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"No longer are there any constraints," Vis thought, sipping from the steaming cup of caf that hovered over her lips, "No more rules, no more limits." The Confederacy was a dream. An empire without an imperium, a free joining of ideas and cultures, bound in democratic philosophy. There, Light and Dark could coexist, liberty would be the default setting, and order was voluntary conformity to mutual benefit through mutual contribution. No longer would the desires of a single navigator, or even a council of navigators, steer the galactic ship. "What a farce?" It would never last. The fool's notion that chaos was the baseline, that freedom was the aim of all, that was a lie. The truth of existence, the sad, undeniable truth, is that sentient beings are terrified of their power, and as soon as they realize they have the power to make their own destiny, they quickly as possible surrender it to someone else. "Imposter Syndrome," she thought, sipping again, "No one believes they have the ability…no, even more…the right, to wield such a power. The beating heart of all beings screams 'I'm not worthy!' over and over again until they believe it to be true. This is why the driving force behind all sentient life is the aching, burning need for validation. Proof that they are worthy, that they matter, that there is within them all that is required to assume the authority to wield such power over their own fate. Gods, gurus, masters, these are all created by slaves because they have convinced themselves that they cannot be gods, gurus, or masters themselves. And then, in the sickest cosmic irony of them all, they spend their whole existence trying to justify that they can be through seeking the approval and appreciation of those same gods, gurus, and masters they created. The reality is much easier to accept, provided you can overcome the crippling fear that your supposition might be wrong. You don't need a god or a guru or a master, and you never did. Of course, the Confederacy would fail. Torn between the notion of free association among free beings as a device to attain greater authority, and the inescapable belief that they could never be worthy enough to do such a thing, the surest conclusion to that struggle is always to pull away, to surrender opportunity, to drop the ball, because people believe they're not worthy enough to score, and then to run off, shouting tired cliches of 'independence' and 'self-determination'. Illusory power without actual responsibility. Such an ironic, tragic cycle. Existential angst playing politics. The ball was in their hands, the goal line in sight, and rather than to cross, to win, to enjoy the glory ahead, they stopped running, threw down the ball, and walked off the field, making their fear as courage, as if they were making a statement anyone believed in or even cared to listen to. 'Tyrant' is not a term born of righteous anger, it is born in envy, the words those many who surrender their power out of fear use for those few who didn't."
"Frack them all," Visanj sipped again, before hurling the ceramic mug against the bulkhead, watching the shards fall, still steaming from the now-absent liquid. "If freedom and power are too much, and slavery and impotence are more comfortable, then give them what they want." Rising from her chair, Vis walked through the darkened room toward the window. Nostrils flaring as she breathed in the recycled air as she peered through the glasteel. The construction droids swarmed outside, attending to a thousand labors at once. "And so, it begins." The glow of her cigarra reflected a tiny orange dot on the glasteel. "No more sleeping and dreaming, just the waking nightmare."
Moments later, the door to her chamber opened, and a silhouetted figure spoke timidly, "Baroness, the last of the design team has been erased, and the droids are fifteen percent ahead of schedule, exactly as you directed."
"Good," came the reply. "And the spillage?"
"Contained, Baroness. I did it myself. We are the only two aware of this in all of Creation."
"Very good, I will assume sole directorship now. Thank you for your service."
"Of course, Baroness. Will there be anything else?"
"No, your usefulness is at an end."
The pale blue flashes of the Force Lightning shattered the calm of the darkness, and the silhouette became only ash and shadow. Too fast to scream. The cleaning droid in the corner came active and began to sanitize the spot.
"And so it begins."
"Tyranny is just another word for no cares left to give…" She sang, turning back to the window and taking another drag as a grin broke her lips, sending smoke curling up once more.
"Frack them all," Visanj sipped again, before hurling the ceramic mug against the bulkhead, watching the shards fall, still steaming from the now-absent liquid. "If freedom and power are too much, and slavery and impotence are more comfortable, then give them what they want." Rising from her chair, Vis walked through the darkened room toward the window. Nostrils flaring as she breathed in the recycled air as she peered through the glasteel. The construction droids swarmed outside, attending to a thousand labors at once. "And so, it begins." The glow of her cigarra reflected a tiny orange dot on the glasteel. "No more sleeping and dreaming, just the waking nightmare."
Moments later, the door to her chamber opened, and a silhouetted figure spoke timidly, "Baroness, the last of the design team has been erased, and the droids are fifteen percent ahead of schedule, exactly as you directed."
"Good," came the reply. "And the spillage?"
"Contained, Baroness. I did it myself. We are the only two aware of this in all of Creation."
"Very good, I will assume sole directorship now. Thank you for your service."
"Of course, Baroness. Will there be anything else?"
"No, your usefulness is at an end."
The pale blue flashes of the Force Lightning shattered the calm of the darkness, and the silhouette became only ash and shadow. Too fast to scream. The cleaning droid in the corner came active and began to sanitize the spot.
"And so it begins."
"Tyranny is just another word for no cares left to give…" She sang, turning back to the window and taking another drag as a grin broke her lips, sending smoke curling up once more.
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