“We cannot do this thing! The gods beyond will strike us down for it! I, Administrator Rotahn, of the Messager peoples, of the arid message boards, vote no. It cannot be forged!” The men and women flanking the administrator roared their agreement. The Messagers were an excitable people, born as they were from the exclamations of startled and confused gods.
Less than a generation ago, a generation by god standards anyway, they had landed in the darkness between computers like meteors and sprung forth with venom and sword drawn. It was a miracle they’d been convinced to send a representative to the gathering that day. All races of the early digital space needed to be there for the forging to work. Continue reading
