“I will always understand if you need to find someone who can give you more than this,” Lovey said. “I wouldn’t hold that against you. I sometimes worry that I am holding you back from the kind of life an organic sapient should have. But if you choose this freely, then I don’t need a body, Jenks. We’ve always been together without one. I don’t know how to love you any other way.”
He pressed his back against her, pressed the soles of his feet, his shoulders, his palms, trying to soak in as much of her as he could. He twisted back and brought his lips to her. He kissed the smooth, warm metal and said, “I don’t see any reason to change the best thing I’ve ever had.”
Node identifier: 9874-457-28, Rosemary Harper
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Selected result: Galactic Commons Membership Hearings, public record 3223–3433-3, recorded 33/261 (highlighted text—Quelin representative)
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Despite the differences between our species and cultures, there is an order that we all share. The development of a civilization is a scripted event. Minds join together to create new technologies, then better technologies, then better still. If a harmony cannot be found, that civilization crumbles. If ideas emerge that are incompatible with one another, that civilization crumbles. If a civilization cannot stand on its own against threats from the outside, that civilization crumbles.
Scholars of sapient life note that all young civilizations go through similar stages of development before they are ready to leave their birth planets behind. Perhaps the most crucial stage is that of “intraspecies chaos.” This is the proving ground, the awkward adolescence when a species either learns to come together on a global scale, or dissolves into squabbling factions doomed to extinction, whether through war or ecological disasters too great to tackle divided. We have seen this story play out countless times. Every one of us seated here in Parliament can speak of the planetary wars and political struggles of our ancestors, yet we overcame them to reach for the stars. We all know the stories of the Kohash, the Danten Lu, and most recently, the Grum—ruined species who lacked the discipline to see beyond themselves to the next stage of evolution.
Humans would have shared their fate. Humans left their planet not as one, but in fragments. When their planet began to die, the rich abandoned the impoverished for refuge on Mars. As the bodies piled up, those that remained on Earth formed the Exodus Fleet, headed not for their Martian brethren, but for open space. They had no destination, no strategy beyond escape. Were it not for one small Aeluon probe, the Fleet would almost certainly have died out, and I find it unlikely that the Martians ever would have achieved the modest level of prosperity they now enjoy without borrowing from GC technology.
And what of them now? What has this experience taught them? Nothing. They continue to spread themselves thin. Fleet members have left to form independent colonies—not because it brings wealth or resources to the Fleet, but because they want to. The Martians and the Exodans may have bound their old wounds, but a division of spirit remains. And what of the fringe colonies, built by Humans who want nothing to do with the Diaspora or the GC? What of the hostile Gaiian cultists back on Earth, hunting herd animals on fragile land?
My point, fellow representatives, is that Humans are a fractured, limping, adolescent species that has branched out into interstellar life not by merit, but by luck. They have not moved beyond intraspecies chaos. They have skipped the vital step the rest of us had to make on our own. By granting them membership into the Galactic Commons, we would be providing them not with a new life, but with a crutch. What meager resources they have to offer us are not worth the risk posed by allowing such an unstable element into our shared space. The GC has already spent too much on helping this minor species to escape the hardships they brought upon themselves. I ask you, what benefit is there in making Humans one of us? If not resources, or knowledge, or military strength… then what?
Day 121, GC Standard 307
HERESY
“Hello, boss,” Kizzy said, walking into Ashby’s office. Her grubby sleeves were rolled up, and her gloves were tucked into a front pocket. She held a dusty piece of tech in her hands.
“You only call me ‘boss’ when you need a thing,” Ashby said.
“I need a thing.” Kizzy held out the part. “This is a thermal regulator. It’s what helps a stasie maintain temperature.”
“I assume that since it’s not currently attached to the stasie, it’s broken.”
Kizzy gave a sad nod. “The bell tolled for this poor lil’ guy.”
“Do we have another on hand?”
Kizzy shook her head apologetically. “It’s not the sort of thing I keep in stock. My brain’s usually busy with making sure we’ve got spares for life support and the engine. Sorry. I didn’t think of it.”
Ashby waved her comment aside. “I’d be more worried if you prioritized the stasie over the engine. I don’t expect you to keep spares of every piece of tech we use.” He rubbed his chin. His beard needed a trim. “So what does this mean for the stasie?”
“The stasis field can hold without this. It’s got a failsafe system to make sure your food doesn’t go bad while you’re buying a replacement. But without the regulator, it’s gonna go bleh after a while, no matter what.”
“How long a while?”
“Four days, maybe five. We won’t starve or anything if it goes, but I think we’d all do better with some fresh food between here and Hedra Ka.”
Ashby nodded. Three tendays of bug flour patties and dry-packed rations did not sound appealing, and there was no guarantee that there’d be somewhere for them to resupply at Hedra Ka. What did the Toremi even eat? “Four days isn’t enough time to get a delivery drone out here.”
“I know. We may be kinda screwed on this one. However.” She brushed her hand over the backs of her thighs, checking for machine gunk. When her hand came back clean, she sat down in the chair opposite Ashby. “Sissix says there’s a colony rock not far from here. Popped up on the scanner yesterday. Dunno what it is, it’s not on any of her maps. But it’s only half a day out. We could park the ship here, hop in the shuttle, and give ’em a visit, lickety split.”
“We’re on the bleeding edge of the GC. That’s a fringe colony for sure.” Knocking on the doors of unidentified fringe colonies was not something Ashby was eager to do.
“Mmm-hmm. But they might have tech I can use.”