On the last night they were all together, the council held a meeting at Al Sirat. They were strangers in a strange universe, and they had traveled many kilometers, hunting for a place to call their own. Long had they lived in peace, but now the small troubles had become large fissures. And now the various groups were making themselves known.

In the early days of their travels, the people’s council had met simply, without ceremony. But gradually the members began to wear symbols of their beliefs, and now there was a whole ritual associated with its meeting.

Chains held silver coins around the necks of the first group to arrive. They wore purple suits, and they clutched very special briefcases. Business-like anger was in their eyes, interrupted from their daily pursuits by the nuisance of governing such a large body of people. They came with statistics, with diagrams displaying movement of wealth, daily profits, charts that showed a new economic sector developing. They walked with a purpose: to give the spoils to the hard working and to leave the slovenly to their fate.

The second group came in blue overalls, gold hammers at their sides and blueprints in their hands. They had big ideas, and had a new proposal on how this temporary settlement could be arranged much better. They had discovered a new mineral deposit just the other day that could increase ship range by as much as five percent. And they had a new contraption they wanted to develop to mine it. All it would require would be a small tax levied from the settlers.

The third group came in decadent full regalia of an orange persuasion. They followed their leader’s eagle standard devotedly, and wore their pistols not for show, but for reason. They needed more workers to man the fields, more soldiers to keep the peace, more taxes to increase pay these people, and ensure the living standards didn’t degrade any more than they already were. They gave superior glances at the masses that watched them pass in their vehicles.

The last group arrived long after the others had settled into their places. They came not as a single procession, but as a ragtag militia coming home to camp. They wore no uniforms, save for a small bit of green cloth displaying a painted stencil of an apple. They gave curt nods to each other, and though a section of seating had been arranged for them, they barely gave notice to it, and sat throughout the council’s tent. One of their number proceeded to the center where the other three leaders were.

The tent was an extremely spacious one, with various riggings holding it aloft. It was referred to as the “Circus Tent” among those living at Al Sirat. In the beginning, its members were chosen based on whatever ship they lived on at the time. As time passed, and the travelers formed temporary settlements, groups started forming and ships became affiliated with these groups. Finally, it had developed to a point where the ships had become represented by one of four ideologies, who held their ships firmly and the Council of the Travelers had become partisan in its approach.

All four leaders now assembled to discuss the future of the travelers and the mission.

The council went through the various ceremonies that had been erected to decide who spoke, and now the four began their discourse in earnest.

“We cannot raise any more taxes to support this council!” complained the purple leader, “the resources that make the steel belong to the miners, and the can be purchased by refineries which can sell the steel to the shipwright who can sell his services to the ship in need of repairs. We should not help those who let their ships fall into disrepair!”

“And what would you have us do?” asked the blue leader, “let these people die? They need the steel, and if the steel maker will not help those in need, we must force him to. This council can run this fleet much better than the free market you constantly complain about.”

“This council is a waste of time,” said the orange leader. “It prevents dutiful men from doing what is necessary. It throws away progress because it cannot reach consensus, and takes away initiative in favor of useless prattle between pig-headed members. My group will not stand for this.”

At this, the orange’s faction stood and shouted “Aquila for the Emperor! Aquila for the Emperor!”

There was chaos in the council’s tent.

The green leader stood up. He wore a leather jacket, jeans, and boots and had green bandanas tied around his head, shoulders, hands and legs.

“Whoa! Brothers and sisters!” he exclaimed. “We’re pushing too hard. We need to back off of each other and rethink who we are. We can’t be so domineering and owning. The Goddess got us this far, and the Void takes those who attempt to force fate’s hand. Relax friends, you’ll do better that way!”

The blue leader spat. “Nonsense,” she cried, “we Technocrats know better than that. Religious tomfoolery will only lead us to ruin. Too many years we followed Unitos in blind faith, and it’s apparent that he was merely a destructive entity, not a bringer of truth and light. Your goddess is nothing more. We must hold fast to who we are. We must keep this new civilization alive. You would have us forget who we are. You would have us lay back and do nothing.”

The purple leader stood and faced the other members of the council. “And you, dear Technocrat, would have us protect those who would do nothing, and ignore the contributions of those who give us the greatest amount. We must not allow this foolishness. If we reward those who give us nothing, we will get nothing in the end. We must bring motivation to those who lack it. We must stop reinforcing this self-destructive behavior. The Scions understand this.”

At this all the green members of the watchers coughed in their seats. It sounded like they coughed “frakking lies.” The green leader sat down, placed his legs on the table and smiled innocently.


“This is what we expect from Discordians,” sneered the Scion’s leader. “Nonsense and purposeful nuisance. Never contribute anything to anyone. You’re simply a lot full of robbers and jesters. We can’t work with you any more.”

The Discordian leader chuckled from his boots to his head bandana. “The Goddess doesn’t care who you work with. You’ll be part of the Void in the end, and everything you do serves our chaos in the end.”

The Scion leader gave an annoyed snort, and then she turned and left the tent. The rest of her delegation followed her out.

“This is entirely wrong,” complained the Aquila leader. “You give no rewards to titles and birthrights. I am emperor by right! I am the best military mind this fleet has! Why do we bother with these damnable and divisive councils when matters are best left to my hands?”

He looked at the Technocrat and Discordian leaders, who returned his looks through unsympathetic gazes.

“If you will not give it to me, I will take it! I am Emperor of this galaxy!” proclaimed the Aquila leader.

Blasters hummed as they whipped from their holsters. Both the Technocrat and Discordian leaders were armed.

“Get out,” said the Discordian. “Go find somewhere else to live. We don’t need your kind here.”

The Emperor of the Aquila stood and haughtily turned his back on the two leaders. “You’ll regret this day,” he called over his shoulder. Silently his bannermen stood and followed him out of the tent towards the Aquila part of the settlement.

The Technocrats and the Discordians sat there for a long while. Finally the Technocrat spoke.

“Can we still work together?”

“I’ll have to consult the Goddess,” said the Discordian.

“Religion is the opiat of the masses,” replied the Technocrat automatically.

“No,” said the Discordian curtly, “we cannot work together.”

The blues stood and left the tent. The Discordians remained in the tent until morning. Some awoke during the night and watched the ships of the Scions, Aquila, and Technocrats take off. When everyone had rested, they elected a new leader. The new leader asked a simple question.

“Should we stay or should we go?”

There was a chorus of “go”.

“Stick together?”

There was approval from the arranged Discordians.

“Then people, I say that these travelers we were have gone our separate ways. We must leave to, because Al Sirat carries a bad vibe here. The Goddess doesn’t like it here, in my opinion. Let’s go where the stars will take us.”

The Discordians left the tent, causing damage as they went. They went out to their families, and gathered to their ships, and soon they had abandoned Al Sirat.

But they were not the last to leave.

Finally, after all this had passed, there were few left. But they were the ones who did not bother with factions. They had watched silently as their kin had taken to skies. They silently investigated the tent where the council had met. They examined the earth that had been scorched by the leaving of the ships. They searched the abandoned tents of the settlers.

They met after all this had been done. And then they got into their ships, and they too went their separate ways.

And these are the days of these people’s children. Now there are Scions, who were the first to leave, who look for money where there was no money. They might be able to make gold from lead were they born in a different age. Now there is the empire of the Aquila, who serve their Emperor, whose bloodline is unbroken, and who had rewarded his high class of bannermen. Now there are Technocrats, who have found expression in their government, and now keep their faction organized along strict lines. And now there are Discordians, who follow their Goddess of Void, and play with fire even though they may be burned. They relax in the face of threats. And who was last to leave? They are the Vagabonds. They could not align with any of these groups, and for this failure, they will suffer great hardships.

Their stories are long, in these days of disturbances. Perhaps one day you will learn them all.