Lothary is about 180 LY counterspinwards of the NGC 2567 open cluster. Although many of the developed NGC 2567 polities were connected to the Nexus, and adopted Emple-dokcetic shielding technology (and Empledokcetisation in general, including cyborg augments), Lothary was too far from the nearest stargate, and all the local polities and clades apart from a few survivors were destroyed by the Gehenna shock wave. There was also a total collapse of infrastructure, and no hope of regaining it on the metal poor planet. As a result, the survivors reverted to primitivism.
The survivors were members of several nearbaseline groups who by an accident of gengineering possessed some Radiation Nation bioaugments; it is even thought their name is an abbreviation of this "(radiat-/nat-)ION" or Ionian, although this has been disputed by cliologists.
The Ionians today worship their gods as a whole species. They gather together in prayer and solemnity to stand in awe of beings that can keep the planet from burning up or washing out. The group is humanized to the point that they can recall through oral history the coming together of several ships to this isolated place centuries ago, following colonisation of the area by a minor NoCoZo development startup Pupperion Commerce and Development in 6817 a.t.. The current rag tag group is all that is left of their ancestors, the original colonists. Having no longer any access to medical nanotech, the population is dying and not re-generating.
The only solace is in the coming together for their rituals twice a day. The gods are not real but the Ionians know only what they see. They accept on blind faith what they see and not what is real or is not real. They worship a sign in the sky. It is a billboard, more particularily a pre-Verifex "Euphoria Lifestyles" planetary megastructure, which, thanks to the hardened molectronics, was the only functioning ultratech devices that survived the gamma ray burst. An advertisement that pictorially describes the satiny feel of skin and the luxury of plush fabric without words or anthems. These are gods who are silent. The group, who it is believed have been subverted by the billboard's ai, has dedicated their lives to keeping the picture clean and pure and bright.
If the picture fades, then the remaining humans will die as well. It is described as a jade plant from earth. A plant that is given to a friend and kept alive by nourishment of food, water and love. If the friendship dies the plant will die as well. This is the basis of the belief of this poor inarticulate race of humans left to ponder the existence of a dirt tract of a planet, whose nascent terraformed ecosystem was almost completely destroyed by the supernova burst
These people have become part of the landscape. They are unfeeling except for their rituals. They show no kindred spirit towards each other. The only good will is expressed through the singing of a jingle that went along with the advertisement of the soft, satiny luxurious feel of fabric on skin like sun and the moon on the face of the water. Their water source is a small little stream that trickles from the rocks, miles away from them. The stream puddles at the base of the billboard. This water can not hold any illusions of the gods from above so the jingle makes no sense at all logically. It is a ritual after all and how many rituals through rote make sense? There is no lesson to be learned from these paper gods. The buckypaper on the billboard is fraying at the edges. Soon the design will be eaten away by the burning of the sun and the ripping of the wind through the carbonite slants that the buckypaper is attached to.
There is no cure for these people who stand in a group singing a jingle with no meaning and worshipping flat two dimensional figures of what their corporate memed ancestors thought was something to target in their lives, the thought of luxury to soothe and lullaby them into a drowsiness of inertia. A relic from the past brought to this rock to give some semblance of civilization and order of life. The humans of this planet becoming what they see above them. A race of two-dimensional creatures who take literally what was advertised as the skin to seek and the smoothness to adorn their craggy little bodies.
There is little left from the original colony settlement. A few pieces of metal, some diamondoid struts, the houses constructed from the rock surrounding them. A few little torn pieces of fabric and chairs coming apart and paint peeling from the wood of tables and frames. Baskets woven from neogenic reeds (which thanks to radiation hardiness survived) found near the stream adorning their doorways. When they enter their homes the Ionians become people who have needs although not expressed. The elementary needs of the human race. The need to belong to a community, the need to be touched and stroked and the need to seek shelter and solace of friends within the community and the need to be quiet and alone at times.
But they all know that they are strongest when together worshipping their gods. Slowly, the group is dying and each individual knows at some not too distant future the last remaining Ionian will stand in the shadow of the billboard and watch as the wind whips up the corner of the paper and the Gods become as shredded as the race below them. The aloneness will overtake this one lone survivor as he enters his home to a cold and lonely existence unless the time to fade away is the only luxury to long for.
