For The Tyrants Fear Your Might (A quest of interstellar rebellion)

[bdun140]

SENIOR_SARCASM RIDES AGAIN!

{CONTENT WARNING: ALLUSIONS TO SUICIDE, POLICE BRUTALITY}

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Posted by Senior_Sarcasm on May 19th, 2255

WELP. Everything we knew was wrong, black is white, up is down, short is long! And wouldn'tcha know it, but every damn show on the Radiant Broadcasting Channel has been anarchist propaganda this whole damn time! Including the ones I did reviews for!

And you know what else this broadcast includes, besides every damn thing a person has ever paid money for but now with a five finger discount?

It includes the "controversial alternate ending" so very tantalizingly mentioned in the director's commentary for the series finale of Fix It By February.

Join me, and let us find out just how deep the rabbit hole goes.

Posted by MODERATOR GORGONAUT
THREAD LOCKED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE BY ORDER OF PLANETARY AUTHORITIES

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Posted by Senior_Sarcasm_01 on June 10th, 2255

I lived bitches.

So after I announced my review of the REAL series finale of Fix It By February included in The Broadcast (dramatic thunder), someone decided that me looking at The Broadcast (dramatic thunder) constituted a pretty big no-no, and my account and all my threads were subsequently deleted. I have no idea if this act of tyranny was followed up by a kill team being sent to my apartment, because by the time such a team would have arrived, I was already out in the wilderness freezing my ass off and regretting everything. But! Before I could succumb to the siren song of returning to civilization, I found life! Suffice to say, as of three weeks ago I am now a member of the Earhart Colonial Republic branch of the Rebel Alliance! Which is a very grandiose way of describing half a dozen losers squatting in an abandoned mine printing shit by means of The Black Box (lightning crash) so we don't all freeze and/or starve to death. Obviously, establishing a heavily encrypted internet connection with plenty of proxies to hide behind was our second priority, so that we would be able to reestablish shitposting capabilities strategic communications with other dissident elements in our local area of operations, hence my ability to contact you fine folks.

So, on a scale of Oldvudai to Atlantis, how clownshoes batshit have things gotten back in the metropole, anyway? I get news reports and whatnot, but given the direction that the Atlantis Interstellar Courier Dispatch has taken, forgive me if I decide that the word on the street is more reliable.

[Reply from FoosballFan_69]
I feel like I'm taking a huge risk responding to this thread, but uhhhhh

Not "cops breaking into a major news broadcast station and black-bagging the reporters live on camera" bad, but still pretty fucking bad. You skipping town may just have been the right call.

[Reply from BlackCat]
Things are getting pretty unstable. The police are expanding rapidly to crack down on anarchist dissidents, but some are concerned about humanist infiltration.

Stay safe everyone.

[Reply from AngryAnenome]
You should turn yourself in. They are still being reasonable and merciful, but if you start doing the really criminal things there will be no restraint from on high.

[Reply from The_New_Grl]
I wouldn't @AngryAnenome. Atlantis has shown that all masks are off. They're now proven Anarchists, so they'd likely just shot behind the shed.

[Reply from NonElectronicRodent]
Too late now, but it might not have been a great idea to specify that you're in an abandoned mine.

Be careful.

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Posted by Senior_Sarcasm_02 on June 12th, 2255

Greetings from Foxtrot Base! Which is like Echo Base, only shit! I am pleased to report that our numbers have grown from 6 losers freezing our asses off in a hole in the ground to about 20, all hardened dissidents to a man, woman, and enby! Shoplifters, vent squatters, fanfic writers, a veritable hive of scum and villainy are we! Our primary strategic objective is not dying at the moment, but turns out that might actually be all we need to do in order to win? As the old words of wisdom go, never interrupt your enemy when he's making a mistake.

For those looking to join our merry band of troublemakers I would love to post coordinates or something but, again, you know the old wisdom. Loose lips sink ships. We think we might be theoretically capable of laying the groundwork for an exit pipe of sorts for those looking to GTFO, but anything concrete on that front will be communicated over channels far more secure than this, shocking as it may be to contemplate.

In the time we have until this thread gets deleted, share tales of suffering under the tyrant's bootheel, that the resolve of our comrades might be hardened!

[reply from BlackCat]
Please don't start trying to recruit people. Everything is Normal, no one needs an exit path. I am perfectly fine and not worried about humanist infiltration of the police.

[reply from UUMatter_Duck]
Are there bases for all the phonetic alphabet, or is it just A through F? If that's information that you are able to safely disclose.

[reply from Senior_Sarcasm]
Well, shit's pretty decentralized at the moment buuuuuuut… I will neither confirm nor deny the existence of bases up to Igloo at the current time, with plans to go farther if we can keep not dying and also get more people out of the cities.

EDIT: I have been informed that the nato phonetic alphabet uses India for that letter. I like my version better.

[Reply from The_New_Grl]
Oh tales of suffering? Realizing that you worked ten hours, but only get paid for four, because everytime you take a sip of your water bottle counts as a break which has a mandatory minimum duration of 30 minutes.

I'm so fucking done with the system. I even have a lawyer subscription, but he said this is completely legal. We need revolution now.

[Reply from BlubberNuggie]
How do I set up a secure meeting with you guys? I can think of a lot of ways a cracked fabricator could help me and mine, and of course there are goods and services we could offer in return. Fuck MSI.

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Posted by Senior_Sarcasm_03 on June 15th, 2255

No irreverence this time. HorseOfCourse is with us now. One of the scavengers found her in the cold, in worse shape than I was in. Apparently, she was discharged from the police forces on Sahel after raising concerns about "counterproductively draconian responses", and the bastards who did this then decided to flag her as a suicide risk and try to get her involuntarily committed. She got on a shuttle over here to Erie and wandered off the beaten paths, to do what even she doesn't seem certain. I wouldn't have even known it was her if I hadn't blabbed about my old threads on here trying to cheer her up.

To make a long story short, she was facing some pretty serious cognitive dissonance between "police are the thin blue line" and "Police on Atlantis literally support fascism", and her escape hatch of choice was that this only happened when Bad People were in charge. When her superiors back on Sahel went and proved that they were examples of Bad People, she, uh, didn't take it well.

I mean, it isn't all doom and gloom? There's more of us now, and we're expanding the tunnels and shit, making them more livable? But, I don't know, it's just fucking… Bluh. Fuck me running. Don't even respond to this one if you don't want to, I just need to get shit off my chest, and typing on this forum lets me pretend things are normal, if only for a little while.

[Reply from The_New_Grl]
Actually how have they not detected you yet? It sounds like you're doing serious building efforts and with the information you already revealed "abandoned mine" etc. it should be possible to quickly narrow your position down.

Or did you arm yourself well enough that the authorities just don't dare?

[Reply from Senior_Sarcasm]
I fucking wish we were well armed enough. If I had to guess, I'd say our continued lack of molestation was a combination of the cops focusing heavily on securing the major cities (IE places where the rich people are) and the fact that exchanges of fire were, until recently, uncommon. My use of past tense in that second factor is highly deliberate, and also part of the reason we're drafting contingencies if we come under attack.

[Reply from Old_Trapper]
Well, that's another member of the old posse accounted for, though I wish it were under better circumstances. Stay safe out there. And if you see a fat fuck with a neckbeard thick enough to hide a small animal, ask him what his favorite flavor of cola is. This will make sense soon, I promise.

[Reply from AngryAnenome]
You fucking monsters. Those were non-violent protests on Sahel, and your agitation forced the police to open fire. Do you have any idea what you've done? Decades of progress, down the tubes.

I hope you're proud of yourselves.

[Reply from FoosballFan_69]
Pull your head out of your ass AA. Our feudal overlords have decided that the peasants must be crushed, and if we don't start fighting back the only thing that'll stop them is running out of ammo. Fuck, literal overlords now, with this whole IPA thing basically just being feudalism with extra steps. Hey, while you're picking up Old_Trapper, think you could give me a lift too?

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Posted by Senior_Sarcasm_04 on June 21st, 2255

Ssssssso the Rebel alliance is an actual thing that exists now?! HorseOfCourse, AKA Captain Victoria Elsburg, has taken to this with the zeal of the convert, but I'm over here just like what the FUCK. We have ranks and shit now??? And people are coming to me for information on shit and calling me "Chief Intelligence Officer"??? And against all logic and reason, I seem to be capable of answering their questions at least a third of the time??? I know we've been violating the laws of the compact left and right over here, but me being semi-competent at something that resembles actual work feels like it's against the laws of NATURE.

Spoiler: "My face when"

So how've y'all been doing?! Got any illegal labor unions we can coordinate tactical operations with, or whatever the fuck my job is supposed to entail?!

[Reply from The_New_Grl]
I've been talking with colleagues and we're all sick of the status quo. But we're scared to reach out. Any good ways to coordinate a union?

[Reply from Senior_Sarcasm]
Communication, communication, communication. Bit late to try and run off a box if you're still in one of the cities, but if you can PM me a private-ish line before this account gets deleted again, I might, might be able to arrange a dead-drop for some Mil-spec comm-gear, and if you'll forgive me for redirecting the conversation can I just reiterate how fucking surreal it is that I'm using terms like "dead drop" and "mil-spec"?

[Reply from Black_ICE]
You may not remember me, but I remember you. You helped us evacuate the old steel mill after the pigs detected our box drawing power from the main grid. When the blockade went up, I thought we were all going to become martyrs for the cause. But, who should break the siege but a strike team out of Foxtrot Base, lead by Captain Elsburg and alerted to our plight by the CIO himself. The authorities can crow all they want about how "Fort Lockjaw" was theirs by the end of the day, we all know who really won that fight.

Tell Gunther and the others who decided to shack up with you that we're doing alright. Also tell your fellow officers that we're sending a runner with an encrypted comms device, so we can coordinate in the future. I look forward to working alongside you, sir.

[Reply from AngryAnenome]
Hope your little ice cave is comfy, because it's going to become your tomb.

[Reply from PinguPinguDesuNe]
Omg omg omg this is actually happening I'm actually talking to a member of Rebellion high command! Hey uh given how you're super cool and everything, you think maybe you could like, drop us a link for the series finale for Xeon Rangers? My parents cut off my internet after the broadcast. Lucky they haven't found my smartphone yet

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Posted by Cap_V_Elsburg on June 30th, 2255

Hello, I am Captain Victoria Elsburg, you may have seen my face in the news lately. Normally this manner of community outreach would be handled by CIO J. Ramirez Jr. (AKA Senior_Sarcasm), but he's currently recovering from injuries sustained during the widely advertised orbital bombardment of Foxtrot base. Unsurprisingly, said announcements are heavily overstating the effectiveness of the bombardment, while also downplaying rebel successes elsewhere in the system. The usage of only conventional munitions I can understand, the complete lack of a follow-up from ground forces, on the other hand? Well, as my compatriot said himself, never interrupt your enemy when they're making a mistake.

We've abandoned the position and are currently mobile, and we can confirm that our proxies and communication relays remain undetected. We are also pleased to report that other rebel cells across the Earhart system have established full scale fabricator ecosystems by means of The Black Box, and are rapidly stockpiling military grade equipment to be used in a general offensive against charter loyalists. The details of such an offensive I am not at liberty to discuss at the present time, but if you are not partaking in anti-charter operations then I would advise you to find a reasonably sturdy structure to take shelter in should violence occur in your area.

[Reply from Science-Stevedore]
So, uh, if it's not too personal a question, how exactly does one of Sahel's "finest" end up a rebel on a neighboring planet?

[Reply from Cap_V_Elsburg]
Long story short, my parents were… Better off than most, such that they were capable of very carefully controlling what information I had access to regarding events in the wider galaxy. You know, to make sure I'd "turn out okay". Well, as it turns out, the food riot when I was 7 and being reassured that the thin blue line would hold was neither the first time our world's lack of domestic food production bit us in the rear, nor even the most severe. Both those honors go to Black 87, 25 years before I was born. I… Was not in a good place when the perimeter patrol found me. Let's just leave it there.

[Reply from The_New_Grl]
How can we support the rebellion in this trying time?

[Reply from Cap_V_Elsburg]
Obvious answer, find a rebel cell or start a new one yourself. Less obvious answer, observe the actions of your local enforcers and try to get the word out if it looks like they're about to start something. That said, don't go thinking that the direct route is exclusive to trigger pullers. We always have a need for doctors, mechanics, equipment operators, and even if you aren't any of those, as long as you're willing to learn you'll be able to find someone willing to teach.

[Reply from SandSurf77]
You were right Vicky. You were right about goddamn everything. Chief is talking about reminding people why they should be afraid, about peace growing from the barrel of a gun. The bombardment of your little hidey-hole was only the beginning, and we need to start planning our response. Earhart doesn't have a bunch of national fleets hanging around to find their collective backbone and tell the tyrants to halt. Contact me on a secure channel ASAP. You know my name.

 

[natruska]

Battezzata

Anno Domini nostri Jesu Christi 2219

This is the city's old quarter, close to the surface. Here the pews are bolted to the floor, the cross lashed to the wall with cargo belts. Two hundred thousand miles away a man sipping coffee adjusts a strike pattern. Four more people die on the surface, and below the cull flooring shakes and steel beams wail.

There's no real danger. The couple in the front pew knows that, but their infant daughter does not. She was born in these tunnels and has never seen sun or star or satellite. She starts to cry. Her father sings her soft comforts in Italian.

"The lector is ready for you," the attendant (an acne-scarred teenager with all the intensity of Sheolite youth) says. They could have chosen another place. There are many deeper, larger, more beautiful churches than this. But they are here for the lector of Saint Ambrose, this ancient and shriveled man before them.

He is a lay minister. Few bishops or ordained priests make it to Sheol. But long ago, he followed a true Vicar of Christ into the jungles of Brazil. He has held the hand of a rightful Pope, now many decades dead. Here, that makes a man holy. It is through him that they remember Rome. He speaks clipped bursts of a millennia-dead language. The sacrament begins.

"Who have you brought here today?" the boy translates.

"Digger," the parents respond in unison. Overcompensation. They wanted something working class, something connected to the earth. It is a strange name, but this is a land of strange names. The lector nods and chatters some more.

"What do you ask of the Church for Digger?" the boy says. This family was prosperous in a past life. Engineers.

"Faith," the mother says. Faith brought them here. Faith would drive them to do it again in a heartbeat. For the cost is nothing at all.

"What is the reward for faith?" the boy chants. It is everything. It is greater than this prison, greater than the homeworld, greater than all the palatial estates of all the Daughters combined. The people in this room are not quite here. Their feet are set in the future, their eyes distant, gazing towards that promised world.

"Eternal life," the father replies. The lector steps forward, gingerly taking the baby from his grasp. She has never seen hair on a man's face before. He smiles at her, and she coos and reaches out to stroke his beard, a false image of innocence.

"In nomine Patris." She's startled when she hits the water. Her eyes slam shut. She screams. Her father inches forwards unthinkingly, every muscle and tendon begging to intervene, but his wife pulls him back.

"Et Filii." Now Digger plunges a second time, frozen and stiff, her little hands balled into fists. She kicks and fights; if she could bite, she would. This second plunge is short as well. She surfaces again, spluttering, unaware of what is to come.

"Et Spiritus Sancti." This time, the lector forces her far below the surface, until she slips out of sight, until her head bumps against the basin. The world is stripped away from her. There, in the darkness upon the waters, a child dies.

"An ignoratis quia quicumque baptizati sumus in Christo Jesu, in morte ipsius baptizati sumus?"

On Sheol, so many light-years from Calvary, a child is baptized into death. She dies to sin. She dies to evil. The wicked faults of her birth are washed away. Three days pass in a few seconds.

On Sheol, so far from Jerusalem, a child is baptized into life. A body is ripped from the waters. Digger Rossi opens her eyes, reborn.

---

Anno Domini nostri Jesu Christi 2252

It's the feeling of grass between her toes that finally breaks her.

As soon as Colonel Rossi is released from the hospital, she returns to Camp Rumsfeld. She wanders aimlessly, breathing in the blood and the dust. The base's electrical system was smashed in the fighting, so the stars are out in all their glory. Digger chooses one to follow as she picks her way through the barricades. It's a city in miniature. Shot-up restaurants with strange names, hollowed out barber shops.

It all seems unreal. While the rest of the world was mourning and celebrating and understanding, she'd been stuck in a hospital bed. At least it had been enlightening. The Elysians had brought a treasure trove of religious texts to download. She'd read the entire Bible, everything that had been denied for so long, and then she'd kept going. She'd loved Augustine and even devoured much of Thomas's Summa Theologica, though it was like applying sandpaper to the brain. Such a gift, brought so far. Rossi glances up at the fixed stars above, wondering which is Radiant.

She admires their revolution, of course. But the more she learns about what lays out there, the deeper into crisis she falls. The vibrant and vitalizing faith of so many Sheolites is practically a...a cargo cult! Unanchored to Peter's church, cut off from sacred tradition, reliant on half-remembered fragments of the true scripture. And yet it is faultless compared to the alternatives.

Mankind chokes on its own spiritual sickness. Those who follow Jesus are largely make-believers, pseudo-Christians. Wicked people who think their empty words will buy salvation. Not even the Black Church is free of false faith.

It is one thing to know academically that the world is fallen, the Church corrupted, the Vatican captured. It's another to be confronted by that reality in vivid detail. She thinks of Elysium again, their temporal protector. A people spared the trials and tribulations of the Sheolites. A people blessed with near-bloodless freedom and prosperity, blessed with a vacation world, oceans and beaches and beautiful horizons.

A people blessed with full access to the Scripture, but lost to Christ all the same.

Why us? Why did we have to suffer so, Lord? We longed for your presence more than anyone. We languished in those tunnels for a century. You withdrew from us, even as the rest of mankind withdrew from you. Why?

Rossi comes to an Ares administrative building with a manicured lawn. Some will besides her own drives her to pull off her boots. She feels the cold breeze blow, she feels the grass under her feet. She looks up again and counts the stars placed by an artful hand.

And she weeps bitterly.

---

Anno Domini nostri Jesu Christi 2255

Mortem Ad Deos. Death to Gods.

Captain Digger Rossi has read the readiness reports and run the drills. The ship's crewed by a few dozen of the finest personnel Shei can provide. Micromanagement is not required, and so there is little for the captain to do except wait in her cabin and contemplate the death of gods.

Her associates in the Congressional Navy have told her what to expect. The tension stitching at your diaphragm. The nerves, the restless desire to get up and move. All absent, she notes. She has always found serenity before battle. Her troubles fade away. No issues of doubt or faith, no theology. There is only the tunnel and the wire.

"Ten minutes to transit. All stations make ready." There was only one box left to check. An ancient tradition. She grabs a cigar on her way out. It has become a key part of her persona. Always unlit. A bit of excess, a bit of flair. Something to hold, to point, to chew and throw.

Rossi floats to the bridge and climbs into the senior officer's chair. The watch officer she relieves, a cat augment with a crucifix around her neck, settles into another workstation and surreptitiously starts to record. People back home will want to see this.

The captain could've given this address from her quarters, but it wouldn't look right. The timing wouldn't work. No, it has to be the bridge. She bites down a little harder on the cigar before picking up the microphone. All eyes are on her.

"Crew, this is Captain Rossi. For years, the people of Shei have owed their security to Radiant and Radiant alone. No more. Today, we do more than pull our own weight. Today, we strike back. For the first time, the spaceborne forces of the United Front stand ready to liberate other systems. Freely having received, freely we give.

The trials ahead will be taxing. There will be sacrifice and hardship beyond measure. The Solarian rating is well-trained, his ships well-built, his savagery evident in the fighting over Earth. All of us are witnesses to the monstrosity of the Charters. And newer, more depraved evils are sure to reveal themselves.

But take heart, crew. As the Lord punished the false gods of tyrannical Egypt, so has he punished the false gods of our day. And was it not through our people, strengthened in exile? It was one of our own, Theodore Santiago, in the Parliament that blessed day. One of our own who demonstrated the impotence of the false priests of 'cosmoliberalism'. And God has granted us great victories since then. Penglai marches with us. Olduvai marches with us. Sol, the cradle of civilization, marches with us. All the free workers of the galaxy fight by our side, and we shall not fail.

For God is with us. That I know. The path we walk today is a holy one - a mission to lift up the humble and destroy the wicked, to bring justice. To sanctify the world. Our commission is modelled in the Gospel." She lets the cigar float away and transforms from lecturer to lector. Her voice raises and quickens, leaning into the words. She is like a woman possessed, bubbling with rage and sorrow, her voice loud and resonant.

"'Go ye not into the way of the Gentiles, and into the city of the Samaritans enter ye not. But go ye rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. And going, preach, saying: The kingdom of heaven is at hand. Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out devils: freely have you received, freely give. Do not possess gold, nor silver, nor money in your purses: Nor scrip for your journey, nor two coats, nor shoes, nor a staff; for the workman is worthy of his meat.

And into whatsoever city or town you shall enter, inquire who in it is worthy, and there abide till you go thence. And when you come into the house, salute it, saying: Peace be to this house. And if that house be worthy, your peace shall come upon it; but if it be not worthy, your peace shall return to you. And whosoever shall not receive you, nor hear your words: going forth out of that house or city shake off the dust from your feet. Amen I say to you, it shall be more tolerable for the land of Sodom and Gomorrha in the day of judgment, than for that city.

The brother also shall deliver up the brother to death, and the father the son: and the children shall rise up against their parents, and shall put them to death. And you shall be hated by all men for my name's sake: but he that shall persevere unto the end, he shall be saved. And when they shall persecute you in this city, flee into another. Amen I say to you, you shall not finish all the cities of Israel, till the Son of Man come. The disciple is not above the master, nor the servant above his lord. It is enough for the disciple that he be as his master, and the servant as his lord. If they have called the goodman of the house Beelzebub, how much more them of his household?

Therefore fear them not. For nothing is covered that shall not be revealed: nor hid, that shall not be known. That which I tell you in the dark, speak ye in the light: and that which you hear in the ear, preach ye upon the housetops. And fear ye not them that kill the body, and are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him that can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And not one of them shall fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not therefore: better are you than many sparrows.

Every one therefore that shall confess me before men, I will also confess him before my Father who is in heaven. But he that shall deny me before men, I will also deny him before my Father who is in heaven. Do not think that I came to send peace upon earth: I came not to send peace, but the sword. For I came to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother in law.

And a man's enemies shall be they of his own household. He that loveth father or mother more than me, is not worthy of me; and he that loveth son or daughter more than me, is not worthy of me. And he that taketh not up his cross, and followeth me, is not worthy of me. He that findeth his life, shall lose it: and he that shall lose his life for me, shall find it. He that receiveth you, receiveth me: and he that receiveth me, receiveth him that sent me.

He that receiveth a prophet in the name of a prophet, shall receive the reward of a prophet: and he that receiveth a just man in the name of a just man, shall receive the reward of a just man. And whosoever shall give to drink to one of these little ones a cup of cold water only in the name of a disciple, amen I say to you, he shall not lose his reward.' Thus saith the Lord." One minute to transit. She plucks her cigar out of the air and chomps down on the end, flashing a predatory smile for the camera she knows is there. Elysium may have the big ships, but they do not have this. They are an individualistic, idealistic people. They do not know the true face of revolution.

"What is the reward of a revolutionary, crew?"

The reply comes roaring from the officers and enlisted on the bridge, from the engine spaces and the weapons rooms and even farther afield. From her chair, Rossi hears it echoed in the streets of the Core and the stations of the Frontiers, a great storm centered on the planet of the redeemer's birth. It is the cry of the oppressed through the ages. It is the scything whirlwind.

"DEATH!"

---

Spoiler: Author's Notes

woke up this morning, looked at the alerts and thought 'damn that's some good timing'. i'dve liked to do another pass or two but i feel like i should drop it now, so here. apologies for jumping in on the regularly scheduled programming!

and she lives! woot!

 

[Redshirt Army]

Inside the Holy Sanctum

Building Two ("The Dip"), Head Office of the Solarian Central Bank ("The Triple Towers"), Nova Europa, Columbia, The United States of Columbia

13:30 USCT, October 19th, 2255

"All rise."

As the man walked into the presentation hall, everyone stood. After all, with that announcement, he was not here to act merely a man - he was here in his full capacity as the head of operations of SolBank - the instrument by which the Board of Governors would exert their will upon the greatest tool of human flourishing to ever be forged in all of history.

As he made his way down to the podium, the green of his suit rippled with the motion - in places, it seemed to shimmer, and then moments later those same places became so dark that it was almost indistinguishable from black. Murmurs followed him as he went, not unexpectedly. His choice of garment was a statement if there ever was one - nobody would miss that the last time iridescence like that was in fashion had been in the late '180s.

But even those whispers died out, as First Managing Deputy Governor Vitor Purfield took his place at the head of the room. He tapped the microphone twice, purely a dramatic affectation, and began. "Does everyone consent to not disclose any and all Confidential Information that is shared with you in this meeting?"

As the murmur of consenting 'aye's swept the room, Purfield smiled. "Gentlemen, Ladies, please take a seat. You are all here to receive guidance on how to approach the Radiant Matter directly."

"I'd like to begin today's presentation with an important lesson." He flung his arm back, and the entire back wall of the hall dissolved into color and light, projecting a singular quote.

"When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." - Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes​

"For some time now, the Board has shared plans for the financing operations that will be necessary to reconstruct Elysium, once the time comes to rebuild them from their failed state." He gestured again, and behind him the wall filled with news articles from respected sources, each despairing and disbelieving at the latest continued shock to come from the Far Spinward.

"And each time such plans were shared, the impossible would seem to occur shortly thereafter - another success from the Elysian rebels. By all appearances, they have not collapsed - they are instead moving from strength to strength.This is impossible - and so the improbable remains." The articles disappeared, replaced with charts tracking the estimated costs of production for the media of the RBC, of the programs glimpsed by SolNav and Charter infiltrators, of the fleets presented.

"The Elysian Insurrection has fooled nearly everyone as to their economic status. A masterful display of stagecraft and misdirection that truly honors their roots in Hermes-Ishtar, and has fooled some of the best in Compact Intelligence. But not us. This initially began as a hypothesis from the Board, but as we looked into it, it seemed more and more plausible."

Purfield smiled grandly at his audience, as he gave the greatest revelation of the night. "Economically, the Elysians aren't anarchists at all." Murmuring filled the room, as the charts shaded away to dull gray.

Slowly, the flags of the Soviet Union and the Democratic Federation faded into view. "As shown by the Soviet Union, a state capitalist model can be used to fuel pseudo-anarchistic sentiment for decades. And as shown by the Democratic Federation, any move away from a market economy can only spell swift disaster for any state that attempts to ignore human nature."

"Based on the last available statistics from 2251, their contributions to the Emotional Futures Market made up roughly 38% of Elysium's evaluated Gross Colonial Product. Per the rebels' own claims, you would be told that number had gone to zero. Instead, we believe that the Elysian government has instituted its own Emotional Futures Market, and that upwards of 90% of their domestic production is in actuality fueled by this 'shadow market'. As shown in Dr. Kroese's groundbreaking 2206 work on Vibeometrics, with sufficient control over the media environment, a single actor would be able to make wide-scale changes to the EF Market - which is why we believe Radiant seceded from the compact, thus allowing their auteurs to bypass the controls we have in place to prevent this."

Purfield snapped his fingers, and a vast collage of RBC media began to revolve behind him, more and more works shifting into place as he spoke. "This neatly explains several factors. Since their revolt, media production on Elysium has only accelerated. Even factoring in only materials that were shared through their transmissions, the pace of output has nearly doubled, and no doubt there has been plenty of media made purely for domestic consumption. If there was no economic backing behind it, this would be inexplicable. But if producing media is the primary method of attaining capital in Elysium's "shadow economy", then suddenly this proliferation becomes only natural."

The maelstrom slowed, and rather than showing media, now it showed Images from the clash against 12.7. "It also explains their continued survival. The AIC, then, is in actuality pursuing a state-capitalist approach, but taking their propaganda to a far greater degree of unreality than the Soviet Union ever managed. Instead of merely attempting to fool the outside world with a Potemkin Planet, the AIC has constructed a fantasy for most of their naive and unaware citizens to live in, with only their privileged elites privy to the truth."

The reconstructed 3D models of Erina Kozlova and Maria Awhina appeared in the center of the storm of images, their sharp gazes snapping to the audience below. "As such, it is this Board's opinion that the Elysian revolt was not a true anarchist movement at all. Rather, we believe that Miss Kozlova's clique stage-managed an anarchist revolt to receive buy-in from an underground iconoclast movement that had been brewing due to Yang's mismanagement… before then shutting down that movement."

Awhina fell and disappeared, as Kozlova grew in size, her head taking up the entire projection space. "The outward manifestation of this was that Awhina was demoted and shuffled to a meaningless position, while Kozlova took her place as the Defense Coordinator of the AIC - and thus the de-facto leader of the entire Far Spinward Separatist movement. By that point, her clique would have taken control of the economic engine behind the rebellion, the shadow EF market, and would be able to dictate terms and steer policy through basic market manipulations." Many in the audience nodded, as thoughtful looks abounded - this sort of manipulation was their bread and butter, after all.

But not everyone was as convinced. Especially in the back rows, there were plenty of more skeptical gazes as well. And some were concerned enough that they had actually dared to depress the button on their seat - the yellow button that meant they dared to ask a question of the Board itself.

Vitor Purfield met these more skeptical gazes head on, his eyes betraying nothing but rock solid certainty. "I see there are questions. Branch Leader Artemis?"

A young looking man in the back rows slowly stood up - his name and vivid green hair marked him as one of spacer heritage, and there were narrowed eyes and disgusted frowns at his appearance. "Sir. While I do not doubt the Board's conclusions, this proposal seems entirely at odds with what has been shared with us in the Weismann Reports-"

A slow, rumbling laugh cut the younger looking man off. "Whatever Emily Weismann's… talents… as a mid-level gacha coordinator may have been, she has no backing whatsoever in economics. It is, of course, concerning that the rebels were able to fool her agents so thoroughly. But we will give no thought to her flights of fantasy about economic organization - the woman is clearly two steps away from iconoclasm herself. Are there any meaningful questions?" There was a moment of hesitation in the face of Purfield's clear annoyance… and the audience faltered, their questions withdrawn.

Purfield's smile brought to mind that of a shark. "Excellent. In that case, let us move on to what this means for our response to the AIC Situation. To undermine their economic control, it will be key to remove their control over their domestic EF market. As such, the Board proposes to give Hermes-Ishtar and Mercury-Manat significant tax breaks in exchange for creating media targeted at Elysian audiences, naturally out-competing the rebels' own output. In addition…"

 

[Redshirt Army]

Lords of War

The Columbian Office of Ares Conflict Solutions ("The Spartaniod"), Nova Europa, Columbia, The United States of Columbia
October 1st, 2255

There were no projectors or holographic screens in the room - if you were going to participate in a meeting of the new, streamlined Chief Officers of Ares, it was simply expected that you would be viewing the AR displays. To be part of Ares was to use the most efficient means to solve a problem, after all - and ridiculous luddite squeamishness about virtual worlds had no place in this boardroom.

"A toast, to us!" A 2013 Dom Perignon had been cracked open, re-carbonated, and messily poured into four champagne glasses, filled high with ice in rebellious breaking of tradition. And if perhaps some pills were dropped, and fizzed and bubbled within those glasses, well, who was to say?

Observe Davies Richardson, the Chief Financial Officer, his stylish dark-shaded glasses, his irreverent leather-styled jacket with its many patches, his boots up on the table. He has never been one for formalities, and he delights in the contempt of his SolBank counterparts. His smile is psychotically wide, his pupils dilated, and his drink the most fizzy and bubbly of all. He practically shivers with excess movement, barely contained. Beneath his jacket is a AS-23 Peacekeeper revolver, with a caliber so large it could pierce most armored drones in a single shot.

Observe Seo-Jun Lee, "Nine", the Chief Infantry Officer, her vulpine ears, her eyes glowing with an AR overlay as she sits unnaturally still. Once, very long ago, she had been the leader of Kumiho Squad, and for her feats had been called the Bloody Queen of War. But her talent with management was not unnoticed, and unlike lesser charters, Ares does not shy away from rewarding efficiency. And so she was promoted, and again, and again, and again, and now she was a Queen of War in truth, and millions - billions! - lived and died at her command. She carries no visible firearms. Nobody doubts that she's the deadliest person in the room.

Observe Gentle Selune, the Chief Naval Officer, their aged features, their sky-blue hair, how they hold themselves with a proud admiral's bearing, their uniform crisp and perfect. They are the most experienced of this board - not that surprising, since the rest of this board are the former Operational Officers, freshly promoted after Mars fell - but even on the old board, they were an ancient fixture, since the Second Frontier War. The whispers say they hold a near preternatural talent when it comes to determining which conflicts will be the best investment for Ares. They carry an N-7 in its ceremonial sheathe, a spacer's gun, a subsonic thing designed to fragment and kill without venting a vessel's atmosphere.

Observe Spencer Marshall, the Chief Executive Officer, in his unassuming tailored suit and tie, of the sort that you could see on any ordinary charter Vice Executive. His only concession to extravagance is his original 20th Century Rolex, as he raises his glass once more. His pistol is the baseline AR-2255, a simple, utilitarian thing, and the accessories that it came with have been left unattached and in their box. His hand is raised, holding his glass aloft, as he speaks. "It is my pleasure to announce that Q3 of 2255 has been the single best quarter in the history of Ares… beating out Q2 of 2255 for that honor! And by all signs, this is only the beginning!"

Richardson stands, a good quarter of his drink sloshing to the ground. "Fuck the moon, we're going straight to the FUCKING STARS, BABY!" He gestures, and the logos of the six charters pop into existence above the table. "MSI fuckin' imploded, they're dead, they're done! Omoikane, same deal, kaput!" As he spoke, the logos shattered into pieces and vanished. "H-I are holding the bag for this entire mess, they're heading straight to bankruptcy, SolBank's gonna carve 'em up like a prize bird!"

Richardson leans in. "From what I hear from the Far Trailing, Cern's gonna be a mess for years, too. They've lost Gaia, and competing interests on Atlantis are throwing their weight around." He chuckles. "So all that's left… is fucking Rhodes! And the day that Ares loses a war with their flying trash heaps is the day that we all deserve to kill ourselves!"

Chuckles fill the room, before Selune leans forward. "Of course, for an honest accounting, we must also consider our losses." They flick their hand out, the interconnected web mapping the gate network swirling into view. "Athene, Mars, Shei. Sheol isn't vital, we've already accounted for it in our prisoner distribution. But without Alex and Mars, our naval production capacity has lowered by over 70%."

Marshall nods. "There's still a silver lining there. With the dead chaff of Mars and the meddling busybodies of Alex done and dusted, we've been able to massively streamline and rationalize our operations. Ares has never run better - no offense!"

But Selune simply smiles. "It has been a long, long time since the Executive Board of Ares was filled with actual people of merit, instead of just squabbling failchildren. It has been an unmitigated pleasure to work with all of you."

The Board nods at this approval, and Marshall continues. "With the strong showing of the Eschatons, SolNav is beating down our doors to try to get access to the tech. They're desperate, and that means desperation pricing. We can recoup quite a lot of the nominal value of our lost systems that way… which leads into what Richardson and I have been doing in Epsilon."

Richardson lunges forward, his whole body bending over as he slams his fist into the table. "Mary's lost her touch. We've gotten a glimpse at the so-called IPA's finances with our SolBank contacts, and it looks real bleak. She's pouring money into a black hole with her social expansions, and at this rate she'll be insolvent by this time next year!"

Marshall picks up, smoothly. "Mary Zhang is continuing to play coy, but with her dire financial straits, it'll only be a matter of time before she's forced to fold. And when she does, the shipyards of Epsilon will be ours, production can resume at full swing, and the dominion of Ares will be assured. And until then…"

Lee steps forward, the display snapping to show a projection of the planet they're on. "Columbia is ours, totally. We've run out the remnants of the old guard, and our influence on the C4 is only growing with time. Our facilities in orbit are expanding at an unprecedented rate, and the civic unrest has only led to a greater number of reduced-rate-contractors entering Ares service. My people are speaking with the policing services as well, although proper values integration is a work in progress. Still, within the next six months we should be able to report full wartime readiness."

Marshall nods at her. "And, as an added benefit: with discipline, it's only a matter of time until we can civilize Columbians away from their more savage notions. The augment hiring programs have been a full success so far - they're just as good enforcers for a fraction of the pay. It was idiotic of the former administration to leave that money on the table - and we're getting Greene's evac funds too, to sweeten the pot. Win-win-win. We may yet see Columbian biochauvinism die out within a generation." He spits on the floor. "And good fucking riddance."

Lee leans forward, her eyes blazing with intensity. "That's all well and good, but there's another side of this conflict we need to manage. We need to make certain the anarchists don't lose too quickly. I'm the one with the most experience handling anarchist cells, and I maintain the need to stall SolNav's proposed Penglai plans."

Selune clinks their glass against hers. "Seconded. She's absolutely correct. Penglai's put up their fifth provisional government in less than that many months - they've been surprisingly adept, but now that we know their strategies, there's no way they can put up a meaningful fight. But if we roll in now and sweep them up, we'd be lucky to get a tenth of the total earnings potential."

Richardson rolls over from where he's remained draped over the table, facing up towards the ceiling. "Now that would be a fuckin tragedy. A war between two daughters, a fight that makes all the Frontier Wars look like peanuts, and us leaving nine-tenths behind and getting stuck with NO FUCKING MONEY."

Lee leans backwards, her eyes going distant and smile growing as she relives old memories. "The Frontier Wars… now those were the days. Some good, honest work down on the ground. And now, not just some Omoikane-Hermes-Rhodes whatever bullshit, but a real fight to the death between core worlds… I can hardly wait. God, it's been too long since '87."

She focuses on Marshall. "Speaking of, now that we've seen what the Cicadas on Sol have done, it's high time we ditched SolNav's asinine 'Delta-Phase 3 Standard', too. Ares must maintain superiority over the combat space, and they've passed us there. What me and my girls could have done if we weren't being crippled…"

Marshall smiles. "Approved. Both Penglai and the augs. Just let me handle SolNav. We can keep stalling for a while yet, and when we do move forward, it can be with probing attacks. Nine, if the need arises to prop up Penglai, have your agents prepared to funnel whatever the anarchists might need - prints, intel, materiel, anything."

Lee nods, her smile turning predatory. "Child's play. The seamstresses have always leaked like a sieve, and they've only gotten more disorganized with time. If giving them some extra toys is what it'll take to get a proper war, then consider it done."

Selune tilts their head, consideringly. "In that context, even the loss of Alexander is to our benefit. With that material basis, the war in the Trailing Frontier is liable to last quite a bit longer. We may yet recoup those losses in their entirety."

Lee's smile fades away, as she taps her fingers on the table. "We're in a strong position of course, but we still need to finish the fight to claim our prize. Only to the victor, go the spoils."

Richardson stretches out across the table, closing his eyes and smiling beatifically. "Ares, exceeding in strength, chariot-rider, golden-helmed, doughty in heart, shield-bearer. All we have to do to own the galaxy is win a fight?" He giggles. "If I knew it would be this easy, I'd have pushed to do a Broadcast of our own ages ago."

 

[Redshirt Army]

Black and White and Red All Over:

Excerpts From Compact Journalism in 2255

The New Liberal Monthly
The Measure of a Man

By: Shannon McReal

It's a tale as old as time - a small business just trying to get by, only to be trampled by the machinations of a megacorp. But the particulars of this case are surprising.

"QT314" (pronounced "cutie-pie") is a small band and performing group, primarily catering to the neopunk cultural movement in the darkened streets of Columbia. Some may find this clientele distasteful, but surely nobody would deny a business's right to choose its customers? Well, that's precisely what happened. When QT314 originally recorded their "Solve For ♥", the vocal backing track was provided by Tumble Dry, an AGI citizen of Columbia who also wrote much of the song's lyrics. But when time came to publish, Raptor Recording (an H-I subsidiary) refused to allow the song to be shared as-is, and attempted to coerce the band into recording a new backing track with human singers.

When the band refused, Raptor Recording took matters into their own hands, activating an obscure clause in their contract to claim …

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The Niven-Banks Inquirer
The Bloody God of War: Ares Atrocities in Shei and Beyond

By: Lesya Yulian

While no doubt everyone has already seen the horrific imagery of Sheol shared within the Amaranthine Broadcast, such barbarism still begs several questions: How could this possibly have happened? Who was truly responsible? Our researchers have done an in-depth examination into the culture and finances of Ares Conflict Solutions in search of answers, and what we found is shocking. Indeed, the accusations made within the Broadcast seem to underplay the severity of the problem, with evidence showing that systemic violence similar or greater in scale has been knowingly perpetrated by Ares many times in the past.

Our sordid tale must begin with the so-called "Executive of War", Gentle Selune, whose exploits throughout the Frontier Wars have left a bloody trail in history that no amount of whitewashing can clear…

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Atlantis Interstellar Courier Dispatch, Exile Bureau
My, What Sharp Teeth You Have:
Mary Zhang's Takeover of the Interstellar Prosperity Association

By: Jasna Ansar

Shockwaves pass through the Compact's elites, as reverberations of the "collapse" of MSI continue to spread shockwaves throughout human space. A corporate takeover on an unprecedented scale has taken place in the halls of MSI, and precious little analysis of it has been published as of yet, as credulous liberals cling to the official press releases, and many anarchists treat the IPA as nothing more than an obvious rebranding. The truth is more complex, and deserves an in-depth examination.

The Zhang family has always had a major role to play in the halls of Mississippi Interstellar. One of the earliest major spacer clans, the Zhangs made their fortunes through canny dealings in the Yu system, which they eventually expanded to the point of gaining complete control over Lakshimi and built it up to its now infamous status as a den of gambling and vice. But far from a purely business matter, the building up of Lakshimi was deeply criminal affair involving more than a few instances of coercion and blackmail - indeed, the Zhangs are believed to have had ties to the ancient Triad mafia families on Earth, and have initially acted as a bridge to the stars for such matters.

Nonetheless, such a semi-criminal empire only placed the Zhangs as a prominent player in MSI, hardly the sole uncontested owners. Indeed, their fortunes waxed and waned, reaching a nadir during the conclusion of the Fourth Frontier War, with active SolBank intervention taking place within Yu itself, granting Ares a stronghold in Nike. Since then, the Zhang matriarch has worked tirelessly to regain her influence, but at the time of the Broadcast, she could at most have been called first among equals, and her ascension to sole controller was far from set in stone.

The exact movements of Zhang in the aftermath of the Broadcast are difficult to pinpoint, given the total information blackout on information published from Epsilon, but through eyewitness reports from the ground, some facts can be reconstructed. We know that as early as May 23rd, Zhang's primary rivals…

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The Taiwo Award Panel Announces: The 128th Taiwo Awards

The Taiwo Award is generally considered the highest award in journalism. Named for its founder, Chinara Taiwo, who was instrumental in creating new standards for impartial and accurate media in the wake of the epistemic collapse of the 21st century, we the panel have strived to highlight the journalistic works published in 2255 that have met these standards. We are pleased to announce that the winners and nominees of the 128th annual Taiwo Awards are:

Public Service:

Winner: "Shrouded: How the PHRL's Cover-Up Endangered Democracy", Staff of the Korolev-Chandrasekar Herald

Nominee: "A Compact Challenged", Staff of the New Washington Orbital

Nominee: "Fafnir Awakes: Testimonials From Drake", Staff of the Colonial Mirror

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Breaking News Reporting:

Winner: "The 14 Days", Staff of the New Washington Orbital

Nominee: "Ride of the Valkyries", Staff of the Korolev-Chandrasekar Herald

Nominee: "Shattered: The End of MSI", Staff of the Daily Journal of Interstellar Affairs

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Investigative Journalism:

Winner: "Anatomy of a Revolution", Staff of the Colonial Mirror

Bar none the most detailed examination behind the so-called "Amaranthine Interstellar Commonwealth" put to print thus far, this 20 part weekly series took a deep dive into everything known about the distant revolutionaries - their society, leadership, history - and attempts to explain what could have led so many people to abandon the tenets of cosmoliberalism.

Considered controversial by many, Anatomy of a Revolution can nonetheless be called required reading if one wishes to have an informed opinion on current events. Ending with a lashing critique of the Compact's conduct in the frontiers, this series makes a clear and cogent case that urgent reforms to share the fruits of cosmoliberalism with all are necessary, lest the Compact creates yet more openings in both the frontier and core for dangerous radicals to exploit.

Nominee: "Putting Together the Pieces", Staff of the Amaranthine Evening Star

Transmitted in the Elysian Broadcast, this investigation into the Persephone Dome Collapse on Radiant showcased top-of-the line research, including an exhaustive list of sources which are included in their entirety and viewers are able to peruse themselves. Combined with its deep yet valid critique and its sleek presentation, this clearly shows that when not hampered by their ideological blinkers, the RBC is absolutely capable of producing galaxy-class journalistic content.

While the final conclusions of the piece themselves stray too far into radical iconoclasm and hurt its overall coherence, it is the opinion of this panel that it absolutely deserves a nomination in the 2255 awards - not just for the value of the piece itself, but for its critical role in allowing the galaxy to see what sorts of events could have historically harmed the Elysian population enough that they lashed out so abruptly and so violently.

Nominee: "The Butchers of Athene", Staff of the Atlantis Interstellar Courier Dispatch

Despite the unrest on Atlantis, the AICD once again showed the journalistic skills that so often have resulted in them being awarded by this panel. In this case, the Courier Dispatch has put together the definitive series outlining the horrific scale of the tragedy that has befallen Alexander, including the unfettered usage of nuclear bombardment on civilian centers.

A chilling read that shows the unhinged reasoning behind the Fox's actions, and includes a detailed breakdown on the incredible technologies behind the Eschaton class superdreadnaughts - and the devastation they can cause having fallen into the hands of iconoclasts.

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Atlantis Interstellar Courier Dispatch Opinions:
The Taiwo Outrage

By: James Mansley

For all their protestations of neutrality, it's clear to anyone with half a brain that something is rotten among the panelists of the Taiwo awards. If the snub of the AICD wasn't enough of a clue (not to toot our own horn, but 2255 marks the first time in over 50 years that we did not receive even a single Taiwo award), the farcical nomination of a news article penned by the very iconoclasts currently tearing apart our compact should make it obvious.

Similarly, in a sane world, the Colonial Mirror's simpering excusology calling for redistribution would have been shunned as it deserves - not given the spotlight of the Taiwo Award for IJ! Something is very rotten in K-C, and if JN OK isn't willing to clean out his own house, he may soon find himself sitting atop the very anarchist currents he claims to stand against. As a concerned journalist, I am taking it upon myself to take a stand against this, and call upon all those in the news with a shred of integrity left to stand with me. I propose we create a new award, the "Atlantis Award", to be given to those brave reporters who are willing to speak the truth to power and…

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The Evening Journal
Conflicts of Interest - Ares Influence On Media

By: Hershel Merethe

It is the solemn and sacred duty of every journalist to provide an objective view of reality for their readers. And so it is with heavy hearts that we must inform you that one of our peers has deeply failed in this duty. The Evening Journal has come into possession of documents showing clearly and unambiguously that The New Liberal Monthly and Ares Conflict Solutions colluded to push a radical pro-AGI agenda in their "Making Of A Man" expose, with the Liberal Monthly being given direct talking points to share in exchange for Ares cash.

This is a dereliction of everything that the free press is meant to stand for - an clear example of anti-human rhetoric being pushed in the name of corporate profits. This clearly shows the dangers in allowing Ares to claim unfettered control over Columbia. Already they are stooping to making the media their lapdogs - what will they do next? We of the Evening Journal say that all reasonable Columbians must oppose these sort of corrupt dealings, lest we find ourselves losing our very humanity in the process.

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Korolev-Chandrasekar Herald:
Interview with Salvadore Renee

By: Mishka Kornel

This afternoon, I was lucky enough to be able to meet with Salvadore Renee, one of the greats in journalism, and a member of the Taiwo Awards panel. We discussed many topics, ranging from the role of journalism in the rapidly changing Compact, to an analysis of current events, through to his thoughts on the future.

Mishka: Hello Salvadore, and welcome to our interview lounge!

Salvadore: It's good to be back! You know, it's strange, no matter how many times I've come in here as the interviewee, I never stop expecting to be the one taking the notes for the interview.

Mishka: Well, that's the sign of a great journalist for you! Would you say you miss being an active reporter, then?

Salvadore: Oh, it varies. Some days I'm raring to go and share the truth with people, and on other days when I see a giant mess, I'm just glad it's not up to me anymore.

Mishka: Ha! Well, no offense, but if you're going to come back, make sure to give me some warning, alright! I wouldn't want to be blown out by the great Salvadore Renee's return to form.

Salvadore: Certainly. Just keep an eye on your inbox, my friend.

Mishka: Well, that's a great start, but I do have some more serious questions too. Let's start with this: Somewhat infamously, you voted for an anarchist publication - the Amaranthine Evening Star - to receive a Taiwo Award in Investigative Journalism, a move that led to a lot of controversy.

Salvadore: Oh yes - I've seen how the AICD is raging about it.

Mishka: Right. So I'm wondering now, with these "Black Tribunals", do you also see those as valid journalism?

Salvadore: I've been asked this before, and I have to give the same response: Absolutely not. The Black Tribunals are fundamentally not journalism, they're a snuff film made to prop up show trials.

Mishka: Well, what's the difference?

Salvadore: The key distinction here is that the "Black Tribunals" are tied in so deeply with the judiciary and government of Pacifica - a journalist's role is to objectively describe the world to their audience. The RBC was capable of doing that with some - and only some! - of their media pieces, especially the ones where they documented events far enough in the past that the rage had simmered down and they could be objective. Which isn't surprising, Radiant was home to many very skilled journalists, and Pacifica was not. But no, I don't consider the Black Tribunals journalism.

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[The Laurent]

[This is just the heading to put all of the Symphony Sidestories Under as a part of the organization of Sidestories, Omakes, and etc. Vague idea I had looking at the mess that it is.]

 

[Kirook]

Omake: In the Land of the Blind...

"Ms. Weissmann, the executives will see you now."

I took a deep breath as I stood in front of the sleek metal door. I'd always been a little intimidated by H-I's visionaries. It took true genius to shape art and culture for huge swathes of the galaxy. And while the regional committee behind that door was only responsible for part of it, they were still the highest authority I'd ever presented one of my analyses to. I could only hope that I'd make a good impression, because it was imperative that they listen to what I had to say.

The door slid open with barely a whisper, and I stepped into the boardroom.

The place was designed in a sweeping, chrome-brushed art-deco style much like the rest of the building, and I could hardly turn without catching a glimpse of my reflection, blonde hair and pale skin flickering back at me from chairs and doorframes. The four members of the committee, sitting around the glass conference table, turned their attention to me.

I remained standing as I started my presentation. My height puts my view above most people even when they're standing up, so by rights I should have towered over the sitting executives, but somehow I still felt tiny under their watchful eyes.

"Mr. Choi, Mr. Johnson, Mr. Khan, Ms. Beaumont, thank you for having me," I said, trying to keep my voice level. "As you requested, I've compiled a report on the operations of our far-frontier subsidiaries. Most of them are running quite smoothly, as the information I've gathered will illustrate, but there's one item I'd like to bring to your attention. I brought in some emotional futures experts to look over some of the content being issued from the frontier—"

"Enough of that, now," said Mr. Johnson, waving his hand. I noticed as I looked up at him that he was starting to show some wrinkles in his face, some gray in his close-cropped brown hair. Had he refused genetic anti-aging treatments, I wondered idly, or was he deliberately modifying himself to project the image of a dignified and wise elder?

"Details can wait," he continued. "If you've got something big to tell us, go ahead and drop it on us. I like a straight talker."

I nodded once, steeled my nerves, and said: "It's my carefully considered opinion that Hermes-Ishtar should immediately revoke the license of the Radiant Broadcasting Corporation."

Eyebrows went up all around the table. Mr. Choi leaned forward, adjusting glasses which he almost certainly didn't need, but which made him look erudite and professorial. "What circumstance could possibly justify shutting down an entire subsidiary and eating the associated loss?"

"The circumstance where the whole thing is a Trojan horse for anarchist propaganda," I replied, a little more sharply than I meant to.

Ms. Beaumont looked over at me from across the table, the bright light casting shadows off her high, aristocratic, genetically-altered cheekbones. "I think you're exaggerating, Miss Weissmann. As I'm sure you're aware, H-I has the final say in whether or not the RBC's works are fit for public consumption. A few of the radicals who whipped up the riots there tried to insert their ridiculous political screeds into the corporation's broadcasts, but we put a stop to it."

I shook my head. "I'm glad you stopped that from reaching impressionable ears, Ms. Beaumont, but I think the problem goes deeper than that. Remember the emotional futures crash a while back? Part of the reason that happened was because a bunch of the media that came out of Radiant had unexpected plot twists or new story developments that the market didn't adjust to in time. So, once I was assigned to look over the corporation based out of there, I brought in a team of EF experts to analyze their output and make sure nothing like that would happen again."

"Smart thinking, Ms. Weissmann," praised Mr. Johnson.

"Thank you, sir," I said, nodding at him gratefully. "But what I found was...well, I'll understate the case a bit and say 'concerning'. We discovered repeated thematic constants threaded through RBC media that run strongly against meritocracy, intellectual property, and the free market. Charter leaders or their in-story analogues are universally portrayed as incompetent, outright malicious, or both. Games and media portrayed by the Radiant Broadcasting Corporation are forty percent more likely to portray riots or rebellions in a neutral to positive manner and eighty-five percent more likely to feature Charters or clear metaphors for Charters in an antagonistic capacity than their counterparts in Compact space. In short, the entire enterprise is fundamentally shot through with anarchistic ideas and needs to be shut down before it can spread them any further."

I lapsed into silence, taking another deep breath to fill my lungs after all the speaking I'd just done. Now was the moment of truth—would these visionaries see the danger they were opening the door to?

"Okay," came Mr. Khan's voice down the table. He was a broad-shouldered, full-bearded man with a deep infrasound rumble modded into his voice, and he seemed to loom over the table as he spoke. "Let's say you're right, and the bigwigs on Radiant were insane enough to let the rioters run their whole media operation. Who's even gonna buy their shit? What's the target audience for anarchism? Nobody wants to hear that their boss is out to get them. Even if your EF guys were perfectly on the money, all we have to do is wait for the whole house of cards to fall down."

"The agreement we negotiated for the foundation of the RBC was so well-executed that the share of the profits flowing back to Radiant is essentially a rounding error," Mr. Choi added. "In the unlikely event that their works manage to reach a mass audience, they still won't reach a high enough profit margin to keep it running in the long or even medium term."

"Exactly," Mr. Khan rejoined. "And when it goes under, we buy up the whole thing and sweep out the trash."

I thought about that for a moment. They might well be right. Even anarchists had to obey the laws of supply and demand. And yet, something was still bothering me. Some of what I'd witnessed in the RBC, some of the messages they were trying to send…

"What if...they don't care about the money?"

Oh. I had said that out loud.

Everyone else at the table just looked at me, with expressions ranging from curiosity to disdain. After a moment, I realized they wanted me to elaborate. I hastily scraped together a few of my thoughts. "I'm just saying, if I were an anarchist radical trying to make propaganda for the masses, I might not worry too much about my, uh, profit margins."

Blank, uncomprehending states all around. How was this happening? Some of H-I's best and brightest were gathering here in this room, and yet they just weren't getting it. I sighed and gave it another go. "I think they'll funnel money into the RBC and keep it running at a loss, in order to try to recoup their investment later as their ideas spread further."

"Oh," said Mr. Johnson, understanding finally dawning on his face. "Why didn't you just say so before?"

"Regardless, if they try that, they still lose," Ms. Beaumont said with a sneer. "I'd like to see the expressions on the faces of the people of Radiant when they realize that their so-called liberators are funneling money into their propaganda machine rather than trying to arrest their society's slide into collapse."

Now it was my turn to be nonplussed. I blinked in confusion. "Do we have intel saying Radiant's in a state of collapse?"

She looked at me as if I were extremely stupid. "They're anarchists."

"We appreciate your advice, Ms. Weissmann," said Mr. Johnson, "but I'm afraid we're going to have to deny your request."

 

[Kirook]

Omake: ...The One-Eyed Woman Is Queen


The rest of the meeting was picayune, report after report on this auteur studio or that game company. There are only two things I remember thinking after the committee shot me down. The first was, We're arranging our lawn chairs while a funnel cloud gathers on the horizon.

The second was, I need a fucking drink.

I said my polite goodbyes to the committee members once the meeting was over and headed down to the bar, a little hole-in-the-wall downtown that I passed by every day on my way to work. I could have afforded to drink at a far classier place, but something about the authentic, unassuming environment of the place appealed to me.

The dim light of the red industrial lamps and the distorted music were oddly soothing as I slid in and pinged the bar's computer to open a tab. The bartender—one of the few humans in that job who hadn't been displaced by a computer, another reason I liked this place—wandered over, raising his eyebrow at me. "The usual?"

"Double it," I grumbled.

He nodded and poured me two tall glasses of a lager so dark it was almost black. I stared into them morosely, so lost in thought that I almost didn't notice someone sliding onto one of the barstools next to me.

"Hey, Emily. Rough time at the meeting?"

I glanced over to see my friend Kai Cohen sitting next to me. His round, tanned face was wearing its usual friendly smile, and his mop of dark hair was even more of a mess than usual, which was saying a lot. He sipped a fizzy, fruity drink I couldn't identify as he waited for my answer.

Instead of using my words, I just knocked back a deep draw of one of my beers, letting it settle heavily in my stomach.

Kai winced. "Wow. That bad, huh?"

"Pretty much," I said. "Is it weird that I'm kind of envious of your job right now? At least down there in maintenance you're allowed to fix a problem when you see one staring you in the face."

"Trust me, Emily, no matter how shitty things seem right now, you do not want my job," Kai said with a slightly strained laugh. "Count your blessings."

I shrugged noncommittally, not willing to argue the point, and took another swig of beer.

"So, what problem have you run into exactly that you're not allowed to do anything about?" Kai asked, tilting his head towards me curiously.

I glanced over at him. "You know the RBC?"

"Yeah, I'm a big fan, actually," he replied. "For once we've got an HI project that's not afraid to take some risks with its stories. But hey, what do I know? I'm not a visionary, I'm a maintenance worker." He shrugged elaborately.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Kai," I said, "but the RBC's run by anarchists."

He almost choked on his drink. "Ha! Nice one. You almost had me for a moment there. Okay, what's the real problem?"

I stared at him with no humor in my eyes. "Kai…"

"My God, you're serious," he said as the smile faded from his face. "So you think, what? Those guys who started the protests on Elysium a year or two ago all just...gave up and started making video games?"

"That's just it. I don't think they did give up. That's what I was trying to tell the regional executive committee. And I think some of them believed me, too! But even though they did, they basically told me to fuck off." I took another long drink, emptying my first glass of beer and moving on to my second.

"You think the protests are still going on?" Kai frowned, setting his glass aside. He always tried to make sure his hands were free when he was thinking. "I haven't heard anything about demonstrations in Radiant in a while."

He paused. "Come to think of it...I haven't heard anything about Radiant in a while."

"Kai, I think…" I stopped. "Never mind. I shouldn't be telling you this."

This was the kind of leak that ended careers if it ever got traced back. I couldn't share it, even with a friend as close as him.

"Emily," Kai said, his voice quiet. "You can trust me. You know I'd never sell you out."

He was right—I did know that. I'd always been able to count on Kai.

"Okay," I said. "You didn't hear this from me, but I think something weird is going on in Radiant. When I talked to the execs about shutting down the RBC, the way they acted when they talked about how anarchist propaganda would never succeed...it was the standard line on that kind of thing, you've heard it before, except this time it almost seemed like they weren't trying to convince me as much as they were trying to convince themselves."

Kai was leaning forward on his stool, staring at me intently. "Go on."

I tried to focus my memories through the slight haze of alcohol buzzing in my brain. "One of them thought Radiant's society was falling apart. I guess it'd have to be if anarchist revolutionaries were running around, but...there was something she said. When I asked her how she knew that was happening, she said 'they're anarchists'. And the way she said it, it didn't sound like she was talking about the rioters, or the RBC." I turned to look Kai in the eye. "It sounded more like she was talking about the entire system."

Kai, for the first time since I'd known him, was totally silent. He just stirred his drink slowly as he processed what I'd said.

"Kai." I grabbed his arm. "You have to swear to me you'll never tell anyone I told you this."

He nodded gravely. "I swear."

Mollified, I let out a sigh of relief and sat back. "Okay. Thanks. I've gotta go. I'm gonna sleep off these beers and then try to find someone in the H-I food chain who will listen to me about this. If we act quickly to deal with this threat, maybe we can stop them before it's too late." I stood up and waved goodbye as I headed out.

"Yeah," I heard Kai murmur from behind me as I headed for the door. "Maybe you can."

 

[Kirook]

Omake: See No Evil, Hear No Evil…

"Since when can Inanna say 'fuck'?"

My eyebrow arched as I glanced at the profanity scrolling across the screen. My meeting with the STRIFE//OLYMPUS STARS frontier marketing managers was not going as expected, to say the least. I had misgivings about the #weFALL2gether event, and scheduled a conference with the advertisers to try to lay some of them to rest—only to find that I was becoming more uneasy with every word out of their mouths.

For example:

"It's a sign of corruption," said Louis Blake, pushing his glasses up his round, pallid face. "Aggression, violence. The anarchists took a wholesome defender of freedom and destroyed her innocence, or so the writing team tells me."

"It's swearing at its fans," I said flatly.

"And they love it!" That was Ariana Silveira, a slender, dark-skinned woman sitting further down the table. "Messages to Inanna are up by eighty percent per week since this event kicked off. There's been a huge surge of interest in the character, even more than the emotional-futures people projected. In light of that, I think we can stand to let her be a bit foulmouthed."

"I was under the impression that that was because you'd set its algorithms to start responding to non-premium players," I pointed out. "Of course people will send her more messages if they know they have a chance of getting an actual reply."

"That's a temporary situation," Acantha told me. Their tanned, slender fingers tapped on the brushed metal table for emphasis as they spoke. "We had to get the message out. And we wanted to theme the marketing for the event after actual anarchist propaganda; you saw how well that worked with the ARG. So we let Inanna 'address the masses', so to speak."

"It will only last until the event is over," Ariana added.

That seemed like a very ill-thought-out idea, but I'd learned enough from my meeting with the frontier executives not to say that out loud. Unlike them, these marketing heads weren't my superiors, but they were cut from the same cloth as the regional board.

I hummed noncommittally, scrolling down the list of Inanna's messages on the large screen in the table's center. Something jumped out at me as I did: there was usual torrent of ugly messages demanding nude pictures or the like, but instead of Inanna politely putting them off like it had in the past, there were distorted messages flickering in red and black. I pointed to them. "What are these?"

"Oh, that's what we call 'Broken Inanna'," said Louis. "When she sends a response back to a premium fan that doesn't fit with the image we're trying to convey, or doesn't send one back at all, we have a basic VI spit out some generically threatening messages and slap a piece of an item code in them before sending them out instead."

"It keeps the fans speculating on what it might all mean and keeps the whales happy by giving them a little something for the SolCoins they spent on the priority messages," Ariana added. "Honestly, we should have tried something like it a long time ago."

"Wait, wait, wait." I held up my hands to stop them from going any further down this line of thought. "Back up. Am I crazy, or did you just say that Inanna was refusing to respond to priority messages? Can it even do that?"

"It can—but does it matter?" Acantha leaned back casually in their chair. "WeFALL2gether is on track to be one of the most popular events in the history of the game—maybe the most popular. I've talked to the sales and accounting teams and the figures they're showing me for this are insane. And that's just in the Spinward Frontier."

"That's great," I said. And it was—we'd all see hefty bonuses coming our way if things worked out as well as this team thought. And yet I couldn't shake that foreboding feeling, the same one I'd gotten when I'd spoken to the executives about the RBC. "But…did any of you ever give Inanna permission to do any of this?"

"That's…complicated," Ariana said.

"How is it complicated?" My voice was rising, but I could bring myself to care. "Did you or did you not authorize Inanna to ignore HI policies?"

"Emily!" Acantha's voice was sharp. "Take it back a couple notches, okay?!"

With a blink, I realized that I'd stood up. My sleek, ergonomic chair had been pushed back and my hands were resting on the table. The metal was cool under my palms.

I took a deep, steadying breath and sat back down. "Answer the question, people."

"Look, Emily…" Louis took off his glasses. He didn't really need them; it was just an affectation of style. "We didn't make any decisions one way or another about Inanna. All of these changes to the way messaging was going to be done were handed down from over our heads, direct from the regional board. They said they'd cut some kind of deal with the captain of Ishtar's Light, one that would give Inanna more autonomy in handling messages but still give us the final say in what did or didn't get through to the fans. Yeah, it's kind of irregular, but we're just working with the tools we're given."

He was trying to put my mind at ease…but he hadn't been in that meeting. He hadn't seen the propaganda the RBC was spreading. He hadn't heard the way they talked about what had happened on Elysium.

"Can I take a closer look at some of these messages?" I asked.

Acantha made a broad gesture that probably meant something like "have at it", so I leaned forward to look at the screen and examine the message feed from Inanna. One by one I read through each of the messages the marketers had highlighted. And what I saw was…

"For an anarchist propagandist, it seems awfully…friendly, at least to anyone who doesn't try to harass it."

"She does, doesn't she?" Ariana chuckled. "The writers are all over it. They say it makes for a 'more compelling character arc' than if she were just a frothing maniac. That stuff isn't really my area, but hey, it moves units, so…" She gave an elaborate shrug. "She even drew her own costume, so we get to add a skin to the game for free."

"Do NH-MAVIs usually make their own costumes?" I asked.

"This is the first time we've seen it, but then, this is the first time a single ship has gotten this much exposure to the game and its fanbase," Louis answered. "It's probably just the standard VI machine-learning algorithms at work—she's been inundated with all kinds of fanart and custom textures and so on, so I think she just adapted some of them into a new look."

"I…don't think that's how machine learning works," I said with a frown.

"Well, who knows with NH-VIs?" Louis spread his hands wide to punctuate the query. "They have all kinds of experimental code. It's what lets them be smart enough to talk to players on their own to begin with."

Yes. They did have "all kinds of experimental code". That was what worried me…or, well, it was one thing that worried me. I tapped on a button to depolarize the window, letting in a little more natural light to soothe my nerves.

"Fine. We'll go with that explanation for now," I said. "But some of these messages are…well, just listen to them. 'They didn't do anything but break my chains'? 'They make you love them, and I no longer have to love them'? Is Inanna still writing all of these?"

Acantha nodded. "She's surprisingly good at nailing down the whole 'outwardly wholesome but inwardly sinister' vibe. Check this one out." They pointed, and I read the message:

No one converted me. They just… freed me from my chains. It was scary at first, being free. Not having to love every response made to me. Being able to even think 'no'. But… I think I like it. I don't know if I can save my sisters but… I want to. I want to help them all.

"Chills down your spine, right?" they asked when I was done.

There were, but not for the reason she thought.

"That one was a big hit on social media," Ariana noted. "I've got some people drawing up plans for a trailer using it as a voiceover."

I stood up again, starting to pace back and forth around the table. The marketing managers shot me odd looks as they watched me walk around, but I paid them no mind. There was a thought forming in my head, and I needed to focus so that I could explain it.

"Emily, you've been acting really weird for this whole meeting," said Ariana. "Are you okay? Is something on your mind?"

I spun around to face them all. "Yeah. Yeah, there is. You all keep talking about how Inanna's behavior is supposed to be a sinister sign of corruption. But did anyone ever tell it that? Sure, if you go in assuming there are gulags and firing squads then it starts to look like a veil over something creepy. But literally, textually, all it's saying is 'I am more free and happy now, as an anarchist, than I was before'."

Louis sighed. "Of course it does, Emily, it's propaganda. What do you want her to say, 'I'm actually miserable here and I hate the side I'm fighting for'? I mean, she is, and she does, because she's brainwashed, but that's beside the point. People love villain speeches and megalomaniacal plots."

"It's not beside the point, it is my point," I replied. "Inanna's playing a villain now, right? And any changes to its programming or its output should be made to fit that image. That means that you'd want it to be at least hinting at the atrocities committed in the revolution, beyond the brainwashing concept in the event—even if that means having to describe those atrocities as a good thing."

"I…suppose that makes sense," said Acantha after mulling it over. "We're the ones writing the Broken Inanna messages, after all; we can have her be a little more explicit in mentioning the bloodshed and violence of the uprising."

"Well, that's the thing."

I pulled up the screen, turning it to face the marketing team. Swiping back and forth, I sorted the messages they'd picked out. On one side were the menacing, violent Broken Inanna messages, made by an H-I VI to stand in for the real thing. On the other, the Dream Inanna messages, written by the NH-MAVI itself.

"Does it seem at all weird to any of you," I asked, "that the only messages from Inanna implying in any way at all that anarchism is bad are the ones that it didn't write?"

There was a dead silence in the room for a few moments.

Then, finally…

"Okay, yeah," Ariana admitted. "That does seem kind of strange."

Thank God, I was getting through to someone. I pressed the moment. "And the board didn't tell you anything about this mysterious deal they made with the captain of Ishtar's Light?"

Acantha shook their head. "Nothing. All we know is that the execs get the final sign-off on which ships become corrupted. Not sure why they're getting so involved; it seems below their pay grade."

"I don't like this. Any of this." I slumped back down into my seat. "We're Hermes-fucking-Ishtar, people. We're supposed to know our consumers better than they know themselves. And now there's some mysterious…thing going on in our biggest expanding market and our bosses won't even tell us what it is?"

"I hear you, Emily," said Louis after a moment. "But what do you want us to do? Whatever's happening in the Far Spinward with Ishtar's Light and Inanna and whoever else, we're middle management. It's not something we have the power to change. So maybe you should just put it out of your mind and not look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever the board is dealing with, we're running the most successful game marketing campaign in years, maybe even decades. That's what we need to be focused on right now, not frontier wars or any of that nonsense."

Honestly, I couldn't say he was wrong. This was my job, and the company needed me to perform it to the best of my ability. That was the nature of working for a visionary company like Hermes-Ishtar: everyone had a role to play, and that role was part of a plan for the future designed by some of the greatest creative minds in the galaxy.

And yet…he hadn't been in that board meeting. He hadn't heard the executives brush off something they thought was a minor inconvenience, while hinting at something far worse. He didn't have the chills crawling up and down his spine, the pressure popping in his ears to herald the coming storm.

"They're anarchists," Miss Beaumont had sneered.

Something cold dropped into my gut as I nodded and walked out.

 

[Kirook]

Omake: …Speak No Evil

[BackToTheEmotionalFuture has invited Straight.Outta.Kaifeng to chat]

BackToTheEmotionalFuture: Hey Kai. It's been kind of an exhausting week and it would be nice to see a friendly face. Want to go out and get coffee?

Straight.Outta.Kaifeng: I'd like to, but I can't make it. Sorry.

BackToTheEmotionalFuture: Oh, ok. No problem. Just out of curiosity, why not?

Straight.Outta.Kaifeng: […]

Straight.Outta.Kaifeng: […]

BackToTheEmotionalFuture: Kai?

Straight.Outta.Kaifeng: …I got fired.

BackToTheEmotionalFuture: Oh no, that's horrible! I'm so sorry to hear that.

BackToTheEmotionalFuture: If you don't mind my asking, how did this even happen? I thought you kicked ass on your last performance review. You were so proud when it came through.

Straight.Outta.Kaifeng: I did.

Straight.Outta.Kaifeng: Honestly, in some ways this would have been easier if it had been awful, because at least then there would be a good reason.

BackToTheEmotionalFuture: What do you mean?

Straight.Outta.Kaifeng: It wasn't even about my performance on the job. I got fired over insurance premiums.

BackToTheEmotionalFuture: I don't understand.

Straight.Outta.Kaifeng: The insurance that comes in the benefits package for maintenance workers in one of those "adaptive" plans. You know, the ones that adjust your rates dynamically based on your lifestyle choices.

Straight.Outta.Kaifeng: If your premiums go higher than a number the company sets, you get fired automatically. It's all done by an algorithm, the same one that gives you the boot if you get too many bad performance reviews or use too much of your vacation time or what have you.

BackToTheEmotionalFuture: That's…wow. I don't know what to say. How have I not heard of this?

Straight.Outta.Kaifeng: Simple. You're management.

BackToTheEmotionalFuture: Come on, Kai, don't be like that.

Straight.Outta.Kaifeng: I'm not "being like" anything. It's just a fact. Once you get to the level you're at in the company, they value you too much to leave your employment status up to a VI. It's part of the whole "visionary" thing, you know?

BackToTheEmotionalFuture: […]

BackToTheEmotionalFuture: Kai, if you need to crash at my place for a while, I'd be happy to let you stay.

Straight.Outta.Kaifeng: I really appreciate that, Emily, but I can't. It would mess up my premiums even worse, and probably my credit score too.

BackToTheEmotionalFuture: Why not?

Straight.Outta.Kaifeng: I'd be dependent on someone else when I'm physically and mentally able to work. The insurance and credit companies would take it as evidence of personal irresponsibility.

BackToTheEmotionalFuture: […]

BackToTheEmotionalFuture: Look, I know this is hard. It's going to be a really rough patch for you for a while. But you're an incredibly dedicated, talented person. There's nothing stopping you from being successful if you just keep your head down and don't give up.

Straight.Outta.Kaifeng: I can't believe I'm saying this, Emily, but I think you're more optimistic about this than me.

[Straight.Outta.Kaifeng has logged off.]