The Setting Moon [Maintenance][Closed]

[Res Publica Solaris]

OOC NOTE

---

---

This thread is a repository for short stories, one time events and general vaguely interesting notes about the nations of The Obscure cities. This includes mainly the Res Publica and the Horde of One, which I might add do not share an epoch although they both exist in the same setting. All what goes here can be assumed as canon for both nations and will be strictly In-Character. If thou wants to be involved in any shape or form please shoot me a TG, and I'll consider it. Just please don't post here out of the blue. It's rude and unwarranted.

Building 2-11-Q, District Giordano, Night? Day? Does it matter?

He smelled daisies. An image of white, pure white daisies passed through his mind. With effort he opened his beady eyes. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was... Was... Was that he couldn't remember anything. How was it that he found himself in this room? And no ordinary room was it. It looked like something senatorial or noble. Not the usual Solarian room, it wasn't. A switch then flickered in his mind. Solarian? How did he know what in hell's green fields was that? Then he remembered. The bar, the drugs, the brawl. He must have blacked out due to a punch.

That or his body couldn't take as much hallucinogens as it once did. He wasn't properly young anymore. Still, he couldn't quiet grasp how did he wake up in such a room. When you are knocked out in a place like that bar, you either wake up in the street with a broken nose and empty wallet or in the cells (also with a broken nose and empty wallet).

He patted his head, checking for bumps. None, it seemed. Surprisingly, neither head nor body ached. He had to ask for the receipt of wathever it was he had been given. Once he knew who had given it.

He then softly hit the bed in which he lay and pinched his arm. It hurt. Either this was a very lucid dream or it wasn't a dram at all.

A voice rose from his back, prompting him to almost jump in the air. "Please refrain from hurting yourself. We had enough work already patching you up from last night's happenings."

He made a sharp turn of 180°, looking at his interlocutor. "Who are you? Why am I here? How... How did you patch me up?"

The other person, a young man of angular face and short black hair with blue dye sparkled through it's left side, chuckled. "Worry not, citizen Morrison. I am but a curious fellow who wants to chat. And you, you are safe and sound in an old princely residence, a museum of older times which I thought would suit the theme of our conversation. As for how you were patched up, well, let's just say I have some quite ingenious friends."

Now Morrison's head was spinning. Chat? Someone had snatched him from a street brawl just to chat? About what? And why the palace? A great many questions bumbled around his head. Finally, he managed to utter "Go on"

The other man smiled and pointed to a painting hanging in the wall. "You were, before the unfortunate episode with the collection of Midas" he paused as if to savour the deep frown that appeared in Morrison's face briefly before continuing "an art collector. Not any art collector but an eminent one. How you managed to fall so deep into alcoholism and drugs beats me."

Morrison understood quite well the other was taunting him, intent on getting a reaction, yet he couldn't help himself not to fall for the bait. The other had pushed two of his berserk buttons "Shut up! If your sorry ass had had to put up with as much sh!t as I do, you'd bee much worse than me. I was betrayed! Everyone betrayed me! And now I'm stuck in this sh!tty room with a f_cking moralistic cunt." He clutched his fists and looked at the other man with his most intimidating glare.

Instead of frightened, his interlocutor seemed amused, even pleased with his outburst of anger. He raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture and smiled "Good. Very well, I see you haven't lost your honour yet. Nor your fiery spirit. Not even alcohol can break you."

Morrison looked at him with a distrustful glare, and said simply in a tone he hoped would convey the irritation he felt "What. Do. You. Want.?"

[Res Publica Solaris]

Morrison stepped outside, shivering under the unrelenting cold of the late afternoon. Truth be told he had been shivering since leaving the house in which he had awoken some hours before. Walking aimlessly he reflected on the meeting with the Institute's man. He cursed himself thrice for having collaborated with his captor. The worst part was that he had done so without even realising. There hadn't been torture, not even an interrogation proper. The Institute's man had just pushed all of his berserk buttons, setting the stage for Morrison's rant which, skillfully directed by the other man with well placed questions, must have had given them all the information they wanted. That was why he was now walking free. He was, again, utterly useless. In more than one sense of the word.

Section Q | District Igual

Three bangs reverberated through the door of the Chairman's office. He must have been expecting visitors, for scarcely one second had passed since the last bang he had already opened the door. Two men strolled through, and promptly sat on the chairs sprawled in front of the large, rectangular wooden table.

The Chairman was the last to sit down. After a moment of calculated silence, he begun speaking "Gentleman, we are approaching the third phase of Operation Dying Rose. I'd like to begin this - I remind you, highly confidential- meeting by commending Operator Unad on his work acquiring the information we needed. I'm told you did a bloody good job, Operator."

The named beamed a confident smile. "Much obliged, Chairman. I must admit that the subject, Morrison, was an easy but to crack, however."

"Yes, it appears we overestimated his capabilities. In a sense, it is quite sad to see how far he has fallen." The one to speak was an old man, perhaps in his seventies, who carried a perpetually dispassionate frown. "If I may, Chairman, I would like if we made a short recapitulation of the facts here. My memory has seen better days."

"Of course, Lowe." The Chairman gestured to Operator Unad "I would give Operator Unad that task, since he was thus far our primary asset on the process of intelligence gathering. Go on, Operator"

The younger man visibly straightened with a prideful look in his face. "Yes, Chairman! Well, the facts are: as you all know the Voider people of Luna are sitting upon a heap of rare ores that could prove pivotal in our struggle for the unity of humanity. But just as well they could fall in the hands of powers such as the Jovian Axis or any rogue faction, with less than appreciable results. Thus far the Voider people have proved unwilling to let any foreigners approach the mines, and if the Kaliphate expeditions of '67 and '74 are anything to go by, brute force is not an effective way to convince them."

As the Operator paused to breath, Lowe interjected "That's why we jumped into the fray. Non violent solutions are our specialty. We accomplish our goals through minimal suffering."

This statement drew a scornful look from the Operator and a wide smile from the Chairman. "Indeed, dear friend. Now, operator, please continue."

"Yes, Chairman! Well, luckily we learned about the Midas collection and it's significance through the voiders. The Midas Collection are a series of intricate necklaces made of pure aurum. They are a bit like the Excalibur, for the voiders. They are entrusted to a Guardian family (whose identity is kept hidden from all but the ruling Archon) and sole task is to hide and protect them. If anyone manages nor only to find their identity but also to convince them to hand over the necklaces by mutual accord, then that someone has a right to the throne." Unad paused again to breathe and took a sip from a glass of water.

This time it was the Chairman who interjected "Very good resume, Operator. As for the rest of the story, we managed to track down an embittered acquaintance of the guardian family and make him talk. This was Operator Unad's part, which he did masterfully. Now it is yours Lowe. Tell me, have your agents done their work? How many of the Hundred Families are under our control? What measure of popular resistance can we expect? How many years before we can begin exploiting their resources? Will they accept a foreign ruler, or will we need a puppet?"

[WIP-Zara's part]

[Horde of One]

Near the Core // 2098 AG

The Commander stood at the bridge of the cruiser, looking unfazed at the transponder even as it transmitted the death of more workers to the inescapable gluttony of the Menace. He had many workers, human, robot, bionic, cloned. And could always grow more. But even so, these deaths haunted him. He felt like an emperor of old who feasted while his subjects died of hunger.

Here he was, well away from the menace, giving orders, while his men were sucked by the hateful force of gravity to their untimely doom. Damn Gravity. For some reason The Pioneer was worshiped through all the Conscientia Hominida. he had been the first to break the curse of gravity. And ever since humanity had left the cradle, no longer had any human set foot on planets. Trade, war, tourism, life, all were done far above, away from the tyranny of planetary surface.

And here he was trying to tame the Menace, ultimate representative of Gravity's oppression. By Gagarin, this was a madness. Not even him, the Pioneer would try something like this. To build a dyson sphere around the supermassive black hole at the center of the galaxy? What was the Council of Minds thinking when they embarked on such a project?

What was he thinking when he accepted the assignment? Gravity was far more powerful than humanity. Humans could escape momentarily from it's most oppressive grasp, but everywhere it was present. Everywhere it displayed it's strength. This fight was a David against Goliath. And Goliath was winning. The project lagged behind, countless ships, materials, crews, gulped down by the hole after approaching too much.

The Commander turned her weary eyes to the No'Jaam who rested in a five-legged water tank besides him. The No'Jaam were an ancient species of quasi-jellyfish who were naturally immortal due to their "death" being merely the return to singular polyp, the first phase of their life cycle. They saw everything as a long cycle in which entropy and order fought, alternating in their control over the universe. They were the awkward isolated monk that sometimes went to the village downhill to give perplexing but welcome advice.

"I sense your[individual-being] confusion[state of mind], captain Failin[title-name]. You fear[state-of-spirit] for your people and question your decisions[past-continued]. That is good, that means you are alive[acting-non-perpetual]. Humans will fail many times before achieving it's prized place[metaphorical]."

...

"Maybe they will eventually even realize[collective-state of mind] that gravity[physical-phenomenon] is not an enemy. Maybe they will make peace[end-conflict] with gravity, or accept submission[metaphorical]."

..

"Don't count on it,No'Jaam-interloper. We humans are a species of fixed ideas. We may fail now, but we will keep the war against gravity, at least before we find another enemy to rally against. This project is less about material benefits, after all we have all the energy we would want from the Orion hinterland, and more about keeping humanity united against this common foe, gravity."

The No'Jaam emitted a playful bubbling sound. They too had an enemy. One far more formidable than gravity. Their crusade was the one against the God of life, and death. They fought against Entropy itself, so that the stars never stopped to shine.

[Res Publica Solaris]

Nova Libertà, Today

A men of indefinite age, in ragged, old clothes walked through the streets of Nova Libertà, core district of the Res Publica. Looking at a distance, his whole being seemed made of dirt. Dull, uninspiring, broken. Yet the people stepped out of his path. The condescing grins ceased when he looks up, giving way to bemused faces. In that dirtied, tired, face lay two unaturally bright eyes. The eye is the mirror of the soul, or so they say. But those bright eyes were opaque. They looked almost fake, artificial constructs. They were certainly not pleasant to look at.

The owner of said eyes strood calmly through the pathway to the Institute's Main building. Suddenly, he saw a bunch of kids with something forbidden in their lips, half-hidden by a pile of trash which the communitary services ahd yet to collect. Silently, careful not to alert them, he slipped to their side. Too fast, the two facing the side by which he approached fled immediatly. But he managed to grab the nearest girl by the arm. Smilling ironically, he showed her an Institute badge.

As she opened her mouth, certainly to utter half-assed excuses, he demanded "how much do you sell those cigars for?".

With a half bemused, half shocked face, she replied "f-five ration stamps, but we were not-"

Again, she was cut off by his couarse voice. "That's a damn excess! I'll buy them for two."

Her eyes almost jumped out of the orbits, much to the man's amusement. "You..You wnat to buy them?"

"Unless you want to offer them to me. Come on, here is your money."

She handed him a pack of cigars. He thanked with a nod, and turned away, enjoying the sweet smell of death that the cigars exhaled. These were a bit trashy, something certainly discovered in some grandfather's memorabilia, from before the proibition. Smoking happily, Chairman O'Connor entered the Intitute's main complex.

His office was occupied by a younger man, who was working with some doccuments. As soon as O'Connor passed through the door, he said, not taking the eyes out of the doccument "I find it interesting how you almost killed yourself in an experience to lengthen your lifespan, yet succumb to the basic and deadly pleasure of smoking."

O'Connor shrugged as he disposed of his dirt filled coat, "sometimes you have to remind yourself you're human. and what better way to do so than by enjoying a basic, irrational pleasure? Anyways, what matters are there that are so important as to put your lazy being to work, Marcus?"

Marcus groaned "Will you ever stop with that sarcasm, Raleigh? I can't even distinguish when you're serious and sarcastic anymore."

O'Connor's expression sseemed to indicate he was enjoying his annoyance. Shruging, Marcus handed the papers to O'Connor while he explained the situation "One of our agents has gone rogue. Agent de Sousa was in a mission in the Conventicle of Babel, in an information gathering mission when he deserted. Our research and what he confided with his acquaintances indicates he has disagrees with our polices in regards to, uhm, psychological conditioning. So, he seeks to uhhh, terminate you, we believe."

O'Connor was silent for half a minuet, before a slight smile finnaly made his appearance in his face. "Really, that's interesting. The last assassination attemp on my self was some years ago, and was very poorly executed. Remember, Marcus? The Kaliphate sent a bunch of amateurs with explosives, who were caught at the door. This should prove more of a challenge."

The Chairman turned towards the door, leaving a confused Marcus behind "Wait... you're not going to do anything? He might have accomplices, he is a trained individual, a dangerous menace, we should get you to a safe house and..."

"And sit there, doing nothing, protected like a true statesman? Waiting for you to figure everything out? No, marcus. I will play his game. Be a good bait. And when he comes to me, we'll have a long, nice chat, with some funny drugs at the midst. I assure you, he'll see the error of his ways." O'Connor's voice had now a sharp edge, below the sarcastic tone. His facial muscles had likewise hardened noticeably.

The Chairman exited the buidling, now without a cigar in his lips. Damn assassins, always reminiding one of his mortality. Besides, it was raining.

[Horde of One]

Gindar System, Covenant Space

The commander of the border outpost sat lazily on the command chair, pruning his tail feathers with bored resignation. Nothing ever happened on the frontier. Not since the Covenant had stamped out the pirate dens of the Azure Claws and levelled the hideouts of the trafficker syndicates. Now, it was just a boring place where mining stations went on and on with their job, leaving the crew and their capitan to monitor the automata.

A quick look would give any but the most distracted observer a notion of how bored they are were. None but the ranking sensors officer was doing their job, instead quietly chatting with each other, watching holovids, or simply taking a nap.

That changed once the Sensors Officer chirped "Sir, we have an incoming ship, unknown class. It has just exited the gate network and is moving in a direct course to the Third Belt Mining Complex.

The Captain made a visible effort to straighten himself in the chair, before answering "Well, then. Try to communicate with it. Ready two patrol craft anyways, for if our friend there has some nasty ideas.''

He pondered for some seconds what could the unknown craft possibly be. Pirates? Lost travellers? Exploration drones? From the sensor readings it seemed more like the later, a small ship with a remarkably good thrust, which by it's power signature should be eating so much of the ship's power that there wouldn't be much room for shields or weapons. That was a relief.

The Communications officer turned to the captain, his face showing more than a little concern. "We've been trying to hail the ship, sir, but they aren't answering with anything more than static, interposed with some words. They seem quite random, I don't know if they're in distress, have an outdated equipment or are just making fun of us."

The Commander murmured a course before ordering loud "send the patrol craft to intercept."

The two patrol craft were launched from Forward Base AA-4, on the outer fringes of the system. For the next five months they would pursue the foreign ship through the system, finally having it at shooting range in the eve of the captain's anniversary (by Gindar' Star standards).

"Unidentified ship, this is Patrol Craft D-7 of the Kivar Division of the Covenant of Blessed Stars. Identify yourself and slow your craft. Prepare to be boarded for inspection. Refusal to comply with these orders will mean disintegration, as per the Statutes of Transplanetary travel of 567//098."

The patrol pilots were more than a little nervous. It was their first real operation in years, and the unidentified ship had an unsettling aura. Oh well, duty is duty.

Alerted by a ping in the console, the co-pilot checked the transmissions, and had to blink twice to make sure he had seen it right.

"Hey, Kovras, the... The ship is launching some kind of drones. But they're not offensive ones, they're just all broadcasting a transmission in all frequencies. The same transmission."

The pilot looked at him with a bemused air "Well, put it through. Let's what is it that those weirdos wanted to shout to the galaxy."

The voice of the ship computer immediately began playing what looked like a chant. At first the words were muddled and nigh incomprehensible, but as the chant repeated itself they became clearer. "One, one, one, one, one, one, one, one..."

Eventually, the pilot had heard enough "Ok comps, shut it off." The ship, however, kept playing the same melody. "I said, shut it off." To naught. As a cold shiver rose through their spines, the pilots frantically tried to manually deactivate the broadcast. To no avail.

Suddenly, another voice made itself heard amid the cacophony. "We are the One. We have penetrated your systems and took control over your ship. Surrender your system, and face the Cosmo's Will."

The pilots, previously confused, were now completely lost. As was the outpost commander, who was eavesdropping from his command room. This one, however was quicker to take action.

"They want to play chess? Fine, Hosus try to wrestle control over the patrol's digital systems again. Do we have any ship nearby we can spare?"

The Quartermaster was the one toa answer "The Mining Complex has some tugboats that are two weeks away from the Intruder. That and the Phoenix.''

The Commander pondered his options for a minute. Then, he gestured for his staff to come closer and begun describing his plan.

Two weeks later, a series of asteroids, launched by a mining tugboat, were detected by the few sensors the patrol crew had managed to retake control off.

"Are they crazy? We can't move away from the Intruder. And he hasn't yet gone far enough for us to be safe. If the Intruder's hit, so are we.'' The weeks of solitary confinement had put their strain on the crew. Thin, sleep deprived, tempers flaring, they would either starve or kill each other if things continued this way.

They were now close to the Belt, which was itself quite close to the outpost, a mere one third of a light year away. It was logical that the Commander wanted to neutralise the Intruder before he stepped closer. Yet, they didn't quite like the idea of being martyrs.

However, they didn't quite have a choice in the matter. "Asteroid approaching fast." It was the coarse voice of the co-pilot which uttered these words. "You might wanna do last minute orations, mate."

The pilot looked to him with disdain. "I'm going to die because of some eldritch ship and all you can tell me is to do my orations! Keep that pious bullshit to yourself."

The co-pilot merely smirked. Then uttered a short laugh, which soon turned into full scale hilarity. After a short while of looking at him with an accusing glare, the pilot too erupted in laugh.

None stopped laughing until the asteroid hit the ship, destroying it completely. But not the Intruder. The unidentified ship moved swiftly, avoiding the asteroid attacks. However, whatever captained it failed to notice that the asteroids were but a distraction. When from a dodged asteroid emerged a ship and three nuclear warheads, the Intruder was taken aback.

Before it went out in a fiery blaze, it transmitted a final broadcast. "We are..."

On the outpost, the command room erupted in cheers as the sensors reported that the Intruder's signal had went off. However, just as the captain prepared to speak, he saw the sensor's officer almost jumping on his seat, before turning with a terrified look.

"Oh no, what is it now? Don't tell me it survived the onslaught!"

The sensors officer shook his head, before regaining composure and speech "Ahhhh, no sir. But... But the sensors are detecting a hundred or more of similar ships. In fact, bigger than the last, where it went out."

The Commander rushed to the console, praying to all god's it was just a prank, or an unfortunate malfunction. It was not. A hundred Horde Battleships rushed in prismatic formation to meet his station.

The Commander was livid. "Ready escape pods, and transmit sensor readings to the main fleet. We may not survive this, but the fleet must know."

Suddenly the placid boredom of the past year seemed much more appealing. Especially when the attacking ships "surrounded" the station. For about half a year they just sat there, doing seemingly nothing. Onboard the station everyone was on the edge. The Captain in particular seemed close to a nervous breakdown. At any moment th enemies could open fire, and it would be all over.

Yet, they didn't. One day, a broadcast reached the station. Once again, it began with the typical "We are One." But the rest was much more unique.

"You drew first blood Captain of the Covenant. That is in itself a mark of great prowess, to be able to defeat a Horde ship. Thus, we will grant you and your crew another opportunity to defend yourself. Instead of obliteration, we propose invasion.

Your station will be boarded by our Armies, with a two to one disadvantage over your crew. Defeat them, and we withdraw. Be defeated and your species perish, for such is the Cosmic Will"

The Command room was silent for a bit as the message settled in. The Commander was as much at lost as his subordinates, who murmured unanswerable questions on what kind of madmen were these.

"They are turning this station in a coleseum!" Hissed the first officer. The Capitan scratched his cranial feathers, absently listening to his subordinates. Then the sensor officer remarked grimly "Pods away. They'll arrive by nightfall, which is thirty nine hours from now. What do we do, Captain?"

As if a button had been pushed, the captain regained vivacity. "What do we do? We fight, off course. We show them what a soldier of the Covenant can do. We might not win, but we must tie them here for enough time for the fleet to arrive. And if we win, well, they might as well go home. You understand? We fight not only for ourselves, but for all Covenant. Billions depend on us."

For the next thirty five hours Crates were opened, weaponry was retrieved, tested and distributed, and the halls were barricaded, booby trapped and mined.

Finally, with a loud bump, the Pods breached the hangar. From them emerged robotic creatures. Insectoid automatas, which seemed like an Earth Mantis with the cranium covered in sensors. Above them hovered small pentagon-shaped drones which buzzed in search for targets.

This wholesome visitors were welcomed with a barrage of fiery hell, as the First-lime defenders unleashed a wave of handheld torpedos, impact grenades and multi-layer explosives against the ships.

Many invaders fell, but many more crawled out of the Pods and launched themselves against the First line, tearing through the crates and barrels that made up the hastily assembled cover with surprising ease.

The three Class II Power Armour suits deployed by the defenders were effortlessly teared apart by the concealed torpedo's on the Insectoid robots' abdomens, and the remaining first liners were overwhelmed by swarms of micro-explosives deployed by the drones.

With the hangar secured, the Insectoids breached through the corridors, swarming to the main hall, despatching the pockets of resistance they found with minimal effort. Each insectoid was just in all accounts superior to the Covenant soldiers, even when they had exo-skeletal armour. And most did not.

The drones, however, were other story, and the defenders quickly adapted to targeting the drones, taking advantage of their explosive load to blow them up amid the advancing insectoids.

However, these silent menaces continuously teared through the corridors, until reaching the main hall. All that had not fallen yet to the invasion should be here, in accordance with the Insectoid's analysis. The Insectoids awaited either be an heroic last stand or a tide turning clash.

It proved none of these things. Upon breaching the main hall, they found only the captain, a proton bomb at his feet. On it's last moments, the ship sensors recorded a number of escape pods jettisoning themselves as the station went out in a fiery blaze.

To be continued...

[Inner Eye]

The Free Church Dictionary | A-D | 2590 A.D

Destruction - The avoidable path humanity has been treading ever since the genesis.

Defeat - That which only happens once one desists of the struggle.

Dumb - He or She who wishes to impose meaninglessness as a curse upon humanity. He or She who wishes to enforce rules and limitations onto happiness.

Communist - That who wishes to direct human nature into a fixed framework, which He sees as the unchangeable path to utopia. (see: believer).

Community - The association of free men and women who wish to cooperate in order to create a world more pleasurable to all.

Concord - The act of agreeing. Yin of Discord. Fundamental in a Community.

Battle - Where humans devote their lives to the end of another. Epitome of pain and sorrow.

Beauty - That which can be appreciated by the eye and soul of any human (see: solidarity, soul and salvation)

Bond - Can be psychological, emotional, physical or spiritual. Links together humans, animals and other non-conformative sophonts. Fountain of joy and happiness.

Autocracy - The rule of the fearful. Those who fear the people gather together in an attempt to preserve Power in closed circuit. (see: failure)

Adam - The original whistleblower, the one who revealed to God the flaws in His creation and was punished for doing so.

[Inner Eye]

On Misotheism | Free Church | 2589 A.D

"There is nothing that keeps wicked men at any one moment out of hell, but the mere pleasure of God."

So said one of God's fateful stewards hundreds of years ago. From that time to today, His faithful have long repeated threats of damnation to all that dare to question the Father's sanity or goodwill, or to follow his arbitrary rules, with eternal damnation. All the while exalting His unrestrained good. Thus we are forced to conclude that, notwithstanding His masterfulness I'm His great craft, He is not apt to lord over His sons and daughters. He would make an abusive Father, a threatening pacifier. We shall not submit to his irrational wills.

Our lives and faith lie not with the temperamental Father of the Heavens but with the knowing and kind Mother of All Earth. She does not create, but keep His creation under control and balance. She nurtures us as if we were Her sons and fights tooth and nail to protect us from the other dangers of His madened creation. Even during the centuries where we, Humanity, ransacked Her holy soil for the vain and fleeting material pleasure, She kept her love as alive as ever, never even dreaming of revenge.

Down with the Father! Long live the Mother! We are one with the Earth, not with the Far Heavens or Unjust Hell! We will never worship a God that trades in pain and death. We are free and free we will never cease to be!

[Inner Eye]

Free Church Dictionary | E-H | 2590

Harmony: The natural state of human society, disrupted by fascism. Harmony is neither pacific nor purely spiritual, but a constant material and religious struggle for improvement.

Hate: That which is reserved for fascists. That with which God presents the true believers in the Cause.

Hell: That which God uses to maintain His arbitrary power. Contrary to popular belief, Hell is not pain but merely the absence of God. That which all true believers should strive for.

Honour: That which all humans have and Godcentered society seeks to remove from our hearts and minds by substituting it with rigid moral codes.

Greatness: That which can only be achieved by Humbleness, and which is reserved for those that selflessly offer themselves to the Cause.

Greed: That which God imprinted upon us. That which must be removed from the human psyche and society if we are to progress as a species.

God: He who created us.

Fascist: He or She who wants ans actively promotes submission to an higher power. Can be red, black or white.(see: demagogue, tyrant, dumb).

Freedom fighter: He/She who takes the necessary acts to free humanity from the claws of outdated subservience to the father. Derided by unbelievers to be a terrorist.

Free Will: That which allows humanity to choose it's destiny, both as individuals and as a collective. A nightmare to tyrants and god's.

Equality: The end goal of human progress, the basis for a just society. That which can only be achieved with solidarity.

Eden: The place of falsehood, where God attempted to prevent humanity, his progeny, from witnessing his failure at the act of Creation. That which can never be achieved, nor should we want to achieve.

[Inner Eye]

The High Priest of the Free Church of Mankind stretched his arms wide with a sleepy groan as he entered The Temple. A pompous name, capitalized and all. Truth be told, it's importance justified the capitalization. This was the nexus of the Free Church. The den of the prophet, the focal point of the vast web of men and women that obeyed the Commandments of the Soul.

Here even the High Priest was reverent. He lowered his head as he approached the shrine. The shrine did not look noteworthy. It was a mere wooden table where lay a few rusty gadgets. The High Priest reached for one of them, a dusty pentagon, and took it with him to the Room of Contemplation. There, hidden from prying ears by a thousand fountains, he inserted a small chip in the octagon, which immediately came to life.

The High Priest smiled and touched three buttons in rapid succession, causing the pentagon to restructure itself into a cube like frame, with a lone manipulator stretching from it's left side. The manipulator then spoke. "High Priest Adam XXVII what a pleasure" The robot flashed as if to emphasize his (?) words "What can I do for you and your most holy and pure church, o son of the heavens, great prophet of humankind, enlightened lord of.." "Cut it" Said the High Priest, his voice dry and displaying a tab bit of stress. "I need you to tell me what should I tell to the Selenites on the upcoming pilgrimage to the Montes Apenninus. There are reports that we have been losing popularity there since my accursed predecessor, may his Soul rest in eternal pain, classified them as sub-human beasts in one of his night time half-drunk rumblings in his very crowded bed, and that particular conversation was leaked to the media. Quite a scandal it was, pretty detrimental to the Church, though it opened the way for me."

The pentagon made a laughing noise. "I quite remember that, o holy one. Thankfully you are of far greater wisdom than your predecessor. I have seen the recordings of your, ahem, lively, clothe-less, midnight festivities and not once have you said something detrimental to the free church's image" Seeing the exasperated look on the Priest's face, the robot switched to a soothing voice-mode "Now, now, I am only kidding your holiness. I'll tell you what to do with those very bad infidels on the Moon so that you can come back to your very earthly pleasures."

The High Priest looked at him with a half hopeful, half dejected look "Tell me!" "Oh it is very simple. High priest, you suffer an attempt on your life while on your trip. And a spectacular one at that." The High Priest almost jumped in surprise "W-What?! If that is known, why have we not taken care of it?" "Oh" said the amused robot "Because it is needed. In fact the attack will take place just as you are giving your most sincere apologies to the lunar peoples over the conduct of your predecessor. throw in an expletive or two in Selenite at him, so that they can see you are with them. The attack will discredit your opponents. You are paying your respects to their people and they attack you? How cowardly of theirs. The people will rush to distance themselves from the anti-Church faction."

The High priest considered the advice for a minute before a smile showed in his bony face. "You are a devious one indeed. I shall do as you suggest." He paused for a moment and then said with in a mocking tone "perhaps one day you will take over the Church and rule all of mankind." "perhaps" said the robot.

And they both laughed.

[Inner Eye]

By The Honourable Professor J.Belmont
Date: 2257/12/02


"Professor Belmont, I am sorry for disrupting your sleep, but we are arriving at our long awaited destination" Seeing that I was foolishly stuttering as if I had consumed to much alcohol on a night of vain folly, the good fellow walked to my side and extended his arm to me. "If you would be so good as to take my hand, professor. You'll find that the annoying sickness will soon vanish." I refused his helping hand with a good natured gesture. I have not yet reached such an age that I cannot be trusted to stand up properly. Still slightly dizzy, I walked to what I remembered as the passage to the bridge, bumping into two chandeliers and one women in the process.
As soon as we had arrived at the bridge, the commander rose to greet me. What an enthusiastic fellow. Patting me in the back effusively, he dragged me to the window. "See there, good Professor, our destination! Isn't it beautiful? A true pleasure for eyes that have stayed closed for centuries of cryo-sleep." He paused for a brief second before resuming the merciless torrent of words "Speaking of that, professor, how was your sleep? Mine was.." "Very good, commander, indeed very good. Without silly dreams to clutter my sleep, I feel truly restored. My, I haven't felt this good since my youthful expeditions to the savage lands on Old Earth. Not even in the Second Commune have I felt such vigor!"

I reminisced fondly of the Second Commune. Truly hectic days. First the long siege by the Huns. Then the barbaric combats on the Parisian streets. And then, as if the Supreme Being had decided to help his Parisian sons, the Octagon. The Octagon turned the tide. Coming from the skies, with beings of steel inside, they begged to serve men. They uttered nonsense, telling us their Masters had made them to serve such a thing as "carbon-kind", and that they were now extinct, thus they searched the ether for planets of carbon-kind to serve. Yet they served us well, I must admit. Taught us all about sciences we would never have dreamed about, gave us contrivances of such power that the Huns still think we, Parisians, turned into demigods by the night. Those who survived do, anyways. Soon the whole planet served us as well. And soon we began to produce more octagons, for the men of steel told us that beyond the ether lay other worlds, ripe for conquest and study. That was the purpose of this expedition.

The chief astrologer turned to the Commander and said "Sir, we have found dwellings of thinking beings below us. A good lot of them." The Commander smiled and asked "And how are those fellows?" "Savages" came the response, accompanied by a knowing smile. I rubbed my hands in contentment. The savages on the last planet had proved quite a disappointment with their stubborn and primitive refusal to accept our natural place above them in the hierarchy of races so skillfully demonstrated by the Englishman, Professor Hubert. It had proved necessary to exterminate them. I hoped this time they proved more reasonable.