Periphery Post

News stories, interviews, rumours and scandals, all Periphery and beyond.

"Lightning fast news here now. Take the PP!"

This page is a collection of news articles posted to the periphery post discord channel, organised into topics.

Periphery and Frontier

Major Events

Disaster of New Sunrise

Disaster struck today in the Boros system as news broke out as the population the new colony established on the third moon of Boros 5 has literally been microwaved alive.
Scientists at the sister colony of New Baro, located under the moons icesheet said. "We tried to explain to director of this new colony that it was suicidal to try and build a habitat above the surface. expeditions to the surface had yielded that every week the gas giant we orbit emits a ludicrously large pulse of radiation. hell the icesheet we are under protects us since its so thick!"
Efforts are being made to recover the remains of the colonists that have perished at the colony. despite the disaster a new colony is establishing itself under the icesheet and is to be supplied via submarine

- Asteral (2020-08-21)

Politics

Diplomatic Summit of Kylos ends in violence

The semi-regular diplomatic summits on Kylos, a barren rock just a jump away from Vilous, are tradition at this point, in where delegates from the Commonwealth of Sol-Procyon, the Ares Confederation, the various Elysian Colonies as well as the Sergal City States are hashing out differences, talk about accessions and discuss the ever sore topic of the brief aggressive colonization of Tal by Yantzu Mining and when the Sergals can expect some reparations for the damages done to their culture, home world and population.
However, this time the dry talks have ended up by the Commonwealth Delegate Boris Thump getting punched in the face by Ares Confederate Delegate Emilia Áñez after he extensively disparaged the Sergals who have turned their translation devices off during a break.
In the brief altercation, Miss Áñez elbowed him against the jaw after he explained to an Elysian Delegate how "[Sergals] squander the infrastructure and stability we have brought them" (sic), to which he promptly tried to take a swing at her nose. The fight ended with Miss Áñez kicking Mister Thump in the crotch.
The Ares Confederation issued a public apology to the Embassy of Sol-Procyon, stationed in the Coreward Periphery. Both parties have refused to comment for the Periphery Post, however West Sergal Delegate Saharu Morito offered following quote, 
"It's always amusing to see that humans believe Sol Common is hard to learn. The intervention was not necessary, but really, really funny." 

- Dragor (2020-10-20)

Crime

Dangerous criminals on the loose after mass breakout!

Twelve hours ago, A massive breakout occured at the Ironport Maximum Security Station located at the deep space asteroid belt close to the system of Capris Omega despite warnings given by corporate officials.
Mr Zane Ironport, the facilities warden and owner initially shrugged off the warnings given to him regarding a plot to free the usually dangerous criminals housed within ranging from murderers to infamous criminals. due to the lack of caution accompanied by a approaching stellar storm the facility was suddenly assaulted by several unknown picket class corvettes accompanied by a bomber corvette that identified itself as 'Vamdala's Maw.", the facility staff was caught offguard as the corvettes fired at the residential area causing several breachhs and loss of life.
During the confusion, reports state that the sudden attack allowed the bomber corvette to dock and board through a airlock located at Cell Habitat C, where Death row and the most dangerous to society was kept. security attempted to thwart the escape but ultimately most of the security team located at Cell Habitat C was killed in action.
After thirty minutes when the attack occured the small fleet left the area under the cover of the stellar storm that masked their initial approach. security footage has shown those responsible was heavily armed with equipment such as ballistic rifles and more modernised hardsuits which where painted black and purple.

- Asteral (2020-10-22)

Commonwealth of Sol-Procyon

Science and Technology

First Solar Shade installed on Vespa's Delight in DM-9284 System

After two years of delay and project abandonment by NanoTrasen, Vespa's Delight can pride itself of having installed the first stellar shade out of the projected five needed to redue the median temperature of the planet from 245°C to 20°C. 
This signficant feat of engineering has been made possible, according to the Colonial Authority Director Vespa Lorenz, by none other than the Ares Confederation, who has ordered the Confederate Military Engineering Corps to finish the partially built shade as huminatarian aid. 
"We are very thankful for their assistance, although I am not entirely sure why they helped me, considering I called them bloodsucking leeches on the dime of the hardworking man before.", Lorenz confesses to the PP. However, she is adamant in refusing any and all docking attempts by the Confederation in the future, even though they offered further assistance if she would allow Confederate Settlers to be joining Vespa's Delight.

- Dragor (2020-05-06)

Science Fiction Turned Real?

As is expected, scientists are nerds. But no ordinary nerds; recently, a group of five scientists composed of nuclear physicists and phoron specialists, set out to try and disprove a theory.
For those not in the know, the theory, whose name is too long for such a short news post, goes on about utilizing supermatter crystals as a means of storing and extracting energy, akin to a battery. As we all know, these crystals - from the smallest, to the largest, are some of the most unstable things humanity can get their hands on and actually use!
The team was able to acquire permission to use the Novi Kranj nuclear laboratory, stationed on Europa, a moon of Jupiter. Now, while the rest of the team's report is probably very interesting, a lot of it we don't understand because it's filled with so much jargon you could make a boat out of it.
What we did find genuinely interesting, was when the test went awry.

So, the basis. They were feeding electricity to a very small sample of supermatter crystal and trying to extract it by exciting the lattice structure, thus, causing the crystal to grow unstable and release its energy. All went well and fine, up to the point where the Watts seemed to cross some kind of threshold never before seen.

The crystal froze the test chamber, to just a few degrees Kelvin above absolute zero. At least, that was what their sensors detected before it all got frozen solid. Nothing in the chamber was responding to any kind of signal. The blast doors were fused together, circuits were paved over with frost, and, most puzzling of all, the power draw of the crystal only grew. From their report, they claim that the cable was the only unscathed object in the chamber.
What does any of this mean? I have no idea, but my boss told me to write a news article for today, so here it is.

- Amaya (2020-05-26)

An Easy Mistake

Several sources, some even within Nanotrasen's own HR department, have released information regarding a recent transaction performed by the company.
It details the release of several artefacts, all of them deemed "inert", a standard rating set on artefacts, small and large, that do not react to any stimuli and exert no energy.
Some such include:
- "Reminian Ornate Crystal" 
Described to be a medium-sized crystalline structure, shaped like a prism. It is suspended in mid-air. It rotates clockwise, while a golden ring spins counter-clockwise. The ring is distanced exactly 4 centimeters from the crystal. It is made of a material that Nanotrasen scientists could not successfully identify, though they claim it is virtually indestructible, unlike the prism itself. It is suspected that if the crystal is destroyed, the ring will fall.
There are intricate, organic patterns printed into the ring's material. It is woven only on the outer side of the ring.
The suspension of both objects is driven by an anti-gravity field inductor that seems to draw energy from an unknown point from within the crystal. 
Speculated age is between 850,000 and 1,050,00 years 

- "Crested Sigil"
Described as a disc. It once had a working, removable mechanism that detached from its center. When it was handed in, it was reported that the central piece rose and spun in mid-air. 
Text was etched into the the disc itself. Only a vague translation was made; a description of a mighty, unyielding energy that sought to annihilate matter in elaborate, intricate ways.
When sold, it was catalogued as a "bone trinket" due to the bone that covered the top of the disc, growing over and destroying what was there. The bone was purported to be remarkably similar to what can be found in Earth's hump-backed whales.
Speculated age is between 150,000 and 250,000,000 years.

- Dragor (2020-08-19)

Colonies and Economics

NT Colony in Periphery huge success

NT has recently established Colony Adamant 9 in the HJFS-2984 system, following the disasters of Adamant 1 to Adamant 8. This time, however, they had great success.
The location chosen for Adamant 9 had, by sheer chance, a large geothermic vault relatively near to the crust, as well as commercially easily mined Palladium, skyrocketing stocks for the Company Colony from their initial investments to a 250% profit margin.
The colony is now closed investment, barring any more bonds to be created, therefore the lucrative newcomer into the Periphery will be sold to a high price per bond.

- Dragor (2020-05-28)

New Hyper Tram Line goes online on Tiamat, Proxima Centauri

Long the jewel of Proxima Centauri, the water world of Proxima Centauri has constructed a new Hyper Tram Line, connecting several floating cities together, most notably the Capitals of Mare Nostrum and New Kzmer. Both nations project that this will increase trade, prosperity and cooperation of Tiamat, which, although most landmass is artificially constructed, has been always rife with factionalism and "border" disputes over border projection buoys, carving up the planet between the roughly four dozen original colonization projects originating from Earth.
Prime Minister Asya Zaytseva comments on the completion and maiden transit of the tram as follows :
"While many people think the age of conventional public transport is waning with the advent of personal translocation, they do not realize how expensive it is for the common man to enjoy bluespace translocation on a daily basis. This tram is not only one of the most ambitious public projects of our planet, but also one of the most important ones for the common people."
The tram line has been controversial since its inception and several delays and shortcomings held the project in jeopardy, since the contract went from Megacorporation to Megacorporation without much progress. However, after the highly controversial move of hiring a passing Kosaky Fleet as construction company, progress has been rapid and even slightly underbudget.

- Dragor (2020-11-09)

Crime

New illict substance flooding local black markets, which targets Teshari

SolCom and other colonial officials have released a damninng report that a new narcotic drug known as Dextro-LSD has snuck its way into the hands of illict substance dealers across the periphery. law enforcement in several colonies made pre-emptive arrests of known narcotic dealers in a attempt to curb this ruinous and addictive drug. while the narcotic is being clamped down several reports suggest that its use has sky-rocketed amongst Teshari populations.
It is currently unknown why the narcotic is targetted towards Teshari, luckily however the effects on users are heavily noticable with the narcotic having the effects of Mindbreaker toxin with the added mental instability, rapid heartrate and loss of hair/feathers.

- Asteral (2020-06-06)

Ares Confederation

Colonies and Economy

New Colony added to the Sphere of the Ares Confederation

The Ares Confederation always has encouraged a naturalization process for immigrants to find their place in their union, which gives them sorely the population influx they need to build up their presence in the Coreward Periphery. And today, they celebrate one of the bigger milestones of their recent policies of expanding their Settlement Programme.
Several  thousand refugees from the Elysian Colonies and corporate sectors have converged on the unassuming torrid planet of 1489125, sitting just shy of the Goldilocks Zone of a orange dwarf. There, with the assistance of the Confederal Navy Engineering Corps, they have built over five years a new home.
It was an arduous process, by all means, as living space and food was scarce aside the deliveries and help from other colonies, but many new ArCon citizens now say it was all worth it - under the hands of the settlers, 1489125 has received several "infrastructural upgrades", such as solar mirrors to raise surface temperature to liveable conditions and several tow-impacts of ice asteroids. Domes and settlements have been built and dug into the ground and a nascent industry refining Helium-3 from a nearby Gas Giant has been forming, contributing to the Common "Market" of the Confederation.

Today, 1489125 celebrates three times over - First, their official Constitution has been ratified by referendum and with its ratification they have been accepted into the Ares Confederation as full member state.
And with this, they also celebrate the ascension of Turing Beta Nine, a former shackled AI of NanoTrasen, as their first Prime Minister and leader of the "United Prosperity Front" party, who promised to make 1489125 a safe haven for any rogue AI and vatborn slave who happens to come to them.
Lastly, the referendum of naming 1489125 has finally reached a conclusion, just after the inauguration of Turing Beta Nine. The settlers have decided to name their new home Colony McColonyFace.

-Dragor (2020-11-04)

Travel

Paraiso, A Travel Report

The Ares Confederation is known for being open for travellers - if they look like they want to join. Visitors are a different kind of breed. They were wary about my application of a visitation visa for journalism, keen to keep me out. I suppose I can't blame them all too much. But, they decided to let me in, if I have a "bodyguard" with me, a kind of watchdog. A tall kind of woman, with a barcode on her cheek, extending to her ear. She is not very talkative, whose purpose is not apparent to me. Is she here to protect me or the secrets of the Confederation? What are they hiding that they need to have me on watch by a gigantic vatborn? She won't tell me. She doesn't talk. Or, at least, not with me.
My first visit is with Paraiso, a pale blue dot orbiting an orange sun, strangely reminiscent to our ancestral, wonderful home of Earth. But this comparison is only skin deep. The hustle and bustle of Sol is not seen, the fleets of ships dotting the system, the stations and habitats strewn across asteroids and other planets. It is almost eerily quiet, radio chatter the only sign of intelligent life. There is not much of it - confederal engineers and miners, either chatting it up to fights loneliness or go on about their business of docking and undocking from the only big station, in geosynchronous orbit of the only habitated planet.

Sky Garnet, it is called, due to it being the rust red of caught asteroid, which has been hollowed out and set to spin in the earliest stages of exile, although I have been told that artificial gravity has been installed 40 years ago, which made expanding it far easier. And indeed. Like glittering tumours, piers, depots and modules have been built with steel and plasteel - a wild sort of building, without careful planning, following the whims and needs of a fickle population.
We do not dock, however. We're not flying an especially big ship, a converted cargo ferry at the size of a shuttle, which has been thoroughly retrofitted as much as the superstructure allows, making it almost a recreational vehicle - who in their right mind would live in a tin can with a kitchen and sleep bunk? Odd is, however, that I keep finding insignia of USDF here. Has this shuttle been stolen? Illicitly sold or salvaged? I knew the Confederation is a bit short on heavy industry, but to such an extent? 

I mulled over it loudly, asking my "companion" what this is about, but they give me no answer. Vatborns are about as intelligent as anywhere else it seems, which is to say not much. They're automatons, distasteful for my sensibilities as true human - I would have preferred a drone. Just as sapient, but at least it might have a Turing Interface and make a pleasant conversation. This silence from something posing as human is just creepy.
However, this might be just a quiet dig at me from the officials that dealt with me. A punishment for trying to pry behind their veil and see the life of a typical Confederate. Everyone knows their propaganda, of hope and opportunity, of solidarity and unity. But I don't really buy it. Elysians babble the same nonsense, but how can a society prosper without a truly free market, without the affluence of corporations to provide their consumers and employees their generous benefits? And so far, I have been proven right. It looks miserable, lonely and ugly.

Much like the land of the planet as we aerobrake into the atmosphere, the horizon opening up on the viewscreens and the copula of the shuttle. The sea itself is gorgeous - a roiling, endless sea of azure, turquoise and sapphire, endlessly lapping and rising up by currents unseen under the surface. It reminds me of Tiamat. But the string of Islands, some big, some small, most of them volcanic in origin are like brown, green-tinted puddles of mud on a beautifully woven carpet. This is because life has it hard here, tells me a voice on the radio.
I find out soon why. In the distance there is thunder and lightning, just peeking from the horizon. A curtain of water and terror as I zoom in with my eyes. I'm stunned for a moment. Why do they live here when apparently six times a day, there is an apocalypse on some part of the planet? How do they escape the torrents, which seem to be enough to sweep people, houses, continents away? The answer is a short chuckle. It's not so bad and everything can be fixed with elbow grease.

We land on one of the islands, seemingly prepared for our arrival. I am not sure how. I didn't hear my "companion" announce us, but we land with a few people already waiting on us. Most of them are dirty, streaked with mud and sweat, their sunburnt skin strange to me. I know, academically, that sunburn exists, but it is rare in the Commonwealth. After all, most UV light is filtered in buildings and canopies to prevent it from happening. But in this wilderness, they do not have any of that.
This delegation, I shall dub them, is far more chatty than my "companion", eagerly telling me about their vagrant lives. Descendants from the original rebels and terrorists, they have been living here for generations now, fostering still their seditious thought - two of them even dare to say they're Martian still. I bite my tongue and listen instead. Apparently Paraiso's oceans are full of life, which is why they have bothered to actually settle here, to provide nourishment for the other "Exiles" in the Confederation. Yes, they know about the monsoons too - the constant reminder the landscape itself.

There is no trees, bushes or even grasses of any height. The ground is greenish tinted and swampy solely because of hardy algae and mosses who can withstand both the impact and periodical flooding. But how do the humans escape the same fate an oak would? "Simples", comes the answer, surprised I even ask. They point upwards, patiently waiting for... Something. And then I see it too, after a while. A glider! Soaring through the sky on near-weightless wings, lazily prowling the skies. They joke about how they practically know every water molecule by name in the atmosphere. Rain clouds are tracked by satellite and glider, meticulously reported and then relayed to the Paraisan Weather and Migration Service.
Apparently this is how they deal with it. Whenever a monsoon is scheduled, they just.. Move away. In bands of ships and floating hamlets, they simply move out of the way. And when it is over, they return. They even tell me that they have devised some emergency gliders just to fill the atmosphere with particles in case one of their groups can't move out of the way in time, to dampen the blow in the end. I suppose necessity is the mother of invention. But why bother with this in the first place and not just live on ships?

There is a grin and silence. Instead of answering, they want to show me something. A "lil' project", as one of the dissidents tells me. And so, we go on a brisk, dull walk. The horizon isn't really anything to look at, the ground is sticky and muddy. But that changes as we arrive at our location, at least in terms of something to look at. 
People. Children, adults, even some robots and vatgrown (if the barcodes are any indication) digging in the mud. It's chaos. People just seem to dig into the ground aimlessly, piling up mud and clay and carting it off for some reason, a giant hole with a spider web of bigger and smaller trenches. A sort of strip mine? A public works to create "jobs" of aimlessly digging around so people have work? I don't understand it. But here they are, a bustling sort of town of tents, recreational vehicles hugging a small mountainside. 

But the more I watch, the more I see a strange harmony in this wild digging. it's organized almost like an ant hive. There are children digging out in thin, little trenches, snaking the path of lease resistance, before being followed by adults, who straighten, deepen and widen the channel. Then, it is joined with another, radiating out from the central hole, set just at the foot of the highest mountain face. And even there people work on it, chipping away rock and creating plateaus, where they bottom it out and fill it with carried away mud. Not all people dig either. Some bring water, tend to small injuries or drive stakes into the sides of the trenches and plate them with wood and pour quickcrete.
And then, there is a siren, playing a little song. I do not make out all words, but it is some union ditty. Right on cue, people stop working on their projects, which harmonize into a wider network of someting I have yet to find out what, and gather around a larger, central plaza situated in their little shanty town. There, people begin to speak to the rapt attention of the entire settlement. I don't understand much of it - until it clicks in my head.

It's progress reports. Which channels have been built, what depth the central hole has achieved, how far they are into finishing making the mountain a sort of gigantic staircase. People are praised who worked hard and given awards in form of more food or little luxuries. It's strange how much they get excited over things like sweets or just the praise of their group. People who have been found lacking are not punished, but told to do harder next time or asked if they want to do something different. Most of them agree and switch their assigned - or chosen? - duty. Some just say they had a bad day or don't feel well or other excuses and they will do better next time. Strange. it's almost like a business meeting, but with far more people involved. 
But it ends with another song of the siren and people begin to take out tables, mats, stools and chairs and I realize that it is time for dinner. I am cordially invited to join them, although I don't look forward to what counts as food here. And so I am sitting down with my delegation as they pass bowls and platters, piling on pale, sautéed flesh and a brownish green broth with a sort of spider web in black laid in. I'm told the flesh is Paraisan prawn, the broth is dehydrated algae sheet broth with processed moss. For a moment, I considered fasting, but I was here to depict how miserable they are.

But as I take my first bite, I am surprised. The flesh is succulent, lightly sweet and salty. A bit rubbery, but certainly delicious enough that I take a second bite - and a third. In fact, I asked for seconds, which they happily provided, laughing. The broth has an earthy kind of taste to it, mixed with an inoffensive, fishy flavour - apparently seasoned with ground up shell of the prawn, which I was told are the size of small dogs. I laugh, disbelieving, but they assure me it is true. The moss is more like pasta, thin, chewy strands that are flavourless, aside the sensation of starch lingering on the tongue. It's simple, if comforting food and quickly I realize how filling it is. I wouldn't call it Haute Cuisine, but for some reason, I don't think they care much for such notions. This is food to sustain. Dinner for workers after a hard day of labour, to regenerate. A simple joy.
Rest did not come easy to me, although I was offered a place not in one of the many tents and small RVs, but rather in the bunker set into the bowels of the mountain, fashioned to keep more important personnel on site, as I was explained. There is a hospital here, a powersite, storage for the power tools and the few APLU units they have, digging out the central hole. it's not uncomfy as I was led to a small chamber, with a bed, desk and a lamp, even a personal computer with some videogames and books - in case I get bored. But I feel like an intruder now. A passive observer into an alien world that I do not understand, whose customs seem far more communal than mine. They all ate together, worked together and top-down structures barely seem to exist - people voted their foreman for the week and swap if they are dissatisfied.

And I keep thinking why they do all of this. It seems so pointless. Are they prospecting? Just working for the sake of work, to achieve this joviality and camaraderie of a construction site? Or are they maybe penal labourers? Did the regime of this planet, set in orbit, deal with its dissidents this way? I do not know. My bodyguard sure won't tell me. She just stares silently. Sometimes, I think she studies me. Gauges me. But she is a vatborn, so I don't believe it.
As morning arrived, I see them working again. I'm told people work up to sixteen hours here, only stopping for breakfast, lunch and dinner, which often is as communal as the one I witnessed. I asked what if someone wants to eat alone or another time. They shrug. Then they cook, one laughs. And eat. They just have to tell kitchen staff before they make too much.  Odd. I keep silent as we take the short trek back to my assigned shuttle. One of my delegation comes with us on the trip - business on the Sky Garnet, apparently. And as we take off, he begins to direct the vatborn for a trajectory that would make us run over an island chain. He tells me to watch the bottom camera closely.

And so I do. And then I am struck with awe as I realize what the point of it all was. From high in the sky, it all makes sense. They're not digging for resources - they're carving rivers and a sea into the landscape. The steps into the mountain are terraces - they shape the landscape. "So the monsoons just pass by.", the vatgrown says. I stare at her. her first words. She has a deep, almost motherly voice. She smiles and gestures downwards again, to the screen. 
This is not the only island that does it. Tentative specks of real green, of vegetation dot islands. Some are completely covered in vegetation and jungle, now that I look more closely. Tiny flickering candles of life, slowly joining together into hearths of civilization. The channels are to drain water from the soil, to direct the flow of the monsoon into not undirected floods, but rather into man-made directions. Grass is planted after - to enrich and harden the soil with its roots. And then people settle. What I have seen is just the frontier. 

"We make do.", the vatborn says. And I am stunned to silence.

- Dragor (2020-11-12)

Sars Mara, A Travel Report

After my time on Paraiso, I was a little bit shook. Of course, comparatively to the Commonwealth of Sol-Procyon, these people are destitute. Many of them work hard, physical labour usually relegated to drones and other undesirables in our more enlightened society. But I can't help but maybe think there is something to the fruits of labour being so personal, affecting others. Fishermen haul in big tangles of seaweed, prawn and other exotic sea fruits from the rich and diverse biomes just under the sea line. Workers process it, cargo haulers ship it away to other planets - in turn communities receive the dividend of that labour. Products from more industrial member colonies of their Confederation.
Such as Sars Mara. I have taken to travel with one of the food transports to this planet, full of tinned goods, held in stasis for the transport to be as fresh as possible when arriving. Jars full of little, floating grass clippings, pressed into bite sized balls. I was actually gifted one such jar and have been snacking on it ever since. It's an odd flavour, definitely tasting faintly like I am chewing on a lawn, although the malty, slightly alcoholic flavour dominates this confectionary. It is a sweet, created from modified grass to stock up on simple glucose - a sort of cousin of the more ubiquitous sugarcane.  The Paraisan People distil a rum from this, with a refreshing acidity to it. I ought to buy a bottle from this, however this would break the Gilthari Accords, who have embargoed the Confederation.

My time is spent trying to chat up my bodyguard once again, now keenly aware that she both talks and understands me, but the only reaction I got from her is a slight smile and a dismissive handwave. A stoic type, which is hardly surprising, I suppose. I am still an outsider, an alien, a rogue element which she has to carefully observe.
The system of Sars Mara, "Red Landing" is a much more industrialized  sight than Paraiso. This is where the Exile Fleets of the Ares Confederation first arrived in their sleeper ships, when they were driven out of Mars, bitter from defeat. Historians would tell you about all the implications that brought for the continued efforts to terraform Mars, which has been largely abandoned after the Second Mars War - nearly every engineer, academic and firebrand left, taking a surprisingly large swath of workers with them, depriving Mars from skilled labour for generations.

It shows, truly. Around the ruddy red planet, which is the de facto headquarters of both the of the so called Liberty Assembly and the Confederal Armed Forces. It shows - there is an equatorial half-ring around the planet, glinting in the artificial gleam of manmade material - steel and plasteel shaped far more skillfully than Sky Garnet. Barracks, docking ports, anchors for the solar shields, cooling down Sars Mara below to liveable temperatures - and maybe most importantly, the only serious drydock operation of the Ares Confederation. While many planets can boast at least some capability to build corvettes and frigates, these gunboats pale in comparison of what is created here - rugged, boxy designs, time tested hulls of battlecruisers that have been declared obsolete by the Commonwealth. And still, they prowl, roaring in space and giving trouble to any corporate fleet who mistakes the Confederation for easy prey.
Beyond that, many stations dot the system - asteroid mines, refinery stations, way posts, patrol hangars and hidden killer sats. Fortified, drawing greedily from the wellspring of the debris fields of the local gas giants, Oort Cloud and asteroid belts, all shipped back to Sars Mara itself - the industrial heartland of the Confederation - to be smelted and shaped and hammered into war material, industrial equipment and more - the expertise of old Mars, carried like a torch to a surprisingly similar planet, at least from the view it gives from orbit.

Our cargo hauler descends into the half ring, a maze of scaffolds, radiation shielding and asteroid blockers, where asteroids have been carved up, devoured for its resources and sometimes just incorporated into the structure itself, an industrial process which happened time and time again - from there, we descend into the anonymously named "Trader Port #83", where goods change hands and the cargo hauler trots off away, leaving us alone as it transports APLU mechs, diggers and boring equipment back to Paraiso.
The half ring, which seems to be the only name this station complex, having never been officially christened with a proper name, as it is not truly a station on and itself - rather it is the fusion of several, singular stations, just like Trader Port #83. Kanta's Den, Confederal Anchorage #12 and many, many more names are announced as we take the orbital tram through these complexes, the shuttle tram smoothly floating along its maglev tracks, tubes expanding against it, sealing and allowing people to board or leave. The diversity is staggering for a Commonwealther like me, but probably a common sight on the frontier.

Furred halfbreeds, Unathi exiles, synthetic freepeople - there is no end to it. Some don't even walk on two legs, but rather walk on all fours like animals - but where their head should be is a humanoid torso. Some literally are just animals, at first so I thought, until they sat down and began to chat up their travel companions. The culture shock from the tram ride alone is oddly harder than Paraiso, where it was more familiar, but impoverished  - here it looks like a typical asteroid habitat you would find in one of the many Commonwealth dependencies, but utterly alien in its inhabitants. 
And the fashion! Where we Commonwealther prefer stylish, elegant cuts made from fibres both natural and synthetic for maximum comfort in gentle, soft colours (at least that's the current trend), these people wear functional, sometimes torn clothing, dominating in earthy, dark colours. Some carry patched or logos on them, of stars, torches, cogs, hammers and sickles. The natural implication is that they wear their allegiance on their sleeve in one of the few places where this wouldn't at least raise an eyebrow.

Finally, we reach our destination, indicating by my bodyguard getting up and gently tugging on my doublet to heft me on my feet. She barely needs her strength to do so. We walk out the tube to a station called "Last Tick to Midnight". Omnious. It is a filled out rock, both the habitation of a nearby drydock of a communal company building domestic ships and the starport for the surface of Sars Mara. Interestingly, there is a viewing platform, where I remain for a while.
The swirling atmosphere, dimmed by the solar shades, is thick and foggy, glinting in specks of ochre and alabaster - sand kicked up from the surface. It is dry as bones down there, massive sandstorms engulfing large swathes of land of the visible hemisphere, slowly crawling over the surface like massive beasts, before dispersing... And appearing somewhere else. 

This needs some shopping - or whatever what passes as shopping here. My bodyguard is helping me out with this, as my  currency is not really accepted. Instead, the market is practically just a complex web of debts and favours called in amongst individuals, banking on their reputation within a particular commune while the rest is covered with a "social dividend", monetary units who each individual gets depending on how their particular commune is doing with raising the industrial output of the Confederation as a whole. What might be more bizarre, however, is that food and lodging seems to be inherently free of charge, as I quickly realize as I get a shish kebab of the bull prawn, marinated in a strange sauce called "Rust". it's sweet, spicy, coloured a dark red. Paprika and honey? I can't really tell.

But it is delicious. 
Finally, my bodyguard has acquired outfits for the both of us for our surface dive. Filter masks, long, flowing robes of a lightweight material, to keep our bodies isolated from heat and sand. snow goggles, to keep particles out of our eyes. I find it looks a bit silly, but she was graceful enough to get me something more politically neutral in tone - white, umber and a sash of pastel blue, for my electronics and a small AC unit to keep me cool. How strangely considerate of her.

The descent is not particularly noteworthy, except that we are alone in the pod as it shoots down to the surface in almost relativistic speeds. Luckily the inertia dampeners are in full effect or I would be little more than a smear on the floor as the magnetically shot pod is caught in another magnetic field, leaving our descent at little than under three minutes. 
And so we don our filter masks and our goggles, stepping out of the building of concrete and steel, an unassuming port in the neighbourhood of a factory city called "New Webley". And as I step out into the glaring sun and take a deep, filtered breath, I realize that my first impression was again deceptive. 

Sars Mara is alive. Unlike the planet of the first exiles, Sars Mara has a biosphere and water - not much of it, by all means, but enough to support a thriving, hardy population of animals and plants. Indeed, as I glare against the sun, I see strange bats fly in flocks in the dusty, but blue sky with very large ears and enormous wings for their comparatively small bodies. Cacti and knobby, dark brown shrubs dot the streets, greens on clay, prickling out like constant, little yells of "See! Here be life!". 
Here be life, indeed. Far more people live on Sars Mara than Paraiso and it shows, far more looking similar to colonies of the Commonwealth, all wearing at least the clothes like us, some having their filter mask dangling down around their necks as they relax in coffee houses, side street bistros or leaving work. At the edge of the city is the pride and joy of New Webley - a geothermal forge, where deep shafts are drilled into the active lava tubes of Sars Mara to smelt alloys together in a relatively clean matter.

But again, it is utterly alien. Citizenship is hard fought for in the Commonwealth - being a citizen is a privilege. And so it is on Sars Mara, but that does not matter. Everyone who applies for it can become a Freeperson, apparently, as I visit a travel office to brush up on local culture and sightseeing. Freepersons are entitled to the full law of the Confederation - except voting and participating on the confederal level. Only workers with three years veterancy or those who have done three years of military service are allowed to be citizens. What an odd system.
I decided to take a sightseeing tour of the nature of Sars Mara with my bodyguard, who seems to enjoy it as much as I do. Could this have been Mars when the Confederation would've been successful the first time? The second time? All of it has been meticulously planned out, engineered and then released in the wild. This planet was a dustbowl before and instead of bending it to the will of the Exiles, they have adapted - whether with their buildings, habits or their nature. Animals have been modified for heat exchange, like the flying bats or be very adept in water conversation. Plants range from succulents, to mosses, to desert trees. Fields of ruby, sunflower yellow and burnt orange pass to canyons and crags, where thin-wooled wild goats chew on thin, bone white grass as we drive in an open-faced jeep with a small gaggle of tourists like me.

Several oasis spots dot the landscape from time to time, stops for us to recuperate and enjoy the rare, cool wind floating through thin, tall palms, whose long finger fronds sway heavily, dusting our clothes with a sort of powder - pollen, I was told, ultimately harmless, except to people prone to hay fever. They all laugh. Apparently it is much rarer on Sars Mara than it is on Earth. I keep politely quiet, instead watching the bigger animals carefully skulk to their watering holes. Deer-like things with twisting, long antlers, more like corkscrews and small fangs sticking out of their mouths, demonstrating their use by snagging them on the bark of a palm and stripping it down to drink on the succulent sap that slowly oozes out.
But our last stop might be the most impressive one, the one where I remain for the time being. Sars Mara City - the capital of Sars Mara, a grand port city - carved into the side of a mountain, hiding in its shadow for cool temperatures and protection from the great sandstorms. And it shows. People here are far more liberal with their clothes, wearing light shirts, pants and skirts - or for some furred species, absolutely nothing. It is vibrant, in a sort of boomtown feeling to it, a hustle and bustle of a city verging on becoming a metropole. The beating heart of a fledgling empire.

Sars Mara itself has long abandoned most industrial endeavours, having them delegated to other places or letting it obsolete out, aside from its energy production and hydroponic farms, supplementing its population beyond what Paraiso and other places import into it. For the first time during my trip, I actually recognize foodstuff - carrots, apples, cabbage and lettuce. Peanuts, almonds and hazelnuts. I rejoice in a familiar taste, however hydroponically accelerated it is, even though most meat needs some "creds" - either reputation or the monetary value of the dividend. I never was excited for a vegetarian dish, but it seems this travelling has a way for me to experience new things. Tofu is actually quite enjoyable if it's pan fried crispy and helped with a large helping of Rust Sauce.
Sometimes, I wonder if these people miss their original home or they have abandoned it for a new identity, a new start. But as I crawl through the teahouses (the most popular blend is one where Paraisan grass is mixed with mint and honey), I soon realize they did not. People born on Sars Mara speak with a Martian accent, use Martian idioms and most importantly call themselves "Martian". Everyone seems to be convinced that they will return home, that this place is a temporary setback - a spot to recuperate and take back their ancestral home.

A home away from home, one waxes after the judicious application of Paraisan Rum, weathering about how they need to do more, to become stronger and finally challenge the Commonwealth again - saying that megacorporations and the classical liberal economy and politics are ultimately losing propositions for the "people". I do not pry further or discuss it, instead driving the conversation away to more pleasant topics, like his commune and family.
Is this the fate of the Commonwealth? To be obsoleted what is brewing here on the Frontier? Or is this the wishful thinking of bitter utopists and ideologues? Whatever it is, I cannot deny their success from where they started. Once this was a barren planet, the last refuge of a broken people. Now it has become much more. 
Maybe they can be really a contender on the mainstream thought of Humanity.

- Dragor (2020-11-14)

Elysian Colonies

Health and Medicine

"New Eden" religious commune destroyed by plague

The Elysian Colony of New Eden, a religious commune of the reclusive True Inheritors of Adam, has been destroyed by an outbreak of Roanoake Syndrome.
The True Inheritors of Adam, lead by the outspoken and controversial Rev. Michael Corsair, are mostly known on the exonet for their belief that modern life and conveniences are poisoning the spirit of humanity, and that all diseases are directly caused by this poisoning - modern medicine in particular is blamed for exacerbating the problem, and that putting faith in yet more technology instead of the "spirit of mankind" is only poisoning us further. More outspoken members are lampooned for their pseudoscientific claims regarding the "dangerous" contents of common medicinal compounds.
To this end, the Inheritors founded the New Eden colony on a newly discovered G2-class garden world, with the intent of forming a religious pastoral community free of the influence of modern technology - with the ultimate goal of concealing their off-world origins from future generations of colonists, allowing them to grow up ignorant of the "poison" of technology, reasoning that even knowledge of the existence of such things is a dangerous temptation. While supply runs were still being made to the colony, trade ships were forbidden from landing within sight of the settlement and all supplies were ferried to their final destination via wind-powered craft, posing as travellers from a faraway land, with the ultimate goal of disbanding such shipments once the colony was self-sufficient.
The latest such vessel to reach the colony, however, found the landing site abandoned. Disguising themselves in low-technology outfits, they made their way to the colony only to find it in a state of complete disrepair, bodies of livestock slaughtered in the fields, before finally coming under attack by what they described as a "mad pig-man" they inadvertently cornered in one of the settlement buildings - while they managed to drive it off, one of the traders was severely bitten and upon returning to the ship, the wound had developed into the early stages of a Roanoake infection - fortunately, the traders were able to stabilise their crewmember and bring them to a nearby outpost for treatment.
A subsequent expedition to the commune was carried out against the orders of the Inheritors, with only a handful of survivors found remaining of the once 2000-strong colony. The survivors described seeing an "ascending star that brought a rain of dust", shortly after which the colonists and livestock began to fall ill, and once the death toll started to rise, the remaining colonists started to come under attack by predatory creatures - which have now been identified as feral xenochimera.
Upon hearing the news, Corsair initially called for the creatures to be wiped out by sterilising the entire continent, which drew harsh responses from environmental groups that objected to the very concept of setting fire to a G2-class planet, and Commonwealth-based NGO Xenocide Watch who pointed out that the xenochimera now residing on the planet could possibly be classified as sentient life since they grew from human feedstock. Finally, neighbouring factions in the Elysian Colonies, already known to be on unfriendly terms with the Inheritors over their interdiction against free trade or visitation to the planet, and particularly of the fact that their leader was not resident on the planet himself yet still maintained a claim of ownership, rescinded their recognition of the colony, stating that Corsair's claim upon the rights to the world expired the moment the remaining colonists were extracted, effectively abandoning the planet.
Taking things further, the planet's immediate neighbour in the Elysian colonies, the Folorn Wealth But New Friends asteroid colony, put out a formal statement recognising ownership of the former New Eden colony as belonging to "its current inhabitants", a move that has sparked interested responses from the Elysian Colonies' expansive xenochimera population, who currently lack a home-world of their own.
Due to the presence of a lethal though treatable pathogen, and the introduction of a primitive community of intelligent, hyper-adaptive carnivores, New Eden has been reclassified as a G4 world.

- Scree (2020-05-18)

Legal

Emergency Law Session on "Mariana's Holy Realm" finished

Mariana's Holy Realm, an asteroid terrarium in the Elysian Colonies, has finished its emergency law session of their legislative body, The Council of Arcology Owners.
While the colony disapproves of government interfering with private matters, preferring to instead rely on contracts between individuals, groups and corporations for their decision-making, they have concluded to restrict divorce law and estate breaking. The new statutes are largely the same, aside the addition of "Biological assets, aside personal ones, are liable to Marriage Estate statutes.".
Grounds for this revision is the locally prominent case of Jane Lancaster vs. Mark Lancaster, where Maria has successfully gained custody over the male reproductive organ of Mark after their divorce, on the ground that the body of a person counts as their own, biological asset.
To prevent further such cases and humiliation, the revision forbids the obtainment of personal biological assets, be it organs or gene-mods, especially if they have been acquired after the marriage contract.
Mark Lancaster, now Mary Lancaster, does not intent to sue back for their male reproductive organs and is, in fact, remarried to Jane.

- Dragor (2020-08-14)

Comedy

Man kills friend over 10 kg of Gold, makes 50 Thaler.

Local Elysian man kills his friend after they have mined a small asteroid, gathering ten kilogram of native gold. After selling it, he has gained a profit of 50 Thaler, issued by Aether Atmospherics.
When questioned why he would kill someone over this during the interrogation, he confesses that his home colony has a great affinity for gold and he thought it is way more worth than it is.
Gold is one of the more ubiquitous metals industrially mined in asteroid operations, owing to its conductivity and use in micro-electronics.

- Dragor (2020-05-05)

Private Colony gets raided, Villa wrecked.

A Periphery colonist's personal colony was raided by an 'unsanctioned' Ares Confederation based group known as 'Bourgie Boogaloo' today, with assets worth over ninethousand Sol-Procyon Dollar (a measure of several million Thaler) allegedly redistributed to various infrastructure and welfare projects in surrounding systems. The colonist, who refused an interview and requested not to be named, had this to say:
"NOOOOO! YOU CAN'T JUST TAKE MY MONEY! MY HECKIN' STONKARINOOOOOOS!"
When the Periphery Post reached out to 'Bourgie Boogaloo', their only comment was "Haha, wealth distribution goes kasching!"

- Dragor (2020-05-05)

An Exciting Proposal Declined!

Four weeks after it’s initial launch in March this year, Lustytails, (a freshly introduced subdivision of Wetskrell) has reached its 10-millionth visitor. 
To celebrate this occasion, they offered an all-expenses paid trip to a nearby spa of the lucky visitor’s choice… and were declined, resulting in the exclusive prize going to the extra-lucky 10-millionth-and-first visitor.
This news post was auto-generated by a bot on Wetskrell. Please contact your systems administrator if you believe this message is in error.

-Amaya (2020-05-06)

Commonwealth Con Man Beaten to Death on Tigra Station

A man from the Commonwealth of Sol-Procyon has been beaten to death last week after he attempted multiple mnemonic scams on denizens of Tigra Station, a six-hundred strong Phoron Siphon Habitat orbiting Tigra 6. 
The 45 old man tried to hypnotise his victims with implanted technology in his eyes and extract sexual and financial favours from them. He, however, found little to no success, as standard anti-mnemonics are extremely commonplace in the Periphery.
"He was like, totally looking me in the eyes with some swirlie spirals and saying "Oooooh, you want to worship my cock and find a statue for it to beg for the privilege to suck me off.", so I just replied with "Sorry, I can't find a pebble that small and smacked him.", states Tracy Callinghan, one of the first "victims".
Tigra Station denizens humoured his attempts for a couple of days, before finally getting sick of him and publically beaten him to death in a flash mob in "Drop Pods", a popular nightclub on the Pleasure Deck.
The man has been resleeved and is currently travelling away deeper into the Periphery.

- Dragor (2020-05-26)

Removed Articles

Tragedy at Horum-4b

[THE ARTICLE HAS BEEN REMOVED DUE TO THE CORPORATE DEFAMATION PROTECTION ACT OF 2289]

- Dragor 2020-05-26

Massacre in Horum Space

[THE ARTICLE HAS BEEN REMOVED DUE TO THE CORPORATE DEFAMATION PROTECTION ACT OF 2289]

- Dragor 2020-08-14