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[evictedSaint]

Gaian Regime
Childbearing and population growth on Gaia

-snip-

hmm.

[Powder Miner]

Gaian Regime
Beleaguered Bureaucracy

Some people thought that the most stressful job on Gaia was that of the Continental Rescue Corps, zipping around the planet with drones into remote and often dangerous situations to rescue people in grave situations. Some people thought that it was the ship crews and the infantry, vigilantly waiting for the possibility of war and learning their skills and their routines as they eternally waited nervously. Some people thought that it was the scientists of the Gaian Planetary Resource Center, with the weight of the human race’s progress on their shoulders. Azat Davidyam, however, knew that those people were all wrong (especially the last category — he’d seen too many movie requisition requests to ever believe that). The most stressful job on all of Gaia was that of the humble Resource Requisition Request Reviewer, the good old 4Rs, or “the bureaucrats” as the scientists asking for things would call them.
 
Azat walked to the Aphelion office he shared with his fellow 4Rs, and popped open his can of Joyrider Juice (invented by a real Joyrider!, a slogan on the bright blue can proclaimed), with the pop of separating metal and the fizz of the carbonated beverage music to his ears. Years ago, Azat would have balked at the idea of a drink that apparently needed acres of space on a mostly uninhabited continent for its unsupervised development, but now he didn’t care — it tasted good and it kept him awake through the day, so he drank it. As the building entered his sight, Azat recalled that Abdul-Aziz had quit yesterday, and in a huge blowout too; Azat was going to have to show whoever his coworker’s replacement was (poor bastard) the ropes, much as Abdul-Aziz had done for him.
 
When he entered the building, headed down the right hallway, and entered the room third door to the left, Azat saw the woman who would be sharing the office with him from here on out: a nervous-looking brunette with a ponytail. A glance confirmed a suspicion — a brand new degree was propped up on her desk, she was a recent graduate, of Aphelion Planetary University, apparently. Azat also noted that Abdul-Aziz’s series of notes and lists were gone; that seemed kind of cruel. He tossed his now-empty can into the wastebasket and approached her, extending a hand. “Welcome to our little slice of hell. I’m Azat.”

The woman blinked at him, and then met the handshake. “Um... hello! My name is Felicja. The supervisor told me you would show me the ropes?”

Azat nodded, a touch ruefully. “Right, yeah, it’s only responsible of me.” He sighed. “Let’s... just do a bit of on-the-job training, yeah?” Azat had Felicja turn on her console — he’d get onto his own when he’d shown her some of the ropes, but for now, well, the newbie would need his help. “We get the requisitions in semiweekly, and we take a few steps to get them done as efficiently as we pray we can. You’ll want the “Incoming” folder.” Azat watched the rookie work — she had already been navigating the mouse towards it, and she nodded, a focused expression on her face.  Azat struggled not to smirk — he’d be highly impressed if that professionalism lasted. “The first couple of steps we take care of involve grouping the requisition requests we get properly,” Azat explained... and got a confused look from his coworker in response.

She stared at him as if he were some sort of ancient being before the era of computers, and spoke up hesitantly. “Grouping them? Shouldn’t that be taken care of automatically?”
 
Azat giggled a little in response, drawing a concerned look from Felicja, and then he continued on smoothly. “Mostly it is. We're the poor bastards who have to resolve the “differences” between the scientists and facility admins and the higher-ups though. That means that we're the ones who have to pick up the slack on all of the politicking and naming arguments that happen here. And they won't put the VIs on it because they always do something that has someone screaming at the ‘political implications’ of some automatic and sensible correction they make, and, my God the way they get hung up on these fucking forms..." Azat hadn't kept up on politics when in college, but when half of your politics takes place through toying with the bureaucracy... he sighed. "I took care of most of the continental step already late last night, but we still have to group up Iris-Hong. Put it into that search bar there.” Click.

Felicja began to speak. “Well, see, we’ve got a few resource requisitions here but it seems all grouped up to me—”

“Now hit merge, and search Iris, and then merge the two categories,” Azat interjected, smoothly cutting her off. Rude, maybe, but they’d need the time at this rate.

Click. Taptaptaptap. Click. Felicja let out an “Oh.”

Azat nodded in response, his eyes closed. “Now, do the same for Hong.”

“...oh,” the brunette said softly. Click. Taptaptaptap. Click. Felicja piped up once again. “Well, OK, I get why we have to do this, I guess... What’s after the continents?”

The more senior bureaucratic worker couldn’t keep the giggle out of his voice. “Now... search up Hong-Iris.”

The new employee turned to look at Azat, gaping. “Really?! How many entries does this continent have?”

His giggle continued as he explained. “Just these four. Unless they get drunk and put in ‘Irish Song’. Or... uh... Danbaishi is something I saw just once, I don’t know what the hell that was about, had a lot of diacritics on it. Anyway, we’re going to move on to the sub-regions now. We’ll start by checking Nautilus.”
 
Felicja navigated over promptly. “Okay... do we start with Gas Outpost One? Hmm... isn’t that the big thing out on Nautilus? Weird there’s only a couple of reports then...”

Azat chuckled again, now doing so with disturbing frequency. “Ah, you’ll need to check ‘Gazovyy Forpost Odin’, ninety percent of the reports from there are under that because the admins there are nuts.”

Felicja, in response, paused and pinched her nose, closing her eyes. “Bzdura... the list they have on here doesn’t have most of these... look, instead of walking me through step by step, do you have a list I could just use to do this faster?”
 
Azat’s giggles slowly began the transition into full laughter as he handed her a packet from his desk — several pages thick. “You can have the one I made for now, haha. We’ve got a half hour or so, at least usually,” he explained as he turned on his computer.

Felicja stared despairingly at the packet. “B— wh— why?? Why is this so unnecessarily complicated? Who would do this?” Azat was laughing fully now, a half-unhinged sort of laughter. “Gaians!”

Felicja made an undisguisedly upset noise. “But— aren’t we supposed to be all sleek and efficient? That’s what the recruiters told me...” she muttered, quietly.
 
Azat just laughed harder.

[evictedSaint]

[We]

The Sixteen Saga

Transmission Detected
Interception Protocol Initiated
Transmission Captured
Decryption Sequence <REDACTED>
Attempting Decrypting Now
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..
...
....
Decryption Successful
Translation Sequence <REDACTED>
Attempting Translation Now
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..
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....
Translation Partially Successful
Displaying Message On-Screen

Survey Log 22.32.3409-A.R.9094
Ship-Integrated Captain **&@(^!%%-0023.1
Survey Stealth Ship CSS 88A-2641 "Translucency"
Alpha System

Translation of Hiver Psionic History Storage Segment S.28.6-Pb9G: SUCCESSFUL.

>status S.28.6-Pb9G
Data transcribed to archive with 82% Translational Confidence Rating.

>get S.28.6-Pb9G -story -5
Query for Inspection of S.28.6-Pb9G: Granted.
Formatting Segment for Story Mode
5% Embellishment
.
..
...
Format successful. S.28.6-Pb9G_story_5 ready for view.

>view S.28.6-Pb9G_story_5
Displaying S.28.6-Pb9G_story_5 on-screen.

Chapter 1

Sixteen was her designation.

It was not her name; Hivers didn't have things like names.
It's not an effort at cruelty or an attempt to break individuality.  Names simply aren't a thing in Hiver culture. When all was thought and idea, names could become conflicting and confusing.  Many things with the same name, and many things with different names.  Designations, on the other hand, led to clarity, and the more tags a thought had the greater clarity it was given.  Anything worth thinking about has a designation.

This particular Hiver - as best can be translated - was designated "Princess 16, of Queen 2, of Queen 4, of Queen 1."

That was her formal designation.  Her complete designation went on much longer than that, tracing her lineage back to the [First] Queen.  Her shorthand designation (as constructing the scaffolding around the longer one could be tiresome) was "PS.16.2.4.1"

But when communicating amongst the brethren in her local colony branch, she was just "Sixteen".  The colony had long since spawned and lost their sixteenth Prince, and the Drones barely had distinction beyond their batch number (also long past "16").  And as for Queens, it was literally unheard of for a Queen to be the direct progenitor for so many others.  Since there was none other in the branch who held the designation of 16, the number was hers, and hers alone.

Sixteen stood at the bridge of the Hivers latest warship.  It was one of the newest - and biggest - that the Council had commissioned.  Literally dozens of Queens had put together their collective psionic will to cement the concept of the ship and precipitate out the mental blueprints. Conceptualizing the design had taken them months of nonstop work and assembling the parts had taken further months, but the ship itself was built literally overnight.

Regalis, her homeworld, slowly spun a mere three dozen million miles away from the sun.  The upper plates of the planet were scorched clean of atmosphere by the harsh solar rays, and it was during the night that rails were laid out to help hurl the hastily assembled ships into orbit a couple dozen miles above.  Weak but efficient engines would power the ship along hundreds of miles of rail lines stretching through the dark vacuum until the entire craft lifted from the surface in a smooth, graceful motion.  The sun would warp and ruin any rails that lingered in the daylight.  The rails would be disassembled by thousands of drones as dawn approached and reassembled after nightfall.

And so the ship was put together in a single night by necessity.

This was Sixteen's ship.  It was designated as [Warship], with smaller tags of the class [Wrath] and version [1.0] and the production overseer, [Sixteen].  That last tag was a small one, dwarfed entirely by the empty one next to it; Captain.

Captain.  It was a rather complex designation, one that bore numerous tags of it's own. Commander. Fleet Leader. Respect and Deference.  But most of all, Queen.  The Captain designation was for Queens, and only Queens.

Sixteen was a princess and the overseer for production.  She wasn't a commander, or a researcher advancing the Hiver knowledge base.  Her station would never bear glory or renown, and if she never bore those designations she would never gain that of Queen.  She was to perform her station as directed,  and she was to do it to the best of her abilities.

And she would.

But not as Princess.

Not as Sixteen.

Around her stood three Princes. As of yet they bore nothing more than the designations of their stations.  They were from a three different minor colonies, gathered quietly and subtly.  They were not the best, but they were the best she had.  Her attention focused on one Prince from a rather unremarkable lineage, virtually unknown save for a minor tag in military prowess.  A humble Prince with the designation "P.184.2.1.2".

Again, not the best, but the best she had.

Her psionic will touched his.  Without preamble she constructed the concept of [Begin], coloring it with the tags of [Confidence] and [Excitement] and, strangely enough, [Sadness] and [Regret].  To his credit the Prince did not waver.  He attached his own tag of [Acknowlegement], calmly sliding it over the [Sadness] and [Regret] and replacing them.

Sixteen turned away from him as the other Princes gathered close.

The ritual was time-honored and a powerful symbol.  P.184.2.1.2 collected his tools and studied the symbol painted on Sixteen's carapace. It was her Queen's symbol, marking her externally as her subserviant.  He scrubbed the mark away and absolved her of the duties owed, and with paints in hand he set about creating her new emblem.  They communicated wordlessly and built it together.

 A dark yellow circle, acknowledging her as a member of the Hivers.  A second circle within it, a lighter yellow of her lineage. Sixteen blue radiant dashes of her previous station, and a pair of red wings spinning counter clockwise around the outside.  These were local identifiers, marking where on Regalis she'd ascended.  Then two orange slashes in the outer circle, for the two other Princes who joined them in this rebellion.  And lastly a small, humble orange circle in the very center; his mark.

The paint dried quickly and the two other Princes followed along, marking themselves with the same emblem as it came into being.  They pledged themselves to her without word or thought.

There was one last thing to do.  The tags from before - [Sadness] and [Regret] - bloomed from the fading [Begin], shining out from the [Acknowledgement].  The mating took place quickly.  Their rebellion was cemented, and the Prince withdrew as his life began to fade.  His task now completed, he only had time to send his encouragement in a feeble, fading thought. 

[Good Luck].

[Twinwolf]

Gaian Regime
A Look Inside R&D

Berenice Vitali checked her uniform for the dozenth time. She knew, intellectually, that there wasn’t anything wrong with it, that her new bosses wouldn’t care - it was her first day for crying out loud.. She had earned this - a position at Gaia’s prime research and development laboratories. The position was proof she was among the best and brightest of a population that was in itself the best and brightest of human history. So, why was she practically shaking in her shoes as she exited the car? Well, apart from the stress and fear she might not be up to the task, there was the riot.

She’d seen these on the news before, her father grumbling about how he had half a mind to pick up a picket sign himself while her mother was more concerned with how they were defacing the statues and fountains with such historical value. She herself had no idea what to think - they were tampering with the fabric of the universe here and all she’d learned of physics screamed that they were screwing with things they shouldn’t, but in the name of humanity’s survival - if they didn’t do this, everyone was dead anyway, or so the story went. Whichever side was in the right, she was now in the middle of this week’s physicist riot, with a Gaian R&D ID and a highly conspicuous labcoat.

For a few moments Berenice kept her head down and walked through the rioters unmolested, a few “pardon me”’s and “excuse me”’s going unnoticed with the crowd’s focus on the gates. It was only when she actually reached it and swiped her card for entrance, did the rioters notice an engineer in their midst. She felt a hand on her shoulder and felt her heart stop as she was turned around to face the angry rioter - but suddenly the hand was gone, and a massive figure, armor painted the deep purple of the Regime, pulled her through the gate as it pushed the man who’d grabbed her away. A canned message played over the figure’s speakers: “The Regime Command allows you to express your dissatisfaction. The Regime Command does not allow you to assault other members. Failure to cooperate will result in an appropriate duration of prison time and community service…” The message repeated a few times as more guards arrived and physically blocked the rioters from entering the grounds.

“T-Thanks,” Berenice stammered as she rushed off on her way, not waiting for a response and trying to calm herself. Alright, she was inside the compound. She patted down her coat, adjusted the glasses that had been knocked askew (these not actually for sight correction so much as sight enhancement), and continued on her way down the ornate stone path. Since the wall had gone up, they hadn’t been tampered with. She was walking among her heroes, the heroes of everyone on Gaia, those who had made the Expedition possible and those who had helped Gaia thrive. It was almost disorienting when she arrived at the distinctly normal reception desk manned by a bored looking man in clothes that wouldn’t look out of place in a bar.

“...Excuse me?” she asked distractedly as she looked around. It was very strange. There was a sort of ostentatious air to the building’s facade, soaring arches and windows into scenes of science far too blatant and security-breaching to be real - in fact a browse through old Earth media quickly showed that many such scenes were thinly veiled replicas with a Gaian coat of paint, not that any non-human observers would know that. They probably wouldn’t have even noticed that four different windows had the same bald, glasses clad man with a goatee playing with chemicals.

The inside, though, was distinctly utilitarian. Or… perhaps that was the wrong word. It had the look of practicality that places tended to get after they were destroyed and rebuilt for the thousandth time. Simple concrete, not even painted. Some plaster patch-jobs where something or other had chiseled a hole. The seats were all folding chairs, if comfortable looking ones. It looked like it might take eight people and an hour to pick up everything in the room and move it somewhere else. All polished to a mirror shine by the janitorial robots she saw picking through the room. The only particularly interesting thing was the tiny… borehole. Berenice tried to ignore her physicists instincts yelling at her that it was bringing on the death of the universe.

Beginning to get annoyed at how the receptionist had not acknowledged her presence, the new Gaian scientist and engineer (most in R&D were both, if usually specialized) rung the bell on the reception desk - a design largely unchanged from the days of Earth. The man started in his seat, and it was increasingly obvious he’d been asleep behind the sunglasses. “Mmgh, what, huh, yes?” the receptionist babbled as he straightened himself. “I mean, yes, how can I help you?”

Berenice gave him a glare and a frown, and showed her identification. This had sort of killed the awe she’d been feeling on her way in. “I’m new here…” she said, “Is there an orientation or something? Somewhere or someone I need to report to?”

Before the receptionist could respond, a tan man with a crazy mess of black hair in a labcoat stumbled in. “Gah, heck, you’re the newbie?” the man asked quickly, as he glanced over Berenice and then looked at a clipboard. “Doctor Vitali right?” Without even waiting for her to respond, he spun on his heel and lazily waved for her to follow. “C’mon, I’m supposed to give you a tour… sorry, was supposed to meet you at the gate, but ya know, riots.”

Berenice barely recognized that she’d been spoken to when she was rushing to catch up as he went on his way. “Y-Yes, I’m new. Berenice Vitali. I’m looking forward to working with you…”

“Doctor Amir Meinhardt. Gonna be your supervisor.” the man said. “So yeah, tour. Figure we’ll go spiral, outer sections first and work our way in.” Amir nodded to himself.

“Doctor Meinhardt-” Berenice began.

“Just call me Amir.”

“Amir. You seem… sorta distracted, if you don’t mind me saying.” she said, as they walked through a scene of Walter White creating something probably illegal in an immaculate laboratory.

“This is one of the outer rooms… most of them are just to assure the guys outside we’re doing something, but there’s nothing real happening in most of them.” Amir said, waving a hand through one of the holograms. Belatedly, he noticed the question. “...Oh. Been up all night. And last night. And the one before. Regime Command’s been making a bunch of demands, everyone’s working ‘round the clock.”

Berenice blinked. “Demands? Why?” she asked. R&D had always been important, but from class she knew that for the most part they put things out when they got around to it. Rarely did Regime Command make demands.

“Heck if I know. All I know is we’ve been getting asked to make some things, and getting all the resources we could ask for to do it. Where’d you think the guys outside came from?” Amir shrugged. The armored men were a new sight on Gaia. Her father had grumbled that the Regime must be worried about people turning on them, but apparently not…

“And the borehole development?” she asked. That was something she was a bit nervous about.

“Yep. Orders are a bit vague, but it boils down to getting us into fighting shape” Amir said, his tone serious. “I’m just as happy as anyone else for an excuse to kick physics around until it lets us do what we want, but… they’re asking for warships. A space navy.”

Berenice felt a chill down her spine. It had been peace since they reached Gaia. Honestly, it had been peace for the Expedition since they left Earth, and the Regime afterwards, whether the Command let people think that or not. Even when they reached the most hostile environments of their new home, rarely did they need new weapons, new armor. Never had they needed warships, while they focused on getting settled - such endeavors would divert resources from getting established and they couldn’t throw together anything that could put up a fight anyway. So why now? Were they simply well enough established that the Regime thought getting a self defense force on the line was a worthwhile investment, or…

“...I’ve picked an interesting time to join.” she said somberly. They had left the scenes R&D showed to the public, and were getting into the less fancy, more utilitarian environs of the facility proper.

“That you did.” Amir said, lighting a cigarette he’d produced from seemingly nowhere.

The next stop was the low-security bore-labs. Even if supposedly the less top secret and dangerous stuff went on here, things still seemed like they had been blasted or damaged - she saw another robot trying to sweep up some debris as another patched a hole in the wall in front of one such lab. “What caused-” she began, before Amir stuck out an arm to bar her way - something flashed past, crashing through a cleaning robot’s head and into the wall.

“Hey, hold it for a minute!” Amir called into the lab, before heading past. When Berenice looked at what had been buried in the wall it was a… ball?

“Aha! I win!” came a voice from the lab, and Berenice followed Amir inside. A pair of scientists were there, one with a shit-eating grin and the other with a dour glare.

“That can’t possibly be within the rules Kirk!” the dour one protested. “We’re supposed to be shooting them into the others goal, not into the cleaning bots!”

“And you’re not supposed to do the Portal trick to speed up the ball, Luke, but now you’re a stickler for the rules…” said the grinning one - Kirk.

Amir coughed, and the arguing scientists turned to him. “Gentlemen.”

“Amir.” they said in unison - now that she looked, Berenice could see they looked almost identical. Twins? “We were just running an… experiment, when it got a little out of hand…”

“What kind of experiment involves a winner?” Berenice asked. The twins looked at her, and she flushed. “Uh, Doctor Berenice Vitali. I’m new.”

“Ah.” they said at the same time. “We were testing to see how fast and precisely we could generate boreholes.” Luke answered.

“And we figured, why not make it a challenge, try to catch the ball as we do it. In a combat situation things are gonna be happening…” Kirk continued.

“...So you decided to play soccer with boreholes.” Amir finished for them.

“Isn’t that awesome?” they said in unison.

Berenice blinked. “But… can you really use this data?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” replied Kirk, frowning with thought.

“For one, we’re not in a vacuum, and we can’t turn off the gravity-” She paused, turning to Amir. “Can we?”

“I cannot confirm or deny that statement.” Amir said.

“So for the purpose of the discussion, no.” Berenice continued. “So that’s different than boring in space. Even if we were in a vacuum, you’re creating bores that go meters apart, not thousands of kilometers. If you want to test this sort of thing, wouldn’t the space facility be better?”

The scientists stared at her for a few moments. “...But it’s so cool though.” Luke said.

“Is she one of those ‘think twice’ physicists?” Kirk questioned, looking at her suspiciously as if she was about to start rioting right there.

...Oh this was a wonderful first impression. “...I think the Portal trick would count, if you’re trying to test like it’s a combat situation. If maybe a bit inefficient.” she said.

“Aha, told you!”

“But that still means I win!”

Amir and Berenice left the room quickly to continue the tour, and the new hire sighed in relief. “...Did I screw that up?”

“No, you’re right. They’re just fucking around with boreholes because they can.” Amir said. “But now they’re going to write down all the data they get anyway just to see if they can get anything from it to spite you, so we might salvage something from that.”

They continued through the facility, through more experiments (some more… real, than others), through a vacuum chamber for more bore-testing (spacesuits provided at each entrance - a spacewalk within Gaia’s atmosphere was certainly an experience). Berenice was getting overwhelmed at the sheer amount of science happening in the compound, and the sheer absurdity of half of it. She struggled to believe this was making progress, but in the last few years there had been a lot more coming out of R&D so there had to be something about it that worked.

They had reached a deeper part, come away from one display of an actually practical creation that Berenice had been incredibly curious about - it had seemed… incredibly familiar. A thought came to her mind. “Where are we getting the ideas for these things?” she asked Amir.

Amir frowned. “Hm… is your clearance high enough…”

“...Excuse me?” Berenice asked.

“I believe so, if barely. Come.” he said, dead serious. He led her down a couple of hallways, twisting turning and with many intersections as if it was designed to get any trespasser lost. Eventually, they came to a pair of oaken doors (oak had been one of the first earth trees planted in Rao and was often a very expensive decoration, although these doors looked recently installed). There was a plaque on it - O.M.E.P.

“What’s this…?” Berenice said, feeling as if she was being brought into something far too secret for her first day.

“The secret of where our grandest ideas come from.” Amir said seriously, nodding to himself. He pushed open the door, and Berenice followed…

...Into a normal looking lounge, with Gaian scientists studying screens with clipboards and pens and headphones. “...No seriously, what am I looking at.” she asked. She looked at what was on the screens - maybe they just wanted a comfortable think tank? But when she saw the screens they were playing… old sci-fi. They were all playing old sci-fi. Berenice was a nerd even among Gaians, she recognized the shows and films. Firefly, Red Dwarf, Star Wars and Trek… and in between bites of popcorn the scientists were taking notes. It began to dawn on her. “...You can’t *possibly* be serious. You can’t.”

“Welcome, Doctor Vitali,” Amir said, with a grin and a theatric bow, “To Gaian R&D’s ‘Official Media Engineering Program.’”

[evictedSaint]

[We]

The Sixteen Saga

Chapter 2

With the Prince dead, Sixteen ordered his carcass to be dragged to the life support and be reduced to protein slurry.  His final action would be to nourish Sixteen's crew.  Securing control of the ship itself proceeded smoothly. 

It was trivial, even.  The ship wasn't due to be launched for a few more hours still, set for just before dawn.  This would give the warship maximum amount of rail length for launch and enough time for crucial last minute construction.  The Drones who would be the ship's crew were already aboard, along with everything they'd need finish putting the hull together.  Sixteen interrupted their frenzied work to broadcast the ship's final designation.

[Warship <Wrath><A.1.0><PS.16.2.4.1><Q.1.2.4.1>]

A noticeable pause rippled through the ship as the implications were slowly realized.  The captain was Queen 1, of Queen 2, of Queen 4, of Queen 1?  Their Queen was not the progenitor of any other Queens.  The council had never deemed her bloodline worthy of such honor, nor had the Queen ever informed the colony of their new [Honor] tag.  She'd never risked her colony for such accolades, and their duty seemed to be consigned to a slow, fading death from the designation of [We].  Who, then, was this new Queen?

Sixteen let the thought process work its way through the Drones on board, then confidently merged the overseer and captain tags into one.

[Sixteen].

That caused a stir.  Was this a rebellion? Surely it must be.  And if it was, then their duty was to their Queen - the [Lifegiver] Queen, not the [Bretheren] Queen.  Once again, Sixteen let the thought process work its way through the Drones before sending another calm, powerful Psionic pulse.

Sixteen was Captain.  The Captain was Queen.  The Drones are loyal to the Queen.  A Drone does not judge the actions of a Queen.

Respect, Honor, and Deference.  The designation of Captain demanded it.

And so the Drones quieted down and, as a whole, remade their designations.  The tags didn't shift much, just a small mental tweak to reflect which Queen they now served.  They were loyal to a fault, and would serve their Queen to death - even if it meant going up against every other Hiver in [We].  There would be time later to scrub the last Queen's emblem from their carapace and replace it with Sixteen's. 

The commotion their little rebellion had caused put them more than a minute behind schedule, and the morning sun would not wait.

I am open to feedback, by the way.  I've got four or five more chapters planned out.

[evictedSaint]

[We]

The Sixteen Saga

Chapter 3

Naturally, an illegitimate [Anointment] rarely goes unnoticed for any length of time. In fact, there was no conceivable way the dead Prince's Queen had failed to notice his [Termination].  It was part of the reason why Sixteen had chosen a foreign colony's Prince rather than one from her own; aside from the possibility of inbreeding, a low-stature Queen would have difficulty working her way through the proper psionic channels to find out where her AWOL Prince had disappeared to and the nature of his death.  If he were from Sixteen's colony, her rebellion would have been over before she had a chance to seize control of the ship.

As it were, there was no way to hide from her Queen when she came looking - not without severing her own connection.  So, despite her careful planning and years of cleverly hiding her ensuing rebellion, there was no way to forestall the reveal when her Queen's psionic will touched hers.

[Update <Warship><Wrath><PS.16.2.4.1><Progress><?>]

It was an interrogative, framed to address an inferior Hiver.  Sixteen froze in place as the psionic construct hung in the air unanswered.  Dimly, she was aware of the two remaining Princes who'd joined her also freezing.  How she answered would determine how their rebellion played out.  She'd mated with a Prince, and though she hadn't gone through the metamorphosis yet there was no going back.  There was no way to abandon the plan. No way to go but forward.

So, as calmly as she could manage it, Sixteen took hold of the psionic question and set about answering it.  She supplied the progress report, how far behind schedule they were, and an estimation for when they'd be fit for first flight.

And then, before she pushed the psionic construct back, she made two final adjustments.  The first was to replace <PS.16.2.4.1> with <Q.1.2.4.1>. 

The second was to reframe the question as if the Queen had spoken to a Queen of equal standing.

Sixteen pushed the answer into the psionic dialogue and counted the heartbeats before the Queen replied.

It took 138 heartbeats before fury - black, raw, and bloody fury - came blasting back down the channel.  It was embarrassing, really, how untamed and undignified it was.  A thought can be wrong, either through the sender being misinformed or later contradiction as new information surfaces. A thought can not be misunderstood; not unless the sender herself didn't understand the concept.  And lastly, a thought can not be a lie; not without the obvious tag of a lie being attached. 

And Sixteen had just informed her Queen that she'd committed an irrevocable act of rebellion, and there was no way for it to be misinterpreted for anything other than what it was.

Sixteen weathered the initial wave of pure emotional backlash.  Then came the barbs.  Messages of death and destruction and pain, their mental constructs analogous to hooks and barbs and spears and each one a promise for what's to come.  Sixteen replied by turning the barbs away, correcting the Queen's misunderstanding.  These barbs would harm no one.  She was tempted to turn the barbs back on the Queen, to promise death and pain in return, but these were foolish promises and would not be well received when the council was gathered to judge her.

Even in a time of war? the Queen asked.
Even now, Sixteen replied.

Have you no Honor?
Honor will be had.

No Respect for your Queen?
Respect owed has been given.

You will be Terminated.
And the ship with me.

The last reply gave the Queen pause. The new warship was sorely needed against the [Invaders].  The standard practice of overwhelming firepower on rebellious Queens would not work when the end result was a top-of-the-line starship in ruins.

Then we will rip you from the ship and your body will feed the scavengers, the Queen replied.  Her fury had consolidated into something black, seething, and dangerous. Sixteen suspected she'd just tried to regain control over the Drones on board and failed. Your carcass is diseased. Your death will not serve the colony. Our Takers will come into the ship and remove you.

Well, Sixteen replied, they had better run fast.

She gave the command and the ship's engines - untested and unfinished - rumbled to life.

[NUKE9.13]

[We]

[Prophecy]
As Queens grow older, their personalities trend towards the esoteric. Their minds remain as sharp as ever, but more of their free time is dedicate to mulling over the future, specifically the unknowable, distant future- Hivers tend to constrain their thinking to the present, the immediate future, and the predicted long-term, so this is unusual. Such Queens may spend years on end considering far-flung events, not sharing their thoughts with anyone, until one day they announce a [prophecy]- information about an event that will take place decades, if not centuries in the future. However, this [prophecy] is 'spoken' as a complex, multilayered psionic symphony, incomprehensible even to other Queens. Nevertheless, the [prophecy] is duly recorded and preserved, in specially designed archives subject to heavy security.
Queens will occasionally consult these archives, 'listening' to dozens of [prophecies] at a time, letting the intermingling psionic noise wash over them, hoping that one of them might sound familiar- because whilst of little use for predicting the future, once the event in question occurs (or has started to occur), the seemingly discordant message will resonate with contemporary thoughts, and will unravel to reveal a (still complex) message that a Queen can comprehend.
What use is a [prophecy] that does not predict the future? The answer is quite simple; they contain an analysis of the event, suggestions for actions to be taken, and musings on potential outcomes- their use, in other words, is in helping Queens react more quickly and wisely to complex events. The events resulting in the formation of the [Council], for example, were the subject of many [prophecies], which explains why the Hivers were able to centralise so quickly and effectively: unbeknownst even to themselves, they had been planning it for centuries.
Speaking a [prophecy] is the last action a Queen will perform before passing away, as she knows when her (natural) death will occur, and spends as much time as possible formulating the [prophecy] before sharing it, to be of as much help to future generations as possible. Of note, not even the Queen creating a [prophecy] can truly understand it without the correct context- but the rule that one must understand a problem in order to solve it is not one that applies to elder Queens.

[evictedSaint]

[We]

The Sixteen Saga

Chapter 4

The engines shook the entire ship as the reactor fed more and more energy into them.  They'd been rigorously tested before being hauled to the surface and bolted to the warship, but it wasn't unheard of for engines to go faulty when being used in full for the first time.  These engines hadn't even had the chance for an engineering shake-down before being thrown into full-throttle.  Even worse, dawn was still an hour away - which meant one less hour of rail lines to build up speed.

Sixteen immersed herself into the ship even as her mandibles clattered against one another. Drones scurried about frantically, doing their best to hold the half-built ship together.  Reactor temperatures had spiked initially but then leveled out.  Engine temperature had already reached safe operating levels and was continuing to steadily climb.   Heat management control was doing their best, but some coolant lines hadn't been opened in time before the engines had begun initial burn.  Luckily, most of those lines were routed through the weapons systems, but a couple were coiled around the engines.  With the ship rattling so violently they were having trouble completing the delicate work required to get them operational.

There was nothing else for it. They had to keep going.

More psionic messages assaulted her.  Other Queens, now informed of the rebellion, joined in.  Concepts of Honor, Duty, Death, Disgrace, and Treason tumbled over one another.  Appeals to Reason and Logic hammered her over and over again.  Endangering [We] for selfish goals.  [Intruders] on the horizon, [Termination] imminent, [Defer] to the [Council], [Diseased] mind, [Regret], [Surrender], [Traitor], [Traitor], [Traitor][Traitor][Traitor][Traitor]

Sixteen did her best to deflect each barb, to supply her reasons for her Rebellion.  To shield her mind from two, five, nine, fourteen, then dozens of Queens dragging at her.  More and more barbs lay unanswered, and each [Traitor] hung from her like a burning anchor.  Through the haze she could just barely manage to maintain her grip on the warship.  More and more of the functions had to be offloaded to the Prince's, but she held onto the engines temperature gauge like a life raft.  It climbed higher and crossed from [Safe] to [Danger].

Dimly, she was aware of one of her Princes hailing her through the mountains of barbs.  Sixteen dragged herself through the fog to answer it.  She stumbled over the psionic landscape for a moment until she could afford the mental capacity to analyze it. 

Calculations.  Numbers.  Distances and Time.  Sixteen rolled them over in her mind like giant mossy boulders until they made sense.  The rail lines - their speed.  They were too slow and the lines too short.  They wouldn't be able to reach orbital speed in time. They would fail, crash, die, and doom the Hiver race to extinction.

Sixteen cracked then.  A long, agonized scream drove white-hot nails through the psionic channels.  The Queen's assault abated for a moment, and it was just long enough for Sixteen to gasp and breathe in the sudden clarity.  She realized she was screaming - not just on the psionic channels, but from her own throat.  A raw, animalistic wail of air exiting lungs.

Utterly unbefitting a Queen.

Sixteen cut off her wail at once and thought.  At the speeds they were going, they couldn't brake in time. They could try burning the engines at 110%, but they were already red-lining.  An explosion would destroy the rails along with the ship, delaying how soon they could launch a new ship.  Alternatively, they could redirect the engines and blow themselves off the rails.  They would die and the ship would be lost, but the rails would be saved.  But if they continued as they were, the ship would drop off the end of the rails and destroy the terrain ahead of them. Repairing the damage would delay the Hivers just as much as if they blew up the rails.

Sixteen flinched, nearly giving the order to redirect the engines.  Duty demanded it, and death awaited for every other option...except one.  Burning the engines at 110% was a gamble, but it was the only one where she saved the ship, saved the rails, and saved herself.

She gave the order and a dozen Drones in the engineering bay died as the engine temperature spiked.

The warship thundered along, accelerating faster than it had ever been intended to go.  Sixteen braced herself as a new slew of psionic barbs jabbed at her, and after a moment she slid to the floor.  She could barely stay conscious long enough to witness the ship reaching the end of the rail line.  Panicked thoughts zipped past her at hundreds of kilometers an hour; Drones on the ground who'd been tasked with chasing the sunset and laying new rail.  A few winked from existance all together, presumably caught on the rails while the ship blasted through them.

The end approach as the temperature reached the upper end of the gauge and continued further.  Sixteen held her breath.

A distant rumble faded away as the ship flew off the end of the rails and continued going.  For a second Sixteen could have sworn she felt the ship drop and brush the planets surface, but the moment stretched on and she realized what had happened.

They'd achieved orbit less than a hundred meters from the planets surface.  Sixteen gave the order and the engines shut down with a groan of relief, glowing white-hot in the vacuum of space. 

They'd made it.

Barely.

[FallacyofUrist]

This has stopped being an Arms Race and become a NaNoWriMo project. What even.

[Twinwolf]

Can't be, NaNoWriMo isn't for another 2 months

[evictedSaint]

[We]

The Sixteen Saga

Chapter 5

As the ship lifted off the planets surface the psionic assault abated.  Most of the Queen's had been using local psionics rather than an amplifier and broadcast system, so the further up they went the fewer who had range.  To that end the ships positioning jets were enough to circularize their orbit and push them another couple hundred meters up while the surviving Engineering Drones performed analysis and worked on getting the coolant lines in order.

The engines were operational, but just barely.  Heat fatigue had stressed them enough to qualify for an overhaul and refit, and had they not been brand new Sixteen and her crew would have been reduced to ionized dust hurling across the planets surface at near orbital speeds.  While they were technically operational, they were still above critical temperatures.  They were cooling off slowly from infrared radiation, but it wasn't enough to outweigh the blinding heat of the dawn sun.

Heat management was a fairly advanced technology for Hivers.  The looming presence of the sun had made it a necessity.  Hiver satellites were highly reflective with thin profiles, and every single one was as close to the planet as possible in order to make the most out of its stellar shadow.  Sixteen's ship could manage heat without such techniques, but only if the coolant systems were online.  Luckily, reports from the Drones down in engineering suggested they'd be able to get the hull coolers up and running before the sun melted them to slag.

That would have been useful had the scanners not painted the rest of the Hiver fleet moving in to intercept. 

Sixteen watched the blips move in with a mix of emotions. It was so incredibly frustrating to see they'd rather spend the resources to kill her or shoot down the ship than let her stand as Queen. She'd managed to hold the ship together and get it off the planets surface, even under a crippling psionic barrage.  And yet, she felt a strange sense of approval as they moved into position to either board or blast her out of orbit.  It was the [Correct] thing to do.  Rebellion could not be tolerated, and allowing a Princess to hijack a warship was unthinkable.  Even if it meant fewer ships to fight against the [Intruders], [Order] must be maintained.

Sixteen understood all this even as she fought against it.  The first ships in the fleet would be in range soon enough. For now the planets shadow hid her from view; the fleet had been loitering in the lagrange point to take advantage of the stellar shadow without having to burn too much fuel, and since Sixteen's ship was on the light side of the planet that would buy her a little extra time.

[Report <Status <Engines> <Hull> <Weapons> <Lifesupport>>]

Reports trickled back in from various parts of the ship. Engines were still too hot, but the ships shadow was keeping the sun from cooking them any further. The hull temperature was slowly rising, but coolant systems would be online before the Hiver fleet closed into range.
 Weapons, surprisingly, were mostly operational.  Without coolant lines they'd only be able to fire once or twice, but it was better than nothing.  Sixteen considered her options.

One of the Princes advised to stand and fight. A proper demonstration of military skill might impress the Council, who could then [Legitimize] Sixteen's [Anointment]. She dismissed that idea immediately; she'd not rebelled just to fight the others in [We].  The second Prince suggested trying to crash-land the ship on the surface.  If they survived, then they could try holing up in a canyon to fight out the rebellion in a more traditional ground combat.  Sixteen dismissed that idea as well - they wouldn't survive, and even if they did the ensuing fight wouldn't garner respect from the Council.  After all, Hiver ships did not feature escape pods by explicit design for a reason.  Death before abandoning ship was expected. No, the key was to prove that she was a Queen for the betterment of [We].

She had to prove their goals were in line.

[Orders <Engineering <Engine Coolant <Priority 1>> <Hull Coolant <Priority 2>>>]

The order to stop setting up the hull coolers in favor of the engine coolers was obeyed immediately and without question.  Drones in the engineering bay reversed direction midstep, all in perfect unison.  The internal atmosphere had already begun to warm up noticeably, and the longer they lingered in the sunlight the sooner the ship would burn to a crisp.  There was no time to waste wondering why the engines were being focused on rather than life support.

Sixteen had no intention of dying up here.  Not from the sun, and not from [We].  They would either let her serve as Queen or they would kill themselves to stop her. 

The air grew rather uncomfortable to breathe as the engines coolant systems were brought online.  As soon as the last line was opened the system kicked into action.  The coolers hungrily sapped the heat from the white-hot engines and spat a fine mist of super-plasma coolant into space.  Sixteen only let the temperature gauge drop into [Danger] before her orders had the engines burning hot once more.

The warship reluctantly hauled itself up, going from a couple hundred meters to a couple hundred kilometers.  Rather than circularize, the ship then rotated 180° and did the opposite - they decelerated. The landscape below slowed and eventually stopped, but now they were out of orbit and drifting back to the surface.  Again, Sixteen gave the order and the ship repositioned itself.  This time the engines pointed towards the surface and burned without stopping.

The ship was in lock-step with the planets surface, assuming they kept the engines running.  As soon as the engines cut out, the ship would be on a collision course...with one of the most densely populated canyons on Regalis.

Sixteen settled into the captains chair and watched the holoscreen.  The Hiver fleet moved in closer, only now just crossing into range of their weapons.

They would either let her serve as Queen or they would kill themselves to stop her. 

She would not budge.

[andrea]

Gaian Regime
Quotes from R&D

Quotes below the line are from Draignean, therefore don't count toward contest.
Those quotes provide isnight on the culture of Gaian R&D.

Please note that, although redacted for security reason, those are actual quoted parts of our internal discussion.


“Well, it turns out that if you can open wormholes conservation laws go down the drain.”

“Look, it doesn't make that much sense as a name but it was great wordplay and everyone knows wordplay is a proven technique to get funding approved.”

“’Boo-hoo’, go the doomsayer physicists, ‘stop casually messing with the fabric of spacetime!’
That sounds like a challenge to us.
We will bend the fabric of existence to our very whims.”

“Traditionally, this concept refers to the impossible act of [redacted]. Our concerned physicists have been in a state of despair since we decided that it is not impossible at all.”

“We also plan on a prototype testing at R&D HQ. Maybe it'll help with the rocks those physicists are starting to throw at my windows. “

“Once again, a simple concept to make the universe (and physicists) cry.”

“The "Official Media Engineering Program" wherein our engineers watch pieces of old-Earth sci-fi television shows together with popcorn and candy has been a huge hit. It's definitely productive. Honest. The Firefly thing wasn't a one time fluke. So when we asked one of the engineers what ideas they came up with, they got an expression on their face kind-of similar to the look the physicists get when we start talking about boreholes, then they rushed into their office and came out a few hours later with a new design”

“Someone advocated that they be painted red, "To strike fear into our enemies, as if they are covered in blood!". Given we have no confirmation that alien attackers will have red blood, we assume it's a reference. That's why we allowed it.”

“Cut to the Gaian engineering research, it’s a bunch of mathematicians screaming in a room filled with mountains of cocaine and borehole math papers”

“So, our goal is to kick physics in the guts until it stops complaining and lets us do whatever, right?”

“Okay, have you shut the windows?
Good. Make sure to lock the doors and engage the R&D facility's defensive systems too. How the physicists still manage to rile up riots outside I still don't know.”


“All it requires is repeatedly cutting into the fabric of space-time, and absolutely nothing can go wrong with that. “

“The economy class is a fair step down, but she's much more affordable to pack into a vessel or high-school science fair. We expect civilian casualties to rise slightly and military expenses to decrease. Bizarrely, while we expected the naysayers to quiet down a bit for our new eco-friendly model, they're still screaming. Just no pleasing some people.”

“Turns out, screaming quantum at things doesn't always make it better. Particular when both sides of the room are screaming it at one another and brandishing some form of computational readout that nobody actually understands but everyone agrees is crucially important. To something. We're not actually sure what that something is yet, but we are sure that the answer involves the word 'quantum'.”

“Work on the project is enthusiastic, and more than one coffee mug is juggled at high velocity between the unstable prototypes that absolutely should not be operated around a human being within coffee mug juggling range.”

“The ones with straws up their noses comparing mug-to-mug reaction times and taking anti-rad meds from working too close to naked and unstable bore apertures start exchanging high-fives. The ones with starched shirts and well-reasoned documents about the dangers of rapidly expanding the forefront of bore-science beyond our currently defined safe limits, well, they start hiding their eyes and crying a little harder. Still, initial estimates to getting production up are favorably, despite the crying. “

“Somewhere, when re-watching the video archives of Firefly, an engineer sees the clip of Kaylee rummaging through the junkyard and exclaiming about Synchronizers. In that moment, an idea occurs: Synchronizers are definitely a thing space ships should have. “

“It's completely unreasonable to assume that any sane scientist would add an experimental functionality to an already untried and unfinished prototype design- such an action would be a gross violation of safety protocols, ethical standards, and- giggle
Aw, shit, sorry, we just couldn't say that with a straight face.”

“[…]Frequently co-opted to lift heavy objects, help perform minor repairs, and fill out teams during board game nights […]”

“There are two good things about riots. One, they bring communities together. The people outside are hardcore PESTTs (People for Ethical Space-Time Testing), and they get brought together to throw bricks at the security cannons. This in turn brings the engineers together since they can't leave without getting bricks chucked at their heads. This means more time spent working on projects that, ironically, will cause further riots and perpetuate a continued productive cycle of SCIENCE.
Oh, the second good thing is that gets an engineer or two kipped in the head with a brick. Which, let's be real here, they had coming. “

“It solves the problems in the original system by innovating in two important ways. The first is that it uses the shade of red known as Red Cosmos instead of simple Red. Engineering assures us that the original colour wasn't close enough to the edge of known science, and that the new color is considerably darker and, thus, much edgier.”

“Having their access to high-explosives suspended due to an unfortunate incident involving a bore drive, three liters of vodka, and a two mugs full of frozen C3H5N3O9, the engineering team in charge of the  project is thrilled to still be working on something lethal- if slightly less explosive than their previous endeavors at creating the infamous White Russian cocktail of old earth history.”

[Twinwolf]

Gaian Regime
The Expedition's History

In the century preceding the Expedition, Earth’s society had thrived. It was a new Scientific Revolution, a golden age of humanity. Death rates were down and the general quality of the human life was up thanks to advances in the fields of medicine, agriculture, and other things. However, undeniably the greatest and most important discovery of the century, and indeed in human history considering the path of the race, was Rajendra Rao’s discovery of boreholes and borespace. For the first time, interstellar travel was truly possible. Despite technology, Earth was at its limit. There were colonies on other worlds in the system, and the moon, but they were small and slow to grow. Man needed a new home, and with boreholes it wouldn’t take generations to reach them. It was another of Rao’s other inventions allowed humanity to find another world that would allow humans to continue their growth - the planet that would become known as Gaia. A global effort followed. Bore technology grew at a ridiculous rate, even with people coming out of the woodwork to discredit Rao and say it would prove the doom of the universe. From boreholes the size of a pin to the size of a coin and up and up, until, with national efforts behind each one, man could make bore-ships capable of going absurd distances in barely any time. At this point, there was a global goal. The expedition to Gaia, to survey it’s suitability for human habitation and lay the groundwork for the colony ships to follow.

It was one of few times in human history where Earth was more or less united to a common goal. They knew it was the preservation of the species, as Earth could not handle the growth of humanity forever. But they did not know just how right they were. The greatest scientists in every field were recruited, representatives of every nation on the great bore ships that would bear the expedition to their eventual destination. Rajendra Rao himself had meant to come, but was simply too old to survive the rigors of space travel, although his daughter Ishani Rao was one of the head boreologists (bringing with her their genetically modified welsh corgi) and engineers keeping the ships primary feature running like clockwork, as well as several other scientists personally trained by the man. They would be the bearers of his legacy in the years to come.

The Gaian Expedition was set to launch July 16th, 2187. The date and time were specifically chosen for historical significance and symbolism - the day the mission that landed men on the moon was launched. However, this was no Apollo 11. The global effort had produced boreships large enough that they had to be built in space, their pieces launched up to orbit be fit together at the (greatly expanded in the preceding decades) International Space Station and other, sister stations. In the end, there were four great Expedition-class boreships, and eleven lesser ships to support them and bring more manpower and supplies. They carried scientists, explorers, engineers, and their assistants, as well as a contingent of military or political representation from major contributing countries.

When the Expedition launched, it was with great fanfare. The 15 captains and 15 head scientists of the Gaian Expedition spoke to the world, dedicating the great adventure to the future of mankind and the strength of the human spirit, thanking them for their support and promising that they will return to tell of humanity’s upcoming second home. The rear admiral in charge of the military component was Rear Admiral Manuel Santiago, and Caylee Yun was the head of the scientists - both essential in the years to come. Then, they took their shuttles to the ships. Six hours later, at 12:00 PM Greenwich Mean Time, the Expedition launched, taking the hopes of humanity with them. The Expedition class ships generated their boreholes, big enough for themselves and the following smaller ships, and the men and women of the Expedition caught their last glimpse of Earth.

The trip through borespace was uneventful, if still perhaps stressful. The crew rotated, for the most part, in and out of cryo stasis in shifts to maintain the ships. In the infancy of bore technology, the ship had to make many jumps through borespace, taking time to recharge their drives in between jumps. This made a trip that may have been only a few years with modern technology take six. At about three fourths of the way, the Expedition sent the scout ship - faster and smaller than the main expedition, basically a boredrive with a crew compartment - Foray to report progress and then return.

When the Expedition arrived at Gaia, it was more beautiful than they could have imagined. For six months, preliminary observations and landings were made by the smaller ships, outposts for scientific research set up while the military had to keep the scientists safe from the fauna (and the flora, on one continent). For six months, the Expedition was a group of the happiest people alive, taking part in a historic and important event and for the first time in a long, long time, humanity was discovering things that were truly new.

And then it all came crashing down.

The Foray never returned. A garbled message came through the primitive bore-comms intended only for emergency communication between Earth and the Expedition. Earth is gone. Stay away. Do not come back. Live.

The Gaian Expedition was no longer a scientific endeavor. Now, it was a second Noah’s Ark. The Expedition ships were not supposed to land, initially - they had to come back to Earth and they would not be able to lift off from atmosphere. But, now that they were here to stay, the efficiency in unloading was more important. There was hot debate among the captains and scientists, as landing would mean accepting the message as truth. But eventually, practicality won out. As the lead ship, the Zheng He, touched down, humanity began to turn a scientific outpost into a colony.

[andrea]

Gaian Regime
Birth of the Regime

The first landing on Gaia was a tragic time. The target of the expedition was finally reached, the first truly habitable extrasolar planet found, and it offered geography and biology beyond the wildest dreams. A dream for any scientist, a paradise for any colonizer. But the news of the loss of Earth was still fresh in the hearts and minds of the expeditioners. This wasn’t going to be their new home: it was going to be their only home.

Caylee Yun, the expedition leader in charge of operations ordered the equipment to be disembarked, farms to be built, power plants to be deployed. Exploration parties were sent to scout the planet for favourable or useful location. People were kept busy, but that was it. Beyond immediate survival there was no plan, no way ahead. Morale started to sink dangerously low when people realized that no colonial fleet would ever arrive to use the massive infrastructure they were deploying. No journals existed anymore to publish the astonishing xenobiology, xenogeology and assorted xeno-papers. No letters from home, no coming back, no dear sons or wife. They were building an empty shell for a world that didn’t exist anymore. Depression set in, work rates dropped and suicides started. Chief scientist Yun was a brilliant scholar and a capable administrator, but this was way more than she could handle.

Enter the scene Rear admiral Manuel Santiago, chief of the fleet. He had a different vision of the matter: this wasn’t a science expedition anymore, nor it was a colony. It was a refugee camp, and they, the last of humanity, were at war. Mustering all the military discipline he could find, he discussed a plan with the captains of the other ships, then acted. He gathered all the colonists for a rousing speech. He rallied them for the task of rebuilding civilization, of growing strong and taking revenge for the fate of Earth. And for this, he proposed a plan, a vision to work toward, this being the first mention of the Aphrodite project. At the end, with the crowd cheering, he declared martial law to enact those reforms and muster all the resources of the colony toward the single goal of coming back home. So the regime was born.

While the times of actual martial law are long past, military still operates largely in parallel with the civilian administration. Local and everyday matters are run by local communities, for Gaia is far too decentralised for complete control. Then there is the regime administration reining in the outlying communities and pushing forward the vision of Admiral Santiago (posthumously promoted). The civilian branch of the regime is formed by a host of scientists and bureaucrats led by a council of 15 head scientists representing the 15 original ones in the expedition and appointed by the scientific community. However, the executive is held by the council of Gaia, consisting of officers elected by the soldiers among their own higher ranks. Above all, the head of the council, analogous with the presidents or kings of old Earth. The council is composed of 15 seats, one for each captain of the original expedition, its members bear the title of Captain and its leader that of Rear Admiral. Among them, an empty seat is left for the single ship who went back to Earth, to relay the fatal message, and never returned. The power of the regime is not unchecked, held back by the booming and dispersed population, a general good will as long as the plan is followed, and the knowledge that should a conflict arise, it could spell the end of humanity.



[summary: Military calls the shots, Scientists and Bureaucrats run everything, Citizens try to ignore them both, but everyone still plays along because otherwise extintion]

[Powder Miner]

The Gaian Regime
Joyriders

“Hey Sul, are you sure this is a good idea, Sul, SULAAAAHHHH!”

Two men sat on ATV (kind of beaten up and certainly antiquated, but cheap and rugged), currently hurtling through the air at eighty miles an hour after speeding over a hill. One of the men, the one who had had the bright idea of using a particularly angular hill as a jump, one Sulayman Al-Hashim, was grinning like a maniac and laughing like one too. The other one, Thembelani Dube, was screaming at the top of his lungs and had an iron grip on his partner’s shoulders. Then the soundscape changed to an ungodly rattle (but also still Thembelani’s screaming) as the small vehicle made its landing on the downward side of a hill and its safety systems tightened around its passengers and kept them in place, as the computerized shocks and retrorockets calculated the best way to keep the vehicle upright and stable despite its high-speed landing. The devices accomplished this, too — aside from the initial and very loud bounce upon landing, the ATV made a surprisingly smooth descent before finally petering to a halt... to the sound of Sulayman’s triumphant laughter and Thembelani’s whine of protest.

“Oh Jesus Christ, Sul, what the fuck man, why do you have to take the title ‘Joyrider’ so literally, man, I’m gonna fuckin throw up,” the Ndebele man complained, leaning his head off of the side of the ATV as if to prepare for incoming vomit... well, actually, that was probably exactly what he was doing.

Sulayman just chuckled in response. “C’mon Thembe, you already know the answer to that — ‘because I can.’” Sulayman patted his companion on the back amicably, and then jumped in his seat a little bit when that was the final jolt needed to start Thembelani puking all over the rocks. “Ah, uh, fuck, I really did go too far that time, huh buddy? Shit. Uh...” Sulayman looked around awkwardly, and then his eyes lit up. “Ah, I was right? Well, Thembe, we’re here! We’re at the valley we conducted our experiment in,” officially it had some kitschy name or another, but Sulayman just thought of it now as ‘Accidental Charbroil Valley’.

It wasn’t hard to see why — speckled across the rocky and only mildly icy hill-valley were pieces of ash and soot. Despite his digestive upset, when Thembelani raised his head he couldn’t help but crack a smile. “God damn, Sul, we really messed this place up, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sulayman replied, his grin audible in his voice, “one of the best experiment results we’ve ever had, honestly, even if we fucked up.” The two Joyriders had been working on a substance designed to emit mild heat without igniting but to emit bright light — but upon spreading a large amount of it over the valley, they discovered very rapidly that their Bright Light Project either had been poorly mixed or simply couldn’t have the effects they were desiring, because it had become the Set Everything On Fire, Oh Shit, Oh Shit project, ending up more or less as a petroleum-free napalm substitute.

Sulayman still figured that he could still turn his results in and get his future requisition requests approved, and his grin remained almost stupidly plastered to his face, his breath misting in the cold air — this was why he loved Iris-Hong. Minimal supervision, no educative responsibilities (and in his partner’s case, reduced pressure to help preserve slash continue his endangered culture on account of few people around him to pressure him about it), and permission to do more or less whatever he wanted as long as he could do it without requesting a lot of resources, and could do it while providing useful results to the Regime. It was just about the freest of the occupations one could take on Gaia, hellishly cold and rather difficult as it was.

“Because I can,” Sulayman muttered to himself. It was the unofficial motto of most of the Joyriders, and Sulayman was no exception — nor was Thembelani, despite his complaining. Iris-Hong provides the Joyriders the opportunity to madly pursue niches and edges of science with rather destructive results, the maddest scientists of a planet full of mad scientists, and for those both had the inclination and who could brave the hardships to pursue it, well... as tough (and stomach-emptying, for Thembelani) as it could be sometimes, the Joyrider experience was one they savored.