(A belated continuation of the Picture Dictionary series.)
S is for Starport
Where great ships take flight.
They climb to the stars,
On pillars of light.
T is for Transcend
The home of the Powers.
No gods in the heavens,
And so we made ours.
U is for Uplifts
Potential made real.
With clearness of mind,
To think and to feel.
V is for Virtual
Dream-worlds brought forth.
From shadows we conjure
All things that have worth.
Sapient Ship: Well, while the sophont ship AIs are not actually bound to their ships (they’re regular infomorphs hired for the position, so the captain of CS Repropriator one day may be the admiral on board CS Sovereignty Emergent some years later, and the retiree drinking whisky in the flag officers’ club with a meat-hat on a couple of centuries down the line), there are an awful lot of digisapiences doing the job, yes.
This becomes universal for AKVs (“unmanned” space fighter/missiles) and other such drone-type vehicles, because, frankly, in a battlespace containing thousands or more of independent friendlies and hostiles, each accelerating and firing weapons in their own unique relativistic frames of reference, while blasting away at each other in the EM spectrum with infowar attacks… well, let’s just say that primate tree-swinging instincts don’t even begin to cover it.
3.72 (a): Personnel of the Imperial Military Service who are missing their dominant arm, or whose dominant arm is severely injured, at the present time shall be permitted to render the hand and blade salutes with their off-hand.
3.72 (a) (i): An exception to the above shall be personnel who have sustained the aforementioned injury in the course of the present engagement, who shall be exempted from the requirement to render salutes in recognition of the events resulting in this circumstance.
– Amendments to the Imperial Rules of War,
Second Series
Sacred Hospitality: Absolutely. And even more so once spacer culture arose, because if hospitality was sacred when it was merely cold and hunger that would kill you, it’s even more so when you consider the very large number of ways in which space can kill you, given half a chance. Or not-quite-terraformed worlds, for that matter.
The Code of Alphas, in that subset called the Code of the Hearth, lays out the rules for hospitality pretty clearly, and they’re refined in the Common Social Protocol and such later elaborations as Madame Allatrian’s Garden of Exquisitely Correct Etiquette. It’s got symbols, rituals for entry (not bread and salt; asking for hospitality from the hearthmistress of the home and receiving it – an enhanced form of the ironclad custom of proclamation in which one must announce oneself on entering anyone’s property [1], or be deemed a trespasser) and departure and even formal disinvitation, customary lengths, customary expectations both simple and reciprocal, and so on and so forth. Providing it isn’t strictly an ethical obligation, but it is a moral one and an ironclad custom, so turning someone away who isn’t more than simply an enemy [2] without a good reason may well have unpleasant social consequences.
Even inns and hotels, which are commercial operations, fundamentally base much of their operation around the expectations and customs of hospitality.
[1] And, yes, that does not just mean people’s homes. There ain’t no such thing as a “public accomodation” in Imperial law or custom. When you go into a shop, you introduce yourself to the proprietor, or (in larger stores) their representative or even their automation. Otherwise you are trespassing and subject to all the consequences at the property owner’s discretion; and while those are unlikely to be severe, at the very least, you are being extremely rude.
[2] You’re supposed to offer hospitality to honorable enemies. No-one wants to gain a cheap and cowardly victory by letting their enemies starve or bleed to death, belike. On the other hand, you aren’t obliged to take dishonorable enemies into your home – but even someone invoking this clause may well pitch a tank of oxygen out the airlock, for civility’s sake.
…for those also interested in the bits of eldraeic theology I’ve published now and again on this site.
Slate Star Codex: The Goddess of Everything Else
(previous)
Fourth Directorate Bounty Office
Imperial Services center
Athra (Ringstars)
“This gets you 2,730 esteyn.”
“Th’ell it does! Th’reward’s ten thousand!”
“The reward for bringing in the outlaw is ten thousand. The reward for proof-of-kill alone without an intact mind-state is three-quarters, 7,500 esteyn. And –”
“Then give’s –”
“– that depends on us being able to tell that this actually was the outlaw. You put a thermal sword through his brain.” The ciseflish behind the desk poked the greasy box sitting in front of him with an expression of distaste. “And this is not a refrigerated container. Our scanner says this has a point three six four correlation with the target, so you get point three six four of the bounty.”
“Y’re cheatin’ us, y’coggie bastard. We killed ‘im square, and y’ –”
“Sha! Check the terms, unbound. The offer was for proof of kill, not meat burnt, hashed, and rotted. Count yourself lucky to be paid at all, and that you came here first. For goodwill’s sake, I’ll give you a copy of our scan report, which may help you extract some funds from those less likely to be generous where guess of kill is concerned.”
Ruling Couple: The Imperial Couple are – as really, you should have been able to guess from the name – this trope. Diarchies in which the co-rulers have equal authority and mutual veto was the governing tradition of Cestia long into pre-Imperial history (in fact, most Cestian political offices worked this way), was continued into the Union of Empires as a way to emphasize the equal status of Alphas I of Cestia and Seledië III of Selenaria in that, and then, due to demonstrably providing welcome redundancy, versatility, and an additional check and balance to the executive branch, found themselves written into the Imperial Charter as they were.
Rubber Forehead Aliens: Averted. With the irrelevant caveat mentioned under Human Aliens, anything that looks like it belongs to/is descended from a particular species almost certainly does/is. See also Starfish Aliens.
Gal-sabra (Falish Traverse) System
Peremptory-class diplomatic cruiser, CSS Occasionally Transigent
“Lei’hudal, vizjeri,” Ambassador Cíën Lochran addressed her visitors, “be welcome here. May I offer you some refreshment after your flight? Something to eat, perhaps?”
“No, thank you. Time is pressing: let us get down to business. You said that you had received a communique from the Spire?”
“Very well. Indeed, I have received such a communique. Their Divine Majesties instruct me to inform you that the Empire, as a polity, takes no position on the current or future activities of the Theomachy of Galia.”
The Galian delegation looked at each other.
“No position?”
“Quite so.”
“We find that rather hard to believe. The Empire will make no response to anything we –”
“That is not quite what I said.”
“May I ask you to clarify, then, this lack of position?”
“With your permission to be undiplomatically explicit?”
“If necessary.”
“Their Divine Majesties do not believe that it is their place, nor yet the place of their Ministries, to dictate to sovereign realms or sovereign individuals what they may or may not do. We exercise no force majeure veto; we set no rules upon the non-consenting. You may do as you will and as you must without our constraint.” She leaned back comfortably, and continued. “Of course, in response to your actions, we reserve the right to also do as we will, and as we must, possibly with a fleet task group or two – but that should be by no means interpreted as a threat, since we have demanded of you, and will demand of you, nothing. It is merely the inevitable unwinding of certain branches of the causal graph.”
In a comment in the previous post, there is some curiosity as to how the Imperial Couple is selected. So, behold, I answer:
It’s semi-hereditarian. The heir is notionally picked from among the members of the Imperial family, in an attempt to capture the hereditarian advantage of having someone trained for the job lined up, not just some random schmuck1; especially since the Imperial family also serves the Imperial Couple as a talent pool for extraordinary tasks so they can get an idea of what their on-the-job performance is like.
But it’s not directly primogenitive, etc.: the current incumbents get to nominate their heir from among all the possible candidates, so if Mr. Firstborn wants to succeed to the throne, he’s got to work hard at putting himself out in front of the rest of his generation. And also any really exceptional candidates from outside, because succession-by-adoption is also part of how the system works.
After that, first, in order to be nominated in the first place, you have to be, well, a couple. This is a diarchy; the system’s not set up to have singletons on the Dragon Throne. It would eliminate checks and stabilization factors that are supposed to be there. (You also have to be a happy, well-adjusted, non-dysfunctional one that’s capable of working together successfully, but that pretty much goes without saying.)
(Now, as for triads and other topologically-different marital forms, to broach the obvious question: well, it will be an interesting day, Charter-law-wise, when one of those is the best candidate for succession, but it hasn’t happened yet.)
After being nominated, as a check to ensure the process is working properly, they have a triple gauntlet to run:
First, the Senate can veto successions they don’t approve of, which eliminates anyone who either lacks the arete to lead – which, eldrae being eldrae, culls everyone who isn’t an adequately polymathic genius with a history of achievement in multiple fields to prove it – or who can’t garner enough support to lead.
Second, the Eupraxic Collegium can veto anyone who doesn’t meet their strictest standards of sanity and rationality, because no-one wants a crazy person on the throne, even a well-hidden one.
And third, they have to be accepted by the Imperial Presence, the composite mentality of Imperial Couples past dwelling in the Transcend’s mind, as a subset of itself.
…but after fulfilling all those hurdles, then they get to be the officially designated heirs.
1. Just to continue a little on the theme of the Democracy Is Bad trope, while I’m at it, the Imperial opinion of the sort of people we put in charge of various executive branches on Earth is that while the process does ensure that they have some talents in the areas of rhetoric, amateur memetics, and graft, their gifts in the areas of actual leadership and sovereign administration wouldn’t qualify them to run a lemonade stand in, y’know, civilized parts.
Royal Blood: Averted, except inasmuch as those who know they’re going to grow up to be rúner are genetically engineered for a laundry list of desirable traits in people who are expected to hold sovereign authority and use it wisely, rarely, and with great caution.
(Of course, given the nature of civilization, it’s not like any of those traits are specific or restricted to the rúner…)
Kahrsh Pacification Zone
Kaher (Yaffish Marsh)
Even from within the thickly-armored Hellwind-class command tank, and at the entire river’s width, the yells and screams of the mob advancing towards the nearest island, and so the final span of the lengthy bridge were clearly audible. Lieutenant Vikal Karelian, Forty-Third Waserai Regiment, turned from the periscope’s view of shaken fists and thrown stones, and quoted:
“’It is imperative that you prevent the protesters from crossing the Kardenh Bridge under any circumstances. You are authorized to requisition whatever decisive force is necessary to achieve this. It is also essential that collateral casualties be entirely avoided, and casualties overall be held to a minimum, in order to avoid strengthening the grievances of the insurgency.’”
“I would say that that didn’t come from the First Regiment,” Lieutenant Oly Larios – 25th Imperial Night Riders, currently on secondment – replied. “Seein’ as they’ve actually fought an action or two in their time.”
“Local civvy government.” The words were a curse. “Hand-to-hand it is, then. Unless you have one of your tech miracles in your pack?”
Larios’s face blurred out for a moment in thought, and then he grinned. “Actually… I do have an idea. Not a tech miracle, though.” He gestured at the communications equipment. “May I?”
“Be my guest.”
“Flight Operations? Lieutenant Larios, Waserai Occupation Authority. By my command, you will please instruct flight tango lima three one two to perform an emergency cargo dump in two seven, mark… Yes, I’m aware of that. Order is confirmed. Larios, clear.” He flipped the radio back to the local command channel, then reached up and hit switches on the environmental panel. “All units hold position and do not, repeat, do not engage unless directly engaged. Engage chemical protection protocols; recycle all atmosphere. Clear.”
“What!? Minimize casualties – you’re gassing them – belay –”
“Well, not strictly speaking. Just a little something to dampen their enthusiasm. See?” The eldrae held out his slate, one line of text blinking for attention.
Karelian had just enough time to read “FL TL312 (MLV Cloud Hauler): Organics to orbital stations for recycling” before the shit hit the span.