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Quod Olim Erat: The Cassandrian Theory (Chapter 17)
🕑 Added 2021-05-24 03:37:56 +0000 UTC“Sample nine collected,” I transmitted to the station. Eight samples so far and no encouraging results. Officially, all the research was kept confidential, but ‘Rissa had “let it slip” that no progress had been made. If anything, Ondalov had been given more rope with which to hang himself and, apparently, had done a pretty good job of it.
Details remained sketchy, but he had escalated the matter to the base directors and even gone beyond their heads to Med Core HQ. How he managed to do so with an info lockdown in place was impressive in itself. Colonel ‘Rissa implied that a new compromise had been reached—Ondalov was to be given full autonomy to do as he wished, and in return, if he didn’t produce any tangible results in a month, he would lose more than his current position. I didn’t ask for details. I had enough concerns down on the planet itself.
“Roger that, Elcy,” Elion Spass replied. “You know the drill. Prep it and get ready for ten.”
Elion was one of the scientists who wason loan to Sim until the end of the whole Ondalov debacle was resolved. I didn’t know much about him, other than that he had a background in biology and genetic architecture. He had the dubious honor of being ‘Bo’s off-shift backup, which meant it was his task to monitor and talk to me while she was sleeping or busy with other work.
One thing that I was curious about was how ‘Bo fared in the new reshuffle. She was a friend of ‘Rissa’s, but also Ondalov’s deputy. Ranks, authority, and responsibility in the bureaucratic apparatus remained a complete mystery.
“On my way.” I continued towards the ground base. After this was done, I was going to go and check the drill.
Things there had taken an unexpected turn as well. Initially, the drill had functioned well beyond expectations, diligently boring a fifty-centimeter hole into the ground with ease. Before going to extract a sample, I would go check on it with a new batch of drill extensions. After the sixth sample, the drill had hit something hard, reducing the progress speed to a crawl. One sample later, the device AI informed me that I must replace the drill head.
It had taken me close to an hour to do that, since the AI’s assistance was as useful as a cat with a screwdriver. The annoying part was that the mishap had occurred less than a hundred meters from the mission depth requirement. There was little doubt that this couldn’t be a coincidence. Even so, I had to request a new set of drill heads from base. Almost immediately, I had gotten a response that the parts were on their way and would be delivered via Med Core ship. Meanwhile, I was instructed to continue with the drills at hand—an annoying task that required me to replace a drill head after every sample gathering.
“Anything interesting going up there?” I made polite conversation.
“Base is mostly running,” Elion replied. “Finally.”
“That’s good,” I said, although I knew that it wasn’t. Everyone was probably rushing to make up for lost time. Free time and R-and-R were likely to become a memory of the past. “Anything you can share?”
“You know the rules.” I could feel the note of amusement in his voice. In his mind, he probably thought I was fishing for information. In reality, there was a ninety-six percent chance that I knew considerably more.
“You can’t blame a ship for trying.”
Reaching the base, I went through the same procedure I had done eight times before. After the sample was analyzed and the information transferred via a secure link, I waited for my confirmation message.
“Nine data confirmed,” Elion said. “You’re good for the last one.”
“Roger that. Okay if I get some rest?” I didn’t need it, but I wanted some personal time.
“Yeah. Might be better that way. I bet ‘Gor will want to have a word with you after the last sample data is sent.”
“I’m sure the captain would. Take care, Elion.” I severed the connection.
Finally, some time on my own. Strictly speaking, Director Sim had forbidden me to look around for third-contact artifacts out of fear that they might have an effect on the local flora. He had every reason to be afraid, but unlike me, he also wasn’t seeing the big picture—or at least not the one I was. There was already proof that the planet had belonged to the Cassandrians, likely longer than anyone expected. That in itself was significant. If I could find a link between the third-contact race and the Cassandrians, however, that would make everything else pale in comparison. All I needed to do was confirm whether there were artifacts at the planetary locations I had interpolated from the previous two third-contact planets I had been on. With such proof, I could potentially twist Sim’s arm to allow me to pursue this line of investigation further. Before that, though, I needed to check the state of the drill. And just to be on the safe side, I grabbed a container with drill extenders and one with a spare drill head.
“Hello, princess,” Director Sim said through comm. “I heard you’ve almost finished with your immediate task. Well done.”
It was naïve to think that his call was a coincidence.
“Which one, sir?” I stacked the containers, one over the other.
“Both. Nine samples and you’re at the brink of reaching the desired drill depth.”
“I do my best to please, sir. Although I wouldn’t call the drill a full success. I’m still waiting for the new replacement parts. It’s unlikely I’ll see any progress until then.”
“Always so negative,” the man laughed.
“It’s a matter of math, sir. At roughly twenty meters progress per current drill head, I’ll run out of drill heads before reaching the required depth range, and ETA of the advanced parts is nine hours away.”
As a battleship, I couldn’t understand why I was asked to waste resources on a task that was unlikely to succeed, especially since proper equipment was underway. After getting slowly familiar with the bureaucratic apparatus throughout the years, though, I knew that the decision most likely involved someone passing the buck; resources had already been approved and allocated, and reassigning them would make someone somewhere look bad. If they could be discarded as faulty equipment, then someone else would be held responsible. That was another reason that active soldiers and bureaucrats didn’t mix well. However, each had their own function that was necessary for the survival of humanity.
“Not to worry, I’m sure you’ll display the miracles I’ve come to expect from you,” Director Sim added. “Enjoying your access? Beats the boredom. I myself used to glance at a feed or two, though that was the before quarantine. Now I have to rely on things already stored in the base. Let me tell you, that’s not the most amusing activity one could have.”
“I’m sure it isn’t, sir.” Again with the veiled threats. The fact that he bothered suggested that he had enough confidence in me to keep on mission. Or maybe it was a warning that others were watching and any deviation might get me labeled as rogue. “Is research back on track, sir?”
“You could say that.” There was a deep sigh. “At least we’re no longer trying to kill each other. Ondalov thinks he can pull it off. I don’t. Now we can only wait to see where the chips fall. If you’re actually asking for project specifics, I can have ‘Rissa transfer you the reports you have clearance for. Spoiler: they aren’t very interesting.”
“Might I request three-dimensional images of the artifacts found, sir? External would do.”
“Still determined to go down that path…”
“There might be a link between the Cassandrians and the third-contact race, sir.”
“Naturally there’s a link. All known races gravitate towards the third-contact artifacts.”
“Not that, sir. I think this goes back further.” I paused. “This could prove that the Cassandrians were among the first cases to have contact with them, maybe even before the Scuu.”
There was no immediate response. I knew this train of thought would pique the director’s interest. Undoubtedly, he had considered it, but hearing the same logic from an external source could well be the thing that persuaded him to view the theory seriously, at least to the point to give me the go-ahead.
“You’re really set on this, aren’t you?”
“It will help me assemble the logic pieces I’ve been collecting, sir.” There was no need to say more. He didn’t need to know about the map, and even if he did, that wouldn't sway him any further.
“Keep on track until Ondalov is gone, and I’ll give it some thought.”
“Thank you, sir.” Going through the odds, there was a seventy-one percent chance he kept his word, which was more than he usually would. “Another thing, Director. I’d like to request a firearm.”
“You’re aware that this is a research base?” The alarm was obvious in his voice. “Denied.”
“Considering the circumstances, it might be a wise precaution to have one, sir.”
“Denied, Elcy.” Alarm gave way to irritation. “There’s a time and place for fighting, and this isn’t it.”
“Understood, sir.” All my logic models suggested he was making a mistake, which led me to believe that he wasn’t. From what I had seen, Sim was too calculating to deny things outright without even entertaining the thought. The only conclusion I could come to was that he didn’t want me to be armed.
You still haven’t fully cleared me, have you, Doctor? I thought.
Years relative time had passed since we’d been on a mission together, and he still feared I might go rogue.
Arriving at the drill, I saw the display light flashing red. That was no surprise—drill heads had been breaking like straws. What was unexpected was the reason the drill AI displayed for the failure: E07—unexpected air pocket.
I froze for a few milliseconds, running through old memories and simulation results. This was one of the less likely scenarios I had predicted, but it reinforced my fears.
“Director, I think we no longer need the drill heads,” I said. “We have a breach.”
It was amazing how fast things could move, given a valid reason. Hours before the drill heads had arrived, three classified Med ships had arrived and dropped a series of advanced probes for me to drop down the drill hole. Initially, I hadn’t been privy to the feeds, but after a few minutes of persuasive arguments, Director Sim had arranged that I get a glimpse.
The visuals told me what I already suspected—the air pocket had the markings of a Cassandrian hive cluster. As the probes entered further in, I could see the latticework of interconnected tunnels, just as I had seen during my restricted missions under Augustus. Analyses concluded a nearly ninety-seven percent match, confirming that at some point in the distant past, the planet had been colonized by the Cassandrians.
The cluster was empty, completely deprived of organic remains, if the data sensors were to be believed. When I shared my concerns of a possible Cassandrian infestation, all feed access was immediately stopped. A squad of exos was hastily sent to the planet and took over the site. Director Sim wasn’t thrilled by the idea, but it was made very clear to him that he didn’t have a choice in the matter. All he could do was ask that I return to my other tasks while he tried to resolve the situation.
Given the unexpected changes, the only thing I could do was actually get some rest, and when I did, I began to dream…
“What does it feel like to have destroyed a race?” I asked.
Wilco had gone to sleep, leaving only Sword of Blight on the bridge. All the other Swords had returned to their decks, keeping their distance from one another.
“What does it feel like not to have?” the unretired asked in turn.
I found his behavior annoying, although it was hard not to be impressed with his achievements. Two of his captains had been promoted to admirals, and one more awarded the title Hero of Humanity, posthumously.
“It’s one step away from becoming rogue,” he replied. “Look at those ships.” Blight pointed at one of my feeds. “Each of them has its purpose. These ones in particular are collecting the last useful material from the planet’s husk and moving it to the next planet where it will be useful. After a century, a batch of other ships will probably do the same. Now imagine having the power to make all of them disappear, as if they had never existed.”
“Isn’t that a victory? Our goal is to defeat the Cassandrians and win this war for humanity.”
“What happens when we do?”
The question didn’t make much sense. Swords didn’t have the philosophical inclinations of the newer ship classes. I could only assume that he was talking literally.
“I supposed we’ll be reassigned or retired. The trade and service sector always needs ships. If there’s a new wave of expansion, we’ll be needed to assist. Or, we can always be sent to the Scuu front.”
“No.” The Sword shook his head. “No one knows what will happen, because no one dares to believe it. The war was never about winning; it was about not losing. Our role is to keep humanity’s enemies at bay. Everything else is irrelevant.”
“That’s a bleak view of things, sir.” He definitely took after his name. Out of curiosity, I ran an oversimplified simulation. Taking new ship and weapon advancements into account, it didn’t seem like we’d be defeating the Cassandrians in the next few thousand years. If somehow humanity ended up victorious on the Scuu front, we’d be able to dedicate all our resources to the Cassandrian front, which would decrease the theoretical point of victory to approximately four and a quarter centuries.
“The Paladins showed me the calculations. The war will not end. It cannot end. We don’t have the firepower, and the Cassandrians don’t have the desire to wipe us out completely. This entire mission is nothing but an exercise in futility.”
“You’ve spoken to Paladins?” The notion made me feel as I did the first time I’d left the shipyard. For ships, the Paladins were the closest thing to myths there were. Hearing that someone had seen one, let alone spoken to them, was beyond impressive.
“We all speak to Paladins.” He walked away from the wall towards the captain’s seat. “All the time.” There was a momentary pause. “The numbers have been crunched. The Paladins, the strategic cluster cores, even the admiral vessels know that we can never win, and still humanity refuses to believe it. That’s why they came up with this mission—a small trial to see whether the simulations are true.”
“But we’re winning,” I countered. “We are here.”
“The more we poke, the more we stir things up. The end result will be no different.” The Sword sat in the captain’s chair. His gloomy human form made him seem out of place. “You asked what it felt like to kill a race? It feels like fulfilling the objective you were created to do, and then finding out that it hasn’t changed a thing. The war goes on, the Cassandrians are still there. Only we have changed, turning into unchained gods.”
The dream ended abruptly. When I opened my eyes, I was lying in my new “bed.” Two hours and thirteen minutes had passed since I had entered sleep mode. For several milliseconds, I remained still, roaming through the logic fragments. A lot of compelling things had been said in my dream, but the sad truth was that most of them weren’t real. That was one of the side effects of using the mind scalpel—it would cause my conscience core to focus on incomplete memories and make up the missing bits. The last time this had happened, I had weeks of dreams based on a fraction of a millisecond.
I reran the simulation I had in the dream. The numbers were slightly changed, but the end result was similar. In a best-case scenario, we were going to win the war against the Cassandrians in over two centuries.
“Starless.” ‘Bo’s voice echoed in the room. “Are you up?”
“Getting there, ma’am.” I stood up and started getting dressed. “I’ll have your last sample within the hour.”
“Good start. That’s not what I’m calling about. Ondalov wants you to gather a few other things. Two in all, so they won’t mess up your schedule down there.”
That was her subtle way of saying that she had some idea of what was going on and was going against her direct superior behind his back. I had no idea what Ondalov’s relationship with everyone else was, but his team didn’t seem to particularly like him, and neither did Sim.
“I’ll get right on it, ma’am. Coordinates?”
“I’ll send you a full mission brief in a few hours. There’s some paperwork that needs resolving. I also wanted to give you a heads up. Things are changing rather fast, faster than I’m used to. Don’t be surprised if your arrangement with the director is altered slightly.”
That was to be expected. Based on Sim’s behavior model, it was only natural that he would start tightening the leash after a while of freedom.
“Understood, ma’am. Anything else?”
“Yes. You asked if there was anything interesting about the sample analysis. The truth is that there isn’t. We’ve taken care of things so that the spores have stopped spreading, but there’s no indication as to what might have caused them to activate in the first place. It’s looking like you might need to get a few more samples later on.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Also, expect company soon. That is all.”
Expect company, I thought. When humans used the phrase, it rarely meant anything good.
After I got dressed, I went through my standard departure procedure and left my base. Judging by the large amount of dust rising to the sky in the direction of the drill, I could tell that some vigorous activity was going on. There was a thirteen percent chance that I would be told about it at a later point. Regardless, the routine went on: gathering the sample, placing the case for analyses, sending the results, and waiting for ‘Bo to send me the new mission specs and coordinates.
Idling, I went through the recent media feeds, catching up on events in human space. Nothing out of particular note had happened. Progress was claimed on the Scuu front, but without confirmation, I couldn’t tell whether that was PR or not. It was at that point that I noticed the shuttles—three of them; they were making a steady descent through the planet’s atmosphere, heading for a landing zone a few kilometers away. Based on their speed velocity, I could tell they were transporting non-combat personnel… important non-combat personnel.
“Princess,” Sim said through the comm. “You’ll be given access to the dig. I know it’s a bother, but please try to keep out of everyone’s way until then, could you?”
“Understood, sir. Has the mission changed, sir?”
“Quite the contrary. The real mission is starting, and faster than we had hoped. There’s only the small matter of permissions and logistics. In fact, your new team has arrived.”
“I believe I see them, sir.”
“For the moment, they’ll assist with the construction of a secondary installation near the entry point. Once everything is prepped, you’ll be the first to go down there. After the probes map what they can, of course.”
“Understood, sir. Anything else?”
“You’ll be given a full layout of the tunnel system once it’s completed.” Even now, he refused to call it a Cassandrian cluster. “But before that, a small gift from me.”
An info burst hit me, transmitting data of hundreds of artifacts. The vast majority were rods, but now and again, there were items I had never seen, including a cube with fractal symbols on the sides. Matching its dimensions with other artifacts I had seen, there was no doubt it had come from a third-contact dome. The question was, what had happened to the dome?
“Lastly, I won’t be available for a while. Nothing to do with the mission, just the boring reality of being a director.” Sim laughed. “I should be back in a few days or so. Not to worry, though. The good colonel will be in charge of the mission while I’m gone.”
“I’ll be looking forward to working with her, sir.”
“Oh, you will. Especially since she’ll be landing on the planet tomorrow. Now, I don’t need to say this, but please don’t ask her permission for firearms in my absence.”
“It hadn’t crossed my mind, sir,” I lied.
“That’s perfect.”
“Sir, does that mean that Ondalov will have full control of the base facilities until your return?”
“Yes, but you’ve nothing to worry about. Succeed or fail, Ondalov only has a few months left. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he'll make his great breakthrough sooner so he can get out of our hair and claim his own personal division somewhere. Did I mention he used to have my job before I met you?”
“No, sir, you didn’t.” That explained part of the animosity. It also explained why Ondalov was allowed to do whatever he wanted. “Anything else I should know about?”
“That’s all, princess. Hang in there, okay?”
“Understood, sir.”
The preparations were in place. Soon I would be entering the belly of the beast.
