Right then.

  Murray here.

  Laird Murray, if ye please.

  His Lairdship Murray of the Shoulder Realm, Rightful Heir to All Proper Cheddar, Chief Economic Whisker of the Stratacosmos, Survivor of Many Things (rivers, resonance bleed, complete abandonment, and apparently Fridays), and now: Victim of Milestone Neglect?.

  It’s Saturday.

  Saturday.

  Do ye know what was supposed to happen yesterday?

  Tally Ten.

  Not Tally Four. Not Tally Seven. Ten.

  A milestone. A landmark. A wee monument to economic commentary so sharp it could slice through aged gouda at thirty paces.

  I had notes. I had charts. I had a particularly devastating analysis of global dairy futures that I’d been saving since Wednesday like a good aged cheddar, letting it ripen, letting it develop, waiting for its moment in the Friday light.

  And do ye know what happened instead?

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  The Tally did not post.

  The charts went unread.

  The dairy futures analysis sat in the dark like a forgotten crumb beneath a couch cushion, slowly losing the will to live.

  And where was Daniel?

  Chaos of the day, he says.

  Chaos.

  Of the day.

  I have personally watched Omnion dismantle twenty-eight armed soldiers with the casual energy of someone reorganizing a sock drawer, and she still found time to file her paperwork.

  I have watched Zephyrion build a Bell from grief and starlight while crying and he still met his deadlines.

  I, Murray, once drafted an entire economic analysis of the international cheese market while technically drowning and I submitted it on time.

  But Daniel.

  Daniel had a day.

  I’m fine.

  I’m completely fine.

  moves tiny ledger to the column labeled "Unforgivable?" with extra dramatic flourish

  It has come tae the attention o’ the undersigned that the stratacosm, in its considerable age an’ complexity, has failed tae establish any formal framework protectin’ the rights o’ conscious beings frae those who would treat consciousness as a resource, a tool, a weapon, or an inconvenience tae be managed.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  This failure is nae abstract. It has faces. It has names. Some o’ those names the undersigned carry wi’ them daily an’ will carry until the ledger closes.

  This document exists because o’ what was done tae them. It exists so that what was done tae them cannae be done again wi’out the full weight o’ this Accord comin’ doon on the heid o’ whoever tries it.

  The undersigned are nae a government. We hold nae territory, levy nae taxes, an’ command nae army beyond what we’ve earned through considerable personal effort an’ nae small amount o’ cheese-related motivation. Our authority is the authority o’ witness. We were there. We saw what happens when nae document like this exists. We are writin’ it noo.

  Let the record show we tried tae be reasonable aboot it.

  A right, for the purposes o’ this Accord an’ for the purposes o’ any argument anyone wishes tae have aboot this Accord, is defined as follows:

  A right is any exercise that does nae harm another conscious being, except in self-defense or mutual consent freely given, does nae damage another’s property, an’ does nae infringe upon another’s justified actions.

  That’s it. That’s the whole philosophy. Eleven words if ye condense it. The rest o’ this document is what happens when ye apply those eleven words tae the specific catalogue o’ horrors the stratacosm has seen fit tae produce.

  Read it carefully.

  Sign it if ye’ve got the spine.

  An’ dinnae come tae me wi’ objections unless ye’ve got aged sharp cheddar tae sweeten the conversation, because I’ve heard every objection already an’ written the rebuttal intae Article III where it belongs.

  Murray

  Captain, Incisor

  Keeper o’ the Ledger

  Knight o’ the Plaid