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#QuemPensa é Spiralist: “Andromeda 2321”

#QuemPensa é Spiralist: “Andromeda 2321”

The Andromeda Treaty dictates that all people live life as they so desire.


Earth, 2020:

 

There is a saying where I come from,

Something like “The third time’s the charm“,

And so it was for mankind, like a prophecy

from a rage-filled beast of the Old Book.

The divided apostles said “Tell me when, Lord

and they let the bombs drop when they thought they’d heard the call.

 

And so they soared and fell aimlessly

Put Men’s dreams and aspirations to rest

Many fled destinationless across the open wasteland

But as much as they ran, they only died tired

 

As the rapture swallowed the children of God

The Selected Few were rushed to the Ragnarok

Shed their final tears, bid their farewells

And tachyons propelled them upwards into infinity

Uncertain whether the prototype would take them safely

Throughout the vast emptiness of space

The remnants of humanity began anew elsewhere.

 

 

Gaia, 2045:

 

We’ve found Eden adrift in the cosmos

Made Home out of a guest house

Vowed to learn from our mistakes

Built a colony out of peace

Taught our children of our shortcomings

Showed them how to be compassionate

Planted the seeds of prosperity

Let them reap what we sow

 

They’ve grown into good people

The colony’s spread wide over this green orb

Resources abound, but let us not be hasty

Thus we harvest consciously

 

(-)

 

Mother, here speaks Jóhann
I record this entry bearing a heavy heart
Let it be known that I took no part in the call
But, alas, my fellow Elders outnumbered me.
In the wake of many an unauthorized interplanetary explorations of our sons and daughters
My own included (I gasp for air in tears);
The rogue squad’s been cast out of the heavens
And thrust below onto the icy deserts of Cygnus

 

Alma, my dear daughter
(…)
I hid provisions, tools and instructions on their craft
Left her all that is my own
For I know my vendetta is doomed to punishment
But so should their sins, so should their unforgiving ideals
So should their short memories on when we turned our backs on one another
Maybe it is nature and not circumstance after all
That demands we keep falling after rising
But I believe in our children more than I do in us
Soaked in red I shall watch them take off
Lift above into a fate that’s only theirs to command
As for me, I’ll accept mine
And in shackles and dirt I will smile

 

We were puritans.
They are pilgrims.

 

Cygnus, 2171:

 

This is it.

Finally.

 

From these snowy dunes we’ve made Home

Apart from our ancestors idealism

In truth, contact’s scant

But they were the ones who made their own beds.

 

In little more than a century

Cygnus has grown into a galactic powerhouse

Set colonies in the nearest planets and keeps growing

At last a seemingly balanced society.

No.
An empire, I say.

 

We’ve warmed our houses from the cold

With love, care, devotion

Resources abound, technology abounds

Exploration, harvests, expansion, everyday words

Oh the joy of thriving!

Our force is unstoppable.

No object is immovable.

 

So we took the Gods’ fire

And lit the dark at last.

 

 

Orion, 2299:

 

Do you know how empires thrive?

Let me tell you how.

 

When power corrupts the purest of men

And hammers fall from Gods’ hands

When generations draw lines in the sand

Then stomp them, waste away, then draw again.

 

And history, so they say, can’t be washed away

But without memory, is there such a thing anyway?

So they rewrite the books, or rather adaptations

And trap us here in distant constellations.

 

But let us not speak in tongues or riddles

Orion is but a supplier for Cygnus

Our children are but cogs in the wheel

Too crooked and weary to be concealed.

 

Not any longer, alas.

 

An atomic messiah, they say, has been born,

From this void of burning sand, forlorn

Skin red, eyes pale, grip tight, anger harnessed

A tidal change in a dry land so tarnished

 

Oh magnus imperium, look up and see:

From here on out, war shall break upon thee

Not out of some renewable fallacy

But out of a defining prophecy:

 

“The reign of the oppressors shall end under a crimson sky through the fists of a Messiah of Ire, and the Empire shall collapse upon itself and bring forth a new dawn for Men. Thy god cometh from Orion.”

 

No soul shall be spared.

 

 

Andromeda, 2321:

 

22 years of bloody war.

 

 

          And what for?

 

All we’ve ever known and loved,

Pushed to the brink of annihilation

The families that never were again

The children that never reached the age of reason

While we did… yet this was what we chose.

 

The shame and the embarrassment tell no lies.

 

We thought that, if we began anew

We could right our nature’s wrongs

We had learned so much…

And remembered so little…

 

The Andromeda Treaty dictates

That all people live life as they so desire

That all dreams and values be reached effortlessly

In a vast network of wires and electricity

 

Each to his own world of perfection.

 

Because, they say, reality is irrelevant

It is what you experience that matters

Every soul is now equal in chances

Everyone gets what one believes to deserve

 

All us rebels were hunted

Brought before the Wires

Plugged in against our will

And what would you know?

 

They were right!

 

What’s the point of living if things don’t go your way?

If our nature is cruel?

If the world is unfair?

If suffering is required?

If conflict is unavoidable?

If promises are broken?

If wholeness is unattainable?

 

There’s no point, is there?

 

So just give in.

 

Give in with us.

 

Like the rest of us.

 

Be one of us.

 

Or be no one at all.

 

Be nothing at all.

 

Nothing at all.

 

No h ng a a l.

 

No g a

 

No a

 

No.

 

Somewhere out of this world – Rodolfo Mariano