Epiphora: Revision

An Alternate History

   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 many remaps now, since we came here, as I and many others judge the pasage of time in New Eden.  Resting the mind by reroutes of synapse algorithm patterns, by migrating portions of motor functions here, senses there, much like the lungs or heart, appearing to work as a whole yet sharing strain throughout their layered membranes. 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, its extravagance and cost derived per neuron mass, intensity, cluster density, network pathway lengths, channels, and associations. Limited, at first, to those exceptional and vital individuals needed to enable and sustain our prosperity over these new and endless horizons, but in time exploited by the prominent and wealthy.

   Bad thing is you forget. Forget everything, and so the CONCORD came into existence as we knew it then, as the Conscious 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 the thought ever occurred for corporations, enterprise or military supremacy.

   But before any of these that now plague us returned, there was insanity. The nose bleeders, some 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.

   If only they knew. This was half of the story, but it takes time for the dark side of the moon to show its face.

   It would change nothing.

   Perhaps...

   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 required less maintenance and nutrition. Prior to unforeseen, biological advancements too were inevitably introduced as the feral traits enhancements. Procedures that fused the superior traits of certain mammals with those of a human. The world had changed forever, but arguably--or...what was argued then that at what level did such 'advancements' begin the alteration of our human species? Was it when we fused with invertebrate’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, yet rampant in its marvelous invention for that it realized immortality, spreading as rapidly as it became the secret and envy of those in power. To make matters worse, the biological traits, which were mainly specific and internal, carried over superficially to offspring. A world of darkness was given birth, from which nothing could ever remain distinguishably human, as there was no longer a universal ground for relation. Beasts and horrible abominations of sacred Earth's invention; new creations with old names. But there were no floods large enough to reach out to how far these feral maniacal hybrids spawned.

   They remained, 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. Past the fire. Past the Esurient Deep. Out 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.

   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.

   In the end, it changed nothing.

   Perhaps.

end of part 1

   Forgotten. The sanguine Anoikis pulsated behind me, like a setting sun behind the dust, like blood dissipated in the whirling of water, like our heritage and history.

   The races.

   Like wind in sand our envy and tyranny unfolded like a storm that never saw rest until the water held it back. The endless waters, where blackness cradled the cold gnashing and clattering teeth of asteroids. There was peace there, 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, 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, acknowledging my frustration to 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 head 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 in itself because of its purity and inherit goodness. 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 State, 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. May they never advance beyond their despotic master to see the young are not young forever. To see when maidens mourn but cannot weep. When the old grow, but not in wisdom. Otherwise their way would soon end and Gain would no longer have his throne.

   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 upon transfer - 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 created 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, either, gaining renown, to be carried on the wings of the maiden to do battle for the gods among the stars. But that is another story again...

   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 probe in place to complete the parabola, much more came to mind. Staring out, I wonder at the strange idea of the imagination being more expansive than the cold black emptiness of 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 blind man to wake up to daylight, I activate the scan.

   Careful as Flosin tried to be, they have acquired the stealth probe technology she tried so hard to guard. Lacking the ability to make any, I resort to 'borrowing' them from the wrecks before their automated programming causes them to disintegrate into the void. How I yearned to know the secrets of their advancements to her 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 vessels fill wormhole space throughout the empire, scanning, lurking, and waiting.

   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? They seem to be at rest, as we once were. But I must find the way before they do.

   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 reflected, looking out of new shielded thermal lenses, at the far off green nebulae reflected in the wormhole, where the Gallente people had been slaughtered, glowing like a moonlit lake. It's serenity a horrible disguise for what lies beneath.

   Could they have abated 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 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 back into 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.

   If we cannot keep them from harvesting, perhaps something could be done that would limit them and at least make them incapable of culturing the base extractions of the compound by-products.

   But that means little to me now. That is someone elses war.

   Circles. And Circles.

   I remembered when I dissented from the council, when remaps were no longer optional even for us. The council members thought it was a ploy of the Judicial Order of Life in 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. But what other choice did I have?

   Unable to sustain my lifestyle or leave because of the constraints of having held office, I watched my fortunes dwindle. Menai had become a cesspit of smuggling and contraband, another Dead End. Industry had long creeped back into the thirteen systems, where there was so much bureaucracy for business that we would have starved long ago with hospitable planets there, through the glass of the viewers, within reach. My repairs business failing long ago when my only clients were criminals and looters. They paid me with parts and the authorities shut me down with prejudice and a blind eye to the fierce competition.

   I developed a gambling problem. I hit it big one night. Enough that I knew I might be able to cut a deal with struggling authorities and leave this system. I had heard there were other places beyond Aura's watchful eye where I might be able to live in peace and start again. I never could have predicted the advancements Yan would have made in his breakthroughs that helped the spectrum pierce beyond its previous limitations, with such an expanse it was impossible to imagine and so even less measure. That was to be years later, after the Aura network switch failed. But envelop it did, wrapping its cold tentacles around to every system people set out to inhabit, to find us once again.

   "I have some," I told them, when Serpentis sent dealers to collect. "But I can't make up the rest unless I have something to work with."

   The one that spoke eyed my wife, "You'll need much more than that for our contact to allow us passage. He drives a hard bargain." He turned back to sneer at the transfer image, "That is enough for only one."

   "Just take that and get it started. I'll have the rest. I'll put more time in." And I did. I wagered more than I have before, and took more chances than I had previously been inclined to take after a noticeable streak. When eyes turned to you it was time to go, but I urged myself on. I was so close.

   They told me they'd kill you, She said, one night, covered in bruises, that they've been coming while I was at the Freedom Warehouse station. I had taken a loan, twice what I had already paid over with the promise that I would double it, in hopes that I could get this over with sooner and still have enough for supplies and whatever else I needed. More people. I don't know. I was nervous about the whole affair now. I had heard about people vanishing, found later in jettisoned containers among the rock belts. I'll make it work, I told myself, even if I have to take the damn ship myself. That was the plan anyway, until the night I headed home. The shuttle was not there. In its place were two thugs. I had brought too much attention to myself, my earnings rising and stubbornness to turn in for the exchange. I wanted to save time, to start earlier and end earlier, so I carried the card bits with me.

   It was the turning point of my life.

   She began to enjoy the visits. The opposite of a prostitute, using my gains, for our freedom, to pay for her lovers. I started spending every night there, at the station, coming home when the radiation plate was open towards our sector.

   That's when I began to hear about experiments done by a growing organization, funded by the council to introduce new safety measures throughout the regions which quickly fell to anarchy. That one could bypass the remap - that, in fact, a remap would invalidate the subject by its suspected affect in reducing the margin of success with the experiment. Besides, it paid handsomely.

   What did I have to lose? I applied for the procedure and was instantly contacted. The experiment would enhance my mental abilities, my comprehension and reflexes by giving me the ability to monitor unconscious motor functions. The ability, at will, to recall anything I had ever seen, heard, or tasted and preserve them in a back up array especially designed for this function, together with access to the Aura net on an on-demand basis.

   I remembered Earth, the way things had been. I wanted to see it all again. The way it used to be. The offer was too great to resist and the recent positive results were promising. In my initial visits through the facility, I saw people that just sat in one place for what seemed hours at a time, rapt in their imaginations. Many sat there just weeping quietly. I questioned them on the safety of prolonged access to this system and they assured me the patient was fully aware of his surroundings during the same moment, the vision suffering no attenuated or diluted effect. As far as eating was concerned, the patient taps fat stores when necessary and controls gastric secretions, saving them until they are needed.

   It all seemed marvelous. Yet there is was.

   The procedure at the center went on to be successful. I learned. I heard. I lived every moment I committed to memory and saw them in color and without - with meaning and with confusion. A still life, I held on to images and tasted from the old well as I listened to the whistling barn, the bending steel and old bells in the wind. A youth on a grassy hill where the sun never came down from where it was, until the cabin fires told the stories I could never learn in the shadows that they chased.

   Then I did it all again. I lost grasp of the passage of time.

   The day I returned, two months later, the news was what brought me out of the first slumber, which I had indulged fully and escaped for as little time as I was consciously able, merely to eat and cleanse myself. My wife had been executed gruesomely by thugs that had gained security access to her quarters.

   The incineration took place without me, as I had never left any contact information prior to the procedure, at the station or here. It's something I have dwelled on for some time now. I became weary of growing excuses, old as I was; of the pieces of my city of disregard, where the scrapers towered above the hills. Where the people were more strange than the alleys and the cold. I swore to never succumb to such a state again.

   I grew up with barely a tree to shield me from the cold. You are a very sad and empty man, despite having everything one could need. My people managed to be strong and full of purpose without any of these.

   Times were different then, for all of us. Your ancestors chose war and fueled their appetites for revenge rather than satisfy the hunger your tribe has suffered through neglect and antiquated ways of sustaining life, moving backwards from even the methods we began with here. You do not have to practice rigorous asceticism to be strong, or possess little to value what you have. You can...

   Spare me. You have no insight beyond your many mistakes to draw from.

   Yes... You are right. It has taken you less than half the time to learn this. You at least have that. I regretted it immediately. But you can still value your ways, once you go beyond them, if you understand them in a different way.

   I found myself staring at a bandaged arm of a young Matari boy. Now the same boy, older by a few years, mutilated by something that mauled him.

   Burns in a mirror.

   I understood where I was now. The face was familiar, but younger. He couldn't help himself, I realized. He was recalling events of his own now.

   Your original body does not show evidence of these occurrences. The images stopped. There was a long pause and I continued my work, content to leave the matter alone, when images of people began to appear for a moment again and recede.

   People treat you differently when they see your scars.

   Damn you. I changed the subject. You were already a Capsuleer at this point. Hm.

   Wouldn't the first death have made that much simpler?

   I wasn't anxious to see it done the first time. The corrective surgery was merely to remove a distraction. Later I took precautions early on and learned all I could within the simulation construct. I never expected this to have happened. Waking up with you in here and still feeling like hell.

   How many reanimations do you think the Colonel has had by now? I laughed.

   Perhaps a few hundred more and he might actually learn something. I don't know.

   I smiled. Except for a few stubborn incidents, he is as much careful with each consecutive image as you were with the first. Yet he thinks of himself as a replica. He even exercises regularly, though he has no need of it. His most recent transmission...

   I don't care. That is his life. Mine is right here. Hm.

   The sudden interruption brought me back to the scanners and I cycled them like a glass in front of a light, tracing the refractions to reduce the variances of the key fluctuations of the whirl of each distortion, some appearing to interconnect. I began to scan those individually. It was a painstaking process and I began to drift again.

   "You seem to be the only one experiencing this problem," she said, speaking to the image in front of her as she leaned her weight against the handle of the medical tray. With the motion of her other wrist she rotated between two vantage points repeatedly, ducking in to look closer each time. "There is visible stress on the security switch." Her brow narrowed even further, "Have you been experiencing synchronization anomalies?"

   "Uh. No. The unit has only recently been unresponsive to the manual disconnects..."

   "What?" she interrupted, surprised. "What..." She fumbled with the separate console to access what appeared to be a log before turning back to me. "What reason," she began again before pausing. The displays both ceased to be transparent from the opposite end. When I turned back, I saw that a small grimace began to supplement the continued disfigurement of her expression. "What reason would you have for setting the hibernation on a scheduled loop?"

   "I was...trying to get some things...I had to attend to things. It's distracting."

   "Your experience has been unsatisfactory?" She began taking notes furiously, surprise etched on her face now until she flinched to focus her attention back on me, the old disapproving expression returning. I suppose she expected me to ramble on.

  "We developed the Stimulated Afterimage Network Simulation Hemi-Architecture to cause zero interference with deliberate actions. So you see, I don't understand your reluctance. It was designed to be virtually invisible, and was proven to be even less distracting than daydreaming!"

   "That's the thing! Is it even possible to daydream anymore? I don't think you understand how deeply it can grip you. And the dreams..."

   "We are currently aware of the nature of the dreaming phenomena and have supplements available to help those that are experiencing difficulties adapting..."

   "I'm not having trouble Adapting to anything," I interrupted. I raised my palm up and she ceased further interjection. "I've become very fluent with how the system works - How I work. The dream thing, fine, I can figure that out later - but I want to understand why I am being denied the ability to remove myself from broadcasting to the link. Not only that, I'm experiencing cross-over interference from other users. Are you listening!"

   She snapped and threw her hands up, "Yes!" She ceased data entry and turned to the recorder. I had not noticed when she turned it on. Quickly satisfied, she let out a breath and placed her hand on the console. The panels became transparent again and she rotated the last image I had seen there previously. "Yes, I am listening. I pointed to this earlier. Here. We have no way of accessing this mechanism without completely dismantling the unit, which is just not possible anymore."

   I could feel myself becoming irritated and panic loomed closely, rising in my gut. "I don't understand. Are you suggesting this can't be fixed?"

   She paused for a long moment. I tried very hard not to fidget. Her eyes softened and her tone became gentle. My heart was in my throat. "Degradable components were not part of the original design. The switch was intended as a security measure to safeguard technology and to insure there was no danger in anonymity when faced with such a large level of access to the system by any one person." She paused slightly to reflect, continuing barely above a whisper, "We weren't given a choice in the matter. We wanted to be funded and be granted access to the Aura link that made this possible in the safest way and available to as many that could benefit from this program. You must understand, this technology has helped stabilize many people."

   "Please, sister, just tell me what this means."

   "If you continue to engage the Concord network switch it will continue to degrade. Your link unique identifier is there, which - if it is malfunctioning - might be the cause of cross-band leakage." I involuntarily took in a large breath, realizing I had not been breathing. She continued again, with a more factual tone. I was grateful for the outward semblance of concern she expressed.

   "We cannot remove the unit without destroying it. It is unalterably fused with channels and lanes for the artificial ribs, or intersections, all overseen by the link. Any tampering with the unit would initiate an overload and overfill to the cerebral tissue and there would be an intense synapse surge."

   "My head will explode?" I managed to rasp. My mouth must have been open. I had to swallow to speak.

   She laughed, "Or overheat.

   "I'm sorry.

   "But nothing so spectacular. You would only appear to have had an aneurysm."

   Time flowed differently then, the troubles of the council falling to the wayside, until the fateful day the fail-safe link began to corrode. Calcium formed over the switch and potent enzymes from the enhancements, acting protectively, dissolved what remained. The change was irreversible. Because of my constant meddling I was one of the earliest units to fail. Those of us that suffered this constant state of connect early on became aware of not only each other, but that of the entire spectrum. It was bearable early on, when there weren't so many us and we could still learn to feel subtle shifts in pitch. We were linked to the sub-frequency and Aura both, for the space of about three remaps, as their frequency was determined then, before they were implemented every Earth cycle. We kept the secret to ourselves, knowing what would become of us if it was discovered that we had irrevocable, unrestricted, unidentifiable access to monitor both bands.

   We were finally collecting many of the last Defects, to sooth them and calm them, when the noise began. Last because we believed the experimentation had ceased when the project was no longer receiving new patients and was removed from the public eye. It all but disappeared. Then the Capsuleers were introduced to the positive spectrum, Aura, while key agents of Concord were given access to both.

   The buzz became a gale. The gale became a storm. The storm became an apocalypse.

   Those that were not driven mad managed to remain coherent enough to feed themselves. Some, attempting to root their awareness back into themselves suffered the loss of focus. Something comparable to a lingering dizziness. Without the memory to aim their attention, they drifted aimlessly and gave in to passions that were more wild and rabid than the lust that had been there before. Their escape was in physical stimulation. Where pleasures were deemed too temporary, mutilations were preferred. We shared what they felt, when their unbridled passion pushed through to the link and we took note to practice patience in learning how to subdue the torrent.

   But there was no remedy. We shared the same cell. It grew beyond manageable levels.

   We broke our silence then, which was no secret by this point and warned that we would retaliate if measures were not taken to release the sub-spectrum from over-saturation. We would unveil secrets. Assets would become vulnerable.

   It was a bluff, and it failed. In fact, it back-fired and we were hunted down mercilessly. Many of us swore revenge. Many used their overrides to blur the visual feed with forced emissions of unspeakable things. Their own way of vengeance. We exploited what we could do, at first, with the archetypes until, catching glimmers of projections from the careless, they put an end to this method. Smartly, they do not spare the prototypes anymore and simply terminate them when the scan is complete and ready for the unit's integration. So streamlined has cloning become.

   And though we still have access to the off-line units, it is with mixed result that we attempt synthesis. Harvesting hosts was more proficient and uncomplicated. The incorporation of the benighted, past the wake of thunder and once settled, came as a revelation to many, an ascension and enlightenment and they coalesced without contest. We became one mind essentially, the patterns of our individual links constantly overlapping. So long as one of us remains, we can never die. We can never rest. We do not sleep.

   We will have our day, when the curdling screams are their own. When the stinking burning flesh is their own, and whimpering moans of despair are all that they hear. They will suffer, as we have. Cen

End of part 3

   "What is your occupation, sir?"

   "I do freelance repair and restorations at the moment."

   She spent a moment skimming through charts on the opaque slate. The eye piece seemed to act as a receptor for its invisible information. "You have quite an impressive portfolio to have fallen... To have chosen that particular profession. She made eye contact with me and, with a slight smile that touched her lips, she apologized gently.

   "It's okay."

   She returned to her charts. Unflustered and without a hint of abashment she continued with a very different smile, "You have worked on the artificial intelligence automatons. The children's toy! How wonderful.

   I gave the same smile again, "That is something we hoped would have developed further then endearing little pets for the young. Even so, the drone technology is still very promising.

   "Perhaps in time, when there is more unity with the state of affairs as they are now, we could continue our research. The technology could have a great impact on helping us with the current colonization and resource hurdles."

   "Indeed.

   "I hear many of the rare substances we require are found in abundance in places so remote that it is inconceivable how we could ever get it back here."

   That was news for me. "Is that so? That is something I have not heard of."

   The Sister smiled cleverly, "Let's keep that between ourselves, yes?"

   ter

   How many times do I have to say it!

   Center! I'm here. There you are.

   Sorry. It's fine. What was that?

   It's getting worse. No.

   It's only this one. This Kuvakei. He comes off strong even in the Anoikis.

   I have no idea how he became like this. He is shielded, like the others, except when he is enraged. He projects then, as we do, unintentionally it seems. At least to me.

   The others have come to welcome it. Coalescing to it completely it surges on like a plunging breaker, sweeping on without impedance, the momentum it gains is overwhelming and with such driving force it manages to bounce the collectives deduction back, where it is received as an adjudication.

   Interesting. Yes. I'm sorry I do not have a better explanation for this.

   How long was I out?

   Merely a moment. I'm attempting to narrow down those four patterns now, but they're shifting.

   There are only two propagating light and a third distortion caused by the lens. Ignore the first one and angle the scanner a fifth closer to the arc and aim the 6th probe as a secant about from where the star and the eigth probe is and we might be able to see the tangent and proceed from there.

   Alright. Focus...

   I'm trying.

   There! It's there. The scan was actually complete. We had a lock on a signal. I feel slick sweat thinly sheet over the face before being absorbed. Calm, I tell myself, and hear the echo of a chuckle. Despite myself, a smile touches the corners of my mouth. I shake my head in an ethereal sense. Remarkable. There are still surprises.

   Oh yes! I reply. Warp to the fifth planet and we'll face it there. It is inverted from here.

   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, 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 in agreement, for entirely different reasons, and move our muscular arms back to my side.  New Eden is nothing to me.  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. Awakening has confirmed this somewhat. The remapping seems to affect or hinder its culmination in others, to say nothing of clones or augmentations.
   Hm, he grunts emphatically, either doubting or confirming my sentiments. I can't tell.

   No.  In the light that we had in darkness, from where we stood to stretch forth our torch in desperation; when we stepped in, it was the fire we saw and never beyond it.  With a dim light we continue to crawl here, blind in all ways that in the dark we had left the light.
   I look at the module, waiting for the probes to narrow our jump path down, and ready to blink it into activation.  I wait to listen, hopeful he has some last words. 

   Initiate Warp.

   This time I cannot help myself laughing, the gesture soundless.

   Onward, then. To the first hope.

   "Warp drive active."