Are there different models (like in the sense of the difference between an old Stude and a Pontiac, and not just Toyota #5555 vs. Toyota #5556)? In particular, I wonder if since some of the design is a tradition thing, that the Partisans probably lopped some of them off.
On that note I would like to know more about how the other planets are.
As well, this does make me wonder how a Yinrih drives a car or rides a bike, assuming they have those.
I wonder when wheels became a thing, considering there were some fantastic roads in the Americas despite the lack of interest in wheels.
Also, just had this idea: you could rework the Reddit summary for your grammar.
The Lonely Galaxy Megathread (comments encouraged)
Re: The Lonely Galaxy Megathread (comments encouraged)
I'm compiling the grammar as we speak. I never posted much about Commonthroat on Reddit, other than some questions about evolving a written language.Visions1 wrote: ↑24 Jun 2024 01:04 Are there different models (like in the sense of the difference between an old Stude and a Pontiac, and not just Toyota #5555 vs. Toyota #5556)? In particular, I wonder if since some of the design is a tradition thing, that the Partisans probably lopped some of them off.
On that note I would like to know more about how the other planets are.
As well, this does make me wonder how a Yinrih drives a car or rides a bike, assuming they have those.
I wonder when wheels became a thing, considering there were some fantastic roads in the Americas despite the lack of interest in wheels.
Also, just had this idea: you could rework the Reddit summary for your grammar.
I was thinking about some lore for Welkinstead this morning. Given they have floating cities in the upper atmosphere, I'm guessing they have to worry about bad weather, and that one of their local saints was said to have been able to calm the weather, and/or that Calm sky is a common Welkinsteader name.
Sweetwater likely has underwater cities in glass domes, as that was a very very early concept I played around with when I was a kid. I also plan on developing their version of POGs, which should be a bit easier since I've settled on the nature of Allied Worlds currency (plastic coins).
Your point about the Partisans using more utilitarian designs makes sense. Maybe their mechs look more like Metal Gear or something. I've already mentioned their powered armor has a bipedal locomotion mode.
Re: The Lonely Galaxy Megathread (comments encouraged)
Probably lots of other sky names. "Rainbow" "Fierce Lightning" "Thunder" "Gentle Breeze" "Fragrant Air."
I imagine Sweetwater has the opposite problem of the Spacers. The Spacers have no real meat (probably few vegetables, but those can be grown in theory). On Welkinstead, they probably have loads of seafood, but not much in terms of vegetables. The food would probably be something like Japanese and Inuit cuisine.
The question is, how would they make alcohol. In fact, I wonder how all the planets do.
I imagine Sweetwater has the opposite problem of the Spacers. The Spacers have no real meat (probably few vegetables, but those can be grown in theory). On Welkinstead, they probably have loads of seafood, but not much in terms of vegetables. The food would probably be something like Japanese and Inuit cuisine.
The question is, how would they make alcohol. In fact, I wonder how all the planets do.
Sweetwater
Sweetwater is the second planet from Focus after Hearthside. The world was the next planet to be terraformed afterNewhome. Early in Focus's history, the planet was bombarded by dozens of large comets, giving it a surface completely covered in ocean. Unlike Newhome, Sweetwater was founded as a sort of planet-sized gated community for the ultra rich. Think Dubai but wetter. The original scheme was to build a massive system of interconnected underwater cities. Impractical? Of course! But this is the 1% we're talking about. Unrealistic utopian nonsense is their bread and butter.
There are a few large islands, but Sweetwater's claim to fame is the massive free-floating rafts of matted vegetation that serve as mobile terrestrial ecosystems. They have no fixed topography, and undulate along with the waves. A hill one moment may be a valley the next. These exist on a much smaller scale on the waters of Yih, but various ecological processes keep them from growing to the massive scale they do on Sweetwater. They're large and firm enough to support entire forests. With such unstable foundations, these mobile islands are completely unsuitable for building most artificial structures, which makes them perfect for Atavists, Primitive Wayfarers, and others seeking to "return to monke fops" as it were. In fact, an entire genre of Robinsonade-esque stories concerns the adventures of hapless travelers washing up on the mossy beaches of these massive plant rafts.
Sweetwater society is shockingly stratified, with the upper class living in the above-mentioned underwater cities. An underclass consisting largely of the descendants of the laborers who built those underwater cities lives a nomadic lifestyle on large ships or submarines. Most make an honest living by fishing and mining, but both shipboard and submarine pirates are also common.
As expected of an ocean planet, tourism is a major source of income. Tourists generally stick to the few fixed landmasses and one or two of the more subdued vegetation rafts that serve as parks, with pleasure cruises confined to plying the safer waters between these population centers. A few of the underwater cities tolerate visitors, but the majority serve as second homes for the ultra wealthy, underwater research labs, and long term (think Yucca Mountain or the Svalbard seed vault) archival storage.
These abyssal vaults are a prime fountain of conspiracy theories in the vein of Area 51, including claims of captive ETs. The explanation changes depending on who's telling the story. More pious conspiracy theorists will say that secular governments hide evidence of other sophonts for fear that it would prove the Bright Way right. More worldly crackpots elege that the Bright Way is in control of the vaults, and that they use them for any number of nefarious purposes, usually involving amassing a secret army to reconquer the system, or keeping massive datacenters that would somehow aid them in doing the same.
Those vaults that have made themselves open to the public reveal a more mundane purpose. While they are in fact data centers, there's nothing conspiratorial about them. They're at the bottom of the ocean because that makes it trivial to cool them, and the secrecy is merely standard data security. That being said, there are many more vaults that are much more heavily guarded and don't produce the sort of waste heat you'd expect from billions of yottaflops of compute power, so the tin foil hatters have plenty of fodder still.
A beach in the tropics of Sweetwater is the most common simulacrum used by missionaries suspended aboard womb ships, including the Dewfall. Stormlight hates it because it's hot and humid, which makes the black-pelted yinrih miserable.
There are a few large islands, but Sweetwater's claim to fame is the massive free-floating rafts of matted vegetation that serve as mobile terrestrial ecosystems. They have no fixed topography, and undulate along with the waves. A hill one moment may be a valley the next. These exist on a much smaller scale on the waters of Yih, but various ecological processes keep them from growing to the massive scale they do on Sweetwater. They're large and firm enough to support entire forests. With such unstable foundations, these mobile islands are completely unsuitable for building most artificial structures, which makes them perfect for Atavists, Primitive Wayfarers, and others seeking to "return to monke fops" as it were. In fact, an entire genre of Robinsonade-esque stories concerns the adventures of hapless travelers washing up on the mossy beaches of these massive plant rafts.
Sweetwater society is shockingly stratified, with the upper class living in the above-mentioned underwater cities. An underclass consisting largely of the descendants of the laborers who built those underwater cities lives a nomadic lifestyle on large ships or submarines. Most make an honest living by fishing and mining, but both shipboard and submarine pirates are also common.
As expected of an ocean planet, tourism is a major source of income. Tourists generally stick to the few fixed landmasses and one or two of the more subdued vegetation rafts that serve as parks, with pleasure cruises confined to plying the safer waters between these population centers. A few of the underwater cities tolerate visitors, but the majority serve as second homes for the ultra wealthy, underwater research labs, and long term (think Yucca Mountain or the Svalbard seed vault) archival storage.
These abyssal vaults are a prime fountain of conspiracy theories in the vein of Area 51, including claims of captive ETs. The explanation changes depending on who's telling the story. More pious conspiracy theorists will say that secular governments hide evidence of other sophonts for fear that it would prove the Bright Way right. More worldly crackpots elege that the Bright Way is in control of the vaults, and that they use them for any number of nefarious purposes, usually involving amassing a secret army to reconquer the system, or keeping massive datacenters that would somehow aid them in doing the same.
Those vaults that have made themselves open to the public reveal a more mundane purpose. While they are in fact data centers, there's nothing conspiratorial about them. They're at the bottom of the ocean because that makes it trivial to cool them, and the secrecy is merely standard data security. That being said, there are many more vaults that are much more heavily guarded and don't produce the sort of waste heat you'd expect from billions of yottaflops of compute power, so the tin foil hatters have plenty of fodder still.
A beach in the tropics of Sweetwater is the most common simulacrum used by missionaries suspended aboard womb ships, including the Dewfall. Stormlight hates it because it's hot and humid, which makes the black-pelted yinrih miserable.
Re: The Lonely Galaxy Megathread (comments encouraged)
They swim alot?
Re: The Lonely Galaxy Megathread (comments encouraged)
I think so. They did evolve next to a river, but I wouldn't characterize them as semiaquatic. Like dogs, they aren't built for swimming but they do enjoy it, although with such long sinewy tails they may be better at it than I'd first think.
I'm not sure if Sweetwater's oceans are literally sweet water (i.e. freshwater), but I'm guessing not.
I'm going to have some fun thinking up stuff for monkey fox submariners. Human subs are already cramped. I couldn't imagine a human being able to get by in a yinrih sub.
Welkinstead brainstorming
So I'm stuck trying to figure out the logistics of Welkinstead's floating cities. I've already decided that I'll conveniently ignore the effects of higher gravity, but I feel like I'm stuck in a corner regarding how they'll stay aloft. I've said in the past that force projectors don't work well above a certain size in atmosphere, so they can't be used for just hanging in the air.
I could just say they float. After all, I'm not minutely detailing how a city would work 4 miles underwater, but my brain demands a satisfying explanation for this one.
It has to be fail-safe, for sure, and preferably passive except for perhaps minor course adjustments. The two solutions I can think of are that the gasses in the upper atmosphere are dense enough that breathable air serves as a lifting gas, or that the cities are massive vacuum airships.
I could just say they float. After all, I'm not minutely detailing how a city would work 4 miles underwater, but my brain demands a satisfying explanation for this one.
It has to be fail-safe, for sure, and preferably passive except for perhaps minor course adjustments. The two solutions I can think of are that the gasses in the upper atmosphere are dense enough that breathable air serves as a lifting gas, or that the cities are massive vacuum airships.
Edit:
Vacuum balloons it is. I've already copied one Jesuit's homework for this project, so let's make it two.
Re: The Lonely Galaxy Megathread (comments encouraged)
You could also use some of Bioshock Infinite's ideas. If I remember right, Matpat kind of proved it could work.
But the vacuum ships sound more stable.
But the vacuum ships sound more stable.
Re: The Lonely Galaxy Megathread (comments encouraged)
Never played it. But that’s what the TV Tropes wiki is for. I’ll definitely look that up. I played maybe 10 minutes of the original Bioshock, and I got the idea for Sweetwater being founded by the 1% from there.
Edit:
Also seasteading was the other inspiration
Paw Coverings
The yinrih's hatred for footwear truly knows no bounds. Hot pavement? Make concrete with a very high albedo so it doesn't absorb heat from the sun, or plant shade trees along walking paths to prevent the sun from shining on the path altogether. And what about Hearthside's Nightless Desert? Hearthsiders smear an insulating wax on their palms to keep the sand from burning their paws. Luckily, only Hearthside, Sweetwater, and Yih are close enough to Focus for this to be a problem. No amount of terraforming will make Focus any brighter on Newhome and beyond.
Why do yinrih hate wearing shoes? They rely much more heavily on tactile information than humans, and covering the paws is akin to wearing a blindfold. People who have to cover their paws for extended periods, such as soldiers and law enforcement wearing powered armor, must become accustomed to the loss of tactile sensation that come with wearing paw gauntlets.
The only time yinrih do wear paw coverings is when hygiene is a concern, when their's risk of lasting injury (heavy objects crushing the digits, etc), or when the paw coverings would enhance mobility, such as force projectors allowing the climbing of smooth vertical surfaces.
When paw coverings are worn, the claws may be accommodated in a number of ways. The ends of the digits may simply be left open to allow the claws to stick out, or there may be metal or plastic claw covers. Some are blunt while others mimic the shape of the claws, preserving some of their functionality. There may be a removable cap on the writing claw to allow the wearer to write while shod.
In addition to force projectors on the digits and palms, paw gauntlets have control rings on each gauntlet. These are located on the digits next to the inner and outer thumbs. The two thumbs can perform a few simple gestures, like taps and directional flicks, to actuate suit functions. Both the forepaws and rear paws possess control rings, giving a total of eight.
Why do yinrih hate wearing shoes? They rely much more heavily on tactile information than humans, and covering the paws is akin to wearing a blindfold. People who have to cover their paws for extended periods, such as soldiers and law enforcement wearing powered armor, must become accustomed to the loss of tactile sensation that come with wearing paw gauntlets.
The only time yinrih do wear paw coverings is when hygiene is a concern, when their's risk of lasting injury (heavy objects crushing the digits, etc), or when the paw coverings would enhance mobility, such as force projectors allowing the climbing of smooth vertical surfaces.
When paw coverings are worn, the claws may be accommodated in a number of ways. The ends of the digits may simply be left open to allow the claws to stick out, or there may be metal or plastic claw covers. Some are blunt while others mimic the shape of the claws, preserving some of their functionality. There may be a removable cap on the writing claw to allow the wearer to write while shod.
In addition to force projectors on the digits and palms, paw gauntlets have control rings on each gauntlet. These are located on the digits next to the inner and outer thumbs. The two thumbs can perform a few simple gestures, like taps and directional flicks, to actuate suit functions. Both the forepaws and rear paws possess control rings, giving a total of eight.
Womb Ship Layout
Here's a simple womb ship layout. There is extra storage in a basement that can be accessed through removable floor panels. Exposed flat surfaces are covered in paw loops that allow anchoring and movement. The interior is small enough that paw cabling isn't necessary.
The interior remains with breathable air throughout the duration of the journey, but the individual amnions are also pressure sealed and can withstand hard vacuum in the event of a hull breach exposing the interior to the outside.
The entrance hatch is locked with an ink pad. Each missionary has a unique pattern they can trace with their writing claw to allow access to the inside. The pad not only recognizes the pattern, but also the unique chemical makeup of an individual's ink, allowing for two-factor authentication in a single action.
Ladder wells
Going up, analog style. Since yinrih are arboreal, climbing is second nature to them. While stairs may exist, for example, separating the nave and sanctuary of a lighthouse, ladders are the preferred way to ascend when elevators aren't available.
Since a single paw can support the weight of the entire body, the rungs of the ladder also act as a hand rail, as long as the yinrih keeps one forepaw holding onto a rung, they won't fall very far if another paw or the tail should lose grip.
They can cary small objects, such as parcels and bags, in their tail as they climb.
The ladder well is located in its own room to prevent people from stepping into the well and falling down on accident. The ladder between each floor is staggered so that if a person does fall, they land one story down. A single-story fall will be painful and perhaps temporarily incapacitating, but there's no lasting damage. In any case, it shouldn't be any worse than a human falling down a flight of stairs. It's also easier to retrofit ladder lifts for the elderly, as it just goes straight up.
Overbrooding Syndrome
Overbrooding syndrome is a psychological condition characterized by a hypertrophied parenting instinct. While it's stereotypically associated with female empty-nesters, it can manifest in either gender and occur at any age after reaching maturity.
Before First Contact, overbrooders simply bought an inadvisably large number of pets to fill the void left by their grown litter, or else complained to their grown pups that they never visit or call them. After discovering humans, however, overbrooders found a new outlet for their unhealthy obsession: adopted human children.
Overbrooders adopt from less scrupulous adoption agencies, usually several kids at a time. Most overbrooding yinrih are not very familiar with human needs, only that humans mature comparatively fast. All Focus governments, with the exception of, you guessed it, the Spacer Confederacy, have mechanisms in place to prevent overbrooders from sneaking into the system, but there are ways around this.
From the human kids' perspective, they have an effectively immortal helicopter parent. It's also hard for humans raised by overbrooders to integrate into human society. They often don't speak human language very well, and strange pidgins consisting of Commonthroat grammar on top of human phonology have been documented.
While overbrooders aren't actively abusive, they are almost always overprotective of their "furless pups." Their lack of knowledge about humans can lead to unfortunate cases of unintentional neglect. Children adopted by overbrooders almost always have trouble getting enough sleep, as their adoptive parents usually don't understand that it's both normal and necessary for humans to just turn off every night and reboot eight hours later.
Ironically, overbrooders who go the human route almost never have more than one "litter", as the grief at losing all their adopted children in a mere eight or nine decades sours them on adopting again.
The vast majority of yinrih seeking to adopt human children are much more well-informed, and are driven by a healthy concern for the welfare of otherwise unwanted, abandoned, or abused human kids. There are orders of Wayfarers who act as adoptive childermoots for human children, and do their best to give them as human an upbringing as a barrel of monkey foxes can possibly provide.
Before First Contact, overbrooders simply bought an inadvisably large number of pets to fill the void left by their grown litter, or else complained to their grown pups that they never visit or call them. After discovering humans, however, overbrooders found a new outlet for their unhealthy obsession: adopted human children.
Overbrooders adopt from less scrupulous adoption agencies, usually several kids at a time. Most overbrooding yinrih are not very familiar with human needs, only that humans mature comparatively fast. All Focus governments, with the exception of, you guessed it, the Spacer Confederacy, have mechanisms in place to prevent overbrooders from sneaking into the system, but there are ways around this.
From the human kids' perspective, they have an effectively immortal helicopter parent. It's also hard for humans raised by overbrooders to integrate into human society. They often don't speak human language very well, and strange pidgins consisting of Commonthroat grammar on top of human phonology have been documented.
While overbrooders aren't actively abusive, they are almost always overprotective of their "furless pups." Their lack of knowledge about humans can lead to unfortunate cases of unintentional neglect. Children adopted by overbrooders almost always have trouble getting enough sleep, as their adoptive parents usually don't understand that it's both normal and necessary for humans to just turn off every night and reboot eight hours later.
Ironically, overbrooders who go the human route almost never have more than one "litter", as the grief at losing all their adopted children in a mere eight or nine decades sours them on adopting again.
The vast majority of yinrih seeking to adopt human children are much more well-informed, and are driven by a healthy concern for the welfare of otherwise unwanted, abandoned, or abused human kids. There are orders of Wayfarers who act as adoptive childermoots for human children, and do their best to give them as human an upbringing as a barrel of monkey foxes can possibly provide.
Slavery
There are a number of socieoeconomic conditions that could reasonably be called slavery around Focus.
One practice during the age of decadence was a form of debt servitude whereby those who could not pay their tithes to the local lighthouse would be pressed into service in order to pay their debt. The alternative was to have the power to their home cut off.
If you were a woman, this could actually turn into a career building opportunity, especially if you were thinking of entering the seminary anyway. Women would be put to work as acolytes, maintaining transmission lines and other power infrastructure, but eventually they'd be granted the privilege of helping tend the star hearth along with the hearthkeeper.
If you were a dude, things could get dicey depending on where you lived. If there were no other Bright Way institutions around, you'd get the worst job of all: a page, which was basically an errand boy or gofer. There was little in the way of transferable skills associated with being a page. If you lived near a chapter of the Knights of the Sun, you could become a squire--a mechanic repairing the knights' mechs. A grease monkey fox, if you will. As with the female acolytes, there was a fair amount of upward mobility here, and many sainted knights started out as indentured squires.
If the Farspeakers had a presence in your city, either men or women could be pressed into becoming an apprentice for a master admin. Master admins were typically bitter misocynoidic recluses who preferred machines to other yinrih, so the experience wasn't usually very pleasant for either party.
The overall experience of these serfs could very wildly. Hearthside was generally the most favorable, with many people entering into serfdom deliberately if they couldn't find a job elsewhere. Yih was likely the worst, with serfs being treated nearly as chattel.
One practice during the age of decadence was a form of debt servitude whereby those who could not pay their tithes to the local lighthouse would be pressed into service in order to pay their debt. The alternative was to have the power to their home cut off.
If you were a woman, this could actually turn into a career building opportunity, especially if you were thinking of entering the seminary anyway. Women would be put to work as acolytes, maintaining transmission lines and other power infrastructure, but eventually they'd be granted the privilege of helping tend the star hearth along with the hearthkeeper.
If you were a dude, things could get dicey depending on where you lived. If there were no other Bright Way institutions around, you'd get the worst job of all: a page, which was basically an errand boy or gofer. There was little in the way of transferable skills associated with being a page. If you lived near a chapter of the Knights of the Sun, you could become a squire--a mechanic repairing the knights' mechs. A grease monkey fox, if you will. As with the female acolytes, there was a fair amount of upward mobility here, and many sainted knights started out as indentured squires.
If the Farspeakers had a presence in your city, either men or women could be pressed into becoming an apprentice for a master admin. Master admins were typically bitter misocynoidic recluses who preferred machines to other yinrih, so the experience wasn't usually very pleasant for either party.
The overall experience of these serfs could very wildly. Hearthside was generally the most favorable, with many people entering into serfdom deliberately if they couldn't find a job elsewhere. Yih was likely the worst, with serfs being treated nearly as chattel.
Re: The Lonely Galaxy Megathread (comments encouraged)
I'm surprised it wasn't worse, considering analogues (in terms of ecclesiastical slavery, serfdom before the Reformation/Catherine the Great (yes, both churches - gosh Russian history is dark); in terms of modern wage-slavery, South Korea). Was it because their main goal was to find other sophonts and they weren't obsessed with the strange god know as "the economy"?
And how much of the population was enslaved at any given time?
And how much of the population was enslaved at any given time?
Re: The Lonely Galaxy Megathread (comments encouraged)
It varied honestly. Yih was the epicenter of ecclesiastical corruption, so people had it worst there. The tithes were also supposed take income into account, with the poor paying less and the rich paying more.Visions1 wrote: ↑01 Jul 2024 03:03 I'm surprised it wasn't worse, considering analogues (in terms of ecclesiastical slavery, serfdom before the Reformation/Catherine the Great (yes, both churches - gosh Russian history is dark); in terms of modern wage-slavery, South Korea). Was it because their main goal was to find other sophonts and they weren't obsessed with the strange god know as "the economy"?
And how much of the population was enslaved at any given time?
For wage slavery you have to look to Moonlitter's conscription system, which isn't connected to the Bright Way.
I need to come up with better titles for the various levels of Farspeaker. Hearthkeepers have acolytes, healers have novices, and knights have squires.
Farspeakers have a master-apprentice system, where a single apprentice studies under a single admin, with the apprentice taking the admin's job if/when they move elsewhere or retire.
I also have an idea for a trickster/folk hero legend that springs up after the War of Dissolution. An embittered alcoholic master Farspeaker and his scheming apprentice fighting against clueless lusers, but I want to develop them beyond being fluffy four-legged versions of the BOFH and PFY.
Edit:
The Bright Way during the Age of Decadence was very mercantile indeed, which is what prompted the War of Dissolution. The Pious Dissolutionists felt the mainstream clergy were distracted by their economic pursuits instead of obeying the Great Commandment which was the reason they invented all that stuff in the first place.
If the Bright Way wasn't a monopoly in a particular industry, they were likely a monopsony. Tailstone mining, for example. They weren't mining it, but they were the only ones buying it. I still need to decide if they controlled all communication infrastructure or just the ansible network. Part of me wants to say they owned the whole thing, as that gives off AT&T vibes, and Bell Labs was a huge inspiration for the research monasteries. (Plus people like Gregor Mendel and Georges Lemaître)
If the Bright Way wasn't a monopoly in a particular industry, they were likely a monopsony. Tailstone mining, for example. They weren't mining it, but they were the only ones buying it. I still need to decide if they controlled all communication infrastructure or just the ansible network. Part of me wants to say they owned the whole thing, as that gives off AT&T vibes, and Bell Labs was a huge inspiration for the research monasteries. (Plus people like Gregor Mendel and Georges Lemaître)
Yay misanthropy!
I just got done reading Gulliver's Travels. I had read one of the abridged children's versions as a kid, but went in fully expecting the satire, now knowing that it was written by the same author as A Modest Proposal. But I was surprised at how neatly the book's misanthropic message fit with my Atavists. Although the Atavists draw a different conclusion than Swift, namely that the defects present in humanity (or yinrih) aren't defects so much as a simple fact of life. The problem isn't that they're selfish and violent, but that as sophonts they have the cursed capacity to imagine not being selfish and violent.
I guess I also shouldn't be surprised at how much toilet humor the book indulges in.
I guess I also shouldn't be surprised at how much toilet humor the book indulges in.
The Farspeaker's Apprentice
The main core of the network stretched out before me: rack upon rack of black boxes extended into the distance, their chassis scintillating with link lights blinking softly as packets rushed in and out of each interface. Meticulously bundled cables of various colors spilled forth from the racks and ran here and there along runways above my head. A cold breeze from the heat pump rustled my whiskers. Permeating this cavernous chamber was the rushing white noise of thousands of cooling fans. I turned my muzzle up, taking in the whole scene. This chamber so vast that I couldn't see the far wall, it was all but a tiny ganglion in the vast interplanetary nervous system, the body of the noosphere.
I made my way to one side of the room, where a thick curtain separated the admin office from the data center. I pushed the curtain aside with my snout just enough to poke my rhinarium into the room. I smelled a lone yinrih, an older female. She must have seen at least six centuries by the scent of her. Over top her musk I detected the odor of a strong perfume, the sort that barked "leave me alone!" The rest of my head followed my muzzle into the office, the roar of the machines outside now muffled by the thick cloth in the doorway. The admin's large Hearthsider ears were silhouetted against the green glow of a terminal. Her right ear flicked as my claws clicked against the raised tile floor, and I detected a slight note of annoyance in her musk.
"I know why you are here," she said, not looking away from the diagnostic display. "The hearthkeepers pressed you into their service since you could not pay your tithe to your lighthouse."
I tilted my muzzle upward, though she didn't see my affirmation.
"We bought you," she spat the words with disgust, "for a hefty price off of those witches on Yih. They wonder why so many are wandering from the path. The Outer Belt is filling with apostates scandalized by the clergy's decadence. They blot out The Light's Truth with their sins!" she barked. "Forgive my outburst," she said more softly, "On Hearthside the faith flourishes while the slothful hierarchy allows it to rot across the rest of Focus. The Missionaries who dwell past Moonlitter are the only others who keep the old traditions."
She let out a sigh, and I could smell her trying to calm herself. "If it is any comfort to you, I detest your presence here as much as you do. We master admins prefer to keep no company. But if our holy work is to continue, we must pass down our knowledge to those whose muzzles are not silvered by age." She at last turned to face me. Her frosted snout contrasted with her sable pelage. She reared up and performed the holy greeting. "Light shine upon you, friend."
"Mistress--" I began, but she cut me off. "That's not my name! And your name isn't 'pup', or so I guess they called you on the homeworld. You will call me Seabreeze." I took a breath to speak, but she plucked out my words before they left my throat. "I know, a strange name for a Hearthsider. A few of my dams were from Sweetwater. It is a tediously common name there, but quite refreshing here in the Nightless Desert. And you, sir, what is your name?"
I blinked all four pairs of bandpass membranes in astonishment at her deference. "It's Littlepaw."
She looked me up and down. "Littlepaw, eh?" Her earlier harshness was replaced by a more maternal tone. "It suits you. The runt of your litter, were you?"
"Yes," I answered.
"Splendid!" she yipped. "A meager frame is an asset for a farspeaker. You'll be crawling through narrow conduit pulling cable in your tail."
My ears wilted. For a moment I thought I might have escaped hard labor for good. Seabreeze saw my apprehensive expression and took pains to reassure me. "I won't ask of you more than you can give," she said gently. "We're not so mercantile here on Hearthside as they are on Yih." She reached under the table, and giving voice to a grunt, I guessed for the weight of the machine, she pulled out a black box like the ones fastened to the racks outside. "This is an internetwork node," she said patting its metal chassis with her tail as a dam would a pup she's particularly pleased with. "This is what you'll be training with. I'll give you the honor of turning it on."
I reached forward and depressed the power switch with my writing claw. The machine roared to life like a shuttle taking off. I couldn't help but pin my ears back and open my eyes wide with puppyish glee. I was going to be in control of that box. It was an empowering feeling.
Seabreeze matched my expression, as though she herself were just beginning to uncover the mysteries of the noosphere again. Then she cleared her throat and her face grew solemn, and she began what sounded like a long rehearsed preachment. "The impious accuse us of obscuring plain facts behind a curtain of mysticism. We do no such thing. The noosphere is a complex and many faceted thing, and its body, which we farspeakers are charged to attend, reflects this complexity. One cannot grasp its wonder in a day, indeed, so intricate are its inner workings that no single farspeaker understands it from nose to tail."
She looked at the node now humming quietly on the desk, then back at me. "You're a young pup climbing his first tree. You will fall many times before you reach even the lowest branch. Each time it will hurt, but don't let the pain discourage you. I was in your paws once, too. You won't be judged by how many times you fall, but by how many times you pick yourself up, shake the dust from your fur, and start climbing again."
I made my way to one side of the room, where a thick curtain separated the admin office from the data center. I pushed the curtain aside with my snout just enough to poke my rhinarium into the room. I smelled a lone yinrih, an older female. She must have seen at least six centuries by the scent of her. Over top her musk I detected the odor of a strong perfume, the sort that barked "leave me alone!" The rest of my head followed my muzzle into the office, the roar of the machines outside now muffled by the thick cloth in the doorway. The admin's large Hearthsider ears were silhouetted against the green glow of a terminal. Her right ear flicked as my claws clicked against the raised tile floor, and I detected a slight note of annoyance in her musk.
"I know why you are here," she said, not looking away from the diagnostic display. "The hearthkeepers pressed you into their service since you could not pay your tithe to your lighthouse."
I tilted my muzzle upward, though she didn't see my affirmation.
"We bought you," she spat the words with disgust, "for a hefty price off of those witches on Yih. They wonder why so many are wandering from the path. The Outer Belt is filling with apostates scandalized by the clergy's decadence. They blot out The Light's Truth with their sins!" she barked. "Forgive my outburst," she said more softly, "On Hearthside the faith flourishes while the slothful hierarchy allows it to rot across the rest of Focus. The Missionaries who dwell past Moonlitter are the only others who keep the old traditions."
She let out a sigh, and I could smell her trying to calm herself. "If it is any comfort to you, I detest your presence here as much as you do. We master admins prefer to keep no company. But if our holy work is to continue, we must pass down our knowledge to those whose muzzles are not silvered by age." She at last turned to face me. Her frosted snout contrasted with her sable pelage. She reared up and performed the holy greeting. "Light shine upon you, friend."
"Mistress--" I began, but she cut me off. "That's not my name! And your name isn't 'pup', or so I guess they called you on the homeworld. You will call me Seabreeze." I took a breath to speak, but she plucked out my words before they left my throat. "I know, a strange name for a Hearthsider. A few of my dams were from Sweetwater. It is a tediously common name there, but quite refreshing here in the Nightless Desert. And you, sir, what is your name?"
I blinked all four pairs of bandpass membranes in astonishment at her deference. "It's Littlepaw."
She looked me up and down. "Littlepaw, eh?" Her earlier harshness was replaced by a more maternal tone. "It suits you. The runt of your litter, were you?"
"Yes," I answered.
"Splendid!" she yipped. "A meager frame is an asset for a farspeaker. You'll be crawling through narrow conduit pulling cable in your tail."
My ears wilted. For a moment I thought I might have escaped hard labor for good. Seabreeze saw my apprehensive expression and took pains to reassure me. "I won't ask of you more than you can give," she said gently. "We're not so mercantile here on Hearthside as they are on Yih." She reached under the table, and giving voice to a grunt, I guessed for the weight of the machine, she pulled out a black box like the ones fastened to the racks outside. "This is an internetwork node," she said patting its metal chassis with her tail as a dam would a pup she's particularly pleased with. "This is what you'll be training with. I'll give you the honor of turning it on."
I reached forward and depressed the power switch with my writing claw. The machine roared to life like a shuttle taking off. I couldn't help but pin my ears back and open my eyes wide with puppyish glee. I was going to be in control of that box. It was an empowering feeling.
Seabreeze matched my expression, as though she herself were just beginning to uncover the mysteries of the noosphere again. Then she cleared her throat and her face grew solemn, and she began what sounded like a long rehearsed preachment. "The impious accuse us of obscuring plain facts behind a curtain of mysticism. We do no such thing. The noosphere is a complex and many faceted thing, and its body, which we farspeakers are charged to attend, reflects this complexity. One cannot grasp its wonder in a day, indeed, so intricate are its inner workings that no single farspeaker understands it from nose to tail."
She looked at the node now humming quietly on the desk, then back at me. "You're a young pup climbing his first tree. You will fall many times before you reach even the lowest branch. Each time it will hurt, but don't let the pain discourage you. I was in your paws once, too. You won't be judged by how many times you fall, but by how many times you pick yourself up, shake the dust from your fur, and start climbing again."
Last edited by lurker on 07 Jul 2024 03:28, edited 1 time in total.
