Death Storage

D[redacted]
Secure Storage SWG, Fifth Directorate, Imperial State Security
Tertiary Monitoring Node

“Alert flag just came up: storage node 4-23-3317, outside penetration, profiled as hostile. Dispatching response team.”

“Belay that. Class 23, confirm?”

“Yes…”

“Then monitor the situation for an hour, and if the flag’s cleared down, send maintenance in to secure it.”

“Don’t we need to contain it? It’s an Aeon Pit site.”

“Yeah, but it’s death storage.”

“So it’s dead storage, but that doesn’t mean the contents aren’t dangerous to let out!”

“Not dead storage, death storage. One of those places where we keep the cleaners when they aren’t working so they don’t mingle with the nice people. They may be deadly, murderous bastards, but they’re our deadly, murderous bastards, so we can let them handle their own cleanup, read me? They’ll probably enjoy it.”

Trope-a-Day: No Biochemical Barriers

No Biochemical Barriers: Averted, mostly.

While there will be absolutely no Half Human Hybrids, or indeed Half Anything Hybrids running around, as I said back then, it can get a mite fuzzy:

Alien Food is Edible: Well, no, for the most part it isn’t, given differing biochemistries, chiralities, etc., etc.  Even really simple molecules can be tricky.  By and large, if you end up in a serious Interspecies Romance or Mixed Marriage, you are going to need two kitchens, or at least two refrigerators.  That being said… with the help of a genetic engineer, some helpful symbiotic bacteria, some drugs, and a really good chef, it’s often possible to find a few dishes you can share.  Unless, y’know, one of you is made of rock or something.

Cross-Species Diseases: Uncommon, since for one thing, viruses just won’t work, and parasites often need to interact enough with their hosts’ biology to not work either.  Bacteria – well, they’re more often a problem since the environment can offer enough of the right stuff to let them grow, the resilient and resourceful little buggers that they are, even if it’s not exactly the same disease when it happens to a different host, and immune responses can vary.  (They tend to be much more of an ecological problem than a medical one, which is why they sterilize you – no, not like that – when you go offworld.)  And allergen issues are downright common.

But anything cross-species that’s effective, similar, and contagious… that’s bioweapon/nanoweapon sign.

All Atmospheres Are Equal: Elemental abundances, energy sources, and the problem of Too Much Oxygen Causing Wildfires mean that there are a decent number of oxygen-nitrogen garden worlds out there, but the ammonia, halogen, hydrogen, methane, and sulphide breathers out there would like to point out that all atmospheres sure aren’t equal for them.  And even the people for whom the basic gas mix is right still often need filter/compressor masks due to low partial pressures (or suits due to issues with the absolute pressure or temperature), toxic gases in the mix, and allergens.  People who travel extensively often can get around some of these problems with extensive lung and immune system gene-work, but by no means all of them, and all the really different gas mixes/pressures/temperatures will still kill you.

Of course, all of these problems can be solved by doing the old Body Surf, but it’s not like that doesn’t have problems of its own…

Conception

CHanith Desúmé, Dinéval Eugenesis Pty., to Laurë Minaxianos and Ryal Cerron-ith-Oléron, greetings.

Permit me first to apologize for the delay in proceedings; since both the chloromorph dryad clade and the alaereldrae aquanaut clade represent extensive whole-body modifications, we thought it best to take particular care in stripping clade-template alterations from your parental genomes before attempting recombination.

As is our usual practice, we have sequenced twelve alternative randomized recombinations for you to choose from. All have been upgraded to the latest alpha baseline genetic standard, and equipped with both the rieltelir talentic-world tolerance biomod, and the particular hair color recovered from the archive sample of Citizen Minaxianos’s grandmother, per request. Since no gender preference was indicated, this was left to the randomization process to determine: your current selection includes five female, four male, two herm, one neuter.

Please make an appointment to come in to the office and meet your potential children! If our current designs are suitable, we can begin zygote printing and embryogenesis immediately.

Hanith Desúmé

for and on behalf of

Dinéval Eugenesis Pty.

Blood

B“We don’t speak to our gods, and they don’t speak to us.”

“Why? The last time we asked them for something and they heard us, Venirek Sky-Hammer punched our world so hard that everything died. And it’s not that we’re not grateful, but that’s the kind of miracle you only want occasionally. That, and it’s not like they have a lot to say to us, skyhammer and bloodwind and old starry-eyes. We tell their myths to children and what they learn – bein’ kaeth – is that they want to grow up to punch things that hard. That, and to die well enough to get into Mak-Rekken, the afterlife of glorious eternal battle.”

Not what you might call a well-rounded spirituality. For that, we have the Eight Bloody Sages.”

“Not gods. The old ones, lost in myth – except when they’re not. The eight oldest of us, the ones who survived everything Paltraeth could throw at them, each other and the rest of us included. Rage, Greed, Cunning, Clan, Lust, Fire, Death, and Being Too Damn Bull-Headed To Quit, Ever.” The old kaeth smirked. “It sounds better without translation. They don’t have other names. They don’t need other names.”

“And never just the Eight Sages. They’re the Eight Bloody Sages. Because they’re born in blood, and alive through blood, their own and their enemies. Because blood is truth and blood is life and life’s wisdom comes through blood. And because if you don’t listen well enough when they speak, your own blood pooling around the remains of your guts’ll be the last thing you ever see.”

Trope-a-Day: NGO Superpower

NGO Superpower: Actually, yes.  Quite a lot, especially given the sheer range of government sizes out there, and the sizes therefore of the organizations that some of the real behemoths can host.

For a start and most prominently, most of the “Big 26” starcorporations at least have the financial resources to stand in the same rank as many large governments (and often have extensive conlegial and/or extraterritorial holdings), and above the small ones.  Special note here goes to Gilea & Company, ICC, the banking starcorp which routinely makes large sovereign loans out of its private assets and treats polities no differently from any other customers – and when Gilea & Co., who stand behind or advise, in one way or another, an appallingly large percentage of the galactic economy, sneezes, entire economies catch the plague and die;

Ring Dynamics, ICC, which owns and leases most of the galaxy’s interstellar transportation network;

And Ultimate Argument Risk Control, ICC, which provides security services, military contracting, and mercenary brokerage, and if it cared to gather all of the forces beholden to it in one place, could make a respectable showing against most Great Power fleets, and unquestionably defeat lesser polities on its own.  (It doesn’t; its owners aren’t interested in assuming the responsibilities of sovereignty, and agree with the unspoken “Iron Concord” among the Powers that mercenaries should be paid to make war, not paid not to make war.  But it is happy to rent its mercenaries to other starcorps in need of a forceful solution to Static defaulters or expropriators, pour décourager les autres.)

(While no individual runs it or controls it to any significant extent, the collective intelligence of the Seranth Exchange has similar potency when it comes to the way that shifts in its market can affect things out and about in the Worlds.)

The others are less obviously potent, but smart polities understand that it’s a bad idea to make an enemy of say, StellEx (if you want your logistics to keep moving), Bright Shadow (who sold you your Internet), Telememe (who publish the news that the newscorps read), Traders in Ideation (unless you love getting FRM errors), Riverside Eubiosis and Crystal Flame (since your citizens may not appreciate a renewed outbreak of mortality), etc., etc.  Even much smaller starcorps than the 26 are accustomed to negotiating terms with local governments on a much more even footing than one might expect.

There are also, of course, a number of “non-politan”, unaligned seed AIs, who despite being singleton intelligences have all the production capacity and coordination ability of a (usually minor) polity.

A number of non-profit groups, mostly a mix of “direct action charities” and more self-interested “information brokers” – some of both of which are functionally privately run intelligence agencies – are in approximately the same league as some of the smaller starcorps – they have to walk a bit cautiously around (which by no means means “avoiding conflict with”) the Powers and the larger polities, but on those occasions when they think it will help – which, in fairness, they usually don’t, because it rarely does – they can slap a few smaller polities and single-system nations around a bit.  And a lot of them are more than happy to hire UARC or other merc outfits for this purpose, when necessary, although the latter especially prefer manipulation and memetic subversion than getting into out-and-out conflict.

And out in the Expansion Regions and other more shadowy corners of the worlds, some less scrupulous large mercenary organizations and the odd criminal syndicate can exert a lot of influence over local politics, more than enough to hold their own against the local polities.

Oddly enough, averted where most terrorist organizations are concerned.  Mostly because unlike most of the above, by definition the terrorist organizations go too far – which is unfortunate for them when the opposition tends to be people like the Imperial Navy, whose Combat Pragmatism and notions of cost-effectiveness are such that, for example, if told that the terrorist leader is hiding in an impenetrable range of cave-ridden mountains, will reply “okay, fine, we’ll just bombard them from orbit until the sonofabitch has to learn to breathe lava”.  And if it’s something less terrain-y – well, the Laws and Customs of War are very clear on this: voluntarily standing in the crowd the enemy is hiding in, once you’ve been warned, is giving aid and comfort to the enemy and the ensuing predictable consequences are entirely your own fault.

Subverted a little with the Conclave of Galactic Polities, even with the tremendous law enforcement powers and independence of the Operatives of its Presidium, mostly because it works very much for the highly select list of Great Powers making up said Presidium.

Adolescence

ACathál i-sered-Ríëlle was nervous, and she tried hard not to let it show. There was no reason to be so, she knew – sure, Cathál, and that’s what all those who failed of Acceptance first time around thought when this morning came for them – for she was well prepared, and neither her parents nor any of the House elders had hinted otherwise. But still.

The circumstances, from the most formal hall of the House with the looming statues of her ancestors and the circle of elder cousins, to the unexpected awakening in the foredawn hour, and even the itchy wool of the Acceptance robe were designed to throw off-balance those who asked for the rite before they were really ready. This she also knew.

It didn’t help much.

Pride and serenity; serenity and pride.

“Who stands before the Rian of Rian, First of House and Lineage, in the sight of kin and clan?”

“I, Cathál, for twelve years and three months of the blood of Ríëlle, out of Elíne of Desúmé, by Korith Ríëlle.”

“Why do you stand before us, Cathál, of our blood?

She felt a moment of unreasoned pride that her voice did not crack.

“To demand my place among you, as is my right.”

“By what right would you demand a place?”

“By right of blood and proven worth.”

“Then let it be proven.” The genarch’s voice slipped into the cadences of a familiar ritual. “Who speaks for the blood? Is the child a true daughter of the line of Ríëlle, and of the House of the Sun in Splendor?”

“The blood is proven.” Her parents’ voices rang out from behind her, and Cathál resisted the urge to turn and look at them. “We, Elíne Ríëlle-ith-Rian and Korith Desúmé-ith-Desúmé, speak. In the light of the Flame, we pledge it; the blood of the braid runs true.”

“The blood is proven,” the genarch echoed. “Who speaks for the soul? Is the child fit to bear our name, and bring no shame upon the House of Rian?”

“The soul is proven. I, Camríäd Rian-ith-Rian, hearthmistress of this estate, speak. In the light of the Flame, I pledge it; her soul is reflected in serenity and reason. She brings no disgrace to hearth or kin.”

“The soul is proven. Who speaks for the mind? Has the child wit and learning, a house for thoughts and the words to shape them?”

“The mind is proven. I, Estrey Koiric of Atheléä, master of runes by our mistress’s grace, speak. In the light of the Flame, I pledge it; she has mastered the Triad, and the book is open.”

“The mind is proven. Who speaks for the word? Does the child command her will, speak truth, and act as she has spoken?”

“The word is proven. I, Liríën Telithos-ith-Talith, speak. In the light of the Flame, I pledge it; the First Contract has been made, and the Guild of Formal Obligation accepts her word as good. By our word, let none challenge or doubt hers.”

“The word is proven. Who speaks for the hand? Is the child capable of works of worth, or deeds worthy of renown?”

“The hand is proven. I, Larquen Vianath-ith-Viriaz, speak. In the light of the Flame, I pledge it; we of the Watermen’s Fellowship declare her talent and investment-worth, and thus we accept her as Apt.”

“The hand is proven. So, then, Cathál of the blood of Ríëlle, what more claim of your own worth do you make that you should sit among us here?”

“I need make no more claim.” Cathál met her genarch’s eyes firmly, quailing only a little deep inside. “My blood calls me to my House and Line, but I am Cathál and my worth is my own. My place is justly earned and owed. Deny me at your peril.

“It is well spoken. Then come forth, Cathál Rian-ith-Ríëlle, child no longer, accepted of your House and Line, and feast here with your peers, under the eyes of your ancestors. By your own hand your place is wrought, and you are welcome among us.”

Cathál stepped forward among the sudden outburst of applause and cheers to take her place at the high table, shaky with the sudden release of tension.

Trope-a-Day: New Neo City

New Neo City: Averted, at least within the Empire.  While people are, of course, free to call their cities, estates, habitats, moons, etc., anything they feel like, the Imperial Grand Survey find this trope incredibly annoying – especially predicting how meta this could get looking into the deep future – and flat-out refuse to put any New Neo Names on the maps.  Period.