LiseEclaire
patreon
Quod Olim Erat: The Cassandrian Theory (Chapter 38)
🕑 Added 2021-12-14 01:50:25 +0000 UTCA whole planet in turmoil, on the verge of being lost to the Cassandrians…
All this time, I thought that Med Core’s reluctance to save us was due to fear of letting the Cassandrians out. As it turned out, they were preventing them from going in. Several smaller nests in the immediate area had activated, turning it all into a battle zone. Med Core had quarantined the entire planet—following proper procedure—and requested Fleet reinforcements to monitor the system. Looking up at the sky, I had seen quite a few ships grouped in squads of nine. This no longer was a standard quarantine operation. Someone at HQ had sent a full battle fleet.
As usual, no explanations were given. Once the extraction was over, the drilling team blasted the entrance shaft; with the prism and director safe, there was nothing else they needed from the site. The planet was likely going to be purged, and the dome handed to the BICEFI.
Debriefings started. We were divided into groups and called upon to give our account of the time spent underground. As an officer, I had to go through several meetings. For the most part, they were the same—similar questions, similar warnings, similar remarks. In addition to those, I was called to one more. This one was a one-on-one of special importance. I was told that it was to be kept off the record, but going by the odds, I estimated that there were at least half a dozen people watching.
“My apologies for meeting you in such a condition, princess,” Director Sim greeted me the moment I entered. He was in an advanced medical bed with two androids assisting. Based on their reactions, I could tell that both his words and my presence had been quarantined from their thoughts. “I was told that I have you to thank for getting me out.”
“You have the rescue team to thank for that, sir,” I replied, remaining close to the entrance. Even after going through several decontamination procedures, I preferred to keep my distance from him.
“I’m aware.” He attempted to sit up, but the effort proved too much.
“You need to remain calm, director,” one of the medical androids said, gently raising the upper part of his torso so he could enter a semi-sitting position. “You’re in no condition to exert yourself.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Doctor Sim dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Sorry about that. As useful as they are, I prefer that we focus on our conversation.”
“Of course.” The mission always had priority. I wondered how many times I had been ignored through thought quarantine. Most likely a lot. It would take me going through every second of my existence with the mind scalpel to find out, and even then, I couldn’t be sure. “The prism has been retrieved,” I said. “My team was not.”
“A loss to be certain, though that doesn’t diminish your success.”
I remained silent. Things could have gone a lot better.
“Not to mention your discovery of Cassandrians in a third-contact dome. You’ve created a lot of work for a lot of people. In a positive way, for once.” he attempted to laugh, but the laughter quickly became a cough. Once more, the medical androids moved closer in an attempt to help, but were waved away.
“It’s hardly a new discovery, sir.”
“Oh, but it is. We’ve known that the Cassandrians mimic technology through organic means. However, this is the first case of them being inside third-contact tech. It’s only been theorized so far. Ironically, your discovery would have saved Ondalov’s career. Alas, all communication is forbidden, even for me. As things stand, we can only receive transmissions.”
“You knew about the hive,” I said. “And the dome. Did you know there were Cassandrians still on the planet, sir?”
“Actually, I was convinced there weren’t. Not living ones, anyway. There were peculiarities. Spore infestations, unexplained mishaps, and the like, but the one safe bet we had was that there were no living threats. Med Core wouldn’t have built this base if there was. We like being close to the action, but always a safe distance away.”
That sounded familiar. During my Scuu mission, Med Core observed prison planets frequented by the Scuu. There, they too believed that they were a safe distance away. It had turned out that they were wrong, just as they were mistaken here.
“Having multiple surges surprised everyone. No doubt HQ is in panic. All eyes are upon us. Everyone wants to know whether Cassie-occupied planets are safe. If it turns out that even after millennia, there’s still the chance of a surge, the whole war effort will have to be reconsidered. The Fleet might not get its second expansion yet. Or maybe it’ll hasten it. It all depends on our findings.”
“I doubt anything we find might be of significance, sir. Even after everything we’ve discovered, we know nothing about the Cassandrians.”
“And yet, we have a triggered phenomenon of a scale the likes of which we have never seen before. Is it the result of our interference, the presence of a dome within a Cassandrian nest, or is it something completely unexpected? That is what we must find out.”
“I’ll assist the best way I can, as always, sir, but the odds are slim.”
The director laughed again. Relaxing his eyes, he waved for one of the medical androids to give him something to drink. A liquid tube was gently placed next to his lips. After a few sips, the tube was removed again.
“Ondalov still believes that we can take the Cassies,” Sim said. “Not have them as pets, but teach the spore cultures to mimic and even construct technology that could serve us. He’s been focusing on that for a while now. If you ask me, it’s a lost cause, but enough people higher up see potential, so they let him have his fun… But even then, there are limits. His entire research was based on the theory that every Cassandrian cell had within it a library of all their constructs. All we needed to do was figure out what the stimuli were, and we could transform them into everything the Cassandrians have ever created: plants, creatures, ships, even whole colonies. And with each new transformation we’d learn more, possibly enough to use them as our own tech.”
From a moral point of view, I could see the dilemma. What Ondalov was proposing was to enslave a species, transforming it into human tech. The advantages were obvious: if people could use the Cassandrians to construct tech at will, they could increase the rate of colonization manifold. And that was only the start. If Ondalov’s theory was correct, that the Cassandrians had a memory of every tech they had come across, it would be possible to create third-contact tech. Even so, according to my all estimates, this was little more than a pipedream.
“You have your doubts?” Director Sim asked, observing my silence.
“There’s nothing I can say, sir. This is a choice for the Fleet.”
“And if it were up to you?”
“I don’t think that humanity has the knowledge to control them.”
Nor did I want them to. So far, I had worked with three dark organizations and each one of them meddled with things that were best left alone. The BICEFI were obsessed with the third-contact domes. It was very likely that they had gathered enough to go to the next stage. The Salvage Authorities were set on deconstructing the Scuu. As for Med Core, the Cassandrians seemed to be their focus. It was no secret that Ondalov and Sim hated each other; more than likely, they considered the other’s research to be useless. What they couldn’t see was that they were arguing about virtually the same thing. Unfortunately, given humanity’s situation, I didn’t see any better alternatives. The Scuu and the Cassandrians were on the verge of annihilating the human race within less than a century. The Scuu, as I learned, did it out of instinct, hurt by the technology we had developed. The Cassandrians, on the other hand, only seemed to expand for the sake of expanding.
“Every living being responds to certain stimuli,” Sim said. “Even the Scuu. Why shouldn’t it work on the Cassandrians? For all we know, they could have been created by the third-contact race precisely for that purpose.”
There was no evidence to suggest anything of the sort. Rather, it was the opposite. However, that wasn’t the purpose of the question. Sim always liked playing his mind games.
“Do you have a new mission for me, director?” I asked.
“I’m afraid I’m going to ask you to save my neck once more,” the man replied. “The surge has put me on somewhat shaky ground. In fact, I’m in the same situation Ondalov is in. The weasel must have used this opportunity to convince the higher-ups that his failure was an unforeseen event and far smaller than the “catastrophe” I created.”
Gibraltar would have found this amusing. Even in the heat of battle, people still found time for office politics. My third captain had made a career out of this.
When I was given my assignment, Ondalov was on his way out. Sim and the rest of the directors had successfully arranged things to have him reassigned. Reaching the dead hive with the dome within had only accelerated the process. Then the unexpected happened.
“You want me to find the source of the surge?” I asked.
“The reason,” Sim clarified. “The Fleet’s constantly working on tech. Better probe sats, better scanning tech. That won’t be of any help if we don’t know the reason for this, though. In a best-case scenario, it’ll force humanity to relocate thousands of colonies and quarantine hundreds of systems. Do you know how many colonies we have on confirmed Cassandrian nests?”
“I don’t have authorization for such—”
“Eleven thousand five hundred and eighty-seven. I was told a few hours ago. Most of them are mining colonies, but with massive strategic significance. If those end up being trojan planets, the entire Fleet strategy will have to change.”
“I understand.”
You never give me the easy tasks, do you?
“You’ll be given the temporary rank of first lieutenant with special privileges, which will allow you to select your teams pretty much as you see fit.”
In bureaucrat talk, that meant that I’d still need approval from the director or Colonel ‘Rissa. It was a substantial improvement, though I doubted it was enough to help me achieve something that Med Core was incapable of. Director Sim must have requested this personally. Given that his career was on the line, it was a logical choice. It also showed me the degree to which he had fallen out of favor.
“Your other arrangement is unaffected,” Sim added. “All outside communications will be one way. Also, you’ll have to work with the BICEFI on this. A special arrangement had to be made regarding our dome.”
That was to be expected. The BICEFI could hardly be pleased by us burying the dome under kilometers of rubble. Infected or not, they were eager to get the artifact and didn’t want any further surprises.
“Any idea who they are sending, sir?”
“It won’t be Lux,” the director said, knowing where I was going with my question. “Other than that, I have no idea. They’ll be in touch. You know how they work.”
Only too well. “Understood. Anything else, sir?”
“Just one minor detail.” The director looked me in the eye. “To be able to do anything with your discovery, we still need to survive. I’m counting on you for that.”
A bribe? It was difficult to tell. Running a voice and facial analysis suggested that he was more tense than he was supposed to be for such a request. Being monitored prevented him from telling me what he had in mind directly. Most likely, his higher ups didn’t consider his life as valuable as the information, so he had to personally ask me while making it seem like he hadn’t. There was little doubt that the AIs and conscience cores analyzing our conversation had come to the same conclusion. What they couldn’t know was that the good doctor tended to pay his debts.
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
You’ve been requested to leave the premises, a subroutine transmitted directly to my conscience core. You have thirty seconds to comply.
A countdown counter appeared on all the walls. Invisible for the medical androids, it was a reminder that I had work to do.
“I wish you a speedy recovery, sir.” I gave a salute, then left the room.
A lot had changed since I had entered the hive. The base that had just started construction was now a fully established military colony. From what I had seen, it was built in such a way as to last. In Fleet terms, that meant it was a “six-month temporary militarized facility.” Comparatively, only a few of those had been built so far. The Fleet didn’t believe in wasting resources on colonies, preferring to focus on battleships. As a result, tents and shuttles replaced the need for any command post. The only exceptions were when the planet in question had something considered to be of strategic value. I now suspected that meant exclusively third-contact artifacts. There were quite a few battles that had gone down in history as failed conquest attempts both on the Scuu and the Cassandrian front. However, it was more than possible for all those to have been covered up. The sole purpose of the military bases was likely to protect the excavation teams until they could find and dig out domes or other artifacts that one of the organizations wanted. It was no different this time.
Walls of reinforced alloys were erected, forming a perimeter around the buildings. Heavy machine gun turrets were visible every hundred meters, providing a defense from all sides. A civilian or scientist would have found it impressive, but I knew this to be a last defense measure. Its only purpose was to provide enough time for valuable personnel and equipment to evacuate to the ships above.
There was no sign of my original base. The small buildings had been completely deconstructed and replaced by a series of personnel barracks. This wasn’t the habitat I was assigned to, though. Thanks to the emergency situation, I had been made an officer, which came with its small degree of privileges. Sadly, since I was only a lieutenant, I still had to share a room with three others.
So much for having my own space, I thought as I made my way to the command building.
“Base control, this is Lieutenant Light Seeker,” I said in comm. “Any changes regarding my living quarters?”
“You’re not getting your own room, Elcy,” ‘Rissa’s familiar voice boomed. Being one of the highest-ranking officers and scientists down here, she was given broad authority of base operations.
“Understood, ma’am.” I continued walking.
So, this was the joy of command. As a ship, and even as a cadet, I had long speculated what it would be like. Witnessing four captains handle matters—not to mention thousands of other officers aboard—I believed to have a firm understanding of the situation. Now that I was given what I didn’t believe I would ever have, things seemed very different.
Guess you weren’t wrong after all, Lieutenant Wilco…
* * *
Location Classified, Narcis Shipyard Cluster, 609.4 A.E. (Age of Expansion)
“Narcis, this is Elcy, requesting permission to approach,” I said on the bridge while transmitting my official request. The procedure was sluggish. A lot more could be achieved through direct transmissions, but regulations required that I voice it for the sake of my captain and staff officers.
Permission protocols were exchanged, checking my identity and going through my recent log. After that, there were milliseconds of silence. When over a hundred had passed, I knew that something wasn’t right. Uncertain, I sent the request again. Nothing changed.
“I’m not receiving a response, captain,” I said after five seconds.
“Here we go.” Augustus rolled his eyes. “Wilco, you deal with this.” He stormed out of the bridge and into his quarters.
I could see the expressions of relief on several people, including the ship’s commander, who, according to regulations, should have been the one to assume control during the captain’s absence. Serving so long under Augustus, though, had taught me not to count on regulations too much. If he ordered that Wilco was in charge, that’s how it was going to be.
“You can leave the bridge,” Wilco said with a deep sigh. “Elcy will patch you through if you’re needed.”
Half the officers immediately proceeded to vacate the premises. The rest linked to external media sources and started skimming through civilian news. Only Wilco reluctantly went to the captain’s seat.
“Still no response,” I said in an attempt to be helpful. “I’ve repeated the request.”
“Don’t bother. Start a deep diagnostic, we’ll be here for a while.”
Initially, I thought he was exaggerating. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Three and a half hours passed with no further contact. No matter how many times I sent the request, the shipyard refused to respond. I even sent a dozen inquiries to HQ, only to be told in very strict terms to remain at my current location and wait for further instructions. A few years ago, I would have sent a barrage of complaints to all departments I could think of. Now, I knew better.
“Battleship Light Seeker, please prepare for boarding and checkup,” the station transmitted directly to the bridge channel. “You’ve been ordered to isolate all weapon systems and provide core access in accordance with docking procedure article 3A27. Please confirm.”
The article in question was reserved for dealing with ships suspected of being hostile. There always were rumors about ships going rogue and attempting to attack shipyards or space stations, but that only occurred on the Scuu front. Here, breaches and mutinies were dealt with long before they approached any shipyard system.
A high access link was established, bypassing my security protocols and locking and severing my access from my own subroutines. The only things I was allowed to retain control over were monitoring functions and overall sensors. It wasn’t the first time I had control taken from me, but what annoyed me the most was that it occurred so publicly.
“Confirming,” I replied, adding a note of disapproval in my voice.
“Direct all personnel to their quarters,” Wilco said casually. “Let them know they’ll be locked there for a while.”
“Any reason for that, sir?”
“Saves time. When the shuttles arrive, they’ll force us to do it.”
I didn’t agree, but Wilco had the captain’s authority, so I complied. Three minutes later, two frigates appeared and released squadrons of shuttles flying towards my hangars. Before the first one entered, all quarters and connection access points were locked. Thousands of security troops swarmed aboard. They started by manually checking all armories and missile stockpiles, before starting one-to-one interrogations with the remaining crew.
After hours of checks and questioning, then moved to the podded personnel, escorting them to their shuttles and taking them away for their court martial. All that time, every security officer with even marginal authority demanded to talk to him on one matter or another. Seeing all the bureaucracy going on, I understood why Augustus had given him command of me, and why no one had objected. Being a captain didn’t mean only being responsible for decisions in the heat of battle. It also meant having to deal with the bureaucracy that followed a mutiny that took place less than a month before a refit that had been postponed for years. It was natural for there to be questions. Rules otherwise ignored or left to the shipyard’s administrator, now came into full effect. Every person, dead or alive, was accounted for. Every part of my structure was carefully examined first by security personnel, then by class A ship technicians, who went so far as to check my reactors and auxiliary core compartments.
Sixty-three hours ended up being needed to get everything done. Then, finally, when hundreds of reports were compiled, when everything was accounted for, I was granted permission to dock.
“The circus is over, cap’n,” Wilco said through the comm. “You can take the chair when you want to.”
“Keep it till we get started. I’ll relieve you when everyone’s on leave.”
“Aye, aye.” Wilco leaned back in the captain’s seat. “Everything okay on your end, Elcy?”
“I still don’t have access to my weapon systems, sir,” I replied.
“Get used to that. It won’t be returned until the final refit. After that, it’ll be the next captain’s problem to deal with.”
“Aye, sir. It’s a wonder that anyone wants to sit in the chair.” I made an attempt at humor to lighten the mood.
“That’s one way to look at it. There’s one advantage. Despite all the crap, you only get to get things done the way you want to when you’re captain.”
* * *
Back then I hadn’t given his comment any thought, but now I realized exactly what it meant. It was the possibility to make decisions that had led Wilco to claim a command of his own after Augustus’ promotion to the Admiralty. Now, I was given similar authority and all the annoyances that came with it.
“Afternoon, ma’am,” the private at the entrance of the building said as he gave me a salute.
Regulations started that everyone had to go through a decon procedure each time they entered. With the potential amount of spores in the air, it was a valid safeguard that had managed to catch a few instances of dangerous accumulation on people. The fact that there was a direct corridor connecting the base’s medical facility with the central building was beside the point.
“Afternoon.” I returned the salute. “Which one is it today?”
“Two, ma’am,” the private replied.
Chamber two, I said to myself and went inside.
Since nanites weren’t allowed, decon used the next best method: chemical spray. The moment I stepped in, the glass became opaque. I took off my uniform and personal items and placed them in the assigned drawers.
“Ready for the procedure,” I said. A fine spray filled the chamber, covering me from every direction. Keeping my eyes and mouth closed, I waited for sixty seconds, after which it stopped. Phase one was complete.
The light changed to the ultraviolet spectrum, as I was carefully scanned for any potential danger. When such wasn’t found, the ventilation cycle began, recycling all the air in the chamber.
“You’re good to go, ma’am,” the private said, giving me the all-clear.
Protocol required that he verbally informed me that I was allowed to put my uniform back on, but that was a detail that no one bothered with. It was bad enough going through the experience several times per day.
Systemically, I put on my uniform, then waited the final ten seconds for the chamber door to open. The instant I stepped out, a ping from my datapad let me know that I’d received a new message. I took it from my pocket and skimmed through it while walking to my quarters.
My temp promotion and new assignment had been made public. Going through the standard congratulations template, I made a note of the new privileges I was granted. Most of them were pointless—access to the CO canteen, ten additional daily minutes of privacy, walking in casual clothes within certain sections of the base, and extra SR time. I had also been officially granted the authority to start my selection process, as well as make requests for weapons, equipment, and research facilities, pending approval.
The second message was from Jespersen. Apparently, he had been assigned as my science officer, which meant that while outranking me, he had to follow my instructions regarding anything mission related. All research decisions would be dealt with by him. There was no indication who was responsible for administrative matters, but I hadn’t spent decades in the Fleet without learning a few things.
“Jespersen,” I said in the comm. “Have a moment?”
“Ah, Elcy,” the man replied. Judging by the echo accompanying his voice, I hadn’t caught him at the best of times. “Yes, sure.”
“You’ve probably heard the news. The director told me to start right away. Can you organize a meeting for me? It doesn’t have to be a lot of people. Just you, me, and a few grunt commanders with recent combat experience outside.”
“Err… right now?”
“No need to rush. We can start in half an hour as well.”
“Umm, okay. Where do you want it?”
“I’ll leave you to organize that. You have more experience in these matters than me, so just let me know and I’ll be there.”
“Ah. Okay. I’ll get on it.”
“Thanks. See you soon.”
