Paralysis of PowerThe dawn of 0010 arrived not with the quiet optimism of peace, but with the sharp scent of ambition hanging in the air. In the cramped, echoing chamber of the House of Representatives, the first vote of the year already hinted at the tone to come.
On 8 January, HSCR000059 was tabled. Orphne Argyron, the scientist in charge of the laser research, was tasked to fully exploit the ruins' knowledge of the Spinal Mount application for the newly completed 10cm laser research. The term “spinal mount” carried a certain thrill among militarists, as the idea of an immense beam emitter running the length of a ship’s frame, capable of crippling an enemy in a single strike, was too good to pass on.
The debate was short but barbed. Pacifists argued that the technology’s very nature tethered it to aggressive postures, while Militarists dismissed such qualms as the naïveté of those who’d never seen a hostile contact closing in. The vote passed 334 to 213. The chamber’s applause was restrained; even supporters knew this was not just an upgrade in armament, but a declaration of intent.
Barely weeks later, on 28 February, the completion of further fuel-saving methods prompted HSCR000060, an appeal for a better capacitor recharge rate to match the laser’s growing appetite. This time, the numbers were overwhelming: 444 for, 103 against. Energy efficiency was a language all factions understood, though each translated it differently. Militarists saw sustained firepower, Trade envisioned longer trade runs, and the Civilian Administration welcomed fewer maintenance cycles.
But harmony, as ever, was fleeting. On 9 April, a discovery stirred the chamber. Among the dusty halls of a partially collapsed ruin, another intact Research Lab had been recovered, a fully functional facility, untouched by the centuries. Atalanta Chiron, already the quiet architect behind the Federation’s energy doctrines, moved for it to be assigned to her capacitor recharge research. HSCR000061 was rejected outright, 133 to 414. The Majority benches claimed the focus was too narrow, and that Chiron was consolidating too scientific influence under her circle.
The next day, a proposal emerged instead from the opposition: divert the lab to minimum engine size research. This, too, failed (130 to 417). In two days, the House had rejected both major camps’ visions. The chamber’s air thickened with a stale kind of frustration, the sense of a government in paralysis.
It was President Wilder who broke the impasse. On 11 April, he tabled HSCR000063, proposing a bilateral effort in Trans-Newtonian cargo shuttle development. This was no grand leap in weaponry or propulsion; it was infrastructure, the humble connective tissue of a growing Federation. Yet it passed 410 to 137, precisely because it was unthreatening to any faction’s ambitions. For one day, unity felt possible again.
Midway through 0010, the Federation’s exploratory teams working the deepest sections of the pre-Fall ruins struck something extraordinary. Buried under strata of collapsed metal corridors and fused glass, they uncovered a storage vault reinforced to a degree that even modern TN alloy cutters struggled to breach. Inside, among crates of degraded sensor arrays and corroded structural supports, lay a single object on a cradle of shock-absorbing gel: a Jump Point Stabilization Module.
It was far smaller than the myths had imagined, no more than six meters long, but the density of the device and the faint hum from its core made it seem as if it carried the weight of an entire era. Its purpose was clear from the markings etched into its housing: a pre-Fall engineering marvel that could anchor a volatile natural jump point into a permanent, stable corridor between star systems.
News of the find hit the House like a gravity spike. The Trade faction saw it as the first step toward an interstellar economy, a literal gateway to new markets, resources, and opportunities beyond Sol. Militarists saw something else entirely, a vulnerability. To them, stabilizing a jump point before the Federation could defend both ends was an engraved invitation to the unknown, potentially hostile civilizations waiting on the other side.
The President tried to keep the matter contained, classifying most technical details and restricting physical access to the module, but secrecy was porous. By the time the House reconvened for the September sessions, the Trade bloc had drafted a formal motion to immediately begin research into Jump Point Theory.
The debate was volcanic. Trade representatives painted visions of glittering trade routes between stars, of entire worlds supplying raw materials for Earth’s industry. They accused the Militarists of myopia, of clinging to Earth like a frightened child clutches a blanket. Militarists countered with darker rhetoric, that any jump route opened prematurely was a strategic noose, and that the Trade faction would happily slip it over humanity’s neck for the promise of profit.
When the vote came, the Militarists’ fear carried the day: HSCR000064 failed, 201 to 346.
In the aftermath, the Militarists attempted to temper their victory with what they decided to extend an olive branch. HSCR000064-B proposed that the theory could be studied academically, without touching, activating, or dismantling the recovered module. On paper, this was a concession. In practice, it was a carefully written leash, ensuring no operational jump capability could be reached without further votes.
The Trade bloc saw through it instantly. Hektor Alpheus, 27 years old, analytical and energetic new floor leader for the party, famously rose during the debate and declared:
To study a bridge without crossing it is the indulgence of a child staring at a locked door. Knowledge without use is dust.
The motion failed again.
For two days, the House sat in a kind of bitter gridlock. Rumours swirled in the corridors of side deals, vote trades, and even the possible sabotage of the module itself. The latter was never proven, though the National Intelligence HQ, led by Penelope Achlys, a 43-year-old atheist and unattractive academic woman who served in the agency for over 20 years, quietly increased armed oversight of the vault.
It was Wilder again who finally broke the deadlock, bypassing the jump dispute entirely. On 29 September, he tabled a new motion to continue research into better power and propulsion systems, a field less glamorous than jump theory, but vital to both factions’ long-term goals. Faster ships meant better defences for the Militarists, faster trade runs for the Trade bloc. The motion passed 324 to 223, a rare compromise in a season of factional warfare.
Still, the scars of the jump point fight remained. By year’s end, the module was still under armed guard in a secure vault. Officially, it was preserved for “future study.” Unofficially, it had become a symbol of the Federation’s failure to dream boldly for the Trade; for the Militarists, of their vigilance in holding the line. And somewhere in the shadows, in labs far from the House’s oversight, whispers claimed that work on understanding the module’s inner workings had already begun.
The year 0011 began with renewed momentum. On 2 January, HSCR000066 passed 304 to 243, boosting the Maximum Engine Power Modifier by 25%. In practical terms, this meant the Federation could now design ships faster and more agile than any in its short history. Faction leaders whispered of new roles such craft could play, some defensive, others less so.
The mood soured on 8 January. A proposal seeking to master a newly discovered particle weapon recovered from the ruins failed 143 to 404. The rejection was partly political, some feared handing the Militarists a weapon they could dominate the fleet’s doctrine with, and partly moral. The weapon’s original schematics hinted at its potential use in planetary sieges.
On 9 January, the President called for a re-vote, but with a personal stake: if it failed, he would resign. The chamber, for all its partisan fractures, balked at the prospect of a power vacuum. The motion passed 372 to 175.
However, the secured passage of HSCR000067-B had not brought relief. Instead, it crystallised a grim truth: the Federation’s government was frozen. Every vote, every motion, every decision from President Wilder now carried the weight of potential collapse. Opposition forces lurked like predators, eager to topple the coalition at the first misstep. From that day forward, the corridors of power hummed not with optimism, but with caution, calculation, and barely disguised fear.
For months, Wilder’s hand was forced to the safest paths. On 30 May, HSCR000068 was tabled, proposing the continuation of research into Maximum Engine Power Modifiers. This was an uncontroversial, technical field, unlikely to inflame factional passions, and it passed 447 to 100. The vote offered a momentary reprieve, a quiet signal that the government could still function, even if only on the narrowest of technical threads. Yet even this modest victory reminded all present of how fragile the coalition had become: the machinery of state now advanced not on ambition, but on survival.
The Federation’s industrial metamorphosis pressed onward. By 7 June, the conversion of Conventional Industry to Refineries was complete. Construction factories and Mines were still strained under ongoing conversion projects, and the government, wary of another confrontation, decided against reallocating the 10% of free production. The decision to leave capacity lower than optimal was a testament to political caution: any aggressive reallocation could have shattered the coalition entirely. Efficiency had become a secondary concern; stability was the only metric that mattered.
By mid-August, the delicate art of compromise had become standard procedure. Freed research laboratories offered a dangerous opportunity for another motion, tabled on 15 August, proposing that laboratories be reassigned only to existing projects to avoid internal conflict. The motion passed, signalling that even as the majority struggled for cohesion, the factions had learned how to govern just enough to survive. Every concession was a carefully measured breath of life for a coalition teetering on the edge.
October brought both relief and demonstration of political leverage. The unexpected completion of Turret Tracking Speed research, thanks to some components discovered in the ruins, freed two laboratories, and the majority seized the moment to appease the Trade faction. HSCR000070 assigned these laboratories to the Trans-Newtonian Shuttle project, passing 413 to 134. In one gesture, the coalition reinforced its technological momentum while simultaneously buying the Trade bloc a token of influence, a fragile pact to maintain the precarious balance of power.
Yet even these minor concessions could not mask the growing estrangement. By late autumn, Trade leaders, frustrated at being pushed further and further from the centre of power, publicly announced that they would no longer cooperate with the Federalists and Militarists soon. The declaration was blunt, leaving no room for misinterpretation: the Trade faction would chart its course, and any further attempts to marginalise them would be met with political obstruction. The message rippled through the chamber, a stark reminder that the coalition’s survival was temporary and that the year ahead would bring new struggles.
To signal stability, and perhaps to soothe both factions’ fears of long-term manoeuvring, Wilder announced that he would not seek re-election. The gesture was more than ceremonial; it allowed the coalition to navigate the year’s final months without the spectre of presidential ambition influencing every vote. By December, the Federation’s factories, research laboratories, and infrastructure stood ready; elections would come, but the government, against all odds, had endured.
While the political machinery of the Federation laboured under frozen coalition dynamics, the engines of technological and industrial progress ran on a different track: the systematic exploitation of pre-Fall ruins. From the very start of 0010, Federation survey teams and engineering corps scoured abandoned sites, turning centuries-old remnants into living assets for the fledgling state.
The material recovery was staggering. By the end of 0011, the Federation had added, beyond its starting infrastructure, 31 Research Facilities, 3 Ground Force Construction Complexes, 30 Construction Factories, 8 Ordnance Factories, 1 Fighter Factory, 40 Mines, 17 Automated Mines, 13 Fuel Refineries, 14 Maintenance Facilities, 9 Financial Centres, 2 Terraforming Installations, 6 Deep Space Tracking Stations, 3 Mass Drivers, 1 Cargo Shuttle Station, and over 2,900 units of additional general and low-gravity infrastructure. Fuel reserves had more than doubled, from 41.1 million to 96.3 million units, and maintenance supplies nearly doubled as well.
The recovered facilities were only part of the gains. The Federation’s research laboratories were fed a steady stream of abandoned technology, expanding knowledge in propulsion, logistics, sensors, defence, and weapons.
The Federation was finally ready for the next chapter, a new election, new faces, and perhaps a chance to reclaim the boldness that had once defined the dawn of 0010.
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