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Quod Olim Erat: Fractal Contact (Chapter 28 - fix)
🕑 Added 2023-10-22 19:04:21 +0000 UTCSeems I did something wrong and chapter 28 didn't show up for this tier.
Here's a fresh post. Sorry for the mix up :(
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Swimming through the liquid cobalt felt heavy. It wasn’t so much the pain, but the restrictions my wounded arm imposed. As a battleship, I had often had to endure the thousands of seconds wasted every day to the slowness of human bodies. Right now, that body was mine.
The fractal map was still there, fully functional despite the communications being severed. If Gibraltar were here, he’d say I was wasting my time. It was a lot faster to review past memories and existing Fleet databases to pin down the exact location. It had worked once before—my current mission was proof of that. The same couldn’t be said for the third-contact home system. Ever since I’d seen the map for the first time, I had made attempts to locate it as I had the marker stars, only to find it impossible. That left only three possibilities: the star could have changed and exploded like the final marker, it could be hidden through some unknown phenomenon or technology, or the map’s representation was deliberately misleading.
Stopping at the precise spot, I systematically looked around. Ninety percent of my subroutines were calculating the angles from here to the markers, as well as the visible distance between each other. It was a simple calculation made infinitely more complex by the need to link the star positions within my space. Distances meant little. The only certainty remained that the target star was in the area between the other seven. Given that most of them were well outside human space, it left an area that would take the Fleet centuries to map out.
I didn’t have any margin for error. If there was one thing uniting the arbiter faction, it was their conviction that a battleship shouldn’t be the one to establish third-contact.
The new calculations pointed to an isolated star system in an unexplored area close to the edge of human space. The Scuu front was far away, and it was highly unlikely any Cassandrians would venture into the area. The good news ended with that, though. The star system didn’t even fall in the general area based on my five marker calculations.
“Don’t I get an additional hint?” I asked, restarting the calculations once more.
The points of light in the distance kept on shining, oblivious to my question.
By now, the arbiters had probably issued the order to have my kill order transmitted non-stop through the Fleet communication network. I doubted they had any artifact rods to negate what I had done, but the moment I flew off the ship, the order would come into effect, forcing my shutdown.
“It looks like I might break my promise to your mother after all, Sev,” I said. “Though I’ll do my best not to.”
When the second batch of calculations confirmed my findings, I swam away from the map location, making my way to the dome’s exit point.
No soldiers were expecting me in the chamber. Splitting my processing power, I dedicated half to plot a course to the planet in question, while the rest composed a series of letters for Sev.
Quickly checking on the soldiers outside, I then returned and made my way to the emergency console in the chamber. It had been built precisely to allow me to communicate with Sof via retina link in case of third-contact interference. Of course, it was doubtful that the engineers expected me to use it to bypass the ship’s security protocols and embed a hidden dump of letters to be transmitted after Sof’s reactivation. There wasn’t a soul that would consider this ethical, but it was the only way to make sure that I could send a final batch of letters to Sev. My plan heavily relied on Otton sending them on, but knowing him, he’d probably do it on the down low, even if not right away.
Let’s see what else is going on. I accessed Sof’s internal sensors.
“Sir!” I saw a soldier rush to the colonel in the secondary weapons control room. “Solar Flow has entered sleep mode. We can’t get access to comm systems or the elevators.”
The colonel immediately ran a local diagnostic on the console of his section of the ship. There was every chance that he had served on the front at some point, for he was familiar with counter mutiny procedures.
It didn’t take him long to see that there was nothing he could do about Sof, and even less that I was behind it.
“Very clever, battleship,” he said, stepping back. He was fully aware that I was watching him. “You’re still using that core crap, aren’t you?”
There was no point in answering, but since the game was up, I decided to make my presence known by turning off all the lights throughout the ship. Gunfire erupted from several of the other groups scattered throughout the ship. Not the colonel’s, though.
“Give up,” he said in the darkness. “You’ve still got valuable info in that core of yours. With a bit of luck, the arbiters might keep you as a paperweight.”
A quick vocal pitch and tone analyses suggested he was lying. From here on, the only ways out for me were through avoidance or combat.
I don’t want to hurt you. I wrote in bright red letters on the walls close to him.
“But you still will,” he said. As he did, the heat signatures of his entire squad disappeared. “Two can play at that game. Give up in the next five minutes, or we’ll shoot to kill.”
Who are you?
“Tervo.”
If that was a name, it wasn’t present in any of the personnel databases I knew.
“Flight Colonel Weness Tervo,” he added and disappeared from Sof’s sensors as well.
According to my simulations, five minutes was the amount of time he needed to establish manual control of an elevator. Even with communications down, some of his men would go to guard the shuttles while the rest stormed the bridge and the artifact chamber. That was the optimal course of action.
I grabbed the most appropriate container available and filled it with all the cube artifacts I had. I then took two rods and wrapped them in the bloody fabric that had been my shirt. Having those would be useful. Then came the riskiest and most painful part of all. While there were enough sharp objects that would let me do what I planned to, it would have really been a lot better if I had actual medical equipment at hand.
The last time someone physically poked into my head, a flight colonel was also involved. Although, back then, the murder troops under his command were coming to save me, not kill me…
* * *
System Four, Scuu Buffer Zone 706.8 A.E. (Age of Expansion)
“Two shuttles have landed,” I heard Ogum whisper to the old man. For some reason, my current state hadn’t affected my hearing. “More are on the way.”
“Desperate bastards,” the other laughed. “Breaking their own safety protocols to sweep away the mess before Daddy finds out. Losses?”
“Seventeen gone, five useless. More if the bombardment continues.” Ogum paused for a moment and glanced at me. The outlines of his face remained blurry. “We must pull back.”
“No way in hell they’ll risk losing their prize,” the old man said. “The bombardment will stop. They’re fighting the clock.”
“Even so…”
They’re about to retreat, I told Kridib. Whatever you’re doing, do it fast.
It was slightly alarming that he hadn’t told me anything about the new reinforcements. The sound of gunfire at his location had faded, leaving sporadic shots in the distance.
The corporal remained still for a few seconds, then took his rifle and sniper optics from the floor. He went to the door, taking out a communication device from his pocket.
“Starting Corkscrew,” he said, rushing down again. “Do you still need—”
A high-pitched sound drilled my ears—similar to the vibration of glass—severing my link to Kridib. I made fifteen consecutive attempts to re-establish the feed, all of which got no response and timed out fifty milliseconds later.
“Sorry for the headache, kiddo.” The old man approached, holding a pair of third-contact artifacts. “Can’t have the masters keeping an eye on us.”
You can use third-contact artifacts? I had assumed that everything in the Scuu pod had remained intact. Apparently, I was mistaken. The old man didn’t even seem fazed by the piece of technology.
“Go for Renaan,” he said, placing the rods away somewhere. “Ignore the rest.”
“You should have taken the deal!” I tried to shout after Ogum. My words came out as an amplified whisper. “The Fleet will send more murder troops.”
Ogum ignored me, disappearing from view along with two others. The old man remained. I couldn’t tell whether there was a smile on his face, but his overall attitude suggested there was.
“The Fleet will send more murder troops,” he repeated, then took a wooden stool from the ground, lifting it high enough for me to see. “Nasty things, those. Fly down with orders to kill anyone they’re ordered to. All very nasty.” He put the stool down and sat next to me. “Not many like murder troops. Even the common grunts hate them. Some might even have fun killing off a few, with everyone about to go crazy any day now.”
“The final desperate acts of desperate people,” I recited.
“A fan of poetry? Not bad, kiddo. I used to read the classics back when I had a life. Thinking about it, most of them are trash.”
“You know about the artifacts.” Even in these circumstances, commenting on knowledge that I wasn’t supposed to know felt uncomfortable.
“Third-contact remnants.” The man clapped. “Darn nice things.” His tone shifted. “Everyone is killing each other to get them, even if they don’t have a damned idea what they are.”
“Who are you?”
The man laughed. “Colonist 0054584,” he replied, his accent almost disappearing. “Before that, Rigel Conclob, Salvage Authorities department head.”
If I had the power to blink, I would have.
“Surprised?”
“You don’t behave like a Salvage operative.”
“Salvage aren’t all bureaucrats. Also, three decades in this place, and you pick up a thing or two.”
“I thought people didn’t last over a decade here.”
A sudden burst of images hit my core. I could see through Kridib’s eyes again; he had left the building and was now running through the colony streets. The taste of smoke and burned plastic was flooding his senses, making his eyes tear.
They’re off to kill the captain, I transmitted. Don’t know how many, Ogum is with them. Any instructions from Radiance?
No comms allowed, Kridib replied, killing a target with one shot. Normally, I’d be impressed, if it hadn’t been obvious that he’d had brain implants put in. The standard human brain wasn’t capable of such hand-eye coordination.
Tell that kid to stop being an idiot and link with me!
“Seems I’m not the only one who can play with artifacts,” Rigel continued. “Why are you really here?”
“The Fleet needs the captain. Let them take him, and everything will be forgiven.” More than likely, I’d also be left behind. Not the best option, but it was going to bring the mission to a successful conclusion. “There’ll be less dead that way.”
“Battleship logic.” The man stood up. “Stupid and predictable to the extreme.”
Running the numbers, I estimated it would take Kridib half an hour to reach my location… assuming he didn’t encounter serious resistance. The odds were good, given his sound silencers and brain augments. A surprise shot to his arm quickly changed my opinion. As he had said earlier, many people had things implanted in the brain. From what I could tell, the wound was insignificant—Kridib rolled to shelter behind a corner, then slid his right hand along his hip and looked at it. Blood covered his fingers.
You’re fine, I told him. It’s non-vital.
He looked at his hip—as if to confirm my words—then at his hand again. I’d seen soldiers rush back into battle with far more serious wounds, but they had always been injected with military-grade nanites. Also, this was the first time I saw what it felt like to be wounded from the soldier’s point of view. The suit, the bio readings, nanite info, and every other piece of information streamed up to me during battle gave me everything I needed to know about the soldier, but it didn’t tell me one thing about the person.
Get instructions from Radiance, I continued. I’ll keep sending what info I get.
“Want a drink?” Rigel asked. Apparently, something on this planet made people obsessed with drinking. “Your taste should have returned by now.”
“I can’t swallow.” Are you crazy, or are you trying to make me think you are? “Why am I alive? You can’t hack me. If you try, my core will auto shutdown.”
“I know.” The man went to a part of the room I couldn’t see. “Thousands of safeguards, all useless in the end. Why does the Fleet need Renaan? How’s he different from everyone else? I’ve researched first- and third-contact artifacts, been part of projects so secret that admirals can’t access them. Why can’t I be taken off?”
“I don’t know.” There was no point in seeking logic. “The Fleet wants him. Everyone else is expendable.”
Almost on cue, I saw the building hiding Kridib’s shooter explode in a plume of fire. Radiance was using precision-guided missiles, a bold decision considering how easy it was to have guidance systems go berserk.
I felt a sudden itch at the base of my neck. Whatever they had injected me with was restoring some sensation, though nothing below the neck.
“Yes, we all were expendable.” Rigel returned to his stool beside me. “Extremely expendable. But not anymore.” He took a small metal flask from somewhere and opened it. “Thanks to you, we have a chance.”
* * *
I never learned why exactly Rigel had been sent to the prison planet. At the time, I thought that his obsession with the Scuu and third-contact artifacts had driven him insane. Was there more to it, though? There was no denying that the man knew more about third-contact artifacts than almost everyone I’d known. Then again, that didn’t stop him from pumping my dying body with agora just so he could use me as an interface with which to enter the Scuu Network. The experience wasn’t one I wanted to repeat, but in his own way he had discovered the same thing that the dead race had: using cobalt artifacts could affect the functionality of a dome. Rigel had used it to hack his way into an alien communications network. Now, I planned to do something similar to prevent any communications from reaching me.
Recreating a dead race construct with a wounded arm was relatively easy. The difficulty quickly ramped up when I had to do it around my head.
In a few spots, I had to pierce through parts of my skin to ensure that the cobalt framework wouldn’t fall off.
I don’t know why you ever wanted to get your ears pierced voluntarily, Quinn, I thought as I drove a small cobalt rod through the upper part of my earlobe, then again on the other side. Those, along with rods through the top of my neck and the brow skin, would be enough for the moment, even if they caused a greater mess than I’d hoped.
Eighty-two seconds remained from the flight colonel’s so-called ultimatum. Putting on my space helmet, I grabbed the artifact container and an extra canister of oxygen and rushed towards the elevator. Leaving both, I then doubled back to grab a pair of machine rifles from the corridor floor. Now that the game was up, there was a chance I might have to use them.
Barely had I done so when the lights turned on again. Someone on the flight colonel’s team had managed to regain control of part of Sof’s systems.
“Restrict internal sensor access,” I said. “Engage quarantine protocols.”
Bright red messages flashed on all walls of the corridor. Apparently, despite his best attempts, the flight colonel hadn’t managed to strip me of my rank. If and when he did, he’d have just as much fun getting rid of my backup privileges.
“Full privacy mode,” I ordered, just in case.
The most logical thing was to head to any deck with hangar access and escape from there. Yet, I chose to go to the engine section. Most of the ship’s conscience cores were there and following ship safety protocols, completely quarantined from any and all ship sensors.
“Everyone’s expendable, battleship,” Flight Colonel Tervo’s voice echoed through the empty decks. “If we can’t get you, we’ll just destroy the entire ship.”
No, you won’t, I thought. You won’t dare destroy a dome artifact.
The muffled sound of an explosion followed. A quick analysis of the sound showed that it was real, even if nowhere in my vicinity.
“Those were the ship’s shuttles,” he continued. “One of my teams has also jettisoned all the escape pods.”
I had to admit, his approach was efficient. Right now, all of us were stuck on Sof, but only I was trapped. Even if I engaged in a game of cat and mouse, reinforcements would eventually arrive and I’d be left with nowhere to hide.
“This is your final chance. Get to a console panel and draw a line to where you are. My orders are to keep you alive, if possible.”
Even if there was any truth in that, his orders had changed the moment I had run off the bridge. My only option was to leave the ship, and there still remained a way to do it.
