (Investigations): a uniformed officer stands and reports on the failure of the Thunderstorm Initiative’s operation in the Americas. After investigating the matter, the officer concluded that the agent on detail from Fan Jian Ji, Dr. No, failed to secure classified documents and then fled to the United States, blowing the cover of our sleeper agent, Mr. Big. Although Mr. Big expected the British agent, Dr. No’s failures and the agent’s own cunning disrupted Big’s plans and undermined the operation. G notes that he will voice his displeasure to their Chinese partners personally. Department I (Counterintelligence): Rosa Klebb stands and reports on the information she has obtained from the captured British agent. According to 005, the British agent who killed Mr. Big was James Bond, 007. 007 should not be taken lightly, though he does possess certain weaknesses in his addiction to alcohol and women, and a rejection of authority, likely grounded in a cynicism and exhuastion from his long history in the field. Department II (Operations & Executions): Vladek Kronsteen stands and reports that Grant’s previous observation of Bond make him well-suited to continue following him through whatever his next mission may be. G tells Kronsteen that without knowing Bond’s next mission, especially since the loss of their mole in their Jamaican station, it will be difficult to send Grant after him. Instead, Grant will be kept on stand-by until Bond is sighted. G stops himself, “Better yet, put Grant on intelligence duties. This business of cleaning out jails every full moon is attracting unwanted attention. Have Grant assist Major Goldfinger until told otherwise.” Department V (Judgment): a man stands and reports that all judgments have been executed, except for the matter of the British spy in custody. G replies nonchalantly: “Our name sums up the sentence adequately…death to spies.”
Back at MI6, Bond receives a call from Moneypenny to come up to M’s office. Bond practically leaps from behind his desk, eager for the possibility of action after weeks of paperwork. Bond greets Moneypenny and Tanner, but moves to Moneypenny’s desk. He pulls out a single gardenia from his jacket and offers it to Moneypenny, noting that the flower means good luck and the hope that her call will bring him a little more fun. Tanner yanks the flower out of Bond’s hand, telling him that he has more to do with deciding Bond’s next mission than Moneypenny, and on that note, he would prefer if Bond brought him carnations instead. Moneypenny jokes to Tanner that he will be waiting a long time before he gets anything from James, she can attest to that.
Tanner leads Bond into M’s office. M tells Bond that SMERSH persists in various counterintelligence operations around the world, but nothing on a particularly large scale since he defeated Mr. Big. Tanner adds that unfortunately there isn’t much MI6 can do because SMERSH has popped up in countries hostile to British assistance. Much of the world has become less collaborative, especially since the fallout over Nine Eyes, and Britain’s general geopolitical disengagement over the last few years has made our job that much more difficult. M groans that Special Branch has had to close several stations, including Station G (Greece), Station M (Morocco), and Station I (India). Therefore unless SMERSH decides to be courteous and operate in a country that isn’t trying to handle its intelligence work alone, we may not be able to respond.
Bond asks if there is any update on 005′s work in Singapore. M looks down at his desk. Tanner informs Bond there are not many leads. The last report from 005 was a message to the local station chief in Hong Kong several weeks ago: “Fan Jian Ji”. Bond says that phrase sounds familiar. M says that it is one the Thirty-Six Strategems, specifically “Let the enemy’s own spy sow discord in the enemy camp.” “SMERSH?”, Bond asks. Tanner responds that it is unlikely: “Russia would not operate so deep in China’s sphere. 005 was looking into recent acts of sabotage and the disappearance of high-profile figures in Taiwan and Hong Kong. We think the Chinese have set up their own incarnation of SMERSH operating throughout southeast Asia, only we know nothing about it.”
Bond leans forward: “Sir, I volunteer to look into this. 005 was a good friend.”
M interjects: “Absolutely not, 007. After that business across the pond, and God knows what happened to 005, you are in heightened danger. I am reassigning you until we can be sure SMERSH is not targeting you specifically. Until then, your very presence puts anything near you in jeopardy.” Bond edges his chair back, as though doing so would keep M from catching Bond’s germs. M harrumphs: “Tanner, give him the details of Operation Sherwood.”
Tanner knocks Bond upside the head with the file. “Right. James, we’re sending you to Belfast. It’s no secret that some of the countries within the U.K. have been more vocal lately about strengthening their ties to the Continent, while the rest of Britain takes a step back. Not really our business, except whenever these grumblings get in the news, there is increased chatter picked up out of Russia. More concerning still, when Northern Ireland discussed reunification, there was a massive spike.”
M picks up the briefing: “If Northern Ireland leaves, Ireland would have to completely rebuild their intelligence infrastructure to include the new territory, and we would have to completely reset how we operate there.”
Bond realizes the threat: “And time devoted to reorganizing is the sort of distraction that allows moles to infiltrate a reunified Ireland, or at least harass us from much, much closer.”
M nods and hands Bond a folder: “Precisely. You’re booked on the next plane out. Your contact served as a loyalist during the Troubles in the Royal Ulster Constabulary. A dangerous police force to serve in. Badly injured in a bombing, lost his memory for a time, given less active duties in the Police Service of Northern Ireland. But he’s climbed the ladder quite a bit since then.”
Bond reads the name on the file: “Hugo Drax. Seems agreeable. What are we looking to obtain from him?”
“This won’t be as hopeless a mission as your interview with Tanaka in Japan. But it isn’t far off either. Though we need to prepare for the loss of Northern Ireland, we really have no sense of how much they want to stay friendly. Your job is to lay the groundwork for future intelligence cooperation in the event of reunification, and assess whether the opposition is trying to get its foot in the door. If that is the case…”
“It will be slammed firmly shut.”
Bond flies into Belfast, taking in the scenary as he drives to his hotel. Bond checks in and unpacks his luggage, while also checking the room for bugs. Bond heads back to the lobby, and asks a concierge how to get to a particular pub. While the concierge gives directions, Grants enters the lobby and walks past. In a strange incident of fate, neither man notices the other.
Bond makes his way to the selected pub, grumbling to himself how he’s supposed to make contact and it’s not supposed to draw attention to himself. Bond walks in the door and sits at the bar, under the watchful gaze of many locals at the surrounding tables. The bartender asks Bond what he can get for him. Bond sighs, and orders a shot of Jameson and Bailey’s and a pint of Guinness. The bartender glowers at Bond, muttering: “feckin’ englishmen.” A hard tap on the shoulder tells Bond someone else overheard the drink order. Bond turns around to see himself face to chest with a large man. “Fancy yerself a comedian, eh?” Another in the crowd shouts: “Probably another ambassador of goodwill!” The first man picks Bond off the ground by his shirt, “That’s too bad, because you’ll get none here.” The man pulls one arm back, drammatically preparing to deliver a hard punch. Bond quickly slashes at the inner elbow of the man’s other arms and breaks free. Bond then grabs the man’s arm and twists it around him, dislocating the man’s shoulder. As the man howls in pain, others slowly stand, ready for a brawl.
“That’s enough boys, it’s alright he’s with me.” The crowd stands back apprehensively and Drax steps forward. Drax looks at the man on the floor, who is rubbing his shoulder: “You’re alright Connor, aren’t ya?” Connor gruffly mumbles affirmation and walks back to his table, where there is another man eyeing Bond suspiciously. Drax holds out his hand to Bond, “Nice to meet you, Bond. I was hoping you’d stick to the contact code.”
“Yes, I spent the walk over trying to figure out if there was anything more offensive you could have had me say. How did either of our services agree to that?”
“Oh now, just having a bit of craic. I think your people assumed we were trying to see just how far we could push you, and my people wanted to find out if you’d really do it.” Drax takes Bond’s drinks, dropping the shot glass into the beer, and guzzles it. Bond notices a tattoo on Drax’s forearm. While Bond orders a new drink, Drax mentions it’s from a street gang he belonged to as a boy, and how that was the only way to keep safe growing up in a rough neighborhood. Gesturing to an out of the way table, Bond and Drax sit down. Bond notices the man across from Connor still staring at him, seemingly sizing Bond up. Drax talks about the current state of intelligence coordination and the problem that a reunited Ireland may be less cooperative with England as it reassesses its trust in other “companies”. Drax says they would have to rebuild the entire operation from scratch since Ireland would be incorporating Northern Ireland, yet they would be suspicious of intelligence officers who worked for Britain. All the more reason for Britain to get itself a better reputation amonf the locals. Bond nods, “Sometimes it’s because someone is our friend that we mistrust them more than an enemy.”
Bond notices the man still watching them. Drax looks over and says the man is Risico Ó Gallchobhair, “Former soldier for the Irish National Liberation Army and if you’re to believe what’s written on paper: an officer in An Garda Síochána.”
“Risico? That’s not an Irish name I recognize.”
“He’s only half Irish, the rest is Dutch. His name is supposedly Dutch for ‘a reckless venture’. Perhaps his mother knew all too well what life had in store for him.”
“What sort of life?”
Drax tells Risico’s story. Risico grew up in the same neighborhood as Drax, but they only knew each other through other acquaintances. But he was a bad seed. Risico was feared by everyone, he could wither the boldest man with a stare. Pets often went missing on his block. One night he got into an argument with a local cop at the store. The owner deescalated the situation and made Risico leave, but the next morning, some boys found the cop in the street in front of the police station with his throat cut. Soon after, Risico vanished. No one knew what happened, but no one worried he was gone. Missing, but not missed. A few years later we saw his picture in the paper after a bombing, he had joined the Irish National Liberation Army. A professional killer. After the peace, he joined An Garda Síochána, ascending the ranks as some kind of great investigator. I don’t know what he does, but he reeks. Whenever I see him, I keep a close eye on him. He seems to treat me the same. A silent, uneasy understanding.
Drax tells Bond Risico is bad, and that Risico has been in Belfast more frequently in the past few months. Bond suggests there is some kind of operation in the works. Drax agrees, but asks what the Irish Republic would do. Bond says it may not be Ireland, Risico may have a new employer from “overseas”. Drax looks very serious: “What? I just meant I think he’s still a political assassin. You know, ‘you can take the solider out of the war, but you can’t take the war out of the soldier.’”
Bond looks over at Risico across the bar, then turns back to Drax, but not before taking in a beautiful woman who just sat down at the bar, Goldinger. Bond’s gaze stops on her for a moment before finally facing Drax again: “I think he’s found a new war. Where does he stay when he’s here in Belfast?” Drax tells Bond that he’s had some of his men follow Risico. He recommends Bond stop by his office in a little while and they can go over the report. Glancing back toward Goldfinger, Bond says he’ll find some way to pass the time. Drax says he needs to get back to the office to dig up the report, and Bond should meet him there in an hour.
As Drax leaves, Bond sees Goldfinger at the bar. He walks over and flirts with her, while Risico looks on. Goldfinger introduces herself as “Lyuba”. After a few minutes of flirty banter, Goldfinger steps away to the bathroom. Bond peeks into her bag, looking at her ID, which reads “Lyuba Srebro”.
Risico, suddenly behind Bond as he rifles through Goldfinger’s bag, startles Bond: “I don’t blame you, if someone like her returned my advances, I’d want to make sure I’m not supposed to buy her some minerals instead of a martini. Then again at our age, we should be grateful they look at us at all. Eh, mister…?”
“Bond. James Bond.” Bond looks at Risico dryly, they banter for awhile in a way that is tense, yet playful.
Bond notices Goldfinger coming back from the bathroom: “Now if you’ll excuse me…”
“Fair enough, Mr. Bond. Just be careful, girls like that are death to men like us.” Risico turns and leaves. Goldfinger returns and they continue talking. Bond realizes he must leave, but they plan a date for later that evening.
Bond checks his phone and decides Drax’s station is close enough to walk, and that his hotel isn’t far away either. Bond walks to the station and meets Drax in his office. They read through the report from Risico’s tail. Of all Risico’s destinations, a few stick out as odd and away from his main neighborhoods. Drax pulls up the addresses on his computer: a tailor, an antiques store, a public park, a cafe. Bond thinks. The park might be a place to make drops. “What about the antiques store?” The store is an antiques dealer that opens by appointment only, with a few apartments located above the storefront. Bond notes that it sounds like a safe house, and he’ll check it out later tomorrow evening.
Drax asks: “Why not take a look tonight?”
Smiling, Bond replies: “I’m afraid I’ve already made an appointment elsewhere.”
On the walk back to the hotel, Bond feels a pang of uneasiness. The hair on the back of his neck stands up, his sixth sense tingles. Someone is following him. Bond veers off his planned path, checking a map in his phone for a larger place that might have a crowd. He sees a plaza and memorial, perfect. He changes course, noticing two men behind him now, but as he turns his head forward again, he sees another man a block to his left keeping pace. Bond’s pace quickens.
When Bond arrives at the plaza, he curses to himself when he sees it is under construction; there is no crowd he can lose himself. At that moment, Bond sees he is surrounded by five men, including Risico. “Mr. Bond. I think we should have a talk.”
“It looks like you’re busy entertaining these other lads. Maybe I should come back another time.” Bond backs away into one of the men. He swivels around and punches him. The other men then rush Bond. Bond puts up a good fight, but Risico and his men get the upper hand. Before they can subdue Bond however, a hand with a pipe drops down on one of the men. As he falls, our view pans up to reveal Grant joining the fight. Bond looks at Grant, seeming to recognize him, but unable to place him. The fight continues with Bond and Grant. While Bond knocks out another man, Grant breaks Risico’s arm. Arg! You bastard, may a cat eat you and the devil eat the cat!”. While Grant engages another of the men, Risico runs away. When Bond and Grant are the last men standing, Bond raises his hand to thank Grant for his help. However Grant pulls a large knife from his boot and rushes Bond. Bond does his best to resist, but he is unable to overpower Grant. Bond reaches for a loose brick from the construction pile and smashes into Grant’s head. Grant falls backward, stunned but conscious. At the sound of sirens in the distance, Bond runs until he reaches his hotel.
Bond shakes off the attack, changes his clothes, and meets Goldfinger for dinner. When Goldfinger asks Bond what brings him to Ireland, he responds that he is visiting a cousin, and trying to resecure some old family investments after a split in the family. Goldfinger says she understands, she came to Ireland to find new opportunities for her company. After dinner, Bond takes her back to his hotel. During the night, Goldfinger gets up and opens Bond’s computer, downloading his encrypted files before leaving. Bond gets up and turns off the computer’s decoy hard drive, looks through recent keystrokes and sees that Goldfinger tried to copy then delete his files on Drax and SMERSH. Bond calls Tanner and tells him about the earlier brawl and the attempted data theft. He also asks for information on “Lyuba” and sends photos he secretly took at the bar. Tanner responds that he’ll run the photos through their database, but for more information on Drax, Bond should consult the Americans as most of their intel came from the CIA. As far as Risico, everything they have on him is on the up-and-up except for Drax’s reports.
Bond calls Felix, asking about the CIA’s files on Drax and why SMERSH would want his file. Felix says it could mean Drax is a mole or is being targeted for assassination. Felix adds that from what the U.S. has gathered, Drax seems clean but underwent a serious personality change after the bombing that also gave him slight amnesia. Bond asks if that is unusual. Felix says that based on the extent of the brain damage Drax sustained, it wasn’t unheard of for a victim to experience a personality change. Like the story of Phineas Gage. Bond asks for the location of Drax’s relatives. Felix replies that all known relatives and associates died within a year of the accident. Bond asks for information on the relatives, including any pictures of Drax before the bombing. Felix says there isn’t much. Every known connection to Drax is dead under seemingly normal circumstances, and all possessions were either destroyed or kept in storage by the Royal Ulster Constabulary. Bond wonders if maybe that was par for the course given how Drax grew up in a gang. Felix asks what gang. Bond tells Felix the same story Drax told him, and describes the tattoo. After a pause, Felix tells Bond that the gang that uses that symbol didn’t exist in that part of Northern Ireland until 10 years ago.
The next night, Bond looks into Drax’s tip, finding an abandoned safe house in the old antique shop. It is an old, derelict building, but shows some signs of recent use. Bond breaks in and searches the building. There are a number of desks, but judging from the dust voids, the computers were removed recently. There are a few filing cabinets, but when Bond breaks them open, he finds police files of decades-old cases. There is a creak in a distant floorboard. Bond’s head snaps in the direction he thinks the sound originated. Quietly, Bond moves in the direction of the sound, opening doors cautiously. Bond enters an office where a number of drawers are still locked. He lets go of the handle and looks at the ceiling in thought just as a cable is flung over his head and pulls back violently. Bond struggles but can’t see his attacker in the darkness. Bond’s arms flail for a light switch, which he finally finds. He flips the switch and finds Grant behind him. Bond rasply screams “WHO ARE YOU?!?” as he passes out.
Bond stirs, very groggy. As he clears the cobwebs from his head, Bond hears voices outside, and sees police assembling en masse. The police storm the building and try to shoot Bond. Bond scrambles to escape, using non-lethal force against any officer he encounters. Bond injures one officer and asks why they’re here. Risico stands over both and says they received a tip that a spy was building bombs here. Risico introduces himself as head of a joint Ireland-Northern Ireland task force dedicated to uproot terrorists and spies. Risico says that when he met Bond in the bar for the first time he thought Bond was the opposition; one mole cultivating another. But changed his mind when he saw that Bond didn’t kill any of us men back at the construction site in order to escape. Bond asks about Drax. Risico tells Bond they have a lot to talk about.
In the car ride to the station, Risico says that their intelligence indicated a major espionage figure was coming to Belfast to meet a contact. Bond utters: “Lyuba”.
Risico nods: “There has been a lot of chatter between Britain, Ireland, and America. Apparently, you said something to the Americans that made them doubt everything they knew about Drax.”
“He had a tattoo from his days in a street gang that didn’t exist while he was there.”
“Ugh, Hugo hated tattoos. He would tell me what his mother would say if he got one, defacing his body and such. Anyway, the CIA called your man, M, to say they thought you might be in trouble, talking to the wrong person. By then, your colleague Tanner was already briefing M about your photos.”
“It’s the most basic counterintelligence. You never think you’re going to fall for a honeytrap, but-”
“James, Lyuba wasn’t just some honeytrap, she was the honey-jackpot.” Risico hands Bond a file. “Meet Zolata Golfinger, SMERSH’s treasurer.” Bond’s eyes go wide. Risico appreciates Bond’s reaction: “My thoughts exactly. If she’s here, SMERSH has something big planned to put a wedge between our countries; probably hoping we’ll be more sympathetic to them. Not bloody likely. It’s ironic, they hoped to undermine Irish-British intelligence-sharing, and yet they’ve only managed to strengthen our bond. We’re going to root out the whole lot: Goldfinger, that behemoth she brought with her, and Drax’s imposter.”
Bond notices Risico said those last words with added bitterness. “Who is Drax really then?”
Risico catches himself. “We’re almost at HQ. I’ll explain there.”
The rest of the ride is silent. Once in Risico’s office, Risico says he doesn’t know who “Drax” is. He reveals that he knew Drax over the course of years of coordinated police work. After his accident, Drax didn’t fully recognize him, even after his amnesia passed. He remembered their general working relationship but that was it. Skeptical, Bond points out that it’s common for amnesiacs to lose some small memories even when they recover from a traumatic brain injury. A flash of anger passes across Risico’s face: “I am not a small memory.” Bond, confused and uncertain of his offense, says he doesn’t understand. Risico explains that he and the real Drax were secretly lovers. They hid it from their families who were devoutly religious, but eventually told them not long before the accident, only to find how supportive their families were. When the bombing happened, Drax’s mother came back from the hospital and told Risico that the man in the bed was not her son. She tried to look past his amnesia and scars, but insisted there was a completely different man there. Before Risico could see for himself, Drax’s other family and friends suddenly died. Risico didn’t know what was happening, he did his best to investigate each death, but Drax’s bureau called him off. In the meantime, Risico decided to keep his relationship a secret from anyone else until he knew more, especially since knowing Drax seemed to carry a death warrant.
“What do you think happened to the real Drax?”, Bond asks.
Risico’s eyes water slightly at the thought. “I think he died in the bombing. I think these people targeted him and switched his dead body with this other man. This double. I read the report of every dead body found since it happened, hoping I could at least know where he went, and have that closure. I never found him.”
“It’s time we find some answers. We must have enough now that we can search his office.”
“Right. Let’s go.”
At Drax’s station, a swarm of police surge into the building and immediately begin to pour through files and check computers, forcing back any attempts to resist them. Bond and Risico then search Drax’s office where he finds an encrypted file that intrigues him. He can’t break it until Risico remarks on the pictures of Drax in the office, all of which prominently display the tattoo that outed him. Bond asks what the name of the gang was. Risico answers they were called the “Whyos”, a callback to an old American street gang from the 19th century. Bond tries “whyos” as a password. Success! Inside they find files for a series of bombings all over Ireland that will be connected to England’s Special Branch. Risico suggests they split up and search those sites right away. He gives Bond his card with his number and tells him to start with that storefront they found him in.
Bond arrives at the antique store and resumes the search Grant interrupted earlier. However whatever was in the locked drawers before is gone. Drax and some henchmen enter and subdue Bond. Bond wakes up in a new building, tied to a chair. Drax taunts Bond’s accidental successes, telling Bond that he seems to get ahead more on luck than actual skill. Either way, Bond’s luck has finally run out. Grant enters the room. “Ah, and I believe you’ve met Mr. Grant. He’s told me a lot about you. It seems you owe him your life after he saved it in the Caribbean not too long ago.” Drax explains how the bombings are planned and tortures Bond for whatever information he has about the operation.
Grant grabs Drax’s shoulder, forcefully spinning him around: “Master Kronsteen would not appreciate you revealing the plans he so carefully prepared.”
“If he cares so much, he can come over here and put his arse on the line. Feckin’ armchair operatives. Who underwent the plastic surgery? Who studied Drax’s voice and mannerisms? Two years of my life studying to sleepwalk through another man’s life waiting for HIS call!!! I knew one day you would need me. Did I blackmail you for more money? No! All I asked for was the chance to move up when this was all over. That and some damned respect! This is MY operation. You and Kronsteen and Goldfinger, are just here to watch. If you don’t like it, then make yourself useful and take him to site 4: the church next to the station.”
Grant walks behind Bond and chops him in the back of the neck, knocking him unconscious.
Bond comes to, tied up in one of the buildings Drax plans to bomb. Grant stands over him. “Unfortunately Mr. O-O-7, we cannot fight one on one. After watching you defeat No and Big, I had hoped to put you down myself, like the man who shoots his neighbor’s dog when he goes onto his property.”
“Yes, it’s a shame.”
Before he leaves, Grant explains when Bond can expect the blast: 19:16, as an homage to the Easter Rising and a symbol of new Troubles to come.
The minutes tick by until Bond hears Risico and calls to him. Risico unties Bond. Bond shouts they need to evacuate several buildings, but Risico tells Bond that in the night, MI6 and the Irish Directorate of Military Intelligence located and disarmed the bombs, replanting a few at the antique shop, well away from anywhere civilians might be harmed. Risico remarks Bond actually has a good view of the building through the window. Bond opens the window and peers out, where he sees Drax stand on the upper balcony of one of the apartments, waiting to survey the skyline and its imminent destruction. With seconds to go before the blast, Drax turns in Bond’s direction and smiles evilly. Bond gestures for Risico, who steps into Drax’s view. Drax is very confused until he starts to hear the beeping of the bomb that’s right under his feet. He looks back at Bond in panic and rage, while Bond looks back with the same cruel smirk from the moment in Casino Royale when the airplane bomber blew himself up.
Bond (well-dressed) walks up to a hotel door and knocks. Goldfinger answers the door. A quick second of shock registers on her face, but it dissipates as she grabs a bag and leaves with Bond for another dinner date. On the walk down to the hotel lobby, they are surrounded by Risico and a SWAT team. Bond confronts Goldfinger and takes her bag, finding several thumb drives and assorted surveillance gear. Risico steps up to Goldfinger with a set of handcuffs: “Miss Goldfinger, I’m afraid we’re closing your account here in Ireland. It’s no longer a bear market.”
G sits at his desk when he hears a commotion outside his office. The door swings open and several uniformed men walk in. Outraged, G asks what is happening. Suddenly, the uniformed men part and President Velichin walks in. “President Velichin! I…” Velichin cuts him off: “You saw SMERSH as a nation unto itself. Consider this a coup.”
G protests indignantly: “You can’t remove me, I built SMERSH from the ashes; it would crumble without me!”
An unseen voice calmly responds: “The true test of a great leader is that the organization should be able to function flawlessly in his absence. Mine is carrying out 36 counterintelligence operations while I stand here. 35 have a high probability for success. But you shouldn’t worry, I’m not replacing you, merely…supervising you.”
Nervous, G asks: “Who is that?”
Velichin answers: “Someone who will put your house in order. (a man (Donnie Yen) enters) Xiao Lam, Secretary-Director of Fan Jian Ji.”
Lam stares coldly into G’s eyes. “We should begin as soon as possible, general. Give me the file on James Bond.”
Mid-credits scene: Risico visits Bond in the hospital, offers information as thanks for his help: “Tell me James, are you familiar with a man named Kronsteen?” Bond smiles. Fade to black.