Artiz
There were many things to do while the Agwaren population prepared to enter stasis, although nothing was particularly difficult for someone with Artiz’s talents. The testing required for the stasis chambers was little more than a diagnostic script he’d borrowed from the food stores, and the rest of his time had been spared trying to figure out the current anomalies. The only thing he’d been able to say for certain was that they were related to wormholes, his personal field of expertise—at least in a theoretical sense—but the rest was guesswork. His current belief was that wormholes were trying to open, but that the unstable quantum field was causing them to collapse. He’d skipped sleep to try and figure this out, yet had been forced to reveal his findings while confessing he’d not managed to reach any real conclusions at all.
The Shiplord had been gracious about the failure, but had immediately assumed the worst. Artiz had to admit that this was the wisest course of action, based on everything that had happened so far, and had not challenged the assumption. If anything he’d been delighted when the Shiplord had entrusted him with the task of designing, manufacturing and deploying new weapons systems. The Dastasji had moved deep into the planet’s gravity well, using the mass and energy to help mask their presence, while the new weapons were to be deployed in different orbits. The idea was to build a network of weapons that could not be easily targeted, and which could launch an attack from multiple vectors. There was no honour, glory, or nobility in that kind of battle, but Artiz could really appreciate the cold efficiency that would be involved. Whoever the humans were, he recognised that they were not an enemy worth making.
“It seems V’Strak has taken its own form of revenge on this galaxy,” he said with cold mirth. That his homeworld had spawned something this dangerous instilled an odd sense of pride.
The draft configuration of the weapons platforms was nearly complete, and included some bonus items in the sensor package that wouldn’t tax their available resources too badly. All that remained was getting the fabricator time to produce a prototype, although he would need to wait for that part.
“You look pretty carefree for someone tasked with keeping us all alive,” observed Laphor, startling him from his reverie. “Shouldn’t you be busy with the weapons platform?”
Artiz scowled at the small, frail creature. From what he had heard, she shared two things in common with Shiplord Jrasic. The first was an inability to discern working effectively from working efficiently. The second was that both of them had been displaced by Adrian Saunders.
“Unless you are here to tell me I can use the fabricator,” he said, speaking deliberately so she would understand, “there is nothing further I can achieve.”
“Good,” she replied, not flinching. “In that case you’ll be free to work on the Shiplord’s latest proposal.”
Artiz grew far more attentive. Laphor was barely worth insulting, but she was in the Shiplord’s graces and that counted for something. Her only real worth right now was in relaying messages from Adrian. “The Shiplord has another proposal? One that requires my input? Did he write it down for you?”
“He explained it for me,” she replied testily. “It’s just a few ideas, he said he expected you to make them work together.”
Artiz was intrigued. “A challenge, then?”
“The Shiplord described it through analogy,” she began. “His people call it a ‘minefield’, and they are created by burying large numbers of explosive devices under the ground. They explode when something steps on them, and serve as area denial weapons.”
“Similar weapons were deployed in the V’Straki-Igraen conflict by our enemies,” he said, disappointed that this was all it was. “They were easily disabled when we gained their safety codes.”
“He said he doesn’t want those,” she replied.
Artiz paused in confusion. “He does not want… safety codes?”
“I asked him the same question. Apparently his people just ‘set and forget’,” she explained. “I also asked how they removed them after the battle. The answer was… not satisfactory. It is a painstaking process where they even try.”
“I can see how that would make them harder to detect,” Artiz reflected, considering the new possibilities. “And harder to deal with.”
“The Shiplord wants ‘a space version, but with invisibility and a fusion-blade hull so they can explode inside the enemy ship,” she relayed. “He seemed very pleased with the idea—apparently he was inspired by some Hierarchy drones he once encountered.”
Artiz found himself wondering whether any major faction in this new galaxy could be considered ‘the good guys’. At least serving with the V’Straki hadn’t involved any ethical dilemmas. “I must say, I question the wisdom of this decision, however I will directly raise my concerns with the Shiplord. You may go.”
Several minutes were spent in deep contemplation once Laphor had left the room, during which Artiz considered which points to raise against the plan. Finally deciding that taking action was better than endless self-debate, he took the most direct route to the Shiplord’s office and entered with nary a knock. “Shiplord, I apologise for the sudden intrusion but I must make my concerns clear. This weapon you have asked me to create could forever change the face of war.”
The Shiplord regarded him thoughtfully, and removed his feet from the desk. “Yeah, I considered that, and frankly I’m happy to see you’re not entirely on board with it. Let me step you through why I’m even proposing it.”
Artiz nodded, and took a seat. “Please.”
“First of all,” the Shiplord began, “this is the middle of nowhere, and nobody is likely to come here for any reason. Second, I have no intention of spreading this technology, so maybe we should give them an expiry date. Third, there is no doubt in my mind that other humans will come up with something that makes my idea look like a child’s toy. It won’t even take long for that to happen, so you can think of this as being ahead of the curve.”
The Shiplord had listened, and had even made a single concession, which was more than Jrasic had ever done. He’d also explained himself and given sound reasons why this wasn’t a completely disastrous idea. Admittedly it mostly added up to the rest of humanity creating even worse devices, but that was entirely outside Artiz’s control. “I understand.”
“Don’t mistake me, Artiz, I’ve never wanted to use these things” the Shiplord continued, and something imperceptible shifted as he leant in. The relaxed attitude was gone, replaced by an intense gaze, and to Artiz it felt like suddenly finding himself in front of someone else entirely.
It was a very unsettling experience, made worse when the Shiplord locked eyes with him and Artiz discovered he couldn’t look away. “I am going to keep us all alive,” the Shiplord promised, “and I will save both your species. Do you understand me, Artiz?”
Artiz nodded. He was dimly aware that the Shiplord was not threatening him, but that didn’t matter when ancient instincts were involved. It had been easy to forget that the carefree Adrian Saunders was nothing more than a façade to hide the creature capable of slaughtering the experienced crew of a V’Straki destroyer. Of a monster who could destroy a living world without hesitating. Of a being dangerous enough to be called a disaster by the galaxy, and as the God of Strife by a deranged artificial intelligence.
“Let me tell you something, Artiz,” the Shiplord continued once Artiz had finished nodding, “I am done with this monster-of-the-week bullshit. We both know someone’s trying to bust into our little cage, but I don’t give a damn who they are. The whole Hunter Swarm? The full force of the Hierarchy? Those fucking bird guys with their huge fucking ships? If any of them try messing with us, they’re going to step into a fucking nightmare. I will drag them into a hell of my own creation, and I will show them no mercy.”
Had Jrasic given this speech, Artiz was sure the late Shiplord would have been yelling, or would at least have raised his voice. It was incomparably worse that Adrian had not.
“You, Artiz,” said the Shiplord, “are going to help me build that hell, and then we’re going to look at the next special project: building ourselves a starship for my heroic last stand.”
Artiz blinked, certain he must have misheard. “My apologies, Shiplord… we are going to what?”
++++
++++
DATE POINT: 5Y 3M 1D AV
The Snippy Remark, on approach to the Ark
Askit
Heading back to the Ark was the only logical thing Askit could come up with. There was no telling how much damage his virus had done to the galaxy, so there was little point in visiting random worlds. The Ark was their base of operations, and had a high probability of being online as it rarely connected to the galactic network. It was greatly alarming to see it sealed without power, but Askit quickly reasoned that this was a good sign—everything pointed to a controlled shutdown, which would not have been possible if the station had been infected.
This meant that they could use the network array once the station itself was powered back up. The bad news was they’d left the remote access key on their other ship.
“Darragh! Keffa!” Askit called out as he opened the shipwide comms. “I need you both up here. We’ve arrived.”
“Augh, coming… we’re coming…” said Darragh, sounding sleepy. The pair had slept for the duration of the journey from the Vzk’tk colony, and should be adequately rested for the work to come. Past experience suggested they would also be disagreeable until they’d finished waking up.
They arrived on the command deck with a yawn, and Keffa looked particularly confused. “Why are we here? We were going to the Vzk’tk colony…”
“About that…” said Darragh awkwardly.
Askit interrupted him. “My virus made it off Gamlis. The colony is gone. After checking for survivors, we decided to head straight here.”
She looked absolutely horrified, staring first at Askit and then at Darragh. She opened her mouth several times as though she was going to say something, then stopped.
Evidently Darragh did not feel it was necessary to add anything about finding survivors. Askit had omitted the information since it wouldn’t get the conversation on track, and clearly the human male agreed.
“I would have woken you up if I thought it would have changed anything,” Darragh added. “I can promise you that.”
Keffa nodded slowly as the shock slowly wore off. “So… why does the Ark look like it has no power?”
“Because it doesn’t,” Askit replied. “The good news is that this wasn’t my virus, they must have done it on purpose.”
“They would only do that if they thought they were going to be away for a while,” mused Darragh. “Can we get it back online?”
Askit nodded. “Absolutely. Just as soon as the pair of you gear up and go switch the reactor back on.”
They both groaned with dismay as they realised how much of a pain it was going to be. Getting into the Ark hadn’t been easy the first time around, and they’d had the added help of Jen and Xayn at the time.
“Alright,” said Keffa, “we know we can do this. I’m also pretty sure we need to do this.”
Darragh nodded. “There’s more food in there, and there’s medicine and a diagnostic suite. They might have even left some information on where they went.”
“Best get cracking then,” she replied with a sigh, and went to go put on her vacuum suit.
Darragh followed her a moment later, but only after he’d given Askit a meaningful nod. For a Corti who was only moderately well-versed in human behaviour, the meaning was a little unclear—he might approve of the minor deception, or he could have been signalling everything was fine, and there was a small chance he just wanted to shake his head in that precise way at that specific moment. It could also be all three.
Askit turned back to the consoles and brought the vessel to the airlock. There was little he could do until they managed to bring the station back online, and he decided to use the time to get some rest—his sleep had been troubled ever since they’d finally left Gamlis, and discovering the virus on the colony had not improved things.
It hardly seemed enough before he was roused by the beep of the communicator. He glanced at the console for an update on the station before picking up. “Looks good,” he said. “Am I okay to dock?”
“Bring it in,” Darragh replied. “Then fix the array so we don’t connect to some distant world and get your virus. We’ll be completely fecked if this place goes up in smoke.”
“Understood,” said Askit, and started the automated docking process while he pushed back the fatigue once again. There’d be time to sleep once they knew what was going on. Grabbing his data tablet, Askit proceeded to the airlock and entered the station where the two humans were waiting for him.
“This is the plan,” started Darragh once they’d assembled, “we need to make sure the Ark is safe from your virus. We try and find out anything we can about where the others went. We get some food, some rest, and a check-up with the auto-doctor. Any problem with that?”
Askit shook his head—it was pretty much what he’d been planning to do anyway. “I’ll do the first two. You can decide who gets to do the other stuff, just make sure the ‘auto-doctor’ is ready to go.”
He left them to sort themselves out and proceeded to the administrative building where he’d commandeered an office where he could work in peace. Sliding into his seat, he grabbed a nutrient ball from his stash in one desk drawer, and a drinkable stimulant from another—one of life’s great pleasures.
Loading the protection software was the easiest step. He’d already started figuring out a sort of digital immunisation against his virus before he’d left. He hadn’t retained his original copy after everything went wrong on Gamlis, but the trip back had left him with very little to do. It took work to merge the two versions of the software, but in the end it created something far better than the originals.
Keffa knocked on his door as he kicked off the deployment. “You’ve been in here for a while. Any progress?”
“The station should be immune to the virus, and any derivatives, in a few moments,” Askit replied. “Then I’ll protect the ship and anything else we’ve got.”
She nodded, seeming distracted. “Darragh and I went through the auto-doc. Apparently we should already be dead.”
“Explain!” Askit demanded in alarm.
“I think the air must have poisoned us,” she replied. “Pretty much what we guessed could happen. It gave us some drugs and I do feel a bit better.”
“Not Cruezzir I hope?” he asked. It was bad enough having two super-humans running around the galaxy, causing all sorts of chaotic upheaval without even trying—they didn’t need to start producing more.
“Relax,” said Keffa, “you think I haven’t already tried that? Unfortunately that stuff only works normally on me. Darragh’s the same.”
There was every chance that Jen had been the same as well, prior to Adrian literally feeding her his mutant gut bacteria. As far as Askit was aware, Jen hadn’t told anyone about this and Adrian had been equally tight-lipped.
“Anyway,” she continued, “you should head down there sooner rather than later. You weren’t out there as much as Darragh or me, but you’re not human either.”
“I’ll head there now, then,” said Askit, feeling worried. Corti wouldn’t necessarily be affected by toxins in the same way as a human, but he already knew he wasn’t well. “As soon as I set everything in motion here.”
She nodded. “Don’t leave it too long. You’re the only one who can fix this mess, so it’d be bad if you died.”
Askit wasn’t bothered by the attitude. He considered the rest of them to be little more than a means to an end, regardless of whether he enjoyed their company. Once Keffa had left his office, Askit scheduled the remaining tasks and headed down to the medical office to put himself through the auto-doc.
The facility was not well equipped with respect to the size of the station—there was little equipment and few supplied—but it was more than enough for the handful of inhabitants currently using it. Popping a sleep-inducer, Askit stepped into the auto-doc to let it run diagnostics while the drugs kicked in. He was already feeling a bit woozy by the time it produced its results.
“Well, that’s not good,” he noted as he scanned the output. He was suffering from damage to his lungs and the toxins from the atmosphere, but the auto-doc was more than enough to manage the effects until they passed through his system. The bigger problem was the number of burned-out implants in his body. Removing them lay outside what the auto-doc could manage without a surgeon’s assistance, and right now they were slowly releasing dangerous chemicals while they decayed. The auto-doc could handle this for a while, but eventually the required medicines would either be depleted or would need to be given in toxic quantities. Finding a competent Corti surgeon was now high on Askit’s list of priorities, and he could only hope there was still someone out there who fit the bill.
Heading to his quarters, he collapsed on his bed and let the drugs finally thrust him into sleep. He had no clear idea how long he was out, but he woke up with an empty belly and a flashing report on his data tablet. The former was managed while he inspected the latter.
A successful connection had been established, although his modifications to the network had prevented it from freely trading data as it once had. Right now there was a connection, and the people on the other side were probably wondering what was going on.
“Let’s see who you are,” he said, looking over the logs. Things being what they were, he wasn’t about to open up an unrestricted connection just for the sake of immediately satisfying his curiosity. What he found made him extremely nervous, and justified all the work he’d put into network security on the Ark.
The connection was being made by a ship’s network array from an unidentified vessel at an unspecified location. It would have looked extremely shady to any network admin, but it was doubly so when such a thing connected to the Ark of all places. The only saving grace—and it wasn’t much of one—was that the Ark had identified and connected to it and not the other way around.
At first glance it appeared that the security measures only went one way. Most network connections, once active, were only too eager to accept every attempt to connect. There were natural protections, of course, such as preventing connections from unfriendly targets, but the general configuration was overwhelmingly lax. It was no surprise that he could quietly access the other system without opening the gates both ways, but there was something very wrong with the other side. The first point being that in spite of being a ship’s network array it wasn’t attached to any ship. The second was that there was an unexpected integration with something entirely different. Whoever they were, this wasn’t a Dominion configuration.
++Who is this?++ he messaged. His only hope was to prompt them into responding and to give away some extra clue.
When the answer came he wasn’t particularly surprised—only a handful of worlds would be able to survive the catastrophe. ++This is Gao. Please identify yourself.++
Naturally this wasn’t something Askit would take at face value when the rest of the situation seemed so suspicious, but the source language was definitely Gaoian and they were operating some form of hybrid system. As a recent addition to the Galactic community they had initially integrated their own computer systems while slowly replacing them with Dominion technologies.
++I am just a survivor with a working network array,++ Askit replied, not willing to give anything away just yet. ++Gao is the first planet I’ve managed to contact. What’s happening?++
++The extent and cause of the situation is unclear,++ the Gaoian explained. ++As far as we can tell, Dominion technology has failed on a galactic scale. The humans have assisted us in integrating our legacy technology with a salvaged ship array and the existing hardware. My group has been tasked with attempting to contact anyone we can. There does seem to be a problem with your connection, so it’s impressive we can even message each other.++
++My group managed to restore an old array,++ Askit answered, not exactly lying. ++What’s the condition of Gao?++
The response was concise: ++Devastated. Recovery will take generations.++
At least they would be able to recover; Askit doubted most worlds would have access to any working technology or human benefactors, and would vanish into primitive barbarism as a best-case scenario. Knowing that neither the Ark nor himself were capable of surviving without external help, however, he had little choice but to extend a small amount of trust to the only significant authority he’d managed to contact. ++My group and I were working to reclaim a decommissioned space habitat,++ he told them. ++Our supplies are limited, but not critical, and we do not seem to have functional trading partners nearby. The habitat itself is, however, mostly working. If you are able to provide supplies, we would be able to make our facilities available to you.++
++Please stand by,++ replied the Gaoian, responding immediately. Askit knew the Ark was currently one of the most valuable stations in the galaxy, and such an offer would have been far above a technician’s paygrade.
He gave his confirmation and sent a message to Darragh and Keffa to join him, which they did in short order.
“What’s going on?” Keffa asked. “Did you manage to contact someone?”
Askit nodded. “Gao, or at least what’s left of their government. They are currently considering an offer to supply the Ark in return for use of its facilities.”
“You should not have offered that without asking!” Darragh exclaimed angrily. “Jen will be pissed! Hell, I’m pissed!”
“We don’t even know if Jen is alive,” Askit reminded him, and proceeded to list all the other things they didn’t know or didn’t have until they both got the point.
“In conclusion,” he said, “we need them just as much as they need us, and at least we can trust they aren’t part of the Hierarchy.”
They were silent for a moment, then Darragh sighed. “God, he’s right. We need them if we want to stay here, and we need them if we want to make a life anywhere else. What do we need to do to make this happen?”
“We need to grab some extra ships from the colony world to make ourselves look legitimate,” said Askit. “I haven’t exactly been completely honest about who we are—as far as they’re concerned, we’ve just been trying to reclaim a decommissioned habitat.”
“Close to the truth,” Keffa observed with an approving nod. “I’m guessing we don’t want them to know anything about where we’ve actually been?”
“The less they can learn the better,” said Askit. “I will adjust the memory of The Snippy Remark, and there shouldn’t be any issue with the ships we’ll pick up at the colony.”
He held up his hand as he noticed they’d responded, and turned his attention back to his console. He instantly frowned.
“What is it now?” Darragh asked, noticing the expression.
“Someone naming themselves Captain Manning of the HMS Caledonia has just contacted me,” Askit relayed. “They’re a human ship, and they want to know more.”
++++
++++
DATE POINT: 5Y 3M 4D AV
Folctha Colony, Cimbrean
Jennifer Delaney
Jennifer Delaney, mid-twenties space-babe, ex-pirate queen, survivor of way too many close calls including a galaxy-sized cataclysm, was stopping by Cimbrean on the way back to Earth. She was not happy about any of it. With the exception of having named the place, and occasionally tuning into details about the environmental catastrophe taking place, Jen had never paid too much attention to the situation on Cimbrean. It had never been a place she’d considered to be personally important, although it was certainly irreplaceable to humanity as a whole. Sudden and secretive, her return had attracted no public interest, and all attention was turned to the unprecedented disaster unfolding across the cosmos. She was only passing through, however, so even her meeting with the current Governor-General had to be brief.
“My apologies for the reception,” said Sir Jeremy as the tray of tea and biscuits was brought to his office, “but I was not aware you were coming until mere hours ago. Although we may appear to be a pocket of calm, things are extremely chaotic. Perhaps you can imagine?”
Jen took a sip of her tea and relished it. The Agwarens had a drink that was similar in concept, but had been so drastically different in execution it’d left her feeling homesick. “God… sorry, it’s just nice to drink something normal for once. There’s no need to apologise under the current circumstances.”
Sir Jeremy nodded with a smile and took a sip from his own cup. “I have to admit I was hardly expecting to see you again. From all reports you were intending to leave humanity behind, and you were, ah…”
“Slowly going crazy?” Jen finished. She remembered the sense of being split in two, with a pair of struggling identities trying to define her. Neither had succeeded, and the crucible of Agwar had created someone different from either.
“It’s supposed to be a side effect of the Cruezzir,” Sir Jeremy expanded by way of apology.
Jen shrugged. “I don’t know about that. I do feel like a different person walking around with someone else’s memories, but I’m not sure how much of that is the drug, and how much it’s just living a really messed up life.”
“It supposedly relates to the increased neuroplasticity,” Sir Jeremy explained, “although I’m not familiar with the full medical diagnosis. The Corti had recently provided us with a derivative substance designed to prevent cases such as yours.”
Jen returned a level gaze. Her own Cruezzir infection was directly traced to Adrian Saunders giving her an emergency dose of his gut flora. It wasn’t something she’d talked about at length. “Cases such as mine?”
“Recipients won’t start making their own, so to speak,” said Sir Jeremy. “It was all very promising until the galaxy ended. I don’t suppose you have any information on what happened?”
“None at all,” Jen replied, annoyed at having been asked. There was an implied suggestion that she had something to do with it, or at the very least it was something related to Adrian. “And before you ask, Adrian Saunders has nothing to do with it either.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” Sir Jeremy protested, “but that’s good to know. It would have been simpler if he had, but I suppose it can’t be one man causing our problems every time. Does that mean you know where he is?”
Jen cursed inwardly—she’d previously claimed total ignorance of Adrian’s location, but that wouldn’t work with her previous conversation. “I know where he was,” she allowed, “and I know he wasn’t in any position to go ending galactic civilization. To be honest he might even be dead.”
He did not seem overly disappointed. “A pity, as he tends to bring about great change.”
Or strife, Jen added mentally; the alien A.I. had spent so much time gushing about it that it was hard not to make an immediate connection.
“I’m to understand you’ll be representing our efforts,” he continued, barely missing a beat. “I should tell you that the political situation on Earth is heavily charged. There were already those concerned that we were sticking our noses into dangerous business and recent events have only confirmed such convictions.”
“What do you mean?” Jen asked with eyebrow raised. Rush had given her some details, but they had been sparse and a fresh perspective would be helpful.
Sir Jeremy sighed and took a sip of tea as he mulled over the question. “Mostly disorganized groups,” he finally replied, “although they are extremely motivated and vocal. All of them have different arguments and agendas, which makes it difficult to effectively challenge their views. I’m fortunately busy with the colony itself—I don’t envy those who need to tackle the problem head-on.”
“Am I going to be safe?” Jen asked, suddenly concerned. She’d been through a lot since leaving Earth, but somehow the prospect of returning had filled her with a sense of dread. Out in the galaxy she was someone special with a particular set of skills that could topple governments. The only thing she’d been on Earth was an I.T. girl, and suddenly she was going to be the face of human endeavour—it was a big change.
“No,” he bluntly conceded, “although you will be protected. There are numerous groups who would see you as a high profile target, and the intelligence community suspects the Hierarchy has been fanning the flames.”
That was bad news, although it was hardly unexpected. At this point, Jen would be more surprised if the Hierarchy were still uninvolved.
“Can I be honest?” she asked. “I’m feeling a little scared.”
Sir Jeremy smiled wanly. “If I may be equally honest, you would be crazy if you weren’t.”
Jen shook her head. “It isn’t just my own life I’m worried about. The rest of the galaxy is relying on me doing a good job. That’s not even counting what could happen if someone actually hurts me.”
“We won’t let that happen,” Sir Jeremy instantly promised her.