Chapter 2: The First Mandate

Xiordin approaches Iteration-177. "My understanding is that you're interested in religious artefacts. One of the things I most look forward to on our away excursions is the chance to find the unique ways other countries find meaning."

He does kind of feel that way, although his main interest comes from a place of war. Culture is on the list, just not at the top.

For a moment Scrap eyes the other Ysoki, but he wasn't a fan of technology. How boring. Zo! seemed interesting and she didn't really know much about them, but Sioux is floating near them. The should probably divide and conquer right? And with Soryn and Xiordian also moving to talk to others, that left boring rat and the business symbiote.

Symbiotes were interesting... in the end she scampers over to him and present her hand.

'Hi!. I'm Scrap. This is Bolts! You're from CeriCore right? What exactly do they do?

Bolts also presents a metallic paw to shake.

Naiaj is staring at a datapad as Soryn approaches and barely even looks up, "Yes. I'm one of the most senior venture-captains in the wake of the incident," she says, tapping out a series of words on her pad as she talks to several different people at once, then she hesitates and looks up at Soryn before responding, a look of pain peeking out through her stoic mask, "I suppose it's something. What's been done to recover. But it doesn't feel like enough.

Soryn gets the feeling that she is suffering from a bit of guilt over what happened to the Society."And there I was, hosting Live at the Splatterdome! when this little tiny contemplative child floated over and asked me for an autograph! Can you believe it?" Zo! asks the trio of ysoki he's speaking to, "Where even were its parents?"Iteration-177's eyes lock onto Xiordin as he approaches, listening politely to his introduction, "Indeed, I find many things to be quite fascinating. Religious artifacts among them. The history that could be learned from such things and the insights into the cultures that made them," he says, then holds out a hand to shake, "I am Iteration-177, though I'm sure you're already aware, Xiordin of the Starfinder Society."Ykris has an interesting appearance, with its iridescent and insectile body having many spiny legs piercing the base of its hosts skull and down his back. The host opens its mouth and speaks, "CeriCore labs deals mostly in medicines and biological augmentation technology," it says, then looks down at Bolts, "I see you are in quite the opposite field, yes?"Gala Worksheet

Xiordin plays nice and examines the decorations beside Iteration-177. "The law is all about stories really. Tell a good enough one and the judge, arbitrator, or jury will grant your client license."

He continues, "Take the Case of the Sentient Sandwich."

He starts telling of the case, describing the vesk judge, the protector and the defendant.

"—and I swear on Cayden Cailean’s half-empty bottle, the judge looked this sandwich dead in the lettuce and said, 'You are hereby declared condimentally sentient.'

No, I’m not joking. This all happened right there in Courtroom 7B. I was assisting the defense that week—don’t laugh, some of us have civic responsibilities even in orbit—and it was the strangest damn trial I’ve ever seen. And I’ve sat through a Kasathan inheritance duel involving six mime witnesses and a memory crystal that kept erasing itself out of spite.

So here’s the story: this sandwich—Reuben Prime was his name—jumps off a plate at Glorb’s Deli, slaps a customer with a pickle spear, and screams about mustard genocide. Apparently, he’d achieved self-awareness somewhere between the brisket and the aioli. Wrote haikus. Ran a book club for snack cakes. Claimed the vending machines were prisons. You know, standard radical sandwich rhetoric.

The prosecution? Literal slime. Assistant Attorney Glip-Glorp. Dripped through three briefcases and accidentally digested the evidence once. Defense was a lashunta named Jheera who drank eight espressos during cross-examination and threatened to telepathically project sandwich guilt into the jury.

The whole thing felt like a fever dream, except real—and with legal precedent!

Anyway, the jury—an amphibian, two androids, a sentient potted plant, and a holographic badger who wouldn't stop humming sea shanties — found him guilty of "Improper Utensil Conduct," but agreed he was a person. Sort of.

Now he’s doing community service helping emotionally unstable energy bars find their identity. And last I heard, he’s up for a minor literary award. You ever read Meat Me Halfway: Crumbs of Consciousness? Surprisingly tender."

Xiordin takes a sip of his drink, then leans in conspiratorially.

"I kept the pickle. Still glows under ultraviolet. Don’t ask why."

Soryn shakes his head. "No, I suppose you're right. It can never be enough. It is a blessing and a curse that people with experience and history with the Starfinders are here - present to guide us toward rebuilding from such great losses, but forced to remain and remember what once was. I've run simulations with what little data we have, and I...I don't know if there's anything that could have been helped. Too many variables and unknowns. I hope, with time, we can gather more information and figure out what went wrong, if for no other reason than to keep it from ever happening again."