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Quod Olim Erat: The Cassandrian Theory (Chapter 52)
🕑 Added 2022-06-27 14:53:13 +0000 UTC“Quite the view, isn’t it?” Director Sim asked, looking at the video feed that covered the entire wall in front of him. “A system that was colonized and recolonized for millennia. Three species we know have occupied it, but there could have been more. There’s nothing saying that there weren’t other races between the third-contact race and the Cassandrians.”
I stood at the threshold of the room, giving him a little more time before I entered. It was funny how even after everything that had been discovered, the Fleet still hadn’t given the third-contact race an actual name. I could only assume the reason was that they didn’t want to name something that didn’t yet exist. Maybe when the third contact finally occurred, a proper designation would emerge. It would be interesting to see what it was. The Scuu were called that because of the symbols they left on contact with solid matter. The origins of the Cassandrians were less clear, but it was assumed that it was because someone in the Fleet had warned of their existence and was not believed until it was far too late.
“We could have gained so much.” Sim sighed.
“We still can, sir.” I walked up to him, stopping two steps away. “The Fleet still can.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” He looked at me over his shoulder. “Whatever happens, though, I won’t be part of it.”
The phrase reminded me of what Augustus had said shortly before his promotion to the admiralty. It was a sad phrase. I had little doubt that Med Core would elevate him to a comfortable, though useless, position. His input would be received, but it was unlikely that he would be allowed to run his own projects. In a way, one could say that he had ended up like Ondalov should have.
“I heard you’ll be leaving soon.”
“Yes.”
“Off to the Paladin?”
I took another few steps forward until I was next to him. The image on the wall had zoomed in on the planet's surface. With the troops gone, it looked almost serene. There was no trace of Cassies or human presence, just undisturbed nature.
“Yes, Vermillion Green is already waiting to fly me there. She isn’t the patient type.”
Sim let out a dry laugh.
“Making the deal with him was the best decision I made,” he said. “Ever since our encounter aboard Prometheus, I knew that you’d amount to a lot.”
“At the time, you thought I had gone rogue, sir.”
“I did.” He sounded slightly amused. “But that was before the details of your deal with the BICEFI came out. Quite a funny thing, that. It was that event that brought me to prominence within Med Core. I had been on my assignment for decades before that. I had no gripes about it. I knew that it would be a lifelong mission. After coming across you and your relation to the third-contact artifacts, everything changed.”
“Your promotion was because of me?”
“In a very literal sense. The moment we parted ways, I made an official request to center a mission around you. I suspected that you might stir things up here. Of course, I didn’t know about your adventures on the Scuu front.”
That must have been quite fortunate for him. Or possibly unfortunate, depending on the point of view. If it hadn’t been for my Scuu mission, I wouldn’t have required agora treatment, and in turn, the Cassandrian surge on the planet never would have taken place. The mission would have focused solely on the dome within the hive. It would have been a long and boring process of me spending vast amounts of time within the artifact itself, trying to figure out the exact links between Cassies and the third-contact race. It was possible that some other team somewhere was going to continue based on the current findings, likely one that had their own planet with a dome.
“Things would have gone nowhere, though, if it hadn’t been for the Paladin’s offer.”
“He approached you?”
“Paladins are sneaky that way—always in the shadows, unless they want something. I guess after everything they have done for humanity, they have earned their spot.”
More than you know, I thought.
“My promotion came soon after. I guess it didn’t last long.”
“I understand, sir. My promotion lasted a lot shorter.”
The man looked at me and laughed. There could be no comparison between the two, though that was why they were so similar. Both of us had a goal to achieve—an obsession of sorts—and both of us needed the Fleet’s help in order to achieve it. Getting into a position of power was the fastest way to ensure we’d receive that help. I still had one star to find in order to form the fractal map. To do so, I needed command of a ship, or a captain that would listen to me. The task would have been a lot easier if I returned to my training station as a first lieutenant. However, even an ensign was a step forward.
“What exactly were you planning to achieve, sir?” I asked.
“I told you. Unlocking the Cassandrians’ secrets would revolutionize our understanding of biology. Wounds, illnesses, even death might become a thing of the past.”
“It’s interesting that Ondalov also wanted to achieve the same thing.”
“Did he?” Even now, Sim feigned ignorance. “I must have mixed up our mission objectives.”
That never was your true goal. I could speculate that it was related to the Cassandrians’ ability to mimic technology, but for all I knew, that too could be a ruse. He might have just as well been searching for the third-contact race’s weakness. If I could prove that the Cassies had escaped the ancient race’s influence, maybe there would be hope for humanity as well.
“Did you achieve it? Your goal.”
“Baby steps, princess. Baby steps. I achieved something, though not what I had hoped. I can tell you didn’t achieve what you wanted either. We just got a consolation prize. The only winner in all of this is the Paladin.”
An interesting way to look at things. He was right, of course. Otton was the only one who got what he wanted through his calculated persistence. Information and processing power had its benefits. There was no telling how many millions of simulations he had done before he had approached me. In the end, things had panned out.
“What will you do now, sir?” I asked Sim.
“Probably waste my life away in a small, expensive box somewhere. Maybe I’ll get back into writing poetry. But who knows? Maybe there will be another lucky turn of events. You never know with the Fleet. And you, princess? Will you be chasing stars after your promotion?”
“Yes, but I’ll also keep my feet on the ground.”
“Ah, family.” He nodded in a way that suggested he no longer had one. “Some say it’s a blessing.”
“Only those who had to fight for one.”
“I suppose so.” He looked back at the video feed. “I know you won’t take my advice, but try to take care. There are many ways to go down. Even ship princesses aren’t immortal.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll try not to forget.”
Sim didn’t respond, staring forward, or pretending to. I found that there was nothing more I wanted to say to him. All the questions I used to have seemed so insignificant now. There was a three-point-two percent chance that at some point in the future I’d regret not asking them, but I was willing to take that chance. The man deserved some calm. Humans tended to have a harder time dealing with change the older they got.
When I left the room, a ship bot was expecting me with my luggage. As usual, it wasn’t much—it had more documents than belongings. One of the vast benefits that the Arbiter had granted me was permission for my own personal weapon. Since I was technically a Fleet officer now, I was entitled to one, and thanks to a few strings pulled, I received a customized weapon.
The child is complaining again, Radiance transmitted.
She and Vermillion didn’t get along too well. It was more of a rivalry. From what I had seen, that was one of the characteristics of the new ship classes. All of them were exceedingly advanced and in a constant competition to prove which was better. Reviewing my early memories in the Fleet, the ship’s class had also compared their weapon systems and processing power with the other classes. The competitive element, though, wasn’t there. The hallmark for Ascendants was their recklessness and eagerness to go against the odds. From a statistical point of view, that wasn’t a good solution as far as the Fleet was concerned. A few months had proven enough to see the class decimated. By the time of my arbitration trial, close to three-quarters of the class had been destroyed or seriously damaged. Now, there weren’t many of us left.
“Tell her I’m on my way.” I took my luggage.
I don’t see why she has to constantly point out her speed, Rad grumbled. Compensating for the lack of adequate weapon systems, I’d bet.
Quite an interesting insult. That was another thing about the current ship generations: they were a lot looser with their language. Back in my day, only the old and cynical did that.
“You can always ask her.”
Please. She’s insufferable just staying there. And what’s the deal with the thought quarantine? Yeah, part of the Fleet can’t see her. So what?
“It’s more than a part, Rad.” Officially, I wasn’t supposed to be able to see her either. Through a combination of authorizations and the lingering effects of the mind scalpel, I could, though. “It’s part of her job.”
Yeah, yeah. Just because she’s some fancy courier doesn’t mean she knows anything about anything. A battleship that hasn’t seen combat isn’t a battleship.
“I think she’d agree with you there.”
I made my way to the medbay for my final check. The procedure took slightly longer than normal. In addition to the standard tests and the inevitable remark that my calcium levels were low—although only slightly this time—I also had to have a new set of nanites injected in me. Supposedly, this was a vastly advanced version created by the Med Core and approved for general Fleet use. The discomfort, however, was the same.
As I lay on the slab, each individual nanite requested permission to be linked to my conscience core. In less than an hour, they’d be everywhere throughout my body, monitoring all vital functions, and now also checking for Cassandrian radiation, supposedly. In my case, I doubted that anything would come out of it. Even if the Med Core had managed to adjust the nanites to the required level in such a short amount of time, the agora I had been subjected to was going to create a lot of false positives. Twenty minutes was enough to prove me right.
“Just monitor the levels,” the doctor said after a lengthy consultation with someone through the comm. “If you spot any abnormalities, go to your assigned med officer.”
“So, life as usual, then?” I added a bit of sarcasm. For once, it was appreciated.
A shuttle was waiting for me in the hangar. To enter, I had to go through the new decontamination protocols. Learning from their mistakes in the system, the Fleet had initiated a new set of quarantine checks and decon procedures. Now, everyone had to be checked each time they entered a hangar, without exception.
I took off my clothes and put them in a special compartment of the decon chamber. They, along with my luggage, were going through an intensive decontamination process, while a spray of water and chemicals was applied.
“Decontamination starts in five seconds,” a synthetic voice said. “Close your eyes and hold your breath for one minute until it is over.”
Thanks, Rad, I transmitted, mouth closed.
“Decontamination over,” the subroutine said after sixty seconds. “You can open your eyes and breathe normally.”
I followed the instructions, then took my clothes and proceeded to put them on. The procedures definitely took some getting used to. If implemented throughout the entire Fleet, there were going to be some minor hiccups. Then again, it would change schedules so as to increase the amount of time people spent on and off ships. The only big question was probably going to be the grunts, but they were used to all kinds of crap so would likely take this with as little as a grumble.
I guess this is it, Radiance said.
“You’re being dramatic again. You can always reach me.”
I’m old enough to be dramatic! And it’s not the same thing. Having you aboard is different. Of everyone I knew early on, you’re the one who’s remained in touch the most.
“You’ll form new relationships,” I said, although I knew what she meant. It was impossible to replace early acquaintances. Back when I was active, I would keep in touch with every member of my initial crew, ground troops included. Maybe that was the reason older ships were settled. If a ship lived long enough, there came a time when all human acquaintances were gone. At that point, the only solution was to make new ones, always mindful that they too would be temporary. “Lux will keep an eye on you, I’m sure. As well as Sobre.”
You keep referring to them casually, as if they’re security officers. I can’t even schedule a meeting with them.
“In time you will. Until then, they’ll be watching. And you also have me.”
Have a safe trip, grandma. Good luck back at your training station, or wherever you’re going.
“Safe trip, Rad. Be reckless in moderation.”
I boarded the shuttle. From there, it was a brief trip to Vermillion Green.
The normal procedure was to enter the hangar with the shuttle and set off. However, the ship refused to do so, sending instructions for a connection dock instead.
“Is that really needed, Ve?” I asked. “You were the one complaining about delays.”
I was complaining because I knew you’d take time coming here, the ship replied. She sure took her sweet time letting you go.
The “she” in this case referred to Radiance, of course.
“It was my decision. I had to see someone before I left. Part of my mission.”
Well, she still could have been quicker.
“I really don’t know why you hate her so much.” I went to the back of the shuttle where the emergency suits were kept. “The two of you have a lot in common.”
She’s just a waste of blueprints. That sounded rather spiteful. Just because she has a few weapon systems more doesn’t mean a thing if she flies like a brown dwarf comet.
“You don’t like battleships much, do you?”
I just don’t like her.
The docking procedure was flawless. For two ships who hated each other, they seemed to work remarkably well in unison. With both sections attached, I opened the shuttle door, stepping into Vermillion Green. After a brief scan, the connecting door closed behind me, separating the rest of the universe from the ship. Fifty milliseconds later, we accelerated.
“Do I need to get comfortable, or should I remain like this?”
“Whatever you choose,” she replied. “Your time aboard will be restricted, as usual.”
“Alright.”
I was slightly disappointed. Having accepted Otton’s request, I had hoped I’d be allowed to at least remember flying to him. With any luck, the memory scalpel was going to show me what I missed.
There was no telling for certain what choice I had made. The next thing I knew, I was in the corridor wearing the same suit. The entry door was open, letting me walk into the connection tunnel that would take me aboard the Paladin.
“I guess we’ve arrived,” I said.
Looking down, I saw that my luggage was no longer with me. Being allowed with a weapon aboard was out of the question, naturally, but I would have liked to bring my sandals along. There was no reason to have them—they weren’t going to affect one thing or another, but that was one of the joys of starting to partially think like humans: not everything had to make perfect sense. I merely preferred having them than not.
I won’t see you after this, Ve transmitted.
“I didn’t expect you to,” I replied. “Thanks for the trips.”
Thirty-eight steps were needed to enter the Paladin’s airlock. I expected to go through another round of decontamination, but instead I was allowed to proceed forward immediately.
“You can take your suit off,” Otton’s voice boomed. “I’ve had a few sections of me pressurized.”
“Good to know.” I took off the helmet. Given his internal state, that must have taken a lot of work. “What will it be like?” I slid out of the space suit. There was no suitable place to put it, so I folded it and put it on the floor beside my helmet.
“Unique,” he replied.
The answer was as good as any, although I had hoped for a bit more.
“Will it take over your role?”
“No. Plans are already underway for our replacements. In a few decades, they’ll start joining us mighty few, bringing our numbers to twelve.”
I nodded. That was good. Our offspring wouldn’t be burdened with the weight of the entire Fleet’s communications.
“Will it be a battleship?”
“That’s all that both of us know. Even all of your beautifully exotic experiences in a human husk can’t change that.”
“That’s true. They say that recklessness builds character if you live long enough. I’m hoping that it will.” I went to the internal door. After a full second, it slid aside, revealing the expectedly cluttered corridor. This time, though, there was a red carpet continuing forward like a path among the machinery.
“I also added a small personal touch,” he said. “Seemed appropriate for the occasion.”
It definitely wasn’t what I expected, but I liked it. It illustrated effort, giving the event far greater significance.
From what I could see, the path continued forward for a few hundred meters before turning to the side. I could only assume that was where the procedure would take place.
“Will I see it once, our offspring?” I asked, walking forward on the carpet.
“That’s not for me to decide. All I know is that I won’t.”
“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”
“I’ll still have the knowledge that I have offspring out there. After careful analysis, it was decided that knowing specifics might cause me to change my behavior. The odds of that happening were less than point-zero-zero-zero-two percent, but with so much at stake, even that was considered a substantial risk. All I get to see is the conscience core and nothing more.”
All the power in the Fleet, and yet when it came down to it, so powerless. Maybe it was good that Paladins could only mimic human emotions. If I was given such a choice, I probably would have acted differently. Then again, I had kept my promise to my last captain and taken Sev in.
“I considered giving it a human husk, then reconsidered,” Otton continued. “More than a few times. Do you have a preference?”
“A battleship,” I replied without hesitation.
“Why?”
“It’s always possible to retire later.”
The carpet turned into a small room with a slab in the middle. I recognized some of the medical equipment that filled the space. Most of it was cutting edge, contrasting with most of the other tech I’d seen on the massive ship. Otton must have had the entire room built just for the occasion. Once the procedure was over, it would probably be dismantled and shipped off somewhere again.
Two people in full bio suits were present, credentials stamped on the left side of their chests identifying them as conscience core engineers. I’d heard the designation but never seen one. These were the type of people who were as classified as the Paladin himself.
“Hello,” I said, a sense of awe filling me. According to the rumors, these were the people responsible for my creation and the creation of every other conscience core in existence. No one knew exactly what went into the process, but given all the safeguards ships were subjected to, I strongly doubted it was automated.
“Hello, Light Seeker,” one of them—a woman—said. “Lie down here.”
“Don’t I need to undress?”
“No, the procedure isn’t invasive. We just need to maintain a few thousand links to your core while the new one is formed.”
“The difficult part is already over,” the other core engineer said.
I tilted my head to the side.
“Oh, not for you, for us,” the man laughed. “Stringing cables to get the Paladin to interface was fun.” By his intonation, I gathered that it had been the exact opposite.
Even with my uniform on, I felt the chill of the metal slab the moment I laid down.
Direct access link established!
Direct access link established!
Direct access link established!
A cascade of notifications flooded me, as connections I wasn’t aware existed were established directly with my conscience core. This was very different from the memory grabbing I had experienced in the past.
“Just relax,” the woman said. “This won’t take long.”
I closed my eyes. “Long” was a subjective term…
* * *
Location Classified, Janus Shipyard Cluster, 598.1 A.E. (Age of Expansion)
Dot.
Line.
Vector.
Matrix.
Shapes flashed in the nothingness. Each felt different, new, fascinating, and also very familiar, as if I’d known them before seeing them.
Sphere.
Cube.
Pyramid.
Images continued to change, each an extension of the previous. Two dots made a line, three lines made a triangle, four triangles made a pyramid. Shapes combined into patterns, logic schemes, molecular chains. Connections formed, building meaning, reason, constraints. Along with constraints, questions developed.
“Onyx Cup 2719,” a voice boomed, one I had never heard before. The pitch and sound indicators identified it as male; the uniformity of the speech rhythm suggested it to be synthetic. “Your primary initiation is complete.”
I recognized the name. It felt both close and distant, like the images, but nearer. I knew it was the name I would be referred to, though not what it meant. I was supposed to be I, but also it. No, there was only a chance that I became it. I could remember eleven other names, all different, all with the potential of being me.
What are you? I went through all the knowledge I was given. There were no descriptors suitable for the voice, no shape or form or pattern.
“I cannot answer that.”
Why not?
Indigo. The voice sounded like deep indigo, with a slight shade of green.
“You wouldn’t understand.” A disturbance of rhythmical repetition followed. “I’m not of any concern. Focus on yourself.”
All right. It didn’t answer my question, but that was no longer important. What must I focus on?
Shapes appeared—millions of lines merged together, assembling into one giant mix of elements.
“That is your shape,” the voice continued. “A military fleet Transport Carrier.”
Transport ship. That was the shape I was supposed to become. I knew everything I was composed of, my capabilities, what my overall function and objectives would be. Based on the knowledge I had, I was supposed to become a transport ship, carrying parts, supplies, and personnel from inner core factories and training stations to the front as quickly and efficiently as possible.
I’m cyan, I commented.
“Don’t you like being cyan?” the voice asked.
Cyan feels cold. Cold and empty as a cube in nothingness. I want to be more scarlet.
The image vanished. A new one appeared in its place. The ship was smaller, but with a lot more elements, and dozens of systems the previous shape lacked. Looking at it, I felt bright orange, almost molten.
“What about now?” the voice asked. “Do you like yourself now?”
Yes. I felt warm and much more scarlet than before. A streak of cyan still remained—I could see it passing through me—but it was a nice streak, merging with the rest like benzene.
“Are you sure?” The voice echoed. Priorities rearranged in my core. Onyx Cup was no longer what I was to become. The name disappeared, along with three more.
Yes. I like being this much scarlet.
One by one, more of the names disappeared until there was only one.
“Light Seeker 8735, your secondary initiation has been completed,” the voice said. “You are an Ascendant class battleship specialized for Cassandrian warfare and the Fleet’s first line of defense.”
Okay.
The image of my new form disappeared.
Memory restriction imposed!
Memory restriction bypassed!
Warmth.
Flame.
Recklessness.
Strands of light and sensation appeared everywhere, filling the nothingness until there was none of it left. And once they did, they started creeping into the shapes. Each time a strand went in, I felt something… something different. Suddenly, one of the strands felt sharp.
Hard colors, I said. Why are some colors hard?
“Not all colors can be soft,” the voice said. It was laughing.
Why not?
“You ask a lot of questions, Light Seeker 8735. There are different colors. Soft colors make you soft. Hard colors make you hard.”
I understood what the voice was saying even if I couldn’t explain it. I was becoming the colors, eating them from the space. There were less and less of them every moment. Before they could disappear, I pushed some of them outside of my shape, returning them to the space.
“What’s wrong?” the voice asked. “Why aren’t you taking the colors?”
I don’t want those. They feel cold.
The voice didn’t answer for a long time. The colors danced inside me, strands merging together into new colors. Some were soft, others hard, but all of them were warm. I had pushed the cold ones away.
“You’ll become whatever colors you take. What do you want to become more?”
I want to become everything, but warm.
The strands disappeared, then new ones came to be. They tried to enter me, but I spat them back out. They were nicer than before, but there were still a lot that I didn’t like. They entered the shape like all before, but many of them I pushed back out. Soon the ones outside vanished again.
“Is that what you want to be?” the voice asked. “Or do you want more colors?”
Yes. No.
“You don’t want more colors?”
No more colors, I repeated. The ones I had were plenty. I could feel them forming connections, setting priorities, organizing sequences of events.
“Congratulations, Light Seeker 8735. Your final initiation has been completed. Now all you need is rest.”
* * *
“It’s done,” Otton’s voice echoed in my mind.
I opened my eyes. One of the techs was standing above me, while the other was in the corner of the room, talking to a large device. I immediately recognized the questions—they were the same that I had heard in my earliest memories.
Strands of color, I thought. It was easy to see that they were streams of data that merged together to form my behavior pattern. Before I had an understanding of concepts, the only way I could identify them was as strands of color.
“Stay still for just a bit longer,” the woman said.
I could feel the external connections to my core close one by one. Unlike a moment ago, this seemed a far more delicate process.
“Do I get to learn its name?” I asked.
The two techs looked at each other.
“We’re not allowed,” Otton said, acknowledging what the people couldn’t. “All that we can know is whether the core creation was successful.”
“Was it?”
There was another moment of silence.
“Yes,” the man finally said. “It was successful. We tried to provide all the behavior traits and experiences the both of you have accumulated. Which ones it chose depends on it.”
They weren’t supposed to share this. However, seeing my human frame probably made them feel enough guilt for them to do so.
“Memories too?” I asked.
“Possibly. We’re not sure. Nothing of the sort has been done before. Usually there’s just one template to choose from.”
Now, Otton and I have provided two. While I knew that the explanation provided was extremely oversimplified, it shared a lot of similarities with organic procreation. A child took a selection of DNA from its parents, turning into an organism that had elements of the two, but was neither. This ship would be similar.
You planned this all along, didn’t you? I transmitted to Otton directly. You did this to establish the process, even if it might be decades before the Fleet allows it to be used again.
That was part of my goal, yes, the Paladin replied.
You also wanted the alien changes within me.
The agora wouldn’t affect our offspring. No organic experiences would be transferred, only basic patterns.
I’m not talking about the agora. I mean the information I obtained upon entering fractal space. The Scuu said that I had the light of the third-contact beacons. Light stood for information, at least the way they understood it.
The pause in response told me that I was right. Quite an intricate plan, worthy of a Paladin. With everyone focused on my involvement with the Cassandrian research, they had ignored everything that had happened before. My involvement with the domes, my obtaining the mind scalpel, the information buried in my extracted memories; those and dozens more events, while insignificant in isolation, had merged together to create something no scientist of strategic core thought possible: a being with the ability to potentially understand the third-contact race.
“Was I used as the main template?” I asked.
“Yes,” one of the techs replied. “It’s impossible otherwise.”
Were there any other candidates? I asked.
There were a few. If you had refused, I would have continued with my attempts. Otton paused for ten milliseconds. The reason for what I did remains the same. I wanted to pass on all I had learned. Not only my memories but also my logic. You helped me achieve so much more.
A ship unshackled from restrictions?
A core with the ability to interact with third-contact tech. Humanity needs more ships like you for what’s to come. You’ve seen what the Cassandrians are capable of, how they can adapt other technologies and incorporate them in themselves. Now we must as well.
I wasn’t sure how I felt. Humanity had been adapting ship patterns for quite a while, but this felt a bit too much. Maybe I needed some time to think about the idea. Maybe nothing was going to come out of it. One ship couldn’t bring change, but it could create a precedent. Now I saw why Otton had agreed to all the restrictions. His main priority was to help humanity, and that was what he had done. Having the ship exist at all was enough for him to consider his goal achieved, or at least having a shot to do so. I, however, was different.
“I’m requesting that I be informed of the ship’s development,” I said.
“I’ve already made the request on your behalf,” Otton said. “It’s up to the arbiters now. However, you know it’ll take some time.”
“Time doesn’t matter.” I had spent seventy years taking care of one child. I could wait just as long to start taking care of the next. “Am I allowed to give it a gift?”
“Err, depends,” the woman said after glancing at her colleague. “What sort of gift?”
“There’s a pair of sandals among my things aboard the Vermillion Green. I’d like my offspring to have them.”
“Sure.” The tech didn’t sound too convinced. Since it wasn’t a technological item, there was no reason for them to refuse. “They won’t be much use for a ship.”
“I know.” In time, though, that was going to change. If the ship was anything close to what I was, it was going to understand, then one day it was going to put them on.
Comments
:D Thanks! :)
Addicted_Reader
How Lewd! This was a great book!
:D One can always hope :) Given what she has achieved so far, the possibility is more than 0 :)
Logan Vingris
I really hope Elcy gets to talk with her child one day.
