Welcome to The Barn-Acc

Welcome to The Barnacle Accretion, or "The Barn-Acc" for short. We Barnacles are interstellar hitchhikers, denizens of the cluster of thousands of small ships bolted, welded, and epoxied to the hull of the Gaia-Class colony ship Marathon. Like the crustaceans we are named for, we cling to the hull of this massive ship as it sails to a distant shore. Only our shore is on a new Earth, and our ocean is 10 lightyears of deep space.

Life is hard in the Barn-Acc. Equipment is irreplaceable, food is scarce, and energy is precious. And you are always one over-stressed ring-seal away from death by cold vacuum, or one micro-meteor penetrating the wave-envelope away from death by super-heated plasma. (Give up the ghost any other way, and you also give up your nutrients to keep the rest of us going. Mmmmm, soylent.)

But here is what makes it that much harder: just below our feet live the Colonists. The rich fat-cats that could afford the unimaginable ticket price to get aboard the Marathon, the last ship off of a dying planet. Now, they are safe and warm inside that impenetrable Gaia-class hull, living a life of ease, eating robo-farmed truffles and vat-cloned veal.

They pretend they don't, but the Colonists know we are here. We tap into their communications and their sensor readings, and its mostly just Sitcoms and TPS reports. But every once in a while, and you get this subliminal blip. In fact, we appropriated the name "Barnacle Accretion" from a Colonist white-paper we tor-jacked from their internal network. But no matter what signals we send to them, they never respond. Its like they are all thinking "If we just ignore them, maybe they will go away."

But we are not going anywhere but all the way to New Earth, stuck right to their big, fat ass!

We Barnacles are a tenatious lot. It took a lot of courage to strap a wave-engine to a transport shuttle and blast off into interstellar void at 0.31c. It took a lot of grit to spend a year or two hoping beyond hope that the slender thread of a tachyon wake would lead you to the Marathon. And it takes a lot of gallows humor to enjoy a life stuck to the side of a big hunk of metal moving at 0.29c through the lightless hell of wave-space.

Lets just say, anyone who has survived this far has earned their citizenship, and everyone gets a say in what goes on in the Barn.

So we are all equal… but as on Earth so in the Barn-Acc: some are more equal than others. there are still Haves and Have-nots among the Barnacles (and we are the ultimate Have-Nots). Almost anything is for sale for enough o-rings. And while most of us haggle over SystemD MacGuyverisms cobbled together out of Barn-Acc detritus, deep enough pockets can even buy you Earthgoods, Moongoods, and Marsgoods - relics brought from home.

So strap on your emergency vac-hood, grab a soylent bar, and come down to the Omphalos (Omf, for short). We are about to call a vote… (Click here to learn more)

Welcome to the Barn-Acc