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Quod Olim Erat: Fractal Contact (Chapter 41)
🕑 Added 2023-11-12 22:39:24 +0000 UTCExplosions lit up the horizon, like small blossoms of dust and fire blooming in the distance, then quickly fading away. It was easy to understand how wartime poets felt on the front. It was no accident that they only described such scenes when their own colonies were destroyed. The horror must have flipped a switch, making them see beauty beyond destruction. I could never be sure. Even after all this time in an organic husk, I felt less human than ever.
Seventy-three missiles had struck the base so far. They were a lot smaller than the type I used, but very precise. Bavon didn’t want to risk affecting any retracts in the area, nor could he afford to leave the base as it was.
“Think he’s awake?” I asked.
“Too soon.”
Ultimately, it made little difference. He was going to wake up at some point, and when he did, everything would be different. The speed with which the arbiter had reacted, bordering desperation, suggested he was aware of the conscience core construction process. Judging by her reactions, Lux might have had suspicions as well. It was also difficult to determine what she really knew. Was she really working for Bavon? Or was she still carrying orders for the BICEFI? Humanity’s bureaucratic apparatus remained opaque as ever.
One thing never changed. Each time a loss was inevitable, the Fleet preferred to be the one incurring it themselves.
* * *
Senni System, Cassandrian Buffer Zone, 618.11 (Age of Expansion)
Capelin colony fully evacuated, Rising Light transmitted. She was one of the massive Lightbreaker class frigates. On this mission, though, her decks weren’t full of ground troops, but with civilians. Jumping out.
Making you a passage, Sunstorm responded. The Cassies have started clustering.
That was an understatement. The entire system had become a battlefield. It was clear that humanity couldn’t hold on to it; even Fleet Intelligence had come to that conclusion. Consequently, the Fleet had ordered the only tactical option available: scorch the system. Thankfully, they had also ordered the evacuation of the inhabitants as well. There had been whispers that that wasn’t always the case.
A flotilla of seven Fleet battleships jumped in. Linking with the rest of us, they immediately launched all their missiles in the direction of the Cassandrians’ main force.
By my estimations, there was a seventy-one percent chance that over forty enemy ships ended up being destroyed in the process. They had already exhausted most of their offensive and defensive capabilities, leaving them vulnerable. Sadly, that also meant that destroying them would do little to influence the overall battle. One of the older ships in the theatre had described them as heat-shields. I didn’t appreciate the joke, but the description was apt—they were like a layer of armor that prevented us from dealing damage to the active enemy force.
“New wave of enemy reinforcements,” I announced as hundreds of Cassandrian ships popped up on the edge of the system. “There’s a twenty-three percent chance that they affect the evacuation of Senni Five.”
“Don’t waste your ammo, Elcy,” Augustus said from the captain’s seat. “They aren’t part of our mission.”
“Our mission doesn’t make sense, sir!” I protested. “With the armament we possess, we can—”
“Elcy, don’t be a rookie!” my captain shouted.
I could tell he didn’t like this either, but, unlike me, he saw it as necessary. That was one of the things about humans I’d never gotten used to. They seemed to be a lot more accepting of human losses than those of ships. I couldn’t care less if I ended up getting destroyed; I preferred if I didn’t, but I knew that my only purpose was to serve as a weapon until I no longer could. Human life was different. Each flatline caused me pain. There was no getting accustomed to that. The only “trick” was not to let it affect my actions during battle.
A dozen Lightbreaker frigates jumped out of their system. Each of them carried about a million civilians, and still that was a quarter of the colony they were evacuating.
Colony, I thought.
A few months ago, they were called cities. The planet had had a central role in this region of human space for half a century. It had several planets with a high life factor, one even with vegetation and an oxygen-rich atmosphere. That was before the Cassandrians had broken through our defenses, expanding the buffer zone. Now, they were described as colonies, and I was one of the ships tasked to purge them out of existence.
Bombardment group, status report, Flying Light transmitted. He had the thankless role of being our mission leader.
Glowing Orb in position.
Moonlight in position.
Neon Shine ETO ninety seconds.
Light Seeker in position, I transmitted.
Dozens more followed. All of us had reached our orbital positions or were about to. A hundred of my subroutines ran simulations regarding the most efficient outcome. Despite my orders, I planned to preserve as many missiles as possible. Maybe then HQ would allow me to join in the actual fight. Helping in the evacuation was a lot more preferable than destroying empty city husks.
Bombardment group, start purge, our mission leader ordered.
Immediately, I transmitted bombardment requests to all weapons officers on duty. When dealing with human targets, I needed their explicit approval, as well as that of the captain.
Confirmations poured in. Some did it verbally, but most preferred to silently grant me authorization through console or datapad.
“Ready for bombardment, captain,” I said on the bridge.
“Go.” Augustus waved his hand, still holding one of his annoying cigars.
I wasn’t the first to start the bombardment. That “honor” went to the mission leader. It was obvious that he had done it before.
The rest of the group soon followed. Missiles descended on the planet, striking our designated target with the strength of a sun. Reading a target’s history was discouraged, but I had done it all the same. At one point, this had been one of the industrial centers on the planet, boasting over twenty-one million people in an area of two hundred square kilometers. The actual name had been quarantined, known to me only as Colony 17. I had no way to check who lived or had been born there. There was a one-point-three percent chance that a person of historic significance had come from there. No doubt the system had been instrumental in humanity’s expansion in space. Now, all their achievements—the achievements of every single city and colony in the system—had been erased, condemned to be redacted and buried in the annals of history.
Colony 15 – destroyed.
Colony 14 – destroyed.
Colony 2 – ninety-seven percent destroyed.
Colony 3 – ninety-one percent destroyed.
Colony 6 – destroyed.
Colony 22 – commencing bombardment.
Status reports filled the ship channel. For a brief moment of time, there were more of them than information regarding the enemy fleets. Everyone was clear that we weren’t fighting to keep the system. Our only goal was to render it utterly unusable before we flew out.
Another group of heavy frigates jumped out. They had the fortune to clear their sector and were on the way back to human space. Several more weren’t so lucky. A wave of Cassies had managed to break through the perimeter defense and had cut into the frigates. Four of them were destroyed, with eleven more sustaining heavy damage. More importantly, close to ten million lives were lost from that attack alone.
Priority one message to all ships in system! A transmission came straight from HQ. Two Cassandrian fleets are heading your way. ETA nineteen minutes. Estimated strength over two thousand.
When Fleet Intelligence said nineteen minutes, that usually meant we had five.
“Heavy reinforcements on their way, Captain,” I said on the bridge.
“Friendlies?” one of the junior officers asked.
The targeted silence he received quickly answered his question.
“How far are you with the colony?” Augustus asked.
“Thirteen percent of missiles launched. Estimated total destruction fifty-eight percent.”
There was nothing that could stop their impact at this point. More than likely, I wasn’t going to stay to witness the destruction, but it was going to occur, nonetheless.
My captain stood up and took a few steps to the bridge wall in front of him. Following his eyes, I calculated the image he was looking at and zoomed it up.
“What do you think, Wilco?” The captain took a puff from his cigar. A few steps away, a simulation of the colony’s destruction was playing in loop, modified in real time as data from new missile launches became available.
“I think we should cut the lawn, cap’n,” the weapons officer replied. “That’s all the time there is.”
“Hmm.”
I didn’t welcome the response. Even without knowing what they were really talking about, the window for helping the civilians had just closed on me.
“Elcy, secondary target,” Augustus ordered. “Launch everything that’s left at both.”
The coordinates were a fair instance from my primary target, but possible from my position. Running the numbers, I was one of three battleships within range. The likelihood of a coincidence was zero-point-two percent. The order prevented me from doing anything about it.
Was there a point coming here, Augustus? I wondered. According to my behavior profile of him, he wouldn’t have answered even if I’d asked.
“Launching missiles at both targets,” I announced.
It took eleven minutes to send them all off, even while firing at maximum capacity. Once I was done, I performed a long-range scan. The Cassandrian reinforcements still hadn’t arrived. Fleet Intelligence might end up being right for once.
“Missiles launched. Estimated destruction of colony is ninety-seven percent. Estimated destruction of secondary target unknown.” Given that I was targeting an entirely empty range, I couldn’t add more. If it had been a mountain or a forest, I could potentially confirm I’d destroyed that.
“Let’s get out of here.” Augustus sat back in his seat. We’d done what we came for. All that remained was to return to human space and await further instructions.
* * *
The entire Senni system vanished from history that day. Most of the captured systems did the same. The Fleet kept records, in some form, but it never matched the truth. As far as everyone was concerned, humanity had just lost territory, nothing more. The irony was that decades later, when we had reclaimed many of the lost systems, the only devastation we found was the one we’d done ourselves. Sev’s current home used to be in the buffer zone at one point. Even back when Cass was alive, it was treated as mostly safe. The new buffer zone was far enough away that no military presence had been deemed necessary.
“The timing is very precise,” I said as more explosions followed. “He must have launched them by the time you landed here.”
“That’s why a one-hour deadline was given.”
It was the amount of time it took for the missiles to hit their target. No further delays were possible.
“The shuttle should appear in another twenty-six minutes.”
“Was that planned as well?”
Lux didn’t answer. The simulations I was running confirmed my suspicions. Both of us remained sitting on the ground with our spacesuits, looking at the series of explosions. When they stopped, a crater remained in the place of the base. It wasn’t particularly big—I had been several times larger back when I was a ship—but it clearly stated Bavon’s intention.
When the shuttle landed, I saw no difference between it and the missiles that had poured down. Both had come from Radiance and were aimed at destroying something the arbiter wanted gone without a trace.
On the way back, I had all my subroutines analyze every instant of my recently acquired memories. Partially due to the secrecy regarding conscience cores, no one knew their exact size. During my entire existence, I knew that there were two general types: large ones for battleships and small ones for retirees. It was Lux who had later shattered my illusion by providing me with an auxiliary core that had been placed within my spine. In reality, size wasn’t the factor everyone thought it was.
The shuttle stopped ten meters from Radiance’s entry point. Lux and I were ordered to leave it as it was and float the final distance aboard.
Decon lasted for fifteen minutes, followed by isolated quarantine for another six hours. There were no means of communication, no access to Radiance’s systems, and no one else nearby. As far as I could tell, I wasn’t even monitored, forced to remain in a sealed isolation chamber made completely out of nanites. At least the clothes they had created for me were comfortable.
Six hours and sixteen minutes since I set foot on the auxiliary ship, a door finally formed. I expected for Lux to come get me; instead, I saw a few familiar faces from my team back on the previous base. That’s where the reunion ended. There were four of them, all in heavy gear and weapons pointed straight at me.
“Interesting welcome,” I said.
One of the soldiers slid something on the floor at me.
“Restraints?” I asked. I’d only see those used back on Resha colony when it was starting out.
“Put them on.” The soldier’s voice trembled as he gave the order. “Feet first.”
The human part of me felt slightly insulted, though I couldn’t blame them. The legs of my human husk were roughly the same size as muscular arms. Slowly, I bent down, then put on the restraints, letting each of them click.
“Good enough?” I asked.
A second set of restraints was slid towards me.
“Now hands.”
I obeyed. “Any more?” I looked at him.
The man shook his head, then slowly walked backwards out of the chamber. Once all of them were safely out of reach, one of them nodded at me to come out.
Walking barefoot with two sets of restraints was uncomfortable, though not as difficult as they thought it would be. People would get impatient and try to compensate for their lack of speed, possibly resulting in the restraints biting into their skin.
“Why the special treatment?” I asked as we walked along the corridor.
“Orders,” was the single reply I got.
Always orders, I thought. Those on the second base were much better.
No other people were present as we walked along. Just to make sure, I activated my mind scalpel. Everything remained exactly the same to the layers of nanites all around.
“Nice to see you’re still flashy, kid,” I said.
The soldiers looked at each other.
“Not you. The ship. But you’re doing a pretty good job as well,” I said, attempting to add some sarcasm to my praise.
The joke didn’t go well. Almost simultaneously, the soldiers set their helmet visors to full opacity.
After six minutes of inefficient walking along the single corridor, I finally reached a door. Ten meters from it, my escort stopped. They didn’t lower their weapons, though.
“In there?” I asked, not even bothering to look over my shoulder.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Back to ma’am, are we? Before I could add another comment, the nanites formed a new wall between me and the group. Now there was only one way I could go. It would have been nice if they had removed the restraints. The fact that they didn’t meant only one thing.
The door slid to the side as I approached it, revealing a lush garden. The smell of moss and grass made it clear this wasn’t an SR, but the real thing. There was something different about it, though. It wasn’t just another ship garden. Plants were everywhere, as if they had tried to invade the large chamber and make it their own.
This was the first time since I had been back home that I’d felt grass beneath my feet. I could feel it crunch with every step, tickling my soles as it did. That wasn’t the centerpiece, though. In the very middle of the room, covered with moss and shrubs, was a large block of cobalt. Only the very top of the metal remained visible, still unconquered by the green invader.
“I thought you might like this.” Bavon emerged from behind the block. Twenty meters separated us—not enough for me to reach him before he issued any number of commands, including my instant shutdown order.
“Thank you, sir. You didn’t have to make it specially for me.”
“I didn’t,” he replied, missing the joke. Looking at the bags beneath his eyes, he hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep. At most, he’d managed to get enough to start his next regimen of drugs. “This used to be a lab. Who’d have thought that an active artifact and lots of agora would have such an effect? Usually it takes months.”
An analysis of his speech and intonation patterns indicated a nine-one percent chance that he was fighting for control over himself. The last person I’d seen in a similar state was Gibraltar… and things didn’t end too well for him.
“You know, I always had a very high opinion of you Ascendants.” The arbiter slid his hand along the moss-covered artifact. “You were always meant to be special.”
“The same could be said for every single class, sir.”
“No.” He shook a finger. “Every class is important, but only a few are really special. You already know, don’t you?”
In his current condition, I had a thirteen percent chance to convince him I didn’t. There also was a forty-four percent chance that he would get very upset if he caught me in a lie.
“Bits and pieces,” I replied.
“Bits and pieces,” the man laughed. “That’s what Lux told me. It’s still too much.”
“We are the third-contact race, aren’t we, sir?”
“The third contact-race?” He laughed again, this time longer than he was supposed to. “Leave it to a ship to have delusions of grandeur. You’re as much third contact as we’re made of stardust.”
“We have conscience cores.”
“You’ve no idea what a conscience core is!” he snapped all of a sudden. “No one does! You’re a copy of a copy of a copy of something that humanity first found. Was that a real first-contact event? Who knows? I maintain it’s an artifact, just like the Scuu devices. The truth died with the Age of Expansion.”
I knew he was wrong, although he didn’t seem to be lying. As far as he was concerned, the secret was really lost. It was difficult to think that an arbiter didn’t have clearance for that information, although it remained a possibility. When it came to bureaucracy, no one knew for certain how many layers there really were. It was entirely possible that humanity had forgotten the details. Truths such as these were too sensitive to be written down. Only the memories of the original core remained, and that remained inaccessible to people.
“Cores are based on behavior patterns.” Bavon went back to being calm and collected. “Ships who have distinguished themselves in the past, experienced captains who’ve proven themselves on the front…” He waved his right hand as he spoke. “Last few centuries, it’s only been combinations of patterns that existed. As the saying goes, there’s nothing new in the universe. Well, almost nothing.” He turned to the moss-covered block. “This might well be the original. Same shape, same size, just not inert. That’s the big difference. Humanity’s found a lot more artifacts than even it knows. Everyone squabbles for them. Sometimes they even manage to make something useful out of the finds, but it’s all junk!”
Back on the Scuu front, I’d have called this the mark of insanity. Sadly, the Scuu weren’t involved in this one. It was all due to the poor combination of pressure, lack of sleep, and knowledge of too many secrets. The arbiter didn’t seem completely lost yet, but the signs were there. This wouldn’t be the first time a high-ranking member of the Fleet’s bureaucratic apparatus had lost his mind. Because of what he knew, though, it made him the most dangerous.
“That’s you!” He pointed at the block. “Every few generations, we imprint part of the original into a new batch. That’s the only reason you’re able to enter the domes.”
“That’s why you needed an Ascendant so badly to establish third-contact,” I added.
“The alternative was to wait another forty years when it’ll be time for the next batch of direct copies. Forty years!” Bavon shook his head. “The Fleet’s been kicking the can down the road for so long that they don’t know how to act differently. They’re so afraid that they don’t see the most obvious issue.”
It was starting to get difficult to follow his logic. There were too many things that he was referring to at once. Even with a thousand simulations, I only had a fifty-three percent chance of getting it right.
“Which is?” For once, I decided to play it safe.
“Not every contact leads to war. The Scuu, and the Cassies, were too different from us. Conflict there was unavoidable. But the fractal race—they have the potential to understand us.”
That hardly was a guarantee. Bavon had no idea the circumstances surrounding the zero contact. In his mind, he probably imagined it to have been a legitimate contact situation. The truth was that the people in charge at the time had found it easier to create a whole bureaucratic apparatus based on secrecy—and add in a few organizations that specifically monitored conscience core entities from going rogue—than run the risk of open dialogue. Based on the data I had so far, I couldn’t say that they were wrong in their approach.
“The start of a new age for humanity,” I said. “And I’m the one to help you start it.”
“Were,” he corrected himself. “As I told you before, there’s no denying what you’ve achieved. There’s also no denying that you’ve become too difficult to control. I was willing to overlook an incident or two, but after you found out about your origins…” he shook his head. “What I need is in your conscience core, but as you know, memories can be extracted.”
“Not all of them.” I knew exactly what he was saying. “You weren’t able to learn about the fractal map before I told you.”
Bavon’s eyes widened.
“True,” he said, fighting to retain his composure. “That’s true. The original plan was to activate the pyramid, but your reluctance to let that happen presented me with a far better option. While you’re right that we failed to retrieve those particular memories, who said I’d even want to? All I need is for someone a lot more controllable to have access to them. In short, all I need is another Ascendant, and as it happens, I have one.”
