#original sci fi

[exploreechoesofeden]

“As an independent journalist, I ask a lot of questions. People keep pointing me to the same name: Marka arc Berlenor. These are the notes from our interview. Throughout the week, I’ll post a few clips from our recorded conversation. ~ A”

[snowleek]

and if I told you I'm writing original fiction again.... 👉👈

[baelpenrose]

Project Praetorian 52: Trust

Mark settles his trust issues with Franklin. If any of you have been having long-standing frustrations with how hard it is for the kids to win anything with Franklin, this is the moment you have been waiting for. Beta-read by @canyouhearthelight.

Mark

Echo had handed him all the files. She’d found a surprising amount in the time that Casey and Xavier had been dealing with the UN; including one extremely fascinating bit that he’d need to use. One thing he’d never expected. After he’d excused himself from the meeting, he walked over towards Franklin’s office, not in any particular hurry. He’d debated having the sidearm on his hip, but he’d decided against it. It was important to remind Franklin exactly how dangerous he was - with or without a weapon.

He walked down the hallway, the sterile white lights of Palatine base and the cold humming reminding him of the day he’d been brought here. The day that he’d first met Franklin, almost two years ago now. Not as the Director, but as a random bureaucrat that he, like everyone else had mistaken as middle management. Had Franklin been playing with them then? It hadn’t been long after that that Gideon had tacitly acknowledged his unofficial status as ‘leader’ of the Praetorians. He’d thought it was odd at the time, unsure what had changed. In hindsight, it should have been obvious that there had been someone higher up, someone analyzing something. Still, it hadn’t been anything like the day he’d actually walked the deep level of Palatine and met Franklin as the true commander of the Praetorian team, after their escape attempt. Gone eye to eye with Franklin after their first escape. 

And been ruthlessly, thoroughly, played. 

Franklin had gotten the better of him in that first face off. There was no question. He’d signed away their autonomy, or maybe believed that they’d had power or leverage that they hadn’t. Then again, his second face off had at least been a draw - if nothing else, they’d both come out with tangible benefits, ones that Franklin could not easily reverse. Official rank, lower than he wanted, sure, but there. Ranks for Xavier, probably the most naturally charismatic person on the team and the second-best tactician, and for Casey, the most emotionally mature. A rank for Echo, the smartest person on the team by far, and easily the best suited to running intelligence operations. Barracks that weren’t those awful dorms. Proof of budget approval for the construction of an actual Praetorian Barracks. Security for Echo’s sister. 

Franklin had gotten an edge on Stricken, Imperator had, by delaying but still delivering, stealthily gotten the ball rolling on R&D for chemical weapons on the aliens. Floods of money were already trickling back as several different governments had made the choice to make advance orders of literal tons of toxic gas and accept Franklin’s unlikely explanations about who had leaked what. The blame had been casually shifted to moles from the UN who had, of course, been flushed out and executed for security violations while Imperator continued to hunt for whoever had ‘fed the moles’ - a standing excuse to dispose of Stricken if he ever became inconvenient. All the while, Imperator remained wealthy on their cut of defense contractor money.

Franklin could not have been unhappy with it - nor, honestly, was Mark. And yet, Franklin had kept other reports secret from them. Had set them up to fail, presumably as a test, with the latest rush of recruits - with Kimmy, Micah, Jared, and Mia, anyway. Had kept Dante and Amaryllis separate from them while he’d struggled to integrate the others, rather than allowing tandem training, when that would have improved their coordination. Had hidden the reports of an Ascendancy stealth unit from him, when forewarning of that would have ensured Vergil would have spoken up when he’d seen a weird blur on the battlefield.

Adding to his concerns, Curtis had been on the recon team that had encountered the Stalker the first time. Leon had been aware of the destabilizing intent of the newer members, had been aware of Dante and Amaryllis and hadn’t informed him. Even the friendly staff weren’t being honest. Whether that was due to threats or not was no longer relevant as far as Mark was concerned. Either Leon and Curtis intended to help him and his team, or they did not.

He’d speak to Franklin first. He’d deal with the loyalties of his theoretical allies on the staff later.

He’d found himself in front of Franklin’s office, and it suddenly hit him, as he looked at the simple door, that the spartan office and the simple decorations had been a farce. Meant to hide one very important fact from him.

There were a number of ways he could enter. A number of ways he could approach this. Conciliatory. Strategic. Subtle. Or open.

We are trying to have an honest conversation. 

The lights through the entire administrative wing of the base flickered. Then Mark slammed his hand against the metal handle of the door, forcing the electricity through his body, into the door, into the hinges.

The door’s handle tore open and off, and the hinges deformed with a scream as the wood splintered as the bolt ripped through the wood, drawn by the magnetic force pushed into the door frame opposite its proper slot. 

Then Mark kicked what was left of the door open, and, with inexorable calm, strode up to the desk, where Franklin was sitting and had obviously been doing paperwork and waiting for the UN inspector until Mark’s unannounced and unscheduled visit.

Mark gestured to one of the simple, folding chairs in the corner, and pulled it towards him, casually spinning it and sitting down as it hit his hand. To Franklin’s credit, he only looked mildly unsettled. 

“We need to talk.”

The British expatriate simply shuffled his papers, straightened his tie, and looked the Praetorian straight in the face. “You have a way of demanding a person’s undivided attention.” 

Mark admitted to himself he’d never fault the Director for a lack of nerve. “You’ve been setting us up for failure. It stops. I am not one factor among many. I am your main asset. Me and Koleth. No one else comes close. Act like it.”

Franklin leaned forward and steepled his fingers. “You, specifically?”

“My department, specifically. Koleth’s department, specifically. It isn’t Imperator’s guns or money that make it powerful. It’s the Praetorian Corps, and it’s the Research and Development. Koleth and I are the people in charge of your most vital assets. And you don’t undercut Koleth on purpose.” 

Franklin studied him. “I’d ask you what makes you believe I’ve undercut you on purpose, but I assume you’re objecting to the latest recruits? Why now? Why not when they-?”

The lights exploded. Mark’s facial expression remained unchanged as glass rained around them and the scent of burnt circuits filled the air. The smoke alarms began beeping before Mark gestured, once, and they went silent too. “Don’t play stupid. You know exactly why I’m doing this now. And you can guess, full well, that if it had just been a matter of me finding the communications where you admitted that Jared and company were a test, I’d be a lot more willing to let it go.” 

“Especially since you passed. But very well. You know full well why I did it, if you saw those communications. Tell me how well you think the justifications stack up.”

“That’s why I could let it go. Franklin. I’m not an idiot throwing a tantrum because I need to be the alpha. I wouldn’t have lasted this long if I was a typical sixteen year old. I get that we could only have been lucky so long before we found people with incompatible ideologies, language barriers, and other things like that. Having it all at once was a stress test. I hate it, but it made sense. I am vaguely curious, what was your plan if I wound up killing Jared?” 

Franklin shrugged. “I was likely to relieve you if you’d murdered him outright, but however else you had to maintain discipline was, to my mind, up to your discretion. Your unit is unique, your procedures were going to be as well.” 

Mark nodded. “Ah. Which brings me to my next point. I’ve seen the reaction to Casey’s play on Gideon. You were trying to provoke us with Kimmy, right?”

“Not exactly. That was what Leon suspected, but I knew it would have that side effect. I wanted to see how fast you were all socialized to protect each other, how fast it took. I am curious, what was your plan if one of your own murdered Gideon?”

“Casey wasn’t going to kill him. That time. I know what my people will do.” So why not ask me? He wanted to say, but it was a childish question. The answer was obvious. Because Franklin didn’t trust them. Because in an environment where everyone was scheming, plotting, and betraying, where information was carefully siloed to avoid spies, where Koleth’s research was slowed by Leon, and to a degree by him, there were no checks on his own power other than him not realizing exactly how far he could push it. Even information was only kept from him if Echo didn’t know it existed.

He realized something then. Franklin was afraid of him.

“Actually, I have another question. That test made sense.” Mark twitched, meaningfully, as if giving ground he hated giving up. “But only to a point.” There was a short, but pregnant pause. “What I can’t figure out is what was gained by keeping Amaryllis and Dante away from me rather than letting them train with us? Why keep Esquiline as a whole hidden?” Then the answer hit him. “Son of a bitch, it was because you didn’t want to tip your hand about other bases, wasn’t it?” Mark leaned forward, tension in his shoulders, voice seething. “Not that it matters now, Echo found the whole list. You kept it hidden, screwed up our coordination for something that petty? Fuck, you could have brought them straight here!”

“I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to almost double the team all at once. It seems to take a lot to socialize new additions. That, and if you knew where every base was, you’d start checking intake and-”

Franklin’s computer died the way the lights had. 

Mark overrode him, though how much of Franklin’s acquiescence to it was Mark’s voice and how much was fear Mark couldn’t have said. “I command my team. I make the decisions for how they train, how they add members. Everything. Not you.” Mark let that hang before continuing, not letting Franklin get the idea he could speak. “That decision is never made by you again. It’s my department. That lack of coordination could have gotten us killed. Maybe did get someone killed. Though, speaking of things that got someone killed…” He let himself trail off with a significant glance at the stack of papers, the filing cabinets. 

Franklin winced and Mark realized how much of an ace he’d found. “Yeah. I know about the recon report. About the stealth unit. I don’t know why Curtis didn’t tell me. I don’t want you to answer. I don’t know that I’d trust you. Which brings me to the core crux of our problem, Franklin. Every time we talk, you and I, I feel like I’ve won, or come away in a draw. I always lose, because there’s always information I don’t get. Every time.”

“Last time it was a draw.”

“You say. But here’s the thing. Remember when we escaped, and my team came back because we understood we couldn’t save our families? Here’s the thing, Franklin. On some level, that relies on us trusting you. We know we’ll be propaganda pieces eventually. UN Inspector confirmed it. Which means, at least with me, Casey, and Xavier…you have families you need to secure. Or…” Mark let it trail off. “Right now, we have to trust you’re going to bring them to us. You’ve given us no reason to believe that you’ll do that when it’s a lot easier to kill them. So, if our families’ death warrants are already signed…I frankly don’t see a lot of reason not to leave and watch you hang. Especially since you’ve already proven you can’t contain us.” 

Franklin remained calm. “There’s still the aliens. Where would you go?”

“There are still the aliens.” Mark repeated, in a casual admittance of the point. “You’re right. That is one hell of a motivator - and the primary reason I haven’t left yet. But as one of my companions so aptly pointed out, I don’t have to run directly towards them if I’m not with you. And there’s plenty of other suckers to take my place.”

“Since you apparently don’t trust I will leave your family alone, I suppose I ought to ask: do you care at all about the good of your species?” 

Mark smiled, then, but it wasn’t a warm smile. Time to play the last trump card Echo had found. “Director, I thought you’d never ask. You talk a good game about the greater good of the human species. I actually do believe you when you say if you were fit to serve as a Praetorian, you’d shoot up the mutagen and climb in the tube, but you’re too old. Genuinely, I do. But I have a question. Has Alison been tested?”

Franklin abruptly went very still. 

Mark allowed his grin to become predatory. “Yeah. We can’t save our families. But it is interesting that you have a daughter in her thirties. And a granddaughter at the lower end of Praetorian recruitment age. Can’t reach all our families in time - but next time I have to find out something vital from Echo rather than from you? Anything, at all? The team is leaving. And we’re heading to Cambridge. The aliens would be a kinder way to die. If you can’t tell us directly, pass it to us through Curtis or Leon. Tell me where to look. To have Echo look. I am completely and utterly done being played with.”

Franklin took a breath. 

In the darkness of the ruined office, Franklin’s eyes shone as he locked them with Mark.

“You leave me as much choice as I ever left you, I suppose. I won’t plead their innocence, of course. Not to you. I have no right to ask you to consider that. You’ll have access. And…tell Echo. Look at Contact Report 117-42L-B6. If you want to know the details of the invasion and what we know about it. We got it from her decryption. It’ll take her too long to find it otherwise. You can’t win the war without me. But you’re right. I can’t win without you, either. I can’t replace your team entirely at this juncture. If this is what you say it takes, then…” 

Mark nodded. “Good start. Franklin? I don’t mind an understanding with you. We’re partners. I need Imperator’s resources. You need my team. Understand that situation. Don’t cross me again.” 

As he walked out of the office, he heard Franklin mutter something. 

Mark allowed himself a toast to victory. 

Here’s to trust at gunpoint. Here’s to faustian bargains where each party thinks he’s the one dealing with the devil. 

Here’s to Imperator and the monster they created.

[canyouhearthelight]

Machine is Perfect, but Flesh is Free Act One

Another short story, in four parts. This one has many influences: Paolo Bacigalupi's "The Fluted Girl", @cakeinpants's Pat, chronic pain conditions, and cyberpunk augmentations. This protagonist is unnamed, nonbinary/agender, as well.

This is specifically not a horror story, but due to the mentions of chronic pain and body augmentations, I do advise caution if those things are triggering to you. While the pain is frequently mentioned, the story is told from the perspective of a ballet dancer, and pain is part and parcel of that. None of the body augmentations happen on screen, I promise. They are all years in the past before the story.

Please enjoy!

Act One

“One day, when I’m famous, I’m going to buy you a house.”

The childish voice, vibrating with confidence, echoed the foolish promise in my head, just as it had before every rehearsal and every performance since.  I had been barely five years old, and too excited from looking up the mountain at the city - my future home -  to sleep.  My parents had laughed at my words, and at the time I was so proud that I’d made them happy.

Now, as pain shot through my entire body while someone else tied my performance shoes on, I was well aware they had been trying not to cry.  Only years of practice kept my own tears at bay as I was forced out of my wheelchair and to my feet, every muscle and joint in electric agony with the movement.  A set of hands pulled my costume over my head and started lacing up the back, while a much more familiar pair held a tool in front of my face.

“Time to turn the little doll’s key,” Urus sneered. The head of my security team thought I was a waste of his time and took entirely too much pleasure in each and every time he was able to stab me with the wicked tool.

I stared numbly at his face as I felt the impacts to each hip joint, silently wishing he would use it on my neck. Instead, all of my pain subsided as the nerve blocks implanted in my bones activated, washing a pleasant numbness throughout my legs and back. The orchestra silenced, indicating that the curtain was about to part, and Urus spat at my feet before leaving the stage.

No broken wrist this time. He was starting to warm up to me.

The next thing I knew was thunderous applause and blinding lights, followed by the swell of music. I fixed the dreamy look on my face that Master Arik expected and started going through my paces with mechanical precision. A modified pas de deux, choreographed for only one dancer, with as much of the partner work left in as humanly possible.

Well. Mostly humanly.

Where most, if not all, of the audience saw a young dancer of incredible skill, Arik was watching only for the slightest flaw he could punish someone for. Any physical sign of the cybernetic or gene-hacking enhancements that gave me perfect stability and balance, textbook ideal form, or disgustingly petite feet would have the entire staff of doctors whipped bloody - after they corrected it, of course. An undisciplined totter on my part, an arm a single degree out of position, and I would be forced to do all my rehearsals with full sensation, even in my mutilated feet.

I was, it turned out, entirely too expensive to break. Torture was still an option, though.

As I made my way through the gravity-defying leaps that replaced the lifts in the sequence, I fantasized about walking barefoot through wet grass.  I had done it as a child, I could remember it vividly. Cool, damp, soft blades tickling between my toes as I walked and ran. I would give anything to be able to walk again. Or have toes.

The music started to wind into its inevitable end, and I pulled myself from my reverie. Composing my face, I focused on executing the last bits of footwork without flaw, reveling in what my body could do when I wasn’t in pain.  When I completed the performance, picture perfect and stone still, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause.

My teacher had informed me that it was supposed to thrill me, that any other dancers would be thrilled.

I only knew that I would be in pain again within a minute, the closest thing to freedom taken from me again.

Sure enough, Urus was less than a meter behind the edge of the curtain - no encores for this performer - one of his cronies pushing my chair.  Roughly, I was inspected for any flaws before being stripped down and perfunctorily stabbed in my hips.  Quickly and without complaint, I sat in my chair before the block wore off.  Urus even stifled a laugh as the costumer looked offended that I had already shoved my tights down to my knees.

“Sir, she is very uncovered - “

Urus lashed out with a foot, laughter gone. “You are here to inspect their costume for damage that could expose Master Arik. You are not here to be offended.”

I schooled my features into a slow blink only through years of practice.  There were no illusions that Urus was getting soft or feeling anything related to sympathy - as long as I existed, he would never see promotion to a position he felt was important.  No, Urus was extremely strict that I was property, not a person, and calling me anything else was a quick way to draw his ire.

It was the only thing we openly agreed on, frankly.

As much as we were likely both hoping that my shoes had come apart again - three seamstresses had already lost hands to such failures, and the current one was a sadistic demon - they were disatisfyingly intact.  With a grunt, Urus gestured for me to be covered in a thick poncho and we headed to our next stop.  Every dip and jostle in the corridors was a new shock of pain, but the majority of them felt familiar. I mapped my locations within Master Arik’s estate by sensation rather than turns: left hip, up through the ribs… tailbone, right knee left knee… “Urus, my feet hurt,” I advised coldly.

He held up a hand to stop us. “What did you say?”

“My feet hurt. My heels, specifically.” My heels hadn’t touched a floor for long enough to even have calluses in nearly a decade, as he was well aware.  Even now, they rested above the back of my foot supports as the biological parts of my legs cramped.

No amount of discipline made up for twelve years of constant forced companionship. Two slow breaths for him was the equivalent of practically vibrating with excitement. “We will have the doctor look for any abrasions or bruising at your check up.”

I nodded, and he gestured for us to continue. The doctor gave me a very thorough and impersonal check, scolding my heels before anyone could say anything. He applied a salve and wrapped them, explaining that an analgesic would interfere with ‘the healing’.

“You mean my implants,” I blurted out, impertinently. “Topical only on the feet, but no oral or injected because it could damage the fibers in my muscles.”

“My - “

“Don’t apologize, you aren’t sorry,” I cut him off. “You are doing your job, as instructed, under threat of who knows what. Please, just apply the topical and give a small supply to Commander Urus for whoever is going to be bringing me food while they heal.” Hopefully he was feeling semi-gracious enough to do at least that much.

“Miss, I am not allowed to give you - “

“They did not ask that you give it to them,” Urus growled. “They asked that you give it to me. And last I was aware, I am responsible for all security regarding Master Arik’s property.” He glowered and held out a hand, demanding silently.

A tiny tin of analgesic was dropped in his paw, and I was whisked away fast enough to set every joint in my body on edge. Clenching my teeth, I managed to keep any indication of discomfort from escaping.  Only a few minutes later, one of my guards was unlocking and about to inspect my quarters, only to stop short and salute before bowing deeply.

Ice trickled down my spine before she even spoke. “Master Arik, I - “

“No concern, no concern,” came the oily voice as my owner stepped out. “As much as I would love to have our little doll at the reception, we cannot have anyone that close, now can we?” Disregarding any objections he may have received, he stepped forward and leaned close to my face. “Mmm, the newest treatments are working, even this closely. Perfect, porcelain skin.” Standing abruptly, he faced Urus. “The inspections?”

“Nothing visible, even up close,” he confirmed. “Although they do have blisters to their feet. I request - “

Arik waved nonchalantly. “Yes. Please deal with that out of my sight. I cannot have anyone damaging my investment. And you were informed how?”

Urus tried to lie, but apparently I wasn’t the only one who had been biohacked. He grimaced and rubbed his head as he replied. “They told me before we ever reached the doctor, but the doctor confirmed it without prompting.”

Tutting to himself, Arik grabbed my chin and turned my face side to side, observing it. “You never did like this seamstress.”

“I do not put on my shoes, sir,” I replied carefully. “And I do not know who made them. I only know that my heels hurt.”

He seemed to be satisfied, standing straight again and releasing me. “A cool bath, a meal, and then rest. My doll is to have a day of rest tomorrow, as weather permits, as a reward.  Commander, I want your best attending me, and everyone else outside this room tonight.” Glancing down at me, he murmured “They have made me very, very rich, and I won’t have anyone taking that away.”

Masterpost    Next>>

[adriankyte-writes]

Ooh can you tell us about The Derelict? 👀

A tiny bit of backstory...I decided that I wanted to start selling smut on Amazon, and the best way to do this would be to rip the serial numbers on some fanfic. So I took my favorite ideas from SGA, Battlestar Galactica and Farscape to build my setting. It's grown pretty out of hand and I'm not sure it's going to really resemble any of those series in any way when it's finished LOL.

Excerpt: (The POV character is an Air Force Major named Jasper Ward)

It is several long moments before he can lift his head. The pain in his head has lightened. He stands, meaning to find a towel to clean up the mess but the movement is too much and he drops to his knees, vomiting until there is nothing but bile coming up.

When he is finally able to stop, he’s on his hands and knees, panting, vomit on the floor. He pushes himself shakily to a sitting position. He has managed to keep his pants clean but there is vomit on his shirt. He pulls it off and uses it to wipe his face. His breathing returns to normal and he tosses the shirt aside. He pushes to his feet, his dog tags dangling from their chain.

His legs are shaky, but they hold him.

A change in the light quality brings him to full alertness and he looks up quickly, terrified to find that the Daiomon is in his quarters. Its head is tilted uncannily to the side, like an owl hunting prey. He wants to reach for his radio, he needs to call for help, for backup.

Instead, he locks up, staying put.

The Daioman locks eyes with him, and he can’t move. He’s never been this close to one, but he’s read the survivor reports. The way they can entrance their victims, drawing them in with only a look. So many people simply walked into their embrace to die in their first few encounters with the menacing race.

He feels himself take a step towards the Daiomon, feeling a sensation of peace settle over him. He knows something is wrong, something should bother him, but he can’t remember what. He feels the fabric of his shirt slip from his fingers as he takes another step forward. He is within arm’s reach of the Daiomon and it raises a cool hand to his cheek.

He closes his eyes and rests his cheek against the hand which gently cups his face. The clawed fingers trace over his flesh. Those claws, so deadly; they are hollow, used to inject a poison of some kind to neutralize prey, and yet he doesn’t fear them. Somehow, ridiculously, he feels safe.

A voice in the back of his mind is screaming at him, because this is exactly how the report, from the only expedition member to survive being fed on, described the moments right before the attack. The Daiomon’s eyes trail over him, a finger traces his cheekbones, tilts his face to examine it from different angles.

This time when he smiles Jasper doesn’t resist, doesn’t snap out from under his influence. He runs a finger over Jasper’s lips and he feels his lips slide open, an urge to lick the clawed finger creeps over him but he’s too hazy to act on it.

The Daiomon steps back, his trailing fingers falling from Jasper’s face, and Jasper steps forward, blindly following him from the room. A part of him is still screaming that he’s in danger, but there is no agency in his steps as he wanders down the corridors and through crawlspaces that lead deep into the ship. Far deeper than their explorations have reached. He notes, in a vague hazy way, that the fleshy valves which serve as doors open for the Daiomon as he approaches. He never needs to touch a wall, to find a tendon to tug, as the human explorers do.

End excerpt

This is part of a series centered around a group of explorers called the Cygnus Expedition. They are stranded in the Cygnus galaxy with no way to contact Earth, trying to find a way to fit in with the native alien species, both sentient and not. They are running low on supplies and don't have a way to repair their machinery as it ages, so when they find an abandoned Daiomon (predatory, insect aliens who communicate telepathically...hush they get way less wraith-like) ship on a planet they are exploring they decide to wake it up and use it as their own.

Jasper Ward and the science team have been working on getting it operational and Ward is expected to fly it. What they don't know is that Daiomon bond rather intimately with their ships, and to get it to accept him as its pilot Ward is going to have to get it to trust him. In this scene the ship is trying to communicate with him, but it's using a daiomon avatar because that is all it knows; at the same time Ward is pretty delusional due to exposure to some of the ships fluids during repairs.

[transcendragon]

Prompt Flash Fiction - Old Forest

Prompt: “Hello? Magic forest thing, please don’t kill me as I walk through you.” I took a cautious step toward the cursed forest. Its thick trees, sprouting abruptly from the tall grass, towered over me. I’d never been there before. I’d heard all the local tales.  It was haunted by fey, they said, and whoever went in only came out if they knew the specific rituals. Most didn’t. I’d never felt…

Prompt Flash Fiction - Old Forest

[frogblast-the-ventcore]

Several pre-Astral Confederation human colonies, each settled by a different Earth nation in the days before the Terran Alliance, a time sometimes referred to as the "Vale Terra Period". All are now official members of the Confederation, while still retaining their status as components of their parent nations.

玉山, Jade Mountain, a garden world in the Luyten's Star system. Also known by the names Gliese 273b and Luyten b, the planet was settled by the first Chinese exosolar colony vessel 钱学森 (also known as the Qian Xuesen). Originally settled in 2073, Jade Mountain successfully weathered the storm of the Second Chinese Civil War of the 2080s, largely by virtue of not picking any specific side. A subsequent controversy over the colony's flag ignited during the Chinese Democratic Confederation accession to the Terran Alliance in 2102. Debate over the legacy of the flag ultimately resulted in Jade Mountain keeping its original design as a nod to its origins. The planet has a current population of ~26.4 million sapients.

Bunyan, also known as the State of Bunyan, officially known as Ross 128 b. One of the 60 states of the United States of America, admitted to the Union in 2085, after colonization began in 2071. Named for the immense "heavenwood" trees that blanket 56 percent of the planet's surface, the planet has a population of ~42 million sapients. Its proximity to the claimed territory of the Wargen species made it a key trade world in the years before the Astral Confederation was founded.

Avalon, officially the British Exoterrestrial Territory of Avalon, also known as GJ 1002 b or Gliese 1002 b. Founded in 2072, Avalon was the site of the Houseblock War, the 2151 first contact and (mistaken) confrontation between humanity and the Lamian species, which resulted in the second extrasolar deployment of the Terran Alliance Navy. Owing to the nature of the conflict's resolution, the second moon of the planet (formerly known as Guinevere) is now a joint human-Lamian colony known as Tasha'laar. Sometimes known by various extranet nicknames, including "Scalies' Paradise" or "Arena" (a reference to a fictional conflict which somewhat mirrored the events of the Houseblock War), Avalon continues to be a major centre of human-Lamian diplomatic relations. Combined with its four moons, Avalon boasts a population of 64.6 million sapients.