Multiple assents appear via Network. Sarya watches from her room with growing rage, assigning a unique hatred to each and every person who has turned against her mother and sided with this bounty hunter. She doesn’t feel bad for this, not at all.
Sarya flicks a single finger through her Network overlay.
Like everything on Watertower, the quarters are built to house as wide a variety of beings as possible. The water can be delivered at any temperature between freezing and boiling. The atmosphere has nearly as large a range, and can be ordered with nearly any composition necessary. And, of course, there are the lights.
Instantly, with no transition, the common room switches to [Sunlight: Type F, Maximum]. The tiny video feed becomes a blazing white rectangle, and Sarya turns away, the purple afterimage following her gaze. At the same instant her heart leaps when she hears a giant’s bellow and the sound of chitin striking deck. Hood has done what no one does twice; he has lost sight of a Widow.
And then Sarya’s hands are clamped over her ears, and she is stumbling backward from her bedroom hatch. From the twin video feeds and through the reinforced material of the wall itself comes a rising shriek, a piercing scream of rage that ascends in frequency and volume to an unbearable level. It is a blade, a knife, a sound that has evolved over eons to strike fear in the hearts of prey across an entire solar system.
It is the hunting cry of the Widow.
“Mother!” shouts Sarya, but she cannot even hear herself. And then she is on her face, shoving her fingers in her ears and her body into the synthetic flooring. She’s heard stories of this, but never experienced it herself. The scream speaks to her own instincts, tells them to run, to hide, to drop and die. She can do nothing but flail her legs and try to dig herself through the deck and out of sight—
And then her senses shut down.
(“Welcome to Network!” revision 5600109c, intelligence Tier 1.8–2.5, F-type metaphors)
WELCOME TO THE REGISTRY!
Doubtless you’ve had many things to worry about over the past few centuries. Your species has/have recently discovered that you are not alone in the universe after all! Most societies are surprised to learn that they share a galaxy with approximately 1.4 million intelligent species. And after your shock and awe has worn off, you might be left wondering: how does a society so large keep track of everyone?
The answer is simple: the Network Registry.
HOW DOES IT WORK?
Every member of every Citizen species receives a Network registration. This is a public and permanent identifier that can be used for travel, communication, and a raft of other Network privileges. If your species becomes a Citizen, you will need to submit an official name for both your homeworld and species, both of which will be translated into Standard and entered into the Registry. However, there is one hiccup that affects nearly all entries.
Earth.
Now don’t get too excited, because that’s not your Earth. It can’t be, because approximately 99.994 percent of new species call their home planet by a name that translates into Standard as Earth.*1 Typically the name of the species is derived from this word as well and translates to “Earthers,” “Earth-dwellers,” “Earthlings,” etc. Because the Registry would be useless with 1.4 million species all named “Earthlings” who originated on “Earth,” species are asked to come up with new names before being granted Citizenship.*2
To get you started with some ideas, please see this message’s attachments. Included are the current Registry, plus the latest list of recently released names from Citizen species who have left the Network, are now extinct,*3 or both. Keep in mind that many first choices have been taken for millions of years, so if your first choice is similar in style to “The Courageous,” “The Gentle Ones,” “The Unstoppable,” etc., you may have trouble finding something in a reasonable time frame.
Now get to brainstorming!
*1 Given the fact that all species begin life far below tier one, it should not be surprising that they have usually named their birthplace some unimaginative variant on the phrase the ground. What is more surprising is the fact that every species seems bewildered that everyone else has done the same.
*2 Don’t worry! You can register your representation(s) of “Earth” and “Earthling” alongside your new official name. You’ll find that some species are referred to by their unofficial names even more often than the official ones.
*3 To discourage undesirable behavior in name claiming, e.g., genocide, please note that a species name must be dormant for 100,000 years in order to re-enter the registry.
“Get…up,” hisses a voice somewhere up above. It fights its way through ringing ears and into a battered head. Sarya rises to one knee and nearly keels over from the overpowering stench in the air. Widow pheromones, hot metal, burning insulation, leaking coolant, goddess knows what else. She falls to her hands and knees and retches.
“Up,” repeats the voice. She is hoisted to her feet by a collection of very hard, very sharp implements. There is nothing at all soft about her mother right now. “You will carry this,” hisses the voice. A satchel is thrown over her shoulders and tightened mercilessly.
“Hey, that corporate ship is all docked now,” says Helper’s voice from the ceiling. “Network says they’re looking for somebody, which I’m pretty sure I predicted. There’s a big public announcement that everybody’s supposed to cooperate if they run into—”
“Enough, Helper,” says Sarya. She rises, still shaky, from her hands and knees.
“A corporate ship?” hisses Shenya the Widow. She tilts her head, as she always does when she’s using her Network implant. “Searching Watertower? What corporation?”
“Oh, some deep-space archaeological firm,” says Helper. “Let me look it up real quick—”
And then Shenya the Widow’s blades slip out from under her and spark across the floor. She lands with a disturbing crack and a furious hiss, limbs swinging and scrabbling for purchase. The battle has apparently not left Shenya the Widow unscathed.
“Off, Helper,” hisses Sarya as she stumbles backward out of range. She leans against the doorframe and takes a breath, her ears still ringing. She very nearly offers to help her mother, but she squashes the impulse. Her mother will do this on her own, or not at all. And then she will tell the story in the future, of how Shenya the Widow needed no help to deal with a bounty hunter many times her size. She will work those scars into every conversation, and she will be insufferable about it.