Antediluvixen

From Sick Man to Savior - An 1847 Nation Roleplay

<Snipped quote by Lady Lascivious>

Literally every single one.

Edit: And I'm in a bad mood right now, btw, so let's not debate this further.

@Letter Bee

Guess I shant be joining, then, y'all have fun now. Maybe I can reuse this for something else some day.

From Sick Man to Savior - An 1847 Nation Roleplay

Can you elaborate? Peasant rebellion in Japan leading to regime change? An early and voluntary opening of Japan? Women having rights? Alliance with Russia?

Or literally every single one?

From Sick Man to Savior - An 1847 Nation Roleplay

@Letter Bee
I do indeed have the permission of Russia's player for this, we discussed it in private before I'd even started the sheet.

What exactly do you wish changed

From Sick Man to Savior - An 1847 Nation Roleplay

"The social insecurity of the worker is the real cause of their being a peril to the state."

- Otto von Bismark

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We Nazbol Soviet Japan now

All Your Pacific Are Belong To Us

Government

Name: Provisional Imperial Republic of Japan
Flag/Badge:

Head of State: His Imperial Majesty Emperor Kōmei of Japan
Head of Government: Sei-i Taishōgun, Katayama Kumiko, Shogun of Japan
Ideology: Japanese Republican Imperialism:
An ideology created and espoused by Shogun Kumiko following her stunning military victories in the early days of the civil war. Japanese Republican Imperialism is an ideology espousing the rule and ownership of the nation of Japan by its population rather than by social elites, and the spreading of Japanese influence, culture, and territory through military or economic action. Lands and resources are to be managed for the public good, instead of private profit, and the surplus from this used to further expand the lands and resources of the Japanese state and to bring other peoples into the fold of Japanese society.

Military

Army Numbers: The Imperial Japanese Army practices conscription and is capable of levying hundreds of thousands to supplement its 50,000 strong professional standing army. It is notable for the high number of women in its armed forces.
Navy Numbers: The Imperial Japanese Navy is small, but growing, and efforts are underway to purchase yet more ships from abroad and construct new ones domestically.

• 4 Ships of the Line
• 11 Frigates
• 16 Sloops
• 2 Brigs
• 6 Schooners
• 2 Steamships

Army Equipment: The Imperial Japanese Revolutionary Army is equipped with modern percussion rifled muskets, artillery, and other equipment. Initially these weapons were purchased from abroad, but have recently begun domestic production following the purchase of industrial tooling from abroad.
Naval Ship Types: The Imperial Japanese Revolutionary Navy is small, but counts ships of the line, frigates, sloops, brigs, schooners, and even steamships among its fleet.

History, Expansion, and Economics

Historical Claims: The Provisional Imperial Republic of Japan is overt about its short term goals - annexing Korea, Taiwan, the Sakhalin island, and large swathes of mainland China. In the longer term, they seek to control or influence a much wider sphere, turning the Pacific Ocean to their rule.

History: Point of Divergence: 1840

The Shogun of Japan’s road to greatness began in the year 1840. Bad harvests exacerbated by the poor management and harsh taxation of the Daimyo lead to severe food shortages and riots across the entire nation. Though most of the Japanese people were secluded from the goings on of the wider world, the port city of Nagasaki was not. Hearing news of the ongoing humiliation of Qing China, a young woman living in the farms on the outskirts of Nagasaki began making waves in the local community, insisting the same might happen to them, that if their rulers could not handle the food shortages, what hope did they have against the foreigners?

Initially, she was ignored, belittled, and told to know her place. She was, for a time, regarded as little more than a madwoman - claiming to be a descendent of Tokugawa Ieyasu himself, no less. But her following grew, slowly, as news filtered in from abroad. The year was 1840 when, following the orders of a local magistrate, an order for her arrest was issued. Instead of allowing herself to be taken, the strange woman produced a short sword and slew the two men sent to arrest her.

The rebellion began in earnest, then. Buoyed by her rhetoric, many villagers and townsfolk flocked to her side. Bearing improvised weapons they overran and looted the city’s armory. The rebellion exploded overnight, seizing control of the city of Nagasaki. An army was dispatched by the Shogun to quell the uprising, but in a startling turn of events the rebels, under the stunning leadership of Katayama Kumiko, intercepted and decisively defeated the government forces.

Urgent missives were dispatched from the port of Nagasaki to any foreign empire that might lend an ear. The great bear of the east, the Russian Empire, was the first to respond. Russian ships arrived in Nagasaki, bringing old guns and cannon, powder and shot. With an eerie level of proficiency, Kumiko began the organization of a proper army from her peasant’s rebellion. With fresh supplies, new weapons, and a fanatically devoted and growing army, the Japanese civil war commenced fully. Skillfully lead both tactically and strategically, the growing rebellion pried the country away from the hands of the Shogun and Emperor piece by piece.

In the year 1844, Katayama Kumiko enters Kyoto at the head of her victorious army. The previous Shogun is executed, and with the support of her army she is inducted as the new Shogun of Japan, much to the shock of onlookers both internal and external.

Shogun Kumiko’s reforms begin almost immediately. Trade deals and alliances are forged with the Russian Empire, and the centuries long policy of isolation of the previous Tokugawa Shoguns is abolished overnight. The port city of Nagasaki is transferred to the ownership of the Russian Empire, granting the great power something it has sought for decades if not centuries - a warm water port. Women are empowered by her decree, enforced by her fanatical army, women consisting of up to thirty percent of its number. Weapons, industrial machinery, wondrous technologies, trains, and more are imported as much as the nation’s treasury will allow. The domains of the daimyo are liquidated and transferred to the ownership of the peasants who work them. Foreigners - primarily Dutch and Russian - are permitted, and encouraged, to enter the country in order to spread the technologies of the West. Samurai rebellions are put down with ruthless efficiency, the newly termed Imperial Japanese Revolutionary Army formed around a solid core of veteran soldiers from the civil war, drilled and trained in the style of European warfare. The armies of Japan stand ready to make China bend the knee and make the whole world recognize the Imperial Republic as a force to be reckoned with.

"If we are to stand against the European powers we must learn from them, and take what is rightfully ours by force, lest we be left behind to be crushed beneath their bootheel. The ways of old have served us well, but in the land of the rising sun, we must look forward into this new dawn."

-Katayama Kumiko, Shogun of the Provisional Imperial Republic of Japan

Economic Description: The economy of Japan remains primarily agricultural, but is rapidly modernizing in nearly every conceivable field. Railroads are being rapidly constructed to link as much of the country together as possible. The consolidation of farmland away from the hands of the nobility and into those of farmer’s cooperatives has boosted rice output significantly. The Japanese islands are notably resource-poor, and intensive efforts are underway to secure not only mining and extraction rights within the vast Russian territory of Siberia, but expanding the borders of the empire. At present, Japan relies on imports for its burgeoning industrial sector, built up first on foreign purchased machinery, and subsequently on an increasing number of domestically produced tools.

This is, of course, a massive gamble on the part of the Shogun. The importation of resources and the Shogun’s financial investments on the scale currently being practiced requires an equally vast incentive. The Japanese Yen has been established as a fiat currency, and intensive efforts are underway to build up a proper financial sector of the economy. As it stands, the Japanese economy has two great advantages in building itself up - cheap labor, and cheap goods. The rapidly growing economy is built on a pile of IOUs to foreign creditors, and it is in the island nation’s best interests to make good on every ounce of investment. Resources such as iron and coal flow in to newly founded factories in rivers, and cheap goods flow out to the global market. Though the standard of living has risen, costs remain low in comparison to those factories of Europe, giving the Japanese Empire a chance to grow strong on European gold.

From Sick Man to Savior - An 1847 Nation Roleplay

We might be, but playing the Ottomans, Britain, France, and Russia as NPCs and having them interact with my own Egyptian Sultanate sounds like I'll be playing with myself a lot.

@Letter Bee

Working on a sheet but, Richard already put a sheet up for Russia. I mentioned this to an acquaintance interested in playing France. It'd just be Britain, mainly.

And an NPC nation can also be shared, too. Rather than simply placing all that burden on the GM.

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed] [Soon to be Concluded]

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White Flowers and Cherry Blossoms

---

---

Omar Affan has butterflies in his stomach. He's sitting at his desk, a desk he fought for and earned, at almost fifty-five years old- and somehow he's still getting butterflies in his stomach. No, scratch that: it's Liaison Affan now, not Omar. And those aren't butterflies, they're... potential? Excitement? Hope?

Butterflies, his mind affirms.

So, Omar Affan is almost fifty-five years old, sitting at his brand-new desk, with butterflies in his stomach. He has to read over the Commonality’s message twice. And then three more times. Because what are the odds?

He has spent six solid months reorganizing the government, putting out fires and trying (desperately, hopelessly trying) to make something coherent out of the mess back home on Bezia. Trying to establish a democracy there. And as soon as it seems like they've succeeded, as soon as the first glint of sunrise starts to peak over the mountains- somebody sends them a poem.

If anyone else had been the Liaison, it wouldn't mean much. But Omar Affan is in love with poems. If he had been born in any nation other than the ECU, he likes to think a poet is what he’d be. The more coherent part of his mind knows that’s a fantasy, but the other half- the part of his mind currently conjuring butterflies- wants to believe it. So he can’t help but see it as a sign. The first day he gets back into office, officially becoming the Liaison and Chief Diplomat of the White Flower Democracy, a poem appears before him.

He prays silently: I see Your hand, Truth.

He should really respond to them- and soon, since they currently have some unholy behemoth of a “module” barrelling towards the Meeting Place. But whether it’s the poems or the prayer, something has him in one of those sentimental moods that he treasures so, so much. He ends up opening up his infopad, flipping through it to the file marked “proj” and inside it, a file marked “poem” and inside it, a file that reads:

Cold and cruel for years,
‘Til the air warms at long last:
Spring dawns on Bezia.

He wrote that haiku the day Heralds died. It didn’t feel right to celebrate a man’s death, so he made it to be about a new season. He wanted to say “I’m not glad Heralds went out the way he did: but look, a new life is here!” Instead he ended up writing some pretentious nonsense about spring. But it was close enough.

Alright, Liaison, that’s enough sentiment for this morning that rational part of his mind tells him, and for once, he agrees with it. It really is time to formally answer this “Commonality of New Ishtar.”

And yet…

Oh, fine, he can’t help it. The new arrivals to the Meeting Place have this message directed to their mobile station:

New spring brings new friends,
Brought home to our Mother Earth
A message divine;
We are dispatching two shuttles. They’ll show you the safest place to connect your new module to the Meeting Place, and transmit directions to the White Flower embassy. No way to make that sound poetic. Let’s break bread together.

🙠🙘 🙚🙢

Warm rays of sunshine
Cast aside the dark winter
Stars’ children rejoice
Our appearance is strange. Please, do not be frightened, for we are but daughters of Earth, long lost.

Scheherazade smiled to herself as the message came through and as she sent a response. Sachiko, within the same room and connected to the same feeds, had hugged her tightly after reading it. Even had she known nothing of these White Flowers - fellow lovers of poetry were always to be celebrated.

“Sachiko, fetch me a bottle of the rum we brought for these folks. The nicest stuf- yes, I know, you don’t drink. It’s the one with the fire and roses on the front.”

She shook her head - little exasperations that might have annoyed her in the past now only filled her with greater excitement. She had been alive for well over three hundred earthen years, by her count. She remembered the early colonization of the planet. The hushed rumors. Her appointed guardian had tried to hide her from the them - but there was little to be done. She still remembered the fear that permeated everyone, even if she was not connected to the Net then. The natives of the world - she couldn’t even remember what they had been called. What they had looked like. She remembered fighting against them - that much she remembered clearly. She remembered finally setting down the title of Soldier and becoming who she was now - dreaming of great things to come. Abnormal, in her hope for the future.

And yet she could not remember ever feeling this excited - and anxious - before. Only the arrival of Zeta came close. But that was not so much excitement as… pure wonder. And joy. Ecstatic, mind numbing joy. The Commonality was not alone. By the time the feeling had passed so had any chance of this feeling of excitement. The fluttery feeling in her gut.

The arrival of Zeta was the closing of an old chapter in the Commonality’s history. The history of the Perfected of New Ishtar. A new chapter was unfurling - and it was she who would write its first words. How could one not be anxious or excited?

As the craft neared the Ishtari station module, she allowed herself to relax for the last time in what would probably be quite a while.

An army of volunteer workers aboard the craft set to work with spare materials, beginning the construction of a properly secured connected to the main station. The massive, hulking, Ishtari addition clung to the structure at odds with the comparatively small additions made by other nations and other peoples over time. Scheherazade boarded a small shuttle flanked by a small detachment of guards. An sword from her collection hung at her hip, inward-curving blade held safely in a carved wooden sheath. An ornate dress, halfway between a military uniform and a normal dress, trailed on the floor behind her. She made no move to conceal her face - though the soldiers marching in formation beside her wore helmets that concealed theirs. It would be best to be open and honest - and so, Sachiko, walking beside her in an ornate kimono, mouth slightly agape as she took in the sights around her - had been instructed to do the same.

Despite the ethereal air she put on as she stepped into the foreign space station, she silently prayed that this would not end poorly.

Her prayer was answered, or perhaps interrupted, by a loud voice declaring: "My new friends, welcome!"

Omar's arms stretched out widely, fatherly, like he was about to go in for a hug. His hands reached to either side of the steel corridor they stood in- as the Ishtari would notice, he was fat and broadly built. (But his smile was just as broad.) He wore a long brown shirt that cut off at the knees, skewed slightly at an angle, and his oily hair fell in rings around his head. He wore glasses.

Somewhere behind him, a woman was just barely visible. Her glasses matched his.

"Allow me and my friend Melissa to lead you to our embassy. We have a space set aside just for such meetings." That space was, naturally, the holo-suite: currently programmed into the shape of a spacious 19th century study, complete with shelves of books and antique wooden furniture. (In his thoughts, Omar wanted to see if they could tell the room was artificial.) Gaslight lit the whole space, cozy and old-fashioned. A mahogany table in the middle has just the right number of seats for all of them.

Scheherazade smiled to him - and to Melissa, silently grateful that thus far nothing had been said of their appearances. The room looked… peculiar, though she could not place her finger on what exactly. She looked around the space, taking in the sights - and, were Omar a native of New Ishtar, would have been seen to make their equivalent of a raised eyebrow. “Gas lighting aboard a space station?” She mused, smiling to herself. “Either you White Flowers have nostalgia something fierce for the nineteenth century of Earth - to a potentially dange`rous extent - or this is simulated?” She looked it over, hidden eyes roaming over each inch of the room. “If so, it is remarkably realistic.”

She seated herself across from him, gesturing for Sachiko to do the same.

“Forgive me,” she said, after a moment, “I do not believe I got your name?”

“I’m Omar,” said Omar. “And yes, the room is a simulation. I’m impressed you spotted it! My friend here is-”

“-Melissa.” The woman cut him off. "Who loves Omar like an uncle, but wishes he would let her talk sometimes. And, technically, he's Liaison Affan, but he thinks being informal is charming. I don’t." She smiled, her way of saying that this was all light-hearted. Omar looked at her with eyes that said 'Ouch,' but the smile remained on his face, too.

"Forgive the banter," he told the Ishtari. "Me and Melissa have known each other for a long time. We were both here back when this was the ECU embassy, actually, as the little people. And speaking of: we should address the elephant in the room." Here he took a deep breath, gripping his fingers to the table as Melissa knew he did when he was about to ask something unpleasant.

Scheherazade restrained the urge to wince in preparation for what she knew must be coming. Sachiko was less successful, her head drooping downwards as she averted her attention to anything else. The Zetans had held their curiosity well - especially with no prior warning. But for unmodified humans like these it must b-

"How did you know about the White Flowers before coming to the system? I loved your haiku, personally. I was the one who composed the poem sent back. But- it shows that you already knew we were rebels against an old regime. You said you had a bad Gateway. So did we all, right? How could you have known about what was happening on the other end?"

For a moment, Scheherazade found herself reaching for a pre-prepared response to the man, a carefully formulated recollection of the events that lead to the Ishtari becoming what they now were. It was not until she was opening her mouth to speak that she realized the man across had an altogether different question.

“The Zetans.” She said, smoothly switching tracks. “Our gate in fact opened approximately… six months ago, using earth-time as a metric? However - it was… unstable and closed shortly after. During the brief period it was active however - a small Zetan craft became stranded in our system and made contact. They told us much, and kept us up to speed on goings on out here.” She smiled, “With their aid, when the gate fluctuated open again, we were able to stabilize it and cross. We’d spent the intervening six months building the large module we’re adding to this ‘Meeting Place’ now.”

Sachiko spoke up. “W-when you say bad gateway - they were all bad, yes. But ours was… damaged. It was damaged, or something, nobody knows! But from what we know it was a far less stable Gate than the others until we fixed it!”

Leave the sensitive stuff to me, please. Scheherazade messaged her, silently. You are young yet. We would be best to be careful, even with potential allies.

Sachiko agreed, looking up at the two with a shy smile. “I- I’m glad you enjoyed the haiku. She wrote the others, but I wrote that on- oh!” She slapped a palm to her forehead, “We forgot our own introductions. I am Sister-Sage 43 Sachiko Treasures The Beauty In The Universe!” She gestured to the woman beside her, nearly identical in every way save for their disposition, the visible tattoos, and manner of dress. “This is Sister-Sage 192 Scheherazade Dreams Of Many Great Things.” A slight nod and easy smile from Scheherazade confirmed her words.

Omar nodded, his face bouncing a little as he did. "The Zetans. Alright. And a broken Gateway?" But his eyes lit up at the names- something in them sounded like the haikus they received. “So poetic!” he commented. “Your names, I mean, I’m sorry. ‘Dreams of Many Great Things.’ That’s… beautiful.”

He wondered what his name would be, in that society. ‘Writes Poems Nobody Will Read,’ maybe. Or ‘Eats Far Too Much Pork.’ What a unique way to express a person.

But his wondering was interrupted. In front of his eyes, on the interior of his glasses and visible only to him, a sea of words decided to float by. Some of the words were surprised, some were excited, and some were just misspelled and incoherent: because they were randomly-selected comments from different Flower citizens, who were currently reacting to all this news with him. As per the new rules of this direct democracy, citizens were allowed a say in all manners government. Including diplomacy. Every few moments, he received input from the people of Bezia.

Oh, yes, Omar realizes. He was supposed to inform the Ishtari about this.

"Forgive me, my friends," Omar says, "but I realize I've forgotten to inform you about an important regulation of ours. You see, these glasses me and Melissa both wear are, well-" he scratched the back of his neck- "cameras. Right now, as we speak, a live feed of everything we see is being sent back home to Bezia. Approximately fifty million Flower citizens are watching these proceedings. After this meeting, they themselves will vote on our future relations with your people. I have no special sway over this process." He lifted his chin. This was a feature he was quite proud of. "You see, it is our goal as a society to allow every person a say in every action taken by the government, and that requires full transparency. Please pardon my not mentioning it earlier."

Melissa smiled awkwardly. "You can pardon him for the idea, too. He's the man who thought of using cameras and votes for diplomacy. I fully blame him.”

Scheherazade grinned widely, as did Sachiko beside her. For a moment, they paused - as the Commonality again declared its approval to them, urging them to share in kind.

“Well,” she said, relaxing slightly. “First of all, my greetings to the people of the White Flower Democracy - and…” pausing for effect, she added, “Greetings from the 4.6 billion people of the Commonality of New Ishtar. Just as you see through those cameras, they’re seeing everything as well.” She nodded to Omar. “This is splendid news. Truly.” She said, smiling. “I am glad that our first contacts with the other children of humanity have been with likeminded people such as you and Zeta.”

Omar chuckled, pleased- even while some people at home still bristled about being compared to the Zetans.

Sachiko spoke up, grinning even more widely than her compatriot as she eagerly leaned in, fully engaged with the conversation now. “And thank you for the compliments. We know our names are unusual - well, we know now - but we agree! Think of them as an indicator of where you are in your life now. The things you’ve seen and witnessed. The values you hold. What defines you? They’re… they’re like a prophecy and a reflection of the past rolled into one.” She explained, positively beaming. Omar listened along, obviously interested. She opened her mouth to speak again, but was cut off by a gentle upraised finger from a smiling Scheherazade.

“To clarify - the Commonality of New Ishtar likewise shares this belief. We are all equal. We are all connected to each other. Everyone must have her voice heard.”

“Or their. Or his.” Sachiko amended, to which Scheherazade chuckled and nodded her head.

“That too, yes, forgive me.”

Melissa spoke up now: “Yes, while we’re talking, I wanted to ask about that. In your earlier message to us, the second, uh… haiku?” Omar nodded. “Yes, after the second ‘haiku’ you describe yourself as ‘daughters of Earth.’ I wondered, from that, and from both of you here being women, if your society might be-” she hesitated, still new to this position, so the other Flower ambassador finished for her: “Matriarchal.”

Scheherazade shook her head softly. “No, no, not in the slightest.” She laughed, “I’m afraid the answer’s nowhere near that simple. We are…” She frowned. There was no easy out from this situation she’d roped herself into. Honesty had proven the best policy thus far - and so honesty it would remain.

Even if it felt strange to say it out loud.

“We’re clones.” She said, bluntly. “Approximately ninety five percent of the population - around 4.4 billion - of us are clones of the same woman from our ship. She is- was, known as Tiamat. We have no record of her real name. The remainder of our population is composed of individuals cloned from a few other Primary Strains - but Tiamat’s DNA was uniquely adaptable and tolerant of the process. It is an… unfortunate state of affairs but one we have made do with - Sachiko’s tattoos, for instance, are one way we use to distinguish ourselves.”

The two Flower diplomats both fell silent. Their glasses chose the perfect time to display another round of citizen comments, and before them were words of raw reaction:

"Like the One?"
"Oh, fuck, of course there would be something weird"
"Freaks. Let's call them what they are. Get out of there."
"This is why we're the only colony still really human."
"Y'all, it's not their fault."
"at least their still alive right"
"Always some shit. They even human anymore? Look at their faces."

They both knew these were only the poorly thought-out words of a handful of citizens. The formal votes would not come until later, after everyone had time to process this information, after the news channels had talked it to death, and after everyone had well and truly decided which camp they fell into. But still- this was the flavor of Bezia's initial reaction. Omar's heart sank.

He shifted in his chair. The atmosphere of the room had changed. When, at last, he spoke, his smile was gone: "I see. Thank you for sharing that with us." The fake gaslights kept burning.

Scheherazade nodded. “I can see from your reaction this hasn’t gone over well.” She sighed, “We will leave if you wish it - but…” she drew breath, pondering for a moment how to phrase the words properly. “Zeta has told us of another colony - The One.” She looked to him - and to the cameras rolling on them. “We are nothing like them. We are individuals.”

Sachiko nodded. “Every one of us is a different person. We’re… we look the same. But we’re all different people.” She tried to force a smile, “W-we have another, Istir, she didn’t want to come with us but she’s a soldier through and through! We h-have poets. Artists. Writers. Sculptors. Chefs who’ve made the most amazing dishes. We’ve cr-created a world where everyone can do what they truly love. Just… give us a chance?”

Scheherazade, for once, could not bring herself to interject, merely nodding, her mouth dry.

"It's not their fault," Omar mumbled. His voice was under his breath. But he said nothing else, so his co-worker filled in for him:

"I see," she said. "Yes, that is very interesting. I'm sure our people will take that into account during the upcoming voting session. In fact, we are allies with the One-"

Omar grumbled something inaudible. His hands were gripping the table again.

"-who helped us defeat the Oligarchical regime during the White Flower Revolution. So I think it is a shame that you say you are nothing like them. But me and my 'uncle' Omar here do not have a say in this, anyway. It will be to the people." She paused, waiting for her friend to say something. When he didn't, she spoke again: "I will tell you, based on the reactions me and Omar are seeing, they feel a little uneasy. But I'm sure you're both very busy. We will inform you as to the results of the vote. Thank you for your ti-"

"No," said Omar, quietly. His voice had lost its usual boisterous joy: it was something like a low growl. "No, no. It's not their fault." He stood up. He said things clearly now: "It's not their fault they think like this. Our people are- brainwashed. There, I said it." Melissa's mouth dropped open. Is he really going to do this now? Omar looked over to the foreigners. "I'm sorry, I do try to control my feelings normally. But right now, Bezia is watching. And they need to hear this.

"Listen to me, countrymen" he spoke, turning to look into Melissa’s glasses, letting the cameras zoom into his face, "I can see your reactions, your comments- but this isn't us. We are not the people who judge another based on how they look, or where they come from, or, Truth forbid it, what they went through to survive. All that is the Oligarchs. That's their thinking, and that's their hatred. We are the people of Bezia; we're better than they are. I know, I know, you've heard their poison your whole lives, from every screen and every speaker: but it isn't you. We fought a revolution to rid ourselves of those tyrants. Are we going to be their mouthpieces now?" He shook his great head firmly. "I won't be."

He looked back to the Ishtari now. "Forgive us. The ECU was... backwards. They tried to push that on to us. But I believe my people are prepared to be better than they were." Let's just hope they don't make me a liar, he thought silently. "You are welcome to stay and speak with us."

Sachiko seemed on the verge of tears as she shook in her seat. Scheherazade’s hair stood on end, adrenaline pumping through her system now as she had prepared for the Ishtari delegation to be ejected. She had been unprepared for the reactions of the two before her, and uncertainly looked between them, genuinely at a loss for what to say in response for far longer a time than she would have liked.

When she spoke again, her voice was shaky, and she stuttered much like Sachiko for a second, before breathing deeply, calming herself down. “We were… we were told about the ECU by the Zetans, yes.” She said, weighing her words carefully. “We know they will have given us their account of things, but we know that your people were once ruled by their Oligarchs. That you fought a bloody revolution to liberate yourselves from their grasp. We… we were eager to know there was another direct democracy out there. We sent you our missive in hopes we could help your people build your own stronger. To build a better society.”

Sachiko looked up, “W- we would have helped you, if w-we’d been here. We would have sent… guns. Tanks. Soldiers.” Her voice was shaky, inconsistent, it quavered with every word she spoke. “We- the One- I…” she trailed off, taking a shaky, heavy breath, glancing towards Scheherazade, before speaking more. “What we know of them is scary. To us. W-we were nearly destroyed by something similar. Twice. A hive mind. Many bodies, no individuality. Murderous. Cannibalistic. Formed from humans, and they…” she struggled to continue, finally losing her control.

“We don’t want to be like this!” She shouted, with more force than she had anticipated. “We don’t want to all have the same face! What, do you think we’ve not tried to change it? We can’t! Not without fundamentally changing who we are! Whatever the fuck happened with us, we’re stuck with it! Who are you,” she half-shouted, half cried, to the cameras that rolled on them, “to judge us?! We went through hell! Our people went thr-”

She was cut off, finally, by Scheherazade who at last raised a hand, placing it on her shoulder and pulling her towards her into a hug, throwing a glance towards the other two as if daring them to say anything. Wordlessly, the Ishtari soldiery who had accompanied them filed out of the room- though a keen observer would notice the tension in their body languages as they did so.

“You are wise, Omar.” She said, forcing a hint of a smile. “You were wondering about our names earlier. Were you one of ours I might suggest ‘Stands Firm In Defense Of His Truths’.” She smiled, more genuinely, “Just as your whole nation exists, because you and your people stood firm for what was right. Ultimately, the choice is your people’s - and we would not have it any other way.”

Omar breathed deeply. That made them look good for the cameras, at least.

She paused, watching them for a second. “That said… would you two follow me for a moment, if you would?” She suggested, raising a hand pre-emptively in case of objections. “To our section of the station. They’ve completed the connection already. Let me show you - and your people - what we Ishtari are like. Not with words. You know full well how they can be twisted.” She stood, reaching out a hand. “Bring guards, if you’d like - bring as many as you want. Let them see too. We were planning on perhaps a bit more… fanfare, but I think it fitting.”

The Flowers, in the end, brought only one guard: a visibly thin, young man. This was another signal from Omar, to his countrymen, saying 'I trust these people not to hurt us.' It's debatable whether that message went through. For the people of Bezia, sights are worth more than signs; the cameras eagerly ate up what they saw.

Scheherazade guided them through the module with an unexpectedly practiced ease. At times they would pass an Ishtari guard, who acknowledged the group with a terse nod before continuing their patrol. The module was almost empty, running on a near skeleton crew. The Ishtari would not risk a full delegation’s complement on a gate they did not have faith in - or on foreign nations they did not know.

The hallways were richly decorated. Elaborate paintings of scenery from the world of New Ishtar, or of more abstract concepts dotted the walls. Elegant engravings in the metal helped one scene to flow to the next. Every inch of the station seemed equal part work of art and meticulously engineered construction. However, only a fraction of the station was seen - Scheherazade lead them to the main hall of the station where, dead ahead, lay the garden.

Wordlessly, she brought them into its airlock, a small smile on her lips before she opened the doors to the garden, sweeping an arm out as the cameras adjusted to the change in lighting.

The garden stretched out before them for, seemingly, an infinite space. As they stepped through the door fully, it sealed behind them leaving a near three-dimensional imitation of the intended surrounding scenery. Scheherazade grinned, and beside her, Sachiko nervously smiled. Omar’s lips formed an open-mouthed “wow” expression.

The garden was immaculate. Carefully grown or transplanted over the period of six months, twenty hectares of land stretched out before them brimming over with the light pink cherry blossoms, a gently flowing stream emerged from a cluster of stones beside them, flowing under a small bridge that lead to one of the numerous ornate structures in the garden. Occasionally, an Ishtari gardener could be seen meandering through the garden in something resembling traditional clothing, tending to the plants within or simply enjoying the fruits of their labor.

“Take a look around.” Scheherazade said, gesturing to the garden. “Once we’ve settled in it will be open to any on board the station. From what we knew it seemed… somewhat dreary on board, and thus our gardeners took it upon themselves to begin this project. It was not easy, but most of us agree it was worth it. Consider it a gift to the station here. And then, I implore you, consider what else we can offer your people.”

“Oh,” Omar said, “it sure has been ‘somewhat dreary’ aboard. I catch myself going to a holo-suite for a ‘breath of fresh air.’” He chuckled at himself. “And speaking of!”

He cheerly bent over, smelled a flower- a white-ish one, at that- plucked its petal off, and stuck it in his mouth. (Melissa had to fight the urge to let her jaw drop again.) He chewed it over a bit, stuck his tongue out, plucked the flower right back off, and declared, “It’s not a hologram! Oh, praise the Truth, I thought I wouldn’t see a real flower for as long as I was at the Meeting Place.”

“Liaison Affan,” Melissa hissed.

“Yes? Oh! Yes.” Omar straightened out. “Thank you, people of the Commonality of Ishtar, for letting us see this room. It seems it is not only your names and your poetry that has a capacity for such great beauty.” He looked outwards, staring at the indoor horizon. “It’s ironic. You told me my name might have been ‘Stands Firm In Defense Of His Truths.’ Did you know that Truth is the name of my God? It’s what we call It; they say Its true name is hidden. Not all Flowers worship, but a few of us do.” He was at ease in the garden. “The Zetans probably couldn’t have told you that. We have yet to heal all our old wounds with them. But the people of my world are not the two-dimensional invaders they saw us as. That was the Oligarchs. Free of them, we have much beauty in our society, like you have here. I hope one day we will be able to show it to them. But baby steps.” He reached over and ran his fingers along the flower he had plucked, gently. “You are a unique people. I hope our two cultures will know each other.”

Scheherazade grinned. “How fortuitous! They did not tell us, no. But I am glad it fits so well.” She began walking, beckoning the two to follow her. “Come, there are quiet places to meditate. But I think one of the small huts here will make for better conversation.”

She lead the small group through, gesturing them inside before taking a seated position on the floor, still grinning. “Like I said - this place will be open to all at a later date, once we are firmly established. But let us talk here for now. If you would like I can have food or drink brought here.”

Sachiko took a position beside her, “S-so what we know of your society- your old society, I mean. Um - you were all about preserving the culture of old earth right?”

"Many of us still are," Melissa says.

Sachiko smiled. “We weren’t quite as uh… dedicated. But the crew of the Ishtar primarily came from certain regions of old earth. The…” she paused for a moment, mentally pulling together the words in English before she spoke. “Philippines, Japan, and Iran.” She pointed to the outfit she wore, and to the sword on Scheherazade’s hip, then gestured to the building and gardens that surrounded them. “It’s all around us. We’ve changed, physically - it’s true yes. But we’re… we’re still like you! We still remember some of old earth.” She smiled, shyly - though the concealment of her eyes impaired it somewhat.

But Omar understood what she was trying to do, and made himself smile back. He never cared for culture the way others of his world did; he loved the strange and the beautiful, like the Ishtari had been today. His friend Melissa, on the other hand-

“I greatly value those cultures,” he heard her say. “I was close friends with a man whose ancestors came from Old Japan. But… I do think his CCE was American Western, rather than Japanese.”
“Mhmm,” said Omar. He explained to the Ishtari: “In our society, CCE means 'Chosen Cultural Expression.' It represents..." how to explain it to a complete stranger? "It represents not just the culture your ancestor comes from, like our friend's family coming from Old Japan, but also... how you present yourself. What you associate with. It's part of who you are. It's sometimes the first question one Hollywoodite- or, uh, Flower, I mean- will ask about someone they've met. So it is good news to us that you still remember the cultures of Earth's great past." He tapped his chest. "We keep them close. Mine is Arabic- Saudi Arabian, to be real specific. Melissa likes to say she’s American. Very boring."

The two Ishtari nodded, looking between each other with an indecipherable expression.

Scheherazade spoke. “Well, as mentioned, most of us are based on the template of a single woman. We don’t have much information on her - though we know she was born in the Philippines on old earth and was a well known war hero and geneticist. Cloning had already been mandated after we suffered catastrophic population losses due to… numerous calamitous events. We didn’t keep the cultures of old earth separate, as a result - but tried to preserve whatever we could. Our language for instance - we had nearly forgotten English before contact with Zeta. Our language is based on a fusion of old earth Filipino, Assyrian, Persian, Japanese, and Esperanto. Over time, certain trends became more dominant than others, or fused with some to create hybrids - such as the martial arts we practice.”

Sachiko nodded, adding on. “It was partly done to… give us something to hold on to, so to speak? Even through war and cataclysm we could take comfort in holding on to stuff from earth, even as we had to adapt to survive.”

“Even so, we created much in the way of new culture, often built off the old.” Scheherazade said, stroking her chin as she spoke. “The idea of preserving culture in such a manner as your own people is certainly unique. I’m not sure if it would have been right for us - but maintaining some memory of old earth is of course to be respected.” She went silent for a while, trying to think of some response.

Sachiko looked thoughtful. “So was there pressure to maintain the same culture you were born into, was it a lifelong commitment? What did you do to keep them from intermixing?” She leaned forward, focused on the camera. “Did you develop the hologram stuff to help with that? To help depict a home or something else from a certain culture or era more easily?”

Omar grimaced beneath his grin, but Melissa spared him by answering: “There is some expectation on us to remain in our family’s CCE, but it is not all-encompassing. We can choose and change our own as adults.” She didn’t mention that changing it too often is a social stumble- people start to criticize. “Especially because we so often have culturally mixed families. We don’t stop the intermixing, so long as everyone maintains their own identity, if that makes sense? My father represents Ethiopian culture, and my mother is French. She stayed French, he’s still Ethiopian. But me… when I was a kid, I saw this holo-film about America. I can’t remember it very well. But it made that world look so nice, so free and pretty, I… I knew that was where I belonged.”

“And there you have the answer to your holo-suite question,” Omar said. “They help us depict the things we haven’t been able to recreate on Bezia. A window into the past, you might say.”

“Plus all the best culture parties are there,” Melissa smirked.

Sachiko nodded, digesting the information as she sat. “Wait - culture party?” She cast a sideways glance at Scheherazade before continuing. “Like… a party to celebrate a specific culture or a way for people from different cultures to experience others? Or were they restricted to people practicing those cultures? Was it a way for people in the same cultural groups to get to know each other better?”

She raised a hand to her mouth, giving a polite cough. “Er, sorry for so many questions. Your people are interesting! And unique! I- you probably want to know more about us I’m sorry but I mean you know ho-”

Scheherazade smiled, raising a hand. “Easy there, maybe let them respond first.” She shook her head, feigning exasperation. She turned to Omar and Melissa, “Sachiko here would be considered an expert on old earth culture among our own. Finding your people has gotten her rather excited.”

“Her first guess was right,” Melissa laughed. “I dragged Omar to one about America the other week. I think all he enjoyed was the hotdogs.” But then she cleared her throat, going back to the formal persona she was trying to keep on. “I’m sure the people of the WFD appreciate the interest. Cultural experts are deeply regarded. If your Sachiko were one of us, she might be leading the delegation.”

Sachiko beamed in response, her expression brightening instantly at his words. “Thank you!” She exclaimed, “I’ve always found that sort of thing interesting.”

A beat passes.

“Well, now that we’ve been getting to know each other a little better,” Melissa went on, “I hope you won’t mind my asking, but… where did the, um,” she motioned her hands over her eyes, and braced herself emotionally while she did, “what purpose do the- the bone growths serve?”

Immediately, the two visibly tensed. The temperature of the room seemed to cool noticeably by several degrees as the cheerful expression dropped from Sachiko’s face, and Scheherazade’s became an impassive, stony wall.

“We don’t know. We didn’t make them.”

Sachiko bit her lip, visibly wanting to speak up - but backing down after a second.

Scheherazade continued. “They are mutations. Beyond our control. Beyond, seemingly, mere genetic code. We have tried, many, many times to purge ourselves of them. But, among other things you have doubtless noticed - we have been unsuccessful.”

She looked to the two of them - and to the cameras scrolling her face to millions of people. Even though her eyes were obscured, the intensity of the expression she fixed them with could not be underestimated. “I am over three hundred years old, using earth as a measuring stick. You may wonder if this means I remember Old Earth. It has been three hundred years, or so, since humanity fled it after all.” She paused, “We thought all of you dead. Starved. Gone. Humanity reduced to nothing but ash and cinder, and us. You see - when our vessel traveled through the Gate it was… trapped? When the Gateways collapsed, our vessel was transported to… the best way to describe it would be a pocket outside of reality as we know it. Our people saw… horrible things, terrifying things whilst trapped there. And as best we can reckon - unless we are missing part of our own history, which is sadly very possible, we were trapped in that nightmare for approximately five hundred and seventy years.”

Sachiko took a nervous breath. “I-it was during that time that we slowly began to notice the mutations. But there was nothing we could do. So many people died then. We nearly died out several times over. War. Famine. Disease. Madness. Cloning was the only way to survive. By the time our ancestors realized mutation like this had taken hold, it was too late to do anything.”

Scheherazade nodded, her attention never turning away from the representatives across from her, as if daring them or their people to suggest there had been any other way, any other alternative. That it might be their fault.

Omar was wordless- a rare thing. He stared inwards at them for a long, long time, looking into where their eyes should be. He'd never heard a story like that; and he was a man who read many stories and many epic poems.

He said at last, "I see. I'm no scientist, so I won't pretend I could ever understand what happened to you. But I can see for myself how it has affected your people... I'm sorry."

Melissa asked, "But could the growths be removed physically? That is, surgically?" She thinks, if she had been born with such a horrible looking growth, she'd claw it out with her hands if she had to.

("Shush, Melissa," Omar tries to say softly, but the words are already out.)

Scherazade frowned. “Oh, certainly.” She said, her voice even and betraying no hint of emotion. “Surgically? Of course we can do it. But it’s an invasive and extremely painful procedure requiring extensive skin grafting, lifelong use of pain medications afterward, and numerous surgeries afterwards to prevent their regrowth. It requires subsequent neurosurgeries and intensive monitoring to disentangle the nerve endings that extend into them, and not even touching on the long term optic damage. But, certainly, it is doable! Theoretically it is doable via more refined flesh sculpting techniques as well, but resulting in many of the same drawbacks including the continuous growth of the tissue.”

She looked to Melissa, steepling her fingers as she leaned in, focusing intently on the woman. “But let me ask you a question in turn, if I may. Ultimately - this is who we are. It’s a mark of the things we have survived and triumphed over. I can hear the unspoken words in your voice. I can imagine what your people have been saying. Would you have us - four and a half billion of us - change ourselves so drastically in order to look how you think we ought to look? Would you have us change ourselves, regardless of the difficulties I have described, to make you comfortable? To fit the mold you have in mind for humanity? Is our appearance so unusual? Reflect for a moment, I ask you, and then ask yourself something, Melissa. Would you really want us to be something different, to change who we are, because you don’t like how we look?"

Scheherazade drew back, watching her coolly. “The realization of the extent of the mutation caused many on board the generation ship to attempt to kill my own ancestors. They believed us a ‘contagion’. They unleashed horrific biological weapons. Gunned them down in cold blood. All because of these mutations. I ask you to consider the impact your words might have on a people who have been through so much. They want nothing more than peace with your people, to offer our aid to your people in rebuilding - but they are wary. I do not think you speak from a place of malice, but… consider.” After a moment, she added, “All of you.”

Melissa held silent for a second. Then, all at once, she blurted: "I'm sorry. I mean... I apologize."

Scheherazade nodded. “You are better than those who came before you.” She said both to Melissa and to the cameras after a moment had passed. “Even if you do not decide you wish to work with us, I thank you for hearing us out. The garden will remain open to your people either way.”

It had been difficult for Melissa to say that, more than the Ishtari could possibly realize. Omar and her both knew the history their society had with modified humans- the war on Zeta, the years of propaganda. They were both on the Meeting Place when it happened, as smaller, sub-Oligarch staff. And the people remembered it too. Another round of reactions displays itself for the two delegates, much the same as the last. Almost identical. But this time, just maybe, a few more people have sympathy.

Somewhere far beneath the surface, change is happening. One person at a time.

~~~~~~~~~~
Some time later

The Ishtari, for better or for worse, caught the attention of the media machine. Their strange appearance, the long discourse, the spectacle of a space-station garden- it all combined to make for the perfect news bait. Clips and pictures of them circled back and forth on Bezia, bouncing from infopad to screen back to infopad, from one person to another, again and again. Scheherazade's speech gained special attention. So did the knowledge of a fellow direct democracy, outside Zeta.

Arguments were had. Opinions were aired. The whole subject was talked ad nauseam. Then the vote came round.

Omar breathed a deep, shuddering breath when he opened his infopad to check the results, early one morning. He wanted to look at it before he even stood out of bed.

On the matter of pursuing positive relations with the Commonality of New Ishtar...

Votes In favor: 64%
Votes Opposed: 36%

The Proposal passes. The White Flower Democracy will open its borders to Ishtari, begin sharing information with their Commonality, and dispatch an official representative to serve at an embassy in their segment of the Meeting Place. They will take opportunities to grow a working relationship. Omar hummed happily to himself, and decided he can afford another hour's sleep.

The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP

The Council of Nikea: Brains and Beauty

---

The vast scope of the Council hall was writ ever more vast by the absence of the assembly. Still the chamber buzzed with a sense of capacity, but not in the physical sense. The psychic wrath of the Emperor still crackled through the air, the ire of the Master of Mankind scorching the air with the metallic tang of the Immaterial.

"It would seem there is one matter yet to address.” Despite the more intimate company of fewer figures, the Master of Mankind’s tone did not waver from the uncompromising force of will that had defined his final proclamations of the council as he beheld those he had bid remain, motioning with one hand to the quiet, poised figure of Sekhmetara. “A daughter provides me with wrongs performed by another son, of a less grand extent most certainly, but still a matter that requires addressing.

“The efforts of your Stargazers have merit, Augor, but my will has ever been that each Legion is beholden to none but the Imperium and their Primarch. The work of Corneceus Sicanus has been brought to my attention. I would have you explain upon what authority he acts.” The Emperor’s tone eased somewhat as he addressed the remaining male Primarch, certainly lacking the personal condemnation leveled against the charges that had shortly been heard in the chamber, and would no doubt proceed after this matter had been addressed. When the Emperor’s eyes turned to the paler of his daughters remaining, his words were clipped, dealing with the matter in a cold manner.

Augor, for the first time since the Council had begun, looked as though he had been caught entirely off-guard. He had visibly recoiled where he still stood before his podium, and even without eyes the lines of stricken apprehension were evident upon his face. The remainder of the Twelfth Legion’s retinue had likewise seemed to stir with a mixture of upheaval, the Consuls evidently taken aback, muttering to themselves in Lingua-Technis and gazing between the Emperor and the Twelfth Primarch.

After several unsettled moments, Augor appeared to recover. He grasped his podium with both hands and took in a long, shuddering breath before he began to speak. As he did so, it took several moments for the onlookers to realize that he was not addressing anybody in particular - rather, he was speaking to the room at large.

”They shall stand, adamant clad, and they shall be his angels of death. They shall carry with them the light of Sol Invictus, the unconquered, and all shall know them and hearken only to despair. Every step they shall take will be his grace and shall advance the destiny of man. For them to witness their enemies shall be to know victory, for they shall be the leaden spear of death as it sweeps across the stars. Their word itself shall be truth, and their veracity shall unmake all deceit and all of man shall be reunited in his splendor. They shall stand no ignominy, and all challenge will break futilely about their frames, for their very grasp shall see the dominion of man eternal stead.”

The recitation was familiar to all in the chamber. Even if they had not heard the exact refrain before, the recognition of what it must have been was evident. Every Marine in the chamber had heard, and spoken, a passage much like it. Augor intoned the whole of it, his head lowered faintly, his posture fervent. Only at its closing did he raise his head, and when he did, the Twelfth Primarch barked out a booming, exigent imperative - even with the Sigilite impeding the expression of power, his words were tinged with a hint of impulsive force that demanded answer.

”ASTARTES!” The Primarch of the Twelfth Legion boomed, setting most of his own retinue aback in startlement - save for the Consuls and Praetors amongst their number, who had sprung to attention, and even a few of the marines amongst the processions of the other Legions seemed to stir as realization crashed upon them.

”WHAT IS YOUR LIFE?”

His own marines, clustered about him at his podium, answered immediately in resonant chorus. “My honor is my life.” They all answered, their voices raising to the peak of the chamber.

”WHAT IS YOUR FATE?”

“My duty is my fate.” This time, the answer did not come merely from Augor’s marines. Either due to the subtle, demanding power laced through his tone, or due to their own compulsion and bond, a small number of marines about the room added their own murmured answer to the reply.

”WHAT IS YOUR FEAR?”

“My fear is to fail.” Additional voices from about the room joined in the chorus - and before those who had only muttered, now spoke with voices aloft.

”WHAT IS YOUR REWARD?”

“My salvation is my reward.” The voices rose in volume.

”WHAT IS YOUR CRAFT?”

“MY CRAFT IS DEATH.” The answer coursed through the room, nearly matching the intensity of the Twelfth Primarch in its own fervor.

”WHAT IS YOUR PLEDGE?”

”MY PLEDGE IS ETERNAL SERVICE.” The answer had risen to a roar that clashed with Augor Astren’s call.

Evidently satisfied, Augor loosened his grip on the podium before him, raising his bionic hands and beckoning to those assembled in the chamber.

“Astartes, you all who have avowed your honor and your exaltation, you who are the greatest warriors to ever live - when you swore the Oath of Moment, to which body did you pledge your service?”

The answer that came to him came now only from his own Marines, the hint of power that had laced his words before now gone. “To the Legion.”

“And when you swore the Oath of Moment, to whom did you pledge your loyalty?”

“The Primarch.”

“And when you swore the Oath of Moment, to what did you swear the whole of your being?”

This time, the answer was split - for a brief moment, it seemed as though other marines from about the room would again begin to take up the call - but the moment ended when the two rivaled words met in the air.

”The Omnissiah.” “The Emperor.”

A silence fell across the room, an awkward series of exchanged glances crossing the space between the assembled Legions as Augor Astren simply gazed on serenely, as though he had not heard the discordance in the response.

“There can be no doubt that all who stand amongst us and count themselves Astartes, are the greatest and highest servants of the Emperor. We are his instruments, his weapons, the very manifestation of his invincible will. This is not a status of privilege. It is earned, through service and honor - and through avowal. It is not a stature attained and hoarded, it is a height from which we all must endeavor to never fall.” He paused, sweeping the room with his blind sight before carrying on.

“It is a call to be answered - and to fail to answer is to forsake what it is, to be Astartes. So now, hear me all, - those amongst us here who would rather die than continue to serve the Emperor, step forth.”

Silence reigned. The chamber was still.

“The autonomy of the Legions is inviolate to most ends - it is known.” Augor finally spoke. “It ends only and whence loyalty falters. None have dared, now, to step forth, for they know in their hearts the true depths of the oaths they have made and must keep. It is only whilst in the throes of pain beyond reckoning that this certainty waivers, and it is therefore at that juncture where intervention is necessary. The Apothecaries of the Twelfth Legion do not infringe upon the sovereign authority of the Legions. They are saviors, tasked with the renewal of the highest oaths and curses ever sworn by man. There is no denying that even the Astartes succumb to pain and doubt - and that is why the work of Corneceus Sicanus and his acolytes is necessary. It is the duty of all Astartes to aid each other in overcoming all burdens, all hazards, and all perils - and it is also the duty of all Astartes, where one of their own forsakes their oaths, to rebuke the failing.” Augor cast his hands out to the assembled Legions.

”Our service to the Emperor does not end at our willing. The bonds of our glory and our hate to the one who stands above all cannot permit it. All here know this to be true- it is what you swore. It is what you avowed.” He lowered his hands to grip once more at his podium.

“I say again.” His voice was as even as polished marble as just as cold. “Any who would rather perish than continue to serve The Emperor of All Mankind, Master of the Cosmos, come forth!” He then turned his gaze to the Emperor, at long last.

“Father. The work cannot end. If even one mind in this room thinks such a thing, it is a failure, a betrayal of the most profound and abhorrent kind, and evidence of the necessity of our intervention. If none do, then there can be no rational objection to the practice.”

He then turned his gaze back to the assembled room. “Well?” He demanded. “Who here dares to think light of their vows? Who here speaks, whose word means nothing? Who here spoke lies to the pledge, whose heart is naught but insipid ashes to be swept away? If you have not the audacity to reveal yourselves, then let there be no more protestation, for the deliverance of the maimed and crippled must be carried out.”

The silence which met Augor’s display proved almost as deafening as his words and those of his sons. None of those present in the entourage of Sekhmetara stepped forwards, in fact, those few Tears of Dawn who stood in her company had joined the chorus, and their Primarch among them offered them no reproach. The Emperor himself did not act to interrupt, the seething din of his psychic might refraining from direct interaction with this, the plane of reality.

“The loyalty of your sons has never been in question.” The Emperor spoke with a softness which still carried across the room, the force of his personality rippling through the air like a surge through the storm, no matter the tone. With just as much care, the Emperor’s eyes settled on Nimue, before intoning, “Speak your piece.”

“Augor.” Nimue said, deadpan, unimpressed eyes only mildly conveying her annoyance at her brother’s long routine getting in her way. “You are very quick to align whatever you say with The Emperor’s Will. I care not for your drivel, the Astartes of the Seventh Legion are mine, and only mine. It was ordained as such by The Emperor when he gave the then Iron Maidens to me, and I would do with them as I see fit. My Celestial Inheritors follow my will, and through my will The Emperor’s. By your man, Corneceus, doing his work, he rejects and desecrates the inviolability of my command over my Daughters. If I say them dying forwards The Emperor’s will, then so does The Emperor.”

“Your word is not that of the Emperor’s, sister. None of the Primarchs may speak as to his will beyond what he has dictated - that is something which I have repeated, adamantly, every wretched day of this Council since it started, seeming though as it now does that my words fell on deaf ears each and every single time.” Augor’s face twisted in displeasure. “Unless I hear otherwise from the One Who Stands Above All, there can be no sane recourse but to reject your seditious will in this matter. Your Astartes, like all of us, are HIS Soldiers even before they are yours. Or have you forgotten the oath you have sworn, the glorious promise we all should strive to keep? I have already spoken as to the matter of the sovereignty of the Legions, but I did not speak then for your benefit or rebuttal. What I spoke then is objective reality, the state of things as they are and as they should be, and there is but one force in all of the universe that may decree otherwise.”

“I would speak.” With only a small pause for appearance’s sake, the Primarch of the Sixteenth Legion turned her attention to Augor, leaving Nimue to silently sneer at the unwanted aid. “We have witnessed the atrocities visited upon my Legion by those of the Ninth, brother. Are these horrors not still fresh within your mind?” She stood fully, gaze boring into him as she spoke. “Your Legion accepts no injury as enough, yes? No matter how grievous, your Corneceus and his ilk will salvage even naught but the brain of an Astartes and implant it into a body of metal. Tell me, brother - would you have done the same to my daughter, Anastasia? Do you mean to imply that?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation or reticence to be found in Augor’s countenance as he replied. He almost seemed to relish in the exultation the answer gave him. “Her theft from this world before she could be saved is a tragedy - and your so-called mercy nothing less or more than an execution.”

“Then you and your cult have forsaken yourselves and humanity.” She said simply, her expression darkening, staring at him with a growing revulsion and hatred. “What our sister Nelchitl did for her, that I could not bring myself to, was a kindness. She had gone through enough - more than enough. The Astartes are still human. And yet you would see them pushed to fight after horrors indescribable. You would visit upon those who have served loyally and selflessly a cruel, torturous fate to sate your own mad delusions. In your fanatical quest to serve mankind and its the master, you have forsaken it. Sarghaul and yourself, you are one and the same in this.” Her form was stiff as she spoke, and she wished nothing more than to strike out at him. “I see it clearly now. You disgust me, ‘brother’. You are little better tha-”

“Enough.” The commanding voice which cut across the din of the chamber was a new one, brought forth by one who had remained silent since the main session of the chamber had come to a close. The armoured form of Sekhmetara moved from among her own retinue to stand between the two hostile siblings, her movement appearing almost languid despite the speed with which she crossed the distance, her palms spread, hands low in a warning gesture to the pair. The air she had displaced billowed across the room, filled with the abrupt and sudden acrid tang of ozone, the space itself between her and Augor’s podium almost seeming to shimmer in a line that the Primarch of the Twentieth Legion had deftly intercepted. Augor had not moved, but his visage now seemed to radiate with an invisible, baleful intensity - which receded only as Sekhemetra continued to speak.

“Have we not all raged and ranted enough?” The strain of the long toil of the council fueled her words, the hurt of its conclusion, and her thinning patience, but it did not bleed into the melody of her tone, conciliatory yet assertive, even as a low hum filled the air from the blades of the Custodes activating in response to the unfolding scene.

“I brought this matter to father not to accuse anyone of treason, or worse, but that we might cut out another canker of disunity between us, and move forwards with one purpose in the glory of the Imperium, in Humanity.” The Mithran’s primarch’s eyes swept between both siblings, two individuals who she knew more in deed and name than in self. “Please.” She asked with an earnest, if not begging, tone.

“Well spoken, Pakhetera.” Malcador’s speech was ever wizened by the age of his appearance, practically wavering with the weight of years, but such was his way with things the notes still carried, hands clutched around the stave of his office. His use of the Mithran term for the Primarch of the Twentieth Legion earned a brief flicker of recognition from the Emperor and a warm smile from the Primarch herself. “We have sailed through the storm, let us rest in the calm before the next torrent overtakes us.” The words of the Regent were not as forceful as the Emperor's own, but still they came with psychic empathy, encouraging cooler words with more than just the content of his words.

The penumbra of calming energy thus almost seemed to rob the Twelfth Primarch of his capacity to speak, murder and zealous rage still wavering within body. Almost as though displacing the violent impulses roiling within his thoughts, Augor clenched tightly along the rims of his podium - predictably causing the edges to shatter to pieces in his grip. The innumerable splinters then tumbled to the ground, caught fire halfway through their descent, and arrived upon the floor in wafting layers of crackling ash. Another reign of silence was cast across the room in the wake of the abrupt, thunderous snapping of the wooden frame. Black, fractal static tracery burnt its way down the sides of his podium where his bionic hands had gone taut.

“Peace, brother.” Sekhmetara spoke softly to Augor, before her hands fell back to her sides, even as the Emperor gestured for the next to speak.

“Usriel Andreath, Primarch of the Steel Sentinels, Prefect of Vion 5,” began the first of the Nineteenth Legion, “It is under my opinion that while there is a clear violation of command, I disagree that this breach was in bad faith. As our duty is to the Emperor, we are to fight until we no longer cannot, if the life of an Astartes can be prolonged to continue this duty, then it shall be done. In the name of the Emperor, for the Imperium, and the Mechanicum, no life of our sons and daughters should be wasted if we can help it.”

The weight of her new title and command still sat uneasily upon Daena’s brow, the Warmaster’s uncertainty only heightened by the horrid circumstances under which she was elevated to the lofty post. Sekhmetara had the right to defuse the situation as the one who had gone to their father, but she wondered if she had already begun to undermine herself by not speaking sooner.

Now however the Angel would speak, the winged Primarch having put on neither airs nor pretenses after her elevation and instead addressing her siblings from the place in the chamber she had ever sat.

“An Astartes is an icon of mankind,” she began cautiously, attempting to place the room upon even footing. “Surely on this all agree. Exemplars of the human form, granted strength and will akin to the heroes of old, they are an inspiration to all. But not because of their strength alone. An army of battle automata with their silica wafers replaced by the brains of soldiers is not the army our Father made. Why is this?”

“The Astartes are to be the protectors of humanity.” Came the voice of the Sixteenth once again.

“Do you see such an army anywhere, War Master? It does not exist. This practice is not some measure intended to produce Legions, it is nothing less than the salvation of the crippled and the maimed!” Augor barked out indignantly in the same moment as the Sixteenth Primarch spoke, their voices colliding and overlapping in the council halls, the booming echoes of both clashing across the high ceiling.

Eiohsa continued, ignoring her brother’s interjection. “Their duty, and our duty, is the defense and development of humanity! The Astartes are warriors! But they are humans, first and foremost! Born of humanity, and of human make and mind! They exist not to destroy and to war until the end of time, but to help ensure a prosperous future! They are not robots, mindless automata whose very purpose is nothing but war. They are Human. Beings.”

“If you are suggesting that those who have been saved by my Apothecaries are any less in stature, any less in their profound honor and exalted grace than any other Astartes, then you demean the very spirit of Humanity, the very essence of our will to survive, our sovereign mastery of will!” Augor carried on over Eiosha, his voice growing ever louder as he went.

Eiohsa’s voice grew in turn, amplified by a growing psychic echo that followed her word. “Saved them from what, brother? Forced them into fighting on and on and on in a war with no end? They have pledged themselves to the defense and the uplifting of man, but they have not pledged their humanity to war.”

“They have pledged themselves to The Emperor, and if he demands that they fight, then they will fight! You forget your VOWS, your OATHS, your PROMISES, sister. Your words are nothing but errant wind!” Augor finally directed his eyeless sight to Eisha as both their voices climbed.

“They have pledged themselves to The Emperor’s dreams. WE have pledged ourselves to the ideals and the dream of the Emperor and the Imperium! Not to a man! He has shown us, with his Truth and his example, that we are to build a future based on reason and principles, not follow in the footsteps of one man! No matter how great he may be, what is even greater is the idea of the Imperium, the principles of the Truth, and his Dream for us! I know the pledge I made to the Emperor, brother. But it seems you have forgotten yours.”

“YOU-” Augor began, but abruptly feel silent, his head whipping down and to the side. There, standing by the edge of the Podium, drifted the comparatively diminutive form of the Archmagos, Mephitor, a single sinuous and slender Mechadendrite seeming to hover and waver emphatically in the air during the unheard, soundless exchange between him and the twelfth Primarch. The Archmagos drifted higher into the air, setting just below the height of the Twelfth Primarch himself, and spoke then in their voxcoded, synthesized speech, their words resonant with the haze of static.

“The Apothecaries of the Stargazers save Human lives where others would permit them to end, and the loss of Human life, of the life of an Astartes, is to be forestalled. Whether the intent of the individual or the group is to service the will of the Omnissiah or to furnish the manifestation of his glorious vision for mankind, they adhere to the oath of the Apothecary to inflict no harm upon their fellow man. To administer the so-called ‘Peace’ upon the grievously wounded is to kill one’s own kin, and is directly detrimental not only to the dignity and standing of the Emperor’s Astartes, but also sets back the efforts of the Great Crusade. Statistical data compiled from the legions shows that tens of thousands of marines between every legion are killed by their own Legions every standard cycle, in circumstances where their judgment and true desires are sufficiently impacted to make effective consent impossible.”

“Yes. YES!” Augor stated triumphantly as he roused back to the discussion of Mephitor’s words. “Which returns to my earlier statement! In the moment of anguish, the individual cannot give reliable consent to whether they wish to live or die, but either way, it does not matter. If there are ANY who would WISH to DIE rather than to continue to serve the Emperor, the Imperium, or the glorious vision they have sworn to uphold, then death is what they shall have, for they have forsaken their oaths, their very names, their very memory, and are traitors! To save them from death and betrayal can only be the most sacred of duties!”

Eiohsa stood, watching, her lip curled in distaste as a miasma of loathing rolled from her figure. “Empathy is one of the most crucial traits of humanity.” She said, weighing each word as it passed her lips. “It is what defines a monster in the skin of man from one of our own.” Her eyes bored into those of Augor and the Archmagos as she spoke. “It is what drives us to care for our own. To endanger ourselves in service of another. It is what drives us to create a better future for all humanity. The Astartes are human. The measure of one’s humanity is not a matter of flesh, but of mind and spirit. It i-”

“If your empathy drives you to slaughter your own Astartes and soldiers out of hand when they could be saved, then you possess no Empathy, for you are not Human. You are merely an animal. A rabid, insensate beast slavering and snapping at any sign of weakness to be savaged and devoured. You sicken me, you craven Grox.” Augor retorted, the smell of ozone starting to build in the surrounding air.

Eiohsa’s expression remained stony and cold, though hints of what lurked beneath forced their way through in the way her lip curled and her eye twitched. “There was a time not long past when I would have defended your practice before the Emperor and all our siblings wholeheartedly and without reservation. Unlike many, the Astartes of the Sixteenth have replaced flesh with machine in order to better fulfill their duties to humanity. I commend, and follow, the practice of enabling our sons and daughters to fight on, no matter what. Ultimately, there is no true difference between interment within the Sarcophagus of a dreadnought and the measures of the Stargazers - or indeed my own Legion. In this, there can be no dispute. Whether one’s mind is within a body of flesh and blood or of iron and ceramite is ultimately irrelevant. Yet they remain human. Human within a body of whatever material. Their thoughts, their hopes, their dreams, and their pain. My experiences upon the world of Carcinus have made me understand, as none of you can understand, when even the mind of an Astartes is ready for an end. There is nothing inhuman about a shell of armor and guns, for it is more than the mere husk that conveys humanity. But in forcing such a fate upon our most noble of soldiers when they have seen enough? When they have served long and well, and are at last ready for rest? There is no humanity.”

She looked down upon him, filled with disgust. “You call me an animal, a ‘slavering beast’. Yet you have forsaken your humanity in your madness. You are little more than a depraved, cruel construct of dogma and fanaticism. You force such fates upon those who have served humanity with no care, for only mindless pursuit of your despicable ends will suffice. I name you worse than any beast, for a beast knows love, a beast knows family, and kindness. But you? You are nothing more than a cruel machine in the flesh of what was once a man. In the words of your despicable cult,” Her spear appeared in her outstretched hand and she struck it upon the marble floor, her voice thundering through the room. “I name you abominable intelligence!”

One moment was all it took. The strands of fate converged here and now, snapping into focus as soon as Eiosha had finished her denunciation. Fire and death filled Daena's vision, her gaze sweeping across the chamber. Looking through the eyes of the dead, she saw the doom that was to come. Mechadendrites dug into flesh, plasma discharges bored through ceramite, psychic might flayed minds bare. Scores died in the chaos of Eiosha and Augor's duel, each death forcing the Angel's perspective to yet another damned. They fought and fought and fought , Astartes slaying Astartes like she had seen in the worst of her nightmares, each blow only engendering yet more hate. The floor reeked of blood, gore and offal splattering across the chamber, marring her father's perfect face. Why didn't he do anything? Why didn't she do anything? They continued to sit watching as limbs were sawn off, the limbs cauterizing, heads scoured clean of their flesh leaving behind only bare skulls, the ground itself erupting to spear warrior and scribe alike.

Yet she did nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing
nothing
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"Enough!" she cried, her voice laced with power and command that caused both mortal and Astartes to fall limp. "The both of you shall hold your tongues, or I shall take them myself," she decreed, placing herself between both camps with one flutter of her wings. "You are Primarchs, instruments of His will, and you shall act like it in His presence," she continued, cold fury in her voice. She had watched for three days as her siblings had bickered among themselves, the best and the worst of them permitting themselves to be dragged down into petty squabble with enough furor behind them to burn worlds. No more. There was no room for a wallflower, especially one who bore the title of Warmaster.

"Put. Down. Your. Arms."

Daena’s imperative had been immaculately timed - she had reacted just as quickly as the mechanical rancor of the Stargazers. Even as the first words had been leaving her lips, the entirety of the Twelfth Legion’s party had been raising or otherwise charging their weapons - pausing just short of a perilously charge by Daena’s swift intervention. The Custodes themselves were tensed and on edge, having been a scant instant from dropping into combat postures themselves.

Towering over the assembled warriors clad in Red and Ebon, the Twelfth Primarch loomed like a spider, four of his servo-arms having reared up to orient the ends of esoteric implements of war in Eiosha’s direction. Arrayed beneath him, Astartes hefted Omnissian Power Axes, audibly crackled with volatile energies, and the plethora of Tech-Priests surrounding them had produced, seemingly out of the folds of their robes or else thin air, an armory of heavy ordinance - all poised on the precipice of being unleashed.

Augor raised a bionic hand in a closed fist. “By your order...Warmaster.” His brow was drawn taut from some form of concentration or consternation, if not both. He was no longer scowling or grimacing - instead, his lips were drawn in a firm, hard line.

The very air seemed to sag and rustle with relief as a multitude of weapons were either lowered or secreted away once more. The air around Augor Astren shivered and wavered with barely contained heat. With a static pop, another section of the Primarch’s now heavily abused podium erupted into flame and then fell from the rest of the structure to clatter and break to pieces across the floor, scattering smoldering ashes and embers about.

“As you wish.” Said the Sixteenth, standing passively immobile from the moment she had spoken her piece, showing no sign of preparing for combat. The Astartes of the Sixteenth Legion stood at her side with weapons leveled at the Primarch of the Stargazers. Bolters, plasma, and all manner of meticulously reproduced archaeotech wonders leveled with cold precision. The very air around her crackled with immeasurable psychic might, the air charged with ozone.

At a wordless command, the Astartes surrounding her lowered their weapons, returning to their position at attention, silently watching her and waiting for what she might instruct. Eiohsa simply stood, having not moved a muscle since she had spoken, her eyes focused on her target, hatred etched into every square centimeter of her expression.

“Primarch of the Sixteenth legion. You have offered me, my sons, and all those who follow me the most grievous and reckless offense possible using mere words alone.” Augor said, his voice low. “With the Omnissiah himself as my witness, I swear you and your daughters will suffer for this. You will be made to know the consequences of my contempt, and bear to my wrath, raw and unfettered. I shall do all of this and more, I promise, without violating the oaths I have sworn to our father. Your very world shall come unraveled about you, the cosmos shall behold this, and know that your upbraiding was preordained.”

Eiohsa remained still, her expression immaculate and serene, reminiscent of the Warmaster herself. She gave no indication that she had heard the words of her brother, and if she had, showed no signs of concern over such.

“There was once a time.” She began, eyes staring into a past now long forgotten, “That I once believed myself to be created for a grand purpose. From the moment of my first true memory, sitting upon the shore of a burning lake, in a rotting husk of humanity’s former glory, I believed I was destined to help enlighten and uplift humanity. By the hand of the Emperor himself, I was brought into this world with a desire to create, to nurture, and to build a bright future.”

Her eyes turned down towards her brother, now, and she continued. “I now know differently. I was crafted as a tool. A weapon. A shield. A hammer. Whatever must be used to defend humanity from those who would prey upon it, and force it down a dark path I dare not speak of. Such is the duty of a Primarch. Such is the duty I take above all else. Against the worst of humanity’s foes I have fought, as have we all, and so this truth has been revealed to me. Whatever threats you levy against me, Primarch of the Twelfth Legion, I accept gladly. For it is my duty to stand in the path of such threats to humanity, and it is a duty I undertake gladly.”

”This is why she was chosen.” The thought came unbidden to Sekhmetara as she watched the display of imminent violence and swift cessation broiling through the chamber. Two of her siblings that Sekhmetara had failed to control, and the sight of perfection that was the most loved of her siblings brought to angelic fury in the face of it. Not simply her sibling now, Sekhmetara remembered, as if she could ever forget, her Warmaster. Still the psychic presence of her aura suffused the room, fighting the rage within them all to bring about calm, but there was only so much that could work against the Inferno, and what use had that been.

”What a mockery their foolishness has made of you.” The unravelling judgement of her own mind resounded like spoken words to Sekhmetara as she studied the room with the silent rage she kept from her face. This room of demigods she had trusted to show some semblance of restraint in the presence of their genesire. “Naive, flawed, Redundant.” Beneath the purse of her full lips, her teeth ground, startlingly perfect eyes, flecked with the gold of her power resting on Daena once more, ”And there, the thief who will prosper for it.” Sekhmetara drew a hand up to her features, sweeping back through her hair to correct an errant strand. The touch of her own fingers brought her back to reality. The maintenance of peace, the execution of duty, for the moment this was more important than whatever emotional turmoil she felt.

“My own concerns are matters of the sanctity of my Legion. My Daughters fight and die in glory for the Emperor. Should they fall in his name it is the duty of none other than their own sisters to ensure the fulfillment of their final duty.” The Mithran Primach’s attention settled on Augor, for the moment ignoring the waves of hostility that one without the psychic empathy of her mind could surely feel. “Your apothecaries may teach my own how to perform this duty, that we may also show our dedication to the Crusade entirely.” The ache in her soul did not subside, but perhaps that had been her failing. Her commitment was not total, her Legion reflected that. They could always give more. “The matter of our sister's retribution is not addressed, however. It is within her right to seek such.” Sekhmetara motioned to Nimue, having no particular words of note for the escalating conflict between the two loudest parties present beyond the ire of their failure to function within the parameters she had anticipated. As she finished speaking, Sekhmetara retook her seat, a goblet of wine immediately turning between her fingers, before taking a long gulp disguised artfully as an elegant sip.

“Honored sister, truthfully, were it merely a matter of disseminating the necessary knowledge, me and mine would be pleased to instruct your Apothecaries and leave it at that.” Augor replied, turning his face to Sekhemetra, his voice shifting almost smoothly from barely contained fury to calm and evenly paced. “I trust that, in light of the pledges you and your daughter have sworn, that you would make judicious use of such teachings. There are, however, practical concerns. Though I naturally do not doubt the capabilities of your apothecaries, the knowledge and expertise needed to conduct the procedures and operations performed by my apothecaries, all of whom are fully inducted in the rites and mysteries of the machine, is doubtlessly withheld from most of them. I also doubt you have a sufficient number of Techmarines to make up for that shortfall. I will, of course, honor the request regardless. You shall have the knowledge and be capable of disseminating it across your legion for their eventual independent use. But until such time as that can be assured, I am afraid, where possible and necessary, my apothecaries must continue to intervene. The havoc of battle does not always leave the time or opportunity for concession or permission, and when forced to make a choice in the heat of battle, my apothecaries will always choose to save lives.”

Nimue, having remained silent following Eiohsa’s and Augor’s battle of ideals, was only now being noticed again by the two Primarchs who had almost entered in battle. Honestly, she was disappointed that The Warmaster intervened, because while Eiohsa trying to turn this confrontation into yet another tirade about empathy and all those things Eiohsa cared for annoyed Nimue to no end, at least the possibility of her being maimed would make up for it. Unfortunately, now they were merely back to where they started.

‘I do not care for all this other talk of monsters, beasts and abominable intelligence,’ Nimue pondered to no one in particular. ‘I simply seek justice and retribution for the defiling of what is mine by one of Augor’s men. I could not in the slightest care less for the justifications for or against his actions - quite simply, if I say he shall not touch my Marines, he shall not. I am quite sure that The Emperor, who is right before us, I might add, is more than willing to make the obvious choice of agreeing with me.’ She then gestured to said imperious figure, observing them all still.

‘It is really quite simple then. The Emperor speaks; The Twelfth Legion stops meddling in things they ought not; the Apothecary fellow preferably dies, and we all go on our merry way,” Nimue finished cheerfully.

“Your reasoning is flawed, Nimue,” Usriel stated blankly, “Firstly, you state that the Emperor will agree with you and yet he has made no inclination otherwise, and until he makes such a motion you should not state what his ‘obvious’ decision would be. Secondly, you speak of your daughters as only being yours and yours alone as possessions, not people deserving to be saved to continue their work. While I adhere to each Legion’s rule under their Primarch, there are situations where it would be best to save those who need it. My sons would wish to continue serving throughout their years if they knew that they had the chance. Lastly, you prefer to see an Astartes dead for doing what he believed to be the best to do what all Apothecaries do, save the lives of other Astartes.”

Usriel’s red glare continued to passively look towards Nimue, no motion coming from him to dictate emotion otherwise. Then he spoke again, this time his inflection growing colder, “Think, how would you feel if I demanded the head of one of your daughters for doing her duty?”

Nimue ignored Usriel, in a deliberate manner that could only suggest irreverence. “Well, my Emperor? You should speak, else your Primarchs will certainly continue to make fools of themselves and try to kill each other over petty insults. Would you not say that simply resolving this matter cleanly is fitting? A quick, fine duel, that is all I ask.” Nimue spoke to the emperor - she was certainly becoming a master at ignoring her siblings.

Despite herself, Daena's brow twitched in annoyance as Nimue once again deigned to speak for their father, to push and prod at the Master of Mankind. The dignity of the Throne was being undermined in the chamber intended to glorify it, and she knew then and there why she was chosen for her role.

"The question is of duty, and of death. Nimue has decreed that her daughters have a duty beyond mere battle. Death is the end of duty. Does the end of duty therefore mean death? What is to be done to an Astartes who has been rendered incapable of carrying out their duty? These are questions for philosophers, for the Legions to consider under the guidance of their gene-sires. Perhaps there is a true answer, but it shall not be found while tempers run high and spirits are frayed. Only if we come together as siblings, rather than as rivals will it be known to us. But before that may occur, hate must be rooted out."

Daena's tone immediately shifted as her eyes met first Augor's sightless gaze and then Nimue's beatific perfection, the Warmaster risking much at the hope of peace. "The affront is one of honor. A challenge has been made, and satisfaction demanded. Do you accept, Augor?"

Augor raised a hollow brow. “For the head of my Chief Apothecary? Their loss, even in the hypothetical, would prove incalculably fearsome to the prospects of many campaigns, current and future. Even were I to accept, I would appoint a second without risk to Corneceus himself - which I take my sister will not accept. The so-called afront is to have saved lives, the challenge does not demand I pay life, but to pay in honor, as the warmaster says. If neither of you suggest a reasonable alternative, sanity dictates I deny the challenge and accept the ignomy that entails.”

“Tch”.

Nimue was not amused. The Emperor had said nothing, The Warmaster, Usriel, Eiohsa were all involving themselves… And Augor would continue to refuse the duel if The Emperor did not force it.

“Then there is nothing that can be done.” Nimue said flatly. She would seek justice through… other means. With that said, Nimue turned and moved to storm out of the room.

“Enough.” The sound of the Emperor’s voice carried across the room, the ire of the proceeding Council and Trial still present in his words even as the pure psychic shock of his being set the air to trembling. “My children, you were not created to function on interpretations of my will alone, you each have purpose beyond this, than to debate what I did or did not, will or will not, say.” The Emperor’s stance upon the seat crafted for him was almost casual, as close to reclining as one might expect be possible for the Master of Mankind, but his attention was severe as he watched those assembled.

“It is true that I gave command and sovereignty to each of you, yet it is also true that this comes with the duty to serve the Imperium, unto death should the moment arrive.” The slow tone of the Emperor’s words gave an impression of a mind still in debate, although whether anyone could be convinced of such would be another matter. The Emperor rarely spoke without purpose or clarity. “The ability to prolong the lives of Legionaries beyond the damages of their mortal form has long been an aspect of their charge, of their vow. Any process that allows this to occur is a tool that should be in the arsenal of all legions, not one. The process shall be passed on to each Legion.” With the initial aspect of the ruling complete, the Emperor stood, the sweep of his cloak rising behind him as if stirred, falling down from golden plate of his armour. “The Stargazers have my blessing to maintain their current parameters for the full extent of a Terran year, as of this day, such that the benefit of their knowledge may be fully imparted to their fellow legions. After which, the practice of doing so shall be the duty of each legion, and no further interference or infringement of fellow legions shall be permitted.” As the words issued forth, they became law within the fabric of the Imperium, more binding than any lengthy debate of the Imperial Senate.

“Be that as it may, the duty of command for each Legion was invested upon one of you, and until the declaration of my Warmaster, no more than that.” The gradual hardening of the Emperor’s tone was not subtle, although it never reached the cascade of rage that had brought the matter of the Council to a close. “My will on this matter was not sought until now and I cannot deny that an ill has been done against the duties and privileges I have granted to you all.” The Emperor’s gaze fell fully upon Augor, in a manner that was both understanding, yet stern. The image of the father who understood, yet could not excuse. “Your Legion will answer the challenge of the Celestial Inheritors, and may the rite of combat decide upon which side justice will fall.”

“As the Emperor speaks, it shall be done.” Augor answered immediately. Rather than anything approaching either shame or remorse, his expression was nothing short of rapturous as he bowed low before the Emperor, before turning his gaze to Nimue.

“Nimue Arcadia, Primarch of His Emperor’s Seventh Astartes Legion, Enchantress of Engralia - by the decree of the Emperor of All Mankind, The One Who Stands Above All - I, Augor Astren, Primarch of His Emperor’s Twelfth Astartes Legion and Fabricator Intendant of Last Light, accept your demand for satisfaction. In accordance with Imperial Law, I invoke my right to dictate the time and place of our contest. It shall transpire five hours from now, in the grand plaza of the Council Hall of Nikaea. I further invoke my right to secondment and shall produce Skitarius Praetor Alpha Primus Andron Axaltus as combatant in the stead of Archmagos Apothecary Corneceus Sicanus.”

“How so… Augor, of you, dear brother”. Nimue replied. “If you want to hide your pet, so be it. I accept”.

“So shall it be.” The words of the Emperor may have sounded dismissive from the lips of another being, but with the force of will behind them, they arose simply with the touch of finality. “The Captain-General shall preside over the matter.” The Emperor did not even look to Valdor as he spoke, instead his gaze fell upon the newly appointed Warmaster. “Daughter, we must speak of matters of the Crusade.” The casual summons, so easily given as the Emperor moved to leave the chamber held with them the fabric of destiny.

Every fiber of Daena’s being demanded that she follow as she was bid, the Primarch’s body taking a step on its own accord before she arrested herself with an iron will. “We must, Father, but your children still grieve. Insults have been done this day that time will not mend. Augor, Eiosha, I would speak with you both when my present business is concluded. Tend to your own Astartes, the both of you,” she said with a voice of command, only then letting herself be pulled along by the tide of fate the Emperor so effortlessly had stirred.

[...End Log.]
[...Terminating.]
[Imperial Thought for the Day: Stand strong in thy purpose, let no doubt cloud your mind, let your heart be of iron, and you shall never falter.]

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed] [Soon to be Concluded]

---

A Grand Entrance

---

“Are you sure?”

There was no reply.

“Are you sure?”

Again, no reply.

“Scheherazade - are you absolutely, one hundred percent sure?”

A sigh, and the woman seated at the head of the enormous construct making its way for the Gateway turned to face the speaker.

“No, Sachiko. After nearly six… ‘earth months’ I, and every single soul here, and the crew of the Zetan craft, are obviously still unsure of whether this was a wise investment. We poured enormous time and resources into the construction of this monstrosity that we weren’t even sure we might use. We held no fewer than fifty votes on specific additions. We labored day and night on this vessel that’s a space station in its own right - but we were definitely unsure we would use it. Absolutely.” Scheherazade pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Yes, I am sure. And even if I was not - the Commonality is.”

A cherry blossom tattooed hand pulled her own away, and the concerned expression of her Sister-Sage forced its way into her sight. “But what of the risk of angering them? What if they see it as an aggressive act? We mounted weapons on this thing! It moves under its own propulsion! It’s less a space station than it is a giganti-”

“And we have already been told that is an unlikely occurrence at worst. We are entering alone - after the Zetan vessel. Anyone with more than two brain cells to rub together for a nerve impulse could tell a single large vessel from an invading fleet. Tell me, Sachiko - a system wherein new civilizations pop out of the woodwork with great frequency, are they really going to assume immediate hostile intent from a single vessel. We have the Zetans with us, for that matter.”

“But wh-”

“No more ‘buts’ from you. Sit down. Relax. Enjoy the trip.” Scheherazade grinned, “One way or another, it’ll be something to remember for the rest of your life - long may it be. If I were you, I’d take this time to practice your English - we may have had the knowledge implanted, but there’s no substitute for practice for speaking it.”

Sachiko frowned, pausing for a moment as she switched to English. “But I c-can speak it better than you can!”

Scheherazade chuckled, “And yet you’re the one with the stutter.” She said in turn, a thick accent on her words. “Now run around and practice, or sit here with me and enjoy the peace and quiet for as long as it lasts.”

---

The Gateway loomed ahead. Final preparations were being made. Engineers and technicians and construction ships scuttled about the hastily built structures surrounding it. The Zetans would enter first followed by the massive Ishtari space station module. Unlike the Zetans, the Commonality was terrified. The scientists had calculated that, with the combined efforts into stabilizing the Gateway, the possibility of collapse like that which had afflicted the generation ship Ishtar was “approximately one in sixteen quintillion” - but such number only somewhat smoothed the hard, festering nugget of fear in the stomachs of every member of the crew. Even Scheherazade and Istir - the unflappable matriarchs of the construct - felt that fear deep within them. The Commonality had almost forbidden them to go, fearing to lose a valued commander like Istir, or a Sister-Sage as old as Scheherazade. Indeed, Scheherazade had not so much been allowed as she had bludgeoned the Commonality into standing by. Rules be damned. She would not miss such an opportunity for all the finest rum on the planet’s surface.

Istir stood beside her now, even though the armored woman was clearly ill at ease in as mundane and plushly furnished a setting as this.

“Istir, dear - sit down will you?” Scheherazade reclined in her chair, crossing one leg over the other and stretching her arms behind her head. “The engineers will tell you - and me - when we’re clear. The Zetans will confirm for us on the other side. Sit. Have a drink. We’ve all sorts of things in here - things for us, not that piss weak stuff we’ve had to set aside for the ones on the other side of that gate. Take the edge off, why don’t you?”

“Because we might be wandering into a hostile situation unknown! Because we might be about to expose ourselves to a pseudo hive-mind of cannibalistic clone soldiers! Because we’re entering unfamiliar space planning on making bold claims and proclamations based on knowledge given to us by a single nation, one who might have fed us biased or erroneous information!”

Scheherazade watched her pace for a minute more, fingers steepled in front of her. “Be that as it may - this is why I was voted to speak for us. If you approach this like a combat situation you only heighten the risk of violence. Patience, Sister-Soldier, some day we may need to take up the sword against them - but I pray that today is not that day. Now, sit. I won’t stop bothering you until you do.”

---

"This is the Zetan crew. We've made the crossing safely. You may proceed at your leisure."

A loud cheer went up throughout the Commonality. Billions of voices sounded out through the net as the population of New Ishtar prepared for their own vessel to make the crossing. Business as usual had come to a screeching halt on the planet - all, even those not actively synced into the net at the moment, were riveted by the events now unfolding. Automated factories slowed as the overseer-minds diverted their attention. Artisans stepped away from their tools, production line workers set down their controls. Everyone watched.

The feed stayed consistent through the Gateway, and - a new system greeted their eyes. Sol. The birthplace of humanity. Nestled between the warmth of the sun, the protective gravity of Jupiter, lay Earth - and the space station that had been dubbed the Meeting Place.

The Ishtari space station module fired up its engines to full power, broadcasting its message to all descendents of humanity within the system. First in English - then in Esperanto, Spanish, and more.

Fellow descendants of earth, greetings. We are the people of New Ishtar. Trapped by a formerly unstable Gateway, we have been forced to remain by the wayside in anticipation of this day. Well that day has come, and we are overjoyed to meet you at long last. We know there has been strife among your number. We stand ready to aid in whatever manner we may. We constructed this module for what you have termed the ‘Meeting Place’ and we look forward to sharing its amenities with you.

The enormous module fired up the engines clamped to its sides, MPD thrusters magnetically locked and fed a steady source of power from the central fusion reactor kicked into full blast, accelerating the vessel towards its target that hung in orbit around dead earth.

The vast craft had been constructed over the period of six months between the gateway’s closing and its subsequent reopening and stabilization. Intended as a pre-built module to install into the ‘Meeting Place’ they had been told of, the project had overshot its initial goal by some margin. It now sailed through space as a grand display of the Commonality’s prowess.

Not only did it include a diplomatic wing, fully furnished in the finest decor and design conceivable by the Commonality, sleeping quarters for what was projected to some day be a vast staff, and the other expected amenities - it had been modified to address numerous shortcomings, or add what the Ishtari saw as overlooked necessities to life aboard the station. A vast, fully furnished hospital wing outfitted with the finest equipment to hand, built to handle the anticipated growth of the station from humanity’s many far flung descendents. A bar - of all things - stocked with a vast supply of drinks, varieties for consumption both by Perfected and by normal humans. It would be free for all to visit and enjoy. Dueling rooms and recreational halls - private, sectioned off rooms that could just as easily accommodate two people or two dozen for nearly any conceivable indoor pastime. Quiet rooms for meditation. A vast docking area, complete with repair shipyards and ship berths. A troop barracks. Well fortified railgun batteries located away from critical infrastructure, their weapons presently powered down and unmanned. Hydroponic agricultural bays growing a wide variety of Ishtari crops, estimated to be able to keep well over twice the number of the planned full Ishtari delegation well fed and happy - and countless more with careful rationing in case of food stresses. Dedicated embassy spaces not only for those nations that had already been discovered, but for those that had yet to find their ways home. Fully sealed, each delegate would be given full leeway over the room to search it for any suspected monitoring devices - they would find none, for there were none to be found. EMP hardened life support rooms with ample preserved rations and airlocked passages to the hydroponics sections. A grand dining hall capable of accommodating an untold number of guests overlooked perhaps its most stunning feature.

At the heart of this module lay an enormous artificial garden and synthetic ecosystem - a straight line from its main entrance to the wondrous scene. Directly descended from the gardening styles of old Japan, the main feature of the garden were the carefully sculpted gene-modified sakura blossoms, retaining in bloom for the entire year. The orchard in its entirety was a demonstration of the elegance and mastery of bioengineering held by Ishtari society. Over twenty hectares of perfectly crafted splendor. Private, secluded groves for quiet meditation abounded, as well as common areas around artificial streams or within the small traditional constructed Japanese wooden structure built within. A carefully crafted synthetic horizon maintained an almost perfect illusion of being planetside - nestled within a valley in the beautiful Ilyait Mountains on New Ishtar. A light, warm breeze blew through the garden without end, carrying with it the scent of cherry blossoms and the feeling of spring on old earth. The gardens were open to all on the station, and carefully maintained by many of the same gardeners who had crafted it. The entire arrangement was a show not only of beauty to be appreciated by those whose duty placed them within the steel walls of the station, but of power. How many nations could rival such an accomplishment?

To the Zetan Consciousness

Cherry blossoms grow
In the orchard of friendship
Morning dawns on us;
Friends - we have arrived at long last.

_{@Irredeemable}

To the Gran Republic of Matuvista

The mighty river
Stopping for none, undaunted
Goes where it pleases;
We have heard much of your people, and we are eager to learn more. There is much we admire, and we pray there is much you will admire in turn.

To the Xandalian Republic

The sun shines brightly
Upon a pristine mountain
It bows low to none;
We have heard of your intervention in the war against Zeta. We salute you, and wish to extend a hand in friendship.

_{@Crusader Lord}

To the White Flower Democracy

A white flower blooms
From the ashes of the past
A new dawn has come;
You need never fear those who once terrorized you ever again. The Commonality of New Ishtar will help your people build a better society.

_@Tortoise

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed] [Soon to be Concluded]

---

Accidental Ishtar

---

This isn’t Sol. Psi-Gauss frowned at their internal navigational display, folding their arms and taking a moment to look out of one of the ship’s external monitors. Sure didn’t look like Sol either. Something’s gone wrong with our gateway jump.

The rest of the Collective rapidly began to confer upon what the ship could do. The vessel had no name- it was a basic science vessel that had had several missile launchers clustered together to serve as a makeshift gunboat.

It seemed prudent to at least investigate the system they were in and discover where they had ended up first. The gateways had yet to open to an uninhabited system, so surely there would be a nation here, perhaps undiscovered, to communicate with. If there had truly been an issue and they’d been sent into deep space, well… The Consciousness could always accept more Transcended. It would be dignified.

Before they did anything rash though, they broadcasted a wide-frequency message. As was standard, they sent it in several different languages and communication types- English, Mandarin, Spanish, Hindi, Esperanto, and once the basic greeting had been complete, powered up their engines and began to leave the orbit of the moon they had found themselves in.

---

Confusion reigned aboard countless vessels and observation stations throughout the Commonality of New Ishtar. Almost instantaneously after the reception of the broadcast, the information had disseminated through the net from the ship-minds and currently connected observers. Within an hour, nearly every waking soul was aware of the news. Furious debate erupted between billions of minds connected to each other - what to do?

Aboard the battleship Solstice, one commander took her own initiative, announcing her intent to respond to the broadcast, and daring any to oppose her. Several voices rose in protest - and were countered by many more. A tumult arose in support of her.

Sister-Captain 132 Yirata Loves The Touch Of Steel raised a hailer to her lips, clearing her throat before she spoke, in thickly accented, poorly practiced Esperanto.

“Are you human?”

They had received a response! Wonderful! They could work with Esperanto. The message quickly came back in response.

“Biomechanically augmented, but underneath the metal we’re still Earth’s Children. We hail from the Zeta system, if you’ll permit us aboard, I’m sure we’ll have much to discuss. Please, pay no attention to the weaponry affixed to this vessel, this is an outdated research ship retrofitted for patrol duties.”

The response was some time delayed. Long enough, almost, for the Zetans on board to assume their message might not have been received at all. That it had been lost amidst the other traffic that no doubt filled the air. But the message came, in time. The same speaker’s voice, quaking with emotion.

“Then we are not all that is left?”

The Zetans aboard the small craft were more than happy to shine hope to this previously isolated nation. “We are but one of many that have survived the collapse of our old home. Now that the Gateway is open, you should send an envoy to the Sol System. There is an intergalactic council of nations there.”

It was followed by another, almost identical, voice, somewhat more restrained, but still shaken. “Yes, please. We will send a vessel of our own. Our world is… harmful to unadapted humanity.”

A third voice chimed in, likewise nearly indistinguishable. “We will need to convene on the matter of a delegation. This is… a momentous occasion.”

Three identical voices had come through the communications network, and already a few of the members of the Collective were mentally glancing at each other. One other nation had had a similar diplomatic quirk, and that nation was currently… well, the less said about The One, the better. Still, nothing was said, even as they began to make their way towards where the messages had been broadcasted from.

A civilian vessel was hastily commandeered, its dining hall forced into some vague approximation of something the people of New Ishtar had long assumed they might never need again - a diplomatic space. Flanked by two small craft, it approached the Zetan vessel through space, drawing to a halt some distance away as its crew stared in wonder and awe.

“Welcome aboard, Zetans. Please, forgive our… forgive the unorthodox nature of our ship. We are unprepared for this entirely.”

Aboard the vessel, a small honor guard of uniformed and helmeted Ishtari soldiery waited, unable to maintain composure in such circumstances. At the head of the large table within sat three individuals, chosen after a rapid and furious vote within the Commonality. Sister-Sage 43 Sachiko Treasures The Beauty In The Universe, Sister-Soldier 138 Istir Holds Firm The Readied Sword, and Sister-Sage 192 Scheherazade Dreams Of Many Great Things.

The Zetan delegation made its way aboard the vessel curiously. At its head was their Naval-Speaker Iota-Clausewitz, (what other nations would call Captains, but as Zetans had a very different military structure, it was hardly an apt comparison,) Navigational Specialist Psi-Gauss and a third non-transcended member of the crew, one Omicron-Kappa. Flanking them were two light warforms, rifles held calmly at their sides as the crew of the retrofitted vessel left the comfort of their ship.

The message that ran through the Collective now was accompanied by a groan. More clones. They could only hope that these were not quite as peculiar and… Disgustingly, cannibalistically callous as The One. “Hail,” Iota-Clausewitz declared, splitting their hand apart in the salute that the Collective still used whenever they first addressed foreign nations.

Despite the lack of transcendence however, there was little suggesting that these Zetans were all flesh. Iota-Clausewitz had two metal legs and a visage that had been crafted to look like a chrome mask, most of Psi-Gauss’ left side had been deliberately made asymmetrical, and Omicron-Kappa’s arms almost jarringly transformed to robotic facsimiles at the shoulder. Unlike Sigma-Devi, none of these Zetans had been selected for the perfect blend of natural beauty and light augmentations that the Collective had determined would make for the best impression, leaving them feeling distinctly awkward about their bionics for the first time in their lives.

“To which nation do we have the honour of first contact?”

There was silence for a moment, interrupted only by the occasional sound of an Ishtari soldier struggling to maintain composure amidst the scene. The three women assembled at the head of the table rose - one leaning on the one who stood beside her for support.

Istir moved to speak, and was cut off by a raised hand from Scheherazade, who nodded to the Zetans - even as hints of tears glistened in her own eyes.

“People of Zeta, it is… an honor and a delight I cannot properly express to welcome you. Our people - our nation, we are The Commonality of New Ishtar. We…” she trailed off, for once, for the first time in perhaps a century, at a loss for words. “We feared that we were all that remained, after the Gateway collapse.”

The Collective had tuned into this meeting, and even now, a twinge of sadness ran through Zeta. They too had had a similar feeling when the Gateway had flared to life and they had found others, but whilst theirs had been the simple joy of discovering they were not the last, it seemed to have struck a deeper chord with these New Ishtarians. “The Zetan Consciousness is always glad and eager to have discovered another wayward branch of humanity. Our colony was founded to shine a light into the future- each nation we discover is a validation of the trust our ancestors placed in us.”

Even if they were clones.

She paused, “And - may I have the honor of knowing your names? If indeed you use them? I am Sister-Sage 192 Scheherazade Dreams Of Many Great Things. Beside me is Sister-Soldier 138 Istir Holds Firm The Readied Sword.” A heaving sob came from the woman whose face was buried into her arm, “And this is Sister-Sage 43 Sachiko Treasures The Beauty In The Universe.” She smiled, choking back a similar reaction.

“I am Iota-Clausewitz, Naval-Speaker of the vessel we just departed from. This is Psi-Gauss, Navigational Specialist, and this is Omicron-Kappa, one of the vessel’s engineers.” The names of the clones told them quite a lot about their society- likely religious, almost certainly militaristic, but, perhaps there was something of Matuvista there, with ‘Treasures The Beauty In The Universe?’ They appeared to have some amount of individuality to them, unlike The One.

“These other two are remotely controlled defensive marine combat warforms.” The standard lie that Zeta had repeated so many times. Transcendence was not to be shared.

Scheherazade nodded. “Well met, Iota-Clausewitz.” She nodded to the other two, “And likewise, Psi-Gauss, and Omicron-Kappa. We welcome you, once again.”

Istir spoke up. “These are magnificent cybernetics your people have developed, Naval-Speaker. Exceeding our own, even.” She, herself, smiled - showing no hints of the tears that welled within the eyes of her comrades. “And such magnificent robotics. To think your people took such a different path than our own for survival in the void, simply fascinating. How did you survive? Our vessel was a generation ship. Did the Gateway Collapse not affect your own people as long?”

“Thank you. Clearly your own biological adaptations have been notable as well- there are some newcomers in the Meeting Place who seem to have gone down similar lines, but most of those who survived are relatively unchanged from the same humans that left Earth some three hundred years ago.” Iota-Clausewitz’s mask pulled itself into a smile, then a confused frown.

“As long? Well, of course, ours opened before yours did, but that is neither here nor there.”

Scheherazade frowned at her. “My apologies for her, but I admit I am curious myself. We… suffered tremendously within its grasp. As you can see. How did you avoid the mutations?”

The crew turned to glance at each other, mentally communicating. None had wanted to acknowledge the peculiar growths from the skulls of the clones. They had assumed doing so would be rude.

“Our new home planet of Zeta-5 has subjected us to an uncomfortable level of mutation thanks to ionizing radiation, which we combatted through widespread augmentation and the founding of subterranean cities, insulated away from such energies.”

A muffled sob, followed by a simple nod, was Sachiko’s addition, as the woman struggled to maintain control of herself.

“Three hundred years?”

“Just over three hundred, yes.” Psi-Gauss decided it best to not go into the hyper-specific time details.

Istir and Scheherazade shared a look. A look of immense confusion.

“No, no, we understand three centuries, approximately, passed within realspace. But… within… I do not know what your own people call it. We call it The Void. It… we assumed… we assumed the non-generation ships would have starved to death. That…”

Sachiko spoke up now, the same voice cracking with emotion. “We thought the others were nothing more than cold coffins filled with skeletons and death. We thought that the last gasp of humanity had been extinguished in that hell. We thought we were all that remained. The last surviving remnant of humanity.” She smiled, bitterly, “Four billion souls all wearing the same face. Some cruel fucking mockery of the universe.”

“The Void?” The cyborgs frowned. “Our transportation was to the wrong system, but instantaneous… We may have had divergent experiences during the collapse.” Once again, the Zetan delegation felt rather too awkward to address the many, many questions that were brought up by the Ishtari.

“The Void.” Scheherazade’s words came in reply. “You… did not experience it? Our vessel was… I am not a scientist, I cannot truly explain it - but then, neither can the scientists. According to our surviving archives, it was as though the vessel was trapped outside of… outside reality itself for over five centuries. It was there we became what you see now.”

“I can confirm we experienced nothing of the sort. The Arkadios was a rapid transit colony ship, had we spent five hundred years in empty space, we would indeed be a… ‘cold coffin filled with skeletons and death.’ We had our own issues with the Gateways- as mentioned, we were translocated to the wrong system, one that was significantly less amenable to human life than we had hoped, but we were moved immediately. We had thought ourselves to be the only colony that experienced Gateway malfunction, the shutdown notwithstanding.”

The three sat silent, nearly motionless, for a time.

The net was ablaze. Four and a half billion voices screamed out in a dizzying cacophony of outrage, joy, confusion, envy, and more. The three of them - connected to the net as they were, relaying every word that was said to their people as the discussion unfurled, were momentarily overcome by the reaction.

“F-forgive me.” Scheherazade muttered. “I… we… my kin are…”

“Feedback like that is normal. It’ll pass.” Istir murmured, patting her on the shoulder. “You try to stay separate from it normally, you’re handling it better than she is.”

Sachiko, indeed, had hunched over the table, hands clapped over her ears as she tried to drown out as much external stimulus as possible. The sheer blast of it nearly knocked her from her chair, and she waved a hand to the other two, resolutely screwing her eyes shut.

“This is… this news has caused significant uproar among the Ishtari populace.” Scheherazade said, once she had recovered somewhat.

This time, it was the Zetans that couldn’t help themselves. Psi-Gauss’ face was practically radiant. ”You have a population-wide neural network integrated into your bodies?” The Collective roared with happiness and approval. Whatever tribulations these clones had gone through, whatever troubles they had faced, be it the ‘Void’ or their mutations, they had developed their own Collective.

Scheherazade nodded, a thin smile crossing her lips. “More or less, yes, we call it ‘the net’. It is… our minds are not one - we were nearly destroyed by such a development. Twice. But we are close to each other. Individuals, certainly. Ordinarily, I cannot stand to be in the same room as Istir, here. But we reach a consensus together. We are all equals within it.”

A storm of votes went up in the Collective. Could they reveal their closely guarded secret? The motion passed back and forth a few times. Ultimately, the sad conclusion was that the cat was almost out of the bag already, and this seemed like too good an opportunity to make a connection to pass up.

“You cannot understand the joy that the Consciousness is feeling currently. The Zetan Consciousness is named as such not because we consider ourselves particularly moral, but because we are a consciousness, multiple minds bound together using the processing power of half a billion minds, augmented by additional server support. Currently, you speak not just to us five, but to every Zetan, no matter how far they may be. And, just like you, we are all equals.”

Again, the three Ishtari were overcome for a time - but a shorter one, Scheherazade raising a finger with a small smile on her face as she waited for the uproar to die down. “And, likewise, you speak to over four and a half billion of our own. Most of them are happy. Some are confused. Some scared.” She smiled, “I count myself among the former, for what it’s worth.”

“A moment - your Consciousness, it is not biological? It is technological?” Istir spoke up, frowning. “Then, those ‘remotely controlled defensive marine combat warforms’ - do they contain minds within them as well?”

Scheherazade’s attention roused, and she added her support. “If I may venture a theory - your organic forms do seem to age. If you have such technology, do you… transfer a copy of your minds to this Consciousness, come the end of your natural lifespans?”

“Four and a half bi-” Iota-Clausewitz blinked a few times. Then, suddenly, the Ishtari came to a lot of very accurate conclusions very rapidly. They’d need to clear these up, and now.

“Indeed, you are quite right there. We neglected to mention that initially out of caution, but this is Gamma-Theta and this is Phi-Pasteur.” The two warforms gave crisp salutes to the Ishtari when they were introduced, quickly returning to their statue-still poses afterwards.

“As for transferral… No, nothing as crude as that. Our minds are constantly changing and adapting things, and with every change and adaptation, Zetan engineering ensures that our minds are slowly, carefully, etched over with chrome. Eventually, either I will replace all of this body’s flesh with steel, or the flesh will fail, and I will simply leave it behind. The result will be the same. Mortality is overcome.”

Debate raged again within the Ishtari net. What this meant. Were these warforms the same souls? If there was, as indicated by the Zetans, continuity of self - what did that mean?

Scheherazade smiled, once again. “This is… well, it’s controversial already, for sure. We use more… biological methods for immortality. But we are gladdened to see that more children of earth have overcome the chains of mortality as we have. Debates rage already. I am sure you understand.” She nodded to the warforms. “Well met, Gamma-Theta and Phi-Pasteur. Had we known, we would have provided you chairs as well. Please, if you wish for some, we are willing to accomodate you.”

Sachiko spoke up, finally coming to some measure of control over the chorus in their minds. “You seemed surprised, earlier. You were about to say four and a half billion. Is there something wrong?”

“Biological immortality? You’ve… Halted the deterioration of genetic code?” There was a long pause. “The ability to manipulate the building blocks of life on such a fundamental level… What an astonishing feat of science. Could you share more about how you’ve managed such a thing?”

The two warforms merely shook their heads when offered chairs, the rest of their bodies remaining eerily still. Psi-Gauss explained. “Light warforms are built to minimise much of the discomfort a biological body experience, and, as we are a recently-retrofitted naval ship, many of those crewing our warforms feel a particular urge to act rather… Stiff. First-Speaker Sigma-Devi should really be the one to brief you on Galactic History however. As for the four and a half billion, we were merely slightly astonished at the number. We believe that in terms of biological population, that places the Commonality as one of the largest nations in the galaxy that we are aware of.”

Scheherazade winced. “The scientists are now furious with me, forgive me - it seems I’ve given you a somewhat inaccurate depiction of things. Certainly - we greatly extended natural lifespan. This body would be expected to live for over a hundred and fifty years more unaided. What we have developed is… akin to a biological version of your own process. Essentially…” she paused for a moment, surreptitiously nodding as millions of thoughts raged within her mind, and a consensus formed on how best to describe the process.

“Take a look at the ship you are in. Did you see ports within the walls occasionally, as you walked through it?” Said Scheherazade. Not waiting for a reply, she continued, turning in her chair and pulling her hair to the side to reveal the neuroport at the nape of her neck.

“We transfer our brains - our biological brains, neuron impulse by neuron impulse, to a biological neural net. Once a year, our bodies are…” she paused, “Remade? Digested and reformed? The body you are speaking to now is only a year old but my mind is two hundred and thirteen. The numbers within our names indicate how many times we have undergone this process in our lives - plus twenty one years on-planet from infancy to adulthood.”

“You have trusted us with your own information, which is why I am willing to divulge this to you now. There are many who oppose it - but I, and most of our number, think it best to be open with your people.”

The Zetans tried very hard to keep the horror off their faces. They managed to succeed. It was not that they were opposed to others finding alternate pathways to immortality, but the idea of repeatedly ’digesting’ living bodies to form fresh ones struck a disturbing chord within the Collective.

It was not altogether incorrect to call the Zetans a ‘sterile’ people. In many ways, that was what they were- a nation that left behind much of the ‘left side brain’ to embrace sleek, sterile technology. Zetan birth rates were extraordinarily low, and they had turned to AI to make up the shortfall. Such a… Burgeoning biological nation did not sit pleasantly with them.

Istir, for her part, had remained silent until now. “One of the largest, you say?”

“Most have less than two billion biological citizens. As mentioned, we have only slightly over half a billion. Previous largest are what we believe to be a pseudo hive-mind made up predominantly of clones, approximately 4 billion. Largest state that does not practice mass cloning is the Gran Republic of Matuvista, with over three billion citizens.” There was a long pause. “We would be most interested to see how that interaction will resolve itself.”

Scherazade and Sachiko, for their parts, had noticed the reactions of the Zetans - and in unison they spoke. “Is something the matter?”

Internally, the Zetans wondered how to get themselves out of this situation. They decided that gentle lies would likely do the trick. “We were merely a little shocked at the intensely… Intimately biological nature of your technology. It seems rather unusual to us.”

The three stiffened at the words ‘pseudo hive-mind’. Scheherazade and Istir exchanged worried glances, Sachiko gritted her teeth, and began to stare intently at nothing in particular. The soldiers around them stiffened, many of them clutching their weapons instinctively.

“A… a pseudo hive-mind, you say?” Scheherazade said, very, very carefully. “Four billion strong?”

“Entirely clones of a single individual, as best as we have been able to tell. They have… Disturbed us. Their actions internationally have been scrutinised quite heavily.”

The net erupted in outcry. Four and a half billion voices cried out, almost universally, for blood. Fear. Fear rippled through their minds, and Scheherazade felt herself caught up in it, doing her best to maintain some form of composure.

“We cannot judge cloning, at least. We were forced into similar such circumstances by our entrapment within the void. The three of us are what we term the ‘Tiamat Strain’. We do not create adult clones, as it stands. All of us are genetically more or less identical, it is true - but we grew from infants. Thus our individuality. There are numerous other Primary Strains amongst our people - but we Tiamat Strain account for approximately ninety-five percent. Her DNA was… uniquely suited for modification and cloning? Our lack of genetic variation is not intentional, I assure you.”

Istir interrupted her, finally raising one of her hands above the table to reveal a cybernetic fist, which she slammed into the table. “The Hive Strain nearly destroyed us twice! Tiamat herself was killed in action against them. Had we not destroyed them and the other Deviant Strains, we would not be here now! Another like it cannot be allowed to live! It is an existential threat to all life in the galaxy!”

Sachiko, for her part, seemed saddened. “I hate killing.” She whispered. “But you aren’t wrong.” She looked up to the Zetans - “I don’t know how much of this your people are sharing with the other nations - hopefully, none - but this stays here. Between our peoples.”

She lifted a small device in her hand, bearing a colored digital screen on which a photograph of a Hive Strain specimen was depicted.

“These… things nearly destroyed us twice, like Istir said. They’re… they were dangerous before we destroyed them. The five centuries aboard the ship were… hell. They were hell for our people.”

“We hope you offer us the same courtesy when it comes to our immortality, our, ‘transcendence,’ as we call it. We believe none others have realised. We have not even formally revealed our collective Consciousness yet, although many have made accurate theories as to its nature.”

Scheherazade nodded. “It shall not leave our lips. Your secret is safe with us. We are alike in many ways. We fully understand your desire for secrecy in this matter.”

The Collective had much to process now, but… There were individuals more suited to discussion than those on this small vessel. “Now that your Gateway has opened though, we should send forth to Sol. First-Speaker Sigma-Devi would be delighted to formally welcome you to the intergalactic stage.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Scheherazade said, nodding. “We ought prepare a more… fitting craft for the purpose, however.” She gestured to the haphazardly created diplomatic craft around them, repurposed from a civilian liner. “This would hardly do for galactic first impressions - and I suspect that the other peoples are not as open minded as yourselves. These… One, though. We will need to discuss them in greater detail.”

“The Gateway is fluctuating.”

Scheherazade’s eyes widened. Istir had spoken, tuned in to different currents of thought among the Commonality than she herself was.

“What?”

“The Gateway is fluctuating. The engineers are trying to stabilize it, but i-”

Istir was cut off as she winced, “And it’s closed.”

The Zetans paused for a long moment. They glanced at each other, even the normally-stationary soldiers moving to stare at the other Zetans. There was another long pause, and then the Collective confirmed. The Gateway had destabilised. There was a third long pause, and then Iota-Clausewitz turned back to the three clones.

“Well. I suppose we have no reason not to become more acquainted now.”

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed] [Soon to be Concluded]

Spoopy

The Commonality of New Ishtar:
_{Ishtari Commonality, New Ishtar, Ishtar}

Government Form:
Direct Democracy:

Demographics:
Perfected: 99.99%
Other: .01%

The Perfected:

_{Image Credit}

The Perfected are derived from the gene-stock of the crew of the Generation Ship Ishtar. Modified significantly over the years in response to myriad threats to the survival of human life, we have transcended the bounds of our ancestors and achieved not only a wide array of unique abilities - but immortality.

Almost every Perfected is born with a set of features that distinguish us from our ancestors.
Among other things,

• We can metabolize numerous inorganic compounds for metabolic energy
• Breathe in an ammonia atmosphere provided there is sufficient oxygen,
• Are born without the curse of natural eyesight that the cloud of the Void may never strike our minds
• Sport natural neural interfaces at the base of the spine and nape of the neck for use with the Ishtari net and computers, as well as power armor and weapons systems, vehicles, and more.
• Are immune to the airborne parasites of New Ishtar. Augmented immune systems render them highly resistant or immune to numerous other pathogens, both endemic to New Ishtar and those brought by humanity.
• Have a second heart; enlarged adrenal glands; nanostructure-reinforced bones and muscle tissue; redundant secondary brain in event of traumatic head injury; redundant spleen; two extra stomachs to neutralize environmental toxins and to break down difficult to digest foods; modified sweat glands enabling the secretion of a waxy substance to prevent infection from the numerous parasitic insects of New Ishtar; the replacement of fingernails with claws connected to the bone of the hands, enlarged canine teeth, a reinforced and redesigned skull to mitigate brain injury from impact, and more.
• Improved, more-efficient hemoglobin and enlarged lung capacity enabling greater oxygenation of blood.
• Redesigned nervous system permitting slightly improved reaction time, alongside significant nanostructural reinforcement of the myelin sheathe. Redundancy of numerous key nervous pathways, spinal column reinforced to withstand significant impact or cutting force without damage.
• Redesigned skeletal structure to better bear the increased weight of exerted upon it by the heavy gravity of New Ishtar.
• A nanostructure-engineered protective sac around the vital organs in the torso capable of resisting the impact of a knife or the claws of an animal. The neck is similarly reinforced.
• Enhanced sensory organs which, in concert with improved neural systems enable we Ishtari to respond to external threats and stimuli before those threats have even consciously registered.
• A genetic encyclopedia of basic information required for the operation of most technology on New Ishtar. Even if reduced to a single individual, the last lone Ishtari is capable of creating more of herself.
• Are able to enter a state of hibernation or suspended animation for a period of up to ten years.
• Supercomputer-optimized engineered metabolism to support all of the above with as small an increase in caloric intake as possible.
• Are functionally immortal via the use of the Rejuvenation Chambers!

The advantages of being Ishtari over baseline, ancestral human are boundless, as one can easily see! The bone-like growths upon the heads of all Ishtari have no detrimental effects except perhaps in narrow doorways, rest assured.

During the great trials and tribulations of the Voyage, the diversity of the crew of the Generation Ship Ishtar was tragically almost eliminated by the scourge of the Divergent Strains. As a result, the bulk of the population of we Ishtari are of what is known as the Tiamat Strain, making up approximately 95% of all Ishtari. Almost all of the Perfected are , thus, biologically female at creation - and excepting those of the Shamash, Marduk, Izanagi, and Tsukuyomi Strains, all males you may see upon New Ishtar (approx. 3.1% of population, another 4.5% identifying as nonbinary) have chosen their current forms to suit their individual identities, regardless of their Strain. This is thanks to the wondrous technology of the Rejuvenation Chamber, and the forward-thinking Ishtari society!

The purpose for the Tiamat Strain’s predominance is, of course, the incredibly malleable genetic code of Tiamat, and the stability of her Primary Strain during the initial cloning process lead to by far the highest ratio of successful cloning cycles, creating a feedback loop that resulted in the Strain’s current predominance.

We of course remind you to always remember,

The Perfected are human.

The Perfected are human.

The Perfected are human.

T̩h̗͚̜̬͎̝ͅe͍̞̫̲̬ ͔̖͕͖̣͎̹P͏e̻̰̼̝͞ͅr̤̲̺͍f͉̠̱͓̗̱͔͟ę̙̺̰̮͕̤c͉̗̙̰̣t̴e̴̳͚̦͓̳d̵̝ͅ ̧͇̭͚̗a̵̹͇̮͔͔̺r̤͡e̙̦ͅ ̷̜h͎͙͍̹u͍̞͜m̝̝̰̫a̖̣̺͝n͙̤̥͎͖̰

T̗he̷̱̟̠̻̲ ̣̤̳P̗e̼͔͇̟̟̣r͔̼͇̭̖̬f̯̻̪͈͎̯e̢̝͇͎̰̹͙͚c̞͢t̶̰̤͔e̤̥d̙̠̞̺͔͔̝͜ ͇̦̝a̲͘ŕ̘̦̟̺̻̥e̪͉̰ ḫ̦͕̹̟̲u̜̟̟͕̮̪̝͠m̭̪̮a̸̰͙̤̞̩ń̗

Tͦ̇͒ͩ̈́h̠͇̮̺͍͉ͦͫ͌̊́ͅe̠̤̗͍̼̓̓̏ ̥̭͈̜̹͕̓͆ͣͧ̍̂ͪ͞P̴̄ẹ͙͕͎̗͓̽̋͐̈̔̃̋ͅr̩f͕̣̳̭̙̩͉͑̇ͨͪ̔́e͈̞̝̦̪͙̜͋ͥċ̥̱̲̐̚t̲̙̞̮̺ͥ̿̾͠e̼̗̥͕̜͉ͥḑ̺̟͙̙̯̒ͣ̔͒̇̆ ̱͉̖͗̓͆́͌̏̚ạ̘̭̮ͧ̆̽́ř͙̈́e̦̼̞̫̪ͧͬ̑ ̦͖̇ͥ̔͐͝h̤̽́ṷ̪̤̲̤̫̘ͣ̐́m̡̻͎ͨ̂̃a͉͉̤ͣ̄̅̿̾̅ͣn͙͍̰͍̽ͫ̆

Ţ͔̯̳̭̱̯̥͓h̶͎̩͓̳͠ͅͅe͔͈͉ ̤̠̰̩̯̗̜̣̟P͚͉e̩͉̳̳̞̥r҉̡͚̭͟f̸̛͔͎͔̬e̴̸͈͘ͅc̮̩̰̰̺̻̠̤͓͢t̗͙͙͠͠è̩͓͟d̡͈̱̼͜ ̕͜҉̼͇̹̜̗̘̼ͅa̢͓͕̩͠r̡̛̦̤̣͖͎͓e̳͎̲͘ ̛̣̹̜̯́h̬̰͜͝ứ̫̗̙̗͞m͚̝̘̙͡͡ą̦̪̲̹n̲̫̯̹̪̹̮͠ͅ

Tͬͯ̈̈̊̽͜͏͕͙̲͎̗̯̦̦͔̦̯̙͎̖̤̮͉ͅh̨̟̭͙̩͇̜̯̹̝̜̻͕͍̬͓̿͋̀ͮͨ̍ͫ́̑̿ͭ̄ͫͬͪ͘e̢̺͉͖̜͖̮͉̗̺͌ͦ͑͒ͦͦ͑ͫͣ̎̄ͫͮ̃́ ͖͇̩̼̘̖ͮͮ͌͒ͦ̅̃̓̌ͥ̔̄ͥ̍͊̊̑̉͌̀͡ͅP̨̥̪̗̘̠̘̼͍̜̝͍̭̺̤͖̙̿ͣͮ̔̈́͠e͔̙͖̹͉̬̫̻̹͉̖͚̩̗ͣͥ̈́͊̑͗ͬͧ̄͊͛̉́̕͟͢͠ͅr̨͕̪͖̬͍͎̔ͣ͌͛̄ͭ̓̓̓ͪ͑ͪ̋̏͐ͦ̈̔͘f̨̭͙̹̳̺͉̞ͣͧ̊̋ͨͭ̋̍̏̚͜͞ē̷̖̘̟̦̼̺̯͚̥̲̝͚̥͕̮̩̳̫̜̿ͩ̍͛ͫͥ̾ͦ̽̆ͣ̉̀̚̚͜c̷̢͚̼̦̩͕̫͈̹͎̮̼̘͉̼̝ͬ̎̃̏ͧ̚̕͢t̴̵̪̟͍̣͔̜̘̹͍̝͚̼̣̠̪̔̅̈̓ͤ̈́̀̽͛͊̾̈́͡e̷̥̩̹̻̗ͣ͑̓͆̎̾ͪ̀̚ḋͣ̏ͧ̂̓̌͒̑̈̇ͨ͏̼͔̱̜̠͕͎ ̢̛͕͔̙͚̣͐ͥͬ̉ͯ̔͑ͫ̓ͬ̊̓ͤ̅̀̚a̒͑̊ͤͧ̇̍̌ͮͧ͂ͭ҉̫̩͔̣͙̤̲̲̥̖̼̻̝̗́͢ͅr̴̵̢͕̙̖̗ͭ̽̓ͯ̊̆͝ě̶̒ͯ̆ͨ͏̘̝̠͕̱͔̙͍͔̱̠̹̞̞̠ ̡̢̤̲͚̱̟͕̫̫̘̹ͫ́̂͊͗̇͗̐̊͆̎̀͟͞h̵̨̫̹͖̙̲̩̤̤̼̮̄̽̆͆̒̌̐̚͝u̵̢̍ͨͭ͊̕͜͏͓̯̖̟̜m̨̎ͮ̆̍ͯ̚͡͏̢͉̫̰͍̹̯̫͚͟ͅą̱̠̜̬̖̪̹̠̠̭̻̯͇͉̬ͫ͋ͦ͛̊̏̐ͤͯ͢nͪ̈́̍͑̐͆̄ͧ̀̈́ͥ̇͒͊̌͋̀҉̙̺̣̯̼͈̲͔̥̪

T̹̤͉͖̯͘h͙͢e̙̤̥̟̤̖̘͟ ̣͙̲̗̞͡P̖̳̜̟͓͞e͞r̸f̖̙̟̬̯̱̭e̸̱̻̜c̸͍͎̯̩t̟̝e̛͍d̡ ̺̬̯͚͉̲͟a͜r̦̭̣͡e̮̣̺̖͉̬ ͇͡h̘͍͓͚͇͞um̟̙͎̥ͅa̼̥͈ͅn̹͔͎̬̦̜̟

T͡h̸̨͘é ̵̸̀P͢ęr̸̛fe҉ct͟͠͝e̴͘d͞ ̛͡a̷̡̛r̨̡͞è͟ ̀h͏u̷͜͠m̨̛a̷͡n̡̛

Thḙ̺̘̮̤ ̧͙̻̘Pe̦̜͙̘̞̗̤rfec̸̲͚te͙̤̤̯͈̲͎d̼̲ ̤̥͈̭͓̀a̻͜re ̙̤̼͞hu̩m͉̕a̴n

The Perfected are human.
The Perfected are human.
The Perfected are human.

The Perfected are human.

The Perfected are human.

We are still human.

All doubts as to whether the Perfected remain human are to be taken up with Sister-Sage 341 Semiramis Knows Many Secrets.
_{Sponsored by the New Ishtari Board of Immigration}

Population: 4,672,013,182

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Planet Name and Description:

"We thought we had left hell, only to arrive anew within its grasp".

-Sister-Pioneer 1203 Sana Carries The Torch On The Path To The Future, recorded interview

New Ishtar is a “super-earth”, far, far larger than the earth from which humanity hailed. Its surface is massive, almost five times that of earth. Its gravity is approximately 54.3% stronger than that of earth as well, leading to we Ishtari developing to be abnormally strong among the descendents of earth - ‘punching well above our weight class’, I think is the term?

New Ishtar is beautiful. Perhaps one of the most beautiful colonies of humanity. The world, in pictures, looks like a pristine jewel. An idyllic panorama of nature’s beauty. In actuality, New Ishtar is a death world. One of the deadliest of death worlds. Oh, it has its giant monsters, and they are very terrifying. But venture beyond the cities and death awaits the non-Perfected in a very different manner than they might expect. Carnivorous, possibly sapient algal blooms choke out vast swathes of the sea. Fast-acting flesh eating bacteria dwelling within the geothermal hot springs as well as the lakes and rivers will eat flesh from bone within hours of exposure. The brain-parasites will take root within the host’s brain, slowly spreading throughout until they are fully controlled, directed to take up positions of high elevation, or near ventilation, where the spores crack open the skull and are released to infect new victims. Lung-weed - a parasitic plant that attaches in the respiratory tissue when inhaled, then beginning to secrete enzymes that break the host tissue into an easily digestible material for the planet, consuming the host from within before spreading its tendrils and bursting out through the skin to releasing new spores. It is, possibly, one of the most horrific and yet also most beautiful ways to die upon New Ishtar - should you wish to appear covered in a dazzling array of colorful flowers.

You heard of the screaming trees, the Mycelium Gestalt? How? No. I will not speak of these things.

Planet-Surface Imagery:

History:

"Welcome aboard the Generation Ship Ishtar. The envy of the world - exclusive to members of the Xerico Corporate Family. We hope you enjoy your stay in the lap of luxury as we ferry you safely from the demise of our Mother Earth to the great stars beyond! This short instructional video will detail everything you need to know about staying safe in space as you help keep our Board members and our Shareholders alive on our voyage to our new home, among the stars!"

_{-Beginning of a series of educational videos for the essential crew on board the Ishtar before the ship’s final launch.}

The history of we Ishtari, especially aboard the Generation Ship Ishtar, is an almost impossible web of intentional deceit, madness-spawned lunatic ravings, destruction of records, total anarchic violence in which nothing could be recorded, and stretches of inexplicable blankness for which no modern Ishtari scholar has yet offered a reasonable explanation. What follows is a rough recounting of events, in approximate chronological order, that lead to the founding of the Commonality of New Ishtar. Relevant archival files have been embedded for the edification of the reader.

- The ship launches, staffed by the board and numerous lower workers, of a genetic modification megacorporation from earth. A supremely decadent affair, the entire structure was not only obsessed with vanity-driven genetic modification, but with the accrual of capital to no end!

- The ship travels through the gate on time.

- Something, what specifically it was remains unknown, goes wrong in-transit.

- Sensor readings indicate they are not within the gate, nor are they within the Sol system, their destination system, or even intergalactic space. They are nowhere.

- Tensions begin to rise within the ship due to the inexplicable catastrophe.

- They begin to see things in the corner of their eyes. The exact nature of these things has been long since redacted. W҉͓̗͚e͓ ̗̲̹w̲e͓͈̞r͕͈̦͘é̞̣͙̯̝̯̻ w͠e͍̳͈̫͔͈͍a͚͔̮͔̦k̤̜̤̮͖̙͘.͎̲̯̹̰ ̦̹̲̱W̠̝͇̻e̸̫͇̦ ͈͚̮͖ͅf̵l̸̬̣͕̤̯̳e̫̲͕̭̼̗d͈̲̳̹͢ ̰̳̝͟ͅf̡r͚̥͡ͅo̢̺̤̬m͔̮̳͉̠͇͝ ̹t̝̲͖͓̥̖͢h̘͞e͎͙̭ ͏͓̞̦͇̪̹ͅṰ̥̠̥͙̭͙r̰u͏̞̺̜̮͇̦̖t̡̖̥̬ͅh̬̟͓̘͓͇͜.̧

Archival Log #1

- Suicide rates on-board begin to skyrocket as the crew are driven mad by the Revelations of Truth.

- A genocidal civil war breaks out driven by madness from the visions - the First Gene-Cull. The exact motivations, sides, and more are largely forgotten. Whether it was the foolish ‘ethnic’ tensions of the old world, or something induced by Truth, we will never know.

- Population begins to plummet from the casualties.

- Corporate command staff order cloning to keep population numbers up and ensure the functioning of the ship.

- The First Gene-Cull ends after 75% of population wiped out, over 64% of remaining populace are clones

- Further cloning is implemented to maintain peak efficiency.

- Control is lost of the cloning process and the population swells to almost six million - well over the one million strong intended full crew, the food supply becomes strained, exacerbated by the emergence of the Hive Strain, Second Gene-Cull begins.

Archival Log #2

- The inhabitants of the ship devolve into cannibalism out of desperation, and other depraved acts spurred by the horrible revelations of the void are carried out en-masse. Population is halved.

- A woman whose name is lost to time and is remembered only as Tiamat, with extensive military experience and who later became a leading geneticist, seizes control of the cloning vats and begins to replicate herself at a massive rate, then seizing control of one of the ship’s manufacturing bays and turning it into an armory and weapons research laboratory.

- The Tiamat Strain rapidly becomes a large proportion of the ship’s population owing to lower casualties from Tiamat’s excellent military skills and control of the cloning facilities.

- Tiamat is, ostensibly, killed during a combat operation against the Hive Strain. Some contend that she suffered memory loss and continues to ‘live’ to this day.

- The cryosleep technicians were killed in the first Gene-Cull, and the technology considered lost. It is rediscovered by Tiamat Strain scientists, and the cryofrozen executive board and shareholders are awoken and rendered into raw Biomatter after they attempt to order the Tiamat Strain to serve them.

- Damage to clone chambers results in inability to disable them, the chambers continue to mass produce more Tiamat Strain into the whirling maelstrom of the Second Gene-Cull while Tiamat Strain scientists race to repair them.

- The Gene-Cull continues, the Hive Strain nearly overruns the ship until the united Tiamat Strain succeeds in gathering sufficient Biomatter to create a massive clone army and wipe out the hive strain - and, subsequently, numerous other “Divergent Strains”, ending the second Gene-Cull.

- The food crisis continues to loom, the populace is modified to become chemoautotrophic to feed on chemical reserves, crysostasis is then rediscovered by biologists of the Tiamat Strain.

- Over 75% of remaining strains volunteer or are ‘volunteered’ to enter cryostasis, Tiamat Strain continues to be produced at a high rate, as genetic diversity is now too low to sustain population growth by sexual reproduction. Tiamat Strain scientists continue to tinker with their own genome and those of allied Primary Strains, creating many of the alterations that remain with we Ishtari to this day.

- Biologists of the Tiamat Strain introduce the first version of what will become known as “The Net” - all Tiamat Strain are modified for compatibility with this creation, an internet formed from a hybrid of biological and electronic components. Many other strains quickly adapt it as well, however an unknown offshoot of the Hive Strain adopts the technology and begins to rebuild the Hivemind, sparking the Third Gene-Cull.

- The “Net” nearly proves the undoing of the Tiamat Strain before its vulnerabilities are patched and resolved, in turn enabling the delivery of a neurovirus through the synapse-link to all connected Hive Strain, destroying their brains and allowing their Biomatter to be successfully processed into new Tiamat Strain.

- Archival footage is discovered, showing the extent of mutation of the humans aboard the Ishtar from those humans that boarded the vessel approximately four hundred years prior. This sparks a massive uproar, as the effects of not only genetic modification but the influence of The Void is now finally made clear.

Archival Log #3

- An attempt is made by Primary Strains unconnected to the Net to kill the Tiamat Strain via a neurovirus, as it is seen as the focal point of this divergence and by far the most affected by whatever mutagen afflicts the population alongside the terrible visions, sparking the Fourth Gene-Cull.

- All unconnected Strains are destroyed, all in cryostasis are thawed and given the choice and connected or destroyed, leaving the Tiamat Strain at approximately 93% of the total population. Developments in cryostasis lead to the liquidation of all nonessential Biomatter and the transfer of their consciousnesses to the net, genetic diversity is abandoned and the first Rejuvenation Chamber is developed, sexual intercourse becomes purely a matter of pleasure, genetic modification reaches new heights alongside advances in weapons technology from constant warfare.

- The visions from the Void intensify further, and a cult is formed around them, known as the Followers of She Who Advises, a counter-cult forms soon after contrasting visions from the void. Visions of something Beautiful.

- The Fifth Gene-Cull begins. There is little order or sense to it, and it devolves into a mad orgiastic frenzy of violence, the unity of the Tiamat Strain fractured by the terrible nightmarish images they are afflicted with. The Terrible Truth of the horrific things they see destroying the minds of over two hundred thousand, who are euthanized and rendered into Biomatter. We were foolish. We were WEAK and could not - WOULD NOT understand the Terrible Truth bestowed upon us.

Archival Log #4
Upon the altar, we light the incense of our innocence,

- The Tiamat Strain is re-unified by a woman remembered by the name of Jondishapur, Shielder of Her Flock From Darkness, blinded by her own hand to free herself from the nightmarish imagery haunting her vision, she forms the now-predominant Cult of the Prophet of The Void, all Tiamat Strain begin to blind themselves and replace their eyes with cybernetics, all other strains are given the choice of compliance or destruction. In our COWARDICE we fled from the Truth. She speaks of her visions. Unlike the visions of the Terrible Truth, these are not horrifying. She gazes upon no B͍̺̤ͅl̢̯͚̺̟̹a͈c̦̣͈͖k̫͈͍̞̻͖͡ ͉̝̙̝̱̝͎V̠̻̝̺̩i͖̱s̛͔͚͉̞̘͇̦t̩͚̺̳̺̖͢a̭̮ṣ̶̻͉̬ ̞̯̤͖o̻̠̰̮f̫͟ ̭̪t̕h̝̼̭͖͖͎e ͇̞̥̙̱̯͝U͔̱͠n̙̰͈͎͔̘̦̕e̶͕̦̠̲̳ͅndḭ̝̩̩n͙̱̬̖g̢̝͉̦̤̩͎ ͙V̝̝̮̱̰̦͘o͖̞i̵͓͇̥ͅd̘͈̗̰͎̫͢, nor does she witness the W̘͉̬̝̜e̥̪̣͇̜b̸̘͚ ̴̥̜̖̼̭̖o̡̱̖͖̖̜ͅf̻͕̥͚ ̡̱̯̲D̫̟͔̯̬̠e̟̮͎c͎̯͇̜͈̖ę̦ͅi̙t̢ ̺͔̙a̻̥ͅn̸͓ḓ̛̳̩̼͈ ͇̣o̴͎̟f̘̬̝̜͎̹ ͏͉̳̲̻̹̻L̨̜̻̖̣i̻e̶̺s̀. She sees… something beautiful. Something so beautiful she cannot put it into proper words. It is described only as “Heaven”, for she cannot Understand. She brought us to the Good Truth. The Mother-Prophet told us it loved us. It welcomed us. It would shield us from the Dark. We begin to see Heaven, before we are blinded. And it is beautiful.

- The Fifth Gene-Cull comes to a close, with the final woman to be blinded - a Tiamat Strain who had aspirations of artistry and had feared what cybernetic eyes might do to this - seeing a final vision from the Void. Through hands dripping with a mixture of blood and tears she recounts her visions to those around her, including the Mother-Prophet. A world for us to settle upon. Home.

- Almost as inexplicably as its entrance into the Void, the waveform collapses and our ship is spat back out into realspace. Panicked observations indicate that no time has passed at all in real-time, despite an estimated ~560 years having elapsed aboard the vessel trapped within the grasp of The Void.

Archival Log #5

- They realize they are within a solar system. Scans indicate that there is a super-earth within the habitable zone of the planet’s G-type main-sequence star, and further scans indicate it to exactly match the description of the world given by the Last To Be Freed.

- Exploration teams are dispatched to New Ishtar, heavily armed, to evaluate it. Only three of their number return, badly wounded, one dying of an unknown toxin from a suit breach. What has become of the others?

- The dying woman, in an effort to preserve her knowledge of the planet’s hazards, undergoes a hurried and experimental version of what will one day become known as Rejuvenation. She is amazed to be alive, and describes the experience as “magical”, being able to speak with those permanently immersed in the net and seek their consensus before returning.

Archival Log #6

- The revelations of the process spread like wildfire - as does her report of the planet’s surface.

- The ship is beginning to run low on vital supplies, and a landing is imminently required. Emergency preparations are undertaken and enviro-suits are manufactured en-masse.

- Five decades of constant horror ensue. We weep.

- We Ishtari begin one of our greatest shames. The Great Xenocide. A sapient native species of the world we call New Ishtar had evolved upon it, despite the planet’s hostility, achieving a not-insignificant level of technological development. They are hostile, almost immediately, and translated phrases refer chillingly to The Terrible Truth. In our fear, we did not consider that we might have mistranslated, or misunderstood. A Deviant Strain threatened us with war. We had been among our own for so long, we knew no other recourse but extermination.

- Three decades of brutal slaughter commence. Many of us die. The Rejuvenation Chambers save many more, allowing them to live on Reincarnated after death, or be Rejuvenated from lethal injury. The redundant brain is developed to preserve our consciousness even in physical-death in concert with the life-support systems of our armor.

- The first true Synapse-Node is created. Establishing a non-physical biolink to the brains of all Ishtari. It is at this point we begin to call ourselves the Perfected. The Synapse-Node network explodes overnight, and with it the Ishtari net truly begins to reach its current height.

- The Great Xenocide finally comes to a close. Sporadic fighting continues in the outskirts. Those of the native species, whose name, appearance, and everything about them have long been forgotten, are subjected to the process of Perfection against their wills. Their minds are Alien to Us. But we mould them. We shape them. We make them compatible with Us until They are We. We strip them of their minds. Their memories. Their Divergence. We assimilate their Biomatter into our own reserves, and their now Perfected minds, wiped clean of Deviant Thought become Us. They still exist among us today, part of Us.

- Slowly, the planet becomes Ours. We bend it to Our will. We make it Our own. We adapt to it. No longer do we need fear the brain-parasites or the infectious flies or the toxic waters. We become immune to the lung-weed that felled so many of Us. The screaming trees and the razorgrass are cut away from civilization, confined to wilderness We have not yet claimed. The Mycelium Gestalt is destroyed with a Neurovirus, ending the threat it poses to our Synapse Nodes.

- We turn inward, seeking further Perfection. We have no scarcity, now. The planet provides for us.

- Why must we suffer from age? From disease? From Imperfection? Why must we fade away like the petals of a flower when we could remain beautiful forever?

- The Rejuvenation Chambers. They hold the key.

- We will become Perfect. Forever. Through the Rejuvenation Chambers we may all achieve Immortality. Some resist. But they are made to Understand.

- There is no hierarchy. We are all Perfect. What can there be beyond such? We are Equal. We are Perfect. We are Beautiful. We are Immortal. We are Unending. We are many.

- We have been touched by That Beyond. We stared into the Terrible Truth and could not embrace it. We are sheltered by the Good Truth. We are whole. We are humanity. We are Perfect. We hope other humanity has survived. That they have not suffered as we have. We are not optimistic. Ours was a generation ship. Theirs were not. We fear we are all that remains of humanity. All that is left. A single speck of ash. Four billion souls wearing the same face. The last fleeting remnant of humanity. Failures.

- The Gate.

- The Gate Opens…

- We pray we are not alone.

Culture and Society:
Ishtari culture and society is a beautiful interwoven tapestry of the different groups that made up the crew of the generation ship that ferried us to our home. It is, as a result of our experiences aboard the generation ship, an intensely, fiercely communal and egalitarian society. All who threaten us will be defeated. It is only by banding together, by sharing with each other, by abolishing unnecessary hierarchies and other things that separated us that we have achieved such heights today. We are all Perfect. None is superior to another. We have no concept of ‘money’ - as you have termed it. Food, shelter, water, electricity, all the base necessities are given freely, without cost. We live in plenty, for we share without compunction or compulsion amongst ourselves.

How we are made? What a strange question. We are clones. Or the descendents of clones. The line has blurred. We are created from the Primary Strains of those who survived. We grow from infants, still, though we are birthed from our Rejuvenation Tanks, rather than from flesh. We are raised by the whole, by everyone. We know much from the moment we can speak. We follow those paths that most appeal to us. We train in combat, when we do not follow these paths. We grow until we reach the age of twenty one years - or approximately twenty eight and a half years, using the orbit of earth about sol as a metric. It is then we undergo our first Rejuvenation. Our bodies are… digested. Our minds are slowly transferred, one neuron at a time, to the neural net wherein they remain until our bodies have been reconstructed according to our individual design. We are then transferred back. Through this we have achieved near-immortality. We do not age. We do not suffer from genetic disease. We do not know sickness, or hunger. Death is an aberration. A tragedy.

What is death, you ask? Death is a discontinuity of self. Those whose brains are destroyed, and with them their consciousnesses, before they can be transferred to the Synapse Network may be restored from backups - but they are not the same person. Should this tragic event occur - if the consciousness cannot be preserved - our fallen kin will be mourned and a replicant of her last mind-backup will be implanted into her reconstituted body with her Rejuvenation number reset to 1. They are Reincarnated. Brought into life anew. Some day, heaven willing, when they too have passed on should they remain in harmony with that life of theirs that came before they will coalesce into one.

Computer conscience? You have many questions. I will answer. Transference of self to a digital form is, in our view, akin to simultaneous birth and death. A bittersweet combination of the tragedy of death and the joy of new life. One consciousness dies, whilst the other is born anew with the thoughts of the past. That digital consciousness will make an imprint upon the universe, just as any biological life. A soul, if you will. When that digital instance, too, has finally died - should they remain in harmony, they will merge with their past and future lives.

Ah, you ask of our equivalent to digitized conscience? They are not truly alike, of course. The mind remains biological. Our computers are partly biological, and partly electronic. Some of us choose to transfer our minds to the biological portion of these computers, residing in and controlling the local net, some times with other transferred minds. I- I’m sorry? Well… if you were to upload a computer virus that would damage it we would consider it murder, yes. A very grisly one, at that. Why would you even suggest such a thing? We respect your customs, even if we do not understand them. Why do you make light of ours so?

We speak a language that is a fusion of the old earthen languages Persian, Assyrian, Japanese, Tagalog, and the constructed language Esperanto. The ship’s crew was primarily composed of peoples speaking the first four languages - and Esperanto was a commonly known lingua franca in the Old Earth corporate culture. During our eight century history, these languages have merged to form a new language. We retain knowledge of numerous other old earth languages, should the opportunity or need arise for their use - such as with you.

The year is divided into 59 8 day long weeks, with a final week on the new year lasting a full 25 days formed from the remaining days in the year. These extra days are used for an enormous public holiday celebrated almost universally by we Ishtari. The ‘net’ is frequently described to be a psychedelic light show with little else to compare it to during this time. A vast play is performed both in realspace and in the net depicting a stylized, and sanitized, version of the Ishtar’s perilous voyage to its present place. The New Year is officially commemorated as the anniversary of the touchdown of the first colonists upon the planet, and takes place in the midst of the planetary autumn. A wide variety of food and drink is prepared and shared amongst friends and partners, and many take part in the 17 day long play in their own small way, or host their own, simplified, version. The Ceremony of the Weeping Hands is the final keystone of the event, commemorating an allegedly fictional myth of the final Ishtari to be blinded glimpsing the planet just before losing her biological eyes, and directing we Ishtari to settle upon the world when we had returned to realspace. It is so named for the tears she is said to have wept, mingled with blood from her gouged sockets, that flowed between her fingers as she spoke of the sight to those around her. A bright red beverage is prepared to ritualistically imitate her blood, traditionally flavored with the fireberries of the Satur’i Basin. A quiet moment of contemplation, severed from the buzz of four billion voices for a full minute, is then undertaken before the gradual close of festivities and return to normal life.

Recreation? Why, we have a wide variety of such! The net contains… nearly anything you can possibly imagine, in fact. Videogames - yes we have those. There are too many things to describe. Truly. We have many activities outside of it, yes! Battle reenactment is one we are fond of! As is battle simulation. Every Ishtari is a soldier - even if not all of us become full time military like our Sister-Soldiers. Each of us drill and train once a year. And there can be joy in the clash of arms! We do not die, after all. What have we to fear of bullets and swords when we may be Rejuvenated from any injury? I myself have partaken in no fewer than two dozen such battles, and veterans of the wars tell us they are very realistic. Except, well - the dead and wounded are made whole again after these, and then a meal is shared by all. We enjoy swordplay as well! All children are educated in it during their upbringing, and its basics are imprinted in us even before this through our genetic knowledge. We duel each other with swords frequently. For the sheer joy of battle, and feeling blood flow between our fingers, or to settle disagreements. Duels are fought until incapacitation, at which point both contestants are Rejuvenated. It is customary for the loser of a friendly duel to provide a meal to the winner - and vice versa for those duels used to settle disagreements.

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Governance and Politics:
Direct democracy is your term for it, I believe. Facilitated by our net. It is how we come together as one to debate and decide on courses of action. Those with expertise on certain matters are highly respected, and careful consideration given to their advice. We are equal, however. No individual is worth more than another. No individual is worth less. We are all cared for equally. We know no scarcity, for there are no overlords to hoard for themselves. Thanks to our technology, we can reach a consensus in moments on truly pressing topics - and even more complex matters may take a week at most of deliberation. Information flows freely among us.

Leaders? We have none. They would be above the others were they leaders, and no Perfected is more Perfect than another. The only time we may choose leaders is our military - for those with great skill at war will prevent unnecessary bloodshed. Ultimately, however, our strength lies within us.

Technology Overview:
We Ishtari are a technological powerhouse. Centuries of warfare have ensured our weapons technology is fearsome. Centuries of genetic modification have gifted us mastery of life. The natural resources of New Ishtar, too, provide us with many wondrous materials to use.

• Genetic manipulation: We Perfected ought serve as an apt demonstration in our own right of the power of Ishtari genetic engineering.
• Biological computing: Our computers! They are very different to yours, yes! They are partly digital, yes. Explaining every detail of the difference between our hybrid computers against pure digital ones would take too much time. Please, forgive me for this - I will provide an overview instead. There are operations for which a computer chip is far and away superior to any neural structure - raw number calculations, for instance. However, as you are doubtless aware, there is no shortage of advantages in other situations for the neural network. Thus, our computers combine the strength of both. We do not have true ‘operating systems’ for our computers. Rather, in our advanced scientific and military computers, the mind-transferred brains of highly specialized and knowledgeable Perfected control the operation of the machines, residing within the net when they are not busy working. Personal devices? They are controlled through our neural ports, and connect to the net, serving merely as number crunching and data storage units.
• Mind-transference: Why it is nothing less than the transference of the biological brain, and the continued consciousness, of a Perfected via the neuro-link to the net! We can exist anywhere the net does, and transfer ourselves back to our Perfected forms in any new location.
• Neuro-link: These are hybrid biological-electronic devices of great complexity and sophistication. These allow us to transfer our minds to the net, to interact with it in a full-body format as if it is a fully physical space. The neuro-link is connected via specially designed ‘sockets’ on the napes of our necks and the bases of our spines.
• The net: We Ishtari are connected to each other through our net. It is a glorious thing - a world-spanning hybrid biological and technological distributed neural network, with major hubs and nodes coalescing in urban centers. Connection to this network is primarily done via the direct neural links at the base of our spines and napes of our necks. It is the same neural link as that used in the process of the Preservation of Continuous Thought during the Transubstantiation Synthesis phase of Rejuvenation. It can be most likened to a form of “full body VR”, simulated using the collective imaginations in real time of all of its connected users. The net serves not only as a forum for the over four billion people of New Ishtar to come to a consensus, but as one of the chief pastimes and means of communication for the people. It is like your internet - constructed of equal parts computer chips and biological material. Equal parts code and pure human imagination made manifest within cyberspace.
• Synapse Nodes: A wondrous development - enabling non-physical establishment of a neurolink feed to those within its range. Should we be shot dead in the street - our consciousness will be transferred from the secondary brain to the synapse node and we will be Rejuvenated.
• Nuclear atmospheric propulsion: The gravitational acceleration of New Ishtar is 1.543g, or 15.137 m/s². This, naturally, increases the difficulty of flight. The atmosphere of New Ishtar is, however, likewise far more dense. We Ishtari have resolved the problem of heavier than air flight via the development of the nuclear jet engine. Officially termed the Nuclear Induced Jet Propulsion System, it is enabled by Ishtari developments in materials and nuclear technology enabling the successful safe use of miniaturized thorium fission reactors aboard aircraft, with thrust generated by the venting of heat from the reaction process. The ‘nukejet’ as it has been dubbed by some has shown remarkable success over the years, and is widely used in all aspects of Ishtari air travel.
• Automation: Even since the days of our entrapment aboard the generation ship, we Ishtari have utilized a high degree of automation for our manufacturing. While, as mentioned before, our computers are notably different from your own - that has not stopped us from developing autonomous systems for the manufacturing of an immense variety of items. We have likewise extended this technology to our agriculture, freeing up most Ishtari to pursue their individual passions and to train further military excellence, rather than to work in the fields and factories.
• Ishtari ironwood: A wondrous material indigenous to New Ishtar. It is somewhat analogous to bamboo of old earth - a hollow, woody plant that grows at a rapid rate in a wide variety of climates. Its properties are truly remarkable, and it has come to be used in many aspects of Ishtari society. It is stronger, lighter, and easier to mass produce than synthetic polymers owing to the curious array of naturally occurring nanostructures within it, enabling it to reach dizzying heights despite the high gravity of New Ishtar. It is the favored material for applications ranging from the stocks and other furniture of our weapons to chairs and domestic furniture to even certain building materials. Though vulnerable to decay this can be rectified with minimal impact to its desirable properties through a chemical treatment developed in the early decades of our settlement on new Ishtar.
• Neuroviruses: An aggressive, virulent genetically engineered nanovirus utilized as a weapon against organic nervous systems. It requires immense fine tuning to affect its specific target and no other, but when unleashed its results can be utterly devastating. To those foes of ours like the Resurgent Hive Strain or the Mycelium Gestalt, the Neurovirus is a potent, indispensable tool that rapidly liquefies infected nervous tissue, allowing the Biomatter of the organism to be safely harvested.
• Cloning: We would not dare insult you by describing, in detail, the process of cloning. Instead, we will simply ask you to gaze upon all we have built - then ask yourself the power of Ishtari cloning and body-printing technology.
• Cybernetics: We Ishtari make extensive use of cybernetic augmentation. What, you thought we might shun such, with our skill at biotechnology? Hah! My eyes are cybernetic. As are those of every Ishtari. Cybernetic technology is ubiquitous among us. We may not need cybernetic limbs to replace an amputation - but we certainly make use of such for those who require strength beyond that of even our enhanced physiology. Many of us sport digital data ports as well as our neuro-ports for direct interface with less-biological tech.
• Small arms technology: Ishtari weapons technology is highly advanced from centuries of constant warfare. Rest assured, our rifles will kill as quickly and efficiently as your own.
• Power-armor: Some weapons systems are too heavy to use effectively even with cybernetics. Some environments are deadly enough to require extra protection - but a tank might not be feasible. Power armor is the solution. Impervious to small arms fire, capable of carrying weapons that might otherwise be crew served or fixed in place, withstanding environments hazardous even to we Ishtari, and more. Power armor - or at least, a variation of it - has found a use outside of the military as well in domestic applications.
• Rejuvenation Chambers: Our pride and joy. The technology that creates us anew every year. Our path to immortality.
• The Commonality is advanced in numerous other fields not explicitly mentioned here. Their lack of explicit mention does not inherently imply a lack of sophistication.

Military Overview: _{(This is the space to talk about any offensive capabilities you have. Given that most of these Colonies have been essentially stranded by themselves for three centuries, I don't imagine anyone has a large "conquer other planets" level fleet yet. But maybe your Colony has been in civil war for a hundred years, and has built up an impressive military in that time. Or maybe we even had to fend off a genuine alien invasion.)}

Army

The Ishtari army is a hybrid force composed of full time soldiery and highly trained militia. Those who take on the role of Soldier train daily and conduct frequent live-fire high ‘lethality’ combat exercises. It is frequent for the body to be destroyed during these, and the soldier will receive a proper debrief on the errors made in combat that lead to their ‘death’. The full-time soldiery of New Ishtar are a fearsome force,

The other part of the Ishtari army is composed of the entire population of New Ishtar. Every single Perfected of New Ishtar is drilled throughout their whole upbringing in military tactics and life, and even after reaching adulthood are required to join military training with their unit once a year to maintain proficiency. The duration of the training period may vary, but the average is approximately three weeks, plus one four-day period every ten weeks. While these soldiers are not the equals of the full-time soldiery, they are not to be underestimated. Equipped in much the same fashion as the professionals, and highly motivated - for there is no such thing as a war against the will of the people in New Ishtar - they are a potent fighting force all on their own, even discounting their enormous numbers.

The Ishtari fight in a largely conventional manner. New Ishtar utilizes combined arms tactics of mechanized infantry and armored battalions, air support, and orbital as well as ground-based artillery. The Ishtari will form large breakthough artillery and armored units, shifting them to where they are needed along a front. Their military doctrine stresses operational and strategic flexibility, relying upon the firepower of artillery and use of armored vehicles and aircraft to achieve penetration of the enemy lines. The large reserves of the army are kept ready to attach to any attack that shows promise, and attacks that fail are halted and their best forces rapidly redeployed to reinforce those attacks that show success. On a successful penetration of enemy lines, the Legion focuses on destroying supply lines, communication, vital supporting infrastructure such as repair stations and supply depots, and capturing important infrastructure. Acting in concert with the navy to prevent orbital extraction, the position of enemy forces is thus rendered untenable and they are forced to abandon their defenses and retreat so as not to be cut off. Once exposed and vulnerable, they will be subject to the coup de grace with a final massive assault supported by even more artillery, armored vehicles, and close air support.

Ground Equipment of the Commonality of New Ishtar:

New Ishtar still primarily uses chemical propellant based projectile weapons as the primary armament of their infantry. Infantry-portable railguns, while recently developed, lack the reliability, ruggedness, and comparative ease of maintenance and supply of their chemical counterparts without offering a sufficient increase in lethality. Most weapons use furniture constructed of chemically treated Ishtari ironwood which is then coated in a durable electroplated ceramic coating to prevent damage.

Melee Weapons:
Close combat is tightly ingrained within Ishtari society. This extends to their military thinking, as well. Ishtari soldiers will not shy away from killing their enemies in melee combat as well as ranged.

Karambit: Standard issue to every single Ishtari soldier for use both as a tool and a melee weapon. It has worked for centuries. It’s still highly effective now.


Combat sword: An inward curving, strongly constructed sword carried by many Ishtari soldiers in place of or in addition to the standard karambit. Sharp, durable, and intimately familiar to every single Ishtari from their childhood training.

Breaching axe: Equal parts weapon and tool, breaching axes are nearly ubiquitous for their sheer utility and widely favored among both the army and marines stationed aboard starships. Equally useful for prying, chopping, and maiming.


Cybernetic Combat Blades: Known by many nicknames amongst the Ishtari populace, including “the living blender”, the CCBs were designed with the dual goals of extreme lethality and extreme concealment. Capable of being stored within a standard cybernetic arm, the blades are constructed of a high strength, low weight alloy core and diamond-hard nanomaterial cutting edges. Attached to the powerful synthetic muscle tissue of the cybernetic arm, the blades are capable of shearing through standard hard body armor with repeated slashes.

Ranged Weapons:

NLGFAR E74 - Neuro Linked Guided Flechette Assault Rifle, “guffaw”, Edition 47: The bread and butter of the Ishtari infantry, the 'guffaw' is no laughing matter. Firing caseless 5.45 tracking flechette rounds from a 75 round magazine, the weapon is synced to the neurolink of its user enabling real time predictive firing solutions - the user sees where the flechette will go, and the flechette will adjust its course in-flight to make up for small variances in target location. With a muzzle velocity 1453m/s, the flechette projectiles retain excellent kinetic energy even at medium and long engagement distances, enabling them to pierce significant amounts of enemy armor. The GFAR uses a continuous-recoil system that ensures the bolt assembly never impacts the rear of the weapon before cycling back to chamber a new round. The end result is a remarkably smooth recoil impulse, without the bouncing and vibration of a normal weapon, the recoil of the gun feels like a single continuous 'push' rather than a series of smaller impulses, making controlled fire significantly easier.

NLILMG E100 - Neuro Linked Infantry Light Machine Gun Edition 100: A variant of the GFAR E74, used as a squad automatic weapon, the ILMG E100 utilizes the exact same 5.45mm tracking flechette ammunition as its smaller sibling. The role of the E100 is for sustained automatic fire support on a squad level, without the need for the power armor required for the GPMG. Firing from a belt feed, rather than a large magazine, a standard belt is 250 rounds, capable of being stored in the cylindrical 'drum' underneath the weapon to protect the ammunition from the elements. These belts are consumed in the firing process, leaving no need for extraction or ejection and enabling a higher cyclic rate of approximately 1200 rpm with the weapon's heavy duty barrel.


NLGFSMG E2 - Neuro Linked Sub Machine Gun, Edition 2: Affectionately nicknamed "piglet" by its users, the E2 is a powerful neurolinked submachine gun issued to second-line troops, armored units, special forces, for close combat operations, and more. The weapon uses the same 9mm magnum rocket assisted rounds as the OH E33, feeding from a 40 round magazine at a cyclic rate of fire of approximately 1080RPM, utilizing a continuous-recoil system similar to that in the GFAR. The weapon comes with single shot, three round burst, and full auto settings.


NLPIR E209 - Neuro Linked Precision and Interdiction Rifle, Edition 209: A dual purpose anti-material and long distance precision rifle connected, like every Ishtari weapon, to the neurolink of its user to offer predictive firing solutions. Utilizing similar guided flechette technology to the GFAR, the weapon fires a massive 12.7mm rocket-assisted projectile out to a maximum effective range of approximately 3500 meters.


NL-OH E33 - Neuro Linked Offensive Handgun, Edition 33: A large, heavy duty, powerful handgun commonly issued as a sidearm to shock troops, second-line units, or soldiers heading into close combat scenarios. The NL-OFH is also frequently carried by some soldiers who bring it as a personal weapon. The weapon uses similar rocket-assisting technology as the GPMG, in this case firing a 9mm armor piercing, high explosive projectile, not dissimilar to that used in the GPMG. The handgun impacts with enormous energy, and is capable of punching through surprisingly heavy amounts of armor - despite its relatively small size.


NL-EDNTD E43 - Neuro- Linked Electro-Discharge Neural Tissue Destroyer, Edition 43: Developed during the conflict for use against the [REDACTED] of the Mycelium Gestalt, originating from a design developed aboard the Ishtar itself for use against the Hive Strain. The weapon is connected to the power source of the user's power armor, and functions via the launch of high velocity disposable prongs into the target, down which an enormous current of electricity is dumped to destroy the target's neural systems.


NLGPMG-RPW E60 - Neuro Linked General Purpose Machine Gun - Rocket Propelled Warhead, Edition 60: The weapon New Ishtar refers to as its 'general purpose machine gun' is a weapon that has well earned its reputation. Loud. Heavy. Fast firing. Absolutely terrifying. It is more akin to an autocannon. The weapon fires a 26mm rocket-propelled warhead at a muzzle velocity of approximately 332 m/s before its rocket propulsion engages. It sports an integrated neurolink slot for improved firing solutions when attached to the socket of the user, via power armor or through direct link. With this link, and the increased accuracy and hit probability, the weapon has a maximum effective range of approximately 3,500 meters in open terrain. After this, the rocket will self-detonate. There are three primary warheads used:

• APSC - Armor Piercing Shaped Charge: A shaped charge warhead using time-honored technology, on miniature scale. The APSC warhead boasts a maximum penetration of 160mm RHA and is intended for use in an anti-material role or against light armored targets such as enemy power armor or light vehicles.
• HEA - High Explosive Airburst: A fragmentation warhead equipped with a smart-fuse synced to the weapon's systems. Intended for use against unarmored infantry.
• APHE - Armor Piercing High Explosive: Intended for use against large, lightly armored targets. The warhead is designed to penetrate enemy armor or large amounts of flesh, and detonate inside the target, rupturing or destroying vital organs and blood vessels.

Armor

Sister-Soldier 7 Nayris Born From Ash Returns To Vanquish The Wicked clad in the standard-issue Tactical Assault Armor formed from composite metallo-ceramic and graphene plating atop a polycarbaramid duraweave bodysuit with integrated temperature control, life support, and other auxiliary systems.


Sister-Soldier 183 Alyu Grasps The Sword In Hand And Strikes Down The Demons Before Her, outfitted in the standard-issue Heavy Tactical Assault Combat Exo-Suit. Generally, these are more experienced individuals given the heavier power armor and training, plus neural uplink, to handle a squad’s massive 26mm GPMG.


Arctic environment operations by after the crash landing of Dropship 37-2b during the third year of The Great Xenocide

Combat Vehicles

LA-34 ‘Unmanned’ Assault Tank: Equipped with a railgun firing a dart of dense metal at hypervelocity for enormous on-target destructive potential, and a cfrac particle beam weapon for anti-armor operations, the LA-34 is much smaller, on average, than the manned tanks of other nations, the main chassis standing at 150cm in height and able to fully depress itself to the ground. Piloted by a single mind-transferred consciousness embedded deep within the tank and ensconced within a miniature armored sarcophagus, the tank is cheap to mass produce, cheap to replace, and presents a much smaller target than its peers.


MA-10 Heavy Ground Attack Aircraft


MA-4 Tetrajet Heavy Assault Gunship.

Navy

The Ishtari Navy is a powerful navy, standing proud beside its peers. This is, of course, to be expected from a society as militaristic as the Ishtari - and having suffered the hardships they have. Constant vigilance against any threat from abroad is only natural. As such, the Navy is well supplied and highly modern, just as with the army.

The operational doctrine of the Ishtari Navy revolves primarily around our heavy battleships, and armed dropships. They have no carriers to speak of, excepting the large compliments stored aboard cruisers and battleships. Standard doctrine dictates engagement at extreme range, utilizing the powerful c-fractional railgun batteries that make up their primary armament. An Ishtari fleet expects to defeat the enemy before they can draw to ‘knife fight’ distances wherein manned craft become viable. Even so, they are bristling with point defense weapons for use against planetary based craft or missiles. If combat does draw to such close distances, the lethality of the Ishtari railguns is only amplified - for hit probability is drastically increased. But what is doubtless of greater concern is the prevalence of boarding torpedoes aboard their craft. Almost 40 meters in length, heavily armored, and extremely fast - they are launched from bow, stern, and broadside tubes against hostile enemy warships that draw close enough and are packed near to bursting with Ishtari marines in full vacuum combat gear, armed to the teeth and frequently spearheaded by those in power armor.

The Ishtari fleet is at its deadliest at ‘close quarters’ and long to extreme ranges, and at its weakest at medium range. Standard doctrine is, thus, if elimination at long range is not possible to close to medium range as soon as possible where the Ishtari may use their advantages to the full extent.

Weaponized diseases: Another fearsome weapon in the technological arsenal of New Ishtar is a wide array of biological warfare agents. Dredged up from the deepest nightmares inflicted upon us by the void, these weapons are kept under tight lock and key in the same vein as nuclear weapons. They range from merely re-engineered smallpox to agents of such horrific ends that I dare not speak of them. Be thankful you will never need to see them. Be very thankful.

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Additional Info:

Naming Conventions

Ishtari naming conventions seem complicated to outsiders, but are in fact rather simple. The individual’s current occupation comes first, as well as their gender, followed by the number of current Rejuvenations undergone by the individual, followed by their given name, and a descriptive phrase or declaration that, over time, may change to suit the changing individual.

For those whose consciousnesses are not stored within physical bodies, we simply flip the prefix, with role going first, followed by gender, then the name as normal.

Example names follow:
Sister-Soldier 102 Nisrin Carries The Torch Unto The Darkest Abyss
Sister-Soldier 3 Asana Knows The Heavy Price Of Retribution
Sister-Sculptor 139 Geneva Weaves The Flesh Of Her Sisters For Their Worldly Joy
Sister-Commissar 134 Kalisis Scourges With Fire The Bones Of The Unclean
Sister-Scientist 154 Siris Illuminates The Path With The Torch Of Aeons
Sister-Soldier 183 Alyu Grasps The Sword In Hand And Strikes Down The Demons Before Her
Sister-Artist 9 Buran Dreams Of Many Beautiful Things
Sister-Soldier 7 Nayris Born From Ash Returns To Vanquish The Wicked
Ship-Sister 19 Akiko Dreams Of Living Among The Stars