Epiphora

Epiphora - The Alternate History Of New Eden

   I linger by the outer reaches, monitoring the alignment of my probes. I have everything I need, I tell myself, knowing I have forgotten nothing for the return. Or if I choose to remain.

   It has been countless remaps now, since we came here, as some judge the passing of time in New Eden. Wonderful in itself to rest the mind by alternate reroute synapse cycles. Resting the mind by 'migrating' portions of motor functions here, senses there, much like the lungs or heart. A crude example, but one that makes any other similitude irrelevant or just as inadequate. To say nothing of the expense of such a procedure, glorious yet extravagant to calculate the cost derived per neuron mass, intensity, cluster density, network pathway lengths, channels, and associations. Limited first to those exceptional and vital individuals needed to enable and sustain our prosperity over these new and endless horizons, but exploited by the super elite and wealthy.

   Bad thing is you forget. Forget everything, and so the CONCORD came into existence as we knew it then, originally. Conscience Ordinate Neural-code Observation and Restoration Division. Through painstaking decades of what could be considered the golden age of our new civilization, all resources and efforts were united to this single cause. Clones were born, to insure that the vast commonwealth of experience and enterprise would continue, guarded, and safe in the face of the unpredictable and unknown. Established before anyone ever thought of corporations, industry or military supremacy. But before any of these that now plague us returned, there was insanity. The nose bleeders, we called them then. As many found themselves faced with an overwhelming hysteria, concluding in a hopeless despair to be lost in this isolated new expanse, separated from all they have known. Ironic that the last incurable disease that haunted the final prosperity of Old Earth was the first one here.

   It was a dark time for us beginning here with renewed hope, after what we left behind. Along side the long-time established procedures for the prolongation of tissue and its regeneration, which brought upon us an unparalleled state of prosperity on earth, as these advancements, prior to unforeseen, required less maintenance and nutrition, came these biological advancements, inevitably, as the feral traits enhancements. Procedures that fused the superior traits of certain mammals with those of human organs. The world had changed forever, but arguably--or...what was argued that at what level did such 'advancements' begin the decline of our human species? Was it when we fused with invertibrate's? When we lost what some feel as a consensual symmetry? Then how far back can we go? Where exactly did we cross the line and end to be Homo Sapien and begin as Sapien Diversus?

   The vile corruption that ensued brought incalculable consequences, rampant in its marvelous invention for that it realized immortality, which rapidly became the secret and envy of those in power. A world of darkness, from which nothing could ever remain distinguishably human, brotherly or compassionate. But there were no floods big enough to cleanse the systems of these feral maniacal hybrids. Beasts and horrible abominations of sacred Earth's invention; new creations with old names. Titans without peer or equal, checked only by rival appetites, intrigues and the suspected ambitions of one another, creating havoc that reached even among the remote systems. Where The Great Barrier mirrors all that it contains as it continues to creep out, pulling like the ebbing lapping waves of earth's sea as it expands serenely, oblivious to the chaos that ensued within its womb. The legends of Old Earth were the portent of our near extinction. This...evolution so many worshiped, the near dissolution of our Human qualities. But such words are not uttered by the denizens of New Eden. We know better now.

   That is what led us to the stars, and now the Eve Gate looms like old death, her iron gates shut behind us, even as the sign faces those that enter; it is not so much that we have abandoned hope. We just don't remember it.

end of part 1

   Forgotten, like so many five letter words the Gallente seem to monicker, yet they waste away in dissipation. Unlike so many things we strive to find names for, these were never definite. Known, yet always pondered. Instantly recognizable, yet deriving their power through inspection - the less expected, the more profound. Glory, honor, truth, peace, mercy. But as I think on these I have the impulse to sigh deeply, and despise the goo that prevents it. I furrow my brow to acknowledge my frustration and let it go, but unlike the sigh it stays there. The innovations and strides made in regenerative technology monetized such indulgences that before had no value. You couldn't sell it. You couldn't buy it. But now, with time and a little ISK, even an immortal worm can see that patience is rewarding. Or is it pretense? I wonder, and get the sudden urge to sigh again.

   Ah. I had forgotten one. I grunt and feel the hum tingle the soft neutralized goo over my entire face and involuntarily shudder, unaccustomed to this hairless face.

   Faith. Perhaps the Amarr understand what it is I speak of, but then again even they have lost direction, having no purpose except to bring others to them. So their disciples share their joys, found in each other but lost to it themselves. None of them will ever deny their creed, for it is found in humility, undeniable itself because of its purity and inherit goodness, but it is a great gift, and the giver stands proudly, arms stretching out all the treasures of their labor. But there is no one to receive it. So their horded treasure internally grows to become arrogance, eventually subjugating those unable to 'grasp' their epiphanies into madness. And what can I possibly say on behalf of the Caldari, having still with me the unfading failures of earth's great empires? Devouring the narrow-minded masses too dependent on illusions, allowing themselves to become feeble and so 'privileged' into complacency. Only for the hypocrites to cry out and flip the coin to Meritocracy - turning the masses into a blob of envious flattering opportunists, and another Rome burns.

   As for the Minmatar, as is this one, their story has been epitomized: they are no longer slaves, yet they hold on to bitter circles that can never forget, and still many more make themselves slaves again to petty villainy.

   Factions. I feel my blood boil now. Factions. The brainchild of our wise and selfless benefactors. I laugh at this implicit paradox, finding no other definition as vile, or more appropriate. They had many names then, and though I doubt that they've increased, they have achieved ever greater influence and obscurity through only one. In their fear of growing unrest for countless inactive clones and rising whispers of dogmas concerned with separate parallel identities - before anyone had the thought for outcries - they made use of them all. The announcement of future charters for Sovereignty Space doing their work for them, and colliding the specializations of every department against one another, fueled by their own interests, and at the same time creating a lucrative asset for themselves.  Now, past the memory of those that have driven it, Sovereignty has finally been established, and the worlds are burning. Made slaves to fuel the great wars in the heavens. What will happen if Concord responds to their petition for safe conduct within Concord sanctioned vessels between the stars? I suspect the most ambitious and ruthless to rise up for vengeance, followed by the mercenaries of enterprise. Circles;
   As people slaughtered one another, through the rising and falling of factions, They ingeniously manipulated the acronym for their holdings investment by replacing references to CONCORD in memory databases with a new one, without regard to all the memories they destroyed that might have been associated with it. Under the guise to police all of Empire space, they naturally acted as custodians of all clone facilities.

   At last, removing themselves into obscurity by the very fear of the devices they employed, they avoided remapping, risking even the consequences of over-saturation that sometimes occurred. If they are said to be ever-vigilant over the empire, then they are even more so over each other.

end of part 2

   As I set the eighth and last drone in place to complete the parabola, much more comes to mind. I stare, as I wonder at the strange idea of the imagination being more expansive and black than the cold emptiness of negative-space, and the floating shape amuses me, so contrary to standard methods. With a simple prayer, I swing them like a top on the directrix minutely, to compensate for how long this has taken me. And hoping like a dreaming blindman to wake up to daylight, I activate the scan.

   How quickly we forget, I muse and pun, though I find I cannot smile. I watch the analyzer column crawl from one side to the other. Sleeper probes. You would think them to be faster, I mused, looking, out of new shielded thermal lenses, at the far off green nebulae, where the Gallente people were being slaughtered. Could they have minimalized such massacre had they not been so dependent on Concord? I consider the numbers against them and imagine casualties and losses could have only doubled. I'm awed by the unbridled ferocity these pirates exhibited, outraged by the self-sustaining drones that are devouring resources in their unpoliced remote space harbors with what seems like a limitless asset security reinforcement. Now with more mindless military capital vessels than the guarded mining infrastructure. What will happen when they grow so far out to reach Empire space? How long until their rogue systems warrant us as a 'contingent' to their directive? The pirates relentlessly pound the message to Empire citizens, blind to the encroaching menace that I, too, presume is not far from reality. But by what means! to precede such, as they say, 'Inevitable Ruin' with hapless slaughter. But it means little to me now.

   Circles. And Circles.

   I remembered when I dissented from the council, when remaps were no longer optional even for us. The council chairs, and even those who took the minutes thought it was a trick of the Judicial Order of Eve to manipulate a way into finally ridding themselves of our heavy 'conservative limitations' on their expansionist ideals. Though I feared for our future as the others, I feared more for our past.

   With the help of my security clearance and the stupidity of the medical station's staff, I managed to upload my neural map and delay the surgical procedure - indefinitely. Before this could raise eyebrows I activated it remotely and caused it to relay over to some idiot's over-priced clone and made my escape. Hopefully the previous owner managed to sort out the paperwork before committing himself to something reckless.

   Circles. I've done this many times. To assure my safety I would upload again prior to any endeavor I may have had for testing my research in the field. Again, some hapless victim must lose their puppet! But I have since found another way, and avoid suspicious missing clones that are inevitably destroyed, as my friend somehow finds myself unable to avoid market transactions that raise familiar eyebrows. Luckily unauthorized clone activation happens, though rarely, giving me the opportunity to escape Concord's watchful eye. In such cases, they merely, and very efficiently, 'dispose' the most recent replica. It was very taxing early on, prior to my Awakening, developing a code to communicate with...myself, and discovered encrypted messages via foul spams in local were most effective.

   Sleepless at times, I ponder whether my clone harbors these thoughts deep inside as well - for they have surely been there, buried long ago, imagined, hinting, urging. Inescapable. That is why I have named them thus. Who can possibly know? Careful as I've tried to be, somehow They have acquired my stealth probe technology I tried so hard to guard. One of my stupid self's must have made a mistake along the line when he - when I - first began. Lacking the ability to make more, I now must 'borrow' them from the wrecks of my destroyed sleeper brothers, before their automated programming hurls them into the void. Pleased, was I, to discover that my primitive improvements to named modules had been perfected by their superior understanding and engineering. How I yearned to know the secrets of their advancements in technology! Yet it troubles me to see they too are looking for the way back. They seem to have found a way to control them all remotely form a single source. The raw power and potential of the central system data core was incredible. Genius. These sleepers fill wormhole space throughout the empire, scanning, lurking, and waiting. But I must find the way before they do. If I cannot destroy its demonic sorcery, than I must find a way to close the paths to darkness and leave them beyond the reach of New Eden forever.

End of part 3

   There. It's there. The scan has completed. I feel slick sweat thinly sheet his face before it is absorbed. Calm, I tell myself, and hear the echo of a chuckle. Despite myself, a smile touches the corners of my mouth. Still there, huh? Quite remarkable, even for a Minmatar. Others quickly fade into submission, experiencing what others have long ago forgotten. It took much practice to drown out the terrible wailing. A rare breed, this one; no molds can make his kind. I shake my head in an ethereal sense. Remarkable. There are still surprises.

   Oh yes! I reply.

   Remarkable Indeed.

   Now with projected displacement prefigured, I freeze the visual graph to my peripheral view and shift drop a new probing instance grid and begin to figure the return loss gradient. With quivering hands, I manually pin the previous precious window. Just in case. I disengage the probes, resetting them in a dish pattern to guage the catenary vector and measure the second artery perimeter using a method of exhaustion, so I don't careen into hell and nothingness as so many others have, recalling nothing through what I can only call distortion space, beyond even the reach of Empire Resonance. Though I work as quickly as possible, I can't keep the memories at bay to concentrate my efforts.

   I can do it, he reassures me.

   We have come this far, I reply, confirming his confidence, and the anxiety I felt melts away to make place for an indestructible determination that most certainly did not come from me. I know his ability has been vital to my operation. This time, if we fail, there is no going back to station for either of us. I feel a tinge of remorse, and he laughs again.

   Too far to quit now.

   I sniff again, for entirely different reasons and move our muscular arms back to my side. New Eden is nothing to me. Stuck here, mining like a filthy capsuleer every time some mad pirate wants to add my implants to his collection. Each time, waiting for the ship's armor to give way as I struggle to understand how the raving bloodthirsty single-minded pleasure to destroy others is any different than what we left behind. Go back? Hell no. We left something back there that didn't come through with us; though the limbs are fully functional we have lost connection with the head. My awakening has confirmed this somewhat. The remapping seems to affect or hinder its culmination in others, to say nothing of clones or augmentations.

   Roc grunts emphatically, either doubting or confirming my sentiments. I can't tell. I look at the module, waiting for the probes to narrow our jump path down, and ready to blink it into activation. You don't have to blink in pod goo. I wait to listen, hopeful he has some last words. He always manages to inspire even in the bleakest of circumstances.

   Initiate Warp.

   This time I cannot help myself laughing, the gesture soundless. Onward, then. To new hope.

   "Warp engaged."