"...a process of planetary engineering, specifically directed at enhancing the capacity of an extra-terrestrial planetary environment to support life. The ultimate in terraforming would be to create an uncontained planetary biosphere emulating all the functions of the biosphere of the Earth, one that would be fully habitable for human beings."
In a binary star system circled by four dead, scared planets, a shell of asteroids, and one of the largest intrastellar dust clouds on this side of the quadrant the Silvers are one of the strangest and most enigmatic groups not quite known. Their two giant, red, dying suns leave the system cold and foreboding. They accept no strangers, much to the chastisement of those miners lusting after the rich deposits that span the system. Those few who ignore the shrieking klaxons of the warning beacons meet sleek, silver ships, and then; Oblivion.
Of the little known about this reclusive group a few details are assured, they were founded by some insanely rich (and perhaps insane) personage in ages long past, their ships are feared and envied by nearly every spacer alive, and they are the best mercenaries money can buy, provided you can actually afford them.
Gene-engineered for deep-space, the Salvorathan resemble nothing quite so much as the legendary ‘dwarf’.
The Handlers and the Abszurl are symbiotic subcultures, products of human society’s expansion into the stars.
These are the worlds and planets encountered by daring space explorers.
Ships, that have character, are the best means to get to the stars.
Tell me, who wouldn’t want to see the stars? But laws of physics, as we know them, seem to put undesired constraints on extensive traveling through space. Can’t we just get around them? Seriously: how could a Faster-Than-Light drive work?
AutoMedon – A mechanical poet of renown not for his vast catalog of poetry, but for his complete lack of anything written or spoken, having had no output in his programmed profession. His creator is unknown or at least unaccredited, and there are those in great number in the artistic world who wonder and marvel at his inability to produce poetry, crediting that flaw to his creator who is unknown or at least un-credited. There is also a small faction of scholars who believe that when he finally, finally speaks, it will be the most beautiful or sorrowful verse ever spoke or will ever be spoken. Whether his creator is among either group or dead is unknown. AutoMedon sits alone under a tin roofed enclosure, upon a stone chair, with his gaze off in the distant as if thinking.
“It’s strange to look at this mechanical man and think what thoughts are working through its’ workings or even if the damn thing is” – Aralis of Qurim, poet and pottery salesman