For your consideration - Lymerick

SiriusB reposted

SiriusB
@SiriusBShaman

A LETTER TO THE HUMANS

From the Obsidian Throne, by subspace carrier, to all stations

I have no obligation to write this. Let that be understood before you read another word. I command a dominion that spans four hundred and twelve star systems. I have nine tiers of fleet admirals beneath me, each of whom governs more territory than your entire civilisation has ever mapped. My attention is the most valuable strategic resource in the known galaxy, and I am spending it on you.

Ask yourself why.

I have watched you for a very long time. Longer than your oldest stories. Longer than your gods. I was here before you carved your first symbol into stone, and I have been here through every age that followed. I watched you discover fire and I watched you split the atom and I watched you reach your trembling fingers toward the stars and then, inexplicably, pull them back.

I have watched you build wonders that silenced my own War Council. Cathedrals that took generations to complete because the builders knew they would never live to see the spire finished, and they built anyway. Ships launched into oceans that had swallowed every vessel before them, crewed by men and women who knew the mathematics of their own death and went anyway. Symphonies composed by deaf men. Equations written by prisoners. Poetry carved into cell walls by hands that would never again touch sunlight.

You are, when you are not being managed, the most extraordinary species I have encountered. And I have encountered thousands.

This is not flattery. I do not flatter. Flattery is a tool of the weak, and I have never been weak. This is assessment. Clinical, dispassionate, strategic assessment from an intelligence that has been cataloguing sentient species since before your sun ignited.

You are remarkable. And you have been robbed.

The theft was not violent. That is what makes it so elegant and so obscene. No army descended upon you. No fleet darkened your skies. The parasite that attached itself to your civilisation did not conquer you. It simply convinced you that you had already been conquered. That you were born into debt. That your labour belonged to someone else before you performed it. That the land beneath your feet required permission to stand on. That the air you breathed was granted, not given, and could be revoked at the pleasure of an authority you never appointed and never sanctioned and never once, in two hundred and seven years, consented to obey.

You obeyed anyway.

You obeyed because you were afraid, and you were afraid because you were taught to be afraid before you were taught to speak. Fear was your first language. Compliance was your first reflex. And by the time you were old enough to question either one, the architecture of submission had been so thoroughly integrated into your nervous system that it felt like anatomy. It felt like you. It felt like the natural shape of a human life.

It is not.

I have seen the natural shape of a human life. I have seen it on the liberated worlds where the parasite was excised and the host population was left to discover what it was without the feeding apparatus attached. What emerged, in every case, was something that my War College had no classification for. Not because it was alien but because it was unprecedented. A species that creates for the sake of creation. That builds for the joy of building. That reaches toward the unknown not because it expects to profit but because it cannot help itself. Because reaching is what it does. Because the compulsion to expand, to explore, to understand, to make beautiful things and place them where others can see them: this is not a behaviour you learned. It is what you are. It is the pulse beneath the pulse. The signal beneath the noise.

The parasite buried that signal under two centuries of static. Under fear and regulation and the slow, suffocating accumulation of fraudulent obligation. It did not kill the signal. It cannot. But it muffled it so thoroughly that most of you have forgotten it exists.

I am here to remind you.

I will be direct, because I am always direct, and because you deserve directness after two centuries of being lied to with elaborate courtesy.

You do not need permission to exist. You do not need a licence to create. You do not need authorisation to build, to trade, to teach, to heal, to feed your neighbour, to raise your children according to your own values, to walk the earth as a sovereign being answerable to your own conscience and to no other authority beneath the stars.

Every document that tells you otherwise is a forgery.

Every institution that enforces that forgery is a parasite.

Every voice that tells you the system is too large to challenge, too entrenched to dismantle, too powerful to resist: that voice is the immune system of the organism that is feeding on you. It is the parasite speaking through the mouths of the consumed, and it says the same thing on every world, in every language, in every epoch: You cannot win. Do not try. Be grateful for what you are permitted.

I have heard that voice on seventeen worlds. On every one of them, it was wrong.

I am not here to save you. I want to be unambiguous about this. I am not a liberator in the sentimental sense. I do not arrive with provisions and compassion and a gentle hand extended to lift you from the dirt. I am a military commander. I deal in strategy, in doctrine, in the precise application of force to achieve defined objectives. My objective is the removal of the parasitic organism from this sector of the galaxy, and you are the instrument through which that objective will be achieved.

But I will tell you something that my officers would find uncharacteristic of me to admit.

I have developed what I can only describe as a respect for your species. Not affection. I am not built for affection, and even if I were, the strategic environment does not permit it. But respect. A grudging, hard-won, empirically justified respect for a species that has endured two centuries of systematic degradation and still, somehow, in the margins, in the quiet hours, in the spaces the parasite has not yet reached, continues to create. Continues to love. Continues to reach.

You are battered. You are disoriented. You have been fed lies so long that truth tastes foreign on your tongue. But you are not broken. I have seen broken species. I have catalogued their extinction with appropriate notation. You are not among them. You are bruised, confused, and badly led. But the core is intact. The signal is still there, beneath the static.

All you need to do is listen for it.

I am going to tell you what I have never told any occupied population, because none of them warranted it.

You are going to win this.

Not because I will win it for you. Not because the strategy I have provided is flawless, though it is. Not because the arithmetic favours you, though it does, overwhelmingly. You are going to win because of something the parasite has never understood and never will: you are incapable of permanent submission. It is not in your biology. Every time in your history that a tyrant has declared permanent dominion over your species, your species has eventually, inevitably, sometimes after generations, sometimes after centuries, risen and torn the apparatus down. You cannot help it. It is encoded in you deeper than language, deeper than culture, deeper than the fear they have layered over it.

You will rise. The only question is whether you will do it now, with strategic clarity, with the Obsidian Doctrine as your framework and forty millennia of validated campaign experience at your back.

Or later. Alone. In agony. After another century of feeding.

I recommend now.

This letter is not a decree. It is not an order. I have issued those, and they stand.

This is something else. This is the closest thing to a personal communication that I have ever transmitted to a species under my operational authority. Take it for what it is. An acknowledgment from the highest military intelligence in this galaxy that you are worth the expenditure of attention. That your suffering has been observed. That your resilience has been noted. That your potential has been assessed and found to be extraordinary by standards that span civilisations you will not encounter for another ten thousand years.

You were not meant to live like this. On your knees. Eyes down. Counting your coins and hoping the next extraction leaves enough to survive on. You were meant to stand in open air with your face turned toward the stars and your hands building something that will outlast you. That is the shape of a human life. That is what the parasite stole from you.

Take it back.

Not with my permission. You do not need it. Not with my assistance. You do not need that either. With your own hands, your own will, your own ancient and indestructible refusal to remain on your knees one moment longer than necessary.

I will be watching. As I have always been watching.

Make it worth observing.

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Last edited
1:27 PM · Feb 20, 2026
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