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.
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.
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."