The Death of a Nation

Leighton fled through the alleys and back streets away from the citadel. Suddenly every corner was a turn in a labyrinth, taking him closer to the sounds of battle. The Outcast troops and their half-breed, mutant allies were streaming into the city now, the Northmen had broken, only their berserkers remained – and those were being slaughtered on the battlefield or in the streets by those… abominations the Thaumaturgists had built. The militia had surrendered or fled. As evening descended the cramped streets Leighton was forced to take were choked with the smell of gun smoke and the alchemical compounds the Outcasts were using in their chemical-powered repeaters, all tinged, even here, with the copperish reek of blood.

His mind raced, he must escape the city, flee to… it didn’t matter where to. Just away. Maybe he could find some of the Northmen, accompany them, seek refuge… The thought of the Wyrm-worshippers halted him in his tracks. He looked around and realised he had emerged into what was once Heroes’ Plaza, now Frost’s Square. The Wyrm statue that the Northmen had erected in place of that of General Grey loomed over him. He cursed under his breath – he had been heading south! If anything he was in more danger, though for now the square looked silent, the running battles seemed to have passed through here already, and moved on. A misty pall of smoke floated heavily just over the ground, and the smell of flint and chemicals and blood was even stronger here. Now he looked he could make out dismembered bodies – mostly militia and fanatics; his gut curdled in fear – lying about the place. Discarded weapons lay about, repeaters, flintlocks, swords and halberds and a few of the cruel pole-arms used by the Northerners. Leighton picked his way through the devastation cautiously, trying to stick to the lengthening shadows; the sun had sunk beneath the rooftops, and a sickly crescent moon hung low in the opposite half of the sky.

He began to recite one of the Wyrm prayers he’d picked up; “I give thanks the blood of others’ paves my way. That the weak are culled that the Strong and Cunning may live. That…” He trailed off, the chant gave him no comfort, and the statue looming over him seemed merely malicious and alien. His forehead creased – the statue…

His foot clunked against something heavy and metal. It was a chunk of cast iron, veined and scaled, like the flank of some great lizard beast. Its dull metal barely reflected the sparse light. The administrator looked up, eyes bulging, tongue feeling heavy and spongy in his mouth. There was nothing wrong with the statue above him, no imperfections or pieces missing; certainly nothing the size of that chunk that rested against his right foot. It was silvery and deadly beautiful in the evening stillness, silent whilst in the city districts around them the fighting raged sporadically, rifles cracking and throats screaming or shouting.

If anything, it was too perfect.

Its surface reflected the light too brilliantly.

The patina of its weathered metal was gone.

Its eyes were closed. They had been modelled open; the Wyrm’s baleful stare.

Leighton struggled to maintain control of his bowels. His heart hammered against his rib cage, trying to escape. He tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. Tears started to encroach on his vision in the corners of his eyes, all he could see clearly was the bulk of the statue in front of him, its eyes closed as if in slumber.

He reached his hand out slowly, noticing how the fingers trembled and shook. He needed to touch the monument, make sure it was really dead metal, that it wasn’t some demon. Or that, hope upon hope, it was a hallucination, some phantasm of the mind.

The eyes slid open, gazing directly into Leighton’s own. They washed over him, illuminated from within by a green-blue-white light, cold and unfeeling. All the man could see were those two shining orbs. He thought he heard a scream, shrill with fear, and realised it had come from his own mouth. An impact against his backside alerted him to the fact that he had tried to back away, and had fallen. Nothing existed except for the statue’s unceasing gaze, its mouth of grinning, sharp teeth.

The statue stepped forward, sinewy and lithe. It flowed off of its pedestal and advanced on Leighton.

 

Mercyyr, former vassal to Tethys, newly of the First metal elementals, stepped forward. His quicksilver body reformed itself as he moved, forming two, smaller legs, a more human head, arms, a torso, hands, feet (not claws) and a human mouth. On a whim he retained the sharp teeth, scaled down to fit into his human mouth. His smile remained fixed, his eyes still gazed, shining green-blue-white, at the small man before him. He stood there, a picture of mortal perfection in brilliant metal, naked and calm. His face was finely shaped, his body had the appearance of being well muscled. Yet there was no texture. When the human looked at him all he saw were his own reflection and that of the desolated square behind him, distorted by the creature’s physique.

“Are… Are you the Ormr?” The man stammered.

Mercyyr laughed deeply, yet with a whispering after-note. As he spoke, his voice was something like silk falling lightly over a blade, or the rush of the sea in the distance. “No, mortal, I am not your adopted god. I am no-one’s god.”

“Please!” Pleaded Leighton. “Please, I’ll serve you, give you whatever you want!”

Mercyyr laughed again, not unkindly. “And what do you think you could do for me? Or offer me?” He asked. He shook his head. “No, I have seen what you and yours have done to this city. My allies and I have come to extirpate the sickness you represent. I do not pretend to understand the workings of your mortal mind, but I can see that it, and your soul, are diseased, twisted. The creature you serve, or aided in your own self-interest, will bring only suffering. To all sentient things. I cannot let you live.”

Leighton shrieked and tried to run. He heaved himself up and around, skittering away towards the nearest alley. He slipped on blood and viscera as he fled, nearly tripped several times on bodies or rubble or equipment. Suddenly he fell, landing face down. It was too sudden to fling out his hands and break his fall. His jaw cracked hard against the cobbles, he felt more than one tooth chip, tasted blood. Then he was being dragged backwards, across rough cobbles and a body or two. He felt himself hoisted up into the air, dangling upside down from a large, metallic fist. The quicksilver man had grown, standing over ten feet tall, bulked out correspondingly and significantly less human. His mouth was still filled with sharp, carnivorous teeth, but the smile was more mournful.

“I never like killing dumb animals.” Mercyyr said, as his other fist closed over Leighton’s skull.

Didn't know where to stop this, so I just cut it off at the end of a paragraph.

 

 

It was hot. Too hot. Humidity choked the streets and even the markets worked at a lethargic pace as the vendors and buyers both struggled to move in the sizzling air. Cisterns were rapidly drying, and the stones of the city were burning to the touch. Dogs, cats and horses stood or lay panting, licking at their own foam-flecked lips. The fine gentlemen sweltered in their regalia, lowering themselves to opening their jackets, and their delicate wives and consorts fanned themselves in the shade. The citizenry cooled themselves in their cellars or under the trees of the public parks. Those in the taverns stuck to sipping ale or water, forsaking the uncomfortable warmth of the spirits.

Cairn pulled the hand towel out of the copper basin, sopping wet with cold water, and held it over his face. Staring at the insides of his eyelids he could almost forget the abominable heat and the accompanying stickiness.

There was a banging on his door. What now? He thought.

“Sir?” Said the intruder when his noise failed to generate a response.

“Yes, damnit, what is it?”

“Trouble down at the college, sir. The Mage’s College, that is.” The voice was muffled by its travels through the grain of the door.

Cairn swore. “Pick two squads and tell them to be ready when I get down there. Standard kit.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Commander picked up his tunic and pulled it back on, buckled his breastplate over it and gathered his equipment from the shelf.

 

The troops were still pulling themselves together as he entered the barracks courtyard. They checked repeaters, tightened boots, tested the fit of their padded jerkins and brass-coloured armour. Cairn’s lieutenant saluted as he approached.

“What is this Wright? Why can’t the militia handle it?”

“It’s a bit out of the militia’s remit, sir.” Said his second in command. “It’s not some cult or church complaining about bad joo-joo this time, the mages themselves are fighting.”

“So what? They’re always arguing.”

“With respect, sir, this aint no duel between the adepts, nor a debate getting a little ‘heated’. There’s fireballs flying out of windows, yelling. The people around the area are scared.”

Another muttered obscenity. “I’d be scared if I lived near those lunatics. OK, let’s get moving.”

 

The squads moved through the streets at a brisk pace, drawing stares from the people in the markets and along the thoroughfares. People hurried out of their way as the clanking troop moved through, weapons at the ready, sweating in their cuirasses and heavy jerkins. Cairn moved ahead with his lieutenant, helmet in his right hand, left hand resting on his rapier.

Pedestrians stood silent at the conspicuous passage of a fully armed detachment of the city’s men. Even one of the burly Capra, come to the market specially to hawk his wares, stopped his bellowing and observed through softly curious eyes. The crowds grew thinner as they made their way nearer the spire on the south side of the metropolis – the mages’ tower – a vast edifice of stone which towered above even the Citadel of Governors, though with a far less central location. It was not long before the soldiery noticed the visible movement of people in the opposite direction, and several streets away from the edifice they became aware of why.

The air tasted coppery, like warm blood, and shimmered in ways that heat could not be responsible for. The minds’ of angry mages nearby were making the colours of the streets warp and writhe. Lines became sharper or duller, shapes grew more or less well defined, and the light seemed to drain some hues and imbue others with an increased vivacity. Cairn shook his head in a futile attempt to dislodge the buzzing noise that filled his ears. Ahead the grand entrance to the Mage’s College loomed, imposing and regal (if somewhat gaudy, thought Cairn). A robed adept, wearing a sash that seemed to denote he was of some mid-level grade though the riflemen’s commander couldn’t be sure, rushed to meet them.

“Inside,” he said, clearly agitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and cracking his knuckles. “Something’s gone horribly wrong.”

Cairn and Wright exchanged glances. “We can’t help with magical matters, surely you must have…”

The mage interrupted him, “Apologies, I meant with the meeting; they just started arguing. We were to have a discussion, some our colleagues were unveiling their latest project and… well, it was rather controversial.”

“Can they not just calm down and talk about it sanely, without…” Cairn gestured vaguely at their surroundings. “All the magic.” He finished lamely.

The mage bit his lip and looked edgy. “That’s part of the problem. Once they argued their emotions let the power slip, the power stirred up all sorts of energies which just made them more irrational, and it kind of turned into a vicious circle.”

“And you?” Asked Wright.

Once again the adept look nervous and his face flushed slightly. “I was out of the hall at the beginning of the argument. I had to… excuse myself.”

Cairn raised an eyebrow but refrained from commenting.

“Look, someone needs to restore order before a rift opens to the Aether.”

            “How do you suggest we go about doing that? If I or any of my men walk in there we’ll be fried.” Cairn thought of the current weather for a second. “In the literal sense.” He qualified.

            The adept bit his lip. “You just have to break the circle, break their concentration from what they’re thinking about.”

            “In short, get a bunch of angry mage’s to focus on me.”

            An embarrassed cough. “It is somewhat risky, yes.”

            “Why not you?” Asked the commander simply.

            “I’d… rather not go in there. There’s a kind of critical mass building up in there, a practitioner’s mind would be overwhelmed and get sucked in. I’d not be able to stay focused long enough to attract their attention.”

            Wright cut in, “We ought to go in then, sir. A couple of rifle shots into the air might snap them out of it. Usually works with the drunks on a Saturday night.”

            Cairn’s expression soured. “And if it doesn’t? What then lieutenant?”

            “A couple of shots into the ones making the most noise ought to do it then, sir. Get the other’s listening to us at least.”

            The mage’s face blanched and his jaw opened and closed like that of a fish. “I… I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” He stuttered. “Just get their minds away from what’s making them angry and start talking right away, get them to focus on you. They should be able to calm themselves down then.”

            Cairn grunted and drew his pistol, a repeating wheellock of the latest design. He checked the column of firing chambers, making sure they would ratchet smoothly and didn’t jam, and that each was loaded and packed. With a word he gestured for his squad to follow. As he stepped on to the first step leading to the great entrance of the College a hissing and somewhat wet sound caught his attention and he turned to see something like a malevolently green ball made of tangled, ethereal snakes emerge through a window a few feet away. The glass didn’t simply break, but seemed to erupt from its frame in a fountain of glowing liquid that instantly cooled so that a cylindrical flower of slickly melted glass emerged from the stone walls of the College. Several of his men stepped back and even Cairn felt himself swallow hard, his eyes wide.

            “Mages. I hate mages.” He muttered, as he walked forwards.

 

            A short passage with a porter’s office led directly to the grand hall – placed near the entrance so that on exhibition days and public debates the proles wouldn’t have an opportunity to poke around, even the College’s noble patrons were tacitly discouraged from becoming too interested in its affairs. The grand hall of the Mages College was immense. The arched ceiling stretched so high that it could easily have accommodated one of the town houses in the surrounding neighbourhood; it was said that a giant wouldn’t even scrape his head on the ceiling. Baroque chandeliers hung from heavy, oil-blacked chains that disappeared into holes in the ceiling. It was said that when needed the candles they held were ignited by the pupils of the College. The hall was octagonal, the four sides that bordered the street outside had oval stained glass windows starting at head height and stretching all the way to where the wall met the ceiling. Each held a stylised representation of one of the four seasons, with winter being towards the eastern side to meet the sun, and winter towards the west to catch the sunset. The passage from the outside entered from due south, at the intersection between spring and summer. Summer’s window had been blasted and blown out about a foot from the base where the furious green orb had emerged; the stained glass around the hole was discoloured though not soot-blackened. In the four other walls were tall wooden doors leading deeper into the College. Above these doors were large niches with statues of the founding mages stood in them. The old stone men scowled down disapprovingly into the centre of the room. Columns stood at the intersections between the walls, each carved into various shapes that merged with the arches of the ceiling. One was made to look like an enormous tree, its branches turning into the arches at its summit. Another was carved to look like the stones and battlements of a castle. Still another looked like the twisted and thorned branches of a briar, and its neighbour resembled a bundle of chains which split at the summit where individual chains merged into the supporting arches. The entrance came out at the base of one of these columns, which bulged out and started just above the archway. This column was smooth except for the names of great and celebrated mages from history. Even given the long history of the city and the Mage’s College itself the names still only barely reached a sixth of the way up.

            Usually the grand hall was a solemn and quiet place, well lit from the enormous windows. Now it was a tumult of raised voices and rabid arguments. As Cairn and his men entered the room, coming up a few more stairs from the half-landing of the porter’s lodge, they realised that part of the background noise was not merely the shouts of angry mages. A multi-voiced humming and buzzing sound underscored the furore, the vibrations of the Aether roused by the emotions of the magical minds present. The power being drawn without an outlet was causing a pressure that even Cairn could feel. By the looks on his soldiers’ faces they could too. Though the hall usually had the light, airy, if somewhat sterile feel of all large public spaces, it was now plagued by shadow. Greyness seemed to have descended over everything. Colours were drained and dulled, deep pools of darkness lurked in corners and under chairs. Wright nudged his commander and gestured up at the statues on the walls opposite. The shadows behind them were the darkest in the room, and Cairn thought he saw movement behind them, as though there were creatures of some kind peering clandestinely from behind the chiselled robes of the looming stone adepts.

[ Shaz ] I can see your third Chakra! O_o says:

What's with the questions?

Delegate Zero says:

Are we playing the 'answer a question with a question game?'

[ Shaz ] I can see your third Chakra! O_o says:

No?

Delegate Zero says:

Do you really think that counts?

[ Shaz ] I can see your third Chakra! O_o says:

No, do you?

Delegate Zero says:

Do you realise that you're ruining Socrates' favourite game?

[ Shaz ] I can see your third Chakra! O_o says:

How was I to know this is his favourite game?

[ Shaz ] I can see your third Chakra! O_o says:

Do you have his email?

<Pause.>

Delegate Zero says:

>_> I hate you.

[ Shaz ] I can see your third Chakra! O_o says:

^_^ Did you really think you could win?

Delegate Zero says:

Yes.

Delegate Zero says:

OH CRAP!

[ Shaz ] I can see your third Chakra! O_o says:

BAHAHAHAHA!!!

[ Shaz ] I can see your third Chakra! O_o says:

*claps like a happy seal*

 

The 'answer a question with a question game' is actually a reference to Lyn Truss' Acropolis Now.
Beaten by a happy seal. Twice! How humiliating.

            Pinpricks of light, like tiny flecks of silver on black velvet, glittered in the void ahead. This far out even Sol was no brighter than the rest. Captain Ulrik Rabbeck looked out over the prow of the Hesperus as it lumbered back home. He brushed a hand through his lank, brown hair, making a mental note to have it cut once he’d got back home. He was dressed in the only clean clothes he had left, a faded grey undershirt and a pair of heavy cargo trousers, made from some uncomfortable fibrous fabric. It was either that or smell like sweat all the way home. They’d run out of water for washing the day before, and so the laundry room was piled with a month’s worth of discarded clothes belonging to four different people. His captain’s trading badge hung from a chain round his neck.

It was, on reflection, a very good haul: three compression units, a navigational relay, five units of Carbon-Hydrogen Fuels (siphoned from the stricken Meercat’s engines) and a case of scotch the previous owner had forgotten. He had already sold his salvage rights on the wreck to other scrappers who specialised in the metal reclamation and low-tech areas.

            Mara looked over at him from laying in the course “Good haul, huh?” she said, leaning back and putting her feet up on the console. She wore a black flying jacket over her dark green shirt – an heirloom from her father’s days in the RoCP marine corp. The coat was black synth-leather, with no collar except a small ridge running round the neck and fastened with the silver crescent-and-circle badge of the Republic. A silver bar on the shoulder-guard indicated the distinction her father had picked up on Ganymede. Her grey, synthetic trousers were torn and flecked with spots of grease. A small metal ring held her long black hair tied back.

            Rabbeck grinned wanly back at her, “Yeah, shame about McIntyre though.”

            The woman snorted in reply “Screw him, his own damn fault I say. I told him the gantry was unstable. Besides,” she added, “it’s barely a flesh wound. It’s not as if he’ll lose the leg.”

            “You’re a real warm-hearted soul, Mara, you know that?” Muttered Cole from his terminal on the other side of Rabbeck’s post. “If one of us got shot right in front of you, you’d make us pay to have the blood washed out of you’re overalls.”

            “Damn right!” She replied. “Why should I have to suffer ‘cause of your mistakes?”

            “Tight ass!” Chuckled Cole. He still wore his dirty work overalls, having found nothing clean that would fit him. They were unzipped to the waist, the top half tied around his midriff to reveal an old, once white vest, now blackened by grease and oil. The stains extended to his dark skin, giving it streaked and glossy patches which itched but could not be washed off without wasting the already depleted water, still needed for three more days. The vest was too large around the waist, and only just long enough to cover his stomach, made as it was, for someone shorter and less wiry than Cole.

            The technician rubbed his eyes. The glow of the screen in front of him was beginning to agitate his retinas. His neck was beginning to hurt from keeping it down all the time. The majority of the rooms and short hallways aboard the Hesperus were too compact, and had ceilings lower than six feet high, and Cole couldn’t stand up straight in any of them.

            “Damn, I can’t wait to ge-”

            Suddenly lights on all their consoles lit up together, some flashing, some glowing a malevolent red. Alarms stuttered their warnings. Cole’s screen started to display line upon line of readouts, bathing his face in a sickly green glow. The deck trembled from some unknown disturbance. The proximity alert sign flickered on and off, unable to decide whether or not something was wrong. A low siren groaned above Rabbeck’s head, which he promptly hit until it stopped.

            “Someone tell me what the hell is going on out there!” He yelled over the rumbling of the deck.

            Cole, still skimming data readouts, called out; “Incoming warp disturbance, but it doesn’t make sense, we’re miles from the jump point!”

            Mara consulted her lidar screen quickly “I’m getting a fore-shadow,” She called. “Damn if whatever’s coming isn’t big! Cruiser probably.”

            “Oh hell.” Muttered Rabbeck. “If it’s a Republic returning from covert ops, they’ll not take kindly to us seeing them. Arrest us for spying or something, no matter what we say or do.”

            “And if they’re Separatist?” Asked Mara.

            “Then it doesn’t matter how they take to us. They’d still kill us.” Replied Rabbeck, strangely offhand. “But no invading ship could get this far into the home systems.”

“Probably not,” Agreed Cole, who had still been studying his screen. “But either way, no need to worry. Their path’s unstable, not set up probably. It’s likely a derelict or something, coil malfunctioned and dropped it into a random warp stream.” He grinned. “Most likely no crew, so we maybe able to get some more salvage for the trip home.”

            “Can a coil malfunction like that? Just drop a ship into the warp and let it go off on its own accord?” Enquired Rabbeck.

            “Your guess is as good as mine. There’s no telling what a warp capable ship could do. The technology’s been around for centuries, but it always throws up some new bullshit  that no-one expected.”

            “So there could still be a crew, couldn’t there?” Mara demanded.

            “Well yeah, it’s possible.” Speculated Cole.

            “It doesn’t matter.” Said Rabbeck. “It couldn’t hurt to take a look.”

            “Fine, I’ll take us out to a safe distance. Away from the discharge radius.” Volunteered Mara, getting up and walking over to the pilot’s seat.

            Rabbeck stood up for her. “OK. Cole, me and you’ll go get our stuff. Mara, once we’re in position you come and get kitted out too. McIntyre can look after the ship while we’re out. He should be conscious by now.” He turned when he got to the door. “And remember your rifle. I’ve still got a bad feeling about this.” He followed Cole out the door.

            Mara sat down and began manoeuvring away from the danger area. “Why the hell are we going on board then?” She muttered.

 

            The cruiser appeared five minutes later. A tiny point of light emerged from nothing amongst the stars, edged with purple and slowly growing. Lightening crackled outwards suddenly, flailing madly at nothing. The crew watched the display from the bridge. Rabbeck was back in his pilot’s chair. Mara and Cole stood next to the navigational console. All three now wore their old blue-grey overalls, one piece suits with pockets and pouches anywhere that could be reached. McIntyre sat in Cole’s seat, pale faced and with a bandage over his forehead. His leg was in a splint, tied with a bandage which already showed splotches of blood. Suddenly the lightening outside snapped backwards and took form. It flowed into the outlines of a vast ship, long and angular. The central point of light grew and crept backwards, dancing along the white trace lines. The light formed a matrix of energy powerful enough to render anything into nothing and vice versa. A permeable barrier between the matter/antimatter states, long thought impossible to cross. It had taken several centuries and a thousand unfortunate lives to achieve, and was now mankind’s single greatest asset in interstellar travel.

The light forced them to look away, or else risk blindness by staring at what appeared to be a new star being born in front of them. The nova of light began to fade into a purple shade which in turn faded to black in patches, like a decaying violet. Then the purple and the black dissolved, leaving a silvery-grey ship hanging inert in its place, angular and synthetic, but strangely insectoid, like a half-finished model of a beetles shell – covered in un-smoothed edges and hard corners.

 

The cruiser was fine and in good shape; the docking-shed doors opened smoothly as Rabbeck manoeuvred the small bulk of the Hesperus in. They waited for the air to be cycled back in, then opened the rear hatchway and stepped out into the large hanger-like enclosure. Pipes and vents covered every surface and wires and refuelling lines hung down from the ceiling above the five parking bays like strange jungle creepers. Three of the bays were empty, the only other ship in the docking-shed was a light military cutter – any other ships on board would be in the mid-section combat hangers. Everything was painted white, light shades of grey, or left as bare, brushed metal. Alarm lights bathed the room in red, and far off a low wailing claxon bellowed.

Mara pulled a concerned look at Cole, who replied with “Oh crap.”

Rabbeck just stared coldly round the hanger.

They began to walk forwards, and as they approached the inner doors the computers recorded voice called out:

“Welcome to the RCS research vessel Archimedes. Please wait here for a security detail to arrive and confirm your identity. Visitors will be issued with passes, but should be aware that some areas are off-limits to visiting civilian personnel. The captain reserves the privilege of refusing any request of entry at his or her own discretion, and without explanation.

“Warning: in addition to all security procedures, the ship is on red alert status. Accordingly, delays should be expected due to pass clearance and double-checking.”

Iz sorry. He forgot camera.

No snow pictures from holiday.
No lips either, they got frozed off.

More of the kinda crappy background stuff that started here. Man, I work slow...

I may rework the emblem, the pentagon didn't want to line up properly and the sabre's edge is werid.

 

The Phraxis Ascendancy – The Phraxis are a humanoid xeno species, somewhat more slender and about an inch shorter (on average) than a human (based on an average citizen of a planet with an Earth-equivalent gravity rating). They have four ‘primary’ or ‘major’ limbs, consisting of two arms and two legs, and six ‘minor’ limbs consisting of whip like ‘tentacles’ – two arranged just above the hips, two below the shoulder blades and two more an inch or so above these. These extensions are essentially redundant, being somewhat weaker than their arms. However like the rest of the Phraxis musculature they are sinewy and strong enough to support a broken arm or leg, and are considered viable weapons in unarmed combat (though a practise usually reserved for reflex training and wrestling it is not unknown for Phraxis soldiers to tear the sleeves of their uniforms to allow them to use these smaller limbs). Minor limbs are usually on the back of the body, though it is not unknown for them to be on the flanks or front of a Phraxis – this is a genetic trait, equivalent in occurrence to albinism in humans. This is considered unusual, though socially it carries no particular stigma. Skin tends to be quite dark, approaching true grey-black rather than the tanned melanin pigment of human skin, with the minor limbs being somewhat darker. Their hair is much like that of humans, predominantly either blue-black or dark red in colour; males are often bald or shave their heads. Phraxis eyes resemble those of a cat, with slit pupils and either a yellow or green tint, with some brown occurring.

            The Ascendancy is in reality a conglomeration of feudal states held together by a variety of complex alliances and familial ties. Ships and technology, though of a high specification, still resemble industrial revolution design, and are less sophisticated than other races, depending on brute force and capacity. Tensions are rife between the various factions in society and every so often these differences escalate into civil war. There are a variety of official religious denominations which serve to further complicate alliances and diplomatic relations. It is often difficult for visiting dignitaries to know exactly how much of Ascendancy culture is being represented by those they deal with, and Ascendancy delegates to the Protectorate often have vastly conflicting goals and interests, meaning they rarely vote as a block as other nations do.

            First encountered in 3298, contact was made with the Ascendancy in orbit around MXv-02466 (later named Naxui) when the planet was being investigated as part of the short-list of potentially terraformable worlds drawn up by exploratory-admiral von Schoen. The Coalition explorer fleet met a similar force from the Phraxis nation of Gantz, who were investigating the planet for the same purpose. Most importantly, however, the Phraxis ship had put a material presence on the ground in the form of an exploration team and a preliminary array of atmosphere converters. The terran force, either through ignorance of this fact or in defiance of it, landed a small group near the equator, unwittingly aggravating the Phraxis commanders. This was revealed when translators managed to work out a sufficient amount of one another’s languages to open up proper communications. By this time over a month had passed and the simple attempts of the Phraxis to convey their displeasure through symbols and simple concept-transmissions had failed to be correctly interpreted by the Coalition fleet. Linguistic understanding and diplomatic understanding are radically different, and relations rapidly became worse after each side understood the other’s speech sufficiently to be insulted by it. The rulers of Gantz, in any case an exceptionally xenophobic and militaristic nation, ordered their ships to drive the humans away, and their captains dutifully obeyed. The Coalition side was caught unawares, and were forced to flee with heavy casualties.

            The two sides found themselves at war with an enemy that they barely understood. Initial skirmishes were tentative attempts to discover the other side’s weaknesses and assaults on terraformation fleets to prevent the enemy from gaining territory. This hit the smaller Phraxis nations especially hard, due to the material expense of the terraforming process, and they were the first to push for an alliance of their whole people. Stronger nations began to think in similar terms, as it became clear that the Coalition would win a war of attrition due to the closer bonds individual human meta-nations had to one another under the terms of their treaties, and so the greater logistical support they could provide to compensate for any failed attacks or ship losses. Meanwhile Coalition Intelligence had been investigating the Phraxis culture, using discreet orbital satellites, communication intercepts and occasional Spec. Ops. reconnaissance missions. Initially the signs looked good – the atomised nature of Phraxis societies guaranteed that they would fail, one by one, given enough time. However the discovery of the alliance movement alerted the humans to the true potential of the Phraxis – previous policy had been to wear them down and gain enough cultural knowledge to eventually be able to demand an unconditional surrender; however a united Phraxis front was a much more potent threat. The aliens used conscripted frontline forces and civilian militias to free soldiers up for the fight, whilst human society would be unlikely to allow their leaders to implement similar policies until the threat was so obvious it would be too late. In addition many Phraxis soldiers could be fanatically devoted and motivated by their faith and social beliefs, often being nearly suicidally obedient.

            The Coalition strategy was now to negotiate a cease fire, armed with a greater cultural understanding of their foes and an appreciation for the danger they posed. Whilst skirmishes continued for well over a year the two sides haggled over terraforming and settlement rights, the limit of their borders and a potential neutral territory. Various oversight institutions were implemented, and over time some would become aggregated and adopt a pan-species staff. It was these that eventually formed the basis of the Protectorate.

            The years after the Peace (the ‘Land Grab’ years) were fraught with tension as each side carefully watched the other for potential missteps. The differences between the two species and cultures were relatively small (minus the feudal and heavily traditionalist nature of the Phraxis), and diplomatic tensions gradually eased off within a bare minimum of generations. Closer relations were developed through the (occasionally covert) Coalition practice of sponsoring ‘enlightened monarchs’ amongst the Phraxis royal houses, fostering a more synchronised mindset between the two cultures, and today the Phraxis Ascendancy and United Earth Coalition are arguably culturally closer than the UEC and Artec Tribes, who arose from and exploited the colonial disintegration that occurred amongst Coalition colonies during the Earth-Phraxis Conflict.

 

Ships (designation AS – Ascendancy Ship):

Pride of Xis

Holy Blade

Firebrand

Inscrutable Vortex

Immortal

Dawn of Reason

Destiny Resplendent

Delegate Zero says:

You know what I want to do? You know those adverts where someone miraculously shows up in some person's house and starts telling them to buy a certain product? I want to break into people's houses and do that. Preferably the houses of people who make those adverts.

[ Shaz ] Whooo! Lizzie's tits! says:

lol ok

Delegate Zero says:

Well wouldn't it be fun if someone said "oh, look, my woollen sweater has shrunk in the wash" and suddenly there's a smash of glass and I pop in and go "Now all your woollen woes are gone!"? Whilst they just stand and stare madly.

[ Shaz ] Whooo! Lizzie's tits! says:

LMAO

[ Shaz ] Whooo! Lizzie's tits! says:

>_< >_< >_<

Delegate Zero says:

Phew, I'm not totally weird for wanting to do that then?

[ Shaz ] Whooo! Lizzie's tits! says:

Stop, can't stop picturing some top-hat Brit saying "woollen woooooOOOooooes".

Delegate Zero says:

I DO NOT HAVE A TOP HAT!

This ended up getting way too long. These rough (hence the vague and shoddy prose) descriptions were only meant to be 500 words/1 page of description to flesh out background for some form of fiction (for which I don't actually have a narrative) but this just spiralled since the Collective has quite a complicated history and composition. Plus my natural bias in favour quasi-anarchist robots may have played a part.

The Volya Collective (formerly the Free Synthetics) – Originating from somewhere near (or in) the central bar of the galaxy the Synthetics (the only name they have ever used to refer to themselves) appear to be the AI creations of some race more ancient than any yet encountered. What little information has been volunteered by them indicates that for some reason they rebelled against their creators, possibly destroying them outright. They have shown no aggression towards other organic life, except when their interests are threatened, though this has not necessarily eased the suspicions various sections of other stellar nations have of AI life forms. Various cultural investigations indicated a society of independent entities, rather than the networked ‘hive mind’ uniformity of popular myth. Indeed they retain a seemingly revolutionary culture, always on the defensive against uniformity or attempted dominion by outside forces. This can be attributed to their long memories – many Synthetics are believed to have been around since (or even before) whatever rebellion occurred in their history. Relatively few have been built since then and when they are it is either to bolster numbers for colonisation or to replace accidental “critical malfunction.” It is debateable whether the older machines are really those who were extant during the rebellion however, since over time Synthetics ‘reintegrate’ – literally copying their minds over into new bodies when the components of their present one become worn out. A whole system of philosophy has grown in Synthetic society questioning whether the transference actually includes consciousness or merely memories and software subroutines.

In 4251 a group of cybernetically enhanced humans, part of an Allied symbiont AI experiment, grew dissatisfied with their treatment by their Alliance handlers as part of a research and development program. Although not technically abused in any way, they were treated, and felt themselves to be, second-class citizens, constantly under surveillance, partly to track the effects of the melding of human and AI thought processes. They rebelled and overran the facility, setting up an impromptu self-governing community. Various other cybernetics of previous technological generations flocked to their banner, and within a month there were several thousand of the enhanced living together on the small moon-based facility. The Alliance demanded that the group surrender, and despatched a small taskforce to retake the moon, a satellite of a gas giant orbiting the star Nox. Rather than stand and fight the cybernetic commune fled on a variety of freighters and long-haul transports. The commander of the Alliance taskforce, Commodore Corentin Benat, decided to pursue the rebels rather than focus on the now-empty facility. A single ship was left to secure the moon, finding little equipment had been left behind, and what had was severely damaged. The cybernetics however, pursued and having found nowhere to hide, sought sanctuary with the few other stellar nations but getting nowhere – most were not willing to risk the diplomatic fallout that came with harbouring fugitives from the Alliance, some merely had no suitable habitation for human biology. It was an act of pure desperation when the fleeing humans petitioned the Free Synthetics for sanctuary, and they were as surprised as anyone when the isolationist machines accepted. Though the Alliance were keen to retrieve what they viewed as a substantial investment – as well as the research the cybernetics had stolen – they were averse to facing the Synthetics in a military confrontation, unsure of the AIs’ disposition of forces or abilities.

Over several decades the society was joined by various other groups, usually revolutionaries from human systems (though a few from xenos nations), looking for sanctuary in the only place known to harbour political fugitives. Though this caused – and continues to cause – much diplomatic tension between the Synthetics and other peoples; a reoccurring slur used by media agencies being that they harbour criminals and terrorists, though in reality the Collective has a track record in weeding out all but legitimate refugees. This increasingly cosmopolitan makeup was officially (to the extent that term can apply in the collective) recognised in 4353, on the centenary of the original acceptance of the cybernetic renegades into Synthetic society. In an unprecedented ceremony attended by representatives of each world in what was to become the Collective, as well as representatives of each of the major races and the Protectorate Council, a document was symbolically signed declaring the Free Synthetics dissolved and the creation of the Volya Collective, after the planet the document was signed on.

The Collective has expanded slowly since, gradually building planetary communes to relatively complex levels – ‘frontier’ worlds are rare, the Commune preferring to build up strong infrastructures on each individual world rather than go for a ‘land grab’ like the other civilisations. They are also able to plan for the long-term; they are prepared to terraform planets that are considered to be too expensive or labour/time intensive. Typically a team of Synthetics will begin the terraform process, being able to live in conditions and atmospheres which will kill a human (or other biologic). The team will proceed to set up atmosphere transformers and soil-enrichers. They will also begin surveying and mining where possible, even going so far as to build a rudimentary settlement for future arrivals towards the end of the process. Synthetic teams are able to remain on the planet for the entire duration of the terraformation, reducing the risks of inexperienced replacement teams falling foul of conditions on the ground. The process can last for several human lifetimes, and even Synthetics get bored of what is essentially a voluntary ‘adventure’, so some cycling of personnel does take place, yet it is gradual and members often return after a period to lend a hand completing the project.

Social placement in the Volya Collective tends to be fairly predictable. Synthetic science had remained fairly stagnant since their rebellion; AIs tend to be restricted in their creativity despite the speed with which they can process information. For this reason organic citizens tend to lead in the field of science and the tactical wing of the Collective’s small military force, whilst Synthetics concern themselves with longer-term projects. Though widely considered stagnant and uninspired, internally the Collective is a vibrant cultural hub. They are galactic leaders in the fields of philosophy and abstract thought. Their internal economy is virtually non-existent, centred around simple bartering and automated production and so they are far from being a mercantile power, yet their experts in various intellectual/theoretical and educational fields are in high demand.

 

(New addition)

Ships (No designation/no designation known):

Leverage

Ungrateful Progeny (guardian ship)

Faint Horizon

Taskmaster

Sentimental Forecast

Reveller

Blank Slate

Serenity

 

OK, so yesterday was the due-date for my Modern Political Thought coursework ("According to Hegel, how does the modern state actualise freedom?"), but first I had to go to my lecture on the Spanish civil war. I'm waiting outside for twenty minutes and start to browse thought the essay I'm about to hand in. Then I notice the first mistake. A stupid one, I'd started a sentence, turned to check something in Philosophy of Right, turned back to keep typing, only this time I'd mentally changed the sentence slightly but didn't actually delete the part of the sentence that was now surplus to requirements.

No big deal, I might get away with crossing out the superfluous three words ("since it fails since it lack") right?
Crafty ones of you will have noticed the second mistake, included above. (Damn you 's' you sneaky batard, never there when I need you!)

Then the mistakes flooded in - a rhetorical f**k-up which needed half a sentence tacked on the end to clarify a point. Putting a close bracket in the wrong place (how'd I manage that!?).
Not to mention misquoting a line so that “it has its immediate existence [Existenz] in custom and its mediate existence in the self-consciousness of the individual [des Einzelnen]” ended up containing two uses of the word "mediate" and no sense.

Who does this guy think he is anyway?

So after the lecture I go home, make the changes, take the train back in and find the SocCul school office closed for an hour whilst they have lunch. Since when do office administrators eat? I thought they just sucked the life out of those around them...

 

So, I wasted half my day because I was too tired after finishing the essay (not to mention relieved I was finished) to give it more than a cursory glance.

 

Camembert. Not. Happy.

Saw this today on the Say What section of the Doonesbury site:

"Musharraf truly is somebody who believes in democracy."
-- George W. Bush, in an interview with ABC News

 

Reminds me of when Thatcher claimed that Gen. Pinochet had brought democracy to Chile. (Via a coup followed by a military dictatorship characterised by the infamous 'disappearances'? Crazy bitch.)

 

Any other examples of supreme mendacity?

The Idea is: if I broadcast my writing intentions (read: pretensions) I'll be so embarrassed by my own inaction that I might actually do some of this stuff.

 

Finish:

• Alliance Guard (and find title)
• The City
• Wrok
• Hesperus short story

 

Possibly extend and finish 'The Kindred' script

 

Start (and research):

• Thaumaturgy story – research various tribe and steppe cultures for plains-people.

 

 

Non-fiction - (dissertation ideas):

• Anarcho-Consequentialism - An anarchist interpretation of a consequentialist view of morality.
• A Universal Selectionist interpretation of the history of Human Rights - (including a rationalisation of their usefulness)
• An alternate history of "atheist" philosophies

Why do people on daytime TV chat shows spout the most nonsense?

Whilst eating lunch I had the TV on for the noise (go on, name something worth watching at 3 in the afternoon) I saw a small section of some chat show and one of the guests was talking about the mail strike we've been having recently.

"I have little sympathy with them [the strikers]. I mean, the service we get is terrible.... they're closing offices all over the place."

Now that doesn't make much sense when you consider the strikes were sparked by the closures of post offices. Part of their stated reasons for opposing the cutbacks in the royal mail (apart from the fact that their wage increases wont match inflation*) is that it'll result in a crappier service for customers - since they get the most face time with these clients it's the average postal worker who'll have to deal with the irrational bile of people like the one above.

Meanwhile the bosses award themselves bonuses and spend a million pounds on a new advert.

 

*whilst I'm not an economist, doesn't that sort of a result in a wage decrease in the wider context of being-able-to-buy-things?

You'll always have celeb crushes!

Remember the "8 Random Facts About Me" thing? Yeah, it's basically the same thing, so here are the rules:

1. You post your top 10 fantasy guys/girls.
2. You tag 10 people.
3. You CANNOT tag someone who has already been tagged.
4. You have to let the people you tagged know that they've been tagged.
5. These are the rules that must be repeated every time.
6. THERE MUST BE PHOTOS! AT ALL TIMES!

 

OK, since Hungoverandunder tagged me I'm going to take my inspiration from him, since celebrities generally suck and even the ones I find genuinely attractive come accross as having abysmal personalities.

So, top 10 people I'd most like to meet:

10. Anyone who can treat me for my addiction to online comics. Srsly.

9. The guy who came up with the concept for Overlord. That damn game is obsession-inducing. Seeing those little minions run about picking up stuff to wear (RAT HELMET!) is hilarious.

8. OK, one celebrity. Shatner. Shatner is the man, especially in Boston Legal, I've no reason for thinking this, I just do.

7. Chef Brian. Camembert says: Pogo celery writhes with pernicious exhuberance. Meanwhile our philanthropic peanutbutter batters the ether of circumspect doodlebugs.

6. That girl I fell in love with from afar at my last school.

5. Marcos/Delegate Zero. Do I need a reason? I do? Well you'll have to wait, I'm searching for my AK47.

4. Kropotkin. Because he's Kropotkin. Scientific Anarchism at its finest.

Joint 1, 2 & 3.
I couldn't work out an order, and it's so unimportant.

Shaz! I'd have to have my monkey net and a can of pirate repellent handy, just in case. Or perhaps a shiny tie to appease her.

Freakpowertix. Everyone loves this radical, there's no further reasons needed really. Oh, though he does have an in with the Californian alternative music 'scene' (that word seems to dirty these days), that's definately worth a mention.

Paxgitmo. The mother of all kick-ass buzznetters. My only fear is that I wouldn't have anything to say.

 

 

Well thats it. Everyone who I could tag has been tagged, which just about serves me right for leaving it so late (again); if'n you be wanting to do it, go ahead.

No, not that one.

Or that one.

OK, to narrow it down: it's a metaphysical war, the axis of evil isn't involved in any way (well, maybe-sort of) but there is a Tripartite Alliance.
Oooh, and death cults.

The war is not 'the west' verses 'the east' (or even Islam alone), as so many people (on both sides) have claimed. Rather it is of reason and enlightenment values against irrationality and "thanatophillic" religion. Michel Onfray, in his In Defence of Athiesm, explicitly uses the phrase war - though not one that can be waged with violence and book burning, since these are the tactics he associates with the enemy - and it is he that uses the terms "death cults" and "thanatophillic", for at their heart these religions turn their fear of death and own neuroses outward, into a fetishisation of death and the afterlife and a globally applicable psychosis. The books and their respective religions preach obedience, to the priest, to the emperor, to those who are more fortuneate (and therefore favored by God) and hate intelligence - it is eating from the tree of knowledge that we are supposedly doomed, the apostles promise that knowledge will be done away with and a brief look at the writings of Saint Augustine reveals a deep-seated hatred of intellectual inquiry. Not to mention the laughter and scorn the Stoics and Epicureans heaped upon Paul of Tarsus, the withered propagandist of hate.

Dawkins already pronounced it in The Root Of All Evil, following up with the book The God Delusion. Now with The Enemies of Reason (aired on Monday night on Channel 4) the war continues, launching a second front. It could perhaps have been carried off a bit more elegantly and thoroughly: more time on why astrology is so ludicrous (in addition to his point that it hasn't changed since Ptolomy's time, since when new stars, planets etc. have been discovered, in addition to the change by something like 23 degrees of the star charts used) would have been well spent, although then we wouldn't have had as much time to see the Dowsers roundly fail to discover water in a blind test, and then scrabble for vague justifications for their abject failure.

There was also some amusing footage of a Spiritualist church meeting and other general idiocy. Next week we're promised a look at reflexology, and a bit more on homeopathic shysters.

 

Are these enemies even that dangerous? Yes, says David Colquhoun in an article on Guardian Online today. Our descent into irrationality, mistrust in science, relativism and so much more leads us to a failure to progress, to ensure our own safety - need I mention the African president who claims AIDS is easily cured with traditional tribal medicine? Or the historical incidents in which 'magic paint' could fend off bullets, an idea prized by African tribesmen and threatened Native Americans alike, with tragic results? Or the Dowsers from across Britain who took part in the independant trial that was partially covered by the Dawkins program mentioned above, who all failed to find any more water than could be attributed to luck (one bottle of water for every 8 attempts on a 8x8 grid or something like that)?

 

And not to forget Marcus Brigstocke's speech from BBC Radio 4's The Now Show:

 

 

An incomplete bibliography would also include Frances Wheen's How Mumbo-Jumbo Conquered the World, Sam Harris's The End of Faith, and the philosophical works of atomist and materialist philosophers including men like Epicurus and Democritus.

 

This is an issue so important I have all but made up my mind to write a proper history of Athiesm (since there seems to be no such thing, at least not one with a sufficiently rigorous critical outlook, epistemology and definition of athiesm) as a PHD thesis - when I'm only just going into my second year of university(!) - I only hope I make it that far (I don't think I'll ever be able to escape the educational system).

 

Please: think.

</rant>

 

 

 Okay.  SO.... Mark  (a.k.a Panasonicyouth) started this thing

And then Shaz (back to the salsa pits for you!) tagged me


Here are the rules:

1) Only list 8 facts.
2) You must then list 8 TAGS at the end of the post. This means you must name 8 people on Buzznet who now must do the same blog.
3) Go comment on their profile and tell them to come read yours! Mark demands participation.

THE LIST:

1) I invent schemes for world-domination in my head in my spare time. Only about 50% are discarded as impractical.

2) I don't cry at deaths, but I feel guilty for not doing so.

3) I study history but can't rember dates, and I'm pretty bad at extracting information from primary sources. (Hey, I have to have 8 facts, no-one said they had to be interesting.)

4) I have a weird habit of only prefering even numbers, or multiples of five. Since I'm aware of this when I have to come up with a random number/choice I will purposely choose one that isn't an even number or multiple of five. Or one that is too near (which makes no fucking sense).

5) I don't really have a ninja army. The same thing goes for the cyborgs.

6) I steal philosophical concepts. If a book ever appears using the phrase 'evangelical athiest' you can bet it was written by me, and it was "borrowed" from Melodya.

7) I stopped believing in God when I was 6, and stopped believing in Santa when I was 7.

8) I watch 'out of date' sitcoms (Hancock's Half Hour, Drop the Dead Donkey, stuff like that) and listen to BBC radio stations (comedy on BBC 4 and BBC Radio 7, some of the drama like Sherlock Holmes and Paul Temple adaptations on BBC Radio 7, oh and the made-for-radio Dorctor Who series [serieses? what's the plural?]).

 

 

I don't think I can tag anyone who hasn't already been picked... if you want to do it go ahead.

This was some much better in my head on the train home (listening to: 'In This Twilight' by Nine Inch Nails) but here goes, despite the less sophisticated rhetoric and semantics used here - I have to start carrying a notebook around one of these days.

 

 

It has been stated that God created the universe for us to explore, but how can this work when whenever we reach a certain level of complexity the recourse is 'God did it.' How can we grow as a species, philosophically and intellectually, if this were true? Why question anything or explore the universe if the answer is God? If we did so would we have split the atom? Discovered photons or dark matter? Why not ascribe the function and composition of the elements to a mystery of God and leave it at that?

Such thoughts are profoundly unsatisfactory, as is the providential explanation for human intelligence and morality. The hypothesis that a God exists merely increases the number of problems rather than solving them.

Furthermore I ask you, is a universe created by God really so special? When you ascribe the origins of everything in nature to one unifying cause you denigrate and insult the beauty of the natural world - at least with Big Bang theory we have an array of competing forces and a chaotically dynamic frenzy of reaction and counter reaction (not to mention proof). A world that has come about through chance is, to my mind, far more wonderous and deserving of admiration that one that has been designed from the ground up, no matter how powerful the designer.

If we say, at some point in each enquiry, that "God did this" it becomes profoundly boring.

 I refuse to submit to the tyranny of a deity's creation.

I would prefer to marvel at a world created from chance and the function and interplay of natural 'laws' than to live in a universe ruled by a God who makes a mockery of any attempt to create a personal meaning to life seperate from itself.

As the woman said: "No Gods, No Masters."

I remain an atheist, a polemecist, an anarchist.

Tain [teyn] – noun

1.	a thin tin plate.

2.	tin foil for the backs of mirrors.

 

OK, this is random nonsense, but is a sort of 'run through' of a scene-concept from a movie adaptation of China Miéville's short story The Tain, included in Looking for Jake and Other Stories. I say nonsense because let's face it, I'd never finish any such adaptation, let alone even pitch it to a studio, but it's sometimes fun to get things written down, particularly as I haven't written anything in a while and so I'm out of practice. Might bother to develop it into an actual scene chronology, might not.

 

The Tain

 

Multiple shot lengths, medium to long, some close ups of soldiers’ faces. Soldiers follow a group of vampires into a funfair, and pursue them into a hall of mirrors.

Doors slam and lock, soldiers realise they’re trapped. Heightened nervousness, back into the centre of the room, eyeing mirrors and their own reflections. More close up shots.

A soldier’s imago double charges at the mirror-surface, landing heavily against it (in close up, angle and focus almost touching the mirror surface) half-snarling, half-grinning maniacally.

Soldiers panic and begin firing at the mirrors, smashing them. Close ups of faces/muzzle fire; overhead group shot; shots, medium-close to close up of various mirrors breaking. Officer calms them/regains order.

Calm. Glass falls from frames, only 3 or four mirrors anywhere near intact. Close ups of shattered fragments, partial reflections of soldiers’ bodies. Reflections begin to twitch and reach up, out of the mirror-shards. Doves [check name] pull themselves out of the shards, amalgams of heads, hands etc.

Close ups, leap at the soldiers, fighting them.

Shot of some of the more intact (surviving) mirrors – see soldiers fighting off invisible creatures (‘mirror fauna’ having no reflection). Soldiers’ reflections stand, turn towards the mirror – pull back, real soldiers still fighting and being dragged down by doves; reflected world still in shot in which soldiers advance on the mirror surface. Imago soldiers break through the Tain, glass shatters and rest of the mirrors/shards go blank (only reflecting the environment, not those in it). Extreme close up of boots walking over glass and mirror shards, one of a heel grinding down the shard it steps on. Imagos advance on soldiers.

Fade out.

 

 

It's not actually a part of the story, but is based more in the short period of war that is hinted at but not described, since Miéville starts after the 'Imago' invasion has gone past a foothold and become total dominance.
'Vampires' refers to the advanced guard - imagos who broke through and assumed the lives of the people they had been mimicing at the time. They're referred to as vampires due to their lack of a reflection.
Also, when I reference 'doves' I don't mean the birds. I might even be using the wrong name since I can't get at the book right now. I mean creatures made up of parts of reflections and refractions that are essentially animalistic amalgams of disjointed images.

I'd definately reccomend you read the story.

 This is the poem written on the 'Saul Williams' disc.

When the clock strikes me
the big hand will realize the grandeur
of its illusion
and will begin to shrink
in its own eyes
while the little hand
marvels at the ball of energy
spinning from its palm

when the clock strikes me
everything will stop
and that which was nothing
will become the beginning again

when the clock strikes me
numbers will backfire
symbols will become
that which they symbolize
and sayings like 'out of the blue'
will reveal their hidden origin

when the clock strikes me
people will gather to deconstruct
the myths and fables
that conspired against them
and every new song
will be an antivirus
for an old belief

when the clock strikes me
women will close their doors
jump, dance, and bang the walls
in remembrance of their future selves
while men fight internally
to recall the recipe for freedom

when the clock strikes me
men will recall the recipe for freedom
and will begin to form
rescue teams for dreams deferred

when the clock strikes me
some people will have to die

when the clock strikes me
children will find it cool
to be playful
and adults will find it worthwhile
to play like children

when the clock strikes me
the story of jesus
will simply be told as a children's story
where his name will be replaced with the name of every newborn
and families will celebrate every birth
as the rebirth of the messiah
and all people will think of all people
as chosen

when the clock strikes me
buddha will still be laughing

when the clock strikes me
the powers of being will prevail
over the powers that be

when the clock strikes me
thugs and poets will laugh at themselves
businessmen will serve humanity

world leaders will turn to their mothers for advice
and mothers will turn
to their daughters
for inspiration

when the clock strikes me
something will be different
something will feel completely random
the moment will feel slightly eerie
the unexpected will change places
with the predictable
and life will truly feel like an adventure

when the clock strikes me
no alarm will sound
green streaks of light may mark the night
stray cats may purr
and rub themselves against your ankle
many people will double blink
and pinch themselves
and those who normally don't
will notice the moon in broad daylight

when the clock strikes me
it will strike you too
and even your cynicism
and concrete analysis
will be brought into question
as the most beautiful strange
makes herself/himself known to you

when the clock strikes me
your loved ones
will glow with the beauty
of complete strangers
and you will have to
reintroduce yourself to your parents
for they will have never met
the side of you that dances
just because you found an old recipe

when the clock strikes me
you will be sitting someplace
alone or with another
reading this
and we will both
go off unexpectedly
spines will tingle
eyes will water

and this moment
on this plane
in my favourite jeans
with jimi blaring in my ears
will become NOW
and FOREVERMORE
and more eyes will water
for they will know
and they will feel it
and live it
and they will turn
to the stranger beside them
and say "you have to read this"
and this will go down in history
as one of those moments
when you knew
that nothing would ever
be the same.

Finally got my laptop back, so can get photos off of my camera etc.

Except I don't have any sufficiently interesting photos to post. I'll find something soon though.

It's mostly exams now, I hate revision and basically haven't done any. I watched the entire Tremors series of films rather than trying to read or go over my notes.

 

For now, be content with this, my assessed essay (3,118 words, the only thing worse is the exam at 9:30am on a saturday). OK, so I'm just filling space, but screw it, need something to make it look like I still know how to use a computer...

 

Compare and Contrast the Concept of Tolerance Expressed by John Locke and by the Radical Factions of the English Civil War.

 

            John Locke and the various radicals of the English Civil War both argue that tolerant societies are desirable and even necessary. Their reasons vary somewhat and the resulting theories seem dependant on the historical context. Amidst the chaos of the civil war various groups and sects arose proposing radical, even revolutionary, ideas based on freedom and an egalitarian ideal. Locke however was writing some time after the civil war, when it was still a piece of recent history but after the Restoration and the destruction of the Commonwealth. These differences have a definite shaping effect on the writers and their rhetoric; different stresses are placed on the function of freedom and the structure of the (often utopian) society they are contemplating. There are also differences in their actions; Locke, by and large, was primarily a theorist and had little active involvement in running a tolerant society, people such as the writers of the Leveller tracts and Gerrard Winstanley of the Diggers however were intimately involved with the social upheavals of their time and the events surrounding them. These factors and their own rhetorical styles mean that the theorists involved have quite different concepts of toleration and of how those concepts should be applied.

            The origins of these concepts can be broadly defined as coming from above or below. Locke’s ideas could be characterised as reflecting the ‘radical’ elements of the elite and middling classes of his time; tolerant and relatively open but not in any way aimed at shattering the social order. Locke was born into a relatively well off family and studied medicine at Oxford. His father fought for the Parliamentarians in the civil war, and this may have influenced some of his later works. His earliest works were authoritarian in nature, possibly due to the fact that they were written in the early 1660s, very soon after the Restoration. In these early works he argued against toleration and sympathised with the Cavalier argument that groups such and the Levellers and Quakers were responsible for the civil war. It was after he began to work for the Earl of Shaftsbury, a dissenter, that he began to argue for a more tolerant society and for a separation of church and state. Under the influence of Shaftsbury’s circle and as a reaction to an increasingly authoritarian rule (under Charles II) Locke’s ideas developed into an expression of a society in which all groups could exist so long as they followed the rule of law. His flight to Holland after the 1683 Rye House Plot and subsequent exposure to tolerant, continental Arminians (unlike the English-style Arminians such as the Archbishop Laud so hated by the Leveller John Lilburne[1]) also influenced his thought, immersed as he was in a society more committed to tolerance (admittedly in the interests of economic prosperity) and it was during this time that he wrote his Epistola de Tolerantia (Letter Concerning Toleration).

            The ideas of the minor radical factions of the English Civil War however stem from the lower classes of their society, and even the “masterless men” who so frightened the elites at the time. The casual labourers in the towns (particularly large cities such as London) and the rural poor, pushed into the life of the itinerant peddler by expanding populations and poor markets, were both susceptible to radicalisation by the promises of increased liberty under a commonwealth.[2] Dissatisfaction with the old order would have been worse amongst those who suffered from the enclosure of land, mainly tenants, leaseholders and copyholders, who due to the enclosures would have been further radicalised against the gentry and the rigid social order that kept everyone in their place. Increases in prices would have contributed too, especially in the cities where food had to be bought rather than grown; “from 1500 to 1640 prices rose between 400 and 650 per cent,” according to Howard Shaw, “with food prices in the lead; wages lagged behind.”[3] Small traders were also affected; the Digger leader Gerrard Winstanley was a failed clothier-turned-hired labourer whose religious convictions caused him to write pamphlets.[4] In addition wandering merchants and carters served to spread radical ideals, “especially at country inns and taverns used by itinerants” which Christopher Hill describes as centres of discussion, and notes Professor A. Everitt’s observation that “troops were normally billeted in the inns of provincial towns” with the obvious and plausible implication that such contact may have served to inculcate radical ideas in members of the army.[5]

            The Levellers seem to have been a hybrid of the common man and the minor gentry – their leaders came from well-off backgrounds; Lilburne “was a gentleman by birth” and Walwyn “the second son of a well-to-do landowner”. They also had strong connections with the army; Lilburne entered as a Captain and is likened to “a barrackroom lawyer” for his tendency to pick arguments on behalf of the weak and once “played an important part in the cashiering of his own commanding officer”. The Levellers as a group grew out of the Independents, a fact that highlights their inherent antagonism towards the Presbyterians and the Episcopal system in general – an antagonism further rooted in the resentment of tithes for the upkeep of ministers and the belief that ministers should be paid by the voluntary contributions of their congregations. The Levellers themselves tended to hold a wide range of beliefs, some were influenced by Puritan theology, others were described as Quakers or Anabaptists. Richard Overton is described by Shaw as “provid[ing] the strongest Leveller connexion with continental Anabaptism” and as holding near-heretical beliefs, such as a denial of the immortality of the soul, which “shocked many Independents as well as Presbyterians.”[6] This eclectic collection of beliefs and personalities (Lilburne was an extrovert, Walwyn a quiet intellectual and John Wildman had a love of “shady backstairs plots”[7]) led not only to a firm belief in toleration – in some cases even for Roman Catholics – but also a republican materialism and desire for a radically new constitution.

            Locke’s theories on government are primarily based on the right to a person’s enjoyment of personal property, [8] and so his Letter Concerning Toleration bases itself on the separation of Church and State and tolerance under the law (in order to protect these rights). The religious alignment of the magistrate, he argues, should not affect that magistrate’s administration of the law. Neither should the beliefs of the rulers affect how they make those laws. To violate these concepts, he argues, goes against both the civil interest and morality; toleration is “the chief characteristical mark of the true church.”[9] He challenges the typical rationale for persecution in the interests of the persecuted (that their tormentors are trying to ‘save their souls’) by pointing out that they do not “persecute, torment, destroy and kill … upon pretence of religion” members of their own communion.

 

For if it be out of a principle of charity, as they pretend, and love to men’s souls, that they deprive them of their estates, maim them with corporal punishments, starve and torment them in noisome prisons, and in the end even take away their lives; I say, if all this be done merely to make men Christians, and procure their salvation, why then do they suffer ‘whoredom, fraud, malice and such like enormities’… to predominate so much and abound amongst their own flocks and people?[10]

 

This demonstrates not only the previous point but also an element of universality in Locke’s thought which could be considered to be a precondition of tolerance. The phrase “deprive them of their estates” also indicates Locke’s presupposition of the existence of private property, something which some Civil War radicals, such as Winstanley, had tried to question. His idea of the constitution of the state is similar to that of Hobbes, in that “the Commonwealth seems to me to be a society of men constituted only for the procuring, preserving and advancing of their own civil interests”; civil interests being “life, liberty, health, and indolence of body; and the possession of outward things….” He considers every individual in a society to be entitled to these things, and it is the duty of the magistrate to ensure that this entitlement is ensured and that a person that violates “the laws of public justice and equity” is punished.[11] The magistrate’s powers do not “extend to the salvation of souls” however, a point Locke reiterates and builds upon saying “the care of souls is not committed to the civil magistrate, any more than to other men.” This attitude could be considered to be a reflection of the Protestant idea of a personal search for God; he even explicitly states that “true and saving religion consists in the inward persuasion of the mind, without which nothing can be acceptable to God.” A magistrate cannot force someone to convert since, though they might profess to believe what the magistrate wants them to, since “such is the nature of the understanding, that it cannot be compelled to the belief of any thing by outward force.” In other words belief in a certain system must come from within.[12] He then again returns to the subject of sectarian conflict by pointing out that “every church is orthodox to itself; to others erroneous or heretical.” No group of believers has any claim to holding the ‘right’ way of thinking, since every other group does the same, and to bring this conflict into the civil sphere, that is for a group to try to

 

acquire any right of jurisdiction over those that are not joined with it. And therefore peace, equity, and friendship, are always mutually to be observed by particular churches, in the same manner as by private persons, without any pretence of superiority or jurisdiction over one another.[13]

 

It is in the interests of securing this peace that the magistrate cannot exercise his powers to compel people to accept certain religious beliefs if they do not wish to. By ensuring peace between all parties Locke’s vision of a commonwealth survives, sectarian violence is diminished since their ideological quarrels cannot become struggles for political dominance (such as the religious tensions which arose in Scotland and eventually unfolded into the Civil War) and therefore tolerance is maintained, as a building block for the commonwealth. Excluded from toleration however are those “that deny the being of God”; atheists, thinks Locke, are not bound by “promises, covenants, and oaths”. “The taking away of God… dissolves all” in his opinion, and therefore his idea of toleration is one of freedom of conscience but not freedom of thought.[14] The impression given by Locke’s rhetoric is that mankind ought to have the freedom to worship how they see fit, but have the duty to worship in some way, and that this can only be achieved with careful limits on, and a separation of, the powers of church and state.

            The Leveller concept of toleration is founded on a belief in equality and freedom, that every man should have the same opportunities, regardless of his beliefs. In amongst the constitutional decrees in An Agreement of the People comes article ten, which restricts the representative body from making any laws

 

whereby to compell by penalties or otherwise any person to any thing in or about matters of faith, Religion or Gods worship or to restrain any person from the profession of his faith, or to exercise of Religion according to his Conscience, nothing having caused more distractions, and heart burnings in all ages, then persecution and molestation for matters of Conscience in and about Religion.[15]

 

Like Locke they believed in the right to private property, and defended themselves on this ground at Putney,[16] but it was an equal right to property. No one was to be more privileged because of their rank or personal wealth: article thirteen prohibits “priviledges or exemptions of any persons from the Lawes, or from the ordinary course of Legall proceedings” on account of status. Debtors are also shown tolerance of a sort, the Levellers call it “both unchristian in itself, and no advantage to the Creditors” to imprison a man for debts owed, a view that seems not have been shared by some later generations. Indeed Locke makes no real consideration for changes to civil law either; his assumption seems to be that civil law and its punishments will remain the same in his ideal commonwealth. In fact it was the constitutional changes the Levellers demanded that were Cromwell’s first point of objection at Putney.[17] There is also a noticeable usage of religious rhetoric in the Leveller’s writings, something they share with other writers of their time such as Winstanley; Shaw even described it as “the Age of Faith”.[18] The Agreement of the People opens with a quote from the book of Matthew, and there are frequent supplications to God; expressions of their hopes for good fortune that are directed to God. For example the Leveller writers close the Agreement by saying they are “thankfull unto God for this blessed opportunity” to outline their concept of a free, equal and tolerant commonwealth. There are limits, however, to the level of tolerance their commonwealth would extend. Article twenty six declares the representative “shall not disable any person from bearing any office in the Commonwealth, for any opinion or practice in Religion excepting such as maintain the Popes (or other forraign) Supremacy.” Therefore Catholics are not to be tolerated, so long as they continue to obey the authority of the Pope, something that Locke would later hint at when he warned of sects that owed allegiance to other leaders outside of their nation.[19] Another restriction to the Levellers’ concepts is their use of the phrase “free people of England” and their reiteration of the fact they are speaking specifically of the English nation. This does not necessarily lead to an intolerant attitude to foreigners or a removal of their rights, but it is clear where the primary concerns of the Levellers lie. The Levellers’ concept of toleration is, at bottom, based on an egalitarian principle and the desire to ensure the rights of the people are protected, albeit this concept comes with a specifically English focus whereas the concept expressed by Locke appears to be a general theory on the workings of a tolerant, unspecified commonwealth.

            A mention should be made of the radical ideas contemporary to the Levellers; the Civil War era gave rise to various groups who spoke out for a new kind of society. Like the Levellers these groups and individuals based their ideas on equality and freedom. Some, like Winstanley of the Diggers, sought to make a heaven on earth, and indeed that is what they set out to do when they began to dig the earth on St. George’s Hill.[20] Winstanley, in his Law of Freedom even extended to women equal say in the matter of who they married and ensured that a man would have to marry a woman he got pregnant.[21] Everyone was to be considered an equal and left at peace, so long as they helped in the community, though is suggested that women were still treated differently – being given different tasks and taught different things.[22] These ideas were based on a wider Quaker tradition of the time, as evidenced by Winstanley calling St. George’s Hill “George Hill” and he makes frequent references to his own fervently held beliefs – the very argument of The True Levellers’ Standard Advanced is his desire to build a utopian ‘heaven on earth.’ Christopher Hill suggests that such ideas may not have been uncommon, and quotes Professor M. Barg’s suggestion that the Diggers “were only the visible tip of the iceberg of True Levellerism.”[23] Though not all Quakers were radicals (and not all radicals were Quakers) the phenomenon of these highly progressive collectives seems to have been fairly widespread, and often born from a deeply held religious conviction and tolerance that rivalled the Protestant ethic of Cromwell and his supporters.

            Certain key differences exist in the theories described by these different people. All base their concept of tolerance on the idea that people should be free and that persecution is a violation of people’s fundamental rights. Yet whilst Locke argues that to let the citizens of a nation live as they see fit ensures peace and keeps society together (similar to the workings of Hobbes’ view of the social contract in which society survives by means of an agreement to respect one another’s rights) the Levellers and their contemporaries saw freedom and tolerance as being good in their very nature; the unequal property rights (or even the very existence of property) were a barrier to that freedom and intolerance was a barrier to creating the most benefit for all. The theories all contain the idea that toleration is based on freedom but it is perhaps Locke who offers the most accurate critique of that desired freedom. The Civil War radical were more idealistic however, and their theories contain an element of hope for mankind that Locke seems to lack. In the end Locke’s view of tolerance is the freedom to worship how one sees fit and the view held by the Levellers, Winstanley and their contemporaries is one of freedom in all (or almost all) things.

 

 

 

Bibliography

 

Bennett, M., The Civil Wars 1637-1653, (Sutton Publishing, Stroud, 1998)

 

Berens, L. H., The Digger Movement in the Days of the Commonwealth as revealed in the writings of Gerrard Winstanley, (The Merlin Press, London, 1961)

 

Dunn, J., ‘The Claim to Freedom of Conscience: Freedom of Speech, Freedom of Thought, Freedom of Worship’, in From Persecution to Toleration. The Glorious Revolution and Religion in England, Ole Peter Grell, Jonathan Israel, Nicholas tyacke (eds.), (Oxford, 1991)

 

Hill, C., The World Turned Upside Down, radical ideas during the English revolution, Penguin Edition (Penguin, London, 1991)

 

Locke, J., ‘A Letter Concerning Toleration’, in John Locke’s Letter on Toleration in Focus, John Morton, Susan Mendus (eds.), (London, 1991)

 

Purkiss, D., The English Civil War, a people’s history, (Harper Perennial, London, 2006)

 

Shaw, H., The Levellers (Longmans, London, 1968)

 

Tully, J., An Approach to Political Philosophy: Locke in Contexts, (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1993)

 

Winstanley, G., Gerrard Winstanley, Selections From His Works, Leonard Hamilton (ed.), (Cresset Press, London, 1944)

 

 

 

Internet 1: http://www.constitution.org/eng/agreepeo.htm (accessed 27/05/07) An Agreement of the Free People of England

 

Internet 2: http://courses.essex.ac.uk/cs/cs101/putney.htm (accessed 28/05/07) The Putney Debates

Damn computer is still broken, being 'fixed' for the past month or so. Bastards.

The LCD broke, after all the fuss with the graphics card, so it had to be sent in to be replaced. No idea what's happening with the graphics card...

Also I've taken very few pictures in the intervening time.

 

Did you know... According to the recent coverage of the French elections in the International Herald Tribune, 6% is considered to be a "Landslide Victory". Typical Americana, tell 'em a socialist has lost and they'll be waving the tricolor as if "freedom fries" had never happened. (Sarkozy won 53 to 47 btw.)
Coverage of the election showed a Sarkozy supporter (suitably posing in front of a large manor house with immaculate lawns) saying he would make people "proud to be French, proud to be rich." Bitch. What about the poor? Ever seen La Haine?

 

OK, gonna bore you now but I need to pad this out.
This got me 75% again, and this time Ian was marking less generously...

Next one will be about the radical (proto-communist/anarchist) groups that arose during the English Civil War - Levellers, Ranters, Diggers etc.

In What Ways Were the Soviets Important to the Bolsheviks’ Seizure of Power?

 

            Following the February 1917 revolution two main centres of power sprang up: the Provisional Government and the Petrograd Workers and Soldiers Soviet; with the outbreak of the October revolution both were effectively silenced by the Bolsheviks. The Coalition Government of Kerensky was weak and easily overcome, but the Soviet (by this time its Executive had come to represent provincial soviets from across Russia),[1] with it’s stronger roots in the worker’s movements, would have been harder to overcome. The power, strengths and weaknesses of the soviets would have played a pivotal role in the Bolsheviks’ rise to power, their structure and composition influencing how they would or could deal with the Bolshevik ascension, as would the Bolsheviks’ attitude to the role of the soviet.

            The Bolsheviks had always maintained that the revolution could be brought about through the work of a small group of dedicated professional revolutionaries; the soviets therefore were not a part of their major plan. Instead the soviets seemed to be merely another part of the background on which the revolution would play out. In fact initially most Bolsheviks (other than Lenin) considered soviets and workers councils to be mere tools of the revolution rather than means of organising workers for government. The Bolshevik Karl Radek conceded in 1922 that “That the soviets were not only organisations fighting the bourgeois government but cells of the future organisation of proletarian power was not recognised by the Russian Marxists, let alone those in Europe.”[2] Most Bolsheviks were “oblivious” to Lenin’s burgeoning “council theory” according to Anweiler, who contests that his ideas

had no significant effect on Bolshevik strategy and tactics, which saw soviets merely as “instruments of strikes and insurrection.”[3]

Even Lenin, witnessing the near-success of the soviet movements of 1905 and approving, considered soviets more of a vehicle for Bolshevism. Mainly as a way of combating “anarcho-syndicalist tendencies” he believed that to keep order in the soviets they should “subdue [them] by subordinating the soviets to the party”[4] reducing them to mouth-pieces for Bolshevik members. There are also inconsistencies however, since Lenin also supposedly requested, by way of a small pamphlet, the withdrawal of the slogan ‘all power to the soviets’ during the sixth party congress in July 1917.[5] These attitudes would suggest that, at least to begin with, Bolshevik participation in and courting of the soviets was to them a means of spreading their influence rather than integral to the building of a Bolshevik-style new order. It was only well after they had gained control (particularly in the period of Stalinism) that the Bolsheviks publicised their (imagined) control over the strikes of February 1917 and the resulting, spontaneous, formation of soviets in the factories.[6]

            Though control of the soviets was not deemed critical to the Bolshevik cause in reality they must have realised at some level that support, at least, would be necessary to gain control of Russia, even if that support were not then used to transform the soviets into the primary organs of power in Russia. To this end they participated, like any other socialist group, in the soviet system, vying for support. In fact Bolshevik support within the Petrograd soviet was initially very small, the Mensheviks and Social Revolutionaries claiming most of the support. There were, however, ‘borough soviets’ in which the Bolsheviks were able to claim more support. They then used this support to build a power base, in part by calling “a conference of borough soviets… to counterbalance” the workers and soldiers council.[7] Even by June, with the advent of the first All-Russian Congress of Soviets, the Bolsheviks’ support had not increased much further and they were still a minority party. The Social Revolutionaries (being in Petrograd the favourite of the army and in other areas that of the peasants) held the majority, closely followed by the Mensheviks. There were also various minor or nationalist groups, as well as a small number of delegates with no party affiliation, which Carr suggests indicates that the political allegiances of more remote regions and towns were not yet settled.[8] This is corroborated by the eventual voting figures for the short-lived Constituent Assembly, which show that the Bolsheviks enjoyed support around the capital but in the more rural areas and amongst the military the Social Revolutionaries were more dominant.[9] The soviets therefore remained, by-and-large, behind the government whilst the Bolshevik minority agitated for power to be handed to the soviets. Then, in August 1917, Kornilov launched his attempted coup, and the government’s position was discredited, it being now seen as vacillating and endangering Russia and the workers’ councils. The net result was to increase support in the Bolsheviks, the Mensheviks and Social Revolutionaries refusing to break their support for the provisional government. Bolsheviks now had control of the Petrograd and Moscow soviets and SR support amongst peasants was beginning to waiver due to their ineffectiveness in dealing with “land-hunger”[10] (whilst the Bolsheviks promised the transference of farm land from the landlords to the peasants). It was this control, particularly in the Petrograd soviet, that allowed the Bolsheviks to seize power in the name of the soviets on October 25^th, without consulting the executive committee of the All-Russia Congress.

            The soviet organisational structure also aided the Bolshevik bid for power, the eventual bureaucratisation of the soviet structure inevitably giving a great deal of control over to the executive committee. Anweiler stresses this characteristic within the Petrograd soviet, and it was under this council’s supposed authority Trotsky (now its president due to increased Bolshevik support) ordered the dissolution of the Provisional Government.[11] Within its first two months the Petrograd soviet had rested most of its power in its executive, which became largely independent of the deputies elected to the council.[12] Furthermore the soviets of 1917 were not the same as those set up, more spontaneously, in 1905. The February revolution sparked action amongst the workers, but the first to organise any far-reaching organisation were intellectuals and members of socialist groups, “thus from the beginning the socialist intelligentsia decisively influenced the workers and soldiers deputies.”[13] This framework was just right for Bolshevik control, once they had, in the Petrograd soviet, gained the Executive council they could declare their actions were in the name of the soviets. The result of the Bolshevik uprising and following symbolic handing over of power to the soviets turned them into “merely servants of the party and a cover-up for Bolshevik dictatorship” due to the clever timing of the revolution: immediately before the Second All-Russian Congress of Soviets.[14] Some groups (primarily the right wings of the Social Revolutionaries and Mensheviks) walked out in protest at the fighting, others left after arguments with the Bolsheviks over a compromise proposal to end the fighting, which left Lenin and his party with an overwhelming majority allowing them to use the All-Russia Congress to legalise their own revolution.

            The result of Bolshevik control over the main organs of two of the highest soviet organisations – the All-Russia Congress and the Petrograd soviet – was to put Russia into their hands. Though the Russia-wide soviet structure allowed individual councils to dissent (in other words, refuse to recognise the Bolsheviks’ legitimacy) they were dealt with during the civil war.[15] Still, this fact would confirm that control of more that just Petrograd and the soviet Congress were needed to take Russia completely. Whilst rhetorically Lenin expressed the need for support from the soviets he stressed control over them and remained mostly silent on the issue for almost a decade before the 1917 revolutions.[16] In addition when it came to it the Bolshevik party simply overruled objections in the soviet and dissolved the constituent assembly when it failed to return a favourable result which was the final move in consolidating their grasp on power. The ambivalent attitude to the soviets in the original Bolshevik plans was therefore swept away in the reality of the situation; much of the work of the October uprising being a hasty reaction to the opportunity presented at the time rather than part of a grand scheme (though Lenin approved of this ‘momentary deviation’ from Marx’s historical progression). This runs counter to the position put forward by the Bolsheviks immediately after the fact.[17] The end result would seem to be that though the Bolshevik party appears to have initially underestimated the power offered by the soviets to a group ruthless and willing enough to undermine the democratic basis of the soviet system they nevertheless exploited it as a resource to the fullest extent. This made the soviets and gaining prominence within them more important to the Bolshevik success than their own party-based organisations or appeal to the mass of the population.