It's a free browser game with wonderfully simple rules. You check in once or twice a day, move your ships, upgrade your stars, then let the galactic war play out over hours and days. Last time in our galactic fracas, Graham had second thoughts about his war with Kieron, and Hentzau was wiped out. Now: WHO KNOWS?
Phill Cameron/Poisoned Sponge, Rock Paper Shotgun Affiliate
Tom Francis, PC Gamer
Kieron Gillen, Rock Paper Shotgun
Hentzau, Freelance Soldier of Fortune
Chris Pelling, Inventive Dingo Games
Quinns, Rock Paper Shotgun Affiliate
Jim Rossignol, Rock Paper Shotgun
Graham Smith, PC Gamer
This diary is going up in seven parts, one a day, both here and simultaneously over at Rock, Paper, Shotgun. They exist in parallel dimensions.
Tom: Pembleton, you're on fire. Why is the roof made of stars?
"The Governator, sir, it... the palace... the empire... my fourth and ninth ribs..."
Guards, extinguish Pembleton! He's annoying when he's immolated.
"Tha- splh- thank you sir. That is a help."
Now, what's this you're gibbering about?
"Sir, the galaxy has been ripped apart. Hentzau, Sponge, Crispy - their entire civilisations have been obliterated, and the Governator wasted all of our fleets attacking our only allies. Now we're at war with everyone, defenceless, and much of the fondue is ruined."
Interesting. What happened to the Governator?
"After I kicked him into the ranch dressing jacuzzi, sir, I really couldn't say. Though as I recall you commissioned him to be invulnerable to buttermilk, so we haven't got long."
Very well. This is our last chance: I want you to order all of our remaining ships to attack... Kieron Gillen.
"Sir, I don't know who that is."
Silence! I want a precision assault, target his weakest stars and move on the moment we've seized control. Prioritise the takeover of industry and the plunder of economic assets. Leapfrog through his territory faster than his ships can pursue, and with any luck we can make it out the other side with a tidy profit and all the whores we can smear with Raclette.
"Again, sir, I simply don't-"
Fine! I will orchestrate the procedure myself. I'm sure I won't have another lapse of-
"SEAL YOUR SHITFLAPS, BLOOD SACKS."
The Governator! Quickly, Pembleton, he's arming his Violator Beam! Remind me why I fitted a managerial robot with a Violator Beam?
"Alcorian nanopheasants, sir."
Nevermind! If I don't make it out of here, send the fleets! Then invent an incompetent butler named Pembleton, and alter the transcript to blame this all on him.
"But sir that's..."
Kieron: Tom is a right fucker.
Jim: It's fair to say that I had no choice at this point. Kieron's advances into Quinns' territories might have saved me from the horrible arm of Q, but they also give my growing fleets nowhere to go. Kieron's vast, exposed flank was literally the only option for attack, and so we engaged. It was quite the long-game, with both of us trying to outwit the other with clever movements of fleets. Logging on early in the morning often gave rise to orders, cancelled orders, and counter-orders, as we spotted each other making moves. With both sides pumping out hundreds of ships per day, we were locked into slow attrition that I was only ever going to lose, thanks to my less star systems, and my limited grip on space. I would not end the game without any stars, but I would never have been a contender for victory.