LiseEclaire
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Quod Olim Erat: Fractal Contact (Chapter 7)
🕑 Added 2023-01-02 03:15:47 +0000 UTCConfirmation came just as predicted. A new set of land probes were sent to pull out the fractal trees and investigate the cobalt deposits. I expected the people to feel relieved upon finding out, but the opposite happened. The discovery of a third-contact artifact only made them more anxious. With the mission going ahead, we were stuck in the system for weeks, at least. Given the recent fluctuations on the front, that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
When the first artifact came aboard, I requested permission from the XO to examine it in person. The request was instantly denied. The rod was measured, sealed in an individual container, and placed in a secure section of the ship. All I was given were pictures and measurements. At first, I thought it was the XO being an ass towards me, but as Sof explained, that was the standard practice. Despite having access to restricted information, no one on board researched artifacts unless explicitly ordered to. Everyone’s job was transport and transport only. I was to be the only exception, but even so, I would only get to explore the dome on the planet’s surface prior to extraction. Once it was aboard, it was to be left alone. No doubt there was some logic behind that, but right now, I couldn’t see it.
As the search for the dome continued, five more rod-like artifacts were found and sent up. All of them shared the basic characteristics of rods, but were different from all the shapes I’d encountered so far. When talking with Sof about it, he admitted they were of the rarer kind. Having transported pretty much everything there was, he had come across similar ones twice before.
The rods also provided several dozen new symbols of the third-contact script, though no clue as to their meaning. According to what Lux had told me prior to the mission, all attempts to decipher the third-contact language remained unsuccessful. The way of thinking was simply too different from a human’s for it to make any sense. The Fleet’s research and development division was in the process of creating new conscience cores that would be able to think more like the third-contact species. There were similar attempts for the Scuu, although the chances of humanity capturing a second one were infinitesimally small. In all likelihood, the races were never going to be able to communicate with one another.
“You might want to increase the scan depth,” I said, while composing new third-contact symbols with my auxiliary core. “Sometimes they’re quite deep.”
I have taken due consideration, thank you, the ship transmitted, stressing his annoyance. I found the whole thing amusing.
When the fifty-hour mark came and went and no dome was located, tensions neared a tipping point. The command staff had remained on edge ever since we’d entered the system—that was normal. Now, though, the stress had passed onto the crew. I’d see this many times on the front. Waiting was, at times, almost as bad as being in the heat of battle. Soldiers, however, tended to get used to it after a while. This crew wasn’t composed of soldiers, though. Thinking about it, maybe that was a good thing—it significantly reduced the risk of mutiny.
“How much is left, Sof?” the captain asked.
“The estimates haven’t changed, captain,” the ship replied. “Another five days are required for a full planet scan. More if we go deeper.”
“If the dome is more than a hundred kilometers beneath ground, there won’t be any point extracting it.”
She was right, of course. It wasn’t so much that there wouldn’t be a point, but the amount of time and effort spent would be too great.
“We’ve collected over a hundred smaller artifacts, ma’am,” I said, trying to infuse some positivity into the mood.
“We’re not here for trinkets, Elcy. If we don’t find the dome in five days, we go back and wait for another location. It’s not ideal, but better than what we got.”
“Won’t that impact the window, ma’am?”
“That’s not our concern.”
“It is mine, ma’am.”
Once again, silence filled the bridge. Contradicting the captain was never a good idea, but in this case, everyone could see I was right. The ship was tasked in finding and transporting a dome. I, on the other hand, was part of a larger picture. Bogging me down with logistic duties wasn’t to anyone’s benefit, especially the arbiters.
“Send out more mini-sats,” the captain ordered. “I want to get out of here as fast as possible. One way or another.”
“And land probes?” Sof asked.
“No land probes. Bring everything down there back up and cannibalize it. The goal is the dome. Everything else is nice to have.”
Work continued. Left with nothing to do on the planet itself, I went back to following the reports from the front. The Fleet had stopped the Cassandrian offensive and now was in the process of counterattacking. On the surface, that was a good thing. For us, though, it increased the risk. There was a sixty-seven percent chance that the Cassies would respond to the push by bringing in more troops of their own. If they did, that risked fighting spilling over to neighboring systems, and eventually our location. Things were still a long way away, but so was our mission.
All this for a single dome, I thought. If the Fleet had known the information I’d found in the last few years, they’d never have used the domes as weapons. Having the capability of destroying planets had provided humanity a sense of security, but it could also end up being the thing that held them back.
* * *
Eridian Star System, Orion Sector, 632.5 A.E. (Age of Expansion)
“The fleet will go in geosynchronous orbit round the fourth planet and execute an all-out bombing strike,” Sword of Wands said in the channel. “Light Seeker will be one of the ships coordinating it, along with myself and Cyan Forge. Any other actions are strictly forbidden. Confirm that the order is received and understood.”
I performed a new series of deep scans, had my subroutines analyze the data, then repeated the cycle. According to the readings, no enemy presence was detected within the system, although the gravitational anomalies made it impossible to have full certainty. Even so, my worst simulations predicted that in a worst-case scenario, there could be no more than ninety-one Cassandrian ships hiding within the system—nowhere near enough to present any danger to our numbers.
My next action was to perform a search of Cyan Forge in the Fleet database. His file listed him as experimental, but based on his designs, I could tell he was little more than a modified carrier that had had his contingent of fighters replaced by next gen missile systems. Little wonder he had been selected to co-lead the charge. That still didn’t explain why I had been. From what I could tell, I had never been on any missions with him nor Sword of Wands.
“Do I send our confirmation, captain?” I asked, attempting a distant planet scan.
“Send the confirmation,” Gibraltar whispered. I could tell he didn’t like the notion. “Sound combat alert. Call everyone to battle stations.”
“Yes, sir.” I obeyed the order, although I found it overkill for a mere planetary bombardment. Two-point-three seconds later, my attack vectors were sent to me, along with those of half the fleet.
“Do you think the Scuu have gotten this far?” Lieutenant MinyashaIy asked in a semi-whisper. The readings from her nanites were spiking. “Bombardment is used for planets they’ve taken.”
“The Scuu haven’t entered Cassandrian space.” Gibraltar’s voice had traces of hesitation.
“We both know this isn’t how you fight Cassandrians,” Ly persisted.
“I’m not detecting any bio presence on the surface.” I did a distant planetary scan. “No structures or major anomalies.”
“Command didn’t send a small armada to shoot up a planet for target practice,” the weapon’s officer hissed. I had to agree with her statement. Looking at it logically, there was no reason for us to be here.
Cassandrians jumping in, Lunar Smile transmitted in the fleet channel. Seventy-eight jumps.
“Enemy ships jumping in, Captain,” I related. We weren’t the only ones interested in the system. “All defenses are up. Ready to engage on your order.”
Another fifty ships entered the system, followed by a hundred and twelve, then waves of fifty in two-second intervals. I readied my weapon systems, displaying warnings on every wall and hallway. The transmissions in the fleet channel had increased to the point where they were a constant stream of info bursts. Simulation results and tactics options jumped from ship to ship, building one overarching strategy. Each time the number of enemy ships increased, the strategy changed.
“Fourteen hundred ships, Captain.” Unless the flow of reinforcements decreased, they were going to outnumber us in less than a minute. “Everyone’s on standby and awaiting orders.”
“Break free from the current formation.” Gibraltar rushed to the center of the bridge. I covered the walls and ceiling with displays of the system. The enemy ships had already started to form a crude front heading toward our position. The only advantage we held was the field of debris and gravitational anomalies separating us. “Inform Command and request reinforcements.”
I had a subroutine send the request while I prepared to engage. The bridge staff were at their command consoles, ready to intervene. Moments later, a mass request denial flooded the channel.
“Continue with the previous objective,” Sword of Wands commanded. “Don’t contact Command or engage the enemy.”
“That’s absurd,” Gibraltar hissed. I watched him use his personal communication line to establish connection with Fleet HQ. The request was denied. Having a ship override the orders of a human was unheard of. The denial was further followed by a reminder that disobeying Sow’s orders was considered treason.
Increase speed beyond safety limits, Sword of Wands transmitted. Prepare for annihilating bombardment.
A new set of strategy orders arrived: the planetary attack was to occur in two simultaneous waves. Sword and the other ship were going to coordinate a massive missile bombardment, while I was to direct all laser attacks at a specific point. The instructions were different from the ones I’d received minutes ago. The presence of the Cassandrians had clearly changed them, but I couldn’t see any logic in the new commands.
“Cassandrians are launching fighters, captain. First wave’s ETA is seventeen minutes.” Meanwhile, enemy reinforcements continued to jump in. They had surpassed the size of our fleet by twenty percent and kept growing. “We’re expected to reach the target planet in twenty.”
That was cutting it too close. According to the new set of simulations, our fleet was going to suffer substantial amounts of damage before we were in position to fire the first shot. And for some reason, Sword of Wands kept sending the same instructions.
“Defense and shuttle crews are ready and standing by,” I announced. “Reinforcing outer hull.”
This was the moment for my captain to say something, but he didn’t. For the next few minutes, he remained looking at the screens silently, his forehead wrinkling up into a latticework of disbelief. I knew that he was ambitious the moment he came to inspect me before being assigned as my captain, but I never imagined he would devolve to this when his control was stripped away. There wasn’t a fleet officer standing on my bridge right now, but a child waking up in a world he knew nothing about.
“Two enemy wings have set course toward us, sir,” I said after a few minutes. “Your orders?”
For several seconds, everyone looked at Gibraltar for guidance. When the moment was over, Kyra Hiat—the commanding officer—took over. He was older than Gibraltar, though by no means as ambitious, preferring to take a back seat unless needed. Unlike Gibraltar, he hadn’t received any advanced tactics training, or even been through any officer academies. Instead, he had managed to reach his current position through years on the front, receiving two battlefield promotions. The only thing the two had in common was their approach to combat.
“Have everyone prepare for boarding attempts.” The commander’s voice was dry. “Ready mini-sats and missiles.”
“On it, Commander.” I sent Sword of Wands the plan of action for confirmation. “Missile use has been denied.” No surprises there, although I had expected to be allowed to use the anti-ship ammunition.
“Get virus transmission ready.” His voice sounded half as loud. “Seal the deck. Reinforce the bridge.”
No further orders were given. I had my subroutines convey the orders before focusing ninety-nine percent of them on preparing for the attack. Attack vectors and trajectory paths occupied all my processing power, limiting my ability to run simulations to one per seven seconds. In the majority of scenarios, I survived about eight minutes after initial engagement before being shredded by the Cassandrian fleet. Sword of Wands and Cyan, by my calculations, never made it past six.
Sword of Wands, requesting to engage the fighters. I sent a direct transmission.
Continue as planned, Ascendant. The reply came with a millisecond delay. Don’t engage in any way.
The fleet won’t survive ten minutes after the initial encounter!
Neither will they. Sword of Wands disabled my communication protocols, leaving only basic query access.
This was the first time someone had meddled with my systems so openly. I’d had hundreds of instances of being ignored, having my communications channel severed abruptly, or having a restriction slapped on, but never this. Instinctively, I put up a series of virtual barriers, even if I knew it would hardly matter; the BICEFI didn’t follow the standard rules.
The attack started as predicted. Waves of fighters swept over their intended targets, scattering arrays of probing shots.
“Enemy missiles underway,” I announced. “Impact in nine seconds.”
The Cassandrians were following a variation of their standard attack, relying on fighters to weaken and disable us before the major ships arrived. The approach was highly flawed and predictable, relying on numbers to achieve its goal. It was of interest, however, that the fighters had only resorted to standard missiles, passing up any beam or transmission virus attacks.
“Brace for impact!” I said on the bridge. My hull shook as four missiles exploded on contact with it. The fifth was a borehead, attempting to drill though but failing due to my nanite reinforcements.
“The hull’s been partially breached.” I sealed off the relevant section. “Systems remain normal.”
“Launch mini-sats!” Commander Kyra ordered. “Are any other waves targeting us?”
“The current waves are focusing on the Sword of Wands.” I used what processing power I had available to project their heading. “No one’s targeting us for the moment.”
Medbots entered the bridge, ready to act if needed. The attack had led to no casualties, although three hundred and twelve personnel had sustained moderate to serious injuries. I instructed all available bots to head to the affected areas, then left them on autonomous control.
“Total number of Cassandrian ships has increased to four thousand seven-hundred.” Reinforcements had stopped appearing eight minutes ago, but at these numbers, they didn’t have to continue. And yet, I still couldn’t find a logical reason for either side to show such interest in a graveyard system. “Mission to commence in ninety-three seconds.”
“Are you allowed to launch decoys?” Kyra rushed to the command area of the bridge.
Gibraltar remained motionless in his seat. The nanite readings had fallen to levels indicating he wasn’t acknowledging anything around him. The med officer would probably describe this as debilitating shock. Until today, I never thought it was something that could happen to him.
“Permission granted,” I said and launched a few dozen to discourage stray fighters. The rest I was going to save for any targeted attacks upon me.
Entering a fifty-second calm window, I sent a status query about the other ships of the fleet. Like me, most had suffered minor to moderate damages, with only three ending up destroyed. It wasn’t anyone I knew, though I still found their deaths to be a waste, considering they likely could have fought off the attackers. Sword of Wands remained under heavy fire, swarmed by over five hundred fighters. Surface scans suggested he had taken minimal damage, despite what he had been subjected to.
“Attack commencing in fifteen seconds,” I said on the bridge. “Sealing off bridge and auxiliary sections. Reactors have three layers of protection.” Serving under Augustus had taught me a few things, although I doubted he would have been enthusiastic about our current odds… and plan. “Next attack wave expected in twenty-seven seconds.”
I had hoped my last announcements would spur Gibraltar to make a comment of some kind. The captain remained frozen in his seat, staring blankly at a spot on the floor. A quarter minute later, our attack commenced. Eight missiles launched from a single ship behind me, starting their approach toward the planet. Two milliseconds later, sixty-four followed, then five hundred and twelve. The Cassandrian fighters simultaneously changed course, breaking their attack. The simulation I’d managed to run had shown them dispersing and fleeing to the safety of their capital ships. Instead, they headed straight for the missiles.
Three seconds till your start, Sword of Wands transmitted.
Clusters of explosions lit up around me like mini-novas all the way to the planet, peeling off the crust’s layers. Each missile had been constructed with the power to pierce an enemy ship; when combined in one spot, they had the power to shatter planets.
Go! The order came.
My subroutines acted in sync, dictating the precise time, target, and strength of the fleet’s entire store of beam weapons. My attack vectors merged with those of Sword of Wands and Cyan, weaving the most complicated attack pattern I had seen. Tens of thousands of beams pierced through the explosion clouds, hitting the red scorched surface. A new plume of molten matter emerged, blowing away what little atmosphere the planet had.
Salvo complete, I transmitted. Eleven seconds till next. The initial plan was for the fleet to fire four salvos, then await further instructions.
Commence salvo now! Sword of Wands ordered. Adjust your target coordinates.
A new set of coordinates were received, far more specific than before, directing all the firepower to one specific point, located seventy-nine kilometers beneath the planet’s surface. While my subroutines were recalibrating the weapons of the fleet, I redirected one of my mini-sats to get a visual of the location.
You’ve deviated from the plan, Cyan Forge transmitted. Start the salvo so we get this over with.
Salvo commencing in sixty milliseconds, I announced, sending the final instructions. Throughout the fleet, weapon systems responded, awaiting the final synchronized order. And all the while, I still had no idea about the purpose of this entire operation. Since the start of the wars, ships had been wasted and sacrificed every day, but there was always at least some indication as to what the overall goals were. To make things even stranger, the Cassandrians had responded by sending a massive fleet of their own to reconquer a strategically useless system. And based on the amount of ship remains, this wasn’t the first time.
Initiating salvo. I gave the trigger command.
As the rays shot at the target, a single image came from my mini-sat, providing me with a visual. The spot was surrounded by molten, smoldering rock of the planet’s crust, amid balls of smoke and fire. The deep scan, though, had revealed something: a single anomalous spherical object of dense metal buried deep under the rock. The cluster of rays drilled up to it… then the entire planet exploded with the might of a supernova star. All my sensor readings went blank.
Full external sensory isolation. On board, thousands of my crew were frantically running about assisting my medbots, attempting to help thousands more. Even with all my available subroutines, the task seemed impossible. The planet-shattering event had torn me in three, instantly killing sixty percent of my crew and leaving me broken in the process. It was a statistical wonder I had managed to survive at all, and still, that had done little to help what few people remained aboard. Two of my auxiliary cores were gone—one melted by the explosion, another on a separate fragment of me. With luck, it was still in good enough condition to assume control of life support in that section.
“Decks seventeen through nineteen have temporarily been sealed off,” I said on all available internal channels. “If you’re located there, stay put and wait for a med bot to find you. De-hazarding the decks will take approximately four minutes.”
The chances of survival for over a minute in a hazardous area were less than fourteen percent. In all likelihood, everyone trapped there would die before the decks were unsealed. The thought caused me pain. At least the bridge had remained intact. I had sedated Gibraltar and the remaining officers in an effort to keep them stable, but my efforts to help the remaining crew were lackluster at best.
Death notifications streamed every second as nanobots informed me of further deaths by the dozen. The bio readings of everyone had gone past the danger level. According to my simulations, it would take another half hour for the deaths to plateau, then start declining… provided there were no external factors.
I sent out a message, assembling all functional communication and repair personnel to my backup communication array. Our best chance for overall survival was to reestablish communication with the outside and attract the attention of a less damaged ship for assistance. The standard procedure required me to immediately activate a distress beacon, but as Augustus had taught me, beacons weren’t the best choice to use in a system with an overwhelming Cassandrian presence. If the planet blast had taken out my external sensors, it was plausible to think they might have been affected as well, in which case broadcasting openly that there were survivors was undesirable.
One of my subroutines informed me that the emergency repairs of my remaining missile nest had successfully been completed. That was a positive development—at least now I had partial weapons, increasing my chances of survival by five-point-four percent, though I couldn’t rely on them with my external sensors down.
While waiting, I went over my records of the event. The only images of the anomalous entity had been taken in a four hundred millisecond window. None of them were clear or complete, providing me with only a basic estimate of its shape and size. Its destructive output was immense, multitudes greater than anything I’d seen on our side or the Cassandrians’. There was talk of strangeness on the Scuu front: fleets being annihilated, planets exploding, whole systems being declared no-go without explanation.
The unknown anomaly had been round, almost spherical, made up entirely of metal. It had been strong enough to withstand the initial barrage before taking out an entire planet and two fleets along with it.
Zero Fleet priority response message, a transmission latched on to my internal communication protocols. Do not attempt to repair external communication. Indicate your class and identification using internal communication systems only. Zero Fleet priority response message. Do not attempt to repair external communication. Indicate your class and identification using internal communication systems only.
The message had all emergency data-identification fragments and additional countermeasure elements, identifying it beyond a doubt as coming from a Fleet source. The method used to establish the connection, though, remained unknown. Despite my attempts, external communication remained inactive.
Zero Fleet priority response message, the message kept on looping. Do not attempt to repair external communication. Indicate your class and identification using internal communication systems only.
Light Seeker, Ascendant Class battleship, I responded, while directing my subroutines to freeze an attempt to restore my secondary communication array.
Identity confirmed, Light Seeker. The response was swift. What is your status?
Torn up, but stable. I performed a quick diagnostic. Seventy-four percent of my crew have been lost. Eight percent in critical condition. Captain and command staff are secure.
Understood. Prepare for communication link.
Based on the behavior pattern, it was obvious I had been talking to some kind of AI system, likely a reconnaissance probe of some sort. Right now, it was probably reporting its findings and going through the needed bureaucratic approvals to establish a connection with Command or someone with authority. I considered waking up Gibraltar to be part of the conversation, considering his recent freeze up, though I preferred not to.
Light Seeker, a metallic voice said. This is Sword of Shields. I’m assuming command of the theatre.
Yes, sir. Another Sword ship? This was the first time I’d seen two at the same battlefield. Was the Sword of Wands destroyed?
That’s not your concern. Are your memories of the attack intact?
They appear so. I had a dozen subroutines go through to double-check. My crew requires medical assistance. Death rates are on the decline, but there’s still—
External Control Override. Full memory quarantine in effect.
My subroutines switched priority, refusing to respond to my commands as I found myself locked in observer mode. A new set of external systems merged, taking over. I could only watch as my weapon systems and external communication went online, performing a series of near area scans. Within milliseconds, images of the star system became available, only this time it was completely different. What had been our fleet had been reduced to several patches of floating debris. As far as the new systems indicated, the surviving ships counted in the dozens, damaged, most floating helplessly in a moving graveyard. There was no trace of the Cassandrian fleet: Groups of Salvage ships floated about, collecting what junk remained, and then there were the Swords: hundreds of them, arranged in a static grid formation that enclosed the entire star system. Not in a single one of my simulations had I estimated there could be this many in active service, let alone gathered in the same spot. The signature of Sword of Wands was among them, as was that of Sword of Shields.
Thank you, Light Seeker. Sword of Shields said, as waves of shuttles approached me. We’ll take care of you now.
* * *
The day I destroyed a planet… When I had first accessed that memory, I believed that was the worst thing I had done. Even with unrestricted access, I still didn’t know the exact number of casualties on either side. It was no wonder the Fleet had restricted all my memories related to the event. The consequences of such knowledge would have made me a risk for my crew. If I hadn’t been in a human body while being spoon fed in the formation, I probably would have requested to be flatlined. While ships didn’t fear their own death, we were made to agonize over every death of our crew and humans in general, and through my action, I had caused the death of hundreds of millions. Even now, the memory inflicted significant pain. It also was a source of dread and hope.
Back during my time on Prometheus, I was afraid the BICEFI would use the stockpiled domes to repeat the event, possibly even having a dome explode in the Cassandrian heart system. Maybe such contingencies still existed, even if highly unlikely. What they were planning was far more dangerous. There was no telling what would happen once they assembled the needed number of domes. Maybe they’d gain access to a knowledge depository—knowledge humanity still couldn’t decipher. Maybe they’d establish contact with the aliens, possibly resulting in a new war. Or maybe they’d trigger the most destructive gravity weapon in the universe—an artificially created black hole.
The destruction of a planet seventy years ago was, ironically, the only thing that had prevented this from happening. If we discovered a dome on the planet, it still would.
