Dune: The Dave Accidentally Downsized Our Base Episode
Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Sandstorm
Let it be known across the burning wastes of Arrakis: the great base of House Hot-Mess was no match for one man, one click, and one tragically unlabelled foundation block.
It began, as these misfortunes often do, with Myles pondering the after-action report that hadn't materialized. Suspicious. Either Dave was still busy alphabetizing his reagent collection or Craig had once again triggered the “dump entire inventory in a heap” macro. Perhaps both.
In a show of what passes for diplomacy in our group, Myles gently prodded Dave for said report. What he got was something more akin to a confession:
“It’s not my fault,” Dave wailed. “You said the base was too big. And the taxes! So I solved that problem…”
The tone was… unwell.
“What have you done, Dave?” Myles asked, which is quickly becoming our group’s most used phrase after “Where’s Craig?” and “Don’t touch that.”
Dave, trying to be reassuring (and failing like a Mentat in a conga line), insisted,
“It’s okay. I can fix this. I just need to spend $60,000 Solaris.”
“STOP,” Zaph barked, alarmed. “You will not incur any additional expenses for this temporary base.”
Dave whimpered, clutching a blueprint like it was a teddy bear.
“But… the bridge… the switchback… the testing tower…”
“Dave,” Myles asked again, more urgently now, “what did you do?”
“Just some minor improvements. Adjusted the ramp angle, widened the forcefield… had to delete a couple of blocks to make it work. Just… one click too many and the base—it’s gone!!”
Yes, dear reader. Gone. Disappeared. Vanished into the digital ether like a Craig-planned stealth mission.
“How is that even possible?” Myles demanded, channeling the kind of calm normally reserved for hostage negotiations and IKEA instruction manuals.
Zaph’s sniper nest? Gone.
Craig’s bike? Missing.
Dave’s dignity? Under severe duress.
“It’s fine,” Dave sniffled. “Only 70% of the base is exposed now. It’ll be destroyed by sandstorms soon. But the important stuff—the main building, storage, beds, power, refineries—that’s safe.”
Pause.
“Dave,” Myles said flatly. “Which 70% is gone?”
“The bridge, the cliffside switchback, the testing tower…”
“So… the 30% that’s safe?”
“Yes! Mostly! Except Craig’s sniper nest. The HOA filed a complaint. Apparently he was shooting their kids. Had to go.”
“This is worse than the infamous Gold Dragon incident,” Craig growled.
Dave, seizing his moment like a Bene Gesserit citing obscure bylaws, replied:
“As per my construction contract, I cannot be held liable. Limited liability, no reparation, not worse than the Gold Dragon incident, courts in Texas only, and if you don’t like the rules—move your stuff out.”
“Whatever,” Craig muttered, furiously Googling Texas extradition treaties.
At this point, Myles took a deep breath, the kind you take before diffusing a bomb or explaining cryptocurrency to your parents. “What actually happened?”
Dave explained that building tools in this game are very powerful. You can construct a monolith or destroy it with a single click. There is, fortunately, a handy warning system if you try to delete your sub-fief console. Unfortunately, that doesn’t trigger if you click the foundation beneath the console.
“No warning,” Dave said solemnly. “Just… gone. Land area reduced from 11,500 to 2,800 sqm. I reported it as a bug. I’m sure the devs will get back to us quickly.”
[Cue audience laughter.]
After that small... landscaping event, the evening continued in its usual style: lightly armed chaos.
We visited a “market” that had nothing for sale and was therefore promptly liberated of all its inhabitants and assets. We passed on the savings to our contractor, who gave us a hit job. (As one does.)
We then ransacked three scavenger bases, executed a local leader, and rode off into the sunset like sand-blasted murder hobos.
Eventually, we reached Western Vermillius Gap and did some casual sightseeing: imperial testing stations, spaceship wrecks, caves with eldritch echoes, the usual.
Myles asked a simple crafting question: “How do we make Cobalt Paste?”
Dave, ever confident, declared:
“Easy. Just a 15-minute jaunt to the rift for Erithyium crystals. I know a shortcut.”
Spoiler: He did not. We rode across the rift like a bunch of desert-hardened toddlers trying to find grandma’s house with a potato map. Two mining complexes later, two hours older and slightly more cynical, we returned and finally refined the Cobalt paste.
Zaph logged off, possibly to scream into a pillow.
Dave then convinced Craig and Myles to take “a quick bike ride” to The Pinnacle trading post. The goal? Pick up a disruptor schematic and some aluminium ore.
We returned victorious, only for Craig to immediately convert all our aluminium into a hat.
Because of course he did.
Closing Thought:
What began as a structural adjustment ended as a mass eviction, a missing sniper nest, and a fabulous new aluminium hat. Next week, we consider the philosophical implications of sandworm insurance.
